#i need to like. read her dialogue as I write to lay my thoughts out bc i know i miss stuff otherwise

[fettery-fetterie]

Anyways it's late and I should be sleeping buuuuut toetino 🥰

I actually did read her dialogue today and I got some ideas solidified but like agga it's too late again. I promise I'll do it tomorrow if my adhd ass doesn't fuck me up (it will)

[vitanithepure]

Can we talk about Gale again? And Mystra, one last time? Or at least let me vent? I know it seems like I can't shut up about it, but deal with me this one last time?

It's a long one, an fervent one, and possibly the last one on their relationship because there isn't much to tell for me after this. I just want to lay it to rest on my part, it's too emotionally draining, but I wanted to do this.

Spoilers for them ahead.

It was some time ago I did the talk with Mystra and Gale as an origin character and I needed some time to process this and gather my thoughts. Because I was left reeling with how personal it felt for me and I hated seeing that to bo honest, even though I think whoever did write this scene did it... very well. I feel a lot of thought went into it, so even though it does touch a delicate subject it does it as tastefully as possible.

Okay, let's begin with a real banger.

Why? This will forever read as "I gave you a solution, explain yourself why you didn't die when I asked you to." for me. What kind of messed up question is that to ask someone?

But can I say how there is absolutely no wrong anwser to that asinine question? You can roleplay however you wish, but none of them are bad anwsers. Some of them are more heartbreaking then the others, but none are in any way making excuses. There is nothing to excuse and I'm glad whoever wrote this dialogue recognized this.

I chose the "I have someone else to live for" one here, because I felt that Gale, at this point, really found that special someone, be it a friend or lover, to live for. It's gut-wrenching that he needed someone to keep him alive in the first place, but this is what having an abusive ex does to you.

But the other choices here? All of them fair. She absolutely had no right to ask that of him, no matter the crime, that's just a fucked up thing to expect.

Being afraid to die? Valid, this shouldn't be put up to question.

Two last ones? Pure gold. I treat the fourth one as a direct jab at her own teachings, on how all magic needs to be preserved and studied? It's like him saying "Hey, I did what you expected and now your mad?".

The very last one is poetic justice. "I owe you nothing." and if that were me this would be the absolute end of this discussion. Mic drop, I'm out of here.

And okay, I did take he self-pity route with "I let you down." here becuase this is what I believe is closest to how "canon" Gale feels about this. That's the most heartbreaking thing about it, that he believes he was not worth enough before and is even less now and doesn't deserve love, of any kind.

What are the other options? Well, all in character and each seems like a valid way for Gale to feel. But me, the player, who is fortunate to know some meta knowledge? Oh boy.

"I was a danger to you." No you weren't. She is the goddess of magic, one of the most powerful out here. She is magic. All you could do is make her day worse.

"I disobeyed you." Yeah, you did. And she sentenced you to a slow death for it.

"You were threatened." Eh, not really. But what comes after that statement? "You realised you couldn't control me."? Yes, that is the only thing she felt threatened about - loosing control.

"Our relationship bored you. The orb was just an excuse to end it." I mean... maybe? Not enough is known about it but seeing how all reincarnations of Mystra are fickle lovers at best I would say it's a possibility. Even if it is just his ego speaking here - damn, what a way to end a relationship.

She has the audacity to tell him "he only thought of himself". Pot calling the kettle much?

Oooh, but I love what we can say here. The amout of vicious call outs here is superb.

We get to call out how much of a control freak she is. Then we can say how out of place was her punishment. Because I feel like it was a fucking equivalent of throwing a child into a dark cellar for breaking your favorite cup, while all they wanted to do was wash it for you. That is how imbalanced this whole thing is and I'm not taking criticism on that.

We also get to straight up ask what was the lesson if she never let him know what he really did and left him without means to make things right?

Then my favorite. Straight up ask her how many lives was she willing to sacrifice to get rid of the problem?

And last but not least - call her out on her lies. That's what she did. Why? I don't know. Was she afraid? Possibly, because the Karsite Weave + Crown of Karsus combo could potentially threaten her. Potentially, because as we saw in one of the Gale endings, she has no problem with just getting rid of a newly ascended god wielding them. That leads me to believe she is not afraid of loosing power as much as just being rivaled with. The indignity she has to suffer, truly.

Hit a nail on the head here. Who cares about mortals, if they live or die and in how many droves? Competition comes knocking, so all gloves are off. And that is what I believe to be the crux of the matter. Mystra wants to remove the Absolute (because that's the new upstart god breaking the status quo), the orb containing he rival Weave, the Crown which threatens her rule over magic all in one swoop. Oh, and that one guy who tries too hard and refuses to die. No biggie. Who cares, she has a line of followers who would replace her Chosen at any given time.

I'm a salty bitch over the fact we can't keep the Crown of Karsus, but instead of using it - just hide it away again. Stablize Gale's Karsite Weave and keep that thing around, hidden away. Let her sweat over the idea someone else might find it one day and rival her rule.

I know I'm way too emotional about it, but like I said, it's very personal - I been there, done that, and never recovered in full after it. I'll die defending anyone and any pixels who are struggling with their self-worth and trying to get over an emotionally abusive relationships.

"Be the better person, die saving the world and I'll 'forgive' you." Fuck. You.

And a bonus, for those of you who stuck around till the end, because I was totally naming the screens and yelling at my monitor while doing this.

[traegorn]

Going from Script to Page

(originally posted to my personal blog)

So the big difference between Peregrine Lake and my earlier comics is, obviously, that I'm not the one drawing it. When I was doing my earlier comics, I never wrote down what I was planning, I just had it in my head and would translate it directly to the page. At most I'd write one sentence lines about strips so I could plot out pacing. I did a few thumbnails early on to figure out page layouts, but more often than not the pages didn't exist in any form until I wrote them. That obviously isn't a way we can work for this comic. I can't sit there over Ethan's ( @wistfolie ) shoulder while they draw, since that would be weird and we don't live in the same city. So I do what comic writers have been doing for quite some time. I write scripts. That's where every page for Peregrine Lake starts. Then, if Ethan needs any clarification on a description or has an alternate suggestion for a setting or scene, we talk about it. But again, we start by my writing a script. So I thought it might be fun to take a look at a recent installment and compare the final art to the initial script I wrote. Our example is the October 22nd page titled "Greg." It is, unsurprisingly, the first page where we see the final of our four main characters. I love this page, but let's see the initial script:

Panel 1 Greg emerges from the curtained doorway. Tall panel. If this were television or film, we'd smear some Vaseline on the lens for the best gooey soft focus shot we could get. God damn, we want everyone seeing this to want a piece of Greg. Like take a second slice home in a take out box and eat it while watching Netflix. Let's make this far more detailed than any other panel. Let's get people to demand we print this man on body pillows. Panel 2 Close up of Bev's face. She wants to just lay Greg down and cover him in butter. Bev: (tiny ass words, whispering to self) Yeah... not talking good. Panel 3 Greg leans on the counter towards Lynn, Bev is... "reacting" quietly, but no one's paying her any attention Greg: Hey Lynn, Bob hasn't gotten me those antique iron nails yet. I said I'd call when they come in. Lynn: Thanks, but not what I'm here for. I may have an... off the books job for you Greg: How off the books Panel 4 Close up of Lynn. Lynn is very serious. Lynn: Off the books off the books. Greg, this is my new friend Bev. Panel 5 Back to a shot of the three of them, Greg turns to Bev smiling Greg: Hi! Nice to meet you. Bev: (tiny words) Hello tall man

Yep. That is... that is pretty close to what we got. We moved some of the dialogue around to fit better with the art (moving some of Greg's stuff to panel one from panel three), but overall we stick pretty true to it. Ethan read my ridiculous descriptions and understood the assignment. And yeah, I think it's safe to assume at least some of our audience wants a piece of Greg now.

[b4rbi3l4nd]

SOS — last night i cried

TYSM FOR ALL THE SUPPORT ON THE PAST 2 CHAPTERS. This chapter is a bit shorter because it is a follow up to the last chapter but dw y'all, expect a new chapter to be out by Thursday. It's currently Tuesday where I'm at LMAO. Please keep supporting 'SOS', I'm lowkey having fun writing this and dw y'all, the smut is coming soon, you just gotta wait 😭Also btw, I DELETED the other part so yeah y'all LMAO, I combined it together. Also, thank ALL of you for the support on "SOS", I LOVE YOU ALLL

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋

GIF by mandalor-din

series summary: you broke up with shuri a few years ago and left wakanda for good until namor. now that he's killed the queen and multiple wakandan civilians, he's seen as a great threat and as former second in command at shuri's lab and wakanda's loyal warrior it is your duty to return and fight for your country. but a certain somebody makes the mission way too hard to deal with.

episode summary: shuri is starting to feel like you're seducing her and you decide to play into her game. might as well make it fun while you're here right? wrong. shuri has finally lost her cool with you and demands you out of wakanda but as you discover a shocking truth about her "beloved" girlfriend, things take a turn for the worst

genre: ANGST, slow, slow, slow burn

pairing: shuri x black fem reader

episode warnings: mature dialogue, cursing, this is a series. you are currently looking at the second/third chapter of the series, please go to my profile to read the previous chapters before continuing (if you haven't read the other chapters yet, if so, please continue)

taglist: @yvxmpire, @sweetalittleselfish-honey, @xxmilli, @queenofsimpsblog, @ziayamikaelson, @shuriislut, @atssukoo, @widowmakker, @cuddl3s4shur1

proofread?: no but if there are errors then it's grammarly's fault.

word count: girl idfk

inspirations: 'SOS' — SZA

song: 'SOS' — SZA

send your thoughts and requests

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You blinked twice before waking up abruptly and looking around. You were still in Wakanda. You sighed, touching your head before looking on your bed, you bonnet laying peacefully.

"Of course, no matter how tight I make you, you still love to wrestle off my head." You mutter to yourself as you yawn and check your phone to look at the time. 12 PM.

Squinting your eyes, you feel like you're forgetting something but brush it off. You get out of bed and stretch before looking in the mirror. You were wearing a black shirt that went just right below your tummy. Underneath was your white lingerie set, complete with the knee-high laced socks with ribbons. You fixed your bonnet back on your head before walking over to your mini kitchen.

You fixed yourself a cup of coffee before leaning over the counter, looking through your phone, and taking small sips.

How peaceful.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" A voice came from behind you as your door swung open, almost breaking down.

"EYYYY..." you voice out starting to yell before you look and see who it was, Shuri.

"What the hell dude?! It's 12 in the morning." You start, motioning at the door.

"12 in the morning, 12 in the fucking morning, in the AFTERNOON you mean. I TOLD YOU I NEEDED YOU AT 10, SHARP!" She shouted, abruptly, causing you to drop your cup of coffee.

"That's what I was forgetting.." You sigh, putting your hands on your hips, looking away and then back at Shuri who seemed to have quieted down now. She slowly walked into the room, closing the door behind her quietly, her eyes fixated on everywhere but your face.

She looked you up and down, mostly focusing on your hips and the way your hands rolled over your curves. You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow.

"Hello?" You say, breaking her out of her trance.

She looked back at you, the anger still on her face. She pointed a finger at you, making you put your hands up.

"I invite you to my country and you just...you just.." Her voice trailed off as she noticed more of the lingerie under your shirt showing when you raised up your arms.

"Just..get dressed and meet me in the lab or you're fired!" She says, turning around. She paused, taking a deep breath before walking out of the room, and slamming the door behind her.

"What's got her panties in a twist..?" You look down at the mess at your feet and carefully pick up the glass, throwing it away.

After finally cleaning up, you got cleaned and dressed. You but on a white bodycon dress that revealed some cleavage...I mean...a lot. Like Ramonda-type cleavage that Namor was highkey eyeing down. You fixed your hair, putting it in a slick back ponytail at the back, your long curls sitting pretty behind you as you brought out 2 strands at the side and fixed your edges.

Putting on matching pumps, you grabbed your phone and left your apartment in the palace to the lab. As soon as you entered, the voice spoke again, causing you to slightly jump, placing a hand on your chest.

"My queen, an unknown woman has entered the lab."

"I heard, Griot." Shuri said, not even looking over to your way, talking to another woman.

You pulled down your dress before walking up the stairs to see a younger woman there. Her hair was in cornrow braids and she looked around 19-20?

"DAMN." She said as soon as you appeared into view. The American accent catches your ears. Ugh, Americans.

"I'm sorry, it's just wow. I haven't seen a good-looking girl around here yet."

"That's an inappropriate work outfit." Shuri said, looking at you in eyes with nothing but hatred.

"Thank you," you said with a smile, ignoring Shuri before you raised your eyebrow at her. "Who are you?"

"Oh I'm Riri." She said, putting a hand out as you shook her head.

"I see, you're the one who took up my old office."

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't know. They were using it as a closet space before me, my bad."

Your grip on her hand unconsciously tightened as your smile became less genuine and more so agitated. As a small 'ow' left her mouth, you quickly left go of her hand and tilted your head. "It's alright, don't worry. I won't be here long anyway."

"Why? Aren't you Wakandan?"

You didn't say anything and just turned to Shuri who surprisingly had not added any snarky remarks. She just looked away from you, going back to her work.

You turned back to Riri. "You wouldn't mind showing me what you guys are working on would you?"

"Of course not! Come on,"

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Your heels sounded through the hallway as you walked towards the throne room. Your hair was in a tight afro puff on your head, your reading glasses lowered slightly on my face, it normally happened when you were working. Stacks of papers with calculations and blueprints occupied my hands as well.

You paused when you heard quiet mumbling and slowly shuffled over to the door. Nosy. As you peeked through the door, you saw Shuri and Riri talking.

“I don’t even know why, I shouldn’t even be feeling this way.” Shuri sighed, defeated

“It takes more than 4 years and a side bitch to move on from someone you shared all those special connections to yknow?” You heard Riri say.

Are they talking about me? You leaned in closer and put your ear to the door to listen in closely.

“Malia is not a side piece Riri, don't call her that, she might become my queen one day" Shuri warned as you rolled my eyes.

"Yea...okay." Riri said sounding unamused.

"So if you love Lia so much? Why are you having thoughts about ripping the clothes off your ex and fucking her in front of the window?" Riri voiced out causing your eyes to widen as you practically choked on oxygen.

"Eyyy....not so loud, someone might hear you."

Too late, you already did.

"And no, you're twisting my words. I never said I wanted to indulge in any sexual activities with her. I just said-"

"You literally ripped me from my work to tell me you're 100% sure she's trying to seduce, be for real 'your honor'" Riri folded her arms as I raised my eyebrow.

"I didn't say that either. I'm just saying that she never dressed like that before when we used to date. I mean, ever since she got here, all she's worn is bodycon dresses that leave little to no imagination to what her breasts look like...and the lingerie." Shuri added, sounding embarrassed that she was discussing this. "Like who is she trying to impress? The elders?"

Tell that to your girlfriend.

"Maybe she just gained confidence after breaking up with you." Riri suggested, putting her hands on her hips. "Look, if you want her so much then have her, if you don't then...don't. You're the queen of Wakanda, don't disturb my life with your girl problems please."

"I don't have..." Shuri paused almost as if she realized something and then I watched as her fists balled up and anger fixed on the face that was once embarrassed. "I don't even know why I'm stressing over her. She left me, she's an asshole."

You stopped listening after that, your eyebrows furrowing at that. Yeah, yeah go ahead and tell everyone I'm an asshole when all I wanted was my girlfriend to look at me as more than an annoying piece of distraction. Gosh.

You looked down at your papers, she had to sign some of them. If she's so convinced you're trying to seduce her, then might as well right? She doesn't know who she's messing with.

You took the pen from your ear and hung it on your dress with the back. Right next to your cleavage. Hmph. I'll make this harder for her than she thinks.

You take a few quiet steps back before walking towards the door, opening the door to the throne room. The noise caused the two women to look up.

"Wow, you have amazing timing." Riri said as she looked between you and Shuri slightly.

She looked at you with pure hatred in her eyes, almost as if the whole conversation you just listened to didn't happen. You sigh and look at her sternly.

"Miss Udaku, I brought my calculations and blueprints of the dehydration machine like you asked." You say, handing the papers to her. "All you have to do is sign here to approve.."

She barely skimmed through the papers before shaking her head and looking away and saying no. "This won't work, do it again."

"I've done these calculations like 15 times because you weren't satisfied, this isn't basic math you know that right?" Your eyes widened slightly.

You didn't eat breakfast for this. You missed lunch for this. While you've been in the lab slaving away, Malia had no problem posting the picnic date Shuri took her on, as well as all the food they got on the way. Ugh seeing her smug smile on your phone screen made you lose my appetite.

"Holy shit, this is like 40 pages of calculations," Riri said, looking through the stapled papers you had presented. "And the blueprint. I think this looks goo-"

"You think." Shuri cut her off. "You don't know. I am queen and I know how to properly defend my country.

"No one said you didn't." You cut her off.

"I've been handling Wakandan tech for all my life." She started again as you rolled my eyes.

"So have I. I know what I'm talking about." You say again, looking her dead in the eye.

Shuri took a deep breath like she was about to smack you before looking around. "Pen." She said signaling to both you and Riri to see if you both had pens.

You ran your hands along the side of your dress before looking away. If she wants the pen, she's gonna have to get it herself.

It took a few moments but then you felt the movement of a hand above your cleavage area. She was reaching for the pen. You breathed in, causing my chest to rise. Her hand did more than graze over your cleavage at that point, it almost grabbed a fist full of it.

She immediately realized and darted her hand away, grabbing the pen while doing so.

You turned around to see her looking down at the papers more flustered than ever. You scoffed under my breath.

"Fine, here. Approved, now leave." She said, not even looking up at me. You took the papers but then paused.

"You can keep the pen, I have plenty more."

You turn around on my heel before exiting the throne room just in time to hear Riri go

"What the hell was that?!"

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"HA!" you sighed as you got the last hit on one of the Dora Milage warriors before sighing.

"She still has the moves." Okoye teased as all the warriors, including the one you just beat in the sparring, praised and clapped for you.

You steadied your breathing before smiling and moving your hair to the side. You had changed out of your work outfit and you were in a white cropped tank top with black basketball shorts and sneakers.

You twisted the spear in your hand before placing it in the ground, causing another wave of applause.

"Thank you, thank you" You joked, laughing. But your face soon dropped as soon as you hear a voice behind you.

"Why is she here?"

You rolled your eyes to the back of your head so hard that it hurt. Of course, she trained with the Dora Milage. You sighed and picked up your spear turning around as Okoye talked on your behalf.

"I know you guys don't like each other but please, this is a training area so please just keep the pettiness out of the room?"

You fix the low ponytail at the back of your head, smoothening out your hair with your hand. You eyed her up and down, taking in her uniform. She was dressed similarly to you in a crop top and shorts but her tattoos really highlighted her body in the best way possible. You can tell she was training by herself for a bit because her hair was a bit wet. From her toned abs to her posture, everything about her was just so...attractive.

"Again, why is she here?" She asked again, not even bothering to look at you.

Way to turn somebody off.

You look away as your mother stepped up.

"My queen, Y/N is just training with us for now. She has always been in the front lines of Wakanda and with this war with Namor-"

"She will not be fighting in the front lines and that's final." Shuri says almost too quickly making every surprised.

"By my queen."

"No."

At first, you looked away, hiding a smile. It reminded of you of when she would always hold you and beg you not to go into battle because she was always afraid of you hurting yourself. She used to be so sweet, especially towards you. Memories of you guys working on lab tech and laughing away together filled your mind but before you could get lost in it, the argument quickly pulled you away from your thoughts.

"The only reason she was brought back here was to help with the calculations. I don't need any more useless bodies dropping out there."

"Wow." was all you could voice. What she said was hurtful and you're not going to lie. Even when you guys were breaking up, you never degraded her. No wait, that's a lie.

Your face expression tightened as your mother looked at Shuri full of rage like she was about to kill the only remaining queen of Wakanda. She does not play about you, which is why both you and Okoye had to put a hand on her shoulder to move her away from Shuri.

Shuri looked at you with hatred in her eyes, like you were the one that killed her family.

"You know what, you don't even belong here."

"What's got you so mad?" You ask, offended. She wasn't so angry when you say her about 2 hours ago. Was it a thing with Malia?

"You've overstayed your welcome. Now leave."

"Wakanda? My home?" You asked out of disbelief, there's no way. You haven't even been back over to visit your tribe yet or the marketplace.

"No. The country you left years ago. The country that you abandoned." She said coldly turning away. "I don't like repeating myself. Leave."

"No! You have no right to kick me out of my rightful home, are you crazy?! I'M ALLOWED TO BE HERE!"

"Shuri, maybe we should all calm down before making hash decisions..." Okoye said, stepping in for you.

"I AM YOUR QUEEN!" Shuri turned around angrily, suddenly raising her voice at everyone. "WHAT MATTERS IS WHAT I WANT AND WHAT I WANT IS HER GONE, NOW. LEAVE!" She said, yelling at you, towering over you again.

You sniffed as tears in your eyes began to fall, her expression never changing. "Fuck you, real shit." You push her away and angrily walk out of the training area.

As you walked through the palace hallways, you began to sob uncontrollably. The last time you left, you weren't the one sobbing like this. You almost dropped to your knees, You had to hold onto the doors. You hadn't been back here for 4 years, all the nostalgia hitting...you at least wanted to visit your dad..and T'Challa.

You missed their funerals because you were too hardheaded to come back over here. "I didn't even get to bury them...and now I can't even say goodbye." You choke out, wiping your tears which were soon replaced with tears of rage.

Your eyes turned red as every bone in your body felt like they were on fire. You were taking deep breaths as that moment replayed in your head. You just wanted to throw her across the room and rip out every fucking bone in her body.

"Hey, are you okay?" A voice from behind you said.

You quickly recognized her as Malia.

"Go away, I don't want to talk to you." You roll my eyes, dismissing her.

She kept pestering you though. "You're going to have to start referring to me as your princess...queen. You know that right?" It's almost as a small chuckle left her mouth.

This bitch.

"But seriously though. Are you okay?"

"I SAID GO AWAY." You turned around rapidly, moving your hand in a swift motion. Immediately, she went flying across the wall, hitting her back on a pillar hard and sliding down, leaving a trail of blood behind her.

Fuck, it happened again.

"SHITTTTT" You heard another voice speak out as your head turned around swiftly.

It was Riri, she had her hand on her mouth as she held a phone in her free hand, the camera facing you. She just caught you on fucking video.

"Delete that footage!" You said, starting to walk towards her when your foot hit an object. You looked down, noticing it was Malia's phone.

You noticed she was texting someone under the contact name "Daddy 💞." You were about to ignore it until you saw Shuri's name in their conversation.

You squinted your eyes, picking up the phone as you looked at the picture for the contact.

"No fucking way."

You scroll through the messages as fast as you can, seeing a bunch of pictures of her and her father who you're CERTAIN you've seen from somewhere before.

Namor.

"Ain't no fucking way, this has to be a joke, a set up."

But it's true, pictures of her when she was little, pictures of them underwater together. They were definitely not taken on a phone but it was definitely them.

"God this idiot was seriously going to marry the daughter of her enemy.."

"MALIA!" Shuri shouted as you turned around to be met with her squatting, eyes wide open at her girlfriend's unconscious body. A bunch of Dora Milage warriors looking at it and then everyone turned to you.

"I DIDN'T TOUCH HER, I SWEAR!"

Which was technically true. You didn't but she did.

"Arrest her."

The warriors were hesitant at first until Shuri screamed on the top of her lungs.

"ARREST HER!"

Your mother and Okoye looked at you with tears in their eyes as they approached you.

"Mom.."

As they tried to capture you, you slipped away from their grip, shaking your head.

You darted down the hallway as a chase ensued. You heard Okoye calling for more warriors through her kimoyo beads.

They were on your tail. You quickly turned around a hallway to see more warriors waiting for you. You turned around when the original warriors had you cornered.

You looked to your left, darting down through a hallway and then up multiple flight of stairs, Malia's phone tucked into your pocket tightly.

You made it over to the hallway where the apartments were and rushed into yours. Taking deep breaths, you turned around as a small group of warriors cornered you. You start taking steps backwards, them taking steps forward.

"I didn't touch her."

They didn't seem to listen and as you kept backing away, you felt your body almost fall through the open window.

"Shit!"

"Y/N!" Your mother cried out as she took slow steps towards you.

"Baby, step away from the window please, we can talk it all out with Shuri, figure it all out."

"Y/N, you're going to hurt yourself please." Okoye pleaded with your mom.

Another Dora Milage warrior suddenly darted towards you with handcuffs, causing you to slip and fall.

"Y/N!"

You closed your eyes momentarily before you couldn't open them anymore.

I cried, I cried, and I cried.

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[blackstar5078]

ECSMP Lore BTS:

Wither's character before and during the V33 Arc. (Part 1)

Usually in other fandoms, I'm the person who makes the very long analysis posts about characters. I was at my peak with the MCRP cubitos analysis last year.

Now, there's not many people who can catch the kind of subtle, for attentive people, lore that I do (inspired by certain other streamers who also manage lore this way, since I found that kind of lore the most fun I had with theorizing and following). With clues layed out, not in the form of ciphers or enigmas, but character actions, character reactions/choices, character dialogue, the way the character physically looks, even songs attached to the character.

I also work with flower language, as I'm obsessed with it.

Note: If I mention something and it looks irrelevant. It's not, it will make sense later, even during lore that has not happened yet.

With my methods now clear, let's dive in.

First of all, we have the skins, people may need the side by side comparisons, so here you go:

This series of skins had the purpose to showcase Wither's slow mental decline. By the third one, the pupils are slightly more blueish, which it is an important indicator of not only mental decline, but of her powers starting to take over.

I will divide the happenstances and details with these very same skins.

Arrival / Regular Skin

The skin she had up until Day 29.

The first ever lore drop Wither did was to Bluebell all the way back in Day 2.

It wasn't the only small little detail about her past she shared that day even.

There were also very veeery small details, like Wither immediately asking if the new people who showed up were friendly, or that she wasn't that concerned at first about the C.A.T Bluebell spotted, since she already had the impresion that cats were friendly.

Day 3, the day when Rox arrived, was the first time Wither mentioned her trauma with endermen, but it wasn't much explained as trauma at first. It was also hinted that there were certain kind of endermen she never saw before.

This was also the day when Bluebell got the name reveal of the person who Wither mentioned before, and not only that, she got to read a letter that Wither would send to him after that very same conversation.

That bit of not knowing about their past? Keep this in mind for later.

With this letter, Bluebell also learned about Soul and Fire's names and that they have conscience of their own, but they have more trust issues than Wither herself and how she thinks it's nice to find the right people to trust. Another detail to consider.

No more lore drops happened during Day 4, but in Day 5, exploring the Nether was mentioned and Wither said that she would not be able to go with Bluebell in that case.

Day 6 was when the Soul Lantern was brought to the house.

During that conversation, Wither revealed to Bluebell that soulfire was the bright blue thing on her armor.

She also had a thought about the lantern before they went to sleep, though.

The very next day, Wither had a dream related to soulfire, and woke up extremely startled.

Her hands were getting covered slowly by soulfire in the dream. But she did not mention any of that to Bluebell upon waking up, and Bluebell also didn't ask.

This day was also when they heard the Ancient City's disk for the first time. Wither heard a lot of roars, screams, fire, fighting on it, and it caused her to immediately run away to try to get air. It was a panic attack.

This was also the first time we saw her habit of clawing on the floor/ground when distressed.

Day 9 was the accident when Bluebell fell into lava in the Nether.

Wither clawed the floor while Bluebell was writing on her journal, showing her distress.

That day, Bluebell went to sleep before Wither. She said she would be awake for a little bit.

And it was Day 10, Wither wasn't back home.

Day 10 was when Rox and Bluebell found the decimated village, and turned out, Wither was the one responsible.

Over the village they found soulsand, soulfire, wither roses, explosion craters, corpses and blood, along with the burnt down houses.

Once Rox and Bluebell found her, Rox did leave them be, so only Bluebell got the information that Wither didn't mean to do this and no matter how much she cares, she can't prevent this from happening.

Later, Bluebell asked how she felt, Wither said that the injuries hurt and that she should be able to heal eventually.

And to be continued in part 2, this will have lots of reblogs lmao.

[starsuncounted]

Writing Patterns

Tagged by @tortoisesshells—thank you! <3

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern.

Faramir watches as the sea draws back and the bays are scraped bare of water. (Like a Wave That Should Engulf the World, LOTR)

You and I are among the last remaining descendants of David Rittenhouse himself. (I've been putting sorrow on the farthest place on my shelf, Timeless)

When he first began hunting Rittenhouse, Flynn would see Lorena in his dreams, her face a picture of perfect sorrow as she stood silent before him; she didn’t need to speak to tell Flynn what she thought of who he was becoming—he could provide the words well enough himself, for they ran endlessly in his mind in the hours he lay awake, unable to sleep, haunted by the past and haunted by the present and everything in between. (All My Demons Greet Me As a Friend, Timeless)

Flynn pours himself a second drink and throws it back—not that he tastes it, but it numbs him better than anything else has so far and silences the faint whisper in his mind that Lorena wouldn’t have wanted him to become like this, numbing himself with alcohol and wondering idly how many more drinks it might take to tip him over into permanent oblivion. (The Bottom of Every Bottle, Timeless)

Caspian’s eyes still dance with laughter, his hair and shirt damp from where she splashed him with water, when Lucy takes his hand in hers, and he stills, reading in her gaze what she does not say with words—has no need to say with words, for they have each felt this thing unspooling between them, a hook in their hearts drawing them nearer, ever since the blissful days on the Silver Sea, when the feeling first tugged at their hearts—and he allows her to tug him out of the seafoam onto the beach, glimmering like a silver ribbon in the moonlight. (Like the Waves, Narnia)

A rustling sound came from the edge of the fighting-top, and Lucy did not need to look to know that it was Caspian, for he was the only person who ever joined her up here, far above the deck, where she was one with the wind. (Beneath the Milky Twilight, Narnia)

The Hunt passed over the plains and hills of Beleriand, roving far beneath shadow and starlight, and the sound of their approach was as thunder echoing in the deep hills, striking fear into the hearts of all who heard, and the cry of the Valaróma at their head was as lightning piercing the deeps of the night. (As Thunder Echoing in the Deep Hills, Silm)

The things of the forest and hills crept back to Nargothrond, in time, when the reek of the dragon had lessened and the horror of his memory had become a memory itself. (As Watchful As Any Living Thing, Silm)

Though the many towers of Ilmarin stood crowned with golden domes, catching the light of the rising sun on their facets, the Tower of Varda stood open to the sky. (Beneath the Innumerable Stars, Silm)

“Come, come!” Nessa cried to her maidens. (In a Noon of Gold, Silm)

I start out with a lot of scene setting and rumination, although that might be because most of these were written for the 3SF (also why some of these are egregiously long), and I don't tend to write much dialogue for 3SF ficlets. And, as per usual, the sea and stars feature heavily. It's what comes of writing so much Tolkien fic!

Tagging @bywayofmemory @sallysavestheday @thelordofgifs @thescrapwitch @searchingforserendipity25 if you want to participate!

[notoriousbeb]

TTPD Thoughts - The Manuscript (Pt. 1)

TTPD Notes Glossary

"Fortnight"  

Definitely written in the spring of 2023. I think the video was shot in the fall.  

The concept of treason/being a traitor comes up in reference to Harry in 1989 as well (“you dream of my mouth before it called you a lying traitor”)  

In the music video, the typewriter Taylor is using is missing the 1 key (like the song “The 1”?) and she leaves several blank spaces in her writing of “I love you, it’s ruining my life” (perhaps a nod to the “Blank Space” song?)  

When Taylor and Post Malone are laying in the Taylor head silhouette it's a callback to the "Style" music video from the original 1989 era, where the Harry stand in guy is standing on a beach in a silhouette of Taylor's head.  

You know who is tattooed and kinda hot and thus a good Harry stand in a MV? Posty.  

I think she's envisioning a kind of nightmare future of being trapped in the metaphorical neighborhood that is their small industry and having to watch him move on while she continues to love him (ugh. thanks, it's beautiful and sounds awesome and i hate it).  

The last new album, "Midnights,” ends with "Hits Different,” on the line, "Is that your key in the door, down the hallway? Is that your key in the door, is it okay? Is it you? Or have they come to take me away? To take me away?" First line of Fortnight, the first song on TTPD? "I was supposed to be sent away but they forgot to come and get me.”  

A slight diversion into "Hits Different" and why I've always believed it's about Harry:  She's clubbing, so that narrows down the choices right away to either Harry or Calvin, but based on how she went right from Calvin to Tom to Joe and was definitely not heartbroken enough to be puking, but rather immediately enamored with someone else....We learn that, technically, she broke up with him ("curse the space that I needed") but she's devastated. Like "I broke my own heart, cuz you were too polite to do it?" This really seals it as 1989 Harry to me.  

“The Tortured Poets Department”  

Definitely written in the spring of 2023  

“Who else decodes you?” reminds me of how Harry called their back-and-forth song writing to/about each other (cue the “Fortnight” typewriter smoke battle) “the most amazing unspoken dialogue ever.”  

A “tattooed golden retriever?” I mean… come the fuck on. That’s a Harry descriptor if I’ve ever seen one.  

“You’re in self-sabotage mode, throwing spikes down on the road, but I’ve seen this episode and I still love the show.” “You awaken with dread pounding nails in your head. But I’ve read this one where you come undone." These aren’t the words of someone who merely wondered about what it would be like to be with a friend or acquaintance. These are two people who deeply know each other and have been together before.  

Also, Harry has documented anxiety that she’s also sung about it previously (“did you get anxious though, on the drive home?” - Now That We Don’t Talk)  

I hate and love the fact that they both told people they would kill themselves if it didn’t work out. I hate it, because that’s a terrible, dumb plan. But I love the passion. Also, who is Lucy? Was he taking to Lucy from Boygenius? That Lucy openly dislikes Matty on main, so I think it’s weird people are using her as a proof point that this song is about him. Did Taylor change that particular name here because it would have been a dead giveaway for this song being about Harry?  (Someone like, Ed, perhaps?)

“My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys  

Probably written in spring 2023  

She refers to the muse as the “sickest (I believe this is a double meaning as in cool and also having mental illness issues) army doll purchased at the mall.”  

You ever seen a G.I. Joe under the fatigues? They don’t look like a pasty ex heroin addict. They do look like a certain former boy-bander from Manchester, though. Just saying.  

“Oh, here we go again,” “put me back on my shelf,” “we could’ve played for keeps this time,” “I knew too much/there was danger in the heat of my touch,” “he saw forever so he smashed it up.” Again, these are things you say about someone you’ve been with before, on and off, not someone you saw in concert twice and worked with once. You, especially, don’t see forever with someone after only 20 days.  

“But you should’ve seen him when he first got me.” We did see Matty. Was there someone else in the background who, perhaps, we did not see? Perhaps a certain curly haired former Boy Bander?

“‘Cause it fit too right/Puzzles pieces in the dead of night.” Hmm. Doesn’t sound like the mediocre sex described in “The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived” to me

Want to know what lines had me crying in the club on my sad girl walk? “Just say when—I’d play again. He was my best friend down at the sand lot.” Again, these are two people who know each other very well, and have for a long time.  

[mythosandsuch]

Hello. Yes. Quick question.

You reblogged me dressed up as Crowley and in your tags...

I'm your what?

I'M YOUR WHAT?!

Holy shit! Really? I'm in shock. I never expected to be THAT.

I might need to lay down. Or go stare at a wall or something.

Wow! Thank you. That's amazing.

(Me failing at acting normal about people saying nice things about me...)

Yeah really, your work is just my speed. It reads like you spent time and effort incorporating important aspects of canon. I can hear Aziraphale and Crowley in the dialogue, which isn't always the case with fic. Yknow the good ol "he wouldn't fucking say that"? I don't have that thought with your fics. Every scene and situation makes sense relative to the work as a whole. Like that one scene in your fic where they restored Crowley to Raphael, and Aziraphale had him in the shop, and offered him those 3 pajama options? That's what he would do! He'd discorporate before pushing himself on Crowley and that self imposed distance in all your stuff rings true. Crowley switching over to protecting Muriel after Aziraphale left is just the same, and his style of encouragement towards her reflected how he gently pushed Aziraphale over the years.

I also took a look through your recs and I thought the one where Crowley had a second form, that little gargoyle Atys, was great. I'll read all sorts of fics at all levels of writing but the truly satisfying ones, in terms of characterization and writing quality, really stick out.

(Ah yes, getting a good grade in socializing, something that's both normal to want and possible to achieve... spent a long time last night looking at the tags I wrote and saying to myself "is that creepy? will they be weirded out?" I was glad to hear that's not the case :)

[fleckcmscott]

Room Service

Summary: A radio program spurs Arthur's bolder side. What he comes up with is just what Y/N needs.

Words: 4,389

Warnings: Swearing, Smut

A/N: This story has been percolating in my brain, since my husband and I rewatched Vertigo a few weeks back. 🌃 Hope you all enjoy this fun little excursion! A special thank you to @iartsometimes​ for beta-ing! 😃

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

It was a sunny day in Gotham City, and Arthur's heart beat with a warmth to match. Three sugar cubes sweetened a mug of staff room coffee, a stale but free offer. He tapped cigarette ash into the metal sink, counted down the seconds. Pressed painted lips into a line, crimson curved by unfurling pride.

When - when exactly - had he become the kind of man who'd book a hotel for a rendezvous?

Sure, Y/N and he had overnighted before. Hotels and motels and one inn with strands of hair stuck to the soap. And they'd made love at most of them. But getting it on (as one of her favorite songs called it) hadn't been the purpose of their stays. One weekend, he'd tagged along to Philadelphia during the East Coast Paralegal conference, where he'd shrugged at the Liberty Bell and taken in a comedy show. Despite her comment that Boston felt like a sibling trying to keep up with Gotham, the city had had its charms.

Maybe he should thank Dr. Sally. They'd finally caught her show together, sans tight fit in the tub. "It's Perfectly Normal" had been the episode's title, exemplifying the good doctor's usual encouragements. In what she'd described as an effort to put listeners at ease and start a dialogue between the sexes, she'd discussed men and women's most common sexual fantasies. He'd licked his thumb and turned to a fresh page in his notebook.

Men dreamed of touching their lovers' intimately (been there), going down on them (done that),and receiving in turn (check, check, check). Beyond faceless fantasy women, sleeping with a stranger held no interest for him. He'd be liable to crack up and droop in five seconds flat.

Domination was what women desired, a type of power play. The notion had made him shift in his seat. Those dynamics hadn't ever existed between he and Y/N, not that he was aware. They went with what felt natural, what felt good, what felt right. Why complicate it when life was already complicated enough? At Dr. Sally's mention of threesomes, Y/N had taken on the look of a woman who'd eaten bad fish. But the phrase New Location had ironed out the wrinkles on her nose.

From where she'd knelt to dust the TV stand, she'd shot him a look brimming with suggestion. "Write that one down."

He had. Over and over in the margins. That was a language his romantic inclinations understood, a vocabulary that matched.

On his way home from an appointment, he'd walked seven extra blocks, muttering and smoking and wondering where they should go. Dinner at Bamonte's was guaranteed to start with gnocchi and end inside her. A romp in her office was out of the question. The mere thought of it made his frame stiff as a ramrod. If they screwed up and her boss somehow caught wind of it...

Then the answer stopped Arthur in his tracks.

A four-story sign dominated the early twentieth century building, read "Hotel Empire" in vertical neon letters. The place was six stories short with a stucco façade. It was narrow, four rooms across, squished between the apartment building to its right and the club to its left as an afterthought.

With the practiced swagger of the hoping to impress, Arthur crossed the lobby's faded marble floor. He lay an arm on the mahogany front desk and addressed the lone receptionist. "Hi. I'd like to book a room for next week."

The middle-aged man in a bellman cap gnawed a soggy toothpick. He had the craggy face of a fellow working stiff. "The whole week?"

"No. Just Thursday. Thursday night."

Toothpick flipped through a reservation book, tapped a series of blank lines. "We've got a couple on the third floor. Non-smoking. Two doubles or twins?"

"One king?"

A hotel reservation sheet slid across the desk. "Fill this out. I'll need an ID."

Once Arthur had stuffed his Gotham City ID back in his wallet, he jotted his name, address, and initialed the nonrefundable deposit agreement. But the form demanded a phone number.

"You can't call about it," he said. Realizing how this could be misconstrued, he fumbled with the pen. "It's a surprise. For my wife."

Toothpick's pause said he'd heard this story often enough to disbelieve it. "Uh huh. Well, show up or not. It's no skin off my nose." He stuck the papers in a leatherette folder, where gold letters spelling Hotel Empire had flaked off. "Check-in starts at three, you've gotta check out by eleven. We have in-room dining, but if you ask me, $6.95 for a BLT ain't worth it." He bent and spit his toothpick in the trash as if hawking tobacco in a spittoon. Arthur managed to blink instead of recoil. Toothpick continued and straightened his cap. "Dunbar's is two blocks down, that's a better bet if you ask me. If you've got any questions, just call. See you next week."

Arthur had exited with his pulse racing like a snare drum - and it hadn't slowed since.

"Hey, my man."

Ryan's energetic greeting tugged Arthur back to the present. Ryan was a teacher in what was called the resource room, which meant he taught children with learning challenges. Children like Arthur. Ryan's wife Sheila had hired Arthur for a birthday party last summer, and they'd found Carnival so charming, he'd been recommended for Gotham Elementary's winter fundraiser. A return to his old stomping ground.

"Lunch period's almost over." Ryan offered a divided lunch tray with five chicken nuggets, reconstituted mashed potatoes, canned peas, a cinnamon roll, and a small carton of milk. "The kids are already lining up for more of your puffy stickers, and it's my turn in the sponge toss."

Stubbing out his cigarette, Arthur took the tray. His grip on it tightened. "Do you think I could get out of here at three? I know we'd said four, but I have a date. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I'll give you back the six dollars for the hour. You- You can put it in the donation bo-"

"It's all right. These kids'll be ready for a nap at two. Hell, I'll want one." Ryan sat on the metal table parallel to the sink. "What's your girl do, anyway?"

"She's a paralegal. She has a three-day trial this week, and I wanted to, you know. Make it easier."

Ryan snagged a nugget from the tray. "You don't have to explain. Sheila's been nagging me to go see that new movie, the one where the chick dies just when the guy tells her he loves her? What a waste." A long resigned, sigh. "I should probably take her this weekend. It'll make my life easier."

Arthur grinned. Maybe he and Ryan were on the bumpy track to becoming friends. And a good friend would offer advice. "Y/N and I go to Capitol Cinemas. They have couple seats, and the popcorn has three types of toppings."

~~~~~

Y/N strode along the Ditmas Ave subway platform, excusing herself, weaving her way in and out of the throng. She ascended concrete stairs, sucked in a long breath. Crisp air filled her lungs, eased the tension from her tendons. Welcome invigoration after hours of being trapped inside Gotham Central Court House, a grand old Romanesque building in dire need of an updated ventilation system. Its chlorine corridors stank of a YMCA pool.

When she slid through her apartment's door, her canvas court bag dropped to the floor. She toed off her commuter boots, peeled away her suede gloves. "I'm home!" she called.

Only to be answered by silence.

She stepped forward into the living room. A rerun should've played on TV, or the radio set to Arthur's beloved golden oldies while he puttered about. She checked her watched. Hm.

He'd said he'd be back by five; it was nearing quarter to now. The doors to the bathroom and bedroom stood open, tiles and blankets bathed in inky blackness. Itching to glimpse the burning end of a cigarette, she went to the glass door to the fire escape. It was nicotine free.

The O line could've gotten stuck on the tracks, or Arthur's gig might've gone so well that he was in the middle of handing out business cards. She hoped it was the latter. Unbuttoning her wool coat, she turned towards the kitchen, ready to throw together a dinner with whatever was in their cupboards. A spaghetti and garlic tomato sauce kind of night.

A low light in the corner of her eye, slivers of soft yellow behind the room divider in the rear corner. Ah ha. That was it. He was lost in thought and notebook in equal measure. She padded to the writing nook, ready to cup his shoulders, peck the crown of his head, drown in the potent musk of his hair.

The empty chair arched her brow. But there was a crème brûlée envelope on his desk, her name in uneven cursive. Smack in the middle, sure to grab her attention. A magnet that drew all the iron in her blood.

Eager fingers tore the flap. Aftershave wafted to her nose, smoked sandalwood and man. A black business card peeked out, framed by gold Gatsby corners, an ad for a hotel in Hinkley she'd never heard of. The accompanying note was folded in half. "Meet me here. Room 307." She pressed the lined paper to her sternum, iron rushing to spots below her waistline.

Whether it was thoughtful gestures or his simple presence, Arthur had a knack for brightening the most stressful day. Just a couple weeks ago, he'd called her office to say he'd picked up her favorite bottle of wine. It was as though finding someone wasn't the only thing he considered an accomplishment (a point of view that too often led to low efforts), but also the choice to maintain, to nurture the ideas that defined their couplehood. A beautiful perspective that made him so easy to love.

It made Y/N sheepish, how initiating those gestures didn't come as naturally to her, nor as often. No, she never missed special occasions and holidays. And she was good at the tough stuff, a stabilizing wall, stalwart and true. Still. She wanted to get better at the return.

Another whiff of cologne hit her nostrils, spurred her to hurry to the bedroom. She flicked on the light, rifled through the top right drawer of the vanity, where she found a bottle of perfume. Puckering her lips, she swept plum pink along the bottom, applied a dot of pigment to the corners. One hand unbuttoned the first two buttons of her scarlet blouse. The other touched up her eyeliner and shoved the stick in her skirt pocket.

She'd make what he'd planned for tonight a chance to start evening the score.

~~~~~

Not too shabby, not too fancy. A good room and Arthur had done well to book it.

Two bay windows overlooked the street, cracked pavement mottled by slush. Drawn velvet drapes allowed neon light to coat the space in a rich verdant. Pointed blocks intersected egg-and-dart molding at each corner, stark white on satin walls. The dials on the television threwback to the age when he'd have to get off his ass to change the channel. A compact writing desk buttressed the far wall, Mr. Coffee machine and paper filters ready for use. Perfectly plumped pillows had a thank you card along with two after dinner mints, like out of a movie. He ate them both.

He sat on the edge of the bed and bounced twice. The right amount of give, the springs' squeaks quiet enough to be a pleasant soundtrack instead of a disturbance that'd prompt a call from Toothpick. Arthur peeled back the polyester blanket and comforter, ran a palm over the sheets. Freshly laundered, smooth and luxurious. Six hundred count that'd feel like silk on his skin. He set the woodgrain clock radio to GCR, just in time for Down Memory Lane, which featured songs from the 1920s to 50s, guaranteed to make every listener swing.

Strolling to the bathroom, he muffled a laugh. This entire adventure felt illicit, as though Y/N was his dirty little secret, a secret he knew inside and out. A sort of reversal of when she'd propositioned him, invited him over with candidly explicit intentions. A race of sensation goosepimpled his flesh, a tickle that shivered his bones. A kind of nervous anticipation akin to what he'd felt backstage during his debut at Pogo's - the difference being that success was guaranteed tonight.

Arthur breathed into his palm to test his breath. A streak of blue paint lingered under his left eye. He wet the corner of a white washcloth and scrubbed it away.

Just then there was a knock at the door.

Light on his heels, he straightened the collar of his V-Neck sweater. Tucked brown waves behind his ear and turned the knob.

There Y/N stood. Lovely, ravishing. Her feathery tresses smelled of fresh cut flowers and orange blossoms, a flustered pink flushed her cheeks. Her glass heart pendant shone. She puffed at a rapid one-two count. She braced herself on the doorframe, right hand on her hip. Her overnight bag dangled from the other. "Good evening, Mr. Fleck."

"Hi," he said, mirroring her stance. "Did your breath run away from you? If we hurry, we can catch it."

She stuck out her lower lip and blew a stray lock from her forehead. "The elevator had a line - tour bus - so I took the stairs." Her step over the threshold forced a foot's retreat. After he took her coat, her arms wound about his ribs. "How was your gig?"

"Good." The small talk felt perfunctory, a box to check on the way to what he wanted. He resolved to go with it, anyway. Truly set the scene. "I made coffee."

A soft sound, a peck right above his collar, and she was off, sashaying to the desk. She poured them both a cup, perched on the corner, crossed her legs. The position lengthened her calves. It was then he noticed she'd traded her winter boots for navy pumps. Given the slipperiness of the sidewalk, it was a miracle she'd arrived in one piece. (That would have been a night to remember: a rendezvous in the ER with a cracked fibula and vending machine M&Ms.) She offered a paper cup, the kind with playing cards printed on them.

He sat in the faux leather executive chair before her. Stirred sugar into coffee, examined the poker hand he'd been dealt. A royal flush. He leaned back, the chair tilting a relaxing thirty degrees. "How'd the trial go?"

"It's over, finally. Defense counsel spent their closing argument trying to impugn our client: a man who lost a leg. But being a recovering alcoholic has nothing to do with improper forklift maintenance. He wasn't drinking on the job. Juries hate cheap tricks, especially when they're full of working people. I'd be surprised if we didn't have a verdict tomorrow."

Arthur smiled along with her. They'd had plenty of ask and answer sessions, and he'd watched enough episodes of Gotham Law and Night Court to have a general understanding of her profession. "So you think the good guys will win?"

"Yes, and it's about time, too. But enough of that now." She angled her legs nearer, shoe dangling above his lap. Gaze flitting about the room, she took a sip. "When did you decide to do this?"

"When we listened to Dr. Sally awhile ago. Do you remember? I wanted to do something special but wasn't sure what."

"I can't believe that. You're wonderful at it."

He gulped his drink, took her foot in his grasp. He slipped off her high heel, rubbed his thumb into her arch in firm, vertical lines. A groan left her throat, her toes spreading wide. "Well," he said. "She helped me figure it out."

"Don't give her too much credit. It was somewhere in that head of yours." Gently, she pressed her foot to his chest, where his pulse thundered under her sole. Her voice dropped to a purr. "Or your romantic heart. I'd say you were inspired. You certainly inspired me."

Fingertips traced to the hem of her stockings. She'd changed into the pair with lace tops. His abdomen tightened. "Yeah?"

The shoe dropped from her other foot. "Yeah."

Suspense burgeoned between them, thickened into a heady haze. Her pupils locked on his, dilated by the low light and a hefty helping of desire. Her toes drew a line down his chest. He watched the descent, every follicle suddenly aware of that sketch.

"Mm." She sighed when she reached the growing bulge in his pants. "You're hard already."

Laughter caught in his nose. "I've been waiting for this all week."

Arthur stood to seize her waist, lift her from the desk. A surprised cry, a shriek of delight. Hot coffee splashed his sweater - the perfect excuse to get it off posthaste. He deposited her on the foot of the bed.

Y/N stretched as she sat. The motion lifted her breasts against her blouse, nipples sticking out like exclamation points, the size of blueberries. That meant her bra was in her bag, that she was naked beneath that thin satin. He yanked his sweater over his head, tossed it to the floor. She unbuttoned his pants, parted the zipper in one smooth motion. The shadow of movement brushed his length, gaped his lips. She tugged his briefs an inch below lean hips and took him out.

His cock rested flat on her palm. She curled her fingers around it. Rather than pumping, she swiped her thumb across the engorged tip, a delicate paintbrush on the canvas of his flesh. The tenderness of the caress seemed at odds with the carnality of the act. He liked it. He grew stiffer, until he was sure all blood had rushed to his lower head.

Smiling, she smooched his V-line, his patch of springy hair. His stomach stuttered at the exquisite fever of her mouth. "This isn't what I expected tonight," she said, and crawled up the mattress on her elbows.

"Well, what did you expect?"

"Oh, I don't know." Her legs splayed, woven polyester bunching at her waist. "A nice, respectable evening at home with you, It Could Be Yours, the paper. Maybe a joke or two."

"Are you disappointed?"

She gave his torso a raking stare. "Never."

He pushed her flat on the bed. Kissed her knuckles, the inside of her wrist, the crook of her elbow. He bent and sucked a nipple through her shirt. Wet the fabric with his tongue and sucked the moisture back out. Insistent tugs at his curls until he sucked again. The plain of her pubic bone tilted upwards and towards him. He slid a palm up her skirt. Unfastening, opening, throwing the cloth in a haphazard arc.

His erection brushed her stocking. His gaze traversed her curves, the faint stretchmarks on her thighs. She'd donned the panties she'd gotten as a bachelorette gift, the ones that tied at the hip. A triangle of black cloth that exposed more than it shielded. He pulled at one of the ribbons, eased the nylon aside. Caressed her open till she was liquid in his hands. Pointer and middle fingers formed a V around her clitoral hood, fluttered in a come hither motion.

A gasp, irregular breaths that were a hallmark of her pleasure. His mouth did not soften as he kissed her. She tore the buttons of her blouse, pressed her tongue to his, nipped at his lip. When the satin pooled at her elbows, her breasts spilled out in a tantalizing jostle. The right was slightly larger, the areola on the left a centimeter lower. Both beautiful and alluring and ready to fill his palms.

One hand dragged from his neck, followed the length of his spine, pushed his pants to his knees to squeeze his rear. Chuckling, he reached to yank them the rest of the way down, but they caught on his ankles. One kick, then one more. Y/N's foot hooked in the waistband and shoved them off.

Once she was nude, once only her panties remained, she loosened the other ribbon. Raising his lips from hers, he met her eyes. 

"I want you to fuck me," she whispered.

A sharp exhale. "You want me to fuck you?" A repetition that meant renewal. To ensure, to savor, to carve into his soul.

Her reply was to grasp his shaft, press the length of it to her vulva. She rutted upward and against it, did so again. Wet and slick and all he ever wanted. He groaned at that damp heat, a compass that always led home.

He sat on his haunches. Ran a palm over her flank. Took hold of her leg and brought it higher, so that the swell of her calf touched his bicep. Poised to enter her, he bent forward.

She pushed at him. "Ow, stop."

"What?"

She lowered her calf, wrapped it around him instead. "Your legs are younger than mine."

"But I wanna be between them forever." He eased just inside her entrance.

"Deeper." A greedy fist at his shoulder. "Go deeper."

So he did. Inch by aching inch. Grunting, he grabbed her breast, squeezed what was likely a bit too hard. No complaint came. Rather, her pelvis rose up into his. Walls gripped him tight, tighter. Hot and sleek. Warmth so feminine, so bracing, the essence of this act.

Propped on his forearms, he studied her. Her head twisted into the pillow, arms sprawled at her sides, fingertips digging into the sheets. A writhe that was nearly a dance. The neon light cascading through the windows spilled over her, cast his shadow onto her form. Sweat stuck her heart pendant to her chest.

At his next thrust, she moaned. A laugh rippled through the air. "Mr Fleck..." A rare second use of that nickname within one hour, a sure sign she was high on him. He wasn't too far behind. Another twist of her hips, as if trying to wring him out. "If you're not careful, I'll want a surprise every week."

His ruts slowed, stopped. He wiped hair from her cheeks, thumbs stroked her temples. "Where next?"

"The shower, your desk. There's always our bed." She turned to kiss his wrist, traced its tendon with the tip of her tongue. "I'm not picky. As long as you're inside me."

A golden wave of affection passed between them (and not a little ardor), a happy hum against her lips. She reached to toy with her clit, her knuckles pressed into his abdomen. She whimpered, tensed, hips rising in a frantic pattern that didn't quite match his. All at once her arms flung about him, clutching, clinging. But she hadn't finished. She'd caressed herself to the peak of the precipice but not over. She wanted them to get her off together.

Arthur drove into her again, pace quickening to an allegro. Nails biting his thigh, she seized around him. Pulsing, pulsing, pulsing. He watched her drift away, expression scrunching and smoothing into bliss. Harsh pants hit his chin, her sharp cries a song in his ear.

He nuzzled her cheek, kissed the curve of her jaw. "I love watching you come." It made him feel powerful, a king who could conquer anything.

Giggles and fluttering lashes, her hands cupping his ass. A flash of light and love in her eyes. She moistened her lips, lifted her mouth and hips to claim him.

Stomach to stomach, chest to chest, heart to racing heart. Thoughts fragmented, his body continuing its hungry hunt for relief. That hunt ended on a clipped moan, a prism of sensation. White-hot pleasure that doubled as surrender, surrender that felt like victory.

He rolled off her, onto his back. Armed sweat from his forehead and worked on slowing his breath. Feet turned out as relaxation oozed through his veins, slackened his limbs.

A kick to his calf, the flick of the bedside lamp, a flood of unwelcome light. He squinted in her direction. She was doubled-over the side of the bed. A smear of his release glistened on her thigh. Her shoulder blades moved as if two conversing waves, rising and falling with each bit of gossip.

"What're you looking for?" he asked.

"You'll see."

Using the nightstand as leverage, she pushed herself to the shore. The covers rustled as she lay on her stomach, mewling and stretching. She took his left hand. A point dragged across his palm, dry but smooth. His fingers twitched under her breath. It reminded him of when he'd tried to cheat his way through remedial English during freshman year, to be foiled by smudged ink.

When she released him, he studied what she'd done. It was an odd squiggle. A loop like a balloon, its string connected to what may have been a Y. He followed its oversized tail to the end, where an upside-down hook resided. He'd seen similarly strange markings at her office, when he'd dropped off lunch or picked up her set of keys.

"What is it?" he said.

"'I love you' in shorthand." She used her eyeliner pencil to explain how three symbols representing vowel sounds and common words connected into one. An analogy for how they'd connected and made one life.

Averting his eyes, he pressed the mark to his chest. "Will you write one in my journal?"

"Of course I will. You pick the page." She patted his belly, lay her cheek on his abdomen. "Does this place have room service? I'm starving. And I've never had room service. Think it'll come on silver platters?"

Arthur recalled Toothpick at the front desk's warning. Paying too much for the basics should've made him cringe, would've any other night. But she deserved a rare splurge. They both did. Even if it cost every cent he'd earned today. And he wanted to keep her undressed, wrapped only in a comforter, for as long as possible.

He tucked her in, then grabbed the phone on the nightstand. "I hear they have BLTs."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​​​​ @ithinkimaperson​​​​ @sweet-nothings04​​​​ @stephieraptorr​​​​ @rommies​​​​ @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1​​​​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​​​​ @jokerownsmysoul​​​​ @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics​​​​ @iartsometimes​​​​ @fleckficgirl​

[omgkalyppso]

@sevarix-blogs tagged me for sharing some of a WIP ... and I'd said I'd share for someone else leaving an open tag for the Last Line of a WIP a few days ago and forgot. My WIPs are all a mess. Some are just dialogue, some are cut up scenes that still need to be reorganized. Still, I'll share from three WIPs here for fun.

I'll tag @boghermit, @bosspigeon, @lemonbronze, @bladesandstars and YOU.

Still working on the Astarion ate a bear conversation WIP:

Astarion had been hunting for some time, and he returned with the most graceless approach, tripping over a cauldron at Lae’zel’s tent with his arms stretched wide as if he’d been meaning to keep track of his steps. “Stay out of my things, darkling!” Lae’zel shouted, interrupting her conversation where Astarion might have otherwise been ignored. “With pleasure, gith,” Astarion said, laying one hand on his unbeating heart and stretching the other out overhead. “Alright, Astarion?” asked Shadowheart, eyebrows raised. “All the better,” Astarion’s words danced with the cadence of an elf who was far further into his cups than either Étoile or Shadowheart, “that you’re concerned for me, my sweet.” Shadowheart made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan as she objected. “Don’t misunderstand. I’m only worried that you’d return from your hunt with some contagion. These caves are riddled with stagnation and rot.” “Just like home,” Astarion exaggerated, arms spread wide again, hands flicked skyward. He quickly followed it up with a laugh that had the teensiest hiccough in it, lending to his inebriated air.

I started working on a WIP of Wyll writing poetry with Gale's encouragement for the prompt Modern AU for wyllweek but I psyched myself out so it is also still a WIP. Background Gale x my dragonborn Upton:

Wyll: [stating the obvious as Gale has a pen and notepad] Working on something? Gale: Mm. Well, just another gift for the dragon of my heart, as it were. There's few enough rhymes for bronze that I definitely need to pick up a pen when inspiration strikes. Wyll: How do you decide which gifts are worth giving? Gale: Now there's a telling anxiety if I ever heard one. If there's a possibility your audience is going to be disrespectful of the efforts you make, and your heart on your sleeve, Wyll Ravengard, then they don't deserve you. That said, poetry is as much about the audience and the medium as it is about the quality. I know that whatever I scribble down … Upton appreciates that I was thinking of them. The rest is imagined, I suppose I could talk to them about it — how I consider each syllable, and each revolving turn of phrase, with the hope that I can bring them new joy, that the maze around my heart, no more navigable by my manner of elocution, might be more manageable to them. They are celebrations of our bond, their love, their beauty, but they are also pleas of affection, calls to understanding, expressions of vulnerability. And those are harder to share when you put more of yourself in your writing, or when you can't trust those emotions to be well received — even when they are, the way people can misread intent or metaphor, or latch onto some throwaway sentiment you thought to include — it's hard, to write and to share, not even considering the technicalities and imagination of the hobby. Do you keep a journal? Wyll: No. I read and I can recite some poetry, but … I didn't— I didn't keep a journal while I was backpacking, though maybe I should have. I— I'm not thinking of writing for love, or to share with anyone. Maybe someday, but … The world has such vibrancy in it. I'm not a bard, but I'd think I prefer it through a poet's lens sometimes. Gale: As one should. There's a dreamer in all of us, and poetry has connected people to history, to culture, to themselves and to each other — since time immemorial. You needn't worry about sharing it with anyone, but those connections are always open to you. And it may be a tad hypocritical, having never shared my own work, but I'd love to read your poetry, if you're in need of an audience. Wyll: No, no, no. You don't get out of showing me yours by asking for mine. Not when you have the advantage of experience— Gale: Oooo. That may be the politest way I've been called old, but it still stings [holding his heart] right here. Upton: [sitting on the arm of Gale's chair] Wyll called you old? Gale: [standing so Upton can take up most of the chair's real estate] He said I had the benefit— Wyll: Advantage. Gale: [sitting in Upton's lap] The advantage of experience. Wyll: [in his own defense] In regards to poetry. Upton: [delighted, leaning around Gale so he almost falls over] Are you going to write inexperienced poetry, Wyll?

And I'll share a very little bit of my The Pale Elf vs Cazador fight rewrite WIP:

Astarion: You don't love anything. Cazador: Do you not know the meaning of the word sacrifice? One eats an apple and thinks nothing of it, a fruit made to be consumed. But what of eating a friend, a lover, a son. You were made to be sacrificed, but my love was no less true for my role in your extermination. Astarion: Fuck you. And fuck everything you ever did to me. Cazador: You are my spawn, you are my family, and you came home like a good little apple when it was time for harvest.

While it might just be bad and cheesy I like the idea of Cazador likening Astarion to being worth more to him than nothing only to immediately refute that in the next sentence from his mouth. He should have been a man of twisted love and contradictions imo, not blindly evil.

[zaftikat]

20 Questions

This is the most 2010s tumblr thing I can recall doing on this site, and I have participated in the supernatural fandom. (Tagged by @toopunkrockforshul )

ALL OF THIS UNDER A CUT

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Five, but like you know, I'm workin on it.

2. How many words?

16,320. 11.4k comes from one fic tho

Nine Worlds Series by Victoria Goddard (specifically: Greenwing & Dart and Lays of the Hearthfire)

Star Wars by way of @dangersquaremedia's Chicks with Dice

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

well, i've only got the 5 so...

1. It's just Intermundial Tax Law, how hard could it be?

2. On Escaping from Orio Prison

3. The Tanà's Daughter, or How Pinyë Got Her Groove Back (Hiatus)

4. If the Lady Wills it, Ever Onward (Ongoing)

5. The Poola Blossom

No because I'm afraid it might come across as weird? I don't read a lot of fic, so I'm not sure what the etiquette is?

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Implying I finish my fics instead of losing steam and forgetting them.

That said, when its finished, How Pinye Got Her Groove Back is going to be pretty fuckin angsty

Again, implying that I finish my fics.

The one I've gotten the most "this made me so sad" comments on is actually my happiest in my opinion. I wrote Intermundial Tax Law right as I was gearing up to move countries, and the story ends with the main character feeling confident and determined in his choice to leave home. That's the happiest ending I could have imagined at the time, because emigrating somewhere new is not a simple prospect, emotionally.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I write for very small fandoms full of predominantly very nice and supportive people. I would not change that.

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I, a transfem on progesterone, have written smut, yes. The armpit licking kind. What other kinds are there?

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I love a good AU, but I'm not super into crossovers. Just not my bag.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

If I have, I apologize to the thief for the sort of mauve hue to my prose.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no, but damn if I wouldn't love to have a yiddish fic

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

I have ideas for a cowritten fic with @toopunkrockforshul ! its a wrestling AU

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

oh, maybe HMS Agamemnon. She was a 64 gun third rate who participated in the battle of Egypt and then shortly thereafter the Nore Mutiny. Laid up in 1802 in poor condition, and then brought out of ordinary in 1804 because napoleon was going to invade and they needed all the ships they could get. She took and demasted the Spanish 112 gun Santisima Trinidad at Trafalgar which is pretty cool.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

How Pinye Got Her Groove Back probably won't ever get finished because I've lost the mindset. Its a fic about dysphoria and coming out and as I get farther away from the direct experience its harder to set in my mind.

16. What are your writing strengths?

idk. it feels odd to talk about my strengths when I'm so very green at this. I think I'm pretty alright at knowing when to kill a darling.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I tend to get lost in the middle between where I know I'm going and where I currently am. It slows me down a lot.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Like, maybe I could do Jack Aubrey quality french.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Greenwing & Dart

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

If the Lady Wills it, Ever Onward its just the most complex and well written thing I think i've ever done, and I can't wait for something else to replace it as my favourite.

I don't know enough people who write fic to tag them, so have fun if you want

[indigosunsetao3]

Coming out of Anon because I want to appreciate your work and your talent as a nameless figure 😁

Honestly I am not into Gaz or the other 141 besides Soap 😅 and I read Keeping Lines Blurry because Soap was a best/good friend and I was already on a high from your writing after reading Would It Be Enough?

I have to say THANK GOD I started reaching KLB because now I am hooked! Your writing is amazing! The world building, dialogues and slow burn *chef’s kiss*

I am not connecting to Olivia as I did with Emma but I am all up for her redemption. She better not hurt Kyle because that man has been through enough already. I am curious about Abby though, I was rooting for her 😅

Anyway, excited to see what all you plan for these two and everyone involved. You are a legend!!! Hope you have an amazing day!!! ❤️

P.S: I have a grin everything Soap shows up, he is just so… ugh! 🤭😍

Hello! Nice to meet you!

Soap was my first story because he's definitely my favorite of the group. Like, I love the rest in their own way but Soap will always be my number one. He lives in my head rent free 😂 I honestly think that's why in all my stories he shows/will show up as the best friend because despite the fact he's not the main character he's going to make his presence known.

I'm glad you gave KLB a read! It's been fun to do a little bit darker than Would It Be Enough? And having to lay down more intricate plotlines/hints throughout it.

I personally connect way more with Emma myself because Olivia, girl, you need to really assess your life choices. Giving up Gaz for that? Get out of here, haha. But really, Emma is a much more sympathetic character compared to Olivia. Thoughts about her may change throughout the next few chapters...And we'll hear from Abby again, don't worry 😉

I really appreciate your kind words and feedback! Honestly this has made my day and it's only 7 in the morning haha. Things like this really keep me motivated to continue writing.

P.S. I will revisit Soap and Emma someday. I can't put them on the shelf forever, I love them too much.

[facks-stories]

Uh so I have a “story” where its just scenes and dialogue, while I was having my daily bonding time with my sister 11 at night, i talked about ai to her, and how when talking to my friends i jokily used ai to “write” a new chapter of my story [it made mimu a wizard 🥲] it was completely off plot because I could only ask it to “write” the next chapter of the latest chapter [due to word limit]

Anyway I told her that because it’s been two weeks since I wrote or even wanted to [hopefully I can post a new one soon] then I got the idea to do it again but with a different bot and we read it, this was the only version [only good and full one but the fail is there too] I could save

[I told my sister the real names and the whole plot prior to this so most of the reading was spent laughing about how wrong it was]

The point is that I’m going to post it here because it was entertaining 

What I wrote

What chat ai wrote

What ai chat wrote

(1) was walking with a book in his hand, finally getting to his house, the curtains were closed but they were a little see-through. He stopped on the sidewalk and looked if anyone was around, thankfully for him there wasn't, walking up to the window, just close enough to see somewhat silhouettes, he saw two people who seemed to be holding eachother, on the couch. He could see briefly what they looked like. With one man (2) looking like (1) did when he met him and the other man (3) looking like him before he did research. Suddenly the tv's noise stopped and one of the figures got up and started walking to the door.

(1) got back onto the sidewalk, he didn't realize that if he could see their silhouette they could see his too, he couldn't just run, that would look weird, and it was a open front yard so no place to hide. The man walked out and into about half of the yard, he was shorter then (1) but was still tall.

(2) - did you see anyone here?

(1) - uhm, sorry no I was reading

(1) wasn't panicking, but he felt his heart rate go up, and he felt happy. For the first time in years, shit he was only about 20 years old, if not more. But seeing him as when they first met made him jealous. His tail (if he hadn't cut it off) would probably give him away. Cutting his train of thought off the man said something about (1)'s hair

(2) - hey, are you ok? You look sick, and your hair is dark (color)

(1) - I- uhm..

(2) - my husband is a doctor, so I may not know whats going on but he could

(1) knew for sure (3) would know him. This world was in the book he was holding. He had to leave without bothering anything too much. But it was so nice to have (2) care for him. He felt terrible. He could have had this if he didn't test it onto himself. A (species 1) dna wasn't meant to be mixed with the kind nature of (species 2) he knew he couldn't blame his own experiments,his violent tendencies had to be just more then dna. And he doubted (4) or (3) were violent.

He needed help he was getting so nervous and he couldn't tell if it was because he thought (2) would find him out or if he just wanted (2) to himself. He knew it was just the world trying to fix things but it was making it painful to leave.

(1) - ah, no I'm ok,

(2) - alright,

All of a sudden (1) got such a urge to touch his face. without thinking for too long he started walking towards the man

(2) - excuse me

The man turned back around, quickly (1) made the excuse of 'theres something on your face' to wipe off nothing, trying to not stare he shook his hand after as a excuse to not tell him 'what was on his face'

The man said thanks and walked back inside while (1) felt great. He felt loved despite never loving anything before. When (2) walked back in he sat on the couch again, laying on his husband shoulder. With is husband patting the spot where (1) did.

(2) - why do you do that sometimes?

(3) - I just like touching your face,

(2) - It makes me feel closer to you. Plus, I think your face is incredibly soft and comforting to touch. It brings me a sense of peace and security. Does it bother you?

(3) - Not at all. In fact, I find it quite endearing. It's a simple way for me to show my affection and admiration for you. Your presence brings me so much joy and being close to you like this just feels right. Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?

[I didn’t like this one because who tells someone they find them touching their face to be “endearing”-?]

(1) couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as he watched (2) and (3) interacting with such ease and affection. It reminded him of what he had lost, what he had sacrificed in his pursuit of knowledge and power. He couldn't undo the mistakes he had made, but maybe he could still find a way to make amends.

With a heavy heart, (1) retreated from the window and headed toward the nearby park. There, under the shade of a large oak tree, he began to reflect on his actions and the consequences they had brought upon him. He had to find a way to undo the damage and bring happiness back into his life.

As he sat there, lost in his thoughts, a stray cat wandered up to him and curled up next to his feet. Looking into the cat's eyes, he felt a strange connection, as if the cat understood his pain. It was a small glimmer of hope amidst the darkness.

Inspired by the cat's presence, (1) decided to embark on a journey to find the answers he sought. He would search for a solution that would allow him to reconcile the two worlds he had intertwined and restore balance to his own existence.

Days turned into weeks as (1) traveled far and wide, seeking out wise sages, ancient texts, and forgotten knowledge. Along the way, he honed his skills and learned new ways to tap into the power within himself.

Finally, after much toil and countless encounters, (1) stumbled upon an old, weathered book hidden deep within an abandoned temple. As he pored over its pages, he discovered a ritual—a long-lost ritual that had the potential to undo the fusion of the two worlds.

Fueled by a newfound sense of purpose, (1) returned to the place that had once been his home. With determination burning in his eyes, he prepared for the ritual, gathering the necessary ingredients and casting the spell in the very room where the fusion had first taken place.

As the final incantation left his lips, a surge of energy pulsed through the air. Time seemed to stand still as the barriers between the two worlds began to weaken, and (1) held his breath, waiting to see if his efforts had been in vain.

Suddenly, a brilliant light expanded from the center of the room, enveloping everything in its path. The light slowly faded, revealing a room no longer caught between two dimensions. It was as if the fusion had never occurred—a clean slate.

Overwhelmed by a mixture of relief and uncertainty, (1) cautiously stepped forward. And there, standing in front of him, were (2) and (3), just as he had seen them through the window. It was as if they had been transported back to their rightful place in this world.

As (2) and (3) looked at him with confusion and recognition in their eyes, (1) explained everything—the experiment, the fusion, and his quest to undo the damage. Expecting anger, mistrust, and rejection, (1) braced himself for the worst.

But to his surprise, (2) and (3) listened with open hearts and open minds. They understood the pain and regret that (1) had carried for so long, and they saw the sincerity in his eyes. Instead of casting him aside, they offered him forgiveness and a chance at redemption.

In the days that followed, (1) worked side by side with (2) and (3), helping to rebuild their lives without the shadows of their past. As they grew closer, (1) discovered that love and compassion were not reserved for those who were perfect, but for those who realized their mistakes and sought to make amends.

And so, (1) found his place in this newly restored world—a world where friendships were rekindled, love was shared, and second chances were cherished. It was a world he had longed for, and now, he would fight to protect it from any future threats or dark experiments.

With hope in his heart and a renewed sense of purpose, (1) vowed to use his knowledge and newfound redemption to better the lives of others. The past would always serve as a reminder of the consequences of greed and arrogance, but it would also push him forward, driving him to make a difference in the world he called home.

And so, the curtain closed on (1)'s dark chapter, and a new one began—one filled with hope, love, and the endless possibilities that life had to offer.

[Good mini plot, nothing like the character that (1) actually is but it made him a good person so good for him 🤷]

I wish I could’ve kept the first one because that was was so much more funny but it didn’t let me copy.

Also just putting this here, ai won’t replace anyones real writing, I did it for fun 🥲

[deceptive-daydreams]

Ok, I'm finished with work, I'm here! 🤣 I did read this before my shift but was waiting to do a proper response till now. It was super early and it was thundering and lightning and raining real hard outside and it was the perfect setting for reading this chapter ⛈️

The flashbacks! The way you wrote her pain was so real. Particularly her feeling paralyzed by it, both of them shells of who she thought they were. Her describing him as home, that was gut wrenching. I was hurting reading it. And then the sugar analogy, he really is gritty but sweet. this whole paragraph was my favourite part I think. You've created such good imagery, it's fantastic.

And then they get mean. I liked that she clapped back though. I've seen mean Eddie fics before and sometimes reader is kinda meek and just takes it (no shade at all, I would 200% be like this in real life) but roadkill does not. The line 'you had no intention of entertaining a conversation with someone who never had your best interest in mind' hit hard. People need to bear this in mind more often (definitely not me 👀) it's inspiring. but he really does try and that part where they're admitting they like eachother but it's all wrong because it's too late. This was 'stick a fork in my heart and just pluck it out beat it to death' angst. Just amazing writing. It's like they're breaking up and they weren't even together.

The self fulfilling prophecy situation Eddie's created for himself was hard. He's convinced he doesn't deserve love and fucks up every good thing in his life, and he makes it so. Isn't mature enough at the time so see it doesn't have to be that way, that he could make better choices. And so the kitchen scene at the end proves it. Poor roadkill. Proves that then was not the right time for them. He needed to get to the present day point to realise that he can make better choices, and he does 🖤

And now they're trapped together! And a totally different kind of trapped than just working together. Forced proximity within forced proximity. Very clever, see what you did there! I love that he's such a rock for her in her distress. And his thoughts on if she were his, how she never would be, how he's somehow fallen even harder. Stop iiiit you're killing me 😭 although this undoubtedly confirms he's got zero going on emotionally with Steve, and he even tells her that! Fist bumping the air at that! Their whole conversion after this was amazing. He's being so honest and she's clinging onto this shitty version of him she's gotten comfortable with because she's stubborn. and seems very good at holding a grudge and I relate to this so much. You have no idea. 'Don't mess me up with your niceness when I'm not used to it, I don't like change' kinda deal. The dialogue was so good here, the direction it goes. She's laying it out how awful it was and telling him how it's affected her dating in particular all this time and his reaction is perfect, it's a great take on misogyny and how that situation would have been terrifying and he understands that now. They were barking. Gross. But they end the conversation on good terms! Not forgiveness, but a ceasefire maybe? I can just see them attempting a friendship and it getting harder for him to hide how gone he is on her 🖤

p.s. them picturing touching eachothers noses the exact same way! I'm scrrreaming 😍 they're gonna be so in love and I can't wait.

Why you were ever scared to post this absolute masterpiece of a character study I'll never know. I loved it. But I guess you can tell that by now 🫣

🖤🖤

ILY IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY TO GET YOUR ASKS AFTER EVERY CHAPTER 😭

ugh yes that is such a fitting setting like just really setting the mood right there

IM SO HAPPY YOU LOVED THE SUGAR ANALOGY THAT WAS LIKE MY FAVORITE ugh I think that may be my favorite paragraph too 🥹

Yeah I found it really important for her not to hold back or excuse any of his behavior (even tho I’m totally the opposite idk like I’m so shy I would be like ok) UGH YES it feels like a huge breakup but there was never a relationship to begin with so in a way it’s more achey :(

I LOVE forced proximity, ik it’s been done so often but that’s because it’s so good like it just makes you yearn for them so to then double it is like YES NOW YOU HAVE TO GET YOUR DEMONS OUT WITH EACH OTHER HAHA

I’m so glad the take on misogyny landed well

you have no idea how excited I am for them to stop being idiots and just kiss BUT WE ARENT THERE YET

I WAS SO PROUD OF THE NOSE TOUCHING PARALLEL like it’s so simple but it makes you feel their yearning even if they don’t quite realize it yet SO IM GLAD YOU LIKED THAT PART 🥹

thank you thank you thank you I cannot thank you enough for your support on this fic I adore all of your feedback 😭🥹💜💜💜💜

[lovesongrecs]

god. okay, so my mutual on twt was kind enough to link me the fic she'd posted she'd been reading for sillies and shitposts but i, ever the depraved shinestar, was HOOKED on the little snippet of the end of chapter 2. it felt like the walls were closing in on me when i realized i had just inadvertently gotten scammed (in the best way possible, ofc!) because... 🫠 no smut. just unbridled edging. like omg... all that built up tension... the anticipation i had for what i thought would be the most nastiest, toe-curling smut i'd ever lay eyes on in my entire life... taken away from me within seconds. anyways, that was my fault for not peeping the lack of smut tags on ao3. nevertheless, i was absolutely enthralled by the plot progression so i continued reading and i am so so So glad i did.

my mind is all over the place... where do i even begin 😭 i quite literally just finished reading the latest chapter and. There's just so fucking much i feel just as overwhelmed as mc because... what the fuck!! like actually, what the fuck 😭😭 everyone in atz and itz need to perish omfg it does not cost us anything to be kind to each other... greek life shouldn't ever be this serious, but then again, they're mostly all filthy rich freaks who'll make dollars while the rest of us work our asses off to make dimes. such a sick world we live in... can't even escape the horrors of capitalistic greed in a frat!atz au...

but it's this greed that makes everything so interesting! the amount of layers to the plot is so sickening, i'm appalled by the reminder that this is just fanfiction and not the script of the next hit show everyone and their mom is raving about. i mean, hello? the character depth? the backstories? the way every single relationship between the characters is so intricately intertwined with another that just the slightest altercation between people tangled in this little web could (and did) set everything off? i need to figure out how to get you into the writer's room because this is insane. even just the mystery behind everyone's motives and end goals? this kind of talent is so rare that i find such immense pleasure in being able to pick it apart and put it back together in the form of a silly little review for the author to read. you all deserve to know just how in love i am with your mind!!

the way you write is impeccable. i don't ever use that word because, i'll be honest, i'm a little picky with my compliments! but i feel like you really deserve to hear that after the absolute whirlwind you just spun me through. from dialogue and nicknames for mc that are so specific to a single character, to the deliberately placed actions between them that give this sense of realism, and the endless detail used to create the setting you've envisioned for a scene... talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before, unafraid to reference or not reference, put it in a blender, shit on it, vomit on it, eat it, give birth to it – or whatever lady gaga said. everything fits together so perfectly and flows so seamlessly it imitates the state of being when you're completely, utterly immersed in a story it feels like you're actually there. this is such an important thing for me as someone who has grown up reading all sorts of literature. a fic i've read and reblogged in passing will eventually lose itself in my memory but a fic from a writer, whose voice and style is so strong it transports me into an alternate reality, will live with me forever.

i'm forever praying that there will be better days (and friends, god does she need better fucking friends) ahead for mc because so far... it's not looking too good for her. just when she thinks she can trust and open up to someone, they're already five steps ahead with their plan for her certain demise. i mean, come onnnn 😭 it's one thing to hook up with someone at a frat party, but to secretly pray on her downfall is just ridiculous. you're supposed to be sleazy, not a conniving little bitch in cahoots with this mysterious hbic, who's in close contact with the president of the sorority the girl you just slept with belongs to, and making a pledge go through the wackiest initiation for some undisclosed reason... literally what goes on anymore omfg like even the confrontation with wooyoung and hongjoong kicking him OUT of the frat? mina lying about her brother's whereabouts and creating such an elaborate sob story just to keep a two-timing jackass (according to vice president of all jackasses, apparently) who doesn't even want her? all while one of the sisters is literally fucking missing and no one has any information about her whereabouts? this b-plot is DISGUSTINGGGGGG (compliment 🙂‍↕️💗) – like it's actually so fucking ridiculous how the universe is just playing in mc's face right now... i'd have been in jail by now after putting every single one of those snakes in a saw trap. i can't even wrap my head around what seonghwa could possibly want out of this, who hbic is (i'm thinking mina or isla...), or... anything, really. i'm so shaken up with how everything's unfolding, but it makes me all the more excited for the next chapter 🫶🏼

Nasara University Home Page ✧ Meet ATZ ✧ Meet ITZ ✧ Tag

That one fucked you over last year, this one is fucking you over this year, you had no idea she was involved with him, someone over here has been lying to you, you didn't mean to end up in that ones bed, he told you he loved you... Does anyone even trust anyone anymore?

[one] - 'i can do it with a broken heart' ~ taylor swift

[two] - 'we can't be friends (wait for your love)' ~ ariana grande

[three] - 'tell ur girlfriend' ~ lay bankz

[four] - 'nonsense' ~ sabrina carpenter

[five] - ‘teenage dirtbag’ ~ wheatus

[six] - 'because i liked a boy' ~ sabrina carpenter

[seven] - ‘no church in the wild’ ~ jay-z/ye

[eight] -

~ more to come ~

read it on ao3 ✧ talk to me ✧ my masterlist

[stormy-writer]

Hey gorg! I've seen some of your works and your comments, I think we are into simialr things. Do you mind critiquing some of my writings I posted, they're kind of fucked, but I think you'll be entertained.

I'd love to! Thank you so much for asking.

“Copacetic”

It all really depends on what you want the writing to convey. If you want it to be a script or play, then it has to have less descriptions and emotion, more basic understanding. Take this one line for example. “Thalia swerves her curves over, and is now laying on her back and facing the ceiling, clearly exhausted herself.” This is a bit too descriptive for a screenwrite, so I suggest something more along the lines of “Thalia rolled over in bed, now laying on her back. She was clearly tired as well.”

Little tip 1: Using too many words that aren't part of the description (and, but, the, a, etc.) can really kill the pacing. Also, look out for run-on sentences! Those commas might look good now, but separating those thoughts with a period can be better for your writing in the long-term.

If you're going for a story mimicking a screenwrite, then go to town with those descriptions. Use epithets, nicknames, tell the smallest of tales with the eyes, little twitches, and anything in between. “Thalia swerves her curves over, and is now laying on her back and facing the ceiling, clearly exhausted herself,” can be to little of a description. It's a bit unclear as to what exactly she's doing, and the readers will have a hard time staying focused. Here's an example of what could be done. “Thalia lazily rolled into her back, arm draped across the plush sheets as she faced the ceiling. Her languid movements showed how exhausted she really was.” Of course, this is just an example. If you want to make it more romantic, I'm, unfortunately, not the one to come to. Romantic writings are not my forte, as I opt for more cutesy or basic writing.

Little tip 2: Repetition can be good in some scenarios, but it can also cheapen your words. The more of something you have, the less valuable it is.

Personally, I'm not too sure if what certain phrases like “reak of guilt” or “dizzy jiggaboo” mean, and I don't think that most readers know either. Besides that, the dialogue seems a bit forced, and there is not much need for so many expletives. Even if a person curses frequently, they just throw curses around casually as if they were normal words. I personally don't know Spanish, but I feel that I didn't really need to. The emotion poured into your words was easily understood. As a writer/editor, I see that this writing can go either way. It's like a raw diamond. It's uncut and strange, and doesn't look too pretty. But you can see its value. Its potential. It just needs to be refined. As a normal person, are you okay? Writing can be therapeutic, but it's always good to talk to someone.

Little tip 3: When going back to edit or fix my work, I have a rule of thumb. “Never edit, always rewrite.” Instead of changing specific words and phrases, it's better to create a new line below the work/paragraph, and start over. It'll give you a new perspective as well as forcing your mind to rediscover new ways to write.

TL;DR for Copacetic: It's wild, it's kinda crazy, and it could use a bit of reworking. But the potential is there.

“There’s Slaves Under The Rio”

This one I kinda thumbed through, but I read the first few short stories entirely. All I can say is: what on earth? For critique, I will give you this. There's a lot of repetition and run-on sentences, and you seem to struggle with that. It's a normal thing to struggle with. I suggest using more periods in place of commas. In fact, as a little writing challenge, take something you've written and replace all the commas with periods. Then read through it and use as little commas as possible to replace some of the periods.

This isn't something I'd read normally, but it's given me some perspective and insights. It is a bit too mature for my tastes, but I enjoyed it in a sense. In all seriousness, if you need to talk to someone, anyone at all, you could go to a professional, or you could message me. This seems like something born from a bad experience or bad thoughts. No judgement here, just something I noticed.

Little tip 4: I didn't understand a lot of the terms used in this, and most readers won't either. As I said for Copacetic. Using synonyms or more direct words and epithets could really elevate your writing.

TL;DR for There's Slaves Under The Rio: Try and focus your narrative, try a little challenge, and don't use so many run-on sentences.

“The Man Who Killed BABY”

Just the title alone scared me. But the writing? I… I'm honestly damn near speechless. It's like a fever dream or a trip. I'm still reeling from it. I have little to no tips for this, as I can't understand it. Please, don't take this to heart. Your writing is improving, and I'm impressed with how much growth you've had. Copacetic shows how much you've improved. I hope you keep learning and growing in your skill, and I hope nobody can take you down from that track.

I got a little off topic there, but my main point is just keep learning.

Little tip 5: Writing challenges, as well as writing prompts, are a good way to test yourself and workout those writing muscles.

TL;DR for The Man Who Killed BABY: You've grown a lot in your writing, and this piece shows your starting point. Keep moving, keep learning, and try some challenging things.

”The Nun Who Has Sex”

The title startled me, much like the last one, but the writing was much different. Very poetic, and easy to understand. You can just tell it holds some deeper meanings, and the emotions are very raw. I'm impressed. Other than one or two spelling and capitalization mistakes, there's nothing wrong with this but the title.

Little tip 6: Write what you want to. Whatever style or genre you want to write, write it. Screenplays, poems, stories, whatever. Write what you want to, from one writer to another.

TL;DR for The Nun Who Has Sex: The title isn't very fitting, but it's a wonderful piece. I'm impressed with your poetry talents.

This is all of the writings I found on your account, and I did my best! In general, you need to work on sentence format, wording, and focusing your stories. Please remember, this is not a personal attack or insult. Just some advice and tips. Again, thank you so much for asking! I'm glad to review, critique, edit, and more.

I've never really answered an ask, so I don't know if it notifies the asker. So, just in case it doesn't, I'll tag them. @vestah thank you for asking. <3