#if i have to build this whole ship from the ground up. i fucking will.

[zarnzarn]

to be loved is to be changed

[holylulusworld]

Caught Cold - Alternative Version (2)

Summary: Something goes wrong on your latest mission.

Ship/Main Pairing: Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Read the alternative version here: Caught Cold.

Major Tags/Triggers/Warnings: a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics, mentions of sex pollen, fluff, awkwardness

Catch up here: Caught Cold - Alternative version

The flight back to the tower is excruciatingly awkward. No one looks your way, and no one dares to say a word. Usually, you’d celebrate a successful mission, or crack not-funny jokes.

It’s bad enough that Bucky lost control and mated you like a wild animal. Tony and Steve walking in on you was the worst-case scenario.

How can you forget that two of the men you admire the most watched you and their friend Avenger mate?

“So—” Steve clears his throat. He tries to find the right words to apologize for not stopping his friend from mating you. “I’m sorry about the problems with the earpieces, Agent. I didn’t hear you called for backup.”

You snort. A broken earpiece is the least of your problems. You just had unprotected sex with your supervisor, and he claimed you. All the while he was under the influence of a strange toxin.

“Sex pollen, a hell of a ride, huh?” Tony cackles watching you and Bucky stare on the ground. Heat creeps into your cheek remembering the way you were writhing on Bucky’s cock. “So…are we having a Buckethead baby soon?”

“First and final warning, Stark,” Bucky lifts his head to glare at Tony. He’s ashamed of his doings and hates himself for being unable to fight the sex pollen. “She went through enough.”

“You mean she ended up impaled on your—” Tony ends up on the ground, his cheek swollen and bruised. “What the fuck!”

“I told you,” Bucky raises his fist again, a not-so-silent threat, “stop making things worse for Y/N. It’s all my fault. If you want to make fun of someone, look for a better target. Leave my omega alone!”

You whimper when Bucky roughly takes off his jacket to wrap it around your shoulders. He looks you all over, clumsily patting your hair before he sits next to you.

His scent and the warmth of his jacket calm you. You close your eyes and inhale his scent deeply. If only you didn’t drop the vial with the pollen. Everything has changed, and you don’t know what will happen now.

Can you still be an agent? Will Bucky force you into submission? What if he rejects you now? He claimed you while being high on sex pollen. There is nothing you can do if he decides to break the bond.

“Everything is going to be alright,” Bucky suddenly takes your hand to hold it in his hands. “We will talk about everything after we land.”

“Young love,” Tony snickers. His cheek is swollen, but he didn’t lose his sense of humor. “Huh, Capsicle. Why don’t you grab a dose of sex pollen yourself?”

“Tony, that’s not funny,” Steve grunts. “Why would I want to use this devious toxin to force myself on an omega?”

Bucky flinches at Steve’s words. He feels guilt gnawing at his soul. Today, he added another sin to his long list.

“He didn’t force himself on me,” you murmur and lean your head against Bucky’s shoulder. The sex pollen would’ve killed him. We had sex to help him survive. Live with it.” You glare at Tony. He opens his mouth but snaps it shut.

“We are about to land in fifteen,” Bruce calls from the pilot seat. He didn’t dare to ask what happened in the abandoned building. The sharp man didn’t have to ask. “Please fasten your seatbelt.”

You laugh at Bruce's seriousness. This whole situation feels surreal.

Who would have thought you’d end up with Bucky’s claiming mark?

“Uh—this is the bedroom, and there is the bathroom,” Bucky explains while guiding you around his apartment at the tower. You don’t tell him that his place is similar to yours. “There’s a kitchenette and you already saw the living room.”

“Don’t get me wrong, but why are you showing me your place?” You wrinkle your forehead.

“You’re my omega, and we will move in together.” He nods to himself before placing his on the small of your back to lead you back into the living room. “If we decide to have pups, we can have a bigger home. A house maybe.”

“Whoa, slow down,” you twirl around to place your hands on his chest. For a moment you allow yourself to feel Bucky up. Hands running over his chest you look at Bucky, really look at him. “We—we…”

“We mated,” he ends your line. “You’re my omega, and I will be a good alpha and take care of you. I claimed you.”

“The drugs…the sex pollen,” you sigh when he places his index finger on your lips to silence you.

“It doesn’t matter, Y/N,” Bucky murmurs. “You know that you’re meant to be mine.” He dips his head to steal a kiss. He whispers your name and wraps his arms around you. “Steve will help me get your things. You can get comfortable while we bring everything here.”

“You’re working fast.”

He grins. “I do.” Bucky wiggles his eyebrows. “This way I tamed a cocky omega and made her mine.”

“Dream on,” you giggle, relieved Bucky doesn’t regret his claim.

“Oh, daydreaming is over,” he purrs low in his throat. “I got the real thing now…”

“I’m still unsure this was the right thing to do.” Bruce shakes his head at Steve. “What if he regrets his claim one day?”

“Bucky was pining over her for months. I had to force him to make a move before that new agent got the chance to ask her out,” Steve casually says while deleting the footage of your latest mission. “He wanted to claim her, and Y/N wanted Bucky to become her alpha. We did nothing wrong…”

“You only made her believe she dropped a vial with sex pollen when in truth you rubbed it into Bucky’s tactical suit.”

“The end justifies the means,” Steve says before walking away.

Tags in reblog.

[thebibliosphere]

I saw your post about ingram, and out of curiosity, is there some advantage to going through the whole self-publishing thing with retailers when you're just starting out? like I mean the way that fandom zines work is that they don't even bother going through ingram or amazon or whatever. they just set up a social media site (usually twitter) to gain followers, open preorders (usually 1-2 months in length) to generate the costs of printing upfront, and then sell anywhere from a few dozen to several hundred copies of their books (usually artbooks, but anthologies exist too). I've seen some zines generate over a thousand orders. they're kind of like pop-up shops, except for books. maybe the sales numbers aren't so impressive to a real author, but the profit generated is typically waaaay more than the $75+ apparently needed for Ingram Spark, so I still feel like new authors could benefit from this method too, especially if they just need some start-up cash to eventually move to ingram if they want to for subsequent runs of their book. I think authors would also have to set aside some of the pre-order money to buy an ISBN number to have printed on their book, and I'm not really sure what other differences there are, but I just wanted to ask about it in case there's some huge disadvantage I'm missing!

So, popup zines work well for some people, and I know some authors who kickstart their work successfully. But for a lot, it's just not feasible as a long-term stratedy. Or even as a means to get off the ground.

Fanzines succeed primarily because an existing fanbase is willing and ready to throw money at something they love. They’ve got a favorite writer or artist they want to support. Supporting all the others is just a happy by-product. They also take a HUGE amount of short-term but intense planning that just doesn’t always jive with how some of us work.

I, for one, would never offer to organize a fanzine. I’ll take part in them as a creator, but I’d rather throw myself off a cliff than subject myself to wrangling that many people and dealing with the legal logistics.

When it comes to authors doing anthologies, it'svery much the same. The success of the funding often hinges on having other big-name authors involved whose existing fans will prop up the project. Or having a huge marketing budget.

Most self-pub authors have zero marketing budget. I’m one of them, and I’m under no illusions that my work would not be as popular and self-sustaining as it is if I didn’t have a large Tumblr blog.

When I thank Tumblr in my forewards, I am utterly sincere. Tumblr brought fandom levels of enthusiasm to an unknown work and broke the Amazon algorithm so hard, that Amazon thought I was bot sniping my way to multiple #1 spots and froze my sales rankings.

That’s not the norm. And while I could probably kickstart my own work as an indie creator, that’s because I’ve put literal decades into building up a readership. I’ve been doing this since I was 16 and realized people thought I was funny. I didn’t know what to do with it or if I’d ever actually write anything, but it meant the groundwork was already there (thank you, past-me). I basically fell upward into my success by virtue of never being able to shut the fuck up and wanting to make people laugh. Clown instincts too strong.

New or first-time authors trying to sell their work without that will find it infinitely harder.

All of that aside, even if an unknown author somehow gets lucky and manages to fund their work, there’s still the question of shipping and distribution logistics. Are you shipping everything yourself? Better hope you’re able-bodied and have the time for it. (for reference, it took me months to ship out 300 patreon hardbacks because of my disabilites. It damaged my back and hands. I couldn’t type for several weeks after I was done.)

Are you going to sell primarily at conventions? Better hope you’re able-bodied, have the time and don’t have cripling anxiety about being in large groups...

Also, will selling a dozen to a few thousand copies in one burst be sustainable in the long run as a career? Not for me. Doing things via Ingram and Amazon means I earn a steady trickle of sales for the rest of my life provided the platforms remain and so long as I keep working and can generate interest in the series, not just when I have funds to pay for physical copies to sell. The one-time (in theory) cost of $75 to distribute through Ingram gets paid off pretty quick that way. And it doesn't require the same logistics as doing the popup/crowdfund.

Ultimately, it comes down to what you are capable of but also the type of work you’re doing. If you’ve got an extended network of fellow creatives who will back you or you’ve got a large following elsewhere, doing it like a popup might work for you.

If you’re an exhausted burnout who can’t fathom the short but intense amount of organization that sort of thing requires, not to mention doing it over and over and over... Ehhhhh. No thank you.

[xx-j4nu5-c4t5-xx]

I've been thinking about PT9 and how he'd acclimate to Sim society, and what struggles everyone would face trying to incorporate him into everything, and I think the hardest thing would be communication. Sure, teaching terrestrial language to an alien species would be hard, but you're sure to find some kind of common ground somewhere in a verbal language. Eventually, using some sort of concept or comparison as a sort of key, you'd be able to start translating things.

But what if you didn't have a verbal language to work with?

Back on Sixam, everyone had antennae, and everyone was always sort of tuned into a huge cloud of thoughts and emotions, like a hivemind. There was this constant buzz of feeling, at all times of the day, ever present in everyone's lives. You could feel the boredom of the students in class a few buildings away, you could feel the grogginess of the morning as neighbors woke up and started to get on with their days, you could feel everything. The aliens had written language, for documentation and stuff, but it didn't have a verbal equivalent. It didn't need one. You could have someone read the words, and the concepts could be shared immediately to everyone else in the room, no need to even open your mouth.

PT#9, having heard of the diversity and beauty of Earth (or wherever the hell Sims live idk), decides to leave everything he knows behind and settle down there. His travel through space isn't quiet, either, as he's got communication devices and a whole host of things on the ship that keep him tied to the network even when he's out in space.

And then he gets shot out of the sky by a fucking missile or something and when he wakes up in the crater, it's silent. Deafeningly, crushingly, overwhelmingly so. He can hear the remains of the ship smoldering and sparking, and the garbled noises of radio transmissions from the huge metal towers, but nothing holds any meaning. He can't feel anyone near him; at first, he's worried that he's crashed in a completely deserted part of the globe.

It only gets worse after he meets Jenny. He's trying to communicate with her, trying to understand what she's feeling and what she wants, but there's nothing. He can't tune into her wavelength, and it seems as though she can't tune into his. Nobody can. They just keep ignoring him, whether they mean to or not, and instead they just keep chattering on in that strange melody that pours out of their mouths without end. He's blasting signals out into the world around him, trying to explain that he's lost and confused and injured and scared, and nothing is listening. Nobody's there to even hear it.

Eventually, he starts picking up on things. The noises are usually consistent; these creatures make the same noises to refer to the same objects. The "egg" noise always refers to the white oval things in the little carton in the fridge. But sometimes the noises are wildly unpredictable, used for things they shouldn't apply to or trying to mean something entirely different with the same sounds. It's mind-boggling to him, and progress is slow, but the two of them make progress together. His field was always biology, anatomy, studies of the body and how it works and forms. He has an easier time understanding the diagrams in Jenny's textbooks than he does Jenny herself. He's definitely no linguist, but he tries his hardest to bridge the gap, for both their sakes.

He gets the hang of it after a few years, enough to get by, and sometimes to even hold a decent conversation, but it's always slow and never instinctual. The concept of trying to crush so many ideas and feelings into such odd and unnatural vocalizations feels pointless. Exasperating. Why can't they just listen to him directly and cut out the middle man?

Improvement gets exponentially faster after Johnny is born, though. Having everything laid out simply, and seeing how people start to understand these things from the ground up, helps immensely. Pol and Johnny sort of learn to be normal Sims together, or at least as close as they can get.

Finding out that are other aliens and half-aliens with antennae gave him a little bit of hope, but he quickly found that none of them really used them. Most of them had been born into all of this "talking" stuff, and the ones that hadn't had already become fluent in it beforehand, leaving no use for the direct communication. Strangetown was still quiet, filled with chatter that only had meaning if you focused as hard as you could on the sounds. Pol was always in the dark, no matter what he did.

He left Sixam to be free of the noise and rigidness of it all, and boy, did he get it. Nothing made sense to him anymore. Nobody was guiding him or telling him what to do or updating him on the news or simply spilling out all their frustrations into the network. It was just silence, for as far as the antennae could feel.

An extra tidbit that occured to me: Pol would know exactly what happened the night Pascal got abducted; for the first time in two decades, someone got close enough that he could eavesdrop on an intelligible message.

[thebisexualdogdad]

Sanji x top male reader first time? 👁_👁

Sanji x Male!reader - Desperate

It started with a celebratory make out under the tangerine trees after defeating Arlong and saving Coco Village.

You and Sanji had been building up the sexual tension from the moment you met back at the Baratie and now you thought you were finally going to get to act on your desires.

That was until a very drunk villager stumbled away from the festivities and found you, mumbling a, "what are you guys doing out here," before throwing back up all the alcohol he consumed and passing out against another tree.

"We have to take him back don't we," Sanji sighs with his leg still in between yours.

"Yeah we do," you respond quite disappointed that you didn't get to continue with your own form of celebrating.

A few days later you stop on an island to get more supplies and you think you have the ship to yourselves as Sanji had given the others a long list of obscure foods he pretended to need for dinners to keep them busy for a while.

The two of you are in your tiny bunk, crowded but making it work though just as you're about to slip your hand down his pants Luffy comes barging into the sleeping quarters.

"Sanji we have no idea what any of these ingredients are… uhh am I interrupting something?" He asks confused.

Once again Sanji sighs, crawling out of your bunk because of his failed plan.

Weeks go by and you guys are getting desperate, there isn't exactly a whole lot of privacy out on the open sea traveling six people on a small ship.

So desperate that when you arrive back at the Baratie to give Zeff an update on your adventures Sanji drags you away mid dinner to a storage room behind the kitchen.

You have Sanji pressed into the shelves, bags of food being haphazardly pushed off and hitting the ground with a thud as you kiss along his neck.

"Something tells me this isn't the first time you've done something like this in here," you chuckle, undoing his shirt and running your hands along his abs.

"What can I say? People love a man who can cook," he grins.

"You know Zoro totally saw us sneaking off right?" You say dropping his pants and toying with him through his underwear.

"At this point I really don't care darling, I need you and I need you now," he grunts, getting hard while you tease him.

His underwear falls to his ankles like his pants and he's moaning as you quickly stroke him.

You feel your own pants begin to tighten around your growing erection and can't wait any longer to finally fuck him.

You turn Sanji around, his face against a bag of rice while you stick two fingers in your mouth to wet them and begin playing with his hole.

You stretch him out with one finger first, then adding the second and Sanji is a mess waiting for your cock.

"Well what are you waiting for," Sanji says with a smirk, "you gonna fuck me or not?"

You laugh, removing your fingers and freeing your hard cock from your pants, playfully smacking it against his ass.

"We don't have all day lover boy," Sanji states but he gasps when you roughly push your cock inside him.

"You were saying some Sanj?" You grin, taking hold of his hips and beginning a steady rhythm.

"Fuck yes," he moans finally feeling some relief after waiting so long for this moment.

He holds on tight to the railings of the shelves, shaking them against the wall as you pound into him, a dishwasher walking by outside and instantly recognizing the sounds of Sanji's moan mumbling to himself, "not again."

Sanji reaches down and strokes himself, chanting your name as he gets closer to his release.

"Does that feel good?" You say cockily, "you like me fucking that perfect ass of yours"

"So good, so fucking good," is all he can mutter back.

Your nails dig into his hips, thrusting into him even faster and he cums all over one of the shelves.

"Holy shit," he cries, riding out his high with your movements never faltering.

After another minute or so you're about to hit your own orgasm and you want Sanji to taste it.

"Get on your knees," you say, pulling out of him and turning him around.

He immediately misses the feeling of you inside him but he happily sinks to the ground and opens his mouth wide as you stroke your cock until you're cumming across his face.

He's smiling as he swallows as much of your cum as he can and damn did he look good on his knees for you.

"You taste good, not as good as my cooking of course but still quite delectable," he smirks, standing back up and wiping the stray cum off his chin with his shirt sleeve.

"Very funny but we should probably get back out there," you laugh before kissing him deeply, tasting remnants of yourself on his tongue.

"Or," he says raising an eyebrow, "we can go steal some desert from the kitchen and fuck again on Zeff's desk."

"That, let's definitely do that and make sure you grab some whipped cream."

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Come Back

(Masterlist)

get back to the war!!! i dont pay u just to look cute

(Content: dehumanization, physical violence, magical exhaustion, fainting, mass death implied, blood)

=======================

“Be realistic,” Dr.Martino yawned, “He obviously can’t destroy the whole planet.”

“But I want him to?” Paris glowered.

His hand raked through Delta’s hair again, more nails than usual. Delta twitched nervously. He was kneeling obediently on Paris’s side, the end of his collar grasped firmly in the prince’s other hand. He flinched whenever he touched him. Paris didn’t seem to notice. He was sitting comfortably in the captain’s chair, one leg folded over the other.

Delta couldn’t see Martino’s expression from his position. He had learned that when he kept his head bowed, it gave him the least trouble. 

“That’s the kind of greed they write fables about,” Dr.Martino warned, “Anyway, forget it. It’s not physically possible. Pick a city. Really, pick a block in that city. The buildings here are better protected than most.”

Paris tugged at Delta’s hair, like it was his fault. He winced. Nothing came immediately after it — no reprimands. Just venting frustration, then? Delta had to adjust his position for it to stop hurting. Again, Paris didn’t notice or didn’t care. 

They redirected the course. The actual captain re-entered the room. Paris did not move for her, forcing her to operate from the side terminal. 

The planet Tataka loomed large through the windows of the craft. It was green and purple, beautiful under any other circumstance. Paris was intent on destroying it. The war was upon them.

They weren’t aboard the Thorn today; they’d never make it into the outer atmosphere without getting shot down. It was a smaller, nimbler, and less conspicuous craft. From a distance, it looked like a passenger plane. 

As the ship lurched into motion, Simon returned from the break room. He’d been following his own advice, giving Paris quite a wide berth ever since he’d returned from the hospital. Simon looked at the current arrangement disapprovingly. He set down a coffee cup for Martino, not drinking his own.

“Your Highness, I’d really ask you to reconsider this. Not only is it too strong an escalation from a policy standpoint, but physically, Delta is out of practice from the last month. There’s a higher risk of inaccuracy,” Simon stated.

“Did you just say too strong an escalation?” Paris choked, “And who’s fucking fault is that? You knew I’d need him when I got back.”

Simon didn’t answer. It’d be too easy to say No one thought you were coming back and that was not a conversation he wanted to have.

By then, the mountains were coming into view. Paris stood up shakily, using Delta’s shoulder for support before tugging him up by the arm. They were bruising touches. Delta suspected that Paris didn’t entirely mean to be that rough. He had nerve damage from where the arrow had pierced him and couldn’t feel much in his hands. It had made him clumsy. Still, it hurt.

When the atmosphere was breathable, Paris dragged him out onto the main deck. He wrenched his arm back to get him to kneel, which was of course not an accident, on top of being totally unnecessary. Delta would’ve knelt if he’d asked him to.

The handlers trailed behind him. He snapped his fingers at them. Simon started to protest, then apparently decided it was not worth the effort of arguing. He poked at his wrist, remotely releasing Delta’s collar. 

Delta let out a little gasp when it hit him. The ground hung directly above them, the ship’s personal gravity machine working to bind them to it upside down. The effect was very disorienting. Beyond that, Paris was far, far too close to him. He didn’t like being touched while he was all unfurled. He never like being touched at all, but now it felt particularly invasive. He liked it better when Simon directed. They had already gotten to know each other’s communication styles with no ambiguity. The same couldn’t be said of Paris — especially not now. This wasn’t the kind of operation Delta wanted to improvise. The string of words that left Paris’s mouth was barely coherent.

“Fucking kill them fuck fuck Nezu fuck Taka stupid fucking destroy it now”

Delta could feel Paris’s heart within his chest, the new lung nestling itself into place, the spot where the ribs had cracked open. He felt the wind shift just as he readied himself. From his own reading, Delta could recognize Tataka’s parliament building. There was about a five block radius around it he thought he could reasonably smoke. He blinked.

He didn’t actually remember setting it off, which meant it had definitely been too much. He woke up on his side in Dr.Martino’s office, drenched in his own blood.

“-why I said not to let him-“ Simon’s voice cut into his thoughts. A little wave of electricity came off of Delta as he regained consciousness, making everyone’s hair stand on end.

“Hi,” Dr.Martino eyebrows furrowed as he smiled without humor.

“We should’ve warmed up first,” Simon pinched the bridge of his nose, “Are you feeling okay?”

Delta opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. The room smelled like a campfire. He realized the burnt scent was coming off his own skin.

“Just stay like that,” Dr.Martino told him, then turned back to his conversation. Delta closed his eyes, too sore to move. There was a distant feeling of gloved hands against his back, some medical assistant searching around for something or other. Two prongs entered the base of his neck without warning, causing another little shock throughout the room. He felt a hand against his forehead. Cool to the touch, but not comforting. Darkness closed in.

“Delta,” It was Paris’s voice. Delta cracked his eyes open, unsure how much time had passed. The prince was leaning over him, grasping the table for support. His expression was giddy.

“Good job,” He said. Two thumbs up. It must have been. Paris so rarely complimented him. Again, he tried to speak. 

“Leave him alone. He fried his vocal cords,” Dr.Martino called, from somewhere outside Delta’s line of sight.

“What? Permanently?”

“Not this time. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse, cause god knows you’d be fucked then.”

“What did you just say to me?”

Delta passed out again, mercifully.

[thephantomcasebook]

Ok now, going a bit crazy over ships, I find way more compelling the ground they are laying for the whole Daemon/Alys/Heleana/Aemond than the book dinamics. I mean we don't get a lot of what happened between Alys and Daemon on the book, but makes sense she takes his body after the fight and Heleana dying in possible the same day of Aemond. And now even Alys and Heleana connection

I think is not even that purposeful, but the potential here is way more interesting than they just going with Al*smond. Specially most of the things that are connected to that relationship is giving to other characters.

It depends really ...

I always liked Alys as a character in the book, I thought she was cool.

But going back through the book, in retrospect, it doesn't really seem that Aemond and Alys is a ... complicit relationship. The more I've thought and analyzed it, the more it feels that Alys put a spell on Aemond. Cause, Aemond, once he starts sleeping with Alys, gets really out of character, to a point of leaving his family twisting in the wind to pursue a reign of terror through the Riverlands that didn't particularly fit him.

I mean, Aemond was always dangerous and violent ... but he's not going out roasting castles and keeps for the fuck of it. Nor would he be someone who would leave Daeron and Criston twisting in the wind to engage seven fucking dragons on their own.

To me, it really does feel like Aemond is under some sort of enchantment of Alys for reasons that GRRM doesn't reveal.

But it would be interesting, based on the interview with Patel about Aemond and Helaena's relationship. It could be that Aemond gets to Harrenhal and Alys is enchanting him, holding him up from helping Daeron. Helaena escapes King's Landing - perhaps even fakes her own death - and goes to Harrenhal. When she gets there, Helaena frees Aemond from Alys influence and we have a showdown between Helaena and Alys that matches Aemond and Daemon. With each Targaryen Prince having their own magical girl as their ride or die.

It would be pretty interesting to have Aemond & Helaena Vs. Daemon & Alys and build that up for Season 3.

That would be some pretty dope boy fresh 8-bit fighting game art. With some "Marvel Vs. Capcom" screen art of Aemond and Helaena standing together in pose in a split screen with Daemon and Alys posing together.

[yanderu-deredere]

hook.

★ your friends decide to do a road trip across a few states, to the coast! what's better than the beautiful boardwalk of lovelock after all? and they need a fifth person to come with them! so, of course, they drag you along. what could go wrong?

a/n: okay so ill be honest, i was kinda nervous to post this cus this is like way longer than my usual shit TBH but i really wanted to write this out and i felt like the usual bulletted thing wouldn't do my idea justice i guess? so have this word vomit LOL cus this baby has more parts (i think)

also these yanderes are very much inspired by all my favourite slashers (think hannibal meets chainsaw massacre meets house of wax) so the themes will be a bit more graphic

part one (here) ★ part two (line.) ★ part three (sinker.) ★ part four (?)

pairing: casimir fiala x reader x emmaline fiala word count: 3236

warning: gender neutral reader, reader is attacted to male and female yandere, readers friends are lowkey pieces of shit LOL, final ship is poly

"This doesn't look like Lovelock." Chloe muttered in that tone that just slightly grated against your nerves.

You, half asleep and kind of buried in bags, jolted at the sound of her voice. You glanced around, eyes blurry and your brain pounding just a little bit. The price of sleeping on a road trip, you supposed.

You looked over to the side to see what your friends were up to.

Chloe, the resident bottle-blonde of the group, had her entire body leaning a bit too heavily against her boyfriend Dirk as she tried to shove her torso out the window.

Dirk, too preoccupied with her body to really pay attention to anything else, only hummed and held her by the hip to prevent her from falling entirely out the side of the van.

You sighed and turned to your other side, trying to make out what your friend was so desperate to see outside.

All you could see, however, was what looked like an abandoned town. There was a little play ground, a parking lot beside that, some apartment buildings too--

Suddenly, the van skid to a halt, making everyone almost fall forward.

"Bran, you fucking bastard!" Dirk cursed before cradling Chloe's head to his chest "You okay, baby?"

Chloe, of course, played the whole thing up, whining up a storm. You just rubbed your neck, ignoring everyone else as you tried to figure out why the sudden stop.

In front of the car was a man much too well dressed for his surroundings. I mean, what business did he have in this place that he needed to wear a button down for? Plus he had what looked like a medical mask on?

What did you guys drive into, Chernobyl?

Anyway, you couldn't see the rest of his face very well because he had long hair with white side pieces and they were covering his face a bit too much but he was waving the van down.

Suddenly, as you were peering out the side of the van, your eyes met his sharp green ones and you felt a jolt of electricity down your spine.

You had a bad feeling about this place and about this man.

Still, not like you could say much. Who'd listen to you? Certainly not anyone else inside the van.

The man walked up to the driver's side, probably to talk to your friend Bran and give him directions. Thankfully, you were on the same side so you could do a little bit of eavesdropping on your own from your open window.

Observing him, you couldn't help but think that he was especially tall. He looked like he could almost be as tall as the van itself! You'd estimate his height at 6ft at least.

You couldn't even imagine how small you were compared to him if the two of you stood side by side.

"You're not supposed to be here. This is private property." The stranger explained and, though he was talking to Bran, you couldn't help but feel like he kept glancing at you from the corners of his eyes "You have to turn back and leave."

Now that he spoke, you also noted how deep his voice was. Though, you supposed, not surprising considering his height.

Big man, deep voice, you noted to yourself before mentally laughing at your own idiocy.

"What? There's no other way?" Bran's indignant tone pulled you out of your thoughts "I was so sure there was a way through here, up to Lovelock."

The stranger solemnly nodded as if completely understanding "There used to be but, after they shut down the factory, the Pharmaceutical company prevents people from passing through here."

Bran seemed to open his mouth to say something inflammatory. After all, he was known in your group to be a bit hot-headed. Even now, you couldn't see his face but you could imagine how red it was.

Kathy, Bran's girlfriend and your best friend, thankfully leaned over from the front passenger seat, her hand rubbing her boyfriend's thigh "It's all good! Sorry for the trouble and thanks for letting us know."

The man gave a curt nod "Just didn't want you all to incur the fines. The company still has the cameras up and there was a sign at the entrance saying something about trespassers."

"What are you, a glorified security guard?" Bran managed at least one quip and you saw Kathy hit him especially hard on the knee for that one.

You couldn't see the man's mouth from under the mask but you definitely felt like you could see his lips shift into a grin from under the cotton "Something like that."

Bran just scoffed and started backing the van up. The man backed away, giving a curt nod.

From the corner of your eyes, you could see Kathy conspiratorially whisper 'crazy weirdo' to you, Dirk and Chloe. Of course, you elected to ignore her.

Instead, you kept your eyes trained on the stranger, still curious as to why he was there.

When his eyes landed on you, you gave him a curt wave. A good-bye. Silently, you mouthed an apology for your rude friend. He gave another curt nod, and you left it at that.

Something about his green eyes unnerved you though--

There was a loud pop and the van jolted, making almost everyone inside scream. Bran himself let out a rather loud fuck!

"What the fuck was that?" He slammed his palm against the steering wheel, that explosive temper getting the best of him.

You watched as the stranger came over and looked at the car, observing it a bit before letting out a rather tired sigh "You popped a tire."

Bran's head swiveled to him and, if looks could kill, that man would've been dead "A tire?"

"This place is abandoned, they don't exactly up-keep the roads." The man explained, crouching to try and see what was wrong with said tire "You must have run over a rusty nail or an especially bad pothole."

Then there was a thumping sound, like he was ripping something out of the rubber "Or a giant copper hook."

Bran slammed his door open and marched over, getting to the tire just as the man stood up.

You watched it all happen and you've known Bran for a while. The two of you were taking the same undergraduate major, after all. You knew Bran was the sporty type, confident and cocky. He was maybe 5'8 on a good day.

This man dwarfed Bran when he stood. Definitely taller than 6ft then. Maybe 6'5?

He placed the hook he took out of the tire into Bran's hand and, though it looked rather hefty in Bran's hand, it seemed a bit smaller in his.

Any bravado Bran had vanished like the wind. Of course, Bran was still Bran so he grumbled, complaining as he dropped the rusty thing before he squatted down to figure out what was wrong with the tire.

You saw Kathy from the corner of your eye dialing a number. You figured it was probably triple-A or some other towing service that could help the group out.

For some reason, you didn't want to look away from the stranger.

He seemed to have the same idea because, as he took out a walkie-talkie from his belt, his green eyes were trained on you again.

Without taking his eyes off you, he took a slender finger and lowered his mask, tucking it under his chin. He had a crooked smile on his face, something like a mixture between a grimace and forced pleasantry.

Near the corner of his face, there was an indent of a diagonal scar. It stretched from above his lip to the center of his chin. You let yourself wonder why he had it. It split his lips a little, made him look kind of devilish.

"Another car needs help." He spoke into the little device, holding it in the palm of his hand and jostling it a little, making the antenna of it wiggle back and forth.

"Miscreants?" The static of it answered back, crackling and almost indecipherable.

The man laughed and you felt your heart skip just a little bit of a beat "No, just people who took a wrong turn. They seem very nice."

You tried to ignore the flash of sharp teeth in his mouth and chalked it off to genetics. Sometimes people just had especially sharp canines, right? Though something felt predatory about his. Not vampiric, maybe, but definitely wolfish.

"What's wrong with their car?" The longer sentence was easier to understand but it was filled with just as much static.

"Popped a tire on the main road." The man answered as he put his free hand in his pocket "They were trying to take the short-cut to Lovelock."

The sentence came out as a drawl, like there was a funny joke about it that you weren't privy to. Your head cocked a little, trying to figure out what it could mean.

He returned your look of curiosity with a small little smirk and a shrug, cocking his hip a little as he shifted his weight from one foot to another

Someone hissed out your name and you turned, finally breaking the staring game in between you and the stranger.

You turned to Kathy with a confused expression on your face, your eyebrow cocked "What's up?"

"I have like no signal like at all." She whispered to you as if it was the end of the world and she wanted only you to know.

Of course, since the two of you were sitting in a cramped van, the other two people in the van heard loud and clear.

"What!" Chloe shouted, scrambling for her own marble-cased phone "There's no signal?"

"No, 'fraid not."

You flinched, head quickly turning when you felt a breath against your ear. Suddenly, the stranger was leaning into the window of the van, crossed arms resting against the lip of the window.

Your wide eyes met his green ones again and he grinned, all wolfish and devilish and all your observations about him seemed to flash warning signs in your head.

"Something about the old factory leaking radiation or something." He answered easily enough just as you scooted a little so he wasn't talking right into your now rather hot ear

You nodded slowly but the tone of his voice as he spoke was that same tone he used when he mentioned the city; like he was telling half-truths and it was on a need to know basis and you didn't need to know.

You had been on the receiving end of that bullshit for so long, with the same exact friends you were with in the van, that you could detect it from a mile away.

"Plus, they've shut down the cell towers near here already." He gestured flimsily in some direction, probably to said cell towers.

Then, there was silence in the van. Chloe kept fiddling with her phone. Dirk, as always, looked distrustfully at the stranger, like a toddler who'd get his toy snatched away the moment he dropped his guard. The toy of course, being Chloe. Kathy just looked panicked and anxious.

You were anxious too. You were never good with silence.

As a way to make conversation, you fiddled with your fingers and decided to introduce yourself before asking the stranger who he was and what he was doing there.

You really didn't think he'd answer.

"Casimir Fiala." His name flipped off of his tongue with a fascinating smoothness "I'm just here to... research... the abandoned buildings."

There it was again, that need-to-know-only tone. This time, you waved away the blaring alarms in your head, tucking them away to note later. Instead, you decided to joke with him "Guess you're not a glorified security guard."

"Sometimes it feels like it." He flashed you a snide half smirk and there was a part of you that felt satisfied that, this time, it felt like you were in on the joke.

It definitely made you grin, that was for sure. Before you could respond, though, the sound of a motorcycle suddenly filled the area, getting closer and closer till it was accompanied by the crunch of gravel.

"That will be my wife." Casimir yelled above the noise as he backed away from the window and tucked his arms behind his back in one fluid motion.

When he did, you couldn't help but curiously peer out.

Just as he said, a woman appeared on a motorcycle, dust cloud surrounding her. If Casimir was overdressed, this woman was underdressed.

She was wearing skin-tight clothes, cargo pants, the works. She looked like she was dressed for an action movie.

Hell, she looked she herself walked out of an action movie. She was buff, tanned, tattooed all over, almost as tall as her husband. She looked like she could take a steel bar and bend it in half.

With fingerless gloves, she removed her motorcycle helmet and her hair fell fluttering out. She had one lock of hair at the very front braided, some of it pulled back, but the rest of it cascaded rather messily, covering most of the right side of her face.

It looked like a bad blue dye job that was already growing back out but, somehow, she made it look ruggedly sexy.

That wasn't what was surprising. What was surprising was the eye patch and the burn scars.

"Oh my god." Kathy gasped out and you could see her and Chloe pull out their phones as if trying to film some circus freak.

Immediately, you were pushing their phones away, scowling at them as you tried to keep your voice down "What the fuck, dude, are you guys serious?"

You could see Casimir walk over to his wife, probably to talk to her about fixing your wheel. How kind of them. All the while, your friends were spitting on that kindness by mocking his wife.

"But like, did you see her?" Chloe tittered, looking through her gallery to try and see if she got a good photo but then pouting when she didn't.

"You're disgusting, Chloe." You spat out, hoping the absolute vitriol in your voice could snap her out of this weird Mean Girls trance she was in "They're trying to fucking help us and this is the thanks you're giving them?"

Kathy just scoffed and flipped her hair. "They're the ones who stopped us and got our tires popped."

"We're the ones that trespassed on private property." You snapped back and, suddenly, you felt too suffocated in the van. You knew who your friends were, of course, and you knew them to be the type of people to make small mean jokes but this was way too much.

You got out of the van, your arms crossed and wrapped around yourself, anything to give yourself any ounce of comfort.

This entire trip was a bad idea to begin with. You hadn't wanted to go but your friends insisted over and over that they wanted you around. You thought 'why not?' but, in the end, you turned out more of a fifth wheel than anything else.

"Oh, hey." Bran greeted you as you stepped up to the trio who were discussing how to fix the car "What's up?"

"Nothing, just wanted to stretch my legs." You lied easily enough since you didn't really want to tell Bran about how bitch-y his girlfriend was being.

Bran believed you, of course. He was too focused on being annoyed by the entire situation anyway. He seemed at least placated by the fact that he wouldn't have to pay for a new tire.

"Thank you so much, by the way, for like helping us out and shelling out cash for a tire." You decided to say since Bran definitely wouldn't say it. The smile on Casimir's wife's face was definitely worth it.

Casimir seemed to realise something because he looked at you in shock before gesturing to you and introducing you by name to his wife "And this is my wife Emm, she's the muscle of this entire operation."

"Nice to meet you." She put her hand out and you were about to take it only for her to quickly pull it back and wipe it on her pants "Sorry, I've been fixing machines all day. I'm dirty as all hell."

"No worries! Not like I'm all showered! We've been on the road for like three days now!" You waved off her concern and held out your hand.

Hesitantly, she took it and the two of you shook hands.

You noted that the burns she had on one side of her face seemed to spread down her body because her entire arm from shoulder to wrist (or what wasn't covered by her gloves) were covered in wrinkly scar tissue.

You tried not to stare. She probably got enough of that in her day-to-day, she didn't need it from you too.

You hoped she didn't get it from Bram already. He could be so insensitive without even thinking about it.

"Anyway, I was just sayin' that I'd love t' ride over to the gate, the one leadin' to Lovelock and send out a call, try to get triple-A over." Emm cupped the side of her neck, looking rather thoughtful "Boss won't be happy since we ain't suppos't have people over but."

Then she shrugged as if she was trying to say 'what can you do' before continuing "I got to go soon, though, 'cus I saw that the weather was suppos't to be terrible later today and--"

As if on que, thunder rumbled above, almost as loudly as Emm's motorcycle. You groaned because of course the weather would turn this horrible so rapidly and just when you needed it not to.

"Fuck." Bran put it so eloquently just as the rain started pouring as if the heavens above ripped open the clouds "Why can't you go while it's raining?"

"She only has a motorcycle." Casimir reminded him, his tone implying that fact in and of itself should've been explanation enough, his expression challenging Bran to say otherwise.

Emm looked much more apologetic but only by a bit "Plus, the road to Lovelock is 30 minutes and it's known to landslide when it's rainin'. I'm willin' to help ya'll but not that willin'."

Bran let out another expletive while you gave them an apologetic smile and a thank you.

"I'll be happy to invite ya'll over to our house. We live only a minute or two from here." Emm continued as Casimir shielded her with his lab coat, ducking her head a little as she walked closre to you so you could hear her over the hiss of the rain "It'll be better than that cramped van."

"I'll let everyone know!" You yelled, smiling gratefully at the couple.

Part of your brain registered the warning signs in your head. After all, though you'd tried your best to be polite to them, you did remember how odd Casimir seemed when you first encountered him.

Still, they were trying their hardest to accommodate your group. And, after how rude your friends were, you felt an odd obligation to make up for how mean your friends had been.

After all, what was the worst that could happen from just being nice?

[beevean]

in your opinion, top 5 worst idw moments, and why

Just 5? How am I supposed to choose? D:

5) Sonic equating Eggman trying to conquer the world out of deliberate malice with Shadow trying to destroy the world because he was brainwashed into being a tool for destruction by his own creator, literally using Shadow's deepest trauma as a cruel gotcha - the same behaior Black Doom engaged in.

4) Tangle blurting out the name of Whisper's dead comrades because she thought they were cool, accidentally revealing her trauma to Lanolin who at the time didn't know her. Tangle's apology takes one shitty panel and it's played for laughs with her exaggerated expression. Whisper's takes a whole page and it boils down to her apologizing for having that pesky PTSD that makes her so irritable. This is what passes as ship development.

3) Lanolin being an utter cunt to Silver, speaking to him like she's his mom and disrespecting his credentials, and Whisper, by slamming her into the ground with a sneer on her face, because she has just decided that a random rookie is more credible than two veterans.

2) Sonic letting Metal go because he apparently believed that the robot programmed to be loyal to Eggman (as literally said by Metal) would have the ability to choose, let alone choose to betray Eggman. This causes the Metal Virus apocalypse, but Sonic never has to question his own choice, since the narrative chooses to build up a stupid moral dilemma about Mr. Tinker.

1) Everything about Sonic in #50. From him being a prick to Tails with his valid concerns about Metal, to that stupid horrible panel where he jerks off over how awesome his philosophy is while the light of God shines upon him, to the most terrifying line you could put into his mouth: "That's the problem with giving people choices, you can't stop them from making the wrong ones." Jesus Christ what the fuck is that, that is certainly not my Sonic.

[decarabiandivorce]

Am i the asshole for staying behind on an uncharted planet

I (23M) have been a new hire at this shipping company for around three months and it has been absolutely horrible. The company has us work outrageous hours and there is only one other employee. A month ago that employee (my mentor) went on a vacation and ever since then the president had me switch over from simply organizing packages to making full deliveries. On my first trip, I was attacked by a group of space bunnies and the company was sent into debt because of it. They told me the route was safe and secure, however, it was clearly not the case. The important cargo was destroyed and the remaining debt is now more than a hundred years' worth of salary. The company is going under and the president is even accusing ME of doing something. I have no clue what he is talking about and am very frightened by the experience.

Now then my mentor (38?M idk) comes back and talks about how he was hit by a meteor and crashed. It took him a whole month to recover his parts and just barely made it back. Before he could even see his family the company's appraisal AI scanned a memento he yoinked from the crash site and now the president thinks its a great idea to send two deliverymen to search for treasures to sell. Why do we even have an appraisal AI I don't even know. So now me and this captain i've know for about two months is being sent towards an uncharted planet.

Then we crash. There was a blizzard and I am sent flying into the snow. I am tired, hungry, and lay down on the ground as I contemplate my life. A long story short we reconvened and it turns out this planet is FULL of hostile life! Creatures as tall as me just waiting to eat us. Holy fuck. My mentor is taking this as a normal occurrence???? He spent a month on this planet??? The hell????

So after fighting off creature after creature-some as tall as space pups while others as tall as buildings, we somehow get enough pokos to pay back the COMPANY'S DEBT. We weren't even paid overtime and I think my mentor GOT A PROMOTION? We barely had enough supplies for one person so I started taking back some of the local creatures to eat. (DM me if you want some of my recipes!) . We wake up as soon as dawn breaks and this planet's day and night system are so unlike my own planet. By the time it's 10 PM its Nighttime! Dawn is around 6 AM!

My mentor has been relatively nice. He gets my silence and for that, I am grateful he doesn't have me talk a lot. Cons: He forgets about me really easily. Usually, he has me just follow him while we explore and at some points, I feel as if I could have just stayed at the ship and slept and would accomplish the same amount of work. It is aggravating to be woken up so early and told to just follow him around.

After another long expedition I am about 10 seconds away from passing out our ship's appraisal AI (who has been so snippy with both of us) blares out that we should return home now. The thing is, after so long of being on this planet I realized that I prefer this planet more than slaving away at that delivery service. The same service that would send me straight first toward a hive of space rabbits for my very first mission. So I lagged behind a bit.

In my lagging behind, my mentor starts up the ship and leaves. At first, I am shocked. He actually did that. Holy fuck he left me on this planet. Sure our suits were upgrades to filter out the oxygen just before we left and I could last for months if not years....it was still shocking to me. I could not help but watch the sky as he blasted away. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise!

I walked for a long time, resting in safe areas to conserve my stamina and eating the creatures I knew were edible. There was a lot of experimentation here and there and I missed the spices of back home. I just knew that a certain creature would taste way better if I added in a couple more condiments! (Remember! DM me for my recipes!)

While exploring one of the caves, a giant spiderlike foe kidnapped me and placed me on it's head. It was so cute! Like riding a weird dog.

It was nice being with the big spider. It gathered some ancient technologies that were perfect for my survival. None of the other creatures seemed to bother the two of us and it was nice to know that there was someone else on this planet that understood us. Still, I was tired and after what felt like days, my suit's forced sleep mode kicked in. I have no clue what happened afterward nor how many days I was asleep but the next thing I knew was that my mentor was right in front of me making sure I was okay.

He says that he came back for me with the help of our boss, but I could see the poko in the president's eyes as the ship went over finances with him.

They killed the spider to 'save' me. The spider went on full attack while I was asleep on it and the appraisal AI thinks I was in control of it despite being unconscious. At least the captain think's I didn't do it...

They then told me that there was no third seat on the ship and that I will be sleeping in the cargo hold until they got every single treasure on this planet. I am pretty sure that's a space OSHA violation but at this point, I have been in so many life-threatening dangers that I gave up counting. At least they don't expect me to help out because I am 'recovering'. They are content to let me stay by the ship and I have been using this time to perfect my recipes with the supplies they got from back home.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

wip wednesday is over and yet I present more. one of the many versions of the engagement fic that have rotated through my brain the last few weeks:

She stares at Price as he shifts his broad shoulders against the back of the seat, as if he'll find some magic spot in the supple  leather that will help relieve the stress he is currently trying to hide under the stoic rigidity of a special forces Captain. A stiffness that creaks and groans like a ship on a turbulent sea, bowing under the pressure of a prospect he never thought he'd have to face, but one he can't imagine not committing to as he gazes at the woman across from him – marriage. 

Rory was the singular woman who had managed to keep up with him in life. Smart, dedicated, loyal, trustworthy – and fucking gorgeous to boot. He never dreamed he could be so lucky as to find a woman like her. Frankly, she was better than he deserved. Capable, confident, and Christ, if there was anyone in this world he'd let call him out, it was Rory. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't a bit of a turn on watching her tear into him like he was a jumped up new recruit. 

He fidgets a little more, clearing his throat a few times, tapping his fingers on the brown sheen of cowhide stretched over the arm of the chair before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Getting down to business, about to get his hands dirty. Fucking hell. Taking on AQ fighters was less stressful than this. Price reaches for his glass on the table by his chair, calloused fingers wrapping around the cool exterior, nervously working at the pattern etched into it. 

“Got somethin’ to ask ya, darlin’.” He works the words slowly off his tongue, trying not to stutter or stumble, keeping the airs of being relaxed and in control in play. 

But when he's met by those big hazel eyes that could see into a man like he was transparent, he feels his gut clench and a wave of heat rushes up his neck to flush his cheeks. His powder blues fall away from her as he settles back into his seat, taking a sip of his scotch to rekindle his waning courage. The alcohol burns the whole way down ending in a hiss between gritted teeth – anything to keep him grounded.

“Go on then.” 

His eyes dart to her long legs as they cross over one another. She’s wearing those damn pyjama shorts again that barely cover her arse and he can feel a sweat building on his temples, and dampening his hair. “Well, y’see, this has been a long time comin’, Ror –”

He looks up and he can see her bristle slightly, on edge. Price already knows her mind is probably going to the worst case scenario first – it’s how she always worked – it was one of those things about her that made him imagine her as some porcelain doll he was far too brutal to be allowed to manhandle. His moustache twitched as he wrinkled his nose, brows knitting as he hesitated, hating that his own nerves were causing this dread in her. 

“It's nothing to be worried about, love,” he says, trying his best to reassure her. “I promise. Just this is a big step, one that I want to make sure we’re both ready for, yeah?” 

“John?” 

Her brow cocks and she looks at him like he’s about to be interrogated. Those warm hawk eyes borrowing into him, reading every little flinch and nervous tic. She had no reason to be suspicious, though with the way he’d been acting as of late he supposed she had every right to feel that way.

“I was thinkin’, about us, ‘bout everythin’ we’ve been through together. Six years, my girl, that’s a bloody long time. You've been good to me, better than I likely deserve and I don't want to risk losin’ ya. Don't know where I'd be without ya. So –” He pauses, placing the drink down on the table once more. “What d’you say to becoming Mrs. Price?”

Rory’s brows furrow and then lift, staring at him like this was all a farce. “You’re taking the piss.”

“Not about something like this, my girl.”

[sleepymccoy]

Alright, I have been thinking about spaceships!!

Basic premise, we don't have light speed tech so it's all within the solar system. Moons and some planets are terraformed, there are space stations, so on. I haven't designed anything with fake gravity, so the ships would need to handle gravity and zero grav in space. That's mostly fixtures though, the structure is fairly unchanged I reckon, cos it does all still need to work in gravity. Because of that, the engines are taking up a bit of space. And i've tried to leave some dead space in the ship cos i'm sure i'll come up with more scientific necessities, like I'm already thinking about constantly having to create fuel to burn to leave orbit.

Other thing, this ship has to work in three ways. One, space flight/leaving orbit stuff. Two, can park on solid ground and has a functional trade door. Three, has some way of fishing while hovering over the open ocean. That's why every ship has a "fishing" zone for the fishing part of things. They're all at the bottom of the ship, obvs.

Also, you'll probably get this from my writing the pros and cons, but this is for a romance that just happens to be set in space lol

First of all, the UFO

Basic UFO design premise. One big wide disc, on one level.

Pros: I can fuck around with the design on the one level pretty freely, and don't need to commit to shit For example, storage and rooms should def swap cos rooms can have windows then. This can have whole areas the pov character doesn't go to very easily. Open plan means secrets and privacy are harder to have, encourages drama.

Cons: The design doesn't make sense against like air drag and leaving orbit. It' so not aerodynamic. Maybe it takes off at a 90 degree angle, so like every room has a take off chair fitted to the wall cos it's gonna flip to its side. Okay, that's kinda fun, this shouldn't be in the con line anymore but whatever. It's a good example that all cons can be overcome x

Second, let's look at the Slice

Pros: Small and intimate. There's less rooms so everyones sharing a room with another shift, which gives everyone a unique friendship with one person on another shift schedule. Can't hang out in your room, so gotta see other people, encourage interaction. Tbf, I can make that happen in the other designs if I decide it's too cool to skip

Cons: also not aerodynamic. Very good in space or staying in gravity. Maybe it has another way it sorta collapses in to leave orbit, like the angle bit on the hangy downy slides up to be more like an arrow head. Yeah alright, there' another con that's become a cool pro. Actual con! Not having your own room lessens how easy it is to have sex. Although i guess the shifts undo that, cos you wouldn't want to risk waking the person who's got the room rn. Could be a fun pro as secret sex is much harder to do. Ugh

The Ball

Pros: Hysterical. Quite a bit of space. Confusing layout gives you nooks and crannies to bump into someone in a sexual tension way. Aerodynamic enough i guess? Fucking wild looking, it's just a big ol ball. I could redesign this a bit to be like a luxury yacht that's been refitted to be a fishing boat, which'd add some fun world building stuff. And some crazy down time options

Cons: This feels the most disjointed to me really. And it would be so damned hard to build. Oh, the multi level idea, which i kinda forget when drawing, is that 1B would be accessible through floor holes in the 2C corridors. They probably dont line up cos I forgot about it. Actually, they kinda nearly do. Cool.

Here's a poll so you can choose lol. I'll do another poll in reblogs with some of the features so you can suggest what you think is the most important feature, if you really want to have a say! I love feedback and brainstorming, so please, bring your heart <3

[lemonhemlock]

hi! I wanted to know your opinion, I also love helaegon, but even in books it is written about aegon's infidelities. do you think he loved Heleina romantically if he was cheating? yet before B&C they slept together

i ship helaegon, so yeah, i do think there was romantic love woven into their sibling bond. which, in and of itself, is a curious and fucked-up starting point to expand upon. was he a perfect husband? lol no. sure, fire & blood doesn't stop to spell out every relationship and interaction between these people, bc the medium just doesn't allow for it.

but we do know some things about helaena. she is hinted to have been a very popular and charismatic person - she was an involved mother to three children, was beloved by both alicent AND viserys. even rhaenyra didn't have any particular beef with her. the common people loved her so much they rioted in her name, which means she had a very active public persona, perhaps related to charities and other good works and wasn't holed up in the palace all day.

she claimed dreamfyre, so that proves she was a brave and enterprising person, not afraid to take risks and take charge of the situation, if needed. milquetoast pushovers are not really successful dragon claimers - i feel like fandom glosses over this aspect a lot and the show doesn't help. can you imagine how it must feel like to fly in that time when the only method of air transportation is a dangerous fire-breathing creature? or to have a deep telepathic bond with one?

so, in this context, aegon isn't really given any particular reason to dislike her. she has a retort at hand whenever needed, is not afraid of her husband, is involved in political decisions before B&C and aegon even listens to her. is that a whole lot of build-up? ofc not. but it's really not the "helaegon h8 each other" gotcha zinger that's become popular in the fandom. although hotd does not help in this regard.

in the show she is kind of the opposite of what she was portrayed in FB - she's shy, withdrawn, keeps to the palace grounds, is mostly ignored and content that way. these traits are not "bad" or "good", but it does change the family dynamic and imo not much is done to compensate for it. i don't get the feeling they're telling a better story with this, just a more frustrating one by not providing some kind of counterbalance.

at the end of the day, this relationship has a lot of potential for interesting exploration, but any adaptation will boil down to what specific themes the writers want to develop. and, whenever readers interpret this ship, they're also going to be viewing it through whichever lends they find more compelling. it's always going to be like this with any underdeveloped aspect of any story.

so, if you make aegon hypersexual and helaena withdrawn, that's definitely a choice that's going to inform how these characters interact with each other, but that new dynamic is different from the text and we should acknowledge that, not pretend it was like this all along.

as for whether it's a good change to make or not, i'm not inclined to say so. transforming helaena into another long-suffering wife, when she is already going to lose her mind over the trauma she is subjected to, is boring. they already explored that with alicent and, at the end of the day, helaena is not your typical westerosi lady. her dragon is bigger than aegon's, but nobody bothers to take that into consideration. she should be whacking her brother over the head if he's being annoying, not cowering in fear of him.

[shyinkbunny]

Hair Pets: Super Effective

“Ok, I have eyes on him. Give it 10, then proceed as plan- Wait…is that,”

“Hood, what is it?”

“…uck! It’s-”

The ground shook – a thundering eruption cracked in his ear – almost muffling the pained scream over the coms.

“Hood!”

Stuck watching from the rooftop of another as the warehouse crumbled in on itself.

The silence that followed for minutes as-

Slade rubbed aggressively at his eye, efforts futile in banishing the reminiscing his wondering brain kept strolling back too. He pulled his attention back to the contract. One he found himself increasingly and uncommonly stressed about.

He and Jason were working this one together, and on a notably rare occasions one of his source's intel was incorrect.

Unfortunately, that fuck-up resulted in an unanticipated explosion and collapsing building with Jason’s leg getting a rain of shrapnel, a broken fibula, a river of bruises to his side, and probable concussion with how hard his head cracked against the cement floor. Fortunately, he had his helmet or Slade doubted highly he’d be walking away with a mild case of the dizzies.

If he would have walked away at all.

Slade’s fingernails dug into his eyebrows and the skin directly below it. The pressure in his head building.

Plus, it was a very large setback in the contract’s time frame. The setback is what had him so on edge right now, obviously.

He had to locate his target again, find a new reliable source, and reevaluate the plan’s whole execution now that he was one man short. All without the assistance of Red Hood. Two years ago this would have been no fucking issue but after two years of dating, and three of working together so closely, Slade started to depend on Red Hood as his second more than he even realized. The kid’s resources, smarts, and vast background experiences gave him different ways of looking at problems even Slade fell short of. Turns out when you mix street smarts, bat teachings, hero training, and Al Ghul brainwashing you get an interesting ass mix. One helpful with planning and even more so in the direct heat of the field.

That being said, he was still getting Red Hood’s “perspective” on the case as short of sedating him for the next 96 hours, Jason wasn’t stepping completely back from the contract nor from worming his way into the details of the case. After threats of sedation Jason finally, begrudgingly, relented and camped out on the couch to get some rest.

Still, it leaves the issue that Slade was a body and two skilled hands shorter than he anticipated being. It’s fine. No issue. He’s Deathstroke, not just some mercenary, but the mercenary who always completed his contracts. All’s well and his head is screwed on just fine, thank you very much Wintergreen.

He let out another breath, fingers now pinching the bridge between his eyes. Starting to go a little over 76 hours with no sleep, he was stretching his three-day limit thin, but still aware he was too wired to actually accomplish any rest even if he tried.

A low, “hey,” drifted his way from the couch.

“Hm,” he answered back without looking from the blueprints he had in hand.

“Slade, come over ‘ere”

“I’m busy,” Slade gruffed back, the lack of sleep making his voice a tinge more gravelly. His brows furrowed when he shuffled through the piles of paper, not finding the damn shipping list times. His finger burrowed into his left temple like he was trying to physically push the steady aching thrum away. The dull electrical buzz from the dining room’s shitty hanging lamp seemed to be growing louder with every damn minute.

“…Slade”

And what the hell was Billy doing? He said he would contact Lenardo. He owed Deathstroke one and if he was giving Billy any shit collecting-

“Slade”

“Enough,” he slammed the papers he had in hand down, the table’s wood creaking under the sudden angry pressure. “I don’t have time to fuck around,” he spit out, turning his head just enough to snarl at the others direction, voice growing louder with every word. “If someone didn’t run recklessly ahead than I wouldn’t be pulling some half-ass solution from the thin fucking air to patch up this monumental fuck-up.”

His voice carried and filled the safe house dining room and echoed down the halls; the yell sounded towering in the small apartment. But the silence afterwards seemed even heavier, pressing into every nook and cranny in an almost suffocating way. The tension felt like a physical weight on Slade’s stomach.

Fuck. That was….he didn’t mean….

Slade let out a breath that felt bone deep while leaning back into the creaking wooden chair. He pried open his clenching fist around the now crinkled and torn papers and pushed his forehead in his other hand propped up on the armrest. He squeezed his eyes, hidden behind his hand, shut so tightly he started to see white spots.

Shit. His head wasn’t on right.

“Slade,” the voice was soft but stern, feeling weighty in the damning silence of the room.

Slade stopped being a coward and finally turned to face the other man patched up and camping out on the couch. One who’s been watching Slade run circles on the damn job for the last five hours.

Jason’s head was leaning back against the couch’s headrest, expression and body looking deceptively relaxed, but those ocean eyes pinned him. “Come here,” his voice was low and smooth, but solid. Commanding, but grounding.

Slade didn’t fight the request this time, his burning bitter words still scattered like ash on his tongue. He raised from the kitchen chair to make his way to the other man. He owes him that much at least for his piss poor temper right now.

The kids always made extra effort to be attentive on any of Slade’s contracts to prevent any careless shit exactly like this from happening. The need for Hood to check-in and supervise every move he made was banished long ago with Slade’s growing confidence in his ability and his judgement. Jason was competent and careful, and unlike the bats who like to micromanage absolutely everyone, Slade trusted his decisions. And he’s aware that Jason only went ahead to scope the warehouse’s shipment because he knew the place was clear. Was supposed to be clear. According to Slade’s debrief.

A few of Slade’s knuckles cracked under the strain of his curled fist.

They were supposed to go cave diving after this. Find a nice natural hot spring he could defile the younger man in. His gaze ran over the bulky leg cast. But with his damn injuries now, he frowned. That same weight resting heavier on his stomach.

“Hey.” A tug on his hand drew his eyes away from the cast to Jason’s softer gaze. “Come sit down with me.” He motioned to a spot next to him with his head.

“Kid, I can’t. I’m on a time crunch,” Slade’s voice miles softer than before. A whisper in comparison.

“You’ve been running yourself ragged and still haven’t made any progress. You’ll feel better if you get some rest.”

Slade shook his head. It would be pointless, he’s still too wired. He felt like he was gonna crawl out of his damn skin. No way would his mind settle enough to sleep.

“I’m too wired.”

“Just a bit,” Jason’s voice lulled and hand tugged down lightly on Slade’s.

“Jason,” Slade breathed out, tired.

The other man in response tried to sit up but winced from the wound on his side. Slade was propped on the edge of the couch by his side in an instant. He lifted the shirt Jason pilfered from his duffle bag and inspected the bandages for any pulled stitches. “What hurts?” he demanded. Maybe he did break or crack a rib. They said it should have only been some deep bruising, but-

“My poor feelings, asshole. Now lay down with me.”

Slade looked back up at Jason to see a smirk and self-satisfied look and not an ounce of pain. Little shit. Slade glared. He didn’t find feigning pain to be fucking amusing. Especially since it was his contract, his fucking intel that– his jaw clenched.

Jason ignored Slade’s deepening scowl and aggravation to tug on his shoulders until the bigger man was laying with his back to the younger man’s chest and between his spread legs. Between Jason’s stubbornness, the steady weight on Slade’s stomach, and the memory of Jason screaming out in pain that was playing in his head like some fucked-up background music, Slade complied a lot easier than he would any other time. Or with any other person.

But as easy as he had relented to laying back, he was still on the figurative fence about staying; his body still tense, playing at the idea of getting up and back to the damn contract.

Yet with every passing moment enclosed in Jason’s arms, warm and solid, and the steady rise and fall of his chest against Slade’s back, and those nimble fingers of his running through Slade’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, his body started to unfurl bit by bit. Not realizing he was subconsciously matching his breath to Jason’s until the younger man breathed in another slow, deep, steadying breath and Slade followed, then let it out at the same rate.

After about a dozen breaths like that and the continuous fingers running through his strands in a lazy, relaxing manner, he finally grumbled out a, “What are you watching?”

“Lord of the Rings.”

Slade’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. He thought Jay was bingeing that show with the obnoxiously nasally nanny with the horrible laugh. He didn’t get Jason’s amusement from the show except it functioning as a brain numbing, to the point of mind melting, way to pass the time. (Although, he did see the amusement he got from the sharp-witted butler). Still, this worked better for him. He’d much rather let his brain vegetate to the background noise of the clanking metal of swords and overdramatic war cries of some dwarf man.

Slade let his eyes fall shut to the lulling feeling of soft touches and comforting scratches carting through his bangs and hair. A thumb brushing featherlight over his forehead and massaging at his temple just-so that his throbbing headache stilled for a moment.

He would indulge the kid just a bit longer, then he’ll get back to work. Just a bit. He let his mind haze and drift, and thought he felt something cover lightly over his body and tuck around his sides but didn’t bother to pay it any mind.

Slade woke to a low voice in his ear and small shake. “Slade, hey”. He blinked a few times. It was much darker than it was before. Where the previously high sun was coloring the world in golden hues, now it cast crawling shadows on everything as it sunk nearly below horizon. A slight tug to his ends tried to draw his attention again, “hey, that sounds like Wintergreen’s ringtone.”

Slade blinked twice more, then wrenched himself out of the cocoon of warmth and comfort Jason seemingly nested him in. Checking the phone, it was indeed Billy’s contact name blinking on the white screen. Slade slid the icon to the side accepting the call and seeing what intel the older man was able to find for him.

After 12 or so minutes later, and a much clearer picture of where his target Houdinied his ass to and what his new plans entailed, their conversation was wrapping up. “Hmm. Good. But Billy?” Slade bit out before the call ended.

“Yes?”

“My previous source, the one that was covering this case? Find me his location.” The unspoken intent clear through the hard words.

“Of course,” Bill said only after a second of silence, then the line cut.

That little shit almost got Jason killed with his information. Yeah. He’ll be paying him a visit.

He checked the time. About four, going on five, hours past what it was, hours of him actually achieving some sleep. He assumed it would have been more if Jason didn’t wake him for the call. Just from those few hours, he already felt loads better; clearer headed and less like he was ready to vibrate out of his skin.

Slade looked back at the other man who from the looks of it rearranged himself slightly more spread out, additional space now that he wasn’t sharing the couch with Slade’s bulk, which now that he looked he was kind of amazed that the smaller couch fit the both of them. Jason must have been squished to some extent. He frowned at the thought. If he made any of his wounds worse so Slade could have a cat nap, Slade’s going to be aggravated. This safe house unfortunately wasn’t one of their better ones, but it did in the pinch. He’ll make sure the next one is more comfortable.

Not being able to see Jay’s face, just the back of his head, but the slight tilt of its direction towards Slade’s showed he was ease-dropping in on the conversation. No surprise. Part nosy-bat, part inquisitive-brat.

As he started to make his way back to the couch, Jason’s head tilted backwards at his approach till his head almost hung off the armrest completely; an act that always compelled Slade with the desire to lean down and plant a kiss square on those teasing lips. A fact he’s almost positive the kid knew and possibly abused. Didn’t matter much though. If these last few hours alone didn’t expose Jason’s remarkable ability to read Slade, he’s not sure what would. It’s a good thing he didn’t plan on letting the brat go anytime soon, if ever, or the arresting amount of knowledge he has on Slade’s character would be fucking alarming.

But now? Now there was a strange sort of peace, of contentment, of ease, at the awareness he held. The brat made him feel a billion things. Amusement, confusion, frustration, amazement, pride, unease, disappointment, anticipation. A lust for his mind, body, and attention, and a carnal hunger so fervent he thought it would burn through his veins at times. A billion different things Slade could have seen the passionate, lively, fierce man stir in him.

But grounded and soothed would have never been near the list. Because when the hell has anyone been able to accomplish that with Slade? Well, besides Billy. Even with Addy’s attempts at comfort, it felt administrative at times.

Yet it never felt like being handled or manipulated by Jason. Like Slade was a variable one needed to manage. The anarchic, dangerous super soldier that needed to be contained…pacified…appeased.

No, in those rare moments of chaos and overwhelming consciousness, when his mind wouldn’t stop running over what had happened and what could happen. Running over every aspect and possible outcome, when it relived every sensation of each moment, even ones he’d rather gouge out of his head then remember, it was Jason that gave him a foundation to be grounded to. Like a single touch would make the world stop spinning for five fucking seconds.

“Wintergreen give any good new intel?” Jason’s arm was slung behind his head, gripping the armrest to give himself more leverage to hold his head back, his other hand fiddling with the tv remote.

Slade hummed a confirmation when he reached him. Leaning down to press a deeply craved kiss to those easily accessible lips. He lifted slightly; arms braced on both sides of Jason’s head to bracket his brat between them. Jason’s gaze was steady and soft - happy - but a seriousness edged into them.

“Hey,” his voice almost a whisper, but held the sureness as if he had yelled them. “I got hurt. It sucked, but it happens. We patch up, we get pissed, and then we finish what we started.” His gaze pinning once again. “So, you’re going to go out there, you’re gonna finish the job – remind them exactly why Deathstroke’s reputation is what it is – then you’re gonna come back and make it up to me.” His small smirk and voice held the sureness as if he’d seen the future and already watched it happen.

Slade wasn’t fooled. He knew the kid didn’t really hold him responsible for his injury, like he said, shit happens. But it gave Slade one more thing he had control of. Another way to get him out of his head and past and focused on the next step. Jason may bitch about Slade’s penchant for control, but these little indulgences certainly never do anything to dissuade his habits.

Slade let out a breathy chuckle and leaned down to rumble in his ear, “Then I advise you to get some sleep, Brat.” His tone low, deep, and spoke of lots of heady intentions.

He grinned at the step up in Jay’s heartbeat and the slight rise of color that tinted his cheeks. Slade’s lips brushing over the freckled and blushed skin.

“Promises, promises. Go to work, slacker,” Jason grunted playfully and nudged his head at Slade’s. He lifted his head back up, pulling his attention and eyes back to the show with the inappropriately dressed nanny and her employer bickering at each other. He’s so weird.

Slade laid one final firm kiss to the side of his cheek, making sure to drag his beard rough and forcefully across; just the way he hates.

“Ack! Slade, get off you ass,” he protested and squirmed away from the angry scratchy facial hair.

The mercenary strolled away with a smirk, smile pulling wider at the mumbled, “ornery asshole,” he heard whispered behind him, but he knew was said with a smile.

Slade cracked his neck and sat back down at the kitchen table. He’ll look into this new information Billy gave him, then in about an hour or so order them some food. The oddity he calls his partner always gets strange cravings for Chinese food when he’s benched and the egg rolls from the place down the street are pretty good. Slade glanced at the clock. Yeah, he’s got more than enough time. He’ll be fine. Red Hood may be out of commission on the field, but where it counts, Jason still gots him covered.

[Author's Note: Slade is all talk. He makes Jason heal a lot more before they do anything spicy. It’s all cuddles and getting spoiled. Question is who is being spoiled – Jason or Slade? (Hint: Jason only gets spoiled when he lets you spoil him.)]

[earthwormspaghetti]

I feel simultaneously very sad about the Thing (ffs there’d better be an AU fanfic where everything’s absolutely the same, except Izzy’s still there) and very happy that Stede and Ed finally got to be silly little innkeepers together.

Also, why, though. Why Izzy, of all people? You just give him a lovely redemption arc, a good story of acceptance from the crew and the journey to self-love, AND a killer speech to that asshole with the wooden schnoz, but then YOU FUCKING RUN IT INTO THE GROUND LIKE A BOAT WITH A MADMAN AT ITS PROW!

Do you UNDERSTAND what you did? The character everyone enjoyed watching grow and hurt and feel happy and learn, who finally got a chance at happiness after basing his whole life off something that only hurt him, who survived all the curveballs thrown at him, you just ABANDONED him so the story had a bit of drama in it?!

Also, if I correctly calculate, Stede & Ed (the real people!) do only 1 year at sea: this is correctly mirrored in the show; they leave seafaring after about a year (1717-1718)

Meanwhile, Isreal Hands is said to have continued after Ed Teach and Stede Bonnet stopped; he’s on PHYSICAL records (for testimony against Ed’s corruption, but such details are not the most important in the show’s contents. [what IS, you mothers and sons of fuckers, is how long he fucking LIVED!]) as being alive and well after both pirates’ end of careers: he was recuperating from a bullet wound (see what you could’ve DONE THERE, you?! See how symbolic it could’ve been for him to recover from that bullet he took, this time not ferreted away in secrecy, but cared for by the crew, and, most importantly, in the place where he finally felt welcome? To heal and get better, becoming captain like he was [IRL] of Blackbeard’s ship the Adventure? TO FINALLY FEEL AT HOME AND SAFE?! To have CLOSURE?!)

But NOOOOOO, you just HAD to kill the guy off, and for what? Was the intent to make it more dramatic? To amplify people’s feelings while watching the show? Because what has been done here is a deliberate killing off of a very prominent character, with no obvious or logical reason for doing so in view.

Now, this is certainly a complaint against the writing choices for the show, but can’t we also blame HBO, who crammed it into 8 episodes instead of 10? Would it be better if they had more stuff to work with; would there have been less need for drama and melancholy? I would strongly prefer slower episodes, to cramming the storyline into only eight, and just throwing random shit at the whiteboard and seeing what sticks. You understand? That drama is not the answer? That having him recover, or better yet, just not have him get shot at all, would be so much funner to wrap up ROMANTIC COMEDY with?!

For fuck’s sake, we don’t even really know when Izzy died; the only record we have is from 1724, when Captain Charles Johnson said in his book “A General History Of The Pyrates” that he died a beggar in London.

See how fucking open ended that is? Just a questionable source, giving a rather vague claim? How EASY it would be to have him… well, pretty much do anything except get randomly shot in 1718? They did it for Ed and Stede, they could very easily do it for Izzy.

At least, if they wanted something exciting/dramatic, have him be captured by the English and testify against Ed as an innocent bystander who Teach maimed; and somehow build from there. Maybe he could become a craftsman and fade into obscurity, enjoying a quiet life on land. Maybe become a singer at a bar, having a good time as himself (he wasn’t bad at the party, he could sure use that to his advantage!) Maybe he could run into the crew, just as he’s about to be executed, or as he’s being hanged, and be liberated by them; to rejoin their crew as their beloved unicorn. Maybe he could get lost and presumed dead in the chaos, only to be found alive and his usual slightly damp, permanently cranky state of being a while later.

I now feel quite disappointed to be deprived of my, and a lot of people’s, favorite weird little one-legged grouch.

Godspeed to the fic makers, I wish you all the best of winds in your sails, which sadly appears to have left that small part of the story itself. Make me proud and use as many adjectives as you like; I’d love to learn how many words you can find to convey “strange and slightly greasy”.

[dryeyed]

SHIPPING INFO.   answer the following for your muse(s) so people know how shipping works on your blog.

     What’s your OTP for your Muse(s)?

erasermic... sobs

whatever's going on with orion and shouta (lovingly)

     What are you willing to RP when it comes to shipping?

anything within the realm of possibility with shouta. i need the ship to be grounded in his reality, including what he could be swayed / influenced like with another muse. it has to feel real to me, there has to be something deeper than a shallow and surface-level dynamic. i'm really not all that picky once we've made it there LOL, there is a full range of shit that i'm not thinking about off the top of my head atm

     How large does the age gap have to be to make it uncomfortable?

no one younger than him by 4-5 years. ages above him are a hit or miss.

     Are you selective when shipping?

i definitely think so. i'm reserved with it, i don't just go giving out my muses' hearts because honestly. i'm tired of having ships with people and then for whatever the reason was, having the entire friendship fizzle out with a mun and then having gap where their muse once was. i've lost muse for a few characters that way and it's been shittier and shittier every single time, so i try to 'pick' / vibe it out with a little bit more... idk. scrutiny isn't the word for it but something along the like. tldr i need to be able to see an actual future between the muses + have a strong connection with the person on the other end. i'd like to be good friends, rather than someone to occasionally pass notes to.

there's also the fact that shouta is not a romance-centric muse whatsoever. bro is fighting for his life against the man in the mirror, he is in the trenches, life is slowly killing him. he's very walled up and difficult to get through to, and this could prove pretty difficult to build meaningful and lasting connections with him on.

     How far do steamy moments have to go before they’re considered NSFW?

i'll be honest i haven't written smut in a loooong time, and even then i was never really confident in my abilities to effectively write a sex scene. i think anything past suggestive talk and wandering hands will fade to black on blog. but i'd probably be open to discussion with current ship partners on like. discord or smth. i don't need to write nsfw for a ship to feel whole to me, sometimes plotting it's fun too, but. lmao. idk. could be fun to fuck around and find out at the same time

     Who are other muses you ship your muse with?

god do i ship shouta with mic sooo much. so much. their dynamic can be explored in soo many different ways, and they're just all so fun and exciting to me i just hfgkldfghfl i want to gnaw on my toes i love them.

i've thought about shouta with toshinori. i think they could work, i think it'd be cute, but also remains to be seen. they're cute in every sense tbh

counting ocs, i definitely ship shouta with @gravesung's orion aisa. a flavor of erasermic but to the right and folded and crumpled yet shaped to be something even better. he is a delight to read and learn about, both as mun and shouta himself, and there's just something so enticing about the unknown. someone you once knew coming back into your life for possibly better or for possibly worse, for possibly fruity reasons. mwah mwah mwah i love them

     Does one have to ask to ship with you?

i'd love to be asked tbh. if we've hardly interacted, i'd like to wait a little until we've talked/written more. but at the same time if it's possibly heading that way, it'd be fun to find out. i do turn into a massive gremlin with ships, though, and if that's not something that can be handled or matched then that's a pass from me

     How often do you like to ship?

i do like to write romance. i really, really like to write romance. i think a lot of it is personal yearning / maladaptive daydreaming / general love for love lmfaoooo. but at the same time... it's not ever something i want to just jump right into, or write it right off the bat in a dynamic. this may be the demi in me but i tend not to just dive right into pre-established romance. i need to both have plotting and written interaction happen for me to get a sense of how they mesh, what they'd look like in the mindspace so that writing the scenes don't feel forced in the slightest bit. i also would like to consider myself to be friends with the muns of the muses i'm shipping with, and i will admit i tend to be pickier on that front. mayb it's the neurodivergence. mayb it's the trust issues and inherent cynicism

     Are you multiship?

yuh. i've done singleship before and i think i'd only do it again under very specific circumstances, but i'd also rather not close myself off to a possible dynamic that could occur out of nowhere. things happen, and that's the exciting part of it.

     Are you ship obsessed or ship more-or-less?

i feel like i'm overthinking this question. i definitely think i tend to favor or have more muse/motivation to write some romantic threads and dynamics, but at the same time it's not a necessity. i wasn't actively seeking out my ships across blogs, they just came into fruition with plotting. a lot of other dynamics can also give me the same amount of feelings and motivation, though, i guess it just depends on where i've been mentally at that point in time, and what's getting me the most.

     What is your favorite ship in your current fandom?

i fell in love with erasermic and i fell in love with them hard. easily my comfort ship throughout the summer and i'm excited to keep taking them with me into the future, to grow with them because honestly. i don't see myself leaving shouta or hizashi behind anytime soon, nor bnha as a whole (even if i fucking hate it sooo much sometimes lmao). i go back and forth on if i like erasermight or mightmic, i think i like them. i think i could be convinced. but i'm also eh. i also took one look at izuku, katsuki, and shouto, saw my kanto pokedex trainers and immediately saw them as Something. tbh i don't really have a lot of ships for bnha? atleast at this point in time lmao.

     Finally, how does one ship with you?

LMAO be gay with me lets scream and be absolutely unhinged

tagged by :   @implde thank you <3 <3

tagging :   steal and tag me!