#its so painful and it was painful having to come to that realization

[ailelie]

The Wolf now is Concerned. He isn't invested. He refuses to be invested in humans. Humans are food, not friends.

And yet. This utter sad sack needs help and Hairy McLumberjack is too busy fussing around with trees to do more than look in and tut occasionally.

And, it isn't like the Wolf can roam much. He had a serious surgery to get Steven out of his stomach. He needs recovery time.

It only makes sense that he recovers at Steve's. It's all Steve's fault anyway, if you think about it.

Steve is still mourning his relationship with Denise and dealing with his recent near-death experience. The latter would be easier if the cause of said-near-death experience hadn't decided to take over Steve's bed.

The Wolf is a demanding and infuriating roommate, but the more time they spend on bickering, the less time Steve has to feel sorry for himself. He ends up developing a new passion for cooking out of pure spite--he will prove to the Wolf that there are many better options for eating than 'raw human.'

"So raw my heart was literally still beating, Wolf."

"The better to warm my stomach, Steve."

It is when Little Red is visiting again, more than a week after the Wolf last felt a twinge of pain in his torso, that everything changes again.

"Mama said to invite you to dinner, Uncle Steve," Little Red says. "You can come, too, Uncle Wolf."

Steve and the Wolf meet each other's horrified gaze as they both realize the domestic comfort they've found and created in each other.

That night, long after Little Red has returned home, the Wolf says he's leaving and he goes.

For the first time in weeks, Steve doesn't have to share his bed.

(After the first few nights when the Wolf had claimed his bed, Steve decided he was not going to be forced to the couch again. They each dared the other to leave the bed if they were 'too uncomfortable' to share. Neither left. Neither ever admitted, in the weeks that followed, how nice it was to have someone else there.)

He can't sleep.

In the morning, he eats some berries for breakfast. Lunch is a leftover soup. Dinner is more of the same.

Cooking is less fun on his own, less fun when he doesn't have the Wolf stealing his ingredients and making sly comments from the side.

Meanwhile, the Wolf is in the forest and utterly refusing to admit that his rabbit is a bit gamey, that its flesh would be better shredded with a spicy sauce and served over whipped potatoes. He is a Wolf. He doesn't need cooked food. He doesn't want it.

The flesh and blood are warm in his mouth, but they do not heat his belly like one of Steve's stews. The forest is so unreasonably cold.

And lonely.

"He tried to eat me, Laura," Steve complains to his sister, Little Red's mother.

"From what I understand, he successfully ate you. That lumberjack cut you free, no?"

"The lumberjack! Now, he would make sense. He's handsome, right? Saved my life even. If I had to-- why couldn't I have--" the words won't come out. Steve's never been attracted to anyone male before.

Until the Wolf.

His face flushes bright red and his sister sighs. "You could do worse than that Wolf, Steve."

He buries his face in his hands.

The Wolf goes by the cabin when he knows Steve will be in town, attending the dinner Little Red had invited them to, the dinner that ruined everything.

The ice box has no ice and the plants inside are limp and shriveled. A stew pot, crusted with the dried remnants of broth, sits on the stove. Another pot is half-full with congealed oatmeal.

The Wolf refuses to feel guilty. He is a wild creature. He is not meant to live within four walls like some domesticated dog.

He washes the pots and tosses the ruined vegetables and herbs. It is during this last task that he runs into the lumberjack.

"Glad to see you're back" the Lumberjack says. "He's been missing you."

I'm not back, the Wolf wants to snarl, and, What business is it of yours? Instead, he says, "I don't belong here."

The lumberjack shrugs. "Well, I don't know about that. I think we belong wherever we love and are loved."

"So, what, you're having a love affair with a hundred trees? Do you chop them down after you break-up?" It isn't his best line, but the lumberjack laughs anyway.

"My love was turned into a tree and hidden in this wood. Someday I will find and free him from his curse. Until then, my job gives me more than enough time to search."

"So you're saying it could be worse," the Wolf says. "I could be in love with a tree."

The lumberjack's smile broadens and he nods. "Instead you're only in love with a man."

It is only then that the Wolf realizes what he'd said. The truth of it warms him inside out. "I'm going to go back inside."

He doesn't say he's going to stay. That's what he means anyways.

The next morning, carrying a basket of leftovers, Steve returns to his cabin. He is dreading being alone again, but he cannot live in his sister's house.

He wants the Wolf. He doesn't understand how or why the Wolf has become so important to him, but maybe that doesn't matter. He just wants that strange and frustrating beast back in his kitchen, his bedroom, his life.

He has decided to track down the Wolf just as he's opening his cabin door.

And the Wolf is there.

Glass shatters as the basket falls from his hand. The Wolf's coat is warm and musky under his hands and cheek. His snout presses cool against Steve's neck. His claws prick lightly along his back. Steve can barely think for the utter relief flooding through him.

"I'm back," the Wolf says, unnecessarily. He is holding Steve as tightly as Steve is holding him.

Neither can quite feel embarrassed by their reactions to one another given the other is reacting quite the same.

"Good," Steve says. "Stay."

"Wild creatures don't belong indoors," the Wolf warns. He wants to stay, but some fear lingers. He can only promise now, not forever.

Steve, though, is unconcerned. He steps back, looking his Wolf in the eye. He lifts a hand to his Wolf's maw and traces a thumb along the seam of his mouth, the same mouth and sharp teeth that had once devoured him. "Since when," he asks, "have you cared about arbitrary rules?"

The Wolf flicks his tongue against Steve's thumb. "Since when, indeed."

inspiration struck in a really, really weird way

[rootspiral]

AGATHA ALL ALONG DEEP DIVE: episode 1 part 1

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4])

IT'S TIME TO REWATCH AGATHA ALL ALONG, WITCHES! And as usual, spoilers below.

episode 1, Seekest Thou The Road

Wanda is dead (no she ain't). As a result, her spell is weakened and Agatha has changed from her nosy neighbor character to detective Agnes (or caught the true crime bug, as Herb will put it.)

Stinky grimy Agnes, so serious and depressed. As soon as she appears onscreen she's humming the Ballad.

Detective Agnes has just been recalled to action after being off duty for a while. She was punished for "punching a suspect", which is code for going after Wanda. Agnes points out that now the suspect is a convicted felon, i.e. that she was right after all and Wanda is dangerous and evil. "I can't be right and wrong" she says. "Yes, you can" says Herb, because both Agatha and Wanda are villain and victim. And lol at the police tape symbolizing Herb's fence. You know the poor guy is in his garden looking down at Agnes in her Bonher family tshirt, wondering what the hell is going on.

oh that's a seriously good shot

Agatha looks heartbroken when she sees Wanda's body, doesn't she? She looks so sorry.

Herb (the real Herb behind the illusion) confirms that Agatha is acting different than usual.

THIRD TIME SHE DISCREETLY DRIES HER TEARS

There is nothing funny about Detective Agnes. Or rather, it's funny to watch her because she's so intense, but we laugh at her, she's not being a clown on purpose like Agatha usually is. And Agatha right now is in a lot of pain, even more than usual having completely lost her agency. This character so unkempt, so sad, so doggedly searching for answers, is more true to Agatha's real self than what she usually lets people see. Deep down she's just a tragic lesbian wet rat.

Somebody called in to have the body found, and I think that somebody was Rio. Why would the body be next to the water otherwise? It's like the River of Life laid her gently where Agatha could find her. In other words, Wanda's death brought her to Agatha. I'm curious about these woods too, we know they don't actually exist as this is all in Agatha's head, but where did the idea come from? Are these the woods where she killed the Salemites? Where she gave birth to Nicky? Or where she buried him?

Agatha's victims from the finale flashing throughout the opening. Wherever it may bend, I'll see you at the end.

"based on the danish series WANDAVISDYEN" never fails to destroy me. and it's so clever too, it's like they're telling first time watchers that yes, this seems like a grim detective show, but you clever audiences know that things are not as they seem and this is a parody, right?? this is not serious at all, it's funny! Laugh! Except. It's not funny. It's not funny at all. And you're going to realize only when it's too late. It's the same thing they do with Sharon/Mrs. Hart, they lure you in with laughs only to hit you with heartbreak. This show is not a comedy at all. It's at its very core a senseless tragedy.

Sarah/Dottie lives next door too, was Agatha talking to her through a window, or does the library desk symbolize another fence? This poor woman, hasn't she suffered enough? But they all more or less try to help Agnes, that's sweet. Has anyone from SWORD or whomever dropped in to talk to them, did the Avengers just decide to leave Agatha there? Did Monica (or Ralph) even explain to the poor people of Westview that she's a witch, or do they just think she's a random neighbor who couldn't be saved from Wanda's Hex?

THE MAILMAN CONTINUES BEING SUSPICIOUS. Is Agatha putting words in his mouth, or was he (the "messanger") sent by someone to warn her about the Darkhold being destroyed???

her FACE when she sees Rio

and the way Rio just stares and stares. When you rewatch this scene knowing that this is the first time she gets to see Agatha in centuries... and she has to be cool and she has to be gentle. I think it's deliberate that they put Phil/Harold/Ross Geller in here, because he's one of the funniest people in Westview and it's suggesting a first time viewer to read this scene as a comedy. Except it's a cosmic tale of tragedy and heartbreak, but you're not supposed to notice yet, even if it's right there under your nose.

Stop being such a lone wolf, Agnes. Or rather, stop being such a sad and lonely covenless witch, Agatha.

Rio laughs her delighted little laugh, licks her lips, looks out the window for a moment as if overwhelmed, then goes back looking at Agatha and basically devouring her with her eyes. ("te veo.") (thank you for my life aubrey plaza.) Agatha stares daggers back, but her body language stars getting defensive. She feels very vulnerable.

Yep, defensive. And wistful.

She is doing her job, like always. But she's also going above and beyond. There is technically no need for her to wake Agatha up, but here she is, dropping gentle clues, guiding her with such patience and care.

"If you wanna be in control you can be" is said in such a kind tone, but it's also sexy?? I think Rio really likes for Agatha to take control, in a lot of ways. Her body language is the opposite of what Agatha is doing too.

Oh noes she's making herself so small now. She's like, intrigued and angry and happy and scared to see Rio. They're both being so tentative!! And she doesn't actually know who Rio is because she's under the damn spell, so her body language and feelings are pure instinct. They come from somewhere very very true and deep. (and LOL that mug says "get a clue")

Is this who you are now, Agatha? the intense but lonely detective? she's genuinely interested, because Rio investigates Agatha just as Agatha investigates everybody else. Rio simply cannot get enough of her. and she keeps talking with this gentle, warm, understated tone.

Gains personal space. Keeps staring and staring.

oh now we're leaning. they do this every scene they are together, they keep getting closer and closer even if they don't mean to, like magnets.

Agatha literally bolts to the door and tells her to leave. Rio's presence is so overwhelming in so many different and complicated ways, and she doesn't even understand why that is at the moment. Kathryn Hahn is playing this perfectly straight (no pun intended), there is genuine pain in her voice.

"Te veo", which is not "see you," but I see you, I'm always looking for you, I'm always watching. And I finally see you, after all this time.

Oh, honey.

I'm running out of space again, but I promise I'll continue this tomorrow. Thank you for all the notes you guys, I was not expecting so many! I'm doing this mostly to amuse myself, but it's nice to know that the brainrot is collective 🙃🙃🙃

go to the next entry

[wen-kexing-apologist]

LITBC Ep. 7-8: Gotta Love an Adaptation

Chiming in from @lurkingshan's book club post

On Episodes 7 and 8

So, I love adaptations. While I don’t always engage with every element of an adaptation (I have read zero of the BL books for the shows I’ve watched, for example) I am always interested to learn about how stories are transferred between mediums and people. 

Love in the Big City has been so fun to watch because I have really enjoyed seeing the ways in which the author of the book himself has decided to adjust his own story as the screenwriter for the show. The original creator being in charge of the story in another medium is rarer than it should be, and I am always more comforted by the changes made to plotlines when I know that the creator was responsible. 

Episodes 7 and 8 for example still followed a lot of Part Four, however it was had some of the strongest moments of divergence from original canon of any section of the series. A number of us have mentioned the T-ara’s as an example of this. I think the loneliness that we feel throughout the entirety of the book is countered in the show by the visual presence of the T-ara’s in all the important parts of Go Yeong’s life. And it is such an interesting thing because we don’t learn about them until Part Three of the book, but in learning of their existence we realize that Young has had people around him for all the shit he’s talked about in Parts One and Two. 

gif by @khunkinn

One of the biggest changes being the ending. In the book we end with Young wandering the streets alone, thinking about all the writing about love that he’s done. We end with the flashback to him and Gyu-Ho’s lantern burning. We end with the words: 

“In the end, I left just two syllables on the lantern.  Gyu Ho. My only wish.” 

In the show we still get the burning lantern, we get Gyu Ho, and we get a one-two punch of having the lantern physically say Gyu Ho (규호) on it in Korean, and the voiceover say “love” because fucking ouch. But we also get Go Yeong watching the fireworks with the T-ara’s, a scene that is very much not in the book. I know in talking with some people that they read that moment as taking away from the healing that Young has been doing, which is an entirely valid read, especially because we know how often Go Yeong fakes a smile to hide his pain. 

But for me, it didn’t feel like having the T-ara’s there with him was getting in the way of his healing. With the addition of the T-ara’s as a link between the story beats I really appreciated that Go Yeong ended the show with all of his single friends, watching this explosion of fireworks. I really loved that we end with some level of understanding that Go Yeong will have people in his life to support him whatever comes his way, who will drag him out of bed when he’s depressed, who will carry his mother’s coffin at her funeral, who will be there to watch his healing and to call out his poor taste in men. 

I loved the addition of Eun Su and the wedding and the way that Eun Su looked straight at Go Yeong when he was deciding whether to say yes or no to the proposal. I loved that we got this quiet moment of tragic helium consumption between Go Yeong and Eun Su in a moment of sobering calm, that we had a moment to let Eun Su cry realizing that he didn’t want to get married and that Go Yeong was there in all of that as a support. I know that Go Yeong doesn’t trust the T-ara’s enough to tell them about Kylie, but I have hope that one day he will. Just as he has been reflecting upon the fact that he loved Gyu Ho and regrets letting him get away. 

On the Adaptation as a Whole

Okay, on to the adaptation as a whole. I want to talk about the decision to use different directors every two episodes and why I think that was a brilliant choice. 

First of all, we know each section of the book is its own period of time, and centered around different relationships in Young’s life. The structure of the parts in the book is really interesting because the readers can realize how important Gyu Ho is in Young’s life in the fact that he interrupts the narrative with Habibi. While I think this show would have been elite if it had released two episodes a week for four weeks, I understand the urge to publish it all at once considering the push back it received in Korea. 

Regardless of that though, having different directors makes each of the four sections feel distinct. It is always really fun to watch shows that have different people behind the camera because you will always get something different. Each director has a different lens, a different style, a different performance they will draw out of the actors. And that is incredibly important in a story such as this one where the main character is changing over time. You can write and perform character growth, but I think each part comes with a change in physicality that- while not impossible -would be really difficult to draw out of a performer who is being directed by the same person throughout. 

In addition, because each part does focus on a different important relationship in Go Yeong’s life, having different people be in charge of directing those relationships creates fresher, more distinct chemistry between each pairing. The kind of relationship that Mi Ae has with Go Yeong is large and bright and loud. It’s full of light, and joy, and a deep connection built on authentic selves only the two of them understand. But look at how Go Yeong interacts with Mi Ae in Episodes 5-6. His relationship to her has changed and while the same director could have helped the actors navigate the changing relationship between them, I think to have a different person with a different visual style direct that scene adds an additional, juicy layer of complexity and separation that you wouldn’t necessarily get otherwise. 

As I and many others have surely noted before, different mediums have different benefits when it comes to conveying information. Books can provide intense description or skip over entire settings depending on their relevance, television must show you everything, the clothing the actors well tell you a lot about their characters, the food they eat, the things they drink, the places they live, all the little pieces of set dressing you might not get, that you don’t get from the book are all in there. Love in the Big City the novel gives you much deeper insight into Young’s psyche than you are going to get in the show. The book feels bleaker, more isolated, and more depressed at all stages of the story than what we get out of the show, for the simple fact that the entire story in the book is narrated. When we are first introduced to Go Yeong in the show we get the exterior version of him, the fakest version of him in so many ways. A version of Young we never get because of the structure of the book. 

But there is something I have been thinking about in terms of the visual progression of the stories with the directors that we get. The show itself gets darker and more introspective over time. In Episodes One and Two we are lured in to the story via quick, snappy, and chaotic vibes. The room we open with is full of light, Go Yeong is begging for sex, and then he’s running out the door because his sex partner’s boyfriend has returned on military leave. The club is bright, his time with Mi Ae is bright, the abortion clinic is bright, Mi Ae’s wedding is bright. Everything is bi and loud and distracting, because this is the point in Young’s life where he is the most detached from his own feelings. The biggest moments of visual darkness in Part One are all surrounding Kim Nam Gyu, they’re dates mostly happen in the dark. Their conversations in the car are in darkness, the date to the lock gate is in darkness, the karaoke place is dark, the exchange of apology marinated crab is in the dark. 

But Mi Ae is the more important and prominent relationship in Yeong’s life in the first two episodes and so darkness is drowned out and more disguised in the first two episodes as a result. 

gif by @themisconceptions

Part Two the darkness starts to take over more. Most of the dates with Hyung also take place in the dark, his apartment is scarcely lit, the light of day is on screen primarily through the windows of Hyung’s apartment, through the fake lighting of the hospital rooms. In times when Hyung and Yeong are out in daylight the sky is overcast and gray, better lit than his apartment to be sure, but still there is something dulled out about the sky when they are together. The brightest moments we really get to my recollection (which to be fair I refuse to go back and comb through the episodes to back up my claim) are Yeong waking up in the hospital after his suicide attempt, and Yeong sitting in the park with his mother’s head in his lap. 

Part Three has something really interesting in it to me in terms of how it plays with light. Go Yeong’s relationship to Gyu Ho starts primarily in the dark, meeting at the club, meeting in the coffee shop after the play, meeting on the steps after the last train. But we start to see more light in these episodes after Go Yeong tells Gyu Ho about Kylie. When he starts that conversation he begins it in the dark, and by the time that Gyu Ho has caught up to him to cry over the fact that Go Yeong is smiling through the pain the light has started to rise. Just thinking visually about this part I feel like we get a good mixture of light and dark, it feels balanced in a way the other parts haven’t, and I think that speaks to the fact that Gyu Ho is the person that Go Yeong actually loved. 

I am talking about the lighting here mostly because Part Four feels so distinctly dark. The curtains are drawn, there is very little light coming in. I think @solitaryandwandering is on to something when they are talking about the lighting feeling more ambient. All the light throughout feels muted somehow, like the camera isn’t picking up as much of it even when it’s there. Light does not exist around Habibi almost at all, his apartment is pretty dark, the stairwell where they do their chase scene feels washed out rather than bright, the hotel where Gyu Ho and Go Yeong have sex, the hotel room he has with Habibi where the curtains close all the way, versus the light that comes streaming through the gap in the curtains in his first hotel room with Gyu Ho. Once again the brightest sections of this part surround Gyu Ho, but even then compared to Part Three the way this director utilizes light feels more muted and reserved, just as Go Yeong spends a lot of his time in this part grappling with deep depression. 

I love that even though we have four different directors I feel like we have a clear visual metaphor through the linear progression of lighting in this. We start out bright with the fakest version o fGo Yeong and we end dark with the realest version of Go Yeong we’ve had a chance to see. He’s still got a way to go, but I like how the directors are able to pull different performances and aesthetics out of the story while still making it feel like one cohesive unit. 

Also, I really wish I could pick Park Sang Young’s brain to learn if and how the last few years since he published this book have influenced his engagement with the source material and if and how that may have influenced any changes he made to the story we watched in the show. 

Also also, hugeee shout out to Nam Yoon Su, that dude fucking crushed his performance as Go Yeong, and I another reason I am glad that there were multiple directors on this is because I want that boy to stay as booked and busy and I think that gets a little easier when he has now shown his acting prowess off to four separate directors.

[lady-raziel]

every part of this stupid thing (the name, the people running it, the fact that it's not gonna be an official government outlet so elon and vivek don't have to leave their businesses, etc.) causes me great pain and suffering and i am genuinely angered by the chainsaw the new administration wants to take to pretty much everything (that doesn't in some way benefit themselves)

HOWEVER, do think that despite all the justified concern about this DOGE shit they're going to find that cutting $2 trillion and "ending" the bureaucracy are not gonna be as easy as their self-important little tech bro genius complexes think it's going to be. since, one, (speaking from experience from federal govt agency) they're going to find out pretty quickly that despite how they've sold themselves as cost-cutting wizards who are gonna come in and fix everything by thinking of things no one's ever thought of before...actually people HAVE thought of all this before.

Like there are many govt oversight agencies that put out hundreds of reports on waste and inefficiency every year (GAO, for example) or produce omnibuses of options detailing how each would cut spending and the deficit (CBO mostly but there are others too). There are outside groups that do all this too and have lists of fraud and waste and whatnot, so it's pretty funny to see elon and vivek and all these guys walk in there thinking they're big important "biznes executives" and knowing that they're not really breaking new ground here (and are gonna realize that pretty fast...)

and the second thing that gives me hope is seeing these assholes say "we're going to untangle the bureaucracy and drain the swamp!" because like alright. sure. go to war with the bureaucrats. who are famously known for, well, bureaucracy. making things complicated. slowing things down. paperwork. be careful cutting all that red tape guys, you might end up strangled with it.

as stupid as this whole thing is and as much as i hate that its happening i think they might be seriously underestimating the power of mid-level career civil servants here because if they knew the truth they'd understand that america's most powerful fighting force is not the military

Elon is recruiting randos from Twitter to compete for the chance to work themselves to death figuring out how to take away your welfare.

[dreamofhircine]

A lucky hit, impossible odds with how fast the mech was dodging, diving, sliding around the battlefield. A clean entry straight through a sensor pod and down into the armor beneath it at such a perfect angle it takes you a precious second to realize that it it didn't ricochet away and that you aren't dead to counter-fire yet.

A miraculous penetration into the cockpit but not back out. Bouncing around inside and shredding whatever wicked thing is in there you hope, pray, beg. The way the mech lurches unsteadily forward is promising, the way it zeroes in on your totally outclassed walker-frame is terrifying.

It never manages to close the distance, though you're tensed so hard you'll feel the muscle cramps for days after. The tension releases like a spring, violent relief as the slender mech in front of you twitches, stumbles, swings weapons mounts in wild firing arcs as it hits the dirt like a puppet with the strings cut.

You consider approaching it, just for a moment, before training your weapon back on it. There's a lot of fluid leaking from the puncture point, something pink and vital looking spurting from the entry wound where a digital eye had been. Anti-g fluid, immersion cockpit liquid, the reason it can pack so much thrust onto such a light frame without the pilot blacking out during the ride.

The wreck hisses loud enough to make you flinch in your walker, enough for you to be visibly afraid if there was anything left alive around you to notice. More of the liquid floods out, dirt turning to mud around the mech as part of the cockpit pops open and something small and unsteady slides out.

A pilot. An enemy pilot. Head to toe in black interface suit, shiny with the immersion fluid, face obscured by a cold featureless helmet and frame weighed down by trailing twisted cables still linking it to the chaotic sensory feed of the dead hulk behind it. It's clutching at one coming out of a port where it's mouth is, pulling at it even as it scrambles in the mud in a pained panic, all wounded animal response now.

The probe-cable slides free with a gush of fluid, the helmet slips off and your weapon automatically tracks the pilot to the ground as it falls to its hands and knees and starts to wretch up more of the immersion fluid, heaving as it tries desperately to clear out its lungs. You think some of it might be blood, too. Too much of it.

The pilot thing, dying worm in the dirt, is beautiful and ugly. Starvation-slender, pale as death, red-dyed hair longer than you'd have expected from a military pilot, face dotted with shiny piercings and a few neural interface studs. It passes out and collapses before it even registers you watching.

You make a note to save a picture of it, like this, zoomed in through your sight-pods when you review the guncam later. You give yourself a second more to watch it twitch and try to breath then finally pull the trigger. Again. Again. Again.

You report back to command site sanitized, enemy wreck secure, an urgent request for reinforcement tacked on to the end of the transmission.

You hope it was alone.

[jsprnt]

your new boyfriend gets familiar with how your period affects your life

kenan yıldız x fem!reader

A/N: very important topic this one, based off real life experiences and research. please, if you are experiencing any of the heavy symptoms described, I urge you to seek professional medical attention/advice if you are able to!! based off of this request, thank you 💓

W/C: 1.928

red, it was absolutely everywhere when you woke up this morning.

on your sheets, the comforter, and, of course, a huge bloody stain on your favorite pajamas.

in your sleepy daze you thought you'd been murdered in your sleep, and your soul was looking at the aftermath of your bloody death.

though, with a sharp pain searing down your lower belly to your legs. you'd been notified of mother nature doing her periodic appearance in your life.

your period.

the word alone made you groan.

although at the end of the day, you were glad your body was healthy enough to actually have a period. there was a long list of reasons you of why dreaded shark week.

from expensive sanitary products, to the extra laundry you had to do, to the most inconvenient of all-

bloody cramps..

every time, you didn't fail to convince yourself a little devil was in your womb, poking at prodding at its walls.

it was only a matter of health issues, that made your cramps extra painful.

everyone close to you knew about it. you were lucky enough to have an environment that understood and helped you out when you desperately needed it.

though, you had recently started dating kenan, who knew absolutely nothing about the way your menstrual cycle worked.

of course, he wasn't an ignorant piece of trash. he knew the basics everyone should have been taught in biology class.

how a cycle works, and what happens in every different part of it.

he knew of the cramps that came with a period, but had never seen anything close to what you would experience every first day of your period. 

maybe, that's why you freeze up when you open your front door. peaking your head out, fully expecting the delivery driver to bring you the new shoes you had ordered earlier this week.

no, it most definitely isn't the delivery driver- it is your boyfriend. who had to show up at the most random time- without notifying you beforehand. while you stand behind the door in a bloody outfit like you'd just committed a sinister murder.

"hey, baby! I missed you.."

the words fly out of kenan's mouth. his dimples showing as he flashes you a giddy smile, before he comes barging in.

when he starts pushing the door open slowly. you back up, hiding behind the door.

a chuckle leaves his mouth, as he thinks you’re teasing him. so in return, he grabs the door handle, practically slamming it closed behind him as you make weary eye contact with him. leaving you standing there like you had a stick up your ass.

fuck, the cramps were killing you..

you watch kenan frown at your lack of enthusiasm. you're certain he'd just finished his morning run, as he's dressed in his sweatpants and a hoodie.

he looks so cuddly and soft. if it weren't for the bloody pants, and the painful storm in your lower belly, you would just cling onto him and never let go.

"uh- sweetheart? you okay?" he questions, stepping closer to you. his hands reach for you, his eyes raking up and down your morning face.

"I'm fine, just woke up!" you squeak, eyes widening as you hold your hand out to stop him from moving any closer.

having a period was the most normal thing on planet earth, but the bloody stains on you made you feel incredibly uncomfortable.

"I'm on my period- and there's blood everywhere. I thought you were the delivery guy, so I opened the door thinking it would be a quick package. but- you're here now, I guess.."

you blurt out the words in one deep breath, ending your sentence with a questioning tone.

looking up at kenan, you watch his brows go up in realization, the warmth in his eyes returning in a gentle understanding of your frenzied behavior.

"why didn't you say so, baby? I'm a grown man, don't have to tippy-toe around you being on your period with me.."

he says, reaching over to fix your bedhead a little, his eyes exuding worry and concern.

"I know- I know.." you say, waving him off.

"I guess, I'm just a little- shy about- all of the blood.." you swallow, clenching your thighs together.

you watch your boyfriend’s eyes dart down your pants. he does grimace a little when he notices the bloodstains.

"no need to be shy. I want you to be comfortable around me, our relationship is too important to me. I'd never want you to hide your pain or hurt.."

maybe it was the hormones, but the words sent a straight warmth to your heart. though, seems like you felt it in your womb with how much it was starting to cramp.

"are you well enough to take a shower?" he questions, frowning at the slight way you're clenching onto your lower belly.

you meet his brown eyes, nodding.

"yeah, just- give me a couple of minutes.."

he nods, before watching you wobble away with small steps.

kenan runs his hands through his brown hair when you're gone. sighing as he makes mental preparations on how to proceed further with the situation.

first, he decides to wash the outside germs off his hands. heading towards the kitchen sink, he washes his hands thoroughly before making his way to your bedroom.

he grimaces at the sight of the bloody mess on the bed. rushing to change the bedsheets for you.

the man was a football player, and with the bloody injuries they would get into, this was absolutely nothing crazy to him.

thanking his mom mentally for teaching him how to do laundry, he smiles when he gets the laundry machine to work.

he's done by the moment you come out of the shower, quickly having changed into the clothes he'd put on the bathroom counter.

"feeling better?" kenan questions, opening his arms to meet you in a comforting hug.

you sigh when you press your face into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"hurts so much.." you pout, barely able to contain yourself from screaming in pain.

a soft sound of worry leaves kenan's mouth, and he doesn't hesitate to pick you up and place you on your clean bed.

"you changed my bedding?" you question through a painful groan.

"mhm, I did. but, that doesn't matter right now. how much does it hurt on a scale of one to ten, baby?" he asks, hands running up and down your thigh, eyes focused on your face.

"like- seven right now. I just have horrible cramps every time, especially the first day. I've been to the doctor lots of times, but they just can't find a reason as to why it hurts so bad.."

tears start pooling at your lower lashline. both of helplessness and pain making you crumble right in front of your concerned boyfriend. your body goes rigid as cramps tingle down your back and upper thighs.

"I'm so sorry about that, baby. how can I help you? anything specific I can do?" kenan's voice is as soft as ever, his hand reaching to cup your cheek.

"nothing helps.." you begin to explain, sniffling.

"It's so bad- I faint almost every time. I took a painkiller already, and it's not helping..”

sweat starts appearing on your forehead, and pained groans start leaving your mouth. you bite your bottom lip to contain the noises, but your eyes water as you throw your head back.

"fuck, baby.." your boyfriend curses in helplessness. his hands reach down your belly, and he watches your nod in consent- before he rubs up and down your lower belly.

"it'll be okay, just breathe in and out, princess..”

he knows his words alone won't make the pain go away. but he's so desperate for the pain to stop, so he keeps trying to talk to you, soothe you with his words, and the hands rubbing up and down the places that hurt the most.

opening your eyes, you look at him with tears running down your face. with a shocking move, you grab onto his arm, digging your nails into his flesh.

"woah, baby.. hey-" noticing the change in your demeanor, he lets you squeeze and grip onto him as tight as possible.

"it hurts so much- I.." you pause as a wave of nausea and dizziness hits you. your head falling forward, as you take in a sharp breath.

that is his last straw.

he can't take seeing you in so much pain, that you're on the verge of fainting..

it breaks his heart into pieces. the very heart that started beating for only you the night he fell in love with you.

"enough. I can't watch you literally pass out from pain."

you don't even protest, knowing that this time, you really couldn't stand the pain anymore.

"we're going to the hospital now. I'd be a monster if I let you suffer any longer. give me a second.."

he pressed a reassuring and gentle kiss on your throat, before getting off your bed.

you squirm in pain on the bed, trying to regulate your breathing. the stabbing pain worsening by the second.

kenan quickly collects your phone, car keys, and necessary id card, before coming back and scooping you up from the couch.

you can feel your body tingle from pain, and you grab onto kenan's sleeve as another wave of cramps hit.

"hurts so much. make it stop, please.." you sniffle, begging for some relief, wanting to scream and cry- but even that took too much energy from you.

"I know, baby. I know, we're going to the hospital- it hurts a lot, but stay awake for me. hm? I'm going to get you some help, honey.."

you clench your teeth the entire drive to the hospital, sweating bullets as you scream out from pain on the hospital bed.

"it's okay, you're fine- I'm here. It's going to stop, just let the meds kick in, baby.."

kenan tries to say every comforting thing he can think of. his heart beating faster in the heat of the moment.

you look up at the iv hanging above your head. clenching your teeth together as you mentally pray for the liquid medication to work as fast as possible.

"did you see the doctor? didn't you want to dye your hair the same color?.."

a distraction could help, kenan thinks- so he blurts the words out before second-guessing himself.

your jaw clenches at the seemingly stupid question, but the off-topic conversation manages to distract you from your cramps for a few minutes- until your eyelids become incredibly heavy all of a sudden.

"I'm sleepy." you mumble, your grip on kenan's bigger, rougher hand loosening. the meds had kicked in faster than you thought, causing a wave of exhaustion to hit you.

"that's okay, sweetheart. take a little nap. I'll be right here when you wake up." kenan speaks, a relieved sigh leaving his lips as he nods at you.

with an exhausted nod, and free from the aches and pains in your body- the last thing you can register is the adjustment of the blanket on your body. 

not to mention- the sweet kisses placed on the dried tears on your cheeks, before you drift off the sleep.

just like he promised, kenan is right there when you wake up, pain-free.

only, this time with a takeout bag of your favorite food.

oh, how he was the most loveable man on earth.

and he was all yours too...

[dragonwysper]

Just finished Mouthwashing, after hearing all sorts of snippets of fandom drama about it. I'd stayed away from all that because I didn't have the context, but now I do! So I'm blasting you all with my thoughts.

Long post. Be prepared. Spoilers for Mouthwashing and CW for in-depth discussion of SA below.

So the biggest aspect of the drama side of the fandom that I've been seeing is how the game handled Anya's rape. Some people think it was devastating and properly showed the awfulness of Jimmy, and feel Anya's trauma was portrayed accurately and handled well. Others think Anya was somewhat one-dimensional; she was given a stereotypically female-specific trauma to match the different pain/traumas of the other crew members, and feel the subject wasn't given enough weight and respect.

After having played the game (while also going into it with the knowledge and expectation that it would be about SA), I can see both sides. Though I think my thoughts on everything come from some core details.

Firstly, the core theme of the game is not SA. It's karma. Jimmy is a terrible person who doesn't care about the pain he inflicts on others, as long as he gains something from it. The game follows him as he destroys the people around him, and treats them like fodder to fuel his own goals. We see all of this catch up to him in the end, and he's sortof divinely punished, or overcome with guilt, or whatever it is, because of it. Each person's harm is unique and everybody has their own micro-themes, but the core theme of the game is overwhelmingly karma.

Essentially, this is not a game about SA. This is a game about a terrible person getting what's coming to him.

Secondly, rape as shock content is a common gripe regarding mostly horror movies. It's a quick and easy way to create motivation, so much so that it's turned into its own subgenre of 'rape and revenge' plots. Think I Spit On Your Grave style movies. The other side of the same coin is objectifying the victim, which creates an exploitative feel. The act of the rape itself, and furthermore the shock of it, is more important than the victim and their feelings and trauma. Rape is detached from the lasting harm it causes, and is more something to justify getting up in arms about something/someone rather than a trauma.

And while we do see some of Anya's trauma from SA, Mouthwashing by and large is not meant to be a commentary on SA specifically. Again, it's about how terrible of a person Jimmy is, which makes the SA, at least in part, a tool to make the player hate him.

Ultimately, if Mouthwashing was changed to where Anya faced a different form of harm from Jimmy, instead of SA, it would still be just about the same game. You could still make a convincing game with karma and bad people getting their comeuppance as the core theme. And that I think is the most important realization to have about the subject.

Anya's SA was the first trauma, and the details of the aftermath are what kickstarted the plot, but it was, intentionally or not, a tool to make you hate Jimmy. Because the game isn't about Anya and her trauma. It's about Jimmy and his karma.

I think Mouthwashing is fascinating, and that theme of karma is not something I see done well very often. I think the style of the plot and all the little details that expound upon the micro-themes of the game are extremely well done. And I think it did handle its themes of SA better than a lot of content that discusses it. But it's not perfect, and it falls short of really digging into the true weight of it. It's not a game that makes any real progress on the portrayal of sexual trauma in media. It's cleaner and less graphic than 'rape and revenge' stories, but it ultimately still relies on exploiting the shock of rape to serve a 'bigger' plot.

It's late, I'm tired, and I'm struggling to properly word what I'm feeling, but hopefully my interpretation of nuance comes through.

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

Shameless

Warning ⚠️; internalized homophobia, Homelander is his own warning, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, fluff. 🔞

Pairing; Bottom!Homelander/Top!Male!Reader

Summary; John and you are two opposites. He is a comedian and a liar, you are bluntly honest and direct. He cares about his image, you don't. He is ashamed of your relationship while you are shameless.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat on the sofa sipping at your drink, eyes staring at John with amusement. Still in his costume, your lover walked in circle while biting his nail. He looked ridiculous in your eyes. All those fake muscles and the cape were too much. He looked always better naked, natural, and not so fake.

- “You are going to get yourself dizzy, my love. Just get out of those ridiculous clothes and come sit with me.” You said, waving your hand to show his costume. “We have so little time together, I would prefer having you by my side than whatever you are doing right now.”

John stared at you, eyes glowing red and you just laughed at him. You weren't scared, never was, because John couldn't kill you. No one could. It was part of your power, your curse, but in a moment like this, it was a blessing. Watching your lover get worked up for nothing was funny.

- “How can you laugh in such a situation?” John asked, voice hissing at you as you rolled your eyes. “Its a disaster! I cannot be seen like… like…”

- “Like the man you truly are?” You finished his sentence, sighing. “John, no one cares about that picture. Everyone will call it fake and those who don't, well who cares? Just discredit them and forget about it.”

John said nothing and looked away, his eyes back to normal. You shook your head as he kept walking around the room, trying to find a solution. You didn't understand him. Why come to you when you couldn't help when you were the source of this situation? Well, you weren't fully responsible. It wasn't you who had decided to kiss on a rooftop where anyone could see, that had been John.

And now there was a picture of you two kissing, your hands squeezing Homelander’s ass, circulating around the internet. It was, for you, hilarious. For John? The end of the world was happening.

- “Can't you stop being overly dramatic for five minutes?” You asked, harsher than you wanted.

You gasped in surprise as the back of your head hit the floor, hard, making you see stars. John had pined you down after knocking over the sofa and sat on you. You shivered, licking your lips as you plunged your gaze into his glowing one.

- “And can't you take it seriously for once? Don't you realize how serious the situation is for me? I am supposed to be perfect with no weaknesses and I can not be seen like that with another man.” John spat, his hand grabbing your chin painfully tight.

- “But you are not perfect John and you'll never be!” You replied with a sneer.

It was the wrong answer because next thing you knew John punched you and pain exploded in your jaw. Blood splashed all over your lover and you as your jaw hit the wall and fell onto the ground. From anger, John expression turned to horror as he realized what he had done. From amused, you became enraged.

You didn't gave John any chance and kicked him in the chest, sending the sup flying against the ceiling. You watched your lover fall loudly on the ground as you got up, spilling blood all over the place. You closed your eyes, pain swallowing you up as nerves, bones and everything else slowly regrew. Tears slowly rolled down your cheeks as you felt like your lower jaw was burning in the fiery pits of Hell.

You heard John begging, swearing he didn't mean to hurt you like that and you didn't care. What mattered was how he still did it.

You opened your eyes staring angrily at the hero still lying on the ground. You walked up to him and saw John tensing and closing on himself before you grabbed the man by the collar. Without a word, you back-slapped like he was a bitch, splitting open his lip before grabbing his jaw like he did to you. You leaned down until your nose brushed his.

- “Listen here you pathetic excuse of a man; you are nothing. You are not a hero, you are not perfect and you are not an inspiration. The only thing you are is a childish man who can't take no for an answer and can't live without the approval of the world.” Your words hit home as you saw tears building up in John’s eyes and you sneered again. “You are pathetic. Truly pathetic. The world loves the fake image of you and would turn on you at the first opportunity. Their love is conditional unlike mine and yet you chose those worms over me. I who had always been here for you no matter what. I who helped you bond with your bastard son and helped you when no one wanted to. I bloodied my hands for you! And after everything that how you thank me?”

Venom filled your words as you stared at your lover. John was silently crying and looked away, not daring to look at you. You felt betrayed, and humiliated. You did so much for that man child and he turned against you so easily. You didn't want to see him anymore, wanted him gone from your sight.

- “Think about it John. Who will take care of you when you are old and your body is betraying you? Who will be there for you when the world cheer for a younger and more attractive hero? Them? Your so-called fans? No. They won't, but I would have.” You said, turning your back to him as you walked away. “Now get out.”

- “I’m sorry! I didn't…” John tried but stopped as you turned your head, eyes filled with anger.

- “GET OUT.” You snarled.

And just like that John was gone. A soft breeze caressed your face after he flew away. Sighing, you cleaned the room and threw away your jaw. The pain still lingered and you massaged your chin before sighing. You hated fighting with John like that, but recently it was every other day. The more time passed the more he became unhinged and impulsive. You could barely recognize the man who sought love and attention, the man who melted under your hands at night seemed gone.

It was late that night when John came back. He didn't call, didn't text. He just showed up. You were in bed reading a book in the light of a candle when you heard your front door opening. Only John had a spare so you knew it was him.

He didn't come up directly and you ignored him. You were still angry at his stunt and, frankly, didn't wish to see him. Not right now, not tomorrow. But there he was, walking into your home as if it was his.

After a few minutes, you heard John walking up the stairs and coming toward your room. You didn't look up when he entered nor when he called your name with a timid and soft voice. Instead you clenched your book harder.

- “I thought I told you to get the fuck out of my house, John. What are you doing here?” You asked, voice cold as you turned the page of your book.

Your lover didn't answer. Instead, John approached the bed and put down a mix of things; a gift basket filled with your favorite snacks and drinks and another full of books. Sighing, you closed your book and turned your attention on John.

There he stood in civilian clothes and his head low. His eyes were still red and puffy from crying. Had you not been angry at him you would have hugged John. But you were still pissed off.

- “I am so sorry for what I did and said.” John whispered, looking away as he sat on the edge of the mattress. “I have no excuses and you are right. You've always been there for me and you didn't deserve any of this, but I did.”

You could see tears in his eyes and the sight was almost pitiful. Of course, John couldn't live up with what he did and would regret his actions. You didn't. The brat had deserved your words and hands.

- “I don't want… I can not lose you…” John whispered so low that you barely heard it.

You sighed and leaned back against your pillows, crossing your arms and studying him. John was clearly remorseful and you knew he had his lesson, for now at least. Shaking your head you gently tapped the mattress next to you and John didn't wait to lay down. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his face against your chest. You brushed his blond hair with your fingers, heart almost getting softer as you saw how happy he was now.

- “You are losing me, John. I don't know what the fuck is going on with you, but stop it. I don't have the patience to deal with your childish tantrum just because a picture of us leaked on the internet. We are celebrities, it's going to keep happening.” You said and your lover held you tighter. “Hush now. I forgive you this time, but I might not give you another chance.”

John nodded and didn't let go. You kept brushing his hair and let your fingers down his neck. He was cold, colder than normal and you could feel his heartbeat racing. He was scared and terrified which pleased you. Maybe he wouldn't go against you anymore, maybe he would stop thinking he could do as he wished.

After all, he was your pet, yours to use as you wished and you couldn't have a bad dog by your side. As much as you loved John, you didn't want him if he was to lose his mind and become a liability. But at that moment he looked so small and delicate in your arms, almost broken and you couldn't resist him.

You smiled as you felt his body relax against you as he slowly fell asleep. Maybe you could use his fear and remorse against him. Maybe you could force him to come clean about your relationship. Not now, the fight was still too fresh but soon enough he might give in. And once you were out to the world, John would truly be yours entirely.

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Strapped to a table and bring tortured + Daero!!

from these kidnapping positions prompts!

Content Warnings: demon whump, captivity, torture, cruelty, burns via holy water, mentioned beating, slight gore maybe but not too bad, whump for vaguely religious purposes (no specific religion named)

----

Even at his strongest, Daero would have no chance breaking free of the tight strap that keep him on the concrete-slab-turned-table. It is cold and rough against his bare back; the whole room is similarly made of cold stone, dark but for candles along the walls. Cloaked men stand around, muttering prayers under their breath - words in a language Daero does not recognize, but a few words stand out as curses and insults they have hurled at him during his capitivity.

He has been here longer than he can comprehend, has suffered in ways he never knew possible, and has been permitted to heal in between so the work can continue. They are trying to see if they can 'cleanse' him, purge the demonic from him. They do not understand that what he is is etched into his bones and runs through his veins. There is no separating him from the demonic, it is him, and all their attempts only break him.

As they tied him down, Daero glimpsed a vat of water, and already knows what's coming, or so he thinks. Aside from meager sips from time to time the only water he is ever given is what the humans call 'holy' water, which to a demon may as well be acid. Daero is already quivering with dread at the thought. Holy water hurts enough on its own, but on top of it he is sore all over from the previous night of 'ritual flagellation'.

The vat of holy water is tied up above him, making Daero flinch away, believing they will dump it on him all at once. But something is different this time. There is a cover over the opening, and when they turn it upside down and fix it into place, nothing comes out...at first.

After a long, terrible moment of anticipation, a single drop falls from above and hits Daero's chest with a sizzling sound. He gasps at the pinprick of pain on his beaten-raw skin, but it is gone quickly and he sighs with relief.

That relief is short-lived when a second drop hits his leg, making him jump. A moment later another hits his cheek, then another his other leg. As the humans leave Daero realizes with a sick feeling that they intend for this to last a while. Perhaps until all the holy water is gone, which at this rate, could take hours or even days.

Daero keens softly and closes his eyes. There's no point watching the drops fall when he can't stop them anyway, and there is no pattern to when or where a drop will hit, so he can't prepare himself. He simply tries to breathe through it. At first he succeeds in keeping calm aside from a little flinch or gasp any time a drop lands. At first he allows himself to believe it might not be too bad.

------

One hour later...

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Although there is no pattern to the dripping water, it hits some spots more than others. Daero soon finds that worse than the sting of holy water alone is the searing of holy water landing on existing burns, each additional droplet corroding his fragile skin with that horrible sizzling sound.

He starts to vocalize his pain in little whimpers and pleas that no one can hear. As the pain grows worse, as the burns deepen, his whimpers turn to cries and then shouts. He struggles uselessly against the restraints and tries to tuck his tail away so that it at least might be spared the fate the rest of his body won't escape.

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12 hours later

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Daero's skin hisses and crackles like it's frying. Holy water has pooled in the wounds it created, leaving no more reprieve between the drops of water that still fall at odd intervals. His breathing is strained and laced with whimpers and sobs.

Most of the candles have burned out, and so he suffers in the dark. No one has checked in on him, and so he suffers alone. Daero trembles in the restraints, which have remained just as tight despite those first few hours of thrashing before he grew too weak to move.

He can still cry, though. He cries all through the night, and when it is too much to bear, when he finally passes out, he dreams awful dreams of being dissolved away into nothing.

Perhaps then he will finally be cleansed.

[southparkthetwosidesofacard]

I am listening! I am invested! Please yap about your au idea!!

AHHHHHHHHHIIWJHDIEHDIANRRUFIFBFIEBF HFHDB I GET TO YAP ABOUT THIS YAYYYYYY

ok so, I honestly don’t have much of an idea as to where exactly this would go, but just for the basics (which I’m mostly coming up with on the fly, I’ll be honest) here we go:

(this ended up being quite long so everything else is under the break, sorry!)

obviously, ford and bill were not always… separated, as it were. growing up and into his teens and early twenties it was just stanford pines, no “alter egos” or masks or anything of the sort (much as he would’ve loved to be able to hide who he was).

then, when he moved up to gravity falls and began his research, he began to realize that there were so many things that he wanted to do, couldn’t do, because of his reputation. he needed to keep his record clean because if he didn’t, he could easily have his grant money revoked, and any future opportunities in the pursuit of science dashed due to one small slip up. so, he began to look into, well, changing who he was, splitting himself, so to speak, as to be not one but two at the same time.

eventually, it worked somehow (probably through a potion, as jekyll uses in the original book), and he found himself as not just one, but seemingly two people in one body. there was the stanford pines most people knew, the eccentric, odd mad scientist that lived in the woods at the edge of town, and then there was another, completely new facade. bill cipher, named for his often frustratingly vague double speak and extreme use of overly complicated metaphors (yes I’m giving bill’s name a reason, it sort of annoys me that theres no reasoning for hyde’s name in the book but thats a rant for another day).

to begin with, bill seems content with simply switching back and forth at ford’s will, being the way for ford to kick back and let loose with no fear of the repercussions. at least, until ford begins to have trouble getting back to himself. thats when he begins to doubt the true intent of his other self, of bill. its around this time he calls fiddleford. the man may have studied engineering, but in this world he also knows a little something about psychology, and paired with his brilliant mind, ford’s very precise notes of the situation (ahem the journals ahem), and the fact that hes basically ford’s only friend, it felt like the best course of action.

of course, in actual gravity falls, ford does his best to hide bill from fidds but here bill is exactly why ford called him. anyone else would’ve called him crazy, tried to experiment on him or worse, but fiddeford would never do any of that and ford knows it (just to be clear, I do think that if I ever wrote anything for this au college fiddauthor would be heavily implied here).

fidds does his best to help but when bill goes on a rampage one night, going so far as to kill the heir to the northwest family, preston northwest, he knows ford is beyond fucked (just a heads up, the person bill kills being preston may change but idk, we’ll see if I ever actually come back to this au haha). the reason fiddleford originally makes the memory gun in this au isnt for himself, its actually to try and erase the memories of what bill has down from the townspeople’s minds. the only problem is that the next time they see bill all of the memories return and everyone is back at square one. its just too much for fidds, and he begins to turn the memory gun on himself in an attempt to get rid of the fear, pain, failure, and regret that helping his friend brought him.

ford on the hand is mortified by what hes done. I highly doubt that there would be a confrontation type scene, it would be closer to how the book goes, where ford quickly begins to be unable to switch between stanford pines and bill cipher. the au would probably “end” (as in if I turned this into a fanfic/comic/whatever the story would end there) with ford figuring out where stan is, calling and begging him to come up to gravity falls and help him, before ultimately turning the memory gun on himself and ridding himself of “bill” once and for all.

the only problem is that in order to remove bill, he has to remove stanford pines and all that he is as well. now, we all know how this goes in both the show and most aus; stan or ford or whoever it is that is possessed by bill erases themselves/has someone erase them, is weirdly blank for a bit but ultimately regains their memories. well here it… wouldnt work like that. bill(/hyde) is an integral part of ford(/jekyll), to remove bill(hyde) is to remove stanford pines (jekyll), theres no way around that. so, ford sort of ends up in that “blank slate” state for the rest of his life. he called stan prior to erasing himself because he knew stan would take care of him no matter what, and he was right. for the rest of their lives, stan takes care of his brother to the best of his abilities, and while they never get to sail the seas together, and some nights bring unimaginable sorrow for stan, knowing he’ll never speak to his brother again, despite the fact that very man sleeps just a few doors down the hall, they make it work. ford (or, well, whats left behind when you remove everything that makes a person who they are) sees that his blankness hurt stan but he cant do anything about it, and to begin with almost avoids stan, at least before they finally have a talk in which stan reassures “ford” that he’s sure whatever reason ford may have had for erasing himself, it was worth it.

as for fidds, well it mostly works out in a similar way to canon, he does eventually regain most memories but of course some bits are still fuzzy. the fuzzy bits are never fully recovered, as the one person who may have been able to fill in the blanks no longer exists, but fidds is still mostly alright.

the journals… sort of exist? but not in the way that they do in the show, and what does exist stan had from the very beginning. ofc the twins still have to deal with monsters and spooks and whatnot in gravity falls, just not anything that has to do with bill (which means that, of course, weirdmageddon physically cannot happen). at some point, dipper begins to insinuate that the weirdness of gravity falls might have something to do with “ford’s”… situation, which is when stan finally fully comes clean with all he knows about the situation. its not until fiddleford begins to regain his memory, however, that any of them learn the truth of what was going on.

oh yikes, I wrote a lot more for this than I meant to, whoops!

oh yeah, I’m naming this au the “Dr. Pines/Mr. Cipher” au for now, but if anyone has any better ideas or if thats already been used for something else, please let me know!

also, @aaabatteryy I LOVE MARINEFLAMES’ CONFRONTATION ANIMATIC, THAT WAS ACTUALLY WHAT I WAS REFERENCING WHEN I MENTIONED OTHER ANIMATIONS USING A SIMILAR CONCEPT TO THIS AU

oh, and I just want to say that I’ve never watched the musical so thats why this doesnt (intentionally) incorporate any elements of that.

[silverskye13]

Nex you can't do these things to me. I'm feeling so many emotions ahhhhh. I have been sitting on a snip inspired by this for a little while. I hope you don't mind me tacking it onto your post. I want people to see the art.

Uhhh. Tw wounds, wound description, character death, strangling

There were many times in his life when Helsknight's world moved in slow motion. It was a side-effect of adrenaline. The world slowed down and turned into quick, stuttering movements that were all instinct and spine. In that strange world of timeless reaction, there was no true emotion or memory. Sometimes he had no recollection of things he did or said, only the smeared impressions of breath and sensation and color. A half-life of movement.

Welsknight was coming for him, and his sword was a living thing in his hand, lightning and sinew. Helsknight was moving to meet it, cold prowess and surety. He could feel where their blades would meet like he could feel his own heartbeat, and his mind was charting his next sword strike after. A one-handed swing, and if the angle was right, he would snake his blade into the crook of Welsknight's arm where it would cripple his movements, and then--

And then Tanguish was there. His knife parried Helsknight's sword long before its fated arc. Tanguish was right there and he was commanding in a voice more loud and sure than Helsknight had ever heard him.

“I said stop!”

Helsknight felt it in his bones like thunder, a command that came from the soul. There was a brief, weightless, eternal moment; the space between heartbeats. Helsknight glared down at Tanguish incredulously, caught between surprise and rage. His coherent mind, the part in charge of speech and thought that faded out when he focused so hard on fighting, scrambled to attention and tried to find its reason. To make sense of what had just happened and respond to it. His instincts, the one that screamed he should keep fighting, and the one that screamed he needed to protect Tanguish, tripped over each other and tumbled into a witless heap at his feet. 

Then he realized Welsknight hadn't stopped moving. He was still an impression of breath, and sensation and color; a half-life of movement.

Tanguish made a noise, the odd stuttered gasp Helsknight had heard a thousand times in the Colosseum when someone took a wound they weren't expecting. His back arched, his eyes widened with shock and blooming pain. His dagger slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.

Helsknight only knew he dropped his sword because when Tanguish fell into him limply, his arms wrapped around him. There was blood on his hands. The warm slick wept across his fingers and set them trembling. They sank slowly to the ground and Helsknight cradled Tanguish as best he could, trying to spare him the pain of jostling his wound. It didn’t work. Tanguish choked and gasped when Helsknight's knees hit the ground, his hands tangling so tightly in Helsknight's shirt, the fabric threatened to tear. 

Helsknight's mind had gone still and placid as a frozen lake, all coherent thought melting down into the pit of his stomach where something dark was slowly stirring. Some deep, indescribable emotion, kin to defeat and rage, that boiled and sickened him at once. The hand that held Tanguish’s back searched gingerly, found the clean edge where Welsknight's sword point had entered skin, somewhere near Tanguish’s spine. There was a lot of blood, so dark it was nearly black as it spilled to the floor. 

[This is a mortal wound] 

The thought broke through Helsknight's frozen-over mind, rising fully formed and sure. It did something funny to his chest, like there was no space left in his ribs. It ached like a bruise in his breastbone. Helsknight was not a doctor. What he knew of wounding could be summed up by his experiences in the Colosseum; what won him a match, and what lost it. Something instinctual inside him, something that had memorized the color of blood, and the placement of blades, knew with bone-deep certainty that there was nothing he could do about this. So Helsknight started talking. Whispering. His forehead bowed close to Tanguish’s face, listening to the fear and pain in his breathing, and willing calm into his voice.

“It's alright. I've got you,” Helsknight told him, in his voice of tarnished brass. The Knight's voice. The one that couldn't lie; that comforted and reassured. The one that Welsknight abused so egregiously when he tried to compel Helsknight to kneel. “I've got you.”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Tanguish gasped, his eyes a little too wide with panic and pain, the pupils thin, cat-like slots. His voice was thick, and his breaths came in shallow hiccups that weren't right. “Th-that was stupid. That was so stupid--”

“It wasn't stupid,” Helsknight reassured him, brushing a gentle hand along Tanguish’s cheek, wiping away a tracing tear, and caging a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “You were trying to help.”

Helsknight's voice still sounded distant to him, like he wasn't truly speaking. His world had narrowed to Tanguish’s eyes, and his hand braced behind his back, hot and slick with blood, and the feeling of Tanguish’s fingernails digging into his forearm and shoulder. It felt as if Tanguish were convinced, if he clung with all that was left of his flagging strength, he would not die. 

That was not how wounds like this worked.

“You weren't-- you weren't listening.” Tanguish informed him miserably. “I had to-- I had t-to stop you.”

“You stopped me,” Helsknight told him, pressing his forehead to Tanguish’s. “You were so brave.”

“I'm scared--”

“Don't be. You will be back in a moment.” 

Helsknight realized the grip on his shoulder and arm was relaxing, Tanguish's hands sinking away from him as they lost strength. Tanguish muttered something, half-slurred syllables. Something about dying. That he hated it, or that it scared him, or simply that he was.

“You will be back in a moment,” Helsknight told him, still in that calm, knight's voice. “Don't be scared. I'm right here. I'm right here.”

Tanguish whispered one more thing, weak and fervent. And then he was gone. Helsknight was abruptly kneeling on the ground, his arms empty and cold. There weren't even bloodstains to mark Tanguish's passing. Only a cold stone in Helsknight's chest, freezing his blood with the certainty that he had… failed. Tanguish had called him here to protect him. Protect him from Welsknight of all people. And he didn't. There was a crazed, distant part of himself still clawing itself from the ice in his head that wanted to dive onto his own sword, screaming. That perfect knight inside of him that desperately wanted to punish so great a failure. And then that perfect knight in his soul wanted to drag himself on his hands and knees to Tanguish, and beg for forgiveness.

But that perfect little knight was still trapped under the ice with his rational thought, and his ability to plan more than a few seconds ahead. It all clawed for escape, screamed for his attention under muffling cold, and dark.

“That wasn't supposed to happen,” Welsknight said, his voice muffled under three layers of Helsknight's grief. “He shouldn't have-- I wasn't aiming for-- that wasn't what I was trying to--"

Welsknight didn't get to finish his sentence. Helsknight was moving, his mind a cold dark, still frozen, but his chest boiled. He couldn't name the emotion that wrapped his hands around his other half's throat, only that it was a living thing, and it was twisting its claws in his ribs. And it kept twisting and twisting when he pinned Welsknight to the ground, a knee on his chest, his hands wicked vices. A sense of despair and failure and shame so intense, it could only turn into rage.

It would be a terrible, bloodless death, silent as a grave, and cruelly slow. It was not something a knight would do. Welsknight's pulse was a trapped bird fluttering beneath his fingers, and his fear prickled the edges of Helsknight's consciousness like the crawling of insects. Welsknight's own hands groped and searched, desperate for escape. His eyes pleaded.

Tanguish's small, fading voice, weak and fervent, whispered at him from beneath the cold dark of his thoughtless anger.

"Don't kill him -- please."

The perfect knight in him was screaming.

Welsknight's digging fingers were trying to slip beneath his, pry them away.

"Don't kill him -- please."

Helsknight leaned harder against the knee on Welsknight's chest, just in case his grip loosened enough to allow breath.

[Will you fail twice? The perfect knight screamed at him. Will you fail again? Better to fall on your own sword. Better to fall on your own--]

Helsknight screwed his eyes shut. Beneath his fingers, Welsknight's pulse was fading. The hands scrabbling at his weakened to half-conscious reflex. The fear crawling at the corners of his senses was melting into a heady sensation of nothing. Quiet. Helsknight wanted that terrible quiet more than he wanted the sun, or cold water.

"Don't kill him -- please."

Helsknight released his other half, and his knee slipped free of his chest. Welsknight came back to consciousness like a drowned man surfacing from a great depth, all choking coughs and whooping gasps. Helsknight didn't wait for him to recover. He searched for his sword and sheathed it. He grabbed up Tanguish's knife then and, resisting the half-mad urge to stab himself with it, vanished into hels.

trick-or-treat! >:D

Sorry King but you’ve been tricked!! And as a fellow RnS enjoyer you get the quick doodle of if Helsknight wasn’t fast enough to block Wels’ stab! A little brainworm I couldn’t get out of my head

[ediblechalk]

Something was so empty and hurt in his eyes when I told him I didn't want to have sex with him anymore. I told him I can't do friends with benefits multiple times I don't think he knew i was serious but staring into his eyes was so unsettling I couldn't tell what he was thinking so I made him take me home. I apologized and told him if he only wants friends that's all we have to be. He said it was okay.

[sluckythewizard]

[PUT INTO PLACE, TIED DOWN AND ARRANGED, AND IS NEVER THE SAME, AGAIN.]<-listen to my favorite songs. VAMPIRES ARE WONDERFUL ARENT THEY. THE FLESH IS SO MUCH MORE DURABLE. SO MUCH STRETCHIER THAN HUMANS. THE STRESS DOESNT KILL A VAMPIRE THE SAME WAY IT DOES A HUMAN. YOU CAN TAKE THEM APART THREAD BY THREAD AND LEAVE THEM WIDE AWAKE WITHOUT WORRY OF THE BRAINMATTER SPOILING UNDER VINEGARY AGONY.

[e8luhs]

i love having chronic pain and problems of some kind while also not having any idea what is or isnt normal on top of having horrible interoception. dude i dont know how my body is meant to operate. its just been like this. how am i supposed to actually know whats wrong. how am i supposed to tell!!!

[destielgaysex]

the physical therapist after listening to me describe my pain as a rock stuck in my neck instead of "dull" or "sharp" : okay... and on a scale of 1-10 how would you rate this pain?

my autistic ass who just described my muscle pain from a concussion with a metaphor: a 5 or maybe a 7... POINT FIVE.

the physical therapist: .....

[acourtofquestions]

Rowaelin Chapter 41 Kingdom of Ash:

She'd rebuild it—what she had been.

Perhaps one last time, perhaps only for a little while, but she'd do it. If only for Terrasen.

Rowan swooped from the mast, shifting as he reached her side at the rail. He surveyed the night-black sea beyond them. "You should rest." She slid him a glance. "I'm not tired." Not a lie, not in some regards. "Want to spar?" He frowned. "Training can start tomorrow."

"Or tonight." She held his piercing stare, matched his dominance with her own.

"It can wait a few hours, Aelin."

"Every day counts." Against Erawan, even a day of training would count.

Rowan's jaw tightened. "True," he said at last. "But it can still wait. There are ... there are things we need to discuss." The silent words rose in his animal-bright eyes. About you and me.

Her mouth went dry. But Aelin nodded In silence, they strode into their spacious quarters, its only decoration the wall of windows that overlooked the churning sea behind them. A far cry from a queen's chamber, or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin.

At least the bed built into the wall looked clean enough, the sheets crisp and stainless. But Aelin headed for the oak desk anchored to the floor, and leaned against it while Rowan shut the door.

In the dim lantern light, they stared at each other.

She'd endured Maeve and Cairn; she'd endured Endovier and countless other horrors and losses. She could have this conversation with him. The first step toward rebuilding herself.

Aelin knew Rowan could hear her thundering heart as the space between them went taut. She swallowed once. "Elide and Lorcan told you... told you everything that was said on that beach."

A curt nod, wariness flooding his eyes. "Everything that Maeve said." Another nod.

She braced herself. "That I'm-we're mates."

Understanding and something like relief replaced that wariness. "Yes."

"I'm your mate," she said, needing to voice it. "And you are mine."

Rowan crossed the room, but halted a few feet from the desk on which she leaned. "What of it, Aelin?" His question was low, rough.

"Don't you..." She scrubbed at her face. "You know what she did to you, to ..." She couldn't say her name. Lyria. "Because of it."

"I do know."

"And?"

"And what do you wish me to say?"

She pushed off the desk. "I wish you to tell me how you feel about it. If…"

"If what?"

"If you wish it wasn't so."

His brows narrowed. "Why would I ever wish that?"

She shook her head, unable to answer, and stared over her shoulder toward the sea.

It seemed like he would close the distance between them, but he remained where he was.

"Aelin." His voice turned hoarse. "Aelin."

She looked at him then, at the pain in his words.

"Do you know what I wish?" He exposed his palms, one tattooed, the other unmarked. "I wish that you had told me. When you realized it. I wish you had told me then."

She swallowed against the ache in her throat. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"Why would it ever hurt me to know the truth that was already in my heart? The truth I hoped for?"

"I didn't understand it. I didn't understand how it was possible. I thought maybe ... maybe you might be able to have two mates within a lifetime, but even then, I just ….." She blew out a breath. "I didn't want you to be distressed." His eyes softened. "Do I regret that Lyria was dragged into this, that the cost of Maeve's game was her life, and the life of the child we might have had? Yes. I regret that, and I wish it had never happened." He would bear the tattoo to remember it for the rest of his days. "But none of that was your fault. I will always carry some of the burden of it, always know I chose to leave her for war and glory, and that I played right into Maeve's hands."

"Maeve wanted to ensnare you to get to me, though."

"Then it is her choice, not yours."

Aelin ran a hand over the worn wood of the desk. "In those illusions she spun for me, she showed me variations on one more than all the others." The words were strained, but she forced them out. Forced herself to look at him. "She spun me one dreamscape that felt so real I could smell the wind off the Staghorns."

"What did she show you?" A breathless question.

Aelin had to swallow before she could answer. "She showed me what might have been—if there had been no Erawan, if Elena had dealt with him properly and banished him. If there had been no Lyria, none of that pain or despair you endured. She showed me Terrasen as it would have been today, with my father as king, and my childhood happy, and..." Her lips wobbled. "When I turned twenty, you came with a delegation of Fae to Terrasen, to make amends for the rift between my mother and Maeve. And you and I took one look at each other in my father's throne room, and we knew."

She didn't fight the stinging in her eyes. "I wanted to believe that was the true world. That this was the nightmare from which I'd awaken. I wanted to believe that there was a place where you and I had never known this suffering and loss, where we'd take one look at each other and know we were mates. Maeve told me she could make it so. If I gave her the keys, she'd make it all possible." She wiped at her cheek, at the tear that escaped down it. "She spun me realities where you were dead, where you'd been killed by Erawan and only in handing over the keys to her would I be able to avenge you. But those realities made me ... I stopped being useful to her when she told me you were gone. She couldn't get me to talk, to think. Yet in the ones where you and I met, where things were as they should have been ... that was when I came the closest."

His swallow was audible. "What stopped you?"

She wiped at her face again. "The male I fell in love with was you. It was you, who knew pain as I did, and who walked with me through it, back to the light. Maeve didn't understand that. That even if she could create that perfect world, it wouldn't be you with me. And I'd never trade that, trade this. Not for anything." He extended his hand. An offer and invitation.

Aelin laid hers atop his, and his callused fingers squeezed gently. "I wanted it to be you," he breathed, closing his eyes. "For months and months, even in Wendlyn, I wondered why you weren't my mate instead. It tore me up, wondering it, but I still did." He opened his eyes, and they burned like green fire. "All this time, I wanted it to be you."

She lowered her gaze, but he hooked a thumb and forefinger around her chin and lifted her face.

"I know you are tired, Fireheart. I know that the burden on your shoulders is more than anyone should endure." He took their joined hands and laid them on his heart. "But we'll face this together. Erawan, the Lock, all of it.

"We'll face it together. And when we are done, when you Settle, we will have a thousand years together. Longer."

A small sound came out of her. "Elena said the Lock requires—"

"We'll face it together," he swore again.

"And if the cost of it truly is you, then we'll pay it together. As one soul in two bodies.

Her heart strained to the point of cleaving. "Terrasen needs a king."

"I have no intention of ruling Terrasen without you. Aedion can have the job."

She scanned his face. He meant every word He brushed the hair from her face, his other hand still clasping hers to his chest, where his heart pounded a steady, unfaltering rhythm.

"Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too."

She felt the truth of his words echo into the unbreakable thing that bound their very souls, and tilted her face up toward his. But he made no move beyond it.

She frowned. "Why aren't you kissing me?"

"I thought you might want to be asked first."

"That never stopped you before."

"This first time, I wanted to make sure you were ... ready." After Cairn and Maeve. After months of having no choices whatsoever.

She smiled despite that truth. "I'm ready to be kissed again, Prince."

He let out a dark chuckle and muttered, "Thank the gods," before he lowered his mouth to hers.

"You're my mate." Her words were a breathless rush. "And I am yours."

The world might have been burning around them for all she cared, all he cared, too.

"Together, Aelin," he promised, and she heard the rest of the words in every place their bodies joined. Together they would face this, together they would find a way.

Together we'll find a way, their mingling breaths, the crashing sea, seemed to echo.

Together.