#of course!! the more threads the merrier

[sunliights]

a continuation of here for @finalepic

standing by the outskirts she’s almost worried audrey might not notice her, watching carefully as her eyes scan over the words and then around the room. lula is rather pleased when she makes her way over quickly as soon as she's noticed, letting out a laugh. “i am known for always knowing when to make an entrance,” she muses, idly brushing some hair back from her shoulder. “now i feel you’re going to be awfully disappointed when i just say my plan was just leaving. remind me to bring my passport next time, hm?” unfortunately given that she hadn’t thought any further than just sending the text to get the attention she wanted, she lifts her shoulders in a bit of a shrug as she mulls through ideas. “my place? a cosy bar? we can walk and see where the night takes us?”

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

III ║ Edgestitch

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part II: Threads | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: M

Summary: You wear those jeans for Joel when you see him again at the baby shower at Tommy and Maria's - like he asked you to.

Warnings: Spicy thoughts but not explicit, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, flirting, mention of food and drink, some language, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7k

Notes: It's here! This one was a long and winding road as I mentioned in Behind the Seams, I'm so relieved and excited when it all finally clicked and fell into place! I'm absolutely blown away by the love you guys have shown Joel and Pin so far, thank you, there's no greater motivation for a writer ❤️ I hope you guys enjoy the chapter!

‘Damnit, Lucy,’ you mutter under your breath, this close to stamping your foot and pouting at the door that refuses to lock up. 

Lucy may be your best friend, but you’re not blind to the fact that she literally cannot be trusted to get anything done around the shop. It’s been two weeks since she promised to get the locksmith to come in, but here you are on Friday evening, wrestling with the key that refuses to turn the last quarter of an inch in the faulty lock.

‘Hey, Pin!’

Glancing over your shoulder, you force a wane smile at Tommy, who has his hands full with a cardboard box at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Need some help?’

‘Yes, please,’ you reply sheepishly.

You nod at the bottles of wine that clink delicately against one another as he sets them down. ‘Getting ready for the party on Sunday?’

Tommy steps up to the door and wriggles the key left and right experimentally. ‘Yeah, you comin’, right?’

‘Yes, with Lucy.’

‘Good, the more the merrier!’ He makes a face at the door lock, which is not cooperating with him either. ‘You should get someone to look at it. Probably time for a new one.’

‘Lucy was supposed to get Andrew to fix it, but you know Luce.’

Tommy yanks the door knob backwards hard as he twists the key. There’s a grunt of metal, and a triumphant aha! when it finally turns, the internal mechanisms of the lock sliding into place with a satisfying click. 

You nearly fall onto your knees in relief. ‘Thank you so much, Tommy. You’re a lifesaver.’

He grins and deposits the key in your waiting palm. ‘You can ask Joel for help, you know. He’s handy with this kind of stuff.’

You blink, blindsided by the seemingly random mention of his brother - but his dimpled smile tells you otherwise.

His brother, who was so solid and broad under you on the studio floor, just a few days ago. His brother, who you can still feel pressed between your thighs, in your bed in the dead of night. His brother, who has taken up residence in your mind, waking or otherwise, since he sauntered out of your shop with that infuriatingly attractive confidence when he asked you to to wear those jeans for him again on Sunday.

Joel has existed solely and safely in the parameters of your workspace for the past fortnight and a half, with only Lucy bearing witness to whatever it is between the two of you. Having to suddenly deal with any mention of him outside of it, especially with that knowing arch of Tommy’s eyebrow, has you completely flustered. It doesn’t help that his eyes are uncannily like Joel’s, a gorgeous deep brown, expressive and sharp, though the mischief sits a lot closer to the surface in the former’s.

Mercifully, your brain unscrambles long enough for you to reach the conclusion that of course, Joel must have told Tommy that he invited you and Lucy. It’s their party, after all. Surely, he doesn’t know anything else -

Or does he?

You’ve been quiet for too long to say anything about it now, so you clumsily change the subject, stumbling over your words. ‘I, uh - I was just wondering what I could bring on Sunday?’

Tommy graciously lets you off the hook. ‘We’re a bit short on sweets, actually, if you bake.’

You latch on to that gratefully. ‘I do - what kind of cake were you thinking?’

‘Do you make a carrot cake?’

You perk up. ‘It’s my favourite!’

He flashes you a cheeky grin. ‘What a funny coincidence, it’s Joel’s as well - the only way to get carrots in him.’

Your pulse spikes with adrenaline at the unexpected tidbit Tommy drops in your lap, and you greedily squirrel that little fact away, slowly colouring in the Joel-shaped space in your head.

With a wink, Tommy bends down to pick up the wine. ‘See you in a couple of days, Pin!’

At least you have the decency to wait until he turns the corner - once he does, you sprint across the road to the Jackson Grocer’s and clear out their stock of carrots for the day.

There are many things about Jackson that throw Joel. 

The plentitude after years of rations. The safety, which comes off more jarring than comforting.

But most of all, it’s the sounds. The kettle on the boil and the pop of the toaster in the morning when Ellie gets ready for school. Friendly chatter on the high street. Laughter. It still makes him jump when he hears playful shrieks in the neighbourhood playground, blood rushing in his ears and sending him halfway across the house for his rifle before he remembers where he is.

Where he is not.

It was always loud in the QZ. Loudspeakers blaring, alarms wailing, the indistinct hum of conversation and radio through paper thin walls in the slums at all hours of the day. And he was always listening - for danger, for trouble, and everything in between.

And then all that noise had blown up, literally, with the State House. With Tess.

Joel finds it hard to remember those first few days after leaving Boston behind. Mostly the raw cuts on his knuckles that wouldn’t heal and the ring in his right ear from the explosion, lingering like a pesky fly. 

But he knows it was Ellie who broke that silence first. And once that door was kicked down - 

‘Fuck no, dude!’

His face snaps up and he scowls across the lawn, the stern reprimand rolling off his tongue like second nature. ‘Ellie!’

She’s sitting with her friends, crowded around her most prized possession of the moment, a boombox she found in the thrift shop a couple of months ago and begged him to buy and fix up for her. 

Not that she needed to do much begging, he caved far too easily. It plays a bit wonky - the bass too heavy - still, it does the trick.

The teenagers around her cower immediately, but she defiantly stands her ground. ‘What?’

‘Watch your language,’ he barks, no real bite behind it.

She rolls her eyes so hard her head falls back, and he has to press his lips together to not smile.

It helps him sleep better at night seeing Ellie fit right in - at least one of them has. She doesn’t hate going to school half as much as she pretends to, the routine of homework and chores anchoring her to small town life. She’s even volunteered to help out at the farm, spending most afternoons in the stables with the horses.

There are times when he wonders to which extent all this is a coping mechanism. But well, at least she’s coping.

And while Joel still hasn’t made up his mind about Jackson, its townsfolk seem to have unilaterally made theirs up about him. The wary whispers and watchful stares have given way to cautious gestures of acknowledgement, some even bold enough to throw a good morning in his general direction as he walks down the street. 

They nod at him now as they file into the garden party, still keeping their distance, but not as much as he would’ve liked.

The expectant parents have gone all out for the occasion. Several tables are lined up end to end in the middle of the garden, filling up with potluck dishes as guests arrive. Tommy lords over the barbeque, the brisket having been smoking since dawn, with chicken, bacon and homemade sausages sizzling on the grill. Maria is in her element, flitting from well wisher to well wisher with a protective hand over her rounded belly, making sure everyone has a drink and a loaded plate in hand.

Joel hovers in no man’s land, dodging the crowds and sipping on beer that has long gone flat, trying to remember the last time he celebrated anything. 

Well, he supposes dinner parties at Bill and Frank’s count, as far and few in between as they were. Not that they ever celebrated anything specific, per se - they didn’t need a reason beyond the fact that they were all still alive and kicking. Bill, bless his soul, did make a mean roast, and Frank used to host with enough flair for forty instead of four. Tess had a black dress she stowed away at the back of her closet for these parties, and a red one that she saved for the really special occasions -

A strong hand on his back jolts him forward and out of his thoughts, spilling lukewarm beer over his fingers.

‘Havin’ a good time, brother?’ asks Tommy jovially, cheeks stretched with joy.

‘I was just now,’ he grunts pointedly.

Tommy grins. ‘Lighten up, man. Get drunk, be merry! You’re gonna be an uncle.’

‘Don’t try to butter me up. I ain’t babysittin’ for you.’

Thumping his chest in mock hurt, he asks, ‘What about all those times I babysat Sarah, man?’

Joel gives him a long-suffering side stare. ‘Please. You used to hire that college chick ‘cross the street to babysit whenever you were supposed to. Then you’d hit on her all night long.’

Tommy chuckles. ‘Damn, your mind’s in better shape than I give you credit for, old man.’

He can’t help a smile. ‘But for all your devious plans to get into her babysitter’s pants, Sarah did love her Uncle Tommy.’

He goes quiet for a beat and takes a sip of his beer, his eyes softening. ‘I think about that girl every single day, y’know.’ 

Joel nods, staring into his own beer, and it suddenly strikes him that he’s missed the shape of her name on his lips. ‘I know.’

Tommy nudges him on the shoulder. ‘I can only hope my kid will love their Uncle Joel just as much.’

Eventually, he harrumphs, ‘If they do - I’ll think about the babysittin’.’

Tommy chortles just as the backdoor to the porch swings open with a loud creak.

Joel spots you easily, trailing one step behind Lucy. You’re holding onto a cake on a round wooden board like a security blanket, shoulders tense and eyes wide at the noise of the festivities. Spotting Maria, Lucy bounds down the stairs, leaving you hesitating at the landing, and -

You’re wearing the jeans he asked you to.

Something primal swells in the cavity of his chest, between his ribs - a pride that is distinctly male.

Tommy shouts, ‘Pin! Over here!’

Joel shifts on his feet, swallowing thickly as you approach. If your shy smile is anything to go by, he’s not the only one feeling the nerves.

His brother gives you a careful hug around the cake and plants a kiss on your cheek. When he steps aside, Joel hesitates, uneasy with having an audience, his palms suddenly clammy with indecision.

Does he… hug you? He can count on three fingers who he’s hugged for the past twenty years, and he’s sorely out of practice. A kiss is an option, but the way his eyes dart to your mouth, it’s dangerous even entertaining that thought - 

Tommy elbows him in the ribs and puts him out of his misery. ‘Why don’t you kids catch up, I think the brisket’s burnin’. Have fun tonight!’

Joel can feel the tip of his ears turning red as he stands there with his drink, one hand shoved in his back pocket, not knowing how to do this. How to entertain. Clearing his throat, he stammers, ‘Uh - can I get you a drink or somethin’?’

You give him a small smile, lips moving in an answer too quiet to reach him over the music. Rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, he admits, ‘Sorry, I can’t hear you. I’m uh - a bit deaf in my right ear.’

You look apologetic, speaking up, ‘I’m sorry - I didn’t know.’

With a shrug, he jokes, ‘It’s ok, I’m a bit broken all over.’

You pinch your lips, and he recoginses that face - he knows that you want to disagree with him. But you hold your tongue, skirting around him to his good ear, and he stoops to close the distance, even though he doesn’t need to.

Your breath brushes his ear. ‘I’d love a drink, but I want to put this cake away first.’

‘Yes, of course - sorry, don’t know where my manners went.’ He puts his unfinished beer away and takes the cake from you despite your protests. The potluck table is packed to the brim, so he gestures towards the house. ‘It might have to go into the kitchen for now.’

You follow him, side by side with one polite body width between you, past bands of neighbours and friends catching up, the fairy lights catching your eyes and the well-kept lawn crunching beneath your soles. Unsurprisingly, you feel the weight of curious stares on your back as you go - Joel is still very much a novelty around town. Neither of you speak until he holds open the backdoor for you to slip inside.

It’s quiet in the kitchen, the muted conversation outside a low hum through the double-glazed windows. The free-standing island is already chock full of all kinds of baked goods and pudding, and Joel has to move an actual jelly castle (which wriggles precariously) to free up space for your contribution.

Dusting his hands, Joel turns to you. ‘That carrot cake?’

You nod, keeping mum.

‘It’s my favourite.’

‘I know - Tommy told me,’ you confess with a bashful half-shrug.

His warm eyes crinkle at the corners. ‘Talkin’ about me behind my back, sweetheart?’

Your breath quickens at the sweetheart, and you wonder if the thrill of the nickname will ever wear thin. Emboldened, you tilt your head to one side and tease, ‘Why? You like the attention?’

A smirk on his lips, he steps into your space, the very proximity of him stealing the air from your lungs. ‘I might if you’re not careful.’

And there you are again - with nothing more than a dozen words exchanged and even more unsaid - on the brink of something, right where you left off on the workshop floor.

‘Wanna grab a bite to eat?’

Tucked away in an intimate corner of the back porch in a wicker chair, Joel surveys the party with a seriousness that is borderline comical. 

The strategist in him clearly favours the higher ground the porch affords him so he can keep an eye on everyone and spot whoever approaches from a distance. His seat is an easy three steps to the door, an escape plan in his back pocket. For all his stillness, the intensity is unmistakable, if slightly out of place in a baby shower.

Two dirty plates licked clean are stacked on the coffee table between you, piled high with bones and leftover gravy, the delicious food sitting warm in your stomach.

‘They’re comin’ closer,’ Joel complains, taking a long gulp of his beer.

‘I guess they figure if I’m talking to you, it means that you don’t actually bite,’ you quip.

‘Will they back off if I make you cry?’

Your shoulders quake with a chuckle. ‘I think you’re too much of a gentleman to do that, Joel Miller.’

You’re taken aback by the flash of heat in his answering glance, as if there’s something he wants to say. But then, he changes his mind and leans back in his chair, one palm resting on his spread thighs, and he nods towards a couple standing close to the barbeque.

‘Who’s that over there? He lives on my street.’

‘That’s Andrew. He owns the only hot tub in Jackson.’

Joel splutters, ‘A hot tub?’

‘To be fair, it came with his house, but he managed to connect it to the water a few months ago.’

He snorts. ‘Not very communist of him to divert public resources for a private hot tub.’

‘Let’s just say Jackson is a commune with American characteristics,’ you say diplomatically.

He arches an eyebrow at you. ‘A cynic, sweetheart?’

You reply matter-of-factly, ‘We all know how communism ended.’

Fuck. He takes a swig of his beer and swallows hard. A woman after his own heart.

‘You want to keep him on your good side though. He’s really handy with electrics and the like.’

He shrugs. ‘So am I.’

You turn to him, surprised. ‘Oh?’

‘I was a contractor in another life.’

He notices your attention flicker to his hands, before you catch yourself and look away bashfully. ‘That’s good to know.’

‘You need things fixed?’ he asks, and promptly wants to kick himself for sounding so hopeful to be of service.

‘Here and there,’ you say with a dismissive wave. ‘It’s not important. It’ll hold up.’

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip thoughtfully. You have to work on asking for things, but it’s ok - he doesn’t push you. He files that away for later.

Glancing across the yard, he catches Ellie’s eye, who’s arching an inquisitive eyebrow and pointing straight at you with all the subtlety of a flying brick. He knows he should probably introduce you at some point, but he’s not ready to share your attention with someone else just yet, let alone the nosy teenage loudmouth.

Joel gives her a firm shake of the head, to which she responds with a disgruntled I’m watching you gesture.

Ignoring her for now - and knowing that he’ll pay for it later - he asks you, ‘And who’s that in the red dress?’

You crane your neck until you spot her. ‘Ah, that’s Patricia. She’s the dance teacher down at the school.’

‘Why’s she starin’ at me?’ he mutters.

You shoot him an amused grin. ‘Why, it looks like you’ve caught the fancy of our local femme fatale.’

He scoffs. ‘Should I be worried?’

‘Well, she’s been married and divorced three times since she arrived,’ you answer with a straight face. ‘The last one just disappeared. Never found his body.’

Joel stares at you in stunned silence, until you let out a poorly contained giggle. He grumbles, ‘Havin’ fun pullin’ my leg, sweetheart?’

‘Just a bit,’ you tease.

‘I liked you better when you were shy,’ he ribs.

You shrug. ‘Too late. You don’t scare me anymore.’

Glancing the other way, Joel sits up in alarm at the flutter of crimson fabric. ‘Shit, I think she’s comin’ this way.’

‘Time for carrot cake?’ you prompt.

He’s out of his chair quicker than you’d expect his knees would allow him to. ‘Let’s go, sweetheart.’

The state of the kitchen island stops you in your tracks, while Joel lets out a low whistle behind you. ‘Jackson really turned out for this party, huh?’

‘Well, your brother and sister-in-law are pretty popular around town,’ you quip.

You didn’t think it was possible, but every square inch of the kitchen island is now jam-packed with sugary confections, stacked on top of one another.

‘I can’t even find the bloody cake,’ you laugh, literally searching high and low as you skirt the parameter.

On the other side of the island, Joel tosses a dry good luck in your direction and puts the dirty plates and cutlery that he brought in into the sink with a clatter, turning on the hot water. You stutter to a stop opposite him, gawking at how his broad shoulders fill the frame of the window that sits in front of the sink, before your gaze inadvertently trails south - over the nip of his waist and the hem of his shirt skirting the back pockets of his jeans. You find yourself wishing he’d tucked the tails in.

Rooted to the spot, you watch him unbutton the cuffs on his flannel shirt and push up the sleeves to the crease of his elbows, baring his strong forearms. Your mouth goes dry despite the wine you’ve been sipping on all evening, peering at the sinewy muscles flexing and straining as he lathers the plates with an offhand familiarity, his thick fingers dwarfing the sponge in as he works the grease stains. 

Making quick but thorough work of the washing up, Joel dries the plates and then runs the tea towel over his big hands and wrists, catching you staring as he turns around. If he knows you’ve been watching all along, he lets it slide. Tossing the towel to one side, heat prickles under your cheeks when he sidles up to you with the clean plates.

The sight of this man doing something as mundane as dishes really shouldn’t get you this hot and bothered.

‘Is that cream cheese?’ he asks conversationally with a nod at your cake, which you have found sitting on top of a tall plastic caddy, a chocolate cake inside.

Having to consciously unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, you’re surprised your voice doesn’t shake. ‘It’s not carrot cake without it.’

‘Where did you get the cream cheese? Never seen any ‘round town.’

Almost bashful, you admit, ‘I made it.’

His eyebrows shoot up. ‘You made cream cheese? How?’

‘It’s not that big a deal. It’s just milk, lemon and salt,’ you say, trying to downplay it. Your arms are definitely not aching from the hours of straining and beating and whipping.

‘And the walnuts?’ he asks.

‘Someone I know grows it,’ you say vaguely.

Joel hums doubtfully. ‘Ain’t seen any walnut trees in town.’

Biting your bottom lip, you can pinpoint the exact moment he figures it out, brows drawing together in a frown. ‘The only ones I’ve seen are outside the walls, ‘round the north side of the gates.’

Knowing for a fact that you’re a terrible liar, you don’t even try. You choose to ignore him, idly smoothing the frosting on top with a clean knife, trying not to flinch at the weight of his gaze on you.

‘Sweetheart, please tell me you didn’t go outside just to get walnuts for me.’

‘Not for you,’ you shoot back unconvincingly, flustered. ‘I made the cake for Tommy and Maria.’

Lies. You know it. He knows it.

His shoulders stiffen, the fabric of his shirt bunching with the movement. ‘You can’t just go outside like that, y’know, there could be infected ‘round -’

‘Joel, I’ve been living here for years, I know what I’m doing,’ you argue huffily, not expecting a lecture, of all things. ‘I’m not stupid.’

He shakes his head. ‘Ain’t what I’m sayin’, Pin -’

‘Just leave it, ok?’ you reply sharply and, signalling an end to the conversation, you slice into the cake with an aggressive stab - not noticing that it is hanging over the edge of the caddy below. 

You squeak when it flips unceremoniously, and on pure impulse, you pitch forward to stop its upward trajectory, meeting it mid-air with an ominous splat.

‘Fuck!’

To his credit, Joel barely skips a beat, quickly but calmly grabbing hold of the cake board and pulling it off you, setting it down on the counter, while you gape in dismay at the damage done. 

The side of the cake that made contact with you is smushed in, most of the thick frosting now painted all over your front, from your neck down to the lovely, thin cashmere top that Lucy picked out for you for the party.

You really hope there’s a big guy up there watching, because someone might as well enjoy this mortifying brand of comedy you keep dishing out around this man.

Two seconds more, and you’re pretty sure you would’ve burst into tears for lack of knowing what else to do - but without another word, Joel takes the lead, wrapping a firm hand around your wrist and pulling you out of the kitchen. 

You gratefully let him.

It’s none of your business really, but it comforts you that Joel’s obviously here often enough to know his way around the house.

You glance around the dimly lit room where he deposited you on the edge of a neatly made bed, water trickling in the adjoining ensuite. When he returns, he has a small, wet towel in his hands. Towering over you, the low lights don’t quite reach his face, but you can see the way his gaze slips downwards, carefully, as if he’s afraid to startle you.

But he doesn’t - not even when he slides the crook of his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up and opening up your throat.

His lips twitch wryly. ‘What a waste of perfectly good cream cheese.’

Despite yourself, a laugh escapes you at the absurdity of the situation. ‘Must something always go wrong whenever we’re in the same room?’

The corner of his mouth teases a smile. ‘Never a dull moment with you, sweetheart.’

You smile back, but it falters when his eyes burn in a quiet but unmistakable smoulder. 

‘May I?’

You’re not even sure what he’s asking. But he can ask you anything in that raspy, low baritone, and there will always only be one answer.

At your nod, Joel drags the tip of his index finger down the column of your neck, and your lips part when it glides over your windpipe - pressing just hard enough for you to feel the pressure - collecting the velvety frosting as it goes. 

Then, holding your eyes, he sucks the cream cheese off his fingertip, a hum deep in his throat. ‘Delicious, sweetheart.’

You’re sitting down, but somehow, you still feel your knees give way at how he smacks his lips at the sugary aftertaste.

He looms closer, bending at the waist and for one moment of madness, you think he might lean down and lick your neck clean. 

At the prospect of those plush lips and the burn of his silvered, patchy beard on your skin, your head tilts further back invitingly. His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, like he’s picking up on what you’re thinking, and his eyes dip to your mouth.

But he doesn’t.

You don’t even have time to be disappointed before Joel carefully gets down on one knee in front of you, one palm landing on the mattress next to your hip for balance. Knowing the state of his joints, you want to ask if he needs a pillow, but instead of your mouth, it’s your thighs that part to make room for him. His chest keeps them splayed open, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his ribcage with each breath through the denim. 

You try to focus on your own breathing as Joel presses the wet towel to your skin and mops up the sticky mess, his face set seriously as he cleans you up inch by inch. But all you can think about is how you can feel the imprint of his fingers through the thin fabric, and how the span of his hand can easily fit over the column of your throat -

You don’t realise you’re leaning into him until he draws back when he’s done, and you tip forward, chasing his touch. His knee groans as he stands up to his full height, and he nods towards the bathroom with a wait here in his eyes.

The water is scalding as Joel washes out the frosting from the towel, but he keeps his hands under the tap, longer than he needs to. Wringing it dry, he takes a moment, wet palms gripping the cold porcelain edge of the bathroom sink, shoulders hunched over as he tells himself to calm the fuck down.

Except, he is calm. He’s held back, even when you looked at him with such straightforward, honest want that has him grinding his teeth.

Thing is, he knows you would’ve let him nudge you backwards into the mattress and crowd you between his arms, switching places the two of you were in under your sewing desk in the workshop.

He knows you would’ve let him wrap your legs around his hips, sliding his palms up the back of your thighs in those skin tight jeans - the sight of which is enough to make his head spin - and he knows you would’ve let him nip, suck, lick the tangy buttercream off your very neck. 

Not only would you have let him - you would’ve trusted him to do all those things to you.

That last realisation awakens something he’s not so sure he has a handle on. But he knows for a fact that with the whole of Jackson milling about downstairs, in the middle of his brother’s baby shower, is neither the place nor the time.

You’re where he left you when he steps back into the bedroom, your palms planted on the bed, your shoulders relaxed. The neckline of your blouse gapes loosely, teasing the soft skin of your cleavage.

Joel breaks the loaded silence with a bit of common sense. ‘You best get that top off and soak it in the bath before the stains really set in, sweetheart.’

You bite your lip hesitantly. ‘I - I don’t have anything to change into.’

‘You can have my shirt,’ he offers.

You sit up, attention piqued, when his hands move to the top of his flannel, thick fingers sliding each button out of the holes one by one. You know he’s just taking off his shirt, but you can’t help the way your jaw goes slack, watching shamelessly, the comforter twisting in your grip as you scrabble for something to hold onto. 

Joel doesn’t understand why you’re looking at him like that, but it’s so flattering to watch you watch him, eyes hooded and your tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip, like he’s giving you a fucking strip tease or something. 

Goddamn if it doesn’t go straight to his head.

A white undervest comes into view, inch by inch, as the shirt falls open, the thin fabric pulled taut at the seams over the broad stretch of his chest. When the last button is undone, he shrugs the shirt off with a smooth roll of his arms, and your jaw drops.

The undervest barely contains the bulk of him, and you’ll be damned if you know where to look first - the lean, solid line of his arms, or the effortless ripple of muscle in his shoulders - but it’s lower where your attention makes landing, and it takes you a second to realise why.

He’s not sucking in his tummy.

The swell of his abdomen sits above the top of his jeans, where the vest is neatly tucked in. You remember too well the brush of that soft strip of skin against the back of your hands when you were on your knees, cutting him out of his jeans; and then beneath you, straddling him under the sewing table. 

While there’s an undercurrent of self-consciousness in the way he holds himself, conspicuously missing is the self-deprecation that drew your ire the day he walked into your shop with a broken zipper. A tentative confidence has taken its place, which is at the same time so endearingly vulnerable, as if your reaction to the little show he gave you just now isn’t enough to assure him of what you’re thinking.

Your fingers twitch, yearning to reach out and tug him in by the front of his jeans, to untuck that vest and push it up and off. You want to snake your hands around his waist, hold him to you by the small of his back, and starting with his tummy, kiss your way across the soft belly - maybe with a cheeky scrape of teeth - up to his firm chest, his strong neck and to his lips. 

Or maybe, the calling southwards will win out. You’ll push him back to make room for yourself at his feet, nudging your way down his front with your nose, breathe him in, your hands finding his belt buckle and tugging it out of the loops instead. Never mind you've lost count of how many years it's been since you've wanted to do that, or if you remember how at all -

‘Pin.’

Your whole body jolts backwards when his voice pierces through your addled haze, low and raspy, snapping out of your sordid stupor almost grumpily - how rude of him to interrupt? - only to find him peering down at you with a lopsided smile. 

‘Get changed, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.’

Leaving your top to soak in the sink, you pad back into the bedroom in just your bra, and you stare down at his shirt laid out neatly on top of the bed.

You press your palm over where his heart would be, the flannel still warm. For one indulgent moment, you pick up the shirt and hug it to you. It smells like him - the outdoors, a crisp spring day, with a whiff of the barbeque smoke from downstairs. You bury your nose into the soft fabric, eyes closed, imagining the weight and shape of him in it. 

Even as you put your arms through the sleeves to button it up, you already know it will be hard giving it back. You leave the last three buttons undone and you’ve just tied up the too-long ends in a double knot when there’s a polite but firm knock on the door. 

‘You decent?’

‘Yes.’

You hope your face doesn’t fall too obviously at the sight of Joel wearing a shirt again, probably one borrowed from Tommy. He leaves it unbuttoned though, which is small consolation. The air hums between you with stolen glances and words unsaid.

‘You wore those jeans for me,’ he says suddenly.

The for me rolls off his tongue coated in his delectable Southern drawl and a heady satisfaction.

You decide to be brave and shrug one shoulder in a show of attitude. ‘It was the only thing I didn’t have in the wash.’

His grin makes your heart swell. Stepping out of the open doorway, his eyes trailing heat where they linger over you, he says, ‘You look good in my shirt, sweetheart. Real good.’

You bite your lower lip at the compliment, replying shyly, ‘I like this look on you too.’

‘Used to be Tommy’s uniform during our contractor days,’ he reminiscences. ‘I’m just missing the utility belt.’

Oh. You actually find it offensive that the fleeting mention of something as banal as a utility belt should get you going like this. You try to palm off a non-committal hum, but your body betrays you with a strangled choking sound that gives you away.

Joel arches an eyebrow and closes the gap between you with three long, deliberate steps, one finger skimming where his shirt meets the waistband of your jeans. He teases with a smirk, ‘What’s that, sweetheart? This contractor look doin’ somethin’ for you?’

Your cheeks grow hot as both his palms latch boldly onto your hips, and you swear you can feel the burn of his fingertips through the denim, a moan gargling in your throat as your ability to form words abandons you.

‘That a yes?’ he prompts, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops in your jeans and tugging your body flush against his, his stubbled chin brushing the sensitive crook of your neck as he speaks into your ear.

‘Joel,’ you whine, which is the best you can do right now, grabbing onto the open flaps of his shirt just to stay upright.

You feel the rumble that goes through his chest under your palms when he purrs, smiling down at you, head cocked to one side with a playful condescension that’s going to be the end of you. ‘Yes, Pin?’

Your mouth opens, but you’ll never get to find out what you intended to say, because you hear it first - his right ear is to the door - the thunder of rubber soles on the stairs, and you're lucky you manage to stumble two steps back before a deafening (no pun intended), drawn-out call of his name follows.

‘JOOOOOOELLLL!’

Ellie crashes into the doorway with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, slightly out of breath like she’s been running all over the place searching for him, already in the middle of a sentence, as usual. 

‘- also Maria says they’re doing a speech now and you’re not getting out of -’ she breaks off abruptly when she spots you, eyes wide and brows - all one and a half of them - reaching for her hairline. ‘Oh shiiiiiit.’

Running a tired hand down his face, Joel’s sigh sounds a lot like surrender. ‘Ellie, this is Pin. Pin, I’m sorry.’

You bite your lip to hold back a laugh at the resignation in his tone as the teenager wrinkles her nose. ‘Pin? That’s a weird name.’

‘Ellie!’

You smile. ‘It’s ok. Pin's just my nickname. I’m a seamstress at the Main Street Outfitters.’

Her face lights up excitedly, an open book if you’ve ever seen one. ‘No shit! I’ve been bugging Joel for a leather jacket for ages. Can I get one?’

‘Please,’ he interjects.

Ellie tucks in her chin and juts out her bottom lip at you. ‘Please?’

You demur. ‘Well, it depends on what you can trade in for it.’

‘My boombox!’ she volunteers without skipping a beat. 

Joel scoffs. ‘Good to know those three weeks fixing that piece of junk for you was time well spent.'

‘Sorry, man, but I can’t wear a boombox can I?’ she argues.

Giving Joel an amused look, you come to his rescue. ‘I’m sorry, Ellie, but we only take clothes in exchange.’ At the way she deflates, you counteroffer, ‘Or, you can come work at the shop on Saturdays for the next couple of months. Lucy always needs help out front, and you get a staff discount.’

He turns to you, protesting, ‘That’s very kind, but it ain’t necessary -’

Ellie cuts in, rushing up to you to shake your hand before you can take it back. ‘Deal! When can I start?’

‘There’s no rush,’ you reply with a chuckle. ‘I’ll get back to you next week.’

Stepping back, Ellie winks, ‘So - let’s put a pin in it for now?’

Joel groans at the terrible pun. ‘Get outta here!’

She cackles, firing triumphant finger guns at you as she retreats. ‘What? Pin liked it, she laughed! You’re no fun old man!’ 

She then pauses by the door, her eyes narrowing as she zeroes in on something smeared on your jeans. ‘Wait - what’s that white stuff on your leg?’

‘It’s cream cheese, you little shit!’ Joel snaps as your ears burn in embarrassment. ‘Out!’

She scampers out of sight, but then reverses into view, sneakers squeaking. ‘ - Are you wearing Joel’s shirt?’

‘ELLIE!’

She throws her hands up. ‘Alright, I’m gone, I’m gone! See ya Pin!’

Joel is the very picture of an embarrassed dad, rubbing the back of his neck with a wince. ‘Sorry, she’s a handful.’

You grin, ‘She’s just a teenager.’

‘You can say that again.’

The quiet seems louder after Ellie, and you restlessly pick at the sleeves. Lifting your eyes shyly, it seems the moment has passed - but Joel has other ideas.

‘C’mere,’ he hums, drawing you close again with one hand on your waist, peering down at you through his lashes. ‘This ok?’

At your nod, he brushes his thumb on your bottom lip, catching the soft plump skin, and your tongue darts out to taste him, his eyes darkening.

‘Can I kiss you, sweetheart?’ he asks, voice hoarse.

It’s been years. Years since anyone has cared enough to kiss you, let alone cared enough to ask if they could. And it’s as if he knows - you don’t know if you’ve somehow given it away, or maybe it’s just him. 

‘Yes, Joel.’

He coaxes you closer so that you’re pressed along the whole length of him. His big palms are warm and solid on the small of your back, holding you to him like he intends for you to have trouble standing after he’s done with you. 

The tip of his nose bumps into your cheek, nudging its way across and down, and your eyes slide shut when his shaky exhale grazes your gently parted mouth. Your breath hitches at the sweet burn of his beard on your jaw, fingers grabbing onto the scruff of his neck when he finally, finally brushes his lips against yours.

For a man as hardened as Joel Miller, he sure kisses soft. He steals a whimper straight from your throat with nothing more than the clever angling of his lips, the slow drag of tongue on tongue, and a growl deep in his windpipe that you answer with your own moan.

You don’t even have the presence of mind to be embarrassed when your shins knock into his, breaking the kiss with a laugh as Joel hauls you up into his chest, looking very much pleased that he’s literally made your knees buckle.

‘Sorry,’ you squeak, beaming despite yourself.

‘You really know how to flatter a guy, sweetheart,’ he answers, his voice warming you like a smokey campfire, steadying by his hands on your hips.

‘We should probably go before Ellie comes back for us,’ you say reluctantly.

Joel huffs, ‘Ain’t gonna hear the end of it if she does.’

‘Something tells me you won’t be hearing the end of it tonight anyway,’ you tease.

He chucks you gently under the chin, his eyes soft. ‘Let’s go, sweetheart.’

‘You’ve made yourself scarce,’ remarks Lucy as she ambles up to you with a glass of wine running low. ‘Where you been, hon?’

‘Had some trouble with the cake,’ you answer vaguely.

‘Sure,’ she winks at you, unconvinced. ‘If we’re calling him that.’

Right on cue, Joel strides across the lawn with three plates to join you. ‘Thought you might want some of Pin’s carrot cake.’

‘Such a gentleman, Joel Miller,’ chirps Lucy, making what can only be described as a 'thirst face' at you when his back is turned to her.

‘Thanks, Joel,’ you smile at him, letting your fingers graze his deliberately when you take the plate from him.

Saluting you with a forkful of cake, he says, ‘Thank you for bakin’, sweetheart.’

You watch as his lips close around the fork, dragging the cake clean off the slots, cream cheese smearing the corner of his mouth. He frowns, as if in deep pain as he chews, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows.

‘Okay?’ you ask nervously, your slice still untouched.

‘Perfect,’ he declares, already having a second, bigger bite. Knowing he doesn’t have a superfluous bone in his body, your chest warms at his words.

‘Wait a second,’ Lucy interrupts, bringing up her plate to inspect it closely. ‘Why does the cake look all wonky?’

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, Luce,’ you answer coolly, taking a bite yourself.

Humming around a mouthful of moist crumb, the sweet carrot balanced out by the tangy frosting, you meet Joel’s eyes in the soft glow of fairy lights, and he flashes you a conspiratorial smile that makes you grin.

More notes: On Ellie - I was so so nervous about writing our resident teenage badass. I hope I've done her justice, I certainly had a lot of fun writing her introduction to Pin! If you're interested in a detailed deep dive into my process writing this chapter, I do recommend you read the Behind the Seams for this part ❤️

I also went back and forth on the tone and style of this chapter a lot. I wasn’t happy with the way it read, probably still not 100% happy. I like the way Seams and Threads were written better, but the fact is that this chapter is a very different setting and narrative compared to the first two, so I’m trying to be too hard on myself.

So, I have some ideas for where the story will go from here, but nothing concrete. As I've mentioned, I see this fic as more of a loose-fit series, so there's no overarching plot per se, but there's definitely a lot of room for future episodes of these two - I mean, they haven't even done the deed yet 😉

Comments, asks and reblogs are greatly appreciated as always! Thank you so much for reading, I'm so excited to hear what you guys thought of this chapter 😘

[finishwhatyoustarted-event]

Finish What You Started 2024 - Event Rules

[ID copied from alt: Event Rules on a blue background. ⬒ No new projects ◨ Any medium and any fandom welcome ⬓ NSFW inclusive, warnings must be tagged ◧ Tag #FinishWhatYouStarted2024; boosting/retweeting starts September 13th ◼ Event ends October 31st, 2024]

The goal of this event is to get things done that you’ve already started. We all have unfinished projects whose incomplete status haunts us. Those are what we want to tackle!

The structure is loose, as this is a multimedia event. While primarily aimed at writers, this event is open to any kind of creative fanwork. Fics, translations, podfics, fanart, animations, cosplay - if you started it and never got it done, it qualifies. There is no sign-up required. I will not assign beta readers for writers, but I can boost requests for those who want them! And I can boost messages of those who would like to beta read.

The mod is a danmei fan mainly, but your work can be any fandom. Maybe something you started before your current fandom excitement took over, or one you keep putting off in favor of compelling new ideas.

Feel free to pass this event info along! The more the merrier!

Further rules and clarifications:

Alt text is very encouraged, especially for boost posts or artwork!

If your work is NSFW, I will only boost it if it has appropriate content warnings. Spoilering images is recommended but not required as long as it’s tagged. Do not letter-swap or abbreviate content warnings. These are so people can mute them as needed. Example: "gore" not "g0re"

Remember Tumblr can mute phrases, but each warning should be its own tag as well as in the body.

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This account will post weekly morale-boosting messages and helpful resources. Every Friday, starting September 13th, will be Finished It Friday. All the completed works posted that week will be boosted together in a big thread, so we can celebrate your accomplishment!

Halfway-point check-in is October 1st. Final event deadline is October 31st. The last Finished It Friday is November 1st.

FAQ:

Q: Are original works acceptable?

A: This is primarily a fanwork-focused event. If original work is the only WIP you have to work on, it's certainly fine to work on it during the time frame of the event. If it is posted publicly when finished, you may tag it for boosting.

Q: Are there any restrictions on topics?

A: No, so long as your event # post is properly & fully tagged for content (see rules about tagging above). "Dead Dove" topics are allowed. Some submissions will be 18+. For me, this is less about the content and more about finishing it. 

The usual restrictions based on laws and Community Guidelines of course apply, so you may need to tailor how you post to which event space your interacting with. Twitter, Tumblr, and Discord all have their own rules. There are also some topics that are in poor taste to make fanworks around. The event organizer and mods reserve the right to not boost your work if they decide it is rage-baiting or trolling. They are not responsible for negative reactions to your works. Please be respectful of those you share a digital space with. 

Keep in mind that when I link to your finished work during a Finished It Friday, it may reach a wider audience than you may be used to.

Q: Are there any restrictions on media that can be submitted?

A: Machine Generated or "AI" images and writing are not permitted. If you are found in violation of this rule, you will be removed from the event. All images, writing, or other works must be your own.

This is a positive, shared space. Do not belittle other creators' medium of choice. Please no fandom/character/ship/creator bashing, and don't berate artists or authors for not being done with something, even if they don't finish by the end of the event. Also, please don't passive-aggressively send this event to the author of an unfinished fic you want to see done faster. 😥 Be cool, respect each other, and keep any interpersonal disagreements to your own tumblrsphere.

All posts and boosts will be crossposted to the event Twitter (finishwatustart) and Discord. Expanded rules, explanations, and Dead Dove guidelines can also be found on the Discord. (invite link in pinned post) 

Fics can be posted to the AO3 collection (archiveofourown(dot)org /collections /FinishWhatYouStarted2024_Fall)

Work-in-progress posts should be tagged #FinishWhatYouStarted2024 . If you complete a wip within the event, tag it #IFinishedWhatIStarted2024 for boosting so we can all celebrate!

Find more information and community on the Discord, if you want! Joining the Discord is not required for the event. As always, if you have questions, don't hesitate to reach out!

[ms-scarletwings]

A Messy, Sedulous Necropsy of Zib Membrane

That’s what we call him right? Not Invader Zib? Hell if I know, we’ll let the tags decide.

Whatever he is christened by his author, enemies, or fans, this titular villain of the Zimvoid is such a mind blaster to me. I wish we had more time with him within the comics. I wish he had been a concept explored in the show. I wish he had a movie. I am having fun with a little hyperbole here, but I truly do find him just as interesting and potentially pivotal of an antagonist as Tak was, if not even more.

Both, of course, were so badly underutilized for sake of the series status quo. To that, Zib was a much bigger threat than Tak, and especially to that of the comics’ own. He potentially changes everything, and somehow absolutely nothing by the end. The TV show always had a more overt tone of cruelty and the macabre floating about its themes. These print issues? I don’t dislike them. It’s still recognizably invader Zim, and the more the merrier, content-wise, but longtime fans can feel that there was this change of essence in the transition. More obviously, in the art, but more subtly, there was an audible softening of that bluntly darker, cynical tone the show was made iconic for. To put it very generally, they lean a little more into the whackiness of this world, there’s a lot more dark comedy to be found in what I’ve seen so far rather than in your face darkness, and in the absence of the ost and voice acting the show accustomed us to, the comics leave a lot more room to be read as you wile. To me, they’re goofier and more episodic in spirit.

This all is not a critique or rating on the comics.. It’s purely, I feel, why Zib stuck out to me all the more jarringly in his context. His reveal was a genuine twist that brought forth stakes higher than arguably any other threat in the entire franchise. He represents a plausible while horrifying prophecy of our main characters if only they made worse decisions. The most interesting of all, for every piece of amazing information he fed to us, he bred dozens more questions about everything than he answered, from Irken machinations, to his ambivalent backstory, to the secrets hidden by the sum of his parts.

Though he was left evidently alive at the end of his story, I don’t see any chance for him making a return, so he is memorialized as another defeated one-off the writers have brisked past and left behind for good. Therefore, I’m here today to take what we got and present it on the metaphorical autopsy table. I want to really pull apart why this character alone pulled me back into the TV series, really just flay open the bits I can’t get out of my own head and dig harder until we find something or we run out of threads to tug at. Starting with the one already hanging out of my mouth, but

• B.E.F

“Bad End Friend” is a term I learned the meaning of within the last 12 hours or so of writing this, and I’m exuberant over that discovery. It’s a niche trope i didn’t know ive been a giant fan of since I was a child. Summed up, fictional characters from beloved media, typically, animated child protagonists… given the worst case scenario treatment. Their “bad ending”, whether that means a corruption arc, demonic possession, a lovecraftIan tragedy… usually something that’s anywhere along the lines of a fate worse than death to a full villainous turnover. As a treat. The concept is strongly associated with fanworks and AUs of popular media, but just as often this is something that becomes explored in the source material as well. A couple great examples I know would probably be Ice Prince Finn from Adventure Time or what happens in Undertale when you decide you want to run the most depraved playthrough possible. From a more mature story, “Evil” Morty is another validly arguable sample.

Besides a bit of a fondness I got going for certain dark or spooky themes in general, what I REALLY love about canonical BEFs the most is their utility as characterization tools. They’re the “having your cake and eating it too” option! The perfect way for an author to explore certain things about any character without actually committing to well… a bad ending.

Almost always, they are necessarily hypothetical or reversible. If they’re not reversible, they go often hand-in-hand with a little universe tampering to make happen. Sometimes, this means the story goes the way of time travel and branching off butterfly effects. Sometimes it means confirming multiverse theory, which can be the same thing depending on your semantical position.

And Zib crossed off the BEF qualifications by far and away. His implications are extremely dark given any pause think about them, and he’s a living, disturbing tragedy in aftermath. If you want to view a rigamarole about that aspect of his characterization as he appeared in the comics, someone else long beat me to that and I’m enthusiastically recommending a peek at their own work. I’m thrilled to do so and build a little upon that with those extended what-if-wonders.

• Lessons From a Lost Episode

Elephant in the room I haven’t seen someone ask yet, uh..

By show rules, isn’t Zib supposed to be a clear case of the writers committing the sin of retcon? By show I’m including the unaired scripts, including “10 Minutes to Doom”. In that one we had what looked like the potential setup for a Zib case, and it was deconstructed across the whole episode.

In short recap, Dib learned the hard and reckless way about the true nature of what Irken PAKs actually are. This is not an inventory bag, it is not “gear”. It’s the actual Irken entity- at least, the primary component.

Detaching it from the organic shell essentially caused a temporary split into two instances of Zim, desperately trying to connect back together under threat of obliteration.

Like let me be very clear about this,

The PAK is an autonomous instance of Zim’s consciousness, and it’s the main one. We’ve seen it act to save his life when his body has been out cold or flatlined, and he doesn’t appear the least bit disoriented or confused once “he” wakes and jumps back into the action. There’s no known separate computer assistant AI or security autopilot in there. That code, that program, IS Zim. As Long as the PAK is active, he is capable of staying fully conscious and able to react to what’s happening around him, and that’s what we’ve been seeing, his own actions.

Zim proved me right when Virooz tried to replace him and detached the PAK. Take note of his phrasing after the chair event™.

“I” activated the protocol. Immediately after Virooz ran off with my shell.

“I” Voluntarily chose to do so.

I don’t remember it playing out like that in “10 Minutes to Doom”.

Attaching to a new host wasn’t the first reflex. Dib was not the least bit aware that that he has literally holding the actual Zim captive in sense, and the latter was fighting like a cornered animal to escape him. Failing that, alongside the distance between him and his original body growing fast, he made a last desperate gambit, and he willingly connected himself into Dib’s body.

I can see why he thought this was better than nothing, no matter how repulsive the notion might have been. If he couldn’t fend Dib off physically, he could incapacitate him in some fashion by trying to overtake his will. Maybe give the shell a better chance to catch up, maybe in the longshot hope of being able to pilot dib in order to become whole with the correct host again. And you can say he succeeded, at least in dominating bodily control away from Dib, but at the cost of his already tenuously held sanity. This could be because of the interference of Dib’s own mind still resisting to fully submit, or malfunctions because of the biological incompatibility; however, the thing that Dib mentally becomes is only the basic idea of what “Zim” is. Instead of remembering it needs to reunite with its shell ASAP, the PAK mistakes Dib’s body for its own and goes through the manic motions of following the Invader mission. And it does this, weirdly enough, with almost no regard for blowing its cover.

When things are set right again, Zim’s later words near the episode ending revealed that he knew that was an unsustainable state.

Such a risk was not just accounted for, he was actually banking on it if that clock had hit zero. If Zim had truly lost, if he was really doomed to meet his end on this nasty rock in the middle of Nowhere, Space, then by every damned circuit in his being, he was going to take down this insolent fool boy and as many other humans possible with him. A dying act of vengeful rage.

• The Exceptional… Exception

Now, wouldn’t all of this be the definitive reason for Zib’s existence to be an aberrant impossibility? Yes, but actually no. Fun thing about multiverses is if something doesn’t work in one setting, you can just tweak a few dials and suddenly you have a world where the impossible becomes possible. But that’s a pretty cheap answer, isn’t it? So, what exactly was that crucial difference?

What happened in Zib’s timeline that went down so, so divergently from the events of 10 Minutes to Doom?

Because the only one who was in any position to explain it for us was Zib himself, and he’s proven to be one of the most unreliable of narrators. It’s as @dana-chan-the-control-brain already spared no effort to demonstrate, when he does tell us something about his past, his story is pocked with contradicting half-truths or outright lies. Ergo it helps to break down each recount of events to pick out the real facts.

Version 1: This is an alternate version of dib who defeated his complementing Zim (logically sensible) and went on to achieve all of the success and respect he sought after in his timeline (absolute bullshit). He kind of gestures and only implies about what has happened to his body while explaining that he came to his current understanding of Irken technology by studying it through Zim’s lab (a partial truth). He lets slip in passing that he has in fact fused with the PAK in order to learn how to alter and reprogram its coding, lessons he has applied to Number 2 in order to have a brainwashed pawn (also apparently true).

Version 2, when cornered and red handed: This is an alternate version of Dib who managed to specifically stop Zim's mission (Again, makes sense) but somehow could not convince the world of his findings or his warnings about the Irken Armada (*VERY eyebrow raising). Frustrated with the people’s lack of cooperation, he decides he has no choice but to physically merge with Zim’s PAK post-mortem (concerning and evidently mostly accurate), dominate the Earth himself, and enslave humans to help him in his efforts (highly troubling and probably true). The construction of his EMP super-weapon is successful, but ultimately led to the creation of the Zimvoid when the device was field tested (self evident, absolutely horrifying).

You know what I noticed was missing from both of these accounts? Exactly how his Zim was defeated. Which honestly could have been some beyond useful wisdom to pass along to the main Dib??? More than anything else? I’m not going to fault our boy for not pressing that matter better under the awing circumstance; however, there’s an implication I’ve been reading between lines. 

When Zib mentions “defeating” his own Zim, he’s talking about something different than ours.

When our Dib has always talked about “defeating” Zim, he’s meant incapacitation and capture. Throughout the show he explicitly wants to present Zim before an audience alive and whole. Yeah, he fantasizes about other people torturing or disassembling him for study, but HIS role was supposed to be reaping the fame for an undeniable, ground-breaking discovery. Conspiracies and cryptids are all this kid breathes and lives by! And as long as pop culture has always been fascinated with the paranormal, and he has to know this full well, people keep bringing forward hoax after hoax after scam. I mean there’s a freaking current one or few still going IRL about this exact topic. Dib would want no room left for being dismissed as another one of those con artists. 

Nonetheless, I actually doubt this is the reason Zib couldn’t get through to the scientific community. A genuine alien lifeform, even a dead one, could still be confirmed by any basic medical examination. The world thinks Dib is too crazy to listen to, but his father is still Professor Membrane. In "10 Minutes to Doom" OUR Dib got as close as having Membrane literally analyzing a PAK, or at worst, preparing to. “Ultimate Dib” gets his hands on the same thing and pulls a move I’d expect from an HP Lovecraft Protagonist instead.

We’re assuming way too much to what these two Dibs have in common, because this ^^^ is really what made the Zimvoid an outlier in the multiverse. That world didn’t only have a very different, more threatening Zim from the main timeline, it had the Dib who proved even more formidable, cunning, and ruthless, even before the fusion. 

He didn’t obtain that PAK ala the “10 minutes to Doom” accident, it’s a personal trophy. This is extra strange remembering that capturing an Irken is realistically more easy than killing one. They’re seriously more tenacious than kudzu and will even fight back in PAK form alone. I’m convinced that whatever sort of final showdown made the Ultimate Dib the victor, there are two optional endings on the table.

Option 1: There was not a body even left intact enough to bring in to research. Maybe Dib’s fault, maybe an accident, maybe even Zim’s own luck running out and his incompetent antics finally swallowed him (and possibly GIR). This theory assumes that the PAK was the only sort of remains to come into Dib’s recovery/possession.

Option 2: Curiosity Killed the cat,

but satisfaction brought it back.

Or, the one I personally headcanon. Dib… all Dibs, I assume, don’t just hate the Irken species. They are mesmerized by them, and all that they represent from his perspective. Firstly, the epic villain he gets to roleplay nemesis to in order to feel his own worth and importance. Secondly, an unknown wonder from beyond the boundaries of the cosmos. He’s not really a ghost buster or a Men In Black agent at heart, but a scientist, like his father. Underneath his contempt for Zim’s plans to destroy the world is a genuine and appropriately childish awe for alien presence, especially for Zim’s technology. His silent, dopey smile when Tak’s ship ended up in his backyard said more than words ever will.. 

Earlier in the show, a great deal of Dib’s time and effort was spent on trying to infiltrate the lower levels of Zim’s base. Sneaking into the house was hard enough, but the computer security can’t be bypassed like the gnomes. Not even by Zim himself unless he really is all himself. Perhaps you’re starting to sniff where I’m going with this one when I refer back to “Bolognius Maximus”. I’ve another reference that’s a little more on the nose, and a lot more… dark.

Were an expired Irken husk before you, you too might take your victory and cash in then. Still, who knows what sudden impulse may run through the head of a less humble version of yourself, one some could call greedier, obsessive to a fault, a screw or two loose, yet, a hell of a smart cookie. Smart enough to see it for what it actually was, the keys to a whole world of discovery that went so many layers deeper than they could ever imagine. It’s possible the Ultimate Dib already learned beforehand the same hard lessons about the PAKs that our own did, and took that understanding toward not repeating the same mistake this time. What happened to Zim? I think he was murdered in cold blood, body, and entity. “10 Minutes to Doom” showed us a fight between 2 brains clinging to one body, struggling until one overpowered another, but that’s not what this is. Through whatever means of science were available to him, this Dib has probably tried to “disarm” the technology by either erasing Zim’s consciousness out of it altogether, or by forcing the autonomous code into a kind of dormancy. His intentions were to render it back to its basic hardware without losing its precious knowledge and usefulness, something like the brain-filled tank that was wired into Skrang’s head. Zim’s PAK doesn’t cling onto his body like a parasitic teratoma this time; it’s merged in a literal sense with his nervous and circulatory system. As well, he has fooled the device’s ability to detect and reject a foreign host shell, the exact same way he deceived the the base’s security AI. If an Irken biology is what these measures authorize to command them and their secrets, then he had the tools on hand to give them just that- in an atrocity I like to call

the darker harvest.

Within this theory, there is not as much room to wonder exactly what became of Zim’s organic remains. 

But where Dib fucked up was, for the second time, in his ignorance to the true nature of what he was even playing with. That was a mistake that even the mighty Elder Brains of Judgementia lost themselves to; How much more vulnerable was the weak, human mind? Though Zim can be devoured, he can never be digested. In that fact was born this aberration against nature, sanity, and humanity alike.

"Have you ever heard of insect politics? Neither have I. Insects… don't have politics. They're very… brutal. No compassion, no compromise. We can't trust the insect. I'd like to become the first… insect politician. Y'see, I'd like to, but… I'm afraid, uh… I'm saying… I'm saying I - I'm an insect who dreamt he was a man and loved it. But now the dream is over… and the insect is awake." - Seth Brundle, The Fly, 1986

By fusing what is half-mad and what is utterly mad, neither being was cured, only assimilated into the birth of a new madness. The madness of the creature that snickers behind the curtain in the Zimvoid. I rightfully fear that lonesome thing, but not I think as much as I pity him.

• Dejavu, or Re:Plagarism

One more thing about the Zimvoid arc I find curious is the way it makes you question more and more just how much of the aberration is actually still Dib, and how much of it is Zim's infection haunting him. He does nothing with all of his intellect, his resources, and his time in the void doing anything but surrounding himself in everything he claims he despises. He decries alien tyranny in one breath while lording over a homemade, cruel dictatorship in another. He calls for eradication of the very race who's technology and physiology he has thoroughly appropriated. He laments feeling unable to protect the Earth from the Armada alone, yet sneers literally through Irken teeth to insult humans as inferior and of no value to him any longer. Our Dib spent the whole damn show longing for the support of other people, but Zib pushes away potential allies in his arrogance. His broken timeline never became a Dibvoid instead because while only half of his mind can't stand Irkens, both of the souls inside him remember that they loathe and look down upon a Dib, deep inside.

The corruption goes as far as even subverting his own creativity. None of Zib's plans are wholly original. His anti-Irken weapon was already a concept blueprinted inside of that PAK before the merge. Our Dib has several times shown a propensity for some DIY ingenuity, sometimes dipping a toe into the supernatural. Zib entirely calls upon, scavenges and regurgitates Irken designs with a few modifications or upgrades. The Dib Virus, I think is his most uninspired creation yet, for it's original form was always something inside of Zim, even if the latter himself was not aware of the fact. Like all else, it is a weapon he has plundered, customized, and turned around on everyone else for his own selfish ends. This brief point I will end on one  more reflection. The one kind of help Zim ever allowed at his side were the likes of GIR and his own creations. Unable to connect and cooperate with his peers and own kind, his ego preferred to be around those defective machines he related to- drones to be owned by him and always loyally at his beck and call. A slave to admire him unconditionally is the only companionship he's ever been willing to admit to desiring.

And what was Number 2's purpose again? What role exactly were the arena combatants auditioning for, when you think about it?

[nerv0us-dog]

SUNNY DAY JACK ― ROLEPLAY,

Hey there! Looking for 18+ writers who would be interested in musing Sunny Day Jack within a literate roleplay [22, NON-BINARY WRITER] .

I'm mainly interested in exploring the lore bits of the game, building our characters' relationship, shaping our story around it using our own headcanons and ideas! Of course, since this will be a canon divergent setting (unless we brainstorm an AU), it may contain heavy themes― whether that be manipulation, violence, or nsfw, please consider that the game itself is within the horror genre. If either of these topics trigger you, or something related to it, please notify me before we start planning our thread(s)! Please write in third person, past or present tense! I'm pretty lenient when it comes to response time and length, but as they say- the more the merrier! A couple paragraphs would be wonderful. If I see/feel your enthusiasm, I'll be sure to return it, whether that be yapping OOC or detailed responses! I write on Discord. Characters I offer writing as (mainly canon crossovers), ― Rory Rainberry / (CC, MxM) ― Steve Harrington / (ST, MxM) ― Connie Taylor / (TCM, FxM) ― Frank Morrison / (DBD, MxM) ― OC / (MxM, ask for details in DMs!) The setting itself could be in modern times, or perhaps even the 80s! Could start from the point Jack appears, or perhaps have some time pass between that and the beginning of our thread. Jack may or may not be a demon of sorts, an incubus, or perhaps a creature of his own kind... it's all up to us! If this piqued your interest, react or reach out in DMs!

[yomica12345]

When the Light Finds Me: Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Link, Chapter 2 Link

Ao3 Link

Warnings: Anxiety

Chapter 3

park in the same place as usual?

On the south side, yes. I am heading there now.

Virgil glanced over Logan’s message before tapping out a quick reply.

be there in a few

He pocketed his phone and looked up—and froze. At the end of the hallway stood Roman, his red hair catching the light like a beacon.

Virgil's stomach clenched. He quickly averted his gaze, heart pounding, and ducked around the nearest corner. Hands trembling, he tugged his necklace out, cupping it to hide the glow. The light was too bright, burning with a cruel sort of promise.

He cursed, shoving the pendant back under his shirt and zipping his jacket up tight. He set off down the hallway, each glance over his shoulder confirming Roman was still there, still looking.

Roman’s eyes swept the hallway as he rounded the corner, his fingers curled around his own necklace.

“Not now,” Virgil whispered, panic threading through his voice. He hunched his shoulders, weaving through the crowd, desperate to stay unseen.

He was too lost in his own panic to notice the solid form in his path until it was too late—he crashed straight into Logan.

Strong hands grabbed onto his arms, steadying him. Virgil’s wide eyes met Logan’s equally startled gaze.

“Soulmate?” Logan asked, his voice low and urgent.

“Yeah, you?” Virgil whispered back.

Logan nodded, his eyes flicking past Virgil to where Roman was closing in. “I’ll distract him if you can—”

A sudden bright blue glow flared against the lockers, outlining their figures and cutting Logan off mid-sentence.

Logan grimaced.

“Excuse me?” A voice piped up. Patton. “You wouldn’t happen to be my soulmate, would ya?”

Logan stiffened. Slowly, he turned to face his soulmate for the first time, his eyes tracing over the shorter teen—the mess of freckles, the warmth in his expression. “Your soulmate?”

Before Logan could process any further, Virgil jolted as someone tapped him on the shoulder. Panic igniting, he latched onto Logan’s arm, squeezing it tightly and shutting his eyes. “We’re soulmates!” he blurted, the words escaping in a rush.

Patton and Roman both froze, mirroring each other on either side of the pair.

Roman’s brows drew together as he studied Virgil, something nagging at the edges of recognition. Why did he seem so familiar?

Patton giggled, the sound soft yet excited. “Well, I guess that means we must be soulmates!” He tugged Roman into a hug, his arms tight around the redhead.

Roman hesitated, then chuckled, letting his arms fold around Patton’s shoulders. “Huh. I guess that means I have two soulmates, then.”

Patton tilted his head up to meet Roman’s gaze. “You have two? Does that mean I have two?”

Roman shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to find out. Until then, we could get to know each other better.”

Patton’s grin widened. “I’d like that.”

“Then why don’t we go on a date right now?”

“I’d like that too.” Patton laughed, eyes crinkling with delight.

Virgil’s eyes darted between Roman and Patton’s pendants, anxiety bubbling up. “No, don’t!” The words burst out before he could stop them. He winced as everyone’s attention turned to him. He cleared his throat. “I mean… Why don’t we go on a double date? That way, you can get to know your soulmate and stay in a group. Safer that way.”

Roman frowned in thought. “I guess that makes sense…” He looked at Patton. “What do you think?”

“Why not?” Patton agreed cheerfully, taking Roman’s hand—and then Logan’s. “The more the merrier!”

Logan’s face heated up as he glanced at Patton’s hand around his. He quickly pulled his hand back, adjusting his glasses with a cough. “We can take my car,” he offered. “It’s spacious and clean.” He sighed, giving Virgil a pointed look. “Well, except for Virgil’s belongings scattered around.”

“Aww, that’s so cute!” Patton chimed. “It’s like you two share a car.” He turned to Roman, eyes shining. “Can we do that?”

“Of course,” Roman said, grinning. He held a hand up theatrically to his chest. “But first, how about your name and number? I am the Roman Prince, here to sweep you off your feet and at your service.” He kissed the back of Patton’s hand with a flourish.

Patton giggled, cheeks tinged pink. “Patton Gâteau. French baker, at your service.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, rubbing his arm and turning away. “Cheesy.”

“Jealous?” Logan smirked, voice low.

Virgil’s cheeks flushed. “Nope, not at all.”

~

Once Patton disappeared inside his house, Virgil and Logan both released their breaths, the emo sinking in his seat.

“It works to our advantage that Patton has to keep his necklace in his pocket due to the chain being broken.” Logan noted, pulling away from the big light blue house. “Otherwise we would have failed this ruse miserably.”

“Shut up, I panicked.” Virgil sighed, sitting up to shrug out of his jacket and into a light purple hoodie. He pulled a wig from his bag, fingers working quickly to pin it into place, double-checking every strand. “I just need a little more time. I didn’t want Roman finding out about me like that.”

“I understand.” Logan gave a nod, glancing at Virgil briefly through the rearview mirror. “I will support you however I can, even if that does mean we must pretend to be romantically involved.”

Virgil covered his face with his hands, groaning. “I promise I will make it up to you. I never thought I’d have to date my best friend to hide from my soulmate.”

“Honestly…” Logan began hesitantly. “I believe this will be beneficial for me as well. It gives us an opportunity to get to know our soulmates without the pressures and expectations that come with them.”

Virgil dropped his hands, looking at Logan. “So… you’re okay with it?”

Logan offered a soft nod. “For now I am… grateful for the opportunity to figuratively lie low.”

Virgil smiled. “So I don’t owe you?”

Logan turned on his turn signal. “I think you owe me at least relocating the things you are not in need of from my car.”

Virgil scoffed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, right, that’s not happening.”

Logan frowned. “Why not?”

“Because I need all of it. What if there's an emergency and I need a change of clothes? Or what if I get so anxious I can’t eat anything that I’ll need this juice?” Virgil grabbed the full bottle from the cup holder. “Or what if I forget to bring my headphones one day and need to listen to my music?” He opened the glove compartment, gesturing to everything as he mentioned them. “And we can’t not have a first aid kit or some water in case something happens.”

Logan frowned, looking at Virgil. “You do know I am in agreement with keeping a first aid kit and water in the car, do you not?”

“‘Course, L, just had to point out that I’m the reason they’re in there.” Virgil pointed to the back seat. “Oh and what if I needed an extra coat or jacket? You know it’s going to get colder.”

Logan sighed. “I suppose, I merely wish it was a little more organized and everything had its own place.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Fine, I guess we can go shopping for car organizers this weekend.”

Logan’s eyes brightened, eyes flickering to Virgil. “Really? You will not make any excuses not to?”

“It is your car and I know you take any opportunity you can to organize.”

“I do find some enjoyment in the activity… Thank you, Virgil.”

“‘Course, L.” Virgil grabbed his bag, adjusted his wig one last time, and stepped out of the car. He paused, offering Logan a faint smile. “See you tomorrow, L.”

“Goodnight, Virgil,” Logan replied, his voice steady, the quiet support between them lingering in the cool night air.

Chapter 4

[super-kinnie-rp-world]

hello kinnies it looks like you dropped something

and what's this?

a formal invitation to our discord community called Super Kinnie RP World (16+)? of course! and what is it you may be asking yourself?

well it's a general kin server, welcoming of anyone from any* source and of any* background! plenty of channels to chat in and active members at the ready to welcome you :) This includes fictionkin, otherkin, therian, objection songkin conceptkin kff etc etc etc etc the more the merrier!

*the mods have the right to deny acceptance into the server if it makes us uncomfortable, or the other members of our server. But there's no harm in trying!

but wait there's more!

it also doubles as a *roleplay* server! a separate opt-in category with many fictional settings to allow anyone you want from any source or the depths of your own mind to meet everyone else, jam packed full of lore waiting for you to explore ! anyone is allowed to create threads in this channel, allowing for infinite stories to be played! whoa!!!

you heard it here first. Join the Super Kinnie RP World kincord today!!!

[fourseasonsfigs]

Pearl Beauty

We've seen Zhehan in pearls just recently, but that was him wearing white. We haven't seen him in this black outfit yet!

I mean, let's be honest, I'd happily take another fig of Zhehan in pearls with the white shirt outfit again - the more interpretations the merrier! But I'm just as happy to have this one, because I absolutely love this black outfit.

To refresh your memory (and your eyes), let's take a look at the inspiration for this fig:

What a beautiful shoot. Just incredible. I've always loved pearls, but they've seemed so old fashioned (and out of fashion), that I've always felt just a little bit odd wearing them. So to see Zhehan absolutely rocking this look - and his other pearl looks - is just so inspiring to me.

Our pearl beauty arrived with his string of pearls sadly unstrung. I definitely prefer non-DIY projects, as I feel like someone else will be more skilled than me, but sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do.

But before we get to me stringing pearls, let's do a spin of this fig just by himself! I like figs that have wearable accessories before and after.

Look at him! What a sweetheart. Such a sweet smile, such a beautiful face. I just love him.

This is a great angle of his golden pearl earring.

He seems so cutely bashful from this angle! We know better though. We know this rascal gremlin.

Did I mention (yes I did!) how much I love long coats? Love them. The last pic I have there of him leaning against the wall while his coat both accentuates his waist and then drapes down is fantastic.

I like that his shoes have this cool back detail to them. The pics I have don't show his shoes, but it must be from a video (or from someone finding the shoe style and researching it).

I like how this fig maker did Zhehan's hair here. Longish with some piecey parts for definition.

There's his rosy cheeks!

I like the pose here of his hand in his pocket - casual and laid back. And of course his other hand up there to show off the pearls. Can I just also say here I can't help but see the highlight in his eyes as A-Xu's drinking gourd.

All right! On to the pearls. I ended up just stringing them on a doubled strand of thread. It was easy enough! I used all the pearls - none were defective or malformed, and it made a nice long rope of pearls. I actually sewed it on him - I strung them, wrapped them around him, and then tied the ends together. Just in case they wouldn't wrap as well already tied.

Look at his beautiful self! The freshly strung pearls kept wanting to fall down him, so I wrapped them around his hand to kind of train the pearls to stay where I wanted them.

And there we go! After a little bit I took them off his hand and did another round of photos. They look good, don't they? Frankly they probably look even better now that the thread has probably relaxed some.

Alright, I'll add on all the figs + pearl pics so you can see them all at once without me yammering away!

There we go! His hair really does look great on this fig - the wispy bangs, and the length in the back. So good.

I took the angle from above when I still had his pearls looped around his hand!

Here's the optional keychain purchase that matched the fig. I bought four keychains for each of the figs in this series, and they're all adorable. Unfortunately, I photographed them all without taking the protective film off, so they're all dull and faded looking. They're much more vibrant with the film off.

The back of our card...

And our box! So far we've done three in this series, so only the last Zhehan fig to go. Come back tomorrow to see him!

Material: PVC (and pearls!)

Fig Count: 299

Scene Count: 23

Rating: Luminously beautiful

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

[mother-slugger]

A Pokémon Adventure to Celebrate 12 Years of Pure Magic! 🎉

Today was nothing short of epic, as we gathered to celebrate my son's 12th birthday—Pokémon style, of course! It’s hard to believe that this phenomenal young man made his grand debut 12 years ago, weighing in at just 4 pounds of pure miracle. Fast forward to today, and he’s thriving, reminding us every single day that little miracles can grow into incredible people. Mega proud mama here, kart-wheeling through this wild life!

The day was packed to the brim with laughter, chaos, and a few too many chocolate cupcakes (oops!). We had an absolute blast, but the fun didn't stop there! I got to hang out with my sister and her adorable crew of nieces and nephews. Picture this: a house full of kids running around like hyperactive Pokémon, laughter echoing through the halls, and all those delightful shenanigans! Honestly, this is exactly why I decided to have a troop of my own—the more, the merrier, right?

After the birthday festivities, my sister and I went on a little shopping adventure. Just a few bits here and there, but it was the perfect way to unwind and spend time together! Thank goodness for that, because my big shopping spree was yesterday! I had a fabulous day out with a friend, and we hit every store we could. It was a whirlwind of laughter and retail therapy—until my body decided it didn’t agree with the fun and left me limping around like a lost Pikachu later that night. Oof! That's the not-so-fun part of living with my disability. But hey, I scored some adorable frog plushies—yes, I’m a proud frog fanatic! Oh, and I treated myself to some stylish new threads from my all-time fave brand, Lucy & Yak. Definitely a day well spent, despite the aftermath!

As for today? I’m still on the mend, tackling pain like a boss. But you know what? I won’t let it steal my sunshine! My evening plans include snuggling with the kiddos for some cozy time with “Inside Out,” topped off with a little artistic expression through painting or coloring. Just a little something to unwind after life has had me on the go like a Turbo Pidgey.

Oh! And I almost forgot—today also marks the big 10-year anniversary for me and my partner in crime! Cue the confetti! We’ve hit double digits in love and chaos! While we won’t be jet-setting off to a fancy celebration (because, let’s be honest, with double the kids comes double the fun at home!), we don’t need grand adventures to keep the spark alive. Our love is like a rare Pokémon—strong and unyielding all year round!

Alrighty, my fingers are waving the white flag, and I’m off to rest and recharge. Remember, you all are amazing human beings—never forget that! ✨

Peace out!

[lunaelotus]

Rules

this is an independent and semi selective rp blog for Dan Heng of Honkai Star Rail the Imbibitor Lunae. As loved and penned by Pandi. Heavily Headcanoned with continued created lore than what we are given. He has been given many verses for various things of interest so if you have a verse you want to explore, or a setting as long as I am familiar with it, I would be happy to explore rp with you.

I will happily write with any muse from Honkai Star Rail. Understand I am happy to write canon divergent and I have no issue with writing with a duplicate. More the merrier. I have taken certain liberties with the character than makes him canon divergent, in some areas. Keep in mind we all write differently, and I will use as much creativity with my muse as I desire, and I will continue to develop him as I go along.

…|(Part One )|… So these are my rules I try to be as to the point as I can. My name is Pandi. I have been writing Dan Hung since Star Rail came out, and I have a deep love and respect for the character. I try to write everything from a point of view as I imagine he would see it. I might not reach out right away as I am sure I have mentioned somewhere I am a bit shy but if I follow I do want to write with you. It is always easier for me to break ice by having a reply to an open, if you ♡ my starter request, or send in a meme. I will of course return the favor, I just might be a little slow in the start. However, I never ignore anyone who reaches out to me first!

…|(Part Two )|… If I do not immediately follow back it is not from a lack of interest it is likely because I haven't been on IRL can be so cruel sometimes or I am looking for rules, alias and basic character information. I am always happy to write verses, new and old. I will never write with a partner seeking to ship, in the verse I already have a ship in. I do not write cheating threads, and it is in fact triggering for me. SO please don't toss me in a verse that you want to write a ship with me in, if you have someone in that verse, that's the quickest way to get my muse to clam up. If my muse if feeling someone--I will ask after ship. I reserve the right to not just ship for the sake of shipping. I require chemistry. I will under no circumstances under the heavens ship with a Blade. So please do not ask.

Under no circumstances will I ship with someone under 18. I do not wish to break the law and get myself in trouble.

There will be some dark topics on this blog just because of the universes that the Astral Express visits, and also some of my other verse as well. I will try to tag triggering things, if I manage to some how post something that triggers you and I miss a tag. Contact me politely and tell me and I will fix it right away. If you are an ass to me about it, I will just block and move on. I have no interest in drama outside of roleplaying. I will not write homophobia, transphobia, pedophilia, racism or other topics of disgusting natures.

…|(Part Three )|… I am open to being Mains happily so. I enjoy having steady writing partners. I am even open to exclusives BUT you must also have me as an exclusive. I don't play the your mine but I Am not yours game. It is played out. Seriously, I am here to write stories and have a good time. I am looking for long term partners to develop stories with. I try to never duplicate a plot I am writing with someone else, because these are friends, and I hate to make a friend feel like their devotion to our plot and thread isn't important to me. It is very important to me. I want my partners to feel as special as they are. As a disclaimer I get attached to my writing partners and never want to be a source of stress for them.

If you send me hate--I will gleefully delete it get a great laugh out of it and carry on with my day. Trolls belong in the trashcan. Were all people behind the screen and we all have lives outside of rp. This is not a job or a paying gig. Remember to respect people as a whole. This is a hobby we all share.

…|(Part Four )|… I make my own graphics though my layout was created by a now gone master of coding. Her credit will always forever remain intact on my layout. I made my color psd. The art work is from the game (Honkai Star Rail). My actor face-claim for Dan Heng is Zheng FanXing because he reminds me of Heng. I make posts with small text, icons and colored text. You do not have to do the same. I will happily write with cartoon icons, anime icons, art icons, faces of actors and even no icons at all. Its not up to me how you run your blog! The only thing I ask is you tag lunaelotus so I can find our rp easier.

You are never required to touch my word count I tend to write long and descriptive I have tried to do less words but it just doesn't work. So please accept me as I am.

If I reblog a meme and you like it you can absolutely reblog it from me. If you want to continue a answered meme please do. I am always happy to continue anything written for me or I write for you. This is what rp is to me! You are allowed to send me multiple asks, you are allowed to scream to me about our muses, you are allowed to have bad days, and if you need to drop a thread please just let me know. I understand muses can be fickle sometimes.

I am sure I missed something, so if I need to update these rules I will.

[hufflepuffcd]

❛  apparently we’re going to be working on this together now.  ❜ --Imogen is terrible at potions, and Professor Snape is punishing her by forcing her to work in a group (assuming you're ok with hogwarts threads of course, since i know your default verse is post-hogwarts)

🐝  *  ―  𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒. // @spellwrites

"Oh, really?"

Pen pauses for a moment, just a moment, briefly wondering if it's a good idea to work in a group. There's a muggle saying, isn't there? Too many cooks spoil the broth. Something like that. But hopefully one of them will be able to sort something out. Unfortunately, she's always been hit or miss in potions, the theory is there, the weighing, the chopping into even pieces...not so much. But the newest member of the group's in Ravenclaw, and she'd hate to stereotype but...she's sure that someone smart enough to be sorted into Ravenclaw will be a great addition to the group.

The Hufflepuff can't help but grin at the prospect, the slight gap in her teeth more obvious now. It'd be nice to show a teacher who seems to hold a grudge against every student he's had a thing or two for a change

"The more the merrier, right?" She moves to the side, making more room next to the bubbling cauldron. "Penthesilea Honeysett, by the way. But my friends call me anything but that."

[finishwhatyoustarted-event]

Finish What You Started 2024 - Event Rules

[ID copied from alt: Event Rules on a blue background. ⬒ No new projects ◨ Any medium and any fandom welcome ⬓ NSFW inclusive, warnings must be tagged ◧ Tag #FinishWhatYouStarted2024; boosting/retweeting starts March 15th ◼ Event ends April 30, 2024]

The goal of this event is to get things done that you’ve already started. We all have unfinished projects whose incomplete status haunts us. Those are what we want to tackle!

The structure is loose, as this is a multimedia event. While primarily aimed at writers, this event is open to any kind of creative fanwork. Fics, translations, podfics, fanart, animations, cosplay - if you started it and never got it done, it qualifies. There is no sign-up required. I will not assign beta readers for writers, but I can boost requests for those who want them! And I can boost messages of those who would like to beta read.

The mod is a danmei fan mainly, but your work can be any fandom. Maybe something you started before your current fandom excitement took over, or one you keep putting off in favor of compelling new ideas.

Feel free to pass this event info along! The more the merrier!

Further rules and clarifications:

Alt text is very encouraged, especially for boost posts or artwork!

If your work is NSFW, I will only boost it if it has appropriate content warnings. Spoilering images is recommended but not required as long as it’s tagged. Do not letter-swap or abbreviate content warnings. These are so people can mute them as needed. Example: "gore" not "g0re"

Remember Tumblr can mute phrases, but each warning should be its own tag as well as in the body.

Please use genderbend or genderswap for characters depicted not as canon genders. Example: "#NSFW #genderbend #gore”

Please use Omegaverse or A/O/B for that content. The original letter order is a slur against Aboriginal peoples and will not be tolerated here, even with the slashes. It, like other racial or identity-based slurs, fall under hate speech and are thus not permitted.

This account will post weekly morale-boosting messages and helpful resources. Every Friday, starting March 15th, will be Finished It Friday. All the completed works posted that week will be boosted together in a big thread, so we can celebrate your accomplishment!

Halfway-point check-in is April 1st. Final event deadline is April 30th. The last Finished It Friday is May 3rd.

FAQ:

Q: Are original works acceptable?

A: This is primarily a fanwork-focused event. If original work is the only WIP you have to work on, it's certainly fine to work on it during the time frame of the event. If it is posted publicly when finished, you may tag it for boosting.

Q: Are there any restrictions on topics?

A: No, so long as your event # post is properly & fully tagged for content (see rules about tagging above). "Dead Dove" topics are allowed. Some submissions will be 18+. For me, this is less about the content and more about finishing it. 

The usual restrictions based on laws and Community Guidelines of course apply, so you may need to tailor how you post to which event space your interacting with. Twitter, Tumblr, and Discord all have their own rules. There are also some topics that are in poor taste to make fanworks around. The event organizer and mods reserve the right to not boost your work if they decide it is rage-baiting or trolling. They are not responsible for negative reactions to your works. Please be respectful of those you share a digital space with. 

Keep in mind that when I link to your finished work during a Finished It Friday, it may reach a wider audience than you may be used to.

Q: Are there any restrictions on media that can be submitted?

A: Machine Generated or "AI" images and writing are not permitted. If you are found in violation of this rule, you will be removed from the event. All images, writing, or other works must be your own.

This is a positive, shared space. Do not belittle other creators' medium of choice. Please no fandom/character/ship/creator bashing, and don't berate artists or authors for not being done with something, even if they don't finish by the end of the event. Also, please don't passive-aggressively send this event to the author of an unfinished fic you want to see done faster. 😥 Be cool, respect each other, and keep any interpersonal disagreements to your own tumblrsphere.

All posts and boosts will be crossposted to the event Twitter (finishwatustart) and Discord. Expanded rules, explanations, and Dead Dove guidelines can also be found on the Discord. (invite link in pinned post) 

Fics can be posted to the AO3 collection (archiveofourown(dot)org /collections /FinishWhatYouStarted2024_Spring)

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[zvdvdlvr]

ᴋɪʟʟsʜᴏᴛ

ᴅ.ᴍᴀʟғᴏʏ

Sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ Sʟʏᴛʜᴇʀɪɴ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴏɴ ʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴀᴛ ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ ɪs ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛғᴜʟ.

Wᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: ᴀʟᴄᴏʜᴏʟ, ᴄᴜʀsɪɴɢ, sᴇx ʀᴇғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇs,

i wrote this in a day??????

and i fucked up times bc i can hehehe annddd my writing kinda sucks at first, but gets better

Oh god Can you make my heart stop Hit me with your kill shot baby I mean it so serious

after winning the 3rd quidditch game in a row, a party was decided as a reward.

parties were normally no big deal. of course Slytherins had the music, and the Ravenclaws and the playlists. Griffindor had the booze, and Hufflepuffs always had the best concoctions, so no matter the shit, parties at Hogwarts were legit.

so as soon as news of the party spread, it was automatically the only thing people were talking about. everyone had to be at the dungeons by 10, and if you missed it, then your fucked unless you know the password, so people spread the news quickly. the more the merrier, right?

𓆙

the party was in full swing, and Bowie's 'The Man Who Sold The World' was blaring.

"care for a dance?" Draco. the young(ish) Malfoy was wearing an all black suit, which made him looks deliciously handsome. his blonde hair was brushed to the side, but had obviously been ruffled in the chaos of all the bodies. when you looked closer at him, you could see his suit was also ruffled slightly, but that didn't make much difference, as he looked above satisfactory in almost everything.

y/n's lips twitched in an almost smile. "how in the name of Salazaar are we going to dance?" she asked.

draco grinned. "well, we get really close, and then we just-" he started.

y/n laughed. "kay, whatever." she said, and moved toward Draco.

so they just stood, swayed to the music.

eventually, y/n had slid her ring clad hands up Draco's chest slowly enough to make him shudder slightly, and laced them at the nape of his neck. she had also brought her torso closer to him, making his breathing even more uneven.

his hands settled in on her hips. his thumbs rubbing circles in her dark green dress. the two were merely inches apart.

"draco." she whispered. the music was so loud, that he almost hadn't heard it.

"darling." he murmured back, squeezing her hips.

"oh god." she mumbled. "can you make my heart stop?" she asked suddenly, into his eyes.

he answered with no hesitation. "i can make your heart stop if you want me to, darling. i'll hit you with my killshot." he said. the last sentence was more of a breathy mumble.

"oh, hit me with your killshot baby." y/n said, closing her eyes.

Draco hesitated. "do you mean it?" he asked into her ear.

y/n swallowed. her eyes opened, and she scanned his eyes. "i mean it, 'm so serious." she breathed.

Draco groaned, and pressed his lips to her neck. his lips were firm on her skin. it felt like heaven. y/n's hands moved to the top of Draco's head now, threading his fine blonde hair between her fingers, and tugged lightly, earning a low groan.

"Dray... We-Stop..." y/n muttered out as his lips trailed up her neck to her cheek and to her lips.

he pulled away slowly. "what?"

y/n smiled. "darling, in case you didnt notice, we're in the fucking common room, with kids from all houses, blaring songs." she rushed.

he blinked. "so... my dorm or yours?" he asked finally.

"yours, definitely." y/n replied.

she pressed a kiss on Draco's lips. she loved the sharp taste of Firewhiskey and whatever else he was drinking.

"come on, baby. lead the way." y/n whispered directly into Draco's ear, and pecked the soft skin behind his ear and smiled at the goosebumps on there.

"yes ma'am." Draco groaned.

[obsidianpen]

Would you dislike it if let's say a fanfiction "kinda" got inspired from your works? So, basically I have this fanfic idea (LV/HP slash fic). There's of course soul component involved, I'm trying to be as creative as I can be and not do too many cliché tropes, but there's these (2?) parts that are essential and I really don't wanna give up. Basically the first is kinda similar to the "light" HP and LV have in NG tho it's like one-sided and for a different reason than the horcux connection. The second part is the "glass imprisonment" in Hauntingly. But just the imprisonment part but for similar motives on LV's part just not the exact same elements (GLASS coffin and life sustaining THREADS if you see what I mean).

I can't remember if I thought of these ideas before reading your works or if reading them just inspired me to tweak them to fit the setting of my fanfic, but j wanted to ask you if you're comfortable finding out an FF with familiar tropes as your own. And for anons can you still enjoy an FF even if it's similar to an existing great work.

Ps: I know that personally I wouldn't stand seeing a FF with "borrowed" elements unless they're on par or even surpass the original work.

I wouldn’t be bothered at all! On the contrary, I’d be happy if someone wrote works possibly inspired by mine. It is fanfiction after all! The more the merrier ❤️ Also many of the tropes in NG are pretty common, I’m far from the first person to write a messed up Harry being imprisoned thing. I think the only thing I do moderately uniquely is my portrayal of V, but I’m happy to see more of that! By which I mean a deeply flawed, conflicted dark lord with lots of backstory and explanation (not justification) for how he is. But I also appreciate other ways people write him too, especially the straight up psychopath portrayal with 0 ability to feel pretty much any emotion but anger and mild pleasure, because that’s really how he’s written in canon. But that’s all open to interpretation! Isn’t fanfiction fun

[jaskiersvalley]

The Date

@etcorsolus and @chubbykatsudon were kind enough to bounce a few ideas around ideas as a follow-up to this ficlet. They wanted first date in a dog park.

Of all the days for Eskel to suddenly have a date, that evening was not the best choice. Geralt wanted to smack his head against the steering wheel. He had been banking on Eskel being able to take Ciri for the night while he had dinner with Jaskier. Well, take Ciri and the still unnamed dog, even if Ciri was doing her best to be an absolute menace.

"Roach," she had declared.

"No." There was only room for one Roach in Geralt's life and that horse was his everything.

Ciri had sniffed haughtily. "Fine. Roachie."

Not willing to bend, Geralt kept his mouth shut and hummed in disapproval. She was going to give up soon, Geralt was stubborn and could outlast anyone.

Alas, the issue of Ciri-sitting and dogsitting was still pressing. There was no way Geralt was inviting Lambert to do it. That would mean Aiden coming too and, by the time Geralt came back from his date, either the house would be on fire or Ciri would swear fluently in three new languages. Possibly both.

There was nothing for it, he sent a heavy hearted text to Jaskier.

Can't get a sitter for tonight - can't leave Ciri and dog alone. Rain check on that dinner?

He didn't expect to see the three dots of a reply in the making appear quite so quick. As his screen darkened, the text came through.

Or it's a case of more the merrier. Why not go to the dog park? I can show you the best one in the area.

That sounded like a plan and Geralt ended up agreeing to it. Especially when Jaskier said he'll bring treats for them all. Turning up at the park, Geralt was a little nervous, not overly familiar with how these things went. Thankfully, Jaskier was already there and waving like an overenthusiastic fool.

"You made it!" He beamed and Geralt frowned. Of course they made it, Geralt had promised. Before he could say as much, Jaskier was chattering away again, "As promised, here are the treats. This is for Ciri-" a dog plushie was handed over, "-this is for Roachie-" Geralt was too stunned by the thoughtfulness to even question how Jaskier decided to call the dog Roachie, "-and this is for you." With that Jaskier stepped into Geralt's personal space. "I'm your treat for the night."

"How did you know I have a sweet tooth?" Geralt purred and smirked at the delighted laugh Jaskier gave.

It was an auspicious start to a date, even if it wasn't quite as private as planned. Geralt easily allowed Jaskier to start showing Ciri the finer points of dog ownership.

"Can we teach Roachie some tricks?" Ciri asked impatiently.

"Of course." The reply from Jaskier was accompanied by a smirking side eyeing of Geralt. "I'll show you my favourite; begging." If that wasn't bad enough, Jaskier promptly dropped to his knees, treats in hand and eyes on the dog.

Two could play at this game and Geralt cleared his throat. "Shouldn't we teach him what praise is first? How else will he know what 'good boy' means?"

Naturally, Ciri had all the bright ideas. And when Geralt said bright, he meant innocently devilish. Because next thing he knew, Ciri was talking again. "Sometimes I learn better by watching someone do something. Maybe Roachie is the same. Jaskier, do as dad asks!"

Geralt was only human and he couldn't hold back from muttering under his breath, "suck my cock". Given Jaskier's cheeks dusting beautifully pink, it was safe to say he heard.

"Go on, daddy, tell me what to do," he purred, eyes dark and playful. It pulled a huff of a laugh from Geralt, who was unable to keep a straight face anymore.

"Get up, off your knees. You need to give them a bit of rest if you want to use them later tonight." Probably not something he should have said in front of Ciri who was looking at them curiously. Clearing his throat, Geralt tried to cover it up. "Jaskier likes to work out. Does a lot of squats."

To be honest, given how perky Jaskier's backside was, the man had to work out. But that was beside the point.

In the end they let Roachie have a run around, Geralt utterly resigned to the name of the dog. It was fun but left them rather peckish.

"How about a drive-through burger? There's one near us," Geralt offered. The grin he got from Jaskier was full of promise.

"I do like eating at a table like a civilised human."

Message received, Geralt couldn't hold back on his matching smile. "Food won't go cold if we drive it home. I can offer you my table to dine on."

"Oh I'd love to dine on so much more," Jaskier replied but he was threading an arm through Geralt's. Maybe I can treat you to a sweet sweet dessert after dinner."

Something told Geralt it wasn't food Jaskier was talking about. He wasn't wrong.

[heragonies]

hello everyone! my name is luna (24, est), and i’m currently looking to pick up some more writing partners interested in any of the fandoms listed below. i typically prefer to write on discord, though i could be persuaded to try other platforms as well. beneath the cut, you’ll find more information in regards to my rules, things i’m looking for, etc. ☆

IMPORTANT INFORMATION:

01. first and foremost, i will only write with those who are older than 21 years of age. this is for my own comfort, and its a boundary that is very much set in stone!

02. i don’t generally prefer to write smut-centered threads. if that’s all you’re interested in doing, then we’re probably not the best match! it’s certainly not something i’m averse to writing every once in a while and if appropriate, but i do not write smut for the sake of writing smut. i’d much rather prefer to focus on character development and world building!

03. please understand that i am currently working full time, and am not always able to be as active as i’d like. i do try to be around as much as possible, but sometimes life gets in the ways. i always strive to be as informative as possible if there are instances where i’m not going to be around as frequently. if you’re expecting 2-3 thread replies weekly, i’m probably not the person for you.

04. i looooove chatting with my partners about our plots! expect me to send loads of headcanons, pinterest boards, playlists, etc. i get really super enthusiastic about the characters i’m writing, and i’m equally as invested in those my partners are writing as well! it might take me a bit to warm up to you and gauge just how annoying i'm allowed to be, but we'll get there! if you’d prefer not to talk much ooc for whatever reason, do let me know, and i’ll absolutely lay off the gas.

05. i am doubling / mumu friendly. though it isn't necessary, i've always felt that the more, the merrier! it’s just important to remember that with my busy schedule, more threads may mean that it takes me a bit longer to reply. i’m always making an effort to give every character equal attention, and never want anyone feeling neglected. this does not mean i will not double up, of course, especially if that’s your preference! i just don’t want to set any unrealistic expectations.

FANDOMS & CHARACTERS:

game of thrones :  sansa stark, daenerys targaryen

harry potter :  hermione granger, ron weasley, luna lovegood

the hunger games :  katniss everdeen, peeta mellark, clove, lucy gray baird

star wars :  padmé amidala, ahsoka tano, obi–wan kenobi, leia organa

avatar the last airbender :  katara, sokka, aang

dune :  paul atreides, chani kynes

percy jackson :  annabeth chase, nico di angelo

jujutsu kaisen : kugisaki nobara, utahime iori, yuji itadori

attack on titan : mikasa ackerman, hange zoe, pieck finger, armin arlert

marvel : wanda maximoff, jean grey, natasha romanoff, stephen strange

the 100 : raven reyes, clarke griffin, monty green, emori

stranger things : nancy wheeler, will byers, max mayfield

genshin impact : jean gunnhildr, yoimiya naganohara, albedo

random fandoms : amy march (little women), mia dolan (la la land), beverly marsh (it), stanley uris (it), anne shirley-cuthbert (anne of green gables), elena greco (my brilliant friend), emma woodhouse (emma), tba ...

i will not write things like incest, age gaps (nor will i age up characters if there would otherwise be an age gap), etc. i also do not write smut with characters that are minors regardless of whether or not they are aged up. sorry! again, i'm fine with doubling up as well. ships can be mxf, mxm, or fxf. i’m open to most ideas, so feel free to suggest whatever’s on your mind and i’ll let you know if it’s something i’d be into trying! also, our pairings don’t have to be romantic! i loooove writing platonic stuff as much as i do romantic. currently, i'd prefer to do strictly cc x cc pairings. depending on the themes of the plot, i ask that characters be aged up to be 18+.

if any of this sounds like something you’d be interested in, leave a like on this post and i’ll reach out to you as soon as i’m able! alternatively, feel free to dm me yourself, letting me know what fandoms or characters you may be interested in.