#redraft

[frmacnac]

Marco and Toffee are like mirrors each other, or have similar facial expressions and gestures (Part 5, redraft)

It's going to be the last part. Thank you so much for watching!

[theperplexedpoet]

a resurrection of self

a meditation on healing one more volume for the shelf drawing cards intent on dealing a resurrection of self line by line, I am rebuilding these reflections that are cast all the while, I am still fielding questions that the pen has asked attempting to see more clearly the winding path I have tread hoping that the heart will hear me to know what now lies ahead a meditation on healing one more volume for the shelf drawing cards intent on dealing a resurrection of self line by line, I am redrafting these reflections that remain praying they will be more lasting than those cast here by the pain attempting to hold more dearly to each of the words I've bled hoping that the heart sees clearly how I used each drop it shed a meditation on healing one more volume for the shelf drawing cards intent on dealing a resurrection of self line by line, I am rewriting these reflections that are cast all the while, I'm still deciding who will rise up from the ash (5/26/23)

[zombiecowboy65]

Having thoughts about jerejean kissing just to kiss and not going any further. Just slow tentative brushes of lips and noses, deeper kisses with gentle hands running up arms and over shoulders, cradling faces and tangling in hair, smiling against each other’s mouths, Jeremy laughing when Jean tells him (playfully) to knock it off

[tsbsredraft]

Solstice (Dark Sun)

Another one in the bag less goo- Concept art for Solstice or Dark Sun!

I'll eventually add information and all that jazz to both him, the Bloodmoon Twins, and others when I get it all fleshed out and when I'm ready- for now, enjoy the evil guy! :D

This is a small reminder that I haven't seen him in a show or in action. I don't know how he truly behaves or his character. Be easy on me; I'm working with concepts and other people's takes on him.

Character Roster

[heywriters]

I have a writing issue I am trying to get out of, but I also don't know how to get out of it. I have a tendency to have characters look at one another, gaze, glance, peer, stare, get lost in, etc - so much action with the eyes. I want to be able to describe communication and feelings between characters outside of *the eyes* (that isn't touching), do you have any tips/exercises that can help with this?

So I waited a super long time to reply to this, and you may already have figured out a solution on your own or found an answer elsewhere. I apologize for saying I would answer and then lo and behold I did not. I did however find a piece on the site Happy Writer that addresses this exact issue! Read their advice, it's meticulous and practical.

How to Make Your Characters Stop Looking At Everything

Personally, when I've encountered this crutch in my own writing, I switch my focus to some other sense. Whether its actions the character is doing with their hands, sounds they are distracted by, a interesting patterns in the wallpaper, whatever. As long as it isn't eyes every time it makes those moments fresh again.

I've noticed in most day-to-day conversations I don't make much eye contact with familiar people. We can speak without looking at each other, especially when occupied by other activities such as chores or driving. With strangers of course there is more nodding and polite eye contact, but with friends and coworkers they understand if I'm not looking at them I can still pay attention to their speech.

Likewise, if you save the heavy eye contact for specific scenes—like romantic, hostile, or suspenseful encounters—it will be more impactful! It will be exciting to write "they stared into each other's eyes" again! I'm teasing, but also I've been there and I understand all too well.

---

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[macherielottie]

Mari’s "Dual Realities": Yellowjackets as an Exploration of Memory and Trauma

I’m not sure if anyone's unpacked this in-depth yet, but I've been ruminating on Mari's exchange with Ben regarding there being "two versions of reality" and how this ties in with the Pit Girl scene and Shauna's on-screen mental unravelling, and I'm convinced that this isn't the first time we'll experience whiplash from what we thought was real versus what actually happened. Natalie’s flashback regarding her father’s death is one of many scenes I believe is worth reconsidering now that we've been introduced to the framework of there being Dual Realities. I apologize in advance because this is a long post, but I swear it all ties together in the end. Please walk with me.

The "Dual Realities" Theory

In Season 3 Episode 3 “Them’s the Breaks,” Mari tells Ben the story of her cousin dying from brain cancer, he asks her what the point of her monologue was. In response, she says, “I think... maybe there are two versions of reality. Most of the time, the [bad] one… is just hiding, or waiting, but it's all real.”

While many interpret Mari’s quote as the show's confirmation of the supernatural, I see it instead as a commentary on trauma and how our minds deal with the trauma the world deals to us and/or our own morally abhorrent actions. Instead of dealing with the truth of what happened to us or accepting our actions as our own and the being forced to reckon with the way this reflects on our own character, we construct Dual Realities to cope.

In fact, the entire show functions as an introspection on how people cope with trauma in their everyday lives. In an interview with Polyester, Lauren Ambrose (Adult Van) says “The thesis of the show is about how trauma plays on us and how it affects these women, in their day to day lives. How does what they went through, what they lived through, what they're holding in their bodies, and what they sometimes probably can't even bear to look at…”

With this context, the Dual Realities can be broken down in the following categories:

The “Normal Reality" is what people live in for a majority of the time and the reality that we choose to accept as the truth. It’s the story we tell ourselves and the warped or redacted memories that our brain uses in order to cope with trauma and the inevitability to having to move forward after traumatic experiences. This is the Normal Reality because it's what allows us to live normal lives by concealing any "abnormal" components- the trauma.

The “Bad Reality" exists concurrently with and in-opposition to the Normal Reality. While we blind ourselves with the Normal Reality, the Bad Reality hides just beneath the surface. The Normal Reality overshadows the Bad Reality in our everyday lives, protecting us from the Bad Reality that we “can't even bear to look at."

Although the Dual Realities may at first appear to be incompatible, “[they're] all real"- one in a personal sense, and the other in an objective sense. The Normal Reality and the false memories we create are just as real to us as the objective Bad Reality. We need to believe that the Normal Reality we live in is just as (if not more) real as the Bad Reality. The Normal Reality is real to us as individuals, and without it we'd break. Regardless of what others may say to try and break the illusion, we fight to hold onto the ambiguity that exists between the Dual Realities.

Re-examining the Pit Girl Scene: Shauna’s Dual Realities in Conflict

Currently, the most transparent example of the Dual Realities clashing with one another and causing unease is seen in adult Shauna. As Shauna continues to interact with the other girls in the adult timeline, the other adults' own recollections form cracks in her Normal Reality and she becomes increasingly unhinged when the Bad Reality starts to fill in those cracks. Instead of acknowledging her complicity in the events of the Wilderness, she instead does whatever she can to suppress the Bad Reality the way she knows best- primal dominance and power. This is part of why she tracks down Melissa, berates her for completely shedding her past self, and insists that Melissa consume the part of her arm that Shauna gnawed off. She needs confirmation that others share the same Normal Reality as she does so she doesn't have to reckon with the Bad Reality.

At the end of Season 3 Episode 10 "Full Circle," Shauna directly acknowledges the way trauma skews traumatic memories during the infamous journal scene. In Shauna’s version of the Normal Reality, “We became so alive in that place that we lost our capacity for self reflection... but I think we can't or won't remember it clearly because we recognize, deep down, that we were having so much fun."

While Shauna journals, the audience is shown the Bad Reality version of the Pit Girl scene. This version contrasts sharply with the Pilot’s Pit Girl scene- which may have been presented through Shauna’s distorted memory as her Normal Reality. Further tying this theory together is the fact that Shauna is the first adult Yellowjacket we're introduced to and her reveal immediately follows the Pilot's Pit Girl sequence.

Others have done absolutely fantastic deep-dives of this scene and I won't dare try my hand when they've done it better, but dichotomy between the Pit Girl scene in the "Pilot" vs. the Pit Girl scene in Season 3 Episode 10 a perfect illustration of Shauna's personal turmoil when she's forced to acknowledge the existence of the Dual Realities. Shauna's choice when confronted by this is to cope by consciously choosing to keep living in her Normal Reality- the one where everyone openly enjoyed the brutality of the Wilderness. She absolves herself of her guilt by projecting her own motivations onto the other girls and place herself not just in the same metaphorical pit as them, but above it all. In her Normal Reality, Shauna was a "queen" in the Wilderness, regardless of the fact that in the actual, Bad Reality, no one (except perhaps Lottie) acknowledged her as such.

The Mythos of the Misfired Gun: Natalie's Reconstruction of Her Father's Death

Shauna is definitely not the only Yellowjacket that engages in these Dual Realities as a coping mechanism, and there’s likely many other flashbacks we’ve been shown throughout the past three seasons that are tainted by the girls’ own spin on the events. One instance that stood Natalie’s memory of her father’s death.

What we're shown, the version of events where Natalie fails to disengage the safety on the gun and her father's death is simply accidental, could parallel the first Pit Girl scene. We know from her father's own words that Natalie has used a gun before, and is therefore familiar with at least the basics, and disengaging the safety before shooting at a dangerous target is one of the first things new gunowners are taught. Natalie's familiarity with guns would explain why she's such a great shot in the Wilderness, but if we just blindly accept the flashback as the truth, a clear incongruence arises. Because of this, I believe that Natalie's failure to disengage the safety and therefore not pulling the trigger is her Normal Reality, while in actuality- in the Bad Reality- Natalie did kill her father.

I could be looking too far into this, but I think the meta timeline of this event also serves as important subtext, after all, the Yellowjackets writers are no strangers to such meta-level references. The song Natalie and Kevin are listening to right before her father’s barges into her room was released in 1994, so we can assume his death takes place in 1994. 1994 was also the same year of Kurt Cobain’s suicide. Cobain’s suicide is often a subject of conspiracy, with fans constantly debating if it was truly suicide or if his then-lover, Courtney Love, pulled the trigger, insisting that there’s simply no way someone could shoot themselves in the head with a shotgun. While I don’t believe the narrative about Courtney Love (and frankly think it’s rooted in misogyny), I believe the showrunners may be playing with the imagined ambiguity surrounding Cobain’s tragic death and the Dual Realities that emerged because of it. Many of his fans find it easier to cope with his suicide by convincing themselves of the Normal Reality- where Kurt Cobain was happily recovering and on a positive path, and Courtney Love snuffed-out his flame- rather than the Bad Reality- where Kurt Cobain continued to struggle with his mental health right up until his suicide.

There’s clearly more than a few parallels between the deaths of Kurt Cobain and Natalie’s father and the mythos surrounding them- the most obvious being that the weapon of choice was a shotgun, and on a deeper level, the imagined ambiguity caused by the chasm between the Dual Realities. We aren't ever shown the moment Natalie’s father is shot- this happens off-screen- and all we see is Natalie’s reaction and the immediate aftermath of his death. This allows for reasonable doubt, and therefore the emergence of the Normal Reality and the Bad Reality.

The "Endless Pit of Guilt"

To tie this together, I also want to recall a scene from Season 1 Episode 7, “No Compass” where in the adult timeline, Shauna, Natalie, and Tai are planning to confront the person who has been blackmailing them with the postcards. When they see the blackmailer, Natalie shoots at him and misses, which causes Shauna and Tai to freak out and say that, had she not missed, they’d all be jailed for murder. In response, Natalie claims she was never going to kill the man, and the shot was more of a warning than anything else. A heated exchange unfolds between Natalie and Shauna during this scene, and it takes a whole new meaning if we consider the Dual Realities:

Natalie: Like we haven't done a lot worse [than shooting a blackmailer]. Shauna: You know what? Speak for yourself, Natalie. I... Don't drag us into your endless fucking pit of guilt.

On first watch and within the tight confines of Season 1, it seems Shauna is referring to their shared experience in the Wilderness and Natalie's guilt about the events that transpired. However, taking into consideration what we've learned in Season 3 and the growing prominence of the Dual Realities in the narrative, Shauna could simultaneously be making a jab at Natalie for the guilt she carries after killing her father. (Sidenote, but Shauna's use of the word "pit"? Brutal.)

Recall that in Natalie's memory, her father said she cried after hunting a turkey. This can indicate that Natalie doesn't view herself as a violent person and/or refuses to accept that she’s capable of violence, but the fact that she killed her father is direct opposition to this belief. Perhaps the others all know and understand deep down given their own experiences with trauma that Natalie’s memory of her father’s death is skewed by her inability to cope with the Bad Reality.

However, Natalie's reliance on the Normal Reality and any ability to convince herself that she's not capable of violence is stripped away after the brutality she experiences in the Wilderness. Natalie assumed the role of the hunter/provider, needing to kill wild animals day-in and day-out to ensure the survival of the other girls while wielding the weapon she used to kill her father, and her killing Ben, although it was a mercy-killing, and being forced to butcher him afterwards forces Natalie to come face-to-face with her capacity for violence.

Predictions for Seasons 4 and 5

I believe the Pit Girl dichotomy is just the first of many revelations to come. As the show dives deeper into the Dual Realities in Seasons 4 and 5, we'll likely witness more moments where the illusion shatters. As stated above, I believe one such moment is the confirmation that Natalie didn’t just witness her father’s death- she pulled the trigger. Like the Pit Girl scene, Seasons 4 and 5 won’t just reframe the past, but force us to question everything we thought we understood about the Yellowjackets and what they’ve done, and continue to do, in order to survive.

[frmacnac]

Hi. This post will be a sequel to the past one, I have posted an article about Toffee did like a curtsy to Star and Moon. he also seems to have done other things similar.

In his first encounter with Ludo, he was sitting at the desk, there was that penstand.

In this picture, his tie is painted pink; it seems the same color as the feather in the knight's helmet.

Even though he looks this miserable, he called "Your Majesty" to Moon. He's bending his neck, maybe even bowing.

Maybe I'm saying something crazy. but I get the feeling he acting like a knight, while being hostile to Queen/Princess. I think he is complex person.

(2023/11/15 update. fix)

[vaya-writes]

Not Quite A Life Debt - 3

A handful of f reader insert scenes with m demonic love interests. Fluff, hurt/comfort, and smutty shenanigans that lean kind of poly.

You (kind of unnecessarily) tried to save Ludwig’s life. Out of pity, he lets you crash at his place for a few weeks after. It probably wouldn’t be so bad, but he doesn’t live alone. Reader stays with the triplets until she gets back on her feet. Smut, family shenanigans, and possibly even romance ensues.

Mervin is kind of crabby after his heat he gets sick. You begin searching for employment. And Ludwig helps you out on a high pain day. 5900 words.

Content warnings for this chapter include: mild isolation, some blame from the resident pride demon, pain and sickness during menstruation, the briefest and undescribed animal death (Obie eats a pigeon), and smut.

Smut warnings include: consensual fingering and groping whilst menstrating, brief joking/discussion of menstural oral (does not actually occur), soft stuff that turns a little rough, unintentional and unplanned breath play (hand over mouth), nonconsensual biting (from both parties), dry humping, semi-public sexual stuff, lack of aftercare because of an interruption.

Divider by firefly-graphics. Characters by @eldritch-spouse.

Masterlist - A03 - Previous

You get used to living in Perdition.  

Well, it would be more accurate to say you get used to living with Ludwig and his brothers. You’re not allowed to leave the house by yourself; the triplets make no secret of the fact that they live in a bad neighbourhood – a bad ring, as Ludwig puts it.  

It’s frustrating, but you don’t doubt them. It only takes a few brief tours around the area for you to understand. You attract stares everywhere you go. Leers, really. And watching what demons do to each other (both strangers on the street, and the brothers among themselves), you hate to imagine what they might do to a human. 

It’s as if everyone here speaks several additional languages that humans just aren’t fluent with (literal infernal aside). Greed. Hunger. Violence. The first time you watch Mervin and Ludwig descend into a proper argument, you’re horrified. Nothing you’d seen at home – and you were no stranger to domestic scraps – could prepare you for it. Teeth and claws and broken furniture. Mervin draws a gods-damned weapon. You’d seen people fight before. But not like this. You’d dismissed yourself and locked yourself in the spare room the first time it had happened.  

Obie had dragged the two upstairs by the horns and made them apologise for scaring you. 

It’s not the only thing you notice. You don’t put your finger on it for a while. It takes several outings with the triplets, several more incidents and scraps before you start to suspect another key difference between demons and humans.  

It has something to do with their priorities. Their sense of self. Their interactions within a community. Humans aren’t selfless, by any means. But bonds form fast between them. Connections are quickly made, common goals are easily worked towards, and interconnectedness is practically built into our genes. The human instinct for empathy, to help those around us, to lean on each other for support – it's as if demons lack it.  

It truly is survival of the fittest for them. You suspect that if a demon can’t survive alone, they won’t survive at all. You see it in the way they think of themselves first. How Obie might reach for your food, before hesitating. Or Mervin opens his mouth to speak, before thinking better. That consideration, cohesion are learned traits. Conscious choices to practice, and not instinct.  

It scares you more in strangers. That the curiosity is not the first thing demons look at you with, but hunger. You’d feel like prey if you didn’t watch them do it to each other too. Like every person is a mark; looked at with the question ‘what can I gain from using you’ before asking something more basic, like ‘who are you’.  

Long story short, you don’t mind keeping to the house. 

The first time you go anywhere without them, it’s to Sloth, to stay with Katia. The circumstances are odd. Mervin had just come back from one of his extended trips. He’d strode through the door, seen you in the lounge and frozen for a moment, before stamping straight to his bedroom, and shutting the door with a slam. Ludwig had come home early that day and explained that Mervin was sick and needed the house to himself for a week. 

It didn’t make sense to you. But what did you know? Mervin was almost never around. You didn’t know what he was like when he was sick. Still, the hesitation when Ludwig had explained the situation, the look he shared with his mother when he dropped you off at her place – it led you to suspect that a key piece of information was being kept from you.  

It fills you with paranoia. But Katia is lovely. Spending time with her helps ease the anxiety in your chest. Most of her hours are spent at work or sleeping, but the moments of lucidity she spends with you are enjoyable. She shows you how to cook a few new meals. Lets you go through her photo albums and look at baby pictures of her sons. On the weekend she even takes you clothes shopping, and for the first time in almost a month you feel at ease, wearing clothes that you’ve chosen for yourself.  

When Katia returns you back to the common ring, Mervin is still home. He’s currently your least favourite triplet, but you make an effort to smile. “Feeling better?” 

He scowls, and you’re surprised at the amount of vitriol in his expression. “As if that’s your business.” 

You try not to visibly deflate. 

Katia tsks and frowns at her son. She pats you on the back. “He’s just embarrassed, sweetie. Don’t you pay him any mind.” 

She gives you a peck on the cheek before leaving, and sound of the door closing sends a wave of dread through you. You really don’t want to be alone with Mervin. 

But when you turn his expression has softened. If only marginally. He tilts his head. “She likes you.” 

You’re not sure what to say. You shrug as you take your shoes off. “We had fun.” 

You feel his stare on you, even as you cross the room. You head towards the kitchen, hoping for something to eat.  

“She bought you clothes.”  

His tone is almost accusatory. You can’t help but flush, shame starting to weigh on you. “She’s very kind.” 

To your dismay, he follows you to the kitchen. He crosses his arms and watches when you pull out the materials for a sandwich. Uncomfortable, you ask, “Do you want one?”  

He scoffs. “How long are you going to keep eating our food? Wearing our clothes?” 

You don’t let it show, but his words strike deep. You’re more than aware of the position you’re in. You cast your eyes towards the task at hand. Prepping food. “I don’t like it either. But it’s kind of hard to find a job when I’m forbidden from leaving the house.” 

He crosses his arms. “Excuses.” 

 “Did you want to escort me to Earth every morning?”  

“Now you’re asking us for transport too?” 

You’ve had enough. It’s either cry or snap. And you are not going to cry in front of Mervin. Instead you slam your knife to the counter.  

“I didn’t ask for this. I did not ask to be shunted from place to place my whole damn life. I’m sorry if that inconveniences you,” your tone is in no way apologetic.  

He’s silent as you leave. 

Immediately upon returning to your room, you regret the encounter. The last thing you need to be doing is antagonising your benefactors. But still. Ludwig was the one who invited you here, and if Mervin has a problem, he should be taking it up with his brother. 

-- 

You finally get a new job.  

It’s not without its difficulties – transit mainly. One of the triplets has to take you through a series of rifts. One to Earth. One to continent you hail from. Another to a large town. Ludwigs talks about establishing a proper route, about using the most stable rifts, and being prepared for a disruption to travel if any of them close. There’s a lot of jargon you don’t really understand. But he gets you back to Earth. Back to ‘gainful employment’.   

Mervin straight up refuses to be your escort. He’s not around enough anyway. Ludwig handles it most days, but Obie is always available to fill in when Ludwig is busy elsewhere. Neither seem to mind your spotty hours. You tell the triplets when you start and finish, and they’re usually able to have you delivered on time. 

Sometimes you take an afternoon for yourself. Spending time in a human city is good for you. You visit a library. Buy yourself necessities. Even do some grocery shopping. Nobody seems to fault you for it, and Mervin certainly complains less when you start bringing home your own food.  

And so you fall into the new routine. Working four to six days a week. Ludwig or sometimes Obie walking you there, chatting about your day or your plans. Finally starting to feel at ease in their home, now that you’re less of an imposition.  

You’re a shift worker, usually working mornings at a cafe. Your customer service is without fault and you know how to use a coffee machine. It was enough to get you the job. That and your eclectic resume. 

There’re still moments that throw you off. Behaviours from the triplets that take you by surprise, or the occasional week when you’re banished to Katia as one of them comes down sick with something. The three of them are rarely united about anything, but they all seem intent on keeping you in the dark regarding that odd ritual. 

One morning you wake up and are immediately torn over whether or not you should go to work. It’s a little late to call in. And Obie had already promised to take you. But your underwear are saturated with blood and your gut is torn up in cramps. Your period isn’t usually this bad, but you can already tell that today is going to be a hard one. 

You decide to suck it up. It’s just a bit of cramping. Of pain in your joints. Sure, it’s nauseating, and it takes a few minutes before you can stand and walk without limping. But you’ve done this before, and you can do it again. You didn’t survive this long by flaking out of work when things got tough. 

You almost miss the odd look Obie gives you as you head downstairs. Perhaps you mistake it for sympathy. You wear a grimace and make no effort to hide your discomfort. Still, Obie doesn’t say much on your way to work. He seems distracted, focusing his attention on the details around him, often picking up items to chew on.  

You try not to gape at the number of small things that disappear as you pass. A handful of bark flakes from a pot plant. A table number at an outdoor cafe. A pile of junk wrappers from his pockets. (Garbage from the pavement. A handful of leaves and twigs and flowers from any trees you pass. An actual bird that doesn’t have the fortune to flee in time.) He’s not hidden his gluttonous habits from you, from what you can tell, but today he consumes far more than usual. You wonder if he’s unwell.  

You put it out of mind when you get to work, saying your goodbyes and clocking in for the day.  

You don’t last long. It’s probably only an hour or two before you’re curled up on the couch in the break room, banished there after the manager spotted you limping. She tells you to go home. You’re torn between humiliation and gratitude. You send a message off to Obie.  

Unwell. Can you bring me home early? 

He sends you a thumbs up and you’re left to wait. 

His behaviour on the way home is almost distraction enough from your pain.  There’s pretty much always something in his mouth; this time he’d brought food from home with him. You watch curiously as he pulls out several sticks of gum when his food is gone. He only chews for a moment before he’s swallowed them too. It’d almost be funny if he didn’t seem so distracted. Ravenous to a degree which you’ve never seen. 

“Are you alright?” You ask at one point. 

He finally glances your way. Shrugs. “Smelt something tasty.” 

The explanation makes sense, if a little understated. You give him a sympathetic nod.  

Obie drops you off at the door before mumbling his excuses and leaving.  

You make a beeline for the lounge, planning to lay down and watch some tv. You grimace as you round the corner – Ludwig is already sprawled across the couch. 

“Is there room for me?” 

“Thought you had work?” He doesn’t quite straighten, but he does change his angle, leaving enough space for you to squeeze in beside him. 

Carefully, you do. “I was sent home sick.” 

Ludwig tenses and turns your way.  “You smell like blood.” 

You grimace.  

You know that demons have superhuman senses, and that such things are normal to them. But you still can’t help but feel self-conscious around them. Every time your heart speeds up, or your breath hitches, you have to wonder if anyone notices. If anyone overanalyses it. If they can tell when you forget to wear deodorant or can smell your lunch on your breath.  

You’d go crazy if you let yourself worry about it too much. After moving in with the triplets you decided to believe that they might notice these things, but they likely wouldn’t care. The same way you’d react if you saw a customer with a large zit, or a coworker having a bad hair day. You choose not to make a big deal about the things people can’t change. 

But if Ludwig is going to bring up the little details, if he’s going to speak without tact, why should you? 

“Probably because I’m bleeding from my vagina.” 

Ludwig winces. “Oh. Oh.” He snorts. "Guess that explains his behaviour.” 

“I don’t follow.” 

Ludwig gestures to the door. “Obie. Your blood. The smell.” He shrugs. “Delish.” 

Your nose crinkles. “Gross.” 

He grins. “I thought humans loved the blood drinking gimmick. Ya’ll go mad for vampires.” 

“Pop culture aside, I doubt many of us want to consider period blood in that context.” 

“Why? Blood is blood.” 

Your lip curls. “It’s different. Different composition. Different texture... Full of waste products... I really don’t want to think about it.” 

“I’ve seen that demon eat literal garbage. I don’t think he’s worried about your waste products.” 

“Don’t say it like that.”  

He doesn’t get a chance to tease you further, straightening when another series of cramps has you tucking your knees to your chest, gripping your abdomen to ease the pain. 

“You alright?” 

Your reply is hoarse. “Just peachy.” 

He touches his hand to your back. “What usually helps?” 

“Heat pack. Pain killers.”  

“I can have Ob bring some home. What else?” 

You clutch a cushion to your chest and rest your head against the couch end. “It’s fine. It’s just pain. I don’t want-” you stop. Restart. “You don’t need to do anything else.” 

Your eyes spring open when Ludwig grabs a fistful of your hair. Starts tugging on it. Gentle tugs, reminiscent of schoolyard teasing. Until a sudden yank that leaves your scalp stinging. 

“Ow!” Impulse has you slapping his hand away. “The fuck is your problem?” 

His voice doesn’t hold a drop of concern: fastidiously sweet. “Sorry, did I hurt you?” The tone drops and becomes resolute. “You should let me make it up to you. Tell me how to make you feel better.” 

You scoff at the ploy. “There’s nothing to do. Unless you want to spend the next few days waiting on me.” 

He pinches your cheek. “What, you want some coddling?” 

You swat him away again. “Your words, not mine.” 

“Hmm.” He rearranges himself. Before you have a chance to protest, you’re pulled between his legs, your back to his chest in an awkward embrace. “How’s this?” 

Your eyes are wide open now, and you’re stiff with surprise. Ludwig hadn’t struck you as the cuddling type. 

You’re still formulating a reply when he wraps an arm around your midsection, his forearm coming to rest against where your cramps are strongest. You note the heat, normally oppressive, seeping through the back of your shirt to relax your muscles. 

“That’s... that’s actually great. Fuck.” 

His chest rumbles with a laugh. 

You frozen, still unsure how to respond to the proximity. You haven’t been hugged in... a long time. 

 He pinches you again. “So what’s this shit about you imposing?” 

“I didn’t say-” 

“You implied.” He adopts a higher pitch, in mockery of your voice, “’You don’t need to do anything, being here is enough because I’m so sad and pitiful, wah.’” 

You mumble out a curse. “I don’t sound like that.” 

“You going to answer the question?” 

Your nose crinkles and you cross your arms. This isn’t a conversation you want to have. “I don’t like relying on other people.” 

“Obviously. Why?”  

You shrug. “I don’t want to wear out my welcome.” 

There’s a silence before Ludwig sighs. His fingers tangle in your hair again, this time to scratch at your scalp. It feels nice. 

“Are you always like this, or did Mervin say something?” 

You scowl, not pleased to have been read so easily. Your silence is answer enough. 

“I’ve lived with those two for decades. Believe me when I tell you that you’re a perfectly pleasant housemate in comparison. You’re tidier, quieter, more polite-” 

You shrug off his words. He’s not wrong. But years of living precariously has instilled into you a deep wariness of getting comfortable.  

“-and I told you that Mervin would talk shit.” He pauses, just enough for smugness to creep into his tone. “He likes you, you know.” 

You huff. “Doubtful.” 

“Yeah, he’d never tell it to your face, but I know my brother. And he’s said some pretty interesting things when you’re not around.” 

You almost turn to check his expression. Your stillness has probably given away your interest.  

“I don’t believe you.” 

Ludwig shrugs. “Believe me or don’t. But I know he likes you.” 

You chew on your lip, considering your recent interactions with the demon. If he likes you, he isn't very good at showing it. 

“Not as much as Obie though.” 

You get the distinct impression that you’re being teased. It’s hard to be mad with Ludwig kneading your shoulders, but still, you feel ill at ease. “You’re just making fun of them.” 

“I’m serious. Why else would he be so jittery today?” 

“You said that I smelt tasty.” 

“Do you think everyone smells good to him?” 

You scrunch your eyes closed. Lean your head back to rest against his shoulder. He’s starting to give you a headache. “How would I know?”  

“I guess you wouldn’t. Good thing I'm here to keep you informed.” 

You roll your eyes. “That’s such a Mervin thing to say.” 

He crinkles his nose. Flicks you on the forehead.  

And despite yourself, you start to relax. It’s incremental. You’re still uncomfortable. You’re in pain and leaning against an absolute furnace of a demon. But your muscles loosen, and your breathing evens.  

You could probably sleep off the worst of your cramps if Ludwig stopped fussing. His ministrations aren’t particularly disruptive, but they do hold your attention. He squeezes your shoulders. Presses the flat of his palm above your mons, where the pain is worst. Gently scratches at your scalp and massages the back of your neck. 

You haven’t been just touched in a long time, and there’s a walled off piece of you that stirs to life at each point of contact.  

When he wraps his hand around your throat, the heat and firmness of his grip nearly have you melting. It’s enough to have you forgetting yourself, and you let out a hum of satisfaction. 

“You know, I’ve heard orgasms relieve pain.” 

Reality slams back into you, leaving you hyperaware of how you’re draped across Ludwig’s lap. The work he’d put into relaxing you is completely undone as you thrum with tension. Your mouth shuts tight with embarrassment.  

Your jaw is stiff when you reply. “Are you coming on to me?” 

He huffs a laugh. “Maybe. I guess.” 

You struggle to process. “Weren’t you just telling me that Obie liked me?” 

“Mm. You do have a knack for charming my family.” 

That doesn’t answer your implication. “Wouldn’t he be upset?” 

Ludwig shrugs. “First come, first served. And if he really has a problem, I don’t mind sharing.” 

You almost sit up, thoroughly scandalised and shocked.  

Almost. 

Ludwig is silent. Patient. Awaiting a response. Or perhaps just content to watch you reel. 

You take a breath. Try to consider his suggestion.  

It has its appeal. You haven’t gotten off in a while. Long enough that just sitting in Ludwig’s lap is enough to set your heart racing. But thinking about any form of intimacy ties your stomach up in knots that have nothing to do with your period. 

“I don’t want to fuck this up.” You’re thinking of your position here. Your welcome, and the things that could change if you were to start a casual fling.  

His lips brush your ear, raising goosebumps on the back of your neck. “No strings attached. I’m just offering to help out a friend. Relieve some pain.” 

“Get your dick wet?” 

His hand creeps upwards, dipping under the hem of your shirt. It's hard to concentrate on anything else. “Not even.” 

You bite your lip, frozen with consideration. Anticipation.  

You like Ludwig well enough. He’s handsome, even. Rough around the edges, sure, but disarming with his occasional teasing and laid-back behaviour.  

“No strings attached?” 

“None.” 

“No further expectations?” 

He lets out a huff. “You can say no.” 

You shake your head. You’re not opposed. Just wary. Scared, even. 

But if he’s being genuine- if you have nothing to lose from accepting his help- 

Your knees fall apart and you relax further into Ludwig’s grasp.  

Then why not? 

“Okay.” 

Given permission, his hand disappears beneath your shirt. Traces the contours of your stomach. It almost tickles, how gentle he’s being. Something you hadn’t expected. With his free hand he squeezes your thigh. What limited area he can reach in this position is subject to deep, massaging touches.  

It helps to relax you, until your head is lolling back and your muscles are going slack again. And at first it seems like he’s content to just explore. Mapping out your abdominals. Your ribs. The underside of your breasts.  

He thumbs at the bra and tsks.  

“That can’t be too comfortable.” 

You hum your agreement. 

“Are you attached to this bra?” 

You shrug and shake your head. It’s just a plain white bra, one of multiple you own. 

“Good.” 

You’re pulled out of your lull by the sound of tearing cloth. Air touches your breasts, and you realise what he’s done. 

“You shit-” 

He grips you by the jaw, movements taking on a hint of force. Impatience or desire, you’re not sure. But your words are cut off when he crushes his lips to yours, tongue invading your mouth. 

The tips of his claws dig into your flesh where he grips your thigh. The sudden intensity has you reeling. Fuzziness closes in on your thoughts, enough to keep you pliant. There’s a part of you that’s indignant about the bra. The rough treatment. But mostly, you just want to see what he does next. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles against your lips. “Wanted to see you. Feel you.” He emphasises with a squeeze of your breast. 

He goes back to kneading your thighs and you can’t help but squirm. You need your pants off. Now. You need to feel him against your skin. 

Impatient, you unzip them. Manage to shimmy them down to your ankles before giving up. But Ludwig gets the idea. 

Teasing, he runs a single digit up the inside of your thigh. The point of his nail prickles against your skin, hard enough to hurt. 

You can’t stop your hips from twitching. The shuddering intake of air. Your murmured little, “Fuck.” 

The sound must do things for Ludwig, because he stills. Then takes hold of your throat, nuzzling your neck and grinding against your back. You become aware of his erection.  

“You sound good,” he says against your ear.  

He palms your core and huffs a laugh when you shudder. “Feel good too.” 

You’re wet. When had that happened? Slick to the point where it’s too easy for him to stroke you through the cotton. It’s impossible to miss when he runs a claw directly over your clit. 

You buck, biting back a little groan. It’s getting harder to think. To control yourself. 

Ludwig chuckles at your response. “Someone’s keen.”  

You want to retort, but only manage a whine in response. He’s not wrong. You can’t remember the last time somebody touched you like this. 

Almost as if to punish you, his hand leaves your underwear. You do whimper this time, when he takes hold of your throat. The grip is solid, but not choking. Enough to scare you. Thrill you. But still light enough to keep you at ease. Even if you wish he’d go back to stroking your clit. 

He presses his lips to yours again. Starts to knead and squeeze at your breasts. 

You protests slip away as he fondles you. The pain too- you're too preoccupied by the cold air on your chest. The scrape of claws against your skin. At the hot breath on your face, the kiss with entirely too much teeth, and the tongue that keeps stuffing into your mouth.  

He’s more intense than you’d expected; the hand around your throat drifting up to grip your jaw. He ignores your attempt to break away for air. Steers you back towards him, insatiable and eager. The heat of his skin turning the kiss sweltering. Sweaty. Almost too warm. Too crowded.  

But damn if you aren’t into it. 

Finally you grab him by a horn and yank his face away, desperate for air, for an inch of space. 

It doesn’t deter Ludwig. He just reaches back towards your underwear, pressing kisses against your neck instead. Sucking hard against the tender flesh of your shoulder. Relishing the gasps he draws from you. Rubbing between your legs again. 

You’re deeply embarrassed by the way your underwear are starting to stick to you. It has you torn, the desire to be touched combatting your reluctance to be vulnerable. An instinctual compromise has you covering your face.  

“None of that,” Ludwig intercepts you by the wrist, pinning your arm to the couch. “I want to hear you.” 

You’ve no choice but to let your head slump back. It’s an effort not to clench your jaw, to let your body relax. To allow your composure to fall, and a string of soft gasps to escape you. 

It’s a blessing when he pulls your underwear aside. The cold air shocks you out of your self consciousness. Pulls you out of your own head a little more. 

There’s a moment of tension before he touches you, your knees spread as far as you can manage, trying not to cant your hips with how desperate you are for friction. 

He doesn’t touch your clit straight away. Your control breaks pretty easily, and you find your hips leaving the couch, seeking out his touch. 

He huffs a laugh against your ear, stilling his hand and waiting for you to settle.  

With the softest little huff you do, nearly vibrating out of your skin with the effort it takes to keep still as he places his hand on your mons. Strokes across your vulva. Spreading you open and exposing your wetness to the air. 

“If I’d known we’d be doing this, I’d have filed down my claws." 

You become hyperaware of them. Tense. With anxiety, with anticipation. Part of you is afraid of pain. Of a possible misstep. But mostly you just want to be touched. 

Ludwig flexes his hand. Rubs you with the pads of his fingers quite harmlessly. His free arm wraps around your chest and holds you in place when he finally touches your clit.  

You arch at the touch, inhaling shakily.  

It’s nothing fancy. It’s not like you haven’t touched yourself the same way before. 

But the breath on your neck, the change of scenery, the erection pressing into your back- 

“Shit,” you murmur.  

Then you’re coming against his fingers, far too quickly. 

Ludwig clamps a hand over your mouth. Your moans come out muffled; still entirely lewd. You grip his forearm, nails digging into his skin as you arch against him.  

His chest rumbles at the contact and he grips you tighter, grinding against your ass. In a moment that both startles you and extends the aftershocks of your orgasm, you feel teeth clamp down on your shoulder. Hard, jagged, just shy of breaking the skin. 

Your moans turn into whines and you buck against him. He only grips you harder, hand skewing enough to cover your nose too. You’re not getting any air, and while part of you panics, another part of you melts. Light headedness kind of feels nice when your heart is pounding and pleasure is still rolling through your being.  

Still, all things in moderation.  

Soon you can hear your heart in your ears and your chest is aching for air. Your wriggling doesn’t dissuade Ludwig at all, but you desperately need to breathe. You could probably communicate this to him, could probably just tug his hand away from your face. But your limbs aren’t really back under your control yet, so instead you do the next best thing and bite him. 

“Oh- f-fuck.” 

His hand leaves your face as he grips you by the hips. Holding you in place as he grinds against you, lowly groaning against your shoulder.  

He stills. 

You both pant heavily in the following silence. 

“Did you just...” 

He relaxes back against the couch. “Oops.” 

“Ludwig!” 

Your embarrassment at how quickly you came is immediately washed away. You turn to stare your disbelief, but Ludwig isn’t even looking at you. His brow is raised, and he’s looking up towards the doorway- 

The front door opens. 

“Hey, sorry, I forgot my phone-” 

Obie only takes two steps into the room before his head whips towards you and he freezes. 

You’re still hazy, and for a moment nobody reacts. Then shame rushes in and you’re yanking your shirt down, clamping your knees shut. Your mouth opens, and you want to speak, to explain, but nothing comes out. 

Ludwig wipes his hand on his pants and snorts. “I guess you caught me... red handed?” 

Eyes wide, you turn to him, incredulous. How can he be joking right now? 

A noise escapes the glutton. The sound of air- a hiss or perhaps a sharp inhale.  You don’t have a chance to identify it further before his brows crease and his shoulders square. He reaches towards the wall, blindly groping for the first object in range.  He rips a poster from its place. And stuffs it into his mouth. 

Ludwig straightens. “Really? You’re going to be like that?” 

Obie's jaw sets. He swipes one of the t-shirts hanging off the back of the couch – one of Ludwig’s. And swallows it whole too.  

Ludwig sighs. “C’mon man, that was a collectible.” 

Incensed, Obie continues, grabbing at knickknacks across the room and stuffing them into his mouth. You notice all of them belong to Ludwig.  

You’re surprised that Ludwig doesn’t move from his spot. Doesn’t act to stop his brother, only grumbling at each disappearing item. 

You wince at the crunch of ceramic as Obie chews on a mug. Otherwise you’re still frozen in place, not sure what to make of the scene. 

“I told you he liked you,” Ludwig mutters. 

“You did what?” Obie says around a mouthful of pottery, his voice shrill. 

“What? It’s not like you were being subtle.” 

Before you have a chance to blink Obie is striding across the room. Mouth still full of ceramic, he starts to cuss Ludwig out, reaching out to grab him by the shirt, heedless of your proximity.  

Ludwig just keeps smirking. 

You wriggle out of his lap, unnerved by the prospect of being caught between two warring demons. Still jelly legged, you yank up your pants and stand, not wanting to be anywhere near them if they’re going to have it out. 

But you stagger.  

Pain flares through your abdomen and a hiss escapes from between your teeth.  

Obie and Ludwig fall silent, still. Before- 

“I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?” and “Hey, we didn’t mean to scare ya.” 

They both miss the mark, but share twin looks of remorse. 

You shake your head. “Just period pain. Standing hurts.” 

They reach for you at the same time.  

“Did getting off help? Do you want more?”  

“Have you had any meds? Or some food to settle your stomach?” 

The fretting is short lived however, when Obie pauses and shoots Ludwig what you can only assume is his version of a glare. 

“Seriously? That was your excuse?” 

Ludwig shrugs. “She needed a little pampering.” 

“Pampering. Is stuff like a foot rub. Or brushing her hair. Or carrying her bag. Not sticking your fingers inside of her!” 

You bite your lip at the statement. You’d convinced yourself that a short fling with Ludwig wouldn’t be a big deal. But Obie might be right. You’d done it in the house they shared. In a space they shared. After having been told that the glutton had feelings for you. 

It really was a dick move. You should have considered what might happen if you were caught. Taken things to a private room. Turned him down completely. Anything but what you’d done. 

Obie and Ludwig don’t look like they’re going to come to blows. But you don’t want to stick around and listen to their bickering. It’d only embarrass you. Guilt you. 

“I’m going to lay down,” you mutter, heading for the stairs. 

The pair fall silent.  

Obie follows you upstairs. You really hope he won’t stop you. You don’t know what to say. 

“Hey.” 

You do your best to wipe the discomfort off your face before turning to face him. “Hi.” 

His cheeks are red, and he twiddles his thumbs, before stuffing his hands into his pockets. And pulling them out to fidget again. 

“I- uh. There’s chocolate. In my room. If you want some.” 

Standing there, pain creeping up your back, loose bits of your bra hanging limp under your shirt, and a mess of blood and slick in your underwear, you try not to grimace. 

“That’s sweet of you Obie.” You’re tired. Tired of being perceived and fussed over. Of being embarrassed. Of feeling gross. But you get the feeling that if you blow Obie off right now, you might damage something irreparably between you. “Normally I’d love some, but-” 

“I’m sorry.” 

You blink. “Huh?” 

“I wasn’t trying to shame either of you. I was just... jealous. Mad. That he made a move before I could. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

It takes you a few moments to decide your reply. 

“I need a shower. And to change.” 

His face falls and he steps back. Forces a little laugh. “Oh. Of course. I’ll just be-” 

“I’ll come by after? If you want?” 

He stills, as if surprised by your reply. The embarrassment leaves his features and he straightens, “Yeah, okay. I’ll just tidy up a bit. See you in a bit?” 

You drudge up a smile and reply before turning back to your door. “See you in a bit.” 

[puckpocketed]

Maybe, if you're with a group of friends who'll never be together again, all your lights will shine at the same time and you'll know, and then you can hold each other and whisper, "This was so good. Oh my God, this was so good."

Quotes: Meet the trio of linemates leading a fantastic USNTDP class into Nashville // Ryan Dixon || Familiar Line Will Lead Team USA in World Juniors // Russ Cohen || Meet the All-Star Freshmen that Could Boost Boston College Men’s Hockey to a Huge Year // Steven Principi || U-18 Worlds: USA’s Top Line a Match Made in Heaven // Tony Ferrari || Anticipatory Grief // Marissa Conrad || The Three Musketeers // Alexandre Dumas || The Light That Shines When Things End // Iain S. Thomas.

Headlines: x // x // x // x //

Photos: Rena Laverty || Richard T Gagnon via Getty Images || x // x // x //

Special thanks to @oensible my avocado dip my watermelon dish soap my vinyl sticker collection for the Iain S. Thomas quote <3

[tsbsredraft]

Lunar

Lunar- the burn scar from his explosion is upon request of a close friend of mine. And cause I dislike this little guy lmao- (I'm the CEO, number one Lunar Hater) I mixed a bunch of his previous designs together with my own twist on it.

Anyhow- here he is- sparkles- idk if I'd change much from this concept but we'd have to see.

Character Roster

[heywriters]

Sometimes editing feels like tending a garden, no matter how good you get at keeping out weeds and parasites, the little snots find their way in. Today's measly little parasite: "was"

There was a plastic feed sack thrown over her shoulder.

Altered to,

A plastic feed sack was thrown over her shoulder.

altered again to,

A plastic feed sack hung off her shoulder.

The final edit is more dynamic and less wordy, and I personally like it better.

[longingquiet]

anyways here’s one of my favourite parts of my little one shot so far,, a little gory mayhaps but yeah, if u don’t do well with that maybe skip this

[wordsofnoconsequence]

WHAT WILL SAVE YOU

Is it the cat scratching at the door

Wanting the winter wind?

Is it the nights spent lying hollowed out

Hoping hope will win?

Is it the frost lying on the darkened earth

Trundling towards spring?

Or is it the love you've carried all along

Till someone let you in?

Is it joy? Is it memory?

Is it life turning a friend?

Is it strangers become family?

Or their laughter heavensent?

Is it gratitude? Is it kindness?

Is it a tale of hope in the end?

Is it wonder always growing back

Or how warmth always wins?

Is it reason to keep on growing

Just so someone knows you live?

Is it you? Is it you?

Will you try, again, again?

[k-itsmaywriting]

like having the world (everyday I dive with you) - Kikiyuki

Also on AO3

Words: 649 Tags: College/University AU, Established Relationship, Sneaking Out Summary: Shirayuki brings a girl home, and for the first time in her life, has the urge to be Bad. Title from Dive with you by Seori ft Eaj

----

This buzz in Shirayuki’s fingers is a new sensation.

The scene itself is one Shirayuki is all-too familiar with - the white streetlight stark against the tree in her yard in the night, and the muffled sound of the TV and of Oma and Opa’s voices float from the living room window downstairs.

But tonight, this time, she ventures to a new frontier, as she steadies her feet on the slanted surface of the roof outside her bedroom.

Once she shifts her weight to her knees, she slowly turns and reaches her hands back inside her windows. Where she wraps her hands around slender wrists and, with a smile widening across her face despite the sweat on her brow, she pulls.

Sheer white curtains part like waves as Kiki emerges from behind them. The light from Shirayuki’s room glows a soft halo around the crown of her head as if she’s an angel gracing the earth with her descent.

But the smirk on her face is everything but.

She ducks her head as she steps her shoe over the window sill with ease. But she doesn’t pull away from Shirayuki, her wrists still firm in her grasp, as she swings her other leg over. And her other foot–

Her foot knocks a ceramic pot right off the ledge.

Shirayuki gasps. Heart in her throat, she lunges forward.

The pot lands snug in the palm of her hand, its touch much cooler against her skin compared to the hot panic in Shirayuki’s chest.

Above her, Kiki holds her breath. She watches Shirayuki slowly set the pot back into place, and then lets out a bashful laugh. “Sorry.” 

Shirayuki shakes her head with a hum as Kiki steps onto the roof and pats her shorts flat. “So much for sneaking out if that broke, huh?” says Kiki.

Her gaze adverts to her feet. “I could’ve knocked it from the inside. That’s entirely possible.”

Taking her hand in hers, she leads Kiki across the roof and towards the backyard, where the stepladder leads them down to the ground. They then crouch-run past the living room windows, the crunching grass beneath their shoes turning to solid bitumen road as she fishes her truck keys from the pocket of her shorts.

On her count, they bolt past the front wall of the house. And Shirayuki does her best not to giggle when she turns the key in the door, lighting them up orange, and climbs inside the driver’s seat.

Kiki steps up into the passenger seat next to her. She pulls the door shut behind her, and it’s only swung halfway closed before she reaches for Shirayuki, hand in her hair as she pulls her into a kiss.

Shirayuki meeps, her hand shooting out to steady herself against the headrest. Heat flushes across her cheeks and down her neck as she screws her eyes closed, melting into the hum of Kiki’s mouth on hers.

She pulls away, then, to settle back in her seat. But her eyes are still on her as she says, “You know, I never took you for the sneaky type.”

A nervous laugh tumbles from Shirayuki’s chest. She looks towards the wheel and turns the key in the ignition. The car rumbles alive beneath her, comfortable. “It’s…not really sneaking if you let them know you’re going out beforehand,” she blurts.

Kiki raises a brow. “…Out the window?”

Shirayuki swallows, mouth dry. She remembers how Oma’s eyes went skyward when she told her and Opa about her master plan to leave a secret way. And how Opa had simply sighed and said, just make sure the ladder is steady, okay? “Um, yeah.”

She tells her the story as they begin to drive through her childhood streets. And when it makes Kiki laugh like that, light like the silver of moonlight against the road, she can’t even be embarrassed about it anymore.

[fascinatedscrawls]

You Dropped This, King

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52571512

Fandom(s): Danny Phantom, Justice League - All Media Types

Summary: New turns of phrase can sometimes work in everyone's favor, especially when Danny manages to get Clockwork on his side to help it along.

Excerpt: "Yeah, it doesn't quite do that any more, you know?" They must. Everyone does now. 'I summoned the ghost king, but all I got was [insert a different ghost here]' trended for weeks after it dropped. "Centuries of linguistic drift can do that to you."

[mysticalsadgirl]

Bro I've got 2,500+ words of smut to redraft

That doesn't even include the proofreading