#this ended up a lot longer than i expected

[sleepycelestialprincess]

Urgg! I see this e v e r y w h e r e!

I work a lot with art and photographs, I'm an artist, I work as a picture framer, and I also have a lot of experience with the history of photography and photo scanning and retouching.

Something that I see a lot is the expectation that old photographs will look low quality because they are old and new photographs should look good. This is entirely opposite in most cases. There are all kinds of limitations that may cause the quality of a photograph from any age to look good or bad and I'll get into some of those later.

Early photography was typically a daguerreotype or tintype. These are both images that are made directly on the surface that you look at. Meaning that there was no intermediate negative or copy made. The image you see was left there by light that came from the subject, through a lens, and hit that surface. The clarity of that image is limited only by how well the photographer focused the lens. If well made, there is upwards of 4000dpi (dots per inch). If you have a 2"x3" image that is approximately equivalent to at least a 96MP (megapixels or million pixels) image. If its a 4"x5", it'd be 320MP. This far surpasses any of today's highest end digital cameras. There are obviously other factors to consider in the overall quality of an image but these photographs from the mid 1800s if in good condition, look great by today's standards.

I'm not going to go into all the photography formats and sizes from the last 175+ years but I'll mention a few. When your great grand parents had their 5 wedding photographs taken, it was probably with and 8x10 or 4x5 inch large format film. Film of that era was grainier than today but at those sizes, even with making a print, will hold great tonality and detail. I would estimate between 400MP – 200MP in resolution for 8x10 or 4x5 respectively.

When 35mm film was introduced in the 1910s, it was largely criticized as not having enough resolution to make an acceptable image. It didn't really take off until the 50s when film got more detailed, and finer grained. Great improvements were introduced over the decades bringing the resolution from about 10MP (very rough estimate) to today's finest films being equivalent to about 34MP with very smooth grain.

I really don't know what they were thinking pushing out digital cameras when they did. Photographs never looked worse! Even a cheep point and shoot camera with 24mm film (APS film was 2/3 the area of 35mm film) produced images far far better than any digital camera for many years. Many early digital cameras were between 1/3rd of a MP up to maybe 3MP. And they were way noisier than even early film was grainy. Even when digital cameras became acceptable in quality if you had the budget for a good one, they still had limitations below that of film. I feel like the crossover was no earlier than 2005. I could go into detail but this post is getting too long.

Then of course phone cameras entered common use not long after and set us back again to utter trash being petaled as anything worth using for anything. This further lowered people's expectations of what an image should look like. What once would have been scoffed at by anyone, became the average common image. Family's memories being reduced to images not worth even looking at.

Luckily things have gotten quite a bit better again, digital cameras of any larger variety look decent. But I think its a real shame that most family's have completely lost about 15 years of photos because of the onset of digital cameras. I fear that may end up longer for many people, if social media sites ever loose someone's photos, many people will have nothing.

—

I didn't even get into photo and art printing. But many things were very high quality in the past, then got much worse, and hopefully have gotten a bit better again. But a lot of things right now are at their lowest yet, like buttons.

Historical context is of course very useful for important things like Politics and Science and everything, but will also open your eyes to things like, uh... the way the clothing/textile/crafting industries try to use the word "natural" as an excuse to sell shoddy and bad quality goods and make you think that's normal.

God knows there are worse things going on in the world, but it really pisses me off when I see companies advertising "Real Shell/Pearl buttons!" like that's supposed to be some upscale selling point, and the buttons in question are the thinnest, roughest, most crudely-made buttons in existence... 🙄😒 "But they're made from Natural Materials! You can't expect Natural Materials to look refined and consistent like synthetic ones!" They are lying to you. THEY ARE LYING TO YOU! And I know this because I've seen "real shell buttons" from 100 or even 50 years ago. And most of them are sturdy and smoothly polished, of a consistent thickness, and sometimes even finely carved. The buttons on nice men's dress shirts? Those are the cheap, plastic IMITATIONS of what people expected actual mother-of-pearl buttons to look like! "Natural" isn't an excuse! Your product is cheap and badly and lazily made! And I'm so sick of this, because I see it EVERYWHERE. "Linen-look" has become shorthand for "coarsely woven fabric with visible slubs" and that drives me CRAZY because do you KNOW what kinds of linen I have seen??? Antique linen so light and fine and smooth you can't even SEE the weave unless you magnify it!!! A fragment of a linen damask tablecloth so smooth and glossy, it looks like SILK? 😭 (On that note, "dupioni silk" is so roughly woven that it would have been considered hardly fit to sell a century ago) "This fabric is woven of Natural Materials, so imperfections will be inevitable!" 🙃 No! 😀 You just made it cheaply and sloppily, and that was your choice! 😊

[ladykailitha]

You're a Dream to Me Part 1

I've been really struggling with Dragon Slayer and trying to get it so that it makes sense, so I'll be cycling in some of the other WIP I have in the wings until I can get it sorted out.

I thought I had another week to try and get the kinks ironed out, but I didn't.

And it ends on a bit of cliffhanger, though not the cliffhanger I original had. Which means that the NEXT chapter will ALSO have a cliffhanger. Once I get the kinks worked out of that chapter.

I hate it when stories fight me. I haven't had one this bad since the first soulmate story "Batshit Soulmates". But I will not abandon it. It just will take longer to come out then originally planned.

So! You're getting this one instead! It has a very lovely backlog and it's a great time to start putting it out because it's Valentine's Day month!

The title comes from The Cranberries song of the same name.

Summary: In a world where dreams show your true soulmate when you need them most, Steve has been having his for years but because his soulmate isn't ready yet, he's never seen what his soulmate looks like. Eddie has been having dreams about Steve Harrington since high school but more in the vein of wet dreams rather than soulmate. But when Brian's soulmate turns out to be a sweet girl who hadn't heard a heavy metal song in her life, suddenly Eddie realizes he needs to stop expecting his soulmate to look a certain way.

~

Soulmates. The world was filled with them, but only when you needed them. So there were people who went about the world without a single dream or vision. That was how you knew who they were. You would start dreaming of a person and that would be your soulmate. But only when both of you were ready.

Which meant that sometimes one soulmate went without for awhile, but the knowledge of their soulmate being out there was enough to keep them going. Sometimes they married other people or dated around. There was none of this “waiting” for their soulmate. People lived their lives as normal.

People who were married when they discovered their soulmates had a lot of options, including polyamory. Because sometimes the soulmate was platonic.

Steve had been so sure his was platonic because he started having dreams of his soulmate right out of high school, around the time he started working with Robin at Scoops Ahoy! but she knew her soulmate. Vickie Cameron. They were super sweet together.

Steve had seen all his friends get their soulmates, the hardest had been Nancy and Jonathan, because Nancy hadn’t told him she had been dreaming of her soulmate. She just told him in a drunken slur that their love was bullshit and then proceeded to sleep with Jonathan before Steve and her had even officially broken up.

Then he met Robin and for all their connectiveness, they weren’t soulmates. A thought that vexed Robin greatly. She thought it was the universe’s greatest sin that it didn’t see the chaotic potential of the two of them.

Dustin had come home the summer Steve had met Robin all rosy-cheeked and smiling. He had met his soulmate, Suzie Bingham and she was everything bright and beautiful in the world. Steve had patted him on the back, grateful that he hadn’t been left out of his friend group. And while the others hadn’t soulamated yet, but it was a pretty sure thing that Max and Lucas were soulmates and that at least two points of the Mike, Will, and El love triangle were soulmates.

It would be a year before it shook out that it was Will and Mike, as El didn’t seem to need a soulmate. Mike had had some internalized homophobia he had to battle first before he could accept that his soulmate wasn’t El, but Will.

It would be another two years before Max and Lucas sorted it out. It was their senior year and Max realized that the only person she wanted to spend her life with was Lucas and the universe confirmed it for them. Lucas had been having his dreams since they met, but they only solidified when she accepted that their love was real.

Steve’s dreams of his soulmate had always been hazy. He would dream of them curling up behind him in bed and pressing kisses to his neck or just star gazing. Those were his favorite, when they would just lay on the top of some, he assumed trailer or RV, and just talk for hours. He couldn’t hear their voice, or see their face, but he was almost 98% sure they were a man.

When he had told his parents they had scoffed. Gay soulmates were a myth made up by degenerates and deviates trying to push their agenda down everyone else’s throats. But as his father ranted and raved, Steve watched his mother. She would nod and agree, but the light behind her eyes was gone.

He strongly suspected that her soulmate was a woman, but she didn’t dare toe the line. Steve honestly felt sorry for her. And whoever her soulmate was, waiting her not to be homophobic.

It was a stormy night when his first clear dream happened. Steve’s job at the bookstore had kept him late and he had fallen face first into his pillow, with only kicking off his shoes and removing his belt.

It started out like it normally did. Steve was in a large bed in the trailer/RV snuggled up into the piles of blankets and comforters. The rain had carried through to the dream and pounded against the metal roof of their home. His back was to the door.

The front door opened and Steve could hear the sound of rain intensify and then return to its soft pattering as the door closed behind whoever had come in. Steve could hear the jangling of the guy’s belt and chains, he supposed, as the man undressed.

Then he slipped under the covers and pulled Steve close. “Hey, Stevie,” the warm voice murmured and in Steve’s drowsy state in the dream he didn’t even realize he understood what was said for the first time.

Kisses pressed against the back of his neck and Steve smiled fondly. He turned in his dream and snuggled in close. He buried his head into the soft curls at the nape of his soulmate’s neck and sighed happily.

“Someone is snuggly tonight,” the man rumbled.

But before Steve could raise his head to press a kiss to the underside of his soulmate’s jaw, suddenly there was a blazing alarm going off in his head and he was jolted awake.

But just like every other soulmate dream he had the memories of which came flooding back in the moment he could think straight.

“Holy shit!” He dove for his phone and immediately called Robin.

“Steven Abernathy Harrington,” she groused groggily into her phone, “you better have a good reason for waking me up before dawn on my day off.”

“I heard my soulmate in my dream last night.”

Then he counted down in his head, bobbing his head with it. Five, four, three, two, one...

“What?!” she screamed. “Are you fucking with me right now? No, don’t answer that. This is too important for you to lie about. And it’s definitely a guy?”

Steve hummed in the affirmative, biting on his thumb. “He sound so super sweet, too. It was warm and rumbly and I almost want to say familiar.”

There was silence on the line for a beat or two. “So maybe someone you already know?”

“That’s what it felt like,” Steve confirmed. “It was like I finally came home at last. I just wonder what happened in his life to be ready for a soulmate when he wasn’t before.”

Robin tsked. “There is no need for that kind of talk,” she huffed. “That will just lead down a dark path. It doesn’t matter why it took him so long. He’s ready now. Or at least more ready than he was before. But you’ll just have to keep dreaming of that lover boy of yours.”

“Thanks, Rob,” he murmured. “You’re bestest friend a guy could hope for.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she teased. “Now, excuse me while I go back to bed and sleep.”

“Sleep well.” He ended the call and pressed the phone against his lips. He wanted to go back bed and dream more. But he had store to open and a job to do. One he loved, no less. So reluctantly he got out of bed to start his day.

~

Eddie woke up that morning feeling like he’d been hit by a truck. He wished he could blame it on a hangover from partying all night, but no. He had crashed face first into his pillow from the long ass drive they had taken to get into Dayton the second he had gotten checked-in.

He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He had dreamed about Steve Harrington. Again. This crush was getting wildly out of hand. But then it had been since he watched Billy Hargrove and him playing against each other in a skins game. Steve was on the skins team and hooboy.

Those shorts sat a little too low on his hips to be decent and the towel tucked into the back of them sought to bring them even further down. It was fucking sinful.

The dream had started as they always had, him slipping into his bedroom in his Uncle Wayne’s trailer and taking off his clothes. But then the dream changed from the usual hot sex to Steve cuddling up under his chin.

Eddie had gotten breathless from the idea of Steve initiating the sex for the first time in the dream when suddenly there was a knock on his door jolting him awake.

The knocking persisted, forcing him to his feet. He shuffled over to the door and swung it open, rubbing his eyes.

On the other side of the door was his manager, Chrissy Cunningham. He raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

“Just what the fuck do you call this time?” she hissed at him, pushing him into the hotel room. “We have to be at sound check in an hour. Hurry and get your shower, I’ll have clothes ready for you when you get out.”

Eddie hurried to do as he was told. He must have forgotten to set his alarm before pillow diving. He scrubbed his face in the shower, trying to get the dream out of his head. But it lingered in a way the didn’t normally.

He dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. “Sorry, Chris. I must have either forgot to set the alarm or I slept right through it.”

Chrissy pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “I know. You’re usually so good at it. So I’m not mad, just frustrated because we’re running late.”

Eddie nodded and then turned around to drop towel and scrambled to put on the clothes she had laid out for him and then ducked back into the bathroom to do his hair. With his insistence to keep it long, it was a bit of hassle to keep it from frizzing out. Then he was ready.

Once they were in the car that would be taking them to the venue, Chrissy leaned over and asked, “Hey are you okay? You aren’t usually late.”

Which was true, despite all of the ADHD-ness of all of him, he was stickler for being on time, early if he could help it.

He shook his head. “Dreams, man. Some dreams just knock you out until they’re done with you.”

Jeff rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Meaning he was too embarrassed to answer the door because he had another wet dream of...” his voice went falsetto, “Steve Harrington!”

“Fuck off!” Eddie snarled. He knew that it was a long running joke with his other bandmates, but today it felt like it crossed a line.

Jeff blinked at him for a moment. “Okay, definitely didn’t come if he’s that grumpy. Shit, dude, no need to rip my head off.”

“I’d have to attest to the not coming,” Chrissy said with a gentle elbow in Eddie’s side to show that she was joking, “he looked all cute and sleep rumpled this morning. I know the ‘no longer horny’ look, and this wasn’t it.”

“But it’s still obvious he dreamed of Steve,” Brian huffed with a barely suppressed smile. “He’s got that far away look in his eyes that he only gets when he thinks about his loverboy.”

Eddie just rolled his eyes and pulled out his earbuds. He stuck them in his ears and turned up his music as loud as he could, staring out the window.

Jeff and Chrissy glanced at each other and grimaced. Whatever this was with Eddie, it wasn’t usual Eddie drama.

“So is your soulmate coming to the concert, Bri?” Chrissy asked, choosing to ignore the brooding Eddie for the moment. “I can have the box office comp a couple of tickets if you wanted.”

Brian brightened up. “That would be great! Sophie was saying that she’d never been to a live concert before.”

“Man,” Gareth groaned throwing back his head roughly against the seat cushion. “You really lucked out on the soulmate department. Sophie is sweet, hot, and bakes like a fucking pro!”

Brian shook his head. “It’s not my fault your soulmate is a diva. Like the real lucky one is Jeff who got his like right after we got a record deal. She’s been his ride or die like the whole time.”

Jeff sighed happily. “I really, really did. I wish she could have made it out this tour, but gestating twins isn’t easy being in one place, I can’t imagine doing it on the road.”

Gareth kicked the seat between Chrissy and Eddie. “We all thought it was going to be you and Eddie for sure.”

Eddie just sneered and went back to gazing out the window. He had too. Chrissy was everything he thought he wanted in a soulmate. Yeah, she was a former cheerleader, but she liked heavy metal and was a perfect mix of sweet and sassy. She never put up with his bullshit but was there when he hit his lowest point.

But then Chrissy met her soulmate and Eddie was forced to reevaluate his whole life choices. Chrissy’s soulmate was a bassist for an all female metal band called Lilith’s Little Monsters. Georgia was a perky blonde in three inch heels and ripped denim.

That was when he realized he was gay. That liking the same gender was okay. So he went into the whole homosexuality feet first and swinging. He was so sure that the reason he hadn’t gotten his soulmate dreams yet was because he had thought it was a girl, but when Georgia came screaming into their lives at Hellfest last year, he still didn’t start receiving them.

But that was before sweet Sophie came into their life. She wasn’t a metalhead like Miranda or Georgia nor a musician like Leon, Gareth’s soulmate. Leon played violin in an alt rock band. Which was still pretty badass. He was also a bit of a bitch, but that’s what happens when your soulmate was Gareth Hughes. Sophie would absolutely be mistaken as a soccer mom and president of the PTA. She radiating wholesome vibes, which Brian absolutely needed in his life.

That his soulmate could be anyone really opened Eddie up to the endless possibilities. And fuck wasn’t that a kick in the head.

~

Tag List: TEN SLOTS REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[hoiststowline]

could you do a mindless touches for hound and ratchet and another bot of your choice (if you're interested)? I love what you wrote for that prompt!

[a/n: yeah!! these are sm fun to write! here’s part one !]

mindless touches & other sentiments [hound, ratchet, & spinister]

hound is a firm believer in showing affection in physical touch, whether in the form of high fives, pats on the back, or holding you close. of course, certain things are saved for behind closed doors, more intimate and mushy than necessary for the public eye. he’s not exactly the guy for pda, but in certain instances, he can’t help himself, especially when you look at him like that. he’s sneaky, but also guilty of pinching the fabric of your shirt to get your attention, patiently waiting for you to look his way so he can steal a kiss. or two. 

anyone who has taken the moment to speak to hound knows he’s kindhearted and compassionate, unyielding in most respects. this translates through most of his conversations and mannerisms, knowing that there’s probably very few things you could do that would ever make him change the way he feels about you. he adores his s/o, and getting to snuggle with you after painfully long hours is probably his number one cure for a bad day. as it is yours, hound can tell straight away when the hours haven’t been kind to you. “come here,” he’ll say, understanding without much context that you just want to be held.

his versions of lots of things fill your heart with so much love. quite obviously, there is much that he wants to do for you, but can’t, so he finds loopholes just so he can see you smile. he loves to see you smile, that familiar twinge of red atop your cheeks in the form of a blush. a lot of the time, one thing you’ve found that he does without thinking is slowly nudging you into the crook of his arm. especially if he’s at his desk or you’re within reach, almost effortlessly he’ll bring an arm around your form and gently guide you there, as he continues to work on whatever occupies his attention, though not for much longer. 

personally I feel like ratchet is the king of mindless touches. he will gently nudge or poke you while typing, grazing your thigh or knee with his pinky just because. half the time he doesn’t realize he’s doing it, and somehow his hand always ends up in your lap. he will scoff and completely disagree if you try to point it out, trying to tug himself free at your observation but you beg for him to keep his hand there. while it’s totally his call whether or not he does, he’ll roll his eyes and let you win, trying to ignore your soft touches across the back of his servo. 

he also appreciates acts of encouragement. if you initially offer him a high five, he wouldn't have been looking for it and is confused by your offer. now, when there are small or large successes, courtesy of the doctbot, he presents his hand to you in search of the sentiment. he isn't even looking your way half the time, its a knee-jerk reaction and won't pull back until you tap your palm against his. it's a more public display of his attentiveness and endearment towards you, even if he knows it's a reflex to appear standoffish. there's grander actions and meanings behind the way he acts, you'll decipher them and won't pressure him, something that he admires about his s/o.

lets you crash whenever or wherever you end up. no arguments or questions asked, ratchet understands the importance of rest and would never expect you to stay awake well into the morning while he works. most often, you curl up against his side, entranced by the hum of his spark and cherishing his company. this is more-so in the privacy of closed doors, certainly, though if anyone were to see such a display, it wouldn't bother him. "they fell asleep," he'd minutely shrug, then return to his work as if nothing ever happened.

spinister loves to run his digit up and down the length of your spine, a comforting action that not only calms you, but him as well. it's a gesture that occurs the most frequently, whether that be if you were settled on his lap or sprawled out across his desk or berth. it quite often puts you right to sleep, nodding off and eerily impressed at how soft and featherlight his touch is against your shoulders and lower back. he continues the same motion well after you've fallen asleep, afraid you'll wake up from much needed rest if he ceases. he doesn't mind, it started off as a automatic undertaking whenever you sought his company.

'holds' your hand, though it's more of a grey area in the definition. you lose your non-dominant hand for large sweeps of time, as he holds it captive in his large servo. his plating is often cool to the touch, so it's not an overbearing gesture, but if he isn't doing that, he's allowed you to haul yourself free only to inspect each of your fingers. running his thumb over your knuckles and retracting his face-shield to pepper kisses across your palm. it's habitually unspoken and wordless action with spinister, even if he's sometimes nervous of hurting you or doing something that would take that smile away.

hugs are his favorite. you hardly have to ask, appear anywhere within a mile radius of him with outstretched arms and it's like he senses it, booking it to wherever you are. loves nuzzling his cheek against yours, holding you close to his face with two hands. pda is no obstacle, he doesn't care at all, but if you're a more privatized person regarding it, no questions asked. spinister respects all your wishes and only wants you to be as happy as he is, if not more, mesmerized by your laughter and smiley appearance. he is the happiest mech alive when you are in his arms, and hopes the emotion translates well enough through his actions when he can't quite find the right words to articulate his adoration for his s/o.

[avifaunaa]

i tasted ash and knew [ it was you ] [ r.v. ] [ p.3 ]

Authors Note: Well, shit. Glad to see this garnered some attention and that you guys liked it 🫡 as per usual please keep an eye on the content warnings and take care of yourselves.

Some more useless history facts nobody wanted:

• Remedies for illnesses in the fifties were a mixture of at-home and rising industry cure-alls. Many people used sponge baths for fevers and hot water bottles for aches while taking their Asprin. It was an awkward middle ground of well-known techniques and modern medicine.

• Nail care was also becoming more popular in the fifties, as with everything in society now that a war was not a concern. In 1954 a dentist was the creator of the first fake / artificial nail since he was tired of his own nails breaking lmao. Most women took care of their own nails and painted them with practice, for the most part. Women also started reshaping their nails in the process of the upkeep!

• The fairs we know today and see as a sort of larger aspect of a season were a lot more deeply involved in the local communities back in the day. Fairs were used to bring many — or just one — communities together and often made a show of selling local goods by those who lived within the county it was held in. It had a large focus on the region’s agricultural culture as well and it wasn’t uncommon to see livestock at these events. This is how some fairs ended up being hosts to many beloved country events that go on today, like rodeos. The classic carnival rides we love were still used even then — but mostly had limited options that included Ferris wheels, bumper cars, the whip, and some games that may or may not still be found in today’s fairs!

• Cotton Candy was invented in 1897 by a dentist and a candy maker. There’s a joke in there somewhere.

• Funnel cake was brought over to the States by the Dutch as drechderkuche around 1879 and they themselves had gotten it after the dish spread in popularity across Europe after initially being dated back all the way to the medival worlds of the Persians known as zalabiyeh. Only in 1947 did it make a grand entrance to the carnival and fair life as a snack of wonder!

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rio’s really done it now. She’s created a monster of herself and broken her most important rule and revealed her lies to you in doing so: her inability to create life. Allegedly. Death becomes your dueling partner as all you can do is grapple for some semblance of control between her moments of appearance as she works double time to keep you — and now whatever she thinks grows inside of you — alive.

Content Warnings: Dark, so expect the usual — internalized homophobia and gender norm expectations in flashbacks, panic attacks, self-harm [ not graphic but it’s there ], angst, forced impregnation, misuse of magic [ Rio, always Rio ], manipulation, obsessive behavior, threats of violence [ R —> Rio ], Stockholm Syndrome taking effect, TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES

Word Count: ~5.2k

2024

You awoke with the curtains pulled open and the sun glaring across your face which really only added to the pounding in the front of your skull that welcomed you back to the world of the living.

Gods — it wasn’t just your head that pounded. Your entire body felt like a dump truck came through the house and just meandered over your unconscious body and left behind whatever was left of you.

The pain alone was almost enough to convince you to go back to sleep, to try and escape it longer and what you knew it would mean by getting up.

Because you remembered last night — down to what Rio had whispered to you with deadly promise and such conviction that it still was too much for you to think about right now.

You should have known better trying to kill Rio. You were smarter than that, most days. You knew to some extent how powerful she was and that you had no true capability to so much as give her a paper cut if she didn’t allow it.

You drew your arm from under you and rested your forehead against it, still facedown against the pillows and refusing to move from your position. That would be . . . It would be admitting a lot of things to yourself, never mind Rio.

The wetness on your skin is how you found out you were crying. Quiet tears, falling directly onto your arm before your brain could catch up with the severity of your emotions.

You dug your teeth into the skin of your arm to silence any noise that would dare try to leave your chest. These tears would have to come and go without trace, and this would be your only acknowledgment that they were ever there at all.

Your body shook only slightly as you willed your crying to end and just let the anguish and loneliness be your friends for this single moment before you had to return to this endless game of brutality with Rio.

When you could cry no more and you were sure you could breath without shuddering, you pulled your teeth from your arm and assessed the damage.

You had dug in deep enough to bruise — it was already turning red and had left deep tracks, unforgiving in the proof of your inability to hold your emotions in.

You wipes the wetness from your arm and did not wince when a throb from touching the mark was returned. It was a small price to pay, and it would be a good grounding-point to slip out of bed.

At least your emotions were back to normal. . . They were regulating now.

That’s what you told yourself as you sat at the edge of the bed and stared at the plants on the shelves across from you on the wall.

The ache between your legs that matches the one deep in your chest beyond flesh and bone were ones that you knew well — from your previous marriage and then with Rio. Both with positive and negative connotations attached — at first.

Now you weren’t sure there was anything left to recover from those feelings. Not when you could reach up to your neck and practically touch the hum of magic that kept you tethered to her.

You flexed your fingers and dug them into the mattress as you tried to even your breaths again. The tears were long gone, but the breathing —

She took, took, and took and never once thought that she was taking. She only cared what it did for her and how it made her happy, to appease her immortality? The despair it brought with her to be alone so long?

You hated that it was you.

You used to love that it was you.

But the thing with Rio is that her affections are animalistic and not grounded in how it will hurt everyone else. You realized that when she collared you the first time and you had to escape under the cover of night and get the magic removed quietly and quickly.

She is selfless in her selfishness and that is her most dangerous attribute. A patient hunter who knows the game after a long time playing it.

“Mow.”

Billy was sitting in front of you, just inches away with intense eyes and his fluffy tail curled at his paws. He seemed almost curious.

You unclenched your fingers from the sheets and reached out, offering a hand passively.

He blinked at you, owlish, then stood and rubbed his head against the stretched hand and down your arm. Loud purrs soon filled the quiet surroundings and his tail vibrated as he chirped at you.

“Are you hungry?” you asked him, watching his flank ripple as your fingers ran through it. Your mind was quickly able to release despairing thoughts and the pit that sought to drag you deep.

A loud mrow was your response and you took that as an initiative to stand and find something comfortable to wear and pointedly ignore the pain left behind by Rio and ignore the fact that it was as though she was never there at all.

1954

You hid upstairs long after Rio had returned from her job. You folded laundry and ironed some, then refolded others again. When that was done and you couldn’t really make an excuse to just constantly fold laundry repeatedly, you locked yourself in the bathroom you had been using and decided to “organize”.

You had heard her inquiring calls from downstairs and had chosen to ignore them in hopes she would . . . Well, you weren’t entirely sure. Your mother’s news had been unsettling and left a sour taste in your mouth.

Why did you have so many lipsticks, now? You had five in your palm and three on the ground where you sat on your knees. They were in varying shades of reds and pinks and relatively new — all from Rio. She sometimes liked to bring you gifts from the store.

Did you really care how many you had? Did it matter?

Your mother said Rio was never married — no records of it were recorded in the archives, no official obituary to be found under the name Vidal. You supposed she could have returned to using her maiden name . . . But —

“Angel?” A rap to the door shook you out of your thoughts and the lipsticks clattered to the floor.

“Shoot,” you murmured and began to scoop all of them up hastily, “h-hang on, Rio. I’ll be just a moment.”

“It’s no problem, sweetheart, really. I was just concerned when you didn’t come to see me when I got home.”

You stacked everything back into place and lifted the container before setting it back into the medicine cabinet-mirror duo and shutting it. Your reflection startled you.

You had regained some flush to your cheeks and a light to your eyes after the death of your husband — even you could see it without it being pointed out. Nobody did, though. It would’ve meant implying something — something that was never meant to be discussed in the open.

But even as you stared at yourself you could hardly believe the difference that you found in your reflection.

“. . . Sweetheart?” Rio prodded from behind the door, tone gentle but more firm.

“I’m sorry, Rio.” You pushed off the sink and unlocked the door, swinging it open and smiling at her. “I haven’t been myself today. I think I’m just a little under the weather.”

She softens and steps closer to you, eyes roaming over you. The inspection felt intimate and you shelved the way it made you feel and reminded yourself that those feelings aren’t natural . . . And you were just a mess in general.

She seemed to be satisfied with whatever she found and leaned against the doorway. “You should’ve called me. Maybe I could’ve brought something home — heated lemonade is all the rage for colds right now.” She rubbed her hands together.

You smiled meekly. “That’s sweet, thank you, but it really only started when — oh, perhaps after I left lunch with Mother.”

She tilted her head, a black strand of hair floating from her updo. “Oh I remember you telling me you were meeting up with her. I’m glad you did — it was a beautiful day.”

You looked away from her and fiddled with your fingernails. Once nervously bitten and torn, now kept well-managed under Rio’s careful eye and money as she ordered you to a woman in town who knew how to do them from her home. You brought your own polish, but she did well with keeping them intact for you.

“It was a good lunch,” you answered carefully. “She — my mother has my best interests at heart.”

“Of course she does,” Rio agreed easily, pushing off the doorway and considering you with that gentle look of hers. “Did something . . . Did you two talk about something difficult?”

You didn’t immediately answer because you weren’t sure you wanted to go down this road with the other woman, in truth. She had been so helpful and the shame that filled you for feeling so useless and meek coiled tight inside of you.

But somehow you found yourself telling her anyway, without considering how you wanted to word it, “We talked about . . . My husband. Settling his affairs, mostly. Making sure I won’t see trouble down the road.”

Rio relaxed slightly as she eyed you. “That’s good, isn’t it? I wouldn’t have been so distressed during that period if I’d had my mother to help me.” She smiled a little, her silent support.

But if your mother was right in that Rio never had a husband — much less a husband that died in the war — then why would she be going through all of this trouble? How did she manage to make you feel so less alone in the agony you’ve been clawing your way out of?

“She’s been wonderful,” you say to her, reaching up to fidget with an earring. Her eyes followed the movement with hawk-like observance.

“Anything else that seems to be on your mind, angel?” Her head tilted slightly, curious and full of wonder. Like she was having a hard time getting a read on you — and maybe she was. Your moods weren’t subject to change so often and this one in particular was rare after moving with her.

“No, no just that.” You released the earring and smiled at her fully, returning to the present to be with Rio fully. “I’m sorry I wasn’t downstairs to greet you. I just got so caught up in finishing some things up here. I have so much lipstick, Rio . . .”

Her gaze drifted to the cabinet thoughtfully then slipped back to you. “Put some on — and dress somewhat warm,” she finally told you, unstrapping the straps that hooked over her shoulders to her pants. “Something pretty for me.”

Your cheeks heated even as you frowned at her. “What ever for? It’s such a waste to use when we’re not going anywhere.”

Rio chuckled. “Angel, we are going somewhere. The fair’s in town, remember? You’ve been eyeing the newspaper article on it all week.”

You brightened considerably in front of her, darting forward to grasp her arm. “Really? We’re going to the fair? You’re sure?”

The black-haired woman grinned down at you, tilting your chin up with a finger, “Very sure — if you can get ready before the field fills up on parking.”

You nodded rapidly and pulled back, filled with a sudden renewed vigor. “Oh I have the perfect scarf I’ve been waiting to match with that pair of pants you got me. The ones with red stripes.”

“You’ll look beautiful, I’m sure.” Rio winked at you and you made a point to ignore the weird fluttery feeling that crossed your chest at the action.

You’d felt that once — an old boyfriend who kissed you under the stars on top of his brand new Chevrolet before he returned you home and made sure to leave some of those stars in your eyes.

You’d married that boy once upon a time, and it ended up nearly destroying you later.

Rio left you to get changed and you busied yourself with finding the perfect outfit for such an outing. It was chilly outside during the day and so you expected it to be even more so overnight. It wouldn’t be wise to go out without layers, even if you planned on some festive rides to warm you up.

Oh and you so hoped they had spiced apple cider that they kept warmed at the stalls like they’ve been doing in the recent years. The drink was dangerously addictive and you indulged in the past when your husband inclined to go with you to the fairs. It always left a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest after having a cup.

You were just pinching the scarf carefully into position when Rio reappeared. She hadn’t changed completely from her work attire, but she did cozy up. She made no move to disguise roaming eyes.

“Hmm I worry for the wandering gazes I may have to hide you from tonight,” she muses lazily.

You despised the way she managed to made you feel things a woman should never feel from another of her gender — despised that you were drawn to the way she somehow carried herself like she owned the world and could protect you from its’ angry realties. Despised the way she wasn’t a man and therefor kissing her is not allowed, not desired.

You despised how you were forced to feel the disgust in your stomach at how heavy with want it left you when you saw her and found what you could never give your husband.

“Perhaps I will be able to catch the eye of a wealthy man,” you got out, refusing to meet her eyes and instead finding your own in the mirror. “And you will surely catch the finest of attentions. You could have anyone you wanted and not blink before it was in your hands.”

Rio hummed at you. The footsteps on the flooring creaked until she was still behind you, chin just brushing over your shoulder as her eyes forced yours to meet together in the mirror. You were trapped between her and the sink, unable to escaped unless she willed it.

Or maybe you just made no effort to try.

“You speak as though I yearn for another man to warm my bed,” the black-haired woman crooned lowly, ruby red lips twisting upwards mockingly, “to handle my finances and give me the world.”

“Surely every woman wants that — wouldn’t you get tired of working?” you asked her boldly despite the tremble that threatened to shake you down. She was so close and you feared she would hear your heart’s cries if she got any further.

“Angel,” she started, the same tone, eyes becoming mischievous and glittering under the light above, “why would I seek out that which I want from a man when I can just get it myself?”

Your throat constricted and for a moment there was a terrible feeling you were a prey to a dangerous, deadly predator.

Rio. This was Rio — your only friend, the woman who shielded you when you nearly crumbled under the weight of the world when you realized what being a woman without a husband meant.

“I just — Rio?”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you have any pictures of him?” you asked as you fought off the urge to sink into her from where you held onto the surface like a lifeline. “Your . . . Your husband. You’ve not told me his name, and you don’t even have photos of him.”

Her fingers reached up to capture a stray wisp of your hair that had fallen from the position you’d had it in. She held it delicately and observed it, wrapping it around her pale finger.

“Rio?”

She tugged suddenly and it left a minor sting when she did. Then she released it, tucking it behind your ear with a gentleness opposite of the previous action.

“His name and face live in the past and I seek to march into the future,” she finally told you, however no warmth remained in her voice. Only clear, concrete assurance. “Having either in my present keeps me from which I aim to go, so I decided a while ago to put him to rest for good.”

She moved away from you in order to give you some space and tucked a hand into one of her pockets. “Don’t take too long, Angel. I want to ride the Ferris Wheel with you while the stars are bright.”

She was gone and now alone, you tried to process what she laid before you but found that nothing was answered when you asked her those questions.

2024

You peeled open a can of wet food and scraped it into the fancy cat bowl Rio had conjured up. The little shit had dry food still full, but seemed to think he needed the good stuff two times a day.

Leaving him to scarf down his breakfast, you opened the French doors in the dining room. The dining room which, by looks of it, had been meticulously put back together as though you and Rio hadn’t tried to rip one another to shreds.

You weren’t entirely positive you could claim much of the damage anymore, though, looking back. You had the human ability to shove, break, and throw but Rio was above that in ways that made your predator senses switch into the brain of prey. It made you think of a time you saw a program — a lynx playing with its prey right before it decided to kill it.

Rio had been playing with you — perhaps leaking some frustration without realizing it. But you were stupid to believe that you could have the upper hand in any regard.

Your hand drifted up to your neck and rested there as the hum from the magic collar vibrates against your fingers, a warning that you were touching the invisible but powerful mechanism that kept you caged to this place. To her.

The bird feeders outside caught your attention from the open doors. Ten birds of varying colors, chirping happily and fluttering about as they picked their way around the feeders you filled the day before.

Was this to be your life now?

What did Rio intend to tell you about the status of your job? It wasn’t . . . It wasn’t like you adored it but it kept you busy, you sort of enjoyed it on some days.

A huff greeted you to your right.

Your eyes drifted to the source of the sound and knew it wasn’t Billy — who felt he was too sophisticated for such a noise and was still tinkering about in the kitchen with his bow and bell collar.

No — no, this was not him.

Instead a new object has been tucked into the corner of the dining room. A large, fluffy dog bed of a soft brown coloring and cream innards.

The source of the sound was the sleek looking canine laying there, head on paws and eyes watching you closely.

“A dog,” you said aloud as the two of you stared at each other. He was a light brown with black markings on his long legs and face. Pointed ears and a thin, long tail.

You’ve seen these dogs before — you knew they were used mostly in the military and police force. Similar to the German Shepard but smaller and leaner.

She got you a fucking protection dog — and she did it to taunt you. Because she knows not even the most trained, intelligent dog will be able to keep her from.

“Okay.” You got to your knees and the sun soaked into your body from doorway. The dog watched you. You watched him. He already had a thick leather collar with tags on it and it made you wonder if, like you and possibly Billy, she took him too. “Who are you?”

He didn’t respond, of course.

You got back to your feet and hesitantly made your way over. He lifted his head to watch you until you bent down next to him and carefully scratched behind his ears. He seemed to like it, and so you flipped his tag to read his name. TOMMY was stamped into the gold metal.

“She did you an injustice with that name,” you told Tommy, but kept petting him anyways. He sighed.

You eventually left Tommy alone to nap and went out to sit in the garden, your heart heavier now. The way she used things as a way to mock you was like an extra knife digging deeper and deeper each time she added a new aspect.

You sit for a while then make some coffee and down some plain toast to fight the nausea. You hated how lonely the house you were caged to felt but refused to break and call out for Rio to end the feeling.

You would bear it rather than face her and yourself and the night before. It was all too much and it would explode eventually, with angry sobs and violence like it always did.

But until she forced you out of your self-induced exile of silence and singularity, you would pretend like you’ve handled it and it’s over.

Even if it would never be over.

Rio heard naught when she returned from her duties that night. The lights were on but there was a lack of cooking to be found. None of the smells that brought her a great deal of comfort when you were behind the stove, no warm smile to greet her, and certainly no kiss to the cheek or anywhere else.

“Angel?” she called out, but was only greeted by the dark and watchful eyes in the kitchen’s entryway by the animal she had bestowed upon you before leaving that morning.

He stood stock still and regarded her with a type of cunning that almost made her wonder if she should’ve gone with a dumber breed to avoid issue. His hackles were raised down his spine and a low, vibrating growl was echoing through his chest.

Rio simply stared back at him. “I brought you into this house, creature,” she told him, continuing closer. “Angel please call off the dog.”

“No.”

Ah, so you were just feet away as suspected. A small grin pulled at the corners of Rio’s lips as she came to a stop just inches from the stiff dog. His tail was as rigged as the rest of him — and though Rio didn’t know dog language relatively well, she knew the universal language for “I do not fucking like you.”

“I don’t want to have to take him away after giving him to you so soon, my sweet,” Rio started sweetly, fingers reaching out to the curled lips of Tommy. Her tone hardened, “But I will if you can’t keep him in line.”

There wasn’t a reaction given to her in the first few seconds after she spoke, and the dog had become more hostile in those seconds. Rio was ready to snap him into another room and use that fear when she heard a soft, call.

“Tommy, come.”

Like a flipped switch and without any effort the dog seemed to rear away from Rio as quickly as he had been ready to try and maul the witch. He trotted back into the kitchen and so the pale figure followed.

He curled at your feet where you were rewarding him with slices of raw meat mixed in a metal bowl, prepped ones seemingly laid out for burgers ready to be grilled at any point.

Tommy took the offered pieces carefully from your fingers as you locked gazes with Rio.

“I see you two have bonded once you’ve made your introductions,” Rio concurred as she opened the refrigerator and looked through the contents. All of the bear she had to magic back in was once again gone.

Rebellious, angry little thing you were. It didn’t matter. She waved her hand and a cold beer appeared between her fingers instantly.

“Is there never consequences for what you do with that? you asked her quietly from across the room.

“Mm.” She slowly makes her way over to you, a twinkle of something dark and insidious covering her features. “There’s a consequence in everything of this universe, Angel. If you tie your shoes the wrong way, it can have a massive impact on someone else in another world.”

“Then why the fuck do you be so careless? I never asked — not before when I thought I could love you. But now that I know there’s always a price to the things we do . . . Why?”

The anger, the rage she fell so deeply for — she felt the fire in her chest when she saw a flicker of it again. “Because I can,” she told you simply, lifting the bottle to her lips. “I can, so I did. I have the opportunity and why would I leave it untouched?”

Your hands slammed on the table. “Because it means for every day I get to live someone else dies early!”

Rio rolled her eyes. “Is that what this is about? How long do you plan on mourning over the ones you never know about that take your place? They’re nameless to you and can’t bring the guilt that bears your name.”

“Because it’s my life, Rio,” you bit out. She looked closer and realized you had been crying, “and my ticket was punched a very long time ago but for some reason you won’t take it. You refuse my entry every damn time, and then you play with magic and ignore that it has its own prices and can—“ you suddenly pressed fingers to the bridge of your nose and breathed out shallowly.

Rio removed the rim of the glass from her lips, taking care to observe your actions. You stood without saying a word, eyes closed, as you experienced whatever it is went through your body while Rio simply watched.

And smiled.

1954

The music and the lights were overwhelming in the best of ways. There was so much joy to be found and the giggles of children darting through the crowds covered in cotton candy and fisting sacks of what you assumed to be allowances to go and play games.

You kept a polite distance from Rio despite the pestering urge to hold her hand and lean into her for warmth during the cold night.

You wished you could be a couple — but it simply wasn’t possible. So you maintained your space and pointed out stalls to stop at as she kept an unmoving look of amusement on her face.

You were elbow-deep in overly powdered dish that you’ve never tried — colorfully labelled the Funnel Cake — and you found that it was almost on par with your apple cider drinks you adored so. Rio seemed fascinated with it as well and the two of you shared the one you bought.

You did find the cider you so sought and made Rio get one too, even after she complained of having a full stomach.

“It’s rather good, Rio,” you begged as the two of you stood in line. “If you don’t like it, I’ll just drink your share.”

She arched one perfectly sculpted brow at you as a smile rose to greet you. “Oh, you will will you?” she asked.

The shine in your eyes must have been answer enough, because she ordered two of the drinks but ended up finishing half of it.

She seemed to enjoy it, but relinquished it to you on the claims that she couldn’t possibly fill her stomach any longer.

“More for me,” you commented like you’d gotten away with stealing something valuable. Rio barked out a laugh as her arm brushed against yours.

It was entirely too true that right now, you had no cares about how close she was. You were having fun with her and she with you as you talked and drank cider.

She won a little bottle game that was 50¢ a turn and she didn’t have to spend another quarter in order to fetch you a duck you had pointed out.

“How did you do that so well?” you asked her, beaming as you held the stuffed toy like gold. “I’ve seen children run screaming from their parents once they emptied their pockets.”

Rio tapped her temple. “All in the head, Angel. I wanted to win, so I won.”

“If only it were that easy!”

She simply smiled those red lips at you and pulled you toward the Ferris Wheel. The stars had become as bright as they could be while the fair was open and she wasted no time in deciding on what she wanted to finish it off with.

“Do you fear heights?” she asked you as she waited with two quarters in hand, back of the line.

“No,” you said, and you liked to think you were right in your belief. “No, I don’t think so. Not if I feel like there’s not a reason to be afraid of them.”

If you hadn’t been so focused on the way the wheel was spinning with its flashing lights, you might have been able to catch how Rio seemed to think over your words. But as quickly as the line went, so did your conversations and laughter.

The teenager in a red and white striped shirt waited expectantly at the till as Rio uncapped her hand over his to drop the two coins into his palm.

He led you both through the gate blocking access to the ride and waited for the Wheel to stop until a car came down and emptied the contents of its seats. Then he hastily ushered you in and pulled down the security bar.

“Hands and feet inside, no wiggling around,” he said with a sigh. “Enjoy the ride.”

Rio was startlingly quiet on the way up as she and you both took in the view. It was truly breathtaking -- and you could both see Westview in all it's small twinkly lights the higher up you rose.

Rio nudged you with her wrist. "I can see the house."

"You cannot," you scoffed at her, leaning into her to try and get the same view as she was.

Before you realized what was happening, an arm was being wrapped around your shoulders and you were being tugged close.

"Rio." You tried to tug away from her, a small swell of panic rising as you glanced around. You were close to reaching the top of the ride and the closest to the stars you would ever be for the first time. "Rio, the people above us can see."

"They can't," the older woman murmured as she bent her neck down to look at you, squeezing your hip reassuringly. "I wouldn't let them. It is just us."

"The people below . . ." you glanced down, wondering if the other cars would be able to see and hear you.

"Stop." She lifted your face to yours and gave you the softest of expressions. "Hey. It's okay."

And then she leaned down to kiss you.

Rio and Reader will return in Part 4

PART FOUR

[overnightheartbeats]

Maybe he agreed, maybe he didn't. Laurel was trying to be hopeful and positive at the thought of the ship being smart, but realistically? Not quite. There was a saying somewhere, about doing the same things and expecting different results. But, they were different people now, weren't they? Slightly different maybe? Watching his lips turn upward with the mention of small talk made her cheeks glow just a smidge brighter. Was he thinking of their early days in school, skipping class and getting to know each other in his car. Her inability to be casual with small talk begging them to just jump in with direct questions. Something she was lucky he indulged her in. Come to think of it, a lot of their story ended with some version of luck.

"I didn't really want to ask either," she admitted, leaning against him. And, sure, she was the more outspoken one about their feelings, rarely shying away from those conversations. However, the thought of bringing up the topic, after all she had put them through, terrified her. "I just...I'm not really sure. I guess I didn't want to go to this stupid Dan date if you and I...well, if we were dancing around anything. You know the whole, ruining something before it even begins."

"Agreed," she said with a resigned sigh. He was right. Nothing and everything has changed, it was difficult to not feel futile. "I suppose the real question is, if it's worth trying." For her? Who sucked at giving up, yes it was worth it. He was worth it. Always. The need to feel him against her was bursting at the seams, her smile growing as she felt his warm hands on her cheeks.

Resting on his lap was security and comfort she had missed. Laurel's nerves were still at an all-time high, even thinking of having this conversation, but his arm around her waist was a good sign they were headed in a positive direction. "I'd like that, we probably still have a lot to learn about each other." Beyond their physical attraction which was clearly intact, she couldn't ignore the amount of years that had passed between them. How much they had changed or remained the same. It was the latter that frightened her, how much had remained the same.

"Okay, old man," she teased in between laughs, shaking her head at his comment. She supposed he was not entirely wrong. They were no longer the 'kids'. "Yes though, I do believe they call it dating." For someone who had avoided everything remotely related to dating, Laurel felt her heart thumping against her chest just with his mention of the word. A mix of anticipation and hopefulness at the thought of this becoming a reality for them. Perhaps it wasn't commitment she feared, just commitment with someone who wasn't him. One slow nod to seal the deal, "I'm okay if you're okay. Slow and dating, we can work with that." It wasn't official, but it was more than she ever thought was possible. And, truly she couldn't ask for more. As long as he knew that she was all in. "And, that means I can tell Dan to piss off." Laurel was curious about the case he had mentioned, the robbery that had hit the news. If he was already in the loop, they were probably planning something big to catch them. A taskforce or something of the sort, but now she was just letting her mind run free. "The only bummer is not hearing about that case, he lets me read those files early, just to pick my brain or whatever." She was not curious enough to join dinner with the man. "But, I'm sure I'll read about it eventually. Enough Dan talk though. Look at us being productive during dinner."

A light chuckle left his lips as she commented about the ship being smart. He had the thought that maybe the ship was the exact opposite. Maybe it was stupid and naive for wanting to sail back into the same waters, but he didn't dare voice as much, not wanting to ruin the decent moment they had been able to create. Instead, Pat nodded in agreement at her sentiment.

His lips quirked upward again when she mentioned how she'd never been good at small talk. Pat could still remember one of the first times before she'd actually agreed to go out with him, them skipping class, sitting in his car and she'd turned to him with such confidence and questioned "What are you about Pat O'Morhan?" It had been a slice straight through small talk and he'd loved that about her, even then.

He watched as she took a second drink from her glass, and he followed suit, finishing his and pushing it away slightly, to give his hands something to focus on, though he was grateful when she spoke again, and he couldn't stop the slight chuckle that fell from his lips at the clear surprise in her tone. "Yeah, well, I wasn't gonna ask." he admitted with a sheepish grin. Sure, he'd been an outright criminal, hell, still was, put in very dangerous situations over and over again, but when it came to feelings, and vulnerability, Laurel was the brave one of the two of them.

"It does, doesn't it. Probably because nothing and everything has changed." he answered, because that's exactly how it felt to him all at the same time. the joy in the one questioned word was infectious and a smile spread over his features instantly. Though, he didn't have the opportunity to answer as she was up and closing any distance between them, her hands finding his cheeks and her lips meeting his. Pat pushed his chair back slightly, his hands finding her cheeks as he returned her kiss.

Had she not pulled away, he would've happily pulled her right onto his lap, though even as she started speaking, she didn't move away from him, and his smile grew as the speed of her words increased. "You're good." He nodded as she spoke, and after she trailed off, he took her hand in his and did pull her into a sitting position on his lap, his free arm moving to wrap around her waist, as his other hand released hers in favor of moving to cup her cheek. "We can take it slow if you'd like." he agreed, knowing it probably wasn't the smartest idea to jump right back into whatever they'd had, especially when he was holding what might be considered more secrets now than he had been then. Yet, the pull and attraction and love he felt for Laurel meant he was aching to do exactly that.

A light chuckle left the man as he tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear. "I know I've been out of touch a while, but I think the kids still call it dating." he teased, his smirk returning as he looked up at her. "I uh, I'd be okay with calling it that if you wanted." he offered. That didn't exactly mean they were boyfriend and girlfriend, right? Still sans titles, but at least it was something to ensure they both knew that the other was right there and invested, and god damn it if he wasn't whole heartedly invested.

[fr3akshow-d4rlin]

Ex bf! Dae-ho x reader

Warnings: None, i dont think! I havent proof read this so tell my if i have any mistakes!

Word count:632

A/n: first time writing a fic, tell me if there is anything i can improve on thanks!!

---

You’ve been walking for what feels like hours, your feet heavy with the weight of the day’s thoughts. The city hums quietly around you, the usual bustle of the streets dimming into the soft glow of streetlights. You didn’t plan to end up here, on this quiet, forgotten corner of the park, but somehow, here you are.

You pause, looking up at the dark sky. It’s a perfect evening. The air is cool, with a hint of a breeze, and for a moment, you feel at peace—until you hear the sound of footsteps behind you.

You turn, expecting to find someone rushing past, but instead, you see him. Him. Kang Dae-ho. The person you’ve been trying to forget, trying to move on from. His eyes meet yours, and for a split second, everything else fades away.

It’s been months since you last saw him, but he looks the same. That warm, easy smile of his, the kind that’s always made you feel like everything will be okay, even when it wasn’t. He stops in front of you, his expression a mixture of surprise and something else—something you can’t quite place.

“You’re here,” he says, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

You swallow, your heart skipping a beat. You weren’t ready for this. You were trying so hard to move on, to bury the feelings you thought you had left behind. But seeing him now, standing in front of you, it’s like everything comes rushing back in an instant.

“I didn’t expect to see you either,” you reply, your voice unsteady. You both stand there for a long moment, the silence between you thick with unspoken words, with memories of a time when everything was different.

He shifts his weight, his hands in his pockets. “I’ve missed you,” he says quietly. The words hang in the air, vulnerable and raw.

Your heart tightens. You’ve missed him too, more than you’d ever admit to anyone. More than you’d even admit to yourself.

“Why are you here?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, afraid of the answer yet longing for it at the same time.

“I don’t know,” he says, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. About us. About what we had.” He steps a little closer, the distance between you shrinking with every word. “I made a mistake, and I—I don’t want to live with the regret of not telling you.”

The air around you feels charged now, every nerve in your body alive. The weight of his words presses against your chest, making it harder to breathe. But you don’t pull away. Instead, you take a small step toward him, the past and the pain no longer mattering as much as the raw honesty in his eyes.

“I’ve thought about it too,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “I don’t know what to say.”

He smiles, that same smile that always made your heart race. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… be here. With me. Like we used to.”

And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he takes your hand, his touch warm, grounding. You look down at your joined hands, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel lost anymore. You feel like maybe, just maybe, this is where you were always meant to be.

You lift your eyes to meet his, the connection between you undeniable.

“Are you sure?” you ask, your voice a little more certain now.

He nods, his smile growing, a promise in his gaze. “I’m sure.”

And in that moment, the world around you feels smaller, quieter—just the two of you, standing under the stars, where everything feels right again.

---

I hope you like it, my first fic, so im kinda nervous haha

[sturniololuvz]

Can you do a fic where the sister gets into a big fight with them and they say some really really really mean and hurtful things and she distances herself for weeks and they make up with a cute ending

“Silent Echoes”

Sturniolos x sister

Warnings : none

Being the only sister to three loud, chaotic brothers—Nick, Matt, and Chris—was never easy, but Y/N loved them more than anything. They were her best friends, her protectors, her partners-in-crime. But sometimes, they could be the absolute worst.

It all started on a random Tuesday. Y/N had been feeling off all day—school had been stressful, she had a fight with her best friend, and she was just overwhelmed. When she got home, all she wanted was some peace.

Instead, she walked into the living room to find her brothers shouting over each other, fighting about something stupid as usual.

“Can you guys keep it down?” she muttered, tossing her bag on the floor.

“Relax, it’s not that deep,” Chris said, barely sparing her a glance.

“I’m serious,” she snapped. “I have a headache, and I just—can you all shut up for five minutes?”

Nick rolled his eyes. “God, you’re always complaining.”

“Yeah,” Matt added. “You act like everything revolves around you. Newsflash: it doesn’t.”

That stung. “Are you serious? I barely say anything compared to you guys!”

Chris scoffed. “Oh, please. You’re always in a mood. If you’re not whining, you’re mad at us for no reason. It’s exhausting.”

Y/N’s face burned. “Maybe I’m mad because you guys never take me seriously! You treat me like some annoying little kid—like I don’t matter!”

“Maybe if you weren’t so sensitive all the time, we wouldn’t have to,” Nick shot back. “God, no wonder nobody wants to be around you.”

Silence.

The words hit her like a slap. She felt her throat tighten, her heart drop. None of them realized how deeply they’d just hurt her.

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing herself to stay calm. “You know what?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am annoying. So I’ll stop bothering you.”

With that, she turned and walked out.

— ✩ —

She didn’t talk to them for days. Days turned into weeks.

At first, she thought they’d apologize immediately. But they didn’t. They carried on like nothing happened, and that hurt even more.

She stopped joining them for late-night drives. She ignored their texts. She started spending more time in her room, in the backyard, anywhere but near them. And the more time passed, the more they started to notice.

Nick missed her sarcastic comebacks. Matt missed her movie nights. Chris missed her stealing his hoodies even when she had her own. The house felt emptier without her laughter, without her voice adding to their usual chaos.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later, when she declined their invite to get ice cream—her favorite—that they realized just how badly they had messed up.

— ✩ —

One evening, Y/N was in her room when there was a knock at her door.

“Go away,” she muttered, expecting them to leave like they had the past few weeks.

But they didn’t. Instead, the door creaked open, and all three of them stood there, looking… guilty.

Chris held a stuffed bear in his hands, Nick had a pint of her favorite ice cream, and Matt was holding a blanket—her blanket.

“What are you doing?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We’re making it up to you,” Matt said softly.

She crossed her arms. “Took you long enough.”

Chris sighed. “We were stupid. Really, really stupid. And we didn’t realize how much we hurt you.”

“You do matter, Y/N,” Nick added. “More than anything. We were jerks, and I’m so sorry.”

Chris stepped forward, setting the bear on her bed. “We missed you. Like, a lot. The house is too quiet without you.”

Her heart softened. She wanted to stay mad. She wanted to make them suffer a little longer. But looking at their guilty faces, their awkward stances, and the way they were practically begging for her forgiveness… she sighed.

“You guys really suck at apologies,” she mumbled.

“But did it work?” Matt asked with a hopeful grin.

She rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah… it worked.”

The boys immediately tackled her into a hug, squishing her between them in the warmest, tightest embrace.

“Never shutting you out again,” Chris mumbled.

“Never saying anything that dumb again,” Nick added.

“You’re stuck with us forever, sorry,” Matt teased.

Y/N laughed, feeling the weight of the past few weeks lift off her shoulders. “Yeah, yeah. I love you guys too.”

And just like that, the Sturniolo triplets and their sister were whole again.

[eldritch-lorekeeper]

((Doing it like this instead of in the comments because this is a thing we can do, right?))

Salem just freezes for a moment, before looking down at the knife in his side. He should be shocked that he has a literal FUCKING blade in his side, but years and years of being what he is has desensitized him—both to pain and the shock. Slowly, he just...looks up at his assailant, and grins.

"Oh...was THAT all? I expected far much more than a meager, little blade...where's the creativity, love? All you did was ruin a perfectly good set of robes...oh well. Your flesh is far more equal payment for a set of communion attire..."

******

Páidín grunts slightly, registering the burning sting of the knife in his abdomen. Injuries like this, when he was alive, were something he was accustomed to on the battlefield. Now, being one of the Unseelie—hell, being no longer alive—it wasn't as though death was something he had to worry about. Most blades were made of steel, not iron, so he wasn't in any immediate danger...yet.

There was still the fear of blood loss, however...

"Not what ye—ack!—expected t' come o' this. Now unless I owe ye something, or yer 'ere t' fight me like a man, start runnin'. You 'ave 10 minutes."

******

On the other hand, any attempt at stabbing Alexiel is met with three words: pure, unadulterated violence. As a fury, Lex will not stop until his attacker either is cowed into submission, or dead. Last he checked, Furies can't really die. They're Deities of Vengeance, under the Goddess of Retribution, Nemesis.

But, this person manages to land a blow, and blood is absolutely pouring from the wound in his side. At first, now, he would be scared. Maybe even a little confused, but mix fear AND anger??

Oh. Oh.

Not only have you just sealed your fate, but your inevitable dragging back to Tartarus.

******

Celeste would likely scream out from the sudden pain, likely having been caught completely off her guard. She's been chained up, blinded, and has had the absolute shit kicked out of her by Rasguño and Dollface during her captivity, before Amadeus led her out to safety. But, her demigoddess blood would prevent her death—it would take a lot more than a dagger to kill her.

Now, whether or not she'd curse you or use a weapon of her own to fight back...is up for debate. Likely hex the attacker when they realize she's not going down so easily. The nature of said hex or curse would depend on why they did it, too. Maybe immortality without agelessness, where the afflicted would be immortal, but continue to age...maybe they're unable to gain nourishment out of food...or you might end up with narcolepsy...however the witch feels like being.

******

Kagami, like Salem, would also freeze up...but also try to fight the person, if they continue with the attack. Her experience in the medical profession, as she is in the process of becoming a nurse, tells her that removing that knife is what's saving her from bleeding out. It's acting as a plug, keeping everything in that should be in. So, she's going to do everything in her power to not let the bastard yank it out of her.

She's going to die, probably...but she's going to die kicking and clawing at them the whole time. On top of that, if they do survive it...they've got Alexiel and Páidín to worry about coming for them...

#53 What would your character do if they where stabbed?

Red liquid pours out of your abdomen. You touched the stab wound at your side, letting the blood slip through your fingers. It's warm and smells like copper. You see a glint of a knife. You look up directly into your attacker’s eyes.

I know you all have amazing creative juices in you and some amazing characters. This prompt is just for you to have fun and to help you explore your Character in a different setting. I would LOVE to hear what your Characters would do.

[officer-calhoun-official]

*Barney gulped back the nervous lump in his throat and shuffled into the employee cafeteria. His old uniform was a little looser on him than it used to be; he had to tighten the belt as far as it would go. He tucked the strands of his patchy hair back under his helmet, and surveyed the area. There were lots of new faces in the sea that rolled through what used to be his old stomping grounds, but being on leave for two years made him feel like it was his first day on the job all over again.*

I see the food hasn't gotten any better... *He wrinkled his nose at the slop that passed for food on his tray. Nutritious, yes. Good? Well, the tastes of the high-clearance researchers left something to be desired. He had half a mind to slide into a place among the guards he didn't recognize, pretend to be a newbie just like them, but that farce would last all of two hours before one of the seniors recognized him. Or Harding. Or Andrea. Or... Seb.*

*The officer in question was sitting on the far end of the cafeteria, chatting with some familiar faces, and some that Barney didn't recognize. A pang of jealousy surged through him at the thought that he had been replaced by his old friends in the time he had been gone. Surely, he was away longer than he had known Sebastian, so why should he expect to keep that honour after dropping off the face of the earth, medical emergency or not?*

*Regardless, he didn't have anyone else to sit with, so the once lithe and energetic Calhoun swallowed his pride and shuffled his way over. He set his tray down across from Seb, and slid onto the bench, taking his helmet off and setting it aside.* Hi, guys. *He gave an awkward smile, and put his hand up in a half-hearted wave.*

[serpentface]

Faiza performing the Kagnoma Odo (pretty literally 'lion dance'), a weapons dance and one of the more important ritual duties of Odonii priestesses. A relatively new addition to this traditional dance involves the musket as the primary weapon, which is fired mid-twirl into the ground at the climax of the dance. Faiza is experiencing an 'oh fuck' moment because her shot is more than ideally diagonal, but she’s being so cool with it.

This is a wholly ceremonial performance at the onset of the pilgrimage, performed in full regalia and lion skin (of the small, semi-domesticated strain) but no armor. It’s also distinctly a display of political allegiance between the powerful and beloved Odonii priesthood (and its loyal military) with the increasingly reviled and destabilized imperial family, with Faiza prominently wearing a bracelet of the royal serpent, which was gifted (along with the musket) by the usoma Stavis Amanti himself (Usoma is the Wardi word for king, which has been retained in the context of emperors).

The Kagnoma Odo is the ultimate demonstration of the Odonii as an embodiment of the Lion Face of God and living vessel of military might and sovereignty, demonstrating her fitness and proficiency with weapons and as a spiritual unifier for soldiers. It is accompanied by drumming and occurs in stages, running through the three keymost weapons used in war- the spear, the sword, and the musket. The musket is of the most significance, given the weapon has developed a particular esteem as the ultimate embodiment of might and superiority. Assistants (almost always other priestesses, occasionally high ranking soldiers) load and prime the musket to be fired at the climax of the dance, where it is shot into the ground as the priestess leaps out of range of the shot. The firing signals the end of the dance and the rite itself.

While not the utmost exemplar of trigger discipline, only fully inducted and senior (and therefore very thoroughly trained) Odonii are permitted to perform the dance, and injuries during actual performances are quite rare (though are known to occur during training, more than a few Odonii have burns and wounds on their feet).

The most important renditions of this dance are performed upon declarations of war and before battles (in this case, generally done in full armor along with the lion pelt). It is also done during some trainings (while a dance, it is carefully choreographed to include naturalistic maneuvers of the weapons involved and helps soldiers limber up and learn to move their weapons). It is regarded as an impressive and motivating sight and a morale booster, and, seen at a distance, potentially intimidating to enemies.

A special variant of this dance is performed as means of fully incarnating the Odomache, which is done in full nudity with the body covered in the blood of the freshly sacrificed lion and cloaked in its raw pelt (the lion has become the corpse of Odomache in the moment of death, as part of its recreation of God's sacrifice). Her public, full nude appearance once (and only once) in this act is what allows the Lion Face of God to incarnate within her. Those in attendance see the spiritually vulnerable, naked human body obscured with the sanctified and deified blood and cloaked in the sanctified and deified skin. It is a merger of the contradictions of mortality and divinity, the boundaries between the two indistinct in flickering firelight and the flash of musketfire. She is witnessed by her people, dangling in between humanity and divinity and leading them in dance, and and is thus transformed.

[poriosg]

I rather focus on one project than have a lot of WIPs, so you're getting a taste of the next chapter of my Life Series Danganronpa AU. The limited amount of prose and not wanting to give anything too spoilery made it a bit hard, though.

S - "So we reached this point. I figured we’d get here eventually, but not gonna lie, I hoped we wouldn’t need it. Looks like I expected too much. Oh well, now we have a way to settle this debate for good."

P - "Plus come on, we all know which one of them would be more willing to kill someone, right?"

"As if! You only hate me and think I did it because I tried to kill you one time, grow up."

A - "And what happened to ‘not calling any names’? Sure, it’s fine when you do it."

C - "Can’t say there’s anything really clearing him, though. Why do I protect him so stubbornly anyway? Am I like Scar? Do I... want to trust him? Maybe it is him, and I should bite the bullet and end this... Eh, on the other hand, I can play devil’s advocate for a while longer."

E - "Everyone, take off your clothes."

I wanted to put basically my favourite interaction I've written for this chapter so far for "E", but it's a bit too long and it hits a lot weaker without context, so I won't.

Word Wip Ask Game

Rules: You are given a word, and must share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of that word!

I was sorta tagged by @ixtaek (Thanks!), and am starting a new post because the first one was rather long. The word I was given is FAN, and all excerpts are from my original story "Blood & Aether".

F - For his part, Plow bore his trusty shovel (the shaft of which was carved from the heartwood of a bluewood) over one shoulder like a spear at rest as he marched ahead.

A - "Actually … uh … I need some of your blood."

N - Not that its architecture or street life were ugly or even bland; there just wasn’t anything particularly striking about the place one way or the other, not once one got past the abundance of waterrises coming off of the lake. Just another Picerpbury settlement.

****

I'm not sure who among my followers is also a writer, so I'll leave it open. If you see this and you want to be tagged, then you are tagged. Your word is ... STORY.

[shortbreadly]

well barbie and blitzo’s interactions killed me just as i expected, but i just want to talk about this:

we can see that barbie’s mad at blitzo for whatever reason, but something about this scene feels off to me. and i think i’ve pinpointed why

blitzo is no stranger to people being mad at him, in fact it happens in most episodes. of course some people‘s feelings mean more to him, such as maybe m+m, stolas or even fizzarolli, but he doesn’t shy away from defending himself and speaking his mind to even them. he always has some shit to say, and always sticks up for himself in his own blitzo way

but with barbie he doesn’t, he just stares at her with that sad little look of regret on his face. even in this scene:

blitzo recoils away from barbie. doesn’t defend himself. doesn’t argue with her. just recoils.

blitzo obviously feels shame and regret over whatever has happened between him and barbie, otherwise he would’ve stuck up for himself. however i also think he views barbie as completely innocent and out of the wrong regarding whatever happened, instead possibly blaming himself, due to one thing:

barbie was never in blitzo’s bad trip. striker, fizz, verosika, moxxie and stolas were, but not barbie. all of these people he views negatively (or has previously viewed somewhat negatively in moxxie’s and stolas’ case) but barbie is no where to be seen. obviously something has happened in the past with her as with the others, but unlike them he can’t bring himself to hate her for it

edit: just gonna throw it out there that blitzo recoils when barbie presses their mother’s choker. make of that what you will

[youling-the-ghost]

Hello, sfth fandom! I've noticed that there's been a surge of sfth fanfiction lately, so here's a friendly guide to tagging on ao3.

(quick note: none of these are de facto rules as much as they are advice from someone who's been using ao3 for years; you don't have to follow these tips at all, they're just to help new ao3 users navigate the tagging system)

Rating

There are 5 different ratings that your fic can have: Not Rated, General Audiences, Teen and Up, Mature, and Explicit. The rating tag tells the readers what level of mature content is in the fic.

Not Rated

It's best to avoid this as it tells nothing about how much mature content is in the fic. If you tag your fic as Not Rated, it's probably best to go a little more in-depth in your additional tags or fic summary to prevent accidentally triggering people.

General Audiences

This rating is for fics that basically have no mature content whatsoever. Essentially, it means that the fic is suitable for anyone of any age. A rule of thumb that I use is to imagine a 10-year-old reading your work. If the thought of that makes you uncomfortable, then General Audiences is probably not the best rating for your fic.

Teen and Up

This rating is for fics that contain content that may not be suitable for readers younger than 13. This can involve swearing, discussion of mature topics (sex, mental health, etc.), or mild violence.

If you don't feel comfortable with children reading your fic, but your fic doesn't have any explicit content, then Teen and Up is probably the best rating for it.

Mature

This rating is for fics that contain adult themes, such as sex or violence. Usually, fics with this rating have heavy themes but aren't very explicit about it. A sfth-specific example would be Inside the Mysterious Cube, as it has violent themes but doesn't have any crazy brutality or gore.

Explicit

This rating is for fics that contain heavy adult themes, including explicit sex and graphic violence. Generally speaking, most (if not all) smutfics should be tagged as Explicit.

Warning(s)

Warnings are used to warn (surprise surprise) the reader for any potentially triggering content. It's good fanfiction etiquette to always tag warnings, even if you're concerned about spoilers. If you're especially worried about spoilers, you can tag your fic as Choose Not To Use Warnings and add a TW in the notes for chapters that include triggering content.

The warnings are pretty straightforward for the most part, except for one thing.

Choose Not To Use Warnings vs No Warnings Apply

This is something that can be very confusing for new ao3 users (and even some old users). It essentially boils down to this: No Warnings Apply means that none of the warnings that ao3 provides are in your fic, while Choose Not To Use Warnings means that you don't want to explicitly tag any of the warning, either to avoid spoilers or because you're unsure about which warnings you should tag.

I personally use Choose Not To Use Warnings when my fic deals with heavy topics non-explicitly. For example, I have written a fic before that involved heavy instrusive thoughts and similar mental health issues, which I thought could trigger unwanted thoughts for the reader, so I tagged it as Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings.

Fandoms

(quick note: "common tag refers to tags that have been wrangled by an ao3 tag wrangler (you don't need to know what that is) and can be used to filter works)

This is the thing that seems to confuse most sfth fanfiction writers. The "Shoot from the Hip - fandom" tag redirects to British Comedy RPF, which is pretty common for niche RPF fandoms.

What I personally do is tag the fandom as Shoot from the Hip, along with any longforms if they apply, which should have their own common tags.

If you're writing a fic for a longform that doesn't have a common tag yet, you should format your tag like this:

[longform name] - Shoot from the Hip Improvised Sketch (e.g. The Unrelenting Aubergine - Shoot from the Hip Improvised Sketch)

I would advise for you to tag both the longform(s) and Shoot from the Hip - fandom. As an example, this is how I tagged my Unrelenting Aubergine and Wild, Wet & Worrisome fics:

(the order of the tags doesn't really matter here)

Relationships & Characters

Okay, this is probably the weirdest thing to tag for the sfth fandom since there are pretty much no common tags for these. For the characters/relationships that have no common tags (which is pretty much all of them), it's best to format the tag like this:

[character/relationship] ([longform where it originates from) (e.g. Derek (The Unrelenting Aubergine), Bubba/Jeremiah (Inside the Mysterious Cube))

The other way to go about it is to use the most common tag. For example, I tagged my Ditch fic as Derek/Titch without the (The Unrelenting Aubergine) since most of the fics were tagged as such.

Just for reference, here are the boys' common character tags for the RPF writers:

Additional Tags

Here is where you can go wild with the tags. These tags are used to give the reader a brief idea of what the fic is about, and you can feel free to add as many or as few tags as you wish. However, it is good etiquette to not add too many tags, so make sure that just the essentials are covered. For example, if your fic features a chair, there's no need to put "Chair" in your tags.

Tags You Should Probably Include

Now, these are all my personal opinion, but I feel like these tags are almost essential for any fic so that the reader can get a quick idea of what mood/genre the fic is going to be:

Fluff - cute and non-sexual things happen (cuddling, kissing, general affection, love confessions, etc.), isn't exclusive to romantic situations.

Angst - sad things happen (breaking up, crying, self-esteem issues, etc.).

Hurt/comfort - one character is physically and/or emotionally hurt, and another character helps them. There's a separate Emotional Hurt/Comfort tag for the character going through emotional struggles.

Anything sexual - do any sexual things happen in your fic? If yes, then you should probably tag it. If the sexual content is only implied (e.g. two characters waking up in the same bed naked), there's an Implied Sexual Content tag for that.

Any heavy content - things like abuse and violence should be tagged, even if you already have a warning for it. This is just to prevent anyone from reading something that might be triggering for them.

Other than that, add as many tags as you need to describe your fic.

A PSA About RPF

Finally, since this is a fandom that involves real people, here's a quick PSA for RPF writers and readers alike:

Please do not share any RPF fics with the boys. This goes for any work, explicit or not.

Also, please respect RPF writers. You may not feel comfortable with RPF, and that's totally fine! Just please don't harass RPF writers just because you believe that RPF is wrong. If there's a fic that you're uncomfortable with, just don't read it and please don't go leaving hate comments on that fic.

I know that this fandom is full of lovely people, but I feel the need to get this out of the way as it's an issue that many RPF fandoms have to deal with.

I really hope this helps!! :]

[zephyrrhiesfyrian]

There's this one meme that's like "Came home drunk last night, and got way too excited to see my cat." And you see the white cat covered in lipstick smooches in the picture.

That's me with Tinyformers! Bumblebee, or Rodimus, or Optimus, or Drift, or Swerve, or- (I don't wear lipstick though. So I wouldn't have to worry about washing the lipstick off of them. The point stands though.)

I would also hug them lots. I think I'd probably want to take care of an affectionate Tinyformer, bc I'd see the little guy(s), and want to hug them a whole lot. And give them little kissies.

Bumblebee might be a little embarrassed at all the affection at first, but he loves to snuggle with you and receive kissies once he gets used to it. Rodimus and Swerve are always up to be yoinked and showered in affection, although Swerve is a little less of a brat when he wants attention (Rodimus may commit small acts of arson if you don't respond in a timely fashion). Drift is also very cuddly, but he definitely needs his alone time too. If he's not in a mood to be held though, he'll try to bring you a plushie or something that you can squish instead; he knows you do it out of love!

If you've got a tiny Orion Pax, he'll be a lot more open to receiving affection in the form of kisses and snuggles, even if he may wriggle and beep at you in embarrassment. If your tiny is Optimus though, he'll either aggressively bap at your fingers to put him down, or he'll begrudgingly accept his fate and just lay there limply, his finials twitching. Optimus takes himself very seriously, you see.

Other affectionate tinies include: Red Alert surprisingly! He takes a long time to get fully comfortable with you, but once you've crossed that hurdle he is practically inseparable from you. He will not sleep in his own habitat because he needs to be pressed against your heartbeat the entire night to "make sure his human doesn't die".

Brainstorm also requires a lot of attention, but after a bit of snuggling he's squirming for freedom so he can crawl around your shoulders or sit on your head or just fly circles around you.

First Aid and Ambulon both enjoy being picked up and cuddled, but First Aid is far more willing to reciprocate the affection; he'll try to hug your face when you lean in to give him kissies and he'll softly bonk his faceplate against you to return them! Ambulon is more content just to stay put and snuggle into your hands.

The first two or three times you pick Trailbreaker up for snuggles, he'll probably panic bubble out of instinct, but he does very much enjoy the affection. He'll generally find his way into your lap if you're sitting down and fall asleep to being pet gently. He is a lap cat. And yes, his lil engine purrs.

[carboardserpent]

The last thing Chick expected when he stepped into his local for his nightly drink was to see the very kid whose face he'd seen plastered across the front of that racing magazine. Yet here he was, in the flesh. Sitting in his spot at the end of the bar, no less. Though he didn't seem to be paying attention, instead swirling what was left in the bottom of a brown bottle around while he looked at the TV mounted to the wall behind the bar.

For a moment, he wasn't sure what to do. Kev, the bartender, would surely know something was up he he didn't go over and boot the kid from his spot, though. So in the end he decided to go over, and in a deliberate attempt to make him jump, tapped on his shoulder.

"Nice wings you got there, kid."

Sure enough, Ripslinger startled and dropped the bottle in his hand, narrowly avoiding sliding from the stool by gripping the edge of the bar. He almost fell again when he turned and they locked eyes.

"I- uh, I'm- thanks?" He stammered, completely caught off guard. Chick Hicks! Here! In person! He had quite a few more grey hairs than he remembered from when he was younger, but there was no mistaking it. As if anyone could have mistaken him for someone else.

It took the pilot a few seconds to pull himself together. He was supposed to be the most eligible bachelor in aerial racing; he didn't get that title by acting like a fool.

"So... you're a fan, are you?" He couldn't quite muster up his usual cockiness - his voice wavered slightly.

Chick snorted and gestured to Kev for a beer. "Drop the act. I wrote the damn book." He took the bottle brought to him, then gestured to the empty bottle currently laying on its side in a little puddle on the bar. "Bring one for the kid, too. On me."

"...thanks." Excitement gave way to nerves and confusion - he had said that he'd written the book on 'the act'. Was he not how his interviews had always made him seem? Rip's stomach tied itself into a knot. He couldn't let himself think there was any sort of chance.

"So what brings you to town?" The older man sat himself down on the next stool, taking a sip of his beer. Oh, he needed that.

"I've got a photoshoot. Some modelling job." He took the new bottle and sipped too, though he couldn't stop looking at Chick. It was surreal, actually sitting here next to him.

Chick had seen that look before. Never directed at him, of course, but racing fans often looked at Strip that way, and then later, Lightning too. It was the poorly disguised look of the starstruck.

"Quit looking at me like that." He grunted gruffly, looking to the TV just so he wouldn't have to see that expression directed at him. He wasn't worthy of it.

"Like what?" Playing dumb. Of course.

"Like you're my biggest fan."

"Well, maybe I am."

That wasn't the answer he had expected. Chick turned back to look at him, one eyebrow raised incredulously.

"You were one of my biggest inspirations. I guess you still are, in a way." Rip turned away then, finding it easier to speak to the neck of his bottle. "You never took shit from anyone. People were too scared to give you shit. So yeah, I wanted to be like you." He shrugged, then sipped.

Chick stalled. He blinked at this kid, he couldn't be any more than 25, who wanted people to be scared of him. Enough to base a lot of his attitude on his own. Well, it made a whole lot more sense why he'd seen a lot of himself in him. It had been deliberate.

He never would have dreamed that someone could find his persona, his defense mechanism, appealing enough to want to copy it. He was am asshole on purpose. The aim was to stop people getting close to him. It worked! Or at least, he thought it had.

The moment couldn't have been any longer than a second, but it felt like an eternity.

"You painted your plane bright green, too. At least try to be subtle." He scoffed, though a lead weight had settled in his stomach.

There were so many good racers out there. Strip and Lightning jumped immediately (annoyingly) to mind, but there were far more than that. Why couldn't he have picked one of them? He didn't like the responsibility of propagating his toxic mindset through the racing world. How many impressionable young kids looked at Ripslinger the same way Ripslinger had seen him?

Chick's joke, while something he normally wouldn't have struggled to brush off, cut deep given that it was from him. He gave an awkward little chuckle, not wanting to be the guy who couldn't take a joke. Besides, he knew this guy was an asshole, that was the whole point!

So why did he have a horrible feeling of deja vu?

Ripslinger had been hoping for something to come of their chance meeting, but his admission and Chick's joke had ruined any chance of a connection they might have had.

They both left after finishing that beer, heading in opposite directions with an awkward goodbye, the same lingering feeling of self-loathing sitting in their chests.

[4] Unhinged cars or planes headcanon of the week:

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You know how everyone talks about Ripslinger being a soulless Chick Hicks knockoff? Because I love drama, I've decided to do something about it.

This headcanon's going to be massive hear me out, but imagine: Ripslinger has a huge celebrity crush on Chick Hicks.

Rip was bullied in school (for some reason I'm still trying to figure out) for his entire k-12 education. His way of taking power back was scaring people off, and he'd never seen anyone do it as flawlessly as Chick.

Chick learns about Ripslinger in one of his vehicle sporting magazines (currently trying to come up with the name and features of this fictional magazine), and chuckles to himself, thinking: Lookie here. This kid's a lot like me! It wouldn't hurt to follow these air races sometime.

Out of the blue, Chick recognizes Rip in a bar somewhere and taps on his shoulder saying, Nice wings you got there, kid, and Rip nearly falls off his stool. He's trying hard not to fanboy, but he eventually spills that Chick was one of his inspirations.

In my mind, Chick has no idea Rip tried to kill Dusty, but coming face to face with the reality that someone wanted to be like him is jarring. Chick knows he's an asshole, but it's okay because being an asshole is his thing, and there are enough good athletes in the world for his own assholishness to not matter. Chick was just doing what his father taught him, what he needed to survive in the industry, but when he sees this twenty-something, baby-faced pilot who based his persona and racing strategy off of Chick's cruelty and then brought it into a whole other sport, it makes Chick feel uncomfortable. He doesn't know how to react, so he makes an awkward joke that comes off more as an insult to Rip.

Rip lets it slide, because he still has the hots for this man, but he sinks into the familiar feeling of trying to escape a bully.

They both leave the bar feeling ashamed.

This is lowkey more of a ficlet, but if anyone else wants to add onto this idea I'd be thrilled! I'm a sucker for angst.

[bananasfosterparent]

I definitely think there are more AA enjoyers out there (including some Spawn fans who claim otherwise, remember how many of them were salivating over AA's sex scene in the beginning but now they're all saying they actually hate it because he's dissociating in it) but the thing is AA fans have become the fandom's punching bag which makes it really difficult for a lot of people to publicly come out as liking this route without potentially being called delusional, told that you may end up being abused irl and other crap like this because how can you not see his toxic and abusive behavior. It also doesn't help that even one of the writers who worked on his character claimed that players who chose this route only saw him as a sex object lmao

I know there are spawn fans who like AA because every time I see AA romance scene posts in places like OnlyFangs and the Astarion facebook groups I'm in, I ALWAYS see comments like "I can't ascend him but this is so hot!!" or "thank you for posting this! I'd never do this to pookie, but I have to admit this is got me🥵🥵🥵" or panty dropping gifs and things like that. So they can thirst after AA (but we are the only ones sexualizing him, remember!), yet simultaneously talk about how much they hate that version of him. It really makes no sense. Just enjoy all of Astarion! No guilt, excuses, disclaimers, or abuse required!

It's really unfortunate. I understand why some AA fans keep quiet in the fandom. There are a few people in one of the AA discords I'm in, who are only active in that discord and nowhere else in the fandom because theyre just tired/afraid of the negativity. That's ridiculous to me! The fact that people literally can't even comfortably just exist in the fandom without the fear of being bullied for NOTHING.

I have been told I'm "romanticizing abuse" directly and indirectly more times than I can count and it doesn't get better with frequency. And when you factor in that many AA fans ourselves have had experiences with abuse and trauma, it's just such a poor taste statement that literally has 0 ground. I mean, if any romanticizing of abuse were happening, wouldn't it be Larian doing it anyway? Aren't they the ones allowing the romance to continue after ascension with positive dialog choices, and sharing the AA kisses on Valentine's Day posts? Why not come after them instead of fans? If the relationship between AA and his Consort was "written to be abusive" then shouldn't Larian write that so clearly that literally no one can argue about it and there is no doubt in anyone's mind? So why then, is that not shown in the game? And why come after the people interpreting the story differently instead of the company for not making the story's message so airtight, it can't be argued?

Hint: because it's not written to canonly be an abusive relationship, that wasn't Larian's intention and nor should it be. The intention was to create an evil romance route and that's exactly what it is. Anything outside of that is up to YOU.

I think that's where the superiority complex steps in though. That whole "you AA fans just aren't media literate and clever enough to understand the deep, meta meaning of this cautionary abuse tale!" thing.

It also feels like an underlying misogyny thing too. A majority of Astarion fans in general are women and AFAB people. I see spawn fans always calling us "AA girlies" and I never see the reverse. And when it comes to AA fans, it feels a lot like a "let's save/educate the poor naive girls from themselves and their foolishness." When many AA fans aren't even female and certainly aren't naive or young impressionable people looking to have a real life AA.

As for the Co-Writer Who Will Not Be Named... that whole situation is a perfect example of someone abusing their position/influence. They knew players would take their word as law, without actually thinking about it in the context of it being a rolepaying game. So their opinion and agenda is taken as a canon fact when they only did minimal writing AND they can't speak for anyone else's Tav/Durge but their own.

Saying "When Tav ascends Astarion, it means they only see him as a sexual object." is just like saying "Tav keeps Astarion a spawn because they want control over him." Can you roleplay both of those things? ABSOLUTELY. But for most Spawn fans, I'm sure that is NOT why your Tav did it, especially if they're romancing him.

What Welch said is exactly the same type of statement. Their position and professional contribution to the game holds no water in context of their statement being universally applied to all Tavs and Durges that ascend Astarion. It may be how they see it, it may be the impression they tried to get the dialog to convey, but it's all up to each individual player how it's interpreted.