#two towns fic

[hideyseek]

hmm... now that i'm posting one fic, i'm somehow as a result starting to turn other ideas in my mind again. the primarily two are zheng bei at 15 and gu yiran goes home. there is, of course, no actual promise that either of this will come to any kind of fruition, it's just interesting to me to consider them and what is compelling me in particular about them.

wow this got long. and extremely tangenty so i'm putting it under a cut. but wow thinking about (as has been said in discord already) zheng bei's general behavior as performance, but linking it to schechner's definition of performance as twice-behaved behaviors and going from there to the idea of responses to incidents from childhood surviving in instinctive behavior often through to adulthood ... whew. extremely exciting to me! aaaaand the second part of: well i sure seem to keep trying to write about a guy going "home" after he's been fundamentally changed, what could that possibly mean?

zheng bei at 15, is, of course, just a shorthand for "i want to dive into the aftermath of this kid's trauma so fucking bad" -- to perhaps nobody's surprise. though i did do some metawriting about it this morning while ruining my fried egg via inattention, and beyond the post-trauma / "how did zheng bei come to be the way he is in canon" aspect, i'm also really interested in exploring the ways in which this experience reshapes the dynamic of zheng bei's friendship with xiaoguang (in the way that friendships change when one person goes through an extremely changing experience that is almpst entirely impossible-to-concieve/experience/comprehend for the other person), and also in some specific choices i could make about younger!zheng nan, and how her reaction and her parents' reaction to zheng bei's kidnapping influences how he replies and what patterns of response he lands on that we continue to see when we meet him as an adult in canon. (oh actually now that i'm writing this, i'm thinking suddenly about patterns of response as twice-behaved behaviors, or richard schechner's definition of performance, which one wow ive never considered that and two ohhh i think is particularly apt for zheng bei. oh my god. the idea that i can go reread performance studies texts to get into zheng bei's mind ... thrilling!!!!!!!).

ok anyway. totally sidetracked. that wasnt even remotely the point of this post lmao. moving on to what i thought this post was actually going to be about lmao

that is, the thought i had that gu yiran goes home is a project in a series of projects with similar themes that intrigues me. back in like ... 2019 maybe, when i was writing for inception, i toyed with a fic idea for a long time of arthur going 'home' after the big job of the film, now that cobb can return to his children, no longer playing pseudo-parent to james and philippa, and finds himself adrift. and then again in 2021, when i was writing for kaztsuyo, i had an idea of writing a canon divergence fic where haiji's dad dies right before the ekiden, and haiji goes from the ekiden (which plays out as it does in canon) to the hometown he hasn't returned to since he left for college, for his father's funeral, with two of the primary driving elements of his life suddenly gone: his ability to run, and the complex emotional relationship between his father and his father's expectation of his running. (this was also a fic about haiji's mom, and how her sense of identity shifts with the death of her husband, but that's beside the point.) anyway, it was weird to me that it happened twice, this idea of a character grappling with the loss of some primary driving / defining force in their life (for arthur, dealing with cobb's entire life; for haiji, running and his father's expectations) and then going "home" (even in the inception fic, arthur was going to his parents' house) to a house that isn't actually their home, to figure out what to do afterward. and, yknow, i can draw the parallels to my own life easily enough.

so i was both surprised and unsurprised to watch the first shot and, at first, not feel compelled to write a post-canon fic. but well, now i'm here, and gu yiran goes home seems to be another version of this story: after the halan lucifer case, after the legal resolution to this driving need for -- revenge, perhaps, but i tend to think of it more as justice for his father -- after all that, gu yiran goes home to huazhou, and to sort through his family's apartment. i don't know what happens after that. i honestly don't know if zheng bei is involved at all. i think what i'm more interested in looking at with this version is ... the character coming back home, to what was an actual home, with more closure than any of the other versions. maybe gu yiran gets to take his time to go back to huazhou, rather than that being the only place he has to go back to (as was my intention with arthur and haiji). he goes back knowing he isn't going to stay there (and maybe that's what makes this version different, because i'm inclined to adhere to this element of canon). he goes back knowing he has someone where else to truly return to. hmm ... which means this version then is less about the slow discovery of what "next" looks like, and more about the slow grappling with and acceptance and refining of moving inevitably toward that next. maybe gu yiran is given a certain amount of leave with flexibility to get his affairs settled in huazhou? hmm. i'm not entirely sold on that. perhaps that's only indicating that it's too eary to try for details, perhaps that's an indicator that this isn't the right details.

well. anyway. long post. lol. if you are still here, reading, i salute you. this was so fucking long.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Alfred: May I help you?

Danny: Yes, you can. I need to talk to the master of the house. I'm Bruce Wayne's illegitimate son.

Alfred: Oh?

Danny: Normally, I wouldn't bother him, but my mom recently passed away, and I have nowhere to go. Here is a letter she wrote to him.

Alfred after reading glowing green paper: I'm afraid Master Bruce is out at the moment, but you may come in and wait for him in the main sitting room. I'll make you some tea in the meantime.

Danny: Trying to gather a DNA sample, I see. That's fine. I wouldn't believe a random kid that showed up on the doorstep either.

Alfred mildly suprise: I assure you, I merely wanted to offer you a warm drink after being caught in the rain.

Danny: Right, and the firearm you have tucked up your left sleeve has nothing to do with me breaking through the front gate security to get to the door.

Alfred smiling:*cocking gun* You may be Master's Bruce's after all.

Danny smiling: *Powering up ray gun* And you may earn your place at a Fenton dinner table. So....Tea?

Alfred: Is Earl Grey alright with you?

Danny: Of course. It's the only tea that is worth drinking.

Alfred: Wise words. Right this way and do remember, I'll put a bullet between your eyes if you're a threat.

Danny: I'll fry you alive before you can even pull the trigger. *Ray gun crackling with electricity*

Alfred mentally: If this lad isn't Master Bruce's, I'll adopt him myself.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Sky Pirates

Some of you may have noticed that I love to re-imagine concepts and adapt them into different settings. So, today, I present you with yet another dpxdc fantasy AU, and this time, it's Pirates.

Only just 'pirates' seemed not exciting enough, so I have Sky Pirates.

Amity Port, a place on the outskirts of Gotham - a floating continent under the rule of Waynes. A town on the edge of the world, with only the Vast Skies beyond its piers. Flying ships moored in the docks, sails of all the colors you can imagine, taverns, inns, and shops run by all the people you know: Old Kinght Fright, Jinnee Desiree, and Lady Lunch, to name some.

Royal Guard Valerie Gray, who left Amity nearly a decade ago, is now back, and she brought guests with her. Two Princes of Gotham, straight from Bristol: Tim and Jason. Only they are not here for a simple visit.

A Sky Curse over both of them, with feathers piercing their skin from inside, causes them to seek the help of a skies witch since none of the mages, witches, or warlocks all throughout Gotham could help them. But sailing the Vast Skies with no clear destination is a task for no battleship.

They need something else.

A crew of pirates who never back down from adventure when offered a fair price. A ship that had sailed far beyond any trade would go. A captain that their Royal Guard can trust, even if begrudgingly.

And, maybe, a new friend that also has feathers under his sleeves.

Is this an advertising post for my new fic? Yes, yes, it is. 'Free as the Wind' by corkinavoid, here is a link, enjoy.

What I did was I took the concept of 'Danny has Wings' and the idea of space pirates from 'Treasure Planet', mixed it with some 'Pirates of the Caribbean' aesthetic, threw in some magic, added a generous amount of fantastic skyscape worlds and a dash of adventures that end in love, and winged it.

Also, have some art I shamelessly found on Pinterest to set the mood:

P.S. The fic has soundtrack links included

[voidcat]

characters: you/imaushi wakasa, sano shinichiro...

a/n: angst lol. strangers to friends. themes of fwb but nothing explicit. switch of perspective. mcd obviously,,

as i said in this post the loose explanatio/beginning of an idea i had that i liked ALOT but couldnt write due to various reasons (esp lck of time) (open post for a lil further stuff for reader x wakasa ig,,,)

attending the same classes as shinichiro sano... you've heard of him alright but that's about it. a nice face to look at perhaps but a little odd. not someone you'd interact with occasionally, nor someone you'd remember in particular-

until you're paired with him for an assignment. it'll help build bonds between the lot of you! the teacher announces and everyone groans in unision

you shoot your new partner to be a look from where you stand and turn back to your notebook. the ring bells but by the time you can get up adn gather your stuff, sano is nowhere to be seen

it takes you hours to find him. and at possibily one of the worst times too.

you heard of the rumors about fights and deliquents but you didn't expect yourself to run into one. youre careful, you live a peaceful life, you avoid trouble, always keep a clean name and all-

the people around all battered and beaten up, covered in bruises, cuts and maybe blood, looking hungry, unsatisfied, maddened– and you're in the center of it all.

footsteps approach you, strong, stern, taking their time and all- you hold it in you to not turn for a look. wait for them to show their face at your feet, dont give them the satisfaction nor even the slightest sign of weakness.

a man with blond hair and a pretty face, long lashes and all, stands before you, looking almost a little amused. "what's a pretty little thing doin' here all by themselv-" "where's sano" you cut him midsentence.

the man looks baffled, a little offensed even. soon joined by a second figure a lot taller than him, they both look at you with hostility and a hint of curiosity.

who cares, you scoff internally, whatever intimidation they're going for, you won't fall for it.

the other man raises a brow at the way you've mentioned sano. shit, you do hope this was not the wrong place, or whatever fight went down there, they must've won... right?

"and who is asking?" the blond speaks up again, sounding a little annoyed now. "you know, we don't allow passes to every pretty thi-" "eeeew" you drag the word and scretch like a gum, making sure to put on a face. "none of your business actually." you add on, placing your hand against a hip.

"why, you-" before he can follow up with whatever's on his tongue, a jolly greeting from behind interrupts him, cutting through the air. you can notice how the idle folks around suddenly tense up, and for the two man before you, shoulders dropped, bodies relaxing...

soon sano emerges, with his hair put up and stylized, nothing like the man in your class, a deliquent out of a shitty teen's magazine you'd say so.

exhanging greets with the two men and doing a special handshake for only them to know, he looks in the mood, just his face a little bruised up and some blood on his clothes.

so that's probably why he skips school some days, you muse.

he notices you a little later.

"oh!" mouth formed into an 'o' shape, you can see his surprise written all over but he is quick to disperse all that." greeting you with your surname formally, he reaches out a hand, then brings it up upon noticing the splatters of blood and takes it back with a sheepish smile.

"what brings you there?" he asks, never losing a bit of his joy that contradicts the entire atmosphere.

"our assignment." you say curtly and receive another sound of surprise from him. he looks apolegitic at the very least, you think.

"well.. uh-" he scratches the back of his head, casting a glance around, you wait to see where the stammering will go.

"how would you wanna do it then?" he asks more for you than himself, to ease you probably, you can only assume.

another joins their little group, keeping silent and watching what's going on. you relly, really should get going, you decide after giving a quick look around. "we can go over the details at an appropirate time later."

"alright then!" he says, never missing a beat from his energy. it's unbelievable, you think. "should we... ah-" he pauses, "exchange numbers to keep in touch then?" he asks, and he means well, you can tell just from the way he looks and talks, but the rest? you're not exactly dying to say out loud your contact information. especially not with that blond anywhere within a 20 meter radius.

"here." you say, reaching out your hand to reveal your phone. "i'm not announcing my number for a bunch of weirdo, self proclaimed deliquents to hear."

your words take him by shock but he breaks into a snort right after. the two men exchange a glance and a thug at their lips as well. the blond however does not look once pleased with your words.

or you at all.

you begin to come and go to their place often, the assignment builds up slow but steady and the guys seem reasonable enough after actually sitting down and hearing each other out. shin looks happy with the development too, says you have brought a change but you'd disagree. he is the light and sun and the beating heart of this place and wherever he goes, they follow, absolute devotion and belief in him, as a person, for his mind and for his heart.

you can see why, you can feel it too. once you begin to spend your time with shinichiro sano, all the rumors and speculations you've heard up until then are gone. assignment be damned, you can tell when a friendship begins to bloom and with shin- it happens at such a pace, you find yourself a little afraid.

the assignment ends, presentation and all, with flying colors you pass and decide to celebrate it out, with the rest joining as well.

a karaoke bar is all fun and games until night rolls out. it has gotten late but shin offers to walk you home; keizo and takeumi dragging a very drunk and messed up wakasa. everyone bids one another goodbye- save for wakasa... and you almost believe youhave seen a hint of sadness in their eyes as they bump their fists against yours. if you didn't know any better, you'd ever go as far as to say they'll miss you around.

a day passes, another and another... much to their relief and encouragement, you stick around.

not within the vicinity on the days big fights go around but definitely dropping by to hang out, fool around and whatnot. it's now your laughter mixed with shin's that fills the air, and everyone seems joyful and happy most of the time- save for imaushi wakasa.

for reasons unbeknowst to you, he remains hostile, rude, and on and up about sending your way stupid lines like he did the first time. most of the time you ignore him, which annoys him further– the scene alone brings a smile to your lips, the smirk of a vixen, you even overhear him once, yelling to keizo about you are, sounding very much frustrated.

despite this is how the things begin and roll out, neither of you expect to grow close- closer than you'd have imagined.

yes, you and shin might be the sunshines, but you and wakasa? the two of you become inseperable. you even hear some people mumble how they fear the two of you looking down at them, gazes that burn holes through their skulls, see into their souls... the two of you could make a power couple- if you were one at all.

there is the heat, there is the tension. you comb through his hair with a gentle touch that has wakasa melting in your hold, yet the second someone dares to imply anything more, you shoot them a glance so heavy, it'd crash their lungs.

wakasa hopes, in the end, that perhaps there is an end to it that is happy, that is hopeful. he knows there is no making up for the way he treated you but you were not the kindest toward him either, so it makes you equals, no?

so he sings sappy songs at karaoke whilst tipsy, so any accusation he can brush off as the effect of the booze, but hopes you caught how he looked at you. so he touches you as soft as you do him, trying to mimic your kindness, an attempt at how love, in the physical, in action should be.

he doesn't know any better, why should he? why should anyone to begin with?

it scares him how natural it is for shin and you. some days he finds himself envying the two of you even, would things be any different were you to attend the same school as the two of you? oh what wouldn't he do to be graced with your smiles and giggles all day every day, having you look at him as you rest your cheek against your palm–

he aches for something a tad normal sometimes, at the very least with you. would the two of you ever cross paths were it not for shin? the thought scares him and he feels like an asshole for envying his friend like this, desperate for anything that would come from your hands.

but at the end of the day, it is himself you seek out. his arms that you allow around your person, his lips on you, devoring you, it's wakasa that consumes you wholly and the thought brings a wave of comfort at the very least.

then the entire world collapses down in the span of 24 hours.

shinichiro dies.

almost 24 hours have passed since his death and wakasa still cannot find it in him to return to reality yet.

then like an angel amidst the chaos, you reemerge from the fog, from smoke. it doesn't take a genius to figure out something is wrong.

"waka," you call out to him, sound laced with something he cannot quite pinpoint. shutting his eyes completely, he sits in the same spot for a moment, all the doubts, every single negative, twisted and fucked up thng he has been holding at bay til now so close to breaking out.

you speak, but he does not hear the words.

not pass the 'i am leaving'

[fight-nights-at-freddys]

lowk thinking maybe thursday or friday this week (11/28 or 11/29) we could get together on ponytown and take a massive pic of the proship tree??

i'm thinkin maybe. 10-11ish pm EST? (i'll include a map in the follow up post and everything for those that wanna join too!)

[4thegays]

Would anyone be interested with a bunch of connected stories (don’t know the length) of gelphie post canon. They would take a lot inspirations after Greek myths and some historical events. It’s a lot of Glinda angst

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 115

Part 1 Part 114

Will could tell they were coming well before his bedroom door opened, both their presences shining like a beacon, brighter and brighter the closer they came.

It’s still a surprise to see their faces. Eddie looks excited enough to be verging on manic, the same way he does when there’s a particularly juicy twist in a campaign he’s been planning out. In contrast, Steve looks almost grave. Not worried, but something serious in the slant of his mouth as Eddie tugs him inside and shuts the door.

“What’s going on?” Will asks, looking between the pair for clues, and finding none.

“Nothing serious,” Steve replies. He commandeers Will’s desk chair while Eddie flops into the bed beside Will, wriggling around until he’s stollen all the covers and wrapped them around himself like a human burrito.

“We’ve just got something to tell ya,” Eddie continues, beaming up at Will.

Neither of them continues, so Will looks back and forth between them. Eddie’s eyes are downright twinkling, while Steve stares at the side of Eddie’s head, glaring.

“Fine,” Steve grumbles, finally turning to meet Will’s eyes. “Eddie and I are dating.”

Will nods, maintaining eye contact as he waits for Steve to keep talking. He doesn’t. “That’s it?”

Eddie squawks,  slithering up in bed, still so swaddled in blankets that he looks formless. “What do you mean, that’s it?” he demands, elbowing Will in the ribs, but it’s through all the blankets so Will barely feels it.

“Weren’t you guys already dating?”

Eddie’s mouth is hanging open, formless consonants leaking out of him. Steve steeples his fingers and leans forward, elbows on knees.

“It’s just, Eddie said—”

Eddie wriggles his arm free just in time to slap it over Will’s mouth with an awkward laugh. “Shut, up, Baby Byers,” he hisses, a faux smile on his face.

Steve leans back in the chair, lets his hands land loosely on the armrests. He’s smirking like there’s a canary in his mouth, and for the first time, Will can almost see the cool guy everyone acts like Steve is.

Not the real kind of cool that Steve actually is, but the kind who’d throw parties, and sit on a high school throne he hadn’t even built himself.

“What did you say, Eddie?” he asks, still smirking, and oh, is this flirting?

Will contorts his body until he’s free of Eddie’s silencing hand. “He said he was in love with you,” Will says.

Eddie sags into himself with a groan, burying his face into the blanket he’s still wrapped in. He looks like a pill bug, the only flesh visible a little bit of one of his ankles. Will pokes it and Eddie jerks, raising his head just enough to pout at Will.

“Is that so,” Steve says, but it’s not phrased like a question. Will answers it anyway.

“He said you looked like an angel in the Upside-Down, when we saw all those lights at my house for the first time?” Will feels his own face blushing as he remembers the way the lights had shone down on Steve, painted him in gold like it was his birthright.

Steve’s not smirking anymore, he’s gone all weird and gooey in the face. It only gets worse when Eddie makes a whining noise.

“Is that where the nickname came from?” he mutters quietly enough that it barely carries to Will’s ears. When Steve starts speaking again, it’s at his normal volume. “Wait, where was I for this?”

Eddie sits up at that, uncocooning himself enough to free his arms but keeping it over his head like an extremely unfashionable cloak.

“Uh…” he starts, shifting forward to stare into Steve’s eyes. “You were possessed?”

Steve grimaces, and all Kingly posturing falls away as he slumps back into the chair, crossing his arms in a way that looks more like a hug. Eddie must think so, too, because he latches onto Steve’s pantleg with grabby fingers and pulls until Steve settles onto Will’s bed with them.

“Were there any witnesses to this little declaration?” Steve asks, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Just Mom and Uncle Wayne,” Will replies.

Steve nods, slow as he meets Will’s gaze. “…and your Mom was.”

“She doesn’t care,” Will cuts in. Steve lets out a relieved breath that Will feels in his bones. He’d felt that worry when she’d let out a shocked gasp at Eddie’s declaration, had felt it wither away when he’d seen her hopeful face. “She just wanted you back.”

“We all did,” Eddie cuts in, throwing his stolen blanket over Steve’s shoulders, Will nestled between them both. “And we thought maybe trying to reach you in there would work?”

Steve laughs, but it’s all wet and choked up in itself. “And you said you were in love with me?” Steve asks. He reaches around Will to smooth down Eddie’s mussed bangs, the one cheek Will can see from his angle turning a light pink. “That’s so embarrassing for you.”

Eddie grumbles but leans into Steve’s touch all the time. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?” he asks. “We could feel you in there. You must’ve heard us.”

Will cranes himself away to look at Steve’s face, compromising the integrity of their ramshackle blanket fort enough that he tears it off Eddie and Steve entirely.

Steve doesn’t seem to have even noticed. His eyes are distant, glazed over like he’s looking at something else entirely.

Will never wants to see that distance on Steve Harrington’s face ever again, not after black smoke and a Steve that isn’t, so he tugs on their connection, and he comes back alive.

“I think I heard some of it?” he says, holding the palm of his hand to his ear like he’s listening to the ocean. He goes distant again, but Will’s pretty sure he’s just trying to remember, so he resists the temptation to pull him free. “What did everyone else say?”

Eddie reaches out and links his pinkie with Steve’s. “Oh, the same sappy shit we’ve all said to your face,” Eddie replies, but he’s smiling. “Baby Byers acted like it was his job to save you, and fawned over you like you’re some goddamn action hero.”

“Hey!” Will cries, but Steve’s laughing, so he doesn’t mind, especially not when Steve tugs on him this time, beaming at him like he’s a revelation.

“Uncle Wayne, the cantankerous old man that he is, said you were like a son to him.”

“Mom just asked you to come home,” Will cuts in. Steve’s eyes are shining.

“And I declared my undying love to you in front of all and sundry,” Eddie finishes, rearranging their linked pinkies so he can tangle the rest of their fingers together as well.

“You’re all so embarrassing,” Steve says, but he reaches out and bully’s Will into his arms. Eddie, never one to turn down a hug, worms his way into the situation immediately and applies enough pressure to make both their ribs creak.

They stay like that for a long time, until Mom calls, “boys, breakfast!” from somewhere in the house.

Eddie’s the first to let go with a contented sigh, scrabbling up off Will’s. He’s skipped halfway out the door before either of them has even stood up.  

“Has Mama Byers learned to cook since the last time we were here?” Eddie asks, leaning back in to grin cheekily at Will. “I don’t know if I’m in the mood for eggs that are somehow rubbery and watery at the same time.”

Part 116

[imakatperson22]

Fanfic ideas for “Chris is out of town”:

Eddie says he’s out of town and we just cut to…

Chris working deep undercover

Chris running his own crime syndicate (Idk why I’m thinking underground casino ring?)

Chris is hosting some fancy charity gala, wining and dining philanthropists (for a CP research fund??)

Chris is on an epic quest to save the world (a la lord of the rings)

Chris is secretly a superhero (His powers? Mind reading or telekinesis)

Chris is on a business trip in Hong Kong trying to close a major deal between transnational corporations

Chris is chasing after a girl rom com style

Chris is actually a trained assassin for hire and he’s out of town working on a job

Chris is backpacking through Europe to “find himself”

Chris is taking a cross country road trip with friends and chaos ensues

Chris is living a double life with another family who were scammed into adopting him

Chris is running for office (LA mayor?)

Chris is already in office as a state delegate and is in Sacramento while the legislature is in session

Chris is in witness protection about to testify against someone at trial

Chris isn’t actually out of town, he’s been under our noses the whole time

I have so many ideas!

[redwayfarers]

house of grief and sunlight

fandom: wayfarer ship: cassander/aisanne characters: cassander inteus, aisanne bjornsdottir rating: gen words: 1625 note: this is my entry for @idrellegames' three year anniversary event! prompt i'd chosen is paramour - expected of me, i know - but i've hardly written about cass' bisexuality and i felt like it needed to be written about! excuse the ya-sounding title lmao i could not resist also, aisanne is a gw2 oc that i've ported to wayfarer. she lives over on @i-mybrunettelady most of the time :) divider credit

I am tired of grief.  I don’t know if it ever goes away, but for fuck’s sake, I’m so tired of it. It’s summer, though, and a part of me feels like the sun will chase it away, if only for a day or two. Our house needs the sun right now. Grief hangs over it like a veil, and we don’t speak of it, but maybe the rays that come through our window each morning help. 

Or so I hope. Hope’s a stupid thing by and large, because every time I hope something happens it decidedly doesn’t, as if the gods above or whoever sits and watches this farce of an existence keeps laughing at me and says, “Add more!” But I can’t help but wish, in my heart of hearts, that sometimes, maybe one day in this lifespan that’s entirely too long for one guy, I don’t feel like a tossed out, crapped on kitten on the streets. 

It’s summer. That feels important to repeat to self. I am feeling a little less grief. The room around me is loud and messy and sounds jump from one place to another like rabbits, in a cacophony ruled over by the harmonious noise of music. Sanne’s the one behind the harp, golden under the candlelight, and if she was a different woman, she’d be singing in a Meissandic temple. 

She cares little for the traditional rites, though. She cares little for the chants I’d attended once or twice when I was a kid. She looked at me all confused when I told her how courtly, Vestran services happen, and said, in a strange tone, “I don’t understand how people like that.” I don’t understand either, and thank fuck I’m not a Vestran aristocrat anymore. 

Her place is telling stories of heroes and events long gone, to be a musical wayfarer. She’s doing that tonight. I was drunk when we first met here and she had to hold my hair while I was throwing up, apparently. Can’t say I remember that attractive trait about myself. I’m not drunk right now, however, sitting near the small wooden stage, taking small sips of my cider. The drink is irrelevant; she captures my attention more than any alcohol could. 

She’s radiant and shiny, half covered in shadows, which makes her golden crest stand out. The bright sheen of her golden hair disappears and reappears after the movements of her head. I can’t see her freckles clearly from here, but I can see the ink on her neck, the roundness of her full lips, an occasional yellow in the blues of her eyes when the candlelight reflects off them. I’m not blind to beauty, but there’s beauty in a way a finely made building is beautiful, and a way a person is beautiful. 

You don’t wanna fuck buildings, do you? And if you do, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?

Others are looking at her too. That doesn’t matter, because it’s my bed who she comes to tonight. Or is it me coming to hers? Not fucking important. 

These feelings are new. For most of my life, interest like this fell to men. Part of me wonders if I’m just that desperate for any kind of tenderness in my life that my head would start making up attraction; but the way this feels can’t be anything but a solid fucking reality. Women were always beautiful the way buildings were, but now they’re flesh and bone and soul and personality and there’s something so weirdly appealing about that that it catches me off guard. 

Not all women are your mother, you dumb fuck. 

I know, but women have never been.. This. I think about Sanne when she’s away. I watch her practice for the performances, mesmerized. There’s peace and blood rushing to my face when we’re laughing in bed, or making lunch, or eating, or just existing in the same space. My insides get all twisted up, like I’m a kid again crushing on older Wayfarers. It’s like Senna again, and I simply forgot how it feels like to be crushing on someone this bad. 

Nothing will ever happen between us, however. It would be so crappy to prey on a widow’s feelings. She rarely speaks of her dead husband, but he’s not even that cold as far as dead people go; maybe a little more than us Wayfarers, but not by much. Our living together is a result of loneliness, desperation, not a desire to find a partner again. But I was dumb enough to pretend I didn't see it. 

She’s cooking, some days after her performance. Sun is shining through the window, leaving her figure in semi-shadows and catching on the ends of her shiny, metallic hair. She’s not as glamorous as she was at the show; right here is a Sanne that’s more down to earth, more solid, dressed comfortably, not worried about how she’s perceived. I’m folding clothes nearby and doing a half-assed job of it, too. It’s hard to concentrate some days over the deafening noise of all this fucking attraction confusion business. 

Every so often she turns back to look at me with a strange smile on her face. “That’s what I wore to Kiaran’s funeral,” she says suddenly. I jerk and drop my gaze to the dress in my hands. Sunlight washes away its dark color in places. There are little holes in it that I want to sew shut, but I don’t have her consent to. She’s weirdly sentimental about it. 

My Spire didn’t have a funeral, and us survivors only have ashes as funerary garb. 

“What’s this stain again?” I ask, raising the dress and jerking my head in the direction of the big, grayish blob on the skirt. “I keep forgetting!” 

She sighs and throws a full, peeled onion at me. It hits me right in the forehead and the poor plant, already under threat, pricks my eyes. “You’re horrible,” I say in mock offense. “You don’t want your dress to stink, do you?” 

“I’m not burying anyone anytime soon,” she says lowly, in a tone that implies I’m hitting a boundary. I wince and put the dress down, careful of the location of the onion. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I approach, gently placing the vegetable on the table. She gives me a hard look. “I shouldn’t have joked about the dress. It means a lot to you and I tend to joke around, right, about the things that I’m sensitive about so people don’t attack me for it first? Offense is the best defense kinda thing? And I forget that sometimes - a lot of the time - people don’t function the way my fucked up head does?”

Shut up, Cassander. You’re making it worse.

Something tightens my throat, like hands choking me from the inside out. I grip the table and swallow thickly. My stomach twists up, and the smell and feel of onion fills the kitchen and I can only focus on the dents in the dark wood beneath my fingers and the uneven pattern freckles of my hand. 

“Cassander,” Sanne says. Her tone is too much for me to analyze right now, try as I might. “Cass.” 

“What?” 

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” 

“Picking at your scar. Stop it.” 

I lower my hand from my face and grip the edges of my tunic. The edges of my braid - I need to take care of those ugly fucking ends one of these days - tickles my hand. You’re scaring people. Enjoy your lifetime of solitude, whether you’re actually into women or not. Who would want someone as shaky and deranged as you are? 

Vestra should’ve killed you, if you were so determined to go back. 

“I’m sorry,” I murmur to my feet. 

“I’m not angry. If you pushed, I would’ve been, greatly so. But you didn’t. Stop shaking like a leaf.” There’s something in her tone that feels like cold water to the face. I breathe out and blink away a small selection of tears. Saltiest one always drops first! I’m imagining a little tear race now, little tear spectators cheering the racers on, tear savants testing the levels of salt in each one. The thought makes me giggle and I bury my head in my hands as I laugh. 

“I’m not angry with you,” she repeats, gentler than before. Her voice is still as steely, though. “Go finish the laundry while I make lunch.”

Without a word, I retreat to my location at the corner of the room, where still wet clothes wait to be sorted and hung to dry. I put the dress to the side and continue sorting through the clothes; sometimes, I look at her, her back turned to me, and the shaking of my hands grows for a split second. 

I try my best not to cry. Better save that energy for the worst of the shitshow that I know is yet to come.

I’ve forgotten that this is a house of grief and no sunlight can fix it. And I’ve walked over her grief in the same way I would walk over my own, but where I’m used to it, she isn’t. And even when we go to the same bed that night, seemingly forgetting what happened, and even when the sun rises the morning after, this is still a place where two grieving people decided to seek comfort because being broken together is somehow better than being broken alone. 

No summer nor new kinds of sex can fix the holes in your heart. 

I am tired of grief.  I don’t know if it ever goes away, but for fuck’s everloving and everlasting sake, I’m so tired of it.

[steelycunt]

i would DIE for a snippet xx

hii okay i had a little search to try and find some snippetable bits from chapter one n. tucked them under the cut mwah : ^ )

i.

ii.

[batcavescolony]

You know what, I hate myself so I'm gonna watch Supernatural! As a Tumblr user I have knowledge of our hell sites favourite show but I haven't watched past s1 ish? all the supernatural girlies are watching 911 it's only right for me to pay them back ❤

[hideyseek]

2, 7, 9, and 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12!

MWAH CRAB ILY THANKS IM ABOUT TO BE SO. FUCKING LONGWINDED. *reads the questions* I'M ABOUT TO REPLY IN SINGLE SENTENCES FOR POSSIBLY THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE.

from asks for writers to procrastinate working on your wips

2. Decriscribe [sic] your wip/one of your wips in the format of “_ + =__”

hmmm i was hoping i could come up with a funny one but none of my current wips are particularly lighthearted. let's say that the arthurcobb fic could be described as: being on the run + being painfully in love with your best friend whose wife just died = having sex with him in various motels while both of you pretend it's something it's not :3

7. Post Any sentence from your wip

There’s a figure standing in the middle of the bridge, railing falling away from him on either side, silhouetted by a nearby park lamp. (from draft 2 of mini heist!au)

ok it got long after this. putting a readmore.

9. What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

OH. OHOHOHO. jk back to being longwinded! sooooo many!!! two towns is probably the longest-running one, the premise of this is "haiji's dad dies before the ekiden, and right after the ekiden, haiji goes home." i want to write sooo badly about grief in a family that does not know how to talk about anything important, and also about that discordant feeling of living at home as a young adult, and also about the repercussions of a husband's sudden death in a marriage that has been faltering for years, and also about the feeling of working toward something for years with this belief in the certainty of a fixed set of potential outcomes and then to, right at the end, have it all pulled out from under you. but really this is a fic about "what if haiji spent his whole life defining himself against his dad's idea of him and then unexpectedly his dad stopped being around to have an idea of him?" augh fuck i wanna write it so bad right now but it will be HARD WORK and i do not want to do hard work! and honestly it's fine to wait, if narrative!fic taking literally like 4 years has taught me anything, it's that i might as well just wait until i become more skilled and it'll be a more painless process overall.

12. ️Not a question, just a second kudos to send.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 when i saw this ask come in i was like ???? what the fuck is 12. but i know it now!!! WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH LOVING AND APPRECIATING YOU!

[doomrichards]

Calling himself "Vincent Vaughn," Doom himself projected his own mind into a tiny robot body in Liddleville, where he delighted in bedeviling Reed Richards.

Liddleville DoomReed from Fantastic Four (1961) #236 "Terror in a Tiny Town!"

[painterofhorizons]

Language/culture question about multifaith spaces

Folks, I have a question. It is mostly addressed to english speaking folks, but I'm also interested in other views from other countries.

Multifaith spaces: per wiki definition: A multifaith space or multifaith prayer room is a quiet location set aside in a busy public place (hospital, university, airport, etc.) where people of differing religious beliefs, or none at all, are able to spend time in contemplation or prayer. Many of these spaces are small, clean and largely unadorned areas, which can be adapted and serve for any religious or spiritual practice.

My question: in German we call those places "Raum der Stille" which directly translates to "room/space of silence". Same concept, different name. When I looked up how they're called in english, I was surprised to find "multifaith space" instead - to me, those two names hold quite a different potential/meaning/approach. As an agnostic person, I feel much more drawn to the open naming convention over the faith-approach.

Is there any kind of casual name for multifaith spaces in english, like "room of quiet" or something? (And how are those spaces called in your place in non-english languages?)

If I was to translate the german expression to english because I really prefer it over the more technical english term, would you immediately understand what I mean?

[emchant3d]

Jamie thinks of late afternoons in his and his mother’s flat, dancing to the old records from the charity shop down the road. Jean Knight and Diana Ross and The Pointer Sisters crooning from the staticky player on the shelf, the curtains open, sticky summer air coming in through the window as he twirled his mum across their shoebox of a living room.

He always felt so light, then. Free. Loved. Laughing and joking with her, watching her smile bloom huge and beautiful across her face, her worries wiped away for the three minutes it took him to move her through the steps of the dances she’d patiently taught him.

“They get it, Jamie,” she’d told him when he’d asked why she loved the classics so much, pointing at the record player. “They understand love. That feeling, that need - the things you’ll do for it. The things it’s worth. They get it, angel. You understand?” 

“No,” he’d said honestly, and she’d laughed, shook her head.

“You will someday, my baby,” she’d said, and she’d pressed a kiss to his forehead and slipped away to flip the record.

Now, though, he understands. Stretched out on his stomach in Roy’s ridiculous bed, propping his head up on a hand, watching the old man get changed into pajamas so they can go to sleep at a decent hour - he gets it.

He must be smiling like an idiot because Roy’s thick brows furrow when he looks over at him.

“What?” he asks, and Jamie just shakes his head, rolls onto his back, and holds his hand out for Roy.

“I love you,” he says simply, and Roy’s face softens.

“I love you,” he replies, and he slips into bed, fingers interlacing with Jamie’s as he comes over him and kisses him, slow and sweet.

[shellhawk]

Random Destiel Season 16 ideas…

Dean and Jack get Cas out of the Empty.

Dean, emotionally constipated, says not a word about the confession and avoids the entire topic for as long as he can.

After a hunt with Dean, Cas and Dean end up at the Bunker. Dean starts to head for his room and tries to leave Cas at his. Cas decides he’s not having it. Not for one more second. And since now he’s very pop culture savvy, he decides to pull out the stops and become the most dramatic man he can think of in that moment: Ronny Cammareri, from Moostruck. And being Cas of the eidetic memory, he doesn’t change an inflection or a word of the impassioned speech:

“Loretta, I love you. Not like they told you love is, and I didn't know this either, but love don't make things nice - it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren't here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and *die*. The storybooks are *bullshit*. Now I want you to come upstairs with me and *get* in my bed!”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Loretta?” He asks with a smirk.

Cas is embarrassed. “It was the best I could come up with.” He looks at the floor before tilting his head and lifting his eyes to take in Dean’s beloved face. “It was clearly ineffective, since you’re not in my bed.” He frowns. “I was sure it would work. It did for Ronny.” He starts to turn towards his room.

Dean closes the space between them before Cas can even get his hand on the doorknob. He grasps Cas by the shoulder and turns him, unresisting, to meet Cas’ ridiculously blue eyes with his own.

He takes a deep breath and says what he should have before the Empty tore them apart.

“‘course I love you, too Cas. It’s only been you for years. Didn’t you notice?”

Cas stands, stunned. It’s the longest ten seconds of Dean’s life. Lives. Whatever.

Cas smiles, shy and warm, and his tears well up and start to flow as he cups Dean’s face, reverent, and lays the gentlest of butterfly kisses on his lips. Dean is just as soft as he returns the kiss and wipes the tears away.

Cas bends and sweeps Dean off his feet into a bridal-style carry, uses a touch of his grace to whoosh them to the other side of his door. We can hear Dean’s deep chuckle, his boots hitting the floor, and the sound of clothing being hurriedly removed and dropped.

From under the door, a bright light.

Dean, also pop culture savvy, can be heard to say, “Wings? Far out!”