#you get better at the details over time - the plotting and the flow and the cutting of extraneous things

[writeblrfantasy]

my 10 holy grail pieces of writing advice for beginners

from an indie author who's published 4 books and written 20+, as well as 400k in fanfiction (who is also a professional beta reader who encounters the same issues in my clients' books over and over)

show don't tell is every bit as important as they say it is, no matter how sick you are of hearing about it. "the floor shifted beneath her feet" hits harder than "she felt sick with shock."

no head hopping. if you want to change pov mid scene, put a scene break. you can change it multiple times in the same scene! just put a break so your readers know you've changed pov.

if you have to infodump, do it through dialogue instead of exposition. your reader will feel like they're learning alongside the character, and it will flow naturally into your story.

never open your book with an exposition dump. instead, your opening scene should drop into the heart of the action with little to no context. raise questions to the reader and sprinkle in the answers bit by bit. let your reader discover the context slowly instead of holding their hand from the start. trust your reader; donn't overexplain the details. this is how you create a perfect hook.

every chapter should end on a cliffhanger. doesn't have to be major, can be as simple as ending a chapter mid conversation and picking it up immediately on the next one. tease your reader and make them need to turn the page.

every scene should subvert the character's expectations, as big as a plot twist or as small as a conversation having a surprising outcome. scenes that meet the character's expectations, such as a boring supply run, should be summarized.

arrive late and leave early to every scene. if you're character's at a party, open with them mid conversation instead of describing how they got dressed, left their house, arrived at the party, (because those things don't subvert their expectations). and when you're done with the reason for the scene is there, i.e. an important conversation, end it. once you've shown what you needed to show, get out, instead of describing your character commuting home (because it doesn't subvert expectations!)

epithets are the devil. "the blond man smiled--" you've lost me. use their name. use it often. don't be afraid of it. the reader won't get tired of it. it will serve you far better than epithets, especially if you have two people of the same pronouns interacting.

your character should always be working towards a goal, internal or external (i.e learning to love themself/killing the villain.) try to establish that goal as soon as possible in the reader's mind. the goal can change, the goal can evolve. as long as the reader knows the character isn't floating aimlessly through the world around them with no agency and no desire. that gets boring fast.

plan scenes that you know you'll have fun writing, instead of scenes that might seem cool in your head but you know you'll loathe every second of. besides the fact that your top priority in writing should be writing for only yourself and having fun, if you're just dragging through a scene you really hate, the scene will suffer for it, and readers can tell. the scenes i get the most praise on are always the scenes i had the most fun writing. an ideal outline shouldn't have parts that make you groan to look at. you'll thank yourself later.

happy writing :)

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

can you make one where rafe showed his friends a private pic between and reader and she gets all pissed

do you think i deserved it all?

mean!rafe cameron x desperate!fem!reader

cw — explicit picture, manipulation, gaslighting

summary — you overhear your boyfriend and his friends talking abt a certain photo.

authors note — i’m writing with nails so this may have some typos but please ignore that. this can be read as a standalone but is apart of my mean!rafe series that is listed in order on my rafe masterlist under au's. if you guys have any longer requests, please send em in so i can make these a little more detailed cause my creativity is not flowing for some reason.

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

you weren't paying attention at all to what was going on around you. rafe, topper, and kelce always talked about stuff you couldn't care less about and that is exactly what they were doing now. the four of you were sat in the living room of the thornton mansion on the couches. your boyfriend was sitting beside you with your feet in his lap as you laid across the soft cushions and his friends were sat across from you two on the other one.

you were currently just mindlessly scrolling through instagram as you plotted your next post. you could faintly hear the boys talking about a variety of things along with the tv playing in the background. you sighed in annoyance when you couldn't find enough pictures and decided you'd be needing to go take some more. you swiped out of the app and began listening to whatever rafe was saying so you could let him know that you'd be needing a photoshoot soon.

"you guys gotta see this shit," he said as he scrolled on his phone and sat up a little straighter. "it's like fuckin' heaven, i'm tellin' you. 'nd she just doesn't care. none of those tantrums about privacy and all that other bullshit. i do whatever i want with 'em."

he leaned forward to show the two whatever he'd pulled up on his phone and their jaws immediately dropped. "holy shit, dude," topper mumbled, completely mesmerized by the screen.

kelce had the same look, leaning in a little to get a better look. "goddamn man. you got her all to yourself?"

your ears perked up at that and you shut your phone off, eyeing rafe wearily. "all mine," he stated with a smug grin. "i've got hundreds jus' sitting in this album. they just keep gettin' better every time i add one."

you felt your heart drop to your stomach and bile begin to rise in your throat. "you're one lucky son of a bitch," topper said with a laugh before sticking his hand up for a high five. "i'll be right back. y'all want any drinks or anything."

rafe looked at you momentarily. "jus' water," he replied, knowing you didn't care for anything else too much.

"i'll take a beer," kelce said while standing along with the blonde. "i gotta take a piss. be back in a minute."

topper let out a hearty laugh and slapped him on the back playfully. "yeah right."

as soon as the two left, you were quickly crawling over to rafe and snatching his phone from his hands. "what the fuck is your problem?" he snapped.

you stared down at it in shock. it was a picture of you from a few nights ago. one taken from a higher angle with your ass propped up in the air, you hair disheveled all across the pillows, your hands gripping onto the sheets by your head, and his cum coating your cheeks and mid-back.

your lip began to tremble and you dropped the phone into his lap rudely. "are you serious? why would you show that to them? do you know how embarrassing that is?"

he laughed. genuinely laughed in your face. "are you serious? it's not that big of a deal. you always blow things like this way out of proportion. you say you want me to show you off and shit and now you're pissed when i do?"

"i didn't mean in a disgusting way," you spat back. "i didn't expect you to go show off a vulnerable picture of me and have you and your friends talk about me like and object as if i'm not sitting right here!"

you could see the frustration building inside of him. he grabbed your wrist harshly and used it to pull you closer to him. "don't you dare fuckin' talk to me like that. before you ever even think about raising your voice at me again, think about who runs this shit, alright? cause it sure as hell isn't you. just remember, i wasn't the one begging for a chance, you understand me?"

a deep red blush creeped up your neck and onto your cheeks out of embarrassment. "I didn't mean it like that rafe," you said quietly. you didn't like when he was mad at you and you definitely didn't want him to leave you. "i'm sorry, i wasn't thinking."

"thats what i thought," he said cockily as he let go of your wrist. "you think i was gonna make a cute little instagram post or somethin'? that what you wanted?"

yes. it was. it was what you were dreaming of. but you knew better than to upset rafe. you were meant to say what he wanted to hear in times like this. you began to convince yourself that maybe he was actually right. maybe it was better this way. "no. i don't want that."

he smiled and chuckled. "good," he replied. “now get your shoes on and get your ass to the car."

your brows furrowed in confusion. you had only been here for and hour or two. "but rafe--"

"do i need to repeat myself?" he was pissed. you didn't need to hear anything else to know that. "get in the fucking car. we're gonna go home and you're gonna sleep off this bratty fuckin' attitude. then when you get up, you're gonna drop all this bullshit and apologize to me the right way. got it?"

you nodded shyly and began to move quickly to find your shoes. you were in for a long, exhausting night.

[catzunnyuan]

(jiuyuan) Omegaverse AU where SY is born into PIDW like airplane. He's still tasked with making the story better and filling in plot holes which means... He has to go to CQM.

SQH clocks him as a transmigrator during disciple selection and is way too excited about it. SQQ immediately pulls rank and takes SY on as his own.

SY can't risk getting kicked out and losing all of his points, so he does the bare minimum of playing nice guy his new shizun.

SJ meanwhile likes the cut of SY's jib. He's vicious, angry, full of resentment but most importantly, playing just enough by the rules. This is a child with the potential to deal with the snakes they call martial siblings. There's no resemblance to SQH, but SQQ still suspects SY is a bastard or other relative, especially given how much the rat*hovers*, invading QJP with all manner of excuses.

SY has a grudge against MF and the system doesn't complain about SY acting on it. Soon the other disciples lose most of their respect for MF - especially since while SY clearly hates MF he's kind and gentle with everyone else

The final nail on MF's coffin is when SY reports to SQQ that MF gave him a faulty cultivation manual and proceeds to present the manual SQQ personally delivered into SY's hands.

The audacity of this child. SJ didn't realize he could still feel delight!

The next selection NYY is brought in and SY starts growling and posturing whenever SQQ so much as looks at her. He knows he's in an omegaverse variant world, but it hasn't really hit him that he will soon be afflicted by a second gender himself.

SY is made head disciple but told in no uncertain terms that if he presents qianyuan he's getting kicked off the mountain

SY isn't surprised but he does complain massively to the system.

SQQ then starts piling sy with work and quickly realizes sy is a maths genius and starts using SY's work to lord over various other peaks.

SQH gets a nice gift for pointing the boy out

Unfortunately this means SY spends a lot of time around sqq and starts... Noticing things. Call him crazy but two years on he's actually convinced sqq is an omega, not the beta he pretends to be. The next time he takes paperwork to An Ding and confirmed Airplane who says only "wait you didn't know? I thought it was obvious from his whole... Everything."

Then LBH gets chosen in selection and even though SY's not that much older than him, he still goes full weird and codependent parent.

SQQ is furious that his heir has suddenly gone off the deep end and forgotten that the world is cold and you must be colder still to survive.

He beats SY at the barest pretense but this brings the idiot unmistakable *relief*. He still tries it many more times before finally turning the whip on the problem: LBH

SY presents instantly, not going through a month-long physical, mental and hormonal transition. No, there's no time, he has to protect LBH NOW and he tries to rip out SQQ's throat with his teeth. He fails miserably and after being beaten unconscious SQQ has MF dump SY on BZP.

(YQY is very sorely tempted to take SY for himself bc Xiao-Jiu clearly loves the boy and might regret it later, but he reasons taking SY in would just make sqq hate them both more.)

SY is not suited for BZP. But he can use the raids on qjp to check on LBH and make sure he's okay. (Airplane is devastated he still can't conscript cucumber bro)

LQG is very confused to find BZP running smoothly with formal classes when he returns but he doesn't care enough to investigate before preparing to enter the lingxi caves. SY approaches and tells LQG that now isn't a good time to enter the caves for secluded meditation bc sqq will be there and disturb the qi flow

LQG is pissed bc he scheduled this time first, but he knows if he complains YQY will just say there's no problem with them both secluding at the same time. But before he can get too upset about it, this wiry disciple of his hands over a mission scroll detailing a rampaging yao. The damage is enough LQG is intrigued so he sends sy off to inform the sect leader he'll take the mission.

Blah blah demon invasion, SY jumps in front of LBH to block the poison but sqq moisturized and in his lane after secluded meditation and uninjured from the lack of fight with LQG easily prevents disaster and then kicks shl off the mountain with the help of the array he'd been setting up the entire time the matches were going on. SY realizes that definitely happened in PIDW but LBH was too untrained to realize what he was seeing.

SY then starts his Abyss training program with LBH. For this, he leans into learning BZP techniques just to teach to LBH.

At the IAC, when things go to hell, sy sends LBH away from where the abyss will open, planning to fight the rhino-python and, if necessary, go to hell himself. He doesn't realize the abyss location was "where LBH is" rather than a spot on a map. He arrives in time to find sqq SEVERELY injured from fighting MBJ and LBH already gone into the abyss.

SY stares brokenly at the shards of zhengyang before helping sqq with his wounds.

They're bad enough sqq has lost control of his hormones and pheromones and they're running rampant through his body after decades of suppression. There's no pretending he's not an omega now.

SJ has blood dripping from his mouth, at least one lung is punctured.

"I had to do it."

"I don't care what you have to say"

"you marked that beast as your own kit, but where were you?"

SY just continues applying medicine

"I know why you let him ruin you. A heavenly demon. If I hadn't sent him into the abyss, he'd already be murdered by these so-called righteous cultivators."

SJ grabs him by the collar and forces SY to meet his gaze, as unfocused as it is. SQQ'S face is red and suffering the weight of denied instincts and cycles.

"I saved your brat and where were you?"

SY comes to many conclusions in a single instant

1. SQQ may not be in heat but he's definitely not in his right mind

2. They have both been blasting their pheromones out of control the whole time

3. SQQ has clearly done whatever the opposite of "emotionality washing your hands of SY" is

4. SY's body is very, very much on the same page.

HELLO SYSTEM WHAT HE'S NOT THE PROTAGONIST OF TOXIC DOOMED DANMEI????

He decides to ignore all of that and instead get sqq to the healers. As they're staggering along, LQG shows up and immediately gets into a pissing match with SQQ over which of them has SY as an alpha and SY didn't even know LQG was an omega, let alone any of THAT and decides he's not going to deal with it and orders his shizun to get someone to collect the shards of zhengyang

-

Afterward, sqq acts like nothing happened until SY is officially guaned at which point he makes it clear that he believes SY to be his little alpha who needs to be a good boy and come home

At which point his sexuality crisis actually abates a little bc sqq is an omega, he's an alpha. That's basically a straight couple, nothing gay going on there.

LQG tells him he doesn't have to go and makes an offer of his own which sy responds to with "don't be ridiculous, you're my teacher"

(by this point one of the hall masters explained where SY came from and his tenure as head disciple of qjp so LQG is just left speechless at this bizarre leap of logic)

[helliloveit]

Living Room Flow

This was kind of a disaster, longer than i thought it would be, but i like it. I don’t know if Frank is mean mean in here, but whatever this is i live for it. Feedback is always welcomed, kisses. English is not my native tongue.

Frank Castle x f!reader

Warnings: mdni, +18, Mean!Frank (half) he softens as the writing progresses, brat!reader, cop!reader, situationship, spanking, cursing (Frank is a sailor), smut with a plot(?, angst, rough, not a full happy ending.

W.c: 3.2k

Summary: It’s been a complicated day, you are not the best version of yourself, Frank isn’t patient with you this time. You don’t complain even if your feelings get in the way.

You hear the roaring of his truck outside the house and that made you jump over your seat in the couch. Yes, you had a dense afternoon, everything felt suffocating, your job that, thankfully you got out of early today left you with a bunch of tasks you even didn’t know how to start with. The fun thing is that every single friday is like this, and every single time of these Frank went even more bossy than he already is.

He is not your boyfriend, no, there is no love in the way you treat each other, you let him toss around your papers files as long as he offers you some protection, a deal.

Yet, you can’t deny he is sort of endearing, since you have nice amount of time knowing each other, besides the rare ‘friendship’ you had built, he stealthily made his way inside your life, your actions and your decisions in order to: “Ya needa be wise in this, anything you do wrong its a fuckin’ rope around ya neck.” Or whatever he says. Doesn’t matter how many times you roll your eyes, he’s right, being a detective in this city is not merely safe or fair.

Is not fair when you have to read and read and whatever conclusions you get with are rejected because there’s not enough proofs, even if you explained every detail thoroughly, a week of work, all destroyed in front of your face, and that’s exactly what happened to you today.

Something worth adding is that recently he drove his way into your desires too, you don’t even remember when it got to a breaking point, the only thing you know is that Frank carved his name with flames on the skin of your abdomen, he left you like a puzzle’s abandoned piece and you're sure you'll never find a half that fits you like he does. You are screwed. So much more when you realize his sex drive its lower than your willings to work, and that’s bold statement.

That’s also the reason of your bitterness, let’s be clear, you are not sweet, even less with Frank, that man has a sharp tongue, and he does use it. But today, you got to admit you were insufferable. So much that Frank better left the hustle for later, he could handle your back handed remarks, your disdainful looks too, but don’t you dare pushing him or swatting at him for tell you what is right.

The spare key jingles, then he enters the warm illuminated living room as you watch him from your place accommodated on the maroon sofa, the atmosphere grows heavier by seconds, the scowl of his face looks deeper and his movements determined, the creak of the wooden floor under his boots combined with the rumbling of the tv are playing an extra number on your anxiety.

— “You got the files, do you?” His harsh voice vibrates through the upholstered walls then your ears.

— “Yeah, they are in the kitchen aisle.” Your response comes out dry.

He looks back at you confused, where he’s standing he can clearly see the kitchen aisle… empty.

On Frank’s side, if he says he’s not upset with you, that’s pure bullshit. Already lost 5 of his seven patience bars trying to work along with you. And the way you inhale deeply and stand up from the cushions to stamp the documents where they are supposed to be, he already lost two more.

He leaves his jacket on the rack besides the entrance and walks down the little curve to the marbled surface. He exhales stressed when he finishes to read all the titles and none of them are the ones he needed.

—“Sweetheart… i know you are pressed but,” he raises the papers, kind of excusing himself, even if he’s tired of your attitude he doesn’t want to make you sicker.

—“These are not the ones i asked for.” And he attached to his very submissive tone.

That didn’t had any effect on you though, you went back, snatched the goddamn sheets out of his hands, checked for the right name and threw the new folder over the aisle again.

—“Let me know if you want me to read ‘em for you too.” You rumbled annoyed as you turned around to go away.

Hollow silence fills the space.

—“Hah, you little fuck. You stop right there.” It didn’t came out loud, if you wasn’t so attentive at his reaction you wouldn’t have noticed. You look back disgusted, who does he think he is to command you like that? You scoff and keep your tracks and that’s when he raises his voice.

—“I said stop right there, y’ didn’t hear me?” It was too much for you, you weren’t exactly obedient but for whatever reason you froze not so far from where you turned your back at him. You hear him walk, his heavy steps reaching you, suddenly your head feels heated, you love the thrill, and he always knows how to deliver it perfectly.

—“The fuck is wrong with you now, huh?” He lowers his head to get to your eye level. “That attitude is gonna get you places.” He slowly says as his arms rest behind your sides, grasping the cold aisle behind you, one of his hands moved to your face, fixing your jaw in his direction, dwarfing it in his pretty big extension.

—“Think you can blame your pent up frustration on me.” He nods slowly, analyzing every feature in you, something he’s pretty good at.

—“Let go.” You cling to the last bit of rebellion left in your body, lift your chin and slap his hand away with a curse, he backs up, chuckling. Oh, he’s amused. And you’re not sure if he likes the challenge or simply is hilarious to him to witness how deep into the trouble you are getting.

Your breath is growing faster and everything but steady, your hands cold, all of it provoked by the way he’s glaring at you, if you didn’t know him the way you do, you were sure he would be plotting your murder. Frank is one to intimidate people but that’s not quite what is happening to you now, you hate when he hovers over you and slightly tilts his head, even more when he is almost smirking thinking he has you wrapped around his finger.

And maybe he’s right because you kiss him.

Is not the first time it happens anyways, you fist the fabric of his henley, giving a fuck if it’s ruined by the time he needs to get home, you’re pouring every emotion in it and he knows, he pleases you, he lets you climb and tangle around him, press your torso at his firm one, yes, but he is not satisfied, not with the way you had treated him the whole day.

When you take a break he slightly pushes you back from your neck, your hands travel down his chest by the distance.

— “What is it now?” You ask hazy.

—“What it is now? Baby are you aware of the way you had talk to me?” You frown, of course you had been such an ass today but, he can’t deny you a good shake off, right?

—“But-” you start to display your best puppy eyes, he doesn’t let you finish though, you are looking at his own dark gaze until the clink of his belt draws you away from your trance.

—“Nah nothing sweet. Turn around.” The way he plays the the piece of leather off has you pretty distracted.

—“We can talk it over Frank.” He clearly hears the desperation in your voice, whether he wants to calm it is another matter.

—“Oh, we can talk it over now? That’s new.” His hand spins your shoulder until your back is a few inches away his chest, pushes your blade until you feel the cool surface breeze your nipples through the thin fabric of your old tank top.

At this point the anticipation have you teary eyed, you look back at his frame, it is so broad, he is so heavy in his presence it makes your back get goosebumps, even more so when he lifts up the hem of your top to look at it, he made it clear a few times, he loves your back, specifically how it arches when he caresses at your skin with his rusty palms.

The soft interlude ain’t last long.

Both of his hands tugs at the waistband of your sweatpants, so fast the panties get trapped in the motion, leaving you bare, he spreads your cheeks revealing your glistening parts for him to drool at them, he’s dying to bury his mouth in it but he won’t be nice, even if it gets to him more than it gets to you. He clicks his tongue.

—“I don’t think you get a release tonight, too bad for you.” He caresses your slit from start to finish, eliciting a shudder from you.

—“Frank please it’ll be good next time, make me feel good please, i swear.” You rise enough for his stubble to tickle at your temple, you wish you could melt in his body, all you need is a little bit of love and correction, also him to give you what you want.

It aches, he aches, doesn’t like to tell no to his pretty girl.

He hesitates for a few seconds, he needs you too, he feels it burn inside his core. Sadly, He’s a man known for his resilience.

—“Don’t wanna hear a single whine from your lips from now on.” He groans with wet lips in your ear, you’d have clenched your already soaked pussy if he hasn’t pulled your hips back and made you bend over again.

Suddenly you feel his fingers pressing the back of your neck against the gelid material you are lying on. Before you can protest a gasp leave your lips when instead of the leather of his belt a hand lands harshly on your ass, loud and painful.

He always preferred the traditional way.

—“Count five of those for me.” And it’s the shame to be so easily dominated. Subdued not only to his but your own body, you crave him.

—”Fuck you.” You try to wriggle his grip out uselessly, tears already streaming down your cheeks, you are always so brave it plays against you.

You yelp when your hair is pulled by his thick fingers, your neck sting at the forced flexion, and he hovers down to the shell of your ear again, squeezing your body under his, that’s when you notice his hard bulge against your messed folds, he’s as bad as you.

—“You can’t help yourself, can you? Why don’t you count ten instead, it’ll help you ease.” He surprises you with another hard spank.

By the time he has 5, you are sweating, biting your lips so your neighbors don’t have to deal with the consequences of your bitchy behavior too.

—“Ten.” You count anticipating the rough slap, but nothing comes, you look back timidly over your shoulder. He feels his cock twitch at your helpless face. Wet and colored cheeks, those eyes, god, you look like you haven’t been the most prolific brat for the past eight hours, almost like he is punishing you for your mere existence.

Tender strokes covers your manhandled cheek.

—“I think we can leave it like that. It’s been enough for you.”

Oh no, you don’t want to stop, you desperately look for his hand and grab it, leading its travel all over the side of your torso to your tit, you coax a squeeze out of his hand pressing over it. Your eyes enough of a message, a silent plead. His own mind liquid with lust.

—“Such a needy girl.” Frank lowers his head to merge in a tender kiss, your whole body is throbbing, the wet sounds of the smooch traveling right down your clit. You swear he reads it through you cause his point and middle fingers came down to indulge you, everything feels impossibly hotter, if hell has a nice place, this should be it.

The kiss doesn’t stop, and when it does Frank is all over your face, painting it with wet kisses and sweet praises you know you don’t deserve. He keeps rubbing it slowly until he decides it’s enough not for you but him and takes off your sweatpants that, at this point, where further down your shins.

He unbuttoned his pants earlier, predicting the big bother they would turn out, it wasn’t very useful after all, he tugged down the elastic of his boxer along his jeans, you glance down his girth, the tip coated in a wet deep pink.

—“Open up for me baby, would you?” You nod eagerly but he does it for you, rising one of your legs up to his shoulder since you are on your side, he slides part of his forearm down your other knee, guiding it to rest around his hip.

His entrance not so complicated since your wet and slippery like that, the soft sting making you back up a little but he holds you steady, a palm anchored between the crease made of your abdomen and thigh, doesn’t waste his time, coating his thumb in your slick to circle on your swollen bud with the right pressure to make you squeal.

He recognizes when it’s too much for you, eyebrows scrunched and incoherent whimpers, even more now that you are bouncing so much by the force of every thrust he gives you.

He hits that spot over and over, it is so intense you feel the need to grasp onto something but there’s nothing to hold onto, you’re high, sweaty, head lulling until you fix on him, he’s concentrated, grunting over the way you make him feel, burying his fingers in the soft of your skin, and he’s drunk, glaring at you though hooded eyes, god, you’re close, you feel it like a effervescent pill, pushing its bubbles to the surface.

You’re are good at recognize when it’s to much for him too, the disorganized rubs over your clit make you clench on him repeatedly, you would laugh at his efforts to hold together if you weren’t so down bad yourself. His red cheeks, his red chest too, that vein he has on the left of his neck which seemed even more noticeable when was close.

—“Coating me so freaking good baby just keep it like that.” It came out hushed, and you don’t really know if it was the surprise or the shame at his words that shoved you straight into a catastrophic fall beyond the border, but you came, and you came hard, like an implosion, constricted inside of you, throat wrapped on itself.

He did the same, the pulses of your walls swallowed him, and let’s be honest, there was no more bearing left inside of him. His last thrusts came along with loud pants, leaving all his seed in your insides.

Soft strokes of his thumb on your belly were the stimuli which dragged you out of the cloud nine bliss. His head resting near the creek of your neck, his warm breaths over your skin sweet-talking you to doze off.

Your hand found a nice place on his head to scratch, his hair not long enough to tangle but to hide your fingers.

—“Hey, message from earth to the space, are you alright? Do you copy?” Following that, you feel the low rumble of his chest, at least he wasn’t that ‘mad’.

—“Yeah, i’m near the moon now, over.” A chaste kiss is left on your cheek as he raises himself from you. You blush.

—“Agh Frank, that was so corny.” You fake annoyance, the little pull of the corners of your mouth sells you out.

He disappears into the darkness of your hallway. You take the break to get up from the rigid marble table, realizing how much you needed that. After a satisfying stretch, you take your panties off the floor putting them back on you, and serve two glasses of water.

As you engulf your own, you hear him come back stepping more than needed in your leaving room, he drinks the glass you left for him and you turn around to see. You know you shouldn’t feel puzzled by it but you really thought he would stay the night.

Jacket on and his disheveled hair gone, you find yourself astonished by the way the rough angles of his face seemed to soften in such private moments, specially now that his features casted drastic shadows, evoked the looks of a skull, so severe, so stern, is like nothing happened.

You lay your back on the chilly plastic of your fridge, glass is still in hand.

—“Hey, you know you don’t need to leave? It’s pretty late and cold outside, i know you give a fuck about risky so i’m im not bringing that up.” You taunt him, he’s flipping through those goddamn papers again. Finally, he finds what he was searching for. He folds them and buries them in his pocket.

—“Work needs to be done.” And he’s using that cold edge to his voice. It shrinks your heart, but it doesn’t matter, what you feel, it doesn’t.

—“Yeah, whatever,” you do a brief pause, noticing the fidgeting of his fingers, he’s always anxious, despite knowing each other for so long, you can’t entirely read him the way you’d like.

—“I’ll close the door for you.”

—“I have keys y-”

—“Yes Frank i know you do, i gave ‘em to you, c’mon.” You walk down the main door again, the breeze of the night wrapping your bare legs which he is covering with his frame.

—“Take care Frank, i don’t want to stitch your ass together for the hundredth time.” It is a constant struggle, every time he goes away you live it as if it were the last time, it could be both death or the bitter realization that perhaps you weren’t as useful to him, not as relevant as you think you are, both reasons could take him away from you, although you never had him in first place.

You meet his eyes, he was already looking at you, he is pondering something, gears turning in that head of his.

—“Don’t worry about that,” Suddenly he wraps an arm around your waist, hugging you close enough to peck you on the forehead.

—“Y’know you ain’t needa worry ‘bout me.” He caresses the small of your back, you wish he was easier to convince, at this point, and with a lot of persuasion, he’d be happily sleeping on your bed.

You find yourself hugging him tighter, inhaling the scent of his clothes until you let go, your eyes shimmer with something raw, a fresh cut of your vulnerability, he’s aware, he kisses you on the lips, useless like a band-aid on a broken bone. There is no more he can do, regardless. Once you close the door, you are left with the frigid air lingering in your living room.

It’s not that late for a few tears and a couple of wine glasses.

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - r.c (+18) - two

pairing: maybank!reader x rafe WARNINGS: violence word count: 6k...

masterlist

Neither of you ever mentioned that night again, as if it had never happened. It couldn't have happened; it must have been a figment of your overactive imagination and lack of human touch.

There was no way in hell you would have let Rafe Cameron have you on top of a dining table, living up to the derogatory "dirty pogue" nickname. You were better than that.

Despite that...you found it impossible to look at him after that, in fact, facing yourself in the mirror became a challenge, so much so that you refused his help in tending to your wound.

Self-sufficiency had long been your norm.

Growing up with Luke meant mastering the art of tending to your bruises from a young age. 

Initially, there was clearly tension between you and Rafe.

Every time your paths crossed, it dragged you back to that regretful moment—the feeling of his hands, the memory of him inside you—but there were bigger things at stake, and so, you pushed the nagging feelings aside, focusing on one thing only: getting out.

You and Rafe didn’t mix, oil and water, two stubborn bastards with heavy emotional baggage. Sometimes it was tricky to work together, but other days, it flowed so easily it confused you.

In the time that followed, you both worked tirelessly to plan your getaway, meticulously plotting every detail to ensure success and not another round of bullets.

Your job was to sit around and act innocent, while Rafe had to ensure you had a way out and enough money to pay someone off. Avoiding Ward was easy enough since he spent most of his time in Guadalupe.

Rafe scoffed; his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed the small, weather-beaten boat skeptically. "I'm not getting into that piece of shit. No fucking way," he declared, voice dripping with disdain.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the frustration in your chest.

He was so fucking insufferable. 

"You've got a better suggestion?"

He shot you a glare, but you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes caught the shimmer of the clear night sky.

"I do," he retorted, gesturing towards a sleek motorboat moored nearby. "That one looks like it might get us somewhere without sinking halfway."

You followed his gaze, your entire face scrunching up as you took in the sight of the motorboat. It was certainly more modern and well-maintained than the rusty old dinghy you had been eyeing, but something about it made you uneasy.

"That's a bad idea," you hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip nervously. "It seems a bit...too much. We don't want to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves."

Rafe rolled his eyes, "C'mon,” he scoffed, "This isn't the time to be playing it safe. We need to get out of here, and that boat is our best chance."

You bit your lip, torn between your instincts and Rafe's seemingly reckless impulsiveness. On one hand, you didn't want to take any unnecessary risks, but on the other hand, you knew that time was running out and you needed to act fast. Ward was coming back to the island soon enough and if he dragged Rafe away with him…you were a lost cause.

There was no third chance. 

“What about the guards?” your voice dropped to a whisper as you glanced around nervously. The last thing you needed was someone overhearing your plans.

“I’ve got it covered,” Your skepticism must have shown on your face because he stepped closer, lowering his voice, “Look, I know you don’t trust me, but I'm not letting us get caught. I’ve been dealing with Ward’s security my whole life. I know how to slip past them.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Fine. But if this goes south, it’s on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, isn’t it always?” he replied, dismissively waving a hand, “Just try not to get shot this time.”

"You think you're so fucking funny, don't you?"

"Keep your voice down."

The sleek motorboat gleamed in the fading light, its potential for escape glinting like a promise of freedom. As night fell, you both finally moved with practiced stealth and with a reluctant nod, you followed him towards the sleek motorboat.

The docks were eerily quiet, save for the gentle lapping of the waves against the hulls of the boats. Your heart pounded in your chest as you kept a lookout for any sign of the guards.

Rafe moved with the confidence that you envied, quickly untying the boat and preparing it for departure. You glanced around nervously, half-expecting to hear the shout of a guard at any moment. Every shadow seemed like a threat, every noise a potential alarm.

“Hurry up,” you hissed, glancing over your shoulder.

“Calm the fuck down,” Rafe muttered, though he did quicken his pace. “We’re almost ready.”

Your anxiety spiked. This was it. No turning back.

Rafe started the engine, the low rumble sounding like a roar in the silent night. You winced, half-expecting the noise to draw attention since it was louder than you expected. 

But luck seemed to be on your side.

“C’mon,” He whispered, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of trouble, “Get in.”

You climbed aboard, your hands shaking as you settled into the seat. 

“Go!” you urged, glancing back at the docks nervously.

Rafe didn’t need to be told twice.

The boat lurched forward, cutting through the water with surprising speed. As the island receded into the distance, you felt a little hope.

For the first time in months, freedom was within your reach. He guided the boat out of the harbor and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

“See? Told you it’d be fine,” Rafe said, a hint of smugness in his voice.

“Just keep your eyes on the water,” you retorted, refusing to give him the satisfaction of being right.

He adjusted the throttle, the boat picking up speed.

"Relax, Maybank. Enjoy the ride."

You shot him a withering look, gripping the edge of your seat. "Just focus on getting us out of here in one piece.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "You think I don't know what I'm doing?"

"Frankly, I don’t care what you think you know. Just keep us moving.”

Rafe's hands tightened on the wheel, but he said nothing.

The silence between you was a common thing. The coastline was a distant memory now, the open water vast and foreboding as uou kept scanning the horizon.

"You're acting like we're about to get ambushed by pirates," Rafe finally said, his tone lighter but still edged with that typical irritation.

"Better safe than sorry," you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Always so paranoid. That's what gets you in trouble."

You whipped your head around to glare at him.

“No, your family got me in trouble. In case you’ve forgotten.”

His face hardened, “Huh, right. ‘Cause your friends are such fucking saints.”

“At least they’re not murder—”You cut yourself off before you said it, but the damage was done anyways. Rafe's jaw tightened, the muscle there twitching again as he grounded his teeth, lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't respond verbally, but the anger you could feel radiating from him was answer enough to you.

He turned his attention back to the horizon, his grip on the wheel tightening until his knuckles were white. The boat's engine roared louder as he increased the speed, the vessel slicing through the water.

The waves splashed higher, and the night air became colder, but Rafe didn't seem to notice. His focus was absolute. Yeah, he was pissed. What could you possibly say? Apologize?

There was no way in hell you were apologizing to him.

Not after everything his father had put you through. If anyone owed an apology, it was him. But you knew you'd see the world end before Rafe Cameron ever uttered those words.

It was infuriating. There he was taking a step forward, leaving his loyalty to Ward behind yet refusing to show remorse if not between four walls with you.

Never out in the open, never too loud.

You sat in silence, each lost in your thoughts, the past not letting you calm down the way you really wanted to. It was done.

And although you wished things had been differently, they weren’t. 

Despite the chill in the air, sweat prickled at the back of your neck, tension coiling in your muscles. The night stretched on, it was never ending, you hated every minute of it. After what felt like an eternity, light appeared on the horizon, signaling the approach of dawn.

You breathed a sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

The worst was over, for now at least.

Rafe glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, “We’re almost there. Keep an eye out for any patrol boats,."

He was all focus still, that calculating side that had always unnerved you. 

You nodded, scanning the waters diligently.

The further you went, the more the reality of your situation sank in. You were out there, in the middle of nowhere, relying on a Cameron to get you to safety. The irony was almost laughable.

“Where are we heading?" you asked, voice softer, dulled by the exhaustion.

"We'll head south, find somewhere to lay low for a while. I've got contacts who owe me favors."

“Uh? We’re not going back to The Outer Banks?”

He shook his head, attention fixed on the horizon. “No. Not unless you wanna get killed.”

The Outer Banks, once your home, now felt like a trap waiting to snap shut. You should’ve figured Ward would send someone after you the minute he figured you were gone. A loose end.

Shills ran down your body as you remembered your close encounter with death. 

"Your contacts won’t sell us out?"

He smirked, though there was no humor in it. "They know better than to cross me. Criminal, remember?”

You sighed, ready to jump into the water if it meant a little space from the unbearable atmosphere. Despite everything, you couldn't ignore the nagging guilt from what you��d almost said before.

“You know what I meant.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Listen,” you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words. He glanced at you, his expression guarded, but you continued, “I don’t care, okay? Not right now. What matters is that you’re here, not with him.”

Rafe's face softened slightly as he looked away, jaw working as if he were chewing over something in his mind. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more subdued than before. “If you say so.”

As you drew nearer to the shore, details of the island began to come into focus. Lush greenery blanketed the landscape, punctuated by towering palm trees swaying gently in the breeze. It was oddly like the place you’d been stuck in for months, but this time, there was no sense of dread in you.

The boat slowed as Rafe expertly maneuvered it into a small cove, sheltered from prying threats by rocky outcrops and overhanging foliage.

With a soft thud, the vessel came to a stop, the engine sputtering into silence. Once he was done, he stepped onto the water, knees deep as the sandy shore still lay a little ahead.  

You blinked in confusion as he turned to you, his arms open wide in a gesture that left you momentarily perplexed. The water lapped gently against the sides of the boat, its surface reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun.

"What are you doing?" your brow furrowed in bemusement as you eyed his outstretched arms.

“Helping you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his simple gesture of assistance. It took a moment for you to understand he was indeed trying to help, a faint blush tinged your cheeks at your slowness.

In all fairness, you weren’t used to this side of Rafe. You’d only seen it a few times and it was…something else entirely.

“Right.”

As Rafe's hand brushed against your waist while helping you out of the boat, your skin prickled in goosebumps. Traitor.

You quickly brushed off the sensation, chalking it up to nerves from the situation. With a grateful nod, you stepped onto the sandy shore, feeling the warm grains shift beneath your feet.

The island stretched out before you, its landscape dotted with lush vegetation and towering trees, it was larger than you had expected, much bigger than Ward’s private hell.

"We should find a place to sleep,” you said, turning to Rafe as you scanned the horizon for any signs of civilization.

He nodded in agreement, his gaze following yours as he surveyed the landscape. "Let's head towards the center of the island. There should be some motels.”

With a shared nod, you set off along the sandy shore, the waves crashing against the beach providing a rhythmic backdrop to your footsteps.

As you walked, the hairs on the back of your neck prickled, you blamed it on the paranoia that had become like second nature to you over the past year. After a while, you noticed a winding path leading into the dense foliage of the island's interior. Without a word, you and Rafe followed it, venturing deeper into the heart of the island.

The sounds of civilization faded, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds. 

Finally, after what felt like hours of walking, you emerged into a clearing. Before you stood a beat up motel, its faded paint and weather-beaten facade blending seamlessly into the surrounding landscape.

"This should do," you nodded towards the building, "I guess."

“Yeah. Good for a night or two, my contact won’t be here till then.”

As you entered the motel lobby, the air was thick with the scent of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener, things you were more than used to.

Rafe followed closely behind you as he glanced around the room. You approached the front desk, where a bored-looking clerk sat slouched behind the counter, flipping through a magazine with half-hearted interest.

"Hi there," Rafe said, flashing a charming smile as he leaned casually against the counter. "My wife and I are looking for a room for the night."

His what?

Your eyes widened in surprise, but you quickly hid your reaction, playing along with his impromptu act. It was obvious it wasn't the first time Rafe had pulled a stunt like this, and you had to admit, he had a talent for getting what he wanted.

To pretend and lie his way out.

The clerk glanced up from his magazine, peeking over the two of you with mild curiosity. "Sure thing," His tone was disinterested. "How many nights?"

"One for now," Rafe replied smoothly, reaching into his pocket to produce a wad of cash that you hadn't even realized he had. It was a substantial amount, more than enough to cover the cost of survival for at least two weeks. 

The clerk took the cash without comment, handing Rafe a key with a grunt of acknowledgment.

"Room 203," he said, gesturing towards a staircase in the corner of the lobby. "Upstairs, second door on the left."

"Thanks," Rafe said, pocketing the key with a nod of gratitude. He turned to you. "Let’s go, baby.”

Baby?

He must've been out of his goddamn mind. 

His hand found yours, rough fingers intertwining with yours in a gesture that felt oddly intimate. You glanced at him, confused, but he simply squeezed your hand reassuringly, focused on the hallway.

When you reached the door to room, he released your hand with a reluctant sigh. That always happened with him, there was always something new you couldn’t pinpoint, but eventually got used to. The charming, panty-dropping posture was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual demeanor as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing a modest but comfortable-looking room.

“After you.”

You swallowed your surprise at his manners and stepped into the room, grateful for the relative privacy it offered. Rafe followed close behind, closing the door behind him with a soft click. It was sparsely furnished, with a queen-sized bed dominating the space and a small television mounted on the wall opposite. A worn armchair sat in the corner, and a narrow window offered a glimpse of the night sky outside.

"It’s a fucking dump, but it'll do for now."

Speak for yourself. It looked better than your house.

You sank onto the edge of the bed, resting the mattress. “Nicer than my room back home.”

“Really?”

"Don't act so surprised. We're not exactly living in luxury over there."

You could see the realization click on Rafe's face as if he’d forgotten your background, “Didn’t think it was that bad for you.”

"Yeah, well, appearances can be deceiving," you replied, "But let's save up the pity for later. I'm more interested in asking you why the fuck you got one room with one bed."

“I can sleep on the floor, relax.”

You shot him a skeptical look, eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"Seriously? You'd actually sleep on the floor?"

He shrugged, "It's not like I haven't slept in worse places."

You didn’t want to delve into that. Instead, you only stared at him for a moment, searching for any hint of insincerity in his expression. To your surprise, you found none.

Moments like these reminded you that he was human, and you hated it.

“Okay.”

With a weary sigh, you rose from the bed and began to remove your shoes, the events of the day finally catching up with you. Exhaustion settled into your bones, dragging you down like an unbearable weight.

Rafe watched you for a moment before turning away to rummage through spare sheets and pillows, preparing a makeshift bed. There was no time to change clothes; you had left the little you had behind.

As you slipped beneath the covers and closed your eyes, you couldn't ignore the possibility that this was only the calm before the storm.

It felt too easy.

You heard the rustle of sheets as he settled onto the floor, making himself as comfortable as possible, “Don’t fucking snore, Cameron.”

He chuckled softly, the rare sound carrying through the darkness of the room. "Wouldn't dream of it, Maybank.”

Hours later, you woke suddenly, your heart pounding in your chest, the remnants of a nightmare still clinging to the edges of your consciousness.

For a moment, you lay there in the darkness, disoriented and trying to make sense of your surroundings. Then, you heard it—a low, murmured voice coming from the other side of the room. Turning towards the source of the sound, you saw Rafe lying on the makeshift bed on the floor, his face twisted in a grimace of pain. 

He was tossing and turning restlessly, his brow furrowed as he muttered incomprehensible words under his breath. The sight of him trapped in a nightmare weirdly stirred something protective within you. Despite everything, you didn’t like to see him in pain.

It felt so familiar, and for a second you were back home, in your room, rocking yourself back and forth after waking up in hysterical screams.

Moving quietly, you slipped out of bed and crossed the room to kneel beside him. Gently, you reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a shake.

"Rafe," you whispered trying to rouse him from his slumber. "Hey, wake up."

In the next second, you were gasping for breath as Rafe's hands closed around your throat in a vice-like grip. Shock and fear nearly knocked you out instantly but your body started to fight against his hold as you struggled to break free.

Muscle memory and all.

"R-Rafe!" you gasped, your voice coming out strangled as you clawed at his hands, desperate for him to let go. He was so lost in the nightmare, his grip unyielding as he continued to squeeze, his eyes wide and unseeing.

Panic took over you as your vision started to blur around the edges, darkness creeping into while your lungs burned for air. Frantically, you tried to call out to him again, to wake him from whatever hellish nightmare held him in its grasp, but your voice was little more than a choked rasp.

“Rafe!"

Then, as suddenly as it began, the pressure around your throat disappeared, leaving you gasping and wheezing for breath as you collapsed against the bed.

Blinking away the tears that pricked at your eyes, you looked up to see him kneeling beside you, his hands shaking as he stared at you with wide, horrified eyes.

"Fuck, fuck," he whispered, his voice trembling, "Shit, shit. I didn't mean to—I didn't know—"

His words were choked off by a strangled sob as he buried his face in his hands, his entire body shaking with the force of it.

It was a startling thing to witness, seeing the usually composed and confident Rafe Cameron reduced to this. But then, instinct kicked in again,and you reached out to him, wrapping your arms around him.

He practically dragged you into his lap, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other tangled in your hair. He only shook his head, his sobs growing louder as he buried his face where your neck and shoulder met, his entire body wracked with tremors. All you could do was hold him close, offering whatever comfort you could.

Eventually, his sobs began to subside, his breathing evening out as he clung to you.

You held him close, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head, “Better?”

Rafe nodded against your shoulder; his breathing still ragged but gradually steadying.

"Yeah," he murmured, "Yeah, I think so."

You remained silent, holding him close as he slowly calmed down. His body against yours was oddly comforting. He pulled away slightly, his eyes red-rimmed but clear as he looked up at you.

"I didn't mean to hurt—”

You reached out and brushed a stray lock of his dark blonde hair from his sweaty forehead.

“I know," you whispered. “It was just a nightmare. I have them too.”

You didn’t know why you offered him that solace.

"You do?"

You nodded, though you knew he couldn't see it in the dim light. 

"Yeah," you admitted, "They’re pretty bad too.”

There was a brief pause, filled only with the sound of your quiet breathing and the distant hum of the night outside.

Then, Rafe spoke again, "What do you dream about?"

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. But something in Rafe's earnest expression told you to be honest, to let down your guard just this once,

“Luke. You?”

Rafe's immediate reaction was defensive, hands pulling away from your body, “Doesn't matter."

You felt stupid for asking him such a personal thing.

He wasn't like you.

“Do you want to sleep in bed with me? It might be better than the floor."

"I'm fine on the floor. Don't worry about me."

With a sigh, you reached out and grasped his arm, turning him to face you again, "Rafe," you said, voice borderline pleading, “Just sleep on the bed. Okay?"

He hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and the bed, but with a reluctant sigh, he nodded. 

"Okay, okay. Fine."

With that, he rose from the floor and cautiously joined you. You shifted slightly to make room for him, and as he settled beside you.

“Don’t snore.”

“Not more than you do.”

The rest of the night passed with fitful sleep and restless dreams and when morning finally came, you awoke to find he was already gone, his side of the bed cold, no traces of his presence, and a messy scribbled note left behind on the bedside table.

"Picking up food and clothes. Don't open the door."

You felt relieved that he hadn't disappeared without a word and was instead putting in the effort to rely on you.

Deep down, you knew he had left as soon as he woke up, sprinting out of the room to avoid waking you and having any awkward confrontations about last night.

It was going to be a long day, especially if he was determined to hide his emotions.

You knew the old, bad Rafe Cameron would make a reappearance.

You got up from the bed and stretched, realizing you needed a shower. You stank. It had been two days since you had washed yourself properly, and the thought of having gone to sleep in such a state made you want to hurl. You’d have to ask for another set of fresh sheets.

As you stepped into the bathroom, the warm water cascading over your skin felt like a dream, washing away the previous night. The steam filled the small space, enveloping you as you took your time, allowing the water to ease the knots of stress from your muscles.

You focused on washing away the dirt and grime, letting the familiar routine ground you. Yet, even as you lathered soap onto your skin, your mind couldn't help but drift back to Rafe, to the way he had clung to you in the darkness.

It had been another reminder that despite his tough exterior, he was just as human as any of you, with fears and insecurities that ran deep.

It terrified you, because up until last month Rafe Cameron was not capable of emotions to you, only violence. 

You stepped out of the shower, the steam still lingering in the air, with a towel wrapped snugly around your body as you stepped back into the main room of the motel, feeling refreshed.

“Huh, good morning to you too.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, “Fuck!”

Rafe stood there, leaning against the doorway, something similar to a playful smirk at the corners of his lips as he watched your startled reaction. His arms were laden with bags of groceries and a few articles of clothing.

"Didn't mean to scare you. Just wanted to make sure you were alive in there."

You stared at him incredulously, “Turn around!”

He scoffed, walking into the room as he closed the door with his foot, “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

He said it so casually, it irked you.

As if you two hadn’t been purposely ignoring that night ever happened. You shot him a glare, snatching a towel from the nearby chair and aiming at his face, full force.

"That's not the point, Cameron," you grumbled, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment, “And you didn’t see shit. I was dressed.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, catching the towel with ease before tossing it back to you "What's the matter, Maybank? You shy all of a sudden?"

“Will you shut up?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening as he leaned against the nearest wall.

There was no point in getting into a pointless argument with him, especially not when you had more important things to worry about.

Instead, you focused on drying yourself off and getting dressed in the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you. When you emerged again, fully dressed and composed, Rafe had already begun unpacking the bags of groceries, laying out an assortment of food on the small table in the corner of the room.

The sight of the makeshift spread made your stomach growl in anticipation, reminding you just how long it had been since your last meal.

“Hungry?” Rafe asked, glancing up from where he was arranging the food.

You nodded eagerly, making your way over to the table and helping yourself to a plate of fruit and plain toast.

As you ate, Rafe filled you in on his plans for the day. 

It was strange, hearing him talk so casually, without insults, without fear, or threats. For so long, you had seen him as nothing more than a spoiled, entitled rich kid, content to go through life on his family’s wealth and influence. But ever since that night, you couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of respect for him.

He wasn’t Ward.

When he finished speaking, you glanced up from your plate, “Sounds like a plan. Is your contact here, yet?”

“Nah, only tomorrow.”

“Great. So, we’re on our own for now?”

“Yeah, you and me, Pretty Maybank.”

"Hey," you began as you tried to sound casual, "Why do you call me 'Pretty Maybank'? Is there a story behind it?"

Rafe's gaze flicked up from where he was picking at his food. He seemed taken aback by your question as if he hadn't expected you to bring it up.

He shrugged, "I don't know. Just seemed fitting, I guess."

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, "Fitting? How so?"

Rafe hesitated, elbows dropping to the table as he searched for the right words. "I don't know," he repeated, his voice softer this time. "You just...are pretty, Maybank, everyone knows that.”

You felt like there was more to the story.

“Oh.”

He leaned back, now sat in the old chair, “Might start calling you snoring Maybank though.”

Your lips twitched, “You’re not funny. At all.”

“Sure.”

You tilted your head, studying him intently. He looked like a completely different person from last night, “Do you feel any better?” 

“About what?” He feigned innocence, avoiding your gaze, as his fingers started tapping nervously on the table.

You knew what that meant. 

You leaned forward as you reached out to touch his hand gently. “Uh—Y'know, last night, your nightmare.”

“Don’t,” Rafe's abrupt change in demeanor catched you off guard, his walls shooting up in an instant, his tone laced with defensiveness.

You straightened up as you withdrew your hand, a wall of your own rising to match his. 

"It’s not important," he snapped,"Just drop it, okay?"

You recoiled at his harsh tone, the way he spoke down at you making you want to slap him across the room. It was clear that he wasn’t in the mood to talk about whatever demons haunted him in the night, and you knew better than to push him when he was like this.

But you were feeling inspired.

“Why do you always do that?” You needed some sense of security around him, and every single time you were close to getting it, he backed out.

He stood up straight, rolled his shoulders back, and narrowed his eyes at you “Not doing anything.”

"You always shut me out," You continued, words coming out in a rush as you struggled to articulate your feelings. "Every time. You say a few words, and then bamb, gone. We’re not friends, that’s fine. But I need to know you’re someone I can rely on, okay? You can’t be doing this. One moment you’re all trusting and the other…I don’t even know what the fuck you are. You can say no nicely, you don’t need to act like a dick.”

Rafe's jaw clenched, his expression turning steely.

"I don’t want to be your fucking friend, Maybank," he retorted,"I'm protecting myself. And if you can't handle that, then maybe you're the one who needs to reevaluate things."

You felt the color drain from your face.

"Protecting yourself?" you shot back, your voice rising with each word. "From what, exactly? Me?"

He didn’t move, didn’t so much as toss a glance your way as he responded, “Keep your voice down.”

You shook your head, standing up from your seat. He'd said the same exact thing before you got on the boat and you were tired of being pushed aside like a toy.

“No, I fucking won’t. You’re the one who punched me on that ship, your guards were the ones who shot me, your father is the one who wants me dead,” your lips quirked in a small, humorless smile, “And you want to talk about protecting yourself?”

Rafe felt himself flinch, noting how his brows seemed to furrow ever-so-slightly. There was a feeling in your stomach that you couldn’t make out yet, but it was heavy and made you antsy.

"You think I don't know that?" he growled, “You act like I don't carry that guilt with me every single day."

His words caught you off guard, the emotion in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. Rafe ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched into every line of his face.

"You have no idea what it's like. To carry that weight, to know that everything you touch turns to shit.” His voice was probing, his eyes scanning your face with a scrutiny that made you want to run out the door.  “And you—Shit, you’re just searching for some confirmation that I am as horrible as everyone’s made me out to be. Newsflash, I am."

You let out a groan, the sound scraping against your throat. "I’m trying to help you! Are you stupid? Oh my god.”

"I don't need your help!" he snapped, standing taller than you, "I don't need anyone's help. I've been doing just fine on my own."

You stepped closer to him, pushing against his chest with your finger, "Fine? Is that what you call it? Living on the run, constantly looking over your shoulder, never knowing who you can trust? That's not fine, Rafe. That's not living."

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly.

“I don’t know how to live. I know how to serve, that’s it.” His grip on your wrist tightened as if he was trying to anchor himself, "I just...I can't."

Can't trust you, you think that's what he wanted to say.

“Right,” You swallowed, finding the carpet of the room suddenly all too interesting, “Good enough to fuck, not to trust.”

His grip loosened slightly, his hand falling away from your wrist as if burned, “I never said that.”

“You don’t have to. Dirty pogue, remember?”

His breathing mirrored your own, both erratic, leaning in closer, breath hot against your skin as his nose brushed against yours.

“You think I’d risk my life for you if I believed that?”

“I don’t know. Would you?”

“You have no idea," he breathed, “Do you?”

"I don't understand you."

"Neither do I."

Without another word, he closed the distance between you in a single fluid motion. His hands found their way to your face, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. His touch seemed to tingle between tenderness and roughness, as if he was unable to choose between cherishing the moment and giving in to his desires completely.

You melted into him, your body responding instinctively to his touch, it felt different from the first time you kissed. Less violent, less primal, more…intimate. As if trying to convey everything he had been keeping bottled up inside, and you welcomed it. 

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“You can’t keep kissing me to avoid questions.”

"I know," he murmured, "It's just easier than talking."

You sighed, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly.

"It's wrong."

He closed his eyes, his breath hitching slightly at your words. For a moment, you thought he might pull away again, and retreat into his shell, but then, to your surprise, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light peck.

"I know," he murmured against your lips,"But for now, can we just...be?"

You nodded, "For now, we can just...be."

Neither of you knew what you were doing nor the consequences to come. 

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Military Science Fiction

Military science fiction - a subgenre that combines science fiction with military elements.

Also known as sci-fi, science fiction is a genre of speculative fiction that contains imagined elements that don’t exist in the real world.

Science fiction spans a wide range of themes that often explore time travel, space travel, are set in the future, and deal with the consequences of technological and scientific advances.

Military sci-fi novels deal with subjects like space warfare and futuristic weaponry. These books may also explore how war and technology affect human or alien characters.

Characteristics of Military Science Fiction

Novels in this subgenre will often include one or more of these common military sci-fi tropes.

Advanced weaponry and warfare: Military sci-fi often includes detailed descriptions of futuristic weapons. World-building may include discussions of new types of spaceships and ammo for futuristic machine guns. Aside from technology, there may be unique military organizations or world-specific fighting strategies.

Epic battles: In many military sci-fi stories, the climax is a large and exciting battle. These fights can occur on land or in space and pit humans against aliens.

Philosophical discussions of war: Military science fiction can bring up philosophical and ethical issues, like war’s impact on civilians and warriors. Authors may even use sci-fi to critique real-life military operations.

Tips on Writing Military Science Fiction

Writing a great military science-fiction novel can be a long, challenging process. As with any novel, you’ll want to construct a satisfying plot, develop interesting characters, and write polished, vivid prose. That said, writing military science fiction requires many unique considerations. Here are some tips for creating a memorable military science-fiction novel:

Broach complex ideas. A good military science-fiction story depends on a great conceit. Before writing your first book, have some sense of the question your novel is asking. This question can be implicit or explicit in military sci-fi, and many novels make these questions obvious. For example, Ender’s Game asks the question: What if humanity’s survival during an alien invasion depended on highly intelligent children?

Tell a good story. While military science-fiction novels are often thought experiments, they should contain an interesting narrative story. Come up with an intriguing story that brings your questions to life. Ask yourself: What is the change that will occur over the course of your story, either in the world or in the life of the main character?

Create an interesting world. World-building is one of the most important parts of creating a compelling military sci-fi story. The intricately imagined details that make up your world should flow in some way from the idea at the heart of your story. In that way, the world you create in your military sci-fi novel also reveals something about your point of view on the real world. Even the most fantastically imagined story is still a reflection of real-world questions and problems.

Consistently obey the rules of your world. One of the qualities that set sci-fi novels apart from fantasy is that it still obeys consistent logic, no matter the strangeness of the world. For military sci-fi, this might involve rules about how advanced weapons and spaceships work. You may find yourself mapping out intergalactic government agencies and writing laws.

Focus on character development. You may get caught up building your world or focusing on your plot, but remember that well-developed characters are important, too. Your plot may hinge on a major battle, but make sure to create interesting conflicts for your characters.

Examples of Military Science Fiction

It can be helpful to read military science fiction to better understand what the genre has to offer. Consider some of these works by well-known science-fiction writers:

Starship Troopers by Robert A. Heinlein (1959): Heinlin wrote this novel in response to real-life nuclear arms policy. Set in the future, it touches on moral and philosophical questions an interstellar government faces.

Childe Cycle by Gordon R. Dickson (1960): This series chronicles the fracture of humanity into space. Dorsai “supersoldiers” attempt to reunite the human civilizations.

Star Wars by George Lucas (1976): Star Wars’s novelization actually predates the iconic film’s release by a few months. Ghostwriter Alan Dean Foster wrote the book based on Lucas’s space opera screenplay.

Battlestar Galactica by Glen A. Larson (1978): This franchise follows the last of humanity as they fight a war against a robot race.

Armor by John Steakley (1984): Armor’s soldiers use exoskeletons in a war against insect-like enemies in this bestseller.

Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card (1985): This novel follows young children with high intellect who help lead a war against an alien race.

Vorkosigan Saga by Lois McMaster Bujold (1986): This series of novels and short stories is set in a fictional universe of star systems called the wormhole Nexus.

On Basilisk Station by David Weber (1993): This novel follows a military school graduate named Honor Harrington, whose insubordination gets her exiled to Basilisk Station, a far-off station of smugglers and thieves.

A Hymn Before Battle by John Ringo (2000): This novel is about Earth’s preparation for an alien invasion.

Old Man's War by John Scalzi (2005): The Colonial Defense Force is a military organization with two goals. The first is to defend Earth from alien invasion; the second, to find new planets to colonize. This novel follows John Perry’s journey through the ranks.

The Lost Fleet by Jack Campbell (2006): This series is set one hundred years into an interstellar war between two warring factions of humans.

A Confederation of Valor by Tanya Huff (2006): These novels follow Sergeant Torin Kerr as she leads her team of space marines through missions across the galaxy.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[justheblueberry]

handbinding of A Study in Scarlette by kittebasu

There are people who want to live forever, and then there is Shinichi, who just wants to live a little longer than this.

this bind has been in my head since i first read the fic like, three years ago. i dreamed up so many ideas for it, for so long, and now it's finally done! the typeset was actually done in early 2022, back when i was still using google docs, but it went through a few iterations because i was just. so. fiddly. with every aspect of this book. it needed to be perfect (as close to perfect as i, an amateur bookbinder out of my depth, can get) and it had to be absolutely over the top, to reflect the insane amount of love and care that the author put into the fic itself.

the first time i read this fic, i barely knew what detective conan was, much less all of the intricate plot details; i was just along for the ride, but by the end i was completely invested. i went back and watched through the anime as well as a few movies (it took me six months) and then read the fic again. and then a few more times. kaishin and the world of dcmk has utterly gripped me. it's 100% this fic's fault and i love it so, so, much.

i went through a few iterations of visual designs and i'm really happy with the little details i managed to squeeze in.

the entire color scheme is based around red, because 1) it's a murder mystery, 2) for scarlette shinamoto (and the title of the fic as well as the original holmes novel it references), and 3) the irony of "lady red" actually being red. the secret fourth reason is that i think red/gold is a super sexy color combo.

i sewed the textblock with red thread to reference holmes' "scarlet thread of murder".

another detail i love is the five yen coin bookmark, it was one of my first ideas and it turned out even better than i thought.

i wanted the endpapers to evoke a sense of the white marbled floor of the ballroom, with the glow-in-the-dark kaitou kid caricature being the luminol on the floor, and the little pops of red looks like blood that's been mixed in. i lucked out in that the other side of the endpaper was like a lavender-purpley color, i like to think of it as a little wink wink nudge to the color of the actual Lady Red.

the chapter pages got a few reworkings, but i'm happy with the illustrations i ended up doing for each of them. the chapter titles are one of my favorite things about the fic, each one has so much meaning packed into it and flows so beautifully, and i wanted to put as much care into making them pop as possible.

the cover was a linocut carving i designed and carved, which i then printed onto the bookcloth, and ironed on htv on top.

i also threw in a couple of my drawings of my favorite scenes.

this is getting way too long, so i'll end it here. i'll have a separate post detailing the process every step of the way, if anyone wants to take a closer look. this fic is kind of directly responsible for getting me into fanbinding, so it's safe to say it altered the course of my life. i now spend way too much time (and money) looking at book stuff.

kittebasu, if, somehow, you see this and would like an author copy, i would be honored to make one and ship it to you; i would be overjoyed to gift you with any art i have the ability to make, because the fics you wrote have irreversibly altered my brain chemistry, and being able to give back in any capacity would be a dream. (thank you.)

a few postscripts:

i am not selling any copies of this fic. partially because i believe in the gift economy of fandom as well as firmly keeping fanbinding a hobby that will stay unmonetized, but also because it took me months (years, if we are counting when i first finished the typeset) to finish this and i do not have the strength.

however, if you are also a fan of this fic and would like a copy, i honestly, fervently, encourage you to give fanbinding a try! renegade publishing and its discord server are an absolutely wonderful and free resource. i knew nothing about bookbinding and had zero materials when i first started, but i've learned so much thanks to the lovely people there. if you're still apprehensive about getting started, i'd be willing to share my typeset of this fic as well as answer any questions about the making of this book if you DM me.

[tomomiisasleep]

notes on Harryanthe which I am crazy about, in HtN

this dumb little interaction just stuck with me. I mean they're almost always high-strung in the detailed plot, like in almost every one of the Ianthe-centered scenes one of them is in some kind of pain

but I know they have chill moments. mundane moments. petty arguments, like the one in the post scrips of the letter. And I so badly want to read those!!

anyways. I'm gonna start collecting scraps here.

you might have given Ianthe Tridentarius the pleasure of opening the note labelled Upon the death of Harrowhark Nonagesimus. Your only hope for that note was that it contained a single sentence along the lines of, Get what joy you can from my corpse, you devious bitch, but it was written by a previous self and you could not risk a guess.

Harrow: what if I didnt hate her and that makes me wanna have a lobotomy yeah that makes sense

Once, vilely, from Ianthe; she had ensconced you in fat and rolled you down the hallway out of danger, and still laughed whenever she thought about it.

ok this is just Ianthe being a little pest, but it also means that she talks about this and laughs in Harrow's face, which makes her a little bitch, but also like it means they often chat and Ianthe would be like: Yeah today I tried the theorem on apples again, but I tweaked it by directing the flow of thalergy from- hey Harry do u remember the time I saved your life hahahahahaha

The mockery you endured for needing her proximity was exquisitely painful, but humiliation was steadily becoming your existence whole and entire.

I want to know what exactly this mockery entails

It had been very nicely matched to the original until she had ceased using it altogether, and the difference was more pronounced each day. Unconscious of your critical eye, she scratched fretfully at the line until red hives appeared.

Ianthe squirming under Harrow's gaze for once

She was in a filthy mood, if she was wearing that thing, with her arm exposed.

Harrow has been keeping tabs on the state of her arm problem ever since she first woke up on the Erobos. Same as how Ianthe has been keeping tabs on the results of her lobotomy.

she said, blue eyed, those oily little freckles glittering almost pinkly above the dress. They reflected the red rims of her eyelids. You thought that she had been crying.

yeah stare at her eyelids Harrow, and sniff her discreetly all the time, sweat musk vetiver am I right (also have I expressed how crazy it drives me that she wears masculine perfume??????????? no well IT'S SO *faints*

You got better autopsies of her encounters with Beasts than you did from your own, as Augustine was wont to explain significantly more to her than either he or Mercy did to you.

Ugh why why why in this whole book I have not seen them talk shop with each other even once??? Except Harrow showing off after making the arm. Harrow has discussions with Pal all the time in GtN. clearly she trades notes on necromancy with Ianthe frequently. but no, gloss over Ianthe's intellect and just write her freak(fond) moments

You had once been fool enough to recommend that Ianthe take them down, at which point she had rustled up another from the bathroom and hung it in pride of place above an overpainted dresser.

love her

“Oh, heaps,” said Ianthe, who appeared not to have taken offence at your rejection. It was so impossible to tell, with Ianthe. “I made it. It’s vile.”

Maybe she really doesn't care about the rejection or even likes it, but "so impossible to tell" kinda hints that, well she might be hurt,maybe, there just isn't any proof

It was not a connection formed of any mutual admiration; if anything, the more you saw of Ianthe the less likely you were to mistake her for likeable. She made herself like an overdecorated cake: covered so thickly in icing and fondants and gums that it would take serious excavation to find any bread. As a necromancer she was a genius, though you thought she relied too much on shortcuts and circumventions. She had an exceptionally fine mind. She was not afraid of rigour.

If Harrow doesn't have the hots for her at least I do.

Honestly on my first read I took stuff like "not likeable" and "“Tell me to stop breathing,” she said. (“I have, on multiple occasions,” you said.)" at face value and actually thought Harrow genuinely hates her and is forced to interact with her because there's no one else. Which is true. But she's also very attracted to her and I kinda overlooked it at because I thought those feelings were mutually exclusive. And they're not. which I'm obsessed with.

Or she won't think Ianthe's beautiful and note details about how she dresses all the time.

Seriously Harrow's special fixation on "how Ianthe's clothes make her look" is hard to ignore.

for example:

The mother-of-pearl made Ianthe’s hair a lurid yellow and threw up all the mustard tints of her skin; her face was blotchy, and her eyes were sleepless pits. She looked like shit.

The skirts and waists were all beautifully cut for someone of a different height and body type than Ianthe possessed. They were tight where they should have been loose and loose where they should have been tight. They looked like her burial clothes, and she looked as though she had emerged fifty years after that burial.

she answered after a long, scuffling minute, with sleep in her eyes and her hair in dilute whey tangles over her neck and shoulders, wearing a bewildering short garment of violet chiffon.

The back was open, and you could see the fine dents of her spine—her bleached skin bluer and sweeter against the pallid gossamer—and the twin blades of her shoulder blades looked strangely nude and vulnerable to you.

Ianthe was training in her nightgown—a grisly floor-length concoction of pale golden lace that made her long, limber body look like a green-veined mummy

a lone wax figure in pale purple chiffon, tall and colourless—except in the greasy metal of her bone arm, which the lights rendered all the colours of the rainbow.

Ianthe rose soundlessly to her feet, and the long skirts of her nightgown—a brilliant ruffled canary-yellow silk that made her look like a formal lemon—rustled restively around her calves.

Note that Harrow focuses on Ianthe's clothes for how they shape Ianthe's appearance. in contrast:

she ignored your sister, whose pallid eyebrows had shot up so fast and so far that they were in danger of breaking the atmosphere. Mercymorn wore a long slip of peach-coloured silk, and her white Canaanite robe was tucked over her forearms and had slipped entirely off her slender, aggrieved shoulders. She had scraped her hair into a merciless and shining coil at the back of her head, and she had no eyes for either of you.

Obviously Mercy is SUPER HOT here, if Ianthe's reaction means anything. But Harrow only describes her clothing and not how she looks. Same with Augustine's party outfit.

With Ianthe, it's always: she's wearing ..., which makes her look gross. And I did not understand at first but now I know and feel stongly that Harrow is totally into her gross-hotness. well at least I am. the grosser she's described the hotter she is.

[dailyadventureprompts]

DM Tip: Creating a Campaign Skeleton

Learning to be a better dungeonmaster was a protracted process. A younger me was often so stressed out by the desire to be a better artist that I'd have legitimately mauled a person if it would've revealed to me the wisdom I sought (with my hands or even an actual maul given the chance).

One of my biggest hurdles was the idea of a universal framework for d&d adventures, a guideline that would tell me if the things I was creating were on the right track. It was sorely needed, I loved the process of being creative but without an understanding of how my creative energy was best used I ended up sinking days, weeks, or even months worth of energy into projects that went nowhere. Worse yet, when I DID get a chance to put my ideas into practice at the table they'd frequently spiral out of control and crash, resulting in even more stress.

Over time I learned from these mistakes, I got better, and then I got good. I moved from conscious incompetence to competence, and I ended up having a run of absolutely stellar campaigns that were everything my younger self could have dreamed of: stable, enjoyable, meaningful, and most importantly an absolute delight to my players. Routinely I'd have people, including folks that'd only played with me a few times, mention that getting together to roll dice and listen to me babel on in silly voices was a highlight of their week.

It was as one of these campaigns began to wind down (three years! a satisfying conclusion on the horizon!) and I started looking for a followup scenario that I decided to study all my really successful campaigns and figure out what connected them. The end result was something I'd been looking for for nearly a decade, a reliable format that I could build campaigns around.

I want to preface this section with the understanding that while this information is laid out in a vaguely chronological fashion there's no guarantee that these ideas will occur to you in any particular order. Inspiration is a funny thing, and each idea flows into the others to make a cohesive whole. Due to foreshadowing and setup reasons you're also going to need a pretty solid idea about all of these when starting a campaign, though exact details will likely change/ can be vague up until the moment they're needed.

The Reason: Who are we and what are we doing?

Gives your players a solid background to build their characters around and give them a reason to travel together, rather than having to ad lib one on the spot. Likewise sets expectations of what the campaign is "about" that you can build on or subvert in time. The reason doesn't need to hold true for the entire game, just long enough to serve as a framing device. EG: The Witcher starts out as a "monster of the week" setup and then uses that framework to pivot into politics and prophecy once we've seen the premise play out.

The Pilot/Crashtest Adventure: What's first?

I’ve already written about these, but the general concept is to give your party a mostly contained first outing that doesn’t have any larger bearing on the plot so they can focus on learning how their characters play/building the party dynamic.  By the time the party's finished this first adventure they'll have already started putting down roots in the world: they'll have in jokes, npcs they've started to care about, an understanding of what's on the horizon, and an idea of where they want to go next.

The Central Gameplay Pillar: How does this all work?

It's important to have an idea what your campaign is going to be about in a mechanical sense in addition to its plot and themes. There is a difference between an adventure that has the party delve a dungeon, and a dungeoncrawling focused campaign. I like to lead with these outright during the campaign pitch so that players can know what they're getting into. Your playgroup will likely have strong opinions about what they like and dislike, even if they don't have the words to describe it, so you might need to explain the ideas for them.

The Hub: Where are we?

I think every good campaign has a hub, some kind of settlement that the party returns to between adventures to offload loot, pick up supplies, and sift through the latest gossip to look for the next questhook. Letting the party return to the same place lets them build up a relationship with it, clarifying the picture in their mind as new details are added and they grow more and more attached. It's possible to have multiple hubs over the course of a campaign, but I'd advise really only having one per arc to best concentrate your efforts. Fill up your hub with distractions and side adventures, shorter stories that the party can get tangled up in while the larger adventure slowly reveals itself. Returning to the same hub also means returning to a familiar and expanding cast of NPCs, which helps your party become more and more invested in the setting

The Main Event: What's going to happen?

Here we get to the meat of the issue, the big story you want to be telling using this campaign. To pull off the sick narrative kickflip you wish to perform, you're going to need to lay a lot of groundwork, seeding in details left and right as well as giving the party a chance to stumble across evidence of your schemes without ever realizing the whole thing. To do this, you're going to work in the building blocks of your big reveal/twist/pending disaster into the setting along with those side adventures from the hub. This will give your party an idea that something is going on, but with more pressing matters to take care of they're going to be distracted up until the moment you decide to pull the trigger.

The Setting: What's over there?

While things like genre and tone are definitely things you should have a handle on from the outset, I personally feel like the details of a setting are best constructed on an ad hoc basis, either in a direct response to something required by part of the narrative (be it side story or main event), or pencilled in at the margins as the party explores the world.. That said, creation of the hub and setting often go hand in hand because it's important to match the settlement to the environment and then shape the environment to the quests inside the settlement. As for what's beyond your hub, I happen to have just written something about building out settings.

Now, this next option is one that I recommend you start thinking about only once your campaign is fully underway, so it doesn't clog up your creative process by focusing on something that you might not even get to

The Change: What the fuck?

A little while after the main event has kicked off and your party is off on the quest that will turn them from mere adventurers into heroes, they start to hear rumours of strange happenings. It's certainly not related to the present scenario, it may even be an unexpected windfall, but it's not something they have time to look into. Time ticks on, the land is saved, and the party is able to enjoy their victory lap as well as some dearly needed time off. Before they can get comfortable however they're slammed by some strange occurrence that they could have never predicted that changes the state of the world. A neighbouring kingdom invades, an important ally is murdered and they're blamed for it, a dragon starts rampaging through the realm. Its important that this event is outside the party's skillset, not necessarily diametrically opposed, but counter to what they were planning

artsource

[z3r0l4b]

Greetings.

Hey so, uh, I never usually share what I write but a friend liked this and I thought I would share it???

It's an attempt to remake one of Eltinville's comics where Josh tells his day as a log.

Anyways...

Domestic Lenunzio

Captain's log: Stardate 7922.7

Woke up early, 06:50 AM. The nights have been better lately. Medication helps me avoid having those nightmares so often.

Although the morning started early, I decided to continue it.

Breakfast was on the table, eggs with mushrooms and ham. Pete had already left, so I didn't get to thank him.

He's complained several times that he doesn't like compliments, but his food is the highlight of my day.

Besides, he keeps asking for feedback on how to improve...

After such morning fuel, I make sure to select and take the necessary medication. The other day I managed to get a pill case that resembles the USS Enterprise emergency munitions. The sequel, not the original series. I don't like to admit it, but it makes all this easier.

As the day began, I took care of a lot of business.

(1) I picked up the mail from the gatehouse. It was crumpled again, handled like garbage, I would send a complaint to the department, but I doubt they'd do anything.

(2) I tried to continue the plot of my most recent work, The Eclipse. But I'm stuck; maybe it's not the day the ideas flow.

(3) I've finished organizing my Back to the Future section. I still can't find a good model of a DeLorean, and the resellers are making it more impossible every day. Such blasphemy.

As an addition to last point, I'd like to mention that Pete managed to get his hands on a printed edition of Leatherface, it was one of the last things he needed to compensate back everything his shitty parent threw in the trash years ago.

I'm not one to boast, but I'm pleased to say that the perfectly blended corner between my sci-fi collection and his horror one looks wonderful.

Hail on Harlan Edison.

• Logged this first report of the day.

For lunch I heated up some burritos that were left over from the night before, with some homemade curry.

I have to remember myself to save one in the middle of my thoughts.

Afterwards, I carefully reviewed the list of my pending writings from the official publisher. They have to approve at least one this time, come one, even good old Jerry helped me correct inconsistencies...

I can't say my fear of the outdoors has improved. But at least today I managed to get to the grocery store a few blocks away without losing control in the middle of a panic attack.

Plus ten points for me.

Fuck university, fuck accounting degree. Four worst years of my life.

Barely into the afternoon, good mate Pete manages to return from work. 03:40 PM, he made good on time today.

Even with the charming enthusiasm that I always offer, he offers me a fucking bite on the neck in return.

The creep still thinks he's a vampire or something, he left another mark on my neck. Not cool.

We took a well-deserved break watching one of Pete's documentaries. Hey, at least this time it wasn't filled with scenes of cannibalism. It's a step forward.

I stayed rewatching some parts of Dune that I want to write about while Pete was preparing dinner, even if the guy doesn't like to admit that he can cook, I wouldn't want to push him too much and deprive myself from its delights.

Jerry keeps sending e-mails about planning to have another role-playing game, but the guy wants to invite his girlfriend and a friend, and I still don't want to leave home.

I try to gauge the circumstances, I don't want to screw this up for Pete, but just thinking about talking to new people overwhelms me.

I don't care if I'm immature, they don't understand.

When night fell, Pete suggested another of his "quick sex quizzes" and because of him, my ass now hurts.

I'm not going to go into details about this, I don't care, you don't care, nobody cares.

The only memorable thing is that the idiot fell asleep after that, and I stayed up for a little longer reading and rearranging some comics I had.

With a last bitter swallow of medicine, I say goodbye as I face another attempt of balanced sleep.

Capt. Josh A. Levy

— Over and out.

[drawnbinary]

This drawing is from a fic I've been chipping at on-and-off for a couple months during walks

It's nowhere close to done but I recently found the document again and it's better than I remembered, so I've put a plot synopsis and the first scene under a read more (because that's all I've got edited)

The loose plot is that Brassius' parents have become convinced that Hassel is dating their son and insist that he comes to the family Christmas party as Brassius' date. When Brassius asks Hassel to pretend to be his boyfriend, they don't have the foresight to plan more than a backstory.

They don't question how easy it is to maintain the charade, especially once the Extra Festive Drinks start flowing and Brassius isn't so embarrassed and Hassel isn't so concerned with keeping his hands to himself...

And as is relevant to the drawing: in the last third-or-so, there's not enough chairs in the living room and they have to share (obviously there's also only one bed and it wouldn't be a Christmas fic without mistletoe...)

----------

“—Of course we know you're very busy and your work is important, but have you given any thought at all about getting back into dating?”

“You've never brought anyone home for the Christmas party and— we’d just love to see you settle down with someone. You're not getting any younger and we just worry about you being lonely.”

It's the same thing every year. Brassius had just finished ironing out details on video call with his parents about visiting for the big family Christmas party, and now they have to emphasize how everyone else is bringing a significant other except him.

As one of the oldest among his cousins, his parents have been on him about being the only one who isn't married yet ever since his youngest cousin got married four years ago.

“How could I be lonely? I've got Hass!”

The pause on the other end was long.

Suspiciously long.

“Of course! He's been over a few times we've called—”

“—And the times he hasn't, you're always talking about him!” his dad finished, with a laugh in his voice “The pet names you have for each other are so sweet”

“What? We're not— it's not like that” Brassius sputtered and turned bright red, but all his protests would be ignored

“Last time we called, we had to cut it short because he was meeting Hassel for a picnic…”

“May I remind you that we live in Paldea? Everyone picnics. Picnicking is the national pastime”

“Picnicking in the center of a hedge maze sounds pretty intimate…”

“It's the closest shaded area to have a picnic near my work.”

“And it seems like all the photos Brassius's sent us in the past few months have been of the two of them together - there was that lovely photo last month near Levincia! The smiles were almost as bright as the Million Volt Skyline itself!”

“Oh truly, how did we not notice before? The most famously romantic location in all of Paldea—”

“It's also just a pleasant walk from my house”

“How fortunate for you two; your father and I would take a flying taxicab there back in the day to—”

“—I DON'T NEED THE DETAILS!” Brassius interrupted

His parents laughed at his outburst and then got back to business, “Anyways, you simply must bring Hassel to the Christmas party as your date!”

“We know he's not got his own family's Christmas events to be at so there's no reason he shouldn't come!”

“How would you know?”

“We do actually listen to the things you say, you know, and we can hardly forget how ‘avant-garde’ it was that he ‘chose passion over his birthright’ after the third time hearing it”, he spoke and gestured extra dramatically while quoting his son

Brassius covered part of his face with a hand. Somehow he was even more embarrassed than he already had been and his hand could feel the heat radiating off his face.

“I'm hanging up.”

“I’m so glad you've found someone you so clearly adore; we look forward to seeing you and Hassel next weekend! Love you!”

“Love you too. I'm going now”

Brassius hung up abruptly and slunk down in his chair.

How on earth is he going to bring this up to Hass? It's not his fault that his parents were so wrong, but on the other hand they were far too close to the truth for comfort and this whole situation is humiliating.

[gomzdrawfr]

Good afternoon! I really like your art, especially with Nikolai. I don't often see any content on it, and that's why it's very nice to see. Can I ask you how you draw hair and other items of clothing? It's just that in the future I also want to practice drawing to draw my favorite characters. 🌹

Hi there thank you! :D

Uhhh I tried my best to compile my way of drawing things, take this as a reference because I'm not a professional by any means and a lot of things I do are very much simplified and dialled down to fit my chibi style :3 but I'm flattered that you ask me, I like sharing my process sometimes!

alright first off with hair, we'll take Nik for example. For me I usually try to make sure the hair flows from the same origin (refer the red arrow on chibi Nik), this will make sure the hair looks consistent and neat. For me I usually like to add more volume and floff to hair to make it cuter (exaggerated feature), so I do that by making the hair thicker or more curly. What really brings the hair together imo is the side burn, all the cod characters have it so study how they look like (like how Price's one will be connected to his beard, while Nik's end in a neat line). Lastly, look at the characters and ask yourself what are their prominent features? Like for Soap, it's his mohawk. For Nik? It'll be his high widow's peak and the neat slick back look. If it is hard to draw it yourself, trace over the reference photo to get an idea, then draw it yourself again on the side, it'll allow your hand to recognize the shape and flow better.

Hair can be individualized according to your own artstyle, for example @/nekrosmos (hi hehe) draw Nik's end of the hair curling inwards (link of the example). Studying other artist's way of drawing characters can help ease the process of finding your own, if ya wanna look at Nik fanart I highly recommend @/shkretart's page (example used is from here) (also would recommend their post about how they draw heads here, because from there you can see how they plot down the shape of the hair as well)

also! something I like to do is showing the character's emotions through hair as well :3

example:

see how the Price in lower opacity has his hair jagged because he's horrified by the taste of shamrock + my OC dishevelled hair because she's cranky/angry

uhhh when it comes to clothes I don't really have much advice because I....don't draw a lot of variety of clothings XD

I think most importantly if you can get the torso shape correctly the clothings wouldn't be much of an issue since ya can just follow references (see 2nd photo with the square + inverted triangle method, reference used: valiants, pignk). Like the hair, I just take the what I think are prominent features of an outfit then remove the gear (see Ghost below for example).

I think the only thing I can comment on are creases?? even so I'm still a newbie at this but yeah again, tracing over images to study them is what I do most of the time, especially when I'm doing a non-chibi art. Whenever I feel like the sleeves looks weird, I try to find a similar pose, draw over the crease, see what went wrong then implement it on my own art. I think what really changed my mind was it's not just about the lines of the clothes inside, you should take account of the creases that creates the fold on the outline. You can watch this video by emiliodekureart if you want a more detail explanation! (I follow a lot of their tutorials cuz it's simplified and easy to understand and follow :3) (another ref is Morpho Clothing folds and creases if you wanna learn in depth)

Okay, say you got the torso, shape and creases down, what's next? Textures! the way you add details or color a clothing can make small but noticeable differences. Here's how I approach a clothing using my commission works as examples below.

Similar to hair, first I see what's the most obvious feature of the reference photo which are the pattern lines and patterns. Usually with wool or animal fur or any material that's fuzzy I like to add the " lines to my doodles.

For this example we're looking at suits, so the materials are usually harder that's why the edges of the clothes will be sharper (see Ghost's shoulder ends and elbows). Add in details like lines/patterns to show different materials. Sometimes you can overlay the shades with textures, which all can be found online to add that feel to it, yk? (like Soap's pants and this hat)

Lastly, you can always change the way you want to draw based on the references, you don't have to follow it 100%, scroll through sites to find one you like and tweak it!

hope these are helpful!

[kazutora-kurokawa]

!reader confessing her problems with hanma and sanzu (separately) because they're high and she thought they wouldn't remember but didn't know they could still understand and process her words☹️

Reader Confessing Her Problems to Hanma & Sanzu

♡ SFW, fem reader, angst -> fluff, drug use (marijuana), reader has some mental issues, reader still lives in a foster home in this, lowkey friends to lovers?? ♡

note: I'm viewing this as a continuation to Hanma and Sanzu x Mentally Disturbed!Reader, but you don't really have to read that to understand this

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

You've been hiding a couple of things from your friend, and having this growing guilt in your chest whenever he comes around. So you finally decide to confess to all your problems while he can't comprehend you, or so you thought.

Hanma

🏵️ He already knew you had some type of mental illness, and he knew vaguely of the issues you were facing where you lived, but he never realized how bad you had it

🏵️ He just sat back and listened to you vent, but his mind was elsewhere, plotting and scheming on how he can help better the situation

🏵️ When you finished he just wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close to him in an attempt to comfort you

"I heard all that y'know... but I'll pretend like I didn't if it makes you feel better."

🏵️ Keeps his mouth shut about everything you told him (because that's what friends are for) but is definitely gonna help you some kind of way (definitely illegal, possibly kidnapping and breaking and entering, but he's helping so take what you can get)

Sanzu

🌸 Sanzu's face was already a bit flushed, his eyes low and glazed over as he stared at you

🌸 He could hear the words you were saying, and deep down he knew they were true, but he didn't really believe that you were saying them

🌸 You've shared details about your lives plenty of times, but the way it flowed from your lips was different this time, it felt different for him, like you were being more vulnerable than usual

🌸 By the time you were done talking he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life beside you, protecting you from others and yourself

🌸 He doesn't mention anything for a couple of days, but you know he heard you when he randomly hugs you from behind and whispers a soft "It's okay, I got you" in your ear and you break down in his arms

🌸 You're a little embarrassed that he remembers you pouring your heart out to him, but you're also glad that it's off your chest and you can finally rely on him fully for emotional support

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies @manji-hoe @southside-otaku @xxchthonicreaturexx @evergreen-endo @hanmaslilslut @dystop4in14nd @mysouleaten @mdsbabygirl @eroticdarling

[bunnysbrainrot]

No Vacancy - Day Two

Characters: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader, Dean, Castiel

Content: Majorly plot building. Romantic/sexual tension.

Summary: In day two of your one-on-one case with Sam, you gather intel together. Once things settle down for the second night, Dean reveals some news. Sam realizes he’s made a huge mistake involving a lust spell.

*A/N: This chapter was getting a bit long, and I haven’t posted in a couple days, so this chapter is out early! Honestly I like the pacing of this a bit better so I don’t burn out. Y’all better be ready for the next chapter 👀

————

“Mrs. O’Connor, would you say that your daughter had any enemies? Anyone who would want to cause her harm?” Sam’s tone was filled with compassion as the woman explained the situation.

Her lips wobbled, “I-I don’t know. Casey was a sweet girl, she just got caught up in the wrong crowd, that’s all.”

“Did you see any changes in her behavior in these past few weeks?” You piped up, matching the softness of Sam’s voice.

Casey’s mother shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. You reached into the inner pocket of your suit jacket, handing her a pack of tissues. She gives you thanks and takes a moment before she speaks again.

“Not much. She was quieter, sure, but I thought, y’know, maybe she was depressed - she spent almost all of her time in her room. We were so close, and she just… distanced herself.”

“How so?” Sam asked.

Through tears, her voice broke, “Her whole demeanor changed, got… darker. She wouldn’t let me into her room anymore. That was where we had our movie nights…”

You nodded as you listened, glancing to Sam for a sign of a breakthrough, but his expression was muddled. A few moments later you were handing your personal number to Casey’s mother, and wishing her a good day.

Sam asked, “So, what do you think?”

“I think we should check her room, but we need to give her mom some time,” you replied, mulling over what could have caused Casey’s murder.

Your phone buzzed against your hand in your pocket. To your relief you saw a text from Casey’s mother: Thank you for your help. I’m glad Casey has people who care like you do.

You showed Sam the message. His eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“What do I say back?”

“Well, we need to mention looking at Casey’s room,” Sam detailed, “and that we’re happy to help further.”

Your fingers fiddled with your phone as you issued a reply.

Of course. I’m sure the police have done so already, but we were given instruction to inspect Casey’s room. Would you mind letting us look around later today?

The reply was swift: Yes, that's fine. I'll be home later this evening, 7 p.m. would be the best time.

Stuffing your phone back into your pocket, you updated Sam.

"She says we can come back at 7 tonight. Until then, we should probably look over the police report and see who might know what happened to her."

Sam nodded, "We'll head back to the motel and look into it."

The motel. The goddamn motel where you and Sam blurred the lines of your friendship. With any luck, he wouldn't mention anything of last night, or this morning.

It was the way it felt so normal to wake up with him, to be enveloped in his arms, his scent, his soft breathing before he woke. It was a one-time thing that wouldn't, and couldn't, happen again. It was a vow - a guarantee to yourself that you wouldn't slip up like before. You reminded yourself on loop until you reached the motel again.

—

Twenty minutes later, and you were still staring at your computer screen. The thoughts couldn't flow like they normally did with your research. Vague searches covered the screen, but nothing constructive.

'Casey O'Connor family' 'Casey O'Connor facebook' 'Casey O'Connor instagram' 'Casey O'Connor death’

The tension you held in the pit of your stomach turned over itself when Sam cleared his throat.

"Find anything yet?"

Your breath hitched in your throat. Maybe Sam hadn't given things much thought after all. His tone was his usual curious self, but those bright hazel eyes swallowed you whole.

"Uh- no, not yet," you stammered, "I was, um, gonna take a pause and go to the lobby. About the... room situation."

Sam's lips thinned into a terse smile. For him, he didn't care one bit if there was another room available. He watched you leave the room, cursing himself all the while you were gone. You returned with a nervous smile, sparking a hidden hope in Sam's chest.

"Still no other rooms. And no cots, either."

It was Sam's turn to remind himself that last night crossed a boundary. All he'd thought about today was you, regardless of how hard he tried to reroute his thoughts. The way you'd buried your head into his chest, how you murmured in your sleep, how delicate your body felt in his hands...

He snapped himself out of it again, muttering to himself.

"What'd you say?" You raised an eyebrow at him.

He shook his head, "Nothing, I'm just mumbling to myself."

You let out a soft laugh, taking a seat on the bed. The ache in your shoulders reminded you of the consequences of sitting hunched over on the floor.

"The least they could've done was give us a desk or something."

"That's what you get in a small town, remember?" Sam quipped, that goofy grin back in action. You rolled your eyes at him and settled into your side of the bed, laptop open across your lap again.

Sam leaned over to you, staring at your screen. Well, you weren't lying when you said things on your end weren't interesting. You turned your head, watching him scour the Google search you haphazardly thought up.

"I... didn't really know what to look up," you admitted flatly.

He let out a breathy laugh, glancing sidelong at you. Those damn eyes. Part of you dared to close the inches between you, to brush your lips against his as if it were nothing. One wrong move, and you could risk everything you'd made with him. You surveyed his parted lips, suddenly pulled back up to his gaze when he cleared his throat. You shook yourself out of your trance and gave him a muttered apology before he took your laptop.

Within seconds he found something substantial - report cards from school, Facebook posts, tagged photos on Instagram.

"How'd you do that?" You asked.

Sam pushed himself beside you to give you a better angle at the screen, "First thing you gotta do is have the full name. Otherwise, you're flooding your search with 'Casey O'Connor's' from all over the country."

His arm brushed against yours, but he didn't pull away. Instead he rested fully against you as his fingers flew over the keys, opening page after page of information. You chose to let go and ease into him, head dropped to his shoulder as you watched. Sam's fingers stalled more than usual with you now relaxed against him. It was his turn for his thoughts to escape him.

"So, um," you piped up, "what are we looking for?"

He cleared his throat, "Changes in behavior, maybe in stuff that she posted, grades dropping, anything that seems like a red flag."

Casey's most recent posts to Instagram caught your eye. After explaining your gut feeling to Sam, the both of you kept mental note that perhaps Casey did get involved with something sinister.

—

The two of you had gotten lunch, lazed about town, and stoped by Casey’s school by the time 7 pm rolled around. At the O’Connor house, you kept downstairs to talk with the family, while Sam searched Casey’s bedroom. It took about 30 minutes, and you two were on your way.

“What’d you find?”

Sam handed you his phone, the photos organized into a neat folder. You inspected each image, taking stock in each sign - herbs scattered around, countless candles, and bottles of dark liquid.

“Is that..?”

“Blood, yeah. Almost didn’t see them; one rolled out of the closet. And if you see here,” he trailed on, scrolling to another photo, “seems like a pretty intricate altar in there.”

“Figures why she wouldn’t want her mom in the room,” you added.

You handed the phone back to Sam, fighting back a shiver when his hand grazed yours.

Perhaps he noticed, too, judging by the way his cheeks blushed. In the evening sun, it was barely noticeable but you were almost certain of it. You packed yourselves into the car and drove back to the motel. You rummaged through your duffel bag the moment you stepped in the door, picking out a new outfit for bed. Sam kicked off his dress shoes and shrugged off his suit jacket.

“Bedtime already, huh?” Sam teased. You turned to him and smiled.

“Just wanna get cozy. Makes doing research much easier.”

Sam shrugged, “Not a bad idea, I’ll probably do the same when you’re done. Need to get out of this damn suit.”

—

The time on your computer screen read 11:43 p.m., meaning you and Sam had been continuing your research for at least two hours. It had taken a toll of you both, with eyes dry and shoulders aching. You rested your tired eyes and felt the pull of exhaustion start to take over.

Until Sam’s phone rang - it was Dean. Sam immediately placed his brother on speakerphone.

“How’s the lovely couple?” Dean asked. He wasn’t in the room, but you could tell he was smiling - a shit eating grin that irritated you as much as his brother.

“Very funny, Dean,” Sam replied smoothly, a twitch in his eyebrow showed his annoyance. “How are things going on your end?”

Castiel muttered in the background of the phone call. Dean stuttered over his words as he told Cas to stop interfering.

“Okay, so we did a little searching on Casey. I mean, well, Cas did most of it. Turns out, our lovely Miss O’Connor had gotten involved with magic.”

Sam’s eyes snapped to yours, then to his laptop where he had stored photos of Casey’s bedroom. As you two listened to Dean the dots connected to make a full picture.

It was Castiel’s voice that piped up next, “We have reason to believe that Casey was involved with something dark. It doesn’t look like your average witchcraft. We’re talking about more forceful magic - breaking and creating soulmate contracts.”

He continued, “Those kind of bonds, soulmates, are meant to take time. It seems that Casey’s spells were focused on peoples driving emotions. Feelings like fear, insecurity, lust, and mania. Anything that could make people act out, it’s been happening in her social circle.”

“So, basically she’s playing Cupid?” you offered.

“Exactly,” Dean confirmed, interrupting Cas, “we broke some of the spells, but it seems like Casey did all of her little projects at home. Hell, she sent the spells to her friends in the mail. Who knew you could Amazon Prime some witchcraft.”

You chuckled at the joke, rolling your eyes. Sam smiled at you with relief that this whole situation had blown over.

“So, what’s next?” you prodded.

“If you two didn’t see any weird hoodoo at Casey’s house, then everything should be all settled.”

Sam furrowed his brows, “But Casey was murdered, how did she die, then?”

Dean replied, “That’s the karma of it. Casey planted a sachet on her boyfriend - love spell gone haywire. He eventually went a little too love-crazy, and ended up killing her. Jealousy was the source of it.” His tone has grown sullen with the final piece of news.

Now with the extra details, you didn’t know how to feel. What happened to Casey had been horrible, and it had worked itself out in the end. It was the part of hunting that never settled well with you. Sometimes, you simply couldn’t save everyone.

“Got it. So we’ll head back out tomorrow to meet you at the bunker, yeah?” Sam confirmed.

Dean’s tone changed to playfulness again, “Actually, I need y’all to check out a case the next town over. Mind camping out a couple more nights?”

It seemed Dean’s request was a final verdict based on the way Sam pursed his lips.

“Yeah, no problem, talk to you later,” Sam ended the call. He threw his phone onto the bed and closed his laptop.

“You alright?” You asked him. Sam let out a soft sigh and looked toward his suit jacket by the door.

“I think I might’ve screwed up.”

You did a double take, “What do you mean? Dean and Cas figured it out.”

He raced over to the jacket, fishing through the pockets until he plucked a small bundle. Your expression dropped completely at the sachet in his palm. Sam returned to your side and let you examine it - a small brown sack you assumed held herbs, oils, and then some. The sigils across the fabric stumped you; they were nothing like you’d ever seen before.

“What is this, Sam?”

“One of her spells,” he said, defeated, “I wanted to examine it, to see if someone planted something on her. That was before we knew that Casey was the witch.”

“Okay, so, what kind of spell is it?” you asked further.

Sam reopened his laptop, silent as he furiously typed away. Image after image splayed onto the screen - the realization came over the two of you at once.

“Lust.”

He coughed at the word, unable to choose his next move. Sam leaned back and let his head thump against the wall.

“Can’t we just…. burn it? Toss it out?”

With bated breath you waited for Sam to say something, anything. Instead he just shook his head.

“By now I’ve had it on me for hours. We’re kind of past the point of burning it.”

“Okay, but the spells only work on feelings that are already there, right? It wouldn’t work unless you’re with someone you wanted to, um… you know.”

Sam’s breathing quickened with each passing second. His words came out with an overwhelming shakiness.

“It’s a little late for that.”

Hi again! Thanks so much for supporting my work, the next chapter will be out in the next couple of days!

- Bunny

[fecklesheckleshacklesschmeckles]

SPOILERS for Inside No 9: Stage/Fright!

I was lucky enough to attend the matinee performance on 25th Jan, and now I'm going to ramble about it :D

I'm given to understand that y'all who want them are already adequately furnished with plot summaries etc (excited to read them! waiting to do so until after I've got all this down) - so I won't worry about deep-diving. This'll be a mix of things that particularly struck me, and details that would have been unique to the performance I saw :)

I sneakily secretly got front row tickets (!!) for me and @toosicktopray, and I didn't tell them where we were going until we got there (I didn't even tell them we were going anywhere until that morning!) :D Then afterwards we got to meet up with @silverview and @unreesonable, and we ended up just chatting shit for hours! The boys didn't come to the stage door (apparently because "they're old men" :P) but that was better, frankly <3

Opening "theatre" skit/front-of-curtain prologue:

oh, this has Reece's fingerprints all over it! Getting to sit and simmer with comic rage over literally the exact same things that he's frothed with comic rage about on podcasts? Having no lines to need to learn, and then getting to do a bunch of revenge-fantasy murders? And get spattered with stage blood? Go off :3

aaaa one of Reece's secretly-poppers quick-change shirt buttons had popped open when he came front-of-curtain (probably got overenthusiastic doing his murdering) - maybe the third one down, at his upper stomach - and all I saw underneath was what I presumed to be a white undershirt, so I went back to staring at his face - but toosicktopray caught a little glimpse of his fluffy tummy above it!! (so it was probably actually his mic belt or something)

BCDR:

When they knocked down the wall during Brown Bottles, there was this great WHOMPH of air (and bits of dust and stuff, according to toosicktopray :P) right into the front row :O

Also it took Reece/Tommy two goes to actually smash the brown bottle over Steve/Len's head :P (the first time it just went "boink" XD)

Credit where it's due, Steve's very good at doing the not-actually-his-own-hand stuff :D (love me some of that shit). I'd say not all of the routines necessarily worked as well live as they do with the camera angles in the ep, but imo honestly that one was better :)

Kidnappers Sketch:

Wheelie bin with an 18 (1+8 = 9, or two 9s) on it in the background scenery!

toosicktopray saw the hare. Where? There, on the stair!

I'm not the biggest Quiet Night In enjoyer, but I liked the characters better with dialogue, tbh :)

It took Reece/Tommy(/Geoff or whoever the fuck he's being) two goes to fire the gun XD "It's not even loaded. [gun doesn't go off] I'll try that again."

Our special celebrity guest was Gary Kemp! He really went for it, to the extent that I think Reece was breaking character (smirking) a bit while e.g. waiting for him to finish a much longer flamenco than expected XD The charade (as has been documented) was "Car Reek Hemp", and it was quite funny watching Reece frantically yell out lots of synonyms for hemp, which Steve was miming as you might expect ("dope! skunk! uh, weed!"). Couldn't help thinking about "The Quiet Ones! The Quiet Things! Be Quiet...!" The way Len incensed him was to keep singing "I know this much is true" except substituting in e.g. "glue", "poo". Missed opportunity to callback it in Tears of Laughter ("laughter is my memory of poo" "it's you!"), which would have been overambitious/flow-breaking, but amusing. Also jokes about mistaking him for his brother :P ("I loved you in Eastenders!" "That was Martin!" "I thought your brother was called Reggie?" "That's the Krays!")

Briefly glimpsed Reece's trademark cartoonist block lettering on the pad they hold up for the celeb to read off! <3 I feel like the bit of paper with '9'/'6' on it might have been his handiwork too?? The attention to detail <3

Terreur de l'Asile

Pahahaha well now it's getting bonkers :D

Ticked off my bingo card: Reece going boink boink boink :3 (in the Elements Song)

Ticked off Reece's bingo card: getting forcibly restrained with one arm bent up behind his back :P If you had complete creative co-control over what you had to do once a day for the next ten weeks (and twice on Saturdays)...

ohoho speaking of which how about Steve taking control of your mind and forcing you to do his bidding o.O

I like Hugo's character design :) Always a fan of braces! I think I used to have a pair that was quite similar, actually, which was distracting :P And his floofy curls :D

I like Marcus too! With his wig that's kind of just a younger Reece's hair :P wandering around in his bloodstained sawn-off pyjamas XD Very here for both the ludicrous melodrama and the arch meta reveal :P

Kooky popstar woman was so good! They were all great, but her especially :) doing her "dead face" and her hammy audition tape :D

Ahh the conceit with her taking the camera backstage was so imaginative and super creepy! Shades of Dead Line. Christ, when the person unseen picks the camera back up again D:

Oh no, poor Reece, having to get choked to death every night and twice on Saturdays :3 (but also, having to embody any degree of sexual energy just beforehand, which... not really his forte?! :P)

Curtain call, and beyond:

Ahhh that was a fun show. Wait, what? WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK, STEVE? STEVE! YOU'RE MAKING ME FEEL INSANE! Oh my god there's MORE, what NOW?! :D

Hahhh omg he killed him again XD

"Reece Shearsmith, 1969-2025" now that's fucking ballsy to do in January X'D

Hahhh omg he killed him again!!

Aaaah Reece in his pretty white Marty Hopkirk getup! <3

Ticked off Reece's bingo card: be a ghost :3 god he'd fucking love that... "if nobody can see me, then nobody can notice me, then I can't do anything wrong" D:

"All I get is fucking Little Toby!" okay FIRST OF ALL: Toby's real name is Toby :D and SECOND OF ALL: Reece calling his own understudy little?! :D

The idea of Reece falling to his death through a trapdoor shouldn't be as weirdly delightful as it is XD

For the James Acaster enjoyers: "Every ghost story is a love story when you love ghosts" :P (- toosicktopray)

Good gracious, they have never been so Morecambe and Wise as suddenly appearing in top hat and tails stage left while all the chorus folks are vigorously waving fans stage right :P

Awww, they finally found another Nine to be Inside, and it was Cloud! :3

Loose change thoughts:

Bloody lovely use of lighting throughout - subverting things by turning it on the audience, using bright light to mask what's happening in darkness (e.g. suddenly fucking Little Toby!!) - and I didn't know using onstage cameras/screens was becoming a theatre trope, but I enjoyed how they messed with it :)

OK, so, some of Reece's characters wear glasses (including "himself", wearing his "own" "everyday" glasses), and some don't - fascinated to know whether he's got prescription costume glasses and is just pushing through the blur the rest of the time (seems both unlikely and unsafe!), OR whether he's wearing contacts and all the glasses are fake including his "own" "everyday" glasses <3

A perfectly entertaining show all round but dear god when they pulled us into Steve's shared hallucination that fucking Little Toby had been Reece all along it felt like a crackfic unfolding before my very eyes XD Utterly deranged behaviour and it tickled me so much!! The canon-typical meta nonsense and fridge uncanniness of it all! The implication that we too are so obsessed with Reece that we hallucinate him along with Steve (uhh don't @ me)! The way it retroactively both completely centres Reece in the narrative (even when he's playing a character) (me staring at every Reece character going "mmm, Reece": justified) and simultaneously completely erases him from it!... GO OFF, LADS XD

And the fucking audacity of them to position themselves as in the Morecambe and Wise mould! People will hate it and I bloody love it XD I mean, yes, to us, the fans, the comparison is perfectly apt - silly fluffy adorably-close Northern comic geniuses - but imagine, for the casual viewer/journo - it's those two ghoulish twisted fuckers from that thing in the 90s with the nosebleeds, what's their names again, that write those gory bleak plays full of death and tragedy and then slap the "BBC Comedy" logo on them, and they're playing at being the most famous, beloved and wholesome comedy double act in the history of British television?! Oh my fucking god I can't wait for press night ;)

Similarly, the way it was basically wall-to-wall vaudeville and knob gags, which, sure, we expect (and frankly makes the most entertaining use of their talents in a live setting - it's well-executed vaudeville and knob gags), but, uh, probably has more Actual JokesTM total than the entire TV series put together (and about 300% less horror and heartbreak than your average ep). Again, I was utterly down for it! Some folks... will be less so XD

Is there anything they can't do?... uh, write a single coherent two-hour plot-line, apparently XD (hey, man, I get it! I'm a one-shot guy too! ;) )

All in all, a very fun and silly time! By all means Ask Me AnythingTM, unless possibly it's about Steve, bc he could have had his fly open the whole time and I wouldn't have noticed XD

[sepublic]

Seeing creators discuss the problems of production and executives, it’s made me come to a bitter realization;

Anyone could write the greatest, most satisfying, most compelling story in the world with just a word document, infinite pages, and infinite time.

Anyone could create the greatest show or film in existence with all of the budget and time they need to iron out the details and revise, or to get a certain thing done.

But that’s not what happens at all. Every creator’s going to have to deal with time constraints. They have to worry about the budget. They’ll have executives. They don’t have all the time in the world to go through every draft needed at their luxury, they have to settle for their first idea and work with it. They’ll be stressed, it’s a job for them and they need a break rather than to use that time to think about their work more. You’ll have a plan for five episodes only to have to do it in one.

It takes an actually good writer to work with limitations, to adapt to new changes, to keep themselves open. Planning is good but it really is necessary to be able to write on the fly. You’ll have to leave things out, you’ll have to go with second instead of fifth drafts. The ability to make the right sacrifices is key. But as much as you agonize over what could’ve been, if you play it right, the viewer won’t notice a thing.

(Sometimes they will. It really boils down to the artist’s skill and the extenuating circumstances. Sometimes even the best writer can’t pull off a feat in such a short amount of time.)

You’ll be surprised by what happy accidents occur all the time, often as a result of compromises. Sometimes you’ll have to do X not because it’s great for the narrative but for a more banal logistical reason, such as in the writing or the filming. The B-plot is half-baked because you had to trim it down for time, so you might just cut it out and so the A-plot has more time to breathe.

The writing has to make sense when going from Point A to B, you can’t just throw in a bunch of disparate scenes and information, they need to flow and connect together. Is this a Binge format show where it’s one huge continuous episode, or is it episodic and they’re all separate, with some overarching stuff? You’ll have to let the audience draw their own conclusions, hope they can make connections and fill in the gaps as you focus on what’s strictly necessary.

This is why Keep Your Hands Off Eizouken! is a great show. This is why I quote Dana Terrace, “Limitation breeds innovation.” It’s never going to turn out the way you want it to, even if you could easily do it by yourself. Because you won’t have the space or budget to do it. Or because you’re just so tired after a long day’s work that you don’t have the fresh mind to look at the story from another perspective and ask this simple question, especially after answering ten other simple questions. The script has already been submitted to be animated/filmed when you realize so it’s too late.

This isn’t to say that media criticism isn’t warranted. Some people couldn’t get stuff done even with all the time and budget in the world. But again I think it helps to better appreciate the process behind creation instead of taking it for granted, how creators have to wrangle a million different factors, and leave some to others in the process to interpret.

It’s easy to be the audience who has the luxury and no pressure to imagine it in their head or make a million small adjustments, to poke at little details. But imagine having to build that from scratch, instead of just standing on the shoulders of others! And isn’t established canon itself a limitation to work with, rather than the freedom of empty space? Perhaps canon does breed innovation in the fan, who otherwise would not be inspired without it.