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chumpovodir · 5 months

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You got into an argument with a Lenore simp on Reddit who is 100% convinced that she was a perfect angel who loved him from the get-go

My post on Twitter about how Hector should have shown more resentment and Lenore more guilt attracted the attention of three Lenector shippers who started to converse under my thread about how much Lenore "deserved" better (I didn't even attempt to follow their conversation, both because Twitter sucks as a confrontation platform and because where do I even begin)

I guess this week is Lenector Week. Can't say I'm thrilled.

Anyway I love when Hector in the games ran away from his mad Lord who was forcing him into a life he didn't want and then found love in a woman who came to genuinely like him as a person and human being 💖 I love when a victim of abuse finds their hard-earned freedom away from their abuser and they can heal properly 💖 I love when abusers pay for what they've done and are shown as being terrible people 💖 and most importantly, I love the them 💖

(to be fair, the dudes on my thread were being very civil when they disagreed with each other about some stuff, and sometimes they even said things I agreed with, such as "Isaac didn't deserve that big happy ending after all the shit he did in S3". Always nice to see I'm not the only one who thinks Isaac was too much of a darling babyboy of the narrative. Too mad it always came from the perspective of "if everyone got a sappy happy ending, then Hector and Lenore deserved one too, it's not fair", which I'd say is a childish way to see a story 🙄 and i'm being generous and not calling them out for ignoring lenore's actions. at least one of those people admitted they wanted to see them addressed properly before they could move on. baby steps.)

i wish that person's argument was just that Lenore was a perfect angel who twuwy wuvs Hector. i don't really take issue with people seeing Lenore as more compassionate than how she's presented, there's some stuff in the show that supports that view but i had to draw the line with the way they were very insistently downplaying or even justifying that it's okay Hector was essentially raped because he got a better bargain in the end. the wording "it was for his own good" is especially vile

the sticking point for me is that while, yes, she did manage to secure a better position for him, it still stands the way she went about it was downright heinous - she did not have to do any of that. especially when it was already established that she's supposed to be this master manipulator diplomat who holds all the cards, while Hector is easily manipulated to begin with, and has since the end of S2 been suffering indignity after indignity that no doubt already wore down his spirit. the situation was already so stacked in favor of Hector complying out of his own self-interest, i dont even know why the enslavement ring has to exist, and has to specifically be activated by the wearer declaring their loyalty except as a really roundabout way to justify that sex scene happening. it could've still been a magical ring that binds the wearer to a master, which she then could've tricked Hector into wearing by way of something innocuous like trying to show him they're all equals or something. the point is, the whole situation was set up in a way where she's clearly taking advantage of him, and because they just had to introduce a sexual element to it, people should just call a spade a spade and say she raped him because that's what happened. even if she didn't she was taking advantage of him for her own gain and that should be recognized as being y'know. a bad thing that outweighs any good she got out of it for Hector.

i know that person was probably viewing it super positively as a kink thing they enjoy, but the whole basis of kink is mutual consent which obviously none of that was and was just. so frustrating and lowkey kind of worrying to see someone just. not able to see a horrible, toxic relationship for what it is, just because it wasn't outright abusive.

also ahhhhh Hectaly my beloveds <3 their story is much simpler but do you really need more than that?

sounds like you got the better end of the deal lmao. it seems to me like Lenector shippers are at least willing to acknowledge all the parts of their (hypothetical) relationship, and it would actually be interesting to see how that would develop from such a rocky place. it felt like there should have been an entire extra season between S3-S4 to explore not just this, but the rest of the plotlines properly, and also build up to those happy endings

#anti netflixvania #<- for tagging purposes

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generalluxun · 7 months

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Fanfic Author 20 Questions

Thanks to @erisluna35 for sending this along! 1. How many works do you have on AO3?

On AO3? Right now 63, soon to be 64(tomorrow probably) and a couple on FF.net

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,020,860 on AO3 plus another ~86K fic I never ported over to AO3, as my 'recent' stuff, starting back in 2021

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly Miraculous Ladybug, I did others a long time ago before joining AO3, but that was a long time ago. I've considered a couple others recently too, but nothing yet.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

At The Gala- A Chlonette fic inspired by fanart, and actually the sequel to my #2 by Kudos. This is just a cute series of strange interactions with Chloe from Marinette's PoV, culminating in understanding and discovery on a fated evening.

Slippery slope- Little Chlonette ficlet inspired by a fanart. Very short, it's about how a single unexpected moment can change someone's entire world.

Ever After- A long chapter fic set more than a decade post-canon that looks into the idea that 'Ever After' can be a long time, and that expecting life to be solved at 14 is a recipe for eventual disaster. Yet at the same time life continues to offer new experiences, new possibilities, and new ways to grow. Ships include Adrienette, Chloadrien, and Felinette.

Showing Love- An alternate ending to Queen Wasp, where instead of reuniting Chloé with her horrible mother by highlighting everything horrible about her (seriously, what?) Marinette comes face to face with the reality that a mother really *can* not love a child. Being Marinette she can't let such a thing stand, even if it is Chloé. Marinette&Dupain-Cheng family goodness.

What Do you See?- Adrigami fic that kicks off right in the middle of Kuro Neko. While Adrien is struggling with the pain of giving up Cat Noir, one thing crosses his mind. He can finally give one important person the truth she deserves. After all, he *Was* Cat Noir, not *is*. The two both struggle to navigate the ramifications of this revelation, especially when Plagg shows up once more with the ring. (there's a little bit of eventual Lukanette)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to respond to most, especially any questions or curiosities. I love engagement.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh heck this is so not fair. I am in love with bittersweet ending, and have a couple of doozies.

I can't decide between three.

What Happened- The 'real reason' Chloé Bourgeois's redemption arc failed. What do you di when you do everything right, only to find out your happiness causes the end of the world, in every timeline?

A Modest Proposal- Marinette is happily impatient for Adrien to finally propose to her. Little does she know, a secret long kept is going to come back to haunt her. It's worse than you think.

The Risk Outweighs- A look into someone else's life during the episode 'Risk'. The courage to do anything finally gives Chloé the strength to break from the cycle. But the Ladybugs must set things right, and a few moments of clarity weigh nothing against a lifetime.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Again, lots with happy endings, though I prefer 'open' endings, so...hmmm

Cafe Noir- has an unambiguously happy ending, but I specifically set out to write a romcom so that feels like cheating.

Dog Daze- probably has the most comprehensively happy ending, Adrien's dad even managed to try to parent. They do go through a lot on the way to the happy ending though.

In Direct Opposition- My latest work, seems to end on a solidly happy note for all involved.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Ever After drew some upset people that expected their OTP to be the main ship. I never tried to deceive anyone, but a few people were just really upset.

I also had this weird thing where someone thought I was someone else, and stalked my comments for a while. That's why I use moderation now.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I've done M rated fics. I'm not sure 'smut' works for them, even if there's lots of sex narratively, it's usually mentioned rather than being detailed. I did one single 'this will be a smut fic' fic. And even that ended up with like, 5K words mostly plot, and about 2 paragraphs of (I think emotional and important) sex.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nah, I've never had the crossover itch. I generally find each world intriguing enough on their own.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of...

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yep! I had someone ask if they could translate one of my fics to Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope. Talked about it before, but never went through with it. Not against the idea. I do a lot of rubber ducking for my friends though, so some of my ideas can end up in their finished fics.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I'm going ot have to go with adribrina, my goobers. I like exploring all kinds of ships, and these two I threw together on a whim but Oh, they're so comfy! I wrote Puppy Love to see how they would work, and then that evolved into Dog Daze, my Largest work to date. I had *intended* for them to amicably break up and Sabrina to be a wing-woman to Adrien in the canon ship of Adrienette.... but they just did not want to break up. Even if they wouldn't admit they were dating, they were just too *comfy* together. These two make me happy. (Marinette ended up okay though, she's happy!)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

A third fic in my Senti-Sentai AU. 'Worlds Collide'. It was set in 'vague eastern Europe country in the middle of violent conflict' and then that suddenly got too real, too quickly.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Character voice. I write third person limited, and I've been told many times that I do a very good job of writing characters as their canonical selves, just in different situations that bring about different outcomes or changes in them. I consider that a high compliment, because the characters are what I am here for.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Brevity. Even simplistic plots 'enemies to friends road trip' become detailed 'Marinette manipulates Chloé into chasing Adien and Lila across the globe to prevent Lila from wheedling an arranged Marriage out of Gabriel' and then that blossoms into a 98K fic.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I feel like my last of understanding grammar and colloquialisms for another language would have me sounding like bad google translate. Singular words used? Viable.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

SWATKats. My first ever fanfic was a 30K fic about that show.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

They are all my babies! This is so not fair. I've spoken about some of my favorites earlier though, so I'll use this spot to mention some other ones :)

He's Perfect- Gothic Horror Adrienette! It even has a sequel and an entire AU in my head if I can circle back.

The Orphan and the Marionette- Written to feel like one of Grimm's fairy tales. Chlonette(kind of) with a heavy dose of magic and a surprise appearance from Marianne.

There are so many more but I'll plug Dog Daze again, because I to like how it flows and the alternate S5 we get from it. It also inspired a raft of 'post story' one shots, and I have another chapter fic waiting in the wings to continue the AU. There's plenty of stories to tell here.

@taketwoinink Tag, if you would like to play.

#ask #fan fiction #fanfiction #writing #miraculous ladybug #adrienette #adribrina #chlonette #so many ships

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jambeast · 2 years

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I would say you are not left leaning. Liberal maybe sure, but being gross about media is a no no

I'm not sure what your definition of 'Left' is, but it's pretty comical to imply that a laissez faire attitude to Problematic Media totally *disqualifies* you from being even left *leaning*.

Like, 'Left Leaning' is a pretty soft claim! It just means 'at least slightly more left than the average of the population'. If you were using the term 'leftist', then, well, the definitions a lot of people use for that term implies, like, being properly on board with communism or whatever as opposed to being at least a bit sceptical of it which is a much stronger claim.

Though, like, either way, I'm not -too- attached to any labels, and 'liberal' has a lot of good stuff to it; I -am- a fan of Individual Rights, Secularism, Freedom of Speech, Democracy and all that. If your definition of 'left leaning' is 'has the correct opinions on Stefan's Galaxy' then sure I'm not left-leaning, because by your definition, being 'left-leaning' is fucking stupid.

Otherwise, it seems like a very large proportion of progressives on Twitter/Tumblr assign a few orders of magnitude more moral weight on Media Consumption/Production than is warranted. It feels like talking about media is just a lot more *fun* than talking about boring issues that actually effect people like, idk, the economy or whatever, since cartoons and movies are specifically designed on purpose to be as exciting and interesting to talk about as possible. Talking about media is an extension of the entertainment - another part of the hobby.

That and, like, a lot of internet lefties don't seem to really have any grounding to their beliefs beyond following along with what their peers are saying and finding ways to feel righteously angry and express the copious amounts of Disgust they feel constantly bubbling up their throat for the majority of everyone they meet. Like, listen to yourself. "Gross". "You can't be a leftist if you're *icky* about media." "That movie is stinky, pe-ew! Yucky!"

Like, you have to understand how childish you sound, right? Don't just say that it somehow, ephemerally smells bad, tell me exactly what's wrong with it - exactly what is Morally Wrong - where the Measurable Harm is being produced, and demonstrate how that measurable harm outweighs the individual's right to just do what it is that they want to do and what brings them happiness, which -is- a meaningful bar to clear!

Because otherwise, why would someone care that some teenager on the internet says they don't like them. They aren't some kind of moral authority - they haven't built up trust in their judgement, and they typically don't have the power to enforce any meaningful punishments for disobeying. And they absolutely do not care to try and persuade someone who doesn't already agree with me - indeed, they seem to be utterly unable to imagine how the mind of someone who doesn't already agree with their opinions would function beyond just simply Being Evil. Why would they ever expect someone who doesn't already like them to care?

All in all, these was a really, really funny ask to recieve.

#discourse #leftism #!

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yusuke-of-valla · 4 months

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Sorry for posting a thing and then looping back around to it but I think it's fair to say that like.

Every adaptation is going to need a pragmatic change to suit the new medium that's just like. Normal and thus not a problem in and of itself (unless you're annoying)

Usually if those changes involve sacrificing some of the story then those changes have to be outweighed by whatever you're getting from the new medium.

Books and comics to films usually have the pros of making the series more available to a wider audience and literally changing how we interact with the narrative

Musicals to movies usually have the benefit of accessibility because not everyone can afford to see a show on Broadway and slime tutorials don't always have good lighting and captions. Plus by their very nature plays are always being reinterpreted by the new actor and director

A video game to a movie... depends on the game? I mean I certainly love the p4 anime and it's a great chance to expand on a silent protagonist specifically or make a very streamlined version of a hundred hour JRPG, or the Last Of Us expanding on the game's original narrative.

Basically the most often benefit is accessibility and finding a new audience.

But like animated to live action adaptations are... well you can gain a lot of things but in the case of live action Avatar what they're gaining seems to be prestige?

"Kim stated, "So for us, it was about striking that right balance, of making sure you were true to the DNA of the original. But at the same time, we had to make it a serialized Netflix drama, which meant it couldn't just be for kids. It had to also appeal to the people who are big fans of Game of Thrones. And so, it had to feel grounded and mature and adult in that way too."

They're taking Avatar and reimagining it as a Prestige Adult Show and that does include like a very different storytelling langauge and filming techniques. You can do way more diversions in twenty 30-minute episodes then eight hour long episodes, but also you can just focus on the parts that matter and skip the parts you don't have time for, and yeah. I guess you do get a new audience, though you may alienate the old one.

I don't know where I'm going with this because at the end of the day none of this is inherently bad, I think I'd just feel better if conversations about remakes were more about treating them as adapatations than as "corrections" or "updates" to the source material you know

#sorry for rambling

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talesgolden · 2 years

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☘ : My muse’s relation with their family. (If they speak with each other and how much, if they are close or estranged, e.t.c.). for ag :)

(Symbol-based Headcanons)

Oh, oh boy. Listen so this is the way it seems to me, right now, but it’s subject to change because there’s a lot of people involved ok? But [cracks knuckles] here we go

Agnieszka considers all of the Chernabog shards/vessels/whatever you want to call them her siblings. They are coarse, they are dark, they are different, and they are hers. Her family. Even when they are unkind to her, even when she is unkind to them. Even when they are fighting and clawing and biting and ripping at each other, that is her den of devils, and she would defend and rescue and protect all of them. Any one of them. Mostly they are stronger than her and don’t really need help or protection, but that’s ok too.

She has a more benign personality than several of the others, but nevertheless keeps a very us-and-them view of the world which... in all honesty, is fair, really. She’s not a human or even mortal. Any other person she could potentially become close with is far more vulnerable, far less understanding, and distinctly going to die, someday. Her siblings are strong, know her nearly better than she understands what she is herself, and will live alongside her evermore, until the skies go black and maybe even longer. They don’t rightly know, yet. She is really quite neutral towards outsiders, but her family, her siblings, are everything. There is no one closer, and it’s unlikely that will change. Even if she were to fall out with any of them, her siblings would still vastly outweigh anything else you put before her. She loves them, through all. The world she could take or leave, really, as long as she could keep her siblings.

While they’re all roughly of similar ages (as in all within five years of each other, as they were all created in the same span of threat) she has a distinct role in the overall dynamic of being a younger sister to everyone except Flea. This means, like most younger sisters, she is generally a bit coddled by most of the others, and simultaneously their biggest bother. She is more manipulative than outside eyes tend to see, and sometimes it works and sometimes it just annoys the others. Resident master-pouter: she has puppy dog eyes and she’s not afraid to shamelessly employ them to get her way! And she is something of a pester-er, with many questions and a habit of trailing along behind one of the others in the hopes of being included. She is dear, she is dastardly. No doubt there are times she annoys the others to high heaven, but when things get serious and she calls for help, they are swift to her side and protective to homicidal degrees. They can bully her, you absolutely cannot.

uhhhhh for the next part I’ve done some plotting with the others for dynamics between siblings, but also I’m just going to assert some of this by the seat of my pants/the vibes of what I think the dynamics are probably like. So they’re subject to a little change, when/if we get more into talking about it, but--- more specific sibling-by-sibling info under the cut:

Hella: The most distant dynamic, Helvetica is quite independent and, further, quite different from safety-seeking Agnieszka. They don’t spend very much time with each other at all. Nevertheless, big sister hung the very stars in the sky and can do no wrong. Every now and then Ag will go into phases of trying to emulate her chaotic eldest sibling. It generally doesn’t end well for anyone involved.

Kon: Oldest brother, meanest brother. For his half, Konstantin carries a largely apathetic attitude everywhere he goes. He bullies his siblings as indiscriminately as anyone else he’s ever encountered, and Ag is no exception to this. She frequently tries to appeal to him despite being repeatedly and often harshly shut down. Sometimes she bites back, but mostly it just makes her sad that he claims to want distance— she thinks he’s bluffing, because she thinks he doesn’t want at all. She thinks she can fix that.. somehow. She’s got time to figure it out, and in the meantime she’ll keep making puppy eyes.

Freyja: Classic big sister/little sister dynamic, taller-little-sister syndrome included, with a spin of being strangers to each other for many of their early years. Freyja is so smart! and strong! and knows everything about everything!! Ag wants to learn from her, and frequently asks questions, repeats the the answers, and generally takes Freyja’s word as the definitive truth of everything. They’re aren’t super close, as yet, but Ag wants very badly for them to be. (So much so it might be the main obstacle to them actually being close. It’s hard to build on something idealized.)

Gonzo: Perhaps the most human-minded of the siblings, Zo is very bound to his mortal shape and the lives of many humans, and for that he Jagna don’t have much in common. He is also, though, fun! and good about being straightforward and clear with her, if somewhat blunt in a way that can hurt her feelings sometimes. He frequently intervenes when Kon is being particularly nasty, and is also likely to try to cheer her up when she’s feeling low. They aren’t necessarily tight-knit, but definitely good with each other. Ag will bite you for messing with Zo (you will not like it.)

Yana & Alexei: The twins, terse and tangled, are the siblings Kat & Ag have known the longest and leaned on the most. Yana & Alexei are the ones who discovered what was going on inside the church’s orphanage. They freed Katja & Jagna from their childhood of torment. The four of them spent some time as a unit, during which Kat & Ag gained their names and a new understanding of who -what- they even were to have been targeted as they were by the lord judge who held them captive. There is also a sense of understanding the four of them have, as each pair knows something of what the other feels and experiences as bonded duos. Two sets of twos, in slightly different fonts. Voted most likely to huddle together and hiss secrets in each others’ ears. Though, as I said, it seems broadly true the others are defensive of Ag, Yana & Alexei (& Kat) in particular will absolutely end you in a myriad of creative and very painful ways if you so much as think of hurting or harassing Agnieszka.

Katja: Jagna’s other half in a very literal sense. Too much to go into, and yet as simple as that. Though they have split and spread since the time they were one and the same, they remain deeply entrenched in each other, and although all of her siblings are dear, the honest truth of it all is that Katja is on another level. When Jagna wonders if she would survive the loss of her sister, it is not a metaphorical question. Could she exist without Kat? Well. No one will ever know, because no one will ever hurt Kat. Jagna is sworn to it. It’s what she was born for.

Valeria: Most likely owing to their proximity in age, griping and snarling and squabbling are the best words to apply to the relationship between Valeria and Ag (and by extension, Kat— or perhaps, it’s Val and Kat who have problems, and Ag who gets towed into it.... it’s hard to tell.) It is, mostly, affection in an antagonism hat, a vitriolic sort of normal that simply defines them to each other. That’s Val, she’s stinky. Sometimes, though, it escalates into them genuinely trying to wound each other, both emotionally and physically. Regardless, whatever stage of snippish, they’ll happily turn on a third party in tandem, to rip them to shreds should they think they have any right to antagonize one or the other, or even just stick their nose into it. Afterwards, they’ll go happily right back to criticizing each other.

Flea: Baby brother, beloved. Outside of Kat, he’s the sibling Ag feels the most close to. Both of them are somewhat less bound to their mortal bodies than the others seem to be, more at home in stranger, wilder forms. They spend a lot of time together, away from the lives and world and worries of humans. They see less of themselves in people, more from their siblings. From each other. Flea is the only sibling (Kat included!) Ag has never once argued with. They are all of them monstrous one way or another, but Ag and Flea seem the most inclined toward the inhumanity of it. Though they rarely acknowledge it in words, they hold common ground in that they seem to be formed from the Chernabog’s basest parts: the Shadow and the Beast; the darkness and the hunger.

#❖║headcanon / agnieszka.#oh yeah that's a fun fact for anyone who didn't know: all of the siblings have players none of them are npcs #we built a lil monster family owo #so these are my Takes from some building but may shift around or change entirely tbh it's just how the vibes feel currently

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lanatusnebula · 6 days

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Alt take on AI (plus bonus ramble)

AI sucks ass.

Ok.

So with that being established, there's one site I do think about using sometimes. "This Person Does Not Exist", right. FUNNY STORY about that one.

Normally, like 10 or so years ago, I used to use a tumblr site called "humanae" to reference real faces to practice drawing humans. It helped a lot because there were a lot of different ethnicity and people that had deformations and variations etc- just generally a very educational site from an artistic point of view. Naturally I think the site was getting traffic by a number of other artists or something behind the scenes happened and it went full paywall. Just links to paid stuff. I think it was some sort of photography project that showed off the diversity of mankind and now they wanted money for it.

And I'm cheap. Real cheap. Dangerously cheap. I'm broke and I know I'll be that way until I get a better occupation. So I didn't pay, thus, I didn't get to use their resource. Fair enough.

But in the end it got harder to find faces to draw from because things I used search engines to find ended up being heavily edited to hide blemishes to the point of being noticeable. It was getting difficult to draw *people* and just generally became a resource I didn't look up for a long while. Like... what.. 8 years?

I used to play with the This Person Does Not Exist generator a lot when it was younger of a program thing, and had hilarious glitches that made eldritch monsters. Now that it has blown up, I think the thing can actually be a great reference too? Maybe some of the humans aren't quite as human as a real human would be, but there's enough diversity for me to use it to practice drawing faces of random ethnicity and ages. I just thought I'd ramble about that.

I know AI is stealing stuff and art websites are getting good deals and are being payed to let them take our shit. And honestly I think we're getting to a point where the financial benefits to the sites to betray artists outweighs the amount of distress the artists express. ANd there are individuals that manually steal art from artists on 1-on-1 conversations in order to train machines. I don't think it's a battle we can truly win.

I did like the approach some artists had to just either clean up AI art or use it as a stepping stone to improving their own art.

If anything, I'm settling. I've been in denial for so long. It's either I stay obscure with my poor skill level, or I improve and become noticeable enough for someone to jack my art style. There's no winning. I wanted to stop drawing overall due to the hopeless outlook I had on life. But I do know there are some things AI can't draw quite yet. (fucking megaman characters outside of classic for one LOL) And some people really do like the "handmade" side of art - just as they do for crafts. I obviously don't make enough to create a stable financial income off of my art, and I do feel like quitting and putting my all into a 9-to-5 job is the smarter route.

But I don't know. It's like an addiction. I like creating fanart that doesn't already exist, something that doesn't feed into mainstream because it's too obscure or weird. "Become the change you want to see" type of practice, except it's just for selfish reasons. Nothing noble - just self-indulgence. LIke wanting to make Grey and Reg eating pizza in a Rainforest Cafe. I could do it with enough dedication, and it'd be the first of its kind. And I think the novelty of doing like "-insert game-'s first fanart" or first r34 is freaking hilarious. It's stupid and it's fun.

If I gotta jack someone's AI and use it as a reference, I might. Most of the styles that I see AI stealing aren't quite the kinds of art styles I'd use myself. Painted animes and westernized furry stuff. I'm kind of in this weird space with a lot of other obscure artists where the art style doesn't really have a word or a clear leaning into any specific genre. I'm not trying to say "my art is super duper unique and i'm not like the other girls" - it's just that I don't know what to call it.

But then again I haven't exactly posted what my style looks like. I'm just doing style mimicry. It's not much better than an AI, some of the stuff I'm making - I still copy someone else's art style (Toru Nakayama is my bitch of choice I guess??????? and I do a poor job at it when I attempt LOL)

I forgot why Iwas here.

#text post #lana please shut up #these post are generally me talking to myself #and uploading it to the internet for cataloguing purposes

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wonkyreads · 3 months

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Twelfth Knight by Alexene Farol Follmuth

5 out of 5 Arthurian knights

Jack and Vi’s senior years are off to a rocky start to say the least. Jack suffers an injury that puts his future plans in jeopardy, not to mention his girlfriend is acting weird and pulling away. Viola’s starting fights and burning bridges, cutting herself off from all the hobbies she usually uses to escape. The two of them become grudging partners both in real life and in Twelfth Knight, an MMORPG Viola loves.

If you know Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, it’s clear what shenanigans are about to ensue.

Twelfth Knight takes Shakespeare’s story and characters and not only modernizes them with football and video games, but also through focusing on the kinds of things young adults might be struggling with today. Like what it’s like to question your sexuality in a situation where it may not be safe to or being a young black man in an upper middle class neighborhood and school system. As much as this book reads like an early 2000’s teen romcom, it’s truly an updated version.

Speaking of 2000’s teen romcoms (and more specifically Shakespeare retellings), Viola feels very Kat Stratford shrew-like and I could not get enough of her. These characters were just all so charming, if I’m being honest. I adore Jack and Viola and their slow understandings of each other. They’re both so unflinchingly kind that it kind of kills me a little bit just to think about. The long list of side characters are also so endearing, particularly Olivia and Bash (though surprisingly Nick Valentine and Pastor Ike really made me love them, though their roles were so tiny). Just a phenomenal cast of characters. They’ve burrowed their way into my heat.

The narrative style of Twelfth Knight feels, fittingly, like a soliloquy. Everything is told, almost offhandedly, to the reader. The character stands at the edge of the stage and just bares it all. There is definitely a lot of telling involved, a fair bit of stream of consciousness, and it’s definitely not a style that I usually prefer. I’ll be honest, there were times when it grated on me, but those moments were far outweighed by some of the most beautiful lines in the book that wouldn’t have worked as well if framed by a different style of narration.

Another thing worth noting, I think, is that Twelfth Knight does that thing where it’s set in a world that is basically our own modern America but most of the pop culture references are made up. Bash and Olivia run lines from Shakespeare, but instead of Game of Thrones or ComicCon or any of a multitude of TTRPGs there’s War of Thorns and MagiCon and ConQuest. Viola explains to the reader that Twelfth Knight is like World of Warcraft, but better. There’s comments about ‘Empire Lost’ and it’s white plot lines that makes me think it’s mean to be Star Wars. Cheeky moments where the football team plays Padua and Verona. When my mind wasn’t fully immersed in the storyline, little things like that set me on tangents wondering how it all works, what exists in their world and what doesn’t. In the end, it didn’t hinder my enjoyment of the book over all, but it was frustrating in the beginning.

Outside of that, this book felt exactly like the old Shakespeare retelling romcoms feel. It’s that same fun but heartfelt storytelling that I grew up loving. I laughed, I cried, I grinned madly at all the dramatics and banter. It’s an easy recommendation to anyone who wants to recapture that old magic with a few new twists.

Honestly, I kind of want to turn around and read it all over again.

{Huge thank you to Netgalley and Tor Teen for the eARC in exchange for an honest review. All opinions here are my own.}

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lattechans · 3 years

Text

𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: teasing changbin has it’s consequences

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: changbin x female reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: oral (m receiving), mild face-fucking, dirty talk, mild degradation, pet names, unprotected sex, creampie

𝐚/𝐧: i recently requested a smut for @moonlit-lixie and she said that she didn’t get any changbin recs before mine….and honestly, i haven’t seen much changbin love out here recently but i’m here to change that! changbin is absolutely the loml <3 and fuck he’s hot

₁₈₊

“please let me suck you off.”

you’re well aware of how needy you’ve been tonight, but in the privacy of changbin’s, room without any of the other boys being home, you were free to be as naughty as you wished. not that you were able to control yourself earlier when you had gone out to dine with changbin, either.

something about him – maybe it was the all black outfit he’s wearing, his tshirt hugging his muscular body beautifully, or the hint of spice in his cologne – had you insatiable tonight. all through dinner, you simply couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, eager to be close to him, just to revel in his company.

it’s fair to say that you did not dine for a very long time. in fact, you think you’d never seen changbin eat his food as fast as he did tonight and you were no different, excited to see where this would take you.

the walk in the brisk outside air back home felt painstakingly long, and it seemed like changbin had made up his mind on how to deal with you. his grip on your hand strong and firm, he just radiated determination. especially with a slight smirk hanging on his lips.

“you’ve been doing this on purpose, haven’t you?” he asks as soon as you get to his place and more specifically, his room. all you could do was shake your head no, curious to see his reaction to your quite obvious lie.

“i just want to make you feel good, i swear.”

changbin knows you well enough to tell when you’re teasing, and the sheer neediness in your voice is unmistakable. he clenches his jaw, eyes fixed on yours as he tried to hold on to some form of restraint.

“i wish i could just fuck you right here against the door but–“

he’s cut off when you reach to his crotch, palming him through his black cargo pants, enough to elicit an involuntary moan from him. he instantly pushes you against the door, hands finding your hips as to hold you steady.

“princess,” he exhaled harshly, expression completely darkened. “the boys could be back within the next ten minutes. i don’t want to take that risk.”

“i don’t care,” you replied after a moment of consideration, feeling yourself growing wetter from anticipation. if changbin weren’t already so uncomfortably hard, he would have laughed at that, instead he just scoffed.

“that’s not what i’m not worried about,” he says, briefly licking his lips as his eyes linger on your figure.

“i just don’t want anyone else to see you like this.”

his possessiveness was not unfamiliar but it never failed to leave you feeling warm, sending a pulse of red-hot desire to your core. you’re forced to rub your thighs together for some semblance of relief, your impatience only outweighed by your desire to make him feel good.

“you know it’s all for you,” you whisper, reaching for his jaw, bringing it closer to you so you could leave a faint kiss right on the corner of his lips.

he looks you over, as if to confirm that you really want what you’re asking of him. his gaze is intense, absolutely piercing, but you don’t back down – only looking at him with the most innocent expression you could conjure.

you don’t need to be told twice and you take your chance, reaching to unbuckle his belt with embarrassing haste. he takes a step back from you, allowing you free rein as you pull him out of his constrictions. your mouth watering in anticipation at the sight. he’s already almost completely hard, just a few more gentle strokes from you getting him the rest of the way there.

you eagerly adjust yourself, sinking onto your knees when he had given you enough space between the door and himself. wasting no time, you dove in to drop some sloppy, wet kisses on the tip of his cock, huffing when locks of your hair kept falling in your way.

“let me help,” changbin mumbled, his voice dark and quiet, reaching to stroke his hands through your hair and gather it into a makeshift ponytail. a few stray hairs remain loose, but it does the trick and in his eyes, it was incredibly attractive.

you gave him a grateful smile, attempting to lower your head and return to the task at hand, but he stops you with his loose grasp on your hair. he smiles at the confused pout you give him, before pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“i’m so fucking you like the good girl you are after this.”

your lips quirk into a smile. “i mean, if you insist.”

he shook his head in amusement, allowing you to lower your head back down on his crotch. taking him into your hand, you eagerly licked a broad stripe along his length, savoring his faint taste on your tongue. the groan that left his lips sends an immediate pulse to your core, the encouraging sounds only fuelling your hunger as you lapped up his taste. lingering on his tip, you add a few kitten licks around the head of his cock, circling your tongue over his warm slit.

you feel his thighs tense against your body, a soft hiss leaving him as you gathered the taste of his pre-cum in your mouth. grasping his shaft more firmly, you take only his head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around before sucking lightly.

“that’s it, baby,” changbin mewls, struggling to prevent his hips from snapping into your hot mouth.

“mmh, just like that.”

his grasp on your hair is tight, but gentle enough that you’re still in control. you hollow out your cheeks as you take more of his girth, increasing the intensity of your suction whilst still keeping your strokes restrained. to tease him further, you bring your fingertips to his balls, gently pressing the sensitive skin underneath, the way you know he likes.

his cock twitches against your tongue, and taking that as an encouraging sign, you quicken your pace. wrapping your fingers around the length you can’t manage in your mouth without gagging. you continue that way for a few moments, encouraged by his groans, until you feel him thrust into you.

caught by surprise when he hits the back of your throat suddenly, you pull yourself off of him, a string of saliva lewdly connecting your mouth to his cock.

wiping it from your face, some of your lipstick coming off as you do, you looked back up at changbin to see him breathing heavily, his full cheeks flushed pink.

“sorry,” he mumbled. “i didn’t mean to…just felt really good.”

you shook your head, assuring him it was fine, just unexpected.

“god, you’re so perfect,” he says, the words coming out raggedy, his chest heaving with each breath. you feel yourself drooling onto his cock as you relinquish control of your movements, eventually letting him push you further down his length.

“if only you could see yourself right now, so fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

unable to reply, you simply grasp the fabric of his tshirt, encouraging him to continue.

tears prick your eyes as he began to hit the back of your throat repeatedly, arousal pooling in your panties as he allowed throaty groans to fall from his lips unhindered.

he threw his head back in pleasure when you relaxed your muscles, forcing down any instincts to gag and allowing his length to press down your throat. after a few strokes, he releases his grip to allow you to breathe, but you only take a moment before shoving yourself back down and swallowing around him.

a loud cruse spilled from his lips, pulling you off of him. “babe, stop, i’ll come.”

you pant to catch your breath when you look back up at him, wiping your mouth to rid it of the drool that’s gathering there. “isn’t that the point, binnie?”

he shook his head, his own breaths slightly erratic. “i’m only coming where you want be to baby,” he says, his tongue briefly making an appearance to his lips. you felt your face heat up at his comment, immediately understanding the implication. and if you were being honest with yourself, your panties were uncomfortably sticking to your own heat and just the imagine of changbin’s load leaking out from you like all the other times…

“i want you to come in me,” you say with intent. and with that changbin gives you an impatient look and takes off the remaining clothing covering his body, striding to sit on the edge of his bed, gesturing you to sit on his lap.

unable to resist any longer, dripping at his words, you gather the fabric of your skirt and climb to straddle him. he immediately reaches for your heat, trailing his fingers against your clothed lips to ensure that you’re sufficiently prepared. and when he finds your panties to be soaked, his lips curl into a smirk.

“just from sucking my cock?”

nodding your head, cheeks flushed in slight embarrassment, he hums in satisfaction.“that’s right princess,” he coos, lifting the fabric of your skirt to reveal more of you.

pulling your panties to the side with one hand and lining his cock up to your entrance with the other, you sink down onto him in one smooth movement. your warmth elicits an extended groan from him, a whimper leaving your own lips — his girth splitting you open with a tight stretch.

changbin curses under his breath, immediately releasing your skirt and letting it fall around you, obscuring the view of his cock entering you. but before you can move, his hands travel to your waist, locking you in place.

“you just love it when i cum inside you, don’t you, princess?” he said against your lips, his breath hot and heavy. you were only able to whimper eagerly in response, grinding down further against him to the best of your abilities, begging him to let you move freely. it’s a fairly recent discovery of his and luckily for you, he seems to enjoy this newly found kink just as much as you did.

“say it, doll,” he encourages you, roughly pulling your shirt down, along with your bra, so that your breasts spill out in front of him. “tell me how much you love taking my load in that pretty pussy of yours.”

“i love it, i love it,” you quickly submit, desperate for some relief. “i want your cum in me, ah, so bad.”

he lets out a low, approving hum, releasing his grip on you slowly, allowing you to rock your hips against him. even the minimal movement, paired with the complete fullness of having his cock buried inside you, has incredible tension building in your stomach, feeling yourself getting close.

his gaze lowers to your chest, the pad of his thumb finding your nipple as he rubs it repeatedly, the sensation eliciting tiny whines from you.

“god, i love your tits,” he mumbled, wholly mesmerized with the sight in front of him.

“will you let me cum on them next time?”

“y- yes,” you responded immediately, though you’re much more focused on the feeling between your legs, your head thrown back in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut, as you bounce on him.

a smile lingers at your lips as you wrap your arms around him, relinquishing control to him. gripping your hips tightly, he lifts them and brings them back in at a tantalizing pace, setting a slow pace that pulls satiated whimpers from you. sneaking your hand down to your clit, you deftly bring yourself to the brink with a steady rhythm, approaching your release alongside him.

it isn’t long before his resolve unravels, his smooth strokes transforming into rough, shallow thrusts. he bounces you on his cock with increased urgency, chasing friction as you leak arousal all over him.

“a-are you close binnie?”

he grunts out a yes, bucking his hips into you harshly when you clenched around him.

“cum with me, doll?” he breathes, pace now frantic.

he doesn’t need to ask twice, and with your walls clamping down on his, he’s spilling ribbons of white into you within seconds. your muscles greedily milk every last drop, squeezing erratically with every pulse that splashes against your walls. you continue rocking into him until your climaxes subside, leaving the two of you in a warm, sticky embrace.

for a lengthy moment, you embellish in the aftermath of amazing sex, heavy breaths slowing down to normal. as his warm hands rub comforting circles on your thighs, you simply lean to rest your head on his shoulder, revelling in the intimacy you can enjoy with him. a tired smile on both of your lips.

only to be interrupted with the loud discussions of the boys entering the apartment.

#changbin smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #changbin scenarios #changbin imagines #skz scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines

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system-of-a-feather · 2 years

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How do you know if you fused ? I wonder if I did because we haven(t seen my little sister in quite a while, and I have more and more of interests only she had, but are you supposed to know for sure about it or is it more of a "I guess.... ???" situation ?

Disclaimer: This is entirely based on our personal experience solely and I'm lowkey scatter brained at the moment so this entire post is not my best writing

-----

Honestly, there really isn't a point where you will magically know you are fused. I think a lot of DIDtube has presented fusion as this instantaneous thing that is bam over night suddenly you are a new person kind of thing, and for some it might be like that, but we've personally never experienced it. For us our shortest fusion took like 2 weeks, and longest could be argued to be like 4-6 years.

In my personal opinion, you are fused once you feel you are fused and/or have put emotional and mental time and space into pulling two parts together and holding them in the same space. Once you've reached a place where you can comfortably hold both "brains" and rest as some middle ground place and you feel like its fair to call yourself fused, its probably a good point. It personally feels a lot like learning emotional regulation between two extreme emotional states and trying to find the middle ground in a DBT like setting, and that phase takes up a lot of the space prior to feeling properly fused.

But also like.... XIV didn't know he was fused and it was a complex situation, but he spent a lot of time balancing his wildly swaying mood swings and lack of control and in hindsight we realized he had fused with a part that was MIA.

Personally for me, I usually say I'm a fused when I felt two parts close and got this general emotion-based vibe that fusion was possible, ended up melding (term we use, its like blurring, but instead of fogginess, it is just confusing temporary state of two parts fusing and is often very brief and short run) by accident, decide that we intend to try to hold onto to this and give it mental and emotional time and space. Usually doing that will be annoying as shit because it'd feel like you are one person with HORRIBLE emotional regulation and identity crisises, but if its a positive fusion there will still be a net positive

And usually once a part "gets a grip" on the extreme swings that comes with working to fuse a part and can typically regularly hold a "middle ground" brain, we like to consider that part a fused part.

In our time of trying to fuse parts I've tried fusing with a good few parts. Only like 1 of the 4 I tried actually stuck because the other three were too much pretty quickly and the distressed / discomfort outweighed the benefit and it naturally returned back to what it was.

Also I think one of the most common traits in our system of knowing you are a fused part is looking at how you were before the possible fusing and going "Goddd I was miserable" but that is most likely a system specific trait XD

Honestly I'm still a bit new to how this fusion stuff works cause I only sorted mine out like 2 or 3 months ago and haven't really sat to get the words put together in a manner that is really coherent but like.... for example, I'm a fusion between two subsystem parts Riku (One) and Arya (Four) and one of the largest and hardest parts between the two to properly integrate was the ability to be grounded and have needs and the need to chronically be moving and like.... it was horrible cause while there was something of a "third overwatching" brain that is me now, it was very very weak and small and most of the time I thought I was loosing my mind with how I kept jumping between coping skills and interests in ways I knew that were too extreme and not moderate and not what I needed to be doing.

I like had the vision of something between the two but the behavior and depersonalization / derealization particularly around traits that were hard to bring together and it took a few weeks and me also removing "crutches" that I as Riku (One) relied on to avoid shit with to actually get used to the "swings" and eventually lower them while building this third middle brain between the two parts.

And real talk here, even after you fuse, it really isn't odd - at least here - to occasionally swing a lot more to one part than another especially when triggers to them come up or coping skills get rough.

... really sorry about how scatter brained and unstructured this is, I have a lot of loose tangential thoughts on the topic, but really.... Fusion isn't this "on or off" thing really - its really a spectrum of integration with the far end being generally labeled "fusion".

If you put a gradient from yellow to red, at what exact hue are you "orange" - where does orange begin and end exactly? Is it one specific hue? Is it a range of specific hues? Or would you just generally pinpoint a general place that seems to represent orange well?

I dunno I'm sorry I'm rambling XD I also just lowkey switched in here so my brain is all over the place. If any of this makes any sense and you'd like further expansion or clarification feel free to ask more.

-Riku (Host)

#alter: riku #fusion #ask #asks #actuallydid #dissociative identity disorder #did

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himboarcher · 3 years

Text

reasons i've seen folks say that grad critics hate grad:

they hate travis (in fairness, i’ve def seen some comments of people shitting on trav for the sake of shitting on trav, but it’s not super common and typically gets downvoted into oblivion on reddit.)

it's not balance / travis isn't griffin (???????)

they hate neurodivergent people (again, in fairness, i have seen a handful of comments that could come across this way! but most of the time when travis being ADHD or his NPD is brought up, it's by defenders saying that criticizing travis is ableist because he's neurodivergent or, in one particular comment, infantilizing him bc of it and literally comparing grad to putting a kid's artwork on the fridge. there were some comments early on that pointed to him being a narcissist as the reason for things people disliked about grad, but everyone seems to have realized that that's a shitty train of thought and left it behind.)

they're just toxic haters (again, there are a small handful of people like this because this is the internet, but the genuine criticism greatly outweighs their bullshit. i 100% think that the people, which is mostly just one dude who is also insufferable on reddit, who have been responding rudely to positive tweets under the episode announcements lately are out of line and need to stop. there's been an influx of that lately, presumably because people are frustrated that after over a year of grad going on, there's been no improvement to most of the major issues. that's still no excuse to be a dick to folks, though.)

vs some of the actual reasons i don't like grad:

the racism / racist tropes, and the way that they’ve straight up ignored this criticism and will likely never acknowledge it. pretty wild considering a core tenet of their brand is their willingness to acknowledge when they’ve messed up and do their best to course correct.

clumsy attempts at inclusion that are shallow and often end up being fairly offensive ("...ask me about my wheelchair," anyone?)

on a related note: i don't think that travis had bad intentions, but as an nonbinary person, it feels othering to me that travis only has enby characters give others their pronouns unprompted. i'm thinking specifically of kai here. having listened to their introduction, i don't think it's as bad or awkward as some people have said, but i can't remember travis ever having another NPC tell the PCs their pronouns, especially not a cis character. it's not a huge deal, but it's something that rubbed me the wrong way. admittedly, i don't think it would bother me so much if travis hadn't dropped the ball so much with performative inclusion in the past.

okay i'm putting the rest under a read more because even without getting into all of the problems i have with it, this got Long.

little to no player agency. player choices are ultimately meaningless and have little to no effect on the world. even when he seems to go along with a plan they come up with, it always ends with them having to go back to travis' pre-written script (see: subpoenaing the xorn, but not really because they had to go with travis' original plan of "send the xorn home through the rift".) the players repeatedly get told things about what they think or feel or what they've been doing to an unnecessary degree. fitzroy is the only one who really gets space to play and decide things for himself, and that's only because travis has decided he's the main character.

the NPCs are all too nice and willing to give the PCs anything they ask for and more, unless the PCs are trying to follow their own plan and then the NPCs are completely useless. but honestly, aside from gray, all of the NPCs are just.... nice. travis refuses to even let his antagonists be mean or cruel or even more than just slightly rude, because that'd be a bummer and we don't want that! the "twist" of gordy the lich king actually being polite and chill is not a twist at all because everyone is like that in this world. the NPCs are also wildly overpowered, but then suddenly absolutely useless when the PCs actually want their help.

too many cliffhangers that are dropped immediately at the beginning of the next episode. i feel bad for travis because so many of these cliffhangers actually set up good momentum and seemed like things were gonna get interesting, but almost every single time he just dropped them at the beginning of the next episode. like when althea showed up to interview the boys and the next episode started with travis being like "actually you went to sleep, she said she'll be back tomorrow!"

that time travis specifically said in his exposition dump that the thundermen left their horses behind because they thought the centaurs might be offended by them riding horses, only to later on rag on them for being surprised that the centaurs had horses they could ride.....

also the centaur arc in general, but i already listed racism above, so.

the way that the toxic positivity and parasocial tendencies in the mcelroy fandoms have made a large portion of the fandom take ANY criticism as a personal attack on travis and/or on themselves for enjoying something others consider bad, either morally or just quality-wise. it’s okay to admit that something you like has problematic elements or just isn’t as good as it once was. you can and should engage critically with the media you consume.

related to above: the way travis has handled genuine criticism, which is to throw public tantrums on his twitter or make weird passive aggressive tweets & ultimately ignore all the genuine criticism and advice he's been offered by claiming it's all subjective, even after he specifically asked for it and set up an email for folks to send in genuine, objective advice for him (after he threw a tantrum on twitter and replied to someone's criticism publicly, which resulted in his followers dogpiling on that person bc how dare they insult their internet best friend). while i was writing this last night, he actually announced that he’s taking a break from Twitter and acknowledged that he’s been using it as an echo chamber where he can easily get validation from folks, and honestly i’m happy for him that he’s recognized this problem and is stepping away for a while! i hope he’ll genuinely use this time to reflect on how he’s been behaving and find a more healthy way to use social media. i’m leaving this point in because i think his Twitter being such a positive echo chamber was encouraging him to do stuff like this, and him somewhat acknowledging his behavior doesn’t mean it can no longer be discussed.

rainer. extremely cool concept in theory and i was very into it until that awkward "does anyone want to ask about my wheelchair?" moment. also when travis had her use her mobility aid to RAM INTO A DOOR instead of just fucking knocking???? also all the times travis has tried to force a romantic relationship between her and fitzroy, despite fitzroy displaying no interest in her in that way. also, just to clarify: as an ace person, i don’t think this is aphobic! (and it’s kind of a stretch to call it that imo, especially since griffin never explicitly said that fitzroy's aromantic!) i just think it’s weird and awkward and a little uncomfortable for me personally, mostly because it reminds me of the times i’ve been in similar situations.

less of a problem than a lot of the other stuff and more just bad writing, but the forced emotional moments. in general, nothing in grad feels earned (why are the boys heading a war? when they have multiple actual heroes with combat experience on their side and a supposedly powerful secret organization? and the thundermen are like 21 years old max and have only had like ~10 fights in the entire campaign?) but there've been a couple times where travis has tried to force unearned emotional moments, presumably because he knows people enjoyed those with the last campaigns. but the difference is that in balance, the big emotional moments happened because they were earned. in grad, it's just travis throwing a baby pegasus at us for a few minutes and then the next time she shows up, it's supposed to be a tearful goodbye.

there are absolutely no stakes. remember when the thundermen got told that if they left, gray would kill 10 students? and then they left and came back and it turns out that what gray actually meant was, "i'll tie ten students who are mostly nameless NPCs to a tree and throw some dogs at them that you can easily stop in time, then throw a tantrum because how dare you but i'll leave before you can really do anything to hurt me lol" travis did have fitzroy's magic get taken away, but like. it didn't really do anything? also all he had to get it back was be coerced into using drugs by an authority figure and trip in the woods?

we're told that the school is weird and the hero system is corrupt, but the world of nua is still presented as more of a liberal utopia than anything? althea getting fired because of a corrupt villain is the only time we've somewhat seen corruption, but even then, she was still allowed to get (what seems to me, anyway, but admittedly i don't know for sure bc nothing about the HOG makes much sense) a fairly important job from the very people who stripped her of her hero license or whatever the fuck heroes need?

travis doesn't actually seem to understand how capitalism or bureaucracy works and just chalks up everything to "red tape." also more on the rest of the boys than him specifically, but the "let's destroy capitalism!" thing turning into just pushing some filing cabinets over................... okay.

and one last piece of extremely subjective criticism: it's just kind of.... boring. i think a lot of people, myself included, would be willing to overlook 90% of the problems with graduation if it didn't feel like such a slog to get through.

also people saying that we can't or shouldn't criticize graduation because it's "free" is absolutely absurd for several reasons. first, something being free does not make it above criticism. second, there ARE people who directly financially support the show with monthly donations. three, there's a difference between something being free and something being not for profit. podcasting is their full time job. they make their living off of money made from TAZ and MBMBAM (and probably their other shows to a lesser extent). this not a fun home game that they are graciously recording and sharing with us. it is a product they are producing that they make money off of, both from ads in the episodes and merch & books based off of these podcasts. they have marketed themselves as professionals, and both griffin and travis have been on panels where they are marketed as professional DMs and appear alongside other professional DMs (which makes it incredibly frustrating when people say that travis is just a newbie DM and we can't criticize him because of that. if he's a newbie, then he should not be taking part of panels as a professional DM where he speaks as an expert). TAZ is free in the same way that an episode of NCIS is free. i may not pay for it directly, but the creators are paid to create it and profit off of me consuming this product. so saying we should be grateful for any mcelnoise that the benevolent good boys share with us and that we're not allowed to criticize it "because it's free" is absolutely wild.

#negativity cw #i guess #anyway this is not meant to say that you cannot enjoy grad.#but i'm tired of folks on this website acting like there aren't genuine problems with it #and saying that people just dislike it bc they hate travis etc etc #taz graduation #i genuinely don't expect anyone to read this bc it's so long #but here ya go.#long post

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dramaqueeenamby · 3 years

Text

𝐑𝐄𝐃 ⧼𝑏. 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠⧽

A/N: It’s almost a new year! Figured I’d finish this one off with a bang. Literally. Okay, I’ll shut up. Also, I’ve never written Bucky before, so I apologize in advance for the massacre and disrespect of his characterization.

Summary: ❝You still remember the first time he walked in, the baseball cap and glasses told a story you knew all too well.❞

Warnings: Smut with a bit of plot. Sorta. Mostly, just smut. Vaginal penetration. Oral (female receiving). Light Dom themes (specifically, choking). Blink and you miss it cockwarming.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 3K

RED

You don’t even know his name.

Don’t know where he’s from, who his people are, where he lays his head at night. None of it. Actually, the last one is a lie. You know it’s not here, in this town of less than 1,000 where the only people of color, including yourself, can be counted on one hand.

It’s not ideal, but when wanting to become consumed by a blanket of invisibility and needing to erase your existence from the greater world, you do what you have to do.

You still remember the first time he walked in, the baseball cap and glasses told a story you knew all too well.

Privacy. It was all he wanted, and you’d give him that, along with any alcoholic beverage he wanted. And, he wanted a lot.

You’d once commented that his liver had to be nonexistent and asked just how long he’d been drinking, because no matter how much he consumed, he remained coherent enough to leave a kind tip and close his tab. He said nothing.

He was a man of few words, when in public, at least.

You liked that as well. Maybe it was because he recognized that you had a job to do, or perhaps he detected that look in your eyes. It was that same look that he had, that plea for solitude.

You had a feeling that you weren’t the only one who could be in a room full of people and still feel all alone. You lived by that. So did he.

Interactions and meetings outside of the shabby bar commenced through the most generic of circumstance. It was a copy and paste situation. A rowdy, drunk customer became too intoxicated to remain inside the establishment. You calmly asked him to leave, security was preoccupied with another violent drunk, and next thing you knew, he’d grabbed you by your forearm. His grip was relentless but so was your dedication to break free. Unfortunately, mental fortitude didn’t outweigh physical capability.

He’d shoved you into the a nearby table, sending you onto the floor, your head and side loud with its throbbing. Your eyes shut as the pain coursed. However, seconds later, your attacker was outside, flat on his ass, unconscious.

That was the first time he saved you, and it was all it took for you two to progress into something more. You couldn’t say intimacy. For you, intimacy meant feelings, and feelings were nonexistent here.

This was an arrangement, a source of release.

It was mutually beneficial.

You both received something from the other, an ironic arrangement considering you had a feeling he, like you, had little else to give.

The first time occurred in your car, in the back seat. He was big—in more ways than one—so it wasn’t ideal, but he’d stated that he received a ride, so he had nowhere to offer. You certainly weren’t bringing him back to your apartment. Stranger danger and the fact that it was rundown.

So, that left your vehicle, which again, wasn’t the best place, but it wasn’t the worst. And at least you got to be on top, one of your favorite positions

The time after that, despite your initial protest, happened in the storage closet in the back of the bar. He’d shifted an old keg to block the door before he promptly placed you up and ate you out.

You’d received head before, but this was something different. You’d never had a man leave you as delirious and feeble with just his mouth alone. Hell, most of the time, you had to instruct more than a professor.

The more you thought about it, the more you regretted not charging tuition.

Especially considering most failed every time.

Not him. No, it was as though he knew exactly what you wanted, and he gave off the impression that he wanted it too.

You’d allowed him to lower you to the ground, hands on your hips as he kept you upright and stabilized. For good reason, your legs were bowling balls, and you needed time to find your equilibrium.

However, when you finally came to and attempted to fall to your knees, he stopped you.

You looked up, not saying a word, your furrowed eyes conveying confusion. What man refused head?

You waited for an explanation. He offered none, bringing you back to your feet as he moved the keg and left you alone, confused and still very much on a high from your orgasm.

And sure, at first, you berated yourself for letting a stranger go down on you. You didn’t know his sexual history, but to be fair, he didn’t know yours either. You were both reckless, but with the mind-blowing pleasure he caused you, you weren’t exactly stressing over longterm implications.

You didn’t see him for a few weeks after that, and as much as you hated to admit that you missed him, you did. Mostly because the sex was addictive, but also because every time he came around, you could just see that something was off.

Something ate at him, but whatever it was, you’d never know. And it was better that way. Converging demons never ended well for anyone. Two fucked up people doing more than just fucking and leaving would benefit no one and harm everything.

That sexual tryst also occurred in your vehicle, but the two of you were more creative that time around. You played around with different positions, testing your both your flexibility and comfortability.

You finally told him your name.

He was mid-stroke when you blurted it out, his pace slowing as his eyes met yours. You swallowed and repeated it, louder. On the second round, he used it, quietly mumbling it into the sheen of sweat on your neck, but you heard it, and he knew it. That was all that mattered.

He didn’t tell you his.

That was a few weeks ago, and no matter how busy you get, your head still turns every time the welcome bell chimes. You know better than to eagerly await for a stranger who you’ve fucked on several occasions and know nothing else about. It’s stupid, but in the litany of stupid decisions you’ve made over the years, this ranks pretty low.

And that’s saying something.

Exactly one month since your last sexual tryst, as you dig in your purse for your keys while walking to your car, you look up, key between your index and middle finger when you jump upon hearing your name.

Spinning around with the key lifted high, ready to be used in a defensive manner, your heart rate settles when you see it’s him. He’s leaning back against the brick, arms tucked in his pocket.

Closing your eyes, you place your hand over your chest and scold him. “Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me—“

“Your place.”

A couple of things cross your mind in that moment, the main one being that this bastard is insane. You don’t know shit about him, except for the fact that his stroke game is impeccable and his tongue is the 8th world wonder. Other than that, he is a complete stranger.

Him knowing where you work is one thing, him knowing and visiting where you lay your head at night is another.

There are some lines that you just cannot cross, and this one is bolded, italicized, underlined, and in red.

You can’t.

—

The door shuts, forcing the cheap wall key holder that you’d picked up from the local goodwill to shudder against the peeling wallpaper. In the distance, you can hear something else fall, no doubt breaking, but none of that pulls you off of him.

You moan into his mouth as he pushes you against the wall, his tongue dancing with yours. His hands move to your ass, tugging you into his crotch. You moan again, eyes fluttering sporadically.

How the hell you went from telling him to fuck off to having him minutes away from fucking you is beyond you. It’s also above you now.

Just how he’ll be in five minutes.

“Bedroom,” you murmur against his lip, waiting for him to loosen his grip. His shirt is scrunched in your hand as you lead him to your bedroom. It doesn’t take long, your one bedroom, one bathroom apartment can be explored in its entirety in less than five minutes.

You’re thankful that evening approaches and the light dims by the minute. Just as shining a light into your life would ward off any buyers, so would the light into your apartment.

He tosses you on the bed, and in seconds, you’re on your knees, helping him to pull his shirt off. Naturally, your hands roam his chest. As lighting has technically never been in abundance during the sex, you’re only able to feel areas of his skin that are raised. Scars. They tell a story. His story.

One you’ll never be told.

His hands are against your shoulders before you’re flat on your bed. He pulls your legs from underneath you and spreads them. Your fingers grasp at the button of your jeans as you unbutton them. Lifting your hips, you move quickly to slide them off, but he’s already ahead of you. They’re already tossed to the floor.

You sit up and remove your shirt when he once again shoves you back.

Looking down your body, you realize he’s already nude, dick rigid and leaking precum. Stomach coiling with anticipation, you lick your lips and close your eyes when he grabs you by your hips and tugs you down the bed.

“Fuck.” Your back once again arched off the full sized mattress as he grabbed your thighs, holding you against his mouth. Your hands grasped at the wall behind you, nails scraping as his tongue danced against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Once thing you’d learned was that he was a man of limited patience, when he wanted something, he wanted it now. Immediate gratification was his dominant preference, and you had zero complaints, because right about now, you wanted the same thing.

Your body wormed as a natural reaction towards his tongue exploring every bit of your pussy. Your clit attracted him the most, but he was generous in the regards that nothing was left untouched. He sucked with skill and hunger and something else you couldn’t pinpoint.

Eyes rolling in the back of your head, however, there wasn’t much you could focus on expect for the man between your legs, even if you tried.

At times, you became too frisky for him, and he’d move one hand to your core, holding you steady. His strength was inhuman. You hated when he did that, though, because your stomach would cave as your insides twisted. It was impossible not to shift away from him, especially when he expertly circled his tongue around your nub.

You could have sworn you felt him spelling something, perhaps your name, maybe even his.

Again, questions you’d never receive answers to.

You weren’t certain, but you got the feeling that he was motivated to continue to push you based on how your body responded to him. And every tryst had shown that you responded almost perfectly to the slightest of his touches. Everything he did wound you up, he got off to that. Maybe that’s why he never wanted you to reciprocate what you did for him, no matter how badly you wanted to.

He preferred to please, not be pleased.

Stars filtered the vision of your ceiling, and even those became blurred and grainy as that familiar feeling bubbled from the deepest part of you and exploded in a majestic display of pants, moans, and breathy profanities.

You were barely coherent as he trailed sticky kisses up your body, past your pupa, over your tummy, both breast, and finally, your mouth. Tasting yourself and him, you brought your hands to his cheeks holding him. You wanted to savor every second of this. He returned your passion, never breaking the kiss as he lined himself at your slick entrance.

You knew the question of readiness was nearing, and quite frankly, you weren’t for it. You wanted him, and you wanted him now.

Lifting your hips to speed up his entry, you nearly screamed when he slammed into you. You weren’t expecting it, but holy fuck, you loved it. You weren’t prepared for the rapid and consistent snapping of his hips into yours or the way his hands pinned yours down above your head, but you cherished it.

You felt every inch of him, every ridge of his dick, his balls slapping against the bottom of your ass. All of it. And you loved every second of this. You missed this. You missed him.

The latter realization took you for surprise as your eyes opened, where you were again surprised to find that he was looking directly at you. He was studying you, searching your face for any sign of pain, discomfort, or even dissatisfaction. He would find none.

He never would.

Your thighs tightened around him, and you saw him grit his teeth, his eyes momentarily shutting as he lowered over you. You tugged against his hold on your wrists, thankful when he released you. Your hands immediately went to his back, pulling him against you, your breast against his broad and muscular chest. Every inch of him was chiseled and defined, and you always felt the strength he possessed barely reaching its peak when you two fucked.

This time was no different.

You waited for the moment where his thrusts slowed just enough for you to switch positions, and when it arose, you wasted no time. He was suddenly under you, with you on top of him. Your hands planted on his chest as you rode him. Unlike his rapid pace, you settled for a slow and meticulous pace, gradually working your way up.

You were confident there was no way that you could match his speed, but that didn’t deter you from trying.

Selfishly, you didn’t bother to search his face for any sign of pleasure, too consumed in your own fantasy. Your hands moved from his chest to the wall as you moved to your toes to access a better angle, one that emitted a prolonged mixture of a moan and a groan.

While he was vocal only in the form of occasional profanities and infrequent breathing patterns, you were determined to let the whole building know that you were getting fucked, and you were getting fucked thoroughly.

A letter from your landlord would surely be awaiting for you in the next couple days.

None of that mattered, though.

You’re not sure how long you go at it, but you recognize what’s coming. And so does he. You’re briefly caught off guard when he sits up and holds you against his chest. Both of your mouth are parted, and he never tears his eyes away from you, even as bliss overcompensates will, and your eyes shut. Your teeth bite into your bottom lip, and you close your mouth to quiet your scream when you reach your climax, as you both reach your release.

As his warm seed spreads insides you and yours coats his bottom half, along with your bedding, your heavy breathing and sluggish body alerts you to just how fast and how hard you two were at it. Completely spent and unwilling to move, you fall on top of him, uncaring of the mess that coats you.

Besides, you expect him to carefully peel you off of him. Instead, you receive the opposite, he brings him arms around you, holding you against him.

Your eyes shut. A few minutes of silence fill the void until he fills it with a proclamation.

“I’m not what you need.”

For some reason, his statement causes you to smile. This is the most verbal he’s ever been with you, and you recognize that. You appreciate it.

You appreciate his honesty.

“And I’m not what you need,” you speak into his slick chest while he rubs circles on the small of your back. “But this is what we need.”

He says nothing.

A few minutes go by when you finally gather the courage to ask what you wanted to ask from the minute you saw him standing outside the bar. “You staying the night?”

He takes a few moments to answer, but it’s long enough for you to regret even asking. And then, he speaks.

“I can.”

His answer takes you by surprise. It’s not a no, and it’s technically not a yes, either. However, you recognize the optional aspect in his voice.

You don’t provide a verbal answer. You simply cradle your face into his neck, sighing at the calming feeling of him still being inside you.

You know he won’t be there when you open your eyes, and that’s okay. He’s here now, and while you don’t know for certain, but you’re confident that he’ll be back.

And that is what allows you to peacefully close your eyes and succumb to slumber.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes oneshot #winter soldier #marvel fanfiction #fic: red

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anthemxix · 3 years

Text

whumpay bonus: deleted scenes

my final offering to you for the month~ :)

there were some prompts i started to write but didn't finish, and a few instances where i began a prompt, decided it wasn't working, and then completely started over. i have no idea if these scraps will interest anyone, but it seemed like a shame for them to go to waste. so i hope you enjoy :) thank you <3 <3 <3

day 4, part 2 (fire) - first attempt

“Can I just say again that I really don’t like this plan?”

Wind groaned. “We know, Captain. You’ve been saying that every five minutes.”

“Because it’s a terrible plan!”

Scowling, Wind shuffled back from the impossibly massive archway he’d been peering through. “Look, we decided on the plan hours ago, so just give it a rest already.”

Sky cleared his throat. “Well. I’d like to say that I don’t like this plan either.”

“Oh, how nice of you to contribute that, Sky,” Warriors growled, rounding on him. “Couldn’t have said anything before the literal last minute?”

“Hey, I’ve dissented to this idea the whole time,” Sky retorted, holding his hands up defensively. “Not just because it’s dangerous, but because it’s not our place to meddle in local political affairs.”

“Agreed,” Warriors said. “We’re putting that whole town at risk. It’s not too late to turn back.”

“Since when do you run away from a fight?” Wind goaded.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Time said. Five heads turned his way, expectant, tense, and he sighed in resignation. “The Sailor is correct. We discussed the merits and drawbacks this morning. We’re committed to this plan now. I’m sorry, Captain.”

Wind smirked triumphantly despite Warriors’ heavy frown. “Great. I’ll see you all later then.”

He offered a sloppy salute and turned towards the archway, only for Warriors to grab his arm and spin him back around.

“Ugh, now what?” Wind griped. “You heard the Old Man! The plan is a go!”

The Captain grasped both of Wind’s shoulders and ducked to his eye level, his expression all hard lines. “Listen. At the first sign of danger, you get out of there. This is not worth sacrificing your life over.”

Wind defiantly tried (and failed) to wiggle out of his iron grip. “I’m gonna be fine, Wars! Why don’t you trust me? I’m the most skilled thief we’ve got!”

“I do trust you, and I don’t doubt your skills in the least,” Warriors said. “It’s just…” He hesitated, swallowed. “Tell me you’ll get out of there as soon as there’s trouble. Don’t be reckless.”

The somberness and sincerity (and was that fear?) in Warriors’ tone was sobering, and Wind finally conceded, “I will. I’ll be careful. Promise.”

Warriors’ hands lingered on his shoulders a moment longer, and Wind was surprised to find he missed their weight when they were gone. He didn’t dwell on it, though, nor did he look back as he deftly slipped through the stone archway and disappeared over the ledge.

The Captain crossed his arms, not bothering to conceal his concern as he watched Wind go, and Legend murmured to him, “Hey. You don’t do anything reckless either. Got it?”

“Of course.”

They all knew he was lying.

---

The chamber Wind had entered was more astronomical than any he’d ever seen—it must have filled the entire berth of the mountain, he thought—and even more wondrous still, it was jam-packed with mound upon mound of shimmering rupees, jewels, armor, weapons, vases…treasure. The most extensive treasure trove in this or any era, surely.

Wind grinned to himself. Tetra and her crew would never believe this. Maybe he could smuggle out a shiny little gift for them.

He picked his way across the hills of treasure, disturbing them as little as possible, and stopped near a colossal column. Steadying himself on it, Wind peered around the enormous chamber, and, for the first time since they’d departed the lakeside town that morning, felt a flicker of dismay. He had, of course, expected that locating one specific gemstone in a vast hoard of treasure would be difficult, but he’d underestimated the task. Like kind of, really, severely underestimated the task.

Well, no matter. He didn’t make it this far in his adventures by shying away from impossible odds. Besides, he felt he was graced with the goddesses’ favor today. He and the others had climbed up the mountain, strongarmed their way into the mines, and navigated the maze of corridors without one blip of trouble—and, best of all, there was no sign of the one major threat they’d been warned about again and again.

Wind smiled as he continued across the treasure trove, pausing to sift through some of it now and again. He just needed to be patient and deliberate and quiet, and then he could sneak back over to where the others were waiting and prove to them what a capable hero he was. Warriors said he didn’t doubt Wind’s skills, but he must, at least a little, or he wouldn’t have been so reluctant to let Wind do this.

The Sailor peered across the chamber towards the archway he’d come through. It was well above him now, as he’d descended from the peak of a treasure mound, although he was nowhere near the floor yet. The candle chandeliers suspended from the cavern’s apex offered a fair amount of light, which reflected brilliantly from all the gold rupees and splendid diamonds, but it was not sufficient to see any of his friends.

All the better, he thought as he continued his hunt. If he couldn’t see them, then neither could their enemy, whose other senses outweighed its sight—as he’d been repeatedly reminded by the others, who had all info-dumped him on this particular foe, as if he hadn’t dealt with any himself before.

Wind really did not understand what all the fuss was about. What made this different than any other dungeon, or any other enemy therein? Yes, this particular mission was complicated by the fact that they were helping restore some fallen regent and give him access to this treasure hoard without having all the details on the guy. Wind regularly operated without having all the details, even on missions as significant as this, and he suspected the others did as well, so he wasn’t too concerned about that.

But what was the big deal with the enemy? He understood that provoking this monster put the proximal town at risk, but didn’t that happen with every big baddie they faced? What was so different about this—?

Wind froze, thoughts cut off as he tuned in to the nearby jingle of tumbling rupees. He slowly turned his head, hand on the Phantom Sword’s hilt, expecting to see some stalfos or something emerging from the depths. There had to be someone guarding this treasure, after all.

He was not anticipating a stream of treasure would part to reveal the snout of a dragon sighing in its sleep.

Panic jangled Wind’s nerves, and suddenly he felt like he understood Warriors’ reluctance very clearly.

The tip of this dragon’s muzzle was utterly massive, with yellow, jagged teeth as tall as Wind protruding from its mouth. The rest of it, still concealed by treasure, must have been unimaginably gargantuan. Its steady breaths smelled ominously ashy.

Wind backed up a step, rupees clinking beneath his foot, and held his breath. Perhaps it was time to return to his friends…

As he began to creep back towards the archway, leaving the dragon’s snout a considerable berth, Wind felt a tug of magic. It wasn’t a variety of magic he recognized, but the sensation was unmistakable. His eyes darted around, scanning, until they landed on a strikingly sparkly gemstone, iridescent and oval-shaped and nearly the size of his head.

Dumbfounded, Wind blinked. That. That was the stone! It had to be!

It wasn’t too far from him, but it was downhill, i.e., in the opposite direction of his destination. But he was so close. He couldn’t give up now.

Wind threw a cursory look at the dragon snout before switching course and tiptoeing down towards the stone.

There was another rattling jangle behind him, and Wind paled as treasure shifted to reveal some of the dragon’s tail, ridiculously far from where the snout lie. He tried not to let this bother him as he reached the stone and carefully tucked it into his bag.

Acquiring the target item filled him with some relief, and he started the long trek up the treasure mountains to reach the archway, choosing his footholds cautiously.

He was halfway there when he slipped, smacking face-first into the rupee pile and backsliding several meters with an insufferably loud clanking from the treasure.

He froze, breath bated, heart slowed, as he gazed over at the dragon.

It didn’t move.

Releasing a soft sigh, he straightened up, prepared to resume his ascent, when the dragon snorted.

With dreadful slowness, it lifted its head from its beloved treasure, amber eyes flitting around its chamber as it swiveled its long neck around, searching.

Then it slowly rose, gems and gold cascading from its back, as its enormous, folded wings appeared.

Wide-eyed, Wind didn’t move. He couldn’t. This was, by far, the largest creature he’d ever seen.

The dragon inhaled a great snuff of air, sniffing, then another. Forked tongue flickered between menacing teeth.

And then it spoke, its baritone voice echoing off the mountain walls as it dragged out each syllable.

“Where—are—you?”

Wind couldn’t help the involuntary twitch of his hands. Some coins jingled, and the dragon gazed in Wind’s general direction. It didn’t see him.

“I know you’re here,” the dragon drawled. “I can smell you. I can hear your breathing.”

One massive, clawed foot rose from the treasure depths, smacking down on top of a pile.

Swallowing, Wind shakily began to climb again, with painstaking slowness, on his hands and knees. He was good at stealth. He could do this. Absolutely.

“I can sense your fear. Little thief.”

He faltered, hand twitching, but continued. Slow. Steady. Come on. You can do it.

The dragon lifted another foot, and its third and fourth, until it was fully free of the treasure, its tail swishing in its wake. It grazed against the high chandeliers, causing them to quiver and shoot strange fluttering shadows across the room.

“I do not have much patience for foolish little thieves.” The dragon drew a deep, rumbling breath, its chest beginning to glow a burning orange. Smoke began to filter from its nostrils. “Come out.”

Wind looked up. The archway was still so far away. He tried to move more quickly while staying as noiseless as possible. He had to hurry. He was running out of time. As soon as he got there, they could escape unseen—

“If you come out now, little thief, I won’t kill your friends quite so painfully.”

Wind tripped again, setting off a mini-avalanche of treasure.

The dragon’s head snapped in his direction, its eyes narrowing and lipless mouth curling as if in a smirk. It took a step towards him, and another, its claws clinking as the dangerous orange glow built up along its neck, up its throat, more smoke churning from its snout.

“Are you over there, little thief? I’ll give you one more chance. Come out. Now.”

Wind scrabbled, slipping again, sending more treasure tumbling, and when the dragon opened its mouth, its internal flame heating the room significantly, he lost all caution and tried to run.

---

When the dragon lifted its head, Legend wrapped his hand firmly around Warriors’ elbow.

As more and more of the dragon emerged from the depths, Four said quietly, “I think we need to prepare.”

There was a murmur of agreement, and Legend frowned. Reluctantly, he released Warriors’ arm and muttered, “Old Man, keep an eye on him.”

Time nodded, eyes already on the Captain, and Legend, Sky, and Four headed out for their destination.

Time pulled out his Biggoron Sword, watching the dragon take a step, its booming threats resounding around the chamber. He picked out Wind among the mountains of treasure.

“I need you to know,” the Captain started, drawing Time’s attention, “that I cannot live with myself if he…”

Time nodded, even though Warriors wasn’t looking at him.

“If he goes down, I’m going to save him or die trying,” Warriors said. “Those are the only options.”

“I know.”

Warriors looked at him grimly. “It’s been an honor fighting by your side again.”

Time put a hand on Warriors’ shoulder, and left it there until the dragon opened its mouth, and Warriors jumped down into the pit of gold without another word.

---

Warriors aimed for the dragon’s amber eye, but hit its cheek instead. The arrow bounced uselessly off the impenetrable scales, and Warriors doubted the beast could even feel it; yet the dragon, to his relief, turned towards him.

Warriors nocked another arrow and shot again for the eye, but the dragon simply lowered its head, bringing it close to the Captain, heat radiating from it.

“Another little Hylian,” drawled the dragon. “Where did all your little friends scurry off to, hm?”

day 10 (screaming/silence) - unfinished

Distinguishing night from day is impossible in these woods; the opaque fog that consumes them occludes both sun- and moonlight, perpetually casting a bland grey pall across the trees. It’s disorienting, and Time has entirely lost his grip on the passage of his namesake. He has no conception of how long he and Sky have been wandering around this forest, searching for an exit, and that disconnect disturbs him, prickles beneath his skin.

When Time spots an x carved into a tree trunk, he stops and drags his hand through his hair with a sigh.

Lagging several paces behind him, Sky, too, pauses. “What is it?”

Time points to the marking. “We’ve been here before.”

It takes Sky a moment to register what he’s being told, and then he visibly wilts like an underwatered flower. “Great. That’s great.”

“I can’t keep track of this place,” Time confesses. “It’s as if it’s…shifting.”

“Or we’re getting shifted,” Sky says. “Wild said the fog in his Lost Woods can move him.”

“That’s…unsettling, to say the least.” Time glances skyward out of habit and frowns in annoyance as he’s reminded that he can’t see the sun here. “How long do you think we’ve been walking?”

“I…I really don’t know.”

The elder hero side-eyes Sky, who, alarmingly, appears considerably more ill than he did before. Some time ago, the two of them had stopped to sleep, certain they’d meandered the day away, and Sky woke up dizzy and pale. He insisted he was fine to continue—for what other option did they have?—but he had been growing more and more sluggish as they walked. Now he grips his sailcloth, pulling it tight around his shoulders like a blanket, and looks as colorless as the fog, swaying slightly where he stands.

“Do you need to rest?” Time asks.

Immediately, Sky shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I just want to get out of here.” Sky releases his sailcloth to scratch behind his ear, something Time has observed him doing on multiple occasions today (tonight?).

“You keep scratching,” Time says, gesturing towards his own ear.

“What?”

“Your ear. You keep scratching there.”

“Oh…” Sky removes his hand and clutches his sailcloth again. “I dunno. It really itches for some reason. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Time steps towards him and brushes Sky’s hair aside to see a small but very red bump. “Looks like an insect bite. You should leave it alone.”

Sky hums in acknowledgement. “Let’s keep moving.”

Unsatisfied, Time chooses a direction for them to proceed in. He thinks they’ve taken a different turn than the last time they crossed paths with this tree, but he can’t be certain. Before they leave the area, he pulls out a knife and marks the trunk with a second x.

Time has no idea how long it takes, but eventually, they wind up back at the same damn tree.

His eye twitches as he scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay. We need a new plan bec—”

“Uh, Time?”

He looks behind him to see Sky holding one hand out, blood smudged across his fingers. “What—?” Then he spots the blood trickling down Sky’s neck, staining his hair.

Time moves closer and brushes Sky’s hair aside again, causing the knight to jump a little. “What are you doing?”

Substantially more inflamed, the insect bite behind Sky’s ear has split open. Worse, now that Time is up close, he can see that Sky’s hands are shaking and his pallid cheeks are blemished with feverish pink blooms. “You scratched the bite so much that it’s bleeding… Let’s clean it up.”

He steers Sky beneath the contemptible tree and sets to work washing the bite. It’s worryingly hot to the touch, but what really dismays Time is that the bump, which he expected to feel malleable, is hard, as if there’s a stone beneath Sky’s skin.

“Sky, are you allergic to insect bites?”

“No… I don’t think so? I don’t know, really.”

As soon as Time finishes bandaging the bite, Sky is reaching up to scratch it. Time grabs his hand. “Sky. It is imperative that you do not touch that.”

“But it—” He makes a throaty, frustrated sound. “It itches so badly.”

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do about that.” Time looks around, as if he’ll magically spy an exit from the woods that he somehow missed before.

“Okay. Okay.” Sky grits his teeth and clenches his sailcloth until his knuckles turn white.

day 17 (phobia) - first attempt

For half an hour, rain had been falling in a steady, serene drizzle so light that Sky hardly noticed it until a stray droplet snaked beneath his tunic collar, slithering cold and uncomfortable down his spine. Absently, he scratched at his collar, as if that would alleviate the remarkably unsettling sensation, just as the rainfall picked up.

He blinked up at the sky, which brimmed with plump, grey clouds, promising wet weather for the remainder of the afternoon.

“Guess there’s no point in waiting out the rain,” he commented over the downpour’s soothing heartbeat.

Beside him, Legend swept his damp hair away from his eyes, minutely scowling. “Yeah, let’s just keep going. The sooner we meet up with the others, the sooner we can track down some suitable shelter for the night.”

Sky hummed his agreement, hoping that in scouting this new area they’d been dropped in, some of the others had found a town. He and Legend had discovered an overgrown trail and followed it for most of the morning, but their efforts were fruitless, as the path seemed to stretch endlessly through uninhabited wilderness.

Minutes later, a resonant boom of thunder rolled across the sky, followed swiftly by a flickering tongue of lightning in the near-distance. All of Sky’s muscles locked up so suddenly that he awkwardly stumbled, only staying upright because Legend’s hand shot out to catch him.

“You okay there, bird boy?” Legend asked, eyebrows arched.

“Yeah, of course,” Sky murmured. “Tripped. That’s all.”

He reached back and grabbed a handful of his sailcloth, pinching and rubbing the silken fabric as he tried to ignore Legend’s scrutinizing stare boring into his temple.

day 25 (goodbye) - unfinished

Dinner is eaten, the dishes washed and packed, and the campfire doused, all in dreary silence. As the last of the fire’s smoke dissipates, Wind speaks. “What happens if we don't go through them? Will they disappear?”

No one answers for a moment. Eventually, Legend says, “We have to go through, small fry.”

“I— I know,” Wind stammers. “I’m just asking, like...what if we didn’t? What would happen?”

“Hypothetically,” Hryule offers.

“Yeah! It’s hypothetical.”

“There’s no reason to consider hypotheticals,” Legend says.

“There’s not,” Wild agrees bitterly. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

He stands, gathering his belongings with a scowl as he adds, “As a matter of fact, we should get this over with.”

“Wait!” Wind jumps up, practically vaults across the now-damp firewood to grasp Wild’s arm.

“No, there's no point in stalling any longer,” Wild says, even as he involuntarily leans into Wind’s touch.

“Of course there is,” Wind argues, eyes wet. “Any more time I can have with you guys is worth it. Even just one extra minute.”

Wild looks away from him as he lightly pulls out of Wind’s hold.

Legend stands now, too, eyes averted. “You’re just making this harder, kid.”

“Goodbyes are always hard,” Four says quietly.

Another moment of silence lapses, until Time stands, plates of his armor shifting.

day 29 (lies/terrible truth) - first attempt

In the lean privacy of a secluded clearing, Twilight offered his confession without pretense or embellishment, a simple statement of facts. He didn’t appear nervous as he spoke, like someone who had been caught off-guard might; rather, he seemed resigned, his words rehearsed, as if he’d known this conversation was an inevitability.

Wild expected—hoped—he would glimpse some relief on Twilight’s face when the confession was done, but that wasn’t the case. He seemed sorrowful, ailing, but not relieved to be rid of the heavy secret he’d burdened himself with. Not remorseful for his wrongdoing.

The oddest thing about this moment, Wild thought as Twilight looked squarely into his eyes, was the quietness. How could the moment feel so still and calm, even as it decimated him? Even as it violently impressed its place into his personal history as a pivotal event? Even as it cleaved his life into a clear before and after?

Through Wild’s cluttered, confused thoughts floated a memory. Not a century-old, faded memory, the kind that abruptly flickered to life in the deepest fathoms of his subconscious and dragged him into catatonia. No, this memory was recent, crisp, bright. He could still feel this memory, could still smell its scents and hear its sounds. It replayed over and over, an inescapable loop, as he stared at the man who only minutes before had his unshakeable trust, his highest admiration, his purest love.

Wild broke eye contact and shook his head, trying to clear it. “You’re lying. You have to be. This makes no sense.”

He only looked back to Twilight when he heard the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn. He came face-to-face with Twilight’s blade and reflexively jumped back, hand flying to the hilt on his back.

#i save nearly everything i write #i have a doc for 'scraps'#stuff that i've discarded for whatever reason #but that i like enough to save #and it's got 15k+ words atm #not counting this whumpay stuff #and i've considered sharing some #but i didn't know if anyone would be interested #so i guess we'll see how this post does lol #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #whumpay2021

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

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TricketyBoo 2020 one-shot - “Count Ziraphale” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale are supposed to be at the Shadwell's for a Halloween party, but Aziraphale's lack of confidence in his costume is causing them to run behind. Crowley can't imagine that his husband looks bad, but he doesn't quite get his nervousness.

After Crowley gets a good look at his angel, he makes the executive decision to spend the night in. (1402 words)

Notes: Written for the @tricketyboo2020 prompt 'eyes in the dark' by @scrapbramble. This is level zero spookiness. It's just some husbands fluff.

Read on AO3.

“Come on, Aziraphale!” Crowley bellows. “You’ve been in the bedroom for over an hour! We've gotta go! Time’s a-wastin’!”

“I … I don’t know if we should," Aziraphale's timid voice answers.

"Wot?" Crowley frowns at the closed door, annoyed that his angel has kept him waiting this long if he's just going to decide not to go. He's only mildly annoyed, however, since he's been sipping at a bottle of his favorite bourbon to pass the time, so it's not actually been a waste. "Why?"

“I … I may want to re-think my costume. I think … I may have made a mistake.”

Crowley shakes his head and takes a swig this time. Personally, he'd opted not to put on a costume. He's not much for fancy dress, and besides, he feels he's terrifying enough being himself. But Aziraphale hasn't been to a real costume party in ages. And he was so excited about the persona he'd come up with, too. Would be a shame for him to change his mind at this late hour.

“A mistake? How could you have made a mistake?”

“Well, that happens when one doesn’t think a decision through completely," Aziraphale says tightly. "That’s why it’s called a mistake.”

“But you were looking forward to being a vampire for Halloween. It’s all you’ve talked about for weeks. Was gettin’ downright annoying, to be honest.”

Crowley mutters that last part into his bottle.

“Why are we even going to a Halloween party? Halloween is more of an American holiday, isn’t it?” Aziraphale offers, trying to come up with a roundabout way out - one that Crowley could object to on Aziraphale's behalf, thus "convincing" him to stay the course and go.

“The Shadwells invited us," Crowley reminds him, playing along. "And may I remind you that you were the one who said It’s only once a year, Crowley, dear. We’ll go, make the rounds with our friends, then pop back home for a nightcap. And I think we should stick to that plan.”

Crowley doesn't actually think they should stick to that plan. Crowley would love to stay home. He couldn't care less either way. The Shadwells have a decent liquor cabinet. That alone would be worth the drive. But he knows Aziraphale will regret not going. And since he loves Aziraphale, he'll do what makes him happy.

Aziraphale sighs. “You’re absolutely right. We did RSVP. It would be rude not to attend.”

Crowley takes a final swig out of his bottle and belches. “That’s the spirit. So … are you coming out?”

“That depends … are you going to see me?”

“Nah." Crowley puts his empty bottle down and reaches for another, seeing as, at this rate, they may never leave the flat. "I don't have to see a thing. In fact, I can just drive with my eyes shut. Done it before. Loads of times.”

"You're being overdramatic."

Says the pot to the kettle, Crowley thinks. "Am not. Being completely truthful."

"Alright, alright. I'm coming out."

Crowley sits back on his sofa and props his feet up on the coffee table. "Bout time."

Aziraphale heaves the heaviest sigh Crowley has ever heard, leaving him to wonder how bad Aziraphale actually thinks he looks. He's seen his angel face down far more terrifying prospects than a dress-up party with heaps more cool than this. And the Shadwells - they're not exactly what one would call high maintenance sort of people. Why would going to a party of theirs make Aziraphale nervous?

"On the count of three, then?" Aziraphale says.

"Three," Crowley replies, curiosity outweighing tact.

Aziraphale sighs again, but this time he steps out.

Crowley watches the door swing slowly open, watches Aziraphale step out of the shadows and into the light.

And his jaw drops.

“Oh … Lord,” Crowley murmurs. He gets up off the couch and stalks toward him, staring at his husband dressed to the nines in a black, three-piece suit that's been tailored to his body within an inch of its life. The white shirt peeking out from underneath is satin for certain. It looks creamy and as soft as Aziraphale's hair, which Aziraphale is wearing slicked-back tonight, which highlights all the hard edges of his round face. His shirt has ruffles at the cuffs and collar because of course it does. Aziraphale wouldn't choose a period shirt if it didn't have ruffles. In his hands, he's clutching a cane with - oh, God! Is that ... a snakehead handle? Crowley takes a good, long look and swallows hard

Yes. Yes, it is a snakehead handle.

Crowley's entire body lights on fire.

“What do you think?” Aziraphale asks self-consciously as Crowley circles him, getting the view from all angles. He even drops to the floor to get a glimpse of his shoes. They're brand new, a pair of ankle boots made of faux snakeskin, and Christ Almighty! Where in the Heaven did Aziraphale even get this outfit?

“Hello, handsome," Crowley purrs as he rises to his feet. "Where have you been all my life?"

"I beg your pardon?" Aziraphale asks with a nervous chuckle.

"Why haven’t I seen you in this outfit before?”

“I didn’t have an occasion to dress as a vampire before tonight," Aziraphale says, eyes wide when Crowley finally catches sight of them and closes in for a better look, staring unblinkingly, his own eyes growing to the size of dinner plates. "I mean, it’s not the kind of get-up I’d wear every day.”

"Your eyes," Crowley whispers. He puts a hand to Aziraphale's cheek, gazing deep into a pair of startling, crimson eyes, glowing in the dark with Aziraphale's holy aura behind them - such a striking departure from Aziraphale's baby blues that they make every hair on Crowley's body stand on end. "Aziraphale, what did you do to your eyes?"

"They're called contact lenses, dear." Aziraphale nearly rolls his eyes, but he can't bear to look away from Crowley's awe-filled gaze. "It took a fair amount of stabbing myself in the eye to get them in, but I thought it better than miracling them this way. Less to explain to the head office and all that. Do I ... do I look alright?" He clears his throat, and a little bit of discomfort along with it. Not that Crowley's staring makes him uncomfortable in a bad way. Far from it. But the uncomfortable he feels right now usually goes hand in hand with them not leaving the flat - or the bedroom specifically - for several days at a time. "What I mean is ... do I look like a vampire?"

"No," Crowley says, grinning even though Aziraphale looks positively skewered. "You look like a demon." Crowley growls that last word and Aziraphale's brow wrinkles.

"And you ... like that?"

"I wouldn't all the time ..." Crowley buries his nose in the crook of Aziraphale's neck, needing to catch a whiff of his angelic scent, so Crowley can know for certain nothing has changed. Aziraphale may not have gone for demon, but he still looks awfully convincing. "But tonight's the right night for it, in't it? And this ..." Crowley takes a step back to get another look "... I could get used to one or two nights a year. Maybe more."

Aziraphale flashes his husband an amused half-grin. "I'll take that as a compliment. So ... shall we get a move on? It is getting awfully late."

“You know ..." Crowley takes Aziraphale by the arm and turns him around, leading him back the way he came "... on second thought, I think you may be right.”

“About what this time?”

“Maybe we shouldn't go to the party. It is getting late. We can hole up here, turn down the lights, open a bottle of whiskey, and have a spooky celebration of our own.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale chuckles. "What about everything you said before? We RSVP'd, remember?"

“Wot? We can un-RSVP. The Shadwells shouldn’t be throwing a party anyway. Not during a pandemic.”

“But, darling! You said …”

“You worked hard on your costume, angel. It's very authentic," Crowley presses, not letting his angel use his own words against him. "That's quite the trick for an angel. Looking demonic." Crowley snaps his fingers, turning on his stereo and fetching himself a bottle of single malt scotch in a single go. "Now, I think you deserve a treat …”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #tricketyboo2020 #ineffable husbands #ineffable lovers #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #crowley

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gophergal · 3 years

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HEY GOTTA 'NOTHER CHAPTER FOR YA. Thank you to @bucketofcowboys for betaing for me! Without his help, I would be pulling weird shakespeare lines outta my ass. He makes my shit sound smooth lol

I'm Not Lonely - Chapter Three

Word count:4 000+| Rating: M | Michael Myers x OC | M/F

WARNING: Gore, Animal Death

Jean must have fallen asleep at some point while reading to Michael, the book slipping from her hands into her lap. She jolted awake at the sudden weight on her legs, her heart pounding momentarily until her eyes fell on Michael's form, watching as his head tilted inquiringly to the side. He appeared as though he still sat where he had been the night before, still watching her as she slept.

It was strange, obviously, but she couldn't help the warm feeling that spread through her from the human companionship. She was tempted to physically shake the feeling away from her limbs and mind, but restraining herself. The knowledge of why she felt so comforted by him, a man she knew by first name alone and nothing else, filled her with a mixture of shame and annoyance, though she pushed that all to the back of her mind to simmer.

With a yawn, Jean stretched, feeling her back click into place after her poor sleeping position. She stood on stiff legs, feeling the sleep flee from her system as the blood circulated throughout her body. In the kitchen, after a quick bite of breakfast, Jean looked at Michael from the other side of the table, sipping on her coffee as she considered what she had planned for the day.

She'd need to get groceries- the fridge was becoming a bit empty now that she was cooking for two so frequently. That brought another thought to mind, that she really didn't know what Michael liked to eat. Part of her wanted to say, “Fuck it, I'm the one cooking and paying the bills, so what he likes doesn't really matter,” but at the same time she didn't feel like being so harsh.

After cleaning the dishes she and Michael had left in the sink, getting dressed in errand appropriate apparel, and yelling to Michael so he'd know she left, she got in her car and drove toward Haddonfield. The grocery store was relatively quiet today. There were times that it could be a true mad house; hoards of middle aged women being impatient with the young employees of the store while their husbands stood around bored, watching their wild hellions wreck havoc.

Jean shuddered at the image, glad to be in at a slow time as the young cashier greeted her with a smile. The normalcy of this shopping trip was sobering as she placed items into the cart, her mind working slowly to remind her of what was wrong with her current life situation. Unfortunately for that rational part of her mind, she simply continued to mark things off her grocery list. She reached for a pack of Dr Pepper cans, only to bump into an arm. She drew back quickly, pulled out of her muffled thoughts, and looked at the person she bumped into.

“Oh! I'm very sorry, m'am,” the tall woman- no, she was rather young, now that Jean got a look at her, she was simply taller than Jean, who was admittedly quite short. Her fluffy blonde locks swallowed her head as a single mass, the part framing her sharp features. She must be a high school student, Jean thought.

“It's fine, please go ahead. And 'Jean' is fine. I'm not married,” she chuckled, picking a bit at her shirt sleeve.

“Nice to mean you, Jean. I'm Laurie. I... don't think I've seen you around before. Are you new in town, by chance?” The girl asked.

“No, not really. I've lived in the area for my whole life, but I live a bit out of town. Laurie, you seem familiar though.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, I can't place where I've seen you though- Wait, were you one of the people attacked on Halloween night?” Jean asked with a gasp, then immediately wished she hadn't. Laurie looked away quickly, and seemed to struggle for words momentarily and appearing on the verge of tears. “I- I'm really sorry, Laurie. That must have been horrific. Did they ever.... catch the guy?”

“No. He's still on the loose. Sheriff Brackett said he'd do everything he could, but Annie- his daughter- my friend, she-” Laurie cut herself off, not needing to say more for Jean to connect the dots, her shoulder's trembling slightly with the effort to remain composed in this public environment.

“You're a very strong young woman, Laurie. Especially to still be out and about so soon after all of that. I'm sure he'll be caught, too. That type of bastard isn't usually free for long.”

“Thank you. It's been very hard, on everyone.”

“I can imagine.

“Y'know, it may be a weird thing to offer, but if you ever need some help, or someone to talk to, here's my number. I can't say I can truly understand your specific situation, but I've had my fair share of loss, too,” she said, producing a small piece of paper and a pen, scribbling down her home phone number, then handed it to Laurie.

Laurie accepted the paper, dabbing at her eyes slightly with her sweater sleeve, “Thank you, Jean. I might have to take you up on that some time.”

“Don't hesitate, I'd be happy to lend an ear,” Jean replied with a small, warm smile.

The women purchased their groceries and parted way. Talking to Laurie had caused the trip to take longer than intended and now the sun was creeping lower, the brightness slightly too intense to be comfortable. Jean got into her car, the paper bags of food on the passenger side, and she left. The intense, golden light highlighted the trees which were now barren of their leaves. That and the chilly air harbingers of the coming winter. Jean worried her mind with the thought that she would have to fix some of the roofing of her home before the wet snow came down and buried the world.

There would be time to do that, for now she had other things to think about, such as her new housemate. Despite, his impromptu move in almost two weeks prior, she still knew nothing about him aside from his name. She hadn't even seen his face before, she realized, causing a slight hum of anxiety to spread through her body. Something in her kept screaming at her to do something about it, but as she drove toward her home, that voice grew quiet.

There were no lights on when she arrived, and no sign of Michael as she put away the groceries. Aside from a couple empty food wrappers in the sink, which greatly irritated her, it was the same as before he first visited her. Perhaps he'd left for the night. She didn't know where he went when wasn't at her home, but frankly she wasn't his keeper and had no responsibility to keep track of him. He was a grown man, after all. She placed the case of soda on the counter and, with a yawn, piloted her weary body toward the stairs.

She instinctively skipped the creaky step, nearly losing her balance to fatigue. At the top of the stairs, she noticed that her bedroom door was slightly ajar, a sliver of moonlight beaming through the crack, a strange occurrence as her habit was to close the door at all times. She drew closer, cautious and uneasy now, and gently pushed open the door, supporting it with her body and praying that the squeaky hinge would remain silent.

The door now open, she could see a lump under the covers on her bed, poking out from the top a curly, dark mass. She let out a small gasp of breath when she noticed the white, fleshy sheet on her nightstand. Michael's mask. This was Michael who'd stolen her bed. Even at rest, there was a tension to him, eyebrows contorted and face twisted into a slight grimace. Yet, she noticed her hand drawing closer to his hair as if it were magnetic. She pulled her traitorous appendage back, foiling it's mission to tenderly push back a brown lock from his forehead.

A slight glint of reflected light caught her attention, her eye sweeping over the sleeping form to see the metal blade of a kitchen knife in his hand. He had a white-knuckle grip on it that did not waver with the haze of sleep. It chilled her. She began backing away, unwilling to take back her bed that night and unsure if she would even be able to sleep. Still, as she stepped gingerly out of the room, the couch called to her downstairs.

The next few days were uneventful. She worked, she came home, sometimes she had to take the couch. Michael didn't seem to leave at all, yet he seemed out of place in the house, having nothing change around him. Tonight would be her last night of work for the week and she was excited to have some time to rest on her day off. She sat across from Michael at the kitchen table, taking occasional glances at his masked face, imagining the man beneath. He sat like a wax figure, unmoving and unphased.

“I have to work again tonight, I can't really tell you what to do, but I'd appreciate you locking the door if you go somewhere,” she told him. While she awaited his lack of response she wondered what he even did while she was away, though she ultimately decided that ignorance was preferable to knowing something she'd regret. Besides, she had things to do before she left for work that evening. The sun was low in the sky as she put on her dusty pink uniform dress and black flats.

Michael watched her leave the house from his spot in the kitchen, waiting for the security of an empty house. Once the coast was clear he ripped the mask from his face, the latex of it clinging to his greasy brown locks in his haste to eat. He grimaced at the tugging sensation, placing his second face on the table next to him. As food was shoveled into his mouth messily like a child, he decided on what he'd do that day. It seemed a good day to snoop through his host's home because, surprisingly, he hadn't already. If he thought about how different this was from any other time he'd stalked prey for too long, it would only confuse him. At the same time, he was reminded constantly by the Shape that it would all end soon, soon enough the pleasure of killing the woman would outweigh the benefit of keeping her alive.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, putting the plate into the sink rather carelessly with a clink. The house was rather uncluttered, with few items in the cupboards and cabinets. Nothing out of the ordinary, as far as he could tell. Still, bland as it was, it was far more welcoming than the white walls and antiseptic smells of Smith's Grove. Of that place, those were all he could remember clearly, everything else was shrouded in a drugged haze, a curtain of accusation and rough hands holding him down when the doctor ordered. A few small moments of kindness from nurses and orderlies peeked through the curtains here and there, but even those paled in comparison to how Jean was. The Shape scoffed at the idea, reminding him that if she knew the evil that everyone else had, she too would end up as another barrier between him and freedom, and such barriers were meant to be torn down.

The stairs creaked as he climbed, and the photos on the wall watched him closely. Upon closer look he saw a woman, looking much like slightly older Jean, alongside a little girl and an old man. He pulled it off the wall for a closer look. Smiling faces, a happy family, though shaped differently than his own had been. The girl looked to be the same age he'd been on that night so many years ago. He tossed the frame onto the carpeted floor after the top step, not caring for what that last thought brought to mind.

On the upper floor, more pictures were on the walls and now he noticed how few actually showed the older woman. They formed a sort of jumbled timeline, the little girl growing taller until he recognized her as Jean at various ages. A few had only her, no sign of the old man or the woman, and he took one from the wall. She was dressed nicely, her back to the glowing sunrise, making her messy blonde hair appear as a fiery golden halo. He decided that he liked it and held onto it as he kept wandering though his host's home.

The Shape became restless at some point, it's voice growing more frantic and incomprehensible with the passing minutes. Michael was tired though, the thrill of the hunt would be dampened by his lack of sleep. The Shape grew louder, demanding blood, gracing his mind with sudden images of what he could do to satisfy it. He ground his teeth, fist clenching and un-clenching as he tried to shake the thoughts from his mind. He needed rest. The Shape could wait, surely. There would be more prey, more chances. The hardest night was over, and he was unlikely to be caught while he stayed with Jean. Frustrated, he relented, giving in to the grating presence of the Shape. He stomped downstairs, muscles growing tense with each heavy breath.

The diner was relatively quiet that night, only two men were at a booth in the front. A not-quite-elderly duo of middle-aged men with greying dark hair, one taller and mustached, the other weaselly in appearance. Jean hurried to the booth to take their order, “Hey, what can I get you two gentlemen tonight?”

“I'll take a tenderloin sandwich, slice o' apple pie, a black coffee,” said the mustached man.

“Cheesecake, black coffee,” the weaselly man said. With that, Jean nodded and smiled, leaving to take the order to Gus, tuning in to their conversation as she walked away.

“Eh, you know about that one bastard that's been on the loose since Halloween?” Asked the weaselly man.

“Yeah, of course I do. I watch the news. What about it?”

“I've heard that he's twenty bodies in now.”

“The police say that?”

“No, they wouldn't and you know it. I've heard it from a few buddies.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Haddonfield's never had so many suspicious deaths, bud. It's gotta be a bit more than a coinkydink that they'd ramp up after this guy starts killin'.” Jean brought the men their orders and they quieted down on the morbid talk for a bit. The weaselly man rubbed hands together excitedly as Jean set down his cheesecake. The tall man shook his head light heartedly.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” the tall man said. Jean smiled, holding back the urge to roll her eyes at the unwanted pet name. She left to wipe down the other booth tables in the room.

“Anyway, I heard that the cops are broadening their search to the surrounding area,” said the weasel, “been some sightings of a masked man wearing a blue jumpsuit around some houses on the outskirts of town.” Jean found that the description was unsettlingly familiar.

“C'mon, that could just be some kid in a dime store mask and his dad's coveralls.”

“After halloween?”

“Yeah, y'know how kids are. Not sayin' its good, those kids might get themselves killed.”

“Isn't that what happened to that one highschool football player? Tramer, I think his name was.”

“Yeah, just like that. Police thought he was Michael Myers and he got run over. Well, on accident , of course,” The tall man said, putting air quotes around “accident” and then took a bite of his tenderloin sandwich.

“And what a damn shame it is. Poor kid had so much potential. Might as well add him to the body count.”

Jean stopped wiping the table she was standing at. She felt the blood rush from her face, her heart dropped into her stomach, and bile rose in her throat. It all was too much. Her head spun, making the connections, remaking the connections, denying the truth. Her knees felt weak.

“Woah, miss, you good? If all this murder talk is getting to you, we can stop. You look like you're about to pass out,” the mustached man asked her, voice laced with concern.

“I-” she started, swallowing hard, “I'm okay, I think my blood sugar's just low. I'll be back,” she finished, leaving quickly to go back to the kitchen where Jo and Gus chatted. Jean pushed past, throwing open the back door and pressing her back to the brick wall of the diner outside. She breathed hard, shaking hands gripping her skirt as her legs threatened to give beneath her.

Jo burst out a moment later, worried. She put her hands on Jean's shoulders, words coming out of her mouth, but not reaching Jean's ears. She shook Jo's hands off, reclaiming her composure. “I'm fine, Jo, I guess all that talk about the killer on the loose got to me,” she said. It wasn't quite a lie.

“Are you sure you'll be alright? You live alone and now I'm worried about you,” Jo asked.

“It's fine. I'm fine. I promise.”

“Okay, I'll drop it, but if you ever need anything, you know where I am.”

“I do,” Jean nodded. She wouldn't drag Jo into this. This was her own problem, and Jo might very well get hurt. She considered asking Gus to help her, he was a large guy, someone she could trust, and she was sure he would do anything to help if she asked. Then she reconsidered. She'd never be able to forgive herself if she got him hurt. No, she'd have to take care of this herself, somehow.

There was a creeping feeling on her back as the eerie twilight faded into blackness as she drove. There were no stars in the sky, yet the full moon cast it's silvery glow on the earth below, bathing the landscape in a strange dream-like contrast. It was slightly hypnotic, feeding her unease. Once she arrived at her home, she turned the knob on the front door, now aware of the lights left on in the house. She pushed open the door, breaching the barrier between her feeling of environmental disorientation and her nauseating awareness of the room before her.

A sharp scent of salt and copper was in the air, horrifically mixing with the familiar smells of the house, corrupting them in the dim light from upstairs. Before she could bring herself to flip the light switch, she surveyed the dark room, eyes falling on a dark, crumpled form at the bottom of the staircase. Pooling below it, a reflective, dark liquid that appeared black in the shadow of the heap.

She flipped the switch, eyes screwed shut. She finally found the courage to open her eyes, and regretted it. Tears pricked her eyes, a mixture of shock and disgust, as she looked at the crumpled canine body at the bottom of the stairs. The dog, once a charming golden brown, was now stained with the rust colored blood that had kept it alive. Gruesomely, its abdomen was torn open, broken ribs visible alongside the snaking internal organs.

A sound ripped itself from Jean's lips and she looked around the room. The first aid kit was strewn about on the coffee table, the couch soaked in red. Dried blood was tracked everywhere, shoe prints from the back door to the living room, dried droplets leading up the stairs, a smeared hand print on the wall. At the top of the stairs, her bedroom door was ajar. A horrible, sickening curiosity gripped her, guiding her around the discarded carcass and up the stairs.

Her heart pounded as she froze in front of the door, mind blank, her survival instincts screaming at her to run. Run far away. You are prey. You will die and then you will feed this horrible predator. She swallowed down these instincts somehow, and pushed open the door. Blood had been dripped from the threshold to her bed. Then she saw him. On her bed. Her clean, comfortable bed with the soft, white sheets. His filthy, blood-stained jumpsuit was touching her once clean, comfortable sheets. Her knees no longer quivered below her. Her prey-like instincts cowered away as something snapped within. She was fucking pissed.

“Michael, what the fuck are you doing in my goddamn bed?! My home?! My FUCKING SHEETS, you bastard!” She shook, no longer in fear- no, that ship had passed along with her pure white sheets- her hands shook with the desire to express her feelings violently.

Michael jumped up almost comically as though he'd been stabbed with a straight pin. He nearly fell, then fumbled for the white latex he treated as his face, then pulled it on. The knife he slept with had clattered to the floor in his struggle, and had been kicked under the bed. He whipped himself around to look at Jean, then stalked to her. Jean held her ground. He was a mere two steps from her, the difference in height and mass between them highlighted by the closeness.

“You've got three goddamn choices. First, you could kill me. Go ahead, I fucking dare you. Second, you could leave. Go somewhere, leave me the fuck alone. Or, you could stay here, follow my rules, have a steady supply of food and somewhere to sleep. Make your choice, Michael,” she growled, glaring into shadowed eyeholes of his mask.She bared her teeth, seething as he put a massive hand, covered in dried dog blood, around her neck. He did not squeeze, simply held it there firmly as he waited for the Shape's instruction.

The instruction to snap her neck did not come. The Shape remained silent. He had expected fear. That was common- expected even- in his prey. They would run, or try to fight back. Some tried to submit, begging him not to snuff out their lives. Anger though, that was reserved for the exceptionally stupid. Yet something was beginning to make itself clear, Jean was not stupid, exceptionally or otherwise. Rage continued to flare in her slate grey eyes as Michael released her neck, an alluring red stain coiled around it. He marveled at the mark as she turned away, stomping down the stairs away from him.

Watch that one, the Shape demanded. Michael agreed to the Shape's demand. He would definitely watch her. She had his attention now.

#michael myers #slasher x oc #slashers #michael myers x oc #gopher writes #I'm Not Lonely #it has been.... 4 months

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