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spindleprick · 2 years

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i’m not sure if you do writing advice and if you don’t, feel free to ignore this! i was wondering how do you come up with such beautiful metaphors/descriptions in your writing? and are there any authors that are good examples of how to create new + striking ones? i struggle with finding new ways to describe things and i fear it’s making my writing boring :(

hi!! firstly, thank you so much for the compliment, it's incredibly kind. secondly, if i'm not mistaken you might have sent me a very similar question some months ago, and i totally forgot until now because i started to answer, draft it, then never remembered to finish it. if that was you i'm so sorry (and if it wasn’t you, i’m still very sorry to the person whose question i never answered)!! i'm not sure i ever feel entirely qualified to give writing advice, and please don’t think your writing is “boring” because it doesn’t fall into a certain style. i fully admit that i lean heavily on metaphor (which is probably obvious give you came to me with the question), but i tend to get really tired of this and wish i could write more pointed, startling prose than manages to impart emphasis without excessive description or “floweriness” (the most widely known author i can think of to point to might be chuck palahniuk, but on tumblr i also think abby aka @exalibur manages this beautifully). we are always hardest on ourselves, and the grass always looks greener on the other side of the stylistic hill.

ocean vuong discusses metaphor in particular better than i ever could, and there’s some reposts of stories he made on the subject here. i also think heather o'neill would be a fantastic person to look at for metaphor, particular her latest book when we lost our heads (albeit possibly my fave modern book is the lonely hearts hotel, if you read this please come scream to me about it). i pulled a couple quotes of o’neills from the former to use as example, which also fall in line with what vuong outlines:

The mansion was surrounded by a thick bed of beautifully kept pink roses. They were like ballerinas taking a break and sitting down in their tutus. darling. delightful. feminine. and with context, the home of a girl who would put sofia coppola’s marie antoinette moodboard to shame: precious, precocious, and doll-like. She found the violin, took it out of the case, and tried playing a note on it. It sounded like a black cat who was on the gallows confessing to all the bad luck it had caused. this character refused to play piano because she found every sound it made too happy, and didn’t feel it ‘matched her soul,’ which is why she would eventually try the violin. for a girl who would inadvertently murder someone, and spend much of her life wearing black and writing startling erotica, it’s also entirely on-theme. there’s obviously a lot of ways one could describe roses or the sound of a violin, but each fits perfectly into the respective character. if in the first quote the roses has been described as heavy red roses bowing reluctantly under the weight of a snowdrift like angry russian courtiers, you’re going to get a very different impression of the moment. as with the sound of the violin, if it has been described as a lonesome widow calling to her drowned lover from the pier, it’s going to completely alter the reader’s perception. so while these devices can create beautiful things to read in isolation, the most impactful ones are about more than saying something in a creative way: they add to the desired ambiance!

i know none of that is particularly instructive as to how i or others come up with descriptions, but i think that’s going to be very individual to the person! i personally like to think of it as the association game. i’d like to say it’s something more sophisticated than that, but a lot of the time it really does some down to just pausing for a moment and running along an evolution of images: the roses are red. what other physical objects are red? what emotions do we associate with red? what acts are those emotions elicited by? what sensations do we experience in those actions? there’s no right or wrong way to come up with your descriptive text, but don’t be afraid to take continual leaps not only forward, but backwards and sideways until you find something you like. even if you struggle to feel like you’re not being ‘original’ in the comparisons you’re drawing, there’s always ways to make something more ‘obvious’ less cliche. want to describe the colour red but can only think of roses? that’s okay! just rip it up a bit. turn it to sit on its side. think of a way to make it new. apply the notion of trying to impart something in your metaphor: where can a rose be seen, in what context can they be given or seen? instead of saying her lips were red as roses, there’s something like her lips were the red of a rose you’d find abandoned at the stage door, leaning its forgotten head across the last stoop. finally, it’s overstated (and you probably already know this given how you framed the question), but it also can’t be said enough: reading is your friend! while i definitely recommend the authors i mentioned above (or catherynne m valente, or janet fitch, or i remember reading how much of these hills is gold by c. pam zhang in the summer and thinking there was a gorgeous command of language), i think reading of any kind is going to give you a benefit. it’s just stretching the creative muscle, taking in new phrases, words, and ways to apply them. if you’re feeling mentally a bit bogged up, you could even listen to some spoken word poetry on youtube! i never know if any of my ““advice”” makes sense, but i hope this does, or that it helps in some small way!! ♡

#writing help #ask #anon #long post #answered

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fangirlings-things · 3 years

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First Costumer

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x female reader

Summary: you just got hired to do the job you always wanted and your first costumer, is no other but a Peaky Blinder

Word count: 2.1K

This is based on the moodboard below, made by my friend. You can find the original post here

A/N: I wrote this for @flowers-in-your-hayr 650 followers celebration. congratulations, love!! you're amazing, thank you for understanding my brazilian jokes lol and I hope you like this 💖

TAG LIST: @sophieshelby ; @charmingvalkyrie ; @inglourious-imagines ; @fairyofvoid ; @locke-writes ; @regalbanshee ; @captainshazamerica ; @lotsoffandomrecs ; @flowers-in-your-hayr ; @too-spoopy-to-be-frukd

You heard the doorbell ring and the sound filled the bookshop. Finally, a costumer. Your very first costumer. How exciting!

You got down of the ladder you had previously climbed to fix some of the higher shelves and passed your hands through your brown simple dress, making sure it was proper and in order. Mr. Cuthbert had taken a long time to finally accept you as an employee in his establishment and now, you had to make him proud.

You had always loved books. Since you were just a little girl, you mother had given you novels to read and you grew up living in many different ones from the reality you actually found yourself in. Books were your passion, your refugee, your ideal spot. To be able to work around them and make people happy by buying books, well, it sounded like perfection!

The costumer took his time to walk through the shop, eyeing the shelves like they were unusual strangers in the street and then, he got to you at the back of the bookshop. Your first costumer was a man.

He was tall. Not too tall, but just enoguh to make him able to look at some of the upward shelves without having to raise his head too much. His skin was white, giving a nice contrast with the black coat he wore. He had a moustache and you could only see a few strings of his brown hair, due to the cap he wore.

Then, you realized. After taking notice of the cap, the fine clothing made sense. No ordinary man in Birmingham had such fine clothes to wear, especially not in the middle of the week, during the lunch break time of the factories. Oh no, that man absolutely did not work in a factory. That man was a Peaky Blinder. His only bosses were the Shelbys and the Shelbys only.

"May I help you, sir?" you asked him with a polite smile, pushing to the back of your mind the realization you had just come to. It didn't matter who he was outside Mr. Cuthbert's bookshop. He was a costumer. Who clearly, for the way his eyes were going from one shelf to the other, intended to buy a book.

He focused his eyes on you and you saw that his stare wasn't harsh or the one of a demon, as many people said the Peaky Blinders were. His eyes were kind, even though there was an agitation in them that you couldn't quite comprehend. Maybe not even he could. "Yes" he said simply and as you kept staring at him, waiting for further information, the man looked even a bit disconcerted, like he wasn't used to having such attention upon him. "It is my sister's birthday this week and Ada, well, she really likes books, has a great shelf of them at her house. So I thought it would be a good idea to you know, give her a new book as a gift"

You couldn't help but smile. That man, whomever he was, seemed so genuine in everything. You could see the care in his expression when he spoke of his sister. It was a nice thing to see. The stories you had heard about the Peaky Blinders seemed to be all wrong. He was a normal person. Not some crazy, openly violent man.

"Do you have any specific book in mind?" you asked him, hands joined in front of your body and excitement filling your body because that was apparently going to be a successful sell. The man just squeezed his lips on a thin line, eyes going to the floor as if he was embarrassed. It got to you. "Don't worry, I am sure we can work something out. What kind of books does she like?"

He watched as you moved around the place graciously. Clearly you knew every corner of that place, every shelf, every single book and where it was. You looked at a particular spot, frowned then moved on like there wasn't anything interesting for whatever you wanted him to take to Ada. "Well, she's a communist, so she does like politics"

"Very well" you walked towards the politics shelf, searched the titles, but nothing particularly got your attention or seemed fitting. You turned back to the man. "Does she like classics that have to do with politics?"

"I think so, what do you have?" he asked, seeming kinda excited for what you would come up with. He accompanied you as you went to shelf on the other side of the corridor and pulled out a book. "Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo. It's centered around the French Revolution"

The man looked down at the floor again as a quite nervous laugh escaped his mouth. "I don't think that is a good idea. France does not give my family the best memories, you see"

"You fought the war?" you asked, smile fading a bit because of the seriousness in his tone. Maybe that's where his agitation was from. Maybe, he never did get back from France at all. He only nodded in agreement, still not looking at you. "Thank you, for your service"

He gave out a little smile, but you knew by the way the corner of his lips didn't rise too much that he was anxious to change the subject. Honestly, see the obvious hurt in him made you want to change it either. "Alright, no France. What about Bram Stoker's Dracula?"

"Dracula?" he frowned, eyes meeting yours in utter confusion at such a strange name.

The fact that he didn't knew about it made you smile as you began to describe que novel's story to him with a mysterious tone in your voice to cause suspense. "It's about an old man, Count Dracula, who lives in a castle and feeds on the blood of young women to survive. Sometimes he kills them so they can join him in the after life and also drink blood from innocent people"

The man laughed due to your clearly forced misteirous tone and the way you raised your eyebrows at him while speaking, seeming to forget the previous sadness that had overwhelmed him with the memories of the war. You were glad for it. "That sounds bloody awful, love"

You could not help but also laugh, trying to ignore the heat that took a hold of your face when he apparently without thinking, called you love. "It is, actually" then you shrugged, passing your hand through the said novel's cover at the shelf. "But is a fine horror book" you crossed your arms over your chest and squeezed your eyes in his direction. "Be honest with me now, will your sister like this one?"

He squeezed his lips again, this time his features assumed a expression that clearly said 'sorry'. "I don't think so. Ada is a feminist. I think she would not like a story where a monster man kills women and faces no consequences"

"That is a very good point" you said with a sight and then turned around, biting your lower lip as you thought and thought about more options. The challenge on your very first sell was being quite exciting and you could say, interesting. Much of it of course, was because of that man. Suddenly, an idea popped into your head and you turned back to the Peaky Blinder with a smile. "What about On the Origin of Species? It's a book about pure knowledge, scientific one, about evolution. No France, no monster that slaughters women"

The man gave it a minute of thought and then returned your smile. "Knowledge and evolution. It does sounds like Ada" you both felt silent for a moment and then, he cleaned his throat and nodded towards the book you had just gotten into your hands. "I'll take it"

"Very well" you motioned for him to follow you and then made your way towards the back of the shop again, placing it in the cashier. "You want it wrapped up as a gift?" he quickly agreed and you raised two options of gift wrap in the air. A green and a blue one. He chose the green one. "You can also add a small card if you want"

"That is nice, thank you" he said and again, as you looked at him, the kindness in his eyes seemed to shine out from everything else.

You grabbed a gift card from the inside of a box where they were kept and placed a black pen upon it. "You can write it or if you want, I can write it for you"

"You should write it, I bet your handwriting is better than mine" he said and you chuckled, nodding as you agreed to his request.

"What do you want it to say?" you waited as he clearly thought about the question, looking unsure. With one of his hands, he took off his cap and then passed the other one through his hair. When he claned his throat, you were ready to start writing.

"Dear Ada, happy birthday" he looked at you as if that was it but then, seeing the expression on your face that clearly indicated you wished him to talk more, he thought for a second and then continued. " Since you like books so much, I hope you will like this one, that a very nice girl helped me pick" as you wrote with a smile on your face, you did your best not to raise your eyes to meet his. "I know I am not always a very good brother, but I love you. Happy birthday, Arthur"

"That was beautiful" you told him, letting go of the pen and starting to wrap up the gift carefully, slowly, in no rush to let the Peaky Blinder go away. Arthur. His name was Arthur. It was a beautiful name. Suited him just fine.

"Alright, then" his eyes went to the floor again, seeming now embarrassed because of your words.

You finished to wrap the gift in silence, then when it was done, you sighted and looked at the man. "If you want us to deliver the gift at your sister's house, in case you're busy, we have a delivery boy for such"

"That sounds good, I appreciate that" he replied.

You nodded in agreement and got a piece of paper, to then grab the pen again. "Can you tell me her adress, please?" he did so, and you wrote it down so the boy Mr. Cuthbert had hired a little while before you could do his part of the job later. "He is supposed to look for Ada...?" you left the question in the air, waiting for him to answer, eyes still on the paper.

"Ada Shelby"

Your eyes snapped up on the very same instant.

Shelby.

His sister was Ada Shelby.

He was Arthur Shelby.

"Something wrong, love?" he asked, and he didn't seem harsh like you expected him to, for the way you not in the slightly hid just how astonished you were to know his identity. His eyes were still kind, but a part of the previous sadness had come back.

"I'm sorry, that was rude of me" you wrote down Ada Shelby and then left the paper upon the gift, at the corner of the cashier.

"I'm used to that kind of reaction by now" he said with a nervous laugh, that carried absolutely no humor at all in it. Even if he was indeed used to the said kind of reaction, he clearly did not like it. You felt guilt consume you. "How much do I owe you?"

You told him the price, still lost in your thoughts and cursing yourself for being so stupid and rude. So rude. He gave you the money, you placed it in the due place. "Have a nice day" he told you and then turned around to leave, placing his cap back in his head and then his hands went to the pockets of his clothes.

You watched him leaving with a intense feeling of exasperation, tried to think fastly enough to say something and then before you could even really process what you were actually going to do, the words left your mouth. "Mr. Shelby?" he turned back around as he heard you calling, a bit of gentleness in his features. "If you ever need to buy another book, I am sure I can help you find something good"

His lips curled up in a smile, a pure one. A bit of the guilt you felt left your body like he had just taken it completely away, just by smiling again. "I'll remember that, love"

And then, Arthur Shelby left the bookshop.

#imagine #x reader #fanfic #imagines #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #arthur x reader #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby fanfic #650followers

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asteamingdumpsterfire · 4 years

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Okay, so I don't usually post anything I make myself, whether that be original art, edits, writing, etc. because I'm not very confident.

But I recently made myself a little moodboard/aesthetic/phone wallpaper thing for a fan film I'm absolutely in love with, and I really like how it came out. Soooo... I thought I'd post it, ya know, like a dumb ass.

(no images used are mine, but I'm sure you could have guessed that already)

There's two versions because my brain is big dumb and I couldn't remember if I got the middle quote right or not. So sorry if it's wrong, please spare me.

But on another note, this film is literally amazing! It's called Detroit Evolution, and it's a Reed900 feature length fan film. I really hold it close to my heart for a multitude of reasons, one of which being *drum roll*...

Ace Representation!! As an ace person myself, I had spent years trying to fit myself into a box that didn't fit AT ALL because I had no idea that asexuality was a thing and I thought I was broken or something. So seeing a character that I already loved because of fanon be shown as ace without someone trying to "fix" him meant so much to me. I love Nines (RK900) with my whole ass heart and would 100% die for him, no questions asked.

Overall, this movie is just such a masterpiece. The actors are fucking phenomenal. The story is awesome and made my stone cold ass cry a lil bit. The relationship between Gavin and Nines is so raw and authentic. The music is incredible. The lighting is beautiful. I'm so soft for this movie and have already watched it more than once. If you have ever been even remotely a fan of Detroit: Become Human and haven't seen this yet, do yourself a favor and watch it. You can find on YouTube!

Thank you @octopunkmedia for making this absolute work of art! 💙

#detroit evolution #reed900 #rk900 #gavin reed #dbh gavin #gavin x rk900 #dbh #nines #dbh nines #aesthetic #mood board #moodboard #edit #octopunk media

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iliveinaconstantstateoffire · 3 years

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Alright, y'all so I know im not here a lot and there are still a lot of things I need to do (I still have moodboards buried in my laptop for quite a few states so sorry :/ to everyone thats asked for those)

Let me know what you think!

I just want to throw out a personal hc for me.

So, for Washington DC, one of my absolute favorite hcs for them is a) its alfred. Like, I hope I've made that clear in some of the text posts, but for me there is no way that our alfred (aph/hws America) is older than any of the states. He/they are in fact a child in the midst of ancient immortals, in my head. That dynamic alone is hilarious to me (both state wise and other capitals and countries). Also, tho, with being a child, DC is a gen-xer/gen-zer. Like, not age-wise, but definitely personality wise. Like this small person/being/individual was raised in a period of unprecedented technological/social/innovative evolutions from war tactics and strategies to technology and social patterns. Like, DC was born at the dawning of a new era and had to live with this dual consciousness (don't even get me started with this like this is a post all its own h~☆~o~☆~l~☆~y s~☆~h~☆~*~☆~t) of what was considered the 'norm' versus what they were growing into and what they believed. Lets also not forget that their entire childhood/adolescents was defined by having to acknowledge unprecedented exploitation and cruelty found in slavery, immigrants who weren't the ''''right'''' immigrants, the atrocious treatment and genocide of the nation's Indigenous peoples, and having to constantly live between his siblings, half of whom saw nothing wrong with any of this, while the other half saw only partial problems with the living conditions of its most vulnerable peoples. Also, the wars, battles, and constantly changing boundary lines, alliances (i wouldn't even call them friendships at this point), and the constant knowledge that your allies now could be your enemies later, would leave a helluva mark on a small individual coming to age in a period where being enlightened was a good thing, but only enlightened to a point.

Like imagine this 13/14 y/o staring up at his big sister (va), one of the states that had the largest hand in raising him and whom wash wanted to grow to be like, and trying to argue that, "if the south must rely so heavily on the exploitation of the enslaved, despite the founding principles that this nation sought to encapsulate, then maybe the south should not exist" and then being told (like that (tm)) that he was too young to fully understand the complicated web of social, economic, religious and every other possible narrative taught strands. How many gen-xers and gen-zers hear that line now? That line of, 'youre too young to understand' despite having stared down these historical evils and conscious choices their entire lives? How exhausted are they by continuously having to relive the same movements over and over again, about having to study the same movements, only to find out that the people they care about most and want to look up to the most have yet to fully learn and grasp the full consequences of ignoring their own history? Like hell if Wash is anything but a gen-z/gen-x personality trait. Imagine tho, this 17 y/o looking dumb@ss with a tiktok, filming some of the most dynamic videos like,

Wash, while filming his siblings' reactions, "i guess yall could say that on December 25, 1814, we pretty much told the Brits to 'Ghent thee hence'" and then cackling when all of his siblings let out monuments groans in perfect unison

Or Wash, being heavily sarcastic and bitingly cynical about, "how funny is it that indigenous peoples and people of color are fighting and protesting for their rights to survive and live peaceably in a nation that, in some cases, they had no wish to be a part of; while Karen and John over there are fighting for their right to not wear a mask, thereby endangering those around them. If that ain't america in a nutshell that idfk what even is"

Or even one of his siblings being like, "you know, Wash, I just don't understand you at all. One second youre saying that God hates you and the next youre saying that God created the world in 7 days and then you on the 8th so they could get you infinitely perfect. How do you bounce between the two opposite trains of thoughts?"

And Wash just being like, "its the ~☆~d~☆~e~☆~p~☆~r~☆~e~☆~s~☆~s~☆~i~☆~o~☆~n~☆~"

Also, aph/hws Washington DC and Washington state are bffs, solely based on the fact that both their names are Washington and both complain about being named after a slave owning white man every chance they get.

#aph america #aph alfred f jones #hws america #hws alfred f jones #aph states #hws states #personal HC #personal aph hc #personal hws hc #please share your thoughts on this!

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hettiesworld · 4 years

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Coming soon...

I am currently writing a Johnny Storm x OFC series, based on a dream I had where Chris becomes Johnny in the MCU at the same time he is Captain America. Of course they haven’t met yet, but let’s forget about that for a moment...

My dream was about a new Fantastic Four movie called Fantastic Four: Evolution and it had the original cast from the 2005-2007 film series (that included Chris) and it has a new “superpowered” human called Sophie Powell and Johnny falls in love with her.

Of course, I had to change the other members of the F4 (Reed Richards, Susan Storm and Ben Grimm), as well as Doctor Doom and Alicia Masters.

More details coming soon. If you wanna be tagged, I’ll add a tag list to this and if you like what you see, I’ll post the NEW cast list (except for Evans, of course) and the detailed plot (probably won’t be detailed as much 😂)

Also, if anyone could do a moodboard for me, that would be appreciated! The tag list will be under the cut.

@optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @captain-a-rogers @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @donutloverxo @averyrogers83 @princess-evans-addict @angryschnauzer @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @navybrat817 @kindaskimpy @k-evans-writes @captainchrisbaby @denisemarieangelina @clogger101@normadevans82 @girl-next-door-writes

#johnny storm x ofc #fantastic four #nbarnes #masterlist #chris evans

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francis-ca-c-a · 4 years

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( Toxic PAP/ Final Project ) - MoodBoard 2020 [ JPG/PNG ]

When I was working on this, I was thinking of the different phases of the story I was trying to tell. My final project is all about the evolution of toxic relationships, what goes through their exterior and interior, mental and spiritual. In my project, there’s three diferent phases that I really want to show to the public, that I call : The Ego, The Shadow and The Persona.

The Theory simply goes like this.

The Ego is the phase that you are blind to the love you give and recieve, making you a pawn to this relation that you portrey to be love. Ego is something that goes along with the obsession of being in love and not letting go, that obsession is the method to feed your own Ego, and that’s why you feel that it is right.

The Shadow is the phase where the person feels unnable to do anything, is like they are all alone in their world, but in their world they are also caged from everything else, they can scream and talk as much as they like, but nobody will ever hear them or they will never truly talk. This phase is a moment of true and forced meditation between the self and the shadow, The Self being what they are, the Shadow being what is hidden from everyone else.

Then, we got The Persona. The Persona, after so much going on, is already open to the different thoughs of their mind, but now has their heart more close to others, afraid to be hurt. They show this fake self of them, and change their masks through life, ready for the different types of gas, and to survive through love.

This moodboard was one of the first experiences for my project, it’s only made with 3 pictures of my live moodboard, and the rest with texture picture, light effects and RGB effect. I started out with a black background and used a picture with contrast of reds and black in “ hard mix “ layer type so it looked like blood on the walls, I placed a light effect on top in “Difference” layer type so the whites and neon blue would come out of the picture.

After that I took care of the three head pictures, corping the background of them and making sure there isn’t too many pixels on the borders, making them sharp, i made different masks on top of them, using multiply, difference and overlay, and then putting them all together, so I could put the neon effect at the same time, that gave the light and shap lines on each borders.

Once everything was done on photoshop, I went to a site called “Photomosh”, that gives different effects to play with, such as RGB effect, so I could also make a gif version of this JPG/PNG.

#franciscaportfoliouni

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blinkywritesstuffsometimes · 5 years

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[Entry written by Dr. Henry Crabbe, 2 months ago]

I’ve had this idea for a long time. Ever since I was young, I always wanted humans to fly. It’s something humankind has wanted since the beginning of time itself; to soar through the air like a bird. As I got older, I longed to make the dream a reality. I studied it day and night for years, trying to plan out how one could create a human with the ability to fly.

I eventually took on a career in genetic modification, and it was there that I proposed the idea of adding bird-like wings to animals to my colleagues. It took some convincing, but after a year I was given the funding and resources to begin the experiment. We started small, adding wings to lab rats, then working our way up until we had successfully created a chimpanzee with large bird wings on its back and the ability to fly. It was nearly perfect, yet I wasn’t satisfied. Monkeys may share similarities with humans, but they were not the real thing. I needed to go further.

After almost three years of asking and presenting evidence, we were granted government funding. This decision was newsworthy at the time, and caused much controversy. Death threats were sent to both me and my colleagues, and some even tried to make good on them. We had to move our lab to a remote location in the Midwest and cut off contact with the outside world. The isolation became maddening at times, but I soon learned it was best to keep it out of mind as I continued the project.

Our first wave of specimen were a bit rocky at first, but soon we had eleven human-avian hybrids. Some female scientists used themselves as test subjects, hooking up with male co-workers or getting an artificial insemination to get pregnant. We experimented on the fetus, genetically altering it and adding the components necessary. The first experiments bore more of their avian DNA than homo sapien, but we continued to tweak the genetics. By the time we reached the final six, they looked almost unrecognizable next to another human, minus the wings of course.

Announcing the success of our project led to yet more controversy, but this time the threats and naysayers were in the minority. Another lab in California that specializes in giving humans superpowers reached out to us collaborate, and we happily agreed. Phase 2 began shortly afterwards, now with more funding and more successful experiments.

However, things began going downhill. We have three confirmed cases of an unknown individual or individuals kidnapping experiments. It was only possible to make a clean getaway if you had a deep knowledge of the inner workings of the School, and three years ago we determined our likely culprits to be Julianne Marshall and Kyle Hawkins-Kama, two subordinates that I thought were loyal only to me. Before we could launch a full investigation of their lives and search their homes, both of them disappeared from the lab and moved off the grid entirely.

As much as I would like to hunt them down and retrieve my lost specimens, the fact of the matter is we are running low on government funding. Public opinion of human experimentation has severely gone down over the past few years, with even more negative press than before. The government is even contemplating denying any and all future human experiment projects and giving existing experiments citizenship and a normal life. I can’t believe this. I have worked for decades on end trying to see this project to its completion, and now you want to strip all of my life’s work away? You expect my nine beautiful specimens to behave like normal children? They are more than that. We are more than that.

With this threat looming over our heads, we have moved once again into isolation. It is a much smaller lab, with little equipment, but we have adapted. Project Icarus will succeed. Even in this less than ideal environment, we will prove the lunatics who dare speak against me wrong. This is the next step in evolution, and I will do whatever I must to achieve it.

Here’s the first little look at the Maximum Ride rewrite I’ve been working on! It’s just a little moodboard and a brief introduction to the history of the School. I’ll have some more stuff about the characters and whatnot a bit later.

(Also, Project Icarus technically isn’t the official title for this yet, just what the School calls its experiment, but I might keep it if I can’t come up with anything else)

#maximum ride rewrite #maximum ride #project icarus #moodboard #aesthetic #wip #this moodboard has really crappy boarders cuz i was trying to emulate bars of a cage #and it didn't work but im too lazy to make anything different

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file-tunnel · 5 years

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Excerpts from weekly report 7.

Our exhibition date has been set to the 20th of october. Following reflections, scripting, preparing, arranging, and then branding it all.

(graspable concept)

Statements/questions on exhibiting placebo products for fear of darkness.

Define the brand of the exhibition or the initiative before the user has entered the space.

Define how the room will communicate the products.

Define the products in the exhibition and their individual purpose

These factors should communicate what the participant can do afterwards and/or until the next exhibition or part of the service.

(Sengevesenet - Bed service/bed creature)

Concept Philosophy:

Sengevesenet is defined as an initiative service that seeks to explore how children and guardians may talk or act around fear of darkness. As with a psychologist seen as a service, conversation is always based on personal triggers. We would never know what certain triggers are on behalf of all of those who are afraid of the dark. Design usually offers manifestations of needs. Although external conversational services - like psychologists, may work well as a conversational service, they are usually initiated on what is seen as uncommon and serious occasions. On “common” problems, like fear of the dark, parents are fully capable of dealing with the situation by talking to their child.

So, what is really needed is a service that can act as a catalyst for parents to talk about sensational and emotional triggers with their children. This will be done by creating something together, based on the manifestations of their emotion, to suit the comfort of them both.

Thus, conclusively, the dissemination of those real and valuable instances of (de)mystifying delusions will be in the hands of Sengevesenet. They will spread this to the masses in order to further strengthen awareness and experience of speaking about emotions with our younger self.

This can be done through videos, graphics, ads, exhibitions, litterature, talks, seminars, games, products and subordinate services to name a few.

(pallette/safe play)

Brand philosophy:

Name:

Sengevesenet has a double meaning. Vesenet as in creature, and Vesenet as associated with “service” as in the health care service (Helsevesenet). Thus, Sengevesenet is an authoritative “force” denoted by act around the myriad of situations unfolding in the bedroom of a child. Sengevesenet is also the actual thing -the creature as a product of imagination.

Sengevesenet is both a safe and organized thing, but at the same time, a representation of the actual thing it seeks to contain. Logo:

The logo is a visualisation of the name. It is a bed seen from above, with four legs, a pillow and a blanket. The perpective makes the bed look like a creature seen from the front.

The tight and thick strokes of the logo is meant to make it look more emblematic, to strengthen its expression as an organized unit. The use of cursive is related to the cursive picture notes often used in children’s text books. A drawing or picture might need explaining, just as parent or child might need explainations of their emotions or sensations. The use of paranthesis is also a nod to parts of the concept philosophy, as it is usually used with cursive under a symbol in translation, often of asian letters and symbols. Since the logo could draw some similarities to an actual asian letter, the logo plays with the literal cultural look of a translation. Our service will serve as a translator between parent and child, therefore giving the logo another dimension including the more obvious reasons stated above. This is not necesserily easy to catch, and we are motivated to keep it that way.

(moodboard)

Visual Identity:

Sengevesenet communicates on behalf and within the borderland of adult conversations and child conversations. Visually, this can be expressed by exposing how children see “adult things” and how adults see “child things”. Mixing them, interpreting and translating them gives a visually interesting contrast between the mundane as an underlying justification to the playful.

A good reference are the products of the members of the Memphis Group. These were relaitvely normal everyday products, like a leaning chair, a lamp or a toaster, designed to look visually extreme. A stark contrast between expression and intention, giving the object personality and character though still maintaining their respective function.

This is empasized in the typography of Sengevesenet. Beneath the bubbly visual representations of ideas, follows a calm and controlled comment, interpretation or reiteration.

(Sengevesenet typography)

(context... maybe)

Other insights gathered during week 7:

Mats talked to his grandparents about our theme, trying to get a bigger grasp of the timeline of the subject we have been diving into.

With the rise of home electronics, our perception of childhood have shifted into something a far cry from what were typical just 20 years ago, when we were about the same age as our youngest user group. Contrasting even further, both the grandparents were that age during WW2, but under drastically different circumstances.

The Grandfather (b. 1937) lived in Kristiansand during the War, a city which suffered greater civilian loss than any norwegian city during 9th of April 1940 (The day of the Nazi occupancy). The city was bombed several times, which resulted in several cases of evacuation, many times during night hours.

On the contrary, the Grandmother (b.1940) lived on a remote island outside Brønnøysund called Vega. Almost completely seperated from both cultural impressions and wartimes, she had an uncommonly isolated childhood.

(war)

I suspected their most notable experiences around fear to be logical to their surrounding sociatal situations, and after presenting the frames around the project, asked them about their memories from the age of my interest.

Reasonably, many of the things the Grandfather presented, were memories during and relating to the war. One of his earliest memories were being carried by his aunt, terrified of the loud german planes above. He also remembered being evacuated with his family during one night when a dud (bomb that doesn’t go off) were dropped in their garden. His memory was faint when asked if he had any troubles or trauma because of his experiences, but was also clear that he was very young and talk about the War was taboo, and the children were “sheltered” from knowing about the War. Aside from the combat related insidents, roleplay in the forest as cowboys and indians were mentioned, but nothing too spesific about any long-lasting fears. The Grandmother was also quite vague, but in an interesting aspect to our concept and suspitions. She had no spesific fears but, in her words, were afraid of the unpredictability in the dark. Something might be there, and therefore, she is afraid. Death was the only thing to be specified, and the living dead was something she definetly didn’t appreciate. As a real death was one of the only ways to get exposed to something we today get exposed through earlier with pop-culture, mass information and easily available and less sensitive entertainment, and all the “memes” that might get stuck on the cornea of a 5-year old today, was easily enough not available. But the fact that she still was afraid illustrates a valid point, which was talked about in an earlier excerpt, namely evolution. As a 5 year old, it’s perfectly normal to be afraid of the dark as we’re hardwired to do so, and therefore survive. We are by nature a weaker fighter in the dark, and a reason to be afraid of ghosts, could be to have a peg to hang the fear on. The Grandmother was definetly afraid, but weren’t exposed to anything that her fear could exist as.

On the other hand, the Grandfather were exposed to real things happening, so his fears might weren’t that hard to deal with as they most likely weren’t “debunked” by his parents or peers, or the fact that he was too young to understand the actual terror of it, but rather afraid the loud noises combined with the stress of evacuating.

Another theory is that they forgot about their fears a long time ago, and shoved them in tray way back in their head, unavailable for discussion. A lot of people who recall having fear of darkness either remember their feelings or the actual visual memories that they imagined at the time.

We theorise:

After conversing with someone who newly or currently experience fear of darkness, certain nuanced visual memories may pop up.

People who had very distinctive visual representations of their fear will remember it more vividly later on.

Children who have a good ability to rationalize early on may still be supported by actually finding some kind of visualisation to aid them, either way.

With this, we conclude week 7, and prepare ourselves for making 12 objects for the exhibition. phew

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stilesxeveryone · 6 years

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Netflix and Chill - Steter Week

~Ta da, Steter Week day 1 with Creature Stiles! It’s been so long since I last posted any writing, jesus! Don’t forget I’m always open to requests for fics, moodboards or art!

You can find it on AO3 here and my account is here!~

Stiles ran. Trees flew past him as he leaped over roots, stones, branches, anything in his way. His paws hit the ground almost silently, light in his small form.

He needed to get away. Just for a day, an afternoon, an hour, any amount of time that he could.

The preserve was still considered too dangerous to enter alone, but he honestly didn’t care. It didn’t matter to him that any number of creatures could be lurking inside. He had been dealing with the fuckers since Scott got bit in sophomore year and hadn’t had a chance to run since then. Well, unless it was for his life.

He just needed to run.

So, he ran, and he ran, and he ran, until he was flying over the edge of a small cliff and tumbling down the other side.

He stopped at the bottom with a jolt, a cry and a resounding snap. He tried to stand up and quickly discovered where the snap originated from. His hind leg.

He let out a whine and his eyes flared orange. He tried to stand again, putting as little pressure on his back leg as possible. Once standing, he realised he wouldn’t actually be able to get back up the cliff.

For once in his life he wished he was a werewolf. Whatever was responsible for werecreatures—evolution, magic or some kind of god—had decided that foxes could skip out on the super healing because speed and extra-extra-heightened senses were more important. He certainly healed faster than an average human, but a broken bone would take at least a few days, rather than seconds.

He swivelled his head, looking left to right, then went over ‘eeny meeny’ in his head. He turned right and started limping his way forwards, hoping the cliff would flatten out enough for him to walk it soon.

Peter was on patrol of the woods alone. Some would say he was mad to go alone, others knew he had no one to go with. Derek was in a bad mood and Stiles wasn’t answering his phone. No one else could tolerate him for long enough to finish the patrol.

Deep into the preserve, his nose and eyebrows scrunched up as he caught the scent of blood and pain. He crept forward silently, following the scent, and stopped just before he could slip down the small cliff. Peering over the edge, his eyes were drawn to the red fox staring up at him. He sniffed at the air, quickly confirming that the pained smell was definitely coming from the fox. Its injury was obvious by the leg being held carefully off the ground and, although Peter was certainly not an expert, the odd angle it bent in.

He searched around for an easier way down to the fox’s level, but the cliff seemed to continue for as far as he could see.

“I’m going to come down to you, little one, don’t be frightened,” he called. Carefully, he slid down the cliff, thankful that it wasn’t a straight drop as him jumping down would surely scare the creature off.

Once at the bottom, he crouched down to the fox’s height. He held out a hand for the fox to sniff, the most unsure of what was proper etiquette he had ever been in his life.

The fox stared at him blankly for a moment, before leaning in to nuzzle at his hand.

“You’re very friendly,” he murmured, moving his hand to scratch its head affectionately. He was hoping that foxes were similar enough to cats and dogs. The fox leaned into the scratching, the scent of comfort seeping passed the pain.

Hesitantly, he drained the pain away and paused in his scratching as the fox watched the black veins flow up his skin.

“Alright, little one, while I don’t usually trust Deaton, I think animals are one thing I can handle going to him for help with,” Peter said and carefully picked up the fox.

He made sure to pay attention to any shift in scent, in case he accidentally hurt the creature. Its fear kicked up a little, but not an alarming amount, and it stayed calm in his arms.

He made his way back up the small cliff, one hand holding the fox steady and the other keeping himself steady on the ground. Once at the top, it was a straightforward and uneventful walk.

“Peter, this is certainly a surprise,” Deaton said as soon as he looked up from where he had been reading.

“I think its leg is broken.” Peter was quick to ignore anything unimportant Deaton was saying.

“Yes, follow me.” Deaton seemed unaffected, as always, as he led Peter to a backroom.

Once the fox was on the table Deaton began examining it.

“Where did you find him?”

The fox was male, useful information.

“He was in the preserve. Looked like he had taken a tumble down a small cliff,” he explained.

Deaton nodded and was silent for awhile as he looked over the fox. He muttered something under his breath and, although he could barely hear it, Peter was sure it was in another language. The fox’s eyes flared a bright orange in response to Deaton’s words.

“Just as I suspected,” Deaton said, most likely talking to himself.

“Do you know what he is?” Peter asked, staring at the fox curiously.

“I’m afraid I don’t, most spells for finding out such a thing are far too elaborate. It just means I can’t call any proper services to look after him—I’ll have to take care of him myself.”

The fox let out a screech in response, something akin to an antagonistic witch being burnt alive.

“Or maybe not.” Deaton frowned, options of what he could do floating about in his head.

“I can take care of him, if that’s a possibility,” Peter said without meaning to at all.

Deaton glanced between the two before speaking, “Well, if he lets you then I guess that would be okay.”

Peter held his hand out to the fox again and, gently, the fox bit at his fingertips.

“I think that’s a yes.”

Stiles soon had his leg fixed up to the best of Deaton’s abilities, and both him and Peter were happy to be leaving the vet/cryptic asshole and his mountain ash-filled building. Unfortunately, they would have to go back in a few days' time to check on his leg.

Stiles was trying to get comfy in Peter’s passenger seat, a difficult task with his leg, and he spent the whole ride shuffling into different positions. Before he knew it, Peter had parked and was carrying him out of the car.

As one of Peter’s neighbours left her house to do some gardening and gave them a strange look, they were both very thankful that Peter had moved out of his apartment and into a proper house. A lot less people to judge.

Once inside, Peter tossed his keys and wallet into the bowl, his phone onto the couch and a look over his shoulder at Stiles as he said, “I need to have a shower. You can explore but try not to break anything or yourself.” He disappeared with an affectionate grin that Stiles didn’t know Peter was capable of.

Stiles quickly scrambled over to Peter’s phone, using his nose to turn it on and type. He guessed the password on the second try, then searched the contacts for his dad. The contact name was a surprisingly boring ‘John Stilinski’, one of the only names that were so formal (though he was too stressed to get a proper look at the others).

Painstakingly slowly, he typed out the message: ‘this is stiles broken leg but okay shifted safe with peter he doesnt know cover for me’. He deleted any evidence of the message from the phone after it was sent.

It wasn’t exactly the first time that Stiles had gotten into a situation where he couldn’t shift back, but it always worried his dad to no end.

He left the phone and looked around the room. It was a living room filled with warm colours and a surprising number of cushions. The TV looked large and expensive, but Stiles expected nothing less from Peter.

The kitchen was connected to the living room, no walls between, and he could see the pristine counter tops and appliances. Again, very expensive looking and very expected.

He limped around the rooms, looking through the books on Peter’s shelf, before heading down the hallway.

None of the doors were open.

Rude.

He huffed and went back to the couch. Staring up at it from the ground wasn’t usually so daunting, but with a broken leg he had no idea how he could get up there. He huffed again, pouted as much as a fox could, and lied down on the floor in front of the couch.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been lying there, but he was dozing off to sleep by the time Peter finished in the shower and dressed.

“Can’t reach the couch, little one?” Peter asked, crouching down.

Stiles raised his head and nodded in confirmation. Peter picked him up and sat down on the couch, laying the fox down on top of him. As Stiles shifted about to get comfortable yet again, Peter turned the TV on and switched to Netflix. The fox let out a bark as he went passed 'The Good Place' and he looked down at the now comfortable creature.

"You wanna watch this?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Stiles barked and nodded again.

"I hope you have good taste in shows," Peter muttered as he clicked to start playing.

'The Good Place' was a brilliant show.

"This is Stiles, I'm either passed out or running for my life-"

Peter clicked out of the call before Stiles' voice could finish whatever it was he had pre-recorded. He let out a sigh and ran a hand over the fox's head, something he had been doing all day.

"What's that boy doing? He's as bad as Scott today," he muttered. He flicked through his contacts and settled on John Stilinski's number, debating for less than a second whether it was worth the hassle. He clicked call.

"Peter? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, as far as I'm aware, just that I've been trying to contact your son all day and he hasn't responded," Peter explained. He felt the fox underneath his hand tense, but he barely took notice, continuing to run his hand through the fur.

"Oh, he didn't tell you?" the Sheriff asked, his voice rising in his surprise.

"Tell me what?" He tried to keep any strong emotions out of his voice.

"Stiles is visiting his grandmother for a few days. It's very possible that he left his phone behind, I guess. It was all a bit of a rush, we didn't really know he was going until a few days ago."

He felt the fox nuzzle closer onto his stomach.

"Right, well, thank you for telling me. Have a good day, Sheriff."

"You too."

The call ended, and the tension finally left Peter's shoulders as he melted into the couch. He slid to the side, lying down on the couch and pulling the fox up onto his chest. The animal let out a strange squeak, surprised at the sudden movement, but went with it easily.

"That boy is going to be the death of me, I swear," Peter grumbled, "always getting himself into trouble."

Stiles looked up at him, eyes wide, and he let out a soft noise. Neither of them were quite sure what the noise was supposed to mean, so Peter continued talking,

"I mean, it's not always his fault. Honestly, a lot of the time it's the rest of the pack's fault for not picking up when he calls. Because, yeah, Stiles runs off a lot after he works something out, but he usually tries to call Scott or Derek or someone to back him up, but if no one picks up then he's left to do it himself." He huffed and rubbed at his eyes with his free hand, the one not still petting the fox. "That was really loaded for a fox who may or may not understand me."

Stiles had no idea how to react to everything that Peter had dumped on him, so he ran with his instincts. He sat up a little, leaned forward and nuzzled at Peter's cheek. The man smiled, leaning into the touch without question. Stiles dropped down a little, pressing flat against Peter with his nose tucked under the man's jaw, and began purring.

"Comfortable?" Peter teased, a fond smile on his face. Stiles didn't bother responding as he started to fall asleep. Peter closed his eyes and rested his head back down on a pillow before joining the fox in purring.

Despite the fact that Peter's bedroom was only a room away, they slept together on the couch.

Peter woke up to the fox standing on his chest and pawing at him. He blinked up at the creature blearily before mumbling, "What do you want?" The pawing wasn't urgent enough for him to be too concerned.

The fox moved downwards, poked his stomach with his nose, then leapt off him to stand in the kitchen.

"Hungry, huh?"

The fox nodded and barked softly. Peter stood up slowly, stretching, and joined the fox in his kitchen.

"Do you have a name? Because so far, I've just been referring to you as 'the fox' in my head," Peter said as he opened the fridge.

Stiles shook his head, you know, like a liar.

"What do you eat?"

He had to think for a moment before he walked up to the fridge and peered inside. After a few moments of looking and smelling, he placed his paws on the bottom of the fridge and pushed up to nose at the small variety of fruit inside.

"Fruit salad for breakfast?" Peter grabbed the fruit, as well as two bowls and a cutting board, despite his question. Once he had washed and cut the fruit, he placed one bowl on the floor for the fox and kept the other, standing as he ate with a fork.

"Is there any way for you to convey what you would prefer I call you?"

Stiles thought for a moment before shaking his head.

"Fox it is, then."

Peter looked like he was about to speak again but 'Toxic' by Britney Spears started blasting from his phone.

"Of course, he would," Peter muttered before moving to answer the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey, Petey, it's Erica! I need you to cover my shift for patrol of the preserve today," Erica chirped down the line.

"And what's so important that has you ditching your duties?" He waved the fork around as he spoke.

"Boyd, obviously."

Erica could hear the eyeroll.

"And what do I get out of this? I do have important things I could be doing." Such as watching more of 'The Good Place' and cuddling up with a fox.

"I have pictures of Derek in a bunny costume—one that Stiles had managed to get him into during a previous Halloween costume search—that I'm sure will be useful for both entertainment and blackmail."

Peter paused at that. It certainly sounded like a very good deal, but he had to ask, "You're wasting your blackmail on a single shift of patrol?"

"No, I'm wasting two pictures of Derek on getting out of patrol for reservations at an expensive restaurant and amazing sex with my boyfriend. I have several photos from that same day where I managed to convince Stiles into a slutty red riding hood outfit. Those, I'm saving for when I need something important from you."

"That's the little devil I know and love. Okay, I'll cover your shift, if not for the photos then to reward you for your brilliance."

"Wonderful, thanks Peter! I'll send you the photos once your shift is over. Have a great time!" With that, Erica hung up.

Peter put his phone down and picked his food back, smirk planted firmly on his face. Even if he would never be able to see those photos of Stiles, the idea of it would fuel a few fun nights with himself.

He heard a snuffle come from near his feet. He glanced down to find the fox had finished his food and was now waiting patiently, his tail sweeping across the floor quickly.

He raised an eyebrow. "You wanna patrol with me, little one?"

The fox nodded and barked, which seemed to be his favourite way of saying yes. Peter nodded in reply and picked his bowl up from the floor, placing both bowls in the sink for later.

"Alright, just let me get ready and we'll go."

Patrolling with the fox was enjoyable, more so than when he was by himself or with Derek. Every so often the creature would bark and run off, only to come back with a strange smelling flower.

"Do you know what all of these flowers are?" Peter asked, eight different flowers in hand.

The fox barked and nodded.

"Can you try to communicate what type of supernatural creature you are?" he asked a moment later.

The fox didn't reply.

"How long do you think it'll take for your leg to heal up?"

The fox paused at that. His head tilted from left to right as he thought, though Peter wasn't sure if he was thinking about the question or just how to communicate his answer. Finally, he drew a wonky '4' in the dirt.

They started walking again and, after several minutes of wondering whether he should ask the question, Peter spoke up, "Will I see you again once you do heal?"

No response.

The rest of their second day together was spent hunting rabbits, making dinner, and finishing the second season of 'The Good Place'. They both slept on Peter's bed that night.

Their third day together was pretty much the same, minus patrol as no one had decided to bribe Peter again. They had breakfast together, more fruit as well as a couple omelettes for Peter. Then they were on the couch, Stiles barking as Peter went passed 'Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency'.

It was peaceful. Peter lying on the couch with the fox in his favourite place: on top of Peter's chest.

Their eyes met. Only for a brief moment. Just while they were waiting for the episode to change over to the next one.

But it was long enough that Peter could notice what he hadn't cared to look at.

Bright, amber eyes.

The same eyes as,

"Stiles," he breathed out.

The fox froze.

"Fucking hell, really?" He suddenly sat up, Stiles yelping and falling into his lap as a result. "Stiles," he stated confidently, moving the fox's face with cupped hands to stare into his eyes.

Stiles' eyes were wide, concern and just a hint of fear drifting off of him.

Peter frowned. "Why don't you smell like a shifter?"

Stiles shrugged, or at least he moved in a way that resembled a shrug.

"Why did your dad say you were at your grandmothers?"

With a guilty smell rolling off of him, Stiles nosed at the phone resting on the coffee table.

"Right, well, I guess we can talk more about this when you've shifted back. For now, shall we get back to Dirk Gently?"

Somehow, the fox looked like he couldn't be happier to do so.

Hesitantly on Stiles' part, they slept on Peter's bed together again.

"It seems like his leg has healed completely by now. Considering I don't know what type of creature he is, the best course of action would probably be to leave him at the edge of the preserve."

"Sounds good."

Peter, of course, didn't take Stiles to the preserve, but instead to his house. Thankfully, the Sheriff was at work.

Stiles nudged Peter into the living room before dashing upstairs. A few minutes later a very human looking Stiles walked back down the stairs, dressed in sweatpants and a soft looking shirt.

"So," Stiles started, sitting down stiffly, "I guess you can ask your questions."

"Why were you in the preserve?" Peter started out simple.

"I just kinda needed to get away for a bit, you know? I mean, before the whole shitstorm of supernatural things happened I used to run in the woods regularly, so." Stiles shrugged.

Peter nodded in understanding, he felt similar urges all the time. "Is your dad the only one who knows you're a fox shifter?"

"Yeah, I'd thought about telling Scott when I was younger but… but mum was always very adamant about keeping it a secret. I guess nowadays it's just easier to keep up the lie than tell him about it."

Peter turned to face him better as he said, "I've never actually heard of a fox shifter before. How exactly does it differ to werewolves, other than the obvious?"

"Um, well, you might've noticed that we take longer to heal," he let out a weak laugh. "We have better senses, if you can believe, and we're generally faster too. We don't have a beta shift, just a full shift. We, uh, don't really have packs, either. Like alphas, betas and omegas aren't really a thing."

"Huh," Peter muttered, sifting through the information and comparing it with what he already knew. He paused for a moment, debating whether he should ask the next question before settling confidently on a yes.

"Can we keep watching shows and cuddling together?"

Before he could blink, Stiles was tackling him back onto the couch. His chin rested on top of the man's chest as he spoke, "There's this one show, 'Santa Clarita Diet', and it's about a family dealing with their mum turning into a zombie so, you know, you should relate."

#steter #steter week #steter week 2018 #teen wolf #my fic #fic #stiles stilinski #peter hale #sheriff stilinski #john stilinski #erica reyes #creature stiles #fox stiles #steterweek

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