#“getting him to shut up is the trick”

[chatsukimi]

ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛʀɪᴄᴋꜱ

featuring: touchstarved!gojo, slight enemies to lovers. synopsis: gojo satoru can't understand why he keeps wanting to spar with you... until one time, you two get a little too close. masterlist

sparring with satoru is a pain above all else. yaga has been assigning you to hand to hand combat with satoru for weeks now- a suspiciously long amount of time without switching partners.

you kick, dodge a punch, and stare up at his shameless smile. each time you come close to landing a hit, he turns on infinity, then poof! your opportunity rushes out the window.

"no techniques allowed." you grit your teeth.

"oops." he holds his hands up in a faux surrender. "sorry, forgot."

he certainly did not forget.

this time, he charges at your torso, his annoyingly long arm closing distance on your shoulder at breakneck speed. you feel the limb dislocate. you wince. using his upper hand, gojo grabs your arms and pins you to the gymnasium floor. the air is knocked out of your lungs.

he's panting, his blue eyes clambering over you, under him. like always, he's too close to you- so close you see your own figure in the reflection of his watery irises. you could lift your hand up an inch to brush the sweat from his forehead. always. way too close.

his fingers trail across your elbow up towards your collarbone- whoosh.

infinity on again. he lets out a long exhale, scrunching his eyes shut as though pained.

that's when gojo thinks he's safe.

only, he's not really.

instead of giving up, you close your hand around the infinity and pull the whole thing, gojo and his infinity, towards you. your legs drag around his hips.

his eyes widen.

your hand pushes his chest then in the brisk manoeuvre, you're on top of him.

you think you see his soul poke its head out his mouth, tipped ajar in shock.

you don't know why you do what you do next. in some depraved performance, your fingers close in on his windpipe. you don't squeeze; the imagery is enough to satisfy. snowy white eyelashes fluttering to meet your gaze, the groan echoing out from his throat, the tight strain in his chest as he breathes shallowly, letting you way too close.

"they're watching," he murmurs.

shoko and geto. fear washes over you, and you're about to let go-

his own hand closes around your wrist.

he's staring at you darkly, goading you to move.

"they're watching," he says again, his hands suddenly at your waist pulling you closer. his tongue flicks over his bottom lip.

you're almost laying on his chest, face to face with your own deadly consumption.

"how long have you been beating me up just to get this close?" you tease.

"huh?"

truly innocently desperately confused, satoru has the gall to tighten his grip, hoisting himself up until he's sitting to lean over you again- if only slightly.

"we're just sparring, aren't we?" and he's telling himself this as his nose bumps against yours. and he's lying to himself that the way he's exploring your body is an act of aggression, not an act of compulsion. "you've been playing dirty tricks on me, but i can do it better."

dirty tricks? you think you see the thought passing through his concentrated face.

unfair, unfair, unfair-

how dare you provoke him let down his infinity? who do you think you are? how could you break him down through just one touch, leave him barrelling towards you for more?

unfair, unfair, unfair-

his hand rests by your jaw, stroking up your cheek, taking his precious time.

because sparring with you is the only time satoru gets to touch you.

he forces all his common sense out of his brain as he whispers, frustration coursing through his tone, "you're weak. your form is full of openings." and he's almost kissing you-

"time out, time out." shoko's voice cuts through the haze.

you feel you two being dragged apart by shoko and geto. the latter frowns at the white haired menace who's temporarily lost his obnoxious pride, silent.

the moment is awkward for everyone except for him.

gojo cocks his head to the side, looking at geto. "we were just fighting?"

geto sighs. just fighting?

you shiver as gojo's expressionless stare sticks onto you. curious.

the fight is over already...

but then why does he want to kiss you still?

#gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #gojo x you #jujutsu gojo #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #jjk drabbles #jjk fluff #jjk humor

[wttcsms]

you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody, atsumu miya

pairing atsumu miya x reader word count 1.4k synopsis love for you is holding him; love for him is allowing himself to be held. content contains hurt/comfort, intimacy, atsumu-centric, insecurities, unconditional love, showering together but make it sfw

The stinging spray of scalding hot water from the showerhead should be enough to get him to leave, but he barely registers the pain, can’t seem to bring himself to feel the heat, can’t seem to bring himself to feel anything.

No — that’s not entirely true. He feels one thing.

Devastated. 

Everyone knows Atsumu Miya likes to talk shit on and off the court. It’s his thing, his trademark, his brand. Lots of athletes like to talk big about how they’re going to win; who the hell is going to support a guy who walks onto the court with a well, it’ll be alright if I lose. 

He’s staring down at the tiles of the shower, can somewhat register the persistent barrage of water spraying onto his back as he has one hand splayed on the wall, shoulders slumped, water dripping from his hair and running into his vision, making everything blurry. 

Don’t blink, he tries to demand of himself, but the issue is, we can’t always control our bodies. He has to shut his eyes, just for a brief second, and in that second, it all comes back to him.

The opposing team at set point. His team depending on him to serve. One point left. Only one chance. He can feel the stadium’s crowd holding their breath, can feel the lack of air in the atmosphere, can hear how loudly the blood is rushing to his head. Dizzy. Dazed. He doesn’t give into pressure, not anymore, not ever. Doesn’t feel performance anxiety, knows better than to try to attempt something flashy just for the glory of a good story to tell. 

Give ‘em a serve they don’t have a chance of receiving, he demands of himself. 

The final seconds of the match all come to him like stills from a movie, each frame another devastating blow to his ego, his self-worth, his very being. The ball is in the air, he’s bending his knees to prepare for the jump, his hand making contact with the ball. Something’s off, he can feel it upon first contact, but it’s too late to save, too late for him to change anything.

The ball lands.

On his side of the net.

He’s frozen in place as he stares ahead. He can tell the other team is cheering, slapping each other on their backs, and he can hear the blow of a whistle, the celebration from the crowd. But all he sees is the ball. All he sees is his failure.

Atsumu has spent a good portion of his volleyball career knowing that he plays the game better than most. It’s why he feels so comfortable talking about the lack of skills other players display. It’s why he always has something to say at practice, on the court, during a post-game interview. 

And he knows he makes mistakes. He knows that he’s only human. But a bad serve in the middle of a game isn’t as crushing as knowing that he is the sole reason as to why the Black Jackals’ season is going to be ending early. 

Where did he go wrong? He did everything perfectly, did everything the way he usually does. Why couldn’t he perform? Why did he let his team down? Why—

“Atsumu?” 

He doesn’t look up, and all you can see is the sad shape of his outline from the foggy glass door of the shower. You know that Atsumu probably wants nothing more than to be alone right now, but you can’t help but worry when fifteen minutes have gone by, and you could still hear the shower running. That’s your first sign that something is wrong.

Atsumu is a notoriously quick showerer, to an almost concerning degree. When you first started living together, you debated planning elaborate tricks to see whether or not he was even using soap. (Which, in hindsight, was just flatout silly; he walks out the shower smelling overwhelming of his Axe Men’s 3-in-1 and Old Spice deodorant.) 

No — the first sign that something is wrong would be his uncharacteristic silence on the trip back home. He hadn’t responded to your it’s okay, baby, you’ll get ‘em next season. Instead, he just looked out the window, the devastated expression on his face silencing you as well. Even when he lost to Kageyama, he had been disappointed, upset, but still talking big about how he was going to crush the Adlers next time around. He had then made a comment about Tobio’s stupid haircut, and that’s when you told him if he doesn’t have anything nice to say, he shouldn’t say anything at all.

Now, you’d give anything to have him say something. Something for you to work with.  

“Atsumu?” You call out for him again, worried when you don’t see his figure moving. 

Pathetic. Atsumu thinks that’s what he is. A loser, a fucking scrub, a failure. Even if his teammates won’t admit it, the media will. And what then? Will you think that about him too? It’d be the truth, wouldn’t it? Isn’t that why you’re in the bathroom now? To pity him? 

He’s too busy tearing himself down to react to the distinct sound of you sliding back the glass door of the shower so you can enter it. There’s a brief burst of the cool air of the bathroom hitting his exposed body, but it evaporates the moment you shut the door. 

“Oh, ‘Tsumu.” You whisper it, and he wants to tell you that he’s not fucking fragile. That he’s not going to shatter into a million pieces if you just raise your voice, if you tell him how you really feel about him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t turn around to face you. He doesn’t want to. He can’t.

His skin is red from the heat of the water, his back staring at you angrily, hurt. The skin’s going to need some time to heal, and you turn the faucet, lowering the temperature of the water. 

“Turn around, honey. Please?” You’ve never seen Atsumu so upset before, so quiet. You wait several minutes for him to actually do as you request, and you think it’s only because he wants a way to get rid of you sooner. 

You don’t say anything to him as you reach for his shampoo, letting it lather in your hands before you give him a pleading look, one that has him leaning down so you can reach his hair. It feels nice, he thinks, the way you’re shampooing his hair. You’re gentle with your movements, and it almost relaxes him. 

You use your body wash on him. Massage the suds into his skin, but you’re mindful of the amount of pressure you apply. You know which areas of his skin is more sensitive from its exposure to the hot water, and you are careful with the spots of his body that he had chosen to be negligent with. 

“Am I so fuckin’ worthless that you have to do somethin’ as simple as bathing me?” He’s not angry at you. He might spit out the words — words that come out sounding all raw and scratchy, like they had to personally claw themselves from his throat — but the anger is not directed at you. It’s at himself. 

“Look at me.” 

His eyes are glossy, wet, shiny, and you know it’s not because of the shower. You’ve never seen Atsumu cry before, and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do. So, you do what feels right. You whisper his name softly, tenderly, and it’s this tenderness, your unwavering softness, your unconditional love, that breaks him. That makes him feel safe enough to break. That makes him think of the possibility that you’ll take these jagged pieces of him and piece them back together for him, with him. 

He’s so much bigger than you. You tell him all the time that he’s larger than life, and he thinks about that comment as he lets himself sink into your open arms, as he lets himself be held. He has never felt smaller in his life, and in your embrace, he buries his face into your shoulder, letting his warm tears mix in with the water already on your body.

“I don’t know how you can still look at me.” He mutters, and every word is spoken onto your skin, tiny blades striking you. 

Atsumu isn’t sure what he wants to hear, isn’t even certain that there’s anything that could be said to ease his devastation, but melts into you even more so when you tell him,

“Atsumu, I thought you already knew that nothing can change the way I look at you.”

#atsumu miya x you #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #angst #one shot #fluff #drabble #imagine #alright if this doesn't make it to the tags im never posting again

[keyotosprompts]

not easy to please ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

alternatives to popular tropes

⇴ siblings's worst enemy

they're your sibling's enemy, so of course they're yours too. they're despicable and you seriously want them dead. luckily for you, the feeling's mutual.

⇴ struggling ceo and their know-it-all office worker

how did this mf become the ceo of one of the most progressive countries in the world?? they're clueless and you're the one that has to fix all their mistakes. you seriously don't get paid enough for this (unless they can come up with another way to pay you).

⇴ marriage of inconvenience

what happens in vegas stays in vegas. except when you've signed an official marriage contract, and everything is so much more complicated before. now this person is stuck with you until you can divorce! (or will you?)

⇴ forbidden hate

your parents absolutely adore the idea of the two of you together. they have wedding pinterest boards, future plans, and baby names for the two of you. only one thing: you two kinda hate each other, and hell would have to freeze over before you'd ever get with them.

⇴ no more second chances

sorry dude! f'ed up really bad the first time, and now you're not giving anymore chances, and your ex has to deal with the consequences. one problem: they can't deal with the consequences bc they're literally in love with you. hm. just what will this person do to get you back?

⇴ not so secret identity

everyone knows who they are. not even the old mask and hat trick could prevent people from identifying them. and it's fine–they absolutely bask in the fame. one problem though: they're a constant target to the entire world. perfect!

⇴ separated from each other

they never get any alone time. alone together in an elevator? too bad, a party of ten just showed up, pushing the two of you on the opposite side of the elevator. finally alone at home? nope! unfortunately, your friends make a surprise visit! oh how will you two ever get past this?

⇴ "you deserved it."

a normal person would've asked "who did this to you?" except your bond is not normal. not in the slightest. i mean seriously, what does this person want from you?

⇴ "i can't have you, so i'll let someone else take my place."

they know that they're not good enough for you, and that you deserve someone better than them. so, they choose to let you go, and hope that someone else can make your world light up like they used to

⇴ the one that is still here

everywhere you go, this person is there. whether it's physically, mentally, or spiritually, everything ties back to them. everything reminds you of them. you couldn't even escape if you tried.

⇴ playboy but he's actually a nerd that cannot get play

he's gorgeous–he's the most attractive man you think you've ever seen in your life. you think he's probably got it all–girls or boys coming up to him nonstop. only, that's not true in the slightest. somehow, he's managed to fumble every single time.

⇴ nobody wants the bad boy

he's troubled. there are rumors of him starting fights 24/7, and he lives in a bad area. he could really fuck someone up. nobody wants him.

⇴ "you must be delusional"

lovers that know that they're in love with each other, but when admitting it to their friends, they shut down their feelings.

⇴ loving someone to save them

none of that breaking up nonsense. love is power. their love and support causes you to be stronger than ever. knowing that there's love out there gives you a reason to keep on going. love saves you.

⇴ too smart to live

you've outdone yourself this time. bypassed every guard, rule, and law without anyone catching you. so, of course, there's only one solution here: to eliminate you.

⇴ different worlds (revised)

you grew up poor while they grew up rich. now, in the present, you are the more successful one, while they are struggling to get their life together. now, you must help the one who used to be in your current position, and fix things together.

⇴ one-sided blind date

rule one of having a blind date: you should not know who you're meeting. well, too late! you sneaked a peek at your friend's phone and found out who you'll be seeing soon. now, you're scrambling to get out of this date because you know exactly who it is.

#keyotosprompts #fluff prompts ⋆˚✿˖° #writeblr #writing #writing prompts #otp prompts #otp writing #imagine your otp #creative writing #writing inspiration #writers on tumblr #writing prompt #writerscommunity #creative inspiration #writer stuff #tropes #character dynamics #about writing

[cecilysass]

The Penultimate Partner Episode: Analyzing the Second-to-Last Episodes of Seasons 3-7

So I was thinking about the show’s tendency to do an episode that is explicitly about the Partnership—about the deep abiding bonds between Mulder and Scully—right before the season finale.

This doesn’t seem to happen in season 1 and 2 (the penultimate episodes are Roland and Our Town, respectively, which don’t seem to play the same role). And something different is happening in season 8 and 9, so I don't think they fit as well.

But during the show’s peak popularity, seasons 3-7, the second-to-last episode seems to be setting up baseline emotional stakes for whatever plotline is about to hit. These episodes are giving us the state of the partnership, reminding us how devoted they are to one another. They also tend to have to do with one or both partners having a distorted perception on reality that requires the other partner's intervention in some way. I’m calling them the Penultimate Partner episodes.

So can we look at the themes of each of these Partnership episodes and see development over time? I think yes. It’s gonna be long. I rewatched them all, so buckle up.

Season 3: Wetwired - partnership as trust Season 4: Demons - partnership as loyalty Season 5: Folie a Deux - partnership as shared madness Season 6: Field Trip - partnership as touchstones Season 7: Je Souhaite - partnership as happiness

Season 3: Wetwired  (right before Talitha Cumi)

This episode, like several in the Penultimate Partner episode category, involves a X-file that distorts perception. Because Scully can’t trust her own senses due to the mind control, she also can’t trust Mulder, calling into question the key tenet of their partnership. (And by season three, they have definitely established trust as the bedrock.)

Her gradual mistrust of Mulder in this episode is tense and painful; you can see on her face how much she argues with herself about it even as her mind is tricking her. Others who fall victim to this mind control phenomenon wind up murdering their romantic partner, but in the end of the episode, when they’re discussing what happened in the hospital, they both seem pretty unsurprised that Scully’s paranoia focused on Mulder. They both know, late season three, how crucial trust is between them. They understand that it’s Scully’s worst fear that Mulder would betray her. It’s not even news to them.

What Mulder’s worst fear might be is also hinted at, although it’s unsaid. He’s furious that her life is put at risk by the mysterious informant. When Mulder believes Scully may be dead and he’s going to identify her body, his reaction is chilling. He seems to completely shut down emotionally, not even showing any reaction to the Gunmen. Tellingly, when he is offered a choice between getting answers and going to ID Scully’s body, he doesn’t hesitate—he chooses Scully. (Sometimes people claim Mulder doesn’t show this kind of commitment to her until much later, even until Home Again in season 10, so it’s interesting to see it so unequivocal here.)   

I want to say that Scully’s anxiety about trusting Mulder in this episode is foreshadowing aspects of the cancer arc in the next season, but I don’t think that’s really what’s happening. This episode seems more like an entirely season 3 cap to the Anasazi / Blessing Way / Paperclip storyline, especially the murder of Melissa. Scully’s paranoia calls back Mulder’s in Anasazi, and Scully explicitly blames Mulder for her sister’s murder when she’s drawn a gun on him. Even just the fact that we're there with Maggie, who has a picture of Melissa displayed prominently, tells me that loss is supposed to be on both partners' minds. (Actually, the interaction between Mulder, Scully and Maggie is pretty amazing in this scene; they’re an emotionally complex trio who seem to be communicating on some other level. I love how when Mulder and Maggie are talking to freaked-out Scully they almost sound strangely unreal, almost like they really are speaking falsely. It allows us to imagine the scene as it looks from Scully’s point-of-view, as a massive betrayal.)

Wetwired is, technically, a mytharc episode, as this whole mind control thing seems to tie back into X and the Syndicate. Personally I think the episode’s ending, emphasizing the mytharc-related plot and X’s involvement and whatever tf was happening there, was a little misguided. For my tastes they would have done better to play up the more personal, character-based themes a little more. But I also think this episode was the first real Penultimate Partner episode, and it was setting some patterns that were going to be expanded on.

Season 4: Demons (before Gethsemane)

From the cold open, we can already tell this is already a more personal episode than Wetwired. Mulder is the one having perception problems now; he wakes from a disturbing dream, covered in blood, muddled memory. This is also technically a mytharc episode, but much more concerned with direct impact on character than Wetwired was. 

Scully instantly rushes to Mulder’s aid—walks right into his shower, for heaven’s sake—and absolutely never wavers in loyalty to him, even when he looks real, real guilty and a "rational" person would be suspicious. She is in fierce, must-protect-Mulder mode throughout this entire episode, from the moment she shows up palpating his head with her hands to her back-off behavior with the cops to her badass cold “I know what you do” comment to Dr. Goldstein. She also helps Mulder see through his distorted perception, telling him "this is not the way to the truth" as he holds a gun on her.

In this Penultimate Partner episode, we see something more than simple trust going on, although there’s trust, too. Maybe the word is loyalty or devotion. We see Mulder coming apart and Scully completely and utterly devoted to him. It’s actually very clear foreshadowing for the following week’s episode, Gethsemane. Mulder isn’t stable, and he needs Scully to keep him from “los[ing] his course,” as she says in Demons’ end narration. Gethsemane will follow up on the Mulder losing-his-course idea, and also will explore the idea that Scully’s bottomless support of Mulder isn’t always good for her. (This idea is voiced especially by Bill.) 

There are some ways in which this episode is a neat little bookend to Wetwired. In Wetwired, Scully flees to her mother’s house, desperate and paranoid; in Demons, Mulder, similarly unhinged, seeks out his mother at her house. In Wetwired, Scully sees things that aren’t there, and in Demons, it’s definitely implied that Mulder may be seeing things in his past that weren’t actually there. In Wetwired, Scully pulls a gun on Mulder, and in Demons, Mulder pulls one on Scully. 

I adore this episode, even though it’s definitely vulnerable to the critique that Mulder acts like a self-obsessed loon and Scully a hopeless enabler lol. Especially because it comes before the Gethsemane / Redux three parter, I wish the episode would have explicitly connected his behavior to the cancer arc, as I feel like that would have made his wild choices seem more understandable. If he felt like he needed to find answers faster because he knew Scully’s time was running out and he saw it all tied together with her fate, then we would get why he was acting so rashly. It would also tie more nicely into Gethsemane, which misleads the audience into thinking Mulder has killed himself, in part, because he believes she’s been given cancer to make him believe. But again, I love this episode. Scully showing up and putting that blanket around Mulder when he’s shaking. Her hugging him at the end when he’s desolate on the floor. This shows a partnership that’s been through Paper Hearts and Memento Mori—that’s moved beyond trust alone.

Season 5: Folie a Deux (before The End)

This is another episode about perception—about one partner seeing things the other can’t. Unlike in Wetwired or Demons, however, in this episode the altered perception actually represents the real truth, something everyone else fails to understand. The episode plays around with the tropes of earlier episodes like Wetwired, at first encouraging us to think that it's a delusion that Pincus is a monster, but then convincing us, through Mulder’s eyes, that the delusion is actually reality.  

As other people have observed, this episode ends up being a nice little metaphor for the whole show: Mulder knowing what no one else does, being ostracized and considered insane, asking Scully to find evidence to corroborate him and ultimately convincing her to believe him and see what he sees. Their partnership is, quite precisely, a madness shared by two. 

It’s a monster of the week, not a mytharc, so there’s no distraction of elaborate mytharc plot, just characters and monster. And this is a Vince Gilligan operation, so our focus is definitely on character. From the first scene with Mulder and Scully, we sense that we’re going to be talking about the partnership. Skinner gives them an assignment in Chicago that Mulder doesn’t think is worth it, and he complains in a particularly self-centered way to Scully, which she observes (“You’re saying I a lot.”) The episode is going to be very explicit that while Mulder might be monster boy, they are in this unhinged partnership situation together. Another important moment comes later, when Scully is calling the perp crazy for thinking he saw a monster, and Mulder says, “Well, I saw it, too.” Scully’s careful about-face after that, her delicate avoidance of implying she thinks Mulder is actually crazy, is part of the dance they’re doing at this late season five stage of their partnership. She doesn’t quite believe him, but she doesn’t knee-jerk not believe him either. 

And the foreshadowing of what’s to come in this one, whoo boy. Most obviously, we must acknowledge that 1013 knew exactly what they were doing when Mulder tells Scully “you’re my one in five billion.” A mere seven days from now, a mysterious beautiful ex who believes his theories is going to show up to immediately cast doubt on that claim. And this episode is also toying with the question of whether Scully actually does always back Mulder up when it’s important, when she has to accept she saw something illogical. At the end, does she tell Skinner she actually saw a giant bug in Mulder’s hospital room? We don’t know, but I think it’s implied she doesn’t. That’s all presaging what will happen in The Beginning coming off of Fight the Future. It’s Scully’s little way of resisting the madness, but it also hurts Mulder and damages the partnership, which will be a problem in season six. 

Season 6: Field Trip (before Biogenesis)

Full disclosure: this is my favorite episode. So I’m going to make some big claims about it. This is the ultimate Penultimate Partner episode—the one that best knits together what it wants to say about their partnership and what it wants to establish for the finale. It's a monster-of-the-week episode (another Vince Gilligan ep, with John Shiban) but refers to the mytharc often. It’s also one of the best episodes about their partnership, period. 

This is yet another episode about distorted perception. This time, however, under the influence of a giant mushroom, both partners are unable to perceive clearly, to determine what is real and what is a lie. And when they’re confused, they critically turn to one another to help them see what the truth is.

Coming off of season six, the partnership is rocky. Mulder is frustrated that after so many theories of his have borne out, he still can’t get the benefit of the doubt from Scully, something he explicitly says in the dialogue here. Scully has felt like she’s not been trusted or heard, like Mulder has turned to others (Diana Fowley, for example) rather than his partner.

This is an episode about how they absolutely need one another to be able to make sense of the world—that individually each of their points-of-view are not enough. In Mulder’s hallucination, Scully accepts his claims about alien life forms too completely, not applying enough skepticism, not pushing back against him. In Scully’s hallucination, a world without Mulder, everyone is unacceptably unquestioning of the status quo, refusing to dig deeper, lacking Mulder’s critical acumen and drive. Neither partner likes the feeling of being unopposed, and it makes both of them suspicious about the hallucination’s reality. They may think they want their own view to prevail, but they need one another to be a whole person.

The theme of what’s real and what’s not – and needing one another to discern the truth–is exactly what is picked up and developed further in the Biogenesis-Sixth Extinction-Amor Fati arc that follows this. Scully’s skepticism has to stretch to incorporate more of Mulder’s worldview to make sense of what she sees in the Ivory Coast, and of course, Mulder calls on Scully’s worldview to see through his misleading dream world in Amor Fati. In fact, you could argue Field Trip is really about the idea that Mulder and Scully are one another’s touchstones—the people they need to know what’s right and real. 

Incidentally, this episode also plays around with some of season 6’s other subtextual throughlines: Mulder and Scully’s anxieties about possibly entering a non-platonic relationship, their unease about what a normal, domestic life might even be for them. For the entire episode they’re directly compared and juxtaposed with the Schiffs, a young married couple who died on Brown Mountain. The Schiffs are a tall man and a redheaded woman. They even die hallucinating lying together on a hotel bed after she asked him to “hold her” (although I do seriously doubt 1013 was intentionally foreshadowing a full year ahead). The last shot is of Mulder reaching out to take Scully’s hand across the ambulance, suggesting a kind of partnership beyond just, you know, partnership. Which takes us to the next season.  

Season 7: Je Souhaite (before Requiem)

Truthfully, I don’t think this episode fits quite as well in the Penultimate Partner category. It doesn’t share some of the same traits as these other episodes—it’s not quite as notably about perception, for instance—and it’s not fundamentally about the partnership in the same way. But it does end up commenting on their partnership (even their relationship, really) as part of its theme, so I think we can include it—especially because its position right before Requiem ends up being important. 

Je Souhaite (btw, written and directed by Vince Gilligan) has a bit of an unsettled feeling to it because it was kind of treading water, waiting to see what happened with DD and the series. Nothing too monumental could happen with the partnership or the plot because it wasn’t clear to anyone what would happen next with the show: whether it would end or continue, whether DD would be involved or not.

So we have a story about Mulder and Scully making peace with not having a significant impact on the world—e.g. not bringing about world peace, not introducing invisible bodies to science. Instead, they are content to delightfully share a beer and comment that they have made one another “pretty happy” (as Scully says about Mulder). Through the jinni character, they seem to take the lesson that they can enjoy being with one another, accept the simple happiness that their relationship brings them. Rather than wish for success that comes too easily, they take joy in the little things with one another.

Comparing this episode to the Penultimate Partner episodes that come before, we can really see how Mulder and Scully’s dynamic has evolved by season seven. We have a Scully who is much more open to supernatural phenomena, for example, and whose skepticism seems more like a reflex or a defense mechanism now. Scully’s move towards belief is partially reflected in the plot of the episode: the X-file here really isn’t even science fiction. It is just straight up fantasy or magical realism. Aside from Scully's brief mention of a disease to explain what happened to the mouthless man in the cold open, no plausible scientific explanation for the jinni's long life or wishes is really even floated.

Scully is delighted by the discovery of the invisible body, and Mulder is visibly delighted by her delight. He’s also frustrated by her retreat into doubt when the body disappears, of course. But even the reversal into her old skepticism is half-hearted, as she soon after she's engaging in discussion with Mulder about what his final wish was. This is consistent with the overall blurring of the old hardline believer-skeptic dynamic we see in season 7. It’s also peeking ahead to Scully’s coming role as resident basement believer in season 8. 

The last scene, with the beers and Caddyshack, is meant to be a callback to djinni Jenn’s comment that she wishes she could “live my life moment by moment... enjoying it for what it is instead of... instead of worrying about what it isn't.” Mulder, we see, is taking a cue from her. (And good for him, as we almost never see these characters do this. Except on rare baseball-related occasions.)

However, this episode’s position right before Requiem—and right before the events of season 8—ends up giving this scene a real bittersweet bite. We know, after Requiem, that they were probably a romantic couple at this time. We know, after Requiem, that this time is going to be their last happy time together for a long while. Later in season 8, we learn that one lingering wish of Scully’s in season 7 is that she wanted to conceive a child with Mulder. And of course we know, after Requiem, that she gets her wish—but with a vicious catch, with a terrible side effect, much like what happens with the jinni’s wishes. 

So that’s my academic thesis on that. I know others have pointed out the existence of this type of episode before. What did I miss? Do you think I am wrong to leave out seasons 1, 2, 8, and 9? Why do we think these episodes focus so much on distorted perception? Interested to hear others’ thoughts (if they make it through this lol).

#the x files #x files meta #penultimate partner episodes #wetwired #x files #demons #season 3 x files #season 4 x files #folie à deux #season 5 X files #field trip #season 6 x files #je souhaite #season 7 x files #mulder and scully #fox mulder #dana scully #MSR

[hearts4golbach]

HI POOKS LOVE YOUR WORK, maybe a Johnnie fic where he shows fem!reader how to play guitar, and lead to some smut (if you're comfortable with it ofc) THANKS HAVE A GOOD DAY/NIGHT

The Fretting Hand.

Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Reader.

a/n: I read this request sooo wrong, but it's still relatively the same idea. I'm so sorry 😭

warnings: smut, fingering, bickering, enemies to lovers kinda, (only y/n receiving)

Jake: "They say you should never have wings on the first date with a girl."

Johnnie: "That's true because when you're gonna go finger -"

the strumming of Johnnies' guitar was incessant. jakes snores weren't favorable conditions either. but you let him have a pass cause he was actually a decent person. johnnie, on the other hand, was far from even being your friend.

you put on a fake smile and maintained a friendship on camera, but off camera, it was constant bickering. you two couldn't stand each other. it was funny. Your annoyance with each other had no motive behind it. to be fair, it was everything about him. his face made you angry just to look at. of course, you thought he was the finest man you had ever seen, but he still irritated the hell out of you.

scrolling on the internet wasn't helping. most nights, you could block out all of the excess noise just fine. tonight was way different. you tossed and turned, trying to at least find a more comfortable angle. you never usually stayed up past 11, which was the time, because of your busy schedule. you groaned quietly into your pillow before getting up out of your bed.

you wandered into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water, downing it before reusing the bottle and filling it up in the sink.

even downstairs, you could still hear johnnie screwing around on his guitar. you'd admit, johnnie was a talented guy, but seriously? at 11 pm? you couldn't stand it.

you stomped up the stairs into his room. you knocked twice before throwing open the door. "do you ever know when to shut the fuck up? I haven't been able to sleep at all." you scolded, even though you knew your restlessness wasn't his fault.

your eyes wandered down to his hand that was still placed on the fret board. his middle and ring fingers were placed in a certain chord formation, which just so happened to flaunt the veins and tattoos on his hand.

"My bad." johnnie responded. he noticed your eyes wandering before glancing down at his hand himself. "What?"

"Nothing, just -" you struggled to find the words, your mind corrupted with other thoughts. you felt your face begin to heat up. "Just be quiet."

his lip twitched into a smirk. he placed his guitar down back onto the stand. "Are you sure that's all you came in here for?"

you hesitated before nodding. the cat has definitely got your tongue now. you wanted to turn to leave, but you were frozen. the low light of his lamp mixed with the full moon in the sky was playing tricks on your mind. there was no way you'd actually fuc-

"y/n?" johnnie snapped his fingers. God, his fingers.

"Yeah, sorry." You took a step back before glancing towards the door.

his eyebrows furrowed together. "You've never apologized to me before." he chuckled, "seriously, what's up?" heat had slowly been growing between your legs. johnnie stood up and walked over to you. you were face to face now, and it was almost guaranteed he could see your beet red face. "well? if you've got another problem, fucking spit it out."

you realized quickly this was about to go in a completely different direction. "make me."

"yeah? i bet you'd like that," his palm met your cheek, pulling your plump bottom lip down with his thumb. he took a step forward as you stumbled back, your back hitting the wall.

"and i bet you would even more." and with that, he smashed his lips against yours.

you absolutely hated how soft his lips were. the kiss was rough and needy, and your teeth clashed against his occasionally. your hands clawed at his shoulders, digging your fingers into him. he quietly moaned against your lips, the feeling of pain sending adrenaline throughout his veins. he needed you, and you needed him just the same.

he wrapped his hands around your thighs and lifted you up. you wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing your needy cunt into his growing boner. Johnnies hands trailed up your thighs and gripped your ass, digging his fingers in so hard you figured there'd be bruises in the morning.

"God, always so fucking needy." he spat. you grabbed his chain and pulled him in again, crashing your lips onto his.

he laid you back on the bed, crawling in between your legs and hovering over you. "I bet you've wanted to see me like this for so long." you teased, trying to get a rise out of him.

he rolled his eyes, flipping his messy hair out of the way. "I could say the same for you. don't act like I can't hear those pretty moans late at night. sometimes I even hear my name. I'm not deaf, fucking slut."

you were gagged, not knowing a rebuttal to that comment. instead, you kissed him again.

his hands trailed down your body, playing with the waist band of your pajama pants. he quickly pulled them off, tossing them on the floor next to the bed.

your purple lace panties hugged your hips and ass perfectly, making him shudder at the sight. his hand moved to your clothed clit. he applied pressure, making you wince as you bucked your hips up into his hand.

"so fucking soaked. shit," he whispered, pulling your underwear down and tossing them on top of your pajama pants.

his hand collected your slick as he rubbed his fingers through your folds gently. you quietly moaned under his touch.

"you wanna tell me now? only good girls get what they want." he whispered in your ear, nipping at your neck.

"please, fuck," you pleaded, bucking up onto his hand again. "your fingers,"

he dipped his middle finger inside of you, just barely thrusting inside. "what about them?"

your hand slapped over your mouth as you moaned at the sudden feeling inside of you. "The way you play the guitar. God, it's so fucking h-hot." you said breathlessly, "please, johnnie."

he slipped his ring finger inside of you, quickening the pace. "What makes you even think you deserve this, huh?" Both his fingers were all the way inside of you.

"shit, please. don't be a bitch." you mustered the strength to insult him back. it turned Johnnie on more than you could even imagine.

"I'm not the one who treats you like a dog, am i?" he sped up his pace, spreading your legs wider. "maybe I can fuck some common sense into you."

your back arched, "shit, then maybe don't act like one."

"you're so fucking insufferable. maybe this will bring you back to reality." he curled his fingers as your walls squeezed him. "you know what I think? I think you act that way because of how badly you want me, you just don't wanna admit it."

you let out a low moan, trying to catch your breath. "in your wildest dreams."

"and if you didn't, we wouldn't be here right now. and you wouldn't be squeezing my fingers like this." his other thumb moved to your sensitive nub, rubbing it to match the pace of his fingers. "why don't you just admit it?"

"fuck you." you spat between moans.

"I'm sure you would." he sped up his pace even more, his fingers thrusting in and out of you at a relentless pace. "prove to me you deserve to cum, or you're going back to your fucking room. if I even fucking hear you finishing, it won't be good."

he pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you on the edge. you wiped sweat off your forehead as you whimpered. "fucking fuck. okay fine. you're right. God, I've wanted you for so fucking long." you replied breathlessly. "please, johnnie. I'll be good from now on. just let me-"

his fingers entered your tight pussy again, making you moan loudly. his thrusts were relentless, curling his fingers at the perfect spot inside of you. you writhed under his touch, endless strings of curses and moans came out of your mouth.

"I've wanted you since I first saw you." he admitted, "but you were such a fucking bitch. it turned me on, though. I'm not really complaining." he added pressure to your clit on top of everything else.

he kissed your inner thighs as you felt the knot in your stomach begin to tighten. "johnnie, I'm gonna cum-"

"let go, baby." he wet noises of his fingers inside of you filled the room, along with your moans.

your climax hit you like a truck. your legs quaked as Johnnie helped you ride out your high. you went limp on his bed, breathing heavily. he laid next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

whenever you had recovered, you rolled over and climbed on top of him. "your turn."

#fanfiction #fanfic #johnnie guilbert #jake and johnnie #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert x you #jake webber #johnnie and jake #johnnie guilbert smut #smut #oneshot #hearts4golbach

[yanderecrazysie]

Begonia (Yandere Leona)

Part 1 of the Flower Language Series

I got these meanings from the internet, so some may be wrong. Sorry if that is the case, but please ignore my mistakes.

Please do not request the Flower Language Series.

Title: Begonia

Pairings: Leona Kingscholar x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes

Flower meaning: Beware

Summary: Leona has always scared you. Turns out, that was for a good reason.

To be honest, all of the dorm heads intimidated you.

Riddle, as you had come to know through Deuce and Ace, was probably the strictest person you had ever met. He had hundreds of rules, most of which were oddly specific, and he collared anyone who broke them, making them lose their magic until he saw fit.

Even as someone with no magic to your name, it still scared you.

Azul was a scheming bastard, tricking people into making contracts that put them at a severe disadvantage, then stealing something from them when they inevitably failed.

Then, there was the floating tablet. The device was supposedly controlled by a housewarden back in his dorm, but it was strange enough to creep you out a little.

Malleus was absolutely terrifying, with his horns that looked like they could skewer you and an expression on his face like he just might do that if you looked at him wrong. Plus the rumors of his power made you tremble in his presence.

Kalim and Vil, you had to admit, didn’t seem too bad from what you’d seen. You would still have to get to know them to make a final judgment.

But the one who scared you most was Leona Kingscholar.

His face was twisted into a menacing frown, his green eyes glaring at everyone around him like they personally annoyed him. He was muscular and stood at a daunting 6 feet tall. He had a scar down one eye- an injury that made you wonder how he got it. 

You had to admit, he was handsome, but he also terrified you. You knew from the moment you saw him that he wasn’t someone to mess with. 

—------------------------------------------------

You liked to walk through the botanical gardens. There were all kinds of beautiful trees and flowers, some the same as the ones in your homeworld, and others that you were sure were unique to the world you had found yourself in.

Your eyes moved from each plant, never looking down at your feet. Why would you, when there was so much to see and smell?

You should have looked down.

Suddenly, you pitched forward, your foot catching on something. You tried in vain to keep your balance, but you ended up on your hands and knees anyway. Your knees and palms felt like they were on fire and, when you lifted your right hand, you found that you were bleeding.

A growl sounded from behind you- one that sounded dangerously like a lion’s. Slowly, you turned your head.

Leona’s tail was lying in the walkway. The walkway you had just been walking down.

Oh my God, I tripped on his tail!

“I am so sorry!” you spluttered, standing up as quickly as possible, “I wasn’t paying attention!”

“Clearly,” Leona snarled, baring his teeth. You couldn’t help but notice that his canines ended in sharp fangs. He got to his feet and you cowered as his shadow fell over your figure. He was even taller up close.

“I’m sorry,” you squeaked.

“You should be,” Leona snapped, “I was taking a nap and you disturbed my sleep.”

You trembled under his gaze. He looked down at you like a predator sizes up its prey. 

The warm garden seemed to drop 50 degrees. The shadows of the tall trees seemed to stretch into the shapes of clawing hands. Your nose no longer smelled the sweet scents of the flowers.

Leona looked you up and down and a smirk spread across his lips. You didn’t know that he could smile, but somehow, it was worse than his frown.

“You’re that magicless girl with no home to go back to, aren’t you?” he asked.

You nodded meekly, then changed your mind “I do have a home to go to, the mirror just couldn’t find-” you fell silent at the glare he sent your way. A scowl that clearly told you to shut up.

Leona took a few steps forward and leaned in toward your neck. You froze, unable to move if you tried. He took a deep inhale and, finally, leaned back to look you over once again.

“I can’t smell a speck of magic on you,” he said condescendingly, “You really don’t belong here, do you?”

You weren’t sure what to say, so you stayed quiet. Leona took a step forward and you took a step back in response. Leona's predatory gaze followed your every move, a wicked smile playing on his lips. 

“I- I have to go,” you stuttered, mouth feeling as dry as the desert.

“I’m not stopping you,” Leona replied, his voice a deep rumble, as though he thought you were amusing.

The only problem was, you had to get past him to leave the botanical garden. You trembled from head to toe as you squeezed by him. You swore you could hear him take another sniff of you as you passed him.

You walked robotically to the exit, your mind on autopilot as you left the frightening housewarden behind. As you left, Leona called out to you one last time.

“I’ll have you make it up to me, little mouse.”

—--------------------------------------------

You didn’t return to the botanical garden after that incident. However, Leona seemed to pop up wherever you went.

You weren’t in the same classes, yet he appeared in the hallways outside each of your classrooms. He had to have been skipping class for some of these occurrences. 

He didn’t do anything to you, but you knew that he was there for you by the way his green eyes locked onto your form, boring holes into the back of your head as you hurried away from him.

The first time he showed up at your dorm scared you to death.

You had just been hanging out with Deuce and Ace at the Heartslabyul dorm, goofing around while getting a small amount of homework done. Grim raced ahead of you, his small figure disappearing in the darkness before suddenly reappearing, running toward you with a worried expression on his face.

“Did you invite that Savanaclaw Housewarden over?” Grim asked hesitantly.

“What?” it felt like you had been doused with cold water, spreading down your back and making you shiver, “No, of course not! Please tell me he’s not…”

“He’s there,” Grim jumped up and down, “What are we supposed to do? Do we fight him?”

“No!” you said quickly, “We’ll just have to ask him what he wants.”

Your feet felt like lead, dread weighing you down as you headed back to Ramshackle Dorm. Sure enough, Leona Kingscholar’s himself came into sight. The intimidating lion prince stood on your doorstep, facing you and Grim as you helplessly made your way toward him.

“L-Leona,” you stuttered, your heart speeding up in fear, “What are you doing here?”

The man looked at the broken down house you lived in, “I came to see what the excitement was about your dorm. I wanted to know why Azul was so interested in getting his tentacles all over this place.”

You nodded, not really understanding what he meant, but wanting to agree with him nonetheless. You really didn’t want to upset him.

Leona looked down at you, a bored expression on his face. 

There was something wrong with him, you decided. It took you a few seconds to find out just why he put you on edge so much. 

It was his eyes. They were clouded with an emotion you couldn’t decipher and locked on you. The gaze was purely predatory, making you feel small and helpless compared to him.

“I really don’t see what the excitement is about,” Leona said, condescending once more, “It looks like any old shack to me.”

Grim shook a clenched paw at him, “Hey! We’re working on fixing it up! You should see the bedroom- we totally remodeled it!”

Leona gave Grim a disdainful frown, “Ah, I see you still have the raccoon with you.”

“I’m not a raccoon!” Grim yelled.

You grabbed Grim’s shoulder as he attempted to advance on Leona, shrieking, “Lemme at him! Lemme at him! We’ll see who’s a raccoon!”

To your surprise, Leona laughed. Then, as if nothing had happened, his face resumed its familiar frown. His eyes locked onto yours, the hungry gaze making you tremble in fear once more.

He didn’t say a word as he slunk away from Ramshackle dorm, merely staring you down, even as he disappeared into the darkness.

You opened the door to your dorm and you and Grim made a beeline for the bedroom. You each got in your respective beds without you even changing into your pajamas. You stared up at the ceiling, fully awake. Hours ticked by and still sleep evaded you.

Why did you still feel as if you were being watched?

—-------------------

That day you didn’t see Leona after any of your classes. It should have put you at ease, but instead it put you on edge. Had he grown bored of you?

Somehow you didn’t think that was the case.

Since it was a Friday, the teachers decided to assign a mountain of homework to do. You struggled to fit all of your textbooks in your backpack, but the struggle to carry them all was even harder.

Grim and you split ways; you deciding to get an early start on your homework while Grim went to goof off and put it off to the last minute.

You trudged all the way to Ramshackle dorm and struggled up the stairs. As soon as you had gotten to your room, you let the backpack drop, panting for breath after all the labor you had endured.

When you opened the door, time itself seemed to stop.

There, on your bed, lay Leona, a sharp-toothed smirk playing across his face. He cocked his head at you in an almost-cute way, but you weren’t deceived. Not when his heavy gaze was so predatory.

“You sure took your time getting back,” he drawled, his smirk turning sly.

You stumbled backward, “Leona? How did-”

“Ah, the perks of being a cat,” he yawned, stretching out on your bed as if he owned it, “I can easily slip in undetected.”

Dread coursed through your veins, “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to be here when you returned,” he purred.

“Stop acting like this is normal! This isn’t-”

“Normal is boring, little mouse,” Leona sighed, pushing his body into a sitting position, “You should be thankful that I’ve been guaranteeing your protection.”

“What?” you were struck dumb by his words.

“Night Raven College has its dangers,” Leona drawled, “You’re the only girl in an all boys’ school, after all.”

“I can handle myself thanks,” you said coldly.

Leona’s laugh echoed across the room, booming in your ears. Your cheeks heated up, feeling as though you were being looked down upon.

“You have no idea what could happen to you,” in a flash, Leona was right in front of you. You recoiled in shock, but one of his hands gripped your chin before you could get too far, “Someone could lock you away forever, and you wouldn’t be able to do a thing.”

He leaned forward until his hot breath played across your face, “Do you understand?”

You managed to nod, knowing there was only one answer he would accept.

“Don’t worry, little mouse,” Leona purred once more, “You’re under my protection. No one would dare hurt you as long as I watch over you.”

The way Leona looked down at you made you feel like you were an insignificant, helpless little bit of prey playing right into his hands.

And to Leona, you probably were.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere one shot #one shot #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #yandere leona #leona kingscholar

[piss-pumpkin]

🍳Blasphemy and Boiled Eggs🪽

(Older)dipper pines x reader, chapter 16 of Douce amere, ~3.1k words Masterlist Prev

Dipper Pines hates Bill. Dipper Pines loves Y/n. Those were two fundamental truths of his universe, two pillars of his psyche that so much of his mind was formed around. All the time he spent scared and angry because of what Bill had done, all the time he spent happy and pining because of you, it was the clearest line to draw for him, separating those ideas. But today, that line was blurry. 

You fell backwards, stumbling just slightly before hitting the ground, and Dipper didn’t have the strength to stand up and catch you. He barely had the strength to breathe. He laid on his back, heaving breath after breath as his eyes darted from your body, to the statue. Bill. From back when it happened. How did they even manage to do this. He could almost laugh. If anyone could fuck up this bad, it was you. He would probably laugh if he wasn’t in shock. 

The journal was left open on the ground beside you. He hadn’t even realized he let go. Fuck. He threw his head back onto the grass, and dug his palms into his eyes until his vision was blurry when he opened them. Holy shit. Holy fuck. Somehow, all at one, a million thoughts were running through his head, but not a single one was coherent. Vague panic, wanting to scream, heart pounding, caught in a vice. Fuck. Later. He had to deal with that later. 

Dipper sat up. Once more he looked at you, then at Bill. One and the same, now. He sighed, standing up on shaky legs, leaning on the top hat of the statue to get his balance. Better to move fast until you come too. 

He looked down at your body with a face contorted with emotions he never thought he’d feel again. He knelt, he hesitated, and then he heaved you up, with shaking arms carrying you like a princess. Back to the shack. Where bill can’t get in. Thank God for the unicorn hair. 

He trudged through the forest, often needing to break to set you down and rest. And the bruise on his wrist wasn’t helping much. On one of his breaks, he tiredly banged his head against a tree, any pain like that being a better alternative to… whatever he was feeling. His heart was beating like a hummingbird, but he had to put it all aside to get you to the shack, clutching you with white knuckles. 

How’d you even get in this situation? Did he even want to know? Your eyes were shut, he couldn’t see your pupils, and a shiver ran down his spine when he thought of the yellowish haze on your eyes. Yellow eyes. It’s summer, it shouldn’t be so cold.

How could you do this? How did this never come up? How could you have… he shook his head. As much as he knew Bill tricked people… you? Of all people. Had he not told you enough? Not what he was, what he looked like? He should’ve have. He should have. He could have. He had plenty the opportunity. To tell you what you needed, what could have saved you. Everyone. Fuck.

He reached the edge of the woods, and more than anything worried for you. Concussions weren’t good, and there was a solid chance he gave you one. It wasn’t good for you to be out cold like this. 

He tripped out of the forest, dropping you for a moment as he fell to his knees. Shit. He cradled your head as you both fell. Fuck. Keep it together. Just a little bit more. Don’t move the head. 

He got you to the shack, and stared at the door for a good minute. Then down at your face, still out like a light. He winced, and looked back in front of him. When he opened the door, he’d have to explain. He’d have to tell Ford everything, probably. He might know what to do. When Dipper opened the door, he’d have to be ready, get serious, and know what to. Deal with this… situation. He almost felt dizzy, his head spinning and getting light. But he couldn’t put you down to steady himself. Dipper sighed, his head halfway throbbing as he focused on breathing. Okay. He carefully maneuvered his carry of you, and opened the door.

Wendy and Soos said hello. Wendy was behind the till, feet up on the counter, and Soos was on the other side, dressed in his suit. They said hello, then then promptly realized that there was something wrong, with the both of you.

Dipper quickly handed you to Soos, and stumbled, leaning on a wall as the only thing keeping him up. The the trek through the woods felt like a hike across the world now. His legs were buckling, and Wendy offered her support. He leaned on her. They both had questions, most of which he didn’t want to answer, several of which he tuned out, his ears ringing and mind buzzing. Most asks though, they all had one answer in common. “Bill,” he sputtered. And Soos and Wendy went silent.

”But he’s gone,” Wendy said matter of factly. “Dipper, Ford erased him out of Stand mind.”

Dipper just shook his head, sweating, neatly all his weight resting on her. 

“Dude,” Soos managed, you still passed out in his arms. “Did he hurt them?”

Dipper shook his head again, and finally buckled under the weight, face contorting. “He’s in there,” he said shakily, nearly taking down Wendy with his poor balance as he pointed to you. “I had to…” he sputtered.

They looked at each other, then at the marks on Dippers wrist. Wendy sucked a breath in through barred teeth, “You should put ice on that,” she said, trying to prop him up. 

Her attempt wasn’t working, and Dipper was slowly sinking. Sighing, she decided to help him to the floor. Where there was nowhere left to fall. She shot Soos a look, a nod, and went to find one of the Stans.

Soos set you down and sat beside Dipper. He patted his back gently. “It’s okay, dude,” Soos sighed. “We’ll figure this out.”

Dipper grumbled, hiding his head in his hands. Y/n was still out. He must have hit them pretty hard with his journal. He wiped his eyes aggressively, seeing spots of greens and reds on his eyelids. “I don’t know how he’s back… or how I didn’t notice earlier,” he sputtered. 

Before Soos could say another word, both of the grunkles were bursting through the doorway. Mabel must have been out. Dipper could barely hear them. 

                                              …

When you woke up, it was with a throbbing headache. Before you could even open your eyes, you felt it, a dull ache accompanied by even duller pounding with every movement you made. It was cold, weirdly so for summer. You grumbled, shifting around on the… couch? The cushions you seemed to be resting on were soft, but worn, and you could feel the loose threads on your feet. 

You opened your eyes, and promptly froze. You were not alone. Ford always kept his basement rooms cold, made it easier to keep the turtle neck on in the summer. It was him that was pointing a gun at your head. Not just any gun, but one that looked held together by duct tape and a prayer, a makeshift invention thrown together on the fly. It showed in how Ford held it, not only by the handle but with a protective grip on the sides, as if that could stop it from falling apart. You swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. There was Ford and Stan. 

“Can you open your eyes all the way?” Ford asked cooly, the gun steady in his hands. 

You complied wordlessly, and slowly sat up. The moment he saw your pupils, the gun dropped, and he sighed in relief. He turned, and nodded to Stan, who walked tiredly to the elevator. Then you were alone. “Y/n, what exactly happened?” he asked, much kinder this time. 

You winced, and looked dejectedly at the floor. “I don’t know,” you sighed. 

“Can we start from the beginning?” He said, drawing your eyes back to him. He had a small and warm smile, doing his best surely. “When was the first time you met him… or, his statue, I guess?”

From the start. The very beginning. From when you saw the statue, to when you shook his hand, and when the nightmares started. Ford nodded along gravely, six fingers tapping against his cheek as he purses his lip or hummed with thought. Every last detail.

He stayed silent, pondering, even when you were finished, staring at the floor intently. You could practically see the cogs of his brain turning. You swallowed, ”So…?” 

“So,” he nodded, and sighed. “Are you okay?”

You wished he’d ask about Bill, or the situation, or a solution. Any of those were be easier to answer. “Well,” you started, scratching at your knuckles. Hmm. You sighed, and that seemed to be enough for Ford. He knew.

“I get it,” he sighed, crossing his arms, “We’ve all been there, Y/n, it’s alright.”

You winced, that was true too. At least you weren’t the only one. Or no, actually, it would be better if you were. Then at least you’d scare them less. “Is Dipper okay?”

Ford nodded, and a twitch of his cheek gave away that he was hiding something, “He’s fine.”

You waited, but Ford didn’t say anymore. Sighing, you clenched a fist, then released. Then pressed all your fingers to your palm, and released, cherishing the feeling of being in control over every little movement. Not like before. “Is he around?”

Ford paused, “He’s upstairs, but…” 

But. But but but. Ugh. You winced, looking up at him, hoping desperately that whatever he said next wouldn’t hurt. 

“But…” he continued. Incredibly slowly, brow furrowed like he was thinking carefully about every word. “I’m sure you know, his thought on him, that is,” he said. “He got you here okay, but he’s…” another pause. The basement made the silence worse, occasionally broken by Fords humming as he thought. “He’s processing, right now,” Ford finally managed. 

“So,” you said, a little quieter than you meant. You cleared your throat, trying to get your voice back. “So, should I… go?”

Ford sucked a breath in through his teeth, grimacing. “About that,” he started. “You can’t. The shack is the only place you’re safe from Bill, it’s the reason why you didn’t get nightmares when you slept here,” he said. He sighed, pushing up his glasses, “He can’t get in your head while you’re here, so you have to stay until we figure or a plan.”

“Ah,” you said, dejectedly nodding your head. So you just shouldn’t have left. That was your mistake. One of several. 

Ford hummed back. No words. None needed, maybe. A moment of silence, maybe grief. “We’ll come up with a solution, Y/n.”

Another headache was brewing. Different than before, different than when it was him. All you this time, that was at least comforting. It was your brain that hurt, that seemed to fight you. It was a sharper pain, rather than a dull throb. Right in the front behind your eyes. You nodded, staring at the floor. Fuck. 

                                             …

Yesterday, the kitchen in the Mystery shack felt like yours. Not like you owned it, but that you had as much a right to use it as any of the shacks regular residents. Because it was your home, too, for the most part. You lived here enough. 

But it was off, today. Something about it was different. The lights still shined warmly, the same way they always did and always would thanks to Fords invented lightbulbs. Everything was in the same place, the spoons, pots, pans and such. Water still boiled the same. Same speed, same slight burning smell as the burners warmed up. It was all familiar, but alien as you moved through it, grabbing supplies, food. There wasn’t much good in the fridge, it must be Stans shopping day. 

Your eyes landed on a carton of eggs, and that somehow seemed like the best option. A soft boiled egg wasn’t amazing on its own, but today you were feeling spicy. Or rather, particularly bland. It dawned on you, reaching for the egg, that it wasn’t the kitchen that was alien, but you. You were what changed. What was different. The alien, if you will. You gently dropped the egg in the water. 

You stared into the pot. The pot stared at you. The water was bubbling, and the egg swirled inside. It bobbed and bounced over the ceramic, but didn’t break. Lucky you. You held your hand over the pot, and felt the steam, which was condensing on the cupboards above. A sigh escaped your lips as you felt the heat on your hand. 

Thumps. There was someone in the doorway. You froze, leaning over the stove. You shouldn’t look. It could be anyone, but you knew footsteps well enough, and they seemed to stop in the doorway when they saw you. You had a good enough guess. But you had to look anyway. See him. Just to check, maybe.

Dipper was as frozen as you were, with a hand clutching the door frame. His eyes were wide, knuckles white. He looked terrified. 

“Dip?”

”Hi,” he said curtly, jerking his head to look at the floor. Anywhere but you. 

You lifted a hand, halfway towards him, and then retracted it, pulling close to your chest. He flinched. Maybe reaching out wasn’t what he needed. “Hey, I-“ you started, but trailed off. And then he left, without a word. 

You sighed, and turned around to hop up and sit on the counter. You leaned your head against the damp cupboard, and glanced down to watch the egg. The stovetop sizzled as a drip of water fell on the burner. 

Your mouth fell open, staring at the boiling pot. The water wasn’t high enough to spill. The condensation wasn’t heavy enough to drip. Your hand gently tapped at your face. Wet. You blinked, and a tear fell. Oh. You dabbed your cheeks with your sleeve, trying not to get red and puffy as more tears fell. Oh. 

They shouldn’t see you like that. They were already kind enough to let you stay, despite everything. Because they have to. You shook your head, and stared with blurry vision at your boiling egg. You sniffled, and more tears started to fall. Fuck. You tried to wipe your eyes as quietly as possible, wetting your sleeves and scrambling to find something to blow your nose on. 

Your eyes landed on a roll of paper towel by the sink, and you hopped from  the counter. Nose nearly dripping as a few stray tears turned to crying, you grabbed for it. Nose blowing wasn’t quiet. But you tried. And even worse, you wiped your eyes with the dry side of it. Wouldn’t want them to be able to tell you’ve been crying by looking at your clothes. You grabbed a few more paper towels for the road as you went back to your soft boiled egg. 

It has mostly settled into a place in the pot, no longer dancing around it. It still wiggled with the water, though. You sighed, leaning on the countertop next to it, and grabbed your phone from your pocket. This feels like too much time. Tapping the screen, you realize you never set a timer for your precious soft boiled egg. 

Soft boiled eggs were nice. If done right, the centre of it was gooey, warm, tasted alright. And it paired so well with noodle soup, or maybe stir fry. Not that you had that. But sometimes just the soft boiled egg was enough. 

Eyes wide and with haste, you grabbed the handle of the pot, desperately hoping you still had a soft boiled egg. Hot. It nearly hurt to hold. You quickly and carefully poured the boiling water into the sink, and flooded the pot with cold. Your thumb thumped on the handle as you waited only a moment for it to cool. 

The eggshell was hot, too. You gently cracked it on the rim, and blinked away tears as you began to peel it. Difficult with shaking hands. Falling tears plinked against the metal of the sink as you did. 

With the shell discarded safely in the pot, you eyes the egg. Nothing about the white gave away whether or not it was overdone. You squeezed it. A couple times. And with a sigh, and a leap of faith, took a bite off the top.

The first bite never reached the centre. It never does, unless you’re hungry enough to finish the egg with that. You looked again at the white, seeing the yellow shadow where you bit. Leap of faith. You bit again. 

You froze when your teeth hit the centre, and slowly, you released your jaw, leaving a bite mark in the egg. It wasn’t soft. Not even close. Your hands were already shaking, and you carefully dropped the egg back in the cold water pot. You sighed, and used your paper towel to wipe your eyes. Your lips were trembling now, too though. 

Hard boiled eggs didn’t taste as good. The texture was weird, it didn’t go well with the egg white, nor a good stir fry. Maybe a good soup, on a good day. But you didn’t have soup. And it wasn’t much of a good day.

You sighed, and choked back a sob. Why the fuck did it have to happen like this? You clenched your jaw, and face fell into your palm. It didn’t have too. Your legs were shaking, whole body really. I could have done anything else. You sucked a breath in through closed teeth, lips quivering. Fucking anything. You sank to the floor, back against the bottom cupboards, and head in hand. Anything. Fucking. Else. The thought.  just echoed through your head as you sobbed. Anything. 

But you overdid the egg. You overdid the egg. And the cold tiled floor was under you, and your feet slid out in front of you. And your head was in your hands. And you weren’t holding back your tears anymore. And you weren’t trying to spare your face anymore. You overdid the egg. And quietly sobbed on the floor of the kitchen, of a home that didn’t feel like yours anymore. 

Next

Fellas I don’t even like angst. Like reading or writing it. Like I don’t know why I did this or how I got here. Like the writing process has been so slow cuz of it 😭😭

Also fun fact I wrote the egg bit like September when one of my Guinea pigs died and I was sad.

I’ll pick the tone up again later trust me 😭

Taglist: @dead-esque @cipheress-to-k-pop

#x reader #my writing #dipper pines x reader #douce amere #dipper pines #gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #dipper x reader

[anxioussailorsoldier]

Tolkien: "...You are familiar with Thorin's style on important occasions, so I will not give you any more of it, thought he went on a good deal longer than this"

#literally his words #the hobbit #bilbo #thorin #bagginshield #lotr #ok but bilbo then immediately drops thorin's full name crossly in response #THORIN SON OF THRAIN SON OF THROR OAKENSHIELD IF YOU'RE SAYING IT'S MY JOB TO GO INTO THE SECRET PASSAGE FIRST THEN JUST SAY THAT #it's perfect #I rewatched all the movies and now i'm rereading the book and I love all the differences #this one in particular stood out like a sore thumb #thorin is actually a chatty cathy #there's pages on pages of just him monologuing at the start #gandalf tries to interrupt and thorin just straight up talks louder over the top of him #“getting him to shut up is the trick” #this is one of my original fandoms - I'll always love them #fun fact about me I have 22 different copies of the hobbit #love me a hobbit

[gregoftom]

pretty sure i’ve seen romance movies with scenes like this

#tomgreg #where do i even start with t his horseshit okay here we fucking go. #so tom's first instinct is to go to greg when he's on shaky ground with shiv. the only way he feels safe is to have GREG with him. #who tf would want greg as an attack dog??!?!? lets be fucking real. when he says that i think he means just a dog. just someone loyal. #who loves him and won't dick him around. i think he's pretty tired of it by now. #he wants an alliance with like. ok in this show who would you pick to ally with. i love greg but he's abso useless in terms of skills that #would keep you safe. if anything TOM would keep HIM safe. in fact tom himself says who else has taken care of you. literally spells it out. #he even says greg is a joke; will fail; will fuck up; so what use does he have for tom other than companionship. other than love? #a dog might do tricks for you but your main reason for getting one is usually love. right? at least it should be. it would be in tom's case. #and don't even fucking get me STARTED on ''do you wanna come with me? ...sporus?" like girl. #you know what you told him about nero and sporus right. and now you're saying to him; yeah i was talking about you. #you and me. you're my favourite and i wasn't joking when i said i'd marry you. #the whole while tom is asking greg to be his attack dog his fuckin. eyes and expression we get it you're in love with him. like it's ridic. #and all this coming with phrasing it sounds like they're fucking ELOPING. I HATE IT!!!!!! SHUT UP! stop saying that fucking shit god. god #they are so annoying. anyway #the way tom's voice breaks as he says he has things to do [what things. will i find out later.] and the deal and!! #what am i gonna do with a soul anyways... i have you what do i need it for. and as that paragraph said somewhere. he castrates his soul. #then they giggle and are fucking annoying and greg'S HANDS LOOK LIK EHE'S ABOUT TO IDK. HUG TOM? AROUND THE MIDDLE MAYBE #or do something else. and then they just hug instead and i fucking. ugh. i've had enough tbh good fucking bye

[jamiesfootball]

Loosely based on this

Nate dropped the books. Twenty-five books was a lot of books. He tried carrying them in stacks and one of the stacks caught the corner of the doorway. Most were fine, nary a layer of dust on the ground to disturb the wrapping, but two of the books slid into the shower area.

Nate hurried to pluck them up. He quickly peeled off the wrapping before the pages themselves could get wet. He found the spare roll leaning by Ted's desk, rewrapped the gifts, and stocked them on the shelves. He wondered if maybe Ted would have his own recommendation for Nate, since Nate had been the one to provide the run-down on all the players when Ted mentioned he wanted to get them books.

O'Brien. Proud, posh, spoke like an English lord. Irresponsible with money. Wasted public school education. Remarkable talent as a goalie squandered by low-effort as he languished with a mid-level team. He was a decent man, if a little conceited, and Nate hoped The Beautiful and the Damned served as a good wake-up call. Ted must think highly of his potential; he was one of only a handful who merited an age-appropriate selection.

Arrogant self-absorbed bully, convinced of his own talents. Refused to listen to the older, more experienced people who knew better. Bully. Antagonist in the way of the true heroes trying to eek out a win.

Jamie Tartt deserved Artemis Fowl.

#a vague idea has sprung #and i needed a little writing sprint #so here we go #jamie tartt #nate shelley #you know that plot where a kid gets tricked into reading something cool for the first time and it flips a switch in the brain? #Jamie becomes OBNOXIOUS after this #he is so smug because he finally cracked the code at the bottom of the pages and he will not shut up about it #meanwhile roy has just started the da vinci code and obviously the cryptex is way more impressive #(growth is slow) #O’Brien is touched that his coach gave him such a thoughtful gift (he does not change at all)

[polarisbibliotheque]

Writing Advice - Answering an Ask part 1

Hey everyone!! I recently got a super cute, beautiful and heartwarming ask requesting writing advices/how to beat writers block.

I wrote the answer on a doc and it has 3 pages, so I'm gonna be posting it in different parts - do forgive and AMAZING ANON WHO ASKED ME I HOPE YOU SEE THIS, IT'S PART OF YOUR ANSWER xD

Seriously, I've been sitting on this answer for a week now thinking how I'm gonna make it shorter >.<

So, without further ado, for the first part of the answer, I wanna tell a little bit about my writing journey - how I got from "not writing at all" to where I am now.

Because people think that you have a gift and words just flow like ambrosia in the cups of the gods - but I've actually started writing some pretty cringe stuff when I was 10 years old to get to a more poetic sort-of writing during my 29s currently.

THEREFORE, a little bit on how I got from cringy to still cringy but sometimes good writing ;)

I started by telling made-up stories to my sister when she couldn’t sleep and to my cousins during sleepovers because, I don’t know, they seemed to like my stupid little stories when I was 7 years old – or even younger. Sometimes I wrote some things, sometimes I didn't. But I was telling stories!

When I was 13, I discovered the magic world of fanfiction, and I wrote and published a HORRID thing on a fanfic website in my country, based on the band McFly that me and my sister adored back then (the gods have graced me with the power of deleting it and I thank immensely to that).

It was the first time I wrote AND published something to an audience outside of my friends/family.

After that, I kept on writing, and I moved to creating my own stories. When I was 14, I wrote a fanfic with the same band, but really the main theme was that I was an archeologist living in Egypt who researched on Atlantis and ended up finding the lost city. Somehow, I was allowed to climb the pyramids as well - because, you know, I ADORE Tomb Raider, and if Lara Croft could do it, so could I.

Told ya there would be some pretty cringy stuff in here, huh? xD

When I turned 15, I was bullied non-stop at school and so creating stories became my way to escape reality and have some fun with the people I wanted to meet in my life. I started carrying a notebook everywhere with me – it was my writing notebook. I had so many stories, and I never finished any of them (and good heavens, they are THE MOST cringy stuff, I’m glad they will NEVER see the light of day).

But I use the writing notebook thing to this day - whenever I'm travelling and internet isn't granted, I have somewhere to write.

I finished my FIRST novel when I was 16!! I was SO HAPPY about it!! It took me a year and a half writing it: a young adult book, kinda like Twilight (it was THE thing back then), with a secret society based on Arthurian Legend because I was a sucker for everything King Arthur (still am).

I can’t BEAR to read the first page of it nowadays, because c’mon. It was 15-year-old depressive me being bitter about everything and post-Twilight frenzy. The universe and worldbuilding has one HELL of a potential, but oh LORDS, it IS painful to read. I was a teen after all… But I finished a novel! If I haven’t done it, I wouldn’t be writing the way I’m writing today!

When I got into Law School, things got a little slow. I couldn't focus too much on writing and my social life improved a lot. I started tweaking my Arthurian story, but nothing too defined - I kept on writing lots of WIPs, though.

Around my 20’s, while I was close to graduating Law School, I started writing again… Supernatural fanfiction. With the SOLE PURPOSE of self-indulging, because I couldn’t find A SINGLE fanfiction that I could self-insert and love Dean Winchester while kicking some demon ass (sorry, I couldn’t resist the Nico inside me).

That led me to writing a 4-part Supernatural fanfiction that, honestly, for the next 6 years, it was the thing that made my heart soar while I was slaving away at a job I hated.

While I was overworking my ass off, I started writing (brace yourselves...) BTS fanfiction. I got into the band and some people from the website I wrote my Supernatural fanfic embraced me and kinda put me in the group and into the BTS world.

I was on the path of a burnout, so that became my escape - the girls from the website were so nice and we had many MANY writing projects of short stories. Throughout the years, I think I wrote around 25 or 30 stories, 40 pages max, to publish on this website and just have fun.

It started nice, but as time went by and I started moving out of the rom-com clichés (which are nice, don't get me wrong, we all love 'em) and became more existential and philosophic with a lot of metaphorical things while writing - and people stopped reading my work. I started to think I was bad, no one wanted to read because I lacked quality in my writing, or just my stories weren't so appealing as I thought. So I lost my will to write and slowly went back to my personal original stories.

When I hit 25 years old, I got fired and had a full burnout. I got really sick and my life literally stopped for the last 5 years - it has been hard, but that gave me time to sit back on my computer and recover ALL the books and stories I never finished writing.

I am NOT joking, I just counted all of them, and I have 65 DIFFERENT unfinished stories sitting on my Word folder right now on my computer. I also have a txt file I keep some “ideas that might be interesting to work on” and those have around 12 different full ideas of stories I might never write as well.

Upon hitting 27, I went back to writing niche fanfiction I didn't think anyone would want to read, so I published it here. I thought no one would want to read Devil May Cry fanfiction written by a woman who clearly worries more about the internal turmoil of characters rather than if what I'm writing is cute/rom-com like.

I opted for a more adult approach - given Dante and Vergil are adult men with lots of traumas, and I thought "hey, I don't have to write teenage things anymore, I can actually write how two adults would have difficult conversations and relationships in this fucked up world of ours" and that made a HUGE difference to my writing.

and once again thank the gods I found my people who like to read this sort of stuff :)

For quite a while, I was worried if what I was writing was consumable - you know, if the romance was that kind of tacky romantic thing to sweep you of your feet with perfect characters who don't exist, if people only have good times and are always laughing and having fun, if people enjoy touching each other 24/7 and being romantic and all that sugar coated stuff, if what I'm writing is politically correct, if it hasn't any subjects that are triggering or "wrong" in any sort of capacity... And that stiffed me. I lost my will to write and I stopped enjoying it, because I couldn't get my ideas out anymore.

Being quite honest, I'm not a person who had an easy, beautiful life. I had many things happen to me that made me understand Vergil on a soul level (and I think that's why I'm so comfortable writing him, as much as I hate that man), because I'm wary of people and my trust issues make me keep everyone at bay. I can only put my feelings safely out on my writing and my music, and I wasn't being able to.

So I tossed everything out of the window and started writing unhinged stuff. And oh, that made me feel SO good! I always smile a lot when re-reading my Cyberpunk-style story and a character called Abby tattoos on the ass of a corporate man that he is hers bitch, and when a "fallen angel" from my vampiric story smiles creepily and tells everyone she's got the most unhinged vampire on a leash and tells him to just kill everyone in the room for sheer revenge.

Not the best, politically correct stuff. Very wrong, by the way. But I had so much fun writing them, and it has so much character building behind these actions, it makes me feel nice :)

Out of all the 65 WIPs on my computer, I have around 5 that I think are really worth it for a full novel and so. They are:

My Arthurian Legend based novels. I outlined a series, I made character sheets, I planned and planned and planned... Since I'm 15, I've been thinking about it. Someday, who knows, this story will see the light of day.

My Cyberpunk-style novel. Halfway through it and every time I go "oh this is too heavy, I can't write this" I just toss the thought out of the window and go for it. Quite unhinged, very existential and grim, everyone is depressed and traumatized, but I love it :)

The Angel-Vampire stuff. Or, as I call it sometimes, the trip of an angel-like being going through the 7 deadly sins until finally falling for good, all aided by the most unhinged vampire in town. It's more like a villain origin story than anything else.

The Tea Shop thing. Oh, this one has been on my mind since 2018 and only now I've found some plot I like for it. Creation (yes, humanized form of creation) runs a tea shop and everything is fine until a woman enters and she has no Universe inside her eyes - and that is something to be afraid of. Doesn't make sense? Oh, yes, indeed. I'm going crazy with the concepts on this one, thanks to Neil Gaiman and The Sandman.

The rockstar guardian angel one. That's it. It's literally what the premise says: a woman has a dead rockstar as a guardian angel - and they couldn't be more opposite of each other. It doesn't help she's investigating his death and can talk to ghosts.

And my original vampire story, which I just call Nathan and Kathleen. I started this one when I was 16 or 17, so the writing is VERY cringy. I had just seen The Witcher 2 gameplay and, by then, I had never seen anything like it. As it's expected, I'm re-writing the 150 pages of unfinished work I already have.

Will this stop me from writing the other WIPs whenever I want to? Nah. I’ll keep on writing. Even if they are bad or horribly cringy.

Why am I blabbering about ALL this???

Because the most important stuff you can do is write.

You see, I didn't start out writing the way I do today - and I have so many stories, with so many pages, that I like so much, but I read it nowadays and I see I need to re-work them. And that's how you evolve! That's how you get better! By refining your abilities!

This is something I learned with the rockstars I love so much. None of them started out by playing perfectly - most of them had to sit down, listen and learn their instruments on their own. They got a LOT of things wrong to start getting something very simple right. And the more they play, the more they train, the more they refine, the better they become.

The same goes to writing - so, keep on writing! Everything you can, as much as you can, don’t feel bad about starting something new and never finishing another one, and don’t feel like you need to put out a masterpiece every time you sit to write.

Sometimes you just need to… Write.

#polaris speaks #writing advice #writing tips #writing tips and tricks #writing journey #answered asks #asks #anon ask #thank you all for coming to my TED Talk HAHAHAHAHA #like I said this is only the FIRST part of the answer #It's the context for the actual tips and tricks xD #but I felt like people need to hear this #and understand that no one starts writing like Shakespeare on a year #it takes time #a LOT of time #and sometimes you still think what you write isn't that good but alas #next ones will be more objective (I hope) #like I said before I understand Vergil pretty well #and I tell ya ask that man about books and poems #you'll NEVER get him to shut up #so it's basically the same with me #ask me about writing and books and BOOM now I'm talking xD

[orbdotexe]

Under pressure and request from both Osiris and Shin Malphur, Drifter seeks out the Young Wolf early in their exile. He's not sure he'd say it went well, but it certainly could've gone much, much worse. And hey; Shin was right, new friends are new friends. Alternatively: Two rogue Guardians play horse plinko with each other before agreeing to an exchange of favors.

I finally did it- A Questionably Fortunate Encounter's rewrite. I have no idea how I got the motivation to finish this, it wasn't even half done when I picked it back up, but here it is in time for TFE's (concept's) 2nd birthday! I am significantly happier with this than the original, you have no idea. It wasn't even a thousand words and now it's like 20 words from being 2k, and overall? Everything just has more character + an extra page of interaction and the end note being from Ghost instead of Drifter. and being accurate to more story details! I kept a lot of the parts i thought were funny tho, if moved them around-

[old ver. ao3] --- [new ver. ao3] (soon)

-

The Sundial. A ballsy idea from a mad warlock.

Knocking a few times on the side, he can’t help the chills down his spine at the whispers ringing in his ears.  “If you short-circuit the universe, you’re on your own.” He snips, his already uneasy grin wavering.

“If I make a mistake here, you might cease to exist,” the old Warlock says simply, though there’s a questioning edge to it.

Drifter only shrugs. “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.”

Osiris squints at him as Drifter moves around the machine, checking the stability. “We haven’t talked about payment.” 

Drifter’s grin smooths out some, sly now. “If you live through this little experiment, you can be sure I’ll be back to collect.”

A simple ‘hm’ is the only response he gets for a few seconds, before Osiris starts again.

“There’s a Guardian you should meet.”

“Yeah, yeah, so I’ve heard. Some bigshot—Can’t wait.”

"Drifter."

—

The Warlock and that old Hunter had their points—The Young Wolf needed people on their side, and it's not like Drifter couldn't use the opportunity. He figured, if worst comes to worst, just say Osiris sent him. It seemed the best bet; he heard the two of them had been on good terms, and Osiris wouldn’t have sent him without reason.

This was, regardless, a horrible idea.

Which was very quickly weighing him down as he waited just inside their most recent hideout; a willing, sitting duck in the path of a hellhound. Then again, Shin would be waiting for him, just the same, to see if he really went through with it. A rock and a hard place, if both were unmovable walls.

—

Eventually, the Kingbreaker did show up—and they looked pissed—but they didn't seem to quite notice him, yet. 

Their Ghost, on the other hand, had stopped at the door, and was switching between glaring at him, and watching its Guardian. It was a bare hope, but he almost prayed for the Little Light to let the Guardian notice him by themself—for what good it would do.

Drifter had to admit, though, they looked like Hell—In both the shit way and the eternal punishment way—And he'd quite like to keep them from being his punishment, thanks.

They were never in the same place for long, constantly tapping their fingers or wringing their hands. He'd almost call it a nervous habit; if the jerky, almost corpse-twitching movements didn't make him feel like they'd pounce on him at any given moment. It gave the distinct impression of a Taken, a fact he took no comfort in. He had told Shin they would be unpredictable, but recordings didn’t capture just how much.

The Guardian’s posture was rather slumped, in spite of their twitchiness, but he was rather certain he was a pinch taller than them; though it could be their hunch. That dead-eyed and bone-deep tiredness that seeped off of them… The Guardian stumbled whenever they walked, off-balance. Injured, maybe.

They looked as unstable on their feet as he imagined they were mentally.

He rapped his fingers on the tabletop he was leaning against, a slight knot in his stomach building on the question of ‘How to get their attention without getting pinned as a threat?’

Questionably fortunate enough, and probably should’ve been expected; the tapping made them pause, and he'd almost compare the frozen movement to their namesake freezing to listen. They nearly looked like they'd been caught doing something they shouldn't be, or as if a sudden red dot (or dozen) had appeared on their chest. 

The Young Wolf then snapped to look at him, eyes narrowed and hand beginning to raise to their sword. Their Ghost noticed, and took it as a sign to speak up; "What do you think you’re doing here? Who are you?" For being the Ghost of an exile, its voice was strikingly uptight. Drifter had expected an edge to the voice, but not for it to be pedant.

"Mind your business, Ghost," he drawled. Their head jolted up a fraction. "Just want a talk with your Guardian, is all-"

Their Ghost flicked back a bit, only to be replaced by its Guardian stepping up close to him. Well… he got their attention, at least.

His gut twisted in knots as the seconds passed like that—far, far too close for comfort. "How about we just… back up for a moment, yeah? Think this all through?" Like he hadn’t. He should have told that Warlock and Shin to shove their requests back down their throats.

The Guardian tilted their head, the action more unnerving than anything else, reminding Drifter of a certain other Hunter, and he was unsure if it was an acknowledgement or a threat. They refused to look anywhere but his eyes, and he swore they leaned a bit closer.

He raises his hands to push them back a bit, but thinks better of touching them. He opts to just slide back a bit, instead– except they match his step. He does not take another one. That definitely wasn't good.

"I'll ask again: Who are you?" The Ghost hovers over its Guardian’s shoulder as they tilt their head to allow it to take the center of Drifter’s vision. Their dynamic is clear, but he tries to focus on them.

"Your old man Osiris didn't mention me?” Drifter tries to say, “I’m hurt–”

"You will be hurt–" the Ghost starts, just as the Guardian grips his collar. There’s a moment the Drifter is almost certain they were going to slam him into the wall.

"Alright, alright—” he tries to interrupt, “Just back up.”

It takes them a moment, and a couple glances between him and the Ghost, but they do back up, if not letting go of his collar. He tries to quietly let out the breath he’d been holding, nerves a bit strung. Their emotions are as on-a-dime as he thought. Damn this plan. The Ghost eyes him expectantly.

"You can call me Drifter; I run a little… operation outta the Tower." Their face somehow pulls even further in a grimace. “Now, I know how that sounds, but I’m not working with the Vanguard—Trust. Wouldn’t be here if I was: Heard about your… dislike of ‘em.”

He gives them a grin when they don’t make another move, though not optimistic. Watching every little change in their expression doesn’t give him much hope, either, given the hard line in their brow now. 

"That old Phoenix of yours pointed me your way, and I figured we both could make use of the others'... skills. I've got the connections, and you've guts enough to attack your own–”

The Drifter hardly has time to blink before his back is against the wall again, this time with a knife to his throat, sharp eyes glaring down at him—So it's like that. Osiris might've downplayed the sore spot; Drifter can’t even get away with a tease. He’s good at pushing buttons, but their reservations broke immediately.

He counts by the seconds as the Young Wolf silently dares him to say it again. 

While he decidedly opts not to and tries to think of a way to de-escalate his mistake, he has… an inane thought: They’re taller than him… Not by too much, but the thought gives him an idea potentially worse than even the meeting itself was; something mischievous glinting in his eye and, as an added bonus, giving the Guardian pause.

"...Kinky." Feeling their hold loosen somewhat and seeing their brow twitch, Drifter pushes the joke with a sly grin and a cant to the side. “I didn’t realize you swung like that, Killer…”

Drifter’s eyes flick towards the Ghost at the undoubtably horrified, near-static chiming it makes as it rapidly recoils. “Are you… trying to flirt your way out of this–”

The Guardian’s expression seems of someone entirely bewildered by a puzzle in front of them. As they loosened their hold in what he could only assume was disbelief, Drifter had to stop himself from laughing—in relief, at the absurdity, or at their reaction.

“Nahh… Just seizing an opportunity, you’d understand,” he says, as nonchalantly as he can manage. There’s a moment of silence, the Guardian and their Ghost both searching his face, and it's everything he can do not to break—Either into a sweat or into a fit of laughter.

"...what the hell is wrong with you?" is the only response he got from the Ghost, the top fold of its shell covering half its eye. Drifter can only assume it's meant to be a mimicry of a dead-stare.

"Many things!” He gives a toothy grin that splits his face as he chuckles, “Next question."

The Ghost makes a show of rolling its eye, while the Guardian still looks like their mind has shattered, eyes seeming to search the wall through him for answers. The Ghost seems to take notice of its Guardian’s… inoperable state, and pipes up again, terse, “So what do you want?”

He’s really going to have to cut a deal with the Ghost, instead, isn’t he? As Drifter slowly tugs the Guardian’s hand from his collar—which they thankfully do not resist—he gives the Ghost the greasiest side-eye he can manage. “Well, as I was saying before your Guardian interrupted me,” it mimics narrowing its eye as he speaks. “I hear you two need friends, and, well, I’m always looking for more of those.”

“Just get to the point,” the Ghost pushes, tone flat. The Guardian seems to only vaguely be paying attention.

“Them and I could both use the support, so I suggest an… exchange.”

“An exchange? What is that– You mean, glimmer?” The Ghost interrupts itself with flicking its shell around itself and letting out a short chirr. “Information? We have nothing you’d want in that.”

“Nah, I don’t want any of that. If anything, I’m offering—You two just gotta do some favors for me in return. How’s that sound?” At the mention of favors, the Guardian refocuses; eyes widening some before narrowing and scanning him in search of some catch. “Just a job or two; you scratch my back, I scratch yours, yeah? Nothing you wouldn’t already do, of course.”

At the skeptical, almost blank looks from both of them, Drifter’s grin tightens some. “Favor for favor make sense to you?” He’s tempted to ask if they’ve got cotton in their ears. The pair take a long glance at each other, and he can only see the slight twitching in both’s expressions. 

“...And how do we know we can trust you?” Finally comes an answer, again from the Ghost, but one that’s more assuring than it probably should be.

“Your old man asked me here, didn’t I say? I wouldn't risk this without a good word.” That, or without Shin over his shoulder. He turns his eye back to its Guardian and offers them a hand, “So, whaddya say? Give it a shot, hotshot?”

The Ghost trills in some semblance of worry as the Guardian cautiously eyes him and his hand, body canted away from him, before hesitantly taking his hand. Their hold is slight and feels like they would rather writhe away from him, but they hold just long enough to shake his hand.

“Heyy, don’t be like that, now. Friends take care of friends, yeah? Trust.” The Guardian grimaces at his words. Maybe that odd adage of insects had a bit more truth to it than he realized. 

They’re more scared of you than you are of them?

—

Hours later, the Drifter far gone, and his Guardian was still kind of distracted. Honestly, Ghost would be lying if he said he wasn’t mind-broke by that as well. Who, in any sane state of mind, would do any of that? Sneak into an ill exile’s hideout, startle and piss them off, and then try to make a deal? 

And why did it… actually work?

Ghost must be losing it.

#idk the pacing might be slightly off still in some places but i like it! #i could hardly stand to read the old version anymore so being able to compare them side by side? im not very easy on myself about these #things but. DAMN ive gotten a lot better huh #i would probably delete the old ver but. idk people might like something in there that i didnt put in this ver so itll stay up #the forsaken exile #destiny 2 #anyway yeah im very asleep as this is being posted bc i scheduled it for the minute discord says that message was originally sent #so like. 5:54am. and i dont have to get up at that time tomorrow so im... just not lmao #god. ive been brainrotting about an exile timeline for Destiny for two years... #i am actually ill i think. NOT sane behavior #but hey! i wouldve never gotten back into writing after not touching it since like. early middle school or smth (?? honestly dont remember) #if not for this AU. beloved #im not sure words can describe how important this thing is to me. aaaaaaaaaaaaa #eepy and getting sappy now. time to shut up!!! #anyway yeah Shin knew (or. thought he knew. its *Shin*) Drifter would get attached. the old snake fell for #the oldest trick in the book (forced exposure -> eventually friendly) #(Shin did not consider that thats not really how that works but thats okay) #i feel i should clarify. bc there isnt really much of a way to tell-- Osiris talks to Drifter first. and THEN Shin talks to him. #we be havin canon lore problems now huh...

[blinkpen]

more “flashback fun” and rough idea of an example of how zoe was Technically more well-intentioned as a kid, but also much more openly and impulsively unhinged, and only really got away with it bc he was cute, talented, and troubled, and his outbursts were typically aimed at people everyone already disliked and probably had it coming, and teens are often disproportionate edgelords in what is ultimately the pursuit of their own catharsis by proxy

(cw for written descriptions of bullying/violence ig?)

unrefined scenario ore: zoe is still a bit ambiguous on how keen he is on the idea of 'adopting' jaren into the group at collin's urging. however, when he sees another classmate using psychic powers to torment jaren, he decides to intervene and fucks with the bully's own head to get them to stop. the weaker psychic gets pissed off, despite having been laughing at jaren when tormenting him moments before, and zoe remarks "what, i thought you thought it was funny, go on, keep laughing."

this altercation could have ended there, but when the bully grabs zoe, ready to beat his tiny ass into paste, and mocks him for having nothing to use but his powers and being small/physically weak, zoe is unfazed by this attempt at criticism, and quips "bitch, i said keep laughing"; the bully starts laughing hysterically, but it is very clear that this is uncontrollable laughter that he is not enjoying. while his expression is locked into an uncanny hyena grin, you can see in his eyes this is an involuntary fit of some kind zoe has telepathically compelled/is forcing him to do. he quickly drops zoe, before crumpling to the ground, and eventually starts to foam at the mouth and clearly isn't getting enough oxygen due to the laughter just not stopping.

the bully finally begins to wheeze out pleas for it to stop, but zoe just keeps placidly observing him on the ground. this goes on just long enough it's beginning to get uncomfortable to watch; charlie suggests that that's enough, albeit with an air of boredom in his voice more than trepidation. surprisingly, zoe seems to completely ignore him. when jaren, however, awkwardly pipes up and tells zoe to stop it, zoe has a subtly pleased shift in his otherwise deadpan expression, as if that is what he was waiting for; he kneels down by the bully, and taunts him about how humiliating this must be for him, that it took no time at all to be reduced to such a pathetic sight that he needed his target from mere minutes ago to speak up for him. tears are streaming down the bullies increasingly hypoxic face. zoe expresses what is either very sincere or acutely condescending remorse for "this mess", and a hope that the bully will at least remember it "for future reference" before standing back up.

while other students who'd circled around to watch the 'fight' are taking in the spectacle, zoe just calmly saunters over to a cinder block, slowly drags it over to where the bully is still seized up (charlie makes a motion as if indicating he's willing to do this part for zoe, but zoe wordlessly shoos his hand, wanting to do it himself), zoe then struggles to lift it over his head and drop it on the bully's skull. only a few students even notice or fully register what he's reeling up to do right in front of them, and right as the crowd collectively realizes his intent, the reaction is still more hype than horror, with anyone who would be concerned not having any time to react... sort of

because zoe is physically weak, it was more like he slowly and clumsily lurched the cinder block down, so it just kind of semi-squashes the bully's head and while it has audibly (and perhaps mildly visually) cracked/partially dislocated portions of their skull, it has not fully killed them - zoe proceeds to sarcastically lament his physical weakness, if only he was stronger, he could have dropped the block down more forcefully and performed the proper mercy kill it was meant to be, oh well! zoe then finally has his calm face darken as he stomps repeatedly on the cinderblock to drive it down and finish the job, grunt-yelling "guess! this! is what! we have! to do! now!"

some are dead silent (jaren among them), others are cheering as he does this. when the point has been made, zoe announces that jaren is with them (meaning himself, charlie, zebra, and collin) and fucking with jaren means fucking with the rest of them. jaren feels simultaneously touched and terrified of what just happened.

jaren's conflicted feelings about the incident only get more confused when, after the crowd disbands and the group head on along,  and they are all out of sight from any other classmates, zoe promptly collapses, and has to be carried by charlie, revealing how much strain using his psychic powers that intensely put on his body. his demeanor also shifts to something much more meek and passive. zoe tells jaren that while he meant what he said, the way he went about the whole thing was basically a performance for their classmates, including the bully, and he 'performs' a great deal, depending on what kind of company he finds himself in. zoe begins to monologue in a way that is a bit pretentious and implies some uncomfortably comprehensive nihilism for someone as young as he is, but does offer some insight into how he thinks, and it does make at least some sense; however, after about a paragraph of sounding coherent, he devolves into borderline nonsense rambling that only confuses jaren more, before passing out entirely. the others reassure jaren that this is just how zoe gets sometimes, especially after "overclocking".

#oc babble #collin: yknow its kinda less cool when you realize you were literally just being The Joker there #zoe: shut the fuck up #zoetrope #conga line of apathy #cloa #zoe actually has more scruples about what he will and will not use his powers for as a blatantly villainous adult #as a teen he had your vague sense of good and bad and wanted to be good but had not yet fermented the particulars of ethics #or at what threat threshold you have to actually cross for him to bust out certain tricks #he's still a petty vindictive lil bitch but you have to work much MUCH harder to get this particular flavor of retaliation from him now

[bibleofficial]

i’ve been being held hostage by social situations since i got up all i wanted to do was go to get groceries & to the pharmacy for toiletries but then i ran into a neighbour at the pharmacy & then we walk to tj maxx bc he was insistent & i didn’t want to be rude & then we get back to the flats like 15 min before the town hall meeting & then we go & it’s not even a real town hall so i was BEEFIN for NOTHIN & it ran FOREVER & then i ran into the 2 in the flat below me & then raid forcefed me & i got in to my room 5 to midnight 😭😭

#diary #like i’m just #OVER IT #I DIDNT EVEN GET THE GROCERIES 😭😭😭😭 #i’ve just been craving water & that’s what i’m making myself do now like we haven’t had water in forever i can feel my organs shriveling up #but i didn’t even get to workout today which i was also planning on doing but the town hall went forever #like girl #ok love my neighbours but y’all … #SHUT THE FUCK UP !!!!! #IM DYING #my flatmate are wonderful i’ve been seeing them periodically #ok so also chin’s name isn’t chin it’s CHINT bc omar asked him in class ‘what does ur name mean’ like asshole not all names mean things 😭😭😭😭 #he asked jakob what his name meant & it’s that his parents wanted him to go by jake so they used the k ALSKALSKALSKALSKLASKLAKSLA #but anyway back to chint but we gossip abt food bc he bears witness to my insanity at like midnight & he’s like ‘ur cooking ?’ yes :D ‘right #now ?’ AKSKALSKALSKAKKSAKKSALJSLA bc it’s like 1am #LIKE SIR LETS MIND OUR BUSINESS I KNOW UR ASS B COOKIN IN THAT RICE COOKER WE SEE U WE KNOW UR TRICKS #ITS STILL 1AM FOR U TOO MS TING #ANYWAY i love them & i hate my life yall i just want to be dead sooooo bad

[nerdie-faerie]

Was tryna say goodbye to my siblings before going back to uni but I couldn't find my littlest brother - who has a tendency to put himself in weird places then fall asleep - turns out this time he'd folded himself into the futon and fallen asleep

#Demon Spawn #hes always doing this it was so bizarre and stressful when he was little the gate to his room would be shut so logically theres nowhere #else he could be and yet he couldnt be seen anywhere and wouldnt respond like a fcked up magic trick and it would turn out that hed #crawled under his cot and fallen asleep but he cant get under his bed anymore and he wasnt on the floor so i was baffled #but they have this lil foam sofa that unfolds into a bed but can be partially unfolded to make a cube and thats where he was curled up #inside the futon that was chucked on too of their pile of toys so i was certain he couldnt be there but i underestimated the childs urge #to get into small spaces. my middle brother used to constantly wedge himself in small spaces to hide but hed never get to jump out and #scare people cus hed always realise he was stuck before anyone could find him and start screaming so much of him being lil was just tryna #find him after he got himself stuck somewhere youre tryna follow the shouting but hes hidden really well and really stupidly and he was #too lil to explain properly didnt stop him from wedging himself in places but at least he didnt fall asleep like that so he could actually #answer you unlike the littlest one

[realness-remade]

DUDE WHY IS MY DAD ASKING TO TAKE ME OUT TO DINNER. NO???????????????? FUCK YOU

#PRO TIP: I FUCKING HATE HIM and every time he asks to get me dinner he just annoys the hell out of me about driving. SHUT UP DUDE #last time he did this shit was when i was asking for a back brace and he decided to take me to some loud ass restaurant and make me cry. Fuc #k You #sorry im mad he has the audacity to try and pull his stupid ass looney tunes tricks on me on my goddamn birthday FUCK OFF