#i need a tag for super rough drafts

[rotzaprachim]

ok someone literally force me to finish this but ted lasso au with zoya as roy literally the most important thing 

trigger warning for...  grooming and  abuse and everything implied about zoya’s past in the books

[And there’d been the awful part of zoya that sat in the narrow strips of time she sat feeling sorry for herself and blaming the world for her own inertia when Kirigan came calling and told her she was meant for the greatest of things.] And Zoya had been seventeen, and embarrassed to have to ring home every time she needed to have her aunt give the all clear to do fucking anything, and embarrased to have to call in days for holidays her manager had never heard of, and embarrassed to go the pub after practice sessions with only her school ID. She’d been embarrassed until she’d scored the winning goal her first real game and she’d sat, exhausted and elated with an ice pack ace-wrapped to her shins, with the usual soda water and half-glass of maraschino cherries the bartender always gave her as consolation prize to her youth, now slick, smug, joyful nod that she was younger than any of them and could do twice the job of the more senior players on the team. 

“My little shining star,” Kirigan had said, pulling her up to stand on the stool at the head of the table so the players could clap and cheer for her under his icy gaze. Zoya smiled inwardly under the team member’s smirks, happy they so clearly hated her. “The best player in this league. Watch how she slams down the way for the rest of you.” And Zoya had been so proud she’d been chosen for something, and done well. 

Her first year, Zoya won and won and won. She graced the cover of the Guardian and the Independent and got to be number nine on Seventeen Magazine’s Eighteen under Eighteen, wearing the kind of poofy tulle dress Zoya would never have been caught wearing at the dances she’d skipped off of at school. She won some more. She got offers on offers and Kirigan gave them to her from a stack on his shiny wood desk and she’d known she could never, ever leave the team that made them. She won games. Kirigan took her to events that didn’t ask for her ID anymore and gave her as many tall, skinny glasses of fizzy-sweet champagne as she could drink [without being sick in restrooms where you dried your hands on thick fabric towels.] Kirigan took her to restaurants that printed their menus in French and handed out bread with little metal tongues. When the meal was finished, he paid, smiling, and with a knowing glance at her still-pubescent, train-seven-hours-a-day screaming hunger, walked her right around the block to places cut into the red-brick crevasses of the city where they destroyed platters of pirogi and mutton curry and vegetable biryani, the same grease on both their fingers. Kirigan took her to parties and pronounced her the rising star to save all of football, worldwide, and for the first time the things he said about Zoya felt heavy, but it was a good sort of weight, the kind she’d been young enough to believe her shoulders were wide enough to carry. Kirigan personally handed her the rising tide of presents Zoya thought were gifts, artisanal coffee and avant garde silver journey from designers who’d give anything for her to wear their product in public, and when the little velvet boxes came straight from Kirigan’s hands, Zoya could pretend they were gifts from him. Kirigan picked her up in his shiny black limousine and took her to an event at the top of a skyscraper in the center of the city where on a white leather couch sat a man Kirigan bowed to and called the king of sports. On his right arm was a redhead who Kirigan kissed the hand of and Zoya hated her beyond anyone she’d ever hated. On the elevator down Kirigan told Zoya what she was. 

“Not like you,” he said. “My little shining star.” 

When the team played away games, they slept four to a room in Premier Inns and ate breakfast bars from Aldi flatpacks. Zoya didn’t mind. She liked, in a way, being the kiddo let indulgently into the adult worlds the other players were in a spectral array dealing with: down payments on posh flats, mother-in-laws, alimony checks. Sex, sex, and more sex. When they played Cardiff halfway through the season, Zoya got a signed letter from Kirigan suggesting it might be inappropriate for her to continue her sleeping arrangements while she was still a minor. She stayed in the Marriot, in her own room, and sat on the surprisingly cold bed sheets holding her phone to call home and feeling somehow like she shouldn’t. Like her aunt would be angry with her, for her good fortune, for the endless rivers of milk and honey flowing so steadily from Zoya’s hard work. So she didn’t call home that time, just like she didn’t wear her awkward home-knit jumpers and sale-bin clothing, just like she cut her home visits to the High Holidays and stayed up playing the rest of the year. Her aunt told her she must be busy, that she loved her always, that she understood. 

Zoya slammed shut her phone. She ordered ludicrously expensive tomato soup on Kirigan’s tab, to see if she could. She wandered the city at night on her own, looping up from the harbour to the football stadium that had a mast stuck to the side of it, pretending to be a boat. There was a crowd in a pub around there, singing in a language that she could not understand but knew was about the football playing on the television and because it was about football it was her language, and she could. They stood with their arms around each other, singing, and Zoya walked down to the river and felt all the things she felt terrible for feeling, when her life was this good. 

She knew, then. The trouble was that Zoya knew. The whole fucking time, she knew. She was not a person for whom good things ever lasted. 

The next morning Zoya did not eat the flat-packed breakfast bars. She had the croissants and sliced pineapple and little glass jars of yogurt with foil lids that room service sent up. She showered and tied up her hair in a perfect swishy ponytail and when she came downstairs packed and ready Kirigan was waiting for her. He had reception call them a car, and on the way to the stadium Zoya’s stomache felt oddly swishy. 

She won. She almost laughed, afterwards. The idea that do anything else was ridiculous. It was what she had been made to do. 

----

He didn’t fuck her till she was twenty five and on a six-year loss streak. That one didn’t come out until the court hearings, and after she said it, Zoya felt a dirtiness unlike anything she’d ever felt before, rising up out of the cut marble floor and coating every inch of her impeccable Armani suit.

#i need a tag for super rough drafts #like i need to prove they exist to myself more than i need anyone to read them #the ted lasso au #i just NEED the story about zoya petering out from teenage wunderkind who she was never meant to be into thirty something leader #like i need it so bad. also zoya x genya as roy keeley. genya as keeley it is SO important

[thychesters]

i got pasta making attachments for my stand mixer for christmas which means it's the perfect time to put zoro through the proverbial pasta press too!

#i realized partway through the work day too that i need to rework a scene i just finished because it doesn't make sense #and when i tell you i got so mad lmao #(the crew's in danger! why would zoro stay on the ship? because i super glued his ass to it i don't know!) #everything in this draft is super rough but unfortunately that's pen's problem since i asked her to beta rip sorry pal #kate blabs #delete tag

[semercury]

I don't want to be at work I want to be home writing some silly little words.

#stuff sarah says #jk id probably be working on an s+ run in re/4/r #(tryna not get picked up by tags) #but we finished the cle/on movie/mini series last night and it breathed new life into my fic idea #tbh i was sad there was just crumbs but i think thats all any shipper gets with this series #but i wanted to write this fic before i work more on my cringe fic bc its short #and i love instant gratification #and i have a title. its some fu/n. lyrics if that tells you the mood... #''if youre right here why do i miss you so much?'' #and with ''now i just wait for you to talk to me but you wont even look at me baby'' as some ~flavor text~ #came up with the fic by being like ''they should get smoothies together :)'' with the bestie #and now im gonna make it sad #babe if you see this i def will send you snippits as i write the rough draft #anyway. i dont want to be at work for a lot of reasons #it feels weird. theres too many people here tonight #and i think we're gonna get done super early with stuff we needed to do? #idk. id rather be home #i dont want to work anymore ever. i think i should be paid for having amazing takes on fictional characters #and being mildly interesting to talk to and being bad at video games but still having a good time #that last one is a real talent. real gamers take their L's #anyway

[lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: I'm a little biased as always when it comes to those two but this was one of my best fics imo, look at their happy faces. They're so precious! I love them sm ipjwiojweoijg. There's probably some typos but I'm super busy with uni stuff + can't find the time now to proofread and this has been on my drafts for a while now, so I'm posting how it is. Tagging u bcs u asked, I hope u like this silly fic! @hanafubukki

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Not necessarily a warning but there's some suggestiveness at the start.

"Today I'm going to steal Rook's hat!" Those were your exact words.

You said this at six o'clock in the morning, the sun still creeping across the sky to brighten everyone and everything another day, after having entered through the open window of Vil's room like a gremlin - how you did it he had no idea considering his room was on the top floor of Pomefiore.

And in that moment, when you gush about how smooth and soft Rook's hat felt to the touch, and how you would play with the feather and laugh at the surprised expression on Rook's face, Vil wanted nothing more than to turn to the other side of the bed and go back to sleep.

You threw yourself into the vacant space next to Vil, swinging your legs happily as you asked for your beloved's help. Your little puppy eyes making his heart clench and twist inside his chest, like it always did when you used that same trick time and time again.

Breathe, exhale. He remembered. He couldn't give in to your whims again, he remembered well what happened last time.

You invited yourself even closer to him, ignoring your personal distance to cup his face in your hands, fingers massaging the silky skin as you looked up at him. "Please, Mein Lieber."

For a long second, Vil wondered how he could love two persons as chaotic as you and Rook. You two were practically the same and more times than you should you followed the hunter around, imitating his mannerisms and making him laugh like that because you think it was funny. You liked imitating him and Rook loved to have you around, taking you to people watch while you both stated your observations on each person.

This and Rook liked to teach you the hunter ways. So far, you haven't killed anyone with your bad bow skills.

"Du bist die Liebe meiines Lebeéns." You whispered against his ear, consonants and vowels completely exaggerated and some pronounced wrong. And he ignored you, rolling his eyes, accustomed to your antics by now.

One of the different things between you and Rook is that the Chasseur D'amour would use flattery and his good observation to get what he wanted, you instead always chose to irritate people (mainly Vil) with your terrible German speech. Was it your only weapon or was it just because Vil couldn't bear such torture?

He preferred not to know.

You then changed tactics, preferring to fill his face with slow kisses but always avoiding the place he wanted you to kiss him. His temples, his cheeks, his nose, his chin, every bit of skin your lips touched made him feel dizzy. Vil could mentally hear Rook's whines if he were there, ignored, Rook was always so needy for his and yours attention.

His rough, chipped lips slowly descending though the queen's neck while his hands free from his gloves gently navigated Vil's sides and hips. He trembled in your arms.

"That's enough!" Vil looked at you, panting. He held you before you could kiss his eyebrows too. "I'll help you, but you better come here right now and kiss me. On the lips, darling."

You didn't need to hear it twice. The kiss began softly, a needy dance of emotions. But he wanted more, needed more until he was truly satisfied with it. You had woken him up too early, had disturbed him and irritated him. He needed this to restore his good mood.

He needed you like you needed him.

Time seemed to slow down as you met again for a kiss, and another, and another, and hundreds of others, leaving only a sweet freshness behind. That was how he described all the kisses he shared with you, all of them precious.

Vil felt you smiling through the kiss, he could feel the aura of victory and presumption that exuded from you. He bit your bottom lip hard to keep your attention on him, making you whine.

"However, the execution of this plan of yours will depend entirely on you, Liebling. I don't need to remind you that Rook is a great observer and will instantly know you’re up to something if you act differently.”

You nodded as if you were confident that your other lover wouldn't be able to notice anything. Or at least, that he didn't realize it until it was too late.

Later, after you had kissed Vil until he was beaming and satisfied, and his lips were softly swollen, you found yourself sitting on a high branch of a tree, hidden from view and engulfed by green leaves. Waiting for the right moment, watching your target.

You forced your eyes to follow every movement of your vulnerable prey, the one who was sitting a few meters away from you, resting in his usual spot and polishing his bow.

As promised, Vil was talking to Rook about a subject you didn't know what it was. His expression carried the usual serious air but it was accompanied by a calm smile. Rook had that effect on him. And in you too, as if he always knew what you needed to hear to smile, to laugh and to cry.

Yuu notices the way Rook tilts his head to better hear what Vil is saying and how Vil laughs at Rook's jokes. A few seconds go by, you very slowly starts to climb down from your hiding spot, at this point you didn't even need to think anymore, your hands knew where to hold and how to search. It was like second nature.

Finally on the ground again, you do your best to mingle with the tall trees and huge bushes. You can still make out Rook and Vil's figures, the hunter stood up, showing Vil his bow and arrows, and he demonstrated the correct way to hold it.

It occurred to you that maybe Vil was talking about some role he would need to play as an archer and you had to admit that captured Rook's attention perfectly. He was so excited while he explained this and that to his lover, you almost wished to forget your little plan and come closer to listen to him. When he goes on a rant, his beautiful green eyes lighten up while he explain and demonstrates, even more when he can answer some doubts.

'Focus, soldier', you thought to yourself.

The hunter handed his bow to the queen, placing his hands over Vil's and explaining how Vil should shoot to hit the target. And Vil did perfectly. As Vil gracefully executed the instructions, Rook's admiration was evident by his big smile.

As Vil's aim improved under Rook's guidance, you edged closer, careful not to disturb the serene moment. Careful to remember every little detail. You could feel the tension building within you, anticipation mingling with determination. As Vil hitted the target, Rook engulfed him in a warm and long hug, swaying side to side as if they were doing a little comemmoration dance.

This was the moment you had been waiting for, as Rook kept praising Vil, you were getting closer, silent, deadly, your hands strecthed to grab your prize. sensed the perfect opportunity to strike. Timing was crucial, very important for you mission, and you waited a little more, watching them.

His hat was so close now... The sun shone into it, making it looks so comfy. You almost wanted to rush, to grab and run but you waited just a little more.

Vil handed back the bow, still smiling. You could tell it was genuine, he was proud of himself to be able to hit the target even if he wouldn't use this knowledge anywhere. More than this, as he put a stray hair behind his ear, Rook stood on his tiptoes to give his queen a kiss as reward.

And was then that you emerged from your hiding place, your presence initially unnoticed amidst the rustling leaves. Before either could react, you grabbed his hat and ran as if your life depended on it. It was so much beautiful, so soft and comfy, you putted on your head, the last thing you saw was Rook's shocked but proud eyes staring at you.

You had accomplished your mission, feeling very proud of yourself. But now it was time to proceed with the next phase of your plan; run away from Rook.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst rook #twst vil #twst rook hunt #twst vil schoenheit #rook hunt #vil schoenheit #vil x mc #vil x yuu #vil x reader #rook x mc #rook x yuu #rook x reader #rook x vil #vil x rook #rookvil #vilrook #lorkai drabble #gender neutral reader

[abstractnaturaldisaster]

is it over now? (was it over then?)

part one

part two: if she's got blue eyes, i will surmise that you'll probably date her

Eddie had felt completely numb after leaving Steve's apartment. He wasn't really interested in doing anything with his band even though they definitely owed the studio a new album but Eddie wasn't feeling inspired after the abrupt departure of his most recent muse.

He didn't want to be that guy who wrote songs about his exes or aired dirty laundry in public through cryptic lyrics. It worked for other people but his band's vibe was a lot more fantasy and concept albumy and he couldn't quite find the energy to allegorize his current heartbreak. This is where the reality of the music industry really sucked because at some point their label didn't give a shit about Eddie's need to wallow and his manager could only negotiate so many extensions.

Thankfully, all previous qualms he had with writing about his ex and their breakup ended when he saw another fucking TMZ headline about Steve leaving a club with another model. This had to be the thirtieth person Steve had been tied to since their breakup. Eddie's best guess was that his pact with Robin to be each other's whatever to get the media off their back had ended.

Lyrics started flowing out of Eddie as he swiped out of twitter and into his notes app.

Your new girl is my clone And did you think I didn't see you? There were flashing lights At least I had the decency To keep my nights out of sight Only rumors 'bout my hips and thighs And my whispered sighs

Eddie knew it was probably a low blow to flaunt his escapades after he'd worked pretty hard to keep them under wraps. He didn't need the world to know he had pity sex with some random guy he picked up because he really got Eddie's last album. Eddie fucking hated how pretentious some fans were about his lyrics. Like sometimes a sword is just a sword, bestie. Anyways, an NDA and really shitty coffee later, Eddie pretended that mistake hadn't happened but was petty enough to make it clear to Steve that he wasn't the only one finding solace in someone else's bed.

He put together a rough melody on his acoustic and sent it over to his band to see what they thought. He wasn't sure if they'd be into it but it was fucking therapeutic to get the feelings out of his body that were festering there. Gareth was over the moon because he had been anti-Steve from the beginning and was super on board with some pretty boy actor directed snark. Ronnie, Jeff, and Freak were a little harder to bring around as they felt like they should at least sort of protect their darker brand but once Freak laid down a pretty sick base and Ronnie added some haunting piano it was undeniably a Corroded Coffin song. They packaged up a rough draft and sent it over to their producer to work his magic. Before Eddie knew it the song was approved for a sound on TikTok and Eddie and the band were thinking of video ideas to promote the single which would apparently be ready for streaming in the next month. Eddie wasn't quite ready to concede an entire angsty breakup album but it did at least feel good to get a start on producing what the studio was looking for.

Eddie sat back and scrolled through the sound on TikTok and thought about Steve's reaction to the sound or the single a perfectly healthy amount, thank you very much.

@lololol-1234 (it's not quite fixed yet but i hope you don't mind the tag)

part three

#steve x eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #steddie #pls don't be mad at steve #i promise it will all make sense #eddie is not a reliable narrator #don't worry robin will fix it #angst #angst with a happy ending #rockstar eddie #actor steve #was it over then ficlet

[monbons]

WIP Wednesday

Who else is dragging through daylight savings? I have littles at home, so it is a real one-two punch of exhaustion!

In happier news, I think I may have finally wrestled my timeline for Addie LaRue x Snowbaz into submission. Color coded post-its work! Super top secret sneak peak of my "system" below.

I've drafted a VERY rough version of the first four chapters of what will likely be at least 14 total. Since nothing has been picked apart by a beta yet (although shout out to @thewholelemon for reading what I have so far!), I don't want to post too much-- just in case it doesn't make the final cut.

With that said, regardless of what turn it takes, here is a little Natasha and Baz. Their whole story line hurts so goooood.

“You need to tie your hair up while you work in here, my darling.” Natasha reaches for the pale blue scarf wrapped around her own long, dark mane. Her hair cascades in waves down her back. Then, with gentle hands, she gathers Baz’s hair, wrapping it in a tight knot, and covering it with her scarf. “Better?”  Baz nods.  “Enjoy your first lesson?” She runs a hand down his damp cheek. “Very much, mum. But it isn’t really my first lesson.” Baz grins and Natasha admires his smile, a gap where his right canine should be.  “True enough,” she laughs, wrapping him up in her arms. “You have been underfoot your whole life. I imagine you could do it all on your own now!” Baz shakes his head emphatically. “No. Never without you.”

Tags below for all the fine people who have expressed interest in seeing this come to life. Here's hoping I do it justice for you!

@thewholelemon, @artsyunderstudy, @valeffelees, @roomwithanopenfire, @cutestkilla, @raenestee, @iamamythologicalcreature, @beastmonstertitan

#addie larue x snowbaz #this hit me in the mom feels #is it normal to cry while drafting your own story? #asking for a friend #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on fanfiction #wip wednesday

[cephalotyrant]

hiiihiii who out of azurido is more likely to ask the other if they'd still love him if he was a worm? Me personally i think it'd be azul just because he just seems to deal with insecurity and stuff more but a weird part of me can't help but imagine riddle doing the orange peel test on azul

And imagine riddle seeing azul's octopus form T_T he already knows azul is an octopus but actually seeing it for real??? And azul's reaction???? and riddle hesitates or smth and AZUL THINKS HE DISLIKES IT RAHHHHHHH-

Also you've probably scrolled thru their tag onn ao3 but there's this one super good completed longfic featuring them called Petals and Pearls by bedtime_at_four_am (That reminds me BRO I NEED TO GO COMMENT ON IT RAGHHHH) it's a fake-dating au

but yeah they're just goobers aghhhh

and part of me can't help but imagine pre book-6 azurido as like the popular onesided radiostatic trope in hazbin but less.... yk villainy/hateful and more just competitive azul with riddle being so confused where Azul's just trying so hard to get one over on riddle and just constantly scheming while riddle is like... wow that guys weirdly smug i wonder why anyways

like-

Azul: IM GOING TO MAKE THIS BOY PAY FOR UNDERESTIMATING ME JUST YOU SEE

Riddle: Wow he seemed a bit angry. I guess someone made him eat hamburg steak on a tuesday or something

anyways tyy and sorry for taking ur post as a chance to invade ur inbox

YIPPEE A RESPONSE AND ITS FROMMM YOUUU! <3 THE AZUL-ER EVER!

You mention ao3 and I can't help but remember the fact that there is already an Would You Love Me if I Was A Worm fic. (worm dorks) It is Cater's influence on Riddle but the other way around? Hm... Riddle's a very doting person to animals and the worm being his boyfie? yeah he'd take the question extremely seriously and swear his loyalty to worm-Azul. The orange peel test... yeah. Less of a 'test' and more 'Riddle's just not used to peeling his own oranges'. Like he gets a craving for them and royally messes up his first attempt so Azul does it in his stead. After laughing at how bad he is, of course. (But stopping right before he gets too upset about it. I think Azul would be very careful with boundaries, considering his past with bullying and his abilities to read other people's cues.)

Azul is bigger than Jade and Floyd in their merforms... tiny Riddle. I think he'd be shocked to see just how much bigger this previously only 5'9 slimy businessman is. and it'd scare Azul.

F... funny you mention Petals and Pearls... I've been meaning to touch it up and edit it a little.... yeah.... uhm. I check Azul/Riddle on ao3 daily nightly evening-ly. I was there when it was written because ITS IN MY GOOGLEDOCS. HAHAHA. 🥲🥹

...Being everywhere as a contributor to a rarepair is hard. 'Super Good' I'M FLATTERED AND TEARING UP.....

On the bright side. While drowning in wips from all sides I'm already drafting my NEXT ONE. It's the exact opposite. No one believes that they're NOT dating (it's the newspaper's fault..) 🙏

Never watched Hazbin! But (Idia or Cater, cant remember) have mentioned that they've only been classmates in their current year, which means it's totally possible that Riddle used to Be Azul's classmate. Add the fact that they were pre-overblot, and it goes crazy. Like rough draft but imagine,

"I'd appreciate it if you focused on the professor, Azul."

(What Azul hears) "Don't waste my time, stupid octopus. I'm already a housewarden you're not on my level. loser."

And Azul vows to get him. The end.

Which makes a funny juxtaposition because Jamil’s ACTUALLY like "Leave me alone, stupid octopus. Just leave me alone. Loser."

Please take over my inbox whenever you want. This padded room is lonely.

#twst #twisted wonderland #azurido #ask? #ask. #riddle rosehearts #azul ashengrotto #azurid #my azurido thoughts deserve to be tagged yes #impostor syndrome on tumblr is crazy no one gives a shit bruh

[halucygeno]

[Draft] Why Roadside Picnic is a timeless masterpiece and why everyone missed the point

(DRAFT NOTE: Otherside Picnic and PAFL are tagged because I intended to conclude this essay by explaining why I think those works, ostensibly inspired by R.P., don’t understand and fail to capture what makes the novel so powerful. My writing never got to that point, but it might still be of interest to fans of Otherside Picnic and PAFL, so I’ve kept the tags. If I ever manage to somehow finish this, I’ll take it down and replace it with the full version.)

ESSAY START:

With that needlessly provocative title out of the way, I hope people are still here and willing to listen as I try to explain myself:

[SPOILERS FOR THE WHOLE BOOK, GO READ IT IF YOU HAVEN’T DONE SO YET]

At its very core, Roadside Picnic is a character study. It acts as philosophical and social commentary too, but a vast majority of that is delivered and explored through Redrick’s character arc.

The sci-fi stuff which everyone loves referencing, and which every adaptation and “inspired” work can’t help but include: the Zone, the artefacts, bolt tossing, Mosquito Manges - none of that matters. You could replace it with magic, or dragons, or some other arbitrary plot device - it just needs to be beyond human understanding and have no clear explanation or origin, to allow for the ideas discussed by Noonan and Dr. Pillman in Chapter 3. This basic premise is all you need to discuss xenology, human psychology, “what’s a rational being”, how insignificant we are in the universe, etc.

All the other details are either little tid-bits of worldbuilding, window-dressing, or serve a specific narrative purpose. Witches’ Jelly could be any “super dangerous substance”, because what matters is not that it eats your bones, what matters is that Redrick sells it to a shady dealer, betraying the morals he espoused in Chapter 1:

All of these objects aren’t just “cool artefacts”, they’re tools for the Strugatskys to get across their themes.

And those themes are... Well, that’s harder to summarise. The main theme of the story seems to be about how economic circumstances and crises in one’s personal life can rot a person’s moral compass and kill their faith in the possibility of a better world. The events of the story turn someone like Redrick - an honest worker who believes in Kirill’s promises that science has the potential to save humanity - into an evil hypocrite, a murderer who lies to himself to justify his reprehensible actions. The question asked of the audience is “how responsible is Redrick for his own fate”, while the ending asks “will any of it amount to anything”?

To be clear, Redrick is a BAD person. By the end of the book, he has quit his job at the Institute, sold Witches’ Jelly to shady 3rd parties (which ended in a laboratory accident that killed 35), cheated on his wife (with a woman he supposedly despises) and murdered an innocent kid. He even draws sadistic pleasure from the emotional pain he will inflict on Burbridge by killing his son, savouring the irony of Burbridge being the one who kept encouraging him to take some newbie to the Meat Grinder:

But he wasn’t always like this. At the start of the story, he is cynical and rough, but he has principles. Like already mentioned earlier, in the excerpt where Noonan tells him about someone looking to buy Witches’ Jelly, he even goes as far as saying that he’ll work with the police to turn them in. The same police which, earlier in the chapter, stopped him in the street because they profiled him and assumed he was up to something:

Redrick has done his time in prison, gotten an honest job (yes, I know that he says that he still makes "a few bucks on the side”, but he’s actually relieved when he hears they’ll be walling off the Zone because it’ll mean “less temptation”. He wants to make money as a decent citizen), and he’s still being treated like a criminal and stopped by the police on-sight. And despite this, his fear of what the wrong person might do with Witches’ Jelly is so strong, he’s willing to go to them and report the buyer.

And this rejection of his prior Stalker persona is deeper than just getting a job at the institute and being willing to cooperate with police. When Kirill assumes that Redrick suggested getting the Full Empty as a ploy to sell his services, at first, Redrick doesn’t understand what he means. When he does, he feels outright insulted:

When he finds out about Kirill’s death, he is devastated, but notably, this sorrow quickly turns into a hatred of the systems which throw young men to their deaths for money. He curses Ernest for profiting from this exploitation. A key scene is when he hands Creon (a young man who just arrived in Harmont and wants to become a Stalker) a wad of cash and urges him to go back to Malta:

Another pillar of Redrick’s character is the fact that he loves and is loyal to his fiancée, Guta, despite her family being openly antagonistic towards him - not just because of his criminal past, but the fact that he’s been afflicted by the Zone:

He marries her at some point after this.

Most importantly, he actually has a purpose. This is shown when he is pestered by the emigration agent, as he makes a speech about how Harmont is a “hole into the future”, which will change life around the world for the better:

The crucial detail here is that the one who inspired him to think this way is Kirill. Redrick is always portrayed as cynical and bitter, so this high-mindedness is not coming from somewhere within him - it’s external. He’s drawing inspiration from the idealistic, honest people around him. So when Kirill dies, it is not merely the death of a close friend. It is the death of Redrick’s faith, his hope in the future. He even says “How will I get on without you?”:

Basically, Chapter 1 sets-up Redrick AT HIS BEST, so that the story can send him on a downward spiral in every chapter that follows.

Chapter 2 has several important developments, and it marks the start of Redrick’s moral decline. Before getting into that, though, I’d like to draw attention to another part of Redrick’s moral compass which is highlighted - his hatred of Burbridge and, more importantly, his hatred of Burbridge’s daughter, Dina.

Buzzard Burbridge embodies the most reprehensible, slimy aspects of being a Stalker. He is a selfish profiteer, willing to sacrifice his comrades and leave them to die just so he can get away with the loot. Redrick hates Burbridge, and, very importantly, believes himself to be better than Burbridge:

Redrick hates that Burbridge has no regard for human life, and this hatred applies in equal measure to Dina. When Dina tells Redrick that he should have left Buzzard to his death, he slaps her in the face:

This is not done out of sympathy for the man - Redrick hates Burbridge. What insults him is the implication that he should’ve left a comrade to their death - even a piece of sh*t comrade. He hates Dina, because even though what she says about Buzzard is true, it’s not a reason to abandon him to his death. Just like her father, she has no regard for human life.

In this scene, it’s also worth noting that Redrick is very respectful to Hamster. Hamster is the only Stalker to survive entering the Meat Grinder, supposedly saved by Buzzard. He seems to hang around the Burbridge household, possibly acting as some kind of servant, but is deformed and crippled from his injury:

The contrast between how he speaks to Dina and Hamster sends a clear message; Dina’s beauty means nothing. She’s evil, and deserves less respect than ugly, deformed Hamster.

Another key moment is Redrick’s conversation with Noonan in the café near the Métropole hotel. There, we learn why he quit working for the institute; money. He could no longer earn bonuses when expeditions to the Zone began being handled by robots:

Important here is that his salary still isn’t terrible, and the institute did not fire him. He chose to quit, because he wants a sense of freedom, of not being bossed around, and the money to splurge on things (like cigarettes) and have peace of mind. This is aptly summarised in the line “a man needs money so that he doesn't have to always be counting it”.

Obviously, another reason why he quit is Kirill’s death. In his final, rambling monologue, Redrick admits that he hated working for the Institute, so it’s very likely that Kirill and his idealistic visions for the future were the only things keeping him there.

So, to summarise, at this stage, Redrick’s character looks more or less like this: 1) Wants to do honest work and disassociate from his criminal past. 2) Believes the world can be saved by technology from the Zone. 3) Will never sell Witches’ Jelly to dangerous 3rd parties. 4) Needs money for a basic standard of comfort and freedom from authority. 5) Won’t abandon someone to their death, even someone as bad as Buzzard. 6) Beauty doesn’t matter if, morally, you’re an awful person. 7) Loyal to his wife and daughter.

Having lost Kirill, and with him, his hope for a better future, Redrick’s new source of meaning is his wife and daughter. His purpose in life is providing for them, especially Monkey, whose condition makes her the target of bullying.

(Side note: One thing always annoyed me. Why did they call her Monkey?! That’s asking for people to bully your kid! Was it just a coincidence, or did they really name her after her birth defect? And this is an accurate translation of the Russian “Мартышка”, no weird translation problems here.)

But this new purpose - providing for his family - crashes into him hard when he’s set-up, betrayed, caught by the police, and is forced to flee. It’s then revealed that Redrick had a trump-card up his sleeve - a jar of Witches’ Jelly and an interested buyer, willing to pay the money to his wife in instalments while he rots in prison. It’s never stated how long his prison sentence is, but Redrick estimates that evading arrest (which he did to arrange the transaction) will add another year to it.

To be clear, this jar was prepared as a last resort. He clearly doesn’t want to do this. Earlier, in the Métropole, when he's asked if he managed to procure it, he lies, saying that he didn’t:

He promises to get it later, keeping Throaty interested, but not giving it to him. Later, as he’s about to make the call, he admonishes himself:

This the first major step in Redrick’s decline, where his self-interest explicitly endangers the lives of others, and he still picks himself over others.

Before moving into Chapter 3, one part which I’d like to quickly touch on is the circumstances of Redrick’s arrest. I didn’t pick up on this on my first read, but Ernest wasn’t the one who set-up the police ambush in the Borscht. The one who set up Redrick’s arrest was Richard Noonan:

At first, I was confused as to why Redrick never realised that Noonan betrayed him, but after looking at it more closely, and despite how stupid it may sound, I genuinely think Redrick was so sleep-deprived that he forgot Noonan was the one who told him to drive to the Borscht in the first place. After getting into the cab, he falls asleep and wakes up, incorrectly thinking he told the driver to take him to the bank:

Regardless, in Chapter 3, we learn that Richard Noonan is some sort of government agent, working for the Institute or with law enforcement in some capacity. His mission is to shut down the “flow of materials from the Zone through Harmont”, which is why he has been befriending Stalkers and infiltrating their social circles, monitoring them. His activities include buying artefacts from Stalkers and rerouting them to the Institute:

If you’ve been paying attention, the Stalker which Noonan mentions in the above excerpt, the one he is stringing along and exploiting for his swag, is Creon, the Maltese Stalker which Redrick tried to pay to give up on the profession and go back home in Chapter 1. He persevered, became a successful, and what did it get him? He’s not an adventurer - he’s a pawn, drowning his sorrows in booze, getting closer to death, unaware that he’s being exploited by Noonan.

The worst part of this, which is never said explicitly, but heavily implied, is that the Institute is allowing certain Stalkers to operate because real humans are better, more effective gatherers of artefacts then their officially sanctioned robots. They are supposedly cracking down on this illegal activity, but they don’t mind taking advantage of it while they can:

There’s a sickening duality to it. Officially, Stalkers are criminalised, thrown in jail, ostracised. But behind the scenes, the Institute relies on them to deliver them materials, strings them along and keeps them on their payroll.

(Side note: I’ll let you draw whatever real-life parallels you find applicable. The ones that immediately come to my mind are the US prison-industrial complex and the funding of the the Taliban, but I’m sure you can find many, many more.)

Later, we generally get to see Richard Noonan being a horrid person - beating up a subordinate for having overlooked a group of Stalkers who were sneaking into the Zone without the Institute’s awareness.

Following this, Noonan has his conversation with Valentine Pillman, where the analogy of a “roadside picnic” is used and where the book derives its title. The general message is that we’re completely insignificant. The visitation wasn’t an instance of aliens coming to contact us or conquer us - they were just passing by and accidentally dropped a bunch of their trash on us.

Of course, Pillman qualifies this by saying that this is just his personal theory, and that there is no evidence to support this, or any other interpretation. He points out that to speculate about the motives of non-human beings by applying human psychology to them is folly, and calls xenology a pseudoscience.

For how central this conversation seems to be to the book (it’s in the title, after all), I don’t actually think that it’s a particularly interesting concept. It speaks to a general existential dread many people can probably relate to, being insignificant in the face of the infinitely complex, incomprehensible mechanisms of the cosmos. But it seems quite simple and self-contained, especially compared to the layered, interconnected themes of the rest of the book. It’s quaint.

Much more interesting to me are the things we find out about the artefacts recovered from the Zone. Eternal Batteries, seemingly capable of producing infinite energy, are used to power people’s private cars. Black Sprays, little beads which one theory claims are huge swathes of compressed space, are used to decorate jewelry:

To be blunt, Kirill was wrong. The artefacts from the Zone and the research done by the Institute are not “saving the world”. They’re accomplishing almost nothing. At best, they become the playthings of the wealthy and powerful, while the working class is literally killing themselves in the Zone to acquire them. At worst, they’re causing horrible accidents and killing people, like the Currigan labs incident:

The point of this is to show that fancy new technology does not inherently uproot old systems of injustice and exploitation. Without societal change, even something as reality-shattering as an alien invasion will be slotted into the old way of things. There’s even a passing mention of more luxury accommodations being built in Harmont in response to... tourists:

I saw another Tumblr post tagged with #roadside picnic, complaining about how people are trying too hard to make every soviet novel into something political. Well, I’m sorry. IT IS POLITICAL. You’re just not paying attention. If you disagree, I challenge you to read the above passage about “the suburbs being emptied” and tell me that it’s not trying to communicate anything about the economical systems ruling Harmont.

And if I need to spell it out, the force consuming and destroying the lives of Stalkers is not “the Zone”. It’s capitalism. The characters constantly talk about greenbacks, about needing money. The reason Stalkers need to break the law and risk their lives is either because they have rent to pay, or because they want to become financially stable enough to be free from the coercion of bosses and landlords.

The entire reason Redrick betrays his moral convictions in Chapter 2 is because of money. He leaves the Institute because his job is being automated, his pay is being cut, and he doesn’t want to live paycheck to paycheck. He wants to be free. And finally, he sells the Witches’ Jelly because he has to keep his family fed while he’s stuck in jail.

And if you still think I’m just reading too much into things, seeing what I want to see, I’d like to take you back to Chapter 2 for a few notable passages. Namely, Redrick’s experiences as he is entering the luxury hotel, Métropole:

This is Redrick, talking to a cop. Yes, the police, so eager to harass him in Chapter 1, are suddenly asking him if he’s alright, offering to help, calling him “mister”. So what changed?

Well, he is wearing a suit, holding a suitcase, standing in front of a fancy hotel. They assumed he’s rich. That he’s a respectable citizen, that he’d never need to steal anything.

There’s a genius reversal here - in Chapter 1, Redrick was an honest lab worker, but was profiled and stopped by the police. In Chapter 2, while the cop is trying to help him, he’s on his way to an illegal deal with a suitcase full of contraband. He’s an actual criminal, but he’s treated with kindness, because he looks upper-class.

And if you still somehow think this is all a coincidence, I ask you - why is this scene here? Why was it written? Seriously, it’s such a random moment, a complete non-sequiteur from everything happening beforehand, and I never hear anyone talk about it. Redrick, out of nowhere, begins having strong hallucinations and has to stop to catch his breath. If the key information being conveyed here is “Redrick suffers from hallucinations”, why not just have him catch his breath and move on? Why add this random cop, trying so hard to be helpful?

The answer is simple. It’s not a “random cop”. It’s social commentary on how cops exist to protect and serve the ruling class.

In the hotel itself, we have this moment where Redrick steps into an elevator full of absurdly, comically obnoxious rich people:

If you’ve been ignoring the attached excerpts so far, I urge you to read this one. I cannot adequately summarise how seeping with contempt and revulsion these descriptions are. Redrick closes his eyes to try to “shut out” these people, to not have to look at them. The young boy is eating chocolate, of course, drooling, while his mother has the Black Sprays we talked about earlier on her necklace. This is the privileged, wealthy elite and Redrick HATES them and what they represent. It’s textbook class antagonism.

And this doesn’t just affect Redrick. Returning to Chapter 3, Noonan visits Redrick’s house and speaks to Guta, who tells him about their struggles with Monkey, whose condition had worsened, destroying most of her cognitive abilities:

Noonan is wealthy. He’s one of the people who uses a car powered by an Eternal Battery. He lives in hotels. But more importantly:

Noonan genuinely sympathises with Redrick and Guta’s plight, and the suffering they’re going through because of Monkey’s condition. He genuinely wants to help them, and is ready to, but then remembers his boss. He remembers that his job is not to help the ones who are struggling and need it the most, but to serve the system. To label these people criminals and “infiltrate” them, monitor them, instead of simply befriending them.

Of course, Richard Noonan is an awful person. But we're almost given the sense that, given his position, he doesn’t even have an opportunity to be a good, honest person. When he genuinely feels sympathy for those he exploits, he forces himself to stop and suppresses his good nature. Because that’s what’s expected of him, what his job requires. He’s there to protect the interests of the Institute - the ruling class.

I really hope these examples adequately demonstrate what I believe to be the main political themes of the story, because I’m going to put those aside for a moment and go back to the personal, moral journey of the main character.

The only thing of note left in Chapter 3 is Redrick’s father and his reaction to news of the lab accident.

[UNIFNISHED DRAFT ENDS HERE]

(TRANSLATION NOTE: All quotations are taken from the Antonina W. Bouis translation, despite there being an arguably more accurate translation by Olena Bormashenko. This is out of habit, not preference - I’m more familiar with the Bouis translation, which made searching for quotes easier.)

(Huge thanks to Antonina W. Bouis and later Olena Bormashenko for bringing this book to an anglophone audience, to Irena Lewandowska and Rafał Dębski for translating it to Polish, and to Siergiej Rajkov and Milan Asadurov for doing the same in Bulgarian.)

#roadside picnic #stalker #otherside picnic #parties are for losers #book analysis #strugatsky brothers #My writing

[bluejaysandblackbats]

You're Just Like Quicksand

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, Batman Beyond

Summary: Jason Todd is ready to go into semi-retirement after fifteen years working with troubled youth, but one case in particular forces him to confront the sins of his youth and painful memories from his past.

Chapters: 4/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Terry McGinnis, Warren McGinnis, Mary McGinnis, Matt McGinnis, Bruce Wayne, Original Character(s)

Relationship(s): TBA

Additional Tags: Protective Jason Todd, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Retired Jason Todd, Multiple POV, Hurt/Comfort, Parent-Child Relationships, Canon Divergent AU, Angst, Mourning Jason Todd

Chapter Four: No Man's Land (Terry McGinnis' POV)

I sat across from Jason, working on my history paper, struggling to write the page on how that applied to Gotham today. Jason sat behind his computer, transferring files using the scanner. “You look like you’re stuck on something. What’s up?” Jason asked without looking up.

“You were a kid during No Man’s Land, right?” I asked.

“I was in a coma, so I wouldn’t be much help there,” Jason answered. “I have a brother who was alive during that time… When’s the paper due?”

“Rough draft’s due Thursday,” I replied.

Jason checked his watch and pressed three buttons on his office phone. “Hello?” a man’s voice answered.

“Bernie? Bern, tell Tim to come to the phone. One of my kids has a few questions for a homework assignment. Let him know he doesn’t have to speak to me if he doesn’t feel like it. This is for the kid,” Jason stated. He pushed his hair back, shutting his eyes as he breathed through his nose.

“I’ll get him… Wait a second, okay?” the man whispered.

“Who’s Bernie?” I asked.

“He’s my brother-in-law… He’s a good guy. Phenomenal cook. My kids love him-. Loved… They loved him,” Jason mumbled.

“Jason, what’s this about?” a stern voice questioned.

Jason looked at me. “I’ve got a student here who needs to interview a person from Gotham who was alive during No Man’s Land,” Jason explained, “I was in a coma, but I figured you might remember something about that time.”

“I do… How’re you doing? Kenny came home from school last week and asked about you,” Tim whispered.

“Did he get my gift?” Jason questioned.

“He did. I think he’d rather see his uncle… And despite our problems, I see no need in you avoiding Ken. He adores you-.”

“You’re on speaker, and I-. You know why I stay away… Tell him I love him, and I’m proud of him,” Jason interrupted, “No more small talk, okay? The kid’s paper is due on Thursday… And I’m sure it’ll take time for him to take notes today.”

Tim cleared his throat. “Okay… Fine. Hi, I’m Tim, Jason’s younger brother,” Tim introduced himself.

“I’m Terry. I guess you could say I’m a client of Jason’s… Are you busy?” I asked.

“Not particularly busy… Jason called the right person. I was in Gotham when it started, and my dad pulled me out to keep me safe,” Tim explained.

“Let me see your history book for a second,” Jason whispered. I passed him my tablet, and he read the pages to himself. “This is Tim. He’s right here.” Jason showed me a billboard of one of the missing kids in Gotham.

“That’s your brother?” Terry asked.

“Jason, don’t tell him that-.”

“Yeah, the search for him was like a nationwide incident-.”

“Okay, Terry, you had questions about that specific time, right?” Tim asked.

Jason gestured for me to answer him. “Tim doesn’t bite. He’s harmless,” Jason joked. I grinned.

“Tim, how old were you at the time?” I questioned.

“I was fifteen,” Tim answered.

Jason typed something into his personal phone. “Can you describe life in Gotham before, during, and after?” Terry asked.

Tim described Gotham as a crime-ridden city with a system of order kept neat by vigilante justice and police work before No Man’s Land (NML). During NML, the only system was that of criminal persuasion. The government abandoned the people, who were forced to fend for themselves against the different factions of super-powered and gimmicky criminals in their respective areas. Tim snuck into Gotham after it’d been shut off and got stuck there. When he returned home to Gotham after everything opened up, Tim’s dad enrolled him in boarding school. “A lot of us didn’t adjust well to being back in Gotham, and tons of kids, including myself, didn’t finish high school,” Tim replied.

“What did you do?” I asked.

Jason stood up, leaving me in his office alone. “Family business… But Gotham saw the problem in the school system and made it easier for kids to go to school and get their GEDs, go to college, and do whatever they had to to get on their feet,” Tim replied.

“Thanks for the help,” I smiled, “I-. Is Jason by himself a lot?”

“Jason, isolates… It’s what he does. He’s-.”

“Dad, is that JT?” a voice in the background questioned.

“I’m talking to one of his protégés,” Tim answered.

“Tell the kid to tell JT that ice cream’s on the house,” the voice replied.

“Okay, Kenny… I will. Now, make sure your father doesn’t cause a three-alarm fire making pizza again,” Tim warned him.

“Can do… Pop! You don’t need to put gasoline in a wood burner!” the voice yelled.

“That’s my son… Um, how old are you?” Tim asked.

“Fourteen,” I answered.

“He wouldn’t have called me had it not been for you… Jason must really like you. I haven’t heard from him in years. So, it was nice to hear his voice today. He almost sounded happy,” Tim whispered. His voice was soft. “I’ve gotta go. It’s dinnertime, but I want you to know it was a pleasure speaking to you, and I hope you get an ‘A’ on your history paper.”

“Thanks, Tim… And I’ll pass along your son’s message. Bye,” I replied.

“Bye, Terry.”

Jason returned with pizza and a large to-go container of fries. “Your dad texted me. He’ll be home late, so you’re having dinner with me. I hope you don’t mind pizza, breadsticks, and french fries. I didn’t plan on eating dinner tonight,” Jason stated without thinking. “Did I-? I meant-. I planned on having a drink, a piece of cake, and going to bed. Did Tim give you all the info you needed for your paper?” He seemed frazzled.

I nodded. “Someone wanted me to give you a message. I think it was your nephew,” I mumbled. Jason shook his head.

“No… It’s okay. Don’t tell me,” Jason whispered. I wrung my hands. “I’m not upset with either of you. It makes things easier when I don’t hear from the kids. That includes Ken… He’s my favorite, so that makes it even harder.”

“Oh… I almost forgot to say I watched your cage match against Michael ‘The Meat Grinder’ Gallucci. I had to watch it like ten times. How’d you do that so fast?” I asked. I had to change the subject. And well… He owed me a story.

Jason ate a fistful of fries and pushed the to-go plate my way. “Mm… That was my first match, but it wasn’t where the move originated. My oldest son was the first one to do the Thunderclap. He was eight, and we were play-fighting on the living room floor when he put his hands together, swung back, slapped me on one side of my face, swung, and hit me on the other cheek. I was so stunned-. I think he was too. He didn’t mean to hit me. I think he forgot it was only a game,” Jason replied. I don’t think he was convinced. He knit his brows together, a pained expression painted by the wrinkles in his brow and the tightness of his lips. I wondered what bubbled beneath the surface of his mind. Jason was interesting. Sad… But interesting. “You gave me a look.”

“I-. Jason, can I be honest with you?” I questioned.

“I’d like that,” Jason replied, “Don’t pull punches. I can take it.”

“He hit you, but he didn’t forget you were playing… He got carried away, didn’t he? He had a history of getting carried away-.”

“He did, but he was my little boy, and I loved him. Something in him was just-. Terry, there are things you’ll never understand in life until you experience them for yourself. I hope you never have to experience that, though,” Jason interrupted, “But you’re right. I covered over the truth. That was a great observation. I don’t mind being caught in a lie, so you can call me out as much as you like. No hard feelings.”

The truth. So, I felt compelled to give him the same heartfelt honesty. “Your son was lucky… I-. My dad loves me, but sometimes I can tell he doesn’t understand me. Sometimes I feel like a stranger to him,” I mumbled, “Maybe there’s something wrong with me.”

“I don’t think so… I don’t think parents and children are meant to understand each other… I think we’re meant to love each other despite the mystery. It’s easier to understand a complete stranger than to comprehend how a human you brought into existence, whose little face you washed and watched grow-. You wonder why they’re so different,” Jason whispered. His voice was soft and broken. It made me miss my dad. “Warren loves you more than most dads ever love their sons. I don’t know… It might be a psychological thing. Most dads hate their sons, but he adores you.”

“That’s nice to hear,” I replied.

“It’s the truth,” Jason stated. We both reached for a slice of pizza at the same time. “You remind me of myself, Terry… When I was young, I could’ve been anyone or anything. Don’t become one thing, Terry. You owe yourself more than that… Because once you trap yourself in one thing, it’s all you ever get. There’s no escaping it.”

“Did you get trapped in one thing?” I asked.

“Yeah, and I’ve spent my whole life trying to escape the ramifications of one misstep I made when I was fifteen,” Jason replied. And that stuck with me.

#fic #yjlq fic #Jason Todd #Terry McGinnis #Warren McGinnis #Mary McGinnis #Matt McGinnis #Bruce Wayne #Original Character(s) #Protective Jason Todd #Good Sibling Jason Todd #Retired Jason Todd #Multiple POV #Hurt/Comfort #Parent-Child Relationships #Canon Divergent AU #Angst #Mourning Jason Todd #batfam #batman beyond au

[santaclaushohoho1]

writing blog 4 you little bitch:

i got a lot of worldbuilding and basic plotting done in my head. motivations, archetypes, names, landscapes, architecture, races, culture, and images are swimming around in my head. most have been written down

tomorrow i am hoping to draw a map and start expanding on races and cultures in my notebook. writing draws ever closer. the cultures will probably change as i move on through the story, as i am sure the (college (subtle brag 😎 (shut up xxprogamerxx)) anthropology class i am taking will give me so many ideas i want to include.

george r.r. martin, stephen king, and andrzej sapkowski are providing a large amount of inspiration but it is not a crossover fan fiction where Jon Snow fucks Geralt and a mother, mother, daughter, son, and weird fucking uncle relationship forms between yennefer, sussanah, ciri, jake, and eddie (i listed them in their respective roles).

this is entirely original

i swear

i plan for the map to be super detailed and i would like to start tonight but i am wiped out so instead i am going to watch the click in bed, sleep, and start on it in the morning

if i dont wake up early enough to do mapping before i start school i will work on basic plotting and maybe design a couple languages

some will be ancient and out of use, but somehow still relevant to important things (fucking latin) and others will be used regularly, though most humanoids will speak my version of common

i also have 12 religions to create

this will be a lot of fun, and considering how much of my time i spend thinking about this stuff, i am hopeful i finish quickly

i ALSO developed a schedule that i will do for writing when the time comes around. my goal is 95,000 words, and i have mathed it out so that if i can write 3,750 words a week (not that much, 750 words, 5 days a week or 536ish words a day) then it will be completed in in less than six months. this is doable and also gives me a LOT of wiggle room, both to get extremely ahead of schedule (if i get really into it) or really behind schedule (if i can only bring myself to write 500 a day for a week, i have another 2 days to write that extra 1250) (for context, this is over 400 words, so i will need to write less than 2 of these a day, this only took me maybe 20 minutes but that's including going over a couple times with my eyes and with Grammarly to fix any spelling mistakes and grammar errors (as well as adding tags and this side note, we are more like at 547 in this whole thing, including the tags), i will not be doing that on my rough draft because that shit is supposed to be rough and editing it will kill my motivation so hard)

i got my shit together raccoon!!! woohoo!!!

#santa's writing blog #a song of ice and fire #the witcher #the dark tower #novel writing #writing #writing community #writing blog #worldbuilding #real fucking long #i aint reading all that #more like #i aint readin allat

[deityoftherain]

I have just finished writing the rough draft (and editing usually makes it longer) of my Empires S1 canon divergent AU for those who keep up with it with it sitting at 88 pages and 45k+ words. I will be editing that and you will be getting it in about two weeks! In the meantime, under the cut with be the other fics links, summaries, etc if you want to read those in preparation! They will not be **needed** (I explain it enough in the fic with their thoughts and such) but they are recommended/fun backstories. I am just super excited to show y'all and proud of myself and sdhfdkhfdsjhfdsjfhdskj!!!

^ ~39k words; 13/13 Chapters; Completed

They were nine when their lives split into different directions. Gem would become a wizard and Fwhip was now the next in line to Grimland's throne. She is enthusiastic about her new life and he just wishes she wasn't going so far away. Their lives develop apart but they work to make their paths cross time and time again until they can walk alongside one another once more.

bonus oneshot (12yo non-champion Xornoth and gang as children with slight focus on Xornoth&Scott and Xornoth&Pearl)

^ ~23k words; 9/9 Chapters; Completed

At age thirteen, both Sausage and Scott had decided to sneak away from their empires to the neighboring empire of Gilded Helianthia. They took on new identities when they spent time there, J and Sage respectively, and ended up finding each other. They became quick friends and boyfriends not too long later. Our story takes place four years after they first meet, switching povs between the two as they navigate their lives and their relationship. They have glamour and blood magic on their side so nothing can go wrong, yeah?

^ currently ~32k words; 10/12 Chapters; Posting Weekly (prologue for the next fic should go up when this one ends if all goes right)

A lot can happen in a year. Problems can arise, battles can be fought, arguments can be had, people can be hurt… even with the pain a year may bring, there is also joy and love that can be found. Love for what you do, love for your empire, love for those you hold most dear… these are the reasons we continue on living. Alt Summary: Xornoth has to deal with troublemakers in his empire, the count of Grimland being a pain in the ass, and his twin being reckless. Scott gets to be moral support and fall in love. Tag yourself, I’m Xornoth (author woes /silly)

You can also look at my oneshots/other fics by going to my pinned post and looking under the cut OR clicking on the #deity writes tag!!

#deity writes #tales of the empires au #that tag will bring you to the au stuff as a whole #empires au #empires fanfic #empires smp fanfic #empires smp s1 fanfic #scosage #flower husbands #roseblings #empires scott #empires xornoth #empires jimmy #empires fwhip #empires gem #empires lizzie #empires pearl #empireshipping #empiresshipping #completed fanfic #empiresblr #ao3 author #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfiction #fanfic writing

[winderlylandchime]

WIP Wednesday December 13 2023

tagged by the incredible @magicandarchery (my first time being tagged for this so I hope I’m doing it right)

my next chapter is going to be some soft hurt/comfort goodness. it’s the penultimate chapter and it will be set a couple of months after the the most recent chapter. our men, brian and justin, have been spending much of their time together and justin gets a migraine. it’s a chance for them to now confront (in the sideways way that I’ve tried to do throughout this fic) the lasting effects of the bashing on both of them decades later. it’s also our first chance to see brian, justin, and gus in the same space and how they all manage this new-old dynamic. here’s a bit of very rough draft of a conversation when gus gets home and doesn’t realize justin is sick. brian asks gus to turn down their music. anyone care to guess which ts song gus is blasting? (hint: it’s early 2023 so this song would still be a stolen version…)

“Justin’s here?”

“He’s not feeling well.”

“Oh, can I say ‘hi’ though?”

“He’s got a migraine, when he’s feeling better, okay?”

“I didn’t know he got migraines.”

“Well he does,” Brian can hear the sharp edge in his voice and feels badly. Gus doesn’t deserve that. But he says nothing else.

as you can see, this is a super rough draft. I need to expand on what else is happening in the scene and brian and gus’ movements (brian’s movements, because lez be real, the man does not speak without fidgeting in some way). as a personal preference, I tend to write dialogue with indicators of who is speaking at least every other line because as a reader I often get confused when it’s just a back-and-forth without any indication of who is speaking.

open tag! i don’t know who has a wip right now but if you have one, please share (any fandom!) and say you’re claiming my open tag.

#wip wednesday #magicandarchery #queer as folk #queer as folk fanfiction #brian x justin fanfiction #my fanfiction #beautiful like the darkness between the fireflies

[honeylikesyanderes]

this has been in my drafts since like february oml

anyways

i hope you enjoy!

18+ only. minors please dni

warning: contains yandere themes, socially unacceptable behaviours, a lil bit of mental health talk, slight/implied nsfw, gn reader, lowkey unfair power dynamics (typical honeylikesyanderes trope 🤌🏽)

yves' name is pronounced as eve

requests are open btw! ask anything or drop any thirsts/headcanons/ideas into my inbox and i’ll write asap :)

(y'all please reblog this, it isn't showing in the tags :(((( )

-------------------------------------------------------

yves falor

yves falor - the therapist.

age: 25

birthday: oct 23rd

physical attributes:

back length golden blonde hair

bright blue green eyes

6'3

very pale skin

slim build

is actually stronger than he looks

has a calm, yet deep voice

his tone is always cheeky/teasing

always smirking

personality traits:

is very cheeky

gentle yet rough around the edges

a great listener and very helpful

he has a calming personality; people naturally feel comfortable around him

he isnt super sensitive but some subjects are a bit touchy for him

is a risk taker

and he’s very emotional but he avoids showing it too much

bad at picking up social cues

meeting you:

after many months of battling your mental health and emotional turmoil, you decided it was time to seek help

fortunately, your friend bhodi had a brother who happened to be a therapist

you were a bit anxious about reaching out to make the appointment, so bhodi helped you out.

on the day of your appointment, you almost chickened out

you didn't want to go to a therapist because you were scared of being judged

plus you had read multiple horror stories of therapists that ended up traumatising their patients even more

bhodi was at work so he asked his partner to give you a ride

you ended up telling them about your fears and they reassured you that bhodi's brother was a professional and a good therapist

they dropped you off at the office and waited with you till it was time for you to go in, making sure to give you a big hug before leaving.

when you walked in, you were expecting to see a middle aged or older person, but you ended up seeing a young man that looked similar to bhodi

the only differences were that his hair was longer and he had more piercings than bhodi.

you felt more comfortable because he had a familiar face and aura, plus he was around your age, so hopefully he would understand you better right?

yves, on the other hand, was internally screaming

he finally gets to meet the person he'd heard so much about

the person that he's always fantasized of meeting

the person that stole his heart without speaking a word to him.

when bhodi mentioned that you needed a mental health professional, he jumped at the opportunity

he needed to get close to you

and this was the perfect chance.

are they aware that they are a yandere? are they bothered by it?

yves knows he's a yandere. and he knoss its not normal to be like this; but he doesn't want to change. he believes no one can love you as much as a yandere does, so why would he go out of his way to make himself love you less?

yandere tendencies:

yandere type: delusional/clingy/manipulative

to be fair, yves is a realistic yandere

he knows that he's weird and thia isn't normal

but he's delusional because he always has excuses made up or he always finds a way to justify his yandere behaviour

he's also very clingy and caring

he uses this care to worm his way into your heart

because, who doesn't want a caring man?

yves is also lowkey the stalker type

he'll make multiple burner accounts to follow your social media

and if you block one account, he'll use another

he has your post notifications on and will always be the first person to like any post you make.

in real life, yves will approach you romantically, but it will take some time

he wants to use his therapist position to get close to you, yes

but he actually wants to see you get better first and he actually cares about being a good therapist.

he'll tell bhodi about his feelings for you and will ask him for help

tbh, yves obsession with darling is really bhodi's fault

if bhodi didn't talk about you so often or didn't show him pictures of you all the time, then he wouldn't be yandere for you, now would he?

oh yeah btw, yves will manipulate you and/or any love interest you have, so the relationship will breakdown

whether its telling you thar they're bad for you or they're one of the root causes of your issues, he'll do it

yves would rather go down the mindfuck route rather than outright murder.

(he will commit murder tho)

when yves and darling start dating, yves' obsessive behaviour will increase but his outward expression of toxic yandere behaviour will decrease

yves is generally a sweet yandere and he actually would do anything for his darling and to make them happy

fun facts/trivia:

yves is a secretive person. he doesn't lay all his cards on the table with most people, but with family and close friends, he's very open

bhodi is his younger brother and he's close to his cousins angel and priest.

he and angel usually get tattooed together

he has 20/10 vision

yves has a degree in both psychology and neuroscience (double major)

yves is very popular with the ladies (and men and enbys) and has a lot of people interested in him romantically and sexually. (therefore you'll have a lot of love rivals 💀)

yves and bhodi used to look very similar when they were younger, and one time, yves cut his hair to look like bhodi and wrote multiple exams on his behalf.

unfortunately, after puberty, due to voice changes and physical build, they could easy be differentiated.

yves likes to write handwritten love letters to his darling and has a box full of the ones he's never sent to you

this will continue even after yall start dating.

he categorises them by content: yellow envelope for sweet and loving words, pink for compliment relays and red for spicy content.

there are so many red envelopes in his bottom left desk drawer

(if you wanna explore more yandere ocs, feel free to check out the masterlist!)

#honey's anons #honey answers asks #yandere oc #male yandere #obsessive yandere #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #manipulative yandere #my oc bhodi #my oc yves #my oc angel #my oc priest #yandere therapist #soft yandere #sensitive yandere

[dcbbw]

Sneak Peek Sunday--The A/N Edition

Happy Sunday, tumblrs and Happy Mother’s Day to those who celebrate. It’s late evening but didn’t want to let the day end without posting snippets of the two stories that have somehow taken priority in my mind and are bubbling up furiously in the Fuck Wizard’s cauldron.

There are only two tonight, and they are accompanied by the author’s notes. I implore everyone who reads this to take the time to read the A/N for Waiting Room even though it is appropriately tagged with content warnings. Also, please reach out via comments or DM if you want on or off the tag list for Waiting Room (or just in general).

Everything’s below the cut, and in a state of rough draft. Final posted versions may differ. Enjoy and see you soon!

Texting (tentative title)

This story is the result of a wild hair all up IN my buttcrack and a plethora of disjointed ideas. The inspiration for said story is ripped straight from real-world headlines and this movie trailer. I was going to keep this somewhat canon compliant, but Cordonia/transatlantic doesn’t work here, so I present to you the NYC AU.

I am excited about this, and believe it or not … I am super stoked to have Drake Walker living in NJ with his girlfriend/fiancée Anne Marie, a true Jersey girl complete with big hair, 90s era hoop earrings, and that accent.

Thanks to those who read the beginnings of this story and encouraged me to WRITE IT! WRITE IT! WRITE IT!

You guys already know who belongs to PB (but do they really?); everyone else belongs to me.

Song Inspiration: Midwife, Sickworld

Brooklyn

“I’m in love with you, you know,” the man whispered against the woman’s shoulder. His breath was harsh and hot, with the staleness that comes from awakening out of a deep slumber.

A smile curved the woman’s lips; she spoke though her eyes remained closed. “I can’t tell. I’m still a fiancée after seven years,” she teased.

He nipped her shoulder. “In less than a month, we move from promise to commitment. And we needed that time to prepare, you know that!”

She stretched languidly, twisting her body so she faced him. “Indeed, we did.”

In their time together, the couple had bought a three bedroom, two bath house with an attached one-car garage; a rarity in Cobble Hill, a neighborhood within Brooklyn, New York. The fact it cost under a half-million dollars turned the rarity into a unicorn.

They had started a business: a pub in the center of one of Brooklyn’s most bustling communities named The Bar Belle; he often said it was an ode to how they met.

He had purchased the car in their garage for her; she was the official chauffeur as he had never learned to drive. His argument was always, “For what?”

In seven years, they had built a life.

Riley Brooks sat up in the bed, waking before the alarm clock went off. A slightly sour odor wafted past her nostrils when she pulled the sheet closer to her nude body; she couldn’t recall the last time she had washed the linen.

It didn’t matter.

Her eyes traveled around the bedroom, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as she took in the pictures of her and Daniel; of his dark blue eyes, dark brown hair, and lopsided smile. She reached blindly for her phone laying atop her nightstand, and through tears, she texted a message.

New York County District Attorney’s Office, Manhattan

The man was focused on the screen in front of him, blue eyes trained on the string of 1’s and 0’s as he uploaded the latest patch update to the 752 employees of the New York County DA’s office. The buzzing of his phone caught his attention.

It was her; it had been her for the last six months.

His long fingers moved swiftly over the wireless keyboard as he typed, answering and entering prompts by rote; his mind was curiously wondering what she had to say this time. It took all of his self-control to not pick the phone up immediately. Once the update began to run, he picked up his phone, entering the world’s worst numeric passcode: 1234.

Dear God, Daniel. It’s been long enough for me to have accepted that you’re gone. But I haven’t and don’t think I ever will. I still expect to see you when I open my eyes, I still wait to hear your key in the lock, even though I have it now. I keep it in my wallet. In any case, good morning sunshine.

I miss you. So fucking much. I just want you here with me.

Still loving you,

-R

The man felt his throat constrict, but there was nothing he could do.

“Ahem.”

He lifted his eyes from the phone screen and peered over his dual monitors to meet the cool green eyes of the woman seated at the desk across from him. She broke her gaze to stare pointedly at the cellphone.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered as he guiltily placed the phone back on his desk.

“I don’t believe you, and you need to tell her,” Olivia Nevrakis snapped as her fingernails clacked against her keyboard.

The man abruptly pushed his chair back before rising from his seat. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he announced to no one.

“Need someone to hold your hand?” Rashad Domvallier asked snidely before answering a service desk call.

The man flipped Rashad the bird before exiting the office, taking care to leave his phone where it was.

 Waiting Room

Content Warning/Triggers: usage of a racial slur, graphic description

A/N: This story is a fictionalized version of historical events. It is not fanfiction, so there is no Liam here. There is no Drake, no MC, nothing Choices/PB related. I realize this a fandom, and certain content is expected, needed, wanted. Feel free to keep scrolling now.

The basis of this story has been a stain on America for 68 years and counting. No justice was ever served, no questions ever answered. The facts of the case are true, the conversations and inner thoughts are my imagination and thought processes.

On April 27, American icon Jerry Springer died; an hour later it was reported that Carolyn Bryant Donham had passed as well (official date of death for Bryant-Donham is April 25). For those who don’t know, Carolyn Bryant is the Mississippi white woman who accused Emmett Till, a 14-year-old black boy from Chicago of making lewd sexual advances towards her, resulting in the horrific torture, beating, and lynching of the teenager.

What was done to Emmett Till shocked a nation, both blacks and whites, and galvanized the Civil Rights Movement. If you wish to research Emmett Till, please do but be warned: the pictures of his face after he was fished from the Tallahatchie River (with a 75-pound cotton gin fan tied to his neck with barbed wire) are graphic and not for the faint of heart.

This story is a conversation between Carolyn Bryant and Jerry Springer as they await judgement. I think the enigma and mystery Carolyn Bryant shrouded herself in for the remainder of her life following the acquittal (by an all-white, all male jury in Sumner, Mississippi) of Till’s killers would appeal to every aspect of who Jerry Springer had been: reporter, lawyer, talk-show host.

Disclaimers/Warnings/Triggers:

·         There are racial slurs used in this story. They are not used gratuitously nor with impunity. We are hearing from a young, uneducated white woman born, bred, raised in the American south circa 1955. Jim Crow was King, segregation was the way of life, and blacks were not addressed by even their names, let alone with titles such as Mister or Miss.

·         If you don’t know, I AM a 100% black American woman who has lived over a half-century on this earth. I am neither racist nor classist, but apparently, I write one on the internet. None of these excuses the usage of slurs but may make it a little more tolerable.

·         The discussions regarding race relations, Carolyn’s accusation, and Emmett Till’s murder will be frank, raw, and to the extent I can make it, … honest.

I didn’t write this for anyone other than myself. This story will not be for everyone, and I both respect and understand the choice to pass on this.  For the few who expressed interest in reading, I appreciate you, your support, and your encouragement.

Song Inspirations:

Mississippi Goddam, Nina Simone

Daylight, David Kushner

He noticed that the air from the hallway was not fresh; it had a distinct sour stench. His nose wrinkled in response. Carolyn Bryant, who made no acknowledgement of the unwelcome odor, looked over when a voice called for her. There was no one in the doorway.

“Lyn, come on! We been waiting on you!” The voice was deep and impatient in tone.

Roy Bryant.

Carolyn rolled her eyes while exhaling a frustrated sigh. “Of course Roy would amongst the first people I see here.”

“COME ON!” Roy thundered, his voice closer. “Time to face the music, dear!” The sarcasm placed on the endearment was palatable.

Her brows furrowed in unease, the woman rose from the love seat. “I suppose this is goodbye. For now.” She extended her hand, which Jerry shook.

She turned to make her way to the door, and stumbled backwards as a strangled cry arose from her throat. A 1955-era Roy Bryant stood in the doorway, but he was different. His outfit was the same white shirt and light-colored slacks he wore during his trial, the hairs on his barreled chest and burly arms still dark and curly. But his face … held the disfigured visage of Emmett Louis Till.

Swollen. Grotesquely damaged, resembling a mutilated papier-mâché project more so than a human face.

The Emmett Till that had been pulled from the Tallahatchie River. The face that Mamie Till insisted the world see to show everyone the inhumanity that lived in the Delta of the deep south. The face that Carolyn Bryant had closed her eyes to, and her husband had proudly proclaimed to be his handiwork.

“ROY, WHAT IN THE WORLD HAPPENED TO YOU?”

Roy raised an arm to run thick fingers through the wiry stubble that haphazardly covered patches of a now pasty gray skull; he shook his head in dejected bemusement as he did so. His “eyes” met her gaze, one socket empty; it was where he and his brother JW had gouged the eye out before putting a bullet in the boy’s head. The hole left behind from the shooting was a gaping crater in what used to be skin.

The other eye was inflated shut. Swollen, discolored lips cracked apart in what passed for a smile. The mouth held no teeth; they had been either knocked out or pulled out with pliers. The gums were swollen to where it resembled caricature and caked with dried blood.

“THIS is what YOU did to me, to ALL OF US!”

“I NEVER TOUCHED THAT NIGGER BOY!” Carolyn protested as she made her way back towards Jerry Springer; the television personality deftly stepped aside. He wanted no parts of that. He had his own husband/wife confrontation to answer for.

“You didn’t have to. You weaponized me and JW to do it for you! You orchestrated this entire fiasco, Carolyn! And the biggest joke out of all of this is that boy NEVER died! WE DID! As soon as he was discovered, WE DIED, and he was catapulted into immortality! ALL BECAUSE OF YOU!”

The heated words were accompanied by snarls and growls almost animalistic in nature.

“YOU’RE A LIAR and I’m not going ANYWHERE with YOU!” Carolyn screamed as she wrapped her arms around herself.

Roy snorted derisively. “You have no choice. Now, I can’t enter the room … but others can. Speaking from experience, it’s best you escort yourself out.”

 Tagging:  @jared2612​​ @ao719​​ @marietrinmimi​​ @queenjilian​​ @indiacater​​ @kingliam2019​​ @bebepac​​ @liamxs-world​​ @mom2000aggie​​ @liamrhysstalker2020​​ ​ @twinkleallnight​​ @umccall71​​ @superharriet​​ @busywoman​​ @gabesmommie1130​​ @tessa-liam​​ @beezm​​ @gardeningourmet​​ @lovingchoices14​​ @mainstreetreader​​ @angelasscribbles​​ @lady-calypso​​ @emkay512​​ @princessleac1​​ @charlotteg234​​ @queenrileyrose​​ @alj4890​​ @yourfavaquarius111​​ @motorcitymademadame​​​ @queenmiarys​

#dcbbw writes #wips #trr/trh au fanfiction #original work #carolyn bryant #jerry springer #writer on tumblr

[alakeeffectgirl]

tagged by @mollynoble, you don't know what you've done! :-D

WIP Ask Game rules: post the names of all of the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it.

Guys I don't think you understand the state of my writing folder. Everything is a WIP until it's not. I am the person who opens ten year-old WIPs and decides it's the perfect time to finish them. You have witnessed this! That said, a list of files GDocs says I have opened for one reason or another in the last year behind the cut:

steve/bucky 2 - rough draft

anon exchange fic

the gsf

hangmav 2 (couldn't help it [even if I wanted to])

batman AU ch2

[redacted for Yuletide reasons, sorry]

r-m2 #4 / just m&r

CAF epilogue bit

this is our love, we make the rules (greek villa vacation)

5x g&t dates

the tide is high but I'm holding on (Lindsey/Ethan/Julia)

gabriel/the entity

Kade & Heatwave

Write of it, sob your heart out, sing

writing lyrics on a battlefield (FNL)

everyone calls your name at parties

baseball AU

transformers AU (the future isn't coming, it's already here)

chuck/casey thing

blue beetle #2

saying yes instead of no: trb ch 2

ST:ID AU

five desserts

tom buys heather the fancy nightgown

not writing this super slow burn

paris when it sizzles

a sharp shock to your soft side

can I be the reason you don't sleep

road trip AU

ethan/phelpses

quichefic

actual space AU the real doc for real

all the backrubs ideas

rebecca/bex idea

photography AU

hard won

wide awake, I'm not sleeping

mcqs extra bit

Bruce/Barry

sound system installer mcq wtf

blacklist AU

winter cabin OT3

tom takes mcq's phone away

tc/mcq

ranch AU Hangmav

need all day tomorrow to recover from today

that other Martian story

soulbond #2

finally Banky/Holden

finally the Clerks 2 Randal/Elias

DC BB actual

Uncharted treat

Pearl Harbor fix-it b/x why not?

ethan/ilsa

#ask game

[peejsocks]

johnny,steveo + bam (seperate)dating an artist reader who's always drawing them and them being super sweet and supportive of it (fluff)

she her pronouns im dumb :))

a/n: sorry it took me so long love

disclaimers/tags: none. just fluff

johnny

at first, he doesn’t understand if it’s a hobby or your job

you tell him it’s both and he goes “oh. okay.”

he struggles to understand at the beginning because you keep hiding your notebook from him

until he catches you in the act

you joined him for an episode of wildboyz, currently sitting in the passenger seat of a van capturing the view with your pencil

he scares the shit out of you, head poking in through the window

“sweetheart, that’s incredible!” with the goofiest grin you had ever seen

johnny begs for you to show him your drawings all the way home

when you finally arrive in your place, silently taking a case you kept some of your favorite drawings in and setting it on top of the dinner table, you’re nervous

his brows furrow at the sight of countless drawings of him and you blush

“can I keep ‘em?”

he keeps at least one rough draft of his profile around him at all times

the bedside table in his house, the one in yours, his wallet. the inside pocket of his favorite jacket.

every time you meet, now, he asks if you have any new drawings to show him

whenever he likes one too much, you have to fight to decide who gets to keep it

“johnny, it’s good for practice, I need to look back at my work to see how I’m improving” “that’s really selfish, what about my needs?”

you begin keeping the rough drafts and giving him all the finished pieces

it’s too flattering finding your drawings hanging up in his trailer on set to resist

steve-o

the first time you draw him, you can’t wait to show him

“hun, what do you think?” “is that me? oh, that’s gnarly, dude. look at the detail!”

turns out he’s excellent at critiquing, giving surprisingly helpful insights

constructive criticism is his specialty, always managing to be supportive and impartial

actually, steve is the one to encourage you to get into an art school

“you’re already so good, what’s the harm?”

soothing you when projects stress you out, sitting next to you and calmly asking which part you’re struggling with

sometimes you can’t help but get annoyed, feeling overwhelmed with your art becoming a chore

in those moments, he’ll plant a kiss behind your ear and step away saying “just remember, I’ll probably love it”

constantly having your work shoved in people’s faces by your boyfriend

“dude, look at this! the complementing colors, the depth, it’s so pretty, right? we should fucking frame this”

he’s using the same words he’s heard you use before, incorrectly. it’s very, very cute

bam

possibly the most supportive

he thinks it’s incredibly cool that you have a real talent

sometimes he seems more excited about it than you

he buys supplies you don’t even need

“bam, this is like too pro, I’m alright with what I have” “I saw it online, trust me, just try it”

drives you to lessons, periodic classes you take at the local community college

nags you about what you’re learning

“nothing really. just working on what I already know.”

“what? we should find something better, you could really go far with this”

definitely has you design stuff for cky and jackass

lets you doodle on him and surprises you by turning it into a tattoo

turns into a puddle when he finds you drawing him, saying you make him look a lot better than real life

“just draw what I see” “you’re so obsessed with me, it’s creepy”

not so secretly loves it

you catch him looking at the ones you gift him with often

“i look rad”

giggling, you answer “you are rad, babe.”

#johnny knoxville #bam margera #steveo #jackass fanfic #jackass headcanons