#i still have to weave in the ends (so many fucking ends) and block but like

[sigmastolen]

Friends the Sweater is officially Off The Needles !

#i still have to weave in the ends (so many fucking ends) and block but like #it's finished #the part where i am creating fabric is finished #ahhhskhjdkksksns it's so squishy and warm i love it i hope i love wearing it #vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas #i do love knitting patterns #... ​what to start next #i have 5 months to make a baby blanket but i haven't even picked out a pattern or yarn yet #what's that you say? the sweater again but in the other yarn? #hmmmm

[toji-girl]

unspoken words | l. ackerman

synopsis:  ‘Through thick and thin’ is something you will never forget telling Levi on your wedding day even when your marriage seems to be falling apart at the seams. 

wc: 1k

tags: angst with happy ending + minors and empty blogs DNI still please + repost from my old blog + modern au but with canonverse season 4 spoilers if that makes sense so block #aot spoilers if you don’t want to be spoiled or anything + crying + any missing tag lmk!

“Levi just let me-” You began getting cut off as he waved his hand in the air ignoring your stare as he moved by himself, there was nothing you could do but watch feeling your heart crack seeing him, the man who everyone deemed so strong has now crumbled to this.

He hissed in pain shifting his weight to get more comfortable before looking at you, shame colored his silver eyes as he gazed at you.

“Can you push me out to the car?” He asked so quietly you weren’t sure you even heard him but nonetheless, you grabbed the bag stuffed with dinner tonight that Kuchel was holding at her house.

You grabbed the handles and wheeled him to the front door grabbing the keys trying not to let the tears stream down your cheeks, if you wiped at your eyes then you knew Levi would say something and it would just blow up more than it already has.

Silently you opened the door and pushed him outside shutting and locking the door. Turning around you glanced up at the sky seeing clouds slowly turn gray, a beautiful bright day now dampened just like your mood.

Ever since Levi came home from the hospital he’s pushed you away more times than you could count and the endless fights left you on the couch most nights unable to comfort your husband. 

You sighed and opened the car door helping him inside before folding the wheelchair and putting it in the back.

More silence settled in the car when you got in the driver’s spot sitting there holding the steering wheel debating on if you should say anything.

“Are we going to sit here all day?” Levi asked looking at you. 

His tone was a bit harsher than what he wanted, a look of hurt flashed across your face before starting the car and pulling out of the driveway. So many thoughts swirled around in your head thinking of the vows you made him wondering if he was going to keep his.

“Are you not going to use your turn signal? And you need the right lane or you’re going to miss your turn. My mom has been texting me non-stop about this damn shitty dinner.” Levi grunted and rolled his eyes watching you weave in and out of the lanes.

“I know where I’m going. We’ve been to your mom’s a lot of times.” You replied cooly trying to keep a level head, all the stress of him fighting and pulling away left you angry and alone but you didn’t blame him, the sudden change threw him for a loop and now he has to rely on you for almost everything and you did so without one word even though Levi was a bit brash with you.

Tears stung the back of your throat again as you focused on driving still missing the turn. “You missed the damn turn, what are you doing? Are you even paying attention?” Levi asked and huffed looking out the window.

You turned to look at him with a watery gaze as you pulled over on the shoulder gripping the steering wheel.

“I have been nothing but good to you ever since your accident and you have been nothing but awful to me. I cook and clean for you then I bathe you afterward and this is the thanks I get? I’m your wife Levi, not some fucking nurse you can speak to that way. I love you but dammit you’re being an asshole to me.” You blurted and looked at the road again.

Levi stared at you slowly chewing on your words knowing you’re right, it wasn’t fair because you put everything on hold to take care of him, your sweet words and touch at night whispering how you still love him and will always think he’s your hero.

He was never good with words that didn’t usually hurl insults or shit jokes but now he was stunned in silence as you finally pulled the car into Kuchel’s driveway seeing her standing on the front porch rushing to the vehicle opening Levi’s door.

You got out and took a moment to collect yourself pressing your sleeves against your eyes hearing Kuchel grab the wheelchair and help Levi in it. “Are you coming in dear?” She asked walking around the car to look at you with a soft smile.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Just leave me out here with her please,” Levi said looking at his mom then you leaning against the trunk holding your arms. Kuchel kissed the top of his head and walked back inside to peer out the window. “I’m sorry, I know I’ve been an asshole to you.”

“I don’t think right now is a good time to get into this, let’s just have dinner and go home. I’m exhausted.” You said standing straight walking past him, he quickly grabbed your hand and looked down at the ring he slipped on your finger two years ago pressing a light kiss to the shining diamond.

“I’m having trouble adjusting to everything and you’ve helped me more than anything. Thank you.” His words and tone were soft reminding you when you both stood under the altar confessing your undying love to each other in front of your family and friends.

The rain broke from the clouds drizzling over you and Levi as you stared down at him squeezing his hand, so many unspoken words were left between you as you sat down on his lap burying your face in his neck.

“I love you so much, thank you for being there for me when I need you the most,” Levi whispered hugging you tighter to him afraid that you would vanish in thin air if he let go.

#aot spoilers #Levi angst #Levi fluff #aot x reader Levi #Levi Ackerman angst #Levi Ackerman fluff #aot x reader #levi x reader #levi x you

[mylittleredgirl]

20 questions for fic writers

tagged by @geneeste. :) i may have done this one before, but tumblr blog search was traditionally unhelpful and i have several very important things i should be doing, so here we are <3

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 219

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 655,471

3. What fandoms do you write for?

stargate atlantis is the runaway lead, then sg-1, 90s/00s treks, the x-files, and a grab bag of other things. only two fics so far for m*a*s*h but the forecast looks good!

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

no sooner met (star trek voyager, j/c, eight years of friends-to-lovers in 5k or less)

career day (stargate sg-1, clone!sam/jack, damn that sure was a choice to go back to high school amirite)

next chapter (the good place, chidi/eleanor, the intimacy of reading)

first date (star trek voyager, j/c, falling in love again)

occupational hazards (the good place, chidi/eleanor, eleanor would rather not be the architect)

5. Do you respond to comments?

eventually!!!! i tend to keep nice ones on my home page for a while to cheer me up and then sometimes they get buried. i wake up nights like "damn the good place fandom really went all out with amazing comments on that random fic in like 2018 and i never replied," so maybe i need to go through my inbox and belatedly clear my cosmic debts.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

twilight (stargate atlantis, sheppard/weir, what if john didn't break the cycle). strong on style but real weak on comfort.

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

weaving loose ends (stargate sg-1, sam/jack) ends with a wedding! in twenty years of writing romance fic, that has maybe only happened once?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not yet! but the year is young.

a fic of mine did cause a dramatic fandom schism once, in the dancing with the stars fandom no less. a splinter fan group created in exile! a mod claiming to be personal friends with the stars! everybody storming out and then blocking each other! so my fic did cause hate, but somehow i personally escaped unscathed. i didn't even get blocked. (lesson: in some spaces, rpf is encouraged until They Fuck. second lesson: if you start a fire and then stay very quiet, everyone forgets about you.)

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

i do!! i guess!! but i'm struggling with it right now and it's giving me a complex. and "what kind" is like......... vanilla het fic for the most part tbh. gauzy curtain vibes, even. basically, i have to really sit and think about whether to rate something M or E, you know?

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

nope!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

nope!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? 

yes, but not since the x-files days. rip geocities webrings we salute you for your years of service.

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

no, but i think i'd like to! passing chapters back and forth sleepover style like "haha write your way out of THIS" would be fun. (or collaborating in a more mundane way, i guess....)

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

john sheppard/elizabeth weir (stargate atlantis). first fic in the tag and i'm still fuckin there. three years on tv and a lifetime in my goddamn brain.

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

realistically, i'm feeling pretty down on the chances that i'll ever finish ANY wip that's longer than 20k, but the two long ones withering on the vine that i'd like to finish are a sam/jack sg1 episodic soulmate fic and "what if janeway went undercover with the maquis instead of tuvok: the novel."

16. What are your writing strengths?

stealing one of geneeste's answers because "character complexity" is a good one! i don't feel satisfied with any fic unless i feel like i have learned something new about a character, or highlighted it in a new way.

my more specific strength, according to @coraclavia, is missing-scene fics that weave through an entire series canon to make a thesis statement (they are In Love).

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

😭 i can't write anything long 😭 i really wish i were different 😭 i envy those of you with staying power who can return to a story after going to work or writing something else and keep plugging away at it. i used to write sprawling things when i was a teen, but since becoming Adult With Job now many years ago, i've totally lost that skill!!

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

haaaahahahaha. talk about a weakness. i literally couldn't bring myself to write a fic that required dialogue in Ancient from stargate, a language that -- i cannot stress this enough -- is not even real. i'm like "well maybe i'll study latin for three years and then analyze all the episodes where they speak it to reverse engineer the differences so i can write the bastardized space latin correctly" GIRL WHY. JUST FUCK IT UP.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

first completed story that i recall would have been star trek voyager in my early teens, and by the grace of rural internet and some kind of prescient sense of self-preservation, it does not live online. first internet-published fic was several years later, for the x-files. for better or worse, that one can still be found.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

i think pieces (stargate atlantis, sheppard/weir, catharsis through sex pollen) might be the new best, and i had a lot of fun writing erasers on pencils (stargate sg-1, clone!sam/jack, catharsis through truancy).

--

i am sure many of my fic-writer-meme friends have done this already but @ussjellyfish if your answers have changed since whenever you did it last; i'd love to hear how @havocthecat, @anretc, and @coraclavia would answer this; and blowing dandelion meme seeds over the fence to the mash fandom: @remyfire!

#when i say i write short one-shots i just did some napkin math #and my average word count is below 3k and several of my longest 'fics' are collections #NOT BEATING THE ALLEGATIONS #fic asks #mai fic #i think i might find this under one of those tags the next time someone tags me so i will know for sure i've done it...

[outofthiisworld]

GET TO KNOW YOUR ADMIN !!

name: Boo! pronouns: She/They (no preference, i like both :3)  preferred comms: tumblr ims mostly! if we mesh well+spoken ooc a lot we can chat on discord too :) i uuh do tend to forget to check my discord messages outside of my webhooks however names of muse: Ophelia, Doc, Copycat and Father Necrosis rn! A few ✨secret-menu✨ muses/npc’s as well

experience in RP: been rp’ing since i was 13 so bout 14 yrs exp rn! (i say 10+ in my rules tho cause that’s one less number i have to change each birthday)— most of my experiences have been w/ a close knit group of buds that soon turned into 1+1 rp’ing with a bestie im still VERY close with :3c

i dabbled in online rp’ing around eeeeeehhh 2015ish but i certainly wasnt putting myself out there like i am now sdfsdfg

best experiences: the entirety of this blog tbh. a few bumps in the road and learning curves to get back into the groove of things, but ultimately i feel like a carved out a really excellent and chill lil’ corner on this site :”) special shoutouts to some really INCREDIBLE partners and buds that make rp’ing on here beyond delightful:

@pzfr is a phenomenal writer, a beyond thoughtful rp partner and perhaps a bit too powerful of a creative— personally if some horrific yet comedic demise should befall me then i trust full custody of doc & ophelia to him 100% HE GETS IT (don’t u worry i’ll live forever tho). For real though, there's such genuine love in the way he works with the genres that inspire him as well as with writing as a whole! @5mind GAAAARLIIIIIIIC. we continuously cook up dubious foods in the dms; our plots are forebodingly diabolical (affectionate) and [covering garlic's ears] i still plan to consume their brain for power. he’s got THE most creative and inspired never before seen characters on this side of the universe that i adore so so so much and tbh if you aren’t following her like…….bro be fr with me rn like why @riiese Mark’s writing legitimately inspires me. They are THE voice master dude. The way they weave words together feels right out of a fairytale with this whimsical magic to it that gets me lost in the moment!!! i can’t help but get swept up in their beautiful prose!!! @dynamoprotocol BRO lowkey i remember being shocked when I saw he followed me. From the writing, the care to detail, the art, Clarissa/Chance’s development, the worldbuilding, AND he’s CHILL AS FUCK??? and you wanna follow ME dude??? for real though, i cant sing enough high praises!! @natterghast i stumbled upon her by chance and sooooooo happy i did <33 their ocs absolutely captivated me, each one has this cozy cosmic horror vibe that im? obsessed with?? AND THE WAY SHE WRITES IS SO GORGEOUS AND FULL OF MEANING AND CARE THEY PUT IN AND [wrattling the bars in my enclosure]

there are so many more i can shout out but i will have to cap it here since this post has gotten ... so long and i am now so sleepy. Genuinely though, everyone I follow and get to see pop up on my dash both makes me day and inspires me as a creative each and every time!!!

pet peeves/dealbreakers: the biggest ones for me rn are like … needlessly aggressive ooc attitudes, be it towards anons, in rules, in posts— esp if someone is flaunting about being mean i uh. have fun i guess? not for me.

Condescending rules, especially those geared towards oc’s, might even result in an insta-block from me. (i promise it’s okay to just say ur selective overall and leave it at that).

muse preference ( fluff, angst, smut ): I generally like to lean more into light-hearted & comedic stuff, esp when first interacting but cus it’s fun! Once I get comfy with my rp buds tho i do loooooove to get into the meat n potatoes— the drama, the action, THE DRAMA!!! <- but a nice balance is important to me!

if everything is doom n’ gloom all the time without either a break, some sort of bitter-sweetness, and/or light at the end of the tunnel— then The Dread™ starts to feel too much for me :0 that being said … horror is … so much fun too <3

plot or memes: memes are a life savior esp when it comes to breaking the ice— i wouldn’t be cookin’ up like. any of the delectable plots i got brewing in the dms without em >:0

long or short replies: BOTH! i tend to naturally lean towards longer replies, moreso because i always have A Lot To Say™️ but i love goofing around with shorter stuff <3

best time to write: if i had my way it’d be an hour or two after i wake up in the morning and made myself my fancy energy drink + did my n.eopets dailies 💕 i try to make sure i get one day off like this each weekend it’s so lovely. Otherwise, i try not to stress about it too much and do what i can. i want my rp buds to know i genuinely dont mind waiting for replies or anything and i think it starts with how you hold yourself to that same degree too

are you like your muse?: ooooo aren’t we all in some way? it’s important to sprinkle some part or facet of YOU into them, especially ocs!

i will say, Doc is far closer alike to me versus anyone else on this blog, esp when it comes to values! he’s just far more gung-ho that i could ever have the energy to be tho. also i hope im not as stubborn as him 💀

i did give Ophelia my weird girl tendencies tho but cranked that shit up into MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE!!!

tagged by: @pzfr

tagging: i uh. i think most of my mutuals already got tagged this SO if you see this and you havent........PLEASE do this and tag me weeheehee <3

#👽 … ooc #👾 … dash game #//under a readmore cause as usual i had SOOOOO much to say #//this was a lot of fun tho!!!

[greghatecrimes]

Easter Eggs - In the Dirt Chapter 3

Okay. I have so many of these that I threw in for funsies. I had to have something to keep myself entertained while PVP-ing writer's block for six months xD I'll post my favorites first, just since the list is kind of ridiculously long, lol.

First: the entire funeral section of the chapter is written with the same structure as the first chunk of chapter one. >:) ("Sticky counters under fingertips. The sharp tang of sweat and alcohol..." -> "The stifling scent of artificially perfumed flowers. A dusty Princeton funeral home...")

Now for narration and dialogue. Unless stated otherwise these are just meant to be parallels/nods that we the readers see, not that the characters are explicitly referring to within the story.

"I'm going to die. What difference does it make if it's when I'm still young and healthy, or if it's five years from now when I've lost the ability to walk? To talk?”: This one is meant to be a tonal parallel to Thirteen and House's argument in You Don't Want to Know. ("I might die. So could you, you could get hit by a bus tomorrow. The only difference is you don't have to know about it today, so why should I?")

"Oh, grow up.” House snarls, so sharply that Thirteen feels herself flinch. “It's the same for all of us. Everybody dies. You know damn well that none of us get to do it with any dignity.”: HNNNNFHFSDF this is my favorite one. On my part, it's a reference to both Pilot ("You can live with dignity; we can't die with it") and House's angry, grieving outburst to Thirteen in Dying Changes Everything. ("People die! You, Amber, everyone. Don't act like you just figured that out.") Within the story, House only intended it to be a callback to the latter.

"You'd rather die than let anyone see the real you, because you think you're weak. You think you're pathetic.”: OOSHGSDF THIS IS MY OTHER FAVORITE. Okay. This was meant to be a parallel to my 7x18/5x08 web weave. Specifically House's dialogue with Sophia in Emancipation ("You need people to see how independent you are, how well you're coping. So they won't see the lost, hurt little girl.") (The other parallel to the web weave that I threw in there was Thirteen's later thought of House... what did you do?)

Before you start yelling at me– They're heading down a two-lane road, passing field after field under a dizzyingly wide blue sky, and Thirteen's vision fills with green-green-green– I'm doing this because I care about you.: When I first set up this connection when I was outlining the chapter, I almost fuckin' screamed. BIRTHMARKS. BIRTHMARKS!!!!!!!!! ("I am not doing this because I care.") I drove myself fucking insane with this one. I could write a whole ass post about the parallels between this chapter and parts of Birthmarks, but I think a lot of it will probably end up getting sprinkled into House's POV. (Edit to add: and the drugs. that was ALSO an intentional birthmarks reference. Idk how I forgor the drugs😭)

The rest are under the cut if anyone is curious!

Thirteen asking Foreman "Are you... okay?" at the beginning of their phone call: This was meant to parallel the moment in The Dig when Thirteen asks House the same thing, immediately after finding out that he and Cuddy had been dating but broke up.

“You had me worried for a second there. I thought you were about to show up at my apartment with a dead body or a stab wound.”: A nod to Darrien going to Thirteen for help in After Hours.

"I'm sorry." "Hey, no, don't do that.": Parallel to Remorse, when Foreman apologizes for firing Thirteen in the middle of their argument, and Thirteen snaps, "Don't do that! That's not what this is about!"

"What, did he finally break parole and get arrested or something?": Parallel to an exchange between House and Thirteen in The Dig about Lucas ("You could have at least hired Cuddy's weird boyfriend." "Lucas?" "Mmm-hmm." "You don't know?" "What, is he dead or something?"). Except with the horrible irony of: this time, someone actually is dead. Or something.

“I’m trying... to say that he’s gone. House is gone.” “Excuse me?”: Meant to be a thematic mirror image of a moment between Foreman and Thirteen in The Softer Side ("Do you miss sleeping with women?" "Excuse me?"). Tone-wise and context wise, they are complete opposites. But both times Thirteen reacts to the shock by asking for clarification (because clearly, to her, what she just heard can't possibly be what Foreman intended to say.)

"We've gotta be realistic. He's attempted before.” “Yeah, four years ago!": Reference to House quite literally killing himself (for less than two minutes) via electrocution in 97 Seconds.

"Why the hell did you just give up? What happened to 'killing yourself is never the answer?'”: House is referencing what Thirteen tells their patient in The Softer Side ("No matter how bad things get, killing yourself is never the answer"). He didn't mean it as a reference to Kutner, but it triggers memories for Thirteen of Kutner's suicide.

His words hit her like a sucker punch as memories of a different person– a different time and place, blood coated over her hands and face, cold and thick and copper-crisp– flash before her mind's eye.: Thirteen remembering the moment they discovered Kutner in Simple Explanation. (Also occurs at the end of the chapter when she feels "someone else's blood that drips from her face")

House's jaw drops.  “Charity case?” he demands, incredulous. “After everything I've done, you think that's what this is? A charity case?": lol this was just a nod to the title of the 'House fires Thirteen so she can be happy' episode being Charity Case. Something something House has never seen Thirteen as a charity case something something Thirteen tries to say he does so she can deny emotional involvement/connection.

She'd written out a little speech. Something about spud guns and lesbian bars and the number thirteen...: In-story reference to the events of The Dig and The Choice

Chase's easy grin, Eric's warm hand around her own: Thirteen remembering Last Temptation (Chase grinning and hugging Thirteen when he sees her again for the first time) and Simple Explanation (Thirteen and Foreman holding hands as they watch Kutner's funeral procession)

The cool metal of a spud gun beneath her fingers and House's hand over hers, steadying: That one screen cap from The Dig where Thirteen's aiming the spud gun and House looks like he's supporting her/guiding her through it. Thirteen is remembering that moment.

#in the dirt #my writing #my meta #meta #house md #remy thirteen hadley #greg house #eric foreman #tag later #for episodes

[adelaidedrubman]

why does it always have to be wednesday

tagged today my dears @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @inafieldofdaisies today to share a wip! thank you my beloveds

sadly i haven’t had the brain functioning to make progress on anything much besides the sexless kinktober oneshot i won’t inflict on the general masses, so you’re getting some older america’s sweetheart epilogue that was written/occurs before the excerpt i posted last week from the same scene (and which i also posted a small excerpt of before unprompted)

Long, wild cascades of copper dyed deep crimson fluttered in the wind, a too-bold contrast against the rich green of the pines to grant Jestiny any semblance of stealth as she ran.  She made a futile effort at weaving herself into the shadows, darting in the thick of the forest where trees grew denser.  Her own heavy panting drowned out the crunch of footsteps against brittle grass, so that she had to glance quickly over her shoulder to see how close he’d managed to follow her — too close, the glint of a silver blade popping out from the tree trunk behind her. 

She ducked — just in time for sharpened steel to bury itself into bark rather than her skull. But her efforts at bolting further forward were still met with pain splitting along her skull —an ear-splitting shriek burst from Jestiny’s lips as she found her long hair caught and twisted in a low-hanging branch.  “Divine intervention,” the knife-wielding man exclaimed with a demented laugh as he caught the hand reaching to yank hair from the branch. “How many times must it happen before you see God is on my side?”  Tears welled in her eyes as she struggled, thrashing her head back and forth in an effort to pull her hair free. “Just get away from me!”  “Oh, Deputy.” John released her wrist, weaving the fingers of the freed hand in the length of taut-pulled hair to grip and shove her against the tree trunk, guiding the tip of the knife to the throb of her jugular. “Did you really think we wouldn’t meet again? That a gang of sinners with badges blazing in to save the day would be the end of it, simple as that?”  “So you’re going to end it now?” she croaked out, defiant, blinking away her tears. “You’re gonna really kill me, this time?” she asked, darting her eyes between gleaming silver and unblinking blue. “Or — Or just skin me alive?”  “Not today,” he answered, tracing the tip of the knife along her jawline, up to the dip beneath her ear. “Your death and your Atonement are yet to be scheduled,” he purred, dripping with sadistic delight as he raised his arm, pulling the fistful of hair high enough she was lifted off the ground by it. “But…”  His eyes finally left hers, ratcheting upwards to focus on the length of hair he held stretched against the trunk of the tree as he muttered, almost as a recitation to himself, “But I need to cut something up…”  With that, he dragged the blade across the copper flattened along the tree — her hair falling to brush along her jaw as she dropped to the ground with the tether she’d hung suspended by severed.  She curled her finger into the brittle grass, balling into fists as she lifted her head to look up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks.  “My hair!” she cried, throwing a hand up in defeat to rain confetti of crushed brown grass to fall onto her lap. “My beautiful, long hair! How could —”  “And so, the Lord had left —”  “Cut!” Jestiny screamed, stomping onto the set before Andrea could move to block her. “I mean, Jesus fucking Christ, pun intended — cut!”  “That was the fourth wig today…” “That was the fourth shitty fucking take today!” Jestiny shouted in reply to the man shuffling his way back to the wardrobe department, before glaring between the actor playing herself and the man cast as John. “I mean — are y’all trying to fucking bomb? This is my life, people!”  “This is my production,” the director said sternly from off set. “And only I say cut. Why do you keep interrupting perfectly good —”  “Because it’s all fucking wrong!” Jestiny bellowed, waving an arm about wildly before taking a hearty gulp from her venti Starbucks cup, the stench of whiskey soaking heavy into the air as she did. “That’s not how any of it fuckin’ happened!”  “Was the line wrong?” Flynn asked, lowering his prop knife. “Did I misquote, or —”  “No, that’s what he said. Word for word.”  “Then did we do something wrong?” Olivia pressed, taking off her wig. “Get something out of order or —” “No,” Jestiny answered. “That’s exactly how things went down when he chased me through the woods and chopped my hair off the day after the arrest.” “Then what’s wrong?” “The whole fucking tone of it, that’s what’s wrong,” she spat, beginning to frantically pace. “It lacks authenticity. It lacks intimacy. It —” She ran a hand through her hair. “Did you even read my memoir?”

tags out to my beloveds @quickhacked @jackiesarch @v0idbuggy @orionlancasterr @stacispratt @8bitpizzacoupons @strangefable @shallow-gravy @roofgeese @florbelles @josephslittledeputy @afarcryfrommymain @poetikat @just-another-wasteland-merc @voidika @captastra @confidentandgood @belorage @deputyash @blissfulalchemist @shellibisshe @thedeadthree @nightbloodbix @ladyofedens-blog @miyabilicious @simplegenius042 @henbased @clicheantagonist @firstaidspray @strafethesesinners + opt in for wip day tags here!

#again: only thing those unfamiliar with wildfire plot really need to know for context is he never cut her hair at all. she Did That #aka local women is wildly upset that the fake public persona she invented somehow doesn’t reflect her actual self-image or events #sad for her! best ending. #wip

[faereun]

ilsa nereze was born to two ordinary humans in neverwinter, her father a blacksmith, and her mother a seamstress. growing up she'd always been a very shrewd, calculating girl—her parents oft referred to her in passing as their little ice princess. they were an obedient child nonetheless, agreeing to an arranged marriage with a nobleman from baldur's gate to ensure their parents' welfare. only, this nobleman was a vile, wretched creature. he was a slaver, which is where his riches had come from, though he'd managed to hide that from ilsa's parents. he intended on making ilsa a slave of his own—trapped in the kitchen or the bedchamber, her life never to be her own again.

yeah fucking right. ilsa is nothing if not diligent—she'd always studied well, always had an innate knack for magic too. they dig through the alcoves of the nobleman's library until they find the tome they're looking for: an ancient, leather-bound monstrosity on pact magic and rituals. the ritual she finds requires a number of frivolous things, but the most important one is this: the still-beating heart of an arrogant man. quickly she begins planning her husband's demise and her own rise to power, eager to see him claimed by the rot, her own veins surging with magic enough to protect herself. when the time comes and he is fast asleep in her bed, they arrange the binding circle and slit their husband's throat. she utters the incantation and tears his heart free from his chest, where it beats in her palm still. she completes the rite and the air surges with magic, her blood like white-hot fire in her veins. 'it is done.' an ancient, ages-old voice rumbles in her ear like the crash of a thousand waves. she shivers, and her fingertips spark with the weave. this is it. this is her freedom—she is power.

when death comes for the man lying bloody and bereft of heart on his bed, he comes in person—eager to judge the soul that had claimed so many lives. curious to see that which had ended such a life so brutally. lord kelemvor, the judge of the damned himself comes to collect the nobleman's soul, only to stop short, finding himself struck speechless by ilsa's beauty—ilsa's unfettered, rapidly growing power. their soul burns so bright he has to blink away the spots of light behind his eyelids. he sees the ring on her finger, and the corpse of the unfit fool she'd called her husband. his self-restraint wavers. i can bring him back to you, he offers, unsure of the words even as they spring forth from his lips. his death was unnatural, i can tell. it wasn't his time yet, so if you wish it so... he trails off as ilsa barks out a cruel, guttural laugh. she tugs down the sheets and reaches for something to show kelemvor—it is the fool's heart, crimson red and still beating weakly. i think you'll find i am quite pleased with this arrangement, she says with a wicked grin as she crushes the heart in her fist.

death and the girl fall in love that night. when can i see you again, they ask, to which the lord death does not answer. i should not be with you, he says instead, it will upset the balance of nature. the balance of life and death, that which i am tasked with maintaining. and with a cool kiss 'pon ilsa's brow, he vanishes, leaving her dizzy and wanting and full of emptiness. she begins chasing traces of death, trying to catch him at the scene of the crime but to no avail. they follow him to the executioner's block, to the bedsides of the sick and the elderly, only for him to slip in and out unnoticed every time. still, she persists, and one night she is greeted by a visage of death in her dreams. she thinks it to be lord kelemvor, but eventually she will realize the trick. lord myrkul had begun rising to power once again, as all gods with worshippers and believers did eventually. and so myrkul disguised as her love, the lord death, bade her this: continue to chase me. if you cannot find death, create it yourself. with every soul you have slain you can take with it their lifeline. and with those lifelines you can tie a string that will guide you to my domain, where death comes to rest, and i will welcome you by my side—as my love.

ilsa is whip-smart and unusually sharp for a human woman of her age, but she is also blinded by devotion. she falls easily into myrkul's trap, and begins her massacre of souls in order to sit proudly by her love. at first she only kills those whose death was inevitable anyways, or rather deserved. slavers like her husband, corrupt nobles, rapists and racists and all manner of their ilk. but slowly all of the blood and death and gore and viscera begins to feed something inside her, a soul of a soul wedged inside her own that begins to flicker and grow with every kill. and soon she does not care who she kills, only that she bathes in the crimson red and comes closer with every slash of her dagger and spark of her powers to her love death. for this is not just myrkul's cruel trick on ilsa and death, but mykrul's prank on bhaal. what would the lord of murder think if the new god of death took one of his children for his chosen?

soon enough, ilsa has killed plenty, and she begins her descent into her love death's domain. the damned souls which she had razed herself chase her down the endless halls and sprawling darkness until she reaches the throne room, where kelemvor is waiting for her, eyes glittering with sadness but a steely resolve. it is then that all is revealed to her—myrkul's betrayal, her own mortal folly and foolishness—and she feels her heart shatter to pieces. but surely you understand this isn't my fault, she begs, but to no avail. it is then that kelemvor reveals the final truth to ilsa—she is a child of bhaal, a divine fragment of the lord of murder's soul wedged deep within her own. slaughterkin, bhaalspawn. she is destined for darkness, for evil and malice and blood and she cannot be saved. will not be saved. kelemvor punishes her as a deathless thing—rips her death right from her soul so that she might never be free from this cycle she's fallen prey to, a cycle created by the very gods she'd fallen in love with. she's thrown out of kelemvor's realm back into the mortal plane without a shred of remorse or an inkling of pity. ilsa hardens her heart that day, and swears revenge on all the gods who'd played her for a fool.

verse notes: ilsa is the dark urge but can easily be reworked as a durge sibling due to the extensive flavoring ™ of her backstory. also, with the mindflayer parasite and their memories wiped, ilsa's personality reverts to something closer to who she was before she began chasing death. she is actively fighting the urges, and trying to be a better person than who she'd become at the hands of the gods.

#whoa this is. so long oopsies #ILSA. meta #ILSA. headcanons #MEDIA. text #long post cw

[everflowingriver]

Blacklight 1: Renegade

A little something I wrote a while back. I like this one.

Renegade

The rain was harsh and cold; could he not have picked another night? It hardly mattered when his feet hit the alleyway's concrete paving, to which he caught the beat in his step again and kept running. The sirens were still blaring in his head when he dashed around corner after corner, just barely clinging to the bricks when he almost slipped and fell. The scathed and torn flesh on his hands barely caught his attention, when he heard it again; the light tapping of his pursuer. 

Scoffing, Nick sped into a tunnel, one he had used before. It would stretch towards the other end of the block, where he could hitch a ride, or so he thought. A headache tore through his mind when he remembered where he had left his car: Too far away. He cursed under his breath as he jumped into the tunnel, closing the hatch behind himself and engaging the arbitrary lock. 

Nick: "Damn it! Fuck, fuck, fuck-"

He fumbled with the phone he quickly pulled from his pocket, still jogging as he dialled his brother.

Nick: "Heyyyy, Al, would you mind?"

Alex: "Where are you? Dinner was an hour ago."

Nick: "Yeah, sorry I couldn't make it, I texted Thom-"

Alex: "Did you?"

Nick: "I didn't? Look, Al, I could really use a ride right now, quickly."

Alex: "Who are you running from?"

Nick: "You'll see when you get here.

Alex sounded a tired sigh, before audibly shrugging and loudly closing a cupboard.

Alex: "Address?"

Nick: "Raze Street- You know the spot."

Alex: "Figures. Sit tight."

Nick whispered a thank-you-made-apology, before turning his phone off, hoping that the call was not intercepted. Before long, he would make his way to the other side of the tunnel, where he turned around to face his flank- Empty. Good. His head on a swivel, he glanced over his shoulder as he backed up towards the exit. To his surprise, an electronic lock blocked the way.

"Fuck!" He hissed with fleeting breath, as he tried to make out who had placed it there; to which he frustratingly recognised the logo of ForeverTech, the largest engineering corp in town. "That is karma for you," he whispered to himself, a chuckle following when he felt the tumbling flash drive in his coat. These locks were notorious for their anti-tampering mechanisms, which had caught many an unsuspecting burglar, but Nick was not unsuspecting. Guess I'm stuck here until Al arrives, he thought to himself as he put his ear to the metal plating. 

After only a few minutes, Nick could hear the revving of an engine he recognised. A smirk slipped onto his face as he reached into his pocket, where he found a lighter. He took a deep breath, before pulling his coat's hood over his head again and triggering the lighter, before holding the yellow flame underneath the lock. After a few moments, the lock disengaged and triggered a fire alarm. The sound made Nick's ears ring as every sprinkler in the building activated as well. A grunt tumbled off Nick's lips as he climbed out through the newly opened escape hatch, which would lead him back onto the streets.

He was relieved to find his brother's motorcycle there, where Alex held out a helmet for Nick to put on. Nick wasted no time and took the headgear, before slipping it over his face and lowering the visor. Maybe he had hoped that they would have a little more time, until the siren sounded again. It was a deafening, alien noise that escaped from the vents of the peacekeeper's ribbed armour. There was no call to halt, no warning of arrest; Nick knew that if they lingered just a moment longer, they would be torn to shreds by a rifle. "Kick it!" He shouted, to which Alex wasted not another moment.

Alex hit the gas for all it had, sending the machine into a screeching galop. Alex bobbed and weaved through the late night traffic, until they were far enough out of sight to catch their breath. 

Nick: "Alex, I-"

Alex: "Check the damn bike for trackers."

Alex' commanding tone always could tear through any fabric, and Nick knew better than to fight him then, so he reared his head and started carefully checking the cycle's frame for tracking devices as they drove down the freeway.

Nick: "None on the back, but Alex-"

Alex: "I don't want to hear it. Not here. Now keep your head down, for Nòll's sake."

Nick did as he was asked and kept his gaze on his brother's back, as they drove all the way to the other side of town. Alex would not slow down one bit, until they left the freeway and pulled into the suburbs on the outskirts of Coredam. It would take no more than another minute or two for them to turn into the driveway of their childhood home, where the garage door responded to their arrival and opened up on its own. Alex carefully brought the bike to a halt and waited for Nick to get off, before doing the same. Nick removed his helmet and placed it on a workbench that stood by the wall. Alex was soon to follow, his deep blue eyes piercing the night as he sought eye contact with his brother, which Nick stubbornly denied. 

Still, he said nothing as he nudged Nick out of the garage and had the door close behind them, before opening the home's front door and heading inside. Nick was the one to close the door this time, hesitant to hang up his coat in case he was still being kicked out.  Alex had already left the hall and headed into the dining room, but Nick lingered for a moment, thinking of anything and everything he could say. After a few moments, he fixed his blond hair as much as he could and decided to hang up his coat anyway. After that, he headed after his brother, into the dining room where Alex was taking the dishes into the kitchen.

Alex stacked four dirty plates onto a clean one, before picking them up and leaving an empty table behind. Nick briefly checked the living room, yet could not see Thomas, the youngest, anywhere. He figured that Thom had simply gone to bed. Nick hesitated once more, before carefully following Alex into the kitchen, where the water was running. Alex was scrubbing the plates he had brought in just a few moments ago, glancing over his shoulder only briefly when Nick walked in. 

Alex: "You're a mess."

Nick: "You love me when I'm a mess."

Alex scoffed, shaking his head as he stacked the now clean plates. He was nothing if not efficient.

Nick: "You still love me, right?"

Alex: "You stole from a corp. Again."

Nick: "You know as well as I do that-"

Alex: "I know what's at stake, which is exactly why I can't have you keep doing this, not when you live under this roof!"

That last part was what hurt Nick. He would have left, if he could.

Nick: "That's not fair and you know it."

Alex: "What's not fair is that you keep putting Thomas in danger. We had a deal."

Nick: "I haven't forgotten."

Alex: "Then act like it!"

The silence was deafening.

Alex: "Who is it for this time?"

Nick: "The Collective."

Alex: "You are running for those rats again?"

Nick: "They are not rats."

Alex: "They will just sell the damn thing to the Militia!"

Nick: "I would bloody hope so!"

Alex: "I can't believe that you're okay with that."

Nick: "Dad would have supported me."

Alex: "Yeah, well, if you keep this up you can ask him what he thinks of it."

Nick: "I'm going to bed."

Just as Nick started to turn around and leave, Alex grasped his arm tightly and yanked him back into the kitchen.

Alex: "There's nothing you can do. Let it go."

Nick: "Oh, that's right, you would know all about letting go, wouldn't you?"

Alex only responded with a frown, to which his grip weakened. Nick slipped out of his grasp and retreated into the darkness of the hallway, before heading down the stairs and into the basement.

Alex backed up to stand against the counter, where he rested his hands in his lap as he leaned back a bit. He looked out through the kitchen window to see the burning tower in the distance, knowing what there was still to come; knowing that Nick hardly knew at all.

#writeblr #writers of tumblr #writerscommunity #writing #original character #writers and poets #writers on tumblr #short story #fiction #scifi #dystopia

[voltts-memoir]

ok! so- I finished writing a small story, I don't really know if its that good (First one I've managed to fully write) Its a bit long so i put it under the keep reading section.

It was a dark night in the dreamscape, which was odd as the sky almost always sorta dark with no discernible reason why. Glass (or I guess Vess because saying that you're eating Glass doesn't sound right, still going to use Glass through the story though) was struggling to sleep out of a horribly timed string of weirdly abstract yet very direct and real feeling nightmares.

"ffffuuuucccckkkk. Why did these nightmares have to happen now... what did i do to piss off those weavers..." groaned Glass, who was staring at a screen filled with just a blank text document. The dream weavers had some time off that day because there wasn't as many dreams to weave for some reason. "Fucking lack of sleep giving me writers block." Glass saved the document and closed all the things active on its laptop, turned it off and put it up somewhere; returning to jsut laying on its bed staring at the ceiling. "You know what? I'll try it again. Maybe get one of the nightmare weavers to tone it down."

Another attempt at sleeping was made, this time being somewhat successful. Glass was dreaming (despite being in the dreamscape, for lore reasons there's dream layers.), but unfortunately it was another nightmare. "Fucking great. I was hoping for a nullspace but I guess I gotta begin unravelling this place from the ins-"

A guttural roar is heard from somewhere in the newly formed labyrinth of hallways. "Shit." Glass moaned angrily (also hating the fact that moaning has to have a specified emotion otherwise the default happens and yeah), and proceeded to stand still waiting for whatever amalgam to round a corner nearby, however this was a very bad idea as the ground began warping and the amalgam did end up rounding a corner.

Glass began to try to run, but began to fail as its legs started falling apart. "Waitwaitwait fuck no not like this!" despite being able to somehow return after death every six days, dying in nightmares really fucks with Glass' mental state however.

After what was almost 6 hours of running (both inside the nightmare and outside of it, mostly because of the stumbling caused from the deterioration on Glass' legs, its surprising how it managed to run that long.), Glass unfortunately ran into a dead end and slowly was forced into a corner.

There wasn't any path that Glass could use to escape, and with how its legs are going (at this point they're almost fully broken) there's no chance for Glass to even survive. "Well fuck. I don't think any of the nightmare weavers noticed..." Glass' voice began getting quieter and a very discordant sound of voices was coming from the creature. Glass couldn't cry, not because of a physical inability to, but because of a dissociation being caused by the voices (Glass is not good with loud sounds constantly repeating and varying by only getting louder.)

Glass curled up on the ground, visibly shaking and hoping that the amalgam would just go away. Instead, the amalgam just got closer and closer, practically suffocating Glass with its presence.

"HEY! GET AWAY FROM IT." a familiar voice rang out, not that Glass could really focus in on it. The amalgam stopped in its tracks, slightly stunned by the one who just appeared. Glass feels like its getting smaller as the standstill drags on. "Hey, I'm here now, you're gonna b-"

The amalgam growls again, leaving no chance for comfort. One second all Glass felt was the cold and hard tile floor, presumably belonging to a school hallway, and the next was warmth unlike blood. Struggling to open it's eyes, Glass looked around but only saw outlines in the dark (Glass cant technically ever close its eyes, whenever it does that all it sees is an outlined version of the place its in). It attempts to speak but can't, voice still not functional from the dissociation.

Wherever Glass is begins moving around, the ground shoving Glass upwards pressing it into a warm and wet ceiling (While yes, the outlines are useful, they don't fully reveal the place). Something wet touches its face and the room tilts up. Glass feels itself getting pulled down, everything around it pressing just close enough to make it hard for Glass to struggle. The sounds from outside wherever Glass is come back, just slightly muffled now. "Hey‽ is anyone there? why is this place so squishy... and wet... wait..." The new room was shifting around a lot now. "Oh, I guess I got eaten. Looks like there's nothing I can do now." it sighed, leaning back into the soft stomach lining, ready for the panic that would ensue when it wakes up from death in nightmares. The feeling of acid never came.

"Sorry about that. I really did not mean for you to get this nightmare."

"Huh?"

"What? surprised you're not dead?"

"y-yeah." The nightmare weaver's stomach gently squished around Glass, causing it to yawn.

"Unfortunately, I cant really wake you up from this without kinda doing that to you"

"I- uh, I already know. I was kinda going to ask you or any other nightmare weaver if they, or you, could kinda stop giving me the nightmares..." Glass feels the weaver's stomach press against it as if someone was pressing against the outside where it is.

"I hope its cozy in there for you, or at least you find it safe. You're probably already planning to stop talking to me because of how weird this is... who am I kidding, you probably hate me from this."

"First, yeah its actually cozy in here. Second, I don't hate you for this."

The weaver pauses, unsure how to react to the fact their semi-coworker just called their stomach cozy unlike everyone else they had did this exact thing to, as it was divided between people being extremely fucking weird to them about it (especially since it wasn't a lucid dream that was being woven for them) or people calling them disgusting despite it being a dream and thus had no effect in the waking world. "I'm sorry, did you just..."

"Yeah. Do you care if I stay in here for a bit?"

The weaver was now blushing a bit, very relieved that Glass is surprisingly calm about this and even asked if it could stay there for a bit longer.

"I- Uh- sure..."

"Actually, can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"I might have been just staring at you a lot of times during weaving and kept having my thoughts wander off, they always kept going to eating you out of curiosity..." They paused when saying this, afraid of the answer.

"You could have just asked, but its fair that you didn't because of the fact you wouldn't have known my response. Also, this... this kinda just is a common occurrence sometimes."

"Oh..."

"Anyways, I'm probably going to sleep in here, its really warm."

"Ok! Have a good rest I guess?" Glass fell asleep not long after that was said, slightly kneading the weaver's stomach. They patted their now slightly more visible stomach, sometimes squishing it to show some affection to Glass as the nightmare changed, presumably by a lucid weaver, to allow the nightmare weaver to rest.

#electric snacks #nonsexual vore #I really hope its good. Im having doubts about it.

[tempural]

I have read Omoulo's "R U AN ARTIST" page, and it's really turned my perspective around. I don't want my art's value to rely on people's attention, but at the same time, I feel this need to share it. I can't tell if this need is born from ego, or if it's a natural wish of sharing that humans have. Thing is, I end up making things so that other people see it, and that makes me feel conflicted. Have you ever felt something similar?

Yeah, I want to share my art too. That's why I'm still posting here right? I made a 4am thread about how my followers and "engagement" have fallen the more I jump around niche subjects, and I still stand by my 4am thread!

Get ready for some old man rambles.

It is very natural to want attention. I want attention. We all like ass pats. But why?

How many people do you want that attention from?

Are you willing to deal with the fact that most internet attention is negative and will affect your mental health?

Is attention measured by numbers like likes, kudos, retweets?

Do you want attention for ego reasons?

To relieve loneliness?

Do you need to make money off your art and thus want attention?

Does random, unfocused social media attention even lead to making money off art?

I've found that I'm much more satisfied by even just a short comment rather than numbers. That's why I shoot all my ideas by my best friend/wife, he gives me the best sort of attention I need: engaged analysis of both our art and how we can weave our art together! Not just my wife, but having actual discussions and satisfying conversations with friends (that vaunted community that we all search for...) fulfills my sims attention need in a more nutritious way than waiting for numbers. I don't have to post everything I draw or think or write online because I have an incredible, amazing, sexy IRL friend that I can mash my brain juices with.

I'm very lucky that I've been able to make the art I want (rather than chasing trends and fandoms(because people keep hounding me whenever I do anything fan related LMAO I’ve been forced to just keep to myself)) and have people support me emotionally and financially. Even if I don't get more than like 5 notes on tumblr on a piece I worked 20 hours on, I'm getting the fulfillment I need to keep going and buy groceries.

Finding people you vibe with is half the battle. It's very hard to find people who engage in art the same way you do. I'm too boringly vanilla for the eXXXtreEEME DEAD DOVE PROBLEMATIC crowd, and I'm too fucked up for the "FREAKS DNI IF YOU SHIP ABUSE" crowd. But hey, if you put out the emotions they will come. Doesn't matter to me if it's one person or 5 people. I'm glad if a conversation can be sparked.

I highly recommend browser extensions that block numbers on social media. Like Calm Twitter. I feel much better online now that I don't see likes, retweets, followers, and so on on my art and others. The numbers make you compare yourself to others, and that breeds weird feelings. I like to be able to talk to people and look at art without the numbers game distracting me.

#asks #hella long posts

[telehead]

Flaky, flaky, flawed, and snaky.

Play the victim, lie, and bate me.

Fool me once, play your games.

Fool me twice, call me names.

Charm, charm, so you can harm

without anybody sounding alarm.

You try to hide it, yet I see it fly,

that giant red banner across the sky.

Spend, spend, I see a trend.

YOU need MY help, and so I lend.

Drinks, sluts, games and drugs;

just sweep it all under rugs!

Crack, crack, break my back.

I just might have a heart attack!

Shove my love through a shredder!

I really deserve so much better...

Burn, burn, the pages turn.

Of all you read, you cannot learn.

I wrote that book to show my love.

Now it burns, it wasn’t enough.

Threat, threat, place your bet?

Make a stranger kiss your neck?

How dare I involve your friends?

This is how our story ends.

Risk, risk. Our health you’ve risked.

It’s not okay, you must have missed!

Inside your unborn child’s mother,

AND the next day, inside another.

Fuck, fuck, you cheat and suck!

Tell your daughter “best of luck,

I went and gave up your mommy,

now this hotter new girl’s got me.”

Karma, karma, what a bitch;

the new girl left you in a ditch.

No one else would lend a hand,

so maybe now you understand.

Lie, lie, go off and cry!

You would not care if I die!

You’re only there to see the baby.

I ask for more? Nah, that’s crazy!

Busy, busy. You getting dizzy?

Ashlee, Makayla, Meghan, Jada, Lindsey.

Got all these hoes while you’re with ME.

Jessica, Anna, Jaide, Maddy, Whitney.

Bronson, Bronson whenever ya want some

just tell em all you’re chillin with Bronson.

Dumb ass hoes won’t figure shit out.

But lies ALWAYS unravel, without a doubt.

Dumb, dumb. You just gotta get numb.

On Coke, on Percs, alcohol, and bud.

To block the pain of shame and shit.

The dumb, quick way to death type habit.

Jail, jail, yet again you fail.

But every time, you tell the tale:

Denial, blame, threats & lies.

You done this shit now how many times?

21, 21, that was your age then,

that night you ruined your life and

you are not clever, you are not bright,

for what you did just wasn’t right.

Babies, babies, you must like babies

or little girls instead of grown ladies.

You told her you were 16 years old,

and now you project that lie, behold:

14, 14, that was her age then.

You KNEW she was that innocent.

No, not 16 saying she was 19.

That little girl now must be fighting...

Trauma, trauma and all this drama.

You could not comprehend her trauma.

So this must be why you lie and deny,

cause no body likes a perverted guy.

Guilt, guilt around the lies you’ve built.

Or is it shit with which you’re filled?

No wonder you can’t sleep, you’re tangled

in webs you weave in & out of every angle.

Danger, danger! That’s what you are.

Warning Sign! Hazard! Stay very far!

Our crazy past is proof that I know.

Being cool with that shit? Just... NO!

Lost, lost, look what this cost.

Out the window our family’s tossed.

If only you could turn back time,

perhaps then we’d still be fine.

Fine, fine... but COULD we be fine?

If you really could turn back time?

HA! That’s hilarious!! Flaky in check??!

Dating you’s a fucking train wreck!

Ivy, Ivy. So cute, pure, and tiny.

Yet, more loved than gold; almighty.

She makes my heart sing and glow.

But this feeling you’ll never know.

Innocent, innocent that’s what she is.

So, far away from you she’ll live.

Away from twisted lies, and deception;

whores, drugs, violence, and destruction.

Happy, happy. That’s what she’ll be;

not around danger, but safe here with me.

She’ll grow to know that she is so loved.

She don’t need your shit, we got enough.

Shame, shame. But you’re to blame.

Happy that I learned your game.

Sad you have Sociopathy,

but that, our girl will never see.

Bye bye you perverted guy.

The truth behind your nasty lie,

THAT will haunt you till you pass.

Or maybe longer... take a guess.

Flaky, flaky, flawed, and snaky?

Real shit happens fuckin with flaky.

So take a page from my mad diary:

Flakes can go fuck themselves,TRUST me.

[untitled-bagel]

I still ponder

The way things started should have been an indication of how it would end. It always was. How many movies had I seen where the plot churned forward, obvious from a mile away to everyone except for lead. But here I was, staring at the ceiling, sprawled out amongst the pillows. Smoke billowed into the rays of afternoon sun, making mesmerizing patterns in the deafening silence.

Every once in a while, the past would grip my heart just to see how the emotional wound was healing since the last check-in. The ache was mildly raw this time, memories of the past replaying in quick succession, dragging emotions around for the ride.

Could he still walk in through the door? Was it all for nothing? A waste of time? But that one time.. When he gave me that look. One time is nothing, It just proves why he'd just disappear like that. Better judgement argued denial, bouncing off the inside of my brain while fingers crept numbly back to my lips for another drag.

It's been nearly a year, what's wrong with blocking him and moving on? my better half argued. He literally could have done the right thing any time within that year and he still fucking hasn't. This proves he was always either a coward of epic proportions or that he just didn't care that much to start with. That one hurt. A loose loose loose, as in he made me loose my fucking mind. I exhaled a cloud as it settled into ribbons floating lazily in the sun. My eyes unfocused.

The idea of finding anyone else paled in comparison. Who even the fuck had that guy been? His past outside of our innermost sanctum had screamed the truth but it had felt so good to be seen that it was easy to keep leaning in over and over.... until I fell.

A tumultuous year had me exhausted, having changed jobs, getting diagnosed as autistic, everything was foreign. Taming emotions left untouched for so long was like twirling around in a field of landmines. Nowhere felt safe other than his arms, hands scratching my head as he soothed me to sleep each night, a tradition adopted upon moving in together.

Escaping together felt like a shimmering glimpse of hope, not quite unfolding as elegantly.

I later found out he hadn't been under the impression that I was trying within the relationship, later admitting that the last time he felt that we had been romantic had been nearly six months prior to the trip.

This made things more confusing. My bones grown weary from clutching on to the relationship, weighed down by a noxious cocktail of work-related stress and seeing my best friend fade away without warning felt so deeply unstable that the world was crumbling at the edges. Tiny fissures weaving below my feet suddenly so apparent in hindsight. Our bodies had barely touched during the entirety of the trip when we weren't fucking.

The silent transition to "pity fucking friend" from "woman of his life" haunted my darkest anxiety spirals, lurching about in a broken cadence, beating my heart with every step.

#original story

[thatlittleegyptologist]

alt text on all parts of this post provided by tumblr's native system

@ballad-of-adove this will be the last time I do this, so once more with feeling...

side note: Most of the 'mythology' and 'history' in this is from the comics, which is why it's so jarring. Other things like the first ep where he said 'they removed the brain and other organs through the nose' should have been picked up on. Unfortunately, since this will be many people's first experience with deeper Egyptian mythology and history, it's going to seep into the public consciousness as fact.

Block the tags #moon knight spoilers and #an egyptologist is forced to watch moon knight, if you don't want to see these posts

So, onto Ep 3 and no really I do mean this is the last time I'm doing this I really am done with it:

This is the 5th time I've started this after tumblr whitescreened and I lost my post (I've been saving drafts now, but every so often I lose an entire paragraph)

I'm pissed about that

'Archaeology, one big mess of bookworms' - ehhh most archaeologists would prefer to be in the field or in the lab rather than in the library. Or at least the ones I've met and am friends with do. Also 'mess of bookworms' defines any academic field

Ahh the classic hollywood intro to any arab setting: yellow filter, vague arab music, everyone in desert combats, sand

dunno why they're using donkeys this far out into the desert though. It should be camels. Better grip

the floaty scarab compass is back just doing its thing

oh it pointed down to say it found Ammit's tomb

good doggo scarab

Ethan Hawke's character still needs to trim his split ends, and also stop using straighteners because that hair is drrrryyyyy

we're about good hair care in this dojo

it's funny how they've managed to make Cairo look like a provincial town

Too much repeated cgi, and not enough landmarks. Amount of mosques is accurate though

just fyi the Greater Cairo area is home to 20.1 million people, and this rooftop scene looks like it's just in a random town

Traffic is also accurate

Needs that one bloke on a motorbike who weaves through traffic with a 15ft metal pole strapped to him to be 100%

Mango seller in the middle of the road is also accurate

STOP DESTROYING THE SOUK

Ohh now we're seeing more Cairo...but it still looks off

Also what is that burnt out landmark high up?

Honestly it looks like a burnt out factory attached to Djoser's pyramid

There's a shanty town underneath a cliff edge in Cairo....do these people know what Cairo looks like?

You're right. Khonshu is a stupid piegeon

That's still not what Khonsu (the actual god) looks like

I still don't even know what bird that is. Khonsu the god's bird form is a Hawk/Falcon with a moon headdress. This is neither of those things

lmao Khonshu is fucking with the sun, so I guess we're trying to piss of Ra

Can't wait to see what not bird he is

Oh finally we see actual Cairo, and the entire Giza plateau that somehow has...2 tourists despite it being peak visiting hours

The Ministry for Egyptian Antiquities is gonna be pissed at Unwashed Preacher Man and his dig crew. That's an illegal dig my dude

also taking sand away and making a chain to pass the sand up the hill, only to deposit the sand at the top so it inevitably falls back down to where you're digging is poor planning and maintenance.

Not even dug a test trench

I want an Ennead portal

lmao they banished khonshu? is it because he's in teenage rebellion? Amun and Mut gonna be having words

'Oh my days I can't believe it. We're inside, we're inside the Great Pyramid of Giza!' hey...what the fuck now?

and that's where you'll have to wait for the next bit wherein I will absolutely lose my shit

#moon knight spoilers #an egyptologist is forced to watch moon knight #as for the alt text I'm going to continue doing it this way for now #every time I do alt text someone messages me with 'no do it this way' and then I change it and someone else tells me it's wrong #and that I have to do it another way so until there's a standardised form everyone agrees on I'm doing it like this #don't @ me

[duskholland]

under the desk || prof!tom smut

professor holland has a special assignment for you...

wc ↠ 3k. warnings ↠ nsfw 18+ content. bj under the table, (unseen) exhibitionism, dom!tom/sub!reader, sir/good girl kink, a lot of praise, fingering, slight degradation, pinching, minor pain kink. messy rough against-the-table unprotected sex (please practice safe sex!!!). I don’t condone this form of relationship irl! be safe. a/n ↠ you know i had to do it to ‘em. thanks @darlingspidey​ for coming into my askbox and choosing violence. minors dni or you will be blocked!!!!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“You want me to what?”

The smirk on Professor Holland’s face is unmoving as he folds his arms across his chest. The tight sleeves of his suit bulge to accommodate the curves of his biceps, and you find yourself biting your lower lip despite his shocking proposition.

“I want you to get on your knees and suck my cock for the entire lesson, darling. I don’t understand why this is so difficult for you to understand. Thought you were my smart girl, eh?” He brings two slender fingers to your cheek, running calloused fingertips down to your chin. As Tom angles your face to look at him, his eyes hold nothing but dominance.

“But… What if someone sees?”

Tom is still caressing your face, and you feel yourself ease as he pushes his thumb into your mouth. He steps closer, caging you in until the backs of your thighs press into the hard line of his desk. As his warm breath fans out across your face, you shiver.

“No one will see,” he tells you, accent thick. His South London twang always comes out more prominently in times like these. “We’re too far at the front.” He brings his other hand to your waist, squeezing your flesh with a rough touch that makes you moan around his thumb. “Promise I’ll make it up to you, love,” he adds, voice a blend of sultry tones. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

When he swaps out his thumb for his index and middle fingers, you instinctively lap around the pads of his fingertips. Tom just smirks, knowing he has you right in the palm of his hand. You’ve done risky things with your professor before, but to hide beneath his desk and suck him off for an hour..? It sounds like torture. Yet, with the way his eyes twinkle so seductively, you find yourself leaning into it. You’ve always been a bit of a sadist, anyway, and it’d be hard to disagree with him when he looks like this—brown hair slicked back, face glowing with health, deep eyes like pools of honey.

Tom pulls his fingers from your mouth, but before you can complain about their absence, he brings them down between your legs. You’re already bare beneath the skirt—he’d spent a memorable five minutes ghosting his mouth over the front of your panties before ripping them off and devouring your aching slit with his tongue. You’re still wet now, your cunt cooled by the mix of his saliva and your arousal that slicks your thighs. Tom coos as he presses his fingers into your hole.

“Sir,” you whimper, reaching back to grab at the desk. You’re running hot, skin prickling with need. Your nipples press against the front of your shirt, aching and straining, moving with each heavy heave of your chest. As Tom curves his fingers and quickly finds your g-spot, your breath hitches in the back of your throat.

“You’re so wet, darling,” he murmurs thickly. Tom steps closer, thin lips biting at your neck as you whimper. He doesn’t need to be careful about leaving marks—both of you know the only person who will see you for the next hour will be him. “You want it, don’t you? You want to do this for me. You want to have my cock down your throat as everyone else sits up there, completely unaware of what you’re doing.”

You toss your head back, inching closer to a high that he’s only been denying you. “Yes,” you gasp out, knowing he’s right, knowing you can already feel the ache in your knees from the lecture hall’s carpet. “I want it.”

“Good girl.” Tom kisses your cheek before stepping back, his hand disappearing from between your legs. He ignores your whine of disappointment as he flops down into his desk chair, his thighs parting as he lazily unpicks his belt. He raises a brow towards you until you slowly sink to your knees, crawling between his legs and sitting at his feet obediently. The humiliation burns into lust as he strokes a hand over your cheek, eyes full of adoring arousal. “Such a good little thing, aren’t you?”

Your eyes widen as you see him pull his cock free, his length full-mast and his tip weeping. Without thought, you find yourself licking your lips. You sit forward, eagerly looking up to him and shivering as you take in the lust swirling in his eyes.

“Please, Professor,” you ask, voice hoarse. “Can I suck you off now?”

He melts like a candle to a flame, cooing as he nods softly and brings both hands to hold the back of your head. “Yeah, baby,” he murmurs. “Don’t make me cum. You can touch yourself if you really can’t control yourself, but you better not even think about cumming.”

Once he’s finished outlining his demands, you nod. Tom scoots closer, the chair all the way beneath the desk now and obscuring his face. It’s dark down here, but you can make out enough—his watch-clad wrist, laying back on his thigh, the outline of his cock. With the hand still on your cheek, Tom coaxes you forward, a throaty groan leaving his mouth as you finally part your lips and take him.

The stretch of your mouth is familiar and needed, and you find yourself moaning a little as your lips part to take him. Tom’s heavy on your tongue, and you tease your tip over his slit to gather the white beads of precum. As his taste seeps over you, you whine, and the sound thickens when Tom roughly pushes you further down.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, lazy voice drifting down from above the desk. “Just like that. Keep that going. Mouth feels like fuckin’ heaven, darling. Such a good girl. So obedient.”

You hum in response, and slowly start to bob your head. You have an hour to kill, so you don’t go too fast, setting the speed gradually as he flexes the fingers on his thigh into a fist and holds your face with harsh fingers. The bite of the pain against your skin as he presses his index and middle fingers together just makes your arousal worse.

“People are about to come in,” he adds, voice low. “If you want to stop, just squeeze my hand, yeah?” When you moan in agreement, Tom hums. “Good girl.”

The noise in the lecture hall is quick to build as the clock approaches the hour. You stay beneath the table, your knees starting to hurt from the bend, but you like it. As Tom starts to present his lecture, you settle into a rhythm beneath him. You rest one hand on his knee for balance and keep the other between your legs, slowly playing with your sensitive bud as your mouth stays on his cock. You alternate between kitten-licking his messy tip and deep-throating him, concentrating immensely when you loosen your throat every time you press in closer.

Each time you push particularly deep, your nose ends up buried in the curly spring of hair above his pubic bone. Whenever that happens, Tom ends up losing his train of thought, stammering over his words as he pinches your cheek a little tighter. You keep it rare, only occasionally disrupting his flow, knowing better than to try and embarrass him in front of so many people. That’s not your objective, anyway.

Time loses meaning after a while, with everything fading that isn’t Tom. Tom—with his hand on your cheek, his legs warm against your front, his cock in your mouth. There’s a thick trail of saliva dripping down the sides of your mouth and your eyes sting with tears. Small wet noises occasionally rise from your mouth as your lips pull away from his cock, and they mix with the noises of your fingers between your legs. You alternate between fucking yourself and teasing your clit, only toying, knowing nothing will come of your actions until he’s finished his class. You shift slightly from leg to leg, and the jostling makes you strike your g-spot just right.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip as your mouth falls away from him, your eyelids fluttering shut as you feel the edge approach. You don’t want to cum, but it feels too good to stop. As you wrestle with the desire to give in and add another finger to your clit, Tom clears his throat.

“—Let me just grab something from my bag,” Professor Holland speaks, voice eloquent and clear. He bends over, his hands leaving you as he pretends to rummage your bag.

Tom looks at you, raising a brow in question as his eyes meet with yours. He doesn’t say a thing, still with a microphone clipped to the front of his suit, but his piercing dark eyes say it all:

I didn’t say you could stop.

He continues to look at you as you hasten to sit forward, tender knees digging further into the carpet as you take his cock back between your lips. You moan softly to show your appreciation, feeling more spit fall down your wet chin as you take him deeply. Tom’s lips soften, an expression of enjoyment briefly fluttering across his face before he reaches out to pat your cheek softly. He pulls up a moment later, procuring a blank piece of paper from his bag at the last moment.

You wonder if he’ll give you a second one-on-one lesson to catch you up on all the content that you’ve missed.

For the last part of the class, you focus primarily on him. Professor Holland weaves his hand into your hair and guides you, calling the shots as he pulls you deeper whenever he desires. You end up adding in your hand, using your fingers to pump the top of his length and paying attention to his thick girth as you pump him. Tom gets tetchy, his hips softly rising up to meet your movements every time you work him deeper. You can almost hear the relief in his voice as he utters, finally,

“That’s it, everyone. Thanks for your time. I’ll see you all next week. If anybody has any questions, my office hours can be found online.”

Tom strokes his fingers through your hair as you listen to the babble of noise rise again. There’s the sounds of laptops closing, bags zipping, people trudging down the stairs of the theatre. You take him all the way, his tip brushing up against the back of your throat. Your lips ache, and your tongue feels numb as your nose brushes up against his warm skin. He makes you wait a very long time, your mind running wild, mouth salivating as you stay still and hold him on your tongue, shivering in anticipation. The slick between your legs is just as persistent as it was an hour ago, and you can feel your needy hole clenching around nothing as your fingers slowly stroke your clit.

“Fucking finally,” Tom mutters. A moment later, he grabs you by the hair and quickly pulls you off, your lips releasing his cock with a pop. He scoots the chair back and jerks you forward, a few tears falling down your cheeks as your eyes struggle to readjust to the bright lighting of the room. “Oh, darling... You’re all messy.”

He easily hauls you up to your feet, but you don’t need to linger on your wobbly legs for too long before he’s pushing you up and onto his desk. Tom drops down, briefly bending over to kiss both of your knees before giving you his full, undivided attention. His hands go to your face, nimble fingers taking care of the tear tracks and the mess of drool and precum sticking to your chin. Your cheeks feel hot as he tuts his tongue and inspects you, his cock pressing up against your lower body as he steps closer.

“You did such a good job,” he adds, soothingly. His lips come down over your forehead. “Sucked my cock so well, sweetheart. Felt so good.”

You smirk softly, parting your legs and leaning back. You dig your elbows into the cool wood of his desk, looking up at his face and enjoying Tom’s gaze on your figure. His hands go down to your skirt, and he flips it up, fingers gravitating to your slit.

“Please, sir,” you manage, voice slightly hoarse, words slurring. “Please fuck me? I need you.”

Tom chuckles. He wraps his hand around his length and guides it to your slit, the hard pressure of his cock making you whimper when he presses his tip to your clit. Anticipation swirls in the pit of your stomach, and you cry out as he nudges his bulbous head against your clit.

“Well… I did say I’d reward you, didn’t I?” he teases. Tom shifts his cock down to your entrance, and you buck your hips, trying desperately to entice him into your pulsing hole. “Patient, my darling. Tell me how badly you want me.”

His ego pushes forward, its presence heightened by the cocky eyebrow he raises at you. You clench your fingers into fists, too far gone to be above begging and both of you know it.

“Please, sir,” you whimper, tossing your head back as he continues to apply a teasing pressure to your weeping cunt. “Been so good for you, sir. Waited all lesson for you. Didn’t even cum.” Your voice is broken, weighing heavy with arousal. “Please fuck me. I need it. I need you—”

Before you can finish, Tom sinks into you, your flushed walls parting easily. You feel your cunt flutter as it envelopes his length completely, Professor Holland not waiting a second to start pounding into you. You cry out loudly, jaw slack and hanging open as pleasure sails across you, filling every part of you to the brim. Tom grabs at your thighs, pulling you nearer and using his grip on your soft flesh as leverage to keep you wrapped around him. Slapping sounds fill the air as he rocks into you, his crotch meeting your centre every time as you cry out.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut. “Fits like a glove. So wet, darling. Such a tight fuckin’ pussy.”

You can’t speak, so you let out a breathless whine in response which earns you a tight chuckle from Tom.

“Mmm, too good to speak, isn’t it?” he teases. He drops a hand down to your clit and your back arches off the table as he starts to rub feverish circles to the bud. “God… Such a good girl. Taking me so well, like you were born to do this. That’s right, isn’t it? Snug pussy made just for me.”

He hits every spot exactly like you crave, cock filling you completely. You’ve been edged and teased for so long that the slightest touch would be enough to set you off, and it’s as if your body doesn’t know how to process such an onslaught of sudden sensations. With every rut of his hips against yours, you get closer, his member catching slickly against your walls in the most delicious ways. As Tom’s fingers continue to wrangle your clit, your vision blurs with tears of enjoyment.

“Gonna cum,” you manage, voice thick. You’re shaking, writhing on the table, and if he wasn’t gripping your thighs so firmly, you know you’d be trying to move away from such an intense source of pleasure. It’s overwhelming, but you crave it, and when Tom drops his head down to suck at your neck, you cry out.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he groans, voice hoarse against your ear. “Let go. Let me feel how snug this cunt gets for me, darling. Want you to make me cum.”

Your legs clamp around his back as you finally spin over the edge, your eyes rolling into your head as your back falls against the desk. Your climax sweeps over you, blending with your moans and Tom’s low grunts as he picks up his pace and thrusts faster. Your eyes find the point at which your bodies converge, and the sight of his cock pounding into you only extends your enjoyment.

He follows suit a few moments after you, spilling into you with a loud cry of your name. As his lips speak such a familiar word, the inflexion makes you clench, your pussy constricting around his cock and causing Tom to groan louder. He doesn’t stop railing you into the desk until both of you are spent, at which point he pulls away and leans up to connect your lips.

A smile spreads across your lips as Tom kisses you, his mouth infinitely more gentle than he’s been with his hands. You sit up to meet him, your legs shaking against the desk. As you loop your arms around his neck and sink into his lips, he continues to kiss you, breaking up his long snog into a series of lighter pecks.

“Did so good for me, my darling,” Tom mumbles against you. He’s stroking your back with a warm hand, his breathing ragged but slowly recovering. When he pulls back, he stays near, the tip of his nose pressing to yours. “Are you okay?”

You hum softly, shivering a little when Tom kisses the tip of your nose. “Perfect,” you reply. “Bit thirsty, though.”

He frowns, the expression darkening his face. Tom leans closer to kiss your sore cheek, lips lingering there for a few moments as he hums.

“Let’s go,” he suggests. “I’ll take you home. Run you a bath, make you some tea. I’ll look after my girl.”

You pout softly, your heart clenching. “Okay,” you reply. He helps you down from the desk, his hands quickly curling around your waist when your knees threaten to buckle. As he chuckles, you shoot him a glare. “Don’t laugh at me,” you whine. “It’s your fault I’m like this!”

Tom nuzzles his nose to yours as he plants a final kiss to your lips. “Mm, I know,” he growls. “I’ll repay the favour later.”

#closed for business #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x reader smut #smut #professor!tom holland #professor!tom #professor!tom smut #prof!tomfic

[boyohazard]

Book/Movie/Show Recommendations

The Southern Reach Trilogy: if you enjoyed the 2019 movie "Annihilation," you'll definitely enjoy the book it was based on and its sequels "Authority" and "Acceptance." They're quite a bit different from the movie, and obviously the sequels expand on the premise in various ways, but if you enjoyed the surrealist sci-fi horror of the film, then you've gotta read the books.

Psycho Goreman: This movie is just plain fun. It combines 80s-style practical effects with sitcom-style family humor, body horror, and Power Rangers-style action. If you go into this movie expecting to have a fun time while not having to digest super thoughtful themes and concepts, you'll have a grand old time.

Freaked!: Do you like the Bill and Ted movies? Do you like early 90s pop culture references? Do you like comic body horror, practical effects, and gross-out humor? Then watch Alex Winter's directorial debut, Freaked! It's on YouTube for free!

Neuromancer: Are you a big fan of cyberpunk? Then read the novel that started it all! So many fundamental cyberpunk concepts were originated in this book, and it weaves an absolutely fascinating and engaging narrative.

John Dies at the End series: Yes, I'm gonna beg you to read this series until the day I die. Surrealist and Eldritch horror comedy at it's finest. The movie ain't half bad, either.

Doom Patrol: Yes, another thing I will plug until the day I die. An DC/HBO Max show about a group of misfit superheroes. Expect some of the weirdest episode concepts you've ever seen. It's got Matt Bomer and Brendan Fraser in it, and LGBT rep out the wazoo, what are you waiting for?

Trust: Do you like Luca Marinelli? Do you wanna watch him play an evil 70s Italian manslut Mafia member? Yeah you do. Go watch this miniseries fictionalizing the kidnapping of John Paul Getty III. If that doesn't seal the deal for you, it's got Brendan Fraser in it!

The Ear, the Eye, and the Arm: Yes, it's technically a YA novel, but don't let that turn you off. This Afrofuturistic novel is set in 2170s Zimbabwe, where the children of a powerful general are kidnapped and it's up to a trio of detective brothers with mutant abilities to rescue them. Still waiting for it to be adapted into a streaming miniseries starring Michael B Jordan and Willow Smith. Nextflix/Hulu/HBO/Amazon Prime, where you at?

Snowpiercer: One of the few Bong Joon-Ho movies to be originally written and performed in English, this movie based on French novel is about the occupants of a train that contains all of the surviving humans after climate change causes the Earth to become an uninhabitable deep freezer. Expect a lot of the same themes about class disparity as his much more famous film, "Parasite"

Mad Max: Fury Road: Tom Hardy. Charlize Theron. Amazing stunts and practical effects. Themes of cult mentality, patriarchy, female liberation, resource scarcity, and found family all set against a backdrop of souped-up cars, suicidal devotees, fanatical warlords, and loud guitar music in a post-apocalyptic desert wasteland.

Watership Down: You know that animated film with the rabbits that scarred you horribly as a small child? Read the novel it was based on!

Prospect: A retro-futuristic Space Western with Pedro Pascal as one of the main characters. Go watch it if you're a fan of Firefly and/or Cowboy Bebop.

Attack the Block: John Boyega's film debut, before he got fucked over by Disney/Lucasfilm. Sci-fi horror comedy about an alien invasion in a tower block in London. Themes about class disparity, especially about how poor children in the urban UK are immediately assumed to be dangerous criminals.

#ed says a thing #book recommendations #movie recommendations #show recommendations #southern reach trilogy #psycho goreman #freaked! #bill and ted #alex winter #neuromancer #cyberpunk #john dies at the end #this book is full of spiders #what the hell did i just read #doom patrol #brendan fraser #trust #luca marinelli #the ear the eye and the arm #snowpiercer #mad max fury road #charlize theron #tom hardy #watership down #prospect #pedro pascal #attack the block #john boyega

[radioduo]

roses and riots: chapter 1

i could count the stars (wait until the dawn

notes: apoc au ^-^ this has been in the works for a while, so hope u guys enjoy! thanks to @b1rdza for the title and the letting me plan things w them :}

tws: blood, injury, violence, talks of death and zombies

Ranboo stared at his phone, slightly cracked and looking worse for wear, reminiscing over the photo on his lock screen. A picture from two months ago of him, Tubbo, and Tommy beaming at the camera. Ranboo returned the smile. Probably a picture Wilbur took on their moving day.

Two months ago, Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo began living together. Two months ago was the last time everything was normal.

Ranboo leaned against the wall of the now crumbling apartment and laid his head back against the foggy windows with a sigh. He could hear Tubbo in the other room quietly singing a cheerful tune and fiddling with some new gadget on his own. Tommy still wasn’t home from the scouting trip he had left for hours ago, and as the minutes ticked by, more and more anxiety gnawed at Ranboo's stomach.

Speak of the devil, Ranboo thought to himself as the communicator next to him began to buzz. It was Tommy, unsurprisingly. Ranboo gingerly set the phone down and picked up the other device. “Hello?”

“RANBOO, GET - krzzkr - HERE, THERE’S - skrzzkz - FUCKING HORDE HEADING OUR - krzzssz - HELP-”

Ranboo flinched and held the speaker away from his ear as he sprang to his feet. “Oh god, alright. Hold on, Tommy, I’m getting Tubbo and we’re going. Where are you?” He pulled on his boots and grabbed the musty red rucksack that hung next to the door.

“WEST- kzzszrt - NEAR THE DINER-”

“Just stay calm, Tommy, find a hiding place, you know the drill,” he knocked on Tubbo’s door urgently, but there was no response. "Are you k- whatever," Ranboo threw open the door, muttering to himself. Tubbo yelped in surprise as the door swung open, flinging his arm out and knocking his project onto the carpet. “We’ve gotta go,”

Tubbo took a deep breath and raised an eyebrow. “What’s up, bossman?”

Ranboo began to explain, but Tommy seemed eager to take matters into his own hands.

“TUBBO, THEY’RE FUCKIN’ AFTER - skrzztz - YOUR HELP RIGHT NOW, GET YOUR ASSES DOWN HERE - kryzztz - TO GOD I WON’T FORGIVE YOU IF I DIE,” he yelled through the radio. Tommy was breathing heavily, and Ranboo and Tubbo could hear quick, heavy footsteps pounding against the pavement.

“Oh fuck, okay, we’re coming, Tommy!” Tubbo grabbed his yellow bag from the foot of his mattress, abandoning his gadget and nearly knocking over his trash can full of failed prototypes. “Where is he?” he asked Ranboo, straining as he tugged his shoes over his heels.

“West Elm, near the diner,” Ranboo said as he pulled his mask over his face, leading Tubbo into the kitchen and grabbing his crowbar from the counter. “We’re on our way, just stay hidden and stay put.” Ranboo ended the transmission before Tommy could keep shouting at him and pulled open the door. “Let’s go, Tubbo,”

Tubbo hoisted his bat over his shoulder and tugged his goggles over his eyes. Wordlessly, the duo slunk out from the crumbling apartment building and down the street.

Nothing new, Ranboo noticed as the two speed-walked around the dilapidated city. Broken glass lined the pavement in front of shopping outlets, rotting wooden planks covered doors and windows, and the smell of flesh and blood filled the air around them, pungent and nauseating. The acrid scent slithered through the mask over Ranboo's nose and snaked into his nostrils, and he fought back the urge to heave as he swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

Rapidly rounding a corner, Ranboo tore his eyes away from the city scenery, stifling a gasp of surprise as he and Tubbo found themselves face to face with a gathering of the undead.

With bulging eyes and mouths lined with yellowed, broken teeth, the pack shuffled down the debris-covered road in the opposite direction, still oblivious to Ranboo and Tubbo's appearance. They seemed too busy tracking something out of sight to pay attention to the smell of fresh, unspilled blood nearby. Unfortunately, Ranboo realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach, the thing they must have been searching for was Tommy, and to find him, he and Tubbo would have to make it through the horde of the starving dead.

Tubbo stared ahead at the mob, a sour expression painting his face. "Don't tell me-"

"We have to, Tubbo. Unless you want to leave Tommy to die over there."

"I'm gonna be honest bossman, that sounds pretty fuckin' appealing right now," Tubbo replied dryly.

"I really hope you're joking," Ranboo answered. "C'mon," he urged, gripping the crowbar in his gloved hands, and charged forward like a bull.

The zombies, luckily for Ranboo, moved slowly, giving him time to react between attacks. He swiped nimbly with his left hand, slamming the metal bar into the face of a corpse, taking its head off with a satisfying crunch. Ranboo heard a grunt next to his ear and rolled out of the way right as an undead creature swung at him, nearly grabbing his arm and pulling him back. He brought the crowbar down into the skull of his attacker and looked away as the creature made a strangled sound in the back of its throat. Bobbing and weaving through the sea of the undead, Ranboo slammed the crowbar into every shambling body he could reach, over and over again. He yelped as he suddenly felt something grab his arm, sending a wave of pain up his arm from the iron-like grip. He wrenched his hand away frantically and stabbed the crowbar into the zombie's eyes. Breathing heavily, he scrambled away from the horde and into the clear at last. Ranboo gripped his sore arm and anxiously looked over the sea of corpses. Tubbo hadn't come out of the mob yet, and Ranboo's stomach twisted with fear at the thought of something happening to him.

A loud smack came from somewhere inside the cluster of bodies, and at last, Tubbo appeared, waving his bloodstained baseball bat like a madman and shouting a string of curses at the undead hands grabbing at his clothes. He ran to Ranboo's side, gasping for air. "Don't ever fucking make me do that again, okay?"

Ranboo grinned, relieved that he seemed unharmed. "Alright, alright, whatever," he said, flicking a drop of blood from his face. "We have to keep moving or they'll catch up with us."

----------

Tubbo and Ranboo slid open the diner door silently, stepping over the upturned chairs and tables as they walked into the abandoned building. "Tommy?" Tubbo whispered. "Are you in here?"

"Tubbo?" A voice answered. A head of curly blond hair popped up from behind the counter, and an unmistakable look of relief swept over Tommy's face when he caught sight of the two. "Thank fuck," he muttered, breathing a sigh of relief and dragging himself to his feet, hauling his backpack with him. "I wasn't sure how much longer I'd last." Crawling out from behind the counter, Tommy pulled his green bandana down from over his mouth again and faced the duo. "How'd you get through that giant fuckin' mob back there?"

Ranboo and Tubbo held up their crowbar and bat, respectively. "We managed," Tubbo said with a shrug. "That's beside the point though, why have you been gone so long? You were supposed to be back, like, two hours ago!" The three inched towards the door as Tubbo talked, slipping back into the streets and booking it in the opposite direction they came from.

Tommy huffed, trying to keep up with his friends. "Other than those dickheads back there keeping me away, I stopped by Phil's place for a bit to get us some food," he explained through deep breaths. "We haven't been able to get out much, thought it'd help." He held up his lumpy bag, obviously full of cans and boxes.

"Tommy, you know carrying food long distances is dangerous," Ranboo huffed, pulling ahead of the group as they rounded a corner. "Those things can smell just about everything, what made you think that was even slightly a good idea?"

Tommy made an indignant scoffing noise in the back of his throat. "Well, ex-CUSE me, Boob Boy, for wanting to help out you and Tubbo. That's my bad," he said, placing unnecessary emphasis on the last two words.

Ranboo rolled his eyes with faux annoyance as the three of them kept walking. "How many times have I told you to stop calling me that?"

"Not enough clearly," Tubbo answered, amusement obvious in his tone.

"Oh my god-" A hand flew over his mouth as Tommy suddenly took a sharp turn and flattened him against the bricks of a rundown building. Ranboo bit back a pained grunt as his aching arm hit the bricks. "I can hear those fuckers nearby," he removed his palm from Ranboo's masked mouth, and the three of them pressed their backs against the crumbling wall. "Is there another way we can take?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes darting back and forth as he strained his ears to listen for the familiar groans of the undead. "There are only a few that won't take us, like, two hours," he whispered. "Most roads loop around the city, and-"

"-and there's no way in hell that we'd make it back alive if we travel in the dark," Tubbo finished bleakly. He stared at the ground, lost in thought as though he were hoping the answer would write itself on the sidewalk. "So what now? Just stay here and wait until the morning? Surely not," he looked up at the other two. "I mean, that's a death wish right there,"

Ranboo and Tommy nodded silently. "I guess there's always Phil's place, but that's a couple dozen blocks down the road," Ranboo suggested, glancing up at the sky. It was only marginally darker than when they'd left, but Ranboo knew the light wouldn't last for much longer - especially not with the luck they'd been having. He absently rubbed his sore arm, careful to keep something from hitting it again. "We'd have to leave now to be there before dark,"

"Don't tell me we have to fuckin' walk even more," Tommy griped loudly. "I just got back from his place, are you sure there isn't a faster way home?"

"We can leave you here with the horde, if that's what you prefer," Tubbo retorted. Slinging his yellow bag over one arm and hoisting his worn baseball bat over the other, he dashed down the street, calling to Tommy over his shoulder, "Hurry up, dickhead!"

"Tubbo, wait-!" Tommy shouted back as he and Ranboo followed suit, jogging down the sidewalk behind Tubbo to the safety of their friend's home.

It was nearly dark by the time the three came to the pale blue house. It sat on the city outskirts, barely safer than the houses on the inside but at least ten times cozier. Tommy rapped on the door raucously, and Ranboo and Tubbo cringed as the sound echoed, definitely alerting the nearby zombies to their presence.

They didn't have time to worry about that, thankfully, as Phil greeted them at the door, looking relieved. "You guys scared the shit out of me," he breathed as he ushered the three teens inside. "You can't just be out wandering and knocking on strangers' doors,"

"Phil, if you were a stranger, this would be very awkward right now," Ranboo said, kicking his boots off and shoving them in the corner.

"I'm- oh my god, you know what I mean," he replied exasperatedly. "Be careful out there, is all. I don't know what I'd do if you guys got hurt."

Silence fell over the group as they heard the subtext of Phil's words. 'If you guys got hurt again.' Ranboo peered over at Tubbo, whose hand had subconsciously drifted up to trace the burn scars that outlined his face. Ranboo's own hand had floated up to touch his bruised arm carefully. He wouldn't tell Phil about it. Not yet.

Coughing, Ranboo broke the silence as he drew his hand away from his injury and undid the clasp on his cloak. "Welp, uh, I'm gonna sit down if anyone else wants to come," he invited, plopping the heavy fabric in a pile with the rest of his things and wandering into the living room.

The fireplace was burning, and Wilbur laid next to the orange flames, half-lidded eyes staring sleepily at the ceiling. He blinked and sat up as Ranboo entered the room, still alone as Tubbo and Tommy followed Phil into the kitchen, discussing something Ranboo couldn't quite hear. "Hey, Rhombus," Wilbur smiled, holding back a yawn. "How goes it?" His eyes darted briefly to the yellow sweater Ranboo wore.

Ranboo shrugged, removing his mask and catching the brief smile that flickered across Wilbur's face. "Could be better, I suppose," he replied.

"I think you said that last time," Wilbur noted.

"Yeah, well, it's been hard to be great recently," Ranboo said, barely audible.

Wilbur nodded sagely nonetheless, shuffling away from the fire to sit on the carpet in front of the couch. "You're not wrong," he agreed. There was a moment of silence as Wilbur looked up at Ranboo, who sat stiffly on the sofa, clutching his arm lightly and staring blankly into the fire. "You all good?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," Ranboo answered, blinking himself out of his stupor and brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. "Just- pain is all. Nothing a little sleep can't fix," he insisted. Ranboo could see the doubt in Wilbur's eyes, and it made his stomach churn. He wasn't sure why. "I'm alright, seriously," he repeated. "I'd let you know if I wasn't, you know that."

"Right." Disbelief laced Wilbur's words, but he didn't pry, nor did Ranboo want to offer an explanation.

Wilbur opened his mouth to say something else, but he didn't get the chance as Tubbo peeped his head into the room. "Dinner's ready big man, if you're interested," he said, jabbing a thumb behind him towards the kitchen, the comforting smell of potato soup wafting through the house. "You too, Wilbur, I guess," he snickered.

Ignoring the lighthearted banter between the other two, Ranboo inhaled deeply, savoring the scent. It smelt like home, he thought, a small smile painting his face. Wordlessly, Ranboo padded through the doorway into the kitchen, where Techno, Tommy, and Phil sat around the table waiting.

"There you are," Techno greeted him, reaching for the soup spoon. "We were starvin' to death in here, c'mon man," he joked.

Ranboo huffed a laugh through his nose. "Sorry about that," he apologized, running a hand through his hair. "Been a long day." He caught Tubbo's eye, who agreed with a slight head nod.

"It's alright, mate," Phil assured him. He held the bowls as Techno ladled soup into them carefully. "We get it." Phil handed him a bowl, steaming and cozy, and Ranboo gratefully accepted. "Just hang out for a while, alright?"

The six of them sat around the small kitchen table, eating together and listening to the radio as songs old and new alike filled the air. Tubbo and Wilbur sang duets, and Techno and Tommy made increasingly strange parodies as Phil and Ranboo watched with amusement.

Tommy and Techno were mid-song about Phil when the music suddenly stopped, harsh static cutting through the joyful atmosphere like a knife.

"WE INTERRUPT YOUR PROGRAM FOR AN EMERGENCY ANNOUNCEMENT," the prerecorded sample recited. "ATTENTION, ALL CITIZENS OF NEW LENSLING COUNTY: A MANDATORY EVACUATION IS BEGINNING TOMORROW AT 11 AM. ALL PERSONS LIVING IN THE CITY MUST RELOCATE BEFORE THE END OF THE WEEK."

The once bright mood at the dinner table quickly sank, dread and icy cold fear replacing the warm feeling of family and safety.

"What the fuck?" Tommy murmured, turning the radio volume up to the max.

"COUNTY OFFICIALS WILL BE INSPECTING HOMES TO ENSURE THAT EVERYONE HAS EVACUATED. SAFE CITIES ARE AS FOLLOWS: ATTSTONE, WORWICKE, LANGSTEDSHIRE, SHANTOWSEA, AND SOUTH BIRBED. FURTHER QUESTIONS WILL BE ANSWERED AT-"

Wilbur turned off the radio with a harsh slam. "Great," he growled. "What the fuck do we do now? Surely they don't expect us to just be happy with this!"

"All our shit is still at home!" Tubbo added, agitated. "There's no way we have time to grab it tonight, and it'll take ages to get back to the apartment in the morning!" He grumbled. "This is bullshit!"

"Calm down, you two," Phil cut in, trying to curb the anger bubbling in the air. "We'll figure something out, okay?"

Tubbo and Wilbur had the same disgruntled look in their eyes, jaws set and eyes shadowed. "Fine," Tubbo muttered, standing up to look at Phil. "Tell us then, what's the plan? Do you even know what's going to happen to us?"

"Tubbo," Ranboo warned. "Calm down. We're all figuring it out as a group."

Tubbo folded his arms and sat heavily in his chair, still irritated.

Techno was already rifling through his things for a map of the county. "The safe zones were all cities nearby," he said, seemingly to himself. He rolled a thin map out over the table, careful to avoid the drops of soup. "Attstone, Worwicke, et cetera. The closest one to us would be-"

"South Birbed, innit?" Tommy finished, shoving his now-empty soup bowl out of the way to lean over the table. "It's 'bout a week-long trip on foot," he explained. "We could be there in no time if all of us leave first thing in the morning,"

"Hold on, Tommy," Techno stopped him as Tommy took a breath to say something else. "One of us needs to stay behind and let someone know where we're goin', right Phil?"

"They need to send a message to all the safe zones to tell 'em how many people to prepare for," Phil confirmed. "I'll stay behind, tell whoever may stop by that the six of us are heading south, yeah?"

Ranboo and the other four shared a look of hesitance, none of them quite sure how to respond. "I don't want to leave you behind, Phil," Ranboo admitted. "Are you 100 percent sure you'll be alright on your own?"

Phil waved a hand dismissively. "You don't have to worry about me, mate. I'll catch up with you all in no time."

Phil's promise sent a wave of relief around the room. Wilbur and Tubbo looked more at ease, and Ranboo, Techno, and Tommy all breathed a sigh. "We should probably pack up our shit, I guess." Tommy rose to his feet, stretching and yawning. "Early start tomorrow, aye?"

They all stood, some more hesitant than others, and dispersed to their respective sleeping quarters. Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo trekked upstairs single file, carrying their bags, weapons, and everything in between into the large bedroom silently. It wasn't like they hadn't done this same thing before, but something about knowing it might be the last time for a while made the mood feel more somber than usual.

Tommy flopped onto the large, pillowy mattress with a sigh. "I can't believe we're being fuckin' kicked out," he muttered crossly, a change in mood from the upbeat leader persona he'd put on downstairs (probably to prove himself to the adults). "And to South Birbed of all places!"

Ranboo snorted, his eyes crinkling up with laughter. "What did South Birbed ever do to you?" He asked, watching as Tubbo crawled onto the bed next to Tommy.

"I dunno, it just seems like a shit city," Tommy shrugged.

Tubbo smacked him with a pillow, and Tommy yelped in protest, shouting a string of curse words at his assailer. "Mercy, mercy!" Tommy begged as he and Tubbo began a pillow fight.

Ranboo looked on with mild intrigue but didn't join the party. Instead, he slipped away from the other two into the bathroom and shut the door.

He pried his gloves off his hands and rinsed his face, desperate to clean the dirt and grime from his forehead and fingers. Ranboo stared at himself in the mirror, watching beads of water run down his face. He looked like a mess, he thought briefly, before drying the water with a towel. He winced, feeling a shock of pain flow up his arm as he blotted the water with the scratchy cloth. Deftly, he rolled up his sweater sleeve to examine his arm.

A little bit of broken skin, Ranboo noticed. He caught sight of a few small indents, which he assumed were from fingernails digging into his arm when the zombie had grabbed him. He made a mental note to keep checking the wound before it got infected and rolled his sleeve down again.

With a newly clear head, he reentered the bedroom quietly. Tommy and Tubbo had already claimed the bed, he noted, as the two laid on either half of the mattress, Tommy's head and Tubbo's feet on one end and the other way around at the foot of the bed. Ranboo sighed as he realized he'd have to sleep on the floor. Swiftly, he snagged a pillow from the bed, careful not to wake the already-snoring Tubbo, and dragged a throw blanket from a basket to sleep beneath. Begrudgingly, he laid on his makeshift bed, staring at the ceiling.

He had never noticed it before, but shining overhead was a galaxy of artificial stars, blinking and twinkling. The question of "why" briefly crossed Ranboo's mind as he stared at the bright little shapes above him. It made sense, he supposed, since the room belonged to Wilbur years before he, Tommy, or Tubbo ever stayed there. Still, he thought, it was surprising that Phil had kept them up there after all this time. Maybe he wanted to keep a little piece of the good times with him.

Ranboo felt a pit form in his stomach as he thought about the future (or possible lack thereof). The uncertainty made his stomach churn as he yawned, eyelids drooping. Thoughts of traveling and an image of the artificial galaxy were fresh in his mind as he rolled over that night, shutting his eyes and letting the darkness of sleep wash over him at last.

#ranboo #tubbo #tommyinnit #philza #wilbur soot #technoblade #dream smp #dsmp #mcyt #blood tw #injury tw #violence tw #zombies cw #my writing