#what am i suppose to write

[ladybeug]

I drew the same comic twice because I didn't think the first one was funny enough. I don't know if the second comic is funnier though??

Here's both of them

Side by side because i couldn't decide which one to put first - knowing the punchline changes the experience?? pick your adventure. read either one first.

which ones funnier i honestly can't tell

#this is what its like in my head when im writing comics #its cool to have an example #of how different the same joke can be #i mean i dont know if you think its cool but i think its cool #i think i have a favorite out of the two of them but its close #to be honest neither of them quite thread the needle for me #theyre not QUITE as funny as i want #but theyre still good #anyways #my art #miraculous ladybug #I did these a while ago. long tags sorry but how else am i supposed to tell you how im doing lately #found a bunch of comics that made me laugh #excited to post some of them #ill organize them soon and do a couple comic dumps

[inkskinned]

you're grabbing lunch with a nice man and he gives you that strange grimace-smile that's popular right now; an almost sardonic "twist" of his mouth while he looks literally down on you. it looks like he practiced the move as he leans back, arms folded. he just finished reciting the details of NFTs to you and explaining Oppenheimer even though he only watched a youtube about it and hasn't actually seen it. you are at the bottom of your wine glass.

you ask the man across from you if he has siblings, desperately looking for a topic. literally anything else.

he says i don't like small talk. and then he smiles again, watching you.

a few years ago, you probably would have said you're above celebrity gossip, but honestly, you've been kind of enjoying the dumb shit of it these days. with the rest of the earth burning, there's something familiar and banal about dragging ariana grande through the mud. you think about jeanette mccurdy, who has often times gently warned the world she's not as nice as she appears. you liked i'm glad my mom died but it made you cry a lot.

he doesn't like small talk, figure out something to say.

you want to talk about responsibility, and how ariana grande is only like 6 days older than you are - which means she just turned 30 and still dresses and acts like a 13 year old, but like sexy. there's something in there about the whole thing - about insecurity, and never growing up, and being sexualized from a young age.

people have been saying that gay people are groomers. like, that's something that's come back into the public. you have even said yourself that it's just ... easier to date men sometimes. you would identify as whatever the opposite of "heteroflexible" is, but here you are again, across from a man. you like every woman, and 3 people on tv. and not this guy. but you're trying. your mother is worried about you. she thinks it's not okay you're single. and honestly this guy was better before you met, back when you were just texting.

wait, shit. are you doing the same thing as ariana grande? are you looking for male validation in order to appease some internalized promise of heteronormativity? do you conform to the idea that your happiness must result in heterosexuality? do you believe that you can resolve your internal loneliness by being accepted into the patriarchy? is there a reason dating men is easier? why are you so scared of fucking it up with women? why don't you reach out to more of them? you have a good sense of humor and a big ol' brain, you could have done a better job at online dating.

also. jesus christ. why can't you just get a drink with somebody without your internal feminism meter pinging. although - in your favor (and judgement aside) in the case of your ariana grande deposition: you have been in enough therapy you probably wouldn't date anyone who had just broken up with their wife of many years (and who has a young child). you'd be like - maybe take some personal time before you begin this journey. like, grande has been on broadway, you'd think she would have heard of the plot of hamlet.

he leans forward and taps two fingers to the table. "i'm not, like an andrew tate guy," he's saying, "but i do think partnership is about two people knowing their place. i like order."

you knew it was going to be hard. being non-straight in any particular way is like, always hard. these days you kind of like answering the question what's your sexuality? with a shrug and a smile - it's fine - is your most common response. like they asked you how your life is going and not to reveal your identity. you like not being straight. you like kissing girls. some days you know you're into men, and sometimes you're sitting across from a man, and you're thinking about the power of compulsory heterosexuality. are you into men, or are you just into the safety that comes from being seen with them? after all, everyone knows you're failing in life unless you have a husband. it almost feels like a gradebook - people see "straight married" as being "all A's", and anything else even vaguely noncompliant as being ... like you dropped out of the school system. you cannot just ignore years of that kind of conditioning, of course you like attention from men.

"so let's talk boundaries." he orders more wine for you, gesturing with one hand like he's rousing an orchestra. sir, this is a fucking chain restaurant. "I am not gonna date someone who still has male friends. also, i don't care about your little friends, i care about me. whatever stupid girls night things - those are lower priority. if i want you there, you're there."

he wasn't like this over text, right? you wouldn't have been even in the building if he was like this. you squint at him. in another version of yourself, you'd be running. you'd just get up and go. that's what happens on the internet - people get annoyed, and they just leave. you are locked in place, almost frozen. you need to go to the bathroom and text someone to call you so you have an excuse, like it's rude to just-leave. like he already kind of owns you. rudeness implies a power paradigm, though. see, even your social anxiety allows the patriarchy to get to you.

you take a sip of the new glass of wine. maybe this will be a funny story. maybe you can write about it on your blog. maybe you can meet ariana grande and ask her if she just maybe needs to take some time to sit and think about her happiness and how she measures her own success.

is this settling down? is this all that's left in your dating pool? just accepting that someone will eventually love you, and you have to stop being picky about who "makes" you a wife?

you look down to your hand, clutching the knife.

#writeblr #this is a mashup of like 3 dates i accidentally went on lol #by that i mean that i was out with a woman on a date in 2 of these situations #and a man just. joined us. and we were too awkward to say anything while he tried to ''date'' me #& one was a longterm friend that i was like. you what???? #like he's nice he's a doctor and my mom was SO happy she was like raquel think about it #''it's a perfect love story you grew up together and reconnected as adults and like the same things and he's friends with ur brother #and his sister is one of ur close friends!!!'' #yes but alas. he is a boy . she only likes girls. can i make it any more obvious #anyway im tryna write about like the force of male attention being actually incredibly ingrained to women like we are SUPPOSED to like it #it's seen as the only important thing #even if ur gay #and it's a nuanced thing idk #and while rn i i.d. as lesbian #like .... it wouldn't be UNTRUE to say i am probably like ''cusp bisexual'' bc i CAN experience attraction to men bc like . #sexuality is fluid... #don't tell straight ppl tho bc they do not understand the concept that ppl don't necessarily need a solid everlasting label #they're like GET in the BOX #if ur gay & in boston i'm 30 and pretty please come kiss me. #(i usually only date older ppl sorry in advance tho)

[penny00dreadful]

So does anyone remember that post that was like "Robin and Eddie meet when she does that thing that's like 'hello, please pretend you know me so I can get away from this person' then Steddie happens?" Because I do. I cannot for the life of me find it. If anyone knows the post I'm talking about please let me know so I can link it, this is very much not my idea, it's that persons idea but the brain worms got me so here we are. 🤷‍♀️

We found it! It's this post by @wynnyfryd Thank you Anon! Obviously I went in a different direction with it but this post was 100% my inspiration so thank you for helping me find it!

AO3 link for those asking! 🖤

Robin should be royally pissed off with herself right now. She would be if she wasn’t so damn scared.

That guy was still trailing behind her, no matter the twists and turns she’d taken down different streets trying to lose him and the only thing she’d gained from it was to get totally and completely lost. It could be something completely innocent, the guy might be coincidentally going in the same direction as her but she wasn’t willing to give him the benefit of the doubt if it meant keeping herself alive.

The distance between the two of them was slowly closing as she was followed through the dark and empty streets of the city, hoping, praying for some kind of shop or restaurant or something to make an appearance so she could hide inside but apparently Robin was able to find the one street in this city where everything was either closed for the night or boarded up.

Her heart was pounding in her ears and the beginnings of tears were starting to sting her eyes and all she could think of was how sick with worry Steve was going to be in the morning when he woke up to no missed calls, no missed texts and no Robin. She’d scoffed at him hours earlier when he’d offered to go to the ‘work thing’ with her but she'd told him she was a big girl and she could look after herself and not to be such a worrywart mom.

And now she had no idea where her phone had gone, if she'd left it behind or dropped it somewhere, no idea where she was and no idea of what she was going to do.

If she’d been a bit more present in her head she probably would have noticed the loud, braying, male laughter coming from just ahead of her and crossed the street to avoid them before it was obvious she was avoiding them. But as it was she could barely see straight through her tears and panicked tunnel vision while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the slowly encroaching guy behind her. She was practically already in the group’s space and one of them had definitely already seen her though he didn’t pay her any attention.

But even through her blurred vision and panic, she finally registered what exactly she was looking at. Four men standing around the entrance to what looked like the diviest of empty dive bars, chain smoking and being as loud as humanly possible, but that’s not what caught her eye.

Long hair, chains, leather, denim, tartan, rings, tattoos, subculture. If Robin had to choose a group of men to approach, any kind of subculture would be the best option. They knew what it was like to be other. There was no guarantee these guys were safe, but they were probably safer than a group of frat boys.

The next thing that caught her eye that nearly made her cry in relief as she got closer were the patches and pins.

A rainbow ‘A’ against a black and white striped background pinned on one guys collar, a yellow-white-purple-black patch on another's arm, a pink-yellow-blue patch over the third guys heart and a progress pride flag pinned to the largest guys pocket.

Her people.

Without a second's hesitation she made a bee-line for them, planting herself firmly next to yellow-white-purple-black patch person who had a mess of thick light brown curls that reminded her of Steve’s hair. They fell painfully silent at her arrival.

The four of them blinked down at her, with her tearfilled eyes and wild aura of panic around her they were probably, understandably freaked out.

“Hi guys!” She called out to them, probably a little too loud, hoping her voice carried back to the fucker following her, tensing as she could actually hear his footsteps approaching now.

The guy with the longest hair and the pink-yellow-blue patch standing directly in front of her glanced quickly over her shoulder before returning his gaze to her. His face split into a wide warm grin, tapping her shoulder lightly.

“Hey girlie. We thought you weren’t coming, we’ve been waiting.”

The footsteps behind her audibly slowed down. Robin laughed, a little maniacally, keeping her frantic gaze on him, not daring to turn around. “Yeah, I uh- g- got sidetracked.”

“Eddie, what-”

Pink-yellow-blue patch guy, Eddie she supposed, slapped ‘A’ patch guy lightly on the stomach with the back of his hand, shutting him up as her pursuer passed them by, giving the group a wide berth.

“Hey, no worries. You’re here now, right?”

Pride patch guy kept his eyes on the guy who’d been following her the whole time, only looking away when he eventually turned the corner, disappearing into the night.

Robin immediately felt her posture slacken now that he was finally gone, the full weight of everything coming down on her. Her tears began to spill over and her whole body shook as hysterical sobs started to pour out of her body.

“I’m sorry. I’m- I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. I think I left my phone behind and I don’t know where I am. We only moved here a couple of weeks ago and I got lost trying to get away and- and-”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Yellow-white-purple-black patch person squeezed her shoulder lightly, keeping their distance. “You’re okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“We can call someone for you, if you want?” Eddie asked, crossing his arms tight like he was trying not to reach out to her, probably worried it would freak her out more. “Boyfriend or girlfriend-”

“Or romantic partner.” The person with their hand on her shoulder interjected lightly.

“Alright Baron from the Baronies.” Eddie snorted. “But fair point, Gareth. Romantic partner or friend or whatever?”

“Um,” Robin’s voice was still shaking. “I don’t… I’ve never been good at memorising numbers…”

“Me too, terrible at them.” Eddie smiled again, pulling his phone from his pocket. Robin’s fear and panic was almost entirely gone now even though she was still hiccuping and sniffling underneath their concerned gazes. They were all firmly keeping their distance, keeping any touches short and fleeting, not moving too suddenly, trying their best to make sure she knew they weren’t a threat and it was really helping her to start feeling safe again. “But we could try to find them online? Instagram or something?”

“Yeah. Yeah we could try that.” She wiped her eyes roughly against her sleeve as she shuffled over to Eddie’s side. “My best friend, Steve, he uh- he’s probably asleep and I don’t think you can call him if you don’t have him added…”

“You can send him a message.” Eddie replied easily, handing his phone over. “And if he doesn’t wake up, we’ll try something else.” 

“Don’t worry we’ll get you home.” ‘A’ patch guy smiled down at her while pride patch guy nodded along.

Robin sniffed again. “Thanks.” She was able to conjure up a small watery smile as she opened the app and found Steve’s profile, shooting off a quick message begging him not to freak out and explaining the situation as concisely as she could.

“Here.” She handed Eddie back his phone who glanced down at it for just a second before his eyes widened slightly as he scrolled through Steve’s profile.

“Oh shit. This is your friend?”

Robin nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

“He’s… he’s really pretty.”

That managed to pull a startled laugh from her. “Oh god, don’t tell him that, you’ll give him a big head.”

“Let me see?” Gareth asked, whistling low when Eddie turned his phone around showing a photo of Steve and Robin at their last pride parade cheering with the crowd, Steve with the pink-purple-blue of the bi flag smeared across each cheek and Robin with the pinks, oranges and white of the lesbian flag draped around her shoulders. “He is really pretty.”

Eddie snatched the phone back, cradling it to his chest. “Fuck off, Gare. I saw him first.”

Robin smiled again. “Any response from him?”

“Hm?” Eddie asked distractedly, scrolling through Steve’s photos before pride flag guy punched him in the shoulder. “Ow! Wh- oh, sorry!” Eddie frantically scrolled back up before clicking into his messages again and shaking his head. “Nothing yet.” He held the phone out to show her.

“Okay.”

“What’s your address? If he doesn’t respond, we'll find a way to get you there.”

“Uh…” Robin was drawing a complete blank, only able to remember her parents home address hundreds of miles away.

“Or tell us something nearby.” Eddie added, not missing a beat, clearly picking up on Robin’s lack of an answer. “What’s on your street?”

“Um,” she closed her eyes, trying to picture it in her head, “there’s a couple of Chinese take outs, Asian food store, paint store… there’s… I think it’s a tattoo parlour? There’s designs painted on the window, a tower on either side. I think they’re from Lord of the Rings?”

“Inklings? Is that the place?”

Robin opened her eyes. Eddie was grinning at her conspiratorially. “That’s it. You know it?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I work there?”

“No way.”

“Way.”

Hope was starting to grow feathers inside Robin’s chest. She could go home, she didn’t have to stay out all night waiting for Steve to wake up and never let her out of his sight again, she could hug her best friend and drink coffee out of her favourite mug and curse at their finicky fridge and steal his hair products again. She could go home.

“Is it far?”

“Nah, only a few streets away. Ten minute walk, tops.”

“D’you- I mean… do you think you could-” Could she really ask them to walk her home after they’d already done so much for her? Would she be asking too much? Could she be putting herself in more danger?

“I can take you there if you want? Let you get back to your… Steve.” There was a slight blush dusting over Eddie’s cheeks. Maybe he did have an ulterior motive, but it wasn’t an ulterior motive involving her. If she wasn’t so wrung out and aching to crawl into her own bed she’d be thinking up teasing material to lambaste Steve with. But as it was, she was desperate to get home.

“Would that be okay?”

“Yeah.” Eddie replied, bright and easy. “It would just be me and you though,” he held his hands up in surrender, “and you can totally say no, like if you're uncomfortable or whatever. Gareth is Grant and Jeff’s ride home and you’re still on the clock, right?” He turned to Gareth towards the end of his sentence.

“Yeah, but I get off shift in about an hour so could come in if you wanted, wait around in the back room until then if you wanna go as a group?” They answered. 

“I think… I think I just want to get home.”

“Okay, cool. No worries I’ll get you there safe and sound. Here,” Eddie pulled his phone out again, “I’m gonna message Steve to let him know we’re on the way in case he wakes up,” he showed her the short message only sending it off when she gave a nod, “and I’ll get you to navigate just so we don’t get lost.” 

He handed his phone to her with the maps app open, directing them towards Inklings tattoo parlour. He was playing it off like an easy joke, instead of another way to assure her she was safe. He was making sure she knew exactly where he was taking her at all times, he was making sure she had the ability to call the police or whatever if he turned on her, he was making sure she knew he didn’t need or want her address if she didn’t want to give it. 

This fucking guy.

He definitely wouldn’t be the worst choice Steve had ever made if it did go that way.

“I don’t know how to thank all of you, seriously. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t run into you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Grant smiled at her before hesitating. “Uh, I just realised we don’t have your name.”

“Oh!” She laughed at herself, feeling lighter. “I’m Robin.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Robin.” Grant held his hand out, shaking hers once she took it.

“Likewise.”

“And don’t worry about thanking us, just pay it forward, yeah?” Jeff said.

“Plus.” Gareth took on a nonchalant tone even though they had a smirk plastered over their face. “We’ll see you again at Steve and Eddie’s wedding.”

“Shut up!” Eddie scowled but didn’t hold onto it for long in the wake of Robin’s giggles.

She sighed once the giggles subsided, a weight lifted off her shoulders. “I look forward to it.” She raised her hand in salute as the three of them headed back inside, turning to Eddie as he held his elbow out.

“Shall we?”

Robin tried to suppress her smile but took Eddie’s arm anyway. They only made it down one street and around one corner, Robin clutching tight to Eddie’s phone before he finally asked.

"So."

"So."

"Best friend Steve." Eddie twirled his rings around his fingers. "Is he…"

“He’s single.” She answered lightly. “But you might be arriving into his life at the wrong time. He’s recently sworn off men.”

“Well we’ve all sworn off men once or twice. Men are terrible.”

“Agreed.”

“Is it because of a bad ex?”

Robin threw her head back with a groan remembering the giant breakdown that had finally finally ended it. “Tommy was the worst. He’s the reason we even moved out here, there’s nowhere to get away from an ex in a small town, you know? They’re everywhere. I’m not going to go into what happened, it’s not my business to say but it was bad.”

Eddie nodded, his eyes down on the ground, running through everything in his head.

Robin could see the tattoo parlour up ahead, the glorious sight of their apartment building just a few buildings away.

“Do you think… with time… he could open himself up to men again?”

Eddie had such a tentative hope in his eyes, it was adorable really. Looking over him, she thought about the type of people Steve would constantly thirst over, blip in the matrix Tommy Hagan notwithstanding.

Lithe bodies with full lips and giant eyes, hair he could run his fingers through and something unusual about them. Something odd.

He’d never explicitly gone for someone so heavily into a subculture before but he’d never turned them down either. And based on Eddie’s job at the tattoo parlour and the way he was dressed, he almost definitely had some ink on him. That alone would be enough to make Steve swoon.

“I think he might. Will you walk me up?” Robin asked, holding the door to the building open, offering Eddie the same kindness under the guise of doing a favour that he had offered her so many times tonight.

“Yeah, sure.”

They’d managed to make it up to the third floor, walking down her hallway before Eddie’s phone started to ping incessantly.

She turned the phone over in her hand, looking at the screen. “He’s awake.”

Robin, where are you?

Are you okay?

I’m on the way.

Please be okay.

Their apartment door was flung open just as they reached it. Steve was standing there panting and terrified, his hair a mess, his glasses askew, his jacket and shoes thrown haphazardly over his pyjamas.

“Robbie.”

Steve slammed into her, holding her tight before immediately letting go to inspect her face and running his hands over her body, checking to see if anything was wrong.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened? What do you need?”

“Steve.” Robin caught his fluttering hands in hers and squeezed, nearly crying out in relief just to have him with her again. “I’m okay. Eddie and his friends helped me.”

“Eddie-” Steve looked to the side, noticing her saviour for the first time. “You’re Eddie.”

“I’m Eddie.” Eddie gave him a short little wave and a dazzling smile that quickly dropped in shock as Steve pulled him into a crushing hug, his blush returning with full force.

“Thank you, thank you so much. I don’t know what I would’ve-” Steve took a big breath in and loosened his arms from around Eddie’s shoulders. Robin saw his eyes slowly trail over his face before very briefly flicking down to the pink-yellow-blue patch then back up. “Come inside, the two of you. Can I get you anything? Tea? Decaf coffee? A glass of water? Like, literally anything to say thank you.” He asked, ushering the two of them into the apartment.

Steve caught Robin’s eye behind Eddie’s back and mouthed ‘oh my god he’s fucking gorgeous!’

Robin snorted and thought to herself ‘sworn off men, my ass.’

#steddie #steve x eddie #stranger things #fanfic #eddie x steve #penny00dreadful #steddie fic #stranger things fic #modern au #eddie and robin #platonic stobin #robin and steve #finding safety in people through pride flags #I am SUPPOSED to be TAKING A BREAK from WRITING so I don't BURN OUT #But THIS would NOT leave me ALONE #what's the ship name for platonic eddie and robin? #is there one? #THERE IS ONE #platonic edbin #safety fic

[strangersteddierthings]

Childhood friends AU Idea

Steve and Eddie are best friends who make plans to learn the elvish alphabet from The Hobbit so that they can pass notes without worrying about other people reading them.

The end of the school year (Eddie in 6th, Steve in 5th) brings a sadness to the two. Eddie's going to middle school and Steve's not yet, but they can hang out on weekends, and they have all summer so no worries. (Also, it gives Steve a little more time to learn elvish, since it'll be a whole year until they're in the same school again.)

Except yes worries because two weeks into summer, Eddie vanishes. When Steve bikes to his house to investigate, the whole house is empty. Packed up and gone. Steve goes to Wayne for answer and all he gets is a smile that doesn't really reassure and words of "his dad got a job opportunity, had to move on short notice. But don't worry, kiddo. I'll get you the number to their new place so you can call."

He learns elvish anyway. It's harder without Eddie to help but he's determined. Eddie might return, or maybe he'll get an address one day. Send a letter to Eddie in full Elvish.

Steve never gets a number or address. Summer ends and sixth grade comes. He doesn't want to forget all the elvish he's learned, just in case. So, he decides to keep a journal. He can write all about everything that's happening and when he sees Eddie, he can give it to him. It's a double win. Eddie will know everything he's missed out on AND it'll help Steve practice elvish.

Sixth grade ends. Eddie doesn't return. Steve did make friends with Carol Perkins though, so he's not as lonely. He hopes Eddie made a new friend, too. But not a new best friend. That's Steve's position, always.

Seventh grade brings Tommy Hagan, but still no Eddie. It brings a growth spurt and sports. Steve likes the easy camaraderie that comes with sports teams. It's like having a lot of friends, which Steve will only admit to needing in his journal. Needing many little connections of friendship to hold together the big hole Eddie left behind.

The summer between seventh and eighth grade brings him a Bruce Springsteen concert. He'd never thought of a boy kissing another boy until he'd witnessed it on stage but he thinks about it a lot after. The end of that summer brings an awaken he refuses to shy away from even if he has to hide it

Eighth grade brings popularity. Steve's good looking, rich, and liked among his peers. It brings the first (and last) time his dad says he's proud of him.

(Steve will spend the rest of his high school career chasing his father's approval.)

Freshman year brings Eddie back, but he's different. His hair is longer and his clothes are darker and he's distant. Defiant and angry. Steve would recognize him anywhere, dressed in anyway.

Eddie doesn't want his friendship anymore. Avoids him in the halls and cafeteria, but Steve is nothing if not persistent. He writes a full letter in elvish to slip into Eddie's locker, but Eddie catches him. Shoves the letter back, unopened, unread, with a harsh whispered, "Don't you get it Harrington? I don't want to be your friend. Fuck off."

Steve doesn't understand why. Not until the table top rants start. Conformity and jocks and brain-dead rich kids who get by on favoritism.

It hurts. Steve feels his heart break the day he finally gets the not-so-subtle messages drilled into his mind. Eddie hates sports, and rich people, and stupid people. Eddie hates all the things that Steve is.

Eddie hates him.

Sophomore year brings Steve a lot of things. It brings the acknowledgment that he was probably in love with Eddie, the way his heart twists the day he sees Eddie flirting with a girl in the hallway, the way he wants the lights out when hooking up with someone so he can imagine a different person pressed against him, the way he gravitates towards brunettes with brown eyes and the flickering hope it might make Eddie jealous. (The way he'd said the wrong name when Brent went down on him, too absorbed in the fantasy of someone else to get it right. Brent hadn't been offended by it, he'd been thinking of someone else, too. Steve finds solidarity for a little bit, until the school year ends and Brent leaves Hawkins.)

Junior year turns Steve's life upside down (pun intended) with monster's coming out of walls. There's probably a lot more he should write about but his journal's pretty empty this year. Too traumatized to document. (Too afraid of what Eddie would say because Steve still writes in his journal like he plans on sending it to Eddie one day. Better to write nothing than sound crazy.)

And halfway through his senior year (don't think about how he's in it with Eddie, about the 4 classes they share, about how Eddie still won't meet his eye) he wants to fade into the background. Nancy and he break up. She's with Jonathan and he hears the whispers of how pathetic he is to be eating lunch with his ex and the guy that 'stole' her. Steve knows that's a lie, Nancy made her choice, and no one can say otherwise, but it hurts to hear. He can't be bothered to try and make new friends. How would he explain the nightmares? The skittishness. The fear of the dark, of pumpkin patches, of his own damn pool now that he's had time to process last year?

Then, the next year brings him Robin. Well. First it brings him an embarrassing uniform and then Russian torture (don't think about it. Don't think about how he'll shorthand the stock list by writing it in Elvish sometimes. Don't think about how the Russian's almost believe they just work for Scoops until they find the stock list in his pocket. Don't think about how they don't believe that the strange script they can't identify isn't proof he's a spy), but in the end he gets Robin. A Platonic Soulmate who understands the hidden side of him. She asked if he was ever in love, and he thinks of the Eddie he used to know, longs to know again, and describes her instead. She rejects him in the softest way possible and then confesses about Tammy, and he confesses about Eddie in turn.

1986 brings Eddie back into his life in the worst way possible. With a bottle to his neck and them both acting like they've never spoken before. It brings twisting guts as Steve lies awake thinking about Eddie alone in a boathouse instead of sharing a bed with him like they used to in elementary school. It brings Steve leading them to Skull Rock (popularized as a make out spot but started as a set of boys' favorite place to play pirates during the summer). Dustin and Eddie make references Steve pretends to not know, despite his own copies of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings and the numerous amounts of notebooks turned journals with elvish scrawled throughout.

There's a trek through the Upside Down. In another universe, Steve imagines he and Eddie talk. In this one, Robin sticks to his side like an extension of him (which she is), and glares at Eddie every time he looks in Steve's direction. Robin knows everything, knows it all, because there are no secrets between them.

They make plans to stop Vecna, once and for all, and Robin confesses she has a fear. That it won't turn out okay this time, but they have to try anyway. Steve clinks his bottle against hers and looks across the field to Eddie and Dustin. The stakes feel so much higher this time.

"I'm going to talk to Eddie if we survive. Make it right," he says.

"No. He's going to make it right because you didn't do anything wrong," Robin says, which is more support than he thought he'd get given the grudge she holds in his favor.

Eddie said make him pay and Steve does. Nancy advances, shotgun shot after shot and Steve's bounding down the stairs. Vecna beats him to the ground floor but not by much.

A hatchet's not the best tool to remove a head with but he manages. When he looks up, Nancy and Robin are looking down, both approving.

They find Dustin sobbing over Eddie and- and-

Steve's certain he's broken several of Eddie's ribs but he's breathing again, Nancy finds his pulse beneath all the blood, and Robin's retrieved the cut sheets to make bandages out of. Nothing is clean in this world, infection could kill him later, he might not save Eddie like he wants, but fucking Christ, at least if death claims him, it'll be on the right side of the world in a hospital.

Dustin, Robin, and Steve are at Eddie's side when Nancy leads Wayne into the room. They knew she went out looking for him (Steve was going to but Nancy had shoved him back in the chair with a look that left no room for argument) but even so they're startled by him.

Wayne has always been stoic and reserved, so it's no surprise to Steve when he just lets out a low whistle and says, "of all the people I might see here, you weren't one of 'em."

Steve swallows thickly and says, "well. I am. Here, I mean."

And Wayne gives him a watery smile and crosses the room. Pulls Steve into a hug that Steve thinks he probably wants to give to Eddie instead, but Eddie's not awake and standing and Steve is. But then Wayne says, "I told Eddie he couldn' chase ya away. That if he just talked to ya, you'd understand. He tried so hard to make ya hate him, and for what? For ya to be at his bedside anyway."

And Steve sobs. Loud and ugly and suddenly Dustin's there, and so are Robin and Nancy, and it's probably the most awkward hug for all the others but it's the best hug Steve's had in years. He doesn't even care that he's crying because how can he? Wayne's all but confirmed that Eddie doesn't hate him, maybe never hated him. That Eddie has an explanation, a reason for it all, and all he wants is Eddie to wake up and tell him.

Steve finally gets his apology two days after Eddie's release. It's the first time they've been alone together since- well, since elementary school. Wayne drove him here then lied about needing to check on something and said he'd be back in an hour or so before abandoned them to the awkward silence in Steve's living room.

"I'm sorry, Steve!" Eddie blurts out loudly, then looks startled by his own yelling.

"I know. I forgive you."

"You shouldn't."

"I know. Still do anyway. Would like to know what happened, though."

And Eddie tells him. How his father's debts came calling and they ran. How his mom got sick real fast, and his father's crime spree and prison sentence following her passing. How Eddie discovered the same thing about himself that Steve did but didn't have the same acceptance of himself. Hated that another thing marked him as Other. Freak.

He tells Steve how he couldn't let Steve back in because he was afraid of losing him again if he ever learned.

"I didn't think you'd be okay being friends with a faggot," Eddie spits the word out, dirty and mean and directed at himself.

Steve makes a decision then. "Follow me." And he helps Eddie up the stairs and into his room. Eddie sits on the bed and watches as Steve digs out notebook after notebook after notebook, until they're a tower on his bed. Then he topples them over in his search for the first.

Eddie takes the offered notebook with confusion on his face, looking from the cover, where 1978 is written on it. The summer Eddie vanished from Steve's life.

"Open it."

Eddie does and gasps. "Steve. Is this-"

"Every single one of these notebooks was written to you. For you. About you. I read The Hobbit for you. The Lord of the Rings. I learned elvish for you. I think I've been a little bit in love with you since the day we met on the playground on my second day of first grade."

"Steve," it comes out breathless and awed.

"Eddie," Steve repeats back to him, just as breathless as Eddie tosses the notebook aside and reaches for Steve instead. Hauls him in to kiss him senseless amongst the proof of Steve's devotion.

#steddie #fic #this was supposed to be a paragraph or two #why am i like this #steve has a complicated relationship with his parents #but they arent terrible #the picture descriptions have translation for the elvish if you wanna know what Steves been writing in his journals

[perpetualcynicism]

“May I hold you?” you ask Jing Yuan one afternoon as you lie sun-warmed in his garden. 

You almost think he is asleep until he invites, “Please,” carrying a smile in his voice. 

With ginger movements, you reach over and place your hands on either side of his face. It begins as mere holding, but soon you find your touch roaming. You smooth your fingers over his eyebrows and trace down to each side of his jaw. From here your hands climb up again, and once more back down, mapping out each crevice and dip of his face, his skin, his bone, until you are certain there is no part of him remaining that you do not know better than you know yourself.

You play this game with yourself, sometimes. You imagine people not as people, but as planets. After all, what is a person anyway, if not a world of their own? You trace the ridge of his nose, and imagine there lies a mountain range. Around his eyes you find oceans. Where his cheeks dip, there are valleys, and a river runs between his lips.

“What are you doing?” Jing Yuan asks. There is an element of amusement to his question, but his voice is primarily gentle. Endeared.

You still your hands. They rest on his cheeks while your thumbs brush back and forth over his skin, holding him. Though the world melts back into the familiar shapes of his face, there is still an assured sturdiness to his features which is grounding; a gravity which draws you towards him, as if you were the moon to his planet. Small, perhaps, and bare, but casting light on him wherever you can.

You answer, “I think I’m holding the world in my hands.”

You feel Jing Yuan’s smile through the way his cheeks press into your palms. Two hands cover yours, large and calloused, but gentle, and hold yours securely in place against his face. There is the tender press of lips to your skin as he turns his head enough to kiss the inside of your palm.

You hear Jing Yuan’s smile through the way his words come warm and bright and filled with adoration. You wonder why you thought him a planet, when he is so clearly the sun.

“And I am being held by the universe.”

#i’m sorry i don’t know what this is #it’s past midnight and i needed to get this brainworm out #my thoughts are literally comprised of jing yuan these days and i don’t know how to fix it #enjoy this random and hopefully not-too-pretentiously-written drabble i suppose #(my writing style goes weird after midnight sometimes and i mistake myself for a poet (which i am most certainly not)) #honkai star rail x reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan

[moonlight-prose]

Imagine: Missionary with Din while you hold his necklace between your teeth 🤤 you ain’t getting away from me, boy

YOUR HEART GOT TEETH

a/n: i know you sent in another ask saying you didn't mean for it to be a request, but i started writing it the second you sent it. i just only finished it last night. mainly because my inspo for din has been lacking as of late. although i've been on a small din kick recently which has me going feral over this idea. it's barely even a fic, but i had to write it. din and jewelry is my eternal fucking weakness.

summary: horny thoughts about din's necklace.

word count: 0.9k+

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, biting, p in v sex, din's brain short circuiting, a tad bit of needy!din, unedited and no beta so there's probably mistakes.

Time had slipped away from you the longer you lay there, your nails digging into his lower back and head thrown back. It felt like ages since he came home, practically dragging you into the room with a throaty rasp of what sounded like your name and need you. And who were you to dissuade him? When you were more than willing to be spread out beneath him, his name was a cry that was permanently etched on the tip of your tongue.

“You feel fucking perfect,” he grunted, his teeth sinking into the hot skin of your shoulder.

The spot would feel tender tomorrow, but at that moment you couldn’t stop the way your body reacted. Your walls clamped down around his cock, a garbled moan ripped from your throat as he soothed you with his tongue.

“D-Din—” Your breath caught in your throat, legs trembling as he shifted the angle slightly, striking against something eviscerating.

“Mesh’la,” he panted, hand sliding down to hitch your leg up higher on his hip.

You could feel the cold metal of his necklace press against your chest as he dropped down to kiss you. Licking into your mouth—spit trailing along his chin when he pulled away. He began to speak then. An aimless ramble of how he couldn’t wait to fill you up, to watch you cum on his cock, but your mind had gone empty. The only thing registering, that familiar cold feeling that warmed up against your skin.

The silver of his necklace swayed in front of you. The chain, pristine and perfect even after years of wear. And you couldn’t tear your eyes off it. Could barely understand that he was in fact still talking to you. Din pulled himself up off you slightly and something registered in your brain—flickering bright. Overtaking everything until it practically burned through your body.

Leaning up, you latched your teeth into the chain of his necklace, dragging him back down until his body was pressed completely on top of you. Nearly pressing the breath out of your lungs.

His eyes widened, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh, and you felt it. The way his hips stuttered as his mouth dropped open. He moaned unabashedly, his thrusts speeding up as he desperately shoved you towards a release—his fingers swirling quickly on your clit. You remained where you were. Biting into his necklace and scratching your nails down his back as your release built and built.

Until something snapped so hard your entire body arched. A shout leaving your mouth as his necklace fell past your lips, dragging along your throat. Something about the metal pressed hotly against you unraveled you even further. Sending you so high you feared you may never come back down.

“Look at you,” he breathed, a tinge of awe in his voice. He shoved his hips forward, sinking deeper until a soft tinge of pain mixed with the pleasure. “You like my necklace in your mouth? Huh?”

You gasped, feeling his arm loop beneath your knee and pull your leg up—pressing you into a position that pounded the head of his cock right against that blinding spot inside you. Another orgasm was building fast, but you could barely get words out to let him know. He watched tears stream down your temples, your mouth open yet no sound came out.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed out, feeling his balls draw up and his stomach tighten. “C’mon mesh’la. Give me another one.”

His hips grinded down, the coarse hair at the base of his cock hitting your clit perfectly—shoving you towards another mind numbing release.

“Din!” you wailed, your thighs trembling in his hold—eyes rolling back as you lost all sense.

“Please, please—” He leaned up, his necklace hitting your lips—the plea sounding deliciously perfect on his tongue. “I need…maker—”

Without fully realizing it you latched your teeth around the metal, tugging until it dug into the skin on his neck, the sharp bite of pain all he needed. He fell apart with a choked moan, burying his teeth wherever he could reach as he spurted into you. That familiar warm sensation now sending a soft rolling wave of pleasure through your spent body.

He panted against your skin, his body hot to the touch, but you still ran your hands down his back—soothing him until he felt well enough to say something. Eventually he raised his head, his brown eyes sparkling and lips pulled up into a knowing grin. A look that made your heart flutter—warmth filling your heart.

“Didn’t know you liked my necklace that much.”

You huffed, unable to stop the smile from pulling at your lips. “Shut up.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, sliding his lips along your cheek. “I liked it.”

His fingers played along your collarbone, thumb pressing against the skin and tracing until he hit the base of your throat. “I’ll have to get you a necklace too.”

Your eyes widened, lips parting as the image of him biting down on your necklace entered your mind. As if the breath was knocked from your lungs, you felt your walls flutter around his softening cock—heat spreading beneath your skin. His grin widened, the look on his face so blatant and loud you practically heard him whisper it into your ear. For a moment you wondered if he had in fact said it out loud.

Yet his mouth remained closed, his hand pressing lightly against your throat as he shifted, thrusting shallowly into your leaking cunt. The message, now loud and clear.

Your turn.

#din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin #din djarin smut #my writing #am i supposed to be on hiatus? yes #should i be doing kinktober? yes #what about it #anon idk if you meant this to be canon or based on one of my fics #so please imagine whatever works

[beanghostprincess]

I will forever love seeing Luffy and Nami holding Zoro's swords. He's so protective of those three but it's not even because he fears something might happen to them, but because he's scared something might happen to the crew and himself if he doesn't have them with him. They're like extra limbs. The ones he uses to fight and protect and breathe. He feels uneasy whenever his swords aren't around him, and that is just a fact. You can't deny that he feels comfort in having them by his side at all times, knowing that he'll be able to protect the crew from any dangers. They're tied to his heart and soul in a way that if he loses sight of them he might actually lose himself too. So he does not enjoy seeing his swords in somebody else's hands. They can disappear, he will find them. They can run away, he will follow. They can break, he trusts them not to but if they do, he will keep going carrying their bond with him still. But he doesn't like seeing them in somebody else's hands because those are his swords. His limbs. His heart. His soul. It's just not right. It never feels right. But.

But.

But sometimes Luffy acts like he knows what he's doing and actually asks for permission instead of just taking what he wants. As if crossing Zoro's boundaries would be unforgivable, when he knows Zoro would give him anything he wanted to take from him. But he asks. He asks, with a careful, polite, deep voice Zoro isn't used to hearing. But it always ends with the softest of smiles and the petition reaches a place inside of Zoro's heart that he just knows has also touched his swords. So he lets him, because how could he not, and he runs his fingers through all of them. Amazed. Astonished. Respectfully talking to them as if they could hear him. And they can. Zoro knows they hear and feel and love and crave and long for his captain's touch. He knows, because he does too. Because who wouldn't? Luffy holds them in a way he never holds anything else- Carefully. Like they aren't his. Like befriending somebody he fears might reject him. Like taking hold of Zoro's heart and holding him so gently in case he might break him. He worships them as if he weren't the god in this relationship. He looks handsome, too. Not pretty. Not cute. Handsome. Mature. His hat covers his adventurous gaze but leaves his mischievous grin for the whole world to see. And yet, the swordsman trusts him enough. Without any look or any word. He knows Luffy's face by heart, he realizes, now that he can picture his eyes quite too perfectly under his hat. His skin glistens under the sun and his tender fingers hold the sword with so much clumsiness it looks dumb. He doesn't know how to hold them, yet they don't want to move away from him. It's clumsy but it takes over them. Maybe it's his haki. Maybe it's the effect the future king of the pirates has. Zoro thinks it's just him. Luffy. And his heart stops the second Luffy smiles, as if he had just heard the sword respond to him. He wants to kiss him. Bite him. Let him bite back and draw blood and eat him. Let him hold him the way he holds the swords but tighter. Closer. Maybe he's in love. Zoro. With Luffy. It's not a maybe. Who is he trying to trick? He knows he is in love. With the way he smiles and the way he holds and the way he wants but respects and loves. It's funny like that, the fact that Luffy keeps being so careful when Zoro would let him tear his heart apart and eat it if he so desired. It's funny that the swords love him with such gentleness when they often demand power. Perhaps kindness is the most powerful weapon of all or, at least, Luffy's most powerful skill. Zoro hates it when somebody else holds them because they don't own them. They don't own him. He doesn't even own his swords, anyway. Nobody can. They're his the same way he's theirs, just with a bit more dominance and respect. But Luffy isn't owning them. He's praying to them. Talking to them. Befriending them. Loving them. And they would bow to him if he so desired. Zoro knows they would, as fierce as they are and violent as they seem and as sharp as they cut. They'd bow to him because Zoro would too. The uneasiness does not exist when Luffy is the one to hold them because, if Zoro had to give out his soul for somebody to take care of, that would be Luffy. And if he has to be unprotected. Naked. Bare in front of a thousand soldiers. He will if it's Luffy the one fighting instead.

Sometimes Nami wants to hold them just to feel what it's like to be in Zoro's shoes. It's a stupid reason. He refuses to let her do it as an instinctive reaction at first. She doesn't seem as interested in following the protocol as Luffy is, but she knows where to stop and she knows what to say to get on Zoro's nerves, anyway. She's equally as fierce. Equally as sharp. He won't let her hold any cursed sword, but it's not like she wants to. She's smarter than that. Careful and respectful but not that interested in the swords and what they mean, more in how they feel. Zoro gets it. Kind of. Somehow. She says something about always letting them eat her precious tangerines, so he should humor her by letting her hold Wado at least. She isn't pushing him. He knows she wouldn't. She's just teasing because she knows. She always knows. She knows he will say yes. Because he always does what she says, although he keeps demanding a bit of respect to not be treated like a dog. But Nami never forces him to do anything. He could refuse. She would give up at some point. But there's just something about her- Stubbornness. Strength. Love. So much love and care and worry and anger. And Zoro likes her. She's selfish, too, like a pirate should be. Stronger than Zoro in the ways that matter. Smarter, too, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. But she leads the way and he follows, not because that's a dog's job, but because he wants to. He trusts her. Something he never thought he would. But he does. She's smart. She leads the way. She knows where they're going. They somehow are the same and totally different at the same time. Zoro grounds Luffy when he gets lost. Nami leads them both so they won't. So there's something about her curiosity that makes him soften. He never knows exactly why he does what she says. Why he indulges her like that. But it's satisfying, for some reason he refuses to read within himself, the satisfactory and pleased grin on her face when he hands her Wado. She's careful with her. Awful at holding her. Bad posture. Great smile. Horrible movements. Beautiful eyes. It's okay, though, he thinks. Wado likes her because Zoro likes her. Nami loses interest within a minute, complaining about the weight and the sudden realization of "you always have this thing in your mouth" which makes her want to give her back. But she stares at her for a whole minute. It isn't her thing, but her eyes spark when the sword is returned to Zoro. Trust. A smile. Thankfulness. Her bangs are getting a bit longer and one strand of hair gets in the middle of her teasing smirk. She says she prefers her clima-tact, but swords are fine, "I guess". "She's pretty" she says. Zoro thinks she is pretty. Nami. In a way he can't quite describe because he has never really been good at that. But she is. Like a blade. Sharp. But in the right hands this time for her not to cut the ones she loves anymore. She hands him a tangerine next, every time he lets her hold his sword. An exchange. "I give you something that matters. You give me something that matters". Zoro wants to say it's not the same, but the tangerine is sweet. Juicy. His fingers then smell strongly of citrus. Almost as similar as steel. If he can feel Nami's heartbeat in every bite, he wonders if she has been able to hear his in the hilt of his sword. Calm. Peaceful. Safe.

Zoro doesn't like seeing his swords in somebody else's hands because those are his swords. His limbs. His heart. His soul. It's just not right. It never feels right. But.

But sometimes it does.

#romance dawn trio my beloved #btw it's not meant to be romantic between zoro and nami they're besties and love each other deeply #however it is meant to be extremely romantic between zoro and luffy zoro is very very gay #what is this? idk. why did i write this? idk. #this maybe does not make any sense and i do not care okay #i am just vibing here #as you can see this was supposed to be a short post. it wasn't #i just think there's something about zoro letting nami and luffy hold his swords it makes me soft #this was supposed to be about ALL the crew but the bond these three have is important to me so let's leave it like this #one piece #roronoa zoro #monkey d. luffy #cat burglar nami #nami #romance dawn trio #zolu

[jenmisukke]

LOKI SEASON 2 SPOILERS

i think I've seen this film before

#this scene has me insane #it's such a crazy scene to write act and shoot? #like what am i supposed to think it's about? #it's just INSANE #HE'S ABOUT TO CONFESS #loki #loki season 2 #loki spoilers #loki season 2 spoilers #lokius #queerbait the hell outta me I'm ready #tenrose #johnlock

[doverstar]

to be clear, I think Rose Tyler being an often-selfish character is great. I think it's great because real women are selfish. Real women get petty. Real women hear their ex boyfriend say he's going out with a mutual acquaintance and get unfairly jealous and real women then say things like "she's a bit big" when they shouldn't and they have no right. Real women can be monsters, and Rose Tyler is relatable and I love how she is written and I love her, thanks for listening

#Rose Tyler is so imperfect #she is SO FLAWED and sometimes you get mad at her and that's exactly how all characters should be written #she is compassionate and she is loyal and she is SELF*LESS* to a FAULT sometimes #but she is ALSO selfish #gloriously human #she's SUPPOSED to be the most ordinary girl in the world and you know what? ordinary girls are jerks #I would know. I AM one #write more ordinary girls Doctor Who writers #write them please I'll be your best friend #dw #doctor who #rose tyler #rose marion tyler #whovian #text post #doverstar's thoughts #listen this is not to say that I think being jealous and angry and petty and rude and selfish is GOOD #I'm saying it's good writing to portray FLAWS #because those are FLAWS and people should not be content to be that way #this is not Turning Red

[justepilepsy]

Okay uhm - I need to say this because I am noticing this a bit in the responses to Somerton's "Apology" video. Do people really think, just because ableism in the workplace is forbidden, that workplaces don't discriminate?

Even if insurance stuff covers your health issues, I won't put it past an employer to let you go with the made up argument it doesn't. Because non-epileptic people are generally very uncomfortable with seeing seizure activity and some of them will prioritize their comfort over sticking to anti-discrimination laws.

I think Somerton's video is full of BS, but I am even more uncomfortable with how happy people are to dismiss Somerton's medical history/symptoms, just so they can argue against him. As if people with disabilities can be absolved for being dicks by accepting their stated medical and discrimination history.

When you don't even have to do so to point out the harm Somerton's logic does?

I mean - I think it's warranted to question James' statements because of his complicated relationship with telling the truth, but I am just kind of bothered by how people argue "this could not have happened because laws/policies" No. Let it have happened. It makes his apology worse if you choose to believe him on this, trust me.

If our response to disabled people acting terrible (stealing other people's material and presenting it as your own), is to accuse said disabled people of lying about their symptoms and diagnosis, I think we are missing the point and problem.

#epilepsy #james somerton #actually epileptic #youtube #ableism #i did write a script on this and i will record a video on this because i am annoyed at somertons video but also annoyed at this reaction #i do think he is possibly exaggerating parts of his story but i can not tell because what he is talking about is stuff #that shows up in the epilepsy community fairly often #how am i supposed to tell he is lying about these things when these experiences HAPPEN and can be found online #sorry people i swear i will stop writing about this but it bothers me

[soap-ify]

simon can't be with you anymore.

cw gn!reader , angst , hurt / no comfort, simon doesn't know what he's doing.

notes streets said that it's angstmas !! didn't know that it existed until recently. anyways, since i'm having the worst week of my life, i'm gonna ruin it for simon too.

maybe simon was being stupid.

he probably was. not that he could think of any other options besides leaving you.

his work was too dangerous, and the next deployment was probably going to be his last. especially after the recent briefing he went to where the captain spoke about the upcoming mission — a highly risky one. in fact, even the most skilled like ‘ghost’ was bound to either get severely injured or just die. probably the latter. especially since he wouldn’t be with the rest of the taskforce 141 in the fucking warzone.

just a sacrifice for the better of the world, yeah? even though a part of him didn’t want to. fuck the world. you meant so much more to him. but he had chosen this job right. he had agreed to the mission.

and after all, he never considered himself deserving of you, deserving of this relationship he had with you. he knew he was somewhat of a distant boyfriend — barely opening up about his own feelings or past. at least he had shown you his face. you didn’t deserve someone as dangerous as him, someone so… damaged.

he didn’t want to die knowing that you’d be waiting home, all sad and lonely. he didn’t want to leave you like that, but at the same time, he didn’t want to stay and just watch this sweet bubble you two were in shatter. in both ways, he had to leave you. he had to somehow make this less painful, to make it easier for you to move on.

god, he was an asshole. he knew he was. he spent the week just distancing himself from you, responding to your words with nods and grunts while barely reciprocating to your affectionate touches. his heart was breaking more and more everyday, noticing the pained look in your eyes.

he couldn’t keep doing this for much longer. eventually, he had to end this, and he did.

“we can’t be together.”

his words hit you like a brick. literally on a random friday evening. not so random now, it seemed.

“what do you mean, si…?” your voice got quieter with each word, uncertainty towards your own state of mind flooding inside you while a lump formed in your throat, restraining you from properly even speaking out. your eyes stared at him in pure confusion and heart, noticing how he was cladded in his uniform, how he wore that damn skull mask balaclava — building up those walls again that you had managed to break so easily with your love.

simon hated this. he didn’t want to see you so confused and defeated. he had to stop himself mentally from doing something irrational. he was doing this for you, for your own good. though hearing you call him ‘si’ seemed to somewhat crack his composure.

“look, we can’t be together. s’too dangerous. too risky for you. you never know when i might die.” soon, but he held himself from saying that. you didn’t need to know about his deployment, not at all.

“w-why so sudden?” your voice cracked as you tried to properly make sense of his words, emotions taking off your being while you tried to hold in the tears that had begun to sting your eyes.

too dangerous, too risky — maybe somewhere in your heart, you had known that a day like this would come. simon riley was too careful about safety, too dedicated to his work while simultaneously being madly in love. suddenly, all of his sudden distant behavior made sense, and you felt somewhat stupid. stupid for, well, everything.

he was the plague that had infected you, and now he needed to leave so you could heal.

but you never thought of him like that. he was your rock, the anchor that held you from slipping away into loneliness that had always somehow stuck with you throughout your life, a sting that only simon could soothe. it was simon who would craddle you in his arks every night, it was simon who would listen to your rambles. it was simon who your heart was so willing to give love to.

and now he was going to leave.

simon had expected you to scream, to somehow target your anger and frustrations at him. he wanted you to yell at him, he deserved it.

but you didn’t. you sniffled, beads of tears beginning to roll down your cheeks as you took a wobbly step back, too exhausted to fight back or anything.

you didn’t blame simon. how could you? even now, you couldn’t find a flaw in him. too in love? maybe.

as silence filled the living room of the apartment you used to share with him, he slowly picked up his duffel bag and sighed, trying to keep his brown eyes cold and unfeeling, to make it look like he didn’t feel remorseful, to hide his heart was threatening to tear out of his own skin.

“i’ll always love you, simon…”

you said after a few seconds, causing his head to turn over to look back at you — your eyes teary and puffy while your cheeks were streaked with tears, his hands aching to wipe them away. your voice was weak, reluctantly defeated. you know that there was no point in stopping him.

i’ll always love you too, he mentally thought, though never said.

"one final kiss...?" simon froze at your request, knowing that if he were to look at your face any longer, he'd actually stay. he sighed and pressed a soft kiss on your forehead before pulling away, brown eyes hardening up.

he gave you a final nod and exited the apartment from the front door, leaving you alone all over again, your heart torn in pieces as you fell down on your knees, shattering into pieces that no one was going to bother picking up now. only simon could, but he was gone.

simon riley had died three months after that, and you never found out. for you, ge had just disappeared, leaving no traces behind.

just a memory that you were afraid you’d forget eventually, forget his touch and his voice, forget his face — just a memory that was going to bury itself no matter how hard you may try.

#i don't know what i am doing #literally writing everything EXCEPT the simon oneshot i am actually supposed to be writing #evilly ruins simon's life. #teared up while writing this #WHO GETS THE REFERENCE HERE !! #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #call of duty #rurufic

[anglerflsh]

day and night / the creation of adam

#[.art] #[.oc] #dnd #Adam #Sophie #my art #artists on tumblr #<- I am actually putting on tags on this illustration I am just really proud of it #automaton #robot #what else uhm. I think you should reblog this just for Sophie hashtag girls in stem #the stem is making herself a robot son. which wasn't supposed to be her son but she got attached #also I have made it canon that Adam is autistic not because he's a robot but because Sophie made him in her image and she's autistic #it was already canon in my head but I am writing this down so it's set in stone

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Q's Relevance and Parallels to Double Black

I had a sudden brainwave of thoughts (read: I only got three hours of sleep last night) and needed to share. I've thought this for awhile but I really think Q will be returning to the series at some point.

First of all, there's just too much ambiguity there and I want to know more about Q in general. What happened to Q to spawn an ability like that? Why does Dazai speak about them like they're the devil incarnate? What was the incident that led to so many Mafia deaths in an effort to lock Q up? Is there any significance to Q's unusual eyes (remember that most characters tend to have fairly normal eyes, and this is a series where the eyes carry symbolic weight)? What's with Q being strung up in this position that is eerily similar to a crucifixion, shortly before Steinbeck has a conversation about God existing but not loving them?

There's a lot there. I've spoken about this before in the meta I did about Dazai's change in approach after the Q chapter, which was genuinely an unexpected event he did not anticipate. But there's something fascinating about the way Chuuya reacts to Q as well. In fact, both Dazai and Chuuya are almost uncharacteristically murderous towards this kid, and that's real interesting, seeing as many aspects of Q mirror aspects of their younger selves.

Now I understand you might be thinking: uncharacteristically murderous? Story, they have both literally killed many, many people before. Yes, but context is important here.

Dazai doesn't have strong violent urges - not even in the Mafia, where he was considered terrifying more so due to his apathy in killing than anything. I can't remember a scene where Dazai is described as radiating bloodlust like Kyouka or Mori. Dazai is scary because of his indifferent hollowness at his worst points. Odasaku was described similarly in Untold Origins - there was no real desire to kill, just a listless cold follow-through. Dazai's sadistic methods, brought up by Higuchi in Chapter 25, are acknowledged as a means to an end, a method, not something done out of any strong desire or enjoyment. So when Dazai makes death threats or appears visibly angered - that's something worth taking note of. For him to make a promise to Q to pluck out their heart - holy shit. That is not typical Dazai behaviour. He doesn't even make that kind of threat towards Fyodor. Whatever happened in the past clearly shook him, enough for this moment to change his approach in the series and send him back to using darker methods again.

As for Chuuya, while he has and does kill quite readily, this is mostly in the heat of a fight. For him to give the go-ahead for murdering an unconscious child - it's unusually cold-blooded for him, and I can't think of another instance where he's down with lethal intent outside of combat and direct orders. I've seen some people talk about his reaction to Dazai suggesting he'll kill Q as proof that he's gotten darker since we saw him last in Stormbringer, from someone who would plead for the lives of the Sheep to be spared ("They're just kids") to being ready and willing to kill a defenseless child. While I think it's likely true that he's gone darker since that point - Chuuya appears to be more cynical in the present as well as having darker eyes with a smaller central pinprick of light than in Fifteen and Stormbringer - that's not the only thing going on here.

Thing is, Chuuya has always been fairly ruthless. He’s a very vengeance oriented character, right down to his fighting style (rebounding attacks and bullets). Hurt him or someone he cares about and he hurts back - and that threat will be destroyed. Parallel to this is how he is seemingly unable to turn his back on people who have helped him. Help him and he will remain loyal and protective even if that person goes on to stab him in the back. He has a very “give and take” mentality. Chuuya operates on the reciprocity principle.

So, about Q, here’s the thing: Q is a part of the Mafia, that's true. But Q has never helped them, only hurt indiscriminately. Mafia philosophy says “protect your own and follow the boss' wishes no matter what”. But Chuuya’s philosophy is saying “neutralize the threat”. And interestingly, Chuuya’s philosophy won here. If Dazai had've killed Q, Chuuya would’ve defied Mori’s orders in favour of his own judgement, which is extra intriguing because it emphasizes Chuuya’s loyalty to the people within the Mafia, not the Mafia as an organization itself. This is in full contrast to people like Tachihara and Hirotsu, who prioritize the organization and orders above all.

And about Q being a child: I don’t think this is such a big change in his character if I'm being honest. Chuuya knows full well how dangerous a child can be - he was that dangerous child. People underestimated him as a teenager and paid for it dearly; do you really think he'd make that same mistake? He also has a very warped view on the responsibilities and ways a child should be treated… while I do believe he probably is protective of those younger than him, he also equally understands that a child can be just as much of a threat as anyone else. For Chuuya, it’s always a matter of what wins out: the person or the threat? In this case, it was the latter.

The thing is, it's interesting the way they react when you look at the way Q eerily parallels aspects of their younger selves - as well as some things that carry over to the present.

Dazai and Q share central themes of control.

Q's mind control ability is actually referenced by Dazai as being essentially the worst kind of ability there is, and I know I've mentioned before how he seems to react poorly to those people who attempt to mentally control others, placing them on a heightened level of danger (think Fyodor, Mori). I don't think I need to get into Dazai's control freak tendencies - and what's more, after Q's introduction, after he says that mind control is the worst kind of ability there is - he ramps up his masterminding and enacts as much control as he can over the proceedings of the events that follow. Q's ability is interesting in the sense that it allows them control over others, implying Q came from a background of little control. I have also hypothesized that Dazai, with his need for situational control, similarly came from a background of little control. It's also likely they both were hurt by others - Q's ability turns any pain inflicted on them back around, giving them a way to fight back, while Dazai can level the playing field of any unfair advantages by nullifying abilities.

Q's small segment in Fifteen is also interesting: they're near completely zoned out, just staring off into the distance without responding to their environment until Dazai gets directly in their face. Then Q suddenly flips a switch and becomes all cheerful and playful. It reminds me of young Dazai's quick switches between faux cheerfulness and emptiness earlier in that same book.

They also both have quite interesting relations to pain. Q wonders why cruel things always hurt them, but Q makes this a foregone conclusion by purposely arranging others to hurt them so they have an excuse to hurt those people back. Q's pain becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy: they hate it, but the only means of control they know in interactions with others requires it. Dazai similarly hates pain - his pain loop, however, is more emotional than physical. Dazai feels isolated and alienated from others, but his attempts to exert control require him to distance himself and rely on his mind over all else. He also leans into his inhuman side when it becomes apparent pain is unavoidable (I think often of his reactions throughout Dark Era to Ango's betrayal) - again, this becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. He will not find anything. He will continue to be separate from humanity if this cycle continues. That was why it was imperative that Odasaku break him out of it. Self-sabotage behaviours and unhealthy cycles, physical and emotional, are apparent with these two.

For bonus points: both have injured right arms.

On a more superficial level too, Q and Dazai both have "creepy child" energy, with emphasis on the child part - they are both legitimately disturbing at times but also have moments where they show childlike interest and behaviour. (I encourage people to check out Q's mayoi cards for this - I know it's not super canon or anything but it emphasizes their "kiddishness".)

Also I'm unsure if this is significant, but there's this detail too:

Q has a very unusual right eye with a star in the center. The right eye is also the one Dazai kept covered in the Mafia. Notably also, Q's right eye is frequently obscured by their hair in key scenes.

...Does it mean something? I have no idea. But it's potentially interesting so I thought I'd add it.

Meanwhile, Chuuya and Q share themes of loss of control.

For Q, this is quite obvious. They are literally locked up; imprisoned within the Mafia and unable to exert control over their circumstances. For Chuuya, it's a little more subtle but still present, I believe: I invite people to look at his character song and mayoi (particularly aquarium) for direct references to feelings of being trapped. However, looking at Fifteen and Stormbringer, there are a few mentions of freedom that are intriguing in relation to Chuuya's character. In Fifteen, both Dazai and Shirase mention Chuuya's "freedom"... but this is almost a mockery of what's really going on. A party to celebrate Chuuya's freedom is really an elaborate set up for a trap. Shirase telling Chuuya that he should have the freedom to act on his own wishes is really a cover up for a betrayal. In both instances, Chuuya's freedom is a lie. Stormbringer, at the very least, instates a sense of agency where he at least has the freedom to make choices about his own actions - that's the whole point of his hat; it's a symbol of autonomy (also anti-mind control; more on that in a bit). However, Stormbringer also systematically strips away the start of any alternate path Chuuya could've taken - he cannot be the child he was, he never got to hear the pitch on living in the light. He feels genuine gratitude towards those in the Mafia - they have his back, which is more than he could say before, but at the same time, the Mafia is kind of the last option available there if he wants not to be alone... and Chuuya does not want to be alone. (Seriously. His character song. Please look at it. Also Stormbringer.)

Now, onto their abilities, which also parallel in the sense that they are both used to "get back" at people. Chuuya rebounds attacks - bullets shot at him ricochet back at the people who fired, and Q hurts people who hurt them. There's a very reciprocal relation to the way they use their abilities, and it is absolutely to induce fear and intimidation in others, but there's a key difference. Namely, Chuuya fights only against enemies or people who strike first. Q, on the other hand, intentionally makes "enemies" out of even innocent bystanders just to have a reason to hurt them back. A lot of this is due to Q's misanthropic nature - I doubt Q has ever had a positive bond with another person, and so Q sees the whole world as their enemy - a world which, to them, does not want them in it. Chuuya, on the other hand, has had people who care about him, and he cares about them in turn. He's a bit jaded but he doesn't hate humanity, far from it.

In that sense, Q parallels Verlaine in a sense, right down to being kept in a special secret room in the Mafia, hehe. Though again, there's differences. Verlaine chooses to stay in that room, first of all, while Q doesn't have a choice. Verlaine's angst is internal identity based while Q's is more external situation based. In response to their pain, Verlaine chooses to relinquish control of himself (Brutalization), and Q chooses to have everyone else lose control of themselves (Dogra Magra). Verlaine says "look at how monstrous I am and how I hate and hurt because of it" and Q says "look at how monstrous you all are and how I hate and hurt because of it".

Chuuya is not so far on either extreme that he emulates this - but he could've ended up like Verlaine, and he admits it in Stormbringer. He could've maybe ended up something like Q too, if he'd remained trapped as a lab rat. But see here's the key with Chuuya: his hat makes it so the choice to lose control of himself is his alone, and moreover, that losing control doesn't mean he goes out of control. He trusts that he can lose control for a bit, place it in someone else's hands for awhile before it goes too far. Trusts that the choice to lose himself will be followed by the keeping of a promise to bring him back to himself. Chuuya has bonds, and that's the key difference.

But uh. Going back to parallels... about the scene where Q gets tortured... and the scene where Chuuya gets tortured...

Is this significant...?

...is... is this...

...

.............

Um. I may be delusional. But. Well. *gestures at all of this*

So, where does this leave us? Well, we have Dazai, who sees a manipulative, mind-controlling kid that he calls a "walking disaster", and we have Chuuya, who sees a dangerous ability user that is too big of a potential threat to not be dealt with, so the two decide the best course of action is to kill them about it. The reason Dazai did not follow through is likely a mix of his stated reason (the Mafia cannot harm Dazai so long as he is needed to stop Q), and probably also that he isn't really supposed to be directly killing anymore.

Nice, guys. Really clear and consciously held self-concepts you got there.

Considering everything, it's maddening that all we have on the dynamic between these three is: Q joins in Fifteen at the same time as the other two and is assigned to Dazai since he can stop their ability. Mori doesn't know what it is at that point but assumes whatever it is will be manageable because Dazai can just nullify it. It... clearly wasn't.

I feel like there has to be something here and that we're going to be coming back to it. Q, the old Boss, how Mori got so close as an underground physician in such a short time... there's so much about the Mafia we don't know so I'm assuming the story will shift to focus on these points again... someday. Hopefully.

#i have even more thoughts unwritten if you can believe it but seeing as it is 4 am i should probably stop. also this is too long. #but yeah i frequently think about how horrified and genuinely spiteful dazai is with q like... what happened??? #ok just had an awful thought: what if whatever happened with q inspired dazai's brutal treatment of akutagawa #...honestly maybe. it's actually a possibility if something went terribly wrong before. #this... isn't the meta i was supposed to be writing or even started to write... oh well #enjoy? #is this even coherent? #bsd #bsd meta #bsd q #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #soukoku #skk #bsd fifteen #bsd stormbringer #storyrambles

[violent-things-mp3]

Big day for people who went insane at 13 and haven't recovered yet

#mcr #my chemical romance #i have to write my english final in 30 minutes how am i supposed to function. what thw fuck #the foundations of decay #gerard way #frank ireo #ray toro #mikey way

[miliamin1]

I'm still thinking about that damn crypt date

Wednesday only said yes cause solitude was hurting her after Enid left

the location? Enid's idea

movie? about a cheery blonde

Thornhill? aware that Wednesday was missing Enid

how am i not supposed to have a take away that their manipulation plan had clause "misplace and exploit her feelings for Enid"

#the chickflick as horror joke wasnt even that funny #WHAT ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO THINK #you know whats first apparent when enid is back? the comeback of the fairy lights #how did he decorate the crypt? WITH FAIRY LIGHTS #it all comes back to Enid #how am i not supposed to ship them #wenclair #og post #anygay back to fic writing

[inkskinned]

you know, the light that fades at the end of Goncharov isn't light.

i am not a very good person to talk to about movies. i haven't seen most of the "official" american canon - jaws, psycho, citizen kane. i have seen sharknado, though. like so much in my childhood, what i knew was a little jar on a long shelf of gallons; my world was a catholic desert in new england weather.

my father had gotten his snout up about something; so we had to watch it. he was mad we hadn't seen it, the way people are going to be mad i haven't seen those three up i named there, as if i me having-not-seen-the-movie was because i was making some kind of political statement or argument. i just haven't seen them yet, i have no opinion about it. i'll eventually get around to it, god be willing.

during that time, i was doing bad in school and worse in taking care of my body. i sat on the floor on this green pillow, one of the ones my dog eventually tears up. my dad typed g-o-n into the DVR with that slow methodical passion, the remote tilted so the "rays" or whatever would somehow find the ever-smaller input.

he was excited. "you need to understand the light." he didn't look at me while he did it, focused.

"are you spelling gonorrhea." my brother, the eldest, was 17 in this memory. he was sitting on the chair in the corner, playing a game i can't remember the name of. (starfleet? star invaders? it was online, i know that. lots of clicking.)

my dad is used to this. we talk over each other all the time. "when they made it, scorsese wanted this specific hue over everything." my father looks over his shoulder at me, but i'm on the floor, stretching. i don't have a smart phone yet. i'm just watching with the anxious-restless feeling we all get when your father is painstakingly typing something into a virtual keyboard at an eighth of the speed you could have managed. "you'd like this, raquel. what color do you think he wanted?"

my mom comes in from the kitchen. "do we want salt or butter on the popcorn?" she has a handful she pops into her mouth. "wait for your sister to come upstairs. she'll be mad if she misses a part."

"salt," i say, while my brother says "butter."

"spruce." my dad is undeterred. he finally clicks the v, and then navigates over the red tiles to enter. "Spruce."

"okay?" i like dark green too. to be honest, i have no idea who Scorsese is or why he is important. (this is, by the way, still true.)

"here's the thing." my father doesn't actually click the "enter." he just looks at me, adjusting his glasses. "it doesn't exist."

okay. he's right. i do like this. i squint up at him, the signal to go on.

"it came to him in a dream. it's not a real color." my brother monotones, flat. he's heard this story before, and he's 17.

"i still say it's green," my mother says. she comes in holding the salt-and-buttered popcorn, fluffy in an orange bowl. "he just never painted a house, is all."

"it's a candle smell," i say.

"a tree." i don't know when my little sister came upstairs. she's braiding her hair, frowning. "i thought we were going to watch psych."

"it's old movie night," my mother answers. there's something there, in the cant of her smile, which i won't understand until i am much older. if you are over 25, you know what i saw. my mother, seeing her family settle like tired birds around a movie screen, for the moment placid, not-fighting. none of the children are happy about the selection - why would we be?

"Scorsese says it's not green." my father finally clicks rent for 2.99. "he was looking for this specific color, the one from his dreams. the color he had been told was called spruce, through someone in the dream." he looks to me again, his poet. "you know how dreams always feel... different. when you look back on them in your memories, they don't color in all the way. and he wanted that dream tinge."

the memories of my dreams are covered in colored static. sometimes i nightmare in black and white. i did not share this information, thinking it was too private. (forgive me. i was 14. everything was too-private for me.)

"a regular hitchcock," my mom mutters. we don't know, yet, not really, about what hitchcock did.

"he revolutionized the lighting industry. raquel, you have to look for the light in this thing. it's only in a few frames per scene. he didn't want it to be overwhelming."

"he fired like 10 people while he was doing it." my brother doesn't look up from his screen, clicking feverishly. "in order to get the color, he had to develop a software to switch lighting past human speed." he sends a glance towards the TV, kind of relenting. "it was cool, actually. he didn't actually light the room with that speed, he used one set of colors on the set and then another set specifically over the film. we're basically seeing two films: one that has the regular lighting, and then just this lighting track playing on top."

"like a sound list - ah, what's that called?" my father's remote hovers over play. i am trying to figure out what color i think spruce is going to be. "soundtrack," he amends. "are we all ready?"

"i still don't think it's real," my mother says. "i think he made it up for PR." my mother is good at colors. my mother would be right about that kind of thing.

"hon, he spent thousands of dollars on this." my father isn't angry, for once, he's smiling. "i'm telling you, it happens."

she shrugs. "i'll believe it when i see it."

we are not ready. we have to each find places to sit. i've been lying about how bad my eyesight is getting, so i keep my seat on the floor, close to the television. my mother, father, and sister take the couch. i make sure i am within reaching distance of the popcorn. my brother even kind-of closes his monstrosity of a laptop. then my mother has to use the bathroom, so we all do, so we won't have to pause later. then my sister remembers her homework, so i get mine too, spreading it uselessly in front of me. i slide open my verizon sidekick keyboard phone to text Dean who the fuck is scorkayze? [sic] and then we are ready.

my mom falls asleep by the end of the first 15 minutes. my father misses most of it, since he's already seen it, going downstairs to play World Civ instead. my sister doesn't get it, so she ends up at the dining room table, doing homework instead. my brother goes back to the video game.

i stare really, really, really hard at the film, trying to figure out where the spruce happens. a few frames per scene.

i don't like the film. like most movies i saw at the time, i found it boring. i had undiagnosed adhd. i spend most of my time stretching and texting and not-doing my homework. again, i'm sorry - i was 14.

when the "gun" finally goes off - if you've seen the movie, you know the scene, and i won't spoil it here for other readers - i looked back over my shoulder towards my family. all of us, quiet in our own little seats. satellites. did i want this memory to be different? that i would turn and see my family, happily crowded chickadees, our wings brushing? or is this just the real-life, the type of love where we are not nesting birds, but foxes. prowling the edges of our comfort with our jaws open. snapping at the shadows, wishing for the closeness we don't allow ourselves to get. tomorrow we will watch psych. this is the last year of my life that all of us will live under the same roof. my brother goes off to college, and my sister and i follow suit. it is the last year my grades don't matter. it is my sister's first year of middle school. it is 2007; and in 2008, in the recession, we will no longer be able to afford to turn on the heat.

behind me, on the television, the light was fading.

sometimes, when i think back to it, shifting through the memory: it appears out of the thin air. a frame of spruce. it's never around the movie. my father's hands on the remote. my brother's low voice. the sound of my sister walking up the stairs. the popcorn smell hanging in the air. for a moment, the sense - everything is easy. and you know? i think i see it, mr. scorsese.

#how far do we go for a meme? #haha :) #what if i just write about the death of childhood by accident #this was supposed to be 3 paragraphs but i just finished disco elysium #so i am too full up on words #ps most of this is true #i still haven't seen those movies lmafo