#and the answer is 'for plot purposes'

[paperultra]

the liminal space.

Pairing: OPLA!Roronoa Zoro x Reader Word Count: 1,575 words Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol use [A/N: written with the cooper!reader from mise en rose in mind. i don't know where in the timeline this occurs, though. lol.]

cingulomania (noun): a strong desire to hold a person in your arms

Living in close quarters can really change how you see a person.

Roronoa Zoro, for instance, had always struck you as rather aloof, having traveled alone for some time before you joined him, and unused to physical affection. He never gave any indication that he was one to enjoy it, and he never sought it out from anyone. That certainly wasn’t odd. You respected his tendency towards personal space, subsequently believing that it extended to his sleeping habits as well.

So when you wake up, hardly able to breathe underneath the hulking mass of a snoring swordsman, you are more surprised than anything.

“Zoro,” you wheeze, patting his back with the hand that isn’t crushed between his chest and yours. Nothing happens, so you swat harder. “Zoro. You’re crushing me.”

His arms squeeze around you as he stirs, inhaling sharply next to your ear. You stop moving as he lifts his head and opens his eyes just wide enough to register you beneath him.

He pauses.

Good morning, sunshine is what you want to say in a cheeky tone. You want to prove that you’re unaffected by the warmth of his body pressing yours into the mattress, the sensation of his breath across your cheekbone and the way his gaze transitions from something bleary into something sharp.

The greeting refuses to leave your mouth. All you can do is blink.

The next thing you know, Zoro’s rolling off of you and out of bed with nary an apology, mumbling something about going to the bathroom.

You hum distantly in response and stare up at the ceiling as he shuffles to the door. Once he closes it behind him, you reach up and fold your hands over your eyes, cheeks hot.

Great.

—

It all started because you and Zoro could only afford a single bed at the inn.

(You use the term “afford” loosely here. The truth of the matter is that you grossly underestimated how much a room would cost, and the owner of the one place willing to lend you a room for half the usual rate demanded physical labor to make up for the rest. Given that Zoro would be spending most of his time hunting down a bounty, the majority of the unpaid labor fell on your shoulders.)

(But you digress.)

The room is small and bare, which is fine, because you and Zoro don’t have much between the two of you anyway. The only problem is that there is only one bed. Zoro had expressed no qualms about sharing so long as you didn’t disturb his sleep, and you had readily agreed, not wanting either of you to sleep on the floor.

After the first morning, you’re not sure if that was a lapse of judgement on your part or not.

Zoro doesn’t mention it at all before he leaves for the day, and you don’t, either. However, when he comes back in the middle of the night and you’re already in bed, squinting and shielding yourself from the bright hallway light as he takes his slippers off and walks in, he sits on the carpet just a few feet away from your side.

“What are you doing?” you ask as he proceeds to lay down.

“Sleeping.”

He closes his eyes and folds his arms behind his head. You frown.

“Why aren’t you sleeping up here?” No answer. You lift your head from your pillow, indignant. “Hey, don’t ignore me! I know you’re still awake.”

“I’ve had a long day,” he grumbles, “so I’d like some quiet so I can sleep. Thanks.”

You huff.

The thought that Zoro might actually be just as embarrassed flits briefly through your mind, but you extinguish it just as quickly. He’s never seemed like the kind of guy to be self-conscious about those kinds of things. A more likely reason is that he’s decided that he wants his own separate space after all and can’t be bothered to kick you off the bed.

So, you kick yourself off instead.

“What are you doing?” The phrase now comes from Zoro as you throw the covers off and grab your pillow, kneeling on the ground beside him. His eyes open and his brow furrows.

“Take the bed. I feel guilty.”

“I don’t want the bed.”

“Everybody wants the bed.” You lie down on the carpet and cross your arms over your chest, stubborn. “I’ve already slept in it. Now it’s your turn.”

“You’re an idiot,” Zoro says.

Neither of you budge.

The next morning, you decide that the first morning was in fact not a fluke, as you awake with your face smushed against his chest and the smell of steel in your nose once again. He’s not on top of you, at least, but the way he clutches you while you’re lying on your side, one ankle hooked over yours, is somehow ten times more mortifying. You wake him up in the midst of untangling yourself and pretend like nothing happened.

Who’s the idiot now? (The answer is both of you. Both of you are idiots.)

—

The third night, you and Zoro flop onto the hard mattress with twin groans, heads spinning and feeling overall miserable.

“That was the shittiest booze I’ve ever had,” Zoro slurs next to you, face down in his pillow.

“But you got a lead, right?” you mumble.

“Yeah …”

You had been there in the bar when he’d gotten that lead, but you can’t remember what it was for the life of you. Another inn? Another bar? Ugh, you’re never drinking there again.

“I’m cold.”

There are blankets on the bed. Unfortunately, getting underneath them would require a lot of moving, and you are physically incapable of exerting yourself that much right now.

You shiver and turn onto your side to curl up. You’ll fall asleep at some point, anyway.

Zoro murmurs your name.

“Hm,” you groan, eyes screwed shut.

He doesn’t say anything in reply. But you hear the mattress squeak, the bedsheets rustle as he shifts closer, and your breath catches when the small distance between you closes. He does not wrap his arms around you, no, but your knees touch, and the heat from his skin melds into yours. You hear his breathing slow to a crawl.

Through your drunken haze breaks through a sudden need to draw him into you, to tuck your face into his neck and keep it there forever. You want – you want. But you’re exhausted, and your head aches, so you find yourself slipping into a deep slumber instead.

He’s already gone when you wake up.

—

A suspiciously lumpy gunnysack in the corner of the room catches your eye once you enter, hand over your mouth to stifle a yawn.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Eight million beri,” Zoro says from his seat on the bed. Cleaning supplies for his swords are strewn around him, and he sheathes the Wado Ichimonji as you close the door. “I ran into another bounty on the way back.”

“Eight mill –” You clear your throat. “Wow. That was pretty lucky.” Eight million beri. Sometimes you wonder if you’ll ever get used to how much bounty hunters can make. (God, that would’ve been more than enough to pay for the room.) “We’re heading out to a marine base tomorrow morning, then?”

“That’s the plan.”

He puts away his supplies, setting them and his swords against the wall near his pillow before standing up to pull down the sheets on his side. You turn off the bedside lamp and do the same, crawling in with a sigh.

The two of you simply lie side-by-side until you decide to break the silence with your big mouth again.

“Am I a burden to you?” you ask.

“No.” The plainness of Zoro’s tone is a small comfort, you suppose. “Why are you asking?”

“Well …” You already regret bringing this topic up as you trail off, biting your bottom lip. “I feel like I haven’t really done much. I mean, I help with navigating and searching crowds and stuff, and I’ve been getting better at fighting, but I can’t help you, you know?” You fiddle with your fingers. “You don’t actually need me.”

There’s a gap between you and Zoro that you’ll likely never be able to close. You had always known that, and so had Zoro; in fact, he had told you at the start that going with him was a bad idea, given your inexperience in bounty hunting and traveling in general. And although you’d like to think that your ability to read a map and fix things convinced him of your usefulness, there are times when you think Zoro regrets bringing you along. Like now.

Zoro grunts, turning to lay on his back. His shoulder nearly lands on your hands, and you draw them to yourself as you wait for his answer.

It is brief and straightforward.

“I’m not forcing you to go with me,” he says. “And if you were a burden, I would’ve told you a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

It is brief and straightforward, and yet, there’s a strange lump in your throat. You swallow it and nod, even though he cannot see you do so.

Nothing more is said. However, as the night goes on, you reach out, and you find him, and Zoro finds you, and the space between your arms fills up with warmth and an unspoken promise. And you sleep very well.

#aesthetic words prompt list #opla #one piece #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro #opla zoro #one piece live action #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #'if they're broke how come they don't just sleep in reader's boat ?' you may ask. #and the answer is 'for plot purposes' #sorry if this one is wonky it wasn't cooperating for some reason ;-; #but reader gets to cuddle zoro ! that has to count for something right ?!

[strangersteddierthings]

No Regrets - Part Two

TW: OC Character Death (dude doesn't even get a name). Steve reflects on killing both demo-creatures and humans with detachment. Mentions of Major Character Deaths but as a reminder, they don't stay dead! (Well, Chrissy and Fred do)

Part One🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six

Maybe he should feel bad about watching Robin grow smaller in the rear-view mirror, her face a mixture of disbelief and anger. Maybe he should feel regret for his actions, for the betrayal Robin probably feels right now.

He doesn't.

Looking at the bigger picture, at the regrets he actually does have in the waking world, this is small potatoes. A non-issue. Robin will forgive him in the end.

War Zone is like a ghost town compared to the first time Steve was here. Though, that should have been expected. The panic hasn't swept through town yet. So far, it's just one dead girl. Fred'll join her sometime this afternoon. Evening? Sometime later today.

Nineteen-year-old Steve would hate himself for not trying to help. For not doing his best to save Fred.

But.

Well, Fred dying will help Dustin, in the long run. Will help Eddie. And that's more important. That's the goal. The dream, if he's allowing himself to be cheeky in his own mind.

Steve's not heartless, or anything like that. Robin, his Robin in the waking world, still calls him a softy and worries his kindness will get him killed on the daily. He always puts the safety of the group above himself. The first to volunteer on supply runs or for scouting or taking watch through the night. He knows he can run on empty for much longer than anyone else he knows.

The end of the world has a way of skewing what kindness and softness are, though. Those first few months were the hardest. Steve wanted to save everyone they came across. Help as many people as possible, but rations run dangerously low that way. Clean water can become contaminated quickly by ignorant people. Not everyone handled the apocalypse with grace.

The first harsh lesson Steve had learned was two months into the end of the world. They'd ventured to Indy to find supplies. Medicines. Try and stock up on things they didn't need yet but wanted around for the just in case of it all. They'd found some survivors, which wasn't surprising in itself. The surprising bit was that these guys had made it on complete luck it seemed. They were loud. Jumpy. Panicky.

When Lucas and Mike, on scout duty, had reported back demogorgon activities nearby, one guy started to panic. Got loud and couldn't bring himself back down. Steve was closest, tried to shush him but he wouldn't be quiet.

"Move," Murray (may he rest in peace) whispered, seeming to have appeared from nowhere, shoving Steve away, nudging him out of the way. Murray stepped behind the guy, one hand covering his nose and mouth, the other arm around his neck. It made the guy panic more, fighting Murray and then Murray just-

Steve remembers he flinched at the noise, turning away to cover his mouth and calm his own panic. The noises stopped though. Steve had shot a horrified look to Hopper, but Hopper wasn't looking at Steve. He was looking beyond, at Murray and what he'd done, nodding his approval.

The demogorgons didn't find them that day.

"You can't help everyone, Steve," Murray said, once they'd started the trek back to Hawkins. "The safety of the group comes first, over just one person."

Lesson heard. Lesson learned. Lesson put to use four months later.

So. Fred must die, for the good of the group. Patrick, too, if Steve can't get to Vecna in time. He should be able to. Vecna will try and take Max first, tomorrow. Patrick the day after. If everything stays the same.

The clerk doesn't even blink at what Steve buys, or the quantity of what he buys, but his eyebrows do go up a little at the total.

Steve hesitates just a bit over the checkbook his parents gave him the first time they'd left him home alone at fourteen. For emergencies only, Steven. It's been sitting in his glove box, unused, since he turned sixteen. He's never wanted to have to explain what he'd used it for. Nothing had ever seemed like enough of an emergency to warrant explaining it to Richard Harrington.

He does find it a little odd that his mind is conjuring up the concept of money. Of all the little things to think about while he sleeps, he really didn't think his subconscious would bring capitalism back.

Steve rips the little check out of the booklet and hands it over. The clerk looks it over before giving a nod and finishing the cash out. Steve takes the receipt when it's offered, shoving it into the checkbook before shoving that into his back pocket.

The parking lot has one other person in it, who Steve is aware of the entire time he's loading the trunk of his car with gallons of lighter fluid, weapons, and padded camouflage. It's only after Steve's slammed the trunk closed and shoved the cart back towards the front of the store that the guy watching him speaks.

"Must be some bonfire you're planning."

Steve rounds his car and opens the door before answering. "It's spring break, man." He slides in, the door falling closed after him. He buckles up, starts the car, and heads home. The house will be empty, he knows.

He works in silence, unloading the car and organizing his haul in the dining room, eyes flicking to the clock. There's still a couple of hours before dark. Before he should go check if Eddie's still in the boathouse, or if the police did go find him.

He sets the timer on the stove for an hour and flops onto his couch and sighs. Just as comfy as he remembers. He can have a nap before making sure Eddie's in jail. Surely his dream will allow him that?

-

"Mmhm," Steve mumbles as his neck protests movement. He's slow to wake. His head feels like white noise. He thinks he was dreaming but he can't quite grasp at what it was... oh. Family Video and War Zone. Reliving a memory. He wonders if Robin is still mad at him for that day, ditching her with Dustin and Max. It'd been for a good reason and- Steve wrinkles his nose as he sits up, head still static-y. Was it for a good reason? He can't remember what else happened after that....

"He rises," Robin whispers next to him, spooking him. She comes into focus as he sits up straight, leaning out of her space to look at her. She gives him a smile, judging by the crinkle around her eyes and her cheeks rounding. The gas mask prevents him seeing her real smile and he misses it. He thinks about his dream, and getting to see all of Robin's face again.

Dreaming is bittersweet.

"I miss anything?" He asks, because it's a safe question.

"Scouts radioed. The way should be clear in another," Robin grabs his wrist and twists so she can see the time on his watch, "another twenty minutes or so."

The mention of the radio makes him think of Dustin, and how much he misses him. And thinking of Dustin makes him think of Eddie. Steve knows it's irrational for him to miss someone he never knew but that doesn't stop the ache. The almost of it all sits heavy in his chest.

"Right," Steve says. "Want to see how many rounds of Rock, Paper, Scissors we can get through in twenty minutes?"

Robin shuffles sideways to be facing him and holds her hands up. "You always lose but okay."

They get about twelve rounds into it before Steve finds himself asking, "Hey Robbie. Do you remember Spring Break?"

Her hands freeze in the air, an aborted motion to make paper to beat Steve's rock. She locks eyes with him for a moment and he can see the worry there. "I- Steve. Is it- did you take a hit? Is it your head? Should I not have let you nap?"

No. No, he doesn't think he got hurt on this run. Well, his shoulder hurts from when he stumbled and slammed into wall during the last loading of the truck, but he hadn't hit his head. He thinks. "I don't know... I hit the wall hard, shoulder hurts, but I didn't hit my head. I don't remember hitting my head."

Robin stands immediately and begins jabbing her fingers around his skull. "Anything tender?"

"Nope. Just a messed up hairdo," Steve swats her hands away.

"Well, you can never be too sure. You are precious cargo. Why did you ask about the start of the apocalypse?"

Steve shrugs. What can he say? That he's forgetting the start of all their horrors? He can't say that, not without coming across like he's either crazy or bragging. Remember the week that ruined our lives and gave us all enough trauma to fill an ocean? Yeah, well, I don't so ha!

He can't be sure but he thinks Robin frowns beneath her mask. "We'll have to have someone look you over when we get back. Steve, if you're losing your memories..."

"I'm not losing memories," Steve lies. Head trauma is serious and he knows he can't take one more hit to the head. He won't be able to continue helping with supply runs or patrols if he is getting worse. If he starts getting migraines, they'll reassign him for sure. Something that doesn't let him leave the safety of their home base at the high school.

"Steve," she warns. He knows it's a warning.

He shakes his head. "I just. I had a dream about Saturday. Very vivid. Just made me think about it, is all."

Robin softens, sinking back down to sit beside him. She finally answers, "yeah. I remember Spring Break."

"I miss everyone," he confesses, because it's true. Because it's safe.

"Me too," Robin says, leaning her mask against his.

They wait in silence until the scouts call the all clear and they can head back home.

They make it back to Hawkins before night falls but just barely. The gates get rolled shut behind them and the unpacking gets started. The whole community has gathered for their return. This is their longest run to date with how far they had to go this time and Steve doesn't blame anyone for needing to see their loved ones as soon as possible.

"Robin!"

Steve turns just in time to watch Vickie launch herself at Robin. Robin must have seen her running, though, because she's already braced for impact and catches Vickie easily, arms grabbing at Vickie's thighs to support her weight as she wraps them around Robin's waist. Vickie places her forehead to Robin's as their excitement switches to tenderness and Steve averts his eyes to give them privacy in this moment.

"Steve, here," Ted Wheeler offers up a box to Steve, who takes it without question. "For the Daycare."

"You got it."

The Daycare is actually a wing of the school that used to be where the language arts classes were held. Daycare doesn't quite sum up what they use the area for, but calling it the Orphanage was too dark. Steve waits through the decontamination process. Once through, he takes the time to pull his mask off and enjoy the feeling of an artificial breeze on his face before heading to the Daycare.

"Please tell me there's something useful in that box," Annie Click says when Steve pushes his way into one of the rooms they use for school. Another room is dedicated to being a daycare, kids too little for learning, another is schooling for kids who would be in middle school, and the last room is lines with beds.

"Sorry, Mrs. Click, but I didn't pack it," Steve says apologetically.

"My problem to sort out then," she stands and Steve can see the determination in her through the weariness. She'd been a bitter old lady as his teacher but the world ending must have shifted her priorities. There's no one better suited to look after the kids than her, here.

Except maybe Joyce, but she's got bigger things to deal with.

He heads for the door when Annie calls out to him, "Since you're here, would you mind checking on the kids for me? Holly's supervising bedtime but she's lenient with her friends."

"Will do."

He heads across the hall and down a door to the sleeping room. The lights are dimmed and peeking in he sees a lot of kids sleeping, or pretending their best to be. Holly is sitting in a rolling chair near the door, one leg bend and pulled up on the seat as she rests her head on it.

Steve clears his throat to get her attention. She must have heard his footsteps because she doesn't spook. Just uses the foot on the ground to spin the chair to face the door. "Oh. Hi Steve."

"All good here?" He whispers.

"Yeah. Everyone's asleep."

"You can probably head home now. Your dad's back."

Holly shrugs one shoulder at him, spinning the chair back away. "Maybe later."

Steve takes the hint and backs away. His chest aches for Holly. All the kids had to grow up fast, given the state of the world, but Holly's hurts him most. He knew her in the Before, and she was there when Karen... Well, she's got a lot of weight on her shoulders at barely eleven years old.

To think. If they'd have been faster on that Spring Break. More diligent, thorough. Holly might have never known about the Upside Down at all.

More regret he can carry, he thinks, as he shoves his mask back on and heads back to the truck. There's more to be unloaded, and always work around to keep him so busy he doesn't have to think of the regrets.

He works so late into the night that once he gets back to his cot and collapses into it, there are no thoughts let in his mind as sleep claims him.

-

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @music9009 @apomaro-mellow @soaringornithopter @reighnofdreams @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @sirsnacksalot @livelifeliketheresnotomorow @sageclipse @schnukiputz @mbloggotdeletedsothisismybackup @lumoschildextra @juleswashere3 @yet-still-more-banched @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @yearningagain @starlight-archer @andrew-mini-ard @chaosgremlinmunson @aol19 @goodolefashionedloverboi @gutterflower77 @moomkin77

#steddie #my fic #time travel au #apocalypse au #it's both #is steve dreaming? time traveling while he sleeps? will his changes matter? #i mean im pretty sure we all know the answers to that but im pretending i can be cheeky about it all #also if u think i made a mistake in my plot or that ive forgotten my own lore just know... that maybe that was on purpose #butterfly effect AU might be a better thing to call this

[teecupangel]

"comes out of the coffin with a hot tea"

I HAVE AN IDEA! Stupid one... but still one! Another one of Desmond's being thrown into the past, but this time the apple has read too much about fainting Victorian women and made him in some sort sickly (We can make it as a backlash to almost dying and his burned arm). I mean.... what can i say! I just love the duality of a character that in one moments seems like a breeze can knock them down and in the next they win against you with only a stick in hand!

"sips some tea"

That would also made a good cover for Desmond! If he was trying to not put himself under the radar of his ancestors of course. Who would believe that the most sickly man in -put a city name here- is able to clime roofs, fight off the guards and also win without a scratch? Maybe Connor? Malik? Who knows! :D

"throws the coffin out the window and leaves through the door "

(stares the window for a moment… well, okay. I mean… I have no idea how a coffin could fit thru that but okay)

I mean… if you really want Desmond to have some kind of handicap of the ‘sickly’ kind, may I suggest the setup for “The Villainess's Days Are Numbered!” where the main character’s HP keeps getting depleted? This means... even taking one step gives him a -1HP penalty and stressful times (or any time he overexerts himself) gives him a double HP reduction penalty (which means that -1HP turns to -2HP). Oh, and his default HP is only 1210 and he can gain a max HP reduction if the circumstances call for it)... maybe even go down as far as 200 max HP, hhhhmmm?

This means we have the ‘joy’ of making Desmond have to maintain his HP XD

So Desmond has to be bedridden to keep his HP up before he does any ‘stunts’.

It would be funny if we place him in a very awkward position too.

For example…

Third Crusades? He’s one of Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn’s children. Hell, he could be the son who took over Ḥalab so we have an excuse to place him during the time of Altaïr’s Chronicles.

Renaissance Italy? Make him the ‘child’ of one of the many clergymen against Rodrigo becoming pope to give an excuse for Ezio to ‘know’ of him. Bonus points? Make him a relative of Cardinal Ascanio Sforza

American Revolution? One of the Schuyler children (Philip Schuyler has a lot but you can pick one of the Schuyler sisters if you want to make this a Hamilton reference or if you just want Desmond to be part of all that drama in general XD)

The main point is… Desmond has to maintain his sickly body, all the while making plans how to screw up the timelines without anyone noticing it.

#let’s be honest #altaïr would be super sus of this sickly man #for the sole purpose that he doesn’t know him #ezio could be more or less just know him by name only #ratonhnhaké:ton would be the one to not know him #until later on #because they go in ‘different circles’ #it would be easier if desmond was just some random sick person living in [insert city here] #but make him have an important standing #to make him suffer more hehehe #alas my love for rofan shows up again XD #assassin's creed #desmond miles #altaïr ibn la'ahad #ezio auditore #ratonhnhaké:ton #connor kenway #ask and answer #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #sickly desmond au

[mtndw-whteout]

hii im absolutely loving your detective au!! such an interesting idea! i looove exploring how much darker things couldve gotten w/o reigen helping mob accept himself when he was a kid (like the whole mogami dreamscape thing). how old is everyone in ur au? (sorry if uve answered this already)

thanks so much for posting!!

Im very happy to hear that!! I wasn’t expecting a lot of people to see it if I’m honest!

I have this wip of the fellas but as far as everyone else:

Tome is 30, Takenaka is 29. Reigen is 14, and Serizawa (who will make an appearance soon) is 15! He is a year above Reigen.

Shou is 27, like Ritsu. There are other characters im still working through!

#asks #answered asks #art #artists on tumblr #mob psycho 100 #mp100 #teruki hanazawa #ritsu kageyama #shigeo kageyama #teru is 29 bc the story line is just shortly after his birthday (april) #which is before Mobs #and ritsus and Shous #also teru is tall for plot purposes #I also hc teru as half European #if that explains anything

[kedreeva]

did u read the good omens book? if so, what are your thoughts on it compared to the tv series?

i followed u for the steddie posts but fell in love with ur meta too 💜

I did, but honestly they're separate entities unless I want to steal something specific for a fic. They're both good, for different reasons and in different ways. They are written by different men, literally and figuratively, about different subject matters, for different reasons. You can compare an apple to an apple blossom, but even though one became the other, and came from the same tree, doesn't mean they are the same thing anymore, nor does it mean one is better than the other.

That being said, I've only read the book once, and I've watched the show over a dozen times, most likely because I saw the show first and read the book second. I enjoyed the book, but I think it was probably a better read in its day, by people who were the target audience at the time, and who didn't just read about or know the context, but understood and lived it. I can't be that, I can't go back in time and read the book before the series, I can't go back and read it in a time where it would have meant what it was intended to mean to the world it was born into.

#probably not the answer you were looking for #and please believe i did enjoy both #the book tends to wander far more #it has a lot of tangents and addresses a lot of people #like the second set of horsemen #that had meaning but honestly not that much purpose to the main plotline #such that removing them entirely #didn't render the story any harder to understand #which i actually find fascinating from a writer perspective #since we're always told that every word and character and side story etc has to be essential #has to further the plot #has to be something that can't be removed and still have the story make sense #and then there's AO3 #where nothing has to be essential to anything other than what i want to read about in a given moment #and good omens the book kinda just put that stuff in the canon #so idk man it was a good book that had extras in it #good omens #asks #anon asks

[crowlore]

i remember it used to be a bit of a fandom pet peeve of mine that some people would forget that the gung ho guns and eye of michael were two separate groups with some membership overlap but then stampede came along and made the eom into a project of conrad’s backed by knives. another example of how the reboot feels like bad fanfiction.

#the eom worked best as a predominantly shadowy unknown group most closely tied to wolfwood and LR’s stories #i LIKED that we didn’t know who ran it or what their broader goals were outside of what contact they had with knives/the ghg #extradiagetically nightow just didn’t need to explore the eom in detail. they served their narrative purpose. #but i also find stories that try too hard to ask you bonus questions with overexplained answers to be very lame #so while prestampede it was kinda annoying but ultimately excusable to see ghg/eom used interchangeably #the new show cemented it them as interlinked in a way that actually made the story structure much weaker in an attempt to get ahead of you #this is all very much a critique of mine from the perspective of a writer not just a viewer btw #bad writing isn’t always enough to kill something yk. but plot holes are harder to excuse when your themes and structure are lacking #the manga’s Foundations were just much stronger than the reboot’s if you will #you can turn your brain off with this show and just watch the pretty colors if you want. absolutely no shame in that. we need that stuff #i guess i just struggle to accept a no brainer show like this as being another core leg of the story in the way trimax/98 are bc of it #pretentious of me i know. #stampede critical #for my followers that filter it

[hezuart]

OMG I've been obsessed with Channel Change AU for months now.

Will there be more content? the waiting is killing me. the idea is so good and it's so refreshing to see the 2 characters I loved the most and suffered the most have the happy ending they deserved and the way you connected everything makes so much sense that it doesn't even seem like it came out of nowhere.

it's amazing and you are amazing too! I've been on the lookout for a long time and I'll keep it up, great job!

HI

SUPER HAPPY YOU'RE AS OBSESSED WITH THIS AU AS I AM

UM

PROGRESS IS BEING MADE

PROMISE

UM

STILL GONNA BE A WHILE BUT ITS IN PROGRESS I HAVE EVIDENCE

THEYRE STILL ... AROUND... JUST HAVING FUN ON VACATION

but ...will it last?

#im in new territory with this comic #since its no longer based off in game plot or parallels #and because they 'escaped' the mood is gonna be way lighter than the last comic #so you might notice some differences #but there is a purpose to this comic #there is fear in this comic #there is danger #i hope you keep your faith knowing this AU isn't quite finished just yet #and that answers will come #little nightmares #little nightmares au #channel change au #update #status update #spoilers?

[fromtheseventhhell]

Do you think Arya will be present in the Stark vs Bolton’s conflict since George told us he intends to use Nymeria’s pack against the Bolton’s Hounds? It would make sense that Arya is present with the foreshadowing of her leading a pack which could be a combination of both the Northmen who support her and Nymeria’s pack

I think the Bolton/Stark conflict will be concluded, or on its way, by the time Arya actually makes it back to Westeros. I go back and forth on the idea of Arya returning North before the end of the story, but regarding her wolfpack going up against Ramsay's dogs...I doubt it? I don't think his Hounds are anywhere close to presenting a true challenge to Nymeria's pack, so there'd really be no stakes. While the numbers are likely exaggerated, I still think it's grown to a formidable size. I also don't see a pack of that size traveling so far, especially when the winter is coming and game is becoming scarce. If they do travel it's more likely that they'll move up the Neck (or thereabouts) given their previous movement pattern. I'm a firm believer that the Long Night won't be fought exclusively in the North, so I can see them serving as a line of defense for fleeing Northerns + against the Others. Either way, If they do end up making it North it's going to be for more than just fighting Ramsay's hounds.

#ask #anon #arya stark #nymeria #northern plot #My only concrete answer on Arya going North before the ending is that I think she leaves Braavos with the /intent/ to go North #Arya has heavy connections to the North and leadership foreshadowing but I don't think that's going to come into play here specifically #the hints are there but George is a gardener and things might not end up playing out that way #also re: the pack's movement they are obvi going to be influenced by Arya but I doubt that they'd be able to /physically/ make that trip #I also think that the numbers will be thinned out because Arya having a giant wolfpack is OP (although I can hope) #Could that be the purpose of them? absolutely but this is just what I think of it #Arya's pack destroying Ramsay's hounds would eat though don't get me wrong #I would love to see it happen I just don't know if it will

[unofficialadamtaurus]

Your reblog about feeling a writers earnestness and heart despite the writing itself maybe being shit really got me thinking. There is so much wrong with RWBY’s writing, but one that and I think is apparent now more than ever that is just as unquantifiable: Respect. And it’s the complete and utter lack of respect for the characters they’re writing for that is part of reason RWBY is fundamentally broken.

And look, I am by no means a writer, so maybe you can correct me here, but I think that dictates a lot of what a writer does? Whenever I do happen to write, draw, or generally interact with a character, I try to respect it. To me I get a sense that somebody, like my siblings or my friends, my parents, or even their friends, experienced what that character has. Somebody can identify with it in a personal way, and that should be respected imo.

Obviously, you need to tell a story first and foremost, so characters are a means to an end, really. But it’s that sense of mindfulness to the character that I believe makes the part they play in the story all the more compelling.

But again I’m not writer. I won’t try to pretend that I know or understand what goes behind a well told story. But the complete lack of care MK(EK) have wafts through.

I don’t know why I didn’t expect this shithole of a season honestly. These are the same people that botched a racism plot line and used the character who has suffered the worst of oppression and racism in-universe as a scapegoat, the people that made the man that struggled with the weight of the world on his shoulders evil because of his neurodivergence, the people that chopped a young woman’s arm and didn’t explore the repercussions of it because they thought it was boring, the people that wrote off a woman who lost her entire country as a joke, and now? Those people made their main character, whom they clearly don’t love, or even like, suicidal and very, very clearly alone.

This show is awful lol.

You can 100% tell when a writer respects a character and it absolutely impacts the quality of the work. It's not quantifiable, but I think it can come through in the little things: consistency, depth, plot beats, that sort of thing. The mentality that someone, somewhere, is connecting with a character is - to me - a key aspect of good character writing.

And it seems like all of the writers either don't know or don't care about that. They have a list of plot beats they're going to hit, damn the consequences.

Put another way: characters are vehicles through which to tell a story. If you don't respect your characters, you probably don't respect your story.

#anon #unofficial adam answers #rwde #long post #another part of judging 'heart' might be whether the work has a clear purpose behind it #a clear creative vision #and is clearly trying to achieve that vision #early rewuby had that in spades #flashy and fun and all about the fights #now? i honestly don't know #what's the point of this show now? #what do the writers *want*? #they have their list of plot beats and presumably and overarching plot but... #what's the point of it all? why are they telling this particular story? #like HP is all about coming back from rock bottom and forgiveness and all that jazz #that story's backbone is rooted in commentary on redemption for the person seeking it and healing for the people they hurt #i am driven to write the story in a way that enables scenes that focus in on those themes #just like how early rewuby was driven to enable fight scenes

[hel1anthus-annuus]

you know what really bothers me about the whole 'you can't call mizu trans, white transmascs this isn't about you' thing? the absolute disgusting audacity to forget that mixed race trans men fucking exist.

Who the fuck is saying that lol? I’ve especially never seen the latter part. Who’s talking to the white transmascs like that. Help. That’s ridiculous

I find this especially funny, because this is true— it is not about white transmascs, or transmascs in general, or enbies, or transfemmes, because Mizu is Canonically A Woman and we’re all HAVING FUN WITH HEADCANONS HERE. For every post that someone makes saying Mizu is definitively one trans identity, the cutest kitten in the world blows up like legos

#looks at my mixed race half white half asian transmasc partner with bug eyes #babe they’re erasing you again on the internet #anonymous #blue eye samurai #answered #please god guys stop arguing over mizu’s gender. she’s a woman for the purposes of the show. please be creatuve and expand in fanfiction #like normal people #discourse #we’ve all fucking lost the plot! god help us all! please post your headcanons in peace!

[buckevantommy]

watching Quantumania like: 

#quantumania #watchnotes #wtf #it's not that i have questions. it's that they could've answered the questions by now but they're #purposely staving off answers until the second act. problem is there's no filler in the meantime. #characters are asking the same questions as the audience and the mom is like No it's too early to tell you that #and the natives are also avoiding answering questions to keep the frustrating mystery alive as long as possible. the plot is vague and conf #meanwhile the visual effects are like a distraction: we know you don't know whats happening rn but here - #have some big budget multicolor blinding deafening fight scenes to distract from the fact you know nothing #the dialogue is also trite. but my main annoyance is their treatment of plot progression. is this #what's been said about how marvel movies use a formula to craft what happens and when? #rather than making something enjoyable that also makes sense and doesn't try to aggresively disorient you? #anti mcu

[fortune-maiden]

Okay but, if the Vanadis institute was already working on medical technology, why were they murdered for it?

#gundam witch from mercury #gundam #g-witch #g witch #gundam utena #maybe i need to rewatch the prologue but i am just generally very confused about vanadis and the gund-format xD #the show says space expansion has all sorts of problems that gund is supposed to fix #but..... it hasn't shown us any of this? #space expansion is apparently doing so well that earth is considered backwards #we have mobile suits that don't use gund that are good at what they do and don't murder their pilots so what makes gundams so special? #what can mobile suits be used for that aren't weapons? there is no purpose for aerial beyond being a weapon #these are basic questions this show has failed to answer xD #the characters are great but i am so lost with this plot

[ardenigh]

dusting off an old character design w this dude! his concept was “resident token human clown option in a visual novel lineup” but these days he mostly just does interior design

original draft sprite and flat colors under the cut!

#i am!!! so tired lol i haven't had a creative spark in quite some time! it was nice to hammer this out rq though #every time i open a canvas and start sketching out Just Some Guy no. 324893438 and honestly i've just embraced it #much like how samdoesarts answers the question 'why do you only draw girls' with a very simple '........ i like. girls' #i essentially only draw boys and also. armored nonhumans because. you see comma #they are pretty to me man im having a great time #or rather in the moment i am going through it but at least i can find consolation in #yknow drawing just some guy no. 324893439 #i also have quite a few of my helmeted green boy but like. i find that some mystique is lost when you see the face beneath the helmet tbh #like i love him! but ofc i do im super biased toward my holloway dude he is tailored to be perfect 2 me #maybe @ some point though bc it does serve a plot purpose but perhaps once i get a solid handle on the first few segments yes? #oc: castle mcleod #formal apology @ cas i am talking abt everyone but u in the tags of ur own post but it is okay bc i imagine u are used to it. sorry man

[teecupangel]

Tee, I'm adding another fandom to our Isekai Protagonist Desmond bunny bank. I finally got around to playing Rune Factory 5 (after being distracted by a bevy of other games) and was hit by the idea that Desmond would find eating BREAD to gain new crafting recipes to be really fucking wild. Like. How in the hell?! And that, to separate them from normal bread- they're. They're just. They're just called [Insert Craft] Bread and that's it.

For example! You want to make a potion? Gonna have to scarf down some Chemistry Bread! A new battle-axe with added poison damage? Weapon Bread! Wanna learn how to make some, I dunno, soup dumplings to woo the local wolfman himbo? (Or himbo wolfman, either way he's pure of heart and dumb of ass.) Well, you might need to level up your cooking skill but once you've gotten a level (or three or ten), then you might get lucky after chowing down three or four Cooking Breads but when you don't get any sudden bursts of enlightenment after that then you're gonna need to level up again!

All of it might have Desmond questioning reality some more but at least he's got some eye-candy to make up for it all! (And we could even make some of the potential husbands local expies of his usual AC partners. And yes, you can choose to romance and marry your own gender now in RF and it's non-fantasy sibling game Story of Seasons.)

(Just in case anyone is wondering, Story of Seasons is the real Harvest Moon sequels, not whatever ‘Harvest Moon’ game Natsume Inc is publishing. If you’re wondering if it’s a real ‘Harvest Moon’, any Harvest Moon released in the US by 2014 named ‘Harvest Moon’ are not part of the real series under Marvelous/Xseed)

Okay, so let’s talk about Desmond waking up in some weird place he has no idea ever existed in his own world. People assumed he has amnesia because he ‘forgot’ so many things about their world but Desmond is pretty sure he’s been transported to a different world.

Exhibit A: monsters.

Exhibit B: the logic behind these… ‘specialized’ breads.

So Desmond is left with no choice but to… well… go with the flow.

He has no idea why they gave him a farm though but… it was nice.

There was something nice about how everyone was helpful. It made Desmond feel like he was truly part of Rigbarth. SEED sounded fishy as hell though so he didn’t agree to joining them (also, he didn’t want to join any organization right now).

Overall…

Desmond liked to think of this as his retirement.

And it was fun trying to figure out how this world works. There was a lot to do for the farm but, even though that was true, Desmond had never felt more relaxed.

There were also a lot of kind people who didn’t mind joining him in exploring what lies beyond Rigbarth.

Hell, he even got a monster ranch going on in one part of his farm.

And then…

A man with amnesia going by the name Lucas arrived in town and…

He believes he knows Desmond.

He doesn’t seemed to remember when or how though but it was a clue. A clue to why Desmond had been sent here…

But the real question is…

If he finds the answer to his questions… would he be able to return to his old world?

Did… did he even want to?

Unorganized Notes:

I kinda like the idea that the bachelors and bachelorettes remain who they are and this will be a case of Desmond finding love in the ‘strangest’ of places.

His children though… the game gives 3 (1 older and twins) so that means we can have Desmond’s children be reincarnations of Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton (called Connor in this one). The twist can be hidden at the beginning on and Desmond learns they’re really his ancestors later on. This does mean that you’re free to choose who Desmond falls in love with (or make it a vote idk).

Considering Lucas’ true identity in the game, this might end up being one of those “eternal love” setup where Lucas used to be an Isu who created the world Desmond is sent in as some kind of simulated universe and placed his conscious there to escape the Solar Flare millenias ago. Minerva’s last ditch effort to save Desmond pushed him into the Grey and Lucas noticed that Juno was trying to take him so he grabbed Desmond and yanked him to his ‘safe world’. Lucas lost his memories because Desmond isn’t part of his world so Desmond’s sudden appearance caused a chain reaction that ended with Lucas’ amnesia (as he’s being repaired). His children being ‘reborn’ is actually his Bleeds gaining their own bodies.

Will Desmond make his own Brotherhood in this one? Probably not. At most, he’d teach his children Assassin-like tricks to help them be safe but not train him the way Bill did. That’s why it took a while for Desmond to realize his children are his ‘ancestors’. Ezio was the one who realized something fishy was going on at the start because (1) his older brother is named Altaïr and (2) one of his parents is named Desmond. The monster and fantasy-esque setting of the world he was reborn in offkiltered him a bit though XD

Up to you if you want to have an actual ‘oh the world is in danger… sorta’ plot as well or you just push it in the background with Lucas and Radea and let Desmond have his retirement.

#ngl #i went for reinhard for the sole purpose #of him being voiced by chris hackney #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd still has me XD #this has become a #fic idea: crossover #assassin's creed #desmond miles #ask and answer #altaïr ibn la'ahad #ezio auditore #ratonhnhaké:ton #connor kenway #fic idea: rune factory #rune factory 5 #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed

[whump-in-the-closet]

Raising Chaos.

masterlist.

cw: captivity whump, demeaning language, burning (specifically of someone’s hand) as a torture method, sadistic whumper, inhuman whumpee (let me know if i missed any)

***

Chiar had learned to fear the sound of Bridge’s footsteps in the hallway. It had taken a while…how many days had he passed in this place anyway? When would they realize he wasn’t going to talk?

The idiots.

They couldn’t make him.

The footsteps came closer.

Chiar tried to push himself up. He had to be ready– had to be. He couldn’t face Bridge on the ground. He couldn’t.

His hands shook against the stones. Bridge had stopped bothering with the chains. Like he said, there was nowhere for the cryptid to go. No one for the cryptid to use his “abilities” on. Unfortunately, Bridge seemed to know that Chiar couldn’t hurt him unless he had skin on skin contact. He always wore gloves and long sleeves.

The lack of restraints served as just another way of reminding Chiar exactly what Bridge thought of him.

“You’re pathetic.”

I’m not pathetic.

His arms collapsed. Every part of him throbbed– Bridge hit hard. Harder than the thugs that used to wait for Chiar in the corners of the cities.

Chiar pressed his head back against the stones.

Silence.

A faint ringing in his ears.

And the door swung open. Slammed shut.

Chiar did not look up.

The footsteps were recognizable. As was the raspy breathing.

Leave me alone.

Bridge kicked him. Hard in the ribs. “Get up.” There was no pity in his voice. No sign of ever giving up. It was as hard and annoying as that first day.

Chiar didn’t move. He hissed in pain, but didn’t move. The stones provided more comfort than Bridge’s relentless questions.

“No.” There was no point in getting up. There was no point in listening to Bridge’s condescending questions either, so he covered his ears as best he could with his hands.

His Oath held him.

He would not break it.

I’m not pathetic.

Bridge was wrong.

He had held out. It hurt, but he was holding out. And that, more than anything else, was as good as spitting in Bridge’s face. There was a ghost of a smile on his face as he curled up on the floor.

But Chiar had not seen the annoyance on Bridge’s face that had quickly flickered to anger. Bridge grabbed Chiar by his hair, hauling him to his feet.

“What did you say to me?” Bridge drawled each word out, but behind the casual tone was an underlying threat.

Chiar heard it loud and clear. He yanked his head out of Bridge’s grip. The buzzing increased. Not loud enough to become distracting, but loud enough to make it hard to think clearly.

He smiled– more of a grimace– at Bridge. “I said, go fuck yourself.”

I can take whatever you throw at me, Interrogator.

Bridge’s mask of cordiality vanished. He backhanded Chiar across his mouth.

“It’s time you learned a lesson in respect.”

Chiar stepped back, the taste of copper coating his teeth. The buzzing turned into steady white noise.

But Bridge’s eyes were on Chiar’s hands– the energy had surged under his fingers. His already distinctive blue nails had taken on almost a glowing tinge.

Chiar spat the blood out.

Is that the best you’ve got?

Bridge smiled. It was not a kind smile. Chiar felt a shudder spike through his nerves as he glanced down at his hands.

For a brief moment, he thought about what it would feel like to wrap them around Bridge’s throat and surge. To have Bridge choke under his fingertips, unable to hold the wash of energy that Chiar forced into him.

Bridge was still smiling.

Chiar backed into the wall and as Bridge crossed the distance between them, put his hands out to stop him.

But Bridge only grabbed his wrist and jerked him forward, manacling his hand to the wall. His grip was stronger than Chiar expected, and he half-expected for the bones to crack under Bridge’s hand.

He cursed. Loudly. He was past caring if Bridge heard him.

But that infuriating smile never left Bridge’s face. “You’re going to learn respect, cryptid, mark my words.”

Respect?

For what? For who? For the humanity he’d lost? For the remnants of humanity that remained?

I think not.

Chiar wrestled with the metal on his wrist. “Once I’m free—” this was emphasized by another ripping yank at the chain, “Once I’m free, you’d better run–” Blood trailed down his arm.

There was no release, and the metal burned, so when Bridge approached, Chiar lunged at him with his free hand. In the darkness, his eyes glowed. Sparks of energy formed on his nails and traced their way up his arm.

Bridge backed away.

Chiar continued to yank at his chained wrist, spewing every curse he could think of at the Interrogator. He hated Bridge and his stupid condescending words and his interrogation tactics–

And–

Chiar’s thoughts came to an abrupt stop. The buzzing died down, replaced with an emptiness that swallowed him and an exhaustion that could drown him. The air bled with a heaviness that pressed down all around him.

Bridge had neatly stepped to the side and taken hold of Chiar’s free wrist in a gloved hand.

Chiar hissed at him, trying to pull away, but the Interrogator’s grip was as unyielding as the metal. Bridge tied a thick rope around the cryptid’s wrist, and looped the ends through a hook in the ceiling. When Bridge stepped back, Chiar’s arm was suspended in midair, though he tried to yank it back.

Chiar felt a spike of fear cut through his anger. “What is the purpose of this?” His tongue felt strangely thick.

The glowing in his eyes had died to little more than a faint light.

Bridge didn’t deign to answer. He stepped out of the cell.

Chiar’s head swam. The anger had quickly morphed into all-encompassing exhaustion. He collapsed against the ropes, only looking up to watch Bridge return with a torch.

A torch?

What did the Interrogator need the torch for? He choked on the fear rising in his throat. If he had eaten anything recently, he would have thrown it up.

In the darkness the flames moved like a creature of their own, bending, twisting, taking shapes beyond comprehension.

They came closer.

“This is a lesson you won’t forget.” Bridge’s voice dripped with false sympathy.

No.

No.

The flames flickered. Red. Blue. Red again as they enveloped Chiar’s hand.

He screamed. More from the horror of it than the pain. That was his hand— his hand— burning. The smell of charred skin— that god awful smell— was because his skin was on fire.

The rope frayed under the double pressure of Chiar’s frantic struggle to escape the fire and the flames themselves. With a final snap of the rope, Chiar curled in on himself, cradling his hand to his chest.

If anything, the pain increased with the absence of fire.

Chiar sobbed, the throbbing burn spreading up his arm and settling into a rhythm.

Dimly, he registered Bridge’s words. “Have you learned to respect me now, cryptid?”

The torch flickered closer in warning.

Keep that back. He needed that far far away from him.

Keep that back!

The words fell out of Chiar’s mouth before he could stop them. “Yes! I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” And then he curled back in on himself, held up only by the chain on his undamaged wrist.

Bridge was smiling as he left the cryptid in the darkness.

tagged: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @pigeonwhumps (let me know if you want to be added/ removed)

#my guy chiar #cws above the cut #look i lost sight of the plot for this #a long time ago #and i have no. idea where i was going #with this scene in particular #but it’s been sitting in my drafts for a while #it just doesn’t serve a real purpose to the plot #because bridge isn’t really interrogating him for answers or anything #it’s just #whump #ah well #enjoy #whumpblr

[sapphic-woes]

You don’t have to post writing for me to be happy to see you on my dash <3 in fact I hadn’t for a while so I pulled up your blog to check on you lol I’ve missed seeing your face icon!

I’ve been so sucked into baldurs gate (and house flipper 👀) recently that it’s probably why I missed your recent posts.

On that note? Karlach. She can have it all! Whatever she wants I will give it to her!!!

Ehehe thank u sm!! Honestly I miss you too, I dunno why I haven't been on even if it's not to write, but ever since I had that bad episode I've been rlly bad at keeping in touch with literally anyone and everyone 💀💀

However, I did figure I should do this thing I call operation bs. I did this like a rlllly long time ago where I just make up shit on the fly and post them somewhere I rlly don't mind being subpar on? Like, anything is up for grabs, I don't have to think, I just write. The last time I wrote an ancient Greek BL used Wattpad but this time I'm on webnovel lolol so far I've been getting back into my grove (I honest to God feel best writing every day. Even if it's small. So not I think is messing with me)

And YEAH so I'm gonna buy the game with my next paycheck and go stupid. I'm gonna go so hard. It looks??????? So good??????? Sobbing!!!! Big fire lady???!!!!

#i should post the yaoi on webnovel too tbh #but bruh that was like 3 yrs ago so the quality? also i was writing it badly on purpose #like usually i think reak hard and do a lot of revisions #this time tho im just writing the first think that comes to my mind and if im like 'wait is this a riveting plot point??' #im like 'who cares!' #i think its helping #thank u for the ask♥️ #bibi answers #i miss u lots ❤️❤️❤️ #i will get back on!!! into my groove!!! #this is just a lil rut!!! but not the alpha kind!!!