#will I ever answer anything in less than 500 words?

[luvring]

i was thinking about oikawa and i just KNOW that he LOVES to be babied. that's just him, yk? like that's totally him and i would love to read about 30 year old professional volleyball player oikawa tooru being babied by his wife

(timeskip, fem!reader) he's just like me fr. i actually wrote something different but there wasn't enough babying so here u go 🥹🙆🏻‍♀️

tooru is one of if not the hardest worker you know, never losing sight of his ambitions and passion. determination lines his veins, and late nights of practice and analysis have seeped into the cartilage between his bones, gluing together what makes tooru oikawa, #17, setter for club athletico san juan.

but it's not oikawa, it's tooru, the boy you met in high school who stumbled down the steps after using a cheesy pick-up line on you and whines when you try to leave his arms for the washroom, who's your husband.

"long day?"

tooru groans and buries himself deeper into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped snug around your middle. he didn't really need to answer—the lit street lights and dim sky outside were answer enough.

holding back a laugh, you comb your fingers through his hair, the familiar scent of jasmine and vanilla dancing its way to you. "proud of you, baby."

your husband's voice is quiet, "thank you."

"you want me to run a bath for you?"

"...maybe later?"

"m'kay. you wanna stay here for a while?"

"yeah." his fingers trace hearts across your back, and when he pouts, you feel it against your skin. "i'm so tired."

pouting too in response, you press a kiss to his head and rub his back. "i know, baby, at least you're home now."

"but then i have to leave you tomorrow."

"and then you come back to me again tomorrow."

"but then i leave again—oh my god, what kind of sick world do we live in?" he whines, letting out a noise that could be described as a choked sob.

and this time, you let yourself laugh. "aw, my poor tooru,"—you cradle his head against you —"the horrors of a job have caught you."

"what if we worked somewhere together?" he lifts his head to look at you.

you raise a brow. "i love you, you're the light of my life, but you are not getting me on that court."

he gapes. "betrayal from my own wife?"

"okay, then come to my job."

"...well—"

"betrayal from my own husband?" you gasp and tooru pouts again—though at this point you're not sure if the original pout ever left to begin with.

it's still just as endearing, and your expression softens. "you'll be fine, 'ru. i'll baby you as much as you want every time you come home."

his pout pulls even more at his lips, and you mirror it. bringing your hands up, you hold his face and squish his cheeks with your words— "i, tooru oikawa, love my wife and my job, and i'm a strong, independent guy who can do anything."

"d'you rilly hafta hol' m'face?"

"it's for the effect and affirmations," you tease, before your amusement softens to something else. "how long are you out tomorrow?"

tooru's jaw drops as much as it can with you holding him in place. "why would you—9 hours!"

and before the dread of leaving you can fully take hold, you kiss his forehead. the apple of his left cheek, the right, his brows then his eyes, his nose, both sides of his jaw, his lips—all with a resounding mwah!

tooru's arms cling tighter, and he leans into each kiss, always chasing your affection though he doesn't have to. you smile at the flush dappled across his face. "see? a kiss for each hour."

he opens his mouth to answer, but then the pout comes back. "each half hour at least. each 15 minutes—"

"tooru." you snort. "what is that, like, 36 kisses?"

"okay, a kiss for each minute."

"babe—"

"you know how hard i train, i know you watched my interview."

and you really don't think you'll make it to 100, much less 500 kisses, but you'll try anyway, even if after the first one, tooru says, "one."

you snicker as you place the next four, and he counts them before pointing out, "you know, kissing your husband is way easier than doing rdl's."

"yes, yes, i know, honey." you softly laugh and press another to the spot between his brows. "i'm not complaining."

he counts again—six, seven, eight, nine—and you remember the determination and patience of oikawa was never separate from tooru, especially not when it came to you.

#luvring.txt #haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #🧾nia.answers #<3 anon #maybe i'll edit and post the other one later bc i think it was cute #.. will have 2 edit quite a bit. #bc i reused stuff so itd just be. repetitive BDHSJDJ #guys i have no idea what scents are good i pulled that jasmine and vanilla out of nothing. #if that smells like shit. um. dont tell me. actually tell me. and then tell me what hed smell like. #not sure if this version has enough babying either now that im reading it. well.!!!

[ripplestitchskein]

I've been binge reading your Helluva Boss and Stolitz posts for a while now and I love how mature and nuanced your takes are. I've run into a good deal too many Stolitz antis on Twitter who won't give Stolas and Blitzo's relationship a chance to improve later, despite the show clearly trying to do just that. I'm especially tired of people saying that their relationship is one-sided. And even when actual evidence is put out there that Blitzo actually does like Stolas back, they say it doesn't count because those hints are less than 5 second long small details rather than being spoonfed to them. Just argued with one of them on Twitter like an hour ago and that's exactly what they said. And they accused ME of not paying attention because in their mind, Stolitz was built up from sexual assault, and they think Blitzo's line in Western Energy "He can get hurt?" is somehow out of character which confused the hell out of me, and they kept insisting that Blitzo had "zero interest" in Stolas no matter what.

Thank you so much!! I do try my best to be as rational and logical as possible so I’m glad it’s coming through, not to say I don’t have emotionally based reactions or bias but in my meta analysis I try to set my personal feelings about the text presented aside and just talk about what it could potentially mean based on recurring elements, themes, and deliberate choices made throughout not just in individual scenes.

LooLoo Land is a perfect example, there are some moments in that episode I heavily dislike (Blitzø shoving the dolls down his pants, the “as long as she washes it” convo, and Stolas being sexually inappropriate in front of his kid) so I do understand some of the criticism. It was also episode two and being a creative myself I know firsthand that things like that happen. You put in things early, for a joke, a laugh, to highlight personalities and they don’t necessarily come across the way you intended or jive with where the story ends up. Which is why a lot of my analysis takes in the entirety of what we have so far, the recurring stuff, not just individual moments or one off lines.

I’ve always maintained that it’s crucial to remember that creators are not perfect beings who are getting their story from on high fully formed, they make mistakes, they get inspired and take things in a different direction as things develop, they can contradict themselves over time. It happens.

It’s also a cartoon so it’s limited in how much it can even do, how expressive the characters can be, how much time they have to explore and the medium absolutely comes into play when analyzing it. Art has always been and will always be subjective, and unless the creator flat out contradicts something it’s largely left to interpretation, but that interpretation cannot be based on one scene, or one episode, or a one off bit of dialogue or a single expression either.

I always encourage not wasting your time arguing with people who are still serving up early content talking points or who dont have media literacy as a learned skilled. I know it’s super hard, I’m guilty of it myself. I was so close to going off on a “Stella and Stolas are mutually abusive” take last night you have no idea. It was more the dude was just being deliberately obtuse to the point I stopped myself and was like “they have to be trolling, no way someone believes this”. You can’t change their minds, they obviously don’t want to engage with the material from a place of good faith, and it just bums you out at the end of it.

A lot of them are really young too I find, which may be part of the disparity. I’m 38 so I have a lot of different experiences to draw from they haven’t had yet. I’ve been a fandom girl since I was a kid, I’ve always been a shipper and I also create things so my perspective is further down the line and with lived experience some people don’t have yet. I’m reminded of this daily, my oldest son is 18 and we have many conversations where I’m reminded about how much you learn as you grow older and the assumptions you make as a younger person. This is not to say that younger people can’t think critically but it is a skill and it improves over time like any other.

I also encourage people to think of what is being said and why. There is a lot of hate for VivziePop as a person. My understanding is she said some things early on and created a hate base that is going to deliberately misinterpret just to validate their initial assumptions about her motive and character. With popular things there is always a small subset that hate a show because of its popularity too, I don’t think because they are jealous like some speculate but because they didn’t personally enjoy it and don’t like feeling like they are missing something, so they take it in a “it must be the children who are wrong” Principal Skinner approach. They can’t see why people love it so those people must be ignoring what they didn’t like about it and they must tell them.

Sometimes people like another ship or another character more, and their ship might involve one half of yours, or they don’t feel their character is getting the same focus and attention because of yours. So instead of just letting everyone enjoy their own things it’s now a competition, a source of resentment and they must make that everyone else’s problem.

And I’ve talked about the fascistic purity culture that seems to encroach into fiction spaces as well that is also at heavily play. Any time a character does anything that is vaguely “toxic”, “problematic” they are immediately painted with the SA brush, the creator is promoting it and the fans are enabling it and are somehow directly responsible for it existing in the world. You can’t do anything about them except enjoy what you like, look at it critically within your own personal comfort level, and as always, my favorite thing to say “kill the cop in your head.” Not just with fiction but everything.

I’m glad my analysis is being enjoyed, and I super appreciate your feedback on it. Come to my inbox anytime and we’ll enjoy the ride together!

#inbox #stolas x blitz #stolitz #helluva boss #will I ever answer anything in less than 500 words? #not fucking likely

[galaxysgal]

𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 || 𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫

pairing: lip gallagher x fem!reader

summary: just lip being a cute bf + debbie and ian being little shits

warnings: lowercase on purpose. poorly written tbh. swearing but y’all know how it is. heavily unedited. gen said yolo so i’m posting

A/N: i’ve been on hiatus for god knows how long but my roommate and i started watching shameless and i can’t get this mfer out of my head. things w school and life are hard rn so i just wrote this comfy cozy little thing in my notes app. yolo asf.

wordcount: probably like 500 or less idk i wrote it in my notes app at 1am

— — — — — — — — — — —

you’re nestled in lip’s arms, high up on his rickety top bunk. somewhere between finishing your nails and kissing until you could barely breathe, you had fallen asleep right against his chest.

you stirred now, your cozy world interrupted a squeaky little voice. “are you in love with her?” debbie questions.

lip shushes his sister, “be quiet, she’s sleeping.”

you were wide awake now, but much too comfortable to move and make that little fact known. plus, you wanted to hear his answer.

“i asked you a question dummy. are you in love with her?”

lip stutters, “i-i dunno. i really like her, okay?”

you’re satisfied with that answer. “in love” was a little too much too quick. but “really like” was something that made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“what d’ya like about her?” ian presses.

you can practically hear the gears turning in lip’s head as his siblings impatiently await a response.

“she’s- i dunno, she’s pretty?” lip replies. you hold back a scowl, annoyed at him for not having a better answer.

“yeah, great rack,” debbie comments.

“jesus, deb!” lip’s head falls back in frustration, one hand coming to cradle your head as not to wake you with the sudden motion.

“cut the shit lip,” ian interrupts. “tell us what you really think.”

you hold your breath as you wait for his response. his lips brush your hairline before he sighs. “she’s sweet, yeah? real kind.”

“a real woman of the people,” ian snorts, “princess diana type.” then “ow!” as you hear debbie shove him.

“and- and she’s real smart, too,” lip continues. “really, really fuckin’ smart. an’ she works hard. she just tires herself out sometimes.”

he strokes your hair gently, pressing a few more fleeting kisses to your forehead.

“you’re so whipped.”

you hear debbie shove her brother again, and this time ian fights back, the two making a ruckus as they push each other back and forth.

“come on guys, out. now.” lip orders his siblings around with that same stern voice you’ve heard plenty of times before.

debbie pouts. “but-“

“no buts. go on, she’s fuckin’ sleepin’ in here an’ you’re gonna wake her up. fuck off.”

“we were just-“

“fuck. off.”

“jesus,” you can practically hear ian roll his eyes. “alright, alright. we’re going.”

debbie yells for fiona as the two shuffle out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind them.

you smirk to yourself as lip groans above you, showing your cards. “you’re awake?”

you peer up at him through your lashes, a smirk planted on your lips that he’s just dying to kiss off. “can’t believe your little sister said i have a great rack,” you whisper.

lip laughs, loud and genuine. “yeah, she’s been stuffing fi’s old training bras. growin’ up an’ shit. i don’t like it.”

you’re quiet for a moment, admiring him. you know how important those kids are to him. he’d do just about anything for them, including the minor crimes you find him tangled up in on a weekly basis. he loves them like they’re his own kids, which honestly they kind of are. they may shove each other around, curse each other out, yell and scream at the top of their lungs, but at the end of the day lip has been more of a father to his siblings than frank ever was.

“you really meant all that?” you ask.

lip looks down at you, his blue eyes soft in the dim light. “yeah. yeah, i did. meant every word.”

you smile, leaning up to place a solid kiss on his lips. “for what it’s worth,” you murmur, “i really like you too.”

#shameless #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher x you #lip gallagher x y/n #lip gallagher fluff #lip gallagher #shameless fanfiction #idek how to tag anymore i’ve lost my tumblr interface memory and abilities #sos. #mags writes

[ataraxiaspainting]

Sweet Hibiscus Tea.

Yan Shalnark x F Reader.

Synopsis: After a day of finally trying to face your social anxiety, you walk home alone. The roads are empty, quiet, and eerie. But you are almost home now, aren’t you? You are not going to cry anymore. Just when you think life is starting to turn around for you, it goes in the exact opposite direction. 

Warnings: Yandere themes, violence, kidnapping, misogyny, not SFW implications, psychological horror elements, manipulation, panic attacks, Shalnark being an asshole, unhealthy relationships, and stalking.

Word Count: 5k.

Can be considered to be within the Hier Encore universe.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Look Who’s Inside Again by Bo Burnham

Things She Said by Chris Garneau

Baby Bride Rag by Roar

Butch 4 Butch by Rio Romeo

Appetite of a People-Pleaser by Ghost and Pals

Valentine, Texas by Mitski

I’m Yer Dad by GRLwood

Cry Baby by Melanie Martinez

Freaks by Surf Curse

Neighbour by Mother Mother

“You stay soft, you get beaten; only natural to harden up.” — Mitski, Stay Soft

*~*~*~*

Regardless of how much time has passed, this convenience store always remains the same.

There is always the familiar, tired face of the clerk behind the cash register, her gaze never on you or any other customer who walks in and out of the doors, a simple, muted hello being the only proof that she noticed you.

The lights dim and blink without fail, fading from white to a shade of daffodil to dark flaxen before disappearing and resurfacing yet again as alabaster. No matter how black the night sky is, the less-than-bright illumination never changes.

Neither does the rest of the scenery.

Next to the payment area are two vending machines, with one not functioning. It is dead, with the glass broken by a punch that left a large gaping hole in the dead center. Once when you accidentally touched the front wall while bending down to get your can of lemonade from the working one, it left a sticky residue that had you rubbing your palm on your sweater for what felt like an eternity. It somewhat helped, you guessed, but it also stained your clothes. The vending machine to its right was always out of most sweet drinks, often leaving you with the choice of coffee, lemonade, green tea, or water.

You don’t buy any snacks aside from strawberry Pocky and, if you are lucky, a chocolate bar.

But you do buy meals here because it is cheap. Usually fish with miso or a salad, but there have been times when you can find a premade sandwich.

The total cost comes to between 500 to 1000 Jenny. There is always a poster that claims the cashier is the employee of the month, though you are certain that she is the only one who works there.

The only thing that ever changes is the calendar behind her. The past dates are crossed out in red ink that is in the form of thick, scraggly lines. They remind you of the drawings you used to make as a child when your father was too busy screaming outside your door and your mother was too powerless to do anything but cry and yelp as he hit her. One time you drew them fighting, and when one of your maids saw it, it inevitably found its way to his desk.

Needless to say, he was not happy by any means.

*~*~*~*

The calendar behind the worker reads the 17th of April, 1998. On this day in 1985, your first and only ever friend, the head gardener’s apprentice, went missing. When you eventually gathered up the courage after waiting for hours outside, you went to your father’s room to ask where she was.

“She has been removed from the premises for distracting you instead of doing her job.” The answer you got was to the point, because when has he ever been warm to you? “I made sure that she had learned her lesson before she died. She was in pain the whole time. It was a shame to put a bullet between her pretty eyes. But at least she had a bit more use to me beforehand.”

You cried and cried until you threw up.

That is when your mother, the usual bandage over her left cheek this time, came in and sat on your bed gently, sadly.

She patted the area next to her and slowly you stood up from the floor where you kneeled as you sobbed and went over. She asked you if you wanted a hug and you said no. She responded with a simple nod, respecting your answer. But then what she said next turned your tear-stricken face into a glare.

“She’s alive.” She muttered, along with thanks to God and a hold of the cross on her neck. 

“...What?”

Your mother shushed you when she heard footsteps coming to the door. When the sound eventually leaves further into the hallway, she leans into your ear while pointing to your vanity. Your gaze leads you to the dusty cat statue made of garnet.

It got shattered a little while ago when a maid cleaning your room accidentally made it fall to the floor. You felt bad for her as she was a new hire, so you never told anyone aside from your mother. You knew that if your father, the head of this household, ever found out he would punish her severely, even when he did not care for the statue at all. You got to choose, if you were lucky, which part gets whipped or cut off.

“Yes.”

Her short answer leaves you almost jumping up out of your seat. “...Huh?”

“At last week’s banquet, she caught the attention of your father’s wealthiest business partner.” She turns to the curtains covering the lone window in your room, her back now facing you. “She was tricked into boarding a car when the driver claimed you were inside waiting for her. To the partner in question, she is nothing but another pretty face to add to his collection.”

At the slight turn of the doorknob next door, you two go as still as wax people in a museum. “Why did he lie to me?”

“Why? Well, he certainly did not want you rebelling against his decision.”

“But I have never rebelled against him before.”

“I know.” Your mother lets out a sharp laugh, salty and sour. “I know you are always trying to be good, trying to stay under the radar. I know, I know because you are a lot like me. but now I am going to teach you a lesson about your father and the world at large. Remember that a man’s resentful attitude will always result in a woman’s agony, physical or otherwise, always. However, when things go right for a man, a woman is either praised like a dog or ignored until something goes wrong because it is never enough.”

You can’t breathe. “But why? Why, why, why? What did I do wrong? What could I have done right?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing. There is nothing you can do or could have done. No matter what, your faults will always be found. That is how most men are raised, to find, and how most women are raised, to hide.”

“...”

“Men’s hearts are such cruel, small things. Oftentimes they can only fit themselves in them, but there have been times where even they cannot fit.” She is still holding onto the cross charm on her gold necklace, firmer than she has ever held you. “They are cold, are or are almost dead. There is no room for people like you and me. No room at all. All they see us as is something to own, something with no feelings whatsoever, and whose only purpose is to please no matter the cost. Such pigs, all of them.” She murmurs some prayers that you cannot hear. “I want you to be better. I want what is best for you, what I never have been able to accomplish; run and live.”

She opens the drawer beside your bed, and you don’t do anything to stop her. It is not like you can hide anything, from her or anyone else in this house. Whatever is buried eventually resurfaces. She pulls out your rarely used bible, a thick layer of dust on the leather cover. It smells and makes you cough. She doesn’t though.

“At least your father does not force you to read this day and night.”

“Mmhmm.”

“It is one of the few things I appreciate him not doing, I do not want you to grow up hating the church.”

“I know.”

“He has made you hate a lot of things already.”

She turns the pages, dust flying around the cold air.

“He made me hate a lot of things too. Blankets, steaks, cameras. The color white, the color black, the color red. The sounds of belts unbuckling, the sound of laughter, the sounds of doors opening and closing and locking.”

You don’t say anything, only looking at her hands. Only in the dark can you not see her scars, her blooming wrinkles, and the bruises that are always fresh. 

You don’t say anything, because you have learned from a very young age that you are her only listening ear. You are the only one who keeps her head on her shoulders. You don’t say anything, because she is right. He has made you hate plenty of things. But, but, but. But you can’t hate him, and you can’t hate your mother.

You can’t hate her, because who knows what she would do when she finds out that no one cares about her pain in this hell?

“Mother.” You mutter, putting your head on her shoulder as you scan the text on the page that she selected. She does not stop you. 

“Yes, [First]?”

“Do you hate me?” You ask, trying so very hard to not let her see the tears that threaten to come out of your eyes. “Because… because… if I wasn’t conceived, you wouldn’t be here hurting, would you?”

You could swear that you heard her heart skip a beat.

“...I would not be here, yes.”

She is honest, for once. You know at least some of this situation is all your fault.

“Do you hate me?”

“...”

“Mother, please answer me.”

You hear a sniffle as she starts mumbling the words written. “‘A gracious woman gets honor, and violent men get riches.’”

You choose not to press on the subject. You don’t want her to suffer anymore.

*~*~*~*

You buy an orange-flavored Ramune soda, a pack of pork ginger instant ramen, and strawberry Pocky.

The total would come to about 600 Jenny if your quick calculations are right. You could get something extra, like a topping for your ramen or some chips. But would it be wise? You have never been someone who finishes their plate after you had ran away, so what if you just waste your money?

So, you decide not to get anything else.

You walk to the cash register.

You hear an explosion from the back of the building. Small sparks of white and orange. The lights go off before you can place your chosen items down, and you can hear the employee cursing under her breath. The breaker. What happened?

“Damn it, I don’t get paid enough for this shit.” She grumbles, putting her thumb and pointer finger on the bridge of her nose, rubbing. “No raises whatsoever. Only one here. Without me, this place wouldn’t be working, ungrateful pricks.”

Fighting the way your heart rate shoots up, you decide that talking to her would be best. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to someone aside from your boss, right? 

Maybe your anxieties would quell, and you can eventually graduate to talking to your co-workers, that would be a dream come true for you.

You haven’t had a friend, a real friend, ever since Rose was taken from you all those years ago. You still cry whenever you think about her. You miss her. Is she dead, is she alive?

You still blame yourself. If only you hadn’t talked to her, maybe she would still be with you. What kind of adult would she have been? A kind one, a responsible one? You would still be friends at least, wouldn’t you? Or would she grow to hate you, if she didn’t already?

You keep telling yourself that she wouldn’t and didn’t, but that is not what your mind tells you.

Is she dead?

You could picture a rotting corpse six feet under. An unmarked grave. Glassy, dead, amber eyes looking upward to anyone who looks down, helpless, pleading. You always liked them, always complimenting them much to Rose’s shy chuckles. She was so pretty, that much was true. You could only imagine how beautiful she would have been as an adult.

Her looks were a personal gift from God, the heavens, and the angels.

But if she didn’t have them, would she not have been treated like she was in the estate?

“Erm, excuse me,” You mutter, taking a few steps forward. “If you want I can go check it out.”

It is what Rose would do. She always liked helping others. You just wish that people would have appreciated it more and seen past her appearance. It was a double-edged sword. It helped her become the head gardener’s apprentice but also caught the attention of both your father and his business partners. You felt bad for her, and still do.

The employee turns around, her confusion prominent despite the dark. 

“Erm,” You mutter, looking down at your hands and entangling your fingers in one another. You could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks in embarrassment. “Is that okay?”

It takes a few moments to respond. Her surprise was unexpected, as you never spoke to her outside of asking her if she had change or telling her you hoped that she had a good night. Rose would be better at this kind of thing. You once had a dream that at a fast food joint, an adult her would order for you and correct the staff when they put pickles on your burger. It’s what could have been, funny moments like that. She had always been the one to take charge, you following her like a lost puppy.

You miss her so much.

So much.

The worker slowly nods. “...Okay.”

“...It’s in the back, right? The breaker.”

This is so awkward. Rose would be better. You wish she was here. Or your mother. Anyone.

“...Uh. Um… I like your eyeliner.” As soon as you say that, you curse at yourself, not wanting to sound like a creep. The woman’s confusion becomes even more prominent.

“...Thanks, and yeah, it’s in the back.”

“...Okay.” Jesus Christ. You turn away from her, the heat on your cheeks hot enough to be mistaken for a fever. This is not what Rose would have done.

“...You can leave your stuff here.” She says, and you quickly spin your heel and put your items on the counter. “It’s not like they are going to grow legs and run off, so relax.”

“...” You both chuckle, and you feel slightly better. “...Thanks. I’ll go now.”

“...” You start walking. “Wrong way.”

You stop.

It takes you a few seconds for you to move back to first base and go off in the opposite direction. As soon as you open the creaky steel door, strong rain and cold wind greet you, along with a loud clap of thunder and lightning.

Perhaps you could go back and get your umbrella from the stand by the door. But that would be even more awkward.

“Stupid. Stupid.”

“If we are lucky, the wind simply detached it or something. Not the best at this sort of thing, though.”

“I don’t think breakers detach.” You could picture her shrugging and scoffing at your murmur. “Sorry. Sorry. Just… sorry. I’m the best at this sort of thing either.”

You close the door behind you and start looking amongst the pitter-patter of the raindrops and gusts that nearly make you fall over. 

Stupid. Why do you make everything so weird? Rose would have been so much more charismatic. It was one of her strongest traits after all.

Stupid.

It’s hard to see. Trying not to trip over stones and cracked cement, you grip onto the wall and walk forward. Soon, you feel something.

“Ew, ew, ew!” You cry out, quickly moving your hand away from the slimy slug. “Ew!”

“You okay?”

“Uh, nothing. Just a bug. Yeah, just a bug.”

You hear a chuckle. Stupid.

“Sorry!” You exclaim, almost bowing your head. “Sorry! Really!”

Making sure you don’t touch the slug again, you keep moving.

Eventually, you find the breaker. But it wasn’t what you were expecting by any means. The damage almost looks like it was done on purpose, the way it was open and covered in soot. Did something get to it?

The breaker that exploded was a mass of melted metal that had been blown apart from the intense amount of heat and pressure. It was now barely recognizable as a single unit–parts of it scattered across the cement path and others having been fused and becoming something else entirely. The metal had been melted and blown upwards in the sheer force of the explosion, coating parts of the wall, wet grass, and roof with small, solidified droplets of metal. The ground around the remains of the breaker is burnt and scarred with traces of the immense fire that had consumed it.

It seems the rain put it out.

“No hope for this, huh?”

“Hey,” The employee calls out. “How bad is it? If there is nothing you can do, come back inside.”

So, you do.

The way she turns at you is robotic almost. A smile is on her face that was not there before. She nods when she sees you. Something tells you to not approach.

“It exploded into molten metal.”

“Oh well.”

Under the stormy skies, her gaze turns pale. Her eyes, seemingly captivating, lack any hint of vitality, while her lips curve in a disarming and saccharine manner. A shiver runs down your spine as you meet her gaze, every fiber of your being urging you to flee. Deep within your primal instincts, an innate awareness stirs, recognizing the smile as a charade, a mask of humanity that ventures into the realm of unease: akin to an artificial being adorned with synthetic flesh or a wax figure encased in glass. Those lifeless, white eyes, coupled with a forked tongue and an unsettlingly beautiful countenance, leave you with an undeniable sense of mistrust.

“You’re not mad? Really? Um…”

Something is off. What happened? She looks more like an imposter than anything else. But if she is, where did the real cashier go?

“Don’t worry.” She says, her voice oddly chipper and no longer confused by your awkwardness. “It’s fine. I’m quitting anyway, so it’ll be my boss’ problem.”

You turn your head. “Really?”

She nods. Something is off.

“Like really?”

You blink multiple times and you don’t think she does. She just stands there. Slowly, she nods. Something tells you to run yet again.

“Um… um… okay. Okay. I’ll just pay and leave. How much does it come up to?”

She shakes her head.

“Um. I have to pay. It’s thievery if I don’t.” You get closer. “It’s the law.”

“It’s fine.”

“I can’t just not pay.” You say, taking out your wallet from your sweater pocket. “That’s stealing. It’s wrong.”

Every action she takes is measured and precise, and she seems to move like a machine rather than a person. It’s as if she’s been programmed to act and talk in a certain way, and she doesn’t seem to have the ability to break out of that. She simply stares at you, not speaking.

Run.

You undo the metallic button, hearing the shuffling of paper Jenny within your wallet. “Um. Let me pay. Please.”

She simply shakes her head again.

“It’s fine.” The employee says, the smile still plastered on her face. There is quite more than a hint of blankness and detachment in her expression. She speaks in a mechanical and emotionless manner, her words delivered as though repeated from a script of carefully chosen sentences. Her movements are quick and precise, putting your chosen items in a plastic bag. There is no life or energy in her actions, instead, she moves like a mindless machine, performing her tasks before her without showing any personality of her own. Is it better to just accept it?

What should you do? What shouldn’t you do? Is she joking? Should you leave?

What would Rose do?

One of her hands grasps onto the plastic handles and she holds it out before you. There is no authenticity or warmth. Her eyes are blank. What happened? Should you ask? Should you just take the bag without saying anything further?

“Okay,” You murmur, obeying her silent command. “I hope you don’t get into any trouble though.”

*~*~*~*

Boss (9th May 1996 17:45)

Did you find anything?

Boss (9th May 1996 17:45)

Feitan found her heels nearby along with some blood, so she couldn’t have gotten very far.

You (9th May 1996 17:45)

Nothing yet

Boss (9th May 1996 17:47)

Try checking the stores nearby.

Boss (9th May 1996 17:47)

From the blood trail, she is most likely injured from running and trying to fix herself up in some sort of shelter.

Boss (9th May 1996 17:48)

She may have also discarded the rest of her clothes, not just the heels, and is currently wearing something else.

You (9th May 1996 18:15)

I found a dress and jewelry at the bottom of a lake

You (9th May 1996 18:18)

(image sent)

Boss (9th May 1996 18:20)

That’s it.

Boss (9th May 1996 18:20)

Disappointing. I’ll send over Pakunoda to ask people nearby.

You (9th May 1996 18:20)

K

You (9th May 1996 18:21)

Don’t cry, I’m sure we’ll find her soon :) 

Boss (9th May 1996 18:22)

I wasn’t crying.

Boss (9th May 1996 18:22)

I just thought she came around already.

Boss (9th May 1996 18:23)

This will set our heists back weeks.

Boss (9th May 1996 18:24)

She has planned this out for more than a year, it seems.

*~*~*~*

Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. You can’t hear anything else. The sounds sting your ears like an aggravated hornet. 

The darkness around you is solid, more so than the cracked, aged concrete path beneath your shoes. There is a tiny light in the distance; a streetlamp.

Silence.

“...”

“Have a good day!”

“...Thank you.”

Let there be light.

“Um…” You can’t see anything. The sounds… stopped. “...Time to go home.”

But the pain stays. 

It feels like a drill. 

It hurts.

“...” You feel deaf and blind. No, maybe something even worse. “...”

You turn around, to the dark convenience store, and you see the cashier still staring at you. “Have a good day!”

“...”

“[First]?”

…How does she know your name? Did you say it to her in the past?

When you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you.

“[First], dear.” She starts waving as you look at her. “[First]. [First]. [First]. [First]. [First]!”

There is nothing but emptiness. Is your name all she can say? What happened to her? It is like she has regressed. Like a storm cloud in summer, you do not wish for this pain. Now you feel deaf and blind and mute now. 

You almost wish that you were dead. All there is is pain. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. 

Interruption. The sounds returned. Is this good? Is this bad? Does it matter at all? 

You walk. You don’t speak. Only walk. You can’t breathe. You can only move. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. 

Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. 

A hand clamps over your mouth.

You drop the plastic bag from shock, and then you finally hear something other than those sounds; glass shattering.

“Sh…” A voice, calm, along with the smell of oranges. “It’s okay.”

“...!”

“Don’t scream.”

The touch of lips, a man’s lips, on your ear, thin and hard. 

“Breathe. Just breathe for me, okay?”

But you can’t. The wind goes down your throat. It is suffocating. You can’t breathe. You smell oranges and something rotting, blood.

It stinks. It fucking stinks.

Christ. Get away. That stink. That fucking stink. Your body rejects it by continuing to not breathe.

“Sh… Breathe. Just breathe, for me, for you, for us.”

“...St… Sto-”

“Sh…” The voice is sweet, not at all sour, like candy. “Calm down. Nothing bad is going to happen. Just breathe. You’re going to pass out.” The lips and the scent of his breath are like salted leather in a butcher’s shop, stinky and rotting. “Calm down. Don’t worry.”

“...Sto… Si-”

“Breathe. Sh… It’s okay. Breathe.”

“...Ge… Sti…”

“Sh… Breathe. Breathe, [First]. Breathe. [First]. Breathe. Breathe. It’s okay. Don’t worry about all this. Breathe.”

When you finally do, you gasp, desperate. “...Huff… Huff… Huff…”

Get off of me, I can smell you. 

“There we go!”

Your vision clears up a bit. “...Huff… Huff… Huff…”

“Just keep breathing.”

“...Huff…”

You can smell him. You can practically taste him, with his mouth so close to you.

“Whew! That was a close one!” The man exclaimed, wrapping his other arm around your waist.

Pain. Get off of me. I can smell you, I can hear you, I can taste you. Get off of me. Please.

The pain still stays, in your chest and your ears, and your head. Oranges. Blood.

Get off of me.

Please–

A pain in the back of your neck and you go limp.

Darkness. Then pain again. You can’t move. You can only breathe. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. 

*~*~*~*

SAINTSHORE SPACE THEATRE

UNDER THE DIRECTION OF RANDOLF URASLEF, GRETEL JAMES, AND QUINCEY J. ORATICE

PAUL DONSHEL CELESTE BAKER   ANNE CROAKS

AND

THE GREAT COMET THEATRE COMPANY

SWAN LAKE

ADAPTED BY MUSIC WRITTEN BY PYOTR ILLYICH TCHAIKOVSKY

INSPIRED BY THE CHOREOGRAPHY OF JULIUS REISINGER

WITH THE WONDERFUL CAST OF

(IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE)

Odette, the White Swan………………………………………………………….JEAN YVETTE

Odile, the Black Swan……………………………………………………………...JUNO LILOU

Prince Siegfried……………………………………………………………(the name is illegible.)

The rest of the list’s names cannot be read just like Prince Siegfried.

“She is simply beautiful. Just so beautiful. Simply wonderful, perfect.”

As the spotlights ignite, their scorching beams engulf you, causing you to shield your eyes with futile resistance. The sheer force of the light overwhelms your feeble defense. An ethereal audience erupts with exuberant cheers, applause, and whistles, resonating from vacant seats. Champagne flutes collide, men erupt with hearty laughter from their very core, and women unleash piercing screams akin to banshees.

The temperature rises and the noise intensifies, repeatedly, enveloping you in a symphony of overwhelming sensations.

Onlookers casually share their thoughts.

“Get off the stage, we want to see the play, not some stagehand!”

“Boo!”

“Fuck off!”

You run off crying.

“Where is that Odile girl?”

You run into a dressing room. One used by a woman wearing a black dress. She is so pretty. Her long strawberry blonde hair falls off her bare shoulders, clearly just done with a flat iron. There is a burning smell in the air. Smoke. When her gold eyes meet yours, she marches towards you and slams the door shut.

You can almost hear sobbing coming from the other side. Cries.

“So lonely…” The woman mutters. “When will it ever be enough?”

The voice sounds familiar. Her eyes. Her hair.

Nostalgia. Memories you would much rather forget. The basement. The imaginary ripping of clothes and tears and men’s laughter.

“I can’t do this much longer…”

Someone else knocks on her door. You want to scream.

“Come out, dearest.”

The devil. Tall with curved horns and a forked tongue. You want to warn her. 

You want to save her. “I’m not going to harm you, I am going to make you happy.”

You are so focused on whether the woman opens the door or not that you do not notice what happens next until it is too late. A clawed hand on your mouth. A tongue licking your ear. Tasting your sweat. Your tears. Laughter. The rest of the world disappears, and the only one there aside from you is the one behind you.

Sh… Sh… Sh… Sh… Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. 

Get off of me. Please.

“Breathe. It makes things more fun for me.” The voice echoed like you two are in a cave.

You gasp for air, and the smell of blood and oranges fills your nostrils.

“...Huff…”

“That’s better.”

You turn around. There is a body of a man. 

But the scaled, furred, horrifying face of a demon.

“Good.” He says, smiling his sharp teeth. “Deep breaths, in and out, come on.”

You do what he says. He praises you again, you think. But you can’t hear it. Either that or you simply do not pay attention to it. What happened to the woman? 

“...”

“We should go.”

The woman. The devil, this other… thing.

“...Rose…”

The demon laughs.

“Wake up.”

*~*~*~*

The first things you hear come from a happy man’s voice. “My boss’ girlfriend ran away more than a year ago you see, and he’s been heartbroken ever since. I want to prevent that kind of loss from happening to me. Real pretty one, too! He didn’t expect it, but I don’t blame her. After all, she’s been held captive for more than a year, she had to try to escape eventually.”

…The first thing you feel is lace on your neck. A collar.

It does not tickle or hurt. It itches. 

A cold hand plays with it, and it almost chokes you. At your discomfort, the man laughs.

“You are so cute.”

Something metal is on the collar, and it blinks a small red light.

#author aya #yandere #yandere x reader #hxh #phantom troupe #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #shalnark #hunter x hunter #hxh phantom troupe #hxh x reader #hxh shalnark #shalnark ryusei #shalnark x reader #yandere shalnark #ultraviolet.

[drabbles-mc]

Retreat

John Wick x GN!Reader

Warnings: 18+, mentions of blood/injury

With the help of This Prompt List by @creativepromptsforwriting and my trusty Wheel of Names with every character I’ve ever written for, I’m aiming to write a fic in 500 words or less every day of March. We’ll see how far we get!

Prompt: spring

Word Count: 300

A/N: i already want to make a whole world for them but i simply do not have the time. will be rotating them on the mental rotessiere until further notice.

John wasn’t someone that you would necessarily describe as ever having a spring to his step. He was more the type to be striding with determination, or limping himself along—not much of an in-between to be had on a regular basis. Emphatic wasn’t really in his nature, not in the way he moved, not in the way he spoke—the only time you saw something close to that was when he was fighting, but that was something else entirely.

You’d both left The Continental that morning with equal amounts of conviction in the way you walked down the entryway stairs, but now that the sun had long since gone down and you were both making your way back to safety for the night, it seemed that you were the only one with any pep left in your step.

He barely caught that you were coming through the door behind him. Even though he didn’t say anything, you could see the pain in him in the way that he clenched his jaw. Still, he held the door open for you to walk through in front of him. That was more of a cautionary measure than a chivalrous one, but you’d still take it.

“Rough day, John?” you asked with a smile he didn’t reciprocate. Your jokes rarely landed with him but it hadn’t ever been enough to stop you from making them.

He wasn’t going to point out the bruises blooming across his cheek or the splits and scabs along his knuckles as an answer. He saw the tiny flecks of blood on the column of your throat but he didn’t plan on saying anything about those either. Instead, he nodded as he let the door fall shut behind the two of you and gave a simple, “Yeah. Rough day.”

#john wick #john wick fanfiction #john wick x reader #john wick x you #x reader #x reader fic #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[explodingsilver]

Book review: Nightbane by Alex Aster

Lightlark…2!

I’ve already made my thoughts on the first book quite clear (read that review first if you haven’t already; I don’t feel like rehashing all the context), and were I a bit more sensible, I would have stayed away from its sequel. I am, however, somewhat of a literary masochist, so of course I borrowed this from Hoopla the day it was released (November 7th, not too long ago). Very pleased that I was able to write this review much faster than the first one, though this review is shorter, at only 2,100 words long. Was the experience worth it? I don’t know, you tell me.

(There are spoilers ahead, on the off chance that you care)

The plot and style

After the events of the first book, Isla is trying to learn her several powers as well as get a hold of this “leading two different realms” thing while trying to move on from getting betrayed by four different people she used to love. At a celebration for a Wildling holiday (in which no Wildlings other than herself are in attendance), Grim magically crashes the party from afar and announces that the Nightshade army will destroy Lightlark in thirty days. The other realms start preparing for the invasion, and Isla tries to recover all her lost memories of being with Grim in hope that they will reveal what his goal is and how to stop him, especially after receiving a prophetic vision of him standing in the ruins of a village he destroyed with his powers.

Put simply, if the plot of the first book is split between “Isla and Celeste search for a MacGuffin” and “Isla and Oro search for a different MacGuffin”, this book is split between “Isla and Oro do basic defense building stuff” and “Isla remembers the time she and Grim searched for a third MacGuffin”. There’s also a subplot about a rebel group trying to capture Isla, but this is inconsequential and could’ve been dropped entirely.

It feels like there was an attempt to address some of the criticism of the first book, but not nearly enough of an attempt. On the one hand, metaphor usage has improved to the point where it actually feels like it was written by a human being and not a neural network (no throbbing and raw glaciers this time around), the book acknowledges that no longer having a power no one else had in the first place is less bad than having a maximum lifespan of 25, and Isla realizes that Grim let her win the duel in the first book and that she did not win against a 500+ year old army general on the strength of her own skill. On the other hand, it does not address questions like “how does Starling society even function if none of them ever live to 26?” or “if Oro always knows when someone is lying, why didn’t he call bullshit the moment Celeste said ‘Hi, my name is Celeste’?”

Speaking of that last thing: I didn’t mention it in my review of the first book because it didn’t really feel relevant to anything, but each ruler has a ‘flair’, a special power that is unique to them. Oro’s is that he can always tell when someone is lying. Grim’s is that he can teleport. This book reveals that Isla’s is that she is immune to curses. Glad to finally have an answer to one of my biggest questions of the first book (checks notes) 75% of the way through the second one, when this explanation should’ve been given the moment we learned the original stated reason does not apply.

Wildling elixir and its (lack of) consequences

Much of this book centers around the presence of the Wildling elixir from the first book, a potion that is super effective at healing wounds. As you might imagine, this kills a lot of the tension. Used in conjunction with Isla’s magical teleportation device, “teleport away, use Wildling elixir, teleport back” becomes an easy way to recover when the characters get their flesh ripped apart. And indeed, they do this all the time! The book tries to nerf this strategy by stating that the elixir is rare due to the flower used to make it being rare, but 1) this is at odds with Isla’s very liberal use of it, and 2) aren’t the Wildlings the “make flowers grow instantly” people? Why can’t they just use those powers on it like they do for every other plant?

There was a bit of potential for an interesting theme with these flowers: Isla eventually learns that while the Wildlings use them to make the healing elixir, the Nightshades use those exact same flowers to make the titular nightbane, which is basically fantasy heroin. I was intrigued by this motif (I like it when things have a dual nature like that), but unfortunately this doesn’t really go anywhere, other than some vague gesturing at “wow, just like Isla”. Speaking of Isla…

Isla

This time around, Isla is clearly traumatized by the events of the last book, trusts very few people, and is aware that she is in over her head with leading two realms full of subjects she barely knows while also being the king’s unofficial consort. Not a bad start for a character arc, but in effect, she has gone from naive and impulsive to naive, impulsive, and guilty about those things while making little effort to amend them. It feels like her attitude towards leadership is basically “I’m allowed to call myself a bad leader but nobody is allowed to agree with me on that.”

Much of Isla’s internal conflict in this book is based around her Nightshade heritage on her father's side. She is convinced that there is an inherently evil part of her because her father was from the Inherently Evil Realm. This may not come as a surprise, but I do not like when stories have such a thing as an Inherently Evil Realm. Not only does Nightshade fill this role, but the book never even gestures at pushing back against Isla’s conviction that her heritage taints her, and in fact ends up affirming it.

This book really told me to my face that Isla is the first person in millennia to have both Wildling and Nightshade powers. I do not buy that even for a moment. Maybe my disbelief is because the series discarded the “only one realm’s power set per person, even if their parents are from different realms” thing in the same book it was introduced, and I would expect there to be Wildling/Nightshade couples way more often than once per few millennia. But no, that highly plausible thing can’t happen because then Isla won’t be the most special person currently alive!

The other characters

Sadly, the rest of the cast did not improve, and in some instances, got worse.

Oro going from "world weary, distant king" to "official love interest" has unfortunately sanded down all his interesting aspects, and everything I liked about his character in the first book now takes a backseat to being overly protective of Isla and making stock Love Interests threats to kill anyone who hurts her. I swear, he turned so generic that some of his lines were indistinguishable from something Grim would say. But hey, if nothing else, he at least didn’t get character assassinated like I was sure he would!

While Grim actually does stuff in this book, he still has no personality traits other than what's included in the Sexy Villain Starter Pack. Like, it actually upsets me that he's such an absolute nothing of a character. Everything about him begins and ends with “what if the villain…was sexy?”, and there are about a morbillion stories out there that provide more interesting answers to this question. You’d think focusing on him this much would be the perfect opportunity to give him any unique traits at all, but Aster certainly did not take that opportunity, nor did she ever answer the question of why he likes Isla, despite the sheer number of pages dedicated to their relationship.

As for everyone else? Azul, our beloved token gay black man who runs his realm like a democracy, still receives woefully little page time. Cleo, the bitchy ruler who hates Isla for no reason, receives even less, but at least we get to hear about her dead son, I guess. Ella, Isla's Starling assistant, is mentioned so rarely I wonder if Aster forgot she exists. There are also several new average citizen characters introduced, but none of them are remotely interesting. They're all defined solely by whether or not they're on Isla's side. It says something when the best new character is Isla's new animal companion (a panther named Lynx, who rules because he does not give a shit about Isla).

The chili pepper emoji, as the TikTokers call it

Because I must do as the book did and address the topic of sex before I get to the final important bits.

This book is much hornier than the first one, but in a way that makes large parts of it feel like one of those dreams where you're trying to have sex with someone but your attempts keep getting interrupted. I regret that I did not count the number of times Isla was about to fuck someone and then got denied for some reason or another.

There are three times she actually succeeds, and luckily these scenes do not read like they were written by Sarah J. Maas, despite her obvious influence on everything else. This doesn't seem like much of a compliment, but this series needs all the W’s it can get. That's not to say everything is fine, though. There's one scene that's obviously using all the "first time" stuff for characterization, and I can't help but feel this would be more effective had they not already slept together a few short chapters beforehand? Like c’mon, all you had to do was switch the order of those two scenes.

The ending

Shortly before the Nightshade army is set to storm the island and destroy it, Isla learns Grim’s (and Cleo’s) real motivation for doing so: there’s a portal on the island leading to another world, one in which the original founders of Lightlark came from before making Lightlark in the image of the world they left. Grim and Cleo want to open that portal and reach the other world, which will just so happen to destroy the island. They’re not actually trying to kill everyone for the evulz. Isla, in her naivety, accidentally opens it for them before they even arrive.

During the final battle, while trying to steal Grim's powers so she can kill him and save Lightlark, Isla finally remembers the last two important memories: 1) she and Grim actually got married right before he memory-wiped her, and 2) what she thought was a prophetic vision of him killing an entire village was actually a memory of her doing so. Convinced that she'll accidentally kill Oro if she stays with him, she agrees to go with Grim, whom she just realized she is still in love with, in exchange for a promise that he'll withdraw the attack.

I cannot remember the last time I had this strong of an "are you fucking kidding me" reaction to the end of a book. But after some thinking, I decided that it actually makes for some great tragedy material. “Traumatized woman with a supportive partner becomes convinced that she’s too horrible to be with him and goes back to her terrible husband” would make for a good story if this was a more grounded book written by anyone else. Alas, this concept just had to be tackled here.

I also naively thought that because the deal was for two books, that means this would be a duology. But it feels like there will be a third book, and I'm hoping there is, not out of any desire for more (unsure how much more I can take), but because it would be straight-up authorial malpractice to end the series on that note.

Conclusion

This honestly wasn’t quite as bad as the first book, but the problems that persisted outweighed the ones that got fixed, and the severe case of Middle Book Syndrome certainly did not help its case. It’s a very small improvement stylistically, but when the nicest things I can say about it are “there were some concepts that could’ve made for an interesting story in the hands of a better author” and “the sex scenes aren’t atrocious” and “the cat is kinda cool”, then I feel justified in calling it terrible overall. It’s a good thing that Lightlark…3! is presumably a long ways away, because I will need all that time to recover from having read this.

#nightbane #lightlark #alex aster #ya fantasy #book review #book discussion #original content do not steal

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Season 3 Rewatch Drabbles: 3x14 The Tower

Summary:  A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my    rewatch of season 3 of Once Upon a Time.  There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season.  Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an emphasis on Captain Swan’s epic love story.

Word Count: 915

Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The past year without her had been hell.  He’d missed her every day, every moment of every day.  He’d tried everything he could to forget her, to alleviate the ever present pain, but the only thing that had brought him even the smallest modicum of comfort was the remembrance of their parting.

Good.

That one word had told him everything.  Despite her walls, she did care for him, she would miss him–or at least she would have had she retained her memories.

It was that reminder that had gotten him through the early sleepless nights.  It was that promise that had given him hope when he’d finally been given a chance to return to her.

He would like to believe he’d be pleased to learn she’d been happy, that she’d found love again, but selfish bastard that he was, it had cut like a knife through his heart when she’d told him the eight months she’d spent with Walsh had been real and that she’d loved him.

Now, reunited, back in Storybrooke, memories restored, the walls she’d built around her heart were tenfold what they had been in Neverland, and in his lower moments he almost wondered if the year without her–but with the memory of her good–had been less painful.

“You know what Swan?” he asked peevishly as they stomped through the snow-covered ground searching for a trace of the witch. “Whenever you’re around, I inevitably find myself trekking through some manner of woods or forests courting danger.”

She gave him a sardonic grin. “And here I thought you weren’t afraid of anything, always looking for the next adventure.”

“Oh, is that what this is?”

“Isn’t it?” she asked, her words dripping with sarcasm. “What the hell were you doing on that ship?  I’m guessing it was one swashbuckling tale after another until you decided to come back and save me.”

He couldn’t stop the stab of pain her words gave him.  He knew this was a defense mechanism, but gods above, did she truly think that of him, even in part?

“Exactly,” he answered shortly.  She wasn’t the only one, after all, who could employ defense mechanisms.

She stopped abruptly and turned to face him, all trace of mocking sarcasm wiped from her face to be replaced by a seering intensity. “You’re lying.”

“Excuse me?”

“What happened back there?” she pressed. “What aren’t you telling me?”

The shame washed over him as he remembered the sordid business with Blackbeard, Prince Eric and Ariel.  The last thing in the world he wanted was to see the disappointment and revulsion in her eyes when she heard the tale.  More deflection was certainly in order.

“Nothing,” he said shortly, turning to continue his walk. “That’s my tale and I’m sticking to it.”

“I still don’t believe you.”

Killian mentally groaned.  She was not giving this up.  It was time to take drastic measures to change the subject.  “Let’s leave it at that, and you can just say thank you.”

“For my memories?” she asked, “I already did.”

“For saving you from a loveless marriage,” he said, turning toward her, looking into her eyes, looking for an indication it was true.

“Is that what you think you were doing?” she asked.

“He was a flying monkey,” he said flippantly.

“I didn’t know that,” she answered, and he could hear the pain in that statement.  It made him feel like a cad, pressing on her still open wound.

“Were you considering it? His proposal?”

“Does it matter?” she asked.

“Humor me,” he answered, both needing and dreading the answer.  He knew this woman, knew her better than anyone.  He saw the festering wound her walls hid, knew it needed to be lanced in order for her to heal.

And so he pushed, even though the act hurt him nearly as much as it did her.

“Yes, okay?” she finally answered, her tone steely. “I was in love, so of course I was considering it, but as usual, he wasn’t who he said he was and I got my heart broken. That enough humor for you?”

Killian let out a long breath, feeling the pain and betrayal coming from her in waves.  Behind that thick, nearly impenetrable wall lay a heart that was bruised and bloody, but one that still beat, one that would heal, one that could find happiness again.

He could only hope she’d allow him to be the one who helped her find it. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m glad to hear that.”

If anything, her frown deepened. “You’re glad to hear I got my heart broken?”

Killian took a chance.  He stepped forward, letting his feelings, his sincerity, his care for her shine through his eyes as he looked deeply into Emma’s. “If it can be broken, it means it still works.”

For one bright shining moment, he thought she might kiss him.  Her breath caught, she swayed into him, her own feelings, which she’d been trying so desperately to hide, to banish, shown through her lovely green eyes.

And then abruptly the walls came up again.  

Without a word, she turned away, stepped past him and continued on toward the farmhouse in the distance.

The disappointment washed over him, and he allowed himself to feel it for a moment before sighing and moving forward.

The woman he loved–the one he knew loved him–was still in there.  He simply needed to be patient.

NEXT CHAPTER->

#once upon a time fanfiction #captain swan fanfiction #season 3 rewatch drabbles #3x14 the tower #emma and her 3b walls #*shakes head

[iamstartraveller776]

Not 500, but see below :P

"Oh, but Loki wasn’t ready for playtime to be over yet. He hurried to the door ahead of Jane, opening it hardly more than a crack to imply that his companion had to make herself presentable.

“Looking for your friend?” he asked the dark-haired girl in the hallway.

“Whoa! You’re actually kind of hot,” she said, sizing him up with the same kind of annoying interest the others had shown him earlier.

He gave her a wry smile. “Shocking, I know. But you’ve come for Jane.” He nudged the door all the way open and said conspiratorially, “She’s been keeping me company.”

Jane’s friend gasped as her gaze flicked between the two of them, very obviously drawing the conclusion he’d intended.

He let out a sigh. “It’s a pity we were interrupted when things were getting really fun.” To Jane, he gave a forlorn expression. “I suppose you have to leave now.”

She was gearing up to deny everything by the wild glint in her eyes, and on impulse, he took her face in both hands and drew her up to him for a kiss. He’d only meant to shut her up and perhaps lend weight to the misconceptions he’d been seeding, but damn. When she forgot herself and relaxed into him, tilting her head just the right way, he was tempted to slam the door shut on her friend and have a good snog. Who knew the teacher’s pet had it in her?

But despite his every instinct to deepen the kiss, he broke apart from her. Because—yes, that. The glazed-over look she gave him, rosy lips parted in an absolute stupor. That was worth cruelly ending their interlude too early.

“I’ll see you on Monday, then,” he said with another wistful sigh as he stepped back from her.

She nodded numbly, staggering as her friend dragged her out of the room. It wasn’t until they were halfway down the hall that he realized she still had something of his. A wondrously horrible idea came to him as he leaned out of the doorway.

“Oh, and Jane!” he called after her loudly, making sure to get the attention of everyone milling about nearby. “You can borrow my books any time you want.” He winked at her horrified expression before shutting the door and succumbing to another fit of laughter.

Finally something new. And he was only getting started."

Ah, yes! A New Kind of Fun. I had to switch over to my laptop to answer. (Because I hate typing longer things on my phone, lol.)

When I started Rumor Has it, what, 8 or so years ago, it was initially just an answer to a writing challenge—where I had to include four words given to me. It was only ever meant to be a little ficlet that went nowhere, and I don't recall how it grew to be a much longer story. But one thing has always remained true: even though it's written entirely in Jane's POV, I know why Loki does everything he does in it. In the back of my mind, there's always a version of events from his POV.

So, when I got your prompt ("Trouble" by Natalia Kills), it fit the vibe of Loki's choices in that first chapter. From Jane's POV, it appears that this whole exchange was purely a happenstance, that he was flying by the seat of his pants the entire time. We aren't sure if he felt anything with that kiss, even. Was he drunk? Had he intended it to be a silly little one-off then thought better of it over the weekend?

So yeah, here we have his POV. And while it was a happy accident for him to find Jane in his room, we learn that she has been on his radar already at least a little bit. We learn that it's here that he decides that he's not done with her after his shenanigans. And yep, he liked that kiss. But overall, the game is, at this point, what matters most to him. He can snog any number of girls. Messing with Jane Foster, though? That's far more interesting to him. In a way, she's been a challenge for him (academically), and now he's found a way to return the favor.

It was a lot of fun to write this from his POV. It's been my goal in RHI to keep some of his motivations a mystery to both Jane and the reader, and dole them out little by little. And it's only because of the seven chapters I've already posted that I felt comfortable sharing this version of the inciting incident without spoiling the overall story. We already know that he wasn't keen on his family's move to the States and he didn't have a high opinion of American girls thanks to his conversation with Thor in Hal's diner. We already know that he has a complicated relationship with his brother. We already know he is super aware that being wealthy doesn't equate to happiness thanks to his conversation with Jane at the butte. Perhaps here I revealed more clearly how much he puts on a front. But we've kinda already seen that with his private moments with Jane, when he lets the mask slip a little.

Anyway, I'm rambling, lol. Thank you again for playing!

Send me a 500 word or less snippet of one of my stories, and I'll give you a dvd commentary on it!

#ask game #star replies #averbaldumpingground #dvd commentary #fic commentary #lokane #loki x jane foster

[witchygirl99]

Starting next Wednesday, January 4th, I will be doing Witchy's Wicked Wednesdays (WWW).

What is WWW? Every Wednesday, I will post ~500 words of smut. It has to be smut, with a rating of either M or E. It cannot be more than 500 words, but it can be less. Bonus points for being right-on-the-dot.

Why is WWW? It's a longevity test, of sorts, that I have been tasked with. I will do this until I can no longer.

How is WWW? This is where you come in.

If you would like, please send me an ask or DM with the following:

Pairing + Prompt (+ AU, if inclined)

I'm willing to write the following pairings: InuKag, MirSan, KagKik, KagSan, SessKag, InuKog, Shiouten, KaguKik, SessKagu. If there's a pairing you'd like that's not on here, feel free to submit it anyways, along with a backup in case I'm not comfy with it.

Prompts can be: (a) a word or phrase, (b) lyrics, (c) a line of dialogue, (d) a particular scene and/or (e) a trope. Feel free to add an AU, too. Please know that I generally always write AU, so requests for canon-timeline may be filled more sporadically.

See some additional and important details below for those interested ✨

The No Go List: non-con, incest, pedophilia, torture, humiliation, sadism and masochism, unhappily ever after (willing to do open/ambiguous), and whatever else I find uncomfy that I can't remember at the moment.

I am very chill with a fair amount of kink, so don't feel weird asking if that's your heart's desire. Random examples I pulled my from recent AO3 reads: rough sex, breathplay, D/s, a/b/o, consensual non-consent, somnophilia (sleeping), etc. etc.

Prompts submitted to me will not be answered directly on tumblr. I will post my fills to AO3, but will do my usual "promo post" here. This way, you can fill comfortable in your request (whether you submit it anon or not). If you wish to be "gifted" the prompt on AO3, or mentioned in my notes, let me know and I shall do so!

If you're unsure of anything, feel free to ask (any questions on this I will privately respond to, if not on anon).

Lastly, I can't guarantee I will get to all the prompts, but know that I love and appreciate all of you. Thank you ❤️

#prompt the witch #WWW #witchy's wicked wednesdays

[haywire-hetfield]

6 AND 26 for jimmy page/ dave RAAHHHH ITS CRAZY BUT LIKE, let's just say dave is a really big fan of led zeppelin and he just do whatever jimmy tells him to do.. AGHSHSBSKSBSKB

Sure thing!

Send me a number along with a pairing (or leave it to dealers choice) and I'll write you a snippet (500 words or less)

6) "Tell me what you imagine when you think of me."

26) "You look so good under me."

Dave’s heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest. Seeing Led Zeppelin live was already like a dream for him, but finding himself in Jimmy Page’s hotel room with him wasn’t something even his wildest imagination could let him believe in. 

The mattress was soft under his back and Jimmy was warm on top of him, both of them still fully clothed. Dave was content to take his time with this, doubting he would ever get this chance again. A naive part of himself hoped that Jimmy might like him so much that this became a repeat occurrence. 

“You’ve thought about this before,” Jimmy hummed when he broke away from the kiss, sitting up a bit. He said it as more of a statement than a question, but he was right. Dave nodded in agreement, not feeling ashamed at all. Jimmy was gorgeous, he couldn’t be faulted for that. “Tell me what you imagine when you think of me,” He encouraged and Dave’s mind reeled, thinking about what to say. 

“This,” Dave told him simply, getting a bit distracted by the way Jimmy’s curls fell loosely around his face. “I’ve thought about lots of things with you. I’ve thought about fucking you, being fucked by you. Thought a lot about you on top of me,” Dave admitted, divulging each thought he’d had while alone in his bedroom. 

“That’s very convenient,” Jimmy tipped his head at Dave, watching him through the dim bedroom lights. “You look so good under me,” He said as though he’d just decided. He leaned back down, seemingly content with the answer he’d received.

His lips found Dave’s throat, pushing through the mess of strawberry blonde to get to his skin. Dave shivered when teeth sank down into his skin followed by the irritated spot being licked at. He hoped Jimmy would leave marks, any reminder of what had happened. He’d wear them with pride. 

Dave’s hands rubbed over Jimmy’s back, pulling him down closer. Long fingers pressed into dark hair, being gentle to not pull at any of the knots there. He could feel Jimmy sucking a mark into his skin, high up near the angle of his jaw. It was too high to be easily covered by a shirt or even a scarf, and Dave found himself letting out a quiet noise at that realization. 

“I could be good for you in all kinds of ways,” Dave assured him once he found his voice again and it was true. He was certain that there wasn’t anything Jimmy could ask of him that he wouldn’t willingly do for him. 

“Oh, is that so?” Jimmy asked him, smiling just a bit against Dave’s skin. Dave nodded as best he could, wanting to spill his heart out to him, but knowing better. He didn’t want to seem as desperate as he felt. Although, he was pretty sure he wasn’t hiding it as well as he’d like to be.  ��We’ll see about that, love.”

#rpf #dave mustaine x jimmy page #jimmy page x dave mustaine #dave mustaine smut #dave mustaine nsft #jimmy page smut #jimmy page nsft #smut #nsft #jimmy page #dave mustaine #megadeth #led zeppelin #fanfiction #fanfic #megadeth smut #megadeth nsft #led zeppelin smut #led zeppelin nsft #asks

[residentdormouse]

End of Year Wrap Up

Tagged by: @late-to-the-fandom - Thank you for including me!!

Total number of completed works: I completed ‘Something like a Spiral’ earlier in the year. I have a 512 drabble that isn’t getting anything more, so if that counts - 2. But the drabble feels cheap to include.

Total number of WIPs worked on this year: Well, Spiral was a work in progress when I was writing it? Otherwise its ‘Just Keep Diving Down’ only. My brain couldn’t handle jumping all about in different works and fandoms - kudos to all you who can!

WIPs neglected this year: Not really any since I’m pretty much working on one at a time.

Fandoms I've written in: The Stand (2020), and Stranger Things if that counts.

Total word count: My count is at 274,000, but I’m not sure how much of that was from Nov/Dec last year.

Looking back, did you write more than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you expected? I really didn’t have any idea what to expect. @impuretale suggested I try writing since the fandom is pretty small. Turns out I like it? (Eternally thankful for you!!)

Did you take any writing risks this year? I’m jumping from heavily leaning into canon, to absolutely nothing with canon except the characters, who I’ve been working at changing. Its hard to say if I’m doing it well, or if other people that know the story are like - damn, she’s still going. I hope for the first.

Do you have any goals for the new year? I want to finish ‘Just Keep Diving Down’, but seeing as it only has two more chapters left, that doesn’t feel like a real substantial goal. I guess I would like to figure out what I want to write next.

Biggest disappointment? Not finishing by the new year. I had originally figured mid December would be the end date on my once a week chapter update schedule, but section 3 has been taking about 2 weeks for each chapter.

Biggest surprise? @anths-girl being my biggest cheerleader, and a great friend. I only knew her after she left a comment on ‘Spiral’. I was about to stop writing, and she not only kept me going, but helped me keep on track to make ‘Diving’.

Most popular story of the year? ‘Just Keep Diving Down.’ It’s almost broken 500 hits. Although 3 more and ‘Spiral’ hits 420, which makes me giggle.

What's your own favorite story of the year? I’m going to assume that means of mine, because if its somebody else's, I have way too many talented friends to pick one, and I barely dented my reading list. I guess, ‘Spiral’ still has my super comfort chapters in it, but ‘Diving’ has made me an emotional mess sometimes. I dunno...

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: ‘Diving’ looks good on stats, and hits are higher, but @anths-girl is the only one really giving me any feedback, so I have no idea if anybody else is about it or not. (also, thank you anth’s for being the best cheerleader I could ever hope to have!!)

Most fun story to write: They were both fun. Its kind of hard to choose since it feels like one big story to me.

Most unintentionally telling story: Hayden is a thinly veiled OC insert to canon, so much of her personality. But I’ve put a lot of myself into my main three OC’s (Hayden/Steph/Max) in that order.

My favorite part of fandom this year: I second Late’s answer -:Meeting some really great people! You guys have gotten me through some bad times, whether you realize it or not. The support and love in this community is amazing.

No Pressure Tagging: @impuretale @asirensrage, @chickensarentcheap, @wordspin-shares, @starryeyes2000, and open tag for anybody who would like to do this. Consider yourself tagged, and please ‘@’ me.

[rebelpeas]

BAM QUESTIONS

��� 🎶 🎯 🤲 🤡

HI QWERTY thanks for the questions! i skipped two that i have already answered (✨ and 🤡) this time bc im sleeby tonight 😴

🎶 - Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

i cannot write without music LOL i make playlists for my long wips and try to only listen to those songs while i’m working on the wip, so it’s a sort of “sit down and focus” soundtrack. for oneshots i tend to loop just one song the whole time i’m writing. lately, i’ve been listening to fold i by motherfolk and chinese satellite by phoebe bridger!

🎯 - Have any of your readers accurately guessed major plot points? Care to share which?

shoutout to the mine theory truthers of devil town! i think at least one person had guessed every reveal, twist, or plot point in devil town by the time we got to the end, with the one exception of (SPOILERS) wilbur being involved in quackity’s dad’s death in any capacity, or, like. anything about karl. i did not see anybody guess that, which was kind of funny and i suspect is probably part of the reason chapter eleven ended up being the most memorable scene in that fic.

also. you with a certain character in footnotes LMAO but you know this

🤲 - Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

this is less of a snippet and more of An Entire Scene because i couldn’t decide which part to grab and just got. all of it. but here is a 500 word chunk from act two of pds 70b for you! warnings ahead for discussions of unreality and death.

“I think I’m going to die in this car,” Wilbur tells Tommy, who is sprawled out across a blanket with one arm over his eyes. It’s just shy of noon; the sun beats down above them, shielded only by the overhang of the building they’ve stopped at for the day. The teenager raises the corner of his lip in the tired approximation of a grossed-out sneer.

“What?”

Wilbur thinks he was pretty obvious the first time. “I’m just gonna keep driving it around until it breaks. Then I’ll live out of it wherever it stops, and eventually I’ll die there. Gonna die in the car. Be buried in it. It’s my tomb, all decorated already and everything.”

This causes Tommy to lift his arm, blue eyes finding Wilbur’s with a scowl. “Has anyone ever told you, you’re fucking morbid?”

“I don’t know,” Wilbur says. “My memory’s bad. That’s insensitive.”

“Fuck you,” Tommy says without a bit of venom to it. He settles back down. “Stop talking about death and let me nap, would you?”

“Okay.” Wilbur puts his back against the wall. “What about you?”

Tommy heaves a sigh and Wilbur can hear the eyeroll that goes with it. “I’m never going to die, actually.”

“No,” Wilbur corrects. “What’ll you do when the car breaks?”

A silent pause hangs between them.

“Well,” Tomm starts, slowly. “I imagine it’ll still be a good while til that happens. Told you, Tubbo’s good with cars. A right mechanic. He’ll keep it moving, and we can go wherever. See who else we can find that’s still around. Oh, we could start a–what’s the word, for like, end of the world shit?”

“What?”

“A community,” Tommy says. “With survivors. We can start farms.”

“I don’t think plants have been growing.”

“What? Oh.” Tommy frowns. “Well, maybe they just need different conditions. We can figure it out.” And after a moment, “How haven’t plants been growing? That doesn’t make any sense. They haven’t died.”

Wilbur shrugs. “You ask the apocalypse how it all works. I haven’t the slightest clue.”

Tommy covers his face again. “I’ll ask tomorrow. Goodnight, Wilbur.”

Wilbur lets him sleep this time. After a few moments, Tommy’s breathing slows into something slow, heavy, and even. He’s a quiet sleeper, whether that’s in the passenger seat of Wilbur’s car or on a blanket in an empty hotel’s lobby, just by the doors where an occasional breeze blows through. The breeze is louder than Tommy’s breathing sometimes.

It startles Wilbur the first time he mixes up the wind for someone breathing. Then it gets stuck in his head. He keeps looking over, half-expecting for Tommy to be gone and to be alone again. Even after the night spent driving together, and the morning spent together scrounging for supplies and finding a cool enough place to sleep, Wilbur still doesn’t quite believe that Tommy is real.

Doesn’t quite believe he’s going to stay.

Tommy is some sort of ghost, he’s pretty sure. Something like a sketchbook high above a canyon, or a name written on a calendar, or a wallet sitting on his dashboard, only a little more tangible. A little louder, when he’s awake, and a little more insistent about it.

So Tommy is the last dredges of Wilbur’s sanity trying to survive, one last-ditch effort to wake himself up and get back into the car and start driving, again, and again, and again. Maybe he isn’t even alive. Maybe it’d worked, back at the canyon–maybe this is just the hallucinated last moments of Wilbur’s life, played through in vivid detail.

Maybe nothing’s real. Maybe trees never fall if no one is there to see it go. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

Tommy is still asleep. One arm over his eyes; blonde hair spilled over maroon carpet. His chest continues to rise and fall. Real or otherwise.

Wilbur dozes off just behind him, and he dreams of something dark in between glittering lights and velvet fabric bundled up inside of his chest.

#ask box #qwerty tag

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Season 2 Rewatch Drabbles--2x11 The Outsider

Summary:  A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my   rewatch of season 2 of Once Upon a Time as an attempt to finally jump   start the muse again.  There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a   “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season.    Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an   emphasis on the very beginnings of Captain Swan’s epic love story, as   soon as a certain dashing pirate makes his appearance.  

Word Count: 533​

Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (17.5) (18) (19) (20) (21-22) (22)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Note: This particular selection is a bit different from my previous drabbles. @kmomof4 demanded--not asked, demanded, lol--I write this drabble as a “fix-it” fic, as Belle’s reaction to Hook’s revelations about Rumple was...shall we say...less than satisfying.

“Died?” Hook spat, getting in Belle’s face “Like it was some kind of accident. Is that what he told you?”

Dread coiled in her stomach. 

“He…he didn’t say.”

“Of course not. Of course he’d leave out the most important detail of her passing,” he said bitterly.

“And what would that be?” Belle asked in a small voice, his tone of voice telling her she really didn’t want to know.

“He killed her,” he said. His voice was little more than a whisper, but he might as well have shouted for the impact his words had. “He ripped out her heart, and he crushed it right in front of me.”

“No,” she moaned. It couldn’t be! He’d told her Hook killed Milah, hadn’t he?

No, she realized. He refused to answer, cleverly sidestepping. Why wouldn’t he answer her questions? Was it possible Hook was telling the truth?

“Oh yes, yes. He would do anything, anything to hold onto his power,” Hook said, raising the gun lazily once again. “Why do you think anyone who’s ever gotten close to him has either run away or been killed? Now what makes you think you’ll be any different?”

She wanted to protest his words, wanted to insisted Rumple’s heart was true and Hook’s was rotten, but that little scene from earlier today kept running through her mind.

“Well, I’m not just gonna sit here and do nothing!” Belle insisted.

Rumple rushed toward her, white hot anger on his face. “No, you’re going to go back to the library, lock the door and wait for me to dispense with this problem.”

“And if I don’t?” she asked defiantly, refusing to be cowed by him. “You’ll, you’ll cast some spell that gives me no choice?”

He’d insisted he had no intention of doing such a thing, but Belle could see it in his eyes, the desire to bend her to his will with whatever means necessary. She’d convinced herself it was simply a matter of him wanting to protect her, but now she wasn’t so sure. Now she wondered if there might be more to it, something decidedly sinister.

“I…” she said, hating the waver in her voice, “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Hook lowered his hand, going so far as to place the gun on the counter between them, his face showing a hint of something that might be sympathy. “I’d advise you not to find out. The woman I loved found out just what kind of man Rumplestiltskin was far too late, and I’ve had to bear the price of it ever since.”

Her heart plummeted even farther. She knew there was still good in Rumple, she knew it, but it wouldn’t do him any good if he refused to choose that good over his own power, and as much as she hated to admit it, Belle couldn’t be sure he’d ever choose her over power.

“I’ll consider your words,” Belle said, edging past him toward the door. Likely she’d think of little else for a good long time. In one conversation, everything had changed. Suddenly she began to wonder if the relationship she’d thought was so strong and enduring was actually built on sand.

                                                                             NEXT CHAPTER-->

#once upon a time ff #once upon a time drabbles #rewatch drabbles #2x11 The Outsider #belle #hook

[xkv8r]

Caution: Psychotic Rambling Ahead!

I'm serious, this isn't funny or hot it's me being insane and experiencing an urge to inflict that insanity on others. It's less a story and more an idea I had while I should have been asleep and was compelled to record. This likely qualifies as eldritch knowledge since some of the ideas expressed within fundamentally altered my worldview when I first learned about them. It's not something that's going to make you recoil in disgust, but don't blame me if you start asking yourself questions and not liking the answers.

You're still here? Fine, don't say I didn't warn you.

500 words, estimated reading time: 3 minutes.

Schrödinger's cat is an often misunderstood thought experiment about quantum superpositions and dead cats. You are probably already familiar with the basic concept, but the point of the thought experiment is to expose a flaw in our understanding of physics. The cat cannot possibly be both alive and dead, therefore something must be wrong with our assumptions about how quantum physics works. No actual experiment occurred, it's a thought exercise meant to poke holes in a physics theory.

Another similar thought experiment which is likewise intended to demonstrate potentially flawed logic in economics and ethics is the Utility Monster. In economics, "utility" is a concept that sort of lumps together all the ways someone can benefit from something. If I have a good, like a dollar, or a doughnut, or a car that I don't want, it would theoretically be more ethical to give it to someone who would derive more utility from it than someone who would derive less. For example, a starving person would derive more utility from the doughnut than someone who just really likes doughnuts, who would in turn derive more utility than someone who is ambivalent towards them, who would derive more utility from it than someone who hates doughnuts and would just throw it out. This kind of thinking is broadly categorized as utilitarianism.

The Utility Monster is meant to expose a flaw in that thinking with a hypothetical creature that derives immense utility from destroying things. No matter how happy you would be to get a free car, the monster would be happier smashing it to bits than you could ever be over the entire lifespan of the car. The monster can derive the maximum possible utitlity from anything you give it. Thus, it would theoretically be more ethical to let the monster destroy the car than hand it over to someone who would actually use it. Indeed, the utility monster could justify taking pretty much anything based on this dynamic. This is, of course, absurd, but that's the point. It's meant to expose a flaw in utilitarian thinking.

Some of you might have already figured out where I'm going with this, and you get a gold star if you do, but for those of you who haven't, consider: Predators in vore scenarios are literal utility monsters. The pred is typically someone who receives rapturous, blissful pleasure from consuming prey. Reformation or not, if one were to abide strictly by utilitarianism, there are prey for whom it would be unethical not to sacrifice themselves to their nearest pred because the pred will, in those hours of digestion/endo, derive more utility than the prey would outside of their stomach. Even if we consider being in a stomach to be an economic "bad" (the opposite of a good, ie: something undesirable, that you would expend resources to avoid. Eg: paying protection money to the mob to avoid having your house torched.) We already accept that we may have to inconvenience others for a greater benefit, this scenario just turns the dials at both ends of the scale up to 11.

I'm glossing over a lot here, this is a tumblr post, not a 200 level econ course, and I'm not really sure what I'm trying to convey here, aside from insane philosophical rambling about anatomically impossible fetishes, but regardless, food for thought. Ba-dum tss.

#xkv8r writes #v.ore #v0re #I ought to be shot for that pun

[queseraone]

AO3 wrapped: 5, 6, 7, 10, 11, and 12

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected? This one, which still baffles me because it's less than 500 words and I more or less threw it together... and yet it has the most hits out of any of my fics haha

6. Favorite title you used just close your eyes (you'll be alright) it's just tender and perfectly summed up the whole vibe for this one

7. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most? Taylor Swift ♡

10. What work was the quickest to write? This one was a very short, very last minute thing for Chenford Week

11. What work took you the longest to write? Oh man, I'm a slow writer (overthinker over here!), so it's hard to say. I think at least in terms of how long has this been a WIP (vs actual time spent actively writing it), this one. I remember talking to @nancyddrew about the idea of taking the "it wasn't just biology" prompt and trying something different with it, and then it took me approximately 200 years to figure out what I wanted to, how to make it work, etc.

12. How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year? This is a hard question, because I was so incredibly blocked that I seem to have completely forgotten anything I was considering writing? I have a file where I have things all sorted (completed fics, in-progress, vague ideas, lyrics that might work for titles, and just random chunks of writing that didn't quite fit into previous fics but I was unwilling to just delete - I'm a nerd like this) and just looking at it now, I have a couple of AUs that I've considered, a super random outsider POV fic that may and may not come to fruition, a few things that others have already written better than I could imagine, and some fragments of post-ep ideas that feel so foreign at this point... I'm honestly hoping the new episodes will spark some ideas, because now that I've managed to write again I'm desperate to keep the momentum going. (Sorry for giving the longest, most convoluted answer ever here 🙈)

Thank you!! AO3 wrapped - ask me questions :)

#ao3 wrapped #ask games #makeitastrength

[haywire-hetfield]

could i request 25 and 48 with david and dave? :3

Sure thing!

Send me a number along with a pairing (or leave it to dealers choice) and I'll write you a snippet (500 words or less)

25) "Somebody sounds jealous."

48) "I heard you last night."

“You need to be quieter when you bring people back,” David told Dave as they sat together on the small couch of the hotel room. He’d considered mentioning this for a while, but only now gathered the courage to actually say something. Dave raised an eyebrow at him, prompting him to elaborate. “I heard you last night,” David explained, shifting a bit as Dave stared at him.

Dave always had such an intense stare, seemingly able to look right into David’s soul in a way that made him uncomfortable. 

“Somebody sounds jealous,” Dave said simply before looking away from David and focusing back on the television. It annoyed David beyond belief, making anger well up in his chest. Who did Dave think he was to treat David’s concern so dismissively?

“I’m not fucking jealous,” David snapped at him and Dave gave him a small smirk. He knew the anger wasn’t doing anything to clear him of those rumors, but he couldn’t help it. “It’s basic consideration. I know that’s a foreign concept to you,” He tacked on. Dave didn’t seem to be buying it, giving him the most smug look he’d ever seen. Dave was fantastic at making people want to punch him. 

“No, it’s not. I know you, Junior. I can tell when you’re jealous,” Dave insisted. The usage of the nickname only made it more condescending. “The only thing I’m not sure of is whether you were jealous of me or him,” And that piqued David’s interest. 

Him? Dave had brought a man back to the hotel room? He hadn’t really heard anything from the other person, but he thought maybe the girl was just quiet or Dave’s sounds were drowning out hers. Something uncomfortable began growing in David’s chest at the knowledge that Dave had brought a guy back to sleep with, not even knowing Dave enjoyed that type of thing.  

“I didn’t know you liked men,” David told him quietly, the vitriol disappearing slightly from his voice. He still felt angry, although it was overwhelmed by this new revelation. Dave shrugged at him in return. 

“I like getting fucked by them,” Dave amended his statement and David’s eyebrows furrowed a bit, unsure of exactly what he meant by that. “I’m not trying to date them or anything,” He clarified, seeming to catch onto the confusion. “So, tell me. Did you want to be me or him?” Dave asked with a sly smile and David suspected Dave already had an answer in mind. 

David had to consider it for a few moments. He hadn’t registered the feeling as jealousy in the moment and maybe it wasn’t at the time. If Dave had brought back a girl, he wouldn’t have been jealous about Dave fucking her in his room. But the fact he brought a guy back and was getting fucked by him complicated things. David pretended to think about it longer than he actually needed to. Deep down, he knew the answer and Dave knew it too.

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