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thegirlwondcr · 7 months

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Open Starter

background

This was her first ever group raid, in fact it was all the girls first ever group raid—and it showed. Everything was completely disorganized, there were only a few moments in the night that it appeared that the group of young teen girls had some sort of system. Emma kept more to herself, focusing more on what she individually could get rather than the entire group. Time and time again she was warning them what cases they should avoid break into as it would trigger an alarm…but it did not take long for the ear piercing alarm to go off. Everyone began to scramble, some completely abandoning all the things they managed to get out of cases—but not Emma. She was determined to get as much as possible, so if it meant trailing behind to grab the abandoned items so be it.

Like a kid out on Halloween, she stuffed her pillowcase but not with candy, instead with hundreds of thousands dollars worth of jewelry. She could see the light at the end of the tunnel, for herself. All the things she would get out of this. There had been hints that if she had returned to the girls home with enough things, she may actually get a photo of her parents. That seemed well worth the risk.

The teen rushed rushed to get whatever else she could, even if it meant going through cases where glass was shattered and covered the luxury items. A few cuts from glass seemed only to be a minor inconvenience to her. Just as she was about to leave, with her pillow case full of an assortment of jewelry—there at the entrance stood another. Without hesitation, Emma took a mannequin head and threw it at the stranger.

#//link is good ref for context!#//this is pre-Robin/before adoption Emma :)#//both rogues & vigilantes & all others welcome to reply #//and there can be multiple threads for this!#open starter #dc rp

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nwarrior777 · 1 month

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Science Museum Group changed offensive object tittle after getting my letter

here's the story about it:

Wonderful @solariium commissioned me wonderful victorian-era wheelchair user character to draw. Refs were provided, and one of the links was an object in online museum gallery - vintage wheelchair.

solariium, who is wheelchair user theirself, mentioned that tittle of the object is incorrect but it was good picture for the ref. i wondered "what's with the tittle?" looked in the link and saw

ID: screenshot of online museum collection, vintage old wheelchai object page. the tittle of wheelchair says: Invalid chair, Europe, 1850-1890. end ID

welp. incorrect indeed! [i* is outdated offensive term]

so i decided to make a special move

ID: my drawing of a character from anime "mob psycho 100" - Arataka Reigen. He holds a phone next to his ear, his face epression is very confident. It's all anime sparkles lights effects around him and text "REIGEN SPECIAL MOVE". end ID

and USE MY POWER

of writing emails

i don't have problems with writing emails, so i thought why not

and

https://collection.sciencemuseumgroup.org.uk/objects/co120657/carved-wooden-wheelchair-europe-1850-1890-invalid-chair

ID: screenshot of online museum collection, vintage old wheelchai object page. the tittle of wheelchair says: Carved wooden wheelchair, Europe, 1850-1890. end ID

it worked!

As human who made bunch of projects, i can say that keeping museum gallery is tone of work.

And tittle change - no, it's not just changing few letters.

Changing tittle of object in museum is similar to changing name of game file. Catalogs changes, maybe they have irl gallery, so new card, they probably have some code objects system related to tittles, and scientists, students, make reference to this object in their researches and articles and etc etc.

So, yeah, it * is * a lot of work. Also, they changed description, it now says that this object was "historically referred to as ‘invalid chair’". And i think it's good, because it is not erasing fact of people used this word, and it's addition to the progress context - we literally see now old term clarified as past, and new one, now, in the tittle.

(and yes, web link. i just saw that i* word still there. yeah, not perfect but still, considering things i said above - big work done)

I used some conversation strategy in case "this is offensive can you fix" will not be enough — started on positive attitude giving compliment on their collection being big and interesting, gave them extra argument on why this should be fixed (more actual search key words on this now are "vintage wheelchair", not "i* chair"). Then we had a little letters chain, where they answered politely too, and in about few days i got detailed answer on this, and yep, changed tittle.

And i think this shows, that if someone did mistake and someone noticed it and giving feedback on it, if both sides are interested in progress and making good changes, no matter how hard it is, sides can make a change, working together and being kind. And i think we should be more brave about making such connections!

Thanks again to @solariium and museum workers!

#small big changes #wheelchair #activism #i was writing this post in drafts for a month or smth like it's my diploma work #described

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soylent-crocodile · 3 months

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Moørkutlot (Monster)

(One of Kaimere's most unique and infamous monsters, the silent one was teased for a good few years before we finally got to see exactly what it was and what it evolved from! I have to say, while the titanosaurs and megaraptors and sloths of kaimere are the bread and butter of the setting, the moorkutlot is to my eyes one of its most iconic creatures. Here's a link to the youtube vid about it, if you're interested in alien monsters and/or spec evo, I'd reccomend a watch.

All that said, an animal is only as strong as its context, and while the moorkut is a predator so deadly it can scare an entire ecosystem into silence, I imagine it's kinda small beans in a world that has fire breathing magic lizards the size of a city block as an apex predator.)

CR11 TN Large Animal HD16

Moorkutlot are nightmarish predators of icy forests on a faraway planet, distantly related to amphibians but evolved to a far more active, predatory role. Moorkutlot have a number of adaptations that make them terrifying hunters- their metabolism fluctuates between high- and low- energy periods, making them capable of going months without a meal, but capable of long-term chases and bursts of extreme speed and ferocity. They are social hunters, and in regions where they live a single moorkutlot hunting may lead to a half dozen or so ganging up on a target as the sound of a struggle attracts more. Most notoriously, however, is the non-newtonian fluid produced by modified mucus glands in their body; this is both a defensive tool, protecting them from powerful strikes, and an offensive one. Outside the body, the fluid sticks to skin and joints and makes escape a struggle, but inside the body it is truly dangerous; it rapidly clogs blood and joints, making movement nearly impossible and quickly leading to cardiac arrest. This fluid dissolves in salt, however, and this means that moorkutlot universally avoid oceans.

In their homeland, they are integrated into the ecology of their world as much as any other animal- they are dominant predators, yes, but life around them has learned to accommodate for their behavior and deadly weaponry. Not so for other planets- moorkutlot are occasionally used as terrible biological weapons, something that can be dropped on a planet and allowed to run wild, killing sentients and destroying the local ecosystem.

This horse-sized creature has a face that opens like a flower to reveal snapping jaws, and craggy gray skin covered in strange slime.

Misc- CR11 TN Large Animal HD16 Init:+7 Senses: Blind, Blindsight 60ft Perception:+16

Stats- Str:26(+8) Dex:16(+3) Con:23(+6) Int:2(-4) Wis:20(+5) Cha:11(+0) BAB:+12/+7/+2 Space:10ft Reach:5ft

Defense- HP:168 (16d8+96) AC:21(+3 Dex, -1 Size, +9 Natural) Fort:+16 Ref:+15 Will:+10 CMD:44 Immunity: Gaze and other visual effects Special Defenses: DR10/Salt

Offense- Bite +20(2d6+12 plus Poison) or Spit +15(1d4 Acid, Non-Newtonian Spit, 20ft) CMB:+21 Speed:40ft

Feats- Improved Initiative, Power Attack (-4/+8), EnduranceB, Feral Grapple, Improved Bull Rush, Weapon Focus (Bite), Skill Focus (Stealth), Lightning Reflexes

Skills- Perception +16, Climb +16, Stealth +9 (+4 Racial to Climb)

Special Qualities- Metabolic Surge

Ecology- Environment- Forests (Cold) Languages- None Organization- Solitary, Gang (4-6) Treasure- None

Special Abilities- Blindsight (Ex)- A Moorkutlot’s blindsight is echolocation-based; it cannot sense within areas of Silence or similar spells. Non-Newtonian Spit (Ex)- The moorkutlot spits a spray of thick, viscous fluid that traps an entangles its victims. Creatures hit by this saliva are entangled without a save. This fluid cannot be removed without a DC16 Strength check, universal solvent, or at least a ¼ pound of salt. Metabolic Surge (Ex)- Three times a day, a moorkutlot can push its metabolism into overdrive, giving it an additional move action. It cannot use this ability if it has used it since the start of its last round. Moorkutlot Poison (Ex)- Bite-Injury Save:Fort DC20 Effect: Victim takes 1d6+1 Con damage and is Stunned Frequency: 1/round Cure: 2 Consecutive Saves

#soylent original #monsters and races #homebrew #pathfinder #tales of kaimere #kaimere #speculative evolution

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liketwoswansinbalance · 2 months

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MASTERPOST for The One True School Master of Vault 41

This is a continually updating table of contents to help with navigating my posts about TOTSMOV41, my WIP longfic.

The fic's premise: Sophie joins forces with a resurrected, former lover in the midst of trying to get Tedros back onto Camelot's throne, but that's not even half the uphill battle: rogue psyches and distrust abound and threaten to shatter the present state of the Woods as everyone knows it.

In which Rafal is resurrected during the events of One True King and things go horribly, disproportionately wrong!

Also, the fic will not be published for a very long time, so don't expect to see it anytime soon. I'm still on draft zero/the outline/script.

⸻

—Table of Contents—[Pre-Publication of Fic]

Title reveal and associated music

Round I of Excerpts

Apparently, the tag "otk" is banned from tumblr.

The misleading trope hint

Round II Excerpt

Visual ref. 1

Facts about the fic

Reblog #1

Aesthetic for one of the first scenes (and flower trivia in the comments)

A Peek at My Outline Process

Reblog #2, dialogue, and reference to suicide

Round III of Excerpts

Sketch - Rafal got punched in the face.

Screenshots of my Pinterest board for the fic

Update, more facts about the fic, and its references to philosophic concepts

Round IV Excerpt

Cover Reveal

Reblog #3

Reblog #4

Reblog #5

Hypothetical Non-Excerpt

The Recurring Japeth Punchline

Reblog #6

Reblog #7

Three "Fun" (Incongruous) Facts

Thanatos drive reference mentioned

Reblog #8

Reblog #9

Reblog #10

Ask containing minor fic trivia

Update and Round V of Excerpts

Which wizard is this? (a.k.a. The Tedros Insanity Poll)

Reblog #11

Reblog #12

Reblog #13 and Fic Tags

Round VI Excerpt

The Suffering Scale

Word Ask Game

Word Ask #1

Word Ask #2

Word Ask #3

Results of the Tedros Poll

Round VII of Excerpts

Guess the Last Verb/Noun

Minor Spoilers

Reblog #14

Reblog #15

Reblog #16

Visual ref. 2

Reblog #17

Slightly Cursed Thought?

Aesthetic

Round VIII of Excerpts

54. Scrapped Hypothetical Scene

55. Reblog #18

56. Visual ref. 3

57. Reblog #19

58. Reblog #20

59. Deliberate or Not Deliberate?

—The Story— [Links TBA after publication.]

Part I: Of Solipsism, Sophistry, and Storians.

Part II: Great Mistake II, Great Mistake III, and Verisimilitude

Part III: Phantoms, Prescience, and the Pen

Deleted Scene

Meta post

Fic Analysis, Commentary & Trivia

Propaganda

⸻

Need-to-Knows (a.k.a How I'm meddling with canon):

This fic will involve Rafal being resurrected, and lead up to an alternate continuity of plot events, all set during One True King. Thus, its title will be: The One True School Master of Vault 41. However, the title may or may not be a bit of a misnomer, so I might just end up subverting your expectations after all.

There will be a form of "psyche travel," or an approximation of time travel, using Dovey's crystal ball like in ACOT, the arson of a certain Wizard Tree to look forward to, and some offbeat, unprecedented action taken by the Storian. Of course, Agatha and Rafal will bicker a lot while Sophie plays the role of mediator. And, oh, Rafal will be tortured, slightly…

Additionally, there's a couple things to note about the premise and the changes I've made to canon, for context:

1. The fic will disregard Fall as canon, yet will acknowledge Rise.

2. There are several canon elements I'm not using. The Rafal is the fic is him from Rise, and also from TLEA. I decided to only acknowledge Rise but not Fall because I didn't want to work with the identity-swap twist. So Rafal is Rafal is Rafal in this case. I will draw from both his Rise characterization and his TLEA characterization.

3. Later in the fic, Rise Rhian only has minor appearances, and is present in Rafal's psyche, but he will not actually be a character until I write a possible sequel, if I ever do reach that point. So, you can assume Rhian was moderately Good to grey on the morality scale, and that Rafal was the one who ultimately committed the fratricide for the purposes of this fic.

4. I've decided not to acknowledge the OTK parentage twist. To clarify, Rafal will have no relation to Japeth, simply because it felt out of character for him to have children with a woman he seemed to loathe, even if it may have been less out of character for the canon Rhian falsely disguised as "Rafal." I personally thought it contradicted Rafal's characterization, so Japeth's placeholder father, who probably won't even be mentioned in the story, will be the Green Knight, to explain his magical prowess as the Snake.

Otherwise, for the most part, this fic is alternate continuity "canon," and diverges at some point during OTK.

I've tried to set the stage, eradicate confusion, and mediate potential disappointment as best as I could above, but if anyone would like me to demystify anything about the fic, my writing process, or ask anything else at all, feel free to send questions to me! Yet, I might not be able to answer everything, for various reasons, including limiting excessive spoilers, so please keep that in mind.

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fanby-fckry · 4 months

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📌 Welcome, friends, foes, and passersby, to my personal piece of fandom hell.

Have you made your daily clicks yet, today?

18+ Blog

No minors. No default icons. No bigots.

“Bigots” includes rad fems, exclusionists, and zionists. Trans people need feminism, too, gatekeeping helps no one, and zionism does not equate to Judaism (implying that genocide is a Jewish value is antisemitism).

For context on the default icons, see this post.

I intend to use my block button liberally, but I’m hoping the big text will help at least a little bit.

Fandom is meant to be fun, so if you’re here to spread hate, don’t. <3 I’ll just block you, and neither of us will gain anything from it.

This Blog Contains:

Adult content

Kink

Problematic media

Fictional depictions of violence and gore

Discussion of potentially triggering content

Please see this post for a list of tags you may want to block.

As a rule of thumb, I tend to tag things #[trigger] cw and use the keep reading feature in extreme cases. Please ask if you need me to tag something.

Viewer discretion is advised; be safe, bloggers.

Fandoms:

The Amazing Devil (Band)

Avatar: the Last Airbender

Doctor Who

Fullmetal Alchemist

Good Omens

Harry Potter – I do not support JKR

🖤 Hazbin Hotel

Helluva Boss

Steven Universe

🖤 The Witcher

I tend to cycle through them based on the whims of my wretched gremlin brain. When and why the cycle changes is unknown even to me.

Current main fandoms are marked with a ‘🖤’

About Me:

My name is Nico, I’m 25+, and I write fanfic. I use they/them and xe/xem pronouns. I’m queer in just about every sense of the word and fucked in the head, not in my bed.

I have freed myself from the shackles of amatonormativity (10/10, highly recommend) and am living my best life as a polyamorous, (a)sexual deviant engaging in relationship anarchy.

I don’t owe anyone my exact labels or diagnoses, but I do share them when I feel like it.

Other Socials:

AO3: Fanby

Pronouns.page: fanby-fckry – flags now updated.

Spotify: Fanby

Twitter: fanby_fckry – not very active.

Side Blogs:

Poetry: @refinedandgivenform

Tag Lists:

Note: I’m not always the best at tagging things. Sometimes I make mistakes, mistag or forget a tag. If you notice something is mistagged or missing a tag, please feel free to send me an ask or dm me about it!

Main Tags

Accessibility Tags

Tags to Block

Refs, Recs, and Resources

Fanfic Masterlists:

Hellaverse (Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss)

The Witcher

Kinktober

AO3 Exclusives – Links to the AO3 collection

Greatest Hits:

Fake Tumblr Dash Masterpost

Apollo’s Dodgeball Masterpost

The UHverse Memes/Meta/Etc. – AKA: the Unholyverse; the extended universe for UH3/The Unholy Trinity

The Little Demon AU Memes/Meta/Etc. – working title for my Hazbin Hotel/The Little Mermaid AU

The haiku bot reblogged my post – And then another one

Unintentionally Popular Aroace Alastor Post – And someone drew it!!

Requests:

Fanfiction requests are open to mutuals only.

Please read this post before requesting.

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cyrilphd · 1 year

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CYRIL MASTERPOST

going to upgrade this post to be a Cyril masterpost SO hii this is my vtm OC he makes me crazy

CARRD

this is where most of the context you'll find on him is, minus a few things like his big overarching goals and his planned horrid form as not to be spoilery to the other players in my campaign (none of them follow me on tumblr though, so...)

REF SHEET & ART

big thanks to cain for bringing my guy to life

and continuing to take my money when i pay him to

TAGS

#cyril merricks - actual content, art, and various asks i've answered to flesh him out

#cyril - meme posts that remind me of him

#c - aesthetics and vibes

STUFF I'VE WRITTEN

underneath the cut is links to the individual fics and a short summary of each one

AS PROMISED I have migrated my Cyril works off of google docs into much more presentable ao3 fics so here they are once again in chronological order, each of them (so far at least) takes place before our campaign starts

Debut Oeuvre

Cyril is tired of being out of the loop when it comes to the teachings of vicissitude, his sire is being difficult but promises more information if Cyril completes just one vaguely defined task. 'Let's just get it over with' He thinks, not fully understanding the consequences of what 'it' might be.

Employment Opportunity

Tyson's prospects aren't looking good, he's getting on in life and he doesn't particularly have a great retirement fund, relationship with his children, general odour, et cetera. He counts himself lucky that his landlord is a real upstanding guy, willing to be flexible as Tyson tries not to end it. This is another of those moments, being given a small job that has a great payout for him. This would be a learning experience on how to negotiate better terms and really read the fine print before agreeing to anything.

Dubious Allies

The prince of New Hammington, Ohio, has just been diablerized, which is bad news for Cyril because he happened to be his entire support system. What's worse is that the new prince has managed to dig up dirt on him, and knows that he is both a Tzimisce and a former Sabbat member, things that the Camarilla doesn't typically enjoy. In his time of trouble, a vague missive is delivered to him, and he decides to follow its instructions, because really, what does he have to lose?

Feeding Time

Ruben lives a life of a typical shut-in, with the benefit that he at least has a job... Though not a glamorous one. His apartment is comfortable enough and he doesn't need all too much room, so he's happy to live there. The landlord seems to have a lot of strange rules in place, though, such as only being able to pay in cash... And his attitude is really very offputting. Tonight, he's about to find out why those rules have been put in place, and perhaps understand why his landlord is so standoffish with him.

#vtm #vtm oc #vampire the masquerade #tzimisce #cyril merricks

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infinite-orangepeel · 1 year

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rating: as explicit as explicit gets with heavily angsty steddie

and for obvious reasons, this post is 18+ only !!!!!!

hi ! this post contains a VERY SMUTTY excerpt from pt. 4 of the current steddie fic i’m writing on ao3, it’s rotten work (loving a heart like mine) and this is my attempt to convince you to read the rest of the fic bc it’s my literal baby !!! thx <3

TW: feminization kink, daddy kink, memory loss, mild dub-con, religious imagery in non-religious contexts, heavy angst, sh behaviors, ed behaviors, bdsm dynamic, eddie’s a bit of a mean dom, ref. to past trauma (including homophobic parents, usage of homophobic slurs, domestic abuse), questionable decisions, blood, risk taking

note: i’ve placed the “read-more” where things start to become more sexual in content, but pls note this fic is utter chaos. it’s incredibly angsty and i strongly advise you read the full list of tw’s/tags at the link above before proceeding. i’ll be listing the main ones here but just please read at your own risk/pay attention to the tws. i don’t ever ever ever want to trigger someone accidentally !!

The cabin is a solid three miles from his house and his body feels every bit of the distance.

If it weren’t for the years of regimented physical conditioning, protein powder, and animalistic need to force his own body into submission—Steve probably wouldn’t have made it without having to stop by the emergency room for medical assistance.

His lungs are on fire, his chest feels about thirty seconds away from caving in, and his hair is plastered to his forehead by a sticky sheen of sweat.

Nevertheless, ignoring the constant bitching and moaning of his muscles, Steve runs.

The car was never an option. Too dangerous, too obvious. Burgundy beemer that everyone and their mother knew belonged to the Harrington kid.

Steve runs and the only thing that keeps him going, the only thing that propels him through the eternal damnation of this illness is the knowledge that Eddie is just across the finish line.

Eddie. His Eddie.

The lighter is with him. Eddie’s lighter. Bouncing in his pocket, as he reaches the crest of the last hill in the woods with chapped lips, thin blood, and blistering feet.

Hardly alive, he employs the final stores of energy in his ever-weakening body and knocks at death’s door to beg for desperate relief.

Which just so happens to double as the dilapidated entrance to Hopper’s seemingly abandoned cabin.

He bounds up the set of three stairs that have been eaten alive by an obvious termite infestation.

Hideous and cold and complete with temperamental plumbing—this is the place he’s dreamed of for nights on end.

“Steve,” Eddie whispers—cautiously opening the door and blowing a cloud of thick smoke over his shoulder, as he ushers him in and hurriedly latches a complicated series of locks over the door, “You’re not supposed to be here. What the fuck are you doing? It’s the middle of the night. How did you even—“

“I can’t go back home. Please don’t make me, Eds,” he’s heaving for oxygen, supply empty, “I’m not—I’m not good when I’m there.”

“Baby,” Eddie pouts and slants his mouth to kiss him, restraint quickly eroding under the waves of desire that push them together, “It’s not safe for you here,” he nips at his tongue as if chastising him for making such a careless decision, “You need to go back home. As much as I want you to stay, as happy as I am to see you—you have to go. It’s not worth it.”

Steve tastes the acrid bite of tobacco on his mouth, which is predictable, but there’s something less familiar beneath it. A deeper layer of bitter medicine that sparks anxiety within him as it crosses his tongue.

He licks over Eddie’s ruddy lips to identify the source—disguised as filthy passion—finding a clearer hint of rum or whiskey. Probably borrowed from Hopper’s old stash before he went sober.

The thing is Eddie doesn’t drink for fun anymore, save for the occasional beer or social glass of wine.

He doesn’t drink, because his deadbeat dad was a wretched alcoholic whose tirades were fueled by liquid gasoline.

Eddie’s been drinking alone and smoking and there’s salt on Steve’s tongue when he moves his lips in the direction of Eddie’s stubbly cheek.

“You’re hurt,” Steve pulls back to break the spell of shared touch, “You’re not okay, are you?”

Eddie laughs, turns his head, and swirls a crystal glass Steve hadn’t realized he was holding.

As predicted, the liquor is dark like molasses and smells about as sweet as germicide.

Poison.

“Is anyone? Are you?” Eddie spins on his heels, out of control, tires hitting black ice. Stumbling and catching himself on the edge of the couch.

Eddie recovers and straightens up quickly. Luring Steve closer to run a hand up his side at an aggressively slow pace. He smiles lazily and blushes at the way Steve squirms and stares at the row of silver rings waltzing over his ribs.

He wants to suck them off his fingers. He wants to get sloppy and dirty and gag around the silver. Let his fearless knight choke him on the likes of chainmail and steel.

He’d polish them day and night with globs of spit and messy worship.

He’d kill for it, Steve would. Slay any dragon to get those piano fingers down his throat, let Eddie play him dumb like a fiddle. Out of tune and grotesque. Gothic and ugly.

“I saved you once before. I could do it again. We can keep each other safe,” Steve appeals, following Eddie like a giddy Labrador as he rounds the front of the paisley print couch, “If we can beat Vecna and a hoard of Demobats together, we can definitely take on the town mob.”

Eddie’s hair is pulled into a messy bun and his white tank top leaves little to the imagination. Steve’s speaking plainly, but just looking at Eddie is making him ravenous.

“Maybe,” Eddie sips from his cup too calmly and Steve wants to shatter it, “Or maybe I was always meant to die. Maybe it was supposed to be me all along. Maybe Chrissy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Black ink swirls visibly beneath the fabric of his tight shirt, as he bends to replenish the drink—filling it to the brim. Chugging poison like it’s pure water.

The head of the demon on his chest peeks out from beneath the low neckline. Tempting Steve to sell his soul and commit the crime of sodomy.

Give into the illness at long last.

“If you’re not gonna leave, you might as well make yourself useful, princess,” Eddie winks and stretches his arms overhead.

It’s pompous and douchey and makes Steve’s dick ridiculously hard.

”I haven’t forgotten how warm and sloppy that mouth of yours is or how good you look on your knees.”

”Really? You’ve—you’ve thought about me like that?” he replies dumbly, head a little fucked by the idea that any of this is actually happening.

Steve’s eyes track downwards, following the natural path of Eddie’s taught waist and widen as he notes the dark line of hair that is exposed beneath the jaggedly cropped shirt.

”Oh, sure. Gotta have something to keep me occupied while I’m out here living off the land like it’s the 1800’s,” he palms his cock roughly, dragging his hand over the head with slow force, “Turns out thinking about my wife’s pretty pussy makes the time pass faster than you’d think.”

Steve can’t even begin to process that comment, because he still hasn’t moved past the point he’s heavily fixated on—Eddie’s exposed stomach. Scars and ink and porcelain skin.

”Oh,” he sighs shakily and adjusts his stance to modestly cover his throbbing hard-on, “I’m—I’m glad."

That shirt, that stupid fucking shirt.

The hem is fraying and looks to have been cut with little planning. He’s now certain Eddie altered it himself with kitchen scissors or garden shears—haphazard and bizarre as is true to his nature. Kin to the wild things that dance in the shadows.

“See something you like?” Eddie croons in the cheesy tone of a chick-flick heartthrob.

It's infuriating how much it makes Steve genuinely swoon.

How much it makes him want to fill a girly diary cover to cover with Eddie's name in loopy cursive; little red hearts above the 'i's.

Honestly, he'd wear a dainty gold locket around his neck if it happened to have a picture of that fucker in it.

Steve is so royally fucked up. There's no coming back from this.

Not that he wants it to end, but still.

“You can touch me, Stevie. But I have to warn you, I do tend to bite," Eddie comedically bares his teeth and hooks a finger into the side of one cheek to showcase his canines-parodying a costume vampire, "Can’t blame me for wanting to mark up such a cute little victim with my teeth, though. Naughty habit, I know, but I’ve never been any good at sharing and it's only fair to claim what’s rightfully mine.”

His.

Steve audibly gulps and allows Eddie to pull him back in by the hand, giggling as their hips bump into each other. It's immature and clumsy-bringing his friend along to play make believe in clothes that don't quite fit either of them right.

Eddie maneuvers his limbs for him like an amateur puppeteer. Graceless and awkward, a colt fumbling his way through the meadow on needlepoint legs. He's drunk and it shows. Tucks Steve’s arms around his waist and leaves a claustrophobic distance between them--which is to say none--as he sucks onto his neck and grazes his pulse with sharp incisors.

His drawstring sweatpants are tented absurdly and reveal the thick line of his cock. Steve hasn't forgotten just how big Eddie is.

He thumbs at the head—noticing Steve’s lustful gaze—betraying his own discipline and moaning pornographically as he gets a hand on himself. Massaging the length as best he can over the obstruction of his pants. A shiver runs down his spine and Steve responds with a series of open-mouthed kisses along his broad shoulders. Unable to resist tasting him in one way or another.

“If you put the drink down and promise not to pour another drop tonight, I’ll let you fuck me,” Steve cants his hips into Eddie—somehow already rock hard despite the fact that his body should be incapable of such a thing considering how he’s treated it over the past few weeks, "Use me instead, c'mon. Show me where it hurts, so I can kiss it better. I know you want to. You're just as hard as I am-ah," his cock is so close to bursting, "I can feel it."

Eddie doesn't respond. Just stares at the glass in his hand and weighs the scale. They're both down on their luck, they both have so little left to lose--sitting ducks in a row. What's the point in denying themselves this one final pleasure?

If their story is destined to end in scattered ashes or twin graves, then why not masquerade as a pair of fortunate lovers in the interlude?

“I’ll be your pretty housewife. We can play pretend and forget about everything else. You can do whatever you want to me, but you’re not allowed to drink another drop of that shit,” Steve wagers, adopting the face of Bully #1 from his early days at Hawkins High--terrified to be known beyond his generic title, "It'll kill you before anything else ever has the chance to and that's a fucking waste of a way to go, Eds."

Eddie doesn't argue, in fact he doesn't say anything. Instead, he casually turns, sets the lurid glass on the dusty coffee table, and motions for Steve to trail him the rest of the way to the couch.

He does as he’s asked. Following Eddie’s orders without complaint.

He needs this. He wants this. It makes him feel safe. It makes him feel loved.

Eddie sits on the antique coach and opens his legs wide. Steve stands in front of him—sweaty and vastly unappealing after his suicide mission of a run. Feeling like a mere mortal in the hall of a god.

Patroclus at the feet of Achilles. What a tragic Greek myth of a duo they make.

“Why do you want me to fuck you, Steve?” Eddie asks inquisitively, palming his own cock again and rolling his hips to meet his open hand-its gotta hurt, the way he touches himself like its punishment, “It’s one in the morning. We both know you’ve always had your pick of the litter. You could be fast asleep with practically any girl in town curled up naked next to you. So, why me? Why here? Why now—when being in this cabin could very well cost you your life?"

Steve drops to his knees between Eddie’s thighs—more in complete exhaustion than in an intentional show of submission, but Eddie bites his lip just the same and moans at the view.

“Because I don’t want them, Eddie,” he stares at him through the dim light that a small lamp in the corner provides, laying his head in Eddie's lap and watching the hypnotic movements of his veiny hand, “I want you.”

“You shouldn’t. I won’t be good for you. Not long-term.”

Eddie’s hand stops moving, he lets it fall from his lap and retrieves an almost empty pack of Camels from his front pocket. He taps the bottom and tucks the resulting cigarette between his lips.

Then, as if needing to occupy his hands with something else, he curiously paints a thumb over Steve's lips-tugging at the bottom one and pinching down hard. Tears prick in the corners of Steve's eyes from the sudden jolt of pain.

Every move he makes with Steve holds careful intention, curated thought. Nothing is accidental and Steve knows Eddie's hinting at something more with his wandering fingers.

“I’ll ruin you, Steve. I’ve held back so far. This is about more than just tying up your wrists and silly little games of roleplay. You think you know me. You think I'm some interesting, open book with plenty of fun stories to keep you entertained,” he says condescendingly, which causes Steve to roll his eyes in budding annoyance, “but you only know the parts of me I’ve wanted you to see. You only know the stories I've wanted to tell. You don’t know the rest. Getting attached to me isn’t fucking good, I break everything I touch and I promise-I will break you. Whether I want to or not.”

There’s an eerie darkness behind his eyes. A black hole of pain that distorts his features into something previously unseen by Steve—sickeningly beautiful, terrifyingly alluring. He can't look away.

Steve has the urge to dive in and take the fall from heaven— down, down, down they’d tumble —with Eddie writhing above him in sinful release. Excommunicated for the greedy satisfaction they find in holding each other close and moaning into each other's mouths until the sun comes up. Passing catastrophe back and forth for all eternity like a bottle of cheap wine. Drinking their fill until all they have left is each other and the devil.

“Show me,” Steve says in a threateningly calm tone, “If you really are the big bad wolf, then quit holding back and give me everything you have. Just this once. Just tonight. And then–let me decide for myself.”

As more tears streak Eddie’s jawline and his cigarette loosely hangs–unlit and meaningless–between his lips, Steve realizes he isn’t in love with him. Not really.

He’d told Robin the truth, after all, it seems.

“Steve, I killed her. I killed Chrissy. Maybe not with my own hands, but with this stupid curse that seems to follow me everywhere I go. I can’t escape it. I’m bad luck, I’m a fucking nightmare. That shouldn’t read as an invitation to you. It should send you running as far away from me as you can get, but instead you've done the dumbest fucking thing in the world. No matter what I do, you keep running straight towards me like I can save you. Like this isn't the last fucking place you should be right now,” Eddie sobs and his voice is garbled by a thicket of pain and the obstacle of the cigarette, “I can't even save myself! I’m bad, Steve. At my core. I’m not–I’m not a good person. I’m not like you. I’m not the fucking human incarnation of the sun.”

No, he’s not in love with Eddie Munson.

Love isn’t the word for what Steve feels.

It would be a sheer fucking insult to sum up his feelings in such universally applicable form.

Love isn't nearly enough, but it's all Steve has for now.

And, even if it kills him, even if it leads him right over over the cliff's edge-he's going to love Eddie Munson until the very last second.

“You think I’m the sun?” Steve’s not sure if he’s breathing–he’s not sure how he got here in the first place or if he’ll see the light of another day.

But Eddie’s eyes are on him and maybe, that’s enough.

Maybe he can die on the floor of Hopper’s cabin.

Maybe he can die the beautiful death of a Shakespearian tragedy. Wax the poetic, hopeless dream of Juliet as his eyes fall shut.

Maybe he can find the romance in the suicide.

Maybe Eddie will kiss him as he takes his last breath and hold him as his heart ceases beating.

“Yeah, but that’s not–that’s not the point. I’m trying to get you to understand that I’m all sorts of wrong for you. I'll break your heart and I'm not–”

He leans forward and Steve is painfully sober and in need of a vicarious buzz, so he kisses Eddie without first asking for permission. Tangles his hands in the hair of the boy he’s not supposed to touch; not supposed to dream of; forcing his father to roll into a premature grave. Wherever the man may be in the world at this very moment. Steve doesn’t know. Hasn’t known for most of his life.

He kisses him until he's convinced it may very well be his last breath and with Eddie wrapped around his tongue--he thinks he can accept that fate.

“Eddie,” he feels hesitant hands wrap around his waist and scratch down his spine, “Eddie, I don’t care–”

Eddie kisses him back–kisses him harder. One upping him and raising the stakes of their game. Eddie kisses him murderously. As if trying to slaughter the words right on Steve’s tongue, as if trying to devour the sacred truth before it can make contact with the frigid air around them. Blue to red, dead on arrival.

They lick and moan and whine at each other.

Play with each other like they're regal pawns on a chessboard.

They sink teeth into reddening lips and make up for lost time, smashing the clock under Eddie's heavy boots.

And, at a certain point, Steve really does think he may pass out from lack of oxygen, but he doesn’t care. Trusts Eddie to catch him if he falls.

But then, Eddie releases him and Steve has to breathe on his own whether he likes it or not.

This isn't how it was supposed to end. Not with alarm bells ringing in his ears.

“Fuck, Steve. Don’t make this so hard, please. I’m going to want you for the rest of my goddamn life, okay? However long that may be. And that's enough, I've done my best to accept that," Eddie laughs bitterly and curses at the ceiling, staring up at the crooked wooden boards, "But, you? You deserve someone better. Someone that can give you a normal fucking life and a family and the ability to hold hands in public. Someone without a fucking mob out to get them. Someone who can actually keep you safe. Someone who doesn’t see you the way I do.”

You have no idea–no idea the things I want to do to you–

A monster, he'd called himself.

“How do you see me?” Steve stands and straddles Eddie’s lap; drinking in the moans he draws out of him, drunk on the power of being held by this man, "I promise you won't scare me away."

Eddie’s rock hard beneath him and Steve knows it’s wrong, knows it’s a bit manipulative, but he’s also a human livewire after seventeen whole days of separation–so he rolls his hips down and presses heat into Eddie's lap. Eddie hisses at the contact and grits his teeth as if Steve’s tied him to the electric chair.

He observes closely as Eddie’s hands cautiously trace the scars that have been revealed by Steve’s ratty, green Hawkins High basketball shorts riding up around the tops of his thighs. Deformities conceived by an experiment gone horribly wrong. By misadventures in self-reflection. Repeating the same mistakes over and over again.

“No, I’m not, We’re not doing this–” he shakes his head fervently, kissing the spaces between the lines anyway, “We can’t–”

He touches the gruesome scars like they're precious, soft as silk, and valuable as the commodified diamond. Keeping his touch featherlight.

“You told me you wanted to talk, Eddie. You told me you couldn’t resist the ‘Harrington charm after all,’” Steve–in an unusual display of decisiveness–grabs him gruffly by the jaw and watches the dull cigarette fall from grace-never achieving its' purpose, “So tell me. Let me decide.”

“I’m fucked up, Steve–” Eddie says through a river of tears.

He doesn’t take his hands away, rather creates half-moon indents in the flesh, digging in and growing roots in the soiled skin.

"I'm so beyond fucked up-"

“And I’m not?”

Steve pulls his sweat stained t-shirt over his head, tosses it aside, and moves one of Eddie’s hands to read the sullen language of ridged scars on his abdomen. Leading his fingers over the furled ruffage, illustrating the reality of the last few weeks. The damage he's done to himself in Eddie's absence, new and lasting.

“Whatever this is–whatever you feel, do me a favor and tell me before one or both of us dies without knowing the goddamn truth. Now or never, man."

“Shit. Shit. Shit. You promised,” Eddie brushes his hands over Steve’s chest, thumping a fist into the center—beating a drum that’s lost the will to make music worth listening to, “You told me you’d stop. You told me you were doing okay–”

“I lied, Eddie. I fucking lied to keep you safe,” he kisses him, nips at his jaw, gets his fingers back in those curls and wonders if this is how it feels to jump from the edge of the universe–to dive straight into the black, “Just like you. So, we’re even, I guess. We can put a tally mark on both sides. One, one. And if I can take the training wheels off, so can you.”

In a montage of profound rebellion–against his own rationale–Eddie locks a hand around Steve’s throat and pins him horizontally to the length of the couch. Penultimate domino collapsing as he bites him on the shoulder.

“Full honesty?” Eddie questions and tightens his grip enough to bruise, as if trying to squeeze the response out of Steve’s esophagus.

“Full honesty,” he pants, lightheaded and floating through space–Eddie the center of his universe.

“I–I think you’re the fucking sun. I do, but I actually think you’re brighter than that," he takes the bud of Steve’s nipple into his mouth and maintains the collar-like hold around his neck, "I think you’re a fucking supernova or whatever it’s called–Henderson taught me a long time ago at a Hellfire Club meeting.”

And then, in a display of ultimate humanity, he compassionately kisses a line down Steve's torso and whispers apologies along the way. Stopping at each scar to pay his respects, to mend the carnage. Tenderly pecking at each of Steve's veritable missing pieces.

If only Steve didn’t have to breathe, he’d beg for Eddie’s hands to keep him on the brink of suffocation at all times. It’s better this way, the bad shit doesn’t hurt as much when all he can feel is the harshness of Eddie’s wicked affection.

Taking his time, Eddie moves back up to Steve's chest.

Lavishing over the hardening nubs of his nipples, Eddie circles and hums around them–a simple tune that makes Steve squirm and whimper like he’s trying to fight off a violent predator. He likes it this way, the implication of violence. As if reading his mind, Eddie taps him on the cheek with a reprimanding little smack and kisses the red that blooms beneath it.

Ice to a burn, always ice to a burn with him.

If he could properly speak, Steve would beg him to hit harder. Beg for the imprint of his hand to become permanent on his face.

“You’re the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think of before I go to bed and I dream of you,” Eddie removes his own shirt with his free hand and the chain around his neck dangles teasingly over Steve’s mouth as he tosses it aside, “God, I dream of you every time I close my eyes. No matter how much I drink, no matter how much I smoke–I can’t get you out of my head. I dream these horrible, filthy fucking dreams of you. It’s so fucked up. It’s so fucking fucked up. I'm so far gone for you, I told you."

Instead of being scared, Steve is intrigued.

Desensitized and enticed by the suggestion of squalor.

Wanting to roll in the mud and see what's it's like to have filth cover every inch of his body.

“What do I do in those dreams?” he coughs dryly, as Eddie releases his neck—hacking into his hand, “What do you do to me, Eddie?"

They’ve been inching towards this all along, since the beginning, since before it.

Since Steve's dad first told him about the illness that queer boys spread with leeching hands and parasitic defilement.

Since Eddie showed up on his porch and made his lips the tourniquet for every last one of Steve’s hellacious wounds.

“I make you choke on my cock until you can’t breathe,” he pushes his pants down to his ankles and shoves them off the rest of the way with his feet–completely bare except for the silver that adorns his fingers and neck. Dressed for the occasion.

“I fuck you until you cry. I tell you what to do and you obey my every command.”

The word makes Steve’s cock leak into his already damp shorts. Eddie laughs meanly and licks him over the fabric–reminiscent of their last illicit rendezvous. Squeezing him at the base of his clothed dick and warning him not to cum.

For good reason, because Steve is already aching for release.

“That’s the thing, Steve–in my dreams, you let me touch you and use you however I want. You don't complain, you don't say no, you let me hold you under as long as I want."

Eddie pushes Steve’s shorts down too, a delighted smile meeting his lustful gaze as he nods his approval at the lack of underwear he finds beneath. Kissing Steve on the tip of his cock and thumbing at the head until a bead of slick covers his finger.

He instantly shoves it into Steve’s mouth and orders him to suck. Plunging past his lips and rubbing over his gums, before settling on his spit-soaked tongue.

Steve does so gladly, just happy to have Eddie’s fingers inside of him. Pretends the thumb is Eddie's cock, rolls it across his tongue, and fucks his mouth around it. He knows Eddie likes mess, so he lets drool spill out of the corners. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, as he tastes himself. Bitter and tangy and putrid.

Eddie grins wildly and adds another finger. This time his index. Steve greedily latches onto it like a starved animal.

“But, it’s not just the sex that I dream of. Though, I’ll admit that’s a lot of it,” Eddie ruts his dick against Steve’s–dry and near unbearably painful with the amount of dragging friction the act creates.

“It’s all this everyday stuff, too. I don’t think I was kidding about making you my little housewife,” Eddie groans as Steve bucks up into him and flicks at his own nipples–putting on a bit of a show for the man hovering above him.

He tugs on them and pulls on the surrounding blanket of chest hair. Circling the buds and pinching intermittently. Moaning out sweet cries of pleasure and never taking his eyes off of Eddie. He’s so sensitive, wonders if he could cum just like this—grazing his nipples and letting Eddie watch him with rapt attention.

”That’s it, baby. Touch your pretty tits. So sensitive,” Eddie leans down to kiss the top of each bud and Steve sobs at the vulgar contact, “Making you feel good aren’t I? You like hearing how much I want to control you? Is your pussy getting all wet just thinking about it?”

“Yes,” Steve whimpers, shaking as he brushes a hand over his cock to further tease, “All slick and dirty for you. My clit hurts, 's throbbing so hard. What else did you dream about?”

“Hmm. Well, I make you eat and sleep on a regular schedule,” Eddie captures Steve’s wrists in one hand and sits down atop his bare thighs with the entirety of his weight, "You're right baby," he looks down thoughtfully, "Your clit looks downright pathetic."

He pinches the head of Steve's dick between two fingers and laughs as Steve mewls and kicks out his legs beneath him.

“I give you a bedtime and rules and punishments,” Steve gasps as Eddie reaches for a bottle of lube behind one of the cushions and douses his fingers in it, "I make you eat your vegetables and brush your teeth."

“I make you go to doctor’s appointments for your head and hold your hand when they do the x-rays," Eddie kisses him softly on the forehead and tucks a stray strand of hair behind Steve's ear.

“Gimme your color, baby or we can’t keep playing. Wanna play with my favorite fuck toy, really wanna play. But I gotta know your color first.”

“Green,” Steve yelps, as Eddie bites down on his lip, “Green. Green. Green.”

“Good girl,” Eddie says in that sickly sweet patronizing tone that Steve recognizes as his signature, “Such a good girl for me.”

He lifts himself onto his knees and instructs Steve to curl his legs against his chest. Then, scoots backwards to give himself space for what he's about to do.

What is he about to do?

Steve almost vocalizes the thought, but Eddie beats him to it. Ready with an explanation.

“Need to open you up, angel. Your pussy’s so tight, ‘s never been touched before,” Eddie uses the tip of his index finger to circle Steve’s rim methodically–slowly inserting it bit by bit, “I’ll talk you through it. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

It’s a strange feeling–this sudden intrusion. Eddie has an inch of a finger inside of his ass and it feels, good?

Strange and different and kind of painful, but overall good.

Steve’s never really thought to touch himself there and no girl has ever offered to, but he thinks there might be something to this. He wants more, wants to explore and play with Eddie until it all clicks into place.

But, despite the sensation being altogether foreign and odd at first, when Eddie eventually works him down to the last knuckle and curves his finger upwards—Steve swears he reaches nirvana. Stars burst behind his eyes and he practically cums on the spot.

What the fuck is that?

“Fuck. That’s–oh my god. Fuck,” he writhes and Eddie holds him down by the hips so he can slowly begin slipping another finger inside, “More, Eddie. More. Please, touch me. Touch me anywhere. I don’t care, just please don’t stop—fuck.”

"Cute. Looks like babygirl's enjoying getting her prostate fingered for the first time," Eddie licks a stripe up Steve's abdomen and sucks marks onto his hips, nosing alongside his weepy cock, "Just can't get enough of having my fingers in you, can you?"

Steve shakes his head somberly-borderline ashamed to admit it, "Uh, uh. Need you to keep me full. Wanna stay full. Please don't stop, Eddie. Please."

He adds a second finger, slowing sinking in, and working Steve open with gentle scissoring motions, edging him and licking up all of his wanton sounds.

“Let’s see where was I?” He feigns innocence and verbally ignores Steve's whining, but continues to press his fingers up against Steve’s prostate with increasing speed, “In my dreams, I make you do your laundry,” he rubs circles around that little perfect nub of pleasure that Steve never realized he had, “I make you give me a daily report of what you’ve accomplished and what you still feel you need help with,” he’s thrusting his fingers in and out of Steve’s hole at a punishing pace and the only thing preventing him from screaming is the vague memory that this is a man on the run and the walls are only so thick, “I make you take care of yourself in all the ways you don’t want to. In all the ways you think you don’t deserve.”

There are three fingers in his body somehow and it’s wet and messy and sloppy and gross.

He’s leaking profusely and swears he could cum from Eddie’s words alone. The control, the ability to submit fully, the offer on the fucking table–sends him into a state of irrepair. All of his senses converge to communicate the single fact that this is what he wants. This is what he needs.

Eddie Munson. Steve needs Eddie Munson.

He’s not the source of contagion, Steve’s dad had that all wrong.

He’s the cure–the narcotic sedative that may be the only thing capable of stopping Steve from unearthing the pistol in the basement and aiming it at his own head.

“And if I want all of that? If I agree to be okay with everything you just described? What then? Will you have me? Will you make me yours?” Steve secures his hands around Eddie’s neck in a binding clasp–lacing his fingers as a symbol of the oath he’s prepared to profess.

Locked in.

Permanent.

Eddie removes his fingers and furrows his brow in concentration, gazing down at the boy below him. Looking like he wasn’t quite expecting that answer.

“Then, I–I suppose we could do this, be whatever this is. But, Steve, I still don’t think you understand. Even if you are okay with a dynamic like that, I’m never going to be able to–”

Eddie’s doubts are silenced by another kiss. Steve doesn’t need to hear them, he already has them memorized like the back of his hand and he’s ready to battle them along with his own.

If the house was on fire, if the world was ending, if a bullet came spinning through the air and only one of them could survive–Steve would save Eddie every single time.

He’ll choose him in this universe and every other one. Born back again and again into his arms through time and space.

“You’re the moon,” he says, unable to put it into words, terrified of how lucid he feels when he looks into Eddie’s midnight eyes.

“What?”

“You’re the moon, Eds,” he kisses him unapologetically and thinks of how he got here-following the moon with nothing but Eddie on his mind, “You’re the light surrounded by darkness and I choose you, regardless. I don’t care about the consequences, as long as it’s you. As long as it’s you.”

“Steve, no one’s ever–I’ve never had anyone say something like that to me–” Eddie blinks back tears and everything is worth it–the pain, the risk, the unstable future.

It’s a disease, y'know. It can be passed from person to person. Make sure you stay away from boys like him, Steven.

Boys like him.

Boys with eyes as dark as the midnight sky.

Boys with quick wit and sarcastic bite.

Boys with bruised knuckles and scarred skin.

Boys like Eddie.

Boys like Steve.

“Ruin me,” he whispers brokenly, “Make me yours and ruin me.”

With that, Eddie rolls a condom onto his cock–retrieving it from behind the same cushion, as if he’d anticipated this very moment.

“Beg, babygirl,” he teases the head of his dick at Steve’s entrance and fists a handful of hair into his hand, “Tell me what you want with your words and maybe, I’ll give it to you.”

Steve cries out at the way Eddie prods against him, trembling and mewling in a fragmented cacophony. A fitful melody that could only ever appeal to a seriously fucked up audience of two.

“Need you inside me, Eds. Need your cock to fill me up, need you to make me forget about everything else,” he groans and tastes blood from where he’s been biting into his own cheek, “Please.”

“You’re learning,” Eddie grips the arm of the sofa with his free hand and Steve inhales the musky scent of him–trying to get high on it, “look at that,” his eyes are trained on where he stretches him out on his cock, “my bashful little virgin is going to get turned into a needy cockslut in no time.”

Steve fucking purrs. Greedy for more, desperate to feel himself split all the way open by Eddie’s dick. Wanting Eddie to break him all the way, sink his teeth in and never let go.

“That’s it, baby,” Eddie sinks further into the clutch of Steve’s ass and groans deeply–primal in essence, “Your pussy’s so fuckin’ tight, ‘s so warm too. Gonna stretch you out so good, make you nice and loose so I can fuck you easy whenever I want.”

“Wanna be yours,” Steve arches his back and sucks in a sharp breath as Eddie bottoms out inside of him–closer than ever, two becoming one, “Wanna be yours and make you proud. Wanna behave.”

“I know you do, princess. Can tell how good you are, how good you wanna be,” he stills his body, allowing Steve to adjust to him and pets at his face lovingly, “Of course you’re mine, baby. You’ve been mine since the day I first laid eyes on you. You belong to me.”

Fuck.

Steve cries out for a God he’s long since stopped believing in.

No one’s ever wanted him like this. No one’s ever wanted to claim him as theirs. To build a foundation atop his decimated grounds.

“Yours,” Steve replies weakly, rocking his hips and indulging in the painful stretch of his gaping hole, “yours, yours, yours.”

“Mine,” Eddie begins thrusting sloppily–with no rhyme or reason, other than the overwhelming need to reach his own end and take Steve down the rabbit hole with him, “You and your perfect pink hole. All mine. All fucking mine. Gonna ruin you, baby.”

Eddie presses his knees further into his chest beyond what should be naturally possible. But for Eddie he’ll do anything, bend and contort into any position necessary.

He slams into Steve, holding his ankles next to his head, and pistoning his hips.

“Mmmm,” he mewls and gawks at the bulge that pumps in and out of his lower abdomen, “Gonna cum soon. Gonna cum. Gonna cum. Feels too good, pussy’s gonna be so sore tomorrow. So full, so fucking full. Don’t ever want you to leave.”

“Fuck, Stevie,” Eddie takes one of his hands and flattens it over Steve’s pelvis, covering it with his own, “Do you feel that? Do you feel how deep you're taking my cock, princess?”

Eddie smacks his hips into Steve’s–whining high in his throat at the sight. The two marvel at the shape of desire, how Steve’s body molds to fit Eddie seamlessly. Like the cocoon of a dormant butterfly, shaping unique perfection.

“Next time, I’m gonna fuck you raw,” he sucks a hickey onto Steve’s neck–more purple to poke at in the morning, “Gonna make your belly all fat and pregnant with my cum. Breed you like the slut you are until it’s dripping out of every hole.”

“Yeah,” Steve moans sharply, canting his hips to meet Eddie in the middle–deepening his own pleasure and edging ever closer to a mounting orgasm, “Want that. Wanna be the mama to your kids, Daddy.”

I see myself as much more of a ‘Daddy’ than a ‘Mommy’—for your information.

It slips his mind, runs the length of his tongue by accident, and exits his perverted lips before he can comprehend the gravity of the situation.

But it scratches an itch that Steve hasn’t been able to reach since Eddie first spoke those words aloud in the produce aisle of the local grocery store. And he can’t take it back.

He doesn’t want to.

Daddy.

It feels right.

It suits him.

And, well, he doesn’t exactly seem too unhappy about it-

“Oh fuck,” Eddie trembles and fights for air, fucking into Steve with no remorse-balls slapping against his body rapidly,“Say that again,” he takes Steve by the throat and squeezes harder than ever before as if he actually plans on suffocating him right here on the couch, “Fucking say it, Stevie. Right fucking now, I swear to God–”

“Daddy,” he leans up to capture Eddie’s kiss-bitten mouth in his and smirks at how much the simple name affects the man’s composure, “Your wife, Daddy. No one else gets to play with my pussy and make me cum. Just you. Only you. Love being your pretty toy, want you to use me until I cry. Make it hurt Daddy, make me bleed.”

Stuttering in his rhythm and cursing relentlessly, Eddie slaps the outside of Steve’s thigh with a heavy hand and unsheathes himself.

”Fuck-what are you-“ Steve whimpers at the loss, desperate to get Eddie back inside him.

“Turn over, baby. Hands and knees. Wanna fuck you from behind so I can spank you while you cum all over my cock.”

Steve’s never moved so fast in his goddamn life. He scrambles into position-ducks his head between his elbows and teasingly wiggles his ass back and forth for Eddie to see.

“Gimme spankings, Daddy,” he pants, dick spilling out more slick onto the pillows, “Hit me hard so I feel it tomorrow.”

Steve’s never even spanked one of his girlfriends. Let alone gotten spanked himself. But there’s no doubt in his mind that this going to become a fast forming addiction for him, the second Eddie’s palm makes contact with the roundest part of his ass. He cries out at the overwhelming sting and hears himself pleading for more.

“You’re beautiful, Stevie,” Eddie says softly and tugs his head up from the pillows by the hair as he slides back into him, “I’m sorry about earlier, baby. I’m sorry I asked you to leave. Don’t ever wanna let you go, don’t ever wanna say goodbye.”

” ‘s okay, Daddy,” Steve moans out as Eddie pounds into him and lands another harsh spanking on his ass, “I got scared too. Don’t ever want anything bad to happen to you. Wanna keep you safe.”

“You’re the sun, Stevie. You’re the sun,” Eddie repeats in pure religiosity and closes out the prayer with a final, gorgeous virtue, “Gonna fuck you slow and cum inside you. Gonna take my time. Gonna savor this and never forget it.”

Tears fall when Steve hears him say this. He wants to promise the same. So badly. But he knows it’s one of the only things he can’t say back. He can’t give Eddie the blessing of his memory and it sends shrapnel flying into his heart.

“You’re the moon,” he says instead-figuring it’s the next best thing he can supply, “You’re my moon. Mine.”

“Yours,” Eddie says on the edge of a breath, “Always, yours.”

His hips stutter, slowing, and rhythmically brushing against Steve’s prostate which sends them both into an overwhelming orgasm in no time at all.

Steve spurts over his stomach and Eddie cums while still pressed deep inside him.

Twitching from oversensitivity and the aftershocks of pleasure, as he collapses onto Steve’s chest to bury his face in his neck.

Steve knows Eddie’s crying, can feel the tears pooling in the hollow of his collarbone. Opalescent in the moonlight.

Trying to make him whole, even now, even there.

Trying to save each other the only way they know how.

Within a matter of breathless minutes, stolen kisses, and mindless pillow talk; they drift off to sleep in each other’s arms.

”Need you to cut my hair tomorrow,” Eddie softly snores atop Steve’s chest and speaks through a half-formed dream, barely a whisper in the dead of night, “All of it.”

He almost asks, almost wakes him fully, but decides—without council—that the rest can wait ‘til morning.

When the sun will rise again.

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s0lar-ch3ri · 5 months

Text

out of context things for a fic im reading (its from my mutual, and i might update my unfinished oneshot for gill after...and do a big oneshot seperation lol)

fic link for people who havent read it yet GO DO THAT NOW EVEN IF YOUVE ALREADY READ IT REREAD IT AND COMPLIMENT IT THIS IS ALL ABOUT CHAPTER 5

im adding "This letter is filled with glitter. If you open it you will be too." in some way shape or form into my vocab its beautiful

i honestly thought that jay was gonna say gill and OH MY GOD THATD BE SO FUNNY AND KINDA ANGSTY IF DONE IN A CERTIAN WAY LOL

(honestly kinda a fic idea there: ava gets help from lizzie as they learn lizzies brother [chip] believes that gillion likes ava or smth. i wanna see the siblings helping their siblings come together)

...oh the heart refs are starting

"He did. She screamed." pure comedy imo

"He kind of liked that idea, he needed more mean girl friends (one can never have too many)." SCREAMING MUTUAL YOU KNOW THE LESBIANS SO WELL AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

...mutual. im not your mother father or parent i wanna put you in timeout AHHHH WHY THESE REFS

mutual. hey. you dont need to remind us. you can let us be happy.

i wonder what the title of the fic means btw

as someone who calls their friend pookie, MISS FERIN DIDNT FUCKING STUTTER

"Stress shouldn’t be real, it was stupid." PREACH!

OH MY GOD HE SAID THAT BEFORE THE KISS HES SO GAY YOUR HONOR GAY AS HELL

FUCK ME I CAN IMAGINE GILLS VOICE SAYING THAT HANG ON IF I DO AN OUT LOUD IMPRESSION...

fuck it is as riduclous as it appears

bro jay and ensa have had a "they/them pussy" moment together and i see it thats the fucking look on their faces good for them

OH. I SEE. GAY "SEX" THEN DEATH. FUCK

he found his kid got a bitch and was so shocked and happy he fucking died

"But then again, maybe he deserved it." chip babygirl you make no sense

wait chips 17 here. 2 years away from being 19. the canon age. oh nononononononono

hey. anybody else notice a pretty big character of chips past hasnt been brought up yet? like, fucking price. the guy thats believed to have mistreated chip. the guy who made chip kill a man. MUTUAL WHAT ARE YOU PLANNING.

okay so i have a theory. my mutual doesnt plan on giving chip a break, hes just lost his dad unknowingly how, hes currently 17, and price hasnt been mentioned ONCE. characters act pretty similar to canon, including how theyve been mistreated in a sense (seen by the elders). the title (You'll Forget (It's Not Your Fault)) doesnt seem any good.

my theory? following the canon idea that chip has been through so much he easily forgot about kenta and his nightmare shit, chips gonna be dealing with price, and i dont think its gonna be just for a couple months. price is behind arlins shit, and price gonna make chip think this shit is all his fault.

oh nvm checked tags REDO THEORY

minor character death probs means you know who if you read it i dont wanna say it cause big spioier uhhhh READ IT OKAY IM SAYING IT NOW arlin, but from the beginning its had memory loss (how i didnt notice this before is beyond me) so im thinking its caused by like bad shit that happens (price is going to fuck with him more and ill sob) and hes blaming himself for it cause he thinks all thats happening including the memory loss is because hes doing shit wrong

(from what i know, depression and shit can cause memory loss BUT im not sure ill be back with results tmr on this so until then REBLOGS OFF)

check my mutual out or ill llegally have to eat you (on tumblr @red-might-be-dead)

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systemserendipity · 7 months

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about this post

https://www.tumblr.com/systemserendipity/731283108856528896/come-on-yall-it-takes-like-ten-minutes-listen?source=share&ref=_tumblr

from one pro-endo to another, i absolutely agree that a ton of anti-endos really need to educate themselves more than just one biased google search. and since you're against people being biased in the info they choose to look at and accept as fact you'll be open to listening to me. so, as gently as i can possibly say this, i ask that you also do some research that's not just a biased google search

the caard that you linked does have a lot of good points! but it also has a lot of harmful misinformation.

for example, it tries using diagnostic manuals as 'proof' that DID/OSDD-1 aren't trauma disorders. bear with me on this! this isnt bs youd usually hear after a sentence like that! but i gotta address the misinfo before clarifying what i mean

diagnostic manuals are diagnostic manuals. they exist to help medical professionals diagnose patients. but its not a be all end all of whats True or False about disorders, especially not to people like you and me who aren't professionally practicing psychologists. its a tool to aid these professionals, but these professionals arent basing their entire understanding of the disorders on the manuals. if that was all there was to it, anyone could use it to diagnose anyone

now about did/osdd-1 being trauma disorders, its important to understand what they are. they are developmental disorders. in childhood there are things known as critical periods, where a child must reach a certain milestone by a certain time in order to be able to reach it. in did/osdd-1, something disrupted the child's ability to integrate their identity into one cohesive sense of self prior to the critical period. and, whatever that thing was, counts as trauma in the context of did/osdd-1

trauma is a word that has a ton of different definitions depending on what context its being spoken of. in medical contexts it has very specific definitions, and those definitions arent the same even across different disorders. what counts as trauma in PTSD isnt the same as what counts as trauma in DID/OSDD-1

for example, if say there was an autistic child who found moving to a new house so disruptive and stressful that they formed did/osdd-1, moving house would count as trauma in their case. because trauma in this context refers to whatever it was that caused the disruption in their development that lead to did/osdd-1 forming

do i believe that there's a problem with endogenic did/osdd-1 systems? no! well, it's a bit complicated, but ultimately no! there's a lot of different definitions for trauma, and an endogenic did/osdd-1 isn't using the kind im talking about here!

when i say its a bit complicated, i mean that i dont think endogenic did/osdd-1 systems are bad, as much as i think we could be a lot better as a community educating on what trauma means in context of did/osdd-1. i think itd really help bridge some communicative gaps and help create a more unified community. i also think itd help endogenic did/osdd-1 systems understand themselves a bit better! did/osdd-1 doesnt just form out of nowhere, something does cause it, and not having what youd personally consider 'trauma' doesnt mean that there wasnt something that caused it! i know personally that educating myself about all this helped me understand my system better, and stopped me falling into denial spirals of 'what if it wasnt really trauma'.

now that i've finished most of what i have to say, i have to address the elephant in the room: ive linked no sources. i want to bold and emphasise that, because i believe its important to take everything with a grain of salt when its just baseless like this. personal experiences dont need a source, but in depth convos about disorders like this do! and we all should be very mindful not to just believe anything without sources backing it up!

why didnt i include sources? because its 4:23am. its way too late for me to go gather all of them, especially when im not sure if youll be receptive to what i have to say. but! if you are! please let me know! i have done a lot of studying into research behind did/osdd-1 and i have sources in mind for everything ive written here. if youre open to all this, i can track them all down and make an edited version putting them where relevant!

second to last thing i have to add that i think is really important is that there's a ton of proof for did/osdd-1 being related to trauma (remember, the definition in context!). that was always the strongest evidence we had for did/osdd-1 existing, and brain scans have given further evidence! im going to link the resource i think is the absolute best to look at in terms of brain scans and our findings, but fair warning its quite long!

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S246874992030017X

and the final thing i have to say is psychology isnt an exact science. it could be possible for someone to fit the diagnostic criteria for did/osdd-1 perfectly without anything at all causing it. but! that doesnt mean that it isnt a science and that there hasnt been a lot of research into it, or that we should just discount it altogether. i still believe its misinformation to say did/osdd-1 arent trauma disorders, because even with that chance of what happening and other definitions of trauma, it is making people really misinformed about what trauma even is in did/osdd-1

Thanks for your good-faith conversation. We genuinely appreciate it. 🤝

Let's meet in the middle here. We think a lot of y'all's points are valid and concise. Despite the time of posting! lol

And we agree that there's a lot of nuance when it comes to dissociative disorders of any kind, let alone DID and OSDD. That's why a lot of discussions end up becoming essays! Ya can't easily summarize the spectrum of plurality, nor the medical diagnoses of such.

So, when trying to discuss it in-full, research can get mirky rather quickly. And we don't get things 100%, 100% of the time-- ofc not. We're huge advocates of self-education and, so, when we see responses like this that are constructive-- rather than destructive-- we really like to pay attention.

TL;DR-- make sure that you double-check your sources and take online conversations about plurality with a grain of salt. Misinformation's a-plenty. And, at the end of the day, we're all just trying to voice our opinions.

If you feel any of what we have to say about plurality strikes a chord, then educate yourself however best you can. And speak about if you'd like; *any* plural representation-- from the range of freshly questioning to the veterans-- is better than none imo.

But!

Make sure to supplement that by actually talking to people, and accepting feedback.

You don't know what you don't know, and every day is a chance to learn something new-- even if the subject is one you're passionate about. Everybody's got a voice and you're not always going to completely agree. But listening to your peers is part of growth.

And, again, addressing this anon poster, thanks for reaching out to us, and being so honest. DM us if ya wanna chat about this more; we'd be delighted!

#cw syscourse #tw discourse #plural system #endo positive #multigenic #mixed origin system #pluralgang #power to the plurals #self education #thanks for the chat!#DM us if ya want!

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kollapsar · 2 years

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what does a well-constructed commission brief/reference entail? (side note your ask title i love it)

That's such a good question!

I could probably talk about this one all day but for me it's in the options and details! Largely, a good amount of details and visuals provided in a careful way that's easy to follow and construct.

This also varies depending on the commission (clients with a specific idea vs. clients who wants to construct a design/concept sheet)

Some of the best sheets I've read basically follow the format of:

The Brief TL;DR here's a short summary of precisely what I want.

Here is a short description and maybe a very rough stick figure/bashed-together setup (if I have a very specific composition in mind.) This is my "launching point" that I'll use as the prime directive, and usually only about 1-2 sentences + the comp setup if you provide one.

The Specs

Here are some very brief point-by-point specs that you can't miss (e.g. physical details about the character, other things that are very important) This is information I will use like a checklist to refer to almost every time I sit down with a piece. This is usually a set of bullet points that outline the absolute essentials I need to include, from scars, a very important accessory, a specific angle or expression, or even an overall vibe. If this piece is getting made to be printed, this is also where you give me dimensions. Essentially this is stuff I absolutely have to follow.

If you have a “definitive reference sheet” or portrait of your character/characters available, this is where it goes!

The Background

Added details: Here's a longer paragraph with more written descriptions as a "vibe" and general background on the piece's context, the character's background, etc. Here's various pictures, sketches, inspirational moodboards, etc. This is information I will review usually on first sit-down and building the reference board, and then again on my final pass to see if there's anything I can work in/am contradicting/etc. While this isn't necessarily information I find completely essential I still enjoy having this available because it gets me a rounder feeling for what I'm working with and can pre-emptively answer any more probing questions I may have about the subject. Detailed world information, playlists, etc. go here. I take it all as long as it's neatly separated from your hard-line details.

The Bonuses

Circling back to content that’s really cool and nice stuff that isn't required but still helpful: The stick figure diagrams, artbreeder face refs or faceclaims, etc. Pieces that I've done before that you absolutely gelled with, along with aspects of them you'd like. I know some artists may not prefer it but having something I've done before in front of me along with a direct pointer of what specifically you like lets me know pretty well what you'd like me to specifically bring to the work.

Presentation?

In general, I prefer reference provided to me in a single Google Doc with the pictures included. Wrapped text with smaller resolution pictures peppered in is fine- some clients even provide a separate Google Drive link that has that document in it, plus the high resolution versions of those pictures.

If it's for a concept that we're developing together, having "hard yes" reference in one folder and "maybe/neat suggestions/ideas to explore" in a separate one is great.

If it's for a character that you kind of want me to take the wheel with, Refsheet.net is a very excellent source for archiving your overall character details and visuals! I know I keep my OCs there for anytime I need to commission someone. (Example sheet. This one is of my OC Evgeny, and is specifically over-detailed but allows me to cut any content I may need from it to put the relevant stuff in a commission document if I write one, then provide this as an added reference if the artist wants more stuff.)

Thanks for asking and hope this helps! If I can further clarify anything let me know- kind of wrote this up in a tizzy.

(PS Glad you like the Ask page title lol! It's one thing on my Tumblr blog that hasn't changed in 10 years.)

#replies #anon #kollapsar updates #my art stuff

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kickingthehornetsnest · 4 months

Text

KTHN - Prevention

Let's hope you're still in 'Stage One'. For context, I like to sort the... 'eras' of our ██████████ sickness as Stages, like one would categorize grief, sheerly due to the number of parallels! Lot's of grammar and spelling this time around folks! Proximity's got me wonky, even now that I managed to put a fair bit of space between us but that was two days worth of walking to manage that. so uh, sorry? I guess? Anyways, Stage One of....??? is categorized quite easily by it's simplicity. You still have a normal life, things have just been "weird". You saw something off, not necessarily upsetting or direct, just... something not 'normal' and for one reason or another that 'something' is now stuck in your head and no matter what you do it seems to be everywhere. You have very little to absolutely no clue what 'it' is or why it might be reoccuring and that's good.

Because that means you still have time to undo what you've started. In a few simple steps, here is my best advice. One, immerse yourself in the public. In your friends, family, anything social. Need insentive? Fuck it, Family Bowling Night's a thing now! Why? Dr. Lyle said so. Just... trust me. Two, keep yourself busy to the point that whatever it is, is constantly pushed from your mind and you simply can't think about it. Try intensive college courses, lots of long work hours, many hobbies that occupy the brain. In tandem with One, Three is simple. NEVER Be Left Alone For Long. No hiking into the woods, no Urben Ex, No SCP document reading, no spooky story videos late at night, no playing spooky game at 3 am alone in a dark room, and this might seem obvious but, Demon Summoning is now off the table. You live alone? Not in this economy! Get a roommate, no scratch that- get like 5. Need friends? Pick a hobby, go find people at local places like Libraries, and community centers who like the same things. Call your Mom, Dad, Grandparents, Aunt, Uncle, Cousins, Guardian, Siblings, ANYONE you can. Hell, move back in with that family, or move in with them if that's what it takes. Being alone leads to Paranoia, which as we will discuss when addressing your symptoms is your greatest adversary in the oncoming storm that we're trying to steer you out of the way of. 4. Get a therapist. no. I'm not joking. You're a guy? that's not manly? I'm a guy. I'm in therapy. Your argument is now invalid, L plus Ratio. or whatever. Get a therapist, a psychologist if your insurance allows it, get some meds on board. Antidepressants, Anxiety meds, whatever you might personally need to help managed the first noticeable symptoms. Don't worry, if you're this early in your biggest worries symptom-wise should be merely: Coughing, Nightmares, some slight anxieties (more then normal but not severe), and maybe a few slightest audio, visual, or both, hallucinations. But these can be remedied by my above advice. Last and most importantly, I cannot stress this enough. I may not entirely have 'evidence' to prove this point, but rather consistently I have found in my own experience and that of those who came before (I will link them in REF's, don't worry.) the easiest, most consistent cure, when this early in, especially when paired with all I've said before this point... is Dopamine. No I'm not joking, stop laughing. It seems stupidly simple to those too far in, and it will be the greatest tool to those who are "in too deep" to help manage this ... illness. Favorite foods, Music you like, games that distract you and bring you joy, absorb your attention and drain your time away. Movies from your childhood, talking to a friend, spending time with a partner, (especially that one if you've got one.) all of these seemingly innocuous things can ground you and remind you that you are present, and you are safe. that sounds like therapy talk and I'm so sorry, but that's because it's just generally good advice for all people. Be happy, be whatever your personal healthy may look like, but most importantly be safe.

also... if you're further along then this stage?? Refer to my other posts, Pick a god, and start praying. lol. That's all I got for tonight, more posts will be coming soon!

#arg horror #everymanhybrid #marble hornets #im so tired #im sorry #i need sleep #i'm so anxious #lol can you tell i'm too broke to make a real arg?#this is the best i've got so #all the KTHN stuff will be labeled at the title as such in case at some point I the creator need to address something out of canon.#not that i expect much #mind you i just #wanna prep for any possible outcome #and yes #i do text like this all the time #no im not sorry

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amandithewarathanthri2023mi4016 · 9 months

Text

Brief 1 - More Research

Historical Context

The Dutch presence in Sri Lanka (formerly known as Ceylon) lasted 150 years, officially from 1658 when the Dutch expelled the Portuguese, until 1796, the year of the British occupation. However, the first encounter with the island dates back to 1602, when Joris van Spilbergen arrived on the eastern coast. Ceylon was known to produce the best-quality cinnamon. In addition, the Dutch East India Company (‘VOC’) achieved the monopoly on the trade of tamed elephants directed to the Indian market. The VOC was a leading supplier on the intra-Asiatic shipping market, and that meant that the Dutch had to deal diplomatically with the King of Kandy, in the interior of Ceylon, where cinnamon and elephants were found. The Dutch needed to control the islands’ coasts, as well, particularly the harbours of Colombo and Galle. After Batavia (now Jakarta), Galle, as the departure point for loaded ships sailing directly to the Netherlands, was the most strategic VOC hub in Asia.

The Dutch achieved control of Sri Lanka when they were invited by Sri Lanka to help fight the Portuguese. They signed the Kandyan Treaty of 1638 with Rajasinghe II. The coming of the Dutch ensured that the Portuguese had two enemies to deal with so finally the Portuguese were forced to sign a treaty with the Dutch and come to terms with their enemies. Portugal was at war with its ruler, the King of Spain. Once Portugal obtained its freedom from Spain in 1640, the Netherlands settled for peace with Portugal. Then they divided the occupied areas of Ceylon amicably under a treaty signed in Goa. Slowly, the Dutch became the rulers of coastal and outer areas of Ceylon and Indonesia, and the Portuguese were left with smaller pieces of territory than those of the Dutch and the English.

The period of Dutch rule was of great significance to Sri Lanka’s economic development. It was during this time that decisive steps were taken toward the incorporation of the island into the emerging world economy. Rain-fed commercial crops such as cinnamon and betel had become important items in the export trade, as had high-value gemstones from mines in the Central Highlands and pearls from fisheries on the northwestern coast. Because the processing of cinnamon demanded a moderately skilled labour force, many workers were recruited from the neighbouring subcontinent. Miners were drawn from the local population, but a good number of divers came from south India to participate in pearl-collecting operations. Exports also included other spices, lacquer, coconut oil, ropes of coconut fibres, and such sea products as cowrie and conch shells. As stated earlier, Elephants were also among the most important items of trade during this period. The link between trade and agriculture, which strengthened considerably during this period, was evident especially in the increased production of two new cash crops, tobacco and coffee—the cultivation of which was encouraged by the VOC.

The expansion of Sri Lanka’s trade called for the development of a more extensive infrastructure and more-sophisticated transport facilities. The VOC developed three major canal systems in the western, southern, and eastern parts of the island. One of these canals was built skirting the Dutch Hospital building.

In the early years of Dutch rule an enthusiastic effort was made to curtail the missionary activities of the Roman Catholic clergy and to spread the Reformed church in Sri Lanka. Roman Catholicism was declared illegal, and its priests were banned from the country; Catholic churches were given to the Reformed faith, with Calvinist pastors appointed to lead the congregations.

Although the Dutch managed to capture most of the coastal areas in Sri Lanka, they were never able to control the Kingdom of Kandy.

Refs:

https://dutchculture.nl/en/mapping-sri-lanka-heritage-0#:~:text=The Dutch presence in Sri,year of the British occupation

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aseriesofunfortunatejan · 1 year

Text

Alright, sorry for being so late. Ahem... (reading from a script) Uhm... Right... Today, I will be playing... "Frustrated admin who was right, as usual." I'm a bit rusty, so please be patient with me. Ahem... (continuing to read from script)

What a surprise 🤪 Cutthroat is canonically male 🤪 It only took *check notes* (this is written in the script) three years to be confirmed. But it's alright you still have a few characters to claim as "CANONICALLY" nonbinary since I don't have manga profiles for them yet. Hell, I think I might not have Hoodlum's atm. Oh, but someone's telling me (my acting gets better and better) Hoodlum is "obviously male, since he had sex with Doctor." Sorry, I'll write a special gender in the Gender template for that. "|maleconfirmedsex=[[File:Male.png|15px|link=Wikipedia:Male]] Male[[Category:Male]]<ref>This character's gender was confirmed by having sex with Doctor. ([Hoodlum])</ref>" Anyway you still have the Execution Division, the kids, and Shark and Bunny. Well hey, you're right that we shouldn't assume. Nevermind that we all know damn well the creators assume cisnormativity. Encyclopaedias are a place for dreaming, right? What? Doctor's gender? How about we stop talking for a whi-

(stops reading from script) ... ... ... ... ... Anyway, this was handed to me and I had no choice but to read it. It's true that with Doctor's and Cutthroat's genders out of the way, my narrative arc as the Akudama Drive Wiki's admin is coming to an end.

/ref /ij

As a cis person, I've been sorry to be the bearer of bad news all along. I cannot possibly imagine what it feels like to live in a cisnormative world when you are not cis. I can easily imagine that someone younger than myself might see the world evolving and assume that their favourite authors might acknowledge them. Unfortunately, from my knowledge of the creators in question, the cultural differences from country to country, and frankly, just... adults, it had been obvious to me all along that the characters' genders weren't mentioned because they were considered obvious. You were also supposed to assume Doctor was "obviously a woman", to be surprised by the "do you see me as a woman?" line and eventually whatever the manga had going on. By the way, the creators are absolute cowards for not acknowledging her gender. The reference to her "unknown" age is barely funny, and not worth not acknowleding her as a trans woman or, potentially, otherwise genderqueer. Again, though, as much as it is a disappointment, this didn't come as a surprise.

Currently, TooKyo Games/Kodaka's new project, the game Master Detective Archives: RAIN CODE, features among its teasers a character who was singled out in that no pronouns were used in their description. Because it highly differs from "character who in-context didn't know Cutthroat's identity didn't know he was a guy", I'm keeping hope that it wasn't a mistake and that Halara will genuinely be nonbinary, and that with Spike Chunsoft's awkward attempts at good PR (and maybe Uchikoshi's influence? Since he's an ally, thank fuck), Kodaka will finally and genuinely have created a character outside the binary.

This would be a win for anyone who has dreamt of genderqueer Ultimate Imposter, trans Doctor, or even, why not, nonbinary Cutthroat.

#/ref #/ij #akudama drive #blah blah blah #tookyo games #too kyo games

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arlongo · 2 years

Text

“I know what I'm gonna do tomorrow, and the next day, and the next year, and the year after that.”

“I am not Jimmy fuckin’ Stewart.” That was one of the few lines I had in my outline for First Day that I thought was partially funny and partially appropriate and I really wanted that line to have weight to it and luckily enough I stumbled upon the perfect opportunity for my main character to deliver that line. For the people who had given me crap about the amount of coarse languages in my stories, this is my second “cleanest” story behind The Spaceman and the Shepherd.

After the great HBO series, The Leftovers ended in 2017, I thought to myself. I wanted to write a story like this… a story of spirituality and fantasy blended in behind some crazy big idea. So I always had this idea on the back burner until earlier this year.

I never like the idea of doing a book series, but I certainly did not want spend three-five years on a single story like I did with the 700 plus pages novel, The Ambiguity of Rock n’ Roll… which is still my favorite piece of writing and I am still waiting for a streaming service to approach me about doing a limited series adaptation of the epic indie rock novel.

The First Day of the Rest of Your life is part one of A. R. Longo’s Existential Saga. I am not going to say I know how many books there will be or I know what’s the series’ end game… I may have some ideas on how I could imagine the series ending, but I am taking it one book at a time and I do have a pretty good idea on what’s book two is going to be about and it will be completely different from the first book. There are minor characters in part one that will have a bigger role in part two.

2022 marked the first time I ever publish two novels in the same year….people may have slept on my April release of A Moment at a Time. I am not going to lie and say it doesn’t piss me off a little bit, but I am at the point in my life where I am writing and publishing stories just to say “fuck you...” you’ll understand the context of it if you had read A Moment at a Time.

With 2023 just around the corner, I get the feeling next year will be my most ambitious year yet.

Follow me on Facebook for regular updates and mini film reviews.

Here’s the link to my latest book, The First Day of the Rest of Your Life.

https://www.amazon.com/First-Rest-Your-Longos-Existential-ebook/dp/B0BMJC5PPL/ref=sr_1_2?crid=3GWDSPMQ8AKSS&keywords=a.+r.+longo&qid=1669696175&sprefix=a.+r.+longo%2Caps%2C90&sr=8-2

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