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shawtuzi · 1 year

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i’m having thee worst plug!eren brainrot rn so here’s some random hc’s for himmm

mdni///cw include: black coded reader, SMUT, a whole lotta tooth rotting fluff, drug usage, major gun kink, talks of mommy and daddy issues, some grisha slander heh, not proofread so there may be some spelling mistakes :((

♡ so it’s goes without saying he is one of those ppl that has no idea what to do when someone’s crying in front of him. he grew up in a household where if he was ever caught crying he’d be told to suck it up and act like a man :(( so it’s very hard for him to find the right words to say or do the right actions when comforting someone. on the bright side he has gotten better at it since he’s met you.

♡ the first time you cried in front of him was when you made the horrible decision to show him the movie ‘my sisters keeper’ and you were an absolute mess by the time the credits rolled. “are you….are you crying?” he asked absolutely flabbergasted that you were crying, sure the movie was sad but was it really that sad?? (yes it is). “of c-course im sad *hiccup* did you not watch any of the damn movie?” you sniffled crossing your arms over you chest. instead of talking about it any further eren just pulled you onto his lap and tucked your face in his neck muttering out a ‘whatever you say weirdo.’ after witnessing many moments like that he’s wayyy better at handling your lil emotional self.

♡ he’s surprisingly a natural with kids!!! one of his homeboys has a three year old daughter who is absolutely too precious for her own good and every time eren sees her he can’t help but turn into a pile of mush. he doesn’t do the whole baby talk thing though he’ll talk to that little girl like she’s one of the homies much to your dismay. one time he bought her a barbie car as a present and the gesture was adorable a first until he opened his damn mouth, “and if any of those kids at the park mess with you just run them over with this and they’ll leave you alone okay? listen to your uncle eren he knows his shit.” that earned him a smack upside the head from you and an exhausted head shake from his homeboy. he rlly is too much.

♡ seeing you with his homies daughter also ignited something in him he’s never ever felt before. eren could never see himself as a dad, maybe the cool uncle but nothing more than that. but goddamn seeing you handle kids makes him wanna buy a big ass house and give you as many kids as you’ll let him—hence his raging breeding kink that appears from time to time. you always wondered why he got so riled up every time he saw you with his friends daughter and then it all started to make sense one night when he was fucking you like a madman and kept moaning n panting about how pretty you’d look carrying his kids. you both came to an agreement that kids were off the table for a while but it didn’t make it any less fun when he stuffed you full of his cum until he was basically shooting blanks.

♡ “g-goddamn fuck y/n,” eren groaned into your ear, emptying his fourth load into your aching pussy. you were absolutely spent—nothing but a babbling, brain dead mess. you thought eren would’ve been too tired as well, but when he pulled his face outta your neck he still had that mischievous glint in eyes that had you folded up in the first place. “m’still hard,” he whispered making you whimper. “no…n-no more ren too sensitive,” you whined making eren hum. he glanced at your thighs that were still shaking from the aftershocks of you previous orgasm, then looked back into your eyes. you knew what he was hinting at and meekly nodded your head making him smile. he slowly pulled out of your pussy, gently shushing you when he heard you whine before sitting back on his knees. he pushed your thighs together and quickly slipped his dick between the pillowy skin, groaning at how soft you felt. “yeah…that’s it you feel so good mama,” he grunted pulling his kiss swollen bottom lip between his teeth. every once in a while he dick would glide across your overly sensitive clit making you mewl. it didn’t take long for eren to reach his peak once again and without warning he parted your thighs and shoved his dick back into your pussy knocking all the air out of your lungs. “so good….always so good for me. my perfect girl i love you do much,” eren muttered breathlessly into your ear.

♡ his love language is words of affirmation hands down!!!! he practically purrs like a kitten when you tell him how much you love him and how much he means to you :((

♡ i don’t think it’s any surprise he’s got some pretty bad mommy AND daddy issues. losing carla at a young age had a monumental impact on him as a kid and grisha didn’t even deserve the title of being a father. his whole life he’s never been able to be vulnerable in front of anyone until he met you ofc. you were his light, his safe haven and he didn’t know what he did to deserve someone as caring and nurturing as you but he never dared question it. you’d only seen him cry one time in front of you and it was when you went with him to visit carla’s grave. he looked like he was holding so much in and it absolutely broke your heart. “it’s okay to be upset eren you don’t ever have to put on that tough façade for me,” you whispered pressing a kiss to his trembling lips that was full of so much love and care he could’ve sobbed. he still has his moments where he closes his emotions off from you but day by day you’re slowly breaking down those walls he built up all those years.

♡ he is a true crime girly!!! he’s one of those ppl that can go to sleep watching the i.d. channel and still sleep peacefully.

♡ you’re a tad bit too clumsy for your own good so eren keeps a thing of bandaids and alcohol in his car and then a small lil box of sanrio themed bandaids in your purse. you thought he was absolutely ridiculous for keeping them on standby until you used damn near all the sanrio themed bandaids.

♡ “not so ridiculous for keeping these around now am i huh?” he chuckled putting the bandaid on your scraped knee. you didn’t say anything instead letting out an annoyed huff, but the annoyance quickly went away when he gave your knee three kisses. “my clumsy girl,” he snickered giving your pouting lips a kiss. “s’not my fault these heels are just too tall,” you mumbled kicking them off in annoyance. eren smirked and reached behind his seat pulling out a pair of fluffy slides, “i knew you’d get annoyed with them eventually—put these on instead,” he said setting the slides on your lap. you tried to your bratty act up but you just couldn’t stop the smile that crept on your glossed up lips, “you’re the best renny,” you giggled giving his cheek a kiss. “i know i am.” cocky ass mf.

♡whenever y’all are at your place it’s such a sight seeing this big, strong, mean man all comfortable in your pink fluffy blankets n cuddling with your squishmallows even though he supposedly has beef w them—but let me not even get into that seriously. sometimes after he’s done beating your pussy up he’ll grab two of your plushies and make them hump each other pretending it’s the two of you.

♡ “yes yes yes eren!” eren moaned on a high pitched voice making your cheeks burn in embarrassment. you tried snatching the plushies from his grip but it was no use he was too damn strong. “oh my godddd eren enough!” you whined smacking his chest, leaving a red handprint in the making. eren’s jaw dropped and he turned to you his brows furrowed, “now that wasn’t very nice was it?” he said turning his head to plushie. “not very nice at all,” he said dropping his voice an octave making you giggle. you moved yourself onto his stomach and grabbed the plushies, tossing them aside. “m’sorry baby,” you pouted giving the red mark a sweet kiss, “let me make it up to you.” and that’s how you ended up face down ass up while eren pounded you from behind, the force making you grab onto your plushies for dear life.

♡ he’s very very into gunplay and it’s all your fault. that day you asked him so nicely to fuck your mouth with his glock was the day you created a monster.

♡ one night you both were at a block party and ‘get low’ by lil jon started playing and you couldn’t help but make your way over to where everyone was dancing and join in. eren admired you from the side taking a hit of his blunt every once in a while. you looked so damn good it was criminal. the way your denim mini skirt began to ride up your thick thighs from dancing had eren’s dick jumping in his pants. while you were dancing you suddenly felt a pair of strong arms around you and knew exactly who it was. “you look so fine dancing out here you’re killing me baby,” he chuckled pushing your backside into his front and that’s when you felt it. you froze in your spot making eren smirk, “you okay mama?” he asked pressing a wet kiss to your neck. not even five minutes later you dragged eren to his car and bounced on his dick while while you sucked on his glock. even though the windows were blacked out anyone with eyes could tell what was happening with the way the car bounced and jostled. “fuck just like that baby make a mess on this dick,” eren groaned, pushing the glock deeper into your mouth.

♡ it didn’t stop there either sometimes eren liked to have you point the gun at his head while he fucked you. “look at my sweet girl holding my—goddamn m-my fucking gun. so damn naughty hm?” he grinned loving the way you were struggling to hold it against his head.

♡ his only social media is instagram and it’s basically a fanpage dedicated to you. his profile pic? a picture of him laying on your ass with the biggest smile on his face. his pinned photos? a picture of you and him with matching grills, one of you both wearing ski masks while his gun is pointed at the camera beam on and everything, and the other one is a pic of you two in a photo booth—you were smiling oh so prettily while one of your boobs was in his mouth. he only follows a few of his friends and the only girl he follows is you ofc not bc you made him only follow you he just chose too <333

♡ now after eren gets locked up life is a little bit different than it used to be. since being a dealer was out of the question he started working at an auto body shop w connie and although he wasn’t making as much money as he was before he still provided for you in every way. you didn’t mind the lack of expensive gifts in the slightest you were just happy your renny was back in your arms. he worked a lot more than he used to which left you a lot more needy for his touch and attention but he always made sure to take care you even after an excruciatingly long day at work.

♡ “missed you so much ren today went by so slow,” you whined against his lips as he fucked into you. he was pretty tired so he went a little slower than he usual fast pace but you didn’t mind in the slightest. “missed you too mama. you’re so sweet f’having dinner ready for me n’ helping me out in the shower,” he groaned pushing his thumb into your mouth which you greedily sucked. he always took a shower as soon as he got off, not wanting to get any oil or other grime from the shop on your pretty clothes. you couldn’t stand to not be in his arms a minute longer so you followed him into the shower and just wrapped your arms around his toned stomach while he showered not saying a word. little did you know in just a few days he’d be taking you on a vacation to barbados (somewhere you’ve been dying to visit) and while you both were there he planned on making you his forever by putting a fat rock on your finger.

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aita-blorbos · 3 months

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AITA for using my magic to help my brother?

Me (19f) and my twin (19m) brother have been emancipated since we were 15.

For the sake of story, He’ll be called Alchemist.

Alchemist is trans FTM, and he came out to our parents when we were 13. Now, our parents aren’t very supportive, to say the least. When I came out as Bisexual, they said it was just a phase, and that I’d grow out of it. They said the same to Alchemist.

Well, I’m a wizard, Alchemist does more tinkering and, well, alchemy. While I focus on the magical aspects of what we’re able to do. I even help people with learning to control their own magic in my academy.

Recently I’ve been learning spells that would really help Alchemist with his dysphoria. It'd give him breast reduction and bottom ‘surgery’.

Alchemist was ecstatic when I told him, and he encouraged me to make sure it was safe, saying, and I quote, “I wouldn’t wanna have to go to [Stone] again to keep myself from dying, Miss Morals.”

Stone is our dear friend, and also magical. And Alchemist always calls me Miss Morals, as, pretty clearly, I’m the only one between us with good morals, at least that’s what our best friend, Myth, says.

Well, I should be saying Ex-best friend, or something?

Recently, I, along with my brother’s friend, who we’ll call Snow, were kidnapped.

Myth was one of the people who kidnapped us, Snow’s twin brother and brother-in-law were the other two.

Snow and I faced great torture, I was hurt the most, as I have something Snow’s twin brother really wants, But I know that if I were to give it to him, horrible things would happen.

After a little over 2 weeks, Snow’s now boyfriend, Cod, saved us.

I found out how horribly my disappearance affected Alchemist, he refused to let go of me the second he saw me, and both of us cried for what felt like days. Stone eventually cleared me to go home, but instructed me to not overwork, and Alchemist said he’d make sure of that.

Back at my empire, I spoke to Alchemist about the spells to help his dysphoria. He said he’d let me do the spell once I was fully healed, and I told him this spell wouldn’t drain me, and he gave in, knowing I wouldn’t give up.

So, I did the spell and Alchemist is so much more comfortable in his body finally.

Well, Our father is not so happy about it. He visited recently, Aeor knows why, And Alchemist was over at my empire at the time. Our father figured out what I’d done spell-wise and scolded me, more like yelled at me, for using my magic while in a state like this, and he yelled at me for changing Alchemist’s body in a way he’d regret. Our father was deadnaming and misgendering Alchemist this whole time.

Alchemist and I both yelled back. I banished our father from my empire and Alchemist banned him from his, our father said we’d regret it, but Alchemist made the statement that he abandoned both of us when we were only 15, and that he had no parental right over either of us anymore.

I know Alchemist was right, and I know we did the right thing by banishing him. But I still feel like I did something wrong.

So, Am I The Asshole?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality #transphobia

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cornonation · 10 months

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Lps popular doodles! I really loved this show when I was little! I still do! When I watched I would imagine that Brooke and Savannah and all there friends were super fashionable (which is kinda alluded to in the show but not fleshed out to much). So I thought it would be fun to design and explore there style!

I personally though Brookes would fashion would be inspired by Regina George from mean girls and Coquette aesthetic because she gives off Regina vibes and I thought coquette clothing because it’s soft and girly which Brooke is but also some of the pieces can feel very business casual to me in a way. Like she’s put together and a bad bitch but she got the fun pink to go with it! Also the innocent nature that goose with the coquette style can help Brooke seem more helpless and can manipulate people better. Because one thing Brooke is she is calculated! When it comes to manipulation she will think things through and use everything in her power to get what she want like her outfit!!!

Now with Savanna I think she would have a mix of Genny (who I see as a downtown girl aesthetic/clothing) and Brookes style! At the beginning of the series we see Savannah isn’t well dressed or “pretty” as the others and so when she gets her make over her friends influence her style hence her borrowing Genny style but also copying Brooke to in ways because they use to be friends and also because in a way she still chasing her acceptance and she is the most influential person in her life. So she’ll mix pieces from both of the styles to make her own unique outfits but also sometimes sticks to one style. Also added bonus when Savy start dating Tom I think she would sometimes she would wear his letterman jacket because 1. He’s a football player so it shows off her poplar girl status like “yeah I’m dating a football player you wish you were me”, 2. To shove it in Brookes face that she is as popular and getting even more popular then her, 3. Rub it in Sages face and “ show him what he’s missing” and 4. Tom is the kind of boyfriend to give her the jacket he’s sweet like that. ( I don’t like Sage as her boyfriend… like obviously Brooke and Savy are like exs and I could go on how there so sapphic coded and there that horrible awful first sapphic situationship break up but this is not what this post is about today. Umm anyways wall this to say about of the two boys for me it’s Tom over Sage.)

Also side note the reason I don’t mention Savannah not borrowing her style from Lina because I don’t see her to be as fashionable as Genny because it’s been mentioned before in the series she not as into popularity as Savvy and Jenny are so I feel like Savanna didn’t look to her as much. I still do think she got influence of outfits from her but I see her as more laid back with her fashion. Like she has a good style and has really good outfits it isn’t as calculated while at times I feel Genny and Savy will really think there outfits throughout to try and get things and have certain influences like Brooke dose. ( now that I think about this I feel like I got this wrong because Lina is the one that has the idea to take her shopping but I don’t I feel like Savvy has more of a fashion connection with Jenny for some reason.)

Anyway can you tell I like LPS popular and still have so much to say about years later 😭 Also sorry if you see any spelling mistakes with the characters names I wrote this all out and then realized Savy and Gens names are spelt different then how I spelt them and I attempted to fix them but idk if I got it all oh well. Btw sketchbook spread pictures version here:

If you read all of that gold star for you ⭐️! Your a a real one!

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 7 months

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Hello!! I saw you were doing match ups and that's so cool! I was hoping to participate if that's okay! Could I possibly get both male and female matchup? No poly please !

I'm nonbinary but i am physically fem, 5'5, with a bright red mullet that's like sorta grown out? Soft looking. My fashion sense tends to vary depending on my mood. Goth one day, cottagecore the next type of thing. One thing that's always a constant is my spiky earrings, kinda like the Fangs preset from the game! Necklace and my two bracelets. If I ever take them off I feel disgusting and off

Positive personality traits wise, I'm caring and selfless. I tend to be pretty cheerful and optimistic, goofing off. I think I'm smart? The most basic things tend to confuse me but then I'll bust out some complex knowledge lmao. I'm pretty creative too! I create stuff out of basically trash lol. I made a whole shield and sword sheath from recycled cardboard once.

Negative traits wise, I'm overly selfless, tending to put others before me. I'm very forgetful but thats cause of adhd. I can be messy and far too loud. Oblivious to a lot of things. I'm a big scaredy cat too which makes it hard to enjoy some stuff. I also tend to hide my negative emotions

My love language is definitely quality time and gift giving. Heavy on gift giving.

I have all kinds of hobbies but I'm not particularly good at any of them. Like video games, writing, arts and crafts, painting. And active stuff too like skateboarding. But uh. To be completely honest my main hobby is just sleeping forever lmfao

Likes: savory foods, coffee, aesthetic stuff, all kinds of animals, dressing up, reading, anything adrenaline inducing like rollercoasters, rainstorms

Dislikes: i cant eat any kind of fish/seafood I will gag, spiders, snakes, being vulnerable, people being mean (I seriously don't understand how people can be mean), the dark especially if I'm alone

Thank you so much! I hope that wasn't too much- or that I missed any requirements lol. Have a great week!!

A/N: Okay, for you @lord-westley … I’m thinking for romantic matchups your best bets would be… Gale (Male) and Karlach (Female)!

Gale is a great match for you, as he’s quite similar personality wise. He’s kind and selfless; smart but also somehow clueless? He’s got a good spirit, and an old soul. He wants someone he can share his life with, and thinks you’re just the person to do that with.

He thinks you look fierce, for real, he’s almost intimidated by how good you look, especially your hair. It’s bright and bold and something he’d never have the courage to try. It suits you, and it makes him feel all the more special for being with you.

His style is fairly consistent, and he’s not the most fashion savvy, but he does appreciate a good look when he sees one. Be prepared for a bunch of horrible puns, and awkward attempts at flirtatious compliments. He wants to tell you how much he loves your look, it’s just that it comes off wrong more often than not. Please don’t be mistaken- he really does think you look great. It’s just that loving words aren't his strong suit.

He loves how caring and selfless you are. He quite admires your capacity for compassion. He likes to think of himself as selfless, but he’s also aware that’s not the truth. But for you, it is. And he’s so honored someone as pure and kind hearted as you would choose him as your partner.

He’s also very grateful you’re smart. At least, that you’re smart enough to sort of get some of what he says about magic. He has a tendency to infodump, and he really likes it when you make comments or ask questions that let him know you’re listening. And your creativity, good heavens! He’s so impressed. He thought as a wizard, he’d be able to think outside of the box, but his imagination is no match for yours. Thanks to your builds and use of garbage, he’s starting to rethink the way he goes about spell casting and brewing potions. Your perspectives are actually helping make him a better wizard.

He does worry that you’re too selfless, though. He’s been used by powerful beings before, and he’d hate to see you get hurt similarly. If he thinks someone is taking advantage of your kindness, he won’t hesitate to bring it up to you. He just wants you to know your time and effort has value, and it should never be taken for granted.

He’s understanding when it comes to your fear. He thinks it's rather healthy to be afraid, especially of death. It shows you have a lust and respect for life. He’s glad you understand the enormity of what it means to live, because he wants you to protect your life so that the two of you can grow old and gray together.

He will give you gifts! A lot of them are favors done via spells, but a good amount of them are physical presents. (Many of which may have previously been magic items that have since had their magic drained, but hey! It’s the thought that counts, right?!)

He loves savory foods! He can’t wait to show you his extensive wine cellar and kitchen in his tower in Waterdeep, and feed you his especially _ sauce. It’s full of flavor, it’ll knock your socks right off!

He may not be a huge fan of adrenaline inducing activities: he much prefers the safe mental exercise of a good book. But he will join you on occasion, so long as you promise him it’s mostly safe. (He may or may not ask Shadowheart to cast Guidance on the two of you before you leave, but then again, he’s just covering his bases!)

Thanks to his arcane knowledge, you’ll never be in the dark. He can conjure light to ensure you’re not afraid. And he vows to always be by your side, so long as you’ll have him, protecting you, just as you protect him.

Karlach is also a great match for you! She’s a very upbeat person, and she loves your loud and creative energy, it makes her feel like you can keep up with her and match her own outgoing personality.

She loves your style, especially the bright red hair. That is her color after all. And she’s obsessed with all the new looks you combine and create. Everyday she’s basically shouting at the other members of your party, ‘Come look at how hot/cute my partner looks!’. It’s a bit over the top and embarrassing at first, but she means it in the best, most sincere way. If you ask her to stop, she’ll stop. But otherwise, be prepared for compliments, like ALL of the time.

She loves goofing off with you, pulling pranks and just having a little fun in between missions. She’s a firm believer in taking breaks- it keeps you sane. She’s fairly intelligent too, I mean, she’s not a scholar or anything, but she’s got a good head on her shoulders and so do you.

She thinks it’s incredible how you can make something totally new out of garbage, or old unwanted scraps. It’s both your resourcefulness and creativity she finds impressive.

She has no problems with your being messy or loud, even if other people might. If they have an issue with it, she’ll join in, and make it a point to be messier and louder than you. And if anyone still has a problem, she’ll take care of it for you. She’s a big strong woman, and she understands how scary confirmation can be. She does her best to make the world around you a little less frightening.

Kalrach strikes me as someone who would enjoy doing almost any hobby outside of being forced to fight. I mean, she also really loves a good battle, but she’s down for basically whatever. She’s so ready to try everything- to make up for all the time she missed down in Avernus. She’ll do anything or go anywhere with you. She’s especially excited for any adrenaline inducing activities. As a Barbarian, she is 100% there. No questions asked. Also the idea of skateboarding blows her mind. (Pretty sure that doesn’t exactly translate to DND, but if there was anyway in Faerun willing to ride a board with little wheels up and down steep hills or ramps, she’d be your girl.)

Even though she’s adventurous, she’s also cool with just chilling- taking some time to enjoy your company. She thinks you’re adorable when you sleep, and can’t help but want to take naps with you, so long as her engine is fixed enough, and you don’t mind being warm.

She’s fine with you not eating seafood, it’s not that big of a deal to her. You like what you like, right? And she gets that spiders can be pretty creepy- especially the ones in the Underdark. She promises to never make you visit there, and should any of those creatures try and get you topside, don’t worry, she won't let them lay a hand on you.

Despite being a fierce fighter, she’s got a heart of gold. She hates bullies, and people who abuse others. She knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that, and it feels awful. She’d never want you to feel that way. So gods help anyone in Baldur’s Gate who tries and bullies you for whatever reason. They’ve just got themselves a _ tiefling to answer to.

Karalch thinks you’re wonderful, and so sweet. You’re precious to her and she promises to protect you. You make her so happy. She’s so glad she’s met you.

...

I hope you like it!

...

Please Like & Reblog!!!

Happy Halloween!!!

#gale x reader #karlach x reader #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate x reader #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 imagine #baldurs gate imagine #baldurs gate 3 imagine #bg3 matchups #matchups #bg3 #baldurs gate matchups

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cy-cyborg · 7 months

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So I’m working on a story set in a rabbit society where it starts with the main character getting his left foot amputated, meaning (he no longer has his lucky rabbit’s foot and) he’s now incredibly unlucky (manifests in clumsiness, weakened immune system, forgetting things that would be useful in a given moment, more abstract can never win the lottery type of stuff, etc)

There’s kind of 2 parts, the first of which he’s in denial of his disabilities and runs himself horribly ragged because it’s his 1st year of college on top of not having learned how living with both the amputation and unluckiness works yet

I’m in early stages, but the more I think about it, the more it starts to feel like a “becoming disabled is the worst :(“ kinda plot which is very much not what I’m going for

The 2nd part where he starts trying to get accommodations beyond just his forearm crutches may help that out, but I was curious what you would have to weigh in?

Hmmm, I think the idea is pretty neat but yeah, you'd have to be very careful in that first part. I'd defiantly recommend getting a disability sensitivity consultant to discuss specific with, since I can really give you too much specific advice here. The two big things I'd recommend though is:

make sure to emphasis that the unluckiness is not connected to the disability itself. With disability representation, it's a frustrating reality that you do need to spell a lot of things out for non-disabled readers, because the general perception of it is so negative, so it would be a good idea to have at least one or two characters outright say that the unluckiness is its own thing.

If the story allows for it, include a mentor character with a similar disability who is much further along in the recovery process. It doesn't have to be a literal "mentor" mind you, just someone to show both the MC and your audience what could lie ahead for them. In my real life, my "mentors" were the people I played wheelchair basketball with, specifically my coaches and team leadership. Many of them were just friends but they taught me a lot about how to navigate the world as a disabled adult (something I was really struggling with at the time). many rehabilitation clinics also have actual mentor programs, where older/more experienced disabled people would help show newer folks the ropes for things like how to get your vehicle modified so you can drive, how to navigate the medical/insurance/healthcare system as a disabled person etc. My previous roommate was a spinal-injury mentor, and I've been involved in camps both as an attendee and a mentor for amputee youth that did similar stuff.

#disability #disabled #writing #writeblr #writing disability

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nerdieforpedro · 5 months

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Weekend Update - 01/07/2024

Nerdie! Happy New Year! How was your first week of 2024?

….I could have used more sleep, but it wasn’t horrible. Just okay overall. There were a few high points. I'm getting organized in life and in fanfiction.

That's a good thing. You're taking your planning seriously? This is The Way. So what's on the way? *laughs at their poor joke*

Don't abuse The Way like that. It's to be respected! But that did earn a giggle. Anyway...

1. The New Year began with all the Pickled Peñas! The @pickled-pena challenge fics were posted on 01/01 but by using the tag: trickle pickle you can still write a Pickled Peña fic if you so choose until January 31st. All Pickle Peña fics are listed here.

2. I finished my Space smut with feelings series Sard’ika Sessions. 🥰 You never forget your first series. It’s quite special, I feel I represented Din well and bent The Creed but didn’t remove any helmets prematurely. I put in all the feelings I wanted (because smut can have feelings too!) And Din saying the things that I giggled and squealed as I wrote them. 😘 This is The Way. Din had his way, all the ways. 🥰

3. Working on WIPs via the WIP Tag/Ask game which @trulybetty got me into. I thank her for including me. I may need to work on some of those titles.

Pedro characters from the WIP list include:

Dave York (4 from the list - guess which ones)

Marcus Pike (has 2)

Dieter Bravo (has 3)

Frankie Morales (@i-own-loki he's not dying)

Joel Miller (Frankie and he are tied for one each)

Din Djarin (one as well)

New characters to my writing:

Benny Miller (one listed, 2-3 not listed)

Santiago Garcia (two listed)

When I turn my brain off after coming home. I note different ideas or vibes I had. Sometimes there's bullet points, sentences or just a few words and a description. @tinytinymenace also has this same issue.

Well, there are three people to thank for plunge into the York Pit. The first, is @goodwithcheese with her asks to be about Dave which lead me to write 3-4 paragraphs to each ask. Also her end of the year confessional. Which is hilarious because apparently the way I misspelled someone’s name (I won’t say who, I feel embarrassed about it still 😣) was specific to me. It should also be noted, that maybe one of the two people I’ll mention next reblogged it saying they may know who it is and to DM them. So subtle, and I laughed because my reaction was, “How did they know?!” 🤣 The person who pointed out the spelling error was @for-a-longlongtime who should be a PI 🕵️ and had encouraged me to start writing the Dave cat-mouse fic. As for the reblog, that was the sweet @legendary-pink-dot who I’m not sure if it was my spelling mistake or the way I write. Special mention goes to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for her recent Dave York fic Inamorata

So your friends seem extremely observant!

That they are! If you want to learn about physics, keeping track of where body parts are and tantalizing smut you read Adi’s Nothing that I Didn’t Know she’s going to have more and we’re going to need all the hydration. Dot ran the Catfish Pond PhD Degree program in 2023. She knows our dear Frankie “Catfish” Morales exceptionally well, every curl and freckle I’m pretty sure. Both very smart and eagle- eyed ladies. 👀

Sounds like we should check both of them out! They sound like a blast!

They both are! And so is Megan when she and @trulybetty when they aren’t trying to get us all under control and herd cats and organize things. 😅 Or maybe they are with threats usually, but nice ones. You gotta be there.

We don’t know what to make of that. We’re concerned but intrigued.

As am I most of the time. It’s a good place to be. 😎

Making her update long enough, Hornado hooligan departs!

Wait, what does that name mean?

Ask @mysterious-moonstruck-musings and @undercoverpena they know, they’re both menaces. ❤️❤️

Love Nerdie 💕

#Nerdie talks #weekend update #dave york #joel miller #Layla OFC #santiago garcia #Frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #din djarin #Sard’ika Sessions #zip ties #cat and mouse #cargo pants #The cheese knows

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indigooo74 · 8 months

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Everything Will Be Okay

TW-Seizures and mentions of needles/injections

Chapter 2-News

A few healers walked up to us, one of them kneeled down and laid Darius on his side as he continued to shake violently, it was horrible to watch.

“..How long has he been like this?” One of the healers asked

“A minute, I-I’ve never seen him like this before, is he going to be okay?” I ask, I was panicking.

“Okay..” The healer said. One of them gave her a needle, she soon injected it into Darius’s arm, and soon enough Darius had stopped shaking, he was breathing heavily tho.

I approached him and began to caress his hair “…it’s okay..I promise..” I spoke in a soft calm tone, even though I was still panicking.

I looked down at Darius, his eyes were now closed however, there was something dripping from his mouth “…what’s that?..” I asked still caressing his hair.

“….He might’ve foamed a little but, sometimes it can be normal if he ever has this again” the healer spoke.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Mr. Blight, what your boyfriend had is called a seizure, this one specifically is called a grand mal seizure, this could be from the fact that he had a head injury…we’ll run some tests after he recovers from this, maybe give him some minutes and then we’ll run the tests” The healer said, I gave her a nod.

I wiped a bit of the foam with my sleeve, I looked at her again.

“Will he have them permanently?” I asked, worried.

“Well, it’s a possibility but, he’ll be fine..” The healer explained.

“…Could he die from any of these?..” I asked.

“…that can rarely happen, as long as you take care of him he’ll be okay, besides he will have to take medications..” The healer said.

Darius slowly woke up, he looked around, he had no idea what had happened “…Where am I? What happened?” Darius asked.

“…Hello Mr.Deamonne, you’re basically in the hospital, you just had a seizure attack, we are also going to run some tests on you in about 44 minutes if that’s okay..” The healer said.

Darius nodded, he looked exhausted after that, he sat up and looked at me.

“Hey Al..” Darius said, he gave me a small weak smile but, I smiled back.

One of the healers helped him up, I helped him walk back to his room but he soon stopped me and looked at the healer.

“Where is my son?..” Darius asked.

“Hunter right?…” The healer asked, Darius gave her a nod “…His leg is broken but other than that, he’s doing fine” The healer spoke.

“…thank Titan..” Darius said, we soon headed back to his room.

Darius had laid back down on his bed, I looked down still a little worried, Darius noticed that and grabbed my hand.

“…Everything will be okay, even if I have that again, I’ll be okay!” Darius said and gave me a kiss.

I looked up at Darius, he was smiling again “….Thanks honey…I’m sorry it’s just, I’ve never seen that happen and it scared me..” I explained, some tears fell from my eyes.

Darius had wiped my tears “I know but, I’ll be okay..” Darius assured.

A few minutes passed, Darius and I walked to another room where Darius was going to get his tests, he sat down and looked at me, he held my hand tightly, he was nervous.

“…it’s not going to hurt… I promise..” I said, Darius used a spell circle to summon his Palisman, bell appeared on his hand.

“Hey do you want me to tie your hair up or something?” I asked.

“Could you?..” Darius asked, I walked up to him and tied his dread locks into a ponytail “…You’re very pretty..” I said.

Darius giggled and blushed “thank you dear..” Darius said.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if you dyed the tips of your dreads purple?” I asked.

“Huh that is a good idea, maybe we’ll do that once I get ou-“ Darius said but, he was soon interrupted by, Amity and Hunter.

“Dad! Are you okay?!” Amity said and walked up to Darius and I, Hunter followed along.

Amity hugged the both of us “thank Titan you are both okay, I was worried something bad happened” Amity spoke.

Hunter looked at Darius “…Are you okay, I-I heard Alador screaming for help and the nurse talking about something called a seizure..” Hunter said;

Darius looked down then back at me “..He had one but, the doctors are gonna be running tests to see if he has epilepsy or if that seizure was a one time..” I spoke, Darius nodded.

Hunter was still worried, he just held Darius, Darius picked Hunter up and hugged him “Hey, I promise once we get out of here, everything will be okay…” Darius said.

“O-Okay..” Hunter mumbled, Darius had messed with his hair and placed him down when the healers arrived.

They first did a simple check up on Darius, then Darius laid down on the bed, they created a spell circle on top on his head and checked to see if he had any serious injuries.

After a few minutes, the healer looked at me “…So, his head injury where he originally hit his head before, those are causing his seizures and even if we heal him or do surgery on it, he will still have seizures, one thing I recommend is that he takes potion medications, they may have a few side effects like nausea and dizziness but, it’s to help him not have any seizures though, those won’t stop it permanently, I suggest Darius stay here for maybe about 2-3 days, we will run a small test tomorrow on him and once the 2-3 days are over, you guys can go..” The healer explained.

Darius sighed and looked down.

“Thank you so much..” I spoke and looked back at Darius “…should we head back?…” I asked.

Darius looked at me, he just genuinely seem upset “…Yea..” he replied.

Darius, Amity, Hunter and I headed back to his room, Darius sat on his bed hugging his knees, he didn’t didn’t say anything.

Amity comforted him “I’m sure you’ll get through this…” She said.

“…Yea…I hope so..” Darius replied, he held my hand tightly, tears fell from his eyes.

I gave him a kiss on the cheek “….please don’t cry…” I spoke comforting Darius aswell.

“We’ll get through this together..” I said.

Chapter 1 👇

#the owl house #darius deamonne #alador blight #aladarius #toh #whump

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zyris · 1 year

Text

incoherent rambling about Shion Sonozaki

Writing this as someone who’s still reading the game (I’m in the middle of Tsumi) but MAN I think Meakashi is one of the best things I have ever read and extremely tragic and Shion’s characterization really blew me me away. She is one of the best portrays of a mentally ill and traumatized person I’ve ever seen and they take the “risk” of making her do and think some very horrid things yet mange to not demonize her mental illness and not link it with villainy. She’s bitter and easily jealous and often projects on the people around her. She has this anger inside of her a part of her that wishes that everyone was as miserable as she was even people who’ve done nothing to her. And by the end of Meakashi she killed a lot of people. Some was revenge against her abusers and some was for survival. But she also killed because she wanted to drag everyone down to hell with her. Perhaps in her mind killing people like Mion and Kimiyoshi was also revenge. Weather it be her inferiority complex and chance at a good life or that she desperately wanted them to defend and stick up for her and they failed to protect her. And felt betrayed by the people who cared about her as the love she received throughout her life was very inconsistent I could go on how the arc carefully writes all the moves she makes. What specifically leads her to murder someone and all the build ups to her murders cause they’re all VERY considerately handled. It never felt like she went out of her way to just go and kill someone there was always steps towards it that made her tick until that idea in her head won her over and she took her chance. But while l I adore how a lot of Shion’s "ugly” traits are handled she also has this childish, naïve, purity about her that’s truly heart breaking. Yes, Shion does a lot of absolutely horrible things in this arc and even at the beginning of it you can definitely tell there’s something “wrong” with her. She thinks in a very unempathetic or apathetic way about a lot of things. She’s desensitized to violence due to her upbringing and thinks cruel things like how she wouldn’t care if Satoko died or thought she should die for Satoshi. But it’s not just hate for the world she holds but hate for herself and existence most of all. After all she’s really just a kid who was abused. She feels like her bitterness towards her family is unjust and does genuinely know how horrible her desires to do something about it are and hates herself for. She wants to defend herself but she feels like she’s invalid in her anger and internalized this idea from her family that she IS the problem and suffers intense self loathing. There’s also the side of her that genuinely wants to get along with her family because their her family. She holds onto this innocent idea that somewhere deep inside they must care about her and even they would have their limits. And the fact that her family can flipflop between being kind to her and being cruel to her fed into her naivety. And While it’s not hard at all to grasp Shion’s bitterness towards her family there’s never a moment in Meakashi where she has an emotional breakdown about the targets of her abuse like Oryou. She pours her heart out on how she misses Satoshi, how she projects her jealousy and anger onto both Mion and Satoko but Oryou or any other member of the Sonozaki family never get that despite being the ones that hurt her the most. Heck if you look at the text Shion never directly spells out why she did what she did. And I think it’s cause Shion downplays her abuse to herself. Heck Shion gets very self loathing monologues directed at herself and over her abusers. She’s internalized the fact that she’s a mistake. I think the demon allegory she internalizes when having an identity crisis is interesting for this reason. She never has a bitter monologue about how she turned out this way and blaming the people who were truly responsible. I genuinely don’t think Shion would have ever murdered anyone if she didn’t have someone to hide behind as an excuse. And while Satoshi is the absolute PERFECT candidate for this scenario with how similar they are and in her eyes he’s “free of sin” I can totally see her doing it for others if things went different. While Mion and Satoko were objects of Shion’s jealousy and anger for her I could also totally see her murder on their behave to in the right circumstances. Because convincing herself she was standing up for someone innocent and acting selflessly and unconsciously doing what she wanted someone to do for her was the only way she felt validated in her desires. Nearing the end of Meakashi her mind is an absolute mess. On the surface (Which is also her true feelings to an extent) it looks like she’s having this high of ecstasy and sadistic pleasure as she finally is able to let out all her pent up anger and fight back. But she’s also a mess. She feels absolutely horrible for what she’s done. There’s a lot of things about Shion that makes her feel like she’s detached herself from reality because of how empty and isolated she feels and I think she’s disassociating from the horror she’s caused by indulging in her sadistic pleasure and getting lost in her identity crisis and all the confusion she’s feeling.

But despite that she really does want to be caught and is desperate to be figured out. And latches onto Rena for support and pulls at straws with things Keiichi says she wants SOMETHING

and not just that but also that someone will love and accept her for her and not just Mion. She wants to be seen for who she is and someone to tell her that she DOES have a place in the world. She both loves and hates the things Keiichi says to her in the final stretch as while they touch her heart. It strings because these words weren’t truly meant for her and she knows that. And by the end her mind is so muddled and she’s exhausted and kills herself from the guilt. Aaaa this post is such an incoherent mess and ended abruptly but I love Shion Sonozaki

#higurash #higurash no naku koro ni #shion sonozaki #zyris.txt

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whumpcereal · 9 months

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Hi! I absolutely LOVE your writing, I’ve reread both Behavior Modification and The Kennel more times than I can count and I am always devour your posts whenever you make them. You really have an incredible way with words, characters, and whump, and it’s absolutely INCREDIBLE. One thing I think you also do really well—and which I’d like to ask for some pointers on, if it’s not too much trouble—is writing Ivan’s perspective in a way that effectively portrays him as downright despicable, but also complex, engaging, and believable. I want only horrible things to befall him, but I do enjoy the parts of Behavior Modification that are written in his POV as much as the others, and I think it really adds to the work! There’s a part of my (private, unposted, never to see the light of day) story coming up that absolutely has to be written from the villain’s perspective or it’ll spoil a big twist. I’m not used to hanging out in my bad guys’ brains, though. It feels much easier to focus on the victims and their emotions, which are much more understandable and ofc more sympathetic. How do I give my awful bastard a feeling of depth and authenticity when I feel like I can’t relate to pretty much anything he thinks, says, or does? (For all that I do technically dictate his atrocities for that good whump…)

Hello, kind anon!

First of all, THANK YOU! I am going through a big dry spell with my writing right now, and I appreciate all of your kind words more than you can possibly know. Impostor syndrome is real, and we all need reminders to help us feel a little bit more confident, so--thank you so much for that. <3

Second, I think, when it comes to writing villains, the most important thing is remembering that they are their own heroes. Ivan is a shit, yes, but he believes in his own scientific mission, he believes that he has been wronged by Joe, and he believes that he is helping Jack fulfill a destiny that he might have missed. Ivan is just an instrument of science; this is what Jack was always meant for; and Joe deserves the pain of watching Jack fall away because he is the bad guy for not having given Ivan what he wanted back in the day.

If you find your villain's rational motivation for being a villain--for Ivan, it's science and little petty revenge; for Doc, it's a delusion that he's helping people who would otherwise be forgotten and doing it better than WRU--it's easier to write them with complexity. Your readers know your villain is awful, but your villains don't! Why didn't Joe love Ivan? Why didn't Doc's wife understand his rescue operation? They're just people out there peopling, and why doesn't everyone get what it is they're trying to do?

Real people who do bad things--unless there is something very specific amiss in their mental chemistry--sometimes don't understand why what they're doing is so bad. Sometimes they feel remorse too. But their behavior is driven by extremes that I think they either aren't entirely aware of or would believe are beyond their control. They aren't cartoon characters, and perhaps they aren't even inherently evil, but they are deeply flawed.

TL; DR--humanize your villains and see where it leads you.

#i love asks #and this anon #thanks for giving me an excuse to pretend i'm a writer #behavior modification #ivan peters oc #the kennel #doc barker oc #whump #whump writing #craft discussion

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aggressivelyclueless · 1 year

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hey @ghosts-haunt this one’s for you! happy Truce!! :D

no-one-knows-au/sleepover-summons x2 combo!! also with a lil angst!! check it:

They didn't start the night off with plans to summon the Phantom of Amity Park.

It was a perfectly reasonable escalation of events, that was all. Really.

There were five of them sprawled out in the basement that night: Sam, who was playing host for once and acted largely as the buffer between the rest of them and her parents (although Grandma, she assured her friends, was harmless); Malady Jones, armed with a flashdrive containing a dozen pirated horror flicks; Malady's boyfriend, Nathaniel, who scared very easily but had accepted the invitation nonetheless; Conrad Maynard Sterling, who was still trying desperately to get the name "Spike" to stick; and Felicity Warren, who Sam had met in third-hour and had brought her ouija board, just-in-case.

At sundown, when Malady and Nathaniel arrived, the plans were still loose; that said, they were still in "movies" territory, with "seance" being optional.

Now it was coming up on eleven. Three pizza boxes lie, eviscerated and weeping grease, on the floor by the popcorn machine. The projector was still dutifully rolling, but the screen held no one's attention: all eyes were on Conrad -- namely, on the dead-eyed vampire makeup he was doing for Malady.

"You're sure, no blood?" he asked her, for the twelfth time. He kept a jar of it in his bag, alongside other staples of the genre: liquid latex, scar putty, scab gel, glistening spray, technicolor bruise palette. Pale, undead faces were all well and good -- but the less savory it was to look at, the more horrible of an injury it was, the better Conrad got at mimicking it with a sponge or a brush.

"Yes, I'm sure," said Malady patiently, sliding a glance over to Nathaniel, who had sunk into a beanbag in the corner. "We'll do blood next time, when he won't be around to faint."

"I won't faint!" came the rebuttal from the beanbag. After some consideration: "I might puke a little, if it's gross. But I won't faint."

Conrad relented, nodding. "Close your eyes," he instructed to Malady, going in with the eyeliner next.

"Between the two, I'd say faint," said Sam, elbows propped on the back of the sofa, sock-feet kicking idly back and forth. "One less thing to explain to the cleaning lady tomorrow, you know?"

Nathaniel scoffed, but took the jab with decent humor. "Right, I'll pick that on purpose, then."

"Oh, hang on, credits are rolling," said Felicity, shuffling her way over to the laptop running the projector. "Did we want to put on another one?"

"Nah," said Malady and Nethaniel at the same time, and a moment later they both cracked up.

"Well it's not even midnight, don't tell me you gus are tired yet," said Sam, her swinging feet going still as she frowned. ". . . are you?"

"No," said Malady, "but I'm bored of Vincent Price now and if I eat any more popcorn I'm going to be the one puking."

Felicity slid around the side of the sofa, pointedly silent, but Sam watched her do it in amusement: she had a pretty good idea of what Felicity was about to suggest.

"You have an idea?" said Sam, offering the hook, and Felicity's smile turned smug.

"I have the board," she said, and now that it was out she may as well go on. "My place is a bust half the time, and Mal's basement hasn't been the same since they put the new water heater in -- but we always have good luck here."

"Seance? I'm game," said Conrad, and swore under his breath at the eyeliner. Malady threw a thumbs-up over her head in agreement, not wanting to disturb him; along with Sam's approval, that seemed to decide it.

But then Felicity's smile widened from smug to clever. "Seance, and," she said, and the four of them all turned her way in surprise.

"And?" Sam prompted, when no one else did.

"And. . . maybe a spell," said Felicity, "If you guys are down for it."

"Hang on a sec," Sam interceded, hearing the others making curious murmurs which would no doubt lead to the go-ahead if she said nothing. "What kind of spell? Where'd you find it?"

Felicity put a placating hand out. "Don't worry about it, it's not anything crazy. It's just a summoning spell. You've done a few of Nightingale's, right? The ones you said maybe had something to them? This one's his too, and I figured we could give it a shot."

"And summon what?" said Nathaniel, not liking the sound of where this was going.

Felicity shrugged deliberately. "Maybe nothing. Maybe we get it wrong, or it doesn't work. Or maybe. . . we summon a ghost."

"And if it goes wrong? My parents will never let me hear the end of it," said Sam, "Why didn't you say anything about this last week when we were at yours -- ?"

"Because I didn't have it all worked out yet," said Felicity, "Besides, it's basically a seance anyways. Every time we do those, it's all, inviting-the-dead-into-the-realm-of-the-living, right? Same thing."

"It is so not the same thing," said Conrad, then added, "I'm still down, though."

"I'm also-still-down. Unless you wanna wait until next week and we can make my house haunted instead. My mom won't care, you know that." Malady propped herself up as Conrad backed off her, swiping his setup back into the makeup bag.

Sam made a shrug of hesitation, but at that point it was an empty gesture. Truth be told, she'd been looking for a summoning spell, on-and-off, for weeks. She knew Nightingale's credibility, and even had a compilation of notes and surviving chapters of his books in her room; if there was a summoning ritual written down among his works, it would be authentic.

"Yeah, all right," she said at last, wondering what exactly would happen if they did manage to loose a ghost in the house. At the very least, she could ask it nicely to terrorize her mother and not her; anything beyond that was conjecture. "Sure. We can do a summoning. Who d'you have in mind?"

"A benign spirit," said Felicity, but Sam shook her head: there were no vagueries allowed now. Still, Felicity insisted. "One I’ve been kind of curious about, and one I don't think has ever actually hurt anyone."

"Like who?" Sam pressed, and finally Felicity relented with a long, overdramatic sigh.

"Fine. It's the reason I went digging so hard to find this thing, anyways: I want to summon the Phantom of Amity Park."

- - - -

The ritual began, per tradition, at the stroke of midnight. The rules -- at least, the version of them that had survived -- didn't mention said stroke being mandatory, but it was agreed that it coudn't hurt their chances, and the set-up left them only with a few minutes to spare, anyhow. Considering the intricacy of some of Nightingale's other ghost rituals, this one seemed a cakewalk: a few candles, a few lines of chalk, maybe a bloodflower or two (they eschewed those, considering they were optional anyway and this ordeal was functionally spur-of-the-moment), a bit of Latin here and there.

And it was for the best that both of Sam's parents went to bed early. Either one of them coming down to check on them now would have been a nightmare.

They each sat at the edge of the outermost circle drawn on the hardwood, palms down. The projector had been shut down and the overhead lights killed; the only illumination now was the flickering of the candles on the floor. The grandfather clock in the hall upstairs was keeping time for them, on the official side anyhow -- that was the kind of tolling you could hear from anywhere in the house, and seemed more definitive than the approximation of five phone clocks.

Any minute now, it would go off.

"Can I still chicken out?" said Nathaniel, although the others knew he wasn't going to. He was allowed, of course, and had been the whole time -- but he said, usually after second-guessing himself, that he had to find out what happened, one way or the other, and he'd probably never live it down if he bailed now.

Felicity, by far the most patient, nodded slowly. "Sure, you can. If you really want to."

"But, should I?"

"Beats me," said Malady, "Bail or don't. But make up your mind because once we get this thing going you won't have a choice anymore."

Nathaniel took his palms off the floor, almost made to swipe them clean on the side of his pants, reconsidered, put them back on the hardwood again. The others had gotten serious all of a sudden -- did that mean things would get bad? How bad, exactly? Thinking too much about it was pointing his anxiety into a tailspin, but if he let it freefall he'd be a nervous wreck in no time.

Maybe he would end up fainting after all -- but at least that was something he could handle.

He was considering pulling his hands away yet again when the first chime of the clock upstairs echoed down to them, and just like that it was too late. Whether he'd regret it or not -- he was really in it now. He, along with the others, had been given the Latin; like Felicity had promised, it wasn't terribly difficult.

The chalk under their palms reacted with the first pass, as if volatile, erupting into spitting, hissing flames that raced around the periphery and enclosed the runes within. Yellow faded to an ethereal, foggy white, emanating from five pairs of hands; with a second, third, fourth pass of the incantation they settled into a calmer ring on the hardwood floor. Despite them, the room around them went cold as stone.

And by the fifth pass, the outline of the ghost was slowly becoming visible. Wisps of white mist suggested hands, suggested feet, suggested hair, although the spirit's body was a black hole. It hung, utterly motionless, in the air over the circle, and at last its eyes winked open one at a time.

"Holy shit," Felicity breathed, "This thing really works. . . "

The ghost wafted slightly lower, turning its gaze down and regarding the summoners in turn. Aside from the eyes, which burned as two blindingly green circles, it did not appear to possess a face, or any other features at all. Nonetheless, the impression it gave was, indisputably, that it was frowning. When it spoke, its voice was a soundless echo.

(What do you want?)

"This was your idea," Malady whispered, nudging Felicity with the side of her foot, "You tell him."

Felicity refocused, still somewhat aghast that they had been successful at all. "You're the Phantom of Amity Park," she said slowly, "You're. . . you're real, then."

(Yes) said the ghost, now swaying lightly back and forth within the confines of the circle, as if testing its limits. Its unblinking eyes were locked on Felicity, betraying nothing.

"And you wander," said Malady, regretting it instantly as the ghost's eyes slid across its shadowed surface to face her. She shied back slightly, but kept her hands planted on the circle before her. "I mean, you get around. . . more than a lot of people. . . "

The mist that comprised the spirit's extremities seemed to draw slightly inward. (Yes) it said again, and, sensing the immediate question: (No grave, I think)

"Then what are you looking for?" said Felicity, and Malady was thankful for it. "You must be looking for something, if you get around so much, right?"

The ghost considered the question, but declined to give an answer. Instead, it asked: (Why? Are you going to find it for me?)

"Well -- " Felicity started, but Sam cut her off.

"Don't. If you say yes he's going to hold you to it."

"I was going to say maybe," said Felicity, "I know how this works, I'm not dumb."

"You're not," said Conrad, and Felicity was about to thank him for it when she realized he was focusing on the ghost. "You're not looking for anything, are you? That's not why you linger."

The ghost said nothing.

Conrad didn't let it off the hook. "Is it?"

(No. It's not) said the ghost reluctantly, and shifted in place, drawing the vague shapes of its hands closer together. The chill that had settled over the room deepened an extra degree.

"Then why do you linger?" said Malady carefully, and when the ghost rounded on her this time it was bristling.

(Do you care? Do you have to?) said the ghost, and Sam shot Malady a warning look: it wasn't angry yet, at least not outwardly -- best not to upset it.

But, damn her, Malady pressed: "Well, they’ve only been sighting you for a couple of months, I think -- we were curious."

(Don't be) snapped the ghost, its eyes crackling momentarily as two circles of green-tinted static. Its body seemed to radiate it as well, an almost-tangible feeling in the air like a static charge.

"Mal, quit it, don't piss him off," Sam hissed through her teeth, but found herself freezing up when the ghost turned its gaze on her. For a long moment it said nothing, only stared, unblinking, and she swore she could hear the ceaseless, featherlight whispers rolling off it like mist.

Then it seemed to regard them as a collective again. (What more do you want?)

"We want to know what you're after," said Malady, this time fully ignoring the daggers that Sam was glaring in her direction. "Or how come you don't vanish when someone sees you, or. . . "

(Don't) said the ghost, and the static was back again in its eyes. It wasn’t just a feeling this time -- the shape under its veil of fog was hissing now, soft but unmistakable, and the whiteflame chalk began to buzz under five sets of fingers, out-of-tune like a CRT monitor. (Don't ask questions you don't want to find out the answers to)

"It's not just that," Conrad murmured, "There's a lot of stuff that doesn't add up. You don't have a haunt, you're not trying to close any wounds, you won't -- "

The ghost growled, and along with it came the certainty that, somewhere under the veneer of shadows it wore, its teeth were baring in a snarl. (Stop it) it demanded, but Conrad saw the desperation in it, which meant he was right.

"You don't have a story," he said, which was perhaps the most glaring flaw of all. Every ghost had a widely-accepted story behind it -- although the accuracy of any given one was up for debate -- but the Phantom had none, at least none that had gotten around yet. Aside from a scattering of sightings, the Phantom of Amity Park was little more than a rumor.

Or, rather, it had been until now.

"Phantom," said Sam, knowing it was going to be asked regardless, and deciding that she could at least apply some tact to the question, "You do have a story, don't you? Or at least a name?"

(Yes) said the phantom, but it was through a strained hiss of static. The stringing wisps of fog at its sides made its hands seem long and angular, almost too much so; the distortion would not leave its voice now, no matter the manner in which it spoke. (I don't want to do this. I don't want to be here. If you won't let me go. . . )

"You won't hurt us," said Felicity, but the hesitation that followed was damning. Still, she held her ground. "You can't. The summoning ritual's got a binding element woven in. You can't harm us unless we tell you to."

(No?) said the ghost, its hands seeming sharper now, almost clawed. It was bluffing -- surely, it was bluffing, it had to be. But if not. . . (You're sure? Don't you remember how many other rules I've broken?)

"I'm sure," said Felicity, knowing that it was too late to back down. "And until we release you, you can't disobey us."

"Don't test him like that," Nathaniel whispered, the first thing he'd said since the clock had struck twelve. Felicity looked over at him: his face was pale and waxy-looking, his hands trembling in place although he refused to take them off the chalk circle. He was taking deliberate deep breaths, trying to keep himself calm; it seemed to be only half working. "Don't test him, don't piss him off, what if we did what he wants, what if we let him go?"

"What, and watch him bite our heads off? If we release him now, he can do whatever the hell he wants, remember? Shit." Felicity frowned, eyes darting from one side of the room to the other thinking to piece together a solution. If she'd have thought further ahead, this scenario might have seemed worth considering -- but she'd convinced herself, and subsequently the others, that the phantom was harmless, probably a lesser spirit. An odd one, sure, but ultimately benign. . .

"Wait a sec, wait a sec," Sam shifted up a little, repositioning her knees under her. The static at her fingertips was fading slowly to numbness; she wondered if the phantom could hear her heartbeat racing. Probably. Still, she forced herself to hold its irradiated gaze. "Phantom: if we release you now, you won't hurt us. Right? Or do we have to command it?"

The phantom loomed over her, its head tilting back and forth, considering her. It floated down, tucking up its feet to remain airborne, until they were almost level. Behind the shadows, its arms were thin and gangling; the fingers it reached out were decorated with faint lichtenburg arcs yet made of nothing at all. (I won't hurt you. I promise) it whispered, and the hand closed, offering only the suggestion of its little finger.

It did not even cross Sam's mind that the move could be in deceit, tricking her into taking one hand off the chalk in order to give it her little finger in return. The gesture was fully automatic: by the time she even realized that she'd done it, her hand was shrouded in the mist that fed the ghost's form and the only sensation she could process was a buzzing hum like a battery's charge. There was no solid, tangible hand for her to touch -- but there was no question that the pinky swear had been completed.

And slowly, the distorted static hiss began to fade. The ring of ghostfire went out in a choked puff! of grey smoke. The ghost enveloped itself in shadow, dispelling a moment later like the twist of the tuner dispels the voice on the radio. The flickering of the candles subsided, stilling the dancing shadows on the walls.

Just like that, the ghost was gone.

"Sam?" Felicity whispered, "What did it tell you? Just now?"

Sam looked over, still buzzing. "You didn't hear it?" Felicity shook her head: Sam considered, but only briefly. Then she sat back, making a decent effort at a casual shrug.

"He said to leave him alone, or else."

- - - -

It was almost twelve-thirty when Danny got home. It wasn't far, and he sailed over late-night rooftops and lawns without even noticing the cold, drifting in through his bedroom window and landing in a pool of silvery moonlight splayed across his bed. He floated there, comprised of invisible shadow, and tried to get the unease out of his mind.

He'd been summoned?

Since when could anybody do that?

He should have been more careful. He knew by now that matters of death weren't terribly forgiving; the learning curve was steep and offered few second chances. Every time he was beginning to think he'd gained decent control over his abilities, something like this would come up and smack him in the face.

Two months, he'd been dead -- when were things supposed to get easier? They were, eventually, right?

Danny took a deep breath, hating how it felt, and hating that he hated it, and wrenched himself back to life. The sudden, jarring kickstart of his heart, the spark of warmth that was so alien to his ghost form -- even the everpresent facts of life surprised him, after their absence. That was the ghost's doing, too, no doubt. He was sure that he'd never get used to that thing, not completely.

Or at least he'd never trust it.

But he had to find out everything about it in order to get better control. And now, apparently, he was gaining a little more notice from the living in Amity Park, enough at least for Sam and her goth friends to (somehow? he wasn't sure on the how) conjure him point-blank in her house. And if she could do it -- who else could?

He should count himself lucky that the crash-course came like this, he supposed. In a familiar place, by his best friend (although accompanied by the once-removed crowd, names and drama which he generally only heard during lunch-hour gripes), with no solidly ill intent -- that was just about as easy as it got, wasn't it?

But that wasn't what sat ill with him. One of Sam's friends -- the long-haired one -- had told him outright: the rules of the spell dictated that he couldn't hurt them. He hadn't wanted to do that, only scare them a little if it made them leave him alone, but he didn't like that she was right.

He'd tried to defy them outright, finding that he just. . . couldn't. Was that yet-another thing he had to learn how to do? Worse: was that something he would be saddled with if someone ever did another one of those rituals? Someone worse, someone who could order him to hurt somebody or. . .

Danny didn't want to think of it.

What if he asked Sam about it, then? Over lunch or a movie or something, maybe, once he had a straightened-out line of questions to pursue, and so long as he could be sure that she couldn't guess it had to do with that Phantom business. Now in his room, under less stress and thinking a little better, he supposed he should have handled the ordeal more gently.

But, jesus, being grilled about his own ghostly details was bad enough -- being constricted to the truth, on top of that? He may as well tell the whole damn town about it.

What if he did tell Sam, though? Just her -- well, her and Tuck. If she knew a bonafide ghost summoning ritual, or had friends that did, then she must also know a decent amount that could help him, or at least give him a little bit of a break?

No, he'd decided weeks ago that he couldn't do that. If he told her and Tuck, he'd have to tell Jazz, he'd have to tell his parents -- and that was where the real problems would crop up. How was he supposed to explain being dead, but not really, only sometimes, usually when he wanted to but also still by accident, when he didn't even begin to understand it himself?

No, he couldn't tell them, or Jazz. . . or Sam and Tuck.

Even though he was having a hell of a time on his own.

He hadn't meant to slip up, really he hadn't. Static distortion was, as far as he was concerned, an entirely involuntary function, alongside the chill that even followed him into human form if it decided he wasn't having a terrible enough day. He was trying his damnedest. . .

. . . but he'd scared each and every one of them just by being there. Even before any of them had begun to pry, they'd been afraid of him. There was no hiding it in the way they looked at him (which went double for the rail-thin one, who looked like he'd been trying not to cry the entire time), no disguising the way they flinched just a little every time he spoke.

But, the ghost had delighted in it. Scare them as much as you want, it whispered, it's good for 'em.

And Danny, scrambling to keep himself together, had let it.

He wanted to apologize to Sam. He owed her one, even though she wouldn't have the faintest clue where it was coming from. He thought, somewhat sardonically, that she wouldn't even bat an eye; she teased him sometimes that his knee-jerk reaction was sorry, so she wouldn't think twice about another one that came out of the blue.

But still.

He reached over, pulling open the drawer in his bedside table where he kept his phone. By now, it was almost one in the morning. Thank fuck for weekends, otherwise school would have been shaping up to be a proper pain in the ass.

There was a text waiting for him: from Sam, fifteen minutes ago.

He swiped it open: can we hit nb tomorrow ? no tuck. smth went down tonight

Danny stared down at it, in fierce conflict with himself. He thought of the inevitable disbelief, of having to prove it to her in secret; he thought of having to tell Tuck, because it wouldn't be fair to him otherwise; he thought of the past two hellish months, and of every month after being just as hellish; he thought of what would happen if he solidly, irreversibly lost a fight; he thought of being dragged into another summoning circle, helmed by someone he'd never heard of but who had heard of him; he thought of what his mother would say when she found out her own son had died right under her nose. He thought of what he'd have to say when Sam told him what had happened. He thought of sitting there, pretending that he hadn't witnessed it firsthand, nodding along while she lied about how scared she'd been.

Was this really suppsed to be better?

But indecision would get him nowhere. The longer he sat there, exuding a cold, hollow mist without even realizing it, the more his internal conflict receded. The last of it swept out like the tide, leaving him not with certainty or sureness -- but at least leaving him with a course of action.

The phone in his hand had gone dark. He swiped it open again, took a deep breath, knowing that, one way or another, this was going to turn everything on its head. He texted Sam back, his thumb hesitating for a moment before finally hitting send:

i know. ill see u at nb 🤙

#danny phantom #fanfic #holiday truce #holiday truce 2022

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battlemaiden13 · 9 months

Note

Hey friend! I’m autistic so I’m sorry if the tone of this message comes off as rude, but I noticed while reading HND (which I adore) that you often fall into the same grammar/spelling errors, and thought maybe explaining them may help! If that’s rude, please let me know, I genuinely enjoy your work!!!

Too: means as well or excessively. As in “oh, you like undertale too?” Or “I’m too tired after spending hours reading and enjoying your work!”

Two: the number, as in “The two of us both like undertale”

They’re: a contraction of they are, so if ‘they are’ would fit in the sentence you can use they’re. “They’re fans of your writing!”

There: refers to a place or distance “Let’s go over there!”

Their: possessive form of they. So if they own the thing or the thing belongs to them (includes feelings). “Their food is getting cold” “their joy from reading your work is unmatched”

Hypercritical: someone is super critical of things. “Edge or Berry can come off as hypercritical of the world and people around them, but it’s just their way of pretending not to care”

Hypocritical: failure to follow one’s own moral. “It would be hypocritical of the HND reader to judge sniper for working for her brother when she herself did the same thing.”

Again, I love your work, I just thought that clearing up some of these may help you! /gen /pos

I am also autistic! So I also hope my tone doesn't come across as rude or dismissive or anything I am always super worried about that not going to lie.

No but this is great! this was fine. My spelling is horrible and I don't often go back to correct when I finish writing. I have never had 'Too' explained to me so well! Like I have seriously always been confused about it XD Most of the others I do know but probably aren't thinking about when I write them and as I said I don't edit XD

THE LAST TWO THOUGH! I didn't realize but I think It's because of my accent. Like they sound real similar when I say hypercritical and hypocritical unless I break it down by syllables which I wouldn't naturally do while writing you know!?

But that's very cool! If while your reading you notice one of these mistakes just let me know in the comments of the chapter or here with the chapter number and I will go fix it. I'm usually pretty good at fixing them as soon as people point them out. Thanks for reaching out to help my grammar and spelling XD I hope you have a great day!!!

#housenextdoor #house next door #hnd #my bad grammar #thank you

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voidify333 · 10 months

Text

Got a lot of OFMD vibes from Good Omens s2???

BIG spoilers for both GO S2 and OFMD S1 under the cut

Like, this isn’t a situation for the copied homework meme format, I believe it’s just same braincell on a really juicy story beat to create drama in a high concept romance, but I find the similarities fascinating so I’m gonna post about them. (What’s funny is that the thing that actually got me to watch OFMD in the first place is the promise of Stede being like aziraphale and blackbonnet being like A/C…)

The main thing is how the ending of ep 6 reminded me of OFMD ep 9.

The central pair kiss for the first time— letting any remaining oblivious audience members know this isn’t just a bromance, and alienating any homophobes in the audience who weren’t already alienated by the queer supporting characters. (That last bit is actually the biggest other “ofmd vibes” thing I picked up— how the very queer supporting roster served both to let homophobes know the show isn’t for them, and to reassure the queer audience that they’re allowed to hope for the main pair being Outright Canon)

But they also enter their divorce era— specifically, what happens is this:

The sunshine bookworm has a scene with a character the audience recognises as antagonistic (completely different scenes though— Stede’s traumatic experience with the bully in the woods vs Az being emotionally manipulated by metatron into thinking coming back to heaven is a good idea)

This scene, combined with his existing insecurities, causes him to return to a life that he won’t even find fulfilling (we know this bc he stepped away from it in the first place!) but he’s been convinced that it’s The Thing He Has To Do

In the process, he abandons his black-clad true love and breaks his heart

But here (in addition to all the obvious differences in context and execution), the season cliffhanger cuts away BEFORE “episode 10” as it were.

And… I don’t think “episode 10” is going to happen immediately for Aziraphale when lights go up on s3. Like, the “love epiphany” part may come in an early episode (we saw the way he touched his lip), but he’s certainly not getting the “plan to leave” part until some time further into s3, because the life he’s mistakenly gone back to isn’t with a Mary figure who cares about him but wants him elsewhere as much as he secretly wants to be elsewhere— instead, it’s with Heaven, an abusive cult that is planning to use him to destroy Earth, and has the power to destroy him on a whim.

Aziraphale’s key insecurity is his need for authoritative reassurance that he is Doing The Right Thing. This is what allowed metatron to use the offer of heaven to manipulate Az into hurting Crowley’s feelings and then abandoning Crowley. The tone demands an eventual happy ending (my faith in this is why the ending of e6 didn’t even make me mad), but Az is going to have to work through those issues before the happy ending can take place— Nina basically spelled this out.

The next place this comparison led me was to the thought “can I connect a red string on my cork board between post s2 crowley and ep10 Ed?”

There is an important difference between them, and it’s in kind of the opposite direction as the difference between Az-when-we-cut-away and Stede-when-we-cut-away

Ed has closed himself off to vulnerability completely after his heartbreak, and lashes out horribly, and we all know the reunion in s2e1 is not going to go smoothly

Meanwhile, although Crowley is heartbroken and mad… he is ultimately like Maggie on the “I hope she’ll be there when I’m ready but there’s no guarantee—” “there is” front. Aziraphale needs to work through his issues, and the plot needs to get to a place where The Real Big One is foiled and neither of them are in imminent danger of destruction, and once Az stops being an idiot he will need to do a great many “you were wrong” dances, but once all those prerequisites are fulfilled, we’re getting our second kiss (and I’m fanning myself just thinking about that hypothetical scene hoooooboy)

Maybe there will be a period of “angel I can’t forgive you. not yet”, that would be juicy drama, but the tone of the story demands that any such moment will be temporary

However, I do have a vivid mental image now, inspired by e10 Ed, of post s2 crowley standing in the bookshop and saying to himself out loud “oh, nothing lasts forever, is that right, angel?” and then going on a bender of destroying or giving away books (I lean towards giving away as it would leave less permanent fallout for later, and also be funnier, while still being just as potent a gesture of spite in the moment)

Anyway when OFMD S2 comes out and we get a better look at the blackbonnet divorce arc I’m going to try to use it as a divination tool to predict the events of the A/C divorce arc

#good omens #ofmd #good omens spoilers

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ellynneversweet · 1 year

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Aaaaand I’m done.

Okay. I’ll say that I liked this the best out of all the Bridgerton offerings so far: it made a genuine attempt to engage with the absolute nonsense Romancelandia setting rules already established in this universe and turn them into something cohesive. It almost works.

Everyone had real problems (except for Violet, who was just sort of…there) that weren’t things that could just be resolved if they would just talk out a stupid misunderstanding. Charlotte and George’s romance is genuinely unusual and quite touching, especially in its later stages. Lady Danbury as the fantasy version of an unhappily married woman turned wealthy independent widow is delightful. I like that they didn’t (by romance standards) sugarcoat the level of control a woman’s relatives and husband had over her life, or how precarious life without a good protector was. Some of the ways in which this was spelled out to the female characters (and thus, the audience) was a bit clumsy — this is their native culture, after all. They can and certainly should react to it in a variety of ways, but surprise at the degree of legal confinement they’re subject to comes across as stupidity, often.

Some of the costumes were hideous, some were great. Late baroque suits the brocade and ruffles bullshit of the Bridgerton Style Guide much better than the regency does. No one knows what to do with hats, but I really enjoyed the ladies in tricorns we got. (I love a good tricorn.) And there were some beautiful bergeres, which are another fave of mine.

It offers a cohesive explanation for why Charlotte is dressed in styles from twenty years ago, because she’s emotionally arrested in that era. It doesn’t make me forgive the lack of regency court dress in the Bridgerton-family centric seasons, because I desperately want to see that on screen. I actually think it could work. I know everyone hated it and the fashion plates of the era look a bit silly, but the silhouette is not dissimilar to a hanbok, if you squint? It could be done. And I bet those dresses could even be reworked to be regular going out dresses. If the panniers only added width to the sides, all you’d really have to do is re-sew the side seams into straight lines.

Violet should have been cut from this, frankly. George needed more screen time outside of Charlotte and his never ending leeches and ice baths. He’s an interesting character and the actors who played him were both genuinely good. We needed more sane George, because mad George is necessarily shown at an emotional remove from his thoughts and emotions. I’m not sure if having him be unstable so early was decided as a plan to explain away why Prinny isn’t a character in the main series and why Charlotte is so very prominent as the effective regent.

Also, we could have done with less horrible sex scenes between the Danburys. Once or twice, fine, but the rest could be easily telegraphed through Agatha’s post-rape bath and bitch sessions.

Um. I loved Reynolds, as I’ve said, and I’m sorry we didn’t get mature Reynolds in George’s household. I liked the variety of relationships shown. I don’t love how cold mature Charlotte is towards Brimsley — it seems horrible and disconnected from their early friendship. I don’t appreciate the way the narrative role Brimsley and Reynolds played necessarily cut out the existence and importance of ladies in waiting (and courtiers more generally). That annoys me, in a show that so heavily centres the lives of women. Lady Danbury’s relationship with Coral was good, though.

Edit: oh, and the timeline and travel distances involved made absolutely no sense at all. They all have magical tardis carriages. I nearly lost my mind when Reynolds complained about ‘riding all the way here’ when Brimsley had been using that same route as the walk for a small puppy every day. And, of course, the whole invitations for a royal wedding that starts in three hours thing.

Anyway. Scream away at me if you have thoughts.

#ellyn watches queen charlotte

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sylphidine · 11 months

Text

[Fic] Call Signs, Chapter 30

Fandom: Deltarune

‘Verse: Human AU

Pairing: Swatch/Spamton [Swatchton]

Characters: Spamton Addison [flashback], Mike Cowley [flashback], the "Serif brothers", as in those two skeletons from UNDERTALE [flashback]

Rating: Mature

Chapter title: Trash Landing, Part One

Chapter summary: Heights and lows.

Author notes:

So much gaslighting that Mike dishes out.

So much whump that Spamton goes through.

[So much Deltarune canon lore and meta references, mixed with my own AU trappings. PLEASE, dear readers, tell me you see some of the Easter eggs I've tossed in here.]

Spamton's first person past tense POV continues straight from the end of the previous chapter as he's trying to explain the last few years to Swatch. Take it as read that Spamton is stuttering away like mad, but he's getting his points across to Swatch while reliving these horrible memories. [Yes, the author's cheating a bit and using a weird narrative device.]

____________________

Mike does his best to cheer me up over the week between Christmas and New Year's.

We'd already discussed neither of us doing a lick of work while I was scheduled to be with my family. Mike had said, while I was packing, that he'd be catching up on some of his hobbies during the downtime, like practicing card tricks and other kinds of sleight of hand.

I had thought he was joking at the time, like a sad clown, but it turns out he's really good at stage magic. We end up at Tannen's Magic Shop after one of our dates.

We go out every afternoon that week, even though it’s cold and windy. No bars. No networking. Just real, honest-to-goodness, down-to-earth dates.

A hole-in-the-wall all-you-can-eat buffet.

Window shopping on Canal Street.

Tea and scones at The Potbelly Stove.

Dance Dance Revolution at an underground arcade.

Jazz at The Blue Note.

On New Year's Eve the wind is much too strong and I’m tired of getting bundled up to fight the bitterly freezing weather, so we stay in to watch the ball drop on television rather than braving the crowds in Times Square and getting frostbite.

I admire our afternoon’s decorating handiwork. Somehow Mike has acquired six or seven canisters of Silly String, and now the living room is festooned with multicolored silicon tangles.

To me… It looks…. Well, silly. Not something two full-grown men would admit to enjoying, but definitely a unique stay-at-home date to wrap up our vacation week.

The tendrils sway in the air coming from our heating vents like wacky wires, or vines. They remind me of the strings on the marionettes we saw yesterday at FAO Schwartz.

Mike comments on my unconscious frown. I mention the accusation about puppets I'd yelled at Ballew; he “hmmms” thoughtfully in response and then changes the subject.

The champagne gets poured at midnight and for the first time in a long time I drink too much. I wake up with a headache to end all headaches, half-dressed in my office, with my arms wrapped around the black rotary phone.

I can see my reflection in its waxy surface.

I can feel fingertip-shaped bruises on my hips.

There are long, long strands of bright green Silly String trailing off both my wrists.

There’s also a note on my desk from Mike that says he tried to talk me out of brainstorming my great new idea for a new advertising campaign until we both went back to work on the 2nd, but that I was very insistent. He ends the message by asking if I want to go out to the neighborhood hangover brunch.

To my sodden brain, that sounds like the best plan ever.

My great new idea, as it turns out, is a slogan I’d written on a cocktail napkin while we were both lifting a toast to a successful 2018 and beyond. In sloppy, blocky, straggling capital letters, it spells out “HAVE YOUR HOME RUN LIKE CLOCKWORK”, accompanied by a stick figure drawing that could either be a robot or a scarecrow.

I’ve never made any claims to be an artist, but even I have to laugh at how crappy it looks.

Mike says that the idea has good bones and we can rough it out over the next few months. He teasingly tells me I was raving for hours about a book I’d read as a kid about a clockwork man.

I vaguely remember the title after a few minutes, including the movie that was made from the book, and I blame the rest of my amnesia from last night on too much bubbly.

We each polish off a huge plateful of greasy scrambled eggs and clink our coffee cups together.

It feels like a great start to a better year, and like I can stop looking in the rear view mirror.

---------------

We hit the ground running in January.

Mike is either constantly in my office when he’s home, or on the phone with me when he has to work long hours with the science team, whom I’ve never met.

The receiver of the black rotary phone never cools from the heat of my hand, and I feel like I’m never alone.

I desperately, desperately need to NOT BE ALONE.

If I’m not alone, there’s no room in my mind to think about what or who I've left behind.

My New Year’s Eve brilliance inspires Mike to show me a whole series of articles on “mechanical men” built between the 1700s and the 1800s. We pore over them together on my laptop, sitting practically in each other’s laps, his hand always on my shoulder or my thigh.

The automaton that strikes both of us as the most incredible is the Draughtsman-Writer. Mike points out that it even looks like me, if my cheeks were a little rosier. Dark hair, a pointed chin, and a dreamy gaze in its eyes.

It’s a short leap to the next idea. I practice with makeup and a selfie stick before Mike and I storyboard the next GASTER commercial together. His hands guide mine and make me feel like a priceless musical instrument.

And thus “Spamton G. Spamton”, the mechanical salesman, is born.

I’m a bit uncomfortable at first with the look of the hinged jawlines, but I get used to it. I start practicing a new kind of vocal patter that has barely perceptible stops and starts.

In the meantime, I still have sales outreach work to do. I’m back to nineteen-hour workdays, much of which is spent immersed in nightlife, but I’m so energized that I don’t care.

Over the next few months, we shoot four more GASTER commercials that are in constant rotation on the airwaves. I voice the opinion to Mike that maybe the red suit is getting stale after more than a year, and that it might be time to change up my image again. He agrees, but he wants to keep the “mechanical man” look. So I compromise; the makeup can stay, but I want something that’s sharp and memorable.

Tallulah has closed up her Chelsea apartment for the summer and gone to France, so she’s not around to consult with. Not in person, at least. But I start looking at some of her past fashion collections in a retrospective issue of a magazine, and there’s one season’s looks that really grab me, even though I don’t really know why. All the pieces seem to be some variation on tuxedos, but they’re each paired with what I guess Tallulah would call “accessories”, in hot pink and yellow-green.

I lay my hands on some good old-fashioned tracing paper and some colored pencils, and I start sketching. I’ve never done something like this before. It’s like something or someone else is guiding my hand. But when it’s done, I’ve got the look I want. A black single-breasted swallowtail coat with lapels in hot pink and neon yellow, and a pink-and-yellow satin lining. Tailored white suit pants. Crisp white high-collared shirt like the old Leyendecker ads.

Mike… doesn’t hate the new suit, but doesn’t love it, either. It does gradually grow on him, especially when I add a Cungadero-red bowtie, the same shade as his favorite of the red suits, and a pair of sunglasses that are sort of like his eyeglasses… round instead of diamond-shaped, pink and yellow instead of orange and gold. An unspoken compliment and an apology all in one.

It hangs on the closet door in my bedroom and remains undisturbed by probing hands.

________________

The SUIT (I've come to think of it in Capital Letters) gets its debut at my 21st birthday party on the third of May, in The Bellecour Room at Restaurant Daniel.

Twenty of GASTER's biggest corporate sponsors send representatives; the rest of the group of fifty are assorted hangers-on that I've met here and there over time.

I sip on my Merlot; the bitter wine fits my mood tonight.

In my mind's eye the glitterati at the tables around me fade out, and in their places are my old friends.

Gazlay showing off her gorgeous gams in a high kick worthy of a Rockette.

Vazzana tittering behind his ostrich-plumed fan that someday he'll be Queen.

Pitch and Coz engaging good-tempered barbs with one another.

Winkelsas playing one of his toddler sister's compositions on kazoo and passing along the message that she wants me to be in her band.

Jack Sickle reciting Poe's " The Raven '' without a single stammered word when he doesn't know any of us are watching.

And of course I mentally summon the images of my brothers and my sister… and yes, even Saffron.

The images of the past dissolve like burning film, and the sight of the room full of happy strangers returns me to the present.

I’m a stranger here myself, as the saying goes. Might as well put on the mask of a happy one.

The party finally breaks up somewhere around 2am, and Mike doesn't protest when I ask if we can just head straight home.

During the limo ride back to the Pandora Palace, I make the comment that this shindig will be hard to top, but he's got four more years to plan for the next big milestone.

He asks me in seemingly idle curiosity what's more special about being 25 versus being 21.

When I bring up how I'll finally be financially independent by then because of my trust fund, he gets very quiet.

The multicolored glow of street lamps and neon signs shines through the limo windows. The garish light plays over Mike's angular face and casts pockets of shadow. Offset by his black blazer and white turtleneck, his head almost looks like a floating skull.

Then he smiles. It's a soft, fond look.

I'm almost expecting him to propose marriage, with how thick the tension in the air gets, but the moment passes.

-----------------------

Spring turns into summer. Summer turns into autumn.

For months we’ve been discussing registering to exhibit GASTER at some of the technological trade shows around the country, and I start looking into travel arrangements for two.

Until Mike yanks me up short by casually mentioning that he’ll be staying behind to run things while I’m on the road.

And he already has an itinerary mapped out for me.

And it’s going to keep me on the road for weeks at a time, over the course of the next year.

My first reaction is that he’s putting me on. My second reaction is panic.

Chicago. Denver. Los Angeles. San Francisco. Seattle. Minneapolis. San Antonio. New Orleans. Nashville. Atlanta. Washington DC. Philadelphia. Finally back in New York in late September of next year.

It doesn't matter what I say, how many logical arguments I try to make. For the first time since I've known him, Mike actually gets visibly angry.

No, it's the second time. The first time was when he chased off Werewolf Guy, way back when.

But it's the first time he's been angry with ME.

It's a cold rage, delivered with the same dry voice he used to use in the classroom. He counters my reasoned protests with logic of his own that I can't fight.

How many people under the age of thirty, he tells me, can say that they've achieved the success I have? It takes work to KEEP the success happening, and if I don't want to do the work, he won't know what to think, other than to be gravely disappointed.

Those are the magic words. With everything Mike has done for me… a home, luxuries, connections… I can't disappoint him. I just can't. I'll be nothing but a sponge, or the lowest kind of worm, if I don't go along with this plan.

So I give in, and tell him I'll do the trade show tour.

Mike practically purrs and lets me know how pleased he is, as he backs me up against my office desk.

------------------------

The itinerary has me traveling the entire country by train. A few weeks in each city, booked into different extended stay suites in the Mansion Hotels chain. The trade shows are each a week long, and the rest of the time, when I'm not on a train, I'm supposed to be schmoozing and glad-handing with the locals.

And I’m traveling with a pair of boneheads.

I should probably be kinder in my thoughts about them; at heart, both the Serif brothers seem to be decent guys. They're along to do the booth set-ups and breakdowns, as well as to make sure I get where I'm supposed to go. They've done this tour before, they both say, with other "heroes", and they know all the weird routes.

But I get very tired, very quickly, of one brother's non-stop puns and the other brother's exaggerated sense of his own importance. Wherever Mike dug these two up, it seems a long way from my old hometown.

Any excitement I might have had about visiting new places gets ground into nothingness pretty quickly. One city feels the same as any other.

The exhibit halls could be interchangeable backlots on a soundstage, for all the individuality they have, which is none. Concrete floors covered in paper-thin carpeting that does nothing to muffle the sound of foot traffic or the voices of the other vendors and attendees. I come back to my hotel room every day with a headache from the stagnant air and the endless noise.

The views from the hotel windows all look the same. And the hotel rooms themselves are so uniform, as befits a national chain, that it really feels like Time is standing still. The windows are always sealed. No sound rises from the streets, unlike the cacophony of the trade show venues.

But even when I’m back in my “home on the road” accommodations after leaving the exhibit halls behind for the day, the constant sound of a phone ringing shatters any peace and quiet I might hope for.

You see, there's one thing that's particularly disturbing about the sameness of each successive Mansion Hotels room I stay in.

They each have the exact same waxy-finish black rotary phone on the room's desk as the one that Mike set up on MY desk in my office, back at the Pandora Palace.

The ringtone is exactly the same, too.

When I unlock the door of my hotel room, the phone always sits in a pool of light from an overhead lamp, just like mine does back in New York.

It doesn’t matter if I’ve turned off the room lights before I head out for the day. The phone has its own spotlight, like Yorick’s skull in a production of HAMLET.

It feels like it never stops ringing.

I almost want to ask the front desk at each hotel whether I can swap out the phone for a more modern model, but I can't think of any way to do so without sounding like a lunatic.

Mike calls frequently, never at consistent times. His calls keep me off-kilter, to the point where I think I'm hearing the phone ring when I'm nowhere near the hotel room. It gets so bad that I have a doctor check me out for tinnitus.

It gives me bad dreams at night.

One of the recurring nightmares has a monstrous version of Proto, telling me to "beware the man who speaks in hands", while pointing to the phone which has no cord and isn't plugged in and shouldn't be able to ring.

It's an unreal life.

Every time I put my makeup on, I feel more and more like a puppet. I am afraid to look too long in any mirror in case I find that I've actually become one.

------------------------

The frequency of the phone calls from Mike slows down noticeably between the San Antonio and Nashville legs of the trade show tour.

The incoming calls stop completely while I'm in DC.

My frantic outgoing calls are not answered.

My sales, which had been stable if not as stellar as when I first started with GASTER, take a sudden nosedive.

I stumble through the DC and Philadelphia trade shows feeling like a corpse. I don't go out painting the town red every night, the way I used to. I get room service when my body reminds me that I need fuel, and I spend the rest of my time just staring at the ubiquitous black rotary phone.

Willing it to ring.

Dialing and hoping to get an answer.

Nothing.

I'm alone.

In my solitude and the fear that solitude inspires, I do some hard thinking.

I'm twenty-two years old, going on twenty-three, yet I have the responsibilities of a middle-aged person, for a company that should have taken fifteen years to get where it is with its market share.

nstead, it's only taken three.

The math doesn't add up.

Could Eos have been right, that GASTER is too good to be true?

I may loathe the name of Addison, but I've picked up enough from the family business that I start having some nasty suspicions.

If those suspicions are true, then my current career track isn't on the up-and-up.

A huge wave of homesickness hits me. I want to see my siblings.

All of them.

Any of them.

And I almost get my wish.

As the saying goes… Be careful what you wish for.

----------------------

At the end of the four weeks in Philadelphia, the Serif brothers give me an unpleasant surprise; they tell me they're not joining me in New York. They've heard from "our boss" that they're supposed to work some other job, and they're taking all the demo devices with them.

When I ask, rather snappishly, what I'm supposed to show off at the Javits Center without the gizmos and gadgets to wow the crowd, the shorter, stockier brother just smiles and hands me the rolled-up booth banner, as though he's passing along a torch to me. Then he walks off whistling.

The taller, lankier brother claps my shoulder, tells me it's a puzzle all right and he wishes he could be the one to solve it, and ambles off to catch up with his kin.

Leaving me to retrieve my own luggage and find my own way from Philly to Penn Station.

I'll be damned if I spend another night in another hotel. I want to go to the Pandora Palace and have it out with Mike and DEMAND to know why he's abandoned me.

And to demand to know what's really up with GASTER.

Of course, when I drag my bags up to the apartment, Mike's not there.

But at least my keys still work. I was afraid for more than a few seconds that they wouldn't.

The apartment seems antiseptic, impersonal, dingy. Mike has probably had a cleaning service in while he's been away, but I'm struck yet again by the perception that this is a workspace, not a home.

I look aimlessly into all the rooms on the lower floor. Mike's office is locked; his bedroom is not, but it's tidy and doesn't look like it's much used.

There's a pile of newspapers stacked on the kitchen floor. The top one has a folded-back page showing photos of my sister's wedding in the society column.

My sister's wedding.

In June.

When I would have been in Atlanta.

Near enough to have flown to New York and back again in a 36-hour turnaround time, and not missed much of anything business-wise.

I wander out of the kitchen in more of a daze than I walked into it.

Mike has left me a long, long, handwritten letter on the coffee table in the living room, which feels as big as a stadium or a skating rink after so many dinky little hotel rooms.

The letter is a strange mix of praise and recriminations. It goes on for five double-sided pages, and leaves me no clearer in my mind at the end than it does at the beginning.

Does he care about me? Does he hate me? Are we partners, or enemies, or just two tired old horses stuck in harness together?

I haven't a clue.

I also haven't got the energy to climb the spiral stairs to my bedroom on the second floor. And I'm too conflicted to just use Mike's bed when he's not here.

So I crash on the couch in the cavernous living room, and curl up into the tiniest ball I can manage.

----------------------------

I head to the Electronics Expo at the Javits Center via taxi the next day.

It’s an unmitigated disaster.

All I have to adorn my booth is the now-tired-looking banner with Penniman's clockwork boy as a logo, with the now-faded caption "Have Your Home Run Like Clockwork!".

All I have to display are some ratty business cards and some dog-eared brochures.

Some Big Shot I am.

Billy Joel's lyrics taunt me as an earworm I can't escape.

I don't have to exaggerate my "mechanical man" movements; my limbs feel like lead. And the stilted speech I've been cultivating through this whole tour has taken on a life of its own; I now have a genuine stutter that I can't shake.

People walk past my booth to get to other booths with more enticing setups.

Like I’m invisible.

So it doesn't surprise me that, when I'm feeling at my lowest and least confident, my brother Ballew shows up.

His hair is freshly cut. When he stops in front of my booth, I get a fleeting whiff of his cologne. I don't recognize the scent; it's not the British Sterling that I give him every Christmas.

Used to give him, that is.

He looks so tailored.

So polished.

So disapproving.

The suit that I was so proud of designing all on my own, once upon a time, feels like a cheap Halloween costume now.

He reluctantly takes the business card I reluctantly and silently hand to him.

His bitter comment about my enjoying being a puppet is excruciating and painful. I can't blame him, and I can't dismiss the truth of his words.

I've been Mike's puppet.

I *am* Mike's puppet.

I don't know how to stop being Mike's puppet.

-------------------------

The rest of the week at the trade show passes in a blur. I don’t even care about the sales I'm not making. Take a taxi to the Javits Center every morning, take a taxi back to Chelsea every evening. Each day I go through the motions and plaster on the dummy’s grin. Each night I pray for an end to it all.

I feel like I’m coming down with some kind of flu bug. Maybe a delayed reaction to everything. My heart is constantly pounding. I can actually feel my pulse in my ears. My brain is full of cobwebs.

Finally the time comes when I can pack up and go…

Home?

Mike’s apartment isn’t home.

But it’s the only place I’ve got left to go.

So I head there in yet another cab, and have a nasty shock.

My credit card gets declined by the cab driver’s swipe machine. I apologetically give him what cash I have, which pays for the ride but precious little for a tip. The driver yells at me like I'm some annoying dog and zooms off before I realize I’ve left my laptop bag and the trade show banner in the back seat.

Fortunately I still have my wallet and keys, and I’m wearing The SUIT. But everything else I’ve been carting around to do work for Mike for the last year is gone.

I'm feeling hollow as I nod to the doorman, who tilts his head in a birdlike fashion and asks if I'm alright.

The elevator operator gives me a quick look of pity as she takes me up to the fourth floor.

Wait a minute.

Doorman? Elevator operator?

Why don't I remember them? They have to have always been here, right? This is the Pandora Palace, with amenities fit for royalty.

My memory from a week ago, of having to carry my own bags up the stairs of a rodent-infested four-story walk-up, gets overlaid by this current reality.

I must be running a fever. It’s hot behind my eyes. I shakily let myself into the apartment and barely make it to the little bathroom off the foyer before I collapse onto the cold tile floor.

The sound of footsteps approaching registers in my mind, but I keep my eyes tightly shut. Then I feel bony fingers threading themselves through my hair before I’m yanked up into a sitting position.

I have to look at him now.

Mike bends over me, impossibly tall, and says in a hissing whisper that I would be nothing without him, that I owe him everything, and he’s going to get his money’s worth.

And then he picks me up off the floor and cradles me to his chest. As though I were his most cherished possession.

I don’t know how to cope with any of this anymore.

My body does me a kindness and shuts down into unconsciousness.

#deltarune chapter 2 #deltarune fanfiction #spamton g spamton #swatchton #swatchton au #fic: call signs #sylph writes

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the-blind-geisha · 2 years

Note

If Demiurge ended up siring half-human-half-demon offspring with his prized ewe, do you think the would harvest their skins as well? Maybe not using the same methods he would use on his other ‘sheep’ (i.e. using anesthesia/a sleeping spell beforehand)? I know that he had a halfling daughter whom he treated well in Contract but that was a child he had with someone he considered his mate. Would he treat his offspring from his ‘ewe’ the same as he treated Pyra? Does he view his ‘prized ewe’ as his mate? Sorry for all of the questions, I’m just interested to know more about Demiurge and his ewe’s dynamic.

You're totally fine to ask! I am happy to answer them. And don't worry, this will get long in return. LOL

It would depend.

About Contract:

He did say in Contract he would have harvested Pyra's skin if MC didn't care or love the baby. In fact, a part of Demiurge was hoping she wouldn't. He was willing to give MC the baby she 'lost', but it would have to be him who sired it. Mainly because he was furious a human, which was said to be his destined mate, had a child with another lowly human that was inferior to him.

It was an insult.

So any method he could do to make her suffer in Contract was where that was all ultimately leading up to.

Sadly, as MC was being emotionally and physically beaten down bit by bit and Demiurge began to grow very affectionate towards his mate, the narrative switched when she finally became pregnant. A lot of MC's demeanor began to shift when she noted Demiurge was willing to sacrifice so much just to see his baby—half-human or not—make it out alive. I mean, he cried before Ainz in a fit of worry they would both die if he didn't return in time to help MC during her labor. MC didn't see that, but Ainz noted he never saw Demiurge shed a tear before. So it was jarring to Ainz, but he was also inwardly relieved to note this odd change in Demiurge towards a human—even if it was just one human.

A few people don't know this, but there is a female leader of the Demi-Human Alliance he created in the light novels that wanted to impress Demiurge to the point she could have his baby. She calls him Jaldabaoth, so that's where I wager he never allowed anybody at his farm or who worked for him to know his true name. Hell, for all we know, he might even be wearing the mask at that farm, or have a summoned Lord Wrath there. I said in Contract he had an enchanted field over his farm where people heard his name as Jaldabaoth, not Demiurge. Anyways, everyone is disgusted with her for wanting to have a demon's baby, but she says something that I do agree with: Even Jaldabaoth-sama would lavish care on the species of his offspring, no?

I think she was hoping, if she bore his child and got in his good graces he would take care of her demi-human race as well as herself and the baby. And, I think he would... but she died horribly as Ainz saw her useless. XD;; So Ainz is the big dad everybody has to get past first.

Now, with that out of the way.

About his special ewe:

So a little thing about me and the way I write Demiurge in particular: I always write him in a way that he's just not interested in anybody unless he can smell they're meant to be his. I'm a sucker for scent kink and soul-binding and all that. I wager that's why he can easily watch women be bred on his ranch or even endure a hot, naked Albedo 'scenting' Ainz's bed with a straight face and no erection.

He's not interested in any of those being his partner, so he just talks to them like it's no big deal.

However, when I wrote the scenes I did in Tome of Ashurbanipal for his ewe, you can note he was using the sex toys only to get frustrated it wasn't him inside of her. So he stopped and swapped. He was even sounding offended she let another male touch her and was fine with it, while he was met with a different reaction.

He'll always believe he's the superior choice over any other creature where somebody he treasures is concerned.

However, he was created to believe humans are inferior, so whenever he's being told by mating scent that a human is supposed to be his, he doesn't leap at the chance to be with them right away. He tries to see if what he's feeling is true or worth ignoring. That prized ewe was chosen for a reason. He wanted to keep her in a special area and just excuse it as 'you're a milk source now'.

The prized ewe does get a bigger, cleaner stall, better food than the others, and isn't fed human meat. Demiurge is isolating her though, because he wants her to crave his touch and audience over the silence. So he's still... Demiurge, but to a lesser degree with her. Lol

I always believe that demons trying to impregnate humans is a tough obstacle. And, while he wouldn't breed her with any other demi-human, he wouldn't mind trying to have her carry his children.

Would he skin them? I highly doubt it. Mainly because he will get angry if anybody dared harm Pyra—I mean, he tortured a man for tearing her wing, so I know he wouldn't be able to bring himself to skinning and harming his own children with this ewe either. If they offered their skin to him when they got older, that would be hard for him to consider. He would put them under a sleeping spell, of course, but I don't think Demiurge would rush at the chance to skin his hybrid child; even if they are half-human.

#demiurge will demiurge really #nothing will stop him #demiurge #demiurge x mc #demiurge x reader #overlord #demiurge headcanon #demiurge headcanons #mod answers #kittycat-kai #minor nsft #cw: mentions of torture

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