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lightningbig · 9 months

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I love so much the quiet lore moments with philza. moments like rn on stream, where he's just talking through what happened at the election dinner to himself. like its not grand dramatic rp, and it's not meant to be, but I do just really enjoy him quietly dropping some insane lore thoughts so casually. him saying "maybe there are codes for each of the eggs, and I've killed the ones that were made for mine now, but there are others out there still" and then in the next breath just going "okay time to make 1000 avocado toasts"

#LIKE!!!#philza minecraft the man of all time #he also talked about this a bit earlier how he WILL lean into lore moments when they're big and meaningful and make sense for him #but hes also here to poke fun and break the fourth wall and have a silly time about it #his pov is really the best of both worlds for that #qsmp livebloggin #block game

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eerna · 1 year

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The Stolen Heir talk 👀? Personally, even though I of course love Oak a lot, he really was an architect of his own fate here. He keeps secrets, keeps hiding information from Wren, and she still forgives him for it, over and over. He says “we’d be a formidable pair if we could trust each other”, but he’s the one putting that wall up!! If someone kept being like ‘this is the last secret, you can trust me’ and sweet talking me and I continued finding out the IMPORTANT things he was withholding *about me*, I’d snap too. The whole deal with Jack of the Lakes really felt like foreshadowing in hindsight to Oak’s ‘problems coming home to roost’ in terms of allies betraying him because he never really treated them as equals despite his best intentions.

The Stolen Heir talk! Yeah, overall I suppose he flaunted his talent for dramatic avoidance of the truth a little too much, no matter how amusing it was to see as a reader. I totally agree with him that that Big Secret shouldn't have been revealed to her before Nore was dealt with because she is so insanely bad at playing his game of technically-not-lies and manipulation... But all those other times he was just being stupid. I don't care how sensitive the topic of charmspeak (sorry I can't remember the real name of that ability but you know what I mean) is for you, boy, I can guarantee it's worse for Wren. Even if she is the one doing the betraying half the time, it’s still not cool. I'm fully in support of him getting imprisoned, it will be good for him to sit by himself and think about what he's done. I just wish his final not-truth was a bit meaner and more impactful. I wish he didn't do his whole "I will tell you everything after the confrontation, I want you to live, I will not leave you behind" thing before it. I just like him and trust him too much to fully understand Wren's final actions. I'm about to continue my reread and this time I'll try to take off my pink glasses and see him the way she does

#eernask #eernanon #eernask talk tfota #tsh spoilers #ok reading back. that conversation was def worse sounding than i first understood it.#like I know that he was hiding her origins from her. but from her pov it sounds exactly like he's admitting to manipulating her feelingsvsd #ok so my goal is to find more conversations that sounded worse than my fourth wall breaking brain read them as #yeah i read that book in under 2 days 3 weeks ago. a reread is def needed #WAIT. 3 WEEKS. I HAVE BEEN ON MY BINGE FOR 3 WEEKS???? DEAR LORD

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gun-roswell · 5 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: Ahsoka (TV), Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Ahsoka Tano Additional Tags: POV Ahsoka Tano, Poetry, Reflection, Inspired by Fanart, Open to Interpretation, Space Walk!, Breaking the Fourth Wall Series: Part 2 of Ahsoka Series Shorts, Part 94 of Poetry Shorts Collection (Various Fandoms) Summary:

A poem in Ahsoka's POV.

Part of Poetry Shorts Collection of various fandoms

#fanfic #poetry #ahsoka #ahsoka tano #pov ahsoka tano #selfdoubt #hanging in space #breaking the fourth wall

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mangoisms · 11 months

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re last reblog i love narration so much i considered writing eof in first person pov instead of third person limited. it still bounces around my brain just because. idk. something about first person pov in regards to comics, specifically the spiders…. it’s a very clear vision to me. at least for leah i’m like…. This could Definitely Be Something. but i know a lot of ppl Do Not like first person pov both in general and in fic settings so

#but also i know like who cares what other ppl think. idk.#i want to be able to achieve the same level of narration in 3rd person that i know i can do in 1st person #cause it’s very. at least in my visions for eof when i’m thinking of scenes #it’s SO easy to hear her narration in her pov. but also i would’ve wanted to establish some kind of line between her and the audience #not outright breaking the fourth wall but close to it i guess #i don’t know!!!! many thoughts #i mean in first person. like if i wrote it in first person. that’s my aim #eof plays very much like a movie in my brain. which influences this

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aged-string · 1 year

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How I perceive the fourth wall and crossovers (written in the point of view from one of my characters). In other words, the rules of a franchise unlikely to be made.

Ranks of fiction universes (on how I perceive them if I do a crossover).

Parent.

Franchise.

Canon.

Universe.

Dimension.

Planet.

Certain devices within fiction (mainly those that allow transportation to in-universe universes and/or dimensions) have no barriers set and may allow the user to escape into a different franchise altogether. Things like the Kanohi Olmak and the Spear of Fusions can work on any character from any franchise. The only exceptions are live action or non-Lego versions/properties (e.g Game of Thrones).

However, what is always impossible to achieve is to have the audience and character truly break the fourth wall and interact. Since the inception of fiction, fictional characters have no true free will. Even if characters like Deadpool “break” the fourth wall, they only do a bruise that quickly heals. I recall a storyline on where Deadpool “kills” Marvel. From his comrades, to other heroes, to gods, and even Marvel’s writers at the time. But no matter what, fate is what forces him to talk. If he had actually killed his writers, it would be suicide to him. A mindless husk that does nothing and slowly fades.

Even if someone were to break reality’s fourth wall, they would then realize there is no way to get to the real world. Otherwise, an indestructible and unseeable portal would return to their fictional realities. And if they make it this far, they cease in history, permanently lost as the second ever “Superman” story ever made. One cannot manipulate reality if they do not exist. The only “fictional” characters to exist is if they are horrifyingly accurate depictions of real world people. But even then they forced that person to say or do something outside their will.

Now… I’ve been on rambling about how no fictional character has “free will”, no matter how hard they break the fourth wall. So let’s move onto a, specific topic.

In the manga Stone Ocean, there is a character just named “Ungalo”. The character himself is irrelevant to this topic, as he’s just a violent drug addict, but it’s his ability that peaks my interest. “Bohemian Rhapsody”, a Stand capable of bringing fictional characters (like Mickey Mouse) into reality, no matter the copyright. It should be noted the franchise he’s from, JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, isn’t owned by major companies like Disney. His ability is the only one I know that isn’t an Archive member of any company to break fiction’s rules. To break copyright, universes, franchises. It… it manages to break the gates of intellectual properties.

And interestingly enough, it’s the only time a crossover meant that it didn’t create a “last resort” canon. Nor did it create a brand new universe or franchise made specifically to hold the two. And especially didn’t mean none of these properties become apart of the canon.

Now that I’ve got that out of my chest, it’s time to stop Lor.

#creative writing #writing #shower thoughts #fiction #first person pov #OC #oc stuff #fourth wall #Stone Ocean #Jojo Part 6

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panticwritten · 1 year

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Hi, please don’t think that I’m back but here’s a tiny self-indulgent moment that is never going to make it into Breaking Furnace (if I ever finish the damn thing) that I wrote during a work break today. Maybe I’ll revisit this as a deleted scene eventually bc while I’m 100% sold on how abruptly it ends I’m happy enough with it that I’m done futzing.

I have no idea what the format is going to look like because I’m on mobile and don’t have access to a computer at home anymore. My poor computer finally went quietly into that great night like a year and a half ago, so if I do ever revive this blog it won’t be until I can get another working computer.

————

Virtuoso turns tired eyes on me. For the first time, the static in their eyes is deeper than mere frustration.

Sharper.

“Do you really think-“ They shift a step to the side and fling an arm out, a sweeping gesture to indicate the set up behind them. “-that I need any of this?”

With a hand still poised over their head, it balls into a fist with a twist and the lights go dark. The screens, keyboards, and readings dissolve into the ambient glow of the In-Between. The blank, gasoline landscape scrubs itself clean until it’s only the two of us.

My toes touch the nonexistent floor for the first time in days. I ground myself fully and regard them. They obviously have something to say and I’m not about to stop them.

Their eyes glow brighter then before, then they, also flicker out.

Virtuoso doesn’t disappear. They are still here, visible but not. They just are here, a folded and out of sight peripheral of what they were before.

The screens, the keyboards, the In-Between intones around their non-presence. And despite my best attempts to convince myself, it’s not for you either.

When Virtuoso steps back into a version of themself I can see, they stand only a couple feet in front of me. Their now-clear eyes don’t meet mine.

This isn’t new, but the pointed stare directly over my should has me in the air to look back at the narrative view.

#my writing #breaking furnace #why did I have it abbreviated in my tagging system jfc #anyway #here’s acknowledgement of the fourth wall #v #pov is that weird parame hanging out in the in between with virtuoso not Connor #idk I don’t think this is long enough to warrant a read more anyway #posting this while my bus is caught in traffic on the way home #idk if anyone is still active I haven’t been on tumblr in so long 😭

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goldencithaerias · 5 months

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Unexpected Intervention

Bully!Miguel x Reader

tw: dirty talking, semi-public sex, fingering, p in v smut, enemies to lovers if you squint, mean miguel o’hara, soft miguel o’hara at the end

(author note: first off, this is my first miguel fic after a few weeks of being down bad for this man, second, this is PURE FILTHY SMUT. nothing hardcore and more focused on reader’s pov if anything tbh, but maybe it’s just me projecting. anyhow, enjoy.)

(smut under the cut)

It was supposed to be just a small break.

You were simply tired and wanted to take a breather from all of your classes. So, as any rational student would, you skipped fourth period to go up to the rooftop, hoping that some fresh air would help boost your mood.

Unfortunately for you, Miguel O’Hara, the bane of yours and pretty much everyone else’s existence, was also there, smoking weed on a Tuesday afternoon. He was the stereotypical mean jock that picks on others with a hot body to die for, the kind that makes people both want and fear. In other words, a hot bully.

And that’s how you find your skirt hiked up to your stomach, back pressed against his chiseled body as his two thick fingers pump in and out of your abused cunt. This has to be at least the 4th orgasm that he had pulled out of you, and just from his mere fingers alone. His lips were pressed against your ear, his other hand fondling your tits as he whispers the vilest of words that make you whimper.

“Needy slut, eh? So desperate for attention that you need to wear that tiny skirt everywhere you go, hm? Need the whole world to fuck your pussy out before you’re satisfied, isn’t that right?”

You could only respond in loud and desperate moans, body bouncing up and down on his fingers as your arm clings behind his neck, brain too fucked out to come up with anything actually cohesive. Your juices have covered his entire hand white by now, legs spread wide as the man you swore you despise with your entire being hitting that gummy spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back over and over again.

It took so many illegible pleas and mind-blowing orgasms for him to actually unzip his pants, ripping your skirt off and filling you up to the brim with his girthy cock after pressing you flat onto the dirty floor. Hell, you were pretty sure the door to the rooftop wasn’t locked, and that anyone could walk in any moment now, yet that didn’t stop him from fucking your senses out like a madman. His grip on your hips was so tight that you were sure there would be bruises afterward, but the thought only made the lewd noises that escaped your lips louder.

This is it, you decided; Miguel O’Hara has ruined your experience with any other man from now on, as you were sure no other can ever fill you up as good as he does. You made sure to memorize each and every vein of his cock, taking note of how thick and warm his dick felt around your walls as you took him in as the good girl you were; his words, not yours, and tucking it in the deep corner of your brain for safekeeping.

You both were there until half an hour after fourth period ended, panting and out of breath from the intense sex that left you completely brain fucked. Miguel takes in your form, inspecting how your pretty eyes glaze over with so much bliss and with drool rolling down the corner of your mouth. All because of him, the person who has been bothering you ever since the beginning of time, the one you had cursed out so many times that landed you in enough after-school detention to last at least half the school year. He chuckled at that, chest swelling with pride as he picked up your helpless form in his arms, pulling your panties up and covering your lower half with his jacket like the gentleman he was. You nuzzled your head into his chest, which earned you a huff from Miguel, who then leaned down to you while halfway through the door.

“Why don’t we finish this at my place, muñeca? Gotta make up for your ruined skirt, after all.”

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara smut #spiderman 2099 x reader #God I need him #in my bed #right this second

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user-needs-new-hyperfixation · 4 months

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I've seen a little bit of murmuring (mostly on twitter) about Hua Cheng being more expressive and evidently whipped in the donghua than he was in the novel, and that being sort of grumbled about. And to each their own of course, but having come fresh off the novel into the 2nd season of the donghua, he feels exactly right to me. I always thought he was this big besotted disaster! I think all that's changed is the perspective. Because in the novel we're reading between the lines of Xie Lian's POV, and Xie Lian misses things and denies things and takes a long time to accept how absolutely adored he is. But in the donghua we are the omniscient inhabitants of the fourth wall. We see what Xie Lian doesn't and we face what he won't and OF COURSE Hua Cheng is a pathetic simp (affectionate)! OF COURSE his eyes go wide whenever Xie Lian touches him and he's never washing that hand again and his heart goes doki-doki when Xie Lian commits violence in defense of him! I dunno, none of it feels out of character to me personally. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #hualian

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antimony-medusa · 2 months

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Honestly though like if you're following Philza you should get used to the fact that since the dawn of him streaming RP people have violently disliked his reaction to any angst beats because like, the cc finds angst rp funny and is also a very giggly guy. And if you're here for drama and tragedy it looks like he's not taking the pain seriously, which is obviously going to be something you don't like seeing. Trust me. We have been here before. I have watched DSMP. There were people saying he didn't take Techno's IRL death seriously enough because he was positive on stream. Like, this is top five things people get mad at cc!phil and his characters for, after "breaks the fourth wall" and "is an imperfect person/parent" and "idk his vibes just grate and I read them as Bad y'know".

I personally think that like the fact that he was repeatedly saying to the eggs that they were gonna get Tubbo back, they'll bring him back with the create wrench cause he cares about create, don't worry it'll all be okay; that was all evidence that the character does care about Tubbo and for heaven's sake, if you want angst, read that as denial and you're fully comfortably in one of the recognized stages of grieving. I was making jokes the day people in my life died, this is also one of the ways people deal with loss. But I also see why that's a POV clash if you wanted a more straightforward depiction of grief and angst? Phil was pretty far from being in tears, which is what some people think was warranted. So like, sure, if you've been watching a specific perspective, Phil's reaction was trivializing. I can see that perspective as well.

It is not fun to see someone calling your POV "vile" and "heartless" and "too selfish to consider other people" and the other delightful stuff that I just saw on a scroll through the tag, but like, that's just POV clash, you gotta let people have their own opinions and block the neg tags and maybe block people who are being really loud. Sincerely, it does nobody any good to go beefing about people being mean about your favourite cubito. Post careful lore exploration on your own blog if you want but doing replies, sending anons, all of that is the way down which A Bad Time lies. Sincerely like, this has happened before, this will happen again, just go listen to good music or something and ignore it.

#qsmp #philza #philza meta

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everyones-least-favorite-bard · 11 months

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thinking about the ship of theseus as a concept and how it applies to kdj. how much of yourself can you cut away before you cant be called the same person anymore. how many times can you kill yourself before there stops being enough of you to be killed. how much of yourself can you tear into pieces and throw away before the callousness with which you do it becomes a fixed apathy. how many repairs can be made to the ship of theseus before it stops being his.

honestly feel like it applies to yhk in general really well too. han sooyoung and her avatars in a literal sense since she is quite literally sectioning herself off into pieces whenever she uses the skill; yoo joonghyuk more metaphorically since we see in the 1863rd round whats basically like. the stripped to nothing recognizable ship now returned to theseus (kdj). but i feel like with kdj its just The Worst because we look at the scenarios themselves and like kdjs half performative half genuine flippant reveals of his deepest traumas and at his thinly veiled suicide attempts (sacrifices) are just. hello? i mean each one of those just guts him further and further and we see the literal actual fourth wall continue thickening to the point where (given we observe in kcoms pov) who is kim dokja? whats left after you peel back all the skins hes discarded? what makes the ship of theseus the ship of theseus?

and then you throw in the sucker punch of the 49/51 debacle and the question stops being like a vague overhanging vibe to the story and instead becomes the focal point of it: how much of a person can you strip away before they stop being the person you know? and i really truly think orv answers this. it answers it in the most beautiful way possible and the answer is that if theseus loves the ship. its his ship. the ship of theseus can be 1% original parts, it can be 49%, it can be 99%, it doesnt matter. the ship of theseus is theseus' ship because he loves it and as long as it continues to be loved it will continue to sail under his name.

and idk. i think about that a lot. people love you regardless of how much they know about you and thats the point. being known often precludes being loved but sometimes people know you because they love you. the ship of theseus is his because he loves it. yeah.

#its very late sorry if this doesnt make any sense #im just thinking about it like #a lot. a very lot #kim dokja you are so so loved #orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #omniscient reader #kim dokja #kdj #yjh #yoo joonghyuk #orv spoilers #omniscient reader spoilers #han sooyoung #hsy #yoohankim #yhk

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trashmouth-richie · 5 months

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𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: escaping Hawkins was impossible, but he did it. when a ghost from your past shows up unexpectedly, bringing with him old memories and holding up a mirror to the train wreck life you’re living… you find it hard to trust him again.

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ no minors, depictions of poverty, child neglect/ endangerment, drug use/abuse, alcohol use/abuse, endangerment, 18+ sex working, 18+stripping, violence, smut. no use of y/n reader has a name that’s introduced in the first chapter, and another “nickname” that is lightly used throughout this series. eddie also has a nickname given by reader.

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: this series switches pov’s between reader and eddie, thank you to @succubusmunson @joejoequinnquinn @choke-me-eddie @sweetsweetjellybean for helping me read through the first chapter, helped me brainstorm etc i love you

there are two easter eggs in this let me know if you catch em! like pokémon only not

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: here i come, but i ain’t the same

masterlist

Stupid fucking bitch.

One dial tone waned into another, a monotonous wave taunting you from the end of the receiver. Your fingers tap impatiently against the counter. How long could a phone actually ring before it stopped or someone finally answered?

Too damn long apparently.

Giving up and counting your losses, you slam the receiver back on the wall, muttering more choice words as you skirt your hips behind the wooden bar, thumbing through the blue lined notebook schedule.

Work was packed. More-so than any other Friday night, but since it was the beginning of graduation weekend for Hawkins High— every Sam, Dick, and Harry had wandered into the bar looking for a cheap escape and a sugary drink.

Lucky for them, that was exactly what Queen of Hearts had on the menu. And if you talked to the right person, the luck didn’t stop there.

“No answer?” Jolene called over her shoulder, hands full with a bottle of Jack Daniels.

Scribbling an angry dark mark through the name Ginger on the schedule, you toss the notebook back into the drawer shutting it with your hip.

“Just rang and rang,” you say, annoyingly jumping in to help her finish pouring three Jack & Cokes. The soda fizzes under your thumb, “and before you try to cover for her, this is the fourth time she’s done this.”

She lets out an exaggerated sigh, taking the cans from you and tossing them into the trash.

“Really thought this one would work out,” her long legs cross behind you to slot the liquor bottle back in its designated spot, “she had kids.. poor thing needed the cash.”

The familiar ache of neglect radiated through you, “I found a babysitter for the nights she was working, told her I’d help pay… that asshole she keeps around probably found out she was working here.”

Jolene raises her eyebrows. Her slender fingers hold the three drinks with ease, setting them on a tray.

“Can’t believe Jackie skipped town with that rich salesman,” she sighs heavily, leaning an elbow on the sticky bar, “lucky girl, something like that would never happen to me.”

Jealousy pings in your chest but you shake it off, “he was really dreamy huh? Those beauty marks? His hair? His ass?” You wolf whistle, “cut me a slice.”

You weren’t jealous that Jackie was now probably driving a BMW, that her life would be nothing but luxurious from here on out, or even that her boyfriend was movie star hot.

What made your blood boil over was the fact that she got out, and you were still stuck here like hardened gum underneath a table.

The club was a part of you. Like an unwanted birthmark, this lifestyle was something you couldn’t get away from. Understanding at a young age, when most girls were playing with dolls, just exactly the kind of life you were destined to live, and unfortunately it wasn’t outside of these four walls.

“Your time will come,” Jolene smiled, looking into a compact and wiping a smudge of lipstick from her teeth, “you’re still young, Miss Assistant.”

You rolled your eyes, placing the tray on her awaiting palm. Since Jackie was gone, her job was now yours. Tacking on added responsibilities with no pay raise in sight. You found out all too soon what a fucking joke that title of ‘assistant’ actually was.

“Told him I didn’t want it, but you know how that went.”

“I do kid,” she sighs, looking down at you, her eyes sweeping over the still pink scar in your eyebrow, “I really… oh honey, you’re gonna be a busy little bee tonight!”

You breathe heavily through your nose, dragging your hands down your face, “don’t remind me.”

“I’ll help out wherever, ‘kay?”

Jolene had taken you under her wing when you first walked into Queen of Hearts. Freshly eighteen almost down to the hour, naive waters brimming your eyes, forced into this life.

Her motherly ways comforted everyone, only thirty-three but in this industry that was practically ninety. Just like you, Jolene had deep roots in this place.

Her tall frame slinks over to the waiting guys sitting at the stage, a pleasant smile on her lips. Twirling the ends of her black hair twisted into schoolgirl pigtails, laying the charm on thick.

Staring over at her in a forlorn gaze, you hated to think of yourself still here ten years from now, a permanent fixture to this place, like Jolene. The lemons of life were squeezed and you had made the lemonade, but it was sour, bitter.. you longed for something sweeter.

The bubbly fantasy is popped when Mickey Fritz’ oversized hand hits the counter like he’s a toddler in a highchair.

“Hey sugar tits, I’m empty o’er here!”

Your nightmare reality comes back into view.

The walls at Queen of Hearts were draped in deep shades of red velour, a cozy ambiance to invite strangers and locals alike. The bar was backlit and stocked with a decent selection of polished bottles of whiskey, gin and bourbon.

His boots clapped along the wood floor as the pair walked further inside, leaving a plume of smoke in their wake, catching on the neon lights and creating a smoked crimson haze across the dark club.

The raised stage was centered, creating an aisle on either side of it, clad with leather backed red chairs surrounding it at every angle. For a night club in the middle of Indiana, it wasn’t half bad compared to the places he was used to out East.

A row of booths were tucked onto the left side of the club, high top tables stood crowded with drunk college students, yelling loudly and making asses of themselves to impress the working girls.

The music blaring over the speakers was a little cliche and too “pop” for his liking—fuck, had he really turned into one of those guys, questioning what a strip club was playing for music?

He rolls his eyes at his own false pretentiousness, turning it into a wink at a cocktail waitress carrying a tray full of plastic flutes filled with a gut rot of pink liqueur. The gold thong she was wearing sat high on her hips, matching the cheap glittery cowboy hat on her blonde curls.

Dark eyes follow her long legs to a nearby table, a fist to his mouth as he whistles and licks his chomps.

“Damn! Can you believe this used to be the Hideout?” Jeff squawked, not so casually adjusting himself as they slid into an open booth, “that was Gareth Emerson’s twin sister, she really grew up huh, remember him?”

He didn’t.

Much like anyone else Jeff had tried to bring up since he had agreed to meet up for a drink on the occasion that they were both home, he hadn’t given high school a second thought since the night he left.

“Nah, man,” he said, grabbing for the sticky menu on the black table top, “I don’t.”

It had been years since he had seen Jeff, and he was surprised that he had recognized him at the gas station last night when he was filling up his motorcycle.

His own appearance hadn’t changed much, dressed a little better, wore cologne now, normal shit that came along with getting out of puberty.

Back then Jeff still had braces, a small lisp when he got really drunk. Now, he was a grown man. Living in Phoenix with a big important job at some company, home for the weekend to visit his parents, and watch his youngest brother graduate.

There would be no visiting family or old friends for him on this trip back to Hawkins. The thought of running into anyone he knew and having that painfully awkward small talk about the ‘good old days as a Tiger!’ made him cringe, as if that ever were the case for him.

Having left this shit hole in the middle of the night seven years ago, he took nothing with him but some saved cash, his guitar, a full tank of gas and the clothes on his back.

The heavy ache in his chest, brim filled with remorse, was an added carry on, something that didn’t go away with the miles he had put between him and Hawkins.

He had planned to keep this town in the rearview, but life, probably karma, had other plans.

Back in Hawkins strictly on “business,” that's what he told Jeff when the smiley old friend grabbed him into a bear hug in the checkout line, crushing the chips he was carrying to a powder in its aluminum bag.

Technically, it was family business. But he hadn’t mentioned that to Jeff. He didn’t want the questions, didn’t want the pity.

He barely even knew his uncle that well anyway, but being the only living relative of the deceased, he didn’t have a choice when the call came through that he had passed.

A week. That was the timeframe he told his job that he’d be gone for. Leaving just enough time to plan the funeral, and sell the trailer.

Coming home to the haunting shadows of Hawkins was like playing in a graveyard filled with demons of his past. Sorrow filled every dark corner, looming around him like a fog, making him unable to forget the damage left behind.

For years it had worked out fine, he had moved on. But every now and then, he had to push his inner demons down, and still to this day, years after the fact, they kept trying to crawl back up. The shame of his past coming to the forefront.

The music changes to another upbeat song that was popular on the radio, Jeff nods along to the beat, strumming his fingers against his belly like he was playing the guitar.

He looked over at his old highschool friend and smiled for the first time since being back here, “still play?”

Jeff stretched a wide grin across his face, chuckling a little too loud, “only in my dreams… working seventy-hour weeks doesn’t really allow me to have that kinda freedom.” He nodded and smiled a little at the waitress who was coming to take their drink orders, “so what have you been up to man? It’s been years!”

He knew all too well about not having free time to spend the way he had wanted to. He didn’t even own a guitar anymore. The last time he saw his Warlock, it was sitting in a pawn shop in Nashville— the last of his many possessions sold to make ends meet.

Ordering a beer, he counts his budget for this trip in his head, deciding to buy Jeff’s drink too. Maybe being back wouldn’t be so bad after a drink or two, a little liquid courage to get him through the night at least.

The pleather seat creaks beneath his weight when he leans back further into the booth, stretching his arms out wide. Trying to gain a sliver of comfort since being home.

Working the pole to Ginger’s song of choice, Once Bitten, Twice Shy, you found it hard to get into music you could care less about. But you didn’t have time to complain.

Legs crossed and spinning upside down, bare besides a face full of makeup and a red thong, you pretended that you were anywhere else but there.

How nice it would be to not have to crawl across dirty dollar bills, teasing a faceless man with your body so that he would be eager enough to slip a twenty into your g-string.

Collecting your tips from your set, you tap them against your vanity in the dressing room, counting out loud your mind already knowing how much money will be put away after bills are paid.

The long jagged crack in your mirror served as the only looking glass you liked to look in. The warped shapes of your face looking back at you made it easier to swallow the life you were living, as if it were a fever dream, a disturbed Alice in Wonderland type reality.

In the mirror you weren’t a dancer at Queen of Hearts. You could be a nurse, a librarian, a cook in a shitty home town restaurant who went home smelling like grease instead of men’s cologne and wearing suspicious stains.

It could be easy, simple really. Bus tickets weren’t terribly expensive. Going to any city, a map in your hand and the saved coffee can of cash tucked into your purse. You could almost imagine the taste of the ocean. The thought of even stepping outside of Indiana was enough to power you for the rest of the night.

As easily as the daydream came it fluttered away when the boss stepped into the dressing room.

His eyes loomed in a dead stare, sweat pooling on his temples. The ice in his glass shifted as it melted into the whiskey. A Colombian cigar tucked into his fat mouth had an inch long ash waiting to fall.

He wasn’t much taller than you, barely older, but his attitude and small dick made him seem eight feet tall.

“The hell are you doing in here? Fucking Christ woman, the girls are drowning out there, those needle dick college fucks are about to swing fists and you’re in here staring at yourself?”

“Just takin’ a little break Tommy, I gotta change.”

“I don’t need any lip from you, better watch it before I match that other scar y’ hear me?”

His threats didn’t scare you, it was who he answered to that made you terrified. A bad report to the big boss and you’d be drinking your meals through a straw. You knew because it’s already happened. Turns out you don’t need your mouth to swing around a pole.

“Loud and clear.”

This type of life was the only one you had ever known. You quite literally grew up with this environment right under your nose, and everyone at the club knew it.

The romance novels you kept in your purse were full of knights in shining armor type of men, another fallacy to your looking glass.

The thought of anything else was only real in your daydreams. Escaping the festering wound of Hawkins was impossible, almost unheard of. No one with your background got out.

But he did.

Shoulder to shoulder, squeezing in sideways with grimy singles fisted in their hands, the club was stuffed to the hilt with sweaty, drunk, and extremely horny men.

“… here!” you slam two more drinks onto the heaping tray and shove it into Wendy’s hands, “take this to those asshats and tell them we are out of triple sec, no more Long Island Ice Teas, if they want a drink they can order beer like everyone else.”

Wendy swung her hips with the Long Islands in tow over to soften the hearts of the college boys. Batting her lashes, sitting topless on their laps and letting them tell her stories of the parties they went to, the classes they skipped and the girls they fucked. Anything to keep them from hollering and starting a fight with the locals.

Lisa Ann was working over the business men from out of town, their briefcases shining with a matte patent leather, expensive watches adorning their wrists. Her pretty Marilyn Monroe smile on display as she brought over their drinks, tussling their hair between her pink fingernails, putty at her fingertips.

Between the rest of you rotating between pouring drinks, collecting payments and trying to wiggle past the grabby hands of Donny, the roar of the busy hour had started to lull.

All of you were tired and crabby, legs cramping and toes pinched in uncomfortable shoes. Jolene wiped her brow and blew out a deep breath.

“Take fifteen,” you said to her, “I got it from here.”

She shot you a wink and disappeared into the dressing room.

Peeling the soles of your boots from the floor you lean your back against the shelf of liquor bottles. Working your hands on the base of your neck behind your head.

The usual crink that ached when you were stressed was flaring up again. Causing your shoulders to tense up and sending a pinched dull ache from your back up to your throbbing temples. Radiating your jaw, with a heat so fierce it could melt glass and it wasn’t even eleven o’ clock yet.

Your eyes are pressed closed in a tight squeeze, maybe you could shut the pain out by pretending it wasn’t there.

“Tiffs just about done in room D,” Veronica chirped, her bracelets jingling in a metallic tune, “the ‘doctor’ again,” she explains with air quotes chuckling to herself.

“He’s only here on nights she’s workin’” you say exhaustedly, “she’s his favorite.”

Being one of the few regulars that wasn’t married, he was somehow the slimiest worm in the dirt. Tall and slender framed with icy white hair, he seemed to stare down his nose at the girls, his voice an eerily calm when he asked for Tiff, handing over the crisp fifties to secure her for the allotted amount of time.

Beads click together as she stumbles in from the back, adjusting her lipstick and holding the ripped strap of her bra, followed behind her like clockwork was the doctor, tucking his oxford shirt into his slacks.

Your jaw felt like it was going to ignite, as if it were covered in tension rods and the gears were cranking it tighter and tighter, sweat beginning to form on your back, “can you hand me my purse?”

Rustling your bag from underneath the bar, Veronica hands over the canvas tote, her emerald eyes staring at you expectantly like a serpent watching its prey, “care to share those little party favors?”

Rolling your eyes, you move your hand through the contents inside. Pushing past a checkbook, lipsticks, and the papered corner of a tampon. Finally your fingers close around the smooth unlabeled bottle.

Two tablets land in your palm when you pop the cap, and you shake it begrudgingly to release another tablet from the bottle for Veronica.

She giggles and grabs two shot glasses, pouring bourbon into them both.

“Only one,” you instruct, a serious look in your eyes, “I’m not picking you up from the floor later.”

A coy little smile on her lips, she brings the shot glasses over, handing one to you, “you worry too much.”

Placing the pill in her free palm, you clink the glasses together in a little cheer.

“To us,” Veronica grins, “may our titties stay perky, our asses juicy, the boys pockets fat and our kitties not loosey.”

You roll your eyes and she laughs, her lips close around the glass the same as yours, and you swallow down the liquor, wincing at the taste.

Within fifteen minutes the temporary high coats your brain like a warm blanket, floating you to a place far away from shiny poles, 6 inch heels, and ass slaps, away from Hawkins.

Jeff listens intently as he explains a very bland and watered down version of how he left Hawkins and traveled east, working odd jobs.

Skipping the part about how he lied about his age to find work, and how he spent an entire month getting his ass kicked after dishwashing shifts at some swanky restaurant outside of Raleigh.

He explained the good stuff, how he worked part time at a tattoo shop for one of his buddies he met in Philly. His full time gig being a lead shift at a factory.

It wasn’t that impressive, he knew that, but he couldn’t make himself give a shit what anyone thought of him. For only being twenty-three, he was proud of having a paycheck every two weeks from a legit place.

The click of the waitresses shoes on the floor had Jeff looking up, thanking her for the drinks. She was dressed a little more conservative than the other waitresses had been, wearing a black mini skirt and a see-through red long sleeved top, showing off black sparkly stickers that covered her nipples.

But that wasn’t what had him taking a second look. At first glance he thought maybe it was just a note written in pen, a reminder of some sort on the top of her hand, lots of people wrote on their hands right? But when she set the drinks down, reaching past them and across the table to grab a napkin, sopping up spilled beer, he almost choked on air.

It wasn’t something written in pen, or a weird unlucky shaped birthmark. The marks on her hand were two small symbols, they had faded with time and were blown out a little on the edges.

Of course they were, because the identical marks on his hand were blurred the exact same way. Two little symbols, done on the hottest day in July. The smell of his childhood room stung his nose as he thought of that day.

A day when you were both only thirteen.

The regulars were bellied up to the bar holding an aluminum can toast to their long gone friend, hollering for you to play some David Allen Coe in a final goodbye.

Flicking through the jukebox to find “Never Even Called Me By My Name,” you were too busy to pay any attention to the toast of the deceased buddy.

Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have been completely blindsided.

“Clovie?” A disgustingly sweet saccharine voice laced between bubble gum pink lips sang out from behind you, tapping you simultaneously on the shoulder, “be a dolly and run the drinks over to table 8, would ya?”

“Why c—”

Tiff was already gone, the door to the dressing room swinging shut in a shower of White Diamond perfume before you could even spin around and tell her where she could shove those aforementioned drinks.

Outside of collecting her own tips, and pleasuring the doctor, Tiff never lifted a finger to help.

Wiping your hands on the cleanest towel you could find, your muttering goes unheard as you cross back over to the bar and grab the cracked black plastic tray set with two large overflowing mugs of draft beer.

The ground was sticky under your boots, like walking in half dried paint, sometimes you wondered if Wendy actually served a full drink to anyone.

Balancing the heavy tray on your palm and shoulder, you pray that it won’t snap before you’re able to place the drinks down.

Table 8 was occupied by a guy you had seen before but couldn’t remember from where, and a long dark curly haired woman who was facing away from you.

The smile on your face was the fakest one you could make, hoping to maybe get a good tip before Tiff could notice and take her claim.

“Alrighty,” your customer service voice sang with a false sweet sincerity, “looks like we have two Busch Lights?”

The guy you had greeted smiled eagerly, moving his elbows from the table allowing room for the frosty mugs to be placed.

Your fingers work gingerly to set the ruby colored drink napkins down first. The beer was placed carefully, his greedy fingers grabbing the handle before you could barely remove your hand from it.

The second beer started to slide on the tray, and you over corrected causing it to land with a thud on the table, sloshing the pale ale all over the table—luckily not on the woman.

So much for a tip, huh?

Apologizing quickly, you lean across the table and reach for the paper napkins. Wiping up the mess hastily you toss the wet heap onto your tray.

Turning to the woman to offer her a look that’ll hopefully get you in her good graces— well enough that maybe her husband would reconsider tipping, “I’ll go fetch a rag and come back with another beer free of charge sweetheart,” you start to smile sheepishly, “I’m so s—”

The eyes you were met with were the deepest shade of brown, struck with astonishment, crowded by a grove of thick lashes, a look of dismay etched into them.

Blinking once, twice, you couldn’t register if you were truly seeing this or hallucinating.

You hadn’t seen those eyes in years, a flash of recognition drops on your face and the perky smile fades. Heart falling to the well of your stomach, punching the air from your lungs, heat rising to the surface of your cheeks.

In an instant, you’re brought back to many years before tonight. When those eyes were younger, full of teenage angst and rebellion.

Hell must’ve froze over, pigs were without a doubt flying overhead: Eddie Munson had returned to Hawkins.

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ten-shi-fandoms · 1 year

Text

"Don't worry your safe now, I promise."

___________________________________

CW: Wally Darling x Platonic!Child Reader, gender neutral reader, minor mentions of neglect, parent issues, parental arguing, reader gets called names, Wally breaking the fourth wall, first person pov, angst to fluff

_______________________________________

It was happening all over again, not like it was unusual for you to hear.

There was yelling, and lots of it between your mother and father. It was normal for you to hear and for a young child's mind you didn't have much attention to give to the pointless screaming match that raged on outside your room. All you cared about were the pretty colors and lovely music that filled your room as a popular show called "Welcome Home" was about to start on the TV.

Your mother had sat you in your room not long before starting the argument with your father over something simple. She turned on the TV, switching it to whatever seemed colorful and childish enough to keep you occupied as she readied herself to yell before she left you locking the room from the outside to keep you from leaving.

This happened more times than not, being locked in the room while your mother did whatever she wanted leaving you alone with your toys, crayons and the tv. This time she placed it on "Welcome Home" a show that had become popular and you were immediately interested in the moment the colors shined on the screen.

You sat patiently as the title card appeared signalling the show was about to start. The screen soon bloomed into a beautiful colorful neighborhood with a guy painting beside a house. As the camera panned in the guy turned, acknowledging the presence of the viewer. Half lidded eyes turned to the camera with a small smile. "Hello there Neighbor, I was wondering when you would show up." he teased, his voice soft, a voice you never really heard from your parents.

"How are you today Neighbor?" he questioned, silence following after aside from the light music that played behind him. Only after a bit did you realize he was waiting for you, a large smile graced your face as you happily responded unaware of the generic question. "I'm good!" After a bit Wally smiled once more, "That's good." he responded placing his paintbrush down beside him, completely turning to face the viewer. "How about we go talk to Barnaby today? I'm sure he would like that." Quickly nodding your head agreeing to the idea as he stood from his seat. "Alright then Neighbor, let's go."

Who knows how long that argument lasted, the only way you could tell it was over was the loud slam of the front door and walking around the house, but you didn't really care you were more interested in talking to Wally who happily spent his time with you playing with friends, bothering others and talking to you. Even though it was generic how Wally would speak to you, asking easy questions and pointing things out it was the most attention you had in a while. Before you knew it the episode was ending. Wally sat infront of his house, a place you now knew as Home holding his hands in his lap.

"It seems that's it for today. It was really fun wasn't it Neighbor? I can't wait to see what we do tomorrow, goodbye Neighbor." slowly the camera panned out, the ending song playing as Wally waved goodbye to the viewer. Sadness laced your face as the screen changed to something else, waving goodbye to your new friend.

This soon became a daily routine. Everyday around the same time one of your parents would put Welcome Home on for you as they went to do what they wanted or needed to do. Your mother would go off to go with friends or hang out with others while your father worked living you alone with Wally. Wally was always so happy to see you, and you felt the same. He would ask you about your day, offer to see his friends, play games and hang out with the residents of the neighborhood before saying some kind words then waving goodbye before the next episode played. It was the normal generic stuff for children cartoons but it felt so directed at you, like he saw you and was talking with you.

Things were fine for a few months until your parents got into a large about you. Your mother was upset with you for bothering her while on the way home and called you dramatic when you had begun go cry. This lead to your father screaming at your mother causing her to scream back. All of it was to much even for a child. Large tears filled your (e/c) eyes as you ran to your room. The tv was already on when you got there; due to you forgetting to turn it off earlier, the title card of Welcome Home was playing showing you that show was a about to start. Grabbing your favorite blanket you curled into it, before walking over to the brightly colored screen.

The screen changed showing Wally sitting on the floor by a window, drawing something on a piece of paper. As the camera got closer he perked up, his head turning to acknowledge the viewer about to say something before he paused no words leaving him as he stared. It felt as if he was staring at you, no words being said making you worried something was wrong.

"Wally?" you mumbled gently, soft sniffles leaving you as the tears that filled your eyes rolled down your cheeks in large globs staining your cheeks with wet streaks. Even with your voice calling out to him he didn't say a word only standing up walking closer to the camera as if he was trying to get closer to you.

"You seem sad, what's wrong Neighbor?" he asked, his voice soft, even gentle as he spoke his head tilting to the side as he waited for a answer. You nodded, your (h/c) hair bouncing a bit with each nod. "I'm fine, don't worry Wally!" your voice wavering at the ends as you said his name as happily as you could. Though Wally didn't look convinced. "Are you sure Neighbor? You seem to be crying-" before he could finish the tv begun to glitch suddenly placing the camera in a scene with Julie and Sally peforming a play with Wally sitting beside Barnaby smiling at the two peforming some line.

Confused as you were, you smiled happy to see the characters you loved so much having fun and including you in their games. You had fun bouncing around reading lines from a script Sally held up for the viewer as they played a part in her play. Julie played jump rope with you. Frank let you watch the butterflies. Eddie gave you some mail. Howdy let you take some crayons. And so much more. The happy episode made you feel better after what happened with your mother earlier that day. At the end of the episode it was just you, Wally and Home just like before. Wally seemed to be in thought before he begun to speak.

"Are you sure your okay Neighbor? You seemed so sad earlier, I hope you at least had some fun with us." he said, the words making you tilt your head before moving closer to the tv. "I'm better now Wally! Thanks to you and and everyone else! I'm so happy!" you cheered, your tears having cleared up for the most part and your mood alot better too. Wally nodded, a sweet smile on his face. "Thats good Neighbor. As long as your happy, I'm happy. Goodbye Neighbor, I love you." happiness filled your face as your placed your hands against the tv screen after hearing Wally's words. "I love you too Wally! Bye bye!" you could hear him let out a odd, broken monotone laugh as he waved goodbye to you.

You let out a soft yawn, your body slumping against the tv, your body slowly sliding onto the floor in front of it as your curled further into your blanket, tired from all the crying you had done. When you closed your eyes you heard Wally's voice call out to you one more time, this time is voice was lower than before like he was whispering to you.

"Don't worry your safe now, I promise."

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lialox · 3 months

Text

Writing fics with Kim Dokja's POV

I feel the need to YELL INTO THE VOID with this.

I'm writing a fic where my goal is to get it to feel as 'canon' as possible and to do that I'm studying the way KDJ perceives the world.

And his overall tone is just so tired.

All the time.

He uses a lot of words like 'I knew as well', 'it wasn't strange for _____', 'obviously.....'.

Reading the novel the second time around and imagining the narrator as some guy who's been sitting in a subway for a while makes so. much. sense.

He's also pretty self deprecating, but in a way where its not obvious. Like he'll compare himself to his companions and be like 'this person is so amazing, but instead, I'm _______'. and its phrased in such a way where the reader is like !! Wow yes this person is so cool! But when reading it again, I'm like... wow you hate yourself, huh??

I opened up the novel and in almost every chapter he says at least ONE bad thing about himself. Try it. It's like playing where's waldo.

" I lived so far to make my lies a reality." - 359

"However.... to think, they willingly spent an item on me that they could’ve used on themselves. For some reason, I felt guilty about it." -433 (At this point its like past scenario 90 and he STILL feels bad about his companions using an item on him like whAT you have known each other for literal YEARS)

ALSO!! The fourth wall doesn't just offset shock.

IT OFFSETS HAPPINESS TOO.

⸢Kim Dok-Ja watched all these happen with a quiet smile.⸥

[‘The 4th Wall’ is gradually getting thicker.]

⸢As if, he was looking at a spectacle happening in the distance.⸥

(Chapter 433 ^^)

TURN OFF YOUR SKILL KIM DOKJA AAAAAAAAA

HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO WRITE SOMEONE WHO TRIES TO FEEL NOTHING.

I THRIVE OFF EMOTIONAL WRITING BUT I HAVE TO PLAY BY THIS GUY'S RULES

WHY U SO BLAND KDJ WHY

WHYYYYY

*banging head on laptop*