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physalian · 3 months

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What No one Tells You about Writing Fantasy, #2!

I did this list about 7 annoyances about fantasy, but I write in this genre for a reason! Fantasy knows no bounds, it can encompass all other genres within it. You can write a fantastical murder mystery, fantasy horror, fantasy romance, political drama, slice-of-life, comedy, whatever you’d like!

Whether it’s urban or high fantasy, supernatural or scientific, here’s seven great benefits of writing in this genre:

1. No modern means of communication

Unless you’re writing a world with phones or phone-adjacent devices. Phones and instant communication seriously inhibits the plausibility of dramatic irony and tension when you have to keep coming up with reasons to keep your characters from calling or texting each other everything they know. It’s exhausting, I tell you, and such a relief when phones aren’t a factor.

With that said, without phones, you have complete freedom to design your own magical channels of supernatural FaceTime, as weird and zany as you want. But without instant connections? Your character who knew too much can’t pass on the intel before they die. Your hero team can’t call for backup in their darkest hour. Otherwise easily preventable tragedies and deadly miscommunications are now very real.

2. The Monster Allegory

Fantasy and sci-fi tend to overlap more than they’re set apart, and in that overlap sits the monster allegory. Everything from werewolves to vampires to witches, reapers, demons, angels, goblins, trolls, wraiths, fairies, mermaids, ghosts, to Eldritch horrors and your classic Hollywood cast of mummies, creatures from the black lagoon, and Frankenstein.

Most of the time, the monsters aren’t just monsters, they represent a monstrous aspect of society the author wants to challenge and caricaturize in a fun and entertaining way. Or, the monsters are the good guys and the humans are the real terrors. Or, you’ve got two kinds of monsters to allegory two human sides. Sometimes they represent metaphorical demons, like vampires often representing addiction and werewolves repressed identities.

What all of this boils down to is the hyperbolic nature of science fantasy that allows you to go over-the-top with your metaphor and allegory in a way that a book grounded in reality just can’t.

3. Magic Systems!

Do you love world building? Do you love filling pages upon pages with your cool and unique set of superpowers you want your characters to have? Do you dream about your fight scenes and dramatic slow-mo shots?

Then Fantasy is for you!

There are zero limits to how you want to define your magic system. You can go classic with the familiar archetypes of elemental magic, wizards, sorcerers, and witches. Or you can step off the beaten path and design a whole new funky system of power sets. Best part? Your readers will have an awesome time imagining themselves with those powers, and debating endlessly about how it works.

4. Real-World Politics, who?

Amazon’s Rings of Power was twice-doomed when they only got the rights to adapt the appendices of The Silmarillion and when they decided to inject current political problems into a timeless story written purposefully to be divorced from those politics. You *can* write about human politics, but in fantasy, you don’t have to. You *can* interpret Lord of the Rings to be an allegory about the World Wars, but no matter how hard you argue, it wasn’t written with that intent.

Which means: Even if your story is set in the reality-adjacent fantasy version of 1543, you are free from the following: Racism, homophobia, sexism, religious bigotry, mental health bigotry, gender norms, anti-feminism, toxic masculinity, and more. “But that’s how it was-”

Nope. This is fantasy. You built this world, you decided to keep in the discrimination. Or… You can fill your fantasy world with a rainbow of gays, POCs in power, women in power, men unafraid to be compassionate and caring, a religion that doesn’t foster hate and division, the list goes on. You. Are. Free.

5. Nothing is too “unrealistic”

Both that you will always have people whining about how X would never happen so write the book you want to read, but also because fantasy is fake. Fairies aren’t real. Mermaids aren’t real. There are no rules for how they must be written and that’s how we have so much variety with so much room for interpretation by so many creators. Twilight made how much money writing about vampires that sparkle like diamonds in sunlight and crack like marble?

This is fantasy, it’s supposed to be unrealistic. Yes, your plot should make sense, but don’t be afraid to get weird. Write at least some of your story dependant on those fantasy elements. Write a story that can’t just be told in the real world minus the spectacle. Don’t be afraid to be sincerely fantastical and weird. People love weird. People love loving weird.

6. You are in complete control

But you do still need to research, unfortunately. Unless this is urban fantasy that depends at least a little on the human world, yours is completely your own to govern like a god tweezing weeds from their garden. You get to design your own geography and weather patterns and seasons. Your own countries and kingdoms and politicians. Your epic pre-canon fantasy war and the stakes that it was fought over. Your species, races, and ethnicities.

It’s a shame that a movie like Avatar (2009) set out to be this wholly unique take on aliens with music completely divorced from earthly bonds, new languages and a visually and culturally distinct alien species… and ended up a largely generic blue Pocahontas in space. It forgot that it was fantasy and didn’t go weird enough. They have horses, monkeys, wolves, rhinos, and deer just re-skinned with some extra limbs and colors. It’s pretty but it’s so, so shallow.

It could have become a cult classic like many a positively *weird* 80s off-beat fantasies, and now it just… exists. It makes a whole lot of money but its impact on the cultural zeitgeist is negligible. I’m the only person I know that can name every major character in the movie, and I’m no Avatar obsessor. They had complete creative control, and this is what they did with it. Don’t be Avatar. Take your creative freedom and run.

7. Even if it has been done before, do it again

You can say this about any genre, particularly romance, but fantasy and sci-fi, by the gatekeep-y nature of their fans, can be a lot less forgiving when it comes to claims of “unoriginality”. No one hates Star Wars more than Star Wars fans. Fans of these genres can get… concerningly attached to their favorite stories (mostly because the people who like them had only their fictional heroes to protect them from very real bullies).

But Game of Thrones exists because the author likes Lord of the Rings and went “yes, but what if it was an R-rated parade of misery?” Dungeons and Dragons exists because people wanted to roleplay in an LotR-esque world. Legolas and Gimli single-handedly defined what a badass elf and dwarf looks like in high fantasy. And people still gobble up media ripping shamelessly, or even good-naturedly, from this one story.

So on my other list, I argued that the sum of your parts is still original, even if the components aren’t. On this list, I implore you this: It’s not stealing or appropriating to write another Legolas if you love Legolas. Everyone loves Legolas. How many generic buff action heroes do we have and love? How many Hallmark romances tread the same predictable path? Who gives a damn if it’s unoriginal? Just make it entertaining and have something fresh to say in the end (or don’t, that’s fine too), and people will read it.

And when people say “Oh, you mean like Legolas”, take it as a compliment, not an insult. Yes, exactly like Legolas. Here’s my new elf because I adore this other book, now watch him go on a new adventure that I wrote for him.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #fantasy #scifi #writeblr #writing #what no one tells you about writing

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mr-walkingrainbow · 8 months

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CALLING ALL MONSTER HIGH FANS. I JUST MET GARRETT. AND I WAS ABLE TO SCAVENGE SO MUCH LORE AND CONFIRMED HEADCANONS TO YOU. THIS IS ALL SAID BY GARRET OR CONFIRMED. I HAVE SPOKEN TO GOD AND HE HAS SPOKEN BACK

#1. Robecca and Venus were implied and ARE dating!!! He said it was like. Just like other monsters they had tried putting hints and characteristics into monsters that we could see and relate too. (He also said it outright down here. Lol I got all the proof guys!)

2. They never actually came up with Jane Boolittles Origins. And yes Dr. Morou and Dr. Boolittle raised her. But it was always a thing to them they'd say ‘oh well get back to this’. And then they never did. When asked; he genuinely doesn’t remember what they had planned for her.

3. a REALLY big mystery solved and lore dump guys. This one’s juicy. I KNOW HOW SPECTRA DIED. I KNOW HOW SHE DIED. AND WHAT THE TRAUMATIC STORY WAS FOR HER. I ACTUALLY FUCKING KNOW! Y’all ready? Drumroll…. It was, a, CAR CRASH! Yes you heard me. THE VONDERGEIST FAMILY ALL DIED IN A CAR CRASH. I think he said he she just came with her family off skirts and they got into an accident. I’ll reblog this with the video of him saying it!

4. Toralei lives in a monster high housing/boarding building when she is not attending school. This place is used for kids who do not have a place to go too, or if their home is too far to return to easily. I think there was an error somewhere where she mentioned parents? I mentioned that to him and he was very confused/didn’t remember. Reconfirmed that if she wasn’t in the monster high housing area. She would have been in either Jail or The streets.

5. Robecca was not rebuilt for 100 years due to Misogyny. Also because it had to go into the lines of her ‘mysteriously’ disappearing for her to have her comeback. I asked about how it was low key such a dark story, and he mentioned that since technically Monster high was the ‘horror’ genre. He was able to get away with things like that.

6. the Vampire Heart mystery! So remember how in Friday night frights we all see Ghoulia place a Robot Heart into Robeccas chest. Something that is very clearly not the Vampires heart? But then suddenly in Frights camera action it’s there? Well, technically that’s an official Error by the crew. He actually said he noticed it, and told management and stuff like ‘won’t people notice it?’ And they were all like ‘nah it will be fine no one will notice’. But then we all clearly did lol. He also said that because if this, he came up with the idea that the Vampires heart was ENCASED in the Robot heart we saw in Friday night frights. Ergo, explaining how Robecca had two hearts in one body! (It’s also confirmed Hexiciah placed the Vampires heart into her while he was building her. Which would explain why she didn’t remember it was their).

#7. Gooliope Jellingtons Origins. I asked what her origins were. And basically, she DOES NOT have any parents. She was CREATED IN A LAB. Which apparently didn’t treat her right. So she ESCAPED the lab and ran away to the circus! (Or blobbed away?) because he also confirmed, she was the blob. Or based off the blob. She wasn’t actually like. The daughter of the blob. She WAS the blob itself.

#8. Kiyomi Haunterly is Gay! I know this is was already somewhat canon and said before. But I asked and he confirmed it that she was in fact, Gay. And he tried to show it in her diary.

#9. We’re reaching some only implied/supported things. Not fully confirmed or intended. But Kala Mer’ri has BPD. I asked about if she has anything like BPD cause I relate and saw that a lot in her. He replied that he did try to make attributes for each Character specifically so we could related to them like that. And that it was to also make sure every character wasn’t a carbon copy of another. Basically. He didn’t like. Outright say ‘yes. She has bpd’. But he also didn’t disprove it. And he reacted positively to the idea and supported it.

#10. Robecca Steam has ADHD. It’s basically the same as above. Although he did like the note that I (someone with adhd) specifically had the same traits with Robecca, even more specifically, that we both are ALWAYS late. And can never keep track of time to save our unlife.

11. Dedyet DeNile Origins. He actually completely forgot about Cleo’s Mother eventually being reunited. I had asked how she had ended up in that same weird time loop Tomb thag Hexiciah was stuck in. (Which they were eventually freed by Robecca in her SDCC diary). He said he completely forgot about that. And genuinely didn’t remember anything about it. I basically re-explained the whole thing and he was very interested. Unfortunately. Not to much origins to go on.

11. here’s a canon one! What happened to Aamanita Nightshade after she left the DeNiles in the tomb. It was kinda funny, but he basically was like ‘Amanita went up and was just like ‘Peace!’’ And then never came back.’ She goofed around a bit, buuut it wasn’t entirely like her fault? She quickly went back to sleep after breaching the surface. So yeah. She was not awake for long. She quickly went back into flower mode until she woke up again at the Gloom and Bloom party.

12. He’s working on another one of his Monster prints! He sells them on his online shop here

He’s currently working on Toralei!!!!! He said he was working on her on the way over. And that he was trying to go in Order of the G1 doll releases. He mentioned he had only done Skelita out of Order because she was like ‘that one’ who was INSANELY popular with fans when she came out. Especially in Mexico. It’s also why she was the only Funko pop made who was not part of the main ghouls.

13. Random. But he actually didn’t create each backstory individually by himself. In the beginning he did A LOT. Like Frankie was the first backstory he ever created. And it got more help and divided as more and more characters were introduced.

14. he has read every single diary for every monster. Cool little fact cause DAMN theirs a whole bunch of them.

15. everything in the Ghoulfriends book series is CANON in the monster verse.

And that is ALL FOLKS! I had held those questions in for about 7-8 years. So it was everything to me to have them answered and confirmed! I really tried to ask everything that was a huge mystery to us monster folks. And I hope you guys are excited to see all these new CANON facts!!!

I’m sorry if this is not everything. Just like Robecca. I forget stuff pretty easily. I’m wracking my brain for every little detail. Unfortunately my father didn’t record as much as I would have liked. But he did get some perfect key moments! And I’ll make sure to reblog with those moments as proof of confirmation!

I love y’all! Make sure this goes viral so every monster high fan gets to hear the news!

Signing out, I’m Tumblr Spectra Vondergeist, and I report the news.

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thetownwecallhome · 6 months

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Call Out Post

((OOC: Sorry tender lumplings for the impromptu callout. I genuinely don't like doing this at all but it's this person's fault for talking to me. Well @everythingjackskellington, here's your feature. Also delete your blog.

PLEASE don't buy from @everythingjackskellington. They are THEFT, an AI junkie and a SCAMMER.

They just recently dropped a promo ask in my box and I immediately recognized their art as being both AI and stolen in their collection on ViralStyle.

The moment I saw the "Ragdoll Coffee" insignia I recognized it as being that of Ellador's art from Redbubble. Buy her actual design here.

Given that I am A) a redbubble artist myself, and we have to sift through LOTS of art theft, including our own art being stolen, and B) have a sister who's been ripped off herself, I will not tolerate this. You are exploiting other artists and TNBC fans who don't know any better.

Please, everyone reading, do NOT buy TNBC fan merch that does not clearly have the artist's name attached. We get our work stolen enough for AI. Also I don't care if the above artwork you linked me with isn't AI. You stole it. You didn't make it.

Thief.

Do not buy this. If you have some time to kill while you're on vacay and/or wrapping xmas presents, see Hbomberguy's latest video on creator theft and plagiarism. It is worth you time and is a great example as to why I have no tolerance for this kind of thing.

The only silver lining, to spare you all from looking yourself and giving them anymore traction, was laughing at some of the clearly unthought out automated stuff they slapped Jack and Sally on. It'd be funny if you actually had any thought behind it, but again I know you didn't:

To the antiJallys/Sally-going-her-own-way-crowd, these would be funny if they weren't baseless generative crap. In fact, make your OWN gay sally designs outta this. I believe in you~

Well, you got the Blink182 lyrics right but wow you missed out on the one opportunity to spam Jack's face on something and needlessly swear. Good one, but I don't know why the Monster High logo is there.

Also yes this person swears like a sailor and does just what I said. If you want Jack on a bunch of stuff that has nothing do with him...you should still flag this store and not buy from them. But here they are, regardless.

Oh, and nice Autism Speaks propaganda there.

#ooc #ooc post #call out post #scam alert #art theft #ai art theft #swearing #tw swearing #autism speaks

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barbieaemond · 7 months

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Intrusion (part I)

moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: (modern) Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!reader

WARNINGS: angst, Aemond has no filter, drug use (very brief), mentions of overdose, suggestive themes, sexual tension (sadly nothing more but part II will be a helluva ride)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Sothoryos is a large continent in Martin’s universe. It is located below Essos.

WORD COUNT: 7k

Song for this fic:

taglist: @zae5 @chompchompluke @multyfangirl

“What’s up with the green light?”

Jason's voice came distantly, even though he was sitting right next to her. She looked up through her long eyelashes, scanning the mighty, green-lit Hightower from top to bottom, an emerald glow kissed her face.

“How dumb are you? It was a beacon once.” She said mindlessly, dragging her eyes away from the car window to watch her brother crouched on a little mirror with three lines of white powder on it.

“D’you want some?”

“I’m done with that shit.”

“I should hope so.” He chuckled, rolling a banknote between his fingers with the expertise of a magician ready to do his trick. “Dad is still paying the hospital to keep their mouth shut. Not to mention the papers…”

She heard him snort the substance, humming with delight as it reached his brain. She looked at him for a moment, green just like the glowing light on her face. It was so easy for Jason to surrender to the void. She struggled to do even that.

“Speaking of which” he said wiping his nose “he could’ve bothered to come.”

“And watch Otto Hightower gloat in his face? Dad would rather throw checks to the homeless.”

“Why are we here then?” he asked as the car stopped in front of the huge, tall building, the tallest in all the continent.

“Because he wants to remind everyone we are still the wealthiest in this wretched world.” She said she grabbed her little purse and got out of the fancy car as soon as the driver opened her door.

Blinding lights fell on her as photographers took note that the Lannister family had sent its scions to attend the annual Gala held by the Hightowers. A party that had always been held in the capital in the previous years, at least until what the newspapers had called the divorce of the century.

“I would not be so sure about that.” Jason said, squinting his eyes in front of the ruthless flashes. “Papers say Viserys is going to pay a fortune, for alimony and all that shit.”

“Miss Lannister! Here, please! On your right!”

She built a broad smile for the photographers, maneuvering her hair to let it slide down her shoulder, placing a hand on her hip. A well-thought-out act, repeated incessantly for as long as she could remember. A beautiful machine doll bathed in gold and diamonds.

“Do you still read papers?” she asked, not breaking her plastic smile.

“How else should I find out if I've done something illegal?”

“They’re a reliable source on that, less on others. They claim I had a thing with Cregan Stark when even walls know he’s gay.”

They claimed many other things. But she never confirmed or denied the rumors, because it was all part of the plan.

Any rumor of an alleged flirt or talk of an engagement with a scion from one of the old power families of the country only increased the height of the pedestal on which her father and mother had placed her. So that when rumors died, the vultures would come even more savage, raising the stakes to win the most coveted prize in their circle of starched shirts and centuries-old privileges that no longer had any value except in the small, greedy world inside their small, greedy heads.

She moved, swiftly but graciously, and stepped inside the building, followed by her brother and his giggles, and the photographers screaming at the top of their lungs, begging for another picture—just one more. The begging had started already.

The Hall of the Hightower Palace was a sight to behold. Adorned with green and dark tones, crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings and yellow cocktail music pushing all the fine-dressed people to chat and laugh more loudly as if they unconsciously tried to imitate the lively ups and downs of the notes.

The Lannisters lingered on the entrance, immediately catching many pairs of eyes, greedy and green as the decorations around them.

“Are they waiting for us to go greet them?” Jason asked, watching the Hightowers at the center of the Hall. “Gods, why do they always act as if they were royals and us merely subjects?”

"Apparently, it has been proven they have hints of blue in their blood.”

“Who’s the blondie?” he asked, taking his sister’s arm as they walked towards the hosts.

“Helaena Targaryen.”

“Oh! The freak?”

“She’s not a freak. She’s a renowned entomologist.”

“And my point stands.”

Miss Lannister knew all the four Hightowers waiting to be greeted. After all, who didn't?

Otto Hightower was the most influential man in the country, although he liked to hide and pull his strings behind the curtains. They said that family and strangers made no difference to him. His daughter Alicent would agree with a stiff lip.

She wore the most lavish dress of all, but that was not what caught the eye, but rather the determination in her gaze and the way she stood. A woman free from the chains of a marriage she had never wanted.

“It is a pleasure to have both of you here.” She said smiling at the two Lannisters. Her father Otto was towering just behind her, a curious look on his face as his eyes rapidly scanned Miss Lannister.

In fact, he stepped in, saying “Indeed, Alicent. Especially Miss Lannister. I’m relieved to see you well.”

After what happened in Pyke, was the part he deliberately omitted.

The young woman looked at him, unfazed, building another one of her plastic smiles and then directed her attention to the youngest son of Alicent and Viserys Targaryen. Daeron.

The boy was no more than twenty, but he had a way of standing and carrying himself, which gave him at least five more years. That was the price of being doomed to inherit a heavy family name and all within it. The young Lannister girl understood it all too well.

As for Helaena, she seemed the most out-of-place creature, like watching a dolphin swim along sharks. The Lannister girl didn’t know her that much; truthfully no one did. Helaena was always far away from the country for her studies, traveling to the edge of the world to discover wild and rare creatures. She had a way of avoiding eye contact, Miss Lannister noticed, if not for brief and furtive glances, as if she was afraid that if she looked too much, she would see too much.

“And you don’t call that a freak?” Jason asked once they moved away from the Hightowers.

“You are just sour because she barely looked at you.” his sister answered, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.

“Hey. I’m nice to look at!” he said gesturing to his figure.

“You tell yourself that.” she sipped her bubbly like water, barely tasting it, as her eyes roamed around the lavish hall, watching the same old play unfold, with the same old puppets. And she was one of them, perhaps the main star, ready to follow the script and never stray from it. It was her purpose in life. A well-trained parrot with a melodic laugh and the stillness of a porcelain doll.

She looked around and saw the eagerness, the anticipation as they bided their time before flocking to her, begging for flesh and money and power, each one of them so eager to sell one piece of themselves to be on a golden plate, the very same on which everything was always freely given to her. Things, places, people. The Golden Girl, they called her. She was born in it, she reflected it. She never had to ask, she never had to beg for anything. While everyone around her seemed to be able to do nothing else.

"Miss Lannister, we would love to have you as our guest in High Garden. Please, consider our invitation."

"Miss Lannister, did your father receive the gift I sent him last week? Please, have him contact me as soon as possible, I have another proposal for a collaboration."

"Miss Lannister, please, convince your father not to cut off the funds, I wouldn't know what to do without the invaluable support of your bank.”

“Miss Lannister, please—"

Please. Please. Please. Please.

They all came muffled, the beggars and their begging, as if speaking from the surface while she was deep down underwater, floating. Then the puppet would take over, moving haughtily and mischievously, promising lies with empty smiles and stolen words. The same old power play, to tell the world the Lannisters were far above it.

But amid the muffled chatter and greedy eyes, there was one in particular, stripped of all reverence, blue and cold as the eye of the scientist dissecting something under a microscope.

He had placed her under the lens out of pure boredom.

He never attended these kinds of gatherings, at least not after Sothoryos, not after Floris. He was there only because his mother had insisted, almost pleaded with him. This was the first public event after the divorce. It was essential to appear close, united.

The word tasted rotten in Aemond's mouth.

He had made sure Aegon would not attend, and had come in through the back, creeping into the hall like a spectre.

Alicent had seen him at once, her eyes widening with surprise as if she were certain he would not come. And they had barely talked.

She had kissed him on the cheeks with that look in her eyes, the one that rose tenderness and contempt at once inside him, twin flames mirroring and dancing around each other. His mother's lips opened and closed repeatedly, like a record needle cutting the same groove on and on without making a sound. And he had no desire to fix that.

Once, maybe. He had nurtured so many unspoken words that they had ended up souring and festering the more he held them back, locked in a dark corner where no light filtered. So, his mouth stayed sealed and silent, like a tomb.

He had withdrawn to a corner of the hall, watching as the people lingered with their gazes on his dead eye, half curious, half scared. Something he was all too used to. He found himself cursing under his breath for wasting time in such a vapid and useless way. He could have been at home, studying, or working in the basement.

But then he had spotted her.

It was hard not to.

The moment she had entered the hall with her brother, it seemed she had drawn all attention to herself, absorbing all the light from the chandeliers. It seemed that her golden dress was truly made of gold.

Aemond had seen her once or twice in the past and each time, two distinct thoughts had rapidly crossed his mind.

First: that she was a pretty doll with more money in her pocket than cells in her brain.

Second: that he wouldn't mind taking her doll's clothes off.

No man with sense would have denied her beauty, but the more he looked at her, the more he saw how dry she was, how cold, like a sculpture doomed to live the same moment forever.

It was all scene, all pose. And Aemond understood it at once since he himself had enacted the same play in the years past. He knew what it meant to be an inanimate thing waiting to be moved by others, for duty or loyalty. Things that had lost all meaning to him once he’d found out that the more he latched on these things, the more hollow he felt.

He watched the Lannister girl build fake smiles at each turn and he found himself grimacing, feeling pity for her, almost contempt. Perhaps she was just a tool, an extension of his former self for him to loathe, like spitting into a mirror.

But he just couldn’t stop watching.

She had a way of making the place where she stood like some kind of holy shrine and everyone around her kept scrambling to fall at her feet. She had a way of moving, slowly, like a creature living underwater. She would lean forward as she listened to people, only to retreat when it was her turn to speak, and she did it quietly, making the privileged speaker unconsciously lean towards her.

A tactic—a working tactic, though. Because Aemond had found himself craning his neck forward more than he would’ve liked to admit, and he wasn't even close to her.

“Choosing your next victim?”

He turned on his blind side as Helaena stopped beside him, handing a flute of champagne.

“Hāedar.” he said, taking the glass “Don’t say that. With all the shit they say about me, tomorrow they might title I’m a serial killer.”

“Well, you do have a dank basement in your place. And with the way you keep looking at the Lannister girl, it would be hard to beat the allegations.”

He looked down at the sizzling bubbles and curled his lips. Helaena did the same as her blue eyes scanned his face. Of all her brothers, she had always had the closest bond with Aemond. Born only one year apart, they had grown up as close as twins. Helaena did not look down when she talked to Aemond; she did not stutter or struggle to voice her thoughts as she did with anyone else. And his lips, which struggled so much to voice his emotions, always curled up in the most spontaneous way when they spent time together.

“You won’t get away with a smile, though.” She pointed out after a sip of bubbly “You barely talked to me earlier.”

“I was afraid our mother would stir up a hornet’s nest seeing me here.”

“She was sure you wouldn’t come.”

“I shouldn’t have. This place smells of coffin.”

She watched him for a moment, trying to guess his mood and, therefore, whether it was a good time to speak. “Did you get my message last week?”

His eye remained fixed on the elated crowd, but Helaena didn’t miss the slight twitch in his lips. “I did.”

“You didn’t answer.”

“What was there to say?”

“Aemond, I know you have your grudges, but... he’s our father and he’s severely ill. He wants to see us, all of us, at Summerhall, next month. I want to believe he’s changing and—”

“Must I remind you what happened the last time we had a family heart to heart?”

She did nothing but cast a single, saddened glance to his dead eye and all her willingness to talk and try to make things better withered like a leaf in a frosted land.

“He’s changing because he already has one foot in the grave. Quit the fancy words, Hel, he’s not changing. He’s just trying to relieve his conscience. A bit late for that, no?” and he downed his champagne in one gulp.

“Aem—”

“I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t care.” He said, slipping his pack of smokes from his pocket and placing one cigarette between his lips. He glanced one last time at his sister and with the coldest distance he said “But do let me know when he dies. I'll toast to that.”

She had had three flutes of champagne while talking to a countless number of faceless beggars when she started to feel nauseated. She didn’t even know by what, whether it was the champagne, the people, or herself. Perhaps all of them.

The cold night air embraced her as she went out on the terrace, making the hairs on her arms stand and her half-covered spine shiver. She had not brought her coat with her, but she did not mind. The cold awoke her from her torpor, made her stop being a relic on a mantelpiece.

She slipped a cigarette between her lips and looked into her purse for the lighter. "No, no, no—" she said to no one, frantically feeling every nook and cranny of the purse. "Fuck!"

"Here."

She jumped, turning her head just in time to see a lighter flying towards her. She caught it, staring at the dark corner on her left. There was a man sitting there, wrapped by the shadows, except for a thin white hand laying on the table, long fingers, and half a cigarette resting between index and middle.

She squinted, trying to get a better look. “I can’t see you.”

“I do.”

It was just a simple statement, but his tone was strange, riddled with an edge of shrewdness.

She stared at the dark figure for a moment longer, then lit her cigarette and walked a few steps closer.

"I would like to know who I'm speaking to, stranger." She said, handing over the lighter.

A moment later the shadow stood up, and she had to lift her chin as she watched the glow of the lamps unraveling his face, sharp like a knife. The air hitched in her throat, her gaze inevitably caught by the blue of his eye, as well as the dead blue of the prosthetic. "Oh."

His arched mouth bent upwards. "Define your oh."

“It’s just a oh, you’re not a stranger after all.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, curiously tilting his head with a ghosting grin “What do you think you know about me? Aside from what you read on gossip papers.”

“I don’t read gossip papers.”

“Yes, you do. All the girls like you do that.”

“All the girls like me?”

“Dolls with a trust fund to squander before forty.”

She raised her eyebrows, quickly scanning the young man before her. He was clad in black, with a black turtleneck and a leather jacket, accentuating his sharp features and pale face framed by short hair, a bit curly but neatly styled. “You’re the one to talk, Mr. I have blue blood in my veins.”

“I don’t work for my family.” He said matter-of-factly “They don’t pay my rent and they don’t cover up my shit.”

“Mine neither.”

His eyebrow raising was enough to dismantle her lie right away. “Papers say otherwise.”

“Do you trust papers and their cheap rumors?”

“Hmm. Trust is a strong word. But true or false, rumors are often more revealing than facts.” he took a long drag on his cigarette, narrowing his eyes and she watched as the dead one remained unnaturally still. It was not disturbing, she thought. It gave him a sinister allure, catching her off guard.

“Then I should believe all the rumors about you and your...charming mystery.”

“They say I’m charming now?” he asked with a smirk.

“I believe they called you a sphinx” she deadpanned “before claiming you hit a journalist, a woman.”

“And which one do you think is more likely?”

She looked at him uncertainly. Well, he was charming. But he was a lot more mysterious. More than a sphinx, Aemond Targaryen was a living riddle.

Even before the accident in Sothoryos, from where he returned with an eye missing, the second-born son of Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower was a foggy figure, often in the shadows, more than often in the shadows of someone else, his half-sister Rhaenyra, his older brother Aegon. And after Sothoryos, he seemed to have grown his own shadows, distancing himself from his family and dropping his academic career to do Gods-know-what in a small flat in the oldest quarter of Oldtown.

“Both?” she dared.

He clicked his tongue, looking away with disappointment, and flicked the cigarette. “Too easy. And now you’re boring me.”

“I shall take my leave, then.” she chirped with a tight smile.

“Don’t expect me to follow you. I am not one of those wankers inside who come in their pants as you bat your fake eyelashes.”

The smile left her face instantly, and she glared at him, throwing her half-cigarette on the ground. “It is true, then. Royals do act like the rudest jerks.”

Instead of looking offended, her words seemed to do nothing but tickle his pride—some kind of gratification that poured like poison from the angles of his mouth. “I don’t act. But if I wanted to, I'd know who to turn to.”

“Meaning?”

“And you keep boring me.” his eye went momentarily below her neck, and he tilted his chin “Are those pretty diamonds slowing blood to your brain?”

Miss Lannister looked stunned. No one, ever, dared to talk to her like that.

She was used to being praised and begged and praised. A beautiful portrait framed by gold and hung on a wall for all to see. She should have been outraged, she should have used her last name as shield and threat. But for once, she was breathing on her own, free of any strings.

“Are they real?” he asked suddenly, and she stilled as his hand ghosted on her necklace, feeling his cold fingertips hovering above her skin.

“Of course they are.”

“Hmm.” He mused, pulling his hand back as he continued to stare at the necklace and then down at her dress. “They serve their purpose I’d say.” he said dragging his eye back to her face.

“Slowing my brain?” she asked with a little vitriolic smile.

“Hiding all the fake beneath them.”

“Who are you, a fortune teller?” she spitefully asked. “Do you possess the Third Eye as well as the Fake One?”

“One eye is enough to see right through you, golden girl.”

“And why were you watching me if I am so blatantly obvious?”

He almost shrugged his shoulders. “These parties are dreadfully boring. I was in need of a distraction, and you were hard to miss.”

“I could say the same about you.” Her gaze flicked for an instant to his dead eye. “Except that I don’t hide in dark corners from my own family.”

Whether he was stung by her words or not, his composure remained utterly impassive. A sphinx through and through.

“No. You do it before them.” An amused smile, spiced up with poison, curled his lips. “At least I have the dignity to disappear instead of begging for attention like a pathetic creature.”

Her words did not sting, but his surely did. And they shouldn’t.

They had crossed paths once or twice in the years prior, but effectively, Aemond was but a stranger to her. She wasn’t even aware of him watching her inside the hall, maybe too absorbed in her puppet play, or maybe resigned to scream into a crowded room of deaf mannequins.

She swallowed heavily, not dropping her gaze, waiting for all the gold to shield her, hide her, serving its purpose once more. But Aemond had a strange look in his eye. He was staring at her, and what he saw thrilled him.

He was sure he would see harshness, contempt, but not that. Not…anguish. It was buried in her pretty eyes and yet it just lied there in full sight, the darker shade of abyss beneath the crystalline blue of the deceiving surface.

If only someone had bothered to look.

“You remind me of someone.” he said almost mindlessly.

“Do I dare asking or do you wish to offend me some more?”

He seemed to ponder for a while, looking at her as if he were measuring an opponent.

“Come with me. I’ll show you.”

He moved, leaving the terrace without waiting for her, sure enough she would follow him. And she did.

Not immediately, though. She stared at his tall figure as he went back inside and thought she should go back to the party, go back to the script. There was something uncanny, almost eerie about staying close to him, like walking on the thin thread of a cobweb while being dreadfully aware to be walking towards the spider’s bite.

But the dread made her feel alive, made her heart pounding in her throat. So, she followed him.

“I didn’t know your family had it.” She said with a tinge of amazement as they stopped before the painting gloriously exhibited along one of the lavish corridors upstairs. “I thought it got lost during some war.”

“It was.” He said, stopping beside her, eye roaming on the canvas.

“Did I remind you of a lost anonymous painting?”

“You reminded me of the Maiden.” And his eye flicked to the left of the painting. Then he dragged his gaze on her, turning his head, and watched her. “Do you know the story?”

“The myth?”

“You don’t believe it to be true?”

“I don’t believe in Gods. Or myths.”

“That is strange, coming from a girl who spent so much time building her own.”

She turned her head and looked at him. He was smiling subtly, but it was different this time. There was no poison dripping from the angles of his mouth, but the clearest intrigue.

It stopped her heart for a moment. A sudden cut in the canvas, a crack in the porcelain. And she felt that this stranger was peeking inside, or perhaps she was.

Aemond looked back at the painting and laced his arms behind his back, making the leather of his jacket creak. “They said once there was a land inhabited only by Gods and Monsters. The Maiden was the most beautiful Goddess in the Holy Garden. She grew flowers from her hands, trailing behind her as she walked. But she was unhappy. The Gods only sought her for her gift, used her as a piece of ornament. She was beautiful on the outside, but inside—”

“Lonely and hollow.” she filled in.

“Just like the Stranger.” he said, and they turned at the same time, locking their eyes.

Aemond glanced back at the ominous figure in the painting and said “He was not allowed to enter the Gods world. He lived underground, blowing his mortal winds to call the souls into his realm of death. But then he saw her. He dried her tears through his wind until one day—”

“He took her.” she filled in once more. “He used the wind to tie her hands with the flowery branches she grew and kidnapped her from the Holy Garden.”

“Are you sure kidnapped is the right word?”

“According to the myth? Yes. You might have been a great scholar, but I’m not a goat.”

He chuckled quietly, and the sound made her turn again to watch him.

He held her gaze as amusement left his marbled features, and without taking his eye off her, he tilted his chin towards the painting “Look at her. Look at her face and tell me what you see."

She did so, observing the anguish, the dark trepidation on the Maiden’s face.

“She is frightened.”

“Is she?” he asked, and suddenly he was almost behind her. His breath tickled her ear like the wind on a hot summer day, and her breath hitched once more. “Look into her eyes.” he whispered on her nape “Is it fear to be taken…or desire?”

She swallowed, keeping her eyes fixed on the painting, and dug her nails into the expensive fabric of her little purse. “Art is not math.” she said with confidence “There is not one undisputable interpretation.” And she turned to face him “So unless you painted that, and I have some doubts, you say she’s keen on being taken. I say she’s frightened.”

Aemond stared at her for a moment with a strange new look on his face, as if someone had just issued a challenge to him. His blue eye was wide, and the little smirk was peeking through his lips. “Do you ever choose a position, golden girl?”

“I think I just did.”

“Allow me to rephrase, then. A less boring position.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he was faster. “Let me show you something a little less ambiguous.”

"Wow, these are beautiful," she said as they climbed the stairs to the floor above the one where the glorious anonymous painting stood. On the angled wall, a series of photographs were exhibited—portraits, precisely—all in black and white.

"Are we complimenting each other now?" he asked, halting on a step.

She looked at him doubtfully for a moment before slightly widening her eyes. "What, these are yours?"

He gave her a simple nod, and she looked back at the portraits.

"My mother put them here. Her way to prove she cares, I guess." He said absent-mindedly, as if conversing about the weather.

The Lannister girl watched him closely, in search of something that would betray such a cold statement, but there were no cracks, no cuts.

"The great mystery unraveled.” She said forcing a dramatic tone “Aemond Targaryen is a photographer."

"I am not. I don’t do it for a living.”

“Yes, because you don’t need a job to get by.”

“Look who’s talking.”

She glared at him, trying with poor success to stifle a smile.

“It's just an interest." He stated.

"A passion." she dared to suggest.

"I wouldn't call it that. Passion preludes emotion, ardor. Photography is nothing like."

She watched him fold his arms behind his back in a peculiar way, grabbing his forearms with his hands. He had done the same thing earlier, in front of the painting. The gesture caught her attention then, as it did now.

"What is it then?" she asked, trailing her eyes back to his face.

He stared at her for an impossible long time before answering. “Revelation.”

She looked back at the portraits and observed them thoroughly. There were some men caught behind the camera, but the majority were all women. Young and beautiful women.

The portraits were majestic, she considered. He had found a way to toy with light which made these people look like glimpses from an otherworldly dimension, flashes of dreams.

No, not dreams, she thought.

The light was cruel, exposing, cutting. And all the subjects seemed to have been caught in a moment of great distress, flowing almost into a grotesque despair.

Flashes of nightmares.

The sight made her lips part, her skin shiver with eeriness and something else, something she could not name. The same basic instinct that had pushed her to follow him. These people, made eternal by black and white, were dressed, but their souls utterly naked before the eye.

“I wouldn’t call it revelation…”

“And what would you call it?” he asked, stepping beside her to watch the portrait, not missing her little startle when his elbow brushed against hers.

She took a deep, silent breath and turned her head to look at him. "Intrusion.”

“Hmm.” He mused, slipping his pack of smokes from his pocket “Intrusion of which kind?”

He placed the cigarette between his lips only to see her hand snatching it away, but slowly, just like she was used to move, so much that her fingertip brushed his upper lip. “Any kind.” she answered and his eye fell on her rosy lips closing around the filter.

His mouth twitched, as if her light brushing had lit his skin aflame, and he moved unconsciously, bringing the lighter close but pausing, his thumb lingering on the little wheel, and he looked at her, just as she looked at him.

When he pushed his finger to light the flame, the short metallic sound came through with a strange finality, a curtain dropping after the first act.

She lit the cigarette and took a long drag, glancing at the portraits and then back at him. “Did you fuck these women?”

“No.” was all he said, hiding a little smirk as he slipped another smoke between his lips. He saw her raising her eyebrows with clear disbelief, so he clarified. “Not all of them.”

“I bet they revealed themselves thoroughly.”

“They were more than keen to do it.”

“And did you?” she countered, tilting her head, lowering her voice so that once again, he found himself leaning towards her, like a moth to a flame. “Did you reveal yourself as well? Did you let them intrude?”

“Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.”

She clicked her tongue and laughed—the very first genuine laugh she could conjure up in the span of hours, or even days. “Now you’re just trying to impress me.”

“Yes. And unfortunately for you, it is working.”

She gave him a bemused look at his brazen statement, but she felt strangely exposed under his unblinking stare, a hand ending her ceaseless floating to anchor her against the seabed.

“I want you to come to my place," he said suddenly, his voice kept quiet, almost soft, to the verge of whispering. It wrapped her senses like a soothing lullaby.

“I want to take your picture.”

“Why? To end up on this wall and in your bed like dozens of girls before me?”

“Dozens?” he raised an eyebrow “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be.”

“Hmm” he crooned, cocking his head to one side, a contented expression stretching on his face, much like a cat licking its whiskers. “Envy doesn’t suit a Lannister.”

“Envy?” she repeated, laughing scornfully. “You’re an arrogant brat, has anyone ever told you?”

“Many in fact. So, shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

“Pity, I thought you had stopped boring me.” He said pocketing his lighter “Stay here playing the doll with those old fogeys, if you like. I’m leaving.”

She had only time to blink and he was gone, leaving her on those steps with the foreign, unsettling longing to follow. Her feet moved on their own, dragging her back to the party with an urgency shaking her bones, pushing her eyes to dart in every corner of the hall, moving amongst the people as if chasing the wind.

“Oh, there you are!” Jason pulled her to him, and she stilled, as she was used to, but everything inside her kept moving. “That Lonmouth smartass came at me screaming like a chicken.” Jason said with cocaine pupils, slurring words after words “as if it’s Dad’s fault that he’s an idiot. Put him in his place, would you? I’m too high, I might stick a fork between his eyes. D’you you want to hear something funny?”

“No, Jason. I don’t.” she replied absently, looking around once more “Listen, did you see Aemond Targaryen?”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” She said, wriggling herself from his hold, but he was fast to pull her back “Sis, why are you looking for that creep?”

“Let me go, Jason.”

“Listen to me. First the shit show in Pyke and now Aemond One Eye? Dad would not be happy to know you are—”

“Dad would not be happy to know fucking anything that he has not concocted and told us to do. And I’m tired of it, Jason.” She hastily broke free from his grip, alerting the well-dressed people around them, but she ignored them altogether. “Just this once, you’ll have to play the puppet. I’m done for tonight.” she tugged the pocket square from his jacket and threw it at him. “And wipe your nose, for Gods’ sake. There’s coke on it.”

She wandered inside the huge hall like walking through quicksand, sinking a little more any time another man or woman stopped her to chit chat, to ask her about her father and the bank and the next slot in her father's agenda.

As if she had any clue. As if her father had not dismissed any of her natural vocations like wrong bills to be fed to the shredder only to make her study economics, only to frame her degree, and then instruct her himself to specialize in the sacred act of parading herself around like a rare stuffed creature.

“Here you are.” A hand slipped around her waist, and she found herself enveloped by two familiar hands. “I’ve looked for you anywhere.”

“Quentin.” She said, looking into the dark glinting eyes of Quentin Martell, slightly wrinkling her nose for the heavy male perfume in which he had apparently dunked his suit.

His eyes scanned her slowly, looking like he wanted to peel her dress off like an orange. “Always outshining anyone else, are you?”

She looked away, stifling an exasperated sigh, all too used to Quentin’s redundant flatteries.

“This party is dead, isn’t it? And rather self-celebratory from the Hightowers. As if they don’t owe their current position to Viserys Targaryen.”

She glanced at him and saw her father talking. It was one of his favorite refrains at breakfast, lunch or dinner. It made no difference to him. Any time was a good time to incense themselves as the best, the wealthiest, the proudest, and hundreds of more superlatives that made the food instantly go rancid in her mouth.

Distractedly, her eyes roamed around, numbing her ears while Quentin kept talking. It was then that she saw him. He had not left.

Holding a glass of some liquor, he seemed to be in deep conversation, or rather on the receiving end of a soliloquy from his grandfather, who was leaning slightly over him, almost talking to his ear.

His eye was absently buried to the floor, one long finger tapped against the glass. A couple of words she could not make from that distance slipped from his mouth, resigned as his whole demeanor.

She thought she was looking into a mirror.

“Honey, are you listening to me?” Quentin asked at some point, tightening the hold on her waist. “Who are you looking at so rapt?”

“No one.” she hurried to say. But Quentin was quicker to follow her gaze before she dropped it. “Aemond One Eye?” he said on the verge of mockery. “Baby, he is so out of your league.”

She cocked her head and plastered a tight smile on her lips. “And precisely, what do you know about my league?”

“You know what I mean. How blind can you be not to notice that your brother has been screwing your girlfriend behind your back for months? Oops, sorry, wrong metaphor.”

“Both the Baratheons and the Targaryens have denied it.”

“Sure, sure. Then why the Baratheons were not invited tonight? And why did the one eyed come? He never does. Oh wait, look at that, Aegon’s missing. Not surprising though, didn’t they say Targaryens used to fuck amongst their own in the old times?”

She lowered her gaze, lost in thought, and then turned her head, instantly widening her eyes, shoulders tensing when she saw Aemond looking straight at her, sipping his drink, straightening the cobweb’s thread on which she had been tottering until that moment.

“Baby, are you high again?” Quentin asked her, with a genuine, inquisitive tone.

“What?”

“You’re shivering. Greyjoy told me everything about that night. Said you went batshit crazy on coke. Depraved as he is, it’s actually a good thing that you OD’ed. That creep would have fucked you even that stoned.”

She immediately grabbed his arms, trying to wriggle out of his hold. “Let me go.”

“Oh, come on.” He nothing but hold her more tightly. “I know you like to get a little freaky once in a while. I do, too. In fact, why don’t we take a tour upstairs? We could cheer up this drag.”

“No. Quentin, let me go.”

“Come on.” He insisted, pulling her to his chest.

She had to step on his foot to shake him off. “Let me cut straight to the point. I won’t fuck you, Quentin. Not tonight, not even if you were the last man left on this earth.”

He grimaced, spitefully twisting his mouth like any man who's been denied the chance to feel like a man for a few minutes. “I had warned Greyjoy about this. I told him you’re a spoiled cunt. You know what? You should get with that Stark fag. He may fuck your ass, so maybe you’d feel something 'cause I’m sure as hell your cunt is drier than the Red Waste.”

The insults were also part of the play.

After all, the act might not please everyone in the stalls. “Just shrug them off. They’re praises, actually, disguised bitterly for what they cannot have.” her mother said “Besided, a lion does not concern itself with the opinion of the sheep.”

When she was younger, each bitter word was a giant finger pointed at her, a gavel sealing the next judgement. Her mother had tried with all her carelessness to teach her how to be exactly that. Careless, a river flowing in its direction no matter the filth that would pollute the waters.

But she was draining, ever since Pyke, perhaps long before that.

She was tired of pretending to be gold while her fingertips seemed to leave behind nothing else but ash.

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like to be tagged when I post part II, leave a comment below 🫶

#intrusion #liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #ewan mitchell #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #Spotify

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laundrybiscuits · 2 years

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“It’s happening,” crows Dustin. “Eddie, it’s happening, it’s happening, she said yes!”

Eddie blinks up at him from the blankets. “Is…this about your little girlfriend, Henderson?” Is there a school dance coming up or something? Wait, it’s the summer, school’s not happening.

In a just world, Eddie Munson would never have to think about high school again; in a just world, Dustin Henderson would not have woken him up by breaking into his trailer at ass o’clock in the morning.

“No, man, Erica! Erica Sinclair! She’s gonna run a My Little Pony game for us!”

“Okay.” Eddie turns over to bury his face in his pillow. “Lock up when you leave,” he says, muffled.

———

He honest-to-god thinks it’s just a weird dream for the next few days. He’s almost completely forgotten about it when Mike corners him at work.

“You have to make her stop,” Mike says.

“Okay, Wheeler, two things. First: who am I making stop what? Second: I’m not making anyone stop anything. Really not my style, and also, I don’t wanna get involved in whatever this is.”

“You’re already involved! We’re all involved! We’re all, like, liable.”

“Right.” Eddie wipes his hands on a rag and ambles over. “Kid, you have got to start giving me some context here. What are we talking about?”

Mike gives him just the absolute bitchiest eyeroll any human being has ever mustered in the history of the world, and sighs noisily. “Erica wants to run a stupid game, and Dustin keeps encouraging her. Tell Erica and Dustin that we play Dungeons and Dragons with like, cool monsters and shit. Not some stupid game about ponies. It’s not even D&D, it’s a whole new stupid system that she’s making us learn.”

“Oh, shit.” There’s—a few things to unpack in that little speech, but Eddie can’t help the delighted grin spreading over his face. “That’s for real? The pony game? Shit, this is going to be the best thing ever. What system is she planning to run the campaign in?”

“Oh my god,” says Mike, and storms out of the garage.

———

“GURPS: Generic Universal Role-Playing System,” announces Erica, slamming the books down on Steve’s kitchen table. “A flexible, multi-purpose, setting-agnostic system that can accommodate any conceivable type of story or play style. This is the future of role-playing games, not your broke-ass fantasy bullcrap.”

Eddie wonders how complicated it is to file paperwork for adoption.

“Some of us like D&D,” says Will.

“Yeah, we don’t want your stupid generic whatever. We’re not playing,” Mike snaps.

“That’s not what I said.” Will looks annoyed with Mike, which has been happening a lot lately. Eddie’s glad the kid seems to be growing more of a spine; you can’t just let your tragic heterosexual crushes walk all over you, but that’s the kind of lesson every young gay needs to learn the hard way. “I’m fine with trying something new. I’m just saying, the next campaign after this should be D&D.”

“Sure, what-ever, nerds,” drawls Erica. “We’ll see how you feel after you experience the magic of Ponyland.”

Lucas puts his face in his hands when she says the magic of Ponyland and lets out a pitiful groan.

“Whoo!” cheers Dustin. “Let’s get started!”

———

It takes them a solid two hours to make their characters. Even Eddie, who’s been vaguely aware of GURPS since it was released a couple years ago, is struggling a little to adapt. It’s just been a while since he played anything but D&D, but he’s enjoying the change of pace. He likes this kind of challenge; it’s like figuring out how to play a familiar song in an unfamiliar genre.

Erica is not especially patient with them, but she’s clearly done her prep work, so Eddie thinks they all manage to get through the character creation process more or less the way it’s supposed to be done.

Steve gets back from work right when they’re putting the finishing touches on their characters. The way he blinks all sweetly confused makes Eddie think that Dustin was definitely lying about having permission to play here, and also that Dustin probably has a very troubling stash of keys to all their homes squirreled away somewhere.

“If I may, Lady Sinclair, I’d like to humbly suggest a ten-minute break?” Eddie says, before Steve can decide whether or not to be mad about this whole thing.

“Sure, go ahead and rest up while you still can,” says Erica. “Steve, I hope you got good snacks around here.” She makes a beeline for the kitchen, and the boys trip over themselves to follow her.

“I would die for that child,” says Eddie.

Steve laughs, low and a little tired. “Yeah. Um, me too.”

“So, I’m gonna go ahead and guess that Henderson didn’t actually clear this with you?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure.” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “He might’ve said something last week? Sometimes when he’s on a tear, I just kinda let him talk.”

“Y’know, we’re at a pretty good stopping point for today, if you want us to clear out so you can get some rest.” Eddie can see the smudgy shadows under Steve’s eyes from halfway across the room.

“No, it’s fine.” Steve peels off his vest. He’s wearing an entire perfectly normal shirt underneath, so there’s no reason for Eddie to hastily avert his eyes like Steve’s doing a damn striptease. “I might go take a nap, though. Gonna trust you not to let them burn down the place, got it?”

Eddie does a silly little salute. “Aye aye, cap’n. No hint of flame shall breach these walls.”

Steve laughs again, a gravelly chuckle, and musses Eddie’s hair on his way to the stairs.

“Why do you have that dumb look on your face,” says Erica suspiciously, standing in the kitchen doorway and clutching the biggest bowl of ice cream Eddie’s seen in his life.

“What look, there’s no look,” says Eddie. “Let’s play some GURPS.”

Edit: now a complete fic on AO3!

#steddie #(barely)#yep it's a new one folks!!#I do not promise that this will have any continuation whatsoever #I've just loved the idea of Erica running a MLP GURPS campaign for ages #and thought it'd be fun to write something up since a lot of my current WIPs don't really involve the kids at all #and also I wanted to write something with waaaay lower stakes than the hanahaki AU #sometimes I am like 'maybe I should space these out to have a consistent flow of content and a buffer' but uhhhh no. that's not happening.#fic: what will today's adventure be

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hippolotamus · 1 month

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Who would I be if I didn't come barreling in with queer feelings??? Inspired by this post from my wife @bidisasterevankinard, this morning's therapy session and a few too many listens to Cleopatra by The Lumineers 😘

late for this, late for that | 7x06 coda | 757 words | G

“Not late. Right on time,” Evan sighs, content and sated, turning in his arms so they’re back-to-chest. It allows him to settle into his newly discovered love of being the little spoon. And Tommy’s new found love of indulging Evan.

“Good to know.” He presses a kiss into Evan’s mussed, disheveled curls, chuckling at the light snores his – boyfriend? Date? Guy he’s seeing? – is already making.

If he’s being honest, ‘right on time’ is the furthest thing from what he feels. Evan hasn’t said as much, but Tommy suspects he’s started to question things about himself. About his life in general, past interactions, romances, friendships, crushes. Eventually he’ll likely face one of the biggest, if not the biggest, questions. How could I not know?

As someone who went on a similar journey, he’ll do his best to guide Evan through. He wants to wave the proverbial magic wand to produce easy, matter-of-fact answers and soothe any wounds, but Evan will have to do that part on his own. Eventually it becomes a rewarding experience, making those discoveries, but he knows as well as anyone that it can be a bitch of a road to travel. An often dark pathway loaded with unexpected landmines. Full of monsters that go ‘boo’ at the very worst times, usually just when the dust of the last jumpscare has settled.

Not for the first time – and likely not for the last – the notion makes Tommy wish they could have met earlier. That he could somehow turn back the clock to meet himself earlier so he could be there for Evan. He’s already put himself through the wringer, in therapy and in his own mental torture chamber, about why he lied for so long about who he is. But, as his therapist reminds him over and over again, these things are never truly done. There are often new layers unveiled, triggered by different circumstances. Sometimes big and loud, sometimes ordinary and everyday. Tommy thinks Evan might be a bit of both.

Either way, here he is, wondering how his own life might have been different if he hadn’t denied himself for so long. If he could have been brave like Hen and said ‘this is who I am’. Because it’s not as if he didn’t know. Tommy knew exactly who he was, who he is. He’s known since the first time he kissed CJ, his high school football team’s defensive tackle, behind the bleachers after practice one late summer night. God knows he had been questioning for a hell of a lot longer.

However, he can’t time travel and change things. He can’t give past versions of himself options that didn’t exist. Well, technically they did, but it meant blowing up his entire life and being ostracized. While Hen didn’t have anything to lose, because she was already being isolated by that era of the 118, Tommy did.

He had what he thought were friends, though, really, most of them were alliances. People he accepted as friends for the high cost of burying his identity. Paid for with girlfriends and the occasional male sex worker when he really needed to let go. With living an empty, lonely, fraudulent existence, constantly saying no to the things and experiences he craved. Because saying yes - to ‘just one’ gay club, one pride event, one secret boyfriend willing to be called girlfriend for appearances - meant risking being found out. Meant taking a wrecking ball to the carefully curated macho persona he’d built for protection. Meant having all of his ‘meaningful’ supports and relationships ripped away. It was bad enough that his own parents couldn’t be there for him. He didn’t need the camaraderie of firefighting taken away, too.

Evan snorts and snuffles, pulling Tommy back to the present. He turns in his sleep, somehow burrowing closer as he throws an arm across Tommy’s waist. His mouth is slack and parted, breathing calm and even.

A wave of fondness washes over Tommy as he watches his… Evan sleep, blissfully unaware of all the things tumbling around in his brain. It’s an emotion he hasn’t felt in a while, not like this, but he’s grateful for how naturally it seems to want to return.

Maybe they couldn’t meet earlier or change their histories, save themselves or each other from pain. But they’re here now with their combined battle scars, ready for something, whatever that looks like. And isn’t that better than never? So, perhaps what Evan said was true. Maybe he’s not too late and they’re right on time.

part 2 (Eddie's POV) here

#911 spoilers #bucktommy #tevan #bucktommy fic #hippo writes #coda fic #911 7x06 #tommy kinard #evan buckley #the cleopatra series #christ i'm such a sucker for queer feels

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mirai-e-jump · 10 months

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Hero Vision Vol.14 (2004/Spring) ft. Kamen Rider Blade Cast Interviews Ryoji Moromoto x Makoto Ito (Suit Actor) Segment (translation below)

Publication: May 20, 2004 (between episodes 17-18) Ryoji Moromoto (Hajime Aikawa) x Makoto Ito (Chalice Suit Actor)

"When did you two first meet?"

Ito: When? (laughs)

Moromoto: When we first met? I'm pretty sure it was before filming started. My first impression of Ito-san was that he was, "A kind big bro."

Ito: He made me think, "This year's also going to turn out cool" (laughs).

Moromoto: We talked alot about Chalice back then. You said, "Chalice has existed for 10,000 years, so I want to show you 10,000 years worth of my career." What were some of the other things you said again?

Ito:……not much, I really don't remember (laughs).

Moromoto: Ahaha! One thing we have in common, is that we have similar bikes, don't we? We've talked about how we want to go (motorcycle) touring together after the show ends. I ride a Yamaha SR400 and, ah...I'm sorry……(Note: The bikes used in Kamen Rider are provided by Honda)

Ito:…Sorry, but I'm also a WR250F (Yamaha) rider~, but before that, it's always been a Honda! I'd love to see Moromoto-kun's rumored SR. I've heard that they're loud and rather slow……

Moromoto: That's right! I actually modified it too much, and now it can only go about 80kph (50mph) (laughs). Right now, I'm too busy to work on it. I feel like my love for it is fading~!

"What were your first impressions of Chalice?"

Moromoto: I received a call from my agency, saying I passed the audition with, "You're Heart." "Eh?! You mean Momorenger?!," I was so surprised and alittle bit intimidated (laughs), but when I saw the design in person, it was cool and I liked it alot because it was something I had never seen before.

Ito: When I was first told about it, I jokingly thought, "Heart……(sinking in)…ah, alright then, I'll just act like a gay guy……" But, after seeing the design, I was relieved and thought about what kind of pose would suit this Rider. My first thought when I read his setup, was that it would be nice to have something wild and different from the other Riders. Compared to G3-X in "Kamen Rider Agito" and Knight in "Kamen Rider Ryuki," this is the wildest work I've ever done. Even with Kaixa in "Kamen Rider 555," I tried to keep martial arts like movements in mind, and to avoid any unnecessary movements. But with Chalice, there's just so many unnecessary movements…(laughs).

Moromoto: That's why I also tried to make the movements bigger in that fight scene (episode 9).

"Morimoto-san, "Hajime Aikawa is not a normal human being," what do you pay attention to when playing such a role?"

Moromoto: When my heart is closer to the human side, it's not so different, but when it's closer to Chalice's side, I try not to blink as much as possible, and when I talk to people, I try to give subtle pauses in my responses. It's almost like a foreigner hearing Japanese and interpreting it in their head before replying. In general, when I'm on Chalice's side, I don't think with my mind, but instead, try to act with my feelings

"Do you have any techniques for the dubbing process?"

Moromoto: I have a high pitched voice, so it can be difficult for me to make Chalice sound intimidating or violent. That's why I'm trying to lower the tone of my voice. I also did research by studying "monsters" such as the Hulk, Akuma from "Street Fighter II" and King Piccolo from "Dragon Ball Z." One time I even played the videos, and would try to voice the characters myself with the sound off, but there was still something wrong. What could it be…I don't know what Chalice's true form is yet, so my image may not be perfect. (Note: The actors have not been told where the story is going at this time.)

Ito: When it's my turn to "Henshin!," I'm trying to decide if it's better to change or to fight and further develop myself. Essentially, Chalice is supposed to be used to fighting, so I want to keep my methods in check. I'm so focused that I feel like I can see my opponent's movements, even when they've stopped. However, the tension is still high.

Moromoto: The way I say "Transformation" is different depending on if I'm fighting to protect Amane-chan or with my natural emotions. For Amane-chan, it's, "Henshin!" but naturally it's, "…Henshin" (lower tone).

"Did you face any challenges during filming?"

Ito: I'm not good when it comes to cold weather, so I almost cried during the snowy mountain shoot.

Moromoto: It was -15C (5F)! And when the sun went down, they brought out one of those giant fans! It kept spraying us with cold water! Man, I remember my face being scrunched up with anger (laughs).

Ito: When I did a test shot without the mask on, my hair ended up freezing. It wouldn't even melt when I put my head over the space heater, so I just had to keep it as is.

Moromoto: There was also the scene where Amane-chan's father gives Hajime the photo, with it being so cold I thought, "This guy, is he really going to die?!"

Ito: I'm bad with Winter, but I'm also bad with Summer too. When I wear a suit, my body temperature rises and my face turns bright red. My heart starts to race too and I think, "Ah, my life is getting shorter…"

Moromoto: It's good for Chalice though, isn't it? Blood rushing, a fast pulse, it's like an unleashing of the instincts.

Ito: But, when I get like that, I become quiet. In the Summer, Chalice becomes more like a domesticated cat (laughs).

Moromoto: Please keep doing your best~, I'm also prepared to risk my life for this role!

Ito: I also want to play the role of a Rider who will continue to remain in everyone's heart. Personally, it's frustrating to often hear people say, "Chalice looks like Gills (Agito)" (laughs), regardless, please continue to watch us in the future. We're going to give it our all!

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polaroidcats · 2 months

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My Beloved Monster (a wolfstar ficlet)

Remus didn't remember his life before he got cursed. For all he knew he had been born in this castle and would most likely die in this castle because let's face it, who could ever love a monster like him? If you asked him, his chances to ever leave the castle were very slim. Saved by true love's first kiss.. yeah right.

He expected people to run away and leave him as soon as they discovered what he turned into when the moon stood high in the night sky. In fact, he'd seriously worry about anyone who didn't run away when they saw the monster that lay dormant while he pretended to be princess Remus Lupin, damsel in distress, just a normal human, every day.

He had his books and his plants and his fiery best friend Lily, who he had become rather close with over the years. At first, Remus had been annoyed by how protective Lily seemed of him, always fighting his battles and never letting him stand his own ground. But eventually he understood she only had his best interests at heart and was the most loyal friend any princess could wish for, so after several months of scorched eyebrows for Remus when Lily had lost her temper with him again, they set their differences aside and became friends.

Now he considered Lily his only best friend, and would do anything to protect her, just as she would always do anything to protect him and the cosy little life they had built together in their castle. It wasn't much, but they were content in each others company and Remus didn't see any reason why that should ever change.

They had a good system - some knight in shining armor would arrive to save Remus and Lily would make sure to only let through who she thought worthy of her best friend. So far that had led to every single knight returning to their kingdom unsuccessful, making up tales about the princess in the tower and the powerful dragon protecting her. None of them had ever even seen Remus, otherwise some might have been telling stories about a prince instead but in the end that's just semantics and none of that truly mattered when it came to it.

What mattered more to Remus was when one day all his protective measures failed and Lily got distracted by the knight's truly annoying and arrogant sidekick which resulted in a knight surprising Remus in his bedchamber just as he was about to take his 15th nap of the day (a true princess needs her beauty sleep, after all). He was lounging peacefully in his bed, about to fall asleep, when he heard steps and suddenly felt someone shake him less than gently.

"Wake up!!", the knight said and Remus looked at him, frightened.

"What?" he asked, and the knight replied, asking "Are you princess Remus?"

It is easy to assume that Remus had spent his entire life preparing himself for this moment, and that was partly true - there was a part of him that was a hopeless romantic, dreaming of a beautiful knight in shining armor coming to rescue him. That part was however routinely suppressed by the much, much louder part that told him he would never be worthy of anyone's love and would die as the monster he secretly was.

So when the moment came and the (only) most beautiful knight he had ever seen had made his way to Remus' bedchamber, all he managed to say was "I-I am. A-awaiting a knight uhm so bold as to uh rescue me? I guess?"

Not quite what Lily had made him rehearse but still so much better than how he had thought he would do, if he was being honest. At least what he had said was a grammatically correct sentence and made sense and he didn't just say the first thing that had come to his mind when he saw the prince, which had been "For fucks sake why are you so hot and I'm looking like a mess, lying here with my stuffed grindylow." or the second thing which had been "I'm so fucking gay". So all in all, Remus counted it as a win.

The knight smiled at him and said "Oh, that's nice. Now, let's go!" Go?? Go where??? Remus didn't want to go anywhere, not when he finally had a knight in his bedchamber!

"But wait, uh, sir knight? This uhm this be-eth our first meeting. Should it uhm not be a wonderful, romantic moment?" The knight replied with "Yeah, sorry dude, there's no time" while he was grabbing Remus' arm, and trying to get him to leave his bedchamber.

"Hey, wait. What are you doing? You know, you should sweep me off my feet, out yonder window and down a rope onto your valiant steed!" Remus was growing angrier now, he hadn't been planning on ever getting rescued but this definitely wasn't how he would have imagined it to go, on the few occasions he had allowed himself to fantasize about it.

The knight seemed amused by it all. "You've had a lot of time to plan this, haven't you?" Remus didn't want to answer that, afraid of embarrassing himself, but he couldn't help it.

"We have to savor this moment! You could recite an epic poem for me. A ballad? A sonnet! A limerick? Or something!" The knight still didn't seem to understand the importance of this moment for Remus, as he tried to drag him down the castle stairs.

"I don't think so" he said over his shoulder. Remus was getting impatient now, who did this knight think he was? And where the hell was Lily, she was supposed to defend the tower against exactly this type of person, Remus couldn't ever imagine this knight being his true love and he almost didn't want to be rescued anymore.

"Can I at least know the name of my champion?" he asked, clearly annoyed by the whole situation.

"Uh, Shririus" said the knight.

#wolfstar #just a lil drabble nothing too serious <3 #wolfstar shrek au #shrekposting #shririus #shrek au

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apomaro-mellow · 1 year

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Part 4

"Is the living room the best place for this?", Robin asked. "In the middle of the day?"

"We've got a team handling the angry mob. And another team taking care of the monsters coming out of the town gate", Dustin said.

"And you're sure Vecna and the Mind Flayer can't see anything you see?", Will asked, his eyes hard.

Kas met his gaze, wishing their first meeting was under better circumstances. "I'm sure. I am connected to him. But he doesn't control me."

He was holding tight to Steve's hand. If there was one person that could pull his strings...

"Hey", Steve squeezed his hand. "Focus. I know what that look means. We're going to start soon."

Kas let out a breath. "Okay, I'm new to the whole, supergirl thing. Explain to me how this is gonna work again?"

"I'm going to go into your mind", El began. "But I can't go in directly. Because you won't let me." She had already tried and Kas had lashed out, putting a barrier between her and his deeper thoughts.

"So she's gonna go in through me instead", Dustin beamed.

"Still not sure how I feel about Henderson being in my head", Kas said.

But they had already decided that as much as he liked Steve, it couldn't be him. Not when he was still split on how he felt and acted. There was a chance he'd welcome Steve with open arms. It was just as likely that he'd shield him out.

"I'll be here the whole time", Steve said.

"Alright. Let's do this."

Kas laid his body along the couch, his head in Steve's lap. Steve played with his hair and it didn't take long for him to fall asleep. He didn't remember if that was part of the plan, but it happened. Kas was in the black void of the shared mind space. Eddie was there too, chewing on the nail of his thumb.

"What if this goes wrong? We don't know what's gonna happen when they kill Vecna."

"We told Steve not to worry. We have to believe that too. We've gotta believe that everything's gonna be okay."

"But what if it's not?"

"But what if it is? What if we could have everything we want?"

"Whoa, this is trippy", came Dustin's voice. And suddenly he was next to them.

"You got in!" Both consciousness' shouted and hugged Dustin while jumping, which brought a big smile to his face.

"Okay, I've got several questions. First of all, which is which?"

"The one with the sharp teeth is Kas, dude."

"Coooool." Dustin was still looking back and forth between them. "So like, why is there two of you? Did Vecna do that?"

"He did", Eddie said. "Said he was making me better. Removing my inhibitions."

"So you uninhibited is just you being super into Steve? Cause that's the only thing that's changed since you got back."

"He's right", Kas said with a grin.

"Yeah, well", Eddie stuck his hands into his back pockets. "Turns out that was a big part of myself that I was holding back."

"Why? Because he's a guy? Or because it's Steve?"

Eddie looked to Kas, waiting for him to answer for the both of them. But Kas was silent.

"He asked you, not me."

"Oh, so we're the same person when it suits you but when it comes to the hard questions-"

"Eddie, we don't care if you're gay. Or if it's Steve. You know that, right?", Dustin said.

"You don't know that", Eddie said with a shake of his head. "You can't speak for everyone."

Dustin threw his hands up. "Then think about how everyone's been treating you two. Yeah, maybe me, and Lucas, and Mike were too focused on other things to see it, but El and Will knew. I bet Nancy and Robin knew too."

Eddie was trying to hide behind his hair while Kas was openly smirking. Robin definitely knew. She'd walked in on them one too many times.

"Could it really be this easy?", Eddie asked to the open air.

Dustin started counting off his fingers. "I mean, there's still the angry mob that wants to kill you, homophobes outside your group of friends, plus Steve is probably a high maintenance boyfriend-"

"I can provide any services he needs", Kas licked his lips.

"And you're gonna need to put a lid on that kinda talk. At least a loose one. Else you're gonna make us all gag on your PDA."

"No promises", Eddie and Kas said at the same time.

In the distance they heard screaming and something like the sound of paper ripping apart. Kas winced. He could tell what was happening.

"Vecna is dead."

Eddie's eyes were wide. "Oh shit."

"Eddie, you're gonna be fine, right? When we wake up, you're still gonna be there, right?", Dustin asked, grabbing his arms suddenly.

Eddie looked down into his eyes. For the first time in a while, he wanted to believe. He had to believe that everything was going to be okay. He was coming back, he'd get to have Steve, they'd figure out the mob of townsfolk. Hell, he might even get his GED.

"Dustin, I'll see you at home", he said.

When his eyes opened, it was to the sound of Steve's battle cry as he sliced the head off a demogorgan. Eddie shot up and took out the one that was coming at him from behind, digging his teeth in and ripping it apart.

Steve turned and wrapping his arms around him, mindful of the machete but not of the blood covering them both. When he pulled back, Steve looked into his eyes.

"Are you all the way there?"

"Indeed I am", he said. Kas was no longer a physical presence in his mind. If Steve wanted all of him, then that was what he would give. He wrapped his arms around Steve and leaned in, only to be stopped by Steve putting two fingers to his lips.

"I love you Eds, but I'm not kissing you with monster blood in your mouth."

"A compromise then." Eddie kissed his fingertips, then his knuckles, then the back of his hand. Steve's hand also had drops of blood on them but he found he didn't really care. He was halfway up Steve's arm when Will cleared his throat.

"Yeah, we're still here", he reminded them.

"And if we're done, we can get to the others. This isn't over yet", Dustin said before grabbing his walkie and relaying the current status to whoever was listening.

El walked up to them, smiling. "Congratulations."

Steve looked only slightly embarrassed and Eddie took that as a win. Because whatever happened next, they could handle it together. Eddie was all in.

END

A/N: Thanks yall for readin! And feel free to send me prompts for steddie im insatiable right now

Tag Team

@jestyzesty @anaibis @cassaloopa @epiclazershark @xtkxkrzrizir @bisexualdisastersworldd @sadbitchfangirl @mentalcyborg @sidekick-hero @spectrum-spectre @xenon-demon @pyrohonk @books-and-current-obsessions @deadontheinside20 @cuips-not-cute @awkwardgravity1 @thebrazilianatheist @mentallyundone @thev01dd @ilikechocolatemilkh @snakeorsquid @boop369 @cmackz93 @aizawa-emma @mightbeasleep @spooky-mulders @lololol-1234 @penny-lane-bitch @cupcakesnwhiskey @messrs-weasley @carlyv @sleepdeprivedflower @un-knownperson

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #kas!eddie #dustin henderson #fanfiction

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intothedysphoria · 3 months

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Steve had heard a lot about Billy before he ever met him.

The Hargrove’s had arrived during Shabbat so Steve was busy trying to wrangle his dyslexia into actually reading Hebrew for once while Hargrove was making his unforgettable impression on everyone. Still, Jonathan Byers and Dustin Henderson went to his Shul so Steve felt like he already knew the guy by the time Monday came knocking.

The way Henderson described him was like a cartoon monster, probably because he’d already developed a crush on his kid sister. The way Byers described him was almost with a quiet admiration. A guy flagging in small town Indiana had a lot of balls.

Hargrove was hot. Naturally. Almost scarily blonde, kind of like Jason Carver. Definitely Catholic. Could definitely ruin Steve’s life if he put his mind to it.

They didn’t officially talk until Halloween. Steve wasn’t drunk but he was one of the few. Tommy had been trying to get him to eat pork for a solid hour. Because it was so funny that Steve had religious dietary restrictions when they were all hammered.

Hargrove rolled his eyes and told Tommy to knock him off. He was about three inches shorter than Steve but he felt taller. Judging by the tightness of his leather pants, he’d been blessed by God in more than just his angelic good looks. That is, if the Christian God made angels who swayed slightly on their feet and were at the point of the night where everything smelled kind of old boots.

They ended up just talking. Nancy had gone god knows where after dumping his ass for Byers, Steve was pretty bummed after the sudden collapse of a year long relationship, even if he was slowly realising that he was gay, and Hargrove was happy to just have a chat. They debated the merits of Indiana Jones vs James Bond, then Steve drove him home.

The Hargrove house was absolutely fucking terrifying. Externally, it was just a fairly average place for a working class family of four but the confederate flag on Neil Hargrove’s pickup truck gave Steve pause. As did the old belt hanging out the back. Spikes attached.

Billy crashed at Steve’s instead. He said several lewd things about a mixture of girls and boys from Hawkins High, attempted to write a poem about Steve’s ass then promptly passed out and started snoring.

So. Billy Hargrove liked guys. Steve also liked guys. It wasn’t weird. Not unless Steve made it as such. They’d be fine.

It was not fine.

Billy had vanished by the time Steve woke up the following morning. He’d penned a short thank you note in very fancy handwriting, telling Steve that if anyone found out what had happened, he was dead. Eh. Steve had threatened worse.

He didn’t see Billy for about a week after that. Not until the blue Camaro parked outside the Byers. While there was a demodog just lying on the floor of the kitchen and Max was under Steve’s care.

Shit.

Steve sensed that flirting would not get him out of this one.

So he tried to act macho. Puffing out his chest. Peacocking just like Hargrove. Until Max’s ginger hair peeled out the window and he had to change tactics again.

Steve was not going to let his new crush get eaten by an alien. So he told him the truth.

Billy smoked five cigarettes right down to the filter while staring in horror at the creature on the kitchen floor. Ash got all over Joyce’s nice wooden floors. Nobody brought him up on it.

Then Billy’s face steeled and he fished a red bandana out of one of his pockets (Steve would pay attention to which side it had been on when he didn’t fear for his life) and grabbed his lighter.

“Let’s send these assholes to Hell.”

Steve couldn’t agree more.

Billy was not happy about having to sign a contract afterwards. Grumbling about how government was authoritarian bullshit. Still, he wrote his name with a flourish and asked to pull one of the scary government people to the side.

He did something unexpected when he finally emerged from the room afterwards. He kissed Steve. Apparently Steve hadn’t been making up a mutual crush in his head after all.

They had their first date a little before Christmas. Billy took him to Makeout Point. Fun was had. Then Billy drove Steve back to the Harringtons and made him watch Star Trek. Fucking nerd.

Six months went by and Steve never met Neil. He’d heard a lot about him, his opinion of African-Americans and Mexicans and Jews were dark and ugly and made Steve want to smash his teeth in. What cemented that opinion was that Billy was still coming to Steve’s with bruises patterning his torso, a split lip, broken toes.

It was the day when Neil had cracked Billy’s ribs that Steve decided to take matters into his own hands. Billy wasn’t well enough to come but Steve decided to have a little trip to the Hargrove’s, bat in hand. To have a talk.

Neil called Steve a kike and both of them faggots. There wasn’t a lot of talking after that.

Nobody knew quite where Neil had ran off to after that evening. Not even Steve. Not that he minded, as long as he stayed far away from Max and Billy.

He had Billy now, wearing his stupid leather pants as a joke, forcing him to watch more Star Trek. That was all that really mattered.

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove ficlet #jewish steve harrington #tw antisemitism #tw racism #Neil sucks obviously #surprise Billy is bi and Steve is gay #tw alcohol use #just in case #tw abuse #tw f slur #tw k slur

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totallynotaraccoonindiscuise · 2 months

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hey guys do you wanna have a flash fic of dean doing the Gay Crisis Tango?

of course you do have some destiel highschool au where Dean sees Cas and cannot cope

Italicized stuff is flashbacks, sorry if theirs eyestrain!!

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Dean sat on his bed, starting at a wall across from him. It was his first day of school in this new shitty town and he was already starting to hate it.

The teachers were annoying, the classes were hard, and he was learning things he wasn't ready to know about himself.

"And this is our new student Dane Winchester!"

"Its Dean." Dean corrected, not in the mood to deal with annoying teachers.

"Right, Dean. Sorry." The teacher corrected himself.

Dean grabbed his hair and let himself give into gravity, falling onto his bed in the motel room he'd be staying in with Sam for supposedly only two weeks, but he knows his dad isn't good about that stuff.

"Alrighty Dane, you'll be over there with Mr. Novak."

"Its Dean." He insisted as he walked over to the desk the teacher, whos name he hadn't bothered learning, had gestured to and sat down.

It wasn't their first time staying in a town so small that the middle, elementary, and high school were all in the same building, having to share desks and only moving from class to class maybe three times a day, one of those being to go to lunch, but, this was definitely the most interesting iteration.

He sat down and looked over at his new desk mate for hopefully only two weeks, and immediately took back that last notion.

The man next to him, Novak, was it? Was... hot. Beautiful in ways Dean hadn't seen in anyone before. Messy brown hair stuck up in every direction, a grim look to his already stubbled face. Bright blue eyes, so blue they pierced Deans heart, lay heavy-set into his skull. Chapped, large pink lips that made Deans mind wander.

Dean immediately looked away, his face growing red and his heart pounding.

'What the fuck?' Dean thought to himself.

'No, no no no no no no no. I am NOT gay. I like women! I've had girlfriends! I am NOT into a guy ive never talked to.'

Dean laid now, after a long, tiring day of seeing that handsome guy he now knew as Castiel roam from class to class and going across rooms and sitting and- Dean had been watching him all day.

Walking back to the motel from school Sam had brought up his staring, as he was now also in highschool and noticed his brothers odd behavior.

Dean new better than to push his brother away and decided to open up.

"I think I might be bi."

Dean had always been aware of being gay and bi and such but his dad had made him think that things like that were just as unnatural as the monsters he hunted.

Sam, of course, immediately told him he was cool with it and asked him why he'd decided to tell him now.

Dean had told him the truth.

And now he's here. Wondering what the fuck changed to make him suddenly bi.

He thought back all the way to his first memories, as far as he could go. In his digging, he remembered the fourth grade, where his dad told him liking men as a man was as wrong as sucking blood. Why had his dad said that?

Then, it clicked.

He'd told his dad he had a crush on a boy in his class. He remembered now. How his dad had freaked out and beat him. Kicked him out of the house for a night. He couldn't believe he could forget something like that.

"Uh, hi?" Dean had said to the man next to him.

"hello." Jesus, even his voice was hot. Rough and deep with a twinge of sincerity.

"Fuck."

#dean winchester #destiel #destiel fanfiction #deancas #castiel #sam winchester #john winchesters a+ parenting #john winchester tw #bisexual dean #bisexual #bisexual pride #fanfiction #my work #authors of tumblr

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c-is-for-circinate · 10 months

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What I mean when I say that Mike and Steve and Hopper are playing out different sides of the same story is that in season four, in the throes of maybe the best monologue in the series, Hopper says, "Ever since I was eighteen...Uncle Sam wants me to go fight some war in the jungle. Charlie's moving south like a plague 'cause of commie bastards like you. And you know, I'm happy enough to go, prove to my old man I'm not the piece of shit he thinks I am." A year earlier, fresh out of high school, Steve complains about the asshole dad who sneers at him about learning responsibility, and then finds himself out on a quest to find Soviet soldiers on American soil, trying to set loose the Upside-Down like a disease.

It's something about fathers and sons and respect and what you have to live up to. Something about the way Ted Wheeler never looks up at his children over the breakfast table. Something about trying to prove yourself with honor and violence, with protection. Steve home-running a demogorgon and playing bait for demodogs in a junkyard, Hopper playing bait in a prison laundry room, Hopper with a sword like the fulfillment of a promise. Joyce and Murray behind Hopper in the face of danger and the almost-hilarious plethora of shots of teens ducking behind Steve at the first sign of monsters. The way you can see Mike stop being a snotty, whiny teenager and Activate Paladin Mode every time someone he loves is in trouble.

It's the way Hopper and Mike both try to Lay Down The Law, we are Not Stupid, friends don't lie. They break their own rules, because who could ever live up to them? But god forbid El does. Steve's favorite word is 'no', for all he keeps getting overruled, all the times he keeps trying.

It's Joyce. It's Nancy. It's El, and El again -- a little bit Robin, and a little bit Will, a little bit all of the kids, but always, there's El.

It's about loving but not knowing how to do it right, because nobody ever taught you, because your dad was a piece of shit who will never be impressed, who will never be proud, because you used to be a boy and then the world said here, little boy, it's time to learn violence instead. It's about trying again and again to love the right way anyway, grasping for advice because of course Joyce and Will know how to love El better, letting Nancy go because of course Jonathan is best. (None of the Byers tell this story, because they're all too busy letting love carve chunks out of them instead.)

It's about being the guy, The Guy -- the one who isn't black or disabled or gay, the one who's not a genius, not a weirdo, not strange in the face of all these things that keep getting stranger. The Guy, who all the laws of narrative say is supposed to be at the center (though Joyce and Nancy and Dustin do more to actively drive the plot in any one season than these guys do in four, though the whole show revolves like a hurricane around El, El, always El). The Guy, knowing you're meant to get the girl in the end, recognizing or forgetting or learning that maybe this isn't that story, that maybe you've never been good enough for her. Never knowing what to do with yourself without her, because you're not special. You've never been special. You're normal. You're boring. You're an asshole. You're a curse.

And Mike is too young to hold a sword, and Steve knows how to say I love you, and Hopper is so much older and more tired and broken than either of them. But Steve walks barefoot through miles of Upside-Down, and Hopper runs barefoot through miles of Russian snow, and nobody says a goddamn word, because they're the same, they're the same, they're the same.

#stranger things #this is just what I do now! this is just what I write now!#we write about these three and toxic masculinity!#I still owe somebody in my askbox a post about Hopper in particular!#at some point I'll move on to other characters but there's too much to say and one post is not enough to say it in #anyway #Jim Hopper #Steve Harrington #Mike Wheeler

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libraryofgage · 11 months

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Too excited to not share after finishing, so here's the full (unedited) Cheerleader Steve chapter of the Modern Steve in 80s Hawkins fic lmao

Featuring: Cheerleader Steve, Hellfire Club, Eddie's tragic split ends almost (almost) eliminating Steve's attraction to him, and Steve’s cheer routine living rent free in Eddie's head forever after (not that he knows it)

Anyway, here we go:

The theater room is mostly empty except for three more teens. A table is set up in the middle of the stage area, a DM partition at the head of the table and a grid-map spread across the middle. Little figurines are placed across the grid, each of them seeming to be in specific positions related to monster-like figurines. Steve can see two teens sitting at the table clearly, but the third one is behind the DM partition, slouching in their chair so only one hand with rings decorating the fingers can be seen dangling from the arm.

Flannel Teen leads Steve into the room just in time to hear the tail-end of someone saying, “-ill not convinced they won’t show up.”

“Eddie,” Flannel Teen says, cutting off whatever would have been said in response, “got a visitor for you.”

The one behind the DM partition---Eddie, Steve realizes---straightens up in his chair, a pair of brown eyes peeking over the top of the partition and landing on Steve. The eyes widen slightly, something like amusement and wariness dancing in them as Eddie stands and walks around the table and…

And Steve is fucked. He didn’t even know the whole metal-grunge-80s thing would do it for him, but here is with his heart skipping a beat. He wants to trace the rings on Eddie’s fingers, wants to study all the patches and pins on his vest, wants to grab him by the belt loop and wallet chain and pull him in close and kiss until they’re breathless.

The thing is, Steve doesn’t believe in things like love at first sight. But he does believe in things like his imagination and following his gut and knowing when the two are working together. Right now, his imagination and gut are doing a fucking tango with how they’re offering him visions of a semi-awkward dates, sweet kisses, incredibly satisfying nights, and little stolen moments together that make both of them smile for years to come.

He just knows in his gut that it could be so good, they could be good, but he still isn’t entirely convinced that Eddie isn’t a murderer. He’s, like, 98% sure, but that 2% is what keeps him in check, stops him from flashing a charming grin at Eddie. He’d really prefer to not be like those true crime girlies who want to fuck Dahmer, thanks.

“So,” Eddie says, effectively pulling Steve from his thoughts as he walks up to him, “what made you bring a stranger into our lair?” Despite looking straight at Steve, he knows the question is aimed at Flannel Teen.

“Some of the swim team cornered me in the hall,” Flannel Teen says, shrugging nonchalantly when Eddie glances over at him with a concerned, questioning look. “He…talked them into leaving and said he needed to talk to you.”

Steve thinks that’s an understated way of saying he implied they were all gay and then used high school social hierarchy and expectations to make them leave, but sure. Eddie hums with appreciation, apparently thinking Steve is worth a few seconds of his time, then, and asks him, “What’s your name, big boy, and what do you need from yours truly?”

“My name is Steve. It’s nice to meet you,” Steve says, smiling politely and ignoring the urge to ask how a theater room qualifies as a lair as he sticks his hand out.

The amusement in Eddie’s eyes instantly vanishes, replaced with indignation as he ignores Steve’s hands. His lips curl up in a sneer, circling Steve like he’s sizing up an opponent. “So, you’re the Steve I’ve heard so much about. How bold to show your face after making my campaign unplayable,” he says, coming to a stop in front of Steve.

This close, Steve is almost distracted by the absolute travesty that is Eddie’s hair. He wants to reach out, cradle the poor locks with their split-ends, and ask Eddie why he’d neglect something with such potential. He looks like he uses the 80s equivalent of a fucking 3-in-1 shampoo, and Steve almost loses all his attraction to Eddie in that moment.

Almost.

Steve drops his hand, keeping his polite smile even as he raises an eyebrow. “Unplayable? You could just reschedule it, dude,” he points out.

Eddie’s nostrils flare slightly, a scoff coming from him in the next second as he leans back, waving his hand dismissively. “Of course you don’t understand the sanctity of DnD. Let me guess,” he says, spinning on his heel and raking his eyes up and down Steve. “A jock, right? Balls in laundry baskets or tidy-whitey swimming? I’m surprised you aren’t with the rest of the brainwashed conformists at the game right now.”

Oh, Steve has been handed such a golden opportunity on a silver-platter here. He could blow Eddie’s assumptions right out of the water. But what would be funnier? Blowing the expectations out of the water now, or playing into them for now and confusing the hell out of him later? Well, it’s easier for Steve if he’s just honest and himself right now. Plus, he can't wait to see Eddie's face when he truly realizes he was wrong.

“I did play basketball,” Steve admits, ignoring the absolute elation on Eddie’s face that’s probably from being right and getting to rub it in, “and I did swim. But I’ve also played DnD a few times. I’ve been told my DM was shit, though, so I probably wasn’t playing right. Oh, I was a substitute cheerleader my senior year of high school and joined the chess club, too. I’m not at the game because Dustin asked me to talk to you. And because I just didn’t want to go.”

Eddie’s elation morphs into confusion, then curiosity, and then disbelief. “Somehow, I’m doubting the cheerleader and chess club part of that, Stevie,” he says, drawing out the nickname into something that’s supposed to be mean and goad him into reinforcing Eddie’s initial assumptions.

“What, want me to prove it to you?”

“Sure, Stevie, prove you were a cheerleader.”

Steve sighs, nods, and takes a few steps back. “You know, I fail to see what any of this has to do with Dustin and his friends asking you to postpone the campaign,” he says, shrugging off his jacket. He glances around, notices Flannel Teen standing next to Eddie, and holds it up questioningly.

Flannel Teen starts to reach out for the jacket only for Eddie to snatch it up himself. “Careful, Gareth, we don’t want you getting infected,” he jokes, flashing a grin that makes Gareth snort and tells Steve this is some kind of inside joke. He looks back at Steve and adds, “This has everything to do with it, big boy. I gotta make sure you aren’t a liar leading poor little Henderson astray.”

There’s genuine concern in his tone, so Steve bites back his sarcastic response and nods. He thinks for a moment, looking at the space around him and counting the syllables in Hellfire. After cycling through the few cheers he still remembers well enough to recite, he finally chooses one that doesn’t require too much movement.

Steve shakes out his arms, rolls his shoulders, and takes a deep breath.

“Hold on!” he shouts, plastering a bright smile onto his face and holding his hand out in front of him. He then spreads his legs to be shoulder-width apart and uses his right index finger to tap his left wrist in an exaggerated manner as he says, “Wait a minute!”

He’s barely started, and the entirety of Hellfire Club is staring at him like he’s an alien. The looks only get more confused as his grin becomes a little more genuine and he shouts, “Hellfire puts some boom into it!” As he says the club’s name, he pushes his arms out to the side, and he jumps as high as he can when he gets to “boom,” touching his toes mid-air.

Steve manages to land steadily, subtly letting out a breath of relief as he places his hands on his hips. He keeps up with the momentum, bringing his fists in front of his face. “Ramp it up!” He punches above his head with his left fist. “Knock it out!” He punches the air in front of him. Gareth slides his foot back slightly when Steve punches forward, and he’d feel bad if not for the clear fascination in the guy’s eyes.

“Hellfire Club always stays on top!” Steve brings his arms up and flexes them, a little proud of his muscles when he sees the way Eddie stares at his arms. “Hellfire Club never drops!” Steve, however, does drop. He drops into a split (and holy fuck, he’s grateful he wore the looser jeans today) with jazz hands thrown up in the air.

Silence reigns supreme in the wake of his cheer, and Steve can’t help his intense satisfaction at seeing the way Eddie’s grip on his jacket tightens, his knuckles surely turning white under the rings. Steve drops his arms, carefully moves out of his split, and stands up. “So, good enough for you?” he asks.

Eddie stares at him for a few seconds before looking away and roughly throwing his jacket back. “Yeah,” he says, his tone significantly less combative than before, “I guess we can fucking reschedule the campaign.”

Steve smartly refrains from asking what his cheer routine has anything to do with rescheduling the campaign when he was originally doing it to prove he wasn’t, in fact, leading Dustin astray. If this works in his favor, then he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead, he shrugs on his jacket and says, “Maybe everyone could tell me their names now.”

And so Steve learns their names are Gareth, Jeff, Asher, and---of course---Eddie.

#my writing #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #Modern Steve in 80s Hawkins #cheerleader steve

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