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jjsstars · 4 months

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twrpcharacterofthemonth: scott & erica

|| for @teenwolfrarepairevents event

|| tags: trans fem scott, trans fem erica, he/him pronouns for Scott, coming out, conversations about being trans/scott figuring herself out, erica’s deadname is mentioned but she’s the one saying it

“Hey Erica can I um- talk to you about something?” The blonde nods easily to Scott, motioning him to sit down next to where she’s lounging on Derek’s couch- after the training they did this morning she thinks a little rest is absolutely necessary.

“What’s up Scotty?” His head ducks away with a sheepish smile at the nickname that makes Erica grin.

“Y’know how you’re trans…”

“Yes Scott I’m pretty aware that I’m trans.” A furious blush runs across Scott’s cheeks as he squeezes his eyes shut and nods at Erica’s teasing tone.

“Sorry. I just- I mean- are you comfortable talking about it with me?” Something in Erica’s chest softens when she takes in the nervous look on Scott’s face and his pheromones throwing a waft of worry her way.

“Course, we’re friends so I’ll have no problem telling you off if you say something stupid.” She smirks and feels how Scott eases the smallest bit.

“Right, course, I don’t wanna like offend you or anything, just tell me to shut up y’know.”

“Scott just talk to me, it’s alright I won’t judge and I’m pretty comfortable answering any questions.” After coming out at the ripe age of seven, Erica’s gotten very used to invading questions or hour long discussions back and forth about her gender, and she knows Scott won’t be nearly as abrasive as people in the past.

“I um just wanted to know what made you know? Like what made you think you weren’t a boy?” She had a suspicion this conversation would go this way, and that this conversation would happen at some point. The longer she’s gotten to know Scott the more signs she sees in his behavior and while she’d never push or think she could never be wrong about what she’s seen- she’s been silently waiting to talk to Scott about this.

“My name was the first thing, I don’t know if you remember but it was Edward which is just- yuck even now. But I always wanted something prettier, and my hair longer, and girls clothes instead of boys, and I was always envious of the girls in class. I used to sit and stare at them wishing I could look like that.” Not that she had any idea what envy was in year two but she definitely knew she felt all types of twisted up when her mother would tell her she couldn’t have her hair that long or get the cool light up princess shoes the girls in class had.

“Oh.” Something she said must’ve struck Scott as his brow is furrowed and teeth dug into his bottom lip.

“Can I ask why you’re asking? You don’t have to tell me but, I’m here.” Her voice drops to something soft, the same tone she brings out when Isaac wakes up from nightmares, or when Boyd stresses himself out with school and needs a reminder to take a break, hell- she even reminds Derek to go get some sleep at times.

“I think I sit and stare at Lydia a lot.” Scott’s eyes don’t meet Erica’s as he speaks but she gives a faint smile anyways, reaching to take his hand in hers.

“She is really pretty.” And definitely one of the girls that Erica caught herself staring at when she was younger. Lydia has always been gorgeous, always sure of herself, that energy was captivating and she can’t imagine how much more it is for Scott since they’re friends.

“She wears a lot of colored tights and dresses and her hairs like super long and she wears this sweet perfume that’s so girly it stays in my nose for hours and- sorry. I- I didn’t mean to ramble like that.” One of Scott’s hands runs down his face but Erica shakes her head.

“It’s okay. Do you want to wear colored tights and sweet perfume?” It takes a moment of hesitation before Scott nods but there’s a grin he’s trying to hide that makes Erica’s whole chest warm.

“Maybe not as fancy as the ones Lydia wears but yeah, I do.”

“Then we should buy you some colored tights and sweet perfume and dresses.” She states while standing to put her hands on her hips and laughs a little at the surprised blink Scott gives.

“Right now?”

“Right now Scotty.”

“I like when you call me that.”

“C’mon Scotty, we got clothes to buy.” Erica extends a hand towards Scott that’s quickly taken as a brighter smile breaks over Scott’s face.

#ILL DIE ON THE TRANS ERICA HILL #trans erica reyes #trans scott mccall #transfem!scott #transfem!erica #scott mccall #erica reyes #scott & erica #twrp character of the month #tw rp #teen wolf rarepair #twrarepair #jj moodboards #jj writes

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st4rfckerz · 3 months

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what if like scott was ur bf and sam was like ur stepbro and they both fight for your attention😩omg

ive just been thinking lately of two different haydens characters being into you at the same time and its driving me crazyyy

that would be so hot but having to choose between them would be SO HARD

they're both equally as jealous when it comes to you so they'll do anything they can to get your attention. you begin sneaking around with sam, but scott eventually finds out so they'd probably both end up fucking you :)

#they'd be tugging you around like kids fighting over a toy #i might have to write something similar to this #it feels right in my heart #tw stepcest #scott barringer smut #scott barringer blurb #scott barringer drabble #sam monroe smut #sam monroe blurb #sam monroe drabble #st4rfckerz

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many-gay-magpies · 16 days

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Wrote a fairly short little Scisaac goodbye scene in a fever state that was triggered by me listening to The Paper Kites' Don't Keep Driving and thinking a little too much

Summary:

“I’m sorry,” Isaac says into Scott’s throat.

Scott doesn’t say it’s okay, this time. He just crushes Isaac impossibly closer, breath trembling where it’s buried in Isaac’s curls, fingers digging into Isaac’s shoulders through his shirt.

“Just—stay,” he says. “Here. For tonight.”

—

Before Isaac leaves for France with Argent, he and Scott say their goodbyes.

#magpie writes #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #scisaac #(its not explicitly scisaac and can be read platonically if one so chooses but like. it can also be read Very Not Platonically which is #-mostly how i wrote it)#aka im salty about the canon implication that isaac just up and left without telling anyone OR the fact that they just. didnt see fit to #-show us a goodbye if it happened #also aka i love the paper kites and they make me Feel Things #tw #scott mccall #isaac lahey #teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfic #magpie's teen wolf experience

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throttlegainwell · 1 month

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I was thinking again about the similarities between what I was doing with Iconoclast (a Stranger Things fic in my please don't wake me series) and Proxemics (a standalone X-Men fic).

Cut for absurd length (naturally) and non-graphic discussion of child physical abuse/CSA and neglect.

I took a very loose artistic interpretation of the word, but I chose "iconoclast" because the story is about the destruction of false beliefs and images that scaffold our worldview, which is ultimately what happens, in a very metaphorical way: the internal structures on which Joyce has come to rely are shattered and she's forced to confront truths that break with what she thought she knew. She has to reframe her whole way of looking at things. "Proxemics" has to do with the spatial distance zones through which we communicate affinity, closeness, and comfort within cultural contexts (and to some extent how we use these zones to communicate other information). It's the study of these zones between people, like how close we allow them to get (on a very literal physical level) and in which social contexts. I used that more metaphorically here because that's basically the whole ballgame for the story: who is permitted to know what information and when and what that means, who is held at arm's length and what happens when these boundaries are transgressed or when people are allowed past them.

Iconoclast is very much focused on Joyce and tracing the path she took, from the decisions she made to the forces that were pushing her there; it's about her relationship with herself and with her son. It's a very narrow focus because it's about this family. Proxemics takes a much broader view because Scott's role is much bigger. He's responsible for many people and extends himself accordingly; whereas Jonathan's family is his world, and Joyce is very much the same. So Proxemics is about Scott's role in his world and the understanding his community has of him, not his familial relationships specifically, but his relationship with Corsair is important enough (in the sense that it's a big, gaping wound) that it constitutes the entirety of chapter two. There's more verbiage breaking down that relationship than all the others combined.

Proxemics has to be the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. It's a bunch of conversations and realizations that I wanted to see and things I wanted acknowledged slapped into one story and loosely tied together. And I committed really hard to doing it in a way that felt true to the characters because it wouldn't have been satisfying for me to get these people to give a shit about what Scott had been through and understand him a little better if they'd felt like strangers or if I'd completely glossed over the roots of their enmity. Scott was surrounded by people who were extremely critical of him, at best, and extremely angry with and dismissive of him at worst. Even his own father had given up on him by that point. (I committed so hard to taking these characters at face value that a couple of people thought the story was anti-Scott, lol. They wondered why it was so mean to him, when in actuality the alternate title of this fic might as well be Reasons You Should Love Scott and Cut Him Some Slack: An Itemized List. If ever I've written a love letter to a single character, this is the one.)

And that's where I see a lot of echoes of Proxemics in Iconoclast. They're both about how trauma and difficult circumstances can push us farther from or closer to each other and how we can have the best intentions and still fall short. Corsair wrote off his kids because he couldn't deal with his trauma, then he and Scott reunited and had just this incredibly strange and unsatisfying relationship for years. Corsair really never came through for Scott, and Scott just had to accept it and live with that. Joyce's deal is very different, but canon shows her in a very difficult situation (and I think it's likely that she's just been through a lot of shit we don't see, so I creatively extrapolated a bit in a way that was particularly thematically resonant with the issues I gave Jonathan in pdwm). Corsair is a pretty shitty parent, for the most part, who makes a lot of mistakes and doesn't make much of an effort most of the time until he decides he'd like to give this parenting thing a try after all; Joyce is by no means a shitty parent, but she makes a lot of mistakes, some of which are more forgivable than others but none of which happen because she doesn't care or try. Corsair is a dude, though, and while I doubt anyone is out there claiming that he's not a terrible father, it's interesting (if a giant bummer) to consider how his story would play out (and be received) if he were a woman and his parenting (or lack thereof) were judged according to the harsh standards against which mothers are measured. His abandonment would be read very differently. On the flip side, Joyce's status as a mother often consumes her character, and she's not given room for that motherhood to be complex, flawed, and still ultimately loving and well-meaning. So that's just something to consider.

Then there are their kids.

So Scott and Jonathan are two characters whose circumstances make them extremely vulnerable to abuse and exploitation and who have suffered canonical abuse and neglect (in Scott's case, pretty extreme abuse and exploitation). In Jonathan's case, I think some form of CSA is likely but not an absolute; in Scott's case, I'm absolutely certain that it occurred. They're both socially isolated and rejected ("freaks" regarded with suspicion and contempt for reasons outside their control). They're also both very closed-off and reserved (Scott significantly more so than Jonathan, but still). They're heavily burdened with outsized responsibilities not appropriate to their developmental levels. Their identity development has been subsumed by these roles and they measure themselves by their utility to others.

pdwm is, at its heart, a story about the complex dynamics of a dysfunctional but loving family and how that love can shape identities and decisions in ways that can be painful or unhealthy, but that can also be healing and strengthening. Responding to the fluidity of those things or recognizing our mistakes and figuring out how to adapt when something isn't working, even when we thought it was. It's about the double-edged sword of loyalty and the meaning of autonomy and the layers of truth that we selectively divulge and how (or the truths that we ignore--what we hide and why and how we frame it all). I created a specific scenario to highlight some of these things (the rape in the first installment) and that theme runs through many of the other stories in the series, but a lot of the issues at play are just what we see in canon (the parentification and neglect, Lonnie, Joyce's distance, Jonathan's secrecy and independence) or extensions of them. There's a strong forward momentum because it's about how you can dust yourself off and keep going and whether or not that serves you in the long-run and what other choices do you have, anyway? But ultimately it's about healing. Things aren't better by the end of that story, but they are each now in a position where they can get better because they're finally being honest and actually seeing each other more fully, if not communicating particularly well. The door has been opened. It's a beginning, in a way.

Proxemics is not about healing. It's about scar tissue. Scar tissue so thick and so deep that it shapes the way you move and the choices available to you--so deep that some of it's just numb. Scott is in a place where he's accepted these things because he never had a choice. His options were cope or die (and in doing so, letting a bunch of other people die). And he's got a lifetime of people telling him that he doesn't matter and neither do his feelings and if terrible things happen to him, tough--either ignore it and move on or use it to make yourself stronger, and isn't it better that it be you than someone defenseless? Shouldn't you be that shield? He can never get off this ride. That's the tragedy of it all. Like, it's nice that people have more compassion and understanding for him by the end of that story, but it doesn't really help him in any particularly meaningful way; it's really something that happens around him more than something that affects him.

But they're both very maligned and poorly-understood characters, Scott both in-universe and in fandom at large and Jonathan more so in fandom at large. Though I'd argue that there's an element of in-universe misunderstanding even for Jonathan.

So the crux of the matter is this:

Joyce and Corsair just go about their lives not really seeing what their kids have been through because, in many ways, they don't want to see it. Not completely--there are definitely ways in which their circumstances prevent them from seeing it. But to some extent, yeah, it's a survival mechanism. Corsair gets the time-displaced Scott to have his do-over dad experience and Joyce (though grieving and traumatized) finally finds herself in a position where she doesn't need to rely on Jonathan quite so much and she and her children are in a safe living situation. They both just want to reap the benefits of this and quietly move past the painful stuff as though it never happened. They're living in the moment and looking toward the future. It's understandable, but not really feasible or fair.

Enter Proxemics and Iconoclast. Because I wanted them to see this stuff, and I wanted them to reckon with the reality of it--what happened and why and the consequences and how to move forward with that understanding. They needed to see before they could get that future, even though Scott and Jonathan didn't particularly want to be seen. They didn't need graphic details for this, but just the shape of it was enough to accomplish these goals.

Joyce and Corsair are equally horrified and guilt-stricken to learn about what happened to their children. For Joyce, it all happened right under her nose; to some extent, she was actively manipulated and lied to, and in other ways she simply wasn't able to see it. For Corsair, he's left to live with having abandoned them and knowing that things would likely have been different if he'd been there to protect them (though it is a little more complicated than that). Scott was truly alone, certain that his family was dead even though it turns out they were out there somewhere after all, where Jonathan had his family but he felt incredibly alone and he effectively was. Joyce had no idea how alone and isolated he felt or why--we know this because she chastises him for not recognizing that he's not alone. So that was something else that she needed to come closer to understanding. Without truly comprehending that, there's just this massive, impermeable barrier between her and Jonathan.

Joyce tried her best in a terrible, difficult situation. Corsair arguably did not, but every decision he made was shaped by heaps of trauma, shame, and emotional immaturity. They're very different, on many levels. But ultimately both stories involve a traumatized parent who failed their child recognizing the suffering that followed. But it's not about guilt or shaming them for their parenting (or lack thereof). It's about the seeing--it's about the understanding.

Corsair and Joyce both recognize that terrible things have happened to their children--they don't want to see it, but it becomes undeniable and this knowledge haunts them. They both recognize that their right to push is limited, Corsair because he abandoned Scott (more than once) and Joyce because she hasn't been there for Jonathan and so they just don't have the kind of relationship where she feels entitled to push. Despite their similarities, she doesn't know him that well. But where Joyce eventually overcomes this and pushes quite hard (arguably more than is really fair--she oversteps in Iconoclast a bit), Corsair does not. He asks, Scott gives him a non-answer that says it all, and he backs off. He fixates on the possibilities, but he doesn't ask again, and he leaves it to Scott to decide whether to open up; when Scott does crack that door open, it's to talk about a different trauma entirely, but the one that's really bothering him at that point. Scott would have told him if he'd asked again--he makes this clear--but Corsair really feels both that he's forfeited the right to certain knowledge and that he still can't quite cope with knowing more than he does. Jonathan really only says anything because Joyce makes it clear that 1) she can't really believe his claims that nothing is wrong and that 2) she will spin out and make herself miserable wondering what that something is. Because a significant motivator for his secrecy is to protect her (though not all of it), this puts him in a position where he feels compelled to reassure her that it wasn't "worse" than it was. He shares a lot more than Scott does, but it's not particularly cathartic for him at the time.

Scott and Jonathan both feel very differently about their childhoods and their parents' roles in them. Scott does have a lot of anger toward Corsair, but he basically gave up on ever reaching any kind of resolution for any of it. He recognizes that that's all Corsair is capable of giving him and accepts that. Which is what makes All-New X-Men so fucking heartbreaking--it shows Corsair at a point where he's capable of being what Scott needed, but that means fuck-all to adult Scott, and in fact it's used to condemn adult Scott. And Corsair gets to have a nice vacation with his still very traumatized son while coasting on his laurels and never really having to face the consequences of his actions or be there for Scott in a truly meaningful way. The book really glosses over the immense horror of what Scott has suffered and Corsair's utter refusal to engage with any aspects of parenting beyond being the fun dad who breezes in occasionally after a lifetime of abandonment. Conversely, Jonathan isn't angry with Joyce. He may have some resentment or anger in canon, but I just think he has too much understanding of their circumstances to really be able to sustain any kind of genuine anger. He's angry with the society that failed them and the town that threw them away and then penalized them for not being able to rise above it; he's angry at Lonnie for a lot of things. But not with Joyce.

Anyway, I dunno, it's just sort of interesting to me how I essentially tackled the same thing twice. But they're very different in many ways.

#writing tag #scott summers #christopher summers #joyce byers #jonathan byers #stranger things #meta #x-men #director's commentary #very long post #long post #please don't wake me series #rape mention tw #child abuse mention tw

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patelpilled · 1 month

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If I have to suffer through Matthew angst so do you.

#Scott pilgrim #Matthew Patel #angst #tw loss of a loved one #TW bullying #TW abuse #angst headcanons #angst writing

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theratartist-2815 · 2 months

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wrote sum stuff for a scott pilgrim oc of mine

said writing continued under the cut, check tags for tws

i am snapped awake by a jolt of electricity, exploding through my veins and putting a jumpstart to my heart. it felt like a kick from a mule whenever my heart started pounding, like an old train engine suddenly forced to carry freight after not being in use for so long.

it was cold. i was cold. my eyes flew open as i sat up like i had been pulled by some otherworldly force. i looked around. it was dark. two men in glasses cheered, round and square framed.

"HES ALIVE!" the one in the circular frames cried, his clothes and glasses covered in blood. thats when i became aware of my own body, completely bare against the cold stainless steel metal operating table.

i only saw more blood, and fresh stitches on my abdomen where i had been operated on. my brain flickered to life, though nothing about myself i knew. it was confusing. i was dazed, momentarily.

i realized i had tubes attached to me, in my arms and on the back of my neck. thats when the adrenaline rush hit, and it hit hard. the men were still cheering as i ripped the tubes from my body, getting up off of the table, stumbling as i struggled to walk.

the man in the circular glasses didnt notice me get up, so i ran. however, the one with the sharp rectangular ones noticed and tried to subdue me.

i felt my arm move back, then barrel towards the mans face like a bullet. it hit him smack on the nose, with a small crack. the punch i threw was almost like muscle memory. memory that my brain didnt have.

i think i broke his nose, but i definitely broke his glasses. he fell to the ground, in agony. he called for the man in the circular frames.

midas.

that name i wont forget. thats because i knew what that name was from. greek mythology. the king of phyrgia, who could turn anything to gold, haven been blessed by dionysus.

thats when i put two and two together, as i ran up the stairs, my bare feet smacking against cold concrete. i had just been brought back from the cold clutches of death.

ironic his name was midas, then. he brought me back to life. no touch of gold, a touch of life. though i could sense judging by the cold dark basement i had to run up from, the intentions of this were.. dubious at best. i dont want to think about the worst.

when i reached the top step, there was a ladder i had to climb to reach a trap door. mustve been correct in my judgement this place had less than humane intentions, as it was locked up tight. i began to scale the ladder as i heard footsteps pattering from the stairwell below. just as i heard the mans voice, i was up and out of the trapdoor.

i was now in an office of some sort, where i noticed a trash chute. in that split second, i decided to jump in, knowing it was either escape into the trash or be caught and used for god knows what from these men.

i opened the trash chute, sliding inside. i was barreling down, my bare skin freezing against the cold metal. then, just as i got the feeling my body would never stop hurtling downward, i hit the bottom of the trashcan with a loud metallic pang.

i mustve been unlucky, it mustve been trash day recently. my entire body ached. from the sudden jolt to life, the stitches my body had, and from hitting the empty garbage bin. i had to lay there for a second, breathing heavily.

soon, i crawled out of the garbage. i knew theyd be looking for me. i was in a dark alleyway. it smelled awful, i mustve been wrong about trash day, because the other bins themselves were full. did they switch them out? oh well, it didnt matter. i stumbled out, searching for something to cover up.

i managed to find some clothes, though dirty, ruined, and too small on me, which smelled of garbage. but it was better than nothing. i had to get the hang of walking, even though my newly awakened muscles begged me not to. i felt like i was about to collapse.

i saw a building in the distance, cars all around it. there was flashing multicolored lights coming from the windows, and i could feel the baseline from here. a party. perfect. i needed help, before i passed out in the alleyway and woke up in that mysterious laboratory again.

i shuffled my way towards the building, making a beeline for the doors. i felt like a zombie. i definitely looked like a zombie too. i passed by a graveyard on the way. i thought it was ironic, though, i could barely form thoughts that were coherent that werrent about the current situation at hand.

i pushed my way through the doors when i got there, hobbling to my destination, though i didnt exactly have one. i received weird looks from the people at the party as i shuffled along aimlessly, in no particular direction.

i bumped into two people, men, who looked scarily alike each other. i ignored it, and kept walking. i also bumped into a man wearing all black, but i ignored him too. i pushed through a crowd, bumping into various people.

there was a woman wearing round glasses, like midas, with her hair up in a ponytail. she snapped at me to watch where i was going, but i ignored her. i bumped into another person, a man with scruffy brown hair and close shaven beard. he looked slightly nervous, but i didnt pay attention to it.

i pushed through, bumping into several people along the way. an unkempt man in a beanie, a girl with shoulder length, straight black hair, a clearly drunk man in a sweater and messy black hair, holding a martini.. i also slightly remember a guy with long brown hair and a sort of creepy smile i didnt like. but none of that mattered when i broke through the other end of the crowd.

i made my way to a table, with various things to eat on it. thats where i saw him. a guy, about my age, holding a plastic cup with punch inside of it. he looked just as confused as i am, with his light brown hair swept over his head. he wasnt wearing anything remarkable, just a tshirt and jeans. but this was the guy i decided i was going to ask for help from.

i opened my mouth to speak, but i just held my mouth open. he looked confused. i tried again, only to realize that my voice was gone. i was worried. had i just lost my voice, or had they taken my vocal chords out entirely? i tried once more. i managed to mumble the word "help," albeit pretty quiet for the scenario.

unfortunately, that was all i could attempt to say. i felt my eyes getting heavy, knees week, vision blurring. my hearing became dampened as i felt myself hit the floor with a soft thud. the last thing i remember was seeing the footsteps of people walking towards me and the anxious chatter from the crowd, before my eyes fully shut and i became unconscious.

#scott pilgrim vs the world #scott pilgrim takes off #scott pilgrim #scott pilgrim gideon #scott pilgram takes off #scott pilgrim anime #scott pilgrim oc #scott pilgram #oc #spto oc #writing #oc writing #tw blood mention #tw alchohol mention #cw

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bones-and-whatnot · 4 months

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Monster Prom Fantasy AU

Based on the costumes from the auditorium. most of them are written so you could imagine them to be humans or to still be a fantasy society of monsters— whatever floats your boat, I go back and forth myself.

THE PALACE

The Princess Miranda: The youngest of the king’s daughters. Adored by everyone in the kingdom (whether they like it or not). She is rarely ever seen, but people are always talking about her— what she’s wearing, what her favorite things are, who she will marry, what would be the best way to kidnap and/or kill her…

Count de Lioncourt: Another noble, who has only taken up residence in the palace very recently. He is supposedly related to the royal family, but it’s unclear how. He doesn’t want to be king— any fool can be king— but he definitely wouldn’t mind having a comfortable position by a monarch’s ear, safely away from the public eye. And the poor sheltered princess could certainly use someone to help her make… well-informed decisions.

Ser (Dame?) Schmidt: First name Victoria. The newest recruit to the knights of the kingdom; she is very, very eager to work her way up through the ranks. Above all else, she is loyal to the princess.

THE FOREST

The Sting in Yellow: A mysterious, quiet swordsman who travels the wood. They strike fear into the hearts of all who see them… although no one is really sure what exactly they do.

Bruyn the Green: Long ago, a terrible dragon dwelt in the forest. Every year, in mid-April, it would approach the kingdom and ask tribute of the people in form of their crops and livestock. At last, the dragon was slain, but the whereabouts of its body are unknown and legend says it merely slumbers beneath the earth, and will one day rise from the dead.

In the heart of the forest, there sits an enormous tree. It has no name, but according to myth, it dates back to a time before we walked the earth. There once was a curious wolf, who lived in a pack with his brothers. One day, despite their warning, he strayed too far from the rest of the group and became lost in the woods. The wolf spent many nights trying to find his way back to his home, not eating or sleeping until he eventually expired of exhaustion. Roots and wood grew over him that night, and he became a beautiful tree, home to birds and squirrels and insects of all types. At night, the spirit of the wolf leaves the tree to continue his search, but must return before daylight. It is said that the whistling of the wind through the leaves is his mournful howl, crying out for a family long since dead.

THE LANDS BEYOND

Amira, Mistress of the Flames: An evil sorceress in eternal conflict with both the Demon King and His Highness King Vanderbilt. From her tower in the outlands, she controls an army of flaming skeleton warriors and screaming fire spirits. It is rumored that she can scry through any flame anywhere in the world. So the next time you think about lighting up your fireplace, ask yourself: are you really that chilly?

The Demon King: Son of criminals exiled from the kingdom, the man now known as the Demon King grew up in a harsh, inhospitable region of the outlands. By the time he was six, he had killed the leaders of the three bandit groups who controlled the area and formed his own army of scoundrels and brutes. Today, the lands beyond the kingdom are in a constant power struggle between the Demon King’s hordes and the legions belonging to the Mistress of Flames. The leaders of the two factions hate each other with burning passion, but they hate the King Vanderbilt even more.

The Automated Man of Culeicester: The Automated Man is all that remains of Culeicester, an ancient city of wondrous scientific marvels located in what is now the distant badlands of the continent. The Automated Man still remains in the city’s ruins after untold years, continuing to fulfill the purpose for which he was constructed: To tend to the mythically beautiful Gardens of Culeicester. Of course, the land is now so arid that only the hardiest plants requiring the least water remain, but still the Automated Man works, untiring, as the lone bearer of all Culeicester’s lost knowledge. If you can find him (and convince him to step away from his plants), he is a powerful asset.

THE ROGUES

Vera Oberlin: The greatest assassin you’ve never heard of. Those who are unfortunate enough to know of her existence say that she was raised in the mountains by panthers who taught her the savage ways of their claws and teeth. They say she has a city of gold underneath the city streets made from the riches of those she has killed. They say no one has ever seen her face and lived to tell the tale. Whether these things are true, no one can say for sure, but the mysterious Vera seems to be on a meteoric rise through the kingdom’s underworld. The suspicion of most in the know is that she has her eye on the crown.

Doctor Geist: You can call her Polly. A physician and mixer of medicines who recently arrived to the kingdom. Her past is unknown, as she gives a different answer every time. She is quite cheerful, and despite the nature of her profession (or perhaps because of it), has a very carefree attitude towards death, usually only reacting to harm coming to her patients with mild surprise or disappointment. She tends to be rather… experimental with her procedures and concoctions, and self-tests liberally. There are rumors of a connection to the criminal underworld.

Zed, Scribe of the Zoites: An energetic young woman, the church Zed was raised in encouraged her to go on a pilgrimage and learn the ways of the world after she became a bit overzealous in her duties of cataloging information on the group’s members. Because of her close connection to her god, she possesses second sight and can see the alternate paths people’s lives may take, which she dutifully and eagerly inscribes (along with most things she sees) on the scrolls she carries with her. Being a prophet isn’t all fun and games, though— Zed is often tormented by visions of awful futures or dreadful pasts where her god enacts terrible punishment on the world. She is motivated by desire for knowledge and for new experiences of any kind; she wants to learn about and chronicle as much as she can and isn’t about to let silly things like “morality” or “boundaries” keep her from that goal.

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isolarya · 9 months

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have a few snippets of what may or may not end up in a backstory fic (it's probably not going into the current fic because I don't have time to actually plot it out yet)

(tw: implied suicide/suicide attempt and mentions of murder and death)

snippet one:

Scott Smajor once killed a boy when he was nine. He doesn't know much about the boy. They had been the same age, he thinks, although the boy seemed so much younger. Everyone had loved him. He was sweet, hardworking, the pretty prince and jewel of the kingdom. Scott hadn't seen him much before he died. He had only ever seen him in the mirror anyway.

snippet two:

Scott Smajor is twenty-five when he kills his husband. He never should have let Jimmy go. He had known it would be dangerous. But he had, and now he's standing in front of a block of stone, pretending the poppies in his hand are still alive. Pretending he isn't the one who killed Jimmy. It would have been better if he had held the knife. It wouldn't have hurt. But he hadn't. And he had killed Jimmy anyway.

snippet three:

Scott Smajor kills a man not long after his birthday. He feels no remorse. This man is a broken shell, his life and soul taken from him piece by piece. He had watched this man break. His death was going to come either way. Scott only started the fall. He looks up at the sky, at the golden sun and snowy clouds, at a canary with wings like light, and he doesn't regret a thing. He falls and he falls and he falls, and this time, there is no one to catch him. Not like last time. Scott Smajor is twenty-six when he closes his eyes for the last time.

#scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #flower husbands #tw sui implied #tw mention of death #my writing #blood and bones au

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domesticated-feral · 10 months

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scackson brokeback mountain au except it's got that sprinkling of mostly one-sided enemies to lovers trope. Jackson just hates Scott at first just because he can and also as a tactic to hide his ✨true✨ feelings towards Scott.

Not a great idea if he's spending a whole summer up in the mountains with Scott and no one else but sheep, but hey! the plan works!! for just 16 days....because on day 17 they both get stupid drunk and have sex and they just can't stop thinking about each other and loving each other and thinking about each other and loving each other and

#just imagine that all these scenes are aesthetically similar :3 #the best i could do was slap a cool effect on it #but like the brainrot that is scackson bbm au is just not shutting up in my head #i should start writing it but i havent gotten time to properly sit down and write yet #Scackson #Scott McCall #Jackson Whittemore #Teen Wolf #my edit #brokeback mountain #tw photosensitivity

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littlespidermonkey · 11 months

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Had a migraine and visualized this

#lee rambles on and on #twilight #twilight saga #teen wolf #tw #mass effect #scott mccall #jacob taylor #jacob black #if i catch any of you hating on this post i'm exploding you with my mind btw #no image id bc i still have that migraine sorry #btw if you too have an unfairly hated blorbo of colour you are invited to add them onto this post #i was tempted to do ''victims of bad and racist writing'' for the jacobs but i don't think certain people in my notes r ready 4 that

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ambroise-framboise · 2 years

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The Transformation

tw ; body horror, blood and gore, non consensual transformation into a toy, Jimmy having a Bad Time

At first, the signs that something was wrong were small. They were uncomfortable and worrying, for sure, but not painful.

Not yet.

Jimmy woke up one day, and realised while working at his creeper farm that some patches of his skin were a bit more rough than usual. Like some sort of rash maybe ? Could he have brushed against some sort of plant that’d cause it ? The strange thing is that his skin is not red. Or swollen or anything. Just... harder almost. He’d call it solid, like polished wood or porcelain maybe, smooth and perfect but with no give. But that’d be impossible.

Right ?

So he slapped some regen potion on it and called it a day, and promptly decided to stop thinking about it.

It did not get better. In fact, with every day that passed, it seemed to have spreaded. Still not truly painful. But numb, almost heavy at times. Like that feeling when your limbs fall asleep, only they weren’t waking up.

He kept going as usual, because his town needed its Sheriff, and surely it would be fine, right ? And who else would keep the annoying God in check ?

And maybe he was a bit slower and sluggish, but he got used to it quickly. He was still perfectly able to make sure people would respect the Law ! He could still build, and tend to his horses, and look, it didn’t hurt when Norman would claw him by accident when trying to climb on his shoulder, so clearly all was not negative !

The numbness spread. Sometimes it felt like talking was getting harder and harder. He swore he could hear himself creak at times, when making wide moves. But he didn’t have the time to rest. Joel was being a thorn in his side, the constant lack of respect stung. The toy barn shop was just a new insult to add to a long list of offences, and he swore he would punish him for them.

Looking back on it, the signs had been here since the moment the God of Lore started calling him a toy. Annoying, but somewhat bearable.

It did not last.

He had thought that the best way to fight a belief was with one of his own. As long as he believed he was not a toy, it would stay true, because Gods work with belief, and what better way to fight fire than with fire ? But clearly he had underestimated his fellow Emperor’s power, and how the belief of the other rulers (who might only be in it for the laughs, but still counted) would be stronger than his. And what it’d mean, what would follow.

The day It happened, the sun was shining on the mesa, as usual. Jimmy had been restocking his wagon, talking with his people. Only to be interrupted by the God, swooping down like a large bird of prey (his imposing body eclipsing the sun because of his size for a moment, like a bad omen). Demands he could only half hear as the God was still flying were sent his way, and before he could realise, a potion bottle had been flung at his head.

(Unnoticed by him, other Emperors had been called to watch the spectacle that they were promised would be entertaining, and they were looking from the top of the cliff, ready to join the fun.)

He blinked, his eyelids heavy. He could almost hear them strangely.

He could vaguely hear something about a true form being revealed, but it was like he was underwater. The sounds weren’t registering properly.

The potion was viscous, and odorless. But it burned.

Oh it burned.

Suddenly, everything was Pain.

Not just his skin, oh no. In fact, the skin that had bothered him was probably the one feeling the least painful. No, it was his insides that sent him screaming, making him fall down on his knees. He wrapped his arms around his midsection in a futile attempt to relieve himself from the agony.

(Too lost in his torment, he did not see the others coming down, surrounding him worriedly. They tried to talk to him, to no avail. He didn’t seem to hear them. They tried to ask the God who was so clearly at fault. He had no idea what was wrong. The potion was only water from his fountain, he swore.)

Creaking sounds rung into the hot air, coming from the crumpled man on the ground. His eyes were partially open, but glassy, unfocused. Dead almost. No tears fell from them despite the obvious pain he was in.

His head was bowed low, and the others had not yet dared to touch him when the screams and the panting ended, to be replaced by coughing.

Loud, wet, throat-tearing coughing.

(”What’s happening to him ? What have you done ?” shouted a colorful man who had only wanted to see a prank.)

Red drops fell on the ground. One, two, then more.

The coughing got rougher still, painful to listen to. Something meaty fell on the ground. The panting between the coughs had stopped, but not the coughs themselves.

(”It, it looks like a chunk of lungh ! Fix it, fix him ! Please !” pleaded the bearded man who had knelt beside the Sheriff, helpless and unable to help. Someone had tried to splash him with a healing potion. It had shown no effect.

The God shook his head, silent. There was nothing he could do, he knew it. In his gaze shined something like regret.)

A wet splash, another one. More pieces of bloody meat came from Jimmy’s open mouth.

At this point, he was trembling intensely, despite the heat of the sun. He seemed unable to register anything still. The coughing calmed a little, giving the onlooker some hope that maybe, maybe this was the end of the torturous process.

But then came the heaving.

A great waterfall of blood poured from the still open mouth, accompanied with plenty of more solid... pieces. Like someone had taken him by the mid-section and squeezed, squeezed until his internal organs were turned into paste. And now the result was expelled violently from his bowed body. Blood soaking the dusty ground and splashing the men surrounding him.

(Fwhip raised a trembling hand to his face, touching his cheek. When he lowered it, it was red and sticky. He had to muffle a sob, desperately trying to ignore the usually beloved smell of iron present in the air.)

After what seemed like an eternity, Jimmy stopped expelling his insides. He finally fell down entirely on the ground, but it was not finished yet.

With an awful creaking sound, his body shrunk until he was half his normal size. His limbs... seemed to split at the joins, until you could see neat lines delimiting them.

(Like a doll. Like a toy, realised the witnesses to the transformation.)

Was it finally done ? Was he free from the cruel magic ?

Of course not, a last detail was still missing.

And so, while his mouth (a nutcracker’s mouth almost) opened in a silent scream, his back opened. A bone white ring came out of it, and then string, long string attaching it to the center of his spine.

Finally, it was done.

During all this process, Jimmy had not lost his hat or his badge. His clothes and boots remained pristine. Ready to be played with.

(”Are you happy to have won ?” he asked bitterly, days and days after.

The God didn’t answer.)

(22/08/22 ; minor edits to correct spelling mistakes)

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