#<— i see people including this tag in their copy and paste. please try not to

[serensama]

Thursday Banger: Dr, Who?

I can't believe how long we've managed to keep this up, what was just meant to be a funny/ridiculous meet-cute is turning into a fully fledged story O_O

My thanks to the incomparable @woundedsoul12 who created this tag - love you bebe! Thanks for the tag @jenn2d2 <3

Read on Ao3

(3.3k so yeah, LONG POST)

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

"It's not a walk in the park to love each other, But when our fingers interlock, Can't deny, can't deny you're worth it" - Still Into You by Paramore

——— 

He had miscalculated. Again. What looked like a few casual steps from Illario's side became a forced march across polished floors and over-polished people, ending far too quickly in front of Viago, Teia, and their audience. He really should have taken the long way around. Teia and Viago greeted him with cordial smiles and chatter he barely caught over the pounding heartbeat in his ears.  “...I’m thrilled for Teia and for Dellamorte Holdings, of course, it’s a great deal for both companies. But I forget my manners, Lucanis, please meet esteemed Professor Emmrich Volkarin and my little sister, Lilya de Riva,” Viago said, gesturing to the people to his right, noticing the strained smiles on those he had just introduced. Lucanis cleared his throat and nodded gratefully, not wanting to give too much gossip to any prying listeners around him.

“Ah, thank you, Viago,” he finally replied, taking another sip of his drink. “We’ve… uh… we’ve all previously met,” he said, trying to ignore the way Teia’s eyes gleamed sinisterly as she mouthed something to Lilya which could have been ‘oh that’s him’, ‘so bad, Tim’ or ‘throw that thing’... he really needed to work on his lip reading, something he and Illario learnt one summer as children to spy on Caterina. “It’s a pleasure to see you here, Professor.” 

His therapist smiled and raised a glass of champagne in his direction. “A marvellous evening, Lucanis. What a wonderful celebration, a triumph on all fronts!” Lucanis turned stiffly to Lilya, who looked two shades paler than she had only a minute prior, knuckles white as she clung to the Professor’s arm. The only way one would notice that Emmrich felt any discomfort was from the tightness in his eyes and smile. 

“Dr … uh, Lilya? Nice to see you again,” he said stiffly, bowing slightly, which only seemed to delight Teia but confused her date, who was looking between them all suspiciously. “I didn’t realise that you were Viago’s sister,” he added lamely, like that mattered at all. 

Lilya shook her head and waved her hands at the same time with a stricken expression, taking a step forward and bracing a hand on his shoulder, only causing her brother to give them an even fouler look as Teia practically buzzed beside him. “No, of course. Why would you know that? I’m not one to tell anyone he’s my brother. Ever,” she said pointedly, casting a harsh look at Viago, who matched it evenly.           

Lucanis laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get the feeling, it’s the same with my cousin, Illario.” Lilya turned another shade paler and released him, wringing her hands together worriedly. “I… I was hoping to actually speak to you, if you had the time,” he said, finding his courage and offering his hand with a bow, like he was asking her to dance. “Please.” 

Lilya looked between him and Emmrich, unsure of what to do, worrying at her bottom lip. Her eyes flicked to Viago. He was already watching her, mouth pressed into a warning line, jaw working like he was ready to intervene. She shook her head once, small but firm, and gave him a tiny smile-  I'm alright, stay out of it. Viago’s nostrils flared. But he gave a tight nod back, conceding to her, a rare occasion indeed.  “I- we should. We should talk-” 

“That sounds like a great idea, Lilya. Go and get to know Lucanis,” Teia grinned, reaching over and taking the drinks out of both of their hands. “In fact, you should go dance! You can talk and dance at the same time!” 

“No I-”

“Please, Lilya.” 

“I-” 

“If my sister is not feeling up to it-” Viago started, only to be quieted by his lover’s iron-like grip on his forearm. 

“I think Lilya really wants to speak to him, Vi,” she grinned with a crazed look in her eye. 

“We will, Lucanis,” Lilya finally answered, lightly touching his bicep with a concerned expression. “But this may not be the best place or time-” 

Professor Volkarin coughed dramatically, clearing his throat and examining his nails. 

“...Professor?” Lilya looked at him from the corner of her eyes expectantly. 

“Oh? Hmm, if you two feel up for a chat and a quick spin around the ballroom, I’d say that’s exactly the right way to catch up,” he said, voice light but edged with that familiar no-nonsense tone she remembered from when he caught an Honours student plagiarising half his paper. Emmrich had warned him that there were to be no excuses, or the student would be back in First Year before the week was out. Who knew such quiet authority could come wrapped in so much kindness?

“But… I don’t want to cause any more harm.” 

Lucanis smiled, re-extending his hand out to her. “You didn’t, and no harm can come from a dance between two old friends.” 

Lilya nodded and looked back at Emmrich who took her purse from her, quickly whispering in her ear that perhaps fate had different ideas as to how and when it would be best for them to talk- and that he was always there to help Lucanis should he be needed. After taking a moment to smooth out her dress and wipe her sweaty palms on the fine material, she nodded and accepted his hand, shooting final looks at Teia, who flashed her a thumbs up. Viago glared at Lucanis, and Professor Volkarin gave her an encouraging smile. 

He led her onto the floor just as the band played a tune they could waltz to, a respectful distance kept between them, both stiff and awkward in each other’s presence. Lilya was thankful that they were in a brightly lit area, so no one could claim she was doing anything untoward with him. Lucanis started the dance, and she followed easily, as etiquette and ballroom dancing lessons from her youth, which had seemed utterly irrelevant in her past, finally found some use.  

They turned about the room, Lilya focused on counting the steps and following the beat instead of paying attention to Lucanis, who looked just as uncomfortable as she did. She was tempted to break the tension, but he was the one who wanted to talk, so she would let him end their silence. He knew that was how she worked… even if she was no longer his therapist. 

“I-” he said, unsure of where to start, only to be startled when Lilya looked up at him, her eyes wide and alert at being spoken to. 

“Yes?” 

“Oh…” he said, eyes falling onto hers, the wheels in his quick mind churning a mile a minute as he joined the final pieces together. “I… well, that is to say… I’m doing well, Dr de Riva.” 

Lilya’s eyebrows turned upward and her lips pouted, belying her gratitude under such a sorrowful countenance. “That’s so good to hear, Lucanis, I’m glad for you.” 

“I know. I know you are.” He lightly squeezed her right hand in his in a reassuring grip. 

“You have to know, I never meant to hurt you, or do anything that could have potentially hurt you at all. You were my patient, and your well-being meant, means, everything to me. Even though you are no longer under my care,” she said quietly enough, so only he could hear. Lucanis smiled in response and squeezed her hand again to confirm he had heard her, spinning her gracefully and pulling her back in, glad to see her shoulders relax a little. “If I had known he was your cousin, I would have never-”

“Dr… Lilya. It’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not okay-” 

“Lilya,” he said more firmly to make her stop and really listen to him. “It’s okay.” 

She shut her mouth after a moment, still staring at him, stunned. “You don’t have to make me feel better about this, that’s not your job, Lucanis. It was a mistake, and I regret the effect it may have had on you. But at the very least, I am glad you have Professor Volkarin in your corner.” 

“And he’s been amazing, the only good thing that’s come out of this, really,” he said, wanting to soothe her worry. Lilya looked him in the eyes again, and a knowing smile began to form on his lips. 

“Oh, there they are again,” he said mysteriously, chuckling to himself. “So obvious, really.”  

“What? What’s here? What’s obvious?” she asked, curious as to what he was talking about.

“... Green,” he replied, tapping under his eye, which further confused her, as the woman looked around the room for a clue. 

“Oh, you mean the decoration? Yes. It’s beautiful, so verdant and bright, a lovely choice, really,” she complimented- and she meant it. Whoever had decorated the room had an eye for beauty and style. 

“Yes, you are very correct. Bright. Lovely choice,” he laughed, shaking his head with mirth, the woman clearly not understanding the theme had been inspired by her, by someone completely taken by the colours in her eyes.  

Lilya shook his hand like an impatient child, a large smile on her face as she fought for his attention. “Lucanis Dellamorte, you must tell me what is so funny.” 

Lucanis smiled at her so earnestly that she felt such a weight lift off her shoulders. The man had always been so expressive; she knew that he wasn’t trying to deceive her - he truly was well, and he didn’t hate her for what she had unwittingly done to him. “Dr de Riva, Lilya, it’s alright, you know.” 

“What is?” she asked, not following his train of thought. 

“I’m alright, with whatever happens moving forward. Whatever you choose. Whatever he chooses, I’m alright with it. I support it- support you both. I didn’t realise that you weren’t just another one of his careless flings. I thought he did it because he was being reckless again, or selfish, or he just didn’t care about the consequences of his actions… but now I know. I know that for a little while there, it was me being careless, me being selfish for not giving him a chance to explain, to understand. And I care, I don’t want that for him. Or for you. If the only reason you two aren’t dancing together right now is because of me, I don’t want that at all. I want the people I care about to be happy.” 

Lilya slowed their turn and set her fingertips more firmly on his shoulder. “Lucanis, be honest. When you first saw me tonight … were you angry?”

His brows drew together, and his mouth opened, but he shut it quickly before nodding once. “For a moment, yes. Not at you. At everything. At myself.”

“Ah.” She let out a soft breath, half relief, half remorse.

He squeezed her hand and coaxed her back into the pattern of the waltz. “It passed. Shock can resemble anger - you told me that once, remember? The second it cleared, I was glad you were here. A little confused why, certainly, but happy all the same.”

“Happy?” The word came out small, incredulous.

“Of course,” his voice steadied. “You helped me reach this point. Seeing you across the room, how could that bring anything but happiness?”

Her shoulders loosened; colour crept back into her cheeks, a small but genuine smile pulling at her mouth at his kind words. 

Lucanis felt the cold distance between them slip. Her sincerity shone through her awkwardness, and for a moment, he could almost pretend she was across from him again, just talking, like she used to, as someone he trusted. Someone who had only ever wanted to help him.

Lilya almost forgot how to stand; her patient, ex-patient, had confirmed everything she had dared to think of asking him without having to breathe a word. 

“You… I will not deny that I do harbour some feelings toward him, but he isn’t my concern. Do you understand what you’re saying? What you’re consenting to? This isn’t something you should think so lightly about, Lucanis. Take a moment. Take a day, a week- even a year, or two! I will abide by whatever you say with no ill will. My private life is not up to you to save, okay? Do not do this because of any concern for me or my well-being, or a misplaced belief that you need to agree to anything because of our past. You need to do what is comfortable and what feels right to you.” 

Lucanis spun her again and pulled her back in, a wry smile on his face. 

“You taught me to speak my mind and my truth. Professor Volkarin has expanded upon that. And if I am allowed happiness, I should be able to grant the same opportunity to those I love. And... I love him. Even if he’s a pain in my ass, he’s always been my brother.” 

“This is not about him or me, but you. Don’t say things on a whim or because you think it’s what I want to hear-” 

“Doctor… seeing him unhappy for the last six months has not brought me joy.” 

“Oh, no, of course not-” 

“It’s a little hard, knowing you think I’m doing this for the wrong reasons. I chose this because it feels right, not because I’m slipping back into my old patterns. When you question that, it almost feels like you don’t see how much I’ve grown.”

Lilya wanted to hug him, but gathered herself swiftly. “I’m making a mess of this, I’m so sorry, Lucanis-” 

“Yes, this is a mess. But trust me when I say, from the deepest parts of myself, that I am okay. I am good. That whatever happens between you two is fine by me, so please let me step aside. Do not make me a part of your decision process moving forward because you already know where I stand on this-” 

“Please, think on this some more-” 

“Oh, that’s Caterina-”

“If you have to go, we can continue this later-” 

“No need- here, take over, will you? Caterina’s calling for me. So sorry, Lilya. I’ll speak to you soon, yes? Good to see you again!” Lucanis said hurriedly, manoeuvring her hands into someone’s hold as she nodded absently and tracked his path through the crowd toward Caterina Dellamorte. The woman stood with a stoic look on her face, but her sharp gaze shifted the moment Lucanis approached, cutting past him to land squarely on Lilya and her new dance partner.

She had barely noticed whose hands Lucanis had placed hers into until the hold changed, gentler and a little uncertain. 

Of course. Illario. Of course.

Somewhere behind them, Lilya heard Teia make a noise suspiciously like a barely stifled cackle. When she glanced back, Teia raised her champagne flute and clinked it lightly against Viago’s glass, not even pretending it was accidental. Her friend’s eyes sparkled, triumphant and far too entertained at her expense, focused on them like a cat watching a pair of mice stumble into the same trap and licking her lips at the deliciousness of it all.

Teia caught her gaze and mouthed, ‘Illario?’ with an arched brow, a grin, and an exaggerated wink that left little doubt she was thrilled. Lilya spun quickly away, her cheeks warm. She knew she owed her a very long debrief once this night was over.

She felt Illario's breath on her cheek... warm and close. And what startled her most wasn’t the nearness, but how easy it was. How natural it felt to be in his arms again. That realisation struck deeper than she expected. Her fingers tightened by reflex, stiffening as if to pull away, something he noticed immediately. A flicker of doubt crossed his face, like he was bracing for her to disappear again. For a second, he didn’t move at all, holding her as lightly as he could, unsure of what to do next.

But she didn’t step away.

Their eyes met, and something held there between them, raw and irrepressible. Slowly, deliberately, he shifted his grip, his sapphire eyes connected to her pale emerald. He slid his fingers between hers, weaving them together instead of resting palm to palm. It was no longer a formal hold. It was a memory, a reach, a quiet liberty taken. Scandalous, though she didn’t stop him… She let him. And for one quiet second, her ache to stay close overwhelmed the whispers of caution in her mind.

The touch settled between them with a weight it shouldn’t have carried. It wasn’t possessive, nor was it laced with hope. It was simply... sincere and unguarded. Their eyes locked, speaking volumes in the silence. Perhaps because neither knew the words, impossible to find in the moment, or because they feared that it would change everything for them once again. They had craved this, yet both were terrified that admitting it would shatter the fragile thread holding them together. To speak, would be to question, to confront a dangerous truth and hear answers they were both too delicate to risk just yet.

The band swept over their silence with a slow three-count. He guided her into the first turn, his posture immaculate, eyes dark, mouth tight, as if the measured steps of the dance were the only ‘words’ he could trust himself to voice.

Lilya thought she heard the click of a camera and whispers of her name, but she was probably just being paranoid. It didn’t matter. The delusion of privacy was shattered all the same. It was too public here. They were not cloaked in a shadowy club this time, surrounded by the safety of anonymity and faceless bodies who did not care about them; here, they were the show.

Their first turn of the floor was stiff. 

One two three, one two three. 

He left a polite inch of air between them in case she drew back. 

One two three, one two three. 

She counted beats because numbers were safer than emotions.

One two three, one two three. 

The second turn had them soften in each other’s presence. Illario’s thumb brushed the back of her hand in a soundless question - is this okay?Lilya let her left hand settle on his shoulder, relaxing in his hold. With each step, they recalled what they had tried to bury and ignore. He moved her through a gentle pivot, and she followed without thought. The intimacy of their position was sweet and sharp, both of them teetering perilously on the edges of their good judgment once again.

The lights and discerning gazes reminded them both of the rules that still applied to them- not here, not now, not yet. Every shimmer of the chandelier felt like a spotlight; every whisper, a possible dagger in their backs. They danced on a stage where one wrong move could unravel them both.

Their final turn carried them past Viago’s guarded stare and Teia’s curious smile. Lucanis sat at the bar, resolute and unburdened, with Professor Volkarin beside him, proud of his patient and happy for his student. 

The silence between them was louder than the music, thick with their tempered longing. The final notes from the band faded, and polite applause rippled across the room, giving way to cheery but inane chatter. Illario and Lilya lingered in place, barely breathing, hands still linked. She hadn’t noticed that she had stopped counting. Just that the dance was over, and she was still standing in his arms.  Both caught between caution and hope, each waiting for the other to pull back first. Neither was ready to move away… or on. Not yet. 

“Would you… Would you like to dance with me… once more, I mean?” Illario rasped, licking his lips like a man who had just been offered his first drop of water after being asleep for far too long. 

Lilya nodded and shifted her hand more securely in his, taking a half step closer to him.

“Yes. Yes, Illario. I would like to dance with you.” 

--- Softly tagging: @rookamell @davrinsleftpectoral @mythals-whore @thedissonantverses @talkmagically @kabsey @hedwigoprah @jukkaricity @seaglassmelody @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @serstolas @selennes @trash-nerd @gingervitus @hightowerqueen and anyone else who wants to play! :)

[electricpez]

shockwave but humanoid body

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pent Up 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you seek validation through online correspondence with incarcerated men, only for one to lock you down in turn.

Characters: convict/excon!Thor (silverfox)

Note: It's an addiction now.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

'I never thought I'd be writing to someone like you, but you've shown me a different side of things. I hope that my emails give you comfort and can help you through. Even on the other side, they get me through my day. I'm always excited to read when there's a ding in my inbox.

I hope you also enjoy the little bit I could put in your commissary. If I lived closer, maybe I could bring you something homemade. At the moment, bus fare is a bit too much for my pockets.

Anyway, signing off.

Yours,

Diamond'

You add a whole line of heart emojis to the email then hit send. You giggle and click on the next. You don't have the heart to copy and paste so you add a bit of variety to the next.

This one is... Thor? That's his name. He's a funny one. Considering he's in the pen, you're surprised by that. The others are so dire; pushy too.

You hit reply on his last email. Something about a fight and apologising for not replying earlier. He says he was in solitary for a whole week. That sounds miserable. The thought is enough to scare you straight. It's why you've never done anything wrong in your whole life. Until now.

It's not really wrong. It's allowed. It's legal. You're just sending messages. If anything, it's a community service. These men don't have much more contact than each other and that's a recipe for chaos.

You won't admit that other reason aloud. That tickly feeling in your stomach. When they compliment you, when they say they missed you. You can't help but smile, even giggle sometimes. It's nice to be appreciated, even if it's all a fantasy.

You'll never meet these men. That's the fun part. You don't have to worry about any of this. Maybe that helps. Maybe you think too much when you're face-to-face. That explains why every cute guy you talk to sees past you.

'I forgive you, sweetie. It must have been so hard in there. The important thing is you replied. I got so worried! I hope that after all that, my email can bring a bit of comfort. I have to be honest, I never thought I'd be chatting with someone like you. That I could find this type of connection. Please, take care and email soon.'

Another parade of emojis follows and you send it off happily. Now you just have to wait and see who gets back to you first. If it's Ernie, you're not sure you'll respond. He's been fixated on his cell mate and his emails are getting a bit scary. That's the other great part. You can always just delete and block.

The response comes an hour later. You're sleepy and ready to pass out. You read it anyway.

'You are so kind, my queen.' You giggle. Yeah, he calls you that sometimes. If only he knew you were sitting in bed with an ice cream sandwich wrapper and your cell phone. Definitely not queenly behaviour. 'I got through it by thinking of you, of dreaming of the day when we can talk face-to-face. Wouldn't that be lovely? For all my mistakes, I think they will mean something if you and me can be together.'

You make a face. He's so cheesy. You can't help but laugh again. You're not trying to be cruel, you do empathise with his situation, you can't imagine being in prison, but like anyone else, he earned his time. There's one last light.

'If it isn't too much trouble, would you kindly send a picture so I have a face to admire in my lonelier moments? I've attached my own. Forgive me as it dates a few years back.'

You're not smiling anymore. You haven't sent any of the men pictures. They haven't offered theirs but you can look up their mug shots easily. You hate to ruin the fantasy but curiosity has you tapping the attachment.

Oh. You're surprised. He's older than you in this picture and by his own confession, is more so now. But he isn't repugnant. Anything but. Tall, blond, thick! You don't know if you've ever seen a man that size.

Even in a suit, it's obvious that his arms are bulging and his chest is ripe to burst out as the jacket button clings for dear life. The photo is cropped so that whoever he took it with is out of frame. His blue eyes sparkle above a defined smile. Has prison worn down all that?

You squirm. Guilt needles in your chest. You could close out and worry about it in the morning. You shouldn't be that sympathetic. He's still a criminal. You can say no. Easily. What's he going to do about it?

What could it hurt? If he saw your face. It's not like anyone would know. That anyone would recognise you or that he could find you anywhere else. You keep your social media anonymous. You aren't like the influencers who get attention just for being pretty.

It's that that gives you pause. You aren't anything but average. It's easier to pretend you're some pretty thing as you message these faceless men. Well, maybe that's a good thing. Maybe once he sees you, you won't have to worry about all that other stuff. He'll cut you off at the pass.

The thrill of it overwhelms your reluctance. It's like gambling, it could go either way.

You start a new message. More meaningly rewording of previous sentiments. Nothing new. Then you scroll through your photo roll. You take a breath and press down on a photo you think isn't half bad. It's from market day you went to with your aunt. Not exactly cutting edge but fun. She snuck in the shot as you smiled down at your gooey cinnamon roll. The impromptu snap is better than most of your posed ones.

You send and quickly lock the phone. You shove it under your pillow and swipe up the wrapper beside you. You leave it on your night stand and sink down, your insides swimming with anxiety. You're going to regret this in the morning.

🎀

'Will you call me?'

The question makes you sweat. You don't know why you feel bad. You've said no before. To him. To all of them. You draw a thick line between your secret little hobby and your real life. You shouldn't have ever sent that photo.

Despite your regret, you smile. His response was more than you could expect. The praise! You don't know that anyone ever even called you cute but he as good as wrote you a poem about your beauty. You have to remind yourself, given his circumstance, he's starved. He'd probably think your nan is sexy.

Still, you're having a hard time typing those two letter; N-O. Thor is so nice. And he asked so sweetly. But you can't do that. What if someone found out?

This whole thing is starting to feel like a big mistake, but it's so much fun. When in your life will men ever be this into you? When have they ever?

'I could call' you type without thinking. What are you doing? 'Let me know how to do that and we can set a time maybe.'

Don't hit send. Don't hit send.

Email sent.

Shit. Oh gosh. Why did you do that?

You close your laptop and leave it on your desk. You need to get ready for work. You can't be worrying about a man you'll never meet. It's all virtual, it's not real. You'll be okay.

You get yourself together and brace yourself for work. You don't really like your job. You work the counter at a tech repair shop. Independent so it's small and slow. Your boss is a bit strange too.

The only benefit is it's close and it pays a few bucks more than the alternative. You're even allowed to work on your online courses at the service desk. Really, it's perfect. You guess you're just not happy with things being boring.

You blow over the lid of your Sailor Moon travel mug and knock on the door. Jensen lets you in with a grin and stifles a yawn in his elbow. You step past him with a sheepish smile.

"If it isn't the champion of justice," he greets smugly and locks the door. You won't open for another half hour.

"Huh?" You go to the counter and slide your bag onto the shelf underneath.

"Your cup," he crosses the shop. “I am Sailor Moon, the champion of justice. In the name of the moon, I will right wrong and triumph over evil… and that means you!”

"Oh, right," you snort at his cheesiness. "You have espresso or something?"

"Red bull," he admits guiltily.

"This early?"

"Early? I never went to sleep," he comes around and goes back to typing on his glowing gaming computer. "Couldn't let my crew down."

You could roll your eyes. All he does is play Fortnite or Halo. He looks like he does too. Yet, he's in here moping after every rare stunner that walks through the door. That's why you'er there. He gets all tongue-tied with women. Well, all of them but you.

"You should join the party," he suggests.

"Well, I don't really play anymore," you shrug. "It was only for fun. My siblings... like it."

"Oh yeah, how's the family?"

"Good, I guess. They don't really call."

Your mom's too busy rebuilding her life with your step-dad. Rather, building the perfect life she never had. You sigh and open up your laptop. You grab your coffee and sip. You're tired of being forgotten.

"Jake," you say, he winces at the use of his first name, "Jensen," you glance at him, "you're a dude."

"Yeah, I am" he answers uncertainly.

"Well, you might know more than I do. You know anyone in prison? Any guys?"

"What?" He exclaims. "Where did that come from?"

"Mm... I was watching a documentary last night," you lie. "About prison or whatever."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, and about you know," you sway and look at your laptop. You're terrible at lying. "The women who like write to them or whatever."

"Ew, like the Ted Bundy weirdos?" He scoffs.

"Not exactly. I mean, none of them were murderers. I think," you shrug. "But... like, if you were in prison, you'd need that, right? I mean, it's just to get you through."

"I don't know. It'd be lonely, yeah, but like... what about after?" He scratches his neck. "I got a buddy who was in for a while but he's a good dude. He was only selling... stuff."

"Really?" You perk up, "he went to prison?"

"Well, he doesn't like to talk about it," Jensen says. "Why are you talking about this?"

"Making conversation. I was just thinking about the show," you sign into your laptop. "Just thinking... I mean, how do you even end up there?"

"Bad things. I learned my lesson when I was sixteen. I broke into the high school on a dare and the cops put me in cuffs for two hours. They let me go once I cried... I mean, I was a kid so..."

You nod and try not to show any judgment. That sounds about right. A notification pops up in the corner as Jensen goes back to the fluttering over his keyboard. You click on the email.

'I've been granted call-time at noon. You can call the number below and request by my inmate number...'

You quickly minimize and hide behind your cup as you slurp. Shoot. You didn't think he'd be so fast. A call at noon? You can't say no. Not now that he got approved.

Well, this is the only time it's happening.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hi! can i ask you have a certain research workflow for your writing materials?

Hi, here is a great explanation on secondary research, with a 5-step tutorial: The Research Process, which I try to follow.

If you want my longwinded answer...

It depends on the topic. But this is more or less what I do for the requested posts:

Collect information I can find related to the topic (my old files, bookmarks, a quick internet search...)

Integrate all (or most) of that in one post (always interesting to see where the different sources overlap, disagree etc.)

Reformat the post (bullet points & numbered lists, might include a bit of my thoughts/opinions ... but on the most part, it's basically just copied & pasted, especially when I'm not that familiar with the topic)

Link to the sources I used (sometimes posts don't save properly when my connection fluctuates so I appreciate when people point out missing/broken links, which I'll edit as soon as I see the messages)

Might include a photo (like the one above & then I link to the photo in the Image Description)

Add tags (because tumblr keeps reminding me when I don't, so I usually just copy & paste from my previous posts)

Add to queue (or "schedule" because I keep accidentally clicking the "shuffle queue" & it messes up the queue)

But on a more serious note, these posts really are just surface-level secondary research, mostly internet research, done really late at night or on lazy weekends, in an overly-caffeinated state. So please do research more for your writing projects. These may just be useful as starting points or to get a few ideas/inspiration, maybe. This blog is ever-growing & there are many research databases I don't have access to (+ considering my limited/lack of knowledge on certain topics), so all the additional information & corrections are always appreciated and won't just be helpful to me, but everyone who uses these references as well!

(As for the non-requested queued posts, that's just me going through my bookmarks and old files. Just been clearing them out as another ongoing little side project for me that I started last year. Okay, I should stop talking now. Bye for now, dear anon.)

[fkinkindagauche]

The Harrowing Chapter 2 - Imbibition

Please see this post for full details on this fic. In brief:

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Eddie Munson, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, and eventual Billy Hargrove/Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington Tags: Cults, Murder, Murder Mystery, AU- No Upside Down, FBI Agent Steve Harrington, Age Difference, Power Imbalance, Dubious Consent, Human Trafficking, Sex Work, Drug Use, Autopsy, Possession, Inspired by Twin Peaks, Past Child Abuse, Homophobia, Grooming Chapter WC: 9,712 Chapter Summary:

Steve meets his fellow guests at the bed and breakfast. He and Hopper interview the Cunninghams and Jason Carver. Following information from Jason, they find their way to Eddie Munson.

Chapter-Specific Content Warnings:

Homophobia, including reference to past physical violence perpetrated against a gay man for being gay

Use of the f-slur for a gay man

Reference to past emotional abuse by a parent with slut-shaming

Cross-posted to AO3.

header by me; divider by @/thecutestgrotto

Steve woke up exhausted. He hadn't slept well after the dream, passing in and out of consciousness with unrestful rapidity. The dream lingered like the bitter taste of a pill swallowed dry, the unease following him into waking.

As soon as he was dressed for the day, he reached for his tape recorder. He'd been too exhausted to dictate his notes for Robin the previous evening. "Robin. 7:30am on February 25th. Got a feel for the town of Hawkins yesterday. On the small side, but with enough people that there are definitely secrets." He recounted what he'd learned the day before. "I'll send a copy of the autopsy report with this tape."

"I had a dream last night," he continued. "Chrissy, the girl who was murdered, was in a red room with me. I felt… bad. Like something terrible was about to happen. She was trying to tell me something. She turned into Heather." He paused. "I thought I'd gotten past that," he said with a sigh. "But there's so many similarities."

His monologue was interrupted by a knock, which managed to convey good cheer through the wood of the door. Steve opened it to a smiling Claudia.

"Steve!" she cooed. "I hope you slept well. Was the bed alright?"

"The bed was great, Claudia." The bed hadn't been his problem last night.

"Oh, good! Why don't you come down for breakfast? I just finished cooking."

Steve grabbed his briefcase and followed Claudia downstairs. She led him to a dining room, where several other people sat around a large table. The table was laden with a staggering amount of food - plates heaped high with scrambled eggs, pancakes, waffles, sausage, bacon, toast. A basket of delicious-looking blueberry muffins. A huge carafe of coffee.

Steve reached for the coffee and filled his mug before he sat down. He raised it to his face. It smelled perfect, worlds better than the burnt coffee of the morning before. He took a sip, rolling it around in his mouth as the taste bloomed on his tongue. Rich, complex, perfectly brewed.

"You know," he said, turning to Claudia where she was hovering in the doorway, "this is a damn fine cup of coffee."

Her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. "Thank you, dear. What a sweetheart you are. Oh, it looks like we need more orange juice!" She hurried out of the room.

With the coffee on board stimulating his brain into full wakefulness, Steve took note of his fellow breakfasters. The woman from the night before, the librarian with the large glasses and possibly permanent scowl, sat across from him. Scowling. Past a few empty seats to the right sat a young couple, both good-looking and with shockingly blond hair, conversing in another language. Scandinavian, Steve thought.

To his left sat a middle-aged man with dark, curly hair, a balding pate, a full beard, and glasses. He smiled at Steve. It made Steve uncomfortable. It wasn't a nice smile.

"Hi. I'm Steve." He directed his comment at the man and woman nearest him. The couple at the far end of the table were deep in their own conversation.

"Murray Bauman," the man to his left said. "You a pig? You look like a pig." His smile remained plastered on his face, growing meaner by the second.

"No, I'm not a cop," Steve replied.

"He's FBI," the woman across from him drawled. "Dustin told me."

Murray's smile widened, nearly cracking his face. "What you looking for in Hawkins, G-man?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss the case," Steve said, the words coming to him as easily as his childhood home phone number.

Murray threw back his head and guffawed. "That's alright, I already know."

"Do you?" Steve asked.

Murray leaned toward him and whispered conspiratorially, "Aliens." His breath stank of alcohol and reflux. "That's why I'm here, too."

Steve suppressed a sigh.

"Marissa knows all about them, too, don'tcha babe?" Murray nodded at the woman across the table.

"Call me babe one more time, and I'll hex your dick," Marissa spat.

Murray laughed again. Steve was pretty sure he was drunk. At 7:30 in the morning. "The aliens are here doing work for the Russians. Never should've let them get so far ahead of us in the spacerace. They made first contact, and now they're reaping the benefits."

"I'm not here investigating aliens," Steve insisted. He loaded up his plate with food. His conversational companions made him want to skip breakfast altogether, but his stomach wasn't on board with that plan.

"You're here for Chrissy," Marissa said. She didn't wait for a response from Steve. "I've been speaking with her, you know. Through the veil."

"That was the aliens, too," Murray interjected. "Killing off our best and brightest."

"Aliens are just your pathetic scapegoat for the crimes of dirty old men," Marissa insisted. "Take some responsibility for the actions of your peers."

The conversation at the far end of the table increased in volume. The couple was fighting now. They began to yell at each other in their lilting, sing-song language. The woman screamed something at the man, then fled the room in tears.

"Must be that time of the month, huh?" Murray said to the man. He stared back at Murray in confusion, then followed the woman out of the room.

Marissa let out a disgusted sigh. "You're a pig, Murray," she said.

"No, he's a pig," Murray said, nodding toward Steve with a mean laugh.

Steve had shoveled enough food into his stomach by this point that he could leave. He gulped down the rest of his absolutely divine coffee, sad he wouldn't be able to enjoy a second cup, but unwilling to remain with Marissa and Murray for another second.

"Leaving us so soon?" Murray crooned with a fake pout.

"Gotta get to work," Steve replied with a tight smile. He grabbed his briefcase and coat and hurried out of the house.

Steve crossed the street, cutting through the little park in the town square. The weather hadn't improved. The world was cast in a depressing gray, and sleet continued to assault him from above. He flipped the collar of his jacket up against the cold, wet wind.

He didn't notice the old woman huddled at the bus stop until he was almost upon her. She looked up. She was a fat woman with short, white hair and large glasses. She smiled at him as a rat popped its head out of her jacket. Steve couldn't remember the name Hopper had told him yesterday.

"Hi, ma'am," Steve said. "You have long to wait for the bus? It's cold out here." Maybe he should offer to give her a ride, but he didn't really want a trio of rats in his rental car.

She shook her head. "No. Not long."

"That's good." A hard gust of wind blew sleet into his eyes. When he blinked them back open, the woman's face had changed. Her pleasant expression was replaced by wide-eyed horror. A rat was twitching its whiskers near her ear, and she seemed to be listening.

"Are you alright?" Steve asked.

She whispered something, but Steve couldn't make out the words.

"What was that? Can I help you with something, ma'am?"

"The harrowers!" she yelled, spittle flying from her mouth to join the sleet pelting his face. "They'll come for you, too."

Steve glanced over his shoulder at the sheriff's department, wondering if he should go get Hopper. This woman was clearly unwell. Before he could make a decision, a bus pulled up to the stop.

The woman's face was dim and pleasant again when Steve looked back at her. She stood, walking toward the bus. She patted him on the arm absentmindedly before she boarded. The door shut with a sense of finality, and the bus pulled away to leave Steve standing alone on the side of the road. He jammed his hands in his coat pockets and shook his head, shaking some of the sleet from his hair.

Carol was at the front desk again. She didn't even grace him with a glance as she idly flipped through a magazine. He looked at the sad coffee pot in the corner and thought longingly of Claudia's coffee.

Steve walked over to Hopper's office and knocked on the door frame. The man was hunched over his desk staring at a pile of photographs.

"Harrington!" he greeted when he looked up to see Steve. "Have an okay night at Claudia's?"

Steve nodded. "I did. Though the other residents are a bit… odd."

Hopper snorted. "Marissa and Murray Bauman there right now, yeah?"

Steve nodded.

"Both nuts in their own way. Marissa used to be alright. We even went on a few dates a while back. But she went off the deep end after her cat died a few years ago, got super into seances and palm reading and the like."

Steve nodded. "Dustin told me about her house."

"Yeah. Never leave open flames next to your ancient, dry occult books." He chuckled to himself. "Murray doesn't even live in Hawkins, lives down in Indy. But he's convinced we got aliens here so he comes for a few weeks every time he notices 'unusual activity' on whatever the fuck frequencies he monitors."

"You think he could have anything to do with Chrissy?" He'd been a thoroughly unpleasant man who'd come to town just before Chrissy was murdered.

Hopper shook his head. "Nah. Murray's harmless. All bark, no bite."

Steve filed Murray away for further investigation. Nobody was harmless.

"You still want to talk to the parents today?" Hopper asked.

"Yeah. Probably best to go to them rather than bring them into the station. Don't want to get their hackles up."

Hopper nodded. "They'll be at the church. They volunteer there every Saturday morning, making care packages for the homeless shelter in the city."

"Alright if we go there?" Steve asked. He wasn't sure what Hopper's relationship was with the church.

"Sure. The pastor's son was Chrissy's boyfriend, so I'm guessing they all wanna do whatever they can to figure this out."

The church was about five miles outside of town. The drive took them past huge swathes of barren farmland, devoid of color and life this far from spring. The emptiness stoked a melancholy ache in Steve's chest. There was something simultaneously sad and beautiful about farmland in winter. All that space, as far as the eye could see, going unused.

"This the only church in town?" Steve asked as they pulled up to the large white building. Steve had been raised Catholic, which meant Protestant churches were aesthetically underwhelming to him. The newer ones just looked like big, regular buildings most of the time, like this one. The only indication that it even was a church was a large cross on the front of the white building, and the sign - South Country Baptist Church.

Hopper nodded. "Yeah. There's a Catholic church next town over that a lot of folks go to, but this is the only one in town limits."

The parking lot was more full of cars than Steve would have expected on a Saturday. "They have services on Saturdays?"

"Nah, these folks are all just here for the volunteer work. Pastor Carver really emphasizes acts of service. He's done a lot for our community."

As they walked in, Steve spotted something scratched into the wood of the doorframe. He stopped and peered at it, squinting to make out the small lines. It looked familiar, but he wasn't sure where he'd seen it. Hopper looked back at him with an expectant expression, and Steve hurried to follow.

They came into a large foyer when they entered the church. Folding tables were set up throughout the room, covered in all manner of items - toiletries, clothes, books, snacks, canned goods. About 30 people worked around the tables, putting items into large boxes while consulting clipboards.

A blond man in a stylish gray suit looked up as they walked in. He was tall and muscular, in fantastic shape for a middle-aged man. His blond hair could rival even Steve's for shape and volume, and one of Steve's nicknames in high school had been "The Hair". The man smiled at them with a full complement of brilliant white teeth.

"Sheriff Hopper!" the man called, walking over to them. "And who's this?" he asked, his gaze shifting over to Steve.

"Special Agent Steve Harrington," Hopper replied. "From the FBI. Harrington, this is Pastor Carver."

The pastor held out a hand for Steve to shake. It was the perfect handshake, firm enough to convey power, but not so firm as to be taken for aggression.

"Well I sure am grateful we've got the FBI on our side for this one," he said. "Not that I don't have every faith in you, Hopper."

Hopper smiled. "I'm just as grateful as you are, Pastor." He scanned the room, frowning. "We're looking for the Cunninghams. Wanted to give the Special Agent here a chance to talk with them, get him fully up to speed on the case. Thought they'd be here."

"Of course," the pastor said with a nod. "They are. But Phillip was having some… difficulties, so I let them have a moment in my office."

He led them further into the church, down a hallway with walls covered in pictures of smiling churchgoers engaged in volunteer work. They heard the sobbing before Steve even saw the office door.

The pastor led them into the office, where a man was slumped in an ornate chair behind a large desk, sobbing into his hands. It took Steve a moment to notice the small woman sitting silently in a chair in the corner, her face blank.

"Phillip, Clarissa. The sheriff wants to talk with you a bit more about Chrissy," the pastor said, pitching his voice to be heard above Phillip's wails. "Phillip. You think you can calm down enough to talk?" The question could be interpreted as a kindly check-in, but the pastor's tone suggested more of a thinly veiled rebuke.

Phillip's head snapped up from his hands and he fell silent. His eyes were red-rimmed and his face blotchy. "Yes, of course, Pastor."

The pastor nodded to Steve and Hopper as he left the room and shut the door. They took the two remaining chairs in the room, sitting beside Clarissa and across the large desk from Phillip. Clarissa stared at the wall in front of her, not even turning to glance at them, but Phillip tracked their movements closely.

Hopper nodded to Steve. "This is Special Agent Steve Harrington, with the FBI. He'll be helping out with the case, and I wanted to give him a chance to talk to the two of you. Is it alright if he asks you a few questions? They might be the same as what I asked you, but not because I don't believe you. Just to give him a chance to get the lay of the land."

Phillip nodded weakly.

"Clarissa?" Hopper prompted. She startled at the sound of her name and looked over at them. She looked surprised, like she hadn't noticed any of what happened in the past two minutes. "Can we ask you some questions?"

"Sure," she whispered, then went back to staring at the wall.

"Alright. Go ahead, Special Agent Harrington." Hopper gave him a nod.

Steve leaned forward in his chair. He was in an awkward position, only able to look at one of the people he was questioning at a time. He started with Phillip, the more talkative of the two.

"We spoke with Nancy and Jonathan, the friends Chrissy was studying with the night she died. They said she left them around 10pm, and they don't know where she went. Did she come home after she left them at 10?"

Phillip shook his head. "No."

"Do you have any idea where she did go?"

"No, no idea," Phillip insisted.

"Was that unusual for her? To be out so late on a school night without you knowing where she was?"

Phillip bristled. "I thought I did know where she was!"

"You were both home together all night?" Steve asked. Phillip gave a curt nod. "So you must have noticed that she didn't come home," Steve pressed. "Where did you think she was?"

"I thought she was spending the night at Nancy's," Phillip said with a glare.

"Did she do that often? Change her plans without telling you to spend the night with her friends?"

"Are you implying my daughter was a liar?" Phillip asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Steve winced internally. He'd gotten excited and pressed too hard too soon. He should have established more of a rapport first. A rookie mistake.

"No, sir, not at all," Steve hastened to say. "I'm just trying to understand if anything about that night seemed unusual to you."

Phillip's glare softened minutely, but not as much as Steve would have liked.

Steve needed to shift tactics. "How about you tell me a little bit about her, before we get to that night?" he asked. "I'd like to get an idea of her personality, her likes and dislikes, what she did with her free time."

Phillip relaxed, the aggression bleeding out of his posture. He nodded. "My Chrissy was an angel," he said with a sigh. "Been an angel since she was a baby. Always the sweetest little thing, just wanted everyone around her to be happy. And so smart. You know she got accepted to Harvard? She wasn't gonna go, of course, she was planning to start a family with Jason while he was at Bible college, but that just shows you how smart she was."

Steve wondered why she had applied to Harvard if she knew she wasn't going to go to college. Maybe her interests didn't align with her parents' as much as they thought.

"She was a cheerleader?" Steve prompted.

"Yes, and so good at it. The captain of the squad in her senior year. She'd take the new girls under her wings, show them the ropes. She used to have the real shy ones over for one-on-one sleepovers to get them to open up a little." His eyes glazed over with wistfulness.

"She sounds like a really nice girl," Steve said. "How long had she been dating Jason?"

"Since freshman year. The two of them were perfect for each other. Both good, Christian kids. And so beautiful." His face crumpled and he descended into sobs again. His wife huffed from the corner. Steve glanced at her. She had a mean little smile on her face for a few seconds before it dropped back into a slack stare.

Steve gave Phillip a moment to collect himself. When Phillip looked back up, Steve had to remind himself of what he'd learned at the Academy - to acknowledge the loss before plunging right back into questioning. "This must be so hard, Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham. I'm very sorry for your loss. We're going to do everything we can to figure out what happened."

Phillip nodded and sniffled. Clarissa was silent.

"Had anything changed in the weeks and months leading up to Chrissy's passing?" Steve continued. "Was she doing anything differently, acting any differently?"

Phillip shook his head. "No! She was still Chrissy, my perfect girl."

Clarissa snorted. Steve turned in his chair to make eye contact with her. He waited. Sometimes silence was better than a question.

"She was different," Clarissa whispered.

"Clarissa, stop that!" Phillip admonished. "We've talked about this, she was fine!"

Clarissa ignored him. "She changed. Dressed differently, stayed out later. Stopped having her little sleepovers with the freshman girls. Started to talk back to me. The last few weeks before she died, she wouldn't even come to Church with us on Sunday."

Steve glanced back over at Phillip to see what he had to say about this.

"She was just going through a little rut, feeling a bit under the weather," Phillip insisted. "There's nothing sinister about that. She was a great kid, but still a teenager." This contradicted the picture he'd painted of perfection for Chrissy, but Steve didn't want to push too hard again.

"I caught her leaving the house last week in a skirt that hit her mid-thigh," Clarissa said. "Told her she was a slut. A hussy. She just stared at me with blank devil eyes, and left."

Steve looked back over at Clarissa. "Where was she going?" he asked.

"I don't know," Clarissa mumbled. "She wouldn't tell me."

Phillip tutted. "She was just going to meet Jason. She was a teenager. They always experiment a little."

Clarissa shook her head. "Jason wouldn't go in for anything like that. He's a good boy, always proper. He would've made her turn right back around and come home if she showed up dressed like that."

Steve definitely needed to talk to Jason. That didn't sound like any 18 year old boy he'd experienced in his life.

Phillip rolled his eyes. "Clarissa would get these ideas sometimes," he explained to Steve, like Clarissa wasn't right there next to them. "Thought there was something wrong with Chrissy, that she was tainted somehow. Had to send her for a stay at Oakbrook a few times when Chrissy was first becoming a woman, to make sure she didn't get violent with the poor girl."

Clarissa stared at the wall ahead of her like she hadn't heard what her husband said about her.

Had Chrissy been abused by her mother? Had she become involved in something dangerous as part of an attempt to get away from overbearing and abusive parents? Hopefully Hopper had some ideas. Steve was surprised he hadn't already mentioned this.

"Did you notice any changes in Chrissy's behavior?" Steve asked Phillip.

"No, none." Phillip stuck to his guns on that one. Steve wouldn't have known who to believe if they hadn't spoken to Nancy and Jonathan yesterday. Something clearly had been going on with Chrissy. Phillip was either lying, in denial, or extremely unobservant. Any of the three would dovetail with what Steve had learned of Phillip thus far.

"Alright," Steve said. He wasn't going to get anything further with Phillip by pushing him. "To sum up - all you know of the night she died is that Chrissy went to Nancy Wheeler's house to study, and you didn't hear anything else from her. You thought she spent the night there, and have no idea where else she would have gone."

"Correct," Phillip said. Hopper shifted slightly beside Steve. It caught his attention, as Hopper wasn't much of a fidgeter. He'd been perfectly still throughout the rest of the questioning.

"Do you have anything else you'd like to say, Mrs. Cunningham?" Steve ached to get her alone for questioning, where her husband wouldn't be able to bully her out of the conversation.

"No," she whispered without looking at Steve.

Steve turned back to Phillip. "Would you be willing to let us search her room?" he asked. "To see if we can find anything that might help us?"

"Already did," Hopper said beside him. Steve had momentarily forgotten the investigation had been going for nearly 24 hours before he arrived. "Nothing there. But you could go over it again if you want."

"We're an open book," Phillip said, spreading his hands wide. "Please, search her room again if you think it would help."

"Thank you," Steve said. "I appreciate your willingness to talk with me." He shook Phillip's hand. It was limp and sweaty, the polar opposite of the pastor's handshake from before. He would have shaken Clarissa's hand as well, but she resolutely continued to stare at the wall, ignoring him.

He and Hopper left the parents in the office. They stopped far enough down the hallway that they wouldn't be overheard.

"He's lying," Hopper whispered.

Steve raised his eyebrows.

"He knew something was wrong when I got there that morning to tell them," Hopper continued. "I didn't even have to tell him Chrissy was dead, he just crumpled to the ground sobbing when he opened the door to see me. It was clear he'd been up all night. None of that would've happened if he thought she was spending the night at the Wheelers'."

"You think he's lying to protect her somehow? Or do you think he's involved?"

"I'd say to protect himself. He's real obsessed with his image in the town. If she was up to something she shouldn't have been, he wouldn't have wanted anyone to know. Still wouldn't want anyone to know."

"Even if it helped us catch her murderer?"

Hopper shrugged. "I don't get it, either. These rich folks, though. They got a real different outlook on life."

Steve didn't volunteer the information that he'd grown up one of "these rich folks". But Hopper had a point. He'd known people like the Cunninghams, who thought saving face in the community was more important than anything else.

"What about the mother?" Steve asked. "What was all that about her needing to be sent away to protect Chrissy?"

"Clarissa's always been a bit nervy. But I didn't know she'd been to Oakbrook." Hopper worried at his lower lip, lost in thought.

"Oakbrook?" Steve prompted.

"It's a fancy psych hospital they call a 'retreat' to make it seem like it's not an asylum. I remember Clarissa went away occasionally for months at a time when Chrissy was a young teenager, but Phillip told everyone she was staying with her ailing parents in New York. Now I'm wondering how many of those months were actually spent at Oakbrook."

"You think she could've done it?" Steve asked. "Seems like she wasn't very happy with Chrissy lately."

Hopper grimaced. "I wanna say no, but apparently there's a lot I didn't know about what's been going on in that house."

"We may wanna see if we can get a warrant to talk to her psychiatrist at Oakbrook. Get an idea of just how violent her tendencies were."

Hopper nodded. "I can work on that."

They walked back out into the foyer of the church. The pastor stood to the side of one table in a heated conversation with a teenage boy. Steve could instantly tell the boy was his son. He had the same flawless blond hair and muscular build. The same angular cheekbones and strong nose, the same pointed chin. He was wearing a green and white letterman jacket.

"The boyfriend?" Steve asked Hopper, nodding toward the two.

"Yep. You wanna talk to him, too?"

"Might as well, since he's here."

They approached the men. Steve overheard a few whispered words from the pastor - "you need to stop this nonsense" - before he noticed Steve and Hopper and hastily cut himself off.

His angry grimace shifted to a welcoming smile with unsettling rapidity. "Did you get what you needed from the Cunninghams?" he asked.

Steve nodded.

"Good, good. Let me know if there's anything else I can do to help. Anything at all."

"Actually," Steve began with a smile, "I wondered if we could speak with your son." He nodded at Jason. "I understand you were Chrissy's boyfriend?"

The boy gave him a sullen nod. He didn't share his father's ability to school his features, or, if he did, he didn't care to use it. His mouth was turned down in a pronounced frown, with his forehead wrinkled in consternation.

"Yeah. What, you think I did it because I'm the boyfriend?"

His father laughed as he clapped Jason on the shoulder. A little too hard. Jason stumbled. "Jason. That sort of sarcasm is unbecoming, and an affront to our Lord. We need to help in any way we can with the investigation."

Jason rolled his eyes. The pastor's mouth narrowed to a thin line for a moment before it filled back out into a smile.

"Go with them," his father commanded with a voice like iron. "Take them into the Bible study room and tell them whatever they need to know."

Jason responded to the firm tone. He walked down a hallway, not turning back to check that Steve and Hopper followed.

The pastor shrugged. "He's taking her death hard. He's usually much more pleasant than this. But he'll cooperate."

Steve and Hopper followed Jason down the hallway into a large room. The walls were covered with motivational religious posters showing all manner of soothing nature scenes. Steve stared at a poster with the words, "The will of God will never take you to where the grace of God will not protect you", and wondered if Chrissy would agree.

Jason slumped into a plastic chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "I didn't kill her," he said as Hopper and Steve took chairs in front of him.

"We don't think you did, kid," Hopper said. Steve thought he might have, but he wasn't going to say that now. "Just wanna get a better idea of what's been going on in her life."

"Eddie Munson killed her," Jason announced.

Hopper raised his eyebrows. "I assume if you had any actual proof of that, you'd've come forward sooner."

Jason scoffed. "I don't need proof. It's obvious."

"Why do you think Munson killed her?" Hopper asked.

"He's been turning her against me, against God, for months."

"We're gonna need you to start at the beginning, Jason. Does Chrissy even know Munson? They don't exactly travel in the same social circles."

"Yes," Jason said. "She knows him."

"How does she know him?" Hopper prompted when Jason stopped there.

"I don't know how it started." Jason frowned and looked away from them. "But I saw her with him for the first time a few months ago. I was doing a trail run with the team, and she was sitting with him in the woods near the trailer park." He looked back up with a stormy expression. "Do you have any idea how that looked for me? My girlfriend, sitting there with Munson the Freak, smiling and laughing like she was enjoying herself." He balled up his fists. "His hand was on her thigh."

"Did you talk to her about it?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, of course I talked to her about it. Told her she shouldn't be hanging out with him, especially not alone in the woods like that. But she said he was nice. That she felt safe with him."

"So it wasn't just a one-time thing?"

Jason shook his head. "No. Sometimes I wouldn't be able to find her anywhere, then I'd go back into those woods and find her there with him."

"And that upset you?" Steve asked.

"Yes, it upset me!" Jason yelled. "People started to talk, started to say Chrissy was cheating on me with that freak."

"And was she? Cheating on you?"

Jason glared daggers at Steve. "No. She would never do that. She wore a promise ring, and she was serious about it."

"So what was she doing with him? Drugs?"

Jason reared back like Steve had slapped him. "No. She was a good girl. I think it was like a charity thing. She was trying to save his soul. But she couldn't do it. No one could save Eddie Munson's soul. He's a satanist, you know. Runs a cult, tries to recruit teenagers into it."

Steve raised his eyebrows and glanced over at Hopper.

"You talkin' about the Dungeons and Dragons club?" Hopper asked.

Jason nodded. "They tell you it's a game, but it's all about summoning demons. And he needs the innocent young kids to lure the demons out from Hell."

The Satanic Panic was alive and well in Hawkins, Indiana.

"Okay. Is that why you think he killed her? For the demons?" Steve asked, trying to figure out if Jason actually knew something or if he just had a grudge.

"I don't know exactly why he did it, but I'm sure she was with him that night."

"Did you see her with him?" Hopper asked. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't exactly see her with him that night," Jason admitted. "But a few nights before, when I was coming home from a late practice, he drove past on his motorcycle and she was with him. On a motorcycle." He spat the word out like it was something filthy.

"So you've got nothing concrete on Munson?" Hopper clarified.

Jason sighed. "I knew you wouldn't take this seriously. You've always been soft for Munson, 'cause you're friends with Wayne. That's what my dad says."

"Does he?" Hopper asked.

Jason nodded. "Yeah. Says Eddie Munson's a blight on our community, and you're just letting him continue."

It was Hopper's turn to sigh now. "I can't do anything about your suspicions without any evidence, Jason."

Jason shifted in his chair and muttered something that sounded like "useless".

"Was there anything else you noticed about Chrissy in the months leading up to her death?" Steve asked, trying to get them back on track. "Any other new people in her life, new places she liked to go?"

"Just Munson," Jason spat. Steve didn't think they'd get anything else out of him.

"Did you fight with her often about Munson?"

Jason's gaze sharpened. "You're trying to get me to admit we had a big fight that night or something, but I didn't kill her. I was at practice until 10:30. I went straight home, my mom made me dinner, and then I went to sleep and didn't leave the house again until the next morning. My parents will tell you."

Steve fully believed Jason's parents would lie for him, but there was no use further antagonizing the kid. They hadn't been given any reason to doubt his alibi.

"Alright. Thanks for talking with us, Jason," Steve said. "If anything else comes to mind that you think might help, let us know."

"So you're not gonna arrest me?"

Steve raised his eyebrows. "No. Should we?"

Jason stood. "No," he snapped. "But I'm telling you, it was Munson. And it's only a matter of time until he kills again."

Jason left the room, slamming the door behind him. Steve turned to Hopper. "You talked to Munson yet?"

Hopper shook his head. "I had no idea he'd been hanging out with Chrissy."

"Probably a good next stop, yeah?"

Hopper's stomach growled. "After lunch. Let's go to Joyce's, then I'll take you to Munson's trailer."

Joyce's was a small diner on the outskirts of town. Steve loved how local diners like this were all similar enough that you felt comfortable and at home, but each still had its own personality. This diner was decorated entirely with amateur drawings of fantastical scenes, many of them clearly done by a child.

"All the art's done by Joyce's youngest, Will," Hopper explained as Steve looked around. "Gotten pretty good over the years." Steve spotted a few of what must be the newer paintings, impressed by the quality.

They sat at a booth near the window, watched over by a detailed painting of a fire-breathing dragon. Most of the tables were occupied, and Steve was surrounded by the clink of cutlery on plates and the gentle whir of conversation.

A short woman in a teal uniform approached their table. "Hey, Hopper, how you doin' today?" she asked with a bright smile. Her name tag identified her as Joyce.

"Been better," Hopper replied with a grunt.

She poured coffee into both of their cups. "You the FBI man?" Joyce asked Steve.

Steve nodded. News traveled fast, apparently.

"We're glad to get some help here. Real shame about the Cunningham girl." She shook her head and frowned. "I really feel for her parents. My son went missing for a week a few years ago. Worst week of my life."

"That the son who did these?" Steve asked, gesturing at the art.

Her face brightened again. "Sure is. Will's my youngest. Think you met my oldest yesterday. Jonathan. Hope he behaved."

Steve could see the resemblance, now that he knew. "He was a perfect gentleman," Steve assured her. He wasn't sure what it was about this woman, but he wanted her to be happy. She gave Steve a grateful smile, and hurried away to take care of another customer.

A man approached their table as they were finishing up. He had the stooped posture of someone who worked too many shifts doing manual labor.

"How's it goin', Hop?" he asked, twisting his cap in his hands.

"Howdy, Wayne. 'Bout as good as you could expect." He nodded at Steve. "This is Harrington, FBI agent helping out with the Chrissy case."

The man held out a hand. "Wayne Munson," he said. Eddie's father? Steve wasn't sure how common the name was. "Real glad we're getting help on this one."

"Wayne's the one who found Chrissy, in the woods out by the trailer park," Hopper explained.

Steve nodded. The trailer park where Eddie also lived? Eddie, the drug dealer who'd been hanging out with a high school girl. Steve hated to admit it, but Jason might be onto something.

"We're heading out to the trailer park after this, gonna take a look at the site," Hopper said to Wayne. "You know if Eddie's at home today?"

Wayne narrowed his eyes. "He ain't mixed up in all of this, is he? I've told that boy so many times to stay outta trouble."

Hopper shrugged. "We just got a few questions for him."

Wayne shifted uneasily. "Not sure if he's home. Didn't see him smokin' outside his trailer at all yet today, but he never wakes up til afternoon anyway."

Wayne didn't sound like he approved of Eddie's lifestyle choices.

"Alright. We'll see if we can catch him at home, then."

Wayne left with a frown and a furrowed brow.

"Father?" Steve asked.

Hopper shook his head. "Uncle. Eddie's dad, Al, went to prison when he was real young, then scarpered off as soon as he was out, leavin' Eddie with Wayne."

On their way out of the diner, Steve's eyes were drawn to a splash of bright red in a painting hanging near the bathrooms. The canvas was black, with nothing but a set of bright red curtains in the foreground. Something tickled at the back of his mind, a sense of recognition. It took him a moment to recall his dream. The curtains in the painting looked so similar to the ones from his dream. What an odd coincidence.

The sleet had stopped by the time they left the diner, but the suffocating gray sky remained. They went to Eddie's trailer first, hoping to catch him before he left for the day. A young man maybe just a little older than Steve answered the door when Hopper knocked. He was dressed only in a pair of boxers. His body was wiry and his skin was covered in tattoos. His hair was a massive halo of brown frizz around his face. A cigarette dangled from the edge of his mouth.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, good Sheriff?" he asked with a smirk, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth.

"Eddie. Got some questions for you about Chrissy Cunningham."

Eddie blinked. His expression remained neutral. "Do you?" He turned to Steve and his mouth curled into a grin. "And who's this luscious young chap? Pig in training?"

Hopper sighed. Steve pulled out his badge and flashed it at Eddie, following protocol. "Special Agent Steve Harrington, FBI."

Eddie raised his eyebrows. He ran his eyes up and down Steve's body, in a gaze that was openly lascivious. Steve blushed. "FBI, huh? Are you even old enough to drink?"

"His age has got nothing to do with this, Munson," Hopper snapped. "Now, you gonna answer our questions here, all civil-like, or are we going down to the station?"

Eddie sighed. "Fine. But not in here. No fucking way I'm letting a coupla oinkers into my trailer. Go be good boys and sit at that table while I put some clothes on." He glanced at Steve. "Unless you want me to stay like this, big boy?" he said with a wink.

Steve turned and walked to the picnic table to hide his flustered expression. Eddie was flirting with him. He was used to this sort of behavior from bored housewives he'd interviewed, but never a man his age. An attractive man his age, a little voice added in his mind.

Hopper joined him at the table. "Don't let him get to you," he said to Steve. "He's always like this. It's his life's work to get a rise out of every single person he talks to on a daily basis."

"It's fine. I can handle it," Steve insisted.

Eddie took his sweet time getting changed. Almost ten minutes had passed by the time he ambled out of his trailer, although it looked like all he'd done was throw on a pair of torn jeans and a t-shirt. A leather jacket was tossed over one shoulder.

He sat across the picnic table from Hopper and Steve and lit up another cigarette. "What can I help you with, boys?" he asked after he blew a huge cloud of smoke directly in Hopper's face.

"You knew Chrissy Cunningham?" Hopper asked.

Eddie shrugged, taking another drag off his cigarette. "A little."

"How'd you meet her?"

"You asking if I sold her something?" Eddie asked with a smirk. "Oh, Hop, I'm not gonna cave that easily."

"Just answer the question, kid," Hopper said with a tired sigh.

"She was sitting at my table in the woods one day a few months ago. Seemed sad. So I chatted with her."

"Did that become a regular thing?" Hopper asked.

"Is it illegal to talk to sad rich kids now?" Eddie shot back.

Hopper glared. "Did you see her again, after that time in the woods?"

Eddie shrugged. He tapped his fingers rapidly on the table, creating an edgy rhythm. "Sure. She'd come by every once in a while to talk."

"What about?"

"Anything. Everything. The constricting mores of her social class. Her shitass boyfriend. Her crazy mom. Girl just needed someone to talk to who wouldn't tattle to her parents." Steve felt Eddie's leg jiggling under the table in time with his fingers.

"She tell you things she didn't want her parents to know?"

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. It was a loud, barking laugh, startling birds from the trees around them. "Not in the way you're implying, but yeah. You know she got into Harvard, and she actually wanted to go? But her parents wouldn't let her. Harvard, my good man."

"She wanted to go?" Steve asked. That wasn't what her father had said.

"Yeah, 'course she wanted to go. She wanted to get out of this shitty town, out from under her parents' and boyfriend's thumbs. Which I understand. I wouldn't even look back once if I ever got a chance to leave."

"How often did you see her, these past few months?" Hopper asked.

"Dunno. Maybe a couple times a week? I've got a place I like to sit, in the woods. She'd come by sometimes."

"You sell her drugs?"

Eddie held a hand to his chest in a gesture of mock affront. "Little ol' me? Sell drugs? Sir, I've never touched the stuff." He dropped his hand back to the table, resuming his tapping.

Hopper grunted. "Then what were you doin' with her? Were you sleeping together? She's 18, it's not a crime. You can tell us."

Eddie laughed meanly. "Oh, Hopper, did you forget? I'm a fag. Remember? You were a deputy when Tommy put me in the hospital and spraypainted "FAGGOTS NOT WELCOME" on Wayne's trailer. You told me there was nothing you could do about it, because you just didn't have any evidence."

Steve glanced at Hopper, who shifted uncomfortably on the bench. "There wasn't any evidence. Just your word against his and all his friends'."

"Oh, yes, of course," Eddie said sarcastically. "And why would you ever believe Eddie the Freak Munson over the rich kids?"

Steve interjected in an attempt to steer the conversation away from old grudges. "Did Chrissy ever mention feeling like she wasn't safe at home?"

Eddie turned to look at Steve. His fingers finally stopped tapping as he narrowed his eyes. Steve felt the full force of Eddie Munson's attention. He hadn't realized the man had been holding so much of it in check. The attention was heavy, a palpable weight on Steve's shoulders.

"Physically unsafe? No," Eddie said. "Existentially? Absolutely."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Hopper growled.

Eddie sighed and turned away from Steve. The weight lifted. Steve felt like he'd lost something. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, big man. You're all brawn, with nothing much going on under that ostentatious hat."

Steve didn't think he would be able to get anything out of Eddie with Hopper here for him to spar with.

"Munson, have you got anything to tell us about her, or not?" Hopper snapped, rising easily to Eddie's bait.

Eddie spread his hands and shrugged. "All I can tell you is she was unhappy with her life. But I don't know shit about who killed her."

"You were seen with her at night a few days before her murder, on your bike. Were you with her again the night she was murdered?" Hopper asked, leaning forward.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but my band was playing at the Hideout, and then I hung around at the bar. At least 50 witnesses that can place me there between 10pm when our set started and closing at 3am. Got back to my trailer just as Wayne was coming home from his shift."

"Wayne gets home at 5," Hopper said, like he'd caught Eddie in a lie. "What were you doing between 3 and 5?" The forensics report had mentioned the beginning stages of rigor already being present when the body was found around 5:30. It was very unlikely Eddie could have killed her after 3am and have that amount of rigor set in by 5:30, especially in the cold. But Steve supposed it was best to be thorough. Eddie had an apparently secret relationship of some kind with the girl, and she'd been found dead near his trailer park.

"Driving," Eddie said. "Blowing off some steam."

"Anyone who can corroborate that?"

"Billy Hargrove."

Hopper snorted. "Really? Hargrove is all you got as an alibi for those two hours?"

"Oh, sorry, I forgot. I should've lined up a more heterosexual alibi. Then maybe you would've believed me."

Steve's eyes jumped back and forth between the two men. Both of them exuded contentious rage.

"Alright, thanks Eddie," Steve said, jumping in before they came to blows. They weren't going to get any more out of this, not until they'd looked into Eddie's alibis. "If you think of anything else Chrissy might have told you that could be useful, please let us know."

Eddie nodded deferentially to Steve. "I'll tell you. I'm not telling him shit." He jerked a thumb at Hopper.

"Careful, Munson," Hopper warned. "Wouldn't want to look like you're willfully obstructing an investigation."

Steve stood, patting Hopper on the shoulder. "Let's go take a look at the site, Sheriff."

Eddie smirked at Hopper. "Yeah, Hop. Why don't you go let boy wonder here do your job for you?"

Steve squeezed Hopper's shoulder as he felt the other man tense beneath his hand. Hopper snapped his mouth shut and stood with a scowl.

"Toodle-oo, boys!" Eddie called after them with a little finger wave.

"I swear that boy was placed on this earth to test me," Hopper grumbled as they walked into the woods. "No matter how many years I've been doing this, he still manages to get under my skin. You'd think he would want to play nice, clear his name. But no, not Eddie."

Steve made what he hoped was a sympathetic noise, following Hopper as he led them deeper into the woods and took out his frustration on the dormant plant life of the understory.

"You think he knows more than what he told us?" Steve asked.

"I would bet on it. Not entirely convinced he didn't do it himself." Hopper smacked a weedy sumac sapling out of his way with startling ferocity.

"He's got a pretty good alibi." Steve pushed brush out of the way in Hopper's wake with a bit more care. "She was probably dead well before 3am, given the amount of rigor you noted when you found her."

Hopper threw his hands up as they entered a small clearing. "Okay, so maybe he didn't kill her. But I still think he knows something."

"I could talk to him myself, if you want," Steve volunteered. Just because he thought it might help. Not because he wanted to see that wicked grin again. "You two seem to have a… history. Maybe I could get more out of him without you there."

Hopper grunted. "Yeah. Maybe. But don't let him walk all over you, kid. He's a menace."

Steve didn't think he could possibly perform as poorly as Hopper just had in an interrogation, but he kept that to himself. He glanced around the clearing Hopper had led them to. Crime scene tape stretched between several of the trees, blocking off a small area.

There was something on the ground in the middle of the area. Steve moved closer. It was a mound of dirt. A sapling had begun to sprout from the mound, with a thin woody stem and bright green leaves. They stood out starkly against the dormant backdrop of the February forest.

"Was that there when you found her?" Steve asked, pointing at the mound.

"What the hell?" Hopper muttered as he caught sight of the sapling. He squatted down, staring at it. "I think the dirt was there, maybe; would have to check the photos. But that plant sure as shit wasn't."

Steve ducked under the tape and squatted near the mound. He pulled a compact camera out of his coat pocket and took several photos. The light was awful, the sun losing its battle against the dismal late winter gray, but hopefully the flash would give him something to work with.

He put on a pair of gloves and poked the sapling gently. It wobbled. Where had it come from? There's no way it had just sprouted here on its own in the middle of winter. Maybe somebody had brought it from a greenhouse and shoved it in here as some sort of… what? Offering?

He tugged at it, gently at first. It didn't budge, even though the dirt wasn't packed particularly hard around it. He gave it a firmer tug, and pulled it from the earth. A fine mesh network of roots came into view, trailing clods of dirt. It had been growing in this dirt, not just shoved here.

Maybe there was some sort of micro-climate here that allowed for early growth. He looked up, glancing at the forest around him. Everything was gray and brown. The only green he saw was the deep green of a pine tree. He held the sapling up and took a few photos to show the roots.

Steve set the sapling to the side. "Is this something that happens often around here? New growth in the forest in February?"

Hopper shook his head. "I'm not exactly a forester, but I've never seen anything like it."

"Hmm. Did you look through this pile when you found her?"

"No," Hopper said. "If it was even there when I found her, I must've just thought it was from a ground hog or something."

Steve set the sapling aside and pressed one of his hands into the mound of dirt. He sifted through it carefully, pushing aside layer after layer of dirt. His finger hit something firm about halfway down.

He pulled it from the pile, dusting the dirt off gently with his gloved hands. It was a vaguely tubular structure about an inch long, off-white and larger at the ends than in the middle. It took Steve a moment to recognize it as a bone. Hopper drew in a sharp breath as he came to the same conclusion.

Steve turned it over a few times in his hands. It could be a human finger bone, but could also be from a chicken wing, for all Steve knew. He wasn't a forensic anthropologist. The fabric of his glove caught over a rough area as he brushed the dirt off.

He squinted at the bone's surface in the dim light. Something was scratched into it. He brushed more dirt off. A series of interconnecting lines, that he'd seen twice now. Once at the school, on the lockers, and once on the frame of the door to the church.

The forest around him grew darker. The rustling of squirrels and chirping of birds faded into silence. The light dimmed until he was surrounded by a black so deep Steve thought he might be able to touch it. His heart beat in his chest. It was the only sound he could hear.

A deep red curtain appeared several feet in front of him. The tips of four fingers wrapped around the side of the curtain, followed by the rest of a hand. A delicate hand, with long, dainty fingers. The nails were painted blood red. The skin was caked with dirt.

A cold sense of dread spread through his body. Fear gripped his chest. He didn't know who that hand belonged to, but he knew he didn't want to find out. The hand began to pull, drawing the curtain to the side. Steve's heart sped up. He couldn't let her see him.

A scream pierced the air, knifing its way straight into his eardrums. He clapped his hands over his ears and collapsed in on himself.

He felt a hand on his back and he screamed. He opened his eyes to the forest. No curtain. He heard the chirping birds and the rustling animals. He was on his knees in the wet dirt, back in the forest.

"Whoa, kid!" Hopper yelped. Steve turned to look at him. "Are you alright?"

Steve looked down at the bone still in his hand. "What is this symbol?" he asked Hopper, standing up and thrusting the bone in front of his face.

Hopper squinted. "I don't know," he said. He gave Steve a worried look. "Are you sure you're alright? You went all white in the face, like you were about to pass out, then you screamed bloody murder when I touched you."

"This symbol," Steve said, pointing to the bone again. He didn't want to address what had just happened. He needed to focus. "I saw it at the school. And the church. Figured it must mean something around here."

"Not that I know of," Hopper said with a shrug.

Steve worried his lower lip between his teeth. He'd take some better pictures when he got back to his room. Send them to Robin, see if she might be able to help figure out what it was. Send the bone itself to the forensic anthropologists at the FBI.

"Maybe we should call it for the night," Hopper said. "You look like you could use a good meal and some rest. Claudia's cooking is to die for."

Steve hated the pitying note in Hopper's voice. He remembered it in his parents' voices from back when he'd had episodes like this before, after Heather.

"I'm fine," Steve said. "I just feel a migraine coming on." His go-to excuse. His parents had never understood why the best neurologists and the best medications hadn't been able to get rid of his migraines.

"Alright," Hopper said, sounding unconvinced. "All the more reason to call it a night."

When Steve turned back to collect the sapling before they left, it was gone.

Max's right foot pounded the wet pavement over and over again as she propelled herself down the street. It was a disgusting day to be out skateboarding, cold and raining, but there wasn't much ice on the ground, and she needed to get away from the house for a bit. Neil had drunk himself into a stupor earlier in the day, and she didn't want to be there when he woke up with a headache.

As she skated past Forest Hills, she saw a glint of metal on the side of the road. She skidded to a stop and bent to check it out. It was a necklace. A pendant dangled from a delicate golden chain. She wondered if it was real gold. There was a strange symbol on the pendant, a series of diagonal lines, loosely connected. She could take this to the pawn shop, maybe get enough to buy herself a new board. She slid it into her pocket gleefully. Maybe this day wasn't a total loss.

A revving motor drew her attention back to the road. Billy was about to turn into the trailer park in his stupid Camaro. He'd moved out of the house as soon as he turned 18 and he'd been living in a shitty trailer ever since. She couldn't wait until she could do the same.

He honked when he caught sight of her, and pulled over to the shoulder.

"Why you out in this shit weather?" he asked. "Bad day at the house?" He'd become a more tolerable human once he'd moved out. Getting out from under Neil's thumb made him less of a raging asshole (a little bit).

She shrugged, shoving her board under one arm. He was the only person she really could talk to about her home life, but she still didn't want to.

He rolled his eyes at her non-response. "Get in, twerp. You can hang out at my place for the night."

She'd been doing this more often lately, whenever Billy was home from a haul. She'd never ask, but he seemed to have some sort of sixth sense for finding her wandering around Hawkins.

She jumped into the car, grateful to be out of the cold. She didn't even notice as the necklace slid out of her pocket and into Billy's car.

[andiv3r]

i'll be off-and-on tumblr, taking breaks and getting off breaks and then taking more breaks, for the next while. my mental health is fucked right now and i'm trying to figure out whether tumblr makes it better or worse.

before we get to my intro:

i do not like ship discourse, i do not believe that what you depict in fiction reflects what you condone in real life and i do not support harassing real people over what they do with fictional characters. furthermore, my profile will occasionally feature sensitive topics, so i recommend using my tag system to filter out whatever you don't want to see.

⊹. ⸙ ANDY / ANDIVER / ANDI

it / xe ( + she / he if we're friends )

go to @andiv3r-drawing (my art-only blog) if you came here for my drawings ⊹ ࣪ ˖

i post art & personal posts & talk to my friends on here. have been and will be stuck on gravity falls for a while. expect no consistency, i post for me and no one else.

no dni, i've got a block button and i'm not afraid to use it on assholes and bigots... or anyone else i don't wanna see in my feed.

below are my current primary interests !

gravity falls

the lion king

friday night funkin'

the silt verses

here's links to my shit (other blogs, saved things, past pinned, etc.) + check out my strawpage and pronouns.page.

below are tags you can use to filter or search for specific content

⊹. MY TAGS

#andiv3r rambles

- original post tag

#andiv3r draws

- art tag, everything i have ever drawn is under this tag

#cygnus post

- posts about my oc cygnus

#finch post

- posts about my oc finch

#avert your eyes‚ y'all

- nsfw / suggestive post tag*

*most are just about bill cipher, and none are detailed but y'know. for filter. i promise the "comma" will work in the tag filter if you copy/paste it directly.

⊹. CONTENT FILTER TAGS

if you'd like me to tag anything else for easier filtering, feel free to ask!

#tw blood

- for artworks containing blood

#tw gore

- for artworks containing gore

#tw self harm

- for mentions of or artworks containing self-inflicted injuries (cuts, bruises, etc.)

#ship discourse

- posts that contain anything that might reasonably be considered ship discourse, includes complaining about anti-ship people and their actions (not a frequently used tag, but might want to filter just in case)

#incest ship mention

- for any posts with incest ship content or mentions, can be used to filter any/all incest ship posts from my blog

#toxic/abusive ship mention

- for any posts with toxic or abusive ship content or mentions, can be used to filter any/all toxic/abusive ship posts from my blog

#suggestive

- for artworks containing sexually suggestive material

dividers found here, here

please let me know if you need a tag added for filtering purposes - my tag system can always be expanded

[making-your-fave-in-fr]

Welcome! One at a time, please. And no biting.

After being inspired by @making-you-in-spore, @makingyourfavindti, and my general love of scrying up fandragons, I've decided to make this silly little gimmick blog! Now, it's time to answer some frequently asked questions. I'd recommend reading through this all before sending in a submission.

How are you doing this/What is Flight Rising?

Flight Rising (or FR for short) is a browser game where you collect dragons. I use the Scrying Workshop's Predict Morphology feature to create the base dragon, then I give them clothes with the Dressing Room.

What's that gibberish at the bottom of each post?

In case anyone wants to recreate the guys I make, I share the dragon's breed, gender, colours, genes, and what apparel I used below. If y'all DO make one of my scries into a real dragon, I'd love to see it!

What’s your uploading schedule?

As of November 20th 2024, I set up a queue that uploads once every three hours or so, for a grand total of five posts a day. However, this is liable to change in the future. And depending on my motivation, I might miss a few windows.

When does the inbox open?

My inbox opens in the morning on Fridays, and closes in the evenings on Sundays. I do this manually (I'm three hours behind UTC), so I apologize if I'm a little bit late/early.

What tags do you primarily use?

#fave scry (self explanatory)

#not a scry (anything that isn't a scry)

#not my scry (for sharing other people's scries that I like)

#my scry (for sharing scries I made without an ask first)

#remade scry (for scries that I've remade for whatever reason)

#realized scry (for actual recreations of my scries on FR)

#scry help (need help with scrying your own dragons? I'll tag those kinds of posts with this)

Be warned that I will be including images of whatever character/thing I do, including body horror, creepypastas, etc. If you are uncomfortable with those, then please block/ignore posts with the #unsettling scry tag.

Why do you not use skins/accents/this one breed/etc?

I try to not use skins/accents since it's hard to find exactly what I'm looking for, but will still use them on occasion. Also I just find certain poses kinda ugly, unfortunately cough cough female mirror. However, if you want me to use a certain breed/gene/colour/etc, then feel free to tell me in your ask!

What's your PFP?

A scry of V2 from Ultrakill

What won't you do/why did you ignore my submission?

You'll find a list of things I will/won't scry below the cut. That's the #1 reason why I might ignore your post. Also please keep in mind that I’m one person, and also in college. I don’t necessarily do requests in order, either.

Who are you, anyways?

You can call me Drako! She/Her pronouns, please :)

I WILL do:

OCs

Characters from just about anywhere (though there are some exceptions. See below.)

Real people (actors, celebrities, yourself, etc)

Basically anything. I'm not kidding. You want me to turn your bowl of mac and cheese into a dragon? I'll do it. Just keep in mind the previously stated exceptions :3

I WON'T do:

Requests where you don’t tell me the media. You can be mildly vague/funny with the character name, but you gotta tell me where they’re from.

Anything involving IRL politics, tragedies, etc

Anything from a blatantly NSFW/fetish-y media. Mature-rated media and media with LIGHT adult content are alright, though. If you’re unsure, feel free to ask me!

Anything DSMP, Harry Potter, or South Park related

I swear I didn't just copy and paste from makingyourfaveindti. I just don't feel comfortable doing those things, either.

[the-fab-fox]

Okay. So Imma just come out and say it.

Y'all who read fanfic. You. Need. To. Start. Commenting. On. Fics.

I have been told I'm a great writer. I've been told I'm spot-on with characterization. I've been told I'm great at making readers feel and experience what the characters are feeling and experiencing. Been told it's like the reader is in the room as everything plays out.

However, when I see that my fics have upwards of 1K hits and maybe 100-300 comments and maybe 40-100 kudos and not even hitting triple digits in the bookmarks/subscriptions to a fic... Well, what would you think in my shoes?

Most likely, if you're like me, you're thinking all kinds of negative things (especially if you have mental illness/ADHD/neurodivergency of some kind). Stuff like... Oh, those other people are just being nice (not fair to them so I try not to think this way but negative self talk doesn't play nice with me).

Or I think... Okay so they checked it out. They had to click on the fic for it to even register the hit, right? So why don't I at the very least have more kudos? That's the easiest option on there (though it's like a like on here; if you are gonna leave kudos please also leave a comment), right? So what was wrong with my fic that I don't have more kudos at least.

But then I get on here and see so many comments and reblogs on FANART (still not enough for them either though lbr). THE POINT IS... If you read a fic. If you read it and liked it, you all really need to start commenting.

It doesn't even have to be long paragraphs or quoting or any of the ✨ big comments ✨ stuff. You could leave an emoji that be showing me what my fic or update got you feeling. You can do keyboard smash. If the author asks for it, you can leave constructive criticism (but only if the author has actively asked for it; if they haven't or given you permission, then don't). You can absolutely do big comment things too.

One of my favorite type of comments to get are the quoting ones. You just copy/paste and then say what you liked about it or what it made you feel or your reaction to it. Things like that. I love when my readers tell me their fave parts in an update. Or quote a line and tell me their thoughts and feels. Just yes.

We are far too advanced in this day and age and fanfiction and fandom are wholly more accepting than it used to be but for some reason, comments and reactions have become almost non-existent compared to when I was 15. And I was... Pretty cringy in my writing back then but I can admit that. But every chapter I'd get at least 8-10 comments. A chapter!

Even earlier in my Twst series I was getting A LOT more comments and with every fic it seems to have dropped significantly.

To me, to my brain, that tells me that my writing is suddenly sucky or I lost my talent or I'm not actually as great a writer as I was told because then why aren't more people commenting.

You might try to argue and say you're shy. Do you comment on order things? Do you tack onto a reblog to put out some addition to the original post? Do you chat with people in the fandom? Do you comment on fanart?

Then what makes a fanfic any different? (This is not including smut fics because I get but necessarily wanting it tied back to you. But if you open ao3 in a browser you aren't logged into ao3 on, you can (as long as the author has allowed it) post a comment anonymously. Yeah!)

You might say oh well I don't have time to comment right now. But you had time to read the fic? You had time to reblog that shit post? You had time to comment on the tags on a fanart you really loved? Thing is, unless you want to write a long one, comments do not take that long to leave. They really don't.

If you're worried the author doesn't want to hear from you—I'll stop you right there. The author ABSOLUTELY wants to hear from you.

So now is the time to stop making excuses to be lazy. You are reading really great fan literature for free. The least you can do as a thank you and to show support is to COMMENT. ON. THE. FIC.

And if you wanna really make an author's day and help support them and their work, REC the fic. REC the Author's work list. You can do that to friends you know would like it or even better, make a post about the fics and link your recs.

It's really not that hard and we should not have to beg. Realize the blessing you have that fics you would enjoy exist for free and do your part. COMMENT.

[ruinix]

https://www.tumblr.com/ruinix/778187305130328064/hi-hi-would-you-mind-tagging-your-x-reader-fics

It’s really inconsiderate of you to not tag ‘x reader’ fics as such. A lot of people don’t want to see that content and use the filter tag on here to keep it that way. You’re incorrectly tagging stuff and that’s rude

Oh, I am not trying to be rude at all.

I will repeat this here. I have my tags in my Pinned Post, Directory, and I have specifically made a Filtering Tag Guide. I have placed RPFs (where "x reader" fics are included) in [ #ruinix drabbles ] and [ #ruinix reads ].

I try to cater my tags every time. I added my [ #ruinix chats ] because I don't to jumpscare anyone for my 18+ talks. I put categories on my fic recommendations. Tags for clips, tags for gifs. Tags for when I am just sharing what I want to share. I have many tags made just to help people navigate what they want to consume. I try all the time. I don't think I am being inconsiderate if I want my tags to be sorted in my already existing tag specifically for my fics. Again, those existing tags are [ #ruinix drabbles ] and [ #ruinix reads ].

Please. You can just copy+paste it in your Filters.

"x reader" tag, sure, I can put it, but I won't because it is redundant. That's coming from someone who got a block of tags every post. I put my fics and the fics I read in "__ x reader".

"Incorrectly tagging stuff" : There is no right and wrong with tagging stuff on here.

People got their own tags. I have my tags. I have a Directory. I sort things out. First, for myself because I scroll through my stuff when I need to be happy or a pick me up. I would go insane if I only want to read fics and I am seeing my clips or gifs. Second, for people to do the same or just see whatever it is here. Third, for people to filter out the things I put here.

Lovely, I am not trying to be rude. I am stating that I have my own system for my own blog. And I will not apologize anymore.

[totally-not-your-babe]

Rant on Star Wars/Clone Wars/Bad Batch, fanfiction and about writing in general

WARNING: mention of clonecest BUT just me telling my opinion on it and that is all

I may not be very popular with my opinions but here I go...

Okay so a TikTok video started the whole train of though because it pissed me off a little, but maybe I over reacted I will leave you all to it to decide. So the video was made by a girl/woman (I try to be as respectful as I can and not throw shade at anyone in this post I promise), who was reading a Hunter x Reader and it turned out to be X reader with multiple member of the Batch (I can't remember if it included clonecest or not sorry) and she was pissed about it. I mean partially I can understand it is a bit frustrating when fics are not properly tagged (I too try my best to add everything) and she was expecting something else, that I can totally understand. But it happens, you leave the fic and find another.

Then I started to read the comments and it was kind of (again for me) a diseaster. They started to list fanfic and trops they didn't like (which is okay, everyone has their preferences), there were one who really felt "insulted", or I don't know how to put it, by a fic / oneshot that had an OC or reader that have been involved with multiple members of the Batch (I don't know if clonecest was involved or it was just x reader/x OC). And maybe I am the problem but I don't understand. One of the comments was "Why can't they write separated fics for the characters?" or something like that. BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T WANT TO! Because that's the way they planned their fic/oneshot, that's how they wrote it, that's how they want it to be. They wanted a reader/OC x multiple characters. This is what they wanted to write, people don't need to write differently, different things just because you don't like what they write. Find someone, who writes the things you like, you are comfortable with, it's that easy. I am not comfortable with Haunting Adeline so I don't read it, but I am not throwing rocks to people who do. (My problem with it is that in my country, I can't speak for the other countries, really young girls read it like 14-15 years olds. In my opinion is waaaay too young for that book. But I don't hate on the writer or things like that.)

I will tell you, I am not confortable with clonecest, I don't read it, I don't write it, and that is all I'm going to say on the topic. It's your thing than it is, I don't say I understand (for me our copy paste boys are brothers and that's it, I just can't see clonecest happening), I won't encourage it but I won't start a witch hunt either. I scroll.

YOU DON'T LIKE IT SCROLL PLEASE!!!

Soooooo all in all just let people read, write and draw the things they like and want.

I hope I didn't offend anyone with this whole thing, I tried to be as respectful as I could. If I did, I'm sorry that is my opinion.

IF THE GIRL/WOMAN WHO MADE THE TIKTOK SEES THIS: PLEASE DON'T TAKE IT AS AN ATTACK OR OFFENSE, IT WASN'T AGAINST YOU I SWEAR!

AGAIN I hope I didn't offend anyone.

[huellitaa]

do you have any tips for starting a blog like yours? i love love love your vibe and what youve done with the place but idk how to go about it myself ! your account is just so nicely curated , i hope this makes sense !!

AJSKFKGJSJS YES I DO AND THANK YOU !!!! 🩷🫶🏻💗 OKAY SO. my blog has actually been super messy up until the past month or two since i only started in january and had NO idea what i was doing, so it took a little trial and error before i properly settled on something. what i'd suggest if you want to start a girly blog!:

🧁💬 bee's guide to girlblogging!

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ go online and search for cute symbols first and foremost!!!!!!!!!!!!!! pick out all ur favs and dump them down somewhere. on ALL the cute girly blogs these are always a staple! some of my favs i use lots, on tumblr and outside of it:

♡ ──★ ˙ ̟🎀

♡ ୨𖹭୧

♡ 🎀 . ݁₊ ⊹

♡ ㅤ۫ ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ 🐰 🧁 🎀 ㅤ

♡ 🐧💬𓂃 ࣪˖

♡ 🎀🧁 ྀི𓂃 ࣪˖

♡ 𝒟♡⃝ll..𓈒ིུ❤︎

🧁𓂃 ࣪˖ make a pinterest board. obviously. for all the cute pretty images you wanna include in ur blog. dividers, gifs, pics, inspo, anything you'd like! ♡ this helps w curation and cohesiveness since you have your own personal aesthetic that runs throughout your blog!

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ i recommend if ur gonna make girly / advice posts to use notion, notes app, a journal, any sort of media where u can plan (digital or otherwise) and track everything there. this is where i personally keep my symbols, tags, post ideas, posts stored for later, and so on ♡ this just helps to keep everything neat and tidy and in check so it doesnt get super messy and u dont get overwhelmed <3

🐧𓂃 ࣪˖ ok get ur notion page or notebook or whatever ur using to plan in and pick out ur fav things about all ur fav girly blogs. use theirs as inspiration and figure out which features of theirs you want in yours and make them ur own. use inspo from already existing girly blogs or blogs you like and use this to create ur own individual style / aes and get a better feel for how u want ur own blog to look! ♡

-> (🗒🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ note: please do not copy from other's blogs or use things they made without credits, or try and pass it off as ur own. inspiration not plagiarism people!!!!!!!! ♡)

🧁𓂃 ࣪˖ experiment!!!!!!!!!!!!! like i said earlier i have literally only just managed to create cohesiveness in my blog through countless amounts of trial and error. experiment and go through some trial and error and see what u like best, don't be afraid to change it often and see what ur favs end up being. that way you can get more of a feel for what you like and how you want your blog to look!

🎀 𓂃 ࣪˖ if ur gonna make girly / advice posts then i'd suggest to create a defining structure or layout for said posts. if you look at majority of my posts, they all have pretty similar layouts. this is gonna be kind of like ur signature and it helps people recognise ur specific style. you can note this structure down in whatever ur using to plan and manage ur blog, or just keep a mental note of it ♡

💬𓂃 ࣪˖ one of my fav things regarding post structures is make use of the symbols u picked out earlier and give them specific uses! this sounds kind of weird but i will give a demonstration of what i do w this tip:

♡ ──★ ˙ ̟🎀 : for headings or subheadings

♡ 🧁𓂃 ࣪˖ : main points and notes

♡ 🗒🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ : for any extra tips, edits or thoughts within one point!

♡ ──★ ˙ ̟🎀 !! notice !!: for any content warnings, announcements or things i may have to say that are important to the post!

♡ ୨𖹭୧: used at all the ends of my tags bcuz its pretty and cute! (plus i dont wanna change it)

♡ all my love 💬🎀🫶🏻💗: the little signature i use at all the ends of my posts!

♡ 🧁🎀💬🐧✨️💭🐰🎧🧸👛📌📎🗒: just a bunch of emojis i use often to make things prettier! ♡

🧁𓂃 ࣪˖ create a defining theme / aesthetic. please don't feel limited to just pink and girly, but if you want that then thats perfect too! i think i have a v specific genre of girlblog and after changing and tweaking and altering it for some time now i'm vv happy with it ♡ if you follow the rest of these tips you'll probably have attained some sort of individual blog aesthetic already, but this is just to remember ♡

-> (🗒🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ note: one thing i like to do for this is have a specific divider(s)! i'll add the one i use all the time at the end of this post ♡)

💬𓂃 ࣪˖ i think this basically just adds on from my previous point but try ur best to be original in ur posts. make ur own style, make ur own aesthetic, make ur own post ideas no matter how out there they might seem, do things out of the box and whenever you like! i have created a few things like this (i.e. bee's record player, a monthly music magazine basically, and the princess project which i used for the first 50 days of the summer!) and they're such a cute way to just add some flair and originality to ur blog! ♡ be spontaneous and random and silly and change things up. girly blogs should be fun! ♡

i don't think i can think of anything else for now, but thank you for coming to me 😭💗 i hope this helps u and tag me when you start!!!!! i'd love to see ♡ mutuals when??? 🫶🏻

all my love 💬🎀🫶🏻💗

also here's the divider

i also use this for my announcement posts! pretty girls dont gatekeep so here u go

andd i also use this on all my intro / blog navigation posts! ♡

(none of these dividers are mine, i just use them bcuz they're super pretty and me! all credits go to original creators obviously ♡)

[pestkit]

PINNED POST ???? awezum ! Yeah I'm just copy pasting from our pinned post on Twitter. I can't be bothered to remake it

★ This is a blog dedicated to Pest (Regretevator) x Medkit (Phighting!), a silly crackship that we got too attached to. Please h ☆ We post/rb art, memes, or just... whatever. It's all Pestkit. Go crazy ★ May have lore. Not saying what tho ☆ I can't be bothered to double check which drawings were already posted to this hellsite, so if you see duplicates from when Kas posted some of his, that's why.

★ Twitter (archived) // Strawpage // Bluesky

Below the break is more info, including a trigger list, DNI, and misc info. Everything here was last updated 10/20/24.

TAGS - ☆ These are for our posts specifically, submitted and reblogged posts will not have these.

🍂 - Anonymous / whoever in the system wants to make art but isn't too into it (or Damien) 🕸 - Pest 👾 - Kasper 💼 - Medkit 💙 - Vix

DNI LIST - ★

☆ Basic DNI applies; we don't tolerate you here if you fit the list ❤

TRIGGERS - ☆

★ Lots of YAOI ⚠ (or yuri from Vix), if that isn't your thing, LEAVE! (JOKE) ☆ (Serious) There may be mentions of drugs/alcohol, blood/death, and nsx nudity. We'll try our best to label each post that applies to these. ★ All art will be SFW regardless :3

TAGS - ★

#pestkit - Main tag #submission - Submitted posts by other people #strawpage - Strawpage asks / art, may be tagged along with #submission

MISC - ☆

☆ We sprinkle our own headcanons and designs onto these two, so if the art looks a little different each time, that's why! Lore-wise we're trying to stay in-character, but no guarantees it'll be 1-1. (Our Pest and Medkit like to project onto this ship, so!) ★ Please refrain from replying with any NSFW comments (silly suggestive MAY BE ok), we will throw you into the disco meat grinder ty <3 ☆ Ask box here and on our strawpage are open for any suggestions / ideas, no guarantees we'll do them, but it doesn't hurt to try! :3 ★ We do have a Phightevator server, IT IS NOT PESTKIT ORIENTED but rather a place for people that like the concept of Phighting + Regretevator (and just a cool hangout server) (join) [ https://discord.gg/Vp3y8vny3H ] ☆ Post submissions are always open, PLEASE follow the guidelines, otherwise we'll just ignore you. Same goes for asks on here and our strawpage, please have common courtesy. If you send hate, feel free to bite my shiny metal a ★ This blog is ran by @heyitsdamiien (acc/main blog) / @ambereign (art blog). ☆ Stagbeetle is an alternate name for the ship, we just don't use it often so people don't get confused for the bug itself.

[sergeantnarwhalwrites]

Writerly Questionare

Woah okay. Thanks for the tag @winglesswriter! I'm gonna have the questions below the cut to try to make the copy and pasting easier.

I tag @chayscribbles @winterandwords @vacantgodling @the-void-writes @aether-wasteland-s @nanashi23 @televisionjester (Only if y'all want. Open tag too!)

About Me

When did you first start writing?

With actual purpose middle school. Like 6th/7th grade.

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

Sorta. What's actually funny is I really ain't a fan of romance but I write that shit on the side XD.

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you're often compared?

I'm not really sure about that emulate part. I could list a shit ton of awesome writers though (the people I taged and many many more) Lol, I'm definitely not compared to anyone though.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

I'm usually writing in my room, on a crowded tv dinner table. But I write in a lot of places, including passenger seat of car. Or in the library if I'm settling on strictly typing stuff. (I usually handwrite)

What's your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Listening to music and being busy as hell.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

I think so. I have a shit ton of black characters for a reason. I'm black, it's easy.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

The power of friendship, violence, we were forced to together so now we working together, and "good guys" doing bad shit too. Those are usually pretty prevalent in my stories.

My Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character?

Uhhhh that's hard to decide but I guess I'll go Saz. Saz is my stud bear morpher dragged into a battle against the humans. She is stressed, bro is going through it, and she's a wrestler.

Which of your characters do you think you'd be friends with in real life?

Most of them honestly. I think I'd be more than willing to hear about Hollis's (Robots & Gardens) exploits.

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

Cosma would get her shit rocked and I'd get mine rocked in return. And I think me and Green's anger problems would clash in really bad ways.

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

They appear magically in my brain. And I obsess over them like I obsess over all of my interests. The Fucked at Five oc's were the one's that deviated the most because most of them are based on the movie Open Season.

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

Tough exterior but actually really soft and big women go brr.

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc)

As a combination of as real people I imagined, comic book characters, art I made, and cartoon characters (like a banger indie animation).

My Writing

What's your reason for writing?

Teehee it's how I process a lot of things and also I have to fill the world with content I want to see cause no one else is.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

All of them for real. I love y'all. But any of them loving the characters as much as me honestly.

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who "gets" the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

A cool dude who loves to write gay dorks gaying dorkily and fighting..

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Giving my character's a personality I guess.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

I've been told I can write really fluid fight scenes or I have decent descriptions.

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

Lol I think it's great when it's great and ass when it's ass.

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

Yep. My fanfic writing would probably be slowed even further but I'd still write whatever came to mind in general.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it's a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

Oh I definitely write what I know will amuse me. But I arguably think it's a mixture of both. Sometimes I'll see something or get a response that brings me to write. And it's bangers always.

When did you first start writing?

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you're often compared?

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

What's your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

My Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character?

Which of your characters do you think you'd be friends with in real life?

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc

My Writing

What's your reason for writing?

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who "gets" the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it's a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

[dragonballnewstar]

muse-based dash game: do not reblog. copy & paste!

objective: show your followers you see them by tagging 10 (or more) people your muse(s) personally want to get to know better. this can be taken as an invitation to approach a mun for plot development.

favorite color(s): She really likes various shades of blue and purple! When the sun sets on the island and wraps the sky in a deep velvet is her favorite shade.

what're they wearing right now?: It's getting toasty outside, so shorts and a tank top and her usual boots.

where are they at currently?: For RP accessibility, I keep her on Monster Island - so probably her family's lab or her house. She could also be camping.

song stuck in their head: Please don't judge her - she's been sent links by her friends.

last song they listened to: The Less I know The Better

3 favorite foods: Microwave toaster pastries, sandwiches that were in the cooler while camping, a weird soup her mom makes.

dream trip: Since she's a Time Patroller, she's been to a bunch of different places & times. That said, she wishes to have a chance to see Planet Plant (Planet Vegeta) before it was taken over by Saiyans.

anything your muse want right now: To eat some ki and forehead kisses. But, with being single you just sit in your room and play video games because you're in between projects. She may also want to try and remix a song using Hoku's voice-over... But it has to be something funny.

favorite personal headcanons: I headcanon that most Tuffles (including my own OCs) have a problem being told "no", and have a bit of a sadistic streak. Nonna went 1v1 with a LSS, Kanna literally made a parasite to live inside her to infect over-powered opponents, Elon made zombies of his ex-gf's parents...Ampa has adapted the Destron Gas to use as a last ditch effort in case she's on the losing end.

quote of the hour: “ I wish I could swim too... - To her friends, because she can't swim.

Tagged by: @the-demonpr0digyy

Tagging: Whomever I have been MIA ;A;

[gladiatorcunt]

# RULES - ♱ ♱ ♱

“They're angelic symbols, passed on to mankind by the archangel Gabriel.”

+ general ::

♱ 18+ , no minors may interact. ageless blogs will be blocked. for blank blogs: if you have an age in your bio and you don’t seem like a bot, i’ll let it slide. tws will be tagged accordingly but lmk if i’ve missed any. requests are open and if you’re not sure if i write for a fandom/character, just ask. do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere. all writing is my own. dm’s and asks are also open

♱ dark fic & non dark fic topics welcome (specifics below but since i’ll definitely forget stuff, feel free to ask. will be more dark content focused overall though)

♱ no requests

♱ mainly smut reader inserts including those that vaginas and/or dicks w/ different terminology for specific parts being used on occasion (please understand that my readers won’t be neurotypical or all that extroverted as it’s hard for me to get in the headspace to write that. and also that having a certain style of dress, feminine or masculine, doesn’t mean that that reader is a man or a woman. & gn pronouns doesn’t always mean nb it just means a general they/them that anyone can read and imagine themselves in.)

♱ plus sized reader is the only physical trait i will typically involve (other than glasses sometimes) bc i’m plus sized (no hate to people who aren’t plus sized, i’m just tired, and i write for myself at the end of the day)

♱ i can’t shut up so requesting other parts is fine but please do so respectfully and with the understanding that it might not be a priority or that it might not happen

♱ trying to work and go to school so i don’t have a posting schedule. i also do not take requests atm but ideas/thirsts/suggestions are fine with the understanding that they may never see the light of day

♱ i reserve the right to not fulfill a request or write something i said i was going to if life gets in the way, i’m just not feeling it, or it’s a topic/fandom/character i don’t write for

# ASKS - ♱ ♱ ♱

“One for every sin. So quite a few.”

[dune, the boys, elden ring, wuwa, & original content]

+ i won’t write ::

♱ extreme physical abuse (character enjoys hurting reader in whatever non sexual way or vice versa), cnc (triggering for me and not how i personally cope), scat, degradation, hardcore humiliation, whipping, exhibitionism where people are actually watching, cheating (character on reader), torture, hardcore bdsm, choking to the point someone passes out, anything involving frogs (same reason), child abuse/csa (reader can have a past that involves those things but no explicit descriptions), love triangles (they’re either poly by the end or not, i’m not into the tsitp type drama), pornstar au (not for me), blindfolds/object gags, cis fem reader pegging, unrequited love (let me be delusional), characters or reader making the other(s) jealous on purpose or because it’s funny (just a personal pet peeve), orgasm delay/denial, dom reader (will write this on occasion but it’s never a sure thing), only character x character

+ i will write ::

♱ pregnancy (either in the baby trapping way or otherwise), non dark fic topics, dub con, toxicity aside from cheating & physical abuse & bullying, obsessive/possessive behavior, oviposition, yandere, manipulation, kidnapping, gentle & slightly harder non con, wax play, psuedo-incest, rpf (no underage people obviously), knifeplay, face slapping, incest (ONLY WHEN IT COMES TO HOTD/ANY TARGARYEN YALL PLEASE-), omegaverse, vomit, pain play, monster/creature stuff, bondage/leashes, characters or reader as hybrids, age gap (no underage stuff anyway between minors but also no age gaps involving minors), au/s, female characters, oc x reader, etc.

+ don’t send messages about ::

♱ the crow remake & bill skarsgård (i’m 50/50 on him objectively but don’t push it, messages that focus more on him are fine i guess. it’s more the remake itself.) for similar base reasons, don’t talk to me about epic the musical.

♱ hades game spoilers, god of war ragnarok spoilers, honkai star rail/genshin spoilers, arkham knight trilogy spoilers, baldurs gate 3 spoilers, gotham knights spoilers, assassins creed odyssey and origins spoilers, borderlands presequel spoilers, persona 5 spoilers (or anything i mention currently reading or watching or playing)

♱ deeply personal trauma/info that can doxx you (asking for advice is fine), i’m sympathetic but i’m a stranger on the internet. also nothing about hating kids or marriage or people in relationships, at my core i’m an obsessive romantic that wants to get married and have kids someday.

♱ asks that pretend to know me irl or be one of my mutuals, i am paranoid and i will believe you. anything about drugs (other than weed) and mental health medication/anti psychotics unless i’m asking for advice. no selfship stuff unless you’re my mutual, (you can interact obviously i just don’t wanna be messaged about it too heavily). and no hate towards subliminals or reality shifting

♱ any nightwing ship (and the dickbabs cheating thing) that’s not dickkory or him x me, i do not play about that man. so therefore, no nw slander unless i started it lmao.

♱ any anti spirituality or predatory/bigoted christian behavior (those spam sounding ‘you’re going to hell but jesus can save you’ youtube comments) . also no fear mongering when it comes to politics, and no ‘but voting for kamala won’t do anything’ (if you’re in the us just don’t vote for trump idgaf).

♱ meeting my faves irl (esp hayden christensen), i’m so happy for you objectively but my eyes will twitch out of my head.

♱ lewd things directed at me, no strong flirting if you’re not a mutual i’ve known for a bit, any vagueness that my ND brain could not pick up on (say what you mean and i’d appreciate tone tags).

♱ cw dc shows (other than smallville) & disney star wars (check my about me for the shows i like), any strong love for han solo (he’s just a guy to me and also atton rand clears).

♱ eddie munson, tengen uzui from demon slayer, or eren yaeger (sorry, also don’t ask about stranger things or attack on titan in general). also no drake meat riding (i’m a kendrick fan)

♱ the stereotype that southern people are dumb/etc. any hate towards people in extremely rural areas specifically (don’t call me a redneck that gives me the biggest ick)

♱ the whole scott/logan/jean/her clone/emma thing. my main x-men ships are cherik, scott/logan, logan/nightcrawler/storm, mystique/hank, logan/storm, jean/storm, logan/nightcrawler, rogue/gambit, & bobby drake/johnny storm.

♱ anything overtly negative and pessimistic, including sui ideation and/or you having a GENUINE psychotic break or mental breakdown. (i wouldn’t recommend a hotline immediately but if you don’t have a trusted person in you’re circle to talk to they can maybe get you through that moment.)

♱ a demand for a follow4follow type relationship, ‘i’ll reblog your fic ONLY if you’ll reblog mine’, any obviously conditional support for example: don’t follow and then once i’ve followed back or reblogged with your posts, unfollow me.

♱ batman being an abusive dad & damien slander, anything having to do with slade or trigon (teen titans trauma, also don’t ask about teen titans go), the ric grayson plot, dc live action movie flash & aquaman (justice league 2004 aquaman is my fav aquaman)

♱ anti anakin/hayden’s acting slander or overtly pro jedi opinions, DO ask me about star wars lore & it’s universe in general bc it’s my number one interest.

♱ larian studios meat riding, hate towards ascended astarion and the people that like him, any mention of that one writer who’s name starts with a w, durgetash/gortash, any astarion ship that’s not him x tav or x reader (esp him x gale), downplaying wyll’s treatment, hate towards evil route players.

♱ pro daemon targaryen sentiments (or disrespectful hotd fandom war behavior of any kind). i’m team green but i love characters from both sides and also it’s not a real war!

if you’re uncomfortable with any of the above topics, filter the tag/content so you won’t have to see it from me

- gladiatorcunt 2023 ++ intro.

[kassandras-one-braincell]

hi!! i was wondering if you have any general advice for someone who wants to start posting their work on ao3? or i guess if you would advice me to do that at all lol! i saw your recent post about it in relation to the ai stuff and found it so useful since i don't usually see people talk about that, thank you for sharing <33

Hi love! Please don't let the current AI situation on AO3 dissuade you from joining the platform. In all honesty, I think the scrape was a cheap attempt at obtaining credentials for identity theft using the illegitimate DMCA forms, rather than something done for software training purposes. I'm pretty sure Cloudflare, its hosting platform, has taken action against it.

My humble advice is contained below the cut, because it's quite long, but there's a bit of a learning curve with the posting page and a couple of unspoken customs:

The bulk of everything you need to know about posting on AO3 is contained in the ToS, which hopefully will help you navigate the "post" menu. If you're unsure whether a warning applies, select "Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings" just in case.

There's no algorithm, so all that readers have to go by is the (excellent) tagging system and the summary you provide.

If you struggle with summaries - most of us do - then a snippet of the work is perfectly sufficient. Ultimately, the summary is a preview of your writing, and if you opt for the excerpt approach, your style, which is your only chance to attract readers.

Tagging is a little bit intimidating the first few times as a writer, but you'll get the hang of it soon enough! Asides from central characters and pairings, this is the place to disclose the genre of the work, any key/polarising themes and/or triggers. You're not obligated by ToS to disclose these, but it's a gesture of goodwill if you know it might upset someone. If there is a disturbing theme present, include the tag "Dead Dove Do Not Eat" - this is the colloquial indicator for the reader to very carefully reread the tags, because they're to be taken literally.

When you begin to type a tag, you'll be given suggestions of the most widely used tags that match what you've typed. If the shoe fits, use these. It makes the site easier to navigate for readers. If you're spawning a tag into existence though, it will begin to appear in that little drop down after there are three works on the archive containing the tag. I know this because I was the first (and second, third and fourth lmao send help) person to upload "Soma (Assassin's Creed)/Reader" to AO3 :)

You have the option of uploading your work in the designated editor as Rich Text or HTML. The only significant difference between them is how page and paragraph breaks are formatted. If you're copy-pasting from a word processor, slap it in Rich Text, and then if you want to do anything fancy after that outside of the scope of the Rich Text editor, you'll be able to make adjustments in HTML.

While you can save a draft, the text editor is not designed to be a substitute for word processing software. There is no editing history or backup feature, so it's ill-advised to develop your work directly on the platform.

Finally, with all the technical stuff put to one side, try not to fret over metrics like hits and kudos. It's lovely to receive kudos and comments, but smaller numbers aren't indicative of your work in any way, shape or form. There are so many factors at play there, and sometimes just the time of publication can have a huge impact on reader engagement, precisely because there's no algorithm to bolster or suppress.

Take pride in your work, and keep the dopamine as isolated as possible from the thought of big numbers. I promise you, it will keep the passion alive for longer :)

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