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[lunar-years]

Thinking again about season 4 Jonathan and finding it very hard to believe he didn't get a job in Cali out of his own volition. Why isn't he working at Surfer Boy Pizza with Argyle? Like yeah, the Byers no long need both Joyce and Jonathan working in order to live, given Owen's assistance and Joyce's new job. But I do not think not needing to work alone would be a reason for Jonathan to immediately say 'ok great!' and kick his feet up. And yeah, he doesn't have a working car, but again, Argyle already drives him around everywhere? I'm sure Argyle would've driven him to his shifts, especially if they both worked at Surfer Boy!

The more interesting answer in my mind is that Jonathan does try to find a job when he gets to Cali (maybe even gets one lined up) and then goes home and tells his family and Joyce gets really upset about it, prompting him to quit shortly after. I kind of think that when Joyce herself is doing a little better (financially, mentally, all of it) she becomes more aware of just how much she's leaned on and relied upon Jonathan, and starts feeling super guilty about it. So her solution is to "fix it" by alleviating him of all responsibilities (that is, until the next time she needs him, at which point it goes without question or thought that he's going to be there waiting; e.g., leaving him to watch the kids when she goes off to find Hopper).

This guilt results in various, short-lived spurts throughout the years where she suddenly becomes really insistent on Jonathan "being a normal teen" to try to make up for parentifying him the rest of the time. But what she never realizes is that this back-and-forth is actually more harmful to him than it is helpful. So when he tells her in Cali he's got a new job and is starting on Monday, she feels really caught off guard and devastated. He doesn't need to help her with the bills here! He can just be a teenager!

She sits him down and tells him she doesn't want him to work here. She wants him to focus on his college applications and enjoying his senior year. Jonathan thinks this is ridiculous, because he already isn't enjoying his senior year, and he certainly isn't likely to without Nancy. Not to mention that he keeps pushing applications down the line because he doesn't know what to do about them and he can't tell his mom or Nancy that he's already resigned himself to going to community college and forgetting Emerson (...and NYU). Working, however, is something he can do that is familiar and makes him feel useful and will be a way to pay for college. And he likes Argyle, so working at Surfer Boy would be tons better than any of the shitty jobs he's had before. He wants to work. But he can tell that Joyce is upset and wants him to (at least to pretend to) be happy here. And he hates when Joyce is upset and he's the cause. So he decides his mom needs him to not work more than he needs to work. It's another version of self-sacrificing for his family's benefit above his own. And it ultimately backfires big time, because it gives him wayyy too much time alone with his thoughts, working himself into a spiral that Joyce doesn't even notice.

(disclaimer that i love joyce and think she's a great parent! but she isn't a perfect parent, and i like thinking about that, too)

[ziyechs]

@cementcornfield i read your tags on this post and was like.............. wait i remember this. so i went on a 3h youtube deepdive and lo and behold:

final thing for you two guys and i appreciate your time. i think bengals fans want to know: should we feel confident that joe and ja’marr are going to be nfl teammates for a long, long time?

— “well, i definitely want them to be together and i think ja’marr does too, you know, because i was talking to him one time and i was telling him: ‘you know, this is the nfl and this is a business also. so, you know, you might have to go find another quarterback’. and he was like: ‘no, dad, i’m staying with joe. i’m not going nowhere else.’”

[greyedian]

MAN I'm seriously so sad about season 2. Bc I wish act 2 had the same emotional impact on me as it appears to have on so many others. But rn I'm just somewhere between unable to care and actively annoyed by some of those writing decisions. Seriously the more I think about it the less I like it.

[bitchfitch]

A thing that's been happening in the back ground over the last few weeks is that I've been working on making Vermin's Angel a real thing. Mostly because I wanted to experiment with writing in the actual novel format instead of the post™ format I usually do for my personal projects.

So, here's the first chapter but long. It's not properly edited, but it's good enough to be worth posting for posterity.

Vermin's Angel, CH 1

Lino had long since learned that the best scores were the ones you didn't have to work for. Younger scavengers than him could do the heavy lifting of digging up ley lines and checking the voltage moving through them to locate yet unfound bunkers. He would simply wait for them to take their first burden and then pick through everything that was left. It was a system that had served him well in the decade and a half it'd taken to develop it, but on the odd occasion it still managed to fail him.

He'd been tailing a newer scavenger, a teenager by the name of Cordero, for a full week now. It wasn't hard, they'd torn a path through the brush as clumsily as he had at that same age, but there was no sign of them when Lino arrived at the ring.

Bunkers were living things that ate the world around them. They were largely self sufficient and isolated from the outside world, but they still needed raw material to push through their converters for repairs. Over the years this lead to them creating ring shaped valley's that perfectly circled the entrance crown.

This one was massive. It was wide and deep enough that if it wasn't devoid of plant life even Lino would've thought it was natural. Maybe that's what got Cordero off course, they'd come to this place and trudged on thinking they'd not found it yet.

Lino would have to track them down once he had the in established. They were a good kid and after all the sweat they put into this, least he could do was make sure they made it back to the Sun in one piece.

He dropped his bag off at the edge of the center dome, grabbed his spade, and got to the work he had hoped would already be done for him.

Overriding a bunker's locks was one of those skills Lino wished he'd never had to learn. Not because it was particularly difficult, but because it was always a tedious, messy, job. He was on his belly in his freshly dug fox hole down deeper than he was tall with a high voltage ley line a hands width from his face and the multi ton mechanism of a prewar machine hidden all around him by wet dirt. His clothes had long since gotten soaked from the ground water seeping in from all sides, his nose itched, his fingers were starting to go numb from the position he had had to keep his arms crammed into to steady his hands enough for the work.

Lino's probe had already found the right spot within the wires, so all he had to do was keep it where it needed to be and scroll through the loaded memory cards as each exhausted it's list of known override injections. The breakin box in his hand clicked as it signalled each failed attempt to force code through the glass cables, before finally the world around him began to shake.

He clambered out of the hole with as little grace and as much speed was needed to avoid finding out which door opening procedure this bunker used the same way he'd witnessed other scavengers do it; by getting caught by the machine and reduced to mulched fertilizer for the plants.

The stretch of ground before him ruptured as the bulkhead tore up through the earth. The hole he had previously occupied collapsing as it's anchor legs churned through the dirt like a blender. The mechanisms that drove it growling as it crushed everything that had settled into it in the years since it was either abandoned or made a mausoleum.

When the doors finally opened to grant him access into the elevator he was met with the large 'W' insignia of Wirnhir Corporation . It was all over the countless bunkers they built. Maybe as a reminder for those who commissioned the structures creation that it was the Wirnhirs who granted them safety in the last moments of the old world, maybe it was meant as a distraction from who it was that built the bombs they were now sheltering from.

He got his gear bag over his shoulder and his gas mask over his face before stepping in and tapping the single button on the smooth brass colored walls. WC bunkers were the expensive ones. In Lino's years of scavenging, they always turned up full of pre-war art and luxury items that were too pricy to waste the resources on making these days. But his specialty, the endless list of machines that kept these bunkers running were always hidden away behind panels and made near impossible to break down quickly. It usually made every WC he found a gamble, but with Codero in the area they'd probably manage to make out with better hauls than either would've gotten on their own.

He was older for a scavenger, almost thirty-five and still paying his dues by raiding tombs. Maybe this was fate's way of finally giving him an out from this life. Cordero clearly needed help learning the little details of this work, and he needed someone with less worn out joints to do the hard work... If the kid was interested, becoming a mentor didn't leave too bad of a taste in Lino's mouth.

The elevator opened up to the main hall, the lights hidden by the crown molding flicked on in a gentle wave along its length as the motion detectors picked up on him entering.

WC bunkers had an uncanniness to them. Marble floors, faux dark wood accents, and pre-war furniture. Cleaner robots still whirring away even after all their masters were long dead made it look like time had simply stopped when the doors shut.

When he had nightmares, they always happened in these. Other bunker classes still looked like places humans had once lived. Messy and altered by hands long gone, no two ever looking alike. Decayed and broken but they felt safer for it. They were never hiding anything.

There were only about a half dozen floor plans for WC bunkers, and he already knew from the shape of the foyer that he was dealing with the largest of them today. Most of them had names inscribed by their elevators, but Lino couldn't read the loopy script it was always written in. He knew from the scavengers that could that these behemoths usually had "Castillo" or "Manor" or "Fort" in their names. Something that made them sound old and formal even when they were new.

He turned from the main hall to enter the family room where the central control panel and systems map would be only to stop in his tracks at the sight of the silent crowd that awaited him.

Mannequins. What had to be at least a hundred mannequins stood in clusters through the room. Each wore gorgeous pre-war ensembles. Each was positioned as though it were involved in a conversation with others.

It was bizarre, had the cleaners just mistaken these forms for actual people? The paths between them were clean, as were the narrow spaces between their stands. Lino wondered if the last person to have lived here had simply grown lonely.

He could imagine it easily, trapped in this unchanging place as the world above recovered from bombs and man made eruptions. He wondered which empty spot was theirs. Had they still been at this gathering when death finally took them? Were they here amongst their fabricated friends when the cleaners came to break down their body to carry it in pieces to the incinerator like any other piece of filth?

The clothes the mannequins wore were finely tailored. not a seam or stich or wrinkle in the cloth out of place. Like they were made for the mannequins instead of just being something the mannequins were being allowed to wear. The fabric was strange too. It was immaculate. The weave hadn't begun to come loose, and the fibers weren't rotting or crumbling. Lino didn't dare touch them with his muddy hands, but many looked to be made with silk or soft wool instead of the cotton and meat breed wool they had to use.

They looked like not a single day had passed between their creation and him finding them.

It was a shame really that their only value was in the fabric they were made of. No one looked like that anymore.

A head, thin neck, a chest with smooth ribs and two arms to a pelvis with two legs. The people in the Core called it the Classic Look. Most of the radiation shielding Lino had sold in his life had gone to lining the homes of people who wanted nothing more than for their children to be born Classic. He wasn't even sure it ever did anything.

Lino had been born out in the Corona like most other scavengers, no shielding, no special non-irradiated water, and he was the most Classic looking person most had ever seen. Still, the vast majority of these garments wouldn't fit even him.

The majority, but not all. As he walked between the party goers he found one single dress that looked like it might be close enough.

It was a dull grey that sparkled silver when the light caught just right, with a halter neck that buttoned shut and no back. Most of the clothes Lino had been able to justify keeping from these bunkers looked like the dress, halter tops and short skirts went a long way in making his extra arms and minute stature look natural, but none were in half as good condition as this.

He crossed his arms over his chest, his other set folding to wrap over his shoulders like a cloak. He hadn't even gotten that deep into this place before he found these. Between the fabric of all the other clothes and whatever else he could fit in his bags, he'd have enough to cover his dues to the end of the season at least. Maybe longer if he could sell a few of the more tailored ones as art pieces instead of scrap fabric. He could get even more if he could shake the trailers on a few return trips. As soon as word spread that he'd found this place there'd be a race from the scavengers who hadn't gotten so lucky recently to find the route to it.

One dress wouldn't make that much of a difference, he argued with himself. It would fold up in his personal supply bag to fill the space his rations had instead of taking up room in his haulers... He could always sell it later if he had to- But if he sold it now before the market was flooded by everything else in this bunker it would be worth more

Lino sighed in frustration at himself and got to work stripping out of his muddy clothes. He had to make this decision now or it would nag at him for the entire four day walk back home.

He dropped his gear bag and wiped as much of his top half clean as he could with the inside of his shirt. He was careful to not disturb the O2 canister that hung off his belt until he noticed the small panel of status lights were telling him the pump wasn't pulling from the canister at all. It wasn't even directing his air supply through the filter, just feeding him the same ambient air he would be breathing if he wasn't wearing his gas mask at all.

Bunkers were massive metal beasts, their superstructures rusting ate up all the oxygen almost as soon as the computers detected there were no more living things in their bellies to make air for. For it to be breathable down here meant the O2 makers must be something immense.

He made a note to himself to Maybe tell one of the quarter overseers about it. The Inner Core's O2 maker was constantly on the fritz and there might be a payday and a promotion for Lino if he got to be the one to lead the mission back here to carve the multi-ton lung out to haul home.

He dropped his mask off beside his gear bag, before dropping his pants and stepping out of his boots and wet socks. It was far from the first time he'd been naked in a bunker. The Sun didn't usually waste electricity on heating bath water, so hot showers were a luxury reserved for the scavengers when they found bunkers that had all the systems in place to grant them that opportunity. Still, the army of mannequins around him had his nerves on edge enough to make him rush getting the dress on.

It was irritating how well it fit. The silk lining slid over his work roughened skin, the bodice which was cut for a large chested Classic woman fit his broad ribcage and the layer of heavy muscle it took to support his extra arms like it was made to do so. The high low skirt hid how short he was by looking intentionally cut. The front hung a hands width off the ground the back dragged like the fancy trains he'd seen in countless pre-war pieces of entertainment. He'd need to take in a few inches at the waistband, and find a way to make it sit higher up so it was actually around his waist instead of his hips, but otherwise it felt perfect.

The skirt alone had a day or two worth of dues in it at least.

He stepped away from the mannequins to the floor to ceiling mirrors the WC bunkers always had as some attempt to alleviate the claustrophobia of being underground, and his chest tightened.

He looked gorgeous in the dress. His dusty albino white skin and hair and the grey of the dress made him look like the pre-war stone statues that decorated many of the bunkers. The collar had been cut just right to look like it was made to accommodate his mutated arms, the small peak at the nape of his neck fell perfectly between his extra shoulder blades. Like his disfigurements were something to be tailored for instead of something he should have allowed to be tailored off of him years ago.

He spun to make the skirts flare up around him, his bare feet padding on the marble floor until he came to a jerking halt.

He wasn't alone anymore. Another person, badly mutated, stood at the entrance. They crawled on their hands, six by the look of it, and dragged their legs behind them as they took tilting steps into the room. Their mouth looked like a gash in their throat, their lower jaw hung open as they swallowed their breaths like an animal scenting the air.

Lino didn't recognize them, they weren't another scavenger and they certainly weren't Cordero. Had they been down here already? They wore clothes tailored to them, not as extravagant as anything the mannequins wore, but still undeniably pre-war in their design and lux in the sheer amount of fabric it would have taken to make something for the behemoth.

A dweller. Someone who had returned to the bunkers long after they initially emptied. They were rare, usually outcast or banished for violent crimes against the surface communities. That was the only explanation for their presence that Lino could think of.

"I heard you," they had a deep, muffled voice, like it came from far lower in their throat than it should. "Vermin, I heard you. Where are you, you pest?"

They're blind. A mercy, Lino thinks. He's never encountered a dweller in person, but he didn't need all the stories of the claustrophobia driving good people insane to know he didn't want to meet this one.

He steps along the wall, careful to keep silent as the dweller moved through the room towards his discarded gear. He wouldn't be able to leave without it- He hadn't even brought rations for the return trip. Lino always betted on his ability to get the replicators in these places functional again to save on bag weight.

The dweller stops at his pile of muddy clothes. Pawing at it like an animal as they inhale the unfamiliar smell. They freeze, then raise their head slowly their beastly lips twisted in a snarl.

"Another of you!?" they whipped their head around gasping down breaths as they tried to locate him by smell alone.

He needs to get his gear bag, he can make this work if he can just get his bag.

They take a step towards him, Lino takes another to the side, his fear making him move too fast. The tiny sound of his foot fall was enough to have the dweller launching at him, a horrific growl cutting the air, Lino ran for his bag. The mirror shattered behind him as they collided with the spot Lino had just been.

His heart pounded, he grabbed the strap of his bag, not stopping to attempt to recover his mask too, only for its tubing to snag and send the tank clattering across the floor. The sound buys him an extra few strides in his bolt for the elevator, but the dweller is shockingly fast for their size.

Their mutated hands pound the floor behind him, before they lunge. Their fist catching the hem of his skirt.

The breath slams out of him as he collides with the floor his shoulder screaming from striking the stone before the skin is scraped from his arm by the dweller yanking him towards them. He kicks, his heel colliding with their soft throat, their hand grabs his leg hard enough to make his bones grate. All he can do is attempt to kick again, bracing on the cold floor to drive his other heel into their jaw over and over until they snap. Their ugly maw opening before Lino's world evaporates into blind pain.

The dweller's teeth lock into his flesh, their mighty jaw breaking the bones in his lower leg before they jerk their head, upsetting his balance and cracking his skull against the stone.

The vermin's blood welled in his mouth. It's putrid taste stained his tongue even as he spat it out. Disgusting, Vile thing. Vincent growled low in his chest as he dragged it closer. The ugly creature was in one of his dresses, he could tell from the feeling of the fabric under his hands. It was the grey one with the silver threads he'd sewn into the weave one by one to make sure it glittered just right.

Filthy awful thing. How had it even gotten in here? His home was supposed to be secure against the monsters that defiled the surface with their presence. He'd set the locks to re-engage and to bury his home once more as soon as the first rodent escaped him. What exploit were they using to enter and how does he block it off forever?

He pet his hands up it's front, searching for it's neck so that he may ring it and rescue his work from further damage only to come to a stop over it's narrow ribs. It breathed quiet, even breaths. Its ribs are as smooth under his hands as it's emaciated little hips had been. Its belly is taught, but not deformed, it's chest full and symmetrical, he drags his hands down it's arms and finds them thin but proportional to the rest of it, it's hands are tiny in his, each with five delicate fingers, none with webbing between them.

He knew from the way that the other vermin had ran that it was just as fowled by sin as he was, but this one- There had to be something wrong. Something that he had just not found yet.

He'd already felt it's heels, he knew the shape of its leg from where he'd marred it- He scrambled to find it's neck, this time searching for what was wrong with it- there had to be something wrong with it. Its neck was thin like the rest of it, too small to fill the collar of his dress but so normal under his hands that it made his heart twist. It's jaw was soft and round, its cheeks devoid of the fat he could tell should be there. Two eyes with soft lashes, a straight nose, thin lips. Its- His, his hair was silk under Vincent's fingers. Dirty and greasy, but soft despite the wretched state he was in.

What has he done?

This was no vermin, but a person he'd attacked out of blind hate for the beasts. He gathers him into his arm already planning to make a run for the medical supplies so he may staunch the bleeding, only to be stopped dumb as he finally finds the oddities he'd been searching for. Two perfect wings, the feathers move like scaled armor under his touch.

An Angel, the answer to his prayers after so many years.

Oh, what has he done?

[lightbulb-warning]

so has anyone figured out WHY there is the Need To Share our Artworks™ or is it just the vibes and our Soul apparently

[log-poke-blog]

⏮️ + school?

[my first day of high school is, um.... interesting to think about. gosh, i was so damn awkward. and worried what people thought of me. i mean, i still am, but ive stopped expressing it as much.

sigh. i still remember how horribly nervous i was, some dumb 13 year old staring at all the people in the gym, waiting to get her schedule. or was i 12? i dont even remember. probably 12.

i hated my first two years of high school. i was getting over how shitty elementary was, but i still didnt know how to talk to people, like, normally. eventually i did spot someone i recognized. took a while to get the courage together, but i went up to her. talked for a bit.

we're super close now. im so glad i did that.

i was nervous the whole time, though. i think i spent the entirety of ages 9 to 14 nervous. i still am nervous, just not as much. thankfully.

eugh. i hate thinking about early high school. thats enough of that.]

[deus-ex-mona]

farewell, my idiot son…

[gu6chan]

meant to post this like. a month ago but before i go to bed (part ONE of) my little dod 1.3 oc.... Some factoids

They're known and regarded as a doctor and they do occasionally give out cures (albeit, experimental ones that are only offered as being anything close to a cure according to their interpreter but they largely seem to do the trick... maybe?) for those who ask them, but the truth is, they're much more of a scientist at heart and consider themselves as such. Their main focus of study is on the possibility of overcoming the negative effects Dragon's Blood has on the human body, mind, and soul — particularly where the soul is concerned.

They don't have a known name, voice, appearance, gender (though they're largely assumed to be a woman by stature alone) or even much of a "known" personality, but they do seem to be gentle and well-liked by the children they travel with.

They are the leader of a travelling scientific troupe, consisting mainly of children taken from a variety of circumstances — some found, others given up, others who willingly sought to join the troupe — and a few interpreters. Under their care, the lost children are fed and cared for in a surprisingly stable environment for a travelling troupe in midst of a war. This has earned them the only title by which they are known — "The Patron of Children", or in some cases, "The Children's Patron".

The interpreters they travel with, and assumedly the Children's Patron themselves, are the only adults in a troupe now growing past a hundred. While there are some guesses it may be to find more children, what they travel for or where they may even be headed is unknown.

Because they do not speak (Whether this is an impossibility for them or they simply choose not to is unknown), they have a particular sign language they invented themselves for the purpose of direct communication — though, this usually only finds its use in communicating through their interpreters and children due to their frequent travel leaving them unable to form many other "long-term" bonds. A great sign that one is considered an elusive "friend" of the Children's Patron is the gifting of your very own "Sign", used to refer to your name, being presented for use.

Among the few interpreters who follow in the steps of the Children's Patron, there is only one who had apparently known the Children's Patron before they began their work. They prefer not to speak of it, out of respect for their wishes.

Being an extremely reclusive and, if rumours are true, cowardly person, the Patron of Children will always conduct their research in private. None of their interpreters know anything relating to the subject, nor will they allow any visitors in the midst of it. In some regards, both to the Patron and her children themselves, they are much more like bodyguards than simple interpreters.

[nyxi-pixie]

thinking about the death of originality in media in the west. thinking about this coiciding with anime becoming extremely popular. thinking about how hollywood and netflix and amazon are all convinced that people are mindless drones consuming the same boring shit endlessly but theyre Wrong because people are actively seeking out original ideas from half way across the world.

[welcometoteyvat]

two days until the update so yelan yelan yelan yelan yelan yelan please please come home in 20 pulls or less I don't want to have to reach 80-something pity again............ for once in my gacha gaming arc i'd like primos left over ...........................

[cheswirls]

sits down to write fic and writes 3k of notes for it instead, spends two separate hrs in the middle of it dwelling on pointless things, there were 8k notes prev so i def added almost half that amnt, have not written a single thing even tho i set down at 8p to write a scene and made a conscious decision to do this instead of starting laundry between 8 and 9 (laundromat closes at ten), it is three am currently,,,,,,

[kuiperblog]

Where Star Wars went wrong

Quoting Jason Pargin, who articulates it better than I could:

"In any kind of a sane world, The Mandalorian should have run for 150 episodes at least. They had a formula here that could have worked forever.

"It's a formula that has always worked: a heroic stranger wanders into a strange new land and meets a bunch of colorful characters, usually under the thumb of a powerful threat. The threat is usually in the form of a villain who's played by a famous actor just chewing the scenery. He uses hits wits and his courage to get out of it and then he moves on.

"Have Gun, Will Travel" ran for 225 episodes from 1957-1963. It's where Gene Roddenberry of Star Trek fame got his start.

"The sci-fi space adventures we had years and years ago used to run forever. Star Trek TNG had about 180 episodes, Deep Space 9 had about the same number, even Voyager -- the show that we think of as being a "lesser series" -- had 172 episodes. And here's the thing: most of those episodes were really good!

"But because of the way the business works now, and because of 'corporate synergy,' by season 2 of the Mandalorian, they were brainstorming "how do we get this back to Luke Skywalker and the Death Star?"

"By season 3, fans were lost, because some huge plot events had occurred in a completely different series, because they needed it to connect to their Boba Fett show. And now, the Mandalorian is dead. They're gonna wrap up the story in a movie, and that's it.

And the crazy part is, this was always the perfect format for Star Wars: it always should have been a short form serial! That's what George Lucas was ripping off when he made the film back in 1977: serials like Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon.

These were little 12-minute long episodes that played as one continuing story, but each one was its own little lighthearted adventure that usually ended on some kind of a cliffhanger.

"This is why so many of the most hardcore Star Wars fans who are old like me only like two of the movies, because by the third film they were already just repeating beats: they were attacking yet another Death Star.

They ran out of ideas so fast, because this is not the ideal format for this universe. The Mando and Baby Yoda Show is the ideal format! This should have run for the next 20 years! They even set it up so that the star wouldn't even need to be on set for most of it, because he wears a helmet!

"I think some fans object to this, because they think of it as making Star Wars smaller, that you're reducing it to 'just a TV show.' But it's the exact opposite: it lets you expand the universe, because you're forced to to keep coming up with new places for him to go, and new people for him to meet, new villains for him to face -- you're not forced to just keep coming back to the Death Star again and again, and the Sith, and the Jedi.

In Episode VII: The Force Awakens, the Starkiller Base destroys five planets. That's mathematically five times more tragic than the destruction of Alderaan.

"And if you want evidence, just look at Star Trek! It's the show that expanded the universe. The Star Trek films were just action movies that are very forgettable. But I guess the world has changed, because they don't even do Star Trek that way anymore.

Picard ended its run after 30 episodes. Discovery concluded after 65. Hopefully, Strange New Worlds marks a return to form for the franchise.

"I don't get it, because it seems like a version of this show that runs until the year 2040 would have just printed money. The merchandise sales alone would have covered the production costs. Instead, it's 24 episodes and a movie that I think everyone has already stopped caring about."

[valeriehalla]

actual writing advice

1. Use the passive voice.

What? What are you talking about, “don’t use the passive voice”? Are you feeling okay? Who told you that? Come on, let’s you and me go to their house and beat them with golf clubs. It’s just grammar. English is full of grammar: you should go ahead and use all of it whenever you want, on account of English is the language you’re writing in.

2. Use adverbs.

Now hang on. What are you even saying to me? Don’t use adverbs? My guy, that is an entire part of speech. That’s, like—that’s gotta be at least 20% of the dictionary. I don’t know who told you not to use adverbs, but you should definitely throw them into the Columbia river.

3. There’s no such thing as “filler”.

Buddy, “filler” is what we called the episodes of Dragon Ball Z where Goku wasn’t blasting Frieza because the anime was in production before Akira Toriyama had written the part where Goku blasts Frieza. Outside of this extremely specific context, “filler” does not exist. Just because a scene wouldn’t make it into the Wikipedia synopsis of your story’s plot doesn’t mean it isn’t important to your story. This is why “plot” and “story” are different words!

4. okay, now that I’ve snared you in my trap—and I know you don’t want to hear this—but orthography actually does kind of matter

First of all, a lot of what you think of as “grammar” is actually orthography. Should I put a comma here? How do I spell this word in this context? These are questions of orthography (which is a fancy Greek word meaning “correct-writing”). In fact, most of the “grammar questions” you’ll see posted online pertain to orthography; this number probably doubles in spaces for writers specifically.

If you’re a native speaker of English, your grammar is probably flawless and unremarkable for the purposes of writing prose. Instead, orthography refers to the set rules governing spelling, punctuation, and whitespace. There are a few things you should know about orthography:

English has no single orthography. You already know spelling and punctuation differ from country to country, but did you know it can even differ from publisher to publisher? Some newspapers will set parenthetical statements apart with em dashes—like this, with no spaces—while others will use slightly shorter dashes – like this, with spaces – to name just one example.

Orthography is boring, and nobody cares about it or knows what it is. For most readers, orthography is “invisible”. Readers pay attention to the words on a page, not the paper itself; in much the same way, readers pay attention to the meaning of a text and not the orthography, which exists only to convey that meaning.

That doesn’t mean it’s not important. Actually, that means it’s of the utmost importance. Because orthography can only be invisible if it meets the reader’s expectations.

You need to learn how to format dialogue into paragraphs. You need to learn when to end a quote with a comma versus a period. You need to learn how to use apostrophes, colons and semicolons. You need to learn these things not so you can win meaningless brownie points from your English teacher for having “Good Grammar”, but so that your prose looks like other prose the reader has consumed.

If you printed a novel on purple paper, you’d have the reader wondering: why purple? Then they’d be focusing on the paper and not the words on it. And you probably don’t want that! So it goes with orthography: whenever you deviate from standard practices, you force the reader to work out in their head whether that deviation was intentional or a mistake. Too much of that can destroy the flow of reading and prevent the reader from getting immersed.

You may chafe at this idea. You may think these “rules” are confusing and arbitrary. You’re correct to think that. They’re made the fuck up! What matters is that they were made the fuck up collaboratively, by thousands of writers over hundreds of years. Whether you like it or not, you are part of that collaboration: you’re not the first person to write prose, and you can’t expect yours to be the first prose your readers have ever read.

That doesn’t mean “never break the rules”, mind you. Once you’ve gotten comfortable with English orthography, then you are free to break it as you please. Knowing what’s expected gives you the power to do unexpected things on purpose. And that’s the really cool shit.

5. You’re allowed to say the boobs were big if the story is about how big the boobs were

Nobody is saying this. Only I am brave enough to say it.

Well, bye!

[nightingale-prompts]

God's TV- DC x DP prompt

Accidentally summoning a god from another dimension can happen, especially when cults are involved. However, no can could predict that the not only was the god a teenage boy but also a very bored teenage boy who didn't want to leave.

So he stayed and moved into Titans tower.

Danny is helpful (when he wants to be) but rarely goes out on missions. He says they are boring and nothing is dangerous enough to exert the effort. Instead, he minds the medical bay. Having a healer more than made up for the lack of help.

It's not like anyone disliked Danny or thought he didn't do anything it was just that he was unpredictable. Danny could be nice, considerate, and even sweet if he was working in the medbay. He could also be a pain in the ass anywhere else. He loved pranks and scaring people with his powers. He was harmless though.

No one really knew what he did all day. He was usually in his room doing something they guested. Said room was an anomaly. It was larger on the inside having been made into a pocket dimension. The appearance and organization of the room changed every time you went in.

It was after one mission that the team learned what was in the room.

A rogue had used their invention to erase Superboy's memories and they didn't know what to do. They took him to Danny who was currently rearranging the medicine by color. They hoped that his powers covered mind-altering afflictions. Unfortunately, Danny couldn't wave a hand and fix this.

Instead, Danny took the group to his room. The decor was neon Tokyo meets space right now. The furniture was currently floating and almost hitting Wonder Girl in the head with an end table. Of course, there was no gravity here.

"Stay here while I grab it," Danny said flying up the vertical corridor.

While he was gone the room rearranged itself into a contemporary format. The furniture grounded itself and shifted into a normal living room.

Danny returned with a cart and a headset. He placed a card he pulled out of the cart into the headset and put it on the dazed Superboy's head.

"Wait what is that?" Tim asked.

"It's his memories. I kept a backup in case this happened." Danny shrugged.

Immediately everyone began asking what the hell does that mean and why does he have that.

"Oh please, this dimension has this happened all the time. Amnesia is so cliché and cheap. I saw a pattern and decided the easiest way to prevent you from losing the entirety of your lives was to make save states of your memories." Danny said matter of fact.

Robin pinched the bridge of his nose.

Impulse studied the rack of cases and looking for the card with his name on it.

Wondergirl sighed, she was used to this from Robin but even he wouldn't go this far.

"What? It's not like just anyone can find these. Only you can access your own memories anyways. I just decided to repurpose my RE:Viewer." Danny pouted.

"What is a reviewer?" Wally asked flipping through the cases. Each one had titles like moves or shows with an arrangement of stickers.

"The RE:Viewer is something I created to catalog things I've seen looking into other dimensions. I don't have an infinite memory you know. But the longer I have my title the more I'll lose touch with my mortality. These things help me stay close to people by giving me the chance to remember how it feels. I also have been using them to get the stories of others. Keeping their experiences like you'd keep a TV show or movie. So many stories could have been lost to time but now they are saved. I use them to teach myself." Danny smiled.

The concept genuinely sounded interesting. Like experiencing a movie in 4d.

It had been 3 minutes before Kon took off the headset and back to his old self.

Danny pulled the input card out and it disappeared into another realm with a flick of the wrist. Danny was completely honest that the copies were inaccessible to everyone but him.

"You feeling alright Superboy? Your memory should be backed up until a week ago." Danny said shining a light in his eye.

"I'm fine. I think. What happened?" Kon asked batting the light out of his eyes.

"Explanation later. Take a nap first. You aren't concussed at least." Danny informed.

"What are the stickers for?" Wally said pointing at the rainbow of colors the card cases had.

"Just the emotions associated with the experiences. Orange is comedy, red is action, pink is romance, and blue is tragedy." Danny listed. "That one with the pink is one of my favorites. I meddled a bit in that world. Two people who had never met fell in love at two points at different times. One of them was doomed to die but I worked my magic on a mirror that allowed them to meet once. They shared notes left in different places for the other months ahead. Makes you believe in true love. A real tear-jerker."

"What about the black stickers?" Wally asked.

"Don't touch the black ones," Danny said darkly, smacking his hand away. "You don't need to know about those. I don't like thinking about them."

"So you just take the memories of others and put them inside your machine to replay later?" Batgirl asked. "Isn't that kind of wrong?"

"No, I asked permission. I usually pull them aside at some point and ask. If it's my memories (that's the green stickers) I don't need to. The rainbow ones are simulations. Like a video games." Danny responded patting her on the back for not being to hard on him about this admittedly weird situation.

"So what's the black one with the rainbow sticker?" Wally asked picking up the case that was obviously stuffed in the back.

"STOP TOUCHING THOSE!" Danny yelled pulling him away.

[lovegasmic]

⋆ SHARING IS CARING (CUCKOLDING)

ft. Sukuna x reader x husband Satoru

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 cw. f!reader, voyeurism, modern au, company rivals, Satoru has a degradation kink lmaooo, doggy, mentions of oral sx, mentions of creampiė

request from @alainatranquility ‹3

this request got so long I decided to format it as a fic.

NAVI ⁞ EVENT MASTERLIST

Sukuna’s attraction to you was not a secret.

having to find him at every high end party concerning your husband and the pink haired man’s companies, the latter didn’t wait any second to grab a glass of champagne, put on his characteristic smirk and blatantly flirt with you in front of Satoru.

and although as jealous as your husband was, it also made his cock hard, solely from imagining how beautiful you’d look moaning and whining under the other man, he loves you, he knows you’re his, but can you blame a man for having fantasies?

the party is the usual, boring and snobbish people kissing each other’s asses in an attempt to make their own business grow, being the little corner next to the bar where you, Satoru and Sukuna stand a small escape to everyone else.

“have you finally decided to ditch your husband and marry me instead, gorgeous?” is what Sukuna says, a smile on his face while his and Satoru’s chests caged you in.

Satoru shouldn’t be getting hard, but he does and you’re well aware, the bulge in his pants pressing on your lower back is much larger than usual and the usual sexual tension much stronger.

you have spoken about it, about the lingering and very palpable tension between the three of you, but your husband would never admit it in front of his eternal rival, opting to squeeze your hip and push you closer to the —most likely, warmth of his twitching cock.

now it’s in your hands to subtly slide a single piece of paper into Sukuna’s suit jacket pocket, one with your hotel room number before Satoru is dragging you away.

a threesome was what Sukuna expected upon entering the fancy suite, having found you pinned against a wall with Satoru’s hand under your dress and tongue deep down your throat, and you a flustered mess with saliva coated lips and a single strand of it connecting yours and Satoru’s lips.

“you look stunning like that, darling, I like that expression on you” Sukuna offers you one of his characteristic smirks, stepping deeper into the dark room, being the city lights your only form of illumination where you stand. mind reeling with the possibilities, perhaps you’ll suck him off while Satoru fucks you, or you’ll rub that pretty pussy of yours all over his face while your soft lips wrap around your husband’s cock, all scenarios sexier than the last.

yet Satoru remains awkwardly silent, long legs moving in a backwards motion until he’s sitting on a plush couch, eyes locked on you and the way Sukuna is palming his erection.

“don’t hurt her” is all the white haired says, and enough for the other man to understand your real intentions.

the squelch of Satoru’s hand moving up and down his own cock is disgustingly loud, dripping like never before down his wrist and staining the dark fabric of his way too expensive trousers, head back against the wall and eyes locked on your rolled out ones.

a pervert is what he is, twitching whenever Sukuna forces a specially hard thrust into your cunt, drooling whenever Sukuna mutters a praising to you and a mocking snark comment to you.

“beautiful, beautiful girl” each word accentuated by a heavy smack of his full balls against your clit, “that stupid you have as husband doesn’t deserve you” and you sob, back arched and nipples rubbing against the sheets, “i can treat you better, fuck you better...”

merciless is what he is, years of pent up frustration, of having to watch your stunning self being so close yet so far of his reach, now transmitted to his cock pounding your sloppy hole, greedily squeezing the flesh of your ass to spread you wider, to pull you closer and repeatedly smack into the deepest point of your pussy.

although Sukuna’s focus was on you, he couldn’t help but steal a few glances at Satoru with a cocky smirk, especially when you creamed his cock, and this time addressing him as well, “hey, is she always this wet when you fuck her?” and Satoru groans, squeezing the base of his cock, refusing to reply to a question he knows is solely to rile him up.

“that’s what I thought” he murmurs, leaning to press his whole body weight on your back with his hips loudly slamming into your ass with slow but deep thrusts, making you squeak and drool all over the sheets, “you’re so fucking gorgeous, darling, creaming my cock, tightening so much, fuck...”

“—Kuna...!”

and that’s all Sukuna needs, having you whimper your husband’s name through the whole night, but somehow your brain fried forgot about that detail, too stimulated, too fucked stupid to remember, now squeaking and whining Sukuna’s name, like you fuckin’ need him.

“that’s a good fucking girl, oh yeah, suck my cock, baby, i’ll fill you up nice and good” he won’t of course, having a condom wrapped around his throbbing erection ruined the whole fun, but he could dream right? dream of giving you a nice and sloppy creampie that would drip down your thighs, that filled you to the brim enough to ooze and make red faced Satoru cum embarrassingly hard

[ayukas]

HOW TO LOSE YOUR MIND (AND GAIN A PAIR OF FUZZY EARS) IN 3 MONTHS

he’s been your best friend for ten years, your boyfriend for three months, and apparently, your personal teddy bear since forever. haechan doesn’t know whether to run, cry, or cuddle—so naturally, he does what any sane man would do—become the bear of your dreams.

pairing lee haechan x fem!reader genre fluff, comedy, established relationship warnings reddit post format, profanities, jealously (SILLY), spiralling (SILLY), dumb boy in love word count 1.7k notes HELLO i need to stop disappearing on here sm im sorry :( but i wrote this thinking of ubereats hyuck!!! the plot lowk doesnt make any sense BUT i just missed him sm and i missed writing silly stuff on here so yay... i hope u enjoyoyoy and happy monday!

r/AmItheAsshole posted by

u/haemuffin・18 hours. ago

my (25M) girlfriend (25F) forbids me from going into her childhood bedroom and has a sock drawer stuffed full of bear keyrings. some of them even look a little like me. AITA for feeling uncomfortable?

i (25M) have been dating this girl (25F) for like, three months now. we’ve been best friends for years, and i finally confessed to her after she fell asleep on my shoulder during a horror movie and called me her personal teddy bear.

obviously, i thought that was the greenest flag a guy could ever get. she accepted my confession right away, and we kissed in the parking lot next to a build-a-bear, which now feels a little too ironic in hindsight.

anyway. recently she invited me to her parents’ place and told me i could go anywhere but her childhood bedroom. i thought she was joking at first until i simply walked past it and she appeared out of nowhere like a horror movie ghost and pulled me away after giving me the gnarliest glare EVER. i did, however, sneak a peek before she dragged me off and i caught a glimpse of like, a hundred bear plushies just sitting there on her bed.

she also has an entire sock drawer in her apartment stuffed full of bear keyrings. one of them wears a hoodie that looks suspiciously like one of mine. another has beauty marks on its cheek in the exact placement i have mine on. her phone case? bears. her ringtone? bear noises. (???)

i’ve also been told all my life that i look like a bear, so i asked her once—half-jokingly, of course—if she only started talking to me because i looked like a one, and she didn’t deny it. she just giggled and kissed my nose.

TLDR, AITA for feeling a little… i don’t know. concerned for my safety? or identity? or left out that my girlfriend, my best friend of TEN YEARS, didn’t care to tell me about her morbidly insane obsession with bears?

⬆️ 82 ⬇️ 💬 5

haechan didn’t consider himself a paranoid man. if anything, most people described him as laid-back, albeit slightly overly affectionate, and also kind of a menace. he believed in good omens. he even had a crystal phase once—charging his rose quartz on his windowsill routinely, hoping it would make you, his best friend, look at him in a different, more romantic light. safe to say, it worked.

but ever since the two of you started dating, he started noticing... things.

it started when you first invited him over to your apartment. you had always preferred hanging out at his when you were just friends, but now that things were different, you opened your door to him like it was nothing. he tried not to think too hard about the bear-themed bath mat or the oddly specific collection of bear-shaped coasters you owned. he even overlooked the bear stickers you often slapped onto his belongings without asking, claming it gave them character. but it was your sock drawer that tipped him over the edge.

you were in the shower when it happened. he’d just been looking for a pair of fuzzy socks—your fuzzy socks, to be exact—because his feet were cold and your drawer always smelled of baby powder and comfort. what he found instead was an entire drawer, stuffed with tiny, keychain-sized bears. rows and rows of them, in different shades of brown, textures, and expressions. some were handmade—crocheted, clearly by you— others were store-bought, but a disturbing number were… familiar.

one wore a grey hoodie that matched his favourite one. another had tiny stitched moles that matched the placement of the ones on his own face. he lifted it closer, blinking. the stitching on the bear’s right cheek wasn’t a manufacturing detail—it was intentional.

he stood there for a while, just holding it. not even sure how to feel.

when you finally walked out of the bathroom with your hair wrapped in a towel and a toothbrush between your teeth, you saw him standing next to your dresser with a look of existential dread painted across his face.

“you okay?” you asked around the toothbrush.

“yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “totally fine. just... um, hanging out with my twin, apparently.”

you looked at the bear in his hand and smiled, unbothered. “oh. you found my gomdo lee.”

he blinked. “i’m sorry, you named it?”

you gave a light shrug, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “of course. it’s also based off you, by the way. i started customising him back in college after renjun called you his winnie the pooh bear.”

“that was—okay, that was a joke, a passing comment. but this? you’ve been making bears based on me since before we were even dating? wow... and i thought i was the obsessed one...”

“can’t a girl have hobbies?” you replied sweetly.

but the way your eyes sparkled? haechan wasn’t so sure this was just a hobby.

that night, he couldn’t sleep. he laid stiffly in your bed, staring at the ceiling while you snored softly beside him.

it wasn’t that your bed wasn’t comfortable. it was too comfortable—covered in plush blankets and stuffed animals that made him feel like he’d been swallowed into the softest cult imaginable. you looked peaceful, one arm wrapped tightly around a fluffy beige teddy that looked older than both of you combined. its fur was worn and slightly matted in places, but you held onto it like it was made of gold. it wore a navy cardigan—buttoned and everything—which wouldn’t have been so strange if haechan himself hadn’t worn a nearly identical one just a few weeks ago.

he glanced down at your sleeping form. you nuzzled deeper into the plush bear’s chest, mumbling something incoherent under your breath that sounded dangerously like my bear…

he exhaled slowly and turned onto his side. the ceiling fan spun lazily above him, doing nothing to calm the growing questions in his head.

was he your boyfriend… or your living build-a-bear?

he wasn’t even sure he was mad or uncomfortable. mostly confused. and—if he was being painfully honest—kind of flattered?

which was possibly worse.

he brought it up to mark the next day at their usual brunch spot, halfheartedly picking at his tofu stew while trying to rationalise everything out loud.

“i’m not saying i’m jealous, or anything,” haechan insisted, even though his tone sounded exactly like someone who was jealous. “i’m just… confused. and maybe a little left out. like, this is clearly something she’s obsessed with. i mean—her ringtone is literal bear noises. but she never once told me about it. not when we were friends. not even when we first started dating. i’ve also never had to compete with stuffed animals before. it’s humbling.”

mark, who had been half-listening while texting chenle about wanting to go home, finally looked up. “you’re jealous of teddy bears?”

“i’m not jealous,” haechan repeated. “i’m just confused about all the attention these bears are getting. i’m her boyfriend. i bring her food. i fix her wifi. those bears just lie there like limp little freeloaders!”

mark chewed thoughtfully. “okay, so like… what’s the issue? you think she’s only dating you because you look like a bear?”

“…i don’t know.” haechan slumped back in his chair. “everyone does say i resemble one. i mean i do have a round face and round eyes but i don’t think i’m so bear? but she once said my yawns were ‘cub-like.’ what does that even mean? fuck, this is all your fault.”

mark blinked at him. “you need help.”

“I NEED ANSWERS.”

haechan tried to forget about it. really, he did. he convinced himself it was harmless. you liked cute things. he was cute. case closed.

but then he caught himself googling do women imprint on men who resemble animals? and realised maybe he was truly losing it.

the final straw came when he returned home after dance practice and collapsed onto your shared couch, only to knock over one of the keyring bears you’d lined up neatly against the shelf. it fell to the floor face-up, staring at him with those same round eyes and smug little cardigan.

and suddenly, haechan had a thought so stupid it almost made him laugh.

what if he leaned into it?

what if, instead of questioning everything—he just became the bear for you?

he spent the next hour pacing the apartment and scrolling through bear-themed accessories before finally rage-ordering a headband with ears and a hoodie with paw prints on the sleeves.

if he couldn’t beat the bears… maybe it was time to join them.

on the night of your three-month anniversary, you opened your apartment door, expecting a simple dinner—or at most, one of his overly dramatic love coupons written using jaemin’s glitter pens. instead, you were greeted by a full-grown man standing outside with a slightly awkward grin and a big red ribbon tied around his neck.

he wore a soft brown hoodie, complete with stitched fabric ears poking out from a headband. his cheeks were flushed, both from embarrassment and—if he were honest—hope.

he cleared his throat and held out a single paw-printed card. “hi,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “i’m your true, real bear now.”

you stared at him for a long, stunned second. he shifted on his feet, suddenly regretting the ribbon. and the headband. and quite possibly his entire life.

but then you dropped everything and launched yourself into his arms with so much force he stumbled back into the hallway.

“i love you,” you whispered, breathless, like it was the easiest truth in the world.

he blinked, ears twitching, unsure he heard that right.

“what?”

you looked up at him, eyes glassy. “i said i love you. my real bear.”

and just like that, every second of spiraling and confusion was worth it. he grinned into your hair, holding you tight. “damn. all it took was a pair of fuzzy ears and a ribbon, huh?”

“no.” you giggled, chest blooming with warmth as you cupped his face. “it took you. you’ll always be my one and only lover-bear.”

r/AmItheAsshole posted by

u/haemuffin・7 days. ago

my (25M) girlfriend (25F) forbids me from going into her childhood bedroom and has a sock drawer stuffed full of bear keyrings. some of them even look a little like me. AITA for feeling uncomfortable?

UPDATE, i dressed up as a bear and now we’re inseperable. still not allowed in the childhood bedroom though. apparently there’s a bear with my baby photo sewn into its chest. she said it was a prototype. i am terrified. also flattered. but mostly terrified. wouldn’t trade her for the world though :)

⬆️ 127 ⬇️ 💬 66

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