#and the other is named after the aforementioned cursed ship-

[minnesotamedic186]

@color-cacophony

How does one confuse these two with each other-?/lh

[darishima]

What is disgaea even about 😭

A GREAT QUESTION. IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED

clears my throat

so. the question of what disgaea is "about" depends on the game you're looking at because they all follow different plots and characters. the overall setting takes place in realm called the "netherworld," and there are many different netherworlds (basically different dimensions). there two other important locations: the human realm, and celestia (which is inhabited by angels). each game follows a different main plot-- essentially, you can play one game, with little to no knowledge of the others. however, there are many crossover and recurring characters. the main characters of the first game are playable in all following games, one of them is plot-relevant in the second half of disgaea 2, and in every game there's appearances of different recurring side characters. disgaea even includes characters from different franchises, like the games soul nomad, phantom brave, makai kingdom, and more, which are all made by the same company (nippon ichi software) and canonically take place in the same universe, but in different realms (hence the "multiple netherworlds" part).

as for plot itself. disgaea 2 is my favorite so yes i will be explaining it first i dont care that its out of order

disgaea 2: cursed memories is about a human named adell, who lives in a netherworld ruled by this demon named overlord zenon. zenon cast a curse on the netherworld that turned all the inhabitants into demons, and for some reason adell is the only one not affected. his family are all demons, and are slowly losing their human conscience, so he decides to find and kill overlord zenon to lift the curse on them. his mother is a talented mage, so she attempts to summon zenon, so he can fight him-- but the spell goes wrong and she summons a girl instead, who turns out to be zenon's daughter, rozalin. however, due to the rules of the summoning, rozalin and adell are bound together until each completes their respective quests-- rozalin, to return home and find her dad, and adell, to find and kill her dad.

rozalin, not believing adell would ever beat zenon, agrees to lead him to her dad so that the rules binding them will be lifted. however, it becomes rapidly clear that she has no idea where she's going or how to get home, and (this is semi-spoilers but i dont care its my favorite part) eventually reveals that she has never actually met zenon.

that's right. daddy issues. and tragedy. ohhh yeah baby!!! i could write an entire separate post about why rozalin is my favorite disgaea character ever. and also why her and yukimaru are tragic lovers who should kiss. its a ship i literally invented not a single other person in the world ships them or even cares about yukimaru that much but BY GOD, I CARE!!!

that's probably as much of d2's plot as i can give without significant spoilers. manyy more characters show up to join your party and aid the characters-- tink, rozalin's childhood best friend who's been turned into a frog; yukimaru, a kunoichi from a clan that was completely wiped out and slaughtered by zenon (she and rozalin are yuri as fuck); hanako and taro, adell's little brother and sister, and plenty of others. i refuse to spoil it though. anon go play disgaea 2 trust me. i am living proof of how good it is look at these fucking steam stats

i'm Not Normal about disgaea 2. it's gonna be 200 hours by the end of the month. sooo heyy next time there's a steam sale.. would highly recommend checking it out....

but anyway. onto disgaea 1.

disgaea 1: hour of darkness is about a demon named laharl, who after napping for 2 years (he just like me fr), learns that his father king krichevskoy, the overlord of the netherworld he lives in, has died. he sets out to reclaim the throne, which is rightfully his. etna, one of his vassals, is a powerful demon who agrees to help him, but seems to secretly be plotting something (etna is the aforementioned main character who is plot-relevant in d2). he soon meets flonne, an angel from celestia, who has been sent to assassinate king krichevskoy (not knowing that the overlord is already dead), and she ends up joining his party too.

d1 is unique because its the only disgaea game that actually has a direct sequel, and no its not disgaea 2. the sequel takes place 10 years after d1 and is called disgaea d2: a brighter darkness. i have regrettably not played this one yet and i dont know anything about it (im avoiding spoilers for d1) so i cant say anything about it.

the next game i *would* talk about is disgaea 3: absence of justice, but it's the only one of the main 7 disgaea games that isn't available on steam so i havent played it yet. when i do, im going to have to work out a ROM and a playstation emulator on my computer or something idk

so then there's disgaea 4: a promise unforgotten. this is about a vampire, valvatorez, who used to be a powerful tyrant but now trains lesser demons called prinnies, and his vassal/servant/friend/yaoi lover fenrich, a werewolf. valvatorez has sworn to never drink human blood (the "promise" mentioned in the title) and instead has developed an obsession with sardines. fenrich constantly tries to urge valvatorez to try to seize his former title as tyrant again and regain his lost glory, but valvatorez is content to stay as a prinny trainer. that is, until the government (called the "corrupternment") orders a mass extermination of all prinnies, and valvatorez sets out to spark a rebellion. the yaoi in this fucking game is THROUGH THE ROOF, there's a reason valfen is the most popular ship overall in the disgaea fandom

of the 7 main disgaea games, i own 1, 2, 4, and 5, and the only one of those i havent started playing is 5 (planning to wait until im done with 1&2) so i cant say much about 5, 6, or 7, though of course i plan to buy 6 and 7 soon. d3 still eludes me (fuck you NIS for not releasing it on steam...) so i dont have that one either, not until i finish the others and decide to work out a ps3 emulator to play it.

like i said, there's 7 "main" disgaea games. those are: disgaea: hour of darkness disgaea 2: cursed memories disgaea 3: absence of justice disgaea 4: a promise unforgotten disgaea 5: alliance of vengeance disgaea 6: defiance of destiny disgaea 7: vows of the virtueless and then theres an 8th, disgaea d2: a brighter darkness, 1's sequel.

the amount of games there are can get confusing to people unfamiliar with the series, though. i mean look at the wikipedia release timeline

that looks like a whole lot more than 7. but here's why-- disgaea games were released originally on playstation. when they were rereleased for PSP they were titled differently-- "afternoon of darkness" is just the PSP version of "hour of darkness." so each game ends up looking like this--

disgaea: hour of darkness (original, ps2) disgaea: afternoon of darkness (rerelease, psp) disgaea ds (for the ds, a port of the psp version) disgaea PC (the steam version, the one i play) disgaea 1 complete (the switch version) they're all the same game, with only minor differences and alterations. makes it really confusing to some people. disgaea 2 has a similar treatment-- "disgaea 2: cursed memories" is the original, for ps3; "disgaea 2: dark hero days" is the psp version; and "disgaea 2 PC" is the steam version.

umm. i have been yapping and typing for so fucking long i didnt realize how long this post got. um. im sorry anon. i think i answered your question though. tldr: what disgaea is "about" depends on the game. mostly its about demons doing things and killing people.

except for 2 which is a beautiful epic romantic tale of tragedy and yuri . and 4 which is just a vampire and dogboy fucking nasty

[waterdroplet02]

What are their names? Are there reasons for this?

ahhh, trying to be sleazy and get a full list of OCs from me with this broad-as-hell question, aren't you?

well, lucky for you, it's working!!

you have!!:

Water, my most direct self-insert, a waterslime that's the typical 'unlikely hero' stereotype, except he's *actually* incapable and messes everything up in most of the timelines

Water {Wellspring Clinic}, the same waterslime, except he starts a hospital out of spite instead of becoming one of the fifteen guardians of the earth

Flect, a young bird person who'd been shunned by the rest of his family for not being born with wings, to the point of being disowned by them, and ended up finding himself under the care of Water instead

Tarity, a four-armed Tiefling with a kind heart and desire to help people; she'd become this way after a younger life of being discriminated for having more limbs

Vair, an abstract ghost-like being from another plane of the universe who just vibes and can form weird magical laser beams through re-arranging his limbs

Merix, a pessimistic foxperson that literally could not care less, who currently takes up the role of janitor in Wellspring Clinic after having to get digital prosthetics and needing consistent maintenance for them

Gess, formerly a girl with an interest in strange, magical rocks; atleast, until she one day dies in her sleep with a pink rock on her bedstand, and wakes up with her soul encased within it. said rock is now a necklace worn by Vair

Willow {Dimensional}, the same human boy except in a future where he keeps finding himself through different rifts and ending up in all sorts of worlds and dimensions, attaining multiple god-given curses and magical enhancements, and learning far more than a boy from a medieval fantasy era should. oh and also he's pet so many things.

Willow, a human boy from a medieval fantasy era who's sole desire in life is to pet as many different things as he can. that's it. he does whatever he can to get his hands on the head of everything and everyone he comes across, and keeps track of everything in a notebook he keeps with him. used as a DnD character of mine in a few sessions. yes, he has caused plenty of trouble. especially when a foxgirl goddess appeared before the party.

Nallu and Mito, a pair of candle-people siblings who are just trying to get by

Sepra {Space}, a leader of a criminal space group, and an enthusiast of chemistry, alchemy, and all things poison.

Jylliere {Space}, a member of the aforementioned crime group and co-worker of Sepra, who specializes in hexes and curses and the supernatural

Ensayo {Space}, a roboticist second and botanist first, who used to be a member of the crime group, up until she creates a killer robot that dismantles the group from the inside out of spite for not having more.. magical powers like her other co-workers. is currently on the run from the previous two characters for, y'know, destroying the crime group

MIJOPA {Space}, an AI and travel buddy of Ensayo, created to help maintain the ship she uses to get around, and the various plants onboard. despite being a roughly fully-formed AI, it speaks like an internet user from 2006 types, and it's a furry

...and that should be everyone i want to talk about? i have more characters, but i don't feel like talking about em yet! they're either used in a personal writing project of mine i want to share at some point, or just forgotten about! ...i need to write these things down.

in the meanwhile, though, feel free to ask about literally any of these guys!!! i'll be Absolutely happy to rant my ass off about any of them! sorry for your notifications in the future.

...oh, and for the second half of the ask, um. i forgot. Lol

[harrypotter-imaginess]

A/N: I loved doing this one guys, and I hope you love it too. Might do a part 2 not sure yet, as always commissions are still open until 3/10 message if your interested- price list is here

- Okay this is the ship guys this is it-

- This is like Hades and Persephone type of love

- Everyone thinks that Regulus is someone to be feared because of his family, and everyone knows they dabble in the dark arts

- And everyone is so caught up in his family-

- In the estate, and those dark rumors, and their dark magic-

- That no one see’s Regulus is just a boy-

- A lonely boy with no real friends, not really

- It’s worse now that Sirius has been disowned

- He’s got people around him, boys who’s parents are aquatinted with his

- But they don’t really like him

- They just hang around because they want a flicker of his power

- Of that ancient dark magic everyone’s convinced he’s got

- Everyone except you that is

- You’re this beautiful, cheerful, precious thing

- He meets you when you’re lost, looking for the bathroom

- “Sorry to bother, but do you know if it’s down the hall?” You ask, he’s seen you a few times; in class, or around the corridors

- Playing gobstones with your ever growing group of friends

- He would be jealous if he wasn’t so surprised that you’re speaking to him at all, aren’t you a muggle born?

- Shouldn’t you be afraid of him?

- Just like everyone else?

- “It’s in the next hallway, that one is moaning Myrtle’s bathroom” he says quietly

- He watches you nod enthusiastically

- Looks like you’ll be on your way now, probably for the best, he wouldn’t want his parents to know -

- “Would you mind showing me?” You ask

- And it’s awfully pushy, but somehow Regulus can’t turn down that bright smile of yours

- You talk to him so easily, like you’re not afraid of him at all

- And it irritates him a little.

- Honestly, even the professors are a little afraid of him

- Everyone is

- So why aren’t you

- “Do you-“ he stops in the middle of the corridor, and you walk a few steps forward before realizing he’s not beside you anymore

- “Do you know who I am?”

- You must not, that’s the only explanation

- When you find out you’ll go as pale as the moon, and afterward you will regale the tale for your many friends, how you barley escaped the fearsome Regulus Black, right before he was about to curse you with his dark magic.

- But you only offer a quizzical expression and a smile

- “You’re Regulus Black”

- You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world

- It only makes him upset, but he doesn’t know why

- In fact since the moment he met you there’s been this burning irritation lingering in the back of his mind, and he just can’t seem to pin point why

- But regardless of the reason, it seems to be boiling over right now, in an empty corridor in the middle of the night

- “Shouldn’t you be afraid? I could curse you right here if I wanted”

- But the smile on your face remains

- “Maybe, but you won’t” you muse

- He laughs

- “Why because you think I’m afraid getting expelled?”

- Honestly his parents would welcome him with a feast if he came home for attacking a muggle born

- It would be a sign he wasn’t going to become like Sirius after all

- Because that’s the worst thing a person could be according to his parents-

- A blood traitor

- But instead of quaking in your shoes you flash him a quizzical smile

- “Nah, I just don’t think you’re that kind of person” you shrug

- The words echo in his mind long after you’ve said them

- And though he’s looked at you before

- He’s only really looking at you now, the easy way your lips curl into a smile, the sparkle in your eye, the glow around you-

- Like you’re made of sunlight

- Like you breathe life into all things wherever you go

- Like an ancient witch he heard of , heralded as the goddess of spring

- Like Persephone

- Ah, so that’s it

- It’s not that he hates you

- It’s that he envies you

- Because seeing how natural it is to see you do good, makes him hope -  it makes him yearn to be like that too

- To be more than an heir to his family’s dark legacy

- “I could be wrong though” you shrug, you can count on one hand how many times you’ve been right about something

- But still, you just don’t buy that the shy kid in front of you is some evil prodigy bent on destroying the world

- “No” Regulus’s voice cracks, and it’s soft, so soft you almost don’t hear it.

- But your turn to him, eyes jumping from one of the many paintings in the corridor to his pale face

- His eyes seem glossy as they look into yours, and it’s not just because of the light from the torches

- “No, I’m not that kind of person” he says with a bit more strength this time, and you grin

- And while you feel that there’s something important about the moment, you don’t realize the monumental significance this chance meeting holds for Regulus

- “Oh, we passed the washroom” he realizes after a moment, he was so caught up in talking to you he hadn’t realized

- “Ah, that’s okay I didn’t have to use the bathroom anyway” you say with a wave of your hand

- Huh?

- Noticing his expression you get a sheepish look on your face

- “Well I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while, but you’re always with people-“

- Yeah he’s sure his “friends” would give off an especially murderous aura if you ever tried to approach them

- “So when I saw an opportunity, I just took it” you admit with a slight laugh

- “I wanted to see what everyone was talking about when they mentioned the ‘Dark Prince’ “ there’s a teasing flint in your eye, and the nickname alone is enough to make him flush red

- “And what’s your assessment?” he manages to ask, a smile stretching across his face

- “Very underwhelming, I came expecting several hexes and a duel, and all I got was a cute boy with pretty eyes”

- This time he really does flush bright red, eyes trained on his shoes

- You laugh, you were mostly teasing

- But he is quite cute isn’t he?

- What’s everyone so scared of anyway? He’s like a shy kitten

- He watches you walk to a particular portrait, whispering a word before it swings open

- “Well see ya around Mr. Dark Prince” you say, sending a teasing wink his way

- Regulus is glowing red, even when he’s tucked in bed, in his common room hours after the meeting. the mere memory of the words you said send his heart racing again

- “They said I’m cute” he’ll recall with a goofy smile spreading across his face

- After that, things are brighter for Regulus

- You pull him into your group of friends, quite literally

- “I-I don’t think this is a good idea” he manages, catching the terrified glances of passerby’s as you tug him forward by his arm 

- What a sight you must be, the literal personification of spring pulling the Dark Prince  himself by the arm through the castle

- The aforementioned Dark Prince having a rosy tinge on his cheeks, which most of the other students misplace for Fury instead of what it actually is:

- Embarrassment with a healthy dash of attraction to aforementioned personification of spring

- “Nonsense, everyone’s dying to meet you Reg”

- When you use his nickname his flush darkens

- No ones ever called him that-

- No one except Sirius and Andromeda

- He likes the way it sounds coming from you

- And you’re right, your friends accept him into their fold immediately

- “You know any curses?” One of your friends asks, it’s in a jovial manner that anyone could tell they’re just teasing but Regulus flinches

- “No, not really” he admits, not any he’s good at anyway

- He did see his parents do something akin to a sacrifice when he was younger with an alter in the full moon, but he really wouldn’t know where to start with that

- “What about gobstones, you know the rules to that?”

- Regulus nods

- “Well lets play then!”

- Before he knows it, it’s like this was always his life

- Laughing with you in class, games of gobstones with your friends and trips to Hogsmeade on the weekend

- Regulus didn’t know that he was yearning for this

- How often had he wished for something like this,

- A place that feels like it’s full of sunshine, where everyone feels accepted, and no one has to feel sad

- This is the happiest Regulus has ever been

- But all dreams must come to an end

- The end of the semester comes around, and he has to go home for Christmas vacation

- You’re standing side by side on the train platform waiting for the train, your trunk lying next to you

- “You’re not taking anything back with you?” You ask

- Regulus shrugs

- “There’s no point, everything I need is at the manse”

- You’ve always been a bit curious about what the Black manor is like

- Probably something grand, large library’s, they probably have one of those record players with the gold horn thing

- And a ballroom

- It probably makes Hogwarts look like a pile of dirt

- But the way Regulus’ face darkens when you ask him about it tells you that- yes they probably do have a ballroom, but there’s other things too, things that are far less pleasant 

- And when he starts talking about his home life, how it’s worse - lonelier- Now that Sirius is at the Potter’s all the time, and there’s no one around to stand between him and his parents

- He notices your heartbroken expression and rushes to comfort you

- “It’s not so bad, Mum’s got her tender moments every so often and-“

- “Regulus” you cut in, and the sound of his whole name leaving your mouth makes him stutter to a stop

- “You’re supposed to feel safe and loved all the time not just sometimes”

- It’s such a basic thing, but when Regulus hears this, he feels like he’s being allowed something

- He feels, for the first time, he’s allowed to be safe and happy

- He’s allowed to be good

- “Why don’t you come home with me for Christmas? It’s probably not as grand as you’re used to-“

- You fidget awkwardly, maybe it’s silly, the prince, Regulus Black, himself sitting on your worn sofa, holding yarn while one of your family member’s knits

- You can picture it though

- You can picture a big smile across his face, indulging the younger children in your extended family in their requests for piggyback rides and for him to participate in their games

- “I want to,” he says, really the fact that you’re offering is enough, more than he could ask for

- “But I can’t”

- And it’s the truth, after Sirius, he can’t make any mistakes, his family won’t stand for it

- He especially doesn’t want to think what would happen to you if they found out he had been spending all of his time with you, a muggle born

- He doesn’t want to think what curses they might inflict you with

- He doesn’t want you to ever be hurt because of him

- “You’ll write to me?” You say it with the fervor of a demand, and it makes a smile curl onto his mouth

- “Everyday” he promises

- And things are exactly as they always were at 12 Grimmauld Place, his mother is distant, only livening up when one of the other ladies shows up for tea

- His father is squirreled away in council meetings

- His cousins are no fun, not really, and Andromeda’s not around anymore since she ran off with Ted

- He likes Ted, though he would never admit it to his family

- Ted is a lot like you, someone with an infinite amount of kindness

- He wonders how they’re doing

- He wonders how Sirius is doing

- He’s probably happy, he always looked happy when he was with his friends

- And so- with a picture of you discreetly kept on his desk, he writes three sets of letters

- The first is for you, to assure you he’s fine, and live vicariously through your spring, through your lovely Christmas moments and imagine himself there too. 

- The second for Andromeda, to ask if she’s doing alright, and to tell her he misses her

- And the last, is for Sirius

- Asking how he is, and hoping he’s well.

- And to say that he understands what Sirius was saying all those years, in their childhood and then into adolescence, Regulus understands now- 

- And he wants to be good too

[therewasatale]

scratch

On Ao3.

Summary: Jonathan takes care of his progeny.

Note: Based on @moonlitravingsofthestoryteller prompt  Yes, same prompt, but different ship. Enjoy.

"It's just a scratch, I'm fine."

"It looks deeper than a scratch."

"I can assure you, Dr.Reid, I'm fine."

"Sean, I'm here to help. Please, let me see your wrist." Jonathan didn't like to push, but he had the chance to catch a glance of his progeny's hand.

The Sad Saint hesitated. His fingers slowly played with the edge of the gauze.

"All right." He finally nodded.

"Well then, please, take a seat." Jonathan pulled out one of the chairs and waited. "I always have my most important equipment’s with me."

Sean did as he was told, carefully watching the doctor's every movement. He still had to get used to it, the thoughts, the feelings, the yearning. Being this close to Jonathan made him feel safe, and he never wanted to leave his side. The shame didn't wait for long to follow these notions and create a sinking feeling in his stomach.

His own feelings left himself confused.

"I wouldn’t do anything that you wouldn’t feel right about. Please, as soon as you feel uncomfortable, let me know."

"I will, thank you, Dr.Reid."

"Call me Jonathan." He answered with a half-smile.

"Jonathan." Sean repeated the name and it felt nice. The Lord sent a really interesting Ekon to help him. "Thank you."

"So, tell me, what happened?" Jonathan sat down in front of him and took the Sad Saint’s hand. He carefully started to roll down the bandage from it.

"Mr.Greenroad showed up with his family tonight. They asked for a place to stay for the night after they couldn't pay for their lease any more. I accommodated them, however their son, Eric, decided to wander out of the building at night to look for adventure. His parents were asleep, but I was able to see him get out, thanks to my new powers." He glanced at the Ekon.

"A brave little kid, a bit too brave, perhaps. At other times it might not have been a problem." He put the used and bloody gauze aside. The bite mark was still visible on the back of the Sean’s hand. Two deeper marks, they might have penetrated the muscles and even damaged the bone underneath. The injury had mostly healed, but it wasn't complete yet.

"Well, what's your diagnosis, doctor?"

"Skal bite, it could have broken at least three bones in your hand, the canine teeth pierced the muscle and badly torn it. It's a wonder you got away with only this much."

Sean glanced down at his injured hand. "I was stronger. I didn't-, I wasn't able to kill it, I couldn't. But I chased it away." Their eyes met in silence.

It was impossible to tell what Jonathan was actually thinking, but Sean didn't feel any strong emotions from him either.

Another curse or gift; he was able to feel in the middle of the night the Ekon's pain or anger. For the first time Sean couldn't focus on anything else, his instincts screamed at him to find Jonathan and help him. He had to force back himself from the entrance of the shelter. He tried to occupy himself as much as he was able to. But it wasn't enough, nothing seemed ever enough.

"But it wasn't all of my diagnosis, so the rest is," Jonathan took out a tiny bottle and a roll of fresh gauze. He started to clean out the wound. "A too adventurous young boy, and a very brave man who was ready to help the aforementioned boy. You did good, Sean."

"You don't need to flatter me, Jonathan. You've already got me on my knees."

The Ekon's smile faded, and he turned his gaze back on Sean's hand instead.

The guilt tightened inside of his chest like a gripping hand, but it wasn't only his own.

"I'm sorry, doctor. I was just-"

"No, you're right. I made a mistake when I turned you, I shouldn't have done that. I stepped over a line."

Sean tried to shake the feeling off, but it only got worse. "Jonathan-"

"At least, I'm glad it worked, and you can protect your flock." He cleared his throat. "And you can heal."

"…but?" He knew what was coming next.

"But, you have to take some blood to heal. You know that."

Sean couldn't look in his eyes. Of course, he knew that.

"Sean?"

"I-, I didn't have the occasion, to-" he couldn't convince himself. And his maker still waited for his answer. "I just couldn't bring myself to take blood." He sighed. "I didn't have the time to search for bodies..."

"Sean, it's all right, I understand." He slowly put his hand on the Saint's. "Do you need my assistance?"

Sean winced as warmth spread around his body. "No." He swallowed. "I will manage." His whole mind screamed the opposite at him. His stomach twisted from hunger. There were nights when he dreamed about his maker. The doctor showed up, and shared his blood with him again. And every time he woke up, he was able to taste Jonathan's blood in his mouth.

Old Bridget was right, when he became a Skal the flesh and blood eased his hunger, but it was nothing compared to the Ekon's blood.

"Sean." Jonathan gently squeezed his hand, so Sean finally dragged his mind back to the present.

"I'm-, I'm sorry. It's just not easy for now. My mind trying to adjust to this new body, and new cravings." He let out a sigh, the Ekon patiently waited for him to continue. Again, he was so tender and kind, he felt like a different person. "Your blood transformed me, and healed most of my wounds, but the hunger while lessened still remains, and..." he had to swallow again. "I can sense your discomfort, and other strong feelings. I have to learn about them. Forgive me, I'm mumbling."

"No, you don't have to apologize. I understand, this connection between us is making you uneasy. It's a new experience for me too, but please let me know if you have anything on your mind. You're my progeny and I want to take good care of you, as your maker, and your doctor."

Sean sounded almost amused. "What a strange man you're, Dr.Reid."

"I take it as a compliment." Jonathan smiled, it reached his eyes, filling the icy-blue with kindness. "Your hand will heal, if you want I can provide some of my blood. Don't worry you won’t have to bite me." He carefully adjusted the fresh bandage.

"You didn't seem to mind the first time." Sean suddenly bit into his own lips.

"Oh?"

"Forgive me, I-, this is different, I still have to get used to it." He rubbed his reddening cheeks, to chase the blush away.

"No, I mean, I understand."

They sat in an embarrassed silence. It only broke when Sean let out a small chuckle. Finally, his guilt and worry began to melt away.

"Sean?" Jonathan couldn't help but smile.

"I'm sorry, I just realized that most of these things are new, and unknown even for you. That's reassuring."

"Well, yes." The Ekon slowly rubbed his neck. "I was turned only three days ago."

"And yet here you're, trying to help others."

Jonathan tried wave this off. "I'm a doctor, of course I try to help. This is why I studied for years."

"And I'm really glad that you were the one who turned me, the Lord sent you to me."

Embarrassment? Sean almost reached towards his chest as his heart sped up a little.

"I'm not sure about it, Sean. But, I'm glad you don't hate me, even if you would have every reason to. After how I acted that night." Jonathan gently patted his arm and stood up.

"I don't hate you." The Sad Saint stepped in front of him, his chair almost felt over behind him. "I-, I understand you had to, it's just-" he felt silent.

"Thank you."

Long fingers caressed his chin, making Sean shiver. He had to close his eyes, as he felt the blush spread around his cheek.

"Please, take care of yourself. And let me know if you ever need me."

He had to swallow back the answer, instead he just slowly nodded.

"I will come back tomorrow, but right now my patients are waiting for me."

The doctor's fingers slightly touched his lips. "You did good, I'm proud of you."

He almost failed to notice the tiny kiss on his lips. His hearth hammered in his ears.

"I have to go now."

Finally, Sean opened his eyes, he felt a twinge of emptiness wash over him as the Ekon pulled his hands away.

"I understand." The Sad Saint tried to hide his disappointment in his voice. "I will wait for your return."

Jonathan gave him a smile filled with warmth. "I will hurry back. Have a good night, Sean."

"You too, Jonathan." He watched the Ekon leave, following him with his eyes as long as he was able to with his new vampire powers. Then he turned away to try to get himself occupied.

[trampohlena]

Okay, so after last night’s episode I would just like to say that Supercorp IS Endgame. I’d also like to point out the various reasons as to why Kara and Lena are not only soulmates but true twin flames.

For those reading this post who have never heard of the term twin flame: “A twin flame is your own soul, shared across what appears to be two physical beings. It’s one soul, split into two bodies.” -Google’s definition.

For those who are spiritually inclined and have a proclivity for indulging esoteric philosophies; Lena and Kara are ABSOLUTELY twin FUCKING flames 🔥🔥🔥!!

Here are the reasons why:

1. Their drastically different childhoods that resulted in remarkably similar trauma.

Both Kara and Lena have experienced great loss throughout their life. Both mourned the death of their parents, and life as they knew it, at a very early age. Both were shipped off to a foreign land, forced to leave behind everything they knew, in hopes for a brighter/safer future.

Albeit, Lena got the shorter end of the stick in regards to unconditional love, but both were given a second chance and a new start...and yet, they still never fit in, or felt like they truly belonged.

Although they individually have dealt with said trauma in different ways (Lena by pushing away those who try to get too close, and Kara by holding on tightly to those she holds dear) both of their actions are motivated by the same subconscious fear that they HAVE never and WILL never TRULY belong. All while yearning for a sense of “home”.

2. They are opposite reflections of each other; true “mirror souls”, if you will.

Physically, aesthetically, economically, and emotionally—they are complete “mirrors” of one another.

Kara is strong, physically powerful, cut from marble, all hard edges and sharp lines—except for her face. Lena is clearly not as physically powerful, she is soft, all curves, and exudes the grace of the Devine feminine energy—except for her face, which is hard edges and sharp jaw lines. You see what I’m saying?

Aesthetically and economically go hand in hand of course. Lena’s exorbitant wealth is evident in her high-end designer appearance; whereas Kara’s aesthetic is more humble and grounded, and prioritizes comfort over “fashion”. (Let’s admit it. Some of Kara’s fashion choices have been questionable. She clearly rocks the chinos and button-downs better than anything else in that eclectic closet of hers she refuses to come out of 😏)

Emotionally...oh honey. Do I need to say more? I won’t say much but I will say this: Kara is the sun and Lena is the moon. They compliment each other in a way that ensures the world keeps turning.

3. Their individual strengths are the other’s individual weakness and vice versa.

Goes along with the aforementioned “opposite reflection” point above but I’ll expand a bit further in regards to their specific personality traits.

Lena is predominately analytically driven, whereas Kara is emotionally driven. Lena is good in crowds, Kara is not (overwhelmed). Lena is introverted, Kara is extroverted. Lena is detail oriented and has the memory of an elephant, Kara is clumsy and as forgetful as a Pisces (but hey, she has a lot on her plate and barely any free time to balance it). Lena eats like a rabbit-bird-hybrid and Kara eats like a garbage disposal. Kara loves giving and receiving hugs and other forms of physical affection whereas Lena does not (UNLESS it’s from Kara, of course). Etc. Etc. you get the picture.

4. Now this one is the DEAD GIVEAWAY. Undeniable, irrefutable PROOF that Lena and Kara are twin flames.

They are LITERALLY completing what is know as the Twin Flame Journey or the Twin Flame Union.

The stages of Twin Flame Union are roughly as follows:

1. Yearning for “the one”. I think every human being that believes in love experiences this whether it’s throughout their entire life, or only their adult life until they meet this person but yeah. You get it. Kara has always wanted that “Wapow!” moment.

2. Glimpsing/meeting “the one”. Whether it’s only for a short moment, an extended meeting, or perhaps merely locking eyes with them as you pass each other by...you feel immediately connected. There is an instant soul recognition when meeting them, so much so that you could have sworn you’ve met them before or that it’s as if you’ve known each other your whole lives.

Remember when Kara met Lena? And she was gaga-eyed over Lena? Or when Lena felt so comfortable around a new acquaintance that she granted an almost stranger unbridled access to her office? Or how about when Red Daughter flew to America (the country she was taught to hate), with no recollection/memories of Kara’s relationship with Lena (again, the woman she was taught to hate), all because she felt PULLED to do so. And then when she did meet Lena she looked at her and practically drooled over her as if Lena was a double XL cheeseburger with extra special sauce from Big Belly Burger? Like, biiiitch 👀

3. Falling in love. Need I say more? Fine, again, I will. You CANNOT tell me that there is no way in hell that these two morons are anything BUT in love with each other. That’s a lot of double negatives and I appplogize so let me reiterate for clarification: THEY ARE IN LOVE AND YOU CAN’T CHANGE MY MIND!

And at this point is it so freaking BEYOND platonic love, the show cannot explain it away or sweep it under the “just close friends” rug. No. Kara used her Fifth Dimensional Wish (she literally could have wished her entire planet didn’t explode) and she said “make Lena not mad at me, I’m sad 😔” 👀. Mmmkay. Not to mention Lena picking Supergirl over Jack, her former lover. Or the plethora of other times Lena chose Kara/Supergirl over everyone else she knew. Mmkay.

4. The fairytale relationship/friendship. Lena has finally found someone she can depend on, be vulnerable with, support her without judgement, trust with her life etc. and Kara has finally found a true best friend, not her sister, not Kenny who she didn’t realize was her best friend till after he passed? And now he’s not dead?? But her one true best friend that she felt she didn’t need to be neither Supergirl, nor Kara Danvers, but rather Kara Zor-El around (despite Lena not knowing that little tidbit of information).

They were each other’s best friend. Each other’s person. They were happy.

5. Outer Turmoil and Inner Purging—Supergirl and Lena fight. Lena still does not know that Kara is indeed Supergirl and does not pick up on the brewing tension between herself and Kara.

Kara of course is riddled with guilt and her relationship with Lena becomes strained. This outer turmoil creates inner purging by bringing out negative traits in each other. I.E. Lena hiding kryptonite and also Kara asking James to spy on her. Shit gets messy but they still try to make it work.

6. The Runner and the Chaser/Separation Stage—Tensions mount between the two and Lena FINALLY learns about Kara’s secret. And she has a choice to make. So what does she do? She runs. Not physically but emotionally. She completely withdraws from not only Kara and their friends but also withdraws from herself.

She literally experiences cognitive dissonance and becomes someone she is not. Someone other people made her believe she was on the inside, even though Kara knows that it isn’t. And so, Kara chases her.

Lena becomes the runner and Kara becomes the chaser as they navigate this separation stage.

Continuously running and continuously chasing.

7. The Surrender and dissolution stage—they’re fucking done. They’re tired. They’re exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally after all the bullshit they put each other through as well as all the bullshit Lex and the Phantom Zone put them through.

They come to an impasse in regards to Lex and realize the only way to defeat him is to work together, as a team. (El Mayarah anyone?)

They surrender to their emotions and to each other as their egos dissolve and their souls expand after having learned invaluable life lessons. The major one being: THEY CANNOT LIVE HAPPILY WITHOUT EACH OTHER!

8. The last stage that we have yet to see but we fucking better or else I’m gonna January 6 the CW studio building—“Oneness”.

This time, I’m not gonna say more.

So, in conclusion: Supercorp is Endgame because Lena Luthor and Kara Zor-El Danvers are the literal definition of a twin flame, soulmate connection. They are the same soul, manifested in two physical forms, for the sole purpose of expanding their soul’s consciousness.

They deserve to be happy, they deserve to be together. Not only does their union parallel some of the greatest love stories throughout history, i.e. Romeo and Juliet, Darcy and Bennet, Superman and Lois (duh) it would also break the curse of generational karma and illustrate to anybody who watches the show that the only person who defines who you are is YOU. Not a name, not a legacy, not society’s expectations, YOU. And most importantly of ALL...it would showcase that love truly does conquer all.

I rest my case.

TPTB, make Supercorp Endgame or kick rocks ✌️😘

Sincerely,

An empassioned fan with way too much time on her hands.

[tanoraqui]

I have no idea what critical role is but you reblog it a lot. Is it just a bunch of people playing video games or something?

Critical Role is an ongoing RPG game (D&D 5e) played by a bunch of notable voice actors from video games, including Ashely Johnson (The Last of Us), Liam O’Brien (idk, he voiced some guy named Illidan somewhere? I know very little about video games), and Laura Bailey (she’s Laura goddamn Bailey). The Dungeon Master is Matthew Mercer (blanking - Overwatch cowboy) who’s REALLY GODDAMN GOOD at being a DM, and indeed does it as part of his full-time job now, because at some point they all went “fuck it” and incorporated as their own company. Because fuck yeah. Last spring (my god it was only last spring) they did a kickstarter to fund an animated series of some previous RPG adventures, and it broke several records and now - slowed by the global pandemic - there’s gonna be 2 seasons of an animated show, hosted by Amazon I think? (Every time I think about that I scream softly in excitement in my mind.)

It’s currently on its second big, multi-year campaign, with the adventuring party The Mighty Nein. Their previous campaign starred Vox Machina. Some highlights, arbitrarily mixed together, include:

that time Vox Machina had a cannonball contest, displaying their distinct personalities and powersets really well, actually

that time the Mighty Nein accidentally got into a fight with some smugglers and then the city guard, accidentally stole a ship, and thus, and I cannot emphasize this enough, accidentally became pirates

“Take me instead, you raven bitch.”  - Vax’ildan of Vox Machina, half-elven rogue, offering his own life to the goddess of death in exchange for his sister’s and (unbeknownst to him at the time) beginning of long character arc of multiclassing as a paladin

Vox Machina’s archnemeses: doors, and also the elderly

the Mighty Nein’s archnemeses: chairs

Veth Brenatto, sometimes Nott the Brave, of the Mighty Nein regaining - with the help of her friends - her halfling form after years as a goblin, and immediately dip-kissing her husband and kicking all aforementioned friends (and her son) out so they can have sex

Taliesin Jaffe had eerie luck with nat20s in the Vox Machina campaign, but I maintain that Laura Bailey [harp music] actually has the best record for narratively on-point nat20s, including but not limited to:

two consecutive nat20s as Vex’ahlia of Vox Machina, half-elven ranger, to shoot the Briarwoods (sexy wizard/vampire couple) when they were about to kill her brother

True Love’s Nat20, rolling as part of the resurrection ritual to bring back Percy (Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III, human gunslinger of VM)

in the culminating moment of an episode in which the M9 one by one spoke with ancient, evil hag about what they might trade her in order to lift the curse on Nott, tiefling Jester Lavorre rolling at nat20 deception check to trick the into hag eating a cupcake laced with magic dust that lowered her ability to resist the Modify Memory curse Jester immediately cast, convincing the hag that she’d already agreed to the deal without demanding anything in return

not a Vex roll but Vex-enabled: dropping Grog (goliath barbarian) out of basically a magical pokeball with perfect dramatic timing for him to roll a nat20 final blow on his evil abusive uncle, cleaving him in twain

“Call me child one more goddamn time--”  - Keyleth of the Air Ashari, half-elven druid of VM, snarling at the ancient green dragon who’d orchestrated the destruction of 1/4 of Keyleth’s people

“You were not born with poison in your veins....Welcome to the Mighty Nein.”  - Caleb Widogast, human wizard, consoling/forgiving/welcoming aa lawful evil NPC who they’d caught playing a major part in creating a war between two empires for The Greater Ultimate Good (and kinda his own personal gain)...but he was their friend already at that point and Caleb had his own history with doing terrible things that he thought were right at the time, and actually someone else might’ve said the “Welcome to the Mighty Nein” part but that’s intrinsically part of it, and it’s...something they say to a lot of people; to a range of NPCs and guest characters. Which is interesting because Vox Machina DIDN’T; they were a tighter family unit but...well, they were a tighter family unit. And kinda...better people, more Heroes(TM)? Disastrous and often very fucked up inside and sometimes out, but Heroes(TM), on the whole. 

whereas the M9 are more trying to sort out their own personal problems, and stumble into international politics almost by mistake. Even their relationships with NPCs are different - they don’t trust, none of the M9 trust in a way VM did, the party took much longer to gel just with each other. Partly, admittedly, because by the time Vox Machina came to the YouTube screen, the cast had been playing at home for about a year, whereas we’ve been watching the M9 from level 1...but even accounting for that, they’re all much less trusting people. Most of them had big secrets in their backstory

which is why it’s all the more wonderful every time they invite someone new it, either outside the group or just with each other. And it pays off - I don’t have a whole meta, but I’ve been thinking idly for a while about how kinda...the big (DM-created) plot twists in the VM campaign were generally...disruptions, dissolutions, or betrayals? The deception of Raishan (aforementioned ancient green dragon.) Hotis’s assassination attempt on Vax, while disguised as a trusted NPC. When Emperor Uriel stepped down and before he’d even finished his speech, there was a sudden invasion of 4 goddamn ancient dragons. Whereas the M9...not only have no NPCs unexpectedly turned on them (the grievous actions of aforementioned lawful evil NPC were mostly pre-story), but it feels almost like a plot twist every time an NPC in authority is benevolent? Like, they arranged peace negotiations between the warring empires and I think every single fan and player was waiting with bated breath for it to all go wrong...and it didn’t. There’s a truce, now. Will it last? Who knows. Jester’s god turned out to not be a god at all, just an archfey in over his head, but he’s not trying to hurt anyone - he came clean and asked for help.

Idk, man. Critical Role streams on Twitch every Thursday at 7pm, or at least, it’ll keep doing so if public health concerns don’t make it take a break again, and it makes me unironically happy to watch, pretty much every time. The cast has great friend chemistry and, now that they’ve all warmed up to each other, so do the characters.

Episodes DO tend to be 3-4 hours long, shaving off maybe half an hour in the podcast versions, so be aware of that. But I just kind of set Thursday evenings aside and I love it. 

it’s funny bc I told my roommate I probably wasn’t going to go on a long emphatic ramble in response to this but Here We Are

[magneticmage]

Man, just thinking some more about my Baldur's Gate OCs;

Rune and Lucine are Folk Heroes. He is a Moon Circle Druid after a brief brush of lycanthropy (they were misplaced for the problems below and Rune and his sister don't know that yet) when their village was attacked by an unknown plague that was actually brought on by a devil, their tiefling paladin father Riven's Cambion father, in retaliation for killing him before the twins were born, and so he could transfer the "illness"/curse to their mother, a tiefling bad named Lunara, by making a deal with her to "save" her child in exchange for her taking on the illness. It's actually caused by an artifact buried in the nearby ruins that causes whoever dies on the "illness"' soul to be shunted off to the Nine Hells to fight in the Blood War. Luckily, most of the town was "cured" when they ousted the werecreatures and their father returned from his adventures to help nurse their mother back to health while they went off in search of a longer term cure for their home. They instead got kidnapped by mind-flayers and tadpoled into shenanigans. Anyways, his sister is a cleric of Selune (Light Domain) after they were saved from an ambush of the aforementioned weres by a passing cleric of the same faith (who, amusingly enough, turned out to be an ex-flame of their dad's before he met their mother) who stopped to help them defeat the worst of the "plague" at home.

Lyr(e/a/an) Lovemoor and Saga Musehart (who occasionally goes by her stage name of Muse) grew up as a pair of criminals under the tutelage of Lyr's crime-lord and human father (his Seladrine drow mother-named Elissahanna Lovemoor-having died from pregnancy complications surrounding his stillbirth twin and his births), Wilber Musehart. Saga, however, always dreamed of grander things and so pursued an education in the finer arts and eventually became a Bard of a Lore-based College. She even managed to teach Lyr a few things about illusions and glamors and other arcane tricks to aid in their heists (Lyr's an Arcane Trickster). She graduated with honors and had a bright future ahead of her, having finally escaped her darker beginnings. That is, until her foster father demanded one last job before letting her and Lyr go off on their own. The pair were eager to cut ties with the dangerous and shady life they grew up in and so agreed. The job was a set-up as Wilber refused to let anyone leave his guild of assassins and thieves and other criminals, especially his children. He bribed the guards of their prison to blind and maim and torture-but not kill, oh that'd be such a waste of talent-Saga in order to break her spirit and finally crush the hopeful defiance she'd harbored for years. They partly succeeded before they were interrupted by a fellow criminal and Lyr's elder human half-sibling Nel Silosen. Nel helped them escape from both the prison and the city, having faked their deaths and told them to only return when they were ready to help them end their evil father. They were headed to a private house Saga had bought years ago with a portion of her earnings from her performances during her school years when they were accosted and abducted in the night.

Faenerys (her child name was Gaell) was born the secret love child of two feuding wood elven noble families, with her parents names being Helefina Elendir (mother) and Faeris Rosandoral (father). She was raised by her maiden aunt (her mother's sister and baby half-elven cousins whose human father had died in battle, Keynala Iliren and Mialas and Aeven) and given her mother's surname. She spent much of her life sheltered in seclusion and passed the years by studying the magical tomes and scrolls between proper lessons by her Archmage aunt, quickly proving herself to be a prodigy in the Abjuration School. However, one night, a pair of strangely pale and red-eyed men arrived and demanded Faenerys. Her aunt sent Fae and the twins away but a mishap landed them in a parlor room of an unknown house. Worse, one of the twins had gotten stuck in a wall and their arm needed to be amputated. The resulting screaming brought a disheveled looking old elven woman to the room. After things had calmed down and the twins had been put to sleep, Fae discovered this was her grandmother and that her father had become a vampire spawn of powerful and dangerous vampire lord, who went by the name of Roxeiros, who had been hunting down all of his lover's family to kill them in vengeance for murdering his love for her affair. Faenerys set off to find him and hopefully spare whatever was left of her family. Instead, she was abducted and spent half a century as a prisoner and plaything of Roxeiros, who kept the knowledge of her existence from her father by ensuring he was either away on missions or, much later, simply dead. Shortly after her escape, she was taken prisoner yet again and this time was tadpoled by mind-flayers.

"Sable Shades" is the alias of Risdaer Ilaeliom (given to the heavy black clothes and veils he often wears), a Lolth-sworn drow Warlock bound to an Archfey. He was a Szarkai or a rare albino drow. He was born to the leading noblewoman named Matron mother Nhildra of House Ilaeliom but was nearly sacrificed at his birth, were it not for his father, Seladril who shared his condition, volunteering to become a drider. His two older brothers, Rizal and Quilyraen, never let him forget the great loss to their family. His three eldest sisters who were all also Szarkai or albino drow, Haelkiira and Elvandia and Charris, kept them in line from outright killing him but did little to make his life any easier. To that end, he spent much of his childhood learning how to blend in and become what others expected and wanted from him, always masking his true motives and intentions to get what he needed and wanted, a Charlatan in all but name. This behavior earned him the chance to become a spy and was as much to prevent him from causing further trouble (he'd seduced both a High Priestess of Lolth named Menzonae and a rival House's heiress named Lyzrima Baenoth and let them fight over him at his matron's request, which resulted in both's deaths and nearly destabilized the city's power structure in the process due to both calling on various alliances to "win") as well as to gain valuable arcane knowledge and items and wealth on his family's behalf to use against their rivals. He obeyed and, after a few years of adjusting and adventuring to surface life, met a mysterious elven woman who wore a crown and gown made of wintery ice. His attempts to charm and seduce her failed spectacularly. It was only when he admitted that he no longer knew who he was beneath the personas and masks he wore that she acknowledged him. She promised to aid him in his journey of self-discovery in exchange for a century's worth of service. He agreed and set out. Needless to say, he was surprised when Roan stumbled on his camp during the day-and then again moments later when they were both captured by mind-flayers.

Roan Roarke was born to a pair of farmers in a small hamlet. The local noble press-ganged the young and able-bodied into an army for his own gain and Roan was forcibly conscripted in order to spare the razing of the family farm. In the military, he quickly distinguished himself as a capable tactitian and Fighter (he's a Battlemaster). While he was out on campaign, a horde of goblinoids led by horned man who called himself Velkan (whose believed to be a Cambion or other demonkin) killed and looted his hometown. Unable to enact vengeance due to his noble patron having plotted with this Velkan in exchange for powerful magics and his family buried in the ashes of his childhood home, he moved on to grow strong enough to defeat his enemies. To that end, he became a Mercenary Veteran who took on whatever job he could, his morals fighting with his practicality for a time. One time, he took a job that involved hunting down a renegade drow named Jarimar Araburden with the aid of his elven comrades, Nymlil Tarn and Rhysyldrin Baeloth (sadly both of whom later perished when the illithid ship crashed) and received word that a mysterious white elf named Sable knew his whereabouts.

~For the Companions backgrounds, here's my best guess based off their skillsets+some of my headcanons and thus it may change as we discover more of these companions~

Shadowheart is a Half-High Elf Cleric of Trickery Domain with the Urchin background.

Wyll is a Human Warlock of the Fiend Pact with the Noble background.

Astarion is a High Elf (also Vampire spawn) Rogue (gave him the Thief archetype for fic purposes) with the Noble background.

Gale is a Human Wizard (gave him the Evocation School for fic purposes) with the Sage Background.

Lae'Zel is a Githyanki Fighter (gave her the Eldritch Knight archetype for fic purposes) with a Solidier background.

[whirlybirbs]

☄     -----    MOONRISE RADIO. 

summary: you’re hawkins high’s new science teacher, faculty advisor for the newly reinstated hawkins av club, and crazy townie who overhears a russian comminucae on a broken ham radio. chief jim hopper is into it. joyce is a good wing-woman and the kids just want to listen the the buggles.  pairing: jim hopper x reader, murphy as a placeholder surname. rating: t, some swears. word count: 3.8k a/n: this is a season three au! here’s the set up for all the drabbles i am going to end up writing for hopper bc he literally owns my whole ass, thanks, enjoy ;)

Hawkins, Indiana is a small town.

For this exact reason, Chief of Police Jim Hopper knows everyone.

... Seriously.

Everyone.

Hawkins is kind of like Saturn: try to leave its orbit and you’ll get caught in the rings -- literally. Y’know, high school sweethearts marry one another, settling down, and boom! Hopper winds up at their end-of-the-cul-de-sacs on domestic dispute calls and reunites with that shithead co-captain of Hawkins basketball team who keyed his car Sophomore year.

Life in Hawkins is a never-ending cycle of existence that renders everyone in the small town a familiar face. Everyone knows everyone’s business. Everyone knows everyone. 

And everyone certainly knows Jim Hopper.

So, imagine his surprise when after her first day of high school, over a ravoli dinner, El nudges a crumbled pink piece of paper his way with an excited look on her face. The paper is well-loved paper and home to her new class schedule, a point of interest -- she’s marked what classes she has with the boys and Max.

“I like science,” she says with a full mouth, “Fun.”

El points to her sixth period.

Imagine Chief of Police Jim Hopper’s surprise when he sees an unfamiliar name. Someone he doesn’t know.

And she teaches science.

Summer fades with a wave of heat and full moons.

The last week of August creeps up on you and before you even realize it, you’re moving into the cleared out room of a retired Mrs. Gomez and hanging your own name up on the door along with three planetary mobiles, a periodic table and a big exo terra tank for the freshmen class pet on the back windowsill. 

One period turns into six, and a week turns into three.

Your life begins again, Hawkins style.

“Miss Murphy!”

You’re wiping down the chalkboard, smearing drawings of ionic bonds into dust when the stampede begins.

Typical Friday.

You like Mike and Will and Lucas and Dustin and El and Maxine. The little squadron of hellions had managed to win you over easily within the first three weeks of school -- between the abundant D&D references and constant “curiosity voyages”, you’d seemingly become their go-to with questions, gossip, and over-all mentor-ship. 

The whole bunch of them sat together in your sixth period class, and the whole bunch of them were really the only ones excited about Dash, that aforementioned freshmen class pet that you’d scooped up behind the school and saved from being roadkill.

El immediately wanders to the tank and makes sure the heat lamp is on.

You can’t help but smile. These are good students. You like them. They like you.

Maybe it’s because when you were younger, you were just like them.

It’s like a sixth sense. They just... know. 

“We have a question.”

“Is it about reptiles again?” you chirp, wiping your hands, “I don’t know, like, anything about komodo dragons, Dustin, I told you --”

“No!” Dustin waves his hands, hopping up onto the edge of your desk, “No, this is about the AV Club.”

“AV Club?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “The AV Club!”

You blink. All six of them are looking at you expectantly. You deadpan.

“You lost me.”

“She’s new here, guys,” Will sighs, gently nudging Lucas who makes an O with his mouth, “Remember?”

“Right, right, right,” Dustin sighs, waving his hands with a charismatic no-front-teeth smile, “Sorry, Murph, my excitement precedes me --”

You shoot Dustin a look. No nicknames. He knows the rule.

“Make it quick,” you groan, waving an apologetic Dustin off your desk as you begin to collect papers from the previous period, “I have the open house tonight and I gotta get some grading done before -- you’ve got fifteen to catch me up on this AV Club thing.”

Lucas claps his hands. They all settle into the desks in-front of you.

You narrow your eyes.

Mike begins.

“So, there’s all this old radio station equipment in the top of the gym...”

You wring your hands.

You fiddle with the hem of your dress.

This is nerve-wracking.

For the first time in a while, you curse the fact you’ve got mostly freshmen in your classes -- with every new round of bright blue visitors stickers, parents are eager to pick your bones when you begin talking about your curriculum, expectations and the like. I mean, it’s good, you guess, that there’s parents who are engaged but... as a new teach at Hawkins, you can’t help but feel like you’re missing a part of the bit.

It’s nearing the end of the night now and you’ve noticed the parents don’t greet you like they do the other teachers. Like... like friends.

Maybe it’s because you’re new.

New to the town, too. Not just teaching high school science, you mean.

You wonder if all the news stories pouring out of that Hawkins Lab have anything to do with how cheap rent is in the area. The multi-family unit you’ve settled into is in a nicer suburb in town -- green lawns, a playground, neighborhood BBQs... You’d moved on the pretense of your hiring, excited at the chance to get out of the city for a while and live a quieter life.

You jump six feet in the air when someone knocks on the door-frame of your classroom.

“Oh my god --”

Your hand flies to your chest.

“Uh, sorry -- Sorry, is this... is this Miss Murphy’s room?”

The first thing you notice is the badge. It glints in the florescence.

The next thing you notice is... him. I mean, he’s tall -- tall and broad and intimidating but... soft. His eyes are tired and his voice is quiet and you’re staring, Jesus Christ, you’re staring --

Chief of Police Jim Hopper has never felt smaller.

You’re new -- definitely new. Hopper knows, in that moment, that you must be, He would remember someone like you. I mean, how could he not?

(Everyone knows he’s got a soft spot for beautiful women, but he’s damn near mush right now. Pudding. His knees are pudding. He is an idiot and his knees are pudding.)

He makes the doorway look tiny.

You sputter. “Y-yes! Yes, it is. Hi, I’m, uh, Miss Murphy.”

“I figured,” he chirps, lips quirking under his mustache. He waves the piece of paper in his hands, “Kinda... kinda said so on the schedule, y’know?”

“Jim!”

Immediately, someone shoulders his backside.

Right in the damn kidney.

“Christ, Joyce, ow --”

“Be nice!” she cries with a laugh, stepping around him.

The woman is comically smaller than the police officer before you. Joyce has a kind smile and sweet doe eyes and she excitedly rushes to shake both your hands in her own.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she gushes, “Will has said so many great things about you --”

Your eyes widen. “You’re Will’s mother? Will Byers?”

“Yes!” she nods, “Yes, and, uh, this is Hopper --”

Joyce nearly snorts when Jim just blinks. She elbows him. He jumps.

He was staring.

“Jim Hopper,” he clears his throat, trying to regain any semblance of composure. This really knocked him off his game -- you really knocked him off his game. He was fully expecting some nasty old widow to be teaching, not a young, brightly dressed woman who’s smiling at him, Christ almighty, smiling, “Chief of Police.”

He offers his hand. You shake it and your lips quirk. “Are you... here to investigate me, or...?”

“Oh!” his eyes widen, “No, no, uh -- El is my daughter. Adopted.”

“Ah, right. Miss El. Got it,” you laugh a little, nodding, “Groovy.”

“Groovy.”

(Joyce narrows her eyes, grinning between yourself and Hopper. Groovy indeed.)

“She was nice.”

Jim’s cigarette glows red in the evening September air. Joyce, beside him, has this horrible, conniving look on her face -- the same look she gave him when she convinced him to ask Jenny Gonzalez out Junior year -- and Jim immediately goes on the defense.

“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Miss Murphy,” Joyce grins, “I saw you staring.”

“I was not.”

“C’mon, Jim,” she chirps, “She’s pretty --”

“Yeah, a pretty bad idea.”

Joyce rolls her eyes so hard Hopper can feel it.

“Listen,” Jim says, flicking his cigarette into the pavement, “With everything goin’ on, I don’t have time for something like that.”

“Jim, stuff like that doesn’t care if you’ve got time.”

Joyce watches him climb into his truck. He slams the door shut,

“If it’s meant to be, it happens anyways!”

He narrows his eyes.

Then, cranks the window down and raises one finger.

“Not on my watch.”

Famous last words, Jim Hopper. Famous last words.

Happy Monday.

“I’m joining AV Club.”

“...What?”

“AV Club. Science. Fun.”

Hopper just takes a looooooong sip from his morning coffee. Eleven stabs her eggos. She forks a hunk into her mouth and chews.

Hopper takes another sip.

“AV Club.”

“Yes. Radios.”

“Radios.”

“Yes.”

You’re sweating.

The storage space of Hawkins High’s gym is ninety degrees at least -- and here you are, brandishing a flashlight in the dark as the Mighty Hellions dig through the space and pull box after box from the makeshift sauna.

“Think this stuff still works, Murph?” Maxine asks.

You ignore the informal nickname and pull open a box to eye a bundle of cables. They’re in good shape. The mic, at the bottom, is too if not a little grimy.

“I don’t see why not.”

After a grueling hour and a half, they finally set up shop in the closet across the hall from your classroom. It’s usually where they keep glassware and Bunsen burners but... with a little begging and a dejected look from Dustin, you grant them their plea and help them set up the impromptu radio station with relative ease.

The desk in the center of the room -- Mrs. Gomez’s old one -- is a little wobbly, but it works.

“And now,” says Mike, “The moment of truth.”

El flicks the switch.

And nothing happens.

Not so Happy Monday.

"How was AV Club?”

“Sad.”

Hopper’s mouth is full.

“Sad...?”

“Radio is broken.”

“Oh,” Hop hums, “M’ sorry, kid.”

“It’s okay,” El says slowly, looking out the window on the ride home, “Miss Murphy buying us new wires.”

Hopper blinks. “Miss Murphy?”

“Yes. Nice.”

Very.

Joyce rings you out the next evening at Melvald’s.

“I’m surprised you didn’t try Starcourt.”

You laugh a little. “What, that super mall?”

“I heard they’ve got everything,” Joyce chirps, “Will and the kids go there nearly every weekend. Ice cream, movies... you name it. A great place for a date, I bet.”

You laugh and pull out your wallet. “Oh to be young and in love.”

“No kidding,” she grins, taking the cash, “Speaking of... are you...?”

“Young?” you laugh, propping your elbows up on the counter, “Or in love?”

“Either.”

You like Joyce. She’s funny. 

“No,” you sigh, “Nope. No, not right now. Neither. I spend my Tuesday nights with wine and a TV dinner.”

“Y’know,” Joyce hums, a knowing look in her eye as she bags the radio supplies, “I know someone who does the same exact thing.”

It’s Miller High Life, actually. And Tostitos. 

That’s besides the point, though, because while Joyce is still very much on his case about the new science teacher, Jim is very much focused on the fact none of the stations god damn radios are working.

He could really go for a beer right now.

Something is jamming the signal.

Actually, to clarify -- the same fucking song on repeat is jamming the signal.

For the last two hours, it’s just been Video Killed the Radio Star by The Buggles over and over and over and over again. And then again, just for good measure. On the fourth round of the song, Jim had unceremoniously lobbed his walkie across the station. On the tenth, he’d yanked the chord for the radio out of the wall.

If Hopper hears that fuckin’ oh oh sound one more time, he’s going to lose it.

Callahan just shrugs when, finally, the music stops and the booming voice of Dustin Henderson comes over every walkie in the room.

“GOOOOOOOOOOD EVENING, HAWKINS INDIANA!”

Hopper peels into the high school parking lot.

Long strides carry him through halls that he knows way too damn well -- halls that wind and turn and lead him right to room 305. Your name is scrawled across the door alongside a picture of a constellation and a beaker.

But, the classroom is empty.

And then he hears it.

“-- OH OH! VIDEO KILLED THE RADIO STAR! --”

“I am so sorry, Chief Hopper -- I had no idea that was the PD’s frequency.”

You’re wringing your hands but you’re also two beats from laughing and Hopper is really trying to keep it together because... I mean, it’s funny. 

Jim pinches the bridge of his nose. He feels bad. He... well, he probably shouldn’t have slapped the broadcasting mic out of Dustin’s hands. He’s got a short wire now-a-days, blame the whole Hawkins Lab incident and the fact he’s essentially harboring a fugitive and allowing aforementioned fugitive to go to high school and jam radio channels with Today’s Top 40 in her free time.

“No, no -- I... It’s fine. It’s fine, really, just...”

Hopper drops his hand. You’re trying your best to hide a smile that’s threatening to sweep across your whole face. 

“Do not let Dustin play any more of The Buggles, okay?”

You chew your lip and lean closer, whispering. “... Did it really play for two hours straight?”

Hopper’s nostrils flare. He nods weakly. You note the missing walkie from his belt.

And then you burst into laughter.

You buy more cassettes at Melvald’s the next week.

“Oh,” Joyce grins, holding up a Madonna album before scanning it across check-out with a beep, “Nice stuff -- is this for AV Club?”

You laugh. “Let me guess, Chief Hopper told you about ‘The Incident’?”

Joyce's lips quirk and she tilts her head, eyeing you carefully as you bite back a smile and muscle out your wallet from your bag. “... No, he did not.”

“The kids were on the wrong frequency,” you gesture, a bit sheepish, “And, I mean, I had no idea until Chief Hopper had to come to the high school and let us know that he’d been listening to Video Killed the Radio Star for two hours straight.”

“Oh god.”

“Yeah,” you raise your brows, pull a face and mimic the catchy hook, “Oh oh god.”

Joyce snorts.

“It’s not working!”

“Boys,” you sigh heavily, “Just... Just let me look at it.”

There’s a scramble and the sea of bodies part. Max and El are posted by the door, watching with a dejected sort of disappointment. Your knees hit the floor and you ignore the fact your jeans are going to be covered in nasty dust from the underside of Mrs. Gomez desk. Your necklace jingles and you sigh, settling on your back and waving for Dustin to pass you the flashlight.

“Did Hopper break it?” it’s Mike, “If Hopper broke it, I swear to shit --”

“Language.”

“Sorry.”

You squint, pushing apart the mess of wires and sighing loudly when you find the problem.

It’s... weird. Like... Like some of the wires have been chewed clean through.

“Looks like one of the wires is frayed.”

“Frayed?!”

You take the main component home with you.

It’s sitting on your passenger side seat when you pull into Melvald’s.

In the spot in-front of the store sits a Hawkins Police Dept. truck with a CHIEF decal on the side.

“She’s funny and smart and came in here and talked about you --”

“Talked about me?” Jim’s leaned against the counter, coke in his hands, “Hold on, what? You didn’t tell me that.”

“Yeah,” Joyce’s voice lilts, “She, uh, was telling me about The Buggles incident.”

Jim groans. 

“Oh, yeah, when I nearly drove my fist through the kids’ new hobby?”

“-- Funny, she left that part out --”

“I made an ass of myself, Joyce.”

“Hey,” Joyce coos, throwing her hands, “Maybe she likes that about you... y’know... your uncanny ability to be a... uh, an ass?”

“Nice.”

“I’m kidding.”

The shop door dings and Chief of Police Jim Hopper chokes on his diet coke.

You stop short in the doorway. 

The store is mostly empty -- it’s almost closing time, anyways -- and you can’t help but feel like you’re intruding on Hopper and Joyce’s conversation, especially when Hopper is cursing and wiping at the soda spilled down the front of him. 

Overhead, Movin’ Out by Billy Joel plays.

“-- Workin’ too hard can give you a heart attack-ack-ack-ack-ack --”

“Miss Murphy!” Joyce grins, “Hi there!”

“Hi Joyce,” you smile, nearing the counter. You can’t help but hide a smirk as Hopper sighs and stands. He drops his hands to his side and you get a full view of the coke down the front of his uniform, “Chief.”

(A little part of him dies inside then.)

(Joyce sees it.)

“Evening, Miss Murphy.”

“Rough night?”

“Little bit,” he heaves, downing the rest of his soda and crushing the can. He lobs it into the trash can beside the register with ease, “Well, duty calls, ladies.”

“Duty calls?” Joyce asks, crossing her arms. Suspicion paints her features.

She’s trying to get him to stay -- trying to goad him into a conversation with you, just like she always does, but the problem is that Joyce is a great wing-woman and honestly? 

That kind of terrifies him. 

It’s been a minute and a half since he’s considered anything more than a one-night stand with someone. He’s been busy, y’know, saving this dimension and keeping a top-secret government facility secret. 

“Yeah,” he deadpans, not feeding into it, “Duty.”

“Duty.”

You blink between them both.

Jim’s out the door with the tinker of the overhead bell.

Ouch. You turn to Joyce.

“I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Famous last words.

“Testing, one, two, three --”

You groan, switch frequencies one more time, and throw your hands.

Maybe the whole Hawkins High Radio Station idea was never meant to come to fruition. It hurts to admit it and you know the kids are going to be so damn upset, but no amount of soldering and wire replacements seems to be getting this hunk of junk to give out any sort of signal. 

You take a long drink from your glass of wine and collapse back onto the couch.

Then, you hear it.

"I’ll be sure to let Chief Hopper know, Miss Murphy.”

“Listen, I... Is he here? I’m kinda in a rush and this is sort of important --”

You’re pushing past Florence, the nice secretary, before you even realize it.

You’d known Hawkins was a weird town. That much was pretty clear from the odd disappearances, government labs and toxic leaks. But this... this is more than just weird. This is borderline panic inducing.

Hopper has a cigarette between his lips and his hat on his desk when you barge in.

He jumps six feet in the air and spills his coffee.

“Jesus --”

“Listen, Chief, I know you’re a real busy guy, but --”

“I am so sorry, Jim,” it’s Florence, moving to put herself between you and the Chief, “Miss Murphy, please, if you can take a seat, Chief Hopper would love to hear all about your top secret Russian communicae when he’s done his coffee --”

When Jim’s eyes widen a mile, you realize he knows something you don’t.

Jim feels small in your living room.

It’s a nice place -- furnished with plants and art and your TV has a stack of sci-fi movies atop of it. In the middle of your rug, though, sits the ham radio surrounded by a winding mess of wires. It’s off, and when you near it, you wring your hands. You’re nervous, he can tell. You can hardly stand still.

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

Hopper blinks. He clears his throat. “What?”

“This... Hopper, I swear, I heard Russian --”

“No, I... I believe you,” he says slowly, narrowing his eyes, “Hawkins is a...”

“Weird town?”

“Weird town.”

You nod slowly then, crank the on switch, and the radio hums alive in a language neither of you know.

Hopper just sighs. 

“... What do you know about radios?”

“It’s close,” you say finally, blinking up from the manual, “It has to be -- I mean, this specefic model only broadcasts and receives up to fifteen miles. That’s... what? Like, all of Hawkins?”

“Just about,” Jim hums, hands on his chin, “and what about the channels?”

“I mean, it’s messy -- I hijacked your frequency. On accident.”

Hopper smothers a smirk with a drag of his cigarette. You grin. His office back at Hawkins PD falls quiet for a moment and you catch yourself staring again. Across from him, you squirm a bit in your seat and turn your attention back to the Olympia Radio booklet. 

“There’s no way of tracking the channels,” you sigh, “I... I dunno. I’m kinda out of my element here.”

“What is your element?”

“Chemistry,” you chirp, “And biology. And some physics.”

“Chemistry, huh?”

“Speaking of which, I know you don’t like me much but,” you rush, blinking up at him, “Thanks for believing me.”

The moment would have been sweet if Hopper hadn’t reeled backwards, like he’s been punched. His face screws up in confusion and he waves, cigarette smoke halo-ing around his head as his mustache twitches.

“Wait... hold on --”

“It’s okay,” you console, “Seriously, I... I’m new around here, I... I get it a lot. Folks don’t really trust the new girl next door. Especially with everything that’s been going on.”

“I... I never said --”

You serve him a look.

“Duty?”

“... I panicked.”

“Panicked?”

Hopper sighs. “You’re just as bad as Joyce.”

Your brows raise. “Are you and her...?”

“No!” he cries, “No, no, I... I am single, I am very single, and I am very busy, but despite that, I still would like to ask you out to dinner, and that is terrifying, okay --”

You blink. “You... what?”

Jim’s about to try and dig himself out of his metaphorical grave when the radio flares up again.

You scramble to grab the recorder and Jim turns the volume up -- quickly, you record the repetitive sentence and when the line finally goes silent again, you spare Hopper a look.

“How about dinner and Russian For Dummies?”

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 6 Hobbit Plot Bunnies

Title: T’was Wit That Slew the Dragon

Summary:  King Kong AU. Dain is a movie director who doesn’t mind filming in the most exotic, dangerous locations to get the shot he wants. Thorin owns Erebor Pictures and has a habit of tackling risky projects, and making a killing off of them. Bilbo is a screenwriter fresh on the scene, and his friendship with Gandalf gets his script on Thorin Durin’s desk with Dain as director. His dream come true quickly changes into a nightmare when they land on Dol Guldur and a handful of cannibalistic locals sacrifice him to a red dragon. At least the dragon appreciates his dry wit.

POV: Various. Mostly Bilbo, but certainly a lot of Dain and Thorin thrown in.

The water was blue. It was more blue than he ever imagined it could be. As a writer he knew several different names for the color blue: cerulean, sapphire, cobalt, turquoise. Yet, when faced with the sheer depth of the ocean, he felt like ‘blue’ was the most apt description.

“I certainly hope you aren’t getting sick, Mr. Baggins.”

Bilbo spun around, squinting against the fading sun’s rays to face the taller man with eyes the same color as the ocean who was responsible for Bilbo’s current adventure. A smile split his face, and he took a step closer.

“Not at all, Mr. Durin.” He stated playfully. “I was actually trying to come up with a better word for the ocean than just ‘blue’.”

Thorin released a laugh shoving his hands into his pockets.

“And yet you’re our writer for this little production.”

“An opportunity I’ve been most grateful for.”

“So you’ve told me.”

Thorin’s soft baritone sent a shiver down Bilbo’s spine. He was rendered absolutely speechless as Thorin’s dark hair and beard stood in stark contrast to the pink and purples of the sky above. They were only mere inches apart now. A single step and he could reach up and kiss that gorgeous face like he’s longed to since stepping foot on this bloody boat.

The boat gave a little jump, and Bilbo stumbled to get his legs back under him only to stumble right into Thorin’s chest.

“Careful.” Thorin grunted as his arms encircled Bilbo’s smaller figure.

His heart felt like it was going rabbit out of his chest as his nerves singed under Thorin’s touch. Bilbo looked up to see he was in a perfect position now. Their breaths mingled, and if he just extended himself maybe a centimeter more…

The next jump by the boat shot Bilbo’s nose painfully into the underside of Thorin’s chin. They broke apart clutching the aforementioned body parts, giving each other a look, and laughing awkwardly. 

“I guess the waters are getting rough. Maybe we should head inside?” Thorin urged.

Bilbo nodded both simultaneously thanking and cursing his luck. Honestly, what was he thinking? Thorin was owner and producer at Erebor Pictures. As an emerging screenwriter, this was going to be his first big production. He couldn’t be developing crushes on the one person who controlled his big break. Something he has been telling himself for the entire five months he’s gotten to know Thorin. And to think, he almost said no.

Thorin opened the hatch door for Bilbo, and he took the five steps down into the common area. The crew was gathered around the massive round table playing cards and drinking as they have done nearly every night since boarding.

“Bilbo! Come join us.” Bofur greeted joyfully.

“Thanks, but I think I’ve won enough money off the lot of you.” He teased.

There were roars of laughter and verbal denials at his words.

“I’m still convinced you cheated.” Nori eyed him suspiciously.

“I’ll have you know, my mother had seven older brothers. It’s not my fault they were good teachers. Plus, you get them drunk enough, and they don’t notice you sneaking a few cards under the table.”

Thorin’s chuckles were heavy and close enough to ruffle the curls around his right ear. Bilbo didn’t put up much resistance as he was pulled away from the mirth at the table and Nori’s shouts of ‘thieving writers’ following them. They walked to the other end before taking the staircase that led up to the next level. Balin, Dain, and Dwalin were already there huddled around Balin’s iPad.

“Thorin! Mr. Baggins! Good of you to join us.” Dain grinned being the first to notice them.

“Not to sound too much like a child on a car trip, but are we there yet?” Bilbo sighed as he flopped down on the U-shaped couch.

“Dain seems to think we’ll arrive by tomorrow.” Dwalin informed him, leaning back with his arms crossed.

“Good. And the cast?” Thorin questioned sitting much more gracefully beside Bilbo.

“Should be about four to five days behind us.” Balin answered.

“Excellent.” Thorin nodded.

His arm slipped seamlessly behind Bilbo’s head, and the writer had to force his body to remain natural and not lean back too enthusiastically. Even if Thorin’s fingers were ghosting the edge of his curls.

It was still a little surreal to be thinking in a matter of days they would actually be working on a movie that Bilbo wrote. He never once thought he’d get to this point. Hamlet, Beowulf, Jane Eyre, these were the works that had inspired Bilbo in his secondary years to put some serious thought into becoming a writer. He had always wanted to leave behind a literary classic that’s language and prose would be talked about in future literature classes. 

Unfortunately, he was growing up in a generation that was losing interest more and more in the written word. He can specifically remember his university advisor telling him that if he wanted to see any shot of success, he better hope his work gets picked up in film or play. So he made the choice to be a screenwriter. His specialty was in dialogue anyways, so he could easily leave a legacy in clever word play. Sure, it was more underappreciated than being an author, but in the end he just wanted to see something of his become immortalized.

He had written tales of hobbits riddling with dragons, Arthurian legends full of heroic deeds, and gorgeous remakes of old fairy tales. However, in his fifteen year career, if he could call it that, he couldn’t get a single studio interested. Gandalf, his agent and dear friend of the family, had asked him to make something with a little more action and humor pertaining to this era. So he wrote El Dorado. A story of two friends who accidentally stowed away on Cortes’ ship, and end up discovering the city of gold before him.

It was certainly what Gandalf had asked him for, and he had even simplified the language to allow it to be marketed to children, thus increasing his reach. He never once thought this slapshot work would get picked over what he considered his masterpieces. He had almost declined Thorin’s offer on principle alone. Being where he was now though, he was extremely glad he hadn’t.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but how did you find this place again, Dain?” Bilbo questioned curiously.

“Dain served in the navy.” Thorin murmured in his ear.

“Aye.” Dain agreed looking between the two of them curiously. “I was always impressed to learn there were still undiscovered islands out there. So I made notes on which ones to go back to explore later. It’s really come in handy as a director.”

Bilbo’s brows furrowed. “So if they’re undiscovered, how do you know they’re...you know, safe?”

“Well that’s why we’re getting here before the others!” Dain bellowed.

Bilbo shifted in his seat as his imagination ran away with images of being mauled by tigers or other such beasts.

“Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen.” Thorin eased, his hand giving his shoulder a small squeeze.

Bilbo felt the weight of others’ gazes at the comforting gesture. The privacy from earlier was now lacking, and Bilbo found himself irrationally uncomfortable with Thorin’s forwardness. After all, he was supposed to be a professional. He jumped up afraid that if his face got any redder, he would have to blame it on the sun. He gave a large stretch backtracking towards the staircase.

“Well, I should probably go to bed. Big day tomorrow.” He excused himself.

Dain and Dwalin looked amused. Balin was sympathetic, and Bilbo tried not to think too hard on Thorin’s disappointed face. They all bid him good night, and Bilbo retreated to his room. There would be plenty of time to explore the budding relationship he was creating with Thorin later. Dol Guldur awaited them on the morn.

[honestlytired2869]

Paint me like one of your French girls       (Sanders Sides Smut)

Ship: Night Fright [Remy (Sub) x Remus (Dom)]

Kinks/Warnings: Cursing, Marking kink, Pain kink, Pet names, Ropes

-•-•-•-•-•-•-

It was a night that the couple just wanted to indulge into each other. They had made cookies, a mix of chocolate and raisin, drank tea, given each other massages, watched Netflix, and just cuddled.

But then Remus got an idea to paint each other, at first he had thought on canvases, but then while painting the other, Remus realized how much he wanted Remy to have the paint all over him.

So he got a blob of black paint and smudged it on Remy's nose. Remy saw that as a personal challenge and got a bit of green paint onto his brush and painted it onto Remus' cheek with a giggle.

"Oh it's on~" Remus says before grabbing a tube of paint and squirting some out onto his hand before full on smashing it on Remy's forehead and hair.

Remy gasped and attacked Remus back. After a while they finally came to a stop, panting with paint literally everywhere. Remus grinned at Remy.

Remus then dipped a finger in Remy's tray covering the pad of his finger in a dark green paint, he then brought his finger to his lips and applied it like he would any lip-gloss or lipstick.

Remy watched him slightly confused before Remus leaned over and captured his lips with his own. Remy let his arms wrap around Remus' neck smushing his lips against his lovers more passionately.

Remus' lips trailed down from Remy's lips to his jawline to his neck, kissing around and leaving little green lip stains on Remy's pale skin.

Remy let out little sighs tilting his head to allow Remus more access to his neck. Soon Remus started kissing harder and sucking leaving small purple bruises all over the side of Remy's neck eventually making Remy let out soft moans.

Remus moves to a certain spot under Remy's ear and sucks harder on it than he has on the rest of the smaller boys neck, making the aforementioned male let out a noise that Remus knew only he was allowed to hear.

Remus sucks a hickey onto that spot before slowly moving back to admire his work, getting worked up at the sight of the pale boy being marked as his.

Remy lets out a soft whine before pulling off his leather jacket and his white sweater, his dark sunglasses falling off in the process, he throws his clothes somewhere in the room and then pulls the taller male close and whispers in his ear.

"Paint me like one of your French girls~" He quotes.

Remus feels blood rush to his groin before grabbing some of the paint they didn't touch while having their battle and pushed Remy onto his back.

The trash king then climbs over his queen and situates himself on the others lap making Remy bite his lip when he accidentally rubs against his hard-on.

He then starts painting an elaborate scene onto Remy's chest, caressing and touching the boy until his practically begging for Remus.

Eventually Remus finishes his art and leans down, careful to not mess up his masterpiece, and takes Remy's lips as his own, he swipes his tongue against the stained lips and Remy almost immediately opens his mouth to allow it to be dominated by the roaming muscle.

Remus rubs his hands up the side of his lovers torso then up his arms, softly pulling them up with the movement of his hands, then eventually he pins the arms by their wrists and grinds against the already whimpering mess under him.

He absolutely loved when he was able to take the usually composed male and break him down to a pleading mess wanting nothing but his own pleasure.

Remus eventually slows to a stop and pulls his own shirt off, sash and all, before trailing his hands down the now dry painting, to Remy's pants button. He slowly fumbled with the button before he got it undone then got up to pull Remy's pants down making the man sigh once most of the pressure on his hard-on was removed.

Remus pulls his own pants down and off before going back to his spot over Remy. He grinds harder down on the melting boy under him, making both of them moan from the friction.

Soon both of the men's underwear was disposed of and Remus tied Remy up by his wrists. He grabs a bottle of lube from a drawer and spreads some on three fingers before going back to his position and without warning sticking the first finger into Remy.

"Oh Jesus-" Remy whimpers out in shock before letting out little moans as Remus thrusts his finger in and out of Remy.

Soon Remus inserts a second finger stretching Remy out more and making him let out louder moans as Remus scissors Remy open, before suddenly brushing against the bottoms prostate making Remy pull on the ropes and let out a loud moan that makes them realize what a good idea it was to soundproof the room.

Remus lets out a snicker before adding a third finger making Remy hiss for a second before almost instantly getting used to it and letting out a stream of moans and pleas.

Soon Remus deems Remy ready and pulls his fingers out of Remy's ass, wiping the leftover lube onto his hard cock, softly starting to stroke and almost getting lost in the pleasure before Remy whined loudly after realizing what was happening.

Remus grins at the meal in front of him and lines himself up before with one solid movement, pushing flesh to flesh inside of Remy, making the bottom let out pleas and thank you's and moans almost immediately.

Remus kisses Remy's shoulder making sure Remy is completely comfortable before allowing Remy to wrap his legs around Remus' waist and Remus starting to thrust in and out of the male slowly.

"Fuck~ Remy you feel so good~" Remus grunts out to the practially drooling boy under him as he begins pushing harder into Remy keeping his pace slow.

Soon however Remus couldn't control himself much longer and sped his pace up and pounds into the bottom making the bottom let out streams of moans.

Remus suddenly pushes in at a different angle making Remy practically scream and let out a pornstar worthy moan, Remus then making sure he hits that spot over and over reducing Remy very quickly to a bumbling mess.

"S-Shit Remus I'm-" Remy moans out Remus immediately starting to go faster. Remy soon letting out a moan louder than before and coming harshly over his stomach and Remus'.

Remus then thrusts a few more times before finishing deep inside of Remy's ass. He slowly pulls out trying to not cause the bottom too much overstimulation.

Remus then, with shaky knees goes and grabs a warm wet rag and, after cleaning himself off, comes back and cleans his starlight off after untying him.

He helps the bottom into some underwear and an oversized shirt after pulling some boxers on himself. He then cleans up the paint mess before climbing into the bed with his love. Remy instantly going to cuddle into Remus' bare chest.

"I love you.." Remy mumbled out before practically passing out in exhaustion. Remus let out a soft smile.

"I love you too." He said falling into a peaceful sleep as well.

[prodigalscns]

( RUDY PANKOW. TWENTY FIVE. CIS MALE. HE/HIM. ) in texas, MONROE ST. THOMAS is known to most as ROE. they have been riding with the diablos for THREE YEARS. they’re originally from ISLE OF PALMS, SOUTH CAROLINA and the RIDER is known to be very CYNICAL & SARCASTIC but the other club members will tell you they are CREATIVE & PERCEPTIVE. as the years go by, they’ve gained a lot of respect in the club and around town. they rarely ever drive a car but when they do BLACK HONEY by THRICE is usually heard blasting. ( the softest brush of bruised knuckles across the jawline, the squeal of tires from the getaway car & praying for rain to wash the blood away. ) 

BASIC

FULL NAME: Monroe James St. Thomas.

DATE OF BIRTH: 26 July.

PLACE OF BIRTH: Isle of Palms, South Carolina.

ZODIAC: Leo.

GENDER: Cis Male.

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: He/Him.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual.

RELIGION/SPIRITUAL BELIEF: Lapsed Catholic.

LANGUAGES: English, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Arabic, ASL.

PHYSICAL

HAIR COLOUR: Blonde.

EYE COLOUR: Blue.

WEIGHT: 67 kg / 147 lbs.

HEIGHT: Six Feet, Two Inches (6'2).

BODY TYPE: Lean/Fit, yet muscular.

TATTOOS: Dates marked in roman numerals on both wrists. “Trust your struggle” in his mothers cursive writing across his collar bone (right side). Geometric beach scene arm band, left arm.  Custom side piece designed with his older brother, similar to this. Outline of the city of Dallas over his heart.

PIERCINGS: Nose, Left side. Ears ( 8g ).

SCARS & DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Upside down horseshoe shaped birthmark, right shoulder blade. Old grease burns on forearms, several small work related scars decorating hands and palms. Several faded scars that look like glass shards across back and shoulder blades, along with a pronounced yet old scar stretching the side that is not covered with the tattoo.

ACCENT/TONE:  All deep bass and the kind of baritone that can warm even the coldest night, with a touch of twang that is often used to his advantage. He knows he sounds good, and he’s just pretty enough for some people to let him keep talking, no matter what he may be saying.

DOMINANT HAND: Right. However, Monroe is almost comfortable enough to call himself ambidextrous due to circumstances that surround his childhood, and him having to learn to use his left for quite some time.

PERSONALITY && INSIGHT

POSITIVE: Protective, Loyal, Creative, Observant, Charming, Dedicated, Witty.

NEGATIVE: Sarcastic, Cynical, Possessive, Reckless, Outspoken, Volatile.

VICES: Cursing, Pretty Faces, Perfectly Rolled Blunts, Open Space, Indulgence.

HABITS: His accent gets a little bit more pronounced the drunker he gets, especially where tequila is involved. Toying with the class ring that is constantly tied around his neck, he never takes it off. The tendency to fidget or avoid questions that he doesn’t want to answer.

FAMILIAL

MOTHER: Magdalena “Maggie” St. Thomas, Deceased.

FATHER: Bradley St. Thomas, Absent since age 12.

SIBLINGS: Smith St. Thomas (Brother, Oldest), Kase St. Thomas (Brother, Youngest), Dallas St. Thomas (Sister, Fraternal Twin, Deceased.)

PETS: Three adopted dogs (Miles, Ella, and Dizzy).

BIOGRAPHY

The middle children are the ones that are born with tragedy in their bones. They always said that Monroe absorbed all his sisters hurt in the womb, his very first act somehow becoming one of protection. To him, the statement now rang with bittersweet irony, but that’s the story’s tendency to get ahead of itself. In the beginning they were the perfect picture of the American dream, the one that was bought and sold, embraced with open arms. Sure, the floors in the old beach house were always dirty, and his father worked longer than he ever should have had to in order to keep their plates full, but they made it. Maggie started working again after the kids had all started school, breathing a sigh of relief with Kase finally passed that milestone birthday that would allowed her to begin taking the steps to contribute.

By then, his older brother had already begun taking on the family’s burdens, a nervous habit that had long since been coined as the family curse. He knew now that it was guilt that drove him to take that step, a strange since of misplaced shamed in the secret he was about to reveal to them all. The night that the words left his lips, they all remember it differently. It was a confessional that should have been met with love and support, but the scar that the two eldest boys were left with was one that had no chance at healing. The only part of the memory that seemed intent on sticking around was the sound of skin meeting skin in a vicious chorus, and the darkening bruise that formed as a direct result of the backhand that would eventually become the soundtrack to their demise.

That’s right, his brother came out to his family, and Bradley’s first reaction was to take his feelings out on Smith physically, in front of the entire family. It didn’t matter if the bible had fanned the flames of his intolerance, or taught him some misplaced wrong rooted in sexuality, what did matter? Maggie wasn’t going to stand for it. Two weeks later, Bradley left without a word, or a single cent, in his wake. The abandonment of his family seemed easy, and they never received the decency of an apology or even the watchful eye of shame. Nothing, not a single word, and his name became a welcomed taboo in the story, dad was the dirtiest curse word to ever leave any of their lips.

Monroe didn’t talk about the nightmares that plagued him in the weeks after, but Smith always seemed to be awake right in time to shake him out of them. The silent agreement to keep secrets between siblings, a small bond that eventually cemented the lines of love between the two. It was no surprise to anyone that he followed his brothers bravery, coming out in a different way, with a different result: he was more into people, rather than the concern with their gender. who, they were, not what. There were welcome arms, acceptance was offered in free fall, because he needed it, and maybe it was that helped them all heal from the things that they still didn’t know how to speak of. What it didn’t do, was fill the gap that was created by their fathers (if you could even call him that) absence. Eventually, all five of them learned what it was like to be hungry, all the things that Maggie had desperately been trying to keep them away from. Some lessons weren’t meant to be learned, she’d say.

Smith graduated high school the same year, a full ride scholarship meaning that Monroe was the next to fall victim to the aforementioned curse that came with crushing weight on the shoulders of every member, but especially him. Life seemed to have a fucked up way of changing lanes, though. Maggie was running late, in the rain, to one of her many jobs. It was an unfortunate side effect of her newly minted single motherhood, after all. Dallas was in the car, to be dropped off at the baby sitter, but they would never make it there. The skidding sound of wet tires on warm asphalt, the high pitched screams of metal twisting metal, it all added another track added to the symphony of this tragedy.

You’re so lucky. It’s a miracle. The statements are repeated over and over, like a broken record, but they turn his stomach every time. A miracle, any God, would have either sent him away with his sister, the one he had been born trying to protect, and his mother, who would have died for him time and time again. The first time he told this to a therapist, the change in their expression announced what would be his first forced commitment, something that no one expected, and it tore all his buried scars wide open. Maybe that’s why they say rehab always feels like you’re bleeding out.

Two months later, the only thing he was permitted out for was the funeral. His brothers came to visit three times a week, and often, they would cling to each other like the the last straws left in what felt like a burning building. After month three, he was released with false promises of therapy, with fake smiles that said he would take care of it, and the only reason he did seek out a way to cope was to honor the memory of his mother. Speaking of her memory, the one thing the remaining pieces of their broken family didn’t see coming, was the settlement from the other driver’s family, or his mother’s life insurance policies. Some people said their new money was a blessing.

Still far too young to take care of themselves in the eyes of the state, they were shipped off to Texas, an uncle that was willing to take them on, if only because of the dollar signs attached to their names. It was no surprise that his family outside of the ones he’d lost were trash, but when that went so far as to leave the boys out in the cold, there wasn’t much he could do. He’d turned to the club for help, sleeping on the floor in the clubhouse with his younger brother until he was old enough to prospect. The only family he needed then, outside of his brothers, was the club. 

Much to everyone’s surprise, he inherited a decent sum of money when he turned twenty one, but that was holed away from when he would inevitability need it. Their lifestyle was not kind, nor was it forgiving, and eventually he would need to pay for the outlet to his rage, pay for the way he’d forgotten what he’d learned in rehab, and pay for the sins he’d committed in the name of both family and survival. The settlement money was a secret he didn’t tell, not even to the club, but perhaps he should have. His memories weren’t for public display, he told himself. His tragedy didn’t need to be played out next to the soundtrack of his demise. Instead, lips would remain sealed, focusing on the here and now, rather than the scars that still stung.

[squinoas]

Final Fantasy VII: Remake is both a blessing and a curse, to newcomers and series veterans alike - a (kinda) in-depth review of Final Fantasy VII: Remake.

Final Fantasy VII: Remake is both a blessing and a curse, to newcomers and series veterans alike.

As the latter, and someone who has played and enjoyed (and watched, in the case of Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children), most of the compilation that followed the original, I feel confident in saying this game is a worthy remake of the standout hit that put Final Fantasy on the radar of the Western audience. The blessing is an imaginative and fleshed out retelling of a fraction of an original thirty-hour story – stretching it out and giving backstory to returning characters, while introducing some fresh (and welcome) faces along the way. The Midgar section in the beginning of the original Final Fantasy VII clocks in at around 3-4 hours of a player’s overall journey.

Not this time.

But is that also the aforementioned curse of this game? That those players who have enjoyed the original many, many times know of what it still to come? Throughout my play through of the game this felt like it was going to be its main detractor, when actually the ending completely throws this into the air.

Only time will tell if this is a good decision that will pay off, or if it will backfire. Nevetheless, I’m optimistic that the best is yet to come.

How long will we have to wait for more? That’s anyone’s guess at this point, especially with the Coronavirus situation. Safety comes first, and any delays to the second and third parts of this episodic epic (and I hope it continues to be epic) will be understandable – and hopefully, much like this first part, well worth the wait.

GAMEPLAY (COMBAT, MATERIA, WEAPONS)

Much furore has been made about the series ditching a turn-based system – one still employed by Dragon Quest (another Square-Enix property, and the most recent instalment, Dragon Quest XI: Echoes of an Elusive Age, one of, if not my favourite, recent JRPGs).

Final Fantasy now employs an action-based model, more akin to another property, Kingdom Hearts.

Sometimes erratic and frenzied in 2016’s Final Fantasy XV, I’m happy to say that Square-Enix appeared to fine tune most of the aspects I disliked about that game’s playstyle and the result is Final Fantasy VII: Remake’s fun gameplay.

Keeping the ATB gauge involved was a good move, and gave the game a familiarity. The oscillating difficulties mean that there is a playstyle for everyone to find. I managed the entire game on normal mode (even my first time fighting the Whispers), until the Sephiroth boss battle. I have my own narrative issues with us fighting Sephiroth in the first part of this game anyway, but the difficulty spike in this battle on Normal mode felt unreal. I’d managed the slog that was the Hell House boss battle, and the annoyance of the escape from Shinra section, including that boss battle, but this was another level, and the only boss I had to change to easy mode for (which meant redoing the Whispers fight on that mode too).

On the other hand, there were bosses where, understanding their attack patterns and developing a strategy meant that winning the fight felt genuinely rewarding, as opposed to just time and energy-draining. An example of this was the Ghoul fought in the Train Graveyard – a new inclusion, and a whole strand of story that I enjoyed immensely. That battle really made use of switching between party members – Cloud and Tifa taking the lead in physical attacks and Aerith using her magic whenever necessary.

Materia has been updated, but not massively. Rather than a huge overhaul of the system, it still works largely how it did before. It’s been adapted for an action-JRPG but still comes down to strategy. However, an option to change materia mid-fight might have been prudent, considering the variety of enemy weaknesses. I found myself having to restart more than one fight because a batch of enemy scrolled through at least three different weaknesses and I was never adequately prepared for them at first. But at least restarting these fights was easy and hassle-free.

I liked the additions of new materia; such as Synergy which is another way to control what your other party members do in a fight, and the Magnify materia which works like the All materia of the original game. It made finding new materia fun and fresh, and meant I was constantly changing up my strategies to see what worked best.

The weapons system has been changed significantly, however. The upgrade screen looks stylistically like the crystarium from Final Fantasy XIII and the Historia Crux from Final Fantasy XIII-2. Therefore, it looks interesting, but is actually kind of boring when it comes to upgrading weapons. I ended up letting the computer upgrade my weapons with the balanced option, and this was a cool feature for people like me who found the task of upgrading tedious; especially when having to click out of each character’s weapons to only click into another one.

But the abilities that came with the weapons and having to develop a proficiency for these abilities was a nice addition. The only time I felt hindered by this was when Barret had to learn an ability on a close combat weapon. I like the fidelity to the original, but at the same time it was a handicap. Of course this is probably my own problem as I could have chosen not to use those weapons, something I may not do in a second playthrough.

Nonetheless, I felt like it encouraged me to play as every party member, and some were just downright cool. Special mention has to go out to Aerith’s Ray of Judgement, and Barret’s Maximum Fury which are so OP it isn’t even funny.

STORY (CHARACTERS, PLOT, ADDITIONS)

The original Final Fantasy VII is well known for the infamous ship wars. Clerith vs Cloti has been the ongoing debate for the past twenty years, and I don’t think this game is going to convince anyone that their side is right or wrong. It’s still left open to interpretation, at least in my opinion, and perhaps this was the best way to keep everyone satisfied. However, the game adds the additional element of having Aerith confirm that she did indeed love Zack Fair, the main protagonist and her love interest in Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core. As a ‘Zerith’ and ‘Cloti’ shipper myself, this game gave me plenty of moments to love for both couples. As someone who does have a liking for Clerith and Aerti, it kept me more than fed.

I have to give kudos to those involved with the game that they stayed true to the very canon interpretation that Aerith and Tifa are friends, and always were. True, they both expressed some small mote of jealously in the original game (and, at times, in this one too), but it quickly becomes obvious that they are both strong-willed young women who admire each other greatly. There are great examples of their burgeoning friendship but my favourites have to be kicking the lecherous asses of Don Corneo’s lackeys, and discussing a shopping trip for stuff for the bar.

All in all, the characters are kept true to their original incarnations. If anything, they – as with everything else in this game – are given to breath and work through things organically. They are fleshed out, and given further backstories, motivations and plot. I think this was best done with the doomed member of AVALANCHE, Jessie. She’s given a last name which, to begin with, makes her feel less like an ancillary plot device and more a character in her own right. To add to this, we meet her mother and father; which absolutely tugged at my heartstrings, what with her father’s tragic accident leaving him in a comatose state. We find out Jessie wanted to be an actress and was working at the Gold Saucer (this also works as a nice nod to places we know exist in-universe but will not visit until a later instalment).

Marle, Leslie, Madam M, Andrea Rhodes – every Chocobo Sam – are all fantastic additions, and I hope we see them again. In particular I would love to see Leslie reunited with his lost love in a future game.

Now, in terms of the story, I have played the original inside and out for many years, and always thought I would be against changes made to the story. Throughout most of the game most of these additions are simply changes that just make things more interesting for someone like me who’s played the original before. Towards the end, however, things take a drastic turn, and turn everything we’ve known on its head. As I said before, I have no idea where this is going to go in the next part, and there were some aspects that left me scratching my head.

The main of these being Zack. As far as anyone who has played the original or Crisis Core will know, Zack died in a last stand against the Shinra corps sent after him and Cloud after their break out from Nibelheim. However, the ending raises some interesting questions. At first I thought us defeating the Whispers had rewritten Zack’s fate, but maybe that’s not the case. Nevertheless, it will be interesting to see where they take it (one change I did not like was Zack’s voice actor. I know all the English VAs were changed – which I wasn’t a big fan of in the first place – but the new voice actor does not sound good compared to Rick Gomez).

Overall, our characters end the game in more or less the same position as the end of the Midgar section of the original, but after the events of the battles with the Whispers it appears that certain events that would have been due to happen (the original ending with Red XIII, Aerith’s death, etc) may not happen at all – or at least, not in the way we think.

[7deadlycinderellas]

No more math and history, summer time has set us free ch1

Ao3 link

Camp Durrandon was the same as it had always been. Two lines of sixteen cabins, separated by gender and age, and two more lines of staff cabins in behind. The mess hall, the showers, the sports field, the drama barn, the campfire circle, the stables. They were all the same. The lake gleamed in the summer sunshine, the canoes tied and floating. The trees spring up behind the camp buildings, the forest the same as it had been for a hundred years, as it would be for a hundred more.

Even as she climbs out of the bus, Arya can’t believe it’s been four years.

The three buses pull into the front, in order of the distance of their departure; King’s Landing, Old Town, White Harbour. Standing around, Arya feels like a tree rooted in place. The majority of the children milling around her are in camper yellow, their names and cabin numbers currently being written on their backs by the blue clad unit counselors. Arya spies her brother Bran, carefully guiding his wheelchair down the bus ramp, in his CIT red.

Arya feels somehow both perfectly in place and out of place. Sixteen years old, despite her small size, her jean shorts and purple shirt mark her for what she is this year, a junior counselor. The picture on it, of the horses below the seven pointed star, tells of what. Horseback riding this year.

On one side is her sister Sansa, seventeen and in purple like her. Her shirt, unlike Arya’s, bears an image of mummer’s masks, she’s teaching drama this summer. On her other side is Meera Reed, an old friend. Eighteen and in the green worn only by senior counselors, she puts her hands on her hips and addresses Arya.

“I can’t believe you betrayed me. You always said when you could come back to camp, you’d teach archery with me. I’m stuck with another Mormont this year!”

Arya smiles.

“Lyra had a foot in ahead of me, the Mormonts have run archery here since we were campers. And there's another one after her, so there might be another coming too.”

Meera still looks miffed, but they drag their bags to check the list for which staff cabin is theirs this year.

Sansa’s going to be in Cabin 2 with Margaery, the drama senior counselor, and the aforementioned Mormont. Arya feels a pinch of heartache. When she was younger, she always shared a cabin with her sister, even when they should have been in separate age groups. Meera’s finger spots their names, they’re in Cabin 3, right next door.

“At least we’re in the same cabin,” Arya wheedles, “Who’s our third?”

Meera runs a finger down the list.

“Ygritte.”

Arya’s surprised. She had heard from Jon that she was planning to return to camp that year, but she still hadn’t been sure if she would get to see her at all.

Well, since it turns out the list says Ygritte’s the senior riding counselor, she’ll get to see her a lot.

Cabin 3 is a short walk up a hill, under a tree.

“I don’t remember the staff cabins being this far from the mess hall,” Arya complains.

Meera laughs.

“It’s been four years Arya, you might have forgotten a lot of things.”

The cabin contains three cots with trunks, a table, and a small bathroom. Arya throws her duffel on her cot and starts unpacking as fast as she can. She cringes at the sight of her two pairs of jeans. The Stormlands are extremely hot and humid in the summer, but you can’t ride horses in shorts, so she’s stuck.

“I’m going to go check on things in the stables,” she tells Meera, “And then down to the waterfront.”

“Will you make it to orientation?”

“I’ll try, but it’s not like Brienne can send me home if I don’t.”

“Don’t test her, she might,” Meera warns.

With a laugh, Arya leaves the cabin. The stables are in back of the camp, next to a trail that leads into the Mistwood National Park that the campgrounds are a part of.

They are much as she remembers. Dusty wood and the ever present smell of animal and leather. She stops to pet Nan, the old mare she had learned to ride on all those summers ago, on the nose, before she continues her search.

She doesn’t find what she’s looking for, but before she leaves, she runs into Ygritte, literally. The senior green pairs well with her flaming red hair.

“Didn’t see you there, sorry,” Arya’s voice rushes, as her breathing returns to normal.

Ygritte raises an eyebrow.

“So I take it I get you as my underling this year?”

Arya laughs. Ygritte’s only twenty, but always seemed to Arya like she was so much older than her.

“And cabin mate too. Don’t worry, we gave you the bunk closest to the bathroom. “

“I’ll be up there, I just had to come down and see old Crow here for a bit,” she tells her, rubbing the old black gelding on the nose.

There’s a long silence, which Arya breaks with a cough.

“Has Jon written to you since he shipped out?” she asks. There’s no reason to beat around the bush.

Ygritte smiles sadly and shakes her head.

“He hasn’t written us either,” she assures her. Arya’s memory of Jon leaving home in his uniform, promising to write them all about training and what he’s being taught. He’d enlisted the day of his eighteenth birthday, and had been gone since.

“I wouldn’t expect him to,” Ygritte admits, “I know the WAF takes training seriously, we used to go past the airfields all the time on long rides.”

Ygritte was from the north like them, but the far north. The far, far north. The part where you could ride on a road for hours and hours and never pass a single town. She lived on a sheep station. Arya still wasn’t sure why she even came to summer camp, it seemed to her like her normal life was like camp.

It’s with a curt nod that Arya leaves Ygritte to whatever it is she was doing.

The waterfront remains the same, the rocky shore and the dock, the lines of canoes. The posted signs every few feet, of the strictly enforced rules.

Arya steps in the lake, just far enough to get her feet wet. The feeling of the cool water and algae collecting on her toes is one she’s missed terribly. It had been far too long.

Her reminiscing is interrupted by a whistle that makes her jump and trip onto the ground.

“No swimming!” a voice behind her yells.

She stands back up, rubbing her bruised backside.

“I wasn’t swimming, I was standing-”

She turns to where the other voice is coming from, her own freezing up in her chest.

Taller than before, and broader than ever. His hair wasn’t quite as long, but his blue eyes are just as bright.

Completely unbidden, Arya feels a smile sprout upon her face.

“Gendry Waters,” she says, sauntering towards him. Her insides are doing an energetic dance, but she’s always been strangely confident around him.  He’s wearing the red and white t-shirt and trunks marking him as a lifeguard, the ultimate authority over the waterfront. “This place must be hard up if they gave you gainful employment.”

He grins, wolfishly, and her stomach does a series of increasingly acrobatic flips

“Arry,” he says, his voice disbelieving, “Never thought I’d see you back here. You look-”

“The same?”

Arya knows that’s not completely the truth. She was a skinny little shrimp at twelve, and had been the victim of an utterly terrible haircut earlier that summer. She still wasn’t exactly tall or womanly, but she thinks she looks less like a little homeless boy than before. Shirt color aside, she’s even dressed exactly the same.

“I finally started showering regularly and brushing my hair of my own accord. Sansa was so pleased.”

She eyes the whistle and shirt, and whistles herself.

“You’re the lifeguard now? What happened to Anguy?”

Gendry chuckles, and Arya feels the memory of the goofy old lifeguard, the one who so often looked the other way for their group’s little pranks.

“Anguy got the boot last summer when he got caught with a girl in his cabin.”

Arya raised an eyebrow. Anguy was charming and decently looking, he’d always had girls all over him.

“How was that strange, it can’t have been the first time?”

Gendry inhales roughly.

“It’s been a few years since you were here Arya, Anguy was twenty-two last summer...the girl he got caught with was only seventeen.”

Arya feels her lungs deflate.

“Classy as always I guess.”

There’s another pause, but it’s a comfortable one. She was always so comfortable around him, despite the reminder of how many years it had been.

“What else have I missed?” she asks.

Gendry puts his hands behind his head, chewing on his lip while he thought it over.

“Lommy and Weasel haven’t come back for a few years. Hot Pie skipped a year, but he’s working in the kitchen this summer.”

“Really?” Arya asked, surprised. Hot Pie had always been large and very fond of food.

“I worked in the same restaurant he did in King’s Landing this past year, and I let him know there was an opening here and he jumped at it. Wants to go to culinary school after he graduates.”

Arya laughs, thinking of the boy who’s greatest asset to their group being his ability to sneak them all extra snacks working in a loud kitchen.

“What about you?” Gendry asks.

Arya feels her stomach drop.

“What about me?”

“Have all of the illustrious Starks returned to camp for real this year?”

Arya pauses too, and hugs her middle.

“Sansa and I are junior counselors- she’s in the drama barn, I’m at the stables. Bran’s a CIT, Rickon’s the only of us who’s still an actual camper.”

Gendry’s eyes fade for a moment, so she continues.

“Jon joined the WAF as soon as he finished school, they haven’t even given him leave. And Robb is trying to work out the mess that is Dad’s company…”

Her voice trails off. Talk of the company always meant having to talk about Mum and Dad being gone, and she’s not ready to repeat all of that, not even to Gendry.

“Seven hells,” Gendry curses, “They’ve really got Jon up there flying planes?”

Arya smiles.

“We don’t know yet, he might end up a navigator or a mechanic or something. Not all of them can be pilots.”

Arya’s chest is warm. It’s such a pleasant feeling, and like being back at camp, it feels like it’s been too long since she’s felt this way.

“Gendry!” a voice says. Arya turns, and sees the source, a girl perhaps a year her junior with dark hair in CIT red, “We’re going to be late for orientation.”

“I’ll catch up to you, Shireen!” He yells after her. He turns and points down the path, and the two of them begin to walk side by side.

“Who’s she?” Arya asks. She doesn’t recognize her. And after attending Camp Durrandon from the ages of eight to twelve, she expects to.

“My foster sister, she’s never been here before.” Gendry replies. His eyes look a little haunted at the words, and Arya’s heart aches, remembering his stories of having to spend his childhood being bounced around like a pinball. It was only through an outreach ministry that he had even been able to attend camp.

When they speed up, Arya’s eyes go wide seeing the side of Shireen’s face which is angry pink and puckered, as though she had been burned.

Her mouth starts to open involuntarily, but Gendry grabs her hand and squeezes it.

“Don’t say anything. Please.”

And with a deep breath, Arya keeps her words to herself. Gendry looks surprised, she understands. She could never do that before.

They file in among the crowd for orientation, colorful dots among a sea of yellow. Up front, at the flagpole stands Beric Dondarrion, the camp owner, and Brienne, in Arya’s childhood the indomitable head girl’s counselor, now the activities director.

She’s got a clipboard and her whistle, and she’s making the same announcements that precede every camp session. Arya knows them by heart: no wandering outside camp by yourself, no going into the forest, no screwing around at the waterfront, lights out at 9. As an activity counselor, Arya has extra responsibilities, namely the upkeep of all the horses and the stables themselves, but also extra perks. Among them, better pay, and that once lights out came, no one much cared where they stayed.

Brienne leads the group around camp, showing them the cabins, the waterfront, all the activity areas. The tuck shop selling overpriced candy and t-shirts. The bathrooms, showers and laundry.

Orientation ends at the mess hall, a glorious smell emanating from within. Only the kitchen is actually inside, the line moving past several service windows ending in the open salad bar. The rest of the hall is long wooden tables under the cover of a white canopy, printed with the seven pointed star.

Fried chicken on the first night appears to still be the tradition. Arya plunks two drumsticks on her tray along with a heap of potatoes, before moving along the line and joining the others at the staff table.

Gendry’s barely poking at his food as he keeps turning to where Shireen sits. The CITs sit out among campers, they’re being trained on making sure they behave. Arya’s eyes follow his, and when they recite the grace of the seven before eating, Shireen looks completely bewildered.

Arya catches Gendry’s eye curiously. He reaches under the table and squeezes her hand.

“Please don’t ask here, I’ll tell you later.”

Later, when the welcome sundae bar comes out, she returns the words. They stand to get in line, when Bran rolls in front of them, leading his cabin to the line.

“I’ll tell you later too.”

Once the meal has winded down, Brienne stands and leads everyone to first-night campfire.

The smell of the wood smoke fills Arya’s nose, and she breathes it in. It smells like burned marshmallows and coming home.

Missandei has apparently become the campfire leader, sitting at the microphone holding her guitar. Arya is pleased. Missandei speaks five languages and knows lots of songs in all of them, not just the goofy ones about the Maiden and the Smith.

Arya spares a glance across the fire to where Gendry has sat down next to Shireen. It suddenly occurs to Arya where Shireen’s confusion might come from. If it weren’t for the grace before meals and the silly songs at campfire, you could forget quite easily that Camp Dundarron was run by the United Westerosi Church of the Seven. Arya frowns. Even in the north, where more than half the population attended other churches, most people still recognized the symbols and prayers.

Eventually, Missandei’s voice quiets, and Brienne claps to alert time to return to units.

When they make it up the hill toward cabin 3, Ygritte takes off. She’s on first patrol that night, and gets to walk around shining flashlights into each cabin to ensure lights out is being followed. Arya changes into her pajamas, sweat shorts and a t-shirt with the logo of the White Harbour Direwolves, a local baseball team. It used to be Jon’s, and nearly comes down to where Arya’s shorts end. Laying back on her bunk, Arya asks Meera,

“Do you think Brienne still has that weird saddle Jojen used to have to use?”

“The one with the seat belt and the extra straps? Probably, they didn’t have to get it special or anything, I think it’s been around since the older Tyrell’s were here.”

That makes sense. Margaery’s older brothers both had been to camp years before any of them, and she’d heard that Willas kept riding years after he’d been thrown from a horse. Arya’s face turns pensive. She wonders where it’s ended up.

“Trying to get Bran riding again?” Meera asks.

Arya nods.

“There’s a ranch that does therapeutic riding up further north from us, but we haven’t been able to work out the logistics of getting him there yet. I thought maybe if I could get him excited about it again, he would push us more at home to figure it out.”

There’s a pause, and Arya asks something that’s been bugging her since they got off the bus.

“Why didn’t Jojen come back this summer? You said you’ve been here every year.”

Meera’s quiet for a minute.

“He ended up in A&E at the end of the school year. He’s on a clinical trial now to see if a new anti-seizure medication works for him, and can’t be too far from a hospital for monitoring. He was so upset when I left.”

Arya’s chest tightens. She hadn’t meant to poke a wound.

Once Ygritte returns and flops onto her bunk, Arya stands.

“I’m going out for a bit.”

“Heading to the kissing tree?” Ygritte asks with a smirk.

Arya snorts, and ignores the fluttering in her chest. She’s referring to the tree behind the stables, next to the sign where Mistwood Park starts, and the property line ends. It’s one of the only parts of the camp that can give you a modicum of privacy.

“Just to the pier.”

Ygritte's rolled onto her stomach and is out already. Meera shrugs. She’s pulled out a book and has it open against her knees.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll make it to the kissing tree eventually.”

Arya leaves the cabin, huffing, and wishing she had never confided in Meera years ago about the last time she had snuck out the pier.

It was an easy enough walk. Their little crew, the Brotherhood Gendry had called it once, would sneak out after lights out. Hot Pie would sneak them all extra snacks, and they would plot itching powder revenge and sprees of short sheeting.

The last time they had done it, it had just been the two of them.

Halfway there, she wonders if Gendry will even be here. It’s been four years, they can’t have kept it up that long, really?

But there he sits, at the end of the pier, feet dangling in the water. Arya’s chest tightens at the sight, the moon is reflecting off his dark hair, shorter than he used to wear it.

She tries not to think too hard about the last time they’d come out here, that night that it had been just them. “Sansa’s gone off to the kissing tree with Joffrey,” she had told him, huffing. “She won’t shut up about it, and won’t believe me that he’s mean to all the other kids.”

 “Let that be her problem. I’ll help you sneak into his cabin and drop stink bugs in his clothes.”

 Arya had giggled at that. It seemed appropriate. She had still felt huffy though. Ever since Sansa had met Joffrey that summer, she hadn’t wanted to spend any time at all with her.

 There’s something else too.

 “Why does everyone make such a fuss about kissing anyway?”

 Arya had gotten her period earlier that summer, and questions like that had started coming to her more and more. Most of the other girls, even Sansa and her friends, had been so nice about it too, actually answering her questions instead of laughing and leaving her behind. It had been a change, like those silly pamphlets they got in school had described, but Arya, somehow, didn’t feel any different at all. Most of the time.

 Gendry had shrugged at that.

 “Cause it’s fun, I ‘spose.”

 Arya had pouted. Not that she’d assumed he’d never kissed a girl, he was fourteen after all, and that seemed so much older than twelve.

 “If it’s so fun...can you show me?”

 Gendry was taken aback.

 “How come?”

 Arya huffed even further.

 “Cause I want to know!”

 Gendry had looked back and forth, half looking like he was worried someone was going to sneak up on them, half like he was certain this was a prank.

 “Promise you won’t push me in the lake?”

 Arya thought from the outside it must have looked like a first kiss from the movies, with the clear blue lake in the background and the moon hanging overhead. It made her feel that way too, giddy, warm, her heart racing.

That was the last time she saw Gendry. All of the Starks were gone from camp in the morning. Arya sits beside him at the end of the pier, tucking her knees up to her chest.

“Which of us should go first?”

After a moment of silence, they both stick out their fists.

“Dragon, wolf, stag!”

Arya wins, though she still doesn’t understand how stag beats dragon.

Gendry leans back against the pier, face staring upward at the stars.

“The day I got home from camp, my foster dad kicked me out. I was just glad my things were already packed and I didn’t have to throw everything in a bin bag. The woman I was sent to next was...the worst one yet. There’s still an active court case ongoing because of her. After that, I got sent to live with Mr. Davos, and him, me and Shireen have been together for three years.”

Arya nods. She’s still sitting with her knees pulled up against her. She can’t see his face.

“That was one, now it’s your turn.”

One. She only has to tell one story, or one secret. That was how these always went.

“We all left camp that morning because Beric got a call that my father had died of a heart attack.”

Gendry bolts upright.

“Life went to chaos after that. There’s more...a lot more...but that’s just my one for tonight.”

Gendry starts to lean forward. Arya’s still hunched over. His hand reaches out to rest on her back, but hesitates. Arya pushes herself back ever so slightly and his hands lingers softly against her back, the warmth going through straight to her skin. She swallows roughly, a single tear running down her cheek.

“It’s late,” she says. “We should be getting back.”

Gendry nods, though she can’t see him.

“Yeah. Swim tests are in the morning.”

Arya chuckles.

“I almost forgot about swim tests.”

“So you’re just going sleep in tomorrow, not get your clip and then spend the whole summer in a life jacket at the waterfront?”

Arya sticks one foot in the lake and uses it to fling a bit of algae at Gendry’s face.

“Your name may be Waters, but if you think I’m going to give up the title of summer-wide lake zombie hunt queen, you’ve got something else coming.”

[mythicallore]

Cryptids Proven to be Real Give Us Hope for These 5 Others

Cryptid Monsters Proven Real

Cryptid monsters are known to terrorize and typically reported by a significant portion of a population, or at least a large enough group to confirm that it is indeed an anomalous creature. In earlier years, these animals were brutes fought by hunters and fishermen on outings, and were exaggerated to prove their machismo upon returning home. But eventually these tales became backed by hard evidence, and today we know them well.

The Giant Squid

19th century Scandinavian whalers spoke of the Kraken; an enormous squid whose appendages were found in the bellies of whales and said to be as thick as a ship mast. Fishermen continued to report attacks by these tentacled monstrosities, to the disbelief of landlubbers back home. But eventually they returned with specimens, or found their carcasses washed ashore.

In 1853, a large squid with a horny beak and large throat washed aground in Denmark, baffling local scientists. Johan Japetus Steenstrup, a professor of zoology from the University of Copenhagen, identified the creature as a giant squid.

Today, the giant squid is a scientifically accepted animal, reaching lengths up to 40 feet long. Their enormity is attributed to something called deep-sea gigantism; a tendency for deep sea invertebrates to be larger than their shallow-water relatives. But the giant squid isn’t even the biggest mollusk of its kind, that title is reserved for the colossal squid, which reaches up to 46 feet in length.

The Platypus

The platypus is a rather bizarre looking creature and if you attempted to explain it to someone before its discovery, they’d almost certainly believe you were mad. So, it’s an egg-laying mammal with the bill of a duck, the tail of a beaver, the webbed-feet of an otter, and the venom of a snake? Sure.

But now the platypus is a well-known creature, lending credence to the possibility of other cryptids that seem to be an amalgam of disparate species. When it was first presented to British zoologist George Shaw, he attempted to rip off its beak, believing it had been glued on. Eventually, he took scissors to the deceased animal, before he realized it was genuine. That particular specimen can be found to this day in a British museum.

The Frilled Shark

Sea serpents have stoked the fears of sea-farers for centuries, tormenting sailors and swallowing ships whole. From Texas to Norway, reports of sea serpents sprang up in local and national publications during the 19th century, depicted as gargantuan snakes devouring unwitting mariners while they innocently roamed the sea.

Today, the frilled shark could be considered the closest animal to these horrific serpent tales, appearing much like those descriptions written in antiquity, though comparatively smaller. The frilled shark was discovered in the late 1800s by German ichthyologist Ludwig H.P. Döderlein, and later described by Samuel Garman as, “such an animal as that described is very likely to unsettle disbelief in what is popularly called the ‘sea serpent.’”

So, it’s a shark, but a frightening one at that, with 25 clusters of 300 sharp, serrated teeth, the Chlamydoselachus africana is one of those relics from the days when dinosaurs ruled the Earth. It’s also one of those deep-sea dwellers, which is part of the reason they are so rarely seen.

Cryptid Creatures With Real Potential

The Jersey Devil

The Jersey Devil, a.k.a. the Leeds Devil, is one of the more popular cryptids of modernity, appearing to thousands of residents, since its first official recording throughout several New Jersey towns in 1909. Scores of people in Trenton, Woodbury and Swedesboro reported a giant winged creature flying through the night, emanating a horrible scream. But as it turns out, Native American tribes in the area had been seeing the Jersey Devil centuries before.

One of the old wives’ tales of the devil comes from a woman named Mother Leeds, who became pregnant with an unwanted 13thchild, whom she cursed. The child was born normally, but then became a horrendous monster. To this day, it resides in the Pine Barren forests, over a million acres of land preserved on the state’s coast.

Described as a cross between a bat and a horse with a long spaded tail, the Jersey Devil has terrified residents of the state, who claim to have found maimed animals and other birds after hearing its cry. Some have written it off as a large bird of prey or a certain type of crane, but others say it is a surviving Pteranodon, a pterodactyl from the Cretaceous period.

Enter the hammerhead bat, a.k.a. the Big-Lipped Bat. The hammerhead bat falls into the megabat category which are exactly what you think they are – massive bats. Hammerhead bats can be found in mangroves, swamps, and forests at lower elevations, usually in Africa. Could the Jersey Devil be an invasive, or transported, Hammerhead bat population that established a home for itself in the Garden State? Ok, so it’s not a new species, but it would validate thousands of local residents’ sightings.

The Orang Pendek

Sumatra’s apeman cryptid, the Orang Pendek is thought to possibly be distant human relative known as Homo floresiensis, sometimes referred to as the real-life hobbit.

In the Indonesian language, Orang Pendek translates to “short person,” and it is believed to be an undiscovered primate species, that could potentially be of the genus Homo. Over the years there have been a number of Orang Pendek sightings by travelers, locals, and researchers who have come in search of the cryptid or stumbled upon it by chance.

The most common characteristics confirmed by these numerous sightings depict the Orang Pendek standing between 30 and 60 inches in height, or about 2½ to 5 feet tall. These cryptids are described as being covered in golden, brown, or grey hair and are bipedal, walking erect in the same manner as humans. But what’s even more bizarre is that they are said to have human-like facial features, differing noticeably in appearance from monkeys.

The Megalodon

Not just because they’ve recently made a Hollywood sci-fi horror about it, but the chance that a Meg could exist might be better than other cryptids who call the ocean their home. First off, the Megalodon actually existed as recently as 2.6 million years ago during the Early Micoene period, to the end of the Pliocene. It was essentially like a Great White Shark, but two to three times larger. It wouldn’t be too hard to imagine a surviving species of shark with deep-sea gigantism twice the size of a Great White. In fact there are other sharks that live at significant depths, including the Goblin Shark and the aforementioned Frilled Shark.

Bigfoot

Almost every culture has its version of Bigfoot; in North America it’s Sasquatch, the Chinese have the Yeren, in Nepal it’s the Yeti, in Australia it’s the Yowie, and in just about every other region of the world you can find a regional ape-like cryptid.

So where is the hard photo and video evidence? There isn’t really a good answer to that question, as Bigfoot is probably the most elusive cryptid there is. But why would so many disparate cultures describe the same type of creature over the course of centuries?

One could say that we have a predilection to create archetypes of mythical creatures that resemble versions of ourselves. There are also a number of other primate species that inhabit the world’s jungles, including one discovered just last year. Is it so hard to believe that a more sentient humanoid branched off from the many other ancestors Homo sapiens diverged from, like an evolved, surviving ancestor of Gigantopithecus?

Bigfoot is by far the most popular cryptid while also the most divisive, so we’ll leave it to you to decide. Are you a believer?

[shinneth]

subject to future deletion

Normally I wouldn’t resort to that and I might end up being too lazy to do it anyway, but between getting sick again, dealing with some very intense verbal abuse every day irl, and the monthly burdens of the gender, I’m really not in a good place right now and I need to vent something. 

It’s officially gotten bad enough to interfere with my ability to write, even though I’m at a point in my current story that I’ve been very eager to reach... and every step of the way I’m struggling to write it and I hate what I currently have and it’s taking everything in my current power to not just scrap it entirely. 

Basically, I think I’m failing as a writer.

The irl stuff is actually not what I’m gonna get into because it’s really nothing new and it’ll probably resolve itself, but the side-effect of suffering that kind of negativity is that it enhances lingering negative feelings you’ve had about other things.

Namely, things you do to get away from the pains of the real world. The things you do to have fun and get some enjoyment out of life, no matter how challenging it is to be in this thing because it’s so wrongfully derided and demonized by the majority of your peers.

I try to keep telling myself it’s just because I’m still relatively very new to the fandom compared to my contemporaries, but as I’m typing this right now and listening to my favorite wrestler Shelton Benjamin in an interview, immediately I see the pit I’m starting to fall into. 

Like, it’s uncanny. This is what he said as I started on the above paragraph:

“If I sit and constantly compare myself to other people’s successes, you would drive yourself crazy. Because no matter what, there’s always someone who’s gonna be more successful.”

“I need to remember where I come from; how far I’ve came.”

Basically, in the very small world of Stevidot (and to a lesser extent, SU’s fandom as a whole), despite my efforts, I feel very much like the Shelton Benjamin in a small, dedicated group of talented Stevidot content creators.

Which is to say, I’m basically a midcarder in the mix with a bunch of top-tier legends. Shelton graduated from the same group as some modern very well-known mainstream stars that I can easily associate with a very well-known and accomplished Stevidot contributor.

Shelton graduated with the likes of John Cena, Brock Lesnar, Dave Batista, and Randy Orton. At least half of those names should be at least vaguely familiar for my followers as most of them have had such great success that they’re known in avenues beyond wrestling (save for Randy Orton, but he’s well past outshined his father as a legendary wrestler who’ll never be forgotten). 

I could easily say Watcher is the John Cena of Stevidot, while Platon’s probably the Brock Lesnar... sinderella0069′s the Batista. But I honestly don’t feel like I’ve done enough (or stood out enough) to even be a Randy Orton for this pairing. I’d at least give that honor to Ig just for being so active with it on Tumblr despite the wave of hatred thrown her way (even though she’s shifted focus onto Stevinel now). 

Again, I keep trying to tell myself that it’s because I’m not even remotely as tenured in the fandom as any of them are. 

Then I see this said in a review on a very recently-made Stevidot story...

And said reviewer has not once ever left a review on any Stevidot story of mine. Not even a follow or a favorite or a goddamned kudos. Considering I currently have an actively-updated Stevidot story going on (and a two-shot that I just did last month), I highly doubt my stuff was just overlooked.

Now, is it true that Stevidot is hard to come by? Of course it is. But this isn’t the first time I’ve seen a fellow Stevidot fan lament about the lack of Stevidot content while completely disregarding anything I contribute.

I know there’s one that outright doesn’t like my content based on personal taste (nothing to do with Stevidot itself, just how I execute it). There’s another big-name who shows no interest whatsoever in reading what I have to offer - and at this point I feel that’s for the best, because I have a feeling they’d hate my execution as well. 

While I’ve always primarily written for myself, I also felt a great fulfillment for providing content for a niche crowd that really deserves more than what they have. I think Stevidot’s a fantastic pairing with tons of unexplored potential and should be much more readily available than it actually is. Even if I tend to not get many reviews, I keep track of the site traffic every day on my stories and I know for sure that there are people reading my stuff. Since I’m really bad at leaving reviews myself, I go out of my way not to whine about not having very many overall for my series since I’d be a huge-ass hypocrite to do so. 

However.

Statements like the the aforementioned review and statements I’ve seen elsewhere by those who I know are at least aware of me are like stakes through the heart.

Because it can only mean one thing: my content doesn’t count.

I’m honestly not sure which is worse for me; being critically panned for the stuff I’ve put my all into over the past year, or being treated like my stuff doesn’t even exist. 

I prided myself on contributing as much as I did for Stevidot over this past year. Quantity doesn’t = automatic quality, but I’ve got 20+ years of writing experience in, so even someone with a shit self-esteem like myself can’t just say I’m an objectively bad writer, because I’m not. 

But apparently it doesn’t matter that I put in over half a million worlds in the name of Stevidot to a good chunk of the very tiny Stevidot fanbase; according to them, my contributions are irrelevant.

Is it my fault?

One thing I will admit is a detriment to my particular brand of Stevidot is that, save for one story (which happens to be by far my most successful Stevidot story in terms of recognition numbers), the rest of my series follows a continuous narrative that greatly deviates from canon as of Change Your Mind. I’m also notoriously a very verbose kind of writer - I have the tl;dr curse something fierce. 

So all stories I’ve written since my main 3-act series (which ended up being nearly 200k in length on its own) have been direct sequels to that. Because of the heavy deviation from CYM, the environment of the following stories is very different and easy to get lost in if you skipped GA entirely. 

Because there are so many dangling threads and new opportunities to be had after GA ended, I basically committed myself to my AU.

It’s not like anyone else is going to explore these possibilities.

Beyond that, honestly, I just don’t want to rewire my brain back to the canon status quo - not after the shitloads of character development I’ve not only given Steven and Peridot, but nearly everyone at this point has had a moment or two of really intense character growth. 

I like having Peridot co-star with Steven. I like having her become a more competent and active teammate than she’s portrayed in canon (while still giving her comic relief moments). I like that I didn’t redeem the Diamonds and instead had them killed off to force our protagonists to deal with the fallout of the collapse of a mighty empire on a much grander scale than what’s going on in the actual show.

In a way, this AU of mine has helped me cope with the shortcomings of the show itself. I already went on a stupid tirade once about how the sadistic nature of my writing has basically made me no-sell whatever trauma Rebecca Sugar’s throwing on Steven and upsetting everyone else. I’m still fairly certain I’m still outdoing her in that department. 

And because 100% of my passion for creating Stevidot is through this narrative I weaved, I have no desire to leave it. 

So I’ll admit my stories aren’t exactly the most accessible to the average reader who hasn’t been following my work since Day 1. 

Then again... I first got into Sinderella’s series completely ass-backwards at first. I eventually read it in the proper order, and like many of the great Stevidot epics, it’s canon divergent from a much earlier point in the series, so it was very easy to get confused about why certain things happened differently at first... but ultimately, I wasn’t that bothered by it because I just wanted some good Stevidot. I’d figure out the finer details later. 

I really do owe this author more props than I’ve actually given - she’s one out of two readers I know for a fact have been following my series since the beginning without missing a beat. I’ll probably review her newest story sooner or later now that it’s complete. 

Not gonna lie, though... when I saw our numbers side-by-side like this:

Considering they’re very similar stories (Stevidot smuts that were originally meant to be one-shots), mine is over a month old and hers is only a few days old and there’s already that big of a gap in our numbers? 

It’s hard not to feel like a failure; like I did something horribly wrong to suck this bad by comparison. 

I really should stress that I bear no ill will against Sinderella or any Stevidot author; this isn’t a competition, so this isn’t a matter of popularity. I knew coming into this that I wouldn’t get popular overnight; especially not with such an unpopular ship being the focus of my story. 

But when other Stevidot stories get frequent reviewers that I’ve never seen once acknowledge my stories even passively, I can’t help but feel like I’ve massively fucked up somewhere. That despite all my efforts, I might as well be invisible. When they say “Oh, good thing your story is here! It’s been such a Stevidot drought around here until you came along!” to other authors after I’ve written half a million fucking words in under a year for this ship...

You know, is it unreasonable to feel that I utterly fucking failed in several ways? 

I guess it’s no wonder why I’m struggling to keep writing. I still want to - like I said, I’m at a part I’ve been eager to write for a while now - but ever since I started it, I’ve just hated almost all of what I have so far (almost 8k words). And I’m really having trouble trying to salvage it.

I’m honestly not the type who’d scrap all my progress and start from scratch once I’ve gotten this far in. But maybe I’ll have to make an exception this time, because I think I finally made the mistake of trying to write while being mentally and emotionally distraught.

I thought I’d calm down once I wrote all this out, but honestly, I’m not really feeling it. Now I’m wondering if I should have just reached out to someone instead of making this, because now I’ll come off as a whiner with my pansy-ass first-world problems. 

But then again, I’d be an asshole to subject anyone to my idiotic woes. 

Maybe this’ll pass. I’m hoping it’ll pass. I really, really really really don’t want to lose my drive to write again. I was used to it coming and going in short and random spurts for almost all my life - then it finally came to me and stayed with me just a little under a year ago, and I’ve been desperate not to let it go because I’ve been more productive now than I’ve ever been in my 20+ tenure as a writer. 

I don’t want this to go away. There’s still so much more I want to tell. 

But then my logic goes... if you tell the story and no one’s there to hear it, is it ever really told?