#and the way you write in general but yeah!

[seedsofwinter]

Used to be publishers wanted traditional manuscripts between 25k - 90k words but mostly 60k to 75k. Depending on the genre you could get away with 100k - 120k. And 150k was unsalable. The thought was there had to be something that you could cut at that length 😅 (I was a late '90s-'00s teenager with a literary agent and an unsalable 150k ms, so... I been there.)

Then it all changed. And we started seeing especially Young Adult novels in the 150k range, with duology or trilogy potential. Or more! YA became the hot ticket, and everyone was starting to write them or at least *say* their novel was YA. (Some of the mss I looked at where the protag was literally an adult dealing with adult stuff istfg.)

Nanowrimo (back in the day) made it so loads more people than before had 50k rough drafts, and those often got editing and expanded before they were sold or thrown online. It wasn't unusual to watch a 50k draft fill out to 100k-200k.

There was the rise of ebooks and ereaders; because of huge advancements in tech designed specifically to carry all your books in one handy piece of technology rather than printed and bound. Which made the word count of a book a bit irrelevant for less traditional stories in particular. Or otherwise you were reading book serieses like they were one story because you *could*, they were all right there.

And of course, fanfic in general is an unchecked wealth of "I'm writing basically an entire season of a show in one story, get ready for 500k+ words." But you couldn't tradpub that in one bound book.

So yeah... I agree that "size of a trad pub novel" shouldn't be called short and sweet 😂 I'm just also realizing why some readers have (unknowingly) trained themselves to think that way. It's kinda fascinating to think about!

fanfic authors b like ‘haha this chapter got a little out of hand it’s a little longer like 60k words’

babes that’s a novel. you wrote a novel.

[bonsiii-art]

Okay so this has some last of us thing as the plot is about "What if Longan lost their power the same as pitaya dragon and met Anon?"

They could be in disguise - i believe i saw an account made Longan in disguise but forgot who - and just has to BEAR with Anon's jokes!

"Are you a vegetable? Because you're a CUTE-cumber!... Get it?"

"Wanna hear a joke about pizza? Never mind it was too cheesy"

Like Longan have to bear with each and EVERY joke anon is dropping wither it's flirting or bad or a joke they don't even understand. (They don't know much about cookie world your honor they're somehow still a baby).

But with time Longan start, in their own way showing interest - or just trying to find a way to make hearing the 'jokes' more bearable - to the lines and anon themselves.

"Baker trade bread recipes on knead-to-know basis-"

"I get it" longan answers coldly as they walk besides them.

They answer to anon and even asks showing progress in their unknown bond

"A backward poet writes 'In verse'-"

"You don't sound like you get it"

"...sadly i don't 😭"

And after time spending together, Longan start to find some positive - hardly can be called "joy" if it's not offing cookies - things based on hearing the jokes/puns.

"I used to be addicted to soap, but am clean now"

"... Not bad"

Ending:

I thought as a bad end if anon helped longan regain their power back and passed away helping, Longan would keep their joke book with them and read it from time to time. If the book got rugged from age they'll either memorize it or write it in a scroll to keep it for the future generations. (Extra points if Longan was reading some jokes/puns on Anon's grave).

Extra scene:

Remember in my previous ask i said i was listening to "flare" right? The very few seconds it start with us hearing "If you're a vegetable you'd be a CUTE-cumber". I thought: what if anon was offed by an enemy and Longan had this sentence played in their mind over and over since it's anon's favorite line to drop on them.

And as the song builds up, we see Longan just glaring at the enemy who took Anon's life prepare to make them vanish!

I LOVE THIS like I'm imagining this as if it happens after Longan gets eventually defeated at the end of the dragon story. So anon finds someone injured near their home, gets them fixed up and takes care of them till they get better. In the meantime, Longan's gotta make do with no sorcery and no future sight. Just standoffish and awkward >:P

Them getting used to Anon's puns are so cuuute!! (o′┏▽┓｀o) Longan going from completely ignoring them to actually giving a response because now they're actually listening to their cookie companion! I imagine Anon trying to make jokes about dragons doesn't land with Longan (Disrespect by a cookie about their kin, no matter how lighthearted is especially offending to them) so they avoid those. But- " Y'know, something I heard about the Ivory Dragon..." " ! " " Many people got turned into statues by them but the ones who met the dragon and survived say that they were really... ...stone-faced." ".........." " ...Yeah, sorry, that was dark." Longan in their head is just like " That was pretty good."

That ending is so good, I love me that angst. It hurts so good. 〜(￣▽￣〜) I wanna add to that by saying that what if Anon during their time with Longan, made it their personal goal to try and make the dragon laugh? But they died before they ever could. So when Longan is copying the puns into a scroll, they get that sudden moment of realization that here they are, trying to preserve a cookie's legacy, writing down their bad jokes into draconic paper. And they laugh harder than they ever had before ~~like that one pedro pascal gif.~~ It's so laughable and it's so bitter, it hurts their heart.

Also listened to that song and YEEEA I get what you're putting down!! The scenario is perfect with that build up! Also, the tune is pretty good, I like it! :P

[timble-tumble]

SHIDOU FALLS DOWN A FLIGHT OF STAIRS AND THEN YOU START BRAWLING IT OUT

TAGS: Absolute pure crack, slightly suggestive (if you squint)?, gn!reader x Shidou, Shidou being Shidou, mentions of boners (Shidou.), minor injuries (both of you), established relationship (not hinting towards anything too romantic tho)

A/N: You can tell this is a personal reflection about how much I despise what I'm learning abt in math (and math in general) 🙏💔 I had a lot of fun writing this tho

You and Shidou had barely made it through the last and worst period of the day– math. Even though you barely did any work and instead opted to muck around and play fight at the back of the class, it felt like several weeks before the sweet chime of the bell whisked you out of that classroom.

Shidou stretches his arms up, cracking his neck, “ugh, finally! I’m so done with math, why do I needa know how to calculate linear equations? It’s not like I’m gonna need y= mx+c to know how to score a goal.”

You continue the conversation, complaining with him. “I know right, I CANNOT wrap my head around this. I refuse to believe I’m ever gonna use this in the future, like when am I even going to say, ‘oh yeah that’s y=19x+5’ to some random cashier?”

While you two bitch and yap about how useless math– well at least linear is, you trudge down the hard concrete staircase, barely giving a thought (just like in math class) about where you two are stepping, when from across you hear Shidou let out a loud, “OH FUCK ME-”

You quickly turn towards his now comically tumbling body thunking and rolling its way down the rest of the steps.

“OH MY GOD SHIDOU-”

“Owie…..” Shidou rubs his lower back like an old man as he wobbles, attempting to stand up, looking back and glaring at you, “You gonna help and injured person or what?”

Before you can run down to check on him, you can’t help let out a small snort.

Then just a tinsy-winsy cackle.

And then burst out laughing.

“BAHAHAHAHAHA I CAN’T- I’M CRYING, OH MY GOD THAT’S TOO FUNNY– NO ‘CAUSE THE WAY YOU JUST ROLLED LIKE A FUCKING TUMBLEWEED DOWN THE DAMN STAIRS, I’M SORRY I CAN’T STOP LAUGHING BAHAHAHAHAHAH-”

Shidou narrows his eyes as you wipe away your slowly forming tears from how hard you were laughing. “…” He shoves his hands into his pockets, limping over to your figure still tweaking on the staircase.

“..Hey man, you like explosions?”

You pause and stare him dead in the eye like he’s called you an idiot in 50 different languages. “What? Did the fall rearrange your brain or something-”

Before you can finish, Shidou sprints up the stairs, jumping a step before swinging his leg right at your head. He laughs maniacally as you barely manage to slip down a step in an attempt to dodge his attack.

“SHIDOU WHAT THE HELL-”

“THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR LAUGHING AT ME.”

He chases you down the stairs, into the hall while swinging a few kicks just right above your head. “USE YOUR LINEAR EQUATIONS TO DODGE THIS-”

“RYUSEI SHIDOU GO FUCK YOURSELF STOP TRYING TO GET ME CONCUSSED AS WELL.”

You duck down, sweeping your lower leg at his shins to try and trip him. He dodges, stepping back as he wipes a little bit of drool escaping out of his mouth while he grins. You grab a hair-tie slung around your wrist, narrowing your eyes at him. Shidou waits for you to finish, circling closer and closer towards your figure like a shark smelling fresh blood.

“Come at me,” you taunt.

Like a command, he lunges forward, knee flying right at your face. You quickly react, slapping your hand right down on it and pushing it away as you go on the offence and aim a kick right at Shidou’s groin.

He springs backwards, “Woah woah, my beautiful soccer shooter is OFF LIMITS. Touch it again and I’ll touch yo-”

You jump, swinging your leg down on him, “STOP CALLING YOUR PENIS YOUR SOCCER SHOOTER.”

“But it’s my glorious goal scorer! My very soccer genes and cells are all in this bad boy,” He points down to his crotch area as he grips your calf, throwing you off him.

With a loud BANG!, you hit the floor, grunting as you hear your heart throbbing in your ears. You hazily look up, trying to focus on the yellow and pink blob smirking deviously down on you as your vision rapidly blacks out.

He kneels down, extending his hand a little for you to grab onto. “Admit defeat?”

“Shit, that really hurt…” You rub your neck as you place your hand on top his.

“Whoopsies,” Shidou hoists you up, dusting the potential dirt that could’ve gotten on your uniform.

You glare at Shidou, immediately pushing your hand up to his forearm and gripping it hard, as you slam! him down onto the floor, his body facing impact for a second time.

“You dick.”

He grins wildly, body still limp, “oh man, talk about explosions! That was wild, I’m basically hard-”

You squat down, lightly poking his cheek. “don’t start, you creep."

jumpscare

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

“For example, she wonders whether “fetishism is a reaction to the anxiety of living in a capitalist world”. “Perhaps to have a fetish is … a way of calming the noise of the world by knowing exactly what kind of object does it for you,” she says. Maxing out your credit card on wet-look bodystockings might look like shopping but real sophisticates know it’s an act of resistance to consumer culture. Yeah, right.

The pretentiousness reaches a zenith in a chapter on “monsters”, which deals with attraction to animal personas. “Imagine being strapped into a dog mask and looking up at someone from the floor … being touched and f***ed by endless limbs. Imagine surrendering to the desires of others,” she writes. “These feel like the perfect sites for …”

For what? If you thought the end of that sentence was going to be “having an orgasm”, no points to you. Instead, Fedorova thinks that these are “the perfect sites for questions inspired by post-structuralist philosophy”. Even if you agree that reading Judith Butler is strictly for masochists, this feels like a bit of a stretch.”

In Second Skin by Anastasiia Fedorova and in Love Expanded by Wren Burke the authors make a political case for their very different sexual identities. But it’s all rather pretentious and infantile

In the 20th century gay rights protesters had the slogan “good as you”. It was a rejection of prejudice and an insistence on dignity in the face of others’ disgust. The movement was a success. Such a success, in fact, that some straight people decided they wanted in.

Hence the ever-expanding label of “queer”, which was once a slur and is now embraced by anyone even marginally outside the sexual mainstream. In the era of identity, “straight” and even worse “vanilla” are tantamount to terms of abuse: basic, boring and definitely not aspirational.

And so the authors of both these books identify as queer despite it being hard to imagine two people with less sexual common ground between them. Anastasiia Fedorova is a fetishist. In Second Skin she writes about the pleasure of being “transformed” by latex, about the “sexual charge” of car parks and about the blissful disinhibition she experiences when wearing a dog mask in a fetish club.

In contrast to this torrent of filth, Wren Burke’s defining characteristic is a total uninterest in sex. Burke identifies as asexual (ace), aromantic (aro) and nonbinary to boot. That means Burke feels neither sexual nor romantic attraction to other people. Love Expanded is an attempt to define the asexual or aromantic spectrum (aspec) community as a political bloc.

Reading these very different books, though, the same question occurred to me: how is this my business? The writers appear to be under the impression their particular mode of sexuality is fascinating in and of itself. But other people’s sex lives are, in general, about as interesting as other people’s dreams. Unless you’re sleeping with them, why would you care?

Fedorova, who works as a curator as well as being a writer, gamely attempts to make a case for the significance of her subject. Her focus, she writes, is on “the way in which fetish can be a tool for transformation, expanding the boundaries of the self, as well as the way fetish transgresses the boundary of the erotic, spilling into day-to-day life”.

What this amounts to is the insistence that fetishes are inherently politically radical and valuable on that basis (rather than because they do anything as drab as help their practitioners to get off). This leads Fedorova to make some statements that are frankly perverse — in the logically incoherent sense, rather than in the fun, horny sense.

For example, she wonders whether “fetishism is a reaction to the anxiety of living in a capitalist world”. “Perhaps to have a fetish is … a way of calming the noise of the world by knowing exactly what kind of object does it for you,” she says. Maxing out your credit card on wet-look bodystockings might look like shopping but real sophisticates know it’s an act of resistance to consumer culture. Yeah, right.

The pretentiousness reaches a zenith in a chapter on “monsters”, which deals with attraction to animal personas. “Imagine being strapped into a dog mask and looking up at someone from the floor … being touched and f***ed by endless limbs. Imagine surrendering to the desires of others,” she writes. “These feel like the perfect sites for …”

For what? If you thought the end of that sentence was going to be “having an orgasm”, no points to you. Instead, Fedorova thinks that these are “the perfect sites for questions inspired by post-structuralist philosophy”. Even if you agree that reading Judith Butler is strictly for masochists, this feels like a bit of a stretch.

Running through Second Skin is the insistence that the author’s sex life gives her access to enlightenment that could never be experienced in the missionary position: that she is, in fact, better than you. The infuriating assumption here is that everyone else is living in a state of unreflective conformity, while Fedorova enjoys the insights afforded by having a recherché identity.

The same goes for Burke in Love Expanded. “Aroace [aromantic asexual] people,” Burke writes, “are no more uniquely predisposed towards loneliness than anyone else. But we are more disposed to opening up our concepts of family and love.” Similarly, Burke writes that as a nonbinary person, “I gained a deeper understanding and valuing of womanhood after I stepped outside its bonds”. In other words, Burke knows something the boring straights could never.

Burke’s desire to feel special is almost laughably transparent. That’s especially so in an account of Burke’s coming out as aroace as a teenager: Burke’s parents and brother are bathetically nonplussed, making the understandable (but, according to Burke, gravely offensive) suggestions that asexuality might not be a permanent state or a fixed identity.

Yet asexuality and aromanticism are so vaguely defined it’s hard to say what they mean. Aromantics, Burke writes, are capable of forming intimate relationships and “plenty of aces are sexually active”. As I read this book, I started to form the unworthy suspicion that the aroace label is really just a way to put other people permanently in the wrong.

If an asexual is in a relationship with an “allosexual” person (someone with a regular libido), then it’s the asexual who is seen as the victim. Burke writes of one such case (inevitably, nonbinary) that “they tried to fit their behaviour and even their internal identity to their allo partner’s needs because the price of not doing so was guilt, friction and, ultimately, the loss of their partner”.

This is infantile. Everyone, whatever their level of libido, is entitled to honesty from their partner. A person who isn’t interested in having sex should have the decency to announce it early on — and if their partner decides to break up with them that is not oppression: it’s a sensible decision in the interests of both parties’ happiness.

Burke ends the book with a call for the aspec community to be legally recognised within the Equality Act — not because there are any ways in which asexual people are deprived of rights but because, quoting a Stonewall report on asexuality, doing do “would act as a catalyst toward ace inclusion in the workplace by legitimising ace identities as real and worthy of protection”.

It is not the law’s job to legitimise identities. Burke surely doesn’t intend this, but writing about asexuals and aromantics as a specific community creates the unfortunate implication that everyone else is relentlessly up for it. It’s an individualist answer to a societal problem: being officially asexual acts as a get-out from the unpleasant demands of “raunch culture”.

Weirdly, Fedorova’s fetish seems to have the same protective function. The thrill of latex, she writes, is that it’s “a non-porous surface, so it keeps all the moisture and fluids on one side and everything in the surrounding environment on the other”. Effectively, she’s putting on a full-body condom. Latex sex as she describes it sounds like anti-intercourse.

Burke and Fedorova credit the internet with their sexual self-discovery (Burke’s via a meme and Fedorova’s via porn). What these books made me think is that the internet has been the enemy of sex. It has replaced desire with identity, and intimacy with the cold glow of a screen. Maybe we need a new sexual rights movement for the 21st century: one that argues for the right of sex to be fun again.

[lemedstudent2021]

hiiiiiii :)

so i'm writing some fanfic where the characters get into a plane crash and have to survive on their own with limited medical supplies/knowledge (the characters are age 12-15 but some of them have first aid knowledge to an extent) and i have some Questions (if u don't mind me asking)

(before i start this is SHAMELESSLY inspired by the greys anatomy season 8 finale where the plane crashes)

can you use fire to cauterise open wounds to stop bleeding? or would that just bring further complications?

can you use safety pins as makeshift staples (if you loop them so the skin shuts properly)

the only character who knows how to properly suture needs sutures to stop bleeding out, is it realistic for him to instruct the two other least injured people to suture him up (he can't use his hands) without blacking out from pain?

injuries the characters have: (what is the treatment protocol for each of these?)

one character gets her leg broken with bone exposed (eventually it has to be amputated)

one dislocates his shoulder

one person's hand gets stuck in the debris

someone gets debris in her stomach

one person just has superficial wounds

one character gets debris stuck in her leg

they all have heavy bruising and scrapes as well but those are treatable

things the characters do know how to do:

tie a makeshift tourniquet (advice: do not practise tying tourniquets on yourself because it's quite painful)

suture (one person)

insert a needle into someone's veins (same person)

apply compression bandages to stop bleeding

other super basic stuff (apply plasters, tie an arm sling, etc)

the very basics of cauterising a wound

supplies they have:

tranquiliser guns (limited, and the tranq guns are suited to taking down dinosaurs but they work on humans too)

hand sanitiser and rubbing alcohol (limited)

two basic first aid kits with needle and thread

a knife

cloth to use as bandages and tourniquet material

oxygen (from the plane)

possibly an iv drip???

matchsticks (limited) to make fire to sterilise things and to heat the knife for cauterisation

debris from the plane for splints

food and water (limited)

also how does one put a dislocated joint back into its socket? particularly the shoulder?

sorry if this is super long and for asking so many questions lol. feel free to answer whenever :) and it's completely fine if u don't know (duh) i can research myself but i am sure you're more accurate than a search engine

hope u are having a wonderful day <3

beloved hiiii :D

oooh exciting!! ngl i havent watched any medical shows lol so i dont have any pop culture knowledge (the writing in said shows isnt always the most accurate as u probably already know lol) BUTT tis a famous trope/ au setting so lets see what we got >:)

(also ofc??? love answering ur questions and stuff in general!! and if i dont anything we can always learn together XD)

disclaimer i will be freestyling these okay i dont have any experience in trauma surgery lol but heres what i do got right off the bat:

--

aight first off cauterisation is indeed used to stop severe bleeding *when all other means have been used* and an open flame is definately not the way to go for tha (burns can be extremely dangerous and a. cause fluid loss and b. increase the risk for nasty infections that can lead to sepsis and death)

instead id suggest heating up metal (like a scrap from the aircraft or sum) via the fire and then applying it to the wound :3

--

assuming u mean the surgical staples: yes and no? lol obv since this is an emergency there is little space to be picky abt equipment, so honestly safety pins would work ig but i think theyd keep coming loose (oh the agony)

i messed around with one of mine just now and the line that locks into the head (?) is pretty straight so i kinda doubt itll be able to like close flesh the way one imagines it to but its literally fiction lol we can suspend our belief far more than this. as long as its closed properly go for it lmao i give u my blessing XD

--

yeah sure!! since the patient is awake and aware enough to be able to assess and give instruction i see no reason as to why not lol.

btw in case of an amputation or extremely severe bleeding id recommend using a tourniquet (lots of tutorials online!) to compress the artery and minimise the bleeding :D (ooh maybe u can use the cautery thing here too)

--

OMG I READ THE FUTURE AHA (my condolences) okay so the amputation will be at the knee level (which afaik is the hardest kind of amputation to perform joint wise lmao. good luck with that) presumably. theyll need a tourniquette as mentioned above, very sharp knife or something to hack away at the flesh and tendons (very tough) and ligaments around the knee socket (even tougher i think). and lots of bandages for the stump

now had they recieived the needed medical attention i doubt theyd need to go up to the knee (there are shin level amputations) but since theyre kids and all alone with no guide or anything idk if theyll be able to save the lower leg bones or even cut though them if they could (i doubt med supplies include saws lol) so yeah thats my reasoning at least.

--

dislocation is a relatively easy fix (compared to everyhting else lol) but it depends on where the humerus (arm bone) is:

based on which kind of dislocation the direction of pull is determined, but again relatively simple no blood no mess

there are a few maneuvers/ techniques u might want to look up like hippocratic and spaso/ reverse stimson (both for anterior btw)

--

a hand getting stuck i assume means impaled? oof thats going to hurt. well broken hand bones are pretty rough to deal with in the wild, since all bones need proper realignment to avoid further pain and complications when the body heals itself (did u know that if a fracture heals wrong they have to break it and reset it? yeah.) so im not sure honestly ig it depends on what u have in mind for them

again not too sure what stomach means exactly; are her guts poking out? just bleeding from scratches? depends on what ur going for!! lmk btw and feel free to send more asks ill look up and find what we need to know :D

impaled leg i take it? as the above u need to know what condition shes in exactly like arterial puncture probably means severe bleeding and death honestly, lmk what u have in mind!!

--

superficial wounds need cleaning and patching up, sometimes if theres like unclean areas of said wounds they need to be scraped off (debridement) esp if theres like scraps or dirt or anything on the wound. what fun!

again for the cautery i think an open flame would heat up the knife much faster than a match lol (also they need to be preserved. also also they wouldnt last long enough i think)

not at all pookie i had so much fun going over everything!! hopefully this is coherent and useful for u ajsdhsjjdhfn

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Reply All (H.S. Fic) | Chapter 6

General Masterlist

uni!harry x fem!reader PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5

Summary: Y/N and Harry were childhood best friends, inseparable through every laugh, secret, and growing pain. But high school brought unspoken feelings and decisions that tore them apart, leaving both with unanswered questions. Years later, a class project challenges them to face their shared past and uncover the truths they’ve both been running from. And a wrong click unveils the past and what will be the future.

Word count: 2.7k

A/n: Hey! i'm sorry this took way too long, i was battling with some mental health issues AND THEN SOME PHYSICAL HEALTH ISSUES, but i'm happy that i'm finally back to writing. Also i think next chapter will be THE FINAL ONE

Warnings: Sickness (mild cold)

The rest of the week passed in a strange mix of anticipation and nervous energy. Every interaction with Harry felt charged with an unspoken awareness. He didn’t bring up the date again, and you didn’t either, but it lingered between you both, like a secret neither of you wanted to break.

Juliet, of course, was thrilled when you told her.

“So, you are excited?” she asked, flopping onto her bed with a grin “Maybe,” you said, fiddling with the corner of your textbook. “I mean, it’s just dinner. People eat dinner all the time. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Juliet snorted. “Sure, because Harry ‘I’m-so-obviously-in-love-with-you’ Styles would ask just for dinner. Come on, Y/N, don’t play coy with me. You’re excited.”

You tried to protest, but the truth was, you were excited. The butterflies were there, fluttering away as you thought about what it all could mean. It was still hard for you, even though the two of you were halfway to being full-on best friends again. But for the first time, you decided to follow that gut-wrenching feeling—the one you get when you’re falling, unsure if anyone will catch you. Yet, deep down, you knew Harry would.

🌷

On Saturday, Harry was right on time, he rarely was on time, but today, even one minute early. When you opened the door to your dorm your hands were shaking. He was standing there with a slightly nervous smile, all dressed in his fancy (and only) black shirt, and some black jeans.

Oh!

And a single daisy in his hand.

“For you,” he said, holding it out.

You couldn’t help but smile as you took it. “Thank you…” You both could hear the tiny noises Juliet was trying to stifle; you were certain she was more excited than you—or maybe not. “Don’t mind her, she’s just watching her favorite rom-com” you said smiling “I WANT HER BACK BEFORE 12!” Juliet said as you closed the door behind you chuckling

The walk to the restaurant was easy, filled with light jokes and comfortable silences. The kind of silences that didn’t need filling because they felt like home. At dinner, the conversation flowed effortlessly. It was like you’d tapped into the friendship you once had, only now there was something more simmering beneath the surface.

At one point, as he reached across the table to grab the salt shaker, your hands brushed. Neither of you pulled away immediately, and when your eyes met, the air seemed to shift.

Harry cleared his throat, breaking the moment. “So... are you having a good time?”

You nodded, your heart thumping in your chest. “Yeah, I am.”

He sighed “I still feel the need to say sorry. There’s so much I lost because of bad decisions,” he said. You opened your mouth to respond, but he continued. “Like when you aced that French class, or when you almost broke your nose in P.E. Or when fucking David was holding your hand, and a week later he was holding Steph’s. I wish I’d put more worms in his bag…”

“That was you?!” you interrupted, incredulous.

“And when you found those study cards in your science book when you weren’t doing so well. Or when you won class leader with more votes than there were people in our class. And when you weren’t prepared for the Biology presentation, and the lights went out…”

You could have listened to him talk about it all for years. Somehow, you weren’t remembering it with pain or hurt. Instead, it felt like something inside you was blooming—something that had been asleep for years.

“So, I just need to say I’m sorry for missing it all,” he said softly.

“You weren’t. You didn’t miss it—maybe I did. You were there all the time apparently”

“But it was my fault you missed it,” he replied.

“Yeah, but… I mean…” You sighed. “Who cares? This is our second chance—at us, whatever this is… at so many things we can still do. This time, the right way.”

“I’m still sorr—” He didn’t even finish the word before you pushed a piece of bread into his mouth, laughing.

“Stop saying you’re sorry! You’ve made it very clear,” you chuckled.

He pulled the bread out of his mouth, chewing some bits “Fine, no more apologizing…for now”

“You are…” you said smiling trying to find the right word “so you…” The waiter came by to refill your drinks, and you noticed Harry glance at the dessert menu. He raised an eyebrow at you, holding it up as if to say, Should we?

“You already know the answer,” you said, grinning.

“Chocolate lava cake to share?” he asked, confirming.

“Obviously.” “So you…” he said.

After dinner, he offered to walk you back to your dorm. The streets were quiet, lit only by the soft glow of streetlights. As you talked, his hand brushed against yours a few times. It felt almost deliberate, like he was testing the waters.

Finally, you stopped in front of your building.

“This was nice,” you said, turning to face him.

“Yeah, it was,” he agreed, his voice soft.

There was a moment of silence where neither of you moved. His eyes flickered down to your lips, and for a second, you thought he might lean in. But instead, he took a step back, his hands sliding into his pockets.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and warm.

“Goodnight, Harry,” you replied, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment.

As you climbed the stairs to your dorm, you realized you were smiling. not a small one, a big dumb one.

🌷

The days following the date were filled with an unbearable anticipation. Something between you and Harry had shifted, and though neither of you said it outright, you felt it every time you saw him. Every time his hand brushed yours, every time he laughed at something you said, every time.

And it was killing you.

You tried to focus on classes, tried to keep your mind busy, but it was no use. Something inside you had been set loose, and it wouldn’t rest. Every time you were near him, your thoughts spiraled. You wondered what it would feel like to just grab his face and kiss him, what it would feel to just take a nap with him, to stop dancing around this thing.

Harry, of course, seemed oblivious. He was careful, too careful, like he was walking on eggshells around you. It was sweet—he was sweet—but it was also driving you insane.

Juliet noticed, of course she did “You’re fidgeting,” she pointed out one evening as you sat on your bed, pretending to study.

“No, I’m not,” you shot back, though your leg was bouncing up and down furiously.

Juliet smirked, sitting cross-legged on her own bed. “You are, and you’ve been doing it all week. Let me guess—it’s Harry?”

You glared at her, but the heat in your cheeks gave you away.

“Oh my God, it is Harry!” she exclaimed, practically leaping off her bed.

“Ugh!” you groaned, throwing a pillow at her. “it’s that i can’t take the first step and he’s too careful with me and that’s the reasonable thing to do but ugh!” you said burying your face in your hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I’m supposed to be taking it slow, letting him prove himself, but all I can think about is kissing him and holding his hand and cuddling him, and hugging him. It’s like... it’s all-consuming. Pathetic”

Juliet laughed, coming to sit beside you. “Y/N, that’s not a bad thing. It just means you like him. A lot.”

“But it’s too soon,” you said, your voice muffled. “I can’t just—what if I'm wrong?”

Juliet gently pulled your hands away from your face. “Or what if it’s exactly what you both need? You’re not going to ruin anything by being honest about how you feel.”

“I need to talk to him” 

🌷

As much as you were determined to talk to him, you couldn’t fight the fever and the throat pain you woke up with. You barely got any sleep, shifting restlessly in bed, trying to find a comfortable position. At 5 a.m., you gave up and got up to grab your water bottle, taking a few painful sips.

“What’s wrong?” Juliet mumbled from her side of the dorm, barely awake.

“I think I’m sick,” you rasped in a voice so hoarse it surprised even you.

“Oh no, don’t come near me—I don’t want to get sick,” she said, pulling the blanket over her head.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Juliet. Thanks,” you replied sarcastically, collapsing back into bed and covering your face with one arm, cursing every germ in your body.

You managed to get a few more hours of sleep until 9 a.m., but waking up didn’t make things better. You hated being sick, not just because of the obvious reasons, but because it usually meant dealing with doctors, pills, and needles—all of which you despised. Most times, you convinced yourself you were strong enough to fight off any illness. Sometimes it worked. Other times, it ended with you battling a high fever while a doctor scolded you with, “Why didn’t you come in sooner?”

College had only made things worse—stress, germs everywhere—it felt like walking through a minefield.

Sitting up in bed, you glanced over at Juliet’s side of the dorm, only to find a post-it note with a pill and a couple of vitamin gummies beside it.

“I went to class. TAKE THE PILLS, I MEAN IT. I’ll see you later.”

You frowned, leaning back against the wall. There was no chance you were taking that pill. You grabbed the vitamin gummies and chewed them with some water instead. You weren’t even hungry. Feverish and all, you thought to yourself, I can do this. It’s just one of those things that lasts a day.

But it wasn’t.

At 9:10, you got your first text. You figured it was probably Juliet checking in, either to nag you about taking the pills or to let you know she’d told the teacher you were sick—your class had started at 9, after all. Or maybe it was that relentless Duolingo notification again.

You decided to ignore the first buzz, rolling over to pull the blanket tighter around you. But then came another buzz. And another. Oh, and yet another. Finally, you reached for your phone. There was no way Duolingo could be that persistent.

“Have you had breakfast?” “You still prefer chicken soup?” “How high is the fever? Do you have a thermometer?” “I’ll go buy the soup and meds. I’ll be there in 20.”

It felt like he was talking to himself, given how quickly the messages were coming through despite your lack of response. You blinked at your phone, twice, just to make sure you were really seeing his name on the screen. Did he just get out of class?

You stared at the messages for a moment, your fever-mushed- brain struggling to process what they meant. Harry’s coming here? The thought sent a jolt of something—panic, excitement, maybe both—through you. You glanced at the mirror across the room and groaned. You looked every bit as awful as you felt.

Before you could type out a reply telling him not to bother, another text came through.

“Don’t even think about telling me not to come. I’m already on my way.”

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard. How did he always seem to know exactly what you were thinking? You sighed, giving up on trying to argue with him. Instead, you typed back:

“I don’t want you to get sick too.”

His response came immediately:

“Too late. I think I already caught something anyway”Despite the pounding in your head, you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. Twenty minutes later, a soft knock at the door made you sit up in bed, your blanket still wrapped around you like a cocoon. You shuffled to the door and cracked it open, peeking out to see Harry standing there, balancing a steaming container of soup, a plastic bag from the pharmacy, and a water bottle under one arm.

“Delivery for the sickest girl in college,” he said with a crooked smile, his slightly messy hair and the fact that he’d clearly rushed here “Harry, you didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he interrupted gently, nudging the door open further with his foot. “But I wanted to.”

You stepped back, letting him in, too tired to argue. He set everything down on your desk and turned to face you, his brows knitting together as he took you in.

“You look... like you need to lie back down,” he said softly. You gave him a weak smile, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze. “I look like a mess, you mean.”

He grinned, but there was a softness to it that made your chest tighten. “You look like someone who’s about to feel a lot better after some chicken soup.” You rolled your eyes, but his tone, his presence—it was comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. As he unpacked the soup and meds, you found yourself sitting on the bed, watching him, your earlier hesitations momentarily forgotten. For the first time, you felt like maybe being sick wasn’t so bad. And you didn’t even question how he found out, it had a name. Juliet.

“You didn’t take the pill Juliet left,” Harry said, glancing at the post-it and the pill next to it. “I know you’re not fond of swallowing pills, so I brought chewable Tylenol.” He rummaged through the bag full of items and pulled out a box of chewable tablets. “And there’s a bunch of different flavors of sore throat lozenges,” he added, digging further and producing even more items. “Oh, and this,” he said, pulling out a large chocolate bar.

“I don’t like that one,” you muttered.

“That’s for me,” he replied without missing a beat. “I need energy too if I’m going to take care of you.” His tone was so matter-of-fact that you were momentarily stunned. “I’ll need to go back to my dorm later for some clothes, but I’ll go while you’re napping.”

“Wait, clothes? What do you mean clothes?”

“I’m staying here tonight,” he said casually, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I swapped with Juliet. She didn’t want to risk getting sick, and I was looking to challenge my immune system… seemed fair enough.”

You stared at him, your fever-clouded mind struggling to process his words. “You’re… staying here?”

“Yep.” He started unpacking more items from the bag, completely unbothered by your reaction.

“Harry, you can’t just decide to—”

“I can, and I did,” he interrupted firmly, but his voice remained gentle. “You’re sick, and someone needs to make sure you eat, take your meds, and actually rest. That someone is me.”

You opened your mouth to argue but quickly closed it again. It wasn’t just the fever making you feel off-balance—it was the quiet confidence in his words, like looking after you was the most natural thing in the world.

“Did Juliet really agree to this?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Of course,” he replied with a small shrug, popping a piece of chocolate into his mouth. “I told her I’d take good care of you.”

You huffed and crossed your arms, though the gesture lacked any real conviction. “Harry, I’m not a child. I don’t need a babysitter.”

He smiled then—soft and a little smug. “I know you’re not a child. But i know that you are VERY stubborn when it comes to sickness and you do need someone, and I’m volunteering. Now, take this.”

He held out two chewable Tylenol and a bottle of water, his expression patient but expectant. You sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing. Begrudgingly, you took the pill, popping it into your mouth and chewing slowly as he watched you like a hawk.

“Happy now?” you muttered, swallowing it down with a sip of water.

“Ecstatic,” he replied with a grin. “Now, eat some soup, and then you’re taking a nap.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. As much as his determination to stay and care for you was annoying, it was also… kind of nice. Tag list: @hermionelove @mads3502 @cherryloveshs @harrystyleshotwife @familyshow-orisit @fadingcherryblossomblaze @lunaharrygurl @gem1712 @millsadoresyou @prettydelilah @sassamanda77 @maddiesalvatore1839 @wheredidmyeyesgo

[bantersnatch]

vianca makes me feel So So So ill why the Fuck did Real Life Vic Michaelis and Their Legendary Director Tamar Levine and whoever else deliberately make bianca—FORMERLY JUST KIND OF A JOKE CHARACTER—have a surname alluding to LITERALLY OEDIPUS and meanwhile we dont even have the finale yet and lisa looks diabolical How the fuck do u think lore will pop up from that Whta the fuck i think i need to go lie down?

all i ever do is warn people not to go near vianca because it's the worst ship ever and terrible and it will ruin you but noooooo everyone touches the cursed amulet and now look at where we are. i hope you're all happy.

it's . uhh. yeah it's So rough out here i keep oscillating between Fear and like . weird numbness. this show is so scary because in like one or two lines of casually dropped lore it can drop absolute nuclear bombs on you and you just have to Deal with that like it's fine. real ones remember how earth-shattering the "bianca and vic are the same age" reveal was. sent me into over a year of spiraling i (quite evidently) have yet to recover from.

so. it's really hard to speculate about what the finale might look like. let's see what we have to work with.

what we know about plot direction:

(generally, the meta plot of vip is just about the host's personal life, which is to say, their relationship with david and bianca. this has been more true in season 2 than ever, and if the finale provides plot progression it will be in the form of stepfamily nonsense of some flavor.)

the host plans to seek a divorce with their husband, david. this resolution seems to have had a liberating effect on them.

bianca's last name is, to me, a red glowing neon sign pointing at bianca and vic and telling us they are psychosexually entwined. we Know they went to college together, and the guiding light of the childhood friends theory has yet to lead us astray.

the vianca speculation paradigm is, in my humble (not humble) opinion, defined by two main options: they are college exes, or they are childhood friends who never escaped the codependent homoerotic teenage friendship bond. i have consistently believed the second of the two is more likely. did i also write dozens of thousands of words about the first option? why! yes. because it makes me want to gouge my eyes out less! yay.

it seems the host was repressing their sexuality so hard that it took putting their childhood hero in . ahem. what was the term people were using after that episode aired

ah yes.

It Seems The Host Was Repressing Their Sexuality So Hard That It Took Them Putting Their Childhood Hero In A Mating Press To Realize They Are, Perchance, Gay.

okay so "jocasta" tells us, to be crass, that vianca either have fucked or they're gonna fuck. and that it'll be weird and terrible yayyyy. given the host's profound repression, i think the future option is more likely. so uhhhhhhhh. that's my . that's my prediction. is that at some point they'll. yeah. not on-screen. probably. but the wrestling episode showed us that apparently dropout will let Anything air as long as everyone keeps their clothes mostly on.

.

uh. where was i going with this.

what we know about the finale:

lisa is probably the scariest person in the dropout pantheon.

lisa and vic are long-time collaborators, know each other well, and are obsessed with each other (in the way many of these la improvisors are obsessed with each other).

lisa will look like this:

when this character was described as a "sleep paralysis demon" to tamar, she said this wasn't too far off. she also said the team knew this episode would be the season finale within the first five minutes of shooting.

our season 1 finale was a prolonged dream sequence and character study of the host, characterized by massive lore dumps twisted through the lens of dream logic, and the world may never be the same. i think our season 2 finale will be even worse. somehow.

bianca cameos as setup:

casting bianca, giving her a face, is a chekhov's gun. it's a promise of some kind of payoff. so far we've gotten reaction shots, a cursing, and an argument, but no sense of closure or moment of revelation as to what the hell her deal is.

that gun is going to fire at some point. at Me.

at this stage we have two options: either we get some form of bianca closure in the finale, or our bianca moments in season 2 have been setup for future seasons. my personal sense of narrative is that we need some big thing from bianca in the finale -- but this is improv, so perfect narrative cleanliness shouldn't be expected, and i'm also hugely biased. in that i'm obsessed with bianca. so.

i'm going to be bold and predict that we'll get bianca dialogue in the finale, which would be huge for me. i miss her so very much. however, i am (again) catastrophically biased, and i'm also trying not to get my hopes up too high.

whatever is to come, i can't wait to watch it unfold! and i'm hoping we get a "cut for time" episode this season like we did last time, which might have even more tasty tasty lore nuggets hiding inside. it's going to be a crazy ride, friends. but they can never take "jocasta" away from us.

[dextivestudios]

#you CAN do a woman gets a happy ending with a child arc well and in a fullfilling way. however. this was not that.#i wish we got a well written '''''''''''traditional values'''''''''''' woman companion at some point! we need characters like that to combat#josswhedonesque girlboss approach to writing women!#but this was just horrifically bad.#doctor who <-- Previous tags

The worst part is that Doctor Who already did a "traditional" woman right literally THE FIRST TIME.

Barbara White is an OG companion and she would fit the bill perfectly. She cleaned up after the boys, she was a seamstress, likely even made sure they didn't starve themselves.

But she was also the most intelligent and competent member of the crew at the time. Ian was a criticism on masculinity at the time, and the First Doctor just didn't respect humans in general. The modern show has grossly mischaracterized the first doctor and disrespected him immensely by making him misogynistic...for absolutely zero reason outside of "he is a male character from le 60s"????

Which does have me worried they would also disrespect a Barbara-type companion and flanderize her into something more akin to Victoria Waterfield.

But the point is, if the boys listened to Barbara, most of the time, the stories of that era would have been immensely shortened (or even straight-up prevented.)

I am working on a story that is essentially a ripoff of Doctor Who. It is meant to be more of an anthology style where it follows a variety of alien heroes going on adventures, but the first one is a character who was originally a Timelord OC, and that includes a bigger-on-the-inside timeship (although this time a colony ship instead of a warship). Basically, she is a princess who ran away from her home planet and proceeds to solve some mysteries and nearly cause a war between her home planet and Earth, but it will end up with a net positive of both planets and things will work out. So, y'know...

This makes me want to make a returning story for her where her companion is essentially a Barbara ripoff.

This Doctor Who ripoff I'm making is a labor of love for the show and is meant to explore topics/tropes that Doctor Who wouldn't, with the first one being the animal mutilations that happen in real life that often get attributed to aliens. Typically lifestock with the most famous case of it being where the victim was a horse.

Or, y'know, just fuck around and rip off properties related to aliens and do something different with the concept. (I have a clown Marvel-style symbiote who is a herbivore and does the symbiote thing as a way to get protein. The theme of his story is family, grief, or something like that lol)

But yeah, I generally loved the recent seasons of Doctor Who, and it does disappoint me that I don't have a good finale to look forward to. I don't know what goes on behind the scenes, so I hope that the blunder is the result of a bunch of weirdness that typically comes with big teams and working with entities such as Disney, and not necessarily because Russel lost his touch or something.

Hey, though, it's often a part of Doctor Who. Sometimes you're just going to get something...not good. Bad Doctor Who episodes is about as old as the show itself and is a big part of why I don't take the show that seriously. Sometimes you get masterpieces, sometimes you get the worst media in history, and sometimes you get Mr. Ring-A-Ding.

Fuckin insane (derogatory) move to pull with Belinda. Rewrite time so she has a child and sideline her by quite literally putting her in a box much of the episode, then have that child Vanish and her forget it, then give her the child back by changing reality AGAIN so that she's always had said child and act like this is a win? Woman Gets Happy Ending With Child played entirely straight as far as I can tell??

[nekropsii]

didn't damara SA meenah on-screen?

I have no clue what this is referencing, but. Hm. Yeah, though I'm finding it difficult to take this the same level of serious as whatever Cronus, or Bro, or Doc Scratch, etc., has going on. This seems like more of a throwaway joke that's characteristic of the era than anything. Another way to put it, I think this may be more of a Hussie Moment than anything.

Damara's, uh... Sexual Harassment bit is a pretty complicated one to address and untangle, because on one hand, speaking on Watsonian terms, it's supposed to be read as a Trauma Response - this is how she lashes out at people who have previously hurt her. We know that's specifically the case, and that she isn't always like that, because we see her interact with characters that aren't the Alpha Trolls, and she's perfectly nice to them. On the other hand, the Doylist reasoning behind her Sexual Harassment bit is, bluntly, that Hussie was being Racist about the fact that she's Japanese.

So, on one hand we've got some very emotionally difficult trauma writing, and on the other we have Racial Caricature. And these things are tangled together so tightly it's difficult to speak purely about just one of these angles.

Generally, Damara's weird Sex Crime thing is supposed to be seen as funny, in an... Uncomfortable, Edgelord kind of way, rather than it being a character trait that has any degree of seriousness or commentary behind it, like Cronus. Hussie was attempting to say something with Cronus. I don't think she was trying to say anything in particular with Damara's Sex Crimes bit, other than "Isn't it funny that the East Asian girl is Aggressively Sexual, rather than submissive and shy?"

...Which could be taken as a rather uncharitable read, but it's kind of hard to see it as anything else, considering some of the stuff Damara says, and the fact that she was canonically quite meek and kind prior to Rufioh, Horuss, and Meenah tag teaming her mental health.

But, yes, technically she does. That's an accurate statement. Meenah doesn't really seem to care about it that much, though, and the comic doesn't take Damara's Sexual Harassment of the Alpha Trolls seriously whatsoever - plus we have clear Doylist + Watsonian reasons behind why she is doing that - so... Eh... I just find it difficult to raise any pitchforks at her. The narrative sure as shit doesn't care, you know?

[somaliapearls]

heat lightning is soooooo good!!!!!! I love it!!!!! The way you write Tyler is amazing!!!!!!!! I would love to read a part 2 if you feel like writing it xxx

humidity

part one

🌪️ tyler owens x fem!reader

genre: fluff, angst-lite, tension, second chance, post-confession chaos, new relationship on thin ice (literally and figuratively)

wc: 2k

setting: A post-storm Oklahoma night, a surprise storm, and a chase they shouldn’t be on, together in the eye of it all.

warnings: language, dangerous weather scenarios, emotionally vulnerable moments, kissing in unsafe places, and general storm-chasing recklessness.

warnings: Some language, vulnerability, emotional intimacy, kissing, references to grief & loneliness, and suggestive (but not explicit) moments.

a/n: tysmmm, here you go my love !!!

twisters masterlist

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, wrapped in Tyler Owens like a second skin.

At some point, the kiss had ended, but his hands hadn’t moved. One still cradled your waist, the other brushed lazy circles across your spine like he didn’t quite know how to stop touching you. And you? You didn’t want him to. You leaned into him like he was shelter, like maybe he could block the next storm if he held you tight enough.

“Okay,” he said eventually, voice rough with the heat and everything that had just happened. “I think my legs are officially giving out.”

You laughed, light and real, and he pulled back just enough to see your face. “That bad, huh?”

“That good,” he corrected, giving you a look that left nothing unsaid. “But we should probably… I don’t know. Move.”

“Move?” you echoed, blinking like you’d forgotten how.

He looked around the garage—the open bay doors, the echoing quiet, the rotating fan still whirring like it was trying its best. “Yeah. Somewhere that isn’t forty degrees past bearable.”

You tilted your head. “I know a place.”

Tyler followed you like it was instinct. Out of the garage, into the muggy night. The cicadas had gone quiet for now, the wind low and strange, the kind of breeze that felt like something was holding its breath.

You led him past the barns, past the empty cornfields and the old fence that hadn’t seen fresh paint in years. The ladder to the roof of the old storm-watching shed creaked under your weight, but it held. It always did.

“Seriously?” Tyler said as he climbed up behind you. “This where you come to brood when you’re not throwing wrenches in the garage?”

You tossed him a smirk. “Only when I want to feel like the main character in a tragic indie film.”

The roof was flat, warm beneath your legs as you sat cross-legged, blanket spread out beneath you. He joined you a second later, arms resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the horizon.

Heat lightning still flickered, farther now, soft pulses lighting up the edge of the sky like Morse code.

“You know,” he said after a minute, “I used to think about this exact moment.”

You turned to look at him, the shadows of the night softening his face.

“This?” you asked.

“Not the roof,” he said, smiling faintly. “But us. The quiet after it all. What it would feel like to stop pretending.”

You swallowed, the air thick in your throat. “And?”

He looked over at you, eyes dark and unreadable. “Feels better than I imagined. Also sweatier.”

You laughed, bumping your shoulder into his. “Oklahoma’ll do that to you.”

He didn’t laugh—but his smile lingered. Then he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered at your jaw, gentle, unsure.

“I should’ve said something sooner,” he admitted. “I kept thinking… we were better off not risking it.”

You nodded. “I thought the same. But it turns out not kissing you hurt worse than the idea of losing you.”

Tyler’s gaze dropped, and something in him softened—cracked open like the sky before a storm.

“I was scared you’d see the worst parts of me,” he said, voice low. “The reckless, restless, stubborn mess who doesn’t know how to stay still.”

“I’ve seen the worst parts of you,” you said, no hesitation. “And I still came up here with you.”

Silence.

Then-

“Do you miss her?” you asked suddenly, quietly. “Kate?”

He blinked, caught off guard. But he didn’t shy away. “Yeah,” he said. “A lot. She was like family. And I know she’d probably kick my ass for taking this long.”

He looked at you again, eyes glassy with something that wasn’t quite sadness. “You were hers too, you know.”

Your throat tightened. “I know.”

“I think losing her made me scared to hold on to anything else. Like if I didn’t love anyone too deeply, nothing else could hurt that bad.”

You didn’t say anything. You just reached out, hand sliding into his, fingers tangling together in the dark.

“But you?” he said after a moment. “You were never half anything. You never let me be.”

You smiled faintly. “You always were the whole damn sky to me, Tyler. I just… didn’t know how to tell you without sounding like a fool.”

“Good,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Means we were both fools.”

You leaned into him, head on his shoulder, blanket wrapped loosely around the two of you now. His arm draped over your back, grounding you. He smelled like sweat, engine oil, and the ghost of wild wind—and somehow, it was the most comforting thing in the world.

“I’m not good at slow,” he said suddenly. “But I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

You tilted your face up, kissed his jaw. “You’ve got me. However long it takes.”

He looked down at you like you were a miracle. “You sure?”

“Ty,” you said, grinning. “I kissed you in a 102-degree garage. I think I’m past the point of playing it safe.”

He laughed, really laughed this time. It was a rough, real sound that made your chest ache in the best way.

The stars began to blink through the haze, and the air cooled just a little as the next front teased the edge of the night.

You lay back on the roof, dragging him down with you. He went willingly, head next to yours, his fingers still tangled with yours.

“I think the storm’ll hit by morning,” you murmured.

Tyler turned his head to look at you. “Then we’ve got a few hours to waste.”

You didn’t sleep that night.

But you rested.

And for the first time in years, so did he.

-

The sky cracked open just after dawn.

You woke to the sound of wind shifting—wrong somehow. No birds, no cicadas. Just that eerie kind of silence that came when the world ducked for cover. Tyler was already sitting up beside you, shirt wrinkled, hair wild, eyes fixed on the horizon.

“Something’s brewing,” he muttered.

You pushed yourself upright, heart still fuzzy from sleep, and last night. “You check the radar?”

He nodded, jaw tight. “Wasn’t supposed to flare up until tonight. But a dryline popped early.”

“Classic Oklahoma,” you said, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “Romance one minute, chaos the next.”

He looked over, a faint smirk ghosting his lips. “You saying last night was romantic?”

You gave him a look. “You kissed me like you invented it, Owens. Don’t start playing dumb now.”

He didn’t reply. Just leaned in, pressed a quick kiss to your temple like it might keep him steady. You both knew what was coming: adrenaline, sirens, wind speeds that didn’t make sense.

By the time you’d made it down the ladder and back to the house, the sky had gone a sickly yellow.

Wrangler crew group chat was already lit up, Tyler’s phone buzzing with texts.

Boone: “Cell forming near Garfield County. Building FAST.” Lily: “New updraft looks tornadic. You on it?” Javi: “Don’t go without backup. I swear to God, Owens-”

He dropped the phone on the table. “We shouldn’t chase it.”

You blinked. “We never say that.”

Tyler ran a hand down his face, still barefoot, still uncertain. “That was before I kissed you on a damn roof.”

“Oh,” you said. “So now you’re soft.”

“Soft?” he repeated, incredulous.

You stepped closer, pressed a hand to his chest. “Yeah. Emotionally compromised. Kissed-and-caring Tyler. It’s cute.”

He caught your wrist. “You’re making it really hard to not drag you into that truck again.”

“I dare you,” you whispered, eyes sparking.

He grinned, then groaned, letting your hand go. “You’re insane.”

“You like that about me.”

He didn’t argue.

Thirty minutes later, you were in the passenger seat of his mud-streaked red truck, chasing a cell that wasn’t waiting for permission.

The radio squawked warnings in a static-laced voice. Winds gusted hard enough to rattle the windows. The funnel hadn’t dropped yet, but the sky was rotating, pulsing with energy, like something alive.

“You know Javi's gonna skin us alive,” you said as you watched the sky stretch into shades of bruised purple.

Tyler adjusted the rearview. “We’re not going far. Just tracking it. Staying safe.”

You snorted. “We never stay safe.”

His eyes flicked over to you. “That’s the problem.”

You were quiet for a beat, then: “You really mean to pull away now? After everything?”

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“No,” he admitted. “I just don’t want the first real thing we have to end in a goddamn ditch.”

“Then stop acting like we only work in hypotheticals.” You leaned forward, watching the trees bend in the distance. “This is real. You, me, this storm. It’s all happening whether we’re ready or not.”

Tyler didn’t answer, but he didn’t turn around either.

And when the sky cracked in two, he didn’t flinch.

You found a ridge, high, exposed, stupid. But the view was perfect.

The storm loomed miles off but building fast, too fast. A green wall cloud twisted in the distance, the beginnings of a funnel just kissing the base.

“Shit,” Tyler muttered, grabbing the camcorder from the back. “That’s trying.”

You climbed onto the hood with him, wind whipping your hair sideways.

He filmed for a second, then lowered the camera. “You scared?”

You considered lying. But you didn’t.

“Yeah,” you said. “But not of this.”

He looked over. “Of what, then?”

“Of losing this before it starts,” you said, not looking at him. “Of you deciding I’m too much. That we’re better in theory.”

Tyler stared at you like you’d just torn the sky open.

Then he set the camera down.

And kissed you.

Not the way he had last night. This was sharper, faster—like the wind had gotten into his blood. Like he was holding on because everything around you was trying to break apart.

You kissed him back with both hands in his hair, gripping like you might fly away otherwise.

And then, just as his hand cupped your jaw, just as the tornado began to form in full on the horizon-

A bolt of lightning cracked, too close. Thunder chased it like a freight train.

You both jolted, breathless, laughing even though it wasn’t funny.

“Time to move,” Tyler said.

You scrambled off the hood, boots hitting the dirt. He grabbed your hand- tight, warm, grounding.

You looked back once.

The funnel touched down in the distance, swirling like it had teeth.

“Still think we’re playing it safe?” you yelled over the rising wind.

Tyler didn’t even look away from the road. “Nope. But at least this time, I’ve got someone to hold on to.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

Later, after the storm had passed and the warnings cleared, after the adrenaline bled out and you both realized you were starving, exhausted, and still stupidly in love, he pulled over beneath a tree heavy with post-rain steam.

You ate gas station snacks on the tailgate. Shared a melted soda. Watched the clouds drift like tired giants.

He bumped your shoulder.

“You still in?”

You turned to him, blinking. “In?”

“For this. Me. You. Whatever this becomes.”

You licked salt off your thumb and smiled slow. “I was in before the first kiss. I’m all the way in now.”

He leaned forward, kissed you again, softer this time.

When he pulled back, he whispered, “Then let’s chase it. All of it. The storms, the quiet, the future.”

You rested your forehead against his.

“Let’s.”

🌪️ outside, the world kept spinning—but you weren’t running from the storm anymore. you were running with it. and maybe, finally, that meant you were free.

[drop-dead-dino]

I’m totally normal about these two totally normal dudes :) .

I don’t usually read fics, specially AU related ones, but this one GOT me, holy cow. Check it out if you fancy that sort of thing! 

Love, Death, and Rollerskates by @spadillelicious !

[remcadll]

Gen obsessed with how.. *dead* your Jason's color pallete is. Like, that's corpse pale right there. Not a spec of blood left flowing in there (also father Todd's skin being full of color in comparison is a nice touch)

THANK YOU I love making him look a bit ghoulish. Guy who's not supposed to be alive but yes he is. no he isn't <3

[robiinurheart33]

“It didn’t take him long to find Earth 138’s Stone and Robotnik; their severe loathing of each other had prompted Stone to become a supervillain in his own right. He and Robotnik 138 were locked in an epic battle that was razing most of New York City in its wake. Drone fought drone; robot battled robot; civilians fled for their lives; and, in the middle of the destruction, Stone and Robotnik traded blows and scathing, silver-tongued insults.

Stone mockingly spat the phrase ‘ My Ivo ’ through bloodied teeth. Robotnik didn’t wait to see who won.”

Ever since I’ve read this one paragraph I haven’t stopped thinking about it since actually no im not normal @vonlipwig ‘s Have We Met Before? Made me so ill when i first read it pls go check it out i was like biting my fist while reading it if ur the author hi i hope u like it !!1!

Without the blood and filters below⏬⏬

[izzyzalezbian]

I think we should let Skyfire hate Megatron, loathe him, genuinely want him ground into the ground beneath his pedes, on the sole basis that he KNOWS that Megatron is Starscream's type, and he KNOWS there is no absolute way his hot af conjux has not slipped into his berth at least once

[whumpacabra]

Whump that is about change. Whump that is about acceptance. Whump that is about adapting to loss. Whump where there is no rehabilitation, no getting back what’s gone. Sometimes things happen and there is no going back, there is no getting better. Sometimes the person that comes out the other side is different and they will never be the same again. Sometimes you need to grapple with the reality that most people don’t bounce back from traumatic brain injuries, from severe burns, from lost limbs and are their old selves ever again.

Whump that is about change, with no going back, and how the world won’t end because of it.

[thecorefrisk]

Pt.2!!

Me talking about stories I wrote/plan on writing with the Bat because he’ll probably listen

Setting: rooftop, and I’m in lots of layers cause you cannot tell me it’s not cold over there at night and also Batman’s actually the world’s most uncomfortable portable heater.

Me: (probably trying to crawl onto his shoulder or something because I’m curious to see if he’ll let me and if it can hold) Okay, so here we have Ione from her seventh life. Despite the lucky aspect to the number seven, I decided to make her childhood fucking awful.

Batman: Hm.

Me: I wanted her to be a representation of children who get caught up in things they shouldn’t be caught up in. Like, you know how people always expect the younger generation to ‘save them’? Like that but even worse because child soldiers. Except this one is a thief. *shoves art of Ione in a pretty empirical waistline dress*

…She didn’t steal that by the way.

Anyway, so she’s a part of this rebellion and has been since she was a baby. She’s on her way to become second in command, she’s been successful in every raid she’s led, she is practically the favourite.

Then, one of the newer guys slips up when they are trying to steal the Crown Jewels as a sort of statement, they almost get everybody caught. So, Ione takes the fall. Because leadership is all about sacrifice.

Batman: *unaware if that was a jab at him or not*…

Me: But when the guards, the knights, whatever, take a look into Ione’s eyes, they see something and their gazes are filled with such recognition and surprise that it’s kinda freaky. Then, she’s taken to the emperor and when she looks into his eyes, she sees the same jewel-like aspect to their eyes reflected back but instead of amethyst, all Ione can see are diamonds.

Turns out, she’s his daughter. Which sucks when you’ve been fighting for a cause, against an institution, your entire life and turns out you were meant to be born into it.

She hates the emperor and the siblings she apparently has for a long while and tolerates very few.

Batman: *this is starting to sound very familiar to him*

Me: Then, eventually, after she sees proof of how the ‘rebellion’ killed her mother, the empress, in cold blood and how the public sees the rebellion and also that these people are actually happy to work for the emperor and while Ione is right that there are problems and that there is corruption, she wasn’t correct in her belief that the imperial family members were simply dictators. Because they weren’t.

She was raised in a cult. She was raised in a cult which meant everything had been for nothing. There was no war to fight, no cause to rally under, no goal to be the wind under her wings. Every life she had taken had been truly for nothing. They had destroyed more lives than saved them. Also, the whole animal characteristics thing is super common in this universe, like super common, you need to know this for the next thing to make sense. She literally gave up her wings, as in, the cult had them surgically removed, and watched as they all hung them high up on the wall like a dark feathered trophy. And that had meant and done nothing.

She crashes out, obviously. Wrecks her room, almost kills one of her siblings, has an entire mental breakdown because she literally gave so much to them that she can’t get back. She was raised there, they were her family. It was a betrayal of everything they supposedly believed in.

This would also lead to a scene where she’s literally sobbing in her father’s arms, feeling so betrayed yet also feeling like she’s betraying them by letting him hold her, and she keeps reaching around to her back and her cries get louder each time she does so he peeks into the back of her shirt only to reveal…

*jazz hands* stumps where entire limbs should be.

Bruce: *yeah, this is too familiar* Hm.

Me: Oh, and her mom! She’s not exactly unloving but—

Bruce: Hm.

*goes on to continue to talk about this story about a child from a cult who showed up at their rich dad’s house one day and fucking hated it. And they had to first realize they lived in a cult then unlearn that mindset and learn how to love without hurt being involved only to be killed one day by an older, more powerful person.*

*Damian, you will always be loved.*

Me if me and Batman were friends:

Setting: in front of a cozy fire, we are both swaddled in blankets and there is a mug of coffee in his hands while there’s a cup of hot chocolate in mine because I am a child.

Batman: We cannot be judge, jury, and executioner. It is not our right. It would be an abuse of power and could set a dangerous precedent for all—

Me: Yes, yes, I understand. But have you considered that perhaps you only dislike murder to the degree that you do due to the fact that you were traumatized at a young age by a man who killed both of your parents right in front of you in a thoughtless act of violence and it instilled this moral OCD within you—

*we go on to rip into each other psychologically in only the ways two autism, OCD ridden people would and society is either bettered or crumbles because of it*