#em dashes my beloved

[king-ratboy]

Decided to watch Cast Away because I love to make myself sad, and was overcome with the need to write some angst. Enjoy!

-----X-----

It’s a nondescript, quaint little house – pretty, like every other house along this sunny, tree-lined street. Pale blue siding, a bright yellow door, flowers growing thick and lush in neat fenced-in rows. The sort of home Billy had always known he would never have, and exactly the kind of place a guy like Steve Harrington was bound to end up.

There are two cars parked neatly in the driveway, and though Billy can’t help but grimace at the sight of the wood-panelled station wagon, the maroon beamer beside it sends a swell of emotion through his chest that tugs sharply at his heart, a thousand memories of late-night drives and clumsy kisses teasing at the edges of his mind.

Billy barely registers the sound of the cab pulling away from the curb behind him, feet planted resolutely on the sidewalk even as his hands tremble minutely at his sides, and with purposeful, single-minded determination, he takes a step forward –

and abruptly notices the booster seat buckled into the back of the wagon.

And Billy had known, is the thing. He’d been well warned of what he was going to find when he showed up here. It had been three years, three fucking years, and Harrington –

Billy knows it’s stupid to hurt so badly. Eight months, eight months in hospital and not a sight, not a word, and though Max had tried, tried her fucking hardest (he wants to visit, he does, he just – gone for so long, Billy – all thought you were dead – couldn’t stay in Hawkins, not after everything –) it still hurt. Harrington had never come to see him, had never called, had never deigned to send a fucking letter, and being here, standing on this street, undoubtedly drawing the eyes of every nosey old bat in the neighbourhood, is utter bullshit. He should just leave, go back to Maxine, pass out on her couch like the good-for-nothing homeless freeloader he is, but…

The Upside-Down (Max’s name, not his) had been shit. He can’t think of any other way to describe it. Three years of running, of hiding, of being torn to shreds inside and out, and the whole time he’d only been able to think about getting back to goddamn Harrington, making sure the stupid fuck was okay. And they hadn’t even…by the time the Mind Flayer or whatever (again, Max’s words) had gotten its hooks in him, eviscerated him from the inside out and made itself a cozy little home behind his eyes, he hadn’t spoken to Harrington in weeks. He couldn’t even remember what the fight had been about, anymore. It hadn’t been the first.

So he knows it’s stupid. Knows he has no right to Harrington’s time, his attention, his anything. Billy had spent three years in hell, but Steve had spent three years fixing his fucked-up life, and here Billy is, trying to pull him back down, ruin what he’d made for himself, destroy everything like he always fucking did –

He’s backing away, turning to the street, preparing to make his way to nearest payphone and call a new cab, when a sound draws his eyes back around. The bright yellow door swings open, and everything in Billy turns to stone.

For a second – only a second – Billy doesn’t recognise the man standing across the lawn. Three years have changed Steve Harrington in a way Billy hadn’t anticipated. The hair is the same, long and thick and in every direction, but the pretty cashmere sweaters Billy remembers so fondly have been replaced by a ratty black tee and a heavy denim jacket that sits loose around his shoulders. He laughs at something someone says behind the door, hands shifting on the black bag of trash he’s juggling in his arms, and then he’s turning, heading for the curb, heading straight for Billy, and there’s no time to run, no time to hide, no time to get the fuck out –

For a second – only a second – Harrington doesn’t seem to realise who’s standing on the other side of his picket fence. He squints behind his wire-rimmed glasses, brows furrowing across the distance, and then the bag of garbage is hitting the stoop and tumbling across the walkway.

This was a mistake. This was a horrible fucking mistake.

Harrington stares, face turning slowly ashen-white as his eyes go comically wide, a cartoon character faced with a ghost, staring down something terrible and unfathomable and unwanted and –

“Billy?”

And suddenly he’s there, a step away, nothing but the flimsy wooden posts of a ridiculous white fence between them, and those wide eyes are wet and shining and disbelieving, and Billy doesn’t know why he came here, he doesn’t know why he came here, he doesn’t –

“Hey, Harrington.”

[joyland2022]

the em dash (—) is the most useful tool for splitting long sentences! the comma is overused, the full stop is too final, and the semi colon (;) is stuffy and academic. the em dash is airy, it's friendly, it loves fun tangents—it loves you.

[shealwaysreads]

Savour

Savour - To enjoy slowly.

Laurent said no the first time he asked—and the second—then a slow curiosity grew.

He tolerated a single kiss there the first time. The second time: kitten licks.

Now he writhed and mewled as Damen sipped him like wine—tasting his own spend while Laurent’s blood-hot hole clenched around his tongue.

Read it here on Ao3 🖤

Written as part of @captiveprincekinktober for the prompt ‘rimming/felching’

Part of the Such-Like I Love Series

[hjbender]

Not exaggerating—learning the alt code for the em dash (ALT + 0151) has changed my life.

[pep-the-artemis]

Villain Comparisons

A wild pairing (I know) but there is merit to comparing them both.

Hazbin Hotel and Murder Drones spoilers below (two shows I deeply recommend anyone for watching for really different reasons). I'll try to minimise spoilers.

TL;DR and image transcripts at the bottom.

Firstly, introductions.

Sir Pentious is a former human who ended up in hell and now in pursuit of peer acceptance has become easily manipulated and turned to a life of evil; his desires also lead him to become easily manipulated by people like Vox. He takes on the form of a snake, a creature surrounded with assumptions of evil.

Doll Yurikova is Russian robot from a 'race' formerly enslaved by humanity and corporate greed; due to the experiments conducted on her mother Yeva, Doll became cursed—giving her eldritch powers and driving her to insanity. At a young age she was forced to watch both her parents die at the hands of the genocidal Disassembly Drones and now seeks revenge and to learn the truth about her curse, hoping to find a cure.

(no prizes on guessing which show is darker)

The reason I think this comparison is worth making is because they're both redeemable characters and die a sad, tragic death against the main antagonist who they had zero chance at even scratching... but I think Murder Drones pulls it off better.

Firstly, from the pilot and episode 1, Sir Pentious seems evil for the thrill—he enjoys the destruction, turf wars, and rivalries—but once he enters the happy hotel (calling it that to avoid confusion with the title), these traits seem to disappear. His rivalry turns to crushing and motives seem to shift more towards peer acceptance as mentioned above (he is still has a fascination with war machines but to me that never comes across as evil).

Doll, on the other hand, is straight up a psychopath. She kills without remorse or reason, she's a cannibal, and keeps the corpses of her dead parents in her home. Most of this is because of her curse but not entirely—unlike Uzi with the same curse, Doll shows no remorse or regret for her actions.

Secondly, Sir Pentious is weak AF. He loses every fight he is in. This is meant to be used as comedic value and also to show how he doesn't really belong but its so lame how even in the final battle he is worthless.

Doll, on the other hand, is an utter menace. The only reason the main cast one there first fight with her was because Uzi was immune to her magic and got distracted when her mothers bracelet broke. Doll outclasses the main cast making her a real tangible threat.

Thirdly, Sir Pentious main character flaw is that his is too weak against peer pressure and so his arc is to grow a backbone and act as his own person and not care what others think of him which is what the happy hotel is supporting him with. This is not a critique.

Doll's, on the other hand, main weakness is separate to her motives. She is unwilling to work with others, she fights alone and isolates herself from the world. This is in direct contrast with Uzi who is willing to work with others and understand there past mistakes. So for Doll to start her journey of redemption, she has to accept others into her life which I cannot stress enough is always an option for her, Uzi is constantly wanting to cooperate.

Lets begin wrapping this up—with there final scenes.

The battle of Heaven and Hell, Hell is losing. Realising this Sir Pentious decides he needs to lead the charge head on—he kisses his crush and charges forward in his own death machine attacking Adam head on... then his killed immediately before he can fire a single shot.

The most obvious thing is that this death is not narratively satisfying, he could have landed one hit weakening Adam but no Adam was just too strong of a threat that he didn't even need to even bother.

Then, even though he was killed by an angelic weapon (its kinda murky what Adams blast is exactly...), he gets redeemed... I know they can kill off characters, they did it to Dazzle, but I understand that it would be very dark. The problem is that it defeats the concept of 'a selfless act'. doing a selfless act isn't "do something because later you'll be rewarded", it's "do something because its the right thing to do".

Now onto Doll, who's death takes place in three different scenes. The first scene comes in two parts; the first Doll gets the jump on Tessa (who is just a woman with a longsword) and they fight and even with Dolls teleportation and telekinesis, she is unable to land a hit on Tessa. The fight ends with Tessa landing two strikes, one cutting off Dolls eye patch and the other disarming her. This works well to show that Tessa is a real threat while not undermining Dolls skill.

The next half of the scene, leaving Doll alone in the dark, Tessa disappears. An impossible feat in a narrow tunnel. Doll begins to panic and when she finally see's Tessa its too late, she can do nothing and dies. This is so important because it shows just how outmatched; Doll was utterly helpless. This works because of the previous scene which cemented the fact Doll is competent.

So Doll dies without redeeming herself. A real bitter song, she forced herself to live in isolation refusing every chance she was given only to never be given the chance, dying confused and lone just like like how she lived. But her deaths not over.

The second scene shows Doll stumbling out of a hellish pit, her torso ripped apart and entrails pooling out. Her last act before collapsing was leaving the message "дать отпор" (fight back). Her final act was to try and help Uzi, a real glimmer that for her redemption was truly possible but (that she's dead) out of reach.

The final scene is just a simple kick in the teeth, we watch as 'Tessa' devours her entrails, a real mockery... basically Liam Vickers saying "oh she is dead! I cannot stress that fact enough!". Utterly brutal.

Sir Pentious was evil, went searching for redemption, and got everything.

Doll is evil, refused all calls for redemption, and got nothing.

tl;dr

So overall, Murder Drones pulls of tragic character death better because

Doll isn't just a walking punching bag.

It was made explicitly clear that she lost because Tessa was stronger and not because she was weaker.

the show doesn't pull any punches unlike Hazbin hotel which immediately revives Sir Pentious.

Is Sir Pentious a bad character? No, I think he had a mediocre death.

Again, watch both shows. Hazbin Hotel is a great and fun comfort show while Murder Drones is a lot heavier but full of so much small detail it has great rewatchability. Being so different its less about which is better and entirely about which you prefer.

[Image ID: A digital drawing of Sir Pentious from Hazbin Hotel. It is a background-less shot with Sir Pentious smiling facing the camera with bold posed arms. /.End ID]

[Image ID: A digital drawing of Doll Yurikova from Murder Drones. It is a background-less shot with Doll grimacing facing the camera with limp arms by her side. /.End ID]

[star-bear-art]

Musings Hvinidyr couldn’t bear to commit to the journal at the bottom of his pack, 1352 DR

The sun, relentless and cruel—it rises.

V rests peacefully, entangled in long grasses perhaps an arm’s breadth away from me, whilst I fight my way out from under thick swathes of stiff tent canvas and the dubiously softer furs of my bedroll. V had warned that my shelter couldn't possibly withstand the night’s breeze; lying once more, or so I'd thought, they’d donned the great airs of a flamboyant haruspex picking through offals as they rifled through their pocket and played at divination. The disorder of its puportedly portent contents were (are) stark: A lone rib-bone signifying victory, or perhaps hubris, depending on the day; a rusted copper that V rarely drew in readings, markings long worn into a comfortable divot through idle fiddling; the button off my old cloak that they stubbornly hung onto, and swore up and down to be a token of good fortune. There was nothing sensible about it, any of it, nor did they earn anything beyond my ire when they prophesised with unearned gravitas that I'd wake smothered by my tent.

I had laughed, though V had laughed louder. I’d been too distracted to hate them for it, then, and now it hardly seems worth the bother.

V’s portrait is ever-striking in the sun. Occasionally I wonder whether I fell for V the first moment I saw them haloed in its light, glowing golden-brown and warmer than anything I'd ever known before. There's God in their face, one of them, at least—I'm not sure which. Lolth is bitter as cheap wine, Eilistraee is saccharin and sanguine both. The Morninglord is—is cliché. Trite. I’d need to unearth the Gods of my parent’s parents’ to read V in their devotionals.

I’d need faith for prayer, too, and I'm too empty for such ridiculous excess. I can only track the steady swell and ebb of their chest as they bleed breath into the air, instead. I do. Devotion weighs on my mind, in my mind, as I trace with my gaze the outline of their face against the dawn and set my heart to hoping they’ll never wake.

They wake regardless, naturally. Laughter’s the first sound off V’s lips, and I wet mine as I hear it, watching them rise and lean over to tug at one corner of my canopy’s corpse.

“Quit moping, Hvini,” V rasps, voice gloriously low and decadent, “I’m always right. One of these days you’ll get used to it.”

“Unlikely. Wasn’t it just yesterday you promised that lady you’d—argh!”

V’s finger had been smoothing over the furrow in my brow, at least until they'd flicked it heartlessly against my forehead; a clear declaration of war. I pounce far before they could even think to—at least physically, I undeniably outmatch them.

Not that it's particularly difficult. V’s hands have never known the callouses of bearing arms, nor do they carry themself with the graces of a duellist. Rather, they flounder, gallivanting through moorland and forest alike with all the grace of a befuddled puppy—easy to roll into a tackle, so long as they're caught off-guard. Taut muscles fit for pack-bearing are useless once my legs are around theirs, hip-on-hip and hand-on-wrist, arms locked fast enough that I'm hardly panting. For an orator, their lung capacity is pathetic. Their flush is... distracting, however.

“Hvin,” comes a breathless little whine from V, pinned firmly underhand, “Hvin, your hair is in my face, it’s ticklish. Let me up!”

Their tone is hard, perhaps, yet their face is anything but—their cheeks curve up and around the smooth crescent of their smile, still smirking at me despite... everything. Shaken, I withdraw enough for them to sit ‘til my weight is settled in their lap. It's a nominal improvement.

“Right. Lovely as your enthusiasm is, maybe we could direct it to packing up your—tent—and getting back on the road?”

“The infamous road you keep promising is always ‘past the next copse’ or ‘a few more minutes downstream’?”

“The very same. The sun waits for no mortal, and my legs are cramping. So, Hvini?”

V’s smile is violence, sweet and unburdened—easy. They're so easy. Mood spoiled, I hiss concern through a sharp exhale, sounding mulish and juvenile and rank. It’s entirely reflexive, mortifyingly so, even, but startled by the reminder of the day ahead and rebuffed only by their saintly amiability, it's hard to care.

“We could stay. We don't have to leave, you don't have to leave.”

“And what would we do, Hvini—Hvinidyr, seriously,” they pin me with their gaze, catching my arm and leaning in with too-sweet concern, "Romp around the wilderness for the rest of our lives? Beg a living off my parents? The Harpers have what I want, and what you need. You deserve better than rotting in a bog with me ‘till we turn old and grey.”

If I need family, I'll find it in you, I don’t say. I’d rather a day loving you than a decade safe.

I am a coward, and V is bright: brighter than the sun, bright enough that it hurts to stare. I am a coward, and so I look away. The sudden hush is a world, and a continent, and an acre between us—stretching far beyond as I fall back from their tenderness. Their hand slides from my wrist to the dew-slick grass, our fingers brushing as they depart.

The little contact sparks a soft coalescence; the quiet narrows and departs until there’s hardly a heartbeat between us unsynched. Mute and still, our silence is 6-foot grave shared by two bodies, each wet breath falling like sodden mud to bury us.

Willful ignorance can’t untether me from time, from the the unspooling day. The carol of morning passes, packing up camp is as trivial as ever, and V refuses to allow me solemnity for long. They set a thankless pace into the dense woad and heather bracketing the forest ahead, carving messy paths through undergrowth as clouds loom above and threaten rain—there’s hardly a moment to catch my breath.

They march us onwards, needlessly chattering all the while. I’m not certain I could carve out more space for introspection even if I wanted to. The shape of V’s deflection feels so drastically different from mine, in moments like this, filled with swift speech and sound and sprinting where we could otherwise walk, but it’s a reprieve all the same. Despite myself, I find myself... grateful for it.

-----

OKAY OKAY OKAY mm so MASSIVE thanks first of all to @thedomesticanthropologist for their invaluable help editing this it would not be half so readable without their assistance. I am not a writer generally!! But Hvinidyr's plight has gripped me, what can I say </3

This and my previous (first!!) piece of art featuring Hvin and & V marks the beginning of our canonical timeline exploration! All future posts taking place in the canon of Winnie's life will be dated for my sanity because none of this is going to be linear. There's so much yet to write and draw about Hvin's life and how the major events and people in it change him, and I hope I can (continue) to do them justice!!! We'll get to some bg3 events/characters and their interactions with hvin soon, I swear, I am just. having SO much fun with him. Does it show???

[jaggededges123]

Silas's voice broke for the second time, and he clenched his fists in frustration.

Silas's voice broke for the second time, and he clenched his fists in frustration.

Silas Octakiseron, the Master Templar, head of the Eighth House and the King Undying's most faithful servant (setting aside, of course, God's Hands, though Silas soon might count himself among them, Lord willing), should not have found it so difficult to measure and mete out simple words. He had been building proverbial palaces out of words since the first time he had been placed in the pulpit at the age of seven, inspiring awe for their Kindly Prince and the forgiveness all could earn, if only they would listen and accept his message.

Silas was no longer a child--he had not been a child for such a long time, had taken up the mantel of his duties younger than most, and had been born for it in a more literal sense than most. He should not have still been so frightened of new places as he had been as a squalling infant and guarded, suspicious child, to the point where he had not slept a moment since they'd arrived at Canaan House--he had not been born for that, nor for stumbling over his words so severely that everything broke apart into glass shards before the proper meaning could be gleaned.

Silas gritted his teeth before trying one last time, elsewise he would simply perish in seven further days from utter lack of peace--he asked, "Brother Asht, will you sleep in my bed with me tonight?"

[dullahandyke]

made this post before and ill make it again, whenever i see girlstink pithuffer posts like 'a girl who hasnt showered in 3 days 😵' its like. im glad youre happy with that but frankly three days no shower is Not that abnormal or notable and i think you could be shooting for the stars more than you currently are

[ohmytiredheart]

"What's your favorite punctuation?"

Non-writers: my what???

Writers: em dash

[mclennie]

if anybody got me its the em dash.

[mossavery]

why does tumblr turn - and > into -> but not turn -- into —

[multiverse-of-fanfic]

If there’s ever a question about punctuation, you can always bet that I WILL be using an em dash

[sunachilles]

author who likes to go on tangent in her fics vs the desire to get to the point of the fucking fic . who will win.

[actualaster]

Other people editing stuff:  *removes em-dashes*

Me editing fic for @goron-king-darunia: *adds MORE em-dashes in*

[pep-the-artemis]

Headcanon - Teacher was the teacher for the Camp 98.7 test subjects—who are also the reason he gave up on teaching.

I bet when he first met Uzi he had *flashbacks*!

[jo-does-things]

Hey bro come here I’m going to tell you a secret bro.

Come. Come a little closer bro I gotta make sure no one else hears this secret bro.

*kisses you on the forehead*

Its a secret ok bro?

I have no idea how em dashes are supposed to function grammatically and I use them anyway. because I like how they create - space - in a sentence.

Thanks bro don’t tell anybody bro