Do you have any Ed and Stede fic you could recommend to me? I love your fics so I think I'd like your recommendations :)
i'm so flattered 😭i barely read anything to begin with for multiple reasons (nothing to do with quality -- i've been in a lot of fandoms and this one BY FAR consistently has the most incredible fic) but uuuuhhhh let's go through my most recent bookmarks!
in case you don't want to scroll through all the rambles (oh and feel free to tag anyone if they're on tumblr, i just linked their ao3 pages):
An Uncharted Level of Waves by Living_City (E)
politely menacing by daydreamcrash (E)
charted by darcylindbergh (E)
serial blusher by daydreamcrash (T)
CringeFail Mob Boss Stede (series) by Panda_Birds (T)
but that's none of my business by chaotic_neutral_knitter (T)
Telescope by Jimsnose (E)
Untitled by oatmilktruther (T)
An Uncharted Level of Waves by Living_City (E)
something about this trans ed fic just got me. something about ed talking about his body with someone he trusts? something about how you can tell how deeply stede adores ed even when it's not from his perspective? also uuummm this has coming untouched, so. i'm a simple man,
politely menacing by daydreamcrash (E)
i'm so stupidly picky when it comes to stede characterization, but i took a chance bc i saw "what if......stede in the cat collar" and you know what. it was fuckin great. i love when stede gets to be the brat. i love seeing ed and stede trust each other. i like when ed gets to dom on his own terms. i love them being disgustingly in love
charted by darcylindbergh (E)
i assume im like, the last person to read this but it's one of those fics that just pops into my head out of nowhere sometimes and i just 🫠 as i said before, im a simple man and i'm a sucker for play that involves one of them trying to distract the other. sexually. anyway it's hot AND shows off how intelligent and skilled ed is. win-win
serial blusher by daydreamcrash (T)
(see sometimes i read stuff that isn't filth!) this fic is SO FUCKIN FUNNY. i just love the fact that ed's spent so long trying to meet someone, but of course the guy he instantly falls head over heels for is the one archie never even considered. it's "stede? STEDE stede?" manifested into a hilarious 5k fic. i love it
CringeFail Mob Boss Stede by Panda_Birds (T)
just gonna rec this entire series bc it's so FUCKING funny. i haven't read Performance Review but i trust sowmz' humor so much that i'm going to rec it sight unseen. they just manage to capture stede's terrible but kind-hearted boss energy without going too far into clueless michael scott territory. also ed is completely smitten and everyone is confused by it. it's great
but that's none of my business by chaotic_neutral_knitter (T)
i've probably hyped this fic too many times but idc. it's 1.5k of lucius losing his mind bc he's CONVINCED ed and stede have something going on but NO ONE will believe him (except exactly who you'd expect)
Telescope by Jimsnose (E)
another one of my always-recs. pretty sure jimsnose has left the fandom at this point but that doesn't change the fact that Telescope is incredible and i hope one day i write something even half as good as this. one thing i love about their writing is how you don't so much read it as let it HAPPEN to you. and sometimes i remember parts of this fic like glimpses through that telescope and it's just so incredibly vivid. you can feel the tension so well between ed and stede here, how much they care for each other, how that breaks them, how it brings them together. and jimsnose so good at what they do that i happily read their Ted Lasso fic. i've never watched Ted Lasso. idk if i ever will. idk what i was doing over there, reading it. but the fics are fuckin banger
Untitled by oatmilktruther (T)
first of all, read anything abs writes on sight, like go sub to them right now if you haven't already (i'm biased but im RIGHT). im picking kind of a weird one but you try and get the image of leather and stede and tongue-tied ed out of your head. right. exactly.
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— reckless heroine.
cw: fem!reader, best friend!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a smidge of fluff, injuries and blood descriptions — 2.2k
a/n: this is the first time I've posted anything publicly in years so consider this a testing the waters fic, trying to find my groove and decide if i want to make this a regular thing.
summary: after a rough, but successful hunt, you and dean arrive back at the motel, only you were reckless and got injured, some duct tape patching up ensues from an angry dean.
The storm had arrived just as Dean and her pulled into the grimy parking lot of the Twin Pines Motel, how very Montana. The heavy raindrops pummeled against the windows like a stark warning. The sky rumbled with low growls, and flashes of jagged light illuminated the dim, rundown building. Inside their basic motel room, the air was thick with tension and the unmistakable smell of almost damp carpet—a cheerful welcome after a semi-successful hunt with a werewolf.
Dean slammed the creaky motel door shut behind them, the force alone almost enough to splinter the plaster around the hinges, his expression a maelstrom of anger and concern blended into one explosive temper as he flicked the lightswitch, the gross orange-ish glow of the overhead bulb highlighted the unsavoury nature of their accommodation. They’d come a long way from Kansas for this hunt.
Sam and Cas took off East together for a potential case, something something bizarre circumstances, frankly, there’d been little resistance offered when the duo took off to the east coast, leaving her and Dean to take Montana—although if they were real, they’d probably have taken anywhere over the east coast.
The door was barely closed for a moment before his gruff voice crackled through the air like a whip. “Did that brewing concussion knock all damn common sense out of your head?” Dean snapped angrily, his demandingly sharp voice rising above the impending storm. “You got a fucking death wish or something?”
She grimaced, carefully moving to sit on one of the twin beds, feeling the throbbing pain radiating from the gash on the back of her shoulder, the wound still steadily leaking blood, instinctively rubbing the spot on the back of your head that had collided with the concrete earlier in the night when he mentioned a concussion.
“Very funny,” she retorted in deadpan, infusing her tone with a touch of biting sarcasm that was quickly becoming a defence mechanism, and all but guaranteed to rile him up further. “The victim needed help, she was bleeding out and scared, and unlike you I actually gave a shit about more than ganking the mutt.” The implication that he didn’t care if the victim survived so long as they handled the werewolf wasn’t helping Dean’s mood, but the remorse she showed was negligible. “Besides, I handled it, didn’t I? And it worked—aren’t you always telling me ‘trust your instincts, your instincts are good’.” she added on before he had a chance to respond, putting an emphasis on the drawl of his voice. The mock only made that muscle in his jaw clench so hard it wouldn’t be a surprise if his teeth shattered. Heed the warning.
A growl bubbled in the back of his throat, but somehow he managed to keep it partially contained and tossed both his and her bags down onto the bed she hadn’t plopped down on. He may be pissed at her right now but that didn’t mean he was going to let his injured best friend carry her own bag. “Trust your instincts?” He gestured wildly with his hand, like that would somehow show just how worked up he was right now. She was getting to him, bad, and it was taking every ounce of willpower he was summoning from Chuck only knows where to stop from lashing out at her. “You were reckless and got yourself attacked in the process of playing heroine!” He rasped, his low voice reverberating off the thin motel walls with how loud his words escaped.
Just for good measure he had to force his eyes elsewhere, just so he’d stop being faced with those claw marks on your shoulder, every glance at them made something in him coil and burn. Stomping towards the foot of the unoccupied bed, he aggressively unzipped his duffle bag and rummaged through it. Meanwhile she was busy shedding herself of the unnecessary clothing and gear, kicking her shoes off and abandoning them on the mysteriously patchy carpet next to the bed, unbuckling her belt and unlatching the clasp on the blade sheath on her hip, tossing both onto the lone chair off to the side of the beds.
Finally after a few long moments his fingers found the squished edges of the first-aid kit he’d grown used to keeping in there—the first-aid kit that only remained stocked up because she meticulously replenished what she, him and Sam went through after every hunt—Snagging it up, deft fingers were quick to unzip and flick through it haphazardly, plucking out several different medical supplies.
When he realised she hadn’t responded to his last few retorts, which was uncharacteristic for her, his eyes flickered back towards her, forest green eyes darkening at the blood leaking against her pale skin. “You put yourself in danger, again, and walked away with a souvenir I’m not too keen on.” He continued despite his better judgement, gesturing angrily at the deep werewolf claw marks on the back of your shoulder blade, having torn through her flannel and undershirt, soaking both in bright crimson and leaving her down to a base layer tank top.
The retort had her glancing over her shoulder, but able to see little more than the dark streaks of blood sticking to wet skin. The amount of blood she’d lost so far wasn’t enough to be life-threatening, but it was definitely a worrying situation that needed attention. God forbid the pair didn’t do their back-and-forth arguing before that though, not like she was bleeding out over here or anything. “You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed.” He grumbled, not so hotly as before, the edges of concern leaking into his voice. “These are gonna scar ugly...” The last part was more of an afterthought.
“More to add to the collection,” she mused out far too casually for the situation. “What did you ju—” He interjected, a warning hiss in his voice, but she was quick to wave a dismissive hand over her shoulder at him. “Forget it.” She brushed off, cutting off his warning remark.
‘It’s like she’s trying to piss me off,’ Dean thought to himself, and hell maybe she was. “For once, couldn’t you have followed the game plan, sweetheart? Fuckin’ hell…” His tone was a mixture of worried fondness and scolding terseness. Either way, she was quick to turn her entire body around on the bed to glare at him, ignoring the searing pain from her wound with the quick movement.
“Oh? Am I supposed to bow down to Dean Winchester’s expert advice? Follow orders blindly?” She shot back at him, a chilling kind of coolness to her voice. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure that’s your speciality,” she added, venomously, the tension in her voice masking the discomfort that coiled within her body.
And she could have sworn she saw him flinch as soon as the words tumbled out of her mouth, making a low simmering pit of guilt fester inside her, knowing she was out of line. Low blow. His gaze pained for a fleeting moment, pretty green eyes widening and mouth falling open the smallest amount like those words had quite literally taken the breath from his lungs; but it quickly hardened again as he stewed on those words, cracking open a bottle of antiseptic with more force than necessary. “Just— shut up, for once.” It was almost a plea, more of a pained demand, but she knew she’d hit a nerve. “Sit still and let me patch you up, okay? I may not be a doctor, but I can keep your ass from bleeding out.”
She rolled your eyes, watching as he pulled out a smorgasbord of supplies from the first-aid kit. “I’m perfectly capable of handling my own medical emergencies. This isn’t my first skirmish with fangs and claws, Dean. I don’t need your help,” her voice came out more snapped than intended.
Despite the fact they both knew the precocious positioning of this wound left her unable to attend to it herself, she’d have to be a pretty fine contortionist to deal with it without help. Dean opened his mouth to inform his best friend of just that but thought better of it in the final second, slowly his mouth slipped closed.
A frustrated grunt slipped past his lips and one hand racked impatiently through his short, messy locks. “Well, congratulations on surviving past encounters, but this looks like a crime scene,” he replied tersely before sighing in frustration, the adrenaline of the situation beginning to die. “—plus, you’re bleeding on my marginally clean bed,” he added on, in an attempt to diffuse the situation, which pulled a scoffed laugh from her mouth before it could be helped.
His tense shoulders dropped slightly in relief when she responded by gingerly peeling the fabric of her black tank top away from the wound, letting it slip down off her slender shoulder so he’d have access.
The next fifteen minutes were deafeningly quiet, the only sounds were the soft pained noises that left her mouth, and the heavy breaths of concentration from Dean as he worked at disinfecting and patching up the wound on her shoulder as best as possible - Would this be easier to do in the bathroom instead of on the bed? Absolutely, but here they were.
Thankfully the wound didn’t need stitches, the claw marks the werewolf had left her with were nasty but not deep enough to be genuinely worrisome—not that it would stop Dean from worrying like a motherfucker. They’d leave some impressively disgusting scars, and hurt like a bitch for the next couple weeks as they healed, and as much as he was tempted to suggest going to the nearest a&e to get her properly seen to, just to be safe, he knew what her answer would be, so that wasn’t a battle he’d win. His basic hunter duct-taping would have to suffice.
The mood wasn’t great, both seething with worry and anger and pain that blended together into a chokingly intense thickness that lingered like smoke in the air, so it was in everyone’s best interests that they shut up.
“Done.”
Those words out of his mouth seemed to break the atmosphere and she slowly glanced back at him over her shoulder right in time for his thumbs to smooth out the medical tape that adhered the thick, white dressings to her pale skin, his touch extremely gentle despite everything, ensuring the tape wouldn’t come loose.
Turning on the bed so she was facing him as he remained stood up, her shoulders rolled back slowly, testing out the movement with the fresh patch up, it seemed to be healing. “How’s it looking, doc?” She quipped, her voice slightly lilted, making a weak attempt to lighten the mood up, too damn tired to argue further with him. His mouth quirked up in what could be described as a lazy grin. “Think you might just survive the night, thanks to the tireless effort of your handsome doctor.” He teased, only because he wanted to see her roll her eyes in that fondly affectionate way, and he got his wish.
The way she made a point to shake her head at him was all he needed to see to know that the sparky atmosphere had diminished; even though it was likely due to the adrenaline dying out and the pain kicking in.
His eyes followed her when she pushed herself to stand up, hands instinctively reaching out to steady her. “Mm, I don’t know, can’t say the bloody hands add to the sex appeal.” She hummed, eyes flicking down to his hands that were stained with her blood, hands that were now staining her arm in deep crimson too, her brows furrowing in distaste, but he didn’t seem in a rush to pull his hand back so she didn’t move to knock him off either. His gaze dropped to the offending hands in question, nose scrunching up at the sight of the blood as his thumb stroked against her elbow. “So… you’re saying I have sex appeal?”
The tone of his voice in that moment was the most playful thing she’d heard from him in a long time. She couldn’t help but laugh, a real hearty ‘you’re such an idiot’ kind of laugh, the kind that had him grinning crookedly at her in return.
“Your ego needs no further stroking, I’m gonna plead the fifth on that one.” She held her hands up in mock surrender, which only rumbled an amused laugh from deep in his chest.
“That’s my girl.” Dean beamed, running his tongue over his teeth with a soft sigh. The adrenaline had long since faded and now he was left with that anxious worry and tired stress lingering in his body. “Fuck… C’mere, you,” he beckoned suddenly, barely giving her time to register his words before he was pulling her in against his chest, strong arms wrapping around her in such a delicate way, careful of her injuries while somehow managing to squish her into him. The height difference leaving the top of her head tucked perfectly underneath his chin as his fingers carted through her messy hair.
“Look... Call a truce, sweetheart?” The gruff hunter muttered into her hair, his arms cradling her close to his larger body. “Truce.” She conceded, placing a complacent kiss against his clothed shoulder, which earned a soft little rumbly hum from him.
The storm raged outside, but within the cramped motel room, a warmth had blossomed between the pair of them—a reminder that despite all the chaos of the job, it was them against the world and in this tempest, as the thunder rolled across the darkening horizon and the lightning split the sky, they both knew they’d face them together, side by side.
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Okay, this is the conclusion to my posts about Sophia Stewart. I'll never do something like this again
Everything I've posted is from her own book or her web presence btw. That's all I'm drawing from and if anyone tells me any information about her they gained any other way I'll block them immediately so uh, don't
Towards the end she reveals some of her other pitches. By showing she copywrote sequels to the Matrix and Terminator
Lots of strange details here - she wrote The Matrix 4 in 2000? They didn't even start filming The Matrix 2 & 3 until 2001. Also, we can see in this book that her pitch has nothing to do with The Matrix or Terminator, but she claims she wrote direct sequels to both?
(Her explanation for how both very different films are ripping off her work - a 1:1 copy, she claims - is, hilariously, that The Terminator plagiarizes it front to back, while The Matrix plagiarizes it back to front. What?)
But also she didn't write it. She registered copyright on a synopsis for The Matrix 4. She has concepts of a plan for a Matrix 4.
The book ends with a pitch for another...she calls it a book, but it's a movie pitch? And this, too, is just a synopsis for some grand epic series, light on detail of character and plot and heavy with lore and rants (in this case, primarily about God and Adam & Eve). Of course her exhaustively long but barely sketched-out epic movie pitch has a prologue, which is also full of Christian-tinged Ancient Aliens pyramid power woo.
Sophia Stewart is unimportant, bc she represents a class of writer. Writers who have Ideas. Who have outlines and plot points but no real story, bc they never write it. But they think just having Really Good Ideas is enough - that you should get credit for coming up with a good idea for a story, regardless of if you make an actual story out of it. They're a "writer", but they never write. Despite this they often have a deep case of Dunning-Kruger, churning out outlines that leave out basic details like "what happens in the climactic battle" and the personalities of characters while insisting that an inability to author anything shouldn't keep you from being praised as a genius author
If that type of person is lucky enough to have money, they become a studio executive or tech guy, both professions awash in the uncreatively creative, or they hire ghostwriters. If they're not, they become the type of person to file spurious lawsuits under the misapprehension they own basic plot concepts. It's the "I coulda made the majors!" of writing, except, you know. Baseball players who didn't make the majors still actually played baseball at some point. I assume from now on all those types will just pump their outline into ChatGPT and try to sell the gunk it slops out and then claim they 'wrote' it so uh, uhhhhhhhhhhhh
The only reason I made these posts was discovering the conspiratorial angle to her work, bc who cares if a major studio has to deal with a spurious lawsuit? That was the part that actually sucks. But also, she does a lot of press: profiles on news websites, podcasts, that documentary was even made by other filmmakers, who actually make films. It's persisted from blogs and chain emails all the way to podcasts and TikToks. All of this uncritically spreads her story, but I also have to ask: how many actual African-American science fiction writers do those platforms profile? How many of them get documentaries made about their work? How much air is being sucked out of the room by the decades long misinformation about the "true" creator of The Matrix? And why is that misinformation so persistent when it takes a trivial amount of effort to find out it just isn't true? It feels good to support the underdog against the big studio, but in this case it just isn't true.
The sad truth is a lot more Hollywood plagiarism cases look like this than are real exposures of wrongdoing, but people tend to accept them at face value since they feel like a little guy taking on a corporation, though in reality it's just two writers suing each other. Take The Holdovers case, where people immediately turned on it, but if you look into it, the two scripts have very little in common, and the accusing writer makes odd claims like a human character in The Holdovers being a ripoff of a billboard in his script.
Or look at Groundhog Day, which was accused of plagiarism by Richard A. Lupoff, writer of the story "12:01 P.M.". The two stories have nothing in common besides a time loop; in Groundhog Day he's reliving a day, in 12:01 PM he's reliving an hour. Groundhog Day is a romcom, 12:01 P.M. plays it for horror. Groundhog Day never reveals the source of its lop but it's clearly fantastical in nature, 12:01 P.M. is explicitly science fiction. In Groundhog Day he escapes the loop, in 12:01 P.M. he never does. You can't deny Lupoff felt personally slighted, but at the end of the day, a world where a writer could own the concept of time loops would be a dystopia where creativity and art would die.
But even though they were wrong, The Holdovers & Groundhog Day cases were based on real works of writing that existed. They were based on a real, if misguided, sense of violation from the writers. But in this case, we have a mere outline of a story with not even basic similarities to the stories she's claiming are a 1:1 copy of her work, and decades of media appearances based on exploiting a community college media student's mistake in 2004. Anyway seems bad
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Just started playing Skyrim as Edward Elric, here's a few highlights of my run and the Lore:
I'm playing on legendary survival mode because Ed's life sucks <3
One of the essential goals is to level alchemy up to 100. I will also be playing as a mage (which I've never done before so this should be interesting)
I'm not allowed to kill ANY PERSON. Not even bandits. Because Ed's a staunch pacifist so the 'people death' counter stays at zero for as long as humanly possible if not the entire playthrough. This is only for people, though, so draugr, animals, monsters, robots etc don't count. (I'm not sure where dragons land on that but I've already killed one so I guess it's too late to ponder it)
Also im not allowed to use soul gems. Those are functionally philosopher's stones, so Ed's not keen on that
I will also not be using any shrines/amulets because Ed's an atheist
Only steel and iron weapons! He's the Fullmetal Alchemist after all. Preferably one-handed weapons, as the sword arm is his go-to.
Enchantments are allowed (outside of soul trap for obvious reasons) as long as they come with the weapon when I find it, and I can't recharge them or make my own since I can't use soul gems
Leather armor because Ed wears leather in canon. Presently looking for a red outfit that looks anything like his coat. I'm thinking the vampire armor will be my best bet
I've got no mods otherwise I'd add a dwarven centurion follower and have that be my Al
As it stands, though, I've come up with a story that Al is functionally dead but Ed can summon his soul to fight for him in the form of conjuration spells. So far I've been summoning 'Al' as a wolf familiar and even a storm atronach when I found a scroll for it
(I considered dressing a follower up in armor so that they can be 'Al'. Still thinking about it but i kinda like the conjuration thing)
Ed's 'journey' lore wise is researching the Dwemer, since he thinks their disappearance could be related to Al's body being gone. I'll be reading every book possible about the Dwemer and researching every possible Dwemer ruin when I find it (I don't know a lot about the Dwemer anyway so me and Ed both are learning Together)
I'm also gonna be going to hermaeus mora's creepy realm cuz that's probably the closest to the truth dimension im gonna get (I've never finished that quest before this is gonna be fun)
I've got no Winry stand in but every time I upgrade my armor and weapons I pretend I'm stopping by Rush Valley or smth. Winry is there in spirit
I will be punching every godlike being in the face whenever humanly possible because that's what Edward Elric would do
That's it so far, I'll keep you updated on what's going on with the pipsqueak as i go along✌️
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