#so I hope this makes sense

[spiteful-lvsts]

•And I’m The Perfect Sacrifice•

• Final Guy!Reader x Slasher!Dottore

• AMAB Top!Reader x Bottom!Dottore

• Summary: In a turn of events, you find your cabin trip ambushed by a masked killer, and you remain as the final survivor.

• Warnings/Content: modern/college au?, dottore is referred to as zandik, mentioned violence and deaths, unsanitary (blood as lube), wound fingering, slight orgasm denial, slight dacryphilia, body worship, both reader and dotts are kinda deranged, porn with feelings?, hurt/comfort?, masochist!dottore

• Notes: whoops too many dottie drafts, this is partially inspired by final girl by graveyardguy, technically webttore? i think his mask would fit more than the bird one

The killer is pinned beneath you, held down by your weight, arms restrained above his head. The stench of iron is prevalent, a reminder of what happened, of the corpses that lay just inside the room. You could kill him now, injured as he was from your earlier scuffle.

And yet, you can’t. You won’t.

Because you knew him. Knew his face, despite the mask, despite of the blood and viscera painting him now. And oh, how you’ve missed him, that some part of you ached to devour him whole.

“Zandik,” you softly murmur, “Oh Zandik, where have you been?” He’d been missing for months, since his home burned down. Only to show up now.

He squirmed underneath you, a halfhearted escape attempt at best. “Don’t act like you suddenly fucking care again,” Zandik grit out, red eyes flickering between you and the window. “You didn’t look for me.”

Frowning, you reached up, fingertips skimming the edge of his mask, feeling him flinch. “...Not by choice.” You only say, like it’s a quiet, mournful thing.

There’s no rebuttal from him, so you continue. “Then, won’t you at least let me see your face? It’s been so long,” your fingers trace the leather straps connecting the mask, “I’ve missed you, Zandik.”

“...You won’t like what you’ll see,” He protests weakly, but it’s not a direct refusal. “I’ve changed, I’m not the same person you knew before.”

“I loved you then, I love you even now.” Your voice is soft, reverent even. And Zandik trembles at your admission, averting his gaze. This wasn’t supposed to have happened. It was supposed to be just simple, petty revenge, for what happened to him at the Akademiya.

And yet, you were an outlier. As you always were. He didn’t expect you to be here, of all places, and a part of him seethed when he first saw you tonight. Thinking you had replaced him, so easily, so quickly.

A warm touch breaks him out of his reverie, your hand gentle upon his face, as you waited for him to answer. Ironically, Zandik can’t find it in him to truly hate you, not when you’re like this. Still covered in drying blood, eyes full of worry for him, despite knowing what he did.

So he answers you, not verbally, still he twists his neck and head to bare you his throat. The metal clasps gleam in the moonlight. An implicit invitation.

Two sharp clicks echo in the room, barely undercutting the tension. Zandik can’t bare to look at you as you discard his mask, eyes and hands clenched shut as he awaited your judgement. Something sour in him curdles at the thought of being rejected by you, he’d never been one for other’s opinions, but when it was you...

Instead your warmth remains, letting him lean into your touch. Eyes fluttering open to meet yours, “There you are,” your hands cup his face, thumb brushing over still-tender scar tissue, and he has to suppress a whine at its sensitivity. You were always so damnably gentle to him.

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper again, earnest as you always were. Even now, even splattered in blood and gore, what remained of the rest. Zandik realizes then, that even if the world shuns him, condemns him a sinner, that he loves you.

“...I’ve missed you too.” His voice is quiet, smaller than he’s ever been. Suspended in this fragile tension, he can’t help relaxing just the smallest bit in your presence. No longer restrained, he was sure if he ran, you’d let him. Though some small part of him wanted you to follow him.

In the (almost) comfortable silence, his gaze slides over to the corpse in the room. Their eyes clouded over, frozen in fear during their last moments. In truth, whoever they were didn’t matter, what mattered was that they had to suffer for what they did to him.

Why did they get to live, unmarred by the consequences of their actions. Going about their days as if they weren’t as bad as he was. Zandik’s hand twitched, thoughts spiraling as rage threatened to bubble over. You were part of this trip, weren’t you? Were you going to betray hurt him, as they did?

He wants to— needs to ask, were you still lying to him? He wants to believe you, he really did, but some traitorous part of him still doubts your sincerity. “Why were you here in the first place?”

A dark expression flashed by your face, yet as quickly as it came, it was gone. “Same reason as you, I’d think.” You smile, sharp and dangerous, with a hint of teeth. And Zandik swallows, throat bobbing as heat pools in his gut. Anger dissipating at your statement.

Between the two of you, you had always been the kinder of pair. But oh, Zandik was quickly finding out how much he enjoyed this more... dangerous, side of yours. He can’t help the flush crawling up his neck, across his face to the tips of his ears.

Against all rational thought, Zandik finds himself grabbing the front of your shirt, pulling you closer to him. Your lips come together clumsily, messily, the taste of iron shared between you as his sharp teeth clips your lip. Zandik relishes the noise of surprise you make, even as you wrench control from him, drawing a whine from him as your tongue traces the inside of his mouth.

When you pull back, he’s panting, dazed and breathless. “Please,” Zandik breathes out, already half-hard as you gazed at him through half-lidded eyes. Hands gripping your shirt tighter, unsure what to do with himself.

You blink, slow and languid, “Here? Now?” Your voice is quiet, but it leaves him trembling as he nodded. The ache to devour him is back, laid beneath you as he is now, and you can’t deny how much you wanted Zandik as well.

Your clothes were almost an afterthought, torn off of each other in the throes of passion. Though, in all honesty they were probably unsalvageable, from your previous altercation and all.

The low light obscured many things, but here, exposed only to you, Zandik was the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen. Scars and all, as your fingers trace the burns covering his body. Perhaps sometime later, you could really take the time to appreciate all of him, this desolate cabin hardly seemed appropriate for the task.

A shock of pain shoots through him when your fingers accidentally dig against the gouges in his side, reopening the wounds. Something electric sparks through Zandik as his mouth falls open in a startled moan. Maybe it was from delirium, or blood loss, or both, but his cock throbs at the feeling.

Startling at the noise, you almost began to ask if he was okay. Only to be cut off, “Do that again.” He orders, and he sounds... not hurt, or mad, more curious than anything. It’s not like you didn’t notice the effect it had on him either, with how hard he was pressed against you.

So you comply, not that you could’ve denied him anything, and oh, how lovely he looked as his spine arched. Hips twitching in search for friction. Your name, a bitten off whimper- a plea on Zandik’s lips as he squeezed his eyes shut from the pain, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

His blood coats your fingers, warm and wet, he doesn’t ask for you to stop, even as your nails dig into him. You swallow the saliva gathering in your mouth, briefly tucking your face against his neck, you could hear Zandik’s heart hammering in his chest.

“D’you think you could cum from this?” You murmur, more of a joke than anything but at they way he whined, well, maybe you weren’t too far off.

When you pull your fingers from the wounds, it was almost cute how he glared at you, whatever impact it would’ve had was lessened from the beading tears and the flush across his face. “I didn’t tell you to stop—” he begins to complain, after all, he’d been so close before you stopped. But quieting when you press a kiss to his lips, unbearably soft in comparison.

Your bloodied hand trails down his body, leaving a streak of red, stopping when your fingers just barely tease his hole. “Wouldn’t you prefer to cum from this instead?” You ask, and Zandik shivers from your tone, eyes flickering to your neglected member, precum smeared against his thigh. Blood wouldn’t be nearly enough to ease the burn, but something in him craves it.

“Please,” his voice cracks, and the sheer want in his voice makes the heat in your gut intensify, “Make me yours, need them all to know you’re mine.”

The stretch burns, blood-slick on your fingers barely soothing it. Regardless of the pain, Zandik relishes in it, a choked moan making its way out of his throat when your fingers crook in just the right way for him to see stars. You work him open with a tender patience, in contrast to his own impatience, rocking his hips down into your hand.

Pain and pleasure mix into something intoxication, his mind growing muddled from the ministrations of your fingers, and the sweet nothings whispered to him. Still you remain an infuriating tease, despite the tenderness. Just barely brushing against his prostate with each movement of your fingers, not quite enough for him, but just enough to leave him yearning for more.

His dick was hard and useless, leaking pre onto his abdomen at each movement. “Hngh-! Would you j-just get on with it alreaDY—!!” Zandik’s complaint turns into a shriek at a particularly harsh jab from you, his walls clamping around your fingers at the rough treatment.

You rub soothing circles into his uninjured side, murmuring sweet nothings to him, even as your hand doesn’t stop moving. “Mm, I promise I’ll make you feel good soon. You can hold out for me a little longer, can’t you darling?”

And you sound about as earnest as you always were. Even with that playful lilt in your voice, even as you looked down at him with an expression full of love and lust.

All Zandik can do is let it happen, head lolling back as he surrenders to your whims. All too aware of your ministrations, the kisses peppered against his skin. The promise of something more the only thing keeping him from losing his mind fully.

Logically only a few minutes at most would’ve passed, but with how high-strung he was, it felt like hours to him. When you finally pull out your fingers, it was almost a relief. But it left him so achingly empty.

All his thoughts had faded into a pleasant buzz while you toyed with him, only to be brought back into focus at the feeling of your cockhead prodding at his entrance. At some point Zandik found himself wrapping his legs around your waist, an attempt to drag you closer into him, to fill that aching emptiness. His own arms winded around your shoulders, nails digging into your back as he anticipated what was to come.

It hurts when you finally push in, no amount of preparation could’ve prepared him for it, even with the aid of his own blood. Still he can’t help but crave more of it, rocking his hips against yours, urging you deeper. “Hah-! Mngh-” his breathing comes out short and uneven, already drooling from just this, “T-too mu-aH-!” His body jerks when your hand suddenly wraps around his length, blood and pre mixing, leaving caught between two points of pleasure.

You kiss away the tears falling down his face, letting him whine and gasp as you trailed kisses down his jawbone, to his neck and collar. “You’re doing so well for me...” you murmured against him, mouthing along his skin, hand slowly pumping his dick in tandem with your movements.

Zandik keens when you bottom out, your hips flush against his ass, your cock a searing heat inside him. Through the tears gathering at his lash line, he could see how well you filled him out, how his stomach bulged from your size.

Perhaps some other time you two could be gentle with each other, to be as lovers were, but tonight there was only an animal need for more. Case-in-point, the way Zandik squirmed impatiently, whining cutely for you to move already, sharp teeth worrying his bottom lip.

It’s not as if you were unaffected either. The way his walls fluttered around you, all warm and tight. Squeezing just the slightest tighter whenever you nipped at his skin.

Regardless, who were you to deny him? With how pretty he was under you, oh he was gorgeous objectively and to you, but the image of Zandik all flushed and teary eyed? You just wanted to ruin him.

The drag is a painful, pleasurable burn as you pulled out. Tip just barely remaining inside him, before you snapped your hips forward, drawing out a choked off scream from him. Eyes rolling back and body spasming, mouth falling open into an ‘o’.

Angry red lines bloom across your back, Zandik’s hips bucking in response to your ruthless pace, sobbing with every well-placed thrust against his abused prostate. You only pull him closer to you, fucking deeper into him, nails digging into the gash in his side as you gripped his waist. The pain shooting straight to his dick and the part of his brain that left him pleading for ‘Gngh! More- moremoremorepLEASE-!’

He’s half delirious from blood loss and arousal, only able to focus on how full he was, drool dribbling down the side of his mouth. Obscene noises echo throughout the room, the sounds of your groaning and Zandik’s whines intermingling. Your own noises were muffled against his body, teeth itching to bite down, whatever remaining self-control you still had waning.

You’ve said it before but god, you loved him, and what was love to you but a desire to consume? And Zandik was baring his neck to you, oh so lovingly.

Your teeth close around the junction between his neck and his shoulder, relishing the way he wailed, how his nails dug painfully into your back. The taste of iron fills your mouth as skin splits under your incisors, sweeter than any honey.

It was just too much for him, the feeling of your hand on him, the shock of pain flooding his system, just you you youyouyou-!

His climax hits him unexpectedly, vision briefly whiting out from the intensity. Hips bucking as he came, ropes of white cum splattering across his abdomen and between your fingers. Your thrusts don’t stop, and neither does your hand, intent on milking him dry.

Zandik sobs through his orgasm, thighs trembling even as they weakly tightened around your waist, fat tears following down his face. Barely registering your tongue laving across the bite, an apology of sorts, not that he minded it. His dick twitches in your hand, painfully sensitive to your touch.

You weren’t far from your own climax either, pace growing erratic inside him, his walls a vice around your throbbing cock. All you could think about was how good he felt. Your hands move to grip his waist, hold practically bruising as you rutted into him, a familiar heat pooling in your gut.

A couple more thrusts before your hips stutter to a stop, flush against Zandik’s body. He moans at the warmth filling him, spreading through him, as you came inside of him. You practically collapse on top of him at the end, the both of you sweaty and gross, but satisfied nonetheless.

When you try to pull out, he shakes his head, tugging you closer. “N-not yet,” he slurs, “Wanna keep you inside, don’t wanna go yet-” babbling something incoherent as his arms wrap around you again.

How cute, you press a kiss against the side of his mouth, sweet and tender. “Alright, ‘m not going anywhere,” you murmur, voice low, making him shiver, “I’m not leaving you again.” You capture his lips again, and he opens his mouth obediently, whimpers muffled against your mouth.

Zandik can taste blood on your lips and tongue, his blood, and he can’t help himself feeling warm all over again. Dazed as he was, he can’t help grinning maniacally against you.

In the morning, or maybe just later, you two would have enough to talk about. Plans to run away, cleaning up any evidence of yourselves from the cabin, packing up your belongings, the works. But for now, you two can just indulge in a moment of intimate quiet with each other.

Perhaps in a week, or maybe more than that, the authorities would be called regarding a missing persons case, students of a prestigious university. The case will go cold, from lack of evidence, and it’ll become its own local legend. How a party of students died mysteriously one night, no trace of another person or anything of that sort, despite obvious foul play.

Some would wonder how it led to the incident, after all the cabin was well maintained, despite its remoteness. It was unlikely for its utilities to break. As far as anyone knew, none of the students tried to call for help that night, or even tried to leave. Theories are made, yet no answers are to be found.

But ah... if the phone lines were cut even before the killer was there, or if the car driven into the woods had its tires slashed in the dead of night? If the doors were conveniently unlocked?

Well, that’s between you and Dottore.

[crybaby-bkg]

I love jealous Bakugou who starts peacocking after a while to get all of your attention.

going to a party and Kiri carelessly picks you up to spin you during a dance, drunken laughter shared between you two. Bakugou watches on the couch the whole time, eyes slitted as he nurses the same beer he’s had all night. he listens to you giggle over the music about how strong Kiri is and—fuck it, he’ll show you strength. he takes the opportunity to scoop you off of your feet next time you guys are out and there’s a puddle in the middle of the road, puffs his chest out a little as he cradles you against him, when you let out that lighthearted giggle but for him this time.

Bakugou catches you chatting deku up, squeezing at his biceps when you tease him about how big he’s been getting. you only do it bc you know it flusters the green haired man, and you think it’s cute how he looks like a strawberry whenever you coo at him. But Bakugou only sees that as the push to go to the gym more, focusing even more on his arms, wearing all of his tanks around you. puffs his chest out again when he puts his arms behind his head and you pat at the bulging muscle and find yourself tracing the veins on his arms.

He sees you dancing with Sero at another squad gathering, something fast and sensual, your arms around his neck while he holds your waist. his face is buried into your neck and it makes you giggle whenever he whispers where to move your feet next. and does Bakugou take that as an active threat against his crush on you? of course he does. finds himself holding you against him at a party, swaying with you, way out of his comfort zone but he wants to show you that he can dance too, damnit.

Denki makes some offhanded comment about holding your bags when you go out to an amusement park, something else about going with you when you need the bathroom too. Bakugou is most definitely shoving him out of the way, manhandling all of your bags from you as he pushes you in the direction of the bathrooms instead. finds his chest practically spilling out of his shirt when you hug him by the end of the night, thanking him for being so kind, telling him that he’s the best friend you could ask for.

and does his heart drop to his ass when he hears the word friend? maybe. just a little.

[late-to-the-party-99]

I love the ending of Glass Onion (spoilers beyond this point)! Miles Bron falls because Helen uses his reckless super fuel to burn down his house and the world’s most famous painting. She makes his failings and his fragility plain to everyone. Nobody can ignore that his presentation as a forward-thinking, brilliant man is a lie. Helen wins because she destroys Miles’ reputation. That is the true power of billionaires. That is how they keep the people that protect them and build them up. When you strip away their reputation, you knock out their supports and bring them back down to earth. You turn their “golden tits” into brass, and nobody will lie to keep suckling on brass. 

[1nm806]

jack talks about That Scene again and no one is shocked

I feel like Spot is quick to anger (obviously) but he's not irrational with his anger. He's snappy and brash but he's not going to ACTUALLY beat you up for no reason. He has a plan and it's normally to intimidate until the other person backs down. If his goal is to pick a fight then he goes into the interaction differently, but he very rarely gets into actual fights in an uncontrolled rage. And sure, this leads people to think that maybe he's all talk, but there are definitely stories of him fighting and winning, so that sort of talk tends to get squashed.

I think he only gets into controlled fights, things like fights over the leadership of Brooklyn, or the strike, that sort of thing. He talks about throwing his friends off the bridge, and offhandedly threatens people with a soaking, but he tends to not follow through unless it escalates to that point.

All this is to say. No one's really seen him lose his cool. He's even joking around a little during the strike, he's so confident that he seems to just have it under control. So when he's desperately trying to calm people down when Jack's standing in front of the union dressed in the clothes picked out by Pulitzer, no one's really expecting much. A loud threat or two, as he keeps Race and Hotshot calm, sure, but not for him to get everyone silent and to then turn heel to face Jack and just scream himself hoarse. He just lunges straight for him and half the newsies immediately grapple him and frantically try to simultaneously calm him down and keep him AWAY from the guy he seems to be trying to actually kill. Spot's screaming and yelling about Jack being a traitor and it's set all the newsies off again, the littles are crying in anger and fear, the older Manhattan newsies have seemingly been given the go ahead to start yelling as well, and all the Brooklyn lot are (obviously) ALSO absolutely livid.

And, yeah, they quiet down soon enough, with Spot being held tightly at the back of the group like some sort of hostage, and Davey's speaking to Jack and telling him that even he's feeling betrayed. But even after they disperse, everyone starts treating Spot like glass, because Jesus Christ NO ONE knows what to do in that situation. And he HATES it for sure, so off he goes, back to Brooklyn, furious at both Jack for scabbing, the Manhattan newsies for changing their treatment of him and himself for getting that emotional.

This ALSO works well with my post about Spot getting REALLY overstimulated in that scene because that has him on the floor sobbing, unable to speak or feel any sensations at all. Yeah. All in all the only people that don't treat him differently afterwards are Davey (because Davey gets it, he understands what it's like to deal with that - autistic Davey for REAL) and Race (because they're best (boy)friends, nothing would change that, no matter what).

[bettsfic]

Hello! Betty, can you talk more about your tags in that Baldwin post? It got me really curious. Also, how do you strip a text from yourself, where is the line?

(for context, the post anon is referring to is a james baldwin quote from the paris review art of fiction in response to "as your experience about writing accrues, what would you say increases with knowledge?"

his answer is, "you learn how little you know. it becomes much more difficult because the hardest thing in the world is simplicity. and the most fearful thing, too. it becomes difficult because you have to strip yourself of all your disguises, some of which you didn't know you had. you want to write a sentence as clean as a bone. that is the goal."

to which i then wrote what i can see know are indecipherable tags about the state of contemporary litritchure.)

so what really resonated with me in this quote is "you want to write a sentence as clean as a bone."

a few years ago i wrote a post about how all that matters is the sentence. and i got a bunch of people reblogging it in disagreement: writing is about character, conflict, yadda yadda. but it's just not true. you don't have character and conflict and all those other lovely craft things without the sentence. the sentence is the vehicle for meaning. writing cannot exist otherwise.

the way i interpret "a sentence as clean as a bone" is a sentence that is wholly in service of the narrative. this kind of writing is rare. it requires a lack of ego and an abundance of confidence, which are two things that don't often go hand in hand. it's hard for me to define it, because on the outside it sounds like i'm saying i prize simple sentences, and that's not true. i'm talking about raw sentences. ones that are written almost as if they had no intention to be read. which is ridiculous, because don't writers write to be read?

that's the big conflict. that's my beef. i've been an editor for seven years and i've read hundreds of stories from the slush pile. the prevailing pattern i see in it, and in most contemporary writing, is this underlying falseness. that this thing i'm reading exists only to be published. only to be a line on someone's CV, a clause in an author bio. i also see a lot of writing that asks me to look at the author over the work itself. applaud them for their clever phrasing and textured images and well-deployed rhetorical devices. and for the most part, i do applaud that kind of writing. like all writing, it's hard, and regardless of the intent, i value a punchy sentence. but sometimes it feels a bit like being in the audience of a magic show where i know how all the tricks are done. everyone is oohing and ahhing and i'm sitting there like, but can't you see it's not real? that it's a trick that's been done a million times before?

there's a lot of counterintuitive logic in what i'm saying. almost no one can write without the foresight of a place it might belong. if you write a literary short story, its destiny is a literary magazine. if you write a full-length manuscript, its destiny is a book store. without knowing where something might belong, you have no road to follow. i don't believe there are many writers out there rubbing their greedy hands together and demanding a pulitzer. but i do know that the motivation of write, for every single writer, is complex. it's inherently a drive to externalize that which is internal, and in that process it becomes flawed. it becomes something that begs to be seen. even if you want to be seen, even if you're dying to be seen, there is still always fear there, because the journey from your mind to a reader's is imperfect. what is in your mind fundamentally can't be in someone else's, and so we might be misperceived. the deeper and more cumbersome that fear is, the shallower and more myopic a writer's work becomes.

that's why what baldwin is saying here is something exceptional, and possibly something impossible. who is the writer that doesn't concern themselves with belonging? who doesn't write to be read? it's a paradox.

fanfiction as a genre, by definition, doesn't have this problem. fanfiction is written largely pseudonymously or anonymously. there is no profit. when i read a good fanfic, or even a not so good fanfic, the author is never saying, "look at me!" they're saying, look at this canon text through the lens with which i see it. and that practice is getting very close to what i think baldwin is talking about. closer, at least. i think writing fanfic is an inherently vulnerable process, and that's why i value it so highly.

ultimately, i don't think it's possible to strip a text of yourself. on a baseline cognitive level, language is the shape of our thoughts, and narrative--a sequence of cause and effect--is our primary tool of understanding ourselves and the world. what baldwin is talking about, sentences as clean as a bone, sentences that exist entirely in the service of the narrative, is a nearly unachievable goal. and so i think what he's saying is the opposite of taking yourself out of the work. i think he's saying you have to put yourself in it, wholly and unselfconsciously, the ugliest and truest parts of you, as if the work still exists within you, without the knowledge it might be read.

[firerose]

Something that I like about Nine's character is that he didn’t   turn bitter because Sonic wasn’t there to save him

We see other Universes in the show

Universes in which other Tails have never met Sonic either..........

and they are still happy.........they still found a family........people who saved them from years of being tormented...

(Knuckles and Rouge are capable of beating up bullies)

They are fine because they found people who loved them for they are........but Nine didn’t

Because he grew up in a world ruled by Eggman Where anyone fights for themselves

Where the rebels are in hiding, which is why Knuckles and Rouge never find a fox child who gets bullied for having two tails

Nine isn’t just the way he is because Tails needs a certain person in his life to be happy

He is the way he is because he grew up in the wrong world........in a universe where he never got the chance to trust or care

And that is what makes him so relatable to me........ Because that can happen to anyone

and it can break anyone

[h0bbs]

stop , what the hell are you talking about ?

there are lines to not step over,   some places you can't return from.   here you have little to no respect,   what good is a supe who almost let her father slice her neck?   what good is a supe accused of helping him do it to other girls?   but you don't care right now,   not when your heart pounds in your chest whenever you're around...   them.   you should be quiet,   stay silent   &   go along with college until you're out,   until you're free to be someone other than   (   ___   ).   " i'm telling you. "

@mindcaterol is perfect,   she's beautiful,   &   she's never had to speak to you,   why would she?   &   why wouldn't she be weary now?   on top of the fear you already feel at unhealthy amounts inside her.

" you   &   your friends are... "   your voices trails off,   caught physically in your throat before you forcibly swallow it down.   " you're anxious,   &   scared.   there's something wrong   &   i just... "   you're not trying to bond,   you're not trying to connect,   but the feeling is making you sick-   to your stomach.   " should i be scared too? "

[pearlfacts]

Any recent thoughts/rambles about PearlRose?

I was actually thinking of making a post about this recently but I couldn't properly articulate it to the point where I was like "yeah that's postable" but this is an ask for rambling so here I go. the whole "how did you stop hurting?" "I didn't." thing in 'volleyball' is such a rollercoaster of emotions for me. almost somehow heartbreaking and heartwarming at once? we talk about pearl healing and getting over the past a lot, but I think her admitting that she's still hurting on some level is important. it solidifies that even if she has found the capability to become her own person and move on, everything pearl and rose went through together (as well as rose's death) will always be a huge part of her. it's not just something she forgot about. a lot of people sort of dismiss pearlrose as a thing of the past; I suppose in a literal, physical sense, it is. but that scene represents the fact that moving on/growing as a person, and missing what once was (even if that thing was painful at times) can co-exist. acknowledging that she was hurting, and she is hurting, is part of growing and healing. she went through a lot, and she's coping, but it's still there. it's part of the process. she's making the best of life she can on her own ❤️‍🩹

[primewritessmut]

1, 2, 5, 12, 31, and 38

I totally was going to do this during my training but the forty gallons of perfume lady but me under for several days. So instead, here it is now.

Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

Seeing the Other. I think regardless of what genre I find myself in, there's always a component of that. The joy and tragedy of being seen, fully seen, for who/what you are and being loved or hated (sometimes both!) accordingly.

I don't know if I really have any other comfort zones. But that's almost definitely me having a blind spot to my own writing.

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

The You've Got Mail trope!

I think I've mentioned this before but I FUCKING LOVE that trope and I've been dying to give it an actual go. I haven't really been able to find a fandom or situation in which I can envision it going the way I want it to, yet. But someday. Maybe.

Or, you know, I'll just have to do it as an original work.

5. Share one of your strengths.

I'll be honest. I am in a place where I am not feeling my strengths at the moment. Everything feels like splinters underneath my fingernails all the time. Which I think is normal and valid for any type of artist. So for this question, I'm giving you a resounding fuck you.

I'm good at trust falling into a story. Just knowing that I'll figure it out as I go along and not feeling like I need to know everything (or really anything) before starting to write.

12. Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

An episode of what? My life? A show? A podcast?

I'm going to go ahead and assume that you're asking me about Loki since you and I scream at each other about that literally every day. And, while I am a S1:E1 enjoyer like yourself, my favorite (and most inspiring) episode is S2:E1. There's a barrier that falls down between Mobius and Loki in that episode, primarily because I think Loki starts to realize that, in all this absolutely Time Slipping bullshit, he keeps going back to Mobius. All the way up to LITERALLY colliding with him near the end. (TWICE.)

31. Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

I never intend to take liberties with canon. But most of the fandoms I write for are comic fandoms first and foremost (with some movies thrown in) and there's SO MANY goddamn comics. I'm not trying to spend all my writing time lining up all the bits of canon. I'd never write.

Also, there is not way in hell that I'm letting canon get in the way of a good story.

Basically, I try not to stray too far from "accepted" canon, but it's also not tying me down.

38. Talk about a review that made your day.

Uh… all of yours? When I’m yelling “YOU GET IT” at your comments.

Other than that, I have a terrible memory so specific reviews aren’t always something I can recall. However, there are two FLAVORS of review I enjoy a lot. One is the “I think I just discovered a new kink” review which is maybe a bit odd because I typically do not want people infodumping their kinks into my comment section. BUT to hit someone where they live like that? With something I’ve written? It’s pretty cool. Second, the ones that are essentially “wow this was disgusting, but I loved it anyway, I find it all reprehensible but I read to the end.” Sort of the opposite of the first type of comment, I think. That my work repelled someone and they still had to finish it? Deep emotions in both sides. That means I did something right.

x

[wazzuppy]

anyways, i think caffeine addiction has become so normalized because of coffee being associated with work

[innytoes]

She looked at him dumbfounded, unsure of how to reply, feeling out of place surrounded by the shouting voices and laughs of the rest of the group.

"Come on, Jules, answer the question!" Luke said. He was five tiny bottles from the mini-fridge in, but considering he never really drank that much to begin with and especially not on tour, he was toasted.

Julie regrets everything in her life that lead up to this moment, playing truth or dare in a shitty hotel room with her friends and band mates at the end of a successful first tour. She should have known better than to say yes to this.

"How the hell am I supposed to answer 'Do you know you have the most beautiful smile in all the world', Luke?" she snapped, turning back to Reggie, whose tipsy, seductive smile was slowly sliding off his face.

If she said yes she sounded haughty and if she said no she sounded fake and what she really wanted to do was lean over and kiss the confused and upset pout slowly appearing on Reggie's face away.

Luckily, Alex knew exactly how to solve this problem. "Okay well then you have to do a dare, I dare you to kiss Reggie so we're finally released from all this ridiculous pining between the two of you."

Now that, she knew how to respond to.

(Send me an ask with the first sentence of a fanfic and I’ll write the next five sentences… or more.)

[tubifexx]

[THREE] - Do they prefer working in teams? If so, what role do they take (e.g., leader, mediator, the brains, etc.)?

Yes! They don't mind teamwork, as long as it's beneficial. As soon as they agree that they're better off by themselves, they're quick to turn Teammates into Casualty.

Carrion doesn't seem too picky when it comes to roles, they'll rarely fall under 'Leader' and prefer to keep a more passive role. This makes it more easier for them to sit back and give proper estimates for whatever they're facing that day. As long as they get the freedom to produce and process, they could care little about their Teammates. (Most of the time)

Unfortunately, they can also fall under the category of 'Babysitter' (You can't die, we can get more outta you.) or 'SortakindaFuckedUpPet' (Doesn't have Socal cues/Will make a Nest in your kitchen floor and call it 'logical' because it's by the Food)

[bookwyrminspiration]

(Gonna send you one more ask after this, don’t feel any pressure to answer any of these asks)

Sometimes I just don’t wanna be queer. I love it, I love me, but what’s the point if I can’t say it. What’s the point of acting like a bad person while hating when I can just forget why everything I’m doing is bad until I’m in a position to actually change my behavior.

What’s the point of being queer if I have to stay in the closet, and what’s the point of knowing being complacent helps no one but me if I’d have to put myself at risk just to become active.

-👐

You're not alone in that feeling. I've been fortunate enough to be in a very supportive environment, so I can't speak to the complexity of it, but I know that the conflict surrounding expression is a tale as old as time.

Being queer, at least right now, means so much more than just existing. It's a statement, an alignment, a challenge, a defiance, a risk, a political thing, and so much more. It can mean hiding, and quiet, and faking it, and rejecting yourself to survive. We don't exist in peace, not when we are debated, policy and law written about that existence. It shouldn't be that way, and one day it won't be, but right now it is.

It makes perfect sense to not want that. Being queer in our world comes with all that extra baggage that none of us chose to sign up for. No one can fault you for not wanting that, being frustrated with hiding.

It's a reasonable response, so I'll just say this: the point of being queer is whatever you make it out to be. I can't tell you what the point is, that's up to you to find. What it means to you. But being in the closet doesn't detract from your queerness, doesn't make you less queer. You are a just as valuable and loved part of the community whether or not you're out or active. You don't need to say it out loud to be queer, though I understand there's a certain relief in being able to. You're not complacent, you're doing what you need to to be safe, and that's what you should do.

I know this is more a reflection on the frustration of being closeted and the thoughts it can bring, but I wanted to say it anyway, just in case. That even though it feels like this you can find the point, you can make meaning it in all, and that there is another side to it.

I think you can find a point, regardless of the situation. And I hope that one day you'll be able to express yourself exactly how you want to, whatever that may be

[riderunlove]

hello! hope you’re doing well 🥰

“when was the last time you ate?” 

for juke please!

Something tugged at the edges of Julie’s awareness, demanding her attention and forcing her out of sleep. She blinked slowly, trying to figure out what felt out of place. A soft strumming broke through her foggy thoughts. 

Guitar strings, she realized. But it was late, or perhaps early. She’d dozed off in the studio around one thirty in the morning as she’d tried to finish a piece for her performance early next week. 

She peeled her eyes open, searching for the source of the sound. 

Luke sat with his back facing her, acoustic laying across his lap. He strummed a series of minor chords before jotting something down in his notebook.  She noted the teal electric in its stand next to him with headphones plugged in. 

She tapped her phone screen. It dutifully showed the time, four am. What is he doing here? 

The band had practiced until almost nine when her Mom had insisted they all come in for dinner. Luke had seemingly vanished into thin air before Julie could tell him the invitation included him as well.

Band progress was slow. The potential for greatness was there, but Reggie remained suspicious of their new lead guitarist. Luke, for his part, stayed distant and closed off. It wasn’t a surprise that he’d elected to skip dinner, though Julie privately thought the time together without the pressure to succeed might benefit everyone. 

“It’s really late,” she commented. 

Luke whirled around to face her, a series of unreadable emotions flickering across his face before it settled into embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be here,  I can- uh- I will- umm- I’ll go,” he blurted out while haphazardly tossing his things into his backpack.

She had a feeling that if he left, he’d never come back. 

“This is a safe place for you, Luke,  and you’re always welcome here. We told you that.” 

 The wary look in his eyes didn’t fade, but some of the tension in his body eased and he visibly took a breath. 

She knew better than to say what she was really thinking, instead settling for “When was the last time you ate?” 

“Oh, I’m fine,” he deflected. Or tried to, even as his stomach growled in displeasure. 

She narrowly resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Follow me, we have some leftovers.” 

She held out her hand. 

Luke stared at it. 

“Trust me,” she urged, shooting him big puppy eyes. 

He tentatively set his hand in hers and let her lead him to the house.

[reginrokkr]

Probably not the brightest idea to post this when the dash is at its most silent, but it just occurred to me that it's been a long time since the last time I addressed this. So before I forget, I'll be saying it now and maybe reblog it later to give it some visibility:

For my portrayal of Dainsleif, I do not adhere to what is commonly believed in fanon. I see where people are coming from in their excitement to slap together a bunch of Khaenri'ahn-related characters to be spiteful together and think of ways to take over the world, but beyond multiple reservations I have on the matter, Dainsleif is not that way.

Yes, based on everything he's gone through and the fact that he let on that he feels how the curse is slowly replacing his mind he could have chances to turn the wrong way and go down that route.

But that would go completely against what he's been fighting for. Anyone who pays attention to the fact that he's so adamant in opposing the Abyss Order, some of which (if not many of them) he once protected during the Khaenri'ah days previous to the kingdom's destruction. They're messed up in more ways than one to the point of experimenting with other Hilichurls that could've been other Khaenri'ahn citizens for their futile plot which leaves them in no better position than Celestia currently is.

So no, he won't go out there plotting to kill the gods when he said that it's a bad idea to go against them to begin with. He won't go against his word of interfering himself if he saw Albedo going bananas in Mondstadt. He won't follow blindly what some takes of Kaeya (son of a regent at most, this title isn't even inheritable) wanting to take revenge for Khaenri'ah or w/e, albeit as an Alberich Dainsleif will keep into account that the last regent of Khaenri'ah wanted to do something positive for that messed up kingdom to no avail. And he won't yield to the Abyss Twin's nonsense.

And if he happens to go down any of these routes (which honestly I'm not interested to explore unless we see some of it in canon and there's a legit reason behind it to dive more into his character), it'll be against his will or against his best judgement which he'd have lost control over. Definitely not because another will manipulate him, Dainsleif is strong enough to be feared by the Abyss Order all things considered— but because of other factors that are beyond his control which are more than likely related to the curse and corruption he's bearing.

[the-gender-bending-squid]

Bisexual friends unite!! 💙💜💖

I see you’re a Gavin lover so I have a question for you ….

Gavin says he’s “tried about everything once” but what do you think he hasn’t tried yet that he probably wants to ??

(You totally don’t have to answer but if you want to then go for it ! )

💙💜💖

I can't speak to Gavin's nsfw ventures, buuutttt

Gavin seems like a very confident person, despite his lack of experience in romance (and friendship, honestly)

So I can't imagine him being a disaster (like me) around people he's attracted to.

Personally, I'm an awkward mess who can't even look the way of a cute person. I can't see Gavin being like that, he's just so...... Gavin.

But I think as far as him wanting to try it, it's more like wanting to understand what that's like?