#sunny writes things

[sunshineandalittleflour]

Writing Patterns

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 fics and see if there’s a pattern!

WHOOPS sorry @onetwistedmiracle this took me a billion years (9 days) to do, the passage of time is simply not real to me. See twisted's post here and read her stuff, it's good. I will follow her lead and also pic ten fics that I wrote by myself, just to try and keep things easier lol

I'm bad at tagging people because this account is a side blog and I really only talk to twisted on it (is this an invitation to talk to me? Maybe! But please don't be offended if it takes me 9 days to reply), but if you want to examine your own writing style, consider this a lazy tag.

The last ten fics I wrote were for Critical Role and Star Wars (I miss you Check! Please, eventually I work work more on mine and twisted's collab fic and see you again)

1: You could be the one that I love, And now I'm standin' here, hopin' it gets to you

Molly had the feeling that so long as Caleb Widogast’s hand was on the small of his back, he could do anything.

Part 9 in my Molly/Caleb/Essek threesome fic, spicy but they're IN LOVE. I do love to start with a character thought/name.

2: I'm in new territory, somehow, it kinda feels like home

“What?” Padme said, her voice feeling hollow in her own chest.

A rare gen fic for me, I usually write explicit, but this was a fun prequel AU because I love to turn tragedies into opportunities. I also love to start with dialogue, just get RIGHT into things. It's also a short sentence, idk why.

3: Oh, if it's real, if it's sweet

“I’ve made a mistake,” Anakin said, and Luke sighed.

Another teen rating, can you believe I built my AO3 page on writing porn? More dialogue, I just think it's funny. And a short sentence!

4: Wherever you are, we are seeing the same stars

The day after Anakin left, Shmi almost sold C-3PO.

Surprise, it's dialogue AND a short sentence. Am I a two-trick pony? Maybe! Check out this kick flip!

5: Feeling like a face in the crowd

What Molly liked most about Essek and Caleb’s house—besides the fact that they lived in it and he, like, loved them—was just how many nooks and crannies it had.

This is the longest starting sentence thus far, maybe the longest starting sentence ever for one of my fics LOL I usually leave the run-ons for a third of the way through. And it's not dialogue! Shocker! This is also part 8 of my threesome purple wizard series, so the foundation has been laid and I could get a little weird with it?

6: All we got is us now

Ahsoka hadn’t spent a lot of time with Leia Organa.

We're back on the short train with a character driven statement. This is also part 5 of my pretty places series, so, again, there could be something to the already established aspect of it, or nothing at all!

7: Look how you made me

“Jester has questions,” Fjord said with a sigh.

Dialogue, but this time it's not from the POV character. I'm not doing a very good job analyzing things, but I am having a good time.

8: A message in a bottle is all I can do, Standin' here, hopin' it gets to you

Caleb Widoghast and Essek Thelyss lived very different lives from Mollymauk Tealeaf.

Character driven thought! Writing is hard, okay, and you gotta start somewhere. Definitive statements and dialogue are nice jumping off points.

9: I'm reaching for you

The first time Molly had sex with Caleb and Essek, he called himself an Uber right after.

This one is earlier on in the threesome series; timeline-wise it's like...the second story? 1.5 technically, since it happens mid first story? But I wrote it fifth, so. Establishment theory does or doesn't gain traction here, I don't think I know what I'm saying anymore.

10: 'Cause you could be the one that I love, I could be the one that you dream of

“What’re you thinking about?” Caleb asked, drawing his thumb across Molly’s temple, winding a purple curl between his fingers.

And we're back on our dialogue train! Dialogue starters, my beloved.

I don't know that we (I) learned anything, but it was fun to wander back through my most recent fics. Hopefully this will inspire me to write more fanfiction, but right now I am DEEP in the trenches of my own dungeons and dragons character, so. It's gonna be a minute.

XOXO

[run-down-that-dream]

State of Mind

State of Mind Mike Campbell x Reader

Summary: Inspiration strikes during Mudcrutch's journey to California in 1974. Extremely loosely based on Mike's song of the same name.

Word Count: 600+

Warnings: N/A

A/N: This is pretty much set on the night they stayed in Tulsa, I just took the liberty of giving the guys separate hotel rooms (hey I'm sure Denny could afford that for them if he wanted to). Guess which one we're in 😁 As always, feedback / comments make a writer's day 🙏

Lines have a way of appearing out of thin air sometimes. All the best ones do at least. Mike took one look at you, so at peace where you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder, and it hit him. It was crystal clear.

Home is a state of mind 

He started to reach for his notebook on the nightstand and stopped. It wasn't any good. Was it? Tommy was the writer. Tommy could say it better. Still, it nagged at him - alone with you in that hotel room in Tulsa. It felt important.

Somehow it explained the way he felt around you. How else could he put it, really? With Florida gone, California ahead, and the simple knowledge of change in the air. It was happening fast. They were crazy, the band and everyone else who followed them there. Even you - crazy as the dust storm outside was. They’d never seen anything like it.

None of that seemed to matter once you were in that room together. Alone. Playing cards, writing stories, watching sleepless time go by. There was something in your smile that got to him. It always did. He would have done anything to see it. So naturally he threw popcorn at you from across the room, where you’d sent him away in good natured fun. He knew you’d retaliate. Of course you did. That alone, maybe, is what home should feel like.

You were sitting cross legged in front of him, plucking pieces of popcorn out of his hair, when he stole the first of many kisses that night. 

“Oh you’re welcome,” you said, a joke as if it was in silent thanks to you. But maybe it was. For being there, for believing in him, and yes, for helping with his hair whether you caused it or not.

Once again, words escaped him, as they always seemed to do. So he kissed you again, hands warm on your knees and hesitant to go much further. It was love, your time together. Slow as it'd been to get that far, it had to be. Love had always been there. 

Through more than two years of friendship and one reluctant confession before this trip began. Was the mutual admiration obvious by then? Of course it was. The real wonder was why it took so long to tell you that.

Your very first kiss happened soon after he told you, in a town that would never be called home again. A moment of relief in a cold night and half a moon hung in the sky. Perfect confirmation that his words meant something. They mean something.

So he started for the notebook again, very careful not to wake you, and wrote it down. The line didn't look so bad on paper. Not at all, despite perpetually messy handwriting made worse by attempted stealth. He didn't know how endearing you found his handwriting to be back then. Even when you'd tease him. He wouldn't understand how much you loved everything about him for a long time.

As for the line, those six words scribbled in darkness in the middle of the night. It would become a song. A great one. Just, not yet. Not that night, not the next day either. Not in years. But it would.

For now the notebook was placed back on the nightstand so he could hold you a little closer and kiss the top of your head. How he got so lucky, he didn't know. To have you then; to know he’d be needed in a real studio by morning. It was all so different.

In it, sleep too far out of reach. There wasn’t a chance. At least, that's what he thought before he closed his eyes. But you were there. And you wanted to love him back. You really did. It was all he wanted for so long.

Maybe that could be enough, because sleep did come - just in knowing you were there. It was a familiar feeling, the last he could have until morning.

Home can be anywhere. Anything. In that moment, it was you.

Maybe it'd always been you. 

Tags: my taglist is extremely out of date so I'm starting from scratch. pls don't hesitate to ask to be added for everything I write or just for specific people

@thebomb-diggity I don't remember if I sent this one to you??? asjklsdf but you might like 💛

[cybersunnie]

So Divine ✶ Steve Harrington

18+ / MDNI — literally just smut w/ some fluff, f!reader, petnames (sweetheart, baby) got inspired by @/season4steve's comments (wc: 1k)

Steve was a gentle lover.

Compliments, spontaneous gifts, late-night calls because he wanted to hear your voice before bed. He was always soft and sweet with you, all boyish charm and smiles.

With his parents out of town again, you and Steve had the house all to yourselves. It started innocently. A movie night at his place, cuddling on the couch, the light touch on your hip growing more greedy as the night went on. You tried to ignore it, eyes trained on the screen, but you were still all too aware of his glances and smirks that meant no good. 

Your efforts were pointless.

The cheesy horror flick Steve had mindlessly picked out at work turned into background noise when he leaned in and kissed you slow, testing the waters. Your lips melted between his, warmth blossoming in your chest, your skin tingling. Whispers of I want you filled your ears, and you were suddenly putty in his hands—a mindless thing made of flesh and bones.

One thing led to another, and the both of you stumbled up the stairs and to his bedroom, giggling into the other’s mouth.

Your curves and edges, and his scars and birthmarks.

Steve had you pinned beneath him, his sheets wrinkled and a mess, clothes discarded and forgotten. You gasped so prettily for him, your face crumbling with ecstasy every time his hips snapped forward to meet yours, the slow drag of his cock making your head spin.

Even as he took you, Steve was nothing but gentle. Every kiss and touch ghosted over your skin like he was afraid to hurt you. 

As if you were a delicate flower, each limb a petal he wanted to preserve, to dote on. 

“You’re so pretty,” he rasped out, his nose nudging yours, urging you to look at him.

You keened, cheeks burning, eyes hazy with pleasure. How Steve looked at you was overwhelming—like you were the only good thing in the world.

"Yeah? You like being my pretty girl?"

You nodded and held him tighter, not wanting this to end. Your nails dug into his back, the crescent indents adding to his constellation of moles and freckles.

With Steve, all you saw were stars.

His gaze softened, a crinkle between his brows. "I know you do," he murmured, ducking his head down and kissing your jaw. Steve felt you shiver, your cunt squeezing his cock, snug and warm. He fought the urge to bite your shoulder as he buried himself deeper inside of you. "Fuck, sweetheart. You're killing me."

You wondered if Steve knew how much control he had over you. If he knew that his voice made everything around you feel light. If he knew that, in your mind, he embodied the night sky.

That he was timeless. Divine. A mysterious beauty.

He deserved to know.

But your voice was gone, the words stuck in your throat. The knot in your stomach grew tighter. The inevitable inched closer. You could only utter a meek whimper of his name with your fingers digging into his flesh. 

Steve pulled his face from your neck and looked at you, stilling himself. “What, baby?”

He sounded so concerned, so sincere—it just made you want him more.

You whined and pressed the heels of your feet against his ass, begging him to move, to keep fucking you. Thankfully, Steve took the hint, pulling out a few inches before pushing back in, his heart swelling with pride when you whimpered.

Steve knew you were close. He could fucking feel it.

"Keep squeezing me like that—holy shit," Steve groaned, almost whining, as your cunt pulsated around his cock. "You're close, huh? You gonna come for me?"

Overwhelmed, you shut your eyes. It was too much. Steve's body flushed with yours, your ears buzzing, your heart pounding so hard it rattled your ribcage—it was all too much.

And Steve noticed. He always noticed.

Soft and soothing, he whispered your name and grasped your chin, your skin warming under his fingertips.

"Look at me."

Reluctantly, you opened your eyes. Steve smiled the same smile that swept you off your feet the first time you met him. He leaned his forehead against yours, his usual sweet brown eyes hardened with lust, with the desire to please you.

"There we go," Steve murmured, kissing your lips. He let go of your chin and moved his hand, his large palm enveloping the side of your face. You leaned into his touch, your brows drawing tightly together as Steve kept fucking you nice and slow. "You still with me, yeah?"

You nodded, mind-numbing.

"Yeah," he cooed, his mouth hovering over yours, breaths mingling. A pitiful whine escaped you, and he swallowed it with another kiss. "You're okay. You're doing so good."

It was all tangled heat and longing. Your hands trailed into his hair, soft and roots drenched with sweat. Mouths hung open, moans and gasps, your hearts becoming one.

Steve grunted, head dipping down into the crook of your neck, his hips rocking into yours. "C'mon, baby, give it to me."

You were at his mercy, unprotected, bare of armor.

The knot snapped.

Pleasure erupted in the pit of your belly and wrecked through you. You cried out his name in gasps and moans, your legs locking around his waist, fingers tugging at his hair. Steve whimpered as if he was wounded, his thrusts faltering, tongue swirling over your pulse points, and teeth nipping at your skin.

Wrapped up in the other and your sweaty limbs entangled, the intensity died down, heavy breaths filling the air. Neither of you moved—a silent agreement to stay connected a little longer. 

"I love you," Steve whispered, leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw until he reached your mouth. He stared at you with adore-filled eyes, his cheeks flushed and hair disheveled from your own doing. "I love you so much."

Through your haze, you grinned, fingers sowing through his hair, "I love you more."

Steve snorted, shaking his head. "Impossible."

author's note: yay i finally finished something!!!!! it had been such a long time since i wrote smut so i'm sorry if this wasn't up to par LMAO but i love me some soft and sappy sex

anyways i hope you enjoyed this!!! tysm for reading! <3

[ghastlybirdie]

cw: dementia, short mentions of ultrasounds/children but gn!reader (no use of y/n or names, just 'you')

You always hated the color orange; ever since you were a child you hated it. It wasn't a gentle color like green and it never brought you happiness like yellow. It doesn't even suit your skin tone so you never could quite understand its purpose.

So why were you wearing an orange gown? It wasn't the worst looking shade of orange you've ever seen, but you didn't like the halter top or the bedazzled bodice of it all. Your hair is done so nice and the minimalistic amount of jewelry was tasteful. The strangest part, though, was the other person in the frame. You didn't recognize them. You hardly could of recognized yourself. But it was you, and beside you was a tall gentleman, your arm is slung over his and your head resting against his shoulder.

He's handsome, you think, but he's so clean, babied-faced and awkward in the picture. He's wearing a fancy sort of hat and a neatly pressed navy colored uniform, one with gold and green and red and blue badges a plenty. And his blue eyes shone in the flash of the camera light, his free hand resting on yours.

He's better off with a beard.

And you were right! The next photo you flip through you find yourself again, this time in a much more flattering red blouse, sitting across from the same man. You can tell cause he has the same smile, much more natural now, and the same blue eyes still sparkling through, and a beard grown in. The two of you are at a fancy table judging by the wine glasses and candles lit beside you, and he was holding your hand again, looking at you fondly. Despite the yellowing photo in your hand, it felt so real even just looking down at it. He's holding your hand so gently, even though the place and time eludes you, you could almost feel it in your fingers right now.

You could almost feel a calloused hands, rough in the pads of their fingers and palms, yet clammy all the same. You can't remember why. It was infuriating cause there was a taste in your mouth that made you salivate and belly grumble but you couldn't put your finger on why. If it wasn't for the half eaten plate of food in another photo, you wouldn't have remember that that was the food you ordered. You wondered if it was good. Was it? In the next photo it was you and the man again. Still holding your hand and presenting it to the camera, showed a ring on your finger. You looked so happy. So did he.

What a gorgeous wedding dress. It was ethereal. Serene. It was exactly everything someone could hope for. What you would of hoped for. Long train, full skirt but not heavy, sleeves that fell off your shoulders tastefully, and a bouquet that held all your favorite flowers.

Such a gorgeous photo, a beautiful alter and wedding venue... and such a gorgeous man. He's dressed simply. Tux, matching flowers, freshly cut hair. And mutton chops. You think it's strange... But still very attractive.

The photo is warm and bright, the people surrounding the two of you as you shared a kiss with the gentleman. You know he's the same one. You can feel it in the way your heart aches and pumps inside your chest.

What a lovely photo.

The rest make your heart ache more. Photos of others, more men with rugged and scarred faces, drinking and laughing while you stood over a grill. Photos of the man on the ground, in the grass, a dog laying on top of him. Photos of times of laughter and cheer, of family and friends, you think. Times of happiness. Pictures of ultrasounds and babies, toddlers running and school photos of plenty. Photos of memories. Frozen memories.

Photos that now rest wet in your hands, your vision blurry and hands shaking, a whimper leaving you even though just a moment ago you were just smiling. You were laughing when they were laughing. Smiling when these people smiled. None of them cried, so why did you?

You can't remember why. You couldn't remember why you started to cry. You wept, even, as you pulled the photos out of the protective sleeves, tossing the album book to your feet as you looked over each photo.

You knew that these were photos of you, photos you stood and posed in, photos that had sounds and scents already built into them without a reason in your mind why.

And this man. This man plagued almost every single one. You were so close to tearing one printed picture in two, one of you in that wedding dress you can't quite put your finger on why you were even in front of the camera in the first place; but you paused when you caught sight of writing on the back.

~Wedding Day - Spring of 2014~

So you checked another.

~141 Bar Crawl, Bachelor Party~

And another.

~John's Big Day - Ceremonial Banquet~

John. The man with the beard? The man in your photos, the one with the blue eyes and crinkly eyes?

"Love, what are you doing?" A coarse, gravel voice jolted you in your seat, the rage filled tears ceasing long enough for you to see from where the source of your fright came from.

The man stood over you with a frown in his brows, nose whistling through the mustache as he peered down at you. He gripped a cup in one hand, kneeling down with a deep groan to pick up the photos scattered at your feet.

Your eyes never left him. Never lifted from his features. His hands were rough, even from here you could tell, and his mutton chops were still the same: full and well maintained, though much much more grey. Even with the annoyance they held, his eyes were still the same, brilliant blue. They were much better in person than in the photos.

John.

"I told Maggie not to leave these things out. Oh- You even took my favorite one out." Despite how unkindly of a mess you've made, he never raised his voice. Bothered no doubt, but not angry. Not towards you, you think. Even now, as the photos were carefully plucked and placed back in the photo album, his voice remained calm. Soft.

John.

He sat on the arm chair next to yours, nothing in between you two other than the well loved upholstered chairs you both sat in, both facing towards the bay window and overlooking a tidy garden.

"Do you remember this day?" He asks gently.

Yes. You shake your head. He sighs, something sad in his exhale.

"This is the day I married you." He speaks as if raising his voice would unleash a well kept secret. "I think it's one of the best I've ever looked." He smiled at you, blue eyes so bright, crinkling the same way they've always had.

John.

"And this was when I came home with a broken collar bone. I never seen you so angry before- Oh, love."

You're crying again. You can't remember why, but you understand. His thumb wipes away your tears, thumb pad much softer now after all these years.

"Don't cry. Not for this. We can look at these another day." He's tired. You can hear it in his voice. You heard it whenever he came home. It was so familiar. "I made us stew in the slow cooker, okay? I'll get you a bowl and we can watch something on the telly, yeah?" He stood before you could answer, though you don't think you could. Your tongue was heavy with words, the tip weighed down with something that made your whole body shake. He didn't seem to noticed, focused on his thoughts that he spoke aloud. Just as he always did.

"John..?"

He stood stone still, a shiver visibly running down his spine. He couldn't move like he used to, the captain retired decades ago and stiffness settled into his old bones by now, but he turned so fast that the room spun with him.

You both stared at each other in silence, the air heavy with something unspoken in the past several years, the seconds passing by painfully long. You were the one who finally broke the silence.

"John... Oh- John..!" Was all you could say, your voice rasp and cracking from lack of use, tears once more falling from your eyes and onto your lap. "John, Jo-John... I missed you."

John's face mirrored yours, trembling hands and watery eyes as his mind settled back into his body, feet already moving towards you. He called your name, tender as it ever was, as you cried and reached for his hands. You held them tight as if they'd disappear right from your grasp. He didn't mind. He held you just as tight. Looked at you just as deeply. There were words exchanged in your touch and gaze, ones you both practices and done time and time again.

But you knew those words weren't the ones you wanted to say. You wanted to say more, they were held prisoner in your mouth for so long, yet those weren't what you wanted to say. You knew you meant more. You tried, you did. I love you. You're an angel. I'm sorry. You're my husband. You're my life. I see you, John. I'm here, too. I love you.

But you forgot.

Instead, all that you could say was: "I need to go home..."

John's smile didn't break, not enough for you to see, he kept it up just for you; the smile, the photos, the old music and all. He kept it in hopes to help your memory. It worked, once upon a time, but time waits for no one or thing. It was a crude lesson for many. For him, it was a lesson learned again and again. And for a moment, he nearly lost hope.

"I know, love, I know." He wiped away your tears once more, letting his own fall into his beard and mask the weight that crushed his heart day by day, little by little. "You're home. I'm here. Come, come help me tidy up, yeah? Dinner is ready, love."

Okay, John.

---

Inspired by this prompt~

[charmac]

How are you feeling about S17? I'm getting reaaal worried that it's going to be terrible. No Glenn in the writers room? A crossover episode?? Rob's gradual transformation into pondslime??? Help

Pondslime 😭Lmfao

I'm feeling more than fine about 17, really truly. I don't think anyone should be worried at all.

I think sometimes my interactions with Glenn come off a little more serious or abrasive than they really happened in real life (because we have to shout due to how loud it is in the bars), and my immediate transcription is just to get people *information*, which really doesn't convey tone.

For example, reporting that Glenn said "you don't want to know" in response to me asking for any teasers (as to plots this season) was met with a lot of "oh so this season is gonna suck" on Twitter, and that could not be further than the truth (sorry to the people I split-react blocked for saying that lol). In hindsight I get the reaction, because written out it's a response that can be easily misinterpreted and reads as potentially concerning, but know that when Glenn said "you don't want to know" he looked like this:

And when I was genuinely just asking for script information (regarding writers of individual scripts after he mentioned they had broken already) and mentioned Nina (Inflates) and Ross (DTAMHD), he gushed about both of them and then said, transcribed word for word, "It's been a good room, I'll say this it's been a great room. It's been an all-star room, it's been...like, breaking the stories this year has been really fun. [Me: Yeah?] Yeah. [That's great, that is great to hear.] It's been really fun."

So the idea of "no Glenn in the writers room" is really much more akin to Season 16 than 13/14. He was there to break stories (meaning he was in the room when they were brainstorming plot ideas and when they settled on which plots would be turned into scripts) but Rob and Charlie are taking the brunt of writing their (RCG's) scripts because of Sirens. This is the same thing that happened with The Gang Goes Bowling. Glenn's name is on the script, but Rob and Charlie wrote the majority of it while Glenn was shooting Blackberry. (I remember originally being convinced it was a mistake Glenn was listed as a writer for Bowling, lmfao). And Glenn is definitely still contributing, will be on revisions for the non-RCG scripts, and will classically change or improv whatever he thinks is best for Dennis when he's on set (see: the Risk E. Rats script).

Also, I know the crossover is concerning to a lot of people just given the nature of it, but as of what we know right now it's only on Abbott, so it's really just as if this season's The Gang Cracks the Liberty Bell or The Janitor Always Mops Twice took place on a different show instead of ours...

I promise promise promise Glenn was clearly holding his tongue for good things coming up, and Friday night very much restored my confidence that Season 17 will be good. (But..if you don't think Glenn has good contributions to Sunny or understands the agenda, then sorry this response probably sucks lmfao)

[uniiiquehecrt]

Voice actors are NOT the same as actors.

It takes a specific kind of skill-set and training to be able to warp and meld the voice. It takes a certain kind of talent and dedication to hone that talent into the ability to meld the voice and invoke emotion with one's voice alone. Actors are used to using their voice secondarily to their body language and their facial expressions. It's all mirrored back on camera. They do have nuance. But it's a different kind of nuance and a different kind of training to produce that nuance.

Voice actors might get their likeness transposed on their character's design, and maybe their mannerisms might seep into the character's animation. But when it's all said and done: their presence is in their voice. They are bringing a character to life, showing that emotion in their voice, trying to keep a specific accent, drawl, pitch, tone in that voice and keep it consistent for their recording sessions.

The voice actor is like a classically trained musician who can play first chair in a competitive, world-renown orchestra. The actor (who fills the voice actor's role) is like a moot who played violin in beginner and intermediate high school orchestra and thinks they can get into Juilliard with that 2-4 years of experience.

This doesn't mean that the HS orchestra moot can't play. They can even be really good at it. Maybe they won competitions and sat first chair. But they are not in the same league as the person who's been training their whole lives and lives and breathes to hone their craft using the instrument and all of the training they've ever acquired to perfect it. They are not meant for the same roles. They are not in the same caliber. You do not hire the HS equivalent when you want to play complex music in a competitive orchestra.

Actors are not the same as voice actors.

And furthermore, actors - especially big name actors - taking the roles of animated characters for big budget films or TV pilots makes no sense anyways when - at least in the case of TV pilots - there's not a point to hiring a big budget actors anyways. That money could be used elsewhere (like paying your animators), and the talent that is brought onto the screen for X character could then be hired on to voice said character no recasting required.

I wouldn't say voice acting as a profession is in danger exactly, but it's certainly being disrespected and overlooked for celebrity clout, and this has ALWAYS been an issue. Shoot, even Robin Williams knew that much - which is why he tried so hard not to be used as a marketing chess piece for Aladdin and got royally pissed off when it happened anyways. People shouldn't go to any movie (but especially not animated films) because "oh famous actor is in it". People should go because it's a good movie and the voice acting is good.

People who honest to god think that voice actors are replaceable because "oh well anyone can voice act" or "I like xyz celebrity so naturally it'll be good" ... Honestly I just wish you'd reassess your priorities because you're missing the point and are part of the problem.

Voice Actors ≠ Actors.

[whoslaurapalmer]

struck by an idea i refuse to commit to bc I firmly believe bea and bertrand did not know lemony was alive and i do not need to deal with this revelation at 11:53 at night but you know. what would make. an amount of sense. if they DID know. if they were in contact with him while he was on the run. all that time. if the things lemony writes about the kids and bea and bertrand in the books, the memories the kids have of their parents before the fire, were things he knew because bea and bertrand told him

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

I HAVE THREE SCENES LEFT AND THEN ITS FINALLY FINISHED HOLY FUCK- I CAN SEE THE LIGHT????

[literallyjusttoa]

Could you tell us more abt ur au where Apollo doesn’t come back exactly right after surviving being so close to chaos 👀

Yes!! Actually I had a fic that I really wanted to write about this, and I am planning on still doing that but I will tell y'all the gist of it bc I cannot contain myself. (Also this is a bit different from some of the things I've said before about this so I hope you still like it lol)

Ok so, the fic was gonna be a 5 + 1 fic, where Meg and Apollo both realize that something's ... off about him after the trials. His powers and abilities are fluctuating for seemingly no reason. Sometimes he's just a normal god, but sometimes it's like he's still a mortal. And he's also having times where he's way stronger than a god should be, like, near primordial levels. It's causing him a lot of issues, for example:

Gods don't need to eat or sleep, but mortals do. If Apollo doesn't realize his energy levels are going down, he will just end up crashing from lack of food/sleep. This leaves him perpetually exhausted and shaky.

His blood is now all kinds of crazy colors, and it changes based off of where he is on the mortal/immortal scale.

When he's in a "mortal" state of being, he's pretty similar to a demigod. Meg and Apollo learned this when Apollo accidentally did some lightning bending one day. This is not something Apollo has ever wanted to be able to do, and he freaks out appropriately.

One day, Apollo woke up sick and tired of this whole situation. He jokingly wished that someone else could just take over the sun for the day. However, Apollo hadn't realized that he had just gotten a huge power boost overnight, and his harmless little wish just created a second sun. Haha whoops.

Eventually, Apollo ends up breaking his father's rules and visiting Asclepius just so he can get some answers about this, so here's a little rough comic based on the scene I wanted to write explaining this whole mess.

[cybersunnie]

a self-indulgent steve drabble because i'm feeling sleepy and lonely

Hearts opened, clothes scattered on his bedroom floor, bodies bared.

Steve had spent the last few minutes looking at you with his thumb brushing over your cheek and fingers splayed along your jaw. Soft snores escaped your parted lips, your cheek smushed against the pillow, and your legs tangled with his under the sheets. The morning sun peeked through his blinds, streaks of gold hitting your skin and making you look more ethereal than you already were. You were utter perfection, a masterpiece hidden in plain sight. Something only those who were worthy could lay their eyes upon.

He didn't think he could fall more in love with you, but he was falling. With every second spent in your presence, he fell deeper and deeper, and he hoped he would never find a way out.

Before he could steal a kiss, you stirred awake, brows pinching together. You forced an eye open, vision clearing, only to be greeted with Steve smiling at you like a lovesick fool—nothing but sweet adoration. 

“Creep,” was all you said before your eyes slipped shut.

He hummed, unfazed, and pressed his lips to your hairline. “Morning to you, too.”

[lixxen]

I want to write a ficlet of the gang going to one of Dennis's frat parties back then and Charlie steals the show through his willingness to do anything; but instead of making fun and bullying him they actually love him and adore him. Like. The frat bros love him unironically and the sorority girls absolutely love him and try to claim him as theirs. They go behind Dennis's back to know more about Charlie and learn he isn't even in college

And Charlie proceeds to get invited to random Greek life parties outside of Dennis, who doesn't realize it at first past the first party that introduced Charlie to them. Like. He's getting invited to way more parties than Dennis is and just loves the attention because they're not harassing him. And he also learns cool new phrases and random shit that randomly sticks

Imagine Dennis's horror when he witnesses Charlie raise his shot glass, say "here's to honor. if you can't cum in her, cum on her", tap his shot onto the bar top then shoot it back. Because that's the branded sayings of one of the other frats in the school. It doesn't click until that moment how Charlie suddenly randomly understood how frats and college worked without attending. Charlie didn't even go to college and was more popular there than Dennis ever was

Edit: Charlie can shoot rumplemintz. This is my HC. Iykyk

[softmangoes]

echoes | a sunny day jack shortfic

18+ only

in the darkness, jack dreams.

it's one of the few things he can do in the void that has kept him prisoner for god knows how long. his steps resound throughout the emptiness, the glassy ground offering nothing else but his distorted reflection.

a long time ago, he stopped wandering to find his freedom. a little after that, he stopped screaming into the static hoping that someone would hear him. save him. now, he walks to remind himself that he still exists: a series of echoes in an endless abyss.

jack does not sleep. fatigue does not weigh heavy on his bones. here, there is only the cold. as he wanders this wretched plane, he dreams of sweetness. of light. of warmth.

he dreams of things he knows he does not deserve.

but something is different: in the distance, he hears a familiar song cut through the static. memories of old friends surface. for the first time in ages, he does not feel alone.

this is his chance. perhaps his only one.

jack does not hesitate. the cold bites at his skin. he takes off running towards the light and the warmth to the sweet, sweet brightness of freedom.

[thatdude-noah]

dennis and mac need each other and they need each other so desperately. obviously the clearest example of this is mac and dennis breakup, but i feel like mac and dennis simply can't hold a life outside of each other. "breaking up" for a night screwed them up. and then dennis moving away to a whole different state only made it worse, made it so clear how codependent they are. and mac knows this. mac knows he needs dennis, he needs dennis like he needs air in his lungs. and dennis needs mac just as badly, but he's so resistant to it. he can never accept mac and his support and his love, because he can't accept that he needs it. he pushes it away because then he can convince himself that he's independent, he's a man who doesn't need love, he doesn't need anybody. but if mac ever actually took that love away from dennis, dennis would be lost.

[hazbinhappy]

does no one ever wonder about like the children and family members of sinners? like i do A LOT

[clegfly]

“Of course you have an Other Brother,” he says, waving off her denial as he opens some nearby cabinets. “Who else would I be if I wasn’t?”

Small WIP sketch of the Other Brother from IDKSomethingClever99’s fic “Mari in the Pink Palace”!!! OMORI and Coraline are my two biggest interests ever so this fic was like winning the lottery for me. Not to mention how good it is… please go read it ragh

[noctilucous-sunni]

Eternity truly is the ultimate curse (Dying in their arms)

me? posting? that happens like once in a blue moon. tbh i was mainly thinking about dainsleif and scara while writing this. its just a random drabble or smth. if there’s like a big mistake or error pls tell me bc i barely proofread this lol. masterlist

Scaramouche/Wanderer, Dainsleif, Xiao, Aether

Mortals were so painfully fragile.

Haven’t I given enough?

No. Not you, not this.

Countless arguments, countless days of delight and they all end here?

You whimper quietly as he shifts you in his arms. At the end of it all, you’re glad that at least you’ll die in the arms of someone you love and vice versa.

“I’m fine, I just need a nap…” you joke, taking a shaky breath. It results in you coughing painfully, wheezing as you can taste the blood in your mouth.

Always the fool with the slowest heart.

“I’m… so… sorry,” you continue to mumble out, your vision getting worse. “That I couldn’t… stay.” You grasp his clothing tighter, tears falling down your cheeks. “I… really wanted to. I promised…” you choke out, and it gets harder to hold on every moment longer.

But with my tunnel vision,

How was I supposed to see the way?

“No. No, this isn’t the end. No.” He murmurs, pushing your hair back. He shakes his head, unable to come to terms with reality. He won’t lose everything he ever had again, he won’t lose you.

You sigh, your hands loosening from their grip. You’re so, so tired.

Haven’t I given enough, given enough?

When he gazes at you, with fear and panic and despair and absolute utter hidden rage, a soft smile makes its way to your lips. “I’ll see you again. Soon enough.”

Haven’t I given enough?

“No, don’t—don’t… no, please, please…” He begs quietly, throwing aside any notion of dignity or pride he once had as he pleads for you to stay alive just a little longer. He doesn’t want to be alone again. The light in your eyes starts to dwindle, before breathing out your last words for reassurance. “It’s… okay….”

Your warm body is the last sign of life leaving you as it grows cold in his arms. He’d burn the world down if only that meant it would give you back alive.