#take this instead of my fanfiction

[yannowhatigiveup]

I couldn’t help myself

Scenes from Batman Vs Robin and Miraculous Ladybug (Dark Owl)

[proxycrit]

Part 1 / Part 2

Emmet remembers when he and Ingo first brought Elesa to explore Celestial Tower, back when they were fourteen and thought they were immortal.

“Allegedly, the bell chime will bring ghosts home”, ingo had told emmet with the pompous knowing energy of a child who read way too much brochures. “It’s culturally significant! We must ring it.”

“Hmmm,” emmet had responded suspiciously. “Brother. The bell is at the top of the tower.” The implication stands: Ingo, there are thirty flights of stairs between here and the top, and no elevator to speak of.

Don’t be a coward, Litwick had told Emmet with the blaise tone of somebody who’s going to be piggy backing off of somebody else. Go ring the bell. Tynamo, sensing a litten fight, floated towards a loitering blitzle.

Ingo turns his lilipup eyes on Elesa, who’s squinting at the carved stone faces of the front door.

“Elesa? What do you think?”

Elesa thinks. She shrugs. “We already made our way here,” she said in accented galarian. “Might as well make it the rest of the way. Ganbatte!”

Emmet sighs. “This is a mistake,” he tells the two in exhaustive patience, but lets himself be dragged into the building.

Last time the twins were here, Ingo caught litwick— but not before she managed to nab a good chunk of Emmet’s soul. It’s not terrible; he felt fatigued for a week and bounced back pretty quickly, but it was the principle of the whole situation— celestial tower’s a pain in the ass and Emmet will stand by that until the day he dies.

Like right now.

The map isn’t working. Emmet checked it once. He’s checked it twice. He’s taken out his pen and written on it, which he would usually never do but desperate times call for desperate measures. The compass he brought spins useless circles. It’s like chargestone cave up here, but worse because instead if electric pokemon it’s all ghosts.

“We’re lost, yyup yup!” He announced to the crew. “I vote we eat Ingo first.”

“I love you too,” Ingo told Emmet placidly. “But we all know between the two of us, you’re the tastier one.” Litwick gives Emmet a thumbs up. Emmet gasps in mock affront.

“Elesa, help!”

Elesa gives the two of them a wary look. It took two floors for her to realize this is not just a weird temple with strange rocks, but a full out graveyard. She’s not very happy about that development.

“Don’t drag me into this,” she tells them. “Teme wa urusaii.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” Ingo reports back.

Emmet, who’s cheerfully struggles with Galarian on a good day, simply gives her a thumbs up.

The three painstakingly crawl their way up. And up. If all else fails, Emmet told himself, at least they can orient themselves towards high ground.

“We’re like pidoves,” Ingo gasps. He has fallen behind them on the stairs, with Emmet taking the lead through sheer spite despite his legs going numb on floor twenty two. “We, hah, we are attracted by the magnet of the bell, like, like probopass-“

“I am emmet! You are not making, sense!” Emmet called back. Elesa, who’s stuck between them and looking two steps from perpetual collapse, giggles.

“No, no hear me out, Ingo wheezes. “What if the bell’s a magnetic pole? And that’s why your compass doesn’t wo, woo, hahh, work.”

Emmet stops to rest, just because Ingo is using precious breathing air to infodump. Elesa gratefully slumps against the railing. Tynamo and litwick, lazy in their still small size, have settled on a weary blitzle and look very smug doing so. (Emmet is not jealous, he tells himself. Emmet is also lying.)

“The bell’s important,” Ingo had repeated.

“Okay,” Elesa responds. “If it’s important to you, then it’s important to us.”

And Emmet finds that he agrees with Elesa. Partially because they crawled up twenty fucking three flights of stairs, but also because Ingo thinks this is important, so it is.

And here’s the thing—

— emmet doesn’t remember much after that.

The rest of that trip was a blur of exhausted groaning and burning legs, and by the time the trio managed to breach floor thirty, people’s brains have all but dribbled out their ears. Emmet remembers being disgustingly sweaty. He remembers blitzle almost tripping to death and litwick’s swearing. He remembers tynamo sticking to his neck like a damp towel. He remembers Ingo’s excited sneasel smile, and the way the sunset bounced off of Elesa’s hair.

He remembers the brassy ring of the Celestial bell. It sounded like victory.

But it was Elesa’s cackle turned scream as Ingo swiped cold hands down her neck that sounded like home.

—-

So when the conductor at thirty one, lost and disoriented in the Impossible Place, heard the sound of a familiar bell, ringing over and over and over-

-the sound of laughter-

-EMMET! Elesa cried-

-like a homing pidove, the conductor, thinks nonsensically as something in him perks up.

(Emmet had always liked winning, more than anything else, and the sound of victory calls him home.)

—

Elesa catches lightning in a bottle. Elesa, arms outstretched, finds purchase in her brother, and does not let go.

Emmet is so, so cold, Elesa thinks as the wind steals air from her lungs. (That’s okay. She’s already breathless from a terrible business called hope.)

Emmet stares back. His hands flap against Elesa’s jacket. Elesa desperately drinks in his wan face and too wide eyes and his frost bitten lips. In a tiny, meek voice, almost lost to the wind, he asks:

“Are you real?”

Elesa lets out an ugly sob. Her tears whip away in the wind as they fall. Emmet’s frightened countenance turns immediately to alarm. His shaky grasp becomes a solid grip as they spin through the air, cushioned by chandelure’s psychic.

“I think so??” Elesa warbles. She sees Emmet��s eyes dart to her mouth. He’s reading mirroring her, she realizes with giddy delight— it’s such an Emmet thing to do, to read lips, and-

“I am Emmet,” Emmet breathes. His eyes have started to water. “Yyou are Elesa- Oh dragons, Elesa!?“

Elesa reaches. Hesitates.

Emmet grabs elesa by the lapels and crushes her tight against him. Elesa holds on, and the grief and relief in her accumulates into a wet sopping mess. She’s ruining his jacket, she mourns, but its okay because he’s dripping all over hers.

She can’t hear what he’s saying into her shoulder, can’t read what he says, but everything’s okay because every part of her is chiming

You came back

You’re here

I’m not alone anymore.

Around them, the air distorts as Chandelure’s psychic wavers, flutters, and solidifies. Gravity reverses its call as they settle gently on the ground, dust billowing in all directions.

The ghost pokemon drops next to them, shaking so hard the musical clang of glass makes Elesa flinch.

You fucks, Chandelure gasps. DON’T GO LEAPING OFF BUILDINGS, I AM NOT YOUR EMERGENCY PARACHUTE.

“I’m sorry,” Elesa gasps, still giddy from the adrenaline.

AND YOU! Chandelure howls, whirling on Emmet, who’s still staring at the ghost with huge eyes. He’s gripping on to solid ground with the energy of a man who realized he could have been a splat on the ground.

YOU LEFT!

Emmet winces.

You- You left us, you left me-

Ah, ah no, Elesa thinks as golden globules of light shed from Chandelure. This is what a ghost looks like crying.

Emmet holds out his arms. Chandelure drifts into his embrace, and shakes, and shakes, and shakes.

You left me, the ghost pokemon whispers. How dare you. How could you.

“I didn’t mean to,” Emmet whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Stop doing this to me, Chandelure demands. Golden brine joins human tears, like drops of sun trapped in wet glass. Stop going where I can not follow.

And Emmet holds his tongue, because he knows he can not promise staying. Not while Ingo and Eelektross are still in Hisui.

(In the back of Emmet’s hurt and shattered mind is a spark. Synapses connect. The cold breach of the Distortion does nothing to drown out the sudden flare of hope in Emmet’s chest, so great he can not breathe, so strong he can not feel, because there’s a path. A difficult, painful path through the Space that Can Not Be, but a path all the same.)

“Elesa, Chandelure-“ Emmet’s voice breaks. He wants to tell them about Eelektross. He wants to tell them about the terrible past that is Hisui. He wants to explain how the last five months were filled with horror and wonder and fear and hope.

Hope, he thinks. So he says this:

“I know how to get Ingo home.”

NOTES:

AAAAAND THAT’S ALL FOR THIS DRABBLE. ITS OUT NOW. I CAN FINALLY GO BACK TO POSTING HAPPY SHENANIGANS! (Now you know the shape of their story.)

Thanks for reading this monster of a post!

[thefrogdalorian]

A little love letter to Din Djarin writers... 🤍

I love that some of you write him as soft and gentle while others focus on the darker, harsher parts of his personality. I love that he can be both a quiet, kind man caring for his child or an intimidating, terrifying bounty hunter who is a lean, mean killing machine... depending on what the fic warrants.

I love how you write him with other characters from The Mandalorian or even with those who would never cross paths with him in canon, from Star Wars or elsewhere. I love how you write him interacting with yourselves and us, and some of you even create your own original characters to exist a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away alongside him.

I love that some of you ship him with that one other special person, while others recognise how desirable he is and ship alllllll the ships. Not forgetting those of you which are here for none of those ships and/or even headcanon him as ace. I love that any of those options allow you to explore your own identities and sexualities through him.

I love that you can write the most tooth-rotting fluff or filthiest smut, and all of those things in between. Whether it's for general audiences or explicit and strictly 18+ ... all of your fics have an audience and someone out there who appreciates your writing.

I love how differently you can interpret him, but there are also so many common themes and tropes running through your writing. I love that there is room for all of your Dins here.

I love that he means so much to you and that all of us here hold him in our hearts a little bit. I love that we can all watch the same episodes and come to entirely different conclusions about him. I love how much we love him.

Getting to be a part of this wonderful community and interact with so many people who love the space tin can man as much as I do has truly been one of the best things that happened to me recently. I'm so glad I made this little blog... It reminded me just how good fandom can be. I am blown away by the number of talented people here!

So, I just wanted to take a moment to express some gratitude towards all of you! Thank you for writing your Dins and please don't ever stop. Finally.... last, but not least:

I love Din Djarin!!!

[abbey-abdominal]

day 2: morning routine

um since the hc is that raggs doesn’t sleep at all while pomni probably cat naps depression naps for 13 hours a day their morning routine is weird (and this isn’t the first time raggs was disturbed enough to want to try to take a nap…)

[yersina]

[part 2]

When Eddie walks into the new Pokemon Nursery in his hometown and is confronted with the view of Steve Harrington, former member of the Elite Four, behind the counter, he immediately turns on his heel and walks back out so he can duck behind the brick wall of the exterior and hyperventilate for a little bit.

Right.

He’d forgotten: Steve (former member of the Elite goddamn Four) hails from Hawkins too.

When Steve had fought his way onto the Elite Four, he’d been the talk of the town. Even Wayne had brought it up when Eddie had finally stopped at a Pokemon Center to accept his call. The Harrington boy’s in the Four, didja hear? he’d said. Eddie sure had—from every single person who’d seen his hometown written on his Trainer License that week. His Rotom Phone had proudly displayed every article written about the guy, each with the same photo in its thumbnail: Steve, backlit by the bright gym lights, Pokeball in hand and Growlithe at his side.

It made for a pretty picture, sure, but Eddie still has memories of the Harrington manor on the outskirts of Hawkins, like Harrington Senior and Lady Harrington couldn’t bear to set foot in the town proper. When he’d run into them at the PokeMart once, they’d sneered at him and his dirty shoes and tugged away a young Steve with rough motions. He can’t imagine that Steve himself would be any different, growing up in a family like that.

(None of this stops him from caving and watching the recording of the fateful gym battle on his Rotom Phone, screen bright in the darkness of his room in the Pokemon Center and breath caught in his throat. Steve, oddly, had a rough way of battling—intuitive and smart but not elegant. Not like it’d be if he had battling tutors or proper training. At the end of the battle, he runs out onto the field, heedless of the craters and cracks in the ground, and smothers his Empoleon in a hug while Growlithe barks up a storm behind him.

Eddie wonders why they didn’t take a picture of that.)

But here Steve Harrington is, back in Eddie’s hometown and standing between him and getting his Chingling looked at. Great.

He briefly wonders if he could wait and come back another day, or preferably find his way to another town far from here where there’s no threat of having his Pokemon seen to by Steve Harrington (formerly of the Elite Four) but he’s already promised Wayne that he’s staying for dinner at the very least, and also that’s Steve Harrington pushing open the door and looking over at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Hey,” Steve greets. Eddie stares. “You. Uh. You okay over there? I noticed you come in for a moment earlier.”

“Yeeep,” Eddie squeaks miserably. Out of the limelight, Steve still looks unfairly pretty. Eddie can no longer say that it’s the magic of makeup and adrenaline that makes his cheeks rosy red and it’s not sweat that makes his skin glow. That’s unfair, right? Some people just get dealt all the luckiest cards in life. “I’m doing just peachy. I’ll head in in a sec, just… decided I needed some more air.”

Steve gives him a look that says he buys absolutely none of Eddie’s bullshit. “…right. Well, we’ll be here when you’re ready.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Eddie groans and knocks his head back against the brick wall. What is his life.

He allows himself ten seconds of self-pity before sucking in a breath and then ten more seconds of self-questioning before he lets the breath out and then he has a final ten seconds of pep talk before finally pushing open the door—for real this time.

“Hi,” Steve greets again, and oh, that’s not fair, he’s got his arms wrapped around a wriggling Tinkatink, looking completely nonchalant and distressingly competent while she wails. “Sorry, this one grew up kind of isolated, we’re still getting her socialized to humans—hey, calm down, it’s okay, remember? We talked about this. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe with me.” He says all of this in a low, soothing tone, stroking the sides of the Tinkatink until she finally seems to cry herself out, blinking watery eyes up at Steve. “Can you stay out here while I help this nice gentleman?” Her mouth wobbles concerning for a moment before she nods hesitantly. “You’re doing so great, Tinkatink. Proud of you.” He gives her one last head pat before looking up at Eddie. “Sorry, again. How can I help you?”

Eddie hesitantly inches towards the counter, not wanting to provoke the Pokemon into a crying fit again. “Hey, it’s cool. Can’t say I’ve had anyone call me ‘nice’ or a ‘gentleman’ before though.”

Steve huffs a laugh. Great, now Eddie knows the corners of his eyes crinkle when he’s amused. “Thanks for the warning, I think.”

He waits expectantly until it finally, embarrassingly, clicks for Eddie, and he scrambles to bring out Chingling’s Pokeball from his bag. “My Chingling hatched recently, but she’s been making this weird garbled noise? I’ve been keeping her in a Pokeball ever since, just in case, but I’m not sure what to do.” It had been terrifying, frankly, when Chingling had started making sounds that were awfully reminiscent of choking. Putting her in a Pokeball was as much for her own protection as it was for Eddie’s sanity. “I’ve used a heal on her and taken her to a PokeCenter already, but neither of those changed anything.”

Steve hums. “Tinkatink,” he says to the pink Pokemon now huddled half-behind Steve on the counter, “can you step to the side for a little bit? I’m going to look at this nice gentleman’s Chingling.”

Tinkatink, to her credit, looks like she thinks about it very hard before shaking her head in a firm no. Steve sighs. “Will Chingling be bothered by another Pokemon? I don’t think I can get her away at this point unless I return her to her Pokeball.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Chingling loves socializing.” Eddie doesn’t actually know, since his Chingling’s been stuck in a Pokeball most of the time since she’s been hatched, but it’s an educated guess. Probably.

He taps on the Pokeball and lets Chingling out onto the same counter. “Hey, sweetheart,” he greets softly. He winces when Chingling’s returning chime is the equivalent of a human wheeze. “Yeah, there it is.”

“Well, her breathing sounds fine, thankfully,” Steve evaluates swiftly, which is already a weight off Eddie’s shoulders. “She seems to be doing alright other than when she talks, so—”

And then, to Eddie’s horror, he clamps one hand down on each side of Chingling’s head, pushes her mouth open, and sticks a hand inside. “Uh,” Eddie says weakly. “Excuse me?”

“This isn’t as awful as it looks, I promise,” Steve mutters distractedly, fishing around in there for something. Chingling doesn’t look particularly bothered, at least, even with her mouth propped open on Steve’s arm. Eddie’s still not sure how to take any of this. “Faster than looking for my flashlight—ah.” He pulls his hand out from Chingling’s mouth, fingers wrapped around something. “There we go.”

And… it’s a rock.

“It’s a rock,” Eddie observes astutely.

“Yeah. Not uncommon for Chinglings, actually.” He pats Chingling on the head, and she jingles merrily at him.

“Oh, you’re back to normal!” Eddie cries. He scoops Chingling up in his arms and attempts to cuddle her within an inch of her life. “Never scare me like that again.” He gets a muffled chime in return.

Steve watches the whole show with a faint smile. “Just be careful of what Chingling eats from now on. They make sound through, uh, what’s basically their own rock, so if anything else gets stuck down there, it messes up the sound. Not really harmful, but it’s worth keeping an eye on her, especially if she’s the curious sort.” He reaches over and tickles her side until she sticks her head out curiously from the circle of Eddie’s arms. “Be careful, okay? If you keep out of trouble, you’ll grow to be a big and strong Chimecho in no time.” She jingles at him cheerily. “No biggie,” he says, turning back to Eddie. “Just a quick fix.”

“Seriously, thank you so much.” Eddie shifts Chingling to one arm and goes digging for his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it.” When he meets Steve’s eyes, agape, Steve gives him a wink and a smile. Eddie refuses—refuses—to think of the smile as shy. Or bashful. Or flirtatious. Or anything that might be Eddie’s own wishful interpretation. Steve is just smiling. Just smiling. “It took, like, two seconds. Chill. We’ll call it a free consultation.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess, but.” Eddie flounders awkwardly like a Magikarp out of water. “Are you sure?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” At Eddie’s continued hesitation, he sighs. “Seriously, don’t think too hard about it. If you really want to thank me, come back again.”

As much as he wants to protest, Eddie hadn’t been raised to turn down what is the equivalent of free money. “Alright, if you say so.” He shifts Chingling to a more comfortable hold, cradling her in his hands. “And it’s Eddie by the way. Still wouldn’t say that I’m a ‘nice gentleman’.”

Steve laughs. “Sure, sure. Nice to meet you, Eddie. I’m Steve.” Eddie swallows down his I know. “Have a good day,” he says in a very clear dismissal. “Hope to see you back here soon.”

“‘Bye, Steve,’” Eddie squeaks in a falsetto, waving one of Chingling’s arms. Steve, gamely, waves back. “See you around, man.”

And just like that, he steps back out of Steve Harrington’s life, but now with the knowledge that the guy is so, so gentle with Pokemon, has a beautiful smile, and is generous enough to let Eddie get away with what was definitely not a free consultation.

Fuck, he’s gonna have to come back, isn’t he?

Goddammit.

[clownjacket]

Okay my crack theory for Lucy’s god situation:

What if instead of dying Lucy’s god became an archfey and fucked off, forsaking all of their followers. I could see that as justifiable for a minor god—maybe you don’t want your personality and existence to be dependent on a group of people small enough for a really big hurricane to wipe them out. Maybe you want to try your hand at self actualization, which you can’t really do as a god. Whatever.

But that would still mean Lucy’s grades would be screwed for the year, and the whole group would be switched to pass/fail.

Whatever god they’re trying to bring back seems like they want to stay a god, but would also only have a single living cleric so their nature would be heavily influenced by who that cleric is, and could still be controlled. Bringing back an established dead god with living followers probably reduces the risk of the god immediately dying or completely sucking ass/not being powerful like what happened with YES!(?), and we know the Ratgrinders LOVE minimizing risk. And choosing a dead god that represents something Lucy is actually passionate about preaching and proselytizing would make her work as a cleric much easier for her emotionally than, say, switching to Helio and just going through the motions, and bringing back a god would probably look good on college resumes.

Idk, that’s just an alternative theory to Lucy’s god dying based on what’s been established this season.

[wenellyb]

You can like or dislike fanfiction, but I don't understand people who come to Tumblr to constantly complain about fanfiction...it's like going to someone's house to call their decoration ugly.

It doesn't matter if it's true or not ...why would you do it?

And the complaints are always weird like: "blablabla why do people think in tropes now?" "Why would you want to know what happens in the story, what's even the point of reading it then?"

You want to know why??? Because that's the whole point of the Romance genre!!! The predictability, the promise that no matter what they go through, in the end, there will be a Happy Ending for the protagonists.

I don't read a lot of fanfics but I do read a lot of books and e-books (as in unfortunately I have to pay for those😂). And you know what a lot of authors use to describe their books? Tropes!

An enemies to lovers story with a slow burn, a fake relationship story, a mariage of convinience, a best friends to lovers story etc... And this is coming from published Books.

Maybe it's because the market is saturated and it's the only way to stand out, maybe it makes it easier for their readers to find specific books, I don't know. But I do know that they use tropes to describe their books.

Why sh*t on fanfiction, fanfic readers, fanfic writers when actual published authors do the same??? What is the point exactly ?

And can someone explain to me what's so wrong about using tropes? What's wrong with looking for stuff to read by searching specific tropes? It makes it easier when you're looking for a specific story you want to read and helps you know what you will like or not. Which is great, especially when you're going to pay for the book.

Maybe you don't have a problem with fanfics but with the Romance industry in general? But then why target fanfics as if they were the problem?

[dxckgrxsonx]

Tell me a Secret

Pairing - Jason Todd X Reader Words - 629 Warnings - Angst - Happy Ending. Notes - I’m currently experiencing the big sad and it turns out scrolling through sad Pinterest quotes doesn’t help. Whoops.

MASTERLIST

**

Your body sways to the left, unbalanced, landing somewhere between drunk and weightless. Gravity doesn’t apply and if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine you’re floating, spiralling too close to the sun.

If you reach out, you’ll burn the prints right from your fingers.

“Tell me a secret.” Jason breathes, warm fingers sliding from the inside of your wrist to your elbow. His touch almost burns, makes your skin prickle in the same way it does when there's a storm outside, when the lightning strikes above your head and rains down nothing but static. “Something no one else knows.”

You pause, consider his words carefully and pull up something you’ve long since pushed down, something swallowed to the base of your spine to rot there.

“I don’t think I was loved enough when I was young.” Your voice shakes, there’s something bitter in the back of your throat. “Or I was loved wrong. It felt like there was always something missing. Just once, I wanted to be loved in a way I understood but–”

They never gave you that.

Jason traces random shapes across the inside of your arm, the blunt edge of his nails scraping against the sensitive skin. He waits, soft and patient for you to continue, not once breathing a word.

“I was starving in that house.” You try, and the world blurs around you. “Fighting so desperately for even a hint that I was loved but whatever they gave me was…wrong. It was never enough. I’d cry and cry for them to love me and they’d say the same thing, over and over again, ‘we are loving you’. But I was still starving, still begging for it. I was so hungry.”

You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, stare at the sheen on your skin and feel something horrible dislodging itself from between the notches in your spine. The weight of it is familiar and you remember the sour taste of the thought as it rotted away under your tongue.

“I think–” You stop, it hurts too much.

A hand creeps over your jaw, holding you steady to thumb away the continuous leak of tears from your eyes. Tipping forwards a fraction to lean heavily into the touch you hear Jason whisper your name, his voice thick and heavy.

“I think there was something wrong with me when I was born.” You confess, and your voice cracks clean down the middle as you unzip your chest to the ugly truth of it all. “I worry that I was born unlovable. That all this time I’ve been begging for something I can never have.”

Jason breathes your name again, and squeezes at your jaw to make you look at him. His eyes are wet and you want to weep, want to grab the words spilled from your mouth and put them back in, want to swallow them down until they rot out through your skin.

“How do you want to be loved?” He asks, and it's such a simple question, and he sounds so desperate. “How do you want me to love you?”

You think of how he lets you steal the covers in your sleep. How he knows your favourite drink and makes sure to get you it at least once a week. You think of the way he moves all the grocery bags to one hand when you’re shopping, just so he can hold your hand.

You think of his smile when you walk into a room, and how it’s like stumbling into a patch of warm sun.

“I’m not hungry anymore, Jason.” You choke out, reaching out to hold his face between your palms. “I’m finally full, you made me full.”

“Tell me another one.”

“I love you.”

**

[risetherivermoon]

work on all of my ao3 wips << start a new oneshot abt terry jr x lark

[galaxythedragonshifter]

Question:

How do y'all "write something for yourself" that you intend on posting?

Cause I still subconsciously can't "write for myself" unless I don't intend on ever posting it, and then I can only get 100 words or less out onto a Google doc.

Idk if this is a byproduct of taking too many writing classes and writing for assignments or other people or not.

How do I fix this?

[vole-mon-amour]

The fact that in the Temperance ending Johnny has the access to any of V's cars and her guns (including his Malorian), but he doesn't take any, including his beloved Porsche.

Johnny could've taken his beloved car back on the road and sleep in it when needed, and move at his own pace, but instead he leaves it ALL behind and gets out of the city on a city bus.

I love him and the Temperance ending so much. 😭 If there's no happy ending for both V and Johnny, there's the Temperance ending, my beloved.

[gailynovelry]

Gently shaking the sort of people who go like "ew why would anyone describe a book using tropes, that doesn't tell me anything about—" honey, it's because it's a convenient shorthand. If you want to know what the story is about in actual detail, then click the link and read the summary. Maybe read a few reviews and learn what the experience was like for other people. Please, I know that you are smart enough to do a little research on your own.

And if you're not interested in the way the author described the book anyway, then why are you wasting time telling them how uninterested you are? Go find something you actually like!

[turbulenthandholding]

Chapter 6 is up! And so is the chapter count again! (My current best guess is 8). This story will not release me from its grip and the amazing and wonderful @anxietycroissant is really the best mind-meld-bestie-enabler.

I am travelling for the next week and a half, so the next chapter may or may not be a couple of weeks out, depending on my prioritization of writing over sleep during that time.

[shwoo]

I did another story for @flooftober! For the fourth day. My random number generator came up with Snorpy for this one, and one of the prompts is... Leg. Sounds fun!

I don't really like the prose here, but I guess that's the point of daily prompt things. Just get things done without needing them to be perfect.

Prompt list

Title: Unregulated digestion of cell components Summary: Snorpy would like to know why Floofty has a severed leg in their hut.

.

Floofty said "You need not work yourself into a frenzy about any morally dubious road you believe me to be taking. It is my own leg. I removed it safely and cleanly." And more painlessly than they'd been expecting.

Snorpington sputtered for several full seconds. He walked closer to Floofty's hut, and said "Are you mad? You might have bled out, your wound could have become infected, the shock might--"

"All of which I accounted for!" Floofty interrupted. Clearly Snorpy was going to work himself into a frenzy regardless of what they said. "Honestly, you act like I don't know my soft tissue from my ossified."

"The second Eggabell isn't around, you jump to self-mutilation!" Snorpington continued, undeterred.

"If you must know, brother, I have wanted to attempt this experiment for some time!" There was something going wrong between their brain and their mouth. Their perfectly composed, collected retorts were coming out angry and defensive. "Eggabell dissuaded me on several occasions, but observe:" They indicated their regrown leg, which today had taken the form of a grape. "Unambiguous proof that Bugsnax are capable of medical miracles far beyond the capabilities of modern science! What is an appendage in the face of that?"

Snorpy threw up his paws. "They have you well ensnared, don't they, Floofty? There are more important things than the advancement of science at the expense of all else."

He kept saying that, when he knew full well that there was no more efficient way to benefit the grumpus race than through science. "Such as?"

Snorpington struggled to speak for a second or two, then sighed and said "I'm not having this argument with you again, Floofty. If you wish to destroy yourself, that is your business."

"Correct," Floofty responded.

They'd been able to almost allow themself to hope that if Snorpington knew what kind of discoveries they'd made, he'd come to his senses. But it seemed he was still choosing to ignore reality.

And that was fine. He could make up his own mind. They didn't care. They didn't care.

[itsladyliv]

Dustin stared at me in disbelief.  “Who are you?”     “Obviously the coolest babysitter around.”

Tammy Thompson Takes on the Upside Down, chapter 12 by @asirensrage

Watch it also HD on Youtube. ❤️💙💛💚

[ofduskanddreams]

The Omegaverse Fic Writer's Prayer

Our mind, who art depraved, vanished be thy shame.

Thy Alphas come. Thy Omegas be done everywhere, and in every position.

Give us this day our daily knot, and praise us for our sins as we praise each other's.

Lead us right into temptation, and deliver us the filthiest ideas.

For yours is the Omegaverse, the porn and the glory for ever and ever.

Amen.