#this was sitting in my google docs for months and i decided to post it finally

[jjkyaoi]

Multigender is a term for anyone who experiences more than one gender identity. It can be used as a gender identity in its own right, or can be an umbrella term for other identities which fit this description. Or at least, that’s how the wiki describes it.

When some people think of the term multigender they think of genderfluid, and really, I can’t blame them. Amongst the small, vastly underrepresented multigenders, genderfluid is the one that’s most known. Although, with the way it’s represented, I could argue that people don’t know jack about how being genderfluid works, but hey, that’s not what I’ve decided to complain about.

Not to sound like companies in June, but it’s a spectrum. There’s hundreds of identities—not just amongst the multigender label, but that’s what I’m focusing on—that aren’t represented amongst the media, and it’s because they aren’t simple. They aren’t understandable enough as trans, or nonbinary, or gay or bisexual, and it’s not like those are widely understood either. Peoples reaction to multigender folks is usually an instinctual, “that’s not real”, and sure, to people who don’t experience the things that multigender people do, it does sound far fetched. It doesn’t make sense. Trust me, buddy, not making sense is my whole fucking existence at this point.

I’m a little something called abrogender.

Abrogender is a gender identity with two definitions: A form of genderfluidity that changes more erratically and in a less defined way. A gender that is so intricate, and changes so quickly, that it is nearly impossible to nail down. Again, at least that’s what the wiki says.

With “micro labels” like these, it’s easy for people to say, “well, that’s just genderfluid” and yeah, it’s similar, but you can’t make that call. You don’t know what I experience and how it differs, and sure, to some people the “millions of labels under the LGBTQ+ identity” are annoying and hard to understand, but they’re there for a reason, because it isn’t as simple as labeling myself as genderfluid as it is for most people, which is another reason why you won’t see bigender, pangender, genderfaun/genderfaunet etc people being represented in media because the media doesn’t know how to represent us, or they take something as complicated as our identities—something they can’t make sense of in a blink of an eye, and call it not real.

Can you imagine how fucking frustrating that is?

I can’t describe to people who are comfortable with their gender, in the body they were born with, the type of feeling that looking in the mirror and seeing the wrong thing is. It’s hard to describe it if you haven’t experienced it, as much of this will be, but I remember I was getting more and more uncomfortable, for reasons I didn’t understand—I didn’t have access to all these millions of different labels as a kid.

I never really felt connected to being a girl. You know, it wasn’t instinctive revulsion, I didn’t “feel trapped in my body” most days, like some trans representation will have you believe. I’m not Kalvin Garrah, I’m not going to say you have to have dysphoria to be trans. I didn’t feel connected to any gender, really, but I didn’t feel without one either. If somebody were to assume I was a boy, I wouldn’t get offended, because sure! It’s not like I wasn’t a boy. Most people don’t experience that shit.

And then quarantine hit. I was on the internet more than I ever had been, because it’s not like there was much else to do, and I was allowed access to things I barely understood before. AKA, I was dipping my toes into the trans label.

Demigirl was what I started with, because at the time it felt accurate. A label where you still identify as a girl but also somewhere outside the binary? That’s exactly what I thought it was. This isn’t me shaming demigirls, you guys are so hot, sexy etc, it just wouldn’t be that simple for me. And then, as the years went on, I felt more and more disconnected from being a girl, and I picked up nonbinary like a golden star and stuck it to my shirt for a couple years, without fully reading the contract that came with it. Again, at the time, that’s what I thought it was. The idea of being a boy wouldn’t come to me for a couple years, but once I started doubting my gender again I sort of.. hid from it? The last couple weeks of identifying as nonbinary weren’t honest, and it was more so me clinging to the surface level of the trans identity just so I wouldn’t have to come out a second time. I slapped transmasc onto the nonbinary label and was hoping to god I wouldn’t fuck around and find out.

And then.. after a while, I allowed myself to look further. Bigender, and then trigender, and then pangender—none of them stuck.

One thing I did know, was that now that I was allowing myself to identify as such, I loved being a boy. I loved it. I wanted to have a flat chest, and a big, bushy beard, and for people to look at me in the store and call me sir, and to be somebody’s husband in the future—I wanted all of it. And with this, I strayed further and further away from being a girl, if that was even possible, and adopted the trans man label in 2022.

Most people would think; well, you’re a trans man. You’re not multigender. And that’s what I thought. I really did think so, I thought my gender crisis was over, I felt content, and I didn’t think much into it because it’s not like I could be wrong again, right?

Well. Some fucking god must have had it ought for me, because after a happy year of identifying as a trans man, in early 2023, I had yet another patented moment of wait.

I have been relatively open about my gender struggles here. Relatively is an understatement, I’m sure you can find a post about each label I identified as at the time I identified as it if you just search it on my account, so you can imagine how frustrating this was. I was finally content with being a trans man, and that year was really, really good. My friends were all insanely supportive, were using my correct pronouns and everything, and then I would have to do the walk of shame to tell them, again, that yeah.. I wasn’t right about this, guys :/

Out of everything, the number one thing I was worried about was annoying people. Amongst my own thoughts of faking it, of trying to be different, I really did think my close friends would get tired of me constantly saying something else. I wanted so badly to just be normal, to be simple, to be like the thousands of cis people in the world who are born with the gender they’re assigned as and don’t have a moment of questioning it—of feeling unsure, but at the same time whenever I thought about being just a girl for the rest of my life I got this sick, awful feeling in my stomach. But just being a man didn’t feel right, either.

So, what? What was I?

I still don’t know. If you assume I’m a girl, you won’t be wrong, but you won’t be entirely right, either. If you assume I’m a man, you won’t be wrong, but you won’t be right either. If you assume I’m neither, something that exists outside the binary, you won’t be wrong and you won’t be right.

I tried to be content with just being me. With saying, I don’t need a label, I am who I am! But that wasn’t true. I wanted so badly to have a label, something to explain this, something to prove that there wasn’t something wrong with me—that I wasn’t alone. That I wasn’t faking it after all.

Abrogender is the closest definition to what I’m feeling.

The definition isn’t in my own words, so it isn’t exactly what I’m feeling—hell if I’ll ever be able to explain that to people without sounding insane—but when I found that label I breathed out the biggest fucking sigh of relief. It’s the closest thing to unlabeled as I can allow myself to have, but at the same time it’s still a label. It’s still a sign that people feel how I feel, enough for there to be a definition for it. After years of switching, of nothing sticking, of feeling crazy, like I was making the whole thing up and trying to stick to one thing just to please other people, I finally, finally could breathe. And it’s not something I can explain to somebody who never has to doubt any of these things to begin with. I’m not going to force myself to tone down what I am just so it appeals to a mass of people who wouldn’t have loved me anyways. I’m not going to do that. I was miserable doing that.

So, if you think it’s not real, what I feel and how I identify, and if you think the millions of people who identify as multigender, or some label on the LGBT spectrum that isn’t easy for you to grasp are all faking it, just know that you have the privilege of never feeling a stranger in your own body, in your own mind. You have the privilege of getting up and getting ready in the morning and loving your body, never feeling like an imposter, like you have to put on a performance to please. Of course you couldn’t understand what we go through, and you know what? I am happy for you.

There's a part of me that’s bitter, that’s envious, because I’ve wanted that experience for myself for years. I can't tell you how much. But I’m learning to let things like that go. If you’re one of the millions of people who are truly, entirely happy with how you identify, then I’m happy for you.

If you asked me why I posted this, I would tell you don’t fucking know. Is it because I wanted people to understand the complexities of gender, of the vast labels and how they’re overlooked, as a person who has a lesser known label? Yeah, sure. Is it also because I wanted to just talk my shit for no apparent reason? Yes.

If you’re doubting your own gender like I was, if you feel like you’re faking it, like you’re an imposter to yourself and the people around you, I promise you that it’s going to make sense eventually. It might not be this year, or the next, but you’ll find something that’ll work. You’ll have that moment of finally being able to breathe, of that euphoria of finally not feeling alienated for something you can’t control anymore—no matter how long it takes, it will happen. And you’ll find people who’ll understand, who won’t get upset with you for being confused. There’s millions of people on this earth, and no matter how much your brain tries to convince you, there is always a group of people, no matter how small, no matter how unrepresented, that feel the same. I feel the same.

[wonwoonlight]

chocolate rum cookies | jeon wonwoo

➝ Wonwoo x Reader

➝ nonidol!au // friends with benefits to ?? // fluff // ...slice of life? // angst if u squint

➝ word count: 3.5k~

➝warning: no smut scenes but there are mentions of sex and implications of it so minor dni!! mentions of alcohol, food, curses. very self indulgent bc i write this for my birthday hehe. this wonwoo made an appearance <3

➝A/N: hi. so this wasn't exactly... planned. i was just randomly sitting down with my google doc open and suddenly i finished writing... this in one day. gotta say that, when you do write for yourself, it is much easier to write and it's been quite some time since i'm actually happy with what i put out. but also just to put it out there, this fic is actually finished somewhere before february ended but i decided to post it for my birthday because i did start writing it with the thoughts 'i miss wonwoo' and 'i kinda wanna post smth on my bday' so. enjoy. i'm happy to say i'm content with how this one turns to be. here's to turning 25 lol

[✾✾✾]

You hear the door open, signalling Wonwoo’s arrival, and when you feel his presence nearby, you don’t even look up from your phone when you say, “No.”

Wonwoo smiles in amusement, irking an eyebrow as he settles next to you. “I haven’t said anything though?”

“You’re gonna ask me out again.” You roll your eyes, already used to his antics. You don’t even pretend to care about his mock heartache anymore when he clutches his chest.

You’re not sure what Jeon Wonwoo has in his mind, but he’s been asking you out on dates everytime he sees you since last month. Problem is, you see him a lot. A little hard not to with the friends with benefits situation that has been going on between you and him for the last six months.

Even right now, you’re in his place. You’ve been here since almost half an hour ago, entertaining yourself as you wait for Wonwoo to get home because he’s out when you called, and when he said you’re allowed to use the access he’s given you some time ago, you decided to barge into his place like it’s your own.

You’re practically here more often than in your own dorm, anyway.

It almost feels like a second home to you.

But you don’t want to think too much about it. Not about the fact that you have access to Wonwoo’s place. Not about the fact that you’re basically exclusive. Not about the fact that you talk to him practically everyday.

Nope.

“You don’t even pretend to consider it anymore.” He sighs, and you hate that you can’t tell if he’s joking or not. You’ve been telling him to cut it out, but it surely doesn’t look like he has any plans of listening to you. “Here, I got this for you.”

Now that catches your attention, and you actually jump a little on the sofa before you take the small package, take Wonwoo’s face in your arms, and kiss him square in the lips as a thank you.

“You won’t go on a date with me but will kiss me over some cookies. Nice,” he grumbles, though the grin blooming into his face when you pull away betrays him.

Clutching the cookie into your chest like it’s the most precious thing in the world, you regard him with stars in your eyes. “Where did you even find this? I’ve been looking for this forever and I couldn’t find it! I don’t even know the name of the shop that sells this?”

“I’m just capable like that.” He shrugs like it’s nothing, telling you he was out with a friend and the packaging looked familiar so he got it just in case. You’ve been telling him about that craving of yours, a chocolate rum cookie that some random classmate offered some time ago–one that is so good but you don’t know the brand, only remember the flavour and the packaging.

And you can’t even ask that classmate again because she was an exchange student that you’ve only spoken for a total of two times in your life, and she has returned to her country.

You don't even know her name.

“You have to tell me where you got this.” The packaging just has to be so empty; a very simple but elegant design that doesn’t state the shop’s name whatsoever.

“Mmm. Perhaps if you say yes I’ll bring you there.”

“No.”

“Hard pass then.” He chuckles and messes your hair. “Eat. I’ll buy you some more if you’re a good girl.”

The innuendo is not purposeful on his part, and it’s two seconds later that he realizes what he’s just said and he cringes so hard that you laugh, because as much as it’s physical between the two of you, Wonwoo absolutely abhors that particular… moniker. It’s always been an on-going joke between you two, and you laugh some more when his frown deepens, launching yourself into his lap and peppering kisses on his jaw.

“You want me to be one?”

“Shut up.” He grunts, though his arms wrap around your waist anyway and he bends his neck to give you more access.

“I can be if you want to, you know?” You whisper against his ear, not missing the way his hold tightens around you. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that the only thing separating you and him is the clothes you’re wearing.

“Shut up.” He repeats and kisses you some more. When it gets almost hard to breath, he doesn’t forget to get the cookie out of your grasp and carefully places it on the coffee table before hauling you up and carrying you into his room, your squeal and laughter echoes throughout his empty apartment.

You don’t get to eat your chocolate rum cookie until later that evening, already showered and dressed in Wonwoo’s oversized hoodie as you cuddle into his chest with a movie playing in front of you.

[✾✾✾]

You don’t know what’s taking Wonwoo so long, but he’s already fifteen minutes late without any text messages so you decide you’ll just get some drink first and let loose. He’s probably going to be pissed because he’s never liked it when you go to a bar by yourself (something about men looking at what’s his, whatever that means) but whatever, it’s his fault for being late and you’re currently not relaxed enough to wait for him by yourself in a place full of people. 

The whiskey burns your throat in a pleasant way, though now that you think about it, you shouldn’t have drunk everything in one go when you still have moments to spare as you wait for Wonwoo. But, then again, you can always just order more.

You’ve never been to this bar before, but after hearing how good the vibe is from a friend, you decided to go to check it out. Clubs have never really been your style–people are way too drunk and the music is too loud.

Your friend is absolutely correct when she said you would fit right with this particular bar; there are just enough people for it to be crowded but not really crowded that you get dizzy. Plus, the music is up to your taste and you find yourself nodding to whatever’s playing in the background as you scan through the sea of people while you lean on the wooden bar.

You were just about to order again when someone joins you by the bar, a tall, handsome man that doesn’t look sleazy at first glance. And he’s offering to buy you a drink. You subtly try to check him out; this guy is definitely taller and bigger than Wonwoo, though he doesn’t look harmful and he doesn’t look like he’s hunting for prey. His smile when he offers to pay for your drink looks… honest, if anything. The guy doesn’t even look flirty. Perhaps he thinks you’re interesting and are in need of some company.

The side of your lips lift in an amused smile, Wonwoo will be pissed as fuck if he finds out, but do you care? No you don’t. You’re not going to turn down free drinks from a handsome stranger that doesn’t look dangerous.

“So how come you’re by yourself?” He bends to your height, not too close that it makes you uncomfortable, and just enough for you to hear him over the music. “I’m Mingyu, by the way.”

Hmm. Handsome and with manners.

“Why do you want to know?” You answer with a teasing smile, sipping on your cocktail. Mingyu laughs when you say you’re not telling him his name, if only because he hasn’t earned it yet, and you’re pleasantly surprised when he says it’s understandable and he’s glad you know how to play your cards. “What about you, why are you by yourself?”

“Eh. I just feel like drinking tonight and you seem to be someone who doesn’t mind talking to strangers.”

“Ouch. Is that how I look like? Easy?” You pretend to be offended, and it’s almost cute how Mingyu laughs yet again and rephrases his words. If this was you six months ago, you’d definitely flirt with him and eat up everything that comes out of his mouth, perhaps you’d even end up going back with him. The guy is handsome and you can actually hold conversations with him, which is already a very big difference compared to a lot of guys that have tried talking you up in places like this.

But alas. Your eyes twinkle as you catch the figure of the man who’s the exact reason why you’re not flirting with Mingyu making his way towards you, why you don’t feel the excitement that used to rush through your blood at times like this, and why ‘handsome’ is the only thing you think of Mingyu even though he seems much more than that.

You don’t care enough to think about Mingyu in different aspects.

The way Wonwoo immediately grabs your waist is almost funny, and you have to actually bite your lip and clutch the cocktail glass between your fingers to stop yourself from grinning. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Your boyfriend?” Mingyu asks goodnaturedly–almost concerned, even–making sure he’s not some random guy who’s grabbing you without consent. 

“Yes.” Wonwoo almost growls, and you have to plant your palm on his chest to calm him down, telling him Mingyu is harmless even though your ears are heating up from his word. You’d need to get back to that boyfriend thing later.

Mingyu sends you a look, and you’re absolutely, thoroughly would’ve swooned if you’re… uh… single (you are) and you’re not seeing… anyone (huh?). But you send him a smile, an actual smile this time, and you nod before you tell him it’s nice meeting him.

Wonwoo refuses to look at the interaction, but you can tell that he’s more relaxed than he was seconds ago and his grip on your waist is now replaced with his thumb caressing you through the material of your dress.

Would it hurt to push his button one more time?

“Hey.” You call to Mingyu once again when he’s about to leave, making both guys turn to you in confusion–Wonwoo more so in betrayal–and when you tell him you’d love to see him again someday and finally tell him your name with a wink, Mingyu gets exactly what you’re playing at. Another laugh bubbles out of his throat and he returns the gesture with a ‘have fun!’ before making his way out of your sight.

“What the fuck was that?”

It’s not often that Wonwoo curses, and you know you’ve pushed just enough of his buttons for him to react this way. If anything, though, adoration fills your chest and you have to physically hold yourself back from squeezing his cheeks.

“What? You were late and he accompanied me. Nice guy, right?” You try to play innocent, placing your glass on the bar and turning in his arm to face him. He looks especially nice today, with his hair styled a little and a denim jacket that you haven’t seen him worn before. You can feel your heartbeat picking up the longer you stare at him, and you don’t register what’s coming out of his mouth because you’re lost in your head.

Your eyes fall to his lips, and it’s when he clicks his tongue that you finally look back at him, eyes meeting his in mock innocence.

“You’re not listening to me, are you?”

You shake your head to confirm his suspicion. The guy can't even get mad at you even if he wants to.

“So.” Wonwoo raises his eyebrow in question, urging you to continue. “Boyfriend, huh?”

Wonwoo opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t give him room to talk more because you already dive into his lips, your palms on his shoulders and his arms wrap around you once again–probably muscle memory at this point. There’s no rush in this kiss though, you really just feel like kissing him and you do exactly that. Wonwoo doesn’t seem to mind either, because his lips chase yours when you’re about to pull away.

“Won I–”

“Hmm?”

“I need to–”

“Mmm.”

“Need to–”

“To what?” He finally pulls away, annoyed that you keep on trying to pull away. Even in the dim lighting of the bar, you can tell that he’s a little flushed too and there’s something about it that makes your heartbeat speed up once again. Were you two just… kissing in a public space for no reason at all?

“Need to breathe, baby.” You finish your sentence, suddenly shy now that you’re looking at each other. You dive into his neck before he catches your embarrassment though, and he simply chuckles before he takes a sip of your drink, whatever annoyance in his chest from looking at you and Mingyu, whoever that guy is, disappears just like that.

God, it’s not funny how whipped he is for you.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing.”

“Let’s go on a date.”

“Not a chance.” You beam, though you reject him with a kiss on his cheek and you tell him to finish your drink because you don’t feel like being here anymore. You won’t let him ponder too long on your rejection though, your fingers caressing his neck and your lips finding his ear. “Actually, let’s go back to your place. I don’t have anything to do tomorrow.”

Wonwoo shudders a little at that, still not used to the way you’d get vocal about what you want when you’re tipsy. That’s your code of saying you want to have rough sex all night–or however he would have you, really.

So Wonwoo finishes your drink in one go and grabs your hand to pull you out of the bar, missing the way you exchange grins with Mingyu as you accidentally catch his eyes before you exit the place.

[✾✾✾]

“You know you’ll spend less money if you just tell me where to buy these cookies?” You pout, still trying to get it out of him.

He doesn’t relent though, simply shrugs and places your hot chocolate on the table. “I don’t mind buying you things.”

“But whyyyy.” You whine, crossing your legs to face him on the sofa.

“I told you I’d bring you there if you go on a date with me.”

You stare at him, mind wandering to how easy it is for him to say this over and over again. You still don’t know why he’s suddenly so adamant about that, and while you actually do feel butterflies in your whole body everytime he does it, sometimes you wonder if he’s just messing with you.

Does he really mean it?

But if he does, wouldn’t he eventually be done with you because you keep on rejecting him?

But if you say yes and he’s actually just joking–what does that make you?

What if you try it out and it… messes things up?

You’re happy with whatever you have with him now, and you trust each other enough to know you are exclusive. Is there really any need to put a label between you two?

“Hey, you okay?” He asks, snapping you out of your daze.

“Huh. Yeah, sorry. You were saying?”

You see the way Wonwoo presses his lips together and you can tell the gears are turning in his head. But he beats you to it before you can ask, and your heart breaks a little at how soft he sounds.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“What? No!” You sit straight, taken aback from the sudden turn of the conversation. “What makes you say that?”

Wonwoo sighs and repeats his words. But he faces you this time and, for the first time since he asked you the question he’s been asking you the past few months, it’s obvious how unsure he is, as if he’s suddenly questioning himself on what he’s been doing.

“Am I making you uncomfortable by asking you out on a date?”

“Oh… Wonwoo…” You take his hand, your desire to comfort him bigger than anything. You don’t like seeing him like this, and as much as your own thoughts have been haunting you, you suppose you do need to talk about it one way or another. “No, you’re not. But… Can I ask you something?”

He doesn’t answer, but you take the way he squeezes your hand as a ‘yes’.

“Why?”

He doesn’t seem to get your question, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean why?”

“Why do you suddenly want to date me?”

It’s almost comical the way he blinks slowly, then repeatedly, like he doesn’t get why you’d ask that. He thinks carefully before he says his next words though, and he mentally winces at what he’s about to say but there’s really no other way to say it.

“We’ve been… sleeping together for, like, six months.” He starts, and his face contorts like the words personally offend him. But the more you listen to him talk about all the things you’ve been doing the past few months, how you’re basically a couple without the title, the more you feel both warm and afraid about however this talk is going to end.

You don’t realize you’ve been holding his hand tighter, but he doesn’t say anything and you realize how protective you actually feel of Wonwoo because it doesn’t sit well with you that he seems to consider himself so small.

“It’s not… sudden. I’ve just finally gathered enough courage to ask you.”

“I’m afraid.” You throw it out there the moment you open your mouth, not sure how to tell him except to just go straight to the point.

“Of what?”

“Falling in love.” You cast your eyes down to where your hand and his are joined. “Of being attached to you.”

For a moment, the air around you seems to tense ten-fold that you’re sure you can cut through it with a knife. But when Wonwoo doesn’t say anything, you brace yourself for more honesty and continue.

“I’m… already attached to you more than I thought I could be with anyone. And it scares me sometimes. What if you leave me? I think I’d be able to cope better if you decide to end things with our current… relationship than an actual one. It scares me.”

You feel his hand letting go of yours, and you panic that he’s finally had enough, but he cups your face in his palms to calm you down, and as much as you’re anxious, you can feel yourself calming under his gaze.

“If you want me to be honest, I think I already like you more than whatever you probably feel for me.” He smiles so softly you almost cry. And when you’re about to refute his words, he gently places his finger on your lips to keep you silent. “And no, that’s not something I want to debate with you. I’m fine with liking you more. I want to like you more than you like me. Will you let me do that?”

You open your mouth to say something–anything, but nothing comes out except for your tears so you simply nod and fall into his embrace. Your tears dry up almost immediately after that, but you sniffle a little as his words echo in your mind. Wonwoo probably doesn’t know what he’s talking about, because you’ve liked him for as long as you can remember. Probably not long after you started your deal with him.

He doesn’t know how you melt every time he takes care of you. How you’d try to stay awake longer after he falls asleep after another night of passionate sex, his arm over your body and your back against his chest, just so you can pretend it’s real between you two. How you’d remind yourself that it’s not real when you wake up in his place even though you’d still drag yourself out to make breakfast for him, willing your heart to calm down when he wakes up moments later, hugging you from behind even though you tell him to move away.

You probably already love him more than he can imagine.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” You ask once you’ve calmed down, getting out of his embrace to look into his eyes.

“Nothing. Why?” He tilts his head, a little confused at the sudden change of topic.

“Let’s go on a date?” You ask shyly, though your eyes immediately cast downwards again once you realized you can’t handle looking him in the eye as you ask him this. But that’s why you missed the way his face blooms into a grin, missed the way his eyes suddenly twinkle brighter than every single star in the universe combined. “I think you promised to tell me where you buy those cookies if I go on a date with you.”

He laughs at that and throws his arms around you, so tight that it hurts a little. But you don’t say anything, happy that you’re here in his arms and a little giddy now that everything’s out of your chest.

Wonwoo pulls away and cups your face once again, then searches for something in your face before he closes his eyes and gives you the softest kiss you’ve ever experienced in your life. A promise. One that says he’s not going to leave and he’s going to try his best to remove every single doubt you have in your mind.

[✾✾✾]

©wonwoonlight – all rights reserved. I don't allow any translations or reposting of my works.

A/N 2: and for my birthday wish, hopefully i'll get to see you even once in this lifetime.

[userwoosan]

Kpopblr Content Creator Tags Masterdoc

Hello kpopblr!

Some of you may already know but I have started a giant google doc that contains as many network, source, hourly, and individual blog tags as I could muster, along with the help of some other folks and mutuals I know to create an important resource that I think will be useful to all of kpopblr as a whole!

I know that I have a hard time remembering tags, and while I've had my own little notes app of some tags to go off of, I am in a lot of fandoms and I miss things sometimes and I know this happens to my mutuals too! I've gotten asked a couple of times to give some tags to help a new creator out which is what sparked this idea of mine, and after sitting on my ass for 3 months I finally decided to make it!!!!

I think this resource can be super useful to all of kpopblr, as there are multiple fandoms as well as other useful tags included. I believe I have created a perfect system that not only outlines networks, sources, hourly blogs, as well as other tag blogs not kpop related that reblog and boost kpop content. I have also decided to include individual blog tags and label them accordingly and create warnings for certain tags, as I know some of y'alls tags are private and for mutuals only. I did my very best to be as thorough and sensitive with this doc as possible so we can have an effective yet simple resource.

The reason I am now making a post is because this doc will be added onto for months to come I'm sure, so I thought it be a good idea to circulate the doc to as many fandoms and creators as possible so we can continue to update the doc! It is an open doc where everyone can edit and I have added all rules and a more in depth synosis of the doc inside, so please take a peak at it and if you can, please add your tag and any network tags not already on there!

THIS IS FOR GIFS, GRAPHICS, GFX, ETC CREATORS ONLY, NO WRITING OR NSFW

I already have a bunch of mutuals working on the doc, but here it is for your viewing pleasure:

I kindly ask that everyone who sees this please boost this on all of your kpop blogs and spread it as much as possible! I feel like this is a very important resource that we can all utilize so the more creators who know, the better!

Tagging mutual blogs to spread the word:

@woosansang @jjongho @applejongho @seokmins @seokmingming @hwanswerland @woozi @woozification @awek-s @injunnies @djxiao @taetheists @freyarchive @97chwe @hwanwooyoung @jeonwonwoo @smingi @baekwin @smilesflower @charmerz @veriverys @kyubins @joshuas @myungho @wonwooridul @xuseokgyu @moriiyun @blueberrysan @caratonce @hansolz @junranghae @seungkwan-s @junmail @2h0gi @shuashong @sanhwaiting @yukuz @strhwaberries @song-mingi @hwichanis @98linerz @kangyeosaang @minzbins

networks: @nctinc @atzsource @woosaninc @kpopcontentcreatorsclub @kpopggs @kflops the only reason i tagged networks is because this is for their creators, they gain a lot from this doc seeing as it is mostly network tags!

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

A comprehensive list of my completed 9-1-1 fics

This thread was getting too long and confusing regarding the series, so here is a Google doc with all my fics, separated by vibe:

Pennsylvania Under Me (22,391 words)

Summary:

When unexpected circumstances require Buck to travel back to Hershey for the first time in over a decade, Eddie and Chris are right by his side.

a mouth full of teeth and nothing to sing (7,060 words)

Summary:

Post 07x03, Hen struggles to process the cruise ship rescue and drunk driver call in the midst of ongoing tension with her friends.

Loose Threads (3,745 words)

Summary:

New to dating and keeping it quiet, Buck and Eddie get a little carried away on a slower shift at the firehouse. But when the alarm eventually sounds, a spur of the moment mistake leaves them a little mixed up.

Precious and Fragile Things (46,918 words)

Summary:

Buck is the Fallen Angel of Petty Temptation, who has been tasked with tempting human Eddie Diaz to sin and enjoy life, but just a little. He thinks the job will be easy - get in, get out, go back to Peru to continue messing around with eternity. But when Buck arrives in Los Angeles, he finds Eddie is harder to tempt than expected, and more compelling than Buck had hoped. AKA the Small Miracles by Olivia Atwater AU that you don’t need to have read Small Miracles to enjoy.

Spinning Out (2,326 words)

Summary:

The sun always rises in the east and sets in the west. What goes up must always come down. And if Eddie Diaz is in a helicopter with his team, it must fall from the sky. AKA: Speculation into Eddie's reaction to flying on a chopper with his team into a storm, as per the trailer dropped on February 17th.

Winter Prayer (18,229 words)

Summary:

When a work conflict prevents Athena from accompanying Bobby to Minnesota for the ten year anniversary of his family dying, Buck and May offer to go instead. Over the course of the trip, they all learn more about each other, and Bobby faces his grief.

still sitting in a corner i haunt (7,413 words)

Summary:

Unable to imagine a scenario where acting on his feelings for Buck doesn’t end up with everybody hurt, Eddie rejects Buck. Before he can finish the conversation, Eddie is ripped from his time and hurtled into several, seemingly random moments from the future that help clarify his decision.

Why Not Take All of Me? (13,235 words)

Summary:

When a small disaster strikes the morning of Maddie and Chimney's wedding, Buck, Hen, and Chim find themselves unwittingly caught up in an emergency across town, while Maddie and Eddie get stuck in an elevator.

Both Blade and Branch (62,835 words)

Summary:

The chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but Buck still manages to pull it off. During a double date with Marisol and Natalia, nonetheless. Eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as Buck recovers from yet another trauma, Eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. He’s not quite sure what version of Buck he got back.

and here, too, am i (41,117 words)

Summary:

Six months into their marriage, Eddie is still struggling to decide whether or not he wants more kids, when he knows Buck does. The universe may not scream, but it certainly talks.

Got Weird (10,541 words)

Summary:

Shortly after Buck and Natalia break up, Eddie gets tipsy and makes a rather forward move. Then immediately panics (not that Eddie panics, of course) and backpedals. Eddie spirals, Buck is confused. Lots of spontaneous kissing ensues.

Homefield Disadvantage (2,165 words)

Summary:

Buck is recovering from appendicitis. Christopher has an important school project. Eddie faces danger on the job. They are a family, your honor. That is all.

Don't They Know It's The End of the World? (32,439 words)

Summary:

After being put in a cryogenic sleep for over a hundred years to wait out an apocalyptic event, Eddie Diaz wakes up, too early, to find his son has been stolen from his cryo-chamber. Scared and alone in a frightening world he doesn't recognize, Eddie is willing to do anything to get his kid back. OR: The Fallout 4 AU that you don't need to have played Fallout to enjoy!

Appetency (4,685 words)

Summary:

When Buck learns Eddie has suddenly developed a sweet tooth, he falls down a bit of a research spiral about the cause behind unusual sugar cravings, and tries to help Eddie with this perceived problem. Eddie’s ‘problem’ isn’t exactly what Buck has in mind.

Nothing Left But You (27,297 words)

Summary:

In May of 2021, 25% of Earth's population suddenly disappears. Including Eddie. In May of 2026, they all come back. Eddie finds himself suddenly in the middle of a world he doesn't recognize, where the people he loves most have changed significantly.

Four Can Keep a Secret (20,140 words)

Summary:

When Ravi and Hen accidentally see Buck and Eddie, who are trying hard to keep their new relationship a secret, in the middle of a romantic moment, they try to make them confess without the rest of the station finding out. Shenanigans ensue.

Claim Your Ghost (32,824 words)

Summary:

After a near death experience on a call, Eddie starts having strange hallucinations of people who have died. There’s definitely no way he’s seeing ghosts, right? Because Eddie doesn’t believe in ghosts…

Me and Lazarus (17,041 words)

Summary:

As Buck lays comatose after being struck by lightning, Maddie reflects on the life of the first brother she lost, how that impacted her life, and the ways grief has shaped them both.

Muscle Memory (40,051 words)

Summary:

After a disappointment in his personal life, Buck wakes up one morning to find everyone he loves has forgotten him completely. No memories. No recognition. Almost like he was never really there.

endless numbered days (13,164 words)

Summary:

When a big event in the lives of the members of the 118 falls on the same weekend as Bobby's late son's birthday, Bobby finds himself reflecting on grief, fatherhood, and life after loss. OR Lots of Bobby angst and fluff and dad vibes.

Being Eddie (79,829)

Summary:

When Eddie starts seeing a new therapist, he’s presented with the opportunity to revisit several days from his past and right regrets that still bother him. OR: Eddie goes through the time travel therapy process of the 2009 Canadian TV show Being Erica

Batting a Buck & Change (15,557)

Summary:

Eddie and Chim embark on a “Dad’s night out” to watch baseball at a sports bar, and after a few too many, Eddie accidentally lets his feelings for Buck slip.

august (40,182 words)

Summary:

Buck and Natalia's new relationship has been built over a shared history with death, but is that foundation enough? Eddie and Marisol have a lot in common, including a fear of facing the truth about themselves. When Buck invites everyone to a vacation rental by the sea, secrets, feelings, and truths kept hidden are brought into the light. OR Buck, Eddie, Natalia, and Marisol go on a beach vacation in August of 2023. It gets angsty and gay.

Evan Buckley & the Coma-Verse of Madness (57,965 words)

Summary:

After being struck by lightning on a call, Buck experiences a plethora of alternate realities showing him different directions his life could have taken. Fighting hard to get home, Buck learns what, or who, is important to him in every lifetime. Inspired by a mix of Marvel multiverses and The Midnight Library by Matt Haig.

Fuck Up the Friendship (1,573 words)

Summary:

Eddie and Buck respond to a call where one best friend confesses their love to another - leading to a pretty awkward argument between them, and maybe more?

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

I have far too many half-written things in my google docs that have never seen the light of day, so I've decided to start buffing up the best ones and posting them unfinished. Maybe I'll come back to them later, or if not at least someone will hopefully enjoy reading them as they are.

First up: fragments from a WIP based on the concept that Eva did not actually die when the twins were children; instead, she got caught in the magic field of a Geryon and sling-shotted to the middle of Devil May Cry 5. What I wrote revolved more around the aftermath, and Eva trying to come to terms with the modern world, her losses, and not knowing what happened to her sons.

The building is echoing once the buffer of trash is removed. High ceilings dissipating into shadowy un-shapes. Dark corners shifting like predators turning and twisting. It’s too like the manor in those early days before she tamed it as Sparda had; made it respect her for all she was a mortal woman.

Made it respect her because she was a mortal woman.

She feels so tired, though; too tired to start a fresh war. So Eva lives with the shadows and whatever they may hide. At least it’s not outwardly hostile. Even if it was, by rights she shouldn’t be comfortable here.

This domain, this world, empty of her sons.

----

Swollen and fragile all at once, like a wine glass held too long in hot water - ripe for shattering with a single thoughtless move.

Midmorning is an inauspicious time for any demon to appear; Eva uses the reprieve to walk the city streets. Capulet is smaller than Red Grave but still a decent-sized city in its own right, checking off all the requirements: university, libraries, museums, churches, arts district, cheerful cafes dotting the sidewalk…

A few months ago -- no, thirty years ago -- she would have delighted in browsing the art supplies store, or checking the museum events for child-friendly exhibitions (but boys you must behave), or laughing into her coffee as two eight year olds descended into extensive debate on the merits of chocolate cake over strawberry tarts.

Now she buys peppermint tea in a to-go cup and takes it to the park.

Capulet is unexpectedly windswept in August, errant breezes stirring up the parched over-long grass around her ankles and pulling her hair, strand by strand, out of the confines of her ponytail.

The park is quietish; the younger children are out in force but a university city never really feels alive during the summer while the students are away. She follows the winding gravel path towards the duck pond at the centre and circles it once, twice. Watches other mothers with children tossing breadcrumbs to the ducks; running; playing.

“Why don’t you go and play, boys? Just--”

“Be careful, I know.” Vergil’s eyes, already so much older than they should be. “Why even try when we have to pretend?”

She’d never come up with a good enough answer for him.

Trish finds her on a bench. She sits down without ceremony or preamble, sunglasses her one concession to the summer day but otherwise as unaffected by the August sun as she no doubt will be by the coming autumn chill.

(Eva is rapidly coming to dislike Trish. Not because she is a demon, per se, but because it’s so fucking demoralising to constantly see the perfect version of herself; an Eva who will never succumb to sagging tits or a bloated stomach or even messy hair.)

“Are you all right? You’re sitting there like a ghost.”

Eva sips her tea to save herself from an immediate response. The cup is almost empty and the dregs are cold; she doesn’t remember drinking it.

“I’m fine.”

“Mm.” Trish doesn’t look as though she believes Eva in the slightest, but thankfully doesn’t push the issue. “Well, in that case, I have a favour to ask.”

“Oh?” Eva becomes instantly wary. Even as despondent as she feels, she knows better than to thoughtlessly promise a demon anything.

Something flashes in Trish’s eyes, gone too quickly for Eva to define it. The slow smile that curls the corners of her lips is equally inscrutable.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a favour for me, exactly,” she assures her, waving a perfectly manicured hand (again that familiar burst of jealousy towards a creature that could control their human physical appearance at will; Sparda had never had a bad hair day in his life--). “Lady heard you’re quite the dab hand with magic and she wanted to know if there were any goodies you could make for her, or teach her, or… whatever, really.”

“Last I saw, Lady has a tongue in her head,” Eva replies coolly.

Trish’s smile widens. “Oh, she does, but she’s out of town this week and when I saw you I thought I might as well ask now as later.”

“Mm.” Now it’s Eva’s turn to give Trish a searching look. She taps her nails (not perfectly manicured by any definition of the term) against her empty cup, wishing there was some left; she could make use of a timely pause to sip her tea and give herself a moment to think. “Well, I’m happy to talk to Lady about what she needs when she’s back in Capulet.”

“I’ll pass the message on.” With one flowing, elegant movement, Trish gets to her feet and stretches like a languid cat. “I’d better get going. See you around, Eva.”

“Yes, see you,” Eva mutters to her back; Trish is already going, sashaying through the park like she owns the place.

Something about this doesn’t smell right and Eva has sense enough to be cautious.

And yet… When she returns to Devil May Cry, she spends time going through the cupboards she’s restocked and checking her herbs. She uses the laptop Nero and Nico set her up with and finds websites that sell the supplies she needs -- whether advertised for witchcraft or otherwise -- and prepares lists of useful tricks; things that used to give her the edge she needed to survive another night.

It might not be useful for Lady -- if, indeed, Lady even asked the question -- but it’s useful for Eva. Practically, because she can’t be too careful even now, and in the abstract;  when she goes to bed that night, Eva sleeps better than she has in weeks. Her hands might be dry and her nails might be broken, but with her fingertips stained and smelling of herbs once again she almost begins to recognise herself.

----

To Eva’s palpable surprise, Lady does actually swing by Devil May Cry the following week.

“Trish told me she saw you,” Lady explains as she unholsters Kaline Ann and sets her down on the desk. “Did she tell you the kind of thing I was looking for?”

Because there is truth in this cover story that Lady and Trish have concocted between themselves. Yes, mainly they want to check on Eva, but it also never hurts for an old bitch to learn some new tricks.

And how does Eva look? Less like Trish than she used to; Eva has taken to shoving her hair up in a loose bun at the back of her head (the better, Lady assumes, to keep it out of her face now she was no longer playing lady of the manor) and has swapped her elegant black gown for a serviceable sweater and jeans. On her feet, Doc Martens. On her hands, broken nails and stained fingertips. In her eyes - fire.

“In passing.” Eva is - suspicious? Well, Lady can’t entirely blame her for still finding her feet with all of them, particularly Trish - though Trish herself had taken it as a compliment that Eva considered her enough potential trouble to be wary of.

“You’re welcome to anything I can teach you, although…” Eva’s gaze slides across and down to Kalina Ann. There is something distinctly hungry (covetous?) in her eyes. “You seem to have the offensive side pretty well covered.”

Lady grins, one firearms aficionado to another. “Give Nico a call if you want anything - you can’t beat the Goldsteins for guns and for you she’ll probably do it for free.”

That does it: the reserve cracks and Eva grins back. It is not the kind, motherly smile that Dante probably remembers. This is the smile that a tiger would give you if it could.

“Noted.” Eva pulls out a stack of books from one of the desk drawers. “Now, where do you want to start?”

It does not take long for Lady to be very, very glad she arranged this meeting. Eva is an absolute trove of knowledge. Much of it Lady already knows, and some of it is interesting but not strictly relevant -- Lady’s fighting style being much more full-on than Eva’s tactics lend themselves to -- but she still picks up plenty.

----

Nero is a dutiful, darling boy. He checks in with her, regular as clockwork, trying to disguise the anxiety in his voice. He doesn’t know how to be with her, but he tries nonetheless.

He asks her, often, to visit him in Fortuna; to meet his girlfriend and the children they have adopted. Eva demurs and lets him think she’s still putting off the inevitable label of grandmother. It’s not a total lie, but it’s far from the primary reason. Maybe, perceptive as he is (and he is; Sparda’s eyes staring at her, seeing straight through her despite the un-Sparda-ish mouthing off), he knows that, too, and is giving her time.

It’s just… what if they come back, and she isn’t here to greet them? What if they think she’s truly gone again? She can’t hurt her boys like that a second time. She can’t let them down again when they look for her, reach for her. God knows she was worth fuck-all to them then and even less now, as much protection as a paper cut-out, but if they know she’s willing to put herself between the two of them and danger, then… that’s something, isn’t it? However little, it’s something.

The latest attempt comes on a late autumn evening. October is slipping away, each dark evening bringing them a little closer to Halloween. The most enterprising of the local children have already ventured out trick-or-treating with the excuse that the 31st is a school night, and Eva watches troupes of ghosties and ghoulies and long-legged beasties parade past the windows with a bittersweet smile. She bought a bag of candy but doesn’t really expect any trick-or-treaters; Dante, with good reason, didn’t take pains to encourage the local kids to come calling.

Nero and Nico pull up, a welcome interruption to her descent into melancholy, out of breath but radiant from their latest skirmish. They stop by Devil May Cry on the pretence of leaving word for Morrison that payment is due, but Nero could do that himself on the little computer phone he carries around with him. In reality, they’re checking on her.

Eva doesn’t mind, really. She likes the company, and the kids (God, she calls them kids, they’re not that much younger than she is) are energetic; it’s hard to be actively maudlin when refereeing a shouting match. Nico especially is nosy and almost impossible to brush off or offend. On every visit, she wheedles a few more secrets out of Eva’s recipe books. Lately, Eva has been amusing herself by giving her tidbits and letting Nico reverse-engineer either the process or the product. Usually, she gets it right. Occasionally, she comes up with something better.

Tonight, though, Eva feels even harder to cheer than normal. Nico is put off by a wad of cash to get takeout -- Sparda laid the bounty of the world at her feet, but Nero and Nico are giving her a world tour laden with grease -- leaving Eva and Nero alone for half an hour. Nero has unchecked notebook privileges, as long as he’s careful with them, and he flicks through the entries thoughtfully.

“How did you learn all this stuff in the first place?”

“It depends which stuff we’re talking about.” Eva leans over his shoulder, pointing to the pages. “Sparda gave me a lot of them; things he’d picked up over the years, I don’t even know where from. But this one -- here -- that was from a hunter I partnered up with a lot in the early days. These tisanes were from my aunt. I used to say she should have been born a mediaeval herb-woman, except they’d have hung her for a witch.”

But Nero has stopped looking at the pages. He’s looking at her instead; thoughtful, in a way that is so Vergil it makes her heart skip a beat.

“What were they like, your family?”

“My family...” How long has it been since family wasn’t Sparda and the boys? How much longer since it meant the house she grew up in, and the people who populated it? “Oh, they -- they’re long gone. Better not to dwell. I have the boys,” Except she doesn’t. “And you, of course.”

Nero isn’t diverted, not for a moment, and the tilt of his eyebrows is pure Vergil. But he lets it go for now.

They taper off into silence. It lasts for a few minutes, Eva turning over possibilities in her mind. The words, when they come, are nevertheless a surprise; something she hadn’t meant to let loose.

“My father was a twin,” she says abruptly. “He and my uncle were thick as thieves. I always used to hope I’d have twins -- they say it skips a generation, so I thought it was likely I would -- and then they’d both always have a friend.”

She lets out a hollow little laugh. A friend. What a fucking fairytale.

Where did she go so wrong? Yes, the boys had always had their spats, but Eva had chalked that up to a mixture of their demonic blood and the marked differences in their personalities, watchful but not truly worried. She tried to encourage them to get along, to talk out their problems, but had also comforted herself that it was something they would grow out of as they got older and developed a bit more emotional maturity. Siblings fought; it was perfectly normal. Even she and Elijah--

Eva squeezes her eyes closed. She can’t think about Elijah right now.

A warm, calloused hand covers her own and Eva opens her eyes to see Nero watching her, his expression unusually serious.

“It’s not your fault,” he tells her, quietly but with a forceful conviction behind his words that reminds her of Sparda. “Yeah, they’re idiots, and they’re both kind of fucked up in their own ways, but it’s not your fault. They’d be a lot worse if it hadn’t been for you.”

Is that true? Eva isn’t sure which is worse; that she has ruined her boys, or that they would somehow be even worse without her.

But none of this is Nero’s problem. Grandson, she reminds herself once again. Grandson. Not a peer, not a comrade to lean on. A young man she needs to protect.

Pull yourself together, Eva.

----

Eventually, Eva gets sick of sitting around Devil May Cry waiting for something to happen.

She has never been a passive person. Eva makes things happen. Ever since Lady asked for some tricks to help her on hunts, Eva has been building up her supplies again. Restocking her herbs, potions, and powders. Dusting off Dante’s collection of magic books (a surprisingly comprehensive collection; Vergil had always been the bookworm, while Dante was too much of a fidget-bottom to sit still for five minutes)  and reminding herself of her favourite cantrips. Eventually, she contracts Nico to make her a pair of guns like her old ones.

The last time Eva felt so lost, she was drowning in grief for her husband and it ended in tragedy for her sons. She will not make the same mistake twice. Reaching back through the years, breaking down the walls she had so carefully built up, she remembers how it felt to be fifteen and alone; fifteen and desperate; fifteen and unstoppable.

Then she asks Morrison for some work.

As a young woman trying to break into this line of work, Eva had gotten used to the looks she elicited from these “brokers”. The initial amusement, thinking she’s joking. The surprise when they realise she isn’t. The patronising shake of the head as they assure her this is no work for a pretty little lady like her. Finally, the shock and anger as they hastily reconsidered their position with a gun jammed up against their throats.

Over time, she’d gotten a reputation for being an infernal bitch who was extremely good at what she did, which meant the work came easier. Eventually, by the time she met Sparda, she’d been running her own jobs without a broker at all - unless they were coming to her for a favour.

But that was then. Now she’s back to square one. Unproved. Untried. Untested. It’s aggravating but Eva knows she’ll have to just deal with it if she wants an in.

Because Eva is pretty sure she can talk Morrison into kicking a few jobs her way. Asking Lady, or Nero, or Trish to share, though? It will all be there - amusement, surprise, disbelief - and the worst thing of all is that they will be speaking not from baseless stereotyping but all too real knowledge.

Dante told us all about it, Eva. You barely lasted a minute when the demons attacked, isn’t that right? This is way too much for you.

No. She will work until she has beaten the softness out of herself. Until she can go back to them on an even footing. Until it’s second nature once again to have gunpowder on her clothes and the spark of magic at her fingertips. Until the Underworld has learned to fear Sparda’s whore again.

Then she will get their respect, rather than their pity.

Morrison drops by periodically for coffee and a chat. There hasn’t been any money-grubbing yet; Dante owns the office outright - Eva has seen the deed and it’s real enough - and the bills are being paid out of his last earnings. It won’t last forever, but it’s been enough to take one worry off Eva’s mind so far.

Instead, Morrison seems to simply enjoy her company, or maybe he just can’t kick the habit of showing up at Devil May Cry to see Dante. Whatever the reason, Eva enjoys his visits and his dry humour. What Morrison makes of her, she’s not sure; Eva had told him, in a tone that made it clear she was lying, that she was Trish’s long-lost sister. Morrison had simply chuckled and refrained from asking any questions.

That’s one thing Eva always did like about brokers; they’re the kind of people who don’t ask difficult, unnecessary questions.

“You’ve got this place looking real good, Eva.” Morrison looks around with genuine admiration and gestures with his lit cigarette to the spider plant growing ever larger in the corner. “Way better than Dante ever did. Mother of God, the state I’ve seen this office in… well. Maybe best not to elaborate too much there.”

Eva laughs, remembering how Dante always tried his best to weasel out of his chores. Even getting him to make his bed was a challenge. It seems he hasn’t improved with age.

“It’s certainly been quite the project. But, now that it’s done, I’ve been thinking I need something else to do.” Eva watches Morrison carefully, waiting for his reaction. “Do you have any work for me?”

Morrison smirks. “Getting bored already? Yeah, I got a few things on the back burner - the kind of stuff the other ladies think they’re too good for, if you catch my drift, and the kid really has got his hands full.”

...Okay, that was absurdly easy. Eva narrows her eyes, but Morrison doesn’t look like he’s trying to mock her. On the contrary, when he sees her expression, he holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“Hey, I don’t control the work that comes in! Besides, pay is pay, am I right?”

“I’m looking for hunting work,” Eva says pointedly, wondering if he’s mistaken her meaning.

“Yeah, yeah, I got you.” Morrison chuckles as he takes a drag on his cigarette. “What, were you expecting me to say no? If nobody will do the work, I won't get paid either.”

“I…” Eva is floored. All of her preparation, all that time spent rehearsing her arguments, and it turns out she doesn’t need any of them. “I was expecting, uh…”

“Pushback?” Morrison gives her a knowing look. “Do you really think I’d have lasted this long with those ladies if I trotted out that kind of line? As far as I’m concerned, if you hang around with Dante, Lady, and Trish, then you know what you’re doing and you can take care of yourself.”

Morrison pulls a notebook out of his pocket and rifles through it, humming under his breath. He tears out a page and walks over to lay it on Eva’s desk.

“Here are the details. Just give me a call when you’re done with them and I’ll arrange your payment. Damages come out of your cut, mind you. If everything goes well, I’ll see what else I have for you.”

----

It really is grunt work, but Eva doesn’t mind; she’s not arrogant enough to think she could jump single-handedly into something like Red Grave, guns blazing.

The job also isn't urgent - hence Morrison being lackadaisical about bullying someone into taking it - which gives her the leisure of reconnaissance and planning time.

An empusa nest out on some waste ground that a local developer bought before noticing his unexpected squatters. Straightforward enough, although Eva takes more precautions than she thinks are necessary just in case. After all, she’s seen her judgement is far from perfect.

But in the end, all goes smoothly. No nasty surprises. Just some nasty stains on the concrete from empusas blown to kingdom come. Eva grimaces at them, hoping they don’t count as “damages”. The land is being developed anyway, right? Surely they’ll be putting down fresh tarmac?

In the end, Morrison does take a cut from her pay, but it’s less than she feared and so Eva swallows it with as much good grace as she can muster. The stack of notes is a reassuring weight in her hand. Ballast, though for (or against) what, she’s not entirely sure. The important thing is that she’s done a competent enough job that Morrison leaves her with the details of another couple of jobs. In this way a reputation is built.

“Morrison,” Eva calls out just before he leaves.

Morrison pauses on the threshold. There’s a beat before he looks back at her over his shoulder and Eva gets the impression he knows exactly what she’s about to ask.

“Do you think he’s coming back?”

Because Morrison is not Trish, or Lady, or Nero. He does not know her connection to these people. To Dante. So he has no reason to lie to her or spare her feelings.

He sucks in a breath, considering. “You know, I’d gotten to the point where I never thought I’d see anything Dante didn’t come back from. So many times I thought he was in way over his head, only for him to walk away laughing. But this job… this felt different from the start. Gave me a sort of -- premonition, you might say.”

A soft hum; something that might have been a laugh, if there was any humour in it, and Morrison shook his head.

“The truth is, Eva, I don’t know. I really don’t. He could come waltzing back in here tomorrow, carrying a pizza and laughing at us all for ever doubting him. Or we might never see him again.”

Eva sinks slowly into the desk chair, feeling the truth of it in her bones. A tidal wave of exhaustion crashes over her, threatening to drown her in one clean swoop. Tired of worry. Tired of uncertainty. Tired of never even having the cold comfort of a body to bury. Tired of that tiny speck of hope that even now refused to be snuffed out completely because, however ridiculous it was to expect it, there was still the chance--

“I knew someone else like that, once,” she hears herself say. “He never did come back.”

Morrison gives her a searching look. He seems, for a moment, to be on the verge of saying something more, but in the end refrains. Instead, he tips his hat to her.

“You take care, Eva.”

“Yeah,” Eva replies distantly. “You too, Morrison.”

----

The work is important for more than Eva’s ego.

Her blood sings in her veins once again. The hum of power at her fingertips, like the whine of electricity. A promise, maybe even a vow if you were so inclined to call it such, that one day in the none-too-distant future a small slice of the world would once again turn at Eva’s call and beckoning. She has known this once before when playing lady of the manor. Now, the power is both weaker, for lack of Sparda’s force bolstering her, and sweeter, for knowing it is all of her own clawing and devising.

Her blood sings and Eva tastes iron and lightning on her tongue. Her fingers smell of metal and herbs and something no mortal can rightly put words to; the tang of the Underworld and the burning sulphur of demons.

When Eva looks at her reflection in the chipped bathroom mirror and sees an old, familiar light in her eyes, she knows it is time.

Very little magic needs to be complicated. The point is will, and the directing of it. For those unfamiliar with the craft then the trimmings of rituals and candles can go a long way in finding that direction.

For those who live long enough to become old hands, just the thinking, coupled with the right runes, is enough. Eva takes a sharp knife, a handful of herbs, and a silver-backed mirror (in this, old ways are better; a mercury mirror would work better still, but this will do for now)... and she searches.

Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, soul of my soul, I seek thee now. Come to me, come to me, come to me…

It is a powerful spell. Kinfinding may not be enough to physically draw her boys forth from the Underworld, but it should at least show them to her in the scrying mirror.

Eva seeks until her blood runs dangerously thin and her head pounds and her vision begins to darken. She seeks further still until she knows herself at the very precipice of what she can safely come back from… and only then, with great reluctance, does she let the spell go.

She has not seen them, either of them, even once.

----

Eventually, it feels meaningless to even keep up the pretence she thinks the boys are coming back.

What has happened to them is almost immaterial. The nightmare scenarios are so numerous that eventually they blur together into one long snuff film that leaves her numb. Like Sparda, they were there and then they were not. Like Sparda, she will never know what exactly happened.

Devil May Cry becomes part tomb, part cocoon. She has saved enough money to keep Morrison at bay for a while even after Dante’s funds run out, and she continues to take work for the sake of it, though she doesn’t keep track of her income versus expenditures. If or when the money runs out, she’s not sure. It’s pointless to think so far ahead. Perhaps she’ll just die, like she should have before.

A wife without a husband. A mother without sons. Once, she would have vomited at the thought of a woman identifying herself by the men in her life, but somehow it crept up on her over the years and now she’s left with gaping, bloody holes that gung-ho feminist rhetoric does nothing to paste over.

Nobody seems to notice the change in her philosophy. Though, she gets precious few visitors anyway. Trish and Lady leave her to her own devices, having apparently satisfied their curiosity about her. Morrison has tapered off their tete-a-tetes and only shows up when he wants money. Nero is a busy boy these days.

One night she dreams about them. The dream is very similar to the ones she used to have about Sparda; lifelike, almost lucid dreaming, where everything was the same - she is in bed, having just awoken - except he is there, smiling gently, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

Sleeping in, Eva?

Dreaming about the boys is very similar. She dreams she awakens in the night to a sound downstairs. There is no panic of a break-in; nobody bothers her these days. Voices, muffled, from the floor below. Eva calmly gets out of bed, registering even the rustle of the sheets and the cold, bare wooden boards under her feet. She pads slowly out of the bedroom to the top of the stairs.

There they are, standing in the centre of the office, illuminated perfectly by a strip of moonlight through the window. It is like a picture. It is too perfect and too easy. This is how she knows she is dreaming.

Still, for the first time in months, her heart eases.

They are talking softly to each other, too softly for her to catch the words (there is a limit, she concedes, to just how much even her vivid imagination can conjure). Eva doesn’t mind. She stands at the mezzanine and soaks them in.

Dante gestures to the stairs and looks up. He freezes as their eyes meet. Vergil, a half-heartbeat behind his twin, mirrors him.

“...Hey,” Dante croaks, the gesturing hand that had fallen still now awkwardly waving. “We’re home!”

This is more than she expected. Eva’s throat constricts. Even her dreams of Sparda were not so vivid or so long.

“You’re late, boys,” she manages after a moment. “Dinner was hours ago.”

She is trying for levity, trying to play her part in this scene, trying to piece together something happy for when she wakes up, but her voice cracks halfway through the sentence and she finds herself choking on a sob.

Dante is halfway up the stairs in a moment, hand outstretched to her. Eva, too, is reaching out to her little boy and she cries out when she finally has her arms around him again.

She does not get even a heartbeat of joy before the world collapses into shadows and flames. Dante dissolves, her arms closing around thin air, and the staircase morphs into an endless corridor to hell. Her boys are nowhere to be seen, but she can hear them screaming.

Or maybe she just hears her own voice, screaming herself awake.

There are more dreams, afterwards; more recognisable for what they are. Her life runs before her eyes in reverse. Searching for the boys. Watching Sparda walk away for the last time. The face of every person she never saved. Then, at last, the denouement: Elijah, torn open. Her father and uncle staring sightless into an abyss. Her mother reduced to so many scattered chunks of meat.

Eventually, because Eva is someone who makes things happen, not someone things simply happen to, she makes the decision to go back. She has faced Red Grave; faced the ruined manor. It is time to face much older ghosts.

It is a private matter, and so Eva tells nobody of her intentions. She lets Morrison know she will be out of town on personal business, timeline uncertain; she will give him a call when she’s back. He is free, in the interim, to pass her usual work on to other sources.

For anyone else (because she still hopes, deep down, that her boys will one day come home), she leaves a note on her desk.

Out of town for a while.

Eva re-reads the brief scribble and wonders what else to add before realising there really is nothing more to add. No forwarding address or contact number, because she does not want anyone to find her. Anyone who wants her, can wait until she comes back.

She makes it ten minutes out from the city before she turns back to scribble an address at the bottom of her note.

Just in case.

----

Plane tickets are cheap these days, and she has a passport courtesy of Morrison, but Eva elects to drive. Call her old-fashioned, or even just plain curmudgeonly in her old age (ha), but Eva likes the hum of a good motor much better than the press of noisy crowds.

Besides, she’d need a car at the other end of the flight anyway, where she’s going. She can even call it a vacation if she finds a motel to spend each night in. If not -- she’s slept in a car before and it won’t kill her to do it again, especially when the rental is much more comfortable than any old banger she’s passed a night in before.

Highways turn to country lanes as she veers further and further off the beaten track. The temperature drops, too; winter in the shadow of the Appalachian mountains is nothing to sneeze at. Eva has forgotten a lot of things over the years (too many things), but she remembers that. Funny how events and people slide slowly but surely from her mind but sensory impressions remain: the icy, pinesap-tinged tang of morning air in winter; the crackle of a fire; the warm doughy smell and pillowy softness of homemade dinner rolls.

Become someone else, she’d told her younger son as their world burned around them. Change your name, change yourself, and hide. Not easy, no, nothing like easy -- but possible, for the right price. For the price of giving up who you were before.

Except no bargain is ever so neat and no transaction ever so complete.

[ilikepjo24]

Fanfic writers, what is your work process? Be brutally honest.

Mine is:

I get an idea from a movie/book/song/video/chat/conversation/other fanfic/real life event/no where in particular.

I sit and think about the idea for long enough to get invested.

If the inspiration is a movie/real life event/conversation, I record it. If it's a song/video, I save the link. If it's a book, I take a picture of the page. If it's a chat/other fanfic, I take a screenshot of it. If it's nothing in particular, I just write it down, along with the situation I was in when the idea sparked (drinking coffee, completing a task, ect) so that I remember what the original vibe of the idea was.

I create a note in my phone where I have the recording/link/picture/screenshot/note that created the idea and then I type out all the extra details I came up with in step 2.

I spend a couple of days brainstorming and deciding what are all the events/dialogue/interactions I want my fic to have.

I create a timeline of all the events and add that to the notes app.

I create the fanfic in my head in the form of a movie, so that my brain can visualize what dialogue choices flow best, how much attention I want to pay in the background during each scene, and what is the body language, tone of voice and facial expressions I want the characters to desplay.

I make a video of myself narrating the movie and its details, while mimicking the body language, so that I won't forget the details and I add it to my notes app.

I look back at the video and wonder what instructions I'd give if it was a movie and I was a director, to get a better grasp of how I want all the movement to be described in text.

I make a voice recording of my director instructions so I can listen to myself say it and see if the instructions are formed in a way that would flow well on paper, and if it's not I redo it and add it to my notes.

I find pictures of all the objects/people I want to describe and follow a similar process with the voice recordings so that I can see if the descriptions flow pleasantly and then I add that recording to my notes too.

In the scenes where the background is important, I draw an layout of the room and add all the objects to see if it feels realistic for a room of the specific dimensions to fit all those objects in a way that isn't awkward and then I add the drawing to my notes.

It's been 18 months since I got the original idea and now all the prep is done, so I open a new Google doc and start making a first draft while constantly checking my notes app from reference.

I always complete the first draft in one sitting and now with that first draft and the note as references, I start writing a second draft, which often takes more than one sittings.

After the second draft is done, I open wordhippo (website) to find other words I could use in parts where I feel like the wording could be better and out of the second draft, I create a third one.

I go over the form of the sentences/paragraphs to make sure the fic is balanced properly.

I check for any spelling and grammar errors and since I don't have a beta reader, this third draft is the final product.

It's been 50 years since I got the idea and I finally post.

I look back in regret because I don't like the way it turned out but I don't take it down cause people leave kudos, so I must have done something right.

What is your 🫵work process?

No pressure tags: @waterfire1848 @bellatrixobsessed1 @timur-pannonicus @akiizayoi4869 @hello-nichya-here @azulas-daddy-kink

[gefionne]

hi i’m a newbie writer. and i just love your writing? could you give any advice for me on how to be a better writer?

Hello hello! I'm so glad you like my work! I can certainly try to offer some advice, but like all writing advice, take what might be helpful and leave what isn't; everyone has their own preferences and workflow.

I. Write. A lot. - I was a casual, sporadic writer for a long time, but when I decided I really wanted to improve, I just wrote. A lot. All the time. Doesn't have to be every day (some advice says that), but put words on the page regularly. You'll be rewarded by seeing improvement as you go along! It might take weeks, months, or years, but keep at it.

II. Read the genres you like/authors you admire. - This can be fic authors if that's your goal or published authors, as long as you enjoy their work and aspire to tell stories like they do. Your stories will never be the same as theirs, but you can learn a lot about structure, prose, and pacing from reading.

III. Your first stories might not be up to the standard you aspire to, and that's okay. - My earliest stories on AO3 are from when I was a teenager (written pre-AO3, actually). They're rough; they're clumsy. I haven't deleted them because people left kudos and bookmarked them, but they're also part of my writing journey. I put a note on them that I wrote them when I was 16, but I didn't remove them. Remember: You don't have to post your early work! Keep it for yourself until you're excited enough to share.

IV. Get excited about your work. - Everybody loves the validation of kudos/comments, but before you venture into posting, love your own work. If you can barely contain your excitement to put your story out there, that's the right zone. Regardless of the interaction, that story is in your heart and you're proud of it.

V. Write out your thoughts for a story. - If you're a daydreamer with all your plots coming to you in the shower, write them down after. Could be an outline, could be one sentence. A list of ideas or plot points/scenes might also help you break a block. (I'm not actually a daydreamer myself. I brainstorm ideas when I'm sitting at my computer with a page in front of me to record them, so grain of salt this one if it's not your workflow.)

VI. Try different things. - Start with the genres/tropes you like, but don't be afraid to experiment. Never thought I'd write a flower shop AU, but I did it. Write canonverse. Write historical AUs. Write based on prompts or art. See point #1: Write. A lot.

VII. Find a writing group, if possible. - The interactions I had with my friends during the height of my fandom period (2016-2019) pushed me to be better, consistently. They gave ideas, but were also betas who weren't afraid to offer some critique (behind the scenes, not in public comments). Make sure you trust them. It can take a while to build up trusting relationships with your group, but when they respect you and support you, their feedback will make you a better writer. IMPORTANT: Always state your expectations of a beta (e.g. what kind of feedback you want on what parts--SPAG, plot, pacing, characterization--and how you would like to receive it--gently, blunt, Google Docs comments or just some thoughts after they read.) Good feedback is not harsh, but given out of honest care and support. Break a beta relationship if they aren't helpful.

IX. One last thing: Everyone was a newbie at some point. Everyone. Through hard work, excitement about their own stories, and self-compassion throughout the slow process of improving, they did. And so can you.

[crystal-cliffs]

Arlecchino x Xianyun

It’s a continuation of the original birthday post I had sitting around, and I decided to pull it out of my Google docs dumpster and clean it up.

God, it’s been so long since I’ve actually sat down and written this pairing again it feels like even though it really hasn’t. Praying I was able to jump back into their characters and if they’re slightly off then I hope we can cling onto our suspension of disbelief.

Just a note though, this one ends a abruptly due to time constraints ✨

Word count: 557

Genre: Fluff

“How is Liyue Harbor?” Arlecchino removed her eyes from the ceiling and looked at Xianyun who was still messing with one of the small mechanical cranes that had been in the giftbox.

“Certainly less lonely.” The adeptus laid down sideways, resting her head on Arlecchino’s stomach and hanging her legs over the side of the bed. She held the mechanical crane above her face, moving the individual body parts to simulate flying. “Did you make this?”

“…With help.”

“It’s impressive craftsmanship.” Xianyun glanced up at Arlecchino. “Truly commendable.”

“I’m glad you like them. I would’ve done something more but I’ve been… busy.”

Xianyun sat up and set the bird on the nightstand. “It is not the gift but the thought behind it that counts. Anything you give one will be appreciated. Besides, a fully articulated crane that fits in the palm of one’s hand is something one didn’t even know one needed.”

“…Have I mentioned how much I enjoy listening to you talk?”

Xianyun blinked and then smiled. “Most adepti talk like this, it’s nothing unique.”

Arlecchino rolled her eyes and held her arms out with an expectant look. Xianyun sighed and laid back down, letting Arlecchino wrap her arms around her. A missed feeling that still felt natural despite their months of barely seeing each others faces.

“I guess you’re right, but I don’t know any other adepti. It’s only natural to view this trait as unique to you.” Arlecchino brushed her hand through her hair, gently grabbing onto the feather shaped pin holding it up.

“That would be untrue, but one supposes it's not a terrible lie.”

Arlecchino smiled and pulled the pin out, letting her hair fall. “So, are all the bird motifs on purpose?” Arlecchino laughed lightly as she looked over the pin, colors segmented to mimic the separation within a feather. “I’ve been meaning to bring that up.”

“You would be correct.”

“Cute.” Arlecchino shifted to place it on the nightstand before turning back to Xianyun, brushing her hand over the blue feathers on her cheek. They were scattered in random spots and they were one of Arlecchino’s favorite things about the crane adeptus.

Unfortunately, she hardly ever saw them. She was stuck imagining them under her fingers as she reread letters sent to her for a semblance of closeness. The mechanical bird that sits on her desk as a reminder that she has ‘x’ number of days until she can make her trips to Liyue.

Maybe she should invite Xianyun to the House of the Hearth. Would that be ideal? She’d prefer to keep her job seperate from her relationship, but every time she had to return to Fontaine she grew more restless as she waited for her next break.

“Is something troubling you?”

Arlecchino snapped herself out of her mind and fixed whatever minute expression must’ve concerned Xianyun. “Of course not, Love.”

“Really?” Xianyun frowned, propping her chin up with the palm of her hand.

“Simply thinking about our eventual parting. Is it not normal to dread such a moment even for a little while?”

“Normal, but not of much concern right now. One didn’t think one would have to remind you of living in the moment.” Xianyun accentuated her point with a soft jab to her chest.

“Right.”

“Then relax and sleep,” Xianyun laughed softly and laid her head back down. “It doesn’t happen often for us.”

My pookies, my everything. Hoyoverse knows they’d be to powerful if they canonically interacted.

[sft-chrry]

kagaya

pairing: k. ubuyashiki x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, repeating of words

song: jenny by studio killers (i just replaced jenny with kagaya because yes?😭)

a/n: this has been sitting on my google docs for 5 months now and i just want to post it because it had potential and now its poof.

“i don’t get why you can’t ask him,” ume complained as she had heard (name) overthink way too much. “he’s not going to reject you, well we’re not sure about that but still! if he is going to reject you, he'll do it in a gentle way.”

“you don’t understand, ume, kagaya and i have been friends since first year. if he does like me his friends, especially the one with 3 girlfriends would’ve teased him about it! plus he doesn’t even hangout with me anymore,” her eyes softened when she said that earning an eye roll from ume.

it was true though, he was busy being a student council whilst she was busy having fun with her friends.

an idea sparked on ume’s head.

“why not confess to him with a song? so that if he does reject you, you have a reason. just tell him that you were singing through chat?”

“that's so stupid!”

“and it sounds like you would do it.” ume whispered but it was loud enough for (name) to hear it. she walked out of their shared dorm to attend her class.

(name) pouted for 2 minutes and decided she’ll do it. she huffed and grabbed on her phone to open their conversation. their last chat was 5 days ago when (name) was asking where muzan was.

-

(name)

kagaya, darling, you're my best friend

kagaya

hello, (name)

i think i’m very aware of that.

(name)

but there's a few things that you don't know of

kagaya

?

like?

(name)

why I borrow your lipstick so often

kagaya

whaat?

i don't think i had lipstick.

these are all yours?

(name)

i’m using your shirt as a pillow case

kagaya

so you had my missing shirts?

(name)

i wanna ruin our friendship

we should be lovers instead

seen

-

she started to sweat and tossed her phone on her bed just before she plopped she remembered she had class with him.

she cursed under her breath and changed her clothes. ignoring the text messages that were notifying her.

gasping for air, she sat on her chair and placed her books on the table. she was late but so was the professor.

curiously, she glanced at where kagaya would often sit with his friends and saw him looking at her with his soft eyes. her face flushed and she went to look at her textbook to her luck the professor arrived.

she was a girl in love so she couldn’t help stealing a few glances at kagaya who looked peaceful.

when the class ended the professor asked her to stay behind. he told her that her grades were failing and if doesn't do anything about it she’ll have to take it again next semester. of course, being one of the school's delinquents, she did not listen to a word he said but her heart dropped to his next words.

“i'm afraid you’ll need tutoring. im sure ubuyashiki won't mind tutoring you.”

she choked on her own saliva as her professor gave her a concerned look and asked her if she was ok. y/n gave him a nod and asked him when which he responded

“well im not sure, i’ll remind you if i have talked to ubuyashiki”

(name) walked out of class zoning out, ignoring that someone has been trying to get her attention. she snapped out of her thought when the person tapped her shoulder

when she saw it was ume and behind her was kagaya who was walking towards her, she quickly grabbed ume’s hand and ran to the building of their dorms. ume smacked (names) head and called her an idiot.

“we were supposed to get lunch! now we’re back here so you buy our lunch!” she demanded to her best friend and went to talk about what happened in chemistry. ume noticed that her friend was not interested in a word she was saying so she shut her mouth.

“no, continue your story i was listening” that caused ume to have a smile on her face and talked. she asked her what happened in economics and (name) told everything.

ume smacked her head again and scolded her for “wasting her chance with kagaya” she ignored the girl and poured herself a cup of water and drank it while going to her messages. one message had caught her attention and when she read it she choked on her water causing ume to panic and slap her back.

“jesus you don’t have to slap it that hard,” she coughed out before yelling “holy shit! holy-“ looking at her roommate while her roommate was looking at her all confused.

“he accepted it! my confession!” she twirled around, hugged ume, ran around, before diving on her bed to smack it, stood up to hug ume again to thank her, going outside, giving her roommate some money for food, going inside again and calmed herself which she failed as she continued to act like that for another 5 minutes.

when she calmed down she showed her best friend what he had sent her, causing the two of them to squeal for another 2 minutes.

eventually they both calmed down and ordered something. since (name) had a free period she decided to sleep for 2 hours and when the alarm went off she fixed herself and dressed up.

as she had a date with her long-time crush.

🍒 reblogs and notes are appreciated !

🍒 sft-chrry 2023

[in-death-we-fall]

Face To Face

Murderdolls

Fred Durst isn’t on their Christmas card list. But Angelina Jolie is…

Words: Daniel Lukes Photos: Scarlet Page

(google docs) Thanks @incredizort for sharing your collection!

Joey Jordison’s presence in glam-metal side-project Murderdolls was always bound to garner more than just a passing glance; not least because the exuberant drummer shocked everyone by deciding to make his post-Slipknot debut in stack heels and a whole lotta make-up. But since releasing their debut album, ‘Beyond the Valley Of The Murderdolls’, this summer, the horror-punk quintet have (sic) the past few months creating merry mayhem out on the road, rapidly building a colourful cult following in the process.

Today, the Murderdolls Roadshow has hit London – the Forum in Kentish Town, to be precise – and a group of diehard fans have gathered outside the venue to catch a glimpse of their heroes. For six diehard ‘Dolls fans, however, Christmas has come early. Louise Condren and her brother Michael, Michelle Peppiatt, Rebecca Brazil, Matthew Murray and Richard Williams are currently sitting in the venue’s upstairs bar, where they’re about to begin interrogating the glam-goth six-piece (sic) about subjects as diverse as drugs, Anjelina (sic) Jolie and, of course, a fat man with a white beard and red coat.

After hands are shaken and pleasanteries (sic) exchanged, there’s just one thing to do: get this party started…

Michelle: How do you feel about having so much success so quickly? Ben ‘Ghoul’ Graves: “We’re the hottest thing since sunburn, the greatest fucking band on planet Earth, so it wasn’t really a big surprise to us.” Acey Slade: “We’re doing something different. A lot of people are turning their noses up, but at the same time a lot of people are buying it. It’s like heroin.” Wednesday: “Joey’s had a lot of success with Slipknot, but it’s really weird for me, it’s kind of a new thing. To come to another country and there’s kids dressed like you, and imitating your whole thing, and they know every word to a song that you wrote in your bedroom when you lived with your parents, it’s such a great feeling.”

Matthew: Who would you most like to fuck on a cold Christmas morning Wednesday: “To fuck? On a cold Christmas morning? These are good questions.” Acey: “It’s a very generic answer, but I’d probably have to say Angelina Jolie.” Wednesday: “I’d say Santa Claus.” Ben: “Have you heard of a girl over here called Lindsey Dawn? She’s from the UK, she’s very hot.” Acey: “That’s not what you said earlier, Ghoul. You said for Christmas you wanted to find a midget in your stocking. That’s what you said.”

Richard: Whose roast turkey would you most like to carve this Christmas morning? Wednesday: “Whose what?” Acey: “Is that a variation of the same question? If it’d get me laid, I’d say Angelina Jolie again.” Wednesday: “I don’t know. I don’t know how to carve a turkey anyway.” Acey: “He only carves chickens. One time he carved a squirrel, for class.” Wednesday: “I don’t know. That’s probably the most difficult question I’ve ever been asked in my life.” Ben: “Hugh Hefner. I’d love to spend Christmas at the ‘Playboy’ Mansion.” Wednesday: “Of course you would.”

Michael: If you were the five wise men, what would you give to baby Jesus? Eric Griffin: “Drugs!” Wednesday: “Drugs and a couple of shots of Jägermeister. I’d like to breastfeed baby Jesus.” Acey: “I’d give him a butterscotch enema.”

Matthew: Which rock star looks most like Santa Claus? Wednesday: “Jerry Garcia. Michael MacDonald. You guys probably have no clue who that is.” Ben: “Who’s the one they said Wednesday looks like?” Wednesday: “Mortiis! Like a dead Santa Claus. Or maybe one of his elves. Rob Zombie looks kinda like Santa Claus a little bit.” Joey: “Cancel that. We won’t get that tour.” Wednesday: “He’s got his beard. I’d love him to bring me presents. That’d be the coolest Santa Claus in the world, bringing you shrunken heads and all that. Jellied brains.” Acey: “Or go-go girls, or a leather face mask.”

Richard: If you had Fred Durst hanging by his bollocks what would you do to him? Eric: “Nothing, I’d just leave him there.” Wednesday: “That’s pretty harsh torture in itself. I think we’d all swing on it to make it a little bit worse.” Joey: “We’d throw sliced ham at him.” Acey: “I’d pour honey on his nutsack, and then let ants eat it off.”

Louise: What do you guys think of the UK music scene? Wednesday: “Well, we’re a local band here now, since we’re always over here. It seems to be pretty cool.” Acey: “I like the music scene here better, truthfully. It just seems that people are a little bit more open-minded, you’ve got bands that a little bit older like The Wildhearts and we’ve always had good support bands like AntiProduct and The 80s Matchbox B-Line Disaster, who are really cool.”

Rebecca: How have your families taken to your career paths? Joey: “My parents have always supported me from day one. I’m still the same person, my mom still makes me take out the trash and mow the lawn. She lives in her Murderdolls and Slipknot gear. She wears it every day. She’ll go to the grocery store and these kids’ll come along and go, “You like Slipknot?’. And she’ll go, ‘Oh yeah’. Now she gets free groceries.” Ben: “My parents have always been very supportive of whatever I’ve done. I’m not going to sit here and say that my childhood was traumatic and I hated my parents and all the crap that other bands come out with, because that’s just not true.” Acey: “My mom’s very proud, very very proud of me. My dad, on the other hand, disowned me. So fuck him.” Eric: “My mom came to see us and she wore Devil horns.”

Matthew: What are the three most important things you take on tour with you? Ben: “Our make-up. Our clothes. And rubbers.” Eric: “Spoken like a true ghoul!”

Michael: Your songs are quite sarcastic, but are any of them based on real-life experiences? Wednesday: “No, not at all. I think the only song on the album that had any personal theme, was ‘Dressed To Depress’. The bands that I’ve always grown up on, I didn’t want to go to a concert and be reminded of the bullshit in my life, if I hated school or was angry with my parents. I’ve always compared our band to a TV or a movie or something, you get lost in it. Bands that keep singing about bad childhoods or trauma or politics, it gets old after a while.” Ben: “I think it’s more about escapism than real life.” Wednesday: “So no real grave-robbing stories yet? (listens to music playing in the background) Oh God, is that Nickelback?” Ben: “How would you know that? That’s bad that you know that.” Wednesday: “I know, I’m sorry.” Eric: “I think that there’s a lot of kids that really relate to us, and feel like they have a lot more in common with us than with their parents or their friends at school.” Ben: “Or Nickelback.”

Richard: If you weren’t making music, what would you be doing now? Joey: “I would just try to get as close to anything musical as possible, by being a tech or working in the studio. Music is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do since I was really young – I’m just lucky I get to actually do it now.” Eric: “I think I’d probably open a strip club. A brothel or something.” Ben: “If I wasn’t doing music, I’d probably be doing something art-oriented.” Acey: “What do ghouls do? What is a ghoul?” Ben: “What’s a ghoul? That’s a good one.” Wednesday: “Don’t you rob graves and beat on poor people?” Acey: “I would maybe be a manager. I mean, I can barely manage my own life, so that would be kind of a tough one.” Eric: “In all seriousness it’s an impossible question to answer because music is more of a life than a job. Our whole lives just revolve around music. It’s part of who we are, so I can’t even imagine not being able to play music.”

Louise: What object will be on the top of your Christmas tree? Wednesday: “I have a Jack Skellington doll on the top of my Christmas tree at home. I always do that every year. I don’t want Santa Claus, or an angel, or a star or anything stupid like that.” Acey: “I got a fake tree that I’m going to spraypaint black. It’s one of the little ones. I’ll spray it in my apartment and get a buzz painting it.” Ben: “I didn’t have a Christmas tree last year, so I’m not sure.” Acey: “That’s because you’re a ghoul.” Wednesday: “What about getting the ghoul and painting him green and standing him on our bus. His hair is like pipe-cleaners…” Acey: “And he’s already got balls hanging…”

Richard: If you could be on an ideal tour, who would be supporting you? Wednesday: “I would love to have AFI support us. That’s probably the only band out right now that I can listen to all the time.” Acey: “Andrew W.K. would be pretty cool. He likes to party.” Wednesday: “We played a gig with Andrew in Japan and he’s a really cool guy and has a lot of fun and I really respect what he’s done and that would be a cool tour.” Ben: “The Donnas, but I think they’re afraid to talk to us.”

Matthew: If you could choose one person, who would you like most to resurrect from the dead? Wednesday: “Vincent Price. I’d just love to have dinner with that guy and just talk to him.” Acey: “Joey Ramone.” Ben: “Brigitte Bardot.” Wednesday: “(correcting his bandmate). Bardoo.” Acey: “Bardow!” Kerrang!: Brigitte Bardot is alive. Eric: “You fucking ghoul. I told you we were stupid.” Ben: “The one Anton LaVey had an affair with then – what was her name? Jane Mansfield.” Wednesday: “Next question!” Ben: “Yeah, let’s move on.”

Michelle: What would your ideal Christmas presents to each other be? Acey: “I’d buy Joey and Wednesday Les Pauls. The Ghoul? What do you buy a ghoul? Wednesday: “A box of magnums. I’d buy Joey a 12-pack of Corona with the lemons… All: “The limes!” Wednesday: “The limes already in ‘em. I’d buy Acey shares in Starbucks franchise. I’d get him a coffee-smelling kimono, or a fucking scarf, so if he couldn’t find coffee it (sic), he’d just inhale it.” Ben: “I’d buy Wednesday a big bucket of KFC.” Acey: “I’d buy him a chicken ranch.” Ben: “Actually, I lost my mind back in the summertime, I’d like to open up a present and get that back.”

Michelle: Acey, was it a strain for you joining after Tripp Eisen left? Acey: “You know you were asking what I would like on Christmas morning? Well truthfully, and for the first time in my life I really have everything that I want. And I’m not just talking shit – I’m in a band that’s gone around the world, that I love, I got a computer – so what more do I need? Some more ‘Nightmare Before Christmas’ toys! They hate me, by the way.” Wednesday: “I’ve known Acey for a long time, before he was ever in Dope or I met Joey. So, it was kinda weird how everything worked out. Us starting a band together was a long time in the coming.”

Rebecca: What is the most rock ‘n’ roll Christmas you’ve ever had? Joey: “I think this one will probably be the most, since with Slipknot, the band’s not heavily indulging in everything, and it’s not like the more free-spirited atmosphere I have with these guys. We’re playing a New Year’s Eve show in my hometown, so we’re just going to probably get drunk and get ready for the show. What do you think about that answer Wednesday?” Wednesday: “It was great.” Joey: “Thank you.”

[nightmarevore]

hi! i'm getting into writing safe vore oneshots and i was inspired by a few of your works and reblogs. for years i was really discontent with my writing, but when i revisited some of your stories today, i noticed how similar your writing style is to mine, and the fact that people enjoy your content made me confident enough to complete a draft and plan a new story. i wanted to know if you make drafts and revise them? do you just publish the first draft? do you get help writing or editing them? 1☆

WAAAAAAAAAAAAH I;M SOBBING THIS WAS SUCH A NICE SERIES OF ASKS TO COME TO YOU'RE SO NICE TO MEEEEEEEE omg gomgo gomgomgomgklgkgfkjngfjbjdk i've never been complimented LIKE THIS or asked extensively for my process, this is new to me!!! you're wonderful and kind and i appreciate you.

i'm gonna have to make a readmore here as to not clutter up everyone's dashes to tell you my process/thoughts so HERE WE GO!!!!

i actually have only one fic i get edited and it's a non-vore fic, a very close friend of mine edits a fn.a f fanfic i'm writing based on w/illi.am a/f.to/n. i don't ask them to edit my vore stuff, but they do know i'm into vore. i actually write all my fics in a google doc!

i'll typically actually write as i go entirely. i have a rough idea of how i want the fic to go (who's in what, who does what, an event i need to happen, etc) and write along that rough guideline in my head. i write completely in order, or else i can't make it flow well together. sometimes i'll write what else may need to get done or else i may forget.

i'll consider things i decide to change as i go along "the first draft," since i went with something entirely different. for example, in one of my drafts for a wip fic, i chose to have luke, in the serial killer, panic and size-shift to half size and have the fic end with a half-size hurt/comfort vore from luke and rowan. instead, i changed it so luke is dazed but has time remain his current size and pull rowan out of his pred instincts taking over and have cuddles afterwards and vore when they got home, luke still the same size.

though adhd and autism get in the way at times—executive dysfunction is a bitch. a lot of things i have written, like a luke and rowan serial killer fic, as well a a fugue state william fic have been a WIP since February of this year—literally when i BROKE MY FOOT and was stuck in a reclining chair for a month. i keep telling myself i need to get to them, but then i see ffxiv and hanging out with friends and just decide that's a better way to spend my time at the moment. i've been in a huuuuge brain fog for a few months bc of this, the recent one shot i posted was actually made because i was speaking vore feelings i had with medli.

i definitely have an easier time writing when i'm specifically fixated on vore, luke and rowan, william, mike, etc.

i'll write when i'm hyperfixated, and my brain pushes me to write more when i'm at work rather than at home, because adhd classifies work as something i need a distraction from, and home as chill time. i'll write on my breaks or when i have a moment to myself to sit and hide.

i'll tell you right now, i get SOOO many ideas and have at least 10+ wips, including f./n/a,f, luke and rowan, and ffxiv characters.

when i write, i'm mostly writing from my heart. exactly what i'd expect to think, feel, and hear. i put myself into the perspective/mind of the characters i'm writing and can get deep into these fics as i write them. i get so interpersonally connected to my writing as i'm writing that i physically feel my character's emotions, and see them in my head exactly how they play out.

honestly, i'm not too sure about tips on how to get out of making yourself write when you don't feel like it. i've gotten frustrated with myself for staring at my documents for too long and not being able to write anything. i imagine the scenario in perfect detail, and then i'll sit down, stare at my work, and i'm like ....???????????????????

i'm actually trying to open up to my therapist about getting medicated so i can have an easier time writing/creating for you guys! hopefully soon.

i hope this kind of gives you some insight to my process, please go forth and create and never be afraid to share. <333

this ask means a lot to me!

[conchstellations]

goodbye!

(tldr: kath is leaving because some of you kind of suck. she has some suggestions for those of you who don’t want to kind of suck. also a little bit of sentiment.)

This is my goodbye. The last post I’ll ever make on this blog. Dramatic, I know. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I think it’s time I just fully absolve myself of the burden that the kazoo kid’s cold, dead eyes carry. I was thinking, “hey, isn’t it a little cringe to make a post saying goodbye to a tumblr blog?” and then I thought, “yeah! It is!” and I pulled up a google doc and started typing. In all seriousness, it’s been a long time coming. This is going to be a long post and I expect very few people to read it, although I hope you do. It’s mostly for me, really. Closure, I guess you could say. Perhaps even a poetic ending. 

When I first read Lord of the Flies, I was forced to. It was assigned reading for my grade 10 English class. I was going on vacation, so I decided to bring a copy of the book with me so I could keep up with the class. On that vacation, I probably read that book around 8 times. I couldn’t put it down. I couldn’t stop talking about it. My mom had to tell me to shut up about it after the fifth time I explained to her how Jack would’ve been a much more efficient leader. 

As any teenage girl with an urge to rant about niche topics would do, I made a tumblr. At that time, it was inquisitivebrightcreatures, but I cannot stress enough how annoying it was to type. 26 whole characters. Literally enough letters for the entire alphabet. I also made a discord server around that time, and I personally think that led to every major issue I’ve had in the past 2 years (that’s a joke, my grandpa died and he didn’t even know what discord was). On that server, I made friends I still talk to even now. Shoutout to Bunny and Rog, my besties.

Months went by, I made friends and I found a community. I also made enemies. I didn’t know that a book written like a thousand years ago could generate so much anger, but I guess that’s what I deserve for underestimating literature. 

Lord of the Flies has been a huge part of my life for the past 2 (almost 3) years. It’s even partially to blame for my current relationship. When I first walked into my grade 12 English class, I distinctly remember seeing Lord of the Flies books on the desks and turning to the complete stranger sitting in the row to the right two seats behind. I proceeded to continue on at least a five minute rant about the joy this stupid book has brought me, and then my hopes were crushed as it was announced that those were for the grade 10s. She still bought a copy for herself though, to appease me, and she even bought one for me so I could annotate it. Now, she’s annotating one for me. Okay, I’m done being gay. Maybe. (I’m not). 

To put it simply, this book genuinely means a lot to me. It’s been a comfort to me when I needed it most. I used to have this book with me 24/7 about a year ago. Trust me, I love it. 

But the one thing I’ve realized I don’t love is what drew me here in the first place: the community. 

I don’t want this to be taken in the wrong way. I have formed very real, very meaningful bonds with people in this community. For two years of my life, the people here were who I would go to with every single issue I had. They were almost like a second family. But I don’t think that means this community is above critique, and I want to talk about that and my thoughts. 

For a while, I held my tongue when it came to the problems in this “fandom”, or whatever you want to call it. I wanted to fit in, and I thought that maybe I just wasn’t understanding other people’s perspectives. Maybe everyone else was actually right. And I certainly know that I was part of the problem too. I’ve done some things I seriously, genuinely regret. I know I’ve had my moments that make this whole thing sound hypocritical, but I think those experiences helped me understand why this behaviour is wrong.

Firstly, I’ve always been disgusted by the way some of you handle these characters. They are children. Even if you’re aging them up, they were written as children. Stop making NSFW. You’re just aging them up to “justify” your actions. Just because it’s “legal” doesn’t mean it’s moral! It is horrific. That’s all I have to say about that, because I don’t even think it should be a topic of debate.

Secondly, the “mob-mentality” needs to stop. I think it’s funny how part of Lord of the Flies is critiquing how humans are able to do bad things when other people are doing it, and on multiple occasions I’ve seen dozens of people in this community attack somebody. Of course, I think that sometimes it’s mandatory to correct people. If someone is genuinely harming other people with their actions, a little bullying is perfectly fine by me. But some of you are frothing at the mouth because someone in the Lord of the Flies tag on tumblr said that they don’t support shipping. There’s no need to send hundreds of insults over petty things. At that point, it’s just insecurity. Next time you start typing, maybe consider: why am I getting this upset? Is it worth getting upset over? I sound rude, but I truly think this is a problem that the community has, and I'd love to see some self-reflection and improvement. 

Thirdly, some of you are just genuinely toxic. The amount of hypocrisy, cruelty, and to put it simply, meanness (is that a word?) is worrying. Again, I can say confidently I’ve done the exact same thing. I’m not trying to be rude. But I know I’ve taken the time to try and work through those flaws. I think a lot of you can’t even acknowledge them. You’re all so focused on pointing out other people’s issues that you can’t see how you could possibly be in the wrong. And when you are in the wrong, you get defensive. And then comes the group harassment. From the bottom of my heart, I think a lot of you need some serious introspection. 

It’s taken me a long time to think about this. I do love this blog. I love some of the people I’ve met. I love some of the memories. But I cannot continue to be a part of this with a good conscience. The tipping point for me is when I logged into this blog the other day, and saw that every single one of the above patterns was being repeated. Again. And again. And again. (I do feel some of the critique was very valid, but others? Not in the slightest). And once again, there was zero self awareness to be seen. This community is not one I want to participate in, or support, if it keeps going in this direction. And I really hope that at least some of you will turn it in another direction.

I’m not deleting this blog. It holds so many memories for me. Just leaving it inactive for the far, foreseeable future. And again, I love this book! It will forever be my favourite. I already have another blog where I’ll probably post a few Lord of the Flies things! That book has been a safe place for me, but the community that’s grown here is anything but that.

I hope some of you took the time to read through this, and understand where I’m coming from. If any of you have something to say, comment or message me or whatever. I’m open to discussing because I do want people to listen before I actually go.

In conclusion, goodbye to all my friends I’ve separated from. Goodbye to the memories I’ve made here. Goodbye to conchstellations.

I’m not going to play any longer. Not with you. (Okay, sorry I had to.)

- Kathryn <3

[doomalade]

Behind the Scenes / Meta Commentary on RWBY: Amity Mega Thread.

I kinda want to take this time to and make a post detailing the kinda behind the scenes and processes that I went through while making this fanfic.

It’s nearing a full year that I’ve been working on this (the anniversary is June 1st I do believe). So I kinda. Just want to have a place to share and ramble on about what goes on inside my head while writing.

I started this fic when I was fresh out of high school and I have been struggling through college. The first 10 months was spent purely note taking. I was bing watching FRWBY and started to compare it to canon. Mostly V1-4 that is. Some parts of canon I really loved, such as the food fight or the Tyrian fight, or the lore. Man the lore is still something I think has me hooked to RWBY to this day. Of course this was a time when V8 was the last bit of RWBY content, so I was very not happy with the state of the show. So, I decided to write my own rewrite!

It was full of cliques and most of it took things either directly from FRWBY, canon, or other rewrites. This would become apparent to me down the line but for the first 3 months, it was nothing but making an outline for everything I needed.

It was a 10 Volume plan, structured into episodes that I would use as chapters. I think it was about 20 “episodes” per volume and it followed canon very closely. I only managed to write up an outline for one chapter, the very first one, and it was basically Salem and Ozpin’s talk from V1E1 mixed into the color trailers. It kinda worked out well because the last line of “a more simple soul” lined up with Ruby’s appearance in the Yellow Trailer. I also used the fractured moon as a transition, to really allow everything to feel connected. I had all of the color trailers happening in a single night, which looking back still feels like a cool idea.

Some parts of the original draft/notes have managed to remain a thing to this day. AroAce Ruby, Qrow being Ruby’s dad, Cardin being saved by Velvet, and Pietro and Maria having Ciel as their daughter are a few that come to mind.

Some more notable parts were scrapped when I later reworked the story into an AU. The Bees happening in V6, Summer turning out to be alive in the end, and Ironwood heroically sacrificing himself to slow down Salem. Some of those even if I wanted to keep now, would have no place in the story I’ve crafted today.

A story, with plots that I have planned out. The original draft didn’t have that until V9 and V10. The rest of it was basically canon retold. V1 ends fighting Torchwick, V2 ends with the Breach, V3 ends with the Fall of Beacon, etc. Anything else “original” was a long list of head canons that took up over 100 pages on Google Docs. My notes were all over the place and some conflicted with others.

I believe it was October that I decided to move from a rewrite to an AU. That was also the time that all of the stuff about RT came out and made me look back at some of the things I was going to include in my fic and made me realize: “Well I’m just repeating things that I find problematic in the show in my fic so am I really improving or changing anything?” That along with the lack of original ideas and direction made me sit down and get to work reforming my fic.

Before I get into that I want to mention that I did V9 both in a good and bad way. The good is that I really focused on each member of RWBY in the Ever After. Ruby with her role as a leader, Weiss with losing Atlas, Blake with feeling like she betrayed the Faunus, and Yang not feeling like she was able to protect those who she cared about. They all would talk and work together to help each other get back to Remnant and work through their problems. The bad is that half of the Volume was Ever After, and the other half was in Remnant following several factions across all of Remnant trying to gain support for the final battle at Beacon. So it was all over the place and no one got time to truly shine. Also I think this was the time that V9 was beginning to be teased so I was also trying to quickly add in details to an already messy Volume.

Step 1 was to organize my notes, which I did over the course of October to December(2022). November I spent diving into the wiki and this is where my 300+ characters came from. Worst part is? That the wiki has 400+ characters, I had to combine names and cut down a bit to make sure that everyone fit into four person teams. It’s closer to 200-250+ characters subtracting the major ones like Ruby or Coco or Whitley, etc. The rest were character names on Qrow’s scroll in V4, the huntsman boards in V7, and obscure mentions in books and side content. These names are mostly made up of those who worker on RWBY the same way game devs will include their names to plaques or memorials in games. To this day, I only have 12 of these characters figured out. Most characters are in Mistral with the least being in Vacuo. Can you guess which one I did first?

But yeah, that should be it for the start of this AU fic/project/thing. I will try my best to continue adding to this in the future.

[dyhayc]

Clone Wars family dinner🧍💨

I've had this in my google docs for a year and decided to share it with the world. Don't take this too seriously, my best friend and I started talking about family dinner because we were sad seeing so many clones dying in clone wars that we joked they were meeting offscreen for family dinner. Tbh this is mostly just a test to see if my posts will show up in tags so yea

I'm open to writing about more characters if anyone wants to request (even if they're not from the same time period because tbh who cares about the timeline?), however, I may not be able to do some if I don't know enough about their personality :]

Family dinner starts every night at 6

Commander Cody: Sits at the head of the table, is essentially the patriarch of the family. He can’t cook for shit, he shows up at dinner like 5 minutes before it starts. He doesn’t even set the table. He’s like the dad who works and then arrives complaining about work. If his family tries to get him to do more he tells them he’s too tired from work. Cody places yellow whoopie cushions on Rex’s seat and makes no attempt to hide them or conceal he’s the one who’s doing it.

Obi-Wan: Like Cody, shows up 5 minutes before it starts. He does, however, try to help set the table or bring food out (but it never really matters, everything is already set so he doesn’t do anything). Rex suspects he comes late on purpose but can never prove anything. Sits next to Cody and usually carpools (speederpools?) with him. Lowkey an expert wine taster and can find “hints of orange root” or some pretentious shit.

Fives: Can grill a mean hamburger, in fact any time something needs to be grilled he’s the one to do it. Since he doesn’t really cook other than grilling, he only needs to help during the summer months. He always arrives with his twin, Echo (and Echo arrives very very early), so he spends his free time fucking with his brothers. Would probably mess with the way the table’s set up just to annoy Echo and instigate a fight during family dinner.

Echo: Bakes dessert for every family dinner. Echo shows up at 4 exactly to bake, sometimes even earlier if he’s making something big. He’s also the one who sets the table for everyone. Each seat has a table mat that’s personalized for each person, as well as a set of silverware in a very specific order. Fives likes to switch the fork and knife because he knows only Echo cares. Only lets specific people decorate his deserts (a.k.a. anyone but Fives - once he wrote “Echo sux” on his cake. Echo has still not forgiven him)

Rex: Older brother energy, tries to control Hardcase and Fives as best he can. Always comes early because if he doesn’t Fives and Echo will destroy the kitchen. He doesn’t know how to cook but is trying to learn, is good at making soup or putting things in the oven without burning them. He sits on Cody’s whoopie cushions on Cody’s birthday to humour him. If he’s tired enough, he’s not opposed to just watch from a corner as the family dinner devolves into chaos. Frequents mommy blogger websites and gets excited when it’s fall because of pumpkin spice. His brothers don’t have the heart to tell him they don’t know what pumpkin is.

Tup: Cooks bomb ass food, literally the saving grace of family dinner. Always calm and collected, even if Echo, Fives, Hardcase, Ahsoka, or Jesse are trying his patience. Likes to make stir fry, it’s his specialty. Will be upset if someone doesn’t like his food, but Fives and Jesse glare aggressively at anyone who speaks out. Is usually the one who babysits Ahsoka when she’s in the kitchen, making sure she doesn’t hurt herself trying to cut tomatoes or something.

Jesse: Essentially Tup’s sous chef, but make him drunk off his ass. Can polish off a whole bottle of wine before family dinner even starts. Still makes good food, though, even if he’s blackout drunk. In fact, the food quality seems to rise if he’s blackout drunk. It’s actually kind of scary. While intoxicated, he can keep up with Hardcase’s energy so he usually ends up watching over him (honestly, nobody at dinner can tell who’s taking care of who, but their chaotic energies seem to cancel out so it’s okay).

Wolffe: An infrequent visitor. For some reason, the only thing he knows how to cook is meat. If they’re having something where the protein is separate he’s always the one to make it. For example, smoked salmon or marinated baked chicken. He is also the one who carves turkey or rotisserie chicken. Can detect minute changes in the moisture of a roast and tell the quality of a meat just by tasting it. His brothers are kind of scared of his weird skills, but never say anything in fear he might fillet them in their sleep.

Ahsoka: Brings her wife to the family dinner. She and her wife don’t know how to cook, so they make the salads for the group. (Who is her wife? I don’t know but she has one) Ahsoka probably holds a knife like she holds her lightsabers. Tup and Rex always have to stop her from cutting food like that because she usually comes close to cutting her fingers off. Will not hesitate to flick peas across the table at Cody or Obi-Wan with her spoon.

Kix: Never knows the family dinner is happening. Arrives 20 minutes late every time and asks why nobody told him they were having a family dinner that night, even though it happens every night. Literally has to be taken out of work and driven over by one of his brothers if they want him to be on time. Brings a tupperware with old pasta salad every single time (nobody knows why he has so much pasta salad, why it’s always stale, or where he gets it from).

Hardcase: Very impatient, especially with anything concerning heat. He will either take the food out too soon so it’s cold or leave it too long so it’s burnt. He is, however, good at chopping things (though nobody trusts him to not accidentally kill himself). When he cuts vegetables, fruits, or meats he always has a chaperone. If his knife skills aren’t needed he likes to chat with Fives or bother Jesse, Tup, or Echo. He plays footsies with Jesse under the table during dinner. When decorating his tablemat he covered it in glitter; Tup had to sneak into the Commanding Officer’s lounge so he could laminate it (glitter was getting into everyone’s food somehow).

Fox: Has to be picked up and physically taken out of work to come to family dinner. If there’s no caf ready for him when he arrives, he’s leaving. Miraculously, has never gotten into a fight at family dinner. In fact, when provoked he usually does nothing and allows the chaos to ensue around him (though occasionally, he will subtly instigate fights for the hell of it). Unlike Rex, he is always tired enough to not give a crap about the fights, and sits back to watch Fives and Echo fight about the placement of silverware.

Plo Koon: Another infrequent visitor. He usually becomes the mediator of arguments, whether he agreed to be or not. When he visits, everyone is usually on their best behaviour. He exudes understanding-father-figure energy and is invited to sit at the head of the table opposite of Cody. Will bring home-baked dinner rolls (and occasionally comes early to bake with Echo).

Kit Fisto: Visits occasionally, usually with Plo Koon. Very relaxed when he comes and drinks a glass of wine with Obi-Wan and Jesse. He usually tries to keep out of any arguments or tiffs between the clones, but, like Plo Koon, he always ends up trying to calm down a fiery debate (which usually doesn’t work). Like Rex, will step back and watch chaos ensue if he’s tired enough.

Side note: Me and my friend were discussing family dinner and agreed that Fives looks like he'd grill while Echo looks like he'd bake, then in the same week, I saw someone posting about the same exact topic! It was a year ago so I don't remember who they were, but we're all literally on the same wavelength

[practically-an-x-man]

This has been sitting in my Google Docs practically since Stranger Things s4 came out, and I've done nothing with it since then (haven't had time with my other WIPs), so here you go! It only about half of the first chapter, but it went down well on the page.

Anyway, I'll write the full thing eventually and I'm sure I'll make some changes to it, but I felt like posting this first bit since I felt pretty good about it.

Pairing: future Eddie Munson (and maybe Steve Harrington?) x OC

Words: 2.5k, unfinished first chapter

____

Tutoring. 

As if it wasn't embarrassing enough to be held back for two extra years, now the school had decided to take matters into their own hands. 

In a word: humiliating. And that wasn't a term he used lightly. Eddie typically renounced shame as an overrated and generally useless emotion, but this was taking it a step too far. 

Every Tuesday and Thursday after school, sitting in the library as some geeky kid with perfect grades and no will to live tried to accomplish what dozens of professional teachers had failed to do. They all did it the same way: long-winded lectures, going page-by-page through the books, then most of them eventually just giving up and sliding Eddie the class notes. And they all wore that small stupid half-smile… smirk… thing. That blend of trying-to-be-friendly mixed with oh-you-poor-thing and a little bit of thank-God-I'm-not-like-him. And a little bit of fear. Always a little fear of Eddie the Freak.

He was no stranger to this. It wasn't the first time the school had tried this. This was… Tutor Number Five? Six? The first one this year. And all the other ones were off to college to become doctors and lawyers and other professional-people, and Eddie was left in the dust.

His best record: three months. Three months of the library-lectures, dutifully plodding on in search of that just-passing D+, and then his tutor - a tall ginger girl with more freckles than she had hairs on her head - just stopped showing up. Oh well.

His worst? Nine-point-five days. Some squirrely-looking kid with glasses and a reddish-purple scar across his cheek. Eddie didn't even remember his name, he was gone that quick. He figured he must have spooked the kid somehow, because he ran off in the middle of the session. Hence the point-five.

Really, it wasn't that bad at first. Annoying, sure, but it was clear they all just saw him as any other kid in need of tutoring. The indifference was relieving, if a little dry.

Three years in, though, he'd built a reputation for himself. He didn't mind having a reputation… when he was on his own turf. Or even neutral ground, the lunchroom or the courtyard. But the library was their turf. Geekville. Population… not Eddie. Which just made him feel like he was swimming with the sharks.

This particular shark was small. A lemon shark, maybe. A dogfish at best, ready to gnaw at his ankles. She was even smaller than Dustin, though it was hard to tell with most of her figure hidden behind the table and the stack of books on top of it. Her hair was somewhere between dark blonde and light brown, tied back out of her face in a braid. She was lacking the expected glasses-and-braces, though he could see the Badge of Geekville painted all over her Purdue University sweater. Early Decision, he guessed. Maybe even graduating early. She'd be out of his hair soon, then.

"Ashley Kinzler," his counselor had said, "I think you'll like her. The two of you share a few common interests."

Yeah, right. he thought back. 

Ashley Kinzler looked up as he approached, and flashed him a smile that was, of course, all straight white teeth. Maybe he wasn't so wrong about the braces, then. She must have had them at some point. Her top lip seemed to disappear when she smiled. Her bottom lip wasn't swayed quite so easily.

It wasn't the usual sort of smile he got. At the very least, he didn't see any pity-the-lost-cause or fear-the-Freak in there. That was a start.

"Ashley, right?" he guessed as he climbed into the chair across from her.

"Edward." she deadpanned in response, that smile falling, and Eddie blinked. She had gray eyes. Stony gray eyes, not a hint of laughter, and she said his name (full name, no less) with the same tone as the principal whenever he caught Eddie skipping class.

Jesus H. Christ. This was going to be some fresh Hell if this was how she was going to-

Ashley Kinzler broke out in laughter so suddenly it made Eddie's head spin. He blinked again.

"I'm kidding!" she laughed, sticking out a hand, "Only my dad calls me Ashley. It's just Ash."

Just Ash. The girl who, within five seconds of meeting him, pulled the rug out from under him (and usually that was Eddie's job). Whose gray eyes, eyes the same color as… well, ash, were now gleaming with humor. Eddie relaxed. He liked this one. For now, at least.

"Got it." he said, baring her a toothy grin of his own and shaking her offered hand, "Nice to meet you, Just Ash. I'm Just Eddie."

She laughed again, apparently ignoring the way it made a few disdainful heads turn in their direction. Maybe she wasn't quite as meek as her teeny-tiny dogfish body would imply.

His counselor's voice echoed in his head again.

"She's got a four-point-oh GPA and has taken half the AP classes at Hawkins. If anyone can help you, it's her."

"So, um," Ash stammered, tapping her nails on the desk a little nervously. She had on black nail polish. All black, all ten fingers. Eddie found that a little interesting. He would have expected… purple, maybe. Or blue, like a soft blue? Not black. That seemed a little too intense compared with the rest of her.

"Should we get started?" she asked finally, drawing his eyes back up to her face.

"Sure." 

Sooner we get started, sooner we get this over with. Sooner I can go work on setting up tomorrow's Hellfire session.

"Alright," Ash said, "Three strikes." 

Eddie's brow crinkled, but he recovered quickly.

"It's gonna take a lot more than three strikes to get me through pre-calc." he replied with a grin, "Can I interest you instead in a game of bowling? Y'know, where strikes are a good thing?"

"No, no, that's-" Ash cut herself off with a breathy chuckle, "That's not what I mean. It's a game- well, sorta. It's how I start all my tutoring sessions. But we don't have to do it, if you don't want to."

"I like games." Eddie said, leaning forward across the table, "Hit me."

"Okay… here's how it works. We take turns. You say something you think is true about me, I say something I think is true about you. Every time you get something wrong, you get a strike. First to three strikes loses." 

Ash gave him a challenging grin, "But I always win."

"Oh yeah?"

She shrugged, eyes still gleaming. "People make more assumptions about me than you think."

"Straight A's." he said, tilting his chin at her. Ash gave a singular nod.

"Metalhead." she returned, an equally easy assumption. 

"You're in band." he guessed. Another nod.

"Percussion." she answered, "And… you play guitar." She gestured at his hands, and Eddie realized he had been picking at the calluses on his fingertips. 

"I'm making this too easy, aren't I?" he said, dropping his hands into his lap with a grin. Then he tilted his chin towards her, "You're going to Purdue."

"Strike one." Ash responded, a conspiratorial smile twitching at her lips. She tugged at the sleeves of her sweater, "This was my mother's."

Her gray eyes flicked over his figure, lips pursed as she hunted for some sort of clue.

"That lunchbox," she said, gesturing to the black tin box by his elbow, "That lunchbox doesn't contain food, let's put it that way."

"How'd you-"

"I pay attention." she responded vaguely, "But don't worry." She pinched her fingers and drew them across her mouth, "My lips are sealed."

Eddie pressed his lips together, but nodded.

"You're going to work in crime. A lawyer or a detective or something." He didn't have much evidence for that one (well, except for everything about this conversation), but he had a hunch.

And sure enough, Ash nodded.

"The last book you read was for school." she guessed.

"Nope." Eddie replied, popping the "p" for dramatic effect, "Strike one."

The second Monster Manual was sitting in his backpack as they spoke. Not exactly fine literature, but it definitely wasn't for school.

"You're probably into Cyndi Lauper or Fleetwood Mac." he countered.

"Strike two." Ash replied, then shrugged, "They're not bad, but not really my kind of thing."

"What is your kind of thing?" 

"That's not the game." she pointed out, flashing him a cheeky grin. "Did your dad teach you guitar?"

"No. My uncle." he responded, careful to keep his tone from sounding guarded. She meant it as a harmless question. So he just tilted his head and smirked at her. "Strike two for you."

"You are a tough nut to crack, Eddie Munson."

"And you… have never done anything stronger than Tylenol."

Ash frowned at that one, as if it were a hard question to answer. After a long moment, she nodded. 

"I'll give you that one. Hospitals don't count."

"Hospitals?" he repeated. Ash shot him a warning look, gray eyes going stormy. Eddie decided it was probably best to back off.

After a moment, the storm clouds gave way to clear skies again, and her eyes flicked over his shirt. Ash smiled, as if she'd just cracked some great code.

"You got the Hellfire Club thing from X-Men." she said, "Which means you… are more of a nerd than you let on."

"Not bad." he admitted, glancing down at the stylized demon on his shirt. He looked back at Ash, drumming his fingers on the table as he thought through his next play. "And you have a sister, don't you?" He thought he’d seen her before, here or there, and sometimes she was accompanied by a girl a few years younger.

"Stepsister. I'll count it." she responded, "You don't. You're an only child."

He nodded.

"Dog person?"

"Yeah. You haven't cut your hair since middle school."

"Yeah. Neither have you."

"Cheap. But you're right." Ash shrugged, "English is your best subject.”

“What, did they show you my grade records?” Eddie challenged, leaning back in his seat, “That’s cheating, you know.”

“Nope. Those are confidential.” she countered effortlessly, “I can just tell. You like telling stories. You like being a part of the stories. Which means English is probably your best." 

His eyebrows must have lifted straight to his hairline, but he nodded.

"You’re good.” he huffed, competitive annoyance sparking through him. Eddie chewed his lip, dark eyes flicking over her as he tried to pick out another clue. She was still picking at the hem of her sweater, fiddling with a loose thread. It was her mother’s, she’d said. And she had a stepsister, which meant one of her parents had gotten remarried at some point. He was willing to bet it was her father. 

And just like that, he had his guess.

“I'm sorry you lost your mom."

"Damn, Munson," she muttered, "Though I guess I set that one up, didn't I?"

"Just a little." he admitted, though he felt a pang of guilt for having guessed correctly. Was the game usually this intense when she played it with other people?

"You like making people laugh." Ash guessed a moment later, looking at him with those inscrutable gray eyes. It was like she was looking straight into his mind and plucking out all the thoughts that sat there. The next time he put a wizard into his Hellfire campaign, he was sure he’d give the wizard the same sharp, all-seeing gray eyes.

"Who doesn't?" he pointed out, remembering at once what she’d said.

"But I mean, you'd do anything for the sake of a joke. Like standing on lunch tables." Ash replied. He couldn't exactly argue with that.

"Yeah, alright." 

The game seemed to be moving into tougher territory, past the east and obvious assumptions and moving into more difficult realms. And he wanted to give her a hardball.

"You… have had a crush on the same guy for years, but you won't ask him out because you're afraid of rejection. And he's probably on the basketball team."

And Ash laughed.

"Hell no! Those guys are assholes." she blurted, shaking her head, "Strike three, Munson. I told you I always win."

"I guess we'll have to have a rematch." 

Despite the game, he still didn't know all that much about her. But, maybe even because of the game, he was curious. 

“I suppose we will.” Ash agreed, shooting him a warm smile, “But another time.” She drummed her fingers on the table, and Eddie found himself wondering once again at that black nail polish. He was sure it didn’t mean anything. She probably just liked black. Enough people did. But he had a hunch.

“So,” she started, sliding a notebook off her massive stack of books and flipping it open, “Tell me about your day. Any day. What do you like to do?”

“Aren’t we supposed to be doing pre-calc?”

She pressed her lips together for a long moment, debating how to respond. Her fingers were tapping on the table again, and Eddie could have sworn the rhythm sounded like a few of the drum fills in For Whom the Bell Tolls. 

“We could, if you really wanted to get it over with,” she finally said, “But I don’t think you’d retain much. I don’t mean that in a rude way- not at all. But it seems like that’s not your kind of learning, and it’s not really my kind of teaching either. I think this’ll go a lot better if I know a little more about you.”

He found it a little funny, how quickly she could switch from tutor-mode to what sounded like genuine friendly conversation, then back to tutor-mode just as quickly. He still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of her.

“I could start, if you want.” she blurted a moment later, “If that’s more comfortable.” She didn’t give him a chance to decide, just leaned back in her seat and smiled.

“Hi, I’m Ash Kinzler. I’m nineteen years old, and I’m a senior. I grew up in Muncie, and my family moved to Hawkins two years ago. It’s me, my dad, my stepmom and stepsister, and our dog. Her name’s Layla. The dog, I mean. My stepsister’s name is Isabelle. Let’s see… I’ve played percussion since I was in sixth grade… tried out for All-State once but didn’t make it past the district level. I’d love to be in a band sometime- like, a real band, not a school band. I like music and horror novels and word puzzles, and I’m planning to study law in college.”

“Wait, you’re nineteen?” Eddie asked, so focused on that part that’s he barely heard the rest, “But-”

“Yup.” Ash replied, apparently reading his mind, “Long story short - very short - I ended up in the hospital and had to re-do my freshman year once I got back. Don’t ask, because you’re not getting anything else. Your turn.”

He didn’t miss how cagy she’d gotten at the mention of the hospital.

____

[And that's all I've got of it so far, didn't even finish the first chapter, but I really enjoyed the energy of it. Definitely need to go back and give it a little more attention once I have the chance.]

[dentiststoothfairy]

*returns through the broken door*

hi happy anon again :] i saw ur post from a few days ago about tumblr being a stupid little dumdum and deleting stuff randomly so i thought i would share a little story with you (if u wanna read it- u don't have to if u don't want to-)

a few months ago, someone requested a fic from me for valentines day and because i was still a new little baby fanfic author at that time, seeing a request in the inbox made me very happy, and this particular request had given me a whole bunch of ideas, so i ended up writing the whole thing in one sitting (took me about 4 hours i think?) and when i eventually finished it i was super proud of it and it was probably one of the best things i had ever written. so, after i finished writing, i saved the fic to my tumblr drafts before posting so i could get myself a little treat to snack on while i proofread it. when i came back after getting some food, i opened the draft to reread it and fix any mistakes before i post it like i usually do, but when i opened the draft, the entire fic was deleted. the whole thing. tumblr deleted my ENTIRE FIC. yes i cried a little over it. because of tumblr's utter tomfoolery, i ended up having to spend the next 2(?) hours completely rewriting my best fic :,))

moral of the story: always copy-paste your fanfic to like a google doc or something before you save it because you never know if tumblr decides to spontaneously delete your hard work :,)

ok im gonna sleep now hope my stupidity was entertaining to you lolol byeeeeeee *disintegrates*

🎀🦷𝙷𝙰𝙿𝙿𝚈 𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽. 𝙸 𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳'𝚅𝙴 𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙴𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙼𝚈 𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝚁𝙴 𝚃𝚄𝙼𝙱𝙻𝚁 𝙸'𝙼 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽 𝙻𝚈𝙸𝙽𝙶 😭 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚜𝚑. 𝙱𝚞𝚝, 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚍! 𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝙳𝚘𝚌𝚜 𝚒𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞!