#I haven't written much of this story yet

[coyotehusk]

├┬┴┬|•⊖•) ├┬┴┬| art tag: @whumpsday @whumplr-reader @burnticedlatte @yet-another-heathen

[trensu]

Have an itty bitty tiny piece of stasis in darkness, just so you all have an idea of where the story is going after the godly reveal. and also have proof that i am, in fact, still toiling away at this (as well as hawkins halfway house.)

A week and a half later, Steve entered a town he’d never seen before. He wore simple traveling clothes and carried no weapons aside from a couple of carefully hidden knives. He’d left his armor and shield behind. His satchel held only the essentials one needed for travel and a single stone as large as his fist. The stone was wrapped in layers of cloth to keep it safe during the journey. 

I need you to find someone. 

He felt very bare but he hadn’t been given much of a choice. Speed was of the essence for his quest, and little no-name towns tended to be wary of strangers in plain clothes, even more so around strangers decked out for battle. Steve wasn’t sure this place could be called a town. It was so small it hadn’t been on any official map. It didn’t even have an inn. Hopefully, Steve wouldn’t be needing an inn once he found who he was looking for.

He’s too far from me to reach.

He asked around, laying on the charm generously. He explained he had been a friend of a friend and had been trusted to deliver something. Eventually, he was told where to go. The house he found far beyond the village’s boundary was small. It looked like it had once been well cared for but it was old and had fallen to disrepair. Steve took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

A sallow old man opened the door. He was bald but had some scruff on his face still. His shoulders, stooped from age, trembled. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked so tired.

He’s my very last worshiper in all the world.

“Wayne Munson?” Steve asked.

“Who wants to know?” The man’s voice was phlegmy and rough. He coughed into the crook of his elbow almost before he could finish speaking. 

“I’m Steve. Ser Steve Harrington, pledged to the Lord of Night.”

Wayne’s eyes widened. His grip on the open door weakened and slipped. Steve caught the door before it could hit Wayne.

“He sent me to you,” Steve explained. “May I come in?”

yep, that's it for now. i told you it was small. i'm not even gonna bother with a read-more here.

[fauville]

are you guys proud of me!!!!! please be proud of me please

[elvenbeard]

20677

“What happened in 2067?” Kerry asked.

“Hm?”

V, still somewhat zoned out, needed a moment to register fully what he had said. It was oddly quiet in his apartment, as if the city hadn’t fully awoken yet either. Nibbles dozed on her favorite pillow on the sofa and the sun was shining, dust swirling in the light. Everything seemed strangely peaceful, normal even… as if there was anything normal about having Kerry-fucking-Eurodyne casually lounge in his bed after an emotional rollercoaster of a day and night yesterday. Yet, with all that had happened over the past two months, V grasped at every semblance of "normal" he could.

“I mean… don’t have to tell if ya don’t wanna,” Kerry added, sitting up properly now, and moving to join him at the edge of the bed, “Was just curious.”

He had every right to be… V had grown so used to being silent about his past, his private life, that it had become quite hard to open up when prompted. Even with people he felt safe around. To a degree, his silence felt unfair towards Kerry, whose life had been on public display for decades – more or less accurately depicted. He literally carried his past on his sleeve, but even if he didn’t, by Johnny’s presence alone V already seemed to know so much more about Kerry than the other way around.

Kerry trailed a finger or two down V’s spine, making him shiver in a pleasant way. A caress of something he had almost forgotten about, at least for a moment taking his mind off his uncertain future. Reminding him of where he once had been and how far he’d come, who he had become since then.

“Ah, the tattoo…” he realized.

“Guess you can put two and two together ‘bout mine,” Kerry said with a sad smile, looking to the floor for a moment, “2023… hell of a year.”

“Pah, he can talk,” Johnny scoffed somewhere in the back of his mind, but V decided to not humor him right now. Honestly, he doubted Johnny really meant what he said half of the time. They weren’t so different after all, in that regard at least: hiding their hurt behind sarcasm and snark…

This thought alone made V want to spill his entire life’s story right then and there. But no matter how much he wanted to do it just to prove Johnny wrong, spite wasn’t strong enough a weapon to break down the walls he’d built up around himself. As much as he’d set himself free in 2067, it had somehow also marked the beginning of a downhill race – sure, with a few peaks in-between, but the overall trend hadn’t been that positive in hindsight. There was little glory in his past, and he dreaded the moment he’d have to come clean about his time with Arasaka. Not in the sense that he regretted having worked there, he still didn’t and probably never would… but not being sure at all about how Kerry would take it.

As if he could hear his thoughts, Kerry looked back up at him, almost expectantly, but V still didn’t know where to begin, or what he was even ready to share.

“Could say 2067 for me was what 2023 was for you, in a way,” he decided to say, lame as it was as a reply, “Something ended, and something new began.”

Deep down he knew Kerry would understand. You didn’t get a year and wings tattooed across your whole back if it didn’t hold significant meaning, usually even in a painful way. Yet all that had happened then seemed so minor and unimportant to what was happening to him now… If he made it out of it alive, he’d have to get the six covered up with a seven.

He realized he’d been quietly staring at his own intertwined hands for a little too long now, abruptly turning to look Kerry in the eyes again. The thin golden rim around his gorgeous, piercing blue irises gleamed in the morning sunlight and the sight took V’s breath away for a moment.

“As I said, no need to tell right now. Or ever,” Kerry repeated softly, lips then curling into a cheeky grin, “Like me a man with secrets. Somethin’ to look forward to unravelling further down the line.”

V’s heart first jumped then sunk at that notion.

“Kerry…” he hesitated, voice barely more than a murmur. Then he sighed.

“In 2067… Felt like I was at a point of no return then. I thought I’d never be as scared and lost again as I was that year. But now…”

He hesitated for a moment.

“Ironically what scares me the most is knowing exactly what I’ll have to do next. My path is clear, seems to be set in stone, I didn't have that certainty back then… but at the same time it’s like I’m ‘bout to walk straight off a cliff.”

Kerry looked him in the eyes intensely, and V wanted to believe he recognized understanding and sympathy in his expression.

“I’m not gonna say I understand even half of whatcha goin’ through right now,” Kerry said and scooched a little bit closer, their hips and thighs touching now, his arm around V’s back. Kerry sighed, and his face was so close to V’s, his breath brushed past his cheek and neck and chest. Had he wanted to, he could have counted all his freckles, reminding him so much of the stars in the night sky he’d always been so desperately looking for as a kid.

“You asked me yesterday if I was sure about this. Us,” Kerry said quietly, “Knowin’ what’s potentially gonna come.”

V’s heart was beating so hard, so fast, as if it wanted to climb out of his throat.

“Yeah,” he said, voice cracking slightly, grasping at his own fingers even more tightly now, shoulders tense. Then Kerry pulled him closer, just a tiny bit, less than an inch really… but it was still somewhat startling and unexpected. Kerry wasn’t shy about touch, that much was clear, and V was still somewhat overwhelmed by it now and then. But this now was different, subtle, soft… and he liked it a lot.

He looked back up at him.

“Still no doubts,” Kerry then said, gently and firmly at the same time. V was frozen in shock for a moment, but the warmth of Kerry’s smile started to melt his tenseness away, little by little.

“Thing is… ya never know what’s gonna come. Sometimes you just gotta take the leap and hope for the best. Take all chances you can, cause life’s only gonna throw so many at ya.”

He had a point. All he could really do was continue moving forward. No matter how much he wanted to put off the inevitable, it would arrive sooner or later.

Kerry tilted his head slightly and smiled, and V couldn't help but do the same, heart beating hard and fast again. Fuck... it was way too soon to say "I love you", but in this moment he was certain that this was exactly what he was feeling. He hadn't fallen so hard and so fast for someone in a while, hadn't even thought he'd ever be capable of it again.

"Guess the odds of us ever meeting and ending up here were pretty slim, too," he then said instead.

"Nothin's impossible if you set your mind on it. You've shown me as much, and I'll keep it in mind for sure..." Kerry smiled as he leaned in to capture V’s lips in a soft, warm kiss, his hand reaching out to hold V's, the sun embracing them.

Maybe it was worth risking it all, if on the other side of the abyss waited a future with more of this. And even if not… V was certain, whatever time he had left, he wanted to spend it at Kerry’s side.

[chloeseyeliner]

oh my god.

i am never getting over young royals.

[serpercival]

I'm slowly realizing that Sixie 1) knows he's being written and 2) fucking hates it

[raiiny-bay]

thinking about my fictional lil guys even though i really need to focus on my assignments

[moltage]

i've tried everything, different ways, different times, different places. i just can't seem to find my passion for writing back.

[starlit-hopes-and-dreams]

Happy STS! In the shattered kneecaps wip that's currently unfolding, Nykim is being forced to use his healing powers in some pretty intense ways. Have you explored what the limits are of healing magic (or other magic, if you feel like expanding) in your world, or is this a period of discovery in your worldbuilding?

Happy STS on a tuesday!

Thanks for the ask, Kate! <3

So, for the longer magic explanation, I have this post.

Shorter recap for Healers:

Healer – green aura/glow Level 1 – affinity to plants, ability to infuse a small amount of magic into specific plants (unlike human ability growth, which has an area effect), helping them grow faster and be more effective, heals self of minor illness or wounds faster than normal Level 2 – ability to infuse remedies with power, making them more effective (healing brews) Level 3 – ability to See and heal minor ailments, gain magical Sight Level 4 – ability to heal self of moderate illness or wounds, ability to heal more complex wounds or illness of others Level 5 – ability to heal major wounds/illness, even fatal ones if caught quickly, ability to harm others with healing magic *Healers have innate desire to practice their craft, can sense when someone in their proximity needs healing *self-healing can occur without the healer actively directing it or with active direction if trained.

So, this tends to be a fairly broad overview of the limits. It's like a mix between a soft magic system with no rules and a hard magic system with stringent rules.

For Nykim to be able to do the things I want, he needs to be fairly strong, so I'm thinking level 4. He's had a lot more time to practice, experiment, learn from experience than my Shattered Dreams FMC (and her author lol), but it is definitely still a discovery of my worldbuilding kind of thing.

Like, Nykim can control his passive healing abilities. Alaia can't. Is it bc practice? Probably. But it also could be bc she's really freaking strong, so her magic is more difficult to control in that way.

And like, for broken bones, I've decided in my head that the bone probably needs to be in position before its healed. I mean, healing displaced bone just sounds like a bad idea all around, so makes sense to me. Gonna make it a bit hard to heal those broken kneecaps though 😅

[coldercreation]

The Gannet (WIP) - Moodboard & Notes

" By today’s way of thinking, showing no fear of humans ought to be an endearing, if rare quality among wild species. Not so in the past. If a gannet’s nest site could be reached, the young of our largest seabird was easily seized and killed. This naive trust led Carl Linnaeus to classify its genus as Morus, ancient Greek for ‘stupid’. 

The same unfearing nature is found in the gannet’s close relative, booby. The English name "booby" was possibly based on the Spanish slang term bobo, meaning "stupid”, as these tame birds had a habit of landing on board sailing ships, where they were easily captured and eaten. "

" Encountering a gannet is good luck, especially for someone who is about to undertake a voyage. Gannets spend long stretches of their lives at sea, diving from impressive heights onto shoals of fish and squid below. A gannet encounter can indicate a thirst for adventure as well as an inner fortitude that allows one to weather whatever storms may come. In addition, encountering a gannet may be a sign to take heart and have courage. Gannets must trust themselves to stay aloft over miles and miles of roiling sea. Furthermore, when the time is right these birds take death-defying plunges into the foamy waves. Encountering a gannet may be a sign to trust your instincts or to “take the plunge” and courageously dive into whatever challenge life sends your way. "

1 2 3

The Gannet

The dull sting of a thin walking stick—nothing but a rod, in all honesty—whacked across the center of ??s back, his spine jerking upright in an instant. The hit wasn’t that hard. He knew it could’ve been worse, knew it had been worse in the past.

“Stop being nosy, and sit up proper, for heaven’s sake,” Mrs Malcolm(??) scolded drily.

Biting on his tongue ?? made sure to have his chin raised just right, his shoulders back and chest firmly held. With effortless dignity, poised, polished, polite. The exact way that had been drilled into him over and over, since before he had even known how to walk.

“That’s better. See, we all know you know how.”

Of course he knew. How could he not?

Regardless, the questions held silently, childishly, under his tense tongue were: 

Did knowing how to do it mean that he had to do it?

And:

What if he, simply, didn’t want to do it?

And:

Did it matter what he did or did not want?

These were all questions ?? had been taught not to ask. Had been whacked by Mrs Malcolm’s walking stick for asking; had been scolded and scorned and shamed for asking.

Such aimless curiosity was unbecoming for a young gentleman like him. Curiosity, for things that the society—and thus, his family—deemed inappropriate.

Or, unimportant.

Or, below his station.

Or, reckless.

For someone like ??, who sometimes genuinely believed that curiosity was the very thing that kept his blood warm, it was nearing torture to constantly be told to focus, to stop asking questions, to do as you are told.

Where on the everloving Earth was the spark in that?

The walking stick snapped down over his pin straight shoulders.

“Hopeless!” Mrs Malcolm declared. The crow’s feet around her eyes looked unhappy, as usual. ?? blinked up at his disappointed tutor, forcefully dragging his attention to the present moment. 

The book in front of him still showed the very same page from before, his progress practically nonexistent. 

It was no surprise, then, that Mrs Malcolm’s walking stick was so overtly excited and active today.

“Could we not learn about something… Something less… Ah, stiff?” ?? enquired, knowing full well that he shouldn’t.

Mrs Malcolm whacked at the table top, by the book, and too close to comfort when it came to where ??s fingers rested. 

?? curled his hand into a careful fist.

“Yes, Mrs Malcolm,” he said, holding back a sigh. Young men of his station weren’t to be caught huffing and puffing, it was unsightly and unattractive. 

?? pulled the book slightly closer, eyes dragging sorely over the text. Endless flowery cursive moaning about old failed techniques used in even older failed wars. 

Silently, to himself, ?? thought that all wars were failed wars.

Thus, perhaps, failed was his war against… 

This.

[onemagicalfrog]

We were given an assignment to write about something from the Middle Ages, which has given me a chance to rant about the story of Merlin and King Arthur and everything connected to it. I had almost 40 tabs open, reading about anything and everything i could find. I'm about to turn in a 4 page text while we only had to write about one page. The teacher has given me too much freedom and my brain is going nuts.

[ace-malarky]

lmao I just found the sheet of notes I put together for Soul of the Party way back in like... August when I decided to use it for Nano

They're not entirely wrong? Like the main idea is there. Most of the stuff going on

But it's also got the old title at the top of the page and things Have Changed in some respects

love my consistency for just. never looking at my notes once I've written them

[noxtivagus]

the current gbf event rn aaaaa

[t-lostinworlds]

.......i feel like i can’t write one-shots anymore.

[wordsgood]

feeling unwell, might write a ficlet about loreleaf's dad who doesn't know he's going to be dead in six years

There’s something different about this little one. Your parents had told you of the joy of parenthood, the overwhelming adoration, the burning urge to protect, care, provide. And you'd thought you understood when Thornhand was born — so small, so fragile, born in the autumn fade. He even looked something like you. You would have done anything for him. Your wife — an intensely careful mother to Thornhand — considers the new one in her arms, then pushes him towards you. “It’s yours,” she says, muffled as she turns her head into her pillow. You realize, with a vertigo moment of some desire for violence, that you didn't know anything about parenthood until now. While Thornhand’s true name was a joint effort, she leaves you to pick the new one’s name on your own. You somewhat spitefully pick twelve words, as they do in your birth village, instead of the more widely traditional ten. It includes all the usual markers of season and time, a waya word, a wander word, the rest; in the middle, however, goes a wish-word, and at the end, a root-of-the-soul. Leaf, you pick for the wish-word: one of many, unique to itself and yet surrounded by others of its kind. Lore, you pick for the root-of-the-soul: history and mystery and faith, guidance and lineage. You craft his name for abundance: may he never be alone. You expect her to be angry, and she is, but what you least expect is that she pries your two extra words from his true name and crushes them into his call. “Loreleaf,” she says as she nurses him. “You wouldn’t want him to forget where he comes from.”

[roaringroa]

flirting via mitski songs on insta story this is so ahlshslsi