#I started to sort of write it out

[averlym]

fairest of the fair

[jerreeeeeee]

i don’t know if i’m ever gonna write the fic but i’ve been thinking abt like. the eternal stockade. the implications. lup, a lich who was trapped in a dark featureless cell for a decade completely isolated with nothing to keep her sanity but her own mind. she has to put people in the eternal stockade. how many liches does she see herself in. how many liches started out just like her. how many liches are truly too far gone. and the only liches we ever see other than her and barry are edward and lydia. they’re certainly evil, but mad? they seem pretty sane. they’re not, like, tattered echoes of souls, they’re definitely still people. even as much of a grudge as lup surely has against them, wouldn’t they remind her incredibly strongly of herself? do they deserve to be trapped just like she was? for eternity? isn’t eternity what turned john to existential despair in the first place?

[chucapybara]

thinkin' about dancing with eula, in your favourite place to be with her—

it's cold out, it always is. dragonspine's climate is harsh and unforgiving, but to those of steel will, the wintry terrain is easy enough to temper. her hand is gentle around yours, the slightest flex beneath her gloves as she steadies you at the slightest hint of ice upon the ground.

(don't worry. she'll catch you, before you so much as harm a hair on your pretty head upon the snow.)

there's a precious spot—well, several, really—that you both come to often in search of refuge and respite from the trials of society. the snow is pure and untainted, untouched by the unjust jeers of those who call mondstadt home; it's quiet, here, a shelter in some ruins with evidences of your prior visits. a memory to return to with fondness.

you share a drink by the campfire, some dandelion wine fresh from the tavern. you watch as she prepares it, skilled and delicate, the slightest furrow in her brow as her cryo vision pulses and cubes of ice form in her palm. cheek on hand, you can't help but smile as she deposits the ice into the cups she'd brought: goblets, really, stolen away from the stash at the lawrence manor.

"so much silver gone to waste keeping up appearances. at least, with these, they'll serve a more priceless purpose," she huffs the first time she brought them, engraved with sapphires and dappled with gold embellishments. you should've felt like royalty then, as you swirled the wine; like nobility as you took a tentative sip. but the sight of her, tufts of silken arctics and sunset eyes and tender smile, made you feel like a witness instead.

(a witness, you remember thinking, to divinity itself.)

eula glanced at you when she concluded, then. an unspoken message that you already understand, that already warms you. much of it took time to learn, the little tells that gave her away (with some help from amber, of course), but you relished memorising each: her indignant scoffs and denying looks away when she's flustered, the furrow in her brow as she ponders her next strategy.

you thank her when she hands you a goblet, the dandelion wine chilled to the perfect cool. she wouldn't normally go through the trouble and hassle of the tradition, but for you, she would dredge up every crumb of history branded upon her skull.

it makes you appreciate her all the more. you smile, and she looks away, and you know her fair cheeks are already rosy before she does.

eula drinks less often, when she's around you. every moment is too sacred to be enjoyed drunk; you are a thorn in her side, but you are also the plaster and the sweet kiss and the tender touch that mends it with care enough unworthy for a pariah such as her.

you find that she sets down her cup, after no more than two sips. eula slips her gloves from her hands, tucking them into her sleeve, before extending her palm to you in wordless invitation.

it's soft, but firm as you take it. you can map every scar on her skin in your mind's eye, born of fumbles in her ascent to knighthood, her sisyphean struggle to be as the roil of waves: free, and unbridled. liberated from her guise, a pursuit of vengeance.

you brush your thumb over her knuckles, knowing the strength in them; these are the hands that have clawed their way out from the grave her ancestors dug for themselves, the hands that cleave a path towards a breeze-ful future. hands of a captain—the hands of the woman you love.

there's a twitch in her lip that you want to catch with your own, but she's already tugging you onto your feet.

"may i have this dance?" eula murmurs, bowing some. she has never been one to abide by her clan's customs, yet she shares the sanctity of her favoured past time with you. her favourite person.

and you laugh, because she doesn't need to ask, she never has to, because your answer would always be yes.

yes, of course i will.

yes, always.

her face colours, and you beam, radiant as the unsullied snow. you are her peace, and her trouble, and her quiet and her noise.

"yes, you may."

permission given, eula lets out a misting breath of relief, as if this wasn't already something she had done many times before with you. one step, and another, just to close the distance, lithe arm slipping around your waist to tug you flush against her, and your breath leaves you.

your clasped hands entwine, and eula brings them to her lips, soft petals brushing over your flesh. she has a way of that, stealing the air in your lungs, but you'd let her. every single time.

her lips trace the bone in your wrist, your inner forearm, through the sleeve of the coat she'd tucked you into before your hike through the snow. eula is cold but she's everything warm, the dawnlit sun and the duskfall's set; she kisses to your elbow, to your bicep, all touches reverent in every capacity. worshipful.

mondstadt's archon has never been her god, for you were the visage and her oath.

your eyelids flutter, your smile unbidden as eula finds her way to the curve of your shoulder, her breath warm against you. with a turn of the head, your nose brushes against her jaw, and you nestle into her, pressing a kiss of your own there, too.

"i thought you wanted to dance?" you murmur, soft with a hint of play, and she scoffs in your ear.

"that i did," eula exhales. "is this not our own?"

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

if 9&10 were "dont wander off", and 11&12 were "the doctor lies", 13s rule #1 is "dont question me"

"have we not had a good time together" shes pointing yaz to the rule that yaz very well knows is there: we can travel if you dont ask me any difficult questions. yaz knows this is the rule - "because you ask too many questions", "this team structure isnt flat" - but she also was the one to invite the doctor into her home so im pretty sure she also knows shes not gonna kicked out that easily. she has some leeway. which she has been using between revolution and flux, which is why the doctor reminds her of the rules

i dont think she'd kick her out though. she wouldnt. i think it's just that the more you break the rule, the more unpleasant she becomes to be around, and eventually youre gonna walk out on your own. she doesnt want you to, she'd rather you stay and dont ask questions. but if youre gonna try to ask questions anyway, i think thats whats gonna happen

and yaz must think so too. because she does back off. because she doesnt want that to happen either. and it does anyway

[tamaharu]

wait i just remembered i DO have unposted orv stuff that i can post for kim dokjas birthday. 2k of hot supreme king x reader fic dont like dont read!!!1!! orginal characarter do not steal!!!!!

(or, Yoo Joonghyuk takes a pit-stop in one of the world-lines. An old friend offers to pay for dinner.)

[Ah, late, so late! I can't believe I missed my alarm! And on my first day of work too... I was so worried, when I got off the train, I started running the rest of the way to the company. Hopefully nobody would notice that I was late. I had to get a new job after my boyfriend dumped me, and I couldn't afford to live on my previous salary.

As I rushed to the building, I had to push past many people to get to the doors. In my haste, however, I accidentally tripped! When I fell, I landed against something hard. "Oof!"

"Hey," a menacing voice said. "Watch where you're going next time! Don't be so quick to touch me!" Eep!

I stepped back quickly, bowing as deep as I could. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean t..." When I looked up I trailed off, becoming even more panicked. Ah, I recognized that man!

He looked down at me with a handsomely striking gaze. "You. What is your name?"

"I-It's L/N Y/N. Um, again, I'm so sorry... CEO-nim!" I bowed again. A nose and a chin shaped in perfect angles; a pair of deep eyes seemingly carved out of beautiful jewels; soft hair styled fashionably to frame his face... His suit, too, looked quite beautiful. I really messed up this time. Not only was I late, but I ran into the CEO of the company, the powerful Yoo Jo--]

I stopped there. I didn't bother to learn the name of the poor idol whose name had been stolen for this. Why was I even reading this? Reader-inserts were meant for wish fulfillment, but they always did something that took you out of the story. For the first part, I'd pay much more attention to my surroundings than that.

I pocketed my phone again, sighing. Perhaps I was the cynical one here? They were probably just written by young girls, daydreaming about getting to talk to a beloved character or idol, and was that so horrible? Actually, I believed in chance meetings, but I felt like the one here was a little too contrived...

Many thoughts went through my head as I stepped through a convenience store. Buying dinner after work was the only good thing about my job, I should just quit. Perhaps that would get me closer to the path of meeting a handsome CEO? How laughable.

I was still thinking this when I moved forwards again. But this time, when I walked, I ran directly into a hard wall.

No, wait? I had been to this store many times, and there wasn't anything blocking the entryway the other times. I stepped back, confused, to find my 'wall' staring back at me. Ah... Perhaps I should've read that story until the end.

The man in front of me had a good face. He certainly looked like he could be the menacing protagonist. But, how do I put this? Everything below the neck ruined the effect. 

He was wearing an astronaut's spacesuit, even with the helmet tucked in his arms, but he wore a black trenchcoat over that, making his form extra bulky. At the same time, strange rips were visible against it. Not a romance protagonist, then. Sci-fi? But the coat screamed chuunibyou characterization...

"Ah, sorry, I wasn't watching, excuse me..."

The man was still staring at me, and if anything his expression grew more annoyed. What did he want me to say? Should I chastise him for standing in the middle of the walkway?

Before I said anything, or even managed to go around him, a young girl peeked out from behind his back. She was dressed more normally, in casual clothes with a fuzzy jacket, but still stood out just by being around him. When she saw me, her first reaction was curiosity, but after a moment, her eyes widened in surprise and an unprecedented amount of delight.

"Oh, it's okay! I promise his bark is worse than his bite. Hey, you're from around here, yes? Do you have some money we can borrow?"

Huh?

The man turned to glare at the shameless girl instead. "We don't need money. Especially not from… them."

"Yes, yes. You're a big scary terrorist, you steal what you can't buy. Isn't that too much though? You're already beating poor authors senseless, how much crime do you need to commit before your dark heart is satisfied?"

I quickly turned on my heel and walked in the opposite direction.

"Hey, hey!" The girl's voice called out again, and I could hear her running to follow me. With a sigh, I paused and looked back at her. I didn't want someone like her friend chasing me, so it would be better to just hear her out.

"Ah, I'm sorry, you must think we're acting quite weird! But, really, we don't have any money. If you can, could you spare just a couple of dollars?"

"Mm, I don't know. If you're that desperate isn't it better to be more polite in asking? What happened, did you lose it all on a scam?" No, wait, what was I saying? I didn't want to deal with these guys longer than I had to. Just talking to them would make me stick out very badly.

Still, for some strange reason, I couldn't stop myself from taking on a familiar tone.

Her friend gave her a mean look, which she ignored, before glancing at me. After a second, he said, "We were mugged."

I blinked at him. "I see..." He gave a pained nod as if to really emphasize his plight, while the girl just smiled. When she noticed my gaze on her, her expression switched to that of grim sincerity.

I had to take a moment to step back and mentally collect myself. First off, how stupid did they think I was? Not only was their acting terrible, but who would honestly think a guy like this was attacked? And lost?

Still, there was a hint of realism in their performance. Definitely not mugged, but maybe they were actually broke?

I sighed to myself, folding my arms and looking up at the ceiling. Ah, what should I do? Most people would just ignore them, or perhaps the chosen few would spare them just enough won for a small meal.

I wasn't a kind person. No more than anyone else was, anyways. My philosophy was that it's best to go through life not making waves, and sometimes the politeness required to slip under the radar was misconstrued as kindness. Still, when the common consensus split so unevenly, that left one question: what would I, Y/N, do? After all, 'myself' was the only thing I could be.

I sighed again, much more exhausted this time. "Okay, let's go get dinner. Follow me."

The man's eyes shook slightly, reluctance evident in his expression. Still, when I started to walk out of the store, they followed after me. Damn, being followed by a guy in that outfit was truly humiliating...

The girl caught on much quicker, hurrying to match my pace. "Haha, isn't this sweet? Going out is much better than convenience store food. You're so nice... Mm, I don't think I caught your name?"

"Ah... Yes, my name is L/N Y/N."

"Y/N?" She echoed. My name sounded strange in her mouth for whatever reason. Maybe I just wasn't used to hearing people not from work use it. In fact, she had an odd look on her face, but it passed quickly. "I see. It's a good name!"

I smiled faintly, shrugging. "Thank you. Though, I guess you should be telling my parents that more than me."

"Aah, well, I'm Biyoo! And you can just call him the 'Supreme King.'"

I immediately shot back, "I am not calling him that," the same time our titular king went, "Do not call me that."

A moment of silence passed between us, as though he was seriously debating something. Finally, he spoke, seeming deeply annoyed. "Yoo Joonghyuk."

Was that his name, then? His manners were bad, but I let it slide for now. He would just have to thank me very sincerely for buying him food.

"Here, this place does cheap meal sets. Sorry, I know I offered, but it's nothing fancy..."

Biyoo seemingly paid this no mind, while Yoo Joonghyuk shot me an inscrutable look. Hey, at least I had some money. He was in no place to judge. Even if this would mean I'd be eating leftovers for the next couple of days.

The restaurant sat us down quickly. Biyoo and I pulled our chopsticks apart cheerfully. Yoo Joonghyuk kept his utensils untouched, however.

"What is it? I already apologized that it isn't too nice."

"I don't eat food made by others."

His voice was deadly serious. Who was this arrogant bastard? No, actually, both of them were rude. Why was I humoring them to this extent?

Finally, I shrugged. "Okay then, your choice. What's this I heard about you stealing from convenience stores? Perhaps I should go alert the workers there, I wouldn't want their jobs to be in danger just because some man decided thievery was better than perfectly good food, already paid for..."

He glared at me, but I ignored him, eating happily. Ah, the rice here was so fluffy, I never got it like this when I made it at home.

Biyoo laughed, which prompted me to look up. To my satisfaction, Yoo Joonghyuk had picked up the chopsticks and was gruffly taking his share.

"So, Y/N-ssi, tell us about yourself! I'd very much like to know about the person who's been so hospitable to us poor mugging victims."

"Well, firstly, you don't need to pretend to have been attacked to me. I already bought you food. I don't need your sob story."

"Aha, what gave it away?"

"Secondly, there's not much to say about me.. If anything, I'm more interested in your story."

"I'm sure that's not true! Let's see... What do you do for a job that lets you provide for two stragglers?"

She avoided my questioning easily. Was it okay to be giving out my information like this to two strangers? Perhaps they'd kill me after we finished eating.

"I work at an editing company. You’re just lucky I can stretch my budget these days, or we’d all be going hungry. It’s not exactly freelance? But the jobs are varied enough that it keeps me engaged."

"So, you read for a living?" Yoo Joonghyuk asked, looking unexpectedly interested.

"Er, I suppose that's one way to put it... It's a lot of typesetting and indexing meaningless writing. I do like reading fiction in my free time, though," I confirmed. "Not that I have a lot of that, of course..."

"Webnovels?"

I stopped short. "What was that?"

Yoo Joonghyuk asked again, in a patient tone, "Do you read webnovels?"

It felt like being caught reading said webnovels during work, even though my phone was firmly in my pocket, and this guy had definitely seen stranger things than a reader of webnovels. After all, they had to be read to be popular.

"Yes, a little bit... But they'd almost be harder to avoid these days."

Yoo Joonghyuk and Biyoo shared a meaningful look, though it appeared less like they were making fun of me, and more like they were commiserating on some unknown truth to my words.

"What's your favorite genre?"

"I don't know, maybe reincarnation? They can include both action and romance, so it can diversify. Isn't it a nice thought that after I die, I could come into a world where I could be even happier?"

"You shouldn't think like that," Yoo Joonghyuk said, and I raised an eyebrow.

"Well, it's not as if it's ever going to come true."

He carried on like he didn't hear me. "While you shouldn't completely forsake your plan for the future, nor can you forget the past that shaped you, you have to live in the present. You must live to give yourself the best life possible now, with what you have, rather than thinking things would get better if you had the chance to repeat them."

I stared at him for a long moment, surprised, before I... I burst out laughing. His face darkened, but I couldn't control myself. Biyoo giggled a little with me, patting his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I'm not dismissing what you're saying. You're just so serious about it. You act like you've repeated your life many times." I grinned at him, rubbing tears out of my eyes. "I have no intention of dying anytime soon. It's just daydreams, anyways."

It was so odd being with the two of them, but I didn't hate it. Feeding them, telling them about my life, and Yoo Joonghyuk's heartfelt words. It made me feel as if we had known each other for a long time, even though it had been less than an hour.

We stayed like that for a while, talking and eating in a way that felt strangely comfortable. It had been a long time since I had last eaten with other people, especially with people so strange. I’d have to tell someone about this. But… who?

As we finished up, I thought about it. Without me asking, they offered to walk me home, and just for the fun of it, I decided I’d let them.

I’d tell my roommates, I realized. They’d berate me for having strangers come to our home, but then they’d laugh, and we’d keep a baseball bat by all of our beds. I’d tell my co-workers, who would make jokes about me treating them to dinner too. I’d tell my family, my mother fussing over whether I needed money and my sister calling me a liar for claiming Yoo Joonghyuk was dressed like an astronaut. There were plenty of people to tell, who’d want to hear about something so insignificant, who would just want to hear from me. How could I have forgotten?

When we arrived at my apartment building, we all hesitated for a long moment, none willing to be the first to say goodbye. Finally, I said, “You know, I should probably ask that you pay me back at some point.”

Biyoo smiled sadly. “Well, I doubt we’ll see each other again.”

“True. But just keep it in mind, okay?”

“Stingy,” Yoo Joonghyuk tsked and I shrugged good-naturedly.

“Thanks for walking me. I could’ve handled it on my own, but it was nice.” I worked my key out of my bag as I spoke, turning to the building. “I hope you two have a good night.” However, before I could even go inside, Biyoo reached out and clutched my sleeve desperately.

“Wait!” She burst. "Before you go, we... There's a story we want you to read! A webnovel, like the kind you enjoy. You definitely have to read it! Do you promise?"

I smiled at her earnestness. Wasn't she a bit cute? She almost reminded me of a puppy. "Alright, alright, I promise. What's the name?"

"That..." Biyoo pouted. "There isn't a name yet. It isn't released yet."

"Then how am I supposed to read it? Even when it gets published, I won't be able to find it."

"No, it's okay! I'm sure you'll find it once it starts getting released, and you'll definitely come to love that story. You made a promise to read it, so don't go back on that promise."

"Ahh, you expect so much from me. What do you want me to do, read every new webnovel until I somehow find the one you're talking about?" Despite my exaggerated words, she nodded, and all I could do was laugh. "Fine, fine! Is it a sad or happy story? I like most everything, but I should prepare myself if it's anything too sad."

Instead of her answering, Yoo Joonghyuk began, "L/N Y/N..." I glanced over at him, confused. His voice was full of inexplicable longing when he asked, "Are you happy?"

"Hah? What's that supposed to mean? If I say yes, are you going to tell me to get used to never being happy because of it?" It was a joke, but his expression was deadly serious. I gave a helpless laugh, but matched his sincerity when I told him, "I... Yeah, Yoo Joonghyuk. I'm happy. I wasn't for a long time, but I'm really happy right now."

He smiled. It was a smile that was forged from years of loneliness and hardship, but finding a way to live despite it all. I recognized it, because I saw the same exact smile in my mirror every day.

"It's a happy story."

"Then I promise I'll read it."

Biyoo gave me one last hug before she left. "We'll both do our best, alright? So, stay happy, for the rest of your life."

Those two were so strange. Still, I watched from in front of the building as they walked down the empty sidewalk, towards the setting sun, until they disappeared completely from view.

[anna-scribbles]

h-how do you ever finish any of your work? genuine question because you seem to be productive despite your agreste syndrome and I need to learn your ways. but also how do you ever finish any of your work

unclear. last night i stayed up and finished a report worth 25% of my grade at about 5am, arrived on time for my 9am lecture, and spent about half of it zoned out while thinking about seventeen year old emilie agreste. and i was one of the most active participants in the class discussion

[the-kipsabian]

wrestling fic writers!!

i have decided to be the change i wanna see, so lets do a nice little thing for each other, as a community full of incredible and talented writers. yes this is writer specific only, but thats cause thats where the main problem of people not interacting with creative works lies in this fandom as far as i can tell and have seen people talking about it especially in the last couple of months

if you read this, please add links to your written works. it can be just a single fic youre really proud of, your writing blog, your writing tag, your ao3 account, anything where your works can be found

and if you leave your link here, PLEASE check out someone else that has left their works, and interact with them. leave them a comment, even just a kudos, REBLOG their fic, etc. interacting is the keyword i want to emphasize here, along with building a sort of a masterpost of where to find people writing in this fandom

and if you are not a writer, youre still highly encouraged to interact with this post and share it and show love to the writers in this fandom, obviously!! i think that should go without saying, but adding it in anyways

a bit more about my vision and resources and such under the read more, but thats the gist of it. happy linking and please be kind and supportive to each other!! 💜

nobody is too big or too small to add their things on this list. if you write and post anything in this fandom whatsoever, be it fics or drabbles or headcanons, any companies or any kind of ships or reader inserts or any content whatsoever no matter how 'dead dove dont eat' or hell even if its just meta, we welcome all here and nobody can say that one thing is less valid than another. just please tag your content accordingly, especially if theres content warnings, and feel free to mention what you write, who you write, any info you wish to leave that would help people before they click on your links. but even so, that should not and hopefully will not deter people from interacting, no matter what it is. someones trash is another ones treasure, i promise you

and unless the amount gets really overwhelming, im personally going to be checking out everyone that leaves something here. unless it squeaks me out, but even then, i'll spread the word. and i just wish as many people as possible will do the same, and not just use this as a potential board to only get eyes on their stuff. ofc thats also the point, but you should give as much, if not more, than you get. we need to be kind and supportive of one another (besides, from personal experience, if you show love to someone else, they are more likely to do it back than without you taking the first step, so... pay it forward)

as for resources, heres a few links that should be helpful in leaving comments and feedback. of course everyone does their own thing and no comment is too big or too small to leave, but for those who need them. if you have anything you'd like added to this list, dont hesitate to get in touch or drop it in the post yourself!!

101 comment starters

ao3 floating comment box

kudos html

dont know how to comment? easy solutions

a quick hot guide to commenting (by yours truly)

an overall guide to appreciating fanfic writers

and just in general.. leave people comments. leave them asks about their projects. just go over and gush about their work. i know it sounds embarrassing but writers love nothing more than to hear that someone likes what they are doing. if you find a fic that hasnt been updated in forever, comment on it. it might just be the spark the author needs to continue. while kudos and likes are nice, and just as valuable to some, its definitely in the words the people leave for them that matter the most. im not saying this to put pressure on anyone, its just how it is, and i feel like unless people are writers themselves, and even then sometimes, thats just hard to grasp, especially if the writer is a smaller and less popular one who doesnt get a lot of traffic in the first place

i think thats all. just be nice and considered to everyone, reblog peoples works, this post with others add ons and so forth. and if i find anyone talking shit here or at other writers for something they share, you'll be blocked and im probably taking your kneecaps. be fucking nice. we are all struggling here and we need to stick together

happy sharing and commenting 💜💜

[deoidesign]

Hi, I kind of have a question, Adam said that can't walk in the sun when doesn't drink blood, but what exactly happens? Do vampires just burn immediately, begin to be more sensitive to sunburn or is it another kind of thing?

so, in time and time again I really wanted blood to be something of a medicinal need for vampires. it's not a 1:1 metaphor of course, please don't try to think of it that way, but it's how I conceptualize it.

He needs blood to go in the sun, to heal, to "be something of a human again" and it also grants him the ability to time travel, shapeshift, compel others...

Without blood, he can't do these things. So, to be honest, without blood vampires would just... die. They can't exist without it. being in the sun uses blood, its dangerous. it wears you down. it makes you weaker. it can kill you!

I realize this ends up making my vampires feel weak, but... it's a metaphor for chronic illness. They have limited energy and if they do not take the time and the 'medications' they need to recover, they'll become weak or die. They have to manage their limited energy.

there's extreme privilege for vampires who have steady access to blood, like Adam does. His access to blood lets him time travel, transform, go in the sun constantly, etc. Vampires without as much access have to become nocturnal, they get stuck in one place, they have to be careful because even a small cut can cost precious resources...

A desperate vampire might end up hurting someone for what they need. a vampire with people who are willing to help them can get by, or even thrive. a vampire with none of these will die.

I know it's not the most satisfying answer, but it is my answer! My experiences being chronically ill are very much at play here.

[happy-hermit]

OKay um. I kind of wrote this on accident and it is literally nothing that i had planned on writing but. Hope you enjoy it anyway KASJD scar hurt/comfort the beloved <3

( @stiffyck i hope you don't mind the tag just every time i write scar angst i think of you)

Summary: Grian sees Scar's vex wings for the first time.

“Cub said you have wings,” Grian says, apropos of nothing, and Scar almost drops the blocks he’s holding. 

His mouth is suddenly extremely dry, and he has to clear his throat before responding, forcing himself to continue placing leaves along the ground. “Cub is— Cub is a crazy man. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

Grian is sitting on a chest a few feet away, and he shrugs. “I dunno. He seemed pretty sure.” He’s trying to appear casual about it, but Scar can hear the burning curiosity lurking behind his words. Nerves start to writhe in his stomach. 

Cub wouldn’t have said anything on purpose, is the thing. Scar can’t even be mad at him. It had probably just slipped out. Cub wears his own wings a lot more casually than Scar does. Which is to say that Scar doesn’t. Ever. 

It takes Grian talking again to make him realize that he’s frozen in place, no longer building. 

“Look, if it’s— You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” Grian says, and when Scar looks at him there’s a hint of worry in the lines of his face, a hint of awkwardness. “You can tell me to buzz off and I’ll drop it.”

“Like it’s hot?” Scar says, just to see the way Grian’s nose wrinkles in irritation. 

Scar laughs softly, and a bittersweet resignation keeps his mouth turned upwards at the corners, afterwards. He puts his leaves back into his inventory and sits down on the shulker in front of Grian with a little sigh. Scar wrings his hands together and avoids eye contact, instead watching a rabbit dig in a nearby field. 

“Cub… might be onto something,” Scar says eventually. “This time.”

“It’s true?” Grian sits up straight with wide eyes, his own wings fluffing out behind him. “But— I’ve never seen them before.”

“I do have some subtlety, I’ll have you know,” Scar says, scoffing playfully. Grian raises an eyebrow. “I do!”

“How do you hide them then?” 

Scar huffs quietly, glancing at Grian and then away again. He doesn’t mean any harm, Scar knows. His eyes hold nothing but curious concern. Maybe it’s time Scar stopped hiding, anyway. 

“It’s okay if you—“

“No, it’s fine,” Scar interrupts, and sends him a little grin. “I guess I could tell you. Now that I’ve proved I can keep secrets.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Grian waves a dismissive hand in the air, but he’s smiling. “I’m very proud.”

“Why thank you,” Scar says, and then he bites the inside of his cheek for a second before continuing. “I use magic to hide them. You know, illusion magic.”

Grian’s eyebrows furrow, and he tilts his head. “That doesn’t… I don’t know, it doesn’t wear you out?”

“Not much.” Scar shrugs. “It’s just habit at this point.”

Grian’s mouth twitches just slightly downward, eyebrows still drawn together, and when he speaks next it’s just a little bit softer. “Why?”

A familiar melancholy tugs harshly at his heart, and Scar lets his eyes drift over Grian’s shoulders to where his wings are shifting behind him, pristine and colorful. “They don’t look like yours,” he says. 

“Well, yeah. You’re vex,” Grian says, and he puts his hand on Scar’s knee. “You know— you know no one here cares about that, right? No one thinks of you or Cub differently.”

Scar laughs softly and avoids Grian’s gaze. “Of course. I don’t— I don’t hide them because of you guys. Promise.”

“Can I see?” Grian asks, carefully, and by the tone of his voice Scar can tell he’s realized how serious it is. How fragile it’s making him feel. Scar twists his hands into the fabric of his pants, swallows, and nods.

“Are you sure?” Grian asks, soft and quiet. He ducks down to look Scar in the eye, nothing but gentle acceptance and slight worry on his face. It makes tears prick at his eyes, and he blinks rapidly. 

“I��m sure,” Scar says, matching his tone. “It’s just— Well, they’re…”

“They’re what?” Grian prompts, and Scar lets out a short laugh that sounds more like a sob.

“They’re ugly,” Scar admits, and his voice breaks, and he feels silly, and he feels small, and he looks away from Grian and laughs at himself; sad and pitiful. “I’m vain, I know.”

“Oh, Scar,” Grian says, like his own heart is breaking.

Scar feels a light touch on his shoulder, and he looks over at Grian, at this person who has made him laugh on countless bad days, at his friend, and he finds it in himself to trust him. To let down his guard for the first time in— Well. For the first time. 

Scar closes his eyes, and he lets the magic slide through his fingers like sand in a sifter. He lets his wings go free. He lets just a bit of his hair turn white. He lets go. Grian inhales sharply, and Scar opens his eyes.

The avian is frozen in place, a hand still floating aimlessly near Scar’s shoulder, and his eyes are fixed firmly on something behind him, wide and horrified. Scar glances over his own shoulder to check on things, and finds pretty much what he’d expected. His wings are floating gently behind him, torn and scarred and ragged. Just barely glowing a soft grey-blue color. They aren’t pretty. Scar knows they aren’t pretty. His chest aches sharply at the sight, and he huffs and turns away. 

Only to meet Grian’s eyes, brimming with fury and fire. His large wings are flared out behind him defensively, talons gripping at the earth below and scraping grass out of the ground. Scar is confronted with the sudden and clear reminder that Grian is not entirely human, either. And he’s mad. Scar blinks in muted surprise.

“Who did this?” Grian asks, voice low and flat and almost deceptively calm. Scar just stares, and Grian looks at him sharply, seething. “Scar. Tell me who.”

At first, Scar thinks to lie. It is an instinct that is quick and fleeting. There is a matching scar on each of his wings, he knows, that are too uniform and precise to have been an accident. He tells the truth. The short version, anyway.

“We met in a woodland mansion. Cub and I, when we were little,” Scar says, heart beating painfully in his chest. “They had us in separate cells, and I would— At night, I would phase through the wall to see him. He didn’t have that kind of magic, but I did, and I was just, lonely, and—” He cuts himself off with a shaky breath, closing his eyes briefly to collect his thoughts.

“That magic comes from our wings,” Scar continues hoarsely, glancing back at his wings and shifting them carefully to get a better look. “When they found— found out what I was doing, they… I guess they kind of cut the source.”

He knows now, that they’d set him up to do it on purpose. He hadn’t been able to phase through any of the other walls, hadn’t been able to escape; he’d only been able to slip through to Cub. The Illagers had just wanted to test if they had the ability. So that they could nullify it as soon as possible. He’d been young, so young, and he’d fallen for it.

Scar cuts a glance at Grian and cracks the smallest of smiles through his watery eyes. “They’re long gone by now,” he says. “I don’t even remember what world we came from. You can’t find them.”

For just a moment, Grian looks like he’s going to try anyway, jaw set and face stony with cold anger, wings poised to take flight. Then he closes his eyes and take a long, slow breath. When he opens them again, he just looks sad.

“What about the rest?”

(A desolate world. The groans of the undead around every corner. Fighting for every moment of continued existence. Sharp pain shooting up his legs.  Clawed, rotting hands grabbing at his wings as he ran. Ripping, tearing—)

“That’s a story for another time, I’m afraid,” Scar says quietly. “Cub and I world-hopped without experience and got separated. My next world wasn’t… Well. It wasn’t great.”

Understatement of the century, but Grian doesn’t have to know that just yet. Though by the look on his face, maybe he already does.

“Do they hurt?” Grian asks eventually, gaze falling gently on his wings, something akin to grief in his eyes. Avians took wings very seriously, Scar knew.

“Sometimes.” Scar shrugs. “Mostly when it’s cold, for some reason.”

Grian starts reaching out, almost like he doesn’t know he’s doing it, and then he jerks his hand to a stop. It takes Scar a few seconds to realize he had flinched.

“Sorry,” Grian says, sounding embarrassed, and he retracts his hand back to his lap. Scar feels a spark of disappointment that surprises him.

“It’s okay,” he says, and then, as casual as he can manage, “You can touch them, if you want. They might feel funny, though.”

“You sure?” Grian tilts his head, and it’s so birdlike that Scar can’t help but crack a small smile. 

“Go for it.”

Grian reaches out again, slowly, watching him carefully, and Scar employs all conscious thought towards keeping his wings still. He can hear his heartbeat rushing in his ears. He’s holding his breath in anticipation. 

The touch is featherlight and soft, just barely grazing the top of his left wing, and it twitches on instinct before settling beneath the touch. It’s strange. It’s foreign. It is terrifying and comforting in equal measures. His chest is alight with a feeling he can’t quite place, and it’s crawling up his throat, choking his voice. 

Grian makes a small inquisitive sound, almost like a chirp, as he carefully runs his hand down to the edge of his wings, gently tracing a scar that he doesn’t know a zombie left. He brushes off a few bits of dirt and smoothes out the thinner parts that are wrinkling under the strain of being hidden for so long, and it’s almost as if Grian is trying to preen him, like he’s trying to find a way, and he’s being so gentle that it almost hurts. 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Grian goes still and makes a wounded noise, coming back around to look him in the eyes.

“Sorry,” Scar chokes out, laughing a little and wiping fruitlessly at his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Scar. Don’t be sorry.” Grian softly grabs his hands and pulls them away from his face, eyes focused and kind. “Do you want me to stop?”

Scar shakes his head almost frantically, overwhelmed. “No, please— I’m fine, don’t go, don’t go—”

Through his own tears, Scar can just barely make out Grian’s own eyes welling up, and then his hands are being yanked forward and he’s falling into a hug. Grian’s wings immediately rise to wrap around them protectively, brushing gently against his own, and Scar lets out a shaky breath, closing his eyes and burying his head into Grian’s shoulder. He’s tired.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Grian says, as firm as it is kind, as if it’s just a simple fact of the universe. As if it is ever that easy. Scar is wounded, and he’s a bit broken, and he’s heard that promise before. He believes it anyway. Grian says it, and he believes it. 

“Okay,” Scar says, muffled against the fabric of Grian’s sweater. “Okay.”

He knocks his wings gently into Grian’s, something warm settling in his chest. 

It almost feels like flying.

[killerpancakeburger]

Been srlsy into the idea of writing more, explicitely fat Reader. Not sure how to tags it thought.

[abrahamvanhelsings]

for the ship asks: joplittle? i know i'm opening pandora's box with this

if someone already asked, then going for any other ned ship you might also like? choose freely my friend

AUGH my beloveds!! ill try not to make this a whole essay so ill point out a couple of things that i love about them at random

the way they interact with each other on screen has me obsessed. i wrote a post a bit ago about how we don't see them talk much together but they have a lot of potential anyway, and then @cinematicnomad made a great point about the fact that they DO interact but a lot it is nonverbal. honestly that opened my eyes to so much little things i hadn't noticed before. that they communicate through glances and gestures and that they understand each other, know each other well enough to have that kind of interaction... they may be background characters and we may not see the progression of their relationship much, but we can tell that it happens, and that they become close. you can tell that being in that precarious situation together, where crozier's alcoholism is affecting the entire expedition but it also has to be kept a secret, and they're the two people who know, and who are responsible for crozier/everything else, that really created a very tight bond between them.

speaking of tight friendships! we can tell that it happens bc edward, famously, is SO happy when jopson is made lieutenant. everyone at that table thinks it's deserved, and is happy for jopson, but edward is a beam of sunlight in that tent. genuinely can't stop smiling. it's so so lovely to me that he can't contain his own glee bc he's so glad and proud. get you a man who applauds your successes like edward little

there are so many ways their personalities fit together so well!! they're both extremely diligent in their duties, but it plays out differently in them both, and they both have different weaknesses. they're the type of people who are generally quiet and unobtrusive but steadfast and loyal, but where jopson tends to go sharp as a knife under pressure, edward always worries that he is doing the right thing (that's also bc for a large part of the expedition they have very different responsibilites and cares, but nevertheless). they're both guarded where it comes to showing their inner feelings, but it feels to me that jopson can provide a firmness, the assurance that edward needs to remain confident in who he is and what he does, whereas edward (once you've cracked him like an egg) has a warmth to him that can fold around jopson like a blanket, to let go of that tightly-controlled professionalism. each other's safety blankets, people who can mitigate the other's shortcomings, and provide space for their better qualities and their feelings to come to full bloom.

lower class/higher class dynamic is a weakness of mine. any fic that has thomas being a steward/valet to edward in any capacity with the victorian slow burn mutual pining/mutual 'he is to good for me' has me on my knees

[littleblueberryartist]

Tokito Muichiro in regards to being useful

aka I thought a bit too hard about chapter 179 and now we're here (KNY Manga spoilers obviously)

you ever think about how much emphasis Muichiro puts on how much use he can be and how that determines his worth?

When he first appears in the ssv arc he comes off as cruel and arrogant, stating that some lives have more value than others, and evaluating said value through one's use and how many lives they can save. Tanjiro notes that the other wasn't being malicious and while I do think that he's confident in his skills as a demon slayer, it's less so in an arrogant sense and more like stating a fact he's confident is true. He's strong, being a hashira and slaying countless demons is proof. He's probably been underestimated for his age countless times but he knows better than anyone just how hard he worked to get here. (Tetsuido being one of the few that knew)

His utility is proof of his skill and worth.

I fully believe that in the event Muichiro was ever asked if this way of thinking meant that his life would be worth less if he wasn't a hashira, he would simply agree. (But he is a hashira. And his time is too precious to waste on hypotheticals.)

We then find out about Muichiro's past, and how Yuichiro told him the mu in muichiro meant incompetence and meaningless. We find out how they fought over Muichiro's desire to help and how Yuichiro said that a boy who couldn't even cook rice would never be able to save anyone, and that all they could do was to die meaningless deaths like their parents.

Muichiro has always wanted to help others. But Yuichiro ties down that infinite kindness with weakness and incompetence in a desperate attempt to keep the only family he has left safe.

The demon that attacked them also called their lives worthless. Again and again, there is talk about how little he can do and how that equates to what your life is worth. I wonder if the way Muichiro assigned different value to lives later on was subconsciously influenced by this. How ironic it is that he went from one of those "worthless" lives to one of such importance.

I'm sure after getting his memories back Mui knows that there's more to life than that. (He was born to be happy) But I can't help but feel like that thinking still sticks around to some capacity. He knows that what you can do doesn't define your worth, but his desire to help and be useful never truly leaves.

(There is a difference in wanting to help others and the need to be useful. For Muichiro, they come hand in hand.)

Even in his final moments, Muichiro refuses to die not out of a desire to live but because he refuses to be useless. He's tried his best this whole time, no one would fault him for not being able to do anything after being cut in fucking half. No one but himself. He needs to be of use, he needs to protect his friends.

Tokito Muichiro has always wanted to help others.

[sandersontheside]

Okay, I've been thinking about this all morning, so follow up to my last post with a lot more depth.

What if Orange isn't a side? I like the idea of orange being representative of ADHD, and I think it would be cool to see ADHD explored in Sanders Sides. It's certainly a more interesting idea than the orange side being rage or wrath.

My only problem with it, is I think that ADHD is too all encompassing to be a side. In my experience, it impacts everything. And you can see bits of it in all the sides, if you look for it. Patton is very impulsive, especially when it comes to spending money, and he feels things very, very deeply and intensely, like someone with ADHD would. Roman creates and creates, but he is insecure about it. He wears a mask of false confidence and personability, while deep down probably being the most self-conscious of them all. Virgil's anxiety over disappointing friends, forgetting things, making Thomas check and recheck, points to the type of anxiety someone who has a history of forgetting things would develop over time. The self-preservation of Janus, the lies to cover the obligations you forgot, or that you just couldn't do, the fear of being rejected or not understood if you tell the truth. Remus can be connected to an overactive mind that just won't stop racing through different thoughts and ideas.

If ADHD is a side, that's a very powerful side that has a LOT of control over the others. Which does track with Logan's eyes turning orange, I suppose. But what if, instead, orange remains a specter? Only seen in Logan's eyes or in the light over the stairs behind Virgil, hanging over them all. Not a side, not something to be reasoned with, but an unseen force. Something that can twist any side to its will--making Logan angry, making Roman insecure, making Virgil paranoid, making Patton impulsive, etc.

And that's why these hints have been cropping up in videos for so long with no actual orange side showing up.

[taz-writes]

here's a hot take for today

the narrative function of sex is the same as the narrative function of fight scenes is the same as the narrative function of songs in a musical

no i will not explain

[diathadevil]

Do you ever think about how Fakir, after him and Ahiru finally broke everything that kept the town of Goldkröne in the ghostly hands of its writer, after they finally have some air of peace over the town finally being able to live in its intended early 2000s environment, that Fakir still feels at times like it's not real and that for a while he fears that if he closes his eyes it'll be back in Drosselmeyer's control. Like it just doesn't feel real to him during that first year of calm, until he feels the dull pain on his recovering hand injury and Ahiru who follows him without a pendant anywhere to be found.

He doesn't feel it's real, the calm finality of this town, but he makes sure to feel the scar on his hand. And he makes sure to hold the little duck and realize that she is who she has always been. Him and the town are finally living peacefully.

[ichorblossoms]

reminders for myself every time i open up the honeybee writing document