#and work and play are bound

[qserasera]

ohhhh u kno

what would be hecked up

if after that one flashback scene when mizu gets stabbed and collapses

instead of her mother rescuing mizu and later getting married to mikio etc.

she gets saved by heiji shindo (who she has no idea has a connection to fowler)

and later acts as like, a masked court guard to him (since the whole mask hides her face) when he has to visit the shogun to do court stuff

ends up learning about social intrigue/manipulations/power plays by observing him at his official day job

also ends up seeing him as a secondary father figure of sorts

until :))

[lyril]

i feel like not enough people use writing fanfiction as a way to like... study and learn? outside of it being more practice and things. like sure, this is for entertainment first and foremost, but for me keeping the writing tone and characterization as accurate as i can to then transform it more into a writing style to create something good just ends up in me like, intensely studying the source material. i don't ever go off of memory i fucking break that shit down, study dialogue patterns and write down literally everything the characters i'm writing for say, observe the structure and themes and tone of whatever i'm looking at, watch and analyze things until i'm sick of them and come out a better writer because of that hands-on observation and because i simply fucking hate when other people go off of memory while writing characters i like ❤️

[k1rishiki]

the thing about the queer media tournament that really gets me is that last i checked there wasn't a single mxtx work on it. like not even the untamed made it in and don't get me wrong the og mo dao zu shi books are huge but cql is def more popular among tumblr circles. idk it just really rubs me the wrong way how every single piece of western media that ppl have ever gotten a lil bit aggressive abt shipping with is there and then for east asian media there's utena and madoka magica and the handmaiden and last i checked that was pretty much it. and then for the rest of the world there's next to/nothing but idk enough to really make judgements there.

[jpriest85-blog]

Last fanart before the New Year for @pdrrook Perfumare featuring Laurent and my MC Liz, cuddling.

After playing Laurent's route, and that the man just wants someone to come home to, yet he feels like it's such a selfish thing to want. That's especially hard for Liz because she knows what it's like to be rejected by your own family. Yet, at least she was able to find a new family with Flavio and Reed, and it broke her heart, learning that Laurent didn't believe he deserved to feel loved. Even considering Laurent works for the SPD, he does genuinely want to help and protect people.

Thankfully, Liz can be stubborn, and on Laurent's route, she's determined to make the man understand he is deserving of love and family dammit!

[invinciblerodent]

I know this is very specific to myself, but it kind of tickles me how all of my PCs i've been actively playing make a very nice little party by themselves. Like it would be super boring to do so, but it would make sense to play them as a party (with three custom hirelings), and they'd be very much a viable set, for like an honor run down the line or something.

Ray would of course be the leader- he's a fighter/barbarian build, a genuine frontline hero, and a formidable, veteran warrior in-fiction. I mean fuck, he's the Inquisitor, he became a living legend at 24, and the only reason few remember it is that that was 30 years ago. He's very skilled and reliable, mostly chaotic good, and a good tactician to boot. He has the seniority, as well as the experience, for everyone to default to letting him lead.

Arvid, the cleric, is their healer, and the other frontline soldier. In-fiction he's also cool-headed, mostly lawful good, and very good at following the orders of a commander- together, these two men are a veritable meatshield. Not to mention that with Ray as their tank, the healer being on his heels would probably be a good move- and though they might occasionally disagree on the reasons, but they'll generally agree on the right thing to do and hold sway over the other two.

Iona is not only a high-damage ranged- and utility caster, but also a very charismatic person: a haggler, a negotiator, and, while not the most morally upstanding person (she's kind of.... true neutral to neutral good, sort of), in general she can be very useful as the public face of the party. While it'd be Ray's presence that says "trust me", it'd be her words that hold actual power (something of which she'd be keenly aware), and it does seem fun to have the boys rely on the one tiny woman among them to do all the party's talking.

And Petyr is a hell of a marksman. He's, at his core, a survivalist- he may be a bit questionable as far as allegiances are concerned (i'm thinking true- to chaotic neutral), but he's fast, stealthy, lethal, and the most mobile of all of them, zipping around the battlefield and picking people off one after the other. Not super talented with the lockpicking portions, but honestly that's beside the point. They just need Iona to drop a haste spell on him, and all the others really have to do is keep him from getting swarmed.

It's a really fun combo. kinda wanna draw them, kinda wanna play them, kinda wanna watch a whimsical animated series starring them.

[sabraeal]

The Vagrant's Season, Part 2

[Read on AO3]

Written for @onedivinemisfit for her birthday! This is part of Annie's Shapeshifter AU; a prequel to this piece, filling in the weeks from when Obi arrived in The Valley to the start of mating season. There are a half dozen version of the song I adapt for Shirayuki in this, but I referred to two specific ones to cobble together this one: Marianne Lihannah's and Pernille Anker's. There is also one line from this folk song in the last scene!

“You’re a shy little one, aren’t you?” The vixen doesn’t stoop or sing-song, not like how the menfolk would when they saw him like this, just a shadow and a snout hidden amongst their shrubbery. A good thing too; if she shrilled the way the goodwives would, calling him a sweet pup and lille vennen and gutten min, he’d have skittered away faster than mice in a pantry.

Instead her voice is soft, riding the same rise and lull as her song, and her hands never pause in their picking. A practiced motion— reach, pinch, twist; reach, pinch, twist— that never falters, even when she slants him her curious glance. “I mean you no harm. There’s more than enough for the both of us here, if we only take for the needing.”

Ah, now that stings him, just a little. He’d seen her sorting out her tubers and berries that first time, plucking the bounty he’d meant to have all to himself until spring, and well— he’d scampered off, sure, half-scared of even a wilder’s shadow, but he’d come back too. Gave himself two good hands to pillage with and glutted himself on what she’d left behind, sure he’d find some other hole to weather out the last of winter.

Even with no stars yet in the sky he knew the footfalls that would take him toward Yuris, toward Tanbar, toward any place but that little glade and the vixen whose scent lingered on every leaf. And yet honey and bitter greens never quite left his nose, turning his paws in circles, spiraling him back to this very clearing, over and over. Spirit-blind he may be, but let it never be said Obi couldn't take a hint from one, when it was given.

“It’s warmer here in the sun.” Her tone is conversational rather than cajoling, and Obi’s tempted to take the invitation. Spread out his shorter legs, cramped from where he’s been camped in the bushes, waiting for her to finish her picking and sorting. Maybe even see if she might feed him from her hands, the way the young girls did at the village outskirts, too young to know the difference between a fox and a pup. “I know fur so fine as yours must keep you warm even in the snows, but it’s quite nice to have the light on you.”

She breathes in, misting the air with her exhale. “You can almost believe it’s spring.”

It will come soon enough; he smells it on the air even now, the promise of plenty enough to make his belly tremble. A few more weeks and he could eat his fill, strengthen up for whatever journey still laid ahead. Nice as it might be to survive on the outskirts of the Valley, growing fat on their game and forage, that sour scent in the north will mosey its way down here sometime this summer. Unpleasant as that dog smells, he’ll be needing to deal with the Keeper, trade with the other wilder in his pack. Maybe even mate, if he could find a vixen to stand him.

This vixen sits back on her heels, sigh as sweet as her scent wafting up from her lips. “Well, that’s that then. Guess we won’t meet today, little one.”

Toes curl beneath her, and with the sort of limber grace village girls lacked but wilder women possessed in spades, she bounces up to her feet, basket teetering on her hip like a smile does on her lips. “Maybe next time, then. Be a pity for neighbors not to get along with each other.”

When he steps out of the brush, it’s on two legs, one hand scratching at the nape of his neck.

“Get along,” he mutters, shoving a berry into his mouth. It breaks sour over his tongue. “See how long that lasts.”

*

There’s no convenient cave to make his camp, no abandoned lean-to left by a less wary vagrant passing through to warmer climes, but Obi does find a hollow not far from the vixen’s glade. An old yew, wider than two of him together could wrap around, beginning to rot from the inside. The sort of thing the volva would have clucked their collective tongues over, proclaiming that its spirit was sick and frail, a terrible portents for the future of their community.

But for him it’s only a tight squeeze on two legs and a cozy hideaway on four. Keeps him dry at least, and warm when the winds blow, though even as he drifts asleep, he hears the wood creaking like their voices, stay too long as a little one and you’ll be wild in truth.

It becomes habit to watch the vixen about her business; mostly small, letting his dark fur hide him among the shadows even as she tries to call him out from cover, her sweet smile more tempting than even the berries she offers. As it warms he sheds that skin more often, letting his legs stretch until he smells herbs on the wind and hears the first strains of her honeyed songs.

It’s inevitable that at some point, he forgets.

*

The dawn breaks warm that morning; the first tease of true spring before the spirits unfurl their sleeping tendrils and wake in truth. At least, so the volva say; Obi’s never seen a lick of them as long as he’s lived. Blind, they called him, but if it’s the price he pays to walk comfortably among the townsfolk each winter, he’ll pay it gladly.

There’s a tree at the edge of the vixen’s glade, an old birch so piebald it’s half shadow itself, its spiny little leaves coming in strong with the first hint of winter’s breaking. They don’t grow like this near the menfolk— there it’s straight little stands of bone-white trunks, but here, it’s a gnarled, knotted mess of a grandmother, so thick and bent from reaching out toward the light the glade promises that a body could get lost trying to find their way through its branches.

He sprawls his across one so thick it could be its own tree, legs dangling as wild as tangled ivy. Dappled in the sun’s light, it’s a cozy enough spot to let his blood warm up to the promise of the day. His head tips back, eyes fluttering closed, and ah, if he lets his mind drift enough, he can fool himself into thinking the volva are shuffling after him still, looking for that lazy boy, more scent than sense—

“The kit is placed in her cradle, sometimes crying, sometimes laughing.” Breath tumbles out of him in a snort, rousing him in shorter order than the vixen’s song, so close each word comes as a caress instead of a whisper on the wind. “Her mother cares for her, trouble, trouble, trouble.”

Already he reaches for his smaller body, eager to put fur over flesh and scamper into cover, but—

“Sleep now, sleep now” —copper flickers over bush tops, like a bullfinch buzzing over the brush— “in the arms of the mother tree, keep watch, o spirits, and hold this kit safe.”

For as many times as he has seen her, it’s always been with a little one’s eyes, limited to the muted grays and dunny browns they can create. Enough to get the idea of most wilders on whom he’s let his gaze linger, but this vixen— her hair alone is red and gold together, an autumn forest ablaze and yet tame beneath her hands. And when she lets her eyes skim over the brushline, looking for him…

Green. The same as the leaves that flutter between them, hiding him from sight. He hunkers down, belly to branch, and bides his time.

*

The vixen lingers longer as the weather warms, shedding her heavy cloak before she settles in to work, spreading it beneath her knees. There’s more for her to do now; with the snow near half melted, more greens unfurl between her visits, and the thin stopgap of winter berries turning into a bounty of sweet spring fruit. She sorts them as she works, each kind going into their own cloth before she rolls them up and tucks them into her basket, humming with satisfaction.

Most days he keeps her company as a little one; it delights her to coax him out step by step, creeping closer and closer to sharing sunlight. But more and more often, he lingers, watching her with wilder eyes as she goes about her business. Wonders, sometimes, if her pelt is just as bright as her hair when she trots about in her smaller form, if the gold would shine the way it does in the morning sun.

When she settles herself today— I shall give to my sister my seven gold rings, all under the linden so green— it’s with two baskets, one set in front and the other just behind. No difference between them that Obi can see, no reason one berry goes in one and not the either, just one plump little fruit, one after the other. Each one leaves juice smeared across her fingertips, so ripe his mouth salivates just thinking of how they’ll taste on his tongue, of how they’ll burst beneath his teeth.

“You know,” she calls out, her mouth hooked in the wryest of her smiles. “It’s polite to announce yourself if you’re going to linger in a vixen's territory. Especially a dog like yourself.”

Obi blinks between his branches, glancing from left to right, but there’s no dog for her to be talking to, not unless—

He glances down, right to where she stands, staring square at him through the branches. “You might introduce yourself at least. Now that I know you haven’t gone wild.”

His arms fold and his chin tilts, the way that makes most dogs shy from his company, let alone the wiser vixens. “I’m not the sort a vixen like you would want to know.”

Her jaw sets, even as that smiles pulls sweeter. “I think that’s up to me, isn’t it?”

Obi has to admit, she has a point there.

“This is my territory you’ve been lingering in, after all.” Her shrug is a soft bounce of her shoulders, but her scent presses heavily around him. Her territory. Unmated female she may be, but he is an unmated male, living on her sufferance. “I should know who I have the pleasure of sharing my patch with.”

“No point,” he sniffs, tilting his chin higher. “I’m just passing through.”

“For three weeks?” Her mouth twitches, not from fear. “I think that’s a little more than passing through.”

Ah, he hadn’t realized she’d be counting. “Just until there’s forage elsewhere.”

By the cock of her hip, he knows his excuse is as thin as tissue, ready to be torn under her able paws. “A name might be nice. I can’t just call you vagrant this whole time.”

“I have lots of names.” One for each year he’s wintered over among the menfolk. But they’ve always slipped off him like his fur does his skin, never sticking the whole season. Eirik had been the one he gave Goody, a smile on his lips, but she shook her head the way the menfolk always do, as if they already knew it doesn’t fit. “Which one do you want?”

The smile he gives her is all teeth, but she doesn’t flinch like she’s supposed to. No, she just furrows that brow at him, concerned. “The one you want to give me.”

His shoulder burns even beneath his hand. “I already said I wouldn’t be around long.”

“Fine, Vagrant it is then,” the vixen sighs, tucking her plants against her waist, tying them to the space under her belt. “I hope you have a nice day, Vagrant.”

It’s not until she’s gone that he realizes she left one of her baskets behind, but when he goes to call out—

Well, it seems he never got a name either.

[merge-conflict]

after all why not? why shouldn’t I write a johnny/v/goro scene where johnny actually has a body?

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Me, foolishly: Oh I think I know what to title this chapter of my fic.

Me, realizing I've named it the name of an old song I love, which I associate with two very different characters and am only now suddenly realizing all the overlapping qualities between the two pairs: OH NO

[gensymscribes]

making ocs is all fun and games until you try to write concrete lore about a nebulous yet core concept that you previously handwaved for the sake of "it's cool if this happens"

[googlein1942]

ive been so into rdr2 lately and i keep thinking about public nations verse where people making historical games/movies/shows/etc. consult nation people on historical tidbits and accuracy and whatnot, so queue Alfred “Favorite era of the US was the wild wild west” Jones finding his way to rockstar studios to help them out with the game accuracy/go on about whacky people he met during those days while the studio is just like write that down write that down

[samarecharm]

Scheming…

[fragmentedblade]

Not to be a jingfu on main, but it's so cute that Jing Yuan thought of Fu Xuan with those jelly beans

[bluebudgie]

just trying to find a good spot for screenshots and the next thing you know is you've walked into a warped dimension

[elizabethrobertajones]

if you happened to want to take the WoL think-thonkers as questions.... 12. Which canon moments shaped your Warrior of Light and impacted them the most?

I know there's a ton of Big Events but I think it's when I was also getting to grips with the story and realising exactly what was being told, so the moment of me sort of getting to grips on a meta level feels like the right moment to put in realisation for Frog understanding what it was she was even doing as an adventurer.

So for me that would be the original non-shortened Buscarron quests, especially with the Ala Mhigans. For Frog, coming to this side of Eorzea for the first time, from remote Gyr Abania (she's not Ala Mhigan, she's obscure mountain folk with little contact with the outside world) she gets to see all the way the city folk behave, and especially Ywain and all the Lancers' Guild stuff; she was learning archery as well so seeing all the best sides of Gridania, but then she is sent out to meet Buscarron, and here's this really nice guy who defuses situations with the Duskwight and lets them drink at his establishment as equals and even though he's connected to the Lancers' Guild he's made his own way (he has his druthers, literally), and it's kinder and a gentle retirement that's making the forest better. Like, if he had been running the guild, the Foulques thing might not have happened but the point is he's literally able to be this by being on the fringes instead of embedded in the city with all those attitudes pressing in on every angle.

And then she has to help the Ala Mhigan refugees out there and they're sick and struggling and everyone refuses to help them from the Gridanian-based authority, but then when she goes to Buscarron, he not only wants to help, but gives her real medicine and genuinely cares. These guys are sort of her people, if not her countrymen and they're obviously not able to all stand up to be useful adventurers like her, some of them are sick or lost everything and are trying to scrape by. (Also that guy who I posted about before in Ul'dah who takes the experimental medicine for free and then later refuses to join the Crystal Braves because he sees trouble.)

The way all the people in Little Ala Mhigo spoke as well, about the way they'd been treated, and refused help they were suspicious of - literally the 3rd quest about giving medicine to these people that's of origins they don't trust or doesn't work or whatever - and the whole thing just underlines how miserably they're treated, by the Flaming Fist as well, who are present at the camp and helping stand guard but also the neglect and abuse is high and people are really vulnerable.

I think for Frog, not being from Ala Mhigo, she hadn't fully understood the situation, like, they'd followed the turns of its upheaval from afar and spoke sadly of the city and just didn't go there, they'd trade along difficult mountain routes rather than engage the Imperials, and that was that. And she gets out into the world, goes to the far ends, and finds people with similar accents and faces to the people she knows and grew up with, and they're being treated like this. And the situation just really hits of how much damage the Garleans could do to a country and a people.

So like, she does what she can, but it's the first time she really understands why Wilred would want to summon Rhalgr and why they could get to that situation, and how easy it had been for Lahabrea to spin them up into attempting a summoning, because every single step of how that could happen had been lain bare the entire time and no one even cared to or could do anything to help before it came to blows and a bunch of kids getting tempered and killed.

I don't think she ever set out thinking she had to liberate Ala Mhigo or anything, but seeing all this made her realise how much the world needed to change and put a real fire into her to first of all drive the Garleans out of Eorzea, and then made her truly invested to go back to Gyr Abania and try and help, but also just to always always go help everyone who needed it, even the most meagre fetch quest, because she could and if she had that power in her, she had to set the world to rights.

Basically, how she put on the hat of the Warrior of Light before she'd even taken on Titan because she just could not let things lie. Everything else is an escalation from that realisation and not being able to stop moving until post-SB when she starts to focus more on the personal and work out who on earth she's made herself into.

[non-un-topo]

My skin hurts

[haemosexuality]

these r all the games i have <3