#i am my own god and martyr.

[morgana-ren]

With all this talk about the gods, what other DnD deities do you like besides Bane? There's a lot of interesting ones

Well, like would be an interesting word for what I feel for the Gods.

I used to think Shar was interesting, but much like serial killers, her whole shtick breaks down rather simply: "I hate life! Fuck you, you wretched beings! You don't have a right to exist, and my bitch sister is to blame for your existence, so I am going to create so much chaos and so much misery that the world will fold in on itself!"

It's pathetic once you break it down. She's a jealous, angry, violent, and self-absorbed harlot, and she's dead-set on taking it out on everyone that lives. She uses people foolish enough to turn to her to realize that vision. They all have their own justifications, but it's serving a master that actively thinks you are filthy and wants you dead. It's pointless and an exercise in futility, because she will never 'Embrace you in darkness' or whatever lie she has promised. She is open about her hatred if you are not so enveloped in her lies that you fall for them.

Literally, this woman has a plaque in her temple that reads "Equality in darkness. No beauty and no wealth. Only equality" and then, in the next fucking room, has a 500 foot statue of herself with gold filigree standing on innumerable humans skulls.

She is the edgy goddess with no real point. Undirected and unwarranted anger. Great purple aesthetic, but ultimately embarrassingly pointless. She targets the weak and the angry and sharpens them into instruments for her will, and then discards them when she no longer needs them. For some reason, none of her followers see this pattern and keep justifying. Not exactly bright, this lot.

I can appreciate what Ilmater stands for.

But their beliefs are flawed. It's an ouroboros of suffering.

His entire domain is ultimate selflessness: I will do whatever I can to ease your suffering, even taking that suffering upon myself and even dying if need be. The God on the Rack. The Martyr. The Crying God.

You can see why that might have some flaws.

More than that, as you can see in the temple, most of the people that serve Ilmater do not even understand his teachings. People are suffering because Ilmater does not correct these people. Refugees are dying because his own acolytes find them filthy and disgusting and find them unworthy. This goes against all of His teachings. What the fuck are you even doing here?

If this is so important to you, why do you not correct this behavior? You are breaking your own beliefs with your inability to act because these people-- these children-- are suffering and dying because those operating under your holy name are harboring delusions that are actively harmful-- and even malevolent.

Caring, compassion, love for the aching and the dying? These are good tenants, but like most Gods, he takes it too fucking far. You encourage selflessness and martyrdom, but to be there for another is to have a steady foundation. You cannot ease suffering if your own suffering is so great that you cannot see through it. You are offering the chance to romanticize it and 'self-flagellate'-- sometimes literally.

If you are not healthy, you cannot ease suffering. You will not know what to say. What to do. You will follow scripts and rules, but suffering does not follow these things. When someone is truly in pain, how do you ease them if your own pain is too great? How do you comfort them? How can you show love when all you know is pain? People who cry and weep and moan but cannot truly help anyone because they themselves are bleeding.

He is creating a cycle of suffering. People who mean well, but are such push-overs that they cannot help themselves either. To take suffering is not to ease it. It is not to cure it. It is not to end it. It is to bring it on to one's self or another. It isn't sustainable. You have a god that does not help pain, but passes it on. (Shira Clarwen and her ancestor who sought to give her the amulet?)

Another extreme taken to an extreme. Unsustainable.

Umberlee I actually like for one reason.

She is the sea incarnate. The whims of the ocean. The cruelty, the tumultuous violence, the senselessness-- and man's desperate need to appease it despite the futility of it all. The desperate need we feel to have some level of control over it. Maybe if we appease her or if we can gain her favor somehow--

We make foolish offerings in her name. We name our boats after women-- mothers-- to feel protected on the waves, almost reverting to a child like state in the face of her power. We pray to her, revere her in the hopes that she will spare us.

She has no real demands that we can understand. We can pretend we understand. We give her things that we would want. Gold. Riches. A piece of the treasure her benevolence allowed us to take. But really? She will turn on you for no real reason, and we are left to speculate.

She is the brutality of nature. A thing that man cannot tame or understand or truly appease. Her domain is vast and beautiful and she will protect it viciously. Sometimes, she will destroy you simply because she can.

Give her what you will, should it make you feel better. Offer up what you can. There is no true way to know. You can hope and pray. You can watch your step. It might not matter in the slightest.

She is the patron of those who roam the seas and are dependent on Her whims. She is a form of nature. Cruel, lovely, and yet, we cannot resist. We traverse it because we feel the need-- because we must. But that will not save you.

There are some varied examples of what I think of the Gods. I highly prefer the ones that are open about their indifference. They are patrons of something, and not here for humanity. I find the ones that utterly rely on humanoid worship and yet remain utterly indifferent or even cruel absurd and irritating. Shar and her bullshit and the the ones like her. Even worse are the ones that claim to be 'virtuous' and yet use that Godhood for nothing.

I am sure there are good things to be said about Good Gods, but they seem like celebrities to me. They come out once in a blue moon and do some miracle that costs them nothing and demand worship for the next 200 years while they allow horrific things to happen to those that give them power. When questioned? Always some bullshit nebulous answer. It is the people who worship them who do good. They are ideas to uphold, and that is the only true good they serve.

The evil Gods? The manmade Gods like the Dead Three? At least they are open. They are honest-- and that is more than you can say for most of these Gods. The rest are figureheads that cannot even get off their own ass to stand for their ideals. They rely on man to carry it out.

So I ask: Do we really need them? Other than the devastation they threaten? Other than fear? What use are they? The evil Gods offer fear openly and readily. The others? A silent threat. A waiting fist. A sheathed sword.

Mystra? Oh, the almighty goddess of Magic. Without her, the weave dissipates. So, that means she gets to run rampant, because what is one life-- or millions-- against her own? The greater evil for a lesser good, I suppose? Lathander, who could not protect his own devout and yet wielded the power of the morning sun?

And what of the afterlife? What of that promise? That security? It is known that Shar will abandon her followers once they die. Is it truly outlandish to believe the others do too? They didn't care about you when you gave them power-- when you were alive. What use are you to them now? A bronze piece they cannot trade? A weight in their pocket? Useless.

The kingdoms are built by mortal hands. They are maintained by mortal hands. They are protected by mortal hands. The gods claim credit, but what is it, exactly, that they truly deserve credit for? Morals? A symbol? What is it? The masons who laid the stone? The young men who died protecting it? The wisdom of the king who ruled it?

The raiders earn their credit, as do their Gods. They own the blood on their swords. The meat in their teeth. The cruelty in their hearts. They earn it. Their God sits as an advisor, ever present and ever demanding. Palpable.

That's more than I can say for the pantheon. Faerun or otherwise.

[nonsenseflowerpoetry]

INTERFLORA, COS I

[excuse me, i apologise-]

i’ve gone live and have already fluffed my lines 

cast your eyes on the book they’re etched onto  

puppet-like politeness always comes to mind 

cursory cotton-wool, wall-to-wall whiteness  

[she likes your attitude/she tries it on for size]

i’m no artist, nor am i a muse-  

but i’m here; surprised, ruby-red and velvet led/  

enthused by the lady-of-the-flowers aesthetic 

imaginary friend who snatched away the pen 

scribbled in the margin and sketched me instead/ 

a barely brushed bedhead of tanin stained tangles 

cratered skin and dry lips beneath botched bangs 

my meandering melancholy met megalomania 

acquainted and inflamed in the witching hours 

wrote over my pixelated polly-pocket stories 

thought they were wistful and nonsensical 

suffused with discourses of lingering impurity 

the martyr’s notion that she’s unclean, a libertine. 

so they darkened the endings with elderberries 

let the value judgements rot with the roses 

a pocketful of posies/ 

pain-ridden and petal-lined 

figments of fascination fossilised/ 

antique faraway tree fantasy 

forged by a fuzzy, fruitless prototype/ 

implicit, indirect and ill-defined 

clumsily crafted from shards of sapphire 

babbling between breaths, half-heartedly alive  

head-spun and hardwired to hide my eyes 

in case she sees what lies behind them 

gears which grind and catch on my skin 

i reject/respectfully decline this feeling. 

i bit myself once, now i’m twice as shy 

she styles out baby-faced with brilliance  

whereas, i’m moon-shaped and mourning/ 

marred by meta-reflection midnight oil 

mouthing spells and clutching the table 

like the time i shocked the unshockable 

so this child of time would weep no more 

because i should, ought and must 

so much, and so often- 

pen grips perpetually paralyse/ 

paper-cuts as friendly reminders 

i’m sharing a skull with this fuck up/ 

god forbid, i become unstuck and own my space 

bathe in the glow-worm glimmer/garnet tinted 

[it seemed to last for hours] [it seemed to last for days] 

watch it wither as i weep/lay everything to waste 

sprouting speculation from seeds of self-sabotage/ 

standing steadfast and staring as our stars crossed 

because the light embossed was never my shine/  

it was inherited. that said, i loved the lend in it/ 

such sentiments static, shadowed by sediment 

which i’ll spirit away and treasure forever 

This poem was inspired by the song “Lady of the Flowers” by Placebo 🌸

[timepulse]

hee hee tag drop.

[snakereign-a]

𝑮𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑪   𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑬.    :      bold what applies to your muse,    italicize what sometimes applies to them.     repost,   don’t reblog.

𝘞𝘜𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘙𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘏𝘌𝘐𝘎𝘏𝘛𝘚.    the wildness of open spaces. withered trees with limbs like spiders.  abandoned homes.   two souls that are the same.   dying young.  the ghost of a girl. revenge that does not satisfy. tapping at the window.  knowing too much of the pains of others.   cruelty that doesn’t fade.  an unresolved past. marrying, but not for love.   rolling hills.  hair flying in the blustering wind.  sudden illness. disinterment.  the deep pain of loss. carrying a namesake that is not your own.  facing a storm head on. an accent thick upon the tongue.  a figure on the horizon, shrouded by mist.  ageing walls and rotting floorboards.   intruding upon the wake of destruction.  wasting away. together in death.

𝘑𝘈𝘕𝘌 𝘌𝘠𝘙𝘌.   the madwoman in the attic.  candle-flame and burn stains. soft laughter. a fire roaring in the hearth. silence in the halls. folded hands over modest skirts.   the pain of being wronged. a wedding interrupted at the altar.  dark brows.  a horse riding up the path.  the isolation of a church. grey skies.  landscape as bleak as your soul.   finding sanctuary.  a bird flying free from its cage. discovering your worth. returning to a place that feels like home.  falling in love in spite of yourself.   schoolyards full of children. lying in bed while clasping a loved one’s hands in yours.   hopeless prayers. hiding in an alcove to read. timid but strong. being true to oneself above all.

𝘍𝘙𝘈𝘕𝘒𝘌𝘕𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘐𝘕. grand prose. the glory of nature.  playing god. the spark of madness that drives creation.  stripped down to shirtsleeves.  the gritty streets of the city.  staying awake too long.   snow-capped peaks. retreating from society. innocent recollections that become twisted. a lost paradise. lightning across a dark sky.  to be destined for one alone.  shouting from the top of a mountain. strewn corpses. the implements of a surgeon scattered across a surface.  a bride on her wedding night.   books left open to gather dust, pulled from shelves. dark circles beneath the eyes. the deathly pallor of a corpse. things alive that shouldn’t be. desiring a love of your own. feeling your soul restored with a bliss that cannot last. icy terrain. unsatisfactory endings.

𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘗𝘏𝘈𝘕𝘛𝘖𝘔 𝘖𝘍 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘖𝘗𝘌𝘙𝘈. the long, fatal crack across a mirror. unearthly voices echoing through the dark.   a duet.  snow falling against statues of angels. the lament of a violin’s strings.  resurrected hopes. the sensation of being watched. candles blowing out on their own.  masquerade revellers. unrequited love.  the snapping of a noose. an obscured face. the scintillating light of an ornate chandelier. mysterious and inexplicable catastrophes. watching your dreams shatter. curtains drawing back from a stage. devils that are angels.  a soft kiss on the forehead.   scratches of red ink.  long capes and gloved hands. retreating to the rooftop. being led in a trance. love as your undoing and your salvation.

𝘕𝘖𝘙𝘛𝘏𝘈𝘕𝘎𝘌𝘙 𝘈𝘉𝘉𝘌𝘠. the turrets of a gothic mansion made of stone. portraits looming above the stairwell. suspicion of all around you. dreaming of grandeur, awaking to normalcy.   the sound of a carriage coming up the street. top hats and fine suits. dancing at a ball. the lavish throes of society. the thrill of being introduced. a mystery that goes ignored. chests that harbour secrets.  old love letters.   thumbing through the pages of a novel. disappointing the one you admire. the appearance of indifference. having your heart played with.  grand rooms housing past memories.  mistaken first impressions.  affluent personages.  kissing in the garden.

𝘋𝘙𝘈𝘊𝘜𝘓𝘈.    your life draining out of you. a castle on a lonely precipice. fog spreading through woodlands. dutifully kept journals.  enthusiastic correspondence with one you love. blood dripping down the chin.  a tongue stroking sharp teeth. the howling of wolves coming closer.  wreathes of garlic hung about the room. rosary beads and crucifixes. violence that spans centuries. tall figures that cast long shadows.  disturbing the silence of a grave.  the sensation of leaving your homeland.   not dead, only sleeping. last wishes. a long and arduous journey.   an ominous ship at sea.   the sound of shovels in the basement. eerie lights that obstruct your path. goblets of blood red wine.  a stake through the heart.  to be at peace at last.

tagged by:    @lucidwtch​ but not really <3  /    tagging:    you!

[esotevic-a-blog]

tag dump vol. 1

JIM MORIARTY

faceclaim.

character study.

aesthetic.

headcanon.

likes.

CHARACTERS

sebastian moran.

sherlock holmes.

VERSES

child verse.

main verse.

OTHER

ask.

crack.

promo.

[iammyowngodandmartyr]

🕷 SHES GONNA SAVE ME CALL ME BABY RUN HER HANDS THROUGH MY HAIR 🕷

[gatekeepcr]

O1.

[rainecreatesstuff]

escaping is not the same as running away- chapter 3

thoughts are not for the lonely:

Characters: Ranboo, Tubbo, Tommy, Michael_Beloved

Relationships: Ranboo & Tubbo (qp), Tommy & Tubbo (p), Tommy & Ranboo (p), Ranboo & Michael_Beloved (f), Tubbo and Michael_Beloved (f)

Warnings: Mentions of martyrdom and martyr ideologies, descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks.

Summary: 

Ranboo, Tubbo, Tommy, and Michael continue their journey to escape the SMP. Includes Bench Trio goofs, Allium Duo heart-to-hearts, and Michael_Beloved. Enjoy! :)

Ranboo glanced up at the sky as he rowed. The moon was reaching its apex, shining down brightly on the waves that surrounded them. A few clouds dotted the sky here and there, but overall, the skies were clear, giving a view of a beautiful starry sky. Tubbo was gazing at the stars with admiration. Ranboo wondered if his husband had ever seen the night sky so clearly before.

“Hey Tubso, you alright there?” Tommy asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Yeah, no, I’m good.” Tubbo glanced back to Tommy for a moment, then returned his gaze to the sky.

“What’re you thinking about?” Ranboo gently poked Tubbo’s foot with his own.

Tubbo pulled his gaze down to Ranboo, and paused for a moment, as if he were recollecting his thoughts.

“Just can’t remember the last time the sky was this clear.”

“God, yeah, last time we saw this many stars must’ve been before L’Manburg, huh?” Tommy rowed a few meters ahead of them, then took his hands off the paddles and stretched.

Looks like they were taking a break, then. Ranboo slowed the boat down, bringing it to float beside Tommy’s.

“Was the light pollution all that bad in early L’Manburg?” Ranboo stretched his back, bringing his hands above his head.

“Eh, early-early L’Manburg not so much, but once the walls were built…”

“Yeah, we had torches on the top, and also buildings n shit were popping up all over the place, so.”

Ranboo hummed.

“Then, of course, Manburg was pretty shit, and there was a bunch of light, and you were there for New L’Manburg, which glowed like a Christmas tree that's been set on fire, so, y’know, not a lot of stars.” Tubbo carefully shifted Michael in his arms as he spoke, laying the toddler down so his head rested on Tubbo’s lap.

“There were a lot of lanterns,” Ranboo stated grimly.

Tubbo laughed.

“Yeah, there were. Gotta admit they were pretty though.”

“Oh, definitely. Definitely fit the aesthetic.”

Tommy snorted.

“‘The Aesthetic.’ You can say spruce wood.”

“Oh shut up, spruce is a great block to build with.” Tubbo cut in.

“You could have chosen oak wood and cobblestone, but you went with spruce.”

“Yeah, ‘cause we didn’t want it to look like an abomination.”

“Oak and cobble are lovely blocks! You know why so many villages are built with them? Because they look good. You know why so few villages are built with spruce? It’s a lesser block.”

“Mhm, you’re one to talk about what looks good. Not like you’ve built several ugly cobblestone railroads.”

“My railroads are beautiful.”

Ranboo laughed as quietly as he could at the back and forth, not wanting to draw their attention away. They continued arguing, and Ranboo saw Michael stir a bit.

“Tubbo.”

Tubbo’s head shot in his husband’s direction, then down at Michael, who was blinking sleepily. Tubbo’s face became one of pure agony.

“It’s alright, go back to sleep. Sorry about that Mikey.” Tubbo gently ran his hand through Michael’s mane, soothing him back to sleep.

The toddler mumbled something half-heartedly, and was out again. Partially against their own wills, Ranboo and Tubbo both let out a sigh of relief.

“Who knew all it took to make Tubbo go soft was a piglin child,” Tommy said, an amused smile on his face.

“You haven’t dealt with a toddler that doesn’t want to sleep before man.” Ranboo gazed at Tommy with what he hoped would be read as horror.

Tubbo laughed quietly as Tommy snorted.

“Can’t be that big of a deal.”

Tubbo perked up.

“Great! Once we’ve got our houses and stuff built, he can stay in yours for a night! I’m sure you’ll have so much fun!” Tubbo spoke with a practiced smile and a faux-cheery tone, his eyes aflame with something sinister.

Sometimes Ranboo was reminded of just how happy he was that he wasn’t Tubbo’s enemy.

“Ahahaaa… yeah… sure…” Tommy rubbed the back of his neck, “Let’s keep going, yeah?”

Tubbo cackled, and Ranboo rolled his eyes fondly.

“I thank the gods above every day that you’ll never have the opportunity to be a suburban mom.” Ranboo took the paddles back in his hands and began rowing again, straightening out so he was travelling in the right direction.

“Fuck you, I’d be a great suburban mom.”

“Yeah, that’s my fear.”

“He’d be terrifying. He would rule the neighbourhood with an iron fist. Michael would be an iPad kid.” Tommy tossed in.

“Oh gods, no. Not an iPad kid.”

“Yes, Ranboo, an iPad kid. And you would be a malewife.”

Ranboo spluttered, laughing.

“I- why?”

Tommy levelled him with an unimpressed look.

“Well, look at you.”

Tubbo turned away sharply, holding a fist to his mouth in a desperate attempt to stop himself from laughing. The other hand still ran soothingly through Michael’s hair.

“Gee, thanks, Tommy, really- really means a lot, man.”

Tommy snickered as Tubbo coughed into his fist. Tubbo eventually regained his composure, and turned back to Ranboo.

“Aw, it’s okay Boo. You’d make a great malewife.”

“I hate every part of this. I’m going back.” Ranboo mocked jumping out of the boat.

“Noooo, Boo, I didn’t mean it. You’re not a malewife I promise.”

“When we find land I am throwing you.”

“You will not.”

“I will.”

“No.”

“The decision has already been made, Tubbo. There is no going back now.”

Tubbo groaned lightheartedly as Ranboo laughed quietly to himself. Tommy laughed beside them.

“Tubbo will simply kick you lots. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Tubbo froze, and Ranboo paused, slowly turning to face Tommy.

“Wait, have you never picked up Tubbo before?”

“Not successfully.”

Ranboo grinned. Tubbo glared at him with fire in his eyes.

“Ranboo. I will make you regret every decision you have ever made if you tell him.”

“Jokes on you, I already regret most of my decisions,” Ranboo turned back to Tommy, “So, like he just doesn’t let you, or…?”

Tommy’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“I- yeah? Like he just kicks you, right? And then squirms out.”

“Tommy, my friend, you have been going about this the wrong way,”

“Ranboo I swear to all things holy if you mutter another word-“

“So, basically, you kinda just have to-“

“Ranboo-“

“Put your hands under his arms and hold him out, like a-“

“I’m going to kill you-“

“Displeased cat.”

“You’re so dead. You are all types of dead. I am going to push you out of this boat.”

Tubbo reached over and shoved Ranboo as much as he could without waking up the toddler asleep on his lap. Ranboo laughed evilly as Tommy watched the two with confusion.

“What, and he’ll stop kicking?”

“Oh, no, he’ll still kick, but his legs won’t be able to reach you. He’ll just tire himself out until you can carry him normally.”

“I hate you so much.” Tubbo pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

Ranboo giggled, “Aw, thanks, love you too, Bo.”

Tommy was looking between Ranboo and Tubbo with something akin to awe.

“Ranboo. My friend. You have made a revolutionary discovery. You have done the gods’ work.”

“Tommy if you even try to pick me up, I will just kill you in your sleep.”

“Ah, but now I have the knowledge that I can simply just pick you up and you will be rendered defenceless.”

Tubbo huffed.

“You two are lucky you’re my friends.”

“We are,” Ranboo said without thinking.

Tubbo visibly softened, like a switch had been flipped. He looked as if he was about to say something, then stopped himself, tilting his head downwards to look at Michael as his hand combed through the kid’s hair. Tommy fake-gagged, and Tubbo rolled his eyes affectionately.

“Shut up, Tommy.”

Tommy laughed, and a pleasant quiet settled over the trio. Ranboo and Tommy rowed in silence as Tubbo began humming a song Ranboo had never heard before. They continued on until it must’ve been one or two in the morning, what with the moon being where it was. Ranboo was beginning to grow sore, and he was sure Tommy must be as well. Tubbo yawned as Ranboo slowed down the boat, Tommy coming to a drift beside them.

“Should we take a break for now?” Ranboo let go of the paddles, not waiting for an answer.

“Please.” Tommy shook his hands before pulling them to his chest and examining them.

Ranboo hoped he hadn’t gotten any splinters. Those would be a pain to deal with right now.

Tubbo rubbed his eyes before turning his head back up to face Ranboo.

“Do you want me to take over for a while?”

“No, you need sleep too, you haven’t slept well recently.” Ranboo reached across the boat to brush Tubbo’s hair out of his eyes, making eye contact with him briefly.

That was something Ranboo had been noticing recently. As much as Tubbo did try to accommodate for his usual dislike of eye contact, he hadn’t found himself becoming agitated at eye contact with Tubbo for a while. If he held it too long, it became uncomfortable, but he suspected that it was mostly just social awkwardness, nothing Enderman-y. He did find that he enjoyed making eye contact with Tubbo though, just for a couple moments when they were safe at home. It felt the same way that giving a hug did.

Tubbo blinked once, then drew his gaze away from Ranboo’s. Ranboo tried to ignore the disappointment that came with it.

“I’ll be fine if I need to.”

“Yeah, but you don’t need to. Get some rest. I’ll be fine.”

Tubbo eyed him suspiciously.

“You’ll wake me if you need anything. Got it?”

“Of course.”

“… Alright.” Tubbo carefully pulled Michael into his arms, then slowly sat down on the floor of the boat.

Ranboo turned around and grabbed a blanket from one of their bags, draping it over Tubbo and Michael. He passed Tubbo a rolled-up hoodie, which Tubbo put behind his head to act as a sort of travel pillow. Tubbo yawned again, pulling a yawn from Ranboo and Tommy as well.

“Goodnight, Boo.”

“Night Bo.”

“Night Toms.”

“Sleep well Tubs.”

And with that, Tubbo promptly passed out. Ranboo quietly giggled to himself at how quickly Tubbo fell asleep. A part of him was glad Tubbo felt so safe around him, but another worried how tired he must have been to have fallen asleep like that. Ranboo turned around, surveying their surroundings.

A shoal was just a hundred or so metres away. He pointed it out to Tommy, who groaned theatrically, then picked his paddles back up and began rowing in the direction of the shoal. Ranboo followed, and they carefully docked their boats as best they could in the sand. Ranboo grabbed a piece of rope from his own bag, and tied his and Tommy’s boats together.

“Just in case.” He smiled, and Tommy nodded.

Tommy stretched, and got into a similar position to Tubbo’s. Instead of falling asleep, though, he turned to the horizon, watching the waves.

Ranboo opened his bag completely, checking on Enderchest, who seemed displeased. The cat meowed unhappily as Ranboo picked her up, placing her on his lap. She stepped off his lap and onto the seat, batting at his hands as he tried to stop her. She settled on the edge of the boat, looking down into the shallow water curiously. With a quick whap at the water, her ears flattened, and she returned to Ranboo’s lap.

He pet her for a while until a loud purr rumbled from her throat. Ranboo opened his inventory, grabbing a couple small fish, and fed her.

“Get why Tubbo calls you a catboy now.”

“C’mon, man, it was so peaceful.”

Tommy cackled.

“You did start purring the second your cat did. You are literally just a big cat.”

Ranboo tried to will his tail to stop hitting the floor in an annoyed manner. It did not work.

“No. Go to sleep.”

Tommy laughed, but pulled a blanket onto himself.

“I take it you don’t plan on sleeping?”

“No. I figure someone should stay awake, just in case something happens. A storm could roll in, or something.” Ranboo idly pet Enderchest as he spoke.

He didn’t mention that being surrounded by water prevented him from calming down enough to sleep, but it seemed like minor enough of a detail to leave out.

Tommy hummed.

“You mentioned… You mentioned Tubbo hasn’t been sleeping?”

Ranboo bit his lip.

“Yeah. He’s, uh, he’s been staying out later, not coming back until well after Michael’s gone to bed. And then he’ll usually stay at his desk for a few hours before I can convince him to come to bed. At least, at least when I’m around.” Ranboo sighed.

“Can’t say I haven’t found him asleep at his desk when I’ve come to visit, though.”

“Really?” Tommy seemed taken aback.

Ranboo frowned.

“I mean, yeah? It’s not really all that surprising that he stays up late, I mean, when I’m there I usually have to like- lure him to bed with promises of like, his favourite breakfast or something in the morning.”

“…Huh.”

“Is that.. abnormal, for him?” Ranboo’s tail swished against the floor.

“Uh, no, not the overworking part. Surprised you find him at his desk though. As long as I’ve known him he’s always woken up at sunrise.”

“Even when he’s been up late?”

“Especially then,” Tommy picked at a loose thread in his blanket, “He slept pretty lightly most nights, but especially when he was up late, so he’d wake up the second the sun got in the windows.”

Ranboo hummed. That was… weird. Since he began staying in the same house as Tubbo, Tubbo usually wouldn’t wake up until at least eight or nine. He told this to Tommy, whose eyebrows raised with surprise. Ranboo watched as Tommy bit his lip, then looked up at Ranboo pensively. Ranboo suddenly felt the urge to sit up straighter.

“What?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You. And Tubbo.” Tommy’s gaze drifted over to the goat hybrid, who was still fast asleep beside his son.

“What about us?”

“… Just that it’s good you help him sleep ‘n take care of himself ‘n shit.”

Ranboo felt his face grow warm against his will.

“Oh, I don’t- I don’t think it’s me, I think it’s probably just ‘cause he’s, he’s uh, not president and stuff anymore? So he’s probably been a lot more relaxed.”

Tommy looked at him amusedly.

“I’ve known Tubbo for a while. When we first met, he’d wake up at sunrise to take care of his bees and check up on his redstone machines. He was a bit like a farm boy in that regard,” Tommy said, turning his gaze back to the ocean.

“Then, the independence war happened, and we were trained to wake up at sunrise every day. Even when we stayed up until ridiculous hours, sitting around a campfire and singing and being dumb, Wilbur would be in our bunks at five in the morning with a bell. You don’t just lose that kind of training. Hell, I didn’t lose it ‘til I stayed with Techno.”

Ranboo wondered a bit where this was going.

“Then of course there was the Schlatt presidency, and Pogtopia. And I think I saw Tubbo sleep a total of three times when he was with us. Then he was president, and I’m not sure his sleep schedule ever improved.”

Ranboo hummed.

“Yeah, I get that. I, um, used to wander around L’Manburg at night sometimes and, and he was usually also out, or his lights were on.” Ranboo recalled.

“Exactly. Even when he first started Snowchester, as far as I know he never stopped waking up at sunrise. And it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he didn’t sleep much.”

“Yeah. He, uh, he seemed like- gaunt, almost.”

“Yeah.”

Tommy sighed.

“Point is, you’ve gotten him to break that habit, which is pretty fucking awesome, so. Good job, or whatever.”

Ranboo felt distinctly out of his area of expertise. He hadn’t really done anything. If anything, he’d probably annoyed Tubbo into sleeping in.

“I- um, thank you? But honestly, I really didn’t do anything.”

Tommy glanced back over to him for a moment.

“Alright.”

The two fell into a soft silence, the only sound being the waves gently lapping against the side of their boats. Enderchest curled up in Ranboo’s lap, falling asleep quickly as he pet her. Tommy yawned, drawing a yawn from Ranboo as well.

Tommy stared out the side of his boat opposite to Ranboo, his gaze settled on the horizon. Ranboo wondered again how Tubbo had managed to convince Tommy to come with them. Of course, Ranboo was almost certain that if Tommy hadn’t come, they wouldn’t have left in the first place.

Even if he and Tubbo hadn’t been as close recently as they used to be, Tommy was Tubbo’s person. His “other half,” if you want to get cliche. There was no Tubbo without Tommy. At least, not the same Tubbo.

“How are you holding up with… with leaving?”

Tommy rolled his head back in Ranboo’s direction.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Memory Boy?” He grinned.

It was still deflection. Ranboo bit his lip.

“So. Um. I take it not that great, then?”

Tommy laughed quietly to himself.

“I don’t even know at this point. One second I’m over the moon and the next I feel like screaming.”

“I get that,” Ranboo spoke softly, “Or, I guess I don’t get it, really, but I understand. You guys have been there a lot longer than me. There were probably a lot of places and people that were really important to you.”

Tommy hummed.

“Yeah, something like that. It’s weird, innit? Knowing you’ll probably never see some of those people again.”

Ranboo had to agree. The fact that he might never hear Niki’s voice again nibbled at the back of his brain like a mouse. He hoped she’d be open to talk through their communicators, but really, at this point it was a coin toss with most people in the SMP.

“A bit, yeah. It feels kinda odd knowing that I’ll probably never pass by Foolish working on some big project again.”

“Or by Eret’s castle. That’s one of the big ones for me. Don’t know why, honestly.”

“Fair. Her castle was kinda like… a staple of the SMP.”

“The only thing that hasn’t been blown up at some point.”

“Gods bless the power of pride flags.”

Tommy laughed, his head falling back and hitting the seat gently. Ranboo smiled.

“The two greatest powers of the SMP: Withers, and six stripes of colour.” Tommy quipped.

“I mean, Techno’s house was technically blown up.”

Tommy threw him a curious look. Ranboo giggled to himself for a moment.

“Okay so, you know how Phil will like, hyper-focus on things sometimes?”

Tommy nodded.

“So, basically, he was showing his flock something, I think it was some trinket he’d found while he was adventuring. I guess he must’ve left the doors open, because this creeper just walked like, right in, nothing stopping it, and blew up.”

Tommy snorted.

“Dude, Phil was freaking out. Techno was literally on his way home from the Nether and like half of Techno’s chests and paintings and stuff had been blown up. So I go over to see what’s happened, and Phil is just sitting on the floor surrounded by pieces of paintings like it’s a puzzle.”

“Oh god, the old man has no spatial reasoning, did he fix it in time?”

“He saw me walk in, yelled ‘Don’t just stand there, help,’ and then threw a box of ripped up paintings at me.”

Tommy laughed, loud and clear, and Ranboo grinned.

“So we’re sitting there on the floor frantically putting these paintings back together, and Phil’s getting messages from Techno saying he’ll be home soon, and that’s just making us mess up more. And you’ve seen Techno’s house, half the paintings have the exact same colour palette, so we end up getting half of it wrong and slapping it on the wall anyways.”

Ranboo laughed quietly as Tommy buried his head in his knees to avoid laughing.

“Long story short, we did eventually get them figured out, and Techno walked in like, literally a minute later. Thing is, we forgot to cover up the scent of gunpowder, so.”

“Oh god, what did the Blade do when he found out?”

“Oh, man, it was terrifying. It was Phil, so of course Techno didn’t care, but Phil was gonna blame it on me. I would’ve died, man, that would’ve been it for me.”

Tommy chuckled.

“Nah, Techno’s got a soft spot for you. No way he’d kill his favourite random teenager he picked up off the street.”

“Oh! Speaking of that!”

Ranboo opened his inventory, carefully pulling out the netherite Techno had given him. He handed the full set to Tommy, who looked at it with awe in his eyes.

“Yoooo…” Tommy whispered, running his hands over it.

His hand paused at the collar of the chest plate, where the enchantments were inscribed.

“Techno made this.” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement.

“Oh, yeah, I guess his writing is pretty recognizable.”

“No, I mean,” Tommy began handing it back to Ranboo, “He probably wouldn’t want me to use it, ‘specially if he gave it to you.”

Ranboo frowned, pushing the armour back.

“He gave it to me for you.”

Tommy looked taken aback, his mouth open slightly and his eyebrows high on his forehead. He pulled the armour back to his chest, running his thumb over the engraved enchantments.

“Good thing I left him the axe, then.” Tommy muttered.

Ranboo hummed.

“Do you want to try it on?”

“Nah, it’ll fit.” Tommy stared at the armour a moment longer, then woke from his stupor, opening his inventory and carefully placing the four armour pieces inside it.

If Ranboo didn’t know any better, he’d think Tommy was in shock. He was just kind of staring ahead of himself, a soft frown on his face. His hands fiddled with the blanket at his chest, and he chewed on his lip.

“Tommy? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, just thinking.”

“You seem to do that a lot.”

“Yeah.”

Ranboo continued petting Enderchest, praying silently that the lull in the conversation wasn’t an awkward one. He couldn’t always tell, so moments like these were a bit stressful. He felt like he should be filling it up in some way, but at the same time, he didn’t want to make Tommy talk if he didn’t want to.

“I, um, I know we’re not like, super close or anything, but if you ever need to talk, I’m here to listen.” He offered Tommy a smile, and Tommy smiled back awkwardly.

“Thanks big man.”

“Of course.”

Tommy stared at the water again for a few moments, before drawing in a breath.

“How has Techno been? Since, uh, since Doomsday? Haven’t really spoken to him.”

“Oh! I think he’s been doing pretty well. I uh, know it’s kind of a sore topic, but, uh, I think blowing up L’Manburg kinda got most of the vengeance out of him so, that’s good.”

Tommy snorted.

“Oh, Niki’s kind of been hanging out with us recently. Not a lot, but I think Techno really enjoys having her around. She’s very skilled and I think he respects her a lot.”

Tommy smiled.

“Good for them. He and Niki were friends back in Pogtopia, you know? So it’s nice they’re like, talking again.”

“Yeah. It was nice having Niki around. I think being around us also helped her. She seems happier than when she started coming around.”

“Yeah, Niki’s awesome.”

“Phil really likes having her around too, they’ll bake together some days. The crows love her, but they love pretty much everyone, so.”

Tommy stifled a laugh.

“Please, do not remind me of the birds. I was outside one day and I guess they thought my hair looked like gold because they decided to start plucking it.”

Ranboo laughed.

“You’ll be happy to know I’ve added one more bird to the ranks then.”

“You are everything that is wrong with this world.”

His laugh dissolved into a giggle, and Tommy giggled as well. The air had loosened again, and Ranboo could barely hold back his sigh of relief.

“But uh, yeah, Techno’s been well. He hibernated for a long while, and he’s been training quite a bit, but every time I’ve spoken to him he’s seemed pretty happy. Uh, until today, that is.”

“Did he give you trouble leaving?”

“Not really, but I think before I explained everything he kind of thought I was just leaving them? So he seemed kinda bitter at first, but once I explained everything he seemed fine.” Enderchest nearly rolled off his lap as he spoke, so he gently picked her up and placed her back in his bag, zipping it up halfway.

“That’s probably my fault.” Tommy’s voice was tinted with regret, the emotion evident on his face.

Ranboo bit his lip.

“I don’t think it’s your fault. He kind of put you in a difficult situation. Everyone did, if I’m being honest. You were kinda forced to choose between two people you cared about which pretty much never ends well.”

“I don’t regret choosing Tubbo. Do regret leaving Techno a bit. Weird innit?” Tommy rolled his head back, “That I can both regret and not regret the same decision.”

Ranboo hummed.

“I mean, I don’t think so. You were kinda forced to make two decisions, one being going with Tubbo and the other being leaving Techno. They were on opposite sides.”

“That’s your whole thing, yeah? Choosing people, not sides.”

“Yeah. I try not to choose sides whenever I can. I think it’s unfair to have to choose between people just because their ideologies don’t perfectly match up.”

“Fair. Would’ve been interesting to have you around during the first war. ‘M glad you didn’t come until later.”

Ranboo tilted his head.

“Why’s that?”

Tommy shifted uncomfortably.

“There was a lot of choosing. Dream used to be our friend, y’know? Then, of course, Wilbur started L’Manburg and I guess Dream lost it a little bit. It was kinda like, if you weren’t on our side, you were on theirs, which obviously doesn’t make much sense in hindsight.” Tommy sighed.

“Just, you probably wouldn’t have had a very good time. Wilbur was… a little extreme at times. D’you know I died twice during that war?”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, once in the final control room, then again in a duel with Dream.” Tommy rubbed his chest as he spoke, like he could still feel the wounds.

“Yeah. Wilbur had a bit of a ‘Your country is more important than your life’ approach to things. Not that he wanted us to die, but. Y’know how it is.”

Ranboo distinctly did not “know how it is.” He wondered how often Wilbur spoke like that. He could feel dots connecting themselves as Tommy spoke.

“Did he say stuff like that a lot?”

Tommy shrugged, “Eh, not all the time, but quite a bit, yeah. You’re leading a war, you kinda have to give the big speeches about martyrdom ‘n all that.”

Part of Ranboo wanted to hop into Tommy’s boat and give him a hug, though he knew Tommy was still re-adjusting to touch and wouldn’t appreciate it. He and Tubbo must have been, what, sixteen? And they had one of the people they looked up to the most telling them their country’s independence was more important than their own lives. Whether he believed it or not, Wilbur must have been a pretty bad guy to even consider putting that thought in their heads.

Ranboo felt a bit ill just thinking about it. He was reminded of all the times he’d panicked at some stupid thought he’d had, and Tubbo had been forced to help him out of it, and felt a bit guilty. Tubbo must have gone through so much worse than anything Ranboo could ever imagine. He deserved to rest. So did Tommy. Everything about the situation was just so messed up.

He was glad they’d gotten out before something else went wrong and added onto the ever-growing list of reasons why Ranboo wanted to protect Tubbo and Tommy.

“Don’t look so upset, man. That’s just how war is.”

“You shouldn’t have been there. You don’t deserve to go through that.”

Tommy’s lips tightened into a line.

“Maybe not. But what’s done is done. Nothing we can do about it now.”

“You know that what he was saying isn’t true though, right? Nothing is more important than you being alive and safe.” Ranboo spoke in a soft tone, his voice quieting even more so than before.

Tommy stared at him.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” His voice went a bit high pitched, and he cleared his throat, “I, uh, yeah, no yeah, it was a bunch of bullshit.”

“M’kay, good,”

Tommy was eyeing him weirdly, he could feel it, even as he didn’t see it. He shifted in his seat, biting his lip. His hands began fidgeting with the hem of his jacket.

“I just, um, know what it’s like, a tiny bit, to have thoughts kinda like that in your head, and it’s not- it’s not fun, so. Just wanted to, uh, make sure you’re okay.” Ranboo smiled as best he could.

Tommy watched him curiously, but didn’t push.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” He shrugged.

“Okay.” Ranboo sighed to himself, making sure Tommy wouldn’t hear.

Deep conversations were hard.

“Are you gonna at least get more comfortable? We’re probably gonna be here a while.” Tommy said as Ranboo shifted again.

“Probably a good idea.” Ranboo carefully sat on the floor of the boat, opposite Michael so he could sit comfortably with his knees to his chest.

As he readjusted, Tubbo groaned in his sleep. Ranboo moved carefully, grabbing Tubbo’s hand in his own and holding it. Tubbo squeezed back in his sleep, and Ranboo had to stop himself from audibly cooing.

“Ugh. How long do you think you two are gonna be all gross and husbandy?” Tommy asked with mock disgust.

Ranboo stifled a laugh.

“If all goes according to plan, forever.”

“Ew.”

Ranboo broke into a giggle as Tommy snickered from the other boat.

“Whatever. Just don’t be gross in front of me. Frankly, it’s weird.”

“I literally just held his hand.”

“Disgusting.”

Ranboo rolled his eyes affectionately.

“Alright Mr. I Built Myself A Girlfriend.”

“I’ll have you know she was wonderful and treated me right.”

“She was a log with a jack o'lantern on top.”

“Small details.” Tommy made a gesture of waving Ranboo off.

“Mhm, mhm.”

“If you were not allergic to water I would be splashing you with it right now.”

Ranboo snickered.

“Aw, you do care.”

“Alright fuck it.”

Tommy made a show of drowsily splashing water against the side of Ranboo’s boat, and Ranboo snorted in amusement. Tommy sighed like he was exasperated, then yawned.

“Try to get some sleep dude.” Ranboo’s tone softened.

“You shouldn’t have to be up all alone,” Tommy mumbled tiredly.

Ranboo made a mental note to himself to write down that tired Tommy was sweeter than awake Tommy.

“It’s alright, if I need anything I’ll wake you up, alright?”

“Wake me up, not Tubbo.”

“Okay, I will.”

Tommy eyed him suspiciously, accidentally making eye contact with Ranboo. Ranboo decided it was definitely worse than eye contact with Tubbo, but nowhere near as horrible as it used to be with Tommy. Slight discomfort, not panic-inducing.

Baby steps, he supposed.

Tommy glanced away quickly.

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“I’m gonna sleep now.”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Night Ranboob.”

Ranboo sighed loudly and saw Tommy smirk as he closed his eyes.

And then there was one.

Ranboo took the opportunity to write in his memory book. With his luck, he’d wake up at some point in the next few days expecting to be back in the tundra, and he didn’t want Tubbo to have to pull him out of that panic.

He jotted down the events of the day, and some of the things he’d talked about with Tommy. He left himself a small reminder to keep a close eye on Tubbo, to make sure he was doing okay. And on Tommy, as well. And Michael.

He hoped they’d made the right decision by doing this. Maybe it was foolish to run off so quickly, without letting it sink in. It worried him to think that they might regret it later down the line. But right now, at this moment, Ranboo couldn’t find much in him to care. All he could focus on was the fact that now, his family would be safe. No more war bunkers, or TNT cannons (unless Tommy happened to be bored, he supposed). They could just grow up, and raise Michael, and live without the fear of death lurking around every corner.

Maybe they would regret it. One day. But today was not that day.

And so, Ranboo settled into the night, listening to the distant caws of seagulls and the occasional chirp from dolphins. He sat, and listened, and allowed himself to hope and daydream for a while, as the moon shifted in the sky. Eventually, the sky began to turn orange, the early rays of the sun peeking above the horizon.

He watched the sunrise, and for the first time in a while, he felt at peace. Not the faux-peace they had created back in the SMP lands, but really, truly peaceful. He felt as if he was finally coming home after a long day in the mines. Tired, but calm, and warm. And he could be with his family, and laugh, and feel safe.

Safe. What a precious, beautiful thing to feel.

A soft groaning arose from the other side of the boat. Ranboo turned, and saw a pink ear twitch. Soon, a tiny, hoof-like hand rose from the blanket and rubbed his son’s tired eye, who finally blinked his eye open and looked at Ranboo.

“Boo?”

“Hey, bud. Good morning.”

“Good mornin’.” Michael yawned, crawling out from under the blanket carefully, and flopping down beside Ranboo, leaning on his side.

Ranboo gently rubbed Michael’s arm, placing a kiss on his forehead.

“Did you sleep well?”

Michael groaned in response, and Ranboo giggled. He really did take after his other father.

“Do you want some breakfast?”

Michael nodded, and Ranboo opened his inventory, grabbing some bread. He ripped a small piece off for Michael, who looked at it for a moment in contemplation, then promptly shoved it in his mouth. Ranboo sighed.

“You’ve spent too much time around Mimi.” He smiled, petting Michael’s mane.

Michael grinned up at him, taking another bite of bread. Tubbo began to stir across from them, his eyes blinking open slowly.

“Morning Bo.”

Ranboo was met with a groan. He giggled to himself quietly.

“Five more minutes.”

“You can have as many minutes as you need.”

“It’s too early for you being nice, ‘m gonna accidentally tell you to fuck off. Leave me alone for like- just one more minute.” Tubbo mumbled.

Ranboo laughed, and Michael giggled beside him, chewing on his bread. Tubbo stared up at the sky, then glanced around, getting his bearings. Eventually, he brought his gaze back to Ranboo, and Ranboo leaned forward a bit until Tubbo got the hint and moved to bonk their foreheads together.

“Ugh. It’s too early for your husband shit.”

Ranboo sighed good-naturedly.

“Good morning, Tommy.”

He looked over to Tommy’s boat, where Tommy was stretching. He seemed a bit tired, but not as grumpy about waking up as Michael or Tubbo were.

Tubbo stretched as well, then reached into his inventory, retrieving some baked potatoes and steak. He handed them to Ranboo and Tommy, then took some for himself.

The group ate in silence for a while, letting the morning set in. Ranboo finished, and returned to his seat as Tommy did in the boat next to him, grabbing the paddles.

“Ah, no, I’m rowing now. You did it last night.” Tubbo stood carefully, gently kicking Ranboo’s shin.

Ranboo bit his lip. Tubbo had been so tired, and had gotten so little sleep. Ranboo could survive a couple more hours of rowing if it meant Tubbo got a bit more rest.

“Oh, that’s alright. I’ll be fine, I’m not tired.” Ranboo offered him a smile, to which Tubbo raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t care. Sit your bony ass down on the other seat or I’ll skin you.”

“Why do you always jump to skinning me?”

“Ranboo.”

Ranboo sighed. He supposed Tubbo could row for a bit, and then they could trade again…

“Fine.” Ranboo carefully moved around Tubbo, sitting on the seat opposite him.

Michael jumped up, sitting beside Ranboo and leaning into his side again. Tommy reached across the boats and untied them from each other, tossing the rope down onto the floor of his boat. Tommy and Tubbo began rowing, heading North.

“Hey, Tommy, are you sure you don’t want me to row for you for a while? You didn’t get much sleep last night, so…”

“I got enough. Rest, dumbass.”

Ranboo sighed, resigning to spending the next couple of hours doing nothing. He released Enderchest from his duffel, to which Michael squealed with delight. Enderchest purred as the toddler pet her gently, eventually curling up beside him on the seat.

Ranboo retrieved one of Michael’s books from his bag, and read to him for a while as the toddler clutched his plushie with one hand and pet Enderchest with the other. Ranboo finished the book, and returned it to its place in Michael’s bag. He opened his inventory, grabbing a couple small fish, and turning back to Michael.

“Here, can you feed Enderchest for me?”

Michael nodded excitedly. Ranboo smiled warmly.

“Alright. Hold your hand flat, like this.” Ranboo demonstrated with his own hand, holding it flat with his palm facing the sky.

Michael copied his movement, holding his hand out flat towards Ranboo. Ranboo carefully placed the fish on Michael’s hand, and the toddler wrinkled his nose. Ranboo laughed gently.

“Okay, now you can just move your hand in front of her, and she’ll eat them up!” He carefully guided his son’s hand in front of Enderchest, whose ears perked up at the scent of fish.

Her eyes opened, and she gingerly took one of the fish from Michael’s hand. Michael giggled, leaning backwards. Ranboo steadied him from behind, a grin on his face. Tubbo watched across from them, his eyes and smile soft. Ranboo’s tail wagged happily, gently slapping the inside of the boat.

Enderchest plucked the last fish from Michael’s hand, and Michael pulled his hand back, flapping it happily.

“Can I hug you, Mikey?” Ranboo asked.

Michael nodded, and Ranboo scooped him up, enveloping him in a hug. Michael hugged back as tight as he could, then pulled away, bumping his forehead against his dad’s. A soft purr rumbled from Ranboo’s chest, and Michael flopped down beside him again.

Ranboo yawned, and Tubbo lifted an eyebrow.

“Did you not sleep well last night?”

Ranboo paused. The tendrils of anxiety started gently tugging at his stomach and lungs. He could tell Tubbo he hadn’t slept, but then he would ask why, and Ranboo didn’t want him to think they were bothering him in any way…

“Oh, no, I did, I’m all good, just still a bit tired from travelling all night.” Ranboo smiled what he hoped was a convincing smile.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Tommy’s brow furrowed, “You stayed up to keep an eye on the boats.”

“I, um, fell asleep after you did?”

Tubbo frowned.

“That shouldn’t be a question, Boo.”

“Right, um, sorry, but, I really am okay! You know Endermen need less sleep than humans?”

“That’s a lie.”

“…Yeah.”

Ranboo wrung his hands nervously. Shoot, he’d probably just worried Tubbo more, and it wasn’t like there was anything either of them could do about the issue anyways. He didn’t really feel all that tired either, so it wasn’t really a problem. It’s not like he’d continued to travel all night, he had rested, he just hadn’t, y’know, slept.

“Did you not sleep at all? We could have taken turns, if you were worried. You don’t get to sacrifice your sleep just ‘cause you want us to sleep.” Tubbo watched him carefully, as if watching for any tells he might show.

“It’s, it’s not that, well, maybe it is, a bit? But, um not- not totally, at least, um…” Ranboo rubbed the back of his neck as his friends looked at him quizzically.

He really didn’t want to worry them. Or make them feel guilty. But he was probably just worrying them more by lying. Right? Or maybe not, maybe they were just upset that he’d lied, not worried. But Tubbo looked worried. Ugh, this sucked.

“So, you know how we’re, like, surrounded by, by water?” Ranboo began nervously.

Tubbo and Tommy nodded cautiously. Ranboo bit his lip, and saw something click in Tubbo brain.

“Is the water stressing you out?” He asked, slowly coming to a stop.

Ranboo gulped.

“Well, no, not- not really, it’s not like, stressing me out consciously, but, I think it might be an Enderman thing? Like, instinctual, or something. I, uh, I can’t fall asleep in boats, though. There’s just- too much water, like everywhere, and, uh… yeah,”

Tubbo looked at him sadly, and Ranboo felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. Great, now he’s made Tubbo feel bad, and Tommy probably did too, and Michael was probably confused why everyone was upset, and he was just stressing them all out, and they should have just left him behind-

“Woah, Boo, it’s alright, we’re okay, breathe.” Tubbo placed down his paddles, grabbing Ranboo’s hands as Tommy’s boat drifted up beside them.

“I’m sorry.” Ranboo said quietly.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything. Breathe. In for four, hold for six, out for seven, remember? Just like you do with me.” Tubbo exaggerated his breathing, and Ranboo copied him as best he could.

Guilt continued to tug at his stomach for making Tubbo deal with him.

“There we go. Alright. We’re not upset, or angry, or anything. I just wish you’d told us sooner so we could’ve figured out a better travel plan.” Tubbo explained, rubbing Ranboo’s hands.

Tommy hummed.

“We should be near land soon enough, so we can take horseback from there. We can probably rest for a while once we get to land too. Tubs and I will be tired from rowing anyways.” Tommy said lightly, gesturing behind him as he spoke.

“Yeah, I- yeah, don’t, don’t worry, I’m all good. I’ve stayed up much longer than this, I’m fine.” Ranboo said nervously.

Tubbo stared at him for a moment.

“You gotta understand why that’s not reassuring.”

Tommy stifled a laugh beside them, and Ranboo huffed.

“It’s true, though. I can, I can handle it, y’know? I’m not gonna, like, break just ‘cause I’m awake for longer than usual.”

“You should still get some sleep.” Tubbo argued.

Ranboo’s ears flattened against his head against his will, and Tubbo noticed, his expression softening. He glanced away for a minute, as if thinking, then snapped his fingers.

“What if we covered your eyes?”

Ranboo frowned.

“That sounds horrible.”

“You mean like with a blindfold?” Tommy asked.

“No, of course not a blindfold. What would he do if we got attacked or something?” Tubbo leaned down grabbing the blanket he and Michael had used to sleep.

“I mean, like, what if you slept with a blanket over your head? That way you wouldn’t be able to see the water, and maybe your Enderman instincts would chill out a bit.”

“Like a parrot.” Ranboo grimaced.

“Uhhh… Sort of, yeah.” Tubbo said, grinning.

“Alright, well, you heard the man, down on the floor with you.” Tommy said, pulling a theatrical groan from Ranboo.

“Seriously, Tubbo, I’m fine, I’d much rather just like, nap, once we find land.”

“Nope,” Tubbo said, popping the ‘p,’ “Sit on the floor.”

Ranboo obeyed hesitantly, and Tubbo tossed the blanket over his head. Ranboo’s tail whipped back and forth across the boat in annoyance, and he could feel himself blushing profusely.

“Is this revenge for something?” Ranboo asked lightheartedly.

Tubbo giggled, and Ranboo smiled, though the other two couldn’t see it. He heard something plop down beside him, and was then greeted by Michael shuffling under the blanket, curling up beside him. Tubbo cooed quietly, and Ranboo heard Tommy scoff. He wrapped an arm around Michael, who gently headbutted his shoulder.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Tommy asked.

Ranboo paused for a moment, biting his lip. As much as he hated to admit it, he could feel the tightness in his stomach alleviating as more time went on under the blanket. His foot was pushed out far enough that it was touching Tubbo’s, and with Michael beside him, the instinctual nervousness he got when he didn’t know where his… his “haunting” was, lessened. Enough that he could actually feel the effects of exhaustion in his muscles.

“It probably will and I hate that.” Ranboo finally said.

Tommy and Tubbo cackled, and Ranboo huffed. They delighted in his suffering, and it was horrible. He could feel the sticky tendrils of anxiety loosening from his throat, though, and he could feel his eyes becoming heavier. Another yawn escaped him, and his tail slowly came to a stop, curling around him and Michael. Tubbo sighed happily.

“Get some sleep, Boo. We’ll keep rowing for a while, and we’ll wake you once we find land, alright?”

Ranboo hummed affirmation, his eyes already sliding closed. He felt something placed behind his head, and leaned against it like he would against a pillow. It was soft, probably one of Tubbo’s hoodies. Distantly, he hoped Tubbo wouldn’t be upset at him for using it as a pillow.

He heard Tommy and Tubbo start bickering about something or other, accompanied only by the waves and, occasionally, the distant squawks of seabirds. His eyes slid shut as his heartbeat slowed, and his brain drifted to thoughts of flower fields and apiaries.

[definegodliness]

Petty and stiff-bourgeois

When the internet gets to me with people displaying next-level pettiness and stiff-bourgeois demeanour, I sink back in my chair to remember the pre-internet age. Not because those days were better, hell no, but because it was so much easier to put things into perspective. Nowadays, I’ve noticed that some of the eighteen-forties narratives posted would make me groan like a dog growls when a random person passes the window, soft and prolonged. It got that bad. So I had to find an antidote. And so I think of the times when a brand new national dictionary would come out. Because when a brand new national dictionary came out, you’d shortly after always get a sent in letter in the newspaper.

Now the newspaper and I go way back. I know I was a weird kid for reading them. But I always, and still do, loved the smell of inky paper. Some people like the smell of gasoline, this is my tic. Back in the day I loved its stern black and white aesthetics as well, and I do think newspapers ruined themselves by colour printing, just like churches ruined themselves by adding central heating. Churches should be cold. I’m not even religious, but there can be no discussion. How else will people feel small and humbled? Get your comfort at home, sinner. This place has been surrendered to the elements. The way God intended. Discomfort keeps you on your toes, and so newspapers should be large, printed in black and white, and without those convenient staples in the middle keeping it together, because the truth is large, clumsy, and uncomfortable. 

Truth should stain your fingers.

Those newspapers made me study Journalism, right around the time old media extinguished. During that time, one thing happened that to this day baffles me still. Imagine this: a class of say twenty-five aspiring journalists, asked if they’d rather be sold dry facts or opinions, and all but I preferred to be sold opinions. I argued that one needs the dry facts to shape an opinion, and they all looked at me as if they saw water burning. And I remember the vacant stares when I mentioned I actually liked doing the effort to shape my own opinion. I have rarely felt so alien and misunderstood in my life. What happened to ‘the fly on the wall’? I wondered. The teacher chuckled. 

He was glad ‘we’ still had a purist. 

So that day I decided New-Age Journalism wasn’t for me. And, despite the nostalgia, I gradually stopped reading newspapers, like the rest of the world. Knowing the type of people who’d write what I was consuming of course didn’t help. But in the end I simply stopped reading because the truth had turned convenient, small, biased, and comfortable to whatever your affiliation is. To get a snippet of reality, I had to buy at least four different opinion pushers, which I did, and then puzzle my way toward the golden mean. It became such a chore I found myself solely enjoying the funnies, and, of course, the sent in letters.

When the internet gets to me with people displaying next-level pettiness and stiff-bourgeois demeanour, I think of what once was the rarest and most hilarious breed of human. You see, every time a brand new national dictionary would come out, there’d be sent in letters of people complaining about a myriad of words that our youth and good town folk in all decency should never be allowed to read. Cuss words, of course, but also words as uninspiring and plastic as ‘penis’, ‘vagina’, and ‘bosom’. Not to mention ‘scrotum’, or ‘nipple’. They’d go apeshit over ‘apeshit’, and in displaying their fifty shades of rigid fanaticism they’d become so grim, so helplessly humourless, that of course the contents of their letters became hilarious. 

Boob is not a funny word per se, well, it’s kind of funny, but there is little more absurdistically enjoyable than the word ‘boob’ leaving the pen of a sourpuss in genuine disgust.

There are, and have always been, people so petty and stiff-bourgeois that they’d go through the lengths of buying the latest edition of a dictionary on the first day of publishing to then immediately dedicate hours of their time, locked up in the study to remain undisturbed, executing a self-imposed divine calling. Taking their trusty and angry red pencil to tag, count, and mercilessly comment upon commonly used words. Words sometimes distilled to their driest version, leaving no synonym at all to describe for instance a bodily feature. The entire endeavour demands such tenacity and dedication in maintaining that level of maddened outrage that you cannot convince me there isn’t a moment somewhere halfway the process they’re thinking:

“What am I doing?!”

The must consciously ans repetitively shush that voice of reason. Then, after all that, they manage to go even further. Let’s zoom out for a second to appreciate the absurdity of the situation. Someone who has just finished scouring the dictionary for words deemed immoral, utilising a standard that would put even the most dedicated puritan to shame, now sits behind their desks and takes the time to write an actual handwritten letter utilising their freshly and painstakingly gathered information. Enraged, I reckon, for the red lettered filth by their own hand written. And this is the frame of mind in which they probably read it over a couple of times, checking for spelling mistakes, therefore unable to see the undeniable irony of writing all these words they condemn so deeply, for people all over the country to read. This should be another chance to favour a moment of reflection. However, they are already in too deep, and now can only live with themselves thinking the end justifies the means.

Then there’s the moment when they walk downstairs proudly waving that letter, already in its envelope.

“Debra, I’m gonna tell ‘em!”

And Debra also doesn’t offer a voice of reason. Debra doesn’t even look up from her crossword puzzle and says:

“That’s nice, honey.”

And so they walk on. Toward the mailbox. With a letter of Don Quixote-like insanity that bears their full name and address as a sign of sacred dedication. And even then I reckon they still could be sobered up by the fresh air, experiencing a moment of clarity, actually seeing the ridiculousness of the entire situation. Another chance at self-reflection. And then still, lastly, there is still one moment of possible hesitation and contemplation left, the moment where they slide that letter into the mailbox’s slit and fate is finally out of their hands.

These people exist.

There are around eight decision making moments in this what is the shortest summary of necessary circumstances wherein the windmill chasing self-proclaimed virtuous crusader decides against better judgement. Eight decision making moments in an entire day of living dedicated to removing the word ‘nipple’ from the national dictionary’s latest edition. That was then. And this was when solely the utmost madly bigoted, self-righteous, and oblivious otherworldly specimen of human could seep through the filters of media consumption. Offered a platform for nothing other than editorial shits and giggles. 

Now these people have internet:

Write, post.

Two decision making moments. And when the internet gets to me with narratives belonging to the eighteen-forties, I think of all the like-minded martyrs who in the time of ancient media went through all those steps aforementioned, only to bail out at the very last second of actually dropping off that dumb-ass letter in the mailbox. I think of the time when seven chances at contemplation was enough to save us from a mind-numbing display of mental deterioration. I imagine how vast this stiff-bourgeois crowd gets with every fewer necessary step. When the threshold has been lowered to merely two moments of chanced contemplation and reasoning.

When I sink back in my chair and groan like a dog growls when a random person passes the window, I make myself remember that who we are dealing with are non-threatening, hilarious crazies. Red pencil wielding dictionary condemners who have been shaken free from the threshold of effort. And I think we all tend to forget that. We forget to laugh at them. Laugh at them with all our hearts, shaking our heads simultaneously. We forget we are witnessing rarities. And must not allow ourselves to be cursed into taking the windmill chasers riding under the flag of anonymity seriously. When we forget to laugh at human absurdity, we become part of the joke ourselves. So let’s go out and wield some ‘lol’s and ‘tears of joy’-emojis.

[orsuliya]

Let it be known that I have fallen to the forces of Chaos. Which mean that after many, many years of relative sanity I decided to catch up with the recent developments in the Warhammer 40.000 universe.

Now, I loved that bloody, golden, full-of-skulls, grimdark thing once upon a time, but it did go a bit stale, what with the Corpse Emperor God Emperor of Mankind rotting on his golden throne, the Inquisition doing... inquisitiony things and the hero-planet of Cadia still standing against any odds. So I bailed. Okay, to be honest, I bailed but for one guilty pleasure, namely watching the glorious If The Emperor Had A Text-To-Speech Device series. Which so does not count!

And then I heard the Ultramarines chant once again and remembered all the glories of soup. (If you listen to it long enough and know Russian, you too shall be enlightened. For all non-Russian speakers, it really does sound as if the lyrics talk about cooking some amazing soup and then eating it. It’s... a thing.) Wait, I said to myself, they released a Roboute Guilliman figure, right? I saw that, not like you can miss it with it’s... very subtle aesthetics. And I sure saw an amazing figure of Magnus the Red (who, let it be known, didn’t betray anyone, oh, and Leman Russ is a bitch). So are the Primarchs back or something, I asked the Corpse Emperor God Emperor. There was no answer. So I went to do some research.

And once I did, I actually picked up a WH40K novel (or two). Again. And let me tell you, those are usually a dredge to get through. A very grimdark, testosterone-dripping, wordy, ridiculously epic dredge. *shudders* Some are readable. Some... are not.

Anyway, the ones I did pick up were the Dark Imperium series first two entries, because my beautiful Smurf Boy Roboute Guilliman is back and was there ever any other choice? Rhetoric question of course. If you are still reading and have no idea whom am I talking about, a quick recap:

Once upon a time there was a universe that was so ridiculously grimdark that it wasn’t even funny. Although sometimes it was grimdark in very funny ways. Humanity spread throughout the Galaxy, then got hit hard with Bad Things, mostly courtesy of themselves. Then an egotistical gold-loving Immortal Man With A Plan decided to unfuck the Galaxy. In order to do that he made - after some rather disastrous demo versions - an army of GMO-supersoldiers, using genetic material harvested from twenty vat-grown fetuses of super-superhumans. Those fetuses? His so-called sons, the Primarchs. Who got baby-napped by the powers of Chaos and thrown into space. Where they grew up into killing-machines, each one on a grimdark planet of his own, until Daddy Emperor picked them up and sent them a-crusading, that is a-conquering the Galaxy for Humankind. Never paid any child-support, the bastard. Anyway, they did... reasonably well with this whole Galaxy-conquering thing. And then things happened, which ended in half of the Primarchs going full Daemon, the other half fucking off in a non-constructive manner and into unknown direction, one of them becoming a sainted martyr and the Emperor becoming a skeleton and sitting on his Golden Throne for the next 10.000 years. Ah, no, sorry, one Primarch tried to put things into order, but the only thing he got as his reward was his Daemonic Bro’s sword to the neck... and spending the next 10.000 years as a bloody tourist attraction. And that was Roboute Guilliman, The Supposedly Boring And Weak One. Meanwhile, the Galaxy went to hell by the way of religious fanatics, xeno incursions and Chaos shenanigans.

After years of marinating it its own sauce the WH40K universe finally started to move. And move fast! The hero-planet of Cadia got smashed to pieces, Warp-rifts basically tore the galaxy... also to pieces and things got so bad that even the space elves decided to help. Which they actually did (!) by getting that tourist attraction of a Primarch off his non-golden throne by the way of technological fuckery and death magic. Accidentally they chose to revive the one Primarch who was actually good at state-building and logistics, and unlike most of his brothers was actually sane to start with. 

Well, now he’s still sane. And, which is rather new, deliciously bitchy. See, he returned to life, stood up from his bier-chair, massacred an entire army of Khornites by himself, went to talk to his Dead Emperor Dad, got hit in the face by Daddy Issues, massacred another army, got into a screaming match with his Evil Brother, forced useless supergolden supersoldiers to actually do something after 10k years on sitting on their asses, pulled some well-marinated super-supersoldiers from the basement of some creepy tech-person and went a-crusading. Only his version of a-crusading was suspiciously similar to taking a stroll with his closest buddies and stabilizing the realm. Only it took longer that six months in this case. 112 years long, to be precise. At the end of which he went back to his own his own province... in order to defend it from a Chaos incursion courtesy of the local Plague God and another Evil Brother.

That’s tough, buddy, one might say and they would be completely right. What gets me about this plotline is not the novelty of somebody actually doing some good on a galaxy-wide scale and being a decent person about it (which by local standards means not killing one’s own and choosing to actually heal the sick instead of bombing their planets from the orbit). I knew that would happen the moment I saw which Primarch got revived. What gets me is how internally bitchy the guy gets about it, although in a rather stoic way. And I don’t blame him. If I was a part of a group project, did about half of the work by myself, saw that project implode by no fault of my own, then managed to salvage some of it, then chose to sacrifice myself to save that small salvaged scrap, hoping that everything would turn out okay once the new team took over... and then woke up to find that project utterly fucked in ways thay I could have never imagined with myself being the only competent project manager around, I would be bitchy too.

Not to mention that poor guy has to deal with 24/7 physical pain as well as the realization that Big Emperor Daddy never loved any of his sons, only seeing them as tools and only allowing them to believe in this whole family bullshit for his own gain. Big Daddy told him so mind-to-mind. Yay.

Also, people are now insisting that Big Daddy is God Daddy and he himself is the Son of God. Something he would very much like to keep denying, but he can’t, because the whole bloody Empire he’s so desperately trying to save is now powered by a fanatical horror of a religion, one dangerously prone to mass-murder and causing planetary exctinction events. And they are thiiiiis close to calling him a heretic, despite technically being the Son of God.

Oh, and apparently technology went backwards. Backwards and sideways! So bloody sideways that it’s a matter of course to have flying loudspeakers shaped like golden cherubs... made using baby corpses. As in corpses of actual babies. Tasteless and not even well-crafted, ugh. The architecture is pretty unrecognizable too with all the unnecessary things piled on top of other unnecessary things.

You’d think that that was enough, right? Yeah, no. The guy also hasn’t properly slept in 112 years! Which, okay, GMO-demigod, but still.

Kill me now, but I enjoyed Dark Imperium. A lot. More than I remember ever enjoying a WH40K novel, which is curious, since this one is still a wordy awkward dredge, even if a rather lovely one, and my taste should have drastically improved since the times of old. I guess the next one for me is going to be The Regent’s Shadow. You see, I would really like to see the batshit insane oligarchs of Terra try to pull one on a guy who got into non-bloody empire-building at fourteen. Boring he may be, stupid he is not.

Wrapping this rather random rant up - I do think that the 8th and 9th editions of Warhammer 40.000 (2017 and 2020) were a breath of fresh air, at least lore-wise. Will have to do some research as to how the actual rules might have changed, but it really doesn’t matter since I was always more of a lore-gal anyway. It’s also, I think, a great moment to actually get into this thing, since there is a dynamic, galaxy-scale, linear plotline to follow. Which, let me tell you, is not something that happens all that often. But please, please, please don’t get into this thing!

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, CLAUDIA! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF GABRIEL.

Admin Rosey: Wow - this was a terribly difficult decision to make. All the applications for Gabriel were so beautiful. But Claudia, have you no mercy? Gabriel has always held a rather special place within my heart simply because he is so unique unto himself, even among the entire legion of angels. You said it so aptly, but so cruelly: take an angel, give him everything but leave one thing missing. It’s a rather wicked script that one has to follow, isn’t it? But there is something terribly delicious about how this application doesn’t hold back on reading him right to his bones. You saw him for what he was: hunger, hunger, hunger. And you let us know that as well. The details, the small -isms that you gave him granted him such life that I couldn’t say no. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

Alias

claudia

Age

24

Personal Pronouns

she / her

Activity Level

i work full-time but i’m always checking the dash or else staying up to date with plotting in the dms in between replies. and of course weekends are my most active times.

Timezone

gmt+10

Triggers

REMOVED

How did you find the group?  

following a bunch of the wonderful people who were involved in its creation

Current/Past RP Accounts

here

here

IN CHARACTER

Character

gabriel

What drew you to this character?

so gabriel was not the first character that sparked my interest and the aesthete in me is very much compelled to justify in metaphor (you know, the whole “there’s this japanese phrase i like: koi no yokan. not love at first sight but second sight. the feeling that when you meet someone that you’re going to fall in love with them. maybe not right away, but it’s inevitable that you will.”). the truth is, i came into thc very much wanting to play a sexy morally ambiguous antagonist and agent of chaos that could wreak havoc and plot death and destruction. admittedly, i had only skimmed gabriel’s bio when it was released.

there’s an ancient roman crying out for blood in the colosseum in everyone that will always be drawn to the dark and the delicious possibility of amorality, because good and evil lies on a spectrum and exploring the shades of grey in between is so much more interesting than delving into a character who positions themselves so firmly at either end and says no, this is me, this is what i am and my conviction will not waver. or, to quote another beloved symbol, idol, champion of the people, that believed so fervently in a cause that the martyrdom nearly killed him, “when the mob and the press and the whole world tell you to move, your job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth, and tell the whole world — “no, you move.””

it is hard to write good. it is hard to take a character that is so infinitely good and compassionate, someone who is motivated by these enormous, intangible concepts like love and justice and peace, and capture them in words.

how do you explain why gabriel loves humans? how do you explain how he still loves them, fights for them, protects them, when everything his brothers and sisters did to him was because the humans dared to love him back? it’d be like asking the question of god himself — why? you claimed to love humans above all and yet you gave the strength, grace and majesty of immortality and wisdom to the angels. they were your firstborn, and humans were the spoiled youngest child. the unruly, overindulged creatures that got away with everything, that sinned and yet were still worthy of salvation.

for most people, gabriel is the first angel they ever learn about. gabriel coming to nazareth, gabriel saying be not afraid as he explains how a human woman will be the genesis of the son of god. he is the first. and understanding why gabriel loves humans, as god did, perhaps even more, comes back to the beginning, too.

gabriel was created the incarnation of hunger. and i am literally obsessed with the concept of ‘hunger’ in it all its forms, literary, cinematically, poetically. it’s fascinating because it’s not a concept that belongs to either good or evil, it’s simply a force, a manifestation of pure instinct. but we so often associate it with evil, and even in the bible, too much hunger is condemned. you could argue that the seven deadly sins are simply just an extrapolation of hunger in its myriad guises. the idea that you could be made perfect — as all angels are — and yet be left with this gaping chasm inside you, this endless hunger, a hunger that demands to be fed and nurtured, sated with divine higher purpose, is like, my literary achilles’ heel. why does gabriel love humans? how could he not? he was made in their image, and they in his.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character?

THE SUN NEVER SETS ON THE HOLY LAND.

that thing i said about wanting to play a sexy character? well gabriel being the sun and the third arm of the governing body that rules over the holy land is extremely sexy. it’s a shame he doesn’t much care for it. oh, he likes the concept of being a key guardian of freedom and peace across the new world but power holds no sway over him. and ironically that’s what makes him so inherently powerful. gabriel was the natural choice for the sun — beloved by humans, martyred for his love and sacrifices for them — he’d already burned for so long, so quietly, in service of bringing justice to the world. but gabriel has never needed a title to serve. he was born a messenger, a soldier, he has never needed a crown.

and despite what they say, heavy is the head, it is a crown perfectly made for him. the sun — illuminating and all-consuming, the source of all life and light in the world — is all-seeing. all-powerful. gabriel learned at god’s side what it means to rule. and a messenger is not so different from a prophet, from an orator. when he speaks, the world listens.

gabriel is well aware that michael sees the tridium power as child’s play, and their brotherhood as a means to influence the tridium, and thus the entirety of the holy land. power feeds and power corrupts and the lack of it will drive people like his brothers to insatiable madness. gabriel used to play peacemaker amongst his brothers, always defending the mortals or softening the aftermath of their fathers’ worst outbursts. now, as the sun, he stands above them. it is not a position he ever campaigned for but he’d won it all the same by democracy. the angel of the people, the sun of the holy land. he’s never pressed his influence over his brothers, always careful to tread the line of how his title benefits them and advances caelum’s purposes — celestial beings have always done things in three, after all. do i want to see him flex that power and unleash the full weight of his influence and majesty and just go absolutely supernova ham? of course. but it will take more that some sibling bickering and infighting to spark that wildfire. i don’t know yet what that spark would be, whether it’s demons meddling in tridium business or some political shift in the paradigm, but gabriel is not someone you want to cross.

do not mistake his kindness for weakness. the sun gives life as easily as it can set it ablaze.

LOYALTY WILL BE THE LAST BASTION TO CRUMBLE.

now this is entirely dependent on the dynamic of the three, in particular whoever is elected as the stars, but i see the tridium as a wildcard amidst all the vacillating allegiances and power plays of the holy land.

gabriel believes in the true purpose of the tridium, he believes each faction is entitled to equal authority over protecting the peace and future of the holy land. a true system of checks and balances, a democracy that amplifies the voices of the weak and powerless and upholds the cause of the vulnerable and the oppressed. whether that’s in the political interests of azazel and the future stars remains to be seen.

from the very beginning, gabriel would have been vitally curious about azazel. his former sister, a fallen angel. it is not his place to forgive, but he forgives nonetheless, as god would have. if he was not a thing made of hunger, the way she was a thing made of desire, maybe he would have fallen, too. he, more than anyone, had the right to fall. but he didn’t, and she did, and she’s done quite well for herself in the millennia since. finding herself a new throne, new family, even a new brother to dote upon her. in spite of his instincts and the holiness that riots in his veins against the thought of colluding with demons, even under the new testament, he understands. he doesn’t blame her. so, i will leave this entirely tbd for plotting but i could see either a strange, inexplicable friendship between them or a playful, vicious dynamic with an underlying current of empathy.

in many ways the moon and the stars will be the closest people gabriel has to true equals. he is no longer purely archangel, he is other. he must represent the interests of all of the holy land. trusting them would be folly, but unlike the ages of old, the name of the game is no longer a zero-sum winner takes all scenario. if the peace fails, the world will crumble into bedlam. is it a doomed act, attempting to balance the three factions upon the scales of peace? perhaps. perhaps they are playing a losing game, betting against the house, delaying the inevitable. it would be one thing to manipulate the balance of power between them, feeding the poison of their faction into their governance. it would be another if any one of their factions actually won.

why did they call themselves the sun, the moon, the stars? because they are figureheads, above all. symbols of caelum, infernum, the holy land. their factions all believe them to be puppets, leverage for their own political hunger and thirst for power. they are not blind. if either of their sides emerges from an inevitable all out war situation, what will happen to them? crownless, purposeless, no kingdom left to rule. certainly not a kingdom that will be theirs.

azazel wants to be worshipped. gabriel wants to burn until righteousness has scoured all evil from the holy land. the stars will inevitably be someone equally chaotic. they’re all that stands between the holy land and desolation. it’s like the perfect office workplace drama set-up. i would like to see it.

HUNGER IS THE MOST HUMAN THING OF ALL

throughout time, gabriel has had his favourites. he’s his father’s son, after all. zacharias, mary, noah. if these were the ages of old, he might have counted revna among those ranks. if gabriel were not an immortal angel, this would be called having a friend. but because gabriel is who he is, he considers them more like wards. like he’s taken it upon himself to be their self-appointed guardian angel.

it’s lonely being an instrument of god, and now the sun of the holy land, like what do you imagine he does after a long day of work? relax? of course not. so having a friend is nice. and having someone he can talk to, free of all the baggage and weight of being who they are, is like a glimpse of the peace he hasn’t known since before he had wings.

with revna, as with every mortal he had ever taken under his golden wings, he swallows any thought of just how mortal they are. how short-lived. in a blink, she will die. in another, her name will be forgotten, nothing more than a memory imprinted in a lonely angel’s mind. he tries not to think too much about mortality, or the whims and follies of mortals, the lengths they will go to in the name of survival that he has never dreamed. their freedom is predicated on living long enough to taste it. is it such a crime to want to live? for all their limitless powers and immortality, no angel and demon will ever know what that feels like — the sheer, visceral incandescence of burning so fleeting but so brilliant that to die is nothing. to live is the ultimate choice.

also… their powers are literally antithetical to each other. revna creates reality for all the senses, and gabriel deadens them. hello, let’s talk about that!

i’ll keep this brief or else i’ll spend days spiralling into interesting tangents and possibilities but other than the archangels and select few higher-ranking angels are aware of his powers. they think he doesn’t have any. to reveal this aspect of himself, a bearing of something like his true self or maybe even a soul, would be very spicy. in case anyone needs a reminder that all angels are terrifying and just because gabriel is pretty and warm like the sun, you shouldn’t believe he is anything less than terror carved into the sublime.

SO THIS IS HOW LIBERTY DIES. WITH THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE.

this is the darkest timeline plot where i throw a dice just to see where it lands. i don’t see gabriel deviating too much from his course, because he is the tree (planted by the river, if you remember the earlier quote), and he will destroy himself before he has to bend or break beneath the whims of external chaos.

of course, it’s fun to the think about the hypotheticals so i’m going to do that. if the tridium falls, where does that leave gabriel? and to whom will his allegiances lie? if michael or raphael are the cause, would he stand beside caelum all the same? gabriel loves humans because he wants to; he loves his siblings because they are his blood and bone. rip to the angels but you and the mortals are not the same.

he’s also seen how the holiness of the angels have been twisted and warped over time, through countless wars and inimitable suffering, yes. but they’ve changed nonetheless. some amongst them are closer to their fallen brethren than anyone would ever dare to admit but gabriel sees all. he was the angel they left to rot in the farthest corners of heaven, he was the one whose wings were torn, not by enemies of heaven but by his own brothers. and he did not fall. so either gabriel is made of stronger stuff than all the angels or he is the dumbest of them all. it’s very likely both. his faith in the existence of the angels is resolute, unwavering after all this time. his righteousness has burned for a thousand years and it will burn a thousand more until the sun swallows everything and all things cease to exist. if he has to turn against brother and sister, as they did with him, and unquestioningly at that, then he will.

he has sworn to smite any creature that will strike down an innocent before him, and whether angel or demon, it’s a quest that he will pursue to its ruinous end.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character?

yes, preferably by going supernova in a blaze of gory and carnage.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation

it all comes back to hunger, baby. let’s do this as a thought exercise. imagine god in his build-a-bear workshop for angels creating gabriel like he’s pandora’s box:

take an angel, give him everything but leave one thing missing.

don’t tell him what it is.

teach him the hole inside him is called hunger and that hunger is love, hunger is sacrifice, hunger is knowing that the kingdom of heaven is empty and god is not enough.

take an angel, give him hunger, and then wonder why he becomes more human than human.

gabriel is driven by the insatiable wanting in him to do good. i will note that it is, in a fact, a want and not a need because this in itself is the thing that distinguishes him from his brothers. in a way, falling in love with humanity was an act of free will, and thus an act of defiance. god wanted him to protect his children, yes, but he had never intended for him to enjoy it. he had never foreseen that gabriel, filled with compassion and thirst for justice, would come to empathise with the humans. he never could have imagined that creating an angel out of pure hunger could make him more akin to human than divine. and that was god’s mistake. it’s the mistake of anyone that looks at him and sees weakness — why would a creature so powerful deign to care for humanity? why should he care if they live or die, or wage war or hurt each other? — they imagine that his relentless pursuit of a better world is because he was made for it. no, gabriel chose this world. he chose to strike down god and tear his throne down with his teeth. he chose remake the world better, brighter, braver.

and as god will tell you, beware any that dare stand in his way.

Character Traits

INCANDESCENT — there isn’t really a word that captures gabriel’s essence other than in terms of sunlight and burning. being near him is like turning skywards and feeling of the sun on your face. he is radiant, and charismatic and magnetic, and it ignites a sort of hunger in you to be close to him, to listen to him speak, to tell him everything about you and answer any question he asks, if only to be in his presence for a little longer. to be under the shade of his attention is like being pinpointed at the center of the universe. it’s gratifying, and incredibly intoxicating, being given the sole focus of one of the most powerful beings in the holy land. for a moment, you are the one, and everything else falls away into shadow. but of course, reality snaps back and everything and everyone is simply whirling around in orbit of gabriel, the sun.

COMPASSIONATE — before he was the sun, he was the archangel of the people, the guardian of humans and the champion of god’s most beloved children. out of all the angels, gabriel was the one who took pains to mean it when he said be not afraid. he wore their skin and learned to smile like humans — with the eyes, not just with the mouth — because it would comfort them instead of scare them. as a former messenger, gabriel’s also an excellent listener. he gives excellent advice, too, being naturally sympathetic to the plights and suffering of anyone he meets. he hates injustice and wrongdoing and if it’s in his power, he’ll do anything to help you rectify your circumstances. he’s a very giving person, and despite his various duties and responsibilities, he’s willing to go to the ends of the earth for someone if he believes it’s a cause worth serving.

SELF-RIGHTEOUS — the other side of the embodiment righteousness coin. because when you have a creature as all-powerful and driven as gabriel is, his morality is absolute. there is no room for grey or doubt in the eyes of the self-proclaimed moral compass of the holy land. good and evil lie on a spectrum but gabriel will play the trinity himself if that’s what it takes: judge, jury and executioner.

GRACIOUS. UNYIELDING. SPITEFUL.

In-Character Para Sample

Heaven is cold, if you could believe it. There are places in the kingdom of God where the sun holds no dominion. No, everything here is ruled by and under Him. His omniscience and omnipotence is all. His kingdom is coldest where light shies from the darkness, held at bay by the divine liminality of here and nothingness. You cannot define a space that is simply nothing, simply an absence. An abyss would be too poetic a word for it, this black hole spinning ad infinitum into the dark, soaking up every molecule of anything that could be constituted as being. It is a nothingness. It is a forever of nothingness.  

This is where they keep their prisoners.

If you imagine God to be cruel, consider for a moment what he does to his own children.

It could be a month, it could be a millennia, that has passed since they cast him into the shadows of Heaven and left him here. Not to rot, or decay, but to exist; the cruellest punishment of all. Suspended in a vacuum of seeing, feeling, hearing, touching, tasting, a mockery of his own abilities. In the realms of hell, they might call this purgatory. The architects of Heaven would never deign to give a place like this a name.

Gabriel counts seconds and minutes here and there to pass time. A mindless, thoughtless exercise that intrudes upon the endless, desolate stretch of infinity. It keeps him from thinking about his wings and how he might never fly again.

There is no air here to fly, to surge up and taste wind between his feathers. He’s thankful for it — perhaps the only godforsaken grace he’s been granted, a pitiful stroke of thoughtless mercy — if only because it means he cannot attempt it. He thinks if he were to try, wings screaming for clemency, searing fire along his back and down his chest, and fall, that would be the last of him. And if there is nothing left of Gabriel, what would that make him? A creature of divine agony and writhing torment. A monster better suited to hell. If he could claw his way out of the unseeable and untouchable bars of this prison, perhaps he would see that Lucifer had been right.

God was weak. He deserved to be struck down. He deserved to have everything taken from him, as he had taken everything from them.

In the embrace of the void, Gabriel oscillates through every emotion at his disposal. Humanity taught him a great deal about feeling. How hatred and loathing simmered like poison in the blood; how the blaze of fury clawing up your throat could incinerate reason and logic; how love was a form of magic, a trace of stolen divinity pressed between the lips of mortals, enveloped in bodies and hands and kisses. Gabriel did not understand love the way humans did. His love was a consuming thing, a devotion like worship. Like self-immolation. He loved God because that was what he was made for. He loved his brothers because he fought and bled for them, because they were carved from the same grace and streak of lightning crackling through the heavens.

He did not know if he loved God the way humans loved him. They had never seen him, never felt his magnanimous smile or the great vastness of his presence, and yet they believed. They believed so fully, so viscerally, they would die for him anyway. They lived their tiny, fleeting lives grasping for the sky, dreaming and hoping of one day seeing him.

Gabriel saw God all the time, but his love was a necessity to him like existence. It was not a choice.

Did that make it lesser? Was it less true because humans chose and he did not?

Sometimes, he sits here, floating in the forgotten recesses of Heaven’s prison, and wonders if maybe God had truly made a mistake. Why give the angels everything, but free will? Why give the humans nothing and only free will? It was inexplicable, the ultimate riddle wrapped in an enigma, obscured by God’s will and word, that the angels had been asking since Adam and Eve and the garden.

In the time he floats, wavering between ire and despondence, rage and bitterness, he thinks he finds the answer. — The reason why God loved humans above all. The reason why he’d chosen them, blessed them, forgiven them.

Humanity was given the choice. And they had chosen God, in spite of everything.

If he had granted the angels the same freedom, would they have chosen Him?

Extras

PINTEREST.

[quilloftheclouds]

Writeblr Positivity Week!

(Ignore my heckin’ weird handwriting.)

I knooowwww this is super late but Quill got real busy this week with working on schoolwork and Nano so I didn’t have time to finish this up until now but!! Have this!!!

As a part of Writeblr Positivity Week, a lovely event hosted by the wondrous @pens-swords-stuff​, I have put together:

A Selection of Quill’s Favourite WIPs and Writeblrs

(Because there is absolutely No Way I could show all of them, and this is already super long so under the cut we go~)

@lady-redshield-writes​: Not only a wonderfully supportive icon of the writeblr community, who always leaves marvelously inspiring and insightful comments on original content that gives me and undeniably many others so much more motivation to write, but Lady Red is also such a heckin’ inspirationally SKILLED WRITER. IT’S HECKIN’ AMAZING. Her characters! Her description! The amount of personality in her dialogue and just how engaging her worldbuilding and created atmospheres are, but the EMOTION. THE EMOTION. GOOOO read something of hers and you’ll instantly know what I mean---good luck getting through not completely overwhelmed with feeling!

And Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Humans are the size of insects, warriors ride dragonflies into battle, and an eldritch god-ant rules with absolute power. 

Symphony Number Five: Evka Sekerak, composer and musician, directs the Teplirov Symphony, and is commissioned to write her fifth symphony by the military officials who keep her city captive.

@waterfallwritings​: HECK MATE. JASON. DUDE. WHERE DO I START? YOU’VE BEEN TOSSING COMPLIMENTS MY WAY ALL DAY WHAT. But seriously though, this kid is best. Best Friendo of the Quill. Jason is hugely supportive throughout my writing and throughout my real life since I met him, and his own writing is basically the main inspiration behind why OSS even exists in the first place. We’ve had absolutely so much fun reading through each others’ works and joking around, and talking with him has helped me to discover and develop so many things about my own wip. Not only that but!! His writing is marvelous. His characters are all so fun in their own ways, and I’ve loved watching as they’ve developed to such three dimensional personalities in a story full of epic adventure and intrigue!

A Selkie’s Home: After a storm and a shipwreck, a selkie missing her skin, a triton disguised as a human, a morally questionable sea witch, and a hapless lover of the ocean end up on the same island. When the selkie is kidnapped, the remaining three have to form an unlikely alliance to get her back.

@bookenders​: ENDERS IS A REAL DARN NEAT PERSON OKAY. She is the cool 🌵 friend!! She’s a wondrously creative and kind person, and so much fun to talk to! Her STS asks are always so interesting to answer and I just. And I! Just! Love! Her writing oh my stars it’s the best thing ever. Her characters are always so relatable and lovable, with such wonderful personalities and are always so detailed that they feel like real people. She’s also the creator of several of my favourite characters (see: Fred from H2H and Ryan from FF). Her description is astounding, and the way she experiments with different formats and styles is so, SO inspiring, and she always does it in such a skillful way, that reads so nicely!

Heart to Heart: After a series of half-drownings in the lake near the small town of Lindsay, a strange woman appears on the shore, refusing to speak. The local apothecary is sent in to try and help, and now... they’re roommates?

Fish Food: Now assigned to facing the villains of the lowest threat levels after suffering severe losses from his fight against the supervillain Nightmare, Iron Will has to team up with the worst villain he’s ever seen to fend off the threat of a conspiracy that could destroy their world as they know it.

@abalonetea​: OKAY FIRST. Amazingly supportive. Amazingly friendly and creative and an absolute delight to talk to! Katie is marvelous. Her art and her moodboards are so cool and so wonderfully fitting to her characters and stories. And her writing? Oh. Ohhh. Her writing is to die for. Her unique skill of manipulating different text formatting to match the emotion and thoughts of her narrative is just. Stellar, and sets her writing apart from anything I’ve read before. It’s so full of emotion, the way she writes dynamics is INSPIRATIONAL, and her worldbuilding is so wonderfully detailed and engaging. I just. I just LOVE. OKAY. I don’t normally ship characters but Red and Bolte will always be my favourite. And Katie’s message of hope being able to stick it through the worst of it is such a wonderfully motivational theme!

Groundhog Day: Two versions of the same classic rpg video game, one the gritty reboot of the other, glitch together, switching the games of one of the characters with his counterpart—Red and Blue. Now they have to try and find their ways back amidst the formation of friendship and family and the threat of a new war.

As Time Passes On: Two classic pirates form a precarious alliance to set out to find the Eighth Sea, and a device that can turn back time.

@livvywrites​: I’ve only more recently been getting into Livvy’s works but. Wooooooow. WOW. Her writing is fantabulous. Her graphics are gorgeous. I LOVE her characters, so so much. They’re all so distinct in personality and backstory and situation, and the way they’re all involved in the story is marvelously fascinating. SPEAKING OF THE STORY THO. Livvy’s worldbuilding is???? SO IN DEPTH. It is the most deep worldbuilding for a magic type world I think I’ve yet to see on writeblr? I am sooo very excited to see how she integrates it into the plot! But also Livvy is an absolutely magnificent person all around and so supportive and creative and sooo fun to talk to. Love ya, darling~

The Martyr Queen: Alinora Mynerva is visited by one of Death's Reapers, and told she was never meant to exist. She is asked to become his Champion, to stop Fate from destroying the world. Alinora isn't sure she's willing to fight a god... but she is willing to fight the man who took her homeland from her 10 years ago.

Pirate’s Bane: [Quill legitimately can’t summarize this one in so short a space because it’s so delightfully complex, but it’s a brilliant continuation of the previous book above! Go click the link to read the synopsis on the intro post~]

@mvcreates​: I’M SORRY FOR ALL THESE TAGS DEAR MINA BUT YOU DESERVE THEM. Probably just the most interactive person in the writeblr community, Mina’s events and ask games and onwards all are so wonderful, and her engagement with reblogging and commenting on people’s original content is inspirational. AND I’M SAYING IT FOR THE THOUSANDTH TIME BUT THAT DOESN’T DECREASE IT’S MEANING: heckin’ poetic like prose with how much symbolism she fits in there and how lovely it sounds to read aloud, wonderfully clever dialogue and banter and characterization, and characters you love to root for. And her ART. OH MY STARS HER ART. *swoons at majestic colours and shading and textures*

Retrocognition: An investigative journalist with a paranormal gift joins forces with a cantankerous federal agent to expose a Reno-based politician’s (murderous) corruption.

The Vizier’s Apprentice: An alternate universe retelling of a classic Persian love story: One Thousand and One Nights.

@dogwrites​: Venturing into the world of Crime of Mind has only been a very recent endeavour of mine, and I’m only two episodes in at the moment, but gosh golly yarn darn it this story is MARVELOUS. Dog’s ability to write memorable characters with such distinct and identifiable personalities is lovely, their dialogue is wonderful and the body language and description is so heckin’ engaging, and puts you right in the scene with them. And Dog’s also a marvelous artist holy wow. NOT TO MENTION just how awesome Dog is as a person?? Heckin’ ridiculously nice, leaves such insightful and appreciated comments that charge me on. AH. JUST A LOVELY LOVELY THAT I HAD SUCH AN HONOUR OF MEETING. YES.

Crime of Mind:  Dr. Benji Russells, an autistic federal agent, is the youngest member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, whose knack at viewing individuals and their behavioral chemtrails turned her into a viable asset---but delving into the minds of the country's most insidious leaves none unscathed in the end.

@ardawyn​: OH. MASTER OF DESCRIPTION, HERE. All of Sophie’s writing feels like it could have been written in the world of the story itself despite being very clear and lovely to read, with a vaguely medieval vibe to it all that adds so much to the reading experience. The way she describes environments just puts you right into the scene with the characters, characters that are all written marvelously with beautifully lovable personalities and dialogue and dynamics. And her graphics? Oh, ohhhh. Sophie is probably my greatest inspiration for making graphics and aesthetics for writeblr. Every single one of hers are instantly eye-catching and fit the mood and theme sooo well. Plus, the comments she leaves on my content are just the sweetest thing, and always warm my heart when I read them. <3

The Dawnbringer: A niece of Issarien’s king, Tilda fights against the constricting expectations of her role, making it her mission to find her brother after his disappearance. Rajani is given rooms in the castle of the Prince of Hallrein after being caught stealing, offered a perilous deal she has no choice but to accept. But these two women are connected in an unknown way...

Night Crystals: Amaria was raised an assassin at the orphanage The Obsidian to serve the king of Calastari. But after discovering a secret, she must make the choice whether to stay and swallow lies, or seal her death sentence trying to leave.

@radley-writes​: Although I haven’t interacted much yet with Radley, I’ve fallen completely in love with their writing and ideas. Their art is so lovely and professional and clean, and the body language and personality it portrays is marvelous. But their writing? Outrageously good, and brilliantly hilarious. I’ve mainly only been following His Majesty’s Starship so far, but the way that Radley is able to match the vocabulary and narrative to the time period of the story is so skillful and inspiring, and is absolutely wonderfully engaging by placing you right into the setting like it’s real. The integration of worldbuilding is done extraordinarily well and I am in love with all of the distinct personalities and dialogue of their wondrous cast of idiots.

His Majesty’s Starship: The Eurasian powers expand their empires to the furthest-flung reaches of the solar system – as well as their endless wars. As nations and companies vie for control of the Off-World Colonies , a trio of utter imbeciles come into possession of a secret that many would kill for. A secret that changes everything…

Anywayssss there are sooo, so many more wips that I consider favourites of mine, and so many more writeblrs that I think are the absolute bomb, but Quill’s energy isn’t limitless! 

That said, maybe I’ll make up a simpler post of a bunch of recommendations later... hm..........

ANYWAYS YEAH GO CHECK THESE LOVELIES OUT

[hangsangjunbi]

@nightiingaled​ sent:  ‵ you will not choke the divine from me. i am my own god and martyr. ′ - mel, for either ovw or uc verse???

  pinterest aesthetic prompts  ►  accepting!!

  he’s met some DELUSIONAL people in his life in the undercity, but this? this is a whole other LEVEL. eyebrows raise, expression unimpressed, and crypto fits his hands neatly into the pockets of his jacket. he wishes he could say that he believes that she’s crazy, that he doesn’t understand what the hell she’s talking about, but... he sort of CAN.

people who can remain good down here are lucky. stronger than he’d like to admit, too. mostly because he FAILED to hold on to that kindness he’d once held himself. these people are LUCKY they haven’t had something happen to them that changed their worldviews entirely.

     “ fortunately for you, i don’t care. ”  as though to PROVE this fact, he takes a single step backward, allowing her some space to step away from the wall she’s been backed up into. she had caught him in dealings with members of { black bracket }, doing what 5liip had asked of him. usually he’s more careful about being spotted with any of them but, SOMEHOW, she had gone unnoticed. given the nature of his dealings with the gang’s leader, he doesn’t particularly want word getting out about this. hence the intimidation game.

     “ unlike them, ”  a nod in the direction the gang members had disappeared in,  “ i have no interest in testing that. not if i don’t have to. ”  so don’t give him reason to.

[livvywrites]

a writeblr re-introduction

Hello writeblr!

So, I did one of these intro things a couple of months back, but that was before I figured out how writeblr worked—which meant it felt like it was time for a re-introduction!

My name is Libby, but you can call me Livvy if you like—since that’s the name I plan to publish under! My main-blog is over at @ladytauria, where I do a lot of reblogging of things I like. I’m a 21 year old ace writer living in the US Central time zone, though I keep odd hours which lead to… erratic posting. I’m an avid reader and I love hearing about other people’s writing—particularly in the vein of worldbuilding and characters. So why don’t you give this a reblog if you write:

fantasy or sci-fi of any kind

LGBTQ+ and/or POC leads

a main F/F romance

Also give this a reblog if you post (or reblog):

writing tips and advice

relatable writer things

tag/ask games

moodboards and/or aesthetics

character intros

setting intros & other worldbuilding posts

excerpts of your writing

If you hit any of those boxes, I’ll give you a follow XD

As for myself, I primarily write sci-fi and fantasy, with a focus on LGBT and POC characters.

My main novel is known as THE MARTYR QUEEN the first in an epic fantasy series of indeterminate length. It follows ALINORA MYNERVA, an elven princess who lost her homeland years ago. When she’s visited by the Reaper Elaena, she’s told things are more complicated than they appear. Fate has betrayed the rest of the gods, and convinced the usurper it is his divine mission to end the world and become god of the next. Alinora is the only one who can stand against them, being as she was never meant to exist. Alinora and Elaena are joined by the Slaeyr heirs Lyr and Ava; the pirate and magical genius Talitha Jade; and Alinora’s long estranged Slaeyr sister, Aishlynn Mynerva. With their help, Alinora intends to retake her kingdom… even if it means she has to die trying.

You can find more about it, including a masterlist of everything I’ve posted, through a link in my bio!

Please feel free to flood my inbox or shoot me a message! I love hearing about people’s WIPs and getting asked about my own. (I also really just love making writer friends!!)

For some non-writing things about me, you can click the readmore!

I live with my grandparents in the country. Well, country might be a bit of a stretch. They do own a lot of land, but we only live about a mile outside of town, and have some neighbors nearby. Unfortunately, the area only offers satellite internet, which isn’t too bad most of the time, but doesn’t support things like streaming or big downloads. (On the plus side, this has saved my wallet, as I tend to really think before I buy a game, since I usually have to go somewhere else to buy them.)

I struggle with some health issues, some of which haven’t been identified yet. (Getting to the doctor is hard when you can’t drive and your grandparents are busy!) The main issue is… well. My doctor diagnosed me with asthma, but only because I was/am too young to be diagnosed with COPD. I probably have a combination, to tell the truth. Breathing can be a struggle, especially on hot/humid days. I’ve lived with that my whole life, though—the thing I struggle with most is sleep. I’m always tired, even when I’ve slept between 8 and 12 hours. I have a hard time falling asleep, staying asleep, and getting good sleep. This means days where I have the mental energy to write are… erratic. On the plus side, when I do write, I can churn out 2k or more words, so! Not all bad 😉

Mentally, I deal with anxiety and depression, though the anxiety far more so! It’s primarily social but there’s some general in there too. I have a hard time reaching out to people but I’m always, always happy to talk! Please feel free to message me, flood my inbox, whatever! <3

Enough about my issues, let’s get to the fun stuff, shall we!

I enjoy playing video games—particularly Morrowind, Oblivion, Skyrim, the Dragon Age series, the Mass Effect series, the Uncharted series, Portal, the Sims, and a variety of others.

My music taste is varied, and I like a little bit of everything, though I tend to stick to pop and… I guess you would call it dark pop??? I dunno??? Oh, and Epic Orchestral stuff. (Preferably with lyrics. I like to sing.) Favorite artists would be Kesha, Taylor Swift, Ruelle, Fleurie, Sam Tinnesz, Karliene, VON GREY, SVRCINA, and Avril Lavigne. And honestly, probably more than that. I listen to a lot of different artists and songs, so I could list forever.

I don’t watch a lot of TV, but some shows I enjoyed in the past were Once Upon a Time (up until season 5); Supernatural (up until Season 10); Stranger Things (so not caught up); She-Ra and the Princesses of Power; Steven Universe (so behind); both Avatar series; and an obscure little Disney show by the name of Super Robot Monkey Team Hyper Force Go. Due to the internet streaming issue, though, it’ll be a while before I can catch up on any of those. At least, not if I want to go through Netflix. (I can stream off Wi-Fi on my phone, but I don’t have Netflix on there, nor enough space to download it!)

Movies I’m a lot more varied on. My top favorites (at the moment) are Clueless, Into the Spiderverse, Lord of the Rings, the Hobbit, Moana, and Tangled.

[itsprobablyhubris]

1, 2, 3, 19, 25, 31, 37, 41!

Thank you, I appreciate everyone sending me questions. This’ll be long so here’s hoping the ‘read more’ thing works on this one

1. What do you think your d&d race would be?

Aesthetically, I really like drow, aasimar, and tieflings (not in an edgy way they just have good vibes). As for what I’d be, probably a genasi because we are doomed to become the things we hate, and I just have never looked at a genasi and felt happiness.

2. What class?

I’ve heard bard or wizard thrown around before, and the more I study the more I am inclined to think cleric or bard. My advantage in most of my work, professional and hobby, is that I can sustain intense passion in a thing and love sharing it with others. My powers of memory and analysis are based on that love- so a devotional cleric or acolyte bard would be the best articulation of my approach to things and greatest strengths.

19. How did you discover D&D?

I was invited to a friend’s D&D game in high school and it sounded fun. It really became a central hobby once I started DMing- and that started because my high school friends, hearing about my D&D game, wanted to play their own and I was promptly assigned mandatory DM from experience. 

25. What is your favorite snack for d&d?

Cookies - they are portable, non messy, quiet snacks. Perfect for DMing.

31. Tell me about your current party!

Despite having like no time, somehow I have multiple parties. My main party is my monster of the week game I’m DMing, whom I adore. It has been going on for almost two years now and we have had to modify the system ridiculously to keep it going. 

The character are: Cecily Blair, the Professional Hex, a Floridian raised as a keeper for haunted clown dolls containing malevolent spirits who came to Phoenix to study engineering. Over the course of the game, she gained quite the suite of clown powers, brought terrible beings into the world, learned to draw magic from aspects of her soul to replace her dangerous and unstable clown powers, got infected with a terrible spirit parasite, and is now weaning herself off of magic entirely by learning how to fight traditionally. Chaotic, funny, and trying very hard to be better.

Katherine Hernandez, the Monstrous Summoned. Daughter of a Flagstaff professor and fledgling cryptozoologist, Kat started as more of a researcher than a fighter. Paranoid, anxious, and deeply lacking in self confidence, Kat voluntarily infected herself with Lycanthropy to make herself more ‘useful’ to the team. She has consistently exposed herself to more and more occult forces and has become a vessel for the Amarok- the primeval force that all werewolves began from- entering the world. Her downward spiral into dark avatar has been great.

Esperanza Rae, The Chosen Construct, was originally a Coutl- a feathered serpent in service to Quetzalcoatl, the Mexica rainbow serpent God of knowledge and goodness. They slipped down to Earth in human form to experience the world and cherish it, only to find themselves hunted by other divine forces. Increasingly cornered, Rae attracted other coutl that saw them as the chosen Champion of Quetzalcoatl and has since become a habitual martyr- sacrificing more and more of themselves for others until they traded their body away. They now inhabit an obsidian construct body and while the odds remain awful, they remain a force for good. Rae is just a very loving, kind, fun character.

Erin Pito, the Initiate, is a new member played by the same player as Rae, She was previously an NPC who was marginalized by the party- always on the outside looking in while the world fell apart around them. She now has magic and a school of new age wizards to fight for! Perhaps the most normal person here! 50% gamer, 50% wine mom, 100% wizard.

Emily Lowe, the Professional Searcher, began as Cecily’s roommate- a former criminal with cartel connections and a mysterious past. After being attacked by monsters coming after the team, Emily joined the party and was confronted by her past: the mysterious organization she once worked for trafficked supernatural goods for sinister buyers, and wanted her back on their payroll. Balancing her criminal agency with the party, she began unlocking psychic potential connected to a mysterious figure puppetmastering her life: Sariah, an ancient lich who constructed Emily as an occult vessel to ascend with. Emily is just the right mixture of harsh and kind; closed off and open. Her arc’s been great and she brings a really fun dynamic to the party.

 Anyways, I love this party a lot. We’ll probably be ending soon, but this is perhaps my favorite party I’ve ever run.

On the side, I’m also solo-session with another friend- Savros, a human battlemaster in DnD. He’s the ‘straight man’ in the face of a wild and wacky world of torment and I love him.

37. What is the most recent PC or NPC you’ve created?

  Most recent PC? Probably Virtue, a tiefling shadow sorcerer raised by a crime family as muscle. 70% self-hatred, 10% despair, and 20% good intent, Virtue was mysteriously teleported to a wacky world of nightmares that she quickly decided is definitely hell and is not going to stop thinking that. 

41. Give an out of context quote from one of your games!

I usually don’t write down quotes on stuff, especially since I’m usually the DM. The only one  I’ve got is “I don’t want to cause a scene in front of the shadow man... that’d be embarrassing”

[theaudity]

And tonight, it ends...

So, I guess here I am, ready to make a relatively long post regarding my thoughts and feelings on The Magicians going off the air, with just a few final hours to go.

I was a bit late joining the party on this series. and didn’t actually jump in until the first couple of seasons were on Netflix. However, that meant that I did jump in right when I needed this show. I was 23, living on my own for the first time, and failing my way through grad school in a city that I hated, with no friends, no intentions of making good choices, and a case of depression and anxiety that was getting worse by the day. Three guesses which character I latched onto like an aggressive tick?

Quentin Coldwater was, to me, the most honest depiction of living with depression I had ever seen on screen. There was never a bullshit “love makes it all better’ narrative, he was kind of a prickly asshole, and his darkness never quite went away, even when things were just fine. It was real, it was raw, and it gave me hope. I was still in denial about how bad my shit was, and wasn’t willing to consider that I needed actual treatment at the time, so watching this character deal with the same shit I was, and never really being better, but being able to get by, and be supported? That shit mattered. Yes, it’s problematic as fuck, but again, at the time I didn’t think “better” was something that could exist for me, so this was a happy medium that I could work with. And the emotion hook of that character ended up dragging me all the way into a mad run of incredible characters, surreal situations, and let me play in a world where magic was real and every episode made me question whether or not it was worth it.

I’m not going to say that this show saved me from my poor decision making, or made everything so much easier, it absolutely didn’t. But god damn, was it an outlet. It was an aesthetic masterpiece, a televised crack-fic that took itself dead seriously, a whirlwind of drama that constantly teetered on the edge between black comedy and Shakespearean tragedy, and I couldn’t get enough.

Anyways, we all know what happened with season 4, we all lived it. So, I’m not going to dwell too much on it here, other than to repeat that it was bullshit. The showrunners have always been bleak, they’ve always played fast and lose with the line of how much these characters would suffer, but in the end, they let us believe that the ending would be alright, and they lied.

Actually, that’s a lie, I am going to dwell for a bit longer. The showrunners screwed themselves from a writing standpoint. The season 4 finale wasn’t a ‘brave choice’ to ‘subvert expectations about who the main characters really are, and show that no one is safe’. It was the equivalent of them spitting in the face of the audience and saying ‘it doesn’t matter that everything sucks, because you’ll die soon and not have to worry about that’, and fuck me but even though the show has always reveled in the pain of the cast, it’s NEVER gone that far. So what happens next? Well, they made this ‘bold decision’ to kill the main character to tell the audience that he wasn’t the main character the entire time. Unfortunately, what they really did was martyr him, so from here everything has to either a) be the rest of the cast reacting to this huge loss, essentially making him the main character still (by reason of being the catalyst), or b) have everyone move on and go in an entirely new direction, which would feel hollow and pointless. I can’t speak for everyone else’s thoughts, but I feel like they landed somewhere predictably in the middle.

 I wasn’t planning on watching season 5. At least, not for a while. Then I heard that it would be the last one, that The Magicians had been cancelled, and I figured “what the hell. It’s one season, I’ll deal”. And my guys, I just hate to see the show go out this way. For years, this show meant so much to me. Seeing these characters struggle and inevitably grow from those struggles actually mattered. Quentin went from a socially maladjusted nerd to a guy who wasn’t afraid to put his heart on the line for people when it really mattered, Eliot went from an abused kid hiding his identity to a man who was finally brave enough to accept himself, Alice went from being a mousy outsider to being an extremely misguided badass trying to carve out whatever sanity she could in the world, Margo from being a vapid socialite to being a mother-fucking king, and so on, and so on. But now? Everything that’s happened in season 5 just doesn’t feel like it’s mattered. I’ve tried to be invested, I’ve tried to care, but, I can’t.

The worst part is, that these characters, and this world, meant so much to all of us, and it’s going to go out with a whimper and a million unanswered questions. There were too many storylines for a final season happening at once, and (at least to me), none of them felt connected. The only storyline with any thematic relevance so far has been the Dark King, but the writing there has really suffered with all the focus spent on the couple, and the moon heist, and the harmonic convergence, and all these things that just don’t matter at the end of the day. I don’t care about the couple, and I’m still wondering why the writers didn’t just bring the Mcallisters back if they wanted an Earth-bound villain. I’m still wondering why “we want a world so we can have a child” is supposed to be a good enough motive to hack people’s fucking fingers off, instead of having a conversation like normal humans, or why the moon hasn’t acted up before now, or a few dozen other things. And with one episode left, they’re still bringing new ideas into the story, but none of the previous plot threads have been resolved. I won’t be watching the finale until tomorrow morning, and I want this show to have a satisfying conclusion, but my hopes aren’t high.  They aren’t, and The Magicians deserves better.

To the cast and crew, the set designers, the costumers, the production team, lighting and tech, music, all the incredible creatives who made these years possible; Thank you. This show meant a lot to me, and it meant a lot to a lot of people. I know this fandom won’t die, but it hurts to see you go. I only wish I cared enough for it to hurt more.