#ive been getting back into writing In General so ive also made some progress in like my bf au and a oneshot i started a bit ago

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

LUCKY JUMBO LUCKY JUMBO LUCKY JUMBOOOOOOOOOOOOO

LUCKY JUMBOOOOOOO

[vitaminseetarot]

Quick General Advice for Your Situation (PAC)

One thing I want to mention is that all three piles had earthy palette cards with something spicy on the back of each pile's deck. This could have been the influence of Moon in Taurus as the lunar nodes are beginning to switch over to Aries. I'm sending frustration with all three piles but also a lot of passion and motivation.

Pick which earthy palette color you prefer for some quick guidance.

(piles 1, 2, 3 - images from pexels.com)

Spring Grass: XV Devil, Page of Swords, III Empress (Back: 3 of Wands)

The energy you're building up is leading you to seek out or attract new opportunities to travel to places you haven't experienced before. I'm sensing a strong draw towards what's new at this time, so it could be literal travel or you're seeking out a new experience overall. This could be a radical change from what you're used to. If you feel you're not in any position to travel soon, this may still be your pile, so hang on! Don't feel stuck! I'm letting you know now that plans can change quickly and spawn out of nowhere just as quickly. Your advice is to be in a state of expansion and open mindedness. Although 3 of wands is Aries energy, you're being asked to step into more Sagittarian energy of enthusiasm for adventure and optimism for brighter times. There might be a long period of time where this traveling doesn't happen even when you finally get itchy for it. That's because you need to sit down and do some planning. Make an itinerary, even for a fake trip. Look up photos, have conversations with people about it. Get in the mindset for it. Yes, it's possible to experience the impossible. But you have to be in a state of preparedness for it. Get your basic needs in working order so that when the opportunity does arrive, you'll be more than ready for it, inside and out.

Pink Quartz: Hermit, XIII Death, XVIII Moon (Back: 5 of Wands)

Even though you feel motivated enough to move forward, there's still tiny threads trying to pull you back into overthinking things. It can feel like you're busy when in reality your plans go nowhere because they're dead on arrival. It's one thing to be sparked by an idea, it's another to put it to print without losing what made you want to do it to begin with. I'm seeing an image of somebody sitting hunched over at their bench, writing down one sentence on a sheet of paper before crumpling it and starting again. This isn't a healthy mentality as you're not giving you and your imagination a chance. Your advice to be kinder to yourself by giving your inner vision more space to breathe. Being in stillness and sitting back with a blank canvas is part of the creation process and is in the end more productive than deleting the first page of your book over and over again. You have all three cards as major arcana, so learning this lesson will prove to be monumental to your life's overall progress.

Stone Brown: IV Emperor, III Empress, 7 of Swords (Back: 7 of Wands)

I think this pile is definitely experienced when it comes to making big plans and carrying them through. It seems the one thing that motivates you most is the feeling of "this has to be done, whether or not I like it." You put on a strict poker face only to fall apart as soon as no one's looking. Please let me tell you, pile 3, that you do not always have to be strong for everyone else. It's beautiful for you to see yourself as an important part of what makes life work, that your skills and patience are needed and appreciated. But all the praise in the world won't make up for that hollow feeling of coming home and realizing that you have to be strong for yourself, too. Your advice is similar to pile 2. You need to greatly soften your approach. Allow other people to pick up the pace and help you every now and then. Especially if there are many moving parts and you get into "octopus mode" of needing to be involved in all the cogs of the wheel. It shouldn't always be equal work, going out and dealing with people, then dealing with yourself. When you need time for yourself, take the chance. Ground yourself through nurturing and soothing habits at home, something that lets you take off the "big boss" mask for a while.

[chuuyascumsock]

hi pookie <33 sorry its been yearsss, lifes been a bit of bitch but im just going to be bitchier 😎

how are you doing? and also i love that you re-watched my little pony, that show RAISED me, I CRIED over Princess Celestia and Luna's reunion and the hundreds of other arcs that it had

I HATE THE NEW ONE ITS SO SODUHVODSHUCO 😔☹️

The old MLP is in my heart forever ❤️ (can you tell i was a horse girl 💀)

BUT OMG THAT BLANKET YOU MADE W LIZZY IS SO CUTE????? its so sweet 🥰🥰

i miss you and tumblr moots :(

and ive been TRYING to deal w my writing burnout 'cause i have an idea for a fic that ive been trying to write but words just aren't wording !!!!

and not to mention its been so unbearably hot where i live its actually horrific, i cant sleep at all because of the heat T-T

but on a lighter note ive been hanging out w some of my friends after we all got back from our respective trips and we're planning a little roadtrip later this month !!!!

and

i got snorb a sibling

this is my second baby 😋 im a proud dino mother here !!!

(this is a cry for help)

stay sexy 😘😘❤️💐

Hiiiii Pookie, I’m glad you sent an ask, I was getting worried about you snookums 🥺

I started watching MLP when I was like 10 because my baby brothers wanted to watch it and I liked it but after that I hadn’t seen it in years so I thought I’d get back into it. I was especially into the mlp creepypasta stuff (it was like the first official fandom I got into when I was 8 and it lasted until I was like 14 and I got a new hyperfixation which was Assassination Classroom, let me tell you— being in the Fnaf, Minecraft, Undertale, and Eddsworld fandoms in that time frame as well was wild. The fanfics and crossovers were embarrassing, y’all.)

Also, horse girl? I had to be one in middle and high school cause my mom made me take riding lessons and at least one competition lol. While I didn’t like it because I nearly broke my hip doing so, I’m still salty they sold the horse I mainly rode for two years and the new owner was a bitch and wouldn’t even let me walk past his stall because she was so possessive. Genuinely was only there to make friends with the horses, I still miss you, Cinnabar :[

And yessss, I love the blanket I made with Libby cause it’s so soft and warm which is great cause my hands and feet are naturally cold like a corpse.

I also get the burnout, I wanna write so bad and I have so many ideas but I just can’t write. I want to finish my second Chuuya hurt/comfort fic and Dazai hurt/comfort fic cause they’re almost done (my Chuuya one is 4k+ words long and the Dazai one is being a bitch and deleted half of my progress). But it’s okay because I named them appropriately so look out for fics called “I said break it down, not have a break down” and “This homeless man won’t leave so I’m spraying him down with dirty brown water” (I think you can guess which is which). So yeah :]

THE HEAT IS KILLING ME HERE TOO, IT’S SO FUCKING HOT AND HUMID AND MY GLASSES GET ALL FOGGY WHEN I LEAVE MY HOUSE FOR WORK I HATE IT 😭

Hurray for hanging out with friends!! I watched the new Deadpool and Wolverine movie with my friends this passing week and my god, Hugh Jackman is the straightest man crush I’ve ever had, he is so fine. I rarely like irl men in general (only do so with celebrities bc irl girls is where it’s at, dating boys is gross) so when I do, yk he’s got IT. God, I’d shred cheese on those abs of his.

And you got Snorb a sibling‼️ Name ‘em Sneeb, Sneeb and Snorb <3

[rianafying]

this is not necessarily a happy journal entry but

i’ve had a lot of happy moments lately. and relief. also chaos but that’s nothing unusual, the happiness is. noticed something that made me upset just now. also opened bumble god knows why. i know fully well i don’t want to date, and yet, i opened bumble. it’s not like i have time to kill. in fact, i have no time. there’s so much stuff i’m meant to be doing. i just added a whole bunch of stuff to my master to do list. here comes the hyperventilation. i prayed the other day. i felt so bad that i prayed. can yall imagine how much anxiety it takes to get to a point where i genuinely broke down enough to beg god for help? but it means something. it means i have hope. it means i want things to get better. it means i feel it’s worth it. this is a start contrast to my indifference and disinterest in living last year. things are different now. i am different. nothing changes. everything changes. it feels like a cycle but also there’s something new about it. everytime i regain my will to life. you can’t force these things. it has a mind of its own. also going back to bumble, it’s such a waste of time for me and also it makes me feel a few things: 1) like dating is so strange, i don’t have it in me to do the whole ritual, it’s not organic, it feels forced, and superficial, it’s not for me, not for who i am right now. 2) it makes me think about aspects of myself that i have struggled a lot to make peace with, such as my appearance, my personality etc through the lens of others, like why would i ever subject myself to such torment, when i know i hate being perceived 3) i am too impatient and disinterested to send the first message or to wait for a response and then to carry on a conversation. there’s more points but ill just keep rambling for eternity. why am i even saying all this, why am i thinking so much about it, clearly this has struck something in me, since i feel so strongly about it and am desperately trying to make sense of it. the thing is. i like who i am. i like how things are going. that is not something i can say like ever. but can now. and i’m doing fine. and i do have the time. to be silly. to waste some. i don’t actually have to do the things, i just want to do them. and a break is never long enough to do everything i ever wanted to do. instead i’ll focus on the progress i’ve made, which is anything but little. i should be and i am extremely proud of myself. oh funny thing happened the other day, i accidentally splashed boiling water onto my face and chest when trying to break a bone in my stockpot. and i gave myself a pretty nasty burn that covers more than half my face. the left side. my left. your right. the side with the mole. anyway, so i dealt with it, i’ve been told to avoid exposing my face to the sun or heat in general. so ive been eating a lot of cold foods. and coincidentally watching that episode on gilmore girls where the dragonfly inn catches fire, and sookie can’t use the stoves until the insurance company pays for the contractor to fix them and she lists cold foods, all types of salads and carpaccios. i don’t eat raw meat/fish and i’m over my salad craze. i’m craving a hot roast chicken sandwich with cold tomatoes and zesty mayo on toasted brioche buns. the way i make it. i’m rlly hungry. and there is this lingering melancholy that just grows if i don’t address it every now and then.

for someone who is absolutely terrible at writing, i sure do write a lot. and this is technically writing. right?

even though things are better, i’m not yet okay. my mind still spins too fast. nothing sticks. i’m in distress because my friends are distress. how can we actually be happy if the ones we love are not. so many people so many attachments. it’s been a while since i’ve even had the mental capacity to care for others. i’m hungry as fuck. something is off, something feels bad. is it my hunger. is it my messed up sleep schedule. is it my perpetually cluttered room. is it the pressure of expectations. is it my godawful health, mental or physical. is it eternal.

i can’t fix everything. i can’t fix anything really. i can’t fix things at a rate fast enough to keep up with the pace of destruction. in this life there is too much to fight against. but also too much to fight for. at least i can take solace in the fact that it ends. which is not so much a fact to me as it is a hope. god forbid the heavens exist. i couldn’t take another minute of being, after i have been so relentlessly my whole life. i’m hungry. i’m scared. i’m hopeful. i’m apprehensive. always anticipating danger but never quite ready for it. nothing is ever right enough. except when i find a bit of poetry that changes the fabric of my being. maybe i just need to be receptive in case some poetry finds its way to little old me.

[fortrivmph]

rules.

THIS IS AN INDEPENDENT / SELECTIVE ROLEPLAY BLOG FOR HAYTHAM KENWAY FROM THE ASSASSIN'S CREED SERIES.

GENERAL RULES.

i. there will be nsfw content on this blog, as well as gore and mentions of historically-accurate bigotry including racism and sexism. if you need something tagged, tell me. MINORS SHOULD NOT BE FOLLOWING OR INTERACTING WITH THIS BLOG. i am a grown adult, i am not comfortable with that.

➥ do not come here to be a freak about the templars. i am a historian with a focus in early christian history, i know enough about the templars and crusades to not tolerate modern white supremacist nonsense. trying to talk to me about the templars 'being right', historically or in the games, will earn you the cold shoulder at best. do not try your crusades 'defense' on me until you read fulcher. this is non-negotiable. sorry to the normal people reading this there have been horrors. ➥ do not say haytham should have been the protagonist of iii over connor. the way people talk about connor makes me insane. the point of iii was to provide an indigenous perspective on one part of the american revolution; haytham could not serve as a conduit to that. calling connor aggressive / bloodthirsty and haytham contrastingly charming / progressive will get you blocked.

ii. i prefer para over all other methods of roleplay, but if you want to use script, that’s fine. you do not need to format to roleplay with me. i use small text - tell me if you’re having trouble reading what i’m writing so I can bump the size back up for you.

iii. in-character drama is welcome in moderation; ooc drama is not. i do not reblog callout posts. if there is some extreme problem, you can come into my dms, but this is a privilege and if people start throwing petty drama my way i will revoke it. anon works the same way.

iv. i am always open to interacting with more than one of the same character, and ocs. i enjoy crossovers. that said, i more than likely won’t interact with kenway ocs. I WILL NOT INTERACT WITH PERSONAL BLOGS. PERSONAL BLOGS SHOULDN’T BE REBLOGGING MY THREADS - THAT WILL GET YOU BLOCKED.

v. i am not mutual-exclusive! i do not need to be following you for you to interact with me. it’s a way to keep my dash free of clutter, and threading with me is the best way to convince me to follow you!

vi. i work a full-time job and have a chronic hand condition, so sometimes my activity will plummet. i'm sorry if this causes frustration, it is also frustrating for me.

vii. the mun uses he / him pronouns; you can call me samuel!

viii. if you made it this far, thank you; please jump into my ask box whenever you need me, or tag/mention me in a post & we can get started. i promise i'm friendly, i love meeting new people and try to keep it chill!

IMPORTANT CHARACTER NOTES.

i. haytham has borderline personality disorder. i will neither tolerate it being used to excuse his actions, nor it being demonised as a condition. it is a part of how he operates, but not the cause for his violence or worldview.

ii. haytham was groomed by reginald birch. this also does not excuse his treatment of connor, but it does inform it, as it helped to influence his 'parenting' style. his choice to stay with the templars post-birch was his own.

[obsolete-stars-if]

progress update

1st feb 2024

like i wanted to do this year on every 1st of each month, we have a general progress update, what ive been up to, general stats, plans for the upcoming month, how the last month treated me and how i treated this game. lots of personal detail will happen.

january has been the least productive month yet, im trying to not let it get to me, i had to take lots of breaks, my bed literally broke down on me on the 1st and it took over 2 weeks to get the new bed to me. sleeping on the ground made writing so impossible bcs i got chronic pain flair ups, migraines as well as hip pain. it was agony. i did however cleaned my room and got a new bed and this change of paste was really welcome. now that i finally have an actual desk to write on again, I can look outside my window and watch the squirrels while i write, so beautiful. that does mean i didnt finish chapter 7 which is a bummer, but im trying to stay positive. i did publish part 2 in a more rough than usual state, just bcs i needed it out, i wouldve lost my mind if i didnt update it. I allowed myself to take a break from OS since the last update, bcs even if i didnt actively wrote most of jan, i still thought about OS and beat myself up for not writing. And i had some time to work on other things that I plan for the future, others stories i wanna tell some day (im not starting a new wip bcs i will literally never finish anything if i do), and also just, reading and drawing without thinking about OS too much. It were only a few days, but it was a much needed break, bcs since OS went officially online last May, there wasnt really a day where i didnt think about OS.

stats from Jan: I wrote a total of 8.477 words over the 8 days that i worked on this. That doesnt sound much, but its still about 1k words each day. obv the 8,5k words arent the 20k I set out to do in the beginning of January, but im just happy i did something.

The game is now over 70k words long (including code, i wrote that shit imma count it), i know its not as much as other ppls wips, but damn, it feels crazy to me, knowing i sat down, laptop on my lap (in my bed primarily) and just wrote that much in less than a year.

Plans for feb: for the love of god i need to get chapter 7 done. i also set the goal to 10k, since there are less days in february and i know that i might not get the time to write as i will be job hunting, yay. the goal will be adjusted in march depending on if and what job i get maybe. in general im pretty scared of february and march, bcs i will lose the financial aid and im not sure yet how the fuck will i finance myself, since moving back with my mom is a no. and i refuse to open a kofi or patreon. im very against earning money from my hobby and i hope i dont have to resort to it ever. (personal opinion)

Anyway, thanks for listening and lets hope that february will be a good month, ey

[an0nfr0mth3d3n]

QSMP Zombie Au…Zombies

I am going to REGRET writing this at 2 am when I have yet to plug in my headphones and phone or the night all the way the 2 feet across my room.

(if I haven’t made it abundantly clear, ZOMBIES TERRIFY AND FASCINATE ME)

(MOSTLY TERRIFY)

Enjoy the zombie lore dump I guess

Appearance: Fresh zombies look just like living humans, BUT the further the infection takes a hold on them, the more glazed and foggy their eyes look. The zombies don’t actually exhibit symptoms of rot as the people are still…technically alive, they just have a mind controlling fungal virus trying to spread as fast as possible through spores. Not much about appearance here cause they don’t look dead.

(NO this isn’t a cop out because I don’t want to think of rotting zombies I promise)

Behavior: THIS WILL BE HUGE!!! There are several stages of the infection that will be explained.

Stage I. The virus has JUST been transferred. The victim is not contagious yet, and exhibits no outwardly symptoms. This stage is actually able to be reverted!!! If the victim immediately cleans the wound where it was transferred (unless the victim made out with a zombie, but that’s generally advised against) they will have a fair chance that the stages will not progress. Additionally, there is actually a chance that the immune system will be able to attack and kill the spores. By cleaning the wound, you have a good chance of survival if you have a decent immune system as well! Yippee!!!

Stage II. Eyes will be slightly glazed here. Not much. The victim might experience some twitching and spasms as the body fights its hardest against the foreign spores. This stage is also not contagious. There is a small chance of reverting back this stage as well if the body has an incredibly strong immune system and the wound has been properly cleaned. It is rare, but not impossible.

Stage III. Eyes are glazed over. This stage is mildly infectious. The victim is still able to speak, but might have some difficulties with mobility as the brain is now actively fighting against the commands of the spores. Putting the victim into a coma might offer a chance of reversion, but it would be risky. Movements are jerky and the victim might struggle with memory loss issues. Keep in mind the infection is spread by spores transferred through saliva or other fluids coming in contact with open wounds or mouth.

Stage IV. Movements are almost completely controlled by the fungus now. This stage is moderately infectious and there is no hope at reversion as of now. The only chance is to cryogenically freeze the body (shhh it works here) and wait for a cure to be developed. The victim might be able to say a word once in a while, or just barely slow down the victim, but it is NOT a thing to bet on.

Stage V. The fungus has complete control over the brain now. These guys are pretty fast, not inhuman, and you could outrun because it’s not perfectly adapted, but the fungus knows how to use the body. The person behind the fungus is basically in hibernation, maybe a cure could be found one day but for now they are pretty lost.

So I might add things on later to this, but yeah. Also these stages can progress differently depending on the situation and strength of the person. Could be a week, a few days, maybe more. The victim at least has 24 hours though.

Also I’m aware that in most modern day societies a virus like this (A. Wouldn’t exist) wouldn’t be much of a threat because of the reversions in the beginning and the military presence (FUN FACT the US military has several protocols for what to do during zombie apocalypses, and one of them has something to do with space zombies and zombie chickens.)

But anyways here the government is a bit scattered and not put together and they undersell the threat level until there’s a couple of Stage V’s chilling out and getting people .

So yeah. Feel free to add asks or stuff, and yeah.

[whore-for-murdock]

Can’t You See That You’re Lost Without Me? - Chapter IV

Nameless Ghouls(Ghost band) x Black!OC

Series Summary: Asteria is forced out of her home and old life, but maybe it’s for the better.

Chapter Summary: Asteria is scared for the first time since she arrived at the abby, having walls starting to get broken down always is.

Warnings: Lowkey boring meeting, Asteria probably being dramatic, probably bad writing, and idk what else

I would love and very much appreciate any constructive criticism, please interact (like or comment, reposts if you really want to) if you enjoy. Comment or dm me if you want me to start a taglist.

Mountain and I spend hours under the sycamore tree, talking about everything and nothing all at once. I learn that he plays the drums, his favorite plant is a blue wisteria, and other small things are shared. I tell him that I have a less-than-optimal relationship with my mother, to say the least, not going into full detail or explaining the healing wounds on my face when asked. I also share with him my love of drawing, baking, and rollerblading.

“No way!” I say before laughing loudly.

“I’m serious!” Mountain says through a laugh himself. I laugh to the point that I can barely breathe and begin leaning against Mountain, trying to catch my breath. Throughout our lengthy conversation, we made a lot of progress as he slowly stopped flinching when my hand neared to get where we are now.

“So, you’re telling me that,” I pause, a small giggle escaping my lips, “that you didn’t talk to any of them for three days because he said he doesn’t like the color green?” It wasn’t as funny as our laughter made it seem, but the way he told the story made it seem like the most interesting and, in this case, the funniest thing in the world.

“Well, yeah, it really offended me.” He said looking down at me, my head now calmly resting on his shoulder. I comfortable silence now rests over the garden, I glance up to find him still looking at me, a soft look in his eyes.

His head turns quickly towards the door I came through. I turn my head in that direction to find another ghoul standing stiffly, her hands resting behind her back. The hair on her mask is far more embellished and full compared to the display on Mountain’s.

“It’s time for practice,” she says simply before scurrying inside. Mountain shifts beside me and I quickly lift my head so he could stand. He holds out a hand to help me up and we walk inside together before parting ways.

-- -- 

I make my way to the dining area, to try and get a midnight snack. I hadn’t even bothered trying to go to sleep for the night. Any attempts would have been fruitless anyway. Before I could make it all the way to some much-desired food, I notice someone sitting by one of the very large windows along the hallway walls.

The slivers of moonlight peeking through the clouds gleam off the silver mask that rests on the person’s face. The ghoul’s head turns to me, and I quickly come to a halt. Vibrant light-blue irises shine from behind their mask. My eyes trail down at their outfit to find more casual, comfortable clothes, compared to the slightly restricting uniform I had seen the ghouls and ghoulettes wearing in the band room. I rack my brain to try and remember how I can identify this ghoul without finding the symbols on their uniforms.

Water Ghouls - Light-blue

The calmest of the ghouls. 

Quickest to form a bond with, even without gifts or trinkets.

Maintain a calm and slow approach, and allow them to accommodate to your general presence before attempting to speak to or even touch them.

I slowly walked to and sat across from the water ghoul in the wide ministry window. I stared out the window with them, watching as it begins to rain, small droplets gliding down the window panes. I stole many glances towards them to find their mask was identical to Mountain’s. We made eye contact a few times, however, he always broke it first, not seeming threatened by my presence or gaze.

Almost an hour had passed before I first spoke.

“Hi,” I whisper, not wanting to disrupt the quiet atmosphere that surrounded us too much. He quickly moves his gaze to me, his eyes analyzing me for a few moments before he responds.

“Hey,” he pauses for a moment or two seeming to gather his thoughts. “I’m Rain.”

“Nice to meet you, Rain,” I say smiling kindly at him. “It’s really pretty tonight, huh?”

“Yeah,” he responds, his focus on the clouds once more. “Why are you up so late? Don’t humans need a full night's sleep?” Curiosity fills his gaze as he turns to me again, however, I continue looking outside and avoid, what seems to be, concern in his eyes.

“Some. I can’t sleep anyways, so I thought I’d wander for a bit.” He hums a response, looking outside once more. Silence settles again as the sky slowly brightens, the time spent here becoming apparent.

“Thanks,” I pause, gathering my thoughts a bit. “For bringing me back here. I have no idea where I would have gone if you hadn’t.”

“It wasn’t a problem. Plus you had passed out, it would’ve been wrong to just leave you there. Speaking of which, how’d you end up out there? With all those injuries?”

I suck in a quick breath, my mind wandering back to my mother and her afflictions towards me. Tears build at my waterline without me realizing as I continue looking up at the sky.

“Sorry, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he quickly back-tracks so as to not upset me. I blink away the tears once I look at him and smile sadly as the sun slowly peaks out from behind the tree line. I stand, ready to continue my way towards the kitchen. Before I leave, I glance at the ghoul again.

“Oh, uh thank you for yesterday,” I said quietly.

He tilts his head cutely, confusion clouding his gaze.

“For protecting me, when I accidentally set off one of the other ghouls. I appreciate it.” I say, waiting before walking off to gauge his reaction.

His gaze scans my face thoroughly, his eyes conveying an emotion I can't decipher about what he was feeling. He glances away as though to gather his thoughts.

“I didn’t want anything else to happen to you after how we found you. Out in the woods,” he turns his eyes back to me, the look in his eyes now registering as protective and care, something I have seen very rarely. 

My cheeks heat up at his word, his voice dripping with care, a truly foreign substance to me. I duck my head and hurry down the hall, continuing on to find the kitchen, not exactly knowing how to process, let alone respond to his words.

Once a fair distance away, I slow to a moderate pace, realizing that I might get close to people here, the ghouls especially, and that scares me.

[dirt-grub]

watching some sunny bloopers and they take me the fuck OUT like oh my god... i have no idea how they eventually got the “why dont we slip into a room and you two boys split me open like a coconut” line id fucking pass away trying to say that with a straight face 

[probably-haven]

Hello!! After seeing what you wrote about xiaoven fics I went to see what things you usually write and omg, your archon Venti headcanons????? I am absolutely in love. So if it isn't annoying, could you talk about xiaoven or Venti or Xiao or whatever ship or character you like? I don't care what you are going to say, I just want to know more about your thoughts ^^

I- is this... bestie, this is essentially a free ramble pass- kerujsgheskdfug. Trust me when I say that in no way is this, and in no way will it ever be annoying in the slightest- i literally- lets just say rambling off thoughts is kind of my specialty, especially when provided a topic to branch off of because otherwise I'm just- really indecisive about it so- iujskdh yeah- 100% definitely down to talk about Venti, Xiao, and/or Xiaoven XD. Also, yes- it may have been awhile since i last posted one(cuz again, indecisive about which direction to take part 5), but the Archon War Era Venti headcanons are still without a doubt my favorite posts I've made. It's just such an interesting topic with such endless potential that so few people actually think about or consider or even realize is there, so i always just get really psyched whenever i see someone interact with them lol.

.... this ended up being a bit of a mess: warning in advance

Anyway! onto the actual content!

- You see the thing about Xiaoven is that there's a lot of different ways that it could end up working out, and just personally my favorite way of portraying Xiaoven in my mind is as an unlabeled relationship because if anyone in genshin would give off that vibe its these two. And a number of other reasons.

- Firstly, I heavily headcanon Venti as being an aroace polyplatonic or perhaps heavily demiromantic. However, regardless of this I just don't think that Venti is really the kind of person to worry about how he should label his feelings, thinking it's silly to try to put them in one box or the other, especially with feelings and emotions being as fluid as they are in general. Plus it fits his whole God of Freedom vibe. I just- dont think he's the biggest fan of labels or social categorization in general.

- And secondly on the hand of Xiao... his defense mechanisms are very much ingrained in his personality. It's probably hard enough for him to not go into fight or flight(the answer is fight) at the slightest affection at first, at the slightest feeling of vulnerability. Even further down the line, with his fierce dedication to Liyue, I cant help but get the vibe that the moment he recognized that he was falling for Venti he would begin avoiding him, not only to avoid distraction from his duty, but to avoid corrupting him or losing him in general like he has with like basically every other person he gets close with(even believing that the cycle had repeated once more when he first heard of Morax's death)... now imagine Venti tryna slap a label on their relationship and tell me Xiao would have a positive reaction.

- The thing with Xiaoven.... honestly, i feel like theres more ways that it can go wrong than it can go right, but if they do manage to make their relationship work out, it's just simply beautiful in all terms of the word.

- Lets talk about killing. - During the Archon War, both were forced to kill a large number of people and gods alike- Venti out of a need to remain alive to protect Mondstadt, it's freedom, and the nameless bard's legacy by extent- and Xiao out of servitude to the god that was once his master

..... actually- break here- ive talked a lot about Venti on this blog but I havent actually spoken about Xiao all that much- so i should probably do that a bit first... do note though that my characterization of Xiao is pretty flexible actually- this is just- the possible characterization of him that i tend to favor as being the most- uh- "realistically complex"

-

Theres a line I saw this one time in a certain story: "He is a trained weapon. That's what he is, was, and always will be. You cannot change that so stop trying." And i just- think its a really interesting concept- that applies pretty well to Xiao now that i actually think about it. - the concept behind it is this: After spending more than a vast majority of his life killing or otherwise in battle, it's become a part of who he is, a normalcy that after centuries and centuries would be near impossible to get rid of or reverse, and even if it was possible, with his karmic debt constantly eating away at him its unlikely he has enough time left for that to happen. - it sounds like a cruel thing to say about him- but in context it's actually pretty layered and i think about it a lot. It's not as much a "he's a killer lol, that his whole personality" its more of a "The centuries of trauma he experienced have conditioned him into a constantly alert and battle ready mindset while also shaping his dehumanizing inferior-in-worth-but-superior-in-capability view of himself that would have likely been necessary to get through those time, and at this point he's been under that conditioning for long enough that it's essentially ingrained itself in his personality."

- the main idea is- it's a part of who he is, that needs to be accepted as who he is because its not something that he can just up and change. It's not all he is of course but his constant battle mode, as though always waiting to be ambushed or to be granted a new target to eradicate.

a couple character story quotes:

-"His past of service under the evil god had rid Xiao of his innocence and gentleness. All that remained within him was the means to kill and the weight of his sins. The only way he could be of service to mortals was in combat." -"Xiao does not feel any hatred. Having lived for over two thousand years, no single karmic debt constitutes anything more than a fleeting memory. No grudge can last a thousand years; nor is any debt so great that it cannot be paid off in this time. Xiao has spent many long years alone. But his battles have never been in vain." -"where did Xiao have to return to? He was merely leaving the battlefield." -"since Xiao wages a constant war against dark forces powerful enough to devour Liyue in its entirety, any bystanders who witness him in the heat of battle are likely to end up as collateral damage." -"The war he fights can never be won, and will never come to an end." -"Because ultimately, the one with whom Xiao wrestles is himself."

i feel like at some point this very nearly did consume his whole personality, almost turning him into nothing more than a being of slaughter under Morax's control, devoid of any "humanity" at all, consumed and corrupted by his karmic debt like his fellow yakshas before him. - until he experienced a moment of clarity- a song in the wind, the peaceful melody of a dihua flute. - and pulled back from the border of something he wouldnt have been able to return from, there a was a shift in his mind- a concept grown unfamiliar enough with time that it took him a great time to identify what it was; a curiosity. Something that there was no place for on the battlefield, something that by all means should have been completely useless to Xiao, and yet he held onto that curiosity, slowly regaining over time, a sense of who he was and who he could choose to be with each song that the wind chose to carry towards him every once in a blue moon.

and eventually that curiousity turned to longing. Longing "for a day to come when he will wear the mask and dance — not to conquer demons, but to the tune of that flute amid a sea of flowers"

...... uh- heh- if you couldn’t tell already i have a tendency to make my characterizations/analyses of characters more serious that i probably should. 

to summarize: Xiao is constantly toeing the line between his ingrained nature and his humanity- almost as though still trying to decide how much of that humanity he deserves to have, how much he is allowed to have, and how much is safe to have.

^looking back after writing this, i think the best way to explain it is that this is the view that i keep in mind/the lense that i tend to most enjoy looking through and refering back to while examining and/or analyzing his character, actions, story, lines, and overall personality.

idk- i kinda got off track but i just think its a really interesting interpretation to think about because it has some really interesting implications ig- it’s not the full extent of how i view him of course, but i kinda got ahead of myself and its long enough as is so ill just elaborate as i go- Lol i actually have in progress playlists for both him and venti and just- vibes- i could ramble about the playlists alone for hours explaining everything... It’s probably a problem- uh- ill keep going now lol.

anyways! stepping off the angst path for a brief break! Brought to you by their lines in the snow: both waiting for it to get thick enough, Venti for the purpose of a snowball fight and Xiao for the purpose of a tasty and nutritious breakfast.

but its actually something of note that Xiao doesnt actually need to eat so anything he does eat is usually out of obligation or enjoyment- so like.... snow.... like i dont blame him, but of all things- an adeptus who refuses to eat basically anything but almond tofu looks at the freezing-cold-floor-water that yeeted itself from above and decided at some point- damn- that seems more edible than basically ever single actually edible thing ever.... im gonna eat it- like- im glad if eating snow makes him happy but- at the same time...

He probably convinces Venti to eat snow too though and Venti wouldnt even resist I mean he’s wind and has probably consumed worse things in his time so- 2 anemo cryptids with glowing tattoos sitting in Dragonspine monching snow in the dead of night is an amusing thought to me.

- kay, now back to more serious-toned thoughts

One of the things about the ship that i really like is the different contradicting parallels between them:

A lot of how i view Xiao’s character is someone formed largely by the things he cant control and who was forced to accept that accepted that and learned to thrive in it as much as he can.  Venti on the other hand is surrounded by things he cant control and is ever adapting to control as much as he can while embracing whatever he cant as being part of the unpredictability of the world, seeing beauty in it. 

both of them have lost people and do what they do to honor their memory: Xiao continues to do what the Yakshas once did And Venti chooses to do what his friend couldn’t

Xiao’s power coming from himself  and Venti’s from others And both seem to appear to use their power for their own gain while truly helping others behind the scenes

both have killed a lot of people during the archon war Xiao views it as another necessary event out of his control and Venti would likely view it as a tragedy he chose to enact himself

and this is where we meet out balance

Xiao- contrary to how i think a lot of people view him as thinking of himself as a monster- seems canonically to have accepted this as part of his duty, as long as those he killed are not mortals. I dont think he enjoys it no- but someone has to do it and he’s just accepted that its a part of his duty Venti on the other hand-

See the beauty of the ship- as someone with an angst-centric mind- is this- these are two of the most traumatized mfers in the game 

Xiao is by far the one who needs the most help and who can serve to benefit most from the ship- but he is nowhere near self aware enough to recognize that there’s anything wrong or unhealthy about his mindset in the slightest-

whereas you have the contrast with Venti who sorted through most of his trauma with the nameless bard alone during the archon war and while the result appears more healthy- is still really not- but he’s not self aware of that either because i mean- who’s going to tell him? nobody even knows. 

however- venti is aware enough to notice flaws in Xiao’s mindset and “Venti” enough to want to help them through it-

Xiao- while not aware enough to recognize the flaws in Venti’s mindset, can recognize where it contrasts with his own, and is blunt enough to point it out- and then it’s out there to be mulled over- 

they’re so similar and yet so different and a feel just conversing between the two of them, being in each others precense, just being exposed to two mindsets that are so very different could do both of them a whole lot of good.

GEEE THAT BIT OF RAMBLING HAD LITTLE TO NO DIRECTION AT ALL- LET ME-- LET ME MAKE THIS START MAKING SENSE- WITH... DYNAMICS OR SOMETHING

I don’t think Xiao needs to sleep really- and i dont think that sleeping would do anything except make him uneasy at first- he’d probably just get nightmares after all he’s been through- but with Venti he would soon learn that it doesn’t have to be that way, lulled into the first peaceful sleep he’s had in... as long as he can remember.

anywho back to not making sense cuz im fickle and i think most questions about ships are best displayed through character interactions so like- a possible exchange thats cliche but cliches exist for a reason

Xiao: Why do you try so hard to help me, it isn’t easy. I know that much Venti, with the most adoring expression: Because you’re worth it, obviously Xiao: But surely there are others more deserving of- Venti: No Xiao, everyone is just as deserving as the next person, you included Xiao: Then why me above others? Venti: ehe, cuz ur my warrior of course [O//////O oh shit, hes right] Xiao: My contract is with Morax alone [gay panic but in broody yaksha]

it’s kinda difficult cuz neither of them really address their feelings.  I mean Venti does but he does it very indirectly and its rare that he ever does it with like- genuine directness- even spilling his backstory was in the form of a song- and told in the third person- so a lot of their interactions would often have some deeper meaning, especially with Venti being the bard he is. 

I come up with a lot of- errant thoughts about Xiaoven- but this is making me realize that a true analysis of their ship is rather difficult because it just encompasses so many dynamics so its hard to settle on just one and not go rambling about who knows what bouncing from one end of the ship to the other-  Because you truly can and thats the beauty of it

within one moment you can be having a heartfelt conversation about the archon war the impact of lost friends and times past, and the next moment Venti is trying to forcefeed Xiao an apple while Xiao screams about disrespecting the adepti and its just- so lovely

so while they have picnics with nothing but apples, dandelion wine, and almond tofu they can sit down and talk about the dreams Xiao once devoured, and the dandelion wine and apple cider that the first Ragnvindir invented from the plants that never could have grown in Old Mond. The foods that tasted of familiarity, or of the grilled ticker fish Pervases always used to eat, foods that tasted of friends and frankly family that had since passed, glaze lilies and cecilias and qingxin flowers scattered in the surroundings and woven into Xiao’s neat braids and Venti’s now messy ones, rebraided by the steady and inexperienced hands of one unused to gentle action. 

and then of course Venti steals Xiao’s tofu once the mood becomes too grim and replaces it with a bottle of wine that Xiao refers to as “vile poison,” a remark that fatally wounds Venti as he collapses on the floor, proclaiming how he can only be healed by a Yaksha’s kiss. Xiao ignores this of course and simply takes back his tofu with a slight smile on his face, but as Venti persists he soundlessly places a kiss on his own palm before intertwining their fingers and pulling him back up from where he was dramatically sprawled on the floor, grumbling about how such action was “unbecoming of an archon.” A sign of affection only Xiao would ever know about. But Venti is literally wind and I hc his senses work differently anyways so he definitely knows- plus Xiao’s face is red as the blood of his enemies and the way he is pointedly not looking at Venti at all really speaks volumes anyways. 

 -Venti playing epic battle music whenever Xiao goes into fights in what looks like a ridiculously extra performance to anyone else but is actually doing wonders to keep Xiao’s karma at bay

-Venti preaches the practice of “kissing wounds better” and Xiao is unfamiliar with this medical treatment but views it as unnecessary regardless because adepti have accelerated healing, doesn’t mean he’s going to stop him though. 

-Messages whispered on the wind

-Venti’s 1000 year sleep- an accident, not a fun time for the yaksha, and not a fun time for Venti once he woke up. Venti is actually more afraid of restful sleep than Xiao is, hence the sleeping in trees thing, but when Xiao is there, he can sleep restfully with faith that Xiao wont let another millennia slip through his fingertips. 

- Xiao tends to make excuses when doing things that aren’t necessary to his duty, like in his birthday voice line “Have this, it’s a butterfly i made from leaves... Okay. Take it. It’s an adepti amulet -- it staves off evil” because at the current point in his progress it helps him to feel like he’s allowed to do these things. Not wanting to put him off from progress, Venti never comments on his excuse but never fails to whisper a quick reminder of how proud he is of how far Xiao had come.

- Xiao’s karma saddens Venti greatly- not only because of how it effects Xiao but also because its a reminder that as much as Venti tries to honor the memory of those he’s killed, there will always be those who resent him for it, and when he took the option of living away from them, he truly can’t blame them. - And when he gets too wrapped up in thoughts, whether around this topic or similar ones or otherwise, eventually, he’ll hear the sound of a flute on the wind. It’s not divine by any means, but as his own wind connects him to the source, he gets the sentiment all the same. “What impact does one individual’s remaining wrath have on the present. You have done much to help the living in the present” the unspoken idea that Xiao has included himself in that statement, because now, with Venti’s help he’s beginning to learn just how to experience living for himself. 

- Venti’s form and Xiao’s mask are off limit topics though because if either mentions it the other will counter with the opposite and the mood will turn immediately bitter at the idea that both know that what they’re doing is destructive but neither are willing to change

- Venti who has different tells for negative feelings than most people because as much as he likes to pretend it is- this form isnt his, and Xiao who is able to identify those

- many fanfics and headcanons have Venti recognizing when Xiao is uncomfortable and getting him out of those situations. I see that and I love it but i raise you: - Venti taking Xiao to Mondstadt, careful that he doesn’t get to the point that he’s uncomfortable. And nothing goes wrong exactly, but Xiao notices the the way Venti’s cape is blowing in the wind, the way he’s holding his weight, barely on his feet so much as floating on the wind, connected with the ground only for the sake of appearance, all the while he looks just as happy go lucky as ever. And without a word, he grabs his hand and teleports them both out of Mondstadt.  - turns out it was just a slight thing that reminded him of the archon war (cuz i will die on the hill of him having more tragic backstory than just Decarabian), and he of course gives a sincere if not flustered thanks to Xiao, because he’s really not used to people noticing. 

- Venti trying to vent sneakily through fictional stories and Xiao is just like “Didn’t that basically happen to you” and Venti is just like “<_< shit”

- Venti once said affectionally that he wished he had met Xiao sooner and Xiao immediately and seriously shot it down by saying “If you had, I would have been forced to kill you” and both of them now stay up at night wondering who would have won that fight, not sure which result would have hurt more. (because honestly I have no idea who would win in that fight and that terrifies me- I like to think it would have been one of those legends that end with “and the fight persists to this day” or something along those lines)

- “How long have you been together?” “Adepti have no need for-” “1000+ years T^T how dare you deny our love” “O///O our...? ...useless”

- its disney- let me explain- i have this- i have this headcanon inspired by watching too many animatics- - so venti has a human form that isnt his- which he would have had to get used to moving in- and he’s a bard- - uh- anyway- as a third degree black belt in mixed martial arts, i can speak as an authority on this(not really an authority since i havent gone since quarantine but lets pretend). We have a thing referred to as the big three(most things do), and those things are martial arts, gymnastics, and dance. The idea is that they reflect really well off of each other and the best in any one category are good in all three. Timing, balance, form, discipline, technique, hand-eye coordination, grace, ease of motion, they all play a part- anyway-

- Venti taking Xiao’s prowess in martial arts and acrobatics and teaching him how to dance, and as someone who’s extremely skilled in the first two, the third comes easy to him, almost naturally. And it’s delicate and beautiful and lovely and it isn’t hurting anyone. And Venti points all these things out and more and despite how much Xiao insists that he feels ridiculous he truly does enjoy it and it goes a long way towards helping him form more healthy views of himself and his worth.  - Verr Goldett walked in on him once and made a joke about performing at the inn. unfortunately Venti was there and agreed on Xiao’s behalf before he could protest and- and it wasn’t as bad as Xiao thought it would be... he still wouldn’t do it again though without reason, but with good enough reasoning he could probably be convinced. 

- anyways point is he likes dancing to Venti’s songs and i just think that’s really cute - just picture the idea that all the animatics you see actually have the potential to be canon- ugh

- venti tries holding something out of Xiao’s reach since he’s taller and Xiao just fucking teleports 

- both need their space but when they dont, all they have to do is speak the other’s name and they’ll be there.

- and because i just had to.... love languages

- lets start with Xiao- i don’t think he’d view acts of service or quailty time as a love language tbh, and he blunt but really bad with words so affirmation is out, leaving gift giving and physical touch. However, he seems to view most material things as meaningless so- - Xiao who’s love language is in his fleeting touches, something he’s only recently grown comfortable with because of Venti, and now is giving back, which he knows he doesn’t have to do, but that he want’s to, though he’ll still continue to make excuses for each one. “you were shivering” “The inn is high up, you could have fallen..... I said what I said, you’d question an adeptus?”

- and as easy as it is to say words of affirmation for Venti- he does that for everyone- i want to say his is actually acts of service - its the acts of service that let him see just how much Xiao has progressed afterall, from teaching him to dance, to playing another song on the flute, to supplying him with the almond tofu he seems to enjoy so much. Every little thing he does helps Xiao to grow and he couldn’t be happier about that. 

-

- of course most of my headcanons for the ship do take place latter into the relationship because- y’know the less serious unhealthy vibes allow for greater range of thought, but i do still love to think about the serious implications so i kinda hopped back and forth. So sorry about how messy it is btw, i kinda- got carried away- it kinda got some kind of structure near the end tho so- maybe it’s okay. anyway- back to... lol something, we’ll see where thought forests lead. 

[yammoba]

you are literally so fucking right about ranfren that I made a tumblr account after over a year clean of not having one to tell you so. The whole situation makes me so fucking upset and I hate that people feel this sick sense of entitlement that every single creator is a completely flawless saint who has never so much as had an impure thought.

Yea, its really tough because i think its worth having these kinds of discussions. Its part of why we have progressed as much as we have in terms of media and such (which in the grand scheme of things isnt actually all that much, but ehh, baby steps i guess...) But i really think its important to keep the context of the past in mind when having these discussions otherwise any critisisms are just gonna fall flat.

I also do get frustrated people seem to want to apply the same kind of standards to every work and every person. A single someones indie project that is specifically taylored to a specific demographic is not going to have the same kind of reach and "responsabilities" as something like... the marvel movies idk. Im really fighting back a disney industrial complex rant, but I'll persist.

Its also like... yeah... sometimes a work is just not "for you" like in the sense that it was written in a way that is just not going to cater to "you". I dont mean in like a traditional demographic way nessecarily, like obviously people can enjoy things outside their -demographic-, adults can enjoy kids media etc. But i more mean in like a deep aesthetic and content sense. For example i dont write my stuff with straight people in mind.

I dont know... like... i think Rent the movie/musical is problematic. I dont like it. It doesnt appeal to me even though the idea of it sounds cool, nothing about the exicution or the actual content compels me and i have a lot of issues with how the queer characters are depicted. But Rent is really important for a lot of people, even straight cis people probably, for a lot of contextual reasons that just dont apply to me. Rent is not for me. We can talk about the ways the harmful sterotypes can have real world impacts, and keep those thing in mind when crafting new stories, but theres context to why its like that and why it means stuff to people. And even though i do Not like rent, i understand theres content in it, outside the stuff that is problematic and, or the stuff that is "problematic" resonates with people in ways that arent nessecarily "yep that sterotype is true and i hate bisexuals now". Im being glib but i hope my point can come across.

And, im speaking pretty generally for all of that but it feels important to the underlying vibe of the conversation? If that makes sense.

It is tough when you find something that has parts that appeal to you extreamly deeply, but parts that you just hate or cant deal with or cant get past. Its deffinatly happened to me, and ive had to treat it differently pretty much every time because no case has been the same. No peices of media are the same, especially when taken in context. Its up to the individuals (or their gaurdians i guess) to determine what the lines are in what you can deal with at what times.

Also its frustrating because in these types of situations (lumping every troubling thing someone has ever done into a google doc with shorthand explinations and getting people to spread it around as proof that x-person is human garbage and anyone who supports them is too) people always end up having multiple converstations at the same time. Converstations that have different needs or requirements. Like with this situation theres issues of when and if certain types of depictions play into harmful histories and stereotypes and what harm that can cause and if intent matters or not, which is a media depiction issue. Issues of how fan/internet culture veiws certain things and the "generational" descrepencies that cause confusion and hurt among people wich is a media and social structure issue. Issues that arise out of some very foundational aspects of meme and internet culture, foundational in the sense that its still baked into how people act and veiw things which is a social structure issue. Discussions of how forgiveness(using that world loosly) of harmful individual action should happen, how much responsability can be placed on an individual when so much of how we act is a reflection of our place in time and space. Which in particular is a massive fucking thing and is often best understood differently from media anylisis-type jam because there are different factors at play.

They do all have stuff in common but when it comes to analyzing what harm has been done they just are not the same...

I also just... i kinda gotta rant... i know that stuff people get turned off by is very personal. So i think its understandable for people to have internal "double standards". <personal example> i cant get down with ancheint magus bride. The way the main relationship is framed and the way the main girl is treated just kinda bug me, even though i did want to like it because the designs are so good. Theres other stuff to it that makes it unappealing, but eh, it is what it is. But i fucking love cardcaptor sakura. Damn it makes me so happy. But that series is full of very -problematic- relationships, that i still kinda think are cute in the context of the story. Sakura's parents were teacher and student, touya has a past romantic realtionship with a teacher, i could keep going, lots of relationships that in that show would be horrible or strange if they happened in real life. Its interesting to think about why one put me off and the other didnt. (And i have, but its not worth going into here) But in terms of being "problematic", pound for pound card captor sakura is probably "worse".</personal example>

But... when presenting your issues with media as issues of justice, and presenting them in a way that condems anyone who doesnt fall perfectly inline with you, its weird....... to see them..... be into.... stuff thats.... also got similar.... or worse issues...........

one of my main fandoms is one thats widely detested and i have a hobby of looking at the blogs of people who complain about it, and its pretty common for this to happen.... im choking back the disney rant but.... ill make that its own post. Its not really about "what about x thing, isnt that problematic too???" Its more like... i have a concern for this mindset when paired with using it to declare people that like or produce "irredemable" media to be scum who are -litterally killing people-. because its so often unhelpful. On the surface it tends to confuse and alienate people. It can wind up making real world issues seem much more trival than they are because they are being used to explain why you dont like someone over the internet, who may be related to those issues, but is in no way a substitute for the weight of systematic opression. It leaves fertile ground for people who are truely against social justice to sweep in and use it to explain that "caring about social justice is dumb, racism is over anyways~ actually did you know white people are in danger of loosing our majority status--". Im not saying we need to taylor arguments and speech to soften the reality of things. But its important to be aware of orders of scale and reach and other factors of reality. And its important to understand where people are at. And if you are interested in fighting for justice, and explaining the problems inherent in everything. You have to actually... do that... which is a long and difficult task. And it can be hard to articulate, and stressful. And you, or people you admire, might fuck up. And burnout happens extreamly easily, especially for thise who have to deal with real world consequences of systematic opression while trying to fight it. (And itll happen way faster if the first insinct when someone fucks up is to harrase and dox them) Thats why its important to... pick your battles. Obviously you can care about more than one thing at a time, but you also dont have to try to be an avatar of expertise for every fucking thing. There are a lot of people, and we're stronger fighting together because we can all use our perspectives and expertise in the areas that suit us best.

All this to also say nothing of the very real concern trolling that happens still pretty regularly. Im not saying that is the case in this specific instance here, but its worrying because these kinds of live or die mindsets will leave people venuerble to certain types of coordinated concern trolling campaigns that have already done real harm to innocent and often mrginalized people.

Uuhhh... sorry for rambling so much, also sorry for enabling your return to tumblr... i hope you have a good time at least xD im glad you and others were able to get something out of my nonsense. I mean ultimately i just dont want people to harrase each other, thats really the bottom line with any fandom/media-spawned debate.

[yesimwriting]

Anastasia (prologue)

A/n ive been talking about my Anastasia x SOC story for awhile and im finally ready to post the prequel,, ive also been working on some requests and thinking about my next multi-part fic (ive made some posts about it lol)

things to know before reading: i tend to like to make up my own countries when writing these type of politically/plot driven fics that revolve around a royal family bc i think it makes it not only easier to write but less confusing bc it takes out the issue of potentially conflicting with canon, so i made up the country ‘Anastasia’ is from,, this also follows the musical Anastasia a little more bc i feel like that version of the story is more mature and easier to write for SOC (the only difference is that not everyone is happy that Anastasia is alive and someone tries to kill her bc they hate the royal family)

Series Summary: y/n makes an unconventional deal with Kaz to save the life of her best friend. No one’s ever made a deal with the infamous Dirtyhands that resulted in them shedding the title of orphan from a revolution-torn country that can’t remember her life before the orphanage and taking on the title of Princess Anastasia. As time progresses, things are made more complicated as y/n has to deal with royals, revolutionaries, a grisha general who has a lot to gain from an alliance with a princess that doesn’t know what she’s doing, and potential feelings for a conflicted Kaz Brekker that has more to do with Anastasia’s disappearance than he’s ever admitted. 

--

The world seems to be made up impossible things. Each day, people defy odds, strangers fall in love, the universe expands, and the Saints watch it all. I am not the kind of person to sneer at a miracle, to try to explain it away instead of acknowledging it for what it is. 

But what this stranger is proposing is laughable. 

I lean more into the chair, doing all I can to get away from the desk that he sits at. A nervous kind of giggle threatens to escape me, a laugh at the expense of the foolishness of the situation. If his demeanor was any less brooding, I would have already laughed at the irony. Kaz Brekker, the Dirtyhands, creating a ploy so colored by the fairytale notions of dreamers.

The longer I go without reacting, the worse this situation becomes. I haven’t seen Verne since Brekker and his people separated us. I can see the world of torment my eldest friend must be experiencing at this very moment while I sit at this desk. 

“Me?” I’m the most ridiculous part of his plan. He said the only reason me and my partner are still alive is because I fit the general description of the kind of person he needs, and if I’m blackmailed into it he won’t need to waste kruge paying me. “A princess?” 

He blinks, as uninterested and stoic as he’s been since he first ordered me into his office. “A pretend one,” his correction feels like a slight, “a surrogate one.” 

My eyebrows furrow together. “But what--I know the odds of the real Anastasia coming back are beyond slim, but if we’re caught in a lie the Dowager Duchess of Avila will have all of us killed. She may be in Ravka now, and her title nothing more than decorative due to the revolution, but she still has people loyal to her.” 

“Anastasia can’t come back.” The graveness of his voice is so certain a part of me has to wonder if he could have anything to do with her death. I dismiss the thought almost immediately, I don’t know his exact age, but he doesn’t look much older than me. He couldn’t have been more than two or three years older than Anastasia when she died, and she was a child at the time. “No one remains missing that long unless they’re dead.” 

I awkwardly scratch the back of my wrist, “You’re the expert here.” No--I did not just say that out loud. “Sorry--I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Not that thinking it makes it any better, but at least then you wouldn’t know and I’d seem like less of an idiot and I wouldn’t be talking about it right now, and just rambling at a really inconvenient time for me to just...” I cringe slightly, opting to stare at his desk instead of meeting his judgmental gaze. “Sorry, again. Normally Verne is here, and he just kicks me in the shin or something to shut me up.” 

“If you’d like to see what apparently is your only source of impulse control alive and in decent enough condition to kick anything ever again, you’ll agree to what I’m proposing.” 

I straighten my posture slightly, nerves and guilt twisting in my stomach. “I’m going to be as transparent as physically possible.” The warning is for both of us, the urge to hide all my weaknesses bubbling in my chest. “Mr. Brekker.” That’s awkward--what am I supposed to call him? “I’m a university student that’s only in Ketterdam because of an academic scholarship. I’m from somewhere average--I’m not from a place nice enough to give me the manners I’d need to pass as a girl who spent her fundamental years growing up in luxury and I’m not from a place grimy enough to make me a quick enough liar to make up for what I don’t know.” I inhale slowly, ignoring the sting of the flaws I laid out for a cruel stranger. “I’m not particularly graceful or sly or talented in any field that someone like you would value. The closest thing I have to talent involves things that can be tracked on paper. I wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight, I was just doing a friend a favor.” 

“You claim that you’re not a decent liar or a thief and yet your closest friend is one who believed himself talented enough to challenge me?” 

I resist the urge to shrink back into my seat. “This is Ketterdam, you try finding someone that doesn’t dabble in crime and ambition.” He does’t reply to my retort, which I think means I won. “Cards on the table, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to save Verne, but you don’t want me for something like this.” 

He pauses, jaw locked and eyes too stony for me to interpret. “Every flaw you just pointed out, every reason you think makes you unfit for this job, is exactly the reason I’m offering you this.” I keep a thousand questions to myself as I wait for him to continue. “Those used to lying lack the warmth that will be needed to sell this. The Dowager Duchess is a grandmother first when it comes to Anastasia, that’s why she’s offering so much gold. She, and the rest of the royals that desire to know what happened to Anastasia, want to believe the story I’m telling. If you present yourself as someone real and warm and you understand table manners enough to not disturb the serene picture they want, they’ll squint at ugly details until they disappear.” 

Wow. I know that he’s intelligent, but what he’s constructing is so much more bullet proof than I thought it’d be. “I’ll admit you’ve constructed an airtight narrative.” 

I know my approval means nothing to him, but it’s the most agreeable I’m willing to be. “A narrative the background you told me of fits perfectly.” I shouldn’t have answered all those questions he asked me earlier so honestly. “A child born in Avila who was sent to a Kerch orphanage due to a war-relief effort during the revolution. A faceless orphan who was found during the height of the revolution with no memory of anything before the morning she woke up in a hospital cot.” 

I say nothing. My skin burns in protest of someone knowing so much about me. He must take my silence as a sign of me teetering the line away from what he wants, because he then says, “your friend is fortunate, if things aligned a little less perfectly he’d be dead already.” 

Dead already. The words elate my heart in a way that pinches. He’s still alive. Verne is alive. “If I agree, you let me see him and then you let him go.” 

“If you need a contract to believe me, I can have that arranged.” The words have an almost mocking edge. I guess it’d be a little ridiculous to get an official contract drawn up for something so small. “If you at any point change your mind, I’ll do the same.” 

The threat is clear. I back out and Verne pays for it in blood. Verne’s safety is once again in my hand. This situation is much more precarious than Kaz Brekker wants it to seem. “You need me to do something that will literally last the rest of my life. Tiaras aren’t something you can slip in and out of.” 

“Yes, I’m forcing you to give up a life in the slums for a palace for your friend’s life. This must be a difficult choice for you.” 

I look down to avoid rolling my eyes. “It’s still permanent, and it’s large because at any point I could reveal the truth and take you down with me.” 

“Remember who you speak to.” His voice has turned to pure darkness. 

Don’t wince. Don’t wince. Don’t wince. “All I’m saying is that you’ve offered Verne’s life to buy my cooperation, but you have yet to mention the cost of my silence.”

His expression is sharp enough to draw blood. “The Dowager Duchess is old and sick, wait at most two years and you’ll have more gold than you could ever spend. The revolution took that family’s power, not the wealth the Duchess took with her to Ravka the night of the massacre.” 

I shift awkwardly. “I’m not trying to get kruge from you for me.” I fold my hands neatly on my lap to avoid fidgeting. “Verne--he’s beyond desperate for kruge, that’s why he risked angering you.” The urge to shy away threatens to break my resolve. I think of all the times Verne has saved me. “Let him keep what he tried to take.” The request is awkward from my lips. I’m asking for more when I should should be grateful any type of mercy came from him. Any type of offer. “Half. Let him keep half.” 

He’s silent for a long moment, weighing the implications of loss. “You’re already entitled enough to pass for royalty.” I don’t let myself shrink. “Deal, but not because you threatened me--try that again and you’ll find yourself wishing you had never left the orphanage you came from.” The relief is practically crushing. Verne is going to be okay. He’s going to live and my resistance earned him enough kruge to have a week or two without worry as he plans what he’ll do in my absence. “You better be as good a study as you made yourself seem to be.” 

I don’t understand the second threat. “Studying?” 

“You didn’t think you could wander into the Dowager Duchess’s home, use the excuse of amnesia to explain why you don’t even know your own mother’s name, and expect them to think you more than an Avilan orphan with a desire for wealth.” 

“I actually don’t know my own mother’s name because of amnesia.” 

He’s in no mood to be contradicted, glowering sharply, “not anymore, anything that doesn’t fit the narrative I’m constructing is no longer true.” He straightens slightly as he begins to pace away from me. “You’ll have five minutes with your friend and then we’ll see where your table manners are at. I know someone who knows enough to correct you.” 

I try to picture where someone like him would meet someone that knows about etiquette. My mind provides nothing useful, but it doesn’t matter--I’ve agreed. It can’t be undone, not without having the blood of my dearest friend on my hands. 

[reveriequill-rai]

Shroud: Withered Soul

A/N: Sorry it’s been a while. As of right now I’ve just been uploading stories I’ve written in my newspaper club, and now that I’ve graduated I hope that can now expand to short stories generally. I’m not gonna promise that posts from now on will be more consistent, but I would like to at least speed up my uploads a bit before they actually wind down, as I imagine I will be working on more stories in the future. Everything being uploaded right now is previous work, but nothing too old--probably like, from last year tops. This was completed sometime in May, I believe. 

This is an introduction to a character I created called ‘Shroud,’ an amateur self-proclaimed ‘detective’ who exclusively investigates occult-based crimes and malefic.

Content Warning: death, descriptions of corpses, graphic descriptions of violence and pain, cults 

[My blog will usually contain PG-13 stories, and as of right now I am writing some darker content, but I will tag anything that may be especially disturbing or uncomfortable. I’ll include this warning in my bio, too.]

----------

The corpse in front of me wasn’t all that disturbing by itself. I had seen dead people before–comes with the territory. I had been dead before. Murder rates in Twilight were, naturally, much higher than any other district in New Fable–especially further south of the district where I was–considering how much wild magic was around, and not even the police force sent here from the northern district of Bastion could do anything about it. So the corpse itself didn’t bother me, all things considered.

What did disturb me, though, was a number of other things.

For one, the corpse just being there was a problem. They weren’t stopping, and they were getting far too close to home.

Its eyes were still open, for another thing, and nearly colorless, and looking at me specifically, and I can swear to you that had not happened when I first laid eyes on it. Even worse, like me, the man lying dead in front of me appeared to be wearing a few bandages like I was, perhaps just recovering from an injury.

And for yet another thing, and perhaps the worst part of this, was the connection I felt with this dead man. Something about the state he was in struck a familiar chord that only I and a select unlucky others knew. As if we were kindred spirits–undergoing the same fate, yet with (probably) different outcomes.

I had been at this–whatever you would call tracking down cults as someone with zero prior detective experience with the help of almost no one–for…a few months now? And I’ve made a bit less progress than would be expected from someone who has seen just about everything the darker sides of magic had to offer. I did have one solid lead, though, and hopefully one that would lead me to exactly who I was looking for.

“Everyone move,” I ordered, pushing my way through the crowd.

Ignoring their complaints, I made my way over toward the body and began to examine it, hoping for any hint of who had done this, and more importantly, if it was exactly who I had suspected. There didn’t appear to be much damage, but what first caught my attention was the note tucked into the man’s pocket. I took it out and unfolded it, and immediately flinched.

Demon tongue.

Hellish whispers ran through my head, and I wasn’t sure if they were just in my head or not. It was hard to tell these days.

I honed in on the note, written on some old paper as if torn from an ancient book. The more I stared, the louder the whispers got. I ignored the throbbing in my head as best as I could–humans were not mentally equipped to engage with the infernal language at all, and I much less so. My hands shook as I read the brief message, which I must have read dozens and dozens of times already; I wasn’t counting and didn’t care to.

Some people studied demon tongue despite…well…everything, even the illegality. It probably didn’t matter to them. It didn’t matter to me, either, but someone had spoken to me in demon tongue before–though, in their defense, likely not out of their own volition–and the trembling and rapid heart rate was not worth the ability to communicate with infernals. (Nothing was, honestly.)

For these reasons–and also not wanting to be arrested or have my mage license revoked–I personally didn’t speak or write demon tongue, but I at least knew a little bit and could recognize some of the infernal runes. And those runes were enough for me to know that this was the exact same message that the abyss had been trying to send me in my last moments.

—

Can’t run home, I thought. They’ll follow me.

Just gotta run until I find a phone booth.

I ran until I finally spotted one on the street corner near a bridge. I let out a sigh of relief, taking a quick moment to catch my breath. Then, I quickly crossed the street and ran toward the phone booth, quickly dialing the police station.

“Hello?” I said into the phone as quietly as I could manage. “My name is [……………………………] I’m at the corner of Coral Avenue by the Armada IV Memorial Bridge. I’m being pursued by a group of kids in demon-charmed cloaks and shawls, please I need your help they have knives and they’re trying to kill me-“

The tears stinging at the edge of my eyes began to overflow as a human voice at the end of the line responded in perfect, uncharacteristically calm demon tongue. It was a short sentence, repeated over and over again, but with the little knowledge I *did* have, I could translate it by about the sixth loop:

“You are going to hell.”

I hung up the phone immediately, resisting the urge to yell, “I KNOW” directly into the phone.

Humans can’t speak demon tongue here. It’s illegal.

So how did an officer know demon tongue?

—

Unsurprisingly, the body was still in semi-good condition. After all, little damage was done to the body—only the soul. The only physical marks I could make out were marks around the wrist and neck, likely to restrain the victim. Couple of bruises here and there, too, but nothing was broken.

This…disturbed me, to say the least.

Cults around here were usually known to be violent. After all, a lot of them stood for violent causes–executing the ‘impure,’ plunging everyone into the dreams of a volatile eldritch creature, usurping the throne and forcing everyone to convert, rallying the youth to their bloody cause with claims that they alone possessed special powers…I had heard it all, all of them violent to some degree. But the ones that had gotten me…they seemed to worship oblivion itself. Or maybe whatever was in it. That was beyond even my knowledge.

But…even then, they still had arguably the least violent cause. The deadliest, yes–they seemed to just be destroying souls–but strangely not as bloody. Yet their means of carrying out this objective has historically been, well, bloody.

Or maybe that was just me.

Either way, this victim had certainly not gotten the worst of it. There were no twisted limbs, no bloodied nose, no wounds from blade or bullet, basically no magic-driven attacks aside from the terminating consumption of the soul…only marks of the initial restraint, bruises from the subduing, and the abyss claiming and destroying the soul.

I could almost picture it in my head: they likely jumped him in the middle of the street, kicking him around a bit to possibly weaken him, throw him off balance, but not too much as to rouse resistance, then restraining him–to the floor? A wall? I couldn’t tell, but there were no rope burns so they must have done this by hand–and calling, somehow, for their god, for lack of a better word, to devour its newest victim’s soul.

What did he see as he died? Did their eyes turn as colorless as his would become? Had they shown any sign of enjoying his torment? I doubt it; it didn’t seem like a very ‘fun’ kill. And likely not as personal as it was for me.

They were getting much better at their kills. It probably wasn’t as fun, but more precise.

And a lot less violent than I had gotten.

—

I caught a glimpse of the charm from earlier out of the corner of my eye, but just as I looked it vanished. Just then a cold breeze hit me as the door behind me opened, and I was yanked out onto the street, leaving the phone dangling by the cord. The book dropped from my hands.

The four delinquents appeared in front of me from nowhere, likely having turned off their Moonlight Shroud charms.

“Gotcha,” Ransley said, smiling as he picked up the book.

“Give it BACK!” I roared, lunging for him. Ransley hit me hard across the face with the book, sending me flying a few feet back onto the brick road. Quickly I realized that my safety was not worth keeping that book. I didn’t know where or how Ransley learned to hit that hard but I wasn’t going to stick around to find out. As he and the others examined the book, I began to scurry away as Ransley gave an order to the others:

“Get him.”

An instant later, I heard something click far behind me, and a sharp pain ripped through my knee. I collapsed to the floor, letting out an agonized cry. I examined my knee, and saw a hole much bigger than a bullet hole should be. I looked up at my attackers.

A gun?!

“What the HELL?!” I shouted. “You’ve already got what you want! LEAVE ME ALO-“

Ardent appeared behind me and punched me square in the face. I held my probably-broken nose as a muffled shriek of pain escaped me. Each of them vanished and took turns raining blows and slashes on me as I tried to step back and run. They gave me almost no chance to react. My body ached everywhere; the knife wounds, though shallow, stung just as bad, if not worse, as any bee. I could barely stand. I used my remaining strength to try and push them off of me whenever I felt them, but I stumbled each time I did, giving them room to knock me around further. Finally I collapsed, and Ardent grabbed my shirt and dragged me to the bridge.

“W-wait-“ I cried, still wincing and crying from my bruises and decayed knee. “STOP IT!-”

—

I examined the bandages on my hand and knee. The ones from that night must’ve been amateurs, or at least new to the cult’s way of doing things.

Focus, Shroud.

The victim’s eyes were still open, and almost completely empty.

Almost.

The body must not be entirely empty, then. This wasn’t exactly a kill—whoever this person was, they would not be dead for much longer, or at least depending on your definition of ‘dead.’

How long ago had this attack been, then? I touched the skin—still warm-ish. This had to be recent.

By that logic, if this was meant not as a lethal attack, but as one of induction into their group…

I wasn’t sure how long I had been out, but I at least knew it wasn’t for very long.

So…I didn’t have much longer, then.

I instinctively jerked away from the body. Would he come back? He wouldn’t be under anyone’s control, at least for the first few minutes–how long does it take to kill someone? Would it be long enough for him to kill me?–no, he probably wouldn’t go after me; I had barely any soul left for him to long for…unless he’s just that desperate enough to take scraps from a near-husk.

What would he do when he came back? Would he wander around, lost, confused, until they welcomed him with false promises of salvation and freedom from the ‘burden’ of having a judgement-tied soul? Would he be violent, as they had been to him?

Then again…I came back after one of their attacks, but with a will of my own. Did they want me to come back? Why would they want me of all people to come back?

—

“You know how much trouble you caused us, […….…]?!” Ransley shouted as he kicked me in my injured leg. “Don’t act like you didn’t have this coming, you little weasel.”

“I didn’t-“ I tried to say.

Ransley propped me up on the sidewalk, just by the edge of the bridge, right above the river. He placed his hand on my bruised shoulder, looking at me with a bone-chilling grin.

Again, I got a good look at his eyes. This time, everything except the pupils was entirely white. As I looked I almost felt like I was staring at something beyond; further, even. But the harder I looked the more I could see how much nothing there was. And yet, in spite of that, this nothing seemed to be staring back at me.

The others had the same white eyes too, looking on with a horrible satisfaction.

“What…” I barely managed to say, “…what are y-you…?”

“Free,” Ransley answered, without his usual cruelty and instead with an uncharacteristically sanctimonious tone. “And with our help, so too will you be free.”

With a hard shove, I was pushed off the bridge.

I grabbed onto the edge with my hand, barely having the strength to pull myself up.

“T-this is insane-!” I cried. “Ransley! Please! Y-you can keep the book; I won’t call the police, just help me up-“

Ransley frowned and put his boot on my hand. He leaned in as he brought his foot down harder, crushing my hand. Bone splintered and crumbled under the weight of the shoe, and I let out a shriek as a cold look crossed his face.

“You really should stop holding on so much,” he said. “That’s your problem. That’s why you’re here. Just let go, and face oblivion.”

Ransley took his foot off finally, but my hand had run out of strength. I slipped, and fell into the river.

—

Either way, I had to work fast.

“Hey, kid!” Someone from the crowd called. “What’re you doing? Leave this to the professionals.”

I turned around, and maybe it was the speed at which I had whirled around to face them, or he did just flinch.

Was it my eyes?

“The police won’t find them,” I explained. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve studied demonology for a few years.”

I went back to the body.

“You mean you know who did this?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I answered. “I just wanna be sure…”

I pressed down on the bruises on their shoulder and arms. Hollow. I felt no bone or extra layer of skin or muscle underneath.

Just as I suspected, I thought. Soul devouring.

My only question now was, how much of the soul was left?

—-

The bridge wasn’t particularly tall; just enough for any small cargo ships to run under. But the fall felt much longer than it had any right to.

I never hit the water. I was swallowed by something but it certainly wasn’t the river. It was as cold and sharp but nothing wet ever touched my skin or clothes.

I did not fall into water. I fell into something foreign, something dark, something alive, something evil.

Its eyes were beady and attentive, focused, eager, and it had long rows of sharp fangs. It appeared to smile at me, expecting me, welcoming me. Whispers in demon-tongue surrounded me, and I overwhelmed myself trying to find a single word I could understand. The only thing I could catch was “going to hell” again…was this it? Was this hell? What circle was this?

I was immobile, unable to look away from the creature in front of me, unable to scream as it opened its fang-filled mouth. I couldn’t even let out a scream of protest; no, not against this, as it brought down its jaws and took a large bite out of a deep part of me even I could never access. The pain from my bruises and wounds no longer burned; only ached, as if the pain had been there forever.

I was hollow. If there was anything left, I barely even felt it. My wounds glowed a hot white color and became shallow. I felt nothing but an aching nigh-emptiness that seemed to have no origin I could place; no past; only a present and a long future.

I didn’t know how long I was in that void. But as much as I despised that thing for robbing me of my life, I was grateful that it chose to let me go.

—-


I took out my pen from my pocket and a couple of mini-candles from my satchel. I flicked a lighter and lit the candles, surrounding them at different points around the body. I began to draw an evocation circle around the body. I’m not sure what had stopped this cult from performing forced evocations as opposed to beating everyone into submission until they blacked out enough to face the abyss and have their soul devoured, but I wasn’t about to find any sense in a group of people who literally worship the abyss.

I took my time with the intricate webs of the circle, carefully connecting whatever remained of the soul to the points where I would draw in the runes, and connected those to the candles.

I then drew in symbols in the language of the spirits at the different sub-points that would draw up souls from the afterlife, adding a desperate prayer in each pen stroke that I evoke the right thing and not something unwelcome. I had to steady my hand as I did this, reminding myself that this was merely a human soul who was recently killed, so the chances of him having ended up in hell – was he that kind of person? – were slim; they had to be, of course they were; there was no need to panic so stop panicking. Yet knowing I was drawing the same symbols, the same webs, lighting the same candles as the deadly evokers around town who would break into people’s houses and draw evocation circles under their beds to call up who-knows-what from the pits of hell to torment the living…to think I was drawing the same circle that I checked for every night when I went to sleep…

The pen snapped in my shaking hand against the concrete, getting ink all over my hand. I swore, and rubbed some on my finger tip so I could start to finish the circle.

“What the hell are you doing, kid?!” someone cried, making me jump. “You’re tampering with evidence! That’s illegal!”

“You’re gonna screw up the investigation!” someone else shouted.

I steadied myself from being startled.

“This…this is the investigation,” I replied bluntly.

“Wh–okay…? Are you a detective or something?” the first guy asked.

I shrugged.

“I think so,” I said.

“You think-”

I could hear further shouts from the crowd as I turned the body over to draw the rest of the circle underneath, but I held up my hand to stop them from getting closer.

“Just let me work!” I cried without looking back.

That’s when I noticed some of the rapidly-decaying skin near the shoulder and side of the ankles. The skin had withered and given way to bone, the effect cutting through flesh and muscle. Even the bone had begun to decay.

Well, so much for minimal damage.  

I unzipped the victim’s jacket and pulled back the shirt just slightly to get a better look at the damage. The withering had spread further—the entire shoulder seemed about ready to decay. I took a camera out of my bag and took a picture of the decaying wounds.

With the remaining ink, I drew another sigil on the bandage of my injured hand, a heart-shaped eye-like symbol with two lines running up my index and middle finger. It was a painful process and I was just careful enough to have the pen not tear through the bandage, and I placed my shaking hand on the decaying shoulder and closed my eyes. I saw all of the injuries on the man’s body, including where he had been injured–he had a broken arm that had almost finished recovering, and a fractured foot that was also healing, but wasn’t as near completion as his arms. Either way, both of these had stopped healing, and had actually gotten worse, with the bones beginning to decay in both areas.

What was the point of beating people up, breaking them, letting them decay, and then expecting them to join you after you had broken them? My attackers probably went through the same thing as this man had–as I had, if this cult was larger than them. So why do the same thing to others?

But that was just it, though, wasn’t it?

They knew what it was like to be soulless, and only they knew not only how to recover from the injuries suffered, but how to disguise themselves as living to avoid trouble with the law.

I looked again at the bandages on my hand, and unraveled it slightly, careful not to let the crowd see. There, too, did my flesh begin to decay. This was the primary issue with not having a soul: without the very essence that gives us life, our bodies aren’t capable of self-healing anymore. Any injuries are permanent unless fixed by a doctor, or if we tend our own wounds.

Fortunately my bones—at least in my hand—hadn’t completely withered away. I managed to revive just in time, fortunately.

Just in time.

——

I don’t remember much about the day I woke up. Just the excruciating, aching pain.

What I did know was I had washed up on the shore of the city, and I couldn’t stand up for a very long time. A burning sensation enveloped my entire hand and knee, and I felt a throbbing sensation in both areas. The bruises from the beatdown stuck on me like a leech, but most vividly, my chest felt hollow. And it hurt. The emptiness gnawed at the inside of my chest, and it, too, burned and ached. Like a stomach ache in the wrong place.

With my good hand I crawled my way off of the shore until I found a lamppost. I grabbed onto it, and propped up my good knee. I swung my arm toward the lamppost, grabbing onto it with my bad hand, shocks of pain running through my body. I tried to haul myself up, but the weight of my body caved my knee in, and I collapsed. That’s when I got a good look at my hand.

Bits of skin had completely come off, seeming to have withered away. Pieces of bone underneath had chipped off.

I grew nauseous and I felt the blood drain from my face. I let out some inhuman noise that I reckoned was some attempt at a scream but came out as a cross between that and a moan of agony.

How had this happened?

It was a horrible sound, but at least I had been found. Otherwise, who knows what would’ve happened?

Or who else would’ve found me?

——

Finishing the circle grew tricky as my hand trembled, though I was unsure if it was from the injury or from the reality of the process itself.

“Kid, we don’t even know who you are,” the guy from earlier said. “Are you even a licensed detective?”

I ignored him and wiped some of the ink from my pen on my hand, pressing my hands together to activate the circle. As the soul fire candles flared, what little color was left in their eyes drained slowly, and a small, glowing, deteriorated wisp of a soul rose out of the victim’s body.

This was all that was left…

Somehow this dead man was just the same as I, who could still breath, still walk, still talk, still live—but only just.

What had this man’s soul seen before it was decimated? If, in fact, the same people who killed me are responsible for this, did he, too, see the same grinning face in the abyss that I had? Was he as afraid as I was? Or did he accept this as death?

I took my mage’s license out of my pocket and showed it to the crowd.

“I’m a licensed magic user,” I said, “is that enough?”

“…that’s not a detective license,” the same guy said. “I’m calling the police.”

“Great!” I said. “Tell them the Brotherhood of Abyss Walkers did this.” At this point it was all but confirmed.

“The…what?”

“The cult that keeps tormenting this forsaken town,” I explained. “The one behind all the unexplained murders.”

The guy—along with the rest of the crowd—stifled a laugh. Some of them couldn’t hold it in.

“There’s no cult in New Lumanore,” someone else said. “Our security’s airtight; no way they would’ve been able to form a guild without a license.”

“Just call the authorities, Aaron,” a lady in the crowd said. “This kid isn’t worth persuading.”

“W-wait-“ I said before letting out a resigned sigh. I packed up the candles and pocketed my pen, and took off. I knew who the culprit was. What the police had to say didn’t bother me.

They’ll believe me when I put the culprit behind bars.

—————

In previous investigations I managed to pin down the general area where the Abyss Walkers operate. Prior murders took place at least within a mile’s range of Eclipse Avenue, an area further south of New Lumanore. It was a relatively quiet and empty area; there were quite a bit of shops and buildings of unknown function that no one ever seemed to go into, not even during the day.

The entire place screamed occult activity.

Sure enough, just as I hit the corner of the avenue I caught a glimpse of a Moonlight Shroud charm, pinned to the outwear of a hooded figure. They were walking along the other side of the street, hanging close to the bare wall of a wide building.

Once they were some distance along I crossed the street quickly and began tailing them.

Confrontation wasn’t new to me, just…unfavorable. Is that why I trembled? Either way I knew the procedure: Walk with the same beat. Same path, same pattern of step. Stop when he stops. Walk like this until the shadow is close enough for contact.

Once I did I took out a capsule from my coat. It contained shadow ink, allowing me to either create my own shadow, or to hide within someone else’s. I didn’t have enough of a soul to perform any magical feats on my own–whatever I could do would probably just come out as sparks–so this was the best I could work with. Unfortunately the capsule was nearly empty, and I made a mental note to contact my supplier after I was finished. In the meantime, I used what was left to lather my hand in ink as I silently crept behind the lone cultist, and pressed my hand against his shadow. I latched on and eventually got pulled in. Inside the shadow realm, I had a black-and-white view of the street from inside the wall. I couldn’t breathe, though, and I couldn’t hold my breath for very long so I knew I had to jump him sooner rather than later.

I took a coin out of my pocket and tossed it outside behind the cultist. He stopped and turned around, as expected, and I took the moment to lunge out and grab him by the throat.

—————

The cultist narrowed his eyes, and an amused smirk came on his face.

“Hey…” he said. “I know you.”

I flinched. How?

He kicked me off and stood up.

“You…you’re the kid we got that book from!” He chuckled. “You don’t quit, do you? This is really what you chose to do after death? Vigilante work?”

I felt the blood drained from my face.

“…what are you talking about?” I lied. “What book?”

“The demonology book, stupid,” he said. “The thing damning you to begin with. You forgot already? Or did you lose your memories alongside almost all your soul somehow?”

I clenched my fist, resisting the urge to charge at him again. I couldn’t take him in a head-on fight. I was too weak for that.

“Tell me,” he said. “How’s it feel? Being so close to freedom, so close to ridding yourself of that moral creed weighing you down…no fear of rapture…just your life and your…well, I suppose now broken…body, and your heart and mind.”

“Shut up,” I snapped.

“Good thing you came back, though. We’ve been slacking on our initiations recently…Ardent went a little too hard on too many people. We’re behind on our quota.”

“Wait a sec…” I took a step back. “What do you mean ‘too hard?’ Aren’t they supposed to come back?”

“The idiot decided to use magic to slow the initiates down,” the cultist explained. “As if that wouldn’t damage the soul at all. I’m sure you of all people know. You’ve taken enough beatings form him, right, D–“

I punched him in the face. The second I made contact I realized I had used my bad hand without thinking. Bone snapped, collapsed, and even shifted through the hole in my hand. I let out a far-too-loud shriek of agony as I recoiled and caressed my hand, trying to relocate the bone.

The cultist looked at me and laughed, and I raised a finger on my good hand and threatened him:

“Don’t try that again,” I said. “I’ve still got one—ahh…—perfectly functioning hand.”

“Fine by me,” he replied. “You hit hard for a dead person…”

My hand still ached from the punch. I imagine it probably hurt me way more than it hurt him.

“Do you mean to turn me in, Shroud?” the cultist hissed. “Just try it. I know who you are. They’ll find out you’re undead and investigate you to hell and back. Whatever decimal of a soul you have left won’t save you. Not even close.”

“I can’t trust you with that information even if I let you go,” I said. “But even if you do…I’ll know sooner or later if you’ve said something. You best not try it if you don’t wanna die twice.”

The cultist grinned.

“I’m shaking,” he said, deadpan. “I’ll just come back again.”

“What, are there no revival limits in your little group?”

“Nope. He’ll bring us back again and again as long as he needs us.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“Oh, you’ve only been resurrected once, you big baby,” the cultist said. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I’m not joining you.”

“You have no reason not to,” the cultist said. “We can fix your broken body; make you look and seem as alive as the next person. Those remnants of a soul may not matter to the police, who’ll mark you as soulless anyway, but you know who it does matter to?” He pointed at the sky and at the group. “Them. Someone like you, who’s spent hours learning about heaven’s enemies…you think you have any chance of reaching heaven? HA!”

I fell silent. Just when I thought being registered as ‘dead’ to everyone you know meant they wouldn’t bother you about being a (rookie) demonologist anymore. That reminder worked my last nerve, yet every time it was brought up I could never muster up a proper defense.

“…I’m aware,” I mumbled.

“Besides, I’m sure you’re just livid at the police, who never caught who got you. I’m sure you’d like your vengeance against them for failing you…we can help you out with that, if you’d like. After all, why should we fear death, or judgement, from this life or the next? Like I’ve said, we’ve got no soul to weigh us down to heaven or hell. No death, no judgment. Just you, whatever you wanna do, and a welcoming oblivion who’ll spit you back out as many times as needed. As long as you keep it fed, that is.”

“It doesn’t matter if the police know or if they don’t know,” I said. “I know. And I’ll know more than they ever will. Besides, why the hell would I trust you to give me closure about my death–the death YOU caused?!”

The cultist frowned.

“And that’s just the trouble, isn’t it…you’re just about soulless, and the only soulless person New Lumanore who isn’t with us and…for what? You lose nothing by joining us!”

“First of all,” I shouted. “I am not soulless. Your stupid demon didn’t take all of it.”

“Yeah. Still not sure why that happened,” the cultist replied, “but who am I to question the great abyss–”

“Oh, shut up. And second of all–just in case you forgot–YOU KILLED ME! I don’t owe you loyalty, or gratitude, or mercy…I owe you nothing.”

“You may be upset now,” the cultist said, “but you’ll learn to thank us later.”

“I will not.”

His frown turned into a scowl. He took out a small cylinder from his pocket.

“I was gonna use this the day of the attack,” he said, “but I didn’t see any point. Seemed like the others were doing just fine without the staff.”

Sure enough, the cylinder popped open into a metal bo-staff. He walked towards me, twirling it through his fingers.

“You’ve been chasing the wrong thing, Shroud,” he said. “You think you need vengeance, but what you really need is security. We all know what being soulless is like. You’re weaker, you can’t heal your wounds, you can’t do magic, and it’s pretty obvious when you’ve just come back from the dead. I don’t care what three-percent of a soul you do have; it’s nowhere near enough for you to enjoy all the privileges of being fully human. Face it. You’re basically the same as us.”

As I stepped back, he stopped spinning the staff and instead gripped it with both hands.

“So you can either let go of those remnants you have the audacity to still call a soul, then come with us and let us give you the safety you so desperately need,” he said, rearing the staff back, “…or we’ll just break you further and let oblivion do what it wishes with your remains.”

He started to bring the staff down.

“WAIT!” I yelled, bringing my hands to my face.

Surprisingly enough, he actually froze, the staff a couple inches from my face.

“Okay…I get it…” I said. “You’re right. I won’t turn you in. Just…promise me you won’t tell anyone who I am.”

“What’s stopping me?” the cultist asked, cocking his head slightly and raising an eyebrow.

“Look. I didn’t turn you in,” I said. “You owe me.”

“No I don’t. I’m not tied to anything but oblivion.”

I let out an annoyed huff.

“Like I said. I’ll know if you exposed me,” I reminded him. “I don’t care if that scares you or not, just…let me go.”

“Let YOU go?! You jumped ME!”

“And I had—I…thought…I had the right to. Look…I’m backing down. You go about your night. I go about mine. We don’t speak of this.”

The cultist hesitated, then put the staff away.

“Fine,” he said. “But we’ll still come back for you. Whether or not your initiation goes smoothly is entirely on you.”

With that, he pulled out the same charm he had on the day of the attack, and vanished.

“See you around,” he said.

That was the last I heard of him that night.

Once I thought I was safe, I let out a loud groan of annoyance.

I had him. He was literally a few feet away. If I *just* had more shadow ink that would’ve been it for him.

But…he was right. I was at every possible disadvantage. And I couldn’t work like that. I shouldn’t have jumped him. I should’ve just taken note of his appearance and went from there. That was foolish on my part.

But…I did have his appearance now.

But he had my identity.

I still wasn’t at a complete advantage. And I couldn’t work like that. I had to lay low, and rebuild. My hand was wounded and I was lucky I didn’t get my skull bashed in. There was no way I could have recovered from that. But I wouldn’t give up. I had a lead and I wasn’t letting go of it.

I didn’t care about their ‘freedom’ or ‘not being tied down’ or anything like that. Fact of the matter is, they were hurting people, and their demon lord had more control over them than they’d realize.

They were beyond redemption. The demon didn’t bind them through any soul manipulation or contract–it was some weird combination of free will, gratitude, and the threat of permanent death.

These cultists had to go, and quickly. They had to pay, and dearly.

I know I’m weak, but once I’m back up and running I would do as much damage from the shadows as humanly possible.

They weren’t bound by any rules, so why should I have to be?

I didn’t care how many times I would get hurt. They ruined my life, and I was going to pay them back tenfold.

[gondalsqueen]

Fic Writer Review

Tagged by @findswoman. Thanks, ma’am! I hadn’t stopped to look at the stats of my writing in...ever. This was enlightening.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

48 currently

2. What’s your total AO3 wordcount?

366,990, yikes!

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Uhm...let’s count. Star Trek: The Next Generation when I was 10 (and I have another one for that fandom in the works). X-men in middle school. Xena: Warrior Princess, The Scarlet Pimpernel, Star Wars (Original Trilogy stuff), Star Wars: Rebels, and Castlevania. That’s seven, I guess? 

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Predictably:  Close Only Counts (600) (earlyish kanera) En Route (541) (Han/Leia)  Next Season (503) (Hera-centric, post-Rebels) Lean (407) (Ghost crew)  Continued (297) (Rebels fix-it fic) 

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

The only reason I write is to talk about these fandoms with people, so yes, and I am not above begging for comments (that was the question, right?). If I haven’t responded to yours it’s because I’ve overlooked it in the day-to-day, and you should poke me and tell me so! 

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Probably The First Night, which was written in the aftermath of “Jedi Night,” before the series even ended. Most of my stories have plenty of angst in the middle, but little at the end. 

7. Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I have not written crossovers. Hyperfixation does not allow me to think of more than one fandom at the same time. 

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

No, which I take as a testament to how lovely the Rebels fandom is. 

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Ahahaha! I mean...in my defense... not ALL my stories are smut. 

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don’t think so. Guys? No, right? 

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not for A03, but the childhood fanfics were ALL co-written. We had these spiral notebooks we’d carry around and pass off to each other in the halls between classes. Ah, middle school. I also lived that roleplaying life for many years, though I’m not counting those as stories. 

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

kanera, oh you came and you gave without taking...  Runners-up:  Trevor and Sypha (Castlevania)  John and Aeryn (Farscape) (though I don’t write them because I’m not sure fanfiction can improve upon the show, which is already...pretty much fanfiction)

14. What’s a wip that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Uhm... I think I will finish all of my works in progress eventually, barring unforeseen disaster. None of them feels abandoned. I would most like to get working on Fault Lines (the big Castlevania fic that’s barely started), and I have a gorgeous Picard story that I wrote 4,000 words for in three hours and then haven’t had a chance to go back to again. 

15. What are your writing strengths?

characterization and dialogue, I think. Probably smut? I’m not sure that’s something to brag about. 

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plot? What plot? Also pacing/phrasing at the sentence level, which is sometimes okay but sometimes wonky. 

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I say if it feels good, do it. 

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Probably Star Trek: The Next Generation, in terms of things that I actually wrote down. 

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I don’t knooooow! Uhm...  Next Season is not my best writing (it was written at breakneck speed and needs a heavy edit), but it really hits the spot sometimes. Feels real. (Side note, after I dedicated a story to my husband to troll him one time, my son said, “Hey! Would you ever write a story for me?” and my husband told him, “Buddy, Mommy wrote 40,000 words for you.” He doesn’t get to SEE this story, of course.) We also lost multiple men in our family to suicide, unexpectedly and horrifically, just before I wrote this story. It exploded everybody’s sense of reality in some ways I don’t think we’ll ever recover from. So...there’s a lot of real energy in this one.  I think Scenes from Yavin IV is underrated.  Fade to Red is smutty garbage in a lot of ways, but it’s been a huge investment, and it’s really made me think about how and why relationships work--and writing Kanan and Hera at the same time as Trevor and Sypha has made it clear that there are REALLY DIFFERENT ways of having healthy relationships, so that’s cool. Fade to Red has been a massive amount of work for a modest achievement, and I both resent it and am attached to it for that reason. It will end in a 8,000 word blowout next week, and I think I’ll be sad to see it done.  I think Mastery’s doing some interesting things, though it’s a bit retconned now.   

Tagging: @veritascara, @worriedaboutmyfern, @spaceasianmillennial, @amilynh, if you’re interested

[iceeckos12]

tma fic recs

I’ve seen a couple of fic rec posts floating around. since ive been reading so many excellent fic recently, i thought that id make one as well! please note this list is going to be 99% jonmartin. also buckle up, because this is going to get long.

Completed

the umbrella by Wildehack (tyleet)

"And to think—all of Jonah Magnus’ carefully laid plans, the centuries of scheming, the murders, the sacrifices, all of that work could have been completely undone if Martin Blackwood had gone back for an umbrella" - holdthosebees

Notes: This is probably my go-to fic if i want an apocalypse never happened scenario. The jonmartin is wonderful, as is the h/c.

Diary and Prenon-nous la main by luftballoons99

Diary summary:

Not for the first time since they ran away together, a camera reel of all the things they don't know about one another whirs behind Martin's eyes, and he can't help but look at all the sprawling magnetic tape and wonder if they’re going to wind up a romance or a tragedy.

or: Office parties, garage bands, and the joy of being known.

Prenon-nous la main summary:

They still haven't talked about it, any of it, not even to pass the time on the long train ride to Scotland. Instead, Martin fell asleep in the seat next to him, pressed into his side from shoulder to knee, and Jon thought about love confessions and verb tense and how the two fit together when you think you're dying.

or: Good cows, mediocre poetry, and other crucial topics of discussion.

Notes: Do you love impeccable safehouse jonmartin characterization? do you love characters grappling with the mortifying ordeal of being known? do you love softness so tender that it makes you want to weep? please read these fic. im begging you.

i’ll tell you about all the times i’ve smiled because of you by cryptidkidprem

Summary:

Martin thinks about their shoes, sitting beside each other on the floor by the bed. Thinks of the way Jon wears Martin’s cardigans more often than he wears his own, the way Martin’s started keeping elastics around his wrist because Jon always forgets his own when they go out.

He thinks about all the gentle touches and fussing over each other they’ve done, and how much is still to come over the next… however long Jon will have him.

They have a long way to go, an entire life to build out of the wreckage Jonah Magnus and Peter Lukas left them, but laying together in a comfortable, sleepy quiet, Martin thinks they’ve got a good start going.

Or, Jon quits the Institute, saves the world, and it turns out to be exactly what he needs in order to heal and start moving forward towards building a life with Martin.

Notes: how many times have i reread this fic? more than i can count. jon quits the institute and it’s just full of soft jonmartins. they get married! god i love them.

go softly by doomcountry

Summary:

And there is nothing else besides this.

Notes: every time i remember this fic i reread it. please heed the tags because martin is blinding jon, but he’s like. blinding jon in the most heartbreaking way possible. idk how the author made this so tender but i know i was certainly crying so!

The Reverb in These Holy Halls by  Wolftraps (AlwaysBoth)

Summary:

Undoing the apocalypse would have been enough for Jon, if all his people survived. Without them, Jon's only recourse is making it so it never happened in the first place. He's going to do better this time.

Notes: Do you like time travel fixits? i sure like time travel fixits. reverb is an excellent one. heavy on the h/c, I wanted to hug jon so so badly. 

Yesterday is Here by  CirrusGrey

Summary:

"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking. The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him. "I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. -------- Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.

Notes: Yet another time travel fixit! also excellent. the teasing was HYSTERICAL. also Im just going to say this now - CirrusGrey in general writes incredible tma fic. You can’t really go wrong.

unassigned supplementals by  bibliocratic 

Notes: I won’t put in a summary just because it’s a long series of oneshots, but bibliocratic’s writing is amazing. Again, you can’t really go wrong with one of their fic!

let the soft animal of your body by autoclaves

Summary:

Standing in the warm kitchen, slats of sepia light filtering through onto the counter in front of him, Martin doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He half expects them to go through the countertop entirely, glossy and solid as it is. He isn’t used to any of it, yet. The safehouse. Jon. Beams of sun pouring into his hands. After being deprived of everything of significance for so long, the longing that crashes over him is almost painful in its tangibility. He wants to laugh, to sob, to scream and hear it echoed back against the neat, square walls of the safehouse.

In the end, he doesn’t do any of these things. He makes eggs instead. He can do that, can’t he? Use his hands for something simple and plain and good.

(Or: In the safehouse after it all, Martin starts cooking.)

Notes: this fic really speaks to me a) because i project on martin like crazy and b) because food is also my love language. this fic is incredibly soft and it’s all about cooking!

“Have you tried turning it on and off again?” by shinyopals

Summary:

I hope you find your new role as Head of the Institute as rewarding as captaining the Tundra, wrote Elias Bouchard, to Peter Lukas. There are so many people working there: all with their own interesting lives, and all desiring your attention and support. I'm sure you will relish the challenge it will bring and enjoy every moment spent with the fine men and women of the Institute. In time I'm confident they'll become like a family to you.

The Magnus Institute has a new boss. The Magnus Institute also has a new tech support technician. These two facts are unrelated, except they both happen at the same time.

Meanwhile Jon's woken up from being dead for six months and for once he's trying his best. He just wishes Martin would stop avoiding him and answer his messages...

Notes: if you’re looking for a good laugh, this fic is SO SO SO FUNNY. i was dying. basically the magnus institute being an absolute bureaucratic nightmare.

hello my old heart  by  firebirdsuite

Summary:

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

Notes: it’s all about the yearning. and trust me, the yearning in this fic? im just. i sure do love jonmartin, and this is such soft, loving jonmartin it just makes you want to cry

two ships passing by pyrites

Summary:

Gerard Keay is 10 years old the very first time he tries to run away from home, right around the time that Jonathan Sims has just come into possession of his first Leitner.

Or: One dropped stone can change the way the whole ocean moves.

Notes: again, JONGERRY. MY GOODNESS. this fic is beautiful, the writing is absolutely breathtaking and it owns my heart. im so in love with it. the author said you’re going to have emotions about jon and gerry and jongerry and i said OKAY

Terminal Sight by viv_is_spooky

Summary:

Spider silk weaves through the visions of two Seers. Monstrosity is dawning on them both.

Notes: I’d never read a gerryoliver fic before this, but the execution is EXCELLENT and now im sold on the ship forever. This fic has wonderful prose and great characterization and i love it a whole lot.

Incomplete

assistant archivist au by  PitViperOfDoom

Notes: I won’t put a summary since I’m reccing an entire series, but. it is absolutely no secret that i adore jongerry. pit’s assistant archivist au slapped me over the head with some gorgeous jongerry oneshots and then gave me the gift of the main fic (which is still in progress) about head archivist martin. i love this au so so much

dustsceawung by  callmearcturus

Summary:

Martin had always been favored by the summer courts, and moving up north to the little village of Lacuna is a difficult adjustment. It's rainy and lonely and everyone seems to have a strange, distant relationship with the local faerie court.

However: there is a strange man in a cloak who walks past Martin's remote little cottage every few days.

However: there is a moth that keeps getting stuck in Martin's house during the rain.

These events are not as disconnected as they first appear.

Notes: you ever just read a fic that you didn’t know that you needed until after you read it? yeah. featuring the fae and moth jon and excellent characterization.

Illicio by ThatOneGirlBehindYou

As the new Archivist debates between life and death, the Eye ponders on what to offer him in order to avoid an encore of the unfortunate situation with his predecessor.

-----

Gerard Keay opens his eyes at what feels like fuck-ass in the morning, inside a room with far too little space and far too much dust.

Notes: This is also the moment where I reveal that im a sucker for jongerrymartin. please read this fic. gerry is brought back from the dead in s4 and everyone is far better off for it.

where there’s a will, we make a way by bubonickitten

Summary:

"So, what does happen if an Eye learns to See within itself?

What happens is this: the Archive Beholds the Watcher – and the Watcher blinks first."

________________________

Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Notes: this time travel fixit is shaping up to be an absolutely incredible read. i love the way this author writes jon so so much, and the characterization is spot on. this whole fic just satisfies some little part of me. god. also!! bubonickitten’s writing in general? beautiful. please check out their other works.

The Timeline of Theseus by Applea

Jon tries to force the Spiral to send him back, but the Sprial's corridors never twist things quite the way you want them to. Back in 1996, Elias has no idea why or how the Eye made such a powerful Avatar out of an 8 year old, especially when said 8 year old doesn't actually know he has any powers at all. Clearly such a child cannot be left outside the Institute's care. 

Notes: This fic is legitimately brilliant. The author manages to capture the big ADHD mood and the precociousness of baby Jon while managing to write a wonderful storyline. Time travel! Elderly lesbians! A Jonah who is wildly in over his head but was walloped over the head with paternal instinct! Baby Gerry! What more could you possibly ask for?

rooms full of people who do not love each other yet by seaer

Summary:

“Wanted to ask about a book.” The boy has his hand on the counter, and he leans into it, nonchalant. The library is air-conditioned, but by no means frigid, and Jon can’t help but feel sweaty just looking at the layers he’s wearing; what looks like old leather over an olive-green Magnus pullover over his school shirt. “Do you have A Journal of the Plague Year?”

Jon says, tetchily, “We’re about to close.”

“I know. Do you have A Journal of the Plague Year?”

Notes: I am so in love with this author’s writing style and the way they write the characters!! The jon and gerry friendship is PERFECT and the character interactions are all darling.

if you read these fics please send the authors some love, they definitely deserve it!! 

[muwur]

haikyuu x otome: masterlist |  prologue

» synopsis:  a haikyuu x reader au where you, the player, are bound for university in a metropolis several hours away from home. hope and excitement are replaced with dread as you come to realize that juggling life as a student and a part-time employee takes a toll. from demanding classes to a ruthless manager, life just can’t seem to give you a break. that is, until you meet a certain someone who reminds you how to live and follow your dreams. somehow, when you’re with them, time stands still. maybe things are finally starting to look up. if only you could stay in those moments for just a little longer. 

» disclaimer: i do not own haikyuu or any of the pixels in this post (i simply made collages out of them)

edit: it’s been brought to my attention that another HQ writer may have written something similar to this idea in the past and I was unaware. Though I haven’t seen this particular type of thing written yet, I don’t mean to claim this event idea as my own bc I feel a lot of events that ppl put up may have some overlapping themes n such (tho this idea would def be more specific and be cause for concern of plagiarism) and bc I would never want to steal ideas/not ask other writers first/not credit other writers (that’s not cool fam). If you have any issues with this event, pls bring them up w me, and if you know any other writers who’ve done smth similar, pls share w me their URLs! thank u for ur understanding :) I hope u can still enjoy haikyuu x otome :’)

» how to play:

I. you can refer here for the general rules of my blog. also, for this event (and it’ll say in the descriptions below), i’m only accepting one character per request. also the word count limits i wrote here may change as im getting started on actually writing requests lol

II. essentially a collection of x reader one-shots, drabbles, and smaus in which you are a busy college student whose only break seems to be spending time with friends who actually get you or the 15-minute lunch break during which you get to ignore annoying customers

III. since this is otome-inspired, i have several options you can choose from. these options are essentially types of requests:

» everyday is a new start 

» drabble about how you meet the character of your choice  

» it is not guaranteed y’all are gonna gel (get along) when you first meet,, warning: if the character is usually a bitch, i may write them as one LMAO jkjk but fr

» usually light, fluffy, and/or silly

» hmm tbh,,, idk word count,,, probs anywhere between 700-1k words (i edited this word count after writing my first thing bc HNNN)

» the only characters you can’t request this for is yamaguchi, tsukki n hinata,,, bc you meet them in the prologue AHAHA sry it’s nothing too spaicy since it’s just in the intro

» it’s all in the little things

» one-shots about normal, daily interactions with the character of your choice

» in other words, these include what can go on in a day in the life of y/n and the character of your choice (after they’ve already met). in the city, the possibilities are endless

» give me a word (or several, cuz writing is hard lmao. also legit any word, like ‘orange’ or ‘nostalgia.’ i may choose only one or do a combination from your list :3) as a prompt and ill somehow make something of it lmao

» medium relationship development + exp

» 700-1.5k words

» hmmm what should i get today?

» very short drabble with a character of your choice about various scenarios and thots i have in my head

» a complete surprise, totally random, may have no context

» may be serious, fluff, crack, etc. 

» if u choose this u basically told me ‘surprise me’

» 100-300 words, depends on my mood

» when i see your name pop up on the screen, i can’t help but smile 

» short smau with a character of your choice 

» fluff or crack, ur choice or leave that up to me (if unspecified, ill just flip a coin)

» you can either give me a word(s) as a guide or leave the topic of convo up to me

» 2-4 panels

» you’d be surprised how much can happen in a day 

» BMO has nothing to do with this, i just found a cute pixel of him

» spaicy relationship development, the scenes in which you actually make progress in the game

» one-shot with a character of your choice

» order from the following:

» macaron: when they realize they’ve fallen for you

» banana bread: when you realize you’ve fallen for them

» iced americano: when they feel a tinge of jealousy 

» hot chocolate: when they see you crying  

» matcha latte: when they have a longing to be around you

» cupcake: love confession (may be intentional or accidental)

» major relationship development + exp + sometimes confusion

» 1-2k words

» these will probs take me longer

» all good things must come to an end

»  not as angsty as those bolded words above sound,,, unless you want it to be >:)

» drabble or one-shot with a character of your choice. the final interaction before finishing the game

» you have three options: good end (fluffy, romantic & the like), bad end (angst), or crack end (surprise)

» word count will be super variable, from 300-1.5k words

IV. this forces me to write one-shots, drabbles, anything but hc’s, and also forces me to limit my word count. that said, this will take me a hot minute, y’all. word counts may change too bc i am,,, indecisive n untalented AHAHA

V. search for ‘haikyuu x otome,’ ‘haikyuu x otome special,’ ‘haikyuu x reader otome’ tags! i will tag each work under these c:

got it? have a request for me? send me an ask or submission! 

request example: ‘start new game with akaashi’ or ‘love challenge with yachi in the empty lecture hall at night’ or ‘continue story with noya. words: tired, mangoes, music’ 

feel free to ask me if ur confused about anything and have questions! thank you so much for reading <3 im excited for this heh

inspired by recent haikyuu otome teasers i keep seeing online and the fact that i dropped my summer class and am taking on personal projects (like painting my room LMAO i gotta manifest my inner buff daddee ushi to move shit in my room bc i kid u not everything is rlly heavy in here. and i also delved back into otomes on my phone,, does anyone else play midnight cinderella or mr love LOL talk 2 me)

haikyuu x otome masterlist