#obv on the writing and reading

[kkoct-ik]

IT'S FINISHED! I'VE FINISHED IT!

for the past few months i've been putting together a guide for writers looking to make OCs who suffer from DID, since i have a personal investment in good representation and an absurd amount of autism. and today it is FINISHED!!

it's gone up on my neocities, but i really wanted to post about it too.

here's the link

please check it out / bookmark it / share it if you're interested! if just one person finds this useful and makes art from it all my hours of hyperfixation will be worth. ok. love you

[tevanbuckley]

rewatching the lone star cross over with the knowledge/confirmation that buck's bi is sooooo funny, because look at him

if you saw these still out of context in what world would you assume they're from a scene where buck is consoling tk about his dad being presumed dead? like no wonder tk clocked his ass.

it's even more hilarious that this interaction apparently set off zero alarm bells in buck's head and so it took him a whole three more years to come out. he really just thought he allied too close to the sun.

all i'm saying is buck's lucky tommy was single because otherwise he would've carried on accidentally flirting with hot queer firemen and never putting the pieces together.

[psychomusic]

oc time again! + her town & culture (heavily inspired by pre-roman italic populations)

she is suri sauthon (later suri laran, after her marriage). her story is linked to my swtor imperial agent, but most of her life for like. the one year away where she meets him, is spent in a town in the mountains of mirial.

despite mirial being cold and desert, and many cities developing underground, her town flourishes thanks to a force nexus, venerated in the form of an ancient, sacred, alive crystal. the ecosystem of that mountain depended on what "the horned crystal" was capable of giving them, but mirialans couldn't live off of that alone, so they developed trade and some rudimental technology, even if oftentimes it was bought thanks to the highly profitable trade of a plant used to make medicines that slowed down aging and had overall healing properties.

note: everything that's generated by this nexus has these healing properties BUT they have to be processed, except for those who bathed in the waters of the cavity under the crystal - the "real" nexus, but not the worshipped one. the waters were sacred but they were not thought to be miraculous, unlike the crystal, who instead was thought of as the keystone of the ecosystem: without it, everything would fall apart (and that is partially true: the cavity was the "real" nexus but thanks to the crystal, also strong in the force, the properties were spread all over the mountains). those who bathed in the cavity's waters - so, all of the town, who had a sort of baptism there - could eat the plant, make whatever food with it, and not only that plant, but everything generated by the nexus, that, again, had similar properties. this allowed people to live up to normal life-spans without advanced medicines or, much, really. to those who didn't live there, though, after the processing, had incredible effects, slowing down aging - for those who took it regularly - and making people able to live up to half a century more than the average]

originally, there were four tribes of nomads that lived thanks to horned farm animals that decided to settle down into one bigger town and other smaller settlements, to live off of transhumance. this division of the tribes stayed into the political and social organization: every person belonged to one tribe specifically, and had slightly different rituals and culture. for examples, each tribe had their own priests and healers, with different techniques and traditions. the town, tho, was guided by a group of people in the high priesthood, a position you could reach only by having earned the trust of all tribes. those high priests had many roles: they guided the people into sacred processions common to all the tribes, they managed the trading with outsiders, they did the maintenance of the temple of the summit (the one that functioned as casket to the crystal) and created a special liquid to offer the crystal that helps it grow.

this particular temple was important because 1. it was very visible, from every angle of the town, and it became an important identity symbol; 2. it stored the venerated horned crystal; 3. it had the altar where sacrifices were made for the crystals. that altar had a hole connected to the cavity, that allowed the liquids to reach the underground; 4. it had various symbols: statues representing each tribe + the high priesthood, and typical mirialan tattoos carved into the wood of the trees that served as columns for the temple, symbolizing 8 values that who dared to enter HAD to have; 5. it was on the way to an important lake (called "mother lake" because the lake the town was built around to depended on the waters of that other lake) where they traveled to in important processions; 6. it was said that a the wizard who unified the tribes made it with its magic, making the plant grow to hold the temple's roof. this wizard was, actually, a force user, obv.

BACK TO HER THOUGH: she's daughter of one of the high priests, who was in charge of managing the trades with outsiders, and lives in a house on the mountains with her mother and him. her parents are from different tribes (that's one of the things that earned him trust from the 4 tribes): when a child is born from two different tribes, they don't pick one to allign to, but they're usually linked automatically to the one with more relatives in it (in her case, the father's tribe: she had many uncles and aunts on his side while her mom only had one sister).

later, though, she got quite tied to her mother's tribe due to a mysterious illness that only her mother's tribe healer was able to cure. she spent 4 years (from 10 to 14 years old) living with the healer and learned her secrets. to better study, she wrote them down. when she returned home, she studied to become a priestess with her father. at 22 (the average age: you can't become priest before your 20s), she was supposed to take a test and become a priestess, but the healer of her mother's tribe died and the tribe asked her to take her place. she couldn't technically do that, but both tribes estimated both her and her parents and she was allowed to become both. she then decided to try to become a high priestess, and became one at 25 (a quite young age). being part of the council, she tried to convince the various tribe healers to unite their knowledges and write them down, and eventually made it. healers still remained tribe based but they now had an "upper, inter-tribe level" similar to high priesthood.

years later, the sacred horned crystal is stolen from the temple by some Hutt mercenaries looking for a profit. given the trust she has earned from all the tribes and the fact that her father is the high priest that deals with outsiders (and she's been hearing stories and advice about it since she was little), she is the one tasked with getting it back. without the growing crystal, the keystone to their ecosystem, the village would have lasted only a few years. in hrr quest, she meets imperial intelligence agent tar'x laran and, as they "solve the mystery" and fight to have it back, they get closer. they'll get married and have a daughter, Vegoia (who's the only one who actually will get to the plot of my story. this was all background)

[leupagus]

Half of this fic is just me looking for more excuses to put in all the cool women that the show wrote out

Still working on the next chapter for the GOT rewrite from hell, but I had to write a little about how the fuck menstruation works in Westeros (other than "oh you can get married now!" which I refuse to believe is the norm) and also to introduce the Sphinx:

The next morning, Shireen woke up to find blood on her shift and a sharp sort of twist in her stomach, as though she'd swallowed a molten pin. The blood came out easily enough, with frantic scrubbing in the basin, but the pain grew over the course of the morning.

"It's your flowering," said Maester Alleras briskly, when she went to him in a tightly-controlled panic. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen," said Shireen, realizing the date. Her nameday had passed two weeks ago.

"And what do you know of flowering?" he asked, smiling slightly at her blush. "Forgive me, but Northerners have queer ideas of teaching their children about these matters. I do not wish to presume your level of education."

"I know it can last for a week or more," Shireen said, thinking of Mother's cycles, how she would confine herself to her rooms to endure the pain in solitude and prayer. "It's very painful and disgusting, but it allows me to bear my future husband's children and therefore is a gift from the gods."

"Hmm. Well, that is what you were taught, at least," grunted the maester. He got up from his desk, rummaging through the cupboard behind him. He was a tall, skinny young man with the deep brown skin and tightly-coiled hair of a Summer Islander, and shared their fondness for brightly-colored nails: they seemed to dance along the shelves until he plucked out a jar and presented it to her with a flourish. "This will help with the pain, and stop the bleeding after this cycle. People of the North use it a great deal."

"Is it moon tea?" Shireen asked, taking it gingerly and wondering at Maester Alleras's use of the term Northerners, which sounded different from People of the North. Perhaps in the Summer Isles, everyone on Westeros was a Northerner. "Why do they use it so much here?"

"It is," he confirmed, "and as for why..." He shrugged. "I've only just arrived in Winterfell, you understand, and as you may have guessed—" this said with another smile— "I was born elsewhere. But from what I've gathered, they must be careful when they have children. The North can only feed so many."

Shireen thought of Fire & Blood, which Father had read to her as a child. The Winter Wolves had been a company of Northerners, who had answered Lord Cregan's call to fulfill the Pact of Ice and Fire with Rhaenyra Targaryen. They'd been greybeards who had knowingly marched to their deaths, for such was the custom of the North back then: at the start of each winter, the old men of each keep and castle and holdfast would choose amongst themselves who would go out into the snows. Some would return home in the spring, having endured the cold or escaped it to find their fortunes in southron lands; most would not.

"Put a thimbleful of this into whatever tea you like best," Maester Alleras continued, gesturing at the jar, his fingernails catching the light as it streamed into the rookery. "Once a day, and come back when you need more."

"Shouldn't I ask—" Shireen bit her lip.

But the maester caught her meaning; his eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you ask your parents? Yes, I suppose you should. But they should be here to be asked, and they should have told you the truth."

"What's the truth?" Shireen asked, instead of admitting that Mother and Father had never told her anything about it. She couldn't imagine either of them even mentioning the subject. All her information had come from books, or from Mother's complaints.

"The truth is that if a cycle is painful and lasts for a week or more, that is the sign of an illness, not the will of a god. The truth is that you may well find it disgusting, but it is merely something our bodies do and should never be a source of disgust or shame to you or anyone else." He glared, though it did not seem directed at her. "And as for 'bearing your future husband's children,' the truth is that they are your children, just as much as his — indeed more so, unless he carries them about for the first nine months after their birth. But you will not be a woman grown for at least another two years, and any man who wishes you to bear children until at least that time is unworthy of your hand or your love." He sat back down, his half-dozen maester's links chiming musically. "Now run along, little princess."

Lady Sansa was just outside the door, with her brother beside her. "See, I told you she smelled funny," Rickon said triumphantly.

Shireen scowled at him. "Shut up." It was kind of him, she supposed, to have worked out that something was wrong and to wait for her outside the maester's chambers. But Rickon Stark was the sort of friend who was difficult to be grateful for.

"Yes, please do, Rickon," Lady Sansa said, pressing a businesslike kiss on the crown of Rickon's head before turning him round by the shoulders and pushing him down the corridor. Rickon protested, but went all the same, and Lady Sansa turned back to Shireen. "Moon tea?" she asked, nodding at the jar.

Shireen resisted the impulse to hide it somehow. It is merely something our bodies do and should never be a source of disgust or shame. "Yes, my lady," she said.

"Come along, then," said Lady Sansa. "I have some excellent tea from the Arbor. How does that sound?"

"Could I have a hot water-skin, too?" Shireen asked, as Lady Sansa looped her arm through hers.

"Of course. And the lemon trees in the greenhouse have given up their first fruits — we'll have lemon cakes for lunch instead of venison." She smiled and Shireen thought that even if Sansa Stark never took another husband or had children of her own, she was still all the mother that the North ever would need.

[13eyond13]

love it when a character that's hard to read intuitively for you has like a dedicated fandom interpreter who can just glance at their blank face in a panel and then give you a 3k word essay on their innermost thoughts & desires & fears and neatly tie it back into the themes & whatnot as if it's the most obvious thing in the world

[trebuchet151]

This is jumping the queue bc some really cool people reblogged my last post of Corey and they escaped containment.

Updated sidestep design perpetual WIP

Sidestep days vs retribution. They're slowly reacquiring their self expression. Next book will probably be the full return of the scene/punk look

Bonus Corey sans most of their clothing to show off their tattoos under the cut. CW for healed SH scars

Yes that is Ortega's bedroom yes I half assed it. I drew this background in my car at work when it was like 110 degrees idgaf

[xinyuehui]

I don't know if I want to write a massive essay about this, but they missed the whole point with all the characters, especially Ye Wenjie. I'm assuming everyone who said this portrayal is accurate and a raging angry Ye Wenjie is good is because they either never read the book, or non-Chinese, or both. (Or maybe projecting their own views on Maoism). Ye Wenjie received higher education during a time period where it wasn't common for women. She believed in science, she believed in people, but time and time again, the people in her life let her down and never showed any signs of remorse. What I've gathered from the text is that she isn't fuelled by rage, more so she is dead on the inside, she has lost all hope in people. Her decision to reply is not because she wants to destroy, she believes that a civilisation from a higher standpoint could save humans, and this roots in the fact that she is educated. She's not some crazy rage driving women who would ever say "time is a motherfucker", not even a Chinese equivalent.

I'm not sure why the writers decided to write Ye Wenjie and Yang Weining's relationships out of the story...Oh so she is rescued by a white man later on hmm??? (Coincidentally, all the characters driving the plot are also non-Chinese in this). Ye Wenjie marrying Yang Weining and giving birth to Yang Dong gave her a glimpse of light in the life from which she had lost hope. Spending time in Qijiatun also gave her a bit of warmth. When she pushed Yang Weining off the cliff, it marked another significant point, she was calm, cut the rope with no hesitation. She did not care to get herself entangled in romantic affairs. Making her have a child with Evans is laughable. They also dumb down Yang Weining, to the extent that Ye Wenjie had to explain 43+8=51 to him. Mind you, he was a real proper engineer. (Weirdly with all the diversifying, they did not keep a single male Chinese scientist in the main team huh)

Anyways, before I go on a tangent. The writers have fast tracked everything and left out the finer text about the characters in the book. I'm not sure if they missed the point or that nowadays the audience are ruined by fast media, something like the tencent version are simply too slow for the people in the west. Any of my moots and followers who watch cdramas will know that the real good stuff is all in the build-up. It's all the little text that adds up to a fleshed out character. If the culture difference is too much for Netflix, leading them to change all the characters and most of the plot, why not just buy a western ip. There's plenty of good western sci-fi ips.

I can't help but think they want to do this because they wanted to film the scene where Ye Zhetai is beaten to death. Have an excuse to turn Ye Wenjie an angry woman. We all know why. If they really cared about showing a true China during that time, they would have spend some care with the Red Coast details as mentioned above (we did not have screens in 1960s that display Chinese text!!! And definitely no simplified Chinese characters on computers!!!!). Instead of having her snog Bai Mulin off - unrealistic since people were a lot more conserved back then, they would not have done this and it's ooc for Ye Wenjie. Falling in love with Evans - a real blasphemy. I guess the 3 Body Problem here means 3 bodies pounding at each other. Jin-Raj-Will also seem to have their own 3 body problem going on too.

(One last tangent) Ye Wenjie and Yang Dong(Vera) as scientists not believing in god but having monks at her funeral ??????????? Not even a typical normal Chinese funeral will have monks. The stereotype enforcing is real.

[celestie0]

when ppl get too caught up in the accuracy of situations in fanfiction or if things are super realistic or as they should/would be in real life etc etc im like. my tumblr user in christ. it's fanfiction.

[oheck-trainwreck]

Tethered.

okay i'm actually caught up on streams now, so i can make theories without feeling stupid :D

I think that being around eggs grounds q!bad in a way nothing else quite can. we saw it with Empanada on Tuesday, when Bad was kind of on the same memory train most of the time, with only a few resets (which were when he wandered off, away from Bagi and Empanada), as well as yesterday with Dapper, when he only had a couple of minor issues (like the church). This rather fits what's been happening for the past 2 months, with basically all of Bad's issues arising in the absence of eggs.

I think this is solidified by one specific example from yesterday, in which Phil, Bad, Etoiles and Dapper are hanging out in the gym. Bad looks at a flower, like he's about to have a little memory reset and go steal it, but then looks to Dapper and things proceed as normal.

I'm curious and excited to see how this plays into stuff in the future, especially considering the possibility that bad dies (probably temporarily) from radiation poisoning. If he goes away from being alive, even just for a short time, will he completely lose all of his memories? Only time will tell.

Um. anyway all this to say the caption is 'tethered' because the eggs, most specifically Dapper, tether Bad to reality. thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[blighted-lights]

more of my little guy <3

[sugarsnappeases]

microfic - bella killing sirius 🥰 | 1.5k words | warnings for um. death. obviously. but also for confusing narrative style ❤️

for the light of my life @quillkiller on this most auspicious day

Bellatrix laughs as Andy - the woman who looks like Andy, except for the purple hair, and the dirty blood - falls backwards away from her. She’s never going to get into the Duelling Club at Hogwarts if she keeps leaving her left side open like that; she’s lucky she has Bellatrix there to teach her.

The woman - her sister, blood-traitor, spawn of a mudblood, fighting on the side of the Order - doesn’t get back up again, limp body tumbling down the steep, stone steps. Bellatrix hasn’t lost a duel since she was thirteen, she holds the Duelling Club record for most consecutive wins - she’s the best person that Andy could have come to for help - she wasn’t going to be beaten by some filthy Auror brat.

Turning away from the unmoving body, Bellatrix runs deeper into the fray, moving towards the raised dais with its stone archway. It’s chaos, flashes of spellfire shooting across the room in all directions, red, purple, white, green, shouts and crashes and explosions as spells miss and damage the room, or as they hit their mark and damage the enemy.

She deflects a curse on instinct, swinging around to face the direction it had come from - a familiar face, her baby cousin - “Bella, will you duel me now?” - a traitor and a coward and unworthy of the name of Black.

Bellatrix returns fire. She’ll go easy on him, because Sirius is just a boy, mock-duelling with a borrowed wand and the small repertoire of spells that he had learned from her or from his parents, but he had always been quick on his feet, good at skipping out of the line of fire - she would make a proper duellist of him yet. She should kill him, for having everything and for running away from it, for turning against her, against his family, cursing their name then having the audacity to use the spells that she had taught him to fight for the wrong side of the war.

It’s the first time that she's seen him since he was disowned, in the middle of Diagon Alley, fighting with the Order of the Phoenix, and she should kill him. It’s the Yule holidays of her seventh year at Hogwarts, Sirius is nine and determinedly dodging her spells, one of their favourite games. They’re both somewhere else, screams and despair and a spinning, ungraspable whirlpool of memories, standing on the raised stone dais now, close enough to hear the whispers from the tattered veil hanging in the archway - soft, insidious, beneath the clamour of the battle.

Sirius throws a spell back at her, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “Hello cousin.”

Bellatrix grins as she dodges - Sirius is always so energetic, so eager to fight with her in a way that even Andromeda never is, let alone Narcissa or Regulus - so desperate to draw her blood, the same blood that runs through his veins, the same blood that he had forsaken, singling her out on any battlefield in the same way that she always did with him. He had run from everything that she had ever wanted - the Black heirship and the power, the esteem, which that entailed - as if it was nothing, as if she didn’t dream about commanding that level of respect, or awe, or fear, as if she hadn’t been scrambling every day of her life to try and get as close to it as she could. Sirius had run away from it, run away from her, and now he was a part of the Order of the Phoenix and she should kill him. She could kill him, the Black Heir, laughing as he narrowly avoids getting hit with a stupefy - he’s only nine, it’s not like he could really defend himself if she started firing off some of the more lethal spells she knew.

She had taught him how to perform the severing charm just the day before, lending him her wand - walnut and dragon heartstring just like the one that had chosen him when he turned eleven - he’s using Cissy’s today, struggling a little against it’s unicorn hair core, mostly relying on his ability to jump out of the trajectory of spells.

The two of them are volleying spells back and forth - ones that she had taught him and ones that the Dark Lord had taught her and ones that he had learnt without her somewhere - dodging or shielding or deflecting, spells barely grazing each other, she always knew that he would make a fine duellist - she had made him into one. They duel like this every time they see each other, during her holidays from Hogwarts, then during his holidays from Hogwarts; she had watched Sirius turn into a threat - she had taught him how to be a threat.

Bellatrix laughs as he manages to shoot off the severing charm that she had taught him - three different lethal curses in quick succession, a determined kind of acrimony about him, not surprised to see her fighting with the death eaters, in the same way that she isn’t really surprised to see him with the Order. She lets it hit her - blocks them all with a complicated shielding charm and throws back a confringo that explodes the cobblestones beneath his feet - still laughing as he cheers about how he’s fatally wounded her, feeling a sting from the shallow cut on her arm - he’s determined as ever but there’s less anger now; he’s playful, grinning when a curse singes the ends of his hair.

She knows she shouldn’t kill him - she isn’t sure if she could kill him anymore, he’s going toe to toe with her in a way that he’d never been able to when they were kids - she doesn’t think she really wants to kill him, her favourite cousin, more just the things that he represents, the signet ring on his finger that gives him an authority, aged nine, that she doesn’t have, can’t have, at nearly double his age - she thinks she wants to kill him now, though, now that he’s betrayed her, found a new family of mudbloods and blood-traitors and abandoned the role that she’s always craved. Bellatrix fires a stunner at him - puts up a hasty shield against his entrail-expelling curse, another one that she had taught him - the two of them laugh as he ducks it, the red light whizzing over his head - “Come on, you can do better than that!”

It’s loud, cacophonous with the battle raging all around them - blood on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley, some of it hers, some of it his - Cissy’s complaining that she’s bored and wants to go outside - the whispers emanating from the crumbling stone archway are getting louder, seeping their way into Bellatrix’s head - and Sirius’ voice rings in her ears, echoes around the room.

She flings another spell at him, grinning as she watches him determinedly move through the wand movements for diffindo again - he laughs as she stumbles, as her shield collapses under the force of his reducto, as he gains the upper hand - concentrating on pushing his magic through Cissy’s wand, not paying close enough attention to the spell she’s just cast - Sirius deflects the curses she hurls at him, sends a barrage of spells back at her - he’s laughing, cocky as always, as her spell hurtles directly towards him.

It hits him right in the middle of his chest.

It’s quiet, suddenly.

Quiet as Sirius’s laughter cuts off. As his eyes widen in shock. As he falls backwards, slowly, as if some invisible weight were making him heavy, as if some invisible force were gently lifting him away. She looks at him and his face is gaunt, an underlying emaciation that no amount of hearty meals can hide, she sees the same whenever she looks in a mirror, right down to the tired, but ever determined glint in silver-grey eyes.

Bellatrix watches Sirius sink into the tattered veil - watches him fall to the floor of the duelling room in Grimmauld Place, for a second she imagines that he might be dead, what it would feel like to kill him - watches the grim smile on his face as one of his spells meets its target and her vision goes black - the veil flutters, those insidious whispers seem to pause for a moment, then rise to a roaring crescendo as his body disappears.

She screams along with them, triumphant - she hasn’t lost a duel since she was thirteen, Sirius has never once beaten her, always ending their duels on the floor - she’s killed Sirius Black, and everything that he represents, even if he had spurned the signet ring and the esteem that came with it. Bellatrix walks across the room to enervate him - wakes up in Malfoy Manor, Cissy leaning over her and asking if it was true that Sirius was a part of the Order now, if he had really beaten her in a duel - turns away from the whispers and the archway and the duel that she had won, skipping back up the stone steps, laughing as she hops over Andy’s - the mudblood’s - body.

[ssruis]

Hi hi i think youre completely right about characterization so I wanted to ask if you have any pjsk fic recs? Thank you :3

Oh god you know not what you have done

Primary ruikasa/emunene focus as is expected on ssruis dot tumblr dot com so keep that in mind but there’s a few gen fics on here.

The world offers itself - thrillingwhiteday (In progress) (ruikasa)

Super underrated… the characterization is so good… saki + rui interactions (I cheered). Lives in my head rent free.

You and a Skull’s Flower - Revelry_in_serenity (In progress) (no relationship focus but there are bg relationships)

Pandemonium gang experiences The Horrors. Recommend the author’s other works as well - Supporting Roles/Lasting Embraces/Overwritten are some other ones I really enjoyed - but I’m Very Intrigued by the plot in this one.

Warm - pyrotechpuffs (One shot) (ruikasa)

Also recommend the authors other works but this is a fave.

Soul to Wreck - sleepieash (In progress) (ruikasa)

Literally anything by helloitsaiza or calculatrice. The characterization/writing… chefs kiss… their brains are so massive. Best stuff in the tag. Rewired my brain. However this is a list of fic recs and not author recs so I’ll link some of my favorites:

Roles - helloitsaiza (one shot) (ruikasa)

Eternal sunshine - helloitsaiza (One shot) (emunene)

Special shout-out because Peak Emunene I’m actually obsessed with it.

Confess, Confess - helloitsaiza (In progress) (ruikasa)

Yours - helloitsaiza and calculatrice (one shot) (ruikasa)

Backstage after the curtain call - calculatrice (One shot) (ruikasa)

To sear the sky - calculatrice (One shot) (ruikasa)

A study in performance - calculatrice (One shot) (ruikasa)

Funhouse mirror - calculatrice (in progress) (no relationship focus, wxs & niigo)

Special shout-out because tsukasa + mafuyu body swap is such a galaxy brained idea

Rui’s doki-doki seishun school life - calculatrice (one shot) (ruikasa)

^ read all of these they go so hard 10/10

Because it’s you - sleepy_macchi (one shot) (ruikasa)

Act I of our story - Asteromeda (one shot) (ruikasa)

The show must go on - literallyjustsomeguy (in progress but it’s been like 2 years so it might be abandoned) (ruikasa)

I don’t like recommending stuff that may remain unfinished but I’ll make an exception for very funny tsukasa tenma stupidity moments

X marks the spot - seatrix (in progress) (ruikasa)

Underrated… love the characterization & plot.

Voted most likely to run away with you - eightyeightstars (one shot) (ruikasa)

Sharing is caring - underwaternature (one shot) (ruikasa)

Tête-à-tête - kuiperbelts (one shot) (ruikasa)

Also recommend the authors other works I just really like the tsukasa characterization in this one

All I want (is you) - sorasekai (one shot) (emunene)

Recommend their other works as well for good emunene

Ikanaide - gummysaur (finished) (tsukasa focus, gen wxs)

Also recommend their other works but (chefs kiss) tsukasa characterization

Closeness - lyriablackfrost (one shot) (ruikasa)

Find out who you are, and then do it on purpose - weepingstars (transfem rui focus, gen wxs)

And I will still live here - utayoru (one shot) (ruikasa)

Their other works are good as well but this is a fave for the early pjsk days rui characterization

With me all along - jeiseny (one shot) (saki focus, gen)

SAKI… (ugly crying) beautiful exploration of chronic illness. And it doesn’t focus on her fucking brother (staring with homicidal intent @ wider pjsk fanbase). Made me go ouuggh relatable several times.

[lunar-years]

“How the fuck does Taylor Swift know about my kebab place?” Roy said angrily, kicking the front door closed behind him with gusto. “That’ll be another pound, Uncle Roy,” Phoebe chirped, not bothering to look up from her bracelet making.

Taylor Swift is in town for The Eras Tour. Phoebe and Jamie and Keeley and seemingly all of greater fucking London all desperately want to attend. These facts together combine to make for Roy's worst nightmare, but also, quite possibly, for a rare moment of warmest sun right when he needs it the most.

Roy/Jamie/Keeley

[ataraxetta]

🎶Jason and Dick, sittin' on a roof, talking laughing smooching frotting going home and getting into bed together and having fantastic sex and getting a good night's sleep. 🎶

[eddsworld-the-masquerade]

SABBAT!

New designs for Bing and Larry, designs for the other two members, a relationship chart...more art and info under the cut! (trust me, there's a whooole lot)

A curious bunch. Kind of an unlikely match (I mean Lasombra and Ventrue under the same roof sounds like a recipe for disaster..lol), but circumstances played their part. They may not be ideal for each other but it's all they have. Family, woof 👆

Why would I assign them with animals and elements? First off, it makes the designing process so much easier, since it creates direction. Second, it makes thematic sense. They've been denied humanity, and then they chose to keep it that way. "You see me a monster, well then, I'll be the monster" kind of situation. So, they'd rather associate with animals and elements than humans.

I could go on, but I'd rather have you experience the thing first hand in game (also doubt people would read further into this post otherwise lmao). Onto the characters!

Bing

Animal: Serpent

Element: Earth (Nature)

Main shtick: Change; Pain

Bing has more backstories than he does fingers, so nobody is quite sure on his origin. The one thing that seems certain is that he spent most of his existence in Russian Empire but fled when the civil war broke out in the 1910s. You'd think a Tzimisce of this age and history would be up to something nefarious now in Britain, but Bing is more concerned with "self search" and identity crisis. You could say he spends his retirement days here, or rather...used to spend, before one thing happened. But this, you'll learn more of playing the game XP

Bing dresses up kind of similar to the way he used to, back in the XVIII century. The outfit is rather loose (before I added clips onto the coat, I was told it looked more like a bathrobe...which, I suppose, is kind of fitting too XD), in order to leave extra room for when Bing uses Vicissitude (more on that later).

Bing's main gimmick is Tzimisce's signature, Vicissitude and the way he chooses to use it. Instead of turning his head into a giant pickle (Andrei lmao), Bing turns into different people. Not just appearance wise, it also includes voice, mannerisms, even personality. This is what I mean when I say he doesn't need to make clones - he IS the clone.

What he chooses to turn into most of the time are personas he used to "play out" during his glory days, XVIII century coups. Sometimes when prompted, sometimes just to troll others (if they dislike certain mannerisms or find the general idea of shape-shifting weird/scary).

These were crafted in accordance with the "ruler of the week", to win them over and then later "direct" them towards what Bing's Tzimisce sires and mentors needed. In a way, they are "clones" of these rulers (except maybe appearances), cuz imitation is the highest form of flattery lol

Though Bing also likes to experiment with his default form, as he doesn't find it ideal (his "true face", the one he forgot). Bing switches pronounce depending on current form (he/she/they, or anything else he feels like at the current moment).

Bing's battle form, aka the pinnacle of his Vicissitude mastery. If you happen to see it, usually it means you'll die a painful death in the next five minutes X)

Larry

Animal: Jackal

Element: Water

Main shtick: Loyalty and betrayal

Larry was dealt some shitty cards and forced upon the life of crime since early childhood. First a pirate (where he got his tan, scars, and vision problem), then a mercenary for a, uh, "dubious company" sponsored by Lasombra clan. Certain events made him overly sensitive to betrayals, so if you betray Larry, or hurt those he swore loyalty to, he will loathe you. And Larry's hatred runs deep. He always means business.

Larry's outfit is like, a modern take on pirate fashion. A bit rough around the edges, just enough to give him that "jackal" look. Larry's second name is practical, so he carries lots of belts. Never know when you mind need one.

Larry's signature, Obtenebration, comes from the Abyss and runs on his negative emotions. Which is why he's prone to lashing out and general bad mood. Needless to say it is extremely unhealthy, but power is power.

The story behind him coming to know Bing is fun. Originally, Larry was sent to kill him, but it was a set up, since Larry didn't stand a chance against that. So they kind of bonded instead, "enemy of my enemy is my friend". And after a while Larry just grew attached XDD He still goes on about murdering Bing "one day", but at this point everyone is aware it's not gonna happen like, ever.

Adella

Animal: Raven/Crow

Element: Fire

Main shtick: Control

Adella is half-chinese born in Britain. Do I need to say she didn't have a particularly fun time or is it obvious enough? From a very young age she was forced to believe she can only count on herself. Adella strived to climb the corporate ladder and get on top. To "burn her way through the obstacles". Might be lonely up there, but she was used to it either way, and she'd have the power and control to smack down anyone who tries to harm her. For now, let's just say she ended up upsetting the wrong people and had to run for her life. Sabbat was "kind" enough to let her stay under their wing.

Adella's relatively fresh meat, so her grasp on Sabbat "culture" is rather small for now. Though she is attempting to fit in more. She's determined to stay, despite whatever Larry says about her "looking for the opportunity to dump them". Adella insists she'd rather die than go back to the cammies. Bing is willing to give her the chance to prove herself.

Her and Larry's relationship is quite fun in how disastrous it is. Both constantly looking for jabs to throw at each other. The irony is, their stories and goals are kind of similar. But they're also different in ways that make their blood boil when they have to interact.

Zephyr

Animal: House centipede

Element: Wind

Main shtick: Security

Zephyr is truly a victim of circumstance. Lost ability to speak, lost all his loved ones, lost his home. Not a penny to his name, and no name either. His mind in ruin. He roamed around in the wild, until Bing found him. Seeing something familiar in him, Bing let him stay by their side. Found him a new name. A new purpose. A reason to keep on existing. Slowly, Zephyr is learning ways to communicate again. Perhaps he'll be able to remember, and tell his story one day.

Zephyr is the least human-like kindred, and looks like an atom bomb fell on his face. Despite the first impression he might create, Zephyr is a rather meek soul, doesn't seek conflict and is fine with following orders. That attitude changes when something threatens rest of the "family", though...

Zephyr is generally adored by his packmates, one could call him the "gentle giant" of the pack. Adella loves spending time with Zephyr, even Larry tolerates him. Though I'd say the most sympathy for him comes from Bing. As mentioned earlier, Bing sees a kindred spirit in Zephyr, so he is most invested in Zephyr's well being. Bing was the one to give him his new name. He's also the one learning sign language with him, so they'd have a better way of communication.

[solar-halos]

odesta week. day #1: modern au monday

summary: annie and finnick engage in some crazy funky shenanigans after a concert

3k, odesta fluff, modern au. also some johannie in the beginning (as a treat) but obv this is odesta endgame. concert they attended isn’t explicitly mentioned but know in ur heart it’s chappell roan

“Wanna do something fun?”

Annie was not expecting Johanna to say anything, so her next opened mouth kiss lands directly on her chin. Oops. The club lights bathe them in swathes of purples and pinks, which complements the lipstick stains on Johanna’s neck. 

“Huh?” Annie asks. It’s a fair question—she thought all this making out they were doing was the fun part. 

In Annie’s opinion, it couldn’t get better than this. It’s not everyday you get to see your favorite artist’s favorite artist live and in concert, and it’s also not everyday that hot people choose to strike up a conversation with her.

Johanna and Finnick are hot. And, even better, they were the ones who turned around and started asking her questions right after they caught her eye in line. Maybe they just really liked her vibes. Peeta and Katniss were accompanying Annie, too, but anyone with a sixth sense could tell that they weren’t really down with throuples.

Annie would be so down for a throuple. Need she remind you that Johanna and Finnick are fucking hot.

Annie had no idea what the fuck a man was doing at this concert, but she already knew she was a goner as soon as Johanna offered Annie a vape she procured from her tits. Annie was ready to dive in. 

And she did—kinda. Eventually. The concert venue was crackling with sick beats and (courtesy of Johanna) simmering sexual tension. Hands on hips, bustier against bustier—it was like they’d known each other for a thousand lifetimes (Annie didn’t even know Johanna’s last name). Then the concert ended, and they were walking out together, and that was all the flirting time Johanna needed to convince Annie that they should start locking lips. 

Speaking of locking lips, how come they’re not doing that right now?

Right. Johanna wanted to do something fun. Annie pulls away and gives Johanna her undivided attention. Well—as undivided as it can be with all the pulsing lights and upbeat music and enthusiastic dancing going around all around them. 

“You’re so cuddly,” Johanna says. Annie is suddenly hyper aware of the fact that she’s not even sitting in her bar stool anymore. Oops. She had no idea that she was trying to drape herself over Johanna, so she pulls away. “I think my friend Finnick would really like that.”

My friend Finnick. As if he needed an introduction. That was the guy who was standing by Johanna’s side in line the entire time they were waiting for the concert to start. In an ideal world, Annie would have been sandwiched between their locked lips, but she had to play it cool. Chances are he’s just one of the girls. 

Or maybe not. They looked like they were having a pretty intense argument the moment the concert ended, making pointed gestures at Annie, but Annie’s own friends were pretty good at distracting her from their (hopefully) platonic lovers quarrel. 

Katniss and Peeta tapped out after the first club. Annie kept going, especially when Johanna’s hands kept wandering lower and lower and lower until Finnick stopped shooting her weird-looking glances altogether. 

“Does Finnick like me?” Annie demands, excitement blooming in her chest. That’s so hot. “Like, does he wanna be with me?”

“Probably,” Johanna replies. She fixes Annie with a glare that looks almost wistful, then gives her a hard kiss on the mouth as a parting gift. “I need post-coital cigarettes. Not cuddles.”

“Oh.” She starts nudging Johanna away now, too, because she doesn’t even smoke. “Good thing you figured that out about us. I would’ve never guessed.”

Johanna raises her pierced eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Annie leans back and studies her. She has pink hair that’s molded into spiky tendrils and a glittering constellation of nose piercings. Annie’s eyes flick down to her bustier and leather pants.

“I don’t like making assumptions about people,” Annie says, as if she hadn’t been thinking with her dick the entire time. 

“Get the fuck out of here,” Johanna replies good naturedly, her own lipstick smeared all across the dimples on her cheek. 

Annie stumbles out of her seat. She’s not even drunk. Not since the first club, at least, but they’ve cycled through so many that she finally registers that her feet ache in her stilettos. Why doesn’t anyone ever talk about the psychological repercussions of serving so much cunt all the time?

She starts her search for Finnick. It was harder to pick him out in the first couple clubs—and not just ‘cause Annie was preoccupied with Johanna—but they’ve officially transitioned out of Las Vegas’ queer scene and landed in dudebro territory. Finnick’s dark eyeliner and chipped red nail polish is really starting to stick out in the-only-club-that’s-still-open Nevada. 

Nevada. Road tripping from California with Peeta and Katniss hadn’t been ideal—Peeta’s car was probably never gonna fully recover from this—but desperate times called for desperate measures. Annie would have attended that concert if it was hosted in the middle of the goddamn ocean, wetsuit and chunky goggles and all.

“Finnick!” She finally finds him, and when she does, she does not hesitate to sit down next to him at the booth he’s at. She’s never been very good at figuring out what the fuck a social cue is, but he seems pretty happy to see her, so she takes that as her sign to keep going. “Hi!”

“Hi,” he says, so softly that the music nearly eats his reply whole. His cheeks flush.

He’s pretty. The dark liner dragging across his under eye would look harsh on anyone else, but she’s suddenly obsessed with all this eye contact he’s making with her. His coppery hair drapes over his shoulders, the soft waves curling right over the knot of his Adam’s apple.

Hot. 

Annie already knows so much about him. They spent a lot of time in line together, so she knows when he graduated high school (he’s only one year older, so the age gap won’t be very hard to defend at all) and where he’s from (California, too—good, ‘cause Annie didn’t wanna do long distance) and how he found out about the concert in the first place (Johanna was obsessed with the music first, then he followed in her footsteps, which Annie doesn’t really mind. She’s already compiling a playlist in her head that she thinks he’ll really like).

“Have you heard of this song?” Oh. It’s like he read her mind. He pulls out his phone, shuffling closer to her. Annie knows that he’s getting so close as an excuse to drown out the blaring music. She cuddles even closer, but she doesn’t have an excuse. She just likes cuddling—Johanna clocked that from a mile away.

Finnick does, too. He slides an arm around her waist and she sets her head on his shoulder the entire time they carefully curate playlists for each other. Annie can’t wait to listen to all the stuff he picked out for her on the way home.

“Favorite color?” Finnick asks, after they got all the soul-binding stuff out of the way, but he keeps giggling because Annie finally found the perfect angle to dot kisses to the underside of his chin. “Wait, let me guess,” he adds, and Annie thinks the only reason he even tacked that on in the first place is because he doesn’t want her lips off his skin. 

“Okay. Guess,” she says, punctuating the demand with another kiss.

He takes his time. Annie progresses to the corner of his mouth, but she doesn’t know if they’re ready for that yet, so she focuses her efforts on his cheek. He ducks his head to the side so that they’re looking each other in the face. No one’s ever looked more kissable.

“Blue,” he says. “Your favorite color is blue.”

“Kinda.” Now it’s his turn to start kissing her. He has a lot of skin to choose from—her bustier is teeny—but he keeps it nice and respectful at her jaw. Annie drags him down to her neck, butterflies erupting in her tummy. “Cerulean.”

“That counts. It’s blue.” He’s getting bolder. He crosses over to sternum territory, green eyes flicking up to hers, which would be sexy if it didn’t look like he was being charged with a crime. 

“Kiss me, please.” Maybe he was waiting for a verbal cue. Hot.

That’s apparently all it takes for him to get cocky. He smiles into her skin, lips dragging over her pulse in another hypnotizing kiss. “Don’t you wanna know my favorite color?”

She knows he doesn’t really mean it. She answers him anyway—she was in the mood to be played with.

“Red.” Like the color of his nails. Like the sky before a storm. His grin broadens, so she knows she’s right, but he obviously intends on teasing her. Two can play at this game. “Am I wrong? Maybe Johanna can give me a hint.”

His eyes get as stormy as his nails. He darts up from her chest, so Annie’s hands fly up to his cheeks to meet him in the middle. Their lips tangle together in a messy blur of spit and tongue, trying their best to map each other out. But, when Annie gets acclimated to the touch and heat and feel of him, she gets acclimated. 

So does he. They’re climbing into each other’s bones in no time.

Annie’s on top—on his lap, raking her acrylics through his waves—but she savors the pressure of his ringed fingers on her hips. Hard enough to bruise.

She angles her neck to the side. He gets the hint. She surveys the area while he gets to work, his chapped lips leaving goosebumps on her skin. She feels restless sitting still like this, even with all the friction his patchwork jeans have to offer. 

“Wanna dance?”

Once again, he takes the words straight out of her mouth. Annie leads the way, with Finnick trailing behind her so he can press more kisses to her neck. The intensity and intimacy of it all has her leaning back into him. Her skin tingles where his hands linger—her bustier, her hips, the whale tail peeking out of her skirt, then all the way back to her bustier again, his fingertips whispering all sorts of promises over her skin.

Annie’s never felt so respected. She feels secure, all tucked up between his arms and his lips. They move as one, united in heart and soul.

“Okay, everyone! Get the fuck out!”

The disco lights disappear, replaced by blinding fluorescents. The security guard up front is already ushering people toward the door. Is it seriously 2am already?

Finnick and Annie glance at each other. Lipstick stains on his neck, ring-shaped indents on hers. There’s no questioning who she’s going home with tonight, so she slips her hand into his and fishes her phone out of her purse with the other. Katniss was okay with leaving Annie with Johanna and Finnick under one condition: Annie had to send her frequent updates about her night.

you can’t fuck some rando you just met, Katniss replies, but it’s so much more than that. They weren’t just gonna fuck—they were gonna exchange souls. 

They pass by Johanna on the way out. She’s walking with someone else, a new layer of lipstick slathered over her face. She salutes them both as she and some girl climb into an Uber. 

Finnick and Annie look at each other again. And then they burst out laughing.

Anyway, Finnick isn’t a rando. He’s someone she knows on a personal and metaphorical level. He’s the sugarcubes in her coffee (he likes sweet drinks) and the training wheels on her bike (he never learned how to ride). She knows him more than she knows anyone on earth—including herself.

Annie doesn’t make it very far in her stilettos. They collapse on the curb so she can take a moment to rest. She takes this time to stare at him some more, absolutely in love with the slope of his nose and the curve of his jaw.

She has her feet in his lap in no time, his fingers rubbing the tension out of her muscles. She has no idea how it happened, or who initiated the contact—it was as natural as the progression of their relationship. Taking care of each other is second nature by now. 

“I think I have some band aids in here,” he says, scrounging around his pockets. “Johanna’s platforms give her nasty blisters, even if she never says anything about it.”

He carefully smooths out a couple bandaids over the curve of her ankle. She sighs, snuggling into the warmth of his chest. He drapes an arm around her bare shoulders. 

“I left my extra shoes with Peeta. I knew I should have changed into them before he left.”

Finnick has her covered. He carries her around on his back, her strappy shoes dangling from her fingertips. She grins into his neck the entire way to the gas station.

The guy at the cash register throws them a weary look as they buy a bottle of tequila. They also throw in some chips and nacho cheese. All that dancing made Annie hungry. 

There’s a glob of cheese stuck to the corner of Finnick’s mouth. Annie knows her falsies must be horribly crooked by now, so she peels them off. Usually, she thinks littering sucks, but there’s something in the air tonight that’s making her feel silly. 

“Wanna make a wish?” she asks. 

He takes her seriously. He stares at the clump of falsies in her hand for a long moment. He kisses her knuckles, informing her that he made his wish, so she lets the lashes go.

“What’d you wish for?”

“You,” he says. “Can’t get more specific, or else it won’t come true.”

It’s just the right blend of sappy and secretive that makes her heart melt. Loving and being loved has always been an intense, cosmic ordeal for Annie. She’ll never look at the color red the same way, will never pick up black eyeliner without thinking of him first. 

Finnick keeps rubbing over the ring on his finger—the one with the blue, glowing center—and Annie bets it’s because she mentioned it’s her favorite. His cheeks are perpetually rosy pink, even without the tequila. He even stares at her like she’s responsible for the stars aligning. 

“I love you,” he says, as softly as the fingers he has in her hair.

Her breath catches in her throat. He loves her.

“I love you,” she replies. She can’t imagine a time where she didn’t. “You’re not on anything, are you? ‘Cause I’m not.”

He holds up the barely tapped into tequila. Annie shrugs. “That doesn’t count,” she tells him. “I’m on that, too. And I loved you way before.”

He smiles at her. Annie’s never felt prettier. “Okay. If I do something weird, promise you’ll hear me out?”

Annie nods. She’s not even worried.

He nods back, extracting his hands from her hair. His knee suddenly bounces up and down and up and down. “Okay,” he repeats, then unstacks all of his rings so he can slide the blue one off his finger. Annie’s favorite. 

He holds it out to her, the bejeweled part facing her.

“Think of it as a promise,” he says. Annie brushes a stray piece of hair out of his face. “I mean—I can’t stop thinking about how perfectly this fell into place. Even when we go back home, you’re less than an hour away.”

“It’s like we were destined to meet,” Annie agrees. She accepts the ring, slipping it onto her finger. There’s a bit of wiggle room, but that’s perfect for her. She doesn’t like feeling trapped. “I want to get married.”

“So do I,” he replies, almost cautiously. Oh—Annie thinks she finally managed to freak him out. “Should we?”

Or maybe not. Annie smiles at him, suddenly feeling shy. “You don’t mean it.”

He shows her how much he means it. He stands up, offers her his hand, and scoops her right into his arms. She’s in charge of navigation, leading them straight to the nearest chapel. 

“You don’t mean it,” she repeats into his neck, because he can’t. It would be too good to be true. “I’m not dressed for it.”

“Neither am I,” he replies, trying to coax her back out, but she doesn’t budge. He kisses the crown of her head. “We’ll have another one. In California. And we’ll do it exactly the way we want.”

That’s exciting enough that Annie practically leaps out of his arms. They have to sign a whole bunch of papers stating that they’re completely, honestly sober, so Annie flings the tequila into the trash to get rid of any incriminating evidence.

It doesn’t matter how high their blood alcohol content is. Haven’t you heard that drunk actions are just sober thoughts?

A lady waiting behind them clips a veil onto Annie’s head when it’s finally their turn. Annie wasn’t gonna pretend that she wasn’t excited on her wedding day, so she allows herself to stumble a bit as they rush to the altar.

“You’re not gonna,” Annie whispers to him.

He leans over and catches her lips in another kiss. She doesn’t hesitate to drape herself over him. “Watch me,” he whispers back.

Annie does. She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop. She watches him the entire time they’re pronounced husband and wife, she watches him when the guy officiating their wedding tells them to get the fuck outta there (he did not appreciate Finnick launching into some impromptu vows), and she watches him the entire Uber drive over to her hotel.

Peeta and Katniss booked their own separate room, which worked out very well for Annie. They strip all the way down to their rings as soon as they get inside, but not for the reason you might think. Annie always wanted a wedding by the beach, but this landlocked middle-of-fucking nowhere state couldn’t provide that for her. The hotel pool was the next best thing.

Annie throws on her bathing suit. Finnick has to go in his underwear, but they make it work. They splash around and dive under the water again and again and again until Annie feels like she’s being reborn with the fiery intensity of a thousand suns. 

They’re so exhausted when they go back to the room that they only have enough energy to collapse into bed, wet clothes and all. Finnick might be the best cuddler she’s ever seen. 

“I love you,” Annie tells him, because it was hard to stop saying it once she started. She’s consumed by it. 

She doesn’t even feel like she’s married—doesn’t even feel tied down to him, doesn’t feel trapped, doesn’t feel like anyone but herself—which is how she knows that they did it right. Katniss is going to be so happy that Annie exercised enough self control to not fuck him on the spot. 

“I love you,” he replies, already half asleep. Annie wonders if he’ll dream of her.