#here it is folks

[cosmic-seer]

POV your trainer is getting flustered for the umpteenth time

(Instigated by this post.)

#HERE IT IS FOLKS #they’re doing an early morning run #poking fun at sleep deprivation earns some interesting implications #but its still slow burn #my hand was forced #I was violently compelled to do this #sweet and sour dipplins #could be read as s&sd but doesn’t have to be :)) #sweet and sour dipplins art #dipplinshipping #juliana pokemon #kieran pokemon #juliana x kieran pokemon #kieran x juliana #cosmic draws #cosmic animates #@dipplinduo

[ghost-proofbaby]

Across the bottom of the page, in bold lettering, with excessive underlining for emphasis it seemed, is a simple reminder.  P.S. DO NOT FORGET – SAVE ASTARION. NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO, ABOVE ALL ELSE, SAVE ASTARION.

summary: when aruna awakes on a beach, she has no memory of herself. only a small pouch full of seemingly useless items, a pair of daggers with interesting engravings, and a ruined letter.

wc: 1.6k+

warnings: memory loss, descriptions of canon violence/gore.

a/n: this is it. the infamous astarion fic i've been whispering about for way too long. please enjoy. probably full of mistakes due to lazy editing. also, no, this oc/tav is not dark urge.

masterlist | next chapter

The beach is unbearably warm. Scorching, even, as her body digs deeper into the sand and her eyes squint against the bright sun glaring down on her. She feels as though every inch of her skin is on fire as the pebbles scratch at her arms and she puts off any movement for as long as possible – she’s terrified that if she moves, she’ll come to find that she’s dead. She’ll stand, and she’ll look down, and all that will remain is her mangled body. Her brains will be splattered across the tawny landscape, her limbs will be crooked, her blood will pant the taupe sand red. And she’ll be nothing but a ghost; a ghost who can’t remember anything. Not even her own name. 

She can’t remember a damn thing. 

Even flashes of events that just happened, the fight on the Nautiloid ship and the crash that has followed, are blurry images to her that get swept away just as quickly as they appear to her. 

Eventually, she’s brave. She stands up. She looks down. She’s alive. No stomach-churning crime scene, at least. Not a drop of blood stains the shallow crater she’s left behind in the sand. 

But her head screams out in pain as if she might as well be dead. Darkness flashes the edges of her vision, a sharp stabbing in her temples nearly drops her to her knees. It’s nauseating, it’s startling, it’s terrifying. No memories, no name, but the myriad of colors that flash like memories that paint her vision certainly make up for it with each throb of her head. She waits for them to dull – waits for the headache to taper off long enough for her to put one foot in front of the other. 

It doesn’t. 

The storm never passes, and so she suffers. Mouth hanging wide open to take deep breaths that do nothing, palms pressing against the sides of her head as if she can squeeze the ache away. At some point, it’s not that the pain has subsided, but that she simply… gets used to it. Adjusts. Swallows hard and decides to fool herself that it doesn’t hurt that bad (but it does. It does hurt that bad).

She has to take in her surroundings, first and foremost. She doesn’t know much, but she knows that. Her eyes wander over the shards of metal, the bursts of flames, the mangled bodies- Oh, Gods. The bodies. She can spot three instantly, looking exactly as she had expected herself to appear. Unrecognizable. Gone beyond repair. Broken as a result of falling thousands of feet through the sky. 

Something churns in her stomach.

She tears away her gaze from the bodies with reluctance, nostrils flaring and lips pressed tightly together in effort to not dry heave. 

She needs to remember. Remember what fully happened on the ship. Remember her name. Remember her memories – remember who exactly she is. 

The satchel on her hip doesn’t help much. She absentmindedly opens it, hoping for clues, but the only thing inside is a small pouch made of a brilliant, deep purple fabric. Soft to the touch, embroidered with care. When she tugs on the gold-threaded rope tying it shut, all she can see inside is a smooth and nearly translucent stone, and a tarnished gold ring. Both could easily fit in her palm, side by side, if she were to dump them out of the beautiful pouch. 

And neither spark any memories. Neither reignite recognition, or bring a name to mind. Neither tell her who she is. 

They stay in the pouch, and the pouch returns to the satchel. 

She glances around the beach again for any further clues. Maybe she dropped something during her fall, maybe she had been wearing a goddamn name tag that had simply fallen off during her plummet from a giant spaceship wrecking through the sky-

There’s a glint in the sand. 

It could just be another shard of metal from the crash. Another broken piece of a nautiloid ship that is one of the only things that she can recognize right now. Any other person in their right mind would ignore it and continue on their search for clues somewhere more useful – but she isn’t in her right mind, and something about that glimmer of silver buried beneath sand has her feet moving to their own accord. 

Daggers. Plural.

As she drops to her knees, she’s careful to dig into the surrounding sand, exposing the pair of knives. They’re obviously a matching set – although, whether they’re a matching set belonging to her is a bit less obvious. There’s no major identifiable attributes; they’re simply plain daggers, sharpened metal blades with black leather wrapped methodically around the handles. Her eyes trail over them, trying to ignore how familiar and how right they feel in her hands, when she comes to the butt of the handle, and-

There. Something unique. Something identifiable. 

Carved messily into the metal of the ball at the end of the dagger in her left hand, is the shape of a moon. It wasn’t done professionally, but whoever had done it certainly had the gift of precision. She almost reaches out a finger to trace over the crescent shape lightly, when she remembers the dagger in her right hand. She wastes no time checking the exact same spot in that second dagger, holding her breath until she sees it. 

A star. Far messier than the moon, done by a far less skillful hand, but a star nonetheless. 

A star and a moon. She doesn’t know if these daggers belong to her, but it sure does feel like they do. 

And they fit perfectly in her belt, sliding into her conveniently empty sheaths with ease. As if they were finally at home as they hang loosely, bumping her hip as she takes a few steps forward.

Yes. That feels right. 

She breathes out a sigh of relief and goes to take another step forward when she spots another detail that would probably go ignored by any other poor soul that had landed here on this beach. Mere feet away from where she had found the daggers, there’s a small puddle of water. Which in itself isn’t very interesting. It’s a beach. If her eyes continued to trail a few feet more, she’d find even more water. But it isn’t the water itself that catches her eye – it’s what is sinking into it that does. 

A piece of paper. 

It calls to her with the same importance the daggers had, and she’s quick to snatch it off of the ground. The center of the letter is absolutely ruined, soaked thoroughly as each word that had previously been carefully written out bleeds out past the point of return. She can’t make a single word out in the body of the message. Only swirls of black that feather out blue, a mess of words that she’s somehow convinced was for her. 

Only the top of the letter, and the very bottom, remain untouched by the water.

On the top, there is a single phrase: My dearest Aruna. And- no, not just a phrase, but a greeting. A gentle, caressing, brimming-with-adoration greeting. But even more than that, it includes a godsdamned name. 

Aruna. Aruna, Aruna, Aruna.

She rolls the name around in her mind over and over, nearly screams it at the top of her lungs, because it feels right. Something clicks in her mind as she reads those five letters off the page, and she knows that her name is Aruna. The daggers belong to her, she has some lavish pouch containing a pretty stone and a ring that has seen better days, and her name is Aruna. 

It takes her a while to move past the excitement of that. A while for the smile to leave her face, only faltering as her cheeks begin to ache and her eyes finally start to scan the rest of the letter. A letter written to her. 

Except she still can’t decipher a single word in the body of it. She scans each line carefully, desperate to be able to make out just one syllable, even, but it’s all still a blended mess. She can see the leftover curves of whoever’s handwriting it is, and it’s pretty, but it is unreadable. 

Until the bottom of the page, where the water hadn’t quite reached the letter. 

Two lines are readable to her. One written carefully on the very bottom of the page, where absolutely no water has reached the penmanship, and one at the tail end of the main letter, where water had in fact seeped into the parchment, and the ink is quickly bleeding out. The words are being erased right before her eyes, and so she reads the damp words first: I’m sorry for what I’ve become.

The words make no sense. She can’t twist a single drop of understanding from them, only an ache that rings out in her chest. As if something inside of her might know what they mean, but that piece of her has been locked away deep down, unable to spell it out plainly for her.

So she decides to read the words untouched by moisture.

But the words that are dry as bone on the very bottom of the page, perfectly written out save for a small smudge of ink across the first letter as though someone’s hand had dragged across it before it had properly dried, confuse her addled brain even further. These words make even less sense. 

They weigh heavily on Aruna, whether she understands them or not. They’re important – Gods, she knows they’re important. Possibly the most important words she’ll read in all her days.

Across the bottom of the page, in bold lettering, with excessive underlining for emphasis it seemed, is a simple reminder. 

P.S. DO NOT FORGET – SAVE ASTARION. NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO, ABOVE ALL ELSE, SAVE ASTARION. 

#my writing #ghost’s stories #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #the moon will sing #here it is folks #wah lah #dropping it when everyone should be sleeping 😌 #if you see a mistake no you don’t <3

[nose-coffee]

Chapters: 7/7 Fandom: The Locked Tomb Series | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Cytherea the First & Gideon Nav, Gideon Nav & Pash | Our Lady of the Passion Characters: Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Gideon Nav, Cytherea the First (Locked Tomb Series), Pash | Our Lady of the Passion (Locked Tomb Series), Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Mystery, Secret Identity, Canon Temporary Character Death, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Alternating, Family Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Developing Relationship, Mild Sexual Content, Cameos, Canon-Typical Body Horror, TLT BRE 2023, house swap AU Summary:

The Emperor needs necromancers.

The Ninth Necromancer needs a cavalier who can actually fight.

In an unlikely turn of events, Gideon the Seventh might be just what she's looking for.

#fuck off lou #my post #fucked up au / tlt bre fic #link #ao3 #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #My writing #tlt #the locked tomb #harrowhark nonagesimus #gideon nav #griddlehark #here it is folks #come and get it

[three-headed-monster]

lover of mine (maybe we'll take some time)

It’s raining when they get to Stockholm, the window of their large black van fogging up just enough for Luke to draw smiley faces in the condensation there. Usually, it’d make Kent laugh, but the uncomfortable press of Mason’s leg against his own makes him think against it. This isn’t the time for the jokes and giggles they had when they were younger.

Kent’s twenty-one now. He’s twenty-one and heartbroken and about to embark on a three-month, intimate concert tour with his ex-boyfriend and two of his best friends.

[chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4]

#HERE IT IS FOLKS #HERE'S THE FIC!!!!! #excited to be starting this new project and for everyone to read it :))) #please be mindful of the tags when you go into it though lmao #thank you to @joshua-roy for this wonderful wonderful fic moodboard :)))) #kent johnson #owen power #1322 #hrpf #writing #my fic #please go give this some love! i've been working on it for quite a while #moots pls boost!

[vesselmade]

i'll accept it , mahito . . . I’m you. I wanted to reject you — convince myself that you were wrong. but that doesn't matter now ; I'm going to kill you. even if you come back as another curse , I'll kill you. change your name , change your form. I'll kill you again.

ind. & sel. itadori yuji of jujutsu kaisen. canon / headcanon based + personal ideas. not spoiler free. loved by gumi.

#self promo. #here it is folks #a new era has begun #this took me forever but #im proud of it

[mcapriglione-art]

listen to the stars  ✨🌈

#art #digital art #illustration #drawing #my art #hello it is me with a drwaing ? ? ? #wow what a time to be a live #here it is folks

[alastairstom]

#HERE IT IS FOLKS #THE LINE #it transcends series #sc spoilers #sword catcher spoilers

[age-of-moonknight]

“Sniper,” Moon Knight (Vol. 7/2014), #2.

Writer: Warren Ellis; Penciler and Inker: Declan Shalvey; Colorist: Jordie Bellaire; Letterer: Chris Eliopoulos

#Marvel #Marvel comics #Marvel 616 #Moon Knight vol. 7 #Moon Knight 2014 #Moon Knight comics #Moon Knight #Marc Spector #here it is folks #the origin of That One image you may have seen

[zoethehead]

I posted 784 times in 2022

382 posts created (49%)

402 posts reblogged (51%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@zoethehead

@trans-dwightschrute

@inthetags

@beardedmrbean

@tag-that-oc

I tagged 759 of my posts in 2022

Only 3% of my posts had no tags

#whump - 86 posts

#meme - 37 posts

#homestuck - 28 posts

#iron maiden - 25 posts

#antihero oc - 23 posts

#ghost bc - 22 posts

#humor - 22 posts

#(wheeze) - 21 posts

#not whump - 19 posts

#demon oc - 18 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#then i'm over here in baking class editing the scene from naked gun where the piano player does a cover o ding dong the witch is dead

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Cardinal Copia/Papa emeritus IV:*Exists*

me:

20 notes - Posted October 22, 2022

#4

a lot of people are pissed about Obi Wan Kenobi being Bisexual, I for one; fucking love hearing that he's Bisexual, because that means we have Bisexuality representation by a cool jedi

40 notes - Posted July 28, 2022

#3

so I proceeded to make this today in only a short amount o' time

83 notes - Posted August 19, 2022

#2

yeah, so far 2020 has given us hot videogame men, even if some of them happen to be jerks *cough cough* Johnny SilverHand *Cough cough*

143 notes - Posted June 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

sight whump related to passing out/waking up

this is just something that i felt like writin'/pinpointing about

-the black blur around their visions that slowly becomes more transparent as they wake up, or have it grow darker and close in on their sight as they black out

-blurry vision as their sight either falters or adjusts

-their vision starting off as colorless, before the colors fade in

-blurred vision caused by pain

-the ground being the only sight besides some humans

-double vision while passing out or waking up

-the sky growing dark as their vision fades to black

267 notes - Posted August 31, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #me #here it is folks

[chaoticpicturesofjanedouglas]

#outsidexbox #oxbox #oxboxtra #jane douglas #andy farrant #here it is folks #Jane's first appearance #drink 4 bench

[whumppmuhw]

~~ My Masterlist ~~

~A collection of all of my silly little fics~

General writing tag: #mine

...

Finished stories

Chosen Hero story (never finished, never will finish, sorry)

...

WIP stories

Sick Of You

Whumper turned Carewhumper when her Whumpee gets sick at the most inconvenient time.

...

A Piece Of Work

Whumpee interviews for a new job and shit goes down. Caretaker worries xemself to death about it.

...

Friends To An End

Whumpee and Caretaker must work together to stop Whumper, although tensions rise under the surface.

...

Random fics

My favorite color is you

I'll be good for you - will become a wip hopefully

"I don't want you getting weak"

Split second decision

Don't give up on me

A mother's legacy - this is just some comfort/healing tbh

...

Diversity collection (Lady whump, neos, lgbtq)

...

Ai-less Whumptober 2023

(31 random fics that were barely planned out, my first attempt at Whumptober - I'm a completionist!! :D)

#mine #masterlist #HERE IT IS FOLKS

[flyin-shark]

#196 #rule #you heard it here first folks #straight marriage just doesn’t work #r196 #r/196

[hyacinthhopeless]

Caterpillar caterpillar caterpillar cat

green little thing

or fuzzy

or orange

or ghoulish in the ground

almost-maggots creeping ‘round

what can you teach me?

strength?

how to hide?

how to make a tiny shell,

how not to let the world inside?

#Poetry #🐛 #I asked my friend for a prompt and she gave my caterpillar so #here it is folks #Poems from the back of an 8th grade notebook

[nonasbirthday]

Clear as mud! But I expect nothing less from a Homestuck 🫡

#this is a fine and perfectly reasonable way to have ordered groups of nine relate to each other :) #this took me way too long to make and i know people are gonna come into my notes and tell me what i got wrong #which is fine lol there are many smart folks here #i am not budging on Anastasia being responsible for the 'reconstruction' step though. TWICE in GTN the Ninth is linked to reconstruction #and i think the fifth preserves the spirit (step 1). #perfunctory image id in alt text #the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #the locked tomb spoilers #nonasbirthday #enumeration in the locked tomb

[uncanny-tranny]

This might seem like an "old man yells at cloud" situation, but it's just wild growing up and being told how dangerous distracted driving is - how, at highway speeds, you can traverse the length of a football field (100 yards, 91 meters) in a matter of seconds - how one split second sending a text while driving could result in a potential fatal crash, and then getting on the road as a driver and being surrounded by billboards. Their entire purpose is to catch one's attention, so they're lining major roads, which tend to be highways. How is it that you're told how important it is to never be distracted while driving, but still being advertised to?

At best, this type of advertising is an eyesore to pedestrians and motorists and a general waste of electricity to light it, and at worst, it is an active danger considering they are there to advertise and therefore, must catch people's attention.

I'm not even against advertising in theory, but this particular mode bothers me so much and I hate how pervasive it is - especially in large cities or highways.

#politics #i don't know much about são paulo banning marketing billboards but on paper i want that here in the USA #as a motorist it at best just makes me more anxious driving in those larger cities because i want to FOCUS ON THE ROAD #and passing 5000 billboards per mile isn't helping actually! #i've gotten good at filtering that out of my FOV but it's still fucking exhausting lol #i especially hate those modern electric billboards. despise them actually #i am aware that advertising is a critical aspect to business management in some cases... #...but it shouldn't risk the safety of the populous for you to advertise to them and i see things like billboards as risking safety... #...i feel similarly about online advertising in that so much of it risks internet user's safety... #...such as flashing ads online which risk triggering epileptic seizures in light/photo-sensitive folks #distracted driving (texting): NO >:( || distracted driving (being advertised to): YAYYYY :D #i've been driving on my own for a few years now and i've been thinking about this for ENTIRELY too long