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ghostwise · 8 months

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Tagged by the lovely @ghoulsbeard for a writing commentary exercise! Thank you so much, this was really fun! Tagging @coldshrugs @thevikingwoman @scionshtola and tbh I'm not sure who has or hasn't been tagged in this one... tagging all my writing friends please!! 🙌🏽💖

line(s) that made you laugh

“This pair claim to be enchanted to more easily spot nugs,” Alistair calls from the other end of the shop. “Could be useful.”

“How?” Hamal asks.

“If you have Sandal alter them to spot…”

“Traps?” Zevran asks.

“Darkspawn?” Leliana adds on.

“I can already sense those,” Hamal groans.

“The possibilities are endless,” Alistair says, quiet, awed, and mostly to himself.

- the reading stone

I don't write ensemble silliness often enough, and I had a lot of fun setting up this scene where they're all kind of goofing off. I fully believe that if you take the stress away from them for a moment they revert to dweeby antics.

line(s) that makes you sad

“I’m so glad you’re doing well. So tell me,” she scoots closer and looks at him eagerly, “What sort of life did you have, after you were adopted?”

“Adopted?”

By the kitchen counter, Hamal catches the subtle edge in Zevran’s tone. He pauses, holding the knife in his hand as a lull falls over the kitchen table, but he doesn’t know enough Antivan to guess what’s happened.

What’s happened is this: Zevran and Adelmar came from the same place, and know enough about that life to instantly understand that a lie has been told.

“Oh,” Adelmar breathes after a moment. “You… you weren’t adopted.”

Zevran lets out a laugh. It’s his ‘stalling’ laugh, and now Hamal is looking over, arms crossed, searching his face for clues.

“I was not adopted,” he says. “But do not trouble yourself over that.”

- not a homecoming, but something like it

It's obviously upsetting that Adelmar was lied to about what happened to Zevran, but I think in this moment they are both standing in the shadow of the life they could've had. Adelmar loved Zevran before the Crows ever touched him. The tragedy is, though, she was very much a child herself, so it's unfair to expect her to have been able to save him... but damn if she wouldn't have tried.

line(s) that you’re proud of

People think the desert is barren; the land harsh, the people unforgiving. They couldn't be more wrong. In all Refugio’s experience, scarcity creates generosity—not greed.

In the desert no one survives alone. It is a simple necessity to share resources, to freely give of one’s food and water and laughter. The desert gives people reason to band together. He’s never given it a second thought.

He remembers it fondly, how with each rainy season the desert comes to life.

People think the desert is barren. They don't know: the desert makes you kind.

- lovesong of the buzzard

Genuinely truly, Refugio is one of my favorite characters to write. 🥹 His voice comes easy to me; he's so vibrant and clever and funny and deeply emotional always, and this little piece is so wistful and homesick... it truly is an exercise is poetry I hope to continue to emulate. It's one of those bits of writing that make me think, oh if I can make more like this... I'm set.

line(s) you think could’ve been done better

The group ate and moved on. They chatted as they went, Cammen and Mathuin ultimately deciding on forgiveness. Not for any particular reason; just because it was easy and kind. Zevran was grateful for it.

The further they went, the thicker the forest became. Tree branches crowded overhead, but never overlapped, creating an unusual patchwork ceiling. Between the gaps in the canopy, daylight fell in dancing columns that tricked their eyes.

- for suffering is such a part

This one's kind of tough. I feel like every line has a job to do in writing, but they can't all be masterful and brilliant and insightful; that'd be silly. Some lines and passages are just there to efficiently get us from one bright spot to the next.

That being said, I could've done more showing rather than telling in fsisap. If I were to tackle it again I think it'd be really different in style, not to mention much longer 😵

line(s) that makes you want to punch a character

Atanasio was right about one thing: A Crow did not lose his composure. Even with a line of blood beginning to form at his neck, the man looked at Zevran with a wholly unimpressed expression. He remained thus, quietly thinking, before answering.

“Who?”

- quinta de talpa

This guy suuuuucks. I have this image of a man who has been tasked, for decades, for most of his life in fact, to just torture children--and he rationalizes it to himself so fully! Perceiving him through Zevran's POV makes it all the more impactful. This encounter is a nightmare from his childhood. This man is a monster he survived, when far too many didn't.

line(s) that makes you go “awww”

Hamal hums softly, happily.

“I dedicated the fight to you,” he says. “The Paragons will favor you now, I think. All of Orzammar will know.”

Zevran presses a light kiss over the dressings and gauze on his arm.

“Ah, but your favor is the only one I need.”

- tengo la vida muy corta (y tu la mirada decente)

Tender wound bandaging is a good trope and I think this little excerpt is sweet. I don't think I ever posted it here.

line(s) that contain an easter egg

For a moment she focused solely on Hamal, lying across from her. Zevran saw a moment of unmasked feeling, a deep sadness welling in her eyes, and she lifted a hand to brush against Hamal’s face.

“Is he alright?” she asked quietly. All the usual edge was gone from her voice.

“He will be fine,” Wynne responded. Morrigan’s eyes shut. She drew her hand back, and held it against her chest like it burned.

“Good,” she said softly, and Zevran got the impression, only for a moment, that she knew something no one else knew. “Good.”

- for suffering is such a part

Not sure if I'm interpreting 'easter egg' correctly, but this is Morrigan talking about the dark ritual.

I hope to write a little more exploring Hamal and Morrigan's dynamic because it's very bittersweet.

line(s) that are shocking

“Zevran, I don’t know how to shut the damn thing off!”

Hamal’s hands were mere inches from the looms, but he gripped the assassin’s ankle, trying to pull their body free.

“Leave them, amor,” Zevran said.

“But they’re—it is crushing them!”

“They’re gone. We have to leave!”

- (wip) quinta de talpa

A little snippet from a scene in QdT. It's one of those scenes where things just go terribly awry and I'm excited to edit it up and share it.

line(s) you want to talk about more

Zevran thought carefully. The story had the cadence of a very long riddle, and he had the suspicion that there was no wrong or right answer to it. He also got the impression, judging from Mathuin and Cammen’s inquisitive gazes, that the story would not be complete until he answered. It was his turn now to conclude the narrative.

He thought about it at length. Mathuin and Cammen waited patiently, silent, full of anticipation for his response.

“Alright,” he said finally, having thought about it for quite a while. He stopped by a large tree and looked up at its branches, as the others listened.

“I think both stories punish the clan, not for cutting the tree, but for their treatment of Abelas. In the first story, they should have been watching the child more closely. They knew he was destined for challenges, so they should have worked doubly to keep him from harm. In the second story, the clan should not have sought to drive the man away. They knew he had suffered all his life, so they should have helped him get back on his feet, not ostracized him. The moral of both stories is to protect the vulnerable.”

- for suffering is such a part

I am SO delighted by this scene where Zevran gets to participate in Dalish culture and storytelling, while bonding with his companions in a way that invites his natural curiosity and cleverness and creativity!!

I knew early on that I wanted to incorporate The Rowan Grove in fsisap somehow. It's one of my favorite codex entries, but it always felta bit dissonant when I considered it along with what we know of Dalish culture; so I wrote an entire scene where characters share the story in various iterations, and have a discussion about its meaning.

The added layer to it of course is metaphorical. Zevran is in many ways the central character from that tale. The comparison comes up again in later chapters.

It's an allegory on various levels, and I personally love allegorical tales. They're a great way to dig deep into a character and world. :)

#thank youuu <3 #rinnywrites

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scoundrels-in-love · 6 months

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20 Question Fic Writer Game

Thank you for @needle-noggins for tagging me! Using my limited energy right now to respond, because otherwise I never will, oops.

How many works do you have on AO3? 65. One of them is a collection of prompts with 14 different chapters so, technically, 78 fics total.

What is your AO3 word count? 169,932. Nice. (Almost half of them are written in last 7 months for Trigun.)

What fandoms do you write for? Currently, only Trigun, but there are chances I might drop a fic or two in JJK fandom for Chosoyuki and then disappear. I would also like to finish some WIPs for Braime from GOT, but I don't know if my brain will let me. Never say never, though.

What are your top five fics by kudos? What can I give that is all for you? These arms are all I have (But I hold you like I do love you) (396, Trigun, Mashwood) Everything about you is on the tip of my tongue (312, Trigun, Mashwood, my first finished proper multichapter and explicit monsterfucking) You hold me for a little (Curtains closed to the end of the world) (260, Trigun, Mashwood) If I'm gonna (lose) love someone, (don't) let it be you (258, GOT, Braime) this fucking fic that took me a week instead of day or two to write, ENJOY FUCKERS (or don't, I'm not a cop) (234, Trigun, Mashwood, Explicit monsterfucking) Really fascinating to see how much kudos my Trigun fics used to get when I now often only get 30-50 at best. But, alas. Such is the ups and downs of fandom and I hope it's not reflection of my writing quality vaning as well.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Yes, I do. When I first started using to AO3, a writer I admired had the stance that it inflates the comment number and is 'cheating' when it comes to the statistics, but I realized that, at least for me, comments aren't any parameters I search fics by and also I really wanted to feel community and connect with my readers and writers, so I wholly threw myself in responding later on.

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Oh, that's a good question. Several WIPs come to mind, but as for actual published ones... I suppose Before you leave, Remember I was with you (You must know you are beloved) could count because it follows canon ending of the Rogue One which means all of the characters die. But it is more of a bittersweet one. In similar vein, If this is communication, I disconnect (I need you, you want me, but I don't know how to connect) I think You taught me the courage of stars before you left (How light carries on endlessly even after death) overall might win, because it ends on open wound of grief, though it is also canonical death.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I don't think there is a singular one that is more happy than others. There are so many shades and nuances of happiness, who am I to judge which one is the most valid, the biggest?

Do you get hate on fics? I once joked in author notes that maybe the fic did contain traces of early polyam if you squint and someone was very upset about it, though in text it was just close mutual friendship and some teasing and only the tagged main couple was openly romantically involved. I've gotten some weird comments overall through the years, but thankfully nothing more hateful than that.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Much to my own horror, yes, I do now. And apparently mostly the monsterfucking kind. I don't know what else might be meant by 'kind'.

Do you write crossovers? No, that's not something that really comes to my mind. I am too engrossed in exploring every nook and cranny of the canon and characters that are my focus at the time.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not fic, as far as I know, but I have had my poetry and RP stories and plots stolen by people I trusted, such as my teacher and close friends at the time.

Have you ever had a fic translated? No, but I've had one podficced!

Have you ever cowritten a fic before? No, but I'd really like to give it a try, I and @bienchanter have a lovely Rancher/Western Mashwood AU we'd like to cowrite, we just can't quite figure how to go about it. I've also had the pleasure of having them write a companion piece to my fic (theirs and mine) and had the joy of writing companion pieces to @needle-noggins and @frappeflamingo stories.

What's your all-time favourite ship? I am a person who cannot pick just one. I'd say some of the most Rainy defining ones have been Han x Leia, Braime and Mashwood.

What's a WIP you'd like to finish but doubt you ever will? So, so many Braime ones. Especially the ones that are multichapter for fic exchanges. Their recipients deserve better.

What are your writing strengths? Emotions, evocative descriptions.

What are your writing weaknesses? Everything else. Okay, okay, before I get bonked from every direction - I struggle with dialogues and action descriptions and easily get overwhelmed when tackling larger, tightly packed plot.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I think it is perfectly valid and even good for characters that would actually mix the languages naturally. I've definitely thrown in some Brazilian words for my Wolfwood, for this reason.

First fandom you wrote for? The Labyrinth on ff.net in 2008 or about there.

Favourite fic you've ever written? I don't have a singular favorite, there is something that I love, something unique that makes me appreciate it in almost all of my bigger stories, even if it's just a joke that was made in conversations with my friends.

Whew, this was long, but fun. Tagging @bienchanter @it-may-be-dull-but-im-determined @firesign23 @sdwolfpup @chickiefoo and @tardisready as well as anyone else who might just want to. But no pressure to, on anyone.

#tagged in #about me

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infatuate · 9 months

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9 book recs meme! tagged by @roobylavender; ty faatima <3333. this ended up being longer than i wanted it to be but oh well

the bloody chamber & other stories - angela carter

angela carter quotes get circulated out of context on this site every 2-3 business days but i really do think everyone should tap into the bloody chamber at least once. i have written many a paper on this book & each time i uncovered some new aspect i had previously overlooked but which carter hadn't. i'm not sure what i could say about it that hasn't already been said; this is one of the best fairytale anthologies out there, period. not to mention, those quotes are so much better in context.

decreation: poetry, essays, opera - anne carson

the first book of carson's essays/poetry i ever read cover to cover after crashing against plainwater hard when i was like 16. decreation is very aptly named - it's disjointed & deconstructed & more than a little strange, moving from subject to subject, essay to poem to play to opera and back again, but it managed to capture my attention the way none of carson's other works did. decreation is a journey through the self (through sleep & the subconscious, the spirit & God) that doesn't really arrive anywhere but is worth reading for the journey. aside from showing me just what could be done with form, it also introduced to me to marguerite porete, who became my own personal medieval mystic-martyr special interest. i've since read a lot of carson, but i still think decreation is her most interesting (& maybe underrated?) work.

violence & the sacred - rene girard

a solid 75% of my essays in my last two years of undergrad used this text as scaffolding of some sort. even when i wasn't writing about violence, sacrifice, or mimesis, i was thinking about it. this is a dense book of theory that flies by because everything girard is saying is simultaneously insane & so so compelling. other people have if you're interested in rituals, the societal function of violence, the origins of the word scapegoat, or you just want to find a new jumping off point for your own thoughts on any of these topics, i think you would find violence & the sacred a really fascinating text.

the children of húrin - j.r.r. tolkien

i read the children of húrin directly after reading the hobbit at age 14; i wanted another 'short' 'standalone' tolkien book to read before diving into the lord of the rings or the silmarillion. (i clearly did not know anything about tolkien at this point in my life.) but i don't regret it at all, because it's probably the best thing he's ever written. CoH is, for the most part, about the tragic life of túrin son of húrin & how the curse on his family dooms him & everyone he crosses paths with. the tighter focus on túrin's various fuck-ups and miseries is more intimate, more detailed, and more character-driven unlike a lot of tolkien's first age work. it's also the darkest thing tolkien's written, in my opinion; this is his longest most extended greek tragedy moment & he leans into it 100%. hubris, unintentional incest, accidental murder, suicide - the children of húrin has it all. túrin turambar you will always be famous!

a master of djinn - p. djeli clark

this is my favorite new fantasy read of the last couple of years. i went into thinking i wouldn't like it at all—it's set in an edwardian-era alternate history magical steampunk cairo, for one—but clark's writing is incredibly immersive. he's very skilled at reimagining history in a way that both makes perfect sense & is wildly inventive. i thought some of its critiques of colonialism were a little shallow but otherwise it was fun. and lesbian! the main character is a dapper muslim butch, and while i'm not usually a 'representation for its own sake' kind of person, i couldn't help but be obsessed with fatma. it helps that it has a more refined perspective on islam compared to virtually any other muslim/arab fantasy novel i've ever read (this is not a high bar). a master of djinn comes with not one, but two short stories set in the same universe, so you can check out clark's writing for free & see how you like it.

as meat loves salt - maria mccann

this one was recommended to me by a twitter mutual almost 2 years ago and i haven't reread it since, but i think about it frequently anyways. it's a historical fiction novel set during the english civil war, following jacob cullen, a man initially of gentle birth who becomes a servant who becomes a soldier in the parliamentary army. characterizing it beyond that gets tricky; how do you properly describe the completely insane depths of rage, lust, love, & obsession that mccann plumbs? as meat loves salt is for the hannigram girls, the heathcliff/cathy girls, the girls who enjoy devotion & obsession going hand in unlovable hand. major tws for rape & violence, & i don't think i could read it again unless i was in the right headspace, but this one is really good.

ship of magic - robin hobb

i could have put any robin hobb book here, because i do think everyone should read robin hobb at least once. especially if you have even a passing interest in fantasy. ship of magic made the final cut because it's the perfect beginning for anyone who might be turned off by the slow character study that is the farseer trilogy. liveship traders is more fast-paced with a rotating cast of v unique characters and the best villain she's ever put to paper. it has talking ships, terrible parenting even for a fantasy book, representation for awful horrible teenage girls with no redeeming qualities whatsoever, & a truly original take on dragons.

beowulf: a new verse translation - seamus heaney

when i decided to minor in medieval studies, beowulf was at least 60% of the reason. i read the r.m. liuzza broadview translation for class (which i love, to be clear), but my prof recommended that we go read heaney's translation anyways, because it's both a good translation of beowulf & an exercise in poetic brilliance. to me, heaney's beowulf feels less like a translation & more like a free-verse poem he wrote while possessed by the spirit of a 7th century scop. i know there are better, more accurate/faithful translations, but this one has a spirit to it that's difficult to find elsewhere. honestly it's worth reading for the introduction alone.

the fortune men - nadifa mohamed

my token contemporary non-fiction fiction novel of the past couple of years. i'm always rooting for everyone somali but also? nadifa mohamed is just a great writer. this novel is set in 1950s cardiff, wales, and dramatizes the true story of mahmood hussein mattan, a somali man who was wrongfully executed for the murder of lily volpert. mohamed approaches the events with so much empathy for both victims and the extensive research she did shines through at every moment. the consistency and conviction and clarity of her writing will convince you that, even if you don't know anything about the city or the time period or the events unfolding, she definitely does. she was kinda robbed for the booker but that's just my opinion.

tagging @derelictship; @misericordae; @hesitationss; @yevrosima-the-third; @gawayne; @butchniqabi & anyone else who wants to do it!

#are these even recs they're like mini-books reviews. sorry you get my unfiltered thoughts i usually reserve them for twt #if you dont read anything else. PLEASE READ THE FORTUNE MEN OK. support my somali sister ty #txt

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unadulteratedkr · 1 month

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2, 18, 19, 46 and a wildcard for you too for the fic writer game 💗

eeee thank you for coming into my inbox and playing with me, Ida 🥰🥰🥰

2. Do you plan each chapter ahead or write as you go?

Oh, I absolutely have to outline before I write. Pantsless writers, you terrify me (affectionate). It's not anything very formal, like I'm not doing bullet lists, it's much more stream of consciousness mixed in with me congratulating me on good ideas that get me out of problems I create for myself. It's very chaotic 😂 See below, part of my outline for I am tired, I am yours, where I outright ask myself for help

18. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

It varies! If I'm writing a sequel to something, I'll often have the title picked out before I finish the piece just to keep it thematically tied to the first one. In my Vianton fics, they're all named from Brandi Carlile songs (listen, she's the first person to admit her love songs are fucked up and it fits the Big emotions of a vampire and a werewolf okay I don't make the rules), and the sequel to my actual!KrakenEd fic was pulled from a poem I used a lot as inspiration for the first fic. Sometimes titles come to me in the middle of a piece, sometimes I'm ready to publish and going ".... oh right. Title. For the fic. The fic's title. The title to go on the fic."

I usually pull from poetry or songs for fic titles, but I have some delightful notable exceptions:

-sin is sacred again is titled from the marketing copy from Kraken Rum. No really. I'm not bullshitting you. Go look.

EDIT: OKAY APPARENTLY SOME COWARD TOOK DOWN THE PART I USED AS INSPIRATION BECAUSE THE MONSTERFUCKER VIBES WERE CLEAR BUT LUCKILY I HAVE SCREENSHOTS

-it's not something I can share yet here, but I also wrote a nsfw digital tie-in piece for the Tying the Knot zine titled "The 'I Duoy' Newlywed Special", which has that title solely because I wanted to capitalize on the fucking AMAZING name @jackuntiljune came up with for Archie's shotgun wedding boat

19. What is the most-used tag on your ao3?

This made me laugh so much because @poorlyformed will be SO proud to hear that there's a TIE between "reunions" and "rimming" in my collection.

46. How would you describe your style? (Character/emotion/action-driven, etc)

Ooooo, definitely emotion-driven, but rooted in the characters? Like, I want my writing to evoke emotions, and I write from a very personal place and put a lot of my own heart into my writing, but I also try really hard to make sure that it's rooted in the characters.

Very much how I approach any characters I've ever played too, I think. Like, I bring my own knowledge of the world and of feelings to any part I play, but at the end of the day.... I am NOT a water spirit or an owl or a grad student, and I need to find that character's truth and imagine outside of it, and I try to do that with fic as well. I want to bring what I find compelling to Ed or Stede, but I want to translate it through their characters to make it authentic and fulfilling to THEM.

And for my wild-card, I'm gonna pick, drumroll please [appropriate length drumroll]

#77: Do you have a favorite scene you’ve written from [insert fic here]?

Because I want to talk about my Stardust AU, Between the Sand and Stardust, which miiiight be my favorite thing I've written?

My favorite scene, bar NONE, was the scene where Stede got transformed into a mouse. One, mouse Stede is literally perfect, Stede as a tiny little dormouse gives me so much joy, but TWO, it's when Ed admits he loves Stede for the first time and it's so ACHINGLY TENDER because he thinks Stede can't understand him so he lets himself be a little more honest about it and ALSO I love it because Stede immediately post-transformation is a dolt and I'm in love with him:

get to know your fic writer!

#ask meme #my writing #fanfic life

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distant--shadow · 7 months

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get to know meme

lil thing where I'll give a bit too much detail so it fills its purpose, honoured honestly to be tagged by three of my favourite writers in this space @sharkodactyl, @unicyclehippo , and @astoriacolumnstaircase - anyone reading this should be reading their works instead.

favourite colour: brown(s), like a mid to a dark tone, i like them to have a bit of red involved. like our old-boy chet, I love the wood. my dream home would be all wood-panelled with built in inlayed and set back shelves and nooks a plenty and yeah just full of brik-a-brak. otherwise my favourite colours are navy blue and greens that are more mixed with blue than yellow, teals and emeralds and once again generally around the mid tones. green makes me very happy. moss and outdoors and all that.

currently reading: fic. haha. (suss my recommend reading tag) I did venture out to my (very) local queer bookshop and asked them for something that won't send me on a spiral if I'm already on one/provide some escapism and they reccomended river of teeth by Sarah gailey. anyone I've said about it to seems real enthusiastic about it, I am not well read at all when it comes to published things, tend to just get really into a few fandom authors works and picking them apart (rereading a lot) . still haven't started it but maybe I'll try take it out to the park in the next week or so. I'm dabbling in reading (and unfortunately writing) poetry thanks to @picturesofthegoneworlds and @blorbotomy 's influence, those mini books are fun to keep on you when out and about, poem or two on a tree stump or boulder with a grand vista and a brain that wants eyes on a phone screen.

last song: last song I consciously (not background music) listened to was:

youtube

I went on an early lord snow stint the other night because the air smelt crisp and there was a nice chill. they have remained my favourite heavy (as a broad term) band for a decade now.

I used to have music on all of the time, whether that be cd's at home or in my mp3 player (that I still take out with me) but these days I find listening more of an intentional activity and I prefer to have people just nattering when I'm at home and want background noise. think it's where my heads at and I've just got more sensitive to being overstimulated I guess. I was also pretty good at going to a live gig at least once a week before I did my back in, looking forward to getting into that habit again.

last series: I don't watch much stuff outside of critical role, least other than YouTube videos I'll put on whislt I'm drawing. oh wait yeah I ordered 3 seasons of xena on ebay because it's like a couple of quid a season and it is a real good comfort show and fucking amazing. I hadn't seen it since I was pre teen and it was on day time TV and I'd catch it on sick days. the amount of people I've brought it up to these past few months who've been so stoked to be reminded of it/eager to watch it with me is actually hilarious.

last movie: uhhhh God movies I watch even less. I haven't been to a cinema in over 12 years now, just not my thing, and it's funny caus my mum used to work in the film and TV industry and we had shelves and shelves full of VHS growing up (mostly bootlegged) and she can just ramble about pretty much any early era film up to the stuff from the 80s (when she was working on em) for days. never could sit through em, never felt satisfied with how the story went. guess that's why actual play appeals to me. but saying all this I did rewatch Bound for the first time since I was like 15 last month or so, enjoyed it a lot more than I did back then.

sweet/savory/spicy: savory all day. I am a salt fiend. I used to think I'd be fortunate enough to die from my salt intake. I'll put it on anything. cereal, toast, fruit. I think the other day I noted the one thing I wouldn't put it on, but I can't recall that right now honestly. it's gotta be decent salt too, sea salt or rock salt that has some texture and delicious flavour, I'm not fucking with that table salt shit. I carry salt with me in a mini mason jar everywhere I go, saves when you only have access to bland cold supermarket food. one of my earliest memories is when I was like 6 I had had my daily 1 glass allowance of squash/fruit cordial in my white Tom and Jerry printed beaker with the accordion bendy straw and so when I was pouring myself a glass of water from the tap I put salt in it caus I wanted flavour that would not show through the white translucent container. it's all been downhill from there, although I also, luckily I guess caus otherwise I would be really fucked, do drink a lot of water.

currently working on: myself and healing. hah. I never realised how much paperwork and phone calls came with this maintenance shit. I'm still out of work, and my mental health has taken a huge hit from not being able to do the things I usually would. so right now I'm just trying to keep everything together. I can draw again though, so sorry about that.

I never know who to tag in these things caus I don't think everyone wants to do them. so I'll go with this being open invite as always. hope anyone who read this far is having a good week, and sentiment is still there even if you didn't read this (unless you don't deserve my well wishes, then fuck you.)

#Youtube

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gemsofgreece · 9 months

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As a certified linguist I want to kinda smack that person a bit. Not only were they rude and entitled, they also did not do their homework. So this is @ them: Yeah seas and oceans are used interchangeably in poetry sometimes to. You know. Refer to bodies of water to point out their vastness. It’s not factual. A sea is not an ocean (check etymology btw you’ll find yourself nicely surprised.) But a literary term is literally never more applicabile than a factual one unless you’re writing poetry. And I’m pretty sure a Tumblr post caption for a photo is not somewhere you should refer to poetic language with an assumption that everyone knows you did. Entitlement and stupidity.

I hope you’re okay after this mess. ☀️

Just in, Anon, from this lovely person:

At this point I am giving them the benefit of the doubt that @lilbbyhaiku is very very young, otherwise I do not know what to say.

Again let's remember they lost their marbles for this tag:

I have never seen a more dramatic response for such a thing in my life. Like, I was literally acknowledging I was nitpicking from the beginning, even though I knew I was factually correct because like you said, I did consider it could have been said in a liberal, poetic fashion. Or perhaps they didn't know and it is human to not know.

However, we should also note that in American English the meaning has deviated in literal speech as well because I have seen it many times used and misused in an entirely factual context. For example, I was once conversing with an American and I told them I was from Greece and their first question was "Wow have you ever been to the ocean then?" which on one hand shows they know Greece has - generally - access to water, on the other hand either they don't know where Greece is located, which is their right of course, or the word has been standardized in American English as the primary word for any body of saltwater. If you also see here on Tumblr, people tag all photos picturing the sea, regardless of place, as "ocean". Happens to A LOT of my Greece posts as well. It has been standardised, fine, the issue is it can be really inaccurate and misleading for countries that do not have access to oceans, especially because the word ocean exists in so many languages and I believe in the vast majority its meaning has not deviated like in American English. Besides, the website they linked as the "ultimate source" does misuse the term in an entirely factual, supposedly informative context. A travel guide page, of all things.

So I honestly thought I wouldn't receive a response to that tag of mine or that they would say "oh okay i didn't know that" or "yeah I know I just used it in a liberal way because this happens occasionally in American English" and then I would be like "cool just clarifying for people taking this literally" but I certainly did not expect that shitstorm lol where I was told to fact-check, then I was called a troll because I did not find a random "Greece vs Turkey" personal post first thing and then I was presented with the wrongest travel article out there and told to shut the fuck up.

But the more I see of that person's responses, the more I realise there is not a reason to perpetuate this, either they're too young or they are generally not handling this well so let's drop it. I will also delete my reblog of their post because honestly sod it.

#the weirdest discourse I had in my life #about a jellyfish and oceans #anon #mail #linguistics

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stvlti · 18 days

Text

Fic writer tag

@silenthillmutual tagged me in this challenge. Cheers! Here are my answers:

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Not counting orphaned / anonymous works, I have 48 fics across both accounts

2. What is your AO3 wordcount?

168,810 (sum total of both accounts)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

DC comics & related media; Death Note; Black Mirror: Bandersnatch (way way back); Noragami (also way way back).

I used to write RPF too (I was a teenager, of course I did) but I've scrubbed all that from my ao3 profiles.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

top 5 fics not including anonymous ones:

Old aches become new again (DCU | Jason & Dick shenanigans, background Jay/Roy/Kori)

Imposter Syndrome (DCU | JayRoy)

Growing Pains (DCU × The Lego Batman Movie | Dick & Batdad gen fic)

if you can't summon your own tentacles, store-bought is fine (DCU | JayRoy)

the hands that worship you (Black Mirror: Bandersnatch | Colin/Stefan)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Always! It might take days weeks or months depending on what I have going on in my life but yeah :) unless it's a hate comment or bad faith criticisms. Oh and comments asking questions that I've already answered in the author's notes or in other comments or in the text itself (which yes, has happened before. I guess it was good for ""engagement "" but it's not stuff I want to explain again and again like a broken record. I'm not paid to do that - unlike at my day job.......)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

🤡 I've written my fair share of dark fics so it's definitely one of those ones. You can DM me if you wanna know but I am not telling on myself here

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Growing Pains, no contest, because it ends with trans acceptance 💚

But I also think happy endings at the end of a high stakes fic are even more rewarding? In which case it would have to be This Mirror Ain't Big Enough For the Two of Us

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have, once, on a genderbend fic. Some guy was outraged I made Jason a girl lol. But hate comments are few and far between for me because I'm not a bnf by any means

9. Do you write smut? If so, which kind?

Yeah. I write a lot of pwps because they're easy. From there I either go into pwp with feelings territory, crack territory or, well, if it's a dark fic...........one of my longest nsfw fics is a Jason Todd/Scarecrow fic. You get the picture. (That one isn't without plot though.)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest crossover you’ve ever written?

Man. I actually once wrote a YouTube RPF x Death Note crossover. iykyk. But out of my surviving fics the only crossover that I still have posted online is a Death Note x DC fic.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I've translated other people's fics, but I don't think I've had mine translated by others

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

Yes but that's from before my ao3 days

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

Rem x Misa (Death Note). I go through phases of shipping different pairings but Rem x Misa is the one that I can always come back to and write stuff for / look at art about.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My Teen Titans Dark Academia au. And on that note: I don't even know if I'll have the time to come back to writing long fics period. It's been 8 months since I last worked on my Jaime (Blue Beetle)/Eddie (Kid Devil)/Rose Wilson/Traci 13 road trip & interdimensional travel fic...........

16. What are your writing strengths?

My prose when I'm in the mood to write well. Poetry is my main medium these days so I'm very good at throwing in lots of one liners into my prose too.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Trying to pace my story beats and juggle multiple subplots once my projects get into 10K+ / long fic territory.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

As long as the author actually knows what they're doing. The language has to be authentic and not Google Translate gibberish. And then for accessibility's sake they should include the translation either in-text or in the end notes.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

YouTube RPF 😑

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

It's a tie between:

And the encore lasts forever (DCU x Titans TV | trans!Jason/Rose)

Exit Strategy (DCU | Rose Wilson character study)

Tagging @kiseiakhun @thenaphorism @shhhenanigans @smagata @reaperlight @mihaelkeehl or any mutuals who post fics!

#tag game #writing tag

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irrealisms · 10 months

Note

1 for the ask game, for every fandom in your tumblr about...!

the character everyone gets wrong

tolkien: tough one. honestly, i feel like due to the nature of the fandom most people have defensible readings of most characters, even if they're not my own? to the extent tht people get characters wrong it's mostly by not thinking abt them very much! I'm inclined to pick Galadriel, though, bc she's also in LotR and so you get LotR fans thinking they can speak to first or second age galadriel, and then u get silm fans overcorrecting and ignoring third age galadriel entirely, and ofc there's the various Sexist Archetypes she gets shoved into by virtue of Being A Woman. actually a Lot of the women in tolkien are characters ppl get wrong a lot. elwing! míriel! indis! idril! lúthien! niënor! haleth! And So On Forever And Ever. this is again mostly due to Simply Not Thinking About Them Very Much tho

wktd: tbh the fandom gets the wktd girls pretty solidly. no real notes here. benefits from being a small fandom for a game with Three characters all of whose issues are pretty spelled out for you & constitute the central plot.

glowfic: im gonna be honest i do not feel confident to speak for other ppl's characters and state what ppl get right/wrong..! like idk man maybe im the one getting them wrong. ppl mostly dont like... write fic or make headcanons for each others glowfic in a way where the author isnt involved in having opinions about it? so if someone was mischaracterizing a glowfic character idk how i would know rly

hannibal: all of them @_@ no one understands this show like i do and it's a perpetual frustration... im gonna throw out abigail as my answer tho bc she sooooo often gets reduced to like, part of the murder family, which ignores soooooo much of her storyline and how much she did not (uncomplicatedly) want that. her relationship with will is So So Complicated but ultimately she likes freddie more than she likes will in some ways! and at least back when i was in the fandom ... ppl dont get that or just treat it as like, a flaw or misunderstanding to be corrected.

tma: ooooo this is a tough one. honestly the fandom was big enough that it's hard for me to say No One in the fandom got characters & in a lot of cases there was the question of like, does the fandom not understand X or do i just not seek out very many fics abt X... e.g. i havent read any tma fic that got georgie very well but also i havent read any georgie-centric tma fic! kind of a skill issue on My part rly!

mcelroy + polygon content: oh this is a trip down memory lane. everyone writes taako very few people write taako well. i'm not a taako fan and instead had Cares About Less Popular Characters disease but i did feel for taako enjoyers for this. i didnt really read polygon rpf so i can't speak to that side of things.

poetry and short stories: i don't think there are rly characters Everyone In The Fandom gets wrong for this tbh. like thats just not rly a coherent thing

the untamed/mdzs: SONG LAN...... i am not even a big song lan fan im a xuexiao stan first and foremost. but good lord. man has like 2 character traits and the ppl writing fic for him cant even remember those! also lwj but with the disclaimer that i have a very specific read of novel!lwj that just doesnt rly apply to untamed!lwj. which most people are writing for. i guess this is also true of song lan but i have more of a sense of "if you care a lot about song lan you should do your due diligence in hunting for scraps of characterization" whereas caring about untamed!lwj and not reading the book is like. yeah okay fair enough. to me.

tgcf: ooooh. hard one. my immediate instinct is mu qing bc i follow the tag and have to read way too much mu qing slander but i have in fact read good mu qing fic.... might stand by that anyway tho. the tgcf tag is like 50% mu qing slander by volume and it makes me sad. mu qing get behind me bby i'll protect u ;-;

dream SMP: hahaha. ha. what character DOESN'T dsmp fandom get wrong. it gets tommy wrong it gets techno wrong it gets phil wrong it gets puffy and niki and hannah wrong it gets dream wrong it gets purpled wrong it gets quackity wrong it gets sam wrong it gets schlatt wrong it gets karl wrong it gets george wrong it gets wilbur wrong it gets LITERALLY EVERYONE wrong. constantly. the only times it doesn't get someone wrong is when it's forgotten that they exist at all (this is about the eggpire but it's also about eryn and fundy and jack manifold and i'm sure many many others i'm not currently remembering). im giving the prize for Getting It Wrong to phil, though. i don't even LIKE phil. but everyone who writes him gets him wrong. they are just writing Generic Bad Dad or Generic Good Dad. he's got traits! i promise!

ok actually since this one's my current special interest i'll go a bit more in depth. tommy's rude & annoying & a fighter, he very very rarely has the sort of fawn response ppl write. techno is funny but he's got emotions and he is usually acting based on those emotions; if you're writing him in s1 he's less based than you think and if you're writing him in s3 he's more based than you think. phil has traits other than being a dad and also if you can't accurately identify which characters he is and is not a dad to then you don't get to write him. puffy, niki, and hannah all have traits other than being women; no, "therapist", "girlboss", and "mom friend" don't count. purpled is not particularly a Manipulated Minor TM, he's an amoral mercenary, he's kinda fucked up by isolation but he's more like punz than he is like tommy or tubbo. none of quackity, sam, and dream are one-dimensional characters whose only trait is Sadistic Abuser but also if you write them without acknowledging that they're sadistic abusers (with the exception of writing about early dsmp/before The Horrors) then you're doing it wrong. same goes for schlatt but with the addition of "he should not under literally any circumstances talk like he's got a tumblr". karl's more of a bitch than that. so's george. wilbur is more of an asshole and less of a creep than that. i could go on literally forever the dsmp fandom gets every single character wrong & it is my burden to be right about all of them u_u

(choose violence ask game)

#therapists dni #any british ants in the chat?

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phtalogreenpoison · 10 months

Text

Ask game!

15 questions, 15 mutuals.

Tagged by @mvshortcut :)) Milk!! <333333

Are you named after anyone? - Yes, both birth name and my additional chosen name (which I chose bc of the actual meaning as well as the connection to a character :) )

When was the last time you cried? - like actual tears? literally like a month ago (I literally physically have a hard time crying)

Do you have kids? - Oh hell no.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?- Yes and no. Mostly I just look stoic to those who don't know me well, so I end up saying a lot of things deadpan.

What's the first you notice about people? - if they have a cool outfit, but more realistically, if they have neurodivergent vibes enough for me to connect to them well

What's your eye colour? - you'll never know

Scary movies or happy endings? - while I enjoy happy endings, I love a good psychological horror/thriller and then think about my blorbos

Any special talents? - I can make balloon animals and play the piano

Where were you born? - on the Earth

What are your hobbies? - drawing/visual art, singing/music, writing poetry and music, obsessing over the blorbos

Have you got any pets? - No, but my roommate for this year has a cat and she's a sweetheart :D

What sports do you play/have you played? - I've only played soccer and track, but I like dancing even if I'm not good at it

How tall are you? - the height of one human

Favourite subject in school? - when I was younger, history, but now that I actually get to take classes in theatre, I'd say directing has been my favorite class so far

Dream job? - currently looking into library jobs as well as acting gigs, and my dream job would be either acting or directing, both stage and film :)

Tagging (no pressure to do this! plus I get overwhelmed so this is not fifteen people, so feel free to join anyways :D) : @sophieswundergarten, @never-wake-up, @flamingears, @nobody33333333, @1001galaxygal, @a-nonspecificexcuse, @netgukim

#ask game!#nice thank you milk

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hirazuki · 8 months

Text

Tag game: Tour my bookshelf!

Thanks for the tag, @general-illyrin!

An estimate of how many physical books I own: Including those in storage, probably over 800 by now. Those physically with me, currently, in my apartment: 267.

Favorite author: It's a tie between J.R.R. Tolkien, Paul Scott, and Dorothy Dunnett. They are my holy trinity ♡

A popular book I've never read and never intend to read: Hm, probably one of the YA ones floating around, with the courts and roses in the titles? Or the book with Gideon and Harrow. Those just don't appeal to me, particularly in terms of writing style ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (idk specifics, sorry y'all, I don't really keep up with literature past like. mid-ish 20th c, and even that's super late for me. It's 18th/19th c. gothic all the way for me XD)

A popular book I thought was just meh: Mmm, again, I don't really know what's popular tbh despite working in a library lmao; if it doesn't concern The Hyperfixations, it literally does not register in my brain XD. So probably some assigned reading in school, like Catcher in the Rye or The Great Gastby. I was an extremely unimpressed teen/young adult with most of the 20th c. American literature we were given to read.

Longest book I own: Of the ones in my apartment at the moment, just doing a quick visual scan, it looks like it's The Dictionary of Mythology; though tbh, I suspect my BHS probably has significantly more pages, despite it looking so tiny in comparison. But I'm too lazy to actually go look XD

Longest series I own all the books to: Depends on what we mean by "series." If it's strictly linear plot, then I think it's The Lymond Chronicles, by Dorothy Dunnett. If it's just same universe/same characters, it's definitely Agatha Christie's novels. If we're including comics as part of books? It's Lucky Luke, sitting at 82 issues yes I have all of them XD

Prettiest book I own: A New Treasury of Poetry, it has a beautiful cover and includes really lovely plates interspersed throughout the collection.

A book or series I wish more people knew about: Ahaha, none! I used to have one series, but then; well. Let's just say that, while I am firmly against gatekeeping, I can't help but notice that popularity sometimes does spoil some things ^^;

Book I'm reading now: Re-reading The Silmarillion, and making my way through History of Middle-Earth and Nature of Middle-Earth.

Book that's been on my TBR list for a while but I still haven't got around to it: The recently published Fall of Numenor is next in line for me to read.

Do you have any books in a language other than English: Yup, plenty in Greek, some in Spanish, and a handful in biblical Hebrew.

And lastly, paperback, hardcover or ebook? Oh, paperback for sure. I can't stand ebooks for my own personal use -- it's a great concept and I love the accessibility it provides, but it's just not for me; unless I'm reading fanfic, I require a physical item in my hands in order to be happy. Hardcovers are gorgeous, but I primarily read lying down on my back and they are very cumbersome in that respect. Paperback is cheaper, lighter, and there's far less guilt attached if you're a messy reader like me (pen/pencil notes, folded pages, reading in the bathtub/on the beach/while eating lunch or dinner, art/craft projects involving glue and paint everywhere in the apartment, keeping tons of plants on the bookshelves, etc.).

Tagging, no pressure: @ruiniel, @baked-hylian, @cruelfeline, @dear-kumari, @nomadicism

#withoutwords

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go-to-the-mirror · 1 year

Text

Seasons in the Archives thing for @cypresskey

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Ghost Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, They/Them Pronouns for Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, POV Martin Blackwood, Some Humor, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Villain Character Death, Past Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, (lightly implied), No beta we kayak like Tim, this was so fun to write, Happy Valentines Day!!, Well - Freeform, happy 3 days after valentine's day!!, Title from Poetry

Summary:

After his mother moves into a care home, Martin starts looking after Elias Bouchard's semi-abandoned house until he can find a place to live. Unbeknownst to him there is something else that also resides there.

Martin reaches for the ghost’s hand. It’s cold as ice, and clammy. “Martin,” he says. “My name’s Martin.” “Jon.”

Content Warnings & Notes:

Content Warnings: - homelessness - knife violence - murder - implied suicide

oh also fair warning! i'm like a teenager! i don't live in the UK! i don't know what i'm talking about!

༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ

The situation Martin found himself in, outside of Elias Bouchard’s townhouse is easy enough to understand. It’s nearing winter, he’s more terrified of other people than the cold, and he’s T minus 5 days till he’s homeless, with no solution in sight.

The advert had been rotting on a traffic light near his usual bus stop for years, and he’s desperate for a place to live, even if it’s seriously shady and disrepair, it’s a roof over his head, and he can’t afford to keep renting the flat he lived in with his mum now that she’s moving to a care home.

It's a stupid decision, even in the moment he knows that, but if there’s any chance that Elias was still looking for someone to live in and take care of his old family manor on the outskirts of London – coincidentally quite close to where he worked – then Martin was going to grab onto that chance like a starving dog with a bit of meat and never let go.

He calls the number and is answered by a voice with a Manx accent, asking him why he’s calling.

“I’m wondering if Mr. Bouchard still wanted someone to live in his house.” Martin responds, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. The rain is chilling him to his bones, but his voice is steady, his voice is always steady.

“Oh! I’ll call Elias and ask him to come to the phone. Do you mind holding for a moment?”

Martin responds the affirmative, and stands on the side of the road, shivering from the cold, listening to their footsteps fade away.

Please, he thinks – prays. Please, let this be a lifeline.

He’s wearing the best clothes he had washed, including an umbrella this time. He doesn’t want to look like he’s been standing alone outside in the rain. He’s hesitating, he’ll admit it, it’s just… this is his chance, his lifeline, his one shot, and if he blows it he’ll have to find somewhere to live in barely any time.

He rings the doorbell, a bright sound that echoes through the house. It’s dry, but his fingers are wet, and that is what they make all they touch.

“Ah, Martin, was it?” the man Martin now knows as Peter Lukas says.

“Yes,”

“Elias is waiting for you. He’s in his study just down the hall.”

Martin nods. “Thank you, Peter.”

“It’s really my pleasure, Martin. That old house is driving him up the walls. I’d be glad to have it become somebody else’s problem.”

Martin nods and smiles, then heads towards Elias’ office. It’s awkward, but Peter hardly seems better than him in that regard.

He knocks twice against the door, then lets himself in at Elias’ word.

“Martin,” Elias smiles. “Come, take a seat.”

Martin obliges.

“Hello, Mr. Bouchard. Thank you-“ He lets out a puff of air. “-For even considering me for this.”

“Elias is fine, please. Now, shall we begin?”

Martin swallows, his mouth suddenly dry, then nods.

It’s raining again, when Martin gets to the house. The clouds are so thick and dark that Martin can’t tell what the time is, or even if it’s day or night.

He has a few suitcases packed with all the objects that held sentimental value that he deigned to keep. Family pictures, with just the two of them. His first scrapbook, filled with drawings on serviettes, tickets, receipts, photographs, memories. Novelty mugs that he used to love collecting. The only soft toy he’d kept – a ratty old bear that he’d had since he was 3.

Keepsakes. The rest is sold or put in storage. He’ll pay for a mover once he finds somewhere to actually live. Not a temporary thing like this.

See, he doesn’t want to live in the house forever. It’s old, hundreds of years old, and it’s falling apart already. This is just the place he needs to stay for the time being, while he gets his bearings. If he doesn’t need to spend money on rent, he can afford to put some in savings, and spend the rest on food and the bills for his mum’s care home. And with less time being spent caring for his mum, he can get another job. Hell, he might even be able to take night courses, finish high school, so that lying on his CV becomes a little less of a necessity.

He's not going to stay. And if it is dangerous, if the walls start crumbling around him, then he’ll leave. He’ll find another place to stay, he’ll call Tim and Sasha, or even Melanie and he’ll couch surf until he can find a cheap place to live. Never mind that he hasn’t talked to them in months. Never mind that his finger can’t hover over their contacts without him wanting to throw up.

He grits his teeth and pushes open the door.

It’s dark inside. And empty. There’s some furniture, covered in dusty white sheets, and the moth eaten remains of a carpet. There’s a fireplace filled only with ash, but he’s seen some wood outside, so once it dries out, he’ll be able to use it.

For what seems like the first time in a month, he breathes out.

The house is cold when Martin wakes up, not the icy lashing of harsh rain, but the coldness of a morning. Of fog seeping inside you. Mist that you only realise was there when you come inside and realise you’re soaked.

A coldness that feels more heavy than icy.

Martin takes out his battery powered kettle from his bag, and pours the bottle of water into it. It’s the kind of morning for sugary rooibos tea, and one look at his phone confirms that he has enough time. Martin shrugs on his favourite hoodie – a baggy, even for him, blue-grey one – and starts rifling through his bag for the mugs. He finds the one he bought for his mum first. It has a picture of two bears on the front of it, just like his favourite childhood picture book. Before mum got sick, he’d badger her to read it for him all the time. And then when she started getting bad, and his life became a blur of hospital waiting rooms and the broken glass of picture frames on the wall.

He puts the mug back in the bag and pulls out a different one.

Moving is difficult, when he and his mum moved to London it was especially so, she wasn’t happy at all about the move, and he was so stressed, that even though he felt like he could collapse when his head hit the pillow, he couldn’t go to sleep for all the worrying. So, it isn’t too odd that he’s dwelling on things from years ago. His emotions are frazzled, and he could do with a little more sleep.

The kettle goes off with a click, startling Martin out of his thought spiral. He carefully pours the boiling water into his mug and adds a few teaspoons of sugar. He doesn’t have milk, but Martin doesn’t mind too much. Rooibos isn’t that strong of a tea, and Martin could do with the extra warmth.

The heat of the tea does nothing to heat up Martin’s hands, as he waits a few minutes for it to cool, but he doesn’t pay it much mind, instead distracting himself with the news. It’s going to be a cold winter, and someone is dead.

The news isn’t a good distraction. He takes a sip of his tea to find it cold, not even lukewarm, not icy, just cold, as if he’s left it for too long, and it’s just cooled down on its own, and for all he knows, it might have. He tends to get too distracted by his distractions, and zone out. The tea still tastes good, so he drinks the rest of the mug, and places it in the Tupperware housing the dirty dishes. It’s a Sunday, so he has time to look around the rest of the house, check things out, make sure nothing falls apart on him and he doesn’t get chucked out of the only place he can live for breaking the two-hundred-year-old balustrades or something.

The house is cold. In temperature, but also just in how it feels. Nothing is bright – not that Martin would be expecting brightness from a house over 200 years old. It’s soft, and quiet, and subdued. The furniture is broken, and moth eaten, and no effort seems to have ever been made to clean it up.

Abandoned. Like a shadow of what it once was. Upstairs is more of the same, though there are a few unbroken items lying on the ground that Martin takes special care to avoid. Not for the first time, he wonders why Elias let him move in. He’s not a… historian, or someone who’s actually capable of looking after this ancient building that clearly has items of historical value in it. Though, Elias isn’t paying, so Martin supposes he just went with the first person who wouldn’t be too put off by that.

Someone desperate. Someone desperately alone.

He shivers. There’s a broken window in one of the bedrooms, a bare one, with only a penknife that looks like it’s covered in dried blood on the floor.

Martin pulls his jumper sleeve over his arm, and reaches down to pick it up, but as his fingers brush the handle, he’s struck with a sudden and intense panic. He tries to pull away, but something in him insists that he need to grab it. Something’s there, something just outside the door, and if he doesn’t have the knife, he’s going to go back there – wherever “back there” is.

Martin forces himself to take a deep breath in. There’s no-one there. He would have heard them enter, and walk up the creaky staircase, he would have seen them, for Christ’s sake, the door is open. But that doesn’t stop his mind from screaming at him the opposite. He sits down on the floor, and slowly unclenches his hand from the knife.

As soon as it drops back onto the floor all the fear is gone. The room gets colder, and Martin gets to his feet.

He’s not going to touch anything. That seems the wisest course of action.

He closes the door of the room behind him as he leaves.

Martin decides not to continue exploring the house. If they didn’t want the creepy old stuff upstairs to break, they should have gotten someone who actually knew what they were doing to live there. It’s not his responsibility to actively try to preserve stuff in this creepy mansion. It’s survived for over two hundred years without his help, it can last a couple weeks with him breathing the same bloody air as it.

He needs to leave. As soon as he finds a cheap flat, he’s going to leave.

T minus who fucking knows days until something in this creepy house kills him.

Monday morning comes, and Martin is exhausted. Living in a creepy manor with knives that give him panic attacks, is terrible for one’s sleeping. Especially if they already have sleeping problems, and can’t rely on warm , black tea to keep them awake.

He’s almost surprised at how easily he believes it. That something in this house is causing his tea to grow cold, and that knife to give him a feeling of such utter dread . But he’s heard weirder stuff, back when he and Melanie were still friends, and she’d ramble for hours about the weirdest stuff she’d found on ghost hunts. Turns out, being friends with a ghost hunter is a pretty good way to either start believing in the supernatural or become a sceptic.

He's come up with a plan to last at least a month in this house. He’ll stay downstairs, and only go upstairs or into the basement if it’s an emergency. With enough luck it’ll all be completely normal happenstance, or at the very least not affect him too much.

The second full day of living at the house is normal, or as normal as it can be with that gnawing worry in the back of his mind, about what’s going to happen to him while he’s living in that house. He’s always been anxious at work, pretty much always been anxious in general, so it really isn’t that big of a change.

Still, when he gets home, he collapses into bed immediately, though he doesn’t fall asleep for quite some time.

The third day is worse. His anxiety is back with a vengeance, but in that way where it constantly feels like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. He’s dizzy, and shaky and on his break he goes to the backroom and lies down on the ground, and stares at the ceiling for the whole 20 minutes.

There’s a simple solution, he knows this. He had friends, he could text them, ask them for a place to stay. Then at least his anxiety would be over if his friends’ hated him or not, rather than if he was going to get murdered by a ghost.

But… it’s not actually hurting him. Not having a place to stay would hurt him. His friends’ letting him stay for a while but then kicking him out would hurt him. Being homeless in the winter could kill him.

He hadn’t really thought it was a possibility when he was younger. They were struggling, sure, but they could make ends meet. They’d always be able to make ends meet. But that illusion had shattered a long time ago.

The fourth day is agony. He’s sweaty, his brain is fuzzy, he’s making a conscious effort to keep his eyes open.

He’s been sleeping normally; he doesn’t understand why he feels this bad. Sure, his normal isn’t good, but it sure as hell isn’t this.

When he gets home, mentally adding “book a doctor’s appointment” to the list of things he can do when he has time, there’s someone inside.

Their back is turned to him.

The sensible thing would be to turn and run. The sensible thing would have been to turn and run days ago, when he touched the bloody penknife.

It’s snowing.

It’s so cold outside.

“Hello,” Martin calls. The figure turns around, movement almost blurry, like bad greenscreen. Martin almost takes a step back.

“You.” They’re glaring at him. Martin nods, swallows.

“Me.”

They tilt their head, wincing involuntarily. They have a fresh looking wound on their neck, in contrast to the few faded scars visible on their face.

“Why are you still here?” their voice is low, dangerous. Every instinct in Martin tells him to leave, or at least back away.

“I-“ Martin clenches his fists. “I needed a place to stay.”

“There are plenty of other places to stay.”

“Why are you here?” Martin shoots back, tilting his chin up. “I live here.”

“I died here.”

That makes Martin startle. He takes a step back. They- it- the ghost smiles.

“Now, are you going to leave,” the ghost leans in, drops into a stage whisper. “Or do I have to make you?”

For some ungodly reason, Martin bristles at his words instead of doing the sensible thing of running for the hills. “Why?”

The ghost looks taken aback for a second, opening and closing his mouth, looking for words. “Why? I- Because I could kill you, because I told you to, and if you don’t-“

“Would you, though?”

He’s going to get himself killed. This is how he’s going to die, having an argument with a bloody ghost because he can’t phone his friends and ask for a place to stay.

“Yes!”

“You know what would also kill me,” Martin crosses his arms, somehow putting on an air of confidence he does not feel in the slightest. “The cold. The cold would kill me.”

“Have you been enjoying the last couple days?”

“What?”

“I said, have you been enjoying the last couple of days. Headaches, sweating, dizzy spells, exhaustion. It hasn’t been pleasant, has it?” The ghost smiles. Martin knows that smile. It’s like a shark’s. Like Elias’.

Martin swallows, his throat is dry. “How did you-“

“How do you think?” The ghost steps closer towards him.

His fear isn’t gone, but it’s funnelled towards this ever-growing pit of anger inside of him. “I don’t fucking care what you can do to me,” he says, he’s lying through his teeth, and the ghost can tell, with how it lets out a short laugh. “Get off your high horse and let me stay in your enormous bloody mansion, you arsehole.”

“Or what.”

Martin’s eyes flick to the wound in their neck. He keeps a Swiss army knife in his coat pocket, one of the only things he still has left from his dad – and one of the only things he kept in the move. It’s practical, and it’s small. Something easily overlooked by his mum when she was throwing all his things out.

“Or I carve another hole in your neck.” Martin pulls out the knife.

The ghost looks at the knife, then at him, and then promptly vanishes.

The fifth day is better. It’s warmer inside the house. His tea is warm. He feels… lighter, the exhaustion is gone, so’s the fuzziness and dizziness. Then the regular anxiety is lessened as well. All he needs to do is keep threatening a literal ghost with a knife.

If he thinks about it too hard it feels ridiculous. It is ridiculous. He can’t seriously believe that this’ll work.

It’s only for the winter. It’s only until he can afford a flat.

It’s only until the ghost gets over their fear and kills him like it threatened.

It’s a full week since he’s gotten to the house when the ghost comes back. It’s late at night, but he can’t sleep – as usual – so he’s reading The Colour of Magic by the light of his phone and eating Weetabix. The ghost appears suddenly just in the corner of his eye. Martin drops his phone and fumbles for his knife.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” The ghost says.

“Forgive me if I have a hard time believing that,” Martin snaps.

“I want to make a deal.”

Martin moves his bowl to the floor and stands up, still pointing the knife at the ghost.

“What do you want?”

“I want you not to stab me. And I want you to leave.”

Martin can hear the wind howling outside.

“But… I understand that isn’t an option for you. So, we’ll make a deal.”

“What are your terms?”

“You don’t stab me, and you stay on this floor. In return, I won’t kill you.”

Martin thinks on it for a moment, then nods. “Fine, shake on it.”

“Put the knife down.”

Martin obliges, and reaches for the ghost’s hand. It’s cold as ice, and clammy.

“Martin,” he says. “My name’s Martin.”

“Jon.”

Martin’s making tea when their first actual interaction happens. It’s rooibos, and Martin makes it like he usually does. With copious amounts of sugar, and however much milk feels right in the moment.

Martin appears right as he’s pouring the water in the mug. “What are you making?” Jon asks.

Martin startles, and splashes boiling water through Jon and onto the floor. He’s a translucent blue this time, instead of solid but blurry.

“Jesus Christ!” Martin pulls out the knife, and Jon floats backwards.

“What are you making?” Jon repeats, surlier this time.

“Tea!”

“What kind of tea?”

“Rooibos.”

“Rooibos?” Jon repeats, confused.

“Yeah, it’s a type of tea.”

“I presumed.” Jon raises his shoulders, then asks, sounding like he’s forcing out every word “Can you… tell me more about it?”

“Alright?” Martin puts the kettle down, but still holds the knife out as he talks. “It’s from South Africa, from the fynbos area, in the… Western Cape I believe.”

Jon nods at him to keep going.

“Uh, well, it’s not even technically tea, just hot leaf water, which I guess you could say about all teas, but regardless. It’s got no caffeine, so I like to drink it before I go to bed. It’s also low in tannin. And I get migraines.”

“What are migraines?”

“They’re, uh, they’re really bad headaches. Sometimes they make you sensitive to light and stuff. When I was a teenager I’d just sit in the shower with the lights turned off when I got them. Now I take meds. Medication. Drugs to help with that.”

“And… caffeine?”

“How do you-“ Martin cuts himself off. “It’s a stimulant. It makes you more awake. Found in coffee and most teas.”

“Thank you for the clarification,” Jon says.

“Wait, Jon.”

“What?” Jon turns around. Even though they’re translucent, their gaze is still piercing. “Do you want some?”

He’s offering tea, to a ghost, to a ghost who has tried to kill him, who’s only not killing him because he’s threatening them with a knife.

Jon glances at the knife, then back at Martin. “Put the knife down.”

“You’ll kill me.”

“Then step away after it’s done.”

Martin pours the boiling water into another mug. He’s not stupid enough to tell the ghost who could and would kill him that he’s not going to hurt them, even if he is stupid enough to immediately jump into making tea for said ghost.

“Sure,” he says. “Would you like sugar with that?”

Jon shrugs, so Martin adds sugar and milk, then steps away, for Jon to grab it. As their fingers curl around the mug, they become solid, and land softly on the ground.

“Thank you,” Jon says, stiffly. “It’s… interesting to speak with you.”

“Thought you wanted me gone?” Martin takes a sip of his tea.

“I do,” Jon snaps. Then, softer “But you’re here, now, and I can’t exactly get rid of you yet-“ Outside, the wind still howls, and the snow still falls. But it’s warm inside. “-So, I might as well use the resources I have to learn how things have changed since I’ve been gone.”

“How did you die?”

Jon sips at their tea.

“You don’t have to answer,” Martin adds on.

“Thank you for the tea, Martin.” Jon says, and then they turn and walk away.

Martin’s not an extremely curious person, but when he’s living in a house with a literal ghost, who can blame him for doing a little digging on the history of the place.

On the next weekend, Martin goes to the library, and looks through the old newspapers, looking for any mention of Jon or the house. There’s a record of it being bought by someone called Jonah Magnus, who Martin’s never heard of before, but appears in the newspapers fairly frequently. He was suspected of grave robbery but there was no substantial evidence for it, which while interesting , really has nothing to do with what Martin’s looking for. He finds records of a Jonathan Sims, reportedly a close friend of Jonah’s who went missing around 1816, and that piques Martin’s interest. There’s only one picture, and it’s hard to make out if it’s Jon, but Martin jumps on it. Before long, he’s amassed any references to Jonathan Sims that he can find. There’s a few duds in there – he doesn’t think the ghost was born in Kentucky – but he thinks he’s pieced together a relatively thorough history of what might be Jon Sims.

They were born in 1787 in what is now Bournemouth, and moved to London after their parents died in frustratingly ambiguous ways at a frustratingly vague time. The only news reports he can find from his childhood was from 1795, when someone – who’s name was obscured by a printing error on the only newspaper he can find – went missing, and Jon was the last person who’d seen him.

Around the early 1810s, their grandmother died, and Jon appeared more and more in local newspapers due to his involvement with Jonah Magnus. Then, around 1816, they went missing. But as far as Martin can tell from the news reports, no one even noticed for what might have been years.

That’s where it ends. Black text on white paper, stating that Jon’s disappearance was barely even noticed, that they probably died alone in that house.

Martin puts it all back and leaves, ignoring the steadily growing pit in his stomach.

Fuck their deal, if Jon’s death wasn’t noticed by anyone in his time, Martin’s going to have to be the one to keep his memory alive.

“What are you doing up here?” the ghost asks, startling Martin so badly that he drops his torch. In hindsight it was stupid to think that coming up at night would do anything to avoid being found.

“Uh...” Martin reaches for the knife in his pocket, only to find that it’s not there. Fuck.

“I asked you a question.” Jon’s voice is quiet, but all of Martin’s instincts are screaming danger.

“Just, um... looking around,” Martin responded. Jon raised his eyebrows, and smiled coldly.

“What are you actually here for?”

Martin takes a deep breath in. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I want to know how you died.”

Jon’s voice is ice. “Isn’t that an interesting question?”

“They don’t know how you died.”

“Who’s “they”?”

“The- the library? The general populace, anyone!”

Jon is silent for a moment. “Just go.”

“I’m trying to help-“

“ Just go!”

Martin flinches backwards. “Ok,” he said, voice barely a whisper.

“ Don’t come up here again.”

Martin nods, and hurries down the stairs. When he turns around Jon is gone.

Jon’s tea is left undrunk. Martin drinks it himself. It’s gone cold.

The next few weeks are spent apart. Martin never sees Jon in the brief glimpses of upstairs he gets. It’s familiar to be alone. Martin’s good at convincing himself that he doesn’t mind.

He calls his mum every week, and she answers cordially enough. There’s always been a distance there, a coldness that never fully dissipated. With her gone it’s freezing, but not cold enough to become numb. It just hurts.

He... spends a lot of time at the library, fulfilling his lifelong goal of finally reading the Lord of the Rings. It’s fine, he’s always preferred to be alone when he has free time. He’s always preferred to-

The problem is he has nothing to distract himself with. His motivation to read comes and goes, but is more gone than not. He doesn’t have to take care of his mum, and he doesn’t want to make her irritated by calling too much, so he’s just sitting in the library, staring at these words and being unable to convert them into meaning, because all he can do is think about how badly he fucked up everything, and how only he would be this torn up about upsetting a ghost.

It’s during one of these times where he gets the message. From Elias Bouchard, saying that he’ll be visiting to check up on how Martin’s handling things next week Friday.

Martin hastily puts the books back in their proper shelf and runs back home. Does Elias know that his house is haunted? Should Martin tell him his house is haunted? If Elias finds out his house is haunted, will Martin get kicked out?

He responds with “OK 👍” and tries not to panic too much. He can ask Jon to stay out of the way for an afternoon and not kill the person whose house he’s living in. Jon’ll understand, probably.”

“Jon!” he yells, as soon as he enters the house and slams the door behind him.

“Yes?” comes the answer, from behind him. Martin spins around, whipping out the knife. Jon flinches, and step’s back, so he’s against the wall.”

“Do you know who owns this house?”

“Not in the current year.” Jon spits out every word.

“Alright, so, the owner of this house, Elias Bouchard?” Martin pauses for Jon to respond, but they do not. “Well, Elias’ coming to the house on Friday.”

“Alright.”

“And...”

“And can you stay out of the way?”

“I don’t know, can you stay on this floor?”

Martin glared at them.

“Fine, I’ll stay out of your way.”

“ Thank you.”

Jon doesn’t dissipate, but instead stands there, fidgeting with their fingers.

“Jon?”

Jon’s head jerks up. “Uh... yes?”

“Do you... need something?”

“No?” Jon starts to walk past him and upstairs.

“Wait,” Martin says. “Do you... want some tea?”

Jon looks back at him. “Sure, that’d be... that’d be great.”

The next few days are the friendliest they’ve ever been. Martin steers clear of any discussion of Jon’s past, but slowly but surely, they actually start to be... friendly. Jon hates poetry, they’ll jump at any opportunity to mock it relentlessly. Martin loves poetry, and will take every opportunity to read his favourites aloud, much to Jon’s mock irritation, but Jon still sits, enraptured at the sound of Martin’s voice.

Martin likes Jon’s voice, or more so just likes the way Jon speaks. They tilt their head to the side when they make a joke or sarcastic comment, they open their mouth as if to say something when they’re speaking.

And when they’re talking to Martin, the smile in their voice is audible.

No, Martin is not falling in love with a ghost, that would be absurd.

But... if his plans were to fall through and he had to spend more time in the house... it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Martin arrives home earlier than he usually does on Friday, choosing to take the bus instead of walking like he usually does. Jon left a note on the counter, saying that he’d stay out of the way the whole time, just like he promised. He signed off with a heart, and Martin neatly folds it up, and tucks it into his shirt pocket, just above his heart.

There’s two swift knocks on the door, and Martin unlocks it to see Elias standing there, dressed all prim and proper, in contrast to Martin’s jumper and jeans.

“Uh, please, come in,” Martin steps aside to allow Elias entry, but as soon as Elias steps past the threshold, the temperature in the house seems to drop.

“It’s chilly in here,” Elias remarks.

“Yeah, it’s... not got any heating.” Martin rocks back and forth on his feet. “But I have a lot of blankets. And... jumpers.”

“Lovely,” Elias says. “Well, the downstairs doesn’t seem to be in any disrepair, let’s see upstairs, shall we?”

The steps to go upstairs creak, Martin clenches his fists and takes a deep breath in.

“I’m sorry, Jon,” he whispers, under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, it was nothing.”

Nothing happens when they head upstairs. They look through the rooms without anything out of the ordinary happening, and if Elias notices that Martin’s heart is beating out of his chest, he doesn’t say a thing.

Until, of course, they reach the final room. Empty of all but a penknife, or at least it was empty. Now Jon stands there, clutching the knife in his right hand.

“You know... this was my father’s, before it was mine,” Jon says.

“Jon, what are you-”

“It’s the only thing I had left of him.”

Elias scoffs. “Really, Jon, you’re still-”

“And somehow it was one of the only things that you didn’t rip away from me, and I wonder sometimes if you knew it would be my anchor.”

“Jon, can you explain-”

“This knife has killed me, has kept me tethered to this mortal plane, and now I will use it to kill you ,” Jon turns around. “Jonah Magnus.” His voice is tight with fury.

Elias just laughs. “Come now, Jon, we both know you don’t have it you to follow through. Let’s stop with this melodrama already-”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish, because Jon’s already stabbed him through the throat with his knife.

Elias falls to the floor. Jon’s breathing hard, still clutching the blood covered knife. Martin doesn’t – can’t – move.

“I’m, uh...” Jon barely whispers. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Martin.”

“Do we need to hide a body?”

“Sorry, what?”

“I mean, we’ve just... killed him? We’re going to need to hide the body, clean the floor, I bet he told Peter Lukas-”

“Lukas?”

“Yeah, his husband.”

“Husband?”

“We can dwell on the individual words when I’m not going to get done for murder, did you have a place in mind, do you want to just bury it outside, do you want to do it The Tell-Tale Heart style?”

“Are you-” Jon’s expression morphs into that of fondness. “Martin, are you... suggesting places to hide the body?”

“Yes, yes I am, keep up, Jon.”

Jon laughs, a combination of bewildered and delighted.

“How are you so calm about this?”

“I love me a man that can commit a murder? I’m, I’m, I’m really not, but we should probably focus on the practicalities of how we’re – I’m – not going to get arrested for murder? That would be -” Martin barked out a laugh. “Bad!”

Jon leans his head against Martin’s shoulder. “I love you, Martin,” he manages amidst the silent laughter.

“Do you want to, like, kiss?”

“I- alright??”

Jon’s breath is warm, Martin can’t remember any part of Jon being warm before.

“Kissing over a corpse is a completely normal thing to do with a ghost you met a few weeks ago,” Jon deadpans.

“Oh, Christ, the corpse!”

“What were you saying about The Tell-Tale Heart?”

“So,” Jon says. Disposing of Elias’ – Jonah Magnus’? Martin still isn’t completely sure’s – body was a fairly simple process, all things considered, even though they had to go by literary references and gut feeling, because Martin did not think it was a good idea to Google it. But once the hysteria at finding himself in the situation where he needed to hide a body with his ghost crush – ghost partner? – had worn off, the actual situation he was in fully started to set in.

“So.”

“He deserved it?” Jon suggests.

“What’d he even do? Who even is he?”

“He wanted to live forever. Hurt a lot of people trying to achieve that. Now he’s dead.”

“I know he’s dead.”

Martin sits down on the floor, and Jon follows suit.

“Did he kill you?” Jon’s hand is warm in his. “You don’t have to answer.”

“I died because of him,” Jon responds. “But... he wasn’t the one who killed me.”

The penknife lies in front of them, but they couldn’t wipe the blood clean.

Martin squeezes Jon’s hand. “I’m sorry you had to... kill him.”

“It was... quite cathartic, actually.”

“Maybe that’s not a good thing?”

“You’re the one who immediately jumped to body hiding and kissing.”

“It’s got the right ambiance.”

Jon laughs shortly, and leaned into Martin.

“I’m glad I didn’t have to do it alone,” they say, voice more sombre.

“I’m glad I don’t have to be alone, not with... you.”

Jon stands up and stretches, picking up the penknife, then holds out their arm for Martin to use to get up.

“Come on, let’s make some tea. It’s been a busy day.”

“You can say that again.”

They make two steaming cups of Rooibos tea, and sit outside the window, huddled up in blankets, but never cold. Not anymore.

#the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfiction #tma #tma fanfiction #landscaping-your-words #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood

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