#i hope they garner a decent following

[cinnamondumbb]

Hey, could you make a fic that focuses on Kiri/Spider relagionship? Maybe something exploring feelings realisation and childhood friends to lovers. There are so dew kiri/spider fics, please give us content :)

ꕤ ﹆｡˚ 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 —𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐈 : when kiri leaves in the mornings, to do chores or to explore, spider can't help but follow every time.

contents. fluff, sfw, childhood friends -> lovers, lower caps intended, comforting, takes place four years after the events of atwow (characters are aged-up) + wc 1.1k

notes. decided to combine these two requests and give our favorite monkey boy the love he deserves! it's my first time writing on this ship, i hope it turned out decent lol ty for taking the time to read my work ♡

spider did not know when it started, when he developed the habit to check in on her first thing in the morning. it was a part of his routine ever since he could remember, and that did not change even after they left their home to live with the sea people.

on that particular morning, he had left his marui pod to look for her in the village, like he would always do.

yet, kiri was nowhere to be found.

he ran into lo'ak, however, who said she left before sunrise on her tsurak to the second island to the east, mentioning something about gathering new herbs for her collection. spider could not ride a tsurak or an ilu, making the small one-person boats of the metkayina his best allies.

on days like that, when kiri wandered off alone, he could not find it in him the will to not go look for her.

he found her kneeling down on the sand, probably too focused on the work in front of her to notice his presence. the boy slowly climbed off his boat, approaching the area without making a sound, evidencing all the experience he had garnered while living amongst the omaticaya, in the way he moved, leaning in on his knuckles, crawling the distance between the two of them in all fours— his very breathing. he bore a closer resemblance to the wild creatures that inhabited the forest he grew up in than to his own kind.

spider stopped a mere inch away from her, his face right above the curve of her neck. he stared into the striped pattern of that skin he knew so well, preparing to give her the scare of her life–

"i know it's you, monkey boy."

–before she ruined it for him.

"damn it!" words could not describe his disappointment. he let his body fall next to her in the sand "how do you do it, huh?"

"i could see the shadow of your massive head from a mile away," she didn't even look at him, but he could spot the smug smirk on her face as she continued to work on her herbs.

"my massive head?" spider poked kiri's waist, where he knew she was the most ticklish, making her instantly throw her head back laughing "who's got a massive head?"

"you do!"

"take it back," he poked her again, and again, with both hands this time "kiri, take it back!"

"never!" she was laughing hysterically now, unable to contain herself. still, she would not yield.

"is that so?" spider tickled her even more, moving closer, pushing her to the ground. kiri tried to escape, but there was nowhere to run, he had her surrounded with his arms.

"fuck you!" kiri snarled at him. it was a rare occasion to hear her curse but, funnily enough, all of those occasions seemed to happen when a certain human boy was involved.

"take it back and i'll let you go."

"spider, you skxawng!" it was only then that kiri realised where she was. laying on the ground with spider on top of her body. those big brown eyes of his fixated on her.

"are you blushing?"

"in your dreams," kiri tried to keep her wits about her, but it was impossible while she was so aware of his body, his eyes– "fine, i take it back!" although she tried to seem angry, she could not stop herself from smiling.

"good girl," he said while helping her up.

kiri felt her face burn, as if all the blood in her body went straight to her cheeks.

"bastard," was all she thought to reply.

"you know you love me."

kiri just scoffed at him, resuming her work. she tended to the herbs she had recently collected, cutting and separating them in piles, organizing everything in her purse.

"why did you leave so early, anyway?"

"ugh, to get away from my mom," kiri sighed "ever since i completed my iknimaya she hasn't stopped talking about– you know what? forget it, it's stupid."

"kiri, it's me," he reached for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"well, she thinks i should be choosing a mate," she nearly whispered, almost as if she was afraid of the word itself. "oh, not only that, she also thinks that you and i are together."

"whaaat?!" spider suddenly felt anxious and unable to look in kiri's eyes directly, turning his gaze to a patch of grass nearby.

"yeah, i know! it's crazy right?"

"so crazy," spider laughed weakly, pulling on a strand of grass "but, i guess your mom just wants you to be with someone who's good enough for you, and obviously that someone isn't me."

"are you saying you don't think you're good enough for me?" kiri whipped her head from her work to face him, "i mean, in this strictly hypothetical situation," she added abruptly.

"kiri, i don't think anyone is good enough for you."

"idiot," she scoffed, gently pushing his shoulder back "it's not like anyone would want me, either way."

"that's not true–"

"yes, it is, okay? i'm a freak," her voice broke in the middle of the sentence, as she felt her throat tighten "everybody's knows it."

"kiri, you're not a freak," spider cupped her cheeks with his hands, making her look directly into his eyes "i think you're amazing. every single part of you, even the parts you don't like."

she looked at him, teary eyed. his heart broke for her. he just wished she could see herself through his eyes.

"will you just... hold me? please." spider did not have to wait for her to finish that sentence before taking her into his arms.

"i'm not going anywhere," he gently pulled her closer to his chest, caressing her hair, playing with the beads of her braids, whispering comforting words in her ear.

"spider?"

"yes, kiri?" she lifted her head and stared at him, his hand gently stroking her cheek.

"just so you know, you are good enough for me," he felt his blood boil under his skin as he realised what she meant "you are more than enough."

"kiri, i–"

"take your mask off," her tone was low and demanding.

he knew what she meant and that only made him the more anxious. spider would be lying if he said he never wished for it to happen, but now that it was happening, he did not know what to do. at last, he did as he was told.

"good boy," kiri whispered against his lips before kissing them.

cinnamondumbb © 2023 — please do not copy/repost/translate my work without my permission. (♡) + rb! :p

#— ᵕ̈♡ lua writes🧁 #ੈ☆ — (avatar) 📓 #avatar 2 #avatar fanfiction #avatar the way of water #atwow fanfiction #atwow spoilers #atwow #avatar fandom #avatar #spider avatar #spider socorro #spider x kiri #spider x reader #avatar kiri #kiri avatar #kiri sully #kiri x spider #kiri x reader #avatar spider

[alumbianchronicler]

EctoberHaunt - Oct. 10 Magic - Occultism

[Ao3]

Summary:

Five times Phantom is summoned.

October is a busy month for a ghost who often interacts with humans.

Warnings: Cults, bloodletting for summoning

Crossovers: n/a

Note: It's past midnight and I'm not bothering to review/edit this tonight, so you're getting it as it is until I go back and revise it. I apologize for any typos/inconsistencies.

October was a frustratingly busy month. On top of school and the usual ghost hunters and ghosts themselves causing problems, there were the local cults and the whole Halloween impetus to deal with. Amity Park had always had a few small cults, centered around the thinness of reality in the area, but the number of cults, and the number of people in said cults, had grown significantly once the Fenton’s Ghost Portal activated.

Unfortunately for Danny, at least three of those Cults were trying to figure out the best way to worship Phantom. Unfortunately for those cultists, he had no interest in being worshiped.

Of course, they didn’t seem to have gotten the memo yet, which was why Phantom was currently floating in the center of a chalk circle, surrounded by half a dozen chanting occultists.

At the very least, couldn’t they get their robes from the same place? It looked like two of them were wearing bathrobes, while three were wearing what looked like Spirit Halloween Grim Reaper costumes, and the last was wearing an actual hooded robe that would fit in at a renaissance faire.

The circle itself wasn’t terrible, though the sigils and runes were from an entire mess of times and places.

At least they had tried.

But really, he didn’t want to encourage this sort of thing.

Sighing, Phantom waited for them to try demanding.

The one in the actually decent robe was the one to speak. “Oh great Phantom, Protector Spirit and Guardian of the Living. We wish to prostrate ourselves before your magnificence, to supplicate your protection and garner your favor.”

“Ok, first off,” Phantom interrupted, “I don’t know what a third of those words mean. Did you like… make a list from a thesaurus of pretentious occultist lingo? Second off…” here he sighed again, running a hand down his face, “if I wanted people to worship me, don’t you think I would have mentioned it by now? It’s 3 am, guys. Please just let me sleep. I’m dead. I’m supposed to be resting.”

The leader sputtered for a moment, and the cultists shared startled looks.

“Surely…” the leader tried again, “a spirit as powerful as you would desire power? Supporters? Humans who can… obtain for you what you want from the living world?”

Phantom scrunched up his face. “Ew, no. I barely handle the amount of power I have already. You guys have seen the property damage. And supporters? Those are just people who will get in the way of ghost fights and get hurt or killed. As for the living world…”

Here he smirked. “Obviously I have no issues getting to the living world.”

“Is… there anything you would want of us?” was the last, desperate question.

“Tell you what. If you can spread the word that I do not want worshipers, followers, or a fan club, I’ll sign something for each of you.”

“You’ll… give us your signature?”

“On one thing per each of the six of you here.”

The six looked at each other, each one nodding after a few moments. Finally, the leader spoke again. “Very well, Phantom. We will bring you the items for your signature, and then release you.”

Danny was exhausted the next morning at school, but at least he could hope for fewer summonings. Or at least, fewer that were quite so… cheesily serious.

The next summoning was early, around ten at night. Apparently someone hadn’t gotten the memo that ghostly summonings were supposed to happen after midnight.

And… that someone was actually a group of five preteens who appeared very surprised to see that their attempt at a séance had actually summoned a ghost.

For several moments, everyone sat staring at each other. Humans at ghost, ghost at humans. Then, one of the kids screamed and scrambled away from the (once again) chalk-drawn pentagram, knocking over one of the candles as they went. Three of the others also fled, the first’s movement triggering their own, leaving only one behind frozen in shock.

Thankfully, a pentagram wasn’t the most sturdy of metaphysical constructions, especially when not specially tuned by other sigils and glyphs, so he was able to shatter its bounds in a cascade of shimmering green and cyan light.

The one kid left flinched back, finally seeming to find their ability to move as they scrambled backward away from him. Phantom didn’t go after them, though, instead simply taking the moment to right the candle before it set something on fire.

“You kids shouldn’t be playing with fire like this, you know,” he said, tilting his head and giving a friendly smile. “Or with summonings. I’m a friendly ghost, and I’m not going to hurt you, but what if you got someone less friendly?”

“We… we just… we… followed the book?”

“Can I see it?”

The kid handed over the book. Apparently it had been purchased from a used bookstore, and contained instructions for what he recognized as mostly inert but a few active summonings. He was going to have to find that store and make sure they didn’t have other books that could be as dangerous as this one.

“Sorry, kid,” Phantom said, “but I’m gonna take this with me. And no more playing with Dread Forces, ok?”

The kid nodded.

Phantom flashed them another smile and vanished from sight, taking the book with him.

Summoning number three found Phantom in what looked like the ruins of an abandoned factory. This circle was more on par with the first one, though instead of chalk, it looked like the summoner had painted down this one. It also looked like they had been watching a lot of Full Metal Alchemist, judging by the accompanying sigils.

Hey, he wasn’t judging. It had some good themes, and he’d be damned if he didn’t cry every time a certain few scenes came up.

The area around him was lit by several pillar candles, thankfully more stable than the slender ones the kids had been using last time. The candles around Phantom’s circle specifically were burning with green flame, and he wondered if that was due to copper in the wax or to ectoplasm. Either way, it was kind of cool.

It looked like this summons was performed by a single person. She was wearing what looked like a home-made cape of a galaxy-print fabric, which… was honestly really cool, and a red and white Kitsune mask.

For a moment, both watched each-other in silence.

“Usually, the summoner has something they want to ask the summonee,” Phantom finally said.

The summoner startled. “Oh, sorry, right. I… uh…” She paused, took a breath, then continued in what seemed to be a rehearsed declaration. “Phantom, I seek knowledge arcane. I wish to know the secrets of the Veil. Of life and death and the dances of the stars and the singing of the universe.”

Phantom didn’t laugh. He really didn’t.

It was close, though.

Really, this person was summoning him, a 16-year-old half-dead loser, to ask for answers to the universe.

“I don’t think I have much more knowledge of life and death than you,” Phantom replied. “Just because you are alive and I am dead does not mean I know arcane secrets.”

“Oh.” She seemed to be thinking, probably wondering if he was trying to trick her or play some sort of fancy word games, which… despite the best efforts of some of the more Fae members of the Realms, he was not good at.

“What of the universe, then?”

“What?”

“You said you don’t know arcane secrets, or have extensive knowledge of life and death, despite being dead. You didn’t say anything about the stars and the universe.”

Which was how Phantom ended up talking about galaxies and the life cycle of stars until four am. Being exhausted the next day was definitely worth it.

The fourth summoning felt different than the ones before. This one was more solid, more insistent. He probably could still refuse it if he tried, but he was curious, and the last summoning hadn’t turned out so bad, so Phantom responded.

The location was dark. Yet again, candles were the lighting of choice, but these were wrong somehow. Emitting a smoke that clung to him and tingled unpleasantly against his skin if he got too close to the edges of the painted circle below him.

They were scented, and he thought he recognized the scent, but couldn’t immediately place it, especially as he was distracted by the heady rush that came with a blood sacrifice.

Wait, what?

No. NO, no, no, he was not accepting anything these bozos were asking for or demanding.

There were eight of them chanting in a circle around him, each of them holding out a hand, dripping blood that flowed into the green glow of the painted glyphs. It was heady, intoxicating. He hated it.

The chanting changed from Latin to English.

“King of all Beyond the World. Destroyer of Worlds. Banished and blighted god. Pariah Dark, Ruler of the Infinite Realms and Commander of the Restless Dead, we beseech thee…”

Fuck.

“Not to rain on the fruitloop parade,” Phantom finally spoke up, shocking them all out of their chanting daze, “but I think you got the wrong number.”

He recognized that smell now. They had used blood blossom extract in the candles, no doubt to strengthen their hold over whatever spirit they captured in their circle.

Great. Tomorrow was going to be itchy.

“Who are you?” one of the cultists demanded, wrapping their robe around their bleeding hand.

“Well, I’m not Pariah Dark for one,” Phantom replied, crossing his arms and staring down at the cultist in disdain. “And not happy for two. Seriously, are you trying to piss off whatever spirit you call up?”

“How dare you pretend…”

“Nuh uh. I’m not pretending to be Pariah Dark. I just told you I’m not him.” Phantom scowled. “And you aren’t going to get him, either. You’re bleeding on the wrong tree. And you should count yourselves lucky you didn’t get Pariah, because those candles you’re burning? Those would have pissed him off. Or he would have just laughed at them. I’m not sure which.”

“Those were handmade with ingredients guaranteed to hold any spirit!”

Phantom scoffed. “Yeah, sure, and how do you think it holds them?” He floated down, letting his feet touch the floor and absorbing the energy the cultists had so generously offered the Ghost King through their blood-letting. The lines on the floor flared brighter, changing from ecto-green to icy blue, underlighting Phantom as a cold wind rippled through the space within the circle. A mist rose inside the circle, crawling up the invisible barrier.

A couple of the cultists took an involuntary step back. The leader remained motionless as Phantom flew up to the point of the circle closest to them. “I am Phantom,” Phantom said. “Crown Prince of the Infinite Realms. Keeper of the Balance. Protector of the Gate and Veil. Great One. Ward of the Timekeeper.”

He placed a hand on the invisible barrier of the circle, grinning at the cultist before him and letting his fangs show. “I’m not a trick pony, and I’m not Pariah. You might have gotten away with releasing him for rampant, undirected chaos had you succeeded in calling him, but you put no inherent request into this summoning. I do not have to pay back what is freely given, and you have all freely offered my your blood this night, without the ask included in the summoning.”

He let claws grow from the tips of his fingers, puncturing and cracking the invisible barrier, spreading visible cracks like stressed ice across it. “Which, the energy you offered just so happens to be enough for me to break free.” This was a lie. He could get out on his own if he needed to. But he wanted these fruitloops to underestimate him, just in case they didn’t get the memo this time. He clenched down and the barrier shattered.

“Do not summon me again. I will not be so merciful next time.” And Phantom vanished.

The fifth summoning was much less eventful.

For some reason, the Observants, despite hating him, insisted on Phantom’s presence at the monthly Review of the Timeline. Usually, this consisted of endless arguments regarding inconsequential minutia that may or may not affect the timeline for the worse or for the better, and whether it was something that should be watched for the following month lest it spiral out of control into a hurricane or something.

Maybe they insisted on his presence because they hated him… And because while he could be pressured into attending, Clockwork could worm his way out of the duty, himself.

In any case, Danny had been sitting here listening to the Observants prattle on for the past two hours. Two hours he could have spent playing Doomed with his friends.

He pulled out his phone.

HalfDead: Guys help, I’m dying the rest of the way of boredom.

TechnoGeek: That bad, huh?

ChaosGoth: Sorry, Danny. Anything we can do to help?

HalfDead: I don’t think so, unless you can teleport me away from here.

ChaosGoth: [typing]

HalfDead: Sam?

Danny stared at his phone for a few minutes, but when no response was forthcoming, he sighed and put it away before the pompous eyeballs could berate him for having it out.

He had just tucked it in his pocket when he felt the increasingly-familiar tug of a summoning attempt.

That was weird. It was the middle of the day. Who would try summoning… Oh.

Oh, his friends were the best.

“Sorry guys, I’ve got a call to take,” he said, grinning at the Observants and relishing their irritation and offense before he felt the summoning pull him to Sam’s gaming room.

#Ectoberhaunt23 #Oct 10 #EH magic #occultism #danny phantom

[jueunbe]

✦ . ˚ —  @behyunki

jueun was almost done putting the finishing touches on hyunki's makeup when she decided to take a step back to admire the work she's just done. "you should go around like this more often. drawing your brows like this definitely makes your eyes pop even more!"

while she hadn't been actively searching for a following, jueun's garnered a decent amount of followers on instagram for other people to reach out for her for collaborations. it's how she got to know hyunki as well and although they had different audiences, she didn't see how a collab would hurt. if anything, it'd only further her outreach.

"i hope the dance you'll be teaching me is easy enough. i don't think i've done a dance routine since i was like eleven." she's done a few things here and there back when she was a pageant kid, but she doubts it was anything like what hyunki did unless he was twirling batons around.

#behyunki #( ✦ . ˚ — threads. )

[anatifery]

Writeblr Introduction

Who am I? I'm Anatifery, progenitor of ducks, and I figured I should probably do one of these in an attempt to appear neighborly. I don't expect anyone to really read or even see what I post; I've never been big on social media and have never successfully garnered an audience. Quite simply, I have never had the drive to achieve a following beyond fleeting "what-ifs" and "really-shoulds." I was on tumblr long ago when the Deep Magic was written and then vanished from the world. I arise again because I've been locked in a state of post-covid affliction wherein I have little energy to do much of anything physical. I can type most days and I can think some days though the latter do not always intersect with the former.

The beginning of my internet self pre-dates extant social media platforms. That was the time of monsters never using your real name and that habit stuck with me. To be fair though I have never and wouldn't publish under my real name either unless I have no other choice.

I am generally pretty proud of my writing upon completion if only for the sheer fact that it is completed. I do not, however, think I am all that good of writer. The Clarion workshop seems to agree as I am a rejected applicant. That is perfectly okay.

Oh, and I suppose I should speak to pronouns. I accept any barring "it" and I would prefer not neo-pronouns. I have no judgments against neo-pronouns but they somehow feel less "me" than the classics.

What do I write?

A little of a lot. Ideally I would have something for everyone but I can obviously make no guarantees. I don't normally write smut nor do I often include instances akin to it in wider works but that is not to say that it will never happen. The primary genres and tropes that come up the most I would wager are sci-fi, low-magic fantasy, historical fantasy, and nearly always something close to romance with a queer character if some romance is appropriate at all. Some of what I'm working on the larger picture: Working Name "Therewolf" - historical fantasy set in Al-Andalus in the 17th century, in a world where the Reconquista did not occur (though this isn't really important to the plot). Maryam is a werewolf hunter and makes her living protecting towns from them. There are, unknown to the common people, no real werewolves on the entire Iberian peninsula though; she is a charlatan but actually a decent real wolf hunter which helps sell the scam. She gets drawn into a deep conspiracy when she finds her employer dead, hanged inside his own home in an apparent suicide. Working Name "Neon Apogee" - relatively standard cyberpunk fare (very imaginative, I know), and not to be conflated with my short story of the same name (same world, though). This follows Cahaya, a non-binary 'net investigator intent on solving crimes perpetrated by the elite upon the lower classes; the sorts of crimes that the police would never look into. In fact, it seems like the police themselves are often their primary suspects. Working Name "The Real Monsters" - a post-apocalyptic humanity has pulled themselves more or less together. They have religious prohibitions against robots and many types of automation, and have chosen instead to uplift animals to serve as workers. The problem, however, was never AI; it was how humans treat those they deem beneath them. This summary doesn't sound that inventive and I apologize for that but I do think I actually am bringing a nice spin on the whole thing. What do I post?

If and when I post, it will be short stories that I create to procrastinate from work on real manuscripts which I have a hope of publishing. Excerpts from the above will probably not be posted. At some point I may delve back into fanfic, especially if my condition does not soon improve. Those I would be willing to share parts of. I will be on AO3; I've already signed up just in case we come to it.

Thank you

If you gotten this far then I salute you but I wonder why. Thank you for your interest up to this point, though. Please follow me if you have any inclination. Any interaction here to be honest would put a smile to my face and warmth in my heart.

#writeblr #writeblr intro #writeblr community #writing community #writeblr introduction

[bokettochild]

🦋❄️☁️

🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately 

I suppose I've been thinking a lot about how much I miss the old days, despite never living them. Society has become so fast paced and, as a result, lonely. We don't have regular functions to meet people and have fun anymore. We rush from work to school to home, with little time in between to be people. Surviving is something we have to work at, and once we're assured that, we're too tired to do anything more.

50 years ago, you had time after work to spend with family or friends. The folks I clean for (aged 80's-90's) always have stories to tell about their lives, the old days, and while I neer saw it, it makes me wish we could live through a time more friendly to the common man and less plagued with the need to make it and not get canceled for the smallest of flaws.

❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

As a rule, I never really try to imagine what would happen if someone else wrote stuff. I always get carried away and begin to write it myself in my head when I do LOL

As for a dream fic, there's this one that's kind of haunted my brain since 2021. @/thesacredtwink posted a concept about the chain losing Warriors because the goddesses decided to eliminate his timeline (because he ain't canon) and back then, I shared some thoughts that snowballed into an almost-ficlet. I've been wanting to expand on that idea for years now, but other big projects always take precedence, and killing off Warriors is always a tricky process to write.

That said, my hope is to actually sit down and work on this thing once I finish the TBBU rewrite, because the brain-rot is very real, to the point where I have a mini-playlist for this concept!

☁️ ⇢ what made you choose your username?

To be honest, I was just wanting to make a quick side-blog to post random crap on and maybe garner a following that would eventually be willing to read my original works. I wasn't worried with a username, so I just threw out the first thing that sounded half-decent.

I like expanding my vocabulary, and I had recently learned the word 'boketto' and laughed to myself that "hey, that's me!" so it was the first thing that came to mind when I needed to type a username. I added "child" to the end just because, and then just got so attached to this dang name that I never changed it :)

#asks and answers #asks game

[heidi-oferrall-is-a-narcissist]

That's what kinda gets at me. Heidi's entire business model is whining about money and garnering sympathy points because she convinced enough people that the person she abused is the abuser. Whenever her sales start to falter, she cries on twitter about not getting enough money until people either buy her stuff or donate to her kofi. AND IT WORKS. In any other context, she would have been told long ago to stop milking sympathy out of others and put some effort into her life, but she's getting her living by whining about money and manipulating/guilt-tripping people into buying her stuff. I guess the only hope is that more people realize how shitty and manipulating Heidi is and unfollow her.

Just to reiterate again, Jared is also an abuser, he abused his fans to get nudes for his narcissistic ego, and his only regret is getting caught. Abusers can also be victims of abuse, as evidenced by Heidi using Jared for a free ride through life while she screeched tantrums at him if he didn't do whatever she wanted to the point that her therapist would congratulate her whenever she didn't screech at him.

That point out of the way, Heidi's followers are thoroughly manipulated to believe whatever she says and to believe she can't do anything wrong, never doubt the skill of a manipulative narcissist, if they know anything, they know what to say and how to use emotional manipulation to get what they want. She also has a decent number of followers with more money than sense, and they want to feed into this parasocial relationship they have with her by giving her their money. So Heidi's figured out that all she has to do is mope on Twitter and complain that people aren't supporting her business enough, and those followers will rush over to give her what she wants in exchange for their forest nymph apple queen to maybe give them a reply. Some will eventually question why Heidi whines about money regularly and stop supporting her, and others will deal with the sunken cost fallacy and realize that they're in too deep now to consider if they were wrong about her.

#atelierheidi #heidi o'ferrall #heidi o ferrall #atelier heidi #heidi o'failure #forest girl clothing #forestgirlco #narcissism #pure narcissism #narcissist tactics #terrible decisions #anon comments

[wood-white-writer]

"In the Land of the Blind" [Chapter VIII]

"In the Land of the Blind, the One-Eyed Man is King"

Pairing: Silco x Toxicologist!Reader

Summary: Both Topside and the Undercity have their fair share of use for you.

TW: Narcissistic parenting (or lack thereof)

Read the AO3 version here | > Chapter IX

The air in Piltover is clear of any pollution or smog, practically sterilized if you had to compare it to the slums. It’s been a while since you last grazed the City of Progress with your presence, and the way its atmosphere threatens to cripple you should serve as evidence of that. It engulfs your senses entirely, and the mere act of breathing through your nostrils feels so alien that it threatens to overwhelm your sinuses. It’s been a while since you last traversed through the central districts in the City of Progress, long enough for your body to have reset before this change of atmosphere throws you off balance again.

It should be evident to anyone with eyes that you do not belong here.

The street is swarming with children, enforcers, and refined statuses that always seem like they follow your every move. It’s a good thing you decided to wear your “decent” clothes for this endeavor, or heads would have no doubt turned your way. Fortunately, no one seems to pay you any mind, and the few who do are quick to mind their own business and move along. Even though several inches of snow have already garnered atop the polished ground, it serves as no obstacle of any kind to the city’s denizens. If anything, they relish in it, with children piling to make snow angels at almost every speck of ground that doesn’t directly interfere with anyone’s path. You deliberately go out of your way to avoid crossing paths with them.

After some traversing through the streets, you finally find her sitting at the edge of the fountain in the center of the district, looking every bit a topsider like the rest of them. It’s been a few months since the last time you were in contact, yet despite evident adjustment to her seasonal wardrobe, she hasn’t changed at all. She still wears her hair the same way, conscious of keeping her pose firm and stead, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d even go as far as to say that she’s wearing even more make-up than you previously thought her husband could afford.

She’s wearing a new set of jewelry as well, you notice. A sapphire necklace with matching earrings and her hair have been put up in a fancy bun adorned with a pin that flashes its extravagance to a near-blinding extent. Her gown looks brand new, not a tear or a hole in it, whereas your shirt has endured its fair share of hardships over the years. Not even the comforts of your loyal, oversized coat could hope to stave off the cold for you completely.

Sighing with the stoicism of a man on his way to the gallows, you decide to get this over with and approach her.

“Hello, mother.”

Your voice, calm as it may have been, might as well have sounded like a siren with the way she snaps her head around to face you, looking every bit as skittish as a mouse. As soon as recognition dawns on her, however, she is quick to readjust her pose into a more relaxed one. Most likely to avoid any on-lookers, she’s always been conscious of that kind of thing. No one’s allowed to glance at her with as much as a smidgen of suspicion.

“Oh, it’s you.” She murmurs stiffly. “Hello.”

“No need to sound so despondent on my account,” you remark sarcastically before taking a seat next to her, with just enough distance between you that no one will assume that you’re conversing. It’s not often that you meet much, and if things were going your way, it would’ve been even more infrequent. However, once every blue moon, she sends you a letter and asks you to come meet her here by the fountain for one reason or another. Regardless of the case, familial sentiments are a rarity between you, as much as she would prefer to think otherwise.

It takes her a couple of seconds before she musters the will to speak. “I will be brief about this. My … husband is looking at a new suit. We have been invited to a ball this weekend to celebrate House Tali–”

“Get to the point.” You’re not interested in hearing her monologue about the extravagances of her wonderful life. The same life she left you for. “I didn’t intend on causing any trouble in paradise, so tell me what you want, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

She scoffs, and even with your backs turned to each other, you can already tell that she’s stiffened her lip. “In light of the recent development of the Hextech project, Headmaster Heimerdinger announced that they’re opening the academy doors for new additions to their staff. Assistants, cleaning crew, anyone with the proper qualifications and decent coin has a chance to apply.”

You raise an eyebrow out of habit. “And this concerns me why, exactly?”

“Why does everything have to be such a struggle with you?” she hisses, just loudly enough for you to hear it. You almost expect her to turn around and look you in the eye for once, and though evidence suggests that she’s tempted, she ultimately doesn’t commit to it. “This is your chance to get back into the academy. Maybe not as a student, but it couldn’t hurt to try. Your old … friend, that one with the nasty limp, I hear he’s made quite the name for himself nowadays. Moved from his position as the headmaster’s assistant to co-founder of Hextech, probably makes a fortune. That shows that there’s still hope.” Then, under her breath, she adds almost spitefully. “Even for trenchers.”

It’s during moments like these when you’re reminded that no matter how much time passes between each begrudging meeting, your mother never changes. She can wear all the nice clothes she wants, douse herself in thousands of hexes worth of perfume, alter her appearances however she pleases, and marry any enforcer she sees fit, but she will never be any different from what she’s always been like.

Opportunistic. Wanting. Materialistic. Hypocritical.

In your childhood, you attempted numerous times to justify the reasons for her leaving. There had to be a good reason, right? Granted, she wasn’t much around even when she still resided in the Undercity with you, but she was your mother. Didn’t that count for something? Anything?

However, as you got older, you came to realize several truths about her character.

She wasn’t satisfied with living in the Undercity, the place where she was born and raised.

She wasn’t satisfied with your father, who worked his ass off trying to get her closer to the quality of life she felt entitled to.

She wasn’t satisfied with you, not after you refused to leave behind your father and old life to join her in the new one she found across the river. You will never forget the look she gave you when you stated your intent. She didn’t look at you like her own child anymore. Her own flesh and blood.

She simply rolled her eyes and left with whatever she deemed valuable from the home you once shared, and your father made no move to stop her.

For a long time, you believed that the fault solely yours, and if you worked hard enough with your work, sacrificed hours of rest, then she would acknowledge your efforts - acknowledge you - and come back.

It took a while before you finally snapped out of it. By then, you had already made peace with the fact that she refused to acknowledge her original life.

She refused to acknowledge you. At least, beyond the advantages she thought she could fish out of you.

You didn’t see each other again until years later when you began attending the academy when you were a teenager, and you sincerely hope that she will never forget that acidic, disdainful scowl you aimed her way upon your reunion.

Even now, after she’s had all of the aforementioned replaced to her liking, she can never hope to be content. It has nothing to do with the Undercity, it has nothing to do with Piltover, it has everything to do with what she does and does not have. It’s just the kind of person she is. All she wants is more, more, and more.

You’re willing to bet that the gods can provide her with every inch of land and property Runeterra has to offer and she still won’t be appeased.

This is also the kind of moment that reminds you that the reasons for her supposed attempts of getting you out of the Undercity have nothing to do with any affection she might have harbored for you. It simply has everything to do with what she could gain from you in return.

Knowing this, you fail to suppress the scowl that escapes through your nose, and she notices immediately.

Whipping her head around to peer at you with nothing short of shock, almost as if finding your subtle disregard for her idea to be a personal insult. Truth be told, that was your intent.

“What is it?” she hisses while minding her volume, and the notion that her fear of being watched talking to you overwhelms any sense of rationalism she might possess is almost enough to make you buckle where you’re seated, but you don’t.

Instead, you peer at her over your shoulder with the kind of look you typically only reserve for bothersome customers. The kind that puts the cold elements to shame. The kind you only reserve for business, which you can qualify this meeting as. Nothing with her is ever truly personal, but it is always a transaction of sorts. You have no intention of going back to the academy, nor are you selling the clinic, which you can tell she desperately wants. Another piece of the past she wants to erase from the records. 

Without raising your voice a pitch, you firmly tell her so.

The face she makes after this declaration reaches her ears vaguely reminds you of a kettle about to combust. For the longest time since you sat down, she doesn’t speak a word. So much time goes by and for a moment, you believe she’s left you be. Then,

“You’re just like your father,” she says, and though you’ve heard that phrase more often than you care to count, you can tell that it’s not meant as a compliment this time. “In all the wrong ways, too. He never knew what was good for him and look where it got him. Is it too terrible for a mother to want better for her oldest child and offer her a chance to use her brilliance for more than just scraping weird mixtures together in an underground lab?”

Your reply arrives surprisingly easily despite the weight carried behind them. “I wouldn’t know.”

The woman huffs angrily before turning away from you. “Shame on me to hope that you wouldn’t turn out like the same fool your father was. Too foolish to know when to call quits. I’d hoped that you would’ve had some ounce of self-respect to get out of there, but despite all my efforts at giving you that chance, you’re just as adamant to die there as he wa– AGH!”

You stand up to your full height, the momentum of which is enough to throw her off-balance and granted her a new seat down on the snowy ground. A piece of her dress must have gotten caught in one of the rough edges of the fountain because the next thing you know, the sound of fabric tearing screeches loud enough to make several heads turn and a new hole in her dress comes into view.

You have half a mind to behold the view for a minute longer, if only out of entertainment. The view of her lying there like a fish out of water strikes you as almost pitiable, if not downright pathetic, but you make no move to help her despite the handful of faces that turn to witness the spectacle.

Deciding that now would be a good excuse to leave, you take one last look down at your mother, who is still struggling to get up. “Go back to your new husband and that kid of yours, and leave me to my own devices.”

Just as you turn around to walk away, you can make out the sound of someone approaching to help the fallen woman. One pair of feet sound heavier than the other.

“Darling, are you alright?” A man.

“Mother, who’s that?” A young boy.

“No one.” The woman tells both her husband and son adamantly, and from where you’re standing, she’s willing to do anything to ensure that they believe it. “She’s no one.”

You’re leaving the premises before anyone can hope to get in your way.

---

Your return to the bridge takes a while due to the vast amount of people that flood the streets, and by the time you finally get there, darkness has already begun to descend over you and the cold feels even more ruthless now than ever before. Each breath you take leaves a white trail behind, and it probably won’t be long now until your fingers lose all feeling.

About halfway across the bridge, you can feel a sense of nostalgia creep up your back as you take a moment to appraise the symbolic gap between Piltover and the Undercity. After all this time, the one thing that’s always been here during the most life-altering periods in your life is this old bridge.

You remember daring to step on the rails with childhood friends, fearless in face of the descent.

You remember walking across it in your teens on your way to the academy, your proud father waving you goodbye with tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes.

You remember …

The scent of smoke.

Bodies lying everywhere.

Sounds of rifles in the distance.

Fighting.

Blood spill.

Your voice, a mere whisper in comparison to the screams of battle, calls out to the man who instigated it all. 

“Vander... Where is he?”

You promptly cease walking, and incidentally, you find yourself standing right in front of the mural decorated with pictures and lights dedicated to those who lost their lives that day. Old candles, some more aging than the rest, yet none have been removed in favor of the newer ones.

Even now, after all these years, there are still people who light them. People who will never forget what happened. Never forgive. Anger and resentment like that are likely to burn more than a few candles if given time to spread, and if there’s one thing you’ve witnessed these last years, it’s that a bonfire like that is as inevitable.

“Maybe the woman is right. Probably only a matter of time before we meet again, old man.”

You pull out your lighter and ignite one of the unlit candles closest to his picture. Age has worn the Polaroid down, but even now, his kind face is still as clear as the day Vander put it up in your stead. 

After some attempts no thanks to the wind that’s gradually picking up, the candle finally catches a spark and maintains it. 

“Until then, -” you fish out a cigarette and ignite it using the candlelight. “- I’ll try and look after things.” Quietly, you add, “Doesn’t mean I have to do it sober all the time.”

---

You stand in your kitchen long enough for the for the steam to dissipate from your coffee, watching from your window as the shops in the bazaar gradually close up for the night, no doubt determined to get home before the predators that prowl in the shadows have the opportunity to strike.

Unlike them, you have no intent on going to sleep tonight, hence the caffeine (with just a splotch or four of whiskey). With too much thought and too many tremors running through the nerves in your brain, there’s no hope for rest. Before you even stepped foot in the Piltover district, you knew that this was how your night was going to turn out.

Some people use sex as a coping mechanism. Others tend to their garden. Working on different mixtures is your way.

You’re halfway through your cup when you hear three sets of knocks reverberate through your living quarters, loud enough for you to know it’s coming from the front entrance downstairs. The “Closed” sign has been up since before you left this afternoon, so you decide that whoever feels the need to come to bother you at this hour can kindly go fuck themselves.

Once it sounds like whoever’s knocking has lost interest in their endeavor, you raise the lukewarm drink back to your lips.

Knock, knock, knock.

At this point, it’s evident that the unwanted visitor has no intention of leaving. Slamming your cup to the counter, uncaring of the few drops that spill, you mutter a few profanities under your breath and indignantly head down the stairs and right into the clinic. The streetlights outside are the only things brightening your path to the front door.

Without thinking twice about looking before through the window to catch wind of the visitor’s identity, you slam the door open, expecting some wayward fool.

A familiar pair of mismatched eyes greet you instead, and for just a moment, you find that the prospect of having a fool on your doorstep might have been preferable in face of this option.

“Silco.”

“Good evening.”

Oh, you desperately wish to tell him that it was, up until now. Keeping your mouth shut, you turn to each side of him, expecting to find some of his men close by. He’s dressed in his fancy-ass coat, looking fit for one of your usual meetings, but he’s completely alone. Not even Sevika is here to accompany him.

He doesn’t even comment on your not-so-subtle observation, but merely follows them with the condescending kind of curiosity that you can only associate with someone who knows they’re winning a game of Blackjack.

Finding no guards, you return your attention to him, more exasperated than guarded at this point. “I wasn’t aware our schedules have moved up on the calendar.”

“They haven’t.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I find myself in need of your expertise.”

You bite the inside of your cheek as you think about an appropriate response that will not grant you a one-way ticket to the good ol’ Grim Reaper. So, with your limited sense of self-preservation, you ask, “I assume you can read?”

He perceives this more as harmless banter than anything resembling an insult, and ripostes with an easy, “I can.”

You gesture to the sign hanging next to you. “Then tell me what this says.”

“Closed.”

“And what does that usually indicate?”

“That you’re unavailable.”

“Astounding observation.”

“It’s been hanging like that since this afternoon, though.” There’s something about how infuriatingly self-satisfied he looks that makes you want to slam the door shut in his face. “Much earlier than when you usually close up for the day. I assumed you were occupied considering you didn’t answer your door the first time I tried today, but now you’re here. Available.”

“I’m really not.”

The quirk of his eyebrow suggests that he’s not convinced. He proceeds to take a deep breath through his nose, and shortly after, the scar on his lip shift smugly upwards. “Apparently not occupied enough to have a drink, it seems. I’m guessing a Noxian brand, judging by the hints of spice.”

A little conscious, if not a tad disconcerted, you huff into your palm, and oh shit, maybe you poured a bit too much into the coffee. Under different circumstances, you might have been impressed by his sharp sense of smell.

You shake your hand to ward off any of the remaining smell and turn to your door. Maybe the alcohol’s the reason why you feel so nonchalant about the potential consequences of your disregard for him, and maybe it’ll come to bite you in the ass later on, but right now, you couldn’t care less even if you purposely tried. “Come by tomorrow if you need assistance. I’ve dealt with enough problems today to add another one to the list.”

“I’m afraid that this is urgent.”

“Tough shit.”

“I’ll compensate you generously for your time.”

“I’m already making do with what you’ve already paid.”

You reach for the doorknob, but a firm hand on your shoulder stops you. One word escapes the crime lord’s lips in a hushed whisper. “Please.”

For a second, you think you must’ve misheard because there’s no way someone like him would’ve resorted to such pretty phrases instead of threats of bodily harm and extortion. When you look at him for clarification, his face is surprisingly … demure. No jagged lines to indicate annoyance or anger.

A simple request, but a desperate one. You know that kind of look by heart.

You look down at the hand on your shoulder. The fabric of your shirt crinkles under his digits, and the same warmth you recognize from your initial handshake is there to greet you. In contrast to that, his knuckles are bruised this time. Severely so. Skin’s been broken through at the joints, and the blood still hasn’t been properly washed off.

You can already tell that he’s not the one who’s been victimized in this scenario. It’s not only his blood that’s stained his skin

You look up at him again, questions unspoken, and shake his hand off before you head into the clinic. Leaving the door open for him to follow is an invitation on its own.

He complies with a shadow of a meager smile and closes the door behind him.

“So, what’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“That’s what I was hoping you could answer for me.” Silco reaches into his pocket and produces a vial, so achingly small between his long fingers. In this light, or lack thereof, it almost looks like it’s empty.

He holds it out to you, and your fingers brush just barely as you accept it. Upon closer inspection, you find that the vial is, in fact, not completely empty. A sample of it remains at the bottom, maybe half a teaspoon. The liquid is crystal clear, just like water, yet you’re not convinced that it is.

“What is this?”

“Someone from my staff at the Drop was caught trying to put this in one of the drinks at my office today.” As he explains, soft and suave as his manner of speaking might have been, a darkness falls over him and it visibly looks like his eye is literally on fire.

Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it. No, he’s completely murderous, and it strikes you in such an unnerving way that you’re tempted to take a step back in retreat. His earlier nonchalance was merely a way for him to conceal his inner turmoil, and he sees now as an appropriate time to reveal it.

Slowly, you nod in response, if only to give off the implication that you’re both tranquil and affable and not stir his temper further. You’ve never perceived Silco as the one to take assassination attempts lightly, but something tells you that it was not his own life that was on the line this time. The wounds to his hands tell you enough.

You can’t find it in yourself to be crass this time as you voice your thoughts. “You were not their intended target.”

“… No.”

“Who was?”

“Jinx.”

You clutch the vial in your hold. It all clicks for you now, the true reasons behind his fury.

“Is she alright?”

He manages a nod that initially comes off as an incline. “She’s the one who caught him. She was sitting in the crawlspace and told me as soon as I came back.”

“And the perpetrator got what he had coming?”

You can hear him chuckle, dark and empty of any legitimate humor, but every bit as genuine. “I had half a mind to feed the drink to him, but I decided to make it last as long as possible. You remember the example I made of Dex?”

He's talking about the severed arm he left hanging in the centre of the Lanes, and hanging from the appendage - a note marked with a purple eye - was written: "No one fucks with the escort agencies."

You can never forget the mixed responses that display received from the public. "Who doesn't?"

"What I made of him was a kindness compared to what I did with the bartender."

You approve of that with a short-lived smirk. “Good.”

Waving your hand, you gesture for him to follow you down to the lab. Each floorboard creaks audibly in response to his measured steps, adding an eerie noise to the otherwise lifeless place. The table in the center of the room is filled with unfinished products and documents, and you are quick to brush them aside.

Silco silently appraises your work environment before reverting his focus to the subject at hand.

You give the vial another inspection before you pop open the lid and take a sniff. It’s odorless, which concerns you more than anything with a specific scent would have.

“Any theories?” He puts a hand on top of the table, watching intently.

You have several, but one of them sticks out. For your own peace of mind and Jinx’s welfare, you hope that it’s not the case, but the pessimist/realist in you know better than to hope for anything at all.

He must have noticed the severity of the situation by your face alone. “What is it?”

“Nothing good.”

“Is it ever?”

“If I say it’s nothing good, then you can trust that it’s really not good.”

You put the vial into a rack with the lid still open and pick up a clean scalpel from the drawers under the table. Silco’s about to ask what you’re doing when you slide it across the tip of your index finger, effectively severing the skin. Not enough to hit the bone or leave a scar, but enough to grant a bright drop of red liquid an exit.

You fail to register the sound of Silco’s rapid feet across the floorboards until he’s standing right next to you, towering with a look of mild disapproval. “Was that truly necessary?”

“I’m out of live rats to use at the moment, so this will have to do for now,” you answer a little too casually for his liking. Truth be told, you’ve never been fond of using live specimens unless you’re working with something particularly dangerous, but you’ve found that your own blood is sometimes all that’s required. Not much, but enough for you to avoid resorting to the second option.

In this situation, should your theory prove correct, using yourself like this would be more humane, so to speak.

Silco says nothing else, but his eyes stay firmly on your bleeding digit as a few drops trickle down.

You let a few droplets spill into an empty petri dish next to you before drying your finger off in the fabric of your shirt, indifferent to the stain it leaves. You extract a small sample of the vial’s content into a pipette, then, carefully, add it to the petri dish.

The two of you watch the substances like hawks for anything amiss, with Silco hovering over your left shoulder to an almost unbearable extent. You can feel his breath at the nape of your neck. Hot, tingling. It makes you feel small by comparison in ways that cannot be credited to your different sizes alone.

Even Vander, who towered over a sheer number of people including yourself, never made you feel quite as inconsequential as his usurper does. You never felt the same fear, the same heat, the same power.

For all his faults, Vander was predictable; amicable. His hands may have been coated with blood, but he made effort to wash it away.

Silco makes a profit of his own. Maybe that’s what unnerves you about this closeness. That’s what you try and tell yourself.

Your thoughts promptly cease as the blood and the vial’s content finally interact, and your suspicions are confirmed.

The unknown substance spread like a snake’s body across the blood, a stalking predator that makes no sound before ending its prey with a swipe. It erases the crimson properties and separates the different layers until all that remains is a grayish, dried-up splotch that reminds you of fresh ashes in a pyre.

All you can think is Shit!

In all your years in this work, you’ve only known of one specific kind of poison capable of doing this much damage at such a fast pace, and the realization that someone’s been distributing this recently with the intent of giving it to a child makes your blood boil.

You draw your hand over your face and through your hair, not minding the spot of blood on your finger that marks the creases between your eyes. “Fuck.”

“What is this?” Silco questions sharply.

“It’s the venom of an Ionian fucking Basilisk,” you reply in an eerily placid tone, emptying your lungs through your nose before turning to the vial. Only a drop remains of its content. “You’re lucky that kid knows what’s good for her. If not, we’d be having an entirely different conversation right now.”

Silco looks to you, then back at the petri dish like it personally insulted him. “What are the exact properties of this venom?”

“If it gets to the bloodstream, either directly or through the intestinal tract, you’re gone in a matter of moments.” You reach for the dish and give it a few flicks. The remnants of your blood move like dust particles in the container. “All liquid in your body … evaporates or changes its density. I’m not completely sure about the whole process.”

Putting the dish down again, you continue. “In the end, it calcifies the body and leaves the corpse looking like they’ve been turned to stone. Shriveled up, cracking at the easiest touch, et fucking Cetera. Hence the snake’s name.”

“Have you witnessed the effects of it before?” Silco asks.

You shrug. “The old man who ran this place before me had an Ionian business partner who used to dabble with this kind of thing. The idiot didn’t think about checking his hands for any scraps or injuries before working on it, and the shit got into his blood. It was … ”

When you fail to finish, he doesn’t pursue it. Probably doesn’t see the need for it, or perhaps he pities you in some way.

In truth, you want to tell him how became your first meeting with death, at the ripe age of eight and a half. The dumbass visited, went with your father down to this very lab, and left in a body bag.

Your father did his best to shield you from the ghastly sight, but it was already too late. It distressed you for months after, and you spent just as long trying to get over your fear of being down here alone again.

The stench of death hits differently when a poison like this is exploited. It’s foreign, but you’re acquainted with it enough to know that in the absence of a distinctive scent, it’s much, much worse.

There’s no urge to gag from the smell alone, no blood, no bodily fluids, and no proper decomposition as you might expect. 

There’s just a cracked-up, mummified corpse. Gaunt, cracked, shriveled up like a piece of meat that’s been left to dry for too long in the sun. What would have taken months or even years happens in front of your very eyes in a span of minutes, and to think that someone would so casually want to inflict a little girl with a fate so cruel makes your stomach tighten to the point of pain. Excruciating, intolerable pain, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

It makes you want to hurt someone. Painfully so, if only to ease your own woes. Watch them suffer the same cruel injustice that they almost committed against her. You would’ve made sure that their pain would feel like a mercy killing compared to the kind they targeted her with.

Maybe it’s a good thing Silco already beat you to it.

In an effort to calm the storm that rages inside of your body, you slowly turn to the cabinet behind you, deliberately ignoring the way his eye follows your every move. “Do you have any idea of who ordered it?” 

Silco pauses, but when he speaks again, the wish for vengeance flashes like an inimical shadow eclipse over his facial features. It puts his deformed eye to shame. “Several comes to mind, but none have been confirmed. I’ve demanded Sevika investigate any links between the foolishbartender and an unknown third party. If anything shows up, I’ll be the first to know of it.”

“Whoever they are, they wanted to hurt you. Jinx would’ve been just a means to an end.” You shuffle through the shelves. “That means, they know you enough to know how close you are to her.”

“I’m well aware,” Silco admits begrudgingly. “Regardless, they won’t get the chance again.”

You’re tempted to applaud his willingness to protect her, but your resignations don’t allow it. When it comes to parental displays of affection, you briefly wonder why some differ from the rest.

 Silco is willing to protect his ward by any means necessary whereas your own mother lost interest as soon as she realized you wouldn’t play by her cards.

What makes some parents better than others?

Experiences?

Wealth?

Love?

You peek at him from over your shoulder as you ponder, and just before he catches wind of it, you turn to resume your search. “Ionian Basilisk venom has a fleeting expiration date following extraction. A week, maybe two at best if preserved the proper way, which likely means that whoever ordered this did not do so haphazardly. It was a coordinated move, planned in every way.”

“You … Don’t have that kind of product here?” he asks, an amalgamation of doubt and relief wavering in his voice. Why, you don’t know, not yet. “No samples, no anything?”

You shake your head. “No. Not since I was still an ... apprentice. The old man tried to find some medicinal use for it to help people, but once he knew that the cons outweighed any use, he ceased importing it.”

Silco nods gravely. “I’ll investigate the recent import documents myself and find any faults.”

“Considering this attempt was a failure; they know you’ll be on guard for any similar cases from now. Chances are they won’t resort to poisoning again for some time. Still, if they do, -” Having finally found what you were looking for, you pull out a vial filled with a clear-blue liquid and hold it out to him. He eyes it somewhat uncertainly before you elucidate, “This is an emetic. In cases of poisoning through ingestion, it will induce an intense wave of nausea and vomiting to force some of the toxins out. It’s no cure, but it will buy you some time to get proper help. Just be sure that they don’t asphyxiate.”

His attention shifts between you and the vial before he finally takes it. “How is it administered?”

“Make your intended subject ingest it by whatever means possible. Speaking of personal experience, it tastes like shit, so the gags are quick to follow, conscious or not.”

He quirks an eyebrow just a fraction. “You’ve tried it, then?”’

You bite your bottom lip and add a tad sheepishly, “… Went on a bender for a week one time and mistook the vial for a shot of Burning Vengeance. Sat over the toilet for an hour and a half straight and I’ve never tried it since.”

At the end of your monologue, this is about the closest you’ve ever been to seeing Silco laugh. Hopefully, he has the same kind of self-restraint as you do. From what you have already garnered, he does, but that doesn’t keep him from imagining the embarrassing memory that currently flashes through your brain.

You frown. “Let’s put it like this: I’d rather have ten pills worth of the Naptaker venom than take a sip of that again. Doesn’t matter how much you pay me.”

“… I see.” He tucks the vial into his pocket and stares at you again with the look you recognize from Sevika. The look of someone who has won at something. A game of cards. A drinking game. A transaction. It’s all the same. “Thank you, dear Toxicologist. The Nation of Zaun is forever in your debt.”

“The Nation of Zaun?” You exhale through your mouth, masking a scoff. “If what you’re seeing now is what you envision from the future, then you may keep your debt.”

“Is this what you believe I envision for the future?” he asks grudgingly as if knowing that he can’t fault you for your mindset, but still resents it. “For Zaun?”

“The way I see it, it doesn’t matter what I think.” Your shoulders brush against his’ as you walk to the opposite side of the table and crouch down, already browsing through the drawers underneath. “If things continue the way they currently do, I won’t be alive long enough to claim that debt, so spare it for another occasion. Just take the vial.”

He reaches for you, but in midair, his hand freezes completely. He evokes it just as quickly and turns away, as if ashamed of what he was about to do. “What do you wish for in return, then?”

“What are you willing to offer?” You open another drawer.

“I’ve already offered the one thing I can think of in terms of the highest value, yet you declined that without haggling. I’ve offered coin, yet you turned that down as well.”

“Because it isn’t of the highest value.” You pull out a roll of bandages. “Your nation is not complete. It’s a theory, yet to face completion.” Subsequently, you pull out a bottle of antiseptic and stand up to put them both on the table before beckoning for his hands.

“That’s the thing about you I’ve yet to quite decipher.” He puts his hands on top of the table as you add a splash of the antiseptic to a clear piece of clear cotton. “You have no interest in money, nor a better quality of life. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were content with our current situation.”

“Our situation?” You take both of his hands in yours, doing the damnedest to ignore the warmth that seeps through his blemished skin. Without warning, you place the gauze atop his skin. He hisses like a cat against contact but doesn’t make a move to free himself. You take it as a sign to continue pressing on his injuries. “What I want is right here. This place has persevered since before Vander. Before you. It’s not a place bound to change, and neither am I, and that’s all I need for now.”

“Maybe it should. You should.” He mumbles and flickers his gaze up to you, his gaze softening. “You have a mind sharper than most of my associates. Forgive me if this comes off as discourteous, but I would say that this clinic you prefer to seclude yourself in is merely a glimpse of what that brilliant mind of yours can manage.”

“Is that an attempt at flattery, Silco?” You turn your focus to his other hand and mirror your previous movements. He doesn’t flinch this time

“Can it be considered flattery if it’s a factual statement?”

“I don’t know.” Once you’re done cleaning the blood away, you reach for the bandages and begin wrapping his hands. “I’ve never been an expert at distinguishing one from the other.”

“Then, tell me what it is you wish for, and it shall be done. If Zaun’s gratitude is not to your satisfaction, then other arrangements can be made.”

Your lip shifts upward, only on the right side. Not enough to qualify as a proper smile, but enough to convey a feeble attempt at visual satisfaction. “If you’re really that keen on repaying me anything, then I’ll take a night on the Drop. Everything I order, completely free of charge.” You tighten the wraps enough to ensure that nothing gets through them. “Your debt on the behalf of Zaun can wait for another day, should it ever come.”

His eyebrows creek upwards. First in confusion, then acceptance. Once you finish your work, he removes his hands from yours and curls them a couple of times to challenge their flexibility. Content, he drops them to his sides. “The day will come, I assure you. But for now, feel free to browse the Drop’s wares at your convenience.”

“Much appreciated.”

When you move to clean the bloodied pads away, Silco moves towards you at the speed of light, but just as you are about to react, he takes your hand in his.

Instinctively, you grasp at his wrist, then the familiar smell of the antiseptic strikes your nostrils. It only hits you then that he’s wiping the blood on your finger, and for reasons unknown even to yourself, you slowly let go of him. With no hindrance, he sees this as an invitation to finish what he initiated.

Each swipe is smooth, coordinated, clean. It almost feels demeaning, like you’re a child being cleaned off the food you’ve spilled all over yourself, but it’s … nice. Somewhat calming. Maybe he sees this as some sort of repayment. You cleaned the aftermath of his wounds, so maybe it’s only fitting that he cleans yours.

He finally puts the cloth piece aside, and with the movement of an expert, wraps your finger up. “Should anyone cause any … disturbances for you, be sure that I’ll take care of it.”

“I can take care of myself,”

He chuckles as he finishes tying a knot on your digit. “Of that, I have no doubt, but this favor you have provided is not one I intend to repay lightly. You will live to see this city rise from the ashes, and if what I have garnered from you is true, you’ll find some way to contribute to it.”

You blink once, then twice, struggling to process his words. Is he being sarcastic, or genuine? From the looks of it, you’re willing to bet on the latter, and when you snap up to visually search him for falsehood, you find nothing at all to indicate such.

“Silco?”

“Hmm?”

You lick your lips. “Did you ever suspect that I was involved with this?”

He shakes his head at once. “No.”

“Why?”

In lieu of an answer, he merely saunters towards the staircase, his back now turned, and that’s how it stays. He closes the door quietly behind him, and in his absence, all that lingers are the whispers of your unanswered question, and his unreciprocated answers.

You look down at your bandaged finger. It doesn’t hurt like you expected it would.

#silco x reader #arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane x reader #silco/reader #fanfiction #in the land of the blind #arcane lol #silco x oc

[peerlessscowl]

Skill Breakdowns

Hope you don't mind me being a copycat, rai, but I've been sitting alone with these thoughts for years.

Sword - Boon

Lance

Axe - Boon

Bow - Bane

Gauntlet - Boon

Reason - Bane

Faith - Bane

Auth - Bane -> Budding Talent

Heavy Armor

Riding - Boon

Flying

Boons

Sword & Axe - Easy, these are the skill proficiencies he has access to in Blazing for his Mercenary -> Hero pipeline, but there's more to it than that, isn't there? Historically, young noble boys would begin their martial training with swords which they practice and keep up with for their entire military career. Moreover, let's take a look at Raven's stats and his growths:

His strength and con are decent for his level and his unit type, but what stands out about Raven is his speed and his skill. Solid bases, solid growths - on most playthroughs he probably won't max them out, but he'll double consistently and enemies have a hard time hitting him. I've joked before that Raven as a base lv 5 Merc has 1 point of speed over Linus, who at the time of his boss battle is a lv 12 Hero. And while swords are not exactly light, with your common broadsword weighing about 2 pounds on average, they are certainly the lightest of the weapon triangle and ideal for a warrior that values speed and skill.

As for axes, it was not uncommon in history to have multiple proficiencies, and especially if a warrior was raised or trained in a forested area and if they were more likely to be infantry than cavalry, that second option was likely to be axes. They are the heaviest of historical weaponry, ranging from things like hatchets to warhammers, but let's take a peep back at Raven's growths and we can see that he comes into his own eventually with that 55%.

(As an aside, I know that Heroes Raven says that axes are his preferred weapon but…that doesn't really hold with his character. Axes require a lot more brute strength and stamina than a sword does, and while it's certain to get a job done in one hit, it very often does so without the finesse and skill that someone like Raven has certainly garnered over his years 1) as a young noble, whether he likes it or not and 2) as a skilled professional. I discount a lot of what Heroes has to say, but especially this.)

I have more thoughts about his class typing, specifically Hero, and the differences between a Sword Hero and an Axe Hero, which I will discuss at a later date.

Gauntlet - I'll admit, I do just like this one for the idea of it, but we also get some evidence of this in his Bartre supports. He's a man who has had to live and work with rough men, in situations that were not guaranteed to allow him access to a weapon. We know that he moves well and efficiently, and we know he can defend himself without killing his opponent. It also follows with his upbringing, as young noble boys were often taught to wrestle (although more as sport and recreation than self-defense).

Riding - I know this one seems out of left field for him, but again I am calling back to his noble upbringing. It is inconceivable to me that a young noble boy would not have been taught to ride a horse. We learn during his Lucius supports that when travelling with Eliwood's army that he walks (it is at the very least heavily implied), but I could see him being just as comfortable in the saddle.

Banes

Bows - I know, right? All of what I said regarding swords and axes, you would think that with Raven's build he would be a shoe-in for a capable archer, especially with his upbringing which I keep bringing up. I don't have any hard evidence for this except for Raven's characterization - he does not distance himself from the terrible things he is capable of doing, and he would never hesitate to throw himself directly into the line of fire for someone he is protecting (which we learn in his introductory chapter). I'm not under the delusion that archery is somehow weaker than other disciplines (and, indeed, simply based on character design Raven's arms and shoulders indicate that he would likely be pretty good at it), simply that he needs to be up close and personal when he does his killing.

Reason - This man simply was not made to be a mage. I do not headcanon him as necessarily a bloodthirsty man (with one exception), but just as with bows, he needs to be in the fray, he needs to see the face of his opponent as he works. I don't doubt that he's very well read, but he doesn't have the head for magic.

Faith - Now we're getting a little meatier. For an entirely separate reason from Anima magic, I believe Raven is incapable of Faith magic - not because he doesn't believe in the Saints or the Heroes. Quite the opposite - he was very likely raised to be a devout boy as many noble households were in the ephemeral time period of the Fire Emblems - and he had to believe in a higher power in order to be disappointed by it. The tragedy of the fall of House Cornwell changed Raven - and while he is not indiscernible from the kind boy we hear about in his support with Priscilla (and her support with Oswin), it is certain that the man he grew into doesn't believe that Faith is something worthwhile to invest his time in. He wants to achieve his goals through his own means, lest he be disappointed in anyone but himself.

Authority (Budding Talent) - Just like his sword and axe boons, this one was a no brainer for me. We know that his disposition is off-putting and that he is often accused of being unfriendly or unpersonable at first glance because of his horrendous resting bitch face, but it is a very quick turn around into genuine affection on the part of the other party because he proves himself immediately to be very kind, genuine, and helpful without needing to be asked or prodded. This is consistent across all of his supports and all of his lines. And, again, it is very likely that he was raised to command a household before everything went pear-shaped, and in his grief and his innate social awkwardness this morphed into that off-putting front. If he worked at it deliberately, he could be a true leader. He just has to want to.

#out of character #meta #do you ever just get so unwell over a man

[lemony-snickers]

My honest opinion of you? You’re like a nagging girlfriend who finds every “imperfect” thing about themself and tries to get you to agree with them even when you and countless others tell them otherwise. Either to garner attention or get people to keep complimenting them.

It’s not like your works are even half bad, no, they’re really decent and could be published for profit. Every story of yours I have come upon is followed by positive remarks after positive remarks, not a single hate comment or reaction can be seen (I’ve read all of your stories alongside their comments). The only hater that I’ve ever come across under your name, is you, Lemony. Everyone else? Telling you otherwise and even giving good counterarguments for the self hate, but you continue to dig yourself into this grave about how terrible of a writer you are (which is invalid and can be supported by your countless fans, and myself).

I’m posting this anonymously (even though it was requested) because I know your followers are going to bash me for being negative, but I really DO hope you take this to heart. In the end, I know you’re just sad about your works not being reached out and gaining in popularity, but you got to understand the different time periods. School, work, the damn pandemic. Everything that could have affected people’s time to sit, relax, and catch up on reading. Which has clearly happened to you and countless other authors but you don’t see that. Why? Because you’re too harsh on yourself.

Furthermore, you haven’t really done much to put yourself out there. Promotions, promotions, promotions. Now I know most of us will be caught dead before we use TikTok to promote our works, but you gotta understand that the works you see rising up in fame (and the ones you compare yourself to) are the ones that are using some type of promotion, and aren’t up there just because of their writer’s talent or older fanbase. Plus, most people like and are just attracted to the smut.

I’m not saying to stop expressing yourself, I’m saying to open your eyes, truly listen and understand what people are saying about you instead of digging yourself into this negative and hate-filled pit that you, yourself, created.

YOU are your biggest hater.

#ask #honest anons

[chiheons]

❧＊   —  hey everyone !  you can call me sharky & i’m 22 with she/her pronouns & i’m also in the est or gmt-5 tmz if that’s helpful to anyone !  i’m ksksdkdkskds super excited to be bringing you all the very brooding & grumpy lee chiheon !  he’s the rhythm guitarist of tidal and one of the more controversial figures in the industry due to some of his stunts at public events. he loves to play contrarian, and while it annoys the label infinitely (haha punz~), his popularity among lunas tends to keep him under contract regardless. but yes, his backstory is below the read more, and you can also find info about him via the following links !!  feel free to add me on d*scord if you prefer: @ 1 sleep until proof#0803, otherwise i will be sure to come and bother anyone who likes this intro. lots of love !

muse stats 〤 wanted dynamics 〤 playlist 〤 pinterest

EARLY LIFE

°   chiheon was born in the port city of tongyeong-si, on the southern coast of south korea. he didn’t have an overwhelmingly fun childhood, but he certainly learned the value of hard work, as he was utilized early in life on his father’s fishing boat.

°   he garnered a particular hatred for the smell and taste of fish, given the oversaturation of it during these days. he had to prepare chum and other small fish for bait traps, and it was a truly harrowing experience.

°   chiheon’s parents were quite hard on he and him. he was saddled with tasks small children were certainly not prepared for, such as shopping alone for the family’s weekly groceries or doing odd jobs for nearby neighbors. it was almost as though his mother and father figured if children were kept busy, they didn’t have to be seen or heard. they insisted it was only to teach their son that the world was a tough place, though.

°   when chiheon started to take an interest in music, his parents were not having it. they found rock music to be extremely sinful, and a waste of their son’s precious time that could be spent preparing to toil away as an adult. the boy would consume the chaotic melodies in secret, stealing away to one of his friend’s houses for the evening to unskillfully jam out a guitar that would never be his.

°   in high school, that same friend approached him with the idea to start a little garage band. chiheon was over the moon about the idea, as over the years, he’d begun to actually sound halfway decent on the strings. he knew he’d only have to ramp up his cautiousness as a result. after all, his father would have killed him if he’d found out.

°   not really giving it much thought, chiheon fed his father a lie about getting a part time job after school, hoping it would leave him that much more time to drown in the music he loved. and it did, for awhile. another student joined them in their endeavor, and after being able to eke out a few mediocre songs, the trio was fortunate enough to play a few open mic events.

°   the fun was short lived however, as the whole ‘ not thinking ’ aspect of his lie came back to bite him. his father was soon asking where his paychecks were, and what he was using them for. of course, there was no money or record of his supposed job to speak of, so he was forced to come clean. after some particularly harsh words from a man he’d never really been able to look in the eye, chiheon was left homeless at 15. thankfully, he was taken in by the family of one of his bandmates. it should have been the most depressing time in his life, but he was finally fucking free.

°   the lessons in work ethic hadn’t been lost on him, as he soon sought out a real part time job to help support himself. sure, he had to toddle after middle aged golfers as a yes-man caddy, but it was still surprisingly beneficial. he was able to play music unchecked, and now that his parents weren’t there to constantly crush his dreams, he actually started to have them. he wanted music to keep him alive — to provide for all the things he wanted and needed. he knew that he could make it happen if given the opportunity.

°   rock music wasn’t as big in korea as the country’s native pop sound, so chiheon was well aware that he had an uphill battle to fight. he and his high school band recorded numerous demos and would take them to any radio station that didn’t have security that blocked them from entering the building. they would typically get laughed at, but every so often, they’d at least get a ‘keep trying’. that was enough for chiheon at the time.

°   eventually, the very few connections the three made landed them a couple of auditions. smaller, rock focused labels didn’t even seem to wanna give them a second look. they wrote them off as not edgy enough, or wannabes. the one company that seemed willing to give them a real chance was golden media; a label that only featured pop idols up until that point. chiheon wasn’t exactly thrilled about the prospect of potentially having his creativity stunted, but he was quite taken aback when he was informed that he was the sole member of his band that had passed the audition. 

°   he didn’t particularly want to live this dream without the two people who’d been on the ride with him from the beginning. they were insistent on it though; they told him things like ‘ we would do the exact same thing if it were us ’ and ‘ we’d be happy for you ! just go for it ‘. he believed his friends, and they seemed to believe in him, so he decided to sign on with golden. he was placed with an up and coming band called tidal; it wasn’t a gender locked group which chiheon found to be a worthy concept. he was given the role of rhythm guitarist, as that was what he’d grown most skilled at.

LIFE WITH TIDAL

°   tidal’s debut came when chiheon was just 21, and he used that as a full excuse to let loose and celebrate the occurrence. he went out to several bars and bought rounds of beer for the patrons, all while promoting the band at the same time. perhaps it was due to the excitement of it all, but he was truly shameless about the entire thing. he’d tell anyone who was willing to listen, and even people who were trying to ignore him.

°   they didn’t meet instant success, but there was clearly something to tidal. chiheon would monitor the band’s growth online, pointing out fan accounts positive comments to members to keep their morale high. it was obvious that he cared a lot about them being able to continue this, and was willing to do whatever it took to make it happen.

°   he’d attend any event that would have him, divvying up any payment he received among the band members while they were still working towards being a financial success. he looked after them and cared for them, even if he wasn’t always outwardly the warmest person in the world. he’d always been more introverted, but his sociability took a massive hit just when tidal began to gain traction.

°   chiheon had been keeping up with his high school bandmates ever since the three had parted, but their responses to him became more and more apathetic and rare. he couldn’t wrap his head around it — they’d promised to support him even if he signed with golden media. they’d assured him that their friendship wouldn’t change and everything would stay the same, so why were they turning their backs on him? they were his only real link to the place he’d grown up, and now they are fading into the rear view. they simply told him things had changed, and they’d gotten busy. too busy to make time for him, apparently.

°   it left him rather soured on the idea of friendship or of people being loyal to one another. while tidal got bigger and bigger in the world of korean rock, chiheon withdrew more and more into himself. he became known as the ‘heartless’ member of tidal who shied away from social interactions. he thrived on the assumptions that he hated everyone and was raised by wolves. he began to dress in strategically campy ways that would offset him from everyone, because the idea of othering himself from people in general appealed to him greatly.

°   one of his most popular stunts was showing up to every awards show with a message emblazoned on the back of his suitcoats like ‘i’m here when i could be playing elden ring’ and ‘don’t forget your phony smiles, kids’, though these are some of the less pointed phrases he’s worn. some of his antics decrying the overly phony nature of the business, not to mention the impossible beauty and body standards they are expected to live up to have marked him as one of the more talked about members of the lineup. 

°   tidal has become one of the most talked about bands to come out of korea in recent years, thanks in no small part to wangcheonnie, a nickname given to chiheon due to people assuming that he considers himself a king. in actuality, he struggles quite a bit with self-loathing. inwardly, he blames himself for the abandonment he’s faced in life, and it festers into anger which he then projects outwardly at times. being with his fellow tidal members just focusing on the music is a surefire remedy, however.

°   he missed out on all of tidal’s 2020/2021 releases, as he was honoring his mandatory two year military service. he returned with a vengeance in their 2022 comeback, notably playing his fingers raw while perfecting the rhythm of ‘sober’ in preparation for its release as a single.

°   he’s really just a sardonic sad boy who wants to play his music and then be left alone. but then there are other times he really wants to ask for a hug but won’t, because he’s a stubborn fool?? truly a million contradictions

°   soft for his band members bc they are his family at the end of the day.

°   he’s openly pansexual and he doesn’t care who knows it. he’s really only started exploring dating and actually caring for another human being within the last four years or so? he may be 28 but he is no expert in matters of the heart and it s h o w s

°   his plots page is litrally empty right now and i’m so sorry about that, but here are some dynamics i would absolutely love to have:

“ partners in crime, but we recoil when people call us friends “

“ we flirt but it’s literally just insults “

“ you’re a good influence which is what i need but won’t admit that i need “

“ we don’t get along but the label is making us collab “

“ i appeared in the background of your vlive and now people are talking but i was really just innocently retrieving a sweatshirt you borrowed from me earlier “

“ we argue on social media to make headlines and then get chewed out by the company “

“ we were supposed to star in a drama together, but my antics got the pilot cancelled “

“ i found out you like video games, so now we play them together whenever we have free time “

“ i wrote a song about you and put it on a flash drive with your name on it and now it’s gone missing... ”

“ we both became the brand ambassadors for a luxury clothing line and have to shoot together ”

“ you caught chiheon watching cute animal videos and now you own him as he fears anyone hearing about it “

and i’ll mark these off as ppl take them ! i’m also down to brainstorm as well, bc i’m clearly hella unprepared. but ayyyy thank you so much for reading all this :’ 3

#infinite:intro #i'm sorry this is so late ! #this was a struggle to write skdskskskds but please do come plot and brainstorm with us ! :3

[gascon-en-exil]

I'll admit I've never been interested in GoT books or the show, thus I'm not too interested in HotD either. But what issues do you think these shows (and books too) had re: portraying gay characters and treating them poorly in the narrative?

Given your opinions on House of the Dragon's handling of Laenor and Joffery's relationship, what do you think of Game of Thrones' queer content?

Combining these as they're similar.

I'll start out by saying that I've never read anything by GRRM, so my comments here are only reflective of the TV adaptations. From all that I have seen I know that GRRM has a history of defending the presence of certain elements in his work - including homophobia, women getting married very young, and sexual violence toward women - as something appropriate for the time period that he's depicting (or a fantasy equivalent thereof). Your mileage will definitely vary as to whether you think that defense holds up, but he does seem to be sticking to his guns judging by what we've seen of HotD which is adapted from a novel published only four years ago - well into the time where GoT had garnered major acclaim but also criticism for how it handles such subjects. I went into GoT knowing that it's the sort of media property where almost everyone is terrible and also almost everyone dies, and that that there's a bleakness to the storytelling that it's never about finding someone to root for or hoping that your favorite characters will get happy endings so much as enjoying the carnage as it goes down.

As for specifics, I think the first season and a half of GoT does a decently good job at developing Loras and Renly's relationship, and even gives them two intimate scenes which certainly stand out in the earlier seasons' abundant use of female nudity. Then Renly is killed off, more or less exactly as he is in the book as I understand it, and from that point on fans seem divided on whether Loras eventually taking a new lover in the show was a good thing or not. Personally I regard that choice more positively, because it doesn't enshrine gay relationships as purer and more romantic than straight ones (in a way that coincidentally prevents the need to show a gay relationship anymore), but I understand why book readers especially take issue with that. What I'm less fond of is how Loras and Olyvar become the victims of Cersei's new puritanical allies the Faith Militant in season 5, and how the discomfort of his trial (which sees both him and his sister imprisoned while Olyvar...vanishes from the plot) is overshadowed because it's in the same episode where Sansa is raped, an infamously horrible and despised moment. By that point I've pretty much checked out of GoT's gay content, content instead to follow Cersei through her repeated highs and lows as she continues to do entertainingly terrible things and reap the consequences of her actions in entertaining ways.

Those aren't the only queer characters in the show; Oberyn is a bisexual delight for his single season and gets to enjoy himself onscreen with both women and men, and there's like two scenes where Yara being a lesbian is referenced, but it's all very sparse and hard to get invested in when everyone keeps dying. I continue to be amused however by the not-really-serious implication in the show's final shots that Jon and Tormund are a couple going north with their pet direwolf and their Free Folk family, and how Jonmund shippers take this in stride as perhaps the only people to have anything nice to say about the last episode. That's more of fandom taking subtext and running with it though, and while that's certainly very fun in its own right it's not quite the same thing.

So far HotD looks to be much the same: gay content, when it exists, is light and not developed well, and the show loves its dramatic deaths too much for me to bother getting attached to any but the most significant characters who I know are going to be around for a while thanks to wikis and such. If you're looking for fantasy with gay content specifically, I would not recommend either show; their entertainment value lies elsewhere, and if there are occasionally gay people in them that's more of a minor perk.

#House of the Dragon #HotD #Game of Thrones #GoT

[ccalbert]

An Introduction

~Hello Lovelies~

Stop me if you’ve heard this before:

You’re a young(ish), starry-eyed writer whose mind is filled to the brim with stories. You treat characters as thought children and spend hours daydreaming their imaginative lives; their hopes and dreams; all the challenges they’ll face. You know once you put pen to paper, your books will fly off the shelves. You may not be the next Stephen King, but you know you can garner a small group of fans at least. Someone, somewhere, is bound to be interested. And you have so many ideas! One of them will surely be a hit, right?!

But which one? And where do you start?

Well, if you’re anything like me… You might never start at all. Sure, you may have a couple hundred notebooks full of ideas and a few bare-boned chapters written, but you haven’t quite found time to finish any works-in-progress yet. 

Or maybe you’ve gotten through half a manuscript already. But something’s… off about it. 

The dialogue’s just not flowing right. That fight scene feels clunky. This isn’t how you pictured the villain at all! She’s the main character; why is she so BORING?! HOW THE HELL AM I GOING TO FIX THIS PLOT HOLE?! WHY ARE THERE MORE OF THEM??!!!

*Ahem*

Needless to say, I get it. Wanting to be a writer and actually writing are two very different things. It doesn’t matter how many ideas your clever little mind can produce. You have to be able to follow through with them if you want any form of success. 

But, I’m getting ahead of myself. This is supposed to be an introduction, after all. 

My name is C.C. Albert. At least, that’s my pen name… Or will be. When- and if- I get published. 

To be completely honest, I don’t know if it’s right to call myself a “writer” when it’s been literal ages since I’ve worked on any of my story ideas. All my WIPs are currently scattered across the net. Rotting in Google Docs without endings. Gathering dust on fanfiction sites. 

But, I still want to publish something. I think I’d make a pretty decent author. Or maybe even an editor. 

So, what’s stopping me? I could think of a few excuses, but it all boils down to one thing: 

I am a hardcore procrastinator. Which doesn’t make for a very good author, let alone a successful one. And I want to change that. 

I want to call myself a writer- an author- without saying that’s what I aspire to be. I want others to read my stories and be inspired or, at the very least, entertained. I want to make a career out of what I consider being one of my better talents. I don’t need to be a bestseller or make millions of dollars; I have no illusions about being famous. 

What I really want is to say that I did it. 

I wrote a fucking book! 

Which brings me to this blog and why I’m writing it. I’ve been toying with the idea (for over two years) of starting a blog for writers like me. Writers who may skirt the edge of being lazy, but who really just need advice on how to tackle that one fight scene or the encouragement to get through that next chapter. Or who maybe just need to see (and laugh at) someone else struggling with the same issues they’ve been dealing with. 

And so, with that in mind, I now present my blog! 

“Writing and the Art of Procrastination.”

Let’s get to work~

P.S. As the title suggests, I wouldn’t expect much in the way of regular posts. The plan is to have something put up every month, but I do not keep very well to a schedule. I will try to be consistent. I make no promises.

#writing and the art of procrastination #writing blog #introduction #aspiring author #lazy writer #need to finish a WIP #authorblr #semi-writing-advice #anecdotes #ccalbert #writeblr #writers on tumblr

[dvmbsluts]

closed starter for @despairedntroubled

based on this post

kaia had been streaming for awhile now, and she’d garnered a pretty decent sized following after a couple of her videos went viral. after playing her cards right, she had become a decent sized name in the streaming world which is how she had managed to land herself at twitch con. all of the people there, the excitement buzzing in the air...kaia knew this is where she belong after she’d spent the better part of her afternoon wondering around. she had just arrived in a different area of twitch con when she saw them. before she’d managed to get a big following herself, they were the gamer she wanted to be like the most. she’d been playing the game religiously with hopes of one day getting the chance to play a round with them. she knew she couldn’t pass this moment up, and without any hesitation she made her way up to them when it looked like they weren’t being bombarded by other fans and tapped them on the shoulder with a smile. 

“hi! sorry to bother you but I just had to tell you that i’m your biggest fan. you’re actually the reason I got into streaming in the first place! my name is kaia.”

#/ i know i said it was a reverse starter call #/ and i WILL respond to a starter I promise haha #/ but I saw this plot and I was like...yeah I wanna do that #/ so you can ignore this if you don't want to write it sorry haha #despairedntroubled #shadow;kaia

[toribookworm22]

Do you think Louis is Freddie's father or not? Because so many larries here on tumblr have been wavering lately. Some say Louis is bisexual so they believe Freddie is his son now. Want to know whom to follow or unfollow

Hey there, Anon.

I'd like to open by saying that if this question is the end all for if you follow me, you probably shouldn't.

My blog functions mostly as a writeblr, because I have found in the past month that that is the corner of this site I garner most comfort and interaction from. Therefore, I am relatively picky about what other media I choose to share and reblog.

Secondly, I have no idea.

I am fairly new to the Fandom. I joined about a year and a half ago, but I'm a content consumer, so I do think I know a decent portion of the information anyway. The Fandom content, that is. The content that I, as a fan, enjoy.

There are a few reasons I didn't listen to One Direction growing up, but the sometimes toxic fans was definitely one of them. I'm happy and proud to be both a Directioner and a Larry shipper. Their music and the fan-created content has bettered my life and brought me lots of enjoyment.

But I don't claim to know anything.

That's the difference.

I highly enjoy the speculation and hearing other's opinions and consuming the content, but I do not claim to know anything about the reality of the situation. I am not here to die on a soapbox or argue to the death for a Fandom I'm still scared of despite now feeling a part of.

So, will I probably eventually post fic recs, fanart, and maybe possibly even theories I find interesting? Yes. They may even be ones I half-believe.

But just like I hope my rights are never questioned, they have the right to a private life. Louis and Harry make damn good music. Music I relate to on a queer level. Music that is riddled with too many coincidences and carries too much weight. Sometimes, though, art is just tricky.

All of my characters are queer-coded.

I didn't know I was aro until I was 18 years old, but my stories did for seven years. If I had been published at that age-- ghastly thought-- and everyone had been speculating about whether I was queer, I probably would've questioned things sooner. Yet, if people had been pulling down my door for answers and claiming that I was queerbaiting them or trying to force me to come out, I can tell you that I probably would've built myself a closet to hide in.

There's my soapbox.

Louis and Harry are people, most of all.

And maybe one day, I will be comfortable enough to die alone on my soapbox screaming my opinions.

But until then, enjoy my writeblr and the occasional Fandom reblog I take with as much a grain of salt as I would take the questionable writing advice. Or don't follow me.

I hope you're able to gate off your garden against where you see weeds. (But I love dandelions and I'm not going to change my garden for you. It's mine.)

All the love,

~ toribookworm ❤️

#anon ask #kinda ranty #theres my soapbox #which is now my rant & controversy tag #i hate conflict but i felt like this needed to be answered and said #so yeah #soapbox

[thefanficmonster]

Hey can you make a moist cr1tikal x reader where they're sibling of a famous YouTuber and makes YouTube videos of their own and he's a big fan of

Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request! I hope you don't mind the headcanons format, a full fic requires a long wait and I don't wanna put you through that so here it is! If you still want a full fic, don't be hesitant to ask! Enjoy 💕

Pairing: Moist Cr1tikal x Jacksepticeye's Sibling!Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

- As the younger sibling of none other than Jacksepticeye, you’ve had your fair share of second-hand fame over the years you’ve spent helping him grow his channel and attend conventions

- Over these years, you’ve garnered a certain love for content creating you never before thought you’d develop but you were more than happy to announce it to Jack who shared your enthusiasm and was your biggest supporter right from the get-go

- He still is the leader of your fan club much like you are of his

- Only difference is that now, that club actually has members other than him

- Albeit with his help, you managed to attract a decent amount of viewers to your streams every day until you hit a million subscribers within a time period of less than a year

- He was happier than you were, and that was not an easy task to achieve

- No, seriously, Evelien was worried you two would break the sound barrier with your shouting and cheering

- The way you officially celebrated that milestone, however, was not a classic party

- First of all, because of the raging Covid issue that was still at large play in the world at the time

- And second: Because you had made a promise to your brother

- Since you were dead-set on doing all you possibly could to get your own following and not piggyback off of his, you never collaborated on anything together

- There was not a single stream or video where you featured him and you had allowed only very few of his to feature you as a background lurker taking care of the technical stuff

- That being said, when Jack would complain on your avoidance of him like two siblings in high school (with a role reversal), you made him the promise

- “When, or if I reach 1 mil, we’ll collaborate, ok? Not only that, but we’ll play Among Us!”

- Ah, thinking back to that, do you feel the nostalgia?

- Time flies so quickly you’ve come to measure it in anniversaries rather than days and months

- Why anniversaries?

- Let’s get to that story, shall we?

- You were the last one to enter the lobby, having purposely been given a time later than intended so everyone could gather before your arrival

- You were nervous as all hell, palms sweaty, bouncing leg, restless fingers, the whole nine yards

- But the atmosphere that you were engulfed by, the warm wave of welcoming you felt wash over you when the people present greeted you, it was too overwhelmingly calming to no suppress that other dreadful feeling of anxiety within you

- Jack’s friends proved to be as nice as you had expected - even more so!

- Of course, you’d previously met Felix, Joel and Dave countless times you considered them your friends too at this point

- But there were also five people you adored there that you were yet to meet

- Rae, Corpse, Sykkuno, Toast and Charlie

- They were your idols from the very start of this career path of yours

- They were also the main reason behind your nervousness whereas, if it had only been the other three, Jack and you, you wouldn’t have bat an eye

- Each one of them congratulated you with so much genuineness, it made you feel like getting wrapped up in the most comforting, safe and warm hug in the world, further stifling your fears and worries

- It was impossible to stay nervous around people as wholesome, kind and sweet as them

- Truth is, you aren’t such an angel either, but you played the part nicely

- You couldn’t let your horns poke through during your first official time meeting some of these people, after all

- But, as any person with siblings can confirm, all it took was one snide remark from Jack to get you to roll your eyes and sass him right back

- Now that was the real you

- And, to your surprise, someone noticed the change right away

- “That’s why I find you so entertaining, that’s why I became a fan - you’ve got a quick wit and a knack for perfect timing whether that be a joke or sarcasm. I strongly respect people like that.”

- What surprised you even more was that this came from Charlie

- He was, at the time, the one you had the least amount of admiration for out of everyone in the group

- No specific reason, you had just never been too caught up with his content 

- But to hear that he was a fan of yours, it put your entire world out of balance

- And you being you, you had to even the field as to not feel like you had come off as rude later on

- “Oh, what a coincidence, I’m a fan of yours too!“

- Yeah, he still, till this day, pokes fun at you for that line and the high octave with which you said it

- It’s a golden moment, the perfect start to something even better

- At his offer/question, the two of you exchanged contact info and other social media after the stream ended and promised to talk about a collab soon

- Bad thing is, you couldn’t even focus on the excitement of the idea when you knew you were a con artist in the current scenario

- So, you did what any reasonable person would do: pulled an all-nighter watching his videos to get a clue as to what kind of content he put out and what his personality was like on camera

- Turns out, the camera probably makes no difference whatsoever, judging by his energy, he’s a crackhead 24/7

- And you were well aware you had enough of that energy for three lifetimes, but you were still willing to see it through and see where it would take you

- Well, since I’m from the future, I can tell you that it’s led you to an engagement

- Yup, almost two years following your meeting and a hundred collabs (the last of which was the proposal itself) later, you and Charlie live in a shared apartment, engaged to be married

- See what I meant when I said you count time in anniversaries now?

- There’s now two eras of your life you can clearly distinguish: medium chaos era and maximum chaos era

- The latter you’re still living out with your fiancée by your side

- If things go as planned, you’ll be living in this era till the obligatory ‘death do you part’

- Many things will change by then

- Hell, many things have already changed

- But one factor has remained a constant

- Charlie continues to watch each and every single one of your videos, giving Jack a run for his money for the position of leader of your fan club

- Speaking of Jack...

- He couldn’t be happier for the two of you, his body wouldn’t be able to contain a single ounce more of joy without combusting

- But he is quite salty about the idea of being taken down from his pedestal as your biggest fan

- Let’s be honest though, he stands no chance when compared to the man that’s head over heels in love with you and randomly tells you so in your stream chat just to make you giggle like a dummy mid-stream

- A love story of the times witnessed by thousands of people, what more can I say other than

- Beautiful

#moistcr1tikal #moistcritical #moistcr1tikal fanfic #moistcr1tikal x reader #moist critikal #moist cr1tikal x you #moist cr1tikal imagine #penguinz0 #penguinz0 x reader #penguinz0 fanfic #penguinz0 fanfiction #penguinz0 imagine #penguinz0 x you #reader #x reader #request #headcanons #moist cr1tikal headcanons #penguinz0 headcanons

[lastlifeforfans]

Last Life: For Fans Server

I’m proud to announce I’m opening a Last Life server for fans! 

Last Life: For Fans, or LLFF for short, will follow the same premise as the original server. It will implement the random lives system, the boogeyman mechanics, and /givelife commands.

I am looking for 10-20 applicants, 18 years or older, preferably North American residents (due to server ping), with a Minecraft: Java Edition account to join the server.

APPLY HERE.

I recommend reading this entire post before applying.

As a university student, with two jobs and a full class schedule, I rarely get the chance to engage with others about one of my favorite games, Minecraft. As a fan of Last Life and general MCYT, I thought it would be really cool to create and run a server for folks like me -  those who may not have the time to play or watch Minecraft everyday, but want to connect with other fans and make new connections. 

The server will be run similarly to how the OG Last Life server is run - it will only be open during a certain day and time, from 2-6 hours, and we will ask that all players hop on then to progress the game and have some fun. Once members are chosen, we will figure out a time that works best for everyone to play.

You do not need to be a diehard fan of the series to apply. However, I do ask that applicants are actual fans of Last Life and only apply that can dedicate 2-6 hours of their week to the server. 

If you’re interested, please apply here: https://forms.gle/BhRKDcofBU5cfaaM8

Common Concerns/Questions

What are you looking for in applicants? Are there requirements to apply?

You must be 18 years or older.

You must own a Minecraft: Java Edition account.

You must have a decent* mic and be comfortable talking in VC. Communication is important and generally can make playing more fun and engaging. (*Decent means anyone listening should be able to hear your voice clearly and easily without background noises or buzzing.)

You must have a Discord account.

I am generally looking for people who have good sportsmanship, love Minecraft and want to have some fun. :)

Why do you have to be 18 years or older to apply?

Mainly because I want to connect with older fans of Last Life. I think it’s harder for those folks to connect with others with similar interests and backgrounds IRL. I’m hoping that this requirement can help garner the attention of the more mature fanbase, who are also passionate about Minecraft, but just don’t have the time to play it 24/7.

Do you have to be a content creator or be able to record footage to join?

NO! In fact, I recommend not creating video content from anything that happens on the server, due to the fact this is a very similar, if not a straight up copy of the OG Last Life server. Like previously stated, this is for the community to have fun and create connections. :)

Why create a fan server in the style of Last Life? 

I really like Last Life in the sense that it’s not a traditional vanilla server. With a Last Life style gamemode, there’s no pressure in making giant or impressive builds, but rather focuses on camaraderie, partnerships, and communication. There is also a beginning and end to the server, whereas in vanilla smp’s, new players are often left behind until a new season or restart happens - some players cannot afford to play everyday and grind, and that’s the appealing point of LLFF. With a set schedule that works with everyone, I’m hoping LLFF can become a way for older fans to connect and have fun without being left behind like in larger public vanilla servers.

Who’s managing the server? What plugins are you using?

You can call me Yonbon (They/Them) - I’m the server owner and admin. :) I am running the server on Paper Spigot Java 1.17.1 and I am using the fan-made Last Life server plugin developed by Xcalibur8, along with general performance plugins as well as the Simple Voice Chat Mod (Proximity Chat).

You can find Xcalibur8’s plugin here. I highly recommend donating to them for creating it.

If you have any questions or comments, let me know in the asks!

Applications are due November 14th, 2021 at 11:59pm, PST.

Thank you, and goodluck!

#last life #last life smp #trafficblr #mcyt #mcyt fandom #hermitcraft #hermitblr #llsmp #i'm not sure what else i should tag this as but please help spread the word! #thank you for reading this far! #feeling a lot more confident about this and now the tags have changed! #minor updates and edits have happened as this post gained more traction #always feel free to ask questions! #last life for fans #last life for fans server #llffsmp #llff