#only tangentially but i should keep it under that tag i think

[figureofdismay]

i have recently become obsessed with understanding Teena Mulder and her part of the story. Not that CC et all gave us very much to work with for her, but her story is deeply fascinating and horrifying. It's especially interesting to me to try to see the ways she would and wouldn't have agency once she was trapped in Bill Mulder's world, what were choices or rebellions or willing consorting, what was the result of fear and blackmail and situational paralysis.

#i should have expected this about me but i did not! #i didn't really pay attention to the 'older' part of the story as a baby shipper all i cared about the msr ust #so it all kind of went over my head and I don't remember a lot of details #i need to speedrun the historical parts of the mytharc and try to get what I can from it #she just fascinates me tbh! especially in the context of her potentially being jewish/raised (american middle class) jewish in the 30s & 40 #and that in the context of the conspiracy and the disgusting projects bill and CSM were involved in/the monsters they collaborated with #i don't actually think CC or anyone thought any of those implications through! but it does make it compulsively horrifying and fascinating! #txf #character theory: mulder #only tangentially but i should keep it under that tag i think

[yansurnummu]

A Variation of the Truth (3/?)

(1/2/3)

Auredil wasn’t always like this. He was a hero once, a good mer; but things don’t always go the way they should.

(View on AO3 for tags)

After their last encounter, Lindir hasn’t seen Auredil in a few weeks. He tried not to let it get to him, he really did. But after the third week of no sign of him, he can’t help feeling like he’s being avoided. He sort of respects it, in a way; the mer can really stay out of sight when he wants to.

“You seen Auredil around?” he asks Fatima one night, down in the cistern.

“Not for a few days, no,” she answers, holding out her open palm when he approaches the bar. Lindir rolls his eyes.

“What’s the tab?”

“Eight gold,” she says and Lindir groans, digging through his pockets and placing the coins in her hand. “Ask Andarri at the docks. She’ll track him down if it’s urgent.”

“Ugh. Thanks, Fatima,” he gives her a nod, but still feels rather dejected as he turns to leave. He’d really rather not have to deal with Andarri.

“Oh, one more thing,” she stops him, and when he turns back she’s reaching for something under the bar. “I found a couple High Elves in town named Naemon, but none that fit the bill. However,” she pulls out a book, setting it on the bar. “I found something… wild.”

“History of the Aldmeri Dominion?” Lindir reads the title, giving her a skeptical look.

“Yeah, hear me out,” she chuckles, flipping through the pages before landing on a page filled in with a copy of a painted portrait. The painting appears to be a group of soldiers, in front of the wheel of a ship inlaid with an Aldmeri script. “So, these guys were a big deal, right? I mean, the Auridon Marines were like, super elite.” 

Lindir reads the caption while she talks. 9th Squadron of the Royal Armada aboard the Grace of the Queen, 2E 582. Below that, there’s all the crew members’ names–

“Captain Auredil of Lillandril?” he says in quiet disbelief, and Fatima scoffs.

“I was getting to that!” she pouts at him. “Fine, just, look at him,” she points out the Captain in the portrait. He looks young, clean-shaven, long red hair pulled back away from his face. He’s lightly armoured in shades of gold, teal, and brown, his posture tall. It’s a bit of a stretch, but Lindir can almost see the resemblance.

“So, you think this is our Auredil? The guy who you’ve found sleeping under the docks with the rats? Who’s bar tab I keep picking up?” Lindir questions, his brow furrowed.

“Honestly, I dunno. But ain’t it just such a coincidence?” she argues, flipping the page to the next. “I only opened this book ‘cause I was revisiting the records about the Prince. The 9th Squadron was there the day he died, and according to this, their Captain just… vanished, a few days later,” she shrugs, shutting the book and sliding it towards Lindir. “And that’s kinda it. No more mention of him after that.” Lindir stares down the cover of the book for a moment, contemplating.

“What do you make of it?” he asks, fixing Fatima with a serious look. She sighs, shaking her head.

“Well, it’s a bit odd, honestly. These High Elf texts rarely paint anyone of authority in a negative light, so, to me, it seems… intentional? The way they’ve described his disappearance,” Fatima leans against the bar, her chin in her hands. “Like they tried to cover something up. My favourite example of this was Rilis XII,” she says tangentially, her tone becoming excited. “High Elves do this thing a lot where they say oh, yeah, he disappeared, died, whatever, when it turns out they were either into some really fucked up shit, or just didn’t live up to some ridiculous societal norm, and it’s always a lot of fun to dig up which it is.”

“Hm,” Lindir scratches his head, frowning. He barely even understands the politics of where he came from, let alone of a place he’d never been. It all seems very pointless and convoluted to him.

“Look, I know the look of someone drowning their sorrows in liquor; I’ve known that about him since the beginning,” she leans forward, her voice taking on a softer tone. “Lots of folks lost things in the war, we both know this. Your parents, my wife. Shit, even Andarri lost her eye on the front lines.”

Fatima takes a breath, frowning. “I don’t think it matters what they might’ve covered up. You can’t judge people based on where they came from, or where they’ve been. You have to meet them where they are now.” Lindir thinks on this for a moment, nodding.

“That’s… actually very insightful.” he comments, earning a shove to his shoulder. “No, really!” he laughs, and Fatima shakes her head, going back to tidying up the bar. 

“You can take that with you, but it’s a loaner,” she nods her head towards the book.

“Thanks,” he tucks it under his arm, giving her a smile. “I’m gonna go before I feel the need to say something sappy.”

“Oof, yeah, go, please,” Fatima grimaces in mock disgust, shooing him away.

==================

He felt nothing, for the longest time. Had it been days, weeks, years? He couldn’t, for the life of him, recall.

Life – funny thing, that. He was dead, wasn’t he? There was a person, a dagger, a sharp pain, and then it was cold, cold, cold. 

He could remember that much; a mer with pale blond hair, and a feeling accompanying him. Did he love him? Hate him? Fear him? He wanted to scream, but his actions felt foggy, his mind untethered.

There was a low, guttural horn, rhythmic as it echoed through stone halls and metal bars. There was a tall warrior, her grip on his arm firm as they ran. 

Only a few of her words stuck with him. Coldharbour. Lyris. Molag Bal. Prophet. Invasion.

He could remember a creature made of bone, all wrong in its configuration. White-hot pain as it tore into him, pleading with Meridia to give him her aid to no avail. He needed her now more than ever, but she did not hear him.

Auredil awoke suddenly, his body wracked with pain. He felt faint as he tried to get up, unsure of his surroundings, trying to climb out of the cot he was in. 

Panic began to cloud his mind as he hit the floor instead, staring at the ceiling, and he had the creeping realization that his right leg felt numb from the knee down.

He forced his gaze away from the ceiling, a whimper escaping him when he finally looked down. It wasn’t numb; it just simply wasn’t there. His breathing came rapid as he covered his face with a trembling hand. 

He thought it had just been an awful dream.

“You’re up,” Auredil snapped his attention to the door he hadn’t noticed crack open in his panic. There stood a Khajiit he didn’t know, but thought looked vaguely familiar. “You have Raz’s condolences about the… hm,” he gestured, and all Auredil could do was stare at him, wide-eyed.

“What happened? Where am I?” he asked, trying once more to sit up. “Who are you?”

“So many questions,” he looked over his shoulder before shutting the door behind him and taking a step into the room. “This one does not believe we ever formally met. Razum-dar,” he held out his hand, and Auredil took it, wincing as he was helped onto the edge of the cot, steadied by strong arms.

“Auredil,” he offered as the recognition struck him. “You’re one of the Queen’s agents.”

“Yes, and you are the missing Captain,” Razum-dar left him to cross the room, seating himself in a chair. Auredil gave him a worried glance. “It’s been about two weeks since Lieutenant Cennewen reported you were gone.”

“Oh, Gods, Cennewen,” he muttered. He couldn’t help feeling like he’d made an ass of himself last time he saw her.

“She’s fine. Received a promotion, in fact,” Razum-dar assured him, but he couldn’t deny the guilt. “So… missing Captain falls from the sky into the sea. Care to explain?”

“I…” Auredil’s eyes fell to the floor. “I was in Elden Root,” he thought aloud, trying to put the pieces together. He remembered Naemon, a wave of nausea coming over him, his words stolen by the tightness in his throat. He heard Razum-dar sigh across the room.

“The Lieutenant told me as much,” his voice was sympathetic. 

“There was… a woman?” Auredil stumbled, his eyes widening as he looked back at the Khajiit. “I died. Am I dead?”

“That is above Raz’s paygrade,” he shrugged, “you look alive enough. More so than when this one’s associate pulled you from the sea.” 

Auredil could feel himself listing with only one foot planted on the floor, and for his own sanity, he dared not look back down. He lost himself in his own head for a moment, lamenting his situation. He couldn’t help feeling as though the mourning never ended.

“What am I to do?” he asked softly, and it was more rhetorical than anything. Razum-dar hummed, standing.

“You could always retire. Maybe open a vineyard in Russafeld,” he offered, his tone sarcastic as he paced, and Auredil grimaced at the idea. “Or, you can come work for Raz.”

“But…” he trailed off, not wanting to admit how useless he felt in the moment.

“You’ll have a prosthetic built. Give it a few weeks, you’ll be good as new,” he assured Auredil, coming to stop in front of him. “So, what say you?”

He looked up at Razum-dar. He supposed he didn’t really have any choice.

==================

Sometimes Lindir misses Valenwood. He misses the graht-oaks, the endless green of the jungle, the dense canopy above him. As a child, he would try to climb to the top, to get above it all, but it was always too far for him to reach. 

He remembers when his youngest sister broke her arm falling from the base of one of those trees, how livid his mother was with him. He was always the bad influence, always getting into trouble.

Reaching the top is easier in the city, he thinks. He pulls himself up over the ledge of the roof without much issue, turning back to face the harbour. The blue is nice too, he supposes.

Sometimes he wonders what his life would be like had he stayed, had he not lost his home, his parents, his sisters. Are they rolling in their graves? Do they approve of the life he’s chosen?

It doesn’t matter to him, not really. He doubts he’d be happy as a Spinner, always staying in one place and telling the same stories over and over again. He thinks, hopes, they may have understood that. Their little girl growing up to be their son may have been a bit of a surprise, he thinks, chuckling to himself. 

It doesn’t matter; but part of him wishes they could see him now.

His mind wanders back to Auredil, as he sits with his journal in his lap. Before he really thinks about it, he starts drawing an image of his face. He isn’t a great artist, not like Coralantar, but he supposes it looks like him. A little.

He sighs to himself in annoyance, resting his head against the heel of his hand as his eyes bear into the crude drawing. He’s in love with Auredil, isn’t he?

It isn’t something he wants to admit to himself. He just doesn’t fall in love with people. Besides, he doubts Auredil would feel the same, not with the way he’s avoiding him. Lindir probably crossed some line and fucked up his chances, like he always does. He’d never been very good at keeping people close to him. He was always too loud, too intense, too hot-headed. Not to mention all the partners he’d had who simply just didn’t care for what’s in his pants.

That always stung the worst, he thinks. He could try his best to be more gentle, more kind, but in the end, it’s always the thing farthest from his control. And with that knowledge, it’s difficult to want to try at all.

They can take him as he is, or not at all. He rips the drawing out, crumples it up into a ball, and throws it off the roof.

==================

It wasn’t nearly as easy a transition as Razum-dar made it seem. The trip back to Alinor took two weeks, where he spent his time mulling about the ship on crutches, entirely miserable.

He then spent a week in an apartment he was given on behalf of the Queen, a gilded prison cell where a physician would visit him every other day. He still couldn’t bring himself to look, even as they inspected his leg and took measurements.

It felt like an eternity before the physician finally returned, accompanied by a mage carrying some sort of heavy case. He didn’t really understand the mechanics of it even as they explained it to him, but he let them fit him with the new limb. It was some combination of magic and clockwork, the metal lightweight but sturdy, and he could see that it contained many small, complex parts as they assembled it.

For the first time, he looked down at it without anxiety. The mage clicked something into place, and suddenly he could feel it again. It was odd, different, but it was the first time since he woke up to it that he didn’t feel dreadfully hopeless.

He walked with a cane for another week, but he’d never been so relieved to be walking at all.

Soon, he ventured as far as the market, though he couldn’t help cursing the amount of stairs he’d never really paid much mind to before. He wandered through the shops and stalls, without any real intention besides getting out for a bit.

He passed a silversmith’s cart, the various pieces of jewellery glinting in the sun catching his eye. One piece in particular drew his attention, like it was something he’d lost long ago and forgotten about. It was a medallion the size of a gold coin, a faceted golden sun encircled with silver rays, hanging from a pressed silver chain. He’d seen it before, he could recall; it was the same design etched into Meridia’s statue he’d seen so long ago now.

Auredil paid the jeweller quickly and left the market. He walked down past the city gates, ignoring the way his injury began to ache. By the time he made it to the beach, he was leaning heavily on the cane, pushing past sharp bolts of pain with every step.

Finally, he allowed himself to collapse in the sand.

“Meridia?” he tried, his voice meek, clutching the amulet in his hand. “I know I angered you. I was so foolish,” he admitted, tears pricking his eyes.

The pain in his leg frustrated him to no end. He wanted nothing more than for it all to just stop. And he realized, if he hadn’t pushed her away, perhaps none of it would have happened in the first place. Perhaps he would not have lost all that he had to Coldharbour.

“I was wrong,” he pleaded, hoping she would hear him this time, “I’m sorry.”

He sat there in the sand for a while, resigning that he would not hear a reply. He cursed his injury, knowing deep down that he had pushed his body too far, and he would have to remain until the pain faded at least a little.

“My poor child,” he heard, and he gasped in relief. Through his wallowing, he had not noticed the warmth emitting from the amulet he held. “I so regret what he has done to you.”

“My lady,” Auredil breathed, “I’m so sorry. I did not mean what I said.”

“You have suffered much. I hope you see now that you need me,” her voice was softer, comforting.

“I do. I pray you can forgive me.”

“I cannot change what has been done. But I will keep my promise, if you keep yours.”

Auredil shuddered as the warmth washed over him, and he could feel that small spark of power return to him. His eyes widened as the pain in his leg subsided, overwhelmed by the relief of it. It wasn’t gone by any means, but it was reduced to a dull ache where it had once been a searing, sharp pain.

“Thank you,” his eyes fell to the amulet in his hand.

“Get up,” she urged, though not unkindly, and Auredil did, planting his cane as best he could in the sand to get to his feet. “You are my warrior, and I expect you to act like it.” 

He nodded and straightened himself, like she was his mother reprimanding his posture. “I will call on you in time. Until then, continue serving your mortal Queen. Aid those who would fight against Molag Bal.”

“Yes, my lady,” he dipped his head, before sensing her presence dissipate.

His gaze found the amulet once more, and he almost felt as though she wasn’t gone entirely. He slipped it over his head, letting it rest against his sternum under his shirt, before beginning the trek back to Alinor with a newfound purpose.

#yans writes #elder scrolls online #auredil #lindir nightshade #fatima at bergama

[troop52]

do u !!! have any character theme songs for the troop boys? Like any songs you think really fits them (and why u think it fits)?

THATS A GREAT QUESTION!!

Before I get into it Im going to plug this collaborative Troop Playlist on Spotify, feel free to add onto it!! Continuing with my picks

I think a lot of the songs I associate with The Troop in general are just because I happened to listen to them around the same time I got into the book in the first place (So they could only be tangentially related BUT only if you squint hard) Example: Drunk by The Living Tombstone, cant really tie it into the story but in my mind its linked Some better, more fitting songs under the cut (Side note its LONGGG IM SORRY... Also its all YouTube links because some of these arent on Spotify :'^()

Disclaimer -Like 95% of my choices arent really a "These lyrics match up exactly 1 to 1" but more of an overall "the vibe/general idea its trying to capture lines up" type thing. If that makes sense.

Its Alright by Jack Stauber: Kind of self explanatory, I think its a perfect song for these guys. From "It's alright, I'm here, Everything's alright, Feels weird but calm, I wanna hear It's alright" to the whole sound of it- its all great. Equal parts distressing and sad with an almost eerie calmness to it. Despite it all theyre gonna be alright, right?

The Second Little Piggy by Worthikids: Another one that I think is sort of self explanatory- at least with the chorus. "If my brain turns to mush, If the shit hits the fan, Will you be my friend?" Kind of the falling apart of everything, specifically their relationships, in light of the incident.

Poor George by James Supercave: Another case of "listened to at the same time I read the book" BUT I was actually making a Troop PMV script with that song. I never finished it but maybe Ill revisit it... just for you

Cold Summer by Le Matos ft Computer Magic: I dont even think this takes place in the summer but the VIBES and also it came from Summer of 84, which is another good piece of murder boy media.

Treehouse by Alex G ft Emily Yacina: This is a Eef and Max type of song because they are bffs and thats final. Basic song because Im not creative, but I think its a nice heart to heart theyd have (with Eef doing the talking)

Fifteen Minuets by Nick Krol: On the flipside heres a song that goes with Eef and Maxs friendship fracturing, once again more from Eefs side than Maxs. THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTINGGG

As far as songs for the boys as individuals hmmm thats a good one that I havent thought about as much...

MAX + The Ghosts by The Real Tuesday Weld: That survivors guilt... lyrics arent like a perfect match but I think it gets that sort of hollow feeling across. Hes haunted man... + Final Girl by Electric Youth: Ok its a little funny because har har Final Girl Trope but I mean HE IS ONE. ANd dont look at me its a nice song- "Others were gone, and you kept going on, You know they never really noticed, you were always different, One by one, They're all done, And you're the last one standing" + Going Grazy by Lonesome Wyatt and the Holy Spooks: HONESTLY this could go for all the characters but Im tagging it onto Max because hes the one who has to deal with the aftermath of losing everyone (sorry survivors guilt Max again </3) "Everyone's saying my mind is unsound, 'Cause I always see you when you aren't around" "They're gonna wrap me in a jacket of white, And lock me away in a room without light" is what cements it as a Max song for me

EEF + The Existential Threat by Sparks: Once again starting sad, I link this one specifically to his paranoia about the worms- especially with lines like "Can't they see the existential threat is on its way". Kind of exasperated no one else can see the danger (he thinks) hes in. + Wrecking Ball by Mother Mother: I know I know its basic but I cant help it!!! Eef anger issues arc we are shaking hands me too + Haunted by Laura Les: Eef struggles with people seeing him as "just like his father" and I think we can get some good angst out of this track if we keep that in mind. Especially the back half of the song with lyrics like "Do you think I'm frightening?" and "Mirrors shatter when I'm passing, broken glass and crashing" since he is just a reflection of his dad (to others at least). Also song good.

KENT + Goodbye Mr A by The Hoosiers: Mfw the disillusionment with authority sets in. I think the vibe fits when he had that little epiphany about how adults are fucked- not perfect but it gets the idea across me thinks. + I'm Gonna Win by Rob Cantor: Ties into his need to "win" aka be the best at everything, be in charge, all that jazz! Hell do whatever it takes to be successful, even if it hurts. That was a little emo + Toba the Tura by Forgive Durden ft Chris Conley: Not to be emo again but "They say you're gifted, well I just see a scared kid. They must have flipped it, your skills are latent. O, you snuffed the glow. Replaced it with coals. Threw away the throne... This mess that you've made, it's a six-foot grave. It's a home for your lonesome bones that remain. We'll disappear, but you'll stay here to rot" AND SO ON AND SO FOURTH representing his fall after it was revealed he was sick. He was referred to as "the uncrowned king" and was on top of the world but then POOF that all crumbled and it was made out that he basically deserved what happened to him. It would be fun to make a pmv of him with this song (Simplifying my thoughts a bit because Ive already written a LOT)

NEWT + I Earn My Life by Lemon Demon: Ok a little Kentcore but Im actually having a hard time coming up with songs for Newton so here we are, they can share. Newt existential crisis moment time I guess + Know How by The Crane Wives: POV Newt struggles with going through with the plans he makes to keep everyone safe (stopping Max from touching Kent, going back into the cabin, etc) "I am not brave, I am not brave, I keep my focus on what is safe, You drew a line, made up your mind, And now I'm struggling to realize" And also maybe struggling with his place in the group and as a person in general- all that living through his cousin thing. "I gotta wrap my head around, What my heart is telling me, I've been trying to drown it out, Just because I know what I am, I am supposed to do now, Doesn't mean I know, Doesn't mean I know how" + On The Outside by Oingo Boingo: Idk man. Hes on the outside lookin in!! Loner nerd!! Its ok though, we still love him

SHEL + Bad Blood by Creature Feature: The lyrics speak for themselves: "I can guarantee I will do evil things, The only way that you can stop me now, Is if you put me in the ground, Somewhere I'll never be found" + Frontier Psychologist by The Avalanches: Hinges on the fact that the principal or whoever was like "Your sons a freak" and Shels mom was like "HES PERFECTLY FINE" while Shelley was like dismembering an animal or something + Johnny by American Murder Song: The songs good but theres this ONE LYRIC that sucks so the link provided is an edited version and also a lovely Warriors oc video I think you should all enjoy and support <3 Anyway Shel would be Johnny I could see this song being a scene in the book. Field trip to Shels house and they find his murder garden

If anyone wants more for Im not opposed to making another post :^)

#SORRY THIS TOOK A BIT #I had to use my brainpower and I am very easily distracted #max kirkwood #ephraim elliot #kent jenks #newton thornton #shelley longpre #the troop #the troop nick cutter

[rosequartzstarswrites]

Fic Writer Interview

Thank you to @accio-broom for the tag!

Name: rosequartzstars

Fandoms I write for: Mostly Harry Potter, mainly Romione, though I indulge in the occasional Hinny and, more recently, superficial Drarry. I’m trying to start writing for Tolkien, and will probably have some Sam/Frodo underway before long!

Two-shot: I don’t know if this counts as a two-shot considering it’s part of a series, but I have written two vignettes under the series Of Interrupted Sleep, which is a canon universe series exploring how I imagine Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny dealt with the post-war PTSD and comforted each other through it.

Most popular multichapter: Well, if going only by stats, it would have to be the Muggle AU In Another Universe, where Ron and Hermione (and the rest of the gang) are all college professors in a Cambridge University-like setting. This was my first longfic ever! However, I have been absolutely blown away by how much readers seem to enjoy Rosebury Grounds, a WIP Muggle Edwardian AU featuring two tales of forbidden love between Drarry and Romione. I’m having a lot of fun with this one and I’ve been wanting to write it for a year, so I’d be inclined to pick it.

Worst part of writing: Trying to shove it aside to get real-life things done. Sometimes I’ll want to write instead of doing my assignments or focusing on school, so the hardest part is definitely pushing my desire to write aside to pay attention to the more tangible, real-life activities that I should place first.

How you choose your titles: Either they pop into my head during the writing, based on a thematic phrase or one I like the sound of, or the title precedes the fic and I build the fic from there.

Do you outline: Religiously. I always have a good idea of where I want the story to go, and I make sure that I have a concrete plan for every chapter so I can make sure to add everything that needs to be added to get to the next chapter and so I can keep myself on track with the plot. 

Ideas I probably won’t get to but it would be nice: I've had a Wolfstar angsty Muggle AU floating around in my head since last year, but I’ve been putting it off ever since I became more active in fan communities and realized many of the tropes I had originally envisioned for it could fall into MLM fetishization or Bury Your Gays/Too Good For This Sinful Earth if I didn’t handle them with enough tact and empathy. I want to be careful with this story not to perpetrate stereotypes and harmful perceptions, but until I can fix the glaring issues central to the plot that I devised before I became more thoroughly educated on harmful queer-fiction tropes, this is not going to happen.

Callouts @ me: Not every sentence has to be overladen with clauses or overly complicated. This is not the SAT, not every word has to be a big word. And stay off the adjectives and adverbs!

Best writing habits: I see a story through before I start another one. I had the idea for Rosebury when I was 20 chapters into IAU, but I managed to place it on the back burner and give IAU the attention it deserved before I let myself delve into Rosebury. I never start a story I’m not sure I can finish, mostly because I as a reader would hate that, and I think that’s a good habit.

Spicy tangential opinion: Well-written dirty talk is just about the most sublime things a piece of writing can contain. If the dialogue is good enough to get you hot and bothered without a) being one of the 2+ people described as having sex and b) an excessive description, you’re doing it right. Some of my favorite fics I go back to not because of the actual smut, but because the preceding dirty talk never fails to get me going.

TAGGING: @unablearethelovedtodie @cheesyficwriter @be11atrixthestrange

#i answer!! #meta #writing process #this was so much fun and got me to reflect!

[trulycertain]

fic writer interview

Tagged by @skogrr Thank you very much! It's a while since I've done one of these, and I've missed them.

Name: Tru/"Oi you" Fandoms (that I write for): Dragon Age, mostly. Still the fandom of my heart. Mass Effect, Deus Ex... uh, accidentally GreedFall? I don't know how or when that happened. Two-shot: Hmm... The actual last two-shot I wrote was Terms & Conditions, a very silly Dorian/Inquisitor modern AU where Gal is the guy Dorian hires to stop his late father's house falling apart. Recently? I suspect that's going to be Driftwood, which can stand on its own as a sort of weird post-canon first-meeting AU, but is trying to tempt me to continue it. (Vasco ends up going looking for Tír Fradí, which has disappeared - and finds it. He also finds De Sardet as a highly avoidant tree god of the island, post-Bad Ending, who transformed against her will. And he ends up falling in love with her anyway.) Weird tree gods! Pining by literal pine! An eventual happy ending! More grumpy commentary by Vasco!

Most popular multi-chapter: Either An Unquenchable Flame or Distraction, probably - both juggernaut pairings, the former close to the game's release and the latter with some fancy forbidden romance, so not so surprising. But surprisingly, Prague, 10:42 PM has done really well, considering it's for a small fandom (Deus Ex) and a rarepair age/rank-difference pairing that I thought would be a one-off experiment? I get it, guys. I like sad repressed stoics too.

Actual worst part of writing: Editing - which can be fun, but that "over and over" stage when you're about to post, especially in a longfic if you fear you've lost the spirit of the thing and the character voices and you can't see the wood for the trees. And when I have to remove a whole scene which Jenga-unbalances the fic, and then I have to redux from the top. Basically, most things to do with pacing. How you choose your titles: I like double-meanings and one word titles. If that fails: quote from a song. If that fails: quote from poetry, but very rarely. Do you outline: Only a little. A bulletpointed list of events or noted-down major lines of dialogue, that's usually it.

Ideas I probably won’t get around to but wouldn’t it be nice: Uh... oh god. I blame so many people for some of these.

Post-Destroy ending where John is attempting to build a shed on Rannoch because that's the kind of thing retired people do, right? and Tali is far better at it than him, and it's just... disgusting fluff.

Actually, just reduxing the early John/Tali stuff with a bit more nuance and a stronger style.

Eva and Kaidan, and their mutually wary first meeting. ("Wow, that's a lot of pomade." "Wow, that's a lot of death-glare.")

AU where Gal and Dorian never met in DAI, and after everything went down, Gal tried to fade into the shadows and leave. He ended up working in Tevinter as an occasional informant/odd-jobs guy the way he was pre-Inquisition. He ends up being a gardener for a bitter, wry magister who seems to hate the entire Magisterium, has recently lost his father to political scheming and murder, and wants to take down the entirety of the remaining Venatori with one staff and maybe his teeth if he has to (hi, Dorian). But first, Dorian's going to drink his own body weight in whiskey and be a recluse for a while and start thinking about time magic again. Gal is trying to keep his head down and should definitely not be falling in love with said magister. Who's someday going to end up at one of the more southerly ports, come across a statue of the great Inquisitor, and go, Oh.

Stuff on Jensen's PT and rebuilding himself post-augs. More of Proprioception, basically.

Mer-AU where Marie De Sardet is still a diplomat attempting to make new connections, just not a human one, and it's a disaster. An awkward disaster. Highlights include her being framed as the beast trying to drown their best captain; her attempting to wobble about on brand-new legs and Vasco's coat while everyone assumes the dear captain has had a few too many; her asking Vasco if his "fascinating markings" glow; them getting into a duel, and her (fondly) getting punted off the side of the ship going "Woo-hoo." OK, I wrote a bit of that, but only a 1k doodle I'll probably never return to.

Non-Naut court AU where Marie gets promised to Bastien D'Arcy, because he's a bit of a layabout but he's also rich, popular at court, and amenable to bribe - [cough] suggestion, and the D'Arcys have prominent trading links with the Alliance. Instead she falls for his far less of a social butterfly, tired, worried-numbers-guy brother Léandre, who's pretty damn uncomfortable around Nauts because he's well aware he nearly got sold to them and he is not the favourite.

Straight-up role-reversal AU (another thing where I've put down 1k that I'll probably never return to), where Marie's Naut name is Paz, and she's a fed-up second-mate who's tired of noble idiots and feels a little strange and conflicted about her mark (and has context for it, because they make frequent crossings to Tír Fradí). Also a little more jaded, without the love of her mother, and not nearly as much of a tryhard as Vasco in canon; she ended up here because she had nowhere else to go and the Nauts were like "Ooh, free kid," and she's well aware. She gets stuck escorting the D'Arcy brothers to Tír Fradí for their new venture and is not looking forward to it. Except one of them is intensely bright and wry and keeps asking questions about the ship and noticing shit he is definitely not meant to notice, and they keep ending up in strange conversations, even if he seems really, really wary and uncomfortable about Nauts.

Some vague stuff about Vasco's thoughts on Jonas and that whole side quest, considering he's also a sea-given and implies sea-given take some shit in the Nauts, and also how damn difficult it must be watching a sea-given's parents endeavour to get their kid back when he knows full well his didn't do that for him.

Actually, just more Vasco POV in general, even though he's damn hard to nail down. I've written much pining for him from Marie's perspective, and I'd like to try things from the opposite. This guy's idea of wooing someone perfectly normally is to panic and then recite Baroque poetry. You know he's sappy as hell in the privacy of his own head, even if he's trying not to be.

Jean and Síora having the "I'm a sad healer who just lost my mother and I'm trying so hard not to crumble under the weight of assisting the leader" mutual talk way too late at night around the campfire and maybe him crying on her shoulder a little, with mutual kindness and the beginnings of attraction, and her finally getting past his jokey-smug facade to understand him.

More stuff about Jean's past in general, and how he wanted to be a doctor before he was dragged away from it by looking after Constantin and being nobility.

Síora and Eseld and the ways they changed over the years; something like an exploration of grief and growing her own will and the ways they very differently view the renaigse. Also maybe more about the en ol menawi magic, if I can worldbuild well enough?

I'd also love to do a GreedFall soulmark AU - it's generally not my kind of trope, I'm not into biological determinism type tropes - just because names and aliases and assumed identities are such a mess in GreedFall and it's a repeated plot point. That said, I feel like it's been done so beautifully in this fandom before that I wouldn't have much to add.

Callouts @ me: So. Many. Commas. So much over-explaining everything. If they get out of the car, your readers do not need a five-page manual of "and then he undid his seatbelt and leaned over to grasp the door handle, and then pulled it, and then stepped a foot out before he almost thought better of it - but no, he was going to get out of this car. The other foot joined the first, and he nearly banged his head on the doorframe."

Best writing traits: People say I have a head for finding small-but-important moments. I'm also told I write likeable protags. People have more than once said my writing makes them feel safe or makes them smile, and I really couldn't ask for more than that. I'll take those.

Spicy tangential opinion: I don't think I have any, really? Oh god, that makes me sound so very boring. Oh! Um. There should be more tree body horror in fandom. And body horror in general. *thumbsup*

No pressure tagging: @artemis-crimson, @eridanidreams,@rainypixel, @aphreal42.

#tru talks #memes #long post

[nicad13]

Fic Writer Interview

Tagged by: @retro-jupiter Aw, thanks!

Name: NiCad. She’s an unabashed self-insert Transformers character I wrote like, 25 years ago. Unlike most self-inserts, she’s clumsy, nerdy, non-charismatic, and had no romantic relationship in the story she appeared in.

Fandoms: Currently Mandalorian, but I started writing fanfic with Transformers back in 1996! I have a huge re-write of my old stuff I’ve been working on for years but haven’t touched since Mando grabbed me. I’ll circle back to it eventually.

Two-shot: I think my only one is Turning the Corner – an exploration of Din’s younger years, his not-so-enjoyable time with Xi’an, and the possible reasons he was able to get out of that situation.

Most popular multi-chapter: Crossroads. Post-season 1, Din runs in to a Jedi survivor of Order 66. The kid takes a liking to her. Din learns that armor isn’t the only thing that can protect them. Angst, adventure, intrigue, and found family shenanigans ensue.

Actual worst part of writing: I used to think it was the demons in my head that wouldn’t shut up about the stories they want to tell. Usually it was exhilarating, but sometimes it was annoying when I’d get distracted from work & other real-life things that needed my attention. Now I realize it’s when the demons get half-way through the story and then go silent. WHERE DID YOU GO WE HAVE UNFINISHED BUSINESS. I can coax them back out when I have long, uninterrupted stretches of time, but I don’t seem to get those very often.

How you choose your titles: I usually go for a few words that I think will grab the most attention and are still descriptive of the story. For the Crossroads chapter titles, I stuck with the format of that Mandalorian had for the episode titles: “The [Noun].” The exception was the last episode, which was simply “Redemption,” so I did the same with the last chapter: “Home.”

Do you outline: Not usually. My one-shots usually come in one short, intense burst, downloaded directly from the brain demons, so they don’t require one. For long, multi-chapter ones where I’m jumping around and not writing linearly, I’ll set up a timeline after a while so I have something quick to refer to and remind myself of what happens when. This (hopefully) keeps me from referring to things that haven’t happened yet by mistake, and also keeps things like X happened a few weeks ago during chapter 1, a few months ago during chapter 2, six months ago in chapter 3, etc. One thing I do try to be good about is getting to the computer as soon as I can when a snippet hits me so I can write it down. I don’t worry about where exactly in the story it should go – I just stick it in a file called “scraps” to start with just to preserve the idea. Sometimes it’ll live there for a while before I pluck it out and transplant it to its home in the story, sometimes it gets re-homed almost immediately. A few sit there and never find their way in, but maybe inspire different versions of themselves.

Ideas I probably won’t get around to but wouldn’t it be nice: I have some dim visions of Grogu as Mand’alore, leading the planet through centuries of peace and prosperity.

Callouts @ me: I’m not sure what this is asking, but a couple other answers I’ve seen seem to be philosophy about fanfic. So uh… write for yourself, primarily. Write to satisfy the voice in your head that won’t shut up until you record its words. If you want to write well, seek out advice from those who also write well, and be ready to learn from them. If you’re writing only to gain popularity, you’re writing for the wrong reason and will only be disappointed.

Best writing traits: I’d say I’m best at angst and other emotional darkness. I grew up consuming Stephen King at an inappropriately young age, and I think it shows. His memoir, On Writing, also has nice bits of writing advice. The two bits that struck me the most are 1 – write the first draft with the door closed (don’t think about what others will think about it), and 2 – adverbs are not your friend (i.e., “He placed the Darksaber on the table with great care” instead of “He carefully placed the Darksaber on the table”).

Spicy tangential opinion: I have some… complex opinions about reader-insert fics that I’m not sure I’m able to outline without pissing people off. Like, I have no moral objection to them and they make lots of folks happy and that’s fine. Some of them work reallywell when they focus on the reader’s emotions and experiences. In the context of Mandalorian fanfic, that can serve to make Din even more mysterious – using a restricted POV is a great tool to get us in on the challenge of figuring out such a walled-off and inaccessible character. The ones that violate that and go second-person omniscient POV – that somehow the reader knows everything that others think of them and everything that’s going on just… confuse me. I can kinda forgive it in the current era of a deadly airborne infectious disease pandemic when dating IRL has come to a screeching halt, so I understand the need to substitute for that. Otherwise, go third-person POV and develop the original character.

The one social objection I have to reader-insert fics is when they come at the cost of strong female characters, particularly characters of color, LGBTQ+, neurodivergent, people with disabilities, or otherwise under-represented folks. Reader-inserts are designed to be as generic as possible so that anyone can slip their skins on and off, and they read like a lot of lost opportunities when it comes to representation. And forget about passing the Bechdel test if you don’t even have a name for your own character. We need to challenge ourselves and (gasp) have two women characters who have names and who talk to each other about something other than men and babies. I can count the number of Mandalorian fanfic authors I’ve read that pass this on one hand. (I know there are more, but y’all can take a decent guess about the ratio.) We can do better.

No pressure tagging: Oh, I'm so bad at this and I have no idea who's already done it. Here goes nothing. @hauntedfalcon @bethagain @fanfoolishness

#fanfic #the mandolorian #din djarin

[mira--mira]

someone spilling the beans to hashi about just how and why madara had died at the hands of hashi+without knowing anything of what had happened at the river or anything like that since hiruzen didn't know of how they knew each other since young? hashi would be seriously pissed and ready to just throw down with edo!hashi even if his older self is a sage and he isn't, and edo!tobi would think that they were both clones or something just plain nefarious going on here (part 1)

(part 2) though makes me wonder just who spills the beans to hashi about what had happened to him and madara? cause if you saw the statues of them at the valley of the end without knowing just what they were supposed to be there for then you probably wouldn't think anything wrong, though with madara's statue i saw the post that you reblogged of how hashi had most likely designed the statues, and hashi might not think highly of himself when he sees those cause he killed madara and then did that

I love talking about this stuff but since this is tangentially related to the main plot of the chunin arc, I’m going to put my reply under a spoiler readline. Nothing too crazy, but just in case people want to go into the arc with no hints what-so-ever.

Yes, I’m not going to say who spilled the beans here but I will say it was done in a moment of high stress and in a very harsh/manipulative sort of way. Hashirama wasn’t expecting it (this is no Yamato sat them both down to gently explain it type situation) and he kinda...flips out. We’ll see it more in the wrap-up of the wave arc but Hashirama takes a lot of emotional comfort in Madara (even though that sounds like an oxymoron lol) and in high moments of battle-related stress (especially when kids and death are involved) relies on Madara to reassure him and support him. Keep their dream alive and assuage the worst of his fears (Hashirama is usually pretty unshakeable/optimistic but this is when he’s at his most emotionally vulnerable bc I just don’t believe he never has doubts).

That’s the mindset Hashirama approaches this topic with. He has absolutely no knowledge of the river confrontation (not so fun fact, if they hadn’t fallen through the rip that confrontation would be about 2~ weeks away and is still there waiting if it is indeed the “same” timeline) the years afterward where Hashirama desperately kept their dream alive by himself, Madara’s descent into mental instability as he became a pariah among his clan and all but isolated himself which came to a head when Izuna was killed and only worsened in peace, none of that. And he’s only just starting to see the serious issues in present-day Konoha, nevermind the ones that existed when the village was founded. 

So to kiddo Hashirama...there’s no good reason he would kill Madara. He believes who tells him, he can’t pick up any lies, and he does confront Yamato about it, who confirms it. Ultimately he feels betrayed by himself and he can’t comprehend a future in which he’d be willing to kill Madara. Yamato explains a bit more, Madara betrayed Konoha, he left and threatened it, and while Hashirama thinks he’s telling the truth he just can’t process this information. He thinks his older self should have done more/found another solution, that he could have found a way if he tried harder. He’s enraged and scared by the idea that he would/could kill Madara because to Hashirama, Madara is his equal. The one person in his world that really truly understands him at a fundamental level and he’s practically sick at the idea that he could kill that person.   

And when Orochimaru summons the edos all those feelings come bubbling up and Hashirama’s trying to “kill” his edo just as much as he’s trying to fight Orochimaru. The tag I put in the fic ‘hashirama is more of an angry baby who will fight and kill god if he looks at madara wrong’ was my own in-joke that ‘god’ also references Hashirama himself. 

(To be clear they haven’t seen the statues yet bc they haven’t been to the Sound border but Hashirama is gonna have Feelings about that when he sees it, and they’re not all good. (also glad you liked that other post lol!) Also, Madara knows all of the above. He was with Hashirama when the reveal happened and he got his own unwelcome surprise information that he’s internally freaking out but is trying to keep Hashirama together. The betrayal/killing stuff doesn't...bother him so much bc like Hashirama he can’t picture himself abandoning the village with the current knowledge (or lack thereof) he has and he can’t imagine Hashirama killing him. And to be fair, watching your sorta boyfriend breakdown at the thought of killing you, to the point he can’t comprehend doing such a thing when you’re still, technically, at war with each other...is oddly reassuring in the moment. Madara falls apart later, at the end of the arc instead of Hashirama, who does so in the middle.)  

#asks #anon #naruto #hashimada #madara #hashirama #my fics #out of time #spolier #ish #i'm very weak when it comes to talking about stuff like this #there's only the major climax of the arc that I straight up will not

[starrypawz]

writer questions!

i got tagged by @impossible-rat-babies and you tagged me like 3 months ago and I just found this lmao

but anyway

I’m tagging uh... @sleepswithvillains @semper-draca @riajade01 @heartbrreak @chaniters @antigonick

–

name: online i go under starry for the most part outside of that I go by r̷̲̟̫͎͎̂͋̍͗̋̈̋͑̄̕͜ḝ̶͍͙̙̤͕̻̫̇d̴̡̮͈̼̰͓̯̅͋̏̍̏͝a̶̳͆c̴̯̬̲͈̲̞͍͒ͅt̷̗̣̊̿͒e̴̢͔̝͚͎͔͍̓͛͒̂̓d̶͓͓̠͙͉̉́̔͂̊̉

(actually nah it’s not a big deal if people know my irl name I just don’t use it that much on the internet)

fandoms: I mostly write for FHR, Passenger and Wayhaven as of late, will occasionally write for Fo4, AC: Syndicate,  Dragon Age and SWTOR (SWTOR used to make up the bulk of my writing, I’m still very fond of it I just haven’t really played it since 2016 lmao) and will dip in and out of other random fandoms as my mood dictates. 

most popular one-shot: Just going off what i remembered to post to AO3 as trying to find everything I wrote on here would be like the actual heck

On AO3 it’s Pride-Full which is the one Good Omens fic I’ve written which was basically ‘Az and Crowley bump into each other at a Pride’

most popular multi-chapter: Uh I don’t really do multi chapter fics so I can’t answer this

actual worst part of writing: uuuh idk really I think it’s just sometimes getting started or the classic ‘i know the scene i want to write I just can’t seem to get it out’ and like when weird small details get you weirdly stuck on something

also just having the like motivation to follow through with stuff

do you outline: I probably should but I don’t tend to i do sometimes write like a line or two for like idea of what I want to get down, but I admit my not outlining it’s part me being kind of lazy part ‘tbh I mostly only write oneshots’

ideas i probably won’t get around to: Uuuh there’s like many things like for example:

There’s a SWTOR AU I have kicking around that’s like ‘Corso’s sister is still around, shenanigans ensue’

Skyrim fic based around my old PC, a thief named Ferret

Skyrim fic taking one of my old Skyrim PCs, Branda and making some like cute af ‘childhood friends to lovers’ content with Farkas

DAI Idea based around the idea I had where I’ve got a Inquisitor that has a child and it’s like they met Keiran yeah probably some sort of like ‘we bump into each others many years later’ type concept

Like everyone I was trying to do a swtor Quinncident fic and it just... I lost steam on it fast

An idea I keep procrastinating for reasons idk why which is set during Far Harbor where it’s like my non SoSu, Jax is like ‘yeah uh my dad’s from Far Harbor, oh hey dad meet my synth bf lol’

callouts: @impossible-rat-babies because your fic is so good and tbh you’re always so supportive and good for idea bouncing and stuff and we’re often like on the same wavelength on so much stuff and it’s good, @daraasum because i mean we’ve been friends for ages by this point and you have the good headcanons even if your angst ones make me NOPE  sometimes @dwead-piwate-meggers because yet again we go way back @mihqorio because like honestly you’ve always got such nice things to say about people’s content 

best writing trait: I’ve been told I’m generally pretty good at like getting into characters head and apparently quite good at making sort of natural sounding dialogue

spicy tangential opinion:

IDK if I really have anything that spicy but like:

Modern social media has really impacted the whole ‘creator and audience’ relationship on both like ‘fandom creators’ and also ‘published creators’ relationship in a bunch of weird ways and a lot of boundaries have sort of become screwed up as a result

Tumblr really is def not the best platform for like fanfiction and fandom as a whole why did we decide this was like the main fandom platform?

Wait those are more fandom opinions rather than like ‘writing opinions’ on writing opinions front uh

It’s perfectly fine to use said, and tbh things like ‘said quietly’ have a different tone than say ‘whispered’

A lot of writing rules that aren’t things like ‘Spelling is important’, ‘Paragraphs are important’ are to me more like an author’s personal preferences rather than being super set in stone and acting as if there’s some sort of like set in stone ultimate list of  writing rules isn’t really helpful everything is highly subjective 

It doesn’t really matter if you’re writing a super cliche premise, because hey that’s your take on a super cliche premise doesn’t matter if your fandom is full of coffeeshop aus, it’s your coffeeshop au

[caiminnent]

catch me when I fall (from grace) [shaundes, rated T/M]

Prompt: reluctant caretaker (@badthingshappenbingo​, 6/25)

Summary:

Sometimes—at the worst of times—he thinks they had it easy, back then; the four of them playing house, trying to save the world without a thought to what comes after.

Congratulations, they did it—now there’s bills to pay.

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed

Tags: Alternate Universe - The Assassins Won, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Blood and Injury, Post-Break Up

Notes: Also written for @acmodernz​, which was a lot of fun to be a part of. Go check it out!

4k || Also on AO3

He doesn’t bother with questions anymore.

Before, he would insist on learning all that he humanly could about any situation he was to be tangentially involved in and many he wouldn’t even skirt close to. His mind has always been like that, a terrain of whens and whos and whys, and being on the losing side of a war didn’t help his need to know, either—being on the listening side of countless deaths as he desperately tried to scramble up a connection through whichever line or feed he could get his hands on to direct whoever still remained—if anyone at all—into safety, the mission long aborted.

Nowadays, though, he only asks where, scribbles down the address on the corner of the nearest clean sheet of paper and gets up to throw on some street clothes.

Truth be told, he didn’t know there was a bar left in the city that Desmond had yet to get kicked out of.

------

Even with his back to the door—especially with his back to the door—Desmond is easy to spot on a low-backed stool by the far end of the counter, that hoodie giving him away like a beacon. He’s talking to the bartender—rather, the bartender is talking at him and he presumably responds, most of his face hidden behind the hand he’s tentatively touching on a thin line of white at his forehead.

The dread pooled in Shaun’s gut grows only heavier.

As the bartender moves to the short line that materialised on the other end of the counter, something round in hand, he charts a path through and follows it, doing his best not to touch any of the tables. Desmond is staring down at the half-full glass in front of him, one hand still at the butterfly bandage over his left brow, the other resting on the counter, the reds of his knuckles standing out brightly. Whatever trouble Desmond must have gotten himself into this time, it seems a tad more complicated than having had a little too much.

It would’ve been so easy, turning on his heel and walking straight out of this shithole before he’s spotted. He may have come this far—doesn’t owe it to Desmond to go the extra mile. He could just drive back home, switch off his phone, bury himself in his bed and let someone else save Desmond from himself for once—

Who, though?

“Lucky thing they let you in, looking like that,” he comments as he takes the empty seat next to Desmond. Smelling like that, too, he might add, now that he is close enough; not the sharp drowned in a bottle stench he had expected, but sweat and grime and something else that tickles his nose in all the worst ways.

Desmond’s shoulders tense up, for all he tries to hide it under turning in his stool. “Hello to you, too,” he grumbles, dropping his hand to send him a glare.

Shaun’s stomach slowly sinks to his feet, taking everything on its path with it.

Between the swollen right eye—almost shut, purpling around the edges—and the long scrape down his left cheek, disappearing into his scruff, there doesn’t seem to be anywhere on Desmond’s face left untouched. Even his nose looks wrong somehow—though that might also be the crappy overhead lights—and while his face is carefully cleaned, no trace of blood or anything, his clothes tell of a different story entirely.

He reaches out on instinct to touch where Desmond’s freshly busted his lip—Desmond pulls back before it makes contact, looking away.

Entirely too aware of his heartbeat, he latches his fingers together in his lap, taking a deep breath that does nothing to help the tightness in his chest. “Keep going like this and you won’t get to skate by your looks much longer,” he says, because if he doesn’t say something, he’s going to fucking burst.

Desmond glares at him through the one eye, scowl dragging deeper—then glances at a spot above Shaun’s head, straightening up. Shaun turns as well, to find the bartender approaching them with a—thankfully, clean-looking—rag full of ice, a purple pin that reads “THEY/THEM” shining over the black of the apron.

The bartender gives him only a passing glance, a quick size-up before turning and handing the bundle to Desmond, who takes it with a mumble of thanks and holds it on his eye. They reach over the counter to fix his grip, casual as you please.

The taste in his mouth turns sour.

“How’s the head?” they ask Desmond gently, open concern lining their face as they peer down at him.

Desmond winces, which seems to pass for a response. With the offending eye covered, he looks even more wretched somehow, the rest of his injuries on better display. Shaun hadn’t noticed how gaunt his cheeks have gotten, the fading spread of bruises on his face, in too many different shades to be all from today—or, possibly, even the same day.

What in the world has the bloody idiot been up to all this time?

Leaving Desmond with the bundle, the bartender turns to finally look at Shaun—through him, more accurately, as if they could get his background check and an X-ray with one glance. He firmly believes that he should be the one to dish out the suspicious glares, given the circumstances, but he’s not particularly adamant on arguing the point.

“Shaun, was it,” they say without extending their hand, not quite a question.

This tone he recognises, at least. “It was,” he confirms, making no move to extend his, either. “And you’re the mysterious voice on the phone, I take it.” Not what he was expecting to find on this side, admittedly.

“MJ,” they say with a single nod. “Mighty nice to finally put a face to the name, I’ll say.” They tilt their chin to Desmond, who has that glare fixed in MJ’s direction now, drumming his fingers on the countertop. “Dessie here told me all about you.”

Did he now. Dessie sure as hell didn’t breathe a word to him about MJ. “All good things, I’m sure.”

“Good enough that I’ll let you take him home and fix him up,” they say, sweeping a hand widely as if they’re making a generous concession on his behalf.

Right. That’s why he’s here—because he was chosen.

“And I’ll thank you for the privilege,” he says with an overplayed nod of thanks, not bothering to keep the resentment out of his tone. This whole exchange—it’s nothing more than an elaborate hand-over.

MJ leans over the counter on their hands and looks at him squarely, all hard eyes on too soft a face. Desmond always did have a type. “If you’d rather leave him here and walk away, be my guest,” they offer, grinning with too many teeth. “Your number wasn’t the only one on his phone.”

As if.

He slowly straightens up on his stool, resting his forearms on the edge of the counter. At this angle, they’re about eye to eye, he and MJ. “Probably not,” he agrees, cordial enough even as his face tingles at the jab, all his blood rushing north. “But it was the only one that would answer a call from him at this hour.”

Too harsh? Perhaps, but that doesn’t make it any less true. He knows better than to fool himself; Desmond didn’t pick him for his gentle touch and stellar company.

Ignoring the hollowing of his gut, he half-turns to Desmond. “Ready when you are.”

“’m ready now,” Desmond mutters to the counter. Shaun nods, reaching for his pocket.

“All taken care of,” MJ says before he can pull out his wallet, waving him off. They’re still watching him with that careful look, though this time it feels less like being sized up, more like he has been—and found thoroughly lacking. Oh well, he’s used to being a disappointment. “Just take him home.”

That much he can manage.

------

Desmond’s most recent rat hole is another forty minutes from the bar, on the far side of a neighbourhood considered to be within the city borders merely because no one cared enough to exclude it.

“Like fuck,” Shaun mutters and punches in the address of his own flat into the navigation system, steeling himself for the argument or the irritated sigh or whatever else Desmond might be in the mood for tonight.

Desmond turns back to the window without a word. Small mercies.

------

Soon, though, he finds himself wishing for that argument after all. Without anything to distract it, it’s all too easy for his mind to stray to other times like this: escaping towns in the dead of the night, taking turns driving and keeping an eye on the road, the radio on low so as not to disturb those sleeping in the back. Sometimes—at the worst of times—he thinks they had it easy, back then; the four of them playing house, trying to save the world without a thought to what comes after.

Congratulations, they did it—now there’s bills to pay.

Desmond has his gaze fixed on the windshield as if he can even see anything, his bag under his crossed arms, running an idle thumb over his new split. If he keeps at it, he’ll have a matching set soon enough.

“I don’t think I’ve got any ice at home,” Shaun says instead of pointing that out. Desmond drops his hand as if burned anyway. “You might have to make do with frozen peas.”

“’s fine,” Desmond sighs. “Too late anyway.”

That it is.

------

On the bright side, under the decent lighting of the flat, Desmond’s nose doesn’t seem to be broken.

The flip side he stubbornly chooses to ignore as he works down the buttons of his coat; Desmond's already stripped down to his thin shirt in his periphery, tugging at his shoelaces. Not even in long sleeves—of course not. Leave it to Desmond to strut about in threadbare clothing when it’s fuck degrees out there.

“I trust you remember where the shower is,” he says as he hangs his coat and puts away their shoes, Desmond’s bag on top of them. Desmond only grunts in answer before slinking down the hallway, likely because he’d needed to go that way anyway.

Dragging himself to the bedroom, he exchanges his trousers for a clean pair of joggers and digs around until he finds one that might fit Desmond—something that would’ve been practically impossible the last time they saw each other. Picking out a sweatshirt as well—that doesn’t seem to be his own in the first place, come to think of it—he walks back out and drops them at the bathroom door, knocking twice.

“Left you some clothes,” he calls out and waits until he gets a muffled response back. That’s one thing done.

Up next, kitchen—god, oh god, the kitchen. He had completely forgotten the state he’d left it in. The dinner table is covered with papers—in an every-fucking-where way instead of the neat, systematic thing he had imagined the sight to be. The coffee cups he truly did mean to put in the sink are still sitting next to his laptop, as the sink is already overfilled with dishes and the semi-burned pot he’d left to soak overnight three days ago, more littering about the rest of the counter. All right, things may have gotten out of hand a bit, in hindsight; but he can’t be blamed for it. Between school and his research, he’s barely had time to remember to feed himself, let alone keeping things clean and tidy. Not as if he was expecting guests.

He really shouldn’t have answered the phone.

He starts tidying up in haste—which is to say, all papers go on top of the closed laptop in a messy, uneven pile and all dishes in the sink now filled with water, including the two cups of coffee that went cold long before he could even touch them. Taking a moment to listen out for the water—still running, fortunately—he peers into his fridge, his stomach sinking at the sight once again. It’s not barren, as such; but he didn’t have the time for grocery shopping, either, which shows. He’s never had his mother’s skill of concocting something out of practically nothing, but digging deeper, he can spot just enough to prepare an early—very early—breakfast.

It is AM hours, after all. It should count.

He grabs the egg carton and piles up whatever else he can find onto the table. While at it, he dips into his—rather impressive, if he may say so himself—tea selection as well. By the time the bathroom door opens, he has what he can call a modest spread on the table, teabag steeping in the mug.

When it opens for the second time, he flips the omelette.

He’s gotten too used to the almost uniform quiet of the flat; Desmond’s footsteps stand out as he approaches, a light shuffle on the carpet right up until they stop in the doorway. Switching the stove off, Shaun wets a cloth and grabs the pan, taking them both to the table.

“All my flat plates are at the bottom of the sink,” he—unnecessarily—explains as he sets the cloth on the table, the pan on top of it. “You’ll just have to deal.”

Desmond is lingering in the doorway, glancing between Shaun and the table with this odd, almost tender look. The weight that has been dancing in his stomach seats itself in the middle of his chest, right under his heart.

“You didn’t have to,” Desmond rasps, just enough of a question mark in the tone. Shaun doesn’t know the question leading to it—isn’t sure he wants to, either.

“Damn right I didn’t,” he throws back, because the alternative is blurting out what the fuck else was I supposed to do and that’s plain embarrassing. The clothes don’t hang off Desmond’s frame as much as he feared, but he wasn’t terribly off in his estimation, either—certainly not enough to be relieved about it. He clears his throat. “But since it’s already done, you might as well sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

Desmond finally moves to the table, not without one last glance at him. Shaun keeps his glare on him until he picks up his fork and reaches for the olives just in case.

With that crossed off the list, he folds up his sleeves, unclips his watch and starts on the dishes. He hardly has a burning desire to get them out of the way, but it’s something to do, at least. Beats standing there and thinking himself into corners.

Right now, everything beats thinking.

The silence stretches between them, almost peaceful for once. It’s… interesting, the change of air that comes with having someone else in the room. He didn’t quite miss cramming into safe houses for weeks, sometimes months at a time, nothing but the same bland walls and each other’s faces to stare at; but it would be a lie to say he never looks up from his laptop to an empty flat and wishes he had someone to share this shiny thing he’s just stumbled upon, the excitement of the discovery blending with the bitter disappointment.

Paper shuffles behind him, the unmistakeable sound of Desmond getting his grubby hands on his research. The instinct is to snap don’t touch my notes; he pushes it down. Not even on their emptiest days did his work keep Desmond interested for long; he just needs to wait out the three seconds before Desmond gets bored.

“You still researching the Pieces?”

Huh. Now that’s new.

“Without much success,” he admits, reaching into the water for another cup. “With the network down, my research ‘team’ boils down to me and the occasional student I manage to snatch from other projects. Not what you could call a concentrated effort.”

Desmond makes a sound that, under different conditions, could be considered amused. A strange warmth spreads through him. “Thought you must’ve had enough of ‘em for two lifetimes.”

He snorts, despite himself. “Hardly. This was my life’s discovery; it’ll be a cold day in hell before I give it up.”

Most of the time, he doesn’t blame Lucy for the choices she’d made. Couldn’t, really; not when the woman gave up her life for what she believed was right and brought down a war that spanned millennia with her. Just, the historian in him can’t help grieving all the knowledge the world has lost without even knowing that they had it in the first place.

He turns his head a little, just enough to get Desmond in his view. “What about you?” he asks, aiming for a conversational tone. Where have you been is the burning question, followed by who broke your face? He settles on: “How have you been?”

Desmond gives him a long, considering look—uncomfortably reminiscent of MJ. Shrugs a shoulder, too stiff to be casual. “Been better, been worse. You know how it is.”

Disappointment curls in his gut, too heavy to push away. Right. Whatever made him think he might get a real answer for once anyway.

Wash, rinse, put away, repeat. The last of the dishes on the drying rack, he unplugs the sink and grabs the pot, emptying it into the water draining down. It’s probably unsalvageable, realistically, but it’s not in his nature to let go without a fight. His to-do list is long enough without adding shopping for kitchenware on it.

The chair creaks, dragging against the tiles. It’s entirely unwelcome, the tension that creeps up his spine, the sound alone enough to shift all his awareness to the movement behind him.

Desmond drops his dishes next to the sink one by one, including the mostly-full cup of tea that he puts down with an apologetic half-smile. “Thanks.”

He nods in response, scrubbing the pot harder.

Instead of stepping away like anyone with some respect for personal space would, Desmond keeps standing right there, resting a hand on the edge of the counter, seemingly watching the side of Shaun’s head. This close, Shaun can smell his own shampoo on him if he tries, the sweeter scent of his fabric softener underneath.

Desmond sighs. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers and—

And his heart still responds, the traitor.

They’ve been here before. They’ve been here so many times before that it shouldn’t even matter, now, that Desmond can still find it in himself to say the words. He’d said other words before; where did that get them?

“Well, you obviously still have my number,” he bites out, the words like ash on his tongue. “You’ve never had to get yourself kicked out of bars or—or—beaten up to use it.”

Desmond shifts away. The bastard doesn’t even care to look at him, staring at some spot on the far wall instead, the tip of his tongue back on the split as if he wants it to scar. Started something he can’t see through; how typical.

Dropping the sponge into the pot—not as if he was getting anywhere—he runs his hands under the water and grabs a towel. “Where have you been, Desmond?” he asks without looking at him, busying himself with dying his hands thoroughly, too tired to keep beating around the bush. There isn’t enough space in the room even with Desmond backed away—not nearly enough air.

“Around.”

Around. “I see,” he says, nodding slowly. “Perhaps I should ask MJ instead, see if they know all about that, too.”

Desmond stiffens, his hand clenching on the edge. “Don’t bring them into this,” he says tightly—not a threat, not quite, but a warning through and through.

So that’s how it is.

“As far as I’m concerned, you brought them into this,” he points out. “I didn’t even know they existed until tonight, now did I.” He rests a hip against the counter, folding his arms across his chest, the towel still clutched tight in his fist. “Who are they, by the way?”

“The only one on my side when I needed someone to be the most,” Desmond responds with a pointed look, his lips pressed together—and oh, isn’t that rich.

So many responses he could give to that, so many biting remarks, the weight of them almost physical on the tip of his tongue. “I thought you didn’t need people anymore,” he says simply, leaning heavier on his hip. Desmond flinches. “Big boy Desmond, running away from his problems all by his lonesome, no help necessary—just be there to pick up the pieces afterwards.”

Something dark passes over Desmond’s face, blink-and-you-miss-it. “I’m trying to do better.”

He lets his eyes wander down Desmond’s face, the cut of his knuckles that are still flaring red with a hint of purple. Desmond’s hand twitches again. “Clearly.”

“Jesus Christ, I forgot you were this much of an asshole,” Desmond mutters under his breath. It’s not even in the general vicinity of the worst names they’ve called each other—it shouldn’t sting. Not as much as it does.

“Can you blame me? You ring me up from a bar after—what, seven, eight months of radio silence, looking like this—” He waves his free hand up and down Desmond’s body. “—and expect me to give you the benefit of the doubt. Don’t get me wrong, Desmond, but you don’t exactly have the sort of track record that inspires blind trust.”

“I’m not—” Desmond starts only to cut himself off on a long exhale, shaking his head. Making the three steps over to the table, he drops himself on a chair in an ungainly heap and rests his elbows on the bread crumb-covered surface.

“I don’t expect anything of you,” Desmond starts again slowly, exhaustion wrapped around his words. Anger doesn’t drain out of Shaun, but it’s that much harder to keep going when Desmond starts rubbing at his temples with enough force that Shaun’s head throbs just to watch. “I’m not here to—I dunno, to get back into your good graces or whatever scheme you think I’m halfway capable of thinkin’ up.”

“Then why are you here?” Shaun snaps—realises, with an odd cramping of his stomach, that this was the burning question after all. This was the one that haunted him all this time, whenever Desmond’s name popped up on his screen. Whenever it didn’t.

Desmond looks up from the table sideways, one hand still at his temple. “What do you mean?”

Part of him wants to take it back, to wave it off with a curt never mind and making a hasty exit to prepare Desmond’s bed. The stupider, impulsive part is already pushing on with: “You make friends faster than I can lose them; I’m sure you could find somewhere to crash even in the state you were, didn’t have to suffer my hospitality.” Why me, he’s smart enough to hold back, at least.

The curl of Desmond’s lips is odd—too sharp for a smile, too soft for anything else. “Why do you always come?”

Why indeed.

Releasing a breath that takes more than air out of him, he makes his fingers uncurl around the towel and folds it into a neat square, placing it on the counter. The pot is still sitting in the sink, the sponge in the middle of it like a sunken ship. It’s too late to deal with the dishes—for this conversation—it’s too late for bloody anything.

“There are sheets and a spare pillow in the closet,” he says, pointing in the general direction of the closet in the next room. “I believe you can make your bed yourself. I’m going to sleep.”

Desmond nods, a barely-there movement. Shaun only lingers in the kitchen long enough to bin the used teabag and line the rest of the dishes around the pot to deal with tomorrow. Later today. Whenever.

It must be the hour messing with his head, why he pauses in the doorway just before he leaves and says, “And don’t leave without a goodbye this time.”

“Okay,” Desmond lies.

And so it goes.

#badthingshappenbingo #shaundes #Shaun Hastings #Desmond Miles #acmodernzine #Assassin's Creed #Cai does words #finished fics #catch me when I fall (from grace) #this fic was a rollercoaster to write #that's all I'm going to say #content warnings #alcohol abuse #alcoholism #past character death #blood and injury #I actually don't know how tagging works here #desynch gets rambly in tags

[ornithia]

lol thanks for the heads up, didn't know i'd been mentioned due to being blocked (and here i was convinced she wanted nothing to do with me ever again 🙃 guess that doesn't matter when you're in desperate need of a shield to hide behind, does it )

also no need for incognito mode, tumblr is incompetent enough that all i have to do is just visit her page directly on desktop so here we go:

(under a read more bc petty shit only tangentially related to hazbin at this point and frankly, the entire situation is stupid and EVERYONE involved is an idiot, no exception, INCLUDING me bc i shouldn't even be indulging but i'll do it for you, anon -)

lmao almost forgot how long-winded her responses are, right up there with starlatte27 (who also blocked me, in case anyone's keeping tally), jfc

i ... are these statements meant to go together or are they separate? bc if 1) i don't appreciate it, and if 2) did you you just assume my gender and call me a skeevy adult turbo nerd? bc last i checked you're the skeevy one dragging people's sex lives, non-existent or otherwise, into fandom discussions while you quote and reference fucking cartoons like a "turbo" nerd. maybe take your own advice and stay the fuck out of fandom in general (also, that's not a pun, not even a bad one. seriously - a pun has to make sense, and it doesn't make sense for a virgin to have a "fuck life" if they've never had sex, what do you think a virgin is? do you need to go back to sex ed?)

but seriously - shaming people for their lack of sexual experience ... that's kind of inherently acephobic, isn't it? not to mention heteronormative and, in her own words, rather "vanilla" on the scale of petty insults (but don't quote me after all i'm just an asexual what would i know about anything i've only existed 3 whole years longer than her "experienced" authority has on this godforsaken planet ¯\_(ツ)_/¯).

oh look, more acephobic rhetoric - this is literally the shit that gets said to our faces the second we express disinterest in partners or popping out children, certainly not a sexual threat, not at all!

also, dunking on people for inconsistent grammar/small typos when she incorrectly typed my username in the post itself ... even though she tagged it correctly and it's literally on her blog and in her blocklist (inb4 she threatens to run me over with her chair or w/e 🙄)

speaking of spelling (and in case she or any of the others are reading this) let me spell it out - this is about the HYPOCRISIES involved, which if any of you have any reading comprehension you'll realise as you continue skimming this post

if you have to CONSTANTLY bring up your race or disability or other people into the conversation just so that you can assert your "authority" on a subject, then i'm sorry but you literally don't know your subject. oppression olympics does not work, actively attempting to "other" yourself just to seem credible in a topic is a sign of desperation and shows a lack of empathy for understanding in others. what you should be doing is aiming to educate, NOT to win as many internet/diversity points as you can possibly cram into a fucking clown show debate about headcanons on fictional characters who are dead and aren't even human anymore

(switching to paragraph form bc this is a longer response):

when it comes to jumping to conclusions ...

- whether it be on someone's "vanilla" tastes (@heartshapedcreaturefromcriptoon don't think i forgot how you judged me for liking transformers when it is neither my sole interest nor did it have nothing to do with the conversation ... and which if you actually knew anything about you'd REALISE how progressive the continuity is, tackling all sorts of "vanilla" stories and characters including gay, bi, lesbian, pan, poly, trans, ace, aro, xeno, dysphoria, mental AND physical disability, depression, coping, aging, death, oppression, politics, colonialism, and revolution, amongst others. not to mention all of the kink, since THAT seems to be your fucking basis for judgement) -

- OR someone's medical history/ethnic background (@petitprincess1 no one deserves hate anons but you also brought this on yourself for doubling-down on LITERALLY sensitive topics that ANYONE would lash out for. and as i've already explained to you, i don't CARE if 6 is a poc or not, white-passing or not, italian or not - you do NOT get to pass judgement on them or ANYONE based on mere pictures. humans are a diverse spectrum - someone tells you they're sicilian, black, albino, have vitiligo, are a natural redhead, etc - what the fuck ever, you take it at face value and MOVE ON or agree to disagree)

just - it is NEVER a good idea to be presumptuous. you don't EVER know what's fully going on in someone's life, you are NEVER going to get the full picture, and even so, experiences can and ARE subject to other factors in an individual's life. contrary to what tumblr and twitter will have you believe, NO ONE owes you a biography

(another paragraph bc why not)

while i'm addressing petit, btw - since you seem conveniently knowledgeable on laws concerning regulations surrounding sex workers and pimps (and it is DEFINITELY illegal - except in nevada. which we should address on the basis of transparency), it seems surprising to me that you wouldn't care about laws surrounding the distribution of pictures:

source: https://law.stackexchange.com/questions/30765/is-it-illegal-to-post-a-picture-of-someone-without-their-permission

basically, if someone asks you to take their picture down YOU TAKE IT DOWN who cares if they have it public on their own blog YOU TAKE IT DOWN BC THAT IS THEIR PICTURE it doesn't MATTER if it's edited or blurred out or whatever. this should be apparent, there's a REASON you have to sign consent forms in order to release photographs of private individuals, there's a REASON people have a problem with paparazzi. because it's an invasion of PRIVACY and AGENCY.

someone in public, doing public things, staged or otherwise, or posting to their OWN social media? whatever.

someone in private, whether it be incriminating nudes or something as innocent as spending time with their loved ones (children, spouses, friends, w/e) in an intimate setting? NOT OKAY

if you wanted so badly to use 6's pics as evidence in your debate and if they were so publicly available, why didn't you just link to them? it's so easy, tumblr even has an option to format text into a hyperlink without needing to know code, [look i used it to literally link to a fair use image of public figue, current US president joe biden with his wife, first lady jill biden], or look, [here's another link, this time with the picture in its original context], how easy was that!

(back to bullets and to the disaster that is hearts):

i think it's fucking hilarious that you claimed i was vagueblogging about you, bc no - i was literally responding to your post, addressing the situation directly to you AND petit. and regardless of who i was addressing in each response, the fact remains that so long as it was on YOUR post, YOU would receive notifications, and that as a result YOU would inherently be a part of the conversation. this isn't some new tumblr feature it's been around for a WHILE now. and if you feel i "vagued" about you after you BLOCKED ME, think again - i tagged you, both with a nonfunctioning @ AND by tagging your #username on my blog. i WANTED you to see and be aware of my post. YOU on the other hand have been vagueblogging about ME, calling me that "other" person and using me both to shield yourself AND as an offensive tool in your little "debate" with petit - which honestly fuck you, LITERALLY as bad as starlatte27 who did the same thing in addition to misquoting after she blocked me.

also, petit is right - you are a fucking simp. you do nothing but drool over trickster in your tags. and then you dare? to reblog his post where he quotes me, the person YOU vilified, and use it to suck up to him? you disgust me, ESPECIALLY in light of your stance on "virgins" - you do realise he's also (grey) asexual, right? regardless of whether he's virgin or not - which if he is, STILL wouldn't invalidate his identity, and that the post in question was me specifically calling out starlatte27 on her acephobia. also, lol - how convenient that you seem to shit on everyone for being "ableist" when they cite mental disorders that couldn't POSSIBLY compare to you being in a wheelchair, yet you have nothing against his NPD or OCD (per his carrd, fyi, which i am reading specifically bc it's there and because i do my research before jumping to conclusions unlike you)

speaking of trickster - idgaf about him and 6. at this point i've heard NOTHING from either of them in weeks. then again, i neither follow them nor do they seem to flood the tags with drama as often as petit (or starlatte27, before she blocked me, and i only know about hearts now bc of you, anon, so thanks for that 👍 - hell, let's throw me into the mix since that's what i'm about to do that/doing it now) and i KNOW i'm not blocked since i can still view both their blogs on mobile if i visit them directly. it was certainly stupid of them to bait the main tag with the initial post that started this whole mess, but if petit hadn't thrown her (black) race card down for an argument about sicilian italians and albinism, not black people, we wouldn't have gotten this far. (also it seems one of them or a friend has started a hateblog for "receipts" which lmao, not only was that a stupid endeavor, it looks dead)

SPEAKING of race, just because being "black" is an objective fact about someone (petit) it does not give you (hearts) the right to do ... [this, which honestly i just capped below for anyone else reading this bc you'll spend all day looking for it] (tw: literally racism in the form of caricature):

(also lmao, demanding pictures from internet strangers? that's the same bullshit you've all been accusing petit of doing - she ABSOLUTELY distributed pictures without consent (reblogs count), which i already addressed, but it is NOT the same as soliciting pictures, that's on YOU and you alone)

there's so much more ... i could go on for DAYS but i'll cap it here bc why argue with idiots? you know who you are, you know what you did. this was entertaining at first but honestly i'm done, fuck this

-

-

-

ps: 😂 so much for hearts bitching about having to go through starlatte27's "sore Pastel Blog" (cap below), does she even realise what an eyesore her walls of "angry" and irrelevant text/tags are? it's like it it physically hurts them to just get to the fucking point:

#discourse #hazbin hotel #heartshapedcreaturefromcriptoon #petitprincess1 #ask #anonymous

[guardiantempest]

Learning With Manga: Riyo’s Udon Servants

Y’know, for a gag manga, Riyo has put in a lot of thought obscuring his Servant’s identities and giving out only hints throughout the comic’s run. The first three Servants (Rider, Assassin and Berserker) had their biographies spelled out in the print bookbut not their actual names (not that it’s needed, the hints were big enough).

I’m saying Udon Servants because they were apparently made by mixing Udon dough with Grail mud.

Due to the ridiculous amount of images, I’ve added a cut.

EDIT: I posted this without the cut. Oops. EDIT 2: Changed some wordings

Rider

Okay, pastel-colored bunnygirl. No specific identity tied to a rabbit (that I know of) so her appearance is a red herring. Could be anyone at this point.

Passion for filmmaking. There are a lot of influential movie people throughout history from old to new. At least the set equipment implies a director.

Severe hatred of Thomas Edison? Well, I guess that narrows it down to more old-timey directors. Back in his time he screwed over a lot of people, including many foreign filmmakers by plagiarizing their works.

A Trip to the Moon? There’s only one director who has that in his repertoire and that is Georges Méliès. That probably explains her outfit as a the rather-tangential nod to moon rabbits. Her Noble Phantasm is apparently a loooot of her film reels...made out of very volatile nitrate (which destroys Chaldea in the process). She also references older films like Purple Noon when chatting with Olga.

Assassin

Okay, woman with a gun, presumably with lingerie? Perhaps she’s a secret agent, or a modernized take on those assassin seductresses. Throughout the comic she’s shown to be adept with information gathering.

Definitely affiliated with spycraft. I don’t know any woman involved in such line of work (the one female secret agent I know is Nancy Wake, who isn’t). However this is Fate and genderswaps can be a thing. That O&C provides a pretty big hint to her identity. According to Google, it can stand for “Official and Confidential” affiliated with the one and only J. Edgar Hoover. Y’know, now that her identity is revealed in that tweet above, the comic’s art style makes it vague whether she’s really a genderswap or just crossdressing. Yes, the FBI did have a brief history of crossdressing to catch perps. Too bad her Noble Phantasm is practically useless to those who don’t care about keeping secrets.

It’s kinda funny how Riyo gives all his Servants personality quirks, like Melies’ seething hatred to Edison and occasional lapses to violent solutions. I guess this quirk is meant to be more “gap moe”, kinda like that Yakuza househusband? It’s really endearing. Still, I think Olga scored a keeper. In a standard Grail War she can be pretty useful if deployed correctly (and maybe easier to work with than Mata Hari).

I like her suit, I hope it’s one of her ascensions.

Berserker

Woah, she big. There are a lot of significant giants in mythology, and her modernized appearance provides less hints than expected. She ate Nursery Rhyme several pages later and becomes a mainstay in the Children’s Kingdom.

Keep in mind this is before All the Statesmen event on JP, but that blue ox(?) is a clear indicator to who she is: Paul Bunyan, North American folklore figure. This doesn’t come off as a surprise to us since we already had said event spelling it out for us. Unlike her murderous portrayal in the comic though, in-game she’s a total sweetheart who just wants to help...by terraforming any wild terrain in the name of civilization.

Lancer

We first see Lancer impaling Gudako in a comic. The folks in the livestream joked that she’s genderswapped Van Helsing. It seems to make sense, showing that spike. But they clarified that it was a joke so that’s out of the window.

Something of value? She’s referring to fossils. What about the lightning? It’s a reference to her real life counterpart who survived a lightning strike. That’s right, this woman is Mary Anning! A servant who’s not a genderbend this time!

Totally a raging lesbian. I’m not sure if that’s historical, a reference to a recent biopic, or merely a personality quirk. Maybe it’s an extrapolation to her network of women. One of her skills (Sea Lily Charisma) does let her attract women to help her out. Her canine companion is very cute, at least.

She does have a point. As a Lancer she wields giant prehistoric fish. From the speculation I saw on Reddit, I think it might be a reference to a manga/doujin of her being a mage and can summon living counterparts of her fossil. Her Noble Phantasm wasn’t showed because she got tag-teamed by two Sabers before she got to use it.

Archer

A cowgirl! There are quite a few notable wild west legends like Billy the Kid. This one looks like she has animal ears, or just really weird hair. Using a rope and lasso is indicative of “generic cowgirl”, for a Heroic Spirit to wield it means she must be known for using it.

Coyotes, huh? That pretty confirms it: this cowgirl Archer is Pecos Bill, raised by coyotes and most famous for lassoing a tornado (then riding it). According to the print book, one of her personal skills is Rodeo, which allows her to ride something and not fall off (but it’s in no way similar to the Riding skill). Yeah, being raised by coyotes pretty much translates to coyote animal ears...and feral instincts.

I remember reading on Reddit that one of Bill’s feats is shooting down stars, so that might be why she’s an Archer. Riyo sure is drawing from a lot of western influences.

Saber

Well this is a curveball. The very distinct attire should narrow it down though I don’t know which culture seems most appropriate. While there are more than a few pregnant women in mythologies, the comic clarifies that the real Servant is the unborn baby and the mother is just tagging along.

Well, that’s certainly something. I remember reading somewhere that back in the old ages, saunas are used instead of hospitals for childbirth in snowy regions of Europe. The unborn Servant has a Courtship skill that causes him to hit on almost every female he comes across.

There are a lot of guesses for his identity, one of which is Väinämöinen. A demigod who spent a very long time in the womb, can speak while in there, and was born an old man. The evidence feels shaky and debate rages on.

Caster

Jesus Christ, Jeanne, what are you doing?! I just added this page because it’s hilarious.

Mouse maids! A miracle that they survived getting chopped up into bits! It’s rather vague on who they are, guesses include the Rolling Riceball (which is just Benienma’s story) and Ratatouille, funnily enough. Most of their appearances so far is just pandering for Gudako (giving Onigiri, enabling the WiFi, providing Dakimakuras) as an effect of one of their Personal Skills (Servitude).

Their profile says that this isn’t their true form (maybe as a consequence of getting turned to noodles). Their Territory Creation should allow them to make a dreamland and provide anything, but for now all they can make is a good-enough kitchen and onigiri.

Another Personal Skill is Reproduction, which allows them to rapidly increase their numbers when left alone. Nonstop. This can get out of hand fast. People in the comment section were speculating various rat-related myths, primarily ones with a swarm theme.

Although it seems the rats are up to something.

Well that’s terrifying. A guy on Reddit assumed that the mice is connected to Raigo, the accursed monk. I thought it was a very dark take on a folklore/fairy tale, something about mice fattening up someone to eat them.

Okay, the mallet and the sack is definitely a clue. Apparently that represents Daikokuten, who is frequently portrayed with mice near him. I understand what they were trying to do. All this time they were trying to build up for their true power. A god of good fortune and/or prosperity is not to be messed with, especially if he’s currently incarnating RIyo Gudako as a pseudo-servant.

I think their Modus Operandi is pretty horrifying, yet also makes sense. A Master cannot simply summon a god under normal circumstances but summoning its herald(s) who, in turn, will make way for their patron deity seems totally fair.

#learning with manga #fate grand order #fgo #fate series #paul bunyan

[serendipitous-magic]

Question Game - AKA Oversharing Hour

I was tagged by @the-angry-pixie​! And I’m a chronic oversharer, so this was fun. I’ll put most of it under a read more line because there’s a LOT.

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen? 

Black. Dunno why.

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city? 

City city city city city city city city. I’m already going fucking batshit as it is, trapped in suburbia. I want to be able to actually do things, anything. Anything other than just being around the house and / or work. (And I felt like this before the pandemic started.) If you live in the city you can walk out your door and be somewhere else within like 5 minutes. A city park, a cafe, a train/subway, a local attraction, a museum, an artist’s booth, an outdoor market, etc. etc. 

Living in suburbia is like, well, to go literally anywhere you have to get into your car first and drive like 10 minutes minimum to get out of the neighborhood, and then if you want to go anywhere that’s not the grocery store you have to drive 20 minutes to get to another area of town, and then once you get there that’s the only place you can be without getting into your car again and getting a nice shot of anxiety from having to drive in traffic and have aggressive drivers roar up on your ass because you’re going 5mph above the speed limit and they want to be going 15mph above, and god help you if you have to merge, and oh by the way this is your only option to get around because public transit doesn’t really exist in any useful way in Big Suburbia, and nothing in within walking distance of your house except like 2 playgrounds and maybe one (1) gas station. (I hate it here lmao)

If I was trapped in the country I’d probably be chill with it for about a week, and enjoy the break, and the on day 8 I’d snap and go on a murdering spree out of stir-craziness.

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be? 

I want to learn German and eventually be fluent in it. But since I’ve already started trying to learn and I don’t know if that counts, I’ll say cinematography. As in the actual working of the camera and lighting and all that. I can dream up some pretty striking images but actually getting the camera to do the settings needed to capture them is another story entirely.

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? 

Nope. I drink coffee and tea both, and I don’t put any kind of sweetener in either of them. I used to put a shitton of sugar in my coffee and honey in my tea, and then I had some mild eating disorder struggles in college and I never got back in the habit of putting stuff in my hot drinks after that. It just tastes wrong now, after being used to plain black coffee.

5. What was your favourite book as a child? 

Either the Harry Potter series or The Hobbit. My grandma would take care of me a lot when I was really little because my parents both worked full time to support us, and every single time I was at her house she’d sit us down at the dining room table and read something to me. Not Junie B. Jones or anything, either, but real, big, thick books. I loved the shit out of Harry Potter and The Hobbit; I would request them repeatedly. We pretty much went back and forth; we’d read Harry Potter, and then The Hobbit, and then when a new Harry Potter book came out we’d read that, and then The Hobbit again, and so on and so forth.

6. Do you prefer baths or showers? 

Showers. I love baths, they’re magical, but ain’t nobody got time for that unless it’s a special occasion. I got too much shit to do to spend an hour lying in the bathtub.

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would it be? 

Vampire. Purely on the basis that if I was immortal maybe I’d finally have time to get my to-do list done and accomplish things. I’d miss the sunlight though.

8. Paper or electronic books? 

Paper. Here’s the thing, I really want to enjoy ebooks, but they just don’t hold my attention at all. Maybe I’m too conditioned by the internet to have a short attention span when I’m looking at a screen, idk.

9. What is your favourite item of clothing? 

I have a dark gray hoodie from the Seattle Aquarium from when I went on a road trip across America with my BFF a few years ago. It’s still my absolute favorite thing. I also enjoy my hiking boots a lot. (I wear them all the time, really they should just be called “everyday boots” haha)

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it?

I like my name and I would also like to start going by something different. Probably just because I’m a restless soul and I feel the best (and least trapped) when I’m on the move or when things are changing. The second I get somewhere I want to be somewhere else. That’s just how I am. Gwen is a cool name (I’ve personally met maybe 3 people in my whole life with the same name, face-to-face), but there’s a lot attached to that nickname that I don’t necessarily want to carry with me when I eventually escape my hometown and start down a new path.

11. Who is a mentor to you? 

A friend and former professor whom I usually refer to online as Producer Man. He’s a producer (as you may have guessed) who kind of took me under his wing after I was in one of his film classes in college. We work together on film projects now and he’s teaching me bit-by-bit (usually by way of long, rambling, tangential stories / lectures) about the industry. He’s a really good guy. Like, he for sure has a case of Old White Guy sometimes, but his heart is absolutely in the right place. “He’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit.” He’s always leaving $10 tips at coffee places and working himself to the bone to get his students connected to jobs and internships that will help them with their careers. 

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for? 

Yes, my stories. Actually, “famous” is not the right word. It’s just that fame is so tightly associated with success in our society. I want to be successful. Whether I’m widely known or not is pretty inconsequential to me. I want to make stories and I want them to have an impact. Books, film, etc. It’s about as simple as that.

13. Are you a restless sleeper? 

Oh yeah. I have trouble  sleeping as much as I should because I usually kind of jerk awake in the morning with this vague feeling that I forgot something or that I’m late for something. Also I stay up later than I should because I’m a night owl, and yet I like being up early because early mornings are great. And usually if I dream at all it’s something kind of stressful, like I dream that I forgot something important or did something wrong. I’m a Stressed Bean. 

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person? 

I think so, yeah. I’m pretty obsessed with the idea of romance (I mean look at my OTPs), but heteronormativity got me fucked up enough that I’m bad at actually navigating real romantic feelings or relationships because society never prepared me for The Gay.

15. Which element best represents you? 

Fire, probably.

16. Who do you want to be closer to? 

My mom. We fight a lot and there tends to be a lot of tension between us. It’s a long complicated story. It boils down to, she really hurt me when I came out as not-straight at 15 and she lost all of my trust and even though she’s working on being less homophobic we’re still kind of trying to repair that divide seven years later.

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? 

Dude, I miss everyone. I’m an introvert and I’d love to be at a big party right now. I miss socialization. (As does everyone.) 

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory. 

The first time I experienced deja vu, I was about eehhh 6? And I legitimately believed, for several years of my life, that I had future-predicting abilities. Like, supernatural-level future-predicting abilities. Because I didn’t really know what deja vu was, so I thought, every time it happened, that I had already ~seen~ that moment in my dreams or something. 🤣

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? 

Hm. (My immature ass brain yells “DICK.” No, brain. Those were dark heteronormative times. Also, grow up.) 

Probably some of the sushi in Seattle. I actually love sushi, it’s just that when it has full-on legs and eyeballs I start getting a little squeamish. I like the rolls and the kind where there’s some fish meat laid out on a nice little bed of rice, that’s delicious. But when they brought out the whole shrimp with legs still attached, I was like “How in the (redacted) am I going to chew / swallow that.”

20. What are you most thankful for? 

That I happened to be living with family when this pandemic hit. I was supposed to move out (and across the country, actually) as of... like 4 days ago, as it happens. That was the plan. Plane ticket was gonna be booked for 7/15/20. Obviously, things didn’t quite work out that way, because of the pandemic and a few other reasons. But I can’t imagine if I had been in an apartment living with roommates, or in an apartment on my own struggling to get by, when this happened. A lot of people couldn’t pay rent and lost their homes. I was very, very lucky to be where I was, when I was, and very lucky that I have family who let me stay in their house pretty much indefinitely while this clusterfuck of a year happens.

21. Do you like spicy food? 

Yes! I looooove spicy thai food especially. I miss the massaman curry from a local Thai place so much 😭

22. Have you ever met someone famous? 

Um. Maybe? I met Veronica Roth once at an author talk in the library where I work, although it was before I worked there. And I met some guy from New Zealand who’s famous for his sword fighting skills because my dad does sword fighting stuff. Don’t remember his name though.

23. Do you keep a diary or journal? 

Yep. I have to write down everything or I forget. (I often say I have the memory of a goldfish.) Also, I have this compulsion to record and preserve my experiences in life, because I feel like our time on Earth is so fleeting and if I don’t write down what’s important to me, I’ll forget it and lose it.

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or a pencil? 

Pen. Pencil gets smudged.

25. What is your star sign? 

Scorpio, which is ironic because they’re supposed to be ~hyper sexual~ I guess, and I’m like gray-ace or something in that zone.

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy? 

Crunchy. Who eats soggy cereal? Are you okay? Do you need help? This is an intervention. 

27. What would you want your legacy to be? 

My stories. Life and sentience, as we experience it, is made up of just that: experience. And I read somewhere that, on some level, the human brain doesn’t differentiate that much between real life experiences and fictional experiences. I think that’s true. If you read or watch or hear the right story, it can really touch you and change the way you see life, or even change the way you live life. Stories have an incredible amount of power, both in individual people’s lives and in larger society. A huge amount of power. I want to be able to give people experiences that will Enrich Their Lives (do I sound like a lifestyle coach yet? 🤦🏼‍♀️), but also stories that actively do good in society. Positive representation, body positivity/neutrality, diversity, healthy relationships (Hollywood has a real problem with that). Hope. It’s the best thing I can think to give society, and storytelling is what I love to do.

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read? 

I love reading. I wish I did it more. Part of my problem is that I get caught up in the hectic Rat Race of modern society and I never feel like I have time to sit down with a book for hours. Another problem of mine is that I start too many things at once, meaning I currently have like 5-10 (I lost count) books that I started reading, and I want to finish all of them, which means no progress ever gets done on any of them.

I last finished The Goldfinch, and I am currently working on The Secret History, Good Omens, Dune, a book my dad wrote, Directing Actors, Shot by Shot, The Way of Kings and I forget what else.

29. How do you show someone you love them? 

Physical affection, acts of service, words of affirmation, quality time, and gifts, in that order. If I’m close to someone, whether romantically or not, I want all the affection. And I’m kind of dying in quarantine. 

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? 

Depends. I usually don’t put any in, because it’s just gonna water down the drink and get in the way of drinking it (you know when the ice attacks your face?), but I don’t really mind ice in my drinks.

31. What are you afraid of? 

Helplessness. I Have Control Issues. ✌️ Also stagnation.

32. What is your favourite scent? 

Amber. Or any scent that’s kind of autumn-y. You know what I mean. Some other examples include dryer sheets, wood smoke, cigarette smoke (my big sister used to smoke a long long time ago, and although I never saw her do it, I still associate the scent with her), pine resin, rain, that Mahogany Woods scent from Bath and Bodyworks.

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? 

If they introduce themselves as Pam I call them Pam. If they introduce themselves as Mr. Brown I call them Mr. Brown.

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? 

 If “money is not a factor” means I have an infinite amount of money to spend as I wish, then: buy land, build film studio complex on land, found company, hire fellow creatives, make movies.

If “money is not a factor” just means that I don’t have to work 40 hours a week to afford rent, then: move to Chicago, rent a nice studio apartment, write stories, maybe work 15 hours a week at a used bookstore or coffee shop to get me out of the house and socialize. Go to museums, go to the park, walk along Lake Michigan, go to gay bars, ride the train, brave the Illinois winters, own a cat, paint, play guitar. Build my actual career on writing / storytelling. Probably also do some filmmaking.

Alternatively: buy an RV (not like an American Trailer Park shitty RV, I’m talking the NOICE ones), buy good film equipment, be a freelancer, live in RV driving around to wherever the next filming location is. Life is a road trip and I’m doing what I love. Writing, storytelling, filmmaking. My home would travel with me. Writing in cafes; roadside attractions; early mornings on the road with coffee in the cup holder as the sun comes up; being able to go anywhere to film; always experiencing something new.

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? 

I’ve lived in a landlocked state my whole life, so I guess swimming pools. And, listen, I CANNOT get water in my mouth at the beach without wondering exactly how many kids have peed (or worse) in that water. (I know that’s a thing with pools too, but pools get cleaned.)

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground? 

Wonder what some poor European is doing in America right now. But if it was $50, I’d probably yell “DID ANYONE DROP THIS?” and then take it if no one speaks up.

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? 

A few times, yeah.

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children? 

Grades are not the end-all-be-all. Skip some homework assignments to spend time with friends. Skip class sometimes. I’m serious. If you make school your top priority, even over your own personal life, you will come away with good grades and a lot of regret and missed opportunities. Learning is HELLA important, and very very little of it happens inside a school building. Get a 15 hour weekend or after-school job in high school, befriend your coworkers, and have fun with it. Use your paychecks however you want. Join a school club - one that you’re actually interested in. Do stupid shit. Light your textbooks on fire after graduation or go to the 24 hour Wendy’s at 2am with your friends or kiss that person you met at summer camp or sleep on the porch because it’s too hot to sleep inside. Be smart and safe, but follow your whims. If you let yourself fall into routine, apathy will poison you.

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? 

I already have a couple small ones, but the one I want next is a four-leaf clover. Don’t know where. Maybe my right inner wrist or maybe an ankle. Or like behind my ear. Luck has saved me so many times. (See above, with how I happened to be living with family when COVID hit.)

40. What can you hear now? 

Swamp cooler downstairs, the clock ticking in my office, cars outside, people moving around the house. I’m surprised the neighbor kids aren’t shrieking their absolute heads off as per the usual. 

41. Where do you feel the safest? 

When I’m alone and unobserved. 

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer? 

TMI warning, but I absolutely despise public bathrooms. How am I expected to pee when there’s somebody sitting like three (3) feet away, with only a partial wall between us, hearing everything that’s going on? My fight or flight response simply will not allow it. It’s too awkward and therefore Not Safe. Either that public restroom has to be empty except for me, or it has to be so loud and bustling that ain’t nobody hearing anything. Anything in-between and I’m in hell.

43. If you could travel back to any era, what would it be? 

The ‘80s. Let’s be honest, even that far back makes my life (as a woman, and as a gay person) hella difficult. But, consider this: it’s the ‘80s. Furthermore, consider this: a part-time job might have actually supported me and paid rent back then 😱 Holy fucking shit. Sign me up. I just wouldn’t want to go any further than than like 1980, because again: lesbian. Being a woman in the past = even harder than it is today, being gay in the past = even harder than it is today, being a gay woman in the past = oh no.

44. What is your most used emoji? 

In order of descending frequency:

😂🙄😊😁🤦🏼‍♀️👀😬🌈🤷🏼‍♀️😙

45. Describe yourself using one word. 

Creative

46. What do you regret the most?

Wasting my entire teenage experience. (See #38.) I did quite literally nothing with my life except homework for like 18 years. If I had taken even a tenth as much time for myself as I did for school, I would be so much farther along as a person today.

47. Last movie you saw? 

In the theaters? ........ uh. Shit, I don’t actually remember. It’s been like 5 months. (As it has for everyone.) But the last movie I watched was Lights Out, because I’ve been watching the director’s youtube channel. You could tell it was low-budget and that the director was still kind of finding his stride, but it had a lot of heart behind it and the creators clearly gave a fuck, which made it enjoyable. I am firmly in the camp of “not everything has to be a Magnum Opus or have a multi-billion dollar budget to be a good movie.” If I engaged with it and got some sort of emotional experience out of it, and if it had a good message, I consider it a good movie.

48. Last tv show you watched? 

I don’t usually watch a whole lot of TV shows (who has the time?) but I think the last thing I watched was either The Witcher or that new Unsolved Mysteries miniseries on Netflix. Oh and I was watching Dead to Me because I just love Linda Cardellini’s face and I want to wrap Judy up in a blanket and cuddle the shit out of her and protect her from all things 🥺 My precious beautiful unstable sweet murder baby.

49. Invent a word and it’s meaning. 

Apapanic. It’s where you’re so stressed about things that half of your brain is panicking but the other half is so overwhelmed that it circled all the way back around to being calm to the point of apathy, so you just kind of sit there like

#about me #tag game #except as usual i'm not gonna tag people because I don't have to social energy to ask people to do things #sorry i know that's kind of cheating #if you wanna overshare just say I tagged you lol #personal #tmi

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey, do you know any fics where Johnlock are in a queerplatonic relationship? I've read exactly one, Awakening by Guanin, and I'm craving more. Bonus points if either of them are aroace or apsec in any way :D

Hi Lovely!!

I know of a few!!! Funny story: I thought I only knew of two… when I started tag-searching, turns out I know more than I thought I knew I’ve also added the one you suggested, since I haven’t read that one yet!!

QUEERPLATONIC / ACE RELATIONSHIPS

See also: 

Platonics and Domestics

Platonics & Domestics Pt 2 / Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 3 / Tooth-Rotting Fluff Pt. 4 / Love Confessions, Slow Burn & Dev. Rel. Pt. 2 / Established Relationship Pt. 3

Platonics / Bromance / Friendship Pt. 3

Do You Love Me? by whitchry9 (K, 641 w. || Friendship, Family, Epic Bromance) – John asks Sherlock perhaps the most important question. 

Settling In by PorcupineGirl (T, 1,030 w. || Ace Sherlock/Straight-Biromo John, Queerplatonic Relationship, Fluff) – Asexual!Sherlock/Straight!John in a queerplatonic romantic relationship. It’s a bit of an oddball, but anything fluffy and loving and nonporny will be endlessly and forever adored. It’s always fun to see the two work out that hey, we’re in love, we don’t have sex, but it’s still a wonderful and meaningful relationship.

Cuddling by GraciousK (G, 1,107 w. || Angst, Cuddling, Hypothermia, Dev. Rel., Fluff and Angst) - John finds Sherlock and he’s delirious. John saves Sherlock, semi-happy ending.

The Cure for Snoring by Goddess_of_the_Night (G, 1,278 w. || Sleepy Conversations, Bed Sharing, Cuddling, Fluff, Domestic, Platonic / Sleepy Cuddles) – Sherlock and John spend the night in Scotland after finishing a case. The sole Inn in town only has one room left…one bed. This would be fine - if not a bit awkward - if Sherlock hadn’t developed a habit of snoring loudly. John suffers through many hours of sleeplessness before he discovers that skin-to-skin contact stops the noise. Part 1 of Dreamscapes

Random Numbers by songlin (T, 1,671 w. || Ace Sherlock / Straight John, Cuddling / Snuggling, Massage, Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Post-TRF, Slice of Life) – A collection of moments in the relationship of asexual!Sherlock and straight!John.

the fearful passage of death-mark’d love by flibbertygigget (T, 1,980 w. || Magical Realism, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Life Partners, Name Marks, Referenced Deaths) – The first time that John meets Sherlock Holmes, the younger man has his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, wrists bare of any hint of ink. Within 48 hours, John has added “Jefferson Hope” to his clavicle. (Or: The One Where, When You Kill Someone, Their Name Shows Up On Your Arm)

Tangential by Bitenomnom (NR, 2,047 w. || Ace Sherlock, Fluff and Love, Cuddles, Friendship, Sherlock is a Kept Man, Sherlock Divorces his Work, Nightmares) – In which John stitches up Sherlock’s head (but not really), Sherlock comes into John’s room at night to take his laptop (but not really), Sherlock is married to his Work (but not really), and John is more than proficient at keeping Sherlock (really, definitely). Part 48 of Mathematical Proof

L'Esprit D'Escalier by TheSoulOfAStrawberry (K, 2,011 w. || Ace Sherlock, Romance, H/C, Pining) – A lack of understanding leads to a misunderstanding, which in turn leads to two confused men dealing with something they should have sorted out earlier, rather than on John’s wedding day.

Rooftop Confession by Random_Nexus (T, 2,514 w. || Ace Sherlock, Developing Relationship, Friendship / Love, Angsty Fluff) – Sherlock asks John to join him for a slightly unexpected discussion.

As You Wish by PipMer (K, 3,311 w. || Bromance/Pre-Slash/Epic Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, John Whump, Hospitals) – When John woke from his coma, he wasn’t at all surprised to see the wrong Holmes brother sitting at his bedside. Disappointed, but not surprised. 

The Second Law of Thermodynamics by entanglednow (T, 3,614 || Asexual Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Sharing Body Heat) – In which there’s no heating and there’s a dead owl in Sherlock’s bed. Part 1 of Thermodynamics

The Genetic Algorithm by Bitenomnom (NR, 3,786 w. || Ace Sherlock, Friendship, Cuddling Fluff, Sherlock Experiments on John, Alternating First Person POV) – Some problems defy the usage of cold, clean-cut linear logic. It is impossible to devise a way to take steps that ultimately lead exactly to an optimal answer. Sherlock believes John Watson is one of those problems. Part 28 of Mathematical Proof

Breakfast, acronyms and brotherhood by Rose de Sharon (K+, 4,074 w. || TBB Fic, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Protective John, Fluff) – Set after The Blind Banker: my take of Sherlock and John’s conversation over breakfast. S/J friendship, bromance, no slash.

Bed-Sharing Between Flatmates by testosterone_tea (T, 5,053 w. || 5 and Ones, Bed Sharing, PTSD John, Science, Whump, Insecure Sherlock, Asexual Sherlock) – 5 times Sherlock had an excuse to share John’s bed, and the one time he didn’t need one.

The Important Bit by Solshine (G, 9,984 w. || Platonic Marriage, Domestics, Asexual Sherlock) – Just where exactly is the line between “to love” and “to be in love”? What difference is required between “flatmate” and “husband”? (Besides the rings, obviously.) No, the important bit is that they have each other. Thirty years, give or take, in an atypical marriage. Basically a long bit of platonic domestic fluff.

A Is For Aftermath by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 10,567 w. || Injury / Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Pre-Slash/Bromance/Platonics, Hallucinations, Introspection, Insecure / Worried John, Big Brother Mycroft, Alternating POV, Anxious Sherlock, Self-Deprecating, Mildly Possessive Sherlock, 3G Moment) – John is still hallucinating, Sherlock cannot sleep, and Lestrade has a new case for them. But will life at 221B ever be able to return to normal? Epilogue to M is for Moriarty.

Catastrophe Medicine by LaSuen (T, 11,550 w. || Hurt / Comfort, Suspense, Adventure, Whump, Hard Core Bromance) – Chasing after a pyromaniac bomber Sherlock and John wind up in a deserted building which explodes and leaves them trapped under the rubble, both severely injured.

Always the sun by Rose de Sharon (K+, 12,377 w. || Song Fic, Alternate Post-TGG, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection / Reflection, Injury Recovery, Obsessive / Protective Sherlock, Nightmares, John’s Past, Bed Sharing / Cuddles) – Sherlock ponders about how much his life has changed since John has become his flatmate.

Shuteye Shenanigans by Ayakae (K+, 13,263 w. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Epic Bromance, John’s Nightmares, Angsty Fluff, Bed Sharing, Humour, Cuddles, Taking Care of Each Other, Domestics) – John Watson has never slept with Sherlock Holmes. Never ever ever. And never will, thank you very much. Well, there was that one time, but John didn’t count that. It was completely different, just like the second time it happened. And the third. And the fourth. Epic bromance, but it can be read as pre-slash if you wish.

Hope for Heroes by Richefic (K+, 16,887 w. || Post-TGG Fic, Introspection / Flashbacks, Friendship/Epic Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Worried/Anxious Sherlock, Sherlock Admires John, BAMF John, John Deduces, Fancy Party, John’s Self Esteem, Domestics) – In the final moments of “The Great Game” Holmes hopes he will have the chance to tell his flatmate that he was wrong. Heroes do exist after all and the one in front of him is called Dr John Watson.

Sherlock’s Head, John’s Heart by Altego (T, 17,252 w. || Tragedy, Heavy Angst, Heavy Bromance, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Mary is Nice, Friendship) – After Mary dies, John tries to cope, and Sherlock blames himself but tries to make John understand how important John is in his life.

Checkmate to a Castled King by LaSuen (T, 18,290 w. || Friendship/Bromance, Hurt / Comfort, Sick Sherlock, Rev. Reich.) - John dies. Or at least everyone thinks he does.

An Experiment in Apathy Series by belovedmuerto (G to E, 28,701 w. across 13 stories || Empath John, Empath-by-Proxy Sherlock, Epic Bromance Becomes Romance, Angst, Nightmares, Experiments, Trauma, Dreams) – “No man is an island, John. You less so than most.” A sequel to the EiE Series, wherein John and Sherlock explore their relationship.

A Week is Just Seven Days Isn’t It? by scifigrl47 (T, 39,906 w. || Humour, Friendship/Bromance, Stroppy Sherlock, Undercover/Army John, Texting, Pining-ish Sherlock, John Whump) – When John heads overseas for a week, Sherlock’s forced to fend for himself. It goes about as well as anyone could have anticipated. Which is to say, very, very poorly. Don’t worry, things’ll be fine in just seven days.

Awakenings by Guanin (T, 41,034 w. || Post-S1, Cuddling & Snuggling, Ace!Sherlock, Aro!Sherlock, Bisexuality, Queerplatonic Relationships) – John’s breath shook the collar of Sherlock’s shirt, breath which was pleasantly warm and bathed the skin of Sherlock’s neck and collarbone in a tantalizing way that Sherlock wasn’t sure if he wished to analyze at the moment, yet was doing anyway, because how couldn’t he? It incited a slight tremble in his skin at first, the slightest pricking sensation as his breath shuddered to a stop in his throat at the sudden and unexpected intimacy of it. John’s breath, John’s, brushing against him and Sherlock letting it remain so close as if it belonged there, no more alien to his own body than the clothes he wore. Because it was John’s. {{TO READ}}

Holmes is where the heart is by Rose de Sharon (T, 49,636 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Post-TRF, Reunion Fic, Bromance, Empty House Inspired, Adventure) – Three years after the Reichenbach Fall. On the anniversary of Sherlock’s death, John pays a visit at 221 B Baker Street… and he gets the shock of his life.

A Love with No Name Series by aceofhearts61 (G to M, 49,955 w. across 20 stories || Asexual Sherlock / Straight John, Est. Rel, Queerplatonic Relationship, Romance, Cuddling, Fluff, Platonic Romance, Domestics) – In which Asexual!Sherlock and Straight!John are platonically in love life partners.

An Experiment in Empathy Series by belovedmuerto (T, 62,397 w. across 13 stories || Empath AU || Psychic John, Psychic-by-Proxy Sherlock, Empathy, Psychic Bond, Romance / Bromance) – In which John is an empath, Sherlock is Sherlock, and an epic bromance happens. In the aftermath of The Great Game, John creates an unexpected bond between himself and Sherlock. Now they have to learn how to deal with it. John is better at this than Sherlock is.

The Green Blade by verityburns (T, 72,929 w. || Casefic, Bromance) – As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit…

Unkissed Series by 221b_hound (T to E, 184,168 w. across 46 works || Established Relationship, Ace Sherlock) – Sherlock returned from the dead a year ago. John returned to Baker Street six months ago. They’ve been in a couple since then. or at least, not NOT a couple. For two smart men, they sure can be dumb. Luckily, an art thief tries to drown Sherlock, Sherlock has a fever dream and things are about to change.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #queerplatonic relationships #asexual fics #catsarecutebutaliens

[tanadrin]

Tagging @theunitofcaring because you may find this of interest, though it’s tangential to your earlier posts

I was talking to my mother today, and I asked her to describe, as she sees them, the challenges facing child protection agencies in the U.S. She worked for many years, variously, as a guardian ad litem, a lawyer representing parents whose children had been taken into a custody, and as an attorney for the child welfare agency of my home state, which, during her tenure, was sued for the failures of its foster-care system specifically. The problems it faced (and continues to face) can be broadly grouped into funding, political dysfunction, and bureaucratic dysfunction, as perhaps they can for most government agencies.

In the 90s, Home State’s child welfare system was drastically reorganized, putting child protective services for the first time under the aegis of a single agency. That agency was underfunded and ineffectually led, and the dysfunction of its foster-care system specifically led to a lawsuit engineered with the cooperation of interested parties in Home State’s government, since it was widely acknowledged by those with firsthand experience that that was the only way to get the state legislature to adequately fund the necessary changes. This lawsuit resulted in federal oversight of Home State’s child welfare system, until 2015 when the system began to meet the targets determined by the settlement in the original case, although only as a result of the current leadership (over the protests of the legal arm of the child welfare service) doing their best to lie about the relevant statistics for a number of years. CPS in that state is still underfunded; the usual anti-pattern, especially in cases of child removal, is that a child is removed from the home on a short-term bases (for which the burden of evidence is quite low), nominally contingent on the parent or parents being provided certain social services to improve the condition of the home, but these services never appear because of bureaucratic or funding failures on the part of CPS, and the case drags on much longer than it should.

Political dysfunction is also extreme, especially in rural areas of Home State; corruption of the form of kickbacks by privately-owned institutions to juvenile court judges is one form of corruption. The general understanding I have of politics in Home State is that, especially but not only in rural regions, networks of patronage and nepotism are endemic in a way they are not in better-run regions of the U.S. or foreign countries. Sometimes this corruption reaches farcical levels, like one child welfare lawyer’s life being threatened by a juvenile court judge with friends in the local police department. (Said judge is now a lawyer in private practice, and as far as I know has never been charged criminally.) There is also a much closer interface between the area of juvenile justice and child welfare than most people probably think: in the case of Home State, since the federal lawsuit governing the behavior of CPS affected only the foster-care system, there was some incentive to essentially neglect minors (especially boys--boys in general and adolescent African American boys in particular face severe challenges other children in the foster care system seem not to face) to the point where their behavior became a criminal matter, meaning they went directly into the juvenile justice system rather than becoming part of the foster care system.

The legislature of Home State was and is mostly uninterested in the issue of child welfare. The normal situation is critical underfunding, resulting in overworked social workers and lawyers, who therefore lack resources even if their intentions are the best (which they usually are) and their training and leadership is good (much more hit and miss), especially because at the highest levels CPS in Home State is run by political appointees, and therefore political considerations and concerns over external appearance dominate. Part of this is the incentive toward defensive social work: if a child who CPS has had contact with dies in the custody of their parents, there is a strong CYA incentive for social workers to be much more likely to remove children from the home if the risks to that child seem at all to warrant it. This kind of attitude makes it much more likely a  child might be removed from the home due to circumstances, like poverty, that are not the fault of the parent.

Many of these factors generalize to other parts of the U.S. The two factors my mother named which seemed in our discussion to be most deleterious to a well-run CPS organization in any state, though, are 1) the privatization of any component of the system, since that provides strong incentives for the people who are receiving state funds to care for children to keep the children in the system as long as possible (costs go down the longer a child is in the system; Home State essentially had to destroy the profit motive of private providers by reviewing the status of every child in their care every 30 days), and 2) the state of the healthcare system in general. Much of what CPS agencies provide or should provide is essentially highly-targeted mental health services. As a general rule, of course the provision of these services is woefully inadequate across the United States; one of the crucial differences, as she understands it, between the ability of the U.S. to have a decent child welfare system versus other developed countries is the poor provision of these services.

Despite improvements made for a time in Home State’s CPS agency as a result of the federal lawsuit, the system is currently not much better than it was in the late 90s. The last change in state administration provided a strong incentive to exit the settlement agreement by meeting the targets it set, and therefore to lie about whether those targets were being reached. Although Home State was once a national leader in some respects w/r/t its child welfare system, it is currently middle of the pack at best, which is to say doing abysmally by any objective standard.

#child abuse #child welfare #not naming Home State for searchability reasons #but you can probably google it based on the details provided #fun fact: there are more church congregations in Home State than there are children in state custody #which meant that if Home State's social conservatives put their money where their mouth was that particular problem could be ended tomorrow

[kivablog3]

Sylvia’s Cooking

I just got my first Stonewall 50 email. At the bottom of the email in the small print it says Heritage of Pride™, which means it’s still run by the same guys as always, except under more scrutiny now, after getting the march on Channel 7 and with the whole world coming next year to physically or spiritually fit into that little pie-wedge space on Christopher Street where the Stonewall Inn bar is located. This World Pride thing isn’t just an advertising slogan they came up with at HoP, it’s a Thing, like Stonewall 50’s a Thing. My therapist, who’s very active in the community and probably gets lots of interesting emails from various Things, told me it happens at a different city’s Pride each year.

And next year, of course, they’re coming to New York, because it’ll be the 50th Anniversary of the night Sylvia Rivera and her friend Marsha P. Johnson (who I never met, and who may have thrown the first punch, there are scholarly debates on this point, but I am told that Sylvia firmly insisted that she was the first one who punched a cop, it’s like the debate over Lexington and Concord, they’re not sure exactly where the Revolution started but we know that they started it) threw out the first punches to start the legendary three-day riot, rather than just get in the police van like always, right in front of the Stonewall Inn. The night the drag queens finally began to fight back. It made a sound heard ‘round the world, and it’s still reverberating, and if anything really changed the course of history in that wretched year of 1969, that surely did.

It reached me in the front seat of our car when I was with my mom one Saturday, when for once my sister wasn’t with us. I used to like tagging along on her Saturday visits to her office, wherever that was. As we were about to drive away from the small airfield where she worked as a secretary to go to some thing where co-workers were already playing bad country music, I asked her what a homosexual was. It was a sunny day and there was no one else around for a mile in any direction. It was the Summer of 1969, of course, and I was eleven years old.

I can only suppose this is just after I’d heard of Stonewall in the news. It was the first time I’d ever brought up sex as a topic of discussion with my mother, and I did this with some trepidation. I sort of knew this wasn’t her favorite topic of conversation generally, sex, much less transgressive sex. The kind hippies had. Maybe some of them were homosexual, who knew? So I persisted in my line of inquiry. What I didn’t know was that she’d been waiting for some version of that question ever since she’d stopped dressing me in dresses, when I was two.

She put the transmission back in park, turned the engine off, sighed, and for once didn’t light a cigarette before we started what turned out to be a lengthy, meandering conversation, which wandered after a while into related and then tangential topics, and which ended with me correcting her on some minor misunderstandings as to how gonorrhea was transmitted, at which point things kind of ground to a halt and she started the car up.

The whole thing probably took an hour. She used to joke that she’d had the Talk with me, the generalized birds and bees talk, because we did touch on conventional sex and How Babies Are Made, but that I had ended up explaining some things to her, instead, which shouldn’t have surprised her. I did read a lot, after all. I probably already knew a couple of things about homosexuals, but I wanted an explanation of how they actually Did It, and as squirmy as that made me, I wheedled it out of her. I could’ve asked her more about how a male-female couple had sex, but that wasn’t what was on my mind. She wasn’t happy about it, and did her best to make it clear that it was all gross and disgusting. I think she made a face when she was explaining lesbians to me. I liked the sound of the word the first time I heard it, tbh: Lesbian. It sounded soft and fuzzy.

I remember wondering about the feasibility of anal sex, as she sketchily and hastily outlined it, which apparently was what men did together; but what women did together sounded really kind of fun and not nearly as difficult. She didn’t want to talk about that, though, and I do remember that it was around there that the discussion went off into the weeds, to things related and not. Eventually we ended up at syphilis and gonorrhea (aka “VD,” or venereal disease, where venereal=“vaginally transmitted,” rather than “of or having to do with the goddess or planet Venus” — clearly a term invented by men) and I explained some of the then-current science on transmission to her, i.e., you don’t catch it from dirty toilet seats in public restrooms. Not girls, not boys, it’s a myth, mom. They told us in science.

All that was fifty years ago, as of next June. The following June, in 1970, they had the first Christopher Street Liberation Day March, so 2020 is the fiftieth anniversary of the March. But next year is the Big One. It looks like this anniversary will be just as controlled and careful as the 25th anniversary in 1994 was huge and utterly chaotic and wonderfully random, with 200,000 marchers from around the world. We took over Central Park. We took over freakin’ Midtown. It rocked.

Well, not next time. No more of that anarcho-festive celebration stuff. Now you have to be part of a signed-up contingent to be part of the march, and those slots are limited. And no more hopping in-and-out from the sidewalk, apparently. They want everyone in a marching contingent to wear the same t-shirts, ffs. It has to be controlled, as well as going backwards (starting a few blocks north of Christopher, past the Stonewall the wrong way, and up Fifth Avenue, what the fuck?) I’m told some of the people in the Village are tired of the crowds and the noise. They can do what people do in Austin when SXSW comes along: leave town. Tiniest quantum violin playing.

Now that it’s a TV show, I guess it has to run on time and look good on camera. They’ll have a beautifully made-up drag queen doing commentary like last year, along with the usual probably-white cis-guy-&-cis-gal parade anchors. I don’t know where they find those. It’ll become another tradition soon, that trio as parade anchors, now that scientists have established that str8 people in statistically significant numbers will watch drag queens on television and thus advertising time can be sold for this event. It’ll be just like the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, or the Fourth of July, only with One of Us in the booth along with two of them.

“And you know, Mike, the rainbow flag has been a unifying symbol in the LGBT community since it was first designed in 1978, and did you know that originally it had eight stripes….” There will be carefully-timed performances in front of the Stonewall, and commercial breaks. Some of the stories people tell will break your heart, some will make it sing. Plus commercials, did I mention the commercials? You can record it and FF through them. I did. I stopped this year to watch Chelsea and Rusty talking about Sylvia, which is what makes me think of them all, along with the fact that Sylvia and Marsha deserve statues, and you get reminded of that every June. I’d love to have a statue of the two of them at the Stonewall National Monument, which technically is the little triangular pie-slice shaped park, the benches and the wrought-iron fencing, where you can sit next to the statues representing gay men and women from the 1980s. They should add Sylvia and Marsha.

The whole parade on TV represents some kind of weird queer communications breakthrough, I guess. And now that it’s on every year, I suppose it has to be faaaaaaabulouss! I guess we can record it and go, too. And watch. There were some forums recently at the Center, maybe just one, where people could come and complain about the corporatization of Pride, and the most-of-us not marching thing, and the reverse-route thing where it just kind of ends around 28th Street for no apparent reason, and ask for things they won’t get, but that part’s over and it’s time for Early Bird sign-up.

Whatever. Sylvia and Marsha are the mothers of us all, both trannies and everyone else that fits under this patched, unwieldy tent called “LGBTQ.” We argue, some of us incessantly, about which part of the tent is what, and whether this part is even really part of the same tent as that other part of the tent, but no one argues with the fact that Sylvia and Marsha put up the first tent poles. That may not be the most elegant metaphor, but I’m going with it. Never apologize for your art.

And it’s kind of okay, I think now, or at least I’m trying to convince myself it is, that I never realized “who” Sylvia was, even though at least two people said I should talk to her because I was “interested in politics.” Hm? Oh, ok. No one ever said why. Ffs.

But it felt sort of like I knew Sylvia, the way it feels like I know these professors and other people who my wife works with, after I hear her describe them a few times. She’s a union delegate as well as a math professor, so she knows a lot of people. By now I also know a lot about professors in general. And in the same way I realized after a while from talking to people around T-House, conversations in which she came up, often at vital junctures, that Sylvia was the Mom around the place: she made dinner, I knew that much, and she did a lot of other things to keep Transy* House, Chelsea and Rusty’s house, from burning down, falling over, and sinking during those raucous years around the end of the 20th century. She seemed quite nice when I was introduced across a crowded room downstairs, which actually happened twice I think. She smiled and said hi, I do remember that. She seemed nice.

That, in and of itself, was quite difficult for some people I was around back then — this was and still is New York, the Attitude Capital of the Western Hemisphere and, during Fashion Weeks, the Tribeca Film Festival, and the General Assembly, perhaps the world — but from my brief impression she seemed genuine, and older in a reassuring way when I was twenty years younger. She gave off these hippie-mama vibes, just by making dinner. In a house where a whole lot of chaos happened, and necessarily so given how many trans kids with no other home came through there — because Chelsea and Rusty never turned anyone away, not as far as I know — not to mention how much fun was had there on a regular basis, at least some of it destructive of property, she just looked to me, in a vortex of drama, like a pole of stability.

Maybe that’s shaped by how people talked about her. Everyone said how nice she was; but I wasn’t over there often enough to run into her when she was (a) there and (b) had a free moment, and didn’t know I should prioritize it anyway. And there were other people using up the oxygen in the room at any given time, including me. But it would have been awesome to truly know her.

I knew other people there, had my own reasons for being there. I lived with Kathleen and our two-year-old son in an apartment which was also on 16th Street, in Brooklyn, two blocks away. It was the Nineties, so it didn’t seem unusual to me that there was a house full of transfolx a short walk away, nor that my friend Jamie knew everyone there. Like, she knew everyone. She was the other pole of stability then, around the turn of the century. She doubtless knew Sylvia pretty well, and she probably told me enough to form an impression.

Now Chelsea and Rusty own a bookstore upstate, and T-House is long gone, replaced by the ineluctable tidal forces of gentrification, although there’s a queer history tour that stops at the site and tells a short version of The Story. I wish sometimes they could have a sort of T-House reunion, somewhere, somehow. I would very much like to find Jamie again, even if only online. And I do still wish I’d gotten to talk with Sylvia.

#HistoricalNearMisses

__________

Footnote: Everyone back then except Chelsea, more or less, called it that, but without the “s,” if you get what I mean. We don’t say it anymore, at least not when younger transfolx are around. People get really upset, and if it’s only been used to hurt you it’s a painful word, I get that. Yet it was our word then, and it didn’t hurt at all. It was a warm, friendly word. It was what we called each other, lovingly, and no one else had any reason to use it, and I miss it.

this article also appears at https://medium.com/@kivazo/sylvias-cooking-1b1b4f24e780

#trans #gender #transgender #transsexual #trans lesbian #LGBTQ #LGBT #Transy House #Sylvia Rivera #Gay Pride #Stonewall 50 #World Pride

[corellianhounds]

Writing Game

Tagged by: @the-blind-assassin-12 (Thank you! 🥰)

Under a cut for length

Name: Hounds

Fandoms: Here, it’s The Mandalorian and general Star Wars.

Two-Shot: None at the moment

Most Popular Multi-Chapter: None posted yet

Actual Worst Part of Writing: For me it’s bringing everything together because I write and brainstorm out of order, and almost exclusively by hand the first time around 😬

How do you choose your titles?: They usually come after the piece is written and I can think about what encapsulates the story as a whole, but I’m always tossing around combinations of words or phrases to find things that just sound good. They typically relate to main themes or a line of dialogue. I’m particularly a fan of titles that have multiple meanings in the context of a story, and/or set up the reader to expect one thing and find a parallel somewhere else, or that end up having a completely different meaning by the end because they now have the context.

Do you outline?: I should. Brainstorming is the fun part for me, so I consider “outlining” what happens once I start to assemble my notes and get organized, so it takes longer and drags down the actual writing process for me, even though I know it’s beneficial.

Ideas I probably won’t get around to but wouldn’t it be nice: I don’t like to think of my writing this way because it’s discouraging to think of potential stories with an already-resigned sense of them never coming to fruition.

Callouts @ Myself: Stop scrolling through tags. Don’t worry about potential problems; they can’t be fixed until they’re on paper anyway. You can’t edit a blank page. Remember how excited you are to share what no one else has done yet. Sit down and create something so it doesn’t go to waste as daydreams. Stop being afraid to share things and collaborate with others because you know it gets you excited to have someone to bounce ideas off of, and your writing is better for it. Learn to reconcile “done” and “satisfied.” Write the long story.

Best Writing Traits: I really do think I have impactful and exciting ideas, I like my character analysis and implementation, and I think there are times I can convey ideas/scenes/descriptions/imagery really, really well.

Spicy Tangential Opinion: Honestly I don’t think I want Mando to have a love interest because I think it would distract from the story that’s being told. I know I mentioned Omera, but I specifically like her in the context of an episode that was meant to showcase what Din (thinks he) can never have. I’m not saying he as a person could never have that, I just don’t think that particular story would fit into the show that’s currently unfolding. I think the idea of exploring his sense of family with only a child is good enough, because a family can just be a parent and their child.

I have other unpopular opinions but I try to keep it to a minimum here since no one has asked for them. They may occasionally breach containment if I think of a satisfying way to convey them though.

Tagging: Anyone who would like to! I like seeing other people’s creative processes

#hounds speaks #not Star Wars #kinda #tag game