forgottenvice

[forgottenvice]

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[forgottenvice]

Blood is thicker

AO3

The echoes of footsteps and laughter grew distant as Sanji sucked in each breath, his ribs ached and he could feel the warm sticky wetness of blood seeping onto the cold stone floor.

It was his blood.

He pushed himself up to his elbows but the heavy metal mask pulled his head down until the iron clanged harshly against the cold stone. Sanji winced. Not only did the sound hurt his ears but his head vibrated within the metal making the rest of his body shake. Each bruise, artfully gifted to him by his brothers, throbbed painfully.

He didn't understand why it was always the three of them against him; well he did, sort of. He was the failure. What he didn't understand was why no matter how hard he worked or how he tried he would always be the failure. He was one of a set of four but he never seemed to fit in, so they had simply stopped making room.

There had always been room with his mom, she never called him a failure. She'd eat everything he tried to cook for her, and give him a hug whenever he asked.

He wished he had asked more.

He'd never get one of those hugs again.

When that thought hit him, so did the tears. He'd tried hard to hold them back while his brothers were around; all they would have gotten him was more mocking calls of ‘failure’ and ‘crybaby’. But he'd heard the dungeon door close and their echoing laughter had left with them. He was alone, which meant no one was around to hear him cry.

He was so tired of being alone.

He watched the blood smear across the floor when he finally pulled himself off of it, and that's when he'd gotten the idea.

Maybe he didn't have to be alone.

He couldn't remember where he'd found the book; probably in the library while he had been hiding from his brothers, long before he'd been sentenced to obscurity in the dungeon. But that didn't matter, he did remember what was in it.

It had made grand promises, power, strength, fortune, everything his fa-- Judge had ever berated him for lacking. Reading it had been almost like a dream come true. Except as with everything it came with a catch.

When you ask for something you must offer something of equal value, or so the book said. At the time he didn't want to risk anything he had of such worth, but with his mother gone... Well now he just hoped whatever he had would be enough.

The ritual itself wasn't that hard; he was already bleeding and it had stated that the circle would need to be drawn in blood, so he carefully placed each symbol as perfectly as he could remember.

He'd kept the book, hiding it under the floorboards in his room, reading it over and over trying to decide if it was worth it. So even though he didn't have it sitting directly in front of him he had already memorized the instructions and diagrams.

While he drew he tried not to think of his mom, she was the only one who'd cared about him and he wanted that back, someone who smiled when he entered the room, called his name in that special way that made sure he knew she loved him. The steady tap tap of his tears hitting the iron kept him company as his fingers slid across the stone. Whenever he needed more blood he just pressed against the cut on his arm and a fresh wave of the stuff coated his fingers.

He tried to steer his thoughts away from his mom and towards what it was he'd be summoning. The book had called them demons, going on about how they couldn't be killed by normal means, sickness wouldn't affect them, and only the most legendary of weapons could cut them. That meant Sanji wouldn't lose them, which was an exciting prospect. Nobody would be able to take them away from him, and maybe they'd even like his cooking.

His brothers wouldn't be able to hurt them, and since he was using his own blood for the ritual they would be connected to him, apparently for eternity, which seemed like a long time. That should be long enough for Sanji.

It wasn't easy putting the whole thing together. One of his eyes had swelled up to the point that it was pressing painfully against the helmet, he had to be particular about how he moved so as not to smudge anything, and the metallic smell was impossible to ignore. He had to carefully maneuver under his cot because the small cell barely had enough space for him to fit in the circle.

When it was finished he pulled himself up onto the cot looking down at the lines. It wasn't perfect; anything he did rarely was, and it was hard to see in the dim light of the cell but it was all there, well almost all of it.

He needed to figure out which demon he was summoning. The book told him he'd need the demon's symbol but it hadn't actually given him any to choose from. Eventually he decided to draw three lines in the center of the circle. Three just like his name, hopefully that would call him a demon that wouldn't hate him.

The only thing left to do was to make some sort of offering, then he would chant the words and he'd never be alone again. Sanji didn't have much, he'd been locked up for weeks but he had been given a small meal of rice and fish, and by some miracle his brothers hadn't kicked it over during their 'visit', it was the meal he'd been given most often but it just didn't seem like enough.

But it was all he had, so he decided to work on the presentation of it. He worked the rice around the fish into a small triangle. It wasn't perfect but it mostly looked like onigiri. It was one of the snacks he had wanted to try and make for his mom before she-

He sniffled, he tried to rub his nose but the stupid helmet was in the way, but that was probably for the best. He shouldn't be handling food with dirty fingers. Instead he focused on trying to make sure his rice balls were perfect, if they were he'd have a new friend who couldn't leave him. He tried to shake away the morose thoughts and returned to his task.

They ended up looking a little lumpy, and he didn't have any mayonnaise or salt to help with the flavor. He vaguely remembered the recipe called for both, but the rice didn't quite stick right either so he wouldn't worry about it, at this point it was the best he could too.

He was a little hungry, but the food was better off going to whatever he summoned, it wasn't like he was very good at fitting the food through the grate of his mask, and he hated when small pieces like crumbs or grains of rice fell down and got stuck under his chin.

He placed the meager dish in the center of the circle and tip-toed over the already completed lines until he could reach his cot and climb above the completed design. He took a breath, pushed on the aching slash in arm. It still had blood to give but was achingly sore from being milked for the process. By that point his nostrils couldn't catch anything but the metallic tang of iron that filled his small cell, the usual damp salty scent overpowered by the sanguine monstrosity that covered the floor.

He hoped this worked because he didn't have much beyond his own shirt to clean it up if it didn’t. And if his brothers found the mess that’s what he’d be forced to use. 

It was ready, only one thing was missing. He took another deep breath before he held out his bloodied hand and began chanting the words he'd only been able to read before. They were in a strange language, one he hadn't been taught, he probably pronounced something wrong but he would just have to hope that it would still work.

Read the rest Here

Go give some love to my artist J.Bonney (art is in the fic on AO3)

[forgottenvice]

Blood is thicker

AO3

The echoes of footsteps and laughter grew distant as Sanji sucked in each breath, his ribs ached and he could feel the warm sticky wetness of blood seeping onto the cold stone floor.

It was his blood.

He pushed himself up to his elbows but the heavy metal mask pulled his head down until the iron clanged harshly against the cold stone. Sanji winced. Not only did the sound hurt his ears but his head vibrated within the metal making the rest of his body shake. Each bruise, artfully gifted to him by his brothers, throbbed painfully.

He didn't understand why it was always the three of them against him; well he did, sort of. He was the failure. What he didn't understand was why no matter how hard he worked or how he tried he would always be the failure. He was one of a set of four but he never seemed to fit in, so they had simply stopped making room.

There had always been room with his mom, she never called him a failure. She'd eat everything he tried to cook for her, and give him a hug whenever he asked.

He wished he had asked more.

He'd never get one of those hugs again.

When that thought hit him, so did the tears. He'd tried hard to hold them back while his brothers were around; all they would have gotten him was more mocking calls of ‘failure’ and ‘crybaby’. But he'd heard the dungeon door close and their echoing laughter had left with them. He was alone, which meant no one was around to hear him cry.

He was so tired of being alone.

He watched the blood smear across the floor when he finally pulled himself off of it, and that's when he'd gotten the idea.

Maybe he didn't have to be alone.

He couldn't remember where he'd found the book; probably in the library while he had been hiding from his brothers, long before he'd been sentenced to obscurity in the dungeon. But that didn't matter, he did remember what was in it.

It had made grand promises, power, strength, fortune, everything his fa-- Judge had ever berated him for lacking. Reading it had been almost like a dream come true. Except as with everything it came with a catch.

When you ask for something you must offer something of equal value, or so the book said. At the time he didn't want to risk anything he had of such worth, but with his mother gone... Well now he just hoped whatever he had would be enough.

The ritual itself wasn't that hard; he was already bleeding and it had stated that the circle would need to be drawn in blood, so he carefully placed each symbol as perfectly as he could remember.

He'd kept the book, hiding it under the floorboards in his room, reading it over and over trying to decide if it was worth it. So even though he didn't have it sitting directly in front of him he had already memorized the instructions and diagrams.

While he drew he tried not to think of his mom, she was the only one who'd cared about him and he wanted that back, someone who smiled when he entered the room, called his name in that special way that made sure he knew she loved him. The steady tap tap of his tears hitting the iron kept him company as his fingers slid across the stone. Whenever he needed more blood he just pressed against the cut on his arm and a fresh wave of the stuff coated his fingers.

He tried to steer his thoughts away from his mom and towards what it was he'd be summoning. The book had called them demons, going on about how they couldn't be killed by normal means, sickness wouldn't affect them, and only the most legendary of weapons could cut them. That meant Sanji wouldn't lose them, which was an exciting prospect. Nobody would be able to take them away from him, and maybe they'd even like his cooking.

His brothers wouldn't be able to hurt them, and since he was using his own blood for the ritual they would be connected to him, apparently for eternity, which seemed like a long time. That should be long enough for Sanji.

It wasn't easy putting the whole thing together. One of his eyes had swelled up to the point that it was pressing painfully against the helmet, he had to be particular about how he moved so as not to smudge anything, and the metallic smell was impossible to ignore. He had to carefully maneuver under his cot because the small cell barely had enough space for him to fit in the circle.

When it was finished he pulled himself up onto the cot looking down at the lines. It wasn't perfect; anything he did rarely was, and it was hard to see in the dim light of the cell but it was all there, well almost all of it.

He needed to figure out which demon he was summoning. The book told him he'd need the demon's symbol but it hadn't actually given him any to choose from. Eventually he decided to draw three lines in the center of the circle. Three just like his name, hopefully that would call him a demon that wouldn't hate him.

The only thing left to do was to make some sort of offering, then he would chant the words and he'd never be alone again. Sanji didn't have much, he'd been locked up for weeks but he had been given a small meal of rice and fish, and by some miracle his brothers hadn't kicked it over during their 'visit', it was the meal he'd been given most often but it just didn't seem like enough.

But it was all he had, so he decided to work on the presentation of it. He worked the rice around the fish into a small triangle. It wasn't perfect but it mostly looked like onigiri. It was one of the snacks he had wanted to try and make for his mom before she-

He sniffled, he tried to rub his nose but the stupid helmet was in the way, but that was probably for the best. He shouldn't be handling food with dirty fingers. Instead he focused on trying to make sure his rice balls were perfect, if they were he'd have a new friend who couldn't leave him. He tried to shake away the morose thoughts and returned to his task.

They ended up looking a little lumpy, and he didn't have any mayonnaise or salt to help with the flavor. He vaguely remembered the recipe called for both, but the rice didn't quite stick right either so he wouldn't worry about it, at this point it was the best he could too.

He was a little hungry, but the food was better off going to whatever he summoned, it wasn't like he was very good at fitting the food through the grate of his mask, and he hated when small pieces like crumbs or grains of rice fell down and got stuck under his chin.

He placed the meager dish in the center of the circle and tip-toed over the already completed lines until he could reach his cot and climb above the completed design. He took a breath, pushed on the aching slash in arm. It still had blood to give but was achingly sore from being milked for the process. By that point his nostrils couldn't catch anything but the metallic tang of iron that filled his small cell, the usual damp salty scent overpowered by the sanguine monstrosity that covered the floor.

He hoped this worked because he didn't have much beyond his own shirt to clean it up if it didn’t. And if his brothers found the mess that’s what he’d be forced to use. 

It was ready, only one thing was missing. He took another deep breath before he held out his bloodied hand and began chanting the words he'd only been able to read before. They were in a strange language, one he hadn't been taught, he probably pronounced something wrong but he would just have to hope that it would still work.

Read the rest Here

Go give some love to my artist J.Bonney (art is in the fic on AO3)

[forgottenvice]

🖊️Writer Spotlight🖊️

Here to share the hottest MXTX fashion takes, @forgottenvice is ready to spice things up!

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[forgottenvice]

Promises promises

So a chat with a friend had me rereading this piece and honestly it's not as bad as I remember, though I did seem a bit afraid of using question marks.

Still since it's almost time for a new Dragonage why not a little shameless self promotion.

So if you like angst and red lyrium Cullen have fun

[forgottenvice]

It's very ironic to get comments on "Scum Villain" fics that are essentially revenge fantasies against certain characters, given... uh... everything about "Proud Immortal Demon Way" and how the story of SVSSS interacts with that in-universe story.

Sometimes, it's mildly amusing. Sometimes, it's a little disturbing, depending on how violent and disproportionate the fantasy is, because even if I've written some villain as a real asshole, I don't want to open my inbox to people wishing death and gory violence on anyone. A couple times, it took me a hot second to figure out that the violent fantasy wasn't directed at ME specifically.

Thankfully, that extremism is quite rare, so it's more often people wishing milder physical pains or, uh, complete social humiliation on certain characters, sometimes just for the "crime" of being mild inconveniences or slightly unfriendly to the fic's protagonist. Most of the time, I assume this is some form of playful exaggeration on the commenter's part, a reader exorcising mild annoyance at a fictional antagonist and expressing some sympathy or compassion for the hurt protagonist. A reader mentioning they kind of want to see a character grovel pathetically for forgiveness only to get kicked in the face is not necessarily a reader who wants that revenge fantasy to actually happen in the story.

Sometimes, though, it is hard to tell if someone genuinely thinks that all of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect should be destroyed because Luo Binghe was abused or Shang Qinghua was overworked. Like, I sure hope this is just hyperbole! I sure hope that you don't honestly think that "an eye for an eye" or "I take two of your eyes and also your tongue because you took one of my eyes" are, like, reasonable justice policies! I sure hope that you don't sincerely think that collective punishment is in any way a good thing and that a random junior disciple on the tenth peak (who probably doesn't even know who Luo Binghe is) deserves to suffer because the original Shen Qingqiu was a really shitty person.

But revenge fantasies like "Proud Immortal Demon Way" are popular for a reason, so I can never quite be sure! In every fandom, you have Peerless Cucumbers demanding that villain characters be castrated or killed for being abusive pricks, who cheer on the fictional revenge fantasy of hurting someone ten times as much as they hurt you, and some fans would be absolutely horrified by that kind of "retribution" in real life and others would... cheer that real life "punishment" on as well.

I don't really have a strong point to make with this post! This post is too long to be a casual reminder: "Hey, I hope you're always keeping in mind that messages you send on the internet are being directly received by real people who 1) can't read your tone and 2) don't know your 'real life' opinions to immediately know if you're joking." And I'm focused more here on how amusingly ironic this type of commenting is in regards to SVSSS and PIDW specifically.

Like, it's fun sometimes to get a little "Peerless Cucumber" about our favorite protagonists! (Shen Yuan said a lot of shit on the internet about PIDW but apparently generally doesn't really want people in SVSSS to suffer.) But once your revenge fantasy starts getting a little too detailed in regards to public humiliation and social ruin, torture and dismemberment, arson and leaving someone to get eaten alive by fire ants, making everyone who ever mildly slighted you beg for their life at your feet... It's like, "Bro, I don't think this comment is even Peerless Cucumber levels anymore. You are straight-up getting into original Luo Binghe territory here."

[forgottenvice]

There comes a time when fandom becomes less of an escape from anxiety to being the source of anxiety. Sometimes I need to remind myself what’s important to focus on, and I made this chart to help me with that. 

(Posting this at the request of a few people. The design/concept was inspired by an instagram post about covid-19 located here). 

[forgottenvice]

"How do you write such realistic dialogue-" I TALK TO MYSELF. I TALK TO MYSELF AND I PRETEND I AM THE ONE SAYING THE LINE. LIKE SANITY IS SLOWLY SLIPPING FROM BETWEEN MY FINGERS WITH EVERY MEASLY WORD THEY TYPE OUT. THAT IS HOW.

[forgottenvice]

hooray for blue charmander!

somehow I've done another Chartodile family moment

[forgottenvice]

AO3 easy trick: sometimes when I want to leave a comment on a fic but I dont know what to say specifically I'll just paste my favorite line(s)/little paragraph and then write something like "I loved this so much/this fic is amazing" or even just a string of hearts.

writers love knowing what lines stuck the most and this way you don't need to elaborate too much of your own

[forgottenvice]

I don’t like wading into Ao3 debates, but I want to give my professional opinion on Ao3 with regard to archives vs. libraries.

I am a professional librarian (MSLS) and I have worked in both archives and public libraries and a lot of the confusion and concern I see surrounding Ao3 is a fundamental misunderstanding of How Archives Work.

An archive is a collection related to a subject. That subject often a person but sometimes a field or concept or project. And the purpose of an archive is to keep everything. And I mean everything. I was going to say “short of biohazards” but since I know there’s a sealed R. Crumb Devil Gal chocolate bar in the UNC Chapel Hill archives, we really do mean everything.

When a collection of materials–which are usually unique and original and can be photos, manuscripts, letters, recordings (audio and/or visual), notes and notebooks, objects, published books, whatever–on and/or from the subject arrive at the archive, they are examined, preserved for longevity, accessioned and cataloged (added to the archive’s records), and added to the archive. You measure collections in linear feet. As in, once it’s all preserved and boxed and secure, you note how many feet of shelf space it takes up. And some of y'all on Ao3 have a lot of linear feet to your name (and I’m proud of you).

This is an archive: it is designed to preserve the original materials related to a subject. That is its purpose. Archives are how we have the original scroll manuscript of On the Road, for example, or the Lomax recordings of American folksongs, or Tijuana Bibles, or James Joyce’s loveletters to Nora.

Now you, a member of the public, can access some archives. Some are easier to access than others. The one I worked in was open to the public; good luck getting into the British Archives without a good reason.

So now apply this to Ao3–which is an archive both in name and in purpose. It is intended to preserve fan-created content long term. And this means everything, whether you personally like the materials or not. It is a repository for as much as possible.

And the “whether you personally like the materials or not” is important, hence why I mentioned Jim’s loveletters and Tijuana Bibles in particular. (RIP Jim, you would have loved pegging.)

If it’s made by fans and it exists, we should keep it to document the history and progression of fandom. That is the point. We have lost enough materials related to the subject of fans of media and we don’t need to lose any more.

The fact of the matter is that Ao3 is only one facet of the OTW, which preserves other fan-related materials (convention booklets and zines, for example). Somehow Ao3, an archive on the subject of fanfiction, has been divorced from the rest of the project, mostly by way of “purity culture” and panic over “dangerous” fiction.

The fact that you can go through an archive and find interesting information is the other side of archives. No, they shouldn’t be like the banker’s box of old letters stuffed in my closet. Yes, they should be organized and as accessible as is appropriate for the state of the materials.

It’s really, really cool to find stuff in an archive, I’m not even going to lie. I have done it before and I will do it again. And yet there are other items in an archive that I might not want or need or be interested in at all–but they’re still there. That’s the cataloging and accessioning: to keep up with what’s there, to stay “on topic” with collecting, and to be able to find things in that archive. Bless the tag wranglers who are doing the cataloging at Ao3.

The pearl clutching seems to come from 1. the creation of “dangerous” fanworks and 2. public access to those “dangerous” fanworks. These are issues of “purity culture” and opinions on censorship and should not involve Ao3.

Ao3, under the umbrella of the OTW, is a documentation and preservation project first and foremost.

[forgottenvice]

Literally what did olivia laing say about loneliness leading to more loneliness. Loneliness being so repulsive that people sense it from you and stay away. Crazy crazy

[forgottenvice]

Disclaimer these are just a small sampling of some possible writer traits I’ve noticed either in myself or in fics I read. Also consider a rb for sample size !

[forgottenvice]

Edit Note: I'm really amazed by how much love this post got. Guess it just shows we're all in the same boat. I do have other humorous writing memes on this tumblr under the same tag, if you're interested. Never give up writing! ❤️

Edit Note 2: I can't believe this has reached 10000+ notes. Been on tumblr for almost ten years (different account) and nothing like this has ever happened before. Thank you! 😊

[forgottenvice]

[forgottenvice]

Writing a fic when you're uninspired:

*writes half a sentence* *checks tumblr; no updates* *checks discord; all servers; no updates* *goes back to doc* *re-reads last three sentences* *removes last half sentence written* Hmm I want some tea ... *makes tea* *checks tumblr again; one new post* *checks discord; all servers; no updates* *checks four latest opened tabs* *remembers an old fandom you haven't thought of in years; goes to AO3 to see if there are any good fics for it* *opens three new fic tabs* *remembers that you're supposed to be writing* *writes a sentence* I'm kinda hungry ... *checks cupboards and fridge for snacks* *remembers that it's ten pm and you shouldn't snack at this hour* *remembers that you made tea; it is now cold* *drinks cold tea* *re-reads last three sentences* *checks tumblr; no updates* *checks discord; all servers; no updates* *in desperation, checks twitter; it is a cesspool of evil so you check tumblr again; one update* *reblog* Hmm, I have too many tabs open ... *opens a random tab; it is a 70K fic with 1K worth of tags that you last visited three months ago* *reads fic* Four hours later: ... I should go to bed. *closes doc* Total words written: 44

[forgottenvice]