#AND THAT'S WORLDBUILDING BABYYYYY

[constelationprize]

A background detail in the books that facinates me is that the Foxes were on the verge of being dismantled. And by detail I mean that it's a fact so widely known that we hear about it from chapter 1, just as passive knowledge Neil has before even dreaming of playing with them.

It ends up staying fairly background because Neil has... Bigger worries, but it is very much present for the whole series. There are plenty of descriptions of how Palmetto thought the Foxes would breathe life into the town; How Wymack lives practically alone in one of the apartment complexes built out of the expectation.

For four years, the Foxes placed dead last, and if they do it again, they ARE getting demoted from Class I. Of the original team, there was only Seth left. And if you do the math, that means that people were leaving up until the semester before TFC begins, because there are nine players including Kevin, who was an assistant coach, and Neil is replacing another recruit. Seth's death brings them down to nine again, and the ERC's response to that is to start a discussion on whether the minimum number of players should go up to 12. If it weren't for the intervetion of Coach Rhemann, they would have gotten disqualified anyway when Andrew went to Easthaven. PSU was against signing the girls, and both the university and the ERC fought back against making Dan captain.

They are not only fighting for their lives out here, they are straight up losing.

That puts a lot of things into perspective, I think. For one, I think it really explains a lot about Kevin's relationship to the Foxes. Like, imagine knowing your second – your last – chance at a life is under threat, and out of nowhere, the best player in your league offers to help you. And then he does it by saying all the effort you've made up until now was useless, that all your fighting wasn't enough. I'd resent him too.

It also says very interesting things both about who Wymack is as a person and exactly how big of a deal he must have been as a player, that he keeps facing these incredible odds and getting just one more chance. And even when he knows he's running out of strings to pull, he keeps on, because "one more chance" is what his team is supposed to be about anyway.

And then they turn around and not only break their own records by making past the first rounds, they go all the way up and dethrone the undefeated champion of their league for first place. It's no wonder not even they believed they could do it.

[cream-and-tea]

how do werewolves work in lmd (plus anything else like that)

OK SO.

(this got very very long)

(just as a warning)

(also i’m going to tag @transmasc-wizard bc i remember you asked about this a while ago and a lot of this response comes from what i had typed up to respond to YOU lol)

(okay here we go)

there are (putting it very very basically) two main kinds of magic in the Ghost Story Universe: mortem (Death Juice) and vita (Life Juice). they draw from the same source (God Juice) (which is also the source of the apocalypse but that’s another post entirely) and are kind of different aspects of one thing, but still act as opposing forces. equals and opposites, can’t have one without the other, etc etc. the point is that even though they’re two different types of magic they share the same set of rules and operate under the same basic facts. one of the most basic being that magic is physically taxing to use. no magic comes without a cost

so this is pretty straightforward. and generally it isn’t anything too debilitating, but the more powerful the magic and the more magic used, the more damaging the physical effects become (for example: early on agnes’s chitchats with the ghosts she sees don’t really wear on her because it’s a very passive form of her power, but as the plot progresses and she actively draws on it more and more she starts to develop chronic headaches). the more active magic bullshit you do in succession —> the worse you’ll be feeling the next morning. people would usually need to rest for upwards of a few days after performing a major act of magic and the reason The Library focuses so much on endurance and repetition is to prevent that from happening. it’s to the point that some majorly powerful stuff is possible but the benefit of it is almost completely outweighed by the potential damage it would cause.

rambly worbuilding aside, this is really just a preface so it makes sense when i say: vampires and werewolves are what happen when people push their magic to far.

they’re basically the most extreme end of the spectrum for either kind of magic. vamps are a result of overusing vita (blood life stuff), and wolfs are a result of overusing mortem (spooky death stuff). this happens to people when they’re drawing on so much magic that their body literally cannot support it anymore and starts canabilizing itself in order to support the magic and prevent the person from just. coming apart at the seams. a Regular Person body is just incapable of handling that amount of power, so in turn they have to draw their sustenance from a different non-human source. the comparatively small piece-of-magic-apocalypse-juice in them mutates and co-opts the functions of their body in order to save that body from collapse. both vamps and wolves have to feed CONSTANTLY or they risk their bodies giving in and all their organs straight-up failing. it’s a slow transformation process and sort of representative of how much Whatever Caused The Apocalypse has become so deeply ingrained in every part of the new world. again: it presents differently but it’s all the same stuff in the end.

the world is full of monsters and weirdness and general spooky bullshit but vampires and werewolves especially have an ENORMOUS amount of stigma surrounding them because of the fact that most people still see regular magic users as recognizably human, and view the transformation as a transition from Human Person With Emotions Who I Should View As Such Despite This One Weird Thing to Inhuman Monster. most magical creatures aren’t seen as sentient in nature and many of them are actively dangerous to humans, so if someone pushes their abilities to far and ends up undergoing the transformation then it’s seen as a shift from being one of Us (normal people just trying to survive this crazy broken down to world) to being one of Them (unnatural monsters that came about as a result of the evil forest and apocalypse and want to destroy humanity), except that obviously the people who are turned are the same people they were before, just with an extra set of challenges and probably more bloodlust (which i can see being a bit of concern but c’mon. are u really going to let a little killer instinct get in the way of a lasting and meaningful relationship. weak).

They’re also used as an excuse when it comes to hatred of people born with magic at all. bc sure it SEEMS harmless when you kid is learning from their dead grandma or healing a little bit faster than normal, but with ONE WRONG MOVE they could become A VISCOUS BEAST or a BLOODSUCKING MONSTER and do you really want to take that risk?? wouldn’t it be better to stamp that out now before someone gets hurt??? even in places like The Library, which usually serves as a safe-haven for people born w magic, vamps and wolfs are seen as somehow Lesser. The Library toutes them as cautionary tales and failures of magic, basically a warning of what not to do to their students.

to get into the more specific abilities and effects and What Being A Vampire Or Werewolf Means i’ve made some handy little lists (ft. calliope and luca macnamara, a book 2-3 character that nobody knows about lol) (please click tumblr absolutely wrecked the quality):

so. yeah.

[goatseabathing]

morally reprehensible merchant girl

writing a little character profile with some notes on her and a bit of extra lore and world building thrown in there

name: sithel meihuran

name meaning: sithel is a name meaning "child of si," si being the god of abundance and wealth in tolira's official religion. meihuran is a surname deriving from a toliran myth about a tyrant queen named meihur. sithel isn't religious but her mother was, and so is most of her family

sithel is a liar and a cheater and has no qualms with stealing from anyone she possibly can, whether rich or poor. she's a fan of jewels and furs and tends to steal and wear a lot of jewelry. she's a silk merchant who lives right on the beach in the city of joro. she's charming, a flirt, and a romantic, having taken many different lovers in her time. she hates being told no. she has an affinity for violence and weapons and kind of has a thing for the color crimson

sithel is moving around constantly but she always returns to joro, where she considers is her home. she lives quite close to the docks but never speaks to any of the sailors on account of having an irrational distaste for them for no reason, actually having heckled them once or twice on a drunken night before

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Lore drop coming someday soon! (whenever that is)

Sneak peek of a potential future Job Switcheroo lore drop :)

[liroyalty]

How the worldbuilding started: Country Names & finding some representatives

How it's going now:

COUNTRY EMBLEMS BABYYYYY

[sedittedice]

MY VTUBER CHARACTER GOT A NEW DESIGN BABYYYYY

art by:

[sometimes-love-is-enough]

2, 4 (eucatastrophe), 7, 12, 15-16-17, 23, 24, 41, 47, 49 (melliferous) :>

2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?

Body Horror (5)

Remix (4)

Friendship (3)

Suicidal Thoughts (3)

Time Loop (2)

I don't think they don't represent my writing habits, I'm just kind of surprised more common tags aren't in there.

4. What detail in [insert fic] are you really proud of?

It's very simple and very stupid, but I really love that Thomas's reaction to seeing Janus for the first time in Syzygy is 'so beautiful. so mysterious. i'm in love' and Janus's POV of the exact same moment is 'what the fuck is wrong with him. he needs a fucking nap'. It makes me laugh.

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

most of my favorite worldbuilding I've done in Syzygy hasn't come up just yet, but I'm really fond of a lot of the stuff I did there that I've been explaining through epistolary. apart from that, the whole 'fae seven year sacrifice recontextualized as a eldritch lovecraftian ritual' is definitely up there.

12. Are there any tropes you used to dislike but have grown on you?

tragedy babyyyyy

15. What’s your favorite AU that you’ve written?

genuinely, it's still the Inception AU (not really an AU, I guess? I guess it's more like a flat crossover since it's actually plausibly canon in both universes. Okay. I'll pick another one) melliferous OBVIOUSLY

16. What’s an AU you would love to read (or have read and loved)?

hmmmm Fallen London AU. I just think it would be neat. Also, see answer to next question.

17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

the one I occasionally rotate in my brain is the dungeons and daddies au. (NOT a bdsm AU) instead, it's the AU of six sides flung into the forgotten realms to rescue their missing centre, except they're all really bad at D&D. this week's side fact: patton is like 50/50 on the moon landing actually happening, to logan's intense anger. the other one i've been rotating i plan on writing next year so we'll see how that pans out

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

i want to do a soulmate AU to specifically deconstruct the idea of soulmate AUs. and/or hanahaki, same thing. i've had some ideas in the past but never got around to writing them.

24. Are there any easter eggs in [insert fic], and if so, what are they?

you didn't specify a fic so I'm going to go with Syzygy and I'm pleased to announce that quite a lot of the epistolary sections feature mini-cameos from either friends of mine or writing projects that i never ended up finishing. the play that thomas is in is vaguely based off a story i wrote in high school, everyone in the hollow-host.net chat room in chapter two is from one of my group chats (guess which one is me). oh, and in the review of AAHTDTL in chapter one, two of the plays listed are (obviously) Melliferous and Eucatastrophe.

41. Link a fic that made you think, “Wow, I want to write like that.”

In this fandom? Love and Other Fairy Tales kicked my brain with electric shoes and set me into writing overdrive with fairy emotions and a feeling's not a thing you own did the same with Thomas-Side feelings.

47. If [insert fic] was a pair of shoes, what kind would it be? Describe the shoes.

i assume this one's for melliferous. a good pair of walking boots that you loved dearly, but they're kind of squishy with all the honey you've been walking through and you know you're going to lose them eventually.

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

Got the next chapter of Syzygy all drafted out, just need to polish it. It includes the phrase 'snex life' and a background weedmobile. Here's a bit:

Thomas isn’t sure if he should be shaking Janus’s hand or not. It seems like it would be a weird sort of thing to do. He actually kind of just wants to hug Janus as hard as he can, but that seems like an even weirder thing to do. He settles for a normal-person verbal introduction, instead. “Um, my name’s Thomas. Hi.”

For some reason, this gets a small frown out of Janus. “It is?”

“I... think so?” Thomas says, momentarily doubting it, before he shakes his head. “No, it is. Thomas. Thomas Sanders. Why are we being so weird about our names?”

the other thing i'm currently working on is a plan and research for (what will hopefully be) next year's big bang fic. nothing non-spoilery there to share, unfortunately. talk more about that later!

[scyllas-revenge]

IT'S PART 3 TIME BABYYYYY

I know how hard you've worked on this and I'm so glad you were able to finish it! This was well worth the wait, @sotwk!

I liked the bits of worldbuilding you've added in this chapter, with Eomer getting advice from Boromir and Eowyn, and our reader going off to work with Boromir for a while. If they're rooting for Eomer and the reader getting together, then maybe they stand a chance after all! (I hope! Things will be okay! Right?? RIGHT??)

As usual you write romantic moments so incredibly well, I have died and ascended to the astral plane. He's just so tender and devoted and when the reader addressed him so formally and broke his heart I just

Anyway I'm going to go cry while laying facedown on the floor be perfectly normal and have a chill Friday evening yup super chill and normal that's me

Taken (Eomer x Reader) - Part 3 of 3

Part 1 / Part 2

Summary: After having his proposals and professions rejected by the woman he loves, Éomer still refuses to be dissuaded. He vows to continue fighting for a future with her--even if that means having to let go for the time being.

Word count: 6.7k

Dedicated to anyone who has ever known the pain of loving someone you could not have. <3

Content: Boromir lives (!), angsty romance, declarations of love, jealousy, mutual pining, class division, shield-maiden, Éomer King, Rohirrim OCs, post-RotK, non-canon pairing

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Sensuality gets steamy, but nothing explicit. Mentions of old battle injuries.

To Read on AO3: Link

Taken 

PART THREE

Third Age 3019 May 6

Minas Tirith, Gondor

“If you would allow me to propose something your Grace, I--”

“Éomer.” The King of Rohan growled the ungentle correction with an irritated shake of his head. “If I have leave from your king to continue calling him Elessar, then I will not abide frivolous formalities from you…Captain. And speak freely! It is your candor that I came here for, as much as your counsel."

Boromir chuckled faintly. “Very well.” He downed the last of the wine in his goblet before picking up the jug to refill it, then reaching across the table to serve his guest as well. 

While Éomer took a hearty swig, Boromir used the extra seconds of silence to weigh his next words. The noble horse-lord had done most of the talking since his arrival at the house not an hour ago, rambling on with barely contained agitation that would have frightened or offended anyone unfamiliar with his character. But Boromir had known Théodred’s cousin since he was a child, and while he was not nearly as close to Éomer as he had been with the late Prince of Rohan, their friendship had deepened enough--especially over the past few months--to familiarize Boromir with the trigger points of his temper. 

And Boromir had never before seen him more sensitive about a topic than the matter they had at hand. 

Love certainly wields such terrible power over a man, the Captain-General of Gondor mused, before clearing his throat. 

“I will gladly fulfill your request of watching over her in your absence, making sure she is well-treated and wants for nothing,” he began. “But a soldier can quickly grow restless without sufficient martial exercise.” 

“I agree.” Éomer leaned forward to fold his arms across the table. “Has she not been here long enough for your men to grow accustomed to seeing her at the training grounds? None of them need spar against her or even alongside her if they do not wish to. She would be content to practice drills on her own. In fact, she may even prefer it.”  

“My men will tolerate her presence just fine. The valor she showed on Pelennor was well-witnessed, and stories of it have circulated around our garrison,” Boromir said. “I admit she may inevitably overhear crass remarks from some passing boor among the citizenry. A woman warrior still remains an oddity in these parts. But I am sure she did not come to her status without learning how to weather such criticisms.” 

“Yes.” Éomer stared at the empty goblet he rotated slowly between his hands. “She has had to bear with a lot of ignorant talk over the years.”

“Which is why I propose taking her as a member of my company while you are away. Just temporarily,” Boromir added quickly, noting the immediate change in the horse-lord's demeanor. “It will help her feel more at ease while here, separated from you and her countrymen, if she had a group to belong to.”

“She has already taken a strong liking to your Aerdis. Which, I must confess, took me by surprise.”

Boromir smiled at this, his fool heart ready to burst with joy at every casual mention of his betrothed. “My lady is an easy one to love,” he said simply. “And indeed, the two seem to enjoy each other's company. I am certain Aerdis would be happy to continue acquainting her with all of her treasured haunts within the city and even beyond its walls. But…” 

He rubbed his jaw slowly, ever the unconscious tell of his discomfort with the situation at hand. But it was no use dancing around the real counsel he wished to present to Éomer King. “When it comes to daily labors, a shield-maiden will likely be happier with work better suited to her talents.”

Éomer cocked an eyebrow, clearly undeceived by Boromir’s attempts at off-handedness. “What sort of work? I sense you have something specific in mind.”

“I do,” Boromir admitted. “And I shall explain it to you plainly, although I will first say that it is both a suggestion and a request for a favor.” At this point he considered offering Éomer another refill of his drink, but the deepening scowl on the man’s face made him think better of it. “As you may have heard, I have been charged by King Elessar to lead the delegation that will treat with the Southrons. Sadhar has already come forward with an offer to parley, as soon as next month.”

Éomer’s eyes widened; he caught on even faster than Boromir had expected him to. “And you wish to include her in your delegation?”

“With your approval, yes.”

“You do not have it!” Éomer exclaimed. “And how could you propose such a thing?! Have you forgotten how she was so nearly dragged off by those animals to be taken who knows where for purposes I dare not even think of?”

“Are you really asking that of the man who came to her aid?”

It was a risky move to prod at that wound, but Éomer looked properly chastised by it. “You rescued her,” he conceded. “And for that I shall eternally be in your debt. But I cannot pretend to understand why you wish to involve her in any dealings with Harad.”

“You must see why I thought of her,” Boromir insisted. “You, who can personally attest to what she is capable of.” But Éomer continued to look too distraught to think, so he laid the rest out. “I can count on the fingers of one hand every person I know who can speak a Haradric dialect with reliable accuracy. Half of them died in the war.”

Éomer rose abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair in his state. Muttering indistinctly, he turned his back to Boromir to glare out the nearest window and brood at the rain lashing against the glass panes. 

“When Théodred used to boast to me about her, I dismissed it as a mentor's pride in his fanciful protégé,” Boromir continued. “I suppose I too allowed myself to be distracted by her sex. But she really is a hidden gem in your Éored, is she not? Your cousin invested in her training with great thoughtfulness, and it has borne fruit marvelously. He really believed--”

Éomer slammed the heel of his hand on the window frame. “Théodred was not the one hopelessly in love with her for so many years! There lies the difference!” he snapped. “So when you ask for my consent to take her to meet with our enemies, consider that you are asking me to risk the life of the woman I absolutely refuse to live my own life without!”

And while Boromir reacted with silence, he stood there, breathing hard, one fist on his hip and the other hand pressed over his forehead. “Forgive me,” he mumbled. “The wine, I…and I have scarcely slept since--”

Boromir waved off the apology. “I understand your agony well. It was not long ago that I lived through the same, and just mercifully survived to a happy end. I am on your side, Éomer. I know politics and duty might make the lines difficult to discern, but I hope you can believe that.”

“I believe it.” Éomer made another weary swipe of his hand across his face. “At least I think I do. Too many things are changing too quickly, and I fear a failure to keep in step shall result in my simply being dragged along behind everyone else like an unhorsed sot.”

“Then maybe there is wisdom in her request to stay behind and out of your way. The time apart may provide you the focus you need to regain your footing.”

The tired lines on Éomer’s face tightened again. “And why must time apart involve setting her on a perilous road?”

“The mission carries little chance of peril. Peace talks, even with Harad, are nothing compared to everything she has survived to get this far. You know this.” Éomer brushed past Boromir to return to the table, but the captain’s frank reproach pursued him. “Separation from her is what you dread, not the Southrons.”

So furiously did Éomer scowl at the table surface that for a moment Boromir thought he might turn the heavy shelf over in a fit of rage. Instead he seized the wine jug, poured himself a gobletful, and drank it in two forceful gulps. 

“I had hoped you could give me counsel on how I might change her mind, and convince her to simply come home,” he finally said. “Perhaps even quell her doubts in the future she can have with me.”

Underneath the anger and frustration, Éomer’s raw misery lay bare to Boromir, and suddenly he felt a swell of compassion for the young king. Would that he could offer a swift resolution to his predicament, instead of mere commiseration for the challenges that still lay ahead. 

“However hard it is to hear, separation is the soundest advice I can give you today,” Boromir said. “Time and distance are most effective at calming the storm in one's mind, so that the heart may have its chance to be properly heard. Many have learned this from experience, myself included. I believe it shall be the same for your lady.”

Éomer's shoulders heaved in a ponderous sigh. “If only it did not feel like such a gamble.”

Boromir could not help a chuckle. “Then I regret I must tell his majesty, that you cast your first of many dice the moment you let her take your heart. But in the end, you shall be the one to decide how much you are willing to risk, and you alone decide when you are done.”

The anguish that resurged on Éomer's face was almost a relief to Boromir. The King of Rohan was wise enough to already know the graver half of the truth: that his new throne was in many ways a cage, and there was very little a good ruler could afford to risk in pursuit of his own desires. 

* * *

“Take the names of any fools who might give you trouble,” Léodor said, unhooking the reins of his horse to start leading it across the muddy yard. “I can sort them all out on our return.”

You laughed as you followed him to the edge of the farmland property, marked by the scorched ruins of what had once been a granary. “Do you really think I could wait that long without sorting such fools out myself?” 

“Anyone with the gall to harass a rider of the king’s Éored deserves a second dose of thrashing, or a third or fourth.” Your friend turned to grasp your forearm and give it a firm squeeze. “Although I sincerely hope these men of Gondor would know better, for their own sakes.”

“They are our allies, now more than ever before,” you reminded him. “And I have every confidence in their courtesy and hospitality.”

“Perhaps if you were less of a recluse and better at making friends, I would not worry so.”

Your knuckles barely grazed his sleeve as he darted away and promptly swung up to the safety of his saddle, chortling and calling, “You are only proving my point, sister!” 

“Waste not a thought or care on me, and focus them all on your family!” you retorted, and stepped back as he spurred his horse forward. “Westu Léodor hál!”

You watched him gallop off across the plains of Pelennor, back to the distant towers of the White City. Tomorrow, he and the rest of the Éored would finalize preparations for the greatly anticipated journey home. But as soon as he heard that you had been tasked with staying behind, to remain with the body of Théoden King, Léodor alone took the time to come looking for you. 

Whatever his suspicions regarding Éomer's selection of you as the one to leave in Gondor, Léodor spoke nothing of them. He was content to spend his entire visit sharing the cask of ale he brought, and talking your ears off about all the things he planned to do with his wife and son and infant daughter upon their reunion.

How far your relationship had come, you mused, as you watched the shrinking speck finally melt  into the shadows of the deepening twilight. With him and with the rest of the men in your company, when you had once sworn, in tears hidden, that they would never accept you. Now their departure would sting as though you had been orphaned for the third time. 

It is only for several weeks, you told yourself, to ease the weight of doubt that sat upon your chest. As you turned to walk back toward the cottage, a fierce wind rose and ripped off the cloak that was loosely draped over your shoulders. With a startled cry you grabbed for it, but not quickly enough to save it from landing in a large puddle.

You retrieved the soaked fabric from the mud with a sigh. A fat raindrop landed squarely on the top of your uncovered head, and was immediately followed by another and another. Spontaneous rain had been pouring on and off over Gondor since the King’s coronation, and you heard the locals welcome and praise this tumultuous weather as a blessing, a sign of war’s filth being washed away to cleanse the lands for rebirth. 

Shielding your eyes from the sudden deluge, you looked up at the roiling clouds overhead, further entranced by the sight of jagged lightning flashing over the White Mountains.  But when your gaze dropped back down to the horizon, you were alarmed to notice a horsed figure crossing the fields through the storm, approaching fast, in your direction. 

It was him. Without proof of his face or voice, or even the support of logic, you just knew. It was him. 

The very thought of that froze you, mind and body, in place. Pale and immobile and increasingly drenched, you stood like a deeply rooted tree while the rider drew closer and closer, on a horse powerful enough to sustain its determined gait over the sodden ground and lashing winds. Dumbfounded and dazed, you remained, until at last he came to a stop just several yards away. He dismounted Firefoot, his heavy boots squelching in the muck, and that sound snapped you to your senses. 

“My lord,” you rushed forward with the soiled cloak twisted uselessly between your hands. “The stables are around the back. Let me take Firefoot there while you get out of this rain.”

“I shall stable him,” Éomer said sternly, but not unkindly, to warn you against arguing. “Go and wait for me inside the house.” 

Without speaking another word or sparing a backward glance, you obeyed your king. You shut the cottage door behind you to keep out the ill weather, hung your wet cloak on a peg, and crouched by the warmth of the fireplace to dry off as best as you could. You kept your jittery hands busy feeding the flames with more wood, but your mind refused to be calmed as easily. 

What is he doing here?! The agreement had been for you to report to him the following day, to receive in full detail your last set of orders before the entire Rohan contingent departed. Éomer had granted your request to stay behind quickly enough, and with so little argument that you had hoped perhaps the issue between you was settled, at least for the time being.

If he was not prepared to completely abandon his fatuous notion of asking you to marry him, then time apart would surely set his mind back to good sense. The Éomer you knew could always be trusted to do the right thing. You clung firmly to this thought while you waited the agonizing minutes for him to return from the stables. 

As soon as he entered, you offered him the last clean towel you could find to dry himself with. He raised his eyebrows at your attempt to give him royal treatment, but graciously swiped the cloth several times over his face, neck, and hair, before tossing it over the back of a chair. 

“So this is the place.” He peeled off his riding cloak to reveal clothing underneath that was just as soaked as yours; he may as well not have bothered with the outer garment at all. “You said it belonged to Lady Aerdis’s late…uncle?”

“A relative of sorts,” you said. When you confided in your new friend your wistful desire to be housed outside the city, where you could have more quiet and solitude, she had been quick to offer the empty cottage in near Pelennor that was recently willed to her by deceased relations. “There are things I can work on to help restore it while I am here. Even my meager skills will serve a farm better than sitting on my hands in the city barracks watching everyone else in their labors. I wish to remain useful, and do my part in the rebuilding.”

“I understand. You have explained all that, and well,” Éomer said slowly. “But regretfully, I must rescind the permission I granted for you to live outside Minas Tirith. You can stay here for the remainder of this week, to rest and do as you please. But afterward, I would like for you to go back to the city and remain there until my return.”

You bit back a protest, determined, now more than ever, to reaffirm your position as his servant. “May I ask what I am to do there, then?”

“Lord Boromir petitioned me to loan you to his company, and I granted it. He shall assign your duties, and you will take your orders from him while I am gone.” 

Although it surprised you to hear this, it was a welcome prospect. Of all the men in Gondor you liked and trusted Lord Boromir the most, having known him since you were just a girl, albeit not intimately. This would provide an opportunity to improve on the connection. “Lord Boromir honors me with his request. And as always, it shall please me to do as my king commands.”

Éomer responded to your formal pledge with a weary sigh. He braced his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, and the way his knuckles whitened in the tightness of his grip, while he searched for his next words, did not escape your notice. 

“Make no mistake, this command does not align with what I desire,” he said thickly. “Leaving without you violates every instinct in my body, but if that is what must be done to make you see reason, then I shall bear it.”

“Reason?” you repeated stiffly. “What conclusion are you hoping I might come to?”

Éomer raised his eyes from the floor to meet yours across the room. “I know you believe that putting distance between us may somehow alter how I feel about you. But I in turn believe the time apart will help you accept how deeply in love you are with me.”

The heat that flooded your face burned through your mask of composure. “I am not--”

“Enough.” The sadness that bled into that single word made it a plea instead of an order. “I did not come to reopen discussions on the matter. Especially not if denials are all you have left to say to me.”

“Then pray tell, what has my lord come for?” you challenged him behind your icy courtesy. “How else may I serve you, Éomer King?”

The hurt that crossed his face came on so suddenly, looked so profound and real, it was as though you had physically struck him. He stared at you in a dead silence, and you forced yourself to hold his gaze while you held your breath, guilt sinking into your gut from the knowledge that you were the wretch who had gone too far. 

“Nothing,” he said quietly. “Clearly there is nothing more to say, other than farewell.”

He picked up his cloak, turned, and left, leaving you utterly dumbfounded, staring at the door that slammed shut behind him.

The longest seconds of your life passed before your shock and indecision were overcome by a wild hysteria that made your entire body grow cold.

You leapt for the door and wrenched it open, and stepped into the downpour in time to see him vanish around the corner of the house, heading back to the stables. 

The loss of him from your sight smashed through your bravado, and you cried out into the storm. 

“Éomer!!”

Before you could grasp your reasoning for why you did it, or what you planned to do next, he reappeared, every footstep leaving puddles as his approach backed you up into the cottage. His eyes bore down at you, his expression now guarded and inscrutable and expectant. Gusting wind drove in sprinkles of rain through the door left open and ignored. 

I am sorry. The whisper sitting on the tip of your tongue was smothered by a hostile inner voice. 

Let him go. It is your duty. It is what’s right.

But your stolid face collapsed under the weight of your anguish. A grimace squeezed out the tears that blinded your eyes, finally betraying your shameful truth. I do love you, Éomer. 

Gentle fingers settled lightly over your lips, stilling their feeble quivering. A voice even warmer and more tender than this touch eased your struggle.

“I do not need words. This is enough.”

As the hardened pads of those fingers brushed across the plane of your cheek, you closed your eyes and at once forgot all else that existed. Such was the power of his touch that for years you so vigilantly avoided, until that fateful moment of weakness after the coronation exposed your secret. That moment could never be undone, no matter how hard you tried to bury the truth now.

Éomer murmured your name, his breath warm on your temple, and then his hands stilled where they lightly cupped your face. In that pause lay a question, and the last time you answered it, you had hurt him. Foolish liar that you were.

“Yes.” The whisper passed from your lips to his as his mouth wasted no time seeking yours. You clasped your hands around the back of his neck, urging him closer as your own hunger surged. You felt the tremor that ran through his shoulders when you slipped your tongue against his. How could you have ever chosen to cause him pain, when you could have given him this instead?

He broke the kiss to let you catch your breath, but nuzzled your chin upward to gain access to your neck, so his lips could continue their quest to the hollow of your throat. You gasped at the scrape of his teeth on your collarbone, then moaned when he remedied his offense with reverent strokes of his tongue. His arms wrapped fully around your waist, pulling you greedily against him, fingers threading and tugging at your hair as he moved his worship to your shoulders.

But it was your touch, the scrabble of your hands over his hips and stomach as you held on to him for balance, that elicited a low growl. In just a few hurried steps, he backed you to the furthest corner of the cottage, until the side of the bed hit the back of your legs.

Your name was still the only thing he could utter, muffled in between the kisses he could not stop lavishing on every bit of your skin he could reach. Your hands found their way to his hips again, this time  sneaking underneath the wet fabric that clung to his torso, then brazenly gliding upward, past his belly to the taut muscles of his chest, high enough for your thumb to circle his nipple.

An ungentlemanly word suddenly rumbled from Éomer King's throat, so startled was he by the sensual touch. Within moments his shirt lay discarded on the floor, your back made contact with the mattress, and there he was, leaning over you, bare from the waist up to your hungry eyes. You gave yourself an extra second to appreciate the sight before hooking a hand over his nape to yank him back into a kiss. The fervor in his response left you writhing and whimpering and completely vulnerable in your weakness. 

A deep haze settled over you as you began to lose yourself to the pleasure of his ministrations. With every inch of you, you wanted this, and the way your body reacted to his every action, shaking in desperation for more, would surely tell him that. And yet… yet as you felt his fingers grope for the fastenings of your dress, felt his palm brush the back of your knee to your thigh, felt his hardness press against your hip… something inside of you jerked in reawakened panic.

“Éomer. W-wait.”

So soft was the protest, you were not even sure you had said the words aloud. But almost immediately, Éomer stopped and pulled back. He took one look at you, your disheveled state, and whatever expression lay on your face, and he sat up fully, turning away, dragging your heart out of your chest with him.

“Éomer, please. I am… I just…”

“No, I understand and I agree. To carry on would be unwise.”

He rubbed both hands roughly over his face, shaking away the stupor induced by his desire.

“All these years I have ordered the men to give you the respect you are due. I cannot risk your virtue or reputation now, however long I have wanted this. Wanted you.”

You moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “You are my King, and it is my duty to protect you and your reputation. We must behave prudently.”

He nodded, but still looked so pained you could not help but lift your hand to try to soothe the scowl from his face. He angled his head to kiss the inside of your wrist.

“I will have you,” he muttered, his diverted gaze making it seem more a promise to himself than to you. But when he turned his eyes back on you, the wanton lust pooling in them stirred the heat in your belly. “I will wait for the right circumstances, however long it may take, but I will have you.”

He rose and walked a few steps across the room, perhaps in need of distance from you. As he stood closer to the fireplace, the light illuminated a view so rarely seen by anyone, many people in Rohan had come to believe that Éomer was simply hale and hard of body beyond the limits of mortal men. 

The numerous scars that decorated his body testified to both his fragility and his strength. Many of his wounds had been tended to by you on the battlefield, carrying terrible memories that were now also moments of pride and achievement that you shared with him. 

Éomer seemed to feel your intent gaze upon him, and he stretched out a hand to you, beckoning you to rejoin him. As soon as you were within reach, he wrapped his arms around you again, drawing you against him, sighing contently as your touch drifted over the bare skin of his chest and shoulders.

Your hand moved with intention, skimming down to his lower abdomen, probing carefully for the large scar you knew sat just below his ribcage. That injury was less than two years old. It still amazed you how it had managed to heal with little issue, under the constant strain of the many violent battles Éomer fought in since. 

So close. A chill ran through you as the memory rose unbidden: you pressing down hard to staunch the bleeding, screaming for someone to help carry the barely conscious Marshal to the nearest shelter, where you could safely attempt to clean and suture the wound. If the orc blade had sunk in only a fraction of an inch deeper, it would have been beyond anyone's power to save him. You came too close to losing him that day.

Eomer's lips brushed against the shell of your ear as he interrupted your reminiscence with a whisper. “How can you still doubt that we belong together, when already you are part of me?” 

Your fingers passed over several other scars from injuries you had tended to over the years, and came to rest over the tattoo on his upper right arm. The black dragon curled around the edge of his shoulder was identical in design and location to the mark borne by every rider in your Éored. Your possession of that dragon mark bound you to Éomer intimately, but also defined your role in his life. Sharing his bed, or even being with him just once, was not your place.

“None of these give me any right to claim you,” you said softly. “You must still marry. And it is your duty to marry well.”

He caught your elbow as you started to move your hand away, and guided it back to slide over his waist, to rest over the scar once more, willing you to hold fast to the memory it carried, and hold fast to him.

“What does it mean to marry? Is it not just the giving of one's entire self--mind and body, heart and soul--to another?”

He hooked a finger underneath your chin, urging your downcast gaze to rise and meet his.

“How am I to dispose of things that are no longer in my possession? I have long been taken, solely and utterly, by you.”

And with that gaze he set upon you, you wondered: how many glances must have he given you in secret all these years, with eyes that burned with something more than the devotion of one comrade-in-arms to another? What willful blindness had you clung to for years, for you not to have noticed it?

“I must fulfill my duties to Rohan, this is true. But not even a king can be asked to do the impossible.”

“But to wed a great king to a lowly servant--” You shook your head. “Many would argue that is the real impossibility.”

A new expression akin to anger flashed across Éomer’s face. Before you could wonder what you might have done wrong, he dropped to his knees before you, both knees, his hands wrapped tightly around yours.

“My lord!” you cried, aghast that he would debase himself, even in private. You tried to force him back up, but he would not budge.

“Never speak of yourself as lowly again,” he admonished. “King or peasant, there is nothing more lowly or humbled than a man so wretchedly in love, as I am with you.”

“Éomer…” You sank to the floor with him. “If only things were so simple. I wish it could all happen as you say, but I just do not see how. I do not know what can be done.”

“Let me hold your love for a while longer, and wait for me,” he said gently. “That is all I ask. The rest is mine to accomplish. As long as your heart is mine, and I know you have given it to me freely, I will fight for my right to keep it.”

You felt his grip around your fingers grow tense in the long seconds of silence that followed. At last, you brought his knuckles to your lips, kissing the hands you adored with such devotion.

“When you leave, you shall take my heart with you,” you whispered into his palm. “But I fear it will be a greater challenge than you believe, to keep others from wresting such an unsuitable offering from your hands.” 

“They may certainly try, if they wish to test me.” The ice in his tone unsettled you, even though that veiled threat was certainly not for you, while the warm caress on your cheek was. “Not for a moment will I appear unclear or undecided when it comes to my intentions towards you. I will never make that mistake again.”

“B-but the Council of Eorl. The lords…”

“They answer to the King,” Éomer interrupted. “Do not privileges, as well as duties, come with this crown? Trust me. Please.” He bowed to rest his forehead against yours. “While we are parted, I will prove to you that it can be done, that I will do whatever I must to marry you, and to honor and protect you thereafter.”

“Marry?” you murmured. The idea still seemed no more than a ludicrous fantasy. But then Éomer kissed you again, deeply, as though determined to memorize the taste of your lips, urging you to focus on the present moment. 

Because he was yours, even if just for that night. Even if by dawn, it could all crumble under the pressures of the world outside these walls. Éomer loved you, and held you in such high regard to want you as his wife and queen. You would swear to anyone that this knowledge alone was already a dream fulfilled. 

And yet. If you were brave enough to hope, maybe…just maybe, this would not be the last impossibility to come true for you. 

* * *

They do not know. Hundreds of Gondor’s citizens bearing streamers and flowers lined the streets of Minas Tirith that morning to join King Elessar in sending off the departing Eorlingas. But it occurred to Éomer how strange it felt that none of them had any awareness of a matter that was not only monumental for him personally, but carried significant consequences for all of Rohan.

Soon that will change, the young king vowed to himself. Soon his Council will hear the truth, and afterward all of Rohan, and then the rest of their allies. But for the moment, discretion--no matter how bitter the pretense tasted. 

No one except for Lord Boromir and his betrothed, the lovely Lady Aerdis, who both stood next to her, understood what truly lay underneath the courteous gestures exchanged between the King of Rohan and his shield-maiden. A simple bow, an exchange of a few words, and a locking of gazes that was all too brief. Had they not spent that one evening together, Éomer would have remained trapped in the false belief of her indifference towards him. The memory of her kisses would have to suffice for a while, and he could only hope he had given her enough to remember him by, as well. 

He brushed the edge of his hand over his lips just as he turned away, and forced his feet to carry him down the line of assembled well-wishers. 

A noticeable hush descended on the crowd of onlookers as Éomer came to the end of the road where, closest to the ruins of the Great Gate, the King of Gondor himself met him, flanked by none other than Imrahil, the Prince of Dol Amroth, and his only daughter.

“Lady Lothíriel.” As Éomer took the hand she courteously offered him and brushed a kiss on her fingers, he became aware of the wan smiles that surrounded them, and the unsubtle tittering of a few ladies watching. “Your presence this morning is an unexpected and most delightful gift.”

Lothíriel was astonishingly beautiful indeed, with such radiant grace and sweet smiles, that it would not have surprised Éomer if many citizens of the White City came out just to catch a glimpse of her. “I wish you, Lady Éowyn, and all your men a safe journey, your Grace,” she said. “And may you have great success in your labors, so that we can soon celebrate your speedy return.”

“You are kind, my lady. I certainly hope for the same,” replied Éomer. “We leave behind treasure beyond price here and shall be eager to return for our own.”

Two Rohan lords had already swooped in to engage Imrahil in quiet conversation, and only stepped aside when Éomer himself approached to exchange farewells. Éomer’s admiration for the Prince only grew the more he learned about him and spent time with him, but the unabashed thirst of his counselors for Dol Amroth’s friendship irritated him. Yet another issue he intended to settle in the ordering of his House’s affairs. 

Finally, Éomer came before Elessar, who embraced him tightly and honored him with a bow, from one king to another. “Worry not, my brother,” the man once called Aragorn said quietly to him. “I shall see to it that they are cared for, these ones whom you so dearly love.”

He smiled at the look of mixed wonder and apprehension on Éomer’s face, and dipped his head in another show of reassurance and of farewell.

With that, the Rohirrim set off on the North-way in a procession over a mile long, accompanied by the fanfare from the people that continued to line the road stretching across Pelennor. Countless flags in a multitude of colors and sigils from the different regions of Gondor fluttered in the air, and from every direction, enthusiastic cheering and waving followed the Riders across the fields.

At the head of the procession, behind his standard bearer and with Éowyn at his side, Éomer quickly fell into a brooding silence that did not escape his sister’s notice. 

“I truly did not think I would ever see the day when the two of you would be willingly separated,” she said lightly. When Éomer looked at her with raised eyebrows, she shrugged. “I am sure you have good reasons for choosing her to stay behind with our uncle.” 

“Many reasons,” Éomer grunted. 

Éowyn regarded him thoughtfully. “Has the time finally come when you would allow yourself to be open with me about these reasons? And the other concerns weighing on your mind and heart? It is just you and I now, Éomer,” she said softly, stretching out her hand to him.  “I may not have uncle’s experience or Théodred’s cunning, but I love you beyond words, and would do anything to see you happy. Let me help you.”

Éomer smiled at this, and reached over to take her hand and squeeze it. “Perhaps I can aspire to the happiness you have found with Lord Faramir.”

“Having my affections stolen by a High Man was not what I aspired to,” said Éowyn, trying to look annoyed but unable to hide the blush on her cheeks. “But love, it seems, is the wildest beast of all. It will not be tamed, or bridled, or even reasoned with. It goes where it wills. Éomer…” Éowyn’s sweet face turned stern. “You have suffered enough, and have been forced to carry so many burdens, not least of all our uncle’s crown, which I know you never wanted.”

“It is my honor to take the throne in Uncle and Théodred’s stead,” Éomer said firmly. “And why do you make assumptions about the things I want?”

“I know who it is you have wanted, for a long time now,” Éowyn said with a stout confidence that took Éomer aback. “You are discreet, brother. But I have watched you and looked out for you, more closely than you realize.”

Éomer shook his head. “I am still learning the many ways I have been underestimating you, Éowyn. Soon I shall believe myself unworthy of your care or help.”

“Someone has to care for you, during the frequent times you would not.” Éowyn glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were still out of hearing range of the rest of his Éored. “Especially now that you have left her behind.” 

Éomer pressed his lips in a tight line and returned his gaze to the road ahead. “I will be back,” he said. “There is much to do in Rohan before then, but with Uncle waiting in the Hallows, I can hardly afford to dawdle or delay.” 

And she is waiting. Éomer caught a glimpse of his sister’s suppressed smile that told him she had already thought the same thing. Another person with strong opinions to contend with.

Éomer spurred Firefoot forward to signal the standard bearer, who promptly blew one quick blast on his horn. As the King took off in a steady gallop, the thunder of hooves rose behind him as nearly a thousand other Rohirrim picked up their pace to match his, drowning out the excited shouts of the Gondorians that started them off at last to their journey home.

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[bsaka7]

13 & 25 !!

13. What's on the playlist babyyyyy (of course I listen to music to write ❤️) . These r all for different things... No coherent thoughts or project... but i am always always always looking for new tunes so hit me up

It ain't me babe (live at newport) by Joan baez and Bob Dylan. This song is yeah... Watch the video.... No further details.

Frug by rilo kiley. Idk I've been having Feelings about this one. For realsies. "I cannot fall in love you'll never see my eyes I will not call you back I will not do the smurf I cannot fall in love ill never fall in love" yes girl. This isn't even relevant to any fic I just love it.

This one has just been floating around in my head but out on the streets by the vaccines - "I'm not in love but can we just pretend" and MORE IMPORTANTLY "you told me I'm hard to live with but you said it out of spite I may put you through some suffering but I'll never prove you right" I LOVE this line. I want to do something with it with daniel & mclaren but I haven't gotten around to it.

I should live in Salt by the national. Yeah idk what's up with me...I've been thinking about Daniel a lot I'll say that much i guess.

posing for cars by jbrekkie. I was listening to this stoned in a hammock last Night. Self explanatory. This slaps.

25. What’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)?

i don't revise or edit like... at all (and you can tell) so that is NOT my fav. I do like WRITING (cuz like it's fun to go into the writing trance and make it all work but also its a little stressful) ...I also like when the idea is there but you're not frustrated with it yet and it's just kinda stewing. No pressure yet. I like that. When I'm writing down ideas but it's not a full outline yet it's just the impressions that will become one... that is pretty fun because it's all about opportunity. but i guess when it comes down to it I like writing the best because for me, it's sometimes like, what's the point of having an idea if I don't at least try and execute it? I'm uh. Very task oriented and completion driven if you couldn't tell.

[thepromiscuousfinger]

1) What motivates you to write?

T R A U M A

2) A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud of; if not, share a line of someone else's work that you love (just be sure to credit).

Omg I'm drawing a blank here lol I...don't know?

3) Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

Macali. She's an absolute fucking idiot whose charisma bleeds out of her pores. She's like Spiderman minus the intelligence.

4) What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

Worldbuilding babyyyyy. I like setting up the framework to allow readers to fill in the tiniest details with their own imagination and interpretations.

5) What part of writing do you think you're best at? (Stroke your own ego, it's okay.)

Angst.

I've been offered someone's firstborn, been told to go to Hell, also been told to off myself, and I'm 99% sure someone has cried.

6) What is something in the writeblr community that is most enjoyable?

Definitely the memes and relatable everything.

7) A writing tool/device that help you with writing (i.e. text to speech, a program, etc.).

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh probably the fanfic playlist which consists of music that helps me figure out the mindset I need to be in for specific scenes.

8) A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story (it could be the magic system, a particular place, a law, etc.).

Oh gosh I don't even know. I guess the difference between structured Magic and Wild Magic where it just is.

9) What piece of advice would you give to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

Just write scenes or outlines of one. Sometimes I can't write chapters in consecutive order, so I'll write entire scenes and scenarios that best fit the build up to that exact scenario.

And I save all of it. There's always at least an idea or two that you keep coming back to, so why not save it?

10) Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters.

@faytelumos @fingerdownthebooksspine @droogettegal @the-lady-bryanon @donjuanquixote

Found this from @lexiklecksi and decided I wanted to do it.

Then I waited for forever to fill it out and forgot what the little title for this game was, haha!

---

1) What motivates you to write?

For one thing, I feel like it's my best skill. Back when I got started, well over a decade ago, it was experiencing all of these stories I loved that inspired the desire to become a part of the magic.

Deep down, I have stories to share. It's always nice when a lot of people see my stories and like them, but my biggest goal is to get those stories to the people who need them. It feels deep-seeded, and I know if everything stopped tomorrow, one of my biggest regrets would be that I wasn't able to get my Story out to people it might have helped.

2) A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud of; if not, share a line of someone else's work that you love (just be sure to credit).

It's been a month and I cannot for the life of me think of a story line I'm especially happy with, so have my favorite ever poem, which is by Robert Frost, recited from memory:

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,

But I have promises to keep

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

3) Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

Maybe Ræs. He's a mess of a person, honestly, but in a realistic way. He doesn't really have tact when it comes to sensitive matters, he comes off as abrasive, he's angry, he doesn't really know what he's doing, and he's got some ingrained biases he doesn't want to face. But he's trying his hardest, and I think, despite all of the rough starts and choppy interactions, he comes to realize that the people he meets in this story really truly care about him in a way he hasn't seen since he was a little kid.

4) What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

The feverish inspiration of a new character or plot development. I love it to death when I can't stop thinking about something, when I'm fifteen chapters away from this scene but I've written it in my head ten times already, when every song I hear is about them or this. It's fleeting, and even if it weren't, I couldn't survive an extended period of this, but it's the chemical I crave when making my way through a project.

5) What part of writing do you think you're best at? (Stroke your own ego, it's okay.)

Internal monologues. I'm really good at thought processes and being in a character's head. Moving from thought to thought, reaching conclusions and using them to fuel the next process, I feel like I really have that idea down.

6) What is something in the writeblr community that is most enjoyable?

The comradery. We're all a bunch of writers and we love reading. Since a lot of my work is currently in the hero/villain community, there's a lot of passing around of the same tropes we all love, and I definitely enjoy that, too.

7) A writing tool/device that help you with writing (i.e. text to speech, a program, etc.).

I don't use much except a word processor. I use one on my phone and a different one on my computer, but both of them have the ability to make folders and reorganize documents, which I use liberally.

8) A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story (it could be the magic system, a particular place, a law, etc.).

In my first book, there is a sense of that same-old fantasy setting, where everyone's wearing frocks and going to the river to do laundry. But then, here and there, I'm able to sneak in hints of technology. There are steam engine trains. There are chemical heaters so people can have hot baths indoors. There are disinfectants and surgery procedures. There are certain things that remain in the past as we see it (no printing presses, no personal transportation), but the world is different enough to be somewhat unique.

9) What piece of advice would you give to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

Write for yourself. If you're feeling burnt out, stop the projects that are draining you and just write for only yourself. Write some really self-indulgent fanfic or poetry that you know will never see the light of day. Write an unhinged essay on why A and B would never do that (or why, no matter what, they always would have) and tuck it straight into your pocket. Remeber why you started writing, or if you're new, really truly be kind to yourself and realize that you are learning a new skill and it can be bumpy.

Writing is such a personal and intimate expression, and if you're having trouble baring yourself to even a hypothetical world, then curl up and let your heart bleed in private for awhile.

10) Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters.

@the-modern-typewriter is actually a big part of the reason I even started a writeblr. Other folks I love to see are @surplus-of-sarcasm, @those-damn-snippets, @the-phasea-kalogria, @thepenultimateword, @sternenmeerkind, and @unorganisedalienrubbish, @robin-parravel, @bryansartbooth, @thelazywitchphotographer, @why-am-i-on-this-website-anyway, @pebbles-pile, @severalonions, @thepromiscuousfinger, @alltimelowing, @canonicallyshort, and @perfecthologrambluebird.

(Obviously these tags are no pressure because some of them don't follow me and several of them don't post writing.)

[punkbarbarian]

i mean insane as a compliment. this fucks

watching the history of exandria video. matt mercer is insane for this