#Poetic Wanderlust

[steven-sandner]

A little festive lighting around this snowy owl 🍂💫✨

[creepydollgirl]

i just want to be held by the unknown man that sits in my poetry

[theletterboxstuff]

Can I just lay down and watch the clouds go by for a while?? Please please please please!!

[ineverfeltsomuchalike]

(If I run fast enough will my feet leave the ground?)

Wanderlust is the ache in your face when it's cold

It's the scratching biting itching from inside

It's smelling the shit and piss and nicotine caked into the sidewalk

And wanting to rise above it all

A wrenching in your gut

So hot it's cold and so cold it's hot

Finally being warm and comfortable and hating it all

I want my bones to crack

So ugly, bloodstained wings

Can rip themselves out of my back

And I can fly

That's what wanderlust is

[staycourageouslove]

“It’s losing yourself-

even though you had always been familiar with being found.”

—Elizabeth Tapp

[agws]

And if i get lost...

[shespillsherself]

Chapter II -Don't take yourself too seriously.

I forgave but did not receive an apology.

-Always I

[celestialthinking]

maybe one day

I’ll land somewhere I’ve never been before

maybe one day

I’ll have stories to tell others

maybe one day

I’ll have new photos and new views

maybe one day

I’ll smile and feel a little more complete

maybe one day

I’ll be lucky

[imaanbilal]

Your home is enough for you

The words isolation have a special meaning in our islam :

To stay away from evil, and to keep those who are foolish at a distance. When you distance yourself from evil in this manner, you will have an opportunity to reflect, to think, to graze in the meadows of enlightenment. When you isolate yourself from things that divert you from Allah's obedience, you are giving yourself a dose of medicine, one that doctors of the heart have found to be a most potent cure. When distance yourself from evil and idleness, your brain is stimulated into action. The result is an increase in faith, repentance, and remembrance of Allah, the Almighty, All-Compassionate.

[motelroom7]

For you, I'd fly

The night I emerged in the black sky.

Who am I in this darkness?

I'm on a plane to - where? why?

What if this black bird is taking me to a different land than I thought?

A place where finally it will make sense to be, and I can tell people the whys without contemplating or doubting about whether I leave my feelings in the trash or keep them safe and proud

I'm quite like my own blood stain on your bedsheet. I let myself bleed and I'm stubborn to leave.

I mean, dark chocolate memories were perfect on the tongue and we just savor slowly until I'm on a plane to you, flying fast per minute.

But why?

Because I need you more than you need me.

By - Alina Bleue

[sunkissed-summerdaze]

Some of my recent adventures...

I went to a charming bookstore & walked around an inviting downtown of a city I’ve never been to before.

-E.S. Fri, June. 21st / 2024 7:18p.m. @sunkissed-summerdaze

[rebfile]

Once upon a sunny day, with the kind of golden glow that can only grace the start of a perfect weekend, there was a girl with hair like the crest of a wave and glasses that caught the light just so. She stood on the cusp of the shoreline where the sand whispers secrets to the sea, fingertips grazing the tousled locks that danced in the salty breeze like tendrils of spun silver.

Her swimsuit, a canvas of blooming florals—tangerine, parsley, and a hint of blush—clung to her like a second skin, a tribute to summer's exuberance. She was, in that moment, the personification of youth and freedom, a figure sculpted not from marble but from the warm thrumming vibrations of light and life.

With a sigh deeper than the ocean before her, she lifted her gaze, a horizon of thoughts stretching far behind those amber-tinted lenses. They said you could find the whole world in a grain of sand, but she, she sought stories in the expanse of the azure above and the depth of the azure below.

In this slice of forever, she was a tale yet told, an adventure unfurling at the edges, the protagonist of a story that needed no words, for the sun spoke in hues and the waves in rhythm. Around her, the world turned, but in the still point of that turning, there was her: the girl with the seafoam hair and the summer-kissed soul.

Little did she know, eyes hidden behind the cool shade of her frames, each glance she cast to the far-off yonder etched lines of poetry into the sands of time—verses that only the bravest of hearts would dare to read, who, like her, understood the call of wanderlust and whispering tides.

And as the day stretched and yawned into dusk, her story remained—a story of a girl both in-between and wholly there, a figure not out of place but of the place, as integral to the canvas of the beach as the shy scattering of clouds above or the bold laughter of the waves below.

Anyone, with a beating heart of artists and daydreamers, would have savored her vignette, an ephemeral chapter penned in light and captured in a photograph, for all who wander the digital corridors in search of something genuinely beautiful and serendipitously serene.

[slowd1ving]

hello!! Your fic is so cool and if your request is open, can I request DG x male reader when DG still in his James lee era while reader is the King of Busan

XENIA ゜゜・DG

Xenia, noun: the classical concept of hospitality to strangers. This, unfortunately, includes a wandering dog and his conniving owner—a most irritating, tooth-grinding conundrum the King of Busan has with Charles Choi and his boy-genius. sorry for the wait anon I was away from my laptop for the past week or so! and I couldn't write :'( first meetings and onwards for this particular work haha chicken and egg problem.. haha introspection on business and corruption... haha capitalism pairing: dg (james lee) + male reader warnings: male reader, canon typical violence, arguing (bickering) wc: 3.3k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

In the lengthy chronicles of Charles Choi’s grand plan—to mould the precarious South Korean underground into something far more profitable—James Lee finally came across his very own cause-and-effect conundrum. 

What came first, the chicken or the egg? Plutarch initially posed this question in The Symposiacs: a symbolic tug of war between creator and creation. James supposed, in his bored sort of way, that this question described the relationship between cities and Kings as well. Chronically, objectively, the cities existed first—tall structures and unique ecosystems that forged shadowy figureheads to rule the violent underbelly. But poetically, it was rather hard to ignore the hands etching—pummeling—a pathway for the power to flourish. Without those in charge, what were the cities? And without the cities, who were the people in charge?

Parsing the matter, it distilled into who influenced whom.

Of course, the dazzling sprawl of Busan refracting from the glass under his feet was no exception. Even he, who satiated his youthful wanderlust with blood on his fists, couldn’t deny his reluctance to sully this city more. But, what did it matter? The second most important city in South Korea (some would froth at the mouth and argue it was the first for its gateway to Eurasian trade, or at least for its world-class ports) was built from perfectly respectable trade; but alack! it was also protected by its snarling underworld. It had already been befouled: polluted by fists no better than his, trodden by legs more filthy than his own. Blood and toil smeared its golden sand, and its money was just as dirty.

 Sure, the city was propped up by honourable (hah) commercial deals, but it was shielded by the illicit ones. 

A defiled aegis, if you would.  

It was clear the current glitzy glamour of Busan night-life was carefully orchestrated by someone: from the specific mouthfeel the night air had, to the businesses that ran late into the witching hours. Those mythical beings and chaebols who fed and extracted money from this place, in endless loops, were culpable for these towering skyscrapers and glittering lights. 

Creators. 

In turn, the city cradled your grimy little body—chubby hands wrapping around index fingers of the metaphorical hounds—and made you. 

Did this metropolis represent you, or did you represent the metropolis?

It was not in a polite setting that James Lee scouted the venerable King of Busan: arguably the second most esteemed figurehead for the Kings of South Korea. In theory. In theory, since Busan’s reputation as a hub for trade and exalted trade (rather than the mere cold, hard cash ill-reputed other cities offered Choi) entwined with your own. Except, in practice, you were a far more reticent King than anyone could imagine. A shadow to fade into obliquity more than any other shadow. 

Underbelly, yes. This was the turf you were most at home in; he could forget all about the glamorous, illegal casinos in basements, he could forget about eavesdropping on business moguls and their lackeys, he could forget about waiting in the entertainment districts for the proverbial snake to finally rear his head. 

You were the fucking microcosm of this city: draped with expensive fabric and chainmailed with gold, but the blood on your knuckles stank of impurity. In a parking lot nestled on the outskirts of Busan, he witnessed the King in his court: complete with the luxury, the opulence, and the hamartia of brutality that came with capitalism. Yes, Busan had minted you as a shadowy side to a glitzy coin—as your eyes snapped to where he lounged against concrete, he couldn’t help but observe how your imaginary hackles raised. 

Thwomp. Casually, you tossed the grunt beaten black-and-blue to the frigid asphalt, with the magnanimity of tossing breadcrumbs to ducks in a pond. Like the lackey was the bread and James fucking Lee himself was the duck. A bloodied cheek squished into his sneaker, but you merely stared at him owl-like. No, cat-like, because it seemed to be the same nonplussed stare a cat would give someone after bringing them a dead rat. 

“Nice city.” Since you clearly had no intention of speaking first. Deftly, his fingers unravelled the mystic plastic of a lollipop: popping the cherry-flavoured candy into his mouth to soothe the acerbic irritation he tasted. “You treat all your guests like this, or do kings not follow xenia anymore?” 

It was a rather futile attempt to lighten the mood. After all, if he could help it, he’d rather negotiate to pave the way for the second generation before resorting to throwing his fist. No, that was a lie. His flexing fingers wanted nothing more than to curl into a fist to let off some of the steam he’d garnered from searching for you in this uselessly big city, but fate had him making stupid jokes based on The Odyssey he’d read just last week for his Classics competition. If he rummaged in his pocket, he could probably find the gold medal clanking against hard sweets. 

Your expression changed minutely—a slight disturbance in your brows. They furrowed, and for a brief moment James Lee thought his joke fell flat. With all the blood soaked into your expensive garb, maybe you just valued fists over Homeric hexameter. Violence over prose. Brawns over brains. You slinked like shadows. Crude. Ominous. He could barely see your face even with the city lights flashing neon in the backdrop, but when your loping gait came to a halt, there was an exasperation that afforded more subtle nuance to your character. A bitterness to tinge what he thought was mindlessness. 

“Mr. Lee.” Your voice curled low in your throat, as quick and elusive as mercury, and perhaps just as poisonous. Shadow King of Busan, the man who never introduced himself to you noticed. Silence was golden, and he suddenly understood why Charles Choi so badly wanted sway over the young King in charge of this port city. “I hope you’re aware that beating my subordinates would invalidate any sort of hospitality between us. You’re no god amongst men either, so ritualistic hospitality is a very weak premise to coerce my amiability with. Try again.”

Deity in the flesh. Perhaps James Lee was the closest thing to breaking the limits of humanity, but all men were fallible. That wasn’t what caused his brow to rise though; going in blind may have been risky, but it was worth it to find someone with a silver tongue like this. 

You looked about his age—treading on the precarious cusp between First and Second Generation, fists stained as red as his hair—but you spoke as if you were triple your years. 

“You wanna transfer to my school? It’d be fun to have you in the Debate Club,” he said on a whim, but it wasn’t really a whim either. His instructions were expressly to negotiate with Busan—the city was far too volatile to create a power vacuum in. For cities like Ansan, struggle was welcomed; but Charles Choi had too little of everything to contend with Busan, of all places. Just like in Seoul, the situation would resolve itself, and it was far too soon for the HNH Group to meddle in a place like this. “You talk like a teacher.”

His tone was as syrupy as his candy, but there was half-provocation, half-probing-curiosity entrenched in his cadence. Go on, it coaxed, throw a punch. Argue back. Unorthodox was his means of securing cooperation, but he’d have to be a little unorthodox to secure the deal old man Choi had painstakingly written out. A contract between Elite and the capricious man before him, between HNH Group and the microcosm of Busan himself; it sounded like every capitalist’s wet dream. 

“Good question, kid,” you smiled, but it was less of a smile and more of a sneer as you ghosted closer to him. Kid, like you weren’t one yourself. 

Crack. You stepped, heavy, on the hand of the man you’d pummelled—only his unconscious groan of pain re-alerted James to his existence. “The term isn’t over. You should still be in school. Playing around like this makes me far less likely to listen to whatever you’ve followed me for. Try again.”

The thick scent of metal invaded his personal space as you peeled your black gloves off; the rings beneath them were tinted with the blood that had seeped through the material. Just like that, you callously tossed the garment onto the slumbering man under your feet—though he truly wasn’t sure whether it was a final affront to a beaten man or throwing down the gauntlet towards James Lee himself. 

It was a reminder, once again, to not be hasty. There was the real possibility of fucking Charles Choi several times over if he didn’t get this right, but the thought of his imminent doom didn’t seem all too unappealing. On the contrary, he found his heart beating faster—pulse hot on his tongue as an intriguing challenge presented itself before him. 

“I’m sure your informants have relayed more intel than just my name,” he mirrored the jagged stretch of your lips. The Legend of the First Generation. The Genius. The original, associated with the base moniker of the Ten Geniuses to show just how unparalleled James fucking Lee was. “Take a guess as to how my scholastic life is going, then consider the opportunity that I’m bringing you.”

Ambiguous. His words were dusted with just enough information to seem straight to the point, but vague enough that it was tantalising. A hook to ensnare the snake of Busan himself. And rather than sating the itch in his fists, he found himself looking forward to a parley instead. 

You studied him, appearing to consider his words seriously. Syllables phrased like he was the one with the upper hand, when in fact the HNH group was still tentatively unfurling and in the process of negotiations with both yakuza and Triad alike. He awaited your favourable response, hearing the stats roll into your mind as you calculated the preliminary gains and losses to joining hands with Charles Choi. 

Bloodied fingers tapped a rhythm into your jacket absentmindedly. He watched, anticipating your invitation. 

“Fuck off.”

“Huh?” he spluttered. Maybe he misheard you. Maybe he finally choked on his candy and induced a coma in which he was now dreaming of your response. 

“Your boss sent a high-schooler to broker a deal with Busan.” Your fingers now drummed in irritation against your forearm, but he was just as irritated. He took care of every other prefecture and province, only to have this guy who was his age, nonetheless, tell him his presence wasn’t good enough. Like, what? “Tell old Choi to come himself to negotiate if he wants any sort of foothold in my city. If he truly wanted a respectable contract, why would he send you as a messenger?”

“Excuse me?” If he wasn’t restricted from fighting you—the only exception was valid self-defence—he would’ve made the asshole in front of him eat shit. Alas, Choi wasn’t that generous or lenient. “He sent one of the Ten Geniuses, the primero, for this. I’m one of his greatest assets.”

“Are you a damn car or a person?” you snapped, and it suddenly felt as though he was looking upon an ancient wizard as he lectured a troublemaker outside his tower. His eyelid twitched, and he was finding it quite hard to keep a cool head. “Talking about assets… can’t believe Choi’s sent the guy who’s fucked up all the smaller provinces to deal with us.”

The latter sentence was more grumbled to yourself; it appeared he annoyed you just as much as you annoyed him, which he found a delighted satisfaction in. 

“Tell Elite to come himself,” you uttered finally, not even letting him get in a word edgeways as you ambled back into the shadows—not even sparing a glance for the pile of bodies left in your wake. 

And despite his objective, despite the imminent yelling he’d no doubt face, he couldn’t help but stare at your blood-soaked coat fluttering in the frigid coastal wind. 

Out of hatred, obviously. 

・゜゜・

Charles Choi was a conniving bastard. You already knew it, but seeing him in the reception hall really drove the image home. He was polite, a little too polite; yet as soon as you slid that manila folder across the mahogany table, his demeanour prickled into something knife-like. 

Snake of Busan, you were nicknamed, but this guy was something else entirely. Once he sank his teeth into your determination to keep Busan flourishing, you could practically see his pupils contract into thin slits. Of course you’d dealt with tricky deals. Weaving through negotiation as though it were a riptide was how you clawed your way to the very depth of Busan’s underworld—navigating until you finally found that crown mired in cess. 

Or, more accurately, it was Miss Crystal Choi who’d pierced her venom right where it hurt. A Genius of Business, her father had called her—and boy, did it take all your wit to match her expertise in trade. 

But did he really have to bring that guy along?

The scion of the Geniuses was also in your office, leaning against the wall far behind Elite and his daughter. And though nobody asked for his input—not even old Choi spared his prodigy a glance—it still irritated you to no end that he’d tagged along. A bright, cheerful grin cast the sun against the city nightlife on the top floor of your building—one directed right at you, considering the only other two people he knew had their backs facing him. Quite the foolish move, but you weren’t one to concern yourself with people who were basically daylight robbing you. If the dog they’d raised bit them, all the better.

Or maybe he was beaming right at your bodyguard-turned-assistant, who stood discreetly in the shadows of the blinds: slatted light gently cresting over his tall build. Well. It certainly was one of the less strange things Mr Lee had done.  

Still, for someone who’d been glaring at you just a week ago, the change felt far too eerie to ignore. 

“—and onto the temporary personnel exchange section—” A feeble attempt to pry open the walnut that Busan was, which would only end with the unfortunate bastard failing. You’d choose a loyal subordinate, they’d select someone who was doomed to only grunt work—far from the impenetrable fortress of this building. Boredly, you tapped the pen on the contract, before freezing up at Miss Choi’s next words. “—we’d like to recommend James Lee to transfer to this office.” 

A pen snapped, and ink spilled onto the page. Dumbfounded, you barely registered her sliding over a fresh sheet, as though she knew full well this would happen. 

No, it was no recommendation. Her very mention of his name was a forceful shove of him into your office. No wonder he was grinning like the devil. No wonder he was here in the first place. At that moment, you wanted nothing more than to leave Busan behind. 

Your eye twitched. 

He kept smiling—an ominous prelude to the brimstone and fire you were sure to experience promptly.  

・゜゜・

“Aren’t I a better bodyguard than that useless one you keep around?” 

James Lee had been a bit too quiet these past few days; duly loping around behind the lower-ranked subordinates as they made their rounds, never crossing the proverbial line when you’d handed him his duties as interim grunt. Though, whenever you passed him, his eyes followed the shadows of your fluttering hem—two pinpricks of an arid glare sweeping on your back. 

But James Lee was a dog, and whatever command Elite gave him, he’d obey. Heel. Roll over. Serve under the King of Busan for a month. A jester, if you would, with a leash around his neck that kept drawing more and more blood from him. What were the limits? Just how far would he go for the man with a crimson shadow?

“No,” you said. He stood, far too proud, on a summit of lackeys that had been sent your way by one of the companies who’d attempted to cheat their way to getting a more favourable deal. It would’ve been a simple ambush—one doomed to fail—fated to end with you tossing blood-soaked gloves right on them before you postponed the meeting you were on your way to. 

But not today. It appeared the limit of the dog of Elite was passing up petty competition with the man two paces behind you.

“Unlike you, Song’s actually pleasant to listen to.” Yes, Song wasn’t the most useful of bodyguards point-blank, but it wasn’t like you particularly needed someone to take care of protecting you. He made people lower their guards. And he made a mean cup of tea. “I don’t have any use for you, so you’re still worse.”

“Semantics,” he shrugged. “I made your life much easier, did I not?”

He was smart. Too smart, but you already knew that from the intel that had not yet been erased. Hushed up, because of course Elite would painstakingly conceal his cards. 

And unfortunately, you were always drawn to a risky hand. A pleasure far removed from the mundane violence of your everyday life—a heart-pounding thrill of betting all your chips in a hazardous (though not desperate) gamble. 

“Maybe.” For it was one day removed from the multitudes of late meetings and burdensome glove changes. Your hands weren’t seeped in oily red, sliding and dripping onto your expensive clothes that were tailored—though still felt so fucking ill-fitting that it made you sick—right to your body. 

You considered the man toeing carefully past the dogpile located against a cargo container: donning what could’ve been your life. A beige school uniform, pinkie slightly indented from books and study, pen marks still dotting his fingers. Closer. He ambled lazily to your direction, and as he approached with the dying sun behind him, you could see his smile. Just as languid as the day you first met him, and just as irritating. 

Closer. Strawberry candy laced the iron odour, though you could faintly taste lemon in the profile too—testament to the yellow wrapper stuck crudely on one of the men. Closer—he was far too close now, standing chest to chest while he stared directly at you. 

If there was one thing that came from this ill-fated encounter, it was probably the permanent furrowed brows that decorated your perplexed face—the bloodhound had been reduced to this fluffy thing demanding your attention. 

And it was just as unfortunate that your impression had been chipped away for him too—a King whose expressions were utterly delightful to witness. A straight mouth, grinning ever-so-slightly when a deal went your way. A routine rhythm to your biro tapping your notepad. Eyes that shone with practical constellations as you breathed the briny air of the port in. 

A particularity to the way you treated others, steely to the strong, awkward with the weak. So utterly flustered, when it came to tiny kids tugging on your long coat, or the grandmas you lent your arm to on the streets. If he had to compare it, he’d attribute your personality as a non-Newtonian fluid: your very own mix of cornstarch and water. Tough with pressure, all soft without. 

Like now. 

“Come on,” he whined. Psychologically, he was doing a damn good impression of pitifulness—even if you’d just witnessed him commit a beatdown so one-sided that you could feel the second-hand pain. And little by little, he was watching you falter: breath caught in his throat as he watched your brows default to their furrow once more. “I saved you a good few minutes, didn’t I? Don’t tell me Busan can’t even acknowledge hard work and effort.”

“Fine, whatever,” you crumbled just like that, under the heavy weight of his triumphant eyes. “Good job.”

So cute, he thought, then froze almost immediately the moment the words came to mind.

Fuck. 

・゜゜・

[hisui-dreamer]

ode to the loving father

Pairing: Lilia Vanrouge x gn!reader

Synopsis: you simply adored his very existence, everything single part of him

Tags: drabble, fluff, slightly poetic hehe, reader is a simp for lilia

Word count: 602

Notes: belated happy birthday Lilia!!! here's to another year of driving millie insane and being a good dad 👍

Masterlist

Your lover embodies a beautiful balance of easygoing charm and friendly nature. With a warm smile and a genuine interest in others, he effortlessly weaves through conversations, leaving a trail of comfort and ease in his wake. His ability to connect with people from all walks of life is mesmerizing, as he possesses the gift of making anyone feel welcomed and at home in his presence. It's as if his charm creates an invisible bridge, effortlessly inviting others to open up and feel at ease, regardless of the circumstances.

Your lover possesses an extraordinary reservoir of patience. It's a virtue woven deeply within his character, evident in every interaction and situation he encounters. Whether guiding a struggling classmate through a challenging concept or navigating personal relationships, his patience radiates like a calming aura. His ability to listen attentively, understand without judgment, and offer support with unwavering composure reflects the depth of his patience.

Your lover possesses an innate talent for brightening even the darkest of days. His playful and carefree nature acts as a beacon of joy, effortlessly lifting your spirits when you're feeling down. Whether it's a silly joke, an unexpected playful gesture, or a heartwarming smile, he has a magical way of bringing laughter and lightness into your life.

Your lover possesses an array of talents, yet cooking isn't among them. His culinary creations might lean towards the terrible side, but the warmth in his eyes as he presents the dish makes it hard to resist. Despite the taste being a challenge to your palate or, in extreme cases, your health, you find yourself willing to savour every bite, not because of the flavour, but to please him. Seeing his hopeful expression, eagerly awaiting your feedback, becomes more satisfying than any gourmet meal could ever be.

Your lover has an insatiable wanderlust that fuels his love for travelling. As he recounts his tales of adventure, each word paints vivid pictures of distant lands and the vibrant tapestry of cultures he's experienced. The enthusiasm in his voice, the sparkle in his eyes—it's infectious. Listening to him weave tales of exploration and discovery ignites a longing within you to join him on his next journey. The way he describes the sights, the sounds, and the flavours encountered along the way creates an irresistible allure, compelling you to pack your bags and embark on an escapade alongside him, eager to create new memories together.

Your lover finds great joy in playfully teasing you. Whether it's a gentle tease about your habits or a sudden surprise meant to elicit a chuckle, his teasing nature is a testament to their affection for you. Even when his teasing edges a little too close to the line, his mischievous grin and twinkling eyes melts any brewing frustration. His charm works like a spell, breaking down your attempts to stay mad, and leaving you unable to resist the infectious joy he brings to every moment.

Your lover extends boundless care and unwavering trust towards his family. In his eyes, they are the centre of his universe, and his actions consistently reflect this devotion. He listens attentively to their joys and struggles, offering guidance and support without hesitation. His immense love fosters a deep sense of security, allowing those under his care to flourish under his unwavering belief in their abilities.

Your lover is incredibly nuanced, balancing and excelling at the roles of a father, a student, and your partner all at once. Each facet of him adds depth and richness to your relationship, creating a bond that's resilient and ever-evolving.

Your lover, is none other than Lilia Vanrouge.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[xplorerxperience]

Exploring the world with nature as my companion, every adventure is a poetic dance between wanderlust and the untamed beauty of the Earth.

[arcielee]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you so much for the tag @poetic-fiasco @babyblue711 @lord-aldhelm @moris-auri ! This was nifty 💜

1. How many works do you have on ao3 (or masterlist)? - On my masterlist here, 45. I only have 19 on my ao3, including a Sailor Moon fic I abandoned.

2. What’s your total ao3/tumblr word count? - I am only doing ao3, which is 218,594 so far.

3. What fandoms do you write for? - Whatever inspires me, to be honest. Lately, I have been dabbling in Jujutsu Kaisen help me, and those are all under my ☆ Other fandoms masterlist.

4. Top five fics by kudos/notes - On ao3, The Sapphire Prince and lost in a haze, the second being a Hazbin Hotel piece I wrote. For this hellsite it is my Call It Dreaming series, then dōna mandia 😈 and Silver Coins.

5. Do you respond to comments? - I try my best too, but Tumblr sometimes fails to notify me. I love them all, though! 💜

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? - That might be a toss up between Dancing in the Dark and Ours never knew peace.

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? - I think my Farewell Wanderlust story that I wrote solely when I learned that Bernard never killed off Osferth in the series. I was determined for that baby monk to get a happily ever after.

8. Do you get hate on fics? - I got a lot of grief for dōna mandia and I do get a lot of hate anons, but those I report and be done with it.

9. Do you write smut? - I literally only started writing smut when House of the Dragon came out. It changed my brain chemistry.

10. Craziest crossover? - Oh man 😆 I have been writing since I was 13 and I did this crazy LotR x wrestling crossover that was a hot mess. This was on fucking FF.net, but they deleted my account. I was devastated at the time, but now I understand this was a mercy killing.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? - I sure hope not.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? - I have been asked, but since I am not on the platform requested, I declined the offers.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? - I have not.

14. All time favorite ship? - I am keeping the prior answer because A Red Dawn Rises by @avonne-writes is the rarepair of Aemond x Aethelstan and it has me chewing on my furniture.

15. What’s a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? - Gosh, I keep swearing I will return to them, so please allow my incessant denial. 😂

16. What are your writing strengths? - Um... probably that I always put my whole bussy heart in every piece?

17. What are your writing weaknesses? - I forget to add adjectives a lot and I also abuse the fuck out of the semi-colon, but all I can do is reread my work, boo and hiss at what I created, and try to do better with my next story.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language? - As long as a translation is close by so I can follow along. I hate scrolling up or down so I can figure out what is being said.

19. First fandom you wrote in? - Lord of the Rings! And it was terrible! 🥰

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? -

Anyway, here are my top 3:

♡ She Walks in Starlight really pushed me out of my comfort zone and helped me hone my prose style for whatever genre I am writing for. Plus, Aemond is so very Hades code.

♡ Ours never knew peace. This one is not very popular, but I really loved it. It was supposed to be how The Sapphire Prince was going to end, but my OC in that was very determined to go another route. I started writing this after watching The Princess Bride and it sat in my drafts forever... but I just love the idea of being warned of what happens and being doomed to repeat it.

♡ Dancing in the Dark was an ode to my oma and my grandfather, but thankfully they don't do the internet and/or are dead. 💜

no pressure tags: @itbmojojoejo @sylasthegrim @flowerandblood @bhxrdy @troublesomesnitch

@inthedayswhenlandswerefew (please pretend it is another IWAW segment) @aemonds-fire @squirmhoney @namelesslosers @targaryen-dynasty

@anjelicawrites @st-eve-barnes and anyone else, if it comes across your dash, tag me pleaseeee 🦝💜