#That Which Has Thorns

[sammialex]

Thanks @there-must-be-a-lock for the game !

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ♥️

Upon What Soil (HP, rated E). This longfic proved to myself that I could actually finish something and is honestly one of my favorite things ever for purely that reason. My ode to the rare pairs.

Crash the Cemetery Gates (Marvel/DC, rated E). Count on me to turn fluff into MCD and I'm starting to see that as a perk not a liability, which is exciting personal growth!

Idk if this is cheating but Fake It (til you become it) (Original Work, NR) is an anthology of original short stories that I am just...so proud of. Fandom has been a haven because original writing has scared the pants off me for years, but here I am 5 months in with 5 original shorts? Much fav, such proud.

That Which Has Thorns (HP, rated M). This was one of my first fest-fics and even though it was fairly early for me I think the writing holds up and was a really cool take.

Super WIP so taking the bottom spot here but What We Carry (HP/DC, rated M) is my current bb and I'm really excited about where it started and where it's going.

Share your favs too!! YES YOU!!

[arson-09]

Tamlin is actually such an underrated character in acotar. Because of feyres very biased narrative she forces readers to ignore the complexity of his character and man. its sad

Tamlin is a character who is genuinely GOOD at his core. He changed so much of the spring court for good, eliminating slavery within the spring lands and mortals having more protection. Hes a morally good character that made a few mistakes and is boiled down to just those mistakes. Locking feyre in the house and the magical/emotional blow up, which are both pretty decent fuck ups (i dont think siding with hybern fully counts as he was a double agent all along and tamlin was decently justified in thinking feyre was being kept against her will. lets be fr here) and even after he’s extremely fucked over by the nightcourt, his lands and court burned to shit, he still saves rhysand. Saves rhysand and tells feyre to be happy, even when he has every reason to NOT do that!

Hes a character that clearly holds himself to a higher standard. throughout acotar he puts lucien and feyres safety above his own, even sending feyre away when she was the only one who could save him. Even though what he did to her wasnt great its not completely irredeemable, rhysand did much worse things to feyre and other people but hes living his best life while Tamlin seems to find himself unworthy of being a person (acosf wheres hes been in beast form for roughly over two years) hes a perfectionist who now doesnt even think he deserves anyone because he accidentally hurt the people he loves most.

Sjm accidentally created a beautifully rich and morally righteous character who is so extremely fucked by the narrative. Which doesnt even work half the time as sjm cant seemingly commit to making him a full villain (seemingly by accident again she gave him quite a reasonable explanation to everything he did ‘wrong’ but still chooses to make him a punching bag)

If Tamlin was genuinely a morally evil character he wouldnt have NEARLY the amount of fans as he does. Hes a character that requires the minimum amount of media literacy and comprehension to understand and i LOVE him.

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts 2 - Shadow Stalker & Dark Thorn

[disastardly]

For the five of us on this site that care this specifically about Mystic Force, here are some hi-res pics of their wizard uniforms, courtesy of the Power Rangers prop auction currently going on.

[pinayelf-archive]

My @infamous-if mc, Violetta "Vi" Marasigan, the lead singer of Nighthorn

She’s here to follow her dreams, sing her heart out and maybe make self destructive decisions

[clowwwnbytes]

slay the princess pristine cut spoilers etc

i was brainstorming with buddies on discord and started thinking about damsel ch3 having the blade with her, already pointed at her heart, then just started thinking about the blade as a tool.

i think about the blade so much. a cold reminder of your mission in this world, something so tiny that represents a huge wall between you, your ability to be willing to understand others, to understand yourself.

if you bring it with you you've chosen to take a defensive stance against something and someone you don't understand, but it's so comforting, it gives you options, it gives you control over any situation given you don't underestimate the person standing in front of you. even when you don't want it, when you think you don't need it, it will come back to you. a nagging feeling. you're given the option to be distrustful even when you don't literally have it in you, it's what you've been taught is safety, it hangs over your head and dangles above your heart at all times.

and in damsel ch3 it goes from a tool given weight by the role you're supposed to play, to the same thing but looming over her this time. the expectations of what you're supposed to want and what's best for the people around you and what keeps you grounded, the narrator sang the same tune before, and he hurt her and he hurt you. he hurt himself and his humanity in the process. and now he's taken the backseat and is forced to see how messed up that is by having the smitten be the one pulling the strings of the construct, someone with a perspective so different, but one that ends up hurting everyone all the same, even if he doesn't intend it to do so.

everyone is forced to look at themselves in the mirror.

carrying that blade is suffocating for anyone.

and now im thinking about mr. "let's throw it out the window" contrarian, the only voice you can bring to her heart along with the hero, someone that refused to engage with the narrative and someone that is well aware that his perspective is annoying and unneeded for its purposes.

and then he meets the whole of her, and she tells him about how his courage is beautiful. he's the part of the long quiet that knowingly or not, is more willing to throw aside any kind of logic in order to understand a situation in a way the rest don't want to, and he's *now* realizing that his existence is an important aspect to have.

[rebelcharmings]

eah as random tweets i found on my timeline recently

[gen-0]

“His eyes softened” pt2

Pt 1 here

[dandelionfool]

some pre-war tommy and freddie

[livingtheparadoxlife]

I think it's so funny that we as a fandom just saw Matthew and collectively agreed, "Oh yeah, this guy isn't gonna survive the trilogy, or if he does manage to live, it'll not be as a shadowhunter." And Cassie probably got super offended we guessed the plot and just rewrote the book in a completely different direction and threw our theories to the dust and just killed off Kit instead.

It's kinda admirable.

[nerdacious]

Omg he touched my hand

[velidewrites]

This Ends In Fire

Everything goes wrong when Nesta Archeron crosses the Wall to find her sister. Kidnapped and trapped Under the Mountain, she must now become the very thing she swore to destroy. But there is a light in the darkness—a flicker of a flame, ready to show her a way out. If she’d only let it.

Pairing: Nesta Archeron x Eris Vanserra

Tags: Rated Explicit; Marriage of Convenience; UTM AU

Notes: My humble submission for @sjmromanceweek!

Read the Prologue on AO3 or continue below!

The mercenary had run at the first rustle of wind between the trees, leaving Nesta alone and entirely at the forest’s mercy. She should have recognised the man for the coward that he was, but, as Nesta had recently found out, hope had a rather nasty habit of making its harborer blind to other people’s intentions. The last of the silver she’d brought along for the journey had gone into the hireling’s pockets, unlikely to ever be seen again. Elain was hardly the type to chase after others, not even to protect her own interests, and, well—it wasn’t like Nesta was ever coming back to do it herself, anyway.

It was cold and dark in the forest, remnants of frost still coating some of the treetops despite winter being well and truly over. The icy weather never quite melted into spring, and seemed determined to last into the approaching summer. Perhaps it wasn’t going to leave at all.

Elain was going to be fine. Nesta wouldn’t have left otherwise, though the knowledge hadn’t made her decision any easier. The Nolan boy would not have been Nesta’s first choice by any means—no man ever would be wherever Elain was concerned—but he was the best suitor their village had to offer all the same. He seemed to enjoy Elain’s company, besides, if the hours Nesta had spent chaperoning in their garden were any indication. Nesta herself was more than inclined to leave after an hour, but Greysen Nolan kept on listening as Elain rambled on about the tulip fields far on the Continent. He’d even sworn to bring them back for her from one of his travels.

It was enough for Nesta to venture out to the forest with some peace of mind. They had money now, the source of which Nesta preferred not to ponder over. Their newfound wealth certainly had nothing to do with Father’s efforts, or lack thereof, anyway. Their clothes, their food, their very survival…it had always been Feyre.

And now, Feyre was gone.

The guilt had been eating Nesta alive for months. At first, she’d pretended not to care, and for the first few weeks it worked sufficiently enough for her to drown herself in other tasks. Housework, mostly, hiring the cook and staff and even a governess to catch Elain up on the final years of education she’d missed out on. Some days, Nesta would quietly find her way into the office, a book carefully placed in her lap as she curled up by the fireplace under the pretense of the house being too cold. In truth, she enjoyed the lessons and wanted to learn alongside them, her own education left so far back in the past it almost felt as though it had happened to someone else.

There was a kernel of truth to that—Nesta had thought of her family’s lost wealth every day in that blighted cottage, and yet she still couldn’t help but feel out of place the day it returned. She never remembered it so hollow, so empty and lifeless. Perhaps it had been Feyre, stubborn and wild, who’d made the house come alive. Even before that cottage—it had always been Feyre.

It was then that Nesta decided to go. Hiring a mercenary had been Elain’s idea, and Nesta had known better than to argue. Refusing would’ve only brought her closer to Elain volunteering herself for the journey, and that simply would not do. Here, in the human lands, Elain was safe. As safe as their kind could get, at least.

For all Nesta knew, Feyre was already dead. The thought did little to stop her—her mind was made up, and the mercenary hired and equipped with the finest iron the village smith could have procured. Whether it would be enough to pierce the beast’s thick fur and reach its heart, Nesta did not know. She could only hope.

Even if she knew hope was a weapon of the fools.

She sighed deeply, turning over her shoulder to see if the man’s footprints had dried off enough for her to keep going. At the very least, they would provide a decent path back to the village, where the mercenary was undoubtedly already headed. Should the Wall prove impenetrable after all, Nesta would know how to find her way back.

The man’s heavy panting stopped echoing through the woods when the Wall finally came into sight. Nesta knew better than to call after him; she had simply sent him away with nothing but a withering look and a curse so unbecoming of a lady of her status she only dared to utter it within the comfort of her own mind. Wretched as it was, she hoped some wolf or other predator lurking near the border would find him just in time to teach him a lesson, and, if luck was truly on her side tonight, let him take it straight to his grave. Leaving a woman alone in the woods at night was dishonourable to say the least.

It was what Feyre had done nearly every night, though, Nesta realised, that familiar guilt crashing into her like a wave once more. Ever since Father failed them, her sister would go into the forest to hunt—alone in the darkness.

Perhaps Nesta had failed her just as much.

She approached the Wall with that thought, her steps heavier somehow despite her best efforts to stay unseen. The beast that kidnapped Feyre may as well have been waiting on the other side, its claws already sharpened in anticipation. Nesta couldn’t see the other side—from where she stood, the forest simply seemed to continue well into the endless night. But Nesta knew—could practically taste the metallic tinge of magic on her tongue. It reminded her of blood.

She wondered how Feyre had withstood it—that strange feeling tingling on her skin as she stood inches from the Faerie border. As if she was being watched.

It could’ve all been in her head, Nesta thought, suddenly incredibly aware of just how loudly her heart was thudding in her chest, thrashing against her ribcage in desperation. Maybe once she crossed the Wall, it would abandon the same way the mercenary had.

What now? She’d made it all the way here—in one piece, as little consolation as it was. Nesta had no idea just how the golden beast had managed to drag Feyre to the faerie lands, but she strongly suspected her chances of succeeding were significantly smaller as a human. She had no magic—not even claws to shred that thin, metallic veil separating their worlds to pieces.

Nesta needed to find an opening.

There were cracks in the Wall. It was perhaps the only useful information she’d gotten out of the mercenary before he’d fled. If she could find a crack large enough for her to squeeze through…

She began heading eastward, at least according to Father’s old compass she’d found in one of the office drawers. Once again it wasn’t lost on her just how little the men in Nesta’s life contributed to her fate. Still, she murmured a “thank you” into the sky, hoping it would find Father in whatever corner of the world he’d sailed off to and pass along the message. It wasn’t though she’d ever get a chance to speak to him again.

Nesta was bracing for her own death.

She wasn’t exactly sure why she’d opted to walk East, but there was something about the direction that compelled her forward. The blood tasted different there, less of rust and metal and more of smoke floating above a fire. There was light somewhere out there, guiding her out of that darkness.

Or perhaps she was simply going insane.

The wind whooshed again then, tangling the loose strands of hair that had managed to find their way out of Nesta’s braid, and she stopped dead in her tracks.

It wasn’t the wind that made her halt, though, but a sound rising above the cold breeze. A loud snap—like the crack of a flame.

Slowly, Nesta turned towards the Wall.

But the Wall wasn’t there.

At first, all Nesta could see was the night—the dark sky sprawling over the hills, quiet and starless. The Wall must have been where the forest ended, where the labyrinths of moss and pine finally stretched into one, singular path.

And then, a spark.

A flash of silver that could easily be mistaken for a glittering star had it not disappeared as soon as it arrived. Had it not flickered again, and again, and again, followed by a wide, curved line of others.

Nesta stopped breathing entirely as she watched those sharp, silver teeth stretch into a smile. As wings, large and ancient like withered marble stretched over a pair of horns, over a body so large she could hardly meet its owner’s blood-red gaze.

Nesta knew what the creature was—she had seen it in her book’s illustrations, the same book the governess forbade the sisters from ever touching. The pages are cursed, she had told them. Plagued with the memory of the world we used to live in. A world unprotected by the Wall, a world of magic and monsters and death.

Right now, Death was staring right back at her. Smiling.

“Are you lost, little one?” the Attor asked, its voice like gravelly sand dragging over stone.

Nesta swallowed the fear in her throat—let it burn her voice cords to near ash as she rasped, “I am looking for someone.”

The monster’s smile widened, wings rustling as they moved to embrace her whole. “And she is looking for you.”

[wantonlywindswept]

Definitely True Facts About Commander Vertex #4

He's lost everything.

[forgotten Fox AU tag]

Bucket, for the crimes of having an excellent sabacc face and a hip that seized up when moving any faster than a light jog, was often stuck manning the Guard HQ front desk.

They didn't get too many natborns coming through these days, at least, now that the CSF were forced to do their own jobs and had taken over guarding the prison. The Guard was finally back to being a protective, high-level military force instead of doing all the domestic policing and drudgework they'd been relegated to. They were still beholden to the Senate, but things had gotten better since Palpatine died and Organa took office, even if some of the Dome's denizens still saw them as little better than droids.

So Bucket didn't have to deal with that--he could, he got his name from being able to fit his demeanor to whatever the situation needed it, swapping faces like you could swap a helmet--but he did still have to deal with the regular comers and goers. Thankfully, that was mostly clones, plus the new addition of the pack of Jedi healers that descended on medbay once a week.

Interesting bunch, the Jedi. A lot more personable than Bucket had thought they would be. Surprisingly calm up until you admitted to using a soldering torch to close an acute laceration. 

(It wasn't even a recent injury--it happened so long ago that it was already healed. But now Master Nema gave Bucket the stink eye whenever she saw him, like she was trying to determine how medically stupid he'd been in her absence.)

"--figure what they were going on about?"

Bucket snapped to attention as the exterior doors slid open, a placid expression settling across his features. He turned toward the voice--only to relax when he caught sight of the visitors.

"Just something about another shift in the Force," Marshal Commander Cody said, offering Captain Rex a shrug. "It's not as bad as when Palpatine died; nobody passed out this time, at least."

"Small mercies," Commander Gree observed, bringing up the rear behind them. He had four takeout containers cradled in one arm, and by the smell they were from the offensively good noodle cart that parked near the base of the Rotunda. Bucket took a deep, envious breath and decided he was definitely going there for latemeal.

This particular group of GAR troopers--along with Commanders Bly and Wolffe--were a familiar enough sight at Guard HQ. They didn't visit often, almost eternally deployed to the front lines, but whenever their leaves lined up they usually made an appearance. Bucket had never seen all five together at once, but maybe that would change now that the war was officially over and battalions were being called back to Coruscant.

"Commanders, Captain," he greeted, standing up behind the counter to salute. His second for the day, Kelari, hastily copied the action. 

Cody waved the formality away with the hand sign for 'at ease', nodding at the two of them in turn.

"Sergeant Bucket," he greeted. "And I don't think I know..?"

"Private Kelari, sir!" Kelari chirped. She was still painfully shiny, wide-eyed and awestruck as she stared up at the Marshal Commander, and Bucket allowed the gaping with fond indulgence. 

Kelari was one of their most recent acquisitions, part of a squadron that arrived after the death of the Chancellor. The group didn't have any direct experience with the war or the suffering that came with it, and the entire Guard were doing their damndest to make sure they never would.

"Private Kelari," Cody acknowledged, one side of his mouth ticking up. "Good to meet you."

Kelari beamed; Bucket shooed her away so he could get back in front of the security screens. 

"The Jedi up to shenanigans again?" he asked as he pulled up the admittance forms. 

Rex sighed, heavily, and Cody shot him an amused look.

"Let's just say," Gree said, "That it will be nice to avoid more half-coherent explanations on how the Force works now that the war's over."

Bucket snorted, starting to fill out the usual info. The Guard never got a Jedi--and with the reveal of Palpatine being a Sith, they now knew why--but he had to admit he was glad they never needed to deal with the often-inexplicable Jedi tendency to rely so much on some invisible cosmic power.

"Captain CT-7567," he recited idly as his fingers flicked across the keys, "Commander CC-2224, and Commander CC-1004, here to see --"

Bucket blinked at the 'reason for visit' box. 

This batch of clones had been visiting the entire war, either by themselves or together, whenever their rare leave allowed. They came often enough that if Bucket wasn't the one that would suffer the datawork hassle later, he would have just waved them on through. 

He was familiar enough with them to know that Cody's infamous scar came from a sparring accident, that Gree had three half-finished xenobiology research papers that he hoped to someday publish, and that Rex had been forcibly adopted by the CC clones without being allowed any input in the matter. He knew that Wolffe had three implanted teeth from multiple attempts at biting trainers through their armor as a cadet, and that Bly sometimes mixed up his letters and numbers and had almost been decommissioned as a result.

And Bucket had no idea what to put in the box.

"Sergeant?" Kelari asked quietly, stepping close to Bucket's side, "They're Commander Vertex's batchmates, right?"

The gentle nudge would have been helpful--Kelari was new, but she'd already learned what to do when another Guard faltered--except the intel she was working with was faulty. 

It was a reasonable assumption: Thire wouldn't shut up about his batchmates, so they were all known. Ponds had already stopped by to see Stone, the rest of their batch lost to the war, while Thorn's quietly deranged batch somehow managed to stay known but off the radar. Vertex was the only Commander whose batchmates were unaccounted for.

Except Vertex didn't have any batchmates.

Cresh Squad had taken heavy losses a couple weeks ago, and Bucket had been doing his own rehab with Patches in the medbay while they were still recovering. Commander Vertex had been there speaking quietly with the survivors, going between the beds with soft words and reassuring touches. It was clear that he'd done that kind of thing before, and when he'd finally taken a moment to sit down with Defib, Bucket had overheard their conversation.

'Good going with Whiskey,' Defib said gruffly. 'He would have camped outside the medbay doors if you hadn't talked him down. Tango's stable, but it's never easy to see a batcher get hurt.'

'No,' Vertex said, sounding tired. 'It really isn't.'

'Sounds like you have experience.'

Vertex was silent for a long while.

'My batchmates,' he said eventually, 'And my command. I lost them. They're...they're all gone, now.'

'Not gone,' Defib corrected gently, 'But marching far away.'

'Not gone,' Vertex had agreed, almost too soft to hear. 'Just marching far away from me.'

Patches was a medic and Bucket knew when to keep his mouth shut, and neither of them had mentioned anything of the conversation to others. Bucket was pretty sure the other commanders knew, too, but it wasn't like they'd go around airing someone's trauma like that.

Far too much trauma to go around for all of them.

Kelari nudged him again, and Bucket blinked rapidly, hauling himself out of the memory. He lifted his gaze from the half-finished form to meet Cody's eyes.

The Marshal Commander frowned.

"We're here to see--to see..."

Missing memories weren't that uncommon, in the Guard, but as Bucket watched confusion steal across Cody's face--as that confusion shifted into unease and then panicked alarm--he didn't think that it was just a Guard problem, anymore.

[your-ne1ghbor]

Character conflict

Only thing I will say here is this:

The most terrifying villains

is them knowing they're in the wrong...

[longingpolaris]

Day 2: Vintage / Plants/Flowers / Memories

@asakikuweek2 💕

Models: makigane

Flowers: いつものほん

Skydome/Accessories: azyazya

Effects: o_tamon / ikeno / うみ / winglayer / 針金P / 東郷 ���

[baravaggio]

I don't want to abandon my 5 year old legacy save but the way my current generation sim's life turned out is genuinely depressing me