#and also has a lot of works in progress

[susiecarter]

hey susie! hope you're doing well! i've been a little down so i've been re-reading some of my favourite superbat fics of yours for comfort, and got to wondering how on earth do you plot out such long and complex stories? do you hit a word count target daily/weekly or do you just go a little crazy and write 20k over a week?

thanks for all the work you've shared!

Hey, anon! <333 I'm so sorry you've been feeling bleh, but fwiw I can't tell you how wonderful it is to hear that my fic is a bright spot for you when you need one. ;-;! (Obviously I also hope you now feel awesome, continue to feel awesome, and never need to revisit my fic again. :'D BUT IN THE MEANTIME, I appreciate it so much. <3!) And! The answer to your first question is: OUTLINING. It took me a while to figure out that outlining is really important to my process :'D but outlining is REALLY important to my process, and never more so than when I'm working on a long complicated AU of some kind! I do a lot of brainstorming/pre-planning, working out what exactly is going to happen (what the ripple effects of a canon divergence ought to be, what will change AND what won't; exactly how many different characters' POVs need to be in there, and what each of those characters is going to be doing; &c) and what order it's going to happen in ...

... and that process is what allows the answer to your second question to be: when it's time for me to actually start drafting, I ABSOLUTELY go hog-wild and write 20k in a week! Once I've got my outline squared away, when I'm feeling good about a fic and the idea is eating me alive, I top out at a little over 1k an hour. Aaaaaand when I'm not feeling like that, I don't write a single word. /o\

I have a wordcount-tracking spreadsheet that color-codes itself automatically, mostly for my own amusement, and under the cut is a cap of it for this year, January through the end of June.

TADA.

It's probably pretty easy to tell when I had a deadline approaching or a story to finish :'D and when I didn't, lol. (And you can also tell I tend to burn myself out a little, because after one or two of those purple 8k+ days, there's usually either some blank spaces or some very light green!) I'm trying to get better at writing more consistently instead of accordioning myself like this, but as you can see, a word-heavy May led to a pretty lackluster June, especially toward the end. :D WORK IN PROGRESS.

Anyway, yeah. If you want to know more about my actual process for working out the plot of something, just drop me another ask! <3 And thank you so much not only for the compliments, anon, but also for the excuse to natter on a little. :D <333!

[peace-hunter]

tfone au where OP is created as the last of the primes but way after them, a sparkling born at what were thought to be the last days of the war against the quintessons, the beginning of a new generation of peace after eons of war. a child meant to be loved and raised knowing nothing of war nor sacrifice.

he's kept mostly out of the spotlight by his siblings, who don't wish to expose him to everyone's optics so young, and want to wait until the war is done and over to properly introduce him to their people.

except of course the primes are betrayed and murdered by sentinel, the war is lost and everyone who knows and cared for the truth is either banished or outright killed in order to suppress it.

and the high guard, the ones the primes trusted the most, the ones that were supposed to protect them, the ones who failed in their most important duty, have to make a choice. to take the last prime, their last hope, with them to the surface, a hostile environment where there's little to no supplies and where they'll be hunted down by both sentinel and the quintessons as the biggest threat to their regimen.

or hide him in plain sight. place him where sentinel won't think to look for him. one more sparkling among many. and hope it will be enough to keep him alive. pray to primus that he'll protect his last child long enough for them to come back for him when it's safer (even if most of them have already lost their faith on him when he allowed the rest of his children to be massacred like that)

they almost lose their resolve when they realize they will have to take the little one's cog away in order to make him blend in with the rest of the newborns (and oh do they burn with murderous intent when they see what sentinel has done to their people but it's not the time yet-) but in the end they decide an impaired little prime is better than a dead one.

and so in the chaos of thirteen dead primes and a sudden energon crisis, a little sparkling who very few mechs really knew about and even fewer had seen completely vanishes. and in the depths of iacon a mech in charge of a new batch of newborns scratches their helm in confusion as they realize they must have miscounted the first time.

optimus prime is quietly erased from any official records by sentinel, written off as dead when they find a sparkling's frame mangled beyond recognition after an attack on the base of those rebels that insist on being a thorn on his side. killing the sparkling hadn't been precisely in his plans, he probably could've found some use for it after all, but he's not particularly upset about it either.

and orion pax grows up with an ache on his spark that tells him he's missing something far more important than a t-cog and dreams of gentle and loving hands, cradling him against the frames of mechs he cannot recall the faces of.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

No matter how many times it happens, I'm always shocked by how reliably all my problems with any given story are solved by making it shorter. If I go into a story with the idea that it'll be long, that I should use as much detail as I want to craft a full-length and fully-fleshed-out story instead of a short one, it always turns into this rambling, meandering, soulless thing that's no fun to read, and I get tangled up in so many flimsy, sprawling layers of character and worldbuilding that the plot becomes unworkable.

The minute I tell myself, "Let's make this as short as possible," the problems fall away, I find the heart of the story again, the pacing is brisk, scenes get multiple purposes, the world feels deeper because I'm implying things that spark the reader's imagination rather than trying to put every threadbare, boring detail on the page. Every time. You'd think I'd have learned by now.

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

the fulfilled motifs in alhaitham and kaveh's relationship are on my brain!!

- most poignantly, the two coming together to unveil the temple of silence in cyno’s story quest, which parallels their thesis on ancient architecture and runes of king deshret’s era, as the two appropriate the other’s respective signature (alhaitham recognises architectural structures whereas kaveh is struck by the beauty of an emblem) - where the two once fell out due to the disharmony of their viewpoints, they have reconciled them within this quest

- there’s the two working together in the house of daena, where they argued in the house of daena upon meeting them in the archon quest, where they were described to have a ‘terrible’ relationship by the npc geoff, which is mirrored in cyno’s story quest by the two actively working together - as well as paralleling the npc archon quest scene the player has to actively seek out in which the two argue once more, whereas in cyno’s story quest, the two willingly exchange information and are supportive in helping the other

- we have the fulfilment of kaveh losing his family and therefore his idea of ‘home’ through him actively referring to the house he and alhaitham share as ‘home’, and that he wants to return to it together with alhaitham, as a set, and by implication a family, in cyno’s story quest

- by extension, kaveh not concealing his living arrangements by openly referring to him and alhaitham’s ‘home’ in front of his friends, which refers back to when kaveh asks the traveller to keep it a secret upon meeting him officially in alhaitham’s story quest

- kaveh buying wine and coffee beans in the tavern, alhaitham and kaveh sharing wine in their house, which is something they are mentioned to do in the bulletin boards of sumeru as well as in alhaitham's story quest, going hand in hand with the two drinking coffee together in the house of daena, with kaveh mentioning he wishes he had made some for them before leaving the house, which refers back to his 2023 birthday letter where he and alhaitham taste tested coffee beans (i am, once again asking, for an alhaitham mention in 2024....),

for future sumeru quests or events i am thinking of the unfulfilled instances or things that can be addressed??

- whether kaveh accepts alhaitham's research into sachin's influence over his father as closure for his involvement in his father disappearing into the desert, as his reaction differs from whether alhaitham tells him vs when the traveller tells him. since cyno's story quest 2 indicates that alhaitham telling him is what happened in canon, this subsequently betters their relationship. the idea of kaveh's cycle of self-detriment due to his past guilt hasn't been addressed since apop and it remains uncertain as to if kaveh has made steps to forgive himself or if he even wants to. this development of kaveh's character is truly interesting and i would love to see it explored at some point, and also in turn what alhaitham's involvement is in this, as in his newly accepted support of kaveh

- kaveh writing to/visiting his mother in fontaine? or at least a mention of kaveh's mother, as his hangout has a heavy focus on faranak's past relationship with kaveh and her hopes for his future, which we see in her advice to him as a struggling artist being that to found reliable companions. if kaveh undergoes a reconciliation arc within himself, as in he aims to forgive himself for his past guilt, then it would make sense for him to have a reconnection with his mother to talk about the past in order to truly look to the future

- kaveh and alhaitham having a role to play in the exploration of the temple of silence in future events - hints of this may be seen in sethos cautioning cyno that he may only invite people he and lord kusanali deem worthy, for cyno to then tell alhaitham and kaveh upon arriving back in sumeru. To this, kaveh expresses an open interest and cyno tells him that he will have an opportunity to investigate in the future. As alhaitham and kaveh have teamed up together in order to investigate into the temple of silence, and are indirectly connected to it through their thesis of king deshret, it seems they will likely be a part of the role the temple of silence will play in the future

(- i thought that an unfulfilled instance could be kaveh referring to alhaitham as his friend in game as this would be a callback to when paimon asked whether he and alhaitham were friends, to which he replied that they ‘used to be’ but weren’t anymore… but in terms of how alhaitham and kaveh's relationship is handled in-game, i think queercoding plays a big part in having labels such as ‘friends’ continue to be evaded (i have spoken about definitive labels being avoided in the writing of haikaveh here), this is backed up by sethos’ voice line as the two are paired together as “alhaitham and kaveh” and are referenced as a set with “those two”, rather than a definitive label such as ‘roommates’ or ‘friends’ being placed on them. Rather, they are conceived to be something outside of this, as sethos conveys their ‘otherness’ with “something about those two hanging out, you just can’t look away”, so i think, imo, it would fall more in line for them to continually not be assigned definitive relationship status, but if the improvement of their relationship is actually mentioned in-game since it was only shown and not told in cyno's story quest 2, it would make sense for them to say something that indicates they overcame misunderstandings or something vague like that. as there's an air of secrecy around alhaitham and kaveh's relationship, the traveller won't ever be privy to the specific details)

[langernameohnebedeutung]

.

[koetjingwarrd]

You're my baby, say it to me...

[spaghett-onaplate]

depression is really weird actually wdym i spent 2.5 years of my life in bed

[rexscanonwife]

Kepler and Ahsoka haven't always...gotten along, to say the least. As initiates, Ahsoka was always very clearly miles ahead of everyone while he fell behind. Even if she didn't mean to, subconsciously she always considered him the lowest bar, she's obviously very talented cause she's nothing LIKE him.

Of course they grow to resent each other for this and butt heads, especially with their masters being best friends which means they're forced to be around each other a lot more 😅 but they don't realize how similar they really are! Eventually they're able to reconcile and become genuine friends, though! 💖

Taglist♡: @changeling-selfship @crushes-georg @star-whores69 @sunstar-of-the-north @tiny-cloud-of-flowers @me-myself-and-my-fos @squips-ship @in-true-blue-love @cassmeeks @dearly-beeloved @adoredbyalatus @cherry-bomb-ships

[theletterwsartflap]

... Barf barf barf! I'm a can opener, a lamp, and a shaver! Oh god, I'm a mish-mash!

(Still a WIP but at least I'm past the halfway mark now!)

[3-aem]

Do you don’t mind if people steal your art? Because I have been seeing a lot recently, or do they need too give credit? By the way I love your art style I am just seeing it everywhere

i get a lot of asks about this and its not that i don’t mind (why i don’t respond very often) but that atm i don’t have the energy to fight this.

speaking from experience these things cost energy to track down and resolve, not to speak of how it’s upsetting to really contemplate the actions of the reposter.

im already upset about a lot of things constantly.

i want My work to do well and i suppose as long as my original stuff is getting plenty of attention I am fed. i have internal rules I follow for handling this. if the account is small i don’t bother. if they credited me via a direct at I don’t bother.

ideally people would credit me and i have also told people too in the past if they ask.

[shannonsketches]

something something foils moving in opposite directions Goku's always happy to seek and fight stronger opponents because he spent most of his life being the strongest guy in the room and Vegeta wants to be the strongest/is always exhausted to find stronger opponents because he spent most of his life having to navigate his survival around the whims of the strongest guy in the universe room and so Goku has a foundation of safety and stability and so spends his time craving challenge and adventure and Vegeta has a foundation of challenge and adventure and spends his time craving safety and stability and the overlaid section of their venn diagram is that the only way they know how acquire and maintain those things is through battle

[mishy-mashy]

Kudo makes funny facial expressions

[weisshapt]

𝖆 𝖓 𝖘 𝖔 𝖓

when you close your eyes, what do you see? do you hold the light or is darkness underneath? in your hands, there's a touch that can heal but in those same hands is the power to kill are you a man or a monster?

for one of my favorites from one of my favorites @alistairs

[astarab1aze]

➥ Loux Garo

fuck around, find out / drabble warning for violence, vaguely direct gore, probably poor handling of this exact situation

"Naw, y'see..." Loux said, leaning into knuckles itching for a fight, fangs bared, a sneer on his lips. Staring down the proverbial barrel of a gun, surrounded by the weres he stole from - all of them, seething, from the -bull to the -wolf, and the dragonkin in between. And he could only flash his darkest storm, his sharpest grin, hand under his haori, fingering his spoils. "I ain't jus steal from ya, ma chicos y chiquitas..."

In point of fact, he'd done a fair bit more than just steal from them - he robbed them utterly blind, and had stood there for twenty minutes rubbing their faces in it.

The bull, with hair black as night and truly impressive longhorns, stepped forward, fists balled tightly. Loux could see the rage in their eyes, beady black things, glaring down at him- No doubt on the verge of making a grab for him. Funny. They always acted it was some cardinal sin, that a trinket or two and a handful of cash be taken, but maybe if they hid their shit better, the fox wouldn't have been so keen on investigating... No personal accountability, for shame! How could he not teach them so basic a lesson? They left it all out in the open in front of a known criminal.

"'Course not, 'cause you're a rat - and rats ain't good for no fuckin' thing else."

Stormy gray met furious black in defiance with a nonchalant tilt of his head, champagne blond falling out of his eyes. He knew what was to come, could sense it in them all, could feel it spiking in the air. In the thundering beats of their hearts, the cracking of their knuckles, flexing of muscle under cloth and fur, in the grinding of their teeth, the sweat upon their brow - and he was quietly, happily goading them into the fight they so wanted, the justice they demanded. He didn't even have to do anything but stand there, feigning a scratch at his ribs, rolling his eyes the while.

It would just be easier if they could get a fucking move on already. If they wanted to beat him to death, now was their chance. He would get his, in the end. There wasn't any way he was going to get out of this anyway, so may as well let them do as they pleased.

"He's just a kid," the antelope whispered, short hair, glassy green eyes, but it didn't seem they'd meant to. Oh? What's this, apprehension?

"So what, ya think we should just let him go because o' that? Ya think he gives a damn about the fuckin' rules? Look at him, grinnin' like it's nothin'. He knows he's wrong - he just doesn't fuckin' care! Ya wanna let him have it or d'ya want yer fuckin' money back?" the wolf barked, growling as he spoke from behind Loux, claws shattering the hardwood and brick of the Packhouse bunkroom. Splintering, clattering to the floor.

Was he supposed to be intimidated? As if. He was a lackey of Deadeye once - try harder.

He glanced between the bull, the antelope, the gator, and the exit, gray temporarily affixing to woodgrain, mind tumbling over a handful of exit plans once all was said and done. He could've shifted into the form of a fly and left right then, but he wanted this, this confrontation, something reckless and dark gnawing at the back of his mind, snipping at his heartstrings. Counting on this, wanting this to happen, for someone to catch him in the act and show him how fucked up and worthless he really was. Maybe it was baser, more idiotic than even that, instinctive drive to go down and take everyone else with him pushing him ever further down the path he'd chosen. Was he trying to get himself killed? Or did he know his best and only chances were on every gamble he'd ever taken? He'd survived all this time on his own, after all, and how else but adapting to the ugliness of the people and world around him? Steal to make deals and pay for meals, kill or be killed, dog eat dog, the whole shpiel. This was their chance, their turn to prove true what seemed as natural law. There would always be killers and thieves, so there must always be someone to stop them, be it the common man or folk who didn't mind beating the shit out of a kid.

"Do you want to go to jail?! Are you crazy?" the antelope yelped, drawing Loux's attention back to center. "I'm not going down with you! Especially not since--"

"Since what, coward? Since he's Loux Garo? Ya think we didn't know that? It's even more reason to just get rid of him now!" Wolf again, heavy paws thumping into the wood beneath them, scraping his claws into it. Whatever. "We'd be doin' everyone and his mom a fuckin' favor. We'd be heroes, for fuck's sake."

Loux wondered if they were even paying attention to him anymore, if it would be easy to slip through. See, part of him was keen on vanishing into the night, but it was quiet, overshadowed by impulsivity and boredom, pinky digging into his ear to show as much. A little surprising though, that they've decidedly jumped to the idea of killing him.

"Kid's not jus' a thief, he's a fuckin' murderer! A terrorist! Hate to say it, but I think yer right..." Gator, hissing in agreement, heavy tail grinding against the floor. "Killin' 'im leaves a bad taste in m' mouf though, maybe we shouldn't. We'd 'ave blood on our 'ands--"

"And who out of us doesn't, huh?!" bellowed the bull, and Loux decided he'd just about had enough of their utterly pointless, circular conversation.

He stepped forward, gaze never again returning to the bull's face, and he raised a hand, two fingers in the air with his thumb tucked in. "Iffin ya feel like doin' it, go ahead. Get it o'er wit, ain't got all day t' wait till y'all can figger out 'ow to get away wit assaultin' anybody, me included." Then he curled them, and a spark would catch flame in the bull's hair, crackling in the dim light and giving off its own. "How's 'bout a lil provocation?"

And he laughed, madly, taking pleasure in the sudden terror bleeding in between all seven of his would-be killers, swiftly turning on his heel and with an arrogant flourish, doing much the same to the wolf. Again, swinging around to the antelope and delighting in the way that she screamed. Starting fires in fur and flesh, little ones, small ones, enough to cause panic, enough to goad into action. The bull and the wolf each howled and growled, anthromorphic hands rushing to put out every flame, and they would succeed, of course they would, even as their skin burned. A flurry of gasps, too slow on the uptake, and though his smile was wide, his hands ready to set them all ablaze, they would have their graceless retribution.

The twinkle and chill of ice shot through the air too soon after, frigid shards shattering on impact with brick, lodging into wood - and freezing everything around them like a volley of blighted arrows. Oh, not good. As smoke then clouded the room, he felt himself tumble a step forward, barely able to keep standing, in place of the bull, hands frantically flutter to his chest, then under the right-side of his ribcage. He hadn't felt it at first, distracted by his own provocation, hot fingers melting into the ice burrowing in. His eyes went wide and he hazarded a pitiful gasp, an even worse laugh, diaphragm catching on the pressure, his nerves not quite registering the pain just yet. Shaking on his feet, blood curdling in his veins, gut viciously churning, sudden anxiety clutching at his heart. The heat of his blood poured from his chest, mixing with water, and all around him batted away the smoke, rushed closer, watched him fall to his knees as the agony of it took root at last.

"We...we have no choice now, do we?" Voices blurring together. "He set us on fire!" Too many at once. "Yeah, but-" Shouting. "He's still just a kid!" His heart was slowing, fire wouldn't come to his call, the magic dying inside before he could ever hope to make use of it. "Hey, he ain't gettin' back up." Fuck. "Oh yeah! We shoulda opened wit that ice cast - 'e's weak to it." Wheezing, eyes burning with smoky tears he couldn't weep, trembling on the floor in a heap, willing the spike of ice to hurry up and melt so he could pull it free-- "C'mon, this'll be easy."

He tried to lift his head and wear his best smile, crooked and vile as ever, knowing well and good that no matter how youthful his appearance, calling him a child didn't truly make it so. A fist dove into the mess of his hair, smelling thickly of singed hair, tangled in and yanked him backward, winding him in the process. He sputtered and coughed on every breath, robbed of his power in an instant, arrogance swept clean from his face. Blood pooling on the hardwood between his knees, spilling between the cracks, sticky on his skin. Feeling around the spike, coming to the realization that with this, he very well could die.

But even in the end, he would provoke, he would incite, he would demand it.

"Took y'all long 'nough to figger tha' out..." he croaked, "Gon-gonna finish the job or leave a girl waitin'? Got shitta do afta this--"

"Shut the fuck up!" Hoof to the spine, another forcing the spike out of him - bruising, cruel all the same. He couldn't begin to quantify the pain he was feeling now, layer upon layer of carefully woven protective thread shorn through. Ribs cracking, dislodged, out of place, shockwaves spidering up and down his spine- and he couldn't move, more and more blood pouring out of him like a faucet, neck near to snapping, everything everywhere all of it--

"F-fuck you," choking on the sounds he made.

There was a pause, brief, thoughtful, pregnant with consideration, next steps. Everything came in bits and pieces, words picked and plucked from what he could manage, throbbing pain echoing through him sharply, drowning much of it out. He couldn't think- Exit strategy, how to get away--

And for what felt like hours, all seven of them took their turns. Hoof stomping him into hardwood, cutting him open with shards of ice, wood, and glass, holding him up by his hair and throwing enhanced fists into open wounds, holding him down and doing the same to his face, kicking him, breaking his bones, shattering his will, taking ample advantage of the time it took for him to recover from contact with ice. Succumbing to their own impulses, appealing to their own sense of justice. He was helpless, teeth tumbling out of his mouth, nose twisted and broken, lips split, shoulder and right hip dislocated, jaw fractured, ice forming in his hair, back bent and nothing, nothing, nothing but sheer unfathomable agony and despair taking him. No means to protect himself, robbed of the opportunity by happenstance, by accident, and led as a lamb to inevitable slaughter - one he deserved, one he thought he'd commanded of them. Thought he wanted, punishment to fit his crimes. Writhing before them, victim again to a pause followed by merciless strikes, impacts spattering his blood across the floor, iron on his tongue, vision blurred, hearing lost to dull ringing and throbbing hums. Head snapping sideways with the next blow, flesh around his eye swollen to bursting--

"How's 'e still conscious?"

"Dunno, best keep goin' then."

And again, again they went, ripping clumps of hair from his scalp, tearing through his haori and qipao, clawing at the stitching to each and every one of his infinite pockets. Arms pinned painfully behind his back, wrist broken, fingers gnarled, head hanging in the air with the stench of blood and defeat to accompany him. There was nothing he could do, brain on fire, crippled by the damage done to his body, no exit strategy to be had, no winning, no getting out of this, it's time, it's now, finally, no--

If he couldn't get to the finish line, if he couldn't find the sanguine star and revive them, then this...this was the next best thing. This was his only other option. People like him...they didn't deserve their chance to fix things, didn't have the right, hands too soiled, putrid and rotten to the core. Torn in half on whether to live or die, inklings of coveted confidence and strength lost, lost, never his to keep. He thought of his mother then, his father too, and his sisters, Letha and Silvere, Antonetta, Beau and Jackie, everyone, everyone he'd ever wronged, who suffered his existence, the fruits of his agonies, his hate, his anger. And he wondered if this would be a fitting end for him in their eyes, if this was what they wanted for him too. Let justice be served, let him die so none else could fall alongside him. Let there be no more blood to wash his hands, stop him now.

On the verge of losing consciousness, Loux was beginning to succumb to it all, the furthest reaches of him aching to numb and crumble away. So in tune with his body, yet somehow torn away from it completely, a ghost in the same position. But a final blow to his already ruined stomach had been the end of it, new blood gushing from impaling wounds, and he lay there, limply, overwhelmed, near to falling apart at a moment's notice. He should've been dead minutes ago, yet somehow...somehow, he wasn't. Somehow, his eyes were still open, staring blearily into his reflection, seeing nothing more and nothing less than what he hated most of all - beaten, gored, broken to pieces, as was right and true. Breaths short, shaky, and few, skipping, catching in his throat as radiant warmth was born anew inside him, tendrils of cool fire weakly stretching into even his most damaged of nerves.

Time, lapsed.

As the seven heaved and hoed, moving away from him, satisfied in their work- He had no strength to speak of, but he wouldn't let them leave so easily, not as magic returned to him, even if only little by little.

He willed another spark, begged it to catch flame and burn, burn until there was nothing left, roar and twist and grow far into the night sky until naught but red could be seen, blending into bloody violet with the abyss. For he was nothing, nothing if not vengeful, nothing if not a sore winner, nothing if not an opportunist, even in the end, even when his deserved fate had come for him - maybe there was weaseling his way out. Changing with the wind, coaxing his bloid to boil and serve as fuel on the fire, as tangerine flickered across his face, iron cooking before his very eyes.

Bigger, taller, greater, hotter, eat and scorch away bedframes, wall art, blankets, curtains, wardrobes, and shitty knock-off decor, thick black smoke billowing into the room, ash flying as chars burst and crumbled. Slow at first, then all at once consuming. Cosmic threads blanketing his seven adversaries in universal flame, such that attached to spirit and bone, cutting jaggedly through flesh, boiling and pustulating, popping, cracking, exploding on fat deposits, bursts spreading the wildfire. He watched, coldly, through the blurr of his storm, eyes nearly swollen shut, as the bulls both thrashed in the hall, horns getting stuck in the wood, choking on the smoke, panicking, screaming, roaring. Hellflame claws searing through them, the scent of his blood intermingling with their roasting meat, skin sloughing then steadily charring, the antelope and the wolf and the gator all to follow. Aching eyes flit toward the rest, the final pair, timid creatures too afraid to use their voices, bolting in their panic to get away. Frightened rabbit, flightless songbird, flame snaking between bodies turned blackened skeletons crusted with ash, like whips to coil around their ankles and drag them back in.

He killed them all, running the final two through with arrow-sharpened bolts born of the flames now catching on the cieling above, and he listened in trepidation and cold indifference as they screamed and pleaded for their lives. Prayed to their worthless gods in the hopes They might save them. His fire spread yet further, claiming the support beams above and funneling into the hallway, where it would continue on its path, neither smoke nor tongue to damage him further, contrarily cauterizing open wounds, wrapping him in arms of orange light - his, however dim. Stinging, burning, he winced all the same, laying in the mess he'd made, the bed he ought to sleep in.

He killed them, he killed again, and again, enveloping the Packhouse in his unending, devouring flame. Merciless, overkill, as it kept burning, a haven for his kind no longer - a haven for none at all - but a blackmark, a lie the people of Salem's Crossing would tell their children, and an omnipresent threat. Ever to blame, ever at fault, and such was true. He instigated, he fucked around, and they tore him limb from limb, and while he hadn't counted on his stroke of luck, that magic should return to him so quickly, he would've been a fool to have let all this stand. A false victory for them all, for many would die after dealing just punishment, killing all with smoke or raw kindles, fire, structural damage--

In time, he knew the Packhouse would collapse, and he wondered if he'd die after all. His head hurt, he couldn't breathe, couldn't move. If he could increase his heat... Palms sweating, he coughed, ribs rattling, aching-- Lashline sparking, puffs of smoke to mingle with the clouds, his flame growing ever further, filling into every square inch of every surface, orange and black eaten by rolling waves of violent red.

[sesamenom]

apologies for the lack of art lately, i just got new glasses and am still adjusting :(

in the meantime, anyone have thoughts about lomion and tyelpe's relationship in the reverse gondolin au?

[bibuckleykinard]

how many times do we need to learn as people that irony and hyperbole can be harmful because 'jokes' aren't easily distinguished from genuine thoughts and feelings until we stop rewarding people for speaking or posting about violence

like even if you're joking/don't actually believe that/think whoever you are insulting is bad/immoral/fictional therefore deserves it - ad hominem attacks always do more harm to the people who share those characteristic then the individual you intend to cause harm to or discredit