#but i am struggling to find that niche in fan spaces

[swashbucklery]

Me: oh no I think I like Critical Role now, I’m all caught up and I have a lot of fan theories! I should find some people who also like Critical Role to talk to!

Also Me: I AM GOING TO FIGHT MATTHEW MERCER IN THE TIM HORTONS PARKING LOT FOR BEING WRONG ABOUT DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS

[icypantherwrites]

Given my last post, I wanted to take a moment to say thank you to those who reached out to me. It means a lot ♥ I don't have the energy to respond to each person individually, but please know that for now I am okay. Full disclosure, I actually meant to post that on my private 'shouting into the abyss' blog where I try to get more of my negative feelings out without potentially upsetting or hurting anyone else, but I apparently didn't select the correct profile this time. I'm super sorry for both the concerning content and also for not responding as I don't have Tumblr alerts on my phone and was unaware until I came on today for the mix-up.

Below is an author's note that I just uploaded along with chapter four of Here that I wanted to post here as well given it's not exclusive to that fanfiction (but to note it was written for an update hence some of the wording) and in a way relates to my previous post and where my mental health is right now.

Thanks for reading and thank you again to those who reached out. I truly appreciate it and your concern.

Author's note:

A more of a serious note now and it is a bit long, but if you can, please read as it’s important. As you may have realized, this chapter is a month out from the last update and the main reason for that is I have been really, really struggling with my mental health. I’ve been trying to get some space from some of these key culprits online (which is pretty much fanfiction) as unfortunately I can’t do the same with a lot of the one I deal with on a daily basis of family and friends and work, but every time I try to come back there’s just another nail there in the coffin reminding me of why I stepped back. I’m a giver and always have been and unfortunately the vast majority of the fanfiction world and people in my life are takers. And I’m just… drained. I feel stretched thin and worn down and taken for granted and to always have people asking for more more more and not appreciating all that I am doing and have already done just makes me feel even worse and then guilty I’m not able to do more for the people that are supportive and it’s a constant cycle. I’m exhausted. I’m depressed. I’m really hurting.

And unfortunately I know there’s a bunch of people on here who don’t care and won’t care and will bitch at me for expressing these feelings because they can only compare what they see of my fanfiction to their own and heaven forbid I dare feel upset about a lack of engagement or thoughtful comments because it’s more than they get. I don’t care. I’m not comparing it, they are. It’s the same concept of saying ‘what do you have to be depressed about? You have a well paying job and own a home and don’t have cancer (thankfully biopsy came back negative) and aren’t starving so you can’t be depressed. It doesn’t work like that (and for anyone who knows even an inkling of that feeling personally, hugs to you) and I’m so tired of being told what I should be feeling and attacked when I don’t measure up to some impossible standard. I’m trying. I’m trying every day to stay here, to be the support pillar I’ve always been for everyone in my life, online and in person, and to try to find the joy and positivity that always drags me out of my black hole before I’m lost to it. I am trying to continue to post my stories even when there’s barely anyone engaging on my other platform and same here where there are far less engaged readers than hits and kudos would indicate because I know how much it sucks to have a story be abandoned and I also know how important a lot of the support in my stories is to many (believe me, I know because that’s how I got into this genre and niche because I needed it too). I was trying to engage myself with readers in comments, find that spark again for my writing that I’ve come to just feel sad about. It’s hard. But I’m trying.

And all I can ask is that if you are a fan of my works, please, help support me. Leave a thoughtful comment about the story/chapter when you read it (you can always come back too, story will still be here). Have patience and kindness if updates take a while. Don’t post comments demanding an update or saying you never comment but wanted to let me know you were commenting now because you want another update (that is not the support you may think it is xD). If you can't say anything nice than say nothing at all (that includes unsolicited advice and attacks upon my person and character that too many folks think is okay to do in an online forum). Remember that authors are people too and we have a lot of stuff going on that you don’t know about in our own lives. Please just… be kind. Be thoughtful. And be a bright light against this black hole ♥ Thanks for reading and look forward to hearing what you thought of the chapter :)

[possumsinpeoplesuits]

So, every once in a while, I have to rant about something online before I just start blabbing to some poor unfortunate Wendy's employee about niche internet pornography. Sometimes in the middle of that rant I realize I might be onto something, and have to share it with others who might benefit.

Today, that subject is the Omegaverse, and the squandered potential for worldbuilding therein.

Now, this post is gonna have some very broad generalizations about the genre, because while I'm certain there's plenty of authors who do put a lot of thought into the pedantic details I'm about to have a Category 5 Autism Event about, it's been difficult to find them amongst a sea of painfully mediocre fics.

For every stellar Locked Tomb Omegaverse fic set in a modern day Taco Bell (Seriously, I want to engrave Double the Meat onto a satellite and launch it into space so that extraterrestrials can see the peak of human civilization) there's like... a million and one Alpha Male/Omega Female pairings written by Conservative Mormon housewives that dare to ask such questions as "What if a man and a woman could have a baby?" and "What the hell is consent?"

But I'm not here to be mentally ill about yet another space being drowned in heteronormativity. Nor am I gonna be a dick about the first fics written by teenagers who're just dipping into fan communities, because my terminally online since the age of 11 ass would be a huge hypocrite for that.

No, instead I'm here to talk about genitals, and deliver just enough sciencey technobabble to justify my passionate opinions about the potential of what is, ostensibly, werewolf porn.

So, for those who've somehow gotten through all these paragraphs but have zero idea what the Omegaverse is, the basic gist is that there are three sex categories that're separate and occur within the usual sexes that humans already have. Effectively, this means that male, female, and intersex individuals can also be Alphas, Betas, or Omegas.

So, to understand these categories, there's a pretty simple rule. Alphas can get Omegas pregnant, regardless of physical sex. Sometimes Alphas are bigger than normal, and Omegas are more petite, but that's not quite as much of a core "rule" to follow, and more just dependent on people's tastes. Betas usually follow standard human dimorphism, though I have seen some people headcanon them as a sort of halfway point between Alpha and Omega.

There's some more details, too, like the presence of knotting (where the base of the penis swells and prevents pulling out during orgasm), heat cycles and rut (where the mating instinct goes into fucking overdrive in the most literal sense), pheromones, bite marking, and sometimes that whole... imprinting thing from Twilight.

So, taking this all into account... Omegaverse fiction has the potential for a BARE MINIMUM of 6-9 SEXES before even taking the vast spectrum of gender identities and presentations into account.

Do you see what I'm on about now? When our society is still struggling with the concept of being nonbinary, and barely ever even acknowledges intersexuality as existing, any Omegaverse setting would be radically different on a biological, psychological, and sociological level.

Can ya see now why I get frustrated when it gets stripped down to compulsive heterosexuality with wolf dicks?

Now, with all the standard tropes laid out like this, we get back to the question that started this all, the question that should be a no brainer when it comes to smut... What them genitals look like? What does a female Alpha, or a male Omega have down there? I have three concepts in mind, and explanations on how they could work from a scientific perspective that's just barely not bullshit enough to overcome suspension of disbelief!

So, the first thought, and the one that initially appeals to me as a nonbinary person... they just look trans. This concept is really simple to work with, because we can just look at real life trans people and just tweak things a little bit. Maybe primary and secondary sexual characteristics operate independently naturally, or maybe there's HRT for it. It's a pretty common method, too, and I enjoy seeing it... but it feels like it needs something more?

Don't get me wrong, this one's basically my personal gold standard for shorter Omegaverse stories, especially fanfiction, but it's also just... swapping parts around. Great for ease of access, but hard to differentiate from the trans experience. Definitely a go-to if you want to play with transition in an alternate society, though.

For the other two, I have to explain a bit about fetal development and reproductive organ equivalents. Also a bit of genetics, too, because it's where we're gonna fuck around and build a lot of theoretical bullshit around a little bit of real knowledge.

So! Some of you may have heard that every fetus starts as female, but might not know some of the mechanisms at work when that changes, and how finicky they can be. This is also fun to throw at TERFs, because ambiguity throws a wrench in the simplistic arguments of reactionary bigots. :)

So, the usual arrangement of sex determining genes is often simplified to XX=female and XY=male. This leaves out other variations like Klinefelter syndrome (XXY) which affects 1 in 500 people under the AMAB umbrella, causing some degree of infertility, autism symptoms, and a somewhat androgynous body shape. (I've been checked for this one! It came up negative, but reading about it was enlightening.)

Now, the presence of a Y chromosome (usually) causes the proto-organs to change function, and develop into the male-aligned reproductive systems at roughly, say... 6-8 weeks? (Unless, of course, there a deficiency in the 5α-Reductase enzyme, which causes a delay in some of this process, resulting in a child that appears female, then just... grows a dick during puberty when the higher levels of testosterone overcome the deficiency and finish off the primary sexual trait development.)

Hey, wanna know the fun thing? Even that is an oversimplification. The whole Y chromosome doesn't mean shit unless the sex-determining region Y gene is in the right place. It can just... fuck off and attach to the X chromosome. If this mutation occurs in XY individuals, it causes Swyer's syndrome, resulting in a female aligned reproductive system that just doesn't include functioning ovaries, just purposeless ambiguous gonads. Pair that fucky X chromosome with another X chromosome, and you get a male with XX chromosomes.

Plus, if someone has a faulty androgen receptor? Well, partial androgen insensitivity can leave things ambiguous, but if it just doesn't work at all? Yeah, everything will develop along the female blueprint, despite the fact that the gonads are testes.

I swear this is still about the porn.

So, with the information we have about these real, existent conditions, we have a good idea of reproductive development, and the mechanisms at play. Now, there's still some theory that's not been definitively proven yet, but the current consensus on the primary sexual equivalents are as follows:

The clitoris forms into the penis, while the vaginal canal doesn't form.

The ovaries become testes, or stay as undefined gonads.

The salpinx become the vas deferens (these are the tubes that transfer eggs or seminal fluids, respectively. More on this later.)

And finally, and the most theoretical, the uterus is believed to become the prostate. (There's sometimes a little pocket, or divot in the prostate, and the arrangement makes sense, but it's still up for debate.)

But how do we use this for our fuck fics, you ask? How do we take your failed medical career, and translate it into Destiel's babies ever after? Well, it's quite simple! We just have to add the bullshit!

So, most alterations to the SRY gene or the androgen receptor tends to just wholesale alter the whole array, and the midway point usually results in infertility and difficulty with sexual function, but what if we could change this? What if, for the purpose of our fiction, we can mix and match everything, and somehow make it all functional and neat? Well, fasten your fuckin' seatbelts, because we're finally at the theories I made while delirious due to a combination of sleep deprivation and the after effects of eating an entire ice cream cake to myself over the weekend.

So, the firmest idea, and the idea I'll be using because I am WAY too deep into this to not write Omegaverse unironically, is what I've dubbed the Primary/vestigal system for f!A and m!O characters.

So, this theory would require that we shove two things into suspension of disbelief. One, we have to completely fuck with androgen and estrogen receptors to mix and match the development of primary and secondary sexual characteristics. Two, I have absolutely no idea how you'd be able to tell when this is going to occur. Maybe genetic testing, or maybe it's just a surprise? Depends on your style of story.

Effectively, we'd base this off the delayed primary sexual characteristic development mentioned above. Alpha Females would operate similar to the real thing, being born looking typically female, before puberty hits and the Alpha genes take over for the genital development, while secondary characteristics still follow a feminine shape. Maybe the gonads stay inside, but function as testes? Sure, sperm production is more effective around 1-2 degrees lower than normal body temperature, but it doesn't stop entirely.

For Omega Males, the process would occur in reverse. Maybe the testes just change course and go back into the abdomen to become ovaries, or maybe they don't descend at all and the first clue this is happening would just be finding a vaginal canal forming?

I like this one primarily because it feels like a less 1 to 1 allegory for being queer, but still feels kind of relatable? You can, of course, still have the end result resemble the first method mentioned waaaaay up past the sciencey bits, but I kind of like the idea of there being a vestigial remnant of the birth parts left behind. I like the ambiguity, and the chance to explore how this would affect someone appeals to me.

Now, my last theory is mostly for the lulz, but this must be DOCUMENTED for POSTERITY'S SAKE.

So, Omegaverse started with m/m shipping with mpreg, right? Well, a lot of the earlier fiction just... describes typical cis male anatomy, with zero explanation for exactly how this is all occurring. There's just... anal sex, and then that somehow forms babby.

Well, what if I told you that I've figured it out? See, remember how I mentioned that the prostate is theoretically what became of the fetal uterine tissue? Guess where the prostate is? Guess. GUESS.

THE ASS IS WHERE!

So, we just have to bullshit the prostate back into a functioning uterus, but leave the placement in close proximity to the anus. Now, the other problem is that that would mean that there's an opening leading to the colon, which... look, I have no idea how birds and lizards keep their cloaca from getting infected, but connecting other tracts to the asshole doesn't usually end well.

So, we have to find a way to seal it up when not in use. Now, the cervix serves this purpose in the real world, opening to let in fluids, or let out discharge or, y'know... a baby, but that's really expensive so most of us settle for having a breeding kink that we never act on, and instead impose on our favorite blorbos who don't have to pay for health insurance.

But still, even with a butt-cervix, bacteria's still likely to get in, so we need a firmer block. I've suggested a little flap like the epiglottis in the throat as a second line of defense. If it can protect your trachea from wayward chicken nuggets, then hey! It might not be terrible for keeping sepsis at bay!

Unfortunately, layering extra protection over the bussy business zone ain't gonna cut it. Hell, as self cleaning as the vagina is, infections happen all the damn time, even if your hygiene is good. So, we need to take that self cleaning nature, apply it to the bussy business zone, and crank it up to eleven. Just constant mucousal discharge, pushing all the bad back out.

So, yeah. Your favorite Omega Man'll have a rectal womb covered with a secondary internal assflap that's constantly discharging a steady stream of slime (just consider it free lube!), but if you can make it past that, you can live your dreams of gettin' that bussy mpregged by cumming in they gay ass. Then they'd just kinda... poop out the baby, presumably.

So there you have it! Three in-depth explorations of how Omegaverse genitals can work! I'm gonna go take my psych meds and fucking SLEEP.

[chipped-chimera]

I’m putting this on here just for a sec, even tho this blog is new as heck - this is what had me log out of my art main @kerynean​ after only logged in for like, a minute. I’ll be real, this tech is what’s killed so much of my personal motivation to draw when I was already struggling with it (twitter’s obsession with ‘content’ meaning artists were pushing themselves to burn-out levels to draw and audience curation and you’re not an artist anymore you’re a content creator - did I mention rampant theft without credit - just to name a few sticking points), so I’ll probably not be logging in for a while cause I just can’t stomach it.

I am finding solace in other creative outlets (finally learning modding after like, 10 years of saying I would) that align with my existing skillset so I still feel challenged and stuff but art feels out of the question at the moment.

When will I get back to it? No idea. I have listened to speculative talks about AI tech especially in the art sector and I do agree with the slightly more positive outlook that it is eventually going to fill it’s own niche similar to photography - the current problem is this tech is moving faster than we can keep up and have conversations about what we should be doing with it and how and this is how shit like this happens. It’s novel, new, and less cost - of course people are gonna jump on that.

But end of the day we read novels and value art more because of the people behind them, knowing an AI produced the product has an element of devaluing (provided the person doesn’t lie about the origin of the work - that’s it’s own issue). So hopefully this phase is closer to the same flash in the pan that NFT shit was - right now it looks bleak but if we’re given time to let it settle it’s more likely to find it’s own space (though I’ll be real I’d appreciate it if those AI dudebros made their own goddamn website to post their shit to instead of plaguing actual, professional portfolio websites like Artstation - and the website controllers didn’t have mashed potato for brains but I digress).

That said, damage has been done and damage will continue to be done until we figure out where this is gonna land. This tech is dropped on the public without even considering the implications - it’s been talked about before, but we’re basically the guinea-pigs here for AI tech. There’s no lab with university rules and regulations, this is commercial, big money and whoever gets to the top first stands to make the most. It’s not small money other, I think something like an eyewatering 6 trillion dollars has been recently added to these AI companies. This is like the space race. Except it’s not countries, it’s tech we probably only half understand how it works and it’s being dropped on everyone else to ‘deal with’.

This seems so wild to be talking about, especially on this Cyberpunk 2077 account I’ve started but I’ve been thinking constantly about this one bit from the Cyberpunk RED manual I started reading a few days ago:

We’re not there.

Hopefully we won’t go there. But as an artist, I’m definitely starting to feel some of these things.

As a long time science fiction fan: we’ve imagined these stories for years. We’ve been thinking about the consequences for years. We’ve been warning each other for years. So idk maybe slow down and think about ‘should we’ instead of just ‘could we’.

fuuuuuuuuck

[horanghoe]

warm milk & honey - SKZ fic

A/N: I just realised I forgot Han ^ I am screaming

Pairing: OT7/reader

Rating: PG friendly (with a friendly warning of poly / multiple person relationship).

Genre: POLY!SKZ / Fluff / Very slight angst & mentions of bad sleep patterns.

Word Count: 3.6k exactly, my doods

Summary: A restless night, ultimately remedied by your sweet baby man angel boys. Or alternatively: Istg if Jisung makes one more weird noise imma end this man’s whole life no cap, Binnie hold me back -

Back to ~ SKZ Masterlist

Back to ~ Main Masterlist

Special Mentions <3

 @domjaehyun​ for being a yoghurt eating legend that takes a year to respond ASKDJF ILY BICH//

@seowoos​ for inspiring this whole damn thing & helping me feel more comfortable w publishing more niche content models. Even if it’s just cheesy enough for the two of us <3 //

@chocolvte​ for being another OG on this list, n just generally being a sweet bean <3 baby girl ur reactions were the second inspiration to get me INTO SKZ in the first place. ily uwu // 

and lastly, surprise @mikoto-ica-fics​ !! You were the last part of the equation that got me to write smin for these boys. I binged practically all your fics in two nights bby, keep making michellin star fics <3

Tonight wasn’t working out quite as you had expected.

To be honest, it was fucking shit.

Well, the night itself was okay. In terms of activities. An evening in with your boyfriend, Chan.

Just you two versus the world. The poor boy was so tired that honestly, it had only consisted of a walk through the park to grab snacks, and returning to the empty dorm to laze around the whole evening. A Netflix date with some *ahem* late night fun to settle you both into a deep, restful state.

It was brilliant, fantastic. Until it wasn’t.

Until you lay painfully awake in his bed and suffocated in the dark silence and space between you. It wasn’t Chan’s fault; the obnoxious whirring of electronics made your head spin, tiny flashing lights and minute feelings of unease at the cupboard door leaning open; all made it virtually impossible to sleep.

It was too cold. Too hot. You were so comfortable, melted into the mattress. But it was swallowing you and your claustrophobia was starting to make you twitch. Moving off of your angelic boy’s limbs, you shimmied to the cooler side of the bed.

He stirred a little, before settling on turning away, onto his side. Phew. At least you hadn’t woken him. It wasn’t like you were trying to be selfish, but fuck. This was insufferable.

Every time you looked at the clock you were sure it slowed down - balls, at this point it could’ve skipped back an hour and you wouldn’t have batted an eye. Mostly because if they weren’t checking the clock, they were staring dead straight up at the ceiling.

Eh. Ugh. Fuck. I can’t sleep.

That’s all your brain could think. Stuck - monotone and on a never-ending loop.

It seemed like everything you had ever thought was swimming around in your brain like some kind of primordial juice. Feelings and emotions swelling and bloating in your belly until they settled.

And then a car passed outside, and everything started to swell up again.

Chan was on his side, turned away and peacefully gaining some shut-eye. He was only lightly sleeping though, that much you could tell. His body gently lifting, then falling with breath. Like you; he often struggled to sleep deeply, usually not lasting very long when he did manage to.

You were so pissed.

How dare he sleep. And look so good doing it. Even just his bareback looked hot as shit - here you were, a messy, greasy big toe wrestling with your stupid ape brain to shut off the useless brain thoughts, next to this slice of heaven - just, ugh existing so perfectly.

“Oh my god, this is torture.” You cursed quietly into the dead space.

Maybe the frustration was all from hormones?

Nah, fuck that. Feminism and all that jazz. That’s just part of the human condition, babycakes. Happens to the best of us, unfortunately.

No, what it was, was the constant whirring coming from the TV screen and Felix’s PlayStation tower and large monitor. The tiny little flashes, whirrs, huffs from the fan and rotating lights. It was driving you abhorrently insane. FUCK.

“Chan? Channie, baby, are you awake?.” You whispered into the air. His breath faltered a little, stirred mostly by your movement to groan, gruff and flip the duvet off your hot, sticky body. Gentle though you tried to be, it was still enough to wake his fuzzy brain.

“Chan, please. I’m sorry babe but that TV is driving me fucking insane.” Your voice was too alert and frustrated for him not to stir. His heart panged a little at the distress laced in your tone.

“Please, Channie. I’m so sorry…”

He rolled on his back to look at you. Slowly, and with much effort. He groaned softly before wiping his eyes and leaving his arms above his head.

“Hey.” He whispered, warmly smiling.

“Don’t be sorry – can you not sleep again, baby girl?” Chan asked softly, watching you sit stiffly upright. His deep voice made your heart flutter, nodding as he groaned. He smiled despite any resentment you may have allowed him to feel. Resting his warm palm against your rib as he muttered a response - you excused his fumbled words for definition - so tired he was barely able to keep his eyes open.

“You can turn it off, yeah?” Chan sighed.

What he meant was ‘You know how and where to turn it off, without messing up the whole system like last time, right?’. You nodded quickly, squeezing his bicep lightly before slipping from the exposed mattress.

Dashing up to scramble behind the low TV unit and find the one wire to end it all. Your infernal pain that was.

He watched you, letting his eyes rest occasionally. Truth was, you looked so beautiful to him when you were concentrating on something. For example, pulling out the HDMI cord triumphantly. And holding in a small squeal (scream), of relief when the high pitched buzzing cut out with a slight electronic fuzz. He chuckled, not missing your little feet pattering in step with a tiny little victory pump.

“Yes. Fuck. The noise, it’s gone!” Chan chuckled softly, keeping his arm outstretched until you landed beside him. Pulling you toward him, under the covers.

“Yeah, you really got that wire Y/N. Showed it who’s the boss, huh?” His tired enthusiasm outweighed his sarcasm, owning a soft kiss to the cheek as you clambered over the bed, only to flop with a weighted sigh straight down onto his shoulder.

He giggled, smiling with a yawn as he tucked his arm against your ribs, tucking you up against his chest in a bearhug.

You fell asleep quickly; soft breaths and just the presence of Chan's being, enough to satiate the gnawing ache in the back of your brain.

And it was peaceful. Restful. Warm, and so pleasant.

Until it wasn’t.

Turns out tonight wasn’t your night. The clock read 1:28 am – and the boys were due to come home from practice any moment now. To be honest they were pretty late.

Chan had originally had the day off, hence the chance for you to be led here in his arms. But you were starting to think it really hadn’t made that much of a difference.

It wasn’t just the high pitched whirring that had aggravated you, but now the uncomfortable heat radiating from Chan's body. The small whoosh of cool air against your neck at any vehicle that passed by. Or just the evening breeze. You groaned softly, dropping your head back to Chan’s chest with a soft thud, lulling back into a light and unrestful sleep.

Ten minutes or so passed. Waking from a fuzzy dream, you were disorientated. The worst dreams always happened in short little bursts. Like little hellish fever dreams.

The clock now read 1:39 am and the time between minutes was becoming unbearable. Too long to bear . You had to move. Speak. Scream. Cry. Kick. Do something.

Peeling off Chan’s arm, and replacing yourself with a large fluffy pillow, you left your lover to rest. You dread to think that it would be able to replace you, but hey, at least it wouldn’t move like one big fat sweaty ferret, right?

Sigh. Sad times.

You abandoned Chan for the disgustingly bright hallway. Seeking new comforts, from whoever would take you. The boys were home; noises of beings floating down the hall, past Chan’s room.

By the time you had gathered the strength to rise off the bed though – blinking away the stars and excited little lines in your vision and raising enough chi to move your soul, and body upwards off of the bed – an inkling of tiredness was starting to itch into your consciousness.

You ached to be held. Loved.

You weren’t sleepy enough to get back into his bed though. Though; you missed Chan’s body as soon as you had tumbled yourself away from it.

---------

Fetching your favourite fluffy square pillow and putting on one of Chan’s big shirts, you padded out and into the hallway. The door closed behind you with a soft putt, pillow tight against your belly.

The tired but comfortingly loud voices of your other lovers were coming from the kitchen.

You wobbled forward, groaning to yourself as your thighs began to ache. Just from being alive, you guessed. Your thighs tingled your skin into little chilly goosebumps, a shiver sparking down your spine.

Maybe the heat of Chan’s bed wasn’t so bad, you began to consider. Before a voice echoed down to where you were slowly walking from.

“Ya – hold up, I’ll grab my jumper then we can watch that stupid shit-film you were on about earlier?” You heard Jisung shout over the kitchen to the boys gathered on the sofa.

The boys muttered some form of agreement and before you could process it, the firm but soft body of Han Jisung had swung right around the corner and straight into your zombie path.

Being conscious, and not half-dead like you, he was able to stop abruptly in front of you and step back a little. The shock of a body blocking his path was quickly masked with warm love as he cooed at the sight of you.

“Y/n-ieeeeee look at youuuu~” He whispered loudly, wrapping his arms around you to squeeze you firm against his body.

His presence eased you, despite the chaotic energy he may have appeared to have. He was just one big squirrel with muscles. The perfectly-right size to pull you against him, your neck flopping so skin met skin, cheek to shoulder in that white sleeveless shirt of his.

You melted into his caring touch, groaning when he gave a squeeze and actually, not hating how firmly he held you. For a moment, he seemed to be just quietly accepting your unspoken words. Night-long grief expressed in the way you clung to him.

Eventually, he asked the inevitable questions, though.

“Baby, why aren’t you asleep? Hmm, pretty? It’s like, 2 am already!” He exclaimed softly, somewhat conscious of Chan’s sleeping presence down the hall. And your zombie-eardrums.

You couldn’t answer, instead, you let him pull you away so he could peer down at your head against his shoulder. The pillow was a soft barrier between you, though he removed it to place it softly on the floor.

“As cute as you look in Chan’s top right now, baby, this hallway is pretty cold. Gosh damn, your legs are shaking so much. How long have you been standing out here princess? Let’s get you warmed up, yeah?” He squeezed you against him once more - rubbing his warm palms against your trembling, shivering thighs.

As he stood back up you groaned again, reluctant to articulate how badly you just wanted to be softly touched. Not aggressively rubbed. Even if you appreciated the notion, it was cutely awkward. Your expression made him laugh softly, tucking hair behind your ear and placing a kiss on your cheek, head, forehead.

“You okay though? Wanna come sit with us?” You nodded quickly, body flopping into his hold as soon as his arms went to lift you. Your head rested on his shoulder, Jisung’s body dipping to lift you and wrap your knees around his hips. He was such a careful, sweet baby boy.

“Ya – come on you big baby, you. Who do you want to be delivered too for the meantime, huh? I gotta go change out of my gym stuff.”

“Hyunjin-ah... please...” You mumbled airily. Despite how unused your voice was, it was sweet as honey. He smiled, responding with a soft “Sure" before turning back to where he had come from. Heart warmed by the opportunity to care for you, even if for just a moment.

And even though he was a bit sticky – and the thought ‘yuck' registered quickly in your half-conscious brain – you didn’t mind the smell. Or the languid way he carried you.

You nuzzled against his neck, groaning once more as his entrance was announced to the room. A loud “Han Jisung's Special Delivery Service!” was projected, I.N. slipping by with a quick ruffle of your hair before moving to turn down the hall, into his room. The boys looked up at the noise and your entrance into the room, immediately softened by the sight.

You, entirely snuggled against a buoyant Jisung, that held you so carefully against his chest. Messy hair tucked under his chin; your eyes were puffy, sore, and barely open as he came into the centre of the soft-lit room.

“Nawww – cuuuutieeee~” Changbin cooed, Lee Know giggling as Seungmin stepped forward to kiss your cheek, sweetly brushing hairs away from your face. The proximity to Jisung didn’t seem to spook his intimacy.

Your eyes fluttered close from the embrace, Seungmin smiling to himself at his ability to soothe you. Even just a little.

“That’s a funny looking jumper, Ji.” Seungmin quipped, before adding a quick “Hi Y/N.” With a small squeeze of your cheek, before heading toward the kitchen.

“Hyunjin-ah you have a special request delivery here, where shall I put her?” Jisung questioned, approaching the sofa nimbly.

Hyunjin smiled, shuffling a little before holding out his arms, patting his lap.

“Right here~” you heard, before feeling gravity weigh at your back. You got off early, aided by Jisung and Hyunjin’s hands on your hips. Quietly you yawned, turning to a barefaced beautiful boy, smiling at you cutely.

Jisung pecked a kiss on your shoulder before passing, leaving to go sort himself out.

Hyunjin smiled up at you with a coo, pulling you down towards him with his long limbs. With you laying, legs tangled above him he wiggled back so you could lay comfortably on his chest.

He kissed your cheek before tucking your forehead against his chin, your eyes slowly bobbing open and shut as his calm vibe washed over you. Changbin shared some of your weight on the somewhat roomy sofa; kissing your hair softly and curling against you to keep you warm.

The television was on a late-night MC show playing. Though it registered to you as white noise. The boy’s voices over you were soothing, even if they edged a little loud occasionally.

At some point, you had started to drift off again. For the most part, Hyunjin was a gentle giant anyways. So despite his resistance to skinship, your body (and some of the boys), was never left out in terms of body-pillow-comforts.

Meaning, he treated your limbs like a very bony pillow he could encapsulate entirely.

You weren’t sure where the others were. Or what part of the sofa you were even on. You figured the end since the guys had their feet up. But you didn’t mind. It was safe. Here, in their arms. Against their bodies.

Even the bright overhead lights of the kitchen and hallway weren’t enough to stop you lulling into sleep.

At a later point, you awoke again with a startle – Jisung shushing your tired whines with a kiss as he jumped onto the sofa to your left, a little too enthusiastically. Hyunjin moaned like a brat, ultimately having a play fight underneath you until you mustered up a death stare to end all squabbles, ever. Period. Jisung settled, intertwining your fingers on Hyunjin’s belly until your breath softened. Falling into a weak slumber once more.

Once again; your sleep was great. Perfect. Until it wasn’t.

An abrupt jostle of Hyunjin jolting to stop spilling the food he held above your head, was met with an unattractive grunt of pure disgust on your part. Eyes squinted, head wrinkled and body tense, you were once again awake.

“Sorry baby! I didn’t mean to wake you!” Hyunjin whined, too loudly next to your throbbing head. Changbin noticed your tense limbs and pulled you backwards against his chest. This merely caused another squabble to ensue between them - who held the right to hold you, like a fluffy comfort blank.

Suddenly everything was bothering you again.

Their constant jostling and boyish movements were just too much. You pulled up from Changbin. Avoiding the tugging, whining, needy arms and hands from Hyunjin to stand weakly once more.

Frustrated. Tired. And all coupled with a reasonably ugly scowl weeping over your face.

They were so engrossed in their silly little arguments, little kicks, punches and teasing laughter, that they barely even noticed your sluggish movements to get up.

Until you were on your feet. Your body heat sapped from them in a bitter attempt at being sour. Hyunjins hands immediately flew out to steady you. Changbin pouting but ultimately letting you retreat once more.

“Y/Nieeee~ Come baaack, I didn’t mean it. Come lay back down, baby~” Hyunjin whined warily, the other two boys still giggling amongst themselves. You swatted against the tiredness on your face, grumbling before stumbling backwards.

You made it a few steps before you folded over on impact at hitting the kitchen table. The table thudded on impact and the boys winced, watching your face scrunch up in pain immediately.

A new pair of hands caught you this time, stuttering before lean arms caught you.

“Woah! Careful there pretty girl, nearly took the whole bloody table out. You okay?”

Felix's. Soft, caring and most importantly soft voice and calm motions of support waved over you in a way that gave you immediate comfort. You rested your head against his chest as he tugged you up, body slumping into him with an inaudible impact. He giggled, despite your weighted movements, speaking lowly with that deep, tired voice of his.

“Y/N, you silly sausage, are you alright?” He prompted quietly, leaning his head down to capture your whines and huffs of pain.

“Owww, my butt… That hurt~” You groaned, not minding his giggles but sending a puffy glare to the others snickering away on the sofa.

The table (or your idiot bulldozer body), had set a deep ache right into the cheek of your butt. Your hand kneaded it gently before Felix’s hand quickly replaced yours, rubbing and squeezing softly until your face scrunched, the pain subsiding.

“Ouch.” You whispered, peering up at him with a pout. He kissed your nose cutely with a little eruption of giggles, helping you crack a pouty smile.

“Come on, cutie.” He mumbled before grabbing your hand to guide you slowly into the kitchen. “I could kiss it better?” He prompted, ultimately softening at your lack of response. You were so morgue-ish you hadn’t even registered his words. Letting him tug you blindly as your eyes struggled to stay open.

You could barely register his hands, pressing at your waist. Weakly managing to hold on as he lifted you on top of the counter. Squinting, you could see the clock read 2:23 (am) on the cooker. Ugh. What a night.

You’d feel shit in the morning. But that was nearly impossible to think about with the way Felix was holding you right now. Like a baby. Or a puppy. A little ball of fluff.

He kept some form of contact as he moved around you – a hand to the knee or his hip between your legs. Or even lips against your hairline, using the counter space around you to do something. What he was doing, you were tired to even care.

“You know what used to help me Y/N? When I couldn’t sleep at night?” He prompted gently. You shook your head, pulling back with a weak sway

“Warm milk and honey!” He exclaimed quietly. Too cute for his own good. You smiled, and he pulled you against his chest to kiss your cheek and giggle delicately.

“You want some? Then we could try to sleep? You look like you need some shut-eye, baby. Don’t wanna miss out on that beauty sleep! If you want - we can always sleep in – just call in sick? Your boss is honestly so nice, I'm sure she won’t mind. You say you’re always working through lunch breaks anyway?”

Despite his rambling, you just nodded. Tired eyes once again resting as the hum of the radiator, the vibration of his chest eased your brain. Your head tucked so right underneath his chin. His palms folded behind your lower back.

At some point, Changbin had appeared. Sweeping a thumb over your forehead before kissing you sweetly, cheek resting on Felix’s shoulder.

“I love you, princess. Sorry for waking you.” He had whispered against your lips. “Mmm-I-love-you-too-Binnie~” You managed in one tumbling sentence. In fairness, the touch would've probably led you both somewhere (the bedroom), if you weren’t in such a zombie-like state.

“Sure thing, pretty.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your puffy cheeks before retreating. He let you both be, cold marble beneath your thighs now warmed by your constant body heat. You passed out pretty quickly against Felix’s chest. Cocooned, safe.

What you did miss in your deep, deep sleep was the way they carried you.

Felix physically, to their shared room. Changbin carrying your drinks and fetching your favourite pillow from the hall.

And what you heavenly missed in the night; they made up to you in the morning.

And the next night. And the night after that.

Because even though you occasionally suffered restless nights, you knew one of them would always be there to catch you.

And you’d do the same for them.

P.S. Fuck Chan’s wiring system. Extension cables were the bane of your nightly living. *holds up fingers in a cross and hisses*

well would you look at that: updated 03/OCTOBER/2021

[legionofpotatoes]

I love your art, it is very detailed in a neat way. Was wondering how you got started making it as a source of income? How did you get your first paid work, I'd love some advice on how to get started, if that's ok

Thank you. Of course it's okay, although I doubt I have enough work experience in art to really delve into this. I only went full freelance this year, and had been juggling art as a side hobby until then. If you're still interested in my somewhat narrow perspective, and are okay with my long-winded rambles, I'll give it a shot:

So to answer your question fully, I'll describe how I started and move into personal advice and learnings later on. As a disclaimer, I am a white cishet dude in my late twenties with a moderate cocktail of mental illnesses, but overall I can pass for a functioning adult so a lot I have to say may come laced with privilege I cannot fully identify.

So uhh I began drawing in around 2012? I think? Maybe halfway through 2011? And I mostly made fanart for things I enjoyed and tried to branch out in communities that felt nourishing to my style and interests (I caught a bug for alt posters and enjoyed mainstream movies so I spent a long time on posterspy early on). There were a handful of opportunities that came from there but I could only accept a couple because of primary workplace commitments. Still, it showed that networking in a focused community was definitely a good place to start; I myself have huge trouble committing to social networks and really staying socially active, but I knew it was an essential ingredient in succeeding so I tried to make myself be involved in challenges and art support trains etc. as much as I could.

In parallel to all that I also ran a few third party online stores (redbubble, teepublic) for disposable income and would sometimes, if rarely, hit around $100-150 a month from those sources combined. It is a sort of thing that requires helper accounts on other social media sites to promote it on, because the stores themselves have a huge volume of content that translates into low organic discoverability. Obviously it was never gonna be the way towards financial independence through art, and with community projects being few and far between, I opened private commissions in around uhhh 2017 I think, focusing on offering a few styles I knew I could do well, and sometimes operating in individual fandoms (it was mostly a bioware thing to be frank). But I had to close them back down after a year or so, again because of work-life conflict and how badly it was burning me out. The reason I kept trying to monetize this hobby is because I honestly hated what I did for my main job and wanted to see a way out in some shape or form in the future.

And then in 2020 I had to quit my main job altogether because of *gestures at pandemic* and deal with a mental breakdown from all the wonderful things it did to us and me specifically. I took a short break and decided to give art a shot full-time, and that was around May this year. I was planning on opening up commissions again (and I still am), but a few sudden opportunities that fell in my lap moved that timetable down and now I'm grateful to even be doing something I am getting adequately paid for.

So, with that somewhat limited perspective, here's what I've learned that I'd tell myself if I was just starting out:

1. Being a fan of something can be a shortcut towards effective networking kickoffs. Which are important evidently. If you love something and enjoy making content for it, join communities, settle into a combination of social media websites that feel right for those interests + your body of work + your inner rhythm, and try to play to content discovery as much as your mental health allows you to. Like I said, I know that I myself am incredibly bad at self-motivating to talk to people, so I found that synergizing common interests into fanart - which I enjoyed making anyway - could be a way to give myself a gentle nudge forward and build those bridges leading to community activities, which then net experience and coverage. Sometimes even freelance projects from official avenues. Again; picking the right spaces for what you're after is key. Companies roam twitter, concept art recruiters scour artstation or linkedin etc, instagram can land you private commissions and collab opportunities, so on and so forth. Find your niche and try to kick up dust. However...

2. I do not believe that any social profile can replace a good portfolio. The thing that made an immediate difference to me this year was building a coherent, simple website with my best work front and center and a contact form on top. Every single opportunity I got came from that form (maybe via twitter or instagram initially, but always sealing the decision after going through the website), so I firmly believe that showcasing your skills and portfolio in a visually arresting and user-friendly way is a big priority. I had some reservations about tackling that task but fortunately I had help from a savvy life partner and we slapped it together via wordpress in less than a day. Twitter/whatever social media is prevalent in your target groups is definitely important to get the right eyes on your shit, yes, but those eyes will then look for a second stop where your work and rates are more clear and concise. Simplicity is key imo, I cannot overstate this. So make a cute, simple portfolio!

3. Your skills and rates will grow and change as you do. Let them. Over the years I built several lasting professional relationships from my obsession over mass effect and kept getting opportunities both from bioware and their partner companies, some small and some a bit bigger. A one-off job earlier this year opened an unexpected door to another much larger commitment, and then the work I did there brought some attention from small businesses looking for commercial commissions. These were all incredibly different projects in terms of scope and budget, and I've been tackling them all on a case-by-case basis and slowly coming into my own irt my needs, rates, and SOW thresholds. It is still a work in progress (and a LOT of literal work as well), and very much a thing I struggle with in publicly marketing, which is why I felt a tad underqualified to answer your question in the first place (obviously I did not let that stop me). But what it means for me now is that I am rapidly developing into whatever my "version" of a functioning freelance artist is, and when the conditions for that guy are met, I need to be able to confidently plant myself and operate from that space despite past precedents. Do not let anyone bully you into downpricing what you yourself perceive as legitimate products of personal growth and development. Speaking of which...

4. The shitty challenge of turning envy into inspiration, and paddling outside your comfort zones in full riot gear. it is hard, but realizing that being a miserable, self-hating artist in my early days got me nothing but more misery back was the first real step I took and what truly blew the hinges off. I was just not pleasant to be around, I would badmouth my work all the time, and it all somehow made sense in my broken mind because the validation I sought was purely external and the way I sought it was through eliciting sympathy via self-victimization (even when I made something objectively nice). It all led fucking nowhere. Except perhaps to my own narcissism that I one day managed to identify and start managing. So I started looking at things that made me seethe with envy and calmly deconstruct and figure out their inner workings instead, do studies, and find nuggets of inspiration or discover new ways to approach rendering or building up specific elements. It was an application of analytical diligence to what I wanted to be a purely emotional, esoteric workflow, but that I deep down knew wasn't. Art is a discipline and a skill, and maybe it isn't a straight line, but you gotta find some line to thread nevertheless. Being self-hating was almost an identity I had to break out of, and despite it still being like, 4-5% there? I realize its cause and effect on me, my work, and those around me, so it is with a conscious choice that I gently set it aside when I work and especially when I learn. It won't always stay quiet, but the effort is the difference. Your doors towards accepting true growth and venturing into uncharted territories, art styles, and networking will really open from there. But there's a huge caveat...

5. Toolsets, accessibility, privilege, and all the good things that enable artistic expression and profitability are not given equal to all. you might do all the mental work I mentioned to be ready to rock and roll and learn and draw your way out of anything, but digital art is a fucking money pit that asks almost too much at times. I don't got a good case study here but identifying and ensuring accessibility to the tools you need to do your best work is, like, super important. The ergonomics can improve as you make money and settle into the job, but the basics have to be made available to you. And some of that might not even be under your direct control. That can be anything from pen tablets to software subscriptions to opportunities in hiring sullied by sexism or what have you. You gotta navigate all that through careful networking and money/time management. I don't do a good job of devoting specific slices of time to work/study, and my primary clutch is iPad software which went from a good deal to a nightmare scenario over the years. So all I can say here is do what I didn't; network, invest in a PC/tablet, and pick a software you'll learn that won't burn a hole in your pocket.

6. Be nice to work with? This one is hard to articulate and has landed my own ass in hot water in my early years because of how socially inept I am, but nothing is more worthwhile than being.. like. a good person to work with. That can be anything like meeting deadlines, or sometimes missing them but eloquently articulating why, being generous in early stages, being communicable and not too wordy in your emails, having a good grasp on abstract artistic concepts and how to describe them in simple terms, having a clear, laid out framework of your working rates in commercial and non-commercial projects and sticking to those guns with grace, understanding when you need to say no and saying it well, the works. Just being nice. Sometimes that might mean going headstrong with something you believe in, or simmering down and sucking up to the big man, all relative and adaptive. Part and parcel of the service provision dance that we all have to do in order to make bank. Know your lines here, obviously, and don't like. work for nazis. or uh.. *shudders* exposure. but be nice and empathetic and communicable and word will travel eventually. Skill may be in abundance these days, but good people are most certainly not, and capitalism has a way of bubbling up scarcity. Grim, but uh, them's the breaks.

I know I'm ultimately telling you to like. Have a body of work, make a portfolio, grow, and network. But that's really how I see it for now. And being nice can be a cherry on top that sets you apart, along with the inherent irreplaceable voice of your artwork. I think I rambled on enough, but if there is something specific you need my help with, even if you want to come off anon and talk in private, please feel free.

[transxfiles]

y’all i cannot express in words how excited i am for the new lumberjanes show to come out. 

i know a lot of folks on tumblr are hearing abt lumberjanes for the first time through the news tv show, but it’s based on a bunch of comics by lgbt creators, and those comics have helped me work through so much difficult stuff, and i don’t think it’d be a stretch to say that lumberjanes (and the current fandom around it) has actually saved my life. 

lumberjanes is a comic about a bunch of girls who go to a summer camp and solve mysteries and fight monsters and just hang out together and are best friends, and i love it so much. right off the bat, two girls are lesbians in a loving, healthy, caring relationship. the camp director is a butch lesbian. another girl is trans and her arc has nothing to do with being trans - she’s just one of the girls, and she’s trans too, and it’s part of her identity but she never experiences suffering around it. later on she helps a young nonbinary character realize that they’re nonbinary, and then the nonbinary character gets to join the girls at camp, and they’re so much happier there. there’s an entire section of panels about pronouns, but it’s juts a casual discussion, where one girl says, “what’re pronouns” and another says, “oh, they’re just words we use to describe ourselves, like ‘he/him’ and ‘they/them’ and ‘she/her’” and then the nonbinary character says “i'd like to use they/them pronouns please” and everyone accepts them. there are so many characters of color. there are so many diverse family groups (something we see in an arc where all of the parents get to visit their kids at camp for a day) including a girl who only has a mom, and a girl who has two dads, and a girl who has a mom and a dad and whose abuela lives with her family, and big families and small families and lots of siblings and only children. 

and lumberjanes is so sweet. it’s complex and well-written and absolutely hilarious, but it’s also so sweet and kind and soft and reading it feels like being hugged and handed a plate of homemade cookies. it’s about friendship and the complexities that entails. the entire motto fo the camp the girls go to is ‘friendship to the max’ and the story reflects that. and the girls get to be loud and goofy and wacky and wild, which is something we don’t see a lot in media. and they get to be soft and scared and sad, too, and then they get to grow from these experiences, and they get to learn and explore and be free. and that’s something i'd never really seen before, not represented in such an honest way. reading lumberjanes set me free. i found these comics in early middle school, when i was going through a really hard time both socially and with my own personal identity. i live in the bible belt, and i go to a school that isn’t accepting of lgbt kids at all. i'd recently been outed to my grade as lesbian by one of the girls in half of my classes, and in the meantime i was also dealing with my own personal gender struggles, specifically waves and waves of dysphoria that i was having a hard time understanding and defining, because i knew i didn’t want to be a girl or a boy, but i had no idea what that meant, and i had no idea that there was a third option, or a fourth option, or a fifth option, or thousands of options, because i didn’t really get the fluidity of gender, yet, and i didn’t understand that i could apply it to myself. but then i saw the characters in lumberjanes, i saw girls who loved girls and were proud of it, so incredibly proud of it, i saw kids who were realizing they didn’t identify with the gender binary and that they didn’t have to, and i do truly think that saved me. because there was a time when i was considering just ending it because i didn’t understand. and then i read lumberjanes, and it saved me.

and those are just the comics - the current fandom surrounding them has been so loving and caring and supportive of me ever since i joined it. we’re small - there’s only maybe forty of us, and the number of us who are actually content creators is so much smaller. when i first joined the fandom, we only had maybe twenty fics on ao3. now we have 93. i’m proud to say i’ve written fifteen of those, and i'm so, so happy to have found and talked with the people who’ve written the other 78. last year, when i started engaging with other lumberjanes fans online through tumblr, discord, and even the ao3 comments section, i was going through a really difficult time at school. it was my first year in high school and it was like the homophobia and transphobia were amped up to 200%, and people who i thought loved me left me, and so many of my closest friends had to leave the school to save themselves, and i felt so incredibly alone. so i said “fuck it” and i made a discord account and i started talking to some people i’d spent years admiring from afar. i spent hours goofing around with them, discussing fan theories and fanfiction and working through my personal life with them by my side. now, i consider them my friends. and i’ve picked myself back up again. i've figured myself out, for the most part, and i've got new friends and i’m staying in touch with old ones, and school is still awful now and again, but i have people who have my back. they saved me, and i don’t know if they know it, but they did. this fandom saved me. i love them so much. 

now, the lumberjanes show is coming out, and i'm so incredibly excited. the comics are niche. they don’t reach as many people. i know so many kids who are intimidated by comics, but don’t really know where to start, or who want to read them, but are scared their parents could find them. i understand that struggle. hiding a book is hard. you have to look for a space that you know no one can get to, under a bed or in a closet or in plain sight, with the cover of another book slipped over it. and so often, the risk isn’t worth it.

but hiding a bootlegged file of a tv show? that can be so much easier. 

i'm so excited to hear that noelle stevenson and possibly even other lumberjanes creators are going to be working on this show. i think that it will change lives, like the comics changed my lives. lumberjanes is a story about girls loving adventure, loving mysteries, loving each other. it’s beautiful and positive and uplifting, and in my case, lifesaving. i urge you all to please check out the comics. you won’t regret it. and please, support the show. 

i, for one, cannot wait to see it.

EDIT: you can 100% reblog this if you want to, whether you’ve read the comics or not!

[doorsclosingslowly]

tagged by the glorious @sl-walker

How many works do you have on AO3? 44

What’s your total AO3 word count? 265.827

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Star Wars, Shadow and Bone/Six of Crows, Supernatural. If we're counting stuff that never got polished enough to post, Yu-Gi-Oh!, Harry Potter, Cobra Kai, Lord of the Rings, Inu Yasha, .......

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The blue man (Star Wars TFA; Kudos: 547)

Armor (Star Wars TFA; Kudos: 417)

Coarse and irritating (Star Wars TFA; Kudos: 358)

Head shot (Star Wars TFA Kudos: 344)

Reveille (Star Wars TFA; Kudos: 344)

All the same series!

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I respond but sometimes I'm super slow. I do appreciate every single comment and some of them I've read so often I can almost recite them, but I'm not actually good at making the words go (yeah I know I write for fun but that's one of the reasons why I'm such a slow writer, and also I love suffering)

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

They're both about Maul after losing to Sidious, which is such a miserable point in this life already: the one in which I made it Worse aka the OG zombie Savage fic, Coming home early is always a mistake, and then there's Maul decades after, trapped with something that might just be his brother, Keep quite still and wait

Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I invent crossovers to torture my best friend. In the last one, Gilgamesh was made Hokage. Generally though, I sometimes enjoy the characters-in-world-from-different-story type but I haven't written anything of the sort. Except! My Supernatural/Mines of Falun crossover. And I'm currently writing a Shadow and Bones fic with a de Sade pastiche in it. Those are my kind of crossover

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I'm not remotely visible enough to get hate I think! Like, I generally get less than 500 hits, so why would anyone bother

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do write sexually explicit fic when the characters vibe with it (like From Each According to Their Ability, To Each According to Their Need which is Jesper/Kaz/Inej) but I would describe it as... more interested in the tenderness you get from being utterly weird in the way that makes your partners feel understood than in sexiness, I guess.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know. As I've said, I am a minuscule slug in a massive ocean

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone asked about translating Your death is a number but I cannot count that high into German! They haven't finished and sent me the link though, and really, I don't envy them. Translation's fucking hard

What’s your all time favorite ship?

I've never had one single favourite for anything in my life! I like way too many things

Whats a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I genuinely plan to finish very single one of my million WIPs posted at some point. Yes, even Epicenter

What are your writing strengths?

Weird set-ups and texture through details maybe? Honestly being positive about myself is hard except in terms of: I do really like the ideas I come up with and how I'm spinning out the implications

What are your writing weaknesses?

Humour is super hard and not my strength, which means the fact I've decided that Jesper is the most interesting character in Shadow and Bone/Six of Crows should be classed as an act of self-harm. Honestly, why. Part of that struggle is that there's so many kinds of funny and in-between working out the character's sense of humour and trying really hard, I sometimes stop caring about what possible readers might find funny as long as I do.

Also, I'm slow. So slow. I plot several fics per week and take weeks to write a chapter

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I've written dialogue in other languages! Maul talking to Jagrub in Your death is a number but I cannot count that high, where Jagrub speaks way better Mando'a than basic and because Maul only half-understands some Mando'a words that's how I wrote it.

Death Watch must be getting impatient. As soon as Maul forces himself to raise his eyes—turning away from the coddling indifference of the holocam—Jagrub starts talking. “Mand’Alor? Vercop’ashnar verborir—” and then she lets out a jumble of other words, even more unfamiliar, before she cuts herself off.

She’s not one of those, usually, who address him directly. Maul understands Death Watch’s tendency to converse in Mando’a—if he is to avoid appearing an outsider and risking another schism, replying in kind is indispensable—but his early training held no space for anything that would not advance the revenge of the Sith, let alone the languages of minor regional hegemons, and neither Kast nor him prioritized resuming the lessons interrupted when Sidious attacked Sundari. Jagrub’s brow bunches up with the effort of simplifying her words to a level he can understand. “We should… Permission to send… scouts to find more of Rook’morut'yc?” A frustrated grunt. “No, what will he… Weapons? Goore.”

Kast glances at Jagrub, and then at Ventress. She must decide the suggestion is urgent, because she explains in Common, “Jagrub is talking of slugthrowers. Impossible to deflect with a lightsaber. Mandalore has not fought a war against the Jedi in centuries, but they were more effective than blasters then, and enough should remain as heirlooms or in museums to furnish our army. A delay of a few days to retrieve them, if you believe that Savage will survive that long. Else, we’ll make do with the five we currently have.”

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I've been spinning off stories from what I've read for as long as I can remember. The first thing I actually wrote and posted was an Inu Yasha fan comic about extremely minor characters the Shichinintai, because even as a thirteen-year-old I was niche

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

I love most of them, but the ones that made me dive really into myself are probably my favourite. Your death is a number, Down in the Ground where the Dead Men Go, Riches and Wonders, To Each According to Their Ability

tagging @expatgirl @humanformdragon @submeowchinegun @skitter-kitteruwu @pomodoriyum @merfilly

[aye-write]

Summary: Research student Isla Reid has been fascinated with the legend of the Kildonian Chessmen - a trio of mythical Pokemon rumoured to have lived centuries ago on the remote region of Kildo - for as long as she can remember. So, when a museum exhibit on the Chessmen is set to open in Kildo’s Hydrogate City, coinciding with her independent research project, she packs herself and her trusty partner Furret onto the long ferry journey bound for this new region.

However, when she arrives in Kildo, thoughts of her research, new friends, and an entire Pokedex’s worth of new Pokemon, are quickly dashed. Kildo is a troubled place, beset by natural disasters and fierce rivalries among its people. Isla suddenly finds herself at the centre of a centuries-old plot to invoke the wrath of the Chessmen, and is set on a race against time to stop them, before it spells destruction for the entire region.

Other Links: Read it on Ao3!

Tags: OC Pokemon journey, OC region, Fakemon region, bisexual main character, found family, ace main character.

If you are not interested in these posts, especially as I know Pokemon journeyfic is fairly niche, please blacklist the tag #Checkmate. Most of the story will be put under a Readmore anyway!

Author’s Note: This is a mammoth chapter (over 5k!) but it wouldn't have felt right ending it at any other point. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! I am hoping to keep up a bimonthly update schedule to give me plenty of time to focus on work and my other novels, so I'm aiming for February 7th as my next update date! Anyway, here we go with chapter one! 

*****

Chapter One

Isla Reid stared down at the churning ocean and wondered what would happen if she fell overboard.  

It could happen, she reasoned. The railings felt flimsy and only came up to her waist. With no ferry staff nearby and only a handful of other passengers too preoccupied with puffing on cigarettes, or watching their Pokemon, would anyone even notice if she did fall? Someone’s Snubbull careened past and Isla could have sworn she heard it cackle. That was another thought. A collision with a Snubbull could easily launch a full-grown person six or seven feet. At least. More than enough to send her over the railings and down into the roiling ocean below. It wouldn’t be pretty, no, but she would have taken anything over what was coming next.

Over my dead body, her mother declared when Isla gave her the news, will my daughter be going halfway around the world alone. As if she’d conveniently forgotten the past four years Isla had spent working and living independently the moment that inter-regional travel was more than a fragile possibility. Before she knew it, her mother had taken over, sitting at the telephone with the air of a military general and a dog-eared phonebook that hadn’t seen the light of day since Isla was a child. Banging the phone down ten minutes later, her mother announced that if she really must go all the way to Kildo (but you really should reconsider, darling, it’s ever so dangerous!), she would be collected from the ferry by her cousins. Cousins they’d had no contact with in years. Cousins that, if she was being honest, Isla had forgotten even existed.

Isla fixed her gaze forward. The ocean unspooled in every direction, slate-grey water in a haze of mist. The ferry ploughed on, swaying like the rocking of a newborn baby, kicking up fans of white foam. A man hanging over the railings made a funny burping noise as they cleared a large wave. Soba mewled and pushed her head into Isla’s clenched hands until she relaxed them enough to pet her. They were getting closer. And she definitely wasn’t in Johto anymore.

A stir of movement behind her and she was pulled back from her percolating thoughts. A group of men shifted through a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke towards the seats. The youngest, who couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen, had a Pidgey perched on his shoulder and a frown deepening his face.

“Shouldn’t we go inside?” he prompted the older men, glancing up at the leaded sky. “It looks like it’s going to rain. I saw on the news that another storm is coming.”

“Don’t be daft!” a man with a wiry beard laughed. His accent was thick, heavy on the vowels, and took Isla a moment to understand. “We’ll be docked well before any bad weather hits.”

“You hope,” the younger boy muttered, but it was drowned out by laughter. “Dad, I’m serious! Remember I was telling you about ADoomWithAView – that streamer? He said that all these storms and stuff are because the Vitalities are angry with— Dad? Dad! Dad, I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Son, you would do well to stop listening to that brainwashing drivel.”

“It’s not brainwashing! I’m serious! Humanity’s dependence on technology is what—”

The rest of the boy’s protests were drowned out by a prolonged blast of the ship’s horn. In the distance, something loomed out of the thinning mist. Land. They were approaching land. Soba squeaked as a ding-dong-ding rang out and a voice, in that same thick accent, crackled over the speakers.

“Good afternoon, passengers, we will soon be arriving in Port Glen. Passengers are reminded that all personal belongings and luggage must be removed from the baggage area, communal spaces, and all outer decks before disembarking. For those disembarking via the gangplank, a reminder that all Pokemon – with the exception of service Pokemon – must be safely stowed in Pokeballs and not released until you are safely onto the harbour. To repeat, we will soon be arriving in Port Glen. Passengers are reminded—”

Isla’s heart tightened in her chest. This was it. They were here.

She let her Furret bump against her hands, Soba’s soft fur instantly soothing. “I guess it’s time to face the unknown, eh?”

“Fur!” Soba squeaked.

Isla waited until nearly everyone else had disappeared down the gangplank before braving it herself. She’d travelled as light as possible, much to her mother’s disdain, but the backpack still felt she like she was hauling around a bag of rocks instead of a few changes of clothes and a laptop. Anxiety prickled over her skin – or was it just the cold? – as she faced her first tentative steps into Kildo.

She was almost disappointed when she looked out onto a perfectly ordinary little port town. Tucked into an alcove of beach, Port Glen’s harbour was filled with people and the dreamy hues of blue and green. The town lay ahead in a generous curve, bordered by a strip of sea that already looked darker, almost black, under the deepening sky. A thin wind roused the hair on the back of her neck.

Her mother had given her a reference photograph of Rhona, the cousin who was supposed to be meeting her. Related by marriage through some obscure aunt, Isla struggled to notice even one iota of family resemblance between them. The woman in the photograph had pale skin and a shock of red curls, but not much else in the way of distinguishing features.

At the bottom of the gangplank, Isla swept her gaze around, desperate for a sign of her chaperone. But there was no-one waiting. And as the last few passengers sidestepped her, heading towards the town, Isla suddenly felt very small and very alone. While she hadn’t been thrilled at the prospect of staying, even temporarily, with strangers, being alone in a new place hundreds of miles from home was an entirely different brand of anxiety.

Panicky thoughts looped through Isla’s head. Where was Rhona? Why wasn’t she here? Had she forgotten? Had she somehow missed her? Or maybe she just hadn’t seen her yet. But who was still here? She could see a sailor tying ropes, a child wailing at a dropped ice cream, a woman arguing with a… what even was that?

The Pokemon looked like an ordinary Wingull at first, so much so that she nearly skipped over it, but the longer she looked, the more she saw that was wrong with it. This Pokemon was much rounder, a body like it’d swallowed a bowling ball, and its wings were shorter and rimmed with black, rather than the traditional blue. Isla delved for her battered old Pokedex and lined it up with this new Pokemon.

“Wingull, the Seagull Pokemon. Facing competition from Chibber for natural resources, Wingull have resorted to stealing food from witless tourists instead. As such, it has gained weight over time, as well as a more deceiving nature.”

So it was a Kildonian Wingull! That made sense. Isla was the first to admit that her knowledge of native Kildo Pokemon was lacking – a poor decision in hindsight – but she really should have been able to work out it was a regional variant. A flush deepened her cheeks as she imagined her professor’s scowl.

With no guardian in sight, Isla watched the scene unfolding in front of her. The Kildonian Wingull screeched as it dove at the offending woman at the end of the docks, the sound rippling over the wind. There was something in the woman’s hands, something that the Wingull seemed intent on, certainly enough not to be deterred at the attempts to fend it off. Isla let her bag fall and released Soba from her Pokeball.

“Soba, go and help! Use Quick Attack to chase that Pokemon away!”

Soba bulleted towards the struggling woman, squashing herself flat against the ground like a snake, rising into a fierce, full-body strike when the unsuspecting Wingull’s back was turned. With another ear-splitting screech, the Wingull went down like a sack of potatoes.

By the time Isla caught up, the Wingull was gone, dropping into the water of the harbour with an indignant squawk. The woman it had accosted looked harassed as she tried to piece together a ripped plastic bag brimming with wrapped sandwiches.

“Are you alright?” Isla asked, patting her thigh to call Soba back to her side.

“Oh, I’m fine, chick, but I can’t say the same about my lunch! Those Wingull are a terrible nuisance. These tourists think it’s funny to feed them and then it’s us locals that have to live with them. Oh shoot,” she cursed as one of the sandwiches slipped out of her grasp.

Isla ducked down to retrieve it. “Here, let me help you.”

“Oh, thank you, chick,” the woman said. “I have a spare bag here. Gosh, I can’t thank you enough for stopping to help. Usually when a Wingull gets its sights on your food, it’s a foregone conclusion.”

“They definitely seem a lot more, uh, food-oriented than the ones we have back home!” Isla laughed as she helped drop the sandwiches into the new bag.

“Back home?” the woman’s eyes brightened. “Oh, I thought your accent wasn’t local. You’re Isla, right? I can’t believe I didn’t realise it straight away. You’re the spit of your mum, so you are.”

Isla tried very hard not to mind being compared to her mother, but she took a small comfort in the fact that her waif of a mother would be far more scandalised. Was this woman really her cousin? Rhona, if this was her, was pleasantly round, much bigger than she was in the photograph. And while she was still small compared to Isla, it felt like a comfort to finally see another woman in their family that looked like her. And Rhona was pretty, her red curls pulled into a modest bun and her plump skin pebbledashed with freckles. She met Rhona’s eyes and they filled with warmth. Instantly, Isla felt soothed.

“Yes!” she said, barely able to hide her relief. “I’m Isla. And you’re Mrs—”

“Now, chick, you’ll call me Rhona. We’re family after all.”

“Rhona,” Isla corrected herself shyly. “Thanks ever so for letting me stay.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem, dear. Always happy to have visitors! I’m just sorry I’m a bit late, I’d stopped to pick up lunch and that blasted Wingull got a sniff of it. Chased me all the way down from the road end! If it hadn’t been for you and your lovely, uh… what Pokemon is this, dear?”

“This is Soba,” Isla stroked Furret and she purred appreciatively. “She’s a Furret. I’m not sure if you have them here. We’ve been partners for years.”

“She’s gorgeous!” Rhona said. “Don’t leave her alone with my daughter, though, she’s obsessed with all things Pokemon. She might try and adopt her!”

“You have a daughter?” Isla asked, frantically wracking her brain to try and remember if her mother had ever mentioned that.

“Yes, my Skye. She’s thirteen and Pokemon daft. And there’s my son, Blair. He’s the same age as you, give or take. They’re both very much looking forward to meeting you.”

Isla felt like something had just severed her at the chest. Why hadn’t her mother mentioned Rhona had children? Living with one stranger had been a scary enough prospect, now there were two more cousins to contend with?

“Come on, chick, shall we head off?”

As the harbour decking melted into gravel path, Rhona’s questioning amplified – How’s your mum? How has she been getting on? Does she still see Great Aunt Florence? Does she enjoy working for herself? – as if she were trying to make up for ten years of missed conversation. Even though Isla could only give short answers, Rhona still nodded and responded as if she’d just given her the secrets of the universe.

“So, what about you, Isla?” Rhona eventually asked as they turned away from the streets and approached a dirt road, littered with pebbles. “Your Mum said you needed a place to stay for a while, but she was a bit hazy with the details. What brings you all the way to Kildo?”

By the time Isla finished explaining her final year thesis proposal, Rhona oohing and ahhing the whole way through, they were coming up on the Whispering Pines Croft. A weather-beaten cottage sat beneath the shade of a looming forest and sloping hills. Fencing laced through the land like thread through fabric, bordering off sections of patchwork ground in brown and green and the occasional flash of vibrant purple. If Isla squinted hard enough, she could make out a field full of Miltank grazing in the distance. Another field to its left was occupied with the puffy, cotton-wool silhouettes of Wooloo. The whole place smelled of earth and mud, with a tinge of salt, wafting in by the ocean-bound breeze.

Rhona paused to catch her breath. “The Whispering Pines Croft has been in our family for generations. Every generation, we seem to find something new to build.” Indeed, the cottage looked like a mishmash, a Frankenstein’s monster of building expansions. “We do all sorts here. Livestock, farming, everything. The soil isn’t as forgiving as it is in other regions, it’s full of salt from the ocean, but we manage.”

Rhona didn’t take her shoes off when they clomped inside, but Isla slipped hers off, conscious of the mud clinging to the bottom of her soles. She put Soba in her Pokeball for the same reason. Rhona led her through to a kitchen with a low ceiling, steamy with condensation, and thick with the smell of baked apples. Like the house itself, the kitchen had a hodgepodge feel, a cosy mismatch. A proper family place, a life centred around a kitchen table.

“You can throw your stuff anywhere,” Rhona said, but Isla, totally out of her depth and wishing very much she could shrink to half her size to accommodate herself in this tiny, bustling place, just slotted her backpack in the gap by the fridge.

“Can I help you with anything?” Isla asked, the pressure of standing there like a stubbed toe eclipsing every other feeling.

“No, chick, you sit yourself down. You must be tired,” Rhona said as she laid the sandwiches down on the table.  “Here, you take first choice, but be warned, if there isn’t an egg and cress left for my mother, she’ll fall out with you.”

Isla’s hand froze. “Your mum lives with you?”

“Yes. She went with my Dad to assisted living for a while, but when he passed, well, it was easier on everyone to have her here. Does her the world of good to be around people and have a little independence,” Rhona said over the clatter of plates. “She’s got more hobbies than I do, in fact! She teaches classes in the old Kildonian language on the weekends too. Keeps her out of mischief.”

“Really?” Isla’s heart leapt to her throat. “The Kildonian language is something I wanted to look into for my report!”

“Well, that’s a happy coincidence then. I’m sure she’ll be happy to go over some of it with you. Oh, hang on a moment,” she said, reaching up to pull a Pokeball from an apron hanging on the kitchen door. “I’m just going to call everyone to the table.”

Isla’s mouthful of cheese salad sandwich almost ended up splattering the table as Rhona tossed the Pokeball to the ground, and the kitchen was invaded by a flurry of grey and red feathers. The Pokemon – whatever it was – came up to Rhona’s hip, had a squat body, long muscular legs, and powerful wings that it beat to great effect as it noticed the stranger. Isla yelped as the Pokemon cocked its head, its movements quick and jerky, like the ticking of a clock.

“Ruchter, calm your feathers,” Rhona said, tapping the Pokemon on its haunches. It clucked and crowed, shaking its head fiercely. “This is Isla. She’ll be staying with us for a bit.”

The Pokemon relaxed, but still fixed Isla with a withering glare. Isla consulted her Pokedex.

“Ruchter, the Farmer Pokemon. The evolved form of Chickter. Able to precisely work tough soil with their talons, Ruchter can cover a small field in minutes. Despite looking old and frail, they are tireless, and can work for hours without a break.”

Rhona ruffled the Pokemon’s tail feathers. “Ruchter, please go and fetch Blair and Skye from the fields.”

The Pokemon was off before Rhona could even finish her sentence, barrelling out the door with all the grace of a drunk Tauros.

Rhona poured tea into a flowery mug and arranged one of the sandwiches on a matching plate. “Isla, I’m just going to pop up with this for my Mum. I’ll be right back. There’s lemonades and sodas in the fridge, so help yourself.” Rhona was halfway up the stairs when she called back, “And if my two come in tracking mud everywhere, make sure they wash their hands before sitting down!”

The tightness in Isla’s chest squeezed harder. Any moment now she was going to be dropped into a meeting with two new mystery cousins. What would they be like? Would they like her? Would they think she was weird, as most people did? The memories of barbed stares resurfaced like a Sharpedo’s fin breaking the water. Strangers, her peers, her friends, even her own family, all of them silently judging her, as she tried to navigate life being both big and invisible.

No, she needed to calm down. Spiralling wouldn’t help. She repeated it like a mantra inside her head. She hadn’t even met them, and she’d already decided they wouldn’t like her. She had to get better at this.

All the same, her stomach stayed knotted and eating felt like the last thing she wanted to do. Though maybe she should wait until her cousins came in anyway, do the polite thing. She paused and went to the fridge instead, opening and draining half a can of fizzy lemonade. The bubbles pulsed through her twisty stomach, prickling like pins and needles.

She heard the voices before she saw their owners, one deep and droning, the other light and lilting. Then the door swung open, Ruchter scrambling inside in a skittering of talons on wooden floor, two people bringing up the rear.

“Skye, take off your shoes! Mam will go mad if you track mud in.”

He hadn’t seen her. Neither of them had. She didn’t know if that felt better or worse. As the two of them tromped towards the sink, she cleared her throat.

The oldest – a young man with long red hair tied in a ponytail – stopped in his tracks. “Oh, hey! You must be Isla? Nice to meet you,” he extended a hand covered in mud only to retract it when he saw Isla staring. “Maybe later, eh? Skye, make room at the sink please.”

“It’s nice to meet you too!” Isla said over the sound of running water. “Blair and Skye, right?”

“That’s us!” Blair shook his hands off at the sink. “Nice to have you here, cousin. It’s quite something having family coming from all the way in Johto, isn’t it, Skye?”

Skye moved like a ghost, silently staring under a canopy of brown fringe. “Do you have Johto Pokemon?”

Isla blinked. “Ah, yes. Just one though.”

“I want to see.”

“Oh,” Isla looked at Blair and then to Ruchter. “Is that okay?”

“Go ahead!” Blair took a savage bite out of a cheese and pickle sandwich. “Let me just put Ruchter out so the two don’t end up in a scrap.”

After Ruchter went haring out to the garden in pursuit of scattered pellets, Isla let Soba bounce out of her Pokeball. Her younger cousin’s eyes lit up.

“She’s so pretty! What is she?”

“She’s a Furret. They evolve from something called a Sentret. They’re kind of common around where I live, I’m afraid,” she added with a nervous chuckle, then wondered why on earth she was apologising.  

“What type is she?”

“Normal.”

“Is she strong?”

“She’s not super strong, but we’ve been together for seven years. She knows how to handle herself.”

“What moves does she know?”

“Quick Attack, Fury Swipes, Rest, things like that.”  

“What’s her nature?”

“The lady at the Pokemon Centre thinks she’s Bashful, if I remember right.”

“Does she have any TM moves?” And before Isla could answer, Skye kept going. “What’s her favourite Rock flavour? Where did you get her from? Does she—”

“Hey, easy up, Miss Missy,” Blair nudged his sister. “Come on, let Isla relax and eat her lunch. You need to get something in you too. Keep your strength up for the big day.”

Skye rolled her eyes but did as she was told.

“Big day?” Isla asked, desperate for something to fill the silence.

“Skye is going to Aberdrip City in a few days to get her very first Pokemon,” Blair said proudly.

Isla smiled encouragingly but the fact that her younger cousin was a year late in getting her first Pokemon didn’t escape her attention. She decided not to ask as Skye chattered on about Aberdrip City and how she still hadn’t decided which starter she wanted. By the time Rhona came back downstairs, Isla felt fuller and warmer than she had in days.

“I see you guys are getting acquainted,” Rhona smiled, collapsing into the chair next to her daughter and dropping a kiss on her head. “Here, what did you leave me? Ugh, cream cheese and cucumber. I don’t know why they keep it in the multibuy deal, no-one likes it.” She took a bite anyway. “How are you, Isla?”

“I’m good,” Isla said, and she meant it. “Thanks again for having me. It’s a real help.”

“So, what are your plans for Kildo?” Blair asked, nibbling on a crust. “Seeing anywhere nice?”

“I’m here for a research trip,” Isla said. “I’m doing a project on the legend of the Chessmen Pokemon, so really, what I want to do is visit the places that the Chessmen were rumoured to live, and then finish up with the exhibition in Hydrogate City.”

“Hydrogate is a long way to travel,” Blair said seriously. “Especially with all the… complications.”

Rhona shot Blair a fierce look. “Now, Blair, don’t go terrifying the poor lass! There’s nothing wrong, chick. Just a bit of funny weather.”

“And the rest, Mam! There was a landslip near Auchtermelty the other day. They reckon it could take days to clear. It’s totally stopped trade and deliveries; they have to go the long way around. Wee Arthur – that’s Auchtermelty’s Gym Leader, Isla – has been trying to dig it out single handed with his Pokemon but even he had to stop because it was too dangerous.”

“Arabella’s mother says it’s because the Vitalities are unhappy,” Skye interjected.

“Arabella’s mother needs to take a long walk off a short pier,” Blair said, and Skye let out a snort of laughter.

“Blair, watch your mouth,” Rhona said, without looking up.

“Well how stupid can you get?” Blair said. “The Vitalities aren’t to blame for this.”

“Wait, what’s all this about?” Isla asked, confused.

“Just an old legend, chick.” Rhona said. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of them, considering you’re interested in the Chessmen tale.”  

“Of course she hasn’t,” a voice rasped from the doorway and Isla nearly dropped her can of lemonade. Standing in the door’s alcove was an elderly woman, skin deeply lined, and grey hair styled into a candyfloss-like perm. She was tiny – maybe a whole foot smaller than Blair – but her voice was sharp and crisp like every word held a pointed edge. “Incomers don’t make a habit of learning our secrets,” the woman said, fixing her gaze on Isla. “Then they wouldn’t be secrets, would they?”

“Mum!” Rhona said, her voice tight. “What are you doing up?”

“You think I wouldn’t get up to greet our guest? Especially one who has such a vetted interest in our local legends?”

“Oh, here we go,” Blair stood up. “I think I’m going to get the Miltank in. Looks like a storm on the horizon. Skye, are you coming?”

Isla glanced out the window. The sky had turned granite-grey, swirled with black.  When Skye and Blair left, a thin wind send the temperature plummeting. Rhona fiddled with the thermostat and the heating clanged into life, but it didn’t make a difference. Icy fingers had worked their way up Isla’s spine the minute the old woman had spoken.

“Isla, this is my mum, Morag. You can call her Nana Morag though, as my two do.” Rhona said. “Mum, why don’t you tell Isla about the Vitalities while I wash up?”

“Why not?” Nana Morag said, settling herself into the chair that Skye left empty. “The Vitalities legend dates to round about the same time as the Chessmen. Think of the two as intertwined, rather than separate. The Vitalities, made up of Voltean, Burnach, Creakrone, and Liathsong, were said to be able to give – and take – all forms of energy from the world around them. Legend has it that the earliest settlers, who came here centuries ago, were given gifts from the Vitalities that allowed them to heat their homes, harness the ocean, work on the harsh land, and even have some form of electricity hundreds of years before it became common use. Now, the Chessmen, they were different. They were said to control—”

“I know this,” Isla couldn’t help herself. “They’re known as the Progression, Expression, and Protection Pokemon. They gave early Kildonians the means to develop industry, arts, and security.”

The old woman nodded approvingly. “You know your stuff. Very good for an incomer.”

“Mother,” Rhona said warningly.

“You know how the legend ends, yes?” Nana Morag checked. “The Chessmen, enraged with how humans squandered their gifts, tore the region apart and set humanity back hundreds of years. The Chessmen became dormant and the Vitalities were banished, leaving the humans to rebuild alone. Many people believe the Vitalities are responsible for all the natural disasters—”

“They’re not disasters, Mother.”

“—because they’re still furious about being banished all those years ago.”

“Fascinating,” Isla breathed out. “Is there anything else you can tell me about them?”

“I think, for now, we’ll get you sorted in your room, shall we?” Rhona interjected hastily.

“Oh, of course. Thank you,” Isla said, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice.

As she manoeuvred her backpack out of the gap by the fridge, Nana Morag caught her by the elbow, her thin, bony hand proving a surprisingly strong grip. “I have some books that you might find interesting. I’ll drop them off for you later.”

And then Isla was climbing the creaky old stairs, ready to try and slot herself into this strange new home with these strange new people.

**

The rest of the day passed slowly, like petals of a flower unfurling in the sun. She met Kenneth, Rhona’s husband, who split his time between the farm and the market in town. He was frighteningly tall, too tall for the cottages’ low ceilings, and he walked with a noticeable hump even when there was enough space. Rhona was a mean cook, serving up a vast pot of bubbling stew, and Isla had to banish all thoughts of whether the meat too was “home-grown” from her head in order to enjoy it.

Tiredness swept in the moment she laid her knife and fork down. The night came in so much faster in Kildo than Johto, and it felt somehow thicker and darker, like she was swaddled in a large black cloak. She was glad when Rhona took one look at her when the family was doing the final storm checks on the farm and sent her straight up to bed.

Maybe it was the fresh air, maybe it was the excitement, maybe it was the long journey, but the second her head hit the pillow, Isla was dead asleep.

Hours slipped by, or maybe it was minutes, until her world was split apart by a huge bang! She sat bolt upright, cocooned in slippery blankets, and it was all she could do not to topple headfirst out of the bed. As the world phased in around her, freezing cold air gusted into the tiny room, causing goosepimples to erupt on her bare skin. The window, left on the latch before she fell asleep, had blown open. The storm had hit.

Slamming the light on, she untangled herself and grappled with the slippery latch. Eventually she shut out the wind. Outside, everything was pitch black like the swirl of spilled ink, and the rain lashed against the house, sounding like bullets. Isla pressed her face to the window, her breath misting the glass. Something bobbed in the distance, a single pin of light, moving through the velvety dark. It looked too small to be Blair or Kenneth. But who else would be out there during a storm?

The light moved closer. Isla scrubbed impatiently at the fogged glass, terrified that if she took her eyes away, even for a moment, it would disappear. It grew, doubling first, then tripling in size, then a crack of lightning split the sky. Isla let out a gasp as her entire room plunged into darkness. The power was out.

The light in the garden was growing brighter.

Or was it really a light? It looked almost solid now. Like a real living thing. Or maybe not a something. Maybe a someone. Something behind the light looked like the silhouette of a child.

It intensified, burning so bright that it seared Isla’s eyes and for a moment, all she saw was white. Then it faded and was gone. The lamp on her bedside table flickered back into life. The winds seemed to calm. The rain simpered to a stop. And Isla was alone, aside from the impression of a pair of wide, childlike eyes burned into the back of her head.

**

As we have a full Pokedex (130+ Fakemon), we decided to provide more details about each new Pokemon as it's introduced, especially as we may not always be able to give full details for each one. These aren't necessary to enjoy the story but it's here for anyone who is interested. So, here are the dex entries for Kildonian Wingull and Ruchter!

Kildonian Wingull Number: 041 Type: Water/Flying Evolution: Kleptern at Lv25 Abilities: Keen Eye/Pickpocket. HA: Rain Dish Stats: 50/55/30/30/30/75 Dex Description: Facing severe competition from Chibber for natural resources, Wingull have resorted to stealing food from witless tourists instead. As such, it has gained weight over time, but has also gained a more deceiving nature.

Ruchter Number: 090 Type: Flying/Ground Evolution: Evolved from Chickter (Happiness, Male-only) Abilities: Early Bird/Tough Claws. HA: Vital Spirit Stats: 100/125/55/50/55/90 Dex Description: Ruchter, the Farmer Pokemon. The evolved form of Chickter. Able to precisely work tough soil with their talons, Ruchter can cover a small field in minutes. Despite looking old and frail, they are tireless, and can work for hours without a break.”

[ciderlabs-tech-expo]

Chipspeech fandom, we really need to get it together.

There’s only like 3 or 4 of us right now that are active. I’ve noticed that there’s so much division and hate among everybody and a disconcerting amount of politics being forced HARD into the whole thing. I’m allergic to politics of any kind (I mean I do have opinions but when it comes to Chipspeech keep politics of any kind away from my Chips!! They’re individual characters, not just another brick in the wall!) and it really pains me to see people making Chipspeech about political grandstanding and excluding people. Chipspeech isn’t about that, it’s about old technology, cyberpunk, robots, nostalgia and futurism simultaneously and every one of this diverse, beautiful range of characters.

We should be coming together and bonding over our shared love of these things, looking for common ground instead of things to attack each other over, and having fun- like a fandom is supposed to do. We’re a small fandom, so we’ve really got to stick together and support each other. If we just start trying to exclude people and kick people out over petty differences, then we’ve potentially lost a great contributor to the fandom, someone who could even be a good friend. A very small niche fandom like ours feels a loss of creativity way, way harder than a big one. We should also try growing the fandom! I’ve been trying to myself but I really struggle trying to find new people to tell about Chipspeech. Most of the ones I can think of to tell, I’ve already told and they don’t really care about it. But I know there’s more people like us out there, people who will absolutely fall in love with it once they find out about it. I just don’t know where they’re lurking on the Internet. 

And I can only speak for myself here, but I’m sure I’m not the only one who uses Chipspeech, and tech, cyberpunk and robots as a way to take a break from politics and arguing. I’m absolutely drowning in politics 24/7 and especially now that the US presidential election is tomorrow I’m just so sick of hearing about Donald Trump, Joe Biden and their standing on any issue known to mankind- and of course, of everybody arguing about it. I’m just beyond politics fatigued. I’ve had it crammed down my throat since... well, since even before 2020, really. I’m sure the rest of y’all get tired of hearing about this too!!

People like to talk about safe spaces- I think that the Chipspeech fandom should be a safe space, a safe space for Chipspeech fans to just kind of forget about politics, bad news and drama, and just let go. To have fun for a while free of judgment as long as you’re here, and where any interpretations of canon information are welcome. That’s one of the things I find most beautiful about fandoms, seeing what everybody does with the same information. Making up headcanons and designing alternate outfits is fun, and fleshing out extra storyline in your own way is what keeps fandoms going round.

I’m ready for our fandom to be a fandom, not a battlefield- and I’ll take any steps possible to get there! I love and appreciate every last one of y’all and am grateful that we’ve got Chipspeech in common, and hope that I can start to really bond with you guys and new people over Chipspeech and yell about robots together.

[stubbornjerk]

2020 Fanfiction Review

tagged by @northisnotup. i. thanks, dad.

i... am horrified of having to round all this up because 2020 feels like it’s like 7 years crammed into 1 but here we go.

Fics Written This Year:

I wrote a lot in 2020 before quarantine. I transitioned between fandoms too, which is expected since I’ve been doing that consistently for the past five years since I began writing as a hobby. So from Good Omens (of which I wrote half of my stuff for this year) , I transferred onto Penumbra (which has monopolized most of my writing stuff this year and shall remain so until I see fit).

This year alone I published fifteen (15) things, two of which were poems (one poem I didn’t count because I wrote that in 2017). There’d be a lot more but we don’t talk about that.

According to AO3 (minus the collabs where I was the artist or voice for something), I wrote around 145.7k words this year, ignoring the 57k I have discontinued and deleted and will remain in my laptop’s memory drive until the heat death of the universe.

Takeaways from your kick-ass writing, or kick-ass lack of writing, during a year more focused on survival than perhaps any other:

Well, I was fortunate enough to have no significant struggle with the quarantine since where I live, it’s illegal for me to get out of the house at my age without a pass. I did still have school to do despite that. I did as much writing this year as I did in 2015-2018, when I was still in junior high, which is mostly because apart from picking up art as a hobby to healthily space out my writing time, I also gave myself a rigid schedule to work around. Well, for the most part. 

Like, while I was writing halcyon days, I was also writing and drawing for the TNA minibang that I did with Ger and Jeans at the same time, while also writing some fluff on the side like the Andromeda piece I did for Stes on the earlier days of halcyon days, while also still taking time to draw something indulgent and dumb between everything. So, take my “rigid schedule” with a grain of salt. I find that I like to be busy so that I’m barely conscious of the progress that i have for most projects. 

Otherwise, I start doubting if it’s even something people would read. 

[long and haunted stare at all 57k of my unpublished work]

Most surprising fic you wrote this year:

I don’t think I have one specific thing I’m surprised I wrote this year? It all feels like something I would have wanted to read or write as a challenge, or something I expected to have come from me specifically. 

I think in terms of structure, the most surprising thing I wrote this year would be my poem, three doors | tatlong pinto, which isn’t really fic because it’s a poem but I digress. I never really thought I would be publishing poetry for anything fannish.

In terms of actual fic, I think it’d be my birthday fic bridges to burn, because I’ve never really tried to blend both my art and fic before? I wrote most of the fic around the illustrations I already made beforehand, then decided that they’d illustrate the fic itself instead. It was an interesting experiment, to say the least.

How you grew as a writer this year:

I would like to think that I was as poetic in my prose as I used to be but I know that’s not true. Some of my more recent writing is very poetically structured and I think that’s due in large part to how I wrote halcyon days, which had to be poetic because of the nature of the AU source material, Hadestown. 

Well, that and the fact that for some reason people have grown to like my simplistic poetic prose? So I’ve been trying to develop that further.

What’s coming in 2021:

I have three to four things definitively lined up for 2021 and, since I’m in like, two events, it’s gonna be a doozy.

My bang fic is the one I’m most apprehensive of since it’s very personal to me and I kinda want people to receive it well but I also feel like that’s hoping for too much because it’s a) self-indulgent, and b) so incredibly niche and not really serving much for the current state of TPP fan content that I don’t see it going over well. But we’ll see.

I have maybe two completely new VesBud things I’m planning? Depending on how I’ll be handling the first two months of 2021, I will have to see how I’m going to fit that in my timeframes.

I have one JuPeter one I’m planning for an upcoming birthday that I’m very excited to work on. It’ll come out on February, keep an eye out for it.

And the last actual thing lined up is going to be the sequel to Vespa Ilkay and the Case of the Murderous Mask, which will have its own two-parter podfic as well, if we can help it. So if you liked our little VesBud-centric reverse AU, that’d be something to look forward to!

I... don’t really have that many people I can tag on tumblr for this kjshfd most of the writers I know and are mutuals with are on twitter so.... if you wanna do this, i’m tagging you? you, who is currently reading this? whatever

[charmsgaming414]

What are some good gaming computer brands

Unforgettable Moments In Gaming Aspect Three

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These days is the day! I will be progressively releasing the names of the major ten gaming blogs of 2014. Hunting over this list, I am positively blown away. So numerous awesome posts this year! If you had been disappointed by the Ennies… if you think that the true deep thinkers in gaming commentary don't get the consideration they deserve… nicely, people, we are going to fix that.

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A Love Letter to Tumblr

My Dearest Tumblr-

Some may scoff at the mention of your name, others may think you are downright awful, and still others won’t understand why you exist. They obviously don’t know what they’re missing. As soon as I found you, I knew that I could be exactly who I wanted to be, identified in whatever way I wanted. I was so young and in need of your guidance, so you swept me into your arms of acceptance. For the past 8 years, you’ve given me a path for self-discovery.

When I was 13, I joined your beautiful community to peruse Marvel fans’ blogs (Avengers had just been released). The universe that Marvel was building with their movies was enticing. The excitement got my imagination flowing and I wanted so much more content. 

Through you, I could connect with the thousands of Marvel fans like me to share, create, joke, critique, and theorize about the characters we enjoy so much. But your fandoms go so far beyond mainstream pop culture movies. You are a destination for discussion on nearly every TV show and film I love. I’ve been sure to take advantage of that. You expanded my world.

Some of my favorite Marvel blogs:

https://marveladdicts.tumblr.com

https://mcufam.tumblr.com/

https://womenofmcu.tumblr.com/

https://markruffalo.tumblr.com/

When I was 15, I stumbled upon a video, embedded cozily within your pages. This would mark the beginning of my love for Steam Powered Giraffe, a band that taught me something doesn’t have to be popular to be good. I was instantly hooked. I’d never heard anything like them before! 

The band’s fandom was niche, but their lore was rich and the stories they told kept me listening for years to come. The uniqueness of the band gave me something special to love. Not many people know about them. No one ever asked me about them. They were simply mine to enjoy. Having even just one pure thing in your life that makes you happy no matter what can make the world of difference, especially while growing up. You kept me going.  

When I was 16, I finally found names to the feelings I was having about my gender and sexuality while scrolling down your body. See, you give a safe-space to LGBTQ+ individuals to be free and express their true identities. I now understand that both gender and sexuality are on a spectrum and the majority of people are somewhere in the middle. You also gave me exposure to those who identify in all kinds of different ways. Exposure that I would’ve never experienced in real life.  

You may not be mainstream, but that’s what makes you special because neither are we. There’s very little fear that someone you don’t want knowing about your sexuality will find out from Tumblr. We’re able to keep our personal information as private as we want. You protected and nourished my identity.

When I was 17, I took a day away from you to work at a polling location for the 2016 Presidential election. It was an eye-opening experience, as was the outcome of the election. You are the reason I identify more with the Democratic party, while also being aware of many other stances (I would more accurately label myself as an anti-capitalist socialist now, but usually just tell people I’m a Democrat).

You give everyone a place to express their political ideas, critiques, and opinions with no filters. It was so refreshing and somewhat surprising to see Americans complaining about America instead of the usual blind nationalism I was used to in person. I was reassured that my frustrations were not mine alone. It is crucial that people understand multiple viewpoints because there are so many options and solutions for us to explore. You revealed my beliefs.

A very good post explaining anti-capitalism stance;

https://quinndolyns.tumblr.com/post/159946772655/people-seem-to-have-trouble-understanding-why-im

There’s really so much you’ve influenced; from my sense of humor, tastes in fashion/aesthetics, confidence, self-love, appreciation for animals, climate change awareness... I could go on and on. You truly have no limits (until it comes to nudity).

Yes, anyone can post anything. Sometimes, that can turn out to be a very bad thing, but I think those toxic, hateful ( and often anonymous) people hardly outweigh the joy you generate every day.  

Although some people may think I’m lesser than because of my feelings for you, I will never stop having them. Without you, I don’t know if I would know who I am and what’s important to me. 

I’m studying video production in college because of my love for movies and TV shows. I have a deep appreciation for all music and even made my own music video (for a Steam Powered Giraffe song, of course). I have friends from all corners of the LGBTQ+ community and I’ve had the opportunity to interview a transitioning friend to better understand some struggles of my fellow gays. I have a firm grasp on my beliefs that push me to work for a better, stronger world. 

To anyone who’s reading this, know that you should never be ashamed of things that bring you happiness and a sense of self in this crazy world we live in. Enjoy them unapologetically.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tqs1Wni68N0

https://youtu.be/bhiU6LWGMKA

You made me, Tumblr.  

Thank you.

Love, S.G.

[readerinsertdepot]

Wonderful: Chapter 1

Pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x fem!reader

Summary: An American in Paris au except there is minimal singing and dancing and no one is actually American nor is anyone really French.

If you are unfamiliar with the 1951 musical starring Gene Kelly, here is a summary from imdb I rewrote to make this au work:

Hajime Iwaizumi, a struggling painter in Paris, is "discovered" by an influential heiress with an interest in more than Hajime's art. Hajime in turn falls for [y/n], a young French girl already engaged to cabaret singer, Tooru Oikawa. Hajime jokes, sings and dances with his friend, Tobio Kageyama, an acerbic would-be concert pianist, while romantic complications abound.

Rating: T (for now)

Tags: Love triangles, cheating, mutual pining... sort of. Eventual smut?

Word Count: 3.8K

A/N: Let me start off by saying that I am aware that my desire for this au is very niche, but An American in Paris is one of my favorite movies and the idea for this just popped into my head one day. I will warn you, [Y/N] doesn't really show up until Chapter 3, but stay with me. Also even though I am writing fem!reader, I did my best to keep descriptions of [Y/N] to a minimum to maximize insertiveness. lol.

I am thrilled that you're here and I'm excited that you're taking this journey with me.

Paris. The mecca for artists with big dreams. Hopefuls of all levels of talent would flock to this star on the map just to get a taste of the bountiful inspiration the city offered. Traffic almost at a standstill as cars did their best to rush through roundabouts. The streets lined with specialty shops containing elegant dresses and glittering jewelry. Cafes and bakeries that filled the air with the sweet smell of chocolate and butter. Young lovers walking hand in hand along the Seine. The hustle and bustle of the city was difficult for some to get accustomed to, but its beauty is well worth the frustration. It is a paradise.

The day was just beginning for a small street down on the Left Bank. An old woman made her way down to the bakery for her weekly loaf of bread as children laughed and played. The florist was accepting his daily delivery of fresh cut daisies and roses. A quaint café was buzzing with its usual clientele, excitedly chatting over their morning coffee. And just above dwelled their resident artist. Hajime Iwaizumi. After he had graduated from high school he decided, much to his parent’s chagrin, to journey to the city of lights to fulfill his lifelong dream of becoming a painter. A lot of folks back home had said he had no talent. And perhaps he did not. But the criticisms, to him, sounded much better in French.

The bright summer sun shone through the open window of his small studio. There was hardly room for a bed, let alone his canvases and paints. A stray ray of light hit his face, causing him to lazily open his eyes. Sleep still heavy on his lids, they fell closed again. He was not ready to wake up just yet. Hoping to escape from some of the brightness, he rolled over to his opposite side. The coolness of the pillow against his cheek combining delightfully with the warmth of the sun on his body. He sighed, sleep beginning to take over once again. Until there was a knock at the door. He frowned and cracked an eye open. Three more knocks. He rolled his eyes and sat up, stretching the stiffness out of his arms before turning behind him. He held himself up on his knees and left hand as he reached over the head of his bed for the doorknob which was no more than half a foot away. He opened the door as much as the space allowed and a hand popped through the crack holding a brown bag. Hajime took the bag and the hand silently darted back into the hall, closing his door behind it.

The floorboards squeaked under the weight of Hajime’s feet as he rose from the bed. He lifted his arms up, allowing his whole body to stretch and free the sleep trapped within his muscles. As he let out a loud yawn, he made his way over towards the corner of the studio where a rope hung beside one of the portraits he was working on of an older gentleman who would sit and read the paper on the balcony of the next building over. After placing the bag in his mouth, Hajime tugged on the rope. Placing one hand over the other, the cot he used lifted up off the floor, vanishing into the ceiling. Once out of the way, he slipped the contents of the paper bag onto the plate that sat on his bedside table. His usual morning bagel.

With his free hand he reached up for his washcloth and towel, which rested on the rod that connected the legs of his cot. As soon as he retrieved them, he made sure to push the legs back into the cot -- many little red welts in the past had taught him that this was an important step. He rolled a stool out of his path with his foot as he walked across to a wall, which he kicked, causing a small table to pop out. After tossing his plated breakfast onto the table, he turned to push a plush desk chair out of the way so he could open his closet. Revealing a white smock, two dark sweaters, a dresser, dining chair and another small, but slightly larger, table. He pulled the latter two out and placed them in the middle of his studio.

The little square table was decorated with a tin containing delicate purple blossoms from the florist down the street. He pulled out his French press and mug from the top drawer of his dresser and placed them next to the flowers. While pulling his dark green sweater from out of the closet, he reached up with his left knee to close the dresser drawer. He tossed the garment and his towels on the plush chair and then turned to face the doors leading out to his balcony. Using both hands, Hajime pulled open the doors, letting the morning light directly hit his face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the cool morning air, allowing it to rest in his lungs a few beats before releasing. He then reached down and grabbed his fruit bowl and water pitcher to complete his breakfast table. Once the final items had been placed, he stood at his full height and placing his hands on his hips surveyed the room. His eyes turned into thin slits and a frown began to slowly form on his face as he focused on the portrait of the old man.

He made his way over to his work. Suddenly unhappy with the shading of the man’s nose, he smudged the charcoal with his thumb near the bridge. Then the corners. Hajime ran his hands through his hair and let out an exasperated sigh. Realizing it was not meeting his standards, his hand found a nearby rag and took to wiping away the whole piece. Small shouts of his name shook him from his actions. He made his way over to the open window facing the street. Three tiny hands wave up at him from below. Some of the neighborhood children had become fond of him after they had received a few gifts of sweet candy. Hajime playfully stuck out his tongue at them before waving back. The children laughed and continued running down the street. A familiar sound caught his attention. The soft tinkling of piano keys filled the air. He closed his eyes and focused on the melody that floated over from nearby.

Just a few windows over lived Hajime’s friend, Tobio Kageyama, an up and coming concert pianist who unfortunately had not been able to find much work recently. He moved to Paris after being awarded the Hackenwall Prize. It was the eighth scholarship he had been awarded for his musical talent. Quite an accomplishment for someone so young. Even with this and the amount of raw talent he had possessed, he felt like he did not have much to show for it. Upon discovering his lackluster communication skills, most companies were less than thrilled to continue their work with him. His worst fear was being forced to quit and take up an average desk job. So, he was constantly working to improve his interpersonal skills along with honing his musical genius.

While he was fairly homesick, Tobio had a soft spot for Paris. It was a place he could feel comfortable, especially knowing that it was near impossible to run into old acquaintances. Though that had never necessarily been an issue for him in his hometown either. Surprisingly to him, it had been quite easy to make friends in Paris. Perhaps it was the bond over a shared mother tongue between Hajime and himself that had made them close, or a shared project, like the one that had brought Tooru Oikawa into his life.

Tooru was a French music hall star just about the same age as Hajime. Both young, yet old enough to know what to do with their young feelings. Though Tooru had considerably more name recognition. With his smooth vocals and devilish charm, his popularity had grown like wildfire. According to many he was easy on the eyes to boot. The singer had grown fond of Tobio during their work together. Tobio did not share the same fondness however, but he could not deny the amount of skill the singer possessed. Over time a strange, almost competitive, friendship formed between the two. Tooru made it a priority to visit between shows to catch up and attempt to pressure Tobio into working on another collaboration.

Which is exactly what the young cabaret singer found himself doing on this lovely summer morning. Eyes followed him as he briskly walked down the street while admiring the architecture of the old quarter. Good mornings and other greetings from pedestrians and fans alike met his ears which he made sure to return with a dashing smile. He stopped only once to adjust his appearance in the reflection of a store front window. His tie had come a little loose on his journey over and his hat was not quite where he wanted it. Once everything was settled, he shot himself a wink and continued on his way.

Upon arriving at the café, Tooru was immediately met with a warm hug from its owner, pulling him in under the awning. “Tooru Oikawa?!” the owner exclaimed. Tooru laughed and returned the excited hug.

“Why Ittetsu, how have you been?” Tooru asked, extending his hand out to shake the spectacled barista’s.

“Very good, thank you!” Ittetsu answered while vigorously shaking the young singer’s hand. “But why haven’t you come to see us? I’ve only been able to read about you in the paper! It’s been a while.”

“Then perhaps you should come see me at my next show!” Tooru countered.

The melody from the flat above slowly sank down to the street. Tooru’s ears perked up at the familiar tune and he quickly ran back out into the street trying to guess from which window the sound was coming from. “That’s Tobio! Isn’t it?” he asked Ittetsu with a twinkle in his eye before singing along.

 “And then taking that vow. Oh, that’s nice work if you can get it.”

Tobio’s concentration broke suddenly hearing someone accompanying him, but his playing did not falter. He continued on, a look of confusion adorning his face before melting into a scowl upon realization. Tobio rose from his seat, fingers still gliding across the keys, trying to get a look at the performer below.

 “And if you get it, Dites-moi, won’t you tell me how?”

Just as he had suspected, there was Tooru Oikawa, arms outstretched, casually putting on a show in the middle of the street. Some things really do not change. “You used to sing it a tone higher!” Tobio called down after finishing up his song.

“I’m a big boy now! My voice is changing!” Tooru playfully answered back. Tobio rolled his eyes at the cheeky response. “Shall I come up?”

“No!” Tobi answered. “I’ll be down.”

The pianist made his way through the hallway and down the stairs. The scowl on his face only slightly softening. He would never admit it to himself, but he secretly looked up to the young singer. Though he did not often seem like it, Tooru was a disciplined artist. It was not simply his good looks and charm that skyrocketed him to fame like some would lead you to believe, it was his passion and dedication alone, he made an excellent mentor. Annoying and a bit egotistic, but talented nonetheless. Tobio truly enjoyed Tohru’s quick visits. Besides, they always had the potential to lead to new projects.

Tooru’s grin widened once he spotted Tobio entering the café. “Ah Tobio! You made it!” he exclaimed, raising his arms to pull Tobio into a hug.

Tobio’s eyes narrowed at the oncoming brunette, “Don’t do that, I just ate breakfast.” Tooru dropped his arms but his grin remained. Tobio managed a small smile and extended a hand to the singer who gleefully took it. “You look good.” He examined his excessively cheerful friend as they made their way over to a table so they could sit and chat. Tooru had always been a sharp dresser but there was something different today about his crisp navy suit and freshly polished shoes. And his usual cocky grin and mischievous eyes had some softness to them. “Weirdly… great actually. Did you take a vacation or something?”

“Oh, something much better.” Tooro’s eyes sparkled when he answered. He removed his hat and placed it on the table before sitting down.

“I hear your show’s a big hit.” Tobio said as he moved to sit down as well.

“It is. Naturally.”

“Yeah, naturally.” Tobio repeated with annoyance in his voice. There was that usual cockiness.

“When did you get back from touring?"

“I’ve been back since March. I phoned you but no one answered. I would have phoned you again, but I was afraid you might actually answer.”

“Oh in March?” Tooru mused, ignoring his reluctant friend’s slight dig. “I wasn’t in Paris then. [Y/N] and I were visiting friends in Juan les Pins.”

Ittetsu scurried over to the table and set down a plate of fresh baked brioche. Tooru thanked him and Tobio requested some coffee for the two of them.

“What are you working on?” Tooru asked, biting into the soft bread.

“Same old concert.”

The singer laughed. “When are you going to give it?”

“When I can’t figure out any more reasons not to.” It was Tobio’s passion project. A concert he had been working on for the last five years or so that he could not seem to perfect.

The excited café owner arrived at the table once again with a plate of butter for the bread. Tohru licked his lips and hastily spread some on what was remaining of his piece. Tobio once again asked for some coffee.

“I took [Y/N] to hear Weingarten play the other night. It was her first concert and her eyes were shining for two days.”

“Why didn’t you take her to the eye doctor then?” Tobio asked sarcastically. He was about to take a bite of his brioche but stopped short. It occurred to him that the name [y/n] was unfamiliar to him. “Wait, who’s [Y/N]? That’s the second time you’ve brought her up.”

“Tobio, I am very happy these days.” Tooru reached into his suit pocket to pull out his wallet. “I’ll show you her picture.” He retrieved the small photo from his trifold and handed it off.

“Are you married?” Tobio asked before taking a peek at the girl in the picture.

“Not yet.”

“Pretty,” Very pretty Tobio thought. Her [h/c] was done up in an elegant style and her [e/c] eyes complimented her [s/c] skin beautifully. “She looks familiar…”

“She’s Ikkei Ukai’s granddaughter.”

The young pianist gave an affirmative hum while he pieced together the few memories he had of the Ukai family. He smiled when Ittetsu finally came around to pour a cup of coffee for Tooru. He held out his own cup expectantly, but his smile quickly turned sour when Ittetsu flew from the table back towards the kitchen without pouring him a cup. Tooru laughed as Tobio angrily called Ittetsu back for his coffee. The owner hurried over, face pink with embarrassment and spouting out apologies. Tobio glanced at the owner out of the corner of his eye in annoyance while he poured.

“Her parents fell ill, the poor thing.” Tobio’s anger cooled and he brought his attention back to Tooru as the singer continued, “I took care of her through it all. She lived in my house for a while after they passed.”

Tobio choked on his coffee at the scandalous information. “Your house?” His eyebrows rose, “Shocking but generous.”

Tooru balanced his chin in his hand and let out a wistful sigh, “We were both young then,” he scrunched his face into a pout, “We didn’t fall in love until after she left.”

“She seems a little young for you.” Tobio accused, recalling how young the girl looked in the photograph.

“No, not really. She’s about your age even.”

“Well, what’s she like?”

The sparkle returned to Tooru’s eyes, “She has great vitality and joie de vivre. She loves to go out, have fun and dance. She could dance all night.”

“Sounds tiresome,” Tobio could think of a thousand other things he would rather do than go out for a night of dancing. It sounded like this [Y/N] was the perfect match for his energetic friend. “So she’s kind of wild like you, huh?”

“Wild? Like me? I have no idea what you are talking about,” Tooru placed his hands over his heart in feign shock, “No, she’s very demure. She works all day at the Maison Nicole, the perfume shop.”

Tobio let out another affirmative hum, hoping Tooru would catch the hint that he had no further interest in this conversation whatsoever. Tooru had a reputation for skirt chasing, even though most of his escapades ended up fruitless. Honestly, this instance was no different from the last dozen save for the fact that this girl was insane enough to actually agree to go steady with the famous singer.

“Oh she’s an enchanting girl, Tobio. She’s so wonderful I just can’t stand it.”

“She’s more reserved you said?” Tobio asked. Knowing there was no way he was going to get out of this conversation until Tooru was satisfied.

“Oh no, she’s quite exciting!”

“So… she’s pretty… experienced?”

“Well, not really. She’s so sweet and a little shy.”

“So, she’s old fashioned?”

“Of course not! She’s vivacious and modern!”

“So she never shuts up like you, huh?”

“Quite the opposite! She always has her nose in a book.”

“Dating you must make her pretty moody.”

“Never! She’s always cheerful and has the most beautiful smile!”

Tobio’s eyebrow twitched in irritation, “Tooru, you just described at least five different women.”

“Oh! What can I say, Tobio? I’m crazy about her! She’s perfect. She’s indescribable.”

As the two musicians chatted below, Hajime was finally making his way out of the studio. Both his hands where full of canvases as he walked down the stairs and out to meet his friend in the café. When he entered, he found Tobio working his fingers excitedly along the keys of the old piano by the patio, playing a jazzy tune, while a familiar, well dressed gentleman playfully heckled him. “That’s not music! It’s uncivilized. It’s noise.”

“G’ morning.” Hajime greeted.

“Morning,” Tobio greeted back, “Hajime, you remember Tooru Oikawa, right?”

Hajime walked over to the table where Tooru was still enjoying his breakfast. “Of course I do. I’ve only heard you sing about a thousand times. How are you doing?” Hajime extended his hand in greeting and Tooru cheerfully accepted.

“Well, thanks. And you?”

“I could be better. I’m broke.”

“Broke?” Tooru gave a light laugh at Hajime’s straight forward answer.

“Yeah, and the trouble is when I have no money I don’t eat. When I don’t eat I get tired and depressed. When that happens the only thing that’ll help is wine and women.”

“Oh well that should be very simple, Hajime. You’re in Paris!”

“Yes, but even in Paris that takes money. Which is what I don’t have in the first place… Speaking of,” Hajime made his way over to the piano, “Hey, Tobio, you got three hundred francs on you? I’m going to Montmartre and I need lunch money.”

“Sorry, Haji. I bought a postage stamp yesterday and it broke me.”

Tooru jumped out of his seat and strode over to the two while reaching for his wallet, “Here, allow me.”

Hajime quickly held his hands out in protest, “No, thanks. I don’t like taking money from strangers.” Tooru whined at the comment, hurt that Hajime would even think to call him a stranger even though they had met at least a few dozen times.

“I wish he was a stranger,” Tobio muttered under his breath. His playing stopped for a moment, smirking at the sneaky idea that popped into his head. “Hey, Tooru. Lend me three hundred,” he commanded.

Hajime frowned. Catching on to what his friend was doing. Tooru happily slipped the bill into Tobio’s outstretched hand. With a smirk on his face he pushed the money into Hajime’s chest and continued where he had left off but with more force. Hajime caught the money before it fell and reluctantly pocketed it. He stopped in front of Tooru on his way to sit at the once occupied table and said, “I wouldn’t lend him money if I were you. He’s a bum risk.”

The excitement and volume by which Tobio was playing intensified. Tooru hunched his shoulders to his ears, trying to hide them from what he considered to be unpleasant banging. “Tobio, is this really what you won your scholarship for?” he asked, followed by mocking the music with childish da-da-das.

“What’s wrong with it?” Tobio snapped.

Hajime perked up from the table, mouth full of scavenged brioche, “Evidently, the man doesn’t like jazz.”

“I’m against it,” Tooru said, folding his arms in front of his chest.

Hajime scoffed and walked back to the piano, coffee cup in hand, “What else is there?”

“Oh I know what he likes.” Tobio spat before changing his tone to something mockingly sweet, “He’s strictly a three-quarter man.”

When Tobio began to play a pleasant waltz, Tooru’s body relaxed. Unconsciously swaying to the rhythm. “Now that’s the ticket.”

“Ah,” Hajime’s eyes grew wide with realization and a wicked grin formed on his face, “Old Vienna and all that crap.”

Tobio attempted to stifle his laughter with minimal success.

Tooru scoffed, offended by the comment. “The waltzes of middle Europa charm you and warm your heart. What Broadway would lead you to believe is music, is nothing but emptiness pounding on tin. When I want a melody lilting through the house, then I want a melody by Strauss.”

“Why, I didn’t realize the emperor himself would be visiting us this morning.” Tobio commented, attempting to cut off the passionate rant.

“I’ll take om-pah-pah over ha-cha-cha any day!” Tooru aggressively answered back.

Hajime quietly eased his way out of the argument and placed his empty cup on a nearby table. “Well gentlemen this has been,” pausing a moment, struggling to come up with the appropriate adjective, “… nice… but I should be on my way. I’ll see you later Tobio. Tooru.” He gave a small, unnoticed wave before collecting the canvases he had placed at the table. Leaving the two musicians to continue quarreling without him.

A/N: I hop you had as much fun reading this as I had writing this.

Shout out to my friend, Emily, for being my beta and ooc checker!

[firesign23]

Author Interview

Tagged by: @aviss  (And @luthienebonyx while I was answering!)

Name:  Ehh, any variation of my usernames is fine. Or you can ask after we’ve talked. It’s too distinctive to put on Tumblr

Fandoms: I’m currently active in Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries and Game of Thrones, and occasionally still check in on the Agent Carter fandom when I have time. I’ve been fandoming for 18 years though, and couldn’t list all the ones I’ve been active in. I used to think I could, and then awhile back I was suddenly hit with a reminder that I wrote fic for X and had forgotten it entirely. 😂

Where you post: AO3

Most popular oneshot: (every single one of us) still left in want of mercy  for GoT. For Miss Fisher, the answer actually surprised me--by hits it is A Hundred and One, which made some sense because it was my first fic and hit during that huge rush in the wake of series 3. By kudos? It’s Reservations, a Mac POV of Phryne and Jack’s developing relationship. 

Most popular multi-chapter story: in the wild blue yonder, your star is fixed (in my sky)  for GoT, which is unsurprising because I only have two and that is both older and longer. A Glass Splinter for Miss Fisher, which is also unsurprising because it is oldest and longest. 

Favorite story you wrote: I always say Fear Not the Bugle, because it was long and hard and deeply personal by the end, but I think that answer changes a lot based on whatever definition of favourite I’m using.  

Story you were nervous to post: All of them, every time. But, honestly, today’s chapter on in the wild blue yonder was… I told people I was expecting rage quitting, and while nobody’s said so, the subscription count has gone down for the first time. There’s any number of innocuous reasons for that, and of course people can read what they want and interests change and so on, but it doesn’t feel like a coincidence that it came after this chapter either. I am, of course, overthinking the whole thing like hell because that’s how I roll. I’ll be over it tomorrow--the story went the way the story had to go. 

How you choose your titles: I scream at people until something clicks? I honestly… I’m so bad at picking titles. I’ll use song lyrics or poetry or quotes--lots of room for Shakespeare and Rilke with MFMM for obvious reasons, and also Edna St Vincent Millay and Anais Nin. And D.H. Lawrence, but also fuck that guy. Or sometimes I’ll just use a random word. I like to joke that I’m going to post a Phrack story and just call it “There’s smut, we all know you’ll read this regardless of the title”, but I don’t even have that going for me in the GoT fandom. THE HARDSHIPS, Y’ALL. I’m currently obsessed with finding a reason to use The Ballroom Thieves’ Bees for a fic, somehow, but I’m not sure which bit. Or which fic. It is sure as shit not going to be an angsty, canon-compliant Jaime POV of Winterfell though, that’s for fucking sure.

Do you outline: Somewhat? Before my season 8 fixit I was mostly writing casefics for anything longer than a one-shot, and I found that I had to have a super rough outline before starting so I could make sure the places clues were dropped were well-spaced and the resolution made sense on a super basic level. But this mostly took the form of a super general paragraph per chapter, and I didn’t really know how those things would happen until I get there. For yonder I have a list of shit that’s supposed to happen, maybe, and I’m winging it without knowing what’s coming in even a vague sense more than a couple of chapters ahead. Except for the final chapter, which was one of the first things I noted, back when I was telling @heavyheadedgal I wasn’t going to WRITE a fic, it was just satisfying to think about it, and anyway even if I did it would be a oneshot. 

I do, however, sort of outline a chapter when I get to writing it. Outline mostly means a sentence, maybe two, per scene--X happens, the purpose of which is Y, tone might be Z--and any scraps of dialogue/writing that had already come to me during previous writing. 

Complete: On ao3 I have… 150 or so? I think the full count is 152 or 153, and of those one is on hiatus and has been for years, one is complete but not yet fully posted because it’s for the 2019 monthly challenge for MFMM, and one genuine WIP. I have no idea what the true total over 18 year is though, other than a LOT.

In-progress: I am actively working on in the wild blue yonder, your star is fixed (in my sky) and the The Seasons Will Change Us New series (aka Minigolf AU), and have a few things like prompts that I pick at on occasion. 

Coming soon/not yet started:

I have a ton more stories in the Minigolf series--the first on the docket is a one-shot of Brienne and Jaime grabbing coffee (that’s what I’m working on), then one set over the Midwinter holiday where their skiing holiday plans are interrupted by Robert’s death. Then there is the bachelor auction fic, which is going to be great because platonic neck kisses. And a few after that.  

The third fic in the series of smutty character studies, which will feature pegging and domJaime (somehow?) and I have NO FUCKING CLUE what it will actually look like but I need it and nobody else is going to write it, so...

My next “serious” longfic will probably by the Persuasion/Anne of Cleves!AU, which is the weirdest mashup description ever. But the premise could be really great--it’s a canon divergence where Brienne and Jaime meet earlier in the timeline and become friends, then are separated by Cersei’s scheming and the ire of the court, both of them in love but not realising or able to act on it at the time. Then they meet again when she is Catelyn’s sworn sword (I’m handwaving so much politics in this fic and Ned’s death is different so Sansa is marrying Joffrey and UGH I’m not looking forward to that side of things because my grasp of canon is so bad), and there is angst and pining and strained sniping. Addam gets to be Charles Musgrove. It’s only the vaguest sort of take on Persuasion, but… The Anne of Cleves side of things is--okay, I kinda want to really lean into that inspiration, but the real point of that is to tackle Brienne’s ugliness from an angle that acknowledges that it can be a “Yes and…” situation--yes, she’s not pretty, and it can also be a constructed, weaponised attack on her. For example, I’m taking that “More of a woman’s shape” thing and running with it--she’s not feminine in build, but that gets warped into “Entirely indistinguishable from a man” by people out to discredit her, and even Jaime’s memories of her have been shaped by that propaganda.  

Look, we all know I’m writing Cocks and Robbers and it is entirely the fault of @aurora-australis-tumbles 

Do you accept prompts: Absolutely! I can be very slow at filling them though, because I… for a long time I was really struggling with writing for a bunch of complex reasons and I’m still working my way up to being able to write a lot in a day. It’s like a muscle injury that’s slowly healing, but I’m not pushing myself, and that means that I can’t currently sit down and bang out 5 or 6 ficlets in a day like I used to. 

Upcoming story you are most excited to write: Persuasion AU, I think? What I have to say about beauty is probably rather niche and not interesting to the vast majority of fans, but it’s something that I like to explore. Or the bachelor auction AU because TROPES GALORE.

Tagging @whopooh  @scruggzi @aurora-australis-tumbles @renee561 and whoever else wants to do it. I am super bad at remembering who has already done these things

[fullymechanized-consoomer]

40K factions and you

Space Marines:

Your favorite flavor of ice cream is vanilla, but occasionally you might try some Neapolitan, if you’re feeling dangerous. You’re faction’s lore is designed from the ground up to accept your self-inserts, and the models are some of the easiest to paint in the entire range. None of this matters because no matter how unique you think your super-cool “realistic marines who use real tactics maaaaan” are they’ll always come out looking like a slight variation of the ones below

8th edition has finally allowed you to feel a tiny sliver of the unbalanced and over-costed hell other factions have been stuck in for years, but unlike them, daddy GW is more than willing to spend a little extra on his bulky good bois so they still get all the coolest gear and lore. Like vanilla, small children love them, but they grow out of both eventually. 

edit: it was only a matter of time before GW stamped its foot down and made the inevitable decision that its favorite kid needs to be busted again. Then again in all fairness they toned down their overpoweredness from “godlike” to merely “demi-godlike” 

Imperial Guard:

You’re a big “history fan”. You’ve seen Enemy at the Gates, watched some history channel shows about Nazi wonder weapons, and make 54 karma post on r/history_memes recycling debunked Eastern Front jokes. Only your intelligent eye is able to conflate this factions obvious Metal Slug levels of cartoonish design and tactics with realism, and you make sure to remind everyone else of said realism by comparing your tabletop exploits to your military experience in the reserves. Everyone used to like you back when the faction was actually made up of underdogs and under appreciated, but the Guant’s Ghosts references have gotten kinda stale, and no one appreciates the brass balls of these Starship Trooper knockoffs now that 8th edition supports and rewards the very same mindless horde tactics the Guard used to be mocked for in Lore. Despite having some of the most tried and true designs in the game, as well as an incredible amount of options, you will quickly find how limiting the only “realistic” army is in terms of customization and paint schemes, as anything but camo, grey, or tan looks goofy and reveals how silly this faction actually is. 

edit: If your army consists of wrapping 30 guardsmen around basilisks I recommend you take a short fall down a long flight of stairs. Fuck you, Evan.

Eldar:

You’re a real shooter. You know what you like and you stick with it, cause lets face it, it takes a lot of loyalty to stick with these arrogant pricks. Their designs are unique but dated, their lore is a uneven mishmash of 40k grimdark schmultz Tolkien telephone, and Oliver Twist-esque whipping bois for whenever GW writers need to remind us how cool Space Marines are. But none of that matters because you know the truth: Eldar can kick tons of ass on the board, and look good doing it, as their unique designs lends them to all sorts of brilliant color combinations

And unlike other armies their rare design updates improve on their aesthetic while keeping their 40k-ness, something that is becoming increasingly rare in this era of Tacticool marines and Fantasy-creep. Just don’t expect to be taken seriously by anyone but the old-heads.

Edit: Leave it to the whipping bois to be outshined in their own event and get a single model update. Thanks GW, very cool. 

Dark Eldar

You are one of two people: a meta hopping smooth brain who only jumped ship once these guys got one of the best updates in 40k history, or a true intellectual who understood their hidden merit all along. Other faction players like to make fun of you for being edgy, when in reality you know that the Dark Eldar are just a bunch of sociopathic theater kids. They, like you, know how fucked from top to bottom this universe is, and instead of getting depressed they exclaimed “how can we be the best cartoon villains we can be?”. Despite having a relatively bare army list, the fact that these d-bags come in 3 flavors of crazy in a single army offers a ton of variety: the mustache twirling villainy of the Kabals, the crazy bloodstained snuff-stars of the Wych cults, and the BDSM horror show of the Covens. All three offer substantial benefits and drawbacks and must be played carefully in order t- 

Who am I kidding? You’re just gonna stuff  a bunch of Kabal warriors into Venoms and zoom around the map, aren’t you? Enjoy that speed, because your abysmal save stats wont protect you anything more than a furiously thrown walnut. At least your corpses will look rad clad in some of the grimest armor and gear in the game. 

edit: no longer anywhere near as dominent as they were in the earlier years of 8th, but they still look slick as hell and play great. 

Orks

Your IQ randomly jumps from 20 to 200 throughout the day. There is no predicting this, no planning around this, no stopping this. You’re best bet is just to go along with it, and that’s why you play Orks. Orks are roudy good-time buddies who love slapstick slaughter, not having thoughts, and occasionally pulling of cunning plans that human savants would struggle to comprehend. Orks seem to be the only faction that know what joy is, which is why you as a player spread it to everyone else. Yes, the memes and screaming can be a bit much to others sometimes, but like with any other mentally handicapped child  everyone around just grits their teeth through your bad episodes if it means not upsetting your unique sensibilities. And considering that this army’s aesthetic revolves around cobbled together nonsense, you have a lot of uniqueness to give. Orks are easily the most creative faction in the game when it comes to conversions. Nothing is too goofy, too dumb, or too silly to scrap together. As for performance on the tabletop? Go ham. This is an army that rewards merry bullshit and randomness. Remember, you didn’t pick Orks to win, you picked them to have fun. 

edit: So are Orks actually getting anything or what? GW’s plans for this faction is as chaotic as the minds of the ADHD scrambled minds who play them

Necrons

You have a very specific taste in... funky weird-science space Egyptians. Seriously, these guys are practically a completely different army to what they were a decade ago. Gone are the terminator references and eldritch lore nonsense, and here to stay is senility and glyphs. You lie to yourself, saying that you’re not really sure why you chose Necrons, but I know the truth: you chose them because they used to be busted. They used to be unfair. They used to be able to take out top-tier tanks with their version of pea shooters and come back after every turn. So overwhelmed were you by their dazzeling stats and bullshit cheese your brain’s wiring fried and the erratic firing of billions of flayed neurons made you think Necrons had cool lore and interesting models. But now they’ve been nerfed to hell, and you’re no longer stuck in that lasting state of sensory overload. Like a drunk snapping awake with a hangover you come to the painful reality: Necrons are kind of dull. So like me, you put them away in a shoebox forever, leaving their fragile sculpts to slowly fall apart.

Edit: FUCK WHERE IS THE SHOEBOX WHERE DID I LEAVE IT OH GOD OH OH NO OH FUCK THEY’RE ALL BROKEN MAYBE I CAN PUT THEM BACK TOGETHER BEFORE 9th EDITION LAUNCHES I’M SO SORRY FOR WHAT I DID TO YOU NOW MORE THAN EVER I NEED YOU, I NEED MY BOOOOOOOOYS!!!

Tau

You will forever be hated by the community unfairly. You are accuse being anime - and this is true - yet the Eldar get away with being copied wholesale from 80′s space anime and no one seems to notice. You are made fun of for your bad melee, despite having one of the most comprehensively designed niches in an otherwise sloppy game and dominating with nearly every edition. You are made fun of for your lore, despite being largely separate from the cliches and story traps that everyone else has fallen into. You are hated because you are different; hated because you are Asian. 

Tau are an anomaly in 40k: a completely new faction that wasn’t directly ripped off of some other franchise and with an aesthetic that is wholly their own. I won’t be making fun of them because they get enough of that, and you don’t deserve it. Just know this dirty secret: Tau outsell almost every other xenos faction, and despite the supposedly unanimous hate are probably one of the strongest factions in terms of play-style and modelling in the franchise. 

Edit: The tau are grittier than ever, happy now? They still do the same thing they have always done anyways.

Chaos

Unlike the DE you actually are edgy. You worship satan, you throw rocks at homeless people, you start fires because your dad doesn’t spank you enough. Chaos are the closest things that this cluster fuck of a universe can get to being the main villains. Their lore is at once intricate and stupid, both childish and metal as hell. You play chaos because getting your fingers pricked by the models’ spikes is the closest you can come to feeling anything anymore. Just like the chaos lore you love to hype yourself up, to puff your chest and revel in the darkness inside, but when confronted you tend to fold like wet tissue paper. You’ve stopped playing public games with these guys, because the other players don’t understand you and abuse the meta and make fun of your painting skills and  everything is so unfair and don’t you think that chaos marines should get buffs for their points cost, fuck?

Edit: The new models are slick and more power-metal minivan than ever, though the rules are still abysmal despite GW desperately wanting everyone to takes these guys seriously for once. 

Sisters of Battle

GW writers and designers hates Catholics and they hate women, so naturally they hate Sister of Battl. They also hate you for playing them. Because of this SoB are a monument to neglected potential. They have one of the best female armor designs in fiction, great lore, and an interesting playstyle that relies on faith/determination based feats of strength and valor... but GW hate Catholics and women, so SoB get shafted everywhere all the time. More often than not you will be disappointed reading about their exploits as they continually get unfairly slaughtered, corrupted into the horny service of the pervert god, or used as receptacles for blood-based paint when the writer’s favorite faction needs to fight demons. With no plastic models in sight for over a decade everyone began to come to the slow and dreadful realization that GW was looking to Squat our favorite estrogen warriors, until a new revamp was announced. Unfortunately the beta rules look as lackluster as ever, but that’s fine, because as a SoB fan you have learned to expect that GW hates you, Catholics, and women. 

Edit: GW found God and got woke because now they love women and Jesus’ one true Church, but let it be known that reformation doesn’t occur overnight, as the SOB’s faces still betray GW’s lingering discomfort in the female form:

Their rules are fun, and if every codex was designed like it 40k might actually be a fun game

Tyranids

nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom nom no- and that’s it that’s the Tyranids. I don’t know anything about them besides that, and neither do you, cause that’s their lore. Yes they have cool models, but next to no reliable updates. I’ll pray for you.  

Edit: it really looks like GW has just completely forgotten about you poor souls huh? The Night King, a character who is closely associated with the totally-not-reconned-Tyranid-invasion, comes back and not one word about you guys. They don’t even actively hate you like, say, they hate the Eldar. It’s just... apathy. 

Grey Knights

HAHA AHAHAHAHA HA HA UHAHAHA HAHAAHAHAAHAH HAHA ha ha Ah......... he. hehahaaaAHAHAHAHA HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

edit: I hope you all realize that Grey Knights are far too specialized in fighting the permanently under performing forces of chaos to be 40ks “elite among elite.”  You and your entire faction has been made completely obsolescent by the Custodes. The rough times will continue, say hi to the Squats in heaven will you?

Custodes

You are either insufferably full of yourself or a fine practitioner of the model making craft. Most likely though you are neither, and you picked them because you only need gold and red paint to make them look good. Custodes are the space marine’s space marines, and they’re better than you and everyone else. period. At least in lore. On the table their incredible individual stats and elite status are reflected in points cost, so for most large games you will be fielding what amounts to any other faction’s skirmishing army. Unfortunately, since 40k is a stat-sheet battler that favors raw bulk of rolls and stats over the quality of them, you’d be hard-pressed to do well in any serious game. However, for the luminous of mind, the small size is a blessing in disguise since you don’t need to buy and paint as many units as the other armies, and no matter how hard the guard player trashes you his 50 unpainted manlets will never look as good as your 15 gloriously crafted golden Chads. Stick to smaller games, and the individual strength of each model will make up for the glaring absence caused by their loss.

Ironically enough despite being an elite faction from a relatively obscure part of 40k lore, these attributes make Custodes the perfect casual player’s faction. It is my personal theory that if GW didn’t grossly inflate their prices to such a high degree everyone would have a Custodes army. 

Oh yeah, Henry Cavil plays these guys, because of course he does.