#fanfiction and its crimes against humanity

[mariacecil]

I imagine Cloud Strife in every fic I read with a Marie Antoinette hair style and I can't I can't stop it's a problem I needed a reminder on what he looks like twice a day I can't stop thinking he has those big bulbose hair it's not my fault I'm not at fault here guys plese

[preciouslandmermaid]

quiet fury in your head [viii]

Dream of the Endless x F!Reader!Goddess / Sandman Fanfiction

Note: I am still alive. Here is some angst, but then finally some progress with these idiots relationship lmao.

No use of Y/N. See part 1 for all the tags tbh.

Warnings: none !

Rating: 18+

(Read on AO3)    ||   (masterpost for other chapters)  

In the years that follow, it rains often in the Dreaming. You are grateful for your cloak to keep the rainwater from your face and hair. The rain reminds you of Dima and it tastes like regret. If only I had not asked for the storm. I could have driven the man to madness without her help. But you wanted the mortal’s punishment to be swift and absolute. You wanted him dead for the crimes he enacted against his child. I don’t regret what I did, I regret that Dima was banished for it. You are, despite everything, the embodiment of rage, and rage is not gentle. It does not deter from its destined path due to human definitions of morality. In your eyes, in your heart, the man deserved to die.

Dream is true to his word and does not speak to you. Sometimes, however, you think you see his shadow between the library shelves, through the birch tree trunks, and among the fields of golden wheat.

My time here must be ending soon. It must. You kick a pebble aside and settle on a damp rock overlooking the churning gray-blue oceanic waters. Dream cannot keep me here forever. He could. Technically. But that was beside the point. You crack the spine of your book and lay it open like a slaughtered offering on your lap.

Once I’m free, I’ll find my way through the fabric of the universe and reunite with Dima. You had two oaths to fulfill: Return to the Otherworld and bury your sister’s tokens and then travel through the various realms and find Dima. She’s the embodiment of storms. She won’t be too hard to find. You trusted your faithful friend would answer your call once you were free of the Dreaming.

You lost your goddesshood, your worshipers, your sisters, and your friend. Yet in the light of what you’ve lost, you haven’t lost your life. You won’t take that for granted. You pull the hood of your cloak a little tighter around your face, ignoring the pinpricks of cold rain, and begin to read.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sister,” Dream says, “what do I owe the pleasure?”

“What, I can’t come and visit my brother?”Death maneuvers around one of the marble pillars. “It’s rather dreadful out there, you know. Couldn’t you make it a bit more cheery?” She tilts her head to the rain surging across the stained glass windows.

He bristles. The argument with you and Dima’s banishment...it doesn’t matter how much linear time passes...the Dreaming continues to rain. He doesn’t regret banishing Dima. It was necessary. Your unhappiness was collateral damage. Death must pick up on a shift in his expression. She lightens and loops her arm with his. Dream finds he is pulled along by the cosmic gravity of his sibling.

Death is like that, you know. When she takes your hand, you don���t have any other choice but to follow her.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” Death says.

“I don’t know who you mean,” he murmurs. He can’t be that transparent. He isn’t.

“I get it, you know,” she continues, heels clicking over the tiles, “she’s the embodiment of your favorite siblings.” She smiles. The Dreaming sings in response. “Death and Destruction.”

The song of the Dreaming rapidly cools at the mention of their wayward, lost brother. You are not like Destruction. Firstly, you don’t have his sense of humor.

“Why are you here, sister?” Dream tries again to dissuade her from poking into his life and his realm. He is sure she means well, but he doesn’t need a keeper. The situation with you – it’s his realm, his business, and his priority. In time, you’d eventually forget your bond to Dima. He’s sure of it. You’ll eventually grow bored of his silence. You used to be such a restless creature, running through his Dreaming, and he doubts those instincts have vanished in the past few centuries. Time in the dreaming is infinite and he has all the time in the world to wait it out.

He’s certain you will seek him out before he ever seeks you.

Death says, “Are you going to keep her here forever?”

“No.”

“Good, that’s all I wanted to know.” Death smiles again and vanishes. He sighs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There is a city in the Dreaming made of light sandstone and glossy jade. A glass palace is suspended in the sky and anchored to the city below by great iron chains. On sunny days, the light reflects from the castle, and a thousand rainbows illuminate the city, and the fabric merchant stalls are removed, lest they catch on fire from an acute ray of light. The city functions like those in the waking world, with politics, drama, festivals, and ruin. The Dreaming is not a utopia but, its’ inhabitants live lives with intrinsic grooves and patterns like those of a mandala painting.

Today is the ‘Night of a Thousand Lights,’ a decennial tradition within the city. You’ve missed the last two...or was it three? Time. Meaningless to a would-be God. Either way, the last time you were here was with Dima. You see her in every swath of cobalt cloth that’s folded and shelved, in every bright laugh, in the droplets of sparkly water from the fountain where several children are kicking and playing with their loose pants lifted to their knees.

“Kimiyah!” A pregnant woman wraps her arms protectively around the swell of her stomach as she calls for her child.

In a flash, you see Macha, her eyes blazing, her hair shiny copper and fanning over her face. Your memory is a vice. You can remember your sisters as easily as breathing. You simply...choose not to dwell on it. You will dwell when you can act. So long as you are trapped within the Dreaming, you cannot bring them back, no matter how much you wish it. Soon, you promise yourself. The Dreaming will not be my prison forever. You shelve the thoughts like the merchants shelving their dyed fabrics and wander through the narrow, dusty streets.

A pair of massive purple peacocks strut through the street as a leash leads them. Their owner, you presume, holds up a bundle of ribbons for patrons to tie to their lanterns. Your heart aches. You recalled that Dima’s lantern had seven dark blue ribbons tied to it. You hail the gentleman and his dark, bushy eyebrows lift as you pluck three ribbons from his fingers.

One dark green, for Macha, for the fields she so lovingly tended, the green isles of your home.

One silver, for Badb, for the color of her hair, the quicksilver of her tongue, and the shiny pieces that laid upon the burial mounds.

One dark blue, for Dima, for the clouds she pranced through and in remembrance of the storms she wrought.

You are grateful in this moment that Dima is not dead. She is merely banished. It is a fate kinder than the one given to your sisters and the rest of the Gods. You keep wandering, smelling spice, listening to the thousand tongues of mortals and dreams, and stepping through iridescent slices of rainbows that warp around the buildings.

You don’t see Dream, but you feel him. He is inside every inhale. Every speck of dust that clings to your shins. You rub your fingers over the silk ribbon and your eyes linger on the beautiful mosaic architecture of the city. How could someone so infuriating create something so painfully beautiful?

You hug your lantern close to your chest and follow the procession as the sky softens to purple. You nod in gratitude after someone lights your lantern for you and watch the tiny flame dance within.

“Tonight, we release a thousand lights,” a woman said, wearing a ceremonial dress, “and we wish upon them like stars.”

The first lantern is released and swiftly followed by a dozen others. You close your eyes. Reunion. It is the wish that matters. Your freedom is an inevitability, but your reunion with your sisters and Dima is not. You open your eyes and Dream stands before you, less than ten paces away, a pale-faced shadow in a city of golden light and jade and twilight.

Your brow furrows, confusion mixed with anger and desire churns within, and you pointedly turn your face away from him as you release your lantern—the silk ribbons trail after it like a jellyfish’s tentacles.

“Do you need me, Dream Lord?” you ask coolly. He wounded you. You serve him, as Desire willed it, but no more and no less.

The lanterns behind him create hazy, golden starlight as they drift lazily into the sky.

“Will you walk with me?” He offers his elbow.

You slide your hand into the crook of his elbow and fall into step through the throng of dreamers and mortals alike. The children are clapping, and giggling, and pointing to their lanterns as their parents and caregivers hold one another close and smile. There is an air of camaraderie and comfort...and joy. A blissful, and hopeful joy as the Night of a Thousand Lights is a celebration to invite fortune into their lives. A wish made on this night was destined to come true – or so it was said.

“I believe I said I did not wish to speak to you unless it was to release me,” you remind him.

“Yes, I recall.” He steps smoothly and the crowd parts like river water curving around a stone. “Have you made your wish?”

“Does it matter to you?” Your jaw clenches. “Perhaps I wished for Dima’s return, but we both know that will not occur. Are you releasing me or not?”

“When you leave the Dreaming where will you go?”

“To the Otherworld, not only to fulfill my final task to Desire but to see its ruin for myself.” There is no point in lying because there is no victory to be won by keeping your future a secret. You are a creature with ambition if nothing else. “Perhaps to the mortal world for a while. I’d like to see the changes for myself.”

“Will you ever return?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His question remains suspended in the air among the lanterns. He has stopped the idle walking and now faces you, aware that his expression is beseeching. He cannot help it. He cannot help himself. He thought his stubbornness would overrule yours, but he has failed. You are within his Dreaming, but not a part of it. They call you the Queen of Nightmares, but he wishes…oh, how he wishes...for more. A Queen of Dreams and Nightmares.

You slide your hand away from his elbow and cross your arms. Defensive. Strong. Your eyes alight with that inner fire – the fire he saw on your first meeting, the eternal passion that burns within you. He could stare forever into your eyes and never tire of it even if eternity passed he found himself at the end of all things.

“I would return if my friend Dima could return alongside me.”

“Is that so?” he murmurs. “Your affection for her has not waned.”

He traces the shape of your smirking mouth.

“Do I seem a fickle Goddess to you?”

“No,” he replies, “you have shown stalwart loyalty.”

You tear your gaze from him and look up into the sky – no doubt searching for your lantern among the others. Dream finds it. He coaxes it downward with gentle wind and a soft hand until the lantern is floating between you. The ribbons wave and flutter, waiting for its next journey into the dark sky. He can guess your wish. You wish for freedom. A wish that he – and only he – can grant. But indulging in your wish will leave him...in a world without you.

“One ribbon for each sister,” he guesses.

“One for Dima,” you lift the dark blue one, “and two for my sisters.”

He feels the ribbon slip from your fingertips and Dream nudges the lantern back into the sky with a small flourish of his arm. “She was my first friend,” you say quietly, “I didn’t consider myself friends with the other Gods. Not really. And my relationship with my sisters...it was close to friendship, I believe, but still...different. Dima chose me.”

The music and sounds of revelry dull around him.

“She worshiped you and she served you,” Dream says, “we...Gods, Endless, we don’t have friends nor do we need them. I am not friends with any of my subjects.” He is close to his ravens, he supposes, but the word ‘friend’ doesn’t fit correctly. It hangs like an overly large coat.

You wave him off in a flippant gesture. “You don’t understand, Morpheus.” You watch your lantern float into the sky among the pinpricks of flickering orange and gold. “And I do not expect you to. I am neither God nor Endless, as I live between worlds.”

Dream takes a step closer. “If it’s friendship you desire, then I can create a hundred friends for you, each more wonderful than the last.”

“I don’t want creations, Dream.” You frown. “You could create an identical twin to Dima, but it would not be her...and I would miss her all the more for it.”

You were happier when Dima was here. He knows this. But, his decision cannot be so quickly undone.

“In time,” he begins, “I will allow Dima to return. I will lift her banishment.”

You shrug and your expression...closes. He feels it like an icy wind at his back. You are withdrawing and retreating. A protective shell encompasses you instead of the bright, white-hot, and righteous anger that he is familiar with. It is at this moment that Dream realizes he misses you. You stand a foot away and yet he cannot reach you. You may as well be on the other side of the Dreaming – if the Dreaming bothered with meddlesome things like directions and width. He has caused you pain and suffering beyond the grief and agony that you dutifully hide.

A raindrop lands on his cheek. He steps closer. His hands are trembling. He wills them to close, to stop. Your head tilts to the side – and he knows that there is some part of you, no matter how weakened or buried, that senses his fear. He is afraid to lose you. He is afraid to let you go. Another step.

“You have done your duty, Morrigan.” He exhales.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You scan Dream’s face for deception, but he is unsmiling and serious. There is no humor to him. He is all dark angles and dark hair and keen, sharp eyes. Your heart trips inside your chest. You lick your lips and step closer as if drawn by an invisible string to him, and your breath shudders from within. Is he saying what you think he’s saying?

“Am I free to leave the Dreaming?”

Dream’s hand cradles the side of your face. The Dream Lord is to be my undoing. You remind yourself of your sister’s prophecy, but it no longer holds weight. If Morpheus was your death and your doom, then surely it would have happened by now. Your older sister was never wrong, but maybe her death rendered her prophecies obsolete. You inhale sharply as Dream’s thumb skates across the delicate skin below your eye.

“You are,” he whispers, “and you are free to return as you wish. The Dreaming will be open to you…and to Dima as well.”

Your fingers crawl along his chest and grip the lapels of his woolly coat. “Do you promise?” Be it God, or Endless, their word is their bond.

A heavy weight presses into your chest. You have dreamed of your eventual release a million times, but you never imagined it would look like this surrounded by flickering paper lanterns and twirling ribbons beneath a palace made of glass. His eyes widen imperceptibly, but otherwise, his expression remains grave.

“Yes.” He rests his forehead against yours. “As long as you promise to return.”

“Very well,” you say and the words come out choked, congested with relief and euphoria. Freedom at last. Freedom. A chance for a reunion just as you had wished. Dream collects your hands and joins them with his at the center of his chest.

Dream whispers, “Until next we meet.”

[blunt-force-therapy]

Finally, an intro post!

POSTING LIMIT: hit

Drafts counter: 1670 of 1750 left

ASKBOX: Askbox open, Asks w/ media open, Anons open

SUBMISSIONS: Open

Basics:

My name is Maximilian, or Max for short. I am Brazilian, 19 years old, NB, panmasculine but mostly nonhuman, bi, maybe a little ace. Preferred pronouns are it/its, but she/her is also fine (no they/them, he/him only if you know me). I've been here since January 2023 and still haven't figured this place out, but I hope you'll have fun snooping around my blog.

My Community:

So I made this thing. I didn't expect it to be approved but it is indeed one of the things that exist. Come in to have some fun if you want :3

Hobbies: work in progress

Main interests:

Academic: General history, particularly of European and Amerindian societies, ancient European history, early Slavic history, 16th and 17th century Taiwan, Tokugawa Japan, the Republic of China, and of course Brazilian history. Language and linguistics, particularly Romance and Slavic languages.

Anime: Code Geass, Soul Eater, Death Note are the ones I like the most (will reblog stuff from Hetalia, Dungeon Meshi, and whatever's gay, cute, or even both)

Fanfiction: Meh. Only recently getting back into reading Harry Potter fanfics and that's after a while. If you have fanfics from a fandom I'm not in I'll still read them though.

Games: Uhhhh, Minecraft? And Tetris? I play Grepolis too.

Literature: For non-fiction I mostly enjoy historical and biographical works; my favourite authors so far are Anthony Beevor and Laurentino Gomes. For fiction I mostly enjoy fantasy and historical fiction, some of my favourite books are the Harry Potter, Leviathan, and Artemis Fowl series. I also love anything ever written by Finnish author Mika Waltari.

Movies: I don't do that.

Random: Calligraphy, conlanging and conscripting, language learning (currently Russian), legal history, true crime, execution methods, calendar reform, antidisestablishmentarianism, and others, and others, and others.

People I'll block on sight:

Just the usual. TERFs, "gender critical", radfems, serial killers (unless you're hot), and so on. I'm also very careful to avoid any interaction whatsoever from antisemites and people who spread antisemitic language and materials. Furthermore, if you seek to deny, minimise, justify, or ignore war crimes and crimes against humanity by any regime or political movement (communist, capitalist, fascist, etc) I wish explosive diarrhoea upon you.

If you're a minor and make any advances towards me I'll tell you to cut that out once, if it happens again I'll softblock.

If you're devoutly Christian (which is not a strict DNI criteria) and post about it very very frequently, I might not want to follow you back in order to avoid that sort of content.

Sideblogs:

Active: @official-macau

Inactive: @official-svetka

Inconsistently active: @aljamianova @extendedcyrillicblog

Good stuff about me:

Proficient in Word, Excel and PowerPoint;

Always willing to at least listen and in the case of an argument, to hear out your side of it;

Aspiring casual writer; occasionally creative and even poetic when not hysterical;

Poly, Trans, NB, Intersex, Therian, etc friendly;

Will make an effort to use your pronouns accurately;

Have been cringe enough in my time to not be upset with "edgy" humour, just vaguely disappointed;

Will react to your ships positively or neutrally, no ship is truly bad, I may not enjoy it though;

I pee sitting down

Bad stuff about me:

I have a lot of trouble with communication and that's very frustrating, so might take a good while to respond if you message me;

You might see a lot of very incoherent vent posts here, I don't mind interaction with them;

I don't enjoy talking or hearing about most subjects to do with maths or physics. I also don't enjoy talk of Christianity no matter how progressive;

I tend to lash out at mostly inconsequential things sometimes.

Tags:

#s3lf for posts I write myself

#pos reblogs for posts I reblogged where someone in the reblog chain is a genuine piece of shit (will specify who)

#büllshit (old) for joke posts, I'll figure out another tag to use sometime later

#mail💜 for asks from my beloved mutuals or asks I especially liked

#mail for asks from people I don't know

#...mail for generally weird asks and anon hate

#vent, kinda self-explanatory

#bad music, also kinda self explanatory

#!!!!!!!, for beautiful art and beautiful mutuals :)

#nsfw, anything my boss wouldn't want me to see at work if I had a boss or worked

#@~@ for all the horny shit I'm REALLY into

#boydinner for all the cannibalism, occasionally #girldinner if the context of the post requires it

I usually trigger tag starting with "tw", as in "tw blood", "tw violence", etc. Send me an ask if you want me to trigger tag specific stuff, I really wouldn't mind at all

I should collect those text bands that tell you stuff like "this user is a faggot" and other things like that. This is still a work in progress, I'll Ship of Theseus the hell out of this bitch

[diabolicalcunt]

I feel the need to pin this cause I’ve always been notorious for people loving me when they first meet me, and then finding out that my political views are not extremely liberal. So here’s all the reasons you will hate me once you get to know me. Or not. I honestly don’t care I’m just sick of the ‘You aren’t who I made you out be in my head!’ conversations.

So my unpopular opinions in no order-

1. They/them is something that’s being encouraged by big brother to see yourself as non or less human.

2. DID isn’t real and you just disassociate a specific way. I look like I’ve been drugged cause I fall down ‘inside’ myself like a well and have no reaction time and can barely speak. I’m like a sloth. You pretend to be a anime character. It’s just coping.

3. The concept of trans genocide is fear mongering by big brother and means to keep boundaries between social groups.

4. To build off 3, the push to medically transition underage children is a move by big pharmaceutical companies to create a permanent customer. Because whether you decide to stay transitioned or de transition, you’re going to be on medication for the rest of your life whether you like it or not. There’s also the whole issue with child exploitation. You’ll be judgmental against Dance Moms, but you won’t say anything about a mom who transitioned her child when they were two years old and made them a social media star.

5. Trans men and women who have been charged with a crime belong in LGBT prison wings. Because we have created a culture where male rapists can put on its dress and be rewarded with a permanent stay in the hen house where they can victimize more women and the system will just cry transphobia and call the victims liars. You got a problem with that? I have never seen a trans man pushing to get put in men’s prison. I wonder why… 😐

6. Blair White is queen.

7. I will fight Henry Cavill on sight. I don’t give a shit how bad you want motorboat him. He’s a fucking pedophile.

8. Same goes for David Bowie. When I get to the afterlife I’m gonna make him wish he could die again. Ask me if you want my full on sight list. 😂

9. I stand with Palestine. Yes I think Islam is a horrible religion that is anti woman. I still don’t think kids should die for the grievances of adults and I think it’s fucked up Israel is doing the same shit Nazis did to them and expect us to nod and smile!

10. Qu**r is just as much of a slur as f*g*t or n*gg*r. I don’t use it and if you do I will block you no questions asked. Say gay! Say lesbian! Say…bisexual! 😱

11. Butch women are valid as fuck and I adore y’all . They aren’t trans men, fuck your lesbian phobia.

12. To build off 11, the new LGBT movement has been infected by woke homophobia and the new trans movement is nothing but conversion therapy in a mask.

13 . Radical feminists are women’s last hope.

14. Marvel movies always sucked, we were just kids and ate up the pretty colors.

15. Dune is a white male savior story.

16. Your fave is not autistic, trans, gay or whatever. You just need validation cause you have no confidence.

17. The Boys should have never cast Jensen Ackles and the Supernatural fandom needs psychological help.

18. Too many of y’all try to primp and posture as the gods of your fandom and yes I say that as someone who did the same and stepped away when I realized how cringe I was. Lording over autistic adults and actual children is pathetic. Get therapy and a real hobby.

19. While gender neutral fanfiction has its place. The trend that all fanfiction needs to be gender neutral is literally killing the creativity and frankly the spice to fanfiction. I hate this trend where piece of media needs to be sterilized so it can be consumed by anyone, even people just passing by. It goes against the concept of creating at its core. Sometimes things are made for specific groups. Sometimes it’s made just for you. The things you create do not need to be sanitized to the point there’s no substance, just a hollow consumption. Think of it this way. Would you rather have a hot pizza of your preference or would you prefer to just drink a bowl of water because someone on the other side of the world might not like pizza?

20. The WWE Divas belt was iconic. I get the whole take women wrestlers seriously movement and I agree! But god damn it, it’s a Bratz belt!!! Gimme!!!!!

21. I fucking HATE koalas. They literally only exist because humans have dumped millions of dollars and keeping them alive. If natural selection were allowed to take his course, they would’ve died off 100 years ago. The food they consume has so little nutrition that they have evolved to have the smallest brain to cranium capacity of any animal to create a built in helmet!! Why? Cause they are so stupid they literally fall out of trees and drop their infants!!! They shit on their young and have permanent diarrhea due to the 0 nutrition thing. They carry chlamydia. They’re so fucking stupid they can’t fuck and have to be artificially inseminated to continue the population. If I couldn’t get laid on my own, the government would not drop millions of dollars into making sure I do!! So why did koalas get it? Literally a waste of resources that could be going to feed thousands of hungry children and instead we’re keeping a fucking retarded (I’m on the spectrum fuck you) animal alive who should have gone extinct hundreds of years ago cause it’s supposedly ‘cute’!! God! I hate koalas!

[theweirdspacejellyfish]

webtoons

samantha and growler by Pareinn

summary: a glimpse into the lives of young 8 year old samantha and her shapeshifting, monstrous friend named growler

my best friend is a merman by ValerieOs - Giorf

summary: the daily life of a human boy, devan and a merman, wiley as they grow up, befriend people and slowly mature between love, social and personal problems

aptenodytes kaiju by RidicBird

summary: aptenodytes, a powerful kaiju with ice powers who prefers creating ice sculptures than partake in fights against other kaijus

blackened by Mr.Freaksaur

summary: searching for relationships through apps seemed like a solution for zoe, a young plant-crazy witch. everything was fine, until she got a date with the mysterious and friendly blak. however, there is a detail: he is a monster

agents and kings by Ze Sketch

summary: welcome to ciren city! an enormous, bustling place of prosper where descendants of ancient creatures live amongst humans in relative harmony. follow deleon's story as his simple life is set ablaze by the infamous crime lord, don walker calloway. with no understanding of how to navigate the complicated world of turf wars and weapons dealing, deleon finds himself reliant on the support of his new boss as he slowly learns how to survive ciren city while coping with sentience

YokaiDay by Rann-poisoncage

summary: when shou is forced to marry an oni lord, he run away. he meets dai, a mountain oni who takes him under his wing. but shou's brother ryuu is set to bring him back. that is if the oni lord doesnt get his hands on him before that, because there is no way ryuu likes that lord

la carte de amor by Nox-cat

summary: this fanfiction is fun to read and followes the romance of some of the characters from encanto

hooves of death by Sam Bragg

summary: its the end of the world, and humanity is on its last leg against the zombie horde. now, all that stands between mankind and total extinction are commander sprinkles, blaze, sergeant glitter and a handful of other fierce warriors. mythical creatures with supernatural powers and incredible determination, they have sworn to protect the human race. yes, they are unicorns - but they are also our last hope

[jamiesfootball]

Please tell us more about your original works!!

Honest to God, I was thinking of your stories earlier today and thought how lucky we are you spend any time writing fan fiction (and for the show that is my hyper fixation! How did I get this lucky?) because you’re so fucking talented you should writing real books.

you are always far far nicer to me than i deserve and I LOVE IT! (I LOVE YOU!!)

The wonderful thing about fanfiction is that writing for Ted Lasso has full-on cured my years-long writing slump. And I am looking at all of these book ideas, some of which have been kicking around in my brain for going on 10 years, and i'm like....yeah, yeah. I am going to work on those :D

So these are the ones I'm working on. They are in various states of progress.

My Babies! If any of these are getting finished first, it will be one of these three!

Barnacle - the placeholder name for my DETECTIVE STORY. A woman who has recently left a troubled marriage, our main character is a shell of the person she used to be. Wanting to put as much distance between her and the California life she left behind, she's rented a cabin in the middle of a small tourist town in the northern cold. When a man in the neighboring cabin is murdered during the night, she finds her mind stirred to action as the pieces of herself that she thought lost slowly come back to her. (And then she becomes a private investigator because I love detective stories and she solves crimes and makes friends and this is just the first one and I'm like. super excited about it.)

A Robot Named Future - this one is my long-brewing wip. It's about an AI robot from the not-to-distant future that gets rebooted ('wakes up') in a junkyard the very far distant future. Lots of scifi tropes, lots about the erosion of history and humans always being humans, and of course, food. Like a lot about food in this one.

Chasing Whispers in the Canyon (Western (sort of)) - Injured and AWOL military soldier Joanna is on the brink of death in the middle of the desert when she is saved by a tall, pale stranger. Her and the stranger -- an offputting, odd woman who's absolutely lethal with a pistol - hunker down together in a small town that seems on the verge of its own small war. When trouble comes for Joanna, the stranger risks drawing the attention of her own complicated past to save the woman who is possibly her only friend. (yes, the placeholder title is a song title. One song spurred all of this. I regret nothing)

The ones I'll get to one day!

Boots and Babes on the Boardwalk - I don't know why I titled it this way other than the alliteration (needs a new title). This one is about a partially closeted, mentally ill, middle aged gay man who's running his conservaative family's shady business. He just fell head over heels about another man, and that's serving as an impetus for him to actually look at his life. On temporary hiatus because the plot is a little wobbly

The Lens - Guy who recently went blind and had to drop out of an art program accompanies his still-seeing friend to a museum exhibit. Due to the awkward tension their circumstances have put between them, neither notices when his friend proceeds to lose the camera equipment he'd checked out from campus. With the museum closing in an hour and his friend's final grades on the line, these two piece together where in the museum his friend lost his camera. (this one is more like a novella or a long short story)

The Hoard - One night. One party. Five thieves. One pile of dragon treasure. (Think leverage but the treasure they are stealing belongs to a corrupt government via dragons).

Hawaiian Shirts and Bruised Eyes - A butch, lesbian stuntwoman who broke her arm on a motorcycle meets a nurse at the hospital who may just be the love of her life. The love of her life may also be a serial killer. It's hard to say.

The Frog Witch - vengeful disgraced witch lady seeks revenge against the people who wronged her with the help of a prince who has been cast out from his people. References to Euripedes' Medea.

[felixisislost]

Suguru Geto Oneshot:

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Warnings? - Spoilers of season 2 of JJK (And the manga of that season), the ending gets a little bit spicy~⚠️

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Summary- As a fellow second year and close friend of Gojo and Geto's, you come back home after a mission to find you have a secret visitor...

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A.N: Hiya~

This was based off a dream I had, granted, I can't remeber the whole dream, so I couldn't make it as good as the dream was... However, I tried. Lmao. That, and the rest of the dream was... Anyway, umm, if you have requests for a charater, depending on who it is, or something, i'd be glad to try give you something good. Also if you want, give a scenario with your suggestion if you have one in mind. I am willing to do most types of fanfiction, though I might be a little reluctant to doing angst, but it's still on the table. Also side note, but I dislike how they animated him in the movie TvT But season 2 of Jujutsu Kaisen was such a nice art styleeeee, they really drew him well. Anyway, I appreciate you taking the time to read this, i'll do better next time, and i'm sorry Geto OOC, i've never written him before TvT.

Also, you both arn't togeather in this fanfic, you just have an unspoken love for one another.

Love,

Felixity_

❤️❤️❤️❤️

(～￣▽￣)～

(╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

P.S: I stopped writing because I got embarressed and doubt anyone would want more of this, lmfao

Oneshot:

(E/C) orbs scrunched up in a mixture of fear and distaste at the sight infront of you.

The blood wasn't what reflected in the mirth of your soul, no, it was the images of how the blood came to stain the stage. Your body wouldn't allow itself to shiver.

As a Jujutsu Sorcerer, you thought you would be prepared for something like this.

You thought you could handle witnessing a sheer, utter carnage.

The way older people talked about their experiences never lived up to the heartless reality.

It... was terrifiying.

There wasn't even words to describe the feeling, witnessing, viewing it all go down, like some kind of sick horror film starring the love of your life.

Bits and pieces of human remains decorated the room, almost as if competeing to see what could be spread out more. Blood, or flesh. The remains danced togeather, the blood giving a innate light in contrast to how it had come to splay out.

Jolting, a hand slid its way onto your shoulder. Giving soft skin a light squeeze, Geto leaned forward, chest pressing against your back as he looked down at you with a smile.

"You doing alright there, (Y/N)?" He asked warmly, looking scarily unbothered by what had gone down. His sleeves drapped over you, almost doubling as a cloak as well as covering him. He felt warm, and his breathing was heavy, yet quick, as if he were... excited.

You only knew what had happened to the laid back sorcerer from tales spun by his partner.

Off on missions of your own, you had been late to hear about the strife caused when everything changed. When he had changed.

Changed.

His whole demeanor, everything about him, it all was so different, yet the still the same.

That made it all the harder to condem him for his actions, because deep down, it was too painful, too hard to see the monster that stood infront of you.

It's like you didn't want to taint the memory of the kind hearted sorcerer.

Human minds were so fickle, overworn with emotion and lies, to the point it felt better to blatently ignore the harsh reality, rather than accept the truth.

The cruel strings of fate pulled us togeather, no matter what treasonous crimes he committed, forcing you to sway and melt at his touch as if he were some imaginary god.

Swallowing the lump forming in your throat, it's like the whole world became dark, silent.

Watery eyes gazed up at Suguru Geto, bottom lip trembling.

Running his fingers through soft (H/C) hair, he offered a soft smile in the hopes of offering what comfort he could. To add to the silence, it only made time slow, all that existed was us.

You still remembered the day you had come back home to find the man infront of you perched upon the window cill of your once locked apartment.

He couldn't resist the temptation of saying good bye to the one person he had truely loved.

This was different, this meant something more to him than just bidding farewell.

Even after his explanation, opening up on his ideals, you still told him you'd come with him.

No.

You didn't agree with his mindset. If anything, it scared you beyond words. But this is what you did for love. You left everything behind, all to stick with him.

The only thing you brought with you were the clothes on your back. That and the desperate hope that one day, perhaps, you could bring him back home.

The real Suguru Geto.

Geto stared back into your eyes with his sleepy looking features almost glowing in this massacre of a hall. The feeling of his fingers winding into your hair almost made you melt in his arms. He was so warm, so very warm and comforting.

For a mass murderer.

"Come on, let's get away from the filth" He whispered softly, delicatly running his fingers down the expanse of your arm, slipping his hand into yours while Hanako and Mimiko skipped ahead of us. His hands were big, and felt rough, a little calloused at the palms. They envelloped your much smaller ones as you walked, his heavily layered clothing brushing against you as you made your way home.

****************************************************

"(Y/N)," Geto lay on his side, head propped up by an arm. With his free hand, he gestured with a couple fingers, signalling for you to approach. Blinking, you tottered over, sitting down infront of him and crossing your legs. "Sweetheart, I'm glad you came with me."

A light blush spread across you cheeks at his words, sinking in and tugging at your heartstrings.

Sitting up, Geto hunched over, leaning forward and carressing your cheek. Forehead gently coming to rest against your own, your eyes locked uncomfortably, pulse racing.

"Why did you come?" Geto asked, cupping your cheeks as you gazed into eachothers eyes.

"Because..."

You had to think long and hard about the answer, unable to lie or look away from his magnatizing gaze. His long fluffy hair lay over his shoulder, swinging forward and brushing against your colarbone, illicting a shiver.

"......I didn't want to lose you."

He chuckled at the honesty, and yet his sharp eyes saw that it wasn't entirely the whole truth.

"I didn't want to lose you either, even if we don't agree on ideals," Geto looked past the eyes, and he stared your soul in the face, sending tremors through your body as you leaned into his touch. In a way, it pained Geto that you didn't agree. He didn't need to ask you to know that you didn't agree, he could sense it. He always had been gifted in terms of reading people, you in particular. Yet the fact you were still here anyway, and the fact the you knew you wern't strong enough to fight him was almost calming to him.

After all that he had done, you were there.

You.

You alone.

"I love you. You were one thing I didn't want to leave behind, not in a world as cruel and unforgiving as this," The bundled up man continued, carressing your cheek with this thumb, memorising the feeling of the soft plushy skin underneath. He spoke with a warmth, something deep within that made the whole day become lost in your mind as if this very moment, right here, right now, was all that would define him.

Define the man, not the murderer.

Lightly brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, he shifted his head slowely, cheek pressed against cheek as he lightly whispered in your ear, "I'm glad  we can see past our differences. I would have hated myself if I had to kill off the one part of myself I need."

Eyes widening at his words, Geto lightly placed feather soft kisses along your neck, being impossibly gentle. Clutching onto the fabric of his sleeves, your head tilted back, exposing your throat to him in both a gesture of love and a sign of submission.

In that very moment, you knew.

You knew there was no changing the passionate man back, there was no bringing him back.

There was only going forward, fate sealed by eachother.

"I love you too" The soft breathy words left your mouth as the soft wet muscle of Geto's tongue ran along your throat, up to your jawline.

The words 'I love you' had never been spoken by eaither party before, only spoken in the eyes of your daily lives involving eachother.

For the time you had known eachother, the secret infactuation had only grown more and more, every moment spent togeather being the next best day of your life.

It was almost funny they had finally been spoken, given the circumstances, yet the line between friends or lovers dissapeared as your lips pressed against one another.

The way his hands had met your waist, pulling you closer, and your arms wound around his neck, hands becoming lost in his hair, it was like this was all meant to happen.

Lips hugging, his surprisingly soft lips parted, tongue slipping out to carress your lips.

Shifting about underneath him, you were gently laid down onto your back, clinging to him as the cool floor made impact with your warm skin.

Cradelling you close, a soft gasp escaped your lips at the feeling of his hands running up your waist. Seizing the oppertunity, he filled the hot wet cavern of your mouth with his tongue.

Lightly moaning against the sensation of sensative flesh meeting flesh, his tongue brushed against yours, tasteing your whole being, rubbing against the slick of your inner cheeks.

[alongwaytostar]

*Clears throat*

“ Bitches, bros, and non-binary hoes, we are gathered here today in haphhazard communion, to witness the condemnation of one Tay Mcangst shitty-slutty-ash-toobles-Pornmagazine. Tay, which is far too anglisized a name for a semitic revolutionary who exists as Russia’s worst nightmare given human form, proves we cannot all escape the allure of Taylor swift, deadly siren that she is.

This court comes to order, to flay open the plethora of crimes commited against readers and mutuals everywhere, by this menacing figure of “Shittygaypornmagazine” on the problematic and venerable tumblr dot com. (In painful tandem with the affects of certain works of fiction through Archive of our own dot org) To expose the psychic damage inflicted upon those at the mercy of Mr. Pornmagazine’s wordsmithing.

Throughout history, humanity has suffered at the hands of its brethren, and it is my humble opinion that the monopoly held by this “Tay” mimics those observed even in ancient times. “There was no rest left for the commons, and, as the last straw, they where now to be taxed. Poor creatures!-crawling home exhausted, mutilated, decrepit with age, they would find everything gone in their long absence to wrack and ruin.” (Livy, The early history of Rome, 5.10) Though this excerpt was taken from a history detailing the events of Roman history in the year 401 B.C.E, it also applies perfectly to the experience of following tumblr user Shittygaypornmagazine. Indeed the allegory of the ogligarchy relates quite well to the fanfiction experience at large. In this case, Tay has been charged as responsible for the emotional deprication of their readers, through use of merciless angst, nought but unfulfilled promises of fluff, and a considerably playful attitude towards the affair as a whole. For this reason, the formal prognosis for Tay’s crimes, has been to charge him with “Corruption of the youth.”

Now, it is duely acknowledged by the court, that another important figure of western antiquity, was charged with this same crime and kept his honor. Socrates, saying at the very end of his trial, “Now it is time that we were going, I to die and you to live, but which of us has the happier prospect is unknown to anyone but God.” (Plato: collected dialogues, Socrates’ defense (apology) 26)

Tay, though undoubtedly equally well spoken, will not share in Socrates’ mode of death. Hemlock is an unforgiving mistress and the courts have designed a much better instrument. Faithful companion to the accused, Yris Latteyi, has lovingly crafted a bright pink guillotine for the purpose of bringing their angst tormentor to justice. We thank you for your dedication, Yris.

With all the evidence presented, and only a few self important tangents committed by the writer of this piece, this court is hereby adjourned with the following conclusion; Tay Mcangst shitty-slutty-ash-toobles-Pornmagazine, is condemned forthwith to death by pink guillotine.

As a final homage to sir Pornmagazines influential nature on the fandom, though everything they didnt want is everything he was, we promise that we will sing about you.

@shittygaypornmagazine @yris-latteyi

*slams hammer on table* “Court adjourned, go home you hedonistic fucks.”

[mariacecil]

I always thought that I'll love wolfstar more. I was wrong I loved jegulus, I breathe it, it is the oxygen in my blood, it is everything and nothing all at once. I love jegulus so much, I yearn for it but I loathe it, I held unto my grudges. This ship ruined me and made me worse, I was starting to be okay again and it decided to strangle me, to kill me, to leave me breathless but the problem was I just let it do whatever it wants and the truth is I don't care I love it so much to care, I voice no complaints and I accept everything that it gives me because I don't care, I love them so much, they are my world, they're everything to me.

[grumpygreenwitch]

Fanfiction 17-18-19

WARNING FOR IMPLIED BODILY HARM. Fortunately, when you're very, very, very old, you tend to have very, very, very old friends, too. About ten chapters to go, so maybe 2-4 weeks.

Buy me a Ko-fi?

1-2-3 + 4-5 + 6-7-8-9-10 + 11-12 + 13-14 + 15-16 + 17-18-19 + 20-21 + 22-23 + 24-25 + 26-27

17

"They're moving him to the Refuge tomorrow," Evie told them all when she came into the meeting room of her Boston offices. "Which tells me he was telling me the truth. They've not been able to get anything useful out of him."

"I don't want to sound the asshole," Gevaun rumbled quietly. "But the sunflower's an angel, he's not even three centuries old. How, in the name of every place under the sun, is he standing up to an archangel rooting through his brain?"

"He's probably not." Jean was coiled in a seat, staring out the window at the snow-clad Boston Common grounds. His jaw was clamped down so tightly the muscles of his jaw made his face look even leaner than it was. "Raphael’s likely pulling it all out of him. And all of it is numbers." He shook his head minutely, flicking his fingers at his own temple. "Angel accountant. A secret language no one else in the world knows."

"They'll fry him for trying to, the rest of them," Gevaun realized.

Jean buried his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry, Jean."

"Not as sorry as I am," the older vampire said roughly. "I should've known this was what he was doing. I should've seen it. I should've trusted him. I should've -"

"Should've what, gone with him?" Evie cut him off tartly. "To Archangel Tower, crawling with Guild Hunters? So someone could recognize you and collar you?"

"I'm his Second!" Jean sprung to his feet and shouted at her. Evie and Gevaun both stared; never once in all the time they'd known the vampire had he been able to so much as look an angel in the eyes for more than a few seconds. But there was no fear to Jean at the moment, only rage. "I'm his safety. I'm his shield. I don't care what it cost me, I should be there with him."

"See, this is why he locked you up."

"Aside from the obvious issue, Jean, they would've just used you against him," Gevaun pointed out.

"He can't stay there. He can't - They can't take him to the Refuge. I won't let them. If they hurt him, I hurt them."

"One, don't go feral on me, "Evie said calmly. "Two, actually, we want him taken to the Refuge." When the vampires stared at her in disbelief, she went on impatiently. "There are no Hunters in the Refuge! There are no humans! No one to ID Jean! Do you think Kliman hasn't been thinking about how to fix this already?! How can you both be this dense, you're supposed to be good at your jobs!"

"Can Kliman get him out?"

"Not alone. You're both going to the Refuge."

"When?" Jean was already out of his seat.

Evie offered him a thin smile. "Now."

18

Alyss woke up and immediately curled up into a ball under his wings. Every inch of him hurt and the roar of the nearby engines wasn't helping. It throbbed in the tattered marrow of his bones, it pounded through the shattered remains of his skull, it left his heart dancing erratically, each piece to its own tempo. He felt as if he might be sick but there was nothing in his stomach to bring up.

He was in one piece, for the most part, though it didn't feel like it. There had been nothing kind about his interrogation at Archangel Tower. It didn't surprise him, really; he was technically guilty of the second most heinous of crimes within angelic society. He'd expected to be treated as a criminal. He'd expected to be killed out of hand once Raphael had what he wanted. He'd never, in his wildest dreams, expected to be right.

But he had been right. The pipeline did not exist in his mind as locations and names; it was numbers. Expenses against inflow, laundering processes, spikes of statistical activity. Mileage measured not by the mile, but by the cost of fuel. Safehouses tallied not by their location, but by the sum total of the bills when it came to their upkeep. Supporters kept not by name but by donations, taxes, net sums, expected interests. He'd surrendered everything, he'd been a wisp of breath before the storm that was the Archangel. Alyss doubted Raphael had even noticed the meager fight the young angel had put up.

But the Archangel understood nothing of what he'd gained from Alyss. And that understanding, he couldn't force from the angel's mind. It was instinctual, a thing as true to Alyss as his breathing or the beating of his heart. He'd always known numbers; it was human languages he'd had to learn.

"Here," a man's voice said. Alyss peeked through the ruin of one wing, and saw a gloved hand holding a bottle of water to him.

"I don't think it'll stay down," he admitted in a hoarse little groan. "But thank you."

The man walked away and Alyss stared after him. He'd never been on a plane, there had never been a reason for him to fly under anything but his own power. But his parents were technically under the oversight of Archangel Michaela. And apparently when Raphael had contacted them with news of his treachery, their immediate reaction had been to call the steward for Michaela's lands.

Aegaeon was an Ancient, his idea of judgment and justice very different from that of the Archangel who was holding Alyss. The young accountant was entirely unaware that Raphael had flatly refused to execute him; further, he’d refused to give Aegaeon access to Alyss, calling his motives suspect – a very reasonable accusation but one that had further inflamed the Ancient’s temper. Aegaeon had demanded access by proxy; Raphael, for the sake of diplomacy, had agreed. By the time someone had realized the vampire had been sent to savage Alyss’ wings so he couldn’t escape, the damage had been done. It had been another good reason to move the young angel to the Refuge, under the watch of someone less entangled than the two Archangels.

The man returned, combat boots coming into Alyss' line of sight a moment before he crouched down. He was an older man, powerfully built, some salt in the close-cropped pepper of his hair. He had a square face and seemed to find nothing particularly enthusing about the world around him. He wore urban fatigues and was one of a dozen men and woman settled at regular intervals around the angel. Not a vampire; there were no vampires on the massive cargo plane. Raphael would not risk potential sympathizers helping Alyss escape.

Which meant, the young angel knew, that there were sympathizers. That others knew the system was broken, and since no one who could was stepping up to fix it, Alyss had. And so they'd come to this impasse. It was a small relief, to know the pipeline would survive, that others would pick up the fight. It was terrifying to think that it would do so without him. And it was heartbreaking to know that, where he was going, he was alone.

"Not gonna die on us, are you?" the man asked.

"Oh, is that an option? I didn't realize," Alyss replied wearily.

The man chuckled a bit. "You've got heart to spare, angel, I'll give you that."

"No, no. I'm a coward. Very much not a fighter, me. If I were I wouldn't be here."

"If you were you'd still be here," the man clarified ruthlessly, but without malice. "Just in more pieces."

Alyss couldn't deny that. "Is it very long to the Refuge?" he asked. "No offense, I'm sure your plane is very nice but it's rattling my bones right out of me."

"You don't run out of manners, do you." The man shifted a little. "A few hours still." When his prisoner moaned, he couldn't help a little grin. "Want that water?"

"Do you have a blanket?"

One brow went up. "You're cold? I thought angels didn't get cold."

"Someone neglected to pass that memo along," Alyss said tiredly. "But I think I'll take the water, thank you."

After that, under a plain and scratchy blanket, he dozed, exhaustion making up for comfort. He snapped awake a few times, when the ragged places where the vampire's knife had gone right into the meat of the wing smacked into the plane's structure, but otherwise Alyss slept, his nightmares full of words he didn't want to hear and couldn't escape.

Do you trust me?

I thought I could!

The landing roused him to a panic, and his heart was still beating a harried march when he was escorted out of the plane. There were people waiting for him on the ground, none of whom he recognized. An angel, red-winged and dark-eyed, gasped when he saw Alyss. "What did you do to his wings?!"

"Us, nothing. This was done on orders of Archangel Aegaeon back in New York. He sent one of his own people to do it, too. Forbade any sort of medical attention to be tendered." The man who'd offered water, a blanket and a bit of kind conversation, offered the angel the transfer documentation. "Take it up with him, god knows I want to."

The angel yanked away the paperwork, scowling. Alyss was taken, on winding and well-hidden paths, back to the only place that had even come close to being a home, though it had never fully felt like one. No place ever had, not until Maine. Not until the lodge.

No place anymore.

He walked until he nearly fell, light-headed with pain and exhaustion. Someone caught him and he mumbled an apology. He was carried to a spare, empty room, and he frowned at the open balcony of it, trying to figure out why his mind balked at it. It took his weary, aching brain a long time to figure out why: the view was completely unfamiliar. "This isn't Michaela's ward."

"No," the red-winged angel replied, his expression guarded. "It's Elijah’s."

Alyss couldn't even begin to figure that answer out, and he shook his head against the tide of questions. He regretted the gesture immediately. "May I have water, please?" He gripped his temples, trying to convince the pain to go away. "To wash up."

The red-winged angel hesitated visibly. On the one hand Aegaeon's dictum left no room for doubt: he'd commanded no succor of any kind be offered to the traitor. On the other hand the young angel looked like someone had gone at him with a hacksaw. It hurt Mateo to even look at him. Add to that the fact that no one was entirely clear on who the young angel looked to. Yes, his parents in theory dwelt with and answered to the Archangel of Central Europe, but neither they nor Alyss had ever sworn such a vow regarding the young angel’s service. And with Michaela in anshara still, Aegaeon was enforcing his will based on rights-by-proxy that were in and of themselves coasting on parentage, not actual fealty. On the other hand Alyss' crimes, if they could be proved, had mostly happened within Raphael's territory. The Archangel of North America had already contested before the Council Aegaeon's right to summarily pass judgment on Alyss. The ensuing squabble was another reason neither of them was holding onto Alyss. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," Alyss said. There was a shelf, wooden and bare, affixed to the wall on one side of the room. Otherwise there was nothing. It had been darkened and polished by age and use, and Alyss laid down on it and slept. There seemed to be little else he could do, and in the dreamless darkness Jean's accusing words and the doubt in his green gaze couldn't chase after the angel and break his heart a little more.

He woke up to very quiet, gentle whispers. He turned on the shelf, banged one of his battered wings on it, and fell right off with a cry of pain.

"Alyss!" It was a familiar voice, that much he knew at the moment, but everything else was a wash of white, ringing noise. Strong arms picked him up, helped him sit on the shelf.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered inanely. "I must look a fright, I'm sorry."

"What you look like, that's what worries you?"the same familiar voice asked in disbelief, and Alyss finally roused out of pain and shock to recognize it.

He looked up into eyes of of violet and indigo to match the angel's wings. "Kliman!"

"Oh, sweet child." When he clung to her, the old angel wrapped her arms around him and held him tight, rocking him lightly as he wept like a youngling. "Oh, shh, shh. It's alright. It's alright."

Once the storm of his emotions was spent, Alyss pulled away, rubbing fretfully at his face. "Ah, yes. You put me in a little bit of trouble and I turn into a toddler once again."

"All things considered, I think you're allowed," Kliman told him dryly, taking his hands in both of hers and cradling them close. "You'll be alright, Alyss. I'll make sure of it."

"I forgt you were here in the Refuge," he said tiredly. "And if they start asking questions... Maybe you should leave. Or Sleep. Everything else is safe, it's just me on the line. So that's alright."

"That is absolutely not alright," Kliman told him sharply. "What happened to your wings?"

"Oh, my parents look to Archangel Michaela. And I never took an oath to any Archangel, any Court, so with her gone, um... When Raphael followed up with my parents I guess they called Aegaeon. He decided if I couldn't be killed out of hand I was a flight risk. How did you even know I was here? How did you find me?"

"Alyss, everyone knows you're here. I don't know who leaked the story out but you've torn us in two. I never would have thought so many angels would be on our side; I always thought I was a rarity, as were you. As for how I got to you," she glanced to the other angel in the room. "I asked an old friend for help."

Alyss turned to look at the other angel, and gasped. She'd kept as much distance between herself and them as she could, giving them what little privacy a few steps could afford. But angel or not she was unmistakable, the indigo wings shimmering when she moved, the rich gold of her eyes startling in a face so delicate it seemed spun glass, tinier even than Alyss himself. Sputtering something unintelligible between a greeting and an apology Alyss tried to stand up and bow, simultaneously. Bereft of the counterbalance of his plumage and entirely unable to do so many things at the same time, he nearly went down on his face.

The two angels caught him. "Child, one angel does not bow to another. We hardly even bow to Archangels."

"My lady Hummingbird, if I don't bow to you there's no one to bow to," Alyss stammered.

Sharine offered him a wry little smile. "Do you know me or of me, young one?"

"Doesn't everyone know of you? What are they even teaching children these days?" he protested wanly as they led him back to the bench.

"Ah, I'm sure they're learning all sorts of things and having all sorts of adventures, as one should at that age, but I'm not a creature of the Refuge these days. Now." She sat before him on the shelf, catching his hands in hers. "Kili brought a few things she thought you might need -"

"… Kili?"

"- and she's going to clean your wings."

"But Archangel Aegaeon said -"

"I don't care," Sharine said with rather more energy than Alyss expected of anyone with the Hummingbird's reputation, "what Aegaeon said. He is not your Archangel. She's going to clean your wings, and if he doesn't like it he can bite my whole ass."

From the look Kliman was giving her it was obvious to Alyss this was very un-Hummingbird language, too. Sharine beamed at them both. "I've made new friends since I took charge of Lumia. They're quite delightful. They’re teaching me all sorts of exciting things. In any case. She's going to clean your wings, and to distract you from it you're going to tell me everything."

Alyss looked at Kliman over one shoulder, and the angel nodded at him. Alyss turned to face the Hummingbird and drew in a deep breath. "I never meant to be anyone important," he began.

19

Alyss would have been mortified to know that some very important people were discussing him and his work that day and night. A little pleased, perhaps, to know that a few of them agreed with him. But mostly mortified.

Raphael's compound was still reeling from the shouting match between him and his Consort, even though it had happened electronically. Titus, who'd been content to remain neutral on the matter, had grown increasingly less so after hearing from the Hummingbird. Aegaeon had made no friends among the Cadre with his outdated beliefs, even less with his behavior, and though no one could fault him for passing judgment, no one approved of the way he’d gone about it. The rest of the Council had not had much interest in the matter until details had begun to surface, questions begging to be answered, facts to be acknowledged. Too many of them were Ancient, yes, but none of them were the sort to hide from the truth. Or to take kindly to others trying to hide that truth from them.

"We've bought a little time," Hannah told Sharine and Kliman when they met in a small den in Elijah's compound, a room appointed for small, cozy meetings and for lingering over a good book next to the vast, sunny windows cut into the stone. "But the Council's very torn. They don't want to hear him out." She spread her hands. "Elijah pointed out that it would be different if they were Archangels of our time. But too many Ancients sit at Council. In their time the cruelty your young man helps the vampires escape would have simply been their lot."

"Caliane has voted to hear him out," Kliman protested.

"Caliane has private reasons for wanting to hear him out. As does, I suspect, Raphael," the Hummingbird told her gently before turning to Hannah. " And Titus tells me Alexander is torn. He was never once for casual cruelty. He never saw a problem with how vampires were handled, but I don't think he realized the sheer scope of the problem. I don't think most of the Ancients do. The world was a much smaller place when they were awake last. He and Zanaya have asked Titus for advice, and I think they will vote to listen."

"If they do, that would be a majority vote. But we won’t know until they do." Kliman rubbed her face angrily, shoving her pale blond hair back. "Well, if you'll excuse me, and against everything we're hoping to achieve here, I'm going to go punch a vampire." When Hannah gasped a little Kliman told her tartly, "Oh, believe me, he earned it." She stalked out of the room.

Sharine gave Hannah a timid, wary look. "Elena?"

"Incredibly angry. She's taking this as a personal offense against her, against the Guild." When the Hummingbird made a tiny, unhappy sound, Hannah sat by her. "This is the crest of her emotions, Sharine. She will move past it. She might not want to, but she will listen to what Alyss has to say. And his story speaks volumes."

"He's just one voice, though." The Hummingbird tapped the tips of her fingers to her chin, looking thoughtful. "Do you think... Could we possibly... How hard would it be to give him allies?"

Hannah's eyes went very wide when she understood. "I think we lose nothing by trying. What did you have in mind?"

Sharine smiled. “I know just the person.”

Kliman, meanwhile, barged into her own quarters within Raphael's ward. She knew she was incredibly lucky that the Archangel was not looking at her too closely; she didn't know if it was kindness or indulgence but she also knew it wasn't going to last. Alyss might not give her away by name, but his association with her was very likely to damn her.

At the moment she wasn't overly concerned with that. She was very, very concerned with the fact that the young angel's heart was broken and bleeding worse than his wings had been. Aegaeon's man had known exactly what he was doing: the damage was not enough to merit amputation and regrowth, but just enough to make recovery painful and long.

She couldn't punch the Archangel.

She could absolutely punch Jean.

Long, angry steps carried her into the inner chamber where her tiny court was waiting for news. Everyone sprang to their feet as soon as she threw the door open, but by then she was already before Jean. Her arm shot out, her fist connected with his jaw and he staggered back, tripped on a knotted rug, and went down.

"You neglected to mention a few things from your last meeting with Alyss," Kliman growled at him.

"Kliman -" Gevaun began.

"Oh, bugger his delicate sensibilities!" she snapped. "No one here could be soft on him even though he deserved it. He bought kindness with each and every one of those scars, I absolutely agree. And none of us could give it to him, none of us were in a place where we could give it to him. And then, when he finally finds someone who can, who does," she whirled around to glare at the fallen vampire, "you can't even be bothered to trust him?!"

Jean's stunned expression went to shame. "I don't have an excuse," he strangled out.

"Find one!" she shouted at him. "Because the idiot down there still loves you! Still trusts you!"

"Oh, god, no." Jean sat up and buried his face in his hands. "No, he can't."

"He does. And he's hurting so bad it makes me wanna wring your neck."

"I just... I heard him say one thing and it all went wrong from there. I've always known he's not a fighter, that I'd be the one to do all the fighting for him. So I thought..." Jean couldn't catch his breath. He didn't even feel the sting of the punch; everything else hurt too bad. Worst of all was the knowledge that he'd failed after all. "The only reason angels leave is when they're running," he managed to say at last.

"I bloody wish he'd run!" Kliman's wings worked restlessly with her anger. "Evie asked him to run! He knew they'd tear the pipeline apart looking for him if he did. He chose to stay, and they might well kill him for it!" Her voice broke. "They might kill him!" Gevaun caught her then, and though she swatted him angrily for the daring, in the end she clung to him. "Gev, they're gonna kill the little goldfinch," she wept.

He kissed her forehead and held her, knowing better than to lie to her for the sake of empty comfort.

Jean ran his hands through his hair, the words hammering against his skull, against his heart. He could feel his heart beginning to gallop in a familiar, erratic pattern in his chest, he could feel his nightmares rousing, trying to drown him in darkness. The vampire found he didn't care. What, out of all his memories, could be worse than knowing Alyss was dead and he hadn't stopped it?

The voices of his past turned into unintelligible whispers and faded to a background, dim hush. He felt someone draw close and didn't have the energy to flinch. Lilah crouched by his side. "I can't do anything, can I?" His voice was lost, his face haunted. "I can't do anything to help him."

"I don't honestly know," she admitted. "But I'm not giving up just yet. Are you?"

"No," Jean stared sightlessly at the room all around him. "No, I'm not. You tell me what you need, Lil, and I'll do it." He gave her a hollow, wounded look. "No matter what it is."

"It won't come to that," she assured him.

"Can I see him? Please. Just to apologize, just to tell him that I was wrong, just to -."

"Oh, like you're the only asking that question," Kliman said dryly when Lilah was distracted by a ping on her phone. "Half of the Refuge wants to see him. The other half isn't asking because they're not here yet."

"Did he really say that he... That he..." Jean couldn't get the words out.

"Say it? No. He didn't have to." She reached into a pocket of her comfortable pants and offered him a single feather, no bigger than her palm. Though it wasn't the real thing, it was flawlessly amber-colored, only the tip dipped in blood already dry. "He sent this for you instead."

[icypantherwrites]

Fic Roundup: October 30 - November 19

A compilation of all of my most recently updated fanfictions. Enjoy ♥

Worth(less), Chapter One

Summary: On their journey to Earth, Voltron makes a stop at a planet for supplies and are pleasantly surprised to find that its inhabitants are not only incredibly generous but incredibly powerful and they would make strong allies for their upcoming fight against Sendak. In order to secure the alliance, the king assigns a member of his high council to observe each Paladin and judge their worth of character.

Lance is delighted to find out his evaluator is the king’s own son, Prince Barin, who is a formidable fighter, pilot, and obviously someone of high importance and he’s determined to prove himself worthy and make Voltron proud, especially following the horrible game show experience with Bob.

Except the prince isn’t interested in evaluating Lance’s worth as a Paladin. His only interest is in Lance’s body and what it can offer him. And for the sake of the alliance, for the sake of the universe… Lance knows what his answer has to be.

Missing, Chapter One

Summary: Lance isn’t sure he’s ever felt this tired before. It’s not just from the lack of sleep (even though he’s getting plenty of it every night). It’s not just because of the near endless list of chores he does because everyone else has far more important things to do and he should try to pull his weight where he can. And it’s not entirely from the heavy disappointment that seems to emanate from Shiro every time he looks at Lance and has to be reminded of how much Lance doesn’t measure up to Keith when he was the Red Paladin while he struggles to be a Paladin worthy of the title. But all of those things together (although is he missing one? He’s so tired, it’s hard to focus)? They’re heavy and exhausting and Lance is so tired.

So, so tired.

Not a Joking Matter, Chapter Six

Summary: [Sequel to A Mind of His Own] Matt’s plans to hang out with Katie at the Castle of the Lions is interrupted by an urgent, but quick, Rebel mission. The mission, to Matt’s relief, goes exactly as planned.

But the being abducted and strapped down on a table for medical experimentation part? Not so much.

The Deadliest of Sins, Chapter Six

Summary: (Police/Detective AU) There’s a serial killer haunting the streets of Garrison City. Detective Lance Esposito is assigned the case, trying to solve the killer’s motive and identity before another victim shows up in a week. He can tell there’s something very personal to the killer about these crime scenes and kills. But even Lance had no idea how personal this case is about to become.

Found, Chapter Eight

Summary: Lance is alive. He’s been alive this whole time as not just a prisoner of the Galra Empire… but as their assassin. Shiro’s head aches with his own press of memories as to what Lance must have suffered, how he’d been tortured, to become a cold-blooded killer that goes against every value Lance held dear. But while there’s nothing they can do to change the past they have a way to change the future and now it’s time to find Lance and bring him home.

—

Sniper is confused. He shouldn’t know those people, he doesn’t know those people and yet… yet there’s a whisper of familiarity that makes his chest ache and his hand pause on the trigger. But Mistress’ whispers are even louder and his screams as she forces him to forget them and replace them with only the faces and feelings of enemies are the loudest of them all.

Sword and Shield, Chapter Seven [FINAL]

Summary: The Blade mission is dangerous but Keith is confident that between himself and Lance, who along with the Red Lion is integral to the success of it, they’ll be fine. However, as the mission progresses Keith is finding it harder and harder to ignore the fact that Lance keeps making himself a human shield and sacrificing his own safety for Keith’s and it's reminding him far too much of his own decision on Naxzela and what he almost did to keep the others safe.

But now that horrific pattern of self-sacrifice has come to a head as Lance is injured protecting Keith. And it's not just a terrible wound: Lance is poisoned and slowly, painfully dying before Keith's eyes. Unlike Naxzela where he could at least do something (even if it would have cost him everything) there's nothing he can do to save Lance. Except... this time Keith isn't alone. And help is coming.. if he can keep Lance alive that long.

xxx

Some stories/updates are also on my AO3 at the time of this posting. All links in fic roundups and updates on Tumblr default to Patreon as that is where all of my works are now originally published. If you'd like to join my Patreon check it out here. $5 and $10 tiers grant early release access to all of my currently publishing works :)

[sleaterkinnie]

wait until you find out about fanfiction

(im assuming this is abt my post abt how people are weird abt mcr) EYE think rpf is fine whatever idec as long as it stays there its not like people are gonna stop writing it. but i think the moment you put ray toro porn roleplay on MY screen there should be dire consequences though. the moment i have to read abt his soft cock against my will in a public setting you need to be killed for crimes against humanity that behavior is insane

[lannisterdaddyissues]

not to be a fandom hater but do you ever see a fanfiction premise that’s so fucking wrong and bad its very existence should be condemned as a crime against humanity because if it exists then that means somebody thought it was a good idea and needed to be written

[lnkedmyheart]

Vague posting about skk shippers rn but so many of you just bitch and moan about what other people write whether it is feminized Chuuya or too much Dazai or uwu-fied characters instead of IDK just creating your own content or finding content catering to your tastes. Like this is fandom and a fan space. Fans are gonna create what they wanna consume so if you are unhappy about it go make your own, commission writers and artists. Stop vague posting and bitching about what other people create, consume and post because YOU dont like it on twt and tumblr like its a crime against humanity.

Trust me, neither the fictional character Chuuya care about being feminized nor does the fictional character Dazai care about being uwu-fied in fanfiction.

[bastet55]

📓!

Put "📓" or some other version of a book emoji into my inbox and I'll explain the plot of a fanfiction that I haven't written but daydream about.

**For the sake of this ask game, I'm not counting story summaries or brainrot notes so I don't forget details I've daydreamed about as anything "written."

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Hello, Nonnie! Thank you for the ask. So the story idea you get is another AU of my LOTR/Silmarillion series, details about which and links to which you can find in the pinned post on my blog.

The Hope of His People: A Tale of the Third Kinslaying and Its Long Repercussions

Among the Fëanorians, those whose faith wavered after the Sack of Sirion and those who held firm to the cause, it was said that Lord Maedhros’ greatest crime was done when he slew his own cousin, the shining and greatly beloved Gloredhel, once one of his own dearest friends, upon the doorstep of Elwing’s tower. Even among the doughtiest of his followers, whose hands and swords ran wet with the blood of their people, slaying one’s own kin—worse knowingly cutting down a crippled warrior who stood no chance against him—was dishonorable in the extreme.

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So basically the premise of this fic is that Gloredhel, who was married to Rog, Lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath, was pregnant in 510 and survives the Sack of Gondolin. She has a son--Círamdir, “Renewed Hope”--hence the name of the fic.

So basically Gloredhel sends her son away with guards to Balar before the Third Kinslaying but stays behind, hoping against hope to be able to reason with Maedhros. Which ends disastrously with both her and Egalmoth dead.

Since even 'evil' has standards, this doesn't exactly go over well with some of the Feanorians (both followers of Maedhros and Celegorm), and they turn on Maedhros. Some of them are killed, but others escape.

Círamdir grows up with Erestor, Ecthelion's son, and ends up fighting in the War of Wrath, despite still being a kid. Those escapees end up reforming around Círamdir during the war, and after Maedhros dies and Maglor disappears, the surviving Feanorians basically reform around Celebrimbor and Círamdir. Many prisoners and thralls rescued from Angband (for whom Rog is a revered legend even centuries after his escape) also end up reforming under him, and he reforms the Hammer of Wrath.

And i think all that is going to give some people in Gil-Galad's court ... anxiety with the majority of Círamdir's follk being not-so-popular Feanorians and former prisoners/thralls (always looked at with suspicion). And especially when he might be one of the best choices for 'Crown Prince(ess)' among the handful of Finwe's descendants left. Politics ... fun.

And it's especially tragic for Círamdir, this whole situation, because he's like 22 at the fall of Sirion (so basically a 7 or 8 year old human child). He never knew his father. His time with his mother is very limited, and his memories of her may be limited, as well. And so he grows up with parents that are more legends than actual people.

And then we get into 2nd age stuff I'm still daydreaming about...

[kutputli]

I'm adding the direct link to the Letter of Solidarity here, as well as the full text of the letter below a read more:

Fanworkers International Coalition Statement of Solidarity With Palestine

Sign the Statement Here

Full text of statement:

We, the signatories of this statement, stand in solidarity with the peoples of Palestine currently facing genocidal violence from the Zionist settler-colonial state of Israel and its Western allies. We demand an immediate, unconditional ceasefire in Gaza and the West Bank, as well as the long-term dismantling of the ongoing apartheid occupation of Palestine. We call for justice and liberty for Palestinians, and accountability and reparations from their oppressors.

We are fanworkers—creators of fanfiction, fanart, podfic, fan crafts, and other transformative works, and members of the communities built around sharing them. We believe that fanwork is a form of folk labour, and that fanworkers exist in every human community where some stories are elevated as more important than others. We maintain that the human urge to retell stories and transform shared narratives is a fundamental characteristic of our instinct to participate in culture-making. We want every human being to have the freedom and tools to be a fanworker, if they so choose to.

As fanworkers from all over the globe, communicating largely in a language we share because of the forces of colonisation, we recognise that the violence of capitalism, colonialism, and racism has profoundly shaped the fan cultures we participate in. While we celebrate the freedom that many of us have found in fanworks that expand narratives of sexual orientation and identity, we are aware of the way that fanworks can reinscribe and reinforce dominant oppressive narratives of bigotry and bias. We want to support communities of fanworkers who bring shared values of human rights, decolonisation and anti-racism to both their social interactions and their art.

We reject the premise that fanwork is apolitical, and believe that even escapist and fantasy-fulfilling art is situated in the political contexts that influence each fanworker. We see it as our duty to speak out against injustice precisely because fanworkers have often been denigrated or harassed for making and sharing our work. We cannot champion a diversity of stories without actively fostering a diversity of storytellers. Folk culture making is foundational in the shaping of society’s thoughts and beliefs, and fanworkers, collectively, have the power to influence as many people as we entertain. We must take responsibility for that power.

Fanworkers on the internet exist in communities where pseudonymity and commerce-free exchange provides freedom of speech that might not be available offline. When professional writers, artists and creators are putting their livelihoods at risk and being arrested, attacked or killed for speaking in defence of Palestine, we can, at the very least, join them in their advocacy. If fanworks are as valid, as valuable, and as meritorious as other folk and professional art, then fanworkers must be held to the same standards that any artist is: to uphold a liberatory vision for all of humanity.

We, the undersigned, pledge to do whatever we can, within our spheres of influence, to support the Palestinian struggle for freedom, and to counter Zionist propaganda in our cultural spheres. 

We denounce the Organization for Transformative Works (OTW) as a racist institution upholding colonial Zionism, and we repudiate its claim to ‘represent fans’.

We condemn the racism, ethnofascism, Islamophobia and pinkwashing accompanying the heinous Israeli war crimes, and we reject the false accusations of anti-Semitism used to silence Israel's critics. 

We applaud the courage of every Palestinian and ally resisting the occupation through words or action. 

And we mourn every Palestinian life taken by Israel and its allies. 

At least 10,000 children have been killed since 7th October 2023, and each child was a creator, labouring in the imaginary play through which children write themselves into the stories of the world. 

We will never get to share stories with each other, and the loss is immeasurable.

From the river to the sea, Palestine must be free.

Hi there! Since I saw you had mentioned that you liked knowing about petitions and letters, I thought I'd let you know, in case you hadn't seen it, about a Letter of Solidarity With Palestine specifically for fannish people. It also calls out the OTW, which runs the AO3, for their complicity with Zionism. Tumblr won't let me link to the statement directly but you can find it through the blog post of the fan who wrote it - https://dhobikikutti.dreamwidth.org/136555.html

It may not mean much, but there are many fans who support Palestine and wish that fannish spaces were safer for all forms of decolonial resistance.

Thank you for all the labour you have put into your work here, and all my sorrow and rage and solidarity with everything your family and loved ones and fellow Palestinians are suffering.

cool!! thank you for letting me know about this petition, i think that's great.