#i am just obsessed with good writing

[vivianquill]

You would think that with the sheer amount of comments I have left on some of my favorite ao3 authors' fics i might could get maybe ONE reply on ONE of these comments OvvO

[redlyriumidol]

a lot of the writing around sera is not great, more so in the sense that it's ~problematic~ or insensitive, but as someone who has spent time trying to emulate sera's speech patterns in writing, there are so many moments of brilliance where I've had to stop and say "how did that guy come up with this." a lot of sera's dialogue is just very creatively and cleverly written, imo. I consider myself pretty decent at writing specific accents/dialects but what makes sera difficult is she has her own dialect that this guy made up for her, her own way of speaking that is uniquely sera and matches no known dialect known to man or god. which makes absolute sense for her character, someone who has grown up with such a varied hodgepodge of influences and who sees and understands the world in a particular way that nobody else does.

this is just from an objective standpoint about sera's dialogue itself, i obviously have issues with a lot of her writing. particularly the dialogue choices in response to sera and the way I think her character arc was mishandled (or not handled, as it were.) but I personally don't think she was entirely terribly written. just because there are so many times when i see her dialogue and i'm like ughh that's so good.

[myymi]

“Look. Yer new here, I get it.” Sails grumbled, his mechanical arm resting on the hedgehog’s chest to force him to keep his distance, “But you need to learn our rules and fast.” He growled, eyes narrowing into a glare.

Sonic tried to keep his body from visibly wilting at the rejection. He wasn't used to being pushed away by his little brother, and it seemed to hurt worse the second time around.

Except they aren't his little brother, are they? Nine and Sails don't know him. They shouldn't trust him. But he needs them to. Sonic needs his brother(s?) to trust him to keep them safe, why won't they let him protect them?

That's his job, isn't it? He has to keep them safe from those who are hunting them or whatever awful thoughts are plaguing them. What good is protecting the world when he can't protect his world?

“Whaddya mean?” He decided to ask, firmly ignoring the way his voice wavered even after the fox in front of him raised a brow at it.

“I mean quit stickin’ yer nose where it don't belong.” Sonic tried to ignore the fact that only one of the pirate's ears folded down as he crossed his arms, shrinking into himself. “My tale ain't your business, so quit poking.”

“I didn't mean to offend you or anything,” Sonic said, raising his paws in surrender. He'd never want to push his brother to talk about something he didn't want to. Why didn't he just drop it? “I was just worried, y’know?”

“Don't worry over strangers, landlubber.” Sails warned, his metal arm retreating from the teens chest as he averted his gaze, “it'll only make things harder for ya.” He mumbled, almost too quiet for the other to hear.

“But you're not a stranger, Sails.” The older argued, watching the fox’s movements, “I know everything about you!”

“No, you don't.” The kit frowned, his fur bristling, “If ye did, ye wouldn't be here askin’ questions about a life that doesn't concern you.” Was the last thing he said before turning away from the hedgehog, quickly making his way to somewhere on the boat that wasn't near him.

Sonic's ears flattened against his head as he watched Sails walk away, his left paw holding his right arm in an absolute death grip. He groaned and ran his paws down his face.

This was his own fault.

He's always been one to preach about boundaries. He remembers he used to have to remind a 4 year old Tails quite often that sometimes people just didn't want to talk about or do certain things and that was okay.

So why didn't he keep his big, stupid mouth shut when he saw Sails start to pull away?

Sure, Sails wasn't technically Tails, but they had the same mannerisms. His tails twirling around themselves to appear as a single appendage, his eyes looking down to stare at his crossed arms, his fur proofing up, and his foot tapping against the ground were all signs that someone was pushing him too far. Sonic knew that, yet he wouldn't stop pushing.

Maybe it was the desperation to understand this two tailed fox. Because he wasn't his fox, but he was so close he might as well be his doppelganger. Yet the teenager didn't actually know him.

But he wanted to. He wanted to show the kit that he was the one the kid should trust. He wanted to prove to Sails that he was a free shoulder to lean on if he needed it.

A big brother who would always have his arms open, waiting to comfort the fox should he need it.

It was a need for the hedgehog. He so desperately needed his little brother to understand he was always here that he forgot that Sails wasn't his brother. Not in those blue eyes, anyway.

To Sails, Sonic was a stranger. He was just some guy they found on an island who begged to be let aboard their ship. They had only met a few hours ago.

He was, understandably, overwhelmed by the hedgehog. It seemed like the stranger knew almost everything about his life, except for one key detail; Sonic didn't exist in it.

And that's exactly what made Sonic keep pushing. He wasn't a part of Sails’ life, but he wanted to be. Because he knows what Tails’ life was like before meeting the hedgehog, and he needed to make sure Sails was safe.

Nine wasn't.

Mangey wasn't.

There had to be at least one variant of his little brother that was okay. The kid's safety couldn't only rely on Sonic, surely there had to be one of them that got off easy.

But he guesses that was just another assumption he was wrong about.

“Landlubber!” Sonic's ears twitched at that, swiveling around until they located the direction the shout came from. He turned around to see Batten flying above him.

“What’d ye say to Sails?” She asked, one hand resting on her hip as the other held the hilt of her sword. The bat nodded her head up towards the crow’s nest.

Squinting, Sonic could see Sails was leaning against the banister, his head hung low.

The hedgehog winced and rubbed the back of his neck, “I kinda pushed him about something I shouldn't have.” He admitted, ears folding down against his head. “Do you know how I can make that up to him?”

Batten’s frown deepened as she glanced up to the fox for a brief moment, “Don't do anything. He'll sort it out on his own.” She advised, lowering herself down to land beside the hedgehog. “And don't bring the topic back up again. Ever.”

“Noted.” Sonic tried to smile, but it was very obviously strained. He sighed and looked away from the fox, not wanting to be caught staring.

He wasn't used to leaving Tails alone. When the fox was upset he would always bring him a gift to make up for whatever it was he did.

But maybe it's time to stop treating these two tailed foxes like they're his little brother. It never seemed to work out in his favor.

[puhpandas]

I love ggy so much how did they accidentally make the most intriguing hypothetical gay romance ever

[blondiest]

i tire of posts complaining about the quality of other people's writing. a) this discourages new writers from sharing their work. b) fanfiction is free. c) you're killing the vibe and the whimsy. d) go do it yourself if everyone sucks so bad. bitchass

[skyloftian-nutcase]

”Father. Father! Dad!!”

Ganondorf sniffled, disoriented, hearing urgency in his daughter’s tone. His adrenaline spiked, his body working to wake him up while his mind still lagged behind. He felt Hemisi’s hand on his arm, heard her whispering something in the background. Quickly, he blinked his eyes a few times as the world materialized around him.

He was in bed. Right. They’d all gone to bed after the festivities. Nabooru had already departed for Lanayru Village, so he was alone.

Ganondorf glanced over, looking at his daughter, wondering why in the world she was waking him in the middle of the night. His worry was lessened somewhat when he saw she was unharmed, though she looked quite upset. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Orik,” she answered worriedly. “He’s not ok. He’s with Merovar right now, but I don’t know what to do.”

Merovar? She woke her brother up too? Sighing, the Gerudo king slowly dragged himself out of bed, not quite as alarmed as before. Whatever was worrying Hemisi, it couldn’t be that bad. At least his children were fine.

What could possibly be wrong with her boyfriend, though? Orik had been fine earlier in the day, had played and danced and laughed along with everyone else.

When Ganondorf entered the guest room, he could hear the problem from the doorway.

Orik sat at the edge of his bed, feet planted strongly on the ground, hands braced against his legs, leaning forward. Merovar sat beside him, worriedly patting his back as the boy wheezed. The Sheikah’s eyes were fixed on the floor, widened a little in fear, his entire body trying to work whatever muscle it needed to move air.

“What happened?” Ganondorf asked as he moved quickly to the boy.

“We don’t know,” Hemisi replied shakily. “I heard him coughing and came to check on him and he was like this.”

“I think he’s got a fever,” Merovar added.

Ganondorf knelt down to be close to eye level with the boy. Orik’s gaze flicked to him, any semblance of respect or courtesy that he might usually give lost in the terror that was overriding his body. The Gerudo king noticed little splotches of red on his face, how his eyes were bloodshot… he knew these signs.

Sand fever. The boy had sand fever.

“Merovar, call for the healer,” he ordered, reaching forward to pick Orik up. “Hemisi, draw up a bath. Make the water as hot as you can.”

His children didn’t question him, immediately setting to work. Orik shivered in his hold, chin resting on his shoulder as his hands clawed desperately for purchase, gripping the Gerudo’s hair that spilled over his chest. His breathing whistled painfully by Ganondorf’s ear, and he rubbed the boy’s back as reassuringly as he could as he made his way to the wash room.

It was strange, how quickly it came on. Had the boy been feeling unwell all day and not said anything?

Given his track record, that seemed likely.

Ganondorf bit back his frustration. Why was this idiot boy so careless with his health? Hadn’t he been taught—

Wait. Who had raised him, anyway? And how old was he? Ganondorf had assumed the kid was a few years older than Hemisi, given that he was an independent soldier among Hyrule’s elite, but sand fever didn’t usually hit this severely unless the victim was fairly young.

Perhaps it was simply that he hadn’t been exposed to it before. That had to be it.

Orik’s grip tightened, and Ganondorf felt a few teardrops hit his skin. His annoyance dissipated further, and he sighed a little, whispering, “You’ll be alright, boy. Don’t worry.”

As they entered the wash room, the steam immediately seemed to help. Orik relaxed a little for a few moments before coughing harshly. It was a heavy sound, but it also rang with that familiar cadence that Ganondorf had heard from years of raising his twins, the noise that meant things were actually moving. A productive cough was a healthy cough in this instance.

Ganondorf pat the boy’s back helpfully, swaying in place in the warm room. Hemisi watched worriedly, though Orik’s wheezing subsided a little, bringing everyone some relief.

Eventually, the healer entered with Merovar, and Ganondorf dismissed his children. Hemisi certainly seemed reluctant to leave, but a reassuring nod from her father sent her on her way. He’d check in on them later.

“Hello, love,” the healer said reassuringly to Orik. Ganondorf slowly sat on the small stairs leading to the bath, positioning Orik to rest on his lap, keeping him sitting up as much as he could. The boy was exhausted, having expounded so much energy just trying to breathe. “I have an elixir here for you. Lord Ganondorf was wise to let you inhale some steam too.”

“I think it’s sand fever,” Ganondorf explained. “He’s got the spots and everything; Merovar had it last year.”

“That’s right, I remember,” the healer hummed thoughtfully before returning her attention to Orik. “What’s your name, dear?”

“L…Link…” he gasped out tiredly.

Ganondorf blinked. Blinked again. What?

“It’s his Hylian name!” He heard Hemisi call from just outside, sounding anxious. “Orik is his Sheikah name, he has two, it’s ok!!”

Hadn’t he sent her to her room? His irritation bubbled again, mixed with confusion and alarm.

Link. That was the name of that brat who…

Ganondorf shook his head. That was a different land, a different time. Names overlapped. There had been a woman back in his original era who had been named Nabooru too. That didn’t mean it was the same.

It… wasn’t the same, right?

No. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. This boy was far older than the other, not a confidante to the princess and king but simply a guard.

Surely…? Ganondorf had initially encouraged Hemisi’s friendship with Orik because it would allow her to learn the castle security. Surely Orik wasn't doing the same thing, deceiving his daughter to gain entry to Gerudo secrets?

He was spiraling and he knew it. Hemisi knew it, given how she had hastily correct Orik’s—Link’s addled reply.

“How old are you?” The healer asked, measuring out the elixir. “How much do you weigh? Do you know?”

“F-fourteen. I… d-don’t… know.”

Fourteen? He was his twins’ age? Ganondorf had figured this boy was seventeen - wasn’t that the age of adulthood in Hyrule? Why was he an independent soldier, then?

He shook his head. Not now. Don’t worry about this now.

There was no way this boy was a threat. Ganondorf and Nabooru had invited him into their home, had let him participate in Gerudo celebrations when few Hylians had that privilege, and the boy had been nothing but polite. Despite the Gerudo king’s earlier misgivings about the boy, he’d actually started growing to like him. But…

With his rediscovery of the Triforce, paranoias and thoughts of his original land had been plaguing him. This was home, though, and it—it wasn’t the same. Not even remotely. The Hyrule royal family was vastly different, the landscape vastly different, the Gerudo infinitely more powerful… a shared name was a coincidence. Nothing more. Ganondorf knew so little of Hylian naming customs anyway, it was probably a common one. And this boy was not like the other one at all.

Ganondorf sighed heavily, trying to release the uncertainty and bias, trying to give this stupid kid a chance. Orik was watching him now, crimson eyes looking for something, the familiarity of the searching gaze settling in his mind and heart.

Comfort. He was looking for comfort. Ganondorf had seen it time and again in his children.

He sighed again. Closed his eyes. I write my own destiny, and no divine intervention will change that.

Ganondorf pulled the boy closer. “You’ll be fine, child. Drink the elixir.”

Link shakily took the offered drink, sipping at it. The healer explained a few things, but Ganondorf hardly listened; he’d dealt with this illness just a year ago, he remembered most of the details. Sleep, hydrating, medicine, steam to help break things up and cough them out, keep him away from other children so it didn’t spread.

When the healer departed, Ganondorf glanced at the exit, saying, “I know you’re still there.”

Hemisi silently peeked around the doorway.

“I told you to go to your room.”

“You’re mad, aren’t you?” she deflected. “Look, I know when we were kids and you told us that story and you didn’t like that one character—”

“I’m angry because I don’t tolerate disobedience, and you know that. His name is irrelevant.”

Hemisi looked unconvinced.

“Go to bed,” Ganondorf said firmly. “I’ll take care of him.”

His daughter finally complied, throwing one last concerned look at her boyfriend before vanishing.

“‘m sorry…”

Ganondorf glanced down to see Orik looking absolutely miserable, eyes growing puffy.

“Spare me your tears,” he sighed. “It’s not your fault you’re sick. But were you feeling unwell earlier? Did you try to take care of yourself?”

The boy swallowed hard, fighting to control himself.

“Honestly,” Ganondorf grumbled. “This is the second time I’ve had to step in for you, boy. You should know better.”

“I’ve taken care of myself since I was twelve,” Orik snapped all of a sudden, his emotions shifting from appeasement and guilt to anger. “J-just because—I’m not incompetent, and this—it’s n-not like I haven’t been sick before, I just—I just—”

The boy’s argument petered out, interrupted by a painful series of coughs. He tried to move, to stand up, face flushed with fever and exertion and frustration, but Ganondorf held him in place.

“Well this is a different side of you,” he commented with mild amusement. It was good to see some fire in him. Ganondorf was used to the quiet, reserved, ever-so-polite Sheikah. The boy clearly had a lot of fight in him; it was likely tempered by protocol, especially if he’d been fending for himself since he was twelve.

Since he was twelve. That was roughly the age Ganondorf had been when he’d started trying to lead his people, so long ago. It was when his body had started to mature, and though he’d always been the esteemed Gerudo prince, with all the authority that came with it, he hadn’t stepped in to bring a king until he was midway through adolescence.

Orik glared at him, wiggling in his grip. “L-let—let me go.”

Ganondorf almost laughed now. Oh, he’d angered the little fighter now, insulted his capabilities. He liked seeing this side of the boy, but it wouldn’t do him any good in this situation.

“Relax,” he said appeasingly, letting his voice be gentle as he rose and shifted the boy’s weight so he was pressed against him, as upright as he could be. Orik was stiff now, not compliant or scared as he’d been, his face hovering by Ganondorf’s, glare apparent. But the boy’s training and exhaustion won out, and he slowly settled his chin back on the Gerudo king’s right shoulder, letting out a sigh of defeat. “I recognize that you must have some degree of competency if you’ve kept yourself alive for two years.”

“A-almost three,” the boy huffed weakly, a last little spark of defiance before he grew silent, focusing on his rattling breath.

“You’ll be fifteen soon?”

Ganondorf felt the boy nod.

“Well, either way,” he continued, draining the bath and heading for the exit. “You’re my responsibility now.”

“My apologies,” the boy muttered, a more formal attempt at his earlier raw admission. “I—I d-didn’t want t-to—”

“Orik,” he cut the boy off as he reached his room. “Be quiet and listen to me. I’m not upset that you’re sick.”

The young warrior remained silent, body slowly relaxing more and more as Ganondorf walked. The cool breeze of the desert night drifted into the bedroom, warmed a little as it passed over torches and candles. Crickets chirped unceasingly, a constant melody punctuated by crackling flames as Ganondorf slowly paced back and forth, listening to the symphony of the night and contemplating matters.

Hemisi and Orik had been dating for nearly a year now. Ganondorf had learned much of Hyrule in that time, and he finally had an idea where the Triforce was being held. Once he ascertained what guarded it, it would finally be time to put his plan into motion. Nabooru was traveling to different Gerudo settlements to prepare their assault.

Nothing was going to stand in his way. Yet this boy was a potential problem.

Link.

Ganondorf took a deep, steadying breath. Link’s own breaths were soft, congested but gentle in slumber.

The Triforce would be his. It was his right to rule all the lands as he pleased. He hadn’t had the power and clout back then that he did now, when he’d attempted this in the Hyrule of his birth. And, as he’d assured himself before, the Link of his past was far different. The entire political landscape was different - King Ozen was a fool, and so long as one bowed down and preened his ego, he’d give them anything they asked for. Princess Zelda was an invisible girl, voiceless and powerless. And Link…

Well. He didn’t know. Dating someone wasn’t that strong of a commitment. Not strong enough for what was about to come. But, perhaps, once Ganondorf obtained the Triforce, the boy would pledge himself to Hemisi.

He would have to.

I think he might, Ganondorf mused, a small smile forming. But they were both too young for such ideas. And there was still too much in the air between them. Still…

Sighing, Ganondorf finally settled the boy on the bed, making sure he was sitting up against a bunch of pillows. He covered him with a light blanket, watching the shadows on his face as a nearby candle shone light on him.

He didn’t know what the future would bring for this boy. But he knew his own future. He would be victorious. Playing with some of the boy’s hair, he tucked it behind his ear.

Sleep well, Link. The coming days will be long. Hopefully you’ll come out on the right side of it.

Hopefully.

[bonefall]

My birthday was a couple days ago, and I got to see my bio dad for the first time in a while. He surprised me with the fact that I have a little half-sister, whom I've never met and who was adopted about two years back. So, I wondered if any situations in BB mimic this or have a theme of "secret siblings" or "secret family"? Sorry if this is a weird ask; this blog is honestly just such a cool little place and I love the way you approach the subject matter and take the flawed misogynistic foundation of the WC books and make them so much better (JUSTICE FOR BUMBLE!!!). I've also learned a lot about healthy and unhealthy relationships here and am really glad for your deep dives on Squilf and Bramble. Thanks, Bones!

Not weird at all! I really like exploring all the little nooks and crannies of complicated familial dynamics. I think one of the untapped strengths of WC (that the writers seem to be unaware of) is how their MASSIVE cast allows them to present all sorts of unique dynamics. So I like to pick up on it, since they don't.

For secret siblings...

I'm pretty heavily leaning towards Ambermoon being adopted by Wildfur, as a surrogacy. Something feels correct about it. Especially since Icecloud is getting retooled into a post-Battle of the True Eclipse birth, and a major supporting character in AVoS-era stories as a friend of Alderheart.

Thinking about it, I should zoom in and expand this. Maybe have Icecloud, somehow, acquire forbidden knowledge that would invalidate the Queen’s Rights and he (transman) struggles with if he's going to use it to expose his parents as an excuse to help Ambermoon.

(Especially since Ambermoon and Icecloud are basically nothing alike. Amber is independent, bold, and vain. Ice is jessie pinkman big-hearted, disorganized, and deceptively meek if you look past his "chill" demeanor)

But that's wip-- there's also Breezepelt and the Three, who are going to have an actual friendship. In particular I can't unsee Breeze and Lion having a deep one. I know I commit the Cardinal Sin of borderline himbo-ifying Lionblaze in BB, but I can't help it.

Hollyleaf ended up nabbing a bunch of his most violent roles to make her villainous descent smoother narratively, so BB!Lionblaze's story ends up being more focused on Ashfur's abuse, comic relief with cats in other Clans (something that the very serious Jay and Holly have a hard time providing), and the emotional fallout of the big reveal and Bramblestar's turn on them. Breezepelt slots neatly into that.

They were friends. Lionblaze's whole life came down around the reveal, everyone looking at him and his siblings differently, like they're suddenly something terrible. Why can't we find a silver lining, Breezepelt? Why can't we call ourselves brothers if the whole world is going to do it anyway? So much is changing, but THIS doesn't have to, we will take their weapon and turn it to armor, my ally, my friend, my brother.

(and when Breezepelt is lashing out at the three because of the Dark Forest's influence, Lionblaze is there, taking the blows and trying not to give in to the impulse to send him flying with a single paw)

There's also Harespring and Kestrelflight of WindClan and Owlclaw of ShadowClan. All of them are from a single litter between Whitewater and Mudclaw. She was going to raise the three of them alone as ShadowClan cats, but when the sire was smote, Whitewater felt they were cursed.

She was able to give the oldest two to their bio-uncle, Torear, but the weather was so bad that day and the runt was so sickly and small that it surely would have killed him. I don't think Owlclaw ever finds out why his mother always treated him with suspicion, but it did mess him up horribly.

Over in BB!DOTC, Thunder Storm is getting more half-siblings earlier. Clear Sky and Falling Feather had two daughters-- Pale Sky and Tiger Sky.

I want to explore the way that the various stages of Clear Sky's life acted on his kids. How any little curiosity Thunder Storm had about the life he might have had if he wasn't abandoned is crushed by seeing kittens who weren't. How Clear's favoritism of his oldest child set the trio against each other from the start. How this idea of "love" is toxic yet intoxicating.

It feels good to be the golden child. The power it gives you over his sycophants is satisfying. To know you, and you alone, have what someone else craves. Problem is, that's conditional, and it's cruel.

What Thunder Storm learns from his time with his biodad is that Clear Sky is not his father at all. He's taught him exactly what he DOESN'T want to be. There may be similarities-- in temperament, in physical prowess (though BB!Thunder is three-legged, he's still ripped), in taste and senses. But Thunder Storm's father is Shaded Flower.

(BB!Gray Wing died in the first book, rescuing Shaded Flower from being trampled by a horse. Xey're a patron of wisdom, Shaded Moss is taking the role of fatherhood to Thunder)

His sister is Rainswept Flower. His mom is Bright Storm. If there was a bond he could have had with Tiger Sky and Pale Sky, it dies simply and cruelly on the knife they used to cut each other out.

Pale might have wanted to mend it, she was the gentler one. But she dies in the First Battle along with her mother. Tiger Sky is too stubborn to accept any help, should Thunderstar offer it, and Thunderstar isn't in the business of begging for others to like him.

Naturally I'm lowkey obsessed with them lmao. I need to make a BB!DOTC overviewww

[preciouslandmermaid]

spencer/reader + southern gothic aesthetic "I'm just a child, but I'm not above violence My mama raised me better than that..."

the mosquitoes and frogs sing their discordant symphony above the rustling oak leaves and Spanish moss that drape over branches like abandoned wedding veils. you push your toes on the damp floorboards and the rocking chair tilts backward, and your stomach lurches as you sway forward. the old book on your lap with yellowed pages and a musty scent lays open like a vivisected hare. a gnat lands on the corner of the page and you try to flick it away. you accidentally killed it and your brows furrow softly. the hinges on the screen door squeak and you break your monotonous rhythm, the rocking chair sway cut short. "garcia says we're lucky we have cell service," spencer says, with his hands in his pockets, before his eyes flick to your lap, "what're you reading?" "mm." you nod. "nice of the chief to let us use his house." you close the book and self-consciously wipe the title with your hand (the one that killed the gnat). "did you know that franz kafka didn't want bugs on the cover of his book?" "you're reading 'the metamorphosis'," he guesses. "it's a comfort read," you say, shrugging, your toes pushing the floorboards again. spencer slowly sits in the rocking chair beside you and you silently return to the symphonies of the moist, summer night. at least - you do until spencer starts talking about his interpretation of the novel and you listen, your eyes focused on the harsh, slice of darkness where the porch light doesn't reach.

[desceros]

now i can finally leave surprises in your inbox HEHEHEHE

[boxwinebaddie]

so i have...a deranged style concept:

quick to anger ( and even faster on the track ;) xx ), snotty, haughty, 'in your dreams, in my beams', 'if you're hungry, you can eat my dust', need4speed demon and world famous nas-t boi nascar racecar driver kyle broflovski ( think lightning mcqueen but meaner and greener )

ft. a super cute, awkward, down to earth, ( under the hood, ig ) armed and dangerous ( but only with his stanley drill, dorky yellow safety goggles and that million killawatt smile <3 ) lead pit crew mechanic stan from small town hick nowhere and his heart on his tattoo sleeve,

re: this picture on my pinterest that cured me of all illness.

( i have a lot to say about this, but i decided to be normal and wait until someone asks me about it before banshee-screaming at y'all )

[shy-sapphic-ace]

Guys should I write a Dracula musical. Should I???

[ubejamjar]

[dialogue template link]

[zishu-arts]

okay because i’m curious (and bored), i want to know:

(sorry guys this is just me trying to boost my ego tbh)

[good-beans]

I know most of our focus goes (rightfully) to the trial songs, but I genuinely believe Baptism of Fire is equally a masterpiece of meaningful writing and intense vocal acting

Incoming tag rant because I need to yell about this, feel free to yell back

[politemagic]

dabbling in writing a little bit of slasher iii👀 it's not much, but i've had this idea for months and figured it's about time i did something with it. written while listening to deadrose by unprocessed. not necessary but it's currently topping my slasher iii song list

632 words

Time had muddled in their brain, they had no idea how long it had been since he’d disappeared from their sight, but they knew they were running out of time regardless. The rope binding their limbs had been tied with expert hands. As they struggled against their bonds, the rope’s grip only tightened, the fibers rubbing their wrists and ankles raw until it began to turn pink with their blood. Their eyes frantically searched the room for anything that might help them escape, but they found little that could be of assistance. 

The room he imprisoned them in was almost entirely bare, save for a pile of discarded, bloody clothing heaped into the corner and the black journal the masked man always carried with him. When he left the room, the journal had fallen from his pocket, haphazardly forgotten by the door.

Their curious nature overtook them as they scooted across the grimy floor, nudging the cover open with their toe. Their blood ran ice cold as a pair of vibrant blue eyes stared back at them from the first page. A photograph of a handsome man was paperclipped to the page, partially obscuring what they knew were the events of the final hours of that man’s life. They felt bile creep up their throat as their eyes scanned across the page.

17:43 He believes crying will help him, that his tears will compel me to release him. It’s pathetic, really. I thought he would be stronger. But the tears make his eyes look so pretty, maybe I’ll keep him a little longer.

The horrors of the first page had done nothing to prepare them for the next, as they found those same vibrant blue eyes staring back at them, cold and devoid of life. They tried not to stare too long at dark red blood oozing from the gaping wound in his throat. The pages that followed were all the same format: a photograph of some poor unfortunate soul accompanied by a horrifically detailed account of their final moments, followed by another photo of their corpse. On some pages, he had even smeared blood across the page in vaguely artistic patterns. 

As they flipped the final page, they bit down on their lip to stifle their scream as their own face smiled back from this book of horrors. Despite his poor attempt to crop the image before printing it, they could tell it was a screenshot from their Instagram, a photo they had posted in a moment of self-confidence. A photo that this deranged man would use to remember them by, a juxtaposition for the horrific photo they knew would occupy the next page soon enough.

The door creaked open, and they lifted their gaze from the photo to meet his darkened eyes, crinkled from the grin he hid beneath his mask.

“I see you’ve found my scrapbook,” The smile in his voice told them that he had always intended to drop the journal, that he wanted them to read it, to see what was in store for them. 

He crouched before them, plucking the journal off the floor and thumbing through the pages before returning to the image of the blue-eyed man. He stroked the image tenderly with his index finger before turning it around to once again display the image of his lifeless corpse.

“He’s still my favorite, I think. But you… I believe you’ll be a close second,” His other hand gently traced the contours of their jaw. “You’re going to be my masterpiece, darling.”

He stood then, chuckling to himself as he tucked the book underneath his arm and spun on his heels, striding back out the door as they crumpled to the ground, terrified of what other sick games he might be playing with them.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

I'm sorry, but why don't we talk about Witch Hunt more? Seriously, I think it might be my favorite DAO DLC. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the hell out of Awakening. Leliana's Song is good. The Golems of Amgarrak is... eh, bad. I didn't really like that one. The Warden's Keep, The Stone Prisoner, and Return to Ostagar are all amazing and I love them.

But Witch Hunt??? Y'all. I can't. I'm too emotional right now.

I have at least one dynamic from each game that I'm obsessed with. For DAO, it's the dynamic between romanced!Alistair, Tabris, and Morrigan. I've talked before about the dark ritual and stuff in this post, so let's just say that my Tabris, Rose, very much has unfinished business and a score to settle with Morrigan.

Tabris and Morrigan grew so close throughout the entire journey of DAO, y'know? Close enough that Morrigan claimed she thought of her as a sister, and Tabris felt the same way... and then in one single moment, it's just shattered.

There were signs that Tabris ignored, like the way Morrigan dismissed all the circle mages and claimed they should be left to their fates since they "allow themselves to be caged like cattle." Or how she disapproved every time Tabris wanted to help those down on their luck. Or, worst of all, when Morrigan disapproved when Tabris chose to kill the Tevinter slaver instead of making a deal with him to use the lives of the remaining elves to grant her more power... one of those caged elves being Tabris' father.

But she gave Morrigan the benefit of the doubt; she's sheltered and only had Flemeth as an influence and teacher, of course she's unempathetic and selfish, but there is good in Morrigan's heart. She can learn to be more empathetic and to care for others.

At least, Tabris believed that until Morrigan confessed that she's known about the ultimate sacrifice and the dark ritual from the beginning, that Flemeth sent her with the wardens with a purpose that Morrigan intends to follow through with. It's devastating and it broke Tabris' heart.

She just learned that a warden has to die to stop the blight, and that warden could be her or Alistair. Not only are they romantically involved, but they've been through all of this shit together, they're the only ones who fully understand what being a grey warden is like. They carry the burden on their shoulders, and they're probably going to lose each other to the archdemon.

And Morrigan waits until she's at her most vulnerable to ask that of her.

Again, I've gone into more detail about that before, but at this point Rose is done with people deceiving her. She's done with Morrigan... except she's not. It's the betrayal and knowing Morrigan got what she wanted that causes Rose to go searching for her.

To Morrigan's credit, she does give some answers. She claims she didn't thing the archdemon would show itself so soon, and she did what she had to because she didn't wish to see Tabris hurt or die. I believe her, and to an extent, Tabris believes her... but Morrigan still doesn't get WHY it's a betrayal.

Morrigan's right: She will never understand Tabris, and Tabris will never understand her. She can insist it's not a betrayal all she wants, but it absolutely is, and Tabris has never allowed anyone who crossed her to just walk away... except for Morrigan.

Until now.

Hearing that Morrigan manipulated her way into the trust of this Dalish clan so she could steal their book and run is just further evidence in Tabris' eye that she hasn't changed. Maybe it was always foolish to believe she could.

So... she stabbed Morrigan.

She didn't do it to kill her; Morrigan is the daughter of Flemeth and a powerful mage with healing magic, a mere stab isn't going to kill her.

No, it's about what the stab represents: "I am done with you."

And how the scene plays out? It's so dramatic and good, just the way everything slows down, the music, how they make eye contact as the stabbing happens just....

I know it sounds really bad, and this is the part where I remind everyone that I ADORE Morrigan, but the stabbing ending is so satisfying from a story-telling standpoint for my playthrough.

It's so tragic and it hurts and I hate it.... but I love it, y'know?

I love Witch Hunt, like I haven't even talked about Ariane and Finn, or how the circle just has all these books on Dalish artifacts and translations of elvhen, or how other eluvians can be found with a shard from the broken one in the dalish origin.... like you're telling me that Merrill had a piece of the puzzle? If she had the knowledge, she could've found a working eluvian to study?? I'm going to gnaw my own leg off--

Listen, I could gush about this all day.

But now that I've completely finished DAO, it's time to replay DA2.