#i need to do some actual writing soon. i need my themes and pages. i miss you essay writing

[charalol]

Guys. I'm so autistic. I get an inch of lore in anything and I become an addict craving my next fix.

[alpaca-clouds]

Arcane Season 2 - How Bad Pacing Can Ruin Everything

So, Arcane season 2 ended. And I am sorry, I need to vent.

I am honestly not sure whether the rumors are true and this were originally meant to be more seasons. The Riot CEO apparently denies it, but then again, I have seen CEOs confidently go out on stages to talk about a project which they knew was cancelled at that point in time. So, sorry, but I will never ever trust a CEO. Lying is like 50% of their jobs. Being greedy is the other half. Sorry, not sorry.

I am gonna write something about disability in Arcane (overall) during the next few days, but let me just talk a bit about the pacing issues of season 2.

Spoilers for season 2 - all of it - obviously.

Believe me or not, but I know the exact issue of Arcane season 2. It is called: Too many characters. Too many plotlines. It is something that easily happens when writing an ensemble story (no matter what the format is you publish the story in - it happens in books, movies, shows, games). At times it works fine if you manage to weave the entire ensemble into the same main plot. But as soon as you wanna give everyone their own little storyarc with a bit of their own themes, it often goes haywire. Either you will end up dropping some characters to the side and not properly finish up their story, or you will end up rushing everything. Neither is gonna be good.

Here I am mainly thinking... Was the entire Black Rose/LaBlanc stuff planned to be there from the beginning? Was it put in later? I mean, given that the entire story felt like it might set up Mel as a Champion for LoL... How do I put it? Mel was too overdesigned in the show, to not be a future Champion. That was my feeling from the beginning. I don't know if they gonna make her a Champion, but man, it feels like it.

But no, the main issue really is the pacing. There is just too much stuff happening.

I will remain, that the thing that shows this better than anything was the second "arc" of season 2. Episode 4-6. And the general way the entire Caitlyn, Vi, Jinx thing plays out. We have the following things happen in the first six episodes of season 2:

Cait's mother dies

Cait swears revenge and asks Vi to assist her as an enforcer

Vi does not want to. Ends up getting drunk.

Vi decides to do it anyway.

They do a bit of chemical warfare for good measures.

They go down there. Fight Jinx. Vi cannot do it - partly because Isha.

Cait breaks up with Vi and becomes the evil fascist dictator

Vi becomes an alcohol addict.

Except, never mind, Caitlin is already feeling shitty about it next episode.

Jinx gets Vi and Magic Pixie Dreamgirls her out of her new-found addiction.

Jinx and Vi are good again. They go help Vander.

Cait meets Vi for the first time since the break up. They instantly are back on the same page.

Like, there is so many plothooks in this storyline alone that do go completely unexplored.

There are two characters here, that do play a role in the last three episodes too and that felt like they were some proper characters at some point. Those two are Maddie - the Scottish-dialect enforcer girl - and... Frankly, I do not feel like looking up the name. The big burly one, who after the break-up takes care of Vi.

Those two feel like they were at some point meant to be more real characters. But because of the pacing, they are barely ideas. Maddie starts making out with Caitlyn because...? I don't know. Because I literally do not know anything about this character but "she is an enforcer", "she is queer", "she is attracted to power(?)", and thats it.

And the other guy goes with Vi because... Uhm... I don't know. I know literally nothing about this chaaracter other than that he is big and an enforcer. *shrugs*

It most certainly feels like there was some planned version of this show, in which Cait and Vi both had a proper corruption arc. In which we really saw the two of them struggle. In which we actually saw Piltover and Zaun under the control of Commander Caitlyn and Noxus, and saw the horrible things they were doing and what it was doing with Caitlyn. In which we also saw Vi struggling with addiction and stuff.

But that was not the version we got in the end. Instead in this version... things go magically well.

Hooray?

Same with Jinx. Her mental health issues just magically get better when Isha is there, because that is what the story needs to happen now.

Here, too, it also feels like huge chunks of the story are missing. It feels like there was a story going more into the relationship of Sevika and Jinx for a bit. But if that story had been there once, it was most certainly no longer there. It was hinted at, yeah, but that's it.

And then there is the entire magic plot.

Look, I think among the fans of the LoL Lore I am not the first one to say: "Yeah, trying to marry the worldbuilding of Arcane to the established Runeterra worldbuilding does not work, because of the magic." Runeterra so far was always a fairly high magic world - at least that was implied by comics and short stories. Magic was a common thing in this world. Otherwise we could not have that many magic champions and a whole place whose entire thing it had been: "We are anti-magic Nazis building mage concentration camps!"

When Riot said, that Arcane was now the main canon, A LOT of fans of the lore were like: "You get that it is not gonna work." And yeah, Arcane Season 2 clearly shows how it doesn't work.

Because the way they put in the entire "Mel is magic, also the Black Rose is a thing" stuff just... It did not fit in the entire plot around it. Because Arcane had been designed as a world where magic was very rare and strange. But now Mel had to be magic and somehow had to be connected to the Black Rose.

Also... What the fuck even happened there in the end? Why put that in? Why make Mel go against LaBlanc? I am sorry, but that was simply too much for this plot. The entire Black Rose stuff stuck out of this plot like - pardon the pun - a thorn.

Generally there are several relationships that feel, like they had at one point been a whole more explored, but then got dropped to the wayside.

As I said, Sevika and Jinx are definitely an example. Ekko and Heimerdinger as well. I also feel like what was episode 7 of the show was probably originally more than one episodes and slower paced - though it still to me was the one episode in this, that kinda worked in of itself. And that the Ekko and Jinx relationship was better established.

I also feel that Viktor and that echo of Skye was probably at some point supposed to actually have talks. Like: "I will miss talking to you." - "No, you won't." Okay? THEN SHOW ME THEM TALKING PLEASE?!

Which kinda brings me down to the main thing that happened because of the pacing issue. Season 2 of Arcane knew only two extremes in terms of "Show, don't tell". Either it goes full "music video" in whcih indeed it just shows us shit without context or dialogue - or we get the information just via dialogue, in a complete tell.

This also shows in the last episode, with the entire thing of Piltover asking the Zaunites for help, after brutally surpressing them forever. Yeah, I see where they were going with this. About being the bigger people and planting seeds and what not. But frankly, there might have been a time and space for a story like that, if properly told (you know, with giving more of the Zaunites a voice in this story, showing more of the conflict and spacing this plot out over several episodes). But a) it was not properly told, and b) a world in which several genocides happen while Trump somehow won a second term is not that world. Yes, b) is not the fault of anyone working on Arcane. That was simply bad luck on their part. But a) is very much their fault - and even if we did not have a Palestinian Genocide and no second Trump term: Without a) being done properly, it would not have worked. It would have just not felt quite as miserable.

You know, the most frustrating thing about this was, that... While I think that one way or another I would still have hated how the show handles the topic of disability (again, I will write about this during the next few days), I generally might have liked the same plot, if it had been given the needed space to breathe.

Like... Sure, I would have never really been on board with "fascist Caitlyn", or rather with "fascist Caitlyn, who gets then forgiven by everyone". But I could have somewhat swallowed it, if that forgiveness had to be earned. But because of the breakneck speed of this show, it never got earned. I am not even talking about redemption arcs here - those are always a headache - but specifically about the fact that Caitlyn gets instantly forgiven by everyone.

Also, lol. The entire thing with Ekko convincing Jinx to come along off-screen. That was unelegant.

Heck, it feels in the first four episodes, as if there was an arc being set up for Sevika in general. And it feels like that arc needed to happen, given that Sevika ends up on the COUNCIL OF PILTOVER in the epilogue. However, that Arc just does not happen. Then, like... why set it up?

That is general the issue. There is a lot of set-up and very, very little payoff to any of it.

And here is the thing. I have heard people argue about whether or not this was meant to have more seasons. But frankly: I do not think that the writers who wrote season 1 would have written this story this way had they known it would be two seasons.

Mind you, compared to some people I would not rate the writing in season 1 higher than maybe 6 or 7 of 10. It was solid, but not overwhelmingly great. But season 2 in comparison is a 2 of 10, maybe a 3 of 10, if I am being gracious.

And frankly, I do not think any writer, who is in any way worth their salt, would write a story where a main character goes evil, and then do exactly nothing with it. I mean, sorry, us writers, we are a dramatic bunch. And we will not resist the drama being served on a silver platter unless we are forced too. I cannot imagine a single writer, who will go with the end of episode 3 and then not write a bunch of angst with Caitlyn and Vi - unless they were forbidden.

And mind you, CaitVi is by far the ship I am least invested in. But it is simply such a glaring example of where the plot is rushed in a way that it hinders the character arcs.

Oh, and also... Lest. Lest in the first six episodes clearly felt like a character, who was going to play a role. Only to then disappear to not be seen again during the finale. What happened to Lest? Is she dead? Is she alive? I guess we'll never know.

*sighs* I am sorry. I really am. I am just... very disappointed. This has been a mess. And I think it would not have needed to be.

Like, the animation is still the most pretty thing ever made in the world. But man... The plot? The plot sucks balls. And not in the sexy way.

[courtney-deserved-better]

Do you have any tips for getting yourself to actually focus and write for a while? I have so much motivation to write but then I open my laptop and go to write the next chapter and I just feel like oughhhhhhhhhh

no that's so real. if you're not sure what you're working on is what you WANT to be writing, i would say investigate that further instead of trying to keep hacking away at it. if you ARE sure it's what you want to write, it's just hard to get started, here's some stuff you can do!

📜 change the aesthetic of your document. this can be with the font (comic sans is shockingly helpful) but what i've been doing lately is changing the page color to something that fits the theme of my fic. it's so much more enjoyable writing on a pastel yellow or a dark red than just a harsh white page.

☕️ go to a cafe! if i have spending money and i need motivation i go to my local cafe, get a coffee, and sit down to write. changing to an environment that isn't my apartment/workplace/university is refreshing, plus i get a nice little drink. and i tell myself because i spent money, i have to write or i'm wasting money. guilt trippy, but it gets the job done. that, plus the caffeine lol

🎧 find or make a playlist you like (i like lofi instrumental stuff i find on youtube) and tell yourself you have to write for as long as the playlist plays. could be 15 minutes, could be an hour, but sometimes having a time limit and some funky beats helps

📝 skip whatever the first scene of your chapter is and write the second. or skip it and go to the scene you're most excited to write that chapter. once you get into a flow state, it's easier to go back and write the previous scene and then later edit it so the overall chapters makes sense

💭 freewrite! just start writing out your stream of consciousness, it's a lot more easy to get started when you're just typing whatever comes to mind and then you can eventually transition into writing your fic. sometimes you gotta warm up first!

👟 take a walk! getting out of the house and just stewing in my thoughts about my fic is great at helping me connect plot points, explore themes, and just think about why i'm excited to write my fic in the first place

💬 create social pressure. deadlines are great, but it's easy to talk yourself out of them if they're self-enforced. so find someone who you're comfortable with reading your fics, and tell them you'll have a chapter/scene/section to show them by a certain date. then you feel forced to have something to show them by that date. only do this if you know it will motivate you and not make you horribly anxious.

the MOST important advice i have is this:

NEVER END A CHAPTER WITHOUT STARTING THE NEXT ONE.

i am SO serious about this. as soon as you finish your latest chapter, go ahead and write at least the first sentence of the next one. starting is the HARDEST PART of writing for me and already knocking out some of that while i'm in the flow has been a game changer when it comes to fic writing. if your problem is that having to start the next chapter kills your motivation, take starting the next chapter OUT OF THE EQUATION.

thanks for the ask! i love talking about writing, best of luck with your fics!

[cinnamontails-ff]

Writing Interview Tag Game

Thank you so much for the tag @roguishcat ❤ I love getting to chat about these things.

When did you start writing?

I know this sounds cheesy, but the answer is probably as soon as I could hold a pen. My grandma still has stacks of little stories I wrote (and illustrated ...) when I was a kid. Very cute, but I'm glad I gave up on drawing in the meantime.

I've been writing on and off ever since, but it wasn't until I was in my mid twenties that I decided I'd actively pursue a career in writing. I wrote a few original novels, none of which were ever successful in the world of traditional publishing, then got into fanfiction as a way of rekindling my joy. Once I'm done with my current fic, I'm ready to try with traditional publishing again. Maybe it'll work this time, maybe not, but I guess the bottom line is that I'll always write in some capacity.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I really like stories that are a little unsettling. Not horror, per se (I'm a coward), but those underlying creepy vibes, especially when they come wrapped up in beautiful language and actually end up culminating in something cool toward the end of the story. "Uprooted" by Naomi Novik comes to mind, "The Devil and the Dark Water" by Stuart Turton, and "Portrait of the Pale Elf" by @larvasmoon.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

Terry Pratchett is the person who first sold me on the English language. Prior to his books, I'd never seen anyone use English in such a fun, cheeky yet poignant way, and it's definitely something I find myself emulating (all while hopefully putting my own spin on it). I have been compared to him a few times and it's always made my day.

Oh, and I guess Stephen Sommers because people compare my fic to "The Mummy" a lot. Which honestly, is just as flattering.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

At my desk, with a mechanical keyboard. Not because I'm a hipster but because I have absolutely destroyed my laptop's keyboard and then the shop where I'd buy the replacement keys stopped selling my model and I refuse to replace the whole laptop.

I need a sense of quiet when I write. Usually, I write early in the morning before I go to work, and it's honestly my favorite time of the day. It's dark and quiet, I'm all alone, and the day still feels so fresh and full of possibility. I cannot write in public; I find it too distracting. Occasionally, when I'm very in the zone, I'll edit at work but it's never quite as productive.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Go and hunt that bitch down. I know many people love romanticizing their craft and if it helps them to light scented candles or play aesthetic playlists - go for it! For me, the most powerful tool is routine. Knowing that every morning I will sit down and I will write, whether I feel like it or not. Sometimes I drag my feet the whole time, sometimes things click into place and suddenly, I'm having the best time ever. But I will always put words on the page and for me, there's no better feeling than having written (past tense).

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

You probably know this, but I really, really love stories where a regular guy/gal saves the day. It makes me so happy to see the evil vampire lord taken out by the mousy accountant, the fountain pen striking harder than the sword. I think it's because I like to read about real people. People that you could have met in real life, that seem simple on the outside, but have all this strength locked up inside. It's why I dislike stories with picture perfect beauty goddesses that always have the perfect quip, always take out their opponents with 1 blow because they're just that special.

Normal people are special, too. You just need to look a little harder to see.

What is your reason for writing?

I believe it was Brandon Sanderson who said "Stories are like real life but with the boring parts removed". That has really resonated with me. I think the beautiful thing about stories is that they can portray very real issues and conflicts in a way that is infinitely more satisfying because it's all been arranged just so. It can give you closure, it can make you see something in an entirely new light without feeling confrontational. It's like a really, really good conversation with the author and I hope that's what my writing feels like as well.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Two things. I love when readers point out specific lines they enjoyed and I love it when they tell me they reread my work. The term "comfort read" makes me particularly happy because that's exactly how I reread my favorite stories as well.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I think the most important part to me is that my stories feel real. I dislike pretentious, over-the-top writing where you can tell the author is trying super hard to sound clever or sexy or just drowns you in heaps of cheap, undeserved drama that never leads anywhere. With my stories, I want things to feel earned. Natural. Maybe you wouldn't have made those choices, but it makes sense that these characters would have and now we're looking at the very real consequences of their actions.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Character voice, specifically in 3rd person limited. My favorite type of narration because I love getting into a character's head and making you see things through their eyes.

How do you feel about your own writing?

I think every writer struggles with their confidence here and there. I've gone through so many cycles in the past 1.5 years, it's kind of crazy. Going from constant failure in the world of publishing to writing your very first fanfiction just for fun and then having it blow up out of nowhere, all these people showering you in praise, only for the vast majority of them to disappear immediately afterward is a lot to process. We write for ourselves, yes, but as a writer, you can't help but take reader responses to heart. Fortunately, I've never let it influence what I write or how I write; it really only affects my mental state. I know what I like to read and those are the stories I am going to tell, whether they're successful or not.

Aww, this was fun! Tagging @larvasmoon @davenswitcher @pickel182 @karinamay @pouroverpaloma ❤ ❤ ❤

[activesplooger]

Progress Update on some WIPS! + teasers! :) | Doe!Reader x Alastor SMUT | Help Me: Part 3 Vox x Assistant!Reader | His New Obsession: Reader x Yandere!Vox

a few days ago i posted a screenshot of some WIPS, and i thought I’d give a progress update! + teasers! i promise im working on everything guys i just want everything to be quality :) ive also been quite busy so, yeah!

Doe!Reader x Alastor SMUT 1/2 DONE

About halfway done! Maybe a lil less than halfway? So far I’ve gotten a lot of the exposition out of the way and im starting to get onto the dirty little smutty part ;) its taking awhile bc ive been busy ALSOO smut is hard asf to write and writing deer themed smut is even harder! lmao guys the amount of deer mating season research ive done is crazy im definitely on some type of watch list now bc of my weird search history lol. I’ve gotten a lot done though! Should be out soon, I’ll let you guys know when itll be out when I get more of it done! A teaser is on my page if u wanna see it!

Help Me: Part 3 Vox x Assistant!Reader

i dont rlly have an exact fraction amount for how much is done lol. i promise i didnt forget about it guys 🙏 i have the whole story pretty much planned out! all the scenes and stuff i want to include (+ the ending duh) are all written down! perchance ill do a bigger teaser tmrw idk sometime this wknd maybeee. I have all the scenes planned out and ik how the whole story is gonna go i just have to articulate it into words and spice it up! :) stay tuned!!

teaser!:

“The Vee's empire grew exponentially and are now the three top overlords in hell. You still worked for Vox, however, your job description changed over the next few years. A lot changed over the next few years…. You went from being introduced as “This is Y/N, my friend and assistant!” to “This is an employee of mine, she won’t be a bother.”.”

this whole paragraph is subject to change, i wouldve done a bigger teaser but im just so unsure about the other paragraphs i might literally delete it all and redo them and i dont wanna edge u guys like that lol.

His New Obsession: Reader x Yandere!Vox

OK THIS ONES SO RANDOM BUT LEMME COOK LMAO. this one has SO MUCH BUT ITS NOT EVEN CLOSE LOL. its gonna be like pretty smutty i think like toxic sweater electrocute my fukin pussy type smut. its gonna be a big one bc im trying not to make it into different parts but that might change. its gonna be a fat minute till it comes out im just chipping away at it every once in awhile 4 fun! :))

teaser!:

“Yes, dear,” Vox gestures to Papermint standing idly in a corner, “This one over here will also be my assistant. You’ll handle the more personal needs of mine while Papermint handles more business related needs.”

“I see…”

Vox, completely entranced by you, puts your resume down and extends a hand out to you across the desk, “Well, that’s all I really need! Congratulations! You got the job!”. Winning sound effects could be heard from Vox’s speakers as he congratulates you.

“Oh! I-Is that it..? No questions..?”

“Nope, I’ve seen enough- Actually, what size are you?”

“Uh… Why?”

“For your uniform, of course!”

(this is also subject to change btw! im slowly doing it its just kind of a fun lil random thing i like to do when i need a break or just feel like it)

—

stay tuned folks! if u wanna be tagged for any of these lmk in the replies!

[fictionstudent]

How to defeat the blank page.

I often see many writers on Instagram or Twitter talking about how you need to just sit down and write to actually start writing. And I believe that it works, y’know. In fact, I make sure I put aside two hours everyday for writing.

But, I don't think that it works when you’re new. Yes, the advice might be good for those who just keep on procrastinating about it to infinity, but it’s not for everybody.

No, on a second note, I’d like to rephrase it. I believe that the advice doesn't work in a vacuum. Like, just sitting down and writing is not enough. You need more than just the willpower to write.

You need some more ingredients than that to start writing your very first novel. And here’s my two-cents on the issue.

***

Let’s take it that you sit down to write. Now what?

You got a computer system you can work on. You installed Google Docs and other software you might need to start. So, now what?

That’s why most people get stuck. Yeah, you have the motivation. But do you have a story yet?

You just don't need to know the vibe of your novel or the first scene. You need to have some sort of outline too. You need to know where you’re gonna start, where you’re gonna end, and how you’re gonna connect these two. You should have at least some idea about it.

Now I know there’s a lot of writers who just write as they go. And that works for some. If that’s you, go for it. But let’s be honest—planning on the go isn’t for most of us.

At least, it’s not for me. Definitely. I need to have a loose outline before I start typing the words out. I need to know my characters a little. And I think that’s the way with most of us.

And, truth be told—some of us need a really, really, really strict outline to work. That’s especially true if you’re into a genre like mystery, where you need to know every little detail yourself so you can drop enough hints in between the plot.

So, if you just start putting words on the page, you might lose your initial momentum. And then the ideas just won't hit, and then you’d be demotivated. Soon, you might shut the project down. And you don't want to do that.

I’m not saying you should make an outline. Nope. I just want to tell you that if you start working without an outline, you might have a harder time, because—as I said before—working without an outline isn’t for everybody. So, don't think that writing isn’t interesting, or you just don't feel motivated enough anymore. You just need to give yourself a break and start thinking about what actually works for you.

I’d say do some research before you start writing. Like, writers don't just start typing, like I said. We outline, we work with characters, we do world-building, make power-systems—there’s a lot of processes that go into the story before even a single word is written down.

So, you need to know what works for you—what’s the process that helps you the best to create your stories.

And how do you do that, you might ask. Well, the answer’s pretty simple—go sit down and write.

Yep, you heard it right.

Sit down and write. Think about all this stuff later. I believe that if you’re reading a blog titled this, I’m pretty sure you haven’t actually begun writing. Lemme guess—you have an idea. And the motivation. You just don't have the time, or you’re just procrastinating.

A talk with my career-counsellor once led me to this idea—we get the motivation to start doing something only for some time. This motivation that you have to write a story, it’ll be gone by next week. And, this motivation might never come back.

And without this motivation, you might never begin.

Motivation is like the fuel that you need to start working. And, I repeat, it won't stay for too long. You won't see yourself ten years later with the same fuel burning inside you as you do now.

Frick all this outline and stuff, man. You don't need to know your characters. You don't need to know your theme. You just need to have a story to tell, and the story doesn't come alive in two days. Write, think this through.

Everything else can be fixed later.

***

I hope you guys liked this post. Please share it with people you think might need it, lol. And click here to subscribe to my newsletter, so you can get my new blogs directly in your inboxes.

I’d be coming soon with more writing tips and random rants. Till then, bye bye!

[xoxoavenger]

Heya! Can I please request Jack Thompson x fem!reader where they both don’t like each other or get along very well but on rare occasions they joke around/agree with each other. Reader is also usually very cool, calm and collected however they go on a mission where they need to act like a couple and infiltrate some type of crime organisation. Whilst they’re meeting with the organisation bosses for dinner to discuss ‘joining’ (maybe they have microphones on to record the cony as proof or something), some of the bosses start making creepy offhand comments about reader (misogynistic, maybe alluding to trafficking her or making her a stripper or something. Idk you can decide) which sets reader on edge and makes her tense. Jack also gets uncomfortable and starts being protective and subtly comforts/grounds reader whilst trying not to blow their cover.

hi, I hope this is what you were looking for! thanks for requesting <3

Start Something

pairing: Jack Thompson x Fem!Reader

word count: 1877

warnings: non-graphic death (minor), not proof-read (sorry)

masterlist request something for the 12 Days of Christmas!

"L/N!" Jack Thompson's voice rang out through the bullpen, and the girl in question hung her head at her desk. She had been in the middle of writing a report, one that she knew the Chief was going to complain about it if she didn't have it done by the end of the day. She really didn't have time for him to call her into the office to go over some stupid case that he could ask literally any other agent about. He was doing it to spite her.

"Yes, Chief?" She asks with a smile, just like she always does. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

"My office?" He suggests, as if it were obvious. She wants to punch him, but she just leaves her work, knowing she's going to have to stay late tonight and it's going to suck. She walks across the bullpen, heels clicking against the floor in time with the typing of all the other agents acting like they were doing work and not totally going to listen in on her conversation.

"What is it, Chief?" She asks as she shuts the door behind her.

"You don't have to call me that." Jack tells her, and she doesn't respond to this.

"What do you need?" She doesn't ask it unkindly, but she makes it clear she's only there for business.

"Your input." Jack turns the papers over to her, and she slips into the seat across from him desk. She's pretty sure it's only there for her, because she's the only person who ever stays in his office long enough to sit. "Coffee?" He asks, turning in his chair towards the machine he has on the small cart in his office.

"Yes," She sighs out when she sees how long the papers are. "Two creams, three-"

"Three sugars, yeah." Jack says with a smirk, and Y/N rolls her eyes.

"I can take these back to my desk." She offers with a sardonic smile, and he just frowns.

"I need your live input. If we need to go on a mission, it's gonna have to happen soon." He stirs her coffee, and she takes the mug from his hands.

"So, this guy, Booker, it seems like his only weakness is his wife? All these guys he's killed, the common theme has been threats to Emiliana." She flips through the pages of Henry Booker, the mobster who seemed to be at the top of the crime ring Jack was trying to bust.

"Antonio Colombo has the same deal." Jack nods, sitting down in his seat with a fresh cup of coffee. "His wife, Beatrice, she actually seems to be helping him." Jack pulls the paper of the second mobster out, and Y/N pulls some coffee slowly through her lips.

"What about Beau Martin?" She pulls out the page at the bottom, and scans it. She finds the same thing, that his wife Julia is living in her pretty penthouse while Beau is killing everyone around them. These three mobsters have created a circle so tight, that once you're in the only escape is death. The Germans are selling the drugs, the Italians are providing jobs (the only ones these addicts can get now), and then the French, who are either taking them out or sending them back through the cycle. It's the French who are the most dangerous, who have the most blood on their hands.

"We need to end this soon." Y/N sits back with her mug, feeling tired after just reading the papers.

"No kidding." Jack responds, wiping a hand across his face. "Any ideas?"

"Well, they seem to really love their wives. So, if we can figure out some sort of event they'll all be at, maybe we can take them out. Cut off the head." She suggests with a shrug, as if she's not suggesting that the two of them infiltrate and kill the biggest mobsters in New York.

"We'd need a lot of back up." Jack tells her, and she nods. "The two of us will have to distract them."

"It'll be dangerous." She says, taking another drink of her coffee. It's almost out, so she quickly finishes the last of it and puts it down on the desk. "How would we even get in?"

"Well, that's the easy part." Jack says with a smirk. "We're going to be a mobster and his wife." Y/N gives this a moment to sink in.

"Absolutely not." She stands, and he rises with her.

"Why, because you hate me? We've gotta get over that at some point, Y/N." He says, and she shakes her head.

"Not only is this an insanely dangerous mission, but we'd have to act like we don't hate each other. And it'd have to be convincing enough that actual mobsters won't be able to catch on."

"I don't hate you." He says, and she wants to throttle him.

"I don't have time to go over all the reasons why I disagree with that statement. The point is, we'd have to play a convincing couple. And we'd have to do it soon. And it's in a mobster den. We don't even know how much backup we'd need to get in there." She rants, heart racing as she thinks about how hard this mission is going to be.

"That's why I need your help. We have to get this figured out, and we have to get it soon." Y/N knows she's not going home early tonight, and she's not getting back to the report she had been writing.

"Alright." She breathes out, nodding. "I guess we're going ring shopping."

~

"Mr. and Mrs. Adler. So glad to meet you." Henry Booker, the top of the fucking mob food chain, is smirking at the two of them. Y/N smiles, silently congratulating herself when she doesn't flinch at Jack's hand on her back.

"We've been trying to set this meeting up for ages, it feels." Jack says with a smile, taking a quick glance around the room. He spots a couple of his agents milling about, which is good, because he's suer this time could go south immediately.

"Well, we've been busy." Antonio Colombo says unkindly, causing shivers to run up Y/N's arms. She's wearing a low cut dress, back and front, and the heels she's in are probably higher than any she's ever walked in. Jack offers her his arm as they begin to move, and she takes it gratefully.

"As you have been, I'm sure." The lady next to Antonio says, and Y/N's sure it's Beatrice, his wife.

"I've never heard of you, though, Adler." Beau Martin says, clucking his tongue. "Where did you say you were from?"

"Chicago." Jack answers, and Y/N just keeps the smile on, like she's been instructed to do. She helped design this mission, and all she has to do is not fuck it up.

"Huh," Antonio says, and Y/N wishes there was a way to somehow get the wives away from this place. As soon as they're out of the picture, the team can take out the mobsters and then everything will be fine.

Y/N's heart is racing.

"Well, I'm starving." Beau says, and they all head to the main table. It's clear that everyone else around them is only there because they have to be, that her and Jack are the main attraction.

"Right over here, then." Julia smiles, and Beau pulls out her chair of her. Jack does the same for Y/N, and she smiles at him and thanks him quietly.

"Why don't you three go make sure all the food is good?" Henry suggests, and the three wives nod and head out. Now is their chance. They just have to get a good shot.

Y/N wishes she could hear them, but Jack and her couldn't risk them seeing the ear pieces. They were in the dark, having to play their parts and wait. They just couldn't blow their covers.

"Mrs. Adler, would you like to go with them?" Antonio asked, and Y/N did not like the gleam in his eye.

"I'd feel more comfortable here. I'm sure you understand." She answers with a smile, trying to be as nice as possible.

"Alright," Henry says, small smirk on his face. "Well, we tried." He looks to the boys, who all have disgusting looks on their faces.

"Where'd you get that dress? I think Julia could use something that make her girls look that good." Beau looks down at Y/N's chest, and she blinks as she fights the urge to pull the dress up.

"Excuse me?" Jack chokes out, and Y/N breathes deeply, trying not to blow their cover.

"A boutique in Chicago." She says softly, trying to keep a smile on her face.

"Man, Adler, I don't know how you're keeping your hands to yourself right now. If she was my girl, I wouldn't even let her sit in her own chair." Henry takes a drink of the whiskey that had been poured before they had even gotten to the table, and Y/N's lips parted before she could think to keep the smile on her face.

"Good self control." Jack is grabbing his own drink, white knuckling it as he tries to keep from jumping across the table and hitting these guys.

"That can't be your only secret." Henry smirks, and Y/N finally looks over to see Jack grinding his jaw. He looks angry, really angry, and Y/N grabs his hand.

"When you've been together as long as we have, there's no reason to rush things." Y/N says calmly, wanting to move on.

"And just how long have you been together?" Antonio asks, tilting his head. "Because it looks like you came straight out of the burlesque." Y/N flinches, not sure what to say. Jack squeezes her hand, then looks around. It's now or never, and they don't want the wives to come back.

"I'm just saying, if you gave me a couple hours, even one, alone, Adler." Beau says, which makes the rest of them laugh and raise their glasses. Y/N wants to throw up, because here these men are, acting like she doesn't exist, like she is a piece of meat. She feels sick, and her face must show it, because Jack squeezes her hand even tighter. They're so close, they can't blow their cover now.

"And I'm sure Julia would love that." Jack says with the tilt of his head, causing everyone else to stop their laughs. Y/N can't help but jump when the first shot rings out, and then the next two in quick succession. Antonio had been sitting closest to her, and his blood splatters against her arm. She can barely register it, however, because Jack is grabbing her and holding her close, head tucked into his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" He whispers, only pulling back to look at her face. He takes his jacket off, putting it around her body.

"I'm okay." She says quietly, letting him take her into his arms again. "Take me out of here?" She asks, and when he puts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her in to lead her out of the club, which is now in a frenzy, she knows something has changed between them.

And she kind of likes it. 

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @theoraekenslover

[domoriu]

i have some questions and i was wondering if you could answer them because you’re one of my favorite writers on here. plus you’re stories and vibe are very similar to mine so i’d love to here your POV!

do you have any advice and this on how to start a fanfic writing account? (on tumblr!)

how to make write good as in flow, wording, better sentences, etc? ik for this one it’s going to take practice but since i write a little already i was wondering how to make my writing actually sound good? (because urs is amazing!)

tips on motivation to write and post?

how is it as a writer on onedoorblr? (fics for bonedo) in terms of like the space to be able to post “different” stories. (hybrid, abo, freakysmutlol, femdom, dark as in tragedy’s and horror.) plus interactions, notes/likes?

sorry if this is a lot but i didn’t know who else to ask and you feel like a safer option to me of that makes sense? anyways we all love you and your stories a lot! 🩶 i hope the rest of your week is amazing (*^_^*)

OKAY I HAD TO GET ON MY LAPTOP TO ANSWER THIS ONE SINCE ITS A LOT!! also sorry if my advice is a little weird ive genuienly been in the fanfic scene for like 8 years now since i was 11 so i dont even know the answer to these myself (not my proudest moments btw...) so i'll try to give the best advice i can <3

1. i think... start off by finding a username that you think suits you a lot, and then worry about theme and all that just so your account looks good to your own eyes i think that'll really help with getting motivated to write (for me at least) and also really just have fun with it !! figuring out what you want to do on your page is also important so you can set those boundaries for yourself as well as the people engaging in your content but also always remember its your page so you can really do whatever you please. and dont be too discouraged by numbers because once you feel like its not fun and you're putting too much pressure on yourself it gets hard to make content.

2. for word building/flow all that kind of stuff... really imagine the scenarios in your head (maybe even act them out if you can, to make sure everything is flowing properly) if you're writing smut, what helps me is i look up sex positions or look up porn to get a good idea on the positioning and how to write things out. for word flow, i always have a thesaurus tab open that way i'm not using the same basic words repeatedly (this is probably the most helpful piece of advice imo, i love the thesaurus super bad) and also if you ever feel like the work isn't good or needs a little tweaking id say read it over, try to read it from the pov of someone who's reading your work for the first time or even get someone to beta read for you and give suggestions for any errors or anything that needs a bit of tweaking

3. for motivation, write down the gist of any idea you have down immediately because you might forget it or you'll just never have the motivation to really finish it. i have so many fic ideas locked away in a vault because i started writing the idea when the excitement for it died down or i completely lost motivation to write it because my brain wanted to move onto another fic idea.

write on your own schedule. just because you have a following doesn't mean you need to put out a new fic every single day, give yourself time to recollect your thoughts and work on a piece where you can put all of your attention into so you can be truly proud of your work !! because what's the point of writing something if you yourself don't even like it. and a lot of us have lives outside of tumblr, so don't pressure yourself to constantly write because soon you might get burnt out. i think having people who actually like my works is a lot of motivation as well as not feeling rushed to put things out so its like a little treat when i post something big

4. i love the people on onedoorblr !! the community isn't super big but she's growing a lot since i joined this fandom in april... and id say the range is pretty good with the people on here and everyone has their own unique things going on. i think its a pretty safe space here to write about "different" stuff, a lottt of my mutuals are all on the femdom kick when it comes to bonedo and there's a good balance of smut writers and people who write more fluffy things, i'm not sure how common the abo/hybrid/dark content fics are on onedoorblr since i don't tend to read fics in those categories but i have seen a couple hybrid bnd fics in passing !

since bnd tumblr is still kind of small you might not get a lot of notes upfront but it definitely builds up, unlike nct/enha/riize tumblr where you can basically get around 500/1k+ notes on a post within a couple days it might take a week or two also depending on who you write about. but don't get discouraged by it !! some members are just more popular in the fanfic world than others

i hope this was helpful and dont be afraid to ask any more questions >_< thank you soso much for liking my works and im glad u feel like my page is a safe space for questions that means a lot to me !! i hope your week is amazing as well <33

[lilbagdermole]

Toph's Characterization, ATLA Comics - A Dissertation

Chapter Three - The Rift (Part Three)

Welcome back! So happy to have you here once again to critic and analyze the depressing characterization that Bryke bestowed upon our favorite Earthbending Master throughout the ATLA Comic Series. I recommend you give my other two parts a read before jumping into this one as I go into depth into certain topics and themes that'll be brought up in this Chapter!

Chapter One - The Rift (Part One)

Chapter Two - The Rift (Part Two)

Let's begin! So Issue 3 starts off where we left off in Issue 2 - Toph single-handedly holding up an underground mine with her metalbending - thus protecting Katara, her father, Satoru and multiple mine workers that are stuck underneath the mine with her.

It's a life or death situation with everyone's lives dependent on Toph and it's a race against the clock as their anxiously waiting for Toph's metalbending students to arrive and help out. Unlike the previous Chapter we actually get a small glimpse of concern out of Aang for Toph.

Everybody, give Aang a round of applause for doing the bare minimum. But in all seriousness, I'll take the scraps I can get given Bryke are choosing to continuously portray Aang in a way that makes it seem that he cares solely for Katara's well-being (and, I'll soon get into one of the most infuriating panels related to this topic).

But hey, atleast we got some acknowledgment from Aang.

Moving forward we get Satoru and Toph interacting and to be honest I truthfully do not care for Satoru, but later into the analysis I will briefly dive into their relationship and why I don't care for it. Once Satoru is done lamenting his life to Toph (who is trying to concentrate to protect everyone in the collapsed mine, and it's hilarious that this dude that right then is the moment to retell his entire life story), Lao enters the scene.

Boring... Yawning... Sloppy... LAZY!

This. This is how we're going to resolve Toph and Lao's conflict? THIS?

Remember when I started off my analysis with specifying that Toph's trauma was very poorly handled and used as a means to advance the plot? Yah, this right here is why I stated that very opinion.

In the first part of 'The Rift' we're first introduced to Toph's traumatic circumstances growing up with her controlling and overprotective parents; neglected and isolated from the world. It's a plot point that the original animated series didn't delve into and the prospect of being able to analyze and understand Toph's more vulnerable and frail side was beyond intriguing.

However, as we got further into the central conflict between Aang and Toph it was proven to us that Toph's trauma was not going to be explored further than a means to justify her stance against Aang. She becomes, uncharacteristically, rude, bashful and disrespectful to most (if not all) her friends and the only person she seems to lighten up to is Satoru becomes he represents the The Future - something that she spontaneously advocates for (as she resents anything and everything that represents the Past).

In Chapter Two we get introduced to Lao and I've already covered why I abhorred his depiction and treatment for his daughter - and as I had predicted their conflict was nothing more than to (once again) legitimize Toph's clash with Aang. It's nothing more than horrendous, stereotypical, lazy and worse than fanfiction-level writing that goes against both characters' portrayals in the original show.

And this here proves it. We left off Lao and Toph's conflict with Lao not only verbally harassing his daughter but also denouncing her as his own kin. What he said was harsh, brutal and down-right traumatic things that would (and should) break the trust that Toph held for her parental figure.

To resolve this conflict in a satisfying manner, it'd logically require time and effort to adequately mend their severed relationship. We'd need a few pages of Lao coming to terms and accepting his daughter's independence and personality, see him struggling between the idealized version of Toph he's always wanted to enforce and his desire to not lose his daughter again (and permanently). Seeing remorse, regret and genuine guilt from Lao is crucial to make his redemption believable.

And yet, here, Lao is incapable of muttering a simple apology (it's hinted at, but he never get the words out). He begins to spill the beans on his supposed divorce with Poppy - and remember Toph needs to be firm and concentrated to focus on the metal that is near crushing them to death and this could potentially be quite ground-breaking and emotional news (what I'm getting is Toph is unironically every character's physiologist with the way they trauma dump on her) - and sobs about the hardships he's faced since Toph has left. He says he loves Toph and that's it. Previous conflict? Resolved! Disgusting insults and treatment? Forgiven!

Why does the resolution to this arc infuriate me so much?

We never see Lao feel remorseful (or at the very least apologetic) for his words and actions;

We never get a panel where we see Lao comprehend and understand why his daughter did what she did when she was twelve; And on that note - we never see him acknowledge her as a Master (something he had once aspired for her to become but thought impossible due to her disability) nor do we see him show an ounce of pride for his own kin despite all her insane accomplishments;

We never get a panel where we see Toph express her own feelings or her perspective on his behavior and how it affected her - she's been reduced to a badass with quick jests, not allowed to be emotional;

We don't get a conclusive and satisfying resolution - it's rushed and lazy so we can conclude the comic without leaving any open strings - but that only resulted in diminishing Toph's pain and trauma as well as regressing her character growth;

It's infuriating because a lot of children go through this type of environment throughout their childhood - and it'd be so much more impactful for such a strong character to break down her barriers and express how her suffocating that type of upbringing damaged her and affected her, how she grew from it and overcame her difficulties; there was also missed potential to show Lao grow and not be immediately forgiven for plot's sake - realistically, children aren't immediately forgiving and given what Lao said and did, he didn't deserve to be forgiven so quickly.

I can go on with my disappointment but this part is long enough.

So, Toph's students arrive and extract the metal that was collapsing the mine and everyone is rescued - Toph falls unconscious from the exertion she had just put her body through to save everyone from being crushed to death...

And you'd think people would care right? Maybe be grateful to her??

Give me a moment whilst I go scream into the void.

Not a single person besides her students and father care about the fact that Toph is unconscious. Not a single person is thinking about checking on the person who has been single-handedly holding up an unfathomable amount of weight with her bare hands for a prolongated period and saved countless people in the process? No one... not even her best friends. Best friends mind you that are too preoccupied with their own affection to pay a single thought for Toph.

Remember what I said earlier that I was about to go off on a particularly aggravating panel, it's this one. Because I cannot fathom, in any universe, in any circumstances, where Katara wouldn't immediately jump to Toph's aid and help her out (and would rather cuddle up and kiss her boyfriend instead of helping the injured people). I cannot fathom, in any universe, in any circumstances, where Sokka, the proclaimed leader of group, the man who put his own life on the line for Toph's own well-being during Sozin's Comet, being this nonchalant about his friend bein passed out, possibly dehydrated and hurt.

I would say I wouldn't expect this behavior from Aang, but, this comic has done nothing but showcase that Aang's mind is centered around Katara and his air acolytes with no room for his Earthbending Master and best friend. We had a small glimpse of hope at the start of the chapter only for it to be crumbled and shattered with this moment.

I don't even know what to say anymore, I'm just- I understand that Bryke need to feed us the Kata@ng agenda (because for some reason, despite it being canon, they shove down our throats almost every issue of every chapter, to make sure we know that they love eachother) I get it I do, but at what cost. You just made the majority of the cast seem selfish and inconsiderate.

Let's progress before I start seeing red. Aang needs to go destroy the Refinery and Toph wakes up - Lao asks for her help to stop the Avatar as the Refinery is his future (and apparently the future of the nations) and you know our girl is all about the future now, and so off she goes to stop Aang.

I mean- If they had developed the Lao and Toph arc with any depth or any sort of care for these characters (or at least Toph) so that this moment felt earnt in any way, shape or form, I would understand the emotional impact that would come along with Lao asking for Toph's assistance and calling her the Greatest Earthbender of All Time. But, there was no development, no growth, no struggles, no understanding, no nothing - it was water downed drama for the sake of drama. And emotional moments like these just don't provoke anything in me, other than pure, unadulterated rage because of the lack of care and attention Toph receives (in her own comic, mind you).

And we've reached the big conflict between our main protagonists:

I can't completely say I despise the idea of Toph and Aang having disagreements and opposing opinions - it's only natural due to their elements being one-another's opposite and their differing personalities. It's one of the reasons why I adore their platonic (and romantic) relationship - because they have a push and pull connection, harmonic and balanced; neither is afraid of speaking their truth at the cost of hurting the other (unlike a certain canon couple); Aang is Aang in Toph's perspective, not the Avatar, not the child who stopped the one-hundred year war, nor the master airbender. He is just Aang. Her equal. And similarly, Aang sees Toph, not for her disability or her smaller appearance, Toph is Toph. His equal.

Push and pull.

Air and Earth.

Aang and Toph.

I would have loved to see an actually interesting conflict between the two and not this nonsensical garbage. Mostly because this whole debate of The Past vs. The Future is something that came out of nowhere and it's an odd set-up for either of these characters because:

While Aang does have a need to carry out his traditions, culture and, consequentially bring his past into the future, so he can restore and preserve the Air Nomad culture. It never came at the cost of the future - we saw this in Episode "The Northern Air Temple" where he learns to accept that life evolves and we'll have to conform to his history evolving alongside it; The very concept of Yu Dao is reflective of Aang's desire and dream of uniting the four nations, progression and evolution, the future.

Toph, on the other hand, never eluded her rancor towards her past. And, her contrived favor for the future stemmed from her parental issues that were poorly explored and thus, we don't really get a logical nor believable understanding of Toph's stance. It's forced and doesn't suit her nature as well as it ends up harming her growth and character.

So now Aang remembers their friends?

If this were the first time I consumed any 'Avatar: The Last Airbender' media and 'The Rift' trilogy was my first introduction to their friendship - I would have honestly doubted they were close at all. I mean throughout the three issues what we get from them is: unresolved discord; Aang continuously ignoring her feelings and moody disposition whilst more interested in his Air Acolytes and girlfriend; Aang defending a Rough Rhino that had just tried to slash Toph and scold her for protecting herself; Aang ignoring her very existence when she had just passed out unconscious... etc.

Yah, Bryke, you really nailed their friendship.

If you can't tell that's sarcasm, it is. Because this doesn't come close to touching the deep connection between these two - one built from mutual respect and trust; A bond so strong that Aang guaranteed Toph that it would transcend lifetimes - a prospect that gave Toph a certain relief and comfort. They trusted one another with their lives, fought together and understood each other without speaking a single word. They balanced one another - Aang learnt to become stronger, self-assured and resilient whilst Toph learnt to trust and depend on others. Fate brought them together - Toph was what Aang needed and Aang was what Toph needed.

Aang represented freedom. Toph represented security and strength.

Push and pull.

Air and Earth.

Aang and Toph.

Anyway, things do start to get much better in the final of the trilogy, starting off with these panels:

FINALLY SOME GOOD CHARACTERIZATION!

IT ONLY TOOK THREE ISSUES BUT WE FINALLY GET SOME DECENT CHARACTERIZATION!

AND AANG PROTECTS TOPH? PUTS HIS OWN MORALS ON THE LINE TO PROTECT HER???

YES!!!!!

A round of applause for Bryke - they failed 90% of their characterization but they outdid themselves with the remaining 10%! It's like what I said earlier - Toph and Aang are capable of putting their squabbles and altercations aside because, at the end of the day, their friendship is far too important to one another. They can fight, scream, shout, lose themselves in battle but when time need be, they always protect one another, they always have each other's back.

Push and pull.

Air and Earth.

Aang and Toph.

I'll just leave this page here. I want to glue this page into my brain and just think that this was the entire comic - just Taang hugging it out with the sunshine illuminating them, watching over the sea because they are in love and live happily ever after together. That is the plot of 'The Rift' from now on.

Before I end - I would like to briefly touch on Toph and Satoru's relationship and why I genuinely dislike them as potential love interests.

It starts by the obvious. Their is an inequality in their feelings for one another. On one hand, we can ponder whether Toph grew to view Satoru romantically (though, in this comic it was never eluded to on her end - it was, again, very forcibly introduced with her lying for him but then never mentioned and we never got many romantic coded scenes between). On the other hand, Satoru seems to worship the very ground that Toph walks on - he adores her, confides his past with her and obviously has very intense emotions regarding Toph. It's imbalanced and I just don't see the appeal.

One of the central themes of ATLA is balance and harmony, the push and pull - it's one of the reasons why Zutara (and Taang) would have been narratively more cohesive with the themes present in the show than the canon couples (with the exception of Sukka), because both these ships have an unspoken equilibrium and respect that isn't present in the aforementioned canon couples.

Another note is, I don't really understand the point of Satoru's character in this comic. He really didn't have that much to work it and his personality lacked nuances, humanity. It was very animated and boring. He didn't play off of Toph's playfulness, their dialogue was odd (cringey at times), they had no chemistry, it was very one-sided with Satoru confiding his past and hardships whilst he never once got any fragility from Toph.

It also felt as though they shoe-horned him into the comic just so people would get off their backs about Lin and Suyin's biological father - with Kanto being the confirmed father to Lin, they potentially wanted to introduce Satoru so we, as the fans, could speculate that Suyin's was his daughter. It's just a thought - but it is interesting that they made Satoru share similar physical traits with Suyin (such as: hair texture and skin tone).

And thus, I conclude the analysis of 'The Rift' what an infuriating journey this one was. I hope you enjoyed, the next comic I'll dissect will possibly be 'North and South' as Toph does play a big role in that comic (and I remember also not being too overjoyed with her characterization there).

Until next time, take care and please let me know what you thought of this analysis!!

[idrellegames]

Wayfarer Dev Log 2023.03.06

Hi friends!

It’s been a while since my last proper update in January. I am recovered from illness and mostly back to normal; with the days getting longer and actually having sunlight now, it’s easier to stay focused than it was in the winter. A lot of developments have happened in the interim, so I’m hoping this dev log will serve to get you caught up on things I’ve been keeping under wraps until now.

✦ New Blog Reveal

My blog’s desktop theme has been redesigned and updated! Huge thank you to @ethereal-themes for taking this on, I am in love with the new look.

Desktop theme

About

Navigation (with updated tags!)

FAQ

Character Roster (updated with Episode 2 characters + sortable, including by romance type)

These pages cannot be viewed in the tumblr mobile app, but they can be viewed by inputting the link into your mobile browser. Mobile versions of the updated FAQ information and tag list are forthcoming.

Many thanks to @memaidraws for my new blog portrait of Alexia. 💕

Additionally, I am no longer tracking the tag "wayfarer" for community content. The tag has become overrun with bots that makes it very difficult to filter. If you've created something you'd like me to see, please use the "wayfarer if" tag or tag my blog!

✦ The Public Build

A new patch should be coming sometime in March to fix lingering bugs and issues in Episode 2. This patch will require a full restart of the game. Once it releases, you should not use old saves otherwise you may encounter continuity errors and bugs in later episodes.

✦ The Alpha Build

Work on the next alpha update is progressing. I am still writing slower than I usually do, but I am coming up on the end of a major branch. There should be a new alpha release later in March that will cover one half of Episode 3 Part 1.

Even though not all possible routes will be included, the update will add over 300,000 words of new playable content to the game.

✦ Development Changes

Until recently, Wayfarer was planned to be a free game. This is no longer the case. Though I am not ready to announce the full details yet, the game will be eventually be moving to a free demo + paid full game model later in its development cycle.

Act 1 (which includes the Prologue and Episodes 1-3) will remain free to play. Future pricing for non-Patreon early access to later episodes while the game is in development is TBD.

Because this change impacts some behind-the-scenes things, I am need to gauge how much of Wayfarer’s playerbase plays the game on their phone versus a computer.

If you would like to help me out, check out this poll here and let me know what device you regularly play on!

✦ Wayfarer 2023 Pin-Up Calendar

The Wayfarer Calendar is now closed! A huge thank you to our contributing artists and everyone who donated. Altogether, we raised $1094.54 USD. These proceeds were donated today to the Astraea Lesbian Foundation for Justice.

I am so honoured that the calendar was a huge hit. On behalf of our organizers, I would like to thank everyone for their passion and excitement for this project. It’s too soon to announce whether we will do something like this again for next year, but there may be another calendar on the horizon…

If you’ve enjoyed Wayfarer, used my tutorials, or would like to support my work, please consider supporting me on Patreon. Patrons receive access to the alpha build, a private Discord server, exclusive previews, bonus content, side stories, and other benefits.

(Please note that if you are pledging solely for access to the alpha build, the alpha and the public build currently contain the same content.)

Wayfarer is a passion project and creating it is a full-time commitment. Any little bit goes a long way to help me bring it to fruition.

If you aren’t in a position to support financially, reblogs, shares, ratings and comments, and spreading the word about the game are much appreciated and do a lot to help me out! 💕

[brisquad-unit-4402]

Can i request a part 2 of lost in time with luxiem where Reader do something to reunite with their s/o. I don't see reader not doing anything? You don't have to do this.

lost in time with luxiem, pt. 2

↢ part 1 here.

hello happy valentines everyone i hope you’ve shown your love to the people you care about including nonromantic ones. if you have a partner go get them flowers. even if they’re a man. especially if they’re a man. trust me on this one

it’s canon in this series now. while luxiem was off being all emo and whatever reader was actually pulling their weight. what a genderboss

tags: comfort no hurt, ok well there’s a little bit of hurt but it’s fluffy, angst with a happy ending, gender neutral reader

⚠️ drinking in luca’s entry

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

🖋 Ike Eveland

Ike lives in periods of forgetfulness and remembrance, pooled together like blended watercolors. He lives to forget where he lives. His memories of the past scramble with the present as he loses himself in his writing, and at the worst of times he has to tell himself the voice of Reader is mental. They aren’t here. They could never be here.

Time passed. Some of his short stories were being published in magazines. One of the magazine editors, he was told, loved Ike’s image. “A mysterious, moody dark horse that reflects his themes of solitude,” they called him. He had to give it to them; their pitch for the image of the novelist Ike Eveland was tantalizing, but just as unreachable as Tantalus himself. 

After all, he blinks and for a moment he can see the flowering fields of his homeland, the streets in sepia, candy colors on his wall and the aurora borealis heralding his origin. The rolling sky, and from the corner of his eyesight the edge of your hand pointing out a cloud. A resting body bundled in blankets like snow. Sun rays on a face turned golden, they’re simply so radiant everything they touch becomes priceless. 

Ike catches himself calling your name more than he’d like to admit.

But he carries on, unfortunate as he may be. He takes care of himself, because if he’s going to hear your voice no matter where he goes, the least he can do is pretend you’d be disappointed if he wasn’t getting enough sleep, food, water… 

He returns to his desk the second he finishes a late-night snack, and freezes the second he sees an envelope square in the middle of his desk. In the center of the envelope he reads his name. Underneath it is yours.

His desperateness is seconded only by his caution. He takes his time opening the letter with as little damage as possible but can’t read fast enough.

To beloved Ike Eveland,

This is Reader. I wish I had the room to tell you everything in this letter, but I simply can’t. I’ll keep it as short as possible. I learned what caused you to blink out of existence. There’s a force of nature- really, a freak of nature that causes the force. I haven’t been able to identify it. What little I can see of it is searing. 

This isn’t about me, though. I found a way to manipulate the freak-force, I think. Keep this letter, but make sure the envelope I sent you is in usable condition. Remove my letter from the envelope. It’s hexed. Now write me another letter. I should be able to receive it. Tell me everything you can fit about where you are. Address, country. What your home looks like. I need a location and visualization. Then when you’re done place your letter within the envelope. The seal should still work as if it had never been used before. Seal it tightly. Then fall asleep, as soon as you can. Don’t move the envelope anywhere other than where you found it. I suggest sending your letter right before you go to bed. Dreams are the freak-force’s transportation, and it’ll give us the best chance possible. 

I don’t know how long I have nor how long this will take but it’s all I have. I don’t think I could bear it if you never came home.I’ll fill the rest of the page with this: I love you eternally. If this doesn’t work then I pray you know I will always think of you no matter our distance. Please be safe. I need you safe.

With diligence and love, your Reader.

Ike stops everything he planned on doing, grabs a sheet of blank paper, and writes. He has to get up a few times to check his location for sure (he’s a shut-in, and only now is he realizing it may bite him in the butt) but before long the paper is covered in all he knows about the gray world outside of his letter. 

When he’s done, he holds the envelope in his hands and inspects it carefully. It’s normal at first glance, but now that he focuses on it, he notices small circular grooves in the paper, similar to the grain on a regular parchment. There is a slight color change from one corner to the other, cream to eggshell. And sure enough, the glue on the edge of the envelope is perfectly intact.

It’s a late hour already. Ike finishes getting ready for bed before he folds his letter, gingerly places it within the hexed envelope, and seals it. He sets it in the center of his desk, just as how he found it, and hurries off to bed. Whatever you’re planning, the last thing he wants to do is be the reason it fails. 

Ike falls asleep before the anticipation threatens to keep him awake.

Ike wakes slowly, and his vision returns even slower. The world blurs together like he opened his eyes underwater. 

Someone calls his name. “Ike!”

And just like that he surfaces. He fights to regain his vision, and when he meets your eyes it’s like a breath of air after drowning. 

You call out his name again. “Ike, are you awake?”

Your voice is an oasis in a desert, and it attaches to a heavenly face when his eyesight clears. You lean over his body as he stirs, and the sun is covered by your head. An arc of light accompanies your visage.

“Reader,” he says, so slow and quiet he can barely believe it. “You’re beautiful.”

The kiss you share makes up for lost time. Your hands support his head, so gentle as not to hurt him but keep him steady against your lips as he lays. Even when it turns passionate, he’s still so tender with you. You treat him as a diamond: one of the strongest of his kind, yet you still hold him like a precious treasure even when you part. 

“How did you find me?” Ike asks, and sits up. He’s laying in a field dotted with wildflowers and trees, and you sit next to him. The sun crosses against your skin.

You grant him a pained smile. “I’m not entirely sure. I don’t think I ever want to be sure. There’s a lot of things in this universe us humans don’t have the ability to process correctly.” You turn around and raise your shirt. 

Underneath the fabric on your back are tiny markings that make up an entire illustration. When Ike focuses on the details he can identify wave patterns, astrological signs, and what looks like tentacles weaving through your skin in black ink that shimmers deep teal in the sunlight, completely unlike any tattoo he’s ever seen before. 

Looking at the illustration as a whole is maddening. Ike trails a finger lightly against the patterns on your spine, a jumble of tendrils and tentacles reaching along the bone. 

You continue as Ike takes in the illustration on your body. “That freak of nature I was talking about in my letter? It marked me. I think this means I’ll be one of its vessels when it awakens, but I doubt it will during my lifetime. It’s sentient, but unaware. Sleeping, I think. I don’t remember a lot about how I came into contact with it, but it connects different worlds and times together in its dreams.” You lower your shirt and look back into Ike’s eyes, and he notices that even your own eyes have a shimmery teal hue to them now. “I spent as much time as I could learning how it worked, and before I knew it one day I woke up with that tattoo seared into my back and so much knowledge about how it works, it makes my head spin if I think about it too long. When I started to get tired that night, I simply just knew I should write you a letter, and on my bed was an envelope I’d never seen before.”

“That was hexed, wasn’t it?”

“Exactly. I think in the freak’s dreams, it manifested you out of our current time, the one we’re in right now. So the letter helped me manifest you right back.” You tapped your head. “You did what I asked. I never received your letter back, but something in my brain generated an address, and a time, and what it was like to be you in your new time. I focused in on it as hard as I could, and, well.” You looked out to the field. It was far away from the town, but Ike recognized it as his home. A gentle breeze swept through the air. “Here we are.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Ike’s hand brushed against your own, and you intertwined his fingers with yours. “You’re amazing, Reader.”

“I doubt it. A dive into some unknowable force will do that to you, no matter who you are, and I’m afraid I get nightmares now. Horrible ones I can’t even recall.”

“Then you’re amazing and courageous. It must’ve taken a lot of strength to even withstand whatever it was, and the fact that you’re here just proves it.” He squeezes your hand. “I’m honored to say I love you. I’m honored to have even met you.”

“I love you too,” you say. “Eternally, no matter what may become of me. Now, let’s get you home.”

“We can stay here.” The sun rests along Ike’s face, and the shadows of trees makes the light look like sprinkles along his cheeks. “I just want to appreciate that I’m here. With you.”

You rest your head on his shoulder. “With you, that’s all,” he repeats. His head rests upon yours, and for the first time in the months he’s been torn away from you Ike is at peace. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

🦁 Luca Kaneshiro

The day after Luca saves that woman from the thugs, he goes to the club again. 

Unfortunately she’s just as much of a regular as he is, and he sees the top of her head on the dance floor while he gets his drinks in. She waves him over. He averts his eyes. 

The woman is headstrong, though, and when he ignores her she moves across the bodies and plops herself on the barstool next to him. She sits with her arms on the bar and looks out to the party like she owns the world. 

“Some heroic behavior, ignoring a fair maiden like that,” she snarks. She calls to the bartender. “Two strawberry margaritas for my friend and I! On my tab.”

“I don’t drink margaritas,” Luca says.

“You do now.” The woman isn’t as plastered as she was that night, but seems intent on changing that, and when the bartender slides them their drinks she raises it. “To whatever you’re searching for.”

He obliges. The woman gulps down as much as she can in one breath while Luca takes a tentative sip. The lime and salt startle him. It’s fresher than his usual beers, and far tastier. He drinks more.

“So what are you searching for?” She asks.

“I don’t know what your deal is.”

“You know what I mean.” Everything about her gives Luca the impression he should just just dismiss her whole spiel as drunk ramblings but she’s too sober for that, and even though he tries to ignore it the answer is clear as day.

But she keeps talking, completely ignoring the vibe Luca keeps giving out. “You are sooo emo. Like, what’s the point of going to a club if you’re just going to sit and drink beer of all things. Tastes like piss! You’re young. Have fun with yourself. Go dance, get a marg.”

“I’m not all that into dancing.”

“Oh, so you like watching. Gotcha. Perv.”

Luca puffs up in protest. “I am not a perv!”

“Yaaaay, a reaction!” The woman throws up her hands in a cheer. “So you got broken up with, huh?”

“I did not.” He tries to state it like it’s nothing, but his voice patters out, and he’s sure the woman can’t hear over the music. He’s certain nothing was the matter in his relationship, but he’s taking the separation hard. He wonders if you got over him. He hopes not. Clearly he hasn’t gotten over you.

Luca goes in on the margarita. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over you.

“You look out at the floor all longingly but whenever someone hits on you, you chicken out. That’s okay. You’ll find someone new soon enough. Plenty of fish in the sea. Any time now your balls will drop and you’ll order a drink for some sap on the floor,” the woman says. “You always miss ‘em until you remember the sex wasn’t all that.”

“It isn’t about that,” Luca growls. His temper rises to heat. “It’s about-”

He cuts himself off. The woman implores him to keep talking, but he shuts up before he can let the whole time-travel thing slip. Margaritas were made with tequila, weren’t they? He’s screwed. 

In a moment of weakness Luca looks for anything to serve as a subject change. He realizes that in one hand the woman holds a piece of paper smaller than her hand. “What’s that?”

“A cute guy’s number,” she deadpans. When she doesn’t get a laugh, she relents. “Kidding. You remember the night you…”

She trails off. She has a glassy look in her eye, and the first time that night the woman actually seems uncomfortable. 

Maybe that’s not the word, Luca thinks. ‘Pensive’ might be a better fit. 

“...When we met,” she decides on. “And I took a taxi. I barely remember anything but when the taxi arrived to my place, there was this freaky driver. They gave me this card and told me to give it to one Luca Kaneshiro.”

She produces the business card on the surface of the bar, and when he reads the name emblazoned his blood goes cold.

In a blink of an eye, Luca grabs the woman’s head and drags her ear to to his mouth. He whispers under the howling music. “You’re going to answer my questions honestly or else.”

“That’s hot,” the woman whispers back.

“What did the driver look like?”

“Total weirdo. When I entered the car it was just a normal guy. Can’t remember the face, it blurs together. I took a nap and when I got to my place they had this lion mask on.”

“The name on this card. What does it mean to you?”

“Nothing? I just thought it was a lawyer. Or a cult.”

Luca turns her head to look straight at him. Her cheeks are cupped between his hands. “Their name is Reader.” 

He searches for a reaction, but unfortunately she keeps the same expression even when he says the name aloud. “I know I said I wasn’t interested, but if you keep this up I’m going to get excited.”

Luca lets go and fishes out a bill from his wallet. He figures it’s enough for the margarita. A tiny part of him wishes he had the time to take in more of the drink, but that business card snapped enough sense into him to shake off some of the buzz. “You’re useless.”

He snatches the card from the bar. She sputters. “Hey! That’s not for you!”

“It is, actually.” He taps the Kaneshiro name emblazoned on the card. “These are my boys.”

“You’re Luca?” The woman watches him as he stands up. “Cool name! For an asshole! You’re an asshole, Luca!”

“Thank you for the information. I wish you well.”

“And you’re righteous, too? God, I know how to pick ‘em. Some fucking hero!” She turns around in her stool. “Fine, okay, just brush me off. Some fucking hero.”

She knows how to get under Luca’s skin, but he stares at the card as he leaves the club, transfixed. In neat gold font is Reader Kaneshiro, front and center.

He starts off the route home, already planning out what to do with this, when a taxi pulls up and parks next to him. The window lowers. Luca doesn’t make eye contact, because how you do you see through someone wearing a lion mask?

It’s simple: you don’t. Luca designed these masks for his mafia to use expressly for that purpose.

“Get in, Boss.” The car lock clicks open. “The underboss wants to see you.”

Like a well-oiled machine Luca opens the door.

“How are you here?” Luca asks.

“Science mumbo-jumbo,” the grunt says. As soon as Luca straps himself in he floors it. The grunt curves down the road into some back streets. “But for what it’s worth, it’s good to see you in the flesh again, Boss.”

The taxi stops in front of an arcade. The grunt opens the door for Luca, and he guides the Boss through the halls. As they walk, Luca realizes the entire building is clear of machines and utterly abandoned, save for more goons in lion masks. They stand before him in reverence, even more so than when he was in control of his past. He overhears one whisper to another, “Oh, snap.”

His driver leads him to the back of the building and to a door labeled Employees Only. 

“The underboss is waiting for you in there,” he said. “Go in by yourself. And be nice to them, will you, Boss? They’ve waited long enough already.”

Luca nods, and the grunt departs as Luca pushes open the door.

On the other side, a figure in silvery vintage clothes awaits. You sit on a counter, looking as uninterested as ever, until you catch a look of the face that enters and time stops.

You pounce off the counter and into Luca’s arms the second you see him. “Boss! Luca!”

You feel you feet lift off the ground as Luca returns the hug, so tight you can barely breathe, but the pressure is a gift. You laugh as he practically spins in a circle and swings you along with him. “Luca, I can barely believe it! I mean, all the signs pointed to yes, but it’s you!”

“I missed you!” He places you down so he can land a kiss against your smile. “I missed you so, so much!” He punctuates his words with even more kisses across every inch of your face. One on your forehead, one on your nose, one on your cheek, and so many more you lose count until another on your lips. “Reader, how is this possible? You’re sixty years in the past!”

“Sit down. There’s a lot to explain, but I’ll try to keep it simple.” When he does, you place yourself in his lap and wrap your arms around his body. You’ve spent so much time trying to find him, the skinship acts as a constant reminder of your success. “When you disappeared, I became the defacto leader as the underboss, and prevented inheriting your title of leader as much as I could while our boys investigated. Then when rumors started flying around that you jumped through time, we just couldn’t buy it. So we captured one of the leading voices in quantum physics. He’s a revolutionary.”

“You captured a revolutionary scientist?”

“Yeah. We went to Deezneyworld.” You produced a photo out of your pocket. You, a chunk of macho subordinates, and one very out-of-place scientist all posed at the gates of the Kaneshiro family’s money laundering front, an amusement park. Everyone wore happy smiles and lion-ear headbands from the gift shops, including the scientist. “He’s a brother to us now. But anyways, his research was paramount to learning where you went, and how to recreate the phenomenon. It’s really nerdy. Gets confusing. But once he confirmed his theories, I deployed myself and a small squad of scouts into the future, and turned the city upside down looking for you.

“We figured you might’ve run off to the red-light district or some club scenes, where pretty much any mafia gets their start. Figured you’d start schmoozing with a bunch of drunks. Not so sure about that, but then we saw on the news last night about some brutal mugging gone wrong on the side of the muggers, and one of the cubs heard something from a drunkard about a hero in an vintage pinstripe suit and fur coat that saved her. The cub sent her off on her way to find Luca Kaneshiro, and some others started staking out the club she came from.” You smirk in satisfaction, and press a kiss to his jawline. “Totally unconventional mission statement, but I did pretty good for an underboss, huh?”

“I love you so much,” Luca says. “You’re the best partner in crime I could ask for.”

“It’s a privilege working with you, Luca. I’d do it again and again if it means we run the world together, never separate.” You bury your face into the crook of his neck. His fur coat and blond hair tickles your face. Oh, you missed this feeling. Luca is so warm, and now that you’re in his arms once again it’s like a long winter returning to spring after months of no sun. “I love you too.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

🦊 Mysta Rias

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, yet Mysta works himself into circles. How else could he manage? He knows he will never have all the answers in the world. It’s a foolish pursuit to make knowledge a trade and all you have. It makes you jaded and sour, without any wonder for the world itself. Even as a detective on the case for the truth, he keeps things out of his reach and likes it that way. Leave yourself unanswered questions, after all, and you’ll always have something indefinite to inspire you.

He believed this wholeheartedly, and when he’s not on the clock at his private investigation office he tried to practice what he spent years preaching. His efforts have failed. Even during business hours, if he just so happens to blink a certain way it reminds Mysta of how the ground melted into a spiral before him and swallowed him whole, only to spit him out in the future without a single thread connecting back to his home.

It just doesn’t make any sense. On days when he’s itching for a distraction he even reads and watches fantasy and sci-fi stories, just to see how the characters manage the time they find themselves in. Then he converts their logic to his predicament, and expects it all to change back as it once was- but it never does, and Mysta can never let go of his reason in an unreasonable situation.

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, yet Mysta always picks his cold case back up. I missed something, he assures himself, without a shred of evidence to affirm the suspicion. He retraces the steps and sniffs out the clues once again, with a different perspective than the one he had last. 

None of them work out. A man can have any perspective at all, but in the end, Detective Mysta Rias was thrown out of his world and into a new one sixty years in the future. Reason alone cannot explain it, nor clarify, nor aid. The absurd is absurd. You cannot think outside the box when the box is within a cube. His head hurts just thinking of that analogy.

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, yet when Mysta tries to remember the events of that day nothing grants him peace of mind. All his thoughts fall into a lump of tangled spaghetti, and he’s starting to understand Einstein’s words. 

It was normal in the way that he defined normal. He woke up Friday morning with his partner, Reader, right beside him in bed like normal. Went to work at his detective agency in the late morning while Reader stayed behind on their day off and planned to do some errands like normal. No major field work, only papers to be filed and officers to call, like normal, and he clocked out at night, just like normal. 

The next part is where it starts to get weird. While walking home from the agency, he saw a man in a gaudy fur coat steal a purse, and gave chase. This is one of those things that others would call “exciting,” but considering his line of work it’s just another day- and he dreads to say this- like normal. By the time he cornered the thief, Mysta’s blue eyes furrowed under his brow right before widening as his feet lifted off the ground and sent him into a rip in the air like a galaxy.

Then he was in 2022, which is decidedly not normal. He’s revisited this moment thousands of times. The thief went unidentified with the future’s resources, and the alleyway he thinks he visited right before his time travel stint provided no clues. He’s no astronomer, and even if he was, he didn’t get a good enough look at the galaxy unfolding before he fell into the future. Mysta detests this. There just has to be something he’s missing from that day, but without the tools to recreate it nor investigate professionally, he’s a sitting duck.

Except for the fact that for the first time in his life, he has a question that needs to be answered at all costs, and he hates being a sitting duck when he’s itching to figure it out. It’s a cycle that snowballs.

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, yet Mysta always expects a face he’ll never see in this time whenever someone knocks at the door. It’s usually a mailman or a deliveryperson, but the want is still there.

It would be so much easier if it was Reader on the other side, and they admitted that they forgot their keys and locked themselves out. That was uncommon, but not unheard of ever since you moved in together. Or Reader at the door ready to pick him up for a date, as you did before then. Or even earlier than that, Reader at the door with a bouquet and a determined blush, like that evening when workplace crushes turned into a relationship.

Mysta is so lost in what could be that he forgets what is, until the person on the other side of the door knocks again. The dream is on pause, and grumpily, he opens the door.

Huh. Reader is on the other side. That’s a surprise.

Mysta blinks, stone-faced. Then again, and once more to set it it that, no, this isn’t a cruel delusion. That’s his partner, in the flesh, right before his very eyes, after so much time pursuing this moment.

Mysta throws himself at you in a tight embrace. You nearly lose your balance when his arms clutch around you. He doesn’t say a word, and you can’t see his face while you’re pressed up against his chest, but he holds you with such force that his desperation spreads to you. It’s been a long investigation, trying to locate his whereabouts across your home sixty years ago to a future you never should’ve entered, and all the relief pours out of you as you return his embrace. Mysta’s arms are your resting place.

You curl around and whisper in his ear. “Let’s get inside. I want to tell you everything.”

It’s almost like nothing has changed. You don’t waste time on pleasantries, because the stretch of time you spent separated from your partner was like living through a wreck. You and Mysta do things in your own language, in your own way, and it’s always been a source of pride that you’ve always been on the same page as him without having to overcomplicate things. 

Mysta doesn’t remove himself from you as you sit on the couch. Instead, he shifts himself to one side and holds your arm while you get situated, then places himself behind you on the couch. His lap is your pillow. “I’m afraid that if I stop touching you then we’ll be separated again,” he admits. “I don’t want to let go.”

“Then don’t.” While one of his hands traces patterns along your shoulder, you take the other and kiss the back of his palm. Mysta’s heart flutters alive, and the feeling is so foreign to him over these last few months, he wonders if he’s experiencing his last moments. 

“Your missing persons case was a weird one. Law enforcement was at a loss, and so was I,” you say. You fall into the same cadence you use in the detective agency on debriefing cases. “Reports stated you left the office safely, but never came home. I tracked our usual route and the side trips you usually take, to no avail, and when Occam’s razor failed- the simplest explanation is the correct explanation- it was then I started thinking outside of the box. 

“I made tons of theories, and canceled out just as many. One night, I was so at a loss of ideas that I just started solving other missing persons cases, just to see if anything could apply to yours. That’s how I found out about the disappearance of Luca Kaneshiro.”

“The mob boss?”

“The very one. When he went missing, he was last seen on a street you were also recorded at. He was reported missing days after you, you see, and when I reinvestigated the area was crawling with his goons. After staking out the area I made an alliance with them, minimal resistance.”

“Makes sense. The Kaneshiro mafia is well-known for being docile even to law enforcement until you poke the sleeping bear,” Mysta recounts. “I’m not surprised you managed to talk to them, much less ally with them.”

“They made the connection before I told them. A mafia boss and a detective disappear into an alleyway, never to be seen again? Anyone would think that’s suspicious. We compared notes. While Mysta Rias was presumed missing, the mafia figured Luca Kaneshiro was abducted. Get this. In a matter of days when I reached out to my Kaneshiro contact again, they had a breakthrough. Time-fuckin’-travel. They recruited a quantum physicist into their ranks and everything to prove it.”

“I can’t imagine.” Mysta attempted to be sarcastic, but he was still too in awe that his partner was right where they belonged in his lap to get a full deadpan out.

“So now that I was investigating both the Rias and Kaneshiro cases, the underboss started putting together a squad to search for their big boss. I provided them insight on where their boss might’ve gone across time. In return, they gave me a lift to all this-” you gestured to Mysta’s little apartment and the city outside of it, a world too big to summarize in a word- “-And the assurance that you and I would return to our original timeline with the underboss’s squad once they found Luca Kaneshiro.”

“You trust them?”

“Better than I trust half the unchecked cops we work with. You said it yourself, baby, they’re docile. Luca Kaneshiro believed in protecting the weak with kindness, and it seems he’s trained his family well. I’ve given them nothing but faith, and they’ve given me theirs. They wouldn’t have pinpointed their boss without my deduction, after all.” While you rested your head in Mysta’s lap, he glanced down at you as you spoke. Even as he responded to your debriefing, amazement was still struck on his face, though it toned down since the moment you reunited. 

You’re reminded that even now, you both moved so naturally into your daily discussions of detective work that you haven’t processed properly that you and Mysta are finally in the same room again.

With fondness, you reach out and tap the tip of his nose. His eyes follow your finger like a puppy, and when you crack a smile at his reaction, his face falls into blushing bashfulness. “Happy to report that finding you and getting you back was all my doing, though,” you say. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You’re so hot for that,” Mysta says. Then he covers a hand over his mouth and looks away, as if that’d erase his shyness. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I mean, I’m in love with you, it’s just been so long since I’ve seen you, that’s all. I’m not sure how to handle this.”

“We’ll figure out where to go from here together. We have a way out, after all. Let’s just take the time to stay where we are comfortably.” You roll your head back and shift in Mysta’s lap. His attention returns to you. “Hey, Mysta. I love you too. You know you can kiss me.”

“You’d let me? Even though it’s been so long?”

“Especially because it’s been so long.”

The last thing you see is the comfort in his smile before he bends over and presses his lips upside-down against yours. Maybe not normalcy… but it’s the beginnings of the return, in a language only you and Mysta understand.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

👟 Shu Yamino

“Shu. Don’t wake up. But be lucid, now, I need you to listen to me.”

“Reader…”

“It’s me. Come on, Shu. You’re dreaming.”

“My dreams aren’t usually this meta.”

“Stay grounded. I’m astral projecting to you right now.”

“That was always the one thing I taught you that you could perform…”

“It took a lot of effort but it’s coming in handy now. Oh, that doesn’t matter. You look awful. Don’t give me that look. Well, you look okay enough here but once you wake up, figure it out. You’re doing this all wrong and hurting yourself because of it.”

“My rituals…?”

“Yes! It pains me to see you overexert yourself when you don’t have to!”

“It’s what I need to do to summon you.”

“No, it’s not- oh, Shu, sweet thing, don’t tell me. You’ve been intentionally reaching across space?”

“I have to. It’s for you.”

“Yes, yes, I’m very flattered, but there’s an easier way to do this. One that doesn’t involve ripping a space vacuum in our apartment. It’s time only that separates us, Shu. I’m… somewhere. I’m not sure. I don’t know metaphysics like you do. But I know the difference is our timelines, not locations. I’m able to do some astral projection, after all, that should account for something.”

“And you’re a novice. How long have you been trying to contact me?”

“Ever since I warped away.”

“That would be months, then. There’s no way you would be able to transmit a projection across universes like that so quickly.”

“It makes sense. Listen to me- good, I can touch you. Let me hold you. Get yourself some rest. Real rest, none of these short barely-functioning naps, I mean an entire night. Can you do that for me?”

“But I need to keep working.”

“And your work will get you nowhere if you’re not in top condition. I need you in top condition. Okay? And you figured it out. You’re putting in too much effort to find the right answer, and it’s going to suffocate you one day, literally. It doesn’t have to be that way. When you wake up, write every single thing down. Don’t give yourself a chance to forget.”

“I need to reach across time alone. I don’t need to consider space.”

“Good boy.”

“Are you messing with me?”

“Maybe. But the time thing was real. I wouldn’t joke about that when I can see you exhausting yourself. It breaks my heart.”

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“But you’ve got to be one of the strongest people in the world to endure it. It’s just that you don’t have to endure it. Come on, rest with me.”

“You’re soft. Can we stay like this?”

“Of course. Just get comfortable, I’m hoping it’ll force you to sleep longer. Oh, you sweet thing, oh. My sweet Shu.”

“Can you sing to me?”

“My singing isn’t all that.”

“It’s calming. I’ve heard you hum before.”

“If that’s really what’ll help you rest.”

“I want to hear it.”

“Shhh, I know you do. You can barely keep your eyes open even now. Keep them closed, sweet thing, I’ve got you.

“Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars…”

Shu wakes up the next day with music coursing through his head, the ghost of a dream. At the thought of your face he finds the nearest pen he sees and writes your advice on his arm. Don’t rip apart space. Just time is fine. 

He wonders if you can see him as he grabs a scrapbook off a shelf. Its contents are treasured, but a chunk of the photos inside are missing. The book itself chronicles his relationship with you. The big moments are safe, but the little memories that color the story in daily photos were removed from their pages, and he thumbs through the pages where there isn’t a single photo that stares back at him. 

His pace slows when he realized he can’t remember any of the photos that use to rest on one page. Every day for the past few months, he would draft a new ritual to summon you, and in return for you summoning he’d sacrifice a photo, representing a moment in time he could never truly get back. Miracles aren’t cheap, after all.

The pages flip upon themselves, and when he finds a photo still in pace he slips it out from the protector with as little thought as possible. But as little as he tries, his mind still connects the dots. This one doesn’t have faces, but he can recognize his arm in the background. You took a candid picture one wintry evening when you and Shu decided on making cookies. The photo focused on one sugar cookie covered in royal icing that was so ugly you couldn’t help but laugh, and tried to take a serious, artsy picture with the ugly blob of frosting as the focal point. It just so happened that you could also see Shu in the corner, struggling to frost one of his own cookies. 

The moment comes to Shu on instinct the second he sees it, no matter how hard he tries to resist. The sound of your laughter is attached to the photo, and he hates the idea that soon he’d forget exactly how your giggles rose and fell, the way you fought to compose yourself.

Miracles aren’t cheap, and he hopes it’s enough this time. After all, you came to him in his dreams, and he’s sure it’s not his consciousness deluding itself. 

Time manipulation is one of the most difficult subjects of magic, and viewing other timelines is simpler but still not an easy task. Retrieving objects- or people, in your case- in between those two subjects, and his initial rituals always connected retrieval across time along with the distortion of space. The subject of space was a lot simpler to grasp- after all, there have been spellcasters that can teleport themselves with ease- but still nothing to sneeze at. When spatial retrieval combined with temporal, it was simply too much. 

These past few months, Shu tried to brute-force it by honing his abilities with practice, but today he takes a glance at the words on his arm. Your advice.

Shu repeats the steps he’s come to memorize. Jasmine and palo santo incense fills the room as he draws a new magic circle. He drafted the circles of his other attempts with a combination of temporal and spacial elements. This one is minimal in comparison, and already his shoulders feel lighter knowing he doesn’t have to mess around with the oxygen in the witch hut getting sucked out by a rift in space. 

By the time the incense cleanses his hut, he places the three components- one of your favorite accessories, a strand of your hair, and the photo- within their spirals.

As he sets the photo down he does so knowing it’s the last he’ll ever see of it. “Please work,” he whispers, and that’s the last regulated thought he has.

Shu stands in the center of the circle, and when he speaks the incantation his intention is set.

The chalk circle bursts aflame in magenta, and he knows tendrils of fire spurt out from his back as he continues. He doesn’t allow his mind to wander as sorcery flows through his bloodstream and through the fire. The circle becomes a wall that cuts him off from the material, and the heat is intense, blurring through the air and making mosaics of his environment. He doesn’t feel a thing. 

Really, it’s like second nature.

The incantation goes forth. Burning ashes flicker off of the flames that take up all his vision. Magenta curls around his arms now and wraps around his body. Shu stands his ground. He continues to stand his ground, adamant in the flame, even when the last utterance of the incantation is spoken and the magenta world goes white.

He’s not quite sure if he faints.

But when he does regain his consciousness, he stares up at the apartment ceiling, not the witch’s hut he’s spent his lonesome in. Smoldering smoke and ash assails his nostrils. His ears are ringing, and even as he blinks he can see the white light flooding in from the corners of his vision. He lays on the ground. His body feels heavy.

“Shu.” The weight shifts, and his head rises so gentle. The light clears.

Shu’s chest rises and falls as he tries to catch his breath. He’s too entranced to speak out loud, so he does so under his lost breath. “You’re back.”

When you fell back into place it was right where Shu stood, and after the ritual, where he lay on the floor. You sat upon his lap, one leg on either side, and your hand held his head so it wouldn’t drop to the hard ground.

Shu holds his arms out to reach for you, and you help him sit up properly. He places himself around you and his lips take in yours.

His hands are an exploration, and he goes in hungrily but tentative. With each fistful of fabric and brush of skin, it’s another affirmation that you’re real, and in his arms no less, and all his efforts were recognized. When his hands rest against your thighs you hold him tighter, a confirmation. Where he holds back, you go all in; it’s been so long since you’ve been able to feel anyone else, and when the first thing you come back to is Shu, keeping him close is second nature.

Even when he parts to regain his breath he still supports you. Shu stands, and before you know it he sweeps you up in his arms as well. He’s muscular, and his voice is still so quiet, like he’s in a place of worship. 

“Let me hold you,” he says, and you cling to his neck. He smells like jasmine and palo santo. He carries you to your bedroom, and sets you down carefully, like a delicate keepsake.

“I’m glad I talked to you.”

“I don’t think I would’ve figured out the answer without you.”

“Even though it was so simple?”

“I never would’ve made the connection.” Shu pecks your lips, and somehow it’s even more emotional than the first for the moment it lingers. “I never would’ve rested.” 

“You need to.” You hold Shu’s face between your hands. His cheeks squish against your fingers and it feels like heaven, but the dark circles under his eyes are not lost on you. “You’re better than when I saw you in your dreams, but I’m still concerned.”

He laughs. “Only you could be literally lost in time and still find time to worry over me.”

“Of course I would. I care about you. I love you.”

“I love you too. I love you.” Shu lays back on the mattress, and the only thing connecting you both is his pinky finger, crossed between yours. “Are you tired?”

“A little.”

“I’m making up for lost time. I haven’t been able to get a good night’s sleep since you disappeared.”

“I know.”

You tuck Shu in while his fingers rest intertwined with yours, and he squeezes before closing his eyes. He’s serene, and it stuns you just how composed he is for a sorcerer that just retrieved his lover from across time itself. If it weren’t for how exhausted he looked through pale skin and heavy bags, then you would think him untouchable, an invulnerable man.

You caress his colorful hair and the side of his face. He must be one of the most beautiful men alive, and his dedication is no different. Vulnerability is his strength.

You muster the love Shu inspires and sing.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Vox Akuma

Vox finds out he landed in the United Kingdom, across the world from where his castle once stood. It’s been months since he reincarnated, but he hasn’t even started rebuilding an empire yet. It’s natural for a demon to vie for control, and he thirsts for it, but whenever he starts to seriously consider it, the memories of Akuma Castle return all over again, salt in the wound. Then he thinks of how he watched you bleed right in front of him, and how he wasted your intervention, and he has to sit while his heart screams in phantom pain.

He walks the allies at night and abuses his voice for ease. The strangers that pass by dressed in expensive clothes give him their wristwatches like he’s an old friend, and when they regain their senses he’s already gone. The ones that get too nosy are on the receiving end of his nastiest voice, and if he had any more of a bleeding heart he’d feel bad about how they would never forget the way his tone simply shatters even the strongest resolve.

It’s a pitiful existence. He should be living a life of glamour surrounded by humans that follow his every command and all the wealth the world can offer, but here he is, simply getting by like a street rat. 

But the pain is too fresh. His heart aches. Phantom pains.

Vox revisits the subway he landed in on occasional nights. It’s a compulsion. Sometimes Akuma Castle’s final moments flood back, but more often he sits at the bench with a blank look on his face, waiting for something to happen.

Tonight is one of the latter. Vox leans back against the wall and stares at the tiled ground. It’s late enough that this train shouldn’t be running until dawn, but the time is uncertain. After all, he’s underground, and the closest thing to the moon down here is a flickering fluorescent light.

He exhales. He can never forget the moment you passed on. A wise advisor, a formidable warrior, and beautiful lover all gone in such a moment, simply because he didn’t strike true into the bleeding man that was his undoing, the reason you had to save him, the price of your life, phantom pains…

His thoughts are interrupted when he hears footsteps echo through the empty station and enter the corner of his vision.

“What do you want?” Vox grumbles, not willing to give the stranger the satisfaction of looking at his face. 

The stranger gets down on a knee in reverence, and Vox’s curiosity gets the better of him. He watches them lower their head, and when he recognizes them his eyes widen.

Reader, gorgeous as the day they met, untouched by war nor blood, speaks clearer than water. “Milord. I see now that “the Voice Demon” is no mere nickname.”

Vox is struck into silence and doesn’t dare move, like a deer in the headlights.

You raise yourself. You cock your head. “Milord Vox? Is everything alright?”

“I- I must be dreaming,” Vox says. He sweeps his hand over his open mouth. “You died.”

“I did. In the heat of battle, beside the one I love and the family I swore myself to protect.”

“Then how are you here? You should’ve passed on into your afterlife- no, don’t tell me. You’re not at peace, are you? You’re not at peace, and it’s all my fault.”

“Don’t wound yourself, Milord. Every moment I spend on the battlefield it’s with conviction that I may die for my own beliefs, not by command of careless officer. You would know that best, darling Lord.” You sit next to him and stretch out your hand. “Touch me if you think I am but an apparition, and look into my eyes for the answer.”

Vox doesn’t have the strength nor understanding to move, but he meets your eyes. The pupils are thin, nearly catlike, and things fall into place when a flicker of orange breaks through the color. They’re virtually human, but lava seeps through the color and tints them infernal.

“You’re a demon,” he blurted out. 

You nod. “When I died, I was selected out of purgatory and sent to Hell for my wisdom and strength in life. The demons that greeted me- your people- presented me with a choice: enter my proper afterlife as I imagined it would be when I lived, or continue immortally with infernal blood coursing through me. The choice to carry on the demonic legacy of balance in this world with the skills I fostered through my human life.

“I have to speak in truth, Milord. I was too surprised my presence in Hell was requested to understand the choice entirely. The demons granted me the time to make my decision, and to that I am grateful for their hospitality. I spent time meditating on each outcome. Peace and rest, or an unending adventure so I may die time and time again, each with the same conviction as I held when my mortal life ended.”

Vox reaches out and feels the palm of your hand. His fingers are slight, and you allow him to press down on the hand, take in the warmth of your skin, and brush against your calluses before he fully clasps his around yours. You notice the tremble in his lip, and how he tries to bite the inside of it. He’s about to cry.

“Oh, Milord Vox, my darling.” You press your lips to the back of his palm, then squeeze his hand. “It’s a lot of information, but understand this. I did not become a demon as debt or mindless loyalty. I did so of my own volition, for my own identity, under my own name. Even then, I am exceedingly honored to continue alongside you in our infernal lives. I see I truly was blessed to walk this Earth following you, and that blessing follows me as I have followed you.”

Vox’s voice is as wet as his eyes. Rarely does he express his vulnerability, but when he does, it’s with utmost trust. “How could I ever be your blessing when you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me?”

“Milord, come here.” You outstretch your arms, and Vox collapses into you. He buries his head into your chest, and sniffles as you stroke his hair. “My darling Lord. We found where we need to be, and each other once more. I couldn’t ask for more.”

“None of this ‘Milord’ title anymore,” Vox says. His words are muffled against the fabric of your shirt and the tears in his eyes. He struggles to catch his breath, so you rub circles along his back in your embrace. Vox swallows down a hiccup as you whisper and shush comforts. He continues speaking as he clutches you. “Call me Vox. I love you too much to pretend we’re not equals.”

You brush aside a lock of hair and kiss his forehead. “My darling Vox, then. It would be my pleasure to be yours in immortality. Now and forever, and with every bone in my body, I pledge myself to you. I love you.”

“No pledges, either, Reader.” Vox rubs at his eyes. His voice still wavers, but it’s more controlled now. “I mean it. We’re more than master and servant could ever be.”

“That… is new.” Your eyes cast downward, even as Vox is still in your arms. “But not unwelcome. I’m just surprised you think of me so highly.”

“The best thing that’s happened to me,” he repeats. “Truly, the best thing. We’re demons. I’ll have you know you have my utmost loyalty just as much as you pledged yours to me in our lives before this current time.”

“I see. Is there a ritual, then? Or a ceremony, as the time before my death?”

“No rituals, no ceremonies.” Vox loosens from the hug. He presses a gentle fist against your chest, where your heart beats. “We don’t use titles. We just act on it. We show what we feel.”

“I fear I have a lot to learn about ‘acting on it,’” you admit. 

“We have all the time in the world for you to learn.” He dives back into your embrace, but now his lips are flush to your ear, and he whispers a secret only you can hear. “Think about it this way: in the past you were mine to control. You still are.” Vox’s voice grows deeper. The rumble sends shivers down your spine. “But now, I’m yours.”

“Y-you must not toy with me like that, Vox…”

“It’s the truth. I’m a wreck without you.”

“Then I’m flattered to be the one to keep you together, my darling.” 

Vox lays a kiss right below your ear, and when he parts away you take a chance. Your hands clutch around his jawline and shoulder as you aim for his lips. Hellfire awaits you. You’ve always detected the heat that courses through Vox every time you touch him, but it all falls into place with the infernal life behind your kiss as well.

No secrets are left uncovered. Vox leans into you, a testament to his dedication. His tears dried long ago, and as you kiss him, you swear to no one but yourself; as many times as he cries, you always want to be the one to help him smile again. He would do the same for you, no doubt. He always has. 

Equals, you think. Vox’s hands clutch around your neck as the kiss continues. You’re someone he can depend on. I would go anywhere beside him.

There’s no other world you’d rather be. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

[dibrujas]

Ceci(lio)

Ok, I finally sat down to scan some recent sketchbook pages. I come to talk to you about my new-ish character.

His name is Cecilio, but his friends (?) call him Ceci.

[first spread I drew of him]

He's 29 years old, is really into J-fashion and Visual Kei, and he can read people's minds. That last fact brings him a lot of conflict.

The plot of his story begins when he, at 29 years old, decides to basically escape from his group of criminal friends, to try to build a life for himself in the Big City™, hoping that he no longer has to use his telepathy to gain intel for criminal schemes.

But turns out, that group of "friends" was so tightly knitted, so codependent, so toxic, that Ceci doesn't really know what to do with himself once he leaves. So it's time for him to find himself without the fear of what others might think! ... it's easier said than done.

But by finally being independent, he meets new people who accept him for who he is, which is nice. And he gets to experiment with his looks and the way he presents himself, after years of conforming.

[Some pages] [I really love his purple hair]

Now, I mentioned he has telepathy, he can read people's minds. He's not the biggest fan of his powers. In this story, there aren't that many people with powers... actually, Ceci seems to be the only one. These powers have brought him lots of problems his whole life, including psychological and even physical consecuences.

And sadly, the downsides to mind reading seem to worsen now that he lives in such a densely populated area. He walks two steps and has already figured out what his neighbour had for breakfast, what the person walking next to him needs to do that day, and what the judgemental old man next door thinks of his outfit.

Another power that comes with his mind reading is that when people around him sleep at the same time as him, he can watch their dreams as if they were his own. Sometimes he can even interact with people in their dreams. He can't even get rest when sleeping, poor guy.

[Have you seen this man in your dreams?]

But not everything is bad! With his new found independence, Ceci is able to express himself fully, and finds people who love him for himself, and aren't afraid of his telepathy nor want to use it for their own gain. He starts having a good time, even if his powers bother him sometimes.

It would be a shame if someone from his past came back to stalk and harm him again...

.

So yeah, that's what I got so far! Ceci is a very fun character to draw, and his story can be pretty interesting to write. I hope it's not too derivative from other stories with weird guys who read minds and walk through dreams... but even if it is, so far is a story just for fun, and for exploring themes I find important or interesting. Like self-confidence, anxiety, the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, exploration of identity and self expression, psychology, and even more serious topics like emotional and psychological abuse.

I'll post more about him (and the other characters in his story) soon, I hope!

Have some more drawings of the guy:

[via-the-ghoul]

A Hanging Dying dream forever repeating

AKA: the Via-Verse’s version of Alagadda’s origin.

After working off and on on this for months and debating whether or not I should post it, it’s finally, finally here! This takes some elements from other tales, but I made it my own lol.

Anyways, TW: mind-altering, body horror, death by childbirth, heavy usage of blood, emotional child abuse, plague (which has descriptions of killing people), religious themes, child abandonment, mild gore, medical themes, suicide by hanging, slit throats, and someone snaps their own neck at one point, a knife’s briefly mentioned, cosmic horror, chains, brief mentions of drinking, someone plays with another person’s trauma in an attempt to manipulate them.

Sorry about the long list of TWs, but it’s just text, no pictures.

Anyways, here we go! (The document this is saved on is 12 pages long what is wrong with me lol)

Have you ever heard of Alagadda? Probably not, most haven’t these days. It was a kingdom long ago, before it became something else at the cost of memory. Do you wish to know what happened? …Good.

It all started as most stories do: before anything noteworthily weird happened. There was a king, there was a queen, she was pregnant, they loved each other very much, and the kingdom loved them. Nothing that made it seem too different from most kingdoms.

Except, of course, for one thing. The king had a certain secret, one that would hand the ink and pen to the hands of fate for Alagadda.

He had a love for forbidden magics. His nights spent at the Wanderer’s Library, writing the names of Gods and various sights across the sea of universes. Eventually, the Way he used just closed up, but that didn’t matter. He already had what he needed to grant his greatest wish.

Dyo’s surroundings felt like a dream to him. A faint memory of a dream from centuries back, that was what this was. He knew he wasn’t in Alagadda anymore, and he felt off. Was this fear, or bewilderment? And what were these colors? And why wasn’t this entirely unfamiliar?

He could hear birds chirping somewhere on his left. Why was the sound’s location so clear? And what kind of birds were these, with a song so beautiful and clear, something he could sing along to if he possessed vocal chords?

What was this strange, new, beautiful world? The sky above him, it was blue? Was that the word for it? Why did he know the word?

Gosh, if only he still had his body. Then he could investigate this strange new world he was thrown into. See the birds. Maybe sing.

The king wished that him, his queen, and his future child would live forever. The kingdom loved them, and he loved his queen, so there was no problem he could think of. Plus he had a common trait to most mortals: thantophobia. He was a strange man driven by fear. Not very strange, actually, when comparing him to others.

He whispered into the abyss, and three brothers answered. The youngest draped in darkness, his pale face standing out with a sliver grin. The middle a strange mismash of armor and arms, dust and clutter. The eldest of pale colors, faced in pure shadows and towering over the night sky. Three ways to die. A deal was made, a game of cards for immortality.

He fought for this immortality, he really did. He was able to top the two younger. But the eldest defeated him, far, far too easily, crushing the built up hope. And then they returned to the shadows without a word, leaving him alone.

The queen gave birth three days later. The child survived, but she faded away. The child didn’t cry, covered in their mother’s blood. The king didn’t understand why, and did not hold the child. So they remained, wrapped in dark clothes by the midwife, for someone else to take care of.

Time seemed to return to a familiar melding for Dyo. He couldn’t tell how many hours it took before the sun began to set. He knew that soon, a familiar night would appear. He felt strangely sad, he rather liked this new day. But he couldn’t really hear the birds anymore, and he was rather tired of being stuck in one place. Perhaps something familiar would help this horrid wait for some poor soul to come across him.

However, a new sound came from his right. Faint, but approaching. He had heard variations of this sound back home, and it sometimes appeared in this new daytime, but never was the crushing of leaves back home, and never was it approaching him here.

Footsteps. The stepper was probably wearing boots, from the sound of it. He honestly couldn’t wait, he really wanted to move around this new world. See the birds. He wondered what new colors they would be.

The footsteps got closer and closer, until finally a shadow covered Dyo. He could feel himself smiling. He never smiled back home. He could get used to this new world. He felt a gloved hand grab him, and hold it up to the mysterious face of the new being. The face…

It was probably the most horrific face Dyo had ever seen.

The plague came after that. Sores spotted the people of the kingdom, blood and bile coming from screeching mouths. The screams of the people echoing in the streets for years. The inescapable smell of death. But the king never heard them, never smelled rot or tasted bile.

The king had hidden deep in his castle, sobbing, mourning his queen, and only his queen for all those years. Unaware of the state of his people. He had put the lords in charge of it all, the kingdom and his child. His child…

His child grew strange. They were quiet, and rarely smiled, but weren't mean. They did try to help the people, as much as a child could. Sometimes, when there was no hope that someone would survive, they would sit by their side until they fell, no matter how the doctors warned against it. Strangely, the child never grew ill themself. Despite most people accepting the child, there were… rumors about the kid. Whispers of being the devil’s child and witchcraft, which the child somewhat heard. They didn’t believe it, but… it explained why their father never played with them like other fathers did.

10 years after it all, the king finally listened, having returned from his sorrows. He heard the screams. He saw the blood, and he saw the corpses. But he didn’t blame himself, no.

He blamed the child. He accused them of not being his child, of having been a spirit possessing them sent by the brothers to torment him, bringing the plague with them wherever they went. A monster that must have killed the real child.

The child didn’t understand. They had never met their father before this, but they heard they weren’t supposed to do this. They were supposed to love their children. That was what they saw with the fathers in the street. Was this why he never showed himself? Were they really a monster? A fake? Were those whispers right?

The king ordered the child to be locked away in their room, and never let out. Proclaimed them to be a contamination spreading monster. Some believed and some didn’t, but the ones that didn’t didn’t do anything to stop it.

Perhaps they were supposed to be locked away, perhaps there was something wrong with them. That was what they wondered, anyway. Their father hid away from them for so long, after all. Perhaps this was the reason. Perhaps they were born of dust and shadows, their mother unable to bear the beast she created. Perhaps everyone was right, perhaps they doomed the townsfolk they loved by existing.

The child began to cry.

There was something completely off about the figure’s face. It had the same mask-face as the people back home, but there was something off about its construction. The mask felt too organic, the yellow eyes uncovered, sunken deep in its head. Too expressive, too wrong, that was the eyes. It’s eyes, something changed in Dyo upon seeing the creature’s eyes.

Memories began to appear in his head, of long before, of a state of wakefulness, of trees and blue birds, and colors! So many forgotten colors, bright orange paints like the sky when the sun rose, the green grass and trees he could get lost in, a blue sky, a blue sky! And purple, purple was his closest friend’s favorite.

His childhood friend. The king’s child. By the stars, the king had a child! Why couldn’t he remember more about this lost child?! What happened to them?

Dyo didn’t see the strangely beautiful abomination for long, as it wordlessly put it in a dark brown bag. Brown, he could remember the color of tree trunks and dying leaves and the child’s eyes. The child…

Though now he was in darkness, he could tell the entity would let him out sooner or later, it had too. Perhaps there were more wonderful joys he had forgotten that the entity would show him. Though, why weren’t all these joys back home? Why were they hidden away? And what happened to his friend…

The king tried again the next morning. He knew he may not be able to resurrect his wife, or his child, but he was willing to try to give himself immortality again. Not with the brothers, of course. He simply called into the void, hoping someone, anyone would answer.

Something did come out, draped in dark robes and with a hidden face behind bandages, if it even had a face. They called themself an ambassador of a faceless being. They promised the king much more than immortality. They said they could make the king a God. A God… a God could bring back his wife and child. A God would never die. He could have it all, as long as he did what the thing said. The king smiled for the first time in ten years.

Meanwhile, our child looked out their window. A small wave to a boy their age they got along with, but the boy didn’t see. Perhaps the boy would forget about them. And they’d be up here forever. If they weren't such a clever child, perhaps they would try to jump out the open window. Alas, the child didn’t wish to die. Maybe not wanting to sacrifice themselves for the kingdom was part of being a monster. Not wanting to kill the twisted, sick devil that cursed the town-

It was at that time a crow landed at the window. The child liked crows, even though their father didn’t, as they were always nearby when they went to visit their mother’s grave, back before the tower. It was strangely comforting to them. So the child then took a piece of lavender from their shelf. It died when they plucked it, and it was rotting, being here for years, but the child didn’t care. They placed the lavender in front of the crow, and it picked it up. It almost seemed to smile before flying off. The child felt better. Maybe they were not a monster. Crows seemed more trustworthy than the king anyway.

Time was melding again in the bag. Or perhaps it was Dyo not liking the dark. It felt like he was floating in the darkest void, where no one could hear him scream, even if he had the vocal cords necessary. Gosh, perhaps the entity would give Dyo a body so he could actually talk!

A sudden blast of light and another gloved hand later, he was out of the bag. Apparently the entity lived in some sort of cave. He could make out some sort of cloth in the background. He didn’t know why, but Dyo figured it was called a blanket. People… slept on blankets. They never slept back in Allagadda.

He saw a table with another cloth on it, this one not a blanket for sleep. It was soaked in red blood. Medical cloth. This was a doctor of some sort. The entity placed him on said table, laying on the cave’s wall. The blood was dry, but the blanket was somewhat wet. Attempts of cleaning blood that never really worked. The doctor stared at him, before staying one sentence, in a dark, echoey voice.

“I know you are alive.”

Three years passed, and the kingdom grew strange. The king started to paint over anything that wasn’t black, white, yellow, or red. His favorite colors. More people started to wear masks, masquerade masks, forever. No one seemed to question any of this, and just went along.

The child meanwhile, disappeared. They had attempted escape twice before, and the lack of fighting back once they were caught again made them think escape wouldn’t be much of an issue. As the plague had been fading out, the king simply assumed they returned to the darkness they came from. This is not what happened, they merely escaped, without anyone noticing this time. Though some suspicion was casted on the new young court jester, theories they let out the kid, nothing ever came of it.

The child had grabbed a mask and ran off with it. No one was to see their face, no one was to know who they were. They cut their hair and changed their name. They ran to the town doctor, and claimed to be an orphan child seeking apprenticeship. The doctor took pity on the kid, and took them in. No one realized who they really were. No one claimed them a child of the devil, or a witch.

Dyo wished he could respond to this, he really could. He really wished that he and the entity could have spoken this whole time, about the sky, and the birds, and all these questions that were in his metaphorical brain. But he had no host, and he couldn’t look into this thing’s mind. Maybe he was still getting used to this dimension? He simply frowned. The entity tilted his head a bit.

“Huh, I thought you could still speak in this state. I must have overestimated you, my apologies. Hold on.” The entity picked him up again, and flipped Dyo around. Now they could only see the cave wall. The entity better have a good explanation for this when he actually gets a body.

He could still hear, however. He could hear the bag opening, tools being taken out, as well as something soft. Sewing, wet tearing sounds, soft fleshy noises? How did he not feel any of those in the bag!? And why did the entity think he wouldn’t want to see this over a boring old cave wall?

After what seemed like hours, he was flipped back around to see the entity’s crude creation. Flesh draped over bones, a tear in the “face” to simulate a mouth, bulging eyes and no hair. A small mannikin of flesh.

“I could have done better, but you will just destroy it anyway. No use wasting more spare parts than necessary.” The entity sighed before placing Dyo over its face.

Finally, he was getting pretty bored.

The years went on. No one mentioned the king’s child anymore. It was getting harder to see any colors that weren’t the king’s favorite, even in the yellowing sky.

The people began to change as well. They seemed to be losing themselves, more and more thinking merely of parties and wine. It didn’t affect everyone, but most that weren’t inflicted ran to other kingdoms. Eventually, the only people not affected were the town doctor, and our child. Our child…

Our child wasn’t much of a child anymore, and despite having hid it so well, they never forgot their past. They could still be found laying the last bits of rotting lavender at the Queen’s grave. Sometimes, they’d talk to the crows, simple little greetings, but still.

You see, that one crow in the old prison, it would come back. The child would talk to it eventually, when they ran out of lavender. They were friends. Once, the crow even gave a piece of rotting lavender to the child. They never forgot that. They even took it with them when they escaped, though they had now lost that decaying flower. The child spoke better with crows than people since then.

Though one day, 20 years after the day the king first invoked the three brothers, it was time for the final step of the thing’s plan. No one could have guessed. No one but the king knew the thing. And the king was too entranced to question its word. No one could have guessed what it wanted.

“Thank you, you do not know how frustrating it is to need to talk but have no mouth! I am sincerely grateful-”

“Why are you here?”

“...Huh?”

“Why are you here and not… there?” The entity’s voice was cold and stern. Clearly not a fan of Alagadda.

“Oh, right, I was so ungratefully thrown out of my home for daring to be worried about my king, daring to question the ambassador, daring to care about my people!” Dyo was still, admitting, getting used to puppeting a body in this world, and this body didn’t have all the necessary parts to move, but he tried dramatically throwing his hand to his face and his other hand where his heart would be. The intent could probably be read however, judging by the entity’s reaction.

“Sounds about right. There is no care in that kingdom, no sense. The moment someone begins to fall out of line…”

“Not a fan huh?”

“Of course not! That kingdom is an artery in the body of the pestilence. It is filled with animal instincts, only chaos, consuming, destruction with no rhyme or reason, and that ambassador would not have it any other way.”

“...Have you been there before?” A potential way back. As much as he liked this new world, he did want to go back. He couldn’t get revenge without going back. The entity hesitated before giving their answer.

“Yes. I am waiting until I have made enough progress on my cure to retur-”

“How did you get there? Have some unfinished business I need to, well, finish.” The entity froze. Something about that question thawed away all that cold from the entity. In there, somewhere, was something afraid to lose him.

“You… Want to go back there? What could there be to justify entering that place again, when you have just begun to find yourself again?”

Dyo tilted the fleshy thing’s head, and paused.

They found the king in the middle of his court, hanging by a rope. But no one seemed to care. They simply threw him in the grave, not bothering to remove the rope or even bury him. He just laid there, as crows feasted on the body. Even the town doctor, so far unaffected by anything, found herself uncaring to the king. Her apprentice never really cared for the king at all anyway.

That night, however, they still couldn’t sleep. They still wondered what could have happened to prompt this, so they looked out the window. What if the king really did love them, and this was their fault? No, that couldn’t be the case. Perhaps they’d see a crow outside, something to ground them in reality.

However, they didn’t see that. Instead, they saw… something slowly moving, for walking or even stepping didn’t feel right, through the street, rope around their neck. They couldn’t make out a single other feature, but enough was enough, and they could read context clues, they were not sticking around any longer. The town was going mad, and the apprentice and the doctor could not do anything about it. They had to leave, they had to. They panicked, putting on their mask, before they ran downstairs in an attempt to get their superior out with them…

The doctor was dead. Simply lying there, throat slit. Knife next to her. Blood was everywhere around her. Far too much blood for this type of wound.

The apprentice was horrified, and ran outside. It didn’t matter how, they had to get out of here as quickly as possible, and never look back. They’d mourn later.

But as they ran, they heard something behind them. Something was chasing them, but that wasn’t what they heard. It must have been floating, as they could also hear faint sounds of wind. No, the apprentice heard the thing talk. The voice sounded like a wind chime, neutral and sing-song. The apprentice didn’t want to listen to what it was saying. It clearly had bad intentions.

“THIS IS MY KINGDOM NOW. ACCEPT YOUR DESTINY AND TURN AROUND.”

The apprentice just kept running, and running, and not turning back. This wasn’t a home anymore. They didn’t know anything about the thing, but they knew the thing didn’t have good intentions. They knew their kingdom wouldn’t be a good place to be. Especially with the blood they felt on the ground.

And they did it. They ran all the way out. Perhaps they were tired, perhaps they thought they were safe, but they looked back. They’d never been anywhere else before.

A chain wrapped around their torso. Knocking them down, pulling them back into the kingdom, back with that… thing.

“YOU FOOLISH, FOOLISH CREATURE. YOUR DYING BLOOD WILL FLOW TO THE HIDDEN ONE, AND YOU SOUL WILL ROT IN YOUR COT FOREVERMORE. NO ONE WILL REMEMBER YOU. IT IS YOUR PURPOSE.”

The apprentice was terrified, they really were, but they didn’t show it. They knew damn well that no matter where this was going, they would die. But they knew the thing wanted them to bleed as they died. So maybe, if they died bloodlessly, they’d be safe from the… thing. They didn’t know, but they didn’t want this thing to have their soul. If they were right, perhaps they’d be somewhere safe, far away from this thing. Perhaps their mom would be there. Their knowledge of anatomy left them with one real option now, even if they were scared to die. It was on their own terms, at least.

Before the apprentice could fully be dragged back into the town, they wrapped their shaking hands around their own neck, and turned it as hard as they could.

“...what do you mean by finding myself? I’ve always known myself!” Dyo smiled, trying to ignore how much he only remembered after waking up here. That didn’t mean he wasn’t the same old Dyo. The entity’s head tilted.

“Alagadda used to not be a dream-state pocket world. It was a kingdom here once, until the Ambassador appeared. He changed people into caricatures of themselves obsessed with the king. Take yourself, for instance.” Dyo wasn’t smiling anymore. He could remember it now, figments of what Alagadda was. Blue sky. Their friend, the king’s child, a child around his age at the time, who he was close with, but disappeared one day, and then everything was foggy.

“When I knew you, you loved theater so much. You were so happy, I remember your smile so well, even after all this time. You wanted to be an actor. You became the court jester instead, suddenly obsessed with the king. It took a toll on you. You were miserable the last time I saw you, and when we met again today, I assumed you were warped so much that you were just… gone.”

Dyo remembered a lot more as they said this. The theater. There was a theater, where no actors killed themselves at the end. Where dying in the play didn’t mean anything for you. He had wanted to be there, with the actors themselves. They seemed to be having so much fun, and he’d practice his silly little improvised monologues to his friend. His friend, his only friend at the time…

They still couldn’t remember who this entity was. Strange. Maybe if he played his cards right, he could get the entity to jog his memory…

“I missed you. I mourned you. I, I should stop. This is a lot to take in-”

“No, please continue. Who, who was I, to you?”

It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, it didn’t have to matter! The king doubted this kid even existed, they didn’t have to be in the kingdom. It wouldn’t affect the plan at all. They were entirely optional, and had willingly thrown away a chance at eternity. Strange. They did not accept the purpose of being locked away forever. So they left the child to rot away, feasted on by bugs and crows.

The king was hanging at their throne again, twitching, faint breaths, but no words. The three lords and the court jester each also hanged in a different corner of the court, each noose done too tight, blood dripping from their necks. The Ambassador held up a golden cup, and blood, all of the blood throughout the entire kingdom, flowed into it. The Ambassador went to the twitching, shaking king, who began to slowly reach for the figure.

“WITH THESE, THEIR BLOOD, IT IS THE HANGED KING’S.”

They held up the cup for the king, who held it himself. He held the cup behind his veil, to his small, rotting lips. He began to sip from the cup.

And then he dropped it.

“...We were close, very close.” The entity said. Dyo simply waited for them to continue, but they didn’t.

“...And…”

“My apologies. I tend not to dwell on the past, considering how warped the kingdom has become, so I tend not to talk about it. No one has heard of the kingdom anyway.”

“Heh. Strange that I can’t remember you though. Can you turn into a bird or something?” the entity let out the smallest of laughs.

“No, no, I just was successful in leaving my old life behind.”

In all fairness, Dyo wasn’t entirely honest anymore. His disappeared friend and this mysterious person claiming to have been his friend… it couldn’t entirely be a coincidence. But something felt… off. Something else happened. This wasn’t just an Alagaddan who left, something changed about them. Sure, there was no influence from the Ambassador, but there was something else Dyo couldn’t put a metaphorical finger on. Maybe if they played their cards right, he could get the figure to reveal it. Reveal if they could be friends again.

“Well then, what’s your new life like? This boring old cave doesn’t really jog the imagination, you know?” Maybe they’d give away a God or two with the details.

“I seek to cure the pestilence.”

“For anyone in particular?”

“Humanity.”

“...Why, though?”

“I believe that curing such a horrible ailment is simply the right thing to do, and it is why I am still here.”

Ok this wasn’t going anywhere. Why they are still here, though…

“What do you mean, why you’re still here? What happened to you?”

The hanged king was dead, the hanged king was alive. The kingdom was dead, the kingdom was alive. No one was truly dead, and the only one truly alive was the Ambassador, the real one in control. Everything was on repeat. Everyone would go through the motions of partying, drinking, forever and ever. The kingdom didn’t exist and it did exist. It was somewhere else. No one back on Earth remembered it.

Everyone would go through their motions, like a play, of sorts. Everyone had their roles to play. The lords walked with the people, and the king wrigged and withered chained on his throne, but the Ambassador was the one in charge. It was like a dream for them. Everyone only remembered what they wanted them to remember, and that didn’t include that child.

That child… the Ambassador barely thought about them. They were dead. They were dead, and they’d never know what the kingdom became. That was that.

The Ambassador was intelligent. They knew everything that had gone done in the walls of the kingdom, the many that entered, the few who’d left. They had trapped another goddess, one of the moon, in a cycle of trying to destroy the king, being attacked and almost killed by them, before returning to the sky to rest, before coming down again once per year. They even had found a use for the prison meant to contain that child, keeping the bird who’d betrayed the queen in there before repeating the cycle. They knew a lot.

But they were not entirely correct about that child.

“Whatever do you mean by that, Dyo?”

“It sounds like something should’ve killed you, but didn’t. Whatever happened-”

“Enough about me. I am afraid I have come across much more selfish than I truly am, I do not wish to dwell any more on me, let alone my past.”

“No, no. Tell me what happened. Now.” Dyo was getting impatient. This being clearly was hiding something. Dyo didn’t like when things were hidden. He needed to know it all.

“No.”

“I don’t think you know what’s really happened to me, do you? I… I am royalty these days! You better explain exactly who you are now!” Dyo forced the body up, and stared down the being. They didn’t look like much, muscle-wise.

“No.”

“You have no one, do you? That’s why you’re all alone here. No one would miss you if I were to-”

The entity ripped the mask right off the body, cutting Dyo off.

“I really let myself hope…” it said. Its eyes were filled with fire. But now, Dyo felt a bit more… comfortable here. He could speak in the entity’s mind.

“How rude. I bet if your father cared about you he’d be very disappointed.”

Dyo couldn’t really see where the entity was taking him, but that remark seemed to make them go faster. Seemed to, as they were rather slow either way.

“Why are you gripping me so hard? I thought we were friends!”

“We were, yes. You have made it clear that we are not now.” They did loosen up a bit though. Nice to know Dyo had found a way under their skin.

“Didn’t you miss me?”

“Yes, and I still do. Here we are.”

They were back in that field. A couple of dark birds flew off as they arrived. Maybe they were the same ones from before, maybe not.

The entity left him on the ground, face down, before beginning to leave. Dyo could not believe this rudeness!

“Hey, don’t leave me like this! At least let me see the stars!”

The entity didn’t respond.

It all started unlike how most stories do, with a young human snapping their own neck in a final act of defiance towards a God. Said God had then returned to their kingdom, but the human had woken up somewhere else.

Said somewhere wasn’t too different from the place they left, but there were more trees, and there was no kingdom. Or was there? It was very dark, the person couldn’t tell. Was this what death was like? They slowly got up, putting a hand on a tree. No reason to stay here all alone, when they could explore this strange world. …Until he heard a coo behind him.

Turning around, they saw someone. A crow. The person let out a small smile.

“Hello,” Said the human. After everything that happened that night, it was nice to see something, anything familiar. They sat down in front of the crow.

And then it wasn’t a crow. It was a being wearing shadows like a robe over their pale body. Its gray eyes stared into the person, into all they ever were. Horrible and beautiful.

“Oh.” The human did not react with fear, or even shock. Strangely, the figure still brought them comfort. Perhaps the being had been there their whole life, under the appearance of the crow. Perhaps it was some sort of guardian angel. Or perhaps it was one strange coincidence. It didn’t matter anymore.

“GREETINGS.” A voice akin to if whispers in the darkness spoke loudly instead came from the thing.

The two simply sat there for a bit. Until they began to talk again. About the kingdom, and about the thing that warped it in its own image. About the thing that drove it. About the curse that was still in the human’s blood, even if they escaped the kingdom. Even if their mind was clean. This burning red malice, it still lingered in the kingdom. In humanity. And whether they liked it or not, the human was a part of this now.

A deal was struck there. The king was never correct about their child’s identity, they were never some spreader of disease sent by the brothers to torment the king. They were merely a child who wanted to help the people of Alagadda. But they were not a mere child anymore, and the people of Alagadda could not be helped anymore either. They were consumed by a plague of madness, one the human could never hope to stop with what they currently knew.

So, the human would perfect a cure to the madness of spilt blood, eradicate it, and then they would return to the darkness they were in now. Or die trying. This was to be the human’s purpose, to cleanse the red-stained madness, one they took without hesitation. Only once it was gone, or if the physical burden on their rotten form grew too much, should they return here. To be a savior, to free the people of Alagadda, and help this… thing, that the king was wrong to use as an insult, who was better family than the king. This was something that the human accepted.

…Oh, who am I kidding?

They were not human anymore.

Come on, where was it? They knew it was somewhere in this journal- aw, there it was, right at the beginning. A simple list of names. Not every name, just the ones they could remember. A collection of them, lined up neatly. So many still unaccounted for.

The people of Alagadda. All gone from life and from memory. They couldn’t hope to remember every single name, but they put the ones they could here, as a memorial. It was necessary, since they were the only one who could mourn Alagadda.

They had hesitated at first, reading his name again, but it was needed at this point. His name was one of the first ones written, as the memories of him were some of the fresher, even now. They were close once, very close. But he changed. Sure, the kingdom changed everyone, but once away from the kingdom, he was still much more cruel. They did not wish for any part of this man to be remembered anymore, but they couldn’t just erase it. They couldn’t erase that boy who saw he was having a bad day and created poetry on the spot just to make them feel better, playing in the flowers, laughing together…

The doctor crossed out Dyo’s name. Never again, not even in death. Never ever, ever again. That boy was gone.

…Though, they figured the old them was gone too. They were not a quiet child worried about a father who never looked at him with love. They couldn’t care less about the king anymore. They were helping people now. They were untraceable to the kingdom now, no one needed to know, no one, no one.

No matter. It still hurt, just how much the two had grown apart. Perhaps it was meant to be, the two being driven apart. Maybe they should’ve stopped being sentimental and smashed the damned mask to smithereens.

This was why they didn’t sleep that night. What if Dyo came back? What if somehow, he saw the light? Or what if he came back to attack them again, and they had another chance to crush him?

But all throughout the night, Dyo did not return. It was quiet. Under different circumstances, they believed it would have been calming. But they couldn’t relax, Dyo could show up again, or someone sick could show up at their door needing help.

But as the sun rose, no one showed up. A part of them was sad Dyo didn’t show up again, but they buried that part of themselves. Their time as a child, as an allagadan, ended centuries ago. They were a professional, a doctor, they couldn’t keep thinking about the past, there were people they needed to save.

[wackapedia]

Comeback-ish

Hi guys!

Its been exactly nine months since I last posted a story on this blog. I'm still here, trying (albeit struggling) to write for the fandoms we love. Over the past few months I've tried my hand with writing for OCs just for exercise but I still feel like I'm all rusty. But I know this space is full of love and consideration that you wouldn't really mind having a different flavor every now and then.

With that being said, I'll do my best to come back to writing for the fandoms very soon. I don't have a new obsession lately so I might come back to some fics that I left hanging. As an appetizer, I'm going to share with you my old fics from various fandoms posted on this blog with a little bit of background as to what was going on with my life, and how it served as a prompt for me to come up with the said story. I'll try to keep it lighthearted, I promise!

Wackapedia Diaries

Fandom: The Last Kingdom | The Lady Of Devon Sihtric x Reader x Finan

I wrote this as an escape. I know a lot of us always craved that 'i need to disappear right now' vibe at some point. When things blew over during this period in my life, I realized that a lot of people would be sad if I did disappear. It didn't stop me from thinking that way but somehow this felt like blowing off the steam that was building at during this time.

Fandom: Top Gun Maverick | Until I Found You (Bob Floyd x reader)

This was based on a real experience I used to get with my crush. Whenever I'm around them, it feels like a lovesong is playing inside my head. It always makes me hum or sing along and I've daydreamed a few times that they'd hear me singing or humming and maybe start a conversation.

Fandom: Swann Arlaud | Remnant (Vincent Renzi x reader)

Again, themes of isolation and solitude. When I watched the movie, I thought I could just live in that lovely cabin and then Sandra's husband just had to ruin it Maybe its some sort of a call for help whenever I'm wanting to be alone, hoping someone would distract me from the internal noise and worries of being an adult.

Fandom: House Of The Dragon | Stay (Aemond X reader)

This is based on my real actual father issues and abandonment. I don't want to trauma dump too much but the most heartbreaking scene in the flashback of this fic was a legit real experience I had. The end also somehow is a projection of my anxiety that no one really stays for another person- (I'll save you the rest of this tangent, this was an entire 2 pages in my journal btw)

So there you have it! I don't know where I was going with this massive text, maybe i'm just talking to the void, maybe i had too much free time, maybe i'm trying to escape reality again but I hope you'll enjoy re-reading my old stuff because new stuff is coming real soon! Please inbox me if you want me to prioritize something from any fandoms you and I stan. Actually, maybe I'll soon start taking requests!

I hope you guys are taking care of yourselves! 🤍🩷

[kenobster]

The more pressure there is on creators to tag/warn (aka rhetoric like "its okay if ppl write [blank] as long as its tagged" rhetoric... discord servers that have heavy CW rules... comments/asks requesting certain topics to be tagged...), the less interest I have in actually tagging anything whatsoever.

Movies are a different beast perhaps, but, as an avid reader, I've never stumbled across anything unexpectedly dark or triggering in a book or a fic. The author's opening passages or chapters have always prepared me for the eventual nature of their story. The style, the tone, the synopsis, the foreshadowing — they have never failed to indicate an oncoming scene descriptive or explicit of something dark or uncomfortable. When I stumble across those preparative breadcrumbs the author has left me, it's true that I sometimes feel temporary discomfort... but I'll hit the back button or close the book or exit the app, and that extremely mild unease is soon forgotten. (If it is not forgotten, then I am grateful for the reminder to schedule my therapy appointment or spend time with a friend or find some other kind of tactic to address such unhealthy rumination. And even if I cannot address it, I'm aware that any attempt to avoid it will only worsen my tolerance for uncomfortable encounters in the long term.)

I can sort of understand the pressure in some scenarios. Perhaps a discord server would like to be inclusive of minors without legal repercussions. Perhaps a user is constantly filling a popular tag with triggering material without any warnings or tags. However, there are times when it makes less sense. A discord server dedicated exclusively to darker themes (especially with a small userbase) needn't mandate the use of trigger warnings. A tumblr user needn't tag every mention of "blood" or "vomitting" just to satisfy the possibility of one or two uncomfortable followers.

I support tags. I support warnings. I support information.

As long as it's voluntary.

The use of warnings and categories and tags and 18+ pages is the solution to any need for censorship. However, when such things become an expectation, rather than a choice, this wonderful solution so easily veers straight back to the slippery slope of censorship. "Fic authors should tag for noncon" so easily becomes "authors who don't tag for noncon aren't allowed to write noncon at all," which so easily becomes "authors who don't tag for noncon are abusers themselves." And throughout the process, the definition of what constitutes "noncon" will expand and expand and expand. In this way, the impetus is shifted right back from the reader (who can curate their fandom experience) to the author (who becomes responsible for reader discomfort). I am hardly the first to talk about this, nor is this the best way I've seen it described — but it is a problem that concerns me deeply.

In our interpersonal relationships, I think most of us do understand the difference and agree on the issue. For example, I am triggered by animal death or harm. If I see too much related to the subject, I will be caught in a depressive episode that can last hours or days or weeks. I avoid movies that involve animals, and I religiously check relevant questions on doesthedogdie.com. However, if my friend comes to me for comfort because her pet cat is dying, I do not shriek at her for not considering my trigger or warning me first. Hell, I don't even ask her to stop. I sit there, and I listen, and I support her, because even though it's a trigger for me, I realize that sometimes in life we can't choose the subjects we encounter. We curate our experiences the times in which we can to make room for the times in which we can't.

AO3's option for "creator chooses not to archive warnings" is not a mistake; it's a feature. And as a creator existing in the current state of fandom, I consider using it more and more every day. Your discomfort with my writing's existence is not my problem, and my writing warns for itself.

[queriesntheories]

how do you do?

I love to make Stuff: writing things, artsy things, music things, whole buncha things. I also post a lot of nonsense thoughts, and share the cool things I find around the web, especially artsy fun things and stuff that makes internet surfing a little easier.

You’ll see some swearing in the tags, but any jokes on the ruder side I keep tagged; block #not so family friendly if you don't want to see that.

I have a Good Omens sideblog on @bananafishgorillashoelace (with a dash of nutmeg) :D

I'm proudly queer and genderfluid! Not entirely out everywhere, still figuring myself out but generally just trying to do whatever feels fun. All of my trans/queer/questioning siblings out there; I see you, I hear you, and I love you /p (and to folks who are aspec in any form, you're the freakin coolest and I hope something nice happens to you this week! this is entirely unrelated to me, I just hope you have a great day!)

If you need anything tagged just shoot me a message, I’m easy going and don’t mind it. Actually just message me generally I like talking to people :>

More info about this blog and the stuff I do under the cut, but thank you for stopping by regardless of the reason why ^^

And remember folks: Don't like what you see? Blocking is free! (and constructive criticism is recieved gladly!)

I exist on YouTube as AychTooOh, making music shitposts, playlists, and the occasional fan edit! I try to upload when I can; if you have any playlist ideas send them my way :D

I have made a Wug Picrew, so you can make a cute creature from child linguistics (this is one of my favourite things)

Sometime I write fanfiction on AO3, on the rare occasion that a silly pairing or a scenario socks me in the face with inspiration

I exist on Themeplaza too, occasionally making silly fun 3DS system themes/splashes! (and if you have any requests, shoot me a DM and I'll see what I can do!)

I have some old art on Newgrounds; very very inactive over there, but that's where you might see art I post for collabs :P

Aside from my GO sideblog, I'm also working on turning my tag #q’s internet trinkets into a neocities page! Check back soon for updates, and please send me stuff you think might fit ^^

I also have a pretty hefty original project of my own that I've been chipping away at for the better part of two to three years! If the fates align, you might see it this year!! ;D

Here are some cool people I think are very neat that you should follow too

@paperoxalis - very skilled 2D and stop-motion animator, sculptor, artist, and writer too! They recently released an adorable animation you can watch here :)

@scottysee - artist, writer and animator working on so many projects; always amazed by their work! You can join their Discord server here :)

@unknown-is-aaaa - very talented artist with an interest in plenty of fandoms, and a heck of a cool-looking art style! They also have a Twitter you can check out here :)

@galandrielle - long-time writer with a heck of a story to tell! Check out her work here! (I’d recommend starting with Michael and John - A Story of Friendship)

@canceltheact - more like a group, but these guys on the theory team are the best and are such wonderful friends to have! &lt;3

@midnightnautilus - artist/animator/writer/squid, creator of the amazing Markiplier AU “A Bit of Madness”!

@backlitrabbit - ARG enthusiast, aspiring writer and all-round very cool human. Check out their YouTube channel here :D

#putting this in my pocket for later - stuff I save for future things

#things q thinks are cool - posts that make me go “:o” (I have many a subtag for this that usually starts with "and by cool i mean (adjective)")

#Q’s creations - the stuff I make :D (don't question the capital letter, i messed up)

#friends of q - things from my friends :)

#q’s internet trinkets - Fun/useful internet things I find that you can use (mostly free if I can help it, bc fun is essential to the human experience even if you’re tight on cash)

#q rambles - my funny little soapbox

#asks go brrr - asks :D please send me asks they're very fun

#not so family friendly - Not entirely PG-13 stuff I find interesting/funny, but still want to share. Block this tag if you want a clean dash, I won’t judge.

#bag of rainbow things - like the things I find cool tag, but LGBTQ+ community/education/history related. (and also probably personally related to me ahaha ^^;)

#yay recipes! - recipes from places! Some of these may also be in the pocket tag; I’ll work on sorting them eventually

#q’s crow obsession - for all your Corvid needs

#wiggly frequencies - the hills are alive with the sound of muse (yes I’m making a DaThings reference on my pinned post cause her stuff rocks. Anyway this is where the music stuff lives)

#because funni - *slams whiteboard* LAUGH!

(ps if you're wondering where I got these cool little gifs from they're from blinkies.cafe and they rule <3) (I also got this star divider from here!) (last updated 12/05/24)