#i need to write some fanfics about them

[mousecracker]

my peppermint pookies

[bababaka]

Yall need to interact with fanfiction author's more.

So. After the ddos attack on ao3.

I was encouraged to write more comments and make my love known to fanfic writers.

I dont really like commenting. Because im a bit shy and soooo lazy.

Now though. I am writing more comments. And dude. This is so heartwarming. Ya'll need to treat writers better. They are doing the lord's work.

Take for an example, couple of days prior, i was searching for something interesting to read, and found an oneshot quite compelling.

I read it. At the end of it, i was blown away by how good it was. It promised me something and it went beyond my expectations. But then i saw a crime, zero fucking comments!

At that moment, i wasn't feeling up to writing a comment. Because, normally i like to write huge paragraphs. But because im lazy i decided to be brief.

Next day, the author answered that the comment lift their mood for the whole day.

That warmed my heart.

Duuuuuuuude! Write comments! Suport the writers of the fics you like! No need to be something super elaborate. Just give your thoughts. Freak out. Ramble. Ask something. Make theories. Compliment. Make a joke about how you wished to give kudos every chapter but ao3 sucks(not true bby) and won't let you.

Truly. Just. Comment. It can make someone's day. And that is part of the apeal of writing fics. Interacting with people.

Just give love to fanfic writers yall. They deserve this and so much more.

[jade-len]

i think it'd be funny if someone transmigrated as xin mo. the goddamn evil sword. instead of taking it seriously, they just really fucked around with bingge. and, somehow, ended up having the opposite effect of what it's supposedly rumored to do.

picture this: bingge, on the quest for revenge and power, comes across the almighty xin mo. this demonic sword killed everyone that dared to even try wielding it. and, the few who were lucky enough to have it by their side, eventually succumbed to the swords' will.

it is said that the sword is unlike any other, that it etches into your head and eats away your brain, until eventually it consumes you whole. it whispers, speaking in lust, greed, and hatred. it slowly beckons the wielder into giving in to the worst part of themselves and feeds off of pure sin. but to him, it is no matter; luo bingge will surely tame it.

and then he gets to the sword.

demonic qi practically oozes from xin mo. the aura surrounding it makes every part of luo bingge scream, "run; get away, away from that monster." his gut prods at him, begging bingge that this is probably a really bad idea. it's a little terrifying, how even luo bingge, the determined, vengeful demon, is now getting second thoughts about wielding xin mo from just being in its presence alone.

but luo bingge is too, a monster. so he ignores the screams of plea; pushing every thought of doubt in the back of his head, and tightly grips onto the handle. the world around him seems to spin and shake, tumble and crack, from the amount of force bingge needs to use in order to pull the sword of sin out of its place.

when bingge finally has it perfectly fit into the palms of his calloused hands, he hears whispering. he knows that the sword has accepted him as its new host.

the sword's language crawls up to him, as if it were feeling around his body and mind. checking every nook and cranny for it to settle into bingge's form, truly becoming one with the embodiment of sin. the words flow through his brain like a tragically broken guqin, a melody that holds him in a frighteningly familiar trance - all while simultaneously eating away at his brain in the worst ways possible, akin to a child and their favorite snack. it seems to beckon something, but even with luo bingge's impressive hearing, he cannot make out any words from the tone-deaf musical notes xin mo sings.

and then, it is clear. the land around him settles, and everything is still. xin mo itself seems to be.. content. at least, that is what luo bingge believes.

the language of this wretched sword reflects the state around these two monsters.

luo bingge expects it to demand for bloodshed, for the erotic ecstasy of multiple women, for bingge to steal the last of the finest gems of these horrible, vast lands.

instead, he hears this:

"yoooo damn that shit was crazy. did you see what i did there? man, you know, it feels so fucking good to get out of the dirt. hey, do you know if people can like, feed their swords or something? i'm kinda craving something spicy. we never know, in this wack world! wait, don't hold me like that, buddy. it'll make things real awkward."

but luo bingge is determined to get his revenge, so he puts up with the swords' constant rambling about.. whatever the hell it's thinking.

"wait, dude, did you seriously fuck a dying girl? that's wild. yeah, like i know she was dying but it doesn't sound like you wanted it. yo, listen to me, consent is very sexy."

"HAHA hey, dude, sir, man. you wanna play some 'i spy'? we don't have anything else to do. no? too bad, we're playing it. i spy a loser who doesn't wanna play i spy. hint: he's holding me right now."

"okay i know i'm supposed to be this super evil sword and beg to be used - woah that sounded real wrong - but can you at least clean me when you're done killing shit? if you don't, i'm gonna refuse to respond to you and you'll look like a dumbass trying to wield me."

"i can't hear you lalalalalalala you're not being very it girl right now lallalalaalalalla-"

somehow, this is worse than if xin mo was actually eating away at his brain.

weirdly enough though, as luo bingge starts spending more time with this weird ass, seemingly possessed sword, it starts to become more of a.. comfort to have it by his side than pure annoyance. he finds himself responding to it more, like, actually having full on conversations with it. it puts him at ease, wielding xin mo. the hatred doesn't consume him, instead, it seems to soothe the burning rage (and, admittedly, just replace it with small irritation) that holds onto his darkened heart.

xin mo is actually quite kind and caring, for a sword that's supposed represent and be the literal embodiment of sin. sure, it is a hassle to have it cooperate with him sometimes, and it does just ramble on and on about the most random things ever, not giving a single shit if bingge was in the middle of sleeping with maidens and slaying those who get in his way. for the first time, bingge feels so comfortable around something.

it's.. odd. what was supposed to be the turning point in his life, a big step in his plan for revenge, is now something akin to an... acquaintance. not like mobei-jun, or any of the women he's come across, but an actual, dare he say, friend.

sometimes, he finds himself thinking all of this delusional. is this what people were driven mad by? perhaps they simply could not handle dealing with a talking sword. he understands that xin mo was undoubtedly unbearable to be around at the beginning of their alliance, but it has never actually beckoned for blood, power, and sex. if anything, it does the opposite.

maybe he's the delusional one. maybe this is xin mo's way of getting to him.

maybe, xin mo should be considered a thing. the thought feels terribly laughable, as if he were witnessing a person horribly explain themselves. it also makes his teeth grind together in pure agitation.

"hey, you know, you didn't deserve any of the things they did. it wasn't your fault, binghe. the fact that you're half heavenly demon doesn't make you a monster, or any of that wild stuff.. uh, i'm here for you, okay? i know you don't really like talking about all of this or opening up, but i just want you to know that you can.. talk about it. it's not like i can tell anyone else, anyways.

hey- shit i didn't mean to make you cry! wait, wait it's okay to cry! you need to let it out anyways, i promise it doesn't make you weak. there, there. i don't have any hands, so me patting you on the head with my handle will have to do. there, there.. everything will be alright, you'll be okay. i'll be here every step of the way, even if you want to get rid of me."

xin mo, the demonic sword, is more of a person - a good person - than anyone he'd ever come across.

...and then bingge and the xin mo transmigrator become besties or he falls for the damn sword. knowing him, he probably doesn't even know the difference between platonic and romantic attraction anyways. maybe bingge gets a plant body for xin mo using airplane's wack writing. idk i typed all of this down in one sitting.

(plot twist: it's not that the transmigrator xin mo had the opposite effect, it was literally just a placebo effect. luo bingge thought that, and thus it actually did help him lmao)

[hi-there-buddies]

I need a Dragon Ball spinoff about Android 17, like, yesterday. You’re telling me he became a park ranger, got married, had a kid, adopted two more, and you’re not even gonna show us what they LOOK LIKE?? You won’t even explain how it HAPPENED?? THAT SOUNDS SO FUN

I need a little comedy series about 17 being a husband/dad while trying to hold back his strength as a park ranger. Sprinkle in some angst of him relearning how to be human and MWAH 🤌

CINEMA

[thelilylav]

I’ve gotta admit as much as I know Darabella is a flawed ship (and some of the ppl who are anti for it have legit criticisms I love y’all for pointing it out cause it frustrates the hell out of me too trust) they’ll always just kind of be it for me.

Because as much as it was an “I can fix him” trope, as much as Rosabella could be selfish and Daring’s flaws got cranked up to 1000, she was also the first person to look at him after his destiny, the thing he dedicated his life to, failed, when people were questioning him as a prince and putting pressure on his and Apple’s relationship and tell him that, like, maybe it would be alright? Maybe this wasn’t his destiny, and maybe that was okay.

And the part that really gets me? She’s the first person after this happens to tell him that it doesn’t matter what’s on the outside, which as much as you can like other Daring ships or him whatever he desperately needed to hear. Not even cause he was selfish, that’s not what I’m saying, but bc he placed his whole identity on this image that people concocted for him based on him appearing the perfect prince. He was handsome, he was talented, and he was handsome! So who cares about him as a person?

Idk man. You spend four seasons (I watch the specials on Netflix so that’s why four idk if it’s three to some ppl or whatever tho) watching him be praised for his looks, watching girls fawn over him, and of course he enjoys it so nobody really questions how much he enjoys it. And then you get this girl, this girl who owes him nothing, this girl who (contrary to popular belief apparently) has a life of her own and people she cares about outside of him, and she’s nice to him. And she’s the first person after everything happens to just be nice to him, for the sake of being nice. Something about that will always hit different for me

[cyphervinyl]

are there any svsss fanfics where Shang Qinghua ends up using his points to go back home?

[allastoredeer]

I found an Alestial fic! ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ♪ it is so hard to find Alastor/Zestial content, but I found this and I loved it and I wanted to share because it needs more attention. I'm obsessed with how they wrote Zestial's dialogue, especially because its so fucking hard to write (for me at least).

It's not tagged Alastor/Zestial (which might've been why it took me so long to find it), but they fuck and give ship vibes, so here we go. Also, in case it's not evident, this is rated Explicit LMAO.

Alestial nation rise! Also, if any of my fellow shippers have Alestial fics squirreled away, please send them my way. I have a mighty need.

READ AND MIND THE TAGS!

[thebestusernamepossible]

Literally going insane, might have to write fanfic for the first time in 2 years because the people™️ do not get my favorite female characters like I do and I feel the insurmountable urge to write her. I’m going to bite drywall why don’t ppl see her complexities. PLEASE STOP WRITING HER ETHIER AS DOMICILE MOM OR BITCH (or just for shipping) she is so so cool please guys please.

Also while I’m here, fandoms tendency to shove women in the ‘pure powerful goddess who can do no wrong’ box and then proceed to never give them an actual narrative role other than like ‘supportive’ or ‘took out a few background guys’. Like why DOES this incredibly badass and complex female character just get shunted into doinging some cool flips, getting praised about it (she’s the strongest fighter, so feminist wow) then never getting actnowleged as a 2 dimensional character.

I saw this a lot when I was in the Batman fandom, particularly with Cassandra Cain. She is a highly complex and interesting character, but in fandom she’s kind of shunted to ‘Badass therapy dog who takes care of the men’. Because even on the slight chance her backstory is brought up it’s always never delved into and mostly used to make her etheir more tragic and in need of support on a surface level or to let her be compassionate with the men characters who get their actual problems foucused on. It’s a unqiue kind of frustrating because it’s like almost letting the cool female character be cool, but it’s more like the idea of a badass women is shoved in your face, maybe joked about (or if we’re lucky she gets to beat up a few bad-guys), but ultimately treated like a cardboard cutout. Interestingly this actually isn’t entirely a female character thing, it’s also common with like old grandfather/grandmother characters and the elderly in general. But it’s usually badass women from what I see. :/ Why can’t fandom explore their stories (people do but why is it so much less), why can’t they be the prtags of cool AUs or time-travel fix-its, or crossover events

Idk I think I’m just frustrated, and I typed out more than I thought I would. Also Ive seen what happens to some other posts complaining about fandom misogyny, so please know if you’re a TERF, fuck off you have no place in this discussion. We will never agree, and frankly all of these points apply to canon Trans Women characters. Don’t say shit ill fucking end you.

[soukokuchild]

Furudate you had the chance to make both Kiyoomi and Atsumu captains AND!!! to make them play against eachother on their third year but nooo HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FORGIVE YOU

[lastofthe20thcenturygirls]

my bias and bias wrecker <3

[r0semultiverse]

What We Do in the Land of Ooo

🧛‍♂️ What We Do in the Shadows x Adventure Time crossover AU! ⚔

Finn Mertens in place of Guillermo de la Cruz

Marceline Abadeer in place of Nadja of Antipaxos

Bonnibel Bubblegum in place of Laszlo Cravensworth

Jake the dog in place of Colin Robinson

Vampire King in place of Nandor The Relentless

Betty Grof in place of The Guide

The Lich in place of Baron Afanas

Peppermint Butler in place of Wallace the Necromacer

Simon Petrikov in place of Derek

BMO in place of Nadja Doll (her old consciousness uploaded or something was an idea I had)

Marshall Lee & Gary Gumball/Prince in place of Sean & Charmaine

[hyacinthusmemorial]

writing the third chapter and honestly I dont know how to make the story interesting, I am writing nonsense.

I think I will answer this publicly because writing advice is universally loved and adored (right?). This is more about motivation than mechanics. It's about telling a story rather than about grammar, POV, verb tense.

The first thing to do is just write. Don't think about plot, don't think about characters, don't think too hard, just write. Sometimes you have to spew out absolute garbage to start writing gold. Start somewhere in the action, then describe the surroundings, then describe the character, why are they there, what about them is making them act this way. A fun tip: write what you want to read. I daydream all the time, I go on walks--long walks--I listen to music, and I just daydream. Usually, what you enjoy imagining, other people will too. Slip tidbits of your life in, they don't need to be blatant, just little pieces of yourself to add humanity to it.

The second thing is to have a goal in your writing. When I start writing a chapter, I always have an "idea" of what I need to accomplish according to an internal map of where my story is going. Then I just write (The first point) until I accomplish it. Another goal I have when writing a chapter is that I usually give myself a word count to accomplish. For me, my word count is 3,000 for a chapter minimum, unless its a prologue or epilogue. This word count encourages me to fill in gaps, describe scenes better, but it also keeps me in-line with pacing of action.

Third thing: re-rewrite it all. When I wrote Anele and Forgotten Age, I erased whole chapters, I trashed it (I kept it in a separate compilation document that is multiple chapters long). I went back to the blank page, I said, I can write this more subtly, I can write this more succinctly. I can write this better. Sometimes, you have absolutely NO IDEA what is going on until the characters have taken you to the end of it all, and you have to go back and write it all again BETTER. And sometimes, you have to write it all again.

And, one last thing: Allow yourself to be mediocre, accept mediocre. I have seen more people stop writing because they feel like they suck than any other reason. Put the shitty words to paper--it is absolutely the greatest thing a human can do. Everything we write is a written record that someone existed. And when I write, well, sometimes, sometimes its absolute garbage, and sometimes its fine, and sometimes I feel like there are spirits touching my fingers to the keyboard. No one is good 100% of the time, and that's okay.

I think you said you were a teen somewhere, I can't remember. When I was a teen, my mom told me I needed to "Hurry up and write my novel, so we can get out of here." She had complete and utter faith that I would write something brilliant one day, and she thought that it would save us both from a pretty shitty situation, but I didn't write anything long or brilliant because I just didn't have it in me yet. I had all these ideas, thoughts, concepts, but there was something missing. My mom ended up dying when I was seventeen, and she was sick for awhile. It's been nearly ten years now, but she shows up in my writing--she's a ghost in the background. Sometimes, we can't write our story until we figure out what's worth keeping alive, and that's okay. You don't need to experience tragedy to be a writer, but living experience is necessary. You don't have to know what it feels like to be stabbed to write about it, but you probably know what it feels like to be betrayed by someone. You may not know what its like to kiss someone, but you know what its like to love someone. Sometimes we can't write until there's life there, and like I said, that is okay.

This is a warning: don't treat novel writing like a career option because quite frankly, its not. I'm in nursing to support myself, but writing is my Netflix. Its free. Its fun. I get to make the show I want, and share it with people free of charge on AO3. Unless you have an incredible entrepreneurial spirit to you, writing for a career will eat your soul and your pocketbook. Unless you plan to be an English teacher, don't get a college degree in english (it is literally useless, Stephen King, Rick Riordan--they all had English degrees because they were teachers). The best thing about English is you can read books, and learn grammar, and write on your own and become proficient at it without a teacher telling you what to do or paying tuition or other fees other than library fees for all those books you didn't return. There are obvious exceptions: you have rich parents who let you live in their house and feed you, you have a strong entrepreneurial spirit and a trust fund, or you already signed a $14 million book deal with Disney Hyperion Books.

[cerealmonster15]

haikaveh... save me haikaveh...

i KNOW it's been talked about to death but. the haikaveh research project. it literally haunts my mind. i cannot get over the implications. alhaitham going through his school life as someone that most people dont even really know about because he keeps to himself and doesn't socialize, with kaveh being the one exception to that, finding his way into his life as his Best Friend, and then leading to alhaithams one and only time he participated in a research topic. his bio says he only ever did ONE joint project!!! one!!! the one with kaveh his best friend and i think also his only friend at the time!!!! and then it ended in not only the project falling apart but also alhaithams only friendship. kavehs best friendship. they were each others closest person. they had no family around - alhaithams parents having died when he was young and his grandmother dying before he joined the akademiya, and kaveh's dad dying when he was young and his mom having moved to fontaine. like even if you dont look at it through a romantic lens it's still undeniable how important they were [and are] to each other..........

i'm getting off track but my point is very specifically for alhaitham, the one time he got close to someone, made a friend, even agreed to join one(1) group project ever, it ended in disaster. it led him into a fight so bad that his one and only friend said he regretted that friendship!!!! it was so bad alhaitham left the project and he and kaveh didnt speak for ages until they just happened to run into each other again at the tavern!!!!! like obviously it has to be incredibly awful for both of them but i just think how this probably had alhaitham in the cynical mindset that friendships and collaborations like that might just never work out for him because the one time he let someone into his life, it blew up on him and he was all alone again. even though alhaitham never seems to care much if people dont like him, that clearly cant still apply to someone he was exceptionally close to. like if he didnt care he woudlnt have been the one to take his name off the project and mutually not speak to kaveh...... kavehs words are the ones that hit the most significantly to alhaitham.......... kaveh is said/implied to have had at least some other friends while at school / people knew who he was, but not so much alhaitham. people didnt know him and the ones that did just knew he didnt socialize/he was not easy to get along with. he only had kaveh and then, for a while, he lost him too!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[doom-dreaming]

Cheerful Oblivion

Thought that I was hungry for love… Maybe I was just hungry for blood. **********

I met a woman in a club once. Years ago. Can’t get her out of my head. If I didn’t still have the napkin with her number on it… Well. Would’ve been easy to assume I dreamed the whole thing up.

It was a miserable night to be out. Rain was coming down in buckets, flooding the streets. Could almost hear it over the music, pelting the roof. But there she was. Filling the entire doorway. No coat. No umbrella. Nothing but a black tank top and jeans that looked too tight to be comfortable. Soaked to the bone, dripping wet, faded blue-raspberry-bright hair plastered to her neck. She looked like she’d dragged herself straight out of the ocean. In hindsight, maybe she had.

********** England is only ever gray or green. The girls glitter, Striding glorious and coatless in the rain. I remember falling through these streets, Somewhat out of place, if not for the drunkenness… It makes my chest hurt to think of it, Not of regret, but of missing that… …cheerful oblivion… **********

I remember the way she stood there, caught under spotlight rays of blue and green, the rain on her face sparkling like diamonds… She looked like an angel. Could’ve been. Probably wasn’t. More than likely…something else.

She didn't belong there. In the club. I don’t mean that in a judgmental way. Maybe philosophical. She didn't really seem like she belonged anywhere. But I could see it in her eyes, almost fluorescent blue under the lights. To her, it didn’t matter where she belonged. What mattered was where she wanted to be. And she wanted to be there. In that club. On that night.

I’d never been afraid of being noticed by a beautiful woman. I craved it. Don’t we all? This was different. She was different. Never felt my blood run colder than the second our eyes locked. It felt like being hunted.

********** It was not all pain and pavement slick with rain, And shining under lights from shitty clubs, And doing shitty drugs, And hugging girls that smelled like Britney Spears and…coconuts… **********

She flowed through the crowd like water, parting the proverbial sea, leaving a wake of awestruck stares. If she knew she was the center of attention, she didn’t care. She was a full head taller than anyone else, a titan amongst mere mortals. Muscles rippled when she moved. Wet skin shimmered. I tried not to stare, I really did. Couldn’t help myself. I could’ve watched her for days.

She swept ashore at the bar, smelling like petrichor and oil slicks. Ordered a drink. Smiled down at me, sitting so small a million miles beneath her. There was nothing human about that razor-sharp flash of teeth.

She asked if I wanted another drink. Hadn’t realized I’d finished the one in my hand. I nodded. Couldn’t find my voice. Tab’s on me, she’d said. Not here for long, least I can do. After tonight, you’ll never see me again.

********** And with your mermaid hair and your teeth so sharp, You crawled from the sea to break that sailor’s heart. You only get one night upon the shore, So dance like you’ve never danced before. And the dance floor is filling up with blood, But, oh Lord, you’ve never been so in love… **********

I asked her where she was from. She laughed, a harsh bark of a thing that ripped out of her throat like it hurt. Nowhere. I asked for her name. She didn’t answer. But that animal grin flashed back, a bright white scar across her face. For no reason, I thought about moths. And flames.

We stopped talking. Kept drinking. Started dancing. God, the way she moved. Like a machine. Like a predator. Like a ballerina. Equal parts precision, power, beauty.

I couldn’t keep up. She didn’t seem to care. I was a prop. A plaything. An entertaining little toy, something to keep her distracted. From what, I didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. It felt like an honor.

********** And the mermaids they come once a year, They climb the struts of Brighton Pier, They come to drink, they come to dance, To sacrifice a human heart. And the world is so much wilder than you think. You haven’t seen nothin’ ‘til you seen an English girl drink… **********

I do still see her. Sometimes. In my dreams. In those hazy amber-clad memories. It’s hard to know what was real. Don’t know who she was. Or what she was.

Never did call that number. Not sure she’d really wanted me to. Probably for the best. I get the feeling that if we’d been in that club alone together… She would’ve eaten me alive.

And I think I would've let her.

[caffeine-high]

Vuurtoren

Fandom: Ordem Paranormal, O Segredo na Ilha

Characters: Bárbara Lima, Amelie Florence, Olivier Florence, Milo Castello (mentioned), Miguel Castello (mentioned)

Tags: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Isolation, Self-Destruction, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Character Death, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 (complete)

Words: 1156 (Total: 6126)

AO3 link

Summary

When the chaos dies down, and they have some time to catch their breath, it dawns on them. They survived. Everyone would die in the morning, but now, it is morning, and they survived. Both Amelie and Olivier would like nothing more than to get away from this island, and never to return. Bárbara however, struggles; someone needs to stay behind, either to Keep, or to Destroy the Secret.

Chapter 1: Kijkduin

---------------------------------------------------------

When the chaos dies down, and they have some time to catch their breath, it dawns on them. They survived. Everyone would die in the morning, but now, it is morning, and they survived. Then they have some more time, and another realisation sets in. Not all of them survived. The glow of the electric, purple veins crackling all over Amelie’s body dim. The creature, who just a little bit ago had been aiming to destroy them. Now lays on the ground, nothing more than a particularly large puddle of reddish brown goop.

Clinging to her brother, giving him as much comfort as she could give, and taking all she that could get, Amelie glances inside the church. Ten. That is the amount of people that died in there. Ten people they couldn’t save. Among them, her friend Bárbara, and her friend Milo, as well as Miguel, and the tiny body of Amora. Amelie takes a deep breath, and steels herself. Slowly, she lets go of Olivier. Not fully! God no. Just enough to look around. Amelie takes his hand, gives it a firm squeeze and stands up, guiding him along with her. Olivier may be an adult, but he is still her little brother, she will take care of him.

They had directed everyone to go to Navia’s house, and as they are about to turn their back to the church and walk there as well, Amelie takes one last look at the church. Wait.. No.. It can’t be? Can it? Abruptly she turns around and runs inside, clumsily dragging Olivier behind her. When they near, she’s certain. She saw movement! Not from the horrid creature, no. From behind it. Bárbara’s body stirs, then groans, and then finally, slowly, moves to sit up. She is unsteady and almost falls over again, but Amelie quickly drops down to catch her by her shoulders. With Bárbera safely squished between them, they now actually, fully start making their way to Navia’s.

The first few minutes after are a bit of a blur. The siblings greet their mom, they try to get Navia to help Bárbera (though, there is not much she can do about paint), they watch in agony as Adrian comes over with his daughter’s dead body clutched tightly to his chest. Eventually they remember that The Ordo, whoever they are, would be on their way, and direct everyone to the beach. Somewhere in between they also went back to the mansion to pick up their dad, although neither of them were particularly happy to do so. On the beach they meet the two agents, who introduce themselves and ask them to consider joining. It is too much, all of it. They are exhausted, and whatever is being said barely registers. Apparently they want everyone to get on Adrian’s boat while they sweep the island, and then they want everyone to leave. Absolutely not a problem!

Both Amelie and Olivier would like nothing more than to get away, and never to return. But when they try to board, Bárbera stribbles back. This is her island. She grew up here. It is all she knows. Furthermore, what if the agents, in their sweep, discover more secrets? If, if, she were to leave the island, she would only do so knowing every single thing there is to know. And she doesn't yet. At the very least she should join the agents in their route!

Perplexed, but not willing to argue with this poor girl, drenched in blood and clearly in distress, they let her. She only has to promise to stay between the two of them, and to do exactly as they say. And, to run at the first sign of danger. Bárbara agrees without hesitation. She agrees, but she does not do what is asked. When they arrive back at the church, and the agents tell her to stay outside and out of trouble while they investigate, she sees one of the bodies stir. Before either of them could react, with a coldness that the agents have not seen in anyone, swiftly walks up to it and stabs it through its heart.

There is something methodical to her, as she helps them carry the bodies outside to burn. Not the blank nothingness of someone broken by their experiences. Something else. Neither of the agents quite manage to place it yet. Though they both know what it is like to lose people, or even, to lose your entire family or everyone you grew up with, this reaction is new. That is, until they get to the body of a boy. He seems to be around her age, curly hair with coveralls over a large blue jumper, no shoes. She doesn’t cry, but she seems to be gentler with this body. As he is laid down next to the others she adjusts his head, to lay more naturally. She brushes the hair out of the hole where the rest of his face must have been. The agents turn away to give her some sense of privacy, in which she can say her goodbyes. And if afterwards, if she is now wearing a locket they’re quite sure she was not wearing before, they won’t say anything.

As the modest pile of bodies burns behind them (8, there are 8 bodies. 9 people in total that died because they were too late The owner of the boat had been clutching the body of a small girl, but did not want her to be burned with the rest of them. Instead promising that, while they were making their round, he would burn her on the beach). They make their way to the mansion at the top of the hill. The girl with them, Bárbara, grows even more distant. The tenderness she displayed towards that boy all gone, just that coldness is left. The group makes their way through the mansion quite quickly, the agents taking note of the half transformed blood zombie, looking suspiciously similar to the girl in their companionship. She herself only taking a few seconds to glance at the body, before averting her eyes. Eventually they find a passage behind the large painting in the stairway, leading down into a cavern.

If they bothered to look for it, the agents could have seen a faint glimmer in Bárbara’s eyes; so there were secrets left to discover! That spark was quickly snuffed out though when they reached the actual cave. She didn’t care for the bell, or for the door, nor even really for that painting. What she did care for is that the paint, the source of all this despair, the source of every single trouble on this island, originated from here. Bárbera took one look at this source, this spring of paint and made her decision: She would not, under any circumstance, leave this island until she could be sure that it would never, ever, hurt anybody, ever again!

next>

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Notes: I wrote this instead of studying (。・∀・)ノ

or sleeping╯︿╰

This is the lighthouse where this chapter takes its name from, isn't it pretty?

Image source: https://www.vuurtorens.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/Kijkduin-groot.jpg

[corellianhounds]

I don’t want to have to write all the context and justification for the idea I have right now so I’ll just put this on the WIP stack (story of my life), but consider a Temporal Chalice storyline à la TAZ Balance. An artifact so powerful it holds command over time itself, confronting the cupbearer with their deepest fears, desires, flaws, and mistakes, and the ability to act on a crucial moment in the trajectory of their life, whether they realized it was crucial or not.

The chalice lies before them on a raised pedestal. The offer can only be accepted by one of them, and it comes with two caveats: All of time, from the moment they choose to change and after, will be altered.

And secondly: After they change fate, all of their present memories will be gone. History will be rewritten, and they will never be able to tell in which ways it changes or stays the same.

The Mandalorian is shown a fork in the road. A young family in red is suspended in time: to their right is the city street leading to an underground cellar, for the moment empty. To the left, the street continues, and beyond it he spies a previously unseen underground shelter reinforced with cinder blocks and steel. He is being offered the chance to save his parents’ lives.

“… If my own parents don’t die, somebody else will,” Din says quietly. “I know what it’s like to lose them. I can’t wish that on the loved ones of somebody else.”

Boba Fett is shown the back of a Jedi approaching his father from behind in the arena stands. He is ten years old, and he has a gun in his hands.

“… My father was not a perfect man,” Boba said, his voice carefully devoid of emotion. “My path to this point in life would have been harsh either way. I don’t need a second lifetime of hardship to remember.”

“Disgraced magistrate Greef Karga” echoes at the back of his mind as he watches the scene unfold from a third person point of view. He is given the chance to exonerate himself of what he did before being stripped of his title and run offworld before arriving on Nevarro. He has time to escape and absolve himself of any wrongdoing.

There’s a long moment of consideration before Karga speaks, the veteran showman smile nowhere to be found. “I wouldn’t have become a better man if I hadn’t been caught,” he says grimly. “I would have continued doing what I did because I got away with it. The only reason I changed is because I was held accountable.”

Luke sees Dagobah, and an X-Wing. There are two figures outlined in the gloom, one corporeal and small, the other ethereal and old. If he chooses not to go to Cloud City and stays to finish his training, he will have the strength and knowledge needed to end the war sooner, potentially saving untold thousands of lives at the cost of those dear to him.

“… I don’t think I could make the choice any differently, even knowing what I do now,” Luke says softly. “My masters were training me to have the strength to kill my father. I don’t think I would have had the mercy to spare him long enough for him to redeem himself, and I would have lost what little time I did have with him.”

But what about those who may not be able to accept the present as it is? The ones who would have the knowledge and opportunity to right the wrongs of the galaxy and save innocent lives? To undo past mistakes?

Cobb Vanth is fifteen and has just arrived in the next settlement to pick up supplies. If he immediately returns to the orphanage his mother runs instead of staying the night, as he once did, he’ll be able to put out the fire and save a dozen young lives, and his mother won’t be forced to live with the survivor’s guilt for the following week before she ultimately makes the choice that will leave him an orphan too.

There’s a long arena with targets lined up at one end. Her sister, laughing, stands tall and confident in front of the back wall, hands on her hips with an apple balanced on her head. She is alive, and the girl not yet called Fennec Shand stands at the opposite end, her crossbow still pointed low as she squares her feet. She isn’t yet the marksman she’ll become, and she has the chance to avoid the biggest mistake of her life.

Cara Dune sees an office she’s never been in before, a high-rise view of Coruscant from the windows. There is a covey of New Republic officers poring over data showing the plot to frame and kill her entire crew for the crime they didn’t commit, and the evidence to frame her for it when she runs.

Ahsoka sees herself as a child, looking up at a young Jedi Knight with a scar bisecting one eyebrow. She knows this scene, has had it etched upon her memory for decades. She could decline his offer and divert her life’s course entirely.

Leia is shown the first time she ever met Vader at age fourteen. She is standing beside the man who raised her as his own, the two of them across from the figure in black. Captain Antilles is next to her and he has a gun in his holster.

Grogu, a child, is given perhaps the most difficult choice of all: The ability to prove Palpatine’s treachery to his masters and prevent Order 66 from happening at all, perhaps preventing the entire war. The tradeoff is that he will grow up in the temple, and he will never meet the man who would become the Mandalorian.

Han Solo is shown the future. His hand is on the door. Leia and Ben are behind him.