#it's 2 am i've been sitting here drawing for like 4 hours

[wolfram-but-art]

here's some text posts that remind me of tf2 mercs part one for now because i'm eepy [pt. 1] (<- you're here!) [pt. 2]

rebl > likes

links to original posts under cut

NUH UH (spiderman across the spider verse spoilers (?)) payphone mic so hear me out... you did WHAT

[suddencolds]

~

[plushie-lovey]

Looking to order a new plushie in honor of my birthday today

[piyo13sdoodles]

day 28, chapter 76:

At the expression on Quintus' face Cliopher could take no more. He started laughing before he made it out of the room, though the loudest whoops came after he'd reached the hallway. He did not get far along, just sank down at the top of the stairs so he could try to muffle his mirth with his hands. ~ "Your family seems somewhat perturbed," Rhodin observed after a few minutes.

and bonus gallery shot + musings under the cut because it's been exactly 4 weeks now:

fun to see what kinds of patterns intentionally or unintentionally crop up... or also which days i can tell i was busy vs which days i had time or worked in advance to dedicate more time to the piece. if anyone's curious, on average one of these might take me 2-3 hours to complete! more detailed ones like october 23 i think probably took me closer to 5 hours, simpler ones like october 9 maybe 1.5h.

i am both sad and glad it's almost over--i've definitely lost a fair amount of sleep trying to get these done in time (usually i work a day ahead so i can post at a reasonable time, but that hasn't always worked out, especially in the final stretch here), so this pace does become untenable on top of work, but it also is really fun to make so much art! and to always have something to work on rather than becoming trapped into that idea of 'what should i do, too many choices, can't decide..' the answer is always inktober!

in any case, seeing the gallery like this is also interesting to me because it really helps me realize where i could have/should have pushed the ink a bit more--working in ink is (to me; this is definitely not gospel, just how i consider ink work) an exercise in controlling contrast. you don't have colour to drive edges or cool/warm tones, so the only value you have is the light-dark contrast, and in my mind at least, good use of contrast should carry across to a smaller format. for example, zoomed out like this i can see that october 11th really needed more contrast in the feathers--they blend too much into the background in a way that doesn't really work to emphasize that ludvic is standing in front of the candles there. otoh, on october 5, i think that one's fine because what i wanted was for the moon to draw the eye first, and THEN for you to notice HR sitting there.

overall, also, i want to keep these interesting--if the compositions are always the same, then it can become repetitive or boring, so i wanted a good mix of light and dark compositions, and a good balance of tone across all of them. which so far i'm pleased with! and this year i let myself use pencil undersketches and do thumbnail planning and everything (last year i really wanted to get better at visualizing the piece in my head so i set the challenge of just committing straight to paper... i'm still happy with last year's but you can tell i took on much more challenging compositions this year lol)

anyway!! much to think about, so much to learn, i wanted to work a bit in advance again so i won't be putting tomorrow's up almost at midnight again but alas i think it was not meant to be, so i'm off to bed and if you read this whole thing, congrats, have a cookie *hands you a cookie*

[vibrantbirdy]

Dissent: A Cassian Andor x Female Reader Story - Chapter 1

Title: Dissent Fandom: Star Wars Setting: Post Andor, Pre Rogue One Genres: Sci-fi; Action/Adventure; Hurt/Comfort; Romance Pairings: Cassian Andor x Female Reader Warnings for Chapter 1: Contains mature themes - Moderate-Strong descriptions of violence/injury detail and Imperial brutality including an instance of whipping - not gratuitous, mainly lead up and aftermath - and brief references to execution; Very strong language; Canon-typical angst; (Please bear in mind that Chapter 2 will include sexual content and mature themes (but there will also be fun romance too) Chapters: 1/2 Word Count: C.6k Summary: You are an ex-Imperial sharpshooter who defected from the Empire and forged a place for yourself in the Rebellion working intelligence. As part of a team led by Captain Cassian Andor to the planet of Divach, your mission is to uncover the reason behind the Empire's sudden interest in the small world. Following a disastrous start to the operation with severe consequences for Andor, you and he are thrown together to investigate further, and this seemingly simple directive becomes more complicated than you ever imagined.

Author's Note: I've been sitting on this one for months and months, working on it here and there and Part 1 is finally done. I'm extremely busy in real life at the moment and I wasn't going to split this story but it has become so long, and it has been ages since I've posted any writing so I felt like I need to produce something! As always, thank you for all your interactions with my stories - I am very grateful! Masterlist of my writing here.

The first time you meet Captain Cassian Andor, you almost break his nose.

Since you arrived on Yavin 4 five months ago, you've been grounded, spending much of your time carrying out menial duties on the base at Rebel Alliance Headquarters. Your fellow Rebels have not yet warmed to you, but you hope this is only temporary until you can prove yourself when you are finally cleared to run missions by Command.

When you'd handed yourself over to the Rebel contact you'd managed to source on Coruscant, someone had come up behind you and shoved a hood over your head. Your hands were bound behind you back and then you were roughly bundled onto a cold, rattling transport where you sat for hours in blackness, uncomfortable and confused. When you'd finally reached Yavin 4 in the Outer Rim, you could heard the jeers and the taunts as you were paraded, blind and disoriented in binders through a bustling Rebel base with the Imperial insignia still emblazoned on the sleeves of your jacket.

It hardly made for a subtle arrival, nor the best first impression, but you understood that this was a test of sorts. And so you've learned to tolerate the suspicion and snide remarks for the most part.

But Rek Ryker? That man really knows how to push your buttons.

That's why, one jibe too many, and you're sitting atop the big man on the floor of the mess hall, his arms firmly pinned beneath your knees. There's a crowd around you shouting and jeering. As you draw your fist back to give Ryker a right hook across the jaw, someone grabs your arm from behind, preventing your strike. Immediately, you twist around and deliver a cross-body punch with your left fist square into this new assailant's face.

The stranger lets go immediately and staggers backwards, his hand flying to the point of impact and he pinches his nose, tilting his head backwards and pacing a tight circle as if he might walk off the pain.

"Captain Andor," you hear Ryker acknowledge beneath you and with your arm still extended across your body, teeth still bared, you snap your head back to look down at him. He raises his eyebrows at you, the most infuriatingly smug expression plastered across his face.

"Get up, both of you," Andor orders in an accent you don't recognise, his words muffled through his hand which remains firmly clasped to his face.

You leap to your feet and turn to the Captain, snapping your hand to your forehead in a salute which sends Ryker and his companions into fits of mocking laughter behind you.

Andor, at least, seems too preoccupied with his tender nose to take much notice but your cheeks burn with embarrassment and you let your arm drop back down to your side. You're still unsure of what's expected of you in terms of protocol here. The performative motions with regard to rank hierarchy seem much less ridged than the Imperial command structure.

Although, you think glumly, brawling in the mess hall and striking a superior officer is probably still frowned upon, even amongst Rebels...

Andor finally lets go of his nose, revealing an angular face with a well defined jawline, sharp cheekbones and dark, sombre eyes. He's perhaps not yet thirty, but the rather grim expression that sits on his otherwise attractive face gives the impression that he's already experienced much hardship in his short lifetime.

You watch as a small trickle of blood escapes from his right nostril and runs down through his short moustache, across the downturned line of his lips and catches amid the stubble on his chin. Gingerly, he reaches up to touch his nose again and this time, as he takes his hand away and examines it, a small patch of crimson glistens on his fingers. Still, the damage appears minimal.

Thank the stars, you think.

"Ryker, I'll deal with you later," Andor says over your shoulder, before addressing you directly, "You, come with me."

Trying to ignore the multitude of eyes that bore into you as you exit the mess hall, you follow Andor like a chastened child. The Captain leads you out into the deserted corridor where he rounds on you.

"What the hell was that?"

"I've been here for months," you erupt with a candour surprises even yourself, "I've complied in Draven's countless interrogations, I've taken the whispers and the insults without complaint, I've cleaned so many blasters in the armoury that I can't get the oil stains out from under my fingernails. I gave up everything to be here. I didn't defect to sit in this kriffing base and rot. I can be useful..."

"You're the Imperial sharpshooter, right?" Andor interrupts your tirade, his tone impatient, "Right?"

"Ex-Imperial sharpshooter," you correct him through gritted teeth, unable to help yourself.

The Captain gives you an exasperated look as he pulls a data pad from the pocket of his worn brown leather jacket.

"Is that not your name?" he asks, pointing to what looks like a duty roster. You lean in to examine the text on the device. Your name is indeed on the list. "General Draven had cleared you to run with me on my next op. Tomorrow."

You don't know what to say, bitter disappointment forming hot and solid in your throat like a lump of molten durasteel and constricting your words. You were so close to the chance to actually do something and you didn't even know it. Now you've blown it.

You look up and examine the face of the man before you, trying to decipher what he might be thinking. Those dark eyes are set hard and cool, glinting like obsidian. Yet there is a glimpse of something concealed underneath, something almost wild, and you have this notion that if you could just mine through that impenetrable surface, you'd find yourself swept away in the tumultuous, endless ocean raging at the centre of his existence.

But today, the man is almost impossible to read.

"Captain...I..." you start, but you trail off, defeated.

"Get out of here," Andor says quietly, his expression suddenly softening as he inclines his head towards the door at the other end of the corridor, "Cool off before tomorrow, I need you with a clear head."

Your heart leaps at the realisation that he's not going to take this opportunity away from you, and it's like a rush of oxygen after the stranglehold of your regret.

"Thank you, Captain," and you can't help the grin that spreads across you face.

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, thinking you glean the faintest trace of a smile on his lips and a new, elusive warmth in his eyes. You nod a farewell, and take off to your quarters to prepare for your first assignment.

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

1 year later

“An hour?!” Andor's frustrated query crackles through your com link.

"I'm sorry, Captain," comes Brox's meek reply, "I blew the circuit on the transmitter and I can't make the replacement charge any quicker than that."

The young man sounds miserable, close to tears, and you suddenly feel a rush of sympathy for him. He's barely eighteen and it's his first field op. He's a talented electronics tech, but he's just a kid and his nerves are all over the place. Ryker should have been checking his work, lazy brute that he is.

You listen to the disaster unfolding through your com link with increasing exasperation. There is little you can do from up here, perched high in the bell tower at the south-eastern corner of the market square.

Your position affords you a bird's eye view of the maze of streets below. Like most urban settlements on the planet of Divach, Kinafor is made up of looming, ramshackle houses topped with rooves of black slate from local quarries squeezed together in almost impossible proximity. It gives the impression that the structures themselves are fighting for space. The aged buildings seem to sag with fatigue over the filthy streets paved with the same grey cobblestone.

The dark skies and lashing rain manifest muddy pools which flood the rutted, poorly kept roads. It does little to alleviate the dour atmosphere. But despite the torrential downpour, the streets are teaming with people going about their daily business, their heads bent against the weather, jostling with each other to get where they are going.

Overcrowding is rife in Divach's towns and cities. You've done your research - this is partly an ongoing effect of the rapid industrialisation that took place prior to the Clone Wars under the auspices of the Separatist Confederacy. Yet the population of Kinafor appears to have doubled in only the last year and the once quiet market town just doesn't have the infrastructure to support the sudden influx of people and it appears that everyone is suffering for it.

It's no coincidence that there has been a marked increase in Imperial activity in the sector. Like many planets caught in the wake of the Empire's relentless progress, Divach's natural resources are being scoured and plundered, with most remaining rural communities being forced off their ancestral lands and into the urban centres.

Rebel Command want you to find out why the sudden Imperial interest in this particular planet, and today, you have that opportunity. Your fellow operatives, Brox and Ryker, are currently bugging Kinafor's Imperial Bureau in the hopes of capturing a meeting taking place between the Imperial whom whom the Empire have recently set up as Magistrate, Dek Perrin, and Senator Josen Stoker, a politician renowned for his love of Empire and his unwavering loyalty to Emperor Palpatine.

Ostensibly, your look-out is under shelter, the ancient, behemoth of a bell and its inner working protected by a sturdy slate roof. However, the rain is now blasting in horizontally through the open arches of the tower. On the short time you've been on this little planet you've come to realise just how unpredictable the weather is here and you wish you'd brought something waterproof. Even your boots are filled with water, and your clothes, simple travelling garb of leggings and a loose, lightweight shirt, stick to your skin uncomfortably. At least it's not cold - this is what counts for the summer season on Divach.

Aware that Ryker and Brox are almost out of time, you rub the rain water out of your eyes as best you can and look again through the sight of your binoculars.

A tall, middle aged Imperial Officer with a long, elegant gait is floating his way down the main street with an entourage. You recognise him instantly as the target, General Perrin, the two rows of red and blue pips on the front of his dark, grey uniform indicating his status. Next to him is an older, balding man, scurrying to keep up with the General on account of his short little legs. He is dressed in refined, but rather strained looking purple robes which are tailored in the fashionable Coruscanti style. He can only be the other mark, Senator Stocker. Four Stormtroopers armoured in their soulless, white shells bring up the rear of the party.

“I just need more time to...”

“Do we abort?" Ryker's rough brogue cuts across Brox's message, "Andor? Andor?”

The overlapping chatter on the coms is making you nervous. How many times have you told Ryker to keep to essential communications when pieces are moving on the board? There are so very few things you miss about your days as an Imperial operative, but coms discipline out in the field is definitely one of them.

“Andor, Perrin and Stocker are approaching your location now,” you interject quickly.

“Hold your positions and keep working," Andor's order comes through, his voice low and urgent, "We need this intel and we won't get another chance. I'll get you your hour. I'm going dark - Bird, you have command.”

"Acknowledged, I have command," you say and despite your growing apprehension, you feel a rush of warmth at the use of your nickname.

Less than a week after your first mission with Rebel Intelligence, somehow, Ryker had discovered that your Imperial sharpshooter callsign had once been Raptor. For weeks after, he'd insisted on calling you Bird-Brain. Once the joke had worn thin, even for Ryker himself, the Bird part just seemed to stick around. Secretly, you've grown fond of it, especially the way it sounds as it rolls off Andor's tongue.

You hold your breath as you realise Andor is walking straight towards the Imperial delegation. As he reaches the party, he roughly and deliberately shoulder barges past Senator Stocker who reels backwards, a pudgy hand clutched to his chest in affront.

You lift your binocs to your face, fighting to get them to focus through the visual noise of the relentless downpour, and succeeding just in time to see Andor's usually handsome features twist into a vicious sneer. His mouth moves as he passes the Senator, and you can just about make out his words.

“Fuck the Empire."

That'll do it, you think, grimly.

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

As a Stormtrooper grabs him roughly by the shoulder and spins him around, shoving him back towards Perrin and the Senator, Cassian Andor thinks this might be the stupidest thing he's had to do in a long time. Deliberately risking capture as a diversion tactic was not on his to do list today.

But Cassian knows that the Empire aren't looking for spies on a backwater planet like Divach. Espionage is not the biggest threat to Imperial power here.

Insurrection is. Dissent.

So today, Cassian dissents.

“What did you say?” A mortally offended Stocker manages to stutter out in his pompous Coruscanti accent.

Behind the Senator, Perrin's face is reddening, painting a crimson canvass of indignant rage at Cassian's overt and brazen insolence. The General is clearly infuriated to have his authority undermined and challenged on his planet - and in front of an Imperial Senator no less. Cassian might as well have spat in the face of Emperor Palpatine himself.

The spy feels a strange thrill of satisfaction. Since joining the Rebellion, the covert nature of espionage - the sneaking and stealing and lying for intelligence - has afforded him very few chances to show his contempt for the Empire so simply, so directly. It makes him feel suddenly, gloriously human and so alive.

The memory of the day his adoptive father was murdered by a fledgling Empire flashes into his mind. Clem Andor had been trying to protect his neighbours, to keep the peace in the streets of Ferrix City as Clone Troopers marched through the town, signalling the beginning of Imperial residency on the planet. For his efforts, caught up in the unbridled confusion of furious anti-Imperial feeling, he was falsely accused of anarchy and carted away for summary execution.

Cassian closes his eyes for just a moment and he feels the ghost of cold metal in his hand, the phantom weight of a baton in the grip of his fist. He tastes in his mouth the ice of Ferrix's frigid, winter air. The years fade away and it's if he is still that thirteen year old boy, rushing headlong in a reckless, hate-fuelled frenzy towards a clutch of the occupying Troopers.

The image of his father hanging in the square at the end of Rix Road, falling snow gently gathering on his still body, is never far from Cassian's consciousness. But today, something old and familiar flares deep within him at the remembrance. The embers of the white-hot fury he keeps smothered by cold, learned dispassion for the sake of his clandestine occupation suddenly ignite.

It feels like freedom.

Cassian welcomes it as he repeats the provocation with a snarl.

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

“What's going on, Bird?” Ryker's distorted demand bursts through your com link, the ragged edge of panic at the threat of possible discovery tangible in his voice, “Do we abort?”

“No, you heard the Captain, hold your position, keep working" you reply, "Andor is... He's causing a … scene.”

You mean to say distraction but it's quickly becoming more than that.

You wince as the closed fist of a Stormtrooper catches Andor hard in the mouth, and he spins to the ground in a spray of rainwater. He tries to rise but a heavy, white boot lands between his shoulder blades and slams him face down in the dirt.

General Perrin barks an order, his once serene face now aflame with self-righteous anger. The Trooper with the savage right hook hauls Andor to his feet, a gloved hand twisted viciously in the spy's dark hair. He's bleeding from his mouth, his face and once cream coloured shirt spattered with black mud.

“What?" Ryker presses, "What do you mean, a scene?”

“Never mind!” You hiss into the com, “He's bought you and Brox some time, just get on with the job. I'll let you know if anything changes.”

If it was anyone else at the centre of the commotion unfolding on the street below you, you might think that this chosen course of action had been conceived of panic.

But this is Andor. You've observed first-hand his uncanny ability to adapt to the unexpected, calculating his next move based on shrewd observations and then acting with swift, often ruthless efficiency. It's what makes him such an effective weapon against the Empire. He is, by all accounts, a sharp, precise instrument.

And while necessity has rendered today's choice of tactic rather blunt and a little rougher around the edges than his usual style, you know that this isn't panic.

It's instinct.

A resistant Andor is dragged past the street where, even now, Ryker and Brox are bugging Perrin's office and you exhale a breath you didn't even know you had been holding as you realise that he has succeeded in drawing attention away from the others.

The relief is short-lived and your heart sinks as Andor is frogmarched in front of your position and towards Kinafor's main square. You can't resist leaning over the stone balustrade of the bell tower and peering down into the street below. Fleetingly, the Captain raises his gaze to the heavy, grey sky. There is a look of resigned acceptance on his filthy, bloody face and as his eyes meet yours for the briefest of moments, you think you catch the trace of a grim, rueful smirk on his lips.

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

Dedication to the Rebellion sometimes makes things incredibly simple. Cassian has long become accustomed to an existence of constant jeopardy, where the illusion of choice is often stripped away and his actions are dictated by necessity and urgency. There is no choice in rebellion but to decide how to resist; how to keep moving. To push, to scramble, to crawl, to climb, anything to keep ahead of the ever-grasping Imperial reach.

Cassian knew, even as he'd crushed his com link under his boot, that this particular decision would cost him. He knew the outcome would be unpleasant. He knew that it would probably hurt.

He'd supposed, perhaps naively, that he would be hauled off to be roughed up in a filthy back ally somewhere until Perrin and Stocker were satisfied that he'd been suitably chastised for his impudence. It wouldn't be the worst thing he'd suffered through for the Rebellion, and Cassian knew many who had sacrificed much more in the name of the Cause.

But as he is led into the market square, the reality of the situation he has created for himself finally sets in. A Stormtrooper with an orange shoulder guard designating his rank as a Squad Leader, is standing next to a tall, sturdy-looking wooden post, the base of which has been securely screwed the cobble stones. The Trooper is caressing the tail of a whip through his gloved hands as if it is a strand of his lover's hair.

There doesn't appear to be a gallows in Kinafor yet. That day will come, Cassian muses bitterly. It is inevitable. It will simply appear one day, hastily erected in the name of a savage, polluted vision of justice and when it does, the people of Divach will either be too paralysed from the shock of the first exhibition of unspeakable, deadly barbarity, or otherwise ground so far under the Empire's leaden heel to even flinch.

He thinks again of his father.

The Trooper who has been diligently prodding Cassian in the back the whole way to the square now shoves him forwards towards the post and orders him to remove his shirt.

"What, you're not going to buy me a drink first?"

It's a stupid time for a cheap jibe and Cassian knows it. It earns him a stinging backhand to the face, the impact sending a new stream of blood trickling from his already split lip. He glares at the Trooper as he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, before pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it on the wet ground at his feet.

The Trooper secures him to the wooden column, affixing his arms above his head where heavy magnetic cuffs snap closed around his wrists and lock tightly. He suddenly feels overwhelmingly vulnerable, strung up half naked and exposed, and his entire being rails against the unnatural, paralysing feeling of abject restraint.

Cassian swallows his fear as best he can, reminds himself that he took the only course of action available to him. Ryker and Brox's imminent discovery would have blown the entire operation and the capture of agents under his command is no option at all. At least whatever happens next gives them a fighting chance to complete the mission.

Then, he thinks of you and a small flash of reassurance passes through him. Over the year that he's known you, you've proven yourself to be a capable and determined operative. Above all, you are pragmatic, and he knows he can trust you to be courageous enough to get him out of here if - when - you can, but that you are not likely to risk the intel, nor the lives of the others in the process.

Cassian allows himself a moment of escapism, taking comfort in the thought of seeing your face, of indulging once again in the lingering, stolen glances that seem to intersperse your otherwise strictly working relationship more and more these days. He wonders if you know just how meagre a thread his professionalism hangs by in those rare moments you find yourselves alone together.

“The Empire is the uniting, stabilising force in our Galaxy.”

Perrin is standing with his back to Cassian, the Senator by his side. He is addressing a sombre crowd of citizens whom Stormtroopers have hassled away from their daily business to stand, huddled together against the ceaseless rain to observe this spectacle. The faces in the crowd are grave and solemn. There is sympathy in their expressions and grim expectation, even some contempt directed towards the Imperial presence. But there is no panic. No confusion.

This has happened before, Cassian realises, and it rekindles some of the furious fire in his belly temporarily snuffed out by his apprehension.

He should have predicated something like this. Perrin is exactly the type of man to favour a public display of violence as a mechanism of control. Pain and humiliation are simple but effective tools of spreading fear amongst the Empire's subjugated populaces, especially when an Imperial zealot like Perrin can claim to be prescribing them as a remedy to unrest and disorder.

As his dogmatic drone continues, the General's voice is almost fatherly, a stark contrast to the brutality he is about to oversee.

"Disrespect against the Empire will not be tolerated here on Divach where we all benefit from the guidance of the Emperor's steady hand. I hope that the regrettable example I am forced to make today will assure you that I will act always swiftly to protect the integrity of our thriving community wherever such disloyalty is exposed."

At Perrin's finishing words, Stocker's eyes appear to gleam with pious reverence.

Perrin turns and nods at the Squad Leader over Cassian's shoulder.

Almost immediately Cassian hears the whip whistle through the air behind his head and he braces the front of his right shoulder against the post, allowing his cheek to rest against the wood which smells newly cut. He inhales deeply, trying to ground himself in the earthy, reassuring scent.

A strip of fire erupts across his shoulders and upper back, and the sheer power of the blow snaps his head back and forces his mouth open, ripping a strangled shout from his throat. Cassian sets his jaw and clenches his hands into tight fists, steeling himself for the next strike.

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

He doesn't know how many times the Stormtrooper has brought the whip down across his back. He lost count some time ago, one savage, agonising blow blurring into the next and the next and the next. All Cassian knows is that it has finally, finally stopped.

He realises that he is now sagging against his restraints, the cold metal of the cuffs digging into the red raw skin around his wrists and he tries to take advantage of the break in proceedings to straighten his posture again, unwilling to give Perrin or the Stormtrooper any further satisfaction in the effect their ruthless work has had upon him.

But the reprieve, such as it is, doesn't last long. Perrin is there, suddenly behind him, winding his sharp, skeletal fingers painfully through the spy's wet hair, roughly pulling his head back and forcing his gaze upwards to the leaden sky.

The rain is still hammering down, sharp pinpricks in his open wounds, and now the drops pelt down onto his face as well, mingling with the sweat on his brow and temples and trickling salty water into stinging eyes. He squeezes them shut.

Over the ringing in his ears, Cassian realises Perrin is speaking to him.

“Say it again,” the General seethes.

He wants to. Cassian really, really wants to.

A strained growl rumbles in his throat and he grits his bared his teeth.

Despite what he knows they will bring him, those three incendiary words are already forming on his tongue like a compulsion. He yearns to spit them out and watch as the Imperial bastard's face falls. He wants to yell them at the top of his lungs - Fuck the Empire! - each syllable it's own purging, cathartic release.

But as Perrin releases his vice-like grip on Cassian's hair and the spy blinks the rainwater from his eyes, he catches a glimpse of your face amid the crowd over the General's shoulder.

An overwhelming sense of relief floods over him, and douses the blaze of his temporary madness. You would never leave your post unless Brox and Ryker had sent confirmation that the job was complete - that they were out and they were safe.

You've come back for him.

Cassian's dark eyes flick back to Perrin's, and he keeps them locked there for as long as he dares, his chin tilted upwards in defiance. This final show of resistance is rewarded as he sees the General's steady, cold stare appear to falter just for the briefest of moments.

The spy revels in this small victory until, reluctantly, he averts his gaze and looks down at the wet ground in a gesture of capitulation, the best his pride will allow.

It seems enough to satisfy Perrin who leers at him in triumph, before slapping the release button on his captive's restraints. Exhausted and agonised, Cassian's body fails him, his legs give way and he collapses, hard, to all fours on the cobblestones in the mud.

Get up, Andor, he orders himself, get the fuck up.

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

“Kriffin' hell,” Ryker says, jumping up from his seated position on the ramp of Andor's U-Wing, “What happened to you?”

The sudden absence of his considerable weight sends the ramp rocking so violently it unbalances Brox to the point that he is also forced to stagger to his feet to prevent himself toppling off the side.

Andor removes his arm from around your shoulder where it has been slung all the way from Kinafor's town centre to here in the junk yard on the outskirts where the ship and the rest of the team are waiting.

It hadn't been difficult to extract him. By the time you'd pushed your way through the subdued crowd that the Troopers were busily dispersing, Perrin and Stocker were already halfway back to edge of the square, engaged in some casual conversation as they made their way toward the Bureau to carry on with the business of their day.

They'd got what they'd wanted from Andor - an example, a potent, brutal, tangible reminder of the consequences of challenging the Empire's authority. You try to comprehend the men's palpable disinterest towards the barbarity they'd just inflicted, but you can't, and thinking about it only makes your blood boil.

Disentangled from your support, Andor takes laboured, stilted steps towards the U-Wing, obviously determined to make a show of making his own way back to his own ship. You don't fuss, choosing to give him space and allow him this moment to restore some semblance of his bruised pride if this is how he feels he needs to do it.

The Imps have made a real mess of him. He is soaked through, his dark hair set in jagged points against his forehead which send raindrops trickling down his face to drip off the end of his sharp nose. Darkening blood from his split lip where it met with the Stormtrooper's gauntlet is caught in his stubble, and there are new abrasions, one on his right cheek where the rough wood of the post has grazed his skin, and two more on his wrists, rubbed raw where they have taken his bodyweight against the biting metal restraints.

There had been little point in trying to puzzle his sodden, filthy shirt back on to his body. It would've only stuck to him and chafed against the angry, red welts that criss-cross his back, evidence of the cruel leather which has bitten deep into his flesh. His exposed skin glistens from the rain amid a mixture of mud and sweat and blood.

“We needed a distraction,” Andor replies flatly, his voice strained as he slowly ascends the ramp of the U-Wing, "So I made one."

Brox looks crestfallen at the sight of the Captain. His mop of curly blonde hair is wild, as if he's been constantly running his hands through it in despair. His usually bright blue eyes are bloodshot. It's clear that he's been crying, overwrought with a feeling of responsibility for the situation that no one in their right mind could ever fairly place on his young shoulders. Andor must see it too because he claps the boy briefly on the shoulder just before he passes through the doorway into the ship.

“Cassian?”

K-2SO, Andor's reprogrammed Imperial security droid sounds just about as distraught as is possible for a mechanical lifeform to be as he twists in the pilot's chair and catches a glimpse of his returning master from the cockpit.

“I'm fine, K,” Andor says, rather sharply ��Just get us out of here as soon as you're sure Command is receiving the transmission, then set a course for back home."

K-2SO is uncharacteristically silent.

"Say you understand, K," Andor growls through gritted teeth.

"I understand, Cassian," K-2 relents, as his master turns away towards the back of the ship.

"I've got him," you mouth to the droid.

K-2's inner workings whirr as he gives you a nod of his mechanical head, the bright, white bulbs of his visual receptors shining with something so human that it could almost be mistaken for gratitude.

You have a real fondness for the droid. Usually unrelentingly verbose, his reprogramming has gifted him with several quirks including a brazen sense of independent thought and a sarcastic sense of humour. It seems odd to feel an affinity with a machine, but you do. Those first few monotonous months of eating alone in the mess hall had quite often been interspersed by the company of the huge, lumbering droid, even though he had no need to eat at all. He was intrigued by you, as you were by him. A couple of ex-Imperials, finding a new purpose, a new freedom within the Rebellion.

You follow Andor as he stumbles through the cramped corridor of the ship until he reaches the cargo and passenger compartment. You hear Brox traipsing after you, but you turn to him and silently shake your head. He means well, but a crowd won't help. He gives you a look of understanding that is coupled with relief and scurries back through the ship to sit behind Ryker and K-2 in the cockpit.

Andor starts rummaging around clumsily in the med supply drawer, discarding equipment here and there, sending instruments and bandages sprawling across the durasteel floor. He seems in a trance, blinded by his pain and oblivious to your presence. He's unsteady on his feet, staggering this way and that, and you just wish he'd sit down. Finally, he finds a bottle of pain pills, tips several - probably too many - into the palm of a shaking hand, and swallows them greedily.

You feel the ship rumble and vibrate as K-2 fires up the engines and soon the U-wing starts to climb towards orbit. Andor loses his balance during a brief moment of turbulence and crashes unceremoniously to the floor.

You crouch down on your haunches in front of him. He is already trying to rise.

“Andor, let me...”

You reach out and touch him gently, desperate to snap him out of his reverie, and you accidentally graze one of his wounds where the tail of the whip has snaked over the front of his shoulder and down to his collar bone. He recoils from you like an injured animal and slumps back to the floor.

“Sorry, I'm sorry," you raise your hands in a placating gesture, "Just...please, Cassian, let me help you."

The use of his first name seems to ground him in some way. He looks up then, suddenly and with unguarded, anguished eyes that focus on you with an almost desperate intensity. He looks lost, a vulnerability radiating from him that you've never felt before - a raw, elemental hurt so great that you think he couldn't verbalise it even if he wanted to.

You feel an overwhelming need to reassure him that it hasn't all been for nothing - that this reckless, physical manifestation of the resistance he's dedicated his life to has meant something. He saved Ryker and Brox. He saved the mission. It was, perhaps, the bravest, most selfless thing you'd ever seen anyone do.

But tongue-tied and unable to put any of these grandiose feelings into words, you instead place your palm gently on Andor's cheek. Silently, he brings his own hand up to rest on top of yours and he closes his eyes as he leans, ever so slightly, into your touch.

It's enough for now.

To be continued

[memberment]

GOOD MORNING EVERYONE

So the Trinitarians brain worm is back and Morning Glory is now longer and biting the dust as far as my focus goes.

But like, I genuinely want to talk to anyone who's invested in what's to come as far as part two goes. SO PLEASE. I IMPLORE THE FOUR OF YOU WHO PERPETUALLY TAKE NOTICE OF MY SCREAMS INTO THE VOID.

We're all aware that Trin is a time loop fic. That is confirmed.

BUT THE PROBLEM IS HOW I'M GOING ABOUT DOING THAT. AND I NEED INPUT FROM PEOPLE THAT ARE NOT ME AS FAR AS PLEASES AND SPARKLES GO, YES?

Because like sure I'm writing it and like fuck everything else, let me tell my story. But it's the how of it all like if I'm gonna throw another 200 give or take hours into this I would at least like one person to be having a wonderful time drinking and driving (I have since remembered this is not a common phrase, I do not mean this in a literal sense, it's an expression) with me right?

Part two is going to be 50 chapters, give or take. (Part one is about 37 for reference.)

So the plan for part 2 rn is (ROGUHLY):

(1-10) is the second timeline. There are a lot of importants and I cannot just glaze over it all more than that. But we're also working in a bit of a shorter time period than the original events of the story and introductions do not need to happen again, right?

(11-40)ish would be me running through the next timelines in a set up structure -> what changes -> the results of said changes and then inevitably what sends our looper backwards. It wouldn't be running through all the timelines but the more notable ones in kind of a four chapter structure, I am not fully sold on four, but rough estimate yk.

And then 41-50 would be the finale of part two. It's literally the last timeline in its glory and then the epilogue which kicks off part three.

COULD AT LEAST ONE OF Y'ALL SIT THROUGH THAT OR DO YOU GUYS HAVE ANY NOTES AT ALL BECAUSE LIKE

I personally kinda like it but if not a soul is reading this I am throwing myself on the curb with the rest of the garbage LMFAOOO.

I NEED THOUGHTS. OPINIONS. COMMENTS. CONCERNS. ANYTHING.

Anyways, I'm going to work. I have off tomorrow and I broke the ff investment seal for today so insanity and updates will be here tonight and homework will be tomorrow.

HOPE EVERYONE HAS A GOOD DAY <3

(9:30) I am literally falling asleep as I lazily write this angel based on Danse Macabre. Expect all of maybe one more update tonight if the tacos I am abt to receive don't wake me up LMFAO.

Also, I am almost saddened by not having something to post tm. Anyone want an early chapter of something that isn't Genesis/Desolation bc they're both on Monday?????? (I am feeling like a menace rn)

(10:19) tacos and the absolute yap session I just had did wake me up a bit. MAAAYBE might write some more. Idk I slept like three hours last night and went to work I'm kinda dead. But we're at 98.2k!!!!!!🥳

(11:06) okay we made it to 99.6k everything besides the flashback for 31 is done. I'm about to relax and watch something and figure out mechanics of some of this because god this series is A BEAST. Like, I still have six planned chapters left.

Pure insanity. I love it here. I hate it here.

Holy shit wait I just came to the realization that I started this fic exactly one month ago. I have belted out 99.6k for THIS FIC ALONE. (Moreso if we're including future shit that hasn't happened yet)

IN ONE MONTH.

THAT IS FUCKING CRAZY WHAT HTE FUCK LMFAOOOO

I may or may not be cooking we’ll find out in 6-26 business hours

(5:28) So I just had a very interesting past few business hours. I read a fic I've been waiting ever so patiently to finish. That's cool, right. I go for a walk at 4 in the morning because I'm insane. Fantastic. I get home at five and I'm like ohhhh well what do I do now it's not sleep time yet. Oh write I'm supposed to be drawing.

Nope I reread the epilogue of morning glory and realized Tweek's first address is for my morning glory and Craig's last sign off is your morning glory and now I'm ready to throw myself on the curb with the garbage as I sob. Someone call a trusted adult for me thanks.

[hydrangeyes]

Mk x spray painter Male reader ☁️☁️

So if you don't know, Yes this already existed, my old account was deleted (accident but I can tell I won't be getting it back), and am reposting my old x male reader works!

I don't know if I saved all of them but here is one that was saved to my AO3 account.

Edit: So shuffling through my docs It's been brought to my attention that wattpad (who I use as backup) Cut a lot of my fics in half??? anyway I'll be trying to fix that also

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

Aaaahhhh this is such a cute idea!!!

Mk sees male reader spray painting on a wall and what's to join/try it out!

Warning: None!! Just super cute and mushy

Requested by: ekkozied

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

For the most part you started this mural on your own. The building owner wanting to brighten up the alley walkway to their backyard café, and well, the pay was really good. A quick in and out job really.

So you didn't mind cleaning it up and prepping the wall, what you didn't expect was just...how big the wall actually was.

Letting out a breathe you step back shaking the can of black paint as you eye the sketch you placed. Took you since this early morning, and by the sound of your stomach. It was definitely time for lunch.

Doing some stretches and fully opening your bag of spray paints. You felt in the mood for something pretty light but filling.

"Hmm, Pigsy's noodles it is"

Your stomach ended up making you buy 2 servings...

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

It didn't take long for your food to arrive, and while it wasn't your order you couldn't help but look back at the cute delivery driver.

Wide eyed and curious, Mk quickly was distracted by the mess of empty paint cans and the sketch you had on the wall. "Woah this looks so cool! How long have you been doing this!?" he shouts in excitement turning to you, seeing you on the ground eating.

You pause to swallow then grin "Thanks! A bit of a hobby, uh spray painting or working on this?"

"Yes." Mk asks

Letting out a snorted laugh you wave him to join you, which he does sitting close, "Let's see, I've been into art and specifically spray painting since middle school I think. Been working on this commission since 4 am? maybe 5?"

Mk gasps dramatically going a small tangent about hoping you at least took a break or how he couldn't even focus on being still for that long. to which as you watch him suddenly start organizing your empty cans, could tell.

"I like to draw and everything but I never branched out of sketches? Can't even imagine spray painting."

You tilt your head finishing up your bowl of noodles and getting up with a content stretch. Fully charged and ready to work.

"Well how about giving it a try now?"

Mk shakes his head watching as you pull out the colors you plan to use. "What!? Oh no no no! I would ruin it, what if I make a huge mess and then-" You interrupt him but handing over an orange spray can. Looking up at you Mk blushes at the calm and soft smirk you give him.

"I'll help if it's needed but that's the fun with spray painting. It dries quick and you can always paint over any mistakes." you wink stepping back and picking up a blue can. "So go wild delivery man."

Looking at the can Mk smiles a little. "Call me Mk."

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

You both had fun for hours, coloring in your design and every now and then when mk stayed in one spot too long, getting it on each other.

It was a big piece so day after day, mk came with lunch and a helping hand (When you allowed it). Laughing and tossing cans to one another, it was care free and even when you put on the finishing touches, mk stuck around around, watching you work and talking calmly about his recent training session or frustrations.

You catch yourself, when you start feeling excited when the time for lunch came around. Inwardly trying to keep your cool when when you both were tired, mk leans his head on your shoulder for a quick nap.

Falling asleep with him may have caused a slight scene, someone passing by thinking there was an accident (You guys forgot to clean up the red paint...).

He found himself, really relaxing with you. It was different than with mei which confused him at first. Till one day, it was just a little too hot and you took off your shirt to keep working and not get a heat stroke. Yeah. this feel was very different, that and he felt genuinely safe with you (emotionally of course).

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

So when it was all said in done you both couldn't help but feel a little bit sad.

You came to deeply enjoy the hyper man, find him cute and a great talker for times of burn out. And he adored the time with just having fun uninterrupted with someone he....well he realized he was starting to catch feelings for.

It shouldn't have been too much of a surprised when Mk suddenly asks you out. In the middle of cleaning your equipment up, you jolt as you feel him take hold of your arm. you see how he couldn't really look at you, his cheeks a deep red and shifting as if shy.

"Mk?"

He's quiet then with a deep breathe, looks at you straight in the eyes with all the determination and adoration he had.

"WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME N/N!"

Blinking at the outburst then seeing how he started to fidget more, it finally registered what he asked/shout.

Blushing you smile brightly.

"I would love too."

[annah-kitathryne]

I was tagged by: @songbee-art (it won't let me tag just songbee)

1. Are you named after anyone? My first name is an old book character, and my second name is a derivative of my grandmother's name. My screen name is one I made up, and have started preferring to my legal name.

2. When was the last time I cried? Nearly cried when I had a freak out realizing I forgot to follow back friend. Before that a couple hours ago when deep topic hit deep.

3. Do I have kids? No. Don't want them either. I'm good at babysitting and watching kids for a few hours but get distracted and frustrated easily. I don't trust myself with them. Kids seem to like me though. I've been told I tell good stories and am patient when explaining things to them. I treat them like full humans?

4. What sports do you play/have you played? I played volleyball, did cross country running, softball, and skiing. Real jock here (not really there was nothing to do but sports where I used to live). Haven't played any since 2020 though. I use a bike though sometimes.

5. Do you use sarcasm? Never. I don't have a sarcastic bone in my body.

6. What's the first thing you notice about someone? How close they are in relation to me. I don't like anyone I don't know to be near me. Next thing is clothes.

7. Eye color? Blue and yellow (not two different eyes but mixed in both)

8. Scary movies or happy endings? Depends on mood, but a scary movie can have a happy ending. It's a chore to get to sit long enough to watch a movie though.

9. Any talents? I've been told I have some good writing skills. I can draw? I can analyze stuff? Idk.

10. Where were you born? In a hospital? Why, you need a recommendation? I live on the west coast.

11. Hobbies? Reading, writing, drawing, thinking, overthinking.

12. Any pets? I have a cat named Lilliana. We call her Lily Bones sometimes.

13. Height? Taller than average but shortest in my family.

14. Favourite school subject? Writing followed by history.

15. Dream job? Getting hired by DC, writing 6 issue solo serieses for Helena Bertinelli, Mia Dearden, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, and than being assigned to a main Batbook where I can have my go at four part storyline. After my sucess I get put on a new project where I get all the creative freedom. I write a 20 issue maxi series on a preflash point alternate timeline where Bruce stayed dead. I then get to write a Tim Drake twelve issue maxi where I bring back Tim's civilian friends in a fun but serious story about starting to grow up, and by the end Tim has a new identity.

A job that makes enough that I can have enough money to eat three meals, have a warm shower, and live in a building that won't fall apart with a strong wind?

Tagg List: @uuuuutan @burritowitch @dc-said-bi-robin-rights @dearest-valentine @gretahayes @jpv-isms @jasongrey-redhood @mysteriousbeetle @milfkarazorel @porto-rosso @plutonicbees @sporkberries @saturnsickle @shiverblights @val-el

Sorry if you got annoyed by the tags. I more or less just went down the alphabet.

[spheciform]

☕️✨🌓?

From this ask game!! Tysm for the asks :D!!

☕ Do you do warmup sketches before drawing? (Bonus: do you have any to share?)

Im trying to get in the habit of it :D! Typically if I'm deep in the trenches I've got multiple drawings going at once so working on one may act as a warmup for the other! A lot of times gestural and thumbnail drawings are my go to but I've been trying to do some dedicated warmups :) here's a smattering. Because I'm predictable of course it's mostly helvia!! Though in there, image 1 is a small piece of all the repeated thumbnailing i did before the jork of 87 became writing (it was going to be a drawing first before I realized there was WAYYY too much going on to effectively communicate without writing) and image 4 was an idea for an ash & ash 2 fanart that never made it past the thumbnail because. I don't know actually I think I didn't like how it looked or thought it would be hard to commit to but it literally looks fine

It's mostly chicken scratch honestly... how I ever make finished drawings out of anything is a mystery to me. Line confidence? Never met her <3

✨ How often do you draw?

At least once a week!! I try to draw at least every few days but I think I go crazy if more than a week passes between doodles

🌗 Is night or day better for drawing?

While I love drawing during the day, night ends up being when I actually am able to sit down and draw for multiple hours at a time as of late!!

[blackwomeninrock]

Interview w/ Lynx from Old Blood

It's not often that I get to sit down and chat with the women featured on this blog, but I was fortunate enough to grab LYNX from Old Blood and ask her a few questions.

Old Blood is a metal band out of Southern California. Their most recent release is Acid Doom, which you can check out here.

And now, on to the questions!

One of the things I’m always curious about is how other black women found themselves entangled with rock music. Can you tell me a bit about how you discovered rock music and what made you want to perform rock music?

I've always been a performer - I started acting when I was 2 and music has always been my favorite medium and as I started finding my favorite kinds of music, I always enjoyed the "strong stuff" more than other sounds. But when I discovered metal, the similarities with classical music really spoke to me. As a violinist, I was drawn to the guitar solos. As a vocalist, I was drawn to the power - all this around the ages of 9 and 10. When my neighbor lent me some Metallica tapes (yeah, this was in the 80's!), I knew what musical direction I'd be taking.

How has your experience been as the frontwoman for Old Blood? Anything memorable happen while performing with this band?

Joining OLD BLOOD has been an incredible experience. The guys are great to work with. Whether we're hammering out new parts of a song in rehearsal, cris-crossing the nation in Macho Van Bandy Savage (our band van) or hitting that tricky part of that one song at that one bar - it's always fun. Some shows really stand out in my mind - ones where other women, often black women, approached me in gratitude for being who I am and doing what I do. Truly heartening moments.

What is your creative process when it comes to making albums and performing?

I'm always making notes, as I hear or "find" lyrics in my daily comings and goings. I keep these notes in a binder that comes out when we start composing the music for new songs. I leaf through these pages and listen for melodic cues that draw these lyrics off the page. The song builds from there. Before a gig, I like to do some Pilates along with some focused breathwork and vocalizations to prepare myself for the athleticism of an OLD BLOOD show.

Who are some of your favorite bands to listen to right now?

I've been deep in a Mark Lanegan phase for the last 5 years or so, much more after reading Sing Backwards and Weep, his autobiography. When we went on tour in 2021, I got it as an audiobook and his voice became an essential companion for those hours of seemingly endless travel. He passed away shortly before our 2022 tour and once more, his music, written and spoken words served as a tobacco and whisky-stained security blanket in my ear. 

Of course, LYNX can't live by Lanegan alone. Unto Others (formerly Idle Hands), out of Portland is another constant in my auditory library. The 1st 4 cds in my car's player are all theirs.

Otherwise, I love supporting the local scene and LA has an abundance of mad-talented acts that keep me out late. I saw my buddies in Formula 400 last night with Freedom Hawk, from Virginia Beach and the night before, my friend Margarita Monet and her band Edge of Paradise opened a stellar jam night in the heart of Hollywood. There's so much good stuff out there!!

What word of advice would you give to anyone thinking about joining a band or getting involved in the music industry?

Give it a go. If it's something you truly desire, that need will never leave you. It won't be ignored nor will it die. Learn as much as you can about the industry and what it takes to reach your definition of success. It's different for everyone, but just don't let that call go unanswered.

----------

You can follow LYNX on Instagram here: https://www.instagram.com/lynxoldblood/

Old Blood Socials: Facebook - Instagram - TikTok - Bandcamp

[curiosity-killed]

Fic Writer Interview

Tagged by @veliseraptor right when I turned work notifications off for 2 hours which feels auspicious

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

148 😅

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,201,484! For a couple years there, I was kind of cranking but now I basically haven't written fic for two years so uh. chilling at 1.2 million

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

This is always mildly upsetting to me because my favorites are rarely the winners lol

a bow for the bad decisions (3536)

willow branches and flowers (2785)

upon this altar (2745)

heart + bone (2090)

whipstitch (2024)

...well at least I like 2 of these lol

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! I used to respond to every comment and then got overwhelmed and fell completely behind and THEN decided to clean house and answer all of the remaining ones...and the next day posted heart + bone and now have uh... 688 AO3 emails sitting in my inbox :') I periodically try to go in and answer at least a handful but honestly it's gotten very sporadic

5. What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Off hesperus! I don't think I write a lot of true angst or tragedies tbh. But that one was meant to be 100% genuine, no happy endings angst. And admittedly it's not AS bad as it could have been but. it is probably as bad as I am likely to write (unfortunately (?), I left my "kill all your fave characters, make everyone suffer, burn it down!!!" writing vibes back in middle school mostly).

6. What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

I have so much fluff how am I supposed to pick. ...most of my tgcf fics? heart + bone and sunlight, sunlight, sunlight are pretty absurdly fluffy by the end.

7. Do you write crossovers?

Not really. Back in the olden days (high school/college), I did more—see: whisper something holy, the OG loki fic... I think there were some others?—but it's pretty rare now.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

ehhh not really hate, just some folks who got lost and wound up mad in the comments that *checks notes* local complexity lover let characters be complex. I just turned off anonymous comments for a while and it was fine

9. Do you write smut?

Sometimes! I tend to write (& draw) smut when I'm stuck in a rut (pun sadly not intended), stressed, and struggling to make things which is. something to know about myself. but also means that it often serves as sort of an on ramp to making art that I care about more and so it's often left unfinished.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so? I have no idea how I'd know but honestly, I think my writing is enough directed toward my interests/wants that it's not a prime candidate for stealing lol

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes!! it's so cool!! and if she leads was translated into mandarin which!! is bonkers to me that's so much work

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I don't think I've ever actually done it. Isaac (@/lemeute) and I have co-developed a few ideas before but I think they went the way of the raccoon poll and sort of died in discord (though the yanqing AU did contribute to me drawing art!)

13. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Ah I really struggle with this. Really high up there, and probably chief in staying power, is Altair/Malik(/& Maria) and then in terms of ones that have sort of rewritten my brain chemistry it's like Stucky, Cartinelli, Cap2 Crew, Ranwan, Hualian, Destiel...uh I'm definitely missing some there but that's a sampler!

14. What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

;A; oh god. I mean. a short list:

wulian au

yunmeng jiang everyone dies

bodyswap (mdzs)

light dancer (atla)

I have many more wips but they're in more varying stages of either "I don't actually care that much if I finish these" (all unfinished MCU fics) or "I will actually finish this" (sixteen stitches).

15. What are your writing strengths?

uhhhhhhhhhh i hate this question bc my brain is immediately like "here is a laundry list of everything ur bad at and ALSO ur wrong. abt the things ur good at." bc well. mental wellness. ANYWAY i think I'm like ?? pretty good at creating intensity in writing??? I've talked about it before as viscerality and it is that but also like emotional intensity. and I do think I can craft a pretty turn of phrase here and there

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

well. plot, for one thing. having one? executing one? keeping it consistent without giant holes for everything to fall apart through? nahh. Similarly, continuity overall is! not a strength. Do you know how many notes there are in TCP asking myself to just sketch out a blueprint of the palace where 90% of the first book takes place. can u imagine

there are. more. but i will pause there

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

I think it's something that needs to be done with intent and like. care. like, okay. actually I feel extremely subjective about this. Like on the one hand, I think there are times when I think using another language provides important connotative information that is lost when translating to English* (e.g., Wei Wuxian calling Lan Wangji er-gege or Jiang Yanli shijie which don't have very direct counterparts in English, but also if I were to write about my teacher calling me "chica" rather than "girl"). On the other hand, I think it's very important to be cautious (particularly as a white anglophone) about...like. Seasoning Ur Dialogue with Spicy Bits of Other Languages (I am struck by flashbacks of fanon Lance from VLD. bls.). ON THE THIRD HAND, depending on the POV of the work, writing dialogue in a different language can serve different functions in the text (e.g., if the reader knows what it means but the character doesn't, we can have some nice dramatic irony! when it's done well; if the character knows what it means but the reader doesn't, it can build suspense; if both know what it means, it can give insights into different character dynamics/backgrounds/etc.), but again, it should be done with care and intent.

uh i don't know that this actually answered the question or anything. i have feelings???? and minimally coherent thoughts?

*I am being so brave rn in trying not to go down a rabbithole about translation and meaning ;A;

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Marvel :')

19. What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

hh hold on i need to go holler at lise and huaqing possibilities

anYWAY yanqing, xianle quartet (variably romantic), erha*, huaqing*, the king's affection**

*technically i've written once for these but like. not fr fr

**I still haven't finished this bc I am inexplicably stressed abt my blorbos suffering but STILL

20. What's your favorite fic you've written?

oh gosh I feel like a broken record bc my fave fics have pretty much been the same for a long time but yeah, of swords and wings is still pretty much my fave largely because, even as it has aged (and I have become more critical of the actual writing), it was so finely tailored to my specific preferences, headcanons, and wants that it still remains quite loved

tagging anyone who wants to do this! (sorry, laziness wins)

[cheerscoops]

tag game dump!

so my very favorite @quinnkeerys tagged me in a whole mess of tag games, and I'm going to put them under a read more here so as not to spam the dash. I know @iero and @corrodedcoffn also tagged me in a couple of these, so a big thank you to them as well <3

if anyone wants to do any of these, you can just say that I tagged you

#1

Last Song: Teenage Dirtbag - Wheatus

Currently Watching: right this second, I'm watching nothing because I'm at work. but my lunch break tv show is currently Parks and Rec, and then I'm switching back and forth between Solar Opposites, Vanderpump Rules, and a Stranger Things rewatch when I'm at home. I'm also really obsessed with Claim to Fame right now

Currently Reading: rereading The Big Sad™️ as I try and write more of it, but I'm also reading Funny You Should Ask by Elissa Sussman

Current Obsession: not to copy RJ's answer, but have you seen my url?

#2

5 drinks to get to know me: hot coffee with a little sweet italian cream flavored creamer, hot chocolate spiked with whipped cream vodka and topped with mini marshmallows, ice cold water specifically out of my giant insulated purple water bottle, peanut butter and banana smoothie, a cocktail called a manhattan

#3

10 comfort movies: the princess bride, spree, enola holmes, little women (1994), beauty and the beast, edward scissorhands, the wedding singer, scream, cutthroat island, anastasia

#4

Name: Anna

Age: 31, to quote JCB "she's old, love"

Favorite season: Autumn because I am nothing if not a basic white girl

Movies or TV shows?: is it cool to say both? I love both forms of storytelling so much, but I will admit that I gravitate more towards tv shows. like, someone please explain to me why I won't be in the mood to focus on something for two hours to enjoy a movie, so I'll put on a tv show instead and the next thing I know I've watched an entire season in one sitting

Do you carry a bag/purse? What kind?: I am a mini backpack girlie. the current one is hellfire club patterned, and before I got that one, I was going back and forth between the loungefly that looked like steve's scoops ahoy uniform and a stranger things one that I found at target

What color is your water bottle?: lavender. I would put stickers on it, but I'm afraid that I'd ruin the stickers, so it's very plain

What color is your phone case?: teal, but it's super grody since I've been using it for so long. I should probably get a new one, but I'm due for a phone upgrade soon, so I don't want to spend money on a new case if I'm just going to have to get a new one when I get my new phone

Do you sleep in silence or do you need white noise/sounds/music?: I fall asleep to spree every single night. don't ask me why, but I find kurt kunkle drawing his life to be very soothing

Top sheets. Yes or no?: yes. when it's warm, the top sheet is the only blanket I use because all other blankets are too hot, and I can't sleep without a blanket of some sort

You're in the candy aisle at the corner store, what are you grabbing?: it depends on my mood. if I want fruity, I'm getting pull apart twizzlers or haribo happy cherry gummies, or the super cheap strawberry gummies from the dollar store. if I want chocolate, it's typically something with caramel. I gravitate towards milk duds, caramel m&ms, twix, and milky way midnights. also peanut butter m&ms

Preferred mode of travel (plane/train/car/bus/on foot/etc.): in my day to day life, my car is my lifeline. public transit isn't the best in my area (doesn't go anywhere near parents' house and idk if it goes anywhere near mine), so I've never really used it. when going on vacation, I prefer planes and trains though because I am not built to drive long distances

What's your phone background right now?: lockscreen is my photo op with joseph quinn from philly, home screen is a collage of eddie munson pics

Are you more of a miminalist or a maximalist?: the minimalist aesthetic is lovely, but it could never be me because I love little trinkets and art too much. maximalist all the way

It's time to paint your bedroom! What color are you choosing?: I have had the same pink and white striped wallpaper as nancy wheeler's bedroom in season one since I was seven years old, and I love it dearly. at my new place, my bedroom walls are this deep gray-ish purple, and I'm quite fond of that, so maybe I'd choose that color if it wasn't already what I already had. I'm also a big fan of blue, and that's supposed to be better for your sleep, so maybe a light blue

And finally, tell me something that brings you joy: stealing RJ's answer, but working on cheerscoops week graphics and stories (even The Big Sad™️) is what's keeping me going right now

[andnatiabrosca]

Self-Rec Tag Game

Rules: Share five of your own fanworks (fic, art, etc.). Then, tag five more people to share the things they've made. I’ve put categories below, but they’re more guidelines than rules.  1. Something you absolutely adore 2. Something that was challenging to create 3. Something that makes you laugh (or smile, if that fits more comfortably)  4. Something that surprised you (in how it turned out, how much other people liked it, etc.) 5. Something you want other people to see

@layalu (@dungeons-and-dragon-age) tagged me & this is the blog I Do Stuff on! now that my weird bug was resolved where I couldn't access my mentions, onwards and upwards. I'm going into my files for stuff, not necessarily what's been published yet, because my tagging system...needs work. Cut for length.

1. Something you absolutely adore

Well, absolutely and without question, my current longfic is well-adored. It's [love knows life] on Ao3. Here's a snippet:

The fear rolls and boils and threatens to swamp her the deeper they venture into the Temple. And like a log, buffetted in the swells – the eyes of a friend. It’s a test, she knows, but does not hurt any more for it. “What’s shapin’?” the memory of her brother asks. His voice is too thin, and he flickers in and out of sight, not like a real ghost would. She leans into his rough smile.  “Topside as bad as you thought?”  Pretends the shadow play behind her eyes is a fear, not a memory. “Ancestors, you’re a bitch.”  He growls.  It doesn’t fit, just like the solid Trade that Leske never spoke.  “You never really cared about us.  Knew you were meant for greater things.  Up there.  The Surface.” It’s a bad memory.  It’s missing rough-big-brother Leske. “You’re the one always told me to leave,” she bites back before her mind finds her. He laughs, one solid, rough bark of her friend as he glows blue, then fades back to smooth, wavering grey. “I know it’s been playing on your mind, how you left us in the darkest muck-pit this side of the Deep Roads.  But it’s all right.  Don’t want to be all mopey.  You can let go and forgive yourself, salroka.”  He pauses for a few moments, fading between that grey and that lyrium blue. His voice quiets as blue memory finds living brown.  “I forgive you.” That she believes.  The last time she knew those eyes, they were thanking her as her blade pulled free from his stomach, breath caught in blood pooling on the stone. He’s gone – again – before Nat’s voice winds back to her.

2. Something that was challenging to create

This is a bit of a deep cut, but I did [this] back in 2017, somehow fit in around 19 credit hours of engineering coursework.

I've got more details in the original post, but this entailed (1) learning how to draw like. at all. (2) using MatLab and the wiki's list of known dwarven words (and a lot of sitting and reading them aloud) to count the frequency of each phoneme within the dwarven language, then trying to isolate graphemes from the written dwarven in game (I remember using the stone from Anvil of the Void), counting those, and trying to find some correlation to assign graphemes to phonemes, THEN writing all of the Blight Brigade's names using the new cypher.

I am looking to revisit that project in future, actually. I've got more understanding of linguistics and the courage to take a good stab at conlanging. But not the note-taking skills.

3. Something that makes you laugh/smile

I'm not putting any snippets in here because it's a rated M fic and also is super short, but I find [this kinktober fill I did] pretty funny. It's Alistair semi-intentionally stumbling across Nat and Zev finding some private time away from camp.

4. Something that surprised you

[I recorded a podfic of Seventeen] and, frankly, I'm surprised anyone even clicked on it. I'm extremely proud of how I did it and the sheer number of skills I learned from it.

5. Something you want other people to see

This is a snippet from an unpublished/unfinished fic from my series [seventeen years]. Its working title is "Twenty-Six"; it's meant to be written to hold a mirror between Natia (old form of Nat) and Maran Trevelyan. I still really like using Maran trying to live up to the folk hero juxtaposed against the reality of Natia being a child during the Blight.

Maran Trevelyn was sixteen when word arrived to the Free Marches.  The Blight – the Blight most hadn’t realized had even begun – was ended. There were stories, left and right and center; everyone claimed a different version of the truth.  The Hero of Fereldan was human.  The Hero was a mage.  The Hero was Dalish and the Hero was dead. Mar didn’t know which words were true, but she knew which ones she wanted. When Mar told herself stories, late at night, lying in a dreamless bed, the Hero was old, wise, brave.  A human warrior who knew battles and knew wars and fought with every fiber of her being to save the world, because it was her duty, not because it was right. Duty meant a lot, to the youngest daughter of a Marcher noble. In Mar’s world, the Hero was the woman she could become, if only she trained hard enough.  If only she fought herself and her desires until there was nothing left.  (Her Hero died in the end, but that really didn’t matter.  Duty first.)

[tootyfruities]

HIII YAYYYY THANK YOU YOU'RE SERIOUSLY JAWESOME

dawg so i meant to answer that 5 things i like thing and then i published it too soon so i deleted the post thinking itd return the ask to my inbox but then it DIDNT so i FORGOT. but now we're here ehe 🤭

ok so one thing that makes me happy? my DAWGS. crasher is a pitbull mutt and sweetpea is a chihuahua shitzu puppy... i love them. crash is my crybaby gentle giant and seepers is an ankle biter, literally. pet tax below

another thing that makes me happy is THE CREATIVES. THE ARTS. how i love 2 sit down and draw or write or read... oh how many ideas i have and oh how happy am i 2 share or be shared to. oh how euphoric it makes me feel just to stew in my ideas. i have so many thoughts forever

another thing that makes me happy? ummmm ummmmmmm video essays, game reviewers, people who just TALK and SAY THINGS. i like 2 talk and say things also, but a lot of times i genuinely prefer being the listener. whether i'm letting a friend yap or spending my time watching video essays they genuinely make me so happy. literally all ive been doing the past 72 hours has been watching video essays while playing minecraft. lemme just show off my view history from just today

number 4 for things that make me happy, it's MYSELF LETS GO 🗣‼️‼️‼️‼️🔥🔥👹👹👹👹💪💪💪💪💪💪 i've been trying hard not to name medias nor names and this is where we're going to avoid that B] - this bad boy can fit so many interesting interests and bad jokes and illnesses!! i'm gonna toot my own horn: i enjoy my own cooking, my own writing, my taste in fashion, my sense of decoration, my eagerness to make plans with the people i love, my ability to take rejection + criticism, my generally loving nature, my irl tendacy to go out of my way to be kind. what a cool guy. i'd kiss her if i could

aaaaaaaand finally, for the top 5 thing that makes me happy:

[overlyimmersed]

Pals...I just gotta talk cuz I'm...just having something...

So June is almost over...

I do have a drawing I'm working on for Pride and I'd like to finish it by month's end.

Unfortunately...

Rather then working on it, I've spent the last 4. Hours. Trying to eat half a sandwich.

Why did it take me 4 hours to eat half a sandwich? Well because I had a spider incident.

I...don't consider myself arachnophobic. I am 29. I see spiders daily. Literally every day. There's a large black wolf spider that lives on the railing of the wooden ramp my father built for my grandfather that sometimes needs a wheelchair. I love that little guy. He's a cool spider. He's black as tar with emerald green eyes and some white marking. Very cool little pal. I think it's neat to watch spiders catch prey in their webs. I have captured and released countless spiders from my bedroom over the course of my life. Killed even more. Some...very big...

The spider responsible for this "incident" was not big. It was a common grass spider. Not big. Not venomous.

So. What. Happened?

Look...I haven't been sleeping well for...around 8 months. Because I moved so I had a mix of seasonal and relocation depression and the house had fucky acoustics and I can't sleep in the same room as my cats but they had to be in my room in this house cuz housemates had cats of their own. Then I moved back home. I'm currently staying in a camper cuz my bedroom in being renovated. So I have multiple kinds of depression and am sleeping in the same room as my cats...

Why does this matter? Well I've been hallucinating spiders for the past 1-2 weeks due to sleep deprivation.

OR SO I THOUGHT

It was not hallucinations. It was this little fucker. So that's cool, I'm not as physically messed up as I thought. Spider was real all along. But... I actually don't like spiders...inside a room with me. When they're outside where they belong, they're cool. Come into my space and I start to come a little unglued. I don't like the way they move, they're fast, and I don't want them to touch me.

So this spider makes itself a known by scurrying between my chest and the edge of the table my computer is sitting on. I shriek and nearly fall from my chair to get away from it. I try to kill it somewhere on the table. My cat tries to catch it. There were several attempts made on it's life that all failed. Normal spider encounter stuff. And then, predictably, it disappears. Fine. That happens. It's been in here for days and days already. Not big deal, try to get back to my sandwich and just put the little creeper out of my mind.

Nah.

Me AND MY CAT both spent the next 5-10 minutes jumping at every movement thinking it might be that blasted spider. It never was, but I...was not doing well. Paranoia was starting to close it's grip around my mind. But I was trying to keep a lid on it and just...go about my night. Then...

I felt it...

The spider was on my body. It had SOMEHOW gotten onto my right arm. The last place I'd seen it was on the window glass TO MY LEFT. So obviously I scream, jump up and try to brush it off me, make sure it isn't on my clothes, the whole bit. And I succeed. But because of the previous paranoid behaviors I'm actually not 100% sure it was the spider. It could have just been my own hair and me being hypersensitive out of fear.

NAH.

I search the floor to see if I could find it, so I can murder it cuz I knew I'd get no peace till I saw the bastard's corps. Didn't find it on the floor. I try to talk myself down, assume it was my hair after all and get back to sandwich.

then I see movement. I had been the spider and I had brushed it off into my cats' water dish where it was now trying to swim out. This is my chance. I know exactly where it is and it can't get away. I murder the spider. I nearly fail due to my own stupidity, but I do get it done.

Yay! Now I can finish my food in peace!

Except nah.

I spend the next four hours having an anxiety attack. Hyperventilating, then crying, then just...disassociating... All over a spider that I turned to pulp HOURS ago. Simply because, this one. touched me.

I've never had this happen before. I'm not arachnophoic. So why did it take me 4 hours to eat half a sandwich... When I really just wanted to finish my lunch and work on that damned Pride drawing?

[themultifandomgal]

Isaiah Jesus- Struggling

TW- talk about multiple miscarriages and struggling to get pregnant

Isaiah and I have been best friends with Finn for years! Tommy, Arthur and John always saw me as a little sister since the day I started hanging around the Shelby brothers. This automatically put me under protection with the Peaky Blinders, although I am more than capable of looking after myself. When I turned 17 Tommy got me a job in the betting shop, but the deal was for me to stay away from the illegal stuff. Saiah and I have been together since we were 16 and now we're 23 and married. We have been trying to have a baby for 2 years, but unfortunately we have had 3 miscarriages.

I walk over to my desk outside of Michaels office and sit down

"Good morning YN, how are you today?" Michael asks

"I'm good thank you Michael" I get out files from the draws of my desk and start to do my work. A couple of hours pass and the betting shop door opens, I look up and see Isaiah walking in with Finn. He walks over to me and kisses my forehead

"You shouldn't be here, you should be at home resting" Isaiah loudly whispers to me

"Shh" I nudge him "if I take time off people will ask questions and I don't want anyone to know" I say sadly. Finn walks over to Michael whose sat in his office. I thought I was pregnant again last week and so we went to the doctors, but I had the results back yesterday telling me that I wasn't pregnant

"Ok, but your upset you should be at home" I shake my head at Isaiah

"Your upset as well but your out here doing jobs for Tommy"

"I'm not just doing jobs for Tommy" the doors open again and Tommy walks in

"Isaiah, Finn, Michael I have a job for you"  I raise a brow

"You were saying?"

"Isaiah!" Tommy shouts getting impatient

"I'll see you later" Isaiah and I share a kiss then he walks off into Tommy's office.

Later that evening when Saiah comes home we sit at the table together while eating our food. Somethings playing on my mind, but I don't know how to bring up that fact I think we should stop trying for a baby

"Hey are you ok?" Saiah obviously being able to see me in thought asks me. Well I guess this is my cue

"Huh? oh. Errm I'm ok, it's just..."

"What?" Isaiah frowns putting down his fork and taking my hand. I take in a deep breath before breathing out

"I think we should take a break with trying for a baby" Isaiah now takes in a deep breathe "I don't think this added stress is helping. Even my period has been weird the last couple of months and we thought I was pregnant. I just think if we stop trying so hard, have sex for the sake of feeling good rather than trying to get pregnant, maybe it will happen"

"What if it doesn't?"

"Then we figure something else out. Maybe adopt an orphan? I don't know yet Saiah. We will figure this out. As long as I have you by my side I really don't care"

"I love you YN"

"And I love you"

1 year later

"Do I look fat to you?" I ask Isaiah running a hand over my bloated stomach

"No you don't. You look 5 months pregnant. Now can we finally tell people  were having a baby. The doctors said we're past the scary part. This is the longest you've carried so please can we tell the others"

"Fine we can tell the others at the meeting today" I give in to Isaiah. We head over to the garrison and to the back room where the meeting is being held. Isaiah and I walk in hand in hand and sit down

"Great now we're all here I want to..."

"Wait errm before we talk about jobs and things. YN and I would like to tell you all something" the room falls silence and everyone looks at me. I give a sheepish smile but before I can tell anyone I hear a gasp. I look at Polly who is staring at me wide eyed

"What's going on?" Arthur asks confused

"So, me and Isaiah are pregnant" concern washes over everyone's faces "but, I've never carried this long before so in 4 months time we should be having a baby"

"Right well I guess a congratulations is in order. And YN your dismissed for early maternity leave"

"Tommy we can't afford..."

"You'll still get paid, I know how much you both want this. Also to keep all stress to a minimum. Isaiah you will take over YN in the betting shop. We need to keep you both as safe as possible. Now let's forget the meeting and celebrate" I smile at Tommy grateful that he's so understanding. He nods at me then pours himself and the others a glass of whisky. He holds it up in the air "to YN and Isaiah" then he drinks his drink, the others following him.