#old piece. had to update it. will probably have to update again after the finale lmao

[honnelander]

OK SO I HAVE THIS IDEA IN MY HEAD AND I HAVE TO TELL YOU, I can't stop laughing imagining that scenario xdxdxdxdxd

Well, then imagine go fish! Sanji takes (Y/N) to meet Zeff and Zeff being the good father he is, "accidentally" spoils the tea in front of everyone because he is so done with the drama around.  😂 😂 😂 😂

UMMM OK I LOVE THISSS!! this technically won't be go fish!Sanji BUT my interpretation of Sanji will pretty much always be like that.

here's Zeff "accidentally" spilling the beans about Sanji's affections for reader: (i can't believe this blew up to like 3k words rip)

masterlist

Zeff wasn't stupid.

He's been around the block a couple of times in his life and when Sanji's semi-regular letters to him had shifted from casual life updates and started to be more and more about details and little interactions he had with you, some girl Zeff had never met before, well, it was easy for the head chef to put two and two together: Sanji was in love.

And he was in love with you.

Now, while Sanji might not technically be his son by birthright, there was no way he didn't consider Sanji to be his own living and breathing kin, especially after everything they've been through together, 'pedigree' rules be damned.

Zeff truly loved that boy. Throughout their time together, he had raised Sanji from being a snotty-nosed brat into the respectable man that he was today and, in Zeff's mind, part of being a respectable man included knowing how to treat a woman properly.

Ever since he was a young boy, Zeff could see that Sanji took a special liking towards girls and then young women. The retired captain had lost count of the number of times he had to berate Sanji into getting back to work and to leave the wooing for after dinner service and his own personal time, but the scoldings never stuck. Sanji would always be Sanji, and that meant the lad had an endless wandering eye and a sharp silver tongue, no matter what.

To say that Zeff was sad to see Sanji go with Luffy that day was an understatement, he was devastated, but he knew, ever since he had held a knife to his throat during their first encounter, that Sanji was meant for bigger things. For things bigger than cooking up the same old dinner specials every night and breaking up drunk pirate fights on the regular. Sanji was bigger than the Baratie, so when Luffy had made his infamous offer to his pseudo-son, a part of Zeff was relieved because that meant that Sanji could finally start living the life he was always meant to live, and that was one of a pirate.

Zeff had also made peace with the very real fact that he might never see or hear from Sanji again. He (and Sanji) knew all too well how quickly something could go from bad to worse to life-threatening in an instant out on the open ocean, and if Luffy was truly determined to find the one piece and have Sanji join his crew, then Zeff knew that seeing him off that day was probably the last time he would ever see his son alive.

So, imagine his surprise when he received his first letter from him.

At first, he thought it was a joke, that one of the line cooks in the kitchen was pulling a cruel prank on him by writing him a fake letter in Sanji's unmistakable handwriting, but when he finally ripped open the envelope and found out that yes, Sanji did, in fact, write him a letter, well... it had actually brought a tear to his eye.

From that point forward, Zeff found himself eagerly awaiting Sanji's letters. He loved to hear all about the outlandish adventures that crew seemed to always find themselves in and it made Zeff nostalgic for his days at sea. There was never any return address, since the crew was constantly on the move, and Zeff expected as such, so he could never send a reply but that didn't mean he wasn't grateful for each and every letter he received.

Zeff should've realized that something was up though when Sanji had first mentioned you in one of his letters. Sanji's letters would come every couple of months and they, surprisingly, never mentioned any young lass or any other pretty girl he would meet during an island visit unless it was a woman they had ended up fighting.

So, when Sanji had first mentioned you to him, saying how you were the newest straw hat to join the crew, Zeff had thought it was just business as usual. However, what wasn't 'just business as usual' was when the rest of the letter had turned into a little biography about you; where you were from, how old you were, what your home life was like, that you had also agreed that 'oregano was for savages', etc., and the letter ended up being nearly ten pages long.

Then, after your 'introduction' in Sanji's letters to him, you were practically the subject of them all going forward, each one getting longer than the last. Gone were the letters detailing Sanji's adventures, and in came the letters describing the interactions you two had or what topics had come up in your conversations with each other.

At first, Zeff thought it was just another one of Sanji's infatuations (the boy was a huge flirt after all) but when more and more details were provided, and the letters started becoming longer, it was obvious to Zeff that Sanji was in love with you.

And why didn't Sanji just admit his feelings to you? He had no clue. Maybe it was partially his fault too, since Zeff never remembered having that 'what to do when you truly love a girl' talk with him, but he had hoped that Sanji would eventually be fed up with all the back and forth between the both of you and finally just confess already, but that declaration of "I confessed my love to her and she reciprocated" line never was brought up in any of the letters.

And Zeff was feeling himself go crazy the longer this went on. The 'drama' that was occurring between you both was driving him nuts and he vowed that if he ever saw Sanji and the rest of the straw hat crew at the Baratie again, that he would confess Sanji's feelings towards you for him. I mean... someone had to.

Then one day his lucky day came.

"Zeff!" a voice called out from the top of the stairs one afternoon before the day's first dinner service, a voice that Zeff thought he would never hear again. "There you are, you old shitbag!"

Immediately, Zeff stopped talking to the wait staff, turning his body to look up at where he heard the voice come from, his hands on his hips, and he couldn't believe what he was seeing: there was Sanji, a huge smile on his face, standing with practically the same crew that he had waved goodbye to nearly two years ago.

"Oi! Sanji!" Zeff yelled out, his own disbelieving smile lighting up his face. "I never thought I'd see your ugly mug around here again."

Sanji laughed at that as he quickly bounded down the stairs, enveloping him in a bear hug. "That makes two of us!" He pulled back, his blue eyes lighting up in pure happiness as he quickly took Zeff in, patting him on the shoulder as he said, "And look at you, you practically look exactly the same as the day I left you."

As Zeff took in Sanji's appearance, he realized that he couldn't say the same about him. Sanji looked older, not in a bad way, but in a more mature way. He looked like he was growing into the man that he was always meant to be.

And Zeff couldn't have been more proud.

"Well, I can't say the same about you little eggplant. You look like a seasoned pirate to me." Both of them dropped their arms off of each other and Zeff put his hands back on his hips. "You keepin' your feet dry?"

Sanji mirrored his pose, a small laugh escaping his lips as he looked down for a second. "Yeah," he said and looked back up at Zeff, a knowing glint in his blue eyes. "Yeah, I am."

Zeff knew right then that everything with his son was alright. "Good."

"Hey, uh, I wanted to introduce you to someone," Sanji started, looking slightly bashful as he looked back down at the floor and put his hands in his pockets. "She's the-"

"Girl from the letters?" Zeff said with a small knowing smile, finding it endearing how his normally smooth-talking son was suddenly acting about this girl. If he didn't know any better, Sanji looked nervous (and Zeff knew he was).

At his words, Sanji's gaze immediately snapped up to meet Zeff's, his eyes becoming slightly wider, a hint of panic within them, as he quickly looked back towards the rest of his crew that had just started to make their way down the stairs and towards them.

"The newest member of our crew," Sanji emphasized loudly, letting out a fake laugh as he looked back at Zeff pointedly.

"Right," Zeff relented with a small disbelieving laugh of his own. "'Newest crewmember'. Got it."

And when Zeff turned his attention towards the straw hats, he immediately knew it was you before you even introduced yourself. Sure, you were the only new face in the small group of familiar faces, but he had to give credit to Sanji, he had definitely captured your looks and essence in his letters.

Zeff's smile widened. You were cute. From just by looking at you, he could tell you were a sweet and kind soul, it was no wonder Sanji loved you. You definitely looked like the type of person who would do all those things that Sanji had spoken about in his letters and he immediately approved of you. If Sanji had stood there and introduced you as his wife instead of 'his newest crewmember', he wouldn't have had any objections to that at all.

"Zeff, this is y/n," Sanji started, gesturing a hand out to you, Zeff noticing the way his son's eyes softened just by looking at you. "And, uh, you already know everyone else."

Zeff looked away from Sanji and down at you, seeing that you already had your hand out to shake his, a nervous smile plastered on your face.

He liked you.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Zeff, sir," you said, shaking his hand. "I've heard so much about you."

Now, even though Sanji had corrected him before about you, it didn't mean Zeff wasn't going to say anything.

"Aw, come on now, the pleasure is all mine little lass," Zeff replied, shaking your smaller hand with his bigger one. "It's nice to finally meet the girl that Sanji raves on about all the time."

From his peripheral, he could see Sanji stiffen.

Your eyes widened, your hand going limp in his as you asked, "Raves on about? Who, me? T-to you?"

Zeff's smile only grew wider and more cheeky. "Oh yeah, all the time," he said casually, as you both dropped hands. He placed his hands on his hips again and nodded towards his son. "You should see just how much of his letters are about you. It's like I get a damn novel every other month about your relationship," he joked.

"Zeff-" Sanji started but Zeff wasn't done.

He was on a roll and nothing was going to stop him. The more he spoke, however, the redder your face became.

"Oh yeah," the head chef continued, "from as much as Sanji talks about the two of you, I thought you two were in a relationship and said 'I love you' to each other already."

After he said that, the room got quiet. You stood there, completely frozen with wide eyes and a flushed face, like a deer in headlights, while Sanji stood as still as a statue. The rest of the straw hats stood quietly behind you three with varying looks of shock and awe on their faces at the display before them.

"Sanji," Luffy said, breaking the awkward silence first. "You love y/n?"

"Luffy!" Nami hissed.

"I knew it!" Usopp loudly and proudly declared, pointing a finger to the sky as he turned and laughed at the rest of the crew. "See, the great captain Usopp always knows the sparks of true love whenever he sees it," he said, hooking his thumbs at the top of his overalls with a grin.

Zoro snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. You wouldn't know what true love looked like even if it smacked you in the face."

"Says the guy who doesn't have a girlfriend," Usopp smugly retorted with a laugh.

Before Zoro could say anything back, Zeff spoke up. "Hey, straw hats," he called, grabbing their attention. "Why don't you lot come into the kitchen and sit at the chef's table? I'll have Patty and the rest of 'em cook you a couple of steaks however you want, on the house. I'll even throw in a couple of beers too."

"I'm in," Zoro said without missing a beat as he started making his way towards the kitchen, not needing to be asked twice.

"Ooo, free beers? Show captain Usopp the way, please," Usopp said, following Zoro through the kitchen doors.

At the mention of meat, Luffy immediately perked up and forgot about the situation before him. "Steaks? Would it be possible to have more than one?"

"Sure," Zeff agreed easily and nodded towards the kitchen. "Eat too many though and I'll have you back on dish duty again to pay your bill."

"Deal," Luffy quickly agreed and followed after his first mate and sharpshooter.

With a shared look, Nami and Zeff started making their way towards the kitchen together, both ignoring you and Sanji.

"How do you like your steak cooked Nami?" Zeff asked conversationally before disappearing behind the kitchen's double doors.

"Medium rare, actually," Nami replied and slipped in after him, leaving you and Sanji all alone in the dining room.

It was quiet for a solid minute, neither one of you moving or making a sound.

"So," you started, clearing your throat and looking over at Sanji. "You, uh... told Zeff about me?"

But Sanji couldn't look at you. In fact, he was looking at everywhere but you. His cheeks were flushed pink and the tips of his ears were red. He looked down at the ground with his hands on his hips.

"Yeah," he said, forcing out a slight laugh that sounded more painful than anything. "I, uh, told him a bit about you. Could you tell?" he asked, a hint of painful and playful sarcasm in his tone.

You couldn't help but laugh at his attempt at a joke. You could feel your heart start to race as you slowly took a couple of steps closer to him. "Yeah, I could tell," you replied playfully. "You really love me, Sanji?" you asked him softly after a beat.

Turning his head to the side, you could see a blush crawl up his neck. It was so cute, you don't think you've ever seen Sanji be this flustered or embarrassed before. "Uh, well," he stammered, "I-I didn't want you to find out like this. I had a plan and everything. But Zeff and his big mouth had to ruin-"

"Sanji," you said simply, cutting him off. "Look at me."

Before obeying your command, Sanji took a deep breath, like he was bracing himself for the inevitable letdown and rejection he was used to receiving from women throughout his life.

When he looked down at you and met your stare, his eyes were filled with apprehension. "Yes?"

You wanted to do nothing in that moment but quelch his fears. "Oh, just come here," you said.

In one swift motion, you grabbed him by his tie and pulled him down into a kiss, capturing his lips with your own. You felt him stiffen in surprise, but once it hit him that you were, indeed, kissing him, he immediately relaxed and put his hands on either side of your face, his fingers entangling themselves into your hair, deepening the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your mouth moving in sync as you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach.

Was this real life?

After a moment, you pulled apart, panting slightly for air. You both looked at each other, faces flushed, neither one of you expecting to share your first kiss in the middle of the empty Baratie dining room.

"I love you too."

The smile that broke out across Sanji's face was brighter than the sun. But before he could say anything, you both could hear Usopp yelling from inside the kitchen.

"Guys! They kissed! See, I told you they would!" He declared loudly before turning away from the small circular window. "Zoro and Nami, you each owe twenty berry! Come on, pay up!" he laughed like a high roller that just won big, making his way back into the kitchen.

At the sound of loud protesting and groaning coming from the kitchen, you giggled, hiding your face in his chest from embarrassment.

"Oh god," you groaned.

"Aw come now, no need to be embarrassed, Madam," Sanji teased. "If they're placing bets on us, might as well give them a show to bet on, yeah?"

When you peeked up at him, you could see a mischievous glint in his eye as he scanned over your pretty face and back down to your lips before looking back into your eyes. His look made your heart skip a beat.

"Sounds like a plan to me," you answered with a small laugh before you pulled him back down to kiss him all over again.

taglist: @smolracoon25 @shadydeanmuffin @cherrypie5 @sauceonmyshorts @hhighkey @gimmebackmyskeeball @he4vens-ang3l @selcouthaesthetics @chexmixtrys @princettecharlie @amitydoodlez @abracarabbit @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @mischiefmanaged71 @asianfrustration13 @shuujin @nimtano @your-platonic-gay-lover @lovelymrvl @browneyedhufflepuff @stevenknightmarc @deserticwren

[saveahorserideaneddie]

It’s currently 1:00 am for me and my brain can’t stop thinking about random stuff but like- I can’t get over the set dressing of it all….

like eddie’s el paso house is old, run down, falling apart- it’s a manifestation of his connection to texas as a whole, dilapidated and rotting, actively falling apart, but he’s holding it together bc of his son. its also a representation of his childhood/relationship with his parents- broken and run down no matter how hard he’s tried to repair it (“it’s a fixer-upper”) but upon moving in he discovered that it’s beyond repair.

his furniture stands out and doesn’t fit- he doesn’t own one single style of furniture, as a single dad he had to have mixed and matched pieces that he found cheap at theift stores, possibly updating things in LA over the years, but after so long in the LA house, the furniture that he probably mostly bought before leaving Texas now doesn’t fit in at all (a representation of how he has adapted to life in LA and he doesn��t fit in- this will come into play again later) it stands out against the dilapidated backdrop of his house, which symbolizes his post-LA self not belonging in Texas w his parents.

It’s a symbol that he doesn’t belong, and he never will- that he still belongs in LA where he’s made a home (where the furniture settled in the LA house and became a staple of that home)

SIMILARLY

buck never really *fit* in the loft. the loft was never *him*

the closest he ever came to having a place that fit him was when he lived in abby’s apartment after she left, but when he realized she was never coming back, he had to make the choice to leave- moving into an apartment that was chosen by his on-the-go girlfriend who’s style and personality fit a loft like that. all of his relationships since then have been tied to the loft; nice, but not for buck (w the exception of you know who, who was not nice, but i digress)

so now, buck has given up the loft- he’s moved out, and instead, he moved into the only plave that ever has been a real Home to him- eddie’s house. only everything about that home has been taken away (the furniture- eddie- is gone). buck moved his own furniture in, but it doesn’t fit. just like with abby’s apartment, he doesn’t fit there with the remnants of his past (his furniture from the loft) filling the space- everything looks off. none of it fits. he brought it his own things to make the house his own, but it’s not working.

but that’s because we’ve already established that eddie’s furniture belongs in that house. that’s what fits. that’s what belongs there.

eddie belongs there.

so when the furniture (eddie) return the house to its status as a Home, buck will finally have what he needs, and will be able to get rid if the final remnants of the loft (his furniture that doesn’t fit him) so that he can completely be at Home with eddie.

i hope this all makes sense- this was a caffeine induced ramble about a random thought i had after seeing a gifset from 8x13 that just made me realize how out of place eddie’s furniture looks in the texas house and how out of place buck’s furniture looks in the LA house and i hope my thoughts are thought-ing enough and i don’t sound clinically insane (which is a possibility)

[writeastormsblog]

Hey so I gotta ask! What got you back into tales? If you ever left lol. It’s just I LOVED tales back then but for some reason my saves keep corrupting and I got tired of dealing with it so I deleted it 💀 but I recently got back into it and I’ve been reading your fanfic and I’m loving it! It’s so true to their characters! For some reason I always felt Fiona was a better match for Rhys and that last scene with them in the vault was the nail in the coffin. What got you into it again? Because truly I have no idea why I did 😭

Firstly, it is so incredibly lovely to know that something I’ve written has brought someone else joy. Thank you so, so much! Life has been very rough for me lately, having me constantly busy and I probably will be for a while, so I don’t know when I’ll update and write anymore chapters after Chapter 15, but know I do plan on getting back into it whenever life slows down. Suddenly, I’m given this brief moment to check Tumblr as a break from reality, and upon doing so I saw this comment of yours! To receive a comment is truly so delightful. Seriously, thank you times a million<3 So, to answer what you’ve asked, well…

As years have flown by and life became more complex for me, I craved comfort in nostalgia, and how I’d typically get my fix of comforting nostalgia was from old narrative-driven video games. When I first got into Tales From The Borderlands, I believe it was when Jacksepticeye posted his gameplay footage for it. The year the game came out, I was twelve years old, so it feels really random how memories of the game’s existence hit me about a decade later. Now that you’ve asked, I’ve reflected, and I think it was stepping into being an English major that made me remember the game.

From indulging in narrative-driven video games at such a young age, I fell in love with the idea of storytelling and specifically that of creative writing. So, during my most recent semester at college, I finally decided to take an intro to fiction writing course that covered so many aspects of storytelling. The instructor would invite classmates and I to share examples of stories that applied certain narrative techniques, and that’s what really jogged to mind Tales From The Borderlands. I couldn’t stop bringing up the game numerous times. “Does anyone have an example of a piece of media that uses a type of plot structure we can discuss?” (Oh, well Tales From the Borderlands utilizes frame narrative structure.) “Let’s talk unreliable narrators” (Oh! Well, there are these two protagonists, Rhys and Fiona…) “Does anyone have an example of Chekhov’s gun?” (Felix’s gift to Sasha) “Given the twelve character archetypes we went over, pick one and give an example of it” (Gortys falls under The Child archetype, as she is hopeful yet naive…) In short, I believe this is how I got back into watching gameplay of Tales From The Borderlands. Analyzing and studying any beloved media of storytelling can teach a writer a lot about how to improve in the craft.

If I’m honest, I’ve never written fanfiction before, and I never thought I’d get into it. Fourteen year old me thought fanfiction was absolutely cringe and not worth getting into, either writing it or reading it. Twenty-two year old me, being very frustrated that romancing Rhys and Fiona was not an option, decided to indulge in reading a lot of Rhyiona fanfic to scratch the itch the game did not provide, and I quickly learned that there are so many incredibly talented writers that write incredible fanfic. Writers like @andaxay @admiralsweko @rin-bellatrix absolutely proved the pretentious mindset I had at fourteen was so very wrong, and such a joy it is to be proven wrong for something as silly as that.

Naturally, as to how I decided to start writing my own fanfic, reading the works of those fanfic writers and many more from ao3 have inspired me to give it a shot. Additionally, as someone who has stressed over original content she wants to put out someday, I wanted a break from getting so hung up on my original work’s rough patches of the writing process, while still practicing the craft of creative writing somehow. Thus, fanfiction just made sense to start exercising and honing in on narrative techniques while removing the pressure I have from time to time regarding my original stories. While writing fanfic, I could practice character voice vs narrator voice, flashbacks, narrative pacing, varying sentence structure in developing a writing style, etc. etc. I’m still learning as a writer, and always will be, so writing fanfic is such a fun way to go about my journey. And upon further research, I’ve found that many amazing writers have actually started practicing their craft by writing fanfiction. For example, Marissa Meyer (New York Times Bestselling author of The Lunar Chronicles) started off writing Sailor Moon fanfic! It’s so cool to see other people’s writing journey, and now in my own writing journey, it’s so cool to have support like yours with me!

Thanks again for enjoying my content and for reaching out to me. I wish I could convey to you how much it means to me to have such a response. Again, my life has been really rough lately, so I am not exaggerating when I say this; seeing someone genuinely interested in anything I chose to write is so uplifting, and it truly made my night. You’re seriously so awesome! May your days be filled with traffic-free drives and the best breakfast foods ever served (Translation: May you have amazing blessings come your way!!! God bless you!!!)

[mysewingadventures]

Making the ✨Lioncourt Gown✨ (Part 3/4)

It has been a little longer than I had hoped for since my last update but I've made some progress! The tape has finally arrived.

But for context - I am trying to make this:

into a (semi) historically accurate 1790s women's redingote and it's probably my favorite project so far. Anyways, here's what I did since my last update.

The tape arrived, but it was a little too light (it was basically white, I'd wanted it to be sort of beige/champagne) so I decided to dunk it into some coffee and hope for the best. It did work somewhat, stained it a pretty champagne color. It's still on the lighter side, but I'm okay with it. It may look white in some pictures though. Unfortunately, I completely forgot to take pictures of my dyeing process. Just imagine a tupperware full of instant coffee and some white tape in it haha. It's also thicker than I would have liked it to be but it was the thinnest one available, and I'm pretty glad it's thick-ish because with how difficult it is to sew it, I don't want to imagine my struggle with an even thinner tape.

I'd already prepped the color panels, so I applied the tape and used my sewing machine to sew them really close to the edges. A very time-consuming but weirdly therapeutic process. I started with the bodice and then went on to do the sleeves.

The sleeves seem to have black cuffs in the original picture, so I added some of that satin fabric to the sleeves.

Next, I attached the sleeves to the bodice. I can't help myself, I have to say it again: I hate sleeves. I hate sewing them, I especially hate attaching them, because they never turn out the way I want them to. This time again, I had to add little pleats to the tops because the armscye was too small for the sleeves, but since it's going to be covered by the collar anyways, I just pleated them. Redingote sleeves may have been pleated sometimes, it's hard to tell from the pictures of extant garments because of the huge collar, but it was a trend a bit earlier so it may have carried over to the redingotes.

I'm sorry about the cat fur in this picture I lost my lint roller I promise I'll find it.

When I was done with the sleeves, I attached the Lioncourt label to the inside of the bodice-

and went to work on the collar. I've put off making it as long as possible because I didn't really know how to attach it to the bodice, but I think I've figured out a way. I'd made the back neckline without any seam allowance, so I found an old scrap piece of black cotton bias tape and used that to hem the raw edge.

Then I draped some of my mockup fabric to figure out the correct shape of the collar and after some trial and error (cutting it out a total of three? or four times), I was finally happy with the shape and cut it out of the navy cotton twill.

I cut out two pieces of each so it would be sturdier, machine-stitched along the neckline part, turned it inside out, pressed it with an iron and applied the red tape. I seem to have forgotten to take a picture of the tape application process, but I then also applied the red tape to the entire bodice.

And here's the entire bodice so far (the collar is not attached yet so it looks a bit wonky):

On a side note, upon rewatching the scene in which Lestat wears this outfit, I noticed that the back also had the colored panels. However, I feel like it's colorful enough as it is, and frankly, I don't have enough satin and tape left to do it, so I'm just going to leave it. I like it better this way.

Anyways, I'm really excited to finish this up soon, but I also ran out of red tape so I'll have to find some time to go to the sewing store to get some more. And I'm not entirely sure if I'm going to do an actual button closure in the front or if I'm going to fake it. The satin is extremely prone to fraying and I'm scared to add button holes to it, even though I'd planned to add them over the horizontal stripes. I'm going to have to find some fabric scraps and see how the fabric behaves, and if it frays I'm going to have to fake it with some hooks on the inside of the bodice. I hope it's going to look good either way!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4|

[the-sunniest-angels]

Hi hello so. I finished wings around April and it still has plagues my mind all the way till June. No joke it is a absolute masterpiece, I love recommending it to others!!! It's one of the only fanfics I've read that genuinely feels like it should have fanfics of the fanfics. ANYWAYS, I was wondering about any inspirations you had while writing it??? This has been a question I've been pondering for the last 2 months since finishing haha

Omg hi I'm honored you have a question for me, I love your blog. 10/10 you are talented at the Art of Tumblr™

I'm so glad you liked the fic so much!!! It is every writer's dream for their fic to be worthy of more fics hahaha

To be honest, a LOT of the motivation was bc I was going through a major religious allegory phase at the time of writing. Like, I think I wrote probably 3 different full-length original novels featuring angels, demons, and the like. I don't really know where it came from. I hadn't consumed any relevant media prior to entering The Angel Obsession Of 2024™ so I really don't know what the original motivation was or why the fixation hit so hard lmao. At the same time, I was SUPER obsessed with Icarus metaphors and the symbolic power of a character who is doomed to fall finding a way to fly instead. So anyway story inspiration for Wings came a lot easier when I was already so obsessed with so many of the motifs that we see in the story.

Also, Wings actually is the second draft. I wrote the first when I was like twelve, haha. I don't recommend reading the original version except for purposes of helping anyone feel better about their own writing. My middle school self had a great idea but god-awful execution. After that I stopped publishing fic updates for about seven years and then returned to fandom in college, where I am finally going back and finishing and revamping all the old stuff. What this all means is that some of the major elements of Wings were actually devised years ago--the treaty, the "make me a Guardian!" loophole, Luke being the prince, etc etc. All things I took from the original plot! So the skeleton of an outline was already there, and I just had to fill it in.

And from there it was, to be honest, a lot of daydreaming about how to create the absolute most dramatic situations (hence all the times it feels like a climax chapter even though it's actually not), to incorporate all my favorite literary devices (foils, dramatic irony, religious symbolism lmao... The list goes on, I'm sure), and then to put it together in such a way that plot is still comprehensible. I created my outline and started my brainstorming playlist. Decided on the tone I wanted to set (vaguely Hozier lol) and then started writing :)

I wouldn't say there was any particular piece of media that inspired Wings so much so as like a very intense obsession with the concept and several years of this story kind of existing in the back of my mind. I'm old enough now that I'm starting to finally have a more firm understanding of my writing style, and I've been in the fandom for long enough to feel like I really understand these characters now. It was a perfect storm of factors that came together to create a story I'm genuinely proud of :)

Again I'm really glad you liked it!! Sorry I don't have a more, like, tangible answer for you, but I hope this answers your question :)

P.S. since a lot of the inspiration comes from my process of outlining itself I thought it would be funny to include some of my favorite parts from my chapter-by-chapter outline. You'll notice I really make my outlines too detailed in a lot of ways, but in my defense: I'm a yapper. Enjoy.

[iilmunchkiin]

I double dare you to spill every staroba thought

bet

I think about them in the future and how they would interact about Clover's death, how they would comfort each other after knowing full well what the other has been through and finally talk about each other's struggle and finding healthy coping mechanisms about it and be there for each other. They've literally been by each other's side since day one, since they were kids, and yet they kept secrets from each other and just imagining the tearful conversations they're going to have makes my heart go doki doki.

I think about what would happen if Ceroba decided to open up and tell Starlo sooner about her trying to fulfill Chijin's legacy and if he would offer himself instead of Kanako, would she be so blinded and let him be used? Would she think twice and not risk losing her best friend? She probably still use the serum on him, she used it on her own child after all, but what if there was a little bit of doubt in her, just a little.

What if Starlo got too absorbed with the whole North Star persona? What if he loses his identity and not know who he is anymore, Ceroba would watch him slowly devolve to madness and watch her best friend wither away to someone who she doesn't even know, and be even more heartbroken when she realizes he did it for her sake, he broke himself for her, he wanted her to be happy, it was too late for her to realize how absolutely devoted he is for her.

He cares so much, he cares TOO much, he's just so absolutely devoted to her even if they're just friends, I can totally see them being platonic to each other and just hugging and talking and rambling and just being there for each other, they've been through hell and back, they saw each other at their worst and they're willing to pick each others pieces and put each other together again, and then they realize their pieces fit together they make me ill they make me ill THEY MAKE ME ILL I HATE THEM I HATE THEN I AHTSJE TIBTBSH

I hate STAROBA. do MUCH. they have NO POTENTIAL.

Anyway they should get married, oooo they should sooooo get married

They're going to get old and wrinkly and happy and have twins and watch one of them get interest in cowboys and Starlo watches him grow up like him and he just sighs and get reminded of himself and Ceroba gazes lovingly at him and call him stupid

And and

OOOOOOOO I CAN RAMBLE ABOUT STARLO FALLINGIN LOVE WITH CEROBA ALL IVER AGAIN

Remember the REMEBER HUMAN I REMEBER YOURE

REMEBER THE DOOMED STAROVA???? YEAH WELL STARLO WOULD 100% FALL IN LOVE ALL OVER AGAIN, CEROBA WOULD BE SO SAD AND DEPRESSED BECUASE OF PAST SHIT AND HED BE LIKE LIKE "Ceroba... please don't cry... I don't blame you for your past actions, you were lost and I can only imagine how much pain you had to go through, but the best thing I can do now is do what I do best, what I've been doing all this time... is be with you... please Ceroba please I beg of you... let me love you... let me fall in love with you again..."

HIHIIHIGIGIGIGIGIGIGIF GIGGLING IM GIGGLING IM SMILING HAHAHAHHAAHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAH

Anyway I just woke up,,, I might update this every now and then if I remember somethinf

Imma go take a piss smiles

[screechthemighty]

Update we are, in fact, double-posting for @triguncelebration to help me catch up! This is the first of a handful of stories that technically take place in my Time Travel AU. If you haven't read it, you should, I worked really hard on it. Short version, time travel shenanigans have made the found family even family-er, so that's why Vash and Wolfwood are more open with each other here (and why L/R is coming up in this capacity). Also, to answer the "favorites" prompt, this art by @skiaskai is one of the reasons I started watching TriStamp, and also @abrielarnold drew fanart for the abovementioned Time Travel AU and it's really good and I need you to look at it right tf now.

the song of humanity | trigun celebration 2025

day eight: family

content warning: mentions of child abuse

.

You deserved better than that.

Splitting food with Wolfwood was always risky. Even when they had to do it for survival reasons, it brought back memories. It was so strange to think that Wolfwood could look at him and still see a one-and-ten-year-old, staring down a tray of food he refused to eat, locked in a room for imagined crimes.

It had been bad. Vash could accept that now. But still…

“Can I be honest about something?” Vash asked.

“Sure,” Wolfwood replied casually, “but I’m probably gonna be pissed about whatever it is you’re gonna say.”

“Probably.” But Vash still felt like he had to say it, if only to get the thought out of his head. “I know what I went through was bad, I know all of that. But sometimes I look at other people and…I don’t think it was special. Do you know what I mean?” From the look on Wolfwood’s face—that baffled and almost angry look he got whenever he felt like Vash was underselling his pain—he didn’t. “Okay, example, Liv and Razlo.”

“Yeah, what about them?”

“You don’t end up the way they do without having been through something horrible, you know? And their own parents did that to them.” That was basically all he knew. Livio didn’t remember it all, and Razlo didn’t often talk about it. Vash could read between the lines based on those two facts alone. “You lost your parents and were abused by a family member. A lot of the kids at the orphanage have been through similar situations. Some have been through worse. And…I’m not playing the Suffering Olympics, I swear I’m not. But sometimes…”

This was the part that always tripped him up, the part that he was sure Wolfwood wouldn’t want to hear him say aloud. But he had to say it.

“…at the end of the day, I was mistreated by people who should’ve protected me, I’ve lost family, and I’ve had other family let me down. And that…all sucks. And I did deserve better, you’re right.” Wolfwood’s eyes rolled up to God, a muttered finally probably serving as a prayer of thanks that his pestering had gotten through to Vash. Fair enough. “But sometimes…I realize I’m not unique in what happened to me. And that kind of…makes me feel better, you know? Because I’m not alone, and…and people will understand.” Vash shrugged and stared back down at his share of the food. “I don’t know. That’s probably just crazy talk.”

He expected Wolfwood to tell him straight out that it was, but when Vash finally looked up, Wolfwood looked thoughtful. After chewing on it (and a mouthful of bread) for a long moment, he swallowed and spoke again: “I see your point, but, uh…you do realize my piece of shit uncle couldn’t summon millions of knives and kill whole towns with them, right? Your shit is still kind of extreme.”

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Vash couldn’t help laughing. Something about Wolfwood’s blunt tone (and, to be honest, how hungry Vash was) sent him just enough over the edge to find it funny. “See, that’s why I leave out those parts in the group therapy,” he pointed out. “I am lucky, though.”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“Lot of the people who’ve let me down once have more than made it up to me.” He scooted a little closer and nudged Wolfwood’s ribs gently. “I’m grateful for that.”

Wolfwood got that funny look in his eyes, the one he always got when Vash repeated his forgiveness. He covered it up with an eye roll and a less gentle rib nudge. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “Whatever.”

But there was a little smile there, too, a small, relieved smile. Vash was happy to see that he’d gotten through to Wolfwood, too.

[tc-lp]

Comment Bingo: Old Fic Edition

Original Bingo Card by @feedthefandomfest

This card is to encourage commenting on older fics.

*

I realize this doesn't have to be all for the same fandom or pairing. But I'm gonna count only kylux fics.

I'm also aiming to comment on fics I've never read before. Some of them are in my ever growing reading queue, others I found while searching for a square's exact criteria.

List of fics under cut.

*

1. Posted First Year of its Fandom's Existence

Stopwatch Hearts, by Clarice Chiara Sorcha (claricechiarasorcha) ⎢ 3k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 6 February 2016

The general is just doing his job. Kylo Ren isn't sure why that's so fascinating to him. (It's because he's naked. Isn't it.)

2. 6+ Years Old & Under 30 Kudos

For Those That Follow, by jediluke ⎢ 8k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 9 September 2018

No one understood what it was. They called it "the shimmer". The walls of the otherworldly substance had the appearance of oil on black pavement, of bubbles shimmering in the summer sunlight after being blown out of a yellow bubble wand by a small child. Except, this wasn't explainable. Hux, a botanist is sent into The Shimmer along with a group of ex-military memebers to conduct research and try to figure out the cause of the mystery.

3. Posted 10+ Years Ago Since the pairing is younger than 10 years I'm going for: Posted Within the 1st Month After TFA's Release

once I could see (now I am blind), by cracktheglasses (cormallen) ⎢ 4k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 16 January 2016

If Ren dies, they’ll all be joining him, Hux thinks, because he’s going to have to scuttle the ship. Pick a camp on D’Qar, or whatever other pathetic hell-hole in the Outer Rim the Resistance calls home, and smash all three kilometres of the Finalizer right into the gooey center. (Or, the map is lost, Starkiller is lost, and Kylo Ren is seriously injured. Hux doesn't deal with it very well)

4. Rec Fic (1+ Year Old) on Tumblr and/or Discord & Tell the Author So

sensory memory, by Lost_In_Mind_Palace ⎢ 4k ⎢ WIP, but can be read as a stand-alone ⎢ Rated M ⎢ posted 13 July 2023

Rec post can be found here!

And Ren's back here, by Hux's side, invading his personal space, probably with his personal interests which Hux can't quite figure out yet. 'Who are you?' Hux mumbles, pushing his face into the warm chest so he doesn't have to see this odd, foreign face anymore. Ren laughs madly, not paying much attention to the ravings of the madman Hux became. 'Someone who's gonna take you away from here.' As if that was enough of an answer. Before Hux blacks out again, he's sure of one thing--the only place where Ren is able to take him is hell. * After losing everything, the last thing Hux needs is his long-gone home. Ren disagrees. Alas, Ren is also the pilot here.

5. Posted in the Past 2-6 Months

Expedition Unsolved, by A_Poison_Tree ⎢ 8k ⎢ Rated M ⎢ completed 30 July 2024

When Armitage Hux is disowned, he's left scrambling for everything from rent money to purpose. A spur-of-the-moment application to an on-site research position ends up with him joining the cast of a schlocky documentary series as its host, Ben Solo, """"investigates"""" far-flung corners of the world. At least the horrors of camping take his mind off how attractive his boss looks while covered in mud. (An entry to #KyluxShortShorts that Evolved!)

6. Sort by Date Updated: Fic Listed in Final 10 Pages

lover of the devil, by selenedaydreams ⎢ 2k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 4 January 2016

“I worry about you.” His fingers tighten around the blanket until his knuckles turn bone white. “That’s not your job.” “Was it my job to find you almost dead with snow clinging to your wounds?”

7. 1-2 Years Old & Under 5 Comments

bittersweet wishes, by WhitRewritesCanon ⎢ 6k ⎢ Rated G ⎢ posted 31 July 2023

When Han Solo died suddenly, he left behind a fractured family. Armitage picks up the pieces of his husband.

8. Comment on an Author's Oldest Fic

Love, Your Crooked Neighbor, by imperialhuxness ⎢ 11k ⎢ Rated T ⎢ posted 17 February 2018

When Snoke assigned Hux to bring in his newest asset, Hux was expecting some everyday Coruscanti underworlder on a low-profile Core World. Predictable. Routine. What he gets is a burning compound on a nameless hunk of rock, a confused young pseudo-Sith, and oh, yeah. Feelings.

9. 3-5 Years Old & Under 20 Kudos

10. Sort by Dates Updated: Fic Listed on LAST PAGE

broken wishbones under your bed, by Anonymous ⎢ 2.5k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 27 November 2015

“Just,” and Kylo stops short, closing his eyes. He takes a deep breath. “Pretend.” He turns his head, and Hux knows that he's facing in the direction of Dameron's cell. His throat is long and pale, and Hux leans forward and brings his hand to it. Through his gloves, he can feel Kylo's pulse jump. This, this is what Hux likes. Control. Kylo is never more lovely than when he gives in to his desires, when he comes to Hux to get what he needs. He presses his thumb against Kylo's thudding heartbeat, and nods.

11. Posted 6-9 Years Ago

fever to tell, by IrisParry ⎢ 8k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 1 January 2017

Hux was waving the thought like an obscene placard, and when Kylo latched onto it he made a low sound, half surprise and half pleasure, grip tightening around Kylo's wrist. It was crude, but appealing nonetheless, and it rose up on a seething mass of images and emotions that Hux hadn't a hope of concealing now. Kylo took a deep breath, centring himself, resisting the temptation to just take and take. Hux thinks he understands what Kylo Ren wants from him. So does Kylo Ren.

12. WIP Last Updated 3-5 Years Ago

Days Under Different Suns, by GingersSailboat ⎢ 18k ⎢ WIP ⎢ Rated M ⎢ last updated 20 Feb. 2020

Armitage Hux wakes up on a shuttle he doesn't recognise, drifting through dead space with two open wounds and an air supply that's running out fast. He has no idea who put him there, and remembers nothing beyond being shot by General Pryde. Ben Solo is slowly integrating with the Resistance, who are now intent on restoring peace to the galaxy and ending the cycle of hatred and wars that has plagued them for so long. Although every effort is being made to accept him and put him to use, there is a part of him that can't stop thinking about Hux, who he believes to be dead and continues to mourn despite the conflict it brings to his new relationships among the Resistance. (A.K.A - a much-needed fix-it fic wherein Hux survives his execution, with the help of some loyal First Order officers, and sets about attempting to find Ben so they can continue the relationship that had been developing between them before the events of RoS. Please read notes for more information!)

13. Free

14. Sort by Date Updated: Fic Listed on Random Page

15. Comment on Every Chapter of Long-Running WIP

16. WIP Last Updated 1-2 Years Ago

To Take The Sun, by phylonoe ⎢ 30k ⎢ WIP ⎢ Rated M ⎢ last updated 7 Aug. 2023

As a professor, you really shouldn't fall in love with your students. That's gotta be the number one uh-oh. Unfortunately, he's beautiful, and Armitage can't do much but let it happen. or Ben Solo wakes up with a panic attack for the third time in as many days. He's tired. So is Hux. The term is just about over, and neither of them have anything they can do except finish finals and figure out how to avoid the other one. With two people trying, you'd really think that would be easier.

17. Posted Completed in Your Birthday Month at Least a Year Ago

strange days (no colors or shapes), by technorat ⎢ 28k ⎢ Rated M ⎢ completed on 25 April 2020

(Major TROS spoilers in chapter 1) Hux chose to leave with Finn and Poe, deserting to the enemy, with the knowledge that he would never have to see Kylo Ren again. He was wrong.

18. 6+ Years Old & Under 15 Comments

19. Posted 3-5 Years Ago

20. WIP Last Updated 6+ Years Ago

21. 3-5 Years Old & Under 10 Comments

Just This Once, by StarCrossedRebel ⎢ 4k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 20 December 2019

I know that this idea is kinda outdated, but I just really wanted to do a quick one chapter story of Ren and Hux's first and last time together intimately after the destruction of Starkiller.

22. Posted 1-2 Years Ago

My Bark, Your Bite, by JayneSilver ⎢ 16k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 31 May 2023

Kylo Ren hasn't left his room since Starkiller was destroyed, and General Hux will no longer tolerate his dereliction of duties. After he goes to Ren's room, and discovers that that Ren is an omega caught in an unexpected heat, Hux struggles to determine where his loyalties lie – as a General, to his Order, or as an alpha, to an omega in need?

23. Sort by Date Updated: Fic Listed in Middle Pages

That Which Survives, by trill_gutterbug ⎢ 6k ⎢ Rated T ⎢ posted 9 January 2018

Stranded in a broken-down shuttle with Kylo Ren after the destruction of Starkiller Base, Hux is forced to confront some unpleasant realities.

24. Comment, Kudos, & Bookmark Fic Completed 1+ Year Ago

Powerless, by Kyluxtrashpit (ApostateRevolutionary) ⎢ 6k ⎢ Rated E ⎢ posted 19 April 2017

Kylo has always found his sexual trysts disappointing, has always been left wanting more. An idea born partially of desperation leads him to Hux in the hopes of changing that.

25. 1-2 Years Old & Under 10 Kudos

Throw Away After Writing, by bunnybinnie ⎢ 1.5k ⎢ Rated T ⎢ posted 22 May 2023

The teenage years come with a lot of first times. Being in love is one of them, and Ben would be okay with it, if it wasn't also the first time he's in love with his best friend. He writes what he can't say.

[covetyou]

jester little bit more

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo x fat contortionist f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: clowns, vaginal fisting, protected PIV, inappropriate use of grease paint, drug reference, slightly subby Dieter, the hand tattoo, reader is referred to as Sparkles and has a briefly mentioned latex allergy. word count: 4.4k summary: Dieter drives you to distraction all day, so you go to give him what for, only to get more than you bargained for in return.

A/N: A gift to my beloved @sp00kymulderr - a simple mention of it a month ago (to the day!) is quite literally all it took to convince me to write a clown fist-it-fic, you are my muse, my inspiration. happy holidays bb

not clowny in an intentionally scary/horror way, but if you really hate clowns probably do not read. this is a different reader, same clown!Dieter to send in the clown.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future work

ooh ahh, jester little bit, ooh ahh jester little bit more...

You notice it through your whole act - the burning hot stare of Bravo the Clown as you twist and turn your body into shapes for the awed masses. You never felt more beautiful, more alive, than when you were contorting yourself like this, soft rolls bunching at your sides, rippling fabric and making your sequinned costumes glitter under bright lights with each undulation.

It's when you see him start to adjust his red clown pants that you have to calm yourself, stop yourself from unrolling from your position, stomping over to him, knocking that stupid wig off his head and slamming him into the ground. You don't want to kick up a fuss, not in front of a crowd, and you just know the bastard would like it anyway. He usually did.

Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you move through the motions of your set. Contorting this way and that, bending a leg here, twisting there, until you're taking a bow and hurrying backstage to give that fucking clown a piece of your mind.

But Bravo the Clown is nowhere to be found.

Probably in that filthy fucking trailer of his already. He never did like sticking around for the finale, always taking off his own performances, sometimes forgetting he even had two and leaving straight after the first was finished. So, you wait it out, standing with your arms crossed, ignoring anyone's attempts to communicate with you. By now they know the score - once Bravo the Clown had pissed you off, there was only one thing that would solve it.

You rush through the final bows of the night, plastering a sickly sweet smile onto your face before all but running back to the dressing room. No one bothers you, letting you tug off your costume in peace, the tight lycra slinking from your body and landing in a heap on the floor. Throwing on your shorts and a sweater, you stomp from the tent - your make up can wait, you're going to go talk to that asshole before he gets too high to function.

Approaching his worn trailer, you slam the flat of your palm against the old door. "Bravo! Hey! Asshole! Open up." The light is on and you can hear movement but you slam again anyway, imagining his face right beneath your palm as you smack it against the door.

The door wiggles, bowing a little where it gets caught on the latch, before flying open to reveal Bravo the Clown, who almost comes flying with it.

"What do you want, Sparkles," he grumbles from around an unlit joint. You snatch it from his mouth just as he's about to light it, and watch was he feebly reaches for it with a pathetic grabby hands and a scowl on his face.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, Bravo?" you say, pointing your finger into his chest, pushing him back into his trailer and following him in. "Do you know how distracting it is, you practically getting yourself off in public like that? I'd be just as much to blame as you if you were caught, and you are not ruining this for me."

You slam the joint down onto his vanity, the discarded grease paints rattling with the force of it.

He looks so sad and pathetic like this, though maybe it's his choice in make up. He usually opted for a classic, simple clown face, but lately he'd been mixing it up. Today he has sad eyebrows drawn above his own, making him look more like a sad puppy than a man.

"You took the outfit off," he mumbles, huffing out a sigh of disappointment.

"Yes, Bravo, I took my work outfit off, now that I have finished working. You can take yours off too y'know, you don't have to live in this shit." You gesture to his obscene get up, the red pants still strapped up and his striped shirt still buttoned to the top, collar securely in place. The only thing he was missing was his wig, which was thrown onto its shelf with the others.

He smirks at you, a ridiculous gesture beneath all the make up, and starts to unbutton his shirt.

"That is not what I meant, and you know it."

"Whaddaya mean?" he says, rubbing his hands down the front of his shirt to get to the last button.

You roll your eyes at him. You weren't in the mood for this, you tell yourself. Not for him, not for any of it. "Quit clowning around, Bravo. Just tell me you won't do it again. I can't risk this job."

"No can do, Sparkles. Y'know, your ass looks huge when you bend backward like that. Can't help what you do to me." He's adjusting his pants again, just as he was back in the big top, only this time you can see the tent in them easily through the thin fabric.

"You can help it, and you will help it," you say in a low tone, walking toward him to jab your finger into his chest once again. "Or so help me, I'll have your ass kicked out of here."

"Hey," he says raising his hands in surrender. "Can't help that I know what you look like all bent up like that under that tight costume. Bet the crowd would like it just as much as I would if you didn't wear it at all."

And there it was. You fuck a clown one time - okay fine two times...three times, it was only three times - and now he won't let you live it down, constantly chasing you whenever he couldn't get his dick wet by other means.

"I know you like to pretend you don't want a piece of Bravo the Clown, Sparkles, but we both know that ain't true. Who came to who first? I know I wasn't the one desperate to get my pussy pounded. And last time? You were wet before you even got here, you were practically humping my leg before I even got anything off you. Even now, don't think I don't know how this is going to end. You're not mad that I find you sexy, baby, you're mad that I turned you on in the middle of your set."

You're going to actually fucking kill him. It doesn't matter that he was right, it was the principle. You snarl at him, ready to snap, when he's pointing between the two of you, a question on his face.

"Are we gonna hate fuck?"

"You are unbelievable."

He's pulling his shirt off and sliding his suspenders over his shoulders already. With his discarded shirt, he swipes the sad expression from his face, exposing his golden skin. He definitely knows where this is going. "You didn't say no."

"We're not fucking, Bravo," you say, crossing your arms. If this is how he wanted to play it, you were going to play right back. "You owe me. Big time."

His eyes light up, this could be the best day ever for him for all you know. "Oh, hell yeah I do. I've been bad, let me make it up to you. Please?" He's on his knees hands clasped together, pleading, before he even finishes.

You roll your eyes at him again, biting the inside of your cheek. He knew you liked him pathetic, but this was new entirely, and you couldn't hide how much you were enjoying it, even if you were still angry. You nod down at him, giving him silent consent to do what you suspect he's been waiting to do all day.

Bravo the Clown, never one to disappoint a captive audience, dives right in. Head first. Straight for your crotch. He pulls your shorts to the side, exposing your pussy to him and starts licking at you with abandon, digging his tongue as far between your legs as he can, eager to taste you. You have to hold on to his hair, still sweaty from his wig, to stop yourself from falling over.

It had been a long time, you consider. At least a few weeks. It was the least you could do, and he did owe you. And if you ended up having sex, what did it matter, it would be because it was what you wanted and he owed you.

You spread your legs wider, and Bravo moans into your cunt, nodding along as you hear him mumble thank you straight into your pussy. That does something to you then, and you throw your head back with a moan of your own just as he sticks a finger straight into your slick hole.

Your legs can barely take it, already strained and exhausted from your set, and now desperately trying to hold yourself up as a clown eats you out on his knees. He sense it, sees how your legs start to quiver before you're even close, and within seconds he's pulling you to the messy floor of his trailer. He pushes you down onto your back, and you let your body go limp as he dives back into your pussy mouth first, tasting every inch of you. It's sweaty business, being a circus performer, but Bravo the Clown didn't seem to mind. Quite the contrary, he seemed to love it, the hotter and stickier you were the better.

Pent up aggression had already seemed to do half the job for him it seemed, and when he curls another finger into your core you're shaking again for a wholly different reason.

"Fuck, so close. Keep going."

Between your legs, Bravo the Clown groans loudly. The sound is muffled, but that doesn't stop it from rumbling straight through you as his tongue swipes rapidly over your swollen clit. You grab his hair, your belly bunching and curling on one side as you reach for him. His hair is a mess, and your fingers tugging at the strands do nothing to help, but seeing him such a mess, framed between the thickness of your thighs makes you tug his face into you harder, bucking into his face as you go.

His free hand comes up to hold you, tattoo'd forearm pinning you down whilst his fingers grip your belly, creating soft little divots in your flesh with the pressure. You grab his wrist, fisting a fluffy robe discard on the floor in your other hand, anything to anchor you down as you get closer and closer to release.

It's the third finger that does it, slipping into you so easily where he'd worked you open with two, dragging his fingers from side to side to pull your walls apart, pushing down when inside you to make you feel fuller than you were. You're coming with your head thrown back and eyes squeezed tight, fingers clawing at his hair as his tongue continues its dance over your throbbing clit. Your hips go from chasing his mouth, pushing into his tongue, to desperately trying to be free from the overstimulation.

When he pulls back, his whole face is wet - forehead with a sheen of sweat from his efforts, and his lower face glistening with saliva and the wetness of your own cunt. The remnants of white paint caught in the creases around his nose are gone, likely smeared into your own skin and the matching halo of white around his face is further smudged into his hairline, looking like a mad professor streaked with gray where you'd dragged your fingers through his hair.

If you weren't still so annoyed with him you'd be licking it all off, tasting yourself mixed with the sweat on his face, paint be damned.

"Fuck, you look so good when you come, Sparkles."

He looks drunk, or high, or a combination of the two. You laugh at how ridiculous it is. A clown drunk off your pussy, fingers still slowly working away inside of you, your flimsy shorts still yanked to the side.

"Consider yourself lucky, Bravo," is all you say as you let your body flop back onto his floor. He shuffles forward a second later. Probably adjusting his dick for the millionth time tonight, you think.

When you finally open your eyes again, he's sat on his ass, his fingers inside you feeling more like a massage than anything else. You could, should, tell him to stop, but you're too boneless and relaxed to care. He catches you looking, and not a moment later a sly smile is pulling at his cheeks.

"You're so bendy," he says, wiggling his fingers in you. "And stretchy," he splays his three fingers wide.

"Bet you're stretchy everywhere," he says, waggling his eyebrows - his actual eyebrows visible for once now that he's swiped off all the paint.

"Bravo," you say as a warning. You knew what he was getting at. You'd made the mistake of making that little confession whilst high with him one night. It intrigued you, sure, and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't tried to fit your own hand in yourself just to see, of course. But you couldn't quite reach, the angle wasn't quite right, and as flexible as you were, more than four fingers by your own hand seemed too awkward to fit. When he offered you a hand that night, you'd both descended into giggles and you thought it was all forgotten. Well, obviously not.

"Please," he begs, eyes softening behind the dregs of his eye make up - blue and smudged and looking more like icy bruises than make up now. You doubt your own looked much better, your eyes already feeling gritty from screwing them closed whilst covered in glitter.

"I owe you, remember?"

"...Fine."

It's with a triumphant look that he pulls his fingers from you, dragging your shorts down your legs and leaving a wet trail of your juices in his wake. He throws them into the pile on his bench, no doubt you'll have fun looking for those later, and he bends down to kiss the swell of your lower belly, thanking you in the process, before sitting back on his haunches.

You think you're wet enough, relaxed enough, his hand already coated with your slick, to take him. Bravo the Clown thinks differently, and reaches over to his vanity for the first grease paint he can get his hands on.

"Don't you -"

But he's already doing it, smearing a thin layer of white paint over the broadest part of his hand, almost covering the small tattoo by his thumb in the process.

" - dare." You sigh and he simply shrugs as if to say what before plunging two fingers back into your slick pussy, curling them up into you and dragging along your walls, making you fall back with a moan yet again. This fucking clown.

A third finger slips inside you, quickly followed by a fourth, and you're sitting up on your elbows on the floor of his trailer, watching him as he's singularly focused on your hole stretching to accommodate his digits. The triangular tattoo on his wrist may as well be a neon open for business sign with how it's directing his, and your, eyes straight to his fingers being slowly engulfed by your pussy.

A quick look up at you and a small nod of your head is all he needs to push forward, applying pressure to his hand and slipping it further and further inside of you.

You gasp when you stretch over his knuckles, your brows knitting together. Even with your legs spread wide, there's a small burn, a stretch, as he pushes into you. But then he sinks in past the hard ridges of his knuckles and his hand gives a little more, leaving you feeling impossibly full. You made a living off of stretching and twisting your body into seemingly impossible positions. There wasn't a stretch you hadn't felt, but this was something new - the ache of a stretch you'd never felt before.

"Amazing," he mumbles, fucking his fingers into you past the knuckle then back out again. They start to slip in with ease after a few moments, and you reach down between your legs to feel him as he pushes in.

"More," you moan, knowing only half of his hand is in you. If he hadn't smeared grease over his hand to lube himself up, you'd still be able to see that tiny tattoo. You wanted it inside you.

A slow push of his hand again and his whole fist is breaching you. He submerges his hand into your heat, the slick pooling at your entrance from your earlier release and the grease on his hand making his hand suddenly slip all the way inside of your pussy. If you felt full before it was nothing compared to this.

You whimper, watching him watch you as you take his fist.

"Oh fuck."

You're going to come again already. You know there's no stopping it. Especially not when he brings his other hand up to hold you still, swiping his rough thumb back and forth over your clit as he twists his fist from side to side, getting a feel of you from the inside out. You grab at his wrist, holding it steady and rock your hips, shallowly fucking yourself on his fist.

You feel the first spasm without warning, clamping around his hand so hard you'd expel him from your body if you weren't holding him so tightly in place. Your whole body quivers, quakes, shaking like some haunted hand puppet controlled by Bravo's fist.

Seeing stars, or maybe it's the glitter caught in your eyes, you fall back as you shake, the pulsing between your thighs unrelenting as you feel yourself gush and soak his hand. Your moans and twitches die down, and your death grip on his wrist finally releases.

Now that he's free, Bravo the Clown takes this as a cue to start up again, pulling his hand out of you in one continuous movement.

"Oh - nnhg."

Your back arches off the trailer floor at the slow drag of his fist, and caves back in when he pushes back in. You let yourself curl back up to watch again, too curious by how his fist looks moving inside you to fully give in to the fullness overwhelming your body.

Punching in and out, the rim of your swollen pussy stretches across his fist, and you watch, mesmerized and crying out, as the paint smeared on his hand fades and the tattoo usually hidden by his gloves comes back into view, only to make a disappearing and reappearing act inside of you. Before now you'd licked every single one of his tattoos, and now more than ever you wanted to do it again.

"Oh, god yeah."

"That good?" he finally asks, his voice thick and heavy. Looking up at you for only a second before being drawn back to your cunt with wide eyes.

"Your body is amazing," he says enthusiastically, as if you're the first person to ever be fisted, and he dives back in again to lick around your spread pussy, sucking your clit into his mouth with a wet slurp.

"Dee!" You squeal, falling back with a thud. You want to watch, you really do, but you just can't. Not when it feels like this.

"So now you know my name," he mumbles from around your clit, trying to suck it back into his mouth a second later. Your pussy is squelching, wet and dripping all over his hand, down his wrist, onto the floor of his trailer and whatever unfortunate item of clothing it is you're laying on. It's going to be soaked and you don't care. All you care about in the moment is his fist, still moving, fucking you so full and leaving you so empty, and the flick of his tongue over your clit.

"Gonna come, gonna come, Dieter, - oh, g- fuck."

He moans, nodding into your clit, shoving his fist straight into you and rocking it back and forth inside of you, leaving you full as he flicks your clit to orgasm.

You clamp down on him, pussy tightening around his entire fist as you come, spasms shooting through your pussy until you're a writhing twitching mess, begging him to stop the movement of his tongue. He does, but can't resist kissing your clit one last time, tongue peeking out to swipe across it, grumbling laugh leaving his chest when your entire body twitches at the act before collapsing into a heap.

He's breathing as heavy as you are when you look up at him a second later.

"Please can I stick it in? Please?" his eyes do that infuriating puppy thing again. You look down at him, still panting as his fist rocks in you slowly.

"Fine," you whine, the only reluctance in your voice from him having to remove his hand to get his cock in you. "But you know the rules."

"Yeah, yeah, wrap it up," he mumbles, pulling his hand from you with an ease you would've been embarrassed by if he hadn't got you so worked up and if the subsequent orgasms hadn't turned you into a liquid human being. He reaches over with the same slick coated hand to grab at a tin under his trailer bench. Opening it, it looks to be his weed stash, or what's left of it, but he knocks aside some loose rolling papers to pull out a gold packet.

"Latex free, baby," he says, shaking the packet between two fingers. It was sweet, really, that he remembered your allergy.

Dieter is pushing his pants down his thighs a second later, pulling his cock free from their polyester prison. You almost ask if he needs a hand, if he's hard enough, but a quick glance and you know. His pants have a wet stain on the front of them, precum leaking from the tip of his cock whilst he fisted you. From the looks - length rock hard, tip swollen and angry, slit still dripping for you - he's painfully engorged, desperate to relieve the ache in his cock with your warm, wet, pussy.

Tearing the wrapper with his teeth, he rolls the condom down his cock. As much as he owed you for distracting you all evening, you couldn't deny there was something about this man when he was a desperate, needy mess for you. It was your body that did this to him - the soft rolls of your belly as you contorted yourself, the swell of your ass as you bent backward, the broadness in your hips, the strength in your arms.

He fists his cock, and you watch him nearly lose it there and then. Biting back a laugh, you reach out, pulling him over you until he's slotted between your legs. Any other day and you'd be trying something more adventurous than missionary with him, but right now you didn't trust your limbs to keep you up, or Dieter to last more than a few seconds.

He lines up with your slick hole, and pushes in with a shaky breath, stilling once he's seated inside you. You think for a second that he might be asleep, but then his hips start slowly moving.

"Why d'you always feel so good?" he asks, face close to yours you can see the paint caught in his wrinkles more easily now.

"Magic pussy."

He laughs, raspy and scratchy in your ear, tucking his face into your neck. "Sparkles and her magic pussy. That's a TV special I'd like to see. Could probably pull a rabbit out of- oof."

You hit him, and it only makes his hips pump faster, snapping his mouth shut to concentrate.

The sound of the wet slap of his skin against yours fills the trailer, his balls squelching against your dripping cunt with each thrust. He's moaning and grunting in your ear, whispering about how good you feel, how great you looked, about that fucking bodysuit and how much he loves how wide your legs can stretch. At that, you wrap them around him, pulling him in tight to you, forcing his thrusts deeper. For as much as he pissed you off, you still trusted him, had an affection for him you would never admit to, neither publicly or to yourself.

"Uh - oh, fuck, Sparkles. Lemme. Please let me..."

Feeling between your bodies, he tries to touch your clit again. You knock away his hand, threatening to ruin his orgasm if he so much as tries to touch you one more time. He whimpers in your ear, settling his hand on your breast instead, squeezing and relaxing his grip as a distraction from his own orgasm tingling through his bones. You know what a threat could do to him and from the feel of him alone you know he's holding back more than ever. If his balls were any tighter and his cock were any harder you'd think he'd burst.

So, you do something you said you would never do for any man, and you beg, just a little bit, whispering softly and sweetly into his ear as his cock fucks you full.

"Come, Dieter. Come in me. Please."

And he does, groaning deep and low, deafening you in one ear with it as he empties his balls into the condom inside of you. You grip him hard, hugging him tight to you as he shakes on top of you.

He looks totally fucked out and ridiculous when you next look to the side and see him, face smooshed into the plush robe you'd been laying on. One of your own eyelashes is stuck to his cheek, along with a streak of glitter. You can't even imagine the state of your own face, but he doesn't seem to mind it when he finally peels open his eyes.

"You wanna get food and smoke pot?"

The man was a joke. Infuriating. A total and utter clown in every sense of the word.

But you always knew what you were getting with Bravo the Clown. It's what drew you to him, it's what made you trust him. Everything he did was written as plain as day on his face, or tumbling from his mouth in a stream of consciousness. Most of all, it was nice to be soft and pliable, as much as you were strong, with someone who wouldn't use it as a weapon against you.

And you would never say a single word of it to his face, opting instead to suck a hickey into his shoulder, tasting the sweat from his skin as you draw a bruise to the surface.

"Fine, but you're buying. You still owe me."

soz to my tag list for this: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights

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[allbridgesburn]

Hello everyone! Some updates, because I know I've been an awful blogger these past few weeks (again, i'm more active on twitter, i recc looking for signs of life over there).

AO3 user GoldenKanekalon wrote a wasteland fic!!!! (i am still not over it, i may continue fangirling over this fact until I'm old and gray). It's a Mallory POV after chapter 8, with a delicious gothic vibe and a messy girl-dad Coriolanus Snow that had me shedding some tears. Please check it out and leave a kind word, because it's truly a GREAT PIECE: Paint the Roses Red by GoldenKanekalon💙 🥹

I've finally started writing chapter 9 (yes, it does seem like my main incentive for writing is audience interaction. who would have THOUGHT). I've had a terrible case of writer's block these past few weeks ngl, but I think I've managed to conquer it for now. It sure feels good to be finally moving forward with the fic!

I'm also almost finished with a oneshot of a Coryo POV of one of the scenes from ch8 (i thought picking through his psychotic brain would help me finally pick up the pen--uh, keyboard, again, and it worked! thank you LOSER!). I might post it this week - probably as a 'sequel' work connected with the main story, as I have some other wasteland related oneshots / codas I'd like to tackle in the future, so it may be a good idea to just keep them all in one place.

To answer the messages I got about abandoning wasteland - I assure you, again, I /am/ going to finish this story. I know it's been a long time. I hate it too. But we will get there, I promise!

And to everyone who's been supportive of this project and who's been listening to me moan about it on twitter and patting my back - thank you! You are the gems that make me want to keep writing 💙

[psalacanthea]

A Sky of Shattered Stars- 14

Finally updating again! Here's the first, a new chapter of the Hawke x Varric no longer post-canon fic! (set 5 years after Inquisition, 5 years before Veilguard). Wow, that looks funny. :D

Anyways here's some more trauma-bonded idiots trying to fumble their way through the terrifying evolution of the relationship that defines them both.

...

At the head of the table, Hawke lifted her finger and stared at it contemplatively.  There was a pale gray smudge, but not as much as she would have expected.  After all, Naomi had been the one who dusted the table with ashes, and there should have been more.  They’d cleaned, then, but in a perfunctory way.

As Naomi would too, if she was expected to clean a bunch of empty rooms.

A slim, delicate spool of Antivan spider-silk was always kept on her person with her kit; useful stuff for tracking movement.  All you had to do was tie it to a doorknob or place it across a threshold, and if it snapped, someone had been by.  To make sure her fingers were still up to the dainty work, she’d marked every door in the wing on her last expedition out here.  She wasn’t surprised to see that the door to the bathing room and privy hadn’t been touched, the whisper-thin thread still intact when she breathed on it.

Naomi would also not clean a privy no one had been using.

Varric hired smart servants; no surprise.

It was the other room that had been touched, much to her surprise, because to her recollection it was just an empty room with a narrow bed and empty wardrobes.  A dressing room.  Not the kind of place she’d bother to clean if she didn’t even check the privies…

The door opened under her hand, creaking lightly.

The room looked untouched, large but narrow, with an old carved bed frame that looked just large enough to hold one human body.  There was nothing of note, as her eyes scanned the empty wardrobes, opening them one by one to check inside.  Nothing.  Maybe they’d just opened the door?

Finishing her digging through the line of unused furniture– why hadn’t he sold it? Naomi took one last glance around.  The bed might not be worth anything, and probably not the rug, but the hanging on the wall, an old tapestry of the Kirkwall heraldry– wait a second.  What in the hell was that doing in a servant’s room?  Wh–

Varric fucking Tethras.

Impatient both with herself and with him, Naomi stepped around the last wardrobe and reached for the edge of the tapestry.  Yanking it up, she stared in disbelief at the narrow doorway behind it.  What?  That son of a– 

Throwing the hanging into the air with a furious flick of her wrist, Naomi stepped under it and tried the handle.  Locked.  As she’d thought.  Normally, Varric locking a door from her (this was obviously a personal slight) meant she wouldn’t try it, but these were special circumstances and she was mad he’d fooled her on her first look through here.

It was so obvious!  A tapestry?  He would have at least written a secret door behind a piece of sliding furniture.  But a tapestry, just hanging there?  That wasn’t even good enough for written schlock, and she was insulted!

Which was why Naomi was picking the lock.

It was very difficult when the man you were spending the rest of your life with also happened to be your arch-nemesis.

[sheepibum]

Writing Goals 2025!

(since it worked well last year (👉ﾟヮﾟ)👉)

To keep my motivation for writing, here's a list of fics I want to write/post over the year; hopefully I'll do better than last year, where I left everything pretty much last minute, so below you can see the list and a little preview of the chapter to be posted!

TOTAL: 4 / 15

🚧

Things I would like to update:

To begin with, the Re:Zero stuff, which is as usual my jam:

1) Start, From Minus

‘Citizens of the empire, be strong’—that was the only and most important teaching in Vollachia. And Subaru was. That is, a citizen of the empire and, thus, in his own, cowardly, revolting, tenacious way, strong.

Fifth and final chapter of this thing!! ( •̀ ω •́ )y

2) I’ll find you believing I’ll be found

At any rate, he was worried, it would have been impossible not to be, but Subaru knew that Felt would become Queen; because the only other option was that she’d die, and Subaru wouldn’t let that happen. Weapons or elements or poisons, the only way anything that meant to harm Felt would get anywhere near her would be over Subaru’s dead body.

I want to go back to my weird, not-quite crossover series; these two chapters, though, are going to be much shorter than the fate and fe:3h ones

3) Coins in a Wishing Well

The boy was beautiful, or at least he was on his way of becoming so, and he was only a child. He’d have the kind of beauty that gods coveted. Subaru quietly prayed for puberty to spoil him. The attention from a god, any god, led only to tragedy for mortals.

a tiny bit of hollywood greek mythology, maybeee? also, I just want to get this chapter out of the way bc the next one is going to be super ✨funfunfun✨

4) just a little bit of blood in your hands [ON AO3!]

Of course, at first everything seems to go according to plan. Subaru breaks into the museum without problems, disables the security system with a little help from his accomplice, and proceeds to fulfill his childhood dream of filling a burlap sack with priceless artifacts and other shiny things.

Well, this one is crack; also, completely unrelated to the previous chapters ♪(´▽｀)

5) with all the pieces of the broken-hearted [ON AO3!]

So Subaru was going to go to school, and he was going to go to class, and he was going to get through the day without running into Reinhard because otherwise he’d probably combust out of sheer embarrassment for overreacting the way he did the day before! Alas, this was Subaru and Subaru was not destined to have an easy school life.

Right, so this is also crack. I'm going to be honest, this idea is like super old, and I had pretty much discarded it because it was high school AU-ish thing, but then April Fools happened and I decided to just publish this thing. It's probably another 'I don't want to have look at this WIP anymore or ever again' case (´･ω･`)

✏️

Other stuff from various other fandoms:

6) a constellation of blood drops [Gundam:IBO]

Now, Gaelio might be in feelings with Mikazuki, but he’d like to think he isn’t completely brain-dead. He knows Mikazuki is a deeply flawed, troubled, damaged human being. But, as his friendship with McGillis can attest to, that’s apparently kind of his type.

The last chapter of my super self-indulgent fix-it fic! Please, please let me finish this thing this year so I can clean it up and move the nice version to AO3 (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)

7) A Superscription [Persona 5]

Ren wonders, in that second before he throws his own heart against the ground, an instant that lasts forever, like a mosquito trapped in amber, suspended in the time just before the strike hits and the glass shatters, if he had loved Akechi after all.

The second and last chapter of this tiny thing, that hopefully I will be able to upload on february to celebrate the third semester

8) these brilliant-hued hibiscus [Multifandom]

He hadn't meant to trust L’arc, but he had wanted to. In spite of his history, in spite of himself, because this world had already chewed him up and spat him out and he should have known better. And yet.

The second chapter of my little rarepair self-challenge! This one is for The rising of the hero of the shield, a series I only know bc one of my siblings likes the LN, but I dislike pretty much the entire cast

This is the only thing I'm ever going to write for that fandom, haha

9) remember me (but forget my fate) [LCF]

Rosé is so startled he almost jumps, and when he whirls around to see who had so rudely interrupted him, he almost trips and falls face-first into the mysterious, gluttonous hole he just fed his own lunch to.

The third chapter of my TCF/LCF time loop suffering thing that's going to become an entirely different thing the moment we change POV characters, yay o(*≧▽≦)ツ

10) our wishes are the right lure [Pokemon]

“What the hell kind of game is this?” “It’s a stress management assistant,” Ingo says, straight-faced. “It’s a gacha game. You poke the characters and they speak,” Emmet informs you, conspiratorially. “It’s a waifu game,” you conclude.

Second chapter for the pokemon submas reader-insert I owe the Pokemon Masters Ex gods, since I got both the twins sygna suits; as you can probably tell, I'm not going tot ake this seriously, like, at all

11) Home Is Where the Smoothies Are [Ben 10]

So many dimensions, so many universes, so many Bens. So many ways in which he could fail, in which he already has failed in some other world, in some other time, in some other way. All the versions of himself that had grown rotten, corrupted, tainted. Each one weirder and crazier than the last.

... I keep forgetting this series isn't finished; I'm literally missing the very last chapter, but I just keep f o r g e t t i n g about it! it's been so long!!

12) second chances (derogatory) [Persona 3]

Ichor runs down his knuckles, staining his hands, and marks his bloody path. The one he chose to traverse just to have a god, any god, grant this wish.

still haven't played P3 Reload so it's still on hold, but like I said, there are a couple of chapters that are 100% finished (and others that have only the title, but let's ignore those)

🚧

Things I would like to start:

13) (we’ve gone) to the dogs [BSD]

His life ends with a bullet between his eyes, no hope for Yosano to do anything at all. Just a bang and then darkness; a shimmering instant of relief before he opens his eyes again in a place and time that hadn’t been his for years. And that’s where it all begins (again).

the thing that I did not post last year, despite the fact that, like I said, there's a whole snippet ready to be posted; mostly bc my favorite character is Oda and the fandom seems pretty intense (in a bad way) when it comes to him, so I am kinda avoiding it. Honestly, I might just end up posting this series here rather than on AO3 :/

14) The Souls of Starfishes [Normal Me and Abnormal Friends]

They’ve gotten better at not flinching whenever they hear the name, but they’ve never quite managed to stomp out the hope that inevitably rises in them whenever they do. ‘Hajime’, it echoes with the beat of their hearts, discordant as they may be.

Normal Me and Abnormal Friends is one of my favorite android visual novels ever, and I really, really want to finally upload something for it this year; this year for sure இ௰இ

15) The Bridegroom’s Hedgehog [LCF]

It was probably a terrible, unsanitary idea to eat something a hedgehog had picked up from god-knows-where, and had put his little, dirty paws all over, and even had taken a tiny bite of, but dying of berry-poisoning (or even hedgehog-poisoning) could not possibly be any worse than whatever awaited Cale at the end of the road.

The fairy tale retelling for TCF/LCF that I was working on!!

16) sing us a song to move the stones [Persona 3]

Minato didn’t want a rerun of last time, though. He wanted to do much better; he wanted to go for broke. Minato turned around in the direction of the alley behind Port Island Station. This was just another choice he’d have to take responsibility for.

my attempt at a New Game+ fic that's still also on hold until i play Reload, sorry.

🚧

Other things I wish I could get around writing, but that have added complications:

with all the pieces of the broken-hearted

we'll build a bridge

Even the best laid plans

Arrested for Attempted Romance

from issues with the fandom to being pretty much abandoned by the author to just not wanting to write it and everything in between; I hope to finish some of these some day, but, yeah... (。﹏。*)

[bvannn]

Weekly Update January 3, 2024

I am endocrine sick again, I probably will be for another week. I took my medicine at the normal dose but I have a hunch that the dose needs to be adjusted and that’s why I feel like shit. Blood tests wont be done for another week and idk how much longer after it’ll take to get back to me. I was doing art decently pretty early on in the week but I’ve layed off the past 2 days and will likely continue to do that for a bit.

Music: I got another instrumental piece done I think, I might add samples if I can find good ones but I might not. I got a little drawing done up so I can animate a little loop for that in front of a piano roll animation probably, I just need to sit down and throw that together + a thumbnail. I have a cover sketched for a batch ‘album’ to get a bunch of my other instrumentals out (not quite all of them but still a lot), I just need to finish it and those can get throw out there. LF is done basically, I might go multi-export it to tweak the vocal volume, but otherwise it just needs visual. I am going to try to stick to my one-song-a-month plan, but instead of finishing another old idea I had a new one while I was delirious, and got some cute lyrics done and more outlined so it’ll be a new one this month. I don’t have a name decided yet, it’s a sad little ballad about birds. Also since I figured out how to install the IK bundle I bought I’ll maybe mess with that more. My grandmother is potentially getting a new computer so I might grab her old one’s hard drive so I can finagle some files around and install the rest of the stuff.

Comic: I feel like shit because I barely did anything for the comic. I looked over my thumbnails, didn’t like the one I had for page 16, redid it, did the sketch, started lining it and had to stop mid panel because I got sick. I’ll probably try to chip away at writing stuff while I’m sick, I had some ideas for the loose thread stuff I came up with years ago finally coming together yesterday at the grocery store, and might be able to actually get a tertiary comic concept together, but again it’s not as solid as O’Malley or Backstage right now so it won’t be a priority. It’ll just maybe be doodle fodder while I’m sick.

Uhhh epithet TTRPG right. I got a bunch of tokens done early in the week. And some more scriptwriting done on the tutorial video. I need to get maps done, that’s going to be the bottleneck for a while. If I feel well enough to boot up my computer today I have the assets to get the last of the stage 2 maps done, but I’d want to make some more decorations for them too. Stage 3 is a science lab building so shouldn’t be too hard to get a tile set for. Once I’m feeling better honestly I might try to crunch myself to get the rest done. Maybe.

The other small animation thing: I believe all the assets are done other than some credits text, which I might just use a text tool for honestly. Again I just need to sit down and animate, I’m just a bit blocked, burnt out, sick, whatever other excuse I have, it’ll get done when it gets done.

Next week I don’t really have a concrete plan. I think I’ll try some easy writing stuff for now (comic and lyrics for this month’s song), and I’ll try some pixel art stuff to ease myself back into map making. Some pixel art people over on Bluesky found me and seem to like me so I kinda want to give them more of what they like. Plus pixel art can be done while my hands are shaky from the whole sick thing. Once I’m better I’ll finish comic page 16 and get back to token making. Everything kinda depends on my health, but I’m doing what I can. Also make sure you drink plenty of milk everyone, or if you can’t, get plenty of whatever your calcium source may be.

[asimplearchivist]

𝓢𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓢𝓹𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓽

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ] [ AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST ] summary ✨ ⤏ After the events that took place on Vast Ice Mountain, Dialga has released Dusknoir of his duties as his henchman. Dusknoir, in the midst of a self-crisis, is taken under wing by Celebi and Grovyle. Dusknoir finally breaks, and Grovyle reassures him. Dusknoir finds out a couple things about himself that he didn't know before. ⤏ Alternative summary: my take on what happened directly after the fifth special episode, mostly influenced by my own pent up Dusknoir feels! :D Yay for angst! (Also, please guys, don't hate Dusknoir, he doesn't deserve it. He's a tender marshmallow.) pairing(s) ✨ (mentions of) hero & grovyle [nostalgiashipping] word count ✨ 2.5k a/n ✨ [header credit] [divider credit] ⤏ This is an old piece from 2016, when I last replayed Explorers, so with my recent resurgence I figured I might post it here for my new PMD moots. Considering this is six years old, please forgive my older, less polished writing; but I'm still fairly pleased with it. :) (That's also why it's not getting a dedicated Sunday post, but since it's Christmas I thought I might share something that most of my followers here probably haven't seen before.) ⤏ My hero's old name was Celina, so I changed it to the newly updated Eliana instead. Other than that, it's pretty much a time capsule haha.

This new, brighter future was, in all honesty, taking quite a lot more to get used to than Dusknoir had anticipated previously.

It had been a mighty triumph, incapacitating Primal Dialga to prevent him from tampering with the Passage of Time, the possibility of him ruining time just before it managed to begin to function again diminished to none when his massive legs had buckled beneath him after Grovyle had dealt the final blow. That triumph had been short lived, however - it hadn't been but a few moments before they all had turned to light and had disappeared; but, upon their almost immediate return, the immense relief of being able to breathe in the newly shifting air, to see the sunrise glowing in more colors than Dusknoir had ever seen in his life - it had robbed him of breath and had humbled him in such a way he doubted he would ever look at the sky the same way again. Whomever it may have been to preserve his and the rest of the future Pokémon’s lives, they would have his immense gratitude for the rest of his days.

Everything in that moment had been exhilarating - he had felt the wind, cold and biting, race past him, the sun shining in his eye so brightly that he quickly learned that he mustn't look at it directly, lest he be temporarily blinded - but then, after Dialga had been generous enough to provide them with a portal to return to the Hidden Land (now in the budding stages of returning to its past lushness and fertility), he had found himself in an unexpected state of absolute dumbfound ever since.

Given that Dialga was no longer under the influences of darkness and had no reason to bind them to his will, he had released Dusknoir and the Sableye of their past duties, and thus had turned Dusknoir away from the one thing that he had ever truly known - servitude. He had always served for someone else, and he had always had a strong sense of loyalty to those he did. But for lack of better terms, Dusknoir was now out of his realm of confidence, and honestly had no idea of how to go about his life from here forth.

Celebi and Grovyle had been surprisingly kind and generous to him thus far - while Celebi had offered to house Grovyle in one of her many homes, she had also extended it to him as well. It was a shallow cave, high up on a cliff face where no one would usually be able to spot it. Both Grass types fit easily enough inside - but if Dusknoir were to be completely honest with himself...he was not a very small Pokémon. At all. At least, compared to the other two.

Luckily, he was not quite corporeal at times, so he managed to squeeze inside and settle on the cave floor - hunched over, but he had something over his head, at least.

Grovyle set to work at pulling a few things from his worn Treasure Bag, a couple of differently textured rocks and a bit of dried leaves and tiny sticks, before he struck one rock upon the other. A few sparks flared from it and onto the small collection of dead vegetation, but it took a couple of tries to actually get it to start smoldering. Thin wisps of smoke danced up from it and Grovyle set to work at blowing on it gently, coaxing it into a small, dancing flame that cast a warm orange glow across the cold cave floor.

He glanced up at Celebi and murmured that she go gather a few smaller sticks to help build up the flames. She bobbed her head and soared out of the cave, her little wings flapping with determination.

Grovyle sat back on his haunches and released a long sigh, scrubbing at his face with his clawed paws. Dusknoir tried not to shift around uncomfortably, afraid his antenna would scrape against the ceiling.

"I thought Grass types were supposed to be wary of fire," Dusknoir, for lack of other words, tried to prompt.

Grovyle glanced up at him, his bright yellow eyes seeming to gleam in the fading sunlight. The smaller Pokémon’s strong reserve was back, the emotion he'd shown in the past day probably having drawn too much from him to offer much more.

It had been quite an exhausting day, even for Dusknoir himself. He understood that Grovyle was most likely exponentially wearier than he, especially considering the energy the ice pillars had drained from the Grass type. Dusknoir was amazed that Grovyle was even still conscious. (He had been lucky to have knocked him from the energy beams’ grip in time.)

“I learned many things when I met Eliana,” Grovyle told him, settling against the stone wall and folding his arms over his thin chest. His eyes shifted to gaze out of the cave mouth, the circles beneath darkening with shadows that the meager flames were pushing away. “Choosing to qualm simple fears was one of the first.”

Dusknoir hummed for lack of a response, following the Grass type’s gaze.

The sun was setting. A grandiose amalgamation of color painted the sky, oranges and pinks and lilacs mingling in a joyful reunion as the great burning ball of gold retreated beneath the distant horizon. Stars were beginning to appear, tentatively sparkling against the darker parts of the great canvas stretched out before them.

Dusknoir found that he was holding his breath.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Grovyle mused absently.

The Ghost type hummed once more in agreement, trying to take in as much of the view as possible.

“I…haven’t seen so many colors in my life,” he admitted softly. He felt Grovyle’s eyes rest upon him.

“You were in the past before,” Grovyle reminded him, his voice somewhat dubious. “Didn’t you ever stop long enough to look around you?”

Dusknoir fell silent, shifting uncomfortably and flinching a bit when his antenna brushed the stone above him. Grovyle huffed quietly, shuffling around in his Treasure Bag before holding out something in his paw. The Ghost type stared in puzzlement at the two Purple Gummis before looking back up to the Wood Gecko Pokémon.

“I picked these up before we went to Temporal Tower,” Grovyle explained, eyes still searching the growing darkness outside. “I didn’t want to let them go to waste, and I figured you were hungry after the day we’ve had.”

Dusknoir hesitantly took the small food items, eyeing them a bit before looking up at the smaller Pokémon. Honestly, how had this Pokémon’s attitude towards him changed so drastically? And why? What had Dusknoir ever done to deserve any sort of good will - and from Grovyle, who had been his target for months and who he had attempted to murder multiple times, no less? Why did he deserve any mercy? Why had he come back after disappearing? What good had he ever done, truly, to deserve to even be breathing? He’d been a twisted soul for most of his life, doing nothing but the morally bleak bidding for any master that offered him power…

…Had he really redeemed himself, in helping Grovyle and Celebi save the future? Or had he merely been a side note?

“…Dusknoir?”

The Ghost type startled back into reality, confusedly taking in Grovyle’s troubled expression. “Pardon me, I was…thinking.”

“Dusknoir…you…you’re crying.”

Dusknoir blinked, gingerly running a fingertip beneath his eye and drawing it away. When had his vision gotten so blurry?

Grovyle straightened, creases forming between his eyes in what Dusknoir vaguely recognized as his concern. “Dusknoir, what’s wrong?”

The Ghost type flushed in shame, attempting to swipe away the outward evidence of his inner conflict. “Nothing, nothing. I believe I may have gotten dirt in my eye.”

The Grass type was silent for a long moment, so long of a moment that Dusknoir glanced up to make sure that he was even still there. There was an odd expression on the smaller Pokémon’s face, one that looked to be a conglomeration of several at once.

“You’re beginning to doubt yourself,” Grovyle observed gently.

Dusknoir wondered when he had become so transparent. Metaphorically. He was a Ghost type. Conditional transparency came with existing.

“I’m not aware of what you’re implicating,” he rebutted dismissively, looking towards the end of the cave. It was much darker than before. Did the sun always set so quickly?

“You can stop lying, you know. I’m not going to judge you for whatever you’re feeling.” Grovyle’s voice had taken on a foreign gentleness, one that Dusknoir had only ever heard once before. It had been at the temple in the Hidden Land of the past, when the Grass type had retold Eliana of their doomed fate to disappear upon rescuing Temporal Tower. He’d gazed upon the human-turned-Eevee with such a tenderness that Dusknoir had, at the time, found it to be a sign of extreme weakness and idiocy. But, seeing how Grovyle had spoken of her throughout their adventure the past day, Dusknoir had clearly seen the true strength of their relationship shining through his words. They were extremely close, there was no denying that. They had endured much together, and it showed. Dusknoir just wondered how much it had hurt him to discover that she had lost all her memories of him.

“It is nothing that concerns you,” Dusknoir persisted, trying to ignore how his voice shook, quite involuntarily.

“Something is telling me otherwise.” Grovyle leaned towards him, scrutinizing him carefully. “You’re feeling something, that’s for sure. Feeling something is better than feeling nothing at all.”

Dusknoir growled beneath his breath, but it was weak. “You certainly are persistent.”

Grovyle chuckled lightly. “How do you think I’ve managed to live this long?”

The Ghost type stared at him, clenching his fist around the Gummis and heaving a shaky sigh. “I am…confounded.”

The Wood Gecko Pokémon raised a brow.

Dusknoir looked back towards the mouth of the cave. The sun was completely concealed by the distant horizon, and the colors were beginning to drain into a deep indigo. “As you are well aware, I…have not had many good accomplishments in my life. I sought nothing but power, strove to gain it by any means, and…I have done nothing but serve for the betterment of darkness. I did hunt you and Eliana down, I attempted to attack you, then I pursued you into the past…” Dusknoir drew his shoulders in, folding his arms tightly over his chest and shrinking into himself. “I very nearly killed you multiple times, with clear malice exhibited constantly, but you still found it in yourself to grant me pity. Why?”

Grovyle fell silent for a very long moment.

“Dusknoir,” he began slowly, “have you ever felt true hate for someone, ever, in your life?”

The Ghost type was taken aback. “Pardon?”

The smaller Grass type raised a brow and Dusknoir averted his eye.

“No,” he said hesitantly, “I don’t believe I have.”

“Have you ever strongly disliked someone?”

“A few. Where are you going with this?”

“Do you dislike them because you think they wronged you?”

“I do, but I don’t know what you’re-”

“How difficult would it be to forgive them?”

Dusknoir squinted at him. “Excuse me?”

“How difficult would it be for you to forgive them?” Grovyle repeated.

Dusknoir studied him, recollecting his past resentments and grudges. It would, admittedly, be very difficult to forgive some of the things that other Pokémon had done to him before. He sighed deeply. “Very.”

“But could you find it in yourself to forgive them?” he asked.

Dusknoir thought a moment. “I…suppose so. Why are you asking me this?”

“Eliana once told me,” Grovyle said, “that part of the reason so many Pokémon have become twisted as they are is because they were cold-hearted to begin with. Refusing to forgive others can result in constructing a wall of bitterness that will block you off from anything good, and hatred can make that wall much harder to tear down. But if you’re willing to forgive, and to keep bitterness from building up, then you can in turn better yourself.” The Wood Gecko Pokémon eyed him neutrally. “Dusknoir, despite what you said during our journey about despising me, I didn’t believe you. You couldn’t truly hate anyone - it’s not in your nature, and I sensed that. The only reason you ever felt any kind of malice to begin with was due to where your loyalties lay, but when you began to realize that there was truly no reason to possess such mal intent…”

He smiled softly, glancing out towards the quiet dusk outside. “That’s when you began to question what you’d known. That’s when you began to feel guilt. But that’s also what’s proving to me that you are a good Pokémon, Dusknoir.” Grovyle continued, leaning forward, “The fact that you are feeling guilt and that you are questioning yourself tells me that you aren’t twisted, you aren’t a bad Pokémon - you were just a little misguided. You are a good Pokémon at heart, and I want you to realize it.”

Dusknoir looked away, pulling his shoulders inward and trying to fight the hot sting beginning to blur his vision.

“Your shining spirit,” Grovyle said softly. “It’s always been there. It was just hidden for a long time.”

“Grovyle…” Dusknoir swallowed thickly, folding his arms tightly over his chest. His dignity was in shambles, but picking up the pieces didn’t seem as mortifying as he might’ve thought. “…you’re deluding yourself.”

The Grass type chuckled. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Celebi about this.”

The Gripper Pokémon grunted, swiping at his eye just as the beat of tiny wings made itself faintly known. He could hear Celebi’s grunts of effort, and Grovyle shifted to his feet, moving towards the cave mouth.

“Dusknoir…”

The Ghost type looked towards him, taken aback by the almost amused smile plastered across the Grass type’s face.

Grovyle tilted his head towards the outside world. The sun had completely receded below the horizon, the sky a deep navy, and stars were twinkling brightly against the dark expanse. “Welcome to the future.”

Dusknoir watched him exit the cave and disappear around the mouth’s edge, and after a moment he heard his and Celebi’s voices mingling, her tone obviously grateful as Grovyle must’ve been taking a part of her burden.

This new, brighter future would take a lot more to get used to than Dusknoir had anticipated previously, but he felt that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. If this, finding himself, was just the beginning, then he looked forward to everything else that awaited him. There were many things that would need to be done as time transitioned into functioning properly again, many responsibilities to take up, but Dusknoir was ready for the challenge. He was much stronger than before. He was sure of that.

He and his shining spirit.

[threeletterslife]

Update

TL;DR: below the keep reading, vote on my update schedule

Hey everyone :) It's been a while—five months since I've last posted on this account and nearly a year since I've posted the 35th chapter of LOD

First and foremost, I want to apologize for being gone much longer than expected, and I will apologize again for being unable to offer more clarity about my absence, for now and in the future. Thank you to everyone who sent kind asks/messages checking up on me and to everyone who was invested enough in LOD to inquire about an update schedule. I felt a lot of guilt for not being active and for not delivering or meeting expectations, so just wanted to send out my sincerest apologies :')

I will attempt to answer the three most commonly asked questions I've gotten during my hiatus in this post:

Will you be continuing LOD?

Yes. As I've said time and time again, I will never abandon a story that I've invested so much of my time into. Call it sunk cost fallacy or delusion but I will finish LOD if it's the last thing I ever fucking do lol. Updates will be slow, however. But I promise you now that I will never actually leave. If I do suddenly disappear for years, that honestly means that I've died lol

When will you be posting a new chapter?

This depends on you guys. In all honesty, I have chapters 36 to 39 "ready" to publish. I am not in the position to write at this moment in time, so this would mean after I post chapter 39, there's no telling when the next update will be :( I have two options for you guys:

OPTION 1: I can post all of the chapters I have written in one go

Pro: You'll have access to all of the existing (and finished) LOD content, which is very well-deserved, so you can binge-read to your heart’s content

Con: You'll probably have to wait over half a year for chapters 40 and beyond

OPTION 2: I can post one chapter monthly/bi-monthly on a consistent schedule

Pro: I'll be able to buy some time (it'll take 4-7 months to post the remaining chapters) to write so that by the time I post chapter 39 (later this year or early next year), I'll most likely have chapters 40+ ready so you won't be as much in the dark about my future update schedule

Con: You'll only get one chapter every ~1.5 months. I also can't guarantee I'll have chapters 40 and beyond ready to go after I finally publish chapter 39 but I'd try my best

Are you alive? How are you doing? Are you okay?

I'm managing, though it's been a while since I've felt like I've been living. I've been in survival mode constantly for the past year, and it's quite draining. But the good news is that I'll be graduating next year with my degrees, so I expect I'll be freer then. I'm currently taking classes and working at my internship so I'm constantly inundated with projects and exams

I have been writing, though. That's one thing in my life that will never change. College has been hard on me, though it has also been such a privileged, fun, and rewarding experience. It helped me grow up or maybe even devolve in some ways. I've met some diabolical people around here, and have had not-so-great experiences that definitely forced me to become less trusting and stern. Sometimes I miss my old self, but I also know that I've grown into someone who can be more tolerant of the complete BS that is occasionally adulthood LMAO

Anyway, I'm extremely oversaturated with STEM everywhere I go, which given my majors, is a no-brainer. But I find great reprieve in art, especially art that I create to heal myself. So I've slowly come to realize that the content that I want to create—and the content that makes me happy to create—is not well-aligned with LOD. Over the past year, I've been working on small side projects, such as an original collection of short stories that I feel really at peace with. I've said it before and I'm saying it again, but LOD has always been my challenge piece. I don't dabble often in fantasy, and I wanted to give it a go; I'll finish what I've started. But I would also hate to reduce what LOD is to a simple word like "fantasy," though that was my excuse to avoid writing it for months. I actually think LOD's a lot more than that. In a way, it's a character study; it's not purely about the magic systems. In fact, I don't even think I put that much emphasis on the magic systems in the first place. It's more about the characters, and what the people have to go through during a war, which I've also realized becomes increasingly pertinent given the political climate right now

I'm getting into ramble-town territory, so I'll stop for now. I think with all that being said, I'm doing okay. I'm exhausted, but I'm also an incredibly privileged person, so I should be grateful for where I am in life right now and the people who have helped me rise to this level (you included!)

I'm excited to graduate, and I'm excited to write every single day once I start my full-time job. My life goal is to publish a book, though I don't think it'll be a novel—either a novella or a collection of short stories. Anyway, if you've come this far, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I will forever be grateful for this platform that I have and also be incredibly honored that people read what I put out here. I'll begin posting as soon as the poll is completed

Thank you for being patient with me, and I hope you stay happy and healthy <3

[davekat-sucks]

Given its been a few months since the last NIGHTFALL Upd8 I guess I'll bring it up here since who knows whats going on with that. XP

ever since the Comic got picked up again after that... what, 8 year break? The writing definitely improved (though I'll admit the original did grow on me a good bit after the first couple pages. Def had the spirit of ACT 1 Homestuck.) but the way its treating Something like Spider8reath and honestly, Vriska on the whole, Is kind of what I'd want if we absolutely needed more vriska (Which we don't.) In official material. Everyone calling her out on her bullshit (which she still sometimes slips into, though she is obviously trying to improve.) while still making relatively good use of her (even if a rather blatant flaw I've noticed with NIGHTFALL is that the Kids and Vriska just... aren't making effective use of their god powers.) and actually making what Relevance she does have to the Narrative be intriguing and not all consuming. The last panels updated are even about John getting a Vriskavention in the same way Karkat tried to stage the Troll Girl intervention back in... what? Act 3 of HS? No, that had to be ACT 4. Nightfall is probably (at this point at least, barring some proper old Fanfic) the best depiction of Red Spider8reath We've had in a good long while. Also the original characters in the Comic aren't absolute shit. *cough* like some other webcomic I know of. *cough.*

Taking all that into account, why is it a shitty ass spin-off fancomic of Homestuck that was started back in 2015/2016 then had like an 8 year hiatus get better writing and better pacing than basically all of Act 1 of Beyond Canon? Even with a "Fuck the fans" Motive which I wholly believe they have, both because they admitted it and because... well no shit, sherlock. That doesn't excuse just how TERRIBLE it is in a vacuum. Thats not to say if it was better written it would be good Homestuck, because it wouldn't. But it could at least be taken seriously as a piece of media, and possibly even enjoyed as... its own thing, without having to both share the Political Opinions and Fetishes as the entire writing staff. I can take a good laugh at myself and the rest of the Fandom. It can be annoying sure, but as long as we all understand the joke isn't that we're all shit and horrible people and rather we're all fucking NERDS who NERD OUT over this convoluted and extremely flawed thing called HOMESTUCK than its all chill, right? Even if the joke doesn't always land and *is* done at our expense. Hell, if they really wanted to do this properly, they could have pulled a Starship Troopers and basically remade Homestuck using the Mad and nonsensicle ramblings of an Intern who they made read Homestuck for them and take detailed but shitty notes. Really embrace that "We don't give a shit and want to make a satire but we don't even know what the thing we're satorizing actually is and what we think the source material is entirely wrong." Schtick. Obviouslly telling us after the fact instead, because Fuck Us I guess.

Idk man, how you read the NIGHTFALL fan comic? Any thoughts on how it handles the idea of a "Dubiously Canon Sequel Continuity" if you have? Otherwise, I guess I'll lay out the final question as: What stories (be it webcomic, VN, Ect.) would you say are the most worthy inheritors of Homestucks Legacy? Assuming they're in any way at least inspired by Homestuck. Vast Error is certainly up their to be sure, in regards to being a more literal successor (in so far as the story, cosmology it uses, ect. if not in the literally a sequel sense) at least. Though I've certainly read plenty of other things that carry on that original... spark. Even if sadly most got discontinued early on, or have since gone silent. (Shoutout to the Homestuck Fandom. The real one. Gone, but not forgotten. A truly creative and overwhelming force while we were in our prime. We may be scattered to the winds with some us holding onto whats probably false hope but you never know. Maybe something of Value can be recovered from this shitty fire that can't really eat away at cheap plastic. Perhaps, in a few years time, Roach, Whatpumpkin, and Hussie's collective thumbs won't be able to hold up their collective weight against WET GRASS and someone more deserving who actually gives a shit can pick up the IP for cheap and we can return to our roots. Otherwise we'll be stuck as pre-Friendsim shitty drawings made in MSPaint about to do a pirouette off a fucking handle in a blank void with a poorly drawn firearm on a oddly realistic depiction of a tree stump nearby.)

Nightfall, Heinousbound, Be The Sea Dweller Lowblood, John Ruins a Wedding, and The Felt (Mayonaka comic) are ones that I can think of that is close to being part of Homestuck legacy.