#peep the info dump on the right

[mitchell-nihil]

Cassandra character sheet!!!

These keep getting longer and longer...

Reblogs appreciated :D

close ups! kinda! because you can hardly read anything

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

Quetzalin

my bird folk! I do love info dumping about my own creations. Took a while to make all the art and figure out the best way to present the info!

(image description: under the title "quetzalin worldbuilding", there are two bird-like humanoids flying together. One has blue and black feathers, the other has blue, green, and yellow feathers.)

The quetzalin are a tropical people, found exclusively in one rainforest. Almost all of the quetzalin live in the same central location, in a particular stand of trees that are exceptionally large and sturdy.

They are a peculiar people, having traits of both avians and mammals, and they are the only known species of their kind, though there are known cases of quetzalin producing offspring with elves on rare occasions. These mixed offspring are always infertile and typically take after their quetzalin parent in terms of coloration, and might be mistaken for full quetzalin by those who have never met one, but they have distinct differences in the structure of their bodies that make them stand out from full quetzalin.

(image description: sketch of three bipedal humanoids. from left to right; an elf with monkey-like features and a long tail, a half-elf quetzalin who looks quite bird-like and barely resembles the elf, and a full quetzalin who is distinctly more bird-like and even stands with a different posture and foot position compared to the other two. the main differences between the full quetzalin and the half-elf one are that the half-elf one is a little taller, has a smaller beak and more drooping tail, and stands straighter with flat feet. end description.)

One reason that half-elf quetzalin are so uncommon is just that quetzalin are born from eggs, so any quetzalin with an elf parent, especially a mother, may not develop correctly and is more likely to be miscarried or born prematurely. They're meant to develop within the egg, not a whole womb. The shells of their eggs are quite soft and semi translucent, making them fragile things that require round the clock care. Adult quetzalin communally care for unhatched eggs, so they can be incubated properly and have the best chance of hatching. New hatchlings are helpless, naked, and blind, only able to make a loud peeping sound to beg for food, and they are fed via regurgitation, which can be done by any adult.

They grow downy feathers and open their eyes within their first month, but even as they learn to crawl and walk and speak, they remain quite small until they hit a growth spurt in the early years of puberty, between the ages of 10 and 13. Their flight feathers come in through a series of childhood molts and they can fly proficiently by their teenage years, when they begin to experience the courting season hormone shift and start to grow courting plumage or produce eggs.

(image description: two pages of sketches depicting baby bird people. the first page shows the development from egg to hatchling, as well as two sketches of an adult caring for an egg and an adult feeding a hatchling via regurgitation. the second page shows sketches of a hatchling growing into a fledgling. the initial hatchling looks very scrungly and squinty, the second step is a fluffy baby covered in downy feathers with their eyes open, third is a toddler standing up with stubby wings, and finally is a child crouching as if to leap into the air, with their flight feathers grown in. end description.)

Not all eggs hatch, of course. The majority of eggs laid each courting season are completely unfertilized, especially those produced by young quetzalin still going through puberty. These unfertilized eggs are discarded in a variety of ways. Some are offered up at the temple of their deity, and subsequently made into fertilizer for the trees they all live in. Some are used as a form of emergency food for anyone who is suffering a nutrient deficiency. Many are used to feed the local drake population; a species of flying lizard that spits burning acid and raids nests. The quetzalin have sort of been domesticating them, finding them adorable and feeding them freely.

(image description: a colored drawing of a flying lizard with a crested head. its wings bear resemblance to those of a pterodactyl and its tail also has a wide membrane around it. it is green with stripes and spots of pale yellow and dark orange. next to it is the title "crested drake". below the colored drawing is a sketch of a quetzalin handing an egg to a gleeful looking drake with a wide open mouth. end description.)

Quetzalin are a sexually dimorphic species, but the difference is only clear during their courting season. Half the year, all the male quetzalin grow fancy courting plumage. Some females experiencing menopause also grow similar plumage. Individually, all quetzalin have their own unique coloration, and those who grow courting plumage also have their own unique styles. but for the sake of comparison, I've depicted two quetzalin that look exactly alike so I can show how the courting plumage works.

(image description: two images of matching bird folk with blue and yellow plumage. in the second image, one of them is now sporting many curled orange feathers on their head, wings, and tail, while some of their yellow feathers have also been replaced with orange ones. end description.)

Though they do have a binary form of biological sex, the quetzalin do not identify themselves by their sex. instead, they use genderless pronouns, differing between children and adults, and add a prefix to the adult pronoun to denote their preferred courting role each year.

There are three standard courting roles. Those who Dance, Those who Watch, and Those who Mix. I haven't developed their conlang yet, but these roles will have their own titles. It is most common for Dancers to be males with their courting plumage, while females are most commonly the Watchers. But this is not always the case. Many quetzalin males prefer to watch, many females prefer to dance, and quetzalin of all sorts will take the mixed role, never settling fully on dance or observation.

(image description: digital painting of several bird folks. two in the foreground are perched on large branches, watching three others fly around in the background. they all have colorful and unique plumage. A few of them have flashy courting feathers on display, while others are using flashy props like streamers instead of natural courting feathers. end description.)

(this post got so very long, putting a readmore here)

The role of a Dancer is to show off and be flashy, performing aerial tricks to catch the attention of potential mates. Dancers who don't have natural courting plumage make up for it with flashy props and extra accessories. Dancers avoid each other in the air, as collisions are a common cause of injury to both parties and a detriment to their performances. But they will compete with each other by having dance offs, and many dancers actually flirt with each through paired dances.

(image description: colored drawing of a quetzalin with red and yellow feathers, as well as some darker blue striping. they have a few showy courting feathers on their head and the edges of their wings. they are wearing colored paint on their face and limbs, and wearing a lot of jewelry. end description.)

The role of a Watcher is to perch around the dance arenas and observe the dancers, while also trying to catch the attention of the best and prettiest dancers. They might heckle the dancers, use props or courting plumage to catch the eye of a favored dancer, and compete with each other to gain the best perches and keep their competition away to have a better chance of gaining attention. They may even flirt with each other, bantering playfully.

(image description: colored drawing of a quetzalin with brown and white feathers, striped on the lighter underside of their wings and torso. they are wearing simple dark red accessories and a patterned red and cream skirt, as well as red and cream face paint. they're sitting casually and making a beckoning gesture with one hand, which has a bell tied to the forefinger. end description.)

The mixed role is versatile. It may be someone hiding amongst the watchers, suddenly turning their perch into a dance stage and drawing attention away from the arena. It may be a dancer swooping close to the audience and finding someone to banter with as they hover in place, blocking the view of the arena. They are clever, and flexible, using any means available to them to gain the attention they desire.

(image description: colored drawing of a quetzalin with blue and grey feathers, with their back turned to the viewer. they are wearing purple and white clothing and accessories, including streamers tied to their legs. end description.)

Casual hookups are the most common result of all the courtship performances. Quetzalin find a mate in the arenas and fly off together to have their own private fun. There are also indoor arenas where adult quetzalin hook up in less private ways, performing more explicitly sexual dances and enjoying the voyeurism.

Younger quetzalin going through puberty and experiencing the courting instincts for the first time are kept out of these venues, encouraged to perform only in the public arenas while they are carefully instructed in standard courting etiquette and informed of all the health risks that come with casual hookups.

Young egg layers in particular are at risk as their hormones might spike from sexual interaction and cause problems like excessive egg production, which drains a lot of nutrients and energy from the body. They may also produce malformed eggs, some of which could get stuck. Fully grown quetzalin are less likely to have these problems.

Most long term relationships are built outside of the courting season, established through emotional bonding and platonic intimacy all through the year. Quetzalin who bond in this way may choose to become permanent partners and seal their bond through a ceremony performed in the temple of their deity. Bonded partners often get matching forearm tattoos, depicting intertwined tree branches. They believe these deeper relationships are blessed by their deity, and that they help keep the community strong in the same way that the tangled branches of their sacred trees strengthen their home territory and keep it safe.

Communal preening is one very important form of social bonding, done between friends, family members, and lovers alike. Every quetzalin home has a preening space, and public preening spas are everywhere in their territory. They do have special rules for who can preen which body parts. Young children are preened fully by their caretakers. Casual strangers and acquaintances may preen each other's wings. Close friends and family can preen the feathers of the head. But only lovers and bonded partners can preen each other's whole torso, back, and tail.

(image description: sketches of quetzalin engaging in preening behaviors with each other. on the top, one quetzalin runs their beak gently through the feather on their partner's head, next to the caption "preening with beak = very close relationship. below, one quetzalin uses their hands to preen the feathers of another person's wings, next to the caption "preening with hands = standard politeness". end description.)

For the most part, the quetzalin are an isolated people. In recent generations, they have begun to venture into the world, using their own molted feathers as a major export, but locally they only interact with two groups: elves and centaurs. The elves are their main trade partners, exchanging goods and offering services to each other. The quetzalin mainly consume fish, insects, and other small creatures, though they can eat fruit and nuts as well. Their home trees grow more food than they need for themselves, and they are masterful fishers, so they often trade away food in exchange for things like elf-made cloth and jewelry. They also deal with the drakes that elves consider pests, because they like to raid the coops of domestic birds.

The centaurs are an interesting case. This is a population of centaurs who fled southward when the conflict between their people and the orcish ancestors escalated to war. They are quite at home in the rainforest, being very large herbivores who consume a mixture of leaves and fruit. They have developed a special bond with the quetzalin, allowing the small bird folk to harvest any external parasite or biting insect that find centaur blood to be a tasty meal. The quetzalin appreciate the centaurs' ability to deter predator animals and aid in the care of their home trees. Quetzalin eggs have also become a useful protein source for the centaurs, who do require some level of non-plant food to sustain themselves. This may be the only known case of centaurs openly bonding with a whole population of other people, even crossing the line into a potential symbiotic relationship. It is a very unique situation. For now.

(image description: sketches of a sloth-like ogre, an orc, and a centaur standing together. Both images have a connected caption that reads "bird folk will see megafauna folk and ask 'is anyone gonna perch on that?' and not even wait for an answer." and in the second image, all three of the larger people now have quetzalin perched on their shoulders or backs. end description.)

The quetzalin people believe in just one deity, Ithia. They are a parental deity, depicted as a living tree which crafted the quetzalin out of wood and feathers, beginning only with pairs of solid singular colors. As time went on, of course, the children of each one-color pair mated with each other and gradually mixed their colors more and more with each generation, creating the unique varieties of color and patterns in modern quetzalin. Ithia is believed to have gone dormant after creating the quetzalin, sleeping beneath the earth and giving them their home trees which are sturdy enough to protect them from the region's seasonal storms. In thanks to Ithia and to help maintain the sacred trees, quetzalin offer up their excess eggs for fertilizer and burn molted feathers as well. Every home has a private shrine for Itihia where offerings of food, incense, and trinkets are left in the hopes that Ithia will answer their prayers and grant them aid. More important prayers are given at the temple of Ithia, where various ceremonies are also performed. This includes the bonding ceremony for committed partners, a coming of age ceremony where young quetzalin offer their first eggs or courting feathers, and community prayers pleading for safety whenever the storms come through or other major troubles strike their community.

The quetzalin also have a culture of secret, sacred names. When a quetzalin comes of age, they are to think of their own secret name; a private title for themself which embodies their soul. They perform a private ceremony to give their name to Ithia and the priests, and if they choose to have a bonded partner (or multiple bonded partners) then their secret name may also be used in the bonding ceremony.

"Quetzalin" is itself a public name, while the people actually have another secret name only known to themselves. They learn it when they come of age. No outsiders are told the true name of the quetzalin people. Ithia is also said to have another name, only known to the priests. The quetzalin believe that having a secret name protects their souls. If they die without this name, their soul may be lost and disappear. But with this name, they believe they can make it to the afterlife properly and rest.

The names given to hatchlings are not secret, but they also have a spiritual intention. It is believed that any egg named too early will not hatch, and so they are only named when it is certain that they will survive. As a result, they're usually given names on the day they hatch, to be extra safe. Unhatched eggs are a common occurence, and they are also offered up to Ithia, who will take the lifeless embryos into the earth and give their undeveloped souls another chance.

And now for the truth behind all of these details:

Ithia is no myth. It's just a mispronunciation. The quetzalin cannot pronounce bilabial sounds without great effort, such as M, B, P, F, and V. Ithia's true name is Vivian. Vivian was once a mortal human, and could by modern standards be considered afrolatina. She lived at the peak right before humanity began to fall and go extinct. She studied genetics and evolution and mutations. She was granted the role of an immortal Life entity, one of the last humans to gain this position, one of the only humans to take it while being a highly educated scientist. Vivian was ambitious. She saw the fall of humanity, and she wanted to preserve her people. She aided in tweaking the genetics of the only other hominid species, the dwarves, to ensure that humans could leave some legacy behind through mixed offspring. Then took things a step further and tweaked the genetics of the elves for the same purpose, which was more difficult because elves are primates but not hominids. It worked, though, and this success fueled Vivian's ambitions.

(image description: digital painting of a humanoid woman with brown skin. She has gained extra eyes and has four skeletal arms instead of two living ones. Her hair has been replaced by leaves and flowers. Instead of legs, she only has a skirt of leaves. There are wrinkles on her face, showing her age. Between one pair of hands, she is holding a depiction of the DNA helix. end description.)

She met Death. They were stricken by her passion and they became lovers for a time, though their personalities clashed and they often fought. It was a turbulent relationship. Vivian took advantage of the connection to learn how the afterlife worked, discovering that it was also the source of new souls. When dead souls dissipate, the essence of the creature they once were is sent through the flow of ambient natural magic and latches onto new life as it forms in the womb, creating a soul that matches the creature. Life entities can capture and manipulate this essence a little, influencing the path of evolution. The essence of extinct species is archived in the afterlife, but cannot form a new soul of its type while the species remains extinct.

Vivian decided to extend human kind by crafting a new type of human with their soul essence. Her concept was a little over the top. Humans with wings. But she was determined to go beyond the logical and more reasonable route of making the arms into membranous wings. No, she wanted something more. She wanted to create a people that were truly unique, only possible by the use of her powers now that she was an immortal being. Something mortal science could never have achieved. So she crafted the quetzalin.

(image description: a series of sketches showing the development of the quetzalin as humanoid bird folk. it begins with a more typically human figure that has a pair of feathered wings attached to the back. next, a similar figure but now with a larger wing shoulder making them hunch over and a short tail at the base of their spine. the second image shows the addition of elf genetics followed by a shrinking of the body size and the addition of more bird like features, all of which makes the tail longer and the feet more grabby. the final image shows the quetzalin as they are, with longer tails held more parallel to the ground, raised heels to give them a bent leg posture, a smaller body plan, and much more bird like visual traits. end description.)

It took many attempts. Much to her frustration, Vivian found that she could not make humans with feathered wings that were fully capable of flight without greatly altering their DNA and body shape. She was too ambitious to give up, cobbling together bits and pieces from other creatures. Elf genetics, dinosaur traits, more bird biology, on and on until at last she had the quetzalin. She recycled the souls of her creations by her own power, bypassing the afterlife and disrupting the natural order of things.

(image description: sketches comparing the body shapes of a velociraptor, human, and quetzalin, with the quetzalin in the middle. end description.)

This caused the biggest and final clash between her and Death, and they never spoke again. But Vivian had achieved her goal, even if the end result was much different than her original plan. She rested, going dormant beneath the trees and gradually letting go of the last remnants of her energy to strengthen them and keep her creation safe.

Life entities are not eternal. They cannot be killed or die of natural causes, but they are not eternal. They eventually run out of the power given to them, and their souls dissipate into the ambient magic of the world. Vivian is gone now, though the quetzalin still worship the idea of her. Their knowledge of her has been lost little by little, changing a bit with each generation. This is the origin of most deities in the world. Some grain of truth, some memory of a real Life entity that favored a particular species but eventually faded away, leaving them in the hands of a successor or leaving them on their own.

Death mourned the day they felt Vivian's soul vanish.

And as for the secret name of the quetzalin, it too is a mispronunciation. They know themselves as the Onaxelu. But the name Vivian gave them, the name that embodied their true origin and purpose, was Homo Angelus.

[plasma-packin-mama]

a cure for them old world blues 💗🎄

(Featuring @thebigolbee ‘s Marlow!)

I talk about fallout down there (mostly nonsense thought dump) ⬇️

Thinking Abt the existence of modern traditions 200 years into the post apocalypse is very interesting to me... I think that the Enclave, bastion of conservatism and WASPism that it was, probably held Christmas traditions pretty intact throughout its lifespan. Good Ol American Values yadda yadda conflating American identity with whiteness and Christianity and the picket fence happy nuclear family veneer. So Arcade had at least a few Traditional Christmases as a kid. Which I think would probably be pretty unique in the wasteland. 200 years is a long ass time for tradition and culture to morph when it isn't being held still a chokehold by an insular community. Idk how strongly cultural Christianity would still be smothering the general zeitgeist around 2281, but I definitely think the traditions of winter holidays would have changed and morphed a lot from what they are today. Idk I'm not an anthropologist.

Anyway, The other big source of info about old world traditions would be old world ghouls like Richie!! I won't talk about his lore because he's not my character obviously, but he was alive before the bombs dropped so he'd know firsthand how Christmas was celebrated back then. I think Delilah would want to set up a Real Christmas celebration for him, "just like in the old days!!" To make him smile :) Arcade could help them get the details right. Someone's making eggnog out of mantis eggs or something. Hey are there chickens in fallout??? Do I remember there being some in 4? Are they just regular ass chickens?

Ok stop talking peep MERRY CHRISTMAS GUYS OR IF YOU DONT CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS HAPPY MONDAY LOLOL I HOPE YOU'RE OFF FROM WORK AT LEAST.

[blindmagdalena]

For all the autistic peeps out there...... Imagine if you somehow met Homelander but you managed to piss him off his eyes start glowing. However you just dont get it, making for a very angry and very confused Homelander.

That'd be a win in my book ngl

gatta rock him with that tism rizz.

i do love the mental image of Homelander flashing his eyes in an attempt to intimidate only for them to miss the cue entirely and start info-dumping about their special interest, which just so happens to be supe abilities and the variations thereof.

"Oh! Red! That's right! Did you know it's the rarest color for laser vision? Blue is most common, but there's also variations of green and yellow. There's no concise data on what the spectrum represents or pulls from yet, but-"

cut to Homelander staring with his eyes narrowed incredulously

[ragsdolly]

INFO DUMP ABT CARMEN SANDIEGO I SENT TO MY FRIEND: WELL, She is a super duper cool spy and she was raised in a school for thieves. She ended up attending the school but failed because one of her teachers named Shadowsan knew that she would not be ok with what the organization does for a living. (steals and hurts people for their own gain) So she got a bit mad and decided that she was gonna go sneak on one of her former classmates missions. Then on the mission she found out that the organization school she attends is willing to KILL someone so they can complete a mission aka stealing sh!t. Btw the organization school she attends is called V.I.L.E. THEN she is forced to attend the school again with no access to the outside world what so ever (I forgot to mention that she has access to the outside world which was prohibitied. And on the phone she owns the only contact she has is to a person named player. he is very important later in the story) So she has no access to the outside world and is now STUCK in the school for thieves which she doesn't want to be apart of anymore. So then she pulls this stunt that will make her take some not all but some revenge on these assholes. So there is this person that comes on december 1st every year right on scheldule. Always carrying very IMPORTANT information that contains ALL of future heists and stuff and help them steal. So long story short she steal that little drive and boats off in the middle of the night and Becomes…CARMEN SANDIEGO!!! And now dedicates her life to kicking VILE's A$$!!

with player and some other peeps obvi

-ADHD

“ ohh— she sounds very cool! ”

[taketwoinink]

WITCH AND WARRIOR... also mystify i am vv curious about both

OKAY OKAY OKAY- you asked about two of my favourite stories lol, prepare for an info dump

I am so freaking half sleep right now but if I don't answer this ask right now I'll sit on it for two months so we'll see how coherent I am and how much I get through before I crash entirely

Witch and Warrior is a story that was inspired entirely off of a piece of epic music I was listening to and most importantly, the artwork that went along with the music. It was actually two artworks smashed into one but you couldn't tell so anyway I wanted to write a story about two sisters (and tangent here but later I read a book with a similar but veyr different premise very good book would recommend if I can remmber the title of it)

I'm extremely insecure about the names I gave them but I'm also too tired to rename them right now so um um um um panik

We have sister 1, she's the older one, she's got pink hair (on the lighter red side), don't question it. Sister 2 is the younger one (like 2 years age difference), she's got blue hair (on the darker black side), don't question it.

Anyway so magic in this world was outlawed like thirty years ago before either of our peeps were born. And then was this giant purge to kill everyone born with magic. Those who lived fled to the outskirts of the kingdom but it's surroudned by a lotta lotta lotaa mountains so they settled in this inhabitable forest on the outskirts instead. THe forest is filled with a bunch of mutant, wild beasts, so the kingdom never settled it, but the magic users are desperate and they end up taming the beasts.

Welp the kingdom doesn't like that so they start this massive war to try to wipe out the last of the magic people once and for all (nevermind the fact that more magical people are still being born)

The problem is that they have to go the magic users, who have the use of A) their magic, B) the familiar terrain, and C) their mutant beasts. So it's less a traditional battlefield and more crazy bush warfare that I forgot the name of and so we end up in this unique situation where having more soldiers can actually hurt the kingdom's army because it limits their mobility.

Course, it's a big kingdom so they get lots of soldiers they don't really need, but they're resourceful and what do you do when you have too many resources? Throw them away.

But we'll get back to that in a sec

There's a bunch of different types of magical people

Witches - they're conjurers. they can make stuff out of nothing. all the stuff they make though will be made of the same stuff. That doesn't make sense. Like if one of them makes a spear and their thing is dirt, their spear will be made of dirt. only it won't literally be made of dirt, but it will look like it is. it's made of magic and the magic happens to look like dirt. it's different for every witch. one person might be ice, another stone, someone might lightning, who knows. Not super powerful, pretty good at hiding themselves, except their magic reacts when they come into contact with their thing. so if someone has the dirt thing, when they walk on dirt, the dirt will react to it. It uh- makes a lot more sense in my head. Like the most common type of magic to have, make up the bulk of the magic peep army. They fight in pairs so they can watch each others backs.

Sorcerers - elemental type magics. tend to be extremely powerful and wildly out of control. Get discovered quickly because their magic is hard to control. They sit at the back of battle fields and bombard the enemies. magic is not as good up close, can be dangerous. they're guarded by witches most of the time. very rare. the army focuses them specifically because they can do the most damage.

Wizards - rune based magic. very slow to cast, mostly used for traps or for not battle related things like growing crops, building, etc. They'll prep battefields in anticipation of the army and so the army sends out scouts to set off their traps before they attack. Uncommon ish? probably the second most common? very good at remaining undetected

Warlocks - summoners. they summon beasts and demons and such. will sometimes accidentally do so as children which gets them caught, but if they make it past then, they're good. tend to keep around summons trahter than summoning bunch of stuffs, bonds and all that. uncommon to rare(?)

pretty sure there was another one but I don't remember what it was... it's in my notes but do I want to go look at them right now?

oh hey I think the magic people are called the Coalition, so um yeah I'll refer to them at that. that's the magic people who are in the forest.

Mages - oh right! these are shapeshifters! they're not common. can make mistakes when imitating people. causes a lot of problems for the army cause spies and stuff. need to have identification things in place to make sure they don't get infiltrated

Gifters - not sure if they'll stay in the final story or not but they can grant people abilities but it slowly kills them

Anyway, so magic people are always the first born of the family. not every family, but only the first born will have magic if there is magic to be had.

so Sister 1 is SIKE the younger of the two (also they have a younger brother, who is probs like 5 years younge ror something). they did a switcheroosual with Sister 2 because they realized she was gonna have magic, like some prophetic dream or something, so in order to keep anyone from getting suspicious of her, they made her the younger child

The oldest is super important in this culture. they get all the rights, all the attention, all the glory. they inherit the house. other children are often overlooked and married off.

-- oh also objects can absorb magic over time, so old things are actually very valuable, they have to be well cared for and it just leaks into them can't really happen on purpose but yeah that's important

so Sister 1 is the one everyone is paying attention to going to events and stuff also they're nobility did I mention that? they're the house of Sayithmar um dragon themed crest I think? very highly honoured, very important, very rich, very close to the king.

brub okay I'm tired enough that I can't be insecure anymore so Sister 1 is named Omikiia and sister two is named Luesivra yes I know how to pronounce those no i won't tell you how don't make fun of me I was going through a weirdly spelled name phase and I got too attached

(infodumping while tired is very funa ctually highly recommend this is going far better than I expected)

Anyway so Omikiia is running the show but like their fathr does something stupid and he's gonna be executed for it and she's like "halt" and makes this deal with the king because he's known to like to gamble and so she says okay I'll joing the army and so long as I'm alive you keep my father alive but you can arrest him if you want. And the king's like well okay you'll both die this is fine and he accepts

So she goes running off to war and leaves Luesivra behind to suddenly run the place. And so for all intents and purposes, she is now the eldest child. also her father is gone and her mom is dying ooops so she inherits the estate and begins representing the family in noble affairs and yeah she is quite literally ruler of the house now.

Well so remember how I said too many soldiers in the army in actually a bad thing? But they have so many so what they do is they throw the untrained newbies at the sorcerers in the back because a lot of people die fighting them and it doesn't make sense to lose trained soldiers when they can overwhelm them with the fresh meat instead.

Omikiia figures this out pretty quickly. She doesn't want to die, she doesn't want her new friends to die

So there's this thing in the army

It's run by ten generals. There's the upper nine and then there's the one, known as the King's General. this is the guy in charge. the other nine generals are their support and advisors and all that jazz

Anyway, traditionally, anyone can challenge anyone else in the army to a duel. If they win, they get to take their position. Survival of the fittest and all that, strongest people make the rules.

In a desperate scheme to change things, she challenges one of the generals to a duel and oops she wins even though she's young. cause um, she a prodigey with the sword also her sword is magical so yeah taht kind of helps

There is, unfortunately, a rule that you have to be one of teh Nine for a year before you can challenge the King's General for their spot in order to prevent take overs like this, so in the meantime Omikiia starts weasling her friends into support positions, then she challenmges the King's General, beats him, takes over the army as the yougnest General ever, and starts changing things

She duels a lot of people to earn respect, kicks out half of the nine to replace with her own people while keeping the other half for their experience and stuff

So she basically takes over, yay!

Meanwhile Luesivra is trying not to die in the noble ranks and long story short she ends up engaged to the crown prince (who has an older brother from a previous wife of the king who was a commoner and therefore not eligible for her children to hold the throne because it must always stay in pure noble blood). She's like, really good in the court, people respect her, she's keeping her house alive, her sister is the King's General, suddenly this house that put itself on the edge of disaster is thriving, and the king who doesn't like his son very much wants to control that house and she kind of wants the protection of this marriage but also if either of them find out she's a witch, she'll be killed

oh yeah she's a witch by the way. I think I forgot to mention that

Luesivra is the witch, Omikiia is the warrior, hence the name of the story

Anyway, Mystify! Also known as Code Mystify, also known as my dearly beloved story, also known as the thing inspired off about ten seconds I saw of a video game I ahve never played, hence also being calld the video game story- yeah it's great!

umm I don't remember if you were there when I rambled about Wraith on the discord server but htis is her story!

So we have this country I think I called it something with an A or other I'll find it again in seven months probably

anyway they have something called the Aeon Games (yes the game has a name I forgot I named it not sure what I think but yep it stays for now) they call it the Aeon Stage sometimes yeah it's cool

basic rules for it that are constantly under revision. each player combatant etc whateveryawanna call them has a series of crystal-things that are set into their outfits. break all the things and they're out. or alternatively, you can kill them. or knock them out. or maim them. whatever you want really.

In one on one fights, which are uncommon except for show, breaking their crystals is how you win. in team fights which are the norm, there are checkpoints you need to capture. kind of like capture the flag I guess?

the stages are dynamic, with moving terrain, lots of varied land, each arena is different, yada yada

Anyone can technically sign up to try and get hired by a team but most won't be

The teams are made of eight players. Typically, you'll have three defending and the other four split into pairs to go on the offensive. does vary from team to team though.

So Wraith, for those who don't know, is like an S class player. She's the high of the high,the best of the best, everyone fears her and everyone wants her. she has the highest kill count on record, of both enemies and her own teammates. high casualty and injury rate in games with her. everyone on her team has to sign a thingie saying that like you can't sue the team if she kills you. Killing isn't encouraged but it's not forbidden.

She was on this team but due to inner drama (revolving around a well intentioned now ex-boyfriend who didn't communicate the most effectively) she left.

Well, there was this team who was in the lower ranks, playing on a local region level, known as Team Flashfire. And they were good, but they were also very low profile and the company who owned them didn't have the money to support the team for long. They weren't getting high enough ranked matches so they weren't getting much visibility and they weren't making enough money. the company declared bankruptcy and sold off their player's contracts (yes that is allowed but the players can also terminate the contract instead)

Well there's this other company, Mystify, who dabbles in the arcane magically thingies of the world and they're rich, very successsful, so hey why not they started a Aeon Game team because well- they can

So they bought the contracts off of this low profile team and ended up with three players (there were more, but some of them left) from that team. Mercy (known occasionally as Miracle but gosh darn her previous name stuck too hard), Terrablaze, and Sentinel. They all know each other and have played together before.

Mercy is unique in that she is capable of reviving people. This is unheard of. She can only do it within a several minute timeframe before their soul entirely disconnects from their body and they're dead for good. On the battefield, that's not a lot of time especially when you're actively being kept away from fallen teammates. She doesn't have to do it often, but it does make her extremely valuable. (completely unrelated but she gets a girlfriend with shadow powers later)

Terrablaze has elemental powers but like- they feel different vibe wise than most of mine but like functionally are the same. But mostly she actually fights with her guns and grenades that she customizes herself.

Sentinel has like, the ability to animate stone? also is sturdy. yep. He also is more weapon-based like Terrablaze, whereas Mercy and Wraith are more power-based in their combat styles.

there's more details there but my memory is fuzzed and I am tired

Wraith counts as two players because she has this soulbound companion, Ashes. Their powers are linked together, but Ashes is technically a separate entity with its own body so they count it as its own player, but they share a player contract. So in terms of recruitment, they're one, in terms of how many people you can submit to a game, they're two. It's complicated. She can bring shadows to life and they attack people and possess things and also she blip in between them. and probably other stuff, still working out the fine details.

That's five people, then they have two more, Chimera and Visage (illusion-y transformaton based powers + more charmy enchantress ish powers), who are these four foot tall lizard people, very cute, they're a married couple, I adore them.

that's only seven...

oh yeah, they have this other teammate but she dies so I forgot who she is. then they get this dude Hijink who has glitchy powers. he can glitch through reality (weird teleport thing) and disrurpt other people's abilities.

So, at first it's just the three from Teamflaze (flaze?? Team Flashfire wow) who get hired (for a tiny bit of information, Terrablaze was the 'team captain' of sorts and actually the person the team was named for. In the Mystify team, Wraith is the 'team captain' because she is the most experienced player by far)

Wraith has been a game player for eleven years. most people are only players for like five. high casualty rates also it's traumatic also it pays ludicrously so if they want money they get that quickly. If they're good, that is

The Mystify people actually only take the Team Flashfire because they wanted Mercy because her abilities are so unique. (she can also make this glowing gooy crystaly magically stuff. I'll draw it one day then it'll make sense) also working with Wraith it's interesting because Wraith is infamous for killing her teammates as often as she does her enemies (read: soul bound to a sensitive and extremely dangerous creature from another realm who has a very poor grasp on human emotions and cannot tell the difference between frustration, fear, anger, adrenaline, and generally being upset. Said creature's impulse is also to attack rather than wait out situations)

But Mercy can kind of bring people back so... for the first time in her life, Wraith has some leeway with her out of controlness.

She has a chance to make friends without killing them

Oopsies

anyway that's the gist of both stories. there is of course lots more but thanks for asking I'm gonna go sleep now I am so very tired I hoped this all made sense but before I go!!

Have a little snip of sixteen year old Wraith struggling at social functions while Ashes is Not Helpful. (For additional context, Wraith is from another country and she is still very unfamiliar with the culture and language of this place. This is a party thrown by game players that her team got invited to. Ashes just doesn't do people. Oh also Wraith has a tail and horns like maybe I should mention that)

She dodged elbows with significantly less grace than she dodged attacks in the arena. She was so focused on not accidentally touching anyone that she kept backing up into clumps of people. She scuttled away immediately every time, before they could drag her into a conversation.

She had to keep her tail tucked against her legs to prevent it from being stepped on. Someone brushed their fingers through her hair as she ducked past; the thick, silky fibers slid from their grasp like water in a closed fist. Wraith still yelped softly.

Despite how she’d grown physically, she still felt painfully aware that she was the youngest person here.

Laughter boomed around her, as loud as the bangs of guns in the arena. The concentration of people did nothing to disperse the sound. It echoed off of bodies just as well as walls.

“Eyy!” Someone draped his arm over her shoulder. She moved to flip him over and crack his skull open on the marble floor but- Oh- Swagger.

He moved with far less grace than his name would suggest, leaning heavily on her while his other hand swished a glass around haphazardly.

“Wraaiiith!” He drawled, spilling pungent breath out of his mouth and all over her face. She stiffened, wishing it was considered as appropriate to break arms to escape outside of the Aeon Stage as it was within, “I’ven’t seen you all day!”

“I saw you an hour ago,” she pulled gently away from him. His weight followed her, balancing him dangerously in her arms. She reluctantly held him up so he didn’t fall. He was her teammate after all.

And considering how many of them she’d- she’d-

A little kindness was the least she could do.

He waved a hand aimlessly, “Pfst. Here! ‘Ave a drink!”

He inserted a cup into her free hand. It was full of a dark red liquid that smelled about as good as Swagger did.

She didn’t like him very much.

“I don’t want it,” she tried to say but he pushed her hand more forcefully towards her face. She stumbled back, releasing his weight in order to steady herself. Her tail lashed wildly, banging into legs and unintentionally moving the crowd away from her.

And sure enough, Swagger crashed gracelessly to the floor.

Lovely.

His nose cracked upon meeting the unforgiving surface and spat out blood angrily.

Wraith’s stomach churned unhappily at the sight, but it wasn’t anything she was unfamiliar with.

“You are drunk,” she decided, despite not knowing what that meant; it was what everyone else said to him when he got like this.

She looked around for a spot to deposit the drink he’d given her. They were always served at these parties, though she’d never cared to try one. She’d eat when they got back to the player quarters.

She handed it off to the first hand she saw: Ashes’, and knelt to help Swagger up.

“‘Mfine,” he mumbled disorientedly, swaying on his feet as she lifted him, “tis a scratch.”

“It is your nose,” she corrected.

“Mhat’s wat I said.”

She set him up so he was standing; he continued to cling to her shoulder for support.

He shook out his hair, completely ignoring the blood that went flying from his nose. It looked decidedly crooked.

He broke it.

“Ashes, can you- help… me?”

The creature in question was munching on the remains of the cup she’d given it. Its ears rose inquisitively towards her.

She ignored how the glass would probably come back up in a steaming, liquified puddle in the middle of the night and she’d have to clean it up. “Can you help me carry Swagger over to Surgha and Glarald?”

Ashes slurped down the last of the glass. Swagger gave an intense shudder at the sight of it sliding down the creature’s translucent throat membrane. Wraith ignored him and heaved him towards her companion, who obediently maneuvered its way underneath him, so he was now draped over Ashes’ back instead of Wraith’s shoulders.

“Thanks,” she pushed her hair, which was beginning to fall out of its braids, out of her face and stood up straight, “Do you see them?”

Ashes nippled on the edge of Swagger’s jacket, eyes trained on Wraith attentively. It gave no outward reaction to her question. The only indication she had that she’d been heard were the specks of excitement and curiosity that wavered through their bond.

“We’re not doing anything fun,” she warned.

Ashes yipped disappointedly.

“I know,” Wraith soothed.

“S’why you follo’d by ‘at ‘hin anyway?” Swagger muttered deliriously, “mght be a demon or smthng.”

The crowd seemingly took one glance at Swagger’s bleeding nose and another at Wraith, before deciding this was normal and moving on. She watched with frustration, unable to get a glimpse of any of her other teammates over the bobbling bodies and heads. No one stopped to help.

[hordeofcorvids-fanart-reblogs]

Info (Tags and etc.)

Welcome to my fandom rebloging blog. Created bc I was cluttering my main (hordeofcorvids) up a little too much and so I finally folded and started making side blogs

Still not making separate blogs for different fandoms I'm not consistent enough for that

Peep the most common fandoms and how I tag below the cut

Tagging is typically ordered: fandom, character names, ship names (more rare for me to tag), and then if I've queued them my queue tag; #et queue brute

star trek

typically all under the main tag #star trek

I mostly post the original series #star trek tos or #star trek the original series

but I also post ds9 occasionally as well under #ds9 or #deep space nine

Disco Elysium

found under the #disco elysium tag. Probably one of the top fandoms you'll see here currently

Good Omens

#good omens big dump of it right at the beginning then basically nothing after (we're not gonna talk about it)

Sherlock Holmes

Name an adaption, they're probably here

#acd canon (the original goods)

#bbc sherlock (don't want to talk about it 'the sequel')

possibly sherlock and co. will show up I've gotta morn that the show has kinda ruined other podcast creators chances at doing a podcast with a gay holmes, because we'll end up with an elementary vs. bbc sherlock part 2 lmao

MXTX

#scum villian self saving system or #svsss

and #heaven official's blessing or #tgcf

The Locked Tomb Series

mostly Gideon the 9th. It'll be under #the locked tomb

If I start reblogging other fandoms in larger amounts, I'll add them in. But for now the other ones you'll see on occasion: #dungeon meshi, #yakuza, #baldur's gate 3, #the magnus archives, and #pacific rim

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Well if you don't ever talk about your OCs how can we praise you. I want to hear! Is the first one Adelo bc it looks like how you've been describing her. (Or tell me I'm dumb lol) Come ooonnnnnn Kip I'll just keep bugging you.

You can praise me when I actually finish writing all these chapters in Where Time Takes Us hghhhhhhhhhhhhggh

[sammy-smiles-531]

Been a while since I posted about these guys. I still have my Alton CatCF gang on the mind. Now with two new peeps based on cut characters Miranda Piker and Marvin Prune! Maud and Margo first appear in the epilogue of Charity and the Chocolate Factory. They make their official appearance in Charity and the Great Glass Elevator.

Here are the characters (from left to right):

Margo Plume (23): A French model and star who longs to be a fashion designer. Vain and an absolute idiot, but lovable all the same. Tends to carry a mirror with him at all times. (Height: 6’5”)

Artur Gourmand (21): A German lad with a huge appetite and a love for cooking. Wants to be strong and learn more about the world he was sheltered from most of his life. Strong but very sweet and friendly. (Height: 6’2”)

Vincent Blanchette (20): Has an interest in track, baking, and gum chewing. A man who wants to live a life free from the restrictions of his overbearing mother. Favorite desserts are all blueberry related. Just an overall chill and easygoing guy, is also French. (Height: 6’7”)

Charity Beckett (19): A hardworking girl who tries to see the best in every situation. Poor, but tries doesn’t let it get her down. Lives in the same cottage her family used to live in, promised to protect it after they died. Just an overall very sweet girl who wants to see those around her happy. The luckiest girl in the world, she just doesn’t know it yet. (Height: 5’1”)

Maud Parker (20): A college student, very studious and a very serious young woman. A very “no funny business” kind of gal. Has been learning to let loose and have fun. Tends to be kind of nerdy, and loves to flaunt her intelligence. (Height: 6’0”)

Maximillian Thorn (24): An absolute gremlin of a human being. Learns what he knows from television and video games. Very chaotic and tends to be kind of an asshole. Knows how to hack into various computer systems. Deep down he is very loyal to those he gets close with and is tamer around those he cares about. (Height: 6’11”)

Vasilisa Sarris (22): A professional ballerina from a rich household. Loves pink and frilly things. Her father is from Russia who married her mother who lives is British in England. Tends to practice ballet to take her mind of how her parents constantly argue. Very graceful and elegant but is not afraid to kick your ass if the time calls for it. (Height: 5’8”)

Just your casual guardians from Alton Towers. By the way, they’re in a poly relationship, Charity being the one that brings them all together. I have little info dumps about these guys, might release them later on.

[msmkcreates]

AuraFell InfoDump

Hello! As some of you may already know, I have created my own AU called AuraFell! It doesn't have any Tale/Swap/Swapfell/etc counterparts yet, so this is completely new!

I'm going to dump everything I have to start with this AU below the cut. If you want to wrote or draw this AU please ask, it's still in New AU stages so I want it to be done right! But I'm very easygoing and I would love for more content to me made so don't be afraid (:

More info below the cut, it's a mess of about 7k words so bear with me!

AuraFell:

Let's start with the magic system. Most monsters have the same type of magic as regular AUs, nothing special. If they have an aura, it's weak or hard to use.

Boss Monsters, though, have Auras that are strong and super effective.

Boss monsters in this AU (that ive developed) are:

-Papyrus (Mockingbird)

-Sans (Terror)

-Asgore (Dad)

-Toriel (Auntie)

-Undyne (Shrill)

-Alphys (Professor)

-Mettaton (Signal)

-Grillby (Ozone)

-Frisk (Kiddo)

And the deceased ones with powers thus far:

-Gaster (Doctor...deceased)

-Asriel (Giver...deceased...?)

-Chara (Pal....deceased)

Nicknames! So nicknames are actually given to Boss monsters by the ones their aura effects. They all for some reason call them that name.

Aura powers fall under two categories, with subcategories. If your aura is in the same category, you're resistant to the other's power. If you have the same category AND subcategory, you're immune.

Ambient Auras: These are Auras that are area of effect, sort of. They are focused in one way or another but generally present at all times.

-Visual: This means the Ambient Aura is focused with a visual effect (flashing colors, a friendly smile, the written word)

-Audial: This means the Ambient Aura is focused with sound (humming, singing, spoken word)

Given Aura: This aura type must be administered physically somehow. It is not ever-present but can be "stowed" or "kept". The effect is imbued to an object or physically given somehow.

-Present: This means the Given Effect must be given through an item (a baked good laced with the effect, a gift, etc)

-Physical: This means the given effect must be administered through physical contact (a bite, a kiss, skin to skin contact)

Let's start with the skeleton Brothers' powers

Papyrus, AKA Mockingbird

-His Aura is called Lullaby. He makes people fall asleep. He usually does this by humming or singing. It can effect one person immediately or multiple with a delay. 

-His favorite lullaby to hum is "Hush little baby" (you know. The one where Mama is gonna buy you a Mockingbird...) and perhaps that's why everyone calls him Mockingbird

-He used to think he had no powers because he didn't know how to focus it, and his Category/Subcategory is the same as Sans AND Undyne (whom he spent the most time with) so neither were ever affected

- Category/Sub is Ambient (Audial)

Sans (Terror)

-His aura is called Modify Memory, but nobody knows that. He can speak to a sleeping person and influence their dreams, or speak a story to an woken person and they will legitimately remember that it happened that way. Again, it's most effective when focused on one person, and the details fuzz or change if he tries to stretch it to more people

-He pretends to be affected by Mock's lullaby. He's incredibly fast, agile, and strong, and he pretends he's only a good fighter when he's unconscious. This way nobody will risk a surprise knockout and they'll cooperate with him when Mock threatens to put him to sleep. He modifies people's memories so they will spread by word of mouth that the unconscious fighting is his power, not modify memory

-Category/Sub: Ambient (Audial)

Speed run through the others:

-Toriel (Auntie) makes pies or any baked good that are more addictive than any drug. Category/sub: Given (Present)

-Asgore (Dad) has Big Dad Energy and everyone wants to impress him, to an extreme. He's so strong he affects most of the Underground without knowing it, and to his horror most of the Underground seems to think that murdering others and getting stronger is the way to impress him. He focuses with spoken word but it's mostly unnecessary at this point. Ambient (Audial)

-Grillby (Ozone). Hypnosis. Pretty flame colors. Leaves his victims open to suggestion. Ambient (Visual)

-Muffet (? Nickname tbd) makes a paralyzing poison. She has figured out how to put it in her pastries but it's best delivered by bite. Given (Physical)

-Undyne (Shrill) has the command power. People follow a command from her. Longer instructions if focused on one, one simple instruction if aimed at multiples. Ambient (Audial)

-Alphys (Professor). People take whatever she says as fact as long as it's written in her handwriting. Ambient (Visual)

-Mettaton (Signal). His TV programs are brainwashing propaganda. He can convince people to buy or sell anything if they are watching him through a screen. Ambient (Visual)

-Frisk (Kiddo) radiates friendship with a smile. Ambient (visual)

-Gaster (Doctor) used to be able to say anything and people would believe him. Ambient (Audial)

-Chara (Pal) was able to convince anyone to be friendly to them no matter what they'd done. Ambient (Audial)

-Asriel (Giver) could give you a rock and you'd well up with grateful feelings. Given (Present)

So 

yeah that's the basics, that's the big peeps in that world. Basically it isn't really Asgore's fault the place is so fucked up he's just very old and powerful and the violence is mostly people trying to impress him (poorly).

Gaster is Terror and Mock's Dad but he died when they were young, 8 and barely 2. He died trying to save Asriel and Chara when he accidentally dropped a barrier-breaking theory that Asriel then took as fact because of Gaster's aura.

Toriel moved almost immediately after the children's deaths, and Asgore did his best to raise Terror and Mock until Terror was old enough to take Mock to live in their house in Snowdin (about 14 and 8 years old)

Snowdin is a really bad place now though bc Toriel (Auntie) has been giving away her pies at the ruins gates, and people are killing and hurting each other for enough G or whatever they think she wants to get the next fix. She's kinda lost it at this point, she keeps feeding them out of some twisted need to be needed

Terror was old enough and smart enough to know "yeah, let's not eat that". They're immune to Asgore's power bc they are the same types, but they still want to impress him the normal kid-wants-to-impress-dad amount so they never tell him when they need more support out of some sense of pride. 

Mock was a bit of a runt well into teenage years. His magic was very slow to grow. He got picked on a lot, kids stole his lunch money and roughed him up and such. He would hum his favorite lullabies to himself to calm his anxiety, and wouldn't you know it, but one day it put everyone to sleep!

So sometimes he doesn't even realize he's humming, he does it to calm his nerves, he a nervous bean, but he also  knows from the one time someone injured his socket that earplugs are good enough to slow his effects

He also learns pretty quickly that junkies don't sleep for long and they are way stronger than he anticipated so, he racks up some of his LV for stuff like that.

He also likes tea because his powers depend on him being able to hum/sing

[twokinkybeans]

Hi there! Update from Lien here! I'll start with what you peeps will probably deem the most important lol and after that I will go into more detail. Let's just say the past few months have been all over the place. 😅

I think I'm coming back? I fell out of love with Starker and writing in general for a number of reasons. They're described more below, but this morning I read a few of our Starker fics back and it reignited a spark in me. Now I'm just torn on what to start out with. I've got a Christmas break right now; I have time to write!

Cold Coffee sequel? Anything else? Please let me know what you want to see me work on. Maybe your suggestions inspire more!

As for the reasons why:

- Was close to burnout

- My grandpa passed away

- My brother got married and I was their master of ceremonies, also got the news that I'll be an aunt next year (aaa!!)

- Got another (wayyyy better) job

- Broke up with my girlfriend (mutual, we're on good terms)

- Started the process of getting help with some things I'm struggling with (possibly an ADHD/ADD diagnosis with proper medication and psychological help)

So yeah, here was my brief personal info dump lol. I might delete this later, but hey, at least this gives you all perspective as to why I've personally been so quiet. A little while ago I thought I was back and then I wasn't. Now I want to actually put in the effort in being back, if that makes sense. Thank you, if you've read all of this! Please let me know what you want me to write next!

[lottalucamotion]

Alright peeps it's time for more train related info dumping! This time it's relivent to the Great Ace Attorney Chronicles as it's my most recent hyperfixation. As a train fanatic I of course hard core apprected the scene for when our heroes, Ryunosuke Naruhodo and Susato Mikotoba arrive in London by train and stop to admire the steam locomotives in the station.

So let's talk about those engines

So for context, this game takes place in the year 1900. Since this is well before the establishment of British Rail we are looking at a smaller privatized railway company. For this time period with service to London we would be looking at the North Eastern Railway which still exists today as the London North Eastern Railway (LNER). I can already tell upon looking at the livery of rollingstock that the livery shown in the games is consistent with the real deal. Who could ever forget the LNER green livery of the world famous Flying Scotsman?

As you can see the engines shown in the game are consistent with the green livery, gold accents, and red buffer board. So while we are looking at these engines, let's put a name to these locomotive faces. Starting with the two tank engines on the right.

Both of these engines most closely resemble Aerolite which would make sense chronologically except for only one of these engines was built and it wasn't a member of a class until around 1910 when it was considered a member of the X1 class (which was mass produced beginning in 1909)

That is unless the Great Ace Attorney and Thomas and Friends take place in the same universe and we are looking at Aerolite and Whiff (who is based on Aerolite) side by side

Sure you could argue that they are class Es or Js, but the shapes are not right at all for that.

Anyways Aerolite was NER 66 built in 1869 and served until 1933.

So how about the engine on the left? Oh good another one that makes me want to pull my hair out because it's a Raven class 4-6-0 which weren't built until 1910

I'm not having fun anymore.

And before you ask, Queen Victoria died in 1901 and Soseki Natsume was the correct age for the game to take place in 1900 so "maybe the setting of the game was in the 1910s" is not a viable option here.

Anyways the Raven class was a "high speed" mixed traffic engine and for some reason the one they showed doesn't have a cab.

Ok can I have a nice refreshing period accurate engine now please?

Ok engine on the far far left appears to be an NER 901 class engine oh thank fuck an accurate engine at last.

This baby was built between 1873 and 1882 and served until 1925.

I guess at the end of the day I can't complain too much over the accuracy because A. It was a few seconds of footage, B. They were mostly in the ballpark of correct timing, it's not like they were WAAYYY off, and C. Most people aren't fucking weirdos like myself who will obsess over details as trivial and stupid as the accuracy of steam engines in a lawyer game that takes plenty of obvious creative liberties anyways.

[skiller0dani]

Briefly Mine | Timothee Chalamet

M A S T E R L I S T

smut | vampire au

part 2

requests info

wanna be on my Timmy taglist? click here

doesn’t he look like such a daddy in that gif? 🤤  

He’d moved in across the street nearly 3 weeks ago and neither you nor your sister had seen him leave the house once. The mysterious man across the street with a head of curly hair and eyes that were shrouded in darkness. You watched the house from out your bedroom window, the house sat a little ways up on a hill, surrounded by trees. He’d arrived late at night, wearing a dress shirt and tail coat- he dressed like he was from a different time. Even though you were sitting safely in your bedroom across the street, he turned and his eyes landed on you. Through the black of night, and the darkness of your bedroom his eyes landed right on you. You feel shudders running down your spine. You continued to search his house for any signs of movement, but not even the lights were on. The windows were dark, the door was always closed and he never leaves. You curiosity was eating you alive, you want to know what’s he’s up to in that big house. 

You sit at your bench window, a book you’re not reading perched in your lap as your eyes stay trained on the house across the street. Your sister always tells you that you’re too obsessed with the “creepy Hannibal Lecter’ that lives across the street. But you wouldn’t label this as an obsession you’re just...concerned. About your new neighbor. Who is ridiculously hot. And mysterious. You wrap a blanket around your shoulders as you see a shadow pass in front of one of the windows upstairs. “You should go to bed.” You hear a voice behind you and you squeal, jumping in your skin as you whirl around. Your heart is absolutely hammering against your chest as your eyes land on your Dad. “Dad what the hell, you scared the crap out of me!” You exclaim, a hand over your chest. Your Dad says nothing as he walks over to the window and yanks your curtains shut. “Go to bed, and stay away from him.” He orders, giving you a stern stare before turning out of your bedroom and closing the door behind him. 

You focus towards your curtains and take another peek, the house is still and looks empty. You can’t get the intensity in your Dad’s eyes or the gravely serious look on his face before he left your room. Does he know who that guy is? He certainly doesn’t seem to trust him, but as far as you’re concerned they’ve never met. Days pass in a blur, and you still sit at your bench window every night, observing the strange house across the street. Watching as nobody ever enters the house, or leaves it. Your eyes flicker to the overflowing mailbox of letters and you stand from your bench before heading to the door. You’re only being a nice neighbor and bringing him his mail. But when you reach for your door handle, it doesn’t turn. What the hell? Did your Dad lock the door? You turn back to your window before sliding it open and dropping onto the patio roof located perfectly in front of your bedroom window. 

As you make your way across the street, you feel your heart begin to pound in your chest as the house looms above you. Your palms tremble when your fingers secure a grip around the big stack of letters before heading up the driveway. Your hand is incredibly shaky as you knock against the wood, and you hear nothing but silence from the other side. You chew on the inside of your cheek nervously, he’s probably not going to answer. From within the house Timothee digs his nails into the wood of his dining table, your blood calls to him. You smell so good, he could smell you before you even crossed the street- living right across from someone who smells so delicious is a special kind of torture he did not prepare for. He can hear your heart pounding furiously in your chest, your nervous breaths growing louder. Timothee feels an aching in his gums and he squeezes his eyes shut to will his fangs to retract. But when his eyes snap open, they’re shining an emerald green and his fangs have fully extended as he turns for the door. 

Just as you begin to turn away you hear the lock on the inside of the door unbolt. You bite your lip nervously as the door is slowly pulled open to reveal easily the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. His eyes lock on yours and he looks perfectly collected as he stands behind the door. Upon seeing you, his fangs sink back up into his gums but he can still hear your blood pulsing in your veins. His curly hair is pushed back, with only one stray curl falling over his forehead. “Y-You didn’t get your mail...” You say nervously, stumbling over your words. You hold the mail out to him, and he gently takes it from you. When his fingers accidentally brush against you, you nearly jerk back from how icy cold his skin is. His skin is pale, it lacks the natural rosy color that skin normally has. If you didn’t know better, you’d say his skin lacks life. “Thank you.” He says, his voice smooth like honey and for a moment you just stand there and bathe in it. You want to say more but your voice gets caught in your throat as you look up into his green eyes. While he looks youthful in his face, his eyes look wise. Like they’ve seen more than his skin has, like they’ve witnessed more than the years he’s been alive. 

His eyes suddenly snap behind you and in an instant he’s grabbing you and pulling you into his house before swinging the door shut. You feel panic shoot through you as the door swings shut as you press your back against the door. “Your Father.” He explains in a calm voice and you nod slowly, still feeling fear coursing in your veins. Your breathing slows as you stare up at him, “do you know my Dad?” You ask him and he takes a step away from you. Touching you nearly sent him over the edge, he hasn’t fed in too long. But you make it impossible for him to leave his house, he grows intoxicated by your scent. You look so much like her, it leaves him breathless every single time he looks at you. But not even her scent was as delectable as yours, as luring, you are a Vampire’s biggest weakness. Your scent was potent, and your blood would be sugary sweet he’s sure of it. If he were to sink his fangs into you, he would drink your blood right down to the bone. He hates hurting people. “No.” He says simply, his eyes staying firmly off of you. 

“I’m Y/N,” You smile, but get no smile in return. You simply receive a curt nod as his hands fold behind his back, his palms are twitching. He’s not sure how much longer he can stay composed in your presence. “If your Father has returned inside, you can see yourself out.” He says, turning on his heel to disappear around the corner and as far from you as he can get in this house. “You’re not going to tell me your name?” You call after him just before he disappears from sight. He pauses, looking to be facing inner turmoil as he turns his head to look at you. “Timothee.” He says simply before continuing his coarse. Timothee. You smile to yourself, that name suits him incredibly well. Timothee collapses against his bedroom door, he shouldn’t have let you in- your scent is everywhere. It surrounds him again, like a blanket it smothers his senses. He reaches into a cooler he has in his room before quickly opening the lid of a jar, which has blood in it. It’s cows blood, it’s disgusting but it does satiate the thirst.  He drinks it greedily and slowly feels the agonizing thrumming of his senses easing. He doesn’t hear the door close, have you not left yet. Timothee inhales deeply, and sure enough your sweet fresh scent fills his nose once more. 

He returns down the stairs and sees you peering out the peep hole. “Why are you still here?” He asks and you turn to look at him, your eyes tracing over every detail of his perfectly smooth and blemish free face. “My Dad knows I left my room, I can see my bedroom light on.” You say sheepishly, you feel incredibly stupid at how overprotective your Dad is. He makes you feel like a child. His eyes stay on yours for a moment before Timothee is tearing his gaze away from yours. “He does not know you are here I take it?” He questions, that stupid perfect curl hanging on his forehead looks so soft. You want to run your fingers through his dark curls so badly. “He’d be furious. He specifically told me to stay away from you.” You admit and that doesn’t surprise Timothee in the slightest. Your Father is more well educated about the world than you are, he knows of the monsters and the shadows that wake in the night. Timothee really should have been more careful before carelessly moving into a house across the street from a hunter. 

“So then, why are you here?” Timothee asks, raising a brow as his eyes study you. You freeze under his questioning gaze as you stay planted firmly in front of the door. “You didn’t get your mail...” You say unconvincingly with a blush on your face. Timothee has a small smile on his face as he watches you from a safe distance. “You disobeyed your Father, and risked making him furious with you just so you could bring me my mail?” He asks and you blush harder. All you can do is nod as you continue looking into his mesmerizing eyes. Timothee doesn’t know what to make of you, he is however concerned for your safety. Curiosity can lead to danger. If Timothee were a complete monster like some of his Vampire Brethren, he would have drank you dry and dumped your body by now. He tries not to hurt people however, but your curiosity may certainly lead you into trouble. “Curiosity can be quite dangerous,” He comments off hand as you check out the peep hole again. Your Dad tells you the same thing, but he can be really overbearing. “We all live to die someday anyway, what’s the point in not seeking out answers when you don’t understand something.” You reply and he pauses. Not everything that walks this Earth lives to die. 

“Come with me.” Timothee says and turns, leading towards a back door of the house. He opens it and steps outside, and you follow him around the back of the house towards the far end of the street. You slowly slink to the fence of your yard and he holds out his hand, stopping you when you go to walk again. To the left of the spot you’ve ducked in, you see shadows pass in front of your living room window. Timothee keeps his hand out as his eyes stay trained on the window, and for some reason that you don’t understand- you feel safe with him. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, being around so many humans is usually far too tempting for him. You don’t realize the danger you’re in, Timothee is sure your Father loves you but if you discovered the existence of Vampires? He fears what your Father would do then. Once Timothee hears them move away from the window the two of you slink under it towards the gate going to your backyard where the patio roof is, just beneath your window. 

You feel adrenaline coursing through you as you follow him to the roof, where you can still see your window slightly open. Timothee approaches the patio and hauls himself on top of the roof before reaching an arm down to you. You take his hand and he lifts you onto the roof with ease, and your eyes widen in surprise. He’s a lot stronger than he looks. You can’t shake how the icy feel of his skin sinks to your bone, why is he always so cold? You reach for your window but Timothee grabs you and yanks you to the side, out of view just as your Dad slams into your bedroom again. Your Mom follows shortly after, “just relax she’s fine-” She starts but your Dad whirls around to look at her. “Fine? If she’s over at that damn blood suckers house, she could be dead already!” Your Dad exclaims in exasperation. Blood sucker? You glance over your shoulder at Timothee, who has an almost sad expression on his face. His eyes flicker down to meet yours and his pupils dilate before he pulls his gaze from yours. 

Once you’re stood safely in your room again, Timothee turns to leave when you hear footsteps down the hallway. Before the door opens, TImothee slides into your closet, pressing his back to the wall as the door flies open against the wall. “Where the hell were you?” Your Dad snaps as he glares down at you, you’ve never seen him this angry before. “I went for a walk! I would have gone out the front but you locked me in my damn room like a prisoner.” You snap, and he releases a breath before stepping towards you. His eyes scan over your body, focusing on your neck and wrists. “Did you go see him?” He asks in a low voice and your eyebrows raise. Your Dad glares down at you and you feel your heart race, “no I didn’t see anybody.” You say softly, looking fearfully up into your Dad’s eyes. Your Dad’s serious expression drops as he gently presses a kiss to your head before turning to leave the room. “Good, stay away from him. I mean it.” 

When he shuts the door you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding as Timothee emerges from his hiding spot. “Why doesn’t my Dad want me around you?” You ask him as soon as you hear the footsteps down the stairs. Timothee remains silent as he moves towards your window, “please answer me.” You plead softly as his hands lift the window up further. He pauses before glancing over his shoulder and the sight you see steals the breath right from your lungs. His eyes are glowing a neon emerald color and his canine teeth have grown twice their normal length. “Because I’m different. Don’t seek me out again.” He warns before he’s out the window. 

The following weeks, Timothee plagued your every thought, both waking and sleeping. You felt like you’d been thrusted into some crappy Twilight fanfiction, because seriously? Vampires? There was something about him, something that kept you wanting more. You wanted to be near him all the time, being around him made you feel alive. You thought of his beautiful eyes piercing through yours as he pushed into you, or those pink lips pressing against your inner thighs. You thought of all the wonderfully dirty things he’d say to you with that smooth voice of his, the way he would use his words to coax you to an orgasm. You spent many nights with your hand down the front of your shorts, picturing his fingers inside you instead of your own. You threw your head back into your pillow, your fingers pushing inside you as you closed your eyes and pictured his head between your thighs. You wondered if he’d be a delicate lover? Full of romance and passion? Or a rough lover? Full of anger and pent up tension? You bit your lip to silence yourself when you began thumbing your clit. 

Timothee’s fists curled in on themselves as he took steady breathes to calm his heart rate. It’s time like this that he really curses his heightened senses because right now he can hear your soft groans of his name, and he can smell your arousal. “Fuck Timothee,”  He can hear you whimpering under your breath, begging for him- for his cock. He can barely take anymore. Timothee licks his lips as his mouth waters for your blood and your cum. His hard on presses against his jeans tightly and he reaches down to gently palm himself to attempt and relieve some of the tension. He’s so hard it’s actually beginning to ache. He so desperately wants those whimpers of pleasure coming from your lips to be his doing. He wants to hear you cry out his name and drag your nails down his back. Never has his desire for a human being been so strong before he met you. “Fuck,” Timothee groans under his breath as he listens to you cum around your fingers. He can hear your soft panting, he can smell the heavy sweet scent of your arousal, he can practically feel your heart racing. Timothee listens to the sound of your bed squeaking as you stand, and he hears the taps of your fingers against your phone screen. “I need to cum around a cock so badly, hopefully Evan is still up.”  He hears you mutter to yourself and Timothee is launching up from his bed in a second. 

You scroll through your phone to find Evan’s contact when you hear a gentle tapping against your bedroom window. When you pull the curtains open, the sight of Timothee standing by your window, breathing heavily surprises you. You open your window and as soon as you do, he’s got you pushed up against the wall. “Gonna call Evan huh? Wanna cum around his cock instead of mine?” He husks in your ear, and suddenly it feels like your entire body is on fire. Your phone slips from your hand and lands against the floor with a thud as Timothee traps your hands above your head. “Driving me fucking crazy, every single night I have to sit there and act like I don’t hear you begging for me.” Timothee groans, grinding his crotch up into yours. Up until this point he’s done his absolute best to stay away from you, who he is, the lifestyle he leads, it’s too dangerous for you. Humans who get close to him all end up the same way: as nothing more than blood and bones. “Y-You can hear me?” You whisper, breathless. Timothee’s lips brush over your ear as his hands still hold your arms above your head. “I can hear everything. I can smell your arousal, so wet on your thighs for me.” He growls, an animalistic tone in is voice. 

“Don’t you know how dangerous it is for you to get close to someone like me? For you to want someone like me?” Timothee breathes into your ear, his voice serious and strained as he desperately tries to hold himself back. “What’s life without a little risk?” You challenge, looking into his eyes when he pulls his head back to look at you. Your eyes lock for a few torturous minutes before he slowly releases you. “This isn’t the fun kind of risk Y/N, this is the kind of risk that could get you killed.” He says, turning to face away from you. You approach him from behind, reaching up to place a hand on his shoulder. “Not if you make me like you.” You whisper and he turns, a look of pure fear in his eyes as he lets what you said sink in. “No, absolutely not! You don’t want this, you don’t want me. You don’t know me Y/N,” He stammers, the panic in his eyes building. You cock an eyebrow as you sit back on your bed. “I don’t want you? I’m pretty sure you can still smell how wet I am Timothee.” You purr, your voice sultry as you gaze up at him. 

Timothee’s pupils blow wide open when you spread your thighs, and move your tiny little sleep shorts to the side- revealing your soaked pussy. “I don’t want to hurt you. Once I start, I don’t know if I can stop.” Timothee chokes out, using what’s left of his self control to hold himself back. Your fingers move to your clit, so swollen and practically begging for attention. You begin to rub small circles into your clit as you look him in the eyes, “if you didn’t want this, you wouldn’t have come over here. And if I thought I couldn’t handle it, then I wouldn’t have been moaning your name.” You whisper, a whine escaping your mouth after you finish speaking. Timothee hovers over you, pushing your back into the mattress as his wild eyes bore into yours. “I’ll only do this under one condition; you never ask to be turned again.” He says, and you can tell he’s serious about this. Your hands slide up his chest and grip his shoulders, “I won’t.” You promise and that’s all he needs before his lips are pressed against yours with a bruising force. His hips grind down into yours and you moan into his mouth. 

“Now you’re gonna have to be really quiet baby mkay? Wouldn’t want Daddy to catch us.” He says, his eyes looking down into yours. Your core heats up as you nod, biting your lip. “Yes Daddy.” You smile when you hear his soft groan at the name. But he raises a brow at you, “he’s not Daddy, you are.” You whisper against his lips. Timothee’s hand slides under your shorts as he ghosts his fingers over your lips, “you’re goddamn right I am.” He growls as his lips press against your collarbones. He can hear your heartbeat under your skin and can feel your pulse on his lips but he focuses on his hard cock to control the blood lust. You whine softly as you try to grind your hips against his hand, but every time you move Timothee moves his hand away. Finally you stop moving and wait impatiently for him to touch you while your pulse pounds in your core. Finally he slides 2 fingers inside you and a cry begins to leave your lips before his hand presses over your mouth. “You have to be quieter than that baby, don’t make me gag you.” Timothee threatens in a low voice, but the thought of him fucking you while you’re gagged causes you to moan softly against his hand. Timothee begins to slowly finger you, and you whine in annoyance against his hand. 

He keeps his hand over your mouth as he slowly picks up his pace, and he feels his lust rising. Timothee knows his eyes are glowing as he watches you come apart at his touch, and right as you near cumming he slows his pace again, fingering you agonizingly slowly. Tears of frustration from the denied orgasms spring in your eyes as you begin to wriggle underneath him. The slow teasing touches and edging is making you throb, you can’t take anymore. When Timothee removes his hand from your mouth he replaces it with his mouth as he begins to finger you at a quick pace. You begin to pant into his mouth as your body arches up into him, and you feel the heat building and building in your stomach. You feel yourself on the edge of cumming and your arms wrap around his shoulder, and as you begin to fear Timothee will edge you again, he keeps thrusting his fingers into you, watching as you cum underneath him and gush around his fingers. He gently fingers you through your orgasm before pulling you up to your knees on the mattress. You’re panting when he desperately pushes you to the ground on your knees and you immediately begin scrambling to unbuckle his belt. 

You yank his pants and boxers down and you hear him hiss in relief as his cock springs free. Timothee winds his hand through your hair and pulls your mouth on his cock, forcing your head down until his tip pushes against the back of your throat. You relax your jaw as he begins to thrust into your mouth, using you only for his pleasure- which you are totally okay with. You see his emerald eyes glowing brighter as you reach down to cup his balls. You love watching him lose control, it’s easily the sexiest thing you’ve ever had the privileged to witness. “Fuck, you suck my cock so good baby.” He groans softly as he continues to thrust harshly into your throat. Saliva drools down your chin and tears run down your face, and he loves seeing you like this. On your knees crying from his cock down your throat. When Timothee feels tingles going down his cock he pulls you off him, he can’t cum in your mouth he needs to cum inside you. 

He immediately pulls you up and rips your shorts from your body as he bends you over the bed. When the head of his cock presses into you, you stop him. “Condom?” You ask breathless and he chuckles. “Baby, technically I’m dead. I can’t get anybody pregnant.” He growls before sliding into you. You cry out against the mattress as you feel yourself stretch around him. “I thought I said you needed to be quiet hm?” Timothee says, and you hear a tearing sound. “M’sorry Daddy.” You whimper moments before he’s tying a piece of torn t-shirt around your mouth. “Now I have to gag you because you didn’t listen.” Timothee growls before he begins to pound into you, and you feel a sharp sting every time his pelvis hits yours. Your moans and cries of pleasure are muffled by the makeshift gag as your fingers curl around your bed sheets. You hang on as he continues to slam into you, being pushed up roughly against the bed. “God baby you feel so good around my cock, so fuckin’ tight.” Timothee groans as he reaches down to flip you over, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist. “Evan could never,” he snaps his hips into you, “ever,” he slams against you again, “fuck you like this.” Timothee groans, his thumb moving down to press against your clit. 

Your hands reach up to grab at his shoulders and wind around him, holding him tightly to you. Timothee continues you thrust into you, and when he feels you begin to squeeze around him he knows you’re close to cumming. You sob against the gag, the pleasure coursing through you beginning to overwhelm you. When Timothee presses down hard on your clit and slams into your g-spot, you’re exploding around his cock. Your head is thrown back as you nearly black out, you’re so fucked out you almost miss him coming in hot spurts inside you. Slowly, Timothee reaches down to pull the gag over your head and you both sit there and regain your breathing. He stays inside you as his cock softens, and you pull him down to sweetly kiss him on the lips. He presses his forehead against yours as he slides out of you, reaching down to find his pants. “Are you leaving?” You ask, the pain in your voice unmissable. Seeing the hurt look on your face, he gives in and slides into bed beside you. “i don’t really sleep yknow.” He informs you and you roll your eyes and you place your head on his chest. “That’s okay, I do. So please just hold me until I fall asleep?” You ask him with pleading eyes and he nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

After your breathing evens out, Timothee gently pries you off of him before reaching to find a pen and paper. He scribbles down a short message before leaving it on your nightstand. He finishes getting dressed before disappearing out your window. Timothee doesn’t want to do this, he really doesn’t but it’s not safe for you to be around him. Sooner or later your Dad will find out, and he’ll either lock you away somewhere, or kill Timothee. He knows you care about him, and he wouldn’t want to put you through the pain of watching him die. It’s just better if he leaves town, start over somewhere new. To keep you safe, and he can only pray that when you wake up...you’ll understand. 

When the sun rises the next morning, you didn’t expect Timothee to still be laying beside you. Because your Dad would probably try to drive a wooden stake through his heart. You roll over to where he previously was laying when a little white piece of paper catches your eye. You grab it, with a smile on your face but that smile quickly fades. 

Y/N, 

By the time you read this I will have already left town. Being near me will hurt you, and I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. I will never forget the night we shared, and I know I’ll never forget you. You made me feel alive again.

Always Yours, 

-T.C.

Tears wet your cheeks as you desperately clutch the piece of paper in your hands. You scramble out of bed and throw clothes on before you’re rushing down your stairs and out the front door. The house looks as vacant as it always does, so you hope against hope that maybe he was just lying to keep you safe. Maybe he was still there, maybe he didn’t leave. You pound your fist against the door, not even caring if your Dad catches you. “Timothee!” You cry out, continuing to knock on the door. When you don’t receive an answer you scramble to the back door, and reach down under a rock for a spare key. Much to your delight, you actually find one and quickly throw open the door. “Timothee!” You call out again, your heart sinking in your chest as silence is the only response you receive. You rush up the stairs and throw open his bedroom door, to find his room empty. You begin looking in his dresser drawers, all empty. You look in his closet, which is also empty. You collapse on the bed, tears wetting your cheeks when you spot another paper. 

Y/N

I figured you’d probably come here looking for me, and yes I really am gone. Don’t try to find me, I’ve been in hiding for centuries. I’m good at it, and trust me when I say it’s better this way. I can live happy, knowing you’re safe- you should try to do the same. Thank you for being briefly mine, as I will be forever yours.

Goodbye sweetheart. 

T.C.

You hold it to your chest and cry, you know he won’t come back. You want to believe it’s better this way, but how could this be better when you hurt so much? You lay down on his bed, tears wetting the comforter as you try to hold on to those notes, they’re all you have left of him. 

***taglist***

@sflowervol6​

@90sthemedsunsets​

[thornescratch]

🖊🌙 😐📝

What time of day do you prefer to write? Why?

Late at night, more out of necessity than preference. It’s when I have the least amount of interruptions. Also, it’s a proven fact that the words flow best and hardest when you need to be sleeping or getting ready for bed. It’s just how it works in the universal scheme of things.

What embarrasses you most about your own writing?

When I realize that I’m projecting too much on a character or situation and making it obvious. Like, there are some tropes I don’t mind revisiting over and over, but I get twitchy when I realize, Oops, that’s my issue, not Character X’s, and it’s less realistic they’d feel that way. Or when I catch myself reusing a description or phrase too often. I need to stop limning people in gold; I do it way too often. Or focusing on sweat in weird places during sex scenes. Though, it’s my experience that you do always notice the sweat during sexytimes.

Sometimes it embarrasses me how appealing I find some really OOC or over the top trashy stuff, but everyone’s got their favorite woobie and tropes, so I’ve stopped feeling bad about that.

What is one growth area you have for your writing?

Pacing. I do outline, but for a couple of my stories that were written for exchanges, you can tell where I hit deadline and had to just get it done instead of having a few more scenes or length that might have improved it. (Or, conversely, I should have been more brutal and cut shit that I liked but which ultimately wasn’t necessary. But then again, it’s fanfic.)

Also, uh, just finishing shit. And feeling less silly about it. I don’t like posting WIPs because I like to finish them first, but then I get interested in something else or I think it’s not good enough to post, and it languishes on my hard drive for years.

Post a snippet from a current WIP.

Again, not sure what fandom you're from, so let's go back to hockey since I have it open right now.

"Hey, hi, so like, O and Backy turned into chickens, it's not my fault," Willy said, standing on his front step with a large cardboard box in his arms.

"It's his fault," Burky said from somewhere behind Willy.

"Totally Whip fault," someone else—Kuzy? said, also from behind Willy, who took up a lot of space on a normal basis and even more so when he was apparently hauling boxes around. One arm poked out from behind him and waved wildly, and then there was an unmistakable giggle, so it was definitely Kuzy. "Batya, let us in."

"Fuck you, it's not!" Willy said, and then hoisted the cardboard box up slightly. The box peeped at Brooks loudly, and he jerked back in surprise. "Here, let us in, lemme just explain," Willy added, and then Brooks had three—no, four, no, five, Djoos and Orlov were apparently quietly lurking at the back of the pack as well—teammates stampeding into his house like they were trying to outrun the cloud of youthful indiscretion that Brooks could just fucking see hanging over them.

"Curse my slow door-slamming skills," he said to his now-empty front step, and then closed the door and took a deep breath in order to prepare for whatever the hell was going on.

Most of them were all in his kitchen. Willy had put the box down on the kitchen table and he and Burky were in his pantry; Kuzy was looking in his fridge; he didn't see Djoos; and Snarls, bless his heart, was the only one being polite and standing near one of the chairs, clearly waiting for permission to sit down. Brooks made a mental note to tell Ovi about it, since Ovi believed in positive reinforcement when it came to nurturing the kids, and would probably buy Dima a new car or something.

The box on the table was still peeping. Before Brooks could deal with that, it was drowned out by an even louder noise, which was apparently directly related to Kuzy pawing through his vegetable crisper drawer.

"Batya! It's terrible!" Kuzy said, leaning out of the fridge and brandishing an eggplant at him.

"All of his crackers are wholegrain stuff," Burky called out from the pantry, muffled. "He doesn't have any chips."

"He's got two bags of Skinny Pop, though," Willy added. "Original and White Cheddar."

"Everything so healthy," Kuzy said, making a face. "It's terrible but I guess also good. I know we make best choice to come here."

Brooks took the eggplant away from Kuzy and slapped it against his palm once with a pleasantly solid noise. It had some good heft. "The last person who isn't sitting down at the table quietly in the next fifteen seconds gets to explain to Barry why they have to go on LTIR because someone beat them senseless with an eggplant."

"Like, a real eggplant, or is this a dick joke," Willy said, leaning out of the pantry before his eyes went wide. "Oh."

Kuzy was already opening his mouth with that glint in his eye again, so Brooks pointed the eggplant at him. "Sit. Down. Where's Juicer?"

"I was using the bathroom, please don't hit me," Djoos said meekly, slipping back into the kitchen and sitting down immediately, hands folded on top of the table neatly like a good little d-man. Brooks made another mental note to let Nicky know. Nicky had his own nurturing system for the kids, though that usually ran along the lines of a series of slightly less murderous than usual glares that he used for those currently in his favor.

"Can we bring some Skinny Pop?" Burky asked. "Actually, can we bring both bags?"

"I mean, actually you wouldn't really need to explain so much—" Willy said, and then Burky wiggled past him out of the narrow pantry doors with a bag stowed under each arm, and dove for the table, yelling out, "Hit him, Batya, hit him!"

"Hey!" Willy said indignantly, rushing after him and almost knocking Kuzy over in the process.

There was a briefly chaotic interval like a particularly violent game of musical chairs, but it ended with everyone sitting down in a chair, even if Burky and Djoos were sharing one. Less sharing, maybe, than Burky getting physically dumped out of two chairs in quick succession by Willy and Dima, and then Burky climbing into Djoos's lap, planting himself there, and winding his arms around Djoos's neck despite Djoos's wide-eyed expression of panic, but Brooks decided he couldn't afford to be too particular about it, and Djoos was just going to have to learn to desensitize himself to Burky-induced boners and personal space issues.

The box was still peeping.

Brooks eyed all of them, trying to decide who he had the best chance of getting the story out of the quickest, and then decided that he might as well give up on that and picked Willy, since he had a distinctly guilty expression that was only slightly marred by how he was currently shoving a double handful of Brooks's Skinny Pop into his mouth. "Willy. Explain. And no one else talk until I say they can."

Willy swallowed and licked his lips. "Okay, so. Magic."

After a minute when nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, Brooks cleared his throat. "That's it? That's all you got?"

Willy glanced around the table where all of his teammates were successfully avoiding his gaze (Kuzy and Dima were both pretending to read the nutritional info on the back of the popcorn bag; Burky was actually hiding his face against Djoos's neck; accordingly, Djoos's panic looked like it had ratcheted up by several degrees, and he was staring off into the middle distance with a muscle twitching in his cheek) and when it seemed obvious that no help was forthcoming, he shrugged. "Kinda?"

[miss-noo-na]

Cursed (Goblin!Minhyuk) Part 1

Title: Cursed

Featuring: Lee Minhyuk (Monsta x) X Reader

Rating: PG-13 for now

Summary: Your grandfather always warned you that the family was cursed by Dokkaebi, something you never took seriously until tragedy brought you face to face with one. Now you’re trying to reconcile what you believe to be true with what the strange and handsome creature says he is. 

Note: This was a commission requested by @def-sol​. If you would like a commission of your own, peep my profile link for more info. 

The crackling of burning wood echoed into the sky above you, the wispy orange embers fading into the stars. The shadows of the flames danced across your grandfather’s face, the man who raised you all on his own.

He was regaling you with stories, as he had done your entire life. You didn’t mind that you were too old for fairytales, you just liked the comfort that came with his voice.

“Some say they’re just mischievous, but I don’t believe that,” He said with narrowed eyes, “All the ones I know of are pure evil.”

“Goblins aren’t real, granddad.” You laughed, shaking your head. They weren’t fairytales to him, every creature he spoke of was very real, and he hated the Dokkaebi most of all. He was convinced that every ill-fated thing that had happened to your family and village as a whole were thanks to them, hiding in plain sight.

It was true there had been numerous incidences and tragedies surrounding you most of your life, and at times you were almost just as convinced it had to be something other-worldly, but logic prevented you from accepting the stories as truth.

“You laugh now, but one day they’re going to show their true faces around here, and you’ll be sorry you didn’t listen to me.”

He wagged a disapproving finger as he spoke, and you recalled all the prepping and ritual that had taken hold of his life and in turn, affected yours, too. Most of it was like habit now, second nature, and you had to admit you had grown a bit too superstition to stop, even though a voice in your head told you you were being silly.

He raised a closed fist to his mouth and coughed, and you winced at the sound his lungs produced.

“You’re still not feeling well?” You asked, and he shook his head vigorously.

“It’s just this dry weather, that’s all.”

He was in denial about his failing health. He was getting older, you could see it in the lines in his face and how his gait slowed. Now he had this awful coughing that had been going on for months, and all you could do was tsk at him and send him to bed with some tea. He was too stubborn to see a doctor, he didn’t think the trip out of your village was worth the trouble. 

You stood from your place next to the fire. “Come on inside, I’ll make you a cup.”

“I’m not done with my story!” He protested childishly.

“I’ve heard all your stories, granddad.” You smiled as you waved him inside as you began to walk toward the back door. 

You never thought that would be the last time you saw him.

He passed peacefully in his sleep, you knew something was wrong when he wasn’t up bright and early as he often was. 

After that, everything that followed happened in a foggy haze. Trudging into town to inform someone about his passing, body preparation, the funeral, the rituals, the condolences of far off family and friends nearby. You hadn’t cried and you hadn’t spoken much, it didn’t feel real. You were alone now.

Every night you sat by yourself at the fire, and repeated his stories in your head. It was natural, he was an old man, it would have to happen sometime, but you weren’t anywhere near prepared. Would you ever be? You weren’t sure. You just knew you didn’t know how to till this land and run this home on your own. You didn’t know who you were going to talk to, laugh with, take care of. You didn’t know who would dry your tears, pat your head in approval, or tell you that you could do anything you set your mind to.

Suddenly your grandfather’s stories of the Dokkaebi didn’t seem too far fetched. He hadn’t been keeping up with his rituals lately due to his health and had encouraged you to do them for him, but you brushed them off. You might set out an amulet for protection or burn some incense, but the longer, more complicated rituals seemed like a waste of your time. Until now, of course.

Everyone in your family had been taken from you, and while part of you urged you to think of this rationally, that life simply wasn’t fair, you couldn’t accept that. You couldn’t just sit and take it, let this tragedy and sadness happen to you over and over again with no reason.

You spent days gathering materials, traversing the woods in search of the right herbs and stones for what you were about to do. Sometimes you thought yourself crazy, driven by grief, other times you convinced yourself this was the best thing to do.

Driving away a Dokkaebi was complicated, and difficult to accomplish. If there was one (or many) nearby, haunting your family and bringing ill will upon your land, it could be forced to leave you and generations of your family alone if you did it right.

Once you had everything you thought you would need, everything you could remember your grandfather telling you and everything you could gather from his diaries, you picked a night to begin. 

Candles scattered about the garden, with the bonfire roaring at the center. In front of it a table was lined with fruit and incense, and you made as much noise as you could, banging metal together as you walked the corners of your property, hoping to drive the evil away.

It went on for hours, alternating meditation and prayer with your noise making. You were hot, sweat dripping from your temples, and you were exhausted, but you were propelled. Finally, as the sun barely began to peak from the horizon, you fell into hysterical tears, crying for the first time since he died.

Kneeling on the ground with your head in your hands sobbing, you didn’t hear the rustle of clothing or the small steps toward you, or how the figure lingered over you for some time before you finally picked up your head. Seeing the figure there, half cast in shadow as the morning sun had not reached the garden just yet, you gasped and fell back.

With a tear streaked face, you peered up at the figure through blurred vision. It was a man, dressed in traditional clothing with dark hair and dark eyes, and his handsome face struck you as odd and frightening given the circumstances. You might have thought he was just a villager, brought to the garden by all your commotion, but there were sparks of blue light that radiated off the edges of his frame that told you he wasn’t even human.

“I-it...it’s you.” You trembled as you spoke. He didn’t look anything like the ogre-ish creatures from your grandfather’s stories.

He crouched so he was at eye level with you and you scurried back. He half-smiled in a devious yet amused way.

“Who am I?” He asked.

“T-the Dokkaebi”

He laughed, and the way his smile lit up his face was complicating your feelings. There was something sweet about his eyes and his voice.

“I would think so, you’re the one that summoned me here.”

“What?” You asked, then shook your head. “No, I was trying to drive you away.”

“Well now, why would you do such a mean thing?” He asked with a pout.

This was too much to take in at once. You were mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted and it was hard to form a coherent sentence, to explain the entire situation. Plus, you had just had all of your childhood fairytales proven real right before your eyes.

“You’ve been bringing destruction to my family, I want you to leave.” You sniffed, trying to sound firm, but you were meek and small underneath him, still shaking and half-crying.

He cocked his head, “You’re sure that was me?”

“Who else would it be? Are there more of you?”

“Of course there are.” He stood up once more. “But none of them are in this village. Never have been, actually.”

“That’s impossible.” You near-whispered.

He shrugged, “You don’t have to believe me, but it's the truth. Whatever ill fate has bestowed your family has nothing to do with me or my brethren.”

You felt sick to your stomach, not wanting to believe what you were hearing. How could everything your grandfather spoke of be true and false all at the same time? How could all your misfortune be random?

You pulled yourself shakily to your feet, and glared hard at the goblin.

“I want you gone by today.”

He simply grinned at you, and you turned to extinguish the flames of the candles and stoke out the fire. He simply watched, and you tried to move without fear, though deep down you were terrified of what he was capable of. 

You went inside and collapsed onto your bed, no time to clean the dirt and tears from your face or remove your clothes, thick with smoke smell. When you awoke hours later, your body ached and the sun was beating down on you from the window. You didn’t have the energy to heat up your water, so you dumped the basins you already had over your head, cold and shocking to your skin, but you felt refreshed.

Once you had changed into  clean clothing and had something to eat, you peered out of your back window into your garden, a mess from disrepair and the remnants of your ritual. As your eyes scanned the fields, your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw him.

The goblin waltzed around your cabbage patch, looking a lot more human in the daylight. He didn’t seem out of place, touching the leaves absent-mindedly as he strolled. He seemed so non-threatening, but you knew better.

You marched out of your home and down the garden path toward him, and when he saw you coming he smiled.

“Good afternoon, did you sleep well?”

“Why are you still here?” You planted your hands on your hips and glared.

“You summoned me, remember?”

“I told you to leave.”

“Oh, it doesn’t work like that.” 

You stood up straight and blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I guess you’ve never done a banishing ritual before, because you did it wrong, or maybe it was because there was nothing to banish?” He stopped a moment to think to himself  

“Nevertheless, what you did was a ritual to appeal to me, so I would come here and help you.” He explained, then looked out at your land. “Your crops are decent, but they could be better.”

“I don’t need your help.” You spat, the vitriol dripping from your tone. You refused to believe this creature, he was probably as cunning as your grandfather always told you they were.

“That’s a problem.” He said, unphased by your anger. “I can’t leave until my job is done.”

You felt tension sear through your already aching muscles, getting more and more upset as the goblin spoke. “Listen, I don’t care about what you think you have to do, all I know is that I don’t want to see you anywhere near my land, you got that?”

“Wrong again,” He almost laughed, “I actually can’t even leave the property, even if I wanted to.”

You sighed heavily and raised your fingers to rub your temples, what had you gotten yourself into?

“I really don’t understand why you’re so mad at me, especially since you’re the one that brought me here and all.” He shrugged, there was a hint of naivety to him that angered you, acting innocent when you knew what he really was.

“I’ve heard all the stories, I know all about your kind and what you’re capable of, so if you think I’m going to trust you to help me, you’re dead wrong.”

“That isn’t fair.” He said, his pout returning. “I think you’ve been misinformed about us,”

“My grandfather wouldn’t lie.” You said, voice deepening, daring the goblin to defy you.

“I wouldn’t doubt your elder,” He agreed, then pondered a moment before continuing, “But maybe he was misinformed, too? Did he actually ever meet one of us?”

Suddenly your thoughts went reeling through all his stories, scouring over the details for some kind of proof, when it dawned on you he had never claimed to have seen them in person. All his stories were second-hand, passed down from ancestors, and only strange coincidences had ever happened in his own life. You felt weak suddenly, questioning everything you knew about your grandfather and your family as a whole. Maybe they were just stories? Rumors and blame for life’s very normal tragedies. 

You didn’t have an answer or an argument for him, so you locked eyes for a brief moment, curiosity and a hint of concern on his face, before you turned and walked back to the house without another word.

You fell back into bed and the tears came like a flood, free-flowing and constant. Your grief now mixed with regret and betrayal. It was silly to blame the old man, he had his convictions, but so much of your life had been put into this thing that wasn’t even true. Now you were stuck with a monster of your own making, plus a very real supernatural creature frolicking through your garden. You were lost. You pulled the blankets up over yourself and cried yourself to sleep.

To Be Continued.

[tracle0]

Trade doing an ask game??? Who are you and what have you done with my friend.

Anyway, gimme Almond Crunch, Peanut Butter Filling, and White Chocolate, m'love

I smell mockery. This is treason. Your teeth will be mine by the end of the month. This is for The Spiders Song. Fuck you.

Almond Crunch: what’s your favourite obstacle in your WIP? is there anything you’re excited for your characters to overcome? (or not overcome?)

Well I mean the Spider was the whole was very fun to do, lots of lead-up to it, and figuring out how the characters would end up escaping (do they end up escaping???) and yknow, it was the point I worked towards for the entire story. Got me buzzing. 

But I also really enjoyed the obstacles that were just... last-minute additions. Thinking ‘I need a conflict here’ and taking whatever my brain gave me. Obvs you’ve read it, so you know what I mean by the vines chapter and the fog chapters - they were just fun! Character development! 

Nd things to overcome later, for Fun Sequel Hours - I think the Spider is going to continue to be a lot of fun. 

Peanut Butter Filling: share a snippet that really shows a character’s personality. (or: talk about an upcoming scene where their personality will shine!)

“Didn’t I tell you to follow me?” Andy called, eyeing up the area between them. “I remember saying that.” Atlas only gasped, the cold robbing them of their speech, glaring as if this was Andy’s fault. He made his way closer, stepping over the black ice and stopping a good distance away, studying them. “Idiot.”

“Fuck…” They got out.

“Yes, it’s cold. Freezing water. You’ve got cold shock.”

They shook their head. “No,” they said, words strained. “Fuck you.”

In which we see Atlas being unreasonably angry at Andy and stubbornly refusing to follow his directions, then lashing out at him when it goes wrong, and Andy being surprisingly helpful, whilst also totally getting ready to info-dump about something he Actually Knows About. It was the first scene I wrote after I skipped a bunch. 

White Chocolate: tell me a bit about the happiest moment in your WIP.

Yeah, figured you’d go for this question, nerd. 

As said in previous answer, I think the happiest moments (barring the obvious Spoiler One) are just when the characters are goofing around together. Being dumb. Being young. Trying not to let the daunting task they have dominate their thoughts. Let me find another good one. 

“We could live in Sonder,” Dolly proposed. “In a box down the back of an alley, right near my brother’s house.”

Despite himself, despite the endless evening and torturous conversation, Andy grinned. “It’s expensive to live in Sonder, how would we survive?”

“We could sell beans. I hear beans are popular. Sam, are beans popular?”

She paused, her warm hands hovering over his cold back. “Beans?” She echoed. “Very popular.”

“See? Perfect. We’ll sell beans until Peep senior kicks the bucket, then reveal you as the rightful heir. They’ll write books about it.”

Ask me chocolate-y questions about my WIPs!