#sent like $300

[jeddara-of-jasoom]

Nothing worse than knowing that not only are you not helping the cause you support but may be detrimental to it because you support it-- can not only do no good bc have no relevant skills but also causes bad associations with that thing bc people despise you.

And to not be able to do the thing you love to do most-- that you've been doing all your life and can't help the cause with that thing bc you're no good at it. And can't get good at anything else bc how can you when you still aren't skilled enough at what you've practiced for many years?

Only fit for a less than mediocre life-- doing menial simple tasks (for some reason i can't do complex things, can't think in the right way in order to complete any meaningful projects, can't make connections with people-- it's like i don't exist or shouldn't exist) -- to me, that's not a life worth living.

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, injury, light angst {☆} word count 2.3k

What was justice?

Focalors had asked herself that question many times during the long nights she spends awake pouring over the prophecy of a dead God, words replaying in her mind like a broken record until the sun rose like a blooming flower.

She was the God of Justice, an Archon, yet she herself lacked the answer to such a simple and yet so very complex question.

How does one define what is just and what is not? How does she know that what she believes to be just is right? Is it justice if one being alone may sway the scales of justice on a whim? What justice is there to be found in the cold, watery grave that awaits her nation?

She does not know.

Perhaps she may never know.

What she does know, at least, is that this is not justice.

It is a mockery of it.

She stands before the bloodied, broken body like the judge, her sword held so tightly in her hand her fingers feel stiff, a dull ache adding to the weight of what she's seen. For a long, horrible moment she almost thinks they are dead – something she would have reveled in, only a day prior – before she sees the subtle rise and fall of their chest. Breathing, but barely.

The rain felt heavier upon her shoulders at the realization – she was not sure if it was in relief or horror.

Her nails dig into her palm, mind stuck somewhere between that abject horror and confusion so palpable she swore she could hear the gears in her head turning.

For a long, silent moment as she stares upon the body beneath the heavy rain..she wonders if this is how it all ends instead. If the world itself will simply crumple in on itself and cease – without its heart, it will wither, after all – long before the waters ever swallow her nation whole.

Because, try as she might to rationalize it, for every drop of rain that hits her like pins and needles, soaking her down to the bone..the body of the imposter is completely dry. Even the water pooling along the stones dares not to leave so much as a splotch against their ragged, torn clothes.

She remembers the meeting so very clearly, and she thinks she is a fool to not have noticed sooner – the Creator upon their gilded throne, finger pointed in accusation at the visage far too similar to their own. The imposter. She remembers the lilt of their voice as they called for their death as easily as one would speak of the weather – and to no one other then herself would she admit the spark of fear it had ignited within her. Because beneath the divine charade there was a sick enjoyment in the way they looked upon the imposter – like a bug beneath their shoe.

She understands, now.

She had thought that perhaps finally – finally – she could do right by her people, by her Creator, if she rid Teyvat of this..intrusion.

Now she sees herself as what it all really is – blind lambs following the herder.

Perhaps she would be considered a heretic under the eyes of the law – beneath the weight of justice, heavy as the heart that bears its sins. Perhaps this is a mistake, one she would come to regret.

But for now, she sheathes her blade with unsteady hands, the sound making her ears ring – for what she had almost done, what she had already done – as she stumbles like a newborn lamb towards the broken body of..

..What, exactly? Human? Divine? She is not so sure what to call them. Creator? No. The name is bitter upon her tongue, now, burning like liquid flame down her throat.

Where once she had spoken it in reverence and admiration, it felt hollow and empty, now.

Her vision wavers as she kneels down against the rain soaked stones, the rain upon her back growing heavier as she reaches a shaky hand forth – and for a moment, however brief, she feels the weight of expectation, of a title she fears she may never live up to, wash away with the waters that fall from the heavens.

The bruises and blood smeared across their skin are like strokes of a paintbrush, their body the canvas from which such horrid art is created. It makes her ill.

Doubt wavers her composure briefly – her position is already unsteady. She has never been seen as an equal to many of the other Archons. Her own people do not see her as their Archon, but an actor in a grand play that they shall simply toss aside and replace like a broken doll the moment she bores them.

What does she have left to lose?

She reaches out again, her hand settling onto their shoulder and turning them onto their back. She..isn't sure what to do, actually. She's never been particularly physically capable – she tended to avoid fights, even if she oft provoked them – and she was certainly no healer.

Yet what choice does she have but to march on anyway? She is in the heart of the city, it is far more dangerous here then anywhere else..she had little time to make her move.

Fontaine was, after all, a nation founded on the principle of justice. To know an injustice has been made against the most Divine..the entire nation was in a frenzy.

Her eyes dart around nervously, hands clasped tight on their shoulders and her lips drawn into a taut line – someone would notice her absence. One of the Archons would point out her absence in the coordination of the search.

Her options were just as limited as her time – she couldn't just take them out of the city. Security was tight, and as much as she fancied herself an escape artist – Neuvillette could hardly keep her in one place for too long – she doubted she could do the same with the limp body of the imposter in tow.

..The Palais Mermonia it was, then.

Her room had a secret entrance that few knew about, and even fewer would dare to traverse. She just..had to hide them there for a bit and hope Neuvillette wouldn't notice anything different.

Probably.

Still, there was the problem of actually..transporting the body. As grim as it sounded. Her only solace was the fact she didn't have to worry about them catching a cold, at least, and their breaths were still audible, if only barely. So she had to resort to some..unexpected methods.

Seeing the limp form of, well, the imposter – she'd really have to ask for something else to call them when they woke up – stuck in a bubble of hydro wasn't exactly on her bucket list.

Then again, neither was treason.

Well, first time for everything, right?

It wasn't breaking the law if no one else knew about it.

..Neuvillette didn't have to know about it, really. It was fine.

She could, of course, technically try to talk some sense into Neuvillette – he'd listen to her, right? She thought she was pretty close with him..but he was also the one person more obsessed with justice then she was. Such a stickler for the law..so maybe she's breaking a few, it's fine.

But he was also pretty devout, as much as he tried to keep his worship private – with Focalors around, nothing was really secret. Maybe she could get him to settle down long enough to prove it.

..How was she going to prove it?

An exaggerated groan escaped her lips as she led the bubbled imposter – she really wished she didn't have to resort to that, it would be a lot a more awkward to explain then dragging the body around – through the winding streets of Fontaine. She's just glad she's already memorized the entire city like the back of her hand..and a little dramatics went a long way. People listened when the Hydro Archon spoke, and she was suddenly very, very glad for that fact, even if they treated her more like a mascot then a God.

And partially because she, maybe, just a little..stole a few documents detailing the layout and a little personal exploration of her own – but what Neuvillette didn't know couldn't hurt him!

After what felt like hours, though was really no more then half an hour at best, she'd managed to drag herself – soaked to the bone with rain – and the conveniently bubbled imposter up through the secret entrance and into her room.

The perceived safety, as flimsy as it was, was..comforting. Until she heard the rustle of fabric, the clearing of a throat and the pop of a bubble as she, in her surprise, popped it – and then the thud of the imposter hitting the floor.

She felt a bit of regret about that part, at least, wincing.

"Lady Furina." His voice was as sharp and cool as she remembered it always being – like fresh spring water, she'd heard it described. Soothing. It did not feeling very soothing right about now.

She turned sharply on her heel, a forced smile tugging at her lips on reflex, every muscle in her body tensed – she probably looked like a wet cat right about now, soaked with rain, but that was the last thing on her mind.

"Do you mind explaining what, exactly, you did?" Not what you're doing, she notes – what she did. He was mad. Oh, she was really in for a scolding now. She twiddled her thumbs, laughing weakly, though it quickly dies out at the awkward, tense silence.

"Well, you see – it's rather complicated! I can– I can explain." Her attempts to diffuse are met with a raised brow and the sharp tap of his cane. Every single thought is plagued with the urge to run, but the unsteady breathes of the 'imposter' keep her rooted in place. "Well?"

She was sweating bullets, her nails digging into her palm as she scrambled for any excuse that could warrant her not getting hauled off and scolded thoroughly at best – she was coming up empty. How was she supposed to prove that the 'imposter' was very much not what the 'Creator' said they were? Their unconscious body was doing no one any favors, certainly.

"The Creator is lying," She blurts out, immediately regretting her impulsiveness when she feels the sudden weight of his stare – the piercing hues of his eyes that remind her just who is the strongest between them. It is not her, she knows. It never has been. "You can see for yourself! Don't you trust me, Neuvillette–?"

Her voice is cut off by the sharp click of his cane as he strides across the room in only a few steps, his height making her feel like a child about to scolded. She hated it, but she grit her teeth through the exchange. She reminded herself that this was for the sake of the 'imposter' and any affront to her ego was..tolerable.

To her credit, too, she didn't immediately lash out when she saw him poke at their body with his cane, turning them onto their back – she wanted too, though. She considered it, but the thought was quickly shot down when his stare turned back upon her, and she felt frozen in place again, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth.

Yet she couldn't shake the sudden tenseness to his shoulders, his brows furrowed and a distant look to his eyes. It was..haunting, in a way.

She knows it well, she realizes. The realization and acceptance, the crumbling of every solid foundation you've ever known – leaving you to flounder in the waves, alone and afraid.

The gentleness in which he picks up the limp body surprises her though, his cane set aside. The rain howls like a horrid storm outside, but she cannot focus on anything but the furrow of their brows, the soft noise that escapes their lips.

"I trust that you know that this must stay between us," His voice is soft, like the gentle lap of waves against the shore, as he sets their body down against the bed, his hand lingering against their cheek with something almost like reverence – and if her eyes do not deceive her, affection. "Lady Furina."

She does not hesitate to agree.

"Well– well of course!" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at the feeling of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, a heavy weight that feels like it's dragging her down. "Just what do you take me for?"

He doesn't deign to respond.

It only makes her fume more.

Not that he seems to notice, unbuttoning his heavy outerwear and tossing it on the bed, rolling up his sleeves and focusing on the injured– er..yeah, she really needed a new name for them. Calling them imposter felt wrong.

"So long as you understand, then we will have no problems." She huffs again, pouting and puffing up her cheeks, sitting down on the other end of the bed with only an occasional glance towards him as he worked at peeling away the ragged clothes and examining the injuries marring their skin.

She suddenly felt out of place.

..What was she supposed to be doing?

As if noticing her sudden quietness, Neuvillette sighed, his back turned to her though his attention very much falling upon her. She really hated the feeling like she was being dissected whenever he looked at her. It was unnerving. She doesn't know how anyone else handles it..

"If you are so eager to do something, Lady Furina, then please have something brought up for when our..guest awakens. They will need to recover their strength."

Finally! Something she can do. She perks up, her heels clicking on the floorboards as she darts out like a bullet, unable to stay still for so much as a moment.

Neuvillette, for his part..

Feels an odd sense of serenity as he stares upon the troubled features of the..guest. A peace that lessens the burdens upon his shoulders, the weight of a nation upon his back.

He cannot hear the rain, anymore.

..It must have stopped.

[ohitslen]

God’s #1 anti Vash the Stampede!

Just to be clear this is for my upcoming reincarnation fic 🫡

[deoidesign]

I spent months prepping books and running a Kickstarter, and it's going great! But...

I just got 300 books with the wrong type of cover. They're glossy!!!

There's nothing else wrong with them! I'll be getting the matte covered books that match the set soon, but in the meantime I have 300 extra glossy books.

SO!!!

If you would like a book, the glossy covered copies are going to be $15 instead of $25!!!

If you're okay with the book cover not matching the set, or you're interested in trying the series out, then this is the best place to start! Each book is self contained, so you won't be missing out by starting with the second book.

This is the fan favorite book from the series, so it's a great one to pick up.

Time and Time Again: Summer Camp Cowabummer Volunteering as counselors at a summer camp facing closure, Adam and Steve must manage their campers and the mysterious problems at the camp.

You can buy it here!

[faaun]

we sang in the aeroplane over the sea tgth ☆

[spineless-lobster]

“Cost of living?” the only thing I pay is attention to the soft breeze through my hair and the grass beneath my feet

[soupdreamer]

Not my usual content but i made something! I kept seeing people compare the two but i couldn’t find a true mashup so I made this haha, go check it out!

[delta-orionis]

ok I finally got the third boop badge. good boops everyone

[fingertipsmp3]

Had a dream they made a movie of the Locked Tomb and the actor they cast to play Palamedes was absolutely STACKED and also Camilla had necro ability suddenly? And also there was a tenth house but the inhabitants of it were just crabs

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

Ooh if you're still taking prompts I'm submitting one for Parkner (can't wait for the last chapter of a peach like you btw!) I liked the idea of a combo of #8 and #46 or just #28 because werewolves!

Heeelllloooooo dear darling anon. Do you remember me? Do you still read parkner? You sent this prompt in April of 2022 and Congratulations!! I'm finally filling it over a year later 😬 sorryyy

These prompts are from this prompt list. I was tempted by 28.) werewolf au. both of them are werewolves, which was surprising bc I've been exhausted on werewolves (and vampires) for a while now, but I thought it would be fun if it was human Ned's POV scrambling to keep Peter's big hairy secret from their new roommate, Harley, that they found on craiglist, only to come home one day after months of scrambling to cover claw marks and sweep up tufts of fur to find not one but two werewolves sacked out on the couch, one blond and one brunet, and realize he'd been cleaning up after both of them and they need to have a serious conversation once they're all on two legs again.

BUT I decided not to go that route because a combo of 8 and 46 was just too alluring.

8.) every single kiss so far has been a disaster but it’s really funny + 46.) don’t have a one night stand with your coworker on the spaceship

Is your memory refreshed dear anon? Is this at all familiar? Regardless! I wrote the thing and per the norm I took it too far so here's a snippet of the beginning and a link to ao3 where you can read the other 8k assuming you still read parkner 🫠

adventures with hair dye and feelings — In Space!

or 5 times Harley and Peter don’t kiss + 1 time they do (in space!)

A light breeze stirs the early morning fog that crowds the Avengers compound and whites out the world to none but their research team of four. Tony, their self-appointed leader, clears his throat and looks down his nose at them. Since he’s the shortest this is only possible thanks to the incline of the spaceship’s docking ramp and his position at the head of it.

He pitches his voice to carry. “Before we embark on this scientific expedition I’m going to lay down some very strict rules.”

On Peter’s right, Bruce shifts and huffs impatiently.

“Hey, this is serious, Jolly Green. Listen up.” Tony holds up five fingers. “Rule number five, anybody that messes with my music gets thrown out the airlock, no exceptions.”

On Peter’s left, Harley snorts.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you, Johnny Cash. Mitts off or you’re as good as freeze dried and vacuum sealed. Rule number four, no fragrances. That means no body spray, no candles, and no air fresheners. If I catch so much as a whiff of an artificial scent, I’ll make the owner eat it. Rule number three…”

He begins to pace across the width of the ramp.

“No sticky business. Sorry kid but we’re not chancing a heart attack in space because you get the itch to pace the ceiling and scare poor Brucie into thinking he's in Alien. Which brings us to rule number two, don’t set off the green rage monster.”

“Tony—,”

“That one’s for me,” he says over Bruce. “I can be fair and include myself in the rules.” He stops pacing and looms over them. “The last rule is the most important so I need your undivided attention. Are you listening?”

He looks unmistakably from Peter to Harley then back to Peter. Peter nods.

“Get on with it, old man.” Harley shifts his one allotted bag higher on his shoulder. “Some of us would like to breach atmo before the heat death of the universe.”

Tony eyeballs him but doesn’t rise to his bait like he usually does. His gaze shifts and Peter finds himself drawing up to his full height under his unlaughing stare.

“Rule number one, do not have a one-night stand with your coworker on the spaceship.”

A sliver of Peter’s soul slaws off and dies.

Keep reading on ao3

[ohheyitsjustbear]

Sat at my desk rubbing my bulge through my trousers and wondering why you're not sat under it unzipping me and taking me into your pretty mouth as I idly toy with your hair.

Because I have to go to stupid work to make stupid money to pay stupid rent so I can keep my stupid business open that I don't even stupid pay myself to run :/

[postmanlinksbootyshorts]

my sewing machine is not timed correctly so i haven't been able to test it out yet ://// on the plus side im a pro @ threading it tho

[xxxemilyg1996]

It's been a good week. The first good week I've had in a while. I hope you all also have better days coming your way

[booperesque]

How to explain to a 30 year old man that his nephew being born is more important than work meeting at 8:30pm

[pancakehouse]

hello bab!! absolutely obsessed with this prompt game idea xx im giving you a choice between 12 and 19--take your pick xox

send me a richard siken line and i'll write a mini fic inspired by it

hi omg HELLO ridi!! isn't it insane! prob the worst idea anyone's ever had im so excited about it!!!!!

ahhh god okay i went with:

19. i take off my hands and i give them to you. (oh also, vaguely nsfw? like not at all but also sorta, to be safe!)

“Did you know I’m left-handed?” 

The question startles Remus. At first, he’s sure he’s misheard, muffled as the words are, spoken into the small dip of skin where his collarbone meets the bony juncture of his shoulder. It was never a spot Remus thought was particularly notable or interesting, at least not until the day Sirius Black decided to attach his lips there, and make it so. 

Remus' breath hitches. “Hm?” he murmurs. His hand tightens in Sirius’ hair, fingers scraping scalp, and he tugs lightly until Sirius lifts his head. “What?” 

Night sky leaks through the curtains, and Sirius’ eyes are shining, lips parted and cherry red. There’s always something that sits heavy in Remus’ stomach on the nights they do this, like holding your breath underwater, or the slow tick of a broken clock. Something that’s over, inevitably, just as soon as they're brave enough to admit it. 

“I said-” And Sirius is grinning, because surely he’s only thinking of the bulge in Remus’ trousers, and how they can be as loud as they want now, here, in their flat, and is not - like Remus - thinking of all the ways he’d break himself apart, limb from limb from limb, if it might drag this thing out a little bit longer. “I said…” Sirius leans in, presses a kiss under Remus’ jaw, “-did you know-” another kiss to his throat, one to his chest, “that I-” cold fingers, skirting under his waistband, “...am left handed.” Sirius finishes with a poke and a loud, wet smack just above his belly-button. He snickers into it, warm breath tickling the hairs there. 

“Yes, Pads,” Remus huffs, stomach trembling, his voice horribly shaky. “Seeing as I shared a dorm with you for seven years, and classes for just as long…yes, Sirius, I had noticed sometime in there that you were left-handed.” 

There’s a moment, still and quiet. The sheets are warm, and balmy summer air drifts through the open window. A bird perches on the sill, claws scratching into chipped white paint and grass that’s sprung up between the cracks. They look at each other - him and Sirius, not him and bird - and the heavy feeling in Remus’ stomach feels sort of nice. Like a weighted blanket.

Eventually, Sirius nods. Slowly. “Well, good,” he says. His mouth quirks in the corner. “Good, because I’ve noticed things about you, too.” 

Remus’ hands find themselves back in Sirius’ hair.

Have you? he wants to ask. What kinds of things?

And then: because there are so many things i’ve noticed about you. i noticed that you went for a run in the rain yesterday and your legs were hurting after and your hair looks lovely when it’s damp. and last week at the park your hands smelled like orange slices and sometimes you smile when i walk into the room and also sometimes you don’t. 

…have you noticed how i always smile? when i see you. but maybe it’s not obvious. maybe you don’t think it’s obvious, just like you don’t think i know you write with your left hand and have a scar across the middle knuckle from Prongs and maybe you don’t realise i kiss it every time i have the chance and maybe you don't notice how the smell of oranges in summer always makes me sneeze. have you noticed that? what else is there to see?

“Alright,” he says instead. Because it’s their flat and it’s his bedroom and Sirius’ knees are around his hips, and maybe he doesn’t feel like being brave enough to acknowledge anything else right now. 

“Alright?” Sirius laughs. “You’ll allow it?” 

“Sure.” Remus cups his cheek, grins slowly, hesitantly, into their next kiss. Do you feel this? he wants to ask. My hands, these hands, these lips…they’re all yours. Do you have any use for them? “Yeah, alright, I’ll allow it.”

[mushiewrites]

okay but seriously can you maybe go into what inspired you to write tiny boy big complaints, handsy hyperfixation (a classic), and the newest snf one?? and also maaaaybe the older one about teleporting if you wanna do that one too???

thank youuuuuu :))

- cal <333

from this milestone post / tiny boy big complaints / handsy hyperfixation / losing the battle winning the war / the troubles with teleporting

some of my favs in here <3

tiny boy big complaints my beloved ): and cals fav <3333 this fic is so special to me even though it's one of the lower note ones! it was actually a prompt sent in by cal (found here), so it's kind of hilarious to me it turned out to be his favorite one ):

I wanted george to be soft and tiny and I wanted dream to be soft but playful with him, and somehow I created one of my favorite things ever by doing so. I think this is another fic that I didn't really brainrot the concept with anyone, I am actually 99.9% positive I blacked out and wrote this entire thing and then made cal read it for me before I posted it and cal helped me pick the title tooooooo

cal is just the best is the bottom line actually :D this one was written for him and me and us and that's really all I can say about this one <3

- - - - - -

handsy hyperfixation was started december 26th, the morning after the dream team did their christmas stream, because I went completely insane over pictures of dreams hands (enjoy the blurry pictures <3)

then I sent these messages to cal (yes he is nick nelson) followed after I blacked out and wrote 4K words in one sitting:

then I let the fic sit until the end of february, and I finished it in the beginning of march. I will be honest, this one was absolutely 100000% a self indulgent fic, purely for myself and I didnt really care if I posted it or not. cal actually told me to name it "mushie's self indulgent hand fic", which....absolutely not....but it's correct. whatever. sue me, Im obsessed with dreams hands ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

this is my favorite thing I've ever written, it's my baby, it's 7.2K words for me and me alone lmfao. I actually was terrified to post it bc I didn't think anyone would read it, and now it's over 100 notes. I actually could cry thinking about how proud I am of it (even though I messed up some things in it, I don't care, I poured so much into this fic)

so yeah. that's handsy 🥺

- - - - - -

losing the battle winning the war was written 100% because of @wishitweresummer. this little idiot asked to commission me (which I said no to bc she's an idiot) bc she wanted to read about back of the neck raspberries....I wonder why? she also wanted it to be the first time george got back of the neck raspberries! cute, right? again....I wonder why :D

cal named it and its the perfect title tbh

summer requested for it to be playful and I know summer loves rough, so I made sure to really play up the snf fighting dynamic and I actually love what I created ):

she ALSO requested for george to struggle and be cocky, and for him to come out on top and completely destroy sap. she said she wanted it to be in a place that wasn't super common, a new spot for george to discover, and I adore the spot above the hip bc it's such a surprisingly sensitive spot! so that's how that was born

I truly just wrote this up to make sure I flustered the shit out of summer. I included things that people know get her and things that only I (and maybe one or two others) know about purely just to have summer yell at me for it :D

I love how this one turned out, targeted fics always turn out better to me for some reason <3

- - - - - -

the troubles with teleporting was the first time I ever wrote XD 🥺 this was a prompt that emma sent in, I can't find the actual prompt bc it was when my tumblr was a different name and the link is broken BUT

I remember just getting this idea to make the teleporting itself tk george at first instead of XD doing it right away, just bc I had the idea that it would kind of feel like when you go down a drop on a rollercoaster???? but a little more intense?

I also remember being super excited bc emma actually had the idea of the teleporting itself tkling instead of XD, but neither of us mentioned it to each other until after I wrote it that way! great minds think alike :D

again, it was my first time writing XD, and for those of you who don't know, XD is one of my all time favorite lers to read and write. I wanted to make sure I did XD justice, and I really love this silly lil fic, and how XD winds up just tkling the heck out of george at the end anyways (they even lifted george's arms up above his head while XD's bottom set got his ribs oh my goodness that was cruel huh 🫠)

the teases in this were pretty good too (':