#sidealley

[fixupmyhome]

[therehereeverywhere]

[eriksownphotography]

A side alley in Glasgow, May 2020 #glasgow #scotland #scotlandphotography #southside #bnwphotography #bnw #blackandwhite #blackandwhitephotography #scotland_insta #lockdown #lockdown2020 #walking #alley #sidealley #tree (at Glasgow, United Kingdom) https://www.instagram.com/p/CAmltkwhcGn/?igshid=1aelmm158arma

[smashingphotographybydines]

Girl + Travel. @lizzieadorelove #smashingphotography #nikon #travel #aarhus #denmark #scandivibes #danish #chickachicka #alley #restaurants #sidealley #citybridge #nighlife #hostel #walkover #sidealleys #signboard #restaurant #porky #beer #life #streetphotography #travelphotography https://www.instagram.com/p/B-uWcxMj7Kt/?igshid=1zxhyzbb2b0e

[cupcakesandhags]

i also would like opal to lead me to a sidealley, tie me up with silk rope, and knock me unconscious with her shimmer magic where precisely do i sign up?

[cutelittlevamp]

His sun

Hey there^^

So, this is just a try again. I hope you like it a little

This is a short Yandere!Shihai x Reader, both are adults

wish you a nice day :)

______________________________________________________________

You walked home alone tonight. Well, your colleague, who’s normally walk you home, didn’t show up at work today. Of course he didn’t. He frowned when he thought about how close he always got to you. Too close. And you? Being as innocent and naive as you are didn’t notice his obvious intentions.

But he did notice it. He just had to protect you from your colleague. That man was no good. You should look at him instead, like he looked at you.

A low chuckle escaped him as he watched you on your way home. You were so tense, as if you’d anticipate something. He couldn’t blame you. It was a cruel world you lived in. Way too close to someone like you.

When Shihai first saw you he’d been captivated by you. Maybe he never really talked to you in person, but he did leave you notes from time to time. He, who he’d always live in the darkness, the blackness of the world - even as the hero he was - had found you and you were …

a sun. Yes, a radiant sun in his darkness. You’d be his light.

The white-haired man watched from his hiding place in the blackness as you walked into the sidealley. It was the last small street before you’d get to your apartment. It was dark - blackness everywhere. It was the perfect spot for someone like Shihai.

This time of night nobody was around. Nobody would come to help and as he was the hero on patrol in this area right now …

Tonight was the night, he thought when he reached out of the blackness of the pavement to grasp your ankle. You let out a startled shriek and started to pull your leg. He let go in that exact moment and you fell to the ground.

Emerging from the blackness he smiled at you. You could only make out his hair and his white teeth in the dim light and it scared you half to death. “Who - who are you?” you stuttered, trying to get up again but falling over your own legs in your panic.

“Don’t be scared,” he said reaching out for you, but you backed away. He huffed when you stood up on shaking legs, turned and started to run away. Looking over your shoulder again and again to see if he’d follow after you, you couldn’t really see him merging with the blackness again and only noticed that he was gone when you bumped into something.

“I told you not to be scared, sun,” he whispered into you ear while holding on tight to your shaking form. You opened your mouth to say something, but no voice escaped you. He pulled you closer to him to hug you, even though you struggled in his grasp. He shushed you, tried to calm you down by whispering reassuring worlds into your ear, but you only struggled more practically begging him to let you go again.

“I really hoped that I didn’t have to to this, but you leave me little choice here,” he sighed, brining one of his hands to your face. You noticed the sweet smell before you noticed that he held a cloth, but by then it was already too late. Shihai smiled at you as you went limp in his arms.

“Time to get you home now, my sun.”

[losingmyjustice]

@nurotoxin​ sent;

🏃 / 🕕 / 🔎 / 💢 / 🎤 

Headcanons~!

🏃 - Are they athletic? 

Yes. No. Sort of. He was never part of some sports team, if that's what you're asking. (Haha. Dreycott. Sports Team. Funny.) — To say he's entirely inexperienced in self-defense wouldn't be right, but it's the bare minimum, just enough so he got at least something to work with should he have fucked-up big time. Though that is nothing of use if you compare it with Spirale's Folk instead of the ones in London. Like, did you see some muses.

However!! As someone that vastly prefers flight over fight (BEFORE he got this whole set of anger issues here in Spirale, that is.), he's pretty much capable there for such! Clive can run pretty fast, has a good stamina too, and a good skillset for parkour as well. Parkour-wise he's not, uh, not that impressive, but it's enough to create a good distance between whoever is after him, assuming they do not have the same (or even excel his) capabilities. Make a path somewhere where there isn't one, especially in sidealleys, pretty much. It was something that he got through experience, 14 and onward up to his life as a Journalist, where it was still a vital trait to have.

But, yeah, as someone who gets out of trouble either by running the fuck away, or negotiating (/bluffing, you know his cocky false confidence well) with them — he's no good in fights, physically speaking. Granted, emotions do help you get out strength you didn't even know you have, but in a place like Spirale it'll only help you this much. What I'm trying to say is, he's a danger more to his own health than to anyone he interacts with, really. Good Runner, horrible Fighter.

🕕 - The longest they’ve ever been awake

His limit is three days! On the fourth he'll black out somewhere, prolly at the worst time ever. He's fully aware of his limit and won't even try to push it further than that.

However, it might be worth noting that, yes, Clive still avoids sleep as much as possible — so he's almost always around 2-3 days awake before heading to sleep, and catching shut-eye less than the minimum, no longer than 5 hours. Is it healthy? Ha. Haha. Hhhhhhhh

I can at least say that this is better than it used to be — he actually. Y'know. Heads to sleep. Back in London he just fell asleep out of nowhere while typically overworking and that's it. Tables are pretty comfy after all-! /s

🔎 - Random detail about them

I do try to mention it subtly (or less-so subtly) during threads and the like, but Clive is left-handed! He does train to be ambidextrous later on in life, but not in this canonpoint. Kudos to you if you can guess why~!

💢 - Something other’s do that gets on their nerves

maffa what the fuck you know that isola-clive at this point can be agitated by air alone right What do you expect me to say—

Alright, uh, here's something for teen-clive 'round the time of the Proxy Event — know what could go under his skin by an instant, despite how much of a cool head he can keep? Calling him an Orphan. Barely anyone knows in the first place, yet should it still happen — it's a sensitive topic to touch on, really. He's gotten better at handling it when he got older, but especially back as a 14 year old, shortly after his loss, Clive reacted badly to the label, his response still haunting him couple years later. Orphan. Basically, it's a good thing GLaDOS here doesn't ... do that.

🎤 - Can they sing?

He's a theater kid what dO YOU THINK,

Yes, he can! Pretty well at that, actually. Pre-Incident he sung in a humble Choir by your local church, and he did get paid lessons during the Summer Holidays back in the days where Constance was still alive, thanks to that learning how to control his voice and the like. While she didn't want to force any hobbies on him, she still wanted him to have a good set of abilities of what she'd deem important, manners not being the only thing on the list! He didnt sing much before people, though — few exceptions, like a karaoke bar trip or a dare. Singing was more of a thing he'd do when he's by himself.

In Isola, singing is something rather nostalgic, the select few songs he still has fully memorized bound with precious memories. It's possible he'd sing to himself while wandering or during his stay in spots like the Saviors Respite, but only when he's wholly certain he's alone, and at least three kilometers away from GLaDOS.

what im trying to say here; no, they won't have a duet. If she'd ask, no matter if in context of a test or not, she'd either get nothing or an intentionally obnoxious singing of the chorus from a song like fuck you or smth

[agri-art-archive]

Shift  and Shiver

Warnings: This work contains body horror, blood, some graphic descriptions of said body horror, and general ill feelings under the Keep Reading line.  Description: A little drabble of how a certain scene in The Mind at Heart might go down. Really just an excuse for me to explore ideas concerning the Jekyll/Hyde transformation. I wanted to go for “magically getting torn apart”, and this is the first version of what I’m sure will become a series of experiments with how “magically torn apart” could play out. I hope you enjoy!

Shift and Shiver - Written Aug 2019

For a moment, before he opened his eyes, he believed he was back in the med-tent. 

Wind swooshed quietly through a multitude of little rips and tears, the spaces between the ground and flaps of the canvas tent. The air was warm and smelt of spiced fruit, bringing with it the muted buzz of a busy capital shaking itself awake in the dawning sun. 

For a moment he was wrapped in the comfort of familiar memory, quietly making a mental checklist of his tasks for the day as if he were still laying in his quarters.  Stock up on bandages… Check over inventory… Progress report of Ltn. Qwel'lyn, Strongarm, Bomber, Sel'vil…

For a moment everything was warm, right, then the sky splintered apart with a blinding, white flash and a fierce roared. Frigid raindrops hammered against the alleyway, and finally he opened his eyes. 

Dal'styr glanced around, shifting and drawing his coat closer around his body. A ramshackled eve stood as failing shelter between him and the downpour. As the air chilled, a murky fog rose up from the cobblestone and crept slowly down the grimmy alleyway, toward the little nook the Doctor had found crammed between two soot-stained brick buildings. In his desperate scramble away from Lo'dion the night before he'd made the decision to stop and rest, thankful for the small scrap of shelter; now he regretted not pushing on. His limbs ached, and a pressure was building behind his forehead that made his ears ring and soon promised a pounding headache. He hoped the theater would have something to treat the other more serious wounds across his back before they festered too much. He was already counting on the lashes splitting open once more as he started moving, and with the way his shirt clung uncomfortably to his skin- they'd probably bled through and dried to the cloth overnight.  

No use dreaming of a life he'd forsaken.

As he hauled himself up- catching the slimy wall with a hand to steady untrustworthy legs and sending a nearby rat skittering away with a scree- the very last wisp of groggy sleep disappeared. His back burned. Dal'styr started moving anyway, it was only another hour's walk. He could rest better soon. 

It was early enough in the day that the Doctor tried to take it easy, to slow his steps and be careful on his stiff, stinging ankle; however the looming threat of Maestonian Cavalry bloodhounds kept his movements jittery and heart pounding anxiously. 

He held his head down, avoiding the eyes of any equally skittish passerbys hunched against the rain. As soon as he could, he ducked off the garbage-strewn, cobblestone central road and into a putridly sweet sidealley. After a few quick glances around, the Doctor heaved a strangled sigh and rested gingerly against the wall of a Casket Company leaning precariously over the lane, hands pressed on the rough stone to serve as a cushion for his back. It brought no relief. As he'd walked his bones had started to ache, joints seering if he so much as thought of stretching them. His breath came ragged and tore at his throat, despite a lack of much exertion. 

He had to get to the Theater. He'd been told any supplies needed would be there for him. He could rest and start setting up a functional clinic for them as soon as the Cavalry gave up the chase. 

With a wet, rattling cough that left his glove speckled worryingly dark, he pushed off the wall and limped down the grimmy, detritus-littered alley. His ankle had gotten worse, and his other foot stung with every step. 

Hazy with exhaustion and pain, Dal'styr didn't notice until it was too late. A scraggly alleycat, bald spots scaled over with disease and missing half an ear, attempted a jump. It missed. Sending the metal can it had been aiming for to the stoneway. It clattered loudly under the Doctor's feet, echoing against the walls in such a way as to ring in his ears. He tripped; the world spun around him and suddenly cold bloomed down his right side. 

He gasped in surprise and pain, soon devolving into a ragged cough that left his ribs sore. Every movement ground bone against bone and left an uncomfortable warmth in its wake. 

It took three tries to get himself back up, breath coming in mighty, scratchy heaves of vapor that he could see before him. The Doctor stood there a moment, swaying, shivering in the cold and taking stock of the aftermath through muddled senses. His coat, already soaked through in the rain, only got muddy stains from the fall. An iron tang bittered his mouth, tongue thick and resting heavy behind his teeth. He felt ill, beyond ill. Muscles ached as if poisoned, bleeding from the lungs or throat. Head pounding. Bones sore from deep in the marrow, joints aflame. This wasn't limited to his actual wounds anymore, but stood as he was- now moved to rest against the edge of the Casket Company building on his uninjured shoulder- with the world swaying in blurred double vision, he couldn't hold a cohesive thought for more than a head-pounding second. 

Something was wrong. 

It had been building in his chest, in the blood of his bones and fiber of his being for a while now.   At first, immediately after that Night, he dismissed it as stress and exhaustion. Mae knows he suffered both far too often. Then it was dismissed as the flu, something that made him achy all over with the weather and the changing seasons.  Lately however, certain sensations had been pushing his certitude and his sanity. Crawling claws under his skin sent shivers down his spine, the gentlest of scents suddenly felt like fire, bringing tears to his eyes and leading to nosebleeds, sometimes sparking migraines that left him useless. In the quiet moments of day and night, whispered, incoherent and muted voices echoed all at once without there ever being any one there. At times, he was sure he caught glimpses of smokey eyes in glass reflected back at him in his peripheral vision. These days, everything often occurred all at once, starting slow but building into a cacophony that brought him to his knees, clutching his head and clenching his jaw against the hail of maddening confusion. 

Now everything was upon Dal'styr, skin itching uncomfortably and turning his stomach in knots. He couldn't heave- he'd eaten nothing. 

He cast an eye behind him, breath hitching as a wave of nausea swept over him, and forced stiff, uncooperative limbs to walk. He had to get to safety. He'd wasted enough time. 

The Doctor stumbled like a drunk the rest of the way, by some stray will of Mae managing to remain upright. Past dirty factories and clogged ditches, across a crumbling bridge splattered in once-colourful graffiti of at least a dozen generations of gutter poets. He hurried the last stretch of road, out in the open with the distant snorts and yowls of the cavalry's hounds nipping at his heels. Finally, the entrance to the series of back alleys leading into the theater's courtyard dawned ahead of him and soon he was safe; the rain held at bay by wildly untamed ivy and roses, growing thick above and along the sides of the path, abandoned long ago by whoever had first planted them. The last part of his trek passed in silence, relief bringing peace of mind but not of body, the world spinning desperately.

No sooner had Dal'styr set foot inside and bolted the door to the Theater behind him did he collapse, first to his knees and then keeled over to rest on his hands as well. Shadows twirled and swirled magnificently in his vision, the smell of dust, chemicals and blood clogged his nose. 

Everything was wrong. His ears rang.

He wanted to scream, maybe he had- scrabbling to take off his rain-drenched jacket as it clung too tightly to his skin, too uncomfortably. 

Except, it wasn't clothing. It wasn't anything that could be removed- it was his very skin, rippling and sending shudders across his flesh. Writhing movement under his hands as he flung the clothing away from him with a cry, eyes wide, gasping for air between wheezes. He bit down a scream, scorching heat flashing across his shoulders, his forearms, his back and sides.

The anchoring runes. 

A deep, unsettling dread weighed in his stomach, panic clawing at his throat.This was It. Whatever had been slumbering under his skin had finally decided to simply tear through. His mind screeched to a stop, and all he knew was pain. The first bone snapped with a sickening crack, and cry as he might, Mae couldn't reach his unholy soul to save him. In a snap of clarity, he understood all but nothing, small black dots dancing in his vision. 

A body was not built to contain such magic. 

The ink of the tattooed runes across his skin boiled, sight blurring beyond any cohesive thought as violent shreds of purple and black danced in a mind-numbing display around him. No matter where he looked, spinning around only to end up sprawled on his back upon the hardwood floor, he couldn't escape it. His ears rang to the point of pain, building and pressing against his drums until they popped and warmth bloomed down his skull, silencing his whimpers and mangled cries. He was pretty sure his eardrums had ruptured, but the rest of his body ached too much to tell one pain from another. Why hadn’t he passed out yet?

The Doctor tried closing his eyes, but he couldn't escape the overwhelming flashes of incomprehensible purple hues, head pounding in time with his heart.  He felt like he was being ripped apart and devoured, powerless and unable to move against an unknown force that pinned him to the floor. Something had broken under strain, and now unwilled magic claimed his soul, tearing muscle from bone in sharp gouges. Bones splintered and split, twisting inside his flesh. The feeling so sickly, unnatural, he screamed desperately, unable to breathe, to think- It continued on forever. His back arched up, arms pinned to his sides. Sickly purple danced across his vision. He felt heavy, compressed and stitched back together incorrectly. His body shifted and twisted, snapping and sloshing, cracking, gloshing back together. The Doctor felt everything, clawed at his ribs as they fractured, pleaded to all who might hear when his organs ruptured inside his abdominal cavity and subsequently mended with nauseating squelches. He cried when his heart jittered and sputtered, skipping a beat or three and rippling debilitating aches across the core of every muscle in his body. 

Then it ended. 

Skin that had torn and marched its way across his flesh settled, bones mended with sharp hisses. Blood gurgled, stopped pouring from his nose, his eyes, his ears. Throat burning, but everything else settling into low, throbbing soreness along his body, Dal'styr lay on the floor for an eternity, curled in shivering fetal position on his side. Cold settled into his veins. His flesh was not his own, it felt wrong. Wrong and sickening to the stomach. Everything was pressed in, as if he were under the ocean, every breath labored. 

It had ended just as suddenly as it started, not even five minutes ago. 

Dal’styr coughed up blood, slowly coming back to awareness and recognizing the bitter metallic tang in his mouth for what it was. The air was charged in the wake of what… ever had happened. Sharp and brittle, exactly as it was after an extended use of magic. Spots of inexplicable light danced across his vision from where flashes of purple had burned into his retinas. His eyes stung, closing them brought little relief to a bullet-like migraine parading across his brain. He brought a hand up to dab at the cooling, sticky liquid under his nostrils but quickly found his limbs heavy, uncooperative and shaking terribly. 

He tried to take in a deep breath, but his ribs ached and clicked with the last few movements of resettlement, stealing the oxygen from his lungs. His ears were still ringing. He could only hear his sputtering heart and the blood rushing past his temple. His joints took the longest to cooperate, creaking like unoiled hinges, grinding and burning against each other. Once certain his shaking legs could hold him, and with a chair, the wall and a shelf's help, he was back on his feet, swaying with the kind of lightheadedness he might've called blood loss. 

There was a mirror on the counter just across from where he now stood, and bracing himself for the horrifying magic-mangled scars he expected- took a look at himself. 

He did not recognize the face of his reflection.

[thorcat]

ℒ Pulling them into a hall/alley to kiss them passionately. ▽ Running your hand between their thighs, and splitting their legs apart. [[ LET'S COMBINE TWO BIRDS HERE! For Ufah and a certain Halfbreed Elezen/Miqo'te known as Lusaut >3 I'm in a spicy mood before I potentially crash into the Odin sleep ;~; ]]

- Nsfw Warning -

Well some been very impatient.

The halfbreed was meeting up with the ascian to tease him..almost challenge him and now he was paying his price, with the beast snarling at the cocky man and digging those claws deeply into the fragile skin, to not only cause him to bleed but also force him to move along and into a dark sidealley. He pinned the poor guy, slowly licked the blood from the bleeding wounds and finally moved up then, to force one hell of a deep kiss upon the others lips. The taste of metal was shared and mouth sucked on the others tongue, to force him dancing with his own in the ascians greedy mouth.

Meanwhile did a clawed hand run up on those soft thighs, to hook into the cloth and shred some parts away, to give the beast some sort of access, but denying to fully undress him. Forcing him to sweat and and endure the uprolling heat in those tight clothes.

And with only the most important part exposed, to grant the halfbreed some sort of freedom below there, the ascian suddenly grabbed the guy and forced him on his knees. “Lick.” was the only words the beast spoke to him and a swift lifting on the ascian robe made clear -what- he was supposed to lick.

The beast wanted to play a little around, before he would feast on the cocky little guy.

Playing his favorite game~

@toxiccreed

[rachellucie]

There used to be 3 outside privies and a couple of coal bunkers here! #victorianhome #sidealley #allthemodcons #myhouse

[chamud1964]

#journey #Hamburg #sidealley #citylights #cityview #architecture #modernarchitecture #mypov (at Großneumarkt)

[a-m-dah-blog]

#sidealley #backstreet #backalleys #eveninglight #lightshadow #chancerylane #a_m_dah_london📷

[herawell]

#LOVELY PERSON! #WRITES AMAZING FIC AND HAS AN EXCELLENT BLOG ( @mihrsuri )

she always puts really nice things on her blogI like her Tudor related posts but i find the other material quite fascinatingeven if i don't know much about it :P She seems like a lovely person too! ( @mademoiselle-katie )

Ally, you’re one of the first people I found the courage to talk to in Tumblr. Your writing is etheral, and I literally read your fics as soon as you publish them, that’s how deep in love I am with your characters! You’re a delightful person to talk to, and I wish I know you better.  ( @incurablescribbler )

Thank you all of you!

@sidealley

[jamezvaldes]

“I need a place to stay.” For Andy and Bucky

 Andy walked down the alleyways, glancing over her shoulder every ten steps. She had to make sure that no one from the gambling den had followed her out. Luckily for her her trench coat was black and was perfect for covering over the blood. For once must of it wasn’t her blood. Andy ducked into a small enclosed sidealley as she thought someone was behind her. 

The journey back from the gambling den to the motel took longer than she thought. She wasn’t even meant to be staying at this motel but at the hotel above the casino she got thrown out of earlier. 

She pulled her duffle bag back onto her shoulder. It was heavier than she had expected when she left the den but the harsh weather and long distance probably made it worse.  Her heels were had been digging into her heels with every step she took. They were killing her.

  Her fists slammed against the door of a shoddy motel room. She looked over her shoulder once again. 

“What?” Bucky answered the door, his hair had fallen over his face. 

“Buck I need a place to stay“ she looked over her shoulder again. 

“Come in” Bucky stood to the side as Andy stepped in. 

Her eyes glanced over the motel room. One double bed, a crappy box tv on top of a wooden chest of drawers which you wouldn’t dare put your belongings in. Two small bags set at the foot of the bed - one bag full of Bucky’s clothes and the other full of Andy’s.  It was a filthy room, but it was cheap. 

Andy threw her duffle bag full of money into Bucky’s arms. “Thanks” she said as she started she began to untie the cloth belt. She dropped her coat to the ground to reveal that her that deep blue dress was no longer just that royal blue colour but covered in blood as well. 

“Andy?” panic laced Bucky’s voice, “are you alright?” he asked as his eyes scanned her looking for any noticeable sources of the blood. 

“Oh yeah, I’m fine” she smiled, she brushed off Bucky’s concern. “It’s not my blood” She said this as if it was a normal thing for her to be covered in blood which wasn’t hers. 

She lifted up her bag and started searching through it for any clean clothes to wear. “Can you unzip me?” she asked as she continued searching. 

Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat as he slowly made his way over to her. 

“I’m not gonna bite” she chuckled to herself, “I just can’t reach the zip” 

Andy’s back was still to Bucky, he took the zip in his metal hand and slowly pulled it down ensuring that he wasn’t catching the material of the dress in the zip.  She let the dress drop to the ground and she kicked it away with her foot. 

Bucky immediately stepped backwards. 

“Why aren’t you staying at the room in the hotel?” he asked, his gaze was fixed on the floor. He didn’t want to look at Andy who was currently undressed in front of him.

“My plan worked. I got kicked out of the casino” She replied as she pulled her oversized t-shirt over her head. 

“That was the plan?” he asked, confused how she ended up with a duffle bag full of money if she got kicked out. 

“Gotta love counting cards” she laughed, “yes it was. I was there to get noticed by an underground den” she explained as she tied up her hair. 

“That still doesn’t explain the blood” he pointed to her ruined dress which had been thrown haphazardly on the ground.  

“Oh, I got kicked out of the game and they wouldn’t let me take the money I’d won.” her voice trailed off knowing that Bucky didn’t appreciate the body count she left in her wake. Bucky picked the money duffle bag off the floor and swung it to Andy who started to count the money up. 

An hour and half later, Andy had counted the money up, it was just enough to do them for the next couple of weapon and information sales, but probably not much more than that. 

As Andy sunk into the sheets, Bucky grabbed the pillow and the blanket off the bed and dropped them both on the ground to the right of the bed. 

“Old man, I’m not letting you take the floor” Andy protested as she propped herself up on her elbows . 

“It’s okay” Bucky said as he tried to convince her that it was alright. 

“Bucky, get back into the bed, it’s big enough for us both” Andy said as she stole back the pillow that he’d taken to the floor. 

“Andy” “Bucky” 

Andy glared at him, Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew that he wouldn’t win this fight, Andy was too stubborn for this. He climbed into the bed which was meant to be his for the night. 

[a-m-dah-blog]

#stmarysomerset #saintmarysomer #sirchristopherwren #cityoflondonhistory #londonevening #sunsetinlondon #londonchurches #historicalbuilding #londoncityarchitecture #sidealley #a_m_dah_london📷

[herawell]

On Sep 4, 2011, seven years ago today, I created my FFN account. I was twelve, my first username was FuneralCricket, and my fandoms at the time were Percy Jackson & HP. I’m nineteen now, and since then I’ve rebranded to AllegoriesInMediasRes, written 100K+ words, dabbled in at least a dozen fandoms, gotten an AO3 account & a Tumblr, and posted 70+ stories as well.

@sidealley