#suddenly inspired to write again

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

[immortallylightbird]

Prompt #12

(SPOILERS FOR AVENGERS: ENDGAME)

Three different pairs of eyes snap open in tandem, each during different points in time. But all equally confused on what was going on.

————

Danny Fenton awoke with a gasp, phantom pains shooting up his arm. The halfa looked around frantically before sighing in relief at the sight of his room. He grabbed his phone to see what ungodly hour he woke up at, only to stare in bewilderment at the date that was displayed on the screen.

'That couldn't be right.' He thought to himself, frowning. Last he checked it was not 20XX. Nor was it two months before the portal accident. After a bit of contemplating he groaned, getting out of bed and starting to get ready for the day while internally cursing Clockwork. He couldn't even visit the time ghost to yell at him! Danny then spluttered as a bright green sticky note was slapped onto his face.

'Have fun living.'

————

Jason Todd didn't immediately open his eyes, that'd be stupid and would against any and all training he got from Bruce. He could just tell that something was *off* though. He felt different, he couldn't place exactly what was different but it was definitely something. He carefully listened to his surroundings, trying to see what kinda place he was being kept in. After assessing the room for any potential threats he slowly opened his eyes. His brow furrowed as he looked around what seemed to be his room as a teen when he was living in the manor. Jason slowly sat up and got off the bed. He quickly gauged that his height was immensely different as he walked over to a mirror, he immediately stared in shock. A good description of his reaction would be 'what the actual fuck'. He was a teen again. Like, around the age he stole the batmobile tires. How the hell was that possible? Did Flash fuck up the timeline again?? His gaze drifted to a bright green sticky note.

'Enjoy your time living.'

————

As Peter Parker woke up sitting upright while gasping for air, his first thought was: 'I should be dead.'

But no, he was in his and May's apartment, very much not dust floating through space. He looked around at the many Star Wars Legos and other very distinct things that made up his room. Nothing was changed, and his spidey-sense wasn't going off, but there was definitely something wrong here. Peter looked down at himself, trying to find any evidence that was dusted away before grabbing his phone off his nightstand and looking at the date, 3 months before the snap. How was that possible? He should be dead- no, he WAS dead. He got up and walked around his room slowly, trying to look for anything that signaled that he was dreaming. There was nothing. It wasn't a hallucination either. Just as he turned around to walk out the door, he spotted a strange bright green sticky note stuck to the door.

'Use your time wisely.'

————

In another realm during a different moment in time, a deity smiled, shifting between forms. He would probably be getting in trouble for this later, but it would be worth it in the end. Afterall, he knew these kids would make the best of the time they had now that they knew of future events.

Well, hopefully. Nothing ever goes according to plan with time.

[phoenixcatch7]

Every so often I reread The SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun by @esamastation and I go utterly feral. It's SO GOOD and the ideas of what might happen to Sqq when he forms his core and reaches immortality get me so excited, even after all this time haha. The weird mix of ff7 magic lore and the xianxia methods Sqq is bringing to the table just has so many possibilities, but even outside that the way the plot was developing left me so curious and excited! I don't know what it is about it, but that fic scratches all my itches and the writing itself is really well done!

[allisonreader]

I don’t know what this is, where it came from, what its purpose is. It’s supposed to be a time loop piece to put up for the Chesterton challenge for the prompt repetition; which it definitely fits, but why all the sewing? I’m writing it, but I couldn’t tell you. It became derailed from the first word and thinking of the phrase “a stitch in time”. So here we go, my sewing heavy time loop musing? Story? I’m not sure what to call it.

All I know is that (as @melliabee and @lover-of-the-starkindler know) it came after sharing fic recs and having read a fic dealing with time loops. So vaguely and indirectly those two mentioned inspired this in an extremely roundabout way as I still don’t know what this is.

But anyways, this is my piece for the Chesterton Challenge for the prompt repetition. (As repetitive as this note is getting, the writing piece below will be more.) @inklings-challenge

Time loops and sewing 🧵🧵🧵

Stitch, stitch, stitch. 🪡_ _ _

The needle goes into the fabric and is pulled out again and again. 🪡_ _ _

Into the fabric and pulled out. 🪡_ _ _

The same motions over and over.

The pull getting shorter each time a new stitch is made. Until a new piece of thread is started and the process starts a new, with the stitches continuing.

All working to create something; whether it be practical, decorative or somewhere in between. Connecting past and future.

There’s a reason that the phrase a stitch in time is brandied around.

Sewing and time have more in common than you might think. Both deal with fabric/material that can wrinkle, snag, tear, rip, ripple, gets stuck, fold up on itself, and can be seen to be linear.

But let’s talk about the snags, the hang ups, getting stuck sewing in the same place.

If you’re using the sewing machine sometimes it’s not always immediately obvious that you’ve caught up on something; until there’s a whole pile of thread under your fabric, getting thread jammed up through the needle plate, tangling everything up and potentially needing scissors and removal of the needle plate to fix the problem.

Not so for hand sewing.

By hand, built up thread is most likely intentional unless you weren’t paying attention and were stitching in the same place, but being an easier catch as soon as your attention returns. None of the thread the same place as it builds up.

Time loops are much the same. There are some that you enter and everything seems fine at first, but once you realize that something is wrong, then you realize how big of a mess that you’re in. That your situation might require scissors and the removal of the needle plate.

Other times you don’t catch what’s happening right away, but the build up is less. Your attention is drawn to what’s happening sooner. The solution is not always as large.

And other times again you know exactly what’s happening. You want it to happen. You want it to happen again and again. You are purposefully repeating your stitch over and over, creating your build up purposefully before moving on.

Slight differences between each time. Each cycle never truly being the same, though it feels like it. The uneven stitches are being laid, but just because each stitch is uneven, it doesn’t mean that something isn’t being created that’s beautiful or has hidden strength.

Teaching you a lesson if nothing else. Sewing and time loops will both teach you just as many lessons as the other. Both feel like they go on for forever but both do eventually come to an end, leaving you shocked that the project or loop is finally finished.

For sewing you simply pick up another project and go again, though I’ve never met a person who wants to figure their way out of a time loop again. Not unless they’re the one to start the loop in the first place.

🪡_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The fabric folds and creases.

The needle goes in and out, in and out. Pull. Watch the stitches being laid. One stitch, two stitch, around and around.

A satin stitch here, some backstitching here, maybe some chain stitching for added interest. Still the needle goes in and out, just like time goes on and on, even if it repeats itself.

Time loops are like thread in a tangle, knotting up on itself and being a pain to loosen its loops out of the knots.

Be careful, the fabric of space time can rip and tear. Stitch it up carefully, you don’t want it to fray.

When fabric frays it will keep fraying depending on exactly what type of material you’re using. Some fabrics won’t fray. A knit generally doesn’t fray, but it can unravel. Woven material is what frays, some more than others. It depends on the fibres used and how it was woven together.

The right needle helps go through the material properly.

It’s all about using the right tool when needed. Sometimes you need something more specific than the generic works for most thing tool. A ballpoint/stretch/jersey needle works best on knits and stretch. The needle will push beside the fibres instead of through them like a sharp needle will.

Sometimes you have to test to find out what that right tool is. The right tool will make the job easier and help you finish the job quicker. There’s less of a struggle that way. But it will still take time to do things right.

🪡_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The needle goes in, the needle goes out, a stitch has been formed. The process repeats. Needle into the fabric, needle out of the fabric.

With a needle and thread the stitches can gather the fabric. Tight folds making there be a greater volume of material in a smaller place.

A time loop of its own kind. A repeating process to get a similar result. Though never quite the same from one to the next.

A stitch here, a stitch here; to gather as you go or to gather all at once. Both ways having their own difficulties. Both having their benefits.

Gathering can even be done by machine.

Two rows of stitches side by side, pulling the threads of both. But beware if one thread breaks, you can come close to losing it all. The strands of time can be just as fickle if you’re not careful. Pull the wrong one too hard and you could end up stuck permanently or with the wrong spot to stop or simply starts it all again.

The needle goes in, the needle goes out, the stitch is formed, push the fabric close. Knot the end of your thread and begin again.

🪡_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Stitch, stitch, stitch. A stitch in time and all that, you know dear?

The needle goes into the fabric and out.

In and out, sometimes in different movements, but there’s always going into the material and the needle being pulled through until it’s out.

Repetitive, soothing, traditional. A constant that changes, but is always needed in some form.

Time is much the same. Repetitive, following patterns, a constant that changes. Day in, day out. The same activities day to day, week to week.

A time loop in constant motion. Drudgery unless it’s made to be more.

Haven’t you guessed it by now? Different but the same. New but old. Stitching all along, talking about time?

Well, maybe you need a few more rounds yet. I’ll still be here stitching, waiting, changing the same, because time has similarities to sewing.

I won’t be the one to unravel the mysteries of the greater universe, that’s for a higher power than me. I’m just a person who sews, watching and passing the time as I move my needle through the material.

[ceruleanmusings]

TyHil Love Countdown Week 2 - Morning

Let's ignore that it took me a over year to keep going with this series and just bask in all that is TyHil. Even though we didn't have a 2024 version of the even this year, that doesn't meant we can't still celebrate them! @takaoxhiromi (Ao3)(FFN)

It wasn’t the rhythmic thumping of an axe on wood that catapulted Tyson out of bed but the overwhelming feeling he forgot something. Of course it would be this morning, of all days. His haste to get out of bed became impeded with the blankets tangling around his legs, sending him flying to the floor with a heavy crash.

He groaned, arms crumpled beneath his body, legs akimbo in the air. His chin smarted, pulsing in time with the heavy beat of his heart, panic ebbing away to frustration. This wasn’t exactly how he wanted to start his day, but life seemed to have other plans. And he’d been prepared this time too.

His bedside table rocked and rattled from his alarm clock ringing and jumping around the surface. Emitting another groan, Tyson lifted himself enough to reach out and slap the top. The sharp ringing cut off, falling back to sleep.

Great timing.

Twisting, Tyson untangled himself and got to his feet, stumbling in a rush to the bathroom. His shower would have to be quick. He stripped, jumping in and out of the water in quick succession when the cold bullets buffeted his skin. Grandpa’s hooting laughter melted in with the tail end of Tyson’s surprised shout and continued even as he let out a low rumbling growl.

“Not funny, Grandpa!”

“Rise and shine, dude! If you were up with the birds, you’d get the worms!”

“Augh! What do worms have anything to do with hot water?” The water darted off in every which way as Tyson held his hand up in his face to step back in. He lasted about twenty seconds before he jumped back out, body shivering and teeth clenched.

“Birds gotta take a bath too!”

Grandpa laughed again and Tyson could almost see the self-satisfying grin on his face. Today of all days! Tyson huffed, grabbed a towel and did his best to rid his skin of the clinging cold. He slapped his cheeks, mumbled about Grandpa needing to be put into an institution, and went about the rest of his routine. He scrubbed his teeth, brushed his hair, checked his chest to see if other friends joined his lone chest hair, and threw on his uniform.

Lingering moisture all but melted the starched white shirt onto his skin. He’d be unpeeling it until well into first period but that was the least of his worries. Another shiver shot through his body when his bare foot met the hardwood outside the bathroom. Pushing past it, he rushed back to his room, moving around in a flurry even Dragoon would be impressed.

Backpack, check. Notebooks, check. Calligraphy set, check. Comic books, check. Dragoon, check. Dragoon sat heavy against his leg, a familiar weight on his upper thigh. He didn’t have much time to blade anymore, not with his kendo lessons becoming more frequent. But he couldn’t leave Dragoon behind. It didn’t feel right. They’ve been through too much for him to be cast aside. Nothing beat the feeling of rubbing his thumb along Dragoon’s smooth bitchip, getting that electric zing crackling through his fingers and that exhilarated swooping in his stomach. It was just the hit he needed before a meeting, before a match, before a test.

After carefully laying his kendo uniform at the top of his bag, Tyson grabbed his accompanying sword and left his room. His feet thudded against the ground in his haste, paper doors slamming within their crevices while making his way to the front. He only stopped at the front to slip on his shoes, swing his other arm through the backpack strap, and give a hasty wave to Grandpa on his way out.

“See ya later, Gramps!” he yelled over his shoulder, both his words and tie flapping over his shoulder. Grandpa called something out to him, but it faded beneath the wind rushing in his ears and buffeting his clothes. Tyson didn’t have time for him to stop and repeat himself, he was going to be late!

Tyson ran down the streets, ducking down alleys and weaving this way and that. He jumped over hedges, took shortcuts, and ran away from a dog biting at his heels but he never slowed. He couldn’t be late, he just couldn’t! Hilary would kill him!

The thought of her standing alone on the corner, waiting, made him run faster, pump harder. His heart thudded against his chest. Maybe her foot tapped the same way on the sidewalk, with sharp precision. And maybe she stood with her arms crossed, shoulders raised, a deep frown settled on her lips. What sort of admonishment did she have waiting for him? Especially after he’d made such a big deal of getting there on time. A jolt shot through him and he shook his head. No, he’d make it. He knew he would! He just had to go faster. Just a little bit faster…

Finally he reached a familiar corner, grabbing onto a light pole to help swing him around the turn. A lone figure sat in the distance on a bench. One leg crossed over the other, pleated skirt rising a couple inches further than he knew she was comfortable with. As the thought crossed his mind she reached out and tugged down the hem, then bringing her arm up to tuck her hair behind her ear. She’d cut it from her last grown-out look, the length now somewhere in between that and the short cut she’d sported for years. A thin, gold band slid from her wrist to her elbow; a tiny cheery blossom nestled into the groove of her elbow where the band met the crease.

“Hey! I made it! I’m here!”

Tyson lifted his arm and waved, as if his shouting didn’t catch her attention. Still, his heart gave an extra hard thump when she lifted her head and locked eyes with him. Her lips curled up into a petal-soft smile and she closed her book with a snap. He reached her side while she tucked the book into her bag and slid the strap over her shoulder.

“I’m…here. I…made it. Woke up…late,” he explained through gasps. And he half expected her to chide him for it. But when he stood at full height from being doubled over, hands on knees, gasping for air, he found her looking at him with crinkled brows and a tilted head.

“You can relax; the bus doesn’t arrive for another ten minutes, Tyson.” She lifted her other wrist to her face to check the time. “In fact, you’re actually early for once.”

“I know.” He straightened and pushed a hand through his hair. “But I didn’t want to leave you waiting. I promised. Remember?”

“Yeah but…”

“You didn’t think I’d keep it?” he asked.

“No. It’s just…” She shrugged and lifted the strap on her shoulder again, crossing her arms. “I didn’t think you were being serious.” The tip of her shoe dug into the sidewalk; it crunched and grinded beneath the twist of her ankle.

He blinked. “Of course I was! It’s the first day of school.” He knew he didn’t forget that part. He didn’t set the alarm in the first place for any other ordinary day of school. Or any other day, really.

She lifted a finger and angled it in his direction as she said, “Something you never really cared about before.”

Straightening his back, Tyson grasped the straps of his backpack and rolled his shoulders. “You care.”

Her lips parted and she sucked in a breath as if to say something only to press them together instead, pushing a slow breath out her nose. Tyson’s eyes raked over her face, at the ease between her brows, the pale pink gloss on her lips, the swath of gold cresting over her face from the slow rising sun.

The two words hung between them. You care.

The rest of his sentence still hung on the tip of his tongue. And I care about you.

He stepped forward and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. Her eyes widened and she brought a hand to her mouth. Red stained her cheeks, the color reflecting the flavor collecting on his taste buds when he dragged his tongue across his lower lip.

Her eyes darted between his face and his stomach where a loud rumble cut through the thick air between them. Chuckling, Tyson rubbed the back of his neck and pushed out a sheepish grin. “Oh, that’s what I forgot.”

Her eyebrows flew up. “You forgot to eat?”

“Heh, guess so.”

Huffing, her ruby eyes rolled until they landed over to the bench. A square shape sat upright, pink cloth wrapped around it, patterned with daisies, tied in a neat knot at the top. She grabbed it and thrust it into his hands where he took no time to open it. His stomach growled again at the sight of the bento box, stuffed with grilled fish, tamagoyaki, natto, and onigiri nestled in their own compartments.

“Aw, Hils, you’re the best!” Tyson crowed, stuffing a slice of tamagoyaki into his mouth. His eyes nearly rolled in his head at the taste, the silky-smooth texture on his tongue.

She dabbed the cloth against the side of his mouth. Electricity shot through his body at the brush of her fingers against his mouth. The sheer pink polish on her nails shined bright, rivaling her eyes. “I won’t argue with that.”

“Good. You’d lose that argument anyway.”

At her gasp—a mixture of surprise and warmth—he held out the other side of of tamagoyaki to her. She took a bite and leaned into his side.

[aquilamage]

I haven’t been insane about Vi enough lately so time to pour out some random thoughts. free association thinking time:

been thinking about her “It's my savings. I wanna be rich, okay? So I can travel, eat well, buy cool stuff… So no one can say I can't do something!” And none of the following will really be insightful or revelatory because it’s just what she says here but. yeah! that’s vi! the main reason she’s so big on money is because she has to be to get what she wants out of life! it’s what lets her say no to people telling her what to do, and that’s important to her because she has no choice but to be independent and support herself. because no one else will. No one at the Hive had anything positive or supportive to say about her being an explorer until she went out and did it (to a ridiculously successful degree, too. I have to wonder if/how it might’ve differed if she was on a regular accomplishment level team. not the one leading them all to the mission to the Hive). she never had a choice not to be. I could also see that being a little part of why she starts out not really being a teamwork person. past experiences have taught her she can’t rely on anyone else for support. (does make me wonder about what if she’d met Chubee before leaving the Hive. obviously she still would’ve left, but how might even a bit of support have changed other things?)

I feel like we don’t talk about the fact that The Beemerang Is Also Knives enough

ok so at one point there was this post talking about people with money and how it affects their life like. if you can afford to get a nanny then you can only do the fun parts of childcare and when you stop feeling like taking care of the kid you can just hand them to someone else to take them away. and again likely not especially revelatory but I would guess that’s the kind of way queen bianca handled the bees as her daughters (she does care about them. absolutely. but not in the same hands-on attached way as we usually associate with parents) and thinking about how that kind of treatment would then apply to vi....hm

in universes where discussions of Gender and Pronouns etc happen I think she has moments where she gets frustrated with the everything of Being Referred To and Having Complicated Identity She Hasn’t Quite Figured Yet and is like. gender is cancelled how dare you refer to me. but especially anyone else calls me a girl ever i will be stabbing them

also I think a lot about what circumstances she finds out about gayness/Gender being things. and whether she’s thought about it in herself before and whether she’d been dismissed on it/told it wasn’t a thing etc. most circumstances she ends up angry about the finding out times because of (un)consicious internal conflict stuff

underground tavern stuff implies she was definitely doing quests and stuff for money with them precanon. would kill to know what specifically it was. but also the first talk with utter implies that she was doing stuff off that questboard as well which is even more intriguing. utter’s spy also implies you don’t have to be an explorer to do them but otherwise you would think you did I feel. so again very curious what was up there

[victorluvsalice]

Valicer OT3 Week, Day Three: Childhood Friends

Day Three of @ot3-week's OT3 Week, and we're up to a cute prompt -- "Childhood friends!" So naturally I couldn't resist writing the trio hanging out together as kids. :) This is supposed to be a Victorian!AU, though I suspect it might feel a little bit more modern than that...the important thing is, there's a grand old party happening in the halls of Christchurch at Oxford, and Smiler and Alice have already found each other and decided to sequester themselves away from all these boring adults in their own private table fort. But tummies have started growling, and so Smiler is venturing out to get snacks...

--

“I’m gonna get more snacks!”

“All right – make sure to grab some of Mama’s Welsh rarebit!” Alice said, arranging the cards into neat piles. “Then when you come back we can start building our castle.”

“Definitely,” Smiler said, shooting her a grin. They grabbed the edge of the tablecloth and lifted it – then, seeing no adults had eyes on them, scrambled out from under the banquet table that they and Alice had claimed as their personal hidey-hole. And I thought this party was going to be boring, they thought, scurrying toward the table where the Welsh rarebit sat, along with a few other cheese-based dishes the various attendees were nibbling on. Adults never want to have any fun when they get together – it’s just talk talk talk about boring stuff. Especially Father, going on about “social compliance” and all that...it’s a good thing that Alice is here! I can’t wait to hear another story about Wonderland – it sounds amazing! And I bet that, without the adults interrupting us, we can build a castle using all of the –

“Now, I don’t want you embarrassing me at this party, Victor, do you understand?”

Smiler stopped, turning toward the entrance. Standing there, having their coats taken by the coat-taking-man, was a hunched-over skinny man with a large mustache, leaning on a cane; a very plump woman in the fanciest dress Smiler had ever seen, fanning herself like it was the middle of summer; and a little boy, about Smiler’s age, wearing a suit with shorts and staring at his feet while the woman – presumably his mother – went on and on about how the Liddells were Very Important People and how they had to make a Good First Impression and how Victor was to Stay Quiet and Look Respectable, like the boys in magazines. The boy – Victor – was nodding along to his mother’s litany, trying to stand up straight and do as asked, but the look on his face...

“Now, Marmaduke, I understand that you’re a little – confused, at this age. But the simple fact of the matter is that you can’t just decide that you’re not a boy. It’s simply not done. Where would society be if people just started declaring themselves not one thing or the other? You have to learn how to be socially compliant. True happiness comes from obeying your elders – and you want to be happy, don’t you?”

Smiler frowned as the woman turned away from Victor, leaving him to tug at his tie as she swanned off to chat about boring things with the other adults. It seemed like, with a mother like that, Victor was about to have about as bad a time at this party as they’d feared they would have. And that was a really bad time indeed.

Well, good thing I’m here, then, Smiler thought to themselves, then marched up to Victor, putting on their best smile and sticking out their hand. “Hullo! I’m Smiler!”

Victor nearly started right out of his skin – maybe they should have been a little bit quieter. He stared at them a moment, glancing from their face to their hand and back, then hesitantly took it. “Uh – I’m – I’m – V-Victor,” he stammered, clearly out of his depth. Maybe people didn’t talk to him much? That would be sad if so. “Your name is – Smiler?”

“Well, it’s what I call myself,” Smiler told him, pumping his arm. “My real name’s awful. But Victor’s a nice name! Do you want to play with us?”

“Us?” Victor repeated, blinking.

“Me and Alice!” Smiler pointed at their table, where Alice was peeping out, clearly wondering why snacks were taking so long. They waved to her and pointed to Victor – she glanced over, then nodded and waved back. “She’s really nice, and she tells great stories,” Smiler informed Victor, grinning. “And she’s got cards – we’re gonna try and build a castle! Do you like castles?”

“Uh – yes?” Victor said, as if he wasn’t sure of his own opinions. “I’ve n-never made a card one b-before, though.” He dropped his gaze, playing with his tie again. “I’m k-kind of clumsy.”

“That’s all right – we can show you how to do it!” Smiler promised, taking his hand so he didn’t accidentally strangle himself. “Come on – we’ll get snacks, then we can go and play!”

“I – um...” Victor’s gaze went to his mother, chatting with some other adult Smiler didn’t know and didn’t care about. “I dunno...”

“Aw, come on,” Smiler wheedled, tugging his arm. “It’ll be fun! Don’t you wanna have fun? Be happy? Like, real happy, not grown-up happy?”

“Happy...” Victor looked at his mother a moment more, then over at Alice, patiently waiting for them to decide what they were doing. Then his mouth formed a determined line, and he nodded at Smiler. “Yes. Let’s go make castles.”

Smiler beamed. One happiness problem – solved! Take that, Father. “Great! But, first, we gotta get some of that rarebit – and I think there’s some cake too...”

[end-orfino]

ahhhhhh i remember why i dont read comics & books and watch movies as much as I should. Because they make me lose it

[shuafiles]

heyyyyy

[nateezfics]

[junkissed]

Hey June !!

So, we need to talk...

You're making Jun become more and more my bias everyday. (Rip Kwannie) I don't know if it's the way you write him or just how you describe him but I'm becoming more of a Huihui little by little everytime you post

Anyways I had a little question for you... I just wanted to know : What pushed you to share your stories with us all in the first place? And HOW do you make them so good everytime?

Like always I send you all my love and support !💕😊

you are the sweetest omg that makes me so happy!! my job is to convert the world into huihuis one fic at a time 🥹 at the risk of sounding parasocial as hell, i just love him and he makes me so happy to write about so i have to be a little bit delusional about him at all times aksgjdhfs

it was @onlymingyus who encouraged me to post my writing! i've been writing since i was a little kid and i've always wanted to work with books, and my dream is to work in the publishing industry as a literary agent or an editor, so my own writing is more of a side hobby. on tumblr i started as a silent reader and then eventually made my fic recs blog @junhui-recs and started talking to people like mars and the lovely members of svthub, and i was like well why not post my stuff too? then it took me a while to warm up to writing smut bc it wasn't what i was used to (and still isn't tbh, it's a struggle to write it sometimes) but it's so rewarding to share it with everyone and get to talk to other writers and carats :)

and i have no idea asgkdjfhs i honestly just write things that i like to read so it's catered to my own tastes lmao but i'm so so glad other ppl like to read them too 💓 it's so satisfying when i open tumblr looking for something very specific to read and i can open my own masterlist and find exactly what i imagined in my brain hehe. from what i've noticed my best fics are ones i've written when i was super emotional so maybe that's something? like if i'm feeling generally bored or unenthusiastic then my fics tend to be meh. i feel like it's super obvious bc when i feel bad about my fics it shows in my writing, so i try not to write when i'm not in a good place because i want my fics to be something i enjoy looking back on instead of cringing at myself 😭 i have a lot of fics in my google drive that will never ever see the light of day bc i cringe so hard at who i was when i wrote them lmao

[veshialles]

brb making up a cyberpunk-adjacent megatropolis on the coast of Lake Huron, with no real plans for development other than to be a backdrop for this story idea I've had for years about t4t lesbians with superpowers and possibly other short stories set within this universe idk yet

[theramblingsofadork]

Time for another AU dynamic drop~!

One of my favorite friendships within the competition group is between Starline and Hex.

While Starline really doesn’t take much of a notice of the little rat at first, too focused on trying to get everyone to follow his plan, he does eventually take note when he sees Hex’s work. Kid’s talented, shockingly so for one his age.

Then he learns from Lug that Hex is debating dropping out of the competition, and goes to talk to him. There, he learns why he joined in the first place, and unintentionally ends up becoming a sort of a big brother/mentor to him for the remainder of the competition.

———————————————————————

📙📗 (Writing Drabble) An Encouraging Word

“People don’t take me seriously because they think I’m too young.” Hex grumpily sniffed as he mashed away at the buttons of his game pad. His eyes narrowed at the flashing ships exploding on screen. “They always say “I’ll never make it, or I won’t be able to contribute anything worth of value until I’m grown up.”

“I thought by joining this competition I might be able to prove them wrong—that I’m just as capable as they are, but even you guys don’t take me seriously. So then, what’s the point of trying anymore?”

Starline blinks in surprise at the rat’s words, suddenly realizing that this is because the group brushed him off the other day when they all got into an ugly argument over workflow.

v v v v

While he in particular may have said something rather sharp to Hex in his irritation, it had been more to keep yet another voice from bombarding him more than anything else.

But it’s clear that Hex did not see it that way, and not being given a voice has been hurting the kid for a while now. He’s been purposefully limiting himself and staying silent because of how the world and his family views him and his skills.

…And, Starline supposes he’s now done the exact same thing. “Great going..” The platypus huffs and frowns. Well, he certainly can’t let that stand.

“Hex, I see how that conversation may have come across to you.. I certainly said some things I regret now.. but believe it or not, it’s not that we don’t take up seriously because of your age. Seriously. That’s what everyone’s so hung up about?”

He laughs and leans on the railing. “Honestly. If anything, I’d say your age makes what you do even more impressive. I’ve seen your work, and I can confidently say that I’ve never met a more talented coder and hacker than yourself.”

Hex stops mashing his buttons, squinting in confusion before he looks up at the platypus suspiciously. “Wait.. really?”

“Of course!” Starline flashes his trademark, confident smirk.

“You’re.. not just saying that to make me feel better?” Hex presses, not convinced.

“Perish the thought!” Starline exclaims with a dramatic flourish. “I acknowledge I haven’t been… the best at being open to hearing everyone’s ideas.. But your ability with hacking and coding is quite unique, unsurpassed by only a choice few. Anyone who thinks you’re too young and dismisses what you have to offer for that, is either a fool, or just plain jealous of your natural prowess.”

He smiles, and his expression softens into one of warm pride. “Trust me, Hex. Take it from someone who knows. You have a bright future ahead of you.”

“Oh..” Hex flushes in embaressment, looking as if Starline has just opened his mind to a whole new world. The rat gives a small grin as he looks back at his game pad.

“Heh... well… thanks. You’re the first person to say that to me besides Lug. It.. means a lot.”

“Of course! Us geniuses have to stick together after all!”

Hex laughs. There’s a pause, then he pipes up again, seemingly more encouraged. “…Hey, do you think I could show you a personal project of mine sometime? I’d like it if you could check over my work and give me some tips.”

“Oh? Why I’d be delighted.“ Starline replies.

———————————————————————

And from that day on, Starline makes sure to try and let him be part of the planning and conversations going forward. It makes Hex happy.

While the intent of his speech was still very much to encourage Hex to not drop out of the competition, as it’d put them at a huge disadvantage— (Lug would leave with him)— most of WHAT Starline says to him is still shockingly genuine.

Starline sees true promise in Hex, and at times, the kid reminds him of himself. Once small and brilliant, but written off by those with power and authority. “Balderdash to that—” he scoffs with a snort. “Ignore the naysayers and prove them all wrong!” He tells Hex definitively.

(He probably also references a certain young yellow fox in there as extra encouragement, since Tails and Hex are of similar age and he knows Tails has quite a track record himself.)

Hex opens up to him after that conversation. Becomes a chatterbox, going on about complicated coding things and getting Starline’s input on builds since he now knows he’s one of the few older people who will take him seriously and be willing to discuss with him.

This does unfortunately make Lug a bit jealous, seeing as he was Hex’s best friend first and foremost, but he tries hard to not take it personally. “I’m just glad he has someone else to talk to.” He tells Rivet and Charge one day.

[shmothman]

dude if u ever decided to write x reader fic about rika i think i would die happy

I promise you it’s on the docket, dear anon!! She is my Wife (gender neutral) and I would die for her jokester ass

[myreputatioooon]

'This is my punishment'

He flipped through the pages of the writer wearing his the late Duchess's daughter

'I can never love her'

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

wish i could post my paintings of theatre stuff here bc i'm really proud of those (my theatre keeps making amazing adaptations with SUPER COOL costume and lighting and setting and colour and visual symbolism choices) but alas. the chance is low but very definitely above zero that i'd doxx myself HARDCORE. but maaaan. trust me when i say that stage is just plain amazing. i need to live in the theatre