#whatever i want and call it science of space stories

[wall-e-gorl]

Do you know how long I've been wanting a space arc. They said in like the first trailer or first episode that they might eventually go to space and ive been sososoososo patiently been waiting for it since then. I'm SO EXCITED

[dann-art]

I know that vampire chronicles aren't meant to be historical accurate. Like you read this and you know that all this events can happen in literally any time and space. Like really. The times doesn't really matter there, there are no nuances.

Listen, I'm not a historian, by any means. It's just like a hobby, but I have millions of them so I don't even learn that much.

Also I usually don't give a shit about accuracy in media, like whatever, until it's science do what you want, whatever suits your story

But sometimes it's time to say enough is enough.

So, we need to talk about Armands origin in Kievan Rus'. Okay, that's cool, we don't really explore it, but well whatever, at least we're not messing this up, right? Right?

While I was reading I ignored it. I was reading TVA in polish translation I thought like okay, names and nuances probably got lost in translation. It's a really bad translation tho.

But out of curiosity today I opened the book in English, because this was sticking in my head.

And it appears it wasn't translators fault.

So well, it's like kinda huge mistake. Like no one really checked it? But this book constantly claims that like Kievan Rus' was then in Russia. And suprise, suprise: that's simply not true. Well the term is kinda not right and can mean anything, like back it existed as state it was huge, but (judging on the mention of Kiev itself) that it was like somewhere in that area.

So I'll spare whole history, it's not relevant. We're stop around 1480's, when Armand was born (based on my calculations). And in that time the region was called Kiev Voivodeship (hope I got it right in english), and it was part of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, and stayed there until 1569, when it passed to the Crown of the Kingdom of Poland (when the Polish-lithuanian commonwealth was created, but both countries were in union since early XV century)

So in the book we have some lines like this

Armand, bestie, I don't know how to break it to you, you're not russian. You never were. You've never lived in Russia (or back then I would use rather the name Moscow, but again I'm not a historian). More of a Ukrainian if so, but also not the world I would use. Most accurate would be rusyn (I think, or ruthenian???? I'm not sure how it works in English, anyway not russian).

Then we have this, and well... Oh boy. Something went really wrong with geography here. First of all, you've never been to Russia (or better say Principality of Moscow, like it wasn't even called Russia, from what I know, but i might be wrong).

So okay, Moscow and Novgorod were in part of Moscow indeed but Cracow!?!?!?? (Known also as my absolutely favourite city in the world). Like Cracow like Never ever has been a part of Russia. Okay, I get confusion with Kiev if you really really don't care about basic research. But Cracow???

Here's the map. Unfortunately it like administrative of Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth in 1619, but well you'll see my point. That doesn't make any sense

Cracow always was polish. Like it's our second capital. And look how far from Russia it is. Even during the partitions it goes to Austria not Russia.

Last thing I want to point out is this one

Like, man, maybe you speak russian, I do not doubt, like during travel to Moscow you could learn I guess.

I'm not entirely sure, but I guess the language there is ruthenian not russian. Like ruthenian is old language which is base for slavic languages such as Belarusian or Ukrainian. And what is also important it was not the language used in the Principality of Moscow, so it's definitely not russian.

Okay, thanks for reading if anyone is still there. I won't bore you any longer. It just was sitting in my head and I had to throw it out because we'll, basic research I guess.

[sukinapan]

honestly would be pretty interested in hearing about all of them, if thats alright

it's no problem o( ❛ᴗ❛ )o i like talking about this

for context, apart from making personal art i'm also an artist and character designer at Smarto Club, so I don't know if these count as OCs but i have posted art of them here: Haco from >Bubblegum Galaxy and Teacup from >Teacup.

you can check the steam pages on those games for more info if u like. i love all my characters but i don't usually make personal art of these two since i already do it as my job.

my newest Smarto Club character is a bit different since she's more in the style of what i'm doing personally so i want to make more art of her soon. her name is Abigail:

she's a kid who likes reading about bugs and catching them but she never hurts them : ) this is a short game in early development but it's about catching creatures called angels. it's got horrorish vibes but i don't think the end result will be full-out horror, since it's also kinda silly...

then there's Peklo, it's a game for which i created the whole concept and story but the plan is to develop it as a studio at Smarto Club. i wrote more context for it on this post, but for the characters, they're my favorites to make art about at the moment. the main ones are Kiku (the cat) and Mi (the bunny):

i recently created these human forms of them for fun but i'm not sure whether i'll establish them as canon or not... they're trapped in limbo/hell so there's space for them to have a past human form. they don't remember their lives but Kiku feels a deep sense of regret about things unkown to her and wants to break out of Peklo. Mi feels trapped in an eternal sadness, she longs to see the ocean, she can always hear it but has never been able to reach it.

the antagonist in Peklo is a frog entity called Guppy but i haven't really shown him outside of his froggy logo

i also have OCs from my smaller games. there's Hlina that i created specifically for >this game that was commissioned to me for a zine. i don't have any plans to use her again for now but i might make more art of her in the future for fun. she's part of a strange dream realm and is hostile to the player:

there's iro from the >game with the same name who's my oldest game OC. i created that bitsy game for her story but she existed previously in my art degree final project, it was a version of the same story but just a section of it. it's a dream of mine to create a full-fledged 3D game for her some day.

she's a bit of a defective space exploration robot, sent to explore planetoid Iridium-3 in search of human contact. it's set in a future where humanity has dispersed among the whole galaxy so lots of groups have lost contact with each other.

my latest game OC is Michtat, a wizard cat that i created just for this silly zine.

lasty, there’s the characters from my comic that I’m working on, called The most distant planet. the main characters are Victor and Mitya, two 9 year olds whose families end up living together.

i'd say these are the dearest characters to me of all. i don't post as much of them because they're mostly in the shape of comic pages and it doesn't spark as much interest as my games. i love drawing them though.

they’re both little weirdos who isolate themselves and don’t fit in much with other children, so the friendship they develop is very special to them. they have almost opposite personalities where Victor (darker hair) is very shy and dorky but also very sweet to everyone, while Mitya mostly gives 0 fucks about what anyone thinks or says, he blurts out whatever he’s thinking and just wants to run around wild.

the story is mostly slice of life-ish but there’s also a science fiction element ^-^ Victor is obsessed with things like ghosts, aliens, etc but Mitya thinks it’s all just dumb tales.

another important character is Alyosha, Mitya’s 17-18yo brother. he doesn’t know how to talk or relate to his little brother and is kinda weirded out by him. they where very close when they were younger, but when Mitya was 2 he had an accident that Alyosha feels guilty about, and has been somehow different ever since.

he still worries about his little brother and how isolated he is, though. at the beginning of the story the two of them live alone with their grandma who does love them but has kind of a cold and distant personality. 

Alyosha was the type of kid to be considered “gifted” but now feels completely burnt out and had to repeat a grade at school. he felt so humiliated by this he eventually stopped going entirely, so he now works part time and just studies at home. he cut contact with his old classmates but he still has 2 best friends from the last few months he spent at school in the grade below, Manon and Min Na. they’re the kind of friends who just show up unannounced at his house and job, and are very involved with his family’s life.

i’ve also included Min Jie in some art, she’s Min Na’s younger cousin and comes into the story later:

i should have like character sheets and stuff for all of these OCs but i’m the kind to just jump head first into drawing/modeling lol, that's why i included all these finished illustrations.

i really wanna publish this comic, i’ve been working on it for a long time and i’m currently waiting for the results of a public funding application here in my country to decide what i'll do next.

hope this could be of interest (^人^) thanks for the ask!

[lexluvswriting]

✎ First Meeting.

☆ SFW drabbles ☆

-> Pairing: God of Stories!Loki Laufeyson x Gen-Z reader!

-> (CW): loki is god of stories in this!! gender neutral, non-specified identity reader, fluff, slight flirting? kinda. i love him sm (T-T)

-> (TW): none.

W/C: 1.4k

╰┈➤ Lex's note: AHH, here's the post, oh god. based off of THIS ASK !!! i'd like to preface by saying yes, this will be a bit ooc for him. This is MCU, Loki Series!Loki, who is the God of Stories! I'd like to hope that he still stays mischevious still, so I tried to keep a bit of both personalities!! Also added some backstory for context !!

Uni was hard. Your lectures were hitting that stage where content was 'less fun' and more soul-suckingly 'boring'. Your latest assignment had thrown a spanner in the works of your mental sanity, and you were a few more minor inconveniences away from committing some sort of crime.

Kidding. Kinda.

What you hadn't expected was to be blitzed into some sort of gap in space and time after your friend begged you to come assist them with some help on their Physics experiment. "Science is fun", they said. "Helping your friends is the kind thing to do", they said.

Not when their janky little machine blasts you into a pocket that seemed to avoid space and time completely.

The Avengers had solved everything. Thanos was dead, the snap was unsnapped, this shouldn't be happening anymore... right? You were terrified, clutching your bag like a safety blanket as you stood on some invisible force, watching the space around you seem to shift between an endless loop of different colours and morph- the glittery mass swirling like liquid stars- or like a bad trip.

"What the fuck..." You whisper, prepared to scream, cry, throw up or lie down and die. Probably all in some order.

"You, there. How did you find this place?"

A voice that seemed to come from all corners of wherever you were, and also nowhere at once, sounded out. You flinched, whipping around again to find a strange handsome man sitting on some strange tree-like throne, wielding greenish vines that seemed to appear around you, branching out everywhere and whatnot.

"Are you speaking to... me?" You point feebly at yourself, amazed you're still conscious at this point.

"No, I'm referring to the nothingness of space and time. Yes, I mean you, mortal. Who are you, and how did you enter this place?"

His green eyes bore into yours, and bile rose in your throat. His tone made you falter, like a deer in headlights as your brain conveniently decided to shut down and restart. He couldn't be real. Why was he here?

"Oh my God... you're-" Your revelation seemed to amuse him as his eyes crinkled knowingly, the corners of his lips twitching up.

"Yes, little one. Loki, formerly the God of Mischief and Prince of Asgard. Now, I appear before you as the God of Stories."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

꩜ Telling him about your world! :

After you both get over the fact that you both are coexisting somehow- Loki is still partially convinced you're part of something called the T.V.A or whatever- you end up sitting down on one of the roots of the tree, blinking up at him like he was some immaculate, divine figure. He so totally is. You figure the best thing to do is wait for your friend to undo what they did, so you end up telling him about your world. He's familiar with Thanos, and the timeline of his so called 'death'. He asks about his brother, and you watch him with a deep sympathy that feels almost useless. It's quiet for a long time, before you offer to show him a picture.

"Would wi-fi even work here?"

"Doesn't your device contain it already?"

You blink up at him, supressing a pained sigh.

"... Are you kidding, or... ?"

He, with a dry hum of amusement, nods for you to unlock your phone, and strangely enough it works. You want to ask how? but his look tells you that it would probably hurt your brain. So you relent, and show him pictures of his brother most recently from social media news pages.

"Everyone is kinda... gone now. I mean- ever since Ironman..." You trailed off, and he nodded, his gaze softening slightly as he beheld his brother. You felt almost awkward, wanting to give him a moment to process this before-

"He looks fat."

"Jesus-"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

♫ Telling Loki about music, and educating him on artists:

You take it upon yourself to show this man music, after you had shown him the internet of your world, catching him up to date with all the important news and such. You made it a very good point not to scroll too far down in case he noticed something titled 'HEADCANNONS, DRABBLES AND WET DREAMS I HAVE ABOUT THE SEXY, MISCHEVIOUS LOKI LAUFEYSON-', instead questioning him on his music and artist knowledge. Sylvie had introduced him to what you both recognised as 70's and 80's hits, and you sent a silent thanks to whoever 'Sylvie' was. But you decided to catch him up on some of your personal faves- Mitski- neither of you spoke for a bit after he accidentally pressed 'Class of 2013', Mac De Marco, Lana and most importantly:

"Laufey. She's Icelandic and Chinese- and it's pronounced LAY-VAY. Like, Laufey. I just thought it was funny, cause... Loki Laufeyson, and Lau-"

He's already ogling you like a three eyed, two head sprouting, bat-winged monstrosity, but as soon as he hears the name, he shakes his head with an irritated grunt,

"There is no relation, nor will there ever be a relation. I am the God of Stories. I hold multiversal timelines between my fingers- I am seated at the throne of destiny. And you're asking me about some mortal like I'm supposed to... care?"

"Um. Okay." You smacked your lips together, cocking your head to the side with a hand on your chest as you search internally to find the words for a response without losing your life to a multiversal deity.

"So... I don't like that tone, first of all. Second of all, I just want you to listen- Just listen to her-"

Don't you notice how

I get quiet when there's no one else around?

Me and you, an awkward silence.

Don't you dare look at me that way-

You fed him her melodic song, your eyebrows raised in disbelief that he would be so dismissive after you brought out the big guns, and he listened to it, feeling oddly stimulated from this entire encounter. He was handsome, of course. But more handsome when he was quiet, when you could see his brain shifting and while you could see the way his eyes flit around in microscopic shifts, processing the sounds as they progressed.

Soon it finished, and he watched you, glancing down at the small phone, before glancing at you again, trying to find a response that didn't make him seem like some desperate lonely hermit.

"She isn't bad, for a Laufey anyway."

"Dude-"

"God."

"God-"

...

"How would I obtain this to have? Just... playing idly."

The smile that split your face was almost creepy with how wide it was, and he had to squint, looking away from the radiance and delight you emit.

"She's got more if you wanna listen."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

✮ Showing Loki diverse ways to compliment each other! aka. sending him into cardiac arrest: (one suggestive line!)

People die, and habits die harder. But nothing could remove the pride and preening personality this God has. He wasn't an idiot. He had noticed some of the 'links' and images and strange looking messages regarding his name and face that were almost cleverly hidden on the page you showed him, and he relaxed knowing that people still worshipped him in other timelines. As they should. But nothing could prepare him for his first edit.

"What does that say- No, no don't show me, I just want to make sure you understand what that means."

Have you ever wanted to make a God go absolutely insane because of you? Well you'd be in luck. The wrinkle that creased his smooth forehead was not small by any means, neither is something else he carries, and he had to take a moment to process what he had just heard you say.

"It's a term of- it's a phrase of... endearment!"

"'We're going at it until Ragnarok happens?'" He echoed, voice almost hitching as he tried to maintain control of his facial expressions. How much time had passed? A few seconds? A few days? He was starting to wonder how much more of you he could take. We'll get into that again, later.

"'Till I remember the veins and twitch patterns?!'"

"Okay well, you didn't need to read that one-"

He scanned the comments again, the screen hurting his eyes- and his heart, but he did it anyway. Deep, deep down- in a small, lonely part that wished he wasn't stuck on a throne of Yggdrasil, he felt something of amusement. A peacock showing off his feathers.

A small, impish smiled curled on his lips as he sat back in his throne, exhaling slowly, thinking. Calculating. Watching the way your eyes greedily absorbed the sparse clips of him in New York and Germany.

"So... one billion people enjoy me saying 'kneel'?"

"Oh, don't start-"

"I'm simply thinking, mortal. Don't fret your pretty little head over it."

...

"You think it's pretty?"

╰┈➤ Lex's note 2: @jaguarthecat i finally published. i kept coming back to your ask, and i realised i might as well put something out there cause like, might randomly die tomorrow so why shy from it.

[themonotonysyndrome]

You just got Rick Rolled!

I have no excuse.

Watch Max0r videos on Youtube :)

-

Summary: Bright Eyes is ready to pull a deadbeat dad.

The duffel bag underneath the bed is ready to go. Pockets are stuffed with wads of stolen cash. 

All they need to do is swipe an armful of blood bags from the Clan’s cold storage for the long road ahead. 

William Solaire standing between them and the milk aisle was not part of the plan. Nor his sad, puppy eyes.

Fucking damn it. 

-

In the grand scheme of things called life, Bright Eyes is not a main character. 

Main characters are people like Frederick, who’s worthy of second chances because he vomits out his heart to those who demand it. Vincent, with his flashy smile and equally flashy cars that caters to single simps who dream of being swept away by a set of 2000-era vampiric TV tropes. Sam, who you can’t hate because he’s not just a bitch, no, no - he’s a bitch with a backstory who just so happens to love to pretend that Bright doesn’t exist on a good day and won’t stop bitching why they’re the modern incarnation of Satan on the worst. Oh! We can’t forget the poster child of Byronic Hero which is Tank. They’re a fan fav for a reason.   

In a world of main characters, Bright Eyes could hardly hold a candle to the people around them. If anything, they’re an NPC. The glitchiest NPC to ever exist in this Skyrim of a world. 

The kind that was brought into the story to be shitted on by the audience because they either don’t meet up to lofty expectations or weren’t the perfect victim.

Is it getting too close to home now? 

Bright has no problem being an NPC - hell, they don’t even mind that there was no space for them on the picture wall that consists of Sam, Frederick, and Tank - they still have their pride, as shitty as it is. Why the fuck would they want to stay at a place where no one wants an NPC that fucks up the whole gameplay? Nah, fam - Bright has been preparing for their getaway on the same night they woke up with an angry Sam sitting beside the bed. 

The Summit expedited the plan. 

While they and Frederick were expected to show up at the undead shindig, being Clan members and all, Sam worried it might overwhelm his Progeny. Apparently, older Vamps enjoy stabbing each other with words and dinner knives after the third course. Sounds like Bright’s kind of people. But because Frederick was benched, so were they. It’s cool, it’s fine. Silver linings and all that. It gave Bright lots of opportunities to pack their meagre shits into a worn-out duffel bag from the store room and steal whatever cash they could find around the house while Frederick was asleep. Vampiric hearing rocks! Sure, they were curious as to why Sam and Tank came back looking like they just witnessed a train wreck, and Vincent seldom came over with his trademark smirks anymore, but since no one tells them anything, Bright chalked it up as another Tuesday. Not their circus, not their monkeys. 

Whatever happened at the Summit isn’t their problem. Missing the last bus to Ferris is.  

Earlier that evening, they made a show of getting ready for bed after Sam left to meet Tank for something, and they can’t bear to look Frederick in the eyes, knowing that this will be the last time they will ever see each other. Not that he knows, but hey, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? So they collapse onto the mattress, willing themselves to be calm because anything less will have Frederick peeking his head through the door. So they close their eyes until the bond between Progeny and Maker whispers to Bright that Frederick is unconscious. The rose detergent on the pillows and duvet itches their nose. They hate the smell but they can’t forget how wide Frederick smiles just because they accepted a bouquet of roses from him once. It’s not rocket science that all of the previous lavender scents on linens were replaced with rose soon after that. 

Bright Eyes is so exhausted of sustaining themselves on the pitiful sweetness of their once friend turned Maker. Not when the bitterness that comes from Sam is gradually killing them. 

They get up and take a good, long bath. It's probably the only one they’ll be getting for a while, so they’re making the most of the soap and shampoo. They continue to ignore the sweet, floral scent clinging to their body. Then they dig through the closet for a jacket covered in patches and a ripped pair of jeans - the clothes their parents bought for their birthday, now worn with time. The clothes that they wore on the night they were murdered. Then they spend half an hour checking everything for one last time. Anyone can tell by a single glance that Bright Eyes is a walking charity case. It’s cool, it’s fine. No one cares about runaway people all the time. They’re statistics. 

Their stomach flips when Bright stalks across the hall like a ghost. A part of them wanted Frederick to catch them in mid-act, to convince them to stay so they could work things out for good. The part that loathed Bright, however, hisses to remove the glitch in this game. 

Once the front door is locked behind them, Bright wipes their eyes and hoists the duffel bag strap firmly on their shoulder. The abandoned theme park will be their last stop in Dahlia. 

-

Wonder World will forever be a sight for sore eyes. 

Like the Clan, the place is a living corpse. It should have been destroyed, put all the bad memories to rest, but instead, it transformed into a hideout for the walking dead. Hah. 

Bright keeps a good healthy distance from the Vampires that are on shift, listens well to the chatters in dark corners, and avoids slipping underneath awnings that will collapse on top of them if they so much as breathe. They memorised the schedule for this specific night, and it paid off. No one notices them skulking towards the cold storage. See, new batches of blood will be delivered tomorrow, so no one will find out that a couple of leftovers will be missing. Fingers might be pointed at Bright, but by then, they’ll be long gone. A footnote in their lives. 

The fridge greets Bright when they sneak in through the open window, no different than a racoon. Their entry wasn’t as smooth as James Bond’s because their kneecap bumped against the nearby table. Luckily, no one heard it. 

“A+, A+, more A+… you’re fucking kidding me? B-? Beggars can’t be choosers, Bright. Food’s food.” They grumble to themselves as the fridge is raided. They stuffed as many blood bags into the bag as they could. 

Suddenly, the door gently opens. Bright Eyes turn around. Their eyes widen in horror because - 

“Little Bright? Is that you?” William Solaire, the fucking king of every magical equivalent of Schrödinger Cat in Dahlia, tilts his head in question as if to better see them. Standing between them and their freedom. What the fuck, how the fuck, why in the actual fuck!? “I didn’t mean to interrupt your break time. Ah… how are you? Lately, I haven’t had the pleasure of…” Here’s where Bright could only watch in frozen shock when William’s eyes met with the duffel bag and stuffed pockets.  

Hubris is the downfall of many great men. In Bright’s case, it’s stupidity. They really should’ve come up with a backup plan for something like this. That’s on them. They’ll take that L like the underdog they are. 

The two of them shatter the awkward silence by speaking at once. 

“This isn’t what it looks like!” 

“Did you just went through the window?” 

Cue the stares. Wait. There’s something they need to try. 

“Dinosaur in the museum say what?” 

“What?” 

Bright promptly snaps their mouth shut. Don’t laugh. For the love of Reddit Mods, don’t laugh at the most dangerous grandpa in the world. While Bright manages to avoid death via lectures, their shaking shoulders give William the wrong impression. Thinking that the youngest Vampire in his care is shaking with fear at the sight of him pulled on William’s heartstrings. He had always harboured a sadness for not being able to connect with Bright Eyes the way he does with Frederick. The boy is often quiet but perks like a sunflower when you give him the right attention. Bright, on the other hand, scampers away the moment you turn your back. No gentle words or amount of glitter bombs as presents could entice them to drop the walls fiercely guarding their heart. 

William’s heart twists and turns into a knot - more so lately - seeing how Bright Eyes tremble. 

“It’s alright, Little One. You’re alright. The blood bags are for anyone who is in need.” William kindly assures them. “It’s unlike Sam to forget and restock for his household. I supposed our recent conversation has put him out of sorts.” 

“Wait. You think I’m hungry?” 

“Is that not why you brought that bag over - ”

“Yeah, yeah! Pssh, totally! Sam was getting testerical about the lack of bloodshed in the house. Not the fun kind, though.” Bright Eyes fib as they ramble on, their little tell-tale sign of attempting to smother the panic. They refuse to fidget or look away from William’s eyes. Is it a trick of the light? Is Bright high? Why are they wet near the corners? “Uh… c-can I go now? I need to dip to the grocery store for some milk… you know how it is…” 

For some reason, that made the Vampire King flinch. What the hell!? Anyone walking by would think that Bright is bullying him! 

But William lets out a gust of air, heavy and somehow reluctant. He steps aside to present the open door where the world that allowed Tom Howard to live is waiting for Bright. “Of course, Little One. I shouldn’t keep you from your errands.” 

“Lit! So this is me, walking away now…” Bright Eyes warily sidesteps William, who is still giving a strong kicked puppy vibe. Which is insane to comprehend. 

Something about it, however, made them turn around to look at him one final time. Due to the hilariously huge gap between a king and his peasant, Bright has only seen William thrice from afar, and that’s during really important events where they can’t fake a seizure and escape - 

“Bright, Vampires don’t get seizures.” 

“Until now. Quick, pretend you actually care and drag me out.” 

“…Low blow, Bright, and you know it. Why do you never listen when I’m - aaand you’re already on the floor. Great.” 

- so they’re left with them being sandwiched between a highly amused Lovely and a distracted Vincent because their beau is flashing their ankles or something. Bright doesn’t want to know or care. What they do care about is that thanks to Frederick sulking off somewhere, they are now in the spotlight because the prince of the entire damn clan is holding onto their elbow. Random Vampires snicker when they pass by their group, and whenever Bright flips them off, some of them actually laugh! Bright will never understand these deadbeats. But anyway, because of Frederick, Bright has the front row of William in all his fancy ass clothes, in a shiny crown that blinded Bright and a million-dollar smile that rubs them off the wrong way. Fuckers with a max level on charms give them the hives. 

So this melancholic shroud that drapes over his shoulders so heavily that Bright might as well ask if it’s made of lead with how it makes William look so small in the shadows? Yeah, it’s giving red flags. 

And since Bright is colourblind with no filter whatsoever - 

“OK, why do you look like someone woke you up from a depression nap?” Bright demanded, marching back to William. It’s stupid. It’s borderline suicidal, but hey, Bright was never known to make decisions that align with their self-preservation. That’s something their murderer and both Makers will agree on. Tonight, curiosity wins. “Usually you’re very…” They scrunch up their face, trying to think of the perfect words. 

William raises an eyebrow. “Very?” 

“Very shiny.” Bright nods, pleased with themselves. “The kind of shiny that’s like fire in Chinese factories after every election.” 

“I… see. I’m starting to understand why Samuel complain of migraines every now and then.” 

Even as he said that, William began to smile fondly. That threw Bright off a little. He said that without derision and they have no idea how to react. 

“Uh, right. So what’s up?” 

“Can’t a man be caught in his own sorrow every now and then?” 

“But you’re not supposed to be angsty. You’re the King. Your world is supposed to be perfect and all that shit.” Unlike mine, is what Bright didn’t say. 

William’s smile turns rueful. He surprises them by admitting, “Would you like to know a secret, Little Bright? My world hasn’t been perfect lately. How can it be when my loved ones are leaving one by one.” 

Oh, fuck them, is William trauma dumping right now? Deadass? Is this trauma dumping!? Bright didn’t consent to this!

Wait - leaving? Who’s leaving too? 

…Is it any of Bright’s business, though? When they’re doing the same thing tonight? 

This scene feels familiar. It’s like the time they steal a sip from a man in his late fifties while he’s in the middle of a divorce and struggling with alimony. Bright was looking for food, not someone’s entire life story that, in the end, they paid for an Uber and sent him on his way. The point is, there’s no fun in kicking someone who’s already eating dirt. That’s not enough room in Wonder World for two miserable fuckers, so Bright might as well do something about it. 

“C’mon, let’s go. We’re going on a side quest right now.” Bright demands, and fuck it, they grab one of William’s hands and drag him to the exit. Does it say something that the Vampire King lets himself be led away like a cow? Probably, but Bright couldn’t care less.

The patrolling Vampires stare at them incredulously. None attempted even to approach the duo. 

“Is this a kidnapping?” William politely inquires. While Bright might’ve initiated the contact, he finds himself reluctant to let go of their smaller hand. It’s an anchor that he silently needed over these past few days. 

“That and robbery too. I’m gonna be needing your wallet since mine are non-existent. Which one is your car? Wait! Let me guess, the one on the right that looks like it just left the showroom a day ago.” 

“It’s actually this morning. I enjoy collecting Rolls Royce as much as I enjoy watching those exciting Bond movies.” 

“Sheesh, I guess it’s hereditary then. Ok, Goldfinger - take the wheel. We’re going to karaoke. Screaming into a mic is a legit form of therapy. Take it from me.” After dropping that nugget of wisdom, Bright and William enter the car. 

Before William speeds off from the driveway, he frowns and asks, “Why can’t I be James Bond?” 

Bright Eyes groans into their hands. 

-

It takes William Motherfucking Solaire crying into a microphone, singing Hurt by Christina Aguilera to convince Bright Eyes that something is wrong with the trajectory of their life. 

Seriously, what the fuck? 

Despite being one of the prettiest men who should be kept in a museum (isn’t he 5,000 years old or something?) William is an ugly crier. It doesn’t make any damn sense, but he sure ain’t got that damsel-in-distress tears like Cinderella. Bright could only grimace as they extended a box of tissues once William finished belting out the final verse. Their duffel bag mocks them from the door, the only exit from this room. The lamentation of Bright Eyes would be a sick-ass song. 

“The closest thing I have to a son, child-in-law, great grandson and friend are leaving me.” William confesses after blowing his nose. 

“Did I ask?” 

Much to Bright’s horror, William continues.  

“I wanted to be a leader and a father that I never had. A Maker that mine never was. All I wanted… was to protect my family. How did it all went wrong?” 

Oh, geez. William does not give a shit that Bright Eyes hasn’t unlocked his social link. All they wanted was to evict whatever funk was messing with his system like a landlord so they could run away in peace. Not play therapist! Now, the employees are nervously looking through that window on the door because a grown man is depleting their stock of tissue boxes by the minute while Bright is struggling to figure out how to comfort said grown man that doesn’t involve homicide. 

By the way, it took precisely ten minutes for William’s words to register in Bright’s crack-concentrated, addled spider monkey brain. 

Their eyes widen like the backside of a yogi mid-downward dog. “Time out. Back it up, dump truck. Vincent’s leaving? As in, leaving the Clan? Him and the rest of the main characters?” If Bright was still alive, their heart would beat frantically as their head spins in disbelief and betrayal. 

Frederick is leaving them? After everything? To follow what, Sam? And Vincent and Lovely? 

…Without even telling them? 

Numbness and Bright Eyes always have a strange relationship. Quinn draining their blood down to the last drop didn’t give Bright that all-encompassing numbness. It was only when they woke up again that did it. It feels like their bones just took a dip in a pond in the middle of Antarctica. They didn’t even realise they were crying until William gently wiped the tears with a tissue. It’s a testament to how the shocking numbness rooted Bright to the core because they would flinch away from any physical contact that they didn’t initiate after death. 

“You didn’t know.” William summarised with that same melancholy from Wonder World and that same sad smile. They hate it. They don’t deserve it Well! So much for karaoke therapy. Now Bright’s feeling like shit too. 

William leans back when Bright Eyes huffs and slumps against the cheap red sofa. They pretend that their nose isn’t itching when they sniffle as they angrily rub their red eyes. “Of course I didn’t know! I get that Sam wouldn’t tell me shit but I didn’t expect this knife in the back from Freddy!” They spit, and then words start to embarrassingly spill from their mouth before Bright could stop themselves. “I fucking hate this! Why can’t I do anything right!? Why can’t I stop making mistakes? Why do I always try for people who never even like me? Fuck, fuck, fuck this! I hate feeling like this! God, I’m so tired of-of everything!” Fun fact: Bright is also an ugly crier. Even more so than William at this point. Not that it matters because they’re too busy wailing and making a mess out of his shirt when he pulls them into a tight hug. 

A shirt that has more of a network compared to theirs, and Bright Eyes appropriate it by blowing their nose. 

When their crying tapers into hiccups, it’s William’s soothing hand behind their back that grounds Bright Eyes. Exhaustion finally sinks in, and they’re long for the rest in the forever box (coffin) already. 

“I’m… sorry, Little One.” 

“The hell for?” Bright Eyes scrunches their nose. Although William had released them from his embrace, Bright didn’t actually scoot away. Instead, they play the part of a finicky cat - pressing close to the older Vampire without acknowledging it. “You’re not Sam. I hardly even know you.” 

“And I regret it dearly. And I deeply apologised for the suffering that you had to endured under Samuel’s blatant negligence. If I had known earlier that the wounds caused by Alexis run deeper than he would like to admit, I would have intervened. I would have you in my care instead of his in a heartbeat.” 

“Alexis?” 

Here, William sighs. “My eldest Progeny and Samuel’s Maker.” 

“Why does he hate her so much that he took it out on me?” Bright hates how small their voice sounded to their own ears. They needed to know, though. They needed closure, and then maybe, finally, they’ll be able to move on somehow. 

William looks torn, clearly debating with himself. He sighed once more, but this time, it was with resignation. “It’s not my story to tell. However,” Seeing the crushed expression on poor Bright’s face, he decides to be honest towards someone who desperately needs it. Especially since they suffered not only at the hands of someone who was supposed to be their caretaker and teacher but also William’s own negligence. After the Adam incident, he should’ve kept a closer eye on his Clan instead of diverting this attention to other Houses. He owed this much to Bright Eyes and more. “You deserve the truth. Do you have some time to listen to an old man’s regrets?”

“I was supposed to clap my asscheeks to Ferris. So much for that. Actually, I guess it’s pretty hypocritical of me to get pissed off at Frederick for booking it since I was gonna do the same.” Bright’s grumbled, causing William to rear back in a start. But they press on. “So why the fuck not? Whose origin are you spilling? Wham Slam Bam Sam?” 

“…Yes. Two sins never cancel each other.” Something dark flashes over William’s beautiful face. The hair behind Bright’s neck freezes. “Yet I can’t help but find myself disappointed in Samuel’s behaviours more so than mine after tonight.” 

“Spill the tea, spill the tea! My life is already a German bedtime stories and besides, isn’t it so much fun when you focuses on someone’s L instead of yours!?” 

William simply rolled his eyes at their cheek, and so Bright Eyes made themselves comfortable as the Vampire King narrated a story of a daughter he dearly loved but could never understand, and in return, she was unable to understand those she loved. It was all very sad, and the tropes that William describes are all too familiar to Bright. Man, no wonder Alexis turned out to be a villainess like those in their favourite Korean romance manhwa. They wonder if reincarnation is a thing in this world. Would they reincarnate as one of Trisha Paytas’s babies, or is that exclusive to royalties? They made a mental note to ask William once story time was over. Anyway, Alexis and Sam’s history could be a Hozier’s album all on its own and Bright supposed they could muster up some form of sympathy for him if they have similar-sized bazoombas/chesticles as the Princess’, but alas, they don’t. For that, Bright can never forgive Sam for his projection. 

Frederick and their situation hit too close to home apparently, but just because he can’t dish it out on Alexis, does that justify him punishing Bright in her stead? Fuck that. 

Anger buzzes around Bright’s ears like angry hornets. They can’t be around Sam for at least 100 years now that they know the truth. Frederick and Tank can have him for all they care. 

They snatch the microphone again, prompting William’s curiosity. “Are we in for the next session of karaoke therapy?” 

Bright just searched for Grow A Pear by Kesha and belted out for the next three minutes. Making sure to scream out the verse, ‘but you cry about this, and whine about that. When you grow a pair you can call me back,’ making William wonder if he should’ve used more tact. Once they got it out of their system, Bright exhaled deeply and turned their attention back to William with their hands on their hips. 

“If thought crimes were a thing, they would need a new set of the Geneva Convention. So Sam’s a major Soy Wojack.  Good for him. Why is he and every one else are packing their shit up now and not ten thousand years ago?” 

“That’s my fault. My decisions regarding the Summit were inexcusable, and I fear they will be unforgivable to those I love.” William replies as morosely as a tortured poet in the 1500s. Very apt. 

Storytime, part 2! So, while the Summit didn’t go to hell in a handbasket, a lot of the parties that were nearly caught in the crossfire were butthurt, apparently. Trusts were betrayed, and William no longer rests on that pedestal in the eyes of Sam, Vincent, Tank and the furries. Bright doesn’t understand what the big deal is; William is literally an artefact. You can’t live that long with a shiny moral compass. Even now, as William easily takes in Bright’s shenanigans in stride, they could never ignore his capacity for cruelty and ruthlessness. No matter how soft he speaks or how kind he is to Bright. However, stressing out over the assumption that William always has an ulterior motive whenever he opens his mouth would be the equivalent of same-day shipping to God for Bright. Again. Besides, assumptions are nails that could seal a coffin, and Bright would rather use them to build a shelf for Bad Dragons and Lovehoney instead. 

So they snap their fingers, switching to Business Mode. “You know what your problem is? Your problem is that you don’t have a Shae to your Sansa. The Garrus to your Shepard. The Soundwave to your Megatron. Get it?” 

William just looks like a lost child in Whole Foods. Bright tries another angle. 

“Confidants, dude. You don’t have any of those. You’re a King, right? I thought every King has a council of advisers? Ain’t that supposed to be Vincent and Alexis’ job?” 

“No. I can’t possibly bear to burden my children with the unsavoury aspects of our world.” William counters with a grimace. Perhaps William and Bright share a lot more in common than they thought. Not the martyrdom vibes coming off William like radiation but the fact that both of them are essentially the universe's way of trying to figure out how much PTSD one man can possibly get. If Bright is an economist, they would vehemently write themselves and William down as bad use of human capital. Oh! Wait, William is still talking. “It was not out of malice that I placed my family in the dark regarding the Summit. It was out of love. I don’t understand why they couldn’t understand that. Porter even served as their shield.” 

“It could’ve gone better. It really did.” Bright insists, but judging from William’s stubborn expression, this is an issue that is not going to be resolved overnight. 

They thought long and hard about this. Running away is so damn easy it might as well be a cheat code, and isn’t that what Bright and the others are doing? Vincent and the others are probably doing so under the guise of ‘needing some space’ from William, but Bright was planning to run away from their feelings and issues with Frederick and Sam, with no intention of ever talking to them again. 

HOWEVER!

Being abandoned fucking sucks. Bright of all people knows how that tastes! The thought that William would be left all alone with a daughter that comes and goes worse than that street cat Priscilla leaves a sour taste in their mouth. William isn’t an evil dude. He’s just dumb.

Slowly, their duffel bag loses its appeal. Bright is going to take a leap of faith here, and only time will tell if this will be the stupidest decision they have ever made, triumph over their jaunt in Wonder World with Frederick. And so they sit beside William and say, “Look. I actually don’t wanna be alone, and I bet you don’t want that too.” “No, Little One. I had enough of it back in the day.” William quietly admits. A Vampire King shouldn’t be able to look like a poor puppy being left out in the rain! Seriously! 

“Right. Here’s the plan, Batman. You wanna spare Vincent and the rest about the nitty gritty aspects of what it means to be a deadbeat? Fine. We do it baby steps, then. You tell me before you pull off any shits, and I’ll talk your ear off how stupid it is until we figure something better. Sounds good?” 

“No. Absolutely not. You’re family as well, Bright Eyes. I won’t have you suffer the burden of my crown.” 

“I am the Alpha and the Omega. I am one of the mods in 4chan. I can handle shits, alright? It’s in my DNA! Look William, you need someone in your corner that you can trust. If you can’t start with your Progenies, start with me. Prove to them that you value their opinions. We’ve got all the time in the world for it, right?” 

Finally, after trying to get through William the entire night, he starts to look hopeful and, most importantly, determined. He clutches Bright’s hand tenderly. 

“In that case, I have a proposal of my own. If you promise to be my guide, I promise to be your teacher. Allow me to be what Sam was meant to be for you. Perhaps by helping one another, happiness can make its way to us.” As he says this, William feels a lot more better than ever before. It feels like things are starting to look up for him. A rebirth could be just what he and Bright sorely needed. 

What a blessing. What a boon to have a great-great-grandchild to be the modern incarnation of Athena. 

“Yeah, yeah. So! Never gonna give you up?” 

“Never gonna let you down.” 

[inklings-challenge]

2024 Inklings Challenge FAQ

(Things that People Have Already Asked or Things I Imagine They Might Ask)

What is the Inklings Challenge?

The Inklings Challenge is an invitation for Christian science fiction and fantasy writers to create stories that fit the Christian worldview. The event runs from October 1st to October 21st, 2024. Participants are divided into three separate groups and challenged to write a story that fits the assigned topic.

Team Lewis

Portal Fantasy: Stories where someone from the real world explores a new world

Space Travel: Stories about traveling through space or exploring other planets

Team Tolkien

Secondary World Fantasy: Stories that takes place in an imaginary realm that’s completely separate from our world

Time Travel: Stories exploring travel through time

Team Chesterton

Intrusive Fantasy: Stories where the fantastical elements intrude into the real world

Earth Travel: Science fiction or fantasy stories that feature any kind of land, sea, air, or underground travel on a past, present, future or alternate Earth

These teams will be assigned at random on October 1st, 2024. Writers are then encouraged to write a story before the deadline on October 21st.

Stories should also use at least one of seven provided Christian themes to inspire some element of their story. This year’s themes all explore feature the seven traditional spiritual acts of mercy which Christians are called to perform. Writers need to choose only one theme, but may feature multiple themes if they wish.

The seven themes writers may choose from are:

Admonish the sinner

Instruct the ignorant

Counsel the doubtful

Comfort the sorrowful

Bear wrongs patiently

Forgive all injuries

Pray for the living and the dead

Finished stories can be posted to a tumblr blog. The post should also be tagged #inklingschallenge, and tagged with the name of your particular team: #team lewis, #team tolkien, or #team chesterton, so they can be shared on the main Inklings Challenge blog.

For organizational purposes, stories should also be tagged with:

The genre the story falls under: #genre: portal fantasy, #genre: space travel, #genre: secondary world, #genre: time travel, #genre: intrusive fantasy, #genre: earth travel

Any themes that were used within the story: #theme: admonish, #theme: instruct, #theme: counsel, #theme: comfort, #theme: patience, #theme: forgive, #theme: pray

The completion status of the story: #story: complete or #story: unfinished

How do I sign up for the Inklings Challenge?

Reply to this year's Official Announcement post, or send this blog a message via ask box or private message asking to join before October 1st, 2024, and you’ll be added to the list of participants.

What if I don’t finish by the deadline?

Post it anyway! In the original version of this challenge, Tolkien never finished his story! The idea is to create whatever you can, and we welcome unfinished stories. Show us what you’ve accomplished. If you like, you can also post the finished version at a later date, and I’ll make an effort to share it on the main blog.

What if I finish early?

Post it! I’ll share it to the main blog, and it’ll provide inspiration for other writers. If you’re feeling ambitious, create more stories within your assigned topics.

What if my story isn’t any good? Do I have to post?

No one’s judging this. This is a fun challenge, not a contest, and I hope that it will inspire people to push past that voice of criticism and just share whatever they come up with. If you really don’t want to post what you’ve created, no one’s going to force you to, but I hope you’ll join in the fun.

If you just plain don’t have enough to post–say, if the month gets away from you and you wind up with half a sentence–you’re always welcome to keep working on it and post something more substantial at a later date.

Can I use characters or settings from my other stories?

Absolutely! This can be a great way to expand your story world. As long as the story fits your assigned topic, you’re welcome to use any settings or characters you might have created for other works. However, it’d be nice if the story you write can stand alone, so readers can understand it without any knowledge of other works in the world.

What if I don’t like my team’s assigned topics?

I encourage everyone to at least try to come up with a story that fits one of their assigned topics. That’s the challenge portion of The Inklings Challenge–it’ll stretch your imagination and get you to work outside of your comfort zone. The categories are broad, and you should be able to come up with an angle that interests you.

However, if there’s a particular topic that calls to you in another team’s options, you can stretch the definitions to make it fit your own topic. What’s to say the portal in the portal fantasy can’t lead to a different time period? Explore a secondary world of elves in space if you want to. Be creative!

Does [a certain type of story] fit into this Inklings Challenge genre?

Writers are allowed to define the limits of the genre themselves, and can define it as narrowly or widely as they prefer.

I have never read anything by and/or don’t like the author my team is named after. Do I have to write something in their style?

The team names have absolutely nothing to do with the style of stories we expect from the writers. They’re only named after the authors because:

The Inklings Challenge was inspired by a similar writing challenge between Tolkien and Lewis, who happen to have written genres that provide good categories for the challenge teams

Chesterton is another prominent Christian writer whose work dealt with fantastical themes that provided good categories for a third team (which allowed me to include the third major type of fantasy).

Naming the teams after the authors is much more fun than naming them Team A, B, and C or whatever.

That’s not to say that you can’t be inspired by the authors or their works if you like them, but please do not worry at all if you don’t.

Do I have to write an allegory or include religion?

You are welcome to write an allegory or to explicitly explore religion if you want to, but you’re certainly not required to. The goal is merely to write stories that fit within the Christian worldview, not to preach.

What if I can’t think of an idea?

Over the course of September, writing prompts will be posted to this blog for anyone who wants a little extra inspiration. The Inklings Challenge directory also has quite a few writing prompt posts from past challenges, most of which would still fit this year’s Challenge.

Do I have to put my story into a tumblr post?

If you prefer to post your story in another format–such as on another blogging site or on AO3–you are welcome to do so, but to submit the story for the Challenge, you’ll need to make a tumblr post that provides the link to the story and tag with all the required tags, so it can be archived on the main Challenge blog.

Do I have to post my story in a single post or can I post it in multiple parts?

You may post your story in as many parts as you desire. As long as they are all tagged appropriately and it’s clear which order they’re supposed to go in, I should be able to find them, reblog them to the Challenge website, and put them in the archive.

My friend doesn’t have a tumblr. Can they still participate in the Challenge?

This is a tumblr-centered Challenge, so for organizational purposes, the writers should have access to tumblr, so they can be notified of team assignments, post their stories, etc.

However, it would be possible for writers without a tumblr account to participate if these conditions are fulfilled:

The non-tumblr writer provides some name that I can use to list them on a team and that can be used as an author name for their story.

The non-tumblr writer can check the Inklings Challenge blog and find out which team they are assigned to.

The non-tumblr writer has a friend who is on tumblr who can either post the story on their tumblr blog (with proper credit toward the writer) or create a post with the link to wherever the non-tumblr writer has posted the story.

It’s after October 1st and I just found out about the Challenge. Can I still participate?

Yes, you can (if you're okay with the disadvantage of having less time to complete your story). People who sign up after the deadline will be randomly assigned to one of three teams in a way that balances the number of participants on each team.

Can I write fanfiction for the Challenge?

The Inklings Challenge is meant to provide new science fiction and fantasy stories from a Christian worldview, so this challenge is focused on original fiction.

Are there other ways to engage with the Inklings Challenge Community?

There are several ways to interact with the community!

On this blog, discussion posts, labeled “The Eagle and Child”, will be posted roughly once a week that provide an opportunity for writers to discuss their story ideas and their writing progress.

@inklings-sprint, run by @allisonreader, provides several opportunities for writers to come together for writing and brainstorming sprints.

The Inklings Challenge Discord provides extra support for people who want to participate on that platform. The Discord is run by @secret–psalms–saturn, and @enjoliquej, so anyone who wants to participate should message one of them for the link.

[queer-ragnelle]

What are some of the weirdest stories/books/movies etc you've encountered in your Arthuriana journey? Whatever weird might mean to you (good/bad/unsettling/unexpected/surreal/goofy)

Hi anon!

This is honestly a tough thing to answer because what even constitutes a weird Arthurian retelling? They're all pretty weird haha! But I definitely have a few that come to mind

The French film Perceval (1978) is super weird in a great way! It's shot on a stage with painted backgrounds and metallic trees and structures for the set. Real horses are brought on. A troupe of bards provide diegetic music, playing instruments and singing a narration of events on screen while also acting as characters in their own right (such as the jester Kay throws into the fire). Perceval and Gauvain narrate their own stories in third person at times too. It's surreal! It's as if Perceval's world is "fake," since his mother has kept him isolated for so long, it's a distorted view of reality. This is the closest adaptation of Chrétien de Troyes's Story of the Grail I can think of, it's nearly word-for-word, BUT! They removed the racism and antisemitism. Two thumbs up! The ending is bananas. There's no describing it, you just have to watch. You can download this movie from my MEGA drive or it can be watched for free on Tubi! (Content warning for nudity and some gore.)

The film Unidentified Flying Oddball (1979) is my favorite adaptation of Mark Twain's A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. The main character Tom works for NASA developing an android named Hermes. Through a comedy of errors, both Tom and Hermes end up launched into space at the speed of light, traveling through time, and crash land in Camelot, 508AD. Mordred mistakes Tom for a monster (due to his space suit and orb-shaped helmet) but Tom quickly wins Arthur's trust and allowed to hang out. He meets Sandy, a girl who thinks her dad has been transformed into a goose, and together with her and a page named Clarance, works to return home. It's exceedingly silly. I much prefer the character Tom (and Hermes, who is identical in appearance to Tom and jousts for him) to Sir Boss in the Connecticut Yankee film from 1949 with Bing Crosby. Tom's gun is funnier than the original as it's more like a science-fiction laser that blows things up. He also has a magnet ray he uses to draw armored knights where he wants. Not a good film, but goofy and fun. You can download this movie from my MEGA drive! (No content warnings, it's a family movie!)

The film Excalibur (1981) obviously has to make this list. Coincidentally, it's mostly for Percival again. The Grail Quest segment accounts for just 20 minutes of the entire film, but it feels like eons. And it's So Weird. It's safe to call it horror. Percival meets struggle after struggle, encountering many dead comrades along the way, raving mad townspeople struggling to survive, Morgan and Mordred attempting to steer him wrong. He's eventually hung from a tree and has a vision of God's voice. (Hallucination or real?) The dead knight dangling above him sways and his spurs cut Percival free. From there he runs into Uriens and holds him as he dies, struck down by miscreant knights. Percival eventually achieves the grail, obviously, but it's not until he's pushed the absolute limits. It's probably one of my favorite sequences in film ever. 11/10. You can download this from my MEGA drive! (Content warning for nudity, rape, gore, and incest.)

As for books, I recommend The Modern Arthur Trilogy by Peter David. The first one is Arthur running for mayor of NYC, the second one is President of the United States, and the third one he sort of becomes a god. It's wild. Other characters include Guinevere, Lancelot, Morgan le Fay, Mordred, Percival, Merlin, and of course the Lake of the Lake. The sequels randomly add Gilgamesh and Enkidu (and later Noah, like the guy with an ark in the Bible??) and it's all very strange indeed. The first book is definitely the best but Gilgamesh/Enkidu were pretty freaky (affectionate) so I did enjoy that, although the whole premise of book two is...meh. I listened to the graphic audio books which were awesome, the sound effect of Arthur falling down the subway stairs in full armor is worth every penny. (Content warning for incest, murder, cannibalism, racism, and terrorism)

[honourablejester]

A thought for a sci-fi ghost story.

I was thinking about science fiction and horror in proximity, how to do gothic in space, and I’ll come back to that, I’m percolating on it. But I was sidetracked by a thought about ghost ships. Which can mean anything from an abandoned ship drifting without power, to a ship full of ghosts, to the ghost of a ship. And that. That last one.

You all remember in Event Horizon (1997), when they realise that the rescue ship’s scanners are registering the Event Horizon itself as ‘alive’? The idea of the ship itself as the ghost.

And I’ve been watching some air crash investigation stuff lately, including some tragic CVR recordings, and I remembered one which was just the pilot pleading something along the lines of ‘come on, girl, don’t do this to me, don’t crash on me’.

And in the animated anthology series ‘Love, Death and Robots’, there was a short called ‘Lucky 13’, about an unlucky ship that got a pilot that cared, and may or may not have been sentient enough to make its death count to try and save said pilot.

So I was thinking. There’s a hulk, drifting in space. It’s an old, old hulk, a ship from centuries ago. It’s been spotted here or there a couple dozen times throughout galactic history. Nobody who goes near it comes back. But the thing about it is, it’s not drifting. It can’t be drifting. Because plotting the locations it’s been seen, assuming that the reports are real, it’s been covering a lot of distance in those centuries. Nowhere close to what a ship under actual power would cover, it’s heartbreakingly slow, but it’s covering ground. Or space, rather. It’s moving. Almost as if it’s still being piloted.

And that’s not really possible. Every scan of the ship from someone who survived shows that it’s dead. Dead dead. Whatever power plant was in there is gutted or gone. There is not a shred of motivating power left in her. She’s a hulk. There is no power, there are no life signs, there is no motivating force. Now, granted, every scan of the ship that survived came from ships that kept their distance. Nothing’s out there from someone who got close. But still. She’s dead. She’s a hunk of floating metal. There is nothing in her that should be able to let her move.

But she is. She’s moving. Slowly, oh, so achingly slowly, but she’s moving. She’s going somewhere. Power or no power, life or no life. Four hundred years down the line, she still has somewhere to go.

And maybe we follow a team who spots her. Maybe they were hunting her, the mysterious white whale of the salvaging community, or maybe it was a ship on its own business who stumbled across her, but they see her. And they get close. And they board her.

And things happen. Terrifying things. Things in their heads, things not in their heads. A hulk that’s been dead and powerless and airless and frozen for four hundred years, but things move inside her. Things open. Things close. Systems flare with phantom life. She wants them out. She wants them gone. Get out, get away, leave me alone. Leave me and mine alone.

But someone’s stubborn. And someone stays, someone keeps pushing. Someone finds the thing at the core of her that she was so desperate to defend.

Her power plant is gone. Damn near ripped apart. Whatever happened to her, whatever she ran into all those centuries ago, it did catastrophic damage to her. Absolutely unsurvivable damage. But not instant damage. Not enough to blow her up on the spot. She fought all the way down. And so did her crew. So did her crew. Because the bodies are still there. Scattered, here or there, lying where they fell, the trail of breadcrumbs across the ship that she was doing everything in her power to drive intruders away from. Guarding their bodies. Guarding their rest.

There’s a recording. When they find the first of the bodies, and they don’t touch them, when she realises they’re not going to touch them, she lets them onto the bridge. There’s a ‘recording’. Nothing real. Nothing recoverable. There’s no power. Nothing left alive to record anything. But the boarding team ‘sees’ the recording anyway, phantom signals on a black screen. Phantom voices over dead comms.

“Come on, girl. Come on, girl. Give me just a little bit more. Come on. Come on. We’re so close. One more jump and we’re home. Come on, girl, you can do this. Just a little bit more. Please.”

And she couldn’t. She couldn’t. She didn’t have a little bit more. But by god, by god, she will get them home now. The slow way. The hard way. No engines. No jumps. By no power but her own sheer determination. Desperation. Loyalty. She couldn’t save them. But she will get them home.

The ship is a ghost. There’s no crew. They’re all dead, they’re all gone. They didn’t stay with her. No spirits linger except hers. She’s all alone. But it doesn’t matter. She failed them then. She won’t now. The ghost of a dead ship will carry their bodies home. No matter how long it takes, or how far she has to go. Some loyalties last beyond death. And hers is one of them.

Leave her alone. Leave them alone. She has to carry them home.

… Yeah. I had a thought for science fiction ghost story? The story of the ghost … of a ship. Heh.

[igglemouse]

The morning light pulls me from my sleep as the headache reminds me that I've probably had a little too much to drink but not too much to have forgotten about yesterday.

The room around me is bland and simple, a space that's mine but one can hardly tell with how impersonal it is right now. It might as well be a hotel room.

Still I am thankful. I do miss home, deeply, but at the same time I realize I can't go back and that here, Oasis Springs, isn't so bad. My father, a man I don't enjoy mentioning as he is a horrible person and yet for some reason he's done me this kindness.

I wanted to deny this, to say no to this simple bit of fortune, but that would have left me as prey among wolves...

The kitchen is my sanctuary. Despite waking up with darker thoughts the moment the mixer starts mixing a smile forms on my face. Ideas push into my mind about how to give my waffles a bit more kick but not only that, what else can I sell for my food stand?

Just the act of cooking is meditative for me. It's ancient alchemy you know? Our ancestors would just stuff whatever they found in their mouths and might throw it over a fire but how far have we come from those times?

I am surrounded by modernity. Bottles of sauces and jars of spices. Each honed over the decades to add texture, flavor, and aroma, making this all a science not only to enhance taste but also to tickle the soul.

Making simoleons however is not so much a science. I started earlier in the day which might have hurt me because in the end only forty simoleons were made. I could say that this was the worst day ever but then again forty is better than four.

Perhaps there is a secret to it, finding the right time, the right dishes, the sweet spot? I don't know. All I can do is pack up and try again tomorrow.

The day's light fades and with it the realization that expectations were not met. Again. This whole food stand business has really been a story of ups and downs and while I'm sure I can take it, it doesn't make the process any less frustrating.

I sink into the cushion of my couch, flip on my TV, and spend some time wondering what can be done to be a lot more consistent. Improving my skills obviously, the better the food tastes the more likely people come back over and over again. Skill will come with time, practice, and patience.

Perhaps its my marketability that is lacking? Watching commercials is a reminder that sometimes a good advertisement campaign is all a product or service needs to make simoleons.

An insistent knock at the door breaks up my thinking. That's right, I do have an expected guest today...

Of course my visitor is the increasingly familiar face of Pascal of of course I step aside and invite him inside. He takes a moment to take in my small place, the hint of being impressed on his face but its only a hint because he opts not to say anything other than to ask if he might sit.

There isn't much here, a couch, a table, and a bed. My only income is my food stand and that's not at all reliable yet and so the dining table seems as good a spot for a conversation as any.

"So, what's up?" I ask, suddenly feeling nervous, even more so than my conversation with him yesterday? How does that happen? I guess because then I thought he was just some random handsome guy and now I know that he's very ambitious and might just be the most eligible bachelor in town.

"Dunno, just wanted to see you again is all," he says casually but still looks around some. "You have a nice place."

"Gracias," it's then I take a small breath and calm myself. He's here, isn't he? He doesn't have to be and yet he is. The attraction is mutual, I assure myself, so I should act like it.

"Flower Day is tomorrow," he mentions, as if that has some meaning to me. It doesn't, not really. I've always thought of it more as a filler holiday. "I was wondering if maybe you wanted to do something together?"

"A date?"

He chuckles. "I guess you can call it that, yeah."

There's a lot of confidence in his offer as if it is a formality itself, he expects a yes, and I plan to give him one but only after one question is answered. "Why me?"

"Why you?" This catches him off guard. "What do you mean?"

"You don't have a lack of options, I am sure, so what makes me stand out from the others?"

This draws another laugh and a look my way as if I have asked a silly question. I suppose I'm just not used to seeing the worth in myself. I mean eventually I figured I'd find love and settle down and start a family but I certainly didn't come to Oasis Springs with that in mind. It was more like I was pushed out into the desert and forced to survive. Any friendly travelers I meet on the way would be appreciated but not necessary, never necessary.

"You're humble," he says breaking a silence between us I wasn't aware of until his voice made it apparent. "A lot of the women that approach me or vice versa expect it all and its clear that they only see my ambition, not me. They make me feel like I'd be the supporting character in their story and nothing else."

"There is nothing wrong with being a supporting character-"

"But mainly, I want a woman who is prepared for failure."

"Failure?"

He leans in just a little, taking the measure of me, seeking eye contact as if it was all he needed from me. "If I break my leg in three places would you still be with me?"

"I-I didn't even know you played for a pro team!" I say jokingly but also defensively.

"Exactly!" He says with some satisfaction. "So, tomorrow? Date?"

I push out a breath and give my head a nod. Before, the answer would have been yes but now? Yes? I'm a little less sure, this conversation felt more like a try out than just two people getting to know each other. "Yeah, sure, let's see what happens."

Episode List - Next

[falconearring]

goood day! hope you're doing splendid

if you have the time, would you mind explaining a bit of the lore of your au so far? I'm very interesting in lot of mechanics of aus, and apart from whatever bits you've dropped about the gang and what they're upto, is there any specifics you'd like to add on as a note? this isn't about spoilers, and if doing so might reveal some then it's completely understandable!

I'm really interested in how your story progresses and if not the above, id love to hear what you think so far about it and what you think of the thoughts of people, like their interpretations if have any! thank you for taking the time for this and its completely fine if you don't want to answer

apologies if I came off as rude or too assuming, and for the rather long ask ahah

thank you again! have a great day or night ahead! take care

Hey thank you so much for dropping this in my inbox!! You taking interest warms my heart!

I'm gonna use this ask as a means to drop these headshots and notes. Below is every person who currently resides at the repurposed logging yard. They call themselves the Hermits. All of these people will appear at least once in the comic, and I'm going to do my best to include these little bits of info within the actual story too!

Other members of traffic/life smp will also appear, they just aren't associated with the group established here. So Scott, Lizzie, Jimmy, Martyn, Bigb, Scar and Grian are going to make an appearance later.

As for the setting, we're 2 years into the apocalypse at this point. There are safe guarded cities, but these places are far away from where the story is taking place. The Hermits have pretty much been living their lives completely isolated from other people as a means of keeping safe.

Weather in this universe can be a bit extreme, as the world faces an imminent climate crisis a few years before the zombies start appearing inexplicably. Space stations were in the midst of being established before the apocalypse, with hopes that humanity could reestablish itself in outer space. When it hit, much of the remaining human race was evacuated from the planet as a last ditch effort. The status of the shuttles that were sent up is unknown. The stations being set up really weren't ready to be inhabited so soon, so its kind of iffy whether or not things are going much better up there.

Early into the apocalypse, helicopters would fly overhead looking for survivors and escort them back to safe zones and launch sites. This stopped not long after though, and whether or not they're going to start looking for survivors again is unknown.

As for the zombies themselves, the 'science' behind them is beyond anyone's understanding. Upon being bitten, the body instantaneously progresses through the stages of decomposition and takes on a sickly kind of bruised look. As far as any one can tell, there is no brain activity beyond this point, but the bodies still move inexplicably. Kind of a night of the living dead situation. Important to note that much like a human, if the heart or brain is destroyed they will die, despite not having a functioning nervous or circulatory system. I'm taking a distinctly supernatural approach to them because I just think it's cool.

I have no clue what year this is set in, but the Hermits are residing in the wilderness somewhere in Canada. I'll touch on pretty much all the above within the comic as well, but I thought there was no harm in sharing anyhow because you asked so nicely!

As for the second half, people have said a couple interesting things. Sadly I can't comment on a lot of it because it dips into spoilers! Somebody said they find it funny that Bdubs is probably freaking out while Etho is just chilling and that's absolutely spot on and made me laugh.

Thanks for such a detailed ask, anon! And thanks for your patience, I had to think about what I wanted to say ^_^ Hopefully this is what you were looking for, hope you have a fantastic day!

[cnjosephs]



I hate to break it to the "it's so dumb when people try to advertise books with just a single sentence describing the most distinctive thing about it and the representation in it but not the actual plot! How am I supposed to know what the plot is!" crowd but like

Nobody thinks that single sentence is fully describing the plot. It's not supposed to. That single sentence is called a pitch, and the idea of it is to present the most interesting/unique elements of a work in as few words as possible so people who are interested in those elements will look up the full summary of the work, which is very easy to do on the modern internet (I use Storygraph, other people use Goodreads)

Someone who pitches Tamsyn Muir's The Locked Tomb series as "lesbian necromancers in space!" isn't intending that to serve as a summary of the entire plot. The purpose of that sentence is that people who like science fantasy books and books with lesbian characters will say "Hm, that sounds intriguing, I should look up what the plot is and see if it's something I'd be into"

Likewise, someone pitching Xiran Jay Zhao's Iron Widow as "Pacific Rim plus The Handmaid's Tale plus Chinese mythology" isn't trying to say "That's literally all of the information you need to know about this book". They're trying to say "If you like sci-fi stories with giant mechas, female characters fighting against misogyny in a sexist society, and Chinese mythology, you might like this". And if those things do sound intriguing to you, you can type "Iron Widow" in Google and get about a dozen different results containing the plot summary on the first page alone

This isn't a new thing or a TikTok trend or whatever, books have been marketed like this for a very long time. The point of a pitch isn't to convey the entire plot of a book—an in-depth plot summary is usually 2-3 paragraphs long, which is a bit unwieldy for a social media post or a verbal conversation with a friend—but to lay out a few of the most distinctive elements of the book so that you'll be intrigued enough to look up the full summary yourself and decide based on that if you want to read it or not

No one actually thinks that a single pithy sentence is going to accurately convey the entire plot of a 400 page book. We think that people who see the sentence and are intrigued by it will look up a full summary of the book to decide if they're actually interested or not. That's all

[infinite-riches]

I Just Want You to Know I Tried

Summary: He felt numb. Ground down. Empty.

His alarm cuts through the silence of his room, not that he needed it. The red numbers blinked brightly in the dim space. 04:45.

C’mon, MacTavish. Get up.

It’s like this every morning.

Or: John "Soap" MacTavish is a burnt out gifted kid who finally hits his limit.

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x Simon "Ghost" Riley

Word Count: 3090

Warnings: none :)

A/N: Burnt out gifted kid Soap has been bouncing around in my head for the past couple of weeks- enjoy <3

As always feel free to leave feedback/constructive criticism <3

AO3 Link (if you prefer): I Just Want You to Know I Tried

Twenty-nine years old. He had gotten so far in 29 years, and yet it somehow still wasn't enough. 

16.

His mam and da had always told him how proud they were, what a good example he set for his younger sister, and how his older sister could learn a thing or two from him. 

School always came easy to him. He flew through coursework for maths and sciences, especially chemistry, much to the chagrin of his older sister, Isla, who spent many a night pouring over her textbooks, and his younger sister, Nora, who saw his achievements as something to be bested. To top it all off, he was a star athlete— the best goalkeeper the county club had seen in years. 

But when it came down to it all, he didn’t feel like he was enough it didn’t feel like he was doing enough.

Then there was that little flyer— an ad from the local recruitment office plastered with some line about “being more for your country”. That memory of the weekend his cousin brought him on base to show him around cycled through his mind, and what he remembered seemed interesting.

He called his cousin and was on base the following weekend, too.

It became a habit. Eventually, it was less about seeing his cousin and more so about talking to his roommate, who specialized in demolitions. 

Soap was hooked. He could imagine the formulas and calculations in his head, and it finally felt like something big was clicking into place for him. 

18. 

Try as he might, they couldn’t let him join until he was properly 18, no matter what story or excuse he came up with. But once he was in? It was everything he needed— the structure that helped him thrive in school, the firm commands like the ones his football coach gave, plus, the goal of making the SAS shining in the distance.

No one could deny how driven John MacTavish was. He excelled in every aspect of training and even then didn’t let himself stop. His commander had his recommendation for the special forces written up before John could even ask— 3 months before he was even eligible. 

John pushed himself even harder. He trained almost day and night, determined to make it through selection on his first attempt. He got his hands on any training material he could and spent every spare second he had scrounging up any spare information he could get from his CO.  

20.

It was the hardest 5 months of his life. And at the end of it all, he became the youngest to ever pass selection. All his hard work had paid off in spades, but he still wanted more. 

So he learned everything he could. Took the opportunity for specialized training, devoured whatever books he could get his hands on, worked out until his muscles ached and begged for mercy, studied until he fell asleep atop his notes— whatever he could to try and quell that desire for more. 

He was Icarus, flying higher and higher. 

25.

He was home for the holidays when his phone rang. It was John Price. 

“I’m heading up a new task force and want y-” had barely left the older man’s lips when John said yes. 

He was on a flight out a week later, despite his family’s protests and Isla’s pleas for him to slow down and enjoy life just a little while he was young.

The words did nothing to shake his hunger like his sister had hoped they would. He was fully consumed by his need for more, and the 1-4-1 was his ticket. He knew he couldn’t throw this opportunity away.

27.

Two years under the leadership of Captain John Price and Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley had pushed him even further. He was supernaturally clean in the field, a menace with C4, and something to be truly feared when he had his hands on his favorite sniper rifle. 

Even with his hardened edge, he retained all the warmth and joy of a ray of sun.

Price and Ghost had decided it was time for him to start taking on more responsibility, starting with the rookies, so Soap took over their training anytime the team wasn't deployed. Rookies looked on as if he was something more than human. An impossibility in the world they all dedicated themselves to. 

And then his bedroom door would shut, and everything would crumble to pieces. Unlike Atlas, he couldn’t bear the weight, and the sky would slip from his shoulders. 

28.

It took every last ounce of strength he had to kick his boots off and shed his sweat-stained clothes. He stood under the scalding stream until his skin went numb, the thought of having to wash his hair a nauseating concept. 

The words still rang in his ears. “Son, I think you should look into officer training.”

Price wanted more. He wasn’t enough.

It was all too much.

29. 

He had every intention to go for his officer training, but then there were the missions. More and more just kept landing on Laswell’s desk, and in turn, they were handed down to Price. 

He felt numb. Ground down. Empty. 

His alarm cuts through the silence of his room, not that he needed it. The red numbers blinked brightly in the dim space. 04:45.

C’mon, MacTavish. Get up. 

It’s like this every morning. He has to force himself out from between the sheets. Despite how exhausted he is. Despite how much he hates cold linoleum in the mornings. Despite how little coffee helps nowadays. 

The cold air on his warm skin made him shudder. 

He put one foot in front of the other, retracing the same steps from the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that… on and on. 

He all but refused to look at himself in the mirror. He had lost weight, looking gaunt and pale. He could barely remember how bright and full of life he was at 27. 

The day started with a briefing. The data recovery team had finally managed to repair a damaged hard drive retrieved on the last mission. As hard as Soap tried, the information quickly became jumbled and tangled with his other thoughts. 

Ghost had stopped him the night before outside the mess. “Things look like they’re starting to calm down again. Have you given more thought to officer training?”

Soap had felt like he could have crumbled right then and there and finally let the weight of everything overtake and destroy him. 

Instead, he did what he does best and played along, stacking something else on his plate. “Yeah, L.T., still a couple of months out from the next intake, though.”

The memory played on a loop in his mind. Officer training. Officer training? Now? He was so tired already…

The day went by like every other, filled to the brim with training, both his own and his rookies’, plus any mission prep, and now, preparing for officer training. There was no time for anything else, certainly not himself.

And then it was evening— another restless night, tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling. 

Useless. Weak. Lazy. Not enough. Worthless. 

And like usual, Soap found himself on autopilot, feet carrying himself towards the gym. 

The treadmill sounded like pure torture, but he didn’t trust himself to deadlift in this state without a spotter. Punching bag it was. 

He didn’t bother to wrap his knuckles and rarely did anymore, allowing himself to relish in the sting of freshly split skin and warm blood. 

The minutes disappeared one after another, and suddenly Soap was lost deep within his own mind. Too deep to catch himself when the day finally caught up with him, the lack of food making him dizzy and sending him off balance. He collapsed into the bag, blood-slick hands grasping to make purchase on the sweat-dampened material as his knees made vicious contact with the unpadded floor. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there in a haze and didn’t know he was crying, either. Not until Ghost crowded his vision, blocking out the buzzing fluorescents, face twisted in worry, lips moving but strangely lacking sound. 

“-nny! Johnny, can you hear me?” The Scot looked up at him, ocean-blue eyes overrun with tears and confusion clear on his face. 

“Ghost? What-?” Soap tried to put the missing pieces together, but no matter how hard he tried, there were still empty spots. 

Ghost kneeled next to him, the faintest edge of panic in his voice, his firm grasp turning Soap’s face in his hand. “Where are you bleeding from?” 

All Ghost could make out was a mess of smeared blood, sweat, and tears. There were no obvious injuries he could see. He didn’t know if that was better or worse.

“Bleeding?” Soap’s gaze seemed fuzzy as if he were far away.

“Yes, Johnny, you’re bleeding. Please, help me out here…” Ghost was begging. 

Ghost doesn’t beg. The thought made Soap’s head swim even more. He reached up, resting his hand on Ghost’s outstretched arm. “‘m fine, Ghostie.” His voice was thick with tears.

A wounded noise escaped Ghost at the sight of Soap’s knuckles. They were covered in blood, and he could see the edges of torn skin. Blood trailed down the tanned skin he loved so much, wrapping around his firm forearms like trailing vines. “Johnny…”

“‘m fine, L.T.” Soap started to pull himself away from the Brit, wobbling despite not even being on his feet.

“John, please talk to me. Let me help.” Soap could see the concern and fear in Ghost’s eyes, and that cut him to his core and sent him spiraling.

“I’m sorry. I’m trying, I promise. Please, L.T., I can do this.” Soap’s words were a babbling mess as the tears returned in full force. 

Ghost pulled the smaller man into his chest, holding him tightly and running his fingers through Soap’s hair.

Everything was starting to click for Ghost— the way Soap’s eyes didn’t shine like they used to, how his smile no longer reached his eyes, the way his laugh sounded dull. His Johnny was falling apart, and that thought made Ghost want to fall apart. 

He knew he and Price had been pushing the Scot, but the man had never given any indication that it was too much. He took everything he was given in stride and seemed ready for more at any moment. 

“Shh, Johnny. It’s okay, it’s okay…” He pulled Soap even closer, trying to soothe the broken man. “Everything is okay.”

It took Soap about an hour to snap out of the breakdown he had been stuck in. 

And with one look, Ghost broke Soap’s walls, and everything came pouring out.

“I can’t do it, Ghost. Ever since I was little, I was supposed to be the best. School, then football, then the army. It was good at first, easy even. Took in everything I could get my hands on. But then the energy just… disappeared. And I tried. I tried to keep going and keep getting better. I tried to be everything you and Price want but I just… I can’t. It's too much. I’m sorry. I can’t be everything you want, and I understand if you want me off the team, I just want you to know I tried.” His words were interrupted with little sobs as he laid his soul bare for Ghost, head buried in the larger man’s chest.

And Ghost finally understood why Soap looked like a husk of his former self— because he was. He had given everything until there was nothing left, and then still kept trying. 

“Oh, Johnny…” Ghost guided the Scot back, gently cupping his face with both hands. “I love you just as you are. Never could want more than what you are, ‘cause you’re perfect, Johnny. And I’m so sorry I didn’t see what this— what I was doing to you.” He placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, holding him close yet again as the sobs returned. 

“You love me?” His voice was soft, stuttered, and choked with tears as he lifted his eyes to see Ghost’s, the barest glimmer of hope shining through. He had feelings for his lieutenant that ran deep, but he always assumed they were one-sided. That the flirty banter was just something to break the tension on missions, something that carried over from Las Almas. 

A small laugh rumbled through Ghost’s chest as he cupped Soap’s jaw in his hand, his thumb brushing against the stubble. “Yes, Johnny. I love you. Now let's get you cleaned up.” Carefully untangling Soap from his arms, he began to push himself to his feet.

“Wait!” Soap caught Ghost’s arm, bloodied fingers wrapping around the pale skin of his forearm, catching the man before he could stand. Ghost caught his gaze, looking for what else could be wrong. The concern made Soap melt a little more.

“I love you.” Soap pulled the larger man into a surprisingly bone-crushing hug for how worn he looked. “And I hope you still want me…” The words came out muffled from where he had buried his face in Ghost’s neck.

“Johnny,” Ghost felt like his heart had just split straight down the middle, torn apart by the Scot’s worry. “I’ll always want you. Don’t ever doubt that.” 

He placed a gentle kiss on the crown of Soap’s head despite the balaclava, and let the man find comfort in his chest for a few more moments. “C’mon, you need your rest.”

Without any protest from Soap, they untangled themselves, getting to their feet. Ghost guided Soap through the halls, hands intertwined, not fully able to trust that Soap wouldn’t lose his balance with how out of it the man looked. 

Soap gave Ghost a look as they walked straight past his door, but Ghost only carried on, not stopping until they were at his door. He directed Soap inside and to the edge of the bed, placing another masked kiss on his forehead. “Stay here, I’m just going to get some things for your hands.”

Soap could hear the tap start to run in the small connected bathroom as he let his eyes wander. The space was clean and organized with precision, not unlike his lieutenant. The one space that captured his attention was the windowsill. It was cluttered with photos, some torn or worn with age, blackened at the edge, others that were well kept but just as old— none of them were recent. Soap could only assume they were family, but he couldn’t know for sure, because it wasn’t something Ghost had ever talked about. 

“Johnny?” Ghost was standing at the head of the bed, not wanting to sneak up on the Scot. 

“Hmm?” Soap caught his gaze and blushed, not expecting to find Ghost without his mask. He dropped his eyes to the floor and shifted over, making more space for Ghost.

“No need, love.” Ghost knelt on the floor in front of Soap, gently lifting his hand and beginning to carefully clean his bloody knuckles. Soap hissed and jerked at the sensation, trying to busy himself with studying the room, the sudden itch to do something returning.

Ghost noticed the way Soap seemed agitated by being left to do nothing. Initially, he thought it to be the Scot’s natural drive, but now it seemed more likely to be driven by whatever anxiety had pushed him past his breaking point in the first place. 

“Talk to me, Johnny. Tell me about that new chemical composition you were testing last week.” Soap seemed to relax a little at that, his mind undoubtedly finding comfort in the familiarity of something that came so easily to him. 

Ghost worked as Soap prattled on, explaining all the different components he had tested and why. The ease with which he spoke made Simon smile. It had become so commonplace to see Soap so wound up that this was like a breath of fresh air. This was his Johnny, the one he had fallen for all those months ago in Las Almas. 

As Simon finished, it was painfully obvious that Soap was flagging. His eyelids were heavy, and he was starting to sag back into the mattress. Gently, Simon helped Soap out of his bloody mess of a t-shirt and into one of his own, laughing to himself at the way it hung off Soap’s slightly smaller form. 

“I’ll be back, okay? Just going to get myself ready for bed. You get comfortable.” Simon placed a kiss on his forehead, lips warm on Soap’s cool skin.

“Here?” The confusion was clear on Soap’s face, despite the exhaustion.

Panic began to rise in Simon’s chest, worried he was pushing too fast. “Do you want to go back to your room?” His words were soft, not wanting to pressure the exhausted man.

Soap thought for a moment before shaking his head. “No, not if you want me here.” Soap couldn’t resist anymore, desperately craving to be held in Simon’s arms, to let someone else do all the heavy lifting, just for a little while. 

“Always. Get yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back.” The door to the bathroom clicked closed, with the moonlight being the only thing to illuminate the space now. 

Soap looked over his freshly bandaged knuckles, gently rubbing his fingers over the tape. 

Simon loves me. He wants me. Wants me how I am. 

It felt good to be wanted, especially by the man he had been pining after for so long, but he couldn’t deny how unsteady he still felt. Everything still weighed so heavy on his shoulders. 

He shook the feeling away, kicking off his sweatpants and slipping in between the sheets of Simon’s perfectly made bed. He was hit by the subtle scent of peppermint, cedarwood, and eucalyptus, somehow warm and cool and home all in one scent. He let himself melt into the comfort of the space, the gentle sounds of Simon rummaging about in the bathroom providing the white noise that was making it harder and harder to stay awake. 

Soap startled at the mattress dipping next to him, rubbing the first dregs of sleep from his eyes.

“It's just me, Johnny, go back to sleep.” Simon's voice rumbled through the quiet space. Soap nodded, humming happily as he felt Simon lay behind him, an arm thrown over his waist to hold him close. 

“Love you, Simon.”

“Love you, Johnny.”

[biblicallyaccurateangeloncrack]

Genshin and hsr characters as pinned messages (out of context) from discord servers with my friends: a shitpost

(uhhh cw some nsfw jokes and cuss words)

wriothesley: "i do not want an alpha transformation happening rn "

march to danheng: "my coquette lungs are better than your emo lungs"

hu tao: *ghostly voice* "oooooogly boogly why'd you skadoodly me?"

xiao, learning how to spell: "i lvove elmo music"

childe: "he is in my feet"

klee: "yeah my grandma's actually kim kardashian"

bronya to cocolia when she got sick as a kid: "Mother please carry me outside before to see the sky one last time before the consumption takes hold of my body and soul"

hu tao: " "weenis", said eerily"

bennett: "THE SANDWHICH TOOK ME OUT"

blade: "that link is longer than my plans for the future"

serval: "i pledge allegiance to the american bra"

itto: "i am in heat growls the summer has come and i am in heat growls"

zhongli: "*old man voice* when i was your age i fought kids"

stelle/caelus: "when i was my age i eated drywall"

fu xuan: "JING YUAN ILL SNIPPERS YOU UP IF YOU DONT STOP WITH THIS GOOBEROUS SHIT"

diluc, about venti: "i like to prentend he was a fever dream i came with at 4am"

fréminet, trying to speak french: "they said Lyney tu dumbass"

sampo: "I think Luka would beat up Luka while Luka watches. and then Luka would join in and beat the living daylight out of Luka"

silver wolf, about blade: "ppl with lactose intolerance boutta have their 2nd period ongomg"

kayea and rosaria: "we're a match made in the deep dark depths of the abyssal caves in fuck knows where"

jingliu: "am i.........one of those queers........."

yanquing: "shout-out to my home dawg Charles aka history teacher for dropping this wisdom on me"

shinobu: "itto if you say anything penis related you are banned"

ayaka as a kid: ""please take me to the garden so that way i can see the shining sun for the last time before my frail body decomposes with the disease known as ligma""

lyney: "imagine Neuvillette seeing a bunch of orphans blow up infront of him"

yoimiya: "are you really friends if you dont have matching vagina bracelets ??"

wriothesley: "My name is actually marlinus maximilianus Merlin guys"

caelus/stelle: " *bites your toes playfully* "

Pompom: "i eat gender for dinner"

xiao: "is life without endless pain and suffering only for it all to end leaving nothing but emptiness and all your suffering being just for the entertainment of the entity that we call god. an entity who is the real reason as to why we humans end up hurting others, for pain and suffereing is nothing but an endless spiral no matter how hard you try."

kafka, messing with blade: "do you like the gay foot"

yanfei: "YOU CANT LET IT GO LET IT GO YOUR WAY OUT OF A RESTRAINING ORDER"

kokomi: "DEMENTED DOLPHIN"

Furina: "they oui oui'd me"

shenhe: "the cld never bothered me anywa......."

kiara: "agressive meow"

ganyu: "are you a tree cause i wanna eat you"

dainsleif: "while youre kissing you bf or whatever ill be watching in the walls"

venti: "I FART ON PLANES"

scaramouche: "childe I will shave you bald"

itto: "perry plaptypussy"

seele, in response to hook's drawing: "10/10 Einstein could never"

razor, to bennett: "I WILL LICK YOU TO SLEEP"

sucrose, about to collect more bones: "*deranged loud breathing*"

kequing, to half of liyue: "SHUT UP COLOR WHEEL"

cyno: "genderfluid people's favorite song is liquid smooth"

kequing: "the feminine urge to beat up your coworkers with a stick"

dehya: "i piss on biphobes" kaveh: "but what if they have a piss kink..."

albedo: "he looks like a failed science project"

baizhu: "blowjob? nah, blownose"

silver wolf: "story time, honkai star rail made me leave my brother at a gas station and i do not regret SHIT"

blade: "if i end this year without killing myself its a miracle"

columbina: "btw dead bodies take less space if you bury them like theyre standing up"

zhongli: " *cracks back and walks away leaving a trail of dust behind"

@muachiro @geetkk @veimwah @etherific @zohakutenstan

[caxycreations]

Who is Caxy Creations?

This will be broken into the following sections:

About Me Other Blogs This Blog's Purpose Tylvinian Tales Resources Commissions Other Ways to Support Me

It gets a little wordy, so the actual introduction post stuff is below the cut.

About Me

Caxy Creations, simply put, is my brand. So to really explain who Caxy Creations is, let's cover who I am.

My name is Davina. I also answer to: David, Caxy, or "Hey bitch~!" (/pos)

Some quick facts about me:

Labels are weird to me, transgender/genderfluid/agender and other things like that just...idk, they don't fit. I answer to she/her most comfortably, but I don't feel inherently she/her or he/him or they/them or anything else. I'm just...Me. So call me whatever pronouns you want, I'm a little of everything.

I'm an artist AND a writer, but far more a writer than an artist.

I stream on Twitch whenever I can, and whenever I have excuse/reason to. Can find my Twitch by clicking HERE.

I absolutely adore interaction of all kinds, but reciprocal interaction is my favorite: if you comment or ask a question, I absolutely will answer because I adore conversation.

I am single, and not looking for a relationship. This does not mean I won't flirt with you, especially if you're down to flirt back for the fun of it and understand it won't go any further.

I'm a system. Alters have their own blogs @kittycaxcare and @guardiangreatwolf

I am the sole developer of the upcoming visual novel, "Another Tylvinian Tale", a story about settling into a new life, making connections with those around you, and the impact those connections have on each other.

Other Blogs

@caxygaming (Video Game Review, Discussion, and Gaming News, with reader interaction heavily encouraged)

@caxyadrp (18+ RP account, Minors DNI)

@caxycreationsvrc (VRChat Photography and Videography account)

@yappincaxy (Voice Acting blog)

@caxyanalysis (Nerd snipe blog, analyzing theories, power scaling, hypotheticals, etc of real world and fictional topics/concepts)

@lewdcaxycatalogue - (Fully NSFW 18+ writing/musings account, Minors and antis DNI, teratophilia and a safe space for sex positivity)

@classpectingcaxy (homestuck fanblog where I analyze and assign classes, aspects, and lunar sways)

@thebrokenrubber (Another 18+ RP account with a unique system)

@lustycaisupervised (an 18+ Lackadaisy-based Mordecai RP blog)

This Blog's Purpose

This blog is going to serve as two things: a compendium of all knowledge relating to Relan, a planet of my own design with its own history, religions, sciences, magics, and more, as well as a collection of stories about the people living on Relan. Some quick things to cover about Relan, for those interested:

I am 100% okay with OCs. If someone likes my world enough to make a character to throw into it, that is, to me, the ultimate compliment.

If you need/want help integrating your OCs into Relan, I am absolutely down to help with all the resources I have on the world.

Don't know if a species exists on Relan? Well, every single animal species on Earth exists on Relan, and every mythical being exists as well in some form or another, there's even a few internet-designed species and some entirely original species of my own design! So have fun with it!

Relan is a fantasy world. Ancient times have high fantasy themes and forms, modern times have modern fantasy themes and forms, and future eras have a distinctly science-fiction feel with a hint of magic to them. As such, my stories will usually have these themes and/or forms!

Tylvinian Tales Resources

My WIPs List

(Note, titles and order are subject to change, but position/order is solidified for active WIPs/finished books)

Tylvinian Tales

The Wolf's Den (Active WIP, First Draft, 18/20 chapters written, 19th in progress | Current Word Count: 64,167)

Five Fates

Snakepit

King of Kings

Veiled Intent

Clashing Tides

Event Horizon

Panacea

Another Tylvinian Tale

This is my visual novel, where you will be able to create your own character and take your place in Tylvin, the capital city of the nation of Ferus.

You will work as a bartender at the city's most popular nightclub, The Snakepit, putting you at the central hub of many different events. Meet the cast of Tylvinian Tales, and a few fresh faces as well, and develop friendships, or loves, as you see fit.

But know this: every decision you make will change the story, and every choice will have consequences for more than just your own life...

If you would like to support me in making the visual novel, head to the Ko-Fi or PayPal link below (or send to the listed cashapp) in the "Other Ways to Support Me" section and send a donation! Your support allows me to focus full-time on the visual novel, bringing it ever-closer to releasing for all to enjoy!

Galan Nights

The Pack

Hoping for Haven

Runner's High

Twin Tales

The Fifth Fate

Here Be A Home

Lore of Gold

Sanguis Auri

Corpus Auri

Anima Auri

Character Cast

These characters are the most prominent in my stories, and I've linked to their introductory posts for easy access to information about them:

David Seltz

Moss Seltz

Davina Seltz

Trace Parker

Ryder Trayson

Luka Mikaelson

Olivia Bo

Kaleb Killian

Devon Masters

Zephyr

Tylvinian Tales: The Wolf's Den, Book Pitch

Tylvinian Tales: The Wolf's Den, Chapter Master Post

Full list of all my WIPS - The titles of every single book planned within the world of Relan.

Tylvinian Tales on Wattpad

Tylvinian Tales on AO3

Short Stories on Wattpad

Short Stories on AO3

Smut stories on Wattpad (18+ only!!!!)

Smut stories on AO3 (18+ only!!!!)

Worldbuilding Masterpost - A post with links to every worldbuilding piece I've uploaded so far.

How You Can Support Me - A post detailing ways to help me make a life for myself and avoid financial issues.

I also do VRChat Avatar commissions, click to be taken to my Trello.

Commissions

I also do writing commissions!

$40 for 1,000 words

$70 for 2,000 words

$122 for 4,000 words

$213 for 8,000 words

$372 for 16,000 words

$651 for 32,000 words

+5% for NSFW

+10% for extreme gore

Under 1,000 words is $0.03 per word.

Other Ways to Support Me

You can also support me on:

Twitch Ko-Fi Patreon Youtube Spring Merch PayPal Or through direct tips via CashApp at cashtag $Aazoth

With that out of the way I think this blog intro is long enough, ha. So...hang out, enjoy the blog, feel free to chat with me or comment on my posts, and I hope you have a wonderful day/night/whatever it is in your part of the world! <3

Some other wonderful blogs to check out are in the tag list below!

Tag List

@theathenverse @moremysteriesthantragedies @thetruearchmagos @a-scaly-troublemaker @that-one-enby-onyx @snakelovingnerd @eldritchx @leisoree @amerylise @profoundlyhauntedclaws @thefinalgoat @leisurelywingedlemon

Userboxes by @lackauserboxes <3/p

[mosneakers]

Nadia: [Concerned] Colonization has already set in. We are all literally doomed.

Erwin: Now don't panic, that doesn't necessarily mean—

Jeremy: Don't you have a lot of friends in Shady Acres, Erwin? We know what aliens could do to a person's memory, and they've been known to shapeshift...You trust all of them?

Erwin: Well, yeah. Tycho's my best friend; he would never. He's got family who married aliens and stuff, but he's one of us. Plus, he was away all summer, so the frequencies couldn't be coming from him. Coni used to live over there, but she lives with me now, so it's not her. That leaves Sage Darling... No. I know the Darlings. They're a little strange, but Sage is Seymour's kid. They're not aliens. And Alice, we've been friends since high school. I highly doubt it could be her.

Kayla: Doesn't sound like you have the strongest case there, bud. I'd keep an eye on them. Jeremy: I have my suspicions about the mayor... Kayla: Ohhh, the Roswells!? Maybe it could be M.I.R.A.? Erwin: I'll do some more digging. Mabel, where did you find that scientific study? The mysterious anonymous one from Strangetown? I imagine it's nowhere to be found online. Mabel: Nope. I asked the librarian. If you catch Ms. Davis and ask her for it, she'll hook you up for sure.

Erwin: K... I uh... I'm cutting this meeting short. Kayla, go off about the jackalopes or whatever.

Erwin: Ah, just the young lady I was looking for, Ms. Davis...

The librarian fidgets anxiously with her nametag and smiles up at Erwin. Ms. Davis: Oh... well hello, sweetheart... What can I help you with?

Erwin: Actually, I'm looking for some archives? Ms. Davis: ...Okay, and? Erwin: ...And I was told you can help me? I'm looking for some old science studies done in Strangetown. Really anything from Strangetown can help.

Ms. Davis peeks over the top of her glasses convincingly.

Ms. Davis: Erwin, you're not chasing alien stories still, are you? Like those crazy Salas supporters out there?

Erwin: No! Ms. Davis, of course not... I'm just curious.

Ms. Davis: Erwin...

Erwin: Well... between you and me...

Ms. Davis: Oh, sweetheart... Ms. Davis stands up from her chair, and silently walks over to Erwin.

Ms. Davis: Erwin, honey... I want you to drop the subject. Erwin chuckles, confused. Erwin: What? Ms. Davis: You heard me. The alien stuff. Drop it. It's not safe, Erwin.

Ms. Davis takes a step closer to Erwin, limiting the personal space between them; Erwin defensively takes a step back. Erwin: Ms. Davis? Ms. Davis: [Stern gaze] You're getting yourself into trouble, and you're not going to be able to come back from it. Now, there will be no more talk of aliens in my library. And if you've got any sense, you'll stop chasing them. Do I make myself clear?

Erwin is at loss for words, and nods silently with his eyes narrowed. Erwin: I... I should go. Ms. Davis: [Bobs her head in agreement] I think that'd be for the best. Go straight home, and do something useful with your time.

Erwin: I'll make sure to do that. Oh, Ms. Davis? Ms. Davis: Yes, Erwin? Erwin: You know, Ms. Davis, I find it amusing. For all the years I've been coming to this library, ever since I've known you, we had this little thing. I'd call you "Ms. Davis," and you'd always respond with "Call me Mildred, honey!" without fail. Funny how you just... forgot that today. Have a nice day.

part 2/2

[nattinatalia]

Cassie being annoyed at the fact that her dad can smoke weed but she isn’t allowed

“I cannot believe you right now Cassandra.” Urban yells. “You’re lucky they didn’t call the cops on you.”

“It’s legal so relax.” Cassie answers with a snarky tone.

“You’re underage, and you took it to school grounds.” He turns to look at her, shuts off the car. “You took my weed to your school and got your friends high, so do not tell me to relax.”

“Please, you smoke every day. I’ve heard stories of you getting high throughout your teen years so now when I want to do it you’re against it?” She chuckles, “Yeah, okay.” She removes her seatbelt and opens the car door, ready to walk out.

“CASSANDRA WYATT YOU GET OUT OF THIS CAR AFTER I’M DONE SPEAKING TO YOU.”

“Oh my god, you’re being a hypocrite right now. You didn’t even let me explain myself, you just assumed.” She snaps back, walks out the car slamming the door.

“YOU JUST SAID YOU WANTED TO DO IT SO WHAT IS THERE TO EXPLAIN?” Urban yells after her, walking inside the house.

Cassie groans, “You know what? Whatever, I didn’t smoke it but maybe I would have, who knows?” She shrugs. “But you can’t tell me anything when you literally have it laying everywhere.”

“Cassandra fíjate cómo le hablas a tu papá.” You say, walking into the living room. “He doesn’t have it laying everywhere. It was in his studio room, a room he has locked, so you young lady broke into his private space.”

“May I be excused now?” Cassie sighs, “I’m sorry I took it to school, and I’m sorry I got caught.”

“This conversation isn’t over.” Urban tells her. “Go upstairs and start with your science project.”