#why am i even posting this

[lost-estradiographer]

Tried posting a video for TTT, guess that post is just stuck in limbo. Fuck it. Here's my stupid stomach.

Tags: @athena-turns-into-an-eagle @catboybiologist @eruditegeek @ofravensflight @mellueminate @lxladies @cynthjam

No bonus video because fuck Tumblr.

[sanfezu]

tw self harm , eye strain , implied vomit

ugh idk why i drew this

↓ ↓ ↓

hhhhhh……

[placeofwonder]

perhaps the most hyperspecific problem I've ever had, but every time I see the book title The Vampire Lestat shortened to TVL, I think, "ah of course, the Tarifvertrag für den öffentlichen Dienst der Länder. I, too, get most of my vampire lore from collective bargaining agreements for the public service"

[rose022]

boss makes a dollar i make a dime thats why i look at twinks on company time

[strawberrygrapesandcherry]

“What do you want?” Scott asks as he stares at the lawn just in front of the porch where he and Theo are sat.

Here we go again. “For the last time because you idiots keep bringing it up,” Theo starts saying while rolling his eyes. “I’m not planing on backstabbing you or killing you, and quite frankly I don’t want to part of this pathetic attempt of a pack.” Look, Theo gets the worry and concern, but at this point it’s beyond frustrating trying to repeat over and over again that he is in fact not up to anything.

It’s quite shocking even to himself, that he’d somehow became a normal— as close to normal as he can get anyways— person in the last few months. A rehabilitated murderer, Liam likes to call him. Domesticated was used more than once by Mason.

“That’s not what I asked” Scott responds with a softer tone, his eyes crinkling slightly; an effect of the gentle smile he offers. “What do you want?” He asks one more time.

The question continues to ring in Theo’s mind on loop, because truth be told he isn’t really sure anymore. He knows what he wanted before. What the past him who was fuelled by anger and passion, and an insatiable need to be something—to be someone— outside of the dread doctors puppet wanted. He knows he wanted the power that came from pack, but somewhere in the deep scars of his heart, he wanted to belong. That had always been the goal, even if he’ll never admit it to himself.

The whole alpha thing wouldn’t hurt either, and from his life experiences, he didn’t know any other way to get what he wanted. Between being a failed science experiment, or a make believe version of a boy, Theo never really had the time to make friends or even learn how to do so anyway, so it’s no surprise that his perception of companionship was to be viewed through the lense of hierarchy and control, rather than loyalty and trust.

But that’s all irrelevant,because from the moment Kira’s sword struck the ground and Theo rose from the dust of his personal nightmare, his entire life would never be the same.

Now though? What does he want? He’s never genuinely been asked that before. Scott asks him like it’s a simple question but here Theo is, having a midlife crisis over it regardless.

Theo doesn’t believe he has the right to want; not after his past actions since he’d met the dread doctors. And more importantly, what he wants isn’t something he can have. Someone he can have. No matter how many sleepless nights he spend staring at the roof of his truck, thinking of ocean blue eyes and soft strands of hair he wishes to run his fingers through, he knows he’ll never have that. But oh does it comfort the hallow feeling in his chest.

An angry beta who he always finds himself being around, intentionally or not, like he’s some compass and Liam is always north that he points to. Theo finds him like a moth finds a flame. Like it’s natural, almost. He’ll always find Liam just like he did in the elevators or during the wild hunt, and Liam will always find him. But still, Theo will never get to have him.

Maybe he doesn’t get to have Liam—not in all the ways he wants him—but that will never deter from taking whatever Liam gives him, no matter how small. He’ll have to make do with what he gets; just like he always has done.

After what has definitely been the longest moment of awkward silence he can remember, Theo finally responds. “It doesn’t matter.”

Scott shakes his head, mostly to himself rather than at the dissatisfaction with Theo’s answer. “You and I both know that’s not true.” Neither of them says anything after that for a moment, and instead let Scott’s words linger in the delicate vacuum that had formed around them since they started talking.

Eventually though, Scott stands from where he sat next to Theo on his front porch and starts to make his way back into the house. Though just before he steps forward to shut the door, he turns around one last time to Theo. “You really should tell him. He deserves to know”.

(I don’t know why I wrote this tbh and Idek if it makes sense. Either way I thought I’d just post it instead of leaving it in the drafts lol. I know no one’s gonna see this, but I just had to. If I made typo, no didn’t)

*also this is the first fic snippet I’ve ever written so be nice pls 🤠

UPDATE= I finally got around to writing the rest of this on ao3 (the things we won’t let ourselves say)

[mocking-the-bird]

I just realized that all of the bakids have either angry chaotic energy or tired chaotic energy. There is no between, and neither of them is sane enough to be calm for like 5 seconds

[gnomey22]

A detailed list of similarities I’ve found between Chi Failtopia and Phoenix Wright Ace Attorney.

[lostinthevoidandthestars]

Sometimes I regret having an Ao3 account…

[kerosene-spill]

Shitpost bc I haven’t finished any of my wips💀

I was like half conscious at 1am and decided it’s time to absolutely butcher MTMTE characters

Srry my writing here is sloppy

[kerosnes]

Kid asked if I was gay after looking at my art

[josephream]

always in a hurry, blink and you’ll miss it

[stesierra]

Since I'm trying to share something every day to motivate myself to write again, here's the first chapter of one of my adult fantasy books. At one point I loved it but I had a critique partner read the whole thing and now it embarrasses me. So this is probably terrible but give it a chance maybe? Trigger warning: magical seizures.

Please tell me if you want to be removed from the taglist. Or added, I guess.

Stitches and Memories

(WHY DID I PICK SUCH A TERRIBLE TITLE?)

Chapter One

The 4th Day of Spring, 502 King's Rule

Antea didn't spend her thirtieth birthday celebrating with the few people who called her acquaintance. She spent it dying. Again.

A normal woman wouldn't be on the floor of her bathroom, occasionally spasming hard enough to slam her head into the wooden tub. All she was doing was reliving her first kiss at age seventeen. It was just a memory. It was just a memory, brain, get it together.

But her brain did not get it together. It flooded her with memories of the boy's pink lips -- too wet and too large -- at the same time as it slammed a pickax through her eyes over and over again. She'd blacked out too much to see the room around her, but she felt it when her legs spiked straight and slammed her into the wall. She came away with splinters in her arm and cheek.

"Shut up over there!" her neighbor bellowed from the next apartment over. "Keep pounding on the walls and I'll report this to the constables!"

He probably would, too, the bastard.

In her mind, the boy drew back and beamed at her. The memory ended there, but the pickax didn't stop for another twenty minutes.

When the agony died down, she dragged herself over to the chamber pot and threw up.

When she finally eased her eyes open, a partly digested pasty stared up at her. The pounding on her door registered then. Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound raised dread in her heart. Only one type of person knocked like that in Drazen. With that terrible implacability.

When she wrenched the door open, hinges squealing, a broad man in green stared down at her over his posh black mustache. Some seamstress had embroidered his doublet with the king's symbol, a golden lion biting its tail. The gold thread was real, which meant she'd gotten an up-city constable somehow, which was deeply unfair since she lived in the slums.

He frowned at her. She could guess what he was seeing: a barefoot, brown-skinned woman who had just grown out of being pretty, wearing a dress that had been mended too many times. Her golden hair was mashed in a nest on one side of her head. She smelled of a few days of sweat and dirt.

Her black hair had turned metallic gold when she was eighteen. No, she didn't know why. There was a lot about being eighteen that she didn't know.

She bowed deeply. "May I help you, sir?"

He said, "I've had a noise complaint here. Pounding on the walls. Disrupting the peace."

"I had a fit of convulsions in my bathroom."

He frowned at her, his whole face drooping. "We have had a lot of complaints about these convulsions."

Antea resisted the urge to wrap her hands around his fat neck. "Yes. That's because it's a medical condition." And it was true, even if they weren't the normal sort of fits, not normal at all. As far as she understood it, normal people with convulsions thrashed around less and passed out and sometimes forgot the whole thing. She wasn't normal. She was awake through the fire in her head and every twitch and spasm, and she remembered everything.

The constable leaned in close. "Have you been praying for healing?"

"Yes."

"If I go and check your records, will I find you tithing regularly to at least one of the gods?"

"Yes," she lied.

"Because if I check and you haven't, then you aren't really trying to be healed, and you will be held wholly responsible for remaining ill."

"Which entails?"

He sniffed. "After all this commotion, I would think eviction, at least."

Her rentals always ended in eviction, but she had hoped this one would last out the year. "Sir, the Stag God teaches mercy to the infirm and poor. Seeing as I'm both, I would be most grateful for your understanding."

"There are many such deserving citizens in Drazen. But with your extensive record--"

"Of what? Running into walls in the night? That's not even a crime."

The man straightened to his full height, towering over her like the Eagle God over his foes. "If a constable of the law says you have committed a crime, then you have. Gather your things if you have any. I will speak with your landlord, and it will go poorly for you if you are still here tonight."

Antea sagged against the doorframe. "Yes, sir."

He smiled at her, wide and smug. "Oh, and remember the curfew."

It took all her willpower not to punch him. She turned sharply instead and shut the door in his face.

She didn't have much to gather. Her ragged haversack weighed nothing when she slung it over her shoulder. Her leather shoes were hiding under the bed. Even though the seams on the sides were giving way, they covered her toes at least. One change of clothes and a wool blanket lay on the mattress. The blanket served as a blanket, but her extra dress was her only pillow. She wrapped one inside the other and tied them to the bottom of her haversack.

One last thing remained. A letter. When she'd moved in, she had shoved it under the mattress where she wouldn't have to look at it. She pulled it out now and thought about throwing it on the fire. It would burst into flames, burning fast and hot, the dry paper shrinking into black curls before they crumbled away into white ash. If she burnt the letter, she would never have to read those words again. The pain in her head might always be with her, but that pain she could leave behind.

She read the letter. It said:

"My beloved daughter, I write this for my own sake, for you will never read it. Forgive me. What I tore from your mind was necessary, but with that wound, I know that I have killed you. May the gods have mercy on my soul."

She ran her fingertips over his signature. Then she put the letter in her bag and walked out of the tenement never to return.

--

It was two hours before the doleful tones of the curfew bell would ring across the city, two hours for Antea to find shelter for the night. She didn't have the coin for an inn. She had just paid the damn landlord the next month's rent money, not that he would ever consider a refund. If she asked he would laugh in her face, and the law would be on his side, too, like it always was.

With no other option, she headed for the nice part of the city. Not the nicest because that was up near the royal castle and the queen's spire, and people like her weren't allowed there. No, she went to the parts frequented by merchants and the new rich, where no one would care that she was there.

In the dimming light, the nice quarter was all faded stone edges and empty streets. Even the rich had to follow curfew. But even in the twilight, the library stood out as the biggest building in the district. Pilgrims that followed the Crow God visited from all over Ritalia. Its marble facade was hidden under red leather prayer offerings. When it rained the entire building stank like a wet dog.

She slipped between the leaving patrons and headed for the front desk. Zoren, the head librarian, raised his eyebrows at her. He was a pleasantly overweight man in a long black robe, with large spectacles sitting on top of his bulbous nose. The blue mage light beside him shone off his bald head. "Antea? This is quite the departure from the norm. What's going on, then?"

She flushed and hiked her haversack higher on her shoulder. "I got evicted. I was wondering--

"If you can sleep in one of the back rooms tonight?"

She nodded.

The librarian's voice was gentle but unyielding. "If we were caught housing people in a building not zoned for it, we could get into a great deal of trouble with the constables."

"That's a no?"

"I'm sorry, Antea. Good luck finding shelter tonight."

She bowed to him and slumped out of the library. But she stopped on the front steps and straightened up. She wasn't giving up that easily. The constable who had evicted her thought he'd catch her for breaking curfew, and that he'd see her locked up and the key thrown away. But Antea had planned for this, even if she had hoped the day would never come.

All her worldly possessions on her shoulder, she walked half a mile to the Shrine of the Gods.

The Shrine of the Gods was not one shrine but many, all marked by white marble columns that thrust up from the city streets. At its base, each pillar bore the painted statue of one of the gods. When you approached a statue, you were isolated from the others by head-high circular walls around each column. They carved out a little bubble of space so that it was just you and whatever god you had chosen, and anyone else who wanted to pray had to wait in line. Those lines sometimes stretched out for miles, but at this time of night, every statue she passed was alone.

An overnight vigil was the one thing the constables couldn't complain about. She wouldn't get any sleep that night, but she wouldn't end up in jail.

Antea paced around, refreshing her memory about which god's statue stood where. There were thirty-two gods to choose from. Some of them were so minor no one worshipped them, but the Shrine represented all gods. Leaving one out just because they were as popular as moldy cheese was unthinkable.

Antea picked the Dog Goddess because she'd always been fond of bitches, and who didn't need a little guidance in their lives? She sat cross-legged on the braided wool mat spread out before the goddess's marble toes. The Dog Goddess stood in two forms next to herself. One was a rearing limer with floppy ears, painted black and brown, the other a small-breasted naked woman, painted with dark skin and white hair. The woman's hand was outstretched in benediction. It shone white at the tips, the details of her fingers worn smooth from the touch of too many worshipers.

Antea leaned close and said, "Hi."

The goddess did not reply.

"It's been a while since I talked to one of you gods. I'm not very pious, I know."

The dog statue of the goddess had its head tilted as if Antea had done something peculiar.

Antea drew her knees up to her chest. "It's funny, you know. I used to be very pious. Ready to do anything any god asked of me. Thirteen years ago." Thirteen years ago, she'd been a lot of things.

In the twilight, the goddess's expression looked sympathetic, but Antea had had twelve years to learn how little the gods cared.

She said, "I think I'm supposed to ask you for a gift. It's traditional, or something."

Someone passed by outside, and Antea forced herself to stay relaxed. Go away. She was communing with her god, like a good little citizen. Go away.

She stayed silent until the footsteps had faded. Then she said, "So, demanding things. I can't think of what I want. I mean, I want to be healed. But you've all said no to that." Thousands upon thousands of prayers, all unanswered. She'd even tried the gods no one prayed to anymore. And nothing.

Beyond the shelter of the shrine walls, the constables were ringing curfew. They'd start searching the streets soon, looking for beggars and troublemakers and other unwanteds. People like her who hadn't been smart enough to hide out at the Shrine. She needed to look prayerful, but it was early enough spring that the nights were still cold. Surely it couldn't hurt to pull out her blanket and cover her lap. The devout didn't have to freeze, did they?

"I'll ask for food and a place to sleep. That's nice and humble, right?" She undid the ties at the bottom of her haversack and yanked her blanket loose. When her spare dress clung to it, she stuffed it in the bag. And the letter fell out and fluttered to the stones.

Antea froze. She stared down at where it lay, heavy with its words. When she sat back down, blanket hugged against her chest, her movement bumped the letter a few inches away, but it didn't disappear.

She buried her face in wool and said, "You can't be serious. That's not a reasonable suggestion."

It wasn't, but the Dog Goddess wasn't suggesting anything. Antea was just talking to herself again. If the goddess had actually been present, the statue would have lit up with bright light, perfectly white the way mage lights never managed. Antea had seen the gods answer petitioners before. She used to watch her father-- Never mind. Forget it.

But she didn't forget it in time. Stabbing pains made her squeeze her eyes shut.

Someone cleared his throat behind her. She spun around, and the headache and the motion nearly made her vomit.

A Shrine worker stood there in his modest tunic and apron, both glowing white. He bowed his curly head and said, "You're here very late, daughter."

Antea kept her head high and clasped her hands together on her lap. "I'm keeping a vigil."

"I thought that perhaps that was the case. We do permit vigils, despite the curfew, but I must ask what you pray for tonight. The constabulary has us keep records, you see."

Of course they did. And if she didn't tell him something worthy of a goddess's guidance, he would call the constables. And she couldn't say she was asking for healing because the Dog Goddess wasn't a healer.

The letter lay innocently on the stone beside her. She picked it up and held it in her hand. Words flowed from her lips as if someone else was doing the talking. "My father hurt me and left me for dead, twelve years ago. I don't know what happened to him after that. He never came back to the city."

The worker's brows lifted, and his lips pursed as he took a step towards her. "That is... troubling. What guidance do you hope the Dog Goddess will grant you?"

Antea slumped, letting the letter trail against the ground. "I just... I need to know why. Why he did it. But he's the only one who knows, and there's no way I could afford a passport to even leave the city, much less to go to all the places he might be. That's why I've never found him."

The Shrine worker nodded. "That is a difficult problem, and one I fear I cannot help you with. But keep your vigil, daughter, and perhaps the goddess will grant you her wisdom." He swept his hands in a sign of blessing, and he walked on.

Antea let her breath out in a rush. She shoved the letter back in her haversack with shaky hands and wrapped herself up in the blanket.

"Close one, huh?" she said to the goddess's statue. "Maybe give me some guidance if you feel like it. Because I would like to know what he ruined my life for."

The goddess's statues stayed dark. If the goddess intended to guide her, it wouldn't be directly.

She sighed and rocked back and forth. "I know I'm very stupid. What am I hoping for? To remember? Trying to remember makes it worse." Even remembering something near to that day threatened to tear her mind apart.

The cloudy heavens overhead split and spilled out a thousand stars, winking and sparkling like candlelight seen from far away. Her brain throbbing with its usual rhythm, Antea sank down in her blanket, shut her mouth, and closed her eyes.

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

@palebdot

@Hyba

[sylveaugust]

SPOILER ALERT FOR Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint Ep 7. Landlord and a teeny part of This Savage Song

I have like seventeen memos of brainstorming a crossover between Monsters of Verity and Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint that I wrote last year and now that I look at them they're just... uhm.

I was thinking that since August is technically a monster, I could probably insert him somewhere during the third scenario where those monsters get summoned through some portal... to be more exact the precise moment at the start of Landlord (6)(webtoon-wise; in the webnovel it's a little after the start of Landlord (5)) which is a little after KDJ turns into a ghost. And then it would be because some entity from above(which is me, as the writer; this was serious fourth wall stuff ngl) meddled with the fabric of reality for fun asdfwoeuriowejfilsj

I ended up postponing that idea for after I finished the actual ORV novel(and those side stories that are keeping on updating these days), but now that I read it it's like brainrot. I'm gonna put one single excerpt here in case you're curious. I have this first scene in like five different memos probably now... I'll rewrite it someday probably idk

Yoo Joonghyuk stared at the place where Kim Dokja had just been in disbelief. He couldn't have been that foolhardy. He wouldn't have dared. But Kim Dokja was now a ghost indeed. In his arms, Gilyoung screamed two words over and over.

"Hyung! Dokja Hyung!"

Of course, the kid didn't know exactly what happened, but Yoo Joonghyuk decided it was useless to try and explain. Yet.

But there was something else that caught his eye. Among the flurry of monsters coming from the portal, there seemed to be a figure of... a boy. He was certainly outside the green zone, simply standing there, but the monsters weren't attacking him, which was odd. And after most of the monsters passed the tunnel into Chungmu Station, Yoo Joonghyuk could see the boy clearly. The boy looked like a teenager, but he didn't look Korean. Although his face was extraordinarily smooth, Joonghyuk could clearly read confusion in the boy's dark grey eyes. Which soon met his. And narrowed.

A flurry of questions rose in Joonghyuk's mind. Who was he? Why hadn't the monsters attacked him? Would he come in handy? Was he a threat? Was he... a monster?

The last question was because Joonghyuk had seen monsters that looked human, more than once. It was also the best answer he could think of, since the boy most likely came from the same portal as the other monsters. But he didn't remember such a boy appearing in the tunnel in his previous times here, so anything was likely... Joonghyuk would have to read the boy's answers carefully.

Gilyoung noticed the newcomer as well. "Hyung?" he called. It was probably the first logical answer that came to him. He wouldn't have known what happened to Dokja, and this boy appeared right after Dokja vanished. But Gilyoung soon noticed the lack of recognition in the stranger's eyes. "You're not Dokja-hyung..."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Who's Dokja-hyung?" he asked.

Before Yoo Joonghyuk could ask who the boy was, Gilyoung answered the boy's question. "He saved my life in the subway. He was protecting me until he gave me to this ahjussi," he pointed to Yoo Joonghyuk, who made a mental note to tell Gilyoung not to call him ahjussi, "and he got surrounded by monsters. Then he disappeared. Have you seen him?"

"No," said the boy. His brow had subtly twitched at the word "monsters"...

[This statement is true.]

Before the boy could say anything else, Yoo Joonghyuk asked his question.

"Who are you?"

The boy hesitated for a second, then answered. "Frederick Gallagher. You can call me Freddie."

[This statement is partly true.] Hmm...

"You don't look very much like a Freddie. An alias?"

The boy looked at him strangely. "...How did you know?" he asked.

"I have a skill," said Yoo Joonghyuk before he could stop himself. Dammit. He should have said something else.

"What skill?"

"Lie detection," he blurted once again, and silently hoped that Not-Freddie would think he was joking. The boy didn't seem to know anything about the skills of this world, which, depending on how he thought about it, made either total sense or no sense at all. "I don't suppose you'll be telling me your real name anytime soon?"

"Not yet." Of course not. Yoo Joonghyuk would have to use his Sage's Eye again.

[Sage's Eye is activated.]

[This information is currently inaccessible by the Sage's Eye.]

'Who are you?' he thought. Was this boy like Kim Dokja?

[katsy-kitty]

I live in constant fear of being annoying af

[anonthefold]

I feel like death. I just took a nap which yielded an incredibly sharp dream that cut me internally and I'm realizing that I have not eaten at all today.

Things are going great over here.

No problem.

[cooco-ren]

You read one NagiReo skirt fic and before you know it you're writing your own with no idea what you're doing.

Coming Soon to A03, more cringe I pass off as quality literature...

"So that's what your surprised face looks like?" Reo teases, stepping back to let Nagi take him in fully. The skirt is short, dangerously so in Nagi's opinion with how it brushes just above his mid thigh. The socks are black and hug tightly against Reo's pale skin all the way to his thick thighs and making them look extra plush.

Nagi swallows, what the hell was happening? Was he having some sort of wet dream in class? He should probably wake up before he ends up moaning Reo's name like a fucking virgin.

Then again, he looks turns back to the skirt.

"Remember that party I said I was going to last night?" Reo chuckles, he hops onto Nagi's desk and crosses his legs. Nagi isn't sure if he's aware of all the gazes that follow his movement, hungry eyes of classmates that claim they were straight until now, hoping catch a glimpse of more skin. Nagi knows he wants some to.