#wordy writes

[wordycheeseblob]

Mattias Osbrink x Reader (Ikemen Prince)

Snow Sand Sakura event hosted by the most wonderful @violettduchess and @dear-mrs-otome

Word Count: 1.8k

Angst

Premise: It was not meant to be, thus fate had torn your paths asunder.

Dark was the night. The stars refused to show their face, shying away from the radiant glow of the palace; their envoys descending to the earth in the form of freshly fallen snow that glistered as it passed the windows adorned in flowers of frost, saluting the guests inside yet keeping a respectful distance and then, becoming invisible in the darkness.

It's not the incandescent parade of snowflakes that caught your eye, but what lay past it. A whimsical singularity of the ballroom's windows was its height; no ordinary house would stand to risk letting the cold in, bringing an austere look to almost all of Achroite's buildings.

But this place was for show, not living.

Even for their size, you're far below to get a glimpse of what was going on inside.

You observe their dancing forms... or rather the specter of their movement hinted by the subtle shifting light and how, at times, it tangled in the birches branches, shimmering through the crystal rime. You see it vividly as if you were present, the spins of fitted puffy skirts and whispers of delight. But you don't yearn to be there anymore; despite its brightness, there's nothing more than shallowness inside.

You were becoming quite blasé about the spectacle. It could not compare to the first ball you attended when you arrived at Achroite, alighting from the carriage, one of many, and then inside, absolutely dazzled. The lively chatting of the foreign guests animated the atmosphere throughout the halls.

The banquet table was cluttered with all sorts of food; caviar, wine, fruit juice, fried partridges in sauce, food heavier than refined which came with living in the north, different types of bread, pastries, and confectioneries. So, so many of them. Some nobles sauntered more powdered than a beignet; even so, most people there were educated and polite but made friends mostly from ennui.

No, it was all the same. It's just that now you see it with completely different eyes. When it comes to nobles, the bunch were nothing but performers, and when you saw the frivolity for what it was, the spell that held you had immediately broken.

Keeping up appearances was more draining than you thought so you left for a walk in the gardens that were covered in a blanket of white.

The ghost of your memories descends the stairways, sliding their hand over the balustrade and perambulating through the silvery landscape in places you didn't care to notice at the time.

That was when you first met. Someone called out to you pointing out that you were stepping on the castle lawn, the nonexistent lawn buried underneath heaps of snow. It was somewhat awkward and you sincerely hoped you'd never meet again. Back then you didn't know that man was Mattias Osbrink, Achroite's ex-military prince.

Alas, from that day onwards, you kept running into each other almost routinely because wherever you went, much to your dismay, trouble followed suit, and Mattias followed trouble.

Throughout your first days of stay, you had gotten mixed up in an assortment of melodrama which put you in the spotlight more often than you would have liked. As if someone was actively trying to pin the blame on you and sabotage your mission. Your head hurt from thinking how you even got out of it. You think you must have been a troublemaker in his eyes as it became a game of cat-and-mouse because whenever you wanted to escape, slip somewhere else to take a breather, he was there blocking your way, tall with a strong build, and a raised eyebrow. It annoyed you to no end. You were sure it was the same for him, although he never outright showed it. When it came to maintaining order, he was pedant, relentless, and very diligent in everything he did. That in itself was a strength and a weakness.

You really came to know each other. More than that of an acquaintance, it might have been an understanding like that of an officer and outlaw that have known each other's antics for some time. Turned out Matthias didn't really think you were behind it and tried to get the ones pulling on the strings through you. And maybe to anyone else, it might have looked like he was using you but that was not what you believed. You chose to help him, something of an alliance of ragtag detectives.

And to your surprise, the culprit really ended up being caught.

And somewhere along the way, it may just have become an unusual friendship. Despite his fastidious ways, that just might have been his way of showing kindness. Perhaps there was something else, deeply rooted in his adamant fight against injustice. The maelstrom of drama and intractability had passed in the blink of an eye, you really weren't interested in remembering the details. The time for your departure was slowly but for sure approaching.

But strangely, you didn't really want to go home anymore.

Matthias spent almost all his time drowning in legislation and paperwork, but in those last peaceful days, after the trouble was resolved and your assistance no longer needed, he somehow had time to magically run into you as he did before. Maybe more often even.

He happened to cross paths with you, and you happened to need his help with translation to which he would merely nod, adjust his glasses and skim through pages also pointing out any inconsistencies. And you just happened to sometimes find him in the gardens, walking in the same direction.

He didn't talk much. Mattias was curt and always to the point, and you didn't mind that. You preferred it to the flattery and overly adorned flowery language of the court.

¨You seem in a world of your own¨ He said scraping the snow off his gloves

¨Pardon?¨

¨The books. You're always reading in your free time¨

¨Do you think it's a pointless thing to do?¨ You lowered your book, not sure how to respond.

"Not at all. In fact, I've read quite a few books myself. Perhaps I could suggest a good read for you?" he offered.

It was to further your understanding of their native language and culture to improve the diplomatic relationship as he put it. Seemed somewhat pointless since it was almost time to leave, but you appreciated his effort to connect with you. And despite his reasons you were honestly surprised by his interest in your readings and eagerly shared your favorite authors.

You remember apologizing for getting so engrossed to the point where by the end of your enthusiastic speech the sky's rim had gained a crimson tint and the air's crisp cold painted your noses pink.

But this repeated frequently; he would bring you a book and then listen to your ramblings about it.

You enjoyed talking and he enjoyed listening.

And somewhere along the way...

You loved that fool, and you were a fool for loving him.

Too engrossed in daydreams of the past, you don't acknowledge the heavy crunch of snow approaching. Its halt. The slight dip of the wooden bench beside you. Your eyes don't stir from their designated place.

¨ Please, look at me.¨ A cult, rich baritone mixes with the muted waltz unobtrusively.

You turn. It's him, but you already knew that. That thick, navy blue sheepskin coat fastened hastily gave him an unkempt appearance. He must have left in a hurry. His soaked boots only added to the look. Matthias wore his reading glasses, the ones he used to pore over countless documents before, now foggy and hopelessly opaque as he stared at you with a serious expression. Despite yourself, this makes you chuckle and his eyes crinkle slightly as he smiles in return.

You steal his glasses to clean them with your linen handkerchief. Matthias doesn't stop you. His gaze is downcast, white lashes littered with flakes. You reach for him, setting the now pristine pair of lenses on his ears, but as you want to move away, he holds your hand in place, resting on his face. Your eyes finally meet, and it's more painful than you hoped.

" Stay " he asks you quietly but resolutely.

You study his expression, concealing from your eyes a dread that whispered that if you ever were to part, there would no longer exist hope of reuniting. You fear the same because deep down you know it might be true. To get to Achroite you had traversed Obsidian, a harsh and hostile land, and the truce that allowed for your secure passage was as fleeting as your stay.

This diplomatic mission was the only ticket.

You know you have to go: as Belle will always have a duty to her homeland, though it no longer felt like home. It was your duty, your secret burden, and you, its devoted martyr. It was unbearably painful having to love silently, withholding the truth that yearned so badly to be told. But even knowing that you wish you could be selfish just this once and linger.

Instead, you choose to put out the searing feeling using reason.

The words burn on your tongue, but you are mute. Lips sealed, your form encased in an icy cast. His eyes soften. Hushed and, which you may have imagined, almost woeful, he speaks the words you could not bring yourself to say aloud.

"Know... that I loved you."

"I wish..." Your lament is choked and raspy, "I wish... I never..." tears well on the corners of your eyes, and he gently brushes them away. It hurt the way he looked with tacit understanding. "May...be then it... wouldn't hurt so... much" Your words were trembling, you've never seen him look so earnestly at you.

Your breath hitches, and he pulls you close. It feels like an eternity but also like a memory already.

He is the first to pull away, carefully holding your shoulders. Your fur coat no longer remedies the cold.

He pats his coat and retrieves something from a pocket.

"If it's inevitable, I want you to have this"

He hands you the small object, a handcrafted ornamental music box. Holding it gingerly, you wonder if he was the one to piece it. Your fingertips hover over the gilded letters embossed on the margin as you read them. Those were two digits significant to the number of the musical composition. The title left unmentioned.

You try to hand it back, but he presses his rough hands over yours, trapping the dainty object in your hold along some of his warmth.

"I'm sorry I can say nothing more consoling to you, for love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing compared with love in dreams" The phrase is beautifully spun, but it did not belong to him. A passage from the book he gave you. He said it just to give his feelings form. Perhaps he too, was at a loss for words. But even so, he slowly let you go.

You falter when It opens with a tink. Already Wound, it plays a foreign waltz. There is a cold, mysterious, haunting beauty to it. It is not downbeat; nevertheless, it evokes emotions that you know too well. Yearning, nostalgia, and... heartache. It was like looking through a lens into another epoch, long-lost in time. He gives you a rare smile.

You couldn't tell him, but he understood and accepted it in silence and tranquility.

Snowflakes fall around you, waltzing rhythmically, lackluster, slowly burying the footsteps long after he's gone. You didn't stop him. Not only that, you saw him off while the tune lulled you in the stillness of the night. Caressing your treasure, only then, do you notice the inscription inside its golden dome. A poem. He shared your interest in books, shared stories, and loved to reference his favorite achroitian and foreign authors, be it a quote, or a quip.

But there was no witty remark this time, merely a Farewell.

𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖;

𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏;

𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝑰 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏.

𝑯𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒆-𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒅, 𝒚𝒆𝒕 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒅 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘;

𝒔𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅, 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚,

𝑰 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝑮𝒐𝒅 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒐.

Poem by Alexander Pushkin

You can find the waltz Farewell here, on YT

Well, I'm not really a writer usually and I don't know much about editing a story. So when my head hurt about it I thought: hey, at least it's out there.

A/N: I honestly don't know. I wanted to trim this leaving the first cut and last, cutting everything in the middle. Sometimes context isn't needed and each can work as a standalone fragment, but though they're less fleshed out than I would have liked, I really enjoyed some things in them and couldn't bring myself to do it.

[stupidlyverbose]

Leo knows that he's overprotective. It's a trait of his that his brothers have complained about over and over again, but he can't help it. They're his brothers, his family, his everything; it is his job--no, his duty--to keep them safe. So he is overprotective. He asks for check ins, he keeps an eye on them topside, and he's always watching for injuries. Leo's overprotective and he knows it.

Sometimes that manifests in him walking around the lair as everyone sleeps, making sure they're in bed and sleeping and breathing. The part of him that makes his heart race, the part that makes him pace for hours on end, the part that Donnie calls PTSD-induced anxiety, is only satisfied after he knows that his family is safe.

It's on one of those nights, when it's like his very mind is itching and his lungs don't want to work until he's sure, that he finds Mikey. He's just checked on Donnie--for once, his genius brother is in bed instead of asleep on his desk--and Mikey is the last one before Leo goes to bed.

He silently makes his way to his brother's room, stops by the door, and goes to open it, confident that Mikey is asleep since he always is at this time--when he hears a low moan. Leo freezes, blood rushing to his face. Oh.

He... Should have expected this at some point. He's walked in on Raph and Donnie but never Mikey, so he really should have expected this but--

He didn't. Now he's frozen in place, mouth dry as he listens to his baby brother touch himself.

Normally he's able to shake himself loose from the mortification and flee. Normally he's able to leave and go to his room and pretend that it never happened. But right now he can't. In fact, he's leaning closer, straining to catch more of the noises Mikey will make.

The sound of moving sheets and the quiet squeaks of the old mattress. A sigh and the soft squelch of something thrusting in and out of--of--

"Leo," Mikey groans. Leo almost chokes and can't stop himself from peeking into his brother's room. Mikey's on his bed, back arched the best it can be with his shell, two fingers buried in his cloaca. His eyes are half lidded and trained on the ceiling and his fingers are glistening--

Arousal begins to bubble in Leo's gut and he can't seem to look away as Mikey's cock drops and his baby brother wraps his free hand around it. Leo watches, mouth open, feeling himself start to grow wet, as Mikey desperately jerks himself off, calling Leo's name the entire time.

When Mikey's head turns to look at the door, Leo bolts, heartbeat thundering in his ears. He slams his door shut behind him, slumping against it and staring down at where his own cock stands tall. He groans and sinks to the ground, covering his face in shame.

"What is wrong with me?" he mutters in despair, and resolutely does not touch himself. Nope. He's fallen this far. He isn't going to fall farther. Instead, he drags himself to bed and desperately tries to empty his mind.

Tomorrow is going to be so awkward. He's just lucky Mikey didn't know he was there.

(Across the lair, Mikey grins to himself. Ha! He knew Leo would be into it. Now he just has to get his brother to come into the room instead of just watching.

Another day, maybe.)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

4 Strategies to Avoid Wordiness

Wordiness is when a sentence contains words that, if removed (or replaced with a shorter alternative), convey the same message and remain grammatically correct. It may happen when you use more words than necessary within a sentence, especially short, vague words that do not add much meaning.

Omit unnecessary words by using a "who does what" construction (Take out: it is, there is, there are, which, that, this, and self-references such as in my opinion, I think, it seems to me.)

Wordy: It was a night that was dark and freezing when the ship Titanic was struck by an iceberg.

Better: An iceberg struck the Titanic on a dark and freezing night.

Avoid too many abstract and difficult words

Wordy: “Conservatism is the paradigm of essences toward which the phenomenology of the world is in continuing approximation” (William Buckley, Jr.).

Better: Conservativism is the belief in absolute values whose expression change with the times.

Shorten sentences by rearranging ideas

Wordy: The president of the school board that presides over Dade County schools is accepting of the participation of students in alternative classes of their choice.

Better: The Dade County School Board president allows student to choose electives.

Omit repetitious words and ideas

Wordy: The cookies are baking in the oven. The cookies are chocolate chip.

Concise: The chocolate chip cookies are baking in the oven.

Notice how the wordy phrases below can be reduced to one or two words:

along the lines of = like

as a matter of fact = in fact

at all times = always

at the present time = now, currently

at this point in time = now, currently

because of the fact that = because

by means of = by

due to the fact that = because

for the purpose of = for

for the reason that = because

have the ability to = be able to

in the nature of = like

in order to = to

in spite of the fact that = although, though

in the event that = if

in the final analysis = finally

in the neighborhood of = about

until such time as = until

More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[hydrobunny]

everyone thinks that they know us

tags: confessions, getting together, friends to lovers

a/n: written from the idea made by the amazing @yangx2isawhore :3

--------------------

it's exactly 11:34pm when the ringing of your phone wakes you up.

jolting up from your bed, you blearily glare at your phone screen. the contact name of SHIDOU‼️ burns into your eyes.

you hang up.

a second later, it rings again.

"what."

"y/n!" as always, shidou's voice is just a little too loud for it to be acceptable. "how mad would you be if i killed rin right now?"

you pause. you look at the time. you consider the probability of him telling the truth.

"pretty mad."

"great!" and you can hear the grin in shidou's voice as he recites out an address. "you can come save him then."

although you were the one that had tried so hard to befriend rin itoshi, you were pretty certain that you hadn't signed up for whatever the hell this was.

you pull up at the address at a sharp 12:02 am, annoyance already settling in underneath your eyes.

the address is a mansion (why would you ever expect anything else), and the recognizable bass of party music blasts through the windows. at least a dozen different colored sports cars (you consider how much one would sell for) are parked outside of it.

you debate turning around. unfortunately, you think shidou might actually be serious about killing your best friend.

best friend. how did you get to this point? friend. didn't matter that you might have been in love with him- rin could never see you as anything more.

you knock on the door.

a man you might be able to recognize if you cared enough answers. his dual-colored eyes flit over you with interest.

"hey there, pretty," he says, and his voice is slurring with the unmistakeable touch of alcohol. "don't think you're on the invite list, but i can make an exception."

you scowl. "no thank you. shidou called me to come?"

he cocks his head. "what could someone like you possibly have anything to do with that psycho?"

"he-"

the psycho in question slams into two-eye's side, whooping. "took you long enough!"

you sigh.

shidou ryusei grins at you, positively buzzing with energy. the smell of cheap (why cheap? genuinely, why did he buy cheap alcohol?) beer lingers around his face.

"did you kill rin yet?"

the grin immediately wipes itself from his face. "getting there."

he whirls around, a warm hand latching around your own- and then he's pulling you through the hallways of this too-big house.

the music hasn't stopped for a second since you've got here. in many of the rooms, you can spot groups of vaguely recognizable people, all of them in various states of buzzed-to-plastered.

you wonder how professional athletes weren't any better than the frat boys that threw weekend parties. (well, the age range was pretty much the same)

"where are we?" you manage to shout into shidou's ear, as he pulls you further away from the heart of the party.

"sae's house!" he yells back.

"what?"

the two of you slam into another room- shidou shuts the door with too much force - and the music fades away into background noise.

rin's head snaps up at your entrance.

"rinrin!" shidou crows. "brought you another babysitter!"

rin stares at you with genuine confusion. his eyes are hazed over, his cheeks a light red. "what? y/n?" a red solo cup, ominously empty, sits by his hand.

"yes, yes," shidou replies, pushing you forward. "the only person who can somehow tolerate your presence is here!"

you slip out of shidou's grip. "what the hell is happening?"

he rolls his obnoxiously bright eyes at your question. "little itoshi's weirdly drunk and incoherent. which means big itoshi has to pretend like he cares. which means i can't force big itoshi to drink an enormous amount of alcohol! so now you have to watch this idiot!"

"i am not drunk," rin snarls towards shidou. "and i don't need a babysitter."

he attempts to get up from the counter he's perched on, and immediately wobbles. you debate whether it would be worth laughing.

before you can make a decision, another side door opens.

and sae itoshi meets your gaze with bored indifference.

"what- you!"

he raises an eyebrow. you're not sure how you got into this situation.

you wonder how you're supposed to react to meeting the one and only brother you've heard rin talk so much about.

some inner part of you immediately doesn't like him. the other part immediately notices how similar they look, and curse their sheer attractiveness.

either way, sae loses the little interest he had in you immediately, turning towards shidou. "is this-" he waves a hand towards you. "her?

shidou nods furiously. "junior is perfectly cared for now. now let's get out of here!"

rin glares at all three of you.

sae sighs. for someone who's supposed to be the host, he doesn't look thrilled at the prospect of socializing.

the elder itoshi turns his attention onto the younger. "you're fine with her?"

rin's eyes narrow further. he doesn't respond.

shidou takes that as his cue. his hands place themselves on sae's shoulders. "good talk, everyone!"

and with another slammed door, you are left alone with rin. it's more than a little awkward.

you open your mouth- he shoots you a glare. you can take a hint. (even if it breaks your heart.)

out of a bored curiosity, and maybe a little spite, you start opening cabinets. they're mostly empty (you wonder what kind of life sae lives).

rin's gaze follows you the entire way. it's intense enough to give you goosebumps.

eventually, you come across a pot of gold- a wine bottle, its cork untapped. there's a ribbon attached to its neck; you spy the JFU logo placed on top.

"he won't mind, right?" you ask.

silence follows.

you open the bottle. if you're going to be stuck here anyways, why let it go to waste?

surprisingly, it's rin that talks first. "why'd you come?" he mumbles out, stumbling over a syllable.

you shrug, taking another mouthful of the wine. (it's good. too good. damn rich people.) "shidou said he was gonna kill you."

“shidou has your number? you responded? why'd you care?" he blurts out in a tsunami of words. immediately after, he looks away with reddening ears.

you eye him with slowly growing amusement. there's a buzzing in your stomach that's slowly stripping your self control away. "yes. and yes. and because we're friends."

rin tch's, still refusing to meet your eyes. you think he'll keep talking, but he doesn't.

so you take another swig of the wine bottle. maybe rin can be the one to reach out for once.

but- like always- you're the first to crack. after a possible fifteen minutes of brooding silence, you sigh.

"what's going on with sae?"

rin's gaze snaps to your face. "what about him?"

you raise your brows. (you think you meant to raise only one. you can't really tell.) "i thought he didn't fuck with you."

rin's face scrunches at your words. "what?"

you groan, sliding down from your perch onto the floor. "you know? i thought- well, he looks like he cares."

he stands up. "he doesn't."

"sure."

he stares at you with a complicated expression, and then makes his way over to you. you blink up at him.

"i don't like you talking to him," rin says, seemingly more lucid than before.

"wasn't really my choice." you shoot him a smile, raising a hand. he lifts you up to standing with it.

from how close you now are, the two of you are almost touching. if you weren't as delirious on wine as you are now, this would be much more distressing.

even now, it takes all of your will to maintain eye contact with him.

"you don't like me talking to him?" you mumble out.

rin tilts his head. "no."

"can i ask why you came here then? or why you got plastered off cheap booze?"

he opens his mouth, then stops. and then- "you're not doing much better."

you clear your throat. more than the wine, it's rin who's clouding your thoughts. his faint cologne- so much more evident at this distance- intoxicates you.

"that didn't answer my question."

his eyes narrow. "i felt like it."

you frown. "what situation are you in that made you want to get drunk with shidou?"

and his eyes flicker down. to your lips.

"what do you think?"

you stumble; rin's hand places itself in the small of your back. signature itoshi teal burns.

you're both drunk. you're in his brother's house. and yet-

and yet, you're both here, and rin itoshi is leaning down into you.

his lips meet yours desperately, his breath catching over and over again. your hands tangle into his hair- he groans wordlessly.

you separate with a gasp.

"are you- what?" you manage, face ablaze.

rin looks just as disheveled. "y/n."

"rin."

he steps back, eyes roving from wall to wall. "fuck. fuck, im sorry. i thought-"

that's not the right words you wanted to hear. you step forward, the wine bottle long forgotten behind.

"you thought right," you blurt.

rin stares at you. a flush sits over his face.

"i thought you wanted to just be friends. that- that you didn't want me." you say.

surprise, and horror, flicks in his eyes. "what?"

you cough out a laugh. "not very smart off the field, are you?"

rin's mouth opens and closes, much like a fish. you think he's going to speak-

he closes the gap between you two, and his lips meet yours again.

between gasps, he mumbles a "i could never not want you." into your form.

and you sigh out your own declaration of love

somewhere in the house, a door slams. someone whoops in exhilaration.

but in this room, it's just you and rin. alcohol tinges both of your breaths. you're both drunk on something bigger.

[juniorectobiologist]

ouppies PART TWO

PART ONE <-here

[lucabyte]

A belief in Nominative Determinsim

[mizushidokoro]

"Ryuurin, Hanpatsu, Tsugai no Ryuusei" -- the incantation for World Slash, and an epitaph to Gojo Satoru.

In JJK, incantations are supposed to boost power of a particular technique. When Sukuna used World Slash to kill Gojo, he imposed a binding vow that allowed him a single-use activation without the requirement of a hand sign, in exchange for using incantations and directing the attack for all subsequent uses.

In this post I'll examine the specific phrases in Sukuna's incantation and argue that each phrase of the incantation corresponds to an application of Gojo's Limitless technique. Then I'll briefly relate this to the binding vow requirements to argue that Sukuna's promise to never forget Gojo for the rest of his life is one of the conditions of that binding vow.

1. "龍鱗"

First, "ryuurin" (dragon scales) describes the basic application of Limitless, a strong defensive barrier like the scales of a dragon. This one is the most obvious, hinted at by Sukuna's words at the beginning of the fight, telling Gojo he plans to "strip away his scales." More will be said about the dragon references, in the discussion of the third phrase.

Less relevant but still interesting - there’s also a Buddhist reference here, according to this forum post:

At surface, straight value, it is just the literal scales of a dragon. The word can also be used to mean "a large quantity of things". Ryurin is also a metaphor for the power/authority/influence of heroes and of the Heavenly People (the residents of the Japanese version of the Devaloka, where devas and gods reside. Just a heavenly realm, basically.) Lastly, Ryurin means a dangerous condition/situation or a dangerous thing. So. For Sukuna, its basically 'dangerous divine power/authority'.

2. "反発"

Next, "hanpatsu." Hanpatsu means recoil, which is the equal and opposing force of an action. This describes Purple, which is the rebounding damage created by the collision of Red and Blue. At first I thought hanpatsu described Red, because Red is a “repulsing” force. Except “recoil” is not the same thing as repulsion. Another possibility was that hanpatsu described the relationship between Red and Blue — Red as the “equal and opposite” of blue, and vice versa. But we know the two aren’t equal in power, and neither technique is accurately described as the “recoil” or rebounding force produced by the other.

3. "番いの流星"

Finally, "tsugai no ryuusei." A few things here. First, the wordplay and translation. Like ”Ryuurin”, this term references dragons. Here Ryuusei, meaning meteor or comet, is also pun on the word dragon, ryuu (which isn’t novel, see the Japanese word for Pokémon move Draco Meteor, et al.). So a plausible English translation could also be “Twin Dragon Meteors.” Second, how dragons are relevant to Sukuna’s mythology. In Hida, there is a temple Senkoji said to be founded by “Ryomen Sukuna … approximately 1,600 years ago. A central architectural feature of the temple it Dragon Ceiling, a portrait of two dragons painted by Kano Tansetsu on the ceiling of the main buliding. From the website,

According to temple legend, a general of the Sengoku period committed suicide there by seppuku, staining the floor with blood. For the repose of general’s soul, the floorboards were incorporated into the ceiling of the main temple. Some time later, Kano Tansetsu visited Senkoji and painted the dragons on the ceiling. At Senkoji, the objects of worship include not only the main temple and the priest’s quarters, but also the entire temple complex.

According to this Reddit post, the temple’s founding tale describes how Sukuna fought off a dragon god living in the mountain and built a shrine in its place. So — from the fact that dragons are the mythological enemy of the figure Ryomen Sukuna, we may infer that the words of the incantation refer to an enemy or target of the World Slash technique.

What could "twin meteors" refer to other than the related techniques of Limitless, the twin floating spheres Red and Blue?

Another potential connection to Red/Blue rooted in dragon mythology is the tide jewels — the tide-ebbing (a repelling force, like Red) kanju and tide-flowing (an attracting force, like Blue) manju, possessed by Ryuujin, the Sea King.

The final reason I think the incantation refers to Gojo’s technique is because of Sukuna’s explanation in 236 for World Slash — he describes the process of developing the technique as figuring out how to target Limitless with Dismantle. So it makes sense that the incantation to power World Slash operates by describing its target, not World Slash itself.

It also lends significance to the order of the incantation — first visualizing the most generalized application of Limitless (ryuurin), then passing through Purple (hanpatsu) to finally arrive at two separate applications, Red and Blue (tsugai no ryuusei) — a conceptual "bisection" of Limitless into two discrete components.

4. Binding Vows

Isn't this pretty romantic? But wait there's more. We know now after Chapter 255 that in exchange for unleashing the World Slash that killed Gojo without using the hand sign, Sukuna now has to recite the incantation every time (+using the hand signs and directing the attack with his palm) he uses World Slash.

Assuming what I've previously argued is true (the incantation describes Gojo's Limitless), this gives Sukuna's last words to Gojo another layer of significance. When Sukuna tells Gojo he will never forget him, it's not just an expression or a promise, but a statement of the binding vow Sukuna has to make in order to land the killing blow. In other words, the cost of killing Gojo is having to remember him forever, to integrate him into Sukuna's own technique through a verbal invocation that must be made every single time Sukuna uses the world bisecting slash. Yeah, that's pretty romantic.

[persephoneggsy]

Phryne Ingellvar Banter

writing full fics is still kind of exhausting to me, so I've taken to writing fake banters for my Mourn Watch Rook, Phryne Ingellvar. Most of them are with Emmrich, because he's her romance, but maybe I'll eventually expand on her relationships with the other members of the Veilguard. A lot of this is mostly bits and bobs from Phryne's backstory.

*

[During Emmrich's recruitment quest, as they’re traversing through the Necropolis]

Emmrich: Surely we’ve crossed paths before, Rook? It seems bizarre that we’ve both been Watchers for so long and never interacted. I swear the name Ingellvar sounds familiar…

Phryne: Well, I mostly did grunt work. Escorts for trainees entering the Necropolis for the first time, protecting mourners visiting the graves. That sort of thing. Probably not what you spent most of your time doing.

Emmrich: Ah, I see. Still…

Phryne: Though we have met before.

Emmrich: Oh? I’m sorry, I can’t recall…

Phryne: Don’t worry about it, Professor. It was almost a decade ago, and it was brief.

Emmrich: Well, you remembered. I hope I made a good first impression, at least?

Phryne: I don’t think you’re capable of leaving a bad one, from what I’ve seen so far.

Harding: Um, sorry to interrupt, but can we maybe focus on the horde of despair demons charging at us right now?

Phryne & Emmrich: Spirits!

Harding: Whatever!

*

[When Phryne goes to see how Emmrich is settling in]

Emmrich: When did we meet, Rook? It’s been driving me mad.

Phryne: Oh, alright. It was at a funeral. My son’s. You administered his final rites and prepared his body for burial.

Emmrich: Oh! Of course. I remember now.

Phryne: Really? It was so long ago, and I’m sure you’ve performed dozens of final rites over the years. I wouldn’t be upset if you couldn’t recall…

Emmrich: Not many Nevarrans left to join the Inquisition. It was seen as a primarily “southern” concern, despite the danger it posed to all of Thedas. I remember thinking that young Rothe Ingellvar must have been a fine young man, to give his life for such a cause. 

Phryne: He was. 

Emmrich: I’m sure I said it back then, but my condolences, Rook. 

Phryne: Thank you, Emmrich. 

*

Emmrich: I’ve been wondering something, Rook. If you don’t mind a personal question. 

Phryne: Ask away. 

Emmrich: We’ve been in the Mourn Watch for almost the same number of years. You’re an incredible warrior, a natural born leader, and every other Watcher I’ve asked has nothing but wonderful things to say about you. 

Phryne: Aw. Thanks. But… what’s the question?

Emmrich: By all accounts, you should be extremely high up in the ranks. But by your own admission, you’re just “a grunt.” Why haven’t you been promoted?

Phryne: Ah. Well. They tried, at first. But I joined the Watch after I had my kids, so they were my priority. Promotions meant more responsibility, more responsibility meant more time away from them. And then, after rejecting promotions for years, they finally stopped trying. Happily been a grunt ever since. 

Emmrich: I suppose I can understand that. But wouldn’t a promotion also mean more money with which to support your family?

Phryne: My mother left me with her estate when she passed. We were always comfortable. I just wanted as much time with my kids as possible. 

Emmrich: That’s very admirable. 

Phryne: Really? Mother always said my lack of ambition was my fatal flaw. 

Emmrich: I think love for one’s family outweighs that. 

*

Emmrich: The Battleaxe!

Phryne: Sorry?

Emmrich: Your surname, Ingellvar — it’s been nagging at me, but I finally remember where I’ve heard it before! Your mother was Prudence Ingellvar, the Battleaxe!

Phryne: Oh! (Laughs) I forgot they used to call her that. Yeah, that was my mother. You knew her?

Emmrich: I’m afraid I never had the good fortune, but I knew her reputation. A staunch traditionalist, to be sure, but such exemplary understanding of anatomy and theory! Her essay on both magical and mundane methods of preserving vital organs was quite innovative!

Phryne: Oh, she would’ve adored you. 

*

[After revisiting the Necropolis for the first time and speaking with Myrna and Vorgoth]

Emmrich: Phryne?

Phryne: Yes?

Emmrich: Just making sure I heard correctly. Back at the Necropolis, Myrna called you ‘Phryne’ rather than ‘Rook’. Is that your given name?

Phryne: Oh, it is. Rook is a… recent nickname. Varric started calling me that after we met. Something about chess pieces.

Emmrich: What would you prefer to be called?

Phryne: Rook is probably easier. No one could ever pronounce Phryne right when I was younger. The number of times I was called ‘Frine’ or ‘Fern’...

Emmrich: (laughs) A shame. It’s a lovely name.

Phryne: Well. I like it when you say it.

Emmrich: Very well. Phryne.

*

[During their first date]

Phryne: This is one of the more romantic dates I’ve been on. 

Emmrich: How wonderful! I was afraid I’d lost my touch. Between work and research and teaching Manfred, there hasn’t been time lately for company. 

Phryne: I know what you mean. 

Emmrich: Do you?

Phryne: Well, I spent the last year or so hunting down Solas. Not a lot of time for courting. And even before that, I’d… sort of given up on romance. 

Emmrich: Oh. May I ask why?

Phryne: Dating’s hard with kids. I always had someone willing to look after them if I had plans for the evening, but a lot of the time, people were put off by the fact that I even had children. Or the kids would hate them for whatever reason. Or things would work out for a while before fizzling out. So I stopped focusing on relationships and just focused on… the physical side of things. 

Emmrich: I see…

Phryne: Does that… bother you? My ‘experience’? I know some people find it unladylike. 

Emmrich: My dear, I would never hold your past against you. I’m only marveling at my good fortune, to be the one to show you how a proper courtship works. 

Phryne: Ooh. Bold words, Volkarin. Are you sure you have the skills to back up that confidence?

Emmrich: You’re not the only one with experience, darling. 

*

[After Harding asking about whether Emmrich is a noble]

Harding: So you’re really not nobility? Volkarin just sounds so… fancy. 

Emmrich: It’s a commoner’s name. My father was a butcher and my mother was a cook. If you want to speak to Nevarran nobility, you could always ask Rook. 

Harding: (laughs) Right. 

Emmrich: …

Harding: … Wait, really? Rook is a noble?

Phryne: You don’t need to sound so surprised. 

Harding: It’s just… you don’t really act like…

Phryne: To my mother’s chagrin, I know. But in my defense, I was adopted. 

Emmrich: Oh, truly? I hadn’t known that. 

Phryne: Mother and a few of our undead found me in an abandoned crypt when I was just an infant. She took me in, raised me as her own. 

Emmrich: How sweet! I’d heard one of our own was a cryptling, I had no idea it was you!

Harding: … You were found in a tomb? As a baby?

Emmrich: That isn’t so unusual in Nevarra. Many Watchers see them as an omen!

Phryne: Whether I was a good or bad omen depended on if I took a nap that day. According to my mother. 

Harding: … Nevarrans are so weird. 

[princess-self-shipping]

Anyone else think not shutting the fuck up runs in the family- *shot*

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddieangstyaugust Day 14 - Wordy Wednesday: Lake

i’m challenging myself to keep all these at either 127 or 1,270 words each, see day one for more of an explanation!

The last time Eddie visits his Uncle Wayne, he meets a mermaid.

He’d gone under the water to fish up a bright coral pink rock he’d spotted from above, and happened to glance up, looking out into the lake from under the surface, only to meet a pale face dotted with what looked like freckles.

Inhaling the clear lake water, sputtering as he stands, the pale face joins him above the surface.

“He–” another cough, “Hello…?” he greets, questioningly.

The face only studies him further, looking him over from head to toe. 

Eddie squats back down into the water, it’s much colder above the surface now that he’s used to the water’s chilly temperature.

A bright shimmering blue tail skims past his knee.

“Wow! You’re a mermaid!” he says, astonished, finally noticing the rest of the boy’s freckled torso just under the crystal clear water. “I’m Eddie, what’s your name?”

“Eee–” the boy frowns, “Eeadding?”

Eddie points to his chest, “Ed-dee.”

“Edddeee.”

“Yeah! I’m Eddie,” he points to himself again, “You are…?” points to the mermaid (merboy?)

“Ssst–” his face scrunches, he squeals some sort of noise under his breath, “SteeEEE–” He cuts himself off again, shrinking from the pained look on Eddie’s face.

“Sorry, that was just loud.. Is it Steeee…” Eddie wracks his brain, “Fin?” He completes the only name that comes to mind, wincing at ‘fin’ being the only syllable he possibly could’ve imagined while in the presence of a literal finned person.

Maybe Stefin giggles, lifting his tailfins out of the water.

Eddie grins back, “Stee-fin?”

Even More Possibly Stefin nods, a sharp-toothed grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Well Stefin, wanna help me look for rocks?”

Together, they scour the shallows of the water behind Wayne’s cabin for hours

They fill the whole grocery bag Eddie’d been toting around with him by time Wayne calls for him at sundown.

“I’m leaving for home tomorrow,” he tells Stefin, not knowing that would be the last time he’d ever see his friend, telling the beautiful creature “I’ll see you next year though! We come back at least once every summer, promise.”

The merboy had smiled so brilliantly at him, the freckles Eddie had just then realized were tiny blue scales shining in the evening sun. He didn’t want to leave.

But he had to. Eddie left.

Elizabeth got sick.

Al got arrested. 

And in the time between the state of Tennessee gaining custody of him and being placed with Uncle Wayne permanently, Wayne sold his little homestead, settling in a two bedroom trailer in the heart of Indiana.

He understands it all now, of course, Wayne making the decision to move where he knew he’d have consistent work year-round was a necessity, but that first week, an already confused Eddie had asked after only a couple days in the trailer when they’d be going home to the lake.

“I don’t live there anymore Teddy. Live here now, in Indiana.”

“But what about the cabin?”

“Sold it, kiddo. Bought this place instead.”

Eddie’s eyes welled up for what felt like the zillionth time in a month. “But what about the stove? What about the bonfires? What about all the rocks I haven’t found?” What about Stefin? He thought to himself.

“Now son–kiddo, s’alright! We can always plan a trip to the UP if y’wanna.”

“Back to the cabin?” Eddie had asked, hopeful.

Wayne shook his head, “Probably camp at McLain instead.”

“That’s on Lake Soupier?”

Wayne snorts, “Yah bud, s’on Superior.”

Eddie took a moment to consider it, then nodded resolutely. “Okay Uncle Wayne.”

They never went back up to Michigan, let alone all the way up to the UP.

The first summer in Indiana was the only time Eddie asked.

“Sorry kiddo, can’t swing it this year. Maybe next time.” Wayne had said, and Eddie watched.

The whole rest of summer, into the fall, especially in the winter, the red-stamped envelopes would stack, then disappear whenever they would go into what Wayne liked to call ‘broke mode’.

Clearance aisle canned goods, store-brand everything, sandwiches packed into brown paper bags with little else.

Eddie grew up, failed his senior year once, twice, managing things the third, and leaving Hawkins for Chicago, hoping to make it big somewhere, somehow.

He manages to, but not in the way he originally thought, falling into club ownership after the man he’d been working for passed, leaving his business to Eddie.

Wayne gets sick when Eddie’s only 28; he drives down to Hawkins and stays with him about a month before he’s gone.

Eddie goes back to Chicago one Uncle short, goes back to work.

A week after Wayne is cremated, a notification pops up in his inbox. An alert he doesn’t remember setting.

Eddie grins, “You sneaky bastard.”

Wayne’s cabin and surrounding acreage have come up for sale.

It’s not even a thought, there’s no decision to be made. Eddie offers over asking and gets the keys handed to him on his 29th birthday.

He’s still a part owner of his club, gets a check every month that pays the mortgage, but his new day to day consists of fixing the cabin, wandering in the woods, and strolling along the shallows of Lake Superior, looking for rocks.

One day, while walking north along the shore, he stumbles across a hidden little alcove.

The rock face juts in from the shoreline, behind a trickling waterfall. It’s not huge by any means, but it looks like someone’s already came by and carved the sand here away, making a knee-high pool that connects the rocky face of the shore with the lake.

He skirts around the little pool, walking along a narrow strip of sand to the sparkling waterfall.

A shocked scream is yanked from his throat as soon as he peers into the alcove properly though, because there, doing a very astute impression of a dead fuckin’ body, is a merman, leant casually back against the wall of the cave Eddie’d just approached from, snoozing away.

The creature whips its head around at Eddie’s yell, teeth bared and a hissing screech slithering out from between his lips.

“Holy Shit! You’re a—”

The merman stops hissing, “Eddie?”

Eddie blinks at him. “Jesus H. Christ.. Stefin?” The blue tail, the shimmering freckle-like scales, the still horribly beautiful face. “You’re real.”

“You’re back— real?” Stefin asks, incredulous, “You didn’t think I was real?”

“I was a kid with an astounding sense of imagination, sue me.”

Stefin rolls his eyes, “Figures why you never came back to see me.”

Eddie blinks at him again, “What? No! No, I couldn’t! My mom— my dad– Wayne— It’s a long story, okay?”

Stefin harrumphs, sitting back against the stone wall. 

“I still can’t believe this, I always thought I’d imagined you.”

“Well you didn’t.”

“Yeahh, I can see that now, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Wha— nevermind, So, how’ve you been?”

Stefin’s head lolls around, he had to’ve just rolled his eyes. He stands up, “Why do you care? You’ll probably just leave again.”

 “No, I bought the house my uncl—” Hang on, what?

Stefin shoves past Eddie to hop down onto the sand, avoiding landing on his feet in the water.

“You’re walking.”

“Amazing observation skills.”

“You’re naked.” And super hot, holy shit. Eddie averts his eyes politely.

“Again, very astute.” He grabs a bundle of cloth, pulling on a pair of shorts.

“How— Can I take you to dinner?”

“Why.” He pulls a shirt on over his head.

“To explain properly. And also because I missed you.”

Stefin turns, looks him over. His gaze softens minutely. “Sure. I’d like that.”

MY FIRST MER!FIC!! HALLELUJAH!!

also, this kinda got away from me, so it's really only light angst 😅

see the collection on ao3!

[sanctus-ingenium]

I’m really inspired by your world building and the creatures you use. I’m trying to kickstart my own world using Celtic, Norse and Scottish myths (it also involves werewolves because they’re cool)

But I’m stumped and a bit overwhelmed. How’d you start your project and what were huge sources of inspiration for you as you worked on The Black Horse?

hi there!!! this will probably get wordy i have a lot of thoughts on this but here's how i built up my inver setting

i had the characters first, and the werewolf establishment was basically the first thing invented about the world. I wrote a decent amount about the characters in the pre-1st draft slush pile just getting a handle on their voices, their history together, etc. the first slush draft was in painstaking chronological order telling of their lives from birth to like age 40 - it wasn't pretty to read but it meant I knew what big moments formed their worldview, their relationships with others, things like that. and then i got to pick and choose which ones would feature in the actual 1st draft, and which i would leave unsaid, in flashback form, or only in the form of vague allusions. the plot and world events changed significantly as i wrote the actual 1st draft so this ended up only being useful for backstory stuff and not book plots, but it was still good to have.

There was an important moment of a character being kidnapped into a faery realm, which is what started me off thinking about fairies in general. they weren't originally a part of this world - it was an undefined space before just for the characters to exist in, because i was (and still am) more interested in the characters than the worldbuilding. but i still like for there to be SOMETHING there in the background, and it gives a lot of opportunities to inform characterisation, so i started to make my setting. I picked the Púca as a pivotal being & major inspiration source to include because of its relatively large presence in the fringes of my childhood in stories told by my older relatives and i like the unusual aspects about it as well, how it has been both heroic and malevolent in different stories. you have to remember i grew up in this culture too, i knew a lot already, and that's what got me thinking of alternate Earth history - as in, the setting of Inver as alternate history, not wholly original fantasy set in a fantasy land.

So then I had to think about the implications of that, and here is where I think a lot of authors adapting extant mythology fall short. A world where faeries/mythological monsters/gods based in real cultures exist and people interact with them is indistinguishable from our own. We already live in a world where people interact with faeries in their own way; I've heard many older relatives recount stories of being trapped in their fields by faeries, how you can only escape by taking off your jumper and putting it back on inside out. There was no question as to whether they believed this was a concrete, meaningful interaction with a supernatural being. We have a motorway that was diverted while it was being built because the builders didn't want to risk cutting down a hawthorn tree. There is a deep stigma against harming hawthorns. Now, tell me how things would be any different if faeries were real irl? ftr I do not believe in the supernatural whatsoever, not even a little bit, but it is impossible to deny that I live in a world deeply shaped by it - I need only look out the window at the stands of whitethorn around my house to know that. because the main expression of that supernatural element is in how the people of that culture react.

you cannot, you cannot pick and choose only the monsters from a legend and leave behind the people who made & propagated that legend. you're only taking a single thread from a rich tapestry. I'm not arguing that other cultures should be untouchable, far from it, I'm just saying that to truly appreciate it, you need context for everything you adapt. you gotta know what you're writing about

in that sense, the people are more important to building Inver than the faeries. a citizen of Inver not immediately affected by the main plotline would likely never see or interact with magic in their lifetime, but their society is still shaped by it. so is mine (though that's more on the catholic church than anything else)

So now that I'd had that realisation, I decided to dump a lot of the traditional fantasy tropes I'd been working with. Think basic fantasy setting stuff, pop culture "The Fae" tropes, even the terminology of 'Fae' at all - that is not something I've ever heard the older generation in my life call them. It's just 'fairies' to them (although I did shift the spelling to match the Yeats poem because I could not handle writing characters making accusations of being A Fairy and have it not come across as a unintentionally homophobic accusation lmao). I did some research; mostly on JSTOR, using my institutional access, because my own university is mostly science and didn't have a big library of anthropological texts. I read An Táin Bó Culainge which is honestly one of the greatest stories of all time PLEASE READ IT if you are at all interested in Irish myth. It is a fantastic story and extremely comedic as well (a canon mmmf foursome lol). In terms of academic sources specific to the Púca, I have a drive folder of pdfs I will share with anyone if they ask.

I decided I was not going to include anything from what people actually think of as pre-christian Irish mythology - no fianna [rangers notwithstanding], no Ulster cycle, no Tuatha Dé, no Irish gods. All the things I include are post-colonial aside from the notion of the Otherworld in general. This decision wasn't necessarily accurate to what might have happened in this alternate history (given that christianity still has no real foothold in Inver) but it is a colonised society after all. It's why I got slightly steamed once when someone filed my Púca art into their irish deities/irish polytheism tag (I have my own issues with iripols/gaelpols for the same reason I dislike people taking myths out cultural context and in this case contemporary cultural context), because the Púca is in fact a postcolonial being - it comes from the UK, and likely the mainland as well

One of the last things I did before starting on my 2nd draft, which is what turned into Said the Black Horse, was decide to always capitalise the word 'Púca'. Because what really clicked from doing my research and remembering what I'd heard as a child was that the Púca is a specific character. Not a species, not a class of monster. A character, one guy. And you'll find this everywhere - the obvious example is the Minotaur being one specific guy, the son of Minos, not just 'a minotaur'. One very funny consequence of speciesifying mythological characters is dnd ppl saying their character is A Firbolg (fir bolg is plural!!). Fantasy bestiary books like Dragonology or Spiderwick Chronicles have done some amount of damage to how people relate to myths and legendary creatures, and I am not immune as someone who loves speculative biology, but in Inver I decided to cut all of that out.

Next once I got that out of the way I had to think about tone, atmosphere, and intended results. I didn't achieve my holy grail of a very atmospheric, undefined, and uncertain story that provides no answers, due to limitations in my own abilities, but I tried. I have given less than 1 second of thought to how magic or faery biology in Inver works because that is not conducive to the atmosphere of a fairytale. Many of these source myths and legends are really about the fear of the unknown. They are rationalisations to explain away something unknown, some mystery of life, and you cannot explain the unexplainable and expect it to carry the same punch as the original myths that you are drawn to adapt. That's also why I try to never actually give facts about fairies, but instead I talk about what people think of them. The word 'considered' does some insanely heavy lifting in that linked post lmao. Is any of what I wrote true with regards to the Red King?? It is for the people who believe it.

I'm saying all of this because these are all points I had to think about before writing that 2nd draft, but also because I think they're worth considering for your own story as well. I'll admit I invented my werewolves from scratch, they have no mythological basis, because they pre-date the faery stuff and also I wanted them to fill a very specific role and appear a little more concrete than the other supernatural elements. It is what it is; I wanted a werewolf element that didn't match myths and legends (and honestly was partially inspired by me rolling my eyes about those posts going around moaning and whining about 'the doggification of werewolves missing the point of werewolf stories'. I thought, well, there's more than one story you can tell with a werewolf - it isn't always 'i fear the beast within', sometimes it's something else! sometimes it's daddy issues! it's okay to make something new)

ok i think that's all i have to say.. modern Inver is a bit different, that worldbuilding is largely the same but with a big dose of actual ecology because the main characters are rangers and in Inver in 2017, rangers mostly do environmental monitoring. and that's a whole different sort of worldbuilding lol

good luck with your story!!

[choking-on-ice]

okay so yk how I said Jimmy would make a great semi-oblivious shoujo anime protag? well here's my proof! lookit him! he was built for it!

SO much "I can fix them, I can save them from themselves" energy just to be met with "I will crush mountains and boild seas to have him, we will rule this scorched earth together" shot right back at him from both sides

(also I know Kara's eyes are blue canonically, but Kryptonians seem to change eye colour alot based on their power usage so I headcanon that her eyes would be a bright glowy red bc of how often she uses her more destructive powers)

[jenanigans1207]

Did I mention that I’m doing a daily 1000 word Destiel Drabble for fun? Because I am! You can find it on ao3 ofc, or else I’ll be posting them here! Each one is based on a random word that I’m prompted with every day. Here’s day one!

1/1/:25: choke

The lights in the kitchen of the bunker are bright in the middle of the night, as Dean props his hip against the counter and nestles a cup of warm coffee between his cold hands. He should be asleep— story of his goddamn life. He should be a lot of things, really, but he finds that this is one of those nights where the thoughts won’t let him go, where the sleep won’t come.

He had crept out of bed as quietly as he could, trying his hardest not to disturb Cas as he’d crawled out from under their covers and opened the door as slowly as he possibly could. It had taken Cas some time to adjust to sleeping again now that he was human, and on the rare nights that he didn’t have nightmares, Dean would never risk disturbing him. He would fight heaven, hell, and god himself again if that’s what it took to protect Cas’s rest. He would start and then stop another goddamn apocalypse if he had to.

Dean almost smiles to himself, leaning against the kitchen counter at the thought.

Cas, of course, would be furious if Dean went off and did something like that for him. Cas would be furious if Dean so much as lost five minutes of sleep for him. He was more selfless than anyone Dean had ever met and it came both from that holy sort of unconditional love and crippling self-deprecation and a lack of belief in himself— honestly Cas’s low opinion of himself damn near rivaled the way Dean thought about himself and wasn’t that a hell of a combination?

Dean is just taking another sip of his coffee when there’s movement down the hall. In the past, he would’ve jumped, would’ve reached for the handle of a gun that he kept tucked into his pants, even his pajamas. In the past, he would have already assessed his surroundings for anything unusual— or anything he could use as a weapon if his gun somehow failed. But this isn’t the past. This is a world where he has taken that bastard Chuck off the board, a world where the future is well and truly his. And those aren’t just any footsteps, those are Cas’s footsteps, and Dean would recognize them anywhere.

He’s lost them too many goddamn times to mistake the sound of them or to take them for granted.

Sure enough, a moment later there’s an impossible mess of dark hair and squinty blue eyes popping around the door frame to stare at him. “Dean?”

“Sorry, sunshine.” Dean can’t stop the grin from splitting his lips even if he tried— but he doesn’t try. Doesn’t even want to try. He likes the way it feels on his face, even if the genuine joy associated with it is still a foreign concept to him. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Cas answers as he fully enters the kitchen, rubbing at one eye. He then adds, “Yes.”

“Well,” Dean takes a hand off of his coffee as Cas approaches, fighting the urge to reach out and drag Cas to him when he’s still several steps away. “That makes a lot of sense.”

Cas sighs as he finishes approaching Dean, nestling himself into the space created when Dean opens his arms. He’s still warm from their bed, soft and cozy as he presses his face into Dean’s neck and tucks his head gently under Dean’s chin. “You didn’t wake me when you left.” Cas explains after a moment, “But the feeling of you not in the bed woke me.”

Dean allows his arm to settle around Cas’s back as he pulls him a step closer, pressing his cheek into the top of Cas’s head, “Cas—”

“Are you alright?” Cas asks. He asks it quietly into the collar of the t-shirt that Dean wears to bed. He asks it quietly into the open air of the kitchen. There’s no demand for an answer, no expectation. There’s just quiet, unwavering, honest support coming from the only person who has ever loved Dean for all that he is.

In the past, just the thought of answering this question would’ve made Dean feel like he was going to choke, regardless of what the answer would’ve been. In the past, Dean would’ve found himself scrambling for anything that would allow him to dodge addressing the question, anything that would distract Cas from the thought all together so there was no chance for them to loop back around to it.

But this isn’t the past. Dean is safe now, and he’s learning to face all the shit from his past that made him this way. Dean is learning to put words to the things he feels, teaching himself to be open, and honest, to believe that it’s okay for him to think and feel certain ways and that there’s no divine punishment— not even a mundane punishment like a fist to the jaw— waiting to strike him down the moment he dares to even consider breathing life into those feelings.

“Yeah,” Dean answers, and it’s the honest truth. He smiles into the crown of Cas’s head as he presses a kiss there. “Yeah, I’m fine, Cas. Just couldn’t sleep.”

Cas pulls away just enough to be able to glance up and meet Dean’s gaze directly and Dean doesn’t shy away from it. Not that he ever has, really. But he doesn’t feel the need to try and build walls in the minuscule space between them, doesn’t feel the need to try and guard himself from whatever Cas might find in his eyes. Instead he simply looks, and he adores, and he allows himself to feel safe and content in this moment.

“Well,” Cas says after a moment, and there’s a smile on the edge of his lips as well. One that looks suspiciously fond in the early morning kitchen light. “You better figure that out, because I’m tired and I’m not going back to sleep without you.”

[residentialsinyomakai]

You'll never guess who the kinda primary subject of this yappost/doodle dump is

sigh. it always comes back

Freaky ahh bowl of rice...what's he on about

"But Yōmakai isn't this a maddiman post. Why are the first two things besides the intro not ma" IM GETTING THERE. PATIENCE

I redraw Kagemura every now and then to see if I improve!! :) Think I kinda ate w this one frfr

No me mires con tus estupidos ojos

UEgh. judging you btw

Expression stuff cause I love seeing different depictions both from other people and within my own mind

Mini thing based on a. Trend jm noticing LMAO

Also this Maddiman that scared some of my friends apparently 😔💔

AU shenanigans and this idiot again. HATE HIM BLOW HIM UP NOW!!!! Jkjk i wish people drew him more i love him :)

Anyways all done :) see you!!

[soulprompts]

send in " what makes you think they're alone? " for the sender to unexpectedly show up and rescue the receiver from being attacked by an enemy, after the receiver had started to believe they were alone against this threat.

alternatively, send in " just in the nick of time. " for the sender, having been cornered by an enemy intent on harming them, to be the one being unexpectedly saved by the receiver.

[lixel-5]

i love the “they’re shipping us” “to where??” thing because for stanarrator i can see it go both ways

“you know, stanley, shipping is a common activity in fandom. in fact, our fans are shipping us.”

[to where]

“i forgot how stupid you tend to be, stanley. i mean that endearingly, but i think going back to high school would do you some good. for your information, fans think we are in a relationship. a romantic relationship, stanley. it feels like an invasion of privacy. i mean, what are they writting about us? i must know, stanley! hm. i supose i could look into it, that’s the only way to truly know!”

(cut to many days later, they have an ao3 tab open. they’re on page 48. they’re reading tons of 1k-5k word one shots and ranking them on how in character they are.)

-

*somehow got ao3 on one of the office computers* [they’re shipping us]

“what? no they aren’t, i appear to be staying in one place, stanley.”

[no. just look]

“….stanley slash the narrator, the stanley parable. what does this mean, stanley? no no, don’t tell me. i’m looking it up. i can’t trust you with anything.”

[fuck off]

“… us? stanley, what in the world makes these people think we have a sexual relationship? stanley, i don’t even have the ability to do that. whatever. close that forsaken tab and get on with the story.”

(they have sexual relations. stanley has so fucking clue what he’s on about. he also never tells him that shipping is more romantic.)