#writing introduction

[nondelphic]

i hit 200 followers (!!!) two weeks after starting my blog (thank you so much!). so i thought i'd write a short introductory post for any mutuals or anyone who's interested in me but not interested enough to read my explore page over on my ""aesthetic"" tumblr site (nondelphic.tumblr.com)

my name is rebecka and i'm a '02-born queer writer from sweden. i grew up writing fanfics on wattpad and tumblr but since i was 15/16 i've exclusively written original stories. or, i've tried lol. i never actually managed to finish a full draft until this year (2024), which i'm now rewriting before i send it off to a publisher in hopes to get an agent.

regardless of whether my work gets published or not, i love writing, and i especially love sharing self-deprecating jokes and rants about how draining writing can be. because let's be honest, for most of us, writing isn't a linear progress. everyone can't be stephen king writing 5k words everyday. but we all try our best!

this blog is in its current form a safe space for people to relate to the first world problems of being an aspiring author, with the occasional rants about my still very secretive projects (don't steal my project ideas you bitch!) and motivational advice.

everyone is welcome here except bigots, pretty much (read the dni on my explore page for the full disclaimer, i will block anyone who's openly on my dni list)

[rhyaxxyn]

𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒

"𝑻𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈; 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒏. 𝑵𝒐 𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝑨𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒐, 𝒏𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒍𝒂𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒍 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕; 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒗𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅. 𝑰𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅."

— 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐎𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐢

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓

GENRE: New Adult (16-25) / Contemporary Fantasy SUB-GENRE: Romance / SciFi / Dystopian / Action POV: Third Person (Multi) / Past Tense THEMES/TROPES: War, Found Family, Heroism, Sacrifice, Power, Corruption, Enemies to Lovers, Bigotry, Forgotten Past, Faith, Dark VS. Light STATUS: Seeking Publication

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒:

In the wake of a god being mysteriously killed, the Nameless War has waged between the gods and humanity for fifty-eight years, killing that which is mortal and immortal, and creating constant battles for territory between the divine Creator military and the human Revolutionists. As hope for future peace between the species wanes, the fate of the war lands in unlikely hands. Pandora, a goddess, the lost creator, nameless and chained to the Earth because of duty, yet still running from her true power. Quinn, a god, the skijic and Creator High General, desperate for the memories of a life lost and the familiarity of a purple-eyed goddess. Natia, a girl, heiress to one of the Republic of Valentulus’s most powerful cities, and slave to the Revolutionist Snake General. Loyalties whither, fear awakens, and stories collide as the Nameless War reaches its tipping point. It is up to Pandora, Quinn, and Natia, each of them sworn against one another, to challenge the boundaries of their duties—and their pasts. The only thing that might change their opposing fates is the truth, but letting the past fly free could very well set the darkness loose. The fight between deities and humanity is made equal, and the fate of the universe unsure.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 - 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬

PANDORA: Goddess of Nothing, Governor of Domum Deorum, Creator of the Universe. Extremely skilled in both alchemic and physical combat; well versed in a number of chordophone instruments (piano, kaleiscian zarisk, violin); selfless and self sacrificing; compassionate, analytical, cultured, stubborn, witty. QUINN: God of Stars, High General of the Creator Military. Omne’s personal “lap dog” before his capture; good with any blade, has "shit aim"; short with those he doesn’t know/care about; protective, sarcastic, composed, knowledgeable, caring, prideful. NATIA GENESIS: Heiress of Genesis Point. Little Sparrow. Remarkably intelligent in regards to literature, strategy, and divine biology due to intense schooling; the Republic of Valentulus' most renowned deitologist; near non-existent family ties outside of the media; intelligent, kind, self-destructive, abrasive.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 - 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬

OPHELIA SERPENTINE – General of the Revolutionist Military Government. Although not a master of strategy like Natia, she is manipulative; willing to do any and everything to maintain her power; manipulative, emotionally intelligent, controlling, dedicated, knowledgeable, passionate. OMNE - Goddess of the Universe (Mind), Queen of the Gods. Like Ophelia, she is extremely manipulative in order to achieve her means, though she keeps them hard to distinguish; analytical, facetious, secretive, manipulative, humorous, rude.

𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

REPUBLIC OF VALENTULUS – Otherwise known as the R.O.V.; had once been the newly created nation in place of the United States in order to maintain control over the worsening relations between gods and humans. Unfortunately, much of it was destroyed after the beginning of the war, spare for the wealthiest districts and cities. DOMUM DEORUM - Heather’s city she built through the means of alchemy. Gods and humans live in unity here, under the leadership of Heather’s councils: Low Council (general citizens), High Council (divine and human district leaders), Master Alchemists (gods who have mastered the alchemic arts). For fifty-eight years Domum Deorum has existed in secret, though their efforts in the war remain influential.  GENESIS POINT - A city with close ties to the Revolutionist military government. Mainly profits from scientific innovations, particularly thanks to Natia's efforts as a deitologist, and diplomatic advisors. As such, they are a major producer of both technology and weaponry. The city has been led by the Genesis family since its creation, Lukyn Genesis the most recent, with Natia Genesis as the next in line to inherit one of the R.O.V.'s most powerful governments.

(order of protags in the images above: Natia Genesis, Quinn, Pandora.)

Note: this is definitely one of several times i've introduced this particular book, but i'm so, so, so happy to do so. infinite tangents is the first book of many in the natural orders series, and i'm so excited to share with you all how far this story has come since i came up with it in 2014 (which is insane to me). hopefully, this story will be published soon... if i can work up the courage to email literary agents.

[cheeto-flavoured-pasta]

WIP INTRO: Don't Leave

[𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦. 𝘐𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦].

🙬🙮 𝘎𝘌𝘕𝘙𝘌: 𝘔𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺, 𝘥𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘈𝘎𝘌 𝘙𝘈𝘕𝘎𝘌: 𝘠𝘈 𝘊𝘜𝘙𝘙𝘌𝘕𝘛 𝘚𝘛𝘈𝘛𝘜𝘚: 𝘖𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘉𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘊𝘖𝘕𝘛𝘌𝘕𝘛 𝘞𝘈𝘙𝘕𝘐𝘕𝘎𝘚: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘢𝘳, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴/𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 🙬🙮 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘉𝘢𝘺𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘴. 𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘺, 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘯𝘴, 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴.

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘣𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭?

𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵. 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦.

𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘢 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘉𝘢𝘺𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦'𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘱, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰 ��𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥… 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘒𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘢 𝘏𝘰𝘭𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘉𝘢𝘺𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵 𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘒𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘢'𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥. 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 — 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 '𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘮' — 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴.

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺. 🙬🙮 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬-𝘗𝘦𝘦𝘬:

𝘒𝘈𝘎𝘜𝘠𝘈 𝘏𝘖𝘓𝘛:

𝘈𝘨𝘦: 17 𝘏𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵: 5' 4" 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘴: 𝘏𝘦/𝘏𝘪𝘮 𝘚𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺: 𝘜𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘙𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘖𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯: 𝘜𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥

𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰-𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘑𝘶𝘯𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢, 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘰.

[𝘍𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯]

𝘑𝘜𝘕𝘌 𝘔𝘈𝘙𝘙𝘈:

𝘈𝘨𝘦: 19 𝘏𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵: 5' 6" 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘴: 𝘚𝘩𝘦/𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺: 𝘜𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘙𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘖𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯: 𝘜𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥

𝘘𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥, 𝘑𝘶𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘉𝘢𝘺𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦 — 𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 — 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵.

[𝘍𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰 +𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯]

𝘌𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘢 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴:

𝘐 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺-𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘵 (𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦) 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.

𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨! 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩��𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶. :)

[forgettable-au]

FORGETTABLE-AU (Page 36-39)

* To note. Her hands are scaly. * And...unexpectedly wet?

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

[lifeintheeleventhdimension]

The Expression of (hard) Limits An In Stars and Time Odile looped AU where it comes full circle about to finding the hard limit of what can be changed in the loops and in the end saw no way out but giving up.

And then she finds that now she's here to guide another through their hell and unlike her expectations, it's not herself but Siffrin that she's here to guide.

'The Expression of Limits' had been prepared to explain to herself why hope was pointless as she's ALREADY tried everything...but can't make herself give that speech to Siffrin, even if she's rather bad at pretending she has much hope getting free of the time loops.

For their part, Siffrin is 50% less worried about the time loops in this AU, mostly because he's using up extra worry on this weird version of Odile who's depressive tendencies seem just as important to address as the whole time looping thing.

[julienbakerstreet]

From the introduction of Leslie Klinger’s New Annotated Sherlock Holmes

[heritageposts]

how do i start to read marxist leninist/leftist stuff ? i searched on the internet but it’s super confusing lol

the most important value for me as an ML is anti-imperialism, so i guess i'll always recommend that people start with works centred on that

some suggestions below (all books should be available either on marxist.org or as pdf/epub files on libgen)

American Holocaust by David E. Stannard

about the colonization of america. not explicitly marxist, but it's probably done more to radicalize me than any other piece of writing. this is the pile of corpses capitalism is built on:

Within no more than a handful of generations following their first en counters with Europeans, the vast majority of the Western Hemisphere's native peoples had been exterminated. The pace and magnitude of their obliteration varied from place to place and from time to time, but for years now historical demographers have been uncovering, in region upon region, post-Columbian depopulation rates of between 90 and 98 percent with such regularity that an overall decline of 95 percent has become a working rule of thumb. What this means is that, on average, for every twenty natives alive at the moment of European contact-when the lands of the Americas teemed with numerous tens of millions of people-only one stood in their place when the bloodbath was over. To put this in a contemporary context, the ratio of native survivorship in the Americas following European contact was less than half of what the human survivorship ratio would be in the United States today if every single white person and every single black person died. The destruction of the Indians of the Americas was, far and away, the most massive act of genocide in the history of the world. That is why, as one historian aptly has said, far from the heroic and romantic heraldry that customarily is used to symbolize the European settlement of the Americas, the emblem most congruent with reality would be a pyramid of skulls. - David E. Stannard

2. Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capitalism by Vladimir Lenin

Imperialism is capitalism at that stage of development at which the dominance of monopolies and finance capital is established; in which the export of capital has acquired pronounced importance; in which the division of the world among the international trusts has begun, in which the division of all territories of the globe among the biggest capitalist powers has been completed. - Vladimir Lenin

3. The Wretched of The Earth by Franz Fanon

Let us look at ourselves, if we can bear to, and see what is becoming of us. First, we must face that unexpected revelation, the strip-tease of our humanism. There you can see it, quite naked, and it’s not a pretty sight. It was nothing but an ideology of lies, a perfect justification for pillage; its honeyed words, its affectation of sensibility were only alibis for our aggressions. A fine sight they are too, the believers in non-violence, saying that they are neither executioners nor victims. Very well then; if you’re not victims when the government which you’ve voted for, when the army in which your younger brothers are serving without hesitation or remorse have undertaken race murder, you are, without a shadow of doubt, executioners. And if you chose to be victims and to risk being put in prison for a day or two, you are simply choosing to pull your irons out of the fire. But you will not be able to pull them out; they’ll have to stay there till the end. Try to understand this at any rate: if violence began this very evening and if exploitation and oppression had never existed on the earth, perhaps the slogans of non-violence might end the quarrel. But if the whole regime, even your non-violent ideas, are conditioned by a thousand-year-old oppression, your passivity serves only to place you in the ranks of the oppressors. - prefrace by Jean-Paul Sartre

4. Discourse on Colonialism by Aimé Césaire

Yes, it would be worthwhile to study clinically, in detail, the steps taken by Hitler and Hitlerism and to reveal to the very distinguished, very humanistic, very Christian bourgeois of the twentieth century that without his being aware of it, he has a Hitler inside him, that Hitler inhabits him, that Hitler is his demon, that if he rails against him, he is being inconsistent and that, at bottom, what he cannot forgive Hitler for is not crime in itself, the crime against man, it is not the humiliation of man as such, it is the crime against the white man, the humiliation of the white man, and the fact that he applied to Europe colonialist procedures which until then had been reserved exclusively for the Arabs of Algeria, the coolies of India, and the blacks of Africa I have talked a good deal about Hitler. Because he deserves it: he makes it possible to see things on a large scale and to grasp the fact that capitalist society, at its present stage, is incapable of establishing a concept of the rights of all men, just as it has proved incapable of establishing a system of individual ethics. Whether one likes it or not, at the end of the blind alley that is Europe, I mean the Europe of Adenauer, Schuman, Bidault, and a few others, there is Hitler. At the end of capitalism, which is eager to outlive its day, there is Hitler. At the end of formal humanism and philosophicrenunciation, there is Hitler - Aimé Césaire

5. Blackshirts and Reds: Rational Fascism and the Overthrow of Communism by Michael Parenti

probably the most accessible introduction to communism that doesn't demonize countries that have undergone—or attempted to undergo—a transitation into socalism (like the ussr, cuba, etc.)

The very concept of "revolutionary violence" is somewhat falsely cast, since most of the violence comes from those who attempt to prevent reform, not from those struggling for reform. By focusing on the violent rebellions of the downtrodden, we overlook the much greater repressive force and violence utilized by the ruling oligarchs to maintain the status quo, including armed attacks against peaceful demonstrations, mass arrests, torture, destruction of opposition organizations, suppression of dissident publications, death squad assassinations, the extermination of whole villages, and the like. - Michael Parenti

[girlshadowthehedgehog]

wowzas!! here's my submission for the @sthbigbang in collaboration with the lovely writer @stillafanofsonic and the artists @vulcan-moon , @whalesharkstho , and @brobexx!! it was an absolute pleasure to work with talented artists on an incredible story. check out their submissions, too!!!! <3

fic: x

artwork: x x x

[izzystizzys]

“ - but have you ever considered, I don’t know, not sucking all the time? Just a thought.”

It takes the combined grips of Nuisance and Hound to keep the wriggling, snarling body beneath Fox from throwing him off its back. With three years’ practice of having to fix his own rickety desk chair over and over again, the movement merely ruffles the proverbial fringe on his helmet.

“And I don’t mean that as an insult, necessarily. Well, I do a little bit. But also I have some amount of empathy for the no doubt immense amounts of trauma that had to go into the creation of something so dysfunctional as you, on a very personal level, so have you considered going to the root of that in a way that’s like… useful? Instead of wasting it all on kriffing Kenobi, I mean. Look at the guy. All he does all day is drink tea and commit warcrimes. I bet he knits for fun. Bit of an embarrassing nemesis, don’t you think?”

“I”, says Kenobi, then pauses. The space between his eyebrows is creased with uncertainty, and he looks deeply torn between continuing rocking the shaking Duchess of Mandalore against his chest from his corner of the throne room and re-activating his lightsaber to continue losing his fight against the Darksider Fox is currently sitting on. “I feel like I should object to some part of that, but I’m not entirely clear on what. Or how this happened, again. Isn’t Mandalore a few star systems from your purview, Commander?”

“Probably the warcrimes”, mutters Nuisance underneath his strained breath.

“About as far from my supposed assignment as yours, General”, says Fox a little louder.

Kenobi twitches. Fox cannot claim to know which of them does it. Both, maybe. Probably.

“I will - taste - your - flesh!”, heaves out Darth Maul, snarling and hissing.

“Oooh, kinky!”, calls Grids, from the corner where she’s got her stun-setting aimed at the other Zabrak, currently passed out cold. Fox sighs deeply. He knew he shouldn’t have taken those three - any combination of Grids, Hound and Nuisance in a room together usually spelled chaos.

Unfortunately, it also spelled competence. The Basic alphabet can be funny that way.

The point being: as of some months into the war, one of Fox’s assigned tasks is the surveillance of all GAR-wide communication. All command-class staff theoretically got that memo, but no one seems to have read the fine print where that includes both professional and personal communication, as well as any and all comm devices registered or suspected to be registered to that person. Especially not one Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala.

The point further being, if that sounds both immensely impractical and sort of terrifying in a democratic supposedly non-surveillance state, you’d be bang on the credits, and to Fox’ eternal chagrin the singular person in this whole useless army who’s spent the second of thinking necessary for that conclusion.

The final point being, when one frantic General’s mad dash across the Galaxy to rescue his teenage sweetheart from the spectre of his supposedly dead nemesis crosses his desk on its way to the Chancellor’s inbox, it doesn’t take much time for him to block any and all trace of it across the digital space of the GAR commboard and take matters into his own hands.

“ - which is why I told Thorn to suck it up and be in charge for a few days, and also why you’re still alive, your Highness, very welcome, was no trouble at all”, he concludes, drily. The Duchess stares the wide-eyed look of someone attempting to reconcile clones with ‘sentience’ or perhaps ‘personality’ in her head, but won’t say it outright.

Or the look of someone who’s just been violently overthrown and nearly murdered, perhaps, Fox allows.

“Um -“, Kenobi hedges, blinking rapidly.

“And the reason you’re still alive, probably. You’re welcome for that too, by the way”, Grids calls from the back of the throne room, cheekily.

“Alright”, says Kenobi, loudly. There’s color back in his deathly-pale cheeks, Fox notes, even if that color is a lot of red. It doesn’t fade very gracefully into his beard. “Opinions on whether or not I had everything under control notwithstanding -“

“You really didn’t”, Hound supplies helpfully.

“ - opinions notwithstanding, I am admittedly still lost on why you’re now sitting on Darth Maul and attempting to, to - jeer at him, Marshall Commander!”

“We’re not jeering, we’re trying to create a safe space and lay the groundwork for more open communication”, Fox says, primly.

Maul screams into the ground, attempting for the umpteenth time to rear up and visit great violence upon Fox, which admittedly has him rattling in his crosslegged seat atop his back.

Kenobi raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Safe space?”

“He’s restrained and not stabbing anyone, I personally feel much safer than before”, Grids muses. “Watch the teeth though, Hound. Little biter.”

Indeed. Fox’s right greave will have to be replaced posthaste.

“And anyways, the point isn’t to jeer at him, it’s to make clear that he’s focusing his energy in the wrong places and could be doing much better things with his admittedly not-great life”, Fox adds, shifting to cast a pointed look down at Maul. The Sith is panting open-mouthed into the durasteel floor, sharp teeth gnashing wildly as his piercing yellow eyes shine with barely restrained rage. “I’m just saying - aim higher. You aren’t seeing the forest for the Kenobis, Maul. Can I call you Maul?”

“I will feed you your own entrails”, yowls Maul.

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. Right now, I’m an easy target to focus all that built-up rage on, but is killing me really going to help you achieve any of your goals? No! Think about it - when it all comes down to it, who sent you on that mission to Naboo in the first place? Who made sure the Jedi and, by extension, Kenobi would be there to kill you? Who used you as a dejarik piece and then cast you aside the second you outlived your usefulness?”

Beneath him, Maul slowly stills in his struggle, still panting heavily. Hound and Nuisance don’t let it deter them in their vigilance, because they’re damn good vod’e and possess an ounce of common sense.

“And, look, I get it. I could spend the rest of my life punching every civilian who spits on me in the streets and it would even be satisfying. I could hit back the Senators who think of clones as easy targets. Or - I can aim my sights at who’s on top. And I think you know who I mean, because you know as well as I do the same damn man has ruined both our lives.”

Kenobi makes an alarmed noise, and Maul an interested one - not that Fox is going to let him walk out of this place awake. Still, he tilts his head in a way he hopes conveys his helmeted grin successfully to non-vod, as well as the bloodlust behind it. “You’re also welcome for the fact that the Chancellor won’t have heard of your spontaneous resurrection yet, by the way. You’ll retain your element of surprise instead of gambling it away on petty revenge on Kenobi.”

“He cut me in half!”

“He killed my master!”

Fox waves their protests away.

“Also, that’s treason!”, Kenobi adds, sputtering. Fox grins. Kenobi purses his lips, and continues. petulantly, “…do you have any proof?”

“So. Much. Proof”, says Nuisance, dreamily. “Like, do you want it alphabetically or by date?”

Which is when the Duchess, of all people, bursts out into barking, crazed laughter.

“You - you’ve certainly given yourself an edge in that fight, Marshall Commander”, she wheezes, brushing tears from her eyes. Fox raises his eyebrows at her, which she somehow seems to be able to tell, because she gestures at the clunky handle dangling from his belt.

“What, this old thing?” He unclasps the black rectangle from its hook, holding it up in the air. Maul stills strangely beneath him, and Kenobi goes ghostly pale again. Fox is starting to get a bad feeling.

“I took it off Viszla and beat him over the head with it. I figured he’d taken it off a Jedi cadet or something. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

[welcometogrouchland]

I understand that literature nerd Jason Todd is kind of overblown in fanon compared to it's actual presence in canon (a few issues during his pre (and post?)crisis Robin tenure that highlight it) BUT consider that I think it's hilarious if the unhinged gun toting criminal has strong opinions on poetry

[escelia]

DP x DC PROMPT/FIC

Gotham Portal

(If you get the notif for this post like 2 days ago, no you didn't! I wasn't done yet! You were imagining things!)

Where the story takes place in Gotham instead of Amity Park, the Fentons having moved before the construction and testing of the Ghost portal due to the high saturation of ectoplasm in Gotham. So, Danny's accident ALSO happens in Gotham, except he has no support system at all.

Enter the Bats stage left!

Danny couldn't believe he'd been so stupid. His parents had uprooted their whole life to move to Gotham. They said they'd need all the ambient ectoplasm there for when they built their portal. Jazz had been thrilled! After all, Arkham was a shining beacon of mentally ill people, and Jazz was like a psychology moth to a flame; it would be the perfect place for her internship after college.

His parents had wasted no time assembling the portal from their blueprints in the basement of the run-down apartment building they'd bought outright just on the edge of Crime Alley, complete with the Ops Center parked right on top. They'd gutted the place and completely redone it before they moved in. (Danny had no idea when they accomplished that. Maybe they'd been planning it for a while and only thought to tell their children two weeks before moving day.) He was genuinely surprised the local vigilantes hadn't stopped by yet to ask questions.

But anyway, back to how he was royally screwed! He'd just wanted a cool picture for Sam and Tucker now that he'd moved away. His parents weren't home (they'd gone back to the hardware store after their last test), Jazz had stayed after school to try and butter up her new teachers by running a study group, and he'd been alone. He'd even followed all the safety precautions his parents had told him about! He'd put on the hazmat suit and tried not to touch anything. But he'd tripped.

Through the whirling of green and the static buzzing in his ears, he remembered screaming, though he hadn't recognized it as his own. Every nerve in his body was on fire, and he just wanted it to stop. Stop, please stop, why won't someone save me, please!

He woke up to the smell of burning flesh, but he woke up. He was okay! Disoriented, a little disgusted by the smell and throat a little raw, but okay!

At least he'd thought so at first.

He'd begun to... change colors? And float, he floated sometimes, too. But the most irritating of all was that he would go through things. Forks and glasses slipping, quite literally, right through his fingers.

He hadn't told his parents. He'd been fine, after all. A little shaken up, but they'd been so excited he'd gotten the portal to work, who was he to put a damper on the mood when he was fine?

That brought him to now, staring at the mirror in the school bathroom in horror. He'd fought his first real ghost that morning around breakfast. He'd kept it together fairly well, in his opinion. Got through three whole classes before making an excuse to the teacher, slipping off into the blessedly empty restroom.

He'd been getting better and better at controlling his form, and he transformed in front of the mirror, taking stock of his appearance.

Odd colored hair: check.

Bright glowing eyes: check.

Floaty hair: check.

Could walk through walls, disappear, and fly: check.

He raised his finger to his pulse point and felt... nothing.

"I died," he whispered to himself in shock. "I... died," he repeated, this time in despair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian Wayne was not usually one to keep tabs on his classmates. They weren't his friends, therefore he saw no point. However, the new kid, Daniel Fenton, had begun to act strange.

When Daniel Fenton enrolled in Gotham Academy it hadn't been anything special. He'd started the year a little last due to his family moving, but families moved for all sorts of reasons. He hadn't tried to immediately make friends with Damian like so many others had, much to his relief. But he hadn't tried to make friends with anyone else, either. Maybe he liked to be alone? It really wasn't his business.

But then the boy started getting skittish and clumsy. Clumsier than he had been when he started school. He'd developed a miniscule tremor in his left hand, so he'd probably sustained an injury. He began dropping things in Chemistry. So often, in fact, that he'd been banned from doing practical labs and was instead assigned extra book work.

If Damian had been anyone else, if he hadn't been raised by assassins or had his night work as Robin, he wouldn't have noticed. He wouldn't have followed Fenton to the bathroom under the guise of needing to see the school nurse for a headache. Perhaps if he were anyone else, Fenton might have noticed him following.

There was an alarming flash of light as Damian peered carefully around the corner. Fenton had changed forms. Something had happened to him.

"I died," he heard him say. Damian thought he was being dramatic until he watched him raise his fingers to his pulse point. His glowing eyes dilated in panic, and he repeated himself. He watched as his classmate, looking fragile and lost, curled in on himself floating in the air, and sobbed.

Damian didn't confront him that day. He watched, waited, and researched. He found the research of Dr's Fenton on ghosts and ectoplasm, most of which he was skeptical of up until actual ghosts started to torment them during patrols.

Ghosts were real, it appeared.

He also concluded that their findings on ectoplasmic entities being non-sentient and inherently malevolent was incorrect, having met the ghost of a little girl caught up in a rouge attack that killed her and her family.

Damian watched Daniel Fenton for about a week while he ditched class in a poorly hidden effort to fight and contain the ghosts that he and his family were having such a hard time dealing with. His father was even nearly considering contacting John Constantine, which was never his ideal solution. Damian had been rolling an idea around in his head for a while and he decided now would be the time to bring it up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner at the manor was more of a full table than Damian had expected. Not everyone was there, Jason's relationship with them was still a bit strained, so he was not in attendance, and neither was Stephanie. But Duke was home, and Dick was actually there early for patrol later. Tim was there, and so was Cass, so almost everyone.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat politely. "Father, I wish to recruit a new member."

The chatter around the room came to a halt, the clatter of silverware ceasing.

"What exactly do you mean, chum?" Bruce asked carefully.

"I have a classmate I believe would be a valuable asset in light of our trouble with ghosts recently. However, he has no training or support, so I'm asking for your assistance."

"Did... demon brat make a friend?" Tim asked bewildered and a little bit terrified.

"Tt. No, I've never even spoken to him." Damian rolled his eyes. "My classmate, Daniel Fenton, transferred to Gotham Academy about a month ago and started acting strange soon after. He came to school with a tremor and a Lichtenberg figure you can just barely see starting on his left hand and traveling up his arm. I believed he'd been in an accident, and my suspicions were proven when I saw him use meta abilities to ditch class and fight a ghost in the courtyard of the school. From my observations, they are newly acquired, but he has decent instincts and an inclination toward heroism. I believe it would be safer for everyone involved if we approached him first."

"What?" Tim muttered. Dick was smiling gently at him, though, as if he were doing something he was proud of.

"Do his parents know?" Duke asked. Damian scoffed.

"I highly doubt it."

"Wait, Fenton as in the ectobiologists?" Bruce asked. The ex-assassin nodded.

"And considering their research is not reflected in our own interactions with ghosts thus far, I do not believe we should tell them."

"Not safe?" Cass signed. Her brother shook his head.

"The abilities I've observed resemble that of a ghost. He even has an alternate ghostly form."

The implication that they'd be endangering him hung heavy in the air. They'd all seen the Fentons' research. It mostly consisted of theoretical analysis and blatant biases with a long list of proposed experiments they'd run if they ever caught one. They'd all agreed that the Fenton ghost hunters were not a viable option for their ghost problem, especially after seeing how they drove, which in itself nearly put them on the Bat's rogue list.

"We've been meaning to investigate the Fentons properly anyways," Dick pointed out.

Bruce attempted to massage a headache out of his temples. The stuff his kids stumbled into, really. But Damian was right. If his classmate was a new meta with no support, it was only a matter of time before the rogues zeroed in on him, and since his family lived there, he couldn't tell the kid to leave.

"I'm not saying yes just yet, but talk to him. Find out any more that you can."

"Of course, Father."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny finally felt like he was getting the hang of his ghost powers. He was pleasantly surprised, and also mildly horrified, that his parents' inventions actually worked on the ghosts he was now beginning to fight regularly. His favorite was by far the thermos, which did no ghost mutilating whatsoever.

He discovered he had a ghost sense and enhanced hearing and vision, which was cool and all, but now he could hear all the shitty things his classmates said about him behind his back. Which, rude! He didn't even talk to them, what did they have to be shitty about?

He also noticed that one of them, Damian Wayne, had been watching him. From what Danny had heard, Damian was the richest kid in school, a Wayne. Son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, to be exact. And his attitude reflected that. His standoffish, holier than thou rich guy attitude made Dash and Paulina look like they lived below the poverty line. Apparently, he generally didn't talk to anyone at school unless it pertained to class, so Danny saw no point in introducing himself.

That made it extra weird that Damian was following him.

It was right after lunch when a hiccup had a cold breath tumbling from his lips. He raised his hand and asked his teacher if he could use the restroom. He made his way to the bathroom on the other side of the building this time, hoping it would be too out of the way for Damian to follow. But soft rustling of his classmate's school uniform gave him away, no matter how imperceptible his footsteps were.

When he entered the restroom, he made his way to the sink instead, splashing some cold water on his face as Damian walked in behind him loudly as if announcing his presence.

"I know what you've been doing," he said confidently, crossing his arms and standing in front of the door so Danny couldn't leave.

"Oh, hey! Damian, right? I'm in most of your classes, but I don't think I've ever introduced myself. I'm-"

"Daniel Fenton, I know. You've been fighting ghosts." Damian had to give him at least a little credit; he'd become a great actor over the last week. Though, that probably had a lot to do with the fact that he probably didn't feel safe at home anymore.

"My parents are ghost hunters, but I don't think shooting a ghost in the face with a lipstick laser then running for my life counts as 'fighting ghosts'."

"Tt. You are lying."

"Dude, what are-?" Danny cut himself off when his words came with another misty breath. Crap! He'd taken too long!

The ghost of the day, an ugly, mutated, bird looking thing with claws at the ends of its wings and a full set of dangerous, pointed teeth, phased through the door behind Damian, poised to strike.

Without warning, Danny grabbed Damian's wrist and whipped him out of the way, throwing himself between the two. A green shield formed in front of him just as the bird slashed at them with one of its wings.

"Well, that's new," he said startled as the bird geared up for another attack.

Danny groaned at his miserable luck before throwing caution to the wind and transforming. He'd just have to force friendship upon one Damian Wayne in an attempt to keep him from telling anyone about his whole magical girl transformation. He tried to activate his shield again, but when nothing happened, he was flung across the room into the wall. God, this was embarrassing.

The next time the ghost tried to attack him, Damian yanked him aside in a dodge and bolted out of the bathroom with Danny in tow. He was dragged through the winding halls to one of the side exits of the school. In costume or not, Damian's priority was luring the ghost away from the other students.

"Hey, so uh, you won't say anything about this," he gestured wildly to himself, "will you?"

"Tt. Of course not, but I believe you have more important concerns at the moment."

“Right!” Danny patted at the sides of his hazmat suit. “Crap, I left my thermos in my locker!” He dodged another attack and retaliated with an ectoblast, trying to keep the ghost's attention off of Damian as much as possible.

"Your lunch? Really?" Damian shouted. Dang, Danny must have been doing a decent job if Damian had the spare time and attention to be exasperated with him.

"No! It's a containment device! Besides, ghosts are basically soup anyway!"

"Distract it," Damian instructed, "I'll retrieve the device." The boy took off. Danny had to wonder how he even knew where his locker was. The ghost tried to follow him, but Danny shot another blast at it.

"Hey ugly, auditioning to be one of Gotham's Birds? Sorry, but you don't really look the part." He had no idea if the creature could even understand him, but the way it turned to him and lunged again suggested it had done the trick. This time, his shield did work!

Danny could have cried tears of joy at finally having some consistency with it. The next few minutes of the fight felt like an eternity while he dodged and shot ectoblasts at it. The creature wasn't really that strong, and it didn't seem to have super dangerous abilities like some of the other ghosts he'd fought like Skulker or Technus. It ended up being a great opportunity to practice his new shield ability, actually. But he knew the longer he took, the more danger his classmates would be in.

The bird ghost slammed into his shield with a particularly vicious strike, slamming him into the ground and creating a small crater.

"Note to self, remember intangibility," Danny groaned.

In that moment he noticed a door opening on the school building. It was Damian! He was finally back with thermos in hand! Unfortunately, the other ghost noticed too.

"Oh no you don't!" Danny yelled, latching onto one of its feet as it tried to fly toward his classmate. He dug his fingers in hard and sunk into the ground partway to anchor himself.

"Big green button by the lid then the button immediately below it!"

Damian wasted no time popping the lid open and sucking the ghost into the device, the lid closing with a quiet pop. He had to admit, though the design was questionable, it was sturdy, light, and very clearly effective. He wondered if he could get away with sneaking off with this one to have drake examine later.

"That was some incredible timing, thanks." The ghostly form of his classmate floated over to him, taking the thermos from his hand. Damian did not pout.

"We should probably get out of here before the Fenton's show up." He could already hear the screech of tires and his dad's voice over the megaphone tearing through the air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Don't worry honey, we'll catch that nasty ghost boy next time," Jack Fenton comforted his wife. True to form, the Fenton's had arrived to the scene late, and most of the damage to the school yard had been from their vehicle crashing into things upon their arrival. Parents had been called and classes ended for the day, which was how one Bruce Wayne found himself at Gotham Academy trying to help the teachers talk the two down from storming and searching the school.

His son was standing off to the side with one of his classmates. Dark hair, bright blue eyes, lanky frame; Bruce could have mistaken the child for one of his own, but looking between the hulking man in front of him and the kid standing next to Damian, the resemblance was obvious. That had to be Daniel Fenton, the meta his son had told him about. Which meant he'd been the one to deal with the ghost before anyone else had gotten there. The classmate Damian had suggested they recruit for his safety.

"Danno, did you see where that spook went? When I get my hands on him, I'll rip him apart molecule by molecule for even thinking of attacking your school!" Bruce saw Daniel's breath hitch with fear.

"Sorry, no. I was coming back from the bathroom when I saw him fighting another ghost through the window. I was scared so I hid," he lied, gripping his left wrist while he spoke.

Bruce was impressed. The boy's fear was real, and he used that to his advantage to really sell the lie to his parents. His heart ached for him. He couldn't imagine seeing any of his boys looking at him like that, with such fear and distrust.

"That's okay sweetie, we'll get him next time. We're just happy you're alright. Let's get you home," his mother comforted, though Bruce knew it wasn't very comforting at all.

"Yeah, we'll teach you to use the Fenton Bazooka," well that was horrifying, "that way next time you can just blast him!" Danny wanted literally anything else.

"Actually," Damian interrupted politely. "We were assigned a project in class earlier on the history of Gotham. As Daniel is relatively new to town, I offered to assist him with the assignment. Father, would it be acceptable for him to join us for dinner?"

Bruce would have been incredibly surprised his son was inviting someone over for dinner if he didn't see exactly what he was doing. Daniel wasn't safe at home. And he clearly wasn't comfortable with the way his parents spoke of the 'ghost boy'. If his defeated expression was anything to go by, it hadn't been the first time they'd said something like that, nor would it be the last.

"What do you think, Mr. and Mrs. Fenton? We'd love if Daniel could join us for dinner."

"Please, call us Maddie and Jack. That sounds wonderful Mr..."

"Wayne. Bruce Wayne, I'm Damian's father," he introduced. If the two recognized the name, they didn't show it. It worked out rather well in his favor.

"Mr. Wayne. If its not too much trouble, that would be wonderful. It's about time he made a new friend, he's been sulking since the move. Now, we have a ghost to catch!" Maddie planted a kiss on Danny's forehead, leaning her blaster on her shoulder as her and her husband made their way back to the homemade assault vehicle parked haphazardly on the lawn of the school.

"Be sure to call us if you plan on staying the night! We'll let Jazz know she doesn't have to worry about dinner for you! We love you, have fun sweetie!"

"Are they always like that?" Damian asked after the two had pulled away. How had those two even gotten their driver's license? It was truly abysmal, he dreaded the thought of anyone getting into a vehicle with them. And then there was the speed in which they'd dumped their son into their laps, even suggesting they'd be okay with him not coming home that night.

"They mean well, but yeah," Danny replied, heaving a sad and defeated sigh. "Thank you, by the way. For inviting me over, even if you didn't mean it. They can be a bit much."

"Clearly," Damian mused back.

Bruce watched the two interact and felt pride well up in his chest. Meeting the Fenton parents just once was enough to convince him that their son needed help, maybe even their daughter too. That Damian had taken the initiative to bring this to his attention, that he had stood up for Danny and offered his home as a sanctuary for him, made him so incredibly proud as a father. He wasn't as prickly with Danny the way he was with other people, even his own siblings. That was a very good thing indeed, considering it was looking more and more likely this would end with another adoption.

Maybe Clark was right, he did have an adoption problem.

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: not gonna even acknowledge the time break between chappies... all i'm gonna say happy cassian chappie ! <3! i hope u all enjoy it mwah thank u for reading

word count: 3.8k

synopsis: Adjusting to life in Velaris means learning to train with new, friendly faces. A tentative friendship forms. Azriel keeps his distance.

CHAPTER NINE :: FRIENDS (IN OTHER PLACES)

Whoosh.

Training staff gripped tightly in your calloused hands, you swing with a muscle memory built over decades, the stick whistling as it cuts through the air with deadly precision. Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard.

You're going through the motions. A simple warm-up, running a drill that you've done enough times you could probably do it in your sleep. The movements are familiar, easy. Routine.

If you close your eyes, you could almost imagine you're still in Exordor.

Except... there's no familiar wind current to perform its melody in the early morning, dancing through the mountainside trees. No frozen chill to the air around you. No crunch of snow beneath your feet to throw your balance. No bound chest to chafe your skin.

No looking over your shoulder in pure panic at every unexpected noise.

Well, not quite that last one. It's a habit you're dedicated to breaking for the sake of your shot nerves — but evidently failing, considering how you straighten up and whip around when the door leading out to the training ring shudders open.

You hold your breath on instinct and clutch the training staff tighter.

Stepping out into the early morning air, the dawn still unbroken, is another Illyrian warrior.

Mother, how many of them were there around here?

You hadn't got to meet anyone else after that encounter on the balcony, almost exactly one week ago. Hadn't exactly wanted to either.

You hadn't even wanted to see Azriel again so soon after the churning, sickening twist of emotions you had barely managed to stumble through after your severe reawakening.

He hadn't come to see you.

You hadn't asked.

Besides Madja, Rhysand was the only new face you had come to know. He had taken to coming by your room a couple times over the week, checking on the progress of your healing, particularly sympathetic on the state of your wings. Revealed his own with a polite flourish.

He was... different than you were expecting. Perhaps you were learning that rumours are not everything — certainly it's clear that there is more to Rhysand than what first appears.

As Highlord, he had to discuss your potential living situations once you were healed enough to leave the infirmary.

I meant what I said. He had said, violet eyes kind as he hovered at the end of your bed. You're no prisoner here. You'll be free to go wherever you wish, even back to Exordor if that's what you decide.

And if I don't? You had whispered, your gaze fixed on the fine sheets of the bed. If I decide that... I have no home there anymore?

Then you'll have a home here. For as long as you would like.

And though it overrode every single instinct you had learned to trust, everything that had kept you alive this long, you chose to take his word for it.

Rhys said no harm would befall you in Velaris and you would be welcome here for as long as wanted.

But... that didn't mean you were exactly looking to make new friends.

Staring the newcomer that enters the balcony with much less grace than that of usual Illyrians, you watch him closely, not quite daring to take a breath.

At a first glance, you had thought it might be Azriel—heart leaping up your throat—but that was quickly washed away. Something in you knew from the hair standing up on the nape of your neck, before you even saw him properly, that this male was utterly unfamiliar to you.

He's taller, you realise. His hair is a longer and he doesn't quite move with the grace of the Shadowsinger — though, perhaps you are just so unused to seeing a male so relaxed. So caught off guard, in fact, that when he turns he gives a little yelp in surprise.

"Fuck!" He says, one of his large hands jumping out and clenching into a fist —his whole body switching to a fighting stance, you realise— before he relaxes again. His fist uncurls into a less threatening open palm.

"I- sorry, just didn't realise anyone else was out here." His fighting stance melts away, open palm still extended. He gives what you think might be a friendly smile.

You don't respond, only gripping the training staff a little tighter. Every hackle is raised, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, and your entire body winding itself up to prepare to fight, if it comes down to it.

The male seems to realise this as his next move is to raise both hands, palms out, the universal signal for surrender. They're large, tanned, and void of the scars you've come to know on Azriel.

However, where there are usually shimmering cobalt blue siphons, this newcomer has dazzling ruby red ones instead. You count each of his. Seven.

Your throat tightens — like all of Illyria, you've heard of this warrior too. The Lord of Bloodshed.

He doesn't exactly look so fearsome at the moment, his expression easy-going, even friendly, from behind his raised hands.

He seems to be waiting for you to make a move or to speak but after a moment, he realises neither are going to happen.

"Rhys said there might be another Illyrian around." He says, taking a tentative step forward, in the direction of the training ring, letting his hands drop to his side. You notice how he tucks his wings in a little more, like he might be trying to be respectable. Polite.

He's watching you closely. "Didn't mention you were a female, though."

Instinct makes you want to sneer in response — the only time Illyrian males bother bring up the differences in sex is to make some nasty comment about the biological weakness of females.

Not born to be warriors. They spit. Fragility is bred into them from the moment they're conceived. Breakable. Less than. A female in the training ring has as much place does as a male does in the kitchen.

But this male... says female in a way you've never quite heard before. As though he's somewhere closer to awe.

"My name is Cassian," The male introduces himself, his tentative steps becoming more of a stroll as he wanders across to the weapons stand. He eyes them halfheartedly, his focus still on you.

He turns lightly, tucking in one of his wings to peer back at you. "And yours is...?"

You still haven't moved, only tracking his movements with a slight shift of your eyes. Part of you wonders if he already knows your name and he's simply being polite.

Cassian nods as though you've spoken, despite the fact you haven't made a sound.

"Okay, not a big talker, I get it." He dips his head in a little nod, giving you an easy smile, then a quick wink. "Promise I don't bite."

No reaction. You’re not entirely sure if that’s a joke or not.

Either way, Cassian turns and focuses on his selection, pulling one of the training staffs off the weapons rack into his strong, sure grip.

Despite Rhysand's promise, your heart begins to rabbit wildly.

You wonder if this is some sickening game of cat and mouse—if he's perhaps going to tire you out before he selects his true weapon. If he wants you to know he can best you, even without a blade at his disposal.

You're a decent fighter—hell, a great one even—but you know better than to expect to come out on top against the Lord of Bloodshed.

You finally force yourself to move; shifting your feet to face him, you sink into a fighting stance, staff poised to face him, prepared to bare your teeth.

Cassian blinks. It takes another moment for him to realise that none of his friendliness is working to thaw your iciness. He quickly sets the training staff back down with a clatter, raising his hands once more.

"Woah," He says, giving a small shake of his head. "Not looking to fight. Unless you and I are in that ring—" He gestures to the training ring behind him. "I will never try to fight you. And... I hope you can say the same for me."

You don't even realise you've released your breath until you deflate a little, relief coming in small, incremental waves.

He doesn't want to fight. There's no proving yourself, at least not today.

Maybe some day in the near future, he'll demand you get in the ring to earn your space here—because that was the first thing you ever learned as an Illyrian warrior. But not today.

Reluctant and relieved all at once, you lower your training staff.

Your hesitance or silence doesn't seem to hinder Cassian. In fact, he smiles at the motion.

He's quite handsome, you note. In that rugged way, not quite so classically handsome as Azriel. The unexpected thought makes you flush. You shake it away with a shiver.

"You have your reasons for your unease I bet," Cassian continues, his hands drifting back to his sides. His wings have begun to spread out a little more, as if relaxing.

"And if you want me to piss off, I certainly will. My goal is not to make you uncomfortable in the slightest. But... well, I do have just one question."

He pauses, as if waiting for something. Permission, you realise faintly, which surprises you enough that you give a rather jerky nod, permitting him to ask his question.

A brilliant smile spreads across Cassian's face. "Did you really stab Azriel with a fork?"

The question takes you by utter surprise, fresh bewilderment rippling across your features. You shift back almost awkwardly, stepping out of your fighting stance. The memory from months ago rises up inside, the first meeting in your lonely shelter.

How did he know that? He could he know that?

"I—" You trip over the words, not entirely sure how to answer the question. You can't quite tell why he's asking—is he assessing you as a threat? Your voice is tentative and guarded as you murmur out, "...yes?"

You don't think it would've mattered how you answered truly, as the moment you confirm it, Cassian roars in laughter, his head thrown back and his hand clutching his belly. He laughs loudly for a moment, shaking his head with a fond smile.

"Holy shit, I thought Rhys was kidding! Cauldron, what I would've given to see that." His hazel eyes glitter brightly, as though he's excited. "Was he surprised? I bet he was. Where did you stab him?"

His easy tone, like he's talking to an old friend, takes you back. You find yourself responding with an unexpected ease. Looking back on it now, it is a little funny.

"He was," You nod, nearly smiling at Cassian's enthusiasm. Your lips twitch and you gesture to your neck, somewhat awkwardly, miming the motion. "In the neck."

Cassian laughs again. "Oh, and I bet he'd deny the whole thing if it ever came up."

You don't know quite what to say to that—Azriel hadn't ever brought it up and you certainly weren't going to remind him of it. You tilt your head to the side a bit, an unknown feeling making itself known in the pit of your stomach. An anxiety of an entirely different kind.

The male before you is not an enemy. He's not an ally either... and you can't understand what he gains from talking to you.

You can't even fathom the idea that he might just want to be your friend.

So, you turn. Tighten your grip and resume the exercise that had been interrupted. Muscles groan as you work through their achiness, slowly becoming warmer as the hot blood pumps around your body.

Despite what Madja had said a week ago on that balcony, today was actually the first morning you were allowed to train.

For the last seven days, the exercise you were restricted to was mere stretches; only enough to ensure each of your wings could extend fully and that your limbs could move without serious cause for concern.

It had driven you stir crazy.

The only time you ever skipped so many days without training was during your cycle—something you had mercifully missed the end of this time around, hidden away in your unconsciousness.

So, at the first opportunity, when you rose from your bed this morning and Madja hadn't given you that pointed stare and instead gave you directions, you had found the training area. Began with old routines, if only for the fact you don't know who you are when you're not training.

Inhaling now, the wood of the training staff creaks beneath your iron grip. You're trying desperately to use it as a tether, to some semblance of normal for yourself. It's difficult when there's so many changes lurking.

The solid stone makes you sturdier than before. There's no snow beneath your feet to sink your boots into, to find your balance on. But your injuries aren't entirely healed either.

The pain is not fresh but it's still hindering enough to be a nuisance. Your left ear still twinges from time to time—sometimes it seems to hum so loudly you can't hear clearly, others it dulls altogether. Neither are particularly pleasant to experience.

Pain, however, you have plenty of experience in. Gritting your teeth and pushing through it is practically standard for the Illyrian way; especially when you know your body. You know how much it can take. You know it's been through worse.

But the pesky problem with your ear keeps you off balance, just enough that it shows in your motions.

You keep stumbling around like a goddamn fledgling with every new attempt, footing clumsy, which makes you burn in humiliation because that's what you learn first. It's impossible not to feel unendingly frustrated as decades of training all get shifted slightly to the left.

It doesn't help either that there's still those holes in the edges of your wings.

Fae healing is incredibly advanced but even so, there is only so much magic can do.

Lacerations can be healed, stabs and slices stitched up with ease — but a hole, torn forcibly in and through the delicate flesh of Illyrian wings? You know that you should be thanking the Mother that they even still work in their complete capacity.

The skin around where the stakes had been forced is puckered and stiff, whitened by the scar tissue and trauma. It had been sickening the first time you had curled them close around you and realised with a faint horror that you could technically see through them — a irregular circular gash preserved in either wing of how you'd been pinned down.

The air passes through them as you shift, causing an uneasy shiver. They don't catch on the wind quite the same as they did before.

You haven't taken to the skies yet. You're torn between your eagerness to fly again, to prove to yourself that they can still, and the sinking fear that that's something new you'll have to relearn as well.

So, instead, you run through the training drill for the nth time, trying to get back in sync with your own body. Trying to push past where it seems to falter and trying and failing to not care that your wavering movements now have an audience.

Watching him subtly out the corner of your eye, Cassian appears to be running drills of his own, a gentle warmup. He stretches his toned arms above his head, the motions limber and easy. Briefly, your mind wanders to Azriel's own morning training —never mind that you did have experience training with him over many mornings — and the most peculiar fluster flows through you.

You bite your cheek and rein in your drifting thoughts, gripping the staff tighter.

Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard. Your left eardrum squeals, jumping abruptly in volume at the motions, and though you manage to contain yourself to a wince, your twist goes off kilter.

Your wings stretch out to counterbalance but they don't catch the wind as well as you're used to. Your feet stumble to realign and all you can think is how fucking easy it would be decimate you in a fight in that second.

Something awful starts to grow in your throat and it takes a full moment to realise its the urge to cry, clawing up your throat.

You inhale shakily, eyes fixed on the stone beneath you, and will them away. You weren't a crier — but then again, never had you ever felt quite so utterly hopeless as you were right now.

You've always had this—always had the fight from within your bones, always had your body, always relied on your dexterity to push you forward.

Shadow covers the stone before you. Your head shoots ups, that same panic you can't shake jolting in your chest.

"Hi." Cassian says, giving a little two-fingered salute. He smiles kindly. "Cassian. We met maybe, uh, 5 minutes ago? Remember that?"

You blink at him, not even noticing how the distraction sends away the urge to cry. Swallowing thickly, you give a tentative nod.

"Fantastic. Great memory." His smile melts into a grin and though it sounds like he's teasing, you don't exactly feel like it you who's being made fun of. "I— I have no doubt you're an excellent fighter, especially considering you managed to land a hit on a warrior such as Azriel."

Cassian seems to hear his words only after he's said them and gives a minuscule frown. "Wait, don't tell him I said that. He'll never let me live it down."

When you don't react in amusement as he was aiming for, Cassian changes his tone again, more serious this time.

"Look, I might not be exactly sure what happened that meant you ended up here. I know it might not seem like a welcome change of pace but— well- and what I mean to say is— I can see your missteps."

The admittance of your failings makes humiliation swell up within you. You avert your eyes. Cassian, aware of his awful blunder, barrels on.

"But I can see you're getting your feet again." He adds, softer than before. "After whatever happened to you and your wings, I can tell you're already doing better than most Illyrians would. I also know that everything is easier with a little support."

Your gaze tugs back to Cassian's face as his sentence ends, the offer within it leaving you momentarily dazed. He wants... to help you?

You open your mouth to say just that—but instead, say, "They... didn't tell you?"

Something foreign yanks on your heartstrings. You can't say you had expected privacy, not when Rhysand was already generously providing you with both medical aid and a place to lay low and recover. You were in no position to ask for more.

Suddenly, you become hyper aware of your wings and their gaping, obvious scars to pair with the thin white lines of the lashes adorned across them. You rein them back self-consciously, keeping them tucked close against your back. There's relief in that simple motion alone.

"It is not their story to tell." Cassian nods, grave and serious. "And, just as important, sharing it is not a requirement to be allow yourself a little support."

You don't have to tell him, if you don't want to.

Before you, an Illyrian male, like so many that you've detested all your miserable life, and he doesn't know a thing about you. He doesn't get to know what happened unless you decide to tell him.

You taste his words, mulling them over in your mind as you try to figure out what he means. In the heart of it, you can't understand what he truly stands to gain from this offer of support.

"What... kind of support?" You question warily.

Unthinkingly, your grip tightens on the training staff once more—a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of baring your vulnerabilities. It had been well-trained out of you. Connections of any kind risked exposure... and well, the one time in your life you had given it a go, it had only been proven true.

"Whatever you wish." Cassian grins, as if pleased you had asked that exact question. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and rattles off his list easily, with a slight shrug of his armoured shoulders. "Friendship? Training? Someone to listen when you need it or to drink your sorrows with? I've had plentiful practice with all."

He sends you another wink, teasing and easy like everything else about him. It's disarming actually, just how different he is from what you had been expecting from only the rumours around Exordor. Lord of Bloodshed. He's so...casual.

After another beat of silence, Cassian clears his throat when it becomes clear you aren't exactly jumping onto any of his initial offers. The caginess you exude is palpable and something ragged in Cassian's chest tears wider at whatever his mind conjures up about what might be lurking your past.

True to his word, Rhys hadn't delved into your story or how you came to end up here at the House of Wind.

All Cassian knew for sure is that Azriel had talked of training with a bastard some months ago and now, you were here. A female warrior from Exordor.

Cassian thinks that Azriel likely would've mentioned it if the bastard he was working with was female—but he hadn't. There's much more to your story, he can tell, and it seems to ripple from the edges of your wary, dangerous form at just a glance. Almost a full picture for him to realise, to see clearly.

But... these things were earned.

If Cassian wanted to be your friend, to know your story, he would do it the honourable and hard way.

He would become someone that you could trust in this new, unfamiliar place and he knew it was possible because what Cassian knew lay within him was reflected in you. The one clear part of the picture.

A warrior who knows themselves best when they're fighting.

"Train with me. Please." Cassian tries once more, ready to relent if it was too much, too soon. "There is a lot we can teach each other, I'm sure."

That seems to catch you by surprise, your brows jumping a fraction up your face. You school the expression away quickly but not before Cassian catches it. He nods.

"What do you say?" Cassian grins again, holding out his hand, palm up. Nonthreatening as can be. "Friends? Allies? Reluctant rooftop sharers? I'll take any happily."

You eye his hand, that still cautious air in your gaze, but Cassian can see as something settles within you. Tentatively, you reach forward and put your hand in his, giving it an awkward, stilted shake.

"I'll take allies for now," You say, somewhat demurely. It's taking a mountain load of trust for you to do so, Cassian knows. He does not take that trust lightly.

Cassian grins. "Allies it is."

tags below!

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco

@iamjimintrash @maendering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee

@viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13

@bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa

@fanworrior @skysayhi @vintageoldfashion @tequilya @fabulouslyflamboyant5

@rhysandorian @laughterafter @brieftriumphnightmare @hirah-yummar @some-person-somewhere

@scooobies @sfhsgrad-blog @cherry-cin @bookloverandalsocats @megscabinetofcurios

@doodlebugsblog @landofpetrichor @acourtofdreamsandshadows @florabelll @tanyaherondale

@aomi-recs @letmejustreadthanks @problemfinder @sevikas-whore @doodlebugg16-blog

@meandmysillywriting @justingnoreme @krowiathemythologynerd @hanatsuki-hime @sunny747

@coffeebeforewater @kalulakunundrum @marina468 @moonbirde @yellow-birdy @sheblogs

@shinyghosteclipse @randombibitch @itsjustwinter @emryb @books-all-the-way13

@thatsassyhufflepuff @rem-ie

[darkfictionjude]

Interactive fiction works:

We Wretched Creatures

Set in a small town in 1994. Supernatural, romantic, horror. In development. Tags: we wretched creatures, WWC. Five episodes out of thirteen currently available. FAQ.

O, Your Heavenly Stars!

A story set in the 1930’s, a look into Hollywood’s Golden Age. In development. Tag: oyhs. Prologue available.

Excellent Cadavers

A 70’s crime story. In development. Tag: EC. Prologue available.

[farfaras]

First part to this prompt I posted the other day. This is gonna be eventual steddie (sorry, stonathan) and I’m really excited. Title from the song ‘nonsense’ by Sabrina Carpenter.

I think I got an ex but I forgot him

Part 1. (You’re here)

Part 2.

-

If he heard the words: Robin and in love, in the same sentence, with the melodious voice of one Dustin Henderson, one more time. Steve was sure he was gonna lose it.

Listen, he understands where he’s coming from. The kid just wants him to be happy. But he is! Dustin just doesn’t seem to get that. Happiness doesn’t only come in the form of a relationship. His teenage brain can’t comprehend that fact just yet. He wishes he did though, because he’s absolutely insufferable about getting Steve and Robin together.

No excuse or explanation he gives is good enough. Dustin still insists that he needs to try, that this is his chance at true love. Robin is kind of the love of his life, sure, but the platonic love of his life. His best friend, his soulmate, sister from another mister. All that jazz. Dustin doesn’t buy it though.

And Steve’s tried everything! He even told Dustin about that time in starcourt when they were high off his asses. Told him that he confessed his crush to Robin but that she rejected him, and that they were best friends now and nothing else. He obviously left out the part where Robin came out to him. He’s never gonna reveal Robin’s secret to anyone. The only answer he got was that “It doesn’t even matter now! Things could’ve changed! You never know.” Steve knew. He knew that he would never be into his best friend like that, and she would never be into him. Apparently they were the only ones who knew that.

Because of all the fuss Dustin was constantly making, other people started giving their input. Thanks Dustin. They didn’t get it either, didn’t believe they were just Platonic with a capital P. They made sure they knew it too, the whole party, Nancy, Jonathan, Eddie. Not Argyle, he said that the energy between Steve and Robin was intense but completely friendly, almost like they were twins. Steve liked Argyle. Of course he had to be miles away.

Most of their friends dropped the subject after the second time Steve or Robin explained the nature of their relationship. Even if they weren’t convinced, they didn’t push. Except for one person. Yep. Dustin.

Who was currently harassing Steve at his job. He didn’t know what else to tell him. If family video wasn’t empty he would just ignore him to do his job but there was nothing to do. He couldn’t even sweep or anything because everything was already done.

“Okay well! There must be a good reason why you guys haven’t gotten together!” Dustin exclaimed. He is so fucking stubborn.

“I already told you, Henderson. We’re. Just. Friends.” He knew it wasn’t gonna do anything. It was just a routine at this point.

Dustin’s expression changed to determination. “Nuh uh. There’s a reason there. And I’m gonna find out!” Shit. Could Dustin figure out Robin? He doesn’t think so. But he’s starting to panic. What if he finds out? Robin doesn’t deserve that. He’d feel like it was his fault, and everything would go to shit.

“Okay! Okay! There is a reason.”

“I knew it! You have to tell me.” Dustin demanded. Well, Steve hasn’t thought that much ahead. He needs to come up with something and he needs to do it fast if Dustin is gonna believe it.

“Look, I haven’t told anyone this before.” Building suspense, nice.

Then, an idea popped into his head and it seemed like the perfect response to all of this. Or maybe it’s the only thing he could think of in such short notice. “I’m gay.” He blurts out. It made sense in his head, really. Robin doesn’t get outed, but she can still look at the reaction she might get when she comes out. (It doesn’t hold any kind of truth at all. Not one Steve can see right now at least.)

Dustin is just staring at him. “What? I don’t, you’re not, since when?”

“Since I was born?” It sounds like a question. Steve didn’t prepare for follow up questions to the reply he literally just crafted.

“There’s no way you’re gay.” At least he didn’t seem disgusted or upset? Is this a good or bad reaction?

“Are you not okay with it?” Steve dared to ask.

“What?! Of course I’m okay with it, I’m just. I don’t care, but you don’t really seem gay. It’s hard to believe.” At least he’s okay with it. He’s still being stubborn.

“Way to stereotype, Henderson.”

Dustin sputters. “Wha- can you even blame me? Who could believe you?”

The next words that came out of Steve’s mouth didn’t actually ask for permission to be said. “My boyfriend can believe it.” He said it so matter of fact that he surprised himself a little. The way he usually took the route of action before thinking was gonna bite him in the ass some day. Would that be today?

“Boyfriend?!! And you didn’t tell me? You don’t have a boyfriend!” He accused Steve. “Who is it?”

Oh. Shoot. Quick, brain. Who could be his boyfriend? Someone his age, that was single, and could be believed to be in a gay relationship.

“It’s Jonathan.” Why did he say that? He just broke up with Nancy, that would just seem like a messy situation. Also is he literally just doing what he scolded Dustin for and stereotyping?

“But he just broke up with Nancy.” Hmm. Did Dustin read his mind or something.

“It’s new. That’s why I haven’t told anyone.”

“Not even Robin?” Oh, crap. Is he gonna have to tell this to people? Well, he should probably tell Jonathan first that he is apparently in a relationship with him now.

“Not even Robin.” Dustin beamed at this.

“You know, even if you and Jonathan are kind of a weird sounding couple, and this is surprising… if you’re happy then I’m happy for you, Steve.” That was weirdly sweet of Dustin.

“Thanks, bud.”

After that and renting a movie, Dustin was on his way. He gave Steve a hug goodbye and hopped on his bike to go home.

Steve had a lot of things to get done now. And he hoped that the first one went well because he didn’t really have a plan B if it didn’t. What had he gotten himself into?

First things first. Asking Jonathan to be his fake boyfriend.

At least for a while.

What could go wrong?

-

Step 1. Get Jonathan to be his fake boyfriend.

Step 2. Probably get Robin in on it?

He’s not sure about that one. This situation was kind of embarrassing, he’d rather just share his embarrassment with the one person who is absolutely necessary. Also Robin doesn’t seem like the type to lie to their friends. Even if it was harmless.

Step 2. Probably get Robin in on it?

Step 2. Make a game plan.

They’d probably need to talk about how this was gonna go. Get all their facts straight in case there were any questions, which there were going to be. Plan how long this was gonna be for. He was getting a bit ahead of himself, but there was no plan B.

Step 3. Hope it’s believable.

He was already outside of the Hopper-Byers home. This shouldn’t be hard, Jonathan is a pretty understanding guy. He wouldn’t judge Steve, or make fun of him. At least that’s what Steve hoped. They’ve been developing a friendship for a while. Which has been going surprisingly well. Fuck. Was this gonna mess it up?

He got out of his car and walked to the door, knocking. El answered the door, she gave him a smile and let him in.

“Is Jonathan home?” Him asking for Jonathan wasn’t a rare occurrence nowadays, so El just nodded and pointed to his room.

He knocked to make his presence known. “Hey, Jon?” He opened the door and stepped inside the room.

“Hiya. What’s up, Harrington?” Jonathan grinned at Steve. Ah. Shit. He didn’t look completely sober. Must’ve smoked something earlier.

“Well, I wanted to talk to you. I’d rather wait until you sober up though.” Jonathan just gave him a thumbs up.

“Happy to have company.” Steve knew Jonathan was having trouble dealing with the break up. They had been together for a while and he thought that those two were gonna beat all the odds and marry each other or something. Maybe they still could find their way back to each other someday. Right now though, it probably sucked.

Nancy was off to college, Jonathan stayed here in Hawkins doing community college. There was no way of knowing how Nancy was taking it, she barely called and when she did it was kinda cut and dry. Although Steve supposed that was a way of telling she wasn’t doing so good either.

They hung out, doing nothing in particular. Just talking, listening to music and Steve sobering him up.

“Did you say you wanted to talk about something?” Jon asked. He looked sober now. Or as sober as his perpetual stoner face could look.

“Yeah… I kinda did something stupid.”

“Don’t we all.” Cute. Was he trying to make him feel better? It would’ve worked if what he did wasn’t as stupid as it was.

“No, seriously. I think this is the dumbest thing I have done.” Understatement.

“It can’t be that bad.” Jon’s words weren’t aligned with his face because it looked like he was starting to worry.

“It has something to do with you too.” With those words, Steve definitely made Jonathan start to worry. “Hear me out first!”

Retelling the events from earlier was excruciating. Steve has never felt this embarrassed before. It sounded so dumb saying it out loud.

“You really couldn’t come up with anything else? Like oh I don’t know. Saying you don’t like Robin like that?” It was like he wasn’t even listening.

“I tried that thousands of times! He wouldn’t buy it!”

“Why haven’t you just dated anyone else? To prove that you’re not hung up on her?” Interesting line of questioning. Honestly, it’s been a long time since someone has made him feel anything at all. No girl caught his attention like before. Has the upside down messed him up so bad that he can’t form romantic connections anymore?

“I just, I don’t really. Taking a break from dating sounded good to me.”

“Uh huh. Sure.” Jon didn’t believe him, whatever.

“Look I just panicked, spoke without thinking.”

“You know, I actually thought that Dustin was right about you and Robin before. But if you’re so determined to prove you’re not, to even come up with something like that.” Steve hated this. Was Jonathan getting a kick out of this?

“Are you amused? I’m kinda suffering here.” Steve lamented. “Can you just please help me?

“Oh god, what do you expect me to do? Pretend to date you to get Dustin off your back?” Yes. Please.

“Look! I only ask for a few weeks! It doesn’t have to be for long. Just, a few weeks of fake dating and then just say it didn’t work out and we decided to stay friends. All that cheesy stuff.” God, he was not being convincing at all.

Jonathan still looked skeptical. But at least he was considering it now. “I’ll owe you, big time. Whatever favor you want.” Steve offered.

Jon looked resigned now. He huffed out a breath. “I never thought my first boyfriend was gonna be Steve Harrington.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I always pictured a nerd or maybe a stoner.” He was confused now. Was Jonathan? “Yes, Steve. You should probably know if we’re gonna do this. I also like guys. And I’m assuming you’re okay with it, considering what you just asked.”

“Of course! Thanks for telling me. I’m glad you could trust me.” He was being genuine. Even if Steve was a little surprised, and now felt even more guilty about words he used in the past to insult Jonathan. All the past apologies seemed insufficient. Even so, he was happy that their friendship could develop into this.

“So? How is this gonna work? You really owe me now, you know.”

“Trust me, I know.”

So their friendship wasn’t ruined. Who knows? Maybe this could make it stronger.

[ghostlyboysstories]

Writeblr introduction!!!

Hi!! I write original works and am happy to ramble about my ocs or writing to anyone who asks(I’m dying to share help-).

You can call me Rufus!(I swear if I get they both die at the end notes from this-)

I’m an adult, but I don’t really do 18+ content besides swearing and innuendo/dark humor. So I’d say my content is rated Mature, but not Explicit.

My pronouns are he/him!

Fun fact, my favorite color is dark neon-ish blue!

Can’t wait to post more original stories here!!

Stay spooky!

[chaoticallyfluffy]

Introduction + My Shazam Masterlist!

Welcome to my blog! My name is Fluffy!

I am an artist and fan fiction writer who mostly focuses on one fandom at a time. My current obsession is Shazam!

My second blog is @fawcetttweets where I post Tweets from the DC universe, focusing on the daily lives of Fawcett City’s heroes and civilians!

My banner was created by @chocolatebriosh during art fight! The characters are my OCs :)

You can find me on TikTok and Ao3 with the username ChaoticallyFluffy or by using the links!

I tried my best to make it chronological with the oldest on top and the newest on the bottom, so if my early stuff sucks, feel free to skip to the bottom of each section!

In order I have my ficlets, fan art, animatics, and misc (mostly add-ons to other posts or tiny ideas that are too short to put into ficlets)!

The characters involved in the posts will be next to each link! Billy and Captain Marvel will just be called Billy unless they are specifically separate beings in the post.

Masterlist begins under the cut :)

Where'd he go? (Billy, JL)

Curses! (Billy, Mr. Mind, JL)

Identical (Billy, Mary, JL)

Whats in a Last Name? (Billy, JL, Batfam)

Billy Being a Menace (Billy, Bruce Wayne)

Lies and Half Truths (Billy, Danny Phantom, JL)

Ah, a Child (Billy, JL)

Power of Perception (Billy, JL)

Doomed by the Narrative + Wrong Place, Wrong Time (Billy, JL)

The Homeless Boy and Nepo Baby (Billy, Bruce Wayne)

Two Halves, Never Whole (Billy, Jason Blood, Marvel, Etigran)

Blissful Ignorance (Billy, JL)

Blunder + Look at this! (Billy, Marvel, Shazamily,

Billy Batfam (Billy, Batfam)

Silly Billy + Pocket Home (Billy, JL, Shazamily)

What are you, a cop? + Now you see me, now you don't (Billy, JL)

Gender Swap! (Billy, Freddy)

Learning to Live (Billy, JL)

Stop Calling Me Dad! (Billy, Shazamily, JL)

Matchmaking (Billy, Diana, Gay animals)

'Tis but a scratch! (Billy, JL)

Tea With Persephone (Billy, Persephone)

Home Alone (Billy, Sivana, Shazamily)

Marvel Licks Cocaine. Wait, wha- (Billy, JL)

Body Swap (Billy, Marvel)

Parent Trap (Billy, Mary, CC, Marilyn)

Serious Accusations (Tawky Tawny, Billy, JL)

Celebrity Lifestyle (JL, Billy)

Warrior Cats (Freddy)

JL as platonic Soulmates (Billy, JL)

Swear Jar (Billy, Shazamily)

Sibling Fights (Freddy, Billy, Mary, Red Robin)

Three Kids in a Trench Coat (Billy, Mary, Freddy, JL)

Clothes (Billy, Mary, CC, Marilyn, JL)

Dead name, literally (Billy, Gay people)

Unicorns! (Billy)

No Longer 2 in 1 (Billy, other)

First Shazam Fan Art! Learning to Live outfits (Billy)

False Advertising (Billy)

The Duality of Marvel (Billy, Marvel)

Skill Issue (Freddy, Billy, JL)

Stock Photos (Billy, Marvel, C!Tommyinnit)

It's not you, its him (Billy, a random small child)

Closet Cosplay (Billy, Freddy, kind of Superman and Batman)

Experimental style (Billy)

If your reading this, i still haven't used the stickers. (Billy, Marvel)

*Pats him* *pats him* *pats hi- (Billy)

Whiteboard with friends! (Billy, Mary, Freddy, + more)

Billy Ratson (Billy, Marvel)

Bored (Billy)

Magical Girl Black Adam (Black Adam)

Sunny Sparkles (Sunny)

Ghost Boy! (Billy)

Tiger Bleps! (Tawky Tawny, Billy)

FREDDY!! (Billy, Marvel, Freddy)

Figurine Size Matters (Technically Batman and Billy)

Surprise! (Billy, JL)

Magical Girl?! (Billy, Barry, Poorly Drawn Evil Wizard)

Home (Billy)

Everyone Loves the Boy! (Harley Quinn, Billy)

Nails, nails, nails (Billy, Divine Twitch Chat, JL)

Stop. (Billy)

*Pats him* *pats him* *pats hi- (Billy)

My first Shazam post!

He needs more love :( (Kind of Billy)

Link to 'Kill him with kindness' fic

Asking for Eldritch Ideas (Billy kind of. Interesting comments!)

Zoooom! (Freddy, Billy, Batmans limitless funds)

Happiness (Billy)

Wip game (Billy, Clark)

Chaos boys (Billy, Klarion)

Link to 'Picture Day' fic (Billy, Cissie)

The first idea for Fawcetttweets! (Billy)

Marvel's Adventure! (Billy)

Peak Billy Design (Billy)

MY Boy! (Billy technically)

Talking about my fics release

Venn diagram (Billy, C!Tommyinnit, and Dave Strider)

DND (none technically)

Charlie (Billy, CC, Batman)

WIP Tag Game (Billy, Clark, Barry, Victor, Hal)

Implications (Billy)

Laws (Fawcett)

Link to my fanfiction called 'Bugs' (Billy)

Symptoms (Billy)

Fae (Billy)

Gotta Go Fast (Billy)

Tummy ache :( (Billy)