#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 ���𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒐, 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.

[exgingerwrites]

Introduction

Hello! I'm ExGinger, but you can call me Ginger, Jack, or Jake if you like.

I'm 19 years old, and am a writer based in Detroit, MI.

I predominantly write psychological horror/thriller, dystopias, and Epics heavy on the mental stresses of great adventures. I mostly write stories based in the world of the Necroverse, mainly written by @thedearhunter1, and co authored by myself and Onnie277 [who does not have a tumblr].

Outside of writing, my main job is cooking, bouncing from kitchen to kitchen until I find one where the store owner isn't a raging asshole [which is tough in my area] so expect to see some home-cooked food made by an amateur chef-in-training.

The stories I've written are as follows, newest first and oldest last.

Cody Carson, a story of a singer who has his voice taken from him thanks to an arcane scientist experimenting with a divine relic. The arcane scientist unwittingly set off a chain of events that would domino into Cody killing a man who was effectively immortal, then giving his body to reincarnate the god of Justice from the edges of oblivion. [Inspo: Toge Inumaki, Yuji Itadori, Set it Off, ++I really wanted to write a story of a man truly losing Everything]

Scott Al-Qahir, a story of a man who's entire livelihood is based on the arcane. The son of a legendary figure known as Androth the Red, and the only son of androth to have A. Survived, B. Been born with the Eyes of the Red, and C. Been born with the white hair of Androth. [Inspo: Aoi Todo (my goat), Yujiro Hanma, Bear Ghost, ++I really wanted to write a cannibal]

Jack Korowicz, a story of a man who is resurrected with a poorly measured necromancy spell, which messed up the binding. An Undead with no master, and no memory. Still actively using him for a TTRPG campaign, so his story is yet undecided. [Inspo: Harrier DuBois QBomb, Mindless Self Indulgence, general Punk Rock Culture.]

Mendex, the story of a god who doesn't know what they're the god of until much later in their story. The tale of a creature with no identity, just a shapeshifting eight-limbed, eight-eyed creature who named himself the deceiver. [Inspo: Noland the Liar, Usopp, Copycat / Changer type characters]

The Mechanic / Salpetriere, a Supergenius who was completely rejected from society because he broke the laws of nature. So, he made his own society to live in. [Inspo: I just wanted to make a technocratic near-dystopia.]

The Grand Admiral Ironside, a Violetblooded Homestuck OC that required me to rewrite roughly 70% of alternia to fix all of andrew hussie's plotholes + unexplaineds. A rebel who uses a double life to deceive the condesce and build power until he can revolt successfully, using indispensable connections he built along the way.

[forgettable-au]

FORGETTABLE-AU (Page 36-39)

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

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

[gojoest]

the nerdy boy (gojo satoru) in your class keeps staring at you.

he’s a peculiar one.

he always sits in the front rows in the university lecture hall, and often raises a hand to ask or answer questions. sometimes he makes additions to what the lecturer said, other times — he makes corrections. he’s a blessing for some educators and a nightmare for others.

very smart. almost concerningly so. there are times when you think he should be the one leading the lectures instead of the professors. most of them seem uncomfortable in his presence, often glancing his way for a nod of approval during class, clearly distressed and wary of yet another academic confrontation, because gojo satoru — as much of a nerd he is — is not the quiet and easy type. he’s considered arrogant and hard to manage. perhaps, courtesy of having a threateningly vast knowledge and a unique way of justifying his point, which he seems to be very proud of. he’s almost cheeky when he speaks, using a respectful form of speech but with an undeniable and evident (very much on purpose) undertone of arrogance in the way those very respectful words come out of his mouth. it can drive a person crazy.

but every time he’s done speaking, he turns back to look at you. as if to check, if you are listening to him. to see if you notice him. as much as he tries to be subtle about it, you see it. maybe he thinks the strands of his fluffy hair that fall on his face and the glasses he wears help hide the direction in which he is glancing at.

but you see it, and soon enough you figure it out — that the nerdy boy in your class has a crush on you, that even a genius like him can become a bit stupid at times.

[starryeyed-seer]

me: I'm not a bat

Mr pages: (stuffing novels under its robe): I must abscond

[darkfictionjude]

Interactive fiction works:

We Wretched Creatures

Set in a small town in 1994. Supernatural, romantic, horror. In development. Tags: we wretched creatures, WWC. Six 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.

[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

[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

[rema-rin]

Y'all know what, I've been progressively amassing a collection of art, doodles and shitposts all surrounding one of our ongoing Dungeons and Dragons campaigns // aka I've had character brainrot for a while// and I think Tumblr might actually be a good site to try and start figuring out how to even just,, start, posting about it in a semi-cohesive manner - it'll be quite self-indulgent. So. I'll be tagging content and art related to this campaign as "CA Campaign" since the server dedicated to it is named "Capitalist Apocalypse"

[nondelphic]

wow. i hit 4k followers. you guys are insane. thank you ??? for caring about my posts ????

like promised before, here's my official introduction post.

welcome to nondelphic, *a blog about writing, overthinking writing, abandoning writing, and occasionally finishing writing. if you’re a fan of crying about writing, niche metaphors, and posts that spiral into existentialism, you’re in the right place.

rebecka (she/her)

22, swedish

writer, journalism student, full-time cat enthusiast (send me pictures of your cats)

queer and aro/ace (still figuring out the specifics...)

i probably have adhd (waiting to be officially diagnosed lol)

most likely drinking tea and diving into a rabbit hole about space, mountains or stuff too complicated for me to understand right now

my 2nd, less active blog is @rebellenotes where i post longer, more serious ramblings and essays.

i started this blog because i’ve always loved talking about writing—especially the struggles and chaos we all face as aspiring authors. none of my friends on other platforms cared (lol), so this space became my little haven for all things writing. i hope it can be that for you too, a safe, encouraging place to talk about stories, creativity, and all the weird ups and downs of being a writer (｡♥‿♥｡)

✏️ writing tips, memes, and struggles (mostly struggles)

📖 occasionally bookish content and recommendations

🌈 advocacy for lgbtq+ and disability rights !!

🍅 an unnecessary amount of love for cats and writing for fun

#nondelphic asks : where i answer asks you sent me!

#nondelphic writing tips : actual useful advice (sometimes)

#nondelphic status : life updates and ramblings

thanks for stopping by! feel free to send an ask, vibe in the tags, or just lurk it’s all love here <3 ✧٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ✧

[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."

[NEXT PART: SHADOWS]

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[the-ellia-west]

Hello and Welcome!

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About me:

I am a Christian, and a Devoted one!

I am a Minor (High School) So DON'T BE WEIRD

I am a Woman

I am Straight and a Hopeless Romantic, but I'm not looking for a Relationship currently

I am Autistic

I am an Author/Writer

I am a Plotter, and I just recently figured that out!

I love to ramble and listen to rambles!

My MBTI is INFP-T

I live in the USA Midwest but I spell grey with an e

✦ I promise I don't bite! Please interact with me! ✦ Feel free to ask me anything about Writing or my WIPs, I love to help!

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Favorites: Book: John Carter, A Princess of Mars (By Edgar Rice Burroughs) Movie: Narnia, Voyage of the Dawn Treader Artist: Tobymac Song: Sleep in the Storm (Unspoken) Colors: Blood Red, Gold, Lilac Purple, Forest Green Hobbies: Writing, Doodling, Rambling Food: Eggs, Grapes, Noodles, Specifically Spaghetti, and Pork lo-mein Drink: Taro Milk tea & Cherry Italian Soda Characters: Haymitch, Zuko, Knuckles, Eustace, Darth Maul, Gummigoo, Hunter Tropes: Magnificent Bastards, True Kings, Romantic Subplots, Grumpy Mentors, Darkest Hours, Redemption arcs, & Happy Endings Current Interests: Sonic, The Owl House, TADC, ATLA, Fool's Gold

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I Post about:

Any of my Interests

Talking with and Supporting Friends

My Life and Feelings

My WIPS! (Usually Characters but sometimes Plot & Actual Writing) -[See Below]

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My Wips!

Just Click on the Titles for more info! (Masterposts Coming soon) QNA OPEN - PLEASE ASK ABOUT MY OCS

Jest of Royalty -JoR- Genre - High Fantasy Action Drama Type - Webcomic Theme - Anyone can be redeemed if They have the Remorse and are willing to put in the work Description - A Young Farm boy named Ronan Breaks the Magical Staff of a god, and embarks on a Vengeful quest to get them back, Finding a new family along the way and learning the true meaning of mercy and love

Fallen Genre - Romance Fantasy Type - Written Theme - Nothing said, done, or changed, Can Make a Person unworthy of love Description - In a World where name means everything, a Noblewoman named Adémiah runs away from home and meets a Criminal called Dyn who saves her life several times, and through a dangerous journey they learn to love one another, with the help of a Traveller called Bard

Chomik Genre - High-Fantasy Comedy Type - Comic Theme - None Description - Young Hero, Kaezal, is yoinked into a quest for knowledge by a researcher, Akea, and they come across a variety of different Foes and Reoccurring Villains

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Tags:

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#JoR memes - Memes and random funny stuff

#JoR family - Character info, Team Dynamics, conversations, ect.

#JoR psychology - We dive into the minds of the Characters

#JoR characters - Stuff about individual characters

#JoR vital - Things I may need for later/important stuff

#JoR building - Worldbuilding

#JoR story - The Plot

#JoR snippets - Scenes, Writing, ect.

#JoR thoughts - My ramblings about the WIP

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My Moots:

@thewritingautisticat @yolbert @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @lunaeuphternal @an-indecisive-nerd

@homelessnerd @thebookishkiwi @write-with-will @pastellbg @i-do-anything-but-write

@darkandstormydolls @supercimi @blargh-500 @sunflowerrosy @corinneglass

@carb0n-m0n0xid3 @tiredpapergirl @vesanal @fourwingedsnake @ellowynthenotking

@busybussinbee @the-letterbox-archives @harleyacoincidence @cosmolumine @urnumber1star

@thecrazyalchemist @i-hate-happy-endings @stars-forever @fantastictrashpolice @blue-kyber

@artsandstoriesandstuff @rivenantiqnerd @cybercelestian @aalinaaaaaa @agirlandherquill

@smudged-red-ink @clever-naming-convention

Farewell, and have a good day Loves!

[airenyah]

Episode 6: FadelStyle vs. Beginnings and Endings

In the past one and a half-ish weeks we've discussed at length just how good the last scene at the diner is and how Style drawing tears on Fadel at the rock concert was foreshadowing to Fadel ending the episode crying real tears. What I haven't seen discussed yet, however, is how that ending scene is actually a counterpart to Fadel and Style's conversation after the rock concert. And I think that makes the scene in the diner even more poignant. And it also makes the scene at the rock pub even more painful as well. Because they are basically the same scenes, just flipped. And I desperately need to talk about it or else I'll explode.

Part 1: "Tonight I am very happy"

In this scene Style knows something that Fadel doesn't: This will most likely be their last chance to be happy together like this. Tomorrow Fadel will go on his mission where the police will be waiting and then Fadel will be taken away from him.

But Style already loves Fadel, he is already worried about him and he really does not want to lose him. So he keeps trying to subtly talk Fadel into staying home from the mission and spilling the beans about the mission so he can explicitly ask Fadel not to go. But Fadel keeps his mouth shut. And as happy as Style is together with Fadel this evening, he is also very upset. He doesn't want the night to end, but there's no way around it. For Style this is a goodbye.

And for Fadel? Fadel went from I'll tell her this will be your last job to Ruerat is the last jerk we have to kill. After that, we can live however we want. Even in this episode, right before he goes to the concert with Style, Fadel tells Bison "Once we’re done with Ruerat, I’ll talk to Mother again", when Bison says it's time for them to quit. Fadel is on the same page as Bison now. Ruerat is their last victim and after that Fadel wants out. For Fadel, this is the last night where he's still stuck in his hitman life, but once he is done with his mission the weight will be off his shoulders and he can finally truly be with Style. For Fadel this is the opposite of a goodbye.

In the words of my mother: For Style, when the night is over life will end. For Fadel, when the night is over life will begin. Style is ending something and Fadel wants to begin something.

And another thing my mom pointed out is how they're standing in front of a pink sky:

And at what time of the day is the sky pink? Either at dawn or at dusk. The beginning of the day or the end of the day. And for Fadel this scene is only the beginning of the day while for Style this scene is the end of the day.

Part 2: "I think I already love you"

In this scene Fadel knows something that Style doesn't: Style has played him, has made him lower his protective walls, has made him fall for him only to turn around and betray him.

Style told Fadel he hoped that Fadel wouldn't get any more scars and yet here Style is, stabbing Fadel right in the heart and jeopardizing his life. Here Style is, bursting Fadel's bubble that he's finally started daring to dream about, a dream of a future where he wasn't lonely, a future where he was happy and himself with someone, Style, by his side. Style is a danger to him. Style can't stay. As happy as Fadel has been together with Style, he needs to let go of him. For Fadel this is a goodbye.

And for Style? He has just spent a full week worrying sick about Fadel after his mission went wrong and went completely MIA. Style has likely (definitely) spent a week checking the restaurant every single day for any sign of Fadel's return, not giving up hope of seeing him again. And then Fadel is back. Style is overjoyed. The heavy metal concert wasn't their last day together, Fadel is pulling through on his promise to have many more nights like that with each other. The concert may have been the end of the day, but now against all odds a new day has come. For Style this is the opposite of a goodbye.

And so we're left with the exact opposite situation from what we had at the concert: Fadel is ending something and Style wants to begin something.

Conclusion

These two scenes go together, they're flipped parallels of each other.

At the concert Style is internally saying goodbye to Fadel because he thinks their relationship will be over when Fadel gets arrested at the mission and the police take him away. At the diner Fadel is internally saying goodbye to Style because he thinks their relationship is over now that he "knows" that none of it was real on Style's part since in reality he was working with said police.

At the concert Fadel is truly happy, because once his mission is over he'll talk to mother and when he's managed to convince her that him and Bison will be out, then Fadel can go and start a new life, a new future with Style. At the diner Style is overjoyed because he thought he was about to lose Fadel, but Fadel has come back and now Style gets a second chance at a future with Fadel.

At the concert, Fadel is happy and he can tell something is kinda off about Style ("What's wrong? You act like we’re not going to see each other again."), but he has absolutely no idea that Style is in the process of bidding him farewell. At the diner, Style is happy and he can tell something is kinda off about Fadel ("You were just calling me out for being affectionate. Now you wanna be romantic?"), but he has absolutely no idea that Fadel is in the process of bidding him farewell.

It's brilliant writing, really. And both scenes are flawlessly performed by both boys.

[trombonechurchill]

Watching the Credits - Chapter One

BuckTommy, Chapter One - 3,771 words, Rated T

Tommy waits for him to continue, ask for a selfie or an autograph but it never comes. The guy just keeps smiling. Tommy should say something. Anything. He's staring. "I'm Tommy," he blurts out, words foreign on his tongue and Tommy feels a kick at the feel of them in his mouth. He can't remember the last time he actually got to introduce himself to someone. The last time he was able to walk in anywhere without someone already knowing and assuming things about him. Tommy feels giddy and he knows he's probably got the strangest smile on his face, but if he's making the other guy uncomfortable he doesn't show it. "O-Okay. I'm Evan." --- Tommy's a famous action star, Buck is a pop culture black hole and has no idea. What could go wrong?

An Excerpt from Tommy Kinard's Comeback Interview with Taylor Kelly:

TAYLOR KELLY: So, Tommy, this is your first big feature after a year long break, how's it feel to be back on the horse, so to speak.

TOMMY KINARD: It was good to take a break, I really needed the chance to rest and recharge, you know? But I'm glad to be back and to be working on a new project with Bobby [Nash].

KELLY: So there's no concerns about taking such a long break from working? Not worried about being rusty or out of the loop?

KINARD: I mean, I imagine there's always a fear of that but sometimes you have to make decisions based on what's best for yourself, not just your career.

KELLY: So you do have some concerns then?

KINARD: I didn't say that-

KELLY: And what about your now ended relationship with Abby Clark? Was your break part of what was best for that?

KINARD: I'd rather not talk about my personal life right now-

KELLY: So you have no comments regarding Clark's new relationship or the timely announcement of your coming out and subsequent break from the industry?

KINARD: I think we're done here.

Read the rest on AO3