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joywritesbutitsactuallymystories · 6 months

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Geo

“So then, Jane.” Lilith stirred her half-drunk latte. “What is it you propose?” The two had decided to meet at a cafe, nearer the centre of town. They sat at a table for two, near a large window. It was raining outside - typical weather for the middle of November in that town. Lilith had ordered a medium vanilla latte - Jane a large cappuccino. “You are not of the Air nor the Sea, this much is certain.” Jane responded. She took a long sip of her coffee before continuing: “the only natural way forward is to test the other options.” “What do you have in mind?” “We’ll visit a few friends of mine, of the Earth and the Fire.” Jane smiled. “The chances that you are of any other element are very slim.” “Very well.” Lilith drained her cup. “Might I ask you one more question?” “Be my guest, Lilith.” “Is Jane your true name? Or did you choose it for yourself, similar to how I chose my surname?” “It is my true name.” Jane answered. “My mother was of the Folk, my father of men. He was the one that raised me - he was a lighthouse keeper, my mother a selkie from what I gathered. He chose my name - not her.” Jane smiled sadly. She drained her cup and got up from where she sat. “Let us be going - we have places to be.” Lilith paid for her coffee and the two left the cafe.

The two walked onward, through the rain. Lilith hid herself safely under her umbrella, and Jane walked without any cover from the rain - she did not need any, after all. “Where is it we are headed?” Lilith asked. “I have a friend,” Jane responded. “He is of the Earth - or at least partially. His father was of the Folk.” Jane smiled at Lilith. “He works at the local library - chances are you’ve met him by now.” “I can’t recall it.” “No worries, you will when you meet him.”

They walked further uptown, towards the region in which Lilith’s flat was. The rain ceased - turning into that specific drizzle one might find in a seaside town. Of course, the town was not a seaside one per se - it was a good ninety minute trek through the wilds to get to the cliffs - but somehow, it felt like one. They approached the town library. Its large, double doors were oak - with golden embellishments. The steps that lead up to those doors may have been quite a majestic sight, once upon a time - now they just looked sad and lonely, covered in age and graffiti. The walls of the library mimicked the steps, with crude drawings closer to the bottom of them and chipped plaster towards the top. On window ledges, pigeons sat, and although they seemed out of place, if one looked closer one could see quite a peculiar sight - in place of the customary barbed wire, there were nests - furthermore, nearer the roof of the building, there were birdhouses and bird feeders placed strategically, so as to care for those winged friends of man. It was quite a peculiar sight - but in its own way a beautiful one.

Jane pushed the weathered handle on one of the wooden doors and held it open for Lilith to enter. She complied, and walked into the hall, where she was met by large, wooden stairs. “I must say, this place is not very wheelchair accessible.” “They have a back entrance with a lift.” Jane replied, sidestepping Lilith. “It does not do to judge a book by its cover, Lilith.” Lilith rolled her eyes at her, but then followed after, up the wooden stairs towards the front desk.

“Good afternoon.” Jane stepped up to the elderly woman at the desk. “Is George Lambert in today?” “Yes, he’s over in the archives.” The woman looked up at Jane absentmindedly. Her eyes were covered with a sort of fog. “Feel free to go there and look for him. Here’s an access card.” With that, she passed Jane her access card and Lilith realised something terrible - that the woman was under her spell. “Thank you, dear.” Jane smiled at the receptionist. “We shall be on our way then.” She led Lilith towards the basements. “Why did you cast a spell on her?” “I didn’t.” Jane looked at Lilith, confused. “I could clearly see it.” Lilith crossed her arms around her chest. “Her eyes were shrouded with a fog, she was looking but not seeing - she was under your charm.” “I…” Jane stuttered. “I did not do it on purpose, if I did it.” she sighed. “One drawback of my powers is just that - I cannot entirely control the siren charm, it works on its own accord.” She smiled tilting her head. “Which is why I love your company.” “I don’t understand.” “You see me as I truly am, not as your perfect image of what I should be.” She responded simply, disappearing into the dark of the corridor leading towards the archives. Lilith sighed, following her onwards.

“Geo! What a pleasure to see you.” Jane walked into the dimly lit room, throwing her arms around the boy. Lilith took a moment to regard him - tall and lanky, he reminded her of a stick insect. He was much taller than most, surely, as his head seemed to reach the tops of the shelves. He had brown hair - the soft kin, not as dark as that of Jane. His eyes were brown too - a muddy brown, with little sparks of gold in it. His face was covered in freckles, and his hands were blotched by black ink. The boy turned to Lilith, smiling.

“Hello.” He said quietly. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?” He nodded. “We go to the same university, although I’m in Librarian Studies, and you, from what I remember, are in Music.” “That is correct.” Lilith extended a hand. “My name is Lilith.” “Mine is Geo.” He shook Lilith’s hand and turned to Jane, raising an eyebrow. “Now then, to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visitation?” “This here Lilith is not mortal.” Jane said. “Yes, that much I can see.” Lilith sighed irritably. “Honestly, is that evident to all except me?” “Yes.” Jane and Geo replied simultaneously. “Although, not to mortals,” Geo added. “Only fellow non-mortals can tell. We see it in you.” “Like I in your eyes.” Lilith commented. Geo raised an eyebrow, questioning. “Well your eyes have flickers of gold in them, a sign of magic.” She explained. “And Jane’s have a cold fire in them that no-one else has.” “Interesting…” Geo mused. “I still do not understand why you’re here.” “I’m getting to it.” Jane laughed. “We’re trying to figure out of which Folk she is - we are certain she is not of the Air nor the Sea - is she of the Earth?” “No.” Geo said firmly. “She is not. That much is evident.” “Well of which do you think she might be?” “Of fire.” Geo hesitated. “Or of the Spirit.” Jane inhaled sharply. “You think she could be of them? But they do not show themselves to mortals often.” “It is possible.” Geo turned his gaze to Lilith. “What is your gift, Lilith?” “The little violin.” She responded. “I have a bond with it - it was a gift to me from the Folk, and it can cast charms and tell stories.” “The Fire cannot do that.” He turned back to Jane. “You must seek out the Folk of the Spirit - they may have the answers you seek.” With that, he bid them farewell and returned to his work.

The two emerged from the library, shocked to see it was already dark out. Lilith turned to Jane. “Would you like to stay at my flat for the night? It’s a bit too late for the trek back to your home.” “Yes, I agree.” Jane sighed and followed Lilith as she led them towards her building. “What do we do now, Lilith?” “We keep searching.” She said simply. She turned the key in the door and turned to face Jane, smiling slightly. “There’s no giving up now - we’re too deep in the waters.” She opened the door and invited Jane into her safe haven. They would resume their search the next day - but for now, it was time for a break.

#short story #writerblr #joy writes stuff #writer #writers of tumblr

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tarabyte3 · 2 months

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Hey fanfiction writers: If no one's ever told you this before, it's not just fanfiction.

It's something you spent hours, days, maybe even months on, pouring your heart out onto a page because you were so full of passion and thoughts about a story or characters, you felt like you were going to explode if you didn't get it out. Maybe you lost sleep because your mind was racing with ideas or you forgot to eat or drink water because you were so focused. Maybe your back aches from being hunched over for so long, unmoving. Maybe you even felt like you were going a little feral because you were so excited about what you were creating, or were frustrated when you got stuck. Either way, you put your heart, mind, soul, and body into making something.

It's okay to want people to read it, and it's okay if you're disappointed that they don't or it doesn't get as much of a reaction as you were hoping for. Humans are social creatures. Sure, we write for ourselves, but we also share because the joy of doing so is just as powerful as the joy of the process. Of having created something.

We all experience that joy and that disappointment, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

So it's okay. It's not just fanfiction.

#writing #fic writing #fanfiction #fanfic #writlbr #just had to get this out there #fanfiction has brought me so much joy for ~25 years now #big thank you to everyone that feels sad about their stuff and still writes anyway #i love you and i appreciate you #and i guarantee i'm not the only one

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da-birb-writes-sometimes · 8 months

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How You Turn My Word; Chapter 2

The day continues, and this time you find yourself in an entire new world... a world called The Underground.

Character; Lilia Vanrouge

Content; Gender-neutral reader, more shenanigans, reader isn't happy

Content Warning; Intoxication (Lilia), swearing

Word Count; 2.7 K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

Don't put my work into AI; I'll make sure you end up in the Bog of Eternal Stench.

Lilia’s night was not going according to plan and he was mentally cursing himself over it.

Thing Lilia did not plan for #1; he got lost. To be fair though, many a thing had drastically changed since the last time he romped around the mortal realm. A few hundred years would do that though. Humans now seemed to live in tall metal boxes rather than the humble cottages of ages past.

Thing Lilia did not plan for #2; a red flower deceiving him and containing something akin to liquor. So he was flying around lost while under the influence, which only worsened his situation. (Lilia did not know it, but the red flower was in fact a hummingbird feeder with sugar water which had been left out in the sun for too long and had fermented. Make sure to change your hummingbird feeder often on hot days so you don’t cause a nectar-loving friend to fly while wasted)

Thing Lilia did not plan for #3; getting himself stuff in one of those tall metal boxes, and he was now stuck inside some cursed metal labyrinth. At least it was not iron or silver, as it did not burn, apparently, humans no longer fortified their abodes with those metals. Perhaps the times have changed for the better?

But Lilia finally escaped the infernal metal labyrinth, perhaps luck was finally on his side tonight after all! He bumped around a few corners. My my, what a small hovel. Perhaps things have not changed all that much from the last time I was here… But Lilia was rudely pulled from his thoughts when something swatted him clean out of the air. And the culprit? A rather rotund grey cat with large blue eyes, which was now carrying Lilia into its lair, most likely to play with him for a bit before deciding that it had had it’s fun and ultimately put him out of his misery.

His night went from a jolly and somewhat embarrassing tale he would regale about at the local tavern, to a bedtime story parents would tell their children about the dangers of going places that you really shouldn’t. Should he get out of this sticky situation Lilia would not live this incident down.

The cat placed Lilia in a collection of socks and then sauntered off, calling out at the top of its lungs. Great, it's getting company for supper, and I’m the appetizer. How lovely. But Lilia knew he would have a better chance of getting out of this situation if he stayed calm and waited for an opportunity to escape. Even while tipsy, he could keep his cool.

And the feline was back and yanked Lilia out of the sock hole. Cracking open his one eye he saw that the cat did not come back with its hungry friends, but rather, a human. That was both good news and bad news. Good news; he most likely was not going to be eaten tonight! Yippee! Bad news; the last time he was in bat-form in a human’s abode, he was chased around with a torch, which he really did not want to go through again. So his best course of action was to play dead in this situation.

When the human left the room though, he took his chance and took flight once again, trying to find a way out. The cat was trying to catch him again, but Lilia knew of its tricks this time and dodged every swipe it sent his way.

But he was pulled out of his thoughts when the human screeched at the cat, “YOU CAUGHT A FUCKING BAT?!”

Oh yeah, they did not sound happy, not at all, but it seemed to be directed more at their feline companion rather than him.

As he was busy flapping around, trying to find an escape but to no avail, he also heard the human whispering to him. “Don’t fly towards my head, bat. I’m just trying to get you back outside. You’re a nice bat, right? Nice bat, nice bat.”

Were he not preoccupied and in a better state of mind, Lilia would have been amused by this. Currently, though he was occupied with trying not to be eaten and finding a way out of this cursed place. He was not in a laughing mood. All Lilia wanted to do was get back home, pass out in his bed but he would also be happy with his sofa as well, and pretend that this was nothing more than a bad dream after a night spent tavern hopping. Dealing with a horrid hangover would be better than this… and he was most likely going to have one of those anyways. Tonight really wasn’t Lilia’s night, not at all.

Then the human grabbed the cat, and Lilia was finally left alone. The window was open, but he didn’t know that, as his mind was too preoccupied with you know, not dying, that he hadn’t noticed that the human had opened it for him. So where did Lilia go? Well, he went back into the metal labyrinth (air duct), and fumbled around until he tired himself out. It wasn’t the most ideal of spots to crash for the night, but it was better than going back and possibly being eaten, Lilia would rather avoid that. So this was going to be his bed for the night, a lonely quiet corner of the air duct system, where he could hopefully wake up sober tomorrow. But he yearned for his warm quilts that awaited for him back at home, back in Faerie, or as some call it, the Underground.

Lilia wasn’t even supposed to be in the mortal realm in the first place, but curiosity had won him over, and he even ignored the travel advisory that was in place. Some crow fae had travelled there about a century or so ago and had yet to return back, hence a travel advisory. But yet here he was in the mortal realm, tiny, drunk, and utterly lost. His bad decisions could be looked into further detail once he got some shut-eye. So he wrapped himself in his wings and passed out in the corner of the air vent. Hopefully, when he woke up he could turn this disastrous day around.

…

Upon waking up, Lilia groaned — or rather, in this case, squeaked — and stretched his wings out. So the wretched metal maze and last night's fiasco was not some liquor-hazed dream; how lovely. Utterly delightful.

At least the strange maze echoed sound quite well, so he knew what exits to avoid. Not that one, he could hear a dog barking, and the feline encounter was enough for him. No, not that one either, he could hear children screaming.

Finally, he came to an opening, there was some quiet chatter, but it was far enough away where Lilia felt comfortable enough to explore this potential escape route.

Why does this look familiar? AM I BACK IN THE BUILDING?! Yes, yes he was. At least there was no sign of the ca–

“Mrp?” Speak of the devil.

The cat got out of its den and lept at Lilia, who dodged the attack, and the cat pushed some books off a desk. The cat was also screaming at him, and causing an all-around ruckus. Lilia managed to outmaneuver the feline, but soon a brand new human came into the scene.

The new human took one look at Lilia and backpedalled out of the room. But the human had just created another escape route for him, and Lilia flew, well, like a bat straight out of hell for it. Too bad the next room contained two more humans, including the one he had encountered from last night… maybe they would be nice again and spare him for trespassing on their small abode?

In the midst of the chaos, the human from last night knocked him out of the air with a broom. Okay, that hurt little Beastie. But that swing and the crash landing into a table caused Lilia to shift back into his human form, which also caused sparkles to happen. Did humans still think magic was evil? Well, he was about to find out.

Everyone remained silent, and after the sheer noise of the chaos, it was deafening, even the cat was quiet. And Lilia stared at the human that had knocked him out of the air, you. And you were staring straight back at him, looking utterly baffled. Well, this is awkward… I think I have overstayed my welcome…

Lilia snapped his fingers, and he started to disappear into sparkles yet again, this time going home since he wasn’t able to use his magic when stuck in bat form. And it was happening without a pinch, but you seemed to trip on thin air and crash landed on his feet, disappearing with him; a stowaway coming to Faerie.

… Well this is no good now, is it?

…

When the green sparkles subsided, you found yourself sitting in some sort of bog, and the water had made it into your mouth by some twist of fate. While you were busy spitting the bog water out of your mouth, the stranger was standing by the bank, dry, without any sulfuric-tasting water in his mouth, and looking better for wear.

Pulling yourself out of the bog water — eugh, you smelled like eggs now, great — you pointed an accusatory finger at him, water dripping from the end. “Where,” you spat out some extra bog water from your mouth, “am I? And why does it reak of eggs?!” You would have looked and sounded more imposing, but you were sopping wet, covered in mud, and spitting out coughs trying to get the bad taste out of your mouth; which wasn’t really commanding any sort of respect.

The stranger, Lilia, snorted before letting out a cough, trying to hide his amusement very poorly. He waved his hand, green sparkles surrounded you and you were now dry, still covered in mud, but dry. “Faerie, although some call it the Underground.”

You opened your mouth, but he wagged his finger at you. “And before you blame me for bringing you here, you have no one to blame for this but yourself!” Despite the cheeriness, there was something cold and off putting in his eyes, like he was calculating something. But that moment passed, and the almost annoying cheerful facade came back in full. “As for the smell? That so happens to be The Bog of Eternal Stench!”

“Like eternal eternal?” You really didn’t need to smell like rotten eggs for the rest of your days.

The stranger just chuckled, “Fret not, Beastie, I decided to return the favour, since your feline friend decided not to eat me. But it is indeed ‘eternal eternal’ if you don’t have the means to get rid of it.”

Beastie? “Uh, okay.” not the most eloquent of things to say, but really, could anyone blame you? You just fell through some kind of portal, magic(?) was real, and oh yeah, so were fae/faeries or whatever the hell they called themselves. So ‘Uh, okay’ was perfectly fine in this situation.

Mr. Sparkles — if he was going to call you Beastie, he deserved a dumb nickname — just gave you a smile, exposing the barest hint of his fangs; despite his small frame, he was still dangerous, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. It was as if he was assessing you, to see if you would be worth the trouble to help. You didn’t know if either option would be good by the way his magenta eyes twinkled with mischief.

He let out a huff and started walking away, and you followed. “I wouldn’t recommend following me, Beastie,” he hummed, and you tripped over a rock, vines keeping you to the moss. “The court would not take kindly to you.”

You glared at him and tried ripping the vines off of your feet, but they didn’t budge. “And why should I listen to you?”

Mr. Sparkles booped you on the nose, “Well, it would ensure that you made it out of here alive, which I believe you would find beneficial and all.”

Obnoxious prick. But he did have a point, you would rather make it back home alive rather than fucking around and finding out (aka dying). “So what? Are you going to just leave me here? No welcome brochure? Thanks.”

You were being sarcastic, since it was either sarcasm or having a full-on existential crisis, since hey, magic wasn’t real in your world! Dimension? Galaxy? Where the fuck was this place?! How the hell did you end up here?!

“Hmm good point…” he snapped his fingers and there was now a book sitting in your lap. “This should suffice, do be warned though, Beastie, I may call on you later to return the favour. For now though,” he started to turn into green sparkles, “toodaloo!~” And he turned into a bat, flying off into the sunset, leaving you alone at the edge of the swamp with the only things to your name being the clothes on your back and a book in your lap.

How to Survive the Underground; For Humans! … Did he just give you this world’s equivalent of a For Dummies book? What the fuck? Was this kind of sick joke to him?

…

Once some of your ire had subsided, you decided to sit down on a boulder and read a bit of the book while there was still some sunlight out, but it was dipping into the horizon fast.

How to Survive the Underground; For Humans! By Yelworc Erid Preface …… i - iv Chapter 1; Surviving Your First Night…… 1 - 10 Chapter 2; Edible Food for Humans …… 11 - 31 Chapter 3; The Basics of Fae Etiquette …… 32 - 35 3.1; Species Specifics …… 36 - 146 3.2; Government Specifics …… 147 - 169 Chapter 4; Help! I Have Been Indentured to a Fae! …… 170 - 200 Chapter 5; Adjusting to Fae Social Life …… 201 - 224 Chapter 6; Transmittable Illnesses & Diseases …… 225 - 261 Chapter 7; Fae Courting Practices …… 262 - 264 7.1; Species Specifications …… 265 - 366 7.2; Government Specifications …… 367 - 389 7.3; Accepting a Courting Proposal …… 390 - 393 7.4; Refusing a Courting Proposal …… 394 - 401 Chapter 8; How to Handle Fae Children …… 402 - 452 Chapter 9; How to Leave the Underground … 453 Chapter 10; Adjusting to Life in the Underground …… 454 - 482 Acknowledgments …… 483 - 485

Looking back up to the horizon, you quickly turned the pages to Chapter 1; Surviving Your First Night.

“If you are unable to find yourself some suitable shelter, one should find themselves safe by camping out in a rowan tree. These trees can easily be found by their vermillion clusters of berries. They keep away all native species of the Underground,” you read out loud, turning your attention to the trees nearby, searching for those berries. “Rowan tree, rowan tree–”

A loud screech coming from the undergrowth only pushed you further.

Nope, I do not want to find out what THAT was! Nope! NoPe! NOPE!

Finally, you found a tall enough tree and you hauled your ass up it like there was a fire below you, and you were up in the canopy, far enough up that nothing could reach you, but also high enough where you needed to be careful, since you didn’t want to meet an early death because you made a wrong move. But for now, you were safe.

“Nice try buddy,” you muttered to yourself, trying to get comfy. Wood wasn’t the comfiest thing in the world, but you weren’t really in the position to be complaining. “I am not on the menu.”

The screech came again, this time closer; yeah, you weren’t sleeping tonight. The sun was now beyond the horizon, and there was no moon, the only light coming from the stars above; it was very pretty, but you could see jack shit. This was going to be a long night… and not a fun one, since you could also see the glowing eyes of unknown creatures which were, quite frankly, freaky as fuck. So yeah, no sleep for you.

“This fucking sucks,” you grumbled, and a chittering from the bog seemed to mock you. “This really fucking sucks.”

…

Tags; @busycloudy, @eynnwwyjth, @identity-theft-101, @ithseem, @krenenbaker, @lucid-stories, @ryker-writes, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

~~~~~~~

Author's Note; This chapter is shorter, but it felt natural to end the chapter like this. This chapter, and the previous one, were both rewrites of an old WIP, so from here on out I don't have to rewrite! YIPPEE!!! Rewriting takes me forever, so we shall see what I come up with next.

If you liked this, do check out my masterlist for more content!

#twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x gn reader #still building up that aspect; yeah it's gonna be a while but that allows for some yearning #got another labyrinth mention in there #i decided to be nice to reader where they don't end up smelling like rotten eggs for their entire stay in the underground;#; it would be funny but reader has been through enough without needing to smell bad on top of that #twst labyrinth au #gilf enjoyers rejoice #why does rewriting take me so damn long? i even deleted scenes that i didn't feel like keeping #writing is pain and suffering yet it brings me immense joy... not gonna elaborate on that #not a bunch of fun stuff hidden in the tags this time but oh well

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inrainprose · 3 months

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please leave comments on fanfics today and forever you never know how much you can improve an author's shitty day/week/time

#it's me I'm the author #and i rushed to publish stuff this week because i needed joy #min #ao3 #fanfics #writing #me obsessively refreshing my inbox to feel joy?#more likely than you think (extremely likely)

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llamagoddessofficial · 5 months

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is Cave Bear abandoned?

Unhypnotise yourself from the tiktokification of the internet. Just because something doesn't have constant updates and constant content, doesn't mean it's abandoned or dead. Fanfic authors make the vast majority of their content completely for free and are real people with shifting centres of attention and busy lives outside of their writing.

#do i wish i could go back to the simple days of being able to slam out chapters every week? of course #but that's just not realistic anymore #i love writing - its the thing that brings me the most joy #but ive also got to balance other stuff

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dapper-lil-arts · 25 days

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Do you have any top tier horse yuri fic recs?

Hmm, i got a couple, lemme think

This one is a very sweet slice of life EG Sunset x Scitwi one, its got a lovely interpretation of the characters; With the expected but very welcome pairing of cool punk girl and adorable nerd. and i plan on doing fanart of it! The writer knows her stuff nyeheh =v= This is the best "Rarity and Applejack get drunk together and mushy stuff happens" Fic i seen out there, a trope that is surprisingly recurring, ive seen others like this! But this one is the best, hands down. A mutual of mine wrote it and its just a wonderful time! This one is a super fun horror esque rarijack fic where rarity is haunted and applejack tries to help her. its got fantastic prose and its just damn lovely! I've done fanart of it before, its a sweet one, and its also just a really interesting direction to take Rarity's character that i'm almost sad to not see more of. Overpowered rarity whennnn Although i don't ship twilight and trixie, this fic of this pairing, that is still ongoing, is fucking hilarious. The comedy has wonderful timing, and the takes on the characters are endlessly entertaining

Stay tuned to this wonderful fic of Rarijack anthros (Inspired by the ones i designed, too!!) 'cause its gonna have a sex sequel that i've already gotten a sneak peek or two of, and i'm frotthing at the mouth about it. biting things even (i sketched the cover btw!)

This fic isn't rly horse yuri but its 1000 words of Sunset Shimmer being the utter insane badass i always wished she was; and I will continue writing her like so. I'm glad to see another writer also concidered the same

If you're like me, and think that sex is funny, this fic and it's two sequels are for you. Sunset Shimmer throws a party of deranged proportions that ends in debauchery and indulgence that nearly destroys the fabric of equestria; and it's consequences are hilarious. This is a rly cute short trans rarity fic, and it has a delightful amount of rarijack within. utterly adorbs. Almost sad to see it so short! Finaly, i'd be amiss to not recommend the fics i've written myself; Here are my two biggest and most awesomest i've done: The Return of Midnight Sparkle Is a take on MLP where there is no EG universe, and rather, Sunset Shimmer is brought to the mane 6 per twilight's request, and she absolutely does not feel like she belongs, and its a narrative about her desperate attempts of fitting in; and dealing with the fallout of her failings. I put an inordinate amount of effort on this one, even drawing covers for each chapter. I went DERRANGED with the idea of "what if sunset shimmer was on FIM and also it was gay as fuck." i basicaly wrote an entire season of the show and its finale. If you're a fan of Sunset Shimmer and Twilight Sparkle as a pairing, cannot recommend enough. Here's some of the art i made for it. Insanely sick chapter covers im super proud of The Princess and the Peasant is an all you can eat buffet for Rarijack enjoyers, I've taken the baseline of the story of "shrek 1" and i made it about Applejack and Rarity; And also expanded upon it and fixed some of the annoyances with the og story (No third act misunderstanding! On the contrary. Third act understanding. SEX.) The humble farmer Applejack has to rescue fair Princess Rarity from a dragon keep, and escort her across Equestria to ensure that her farm and family are safe. Of course, on the journey, those two grow a bit close... Too close. VEry very very veyr close. Here's a comic i've made of one of my fave scenes of it lmaooo Cannot express enough; If you're a fan of rarijack? This fic is EVERYTHING for you.

#writing stuff #ask #thanks for the ask. Please read my fanfics #I've been CHERISHING writing lately #its been an utter joy #fr fr

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nichiperi · 5 months

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happy birthday to meeee~ ヘ⁠(⁠￣⁠ω⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠)

#i have a lot of schmoopy feelings about this year #it started off as one the worst times of my life #but then somehow it morphed into the absolute best #i have a lot of appreciation and joy that i feel for a lot of people now that i feel like i can't adequately express #but i guess the point is i'm actually excited for the future for the first time in years #and i feel like i wouldn't have stumbled down this path if it hadn't been for the encouragement i got from people when i really needed it #i've been really inspired to work at improving my art and to be more open about it #i tried a lot of new things #not just artistically but in general #i'm happy i'm here! and i intend to keep being here and to keep making things that bring me joy.#weird weird things. i intend to get weirder and weirder hehehe. hope y'all are prepared! >:D #so to anyone who said anything nice about my art and writing since i've been here #i know it sounds schmaltzy but the stuff you said meant more than you know. thank you for letting me know you saw me.

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lauraneedstochill · 10 months

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I was searching but not for you

pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader summary: Aemond is eager to catch the thief who keeps stealing his gemstones but the person in question seems to always be one step ahead of him. words: ~ 4000 author’s note: about two months ago, I got the idea to write short stories inspired by the songs I like. this idea may totally flop, but I already wrote a few one-shots so I might as well post them somewhere. you can skip the song but I think it helps with ✨ the vibes ✨ P.S. don’t read the translation from French right away song inspo: Leagues — Walking Backwards (Spotify / YouTube)

>>> The first time it happens, it’s blindsiding — he gets a call in the middle of the night, and the words are rushed and the voice on the other end of the phone is panicking. Aemond sits up against the head of his bed, silky linen softy sliding down his chest, and the sleep is still clinging to his skin, and he can’t quite understand what’s going on. Surely, it sounds like a bad joke — someone broke into his office, someone found his safe. He’s the only one who knows the contents of the locked metal box, and he cherishes it very deeply. He doesn’t easily let go of the things he loves.

In about five minutes, his car roars through the empty streets, his heart is racing, his body fueled by the adrenaline that eats up the remnants of his sleepiness. Aemond all but runs — in the building, in the elevator, on the right floor. The security team looks so baffled, he almost wants to laugh. And then he sees it — his safe, accurately opened and seemingly not emptied. Because the uncut diamond in it didn’t take much space, and now it is, indeed, missing. There’s a note left, written in cursive so perfect, it looks as mocking as the words on it:

“A safe hidden behind a painting? Honestly, that’s just bad taste.”

His shock turns into anger in the blink of an eye.

>>> The fact that someone dared to steal from him is offensive enough, but the stolen gemstone also holds a special meaning — it’s the first one he’s ever bought with his own money, by himself, for himself. It’s not the biggest one he owns, not the rarest color or the most high-priced, but the auction it was sold at dragged for almost two hours, and the very last bidder was too persistent for his liking. Finally winning felt so good, it was addicting. Losing that very thing felt like a punch, and he hadn’t missed a single one before.

>>> He changes the locks and tightens security, but there are no leads — nothing on his cameras, and no one saw a thing. He begrudgingly tells Helaena about it when she finds a moment to check up on him in between hosting countless exhibitions in her gallery. That very gallery also stores one of his gems, so he wants to take precautions, just in case.

His sister brings him croissants and sips on matcha while listening to him, worry sawn onto her face. She reassures him she’ll be alert, she’s empathetic as ever. She then enthusiastically goes to tell him all about the new layout for the Van Gogh collection she’ll put on display next month. Her cheerful babbling gives him an hour-long reprieve from his inner torment.

On her way out, Helaena stops, her brows furrowing:

“Do you know who owned the diamond before you?”

“There were no details on the owner,” Aemond shrugs. “I only know his collection had to be auctioned for debts which definitely drove down the price.”

She gives him a heartfelt smile:

“I’ll ask around, then.”

>>> Someone steals the sapphire from her gallery precisely a week after their conversation. The gem of 150 carats is protected with armored glass and kept in a separate hall, but no alarms are triggered the night it disappears. Helaena only finds out in the morning and sends him a photo of an empty stand. When Aemond arrives at the gallery, police are already at the scene. They all wear the same confused expression.

“There’s no footage on the cameras,” his sister explains, perplexed. Then squints at him: “But they left a note.”

Aemond swallows down an annoyed grunt and spends ten minutes answering a pointless sequence of questions. Only then he gets to see the thing he’s most curious about. The piece of paper says:

“Your taste is better when it comes to gems. The exhibition looks great, by the way!”

He passes it on his way back — it’s a collection of some Swedish artist he’s never heard of. The painting closest to him is called “The Lady with the Veil”, and the woman on the canvas looks at him with a sly smile.

>>> The third time can take the prize for being the most ridiculous one. He made the purchase only two days ago — a pink diamond of exceptional purity, and the transfer is arranged in the strictest secrecy. He gives instructions, he hires two guards for the ride; he’s counting minutes. Aemond has a lurking suspicion that something is off when the delivery is 15 minutes late. But then the courier finally walks in, hands him the box locked with a digital code, and Aemond tenses up in anticipation. The second he opens it, his mouth falls slack.

“Are you kidding me?!” he roars — the box is empty, with only a pink ribbon left inside.

The courier shrivels at the sound and apologizes profusely. And then admits that they made a stop on their way. He says they went down the wrong route — because of some glitch in his GPS — and ended up at the wrong house. It took the man a couple of minutes to realize his mistake and come back to the truck. He has no explanation for why he thought that taking both guards with him was in any way a good idea, but he swears that the driver never left the vehicle.

To add to Aemond’s anguish, the two policemen sent to his place seem to be positively stupid. Not only do they not understand the concept of digital locks, but they also don’t grasp the gravity of the situation. One of them scribbles something in his notebook, then scratches his head with a pen, then asks:

“Are you sure it’s not just a case of miscommunication?”

Aemond is sure that he’s never been this close to strangling a law enforcement officer. He gives the cops a tight-lipped smile and sends them away, and he is still left with no information to get things off the ground. He’s also a little bitter that there was no note this time.

He’s staring at the empty box with a brooding frown when he feels his phone vibrating. It’s a text from his sister:

“There are rumors that the man you’ve got your diamond from was some tech developer. His identity was sealed by court order :( But maybe this will be of use? xx”

Aemond rereads the message, then ponders for a minute. That may explain all the technical malfunctions that he suspects were not accidental. It also gives him an idea.

>>> He orders his security team to look through all the street cameras along the route. Buff guys crash at his office, dragging in every monitor they can find, and strain their eyes to catch anything. Aegon volunteers to help although he mostly spends his time roaming around the room with a bottle of beer, leaving his fingerprints on every glassy surface.

Just as Aemond has hoped, they find the person of interest at the first stop the courier made. Except the video gives them no clue who they are looking at. The men watch as someone — wearing all black, their face covered — quietly sneaks to the truck, opens it and gets in, squirreling through the gap between the back doors. They do that with such ease, Aemond won’t be surprised to see them using a magic wand. The driver spends that time singing along to some rap song blasting in the car.

Aegon notices the strained silence and gets closer, then focuses on the footage. And then he starts cracking with laughter.

“Hey, it’s a woman!” he exclaims. “I know one when I see one!”

All the security guys lean toward the cameras and watch the recording again, following her movements and tilting their heads to the left in unison like some hypnotized owls.

“Well, that does look... like a female body,” one of them mumbles, others humming in agreement, eyes still glued to the screens.

Aemond feels the secondhand embarrassment creeping in and quietly growls, facepalming. He catches Aegon’s gaze, and his brother chuckles, his eyes crinkled.

“Man, you must’ve really fucked up for her to go after you like that,” Aegon whispers with a grin. “Is it bad that I’m kinda rooting for her now?”

Aemond can’t think of a single person who would want to cross him, let alone a woman. He’s not one to fool around or break hearts, and his own stays closed, and no one ever made it flutter. Incomprehension stirs up his thoughts the way a storm does the sea.

“So what’s your plan?” Aegon’s voice brings him back to reality.

“I’ll tell you when I have one,” Aemond sighs. “What I definitely don’t plan on doing is buy another diamond,” he swirls the phone in his hand like he always does when he’s agitated.

Aegon finishes his beer, then looks at the screens again.

“But you still have enough gemstones,” he drawls.

“Enough for what?” Aemond raises a brow at him.

“To get her interest,” his brother smirks. “Don’t you think?”

Aemond lets Aegon’s words sink in until he grasps the meaning behind them, and the suggestion leaves a hint of a smile on his lips. He instantly dials his sister:

“Hel, can you do me a favor? I want to hold an exhibition. It’s gonna be the most expensive one you’ve ever had.”

“Show-off,” Aegon mutters, rolling his eyes.

>>> The gallery is located at the end of the central street, overlooking a small canal with charming tour boats, with blossoming cherry trees planted along the way. Aemond plans everything down to the last detail — every camera’s placement, every guard’s position, he learns all the ins and outs of the building. The day before the event, his nerves are on edge, his mind restless, and he makes an irrational decision to stop by the gallery to take a quick look around. He warps between halls and examines the stands — all while answering countless calls he’s been bombarded with since someone leaked the story of his misfortunes to the press.

He’s looking at the layout of the upper floor, flipping through the pages, his smartphone pressed up against his ear when he rounds the corner — and suddenly crashes into someone. The phone slips out, papers scatter around, and he instinctively puts out a hand, and it rests upon another body, their skin warm against his fingers. He hears a surprised voice:

“Oh, excusez-moi!” and then it gets softer. “Je ne m’attendais pas à ce que tu sois là *.”

When Aemond glances down, he is left speechless.

A woman is looking at him, her parted lips curled up in a light smile, her features gentle, face expression amused. There’s a hint of mischief in her eyes, an alluring gleam of mystery he is instantly drawn to solve. She’s only wearing a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, and yet he thinks he’s never seen a sight so pretty. His hand stays on her waist, his thumb sneaked under the white material. He wants to keep it there.

She shamelessly studies his face until her gaze grazes his lips — curiously, intrigued — then she looks up.

“I am horribly clumsy, my apologies,” she finally says, her voice low and dulcet, and hands Aemond his phone and a couple of papers. He completely missed the moment when she somehow managed to catch all that.

“Makes two of us,” he utters, reluctantly removing his palm from the bend of her waistline. The touch of her hand compensates for it — their fingers brush, but it’s fleeting and it leaves him wanting more.

She helps him pick the rest of his papers off the floor, not giving him a chance to protest. She’s nimble and smiley, he is tacit and stunned.

“The preparations for the exhibit seem quite extensive,” she remarks, looking around, standing carelessly close to him but not close enough. “You put in a lot of work,” she casts a glance at him, and Aemond’s cheeks heat up.

“I had a lot of help,” he modestly brushes off the compliment, but his eye never leaves her face, and he doesn’t want to leave, either. There is no explanation for this feeling, for this need, for how flustered and tongue-tied he is.

“I should let you get back to it, then,” she takes a step back, moving out of his reach, and he can’t find a reason to make her stay for a bit longer.

“Do you plan on coming?” Aemond asks, and in any other case, he would’ve found the desperation in his voice to be embarrassing. Right now, he couldn’t care less.

She turns to look at him and holds his gaze for a good few seconds. She isn’t smiling but there’s laughter in her eyes when she says:

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” and then walks out.

His phone buzzes again, a string of unread notifications popping up on the screen. But it’s the girl with a velvety voice that hooks his attention like nothing else. He didn’t think to question what she was doing in the gallery.

>>> The exhibition is a bit too crowded, and Aemond scurries between the halls and watches the gemstones like a hawk, looking out for anyone suspicious. He tries to persuade himself it’s the only reason he peers into the crowd; it’s not. He also can’t help but wait for a certain person, for a very specific face to show up.

But minutes pass by and soon turn into an hour and then into two, and he almost gives up.

He stares blankly at one of the gems — Colombian emerald, a hundred carats of the purest green, — he was ecstatic to get his hands on it, and yet right now it looks dull, and it brings him no joy. He sees a gleam of the same color out of the corner of his eye and disregards it at first, but then he casts his gaze to the side, and his breathing hitches.

She did come, and when he sees her, his heart not only skips a bit but does a full-on salto.

Her dress is brighter than any emerald — the material flows, following every curve of her body, with a coyly slit up to the middle of her thigh. The waves of her hairdo fall to one side, and his eye trails her collarbones, the line of her neck, and moves up to her lips that are blooming red, radiant like rubies. She is so beautiful, all the gemstones pale in comparison, and he can’t tear his gaze away.

She goes straight to Aemond as if there are no other people in the gallery — she maneuvers between them but only looks at him, a familiar smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“It’s safe to say your efforts paid off,” she gestures at the crowd when she’s at arm’s reach. “I think congratulations are in order,” the words flow from her lips like honey.

He blinks a few times, then comes to his senses and finds his voice.

“Thank you,” he musters in response. “I suspect the gems are to blame,” he remarks and tries to put on his usual cold self-restraint. She isn’t having any of it.

“With so many of them, I can’t decide what to look at first,” she comes closer, boldly and unabashed, and he’s enveloped in her perfume, in the warmth of her gaze. He takes the hint.

“I can give you a tour,” he offers, and her smile grows wider. Then her eyes glide over the emerald, and she taps on the protective glass:

“This one seems rather pricey.”

“It was,” Aemond agrees, clasping hands behind his back, very pleased with himself. “Comes from the Muzo mines, a square octagon-cut 100.2-carat emerald.”

“The shape does help to convey the color depth of the stone,” she hums with satisfaction, but her eyes are on Aemond again. Seeing his questioning look, she adds: “The cut of a gem is what determines its value, isn’t it?”

He only manages to nod because her thigh brushes his, and he doesn’t even pretend to pay attention to the gemstone. Neither does she, taking him by the arm:

“So, what’s next on our tour?”

>>> He guides her from one display to the other, and they move further away from the crowd, into smaller halls, less noisy and dimly lit, the gemstones being the only bright spot in each room. She asks questions, and their conversation flows, but he quickly notes that she knows more than she’s letting on.

“You seem well-versed on the topic yourself,” Aemond assumes as they take a stop in front of yet another stand. The yellow diamond on it catches the light and sparkles like a little sun.

“My father held a great appreciation for gemstones of all sorts,” she reveals, with a tinge of sadness in her voice. “I guess I’ve learned a thing or two from him.”

“Are you a collector too?”

She softly laughs, and her gaze turns playful:

“I value the rare beauty of them but... I think I find the buying process more exciting. It’s all about the chase,” she murmurs, leaning into him just a bit.

She’s mesmerizing, she’s a charade, and he’s captivated beyond understanding. But before he can say anything else, a loud noise shatters the silence between them — the fire alarm goes off. А monotone voice on the speaker orders everyone to leave the building.

“That’s odd,” Aemond mumbles, more to himself. He hears people’s voices in the distance and gently takes her by the hand. “We should go too.”

“Maybe it’s a false alarm?” she doesn’t move. “I am sure the security will turn it off in a minute. With how well this place is guarded, you have nothing to worry about, right?”

It dawns on Aemond that he didn’t think once about the safety of the gemstones in the last hour, and it’s just as concerning as the unexpected evacuation. To add to his worry, the overhead lighting goes off.

“We should wait for the emergency generator to kick in,” she suggests, not bothered in the slightest. He should find it weird, but he can only think of how close she is, how the faint light from the display contours her face.

“Um, it will take — ”

“About three minutes,” she finishes up for him. “We just need to find a way to pass the time.”

“I think I’ve told you all there is to know about the collection,” Aemond lightly chuckles. “Unless you got any other ideas?”

“Well, I don’t usually do that but...,” she says quietly, looking up at him as her hand lies on his shoulder, then slowly moves to his neck.

“Do what?” he is caught off guard, he can’t concentrate on anything other than the movement of her palm. “Do you want to —”

“You talk too much,” she interrupts him with a smile, her finger tugging at the collar of his shirt, and then her lips cover his, and the words die down on his tongue, and all the sounds disappear.

Her lips are rubies but they feel like silk, intoxicating like wine, and before he can think it over, he kisses her back, and he can’t think of anything else, and his hands find her waist so easily he wishes to never keep them away. She allows him to lead this time, to set the pace, his fingers tugging her closer, his mouth fervid — and he’s insatiable, and he wants to leave her as breathless as he is. He succeeds in that.

When they part, the light is already on.

“I didn’t mean to take your attention away from your precious stones,” she breathes out.

“I think I got a hold of another one,” Aemond trails for her lips, but she laughs against his mouth.

“I meant actual gems.”

“I can recognize a real gem from a fake one,” he retorts and brushes away a strand of her hair that fell loose.

“Can you?” she throws him a cunning look and bites her lower lip. “Oh, Aemond,” she then gets quiet, almost hesitant, her gaze hinting at something unsaid, something important. “You should’ve let me make the last bid,” she whispers all of a sudden.

He stares at her in confusion, and there’s a ringing concern in the back of his head, a nascent hunch. Simultaneously, another realization kicks in:

“You never told me your name,” Aemond finally grasps.

“And you never told me yours, you just assumed I knew it,” she’s not offended, she is very much enjoying it. “I did,” she traces the contour of his jaw with her index finger.

He’s about to say something else when they hear hurried footsteps approaching.

“Mr. Targaryen, we were hoping you would — Oh,” the guard falls silent upon seeing them. The man reads the room and gets clearly abashed but Aemond doesn’t.

“I would what?” he asks, unfazed, not removing his hand from her waist.

“I just wanted to inform you it was a false alarm, but we are going through the cameras to look for any suspicious activity,” the guard explains, then holds a pause. “Maybe you would want to join us?”

Aemond looks at her, his face expression apologetic, but she doesn’t make an issue out of it.

“You should go,” she encourages. “Make sure that everything is fine.”

He doesn’t want to but he has to, they both know that. What he doesn’t know is why he feels the need to make promises to the woman he’s only met twice.

“It will only be a couple of minutes,” his hand glides down and captures hers.

“Take your time,” her thumb careless his palm, and then she lets him go. He feels her gaze on him on the way out.

>>> Aemond walks through the empty halls and corridors, catching a glimpse of Helaena and Aegon standing outside with all the guests, his brother’s hand draped over her shoulder, both laughing at something. He’s glad that everyone is safe — he is also glad that Aegon won’t get a chance to tease him. Aemond is pretty sure there’s a red hue left on his lips but he only thinks of it when he walks into the security room, and it’s too late to wipe it off.

“Anything caught your attention?” he nonchalantly asks the guards that are watching the security footage.

“Nothing so far,” one of them informs. “The evacuation went without complications, took us about seven minutes — started with the green hall, all according to the plan,” he proudly states. Aemond absentmindedly nods.

“And what was it with the light?”

“Oh, that,” the man frowns. “Something set off the emergency reboot of the system. All our guys were outside, so we sent one of the security men who stayed back at the site to check the generator.”

That string of words bothers Aemond.

“Stayed at the site — you mean, in one of the halls?” he guesses. “Which one was it?”

“The green one, it’s closest to the basement,” the guard tells him without a second thought.

Aemond thinks of the floor plan, then counts the minutes in his head. Then he realizes:

“So the emerald remained unguarded the longest.”

>>> He’s the first one to run out of the room — and the first one to reach the green hall, his heart racing. But, despite his worst fears, the gem is still there. Untouched, big, green, dull.

... Dull.

Aemond watches it silently, and the gears in his head start turning faster. He comes up to the stand, eye fixed on the emerald.

“Take it out,” he asks, his tone commanding. “Now.”

A member of the staff gets the gem from under the glass cover, and Aemond takes the emerald in his hand, then turns his phone’s flashlight on. Under direct light, the jewel radiates a rainbow of colors, bright and iridescent. Just like plain glass. To prove his theory further, he drags the bezel of his platinum watch over the stone’s surface — and it leaves a very evident scratch.

Someone gasps behind his back, and there’s no need to say it out loud. Still, he does:

“It’s fake,” Aemond concludes.

The invited jewelry expert holds a hand to his heart.

“But it’s not possible! Not possible,” he muses. “The cameras were on for the duration of the day, we’ve got the footage right here!”

They were on today, but not the day before, Aemond notes. He drags out all the pieces of information he can think of — coincidences, memories, words:

“The man you’ve got your diamond from was some tech developer,”

“My father held a great appreciation for the gemstones,”

“The preparations seem extensive,”

“It’s all about the chase,”

“You should’ve let me make the last bid,”

— and the puzzle comes together.

“God damn it,” he says under his breath, closing his eye.

And then, while everyone looks clueless, Aemond lets out a laugh. There is no anger in it — if anything, he feels relieved. For him, the chase has gotten quite tiresome. But oh so worth it, he thinks.

“You can put it back and invite everyone in,” Aemond gives the emerald to the expert who seems doubtful.

“But what of its authenticity?”

“Well, just don’t let anyone take it out and put it under a flashlight,” Aemond sneers. Then he turns to the guards: “Can you show me the yellow hall?”

When he sees the place empty, he rushes out without another word.

>>> The sunset spreads over the sky, flooding it with orange and crimson, and Aemond searches for her in the crowd and in the street but to avail at first. His eye roves over the mass of faces, bodies, vehicles passing by — and then falls on the other side of the canal. He recognizes her in a heartbeat.

She changed back into jeans and a t-shirt, with a leather jacket thrown over, a black motorbike parked next to her. The wind ruffles waves of her hair and the hem of her shirt, and Aemond wishes he could sneak his hands under it again. He doesn’t know if she sees him in the side mirror or if she feels his gaze — he hopes it’s the latter — but she turns to him, and their eyes meet.

She flashes him a smile that lits up her whole face and then turns into laughter. Aemond can’t hear her but he remembers the sound of it, and the corners of his mouth tilt up. It feels like there’s no distance separating them, no people, and no channel of water strewn with fallen cherry blossoms. She taps at the pocket of her jacket and points at him — he looks down at his suit and in a second he catches on to what she means. Aemond puts a hand in his pocket and finds a piece of paper inside. It’s small and gently folded, it’s the same cursive he’ll recognize anywhere:

“Didn’t get a chance to tell you last time — you really should invest in a better security system. Makes me wonder how good is the one you have at home. Maybe I should check it out.

Until next time, Y/N.”

When he looks up, she’s already left, but the smile doesn’t leave his face.

He doesn’t know if it’s a challenge or a date.

But he can’t wait to see her again. * “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t expect you to be here.”

✧ the original dress in all its glory ✧ “The Lady with the Veil” 💕 another fic where the girl makes the first step 🔞 another fic with a green dress

💚 my masterlist

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

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idolomantises · 1 year

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there's something so comforting about artists you admire talking about their own struggles and insecurities

#txt #was watching supereyepatchwolf's video on chainsaw man again and listening to fujimoto express regret about things he didnt learn #and how he's clearly envious of his peers is so... comforting?#i think about my own strengths and flaws and often times i get so frustrated with my shortcomings #im not good at drawing feet; my backgrounds are purposefully simplistic and lack a lot of detail; sometimes my designs have a tendency to #overlap or feel very 'safe' in terms of what i really want to do #its why; despite my love for clowning on media and animated works. i never want to feel like its from a place of malice #the joy of art is always seeing those little mistakes and nuances. its also noticing the achievements other creators have made that you #still lack #even for a certain hell-based show i love to poke fun at for its many. many issues. its undeniable how incredibly passionate the work is.#and i do respect anyone who is willing to get their flawed media out there (myself included)#i see stuff about people calling me their inspo or how flattered they are when i compliment their work and its like. gee. i hold myself at #such a high bar and even still im always surprise when people tell me how much my work moved and changed them #i really love writing just little fun things that i just dont really see anyone else touching and its kind of fun how despite my own #personal grievances with my own flaws and mistakes #people really do find things that they love within them.#anyways I know this is getting long but I’ve just been getting sentimental abt the creation of art #sometimes people make fun of me for love of drawing women and lesbians and bugs and so on #and while I will never let me deter me from my process. sometimes it does get to me #but then I remember that I love doing this and could ever see myself holding back #and knowing despite how other people feel. I have so many followers who resonate with my weird ass shit #that it’s all worth it. ya know?

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purple-heart-x · 2 years

Note

I’d love to see those drabbles 👀

Any requests? Here are the ones I either have or have ideas for that I could write decently quickly! (I've also added a few that fit the vibe but weren't in the post.)

Tight restraints

Waterboarding (not the actual scene, just flashbacks)

Hallucinogenic drugs

Sleep deprivation

Inconsequential information for necessities

Touch deprivation & isolation

Underwater/Drowning

Water drip torture

Eating something they don't want to

Starvation after rescue

Drowning

Temporary blindness

Caught in an animal trap

Mer-whump? Kind of?

Vivisection

Stress positions

Good ol' beating (this one's fun)

Hypothermia

Hyperthermia/Heat stroke

Bad medicine (also lack of said medicine at first :D)

Tiny whump

Claustrophobia

CPR (which also includes medical care by people who very much cannot adequately medical care poor whumpee, the only one who knows how)

Forced to watch rescue abandon them

#writing prompts #ask #request #whump #whump writing #joy writes stuff #if you have a character you want to experience a certain situation pls specify ^^

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silverskye13 · 2 months

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Every once in a while I like to relisten to Diabolical to remind myself that RnS's source material is the silliest thing on earth.

#spazzcat barks #apparently im feeling talkative today hello #how many weird statements can i put on my blog after so much only screaming in tags #anyway Diabolical continues to give me much #much joy and happiness #glee -- whimsey even #Helsknight straight up calls himself a knight diabolical -- you adorable edgelord you #also Welsknight's final line:#you embody all my evil and i am not afraid / ill defeat my inner demon for this is my crusade #[chefs kiss]#we stan a hero who is fighting for Right and Good who also just happens to be the antagonist of the story we're writing #and by we i mean me i stan i stan it very much #once could correctly argue thats the plot of half the stuff i write

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yellowocaballero · 7 months

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i simply must ask- what makes an OP character (protag or otherwise) *work* for you, vs what doesnt?

Hi! This is a very astute and good question.

It's tension.

When a character is in a fight scene, the basic question and source of the tension is "Will they win?". Logically, they're probably going to win, they're the hero - but there should be a push and pull within the fight, where the audience pinballs between "he's going to win!/oh no, he might lose!".

You can't do that with an OP character. There's never any question. He's going to win. So the tension has to come from someplace else. You have to ask a different question.

The question can vary. "Will he win under his self-imposed constraints?" (e.g., your OP character is a pacifist and wants to win without shooting his gun). "Will he win without going Sicko Mode, which is bad and distresses all of us?" (e.g., your OP character is only OP when he unleashes the Demon Self, which is bad for him). "Will he win without revealing his identity or secret? (e.g., your OP character has to win a fight without using his OP powers, because otherwise he'll face social repercussions).

Alternatively/in addition, you change the type of conflict. If your character is guaranteed to succeed at every physical fight, then the primary/'real' conflict should be on an emotional, intellectual, or psychological level. The story can no longer be about the physical fights. They have to be won through intellect or cleverness. The path towards victory has to be through intelligence, kindness, self-actualization, etc.

But absolutely most importantly: watching the OP character be OP should be fun. It should make us pump our fists in the air and go 'fuck yeah!'. It should be thrilling, exciting, and a spectacle. We know the detective is going to catch the bad guy - we're watching for the how. We know the clever protag is going to pull one over on the bad guy through sleight of hand and trickery, we're watching for the reveal of what exactly they did. Don't neglect the joys of watching Mr. OP be delightfully OP. But that is the payoff, and we need sufficient buildup to get there. Watching Mr. OP go sicko mode is the joy, but it's not the path. It's no longer about the if they're going to win, it's about the how. And that should be fun to watch.

My friend @lazuliquetzal has good commentary on this, as usual: that when we say "a character needs to have flaws to be interesting", what we really mean is "a story should not bend itself to accommodate a character". A character without flaws is fine, actually. But the story shouldn't backflip to give them everything they want. This is all really simple. For some reason people act as if this is extremely hard.

TL;DR: Watch Mob Psycho 100 and then sit and figure out why Mob Psycho 100 is one of the best anime of all time. Between One Punch Man and Mob Psycho 100, ONE understands how to do this.

#my asks #im going to reblog this with some examples actually.#trying to keep my posts fucking shorter jklasdf #I genuinely really like reading OP protag stuff because it shifts the lens #I really like silver tongued con artist guile heroes #because the joy is always HOW they're going to pull one over #some genres are literally nothing but OP protags and they still dont even understand like #what makes the genre fun.#if youre going to write a genre you have to know what makes it fun.#like. what. seriously

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thatonebirdwrites · 2 months

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I still plan to finish my TLOK: Shared Moments series -- especially Book 3.5 and 4 at least, but I simply cannot do the pace I did last year. I can't. My health is too poor and my heart too broken. So let's talk about it.

For this post in particular, I want to discuss how parts of the Korrasami fandom broke my heart.

I also will talk about how Supercorp fandom is helping me heal. I want to be clear here. This post is not about pitting these fandoms against each other. Both have their flaws, their beauty, their awesome people, and their mean people. I love them both. This is simply my tale of how one broke my heart and how the other helps me heal that.

I also preface that there are wonderfully beautiful people I've met in the Korrasami fandom, some who have become friends over the span of the last year and a half. The kindness and care from @snazzy-korra and the Korrasami friend I talk to on Discord has been life-saving in different ways. I'm forever grateful and highly appreciative of these people's kindness and support and for the kind readers who left kind comments.

I also wish to be clear that I have always been honest in my end-notes about the fact that I have a disability, that my health might slow me down, or I may share an anecdote about my life (my disability impacts my life heavily, but it also is not all I am) to explain why I wrote a scene the way I did. Folks seemed to appreciate learning about the inner workings of the writer's mind and the research I've done. So it's why I tend to have detailed end-notes.

So when readers, who acknowledged these end-notes and commented about my bravery at being a disabled writer, turn around and viciously attack me and pull out every single ableist argument about how the character, who became disabled in my story, is now less than?

That is fucking personal.

That is them directly telling me that they don't see disabled people like myself as their equal in dignity or respect. They don't even respect me as a person worthy of being treated with kindness. Instead, they remind me yet again of how they view disabled people as less than.

Where they wanted the disability written out of the story. They wanted erasure, and thus it felt like a stab in my heart.

Because in the end, such arguments are rooted in a fear of this simple truth:

Anyone can become disabled at any time.

Some people fear that truth. Likely because they would have to face the fact that the horrid ways they treat us disabled people could be how they end up treated if they become disabled.

So instead of fixing society and the systems harming us disabled folks, and creating instead accessible and equitable and kinder systems that help all people thrive -- they instead demand erasure. Demand that people like me cease to exist in their space. That our stories not be visible.

It went beyond a fight in comments to direct messages/asks and at least one tumblr blog directly harassing me (referencing my writing as the reason). It felt like my few places where I felt somewhat safe to share my writing had been broken into and trashed.

It's sad and heartbreaking in so many ways, because these people are refusing to see the absolutely beauty and wonder that is disabled people and our creativity.

[Yes, I know the tools that can help protect me like comment moderation, but again, the point of this post isn't about fixing my behaviors.

Because my behaviors weren't the problem. It's about a very real problem in fandoms, where AUs that involve a beloved character becoming disabled turn into an avenue to cause harm to that author. (Instead, of just not commenting and not reading it.)

If this isn't pointed out or ever talked about, then how do we learn and grow and find ways to repair the fandom to be kinder? To call out hurtful behaviors and support those harmed by it? Why should we let folks suffer in silence, when we can talk about it and better support one another? To build better habits and encourage others to build those kinder habits with us?]

Becoming disabled is not a bad thing. It doesn't have to be. We are still beautiful, wonderfully creative, and awesome people who deserve the same love, respect, care, and dignity as any non-disabled person.

Ignoring or running from the pain doesn't make it go away, as I did that and instead it ended up tainting what had been a deep love.

Acknowledging the pain and/or grief and choosing to heal is what alleviates it. The Korrasami fandom introduced me to fanfiction. I'd never written fanfiction in my life before I decided to write How Was Those Three Years to dig into how those years were like for Asami.

I'd never read so much fanfiction before either. I didn't realize the wealth of creativity and wonder that is hidden in the corridors of AO3. It was a beautiful sight to behold. I discovered this truth through Korrasami.

Writing Korrasami helped me rekindle my writing again. Even with my poor health, even when I struggle to get out of bed, even as I lost my ability to do things I used to love to do, fandom helped me re-establish my writing habits. I was writing again. The one thing I love to do the most.

At least my health hadn't taken away my writing and art. Isn't that a beautiful thing to discover? I found a way to grieve what I lost but still rejoice in what I can still do. But at the same time, I've never been more hurt and shattered by a fandom than I have daring to write an alternate universe story, where I learned that the limit of people's care ends at the moment they perceive your disability.

Where you cease to be a person in their eyes.

Where you become less than.

Thus, I truly struggled on how to move forward for months, where writing became harder and harder to do.

I didn't want to lose the joy I had found, but I didn't know how to safely heal either. And I like sharing my stories. The act of sharing them was part of how I redicovered my joy of writing again.

It was here on tumblr, where I found a niche that helped me heal.

It all started with a continuation to one of @fazedlight's ficlets, which randomly appeared on my 'for you' page.

I hadn't even finished Supergirl yet at that point, but the AU in that ficlet, where Kara decides to trust Lena and reveals she's an alien due to the alien detector? How utterly fascinating way to rewrite that scene.

I'm not even sure why I felt the need to write that continuation, but it's like my fingers had a mind of their own. I felt so inspired, and after a few months of being trapped in that well of feeling utterly broken, it was like glimpsing sunlight for the first time in months.

And I found I couldn't stop. I started to write other little ficlets based on GIFs about Supercorp. I started reading fanfiction about Supercorp. I realized Lena Luthor is really just a morally grey Asami Sato, and Kara Zor-El Danvers is basically Avatar Korra. So of course it was easy to write them. I already had practice with Korrasami.

I then went and watched the last three seasons to finally finish Supergirl, and was horrified by just how bad the writing was in 5 and 6, that now I wanted to write my own fix-it fic.

But I was scared to do it. I'd already had my heart broken by Korrasami. I already had a big project there I need to finish for my own sake, because it's so, so important to my own heart.

But at the same time, should I dare to share my stories again? Put myself out there in a different fandom?

Because I can't stress enough how I had seriously considered deleting my AO3 account due to how hurt I was over Korrasami (my two Korrasami buddies kept me from doing that, and they might not ever realize their influence there. I'd downloaded all the fics I'd written and gave myself a due date to decide.)

I was scared to share my stories, and I needed support to decide if I could do it again. If I dared to do it.

Then I discovered thanks to @luthordamnvers and @snowydragonscave a server for Supercorp shippers, and Holy shit.

It was okay to be disabled there.

People from all sorts of walks of life were there. They were supportive (and such enablers, my heavens).

I wasn't seen as less than.

People treated me like a human being.

It gave me courage to start posting the stories I'd written about Supercorp to AO3, and then holy crap.

The comments from Supercorp readers welcomed me as a new writer. They were encouraging. (Sure, there was mean comments here and there, but they weren't so horrifically personal in their attacks like the few hurtful Korrasami readers.)

I wept over those comments. Those people may never know how healing it was to read kind and encouraging comments. These people welcomed me, a stray writer into their shelter, and gently and tenderly offered support, advice, and constructive criticism in ways that uplifted the author.

Sure, it's possible I'll get viciously attacked for who I am again in the Supercorp fandom, but right now, most folks I talk with in the Supercorp fandom have been kind. Mean comments haven't been so acutely personal in their attacks, and it's a reprieve that allows space to heal.

My first love - Korrasami - will always be my first love in terms of ships. This is a truth. Supercorp is second in line, but I feel, right now, it's a little safer for my heart to write Supercorp.

I do promise to finish Shared Moments, but it will take longer simply because I'm still healing.

Parts of the Korrasami fandom broke my heart, but a good portion of the Supercorp fandom is mending it back together.

That's a beautiful thing too.

The stories I write are imperfect. I know I mess up a lot. But I do hope that people walk away from my stories having learned something. Or at the very least walk away with some semblance of hope.

Because in the end, in a world that seems hellbent on reminding marginalized people of how our lives are disposable, choosing hope becomes a radical act in liberation.

Our stories deserve to be told. Deserve to be cherished.

So in conclusion, never underestimate your kindness toward others. You may touch them in ways you may never fully know.

Thank you for all my readers, who have been supportive and kind. You're helping a broken writer heal. I will forever appreciate and treasure all of you.

Thanks for reading.

#korrasami #supercorp #meta stuff about writing fanfiction #disability #disabled characters #tw ableism #idk why i wrote this #was writing this a mistake #thank you to all the kind readers who leave kind and supportive comments for writers #Never underestimate the power of your kindness and joy at sharing your thoughts with us writers

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