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the-kipsabian · 4 months

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wrestling fic writers!!

i have decided to be the change i wanna see, so lets do a nice little thing for each other, as a community full of incredible and talented writers. yes this is writer specific only, but thats cause thats where the main problem of people not interacting with creative works lies in this fandom as far as i can tell and have seen people talking about it especially in the last couple of months

if you read this, please add links to your written works. it can be just a single fic youre really proud of, your writing blog, your writing tag, your ao3 account, anything where your works can be found

and if you leave your link here, PLEASE check out someone else that has left their works, and interact with them. leave them a comment, even just a kudos, REBLOG their fic, etc. interacting is the keyword i want to emphasize here, along with building a sort of a masterpost of where to find people writing in this fandom

and if you are not a writer, youre still highly encouraged to interact with this post and share it and show love to the writers in this fandom, obviously!! i think that should go without saying, but adding it in anyways

a bit more about my vision and resources and such under the read more, but thats the gist of it. happy linking and please be kind and supportive to each other!! 💜

nobody is too big or too small to add their things on this list. if you write and post anything in this fandom whatsoever, be it fics or drabbles or headcanons, any companies or any kind of ships or reader inserts or any content whatsoever no matter how 'dead dove dont eat' or hell even if its just meta, we welcome all here and nobody can say that one thing is less valid than another. just please tag your content accordingly, especially if theres content warnings, and feel free to mention what you write, who you write, any info you wish to leave that would help people before they click on your links. but even so, that should not and hopefully will not deter people from interacting, no matter what it is. someones trash is another ones treasure, i promise you

and unless the amount gets really overwhelming, im personally going to be checking out everyone that leaves something here. unless it squeaks me out, but even then, i'll spread the word. and i just wish as many people as possible will do the same, and not just use this as a potential board to only get eyes on their stuff. ofc thats also the point, but you should give as much, if not more, than you get. we need to be kind and supportive of one another (besides, from personal experience, if you show love to someone else, they are more likely to do it back than without you taking the first step, so... pay it forward)

as for resources, heres a few links that should be helpful in leaving comments and feedback. of course everyone does their own thing and no comment is too big or too small to leave, but for those who need them. if you have anything you'd like added to this list, dont hesitate to get in touch or drop it in the post yourself!!

101 comment starters

ao3 floating comment box

kudos html

dont know how to comment? easy solutions

a quick hot guide to commenting (by yours truly)

an overall guide to appreciating fanfic writers

and just in general.. leave people comments. leave them asks about their projects. just go over and gush about their work. i know it sounds embarrassing but writers love nothing more than to hear that someone likes what they are doing. if you find a fic that hasnt been updated in forever, comment on it. it might just be the spark the author needs to continue. while kudos and likes are nice, and just as valuable to some, its definitely in the words the people leave for them that matter the most. im not saying this to put pressure on anyone, its just how it is, and i feel like unless people are writers themselves, and even then sometimes, thats just hard to grasp, especially if the writer is a smaller and less popular one who doesnt get a lot of traffic in the first place

i think thats all. just be nice and considered to everyone, reblog peoples works, this post with others add ons and so forth. and if i find anyone talking shit here or at other writers for something they share, you'll be blocked and im probably taking your kneecaps. be fucking nice. we are all struggling here and we need to stick together

happy sharing and commenting 💜💜

#wrestling fanfiction #wrestling fic #aew fanfic #aew fanfiction #wwe fanfiction #wwe fanfic #i hope this make some sort of coherent sense #despite being a writer im really bad at words lmao #i also dont know what to tag this with without clogging main tags so im going to trust moots to get this going first #just. this is a topic im passionate about. i love writing i love writers and having seen the wrestling fandom as of late really struggling #with this. we need to do something. even a little bit helps. actually get people leaving feedback and commenting again #supporting each other. we can do this together #dont let dreams be dreams lets fucking do this #just be nice and help each other out #im gonna stop now before i get overly emotional. if theres any questions let me know tho i think i got the main parts pretty clear here #again moots. im trusting you to get this started. im not gonna add my own shit here immediately this isnt about me #this is about the community as a whole #i also hope nobody is afraid of adding themselves here. you are all valid and worth the attention no matter what #just remember to also give if you leave something here. look at the previous links. look in the notes to find more people #okay thats it i need to make dinner now #lets just be kind and support one another. promise me that 💜#night is an absolute mess on main

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drconstellation · 4 months

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Goats, Crows and The Flood

Or why Crowley turns the goats into crows in the Job minisode

If you're reading that and thinking "eh, what's the Flood got to do with it?" then read on. It wasn't done just so Crowley got to change his name. It's never as simple as that. C'mon now, this is the GOmens AU, I'm not going to write a meta about something like this and not give you at least three if not four layers as to why, now, am I? Certainly not, and this one won't be any different.

Recently I picked up a book that has been sitting for far too long on a pile near my kitchen that needs sorting through called Parallel Myths* and in it is a section on Flood myths. (It's got lots of other good bits as well, but the Flood myths are what I want to talk about here.) The Flood is a wide-spread myth, with stories all around the world from India, to the Greek myths, to the Incas and Aztecs and in North America as well.

There are four stories that include crows as messengers who are sent to look out for land. The first is our familiar bible story. Oh, did you miss that bit? Yeah, I know, you keep getting told about the dove that represents the holy spirit that came back with the olive branch. Why would they want to tell you about a dirty old crow? And why is that crow dirty anyway? Ah, hold that thought...we'll come back to that shortly.

Another very famous story that include a crow being sent out to look for land after a great Flood is in the epic story of Gilgamesh. While on a journey Gilgamesh meets an old man named Utnaptishtim who tells the hero how he survived a great flood by building a boat after being warned by the gods to do so, and then floating for several days before coming to rest on a mountain top. At first he sent out a dove, but the dove returned. Then he sent out a swallow, but the swallow returned also, so he knew there was no land yet. But the third bird he sent out was a crow, and it didn't come back, so Utnaptishtim knew it was finally safe to leave.

There are also crows mentioned in two North American Flood myths, with the Cree and the Algonquin, and in both stories they are also sent to look out for land.

So why am I telling you this? Because of this:

Which is, as we know, is a bit of a play on words, but it establishes the association between the ungulate offspring and the human offspring when we run into the next occurrence of the innocent being killed on the Almighty's fickle whim in the Job minisode in S2. And we know our favourite demon is just not going to take that lying down that without some kind of protest.

So after delivering his open monologue to the goats, which gives an insight into himself, then being confronted by Aziraphale, and revealing he has a permit, from the Almighty Herself, no less, he turns Job's goats into crows.

(And if you've missed the bit about why the goats, and not the sheep, which the archangels kept going on about, its because sheep were seen as more "Christian" as the rams were considered faithful to their ewes, as good followers should be, but goats were observed to just do it with any-nanny, with no sense of commitment, if you get what I mean, so they were considered more "demonic" in nature.)

The bible seems to have a bit of a love-hate relationship with birds. On hand they can be used for food or sacrifices, on the other hand they are metaphorical demons! There is an association made between "birds of the air" and demons, waiting to pick off the weak (of thought) and young before they can be enfolded into the "safety" of the church.

Even the noble eagle is frowned upon in a way, as it eats carrion, or rotting meat. And that is something ravens and crows are known to do as well. This eating of dead animals, and humans on the field on the ancient battlefield, led crows to be associated with death and the afterlife, and by extension, transformation from one form to another.

(I can't help thinking at this point about the Sandman's assistant crow helper that travels between worlds, but also I've written a couple of metas about both Crowley and the Bentley being facilitators for the crossing of thresholds between different worlds.)

If you've ever had a close association with a crow or two- and I have, over several years, they can be wily opponents! - you come to respect their intelligence and adaptability, no matter how they might be frustrating you! **

The raven is also mentioned in the Book of Job 38:41

Who provideth for the raven his food? when his young ones cry unto God, they wander for lack of meat.

We didn't hear this line delivered to Job during the minisode, though we certainly heard some of the other lines from verses 38 and 39 that come before and after it. God is in the middle of telling Job about the universe, the earth and the creatures upon it, and how She looks after them. The line Jimbriel speaks about the morning stars all singing together is Job 38:7, for example. Just before mentioning this loathsome bird, She mentions that most noble of animals, the lion. But look, She also cares about ugly croaking raven fledglings that seem to get kicked out of the nest as soon as they can fly. How do they fend for themselves? It is seen as the mercy of God that she provides for each of the creatures of the Earth, both the lion and the raven. (Well, there's some interesting metaphorical links riiiight there...I hope I don't need to spell them out....)

So where are we? We've gone from a crow being a messenger for Noah, to kids/goats from the Flood scene in S1E3, to demon-associated goats being transformed into demon-associated crows in the Job minisode in S2E2, just before Job's human kids are saved from destruction by being transformed into geckos - which is also a significant symbolic creature for resurrection (which I explain in another meta.)

You know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if we loop back for a longer look at the Flood in S3. Kids, crows, a transformative experience...

Va-va-voom, here we come!

*Parallel Myths by J. F. Beirlein (1994) A Fascinating look at the common threads woven through the world's greatest myths - and the central role they have played through time. ISBN 0-345-38146-7

**I know there are corvids all around the world, and they can be shy, important birds in the ecosystem but here in Australia they can also be big bullies who know they are bigger than the other birds and throw their weight around accordingly and then do gross stuff like dirty up the backyard bird bath by finding discarded sandwiches and dog bones or even Lego blocks and drop them in to "soften" them for later consumption and just leave a filthy mess there for everybird else. yyyiikkk.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #good omens analysis #good omens theory #crowley #good omens s3 #goats #crows #not the kids #the flood

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keystonepublishing · 9 months

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Ten Pages from the Gazetteer of Time by Jonathan Edelstein

I maaaaay have overused the drawings of Shaun Tan for this particular bookbind.

I may or may not be sorry.

Remember how I said how First Do No Harm was Jonathan Edelstein's earliest published work? Well, I was correct. But before that, Jonathan did write another piece of short fiction that is not officially published in any magazine or anthology. In fact, this story can only found in two places across the internet; a series of old Facebook pasts and a fiction thread on AlternateHistory.com.

It is this. Ten Pages from the Gazetteer of Time.

To describe it is... difficult. It is akin to Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities but focusing more on history, cultural evolution, and the relationship between cities and people. In fact, Jonathan has said this short story is inspired by Italo Calvino's work, and it really shows.

Printing the cover & endpapers was an experiment unto itself. Early on, I wanted to use the drawings of Shaun Tan (who has given permission for anyone to print his drawings, so long as it's fully non-commercial) as they have the perfect vibe for this book. But I also wanted these prints to last long without getting smudged by my naturally sweaty fingers.

So I cut pieces of drawing board paper to A4 size, sent them through the printer, cut the drawings to appropriate size, and sprayed them with an non-acidic, acrylic-based gloss varnish. The texture and results weren't what I desired - some moisture can still enter the prints and some of the crispness is slightly dulled - but it is definitely more protected from open moisture.

The chapter titles are typed using Doves Type Text while the main body of work are done with Alegreya. For the most part, the formatting for 9 / 10 chapters follow what you see above. The sole exception is the final chapter for Ynyr. For story reasons, I wanted to have a representation of singularity and so used a photo from Adam Block that perfectly matches the chapter. The photo also worked as a good overlay for the chapter title, conveying the awe and centrality of the singularity for the city.

As with previous bookbinds, I also added a meta notes and comments section to archive the reactions and discussions of early readers to the story.

All in all, the production of this book took a bit longer than the last, owing to the printing and glossing of the covers and endpapers, as well as editing the images to fit the pages. Although, there are still some kinks in the finished bind - the cover print does not encompass fully to reach the endpapers - I am reasonably pleased with the result.

Full thanks to Jonathan Edelstein for his permission to bind this work, and to Shaun Tan for his permission to use his drawings. As for Adam Block, uh, please forgive me.

P.S: I took the liberty to save the original forum thread for this story onto the Internet Archive. Enjoy!

#bookbinding #fanbinding #Jonathan Edelstein #Ten Pages from the Gazetteer of Time #short story #surreal #surrealism

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waitmyturtles · 8 months

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THE MORNING AFTER: ONLY FRIENDS, EPISODE 5 ("CH-CH-CH-CHANGES / TURN AND FACE THE STRANGE") EDITION

Well, well, FUCKING well. Man, I am REELING. THAT. Was a HELL of an episode of a drama. Jojo and his team need to applaud themselves.

Let me set this up by sharing with y’all a tweet that really stuck with me after episode 4, but I think it’s pertinent to episode 5:

Now, yes -- this is a touch of a generalization (many of my queer friends are straight-edge-and-or-early-to-bed-while-living-in-cities folx), but I want to note something important in this tweet.

Before I got started on episode 5 last night, after having seen a lot of the meta and reactions on my dash throughout the day, I shot a note to dear @ranchthoughts that I thought I'd have to get a little #oldmom on this episode. Speaking to chibi's note above: toxicity happens to be a common human trait. Seeing that there was QUITE a bit of surprise for Boston's "outing" of Ray to Sand on my dash actually surprised me.

From my lawyer friends, I learned about the following concept, and I just cracked the fuck up the first time I heard it, because it rang really true once I got my head around it: a lawyer friend once told me that when he started out at a typical major American law firm, his orientation included hearing a presentation from an older managing partner about the idea of the "equal opportunity asshole." Meaning: there's workplace harassment against protected classes, like race-based or sex-based harassment. But: can you get sued if you treat EVERYONE AROUND YOU like shit? And, he didn't mean on a personal level, not on an attacking level. Just on an abrupt, aggressive level. A bossy level. A very direct-toned level.

That kind of interaction -- an interaction with an equal opportunity asshole -- we know those kinds of people, right? These kinds of folks are...titchy. They might jump to conclusions. They're rooted in their worldview ONE HUNDRED PERCENT. They lack empathy. They make you feel unsettled. They are emotionally disconnected from you. They have NO interest in being emotionally connected WITH YOU.

When I dove into episode 5, I really thought I'd be writing about Boston as the equal opportunity asshole, and I think that this theory still holds to a great extent, but -- there's a but, a slight and fascinating-to-me but, that I'll get to in a second.

@ranchthoughts did the thing once more of covering EVERYTHING in her episode 5 ephemerality breakdown, so dear Ranch, I'm just gonna repeat some stuff you said in my own words, if you don't mind. First off, a couple of gushes:

1) That blind dining scene had me swooning. "Life is like a box of chocolates: you never know what you're gonna get," was what I was hearing when I was watching that. These lovely idiots are blind to what's happening in front of them, and what that means to them -- BUT THAT'S OKAY, BECAUSE THEY ARE YOUNG. YOUNG AND INEXPERIENCED. The blind dining metaphor, oh gawd -- using your senses to come to realizations about how you're truly feeling, and how to connect better with WHAT you're feeling? Slamming my hands on the table! BRILLIANT. Mew is SO clueless (OR IS HE?!?!??!).

1.5) And -- remember (all you young folks out there!). Youth is fleeting (cc the Ephemerality Squad). What we're watching of this cohort of "friends" is their building their bases of life experiences NOW, that will TEACH them how they will live more EXPERIENCED lives in their futures. Will their lives be better? Who the fuck knows. But their FUTURE LIVES will be shaped by what they're experiencing NOW.

2) Ranch nailed this already, but Sand is just as bad as Ray in living in the annals of time. (He's also naughty for another reason, which I'll get into in a postscript.) He's got the vintage tees, he wants to rewind to Woodstock, he's a fan of mostly classic Brit rock (....I will not call the Arctic Monkeys classic Brit rock, I will not, thus, "mostly," lol.) Dear friend @neuroticbookworm described this phenomenon of Sand's in the frame of Ray dabbling in a day of poverty tourism, as essentially what his day and night with Sand constituted. But I'd also add that Sand's living in a fantasy world of a couple levels to break the monotony of his everyday life. Those flashes of hope that he'll travel to world to festivals one day -- as he clocks 450 baht (around $12 USD) per bottle, as he sings, as he gets up and gets down -- yes, Ray is his fantasy, his non-existent 25th hour, Ray is the break from monotony that Sand needs as a thing to look forward too. Of course it comes crashing down.

3) But it'll come crashing down anyway, because I will posit the following: Sand's survival fantasies are necessary to keep him going by way of motivation, because Sand is going to be held back by others, and not just Ray. Sand is caught in a trap of filial piety. (OH SHIT! GIMME!) He's paying off his mom's debts.

We don't know how much the debts are. [We're seeing in Dangerous Romance that Sailom is getting his ass beat if he and his brother don't pay the debt collectors on time every month. Shit, the debt collectors are even trying to make Sailom an escort (which then turns into Kanghan buying off Sailom himself, but lemme leave that alone, WRONG SHOW)]. But even Sand's mom admits: Sand is solving a problem of MY OWN CREATION. How good is my son? He's a very good son. Drink up, honey.

Sand thought of Ray: wow, this guy might be into me, and shit, I'm into him. And I could use this right now! I could use this break. And that illusion came crashing down when Sand -- an intelligent dude! -- put two and two together real fast. And Sand, very rightly -- because he is FAST learning independence, in a totally different way than the main OF quartet -- pulls the hell away, and puts away the fantasy of Ray at Alone O'Clock.

3.5) I just want to note, real quick, that we now have TWO of my favorite-ist themes in this show: we have intergenerational trauma by way of Ray, and filial piety by way of Sand. THANK YOU, JOJO AND TEAM! *This* bitch is TRACKIN'.

4) Big ephemerality note here: I just, I SWOONED, GOD, I LOVED IT, WHEN RAY REVEALED HIS MOTHER WAS AN ACTRESS. And that she was bitter about getting pregnant and how that affected her career. Are you kidding me? JOJO. NINEW. ALL OF YOU. BRILLIANT. The ephemerality OF SHOWBIZ ITSELF.

Aren't all these actors risking their damn careers by potentially BLOWING UP THEIR SHIPS for the sake of this show? (I mean, that's actually a little far-fetched, as FirstKhao will be the first GMMTV pair to have an intercontinental fanmeet, BUT STILL.) God, the commentary on the FICKLENESS of showbiz was just CHEF'S KISS.

5) As Ranch noted, this was the episode where CHANNNNNGGGGEEEEE was the big bell ringing. Top needed something different than his sexual monotony -- so he goes after Mew, and shit, homes is bored AF. (@lurkingshan covered this perfectly here.) Mew contemplates changing for Top, the LASIK, the sex, all of it. Top seems to try a different kind of sex with Mew -- soft and romantic sex that ends with "I love you." Nick (oh, my bubby Nick), changes for Boston, becomes ripped, finds buttons and slacks. Boston contemplates whittling his list down. Ray wears secondhand (lol, it's called "vintage," asshole). Sand changes his routine to accommodate Ray.

And yet. I very, very often say in my posts that the process of behavioral change is INCREDIBLY difficult.

The five stages of behavioral change are: pre-contemplation, contemplation (Nick and the podcast), preparation, action (Nick at the gym), and maintenance.

The risk to this process, at any point in time, is: RELAPSE.

Think of how difficult it is to quit smoking. To go on a diet. To start an exercise routine. To stop biting your nails.

What is the thing that marks these processes more than anything else?

It's the RELAPSE into the old behavior, the old habits.

We really saw Boston trying to change...something. Trying to stick out...something with Nick. Trying on something new. Kinda like the way Ray tried on his secondhand shirt.

And then Boston experiences a familiar trigger: a trigger of jealousy when Mew calls him, innocently, to give Boston the heads-up that he's about ready to experience some cherry magic.

And that trigger, like all of our own triggers -- stress, a change of environment, a change of the people around you -- sent Boston back to a place.

Listen, I will, in no way, ever defend Boston's behavior. He was drunk and high AF, and he's generally toxic. Jojo is totally egging this on.

I would absolutely call Boston an equal opportunity asshole. He's only seeing the world from his own worldview, his own desires, his own desire to control whatever he can control around him.

But like I said before: toxicity is FAR more common that we'd like to believe. And toxicity within someone doesn't disappear very easily -- just like any of our habits, be they good or bad habits.

Boston was trying out a new life, for a few minutes (lol), of being a LITTLE LESS EPHEMERAL, a little less aloof -- a little less toxic. And a trigger brought him back to his bad place, and I think what we saw in that damn outburst was a relapse of the highest order.

Ray repeats to Nick what Top and Cheum have already said. This guy, Boston? He's nasty. Stay away. Boston's an asshole. Boston's still being stigmatized, and still living up to his label.

How would I summarize all of this? Throughout this ENTIRE episode, what was screaming within my head, as I said above, was: youth is fleeting. Youth itself is ephemeral. The experiences these young folks are going through at this moment in this show will build their experiences for how they will survive (or not) in their futures.

We may think that Boston, and Ray, and Mew, will not learn from their dumbass behavior, but -- they will. They will have no choice. Because their time being this young, and inexperienced, and idiotic, will flee. They'll graduate, and they will have to learn how to survive in a "real" world that may very well be far more brutal to them than their proximate friendships are to them right now. And man, if they have to experience lives that are MORE brutal than these proximate friendships they have, then good LUCK to them, because, well -- shit. It ain't pretty the way it is right now.

...

P.S. I just thought this whole scene was brilliant. Sand, honey, you're not as innocent as your meow feelings are letting on. I'm holding you accountable for what you're saying to Ray, too.

P.P.S. JENNIE.

(HAPPY SUNDAY, EPHEMERALITY SQUAD! @ranchthoughts @lurkingshan @neuroticbookworm @distant-screaming @slayerkitty @clara-maybe-ontheroad @twig-tea)

(HEY, SQUAD: if you tag me in things, and I forget to reblog, send me a DM! I'm on the last stages of this moving chapter of my life, and I don't wanna miss your meta!)

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yourantag · 2 months

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The Red Means I Love You (Edgar×Reader)

AN: This was supposed to be finished and posted on Valentine's Day. However, as you can see from the word count, that was a fool's errand. I wanted to delve more into yanderes since I find them fascinating in writing, and now, here we are. Staining White Day red, I present to you the most generic title for an Edgar fic you will ever see. (Btw, I apologize to Edgar fans- I might've massacred your boy but I swear I tried my best.) Word count: 4.9k words TW: Blood, violence, murder, yandere themes, and blackmailing. Summary: Accepting the invitation of a dubious letter sounds just about as bad as it actually was. Oletus manor is not a name spoken without notoriety, after all. Was that where it all began? Was this your first mistake? No, it was further down the line, wasn't it? Yes, perhaps it was when you became the muse of an artist with no inspiration.

Reality has disappointed you time and time again. The expectations of a life of peace was crushed easily under the hands of society. So, you fled. You fled inside your head, transporting yourself into worlds of fiction. Romance, mystery, fantasy, and the likes kept you alive. It was the only thing you could really call safe.

Among many genres, you favored one above the others.

Horror.

There’s a certain comfort that comes from these fictional tales. You know they aren’t real, that the killer can’t find you, that these psychopaths don’t exist. Are there people similar to them? Sure, but they aren’t in your life. Thus, they merely stay as silly little people within a book.

But, it’s not quite enough. The thrill of words upon a page cannot compete with the real deal. While you weren’t stupid enough to seek out murderers or the like, you were still dumb enough for Baron DeRoss, apparently.

The envelope is white as a dove, a blood red stamp sealing it shut. It whispers promises and praise, false hope and rewards. It’s an enticing offer, truly. Would you let it guide you astray?

Well, you were never one to turn away from the call of the abyss.

“I really don’t get it. I know it’s game changing, but it’s not helpful for anyone else but me! Why do they want me to team up with them?” You huffed, resting your face on your palms. Edgar merely rolled his eyes, flicking his wrist. Focused on the canvas in front of him, he let the brush streak red through white.

“You said it yourself, your abilities are game changing. We don’t even know the full extent of your abilities– who knows? Maybe you could completely uproot the current meta. Besides,” He smirked, peering at you from the corner of his eye. “The hunters are terrified of you.”

You paused, letting your arms fall flat against the table.

“Scared? Of me? I’m just another survivor– what do they have to be afraid of?”

Edgar hummed, tapping the handle end of his paint brush against his lips. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t quite fancy being stabbed.”

Okay, yeah, that was fair.

Most survivors didn’t possess the ability to fight the hunter, not really, yet here you were. When Jack had first chased you, he had the reckoning of his life. You wince at the phantom feeling of stabbing steel into flesh and bone. That was, admittedly, not what you had expected to be your special skill.

You pouted, cheek against the cool wood of Edgar’s table as you glanced around. His room was an odd combination of an art exhibition hall and an actual bedroom. It was big and extravagant, but you wouldn’t expect any less from him.

Well, kind of.

Edgar confused you. Intriguing, even among the sea of other unique characters within the manor. You suppose that’s why he’s your favorite comrade and closest friend, if you could call him that. He’s never kicked you out of his room or flat out yelled at you, so safe to say he didn’t hate you, at least.

He’s neutral on all matters within the manor, composed regardless of what he faced. All he cared about was his art, nothing more and nothing less. Perhaps that was how he was unaffected by everything.

You suppose that’s natural for an artist. You can’t claim to understand it perfectly, but in a way, you truly understood.

“It’s like… you’re a moth drawn to a flame, right? Art is something you’re willing to give your life to, dedicate your whole body and soul to. Even if you have to sacrifice your time, energy, or health, for the perfect outcome, you’d do it.” You had said it off handedly, not thinking much of it then. In some respects, wasn’t his passion for art just like your obsession with thrill?

But then he had grabbed your hands, looking into your eyes with such fervor. His gaze burned, a certain desperation flickering within it. What was he seeking so fiercely? What was making Edgar, apathetic, snide Edgar, act like he had found an oasis in the desert?

“You get it?” He whispered, almost pleading.

“Maybe,” You responded.

That had been enough for him.

Since then, you and Edgar had become an odd pair. Not quite friends, but too close to be acquaintances. You gravitated towards him, as he did to you. More often than not, you’d ask him if he’d like to team up for matches. More often than not, he’d say yes.

You suppose that’s another reason why other survivors regard you with care.

Edgar isn’t the most difficult person to work with, but definitely not the easiest. He’s all too much and too little: haughty and snide, distant and cold. He’s a reliable teammate, not a likable one.

Still, the playful sparkle in his eyes as he led the hunter straight to you made you beg to differ. You’d curse him out as you ran, glaring at him after the match was over, before begrudgingly thanking him for supporting you with a painting or two.

However odd it was, you wouldn’t trade your friendship for the world.

There’s a letter in your mailbox.

That isn’t especially weird, considering that’s what a mailbox is for. Letters, mail, packages, whatever. Still, you can’t help but pause as you stare at it. A white envelope with a lovely red seal, the stamp itself in the shape of a camellia. The embossed flower is outlined in gold, shimmering softly in the low light of your room.

Gently, you pry open the seal, careful not to damage it or the envelope. Once you’ve successfully extracted the letter without destroying everything, you stare at it with uncertainty.

It seemed like this was a love letter from the presentation alone, yet you couldn’t help but feel a bit unsettled. You couldn’t understand why, however. It was beautiful, but simple. It wasn’t overwhelming, nor alarming. So why, from the depths of your heart, was your subconscious screaming at you to run? As though you were about to open Pandora’s box?

You unfold the letter and read.

Edgar gives you the nastiest side eye you’ve ever seen. Perhaps you deserve it after the stunt you pulled. Then again, what else were you supposed to do? He was going to be sent back to the manor if you hadn’t let yourself go down.

In the end, thanks to your sacrifice, the potential tie had turned into a win. Sure, you were the one sent back to the manor instead, but a win was a win! Though, Edgar seemed to disagree.

“You’re an idiot.”

You would be offended if it weren’t for the fact that he was wrapping your wounds. The tender touches were barely there, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. He was being careful, making sure you didn’t feel even an ounce of unnecessary pain. The concentration he was putting into taking care of you was something you had only seen when Edgar was painting.

The subtle quirk of his lips, eyes barely narrowed, and relaxed shoulders expressed more to you than any words ever could. The guilt that pooled into his chest, made evident by the quiet sighs he’d let out, seemed to manifest itself as kindness and gentle care.

It made you really want to tease him.

“Ow!” You hiss, flinching slightly away from the man. Edgar freezes, staring at you with concern.

“Shit– sorry, I didn’t mean to.” The sincere remorse in his voice immediately makes you regret your decision.

“Wait, wait, wait, no, I– gah, sorry. I was just messing with you.”

The painter’s formerly soft expression faded into a scowl, a glare sent your way even as he finished wrapping you up. Edgar immediately stands up, leaving you scrambling to do the same as he leaves the infirmary.

“Ahhhh, wait, I’m sorry! Wait, Edgar, I’m sorry, I swear I won’t do that again! C’mon, don’t leave me like this! I–” You trip on something, stumbling as you lose balance. You fully expect to kiss the ground, what with one of your arms in a cast, when lithe arms catch you.

You glance up at Edgar with a sheepish smile, gazing upon the apathetic look upon his face. Apathetic, to anyone else but you. You can see the little curl of his lips, the faint swirl of amusement in his eyes.

He helps you reorient yourself, hands on your shoulders. Once you’re safely standing, Edgar turns and continues down the hallway. His steps are slower than usual. It’s probably the closest you’ll get to an invitation.

You grin, chasing after him once more.

“So does this mean you forgive me?”

“No.”

“How do you manage to stay sane, painting the same thing over and over again?” You ask, half dangling off a couch. Edgar’s room is still as grand as ever, but you can see the changes. It seems more lived in, more homey. There’s a table that isn’t covered in paint, brushes, or other art supplies. There’s shelves with books instead of art supplies. Then, those cabinets have, wait for it, something other than art supplies.

It seems like a small shift to others, though that’s probably because they don’t visit Edgar half as often as you do. The first time you saw the couch, you thought you were hallucinating.

The Edgar Valden, using something other than a stool? Incredible, revolutionary, absolutely groundbreaking.

He did not appreciate your dramatics, or so he claimed, but you knew he was covering his mouth to hide his smile.

“I’m not painting the same thing, and I am, in fact, going insane.” Edgar responds, frown deepening as he mixes a few colors together. You hum, peeking at the canvas as much as you can from your position. From the sketch, you could tell it was a portrait. A rare occurrence, considering Edgar preferred landscapes.

“Why the sudden interest in portraits?” You ask, sitting more comfortably on the couch. Glancing at the shelves, you skim through the books. Edgar wouldn’t mind if you read one of them, right?

The man pauses, his expression almost bashful. It’s so bizarre you can’t help but raise a brow. Edgar has never been afraid to draw attention to himself. He’s no pushover, willing to fight for what he wants while still remaining relatively neutral. To see him like that, a dust of what can only be blush upon his cheeks, twists something in your heart.

Before you can untangle what exactly you were feeling, the painter coughs.

“Well, I tried talking with Victor about expressing oneself. He suggested letters, or other mediums I’m comfortable with. So…” Edgar stares at his canvas, his smile more so a grimace. “I’m trying out his suggestion, I suppose.”

You tilt your head, humming to yourself as you nod. Sliding off the couch, you grab one of the books on Edgar’s shelf. “Well, then I wish you the best of luck.”

His eyes linger on you, closing softly as his expression relaxes. When he opens them again, he starts creating new hues with more focus.

“I’ve been getting letters recently.” You mention, flipping another page in your book. Edgar paused, turning to look at you.

“And?”

You closed your eyes, contemplating. This really wasn’t something you had to tell him. But, well, nothing too interesting has been happening lately. The matches have finally grown duller, the thrill fading as you stayed longer. You were running out of things to ramble about, so why not?

“They’re love letters. Nicely decorated, with neat handwriting. If I had to guess, someone born into privilege.” You think Edgar flinches at that.

“It’s really sweet, honestly. A shame they’re anonymous.” You skim over the words on the page, brows knitting themselves tight. The main character was oblivious to the danger so close to them. How frustrating.

“A shame, really.” Edgar echoes back, delicately brushing shadows along the red camellias. His painting seemed nearly finished, if you only stared at the beautiful flowers. The rest of the canvas was rather barren, a figure still not yet painted whole.

“C’mon, theorize with me! Who could it be? I put my bets on Jack.” You sighed dramatically, head thrown back with your hand on your forehead.

You received no response, however.

“Hear me out! He called me darling, dear, and tried to kill me. Obviously, he fell for my sick kiting skills and great looks. I rest my case.” Still, nothing.

You were getting really worried with how unresponsive Edgar was being. Usually, when you started overexaggerating like that, he’d make a snarky remark. Something like “please, you get terror shocked at 5 ciphers” or “you make amphibians look appealing.”

The silence was really getting to you.

“I mean, he’s got confidence in spades so it probably isn’t him. Still, I kinda hope it is, he’s rather attrac–” SNAP!

Your head snaps up from your book, turning to Edgar so quickly you nearly give yourself whiplash. There, in his hands, are the remains of a broken paint brush. Blood oozes from his tightly clenched hands, slowly trickling down his palm and under the cuff of his shirt. That was reason for concern as is, but the most startling thing of all was his eyes.

Blue, like the sky. Blue, like the sea. Blue, like the wings of a morpho butterfly.

Blue, like the swirling vortex of the night sky.

You rush over, grabbing the first aid kit you know he keeps for you, before standing next to him. You’ve never seen him like this, eyes so dark and blank. It’s honestly scaring you a little, but that means nothing when he’s hurt.

So, you kneel, pulling out tweezers, disinfectants, and bandages. Gently prying his hand open, you discard the larger pieces of the brush. With the tweezers, you pick out splinters of wood embedded in his skin. You whisper apologies as you do, knowing this definitely hurts, but he doesn’t so much as flinch.

By the time you finally disinfect his hand and wrap it, Edgar seems a lot more like himself than before. He gazes at you with quiet consideration, blinking slowly. Languid, calm, almost cat-like.

“Are you okay?” You ask, holding his hand. In all the time you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him react like that. The kinder side of you hopes it’ll never happen again, if only so he won’t needlessly hurt himself like that. The morbid side of you wants to see him like that again, what you can distinguish as cold, searing rage threatening to consume him whole.

Edgar leans his head forward and onto your shoulder. The scent of citrus, chamomile, and something chemical tickles your nose, brushing against you as the painter sighs. He seems… tired.

“Let me rest my head, just for a bit.”

You don’t have the heart to say no.

The next few letters you get are… odd. Passionate as always, but far more obsessive. The first few had been sweeter, more tender. This was escalating in a weird direction, and as much as you loved yourself a good horror story, romance and horror never mix well. They were starting to threaten you, saying they’d hurt the people around you, and that was where you drew the line.

So, you start ignoring them. It sounds foolish, especially for a connoisseur of all things freaky, but life is more mundane than fiction. If this person doesn’t have the guts to confess to you, does it make sense that they’d have the guts to actually go through with their threats? Logically, no.

Besides, even if they did, the people of the manor are strong. They can hold their own. Even if they can't, that person will get outcasted for hurting a survivor, regardless of if they’re a hunter. “No violence outside of matches,” that was the first rule both factions set.

So, it was safe to assume you had nothing to worry about. You have more important things to deal with, anyway, especially with a new survivor arriving. His name was Orpheus, a novelist. You were thrilled, especially since he was the author of some of your favorite series.

You were busy with preparations, practically skipping with joy. The other survivors poked fun at you, both for your enthusiasm and the lack of a certain painter at your side.

Edgar was concentrating on his art, as per usual, and you didn’t want to bother him. He seemed a little lonely, though, so you tried to convince a few people to talk to him. They all just looked at you as if you grew another head.

“Are we… looking at the same person?” Mike asks, smile strained. You frown, turning away from the banners you were fixing.

“Yes! Edgar Valden, our resident painter, our sassy rich boy, our lovely old friend. I say he is lonely, and I think you should talk to him. I mean, you’re easy-going, fun, and silly. Who wouldn’t like you?” Even if half of it was an act. Still, Mike was one of the people Edgar tolerated better than most. Perhaps it’s because he’s another form of an artist?

“Why can’t you just, I don’t know, talk to him yourself? You guys get along just fine.” Mike looks away, fiddling with his hands. You narrow your eyes at the sight.

Mike Morton, local funny man, someone with dedication and deceit running through his veins, nervous? It’s not faked, the sweat rolling down his neck and the faster breathing all indicating he was genuinely nervous. Maybe even scared.

“Edgar, I really do love him, but he needs more friends. I think the only people who talk to him on a regular basis are Luca and I. Adding a few more people to that list would be nice, so…” You bring your hands in front of you, clasped tight as if you’re about to pray. “Could you please talk to him?”

Mike deflates, sighing as he nods. You smile brightly in response, promising to make it up to him.

“Hey bestie! You excited for the new survivor?” Demi croons, grinning as she tosses an arm around your shoulder. You laugh in response, leaning into her.

“That’s about the dumbest thing you could ask me. Of course I am! He’s written so many good books. God, I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around him. He’s made some stories that have basically shaped who I am now!” You sigh, smiling so widely your face hurts.

“Well, don’t forget your boyfriend in all the excitement! I can see he’s basically seething with envy.”

You pause, turning to look at Demi.

“Who?”

Now, it’s Demi’s turn to look confused.

“Uh, you know, Edgar? Are– are you guys not together?” She asks, genuinely shocked. You feel your face heat up, your hands itching to cover your blush.

“Wh– no! We are not! Why would anyone ever think that?”

Demi gives you a deadpan expression in response.

“You two are basically glued to each other’s side, go into every match together, hang out almost every day– Hell, you’re the only one Edgar has allowed in his room without it being necessary!”

Well, that’s news to you.

You furrow your brows, blinking in shock. Sure, you two hung out a lot, but it wasn’t like you guys were friends exclusively with each other. You had Demi, Mike, Melly, and even Violetta while Edgar had Luca, Victor, Andrew, and Galatea. It wasn’t like you… hung out… every… day…

“Oh fuck, we really do look like a couple.” You mutter, having half a mind to smack Demi as she laughs. She’s completely unapologetic about it, struggling to breathe as slowly calms down and giggles.

“So, you two aren’t dating?” She asks, wiggling her eyebrows. You huff, fighting back a smile.

“Nope, not at all.”

“Then in that case, I’m allowed to flirt with you as much as I want!” Demi cheers. She spins you around, causing a laugh to bubble up from your throat. The two of your twirl around in a silly dance, the faint sound of Frederick playing the piano the only background music.

At the end, she dips you down, smile upon her lips. She leans close to your ear as your smile is wiped away.

“Be wary of him.”

With Edgar, it’s like you’re taking three steps forward, then five steps back. Just when you think you’ve got him all figured out, he throws a curveball at you.

That desperation he had in his eyes the day you became his friend, flickering like a brilliant flame, you understand it now. However much he claimed he didn’t need people to understand him, how he didn’t need to understand others, it didn’t mean much. He still craved it, to be understood. To not have to be questioned, to not be approached with dishonesty, with intentions that lied beyond just him being him.

You suppose that’s exactly why you got along. You wanted to understand him, and he wanted to be understood. A match made in Heaven, you suppose.

It’s why it miffed you a bit that you really can’t understand Edgar at the moment.

He hates drawing portraits, yet he draws a figure, the same exact one, in every one of his new pieces. They look familiar, a lot like you, but you’re pretty confident Edgar would rather die than paint you. You’d tease him to Hell and back, all while he complains and swears up and down he’s never being nice to you again.

The landscapes, adorned in reds of all shades, always have that figure in each one without fail. Is he in love with someone? That would explain why he’s so weird lately.

Edgar’s odd behavior was already messing with you, but on top of that, the letters were getting worse. Instead of being slid into your mailbox, they were flat out in your room now.

Normal people would think someone just slipped it under the door. Reasonable assumption. However, unless that person has not only a very thin arm, but a long one, you don’t know how they’d manage to get it all the way to your desk.

You stare at the white envelope, stamped shut with a red seal in the shape of a camellia. The outline of the flower is in gold, though the beauty of the letter and the seal means nothing. Not when it got into your room. Not when it clearly has a splotch of dark red glaring at you.

Your hands are shaky as you open the envelope, a familiar curl of thrill fighting with your new found protective instincts. The letter is white as a dove, the red tainting it made all the more stark.

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you read.

‘I didn’t imagine love would be like this. Wonderfully warm, like the rays of the sun in winter, and unbearably painful, like a knife in my heart. Do you just like hurting me? No, I know that isn’t true. After all, you always look at me with concern when I’m injured. Still, it’s hard to believe you’re this dense.

These past few weeks have been driving me mad. Your attention has been solely on the arrival of the new survivor. You’ve been ignoring me so much I can barely stand it. Can’t you spare even a moment for me? Is that novelist really that important? Seeing you look at him with stars in your eyes… it makes me want to rip his head off his shoulders. He doesn’t deserve your attention, nor your admiration, not like I do. I’ve known you longer, loved you for longer. He doesn’t deserve anything from you, yet he gets everything I could ever want and more.

Did you know? When you’re excited, your smile turns bigger, more genuine, till dimples show. Your eyes crinkle just a little, your hands moving to curl in front of your chest. You stand taller, you shine brighter.

It’s such a beautiful sight, I hate that I have to share it. Sometimes, I wish I could just put you in a cage and never let you go. Then, you wouldn’t look at anyone else but me. You wouldn’t think about anyone else but me. But, that’s not how you should live. You deserve to be free and happy. So, I’ve decided to get rid of anyone that doesn’t deserve to be around you.

I think I’ll start with that novelist.’

Your blood runs cold.

Fuck.

FUCK.

Just who is this? Who are they and just why are they so obsessed with you? Get rid of those who don’t deserve you? Who gave them the right to decide that!?

You take a deep breath, desperately trying to calm your nerves. Your heart is racing, and for the first time, the thrill in your heart turns into true fear.

You’ve never minded being the one hunted. In fact, you practically adore it, the addicting rush of adrenaline pumping through you. It’s why you came to the manor. But your friends? They’re not the same, and you wouldn’t want them to be. You want them safe and happy, not hunted down by some freak who thinks they “aren’t worthy of you” for whatever sick reason.

“Fuck, fuck… Orpheus, I need to find– no, it’s probably too late for him, there’s blood on the letter. Okay, okay, stay calm, stay fucking calm. Who would be the next victim? Mike? Melly? No, it’s probably Ed–” You pause.

Almost comically, everything clicks in place.

Camellias.

Red.

Ignoring them.

Edgar.

You bolt out of your room.

Normally, you’d knock. You know Edgar hates it when people barge into his room. However, considering the circumstances, you think that’s the least of your concerns.

You can’t help but pray in your mind. To whom? You don’t know. You don’t think anyone can truly help in this situation. It couldn’t be anyone else but Edgar, but still, you prayed. You hoped against all hope that your conclusion was wrong.

Edgar would scold you for barging in, sigh, before smiling and asking if you were really that desperate to see him. Everything would be fine. It would all be just a cruel joke.

But just as life is more mundane than fantasy, reality is far cruller than fiction.

The large windows to Edgar’s room let in the light of the falling sun, casting the room in many shades of gold and orange. In the middle of the room, in all his glory, is Edgar. His back is to you, paint brush in hand. You’re hit first by relief, then with the heavy scent of iron.

You shake, hands covering your mouth as you finally process what's around Edgar. Orpheus, drained of blood, head sat on a chair, body left haphazardly on the ground. Jack, ghastly white and face twisted, his horror eternally memorialized in death. Demi, eyes closed and serene, seemingly asleep if not for the purple veins that roam along her arms.

You fall to your knees, the shock hitting you so strong you can’t stand up any longer. He was your secret admirer. The one who kept sending letters. The one who went into your room just to place them on your desk. The one who threatened to kill your friends. The one who did kill your friends.

Edgar, finally, turns around. His cheek has splotches of blood on it, his hands no better. It’s startling just how much of it is on him, but worse yet, you know not all of it is on him. There’s a lot of blood in a human body, much more in two, so where was it?

When he smiles, it’s just as sweet as it was yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. Was this really your friend, or a demon in disguise?

His smile, ever so sweet, only serves to unsettles you, looking more like a nightmare.

“Ah, you’re here! Come, I need to show you my newest masterpiece.” Edgar steps closer to you, dragging you by the hand to a canvas you hadn’t noticed before. He was standing in front of it, so it was only natural.

You numbly follow, heart in your throat. You’re grateful, distantly, that the “masterpiece” is not the corpses of your friends. You think you’re going to throw up, eyes trying to look at anything but them.

So, you gladly look at his so-called masterpiece.

You really wish you didn’t.

There, on the canvas, is a portrait. This time, it’s so painfully obvious it’s you that you can’t even deny it. Surrounded by red camellias, hands curled in front of their chest, with a smile so genuine, dimples showed. Eyes crinkled, back straight, and God, did it have to be so accurate?

The red of the camellias are familiar, as is the red of your blush, the colors of your clothes, your hair.

It’s all been painted using your friend’s blood.

Edgar comes behind you, his arms circling your waist. A content sigh leaves him, his chin resting on your shoulder. His hold is gentle, but firm, possessive in a way you never thought him capable of. His lips brush against your neck, a kiss much like a collar pressed into your skin. You can feel them curl into a smile.

“What do you think, my muse? The red means I love you.”

#idv #identity v #identity 5 #idv edgar #idv painter #edgar valden x reader #idv fanfic #identity v fanfic

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peacerisendove · 9 months

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Realizations I've made writing this Bart/Preston fanfic is that like how Barry's thing when he's viewed as a civilian was that he was always considered too late, Bart in contrast is always there for his friends. That's his defining characteristic in his civilian identity. He's reliable.

And I think that's so interesting because that perspective of him as reliable to his friends is contrasted to the perspective that he is not the most reliable as a hero.

I don't personally know what to do with this thought right now, but I find the contrast of perspectives regarding Bart to be so interesting and that Bart himself is such and interesting guy as well. He's got facets!!

#Bart Allen #Impulse #dove has thoughts #dove talks about comics #dove has been writing this fanfic for like a year. dear god. you can find the snippets on sleepyspeedster #Bart Meta #My Bart Meta

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commandershepardvasfuckit · 2 months

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Huh, suddenly there’s a lot of new people here

Previously I was the person that did elaborate character letters for the Dragon Age Characters

Then lotsssss of Mass Effect meta analysis stuff and fic (will always be around lol, I get distracted)

Currently I’m in bg3 hell and Halsin brain rot.

I write fic, character analysis/headcanons, and getting back into character handwriting and dusting off my calligraphy supplies

Also recently getting better about screenshots

Im usually down to chat headcanons and am pretty friendly (though I’m also bad about notifications so sorry if I missing something, it’s not on purpose!)

Nice to see new faces!

Headcanons/character analysis:

Halsin bear day

Werebear!Halsin

Halsin animal traits

Bg3 companions’ handwriting

Halsin sexy consent thoughts

VERY NSFW Halsin sex headcanons

Halsin blowjob headcanons

Smut (and other fic):

Fluff and dirty talk after final battle (Halsin/Tav)

Halsin teaches Tav how to blow him

Lovey dovey bondage and oral (Halsin/Tav)

Bear instincts smut (Halsin/Tav)

Rewrite for “at my age” conversation with Halsin (elven Tav)

Musing about Halsin morning sex

Original writing

The Dragon King’s Pet (nsfw, dead dove do not eat) 1, 2, 3, 4

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danpuff-ao3 · 5 months

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This year has had many ups and downs, and as of late it feels as if the whole world is a down. Real life has really smacked me down, and I've felt so isolated from all of the things and people I love. But as ever, the world is looking up, and I can see the light...and looking back brings me so much joy and fulfillment. I've accomplished so much that I don't give myself credit for. More than I'll dare type up here, but let's go through the highlight reel, shall we?

For my dear friend Beth's birthday, I finally posted some of my HP Astro work to AO3! (Speaking of which, I really should work on adding more soon...)

A_Loveunlaced (@a-loveunlaced) is an artist I very much admire, so the start of the year was super cool getting to chat with them, seeing their Snarry art, and writing a ficlet for said art, Again (and Again).

Delved into and fully embraced the controversy by running HP Chan Fest with @cindle-writes, which was such a cool and meaningful experience.

Plus I wrote some fics I'm really proud of for said fest: profane holy, Cruel Summer, The Virgin Bride.

Also my dear friend Viran (@mrviran) drew some fanart for Cruel Summer, I believe while it was still anonymous and everything! But she also totally called that it was me who wrote it, which is always fun for me when people know me in the Anon stages!

I wrote more fics for Kinkuary and Kinktober (which I always love!)

Shared more meta on AO3 with The Half-Blood History (I really do need to import more meta there!)

Finally wrote and posted chapter 3 for smile with sweet surprise (aka Stepdad Snape fic)

Started writing and sharing WIPs I've been long excited for: Wasted for Love (Golden Triad + Snarry) and A Taste for You (Sugar Daddy Harry).

I ran HP Fruit Fest solo! Which was a lot, but I had fun and I was super thrilled to not be the only one super into fruit!

I taught myself how to bind books, and now I have a growing collection of bound fics! Check out #danpuff binds to see some!

More recs, as ever, but especially the ongoing Dead Dove Diaries series of rec lists.

Speaking of recs, I'm helping mod @hprecfest, which is so fun for me! I love seeing people's recs, and I love being part of an event that is spreading so much fun and love around the community!

Also, making my own recs for the event! I've got at least one fic queued up for each day, I think! And some days have even more!

For Snarry-a-Thon I wrote a companion piece to last year's Contempt (aka my heart and soul), called Devotion, which my friend Aristi kindly beta read for me! The whole series is so deeply meaningful to me and it feels so huge to add more to it.

For Snarry Bang, I teamed up with my pal Viran (@mrviran) for The Curse of Anteros. I wiffle-waffled on what to write for the longest time, but my vacation to Orlando unlocked something in me. The whole fic hit me like a hurricane and came out in like a 2 week period. And the art Viran created for it is spectacular (I'm still obsessed). Oh, and it was such a treat having the fabulous @writcraft beta! There's nothing quite like having a creator you admire help your work be its best version!

And, of course, I had another opportunity to chat with my friend Beth for @fanficmaverickpodcast, with the episode: A Very Snarry Christmas.

And lots more, but this is plenty enough to be going with! Not half bad for the year, yeah? 😄

#danpuff stuff #2023 #my year in fandom

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autistichalsin · 1 month

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Hello!! :D

Just popping in to say ILYSM (in that strange, mutuals on the internet sorta way) and that you have lots of fans who love your Halsin-posting. Your post notifications always brighten my day. ❤️

Idk why in the world you’ve got people investing their finite existence on this good Earth giving you grief. Some of your stuff might not be everyone’s cup of tea (pleasing everyone is an impossibility, after all), but it doesn’t even come close to the kinds of things my favourite hardcore/“problematic” (<= self-described, including the quotations, lmao!) Halsin/bg3 writers and artists post. And I don’t see anyone clutching their pearls in their comment sections.

Like, when I click on the profile of one of my favourite writers (which includes you! 🥰 But not this example, I love all your stuff!) and see that they’ve posted a story with a description like: “hardcore kinky stuff that you’re not into, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat”, I simply keep scrolling and maybe pick one of the hundreds to thousands of other bg3 stories I could choose from. But maybe that’s just me. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(Ao3 has tag filtering, you guys, it’s amazing. Remember the fucking Dark Ages when Ao3 didn’t have that at all? How tf did we ever live like that? That’s the kind of shit you say Thanks for at family Thanksgiving. And don’t tell you guys haven’t figured out at least one of the dozens of ways to filter stuff out on godsdamn Tumblr of all places; we’ve been tweaking the etiquette of that for years!)

How utterly irrational it is for these people to look at such an openly Queer and Kinky video game — the likes of which I’ve never seen in the mainstream before (He-llo strategically advantageous BDSM scene! 🤤) — and decide that they’re going to go around policing how people iterate upon those pre-established themes. How did this fandom attract puritans of all people? [Insert “The Myth of ‘Consensual’ Sex” meme here.]

Any-hoosies, all this to say that your haters are a weird, vocal minority that are letting you live rent free in their heads, instead of doing something meaningful or joyful with their pathetic, puritanical existences. There are way more people who love the kind of meta and fics that you post.

Have a good day!! XOXO 🥰😘💋💖💛🫶🤙

Hello! Thank you so much- that means a lot to me. It's weird to think of myself having "fans" lol! Like you're not the first person to use that word but it's just. Such a weird (in a good way) concept for me???? Like!?!?!? But I'm so glad to hear you love my posts <3

Yeah, pleasing everyone is impossible, and it's weird that of all things, my extremely mild CNC kink fic has become the antis' boogeyman. Fam there is literal necrophilia kink in this fandom! (Not saying they deserve to be harassed either, of course, no one should be!) But the fic that has become the pinnacle of what's problematic in this fandom is a survivor writing about a fictional survivor using kink to reclaim their sexuality? Like. OK Jan

See, but that's the difference, you're a grown adult who takes responsibility for curating your experience, whereas others.... either don't, or they don't read it but act like the fic EXISTING is a problem. I guess some people are in for a rude awakening when they discover who the Marquis de Sade is......

God, remember BEFORE AO3? Remember FFN when half the time, the PAIRING wasn't even properly tagged bc you could only tag two characters at all, so people would by default just tag the most popular characters to appear in the story? And instead of tags, you had genres, so you had to decide if you wanted romance/hurt/comfort or friendship/tragedy or what? (I'm a certified Fandom Old- on my old account I was in the first 10,000 users on AO3).

Yeah, people really are missing the point of this game- and it's no coincidence most of these folks are younger. (And a lot are exclus too; I've seen them get angry at the BG3 characters being canonically pan, saying that "pansexuality is a made-up Tumblr sexuality). So... totally blind to the interwoven history of queerness and kink. Not surprising.

Thank you so much for this kind message, anon, you cheered me up a lot. <3 I hope you have a great day!

#discourse

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kaus-quietis · 10 months

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Lav's All-smiles Problem-solving Roooooundtable ch108 edition!

Welcome, welcome! To Lav's BSD ch108 discussion! Delivered to you via my funky dove Eliott, acting as my mystic messenger. These are random thoughts I had after reading this brilliant chapter, which, writing-wise, made the best possible use of Fedya's character, expanding it even more without even betraying his backstory. Maybe a backstory isn't needed after all, just look at how much FUN he is right now. I am in BLISS

Putting aside the fact that he is literally carrying the plot at this point, come sit with me, I make you a delicious Chinese black tea with rose petals and casually share my thoughts. Hello there, dearest Kat, yes, "where is Lav when you need her?", I am here, I offer you a hug, and to all my friends here who share the sentiment, I hug you too.

A. Before you say ANYTHING about "oh but? maybe Fedya is telling the half-truth? or a half-lie? what if his ability really is the evil one?", my brothers and sisters in Christ, listen to yourself. This man functions almost on a meta-level of character consciousness: he changed his facial expression and aura so convincingly, his tone, his speech, his posture, even the shade of his eyes, fooling not only Sigma, but the readers as well. We are used to characters changing the shade of their eyes when they change mental states or have certain (new) decisions in mind, we as a community are so used to this, all it took was one panel from the Conjurer doing this trick for so many of us to actually believe him and start, yet again, to spiral down the "what if he is good but his ability is evil? what if he is two entities? what if?" rollercoaster. This is so amusing to me, and in a meta-sense must be amusing to Fedya too. While speculation can bloom again based on this, I wouldn't be putting too much effort into reading into his lines here. I take it as a trick. It worked splendidly, almost like it attacked the fandom's major concerns and theories about his character and weaponized them against everyone. That's a meta-kind of tomfoolery. Trolling, if you will. I LOVE that Asagiri made him bamboozle every reader like this. His character so far goes into the best direction, it cultivates and expands his traits and skills in the best way. But let's pretend Fedya really is telling a half-truth there, which is there being an opposition between him and his ability. I talked about this in my essay (see pinned post), there really seems to be a divergence at the core of his character, but it manifests subtly, not like what we saw in ch108. Then again, not even on that can we arrive at any conclusive statements, because if we remember that, of course, "crime and punishment are close friends", it could well be that he and his ability are partners, and you bet I imagine they would BOTH indulge in peak tomfoolery like this together, if that meant one of them switching in and the other out for a sec. Remember, dear souls: aside from his "higher mission", abstract as it still is lore-wise, Fedya's keyword is "fun" or "entertainment", repeatedly. And oh he himself is even more fun now~

B. if Fedya would have wanted to mortally wound Sigma, he'd have chosen a more suitable place to stab him; it looks like a abdominal, lower quadrant, lateral stab, a deliberate choice, I would say, that technically avoids critical, most vascular organs (kidney and spleen for example) and main veins/arteries. I am no doctor, but from what I gathered, Sigma won't bleed out fast at all, and if untreated might get a deadly infection in a longer time (not counting the possibility of septic shock if we assume the knife penetrated and heavily opened an intestine). Sigma needs a medic asap (our queen Yosano when?), but will likely be conscious and quite able to move around and whatnot. Like I argued in my essay, Fedya most likely does not want to kill Sigma, or anybody for that matter, because keeping everyone alive to fulfill various roles and see how their will tosses them in all kinds of directions is more fun for him, more entertaining, but also more useful. He is a long-term strategist, like Dazai. "Our beloved monsters" ❤

C. Fedya evidently exerts some serious mental torment on Sigma, by making him stand by his choices, his will, just like he always desired. The flip side is that Fedya takes his time, or should I say gifts Sigma his time, in which he teaches him the full lesson of what Sigma wants. The responsibility that comes with acting on your own, the terror of facing the consequences when choosing on your own: right now, to Sigma, this freedom is terror. But Fedya is never a one-dimensional character. It's most probable he calculated and devised strategies for both possibilities (a. Sigma with rekindled determination touches him; b. Sigma backpedals on what he decided and does not touch him). The irony is that both scenarios are an affirmation of Sigma's will, because, while the first decision can be seen like foolish bravery, the second one can also be seen as wise self-preservation, if the circumstances so demand it. BSD is not a black-and-white series, diving head-first into danger is not its definition of bravery or heroism. BSD was always about measured decisions, ones the characters take upon themselves willingly. It may be time Sigma does that too, in his own way, and Fedya wants to see that. Why? Well, my guess is because it's fascinating to watch humans grow, and Fedya lives for the entertainment that comes with it. It is actually more interesting if we remember his line from ch42 (“People can be so simple… They truly believe they are thinking for themselves. (…) They don’t want to think they’re being led by the nose”): the pattern is, Fedya puts others under harsh circumstances, and then, under pressure, lets go of them, waiting for their free decision, the true test and expression of their hearts, so to say (which could make a superb discussion if we make a parallel between Kunikida and Sigma, since essentially what happened to Kunikida is happening now to Sigma, except Kunikida did indeed break down, but thanks to healthy support from his comrades he slowly regained his sense of self, and stronger than ever at that time, however… Sigma is alone, isn't he? but what if he needs to be in order to finally get a hold of his own self?). Anyway, how much of that expression is free, or how much is guided or manipulated, is a debate in itself, since it implies relating the freedom to the individual vs relating the freedom to the external factors and possibilites.

D. I do need to underline, just like Fedya also underlined it: Sigma already made his decision, right there when he still tried to get the gun before getting kicked in the face. Fedya moved on to the next step: testing how strong Sigma's will is when an actual chance to act appears. Sigma already accepted the physical pain, but how will he face the mental anguish? That is more Fedya's territory, a "specialist" of breaking people by simply knowing them thoroughly and choosing the right words. But now we gained new info: even in close combat, apparently, Fedya is not to be underestimated. That was a rather strong kick, anyway. But more importantly, he completely turned the tables in a situation where he would be in a total disadvantage. * chef's kiss * that was very bungou stray dogs of him.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd manga spoilers #bsd fyodor #bsd sigma #stopped working on my PhD to indulge in ritualic chants and expressions of love and devotion towards BSD's greatest character #the man himself #it's always Fedya #my love knows no death #yes I even typed these tags out for Eliott #I hope she has been a good circus ghost #but even is she was a bad or absent circus ghost I forgive her #she is the best and you agree #unless you think I am the best and in that case you're right lol #this was your daily dose of sensible ENTPs faking a massive ego #if you have questions please reply here or send an ask but dont stress the funky dove mystic messenger #we are both vanishing ENTPs like the Queens song Now Im Here Now Im There #i will still not be on my blog till a long time I have a PhD to write #no an ACTUAL PhD not my marriage proposal PhD that is already posted #but that one I will update too after more chapters pile up - maybe in November

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