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misspoetree · 8 months

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KinnPorsche + Text Posts: a quick Ep. 14 Rewatch Edition [Ep. 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13]

[Bonus: It will never be the way it was ]

#kprewatch2023 #and that's a wrap!#hope you guys has as much fun as I had #kinnporsche the series #kinnporsche ep. 14 #kinnporsche + text post #text post meme #vegaspete #thai bl #how did I break the tags again help 😭😭😭

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01-33 · 1 year

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“For Verstappen the win opens his season with the same confident and controlled statement of intent with which he closed out his dominant, championship-winning year in 2022.”

F1 Grand Prix of Bahrain — March 5, 2023 © Qian Jun, Mario Renzi, Sem van der Wal, Dan Istitene

#max verstappen #f1 #bahrain gp 2023 #red bull racing #and that's a wrap!#~#2023

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drarrily-we-row-along · 11 months

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Translucent

There was something unbearably intimate about sleeping with Draco Malfoy. Harry marveled at it; he was so unguarded in his sleep, eyes moving under his eyelids while he dreamt, hair strewn across the pillow.

On the nights Harry couldn’t sleep, he was more than content to just watch his lover.

Written for the @microficmay prompt: translucent (read more of my microfic may drarry fics)

#drarry #love #soft #fluff #microficmay2023 #50 words #and that's a wrap!#All of them (plus a bonus because of my dyslexia lol) done

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sleights-of-hand · 11 months

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🂡 FIRST ♣ PREV ♠ NEXT

🎲 CHAPTER ♥ ARCHIVE

#AND THAT'S A WRAP!#SoHComic #SoHLight #end of chapter perk and hiatus information to come on Tuesday

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sasslett · 5 days

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Wondrous Tails: Western AU

The wind howled as sideways rain pelted the thick, glass windows of the old saloon - and, for a mercy, it seemed the seals were holding for once, as the last thing Jess wanted in that moment was to have to rush outside to secure the shutters - for as much good as it would have done, at any rate. She was plenty busy enough as it was - the frequent storms had a way of blowing in all sorts of folks, primarily local ranchers and traders with an occasional stranger or two. Though those were few and far between; the only ones who ended up at her run-down inn in the middle of nowhere were those who had clearly lost their way in the winding foothills of the northern Shroud.

It was one such stranger that caught her attention that eve; she heard the doors swing open, glancing over her shoulder to catch sight of a tall, purple-haired Elezen - no one local, that was for certain. His leather duster was drenched, his matching brown hat looking no better as he hung both on the rack beside the door. It was obvious he wasn’t a local, judging by the way he glanced around the crowded bar, his gaze eventually settling on the staring bartender as he gave a small smile. One she couldn’t help but return.

“Caught in the storm?” Jess called as the man strode closer, settling himself onto a barstool with a tired huff.

“‘Fraid so,” the man sighed. “Thought me and my bird were done for when I happened to spot the lights of your saloon through the downpour. Can’t say I’ve ever seen a more welcome sight.”

“Well, we’re glad to have you.” She flashed him another grin. “So, what’ll you have?”

“Whatever’s warm. Doesn’t much matter to me.”

Simple enough. With a nod, she turned to see what she could drum up… only to glance back over her shoulder as she worked, finding his golden-eyed gaze tracking her every move, his head tilted, long, purple hair gently falling over his shoulder.

He caught her eye, flashing her yet another grin… and reminding her that she had a job to do, and that job was not to sit and stare at her customers, no matter how handsome and polite they may have been.

Shaking her head, she turned back to her work, only returning to the counter once she’d finished preparing his order - a bowl of chili and a side of fresh cornbread, accompanied by a hot cocoa.

“This to your liking?” she asked, watching as he gave a polite nod.

“Just so, miss.”

Curiosity got the better of the young Hyur; she leaned forward to rest her elbow on the counter, chin-in-hand, studying the strange Elezen.

“Can’t say I’ve seen you before,” she began. “You new to these parts?”

“In a way.” He gave a polite nod. “I’m from Coerthas, but live in Gridania. Was just making my way back down the mountain when the Twelve-damned rain hit; must’ve taken a wrong turn to end up here. Though…” He took another bite of his food with a satisfied hum. “Given the food and the company, I can’t exactly say it was a wrong turn at all.”

Something she… very much felt herself agreeing with, as she met his gaze once more.

“The name’s Varrus Varlineau,” he offered, holding out a palm. “May I ask yours?”

“Jess,” she supplied, placing her hand in his and letting out a soft gasp as he brought her fingers to his lips, his gaze never breaking from hers.

No, perhaps he hadn’t taken a wrong turn after all…

#my wols #my writing #wondrous tails #and that's a wrap!#all 24 done!!

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hansama · 2 years

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You can find the finished drawing here

BHC Papyrus - @bonelyheartsclub Expression meme used - magicalpouch on twitter

✦ This recording is around an hour and 45 mins.

✦ Music used: 02. taqumi - Jittersong | UNDERVEIL THE EXTRA (UNDERVEIL THE EXTRA website)

✦ Programs used: Drawing: Paint tool Sai Editing: Photoshop Recording the video: Camstasia Studio

#undertale #speed paint #Speed Drawing #bhc #expression meme #bonely hearts club #and that's a wrap!#WHEW that was a lot to edit and upload #i hope you guys enjoyed them :DDD

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sunshinemage · 2 years

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Wayfarers!

Look at them all!!! Thank you for inspiring me with your amazing characters 💙

as a bonus: a banner of them in their original colors, without the lighting

#and that's a wrap!#this was such a fun series to do!#thank you for all the glorious hair u_u #wayfarer #wayfarer if #things i drew #oc love #long post #also i have dubbed this series: the compilation of people who look up

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thelightofthebane · 1 year

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True Love Never Dies - Epilogue

He remembers Minerva’s laughter as she sat on David’s shoulders during the fireworks so she can see everyone and everything.

He remembers Max’s soft smile as he danced with Shinyun at the reception in the yacht.

He remembers Rafael’s grin as he surprised Anjali with a honeymoon in Europe.

He remembers Magnus.

His smile. His laughter. His love.

He remembers the gospel from Rafael’s wedding mass.

Love is patient, love is kind.

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres.

Read it here! By @khaleesiofalicante

#And that's a wrap!#I hope y'all have enjoyed the moodboards #thank you again for gifting us with this beautiful work Dani #True Love Never Dies #TLND #Malec #Magnus Bane #Alec Lightwood #Malec fanfic #khaleesiofalicante #moodboards #TLND Anniversary

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fuuon · 4 months

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·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ One Special Day VI ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

#shojo kageki revue starlight #revue starlight #my post #starira #revue starlight relive #and that's a wrap!

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spottedenchants · 1 year

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conclusion the last: a home

asked once:

do you love him?

friend, companion, the answer to your question, you… love him.

you love him, dear Caleb Widogast, and what’s best is, he understands.

it would be… silly, at this point, to deny the thread of indelible connection so blistering and brumal and trussed taut between you that it can incidentally be shortnamed as ‘love’. but that wondrously frigid tether, intangible yet tangled, it is but a part in the expansive tapestry housed by your ribs.

he is not your everything, but you love him. so then, you ask yourself, why?

why must this all be so hard? well, it doesn’t have to be.

for the time being, the garden in your chest no longer flowers, instead teeming with tender green fruit.

free birdsong serenades you, celebrating your cultivation.

familiar steps sound just past the garden wall; so very glad, you dare a peek.

you do care, dearly, both for and about him, so you do let him love you.

you bask in his touch. you no longer shy from his stare.

sky-wide and welcoming, shining in kind crescents, an outstretched hand cleaned of rich earth…

he tips your hat for a kiss over the fence, fresh citrus in his teasing smile; a sunrise, he cannot stay, not forever.

through garden gate, through cottage threshold, he passes on by and takes your heart with him, inside to where your gathered friends now await.

even with all this, still you wonder:

are you in love with him? are you in love with him?

perhaps you can’t know for certain.

but this unsated curiosity is not an admittance of defeat, rather, an acceptance that some things won’t make clear sense- at least, when seen under scrutiny.

thus, you stand back, breathe in, and there it is: the whole picture; your weaving, your beans, your place of belonging- all framed precious in just the right light.

so who knows. maybe the future holds further answers, new satisfactions and new views and new truths. now though, you dust yourself and step forth into your shared chosen present; grasping your friends’ hands, you settle right to embrace whatever’s next.

should you feel need or doubt, the door is forever open; you can always restart, replant, pick your words different, weave a new tale all your own.

through it all, one thought’s assured:

with your reasons to begin again cherished close, you won’t wade your bleak mires alone.

Happy Valentine’s and Arospec Awareness Week 💚🤍🖤

#and that's a wrap!#i'll have more thanks and things over on ao3 :D #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #shadowgast #ts!sg #chanse writing #poll weaving #twdyoat

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age-of-moonknight · 2 years

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Moon Knight Fail Compilation (Part Six)

1. Technically,,,this worked, so I'm not sure if it can be considered a fail, but surely there must have been some other course of action that he could have taken besides blowing himself up; “Chapter II: Relics of the Gods,” Conan: Serpent War (Vol. 1/2019), #2.

2. It's just...the whole combo of the incredibly lethal and elite hero with a cracked phone that's not even fully charged; “Blackmail,” Moon Knight (Vol. 9/2021), #4.

3. Not only was the TV show not very good, it actively compromises Marc's secret identity; “Blackmail,” Moon Knight (Vol. 9/2021), #4.

4. The sentiment that one does not need to be wealthy in order to do good is beyond excellent, but, Marc...you need to eat (i.e. "Marc single-handedly loses all of Steven's money"); “Blackmail,” Moon Knight (Vol. 9/2021), #4.

5. Marc is vomited out of a haunted house directly into a dumpster. He promises vengeance only to later befriend said haunted house; “Stranger,” Moon Knight (Vol. 9/2021), #9.

6. Yes, Marc did indeed get punched by a giant robot fist; “So White. Yet, So Dark,” Moon Knight: Black, White & Blood (Vol. 1/2022), #1.

7. Wrecked yet another taxi cab; “Wrong Turn,” Moon Knight: Black, White & Blood (Vol. 1/2022), #3.

8. Poor guy can't even get his preferred (admittedly rather complicated) Starbucks drink order; “Into the Mailstrom,” Damage Control (Vol. 4/2022), #1.

9. A highly-trained operator with unfortunately no defense against the average house cat; “Born to Be,” Moon Knight: Black, White & Blood (Vol. 1/2022), #4.

10. Like, seriously....no defenses; “Born to Be,” Moon Knight: Black, White & Blood (Vol. 1/2022), #4.

Bonus from Earth-1610: Tries to warn Spider-Man but instead Spider-Man reports him to the police; “Warriors: Part 6,” Ultimate Spider-Man (Vol. 1/2000), #84.

#fail compilation #Marvel #Marvel comics #Marvel 616 #Marvel 1610 #Moon Knight comics #Moon Knight #Marc Spector #Moon Knight Fail Compilation #and that's a wrap!#if any panels pop up in the future that seem shall we say ✨thematically appropriate✨ I'll just include the tag hahaha #thanks everyone for following along #these were rather fun to make!#and whoops lest I forget #long post

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reinarandraw · 1 year

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"Why do you cut your hair?"

OFMD Rare Pair Week 2023 @ofmdrarepairweek

Day 07: Free Day [Art + Fic 700 words]

The reason why I draw my old Sam Bellamy with short hair instead of long hair. It can be seen as a missing scene for The Last Voyage.

Ao3 link [HERE]

You can click read more and read it here!

Izzy had been working as Sam's first mate for a while now. He really enjoyed working for the man because he was always clear with his direction and goal. He valued Izzy's input and never dismissed his concern. He never played guessing games or played tricks on him. Izzy liked how Sam could separate business from pleasure. Sex didn't have any real effect on their professional relationship. Izzy really appreciated how structured Sam was so ready to do anything to help Sam.

One thing that he was required to do was cut Sam's hair. Sam had thick straight hair that would be a hassle if he kept it long. Well, Sam used to have his hair long. Edward also had long hair and beard, but he was an outlier. Izzy respected Sam's decision to keep his hair short even though deep down he thought long hair really suited Sam. He remembered seeing young Sam - pre Whydah - and his glorious long black hair. That was how he got his nickname Black Sam. Sam Bellamy and his long black hair.

He wondered how Sam would look now with longer hair. The man had a peculiar gray hair pattern that was concentrated on his bangs. Sam's hair was also strangely healthy and soft despite the fact they were on a pirate ship. Izzy really enjoyed running his fingers through Sam's hair during sex. It felt like silk.

Would Sam be even hotter with his long hair framing his face? He tried to imagine Sam leaning to the bulwark as he pushed some loose hair strand away from his face. Izzy found himself hot and bothered by his own imagination.

So one day, when Sam asked him to cut his hair, Izzy dared himself to ask him a question.

"Why do you cut your hair?"

The question caught Sam off guard. "For practical reasons. It's hot here and I don't really want people to know that I'm still alive."

Fair enough. "Long hair didn't bother you much when you were young."

Sam took a moment to think about how to answer that. Sam tried not to keep any secret from Izzy. He seemed reluctant to do it. There must be a good reason for the hairstyle change.

"Three things," Sam suddenly said. "First, to make me less recognizable. Second, hair loss. Long hair is making me lose more hair. It became gradually worse over time. I don't think I can pull a bald look like Paul. Would you still like me if I'm bald?"

"Shut up," Izzy snorted, smiling.

"And third," Sam continued, "I can't tell you. It's between me and the sea."

Although he was still smiling, there was something melancholic in Sam's eyes. The palpable sadness tugged something in Izzy's chest, making him want to protect this man from any harm that would come his way.

“It’s not like I don’t trust you,” Sam continued. “It’s just…”

“Yeah, ok,” Izzy cut him. If Sam wanted to keep it a secret then it was his choice. He could take care of his captain without knowing all his secrets. The fact that Sam allowed him to cut his hair was enough to prove that he trusted him. “When do you want me to cut your hair?”

It wasn't until that time Sam told him about the dark days he had after Whydah that Izzy finally learned Sam cut his hair during one of his breakdowns. His long hair reminded him of his failure. His once pride and joy now brought him terror to his heart. He blamed himself. The guilt tormented him. Sam cut his hair to help him get through the guilt of being the only survivor.

"Do you like me better with long hair?" Sam asked one day when Izzy was cutting his hair.

Izzy's put the scissors away. "Would you like to grow it back?"

Sam didn't say anything at first. "I don't know."

Izzy put a hand on Sam's shoulder and leaned down to kiss Sam on the top of his head. "Do what you want with your hair. I don't care."

Sam snorted. "Even when I go bald?"

Izzy chuckled. "Yeah. I bet you're still hot with a bald head."

Sam reached out to touch Izzy's hand. "Thank you, Israel."

Sam probably wouldn't grow his hair back anytime soon, but who knew? Maybe one day, when the wound had healed completely, Black Sam would have his long beautiful hair once more.

#ofmdrarepair23 #bellhands #sam bellamy #izzy hands #and that's a wrap!#i won't stop my Bellhands agenda until we got Sam Bellamy in canon #or maybe I'll just continue day dreaming about this dreamy man I created for Izzy lol #thank you for omfdrarepairweek mod your tag made me smile

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goose-books · 1 year

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view the image in higher quality here; thank you as always to my beloved @yvesdot for the template! last year’s year in review can be found here.

this was the year of godsong eating my brain forever and ever amen. and a good year for writing overall; i wrote a lot of very silly for-fun-to-share-with-friends stuff, and that felt very nice, particularly when i was in the Productivity Torment Labyrinth with school. transcripts and month-by-month details under the cut! (take the godsong character roster; you might need it.)

cws: alcohol (february), pregnancy (april)

january

i started the first draft of the first book of godsong for nanowrimo 2021; in january, i wrapped up the draft with the last plotline. godsong is split into three plotlines, each driven by a major character (our friends from the intro post!). though these plotlines will be integrated in the final draft, i wrote each of them separately, for coherency reasons; last to go was ambergris’s, which i think of, affectionately, as the HTTYD movie for dykes on mood stabilizers. interspecies pack bond except both members hate everybody else in the world. [forbidden friendship playing]

Vaska let her reapply the paste to injuries slick with saliva. Ambergris was aware of his gaze on her, his head tilted at the very corner of her vision, but she kept her focus on her unsteady hands, until she had finished dressing the wounds and she turned to find Vaska’s head right next to her own.

Her breath caught. This close, so near he could have pressed his snout against her nose, his eye was brilliantly bright, gold in the sunlight, shot through with darker rays. There were no whites, and a slit pupil rather than a round one, and yet Ambergris couldn’t shake the thought that he looked unnervingly human.

The other side of his face reeked with infection, so swollen she could barely see the empty eye socket. Long-dried blood trailed down his neck. The medicine was cold in her hand. She watched his gaze move, slow and deliberate, to the vial, before he raised his stare back to hers.

Slowly, tremblingly, Ambergris shuffled her crutches beneath her arms and held her hand out. Not reaching for his snout, nor straight for his injuries, but to open her palm beneath his head, just under his chin.

For a moment they stood in silence. Both of them frozen. Both of them, Ambergris realized with a quiver, afraid.

“Vaska,” she said softly, barely a breath, and the dragon laid his great head down in her palm.

february

2022 was the year of ash pyrris, aka godsong’s neopronouns-user marc antony expy, aka a bona-fide no-asterisk war criminal and the lapdog lover of the most popular butch milf in town. (can you imagine making an ancient roman read all of those words.) i spent the first three months of the year working on an extended second-person ash story (er. novella. it’s twenty-two thousand words) detailing xir backstory (referred to, inventively, as “ashbackstory”), and it remains perhaps my favorite thing i’ve written this year.

“Ash,” Julienne says, soft, calm. Not Captain. Your name, and when you look up she’s looking at you. And there’s something you have to say to her, and her face is hazy and huge as the moon—what were you going to say to her? Her eyes glitter coin-flip gold. Fuck, she’s beautiful. Like a saint. Like a god.

Your eyes fall on her lips, stained blossom-red with wine. And it comes back. “Julienne,” you blurt, voice too thick, too clumsy, “you’re drunk, you shouldn’t—”

“Ash,” Julienne says, low enough to stop your heart, and you fall silent. She’s gazing up into the stars again, and suddenly you want her to look at you again so badly it hurts like a kick to the ribs.

“I think my fate is coming together at last,” she says, voice breathy with wonder. “This city needs more than a high judge, Ash. This city needs a god.”

When you reach for your words, you have none. How can you argue with her? When you’d follow her anywhere? When you’d fall to your knees to kiss holy wine off her fingers?

You can’t.

You don’t.

That’s the horrific part, later. You don’t.

march

in march i read gideon the ninth, which is to say that in march i became a changed man. someday i’m going to get called out for the similarities between godsong and TLT, and to that i’ll only be able to say that the first draft of godsong came before i’d read GTN and i guess catholic lesbians just write the same shit about religion and devotion and grief and redheaded butches. anyway, lots of the character dynamics in godsong slot very interestingly into TLT necro/cav dynamics, so i wrote a scene from a godsong canaan house au. which then inspired my dearly beloved @lazarusemma to proceed to dream up and write an entire godsong/TLT au that i think is topping 20k words. if you’re thinking, “wow, i know stuff about TLT, i’d like to read the godsong edition!” then shoot me a message and brother, i will hook you up. (lines as featured in yves’s parallels post; in which ichari is felidore and spades is the ninth cavalier.)

“This ought to be good,” Sascha said, in a voice he certainly thought was a whisper. Ambergris did not answer; her gaze had slid past the Eighths.

The Ninth cavalier stalked to the middle of the room with the steady grace of a great cat. Though the skull paint muddled her features, Ambergris could pick out a square jaw, narrow eyes, dark hair chopped off blade-straight just above her chin. She was broader than Felidore, limbs taut with muscle; she stood steady and poised, statue-still in a breathlessly anticipatory way. She did not speak. She bent her rapier blade, as though loosening it like a ligament, and stood at ready position.

Behind her, Vanya Nonavulpa leaned back against the wall, and beneath the paint Ambergris saw its lips twitch into a smirk.

Felidore had disarmed Anemone in moments. They had disarmed the Second House girl in minutes, and even the Fourth House soldier had drawn them to a sweat but not a standstill. The Ninth House cavalier, Ambergris realized within the first breath, was a different sort of creature. The two of them crashed together with the elegant violence of a dance. Ambergris didn’t have the knowledge or reflexes to make sense of the flashing rapiers, or even follow their blurring arcs through the air. What she could recognize: the new speed at which both combatants moved, and the new intensity to Felidore’s dodging as they barely kept their ribs from the delicate touch of the Ninth’s black blade.

april

re: writing a lot of noncanon stuff for fun: thinking really hard about neopronouns marc antony led to an extended au where xe accidentally knocks up xir boringass coworker (stella errans), whom xe hates. this is colloquially known as “erranspreg” and i feel like i need to at least mention it in here because i can’t go fucking anywhere without one of my bastard friends bringing up the bland pregnant man. look, HE WANTS TO BE A DAD! his DANGEROUS AND MORALLY QUESTIONABLE POLITICAL POSITION shouldn’t get in the way! (say hi to the godsong roman triumvirate, btw, in which the role of octavius caesar is played by a teenage girl.)

“You are not pregnant,” Sisyphania clarified.

Stella blinked. He blinked again. “Well,” he said, rather uselessly, “I am.”

Which broke some sort of spell. Ash exhaled, hard, and reached expressionless for xir bottle. Leanna said, “Are you—really?,” and Sisyphania said, “Because that would be—”

“Inconvenient,” Stella allowed, shifting his weight from foot to foot and wishing she would look away. “Strategically. I know.” With a stiff shrug: “But the gods work in arcane ways. Better to take our blessings when they come.”

“You are being serious,” Sisyphania said, still very calmly.

Leanna whistled. They were making eye contact, which unnerved him; usually they spoke without glancing up from their papers. Not unkindly, they said, “Who’s the lucky parent?”

Stella watched Ash’s hand tighten around the stem of xir goblet.

He let xim feel it for a moment. Then he exhaled and said, “I’m the parent. I’m the child’s father. That’s all.”

may

...and on the note of teenage girl octavius caesar. yves once described me as having “never worked on canon in my life,” and i would like to declare that that isn’t true. i wrote SO much canon this year! i just happened to write so much more stupid AU stuff. this one comes from a document known as “getalong au” because the premise is that every character is aged down about thirteen years and they’re NICE to each other, goddamnit! (no one is nice to each other in canon.) specifically, the plot of this is “ash and carron raise carron’s five-year-old adopted daughter,” which makes this technically the octavius-caesar-kindergarten-AU, i guess??? i love to say words

Still, Ash maintained the brief and futile hope that it might go well, that whatever poor little Dickensian orphan Julienne was taking pity on might actually be tolerable. This illusion lasted until xe saw her: a tiny round-faced thing with big goggly eyes and a puff of blonde hair, half-hidden behind Julienne’s leg. She looked way younger than five. She looked like a stuffed animal. She looked like xe could have punted her easily into the sun.

And she was staring. Unblinking. Owl-eyed. Ash’s stomach curdled. It was one of the (many, many) reasons xe didn’t like kids. At least adults tried to be subtle. Maybe they startled a little when they saw xim, maybe their eyes lingered too long on the scarred half of xir face while they stumbled over xir pronouns, but they did most of their gawking out of the corner of their eyes, sideways glances they thought xe didn’t catch. Little kids had no such instinct. Little kids stared.

The kid stared. Ash lifted xir chin and stared back.

“This is Mx. Ash,” Julienne said, and her voice, though not the babying tone in which people talked to cats, was lowered, softened. Rare for her. She let one hand slip down to tousle the girl’s unkempt hair. “I promise xe’s very nice.” Which was paired with a biting look that told xim xe had better be. “Ash, this is Sisyphania. Sisyphania, you want to say hi?”

june

OKAY WE’RE BACK TO CANON STUFF. godsong has an achilles character and i gave her narrative awareness. i really enjoy playing with POV and i really enjoy writing second person; you may have noticed that ashbackstory, from february, is also second person! godsong’s character backstories usually are: you are [NAME], they say, and here is your story, and you are whoever the narrative says you are. only one godsong character has been granted first-person arguing-with-the-narrative privilege and by god is she going to use it. (and by god, was this a fun exercise in POV.)

This story starts with a sacrifice. It ends that way, too.

Your legend begins before you are born. Your father is a wise man and a great king, ruler of the seaside kingdom of Pyrrinth, devotee of Orinaea famed across the land and seas for his piety. When his queen dies, when he is left bereft of the only woman he ever loved without a child to carry on her memory, he kneels before the ocean for forty days and forty nights and prays for an heir. Then he lines six hundred bulls along the beach, a row that stretches a lowing dappled half-mile, and his servants slash their throats into the sea. The legends will say the terrible cry of six hundred broken throats still echoes off the cliffs. The legends will say the shallows washed red over the beach for years. The legends will say your father cut his hand and let three drops of blood fall over the water, and when the tide washed out, you lay, tiny and red-faced and screaming, in the sand.

The legends will call you Blood of the Sea, Blade of Shysha, Hand of Death. They will call you the swift-footed lioness of Pyrrinth, the flashing-eyed daughter of Orinaea’s salt foam, she who outraced the winds and wielded the war god’s sword. Your body is the pyre that burns Ivander-in-the-West. You are the last true hero called great.

My name is Atelanta Anankares. I am born angry. I am born great.

july

briefly leaving godsongland--over the summer, i tried my hand at writing horror for the first time, for submission to a shakespearean horror anthology! i think my piece (based off twelfth night) turned out, um, not very horror-genre. and i didn’t get into the anthology, which i’m not bothered about because i didn’t expect to (sometimes you submit things as a total crapshot in the dark). as a result, i’ll be posting this piece to my ao3 account on twelfth night itself; tune in this january 5th to see me do gender to another malvolio.

“Go to my lady,” you begged her. “Do not say that I am mad.” And again, a hoarse cracking scream: “I am not mad!”

Perhaps it is a lie. You would not know; you do not know if the cell is dark, though you cannot see your own bleeding hands, because the priest and the fool swore they could see as if wreathed in the light of God. If you are mad it is not your fault. If you are mad you are something to be cared for, something to be wrapped in woolen blankets with someone else stroking your hair, something that no longer has to fight and claw and cry out against the rest of the world. If you are mad it is not your fault. If you are mad she may feel sorry for you. How easy it would be. How simple. The price, of course, is being wrong. You play with the cuff of your sleeve, twisting it back and forth though it chafes against your wrist. You are not sure if you fear being wrong less than you fear knowing this. Than knowing she is in danger. Than knowing she is alone.

You are alone. Your shoulders have stopped shaking with sobs; your voice has given way. You are as sane as any man in Illyria, unless you are mad, unless you are wrong, and in truth you are not sure you know the difference anymore.

august

and we’re back in godsongville. in july, i started working on the first draft of the second godsong book. maybe i ought to edit the first one first, but i hate editing and i didn’t want to get bogged down. godsong1 is split into three plotlines, as mentioned; godsong2 (godspark) has just two, so i started with the shorter one, a continuation of the shakespeare’s-julius-caesar-themed plotline. in godsong1, this was narrated by local traumatized gladiator spades; in godsong2, her weird little roadkill-looking bestie has the reins, and they were biting my fingers the entire fucking time. yes, they have the same name as their patron god (a two-faced fox); they did this on purpose; i apologize on their behalf.

As Vulpa eased their box of matches from their belt, they thought fleetingly of the old story: their god and the sun. Sometimes it was both faces, in the story; usually it was only the younger half, pup-soft and arrogant. Leandros had crafted the sun between his hands like pottery, breathing a glow into its mouth to hang it in the sky and light the earth. One by one the other gods came to him to gaze at it; one by one they departed. Only the younger face—the one whose name they had taken—paused.

“I should like,” it said, “to hold it.”

When Leandros narrowed his eyes, the god Vulpa swore to the stars on his cloak that it should only hold and never take—“for if I flee with it,” it added, “I shall call Vasha, and you may have our shared eye.” And this concept made Leandros hungry, for the stories said that the eye the faces shared could see into past and future alike, and with that the art god might create divine things indeed. And so he drew back his cloak and stepped aside and allowed them to hold the sun.

Yet as soon as he moved aside, Vulpa cried out, “Our eye I promised, but not our blood, and there is no bloodless blinding! And the stars we swore to only stretch as far as the hem of your robes, and we can leap that distance in a moment—” and so saying, it snatched the sun and leapt the moon and fled across the sky, light bleeding from between its teeth. But Vulpa had spoken too quickly; the sun in its mouth seared hot as a fresh coal, and halfway through the sky it dropped its prize, smoke spilling from its jaws. No matter—it left Leandros to gather up the burning coin and fled laughing to the cave that it called home.

september

see above. i finished the vulpa POV plotline this month, and yeah, it gave me hell the whole way through. spades is relatively easy to write because she thinks like a normal person. vulpa can have thought spirals you’ve never even IMAGINED, babygirl. this is one of its only chill moments.

Spades sat still as marble, elbows on the bench, hands beneath her chin, staring at the far wall. Vulpa let itself gaze at her profile: the scar slitting over the low bridge of her flat nose, the hair chopped off knife-straight at her square jaw. Sometimes it recalled the way she had looked when they met, that very first moment with her hair falling past her shoulders, but it could never quite reconcile that with how she looked now. This was Spades, in front of them; the hapless half-gladiator with the grabbable silken mane was Cinquedea.

“Is there something on my face,” Spades said, without moving.

“Stoic heroic torment,” Vulpa said.

For which it won the smallest of eye rolls.

october

this was the month i wrote the least; i was recovering from finishing vulpaplot and preparing to dive into the next plotline for nanowrimo! so take this scrap from a noncanon piece i wrote where vulpa (horrible little rat creature, hates rich people, eats cigarettes off the floor) and sascha (rich people, resident airheaded prettyboygirl) hook up. neither of them are having all that much fun. neither is anna, who walks in on it.

Their teeth knocked together. Vulpa hissed; Sascha cursed. Then his hands were on its shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and they clutched at each other, Vulpa like it could pull him off the desk and Sascha dragging it forward until it stood between his knees up on its toes crumpling his coat in its hands mashing its mouth against his thinking Here fucking taste it then get my blood in your mouth get my hideous heathengod filth all over you is this what you asked for—

“I—am sorry,” came a low voice from the doorway.

Oh mother fuck, Vulpa thought, and bit him.

Hard, judging by his shriek and the sudden burst of blood on its tongue. Vulpa shoved him away and staggered back, cold with horror, tinted glasses hanging off its face.

In the doorway, Annadrijanna Ivtouched stood silent and still, face betraying no touch of emotion except, perhaps, a deep and fantastic exhaustion.

november

set to work on the other plotline of the second godsong book! in which anna’s plot and ambergris’s plot intertwine, because everybody ends up in the same place: ambergris’s fucked-up family home with her horrible horrible parents who breed birds. “why not this,” anna thinks, “life as the chosen one is already so goddamn weird.”

“The man who drove us up the hill,” Anna said. “He said there has been… a god wronged.”

“Yes.”

One word, and an answer she had already surmised from Iv’s messages. Even so, it was a stone to the chest. “Which one?”

Ambergris shrugged. “Eggs have gone missing,” she said. “My father thinks it’s thief.” Her frown was a barely-there twitch. “Um—theft. He’s put guards around the mews.”

It took Anna a moment. “The—falcons’ eggs.”

“The falcons,” Ambergris repeated. “You must understand—” Another slight smile. “They’ve made us very rich.”

She looked remarkably unbothered. No bird perched on her shoulder or wheeled about her head, and Anna realized she had ascribed it in the back of her mind to the crutches, as if a falcon small enough to hold in two hands could unbalance her further. “And do you think it’s theft?”

Ambergris blinked at her, slow, almost feline. “I think if this house is cursed,” she said, “it’s a curse that’s been a long time coming.”

december

trying to do nano and school at the same time beat my ass, so i took a little break in december. i haven’t finished godsong2 yet, but i’m hoping to pick it up again in january! in the meantime, i went back and fleshed out some bits of godsong1 now that i have more lore. +10 trauma points for anna.

At some point they lay back on the gauze-soft blankets, just as they had in the cave: Anna’s arm under Cairo’s shoulders; Cairo curved into his side with her head on his flat chest; Anna running his hand up her stretch-marked thighs, her soft stomach, her small breasts—over her nightgown, not pushing for more, just marveling at her. Just to say with his touch a thing he couldn’t quite fit in words. When she reached out, fingers kiss-light, to trail her fingers over his shoulder and down his side, he wondered how long it had been since anyone had touched him this gently.

Even as he thought it, her hand drifted to his hip. His left hip. Anna stiffened.

“What happened to you?” Cairo murmured. One finger traced a line along the scar slicing over the bone, tissue thick and knotted as mooring rope. Easy to curtain with his robes; impossible to miss in his underclothes. “I mean here.”

Bile in his throat. A flash of memory, scalding sea-gray eyes and blood between white teeth.

“It was a war,” Anna got out, cupping Cairo’s hand to move it away. When she blinked, he managed a soft, “Please—it hurts.” A lie dropped from a holy tongue like prayersong. The scar only ached when it rained. The memory hurt.

i know it’s been a quiet year for this blog, but thank you to everyone who’s stuck around and taken interest in my projects! wishing you a very very peaceful and fulfilling 2023

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