#but I'm busy writing my thesis so idk | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

judasgot-it · 1 year

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Ello o/, may i request again (dk if i can tho, don't feel pressured if not maken), really love the post you made for the request my heart literally- aawkwkw, i have so many things to say to that post but really busy asfck like if i wnated to, i could literally write a essay or thesis statement, */ahem anyway

BSD boys, while having a fighting/argument with s/o they suddenly grip they're s/o's wrist too hard and ended up leaving a mark (they didn't mean to tho ;-;) that reminded the reader's past child abuse/not used to this type of conflict which lead to angst to comfort or just angst hehe. Idk this is just a random 2am thought(my time rn) I have classes later waking up at 4am too…

AHHHHHH omg yes I'm so sorry I haven't like set up any request rules yet which I should do lol, but I'm so shehejwj but I don't have limits on requests! I just try to get to them when I can <3 Also I'm so sorry about the late response! College is hard x[

But also, I wanna do some scenarios for this, so I'm gonna have to only pick a few that I feel I can write the best for this if that's ok cause ngl I feel the mercury retrograde rn,,,

Scenario: Accidentally triggering past abuse/trauma during an argument (Ranpo, Dazai)

Ranpo

Ranpo was a rather loud guy. That's not his fault, since he's only loud whenever he has a reason to be - he's confident because he knows he can get away with it. He's smart enough to survive some of the most dangerous killers, and is bold enough to laugh in their face about it too.

But god is it aggravating as hell whenever you want to truly talk to the man one on one. Sometimes, you just want to have a normal date with him - like a normal couple and do normal couple stuff.

Like right now, you just want to walk down this busy street and not have to listen to him boast about how stupid people were. It was embarrassing how loud he was about it, how the person who got hit with a car could have easily avoided it had they just checked both sides of the street.

A normal conversation to have after witnesses a horrible event, but you could feel the stares from across the street from the mans wife. Especially towards Ranpo, who seemed to have no social boundaries as everyone else in the area seemed to instead be occupied with the normal human behavior of freaking out after witnessing a man flying in the air and being hit by a car.

To save face, you dragged him away, with him still talking about it as if it were a normal everyday thing. In his world, it probably was - but not to you. Not to normal people, who didn't think about death everyday.

"Ranpo, you need to quiet down."

"What? I'm just saying. It was pretty avoidable you know?"

You turned around to glare at him, gripping your enclasped hands tightly. He thought nothing of it, swirling his ramune bottle rather casually. The ball clinked around with each step the both of you took together.

"I know that. But you do know that it's pretty insensitive to say that in front of him and the wife who saw her husband get hit with a car."

"Y/n."

You were forced back as Ranpo stopped on the sidewalk. It was apart of a narrow stretch of road, empty and away from the commotion, which forced you to look at him. He was staring at you with his eyes, as if trying to puzzle something.

"You don't actually care about them."

There was a pause. You blinked once. Then twice.

"What do you mean by that?"

He held your hand tighter, almost painfully so.

"You don't really care about them that much. So why are you defending them?"

His viridian eyes bore into yours, which deeply unsettled you. He meant nothing by it, especially with the iron grip he had on your hand which kept you in your spot.

"Because not everyone is a superfreak like you Ranpo!"

But it made you incredibly uncomfortable.

You felt the need to defend yourself, somehow.

"Some people have 'empathy' which I know is a foreign concept to people like you."

It was as he cocked his head to the side, like a crow trying to understand what you had just told him. It was as if what you just said had gone right through him, like the wind.

"You don't mean that."

He pulled you towards him. You tried to step back, but you only found yourself stepping around and trying to find your balance again.

You flinched when Ranpo reached to balance you, but you still felt the energy from your sudden bout of frustration pumping through your body. It was embarrassing, but your mind and body were reacting all on their own.

Ranpo kept staring at you, looking past your angry scowl and into something deeper.

"I'm not your enemy Y/n, I know you're upset but there's something more."

He left you feeling naked there.

"It's not that deep. You don't need to defend yourself against me."

You looked down, avoiding his eyes. The sidewalk underneath you was rather cracked and abandoned - there was a dandelion growing just underneath your feet, a rather resilient flower.

"I'm not defending myself, I'm just..."

Ranpo lifted your chin up so you could meet his eyes again, which were now softer, as they had quickly figured out the puzzle that he's struggled with.

You looked back at him. A part of you wanted to keep arguing - it was in your nature, to keep fighting. Unfortunately, it was something you've done for a long time, which Ranpo has figured out by now.

Another thing that made you feel a little uncomfortable.

He met you with a cheeky smile, like a little rat. He closed his eyes, his cheeks raising to meet his eyes.

"I know. You're a good person Y/n."

Dazai

"I just don't think you understand. I can't expect you to, but it's not your problem, so why are you so upset about it?"

Dazai was looking at you from the couch, watching as you were once again picking up bottles he had left from one of his drinking binges. He still smelled of last night, wearing the same clothes and smelling of the various drinks he had lost himself in.

"It clearly is my problem. I'm the one cleaning up your mess right now, so how could I not be involved? Dear god, do you ever look at yourself and want to even try to be better?"

Dazai looked at you, sitting up from his previous lounging position. He stared up, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at you - his eyebags prominent in the early morning sunlight.

"What do you mean 'try' to be better? Have you ever even known what it's like to be like this?"

You rolled your eyes, dragging the bag to the front door so you could later bring it to the dumpster of your apartments. In your eyes, he was clearly being dramatic - sitting like some sort of mafioso, needing only a cigarette to seal the deal.

"Everyone has had it hard at one point Dazai. Losing yourself to alcohol every night and weekend doesn't justify it. You have a life to live you know? It's worth living."

You heard footsteps approach behind you, and looked up to see Dazai standing a little too close for comfort. His body was warm, and you could see the sweat and stains on his bandages. His hair was usually fluffy hair was greasy, but his eyes - they were dark, simply staring down at you.

"What do you know about living?"

"What?"

He had backed you into the wall, his hands now on either side of you, blocking you from exiting the danger that had become him and whatever emotional rage he had thrown himself into.

"You act like you know so much about life but you know nothing! You don't know anything about death or life - I don't think you know anything at all really. You feel all too comfortable making these assumptions about me when you don't know who I am, do you?"

He was smiling but it didn't reach his eyes at all.

You pushed at him, trying to find space to escape from his hold. His clothes and warmth made you want to burn your skin and run at that moment, and you closed your eyes in order to avoid the worst of your fears as you knew he was staring at you with those eyes that seemed to hold nothing but contempt in that very moment.

When you couldn't break free, instead feeling him pressing himself more against you, you felt your eyes begin to tear up.

"Dazai get the fuck away me."

"Or what? What will you do, oh sweet belladonna?"

You could feel tears build up in your eyes as your pushing did nothing against him - so you resorted to what you knew would work.

You raised your knee as hard as you could, and watched as Dazai fell hard on the ground, falling like a sack of potatoes. He writhed around, clutching his pearls while you gripped your pants, trying to soothe your nerves.

"Dazai I'm..."

You looked around your apartment, looking at the mess that it had become because of him. You looked back down at him, who was still on the ground and wasn't saying anything.

"Dazai I'm going to leave for a bit. Sorry."

I'm so sorry this took so long waaaaahh I'm a slow writer I'm working on it tho ;( also I was thinking about doing Jouno but I felt that it would've been super harsh so maybe I'll do him another time

#bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #ranpo x you #ranpo x reader #ranpo x y/n #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #bsd x you #bsd x y/n

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athousandmorningss · 7 months

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I have three bosses across the three universities I teach, and all of them are wonderful. Very kind, supportive, and seem to think often of me for specific tasks eg: can you take on another class? would you like to have an adjunct contract? At one Uni, my boss worked with me so that the upcoming section appears to be one class, but he upped the enrollment for it, so I'll get paid for it as if it's two classes. That kinda stuff. Adjuncting is tough for a variety of reasons. Having good bosses is a salve.

I got word I got a raise at one of the Uni's today: roughly $100 increase per credit hour. It's not much, but it's not nothing.

Idk what compelled me to do it, but last night I re-read my Master's thesis for the first time in many years all the way through. It was a good reminder that damn, I did that. It's not the most rigorous project, but it does serve as a reminder that I'm a good writer in multiple contexts and that yeah, I did that.

Reading it kinda made me miss the experience of being in grad school and (marginally) working thru my PhD. I was so...invested. On committees, writing, navigating my teacher identity, producing research projects, doing so much. I don't miss the workaholic ethos that graduate school encouraged. But, I do sort of miss being so intensely connected to something.

I've often pinned for and thought about teaching English courses. The thought of getting another MA, though...

Tree's got a wellness appointment next week. He continues to be housed in the bathroom and does really well with it. Every few hours he'll let out a Mewl, which signifies he'd like to play, and I'll go hang out with him for a few hours. He continues to sleep soundly through the night, but wakes me up early in the morning before my alarm. It's a bit like having a wee bahbey. I'll say I'm coming Tree, I'm coming! then give him his food and scoop the poop and we'll do play time.

The place I'm taking to said I could "surrender" him, or foster him if need be. I'm going to try and keep him, first: see how he acclimates and if it is feasible. If not, it's good to know the place I contacted will likely be able to take him in if I have to go that route.

Here he is doing today's naughty business. That above the toilet joint housed my makeup and some candles etc, but those were all removed a few days ago. He's really good about not destroying bathroom stuff when I'm not chilling with him, but when we do hang time, he goes a bit mad. Anyways. Turns out the storage is actually meant to be a Kitty Holder.

In my sleepy exhaustion this morning, I wrapped him tight in his bankie and brought him to my bed. Oli joined us and they both lay near each other, eyeing each other, but not saying a word. Like, hey: I see you. What's up?

That's promising.

#stray cat chronicles

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lietpolski · 1 month

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your take abt bul and mace being dysfunctional siblings who care deeply for each other is so,,😭 your brain...blease can we have more yugo/balkan familial hcs i need them for my soul

THANK U i'm such a softie for weird little family dynamics!!

i see all of the yugos (except mace) as related, in that vague nationverse manner where... there's not really a name for what they are to each other, but they're still family? in human aus i sometimes translate it as them being cousins, but it depends on the situation!

they exclusively use their vague blood relation for evil !! they barely treat each other like family until they need something, and then they're like 🥺 cmon man we're brothers.... and somehow it works most of the time

oh and i do still kind of like monte & serbia as siblings more than the canon, it just makes sense to me! idk they could have an incestuous thing going on i don't make the rules <3 if herze & cro can why not them

i could write a phd thesis on the dynamic serbia has with his kids & also the dynamic srpska has with his step-parents so i'm not going into it here haha that could be its own post,,, just know it's weird and uncomfortable and no one knows where familial love ends and hatred begins + kos was srb's little angel son growing up whereas srpska he used to "forget" at the playground on purpose

what else! i see ro as a mix between a dad and brother figure to mol, not just brotherly like in canon, because it's cute!!! and i think it makes sense with the age difference!! and bul is sort of kind of almost an honourary second dad to him too! he takes him to the park and buys him ice cream when ro is too busy with work :)

idk haha this all isn't very specific but it's because there's so much to talk about !! but yeah those would be my vague overall headcanons about everyone's familial dynamic :D

#long post #sowwy #ask

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spiteless-xo · 8 months

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Hiiiii, Tiff. I'm new here on your Tumblr and I don't have an ao3 account so this is my first time commenting, even though I've been following tbaw since april (?) I think. Anyways, I got my Tumblr account back just to follow you haha.

Giiiiiirl were do I start. So first of all tbaw is the only story I religiously follow and never forget about and every fucking tuesday is like Christmas to me istg. Even back in june-july when I was busy with my uni thesis and was slowly dying lol I kept reading every chapter and it was such a joy to be able to relax and take a break and escape in the fantasy. And now check the new chapters at work. Guilty 😅

Also, apparently you also wrote that Eren camping smut fic, omfggggg it's so good, easily one of my top fave Eren oneshots.

The way you write dialogues??? Fucking amazing. The interaction between the characters... I literally get lost in that reality and feel every single one of the characters. They are so humane. The tension, the attraction, the love, the hatred, everything feels so real when your characters interact. It's astonishing.

Now, I was team Eren from the start (yes, I am an Eren girl lol), I wasn't opposed to Jean, he is my second favorite from aot, but! Eren was so fucking charming in this fic, I just couldn't get into Jean I'm sorry. He gives mixed signals and we don't approve those in my house fiehdhdj. But Eren was perfect in every fucking way, which was suspicious and now we know the truth sadly.

I can't believe that after the big reveal so many people were shitting on Eren and they switched sides lololol. Like it was kinda obvious tbh. Well not obvious, but expected.

Idc what other people think, but I do believe Eren wants to change and will do that.

Now! As for the reader. Ofc she can't forgive him that easily, I wouldn't. And I do believe they both should work on themselves first and then they could develop a healthy relationship. It would only feel fair for the reader to see Eren really change. And I still want him to be endgame.

Honestly I'm just biased cause I love him lmao, he looks like my bf 💀 objectively, reader should seek her own path, Jean and Eren should figure their shit and forgive each other and be friends again. And then we can see a healthy relationship develop with one of them and a strong friendship with the other. I just see Eren as the best fit because they have really good chemistry. Idk tho, I said I'm biased. He was so cute in the last chapter with the date I was cryiiinnnggggg. 😭 Literally a cute lil cinnamon roll djdkdhekd

Well these are my thoughts I guess?? I'm sorry this is so long but tbaw gets me so excited I really love that and I wanted to give you some appreciation. 💕

omg, hello!! 🥰💗

i can't believe you've been following along since April!!! ahhhh!!! i think i've said this before but it's so crazy to me that some of you have been following along for so long 🥺 ty for your commitment i love it 💗

thank you so much!! i put a lot of importance in the dialogue because it can say a lot more than just what the characters are saying.... if that makes sense lol like what they choose to reveal vs. what they keep to themselves adds an extra element to dialogue aside from the actual words they're saying idk idk but i'm glad you like my dialogue 😭😭

i think some people, like reader, are quite taken aback by the reality of what eren's done. it's easy to forgive him when you're only told vague details and you see him act cute, but seeing this "darker" side of him come out (even though characters have been warning us about this almost the entire story) is really jarring and it affects some people more than others.

damn, you're lucky to have an eren all to yourself!! hopefully he doesn't treat you like groupchat!eren 💀💀

thank you again so much for such a lovely message and i'm so so so happy that you're enjoying the story!! thank you for sharing your thoughts and i hope you continue to enjoy it and have fun with the rest of us as the story progresses 🥰 only 10 weeks to go!

#tiff.ask #moot.lya-blueberry8 #tbaw.fic #aot

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hhnguyen · 8 months

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Right, some must be wondering am I ded? Am I alive? idk at this point anymore

my original plan was to finish all the Sully fam oneshots during the summer, but then summer came and so did my vacation mode so I barely touched my computer (my bad tbh)

and now the semester is back and I'm busy writing my thesis with my advisor as well as finishing the draft for my book, so things are a tiny bit hectic :((

BUT I am here to say they have not been abandoned!! I go back to writing little paragraphs all the time, but the last two stories are somewhat quite emotional which requires a specific mindset I haven't managed to find myself in, but I am trying dw 💕

sit tight guys!! love you for all the support

#hannitalks #avatar

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cyanoscarlet · 2 years

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alive, awake, alert

(Or, in our language, "conscious, coherent, cooperative".

Not enthusiastic, though. Much too late in the day for that.)

Felt physically fine after my bout with COVID last month. Was immensely demotivated for some reason, though. Always retired early everyday despite not being sleepy at all. I knew I was wasting time by not working on my slowly-piling academic output (hello, 0% written Graduation Thesis), but I couldn't muster the motivation to drag my ass to my desk beyond 9pm.

Today's the first day I properly set up my workstation. I already feel fulfilled. Hope this is a sign things get better for me again. I really, really, really need to get my shit together.

Last three months in residency - crossing fingers.

- (more rambling under the cut)

- Since I don't want to bother making another post anymore, have some more words from moi while I still remember my Tumblr exists lol.

Twitter Presence

Or rather, my sort-of lack thereof. The accounts are still up, but I haven't posted at all in months, for those who've noticed. Been busy IRL, and I find Twitter's pace too fast and too toxic for comfort these days.

Funnily, around once or twice a month I'd decide to end my Twitter hiatus and post just once to get the ball rolling, but every time I'd log in, the timeline would overwhelm me so much I end up nope-ing out again, so.

cyano scarlet

*** WIPED AND LOCKED. It's there only as a placeholder now. *** I don't really have a fandom account anymore. *** A lot of things happened- mainly drifting from the BSD fandom and the friends I made on it, for almost the same reasons I left the YOI fandom in the past. For a while after, I kept getting the nagging feeling that I really shouldn't have given in to my over-enthusiasm over BSD back then and made that damn account. *** Engaging in fandom made me lose confidence in my writing again for a while, then I became so busy with IRL (residency) that I eventually lost interest in writing fan fiction altogether. (That I'll write about as a separate post when time allows- got a lot of thoughts to unpack and unravel regarding my relationship with creative writing in general at this point. I hope this is just because I'm worn out from residency and not a sign of something deeper going on. IDK.)

choon xie

*** It's the public version of my IRL account, minus all the specific self-incriminating stuff, as well as all the fandom-related stuff. *** Originally just a "nom de plume account", but it's now basically just "me" except with a different surname. (My IRL surname's a whole boatload of complicated I don't want to explain again and again to people anymore. *** When I locked cyano scarlet for good, I decided to not complicate things anymore. Being my IRL self means I can and should be able to talk about and retweet whatever the hell I want on MY space, so if I want to talk about fandom or other non-mainstream / professional (MD) / original writing-related stuff, I'd do it all as "me" and not as some partially-sanitized version of myself. (i.e. "Oh, Doc Therese is a fujo / fangirl / stan / whatever?" Yes, She Is. Deal With It.) *** That said, it's currently DORMANT / ON HIATUS. Too busy.

Real IRL Account

*** My REAL account. Also my very first one- had it since college, so around 11 years ago. *** It's the unfiltered version of choon xie, including but not limited to: specific self-incriminating stuff, regular breakdowns over residenshit, Anxiety and Depression(TM), petty whining, and more. Locked private ever since, for a reason. (That said, I whine about everything on Tumblr these days, so yeah everyone knows now anyway - if anyone's even reading.) *** Followed only by people I know IRL, and fandom / online people whom I consider close enough to let into my "real" world. You know who you are. *** Also DORMANT / ON HIATUS.

Aerial Arts

Ah, yes, happier life update. I've started taking Aerial Classes at a pole dance stuido!

I actually took some classes in 2018 as a graduation gift to myself after med school. I wasn't actually working yet then, so I only limited myself to what I could afford with my meager allowance + red envelopes saved through the years. The day I filed for my medical license, I swore to myself I'd attend regularly and pay for it all myself.

(Then, of course, pandemic happened, and everything closed down. And of course residenshit's obviously an energy-draining bitch, but apparently I'd sorely underestimated how busy it could get, despite people saying Family Medicine's "just an easy program". Was only able to adjust properly now, sometime in the middle of senior year.)

So far the class I'm taking most regularly is aerial silks (tissue). It's the apparatus I was most drawn to in 2018, and for some reason I find myself gravitating back to it. (Also, silks classes for beginners are every Saturday, and I'm almost always available only on Saturdays, so there's really no other choice lol.)

Of course I also equally enjoy aerial hoop (lyra) and aerial hammock. They both involve a lot of spinning! Thing is, those classes happen on days I'm not available (just for now in residency!), so I don't get to attend them as regularly as I do aerial silks. I plan to attend classes for both hoop and hammock when I graduate, since I don't have hospital duties anymore by then - and hopefully will be earning more than I do now!

There's also pole, of course, which is actually the most popular class there! (Obviously.) I have my reasons for not doing pole - but who knows?

(Another reason why I'm not on Twitter or Tumblr anymore is because I'm using my Instagram again! Funny things is that I used to be inactive there instead, in favor of the two abovementioned sites, but now it's the reverse lol. I post all my aerial class videos there, despite it being locked to only IRL people.)

I believe this has been long enough. Have work tomorrow.

#cyanospeaks #basically another life update post lol

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cabezadeperro · 2 years

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1 and 25 for the weird questions for writers? :) Also can I just say that I adore a room with a view and it lives in my head rent free all week every week 😭💖

hello!!! thanks for asking!!!! and i'm glad you're enjoying the fic 😭😭😭 it also lives in my head rent free and it's been finished for two months!!!!!!

(the ask game)

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

,,,,, i don't actually care lmao. i usually write in the default font. the only exception is my master thesis, i think: every time i got stuck i changed it all to comic sans because i read somewhere it helped (idk if it actually did, but i managed to finish my thesis and graduate, so.)

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

hm so. let's go with jango and obi-wan in a room with a view.

obi-wan thinks he knows how to cook but he doesn't (he knows how to make idk. tea and space spaghetti and eggs and toast). he's never had the chance to properly learn and he doesn't care that much anyway. it's less a lack of competence than a lack of interest lmao

jango knows how to cook and isn't bad at it, he just never does because he's "too" "busy"

#obi wan; sticking something in a microwave: [butterfly meme] is this Cooking #jango: i could make soup or i could eat a ration pack and then go lie i bed to think about revenge. hm. easy choice.#ask games #maríadont #jango fett #obi wan kenobi #fake dating au #kenfetti #jangobi

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todareistodo · 5 months

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i am eepy so i am going to bed. will maybe watch the rest of this stream tomorrow???? but also i am very busy with writing my thesis so idk if i'll have time. anyways i'm just happy the eggs are back \o/

#lizzy chats

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cookingforsatoru · 11 months

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Helloo everyone! There's so many of you asking about lily of the valley random stuff so here I am answering it all<33

Lily of the valley most asked questions:

Title meaning?: Lily is a flower, and for me lily is the most memorable flower (not my favorite flower but yeah) because lily is the first flower that my best friend gave me when we were kids. And lily of the valley is a song that I'm addicted to.

The flow of the story:

Lily of the valley as I said earlier it is a memorable flower for me. And based on my memorable experience the flow of the story is full of memories I don't mean to spoil you guys who read my series but the story is all just memories of- oops I'll cut it there. So yeah eventually the story is just memories, a beautiful story to be told.

How many chapters will it take to finish lotv?:

Okay that one I don't know, but I'm guessing 8 - 10 chapters, and I'm not going to make a season 2 because it's hard writing that series 😭🤞 but! If you guys want I'll make some story cracks about them.

What is Your motivation in writing lotv?:

The song lily of the valley. It's such a calming song that to listen to, the story is I was listening to lily of the valley on Spotify while I was studying psychology stuff that my law prof assigned me to do 🧍 (like dude chillax) so yeah then I imagined stuff THENN I saw my baby rindou, my standie rindou in my desk staring at me and I knew I had to make a series of him and making him a villain and a cheater then making his brother, his beautiful brother the angel sent by Satan 😩🤍

When is the next upload?:

Idk either, but as the author I guess I'll upload the #4 next week or so, really busy at uni rn since it's our finals so I'm always having assignment, projects, essay, and the thesis I'm working on, and on my free time I have a dozens of headaches😔👏 but I'll still try to write some fics to distract u guys 👽🤘

Okay amen, I'll rest in peace now. My prof gave me a 15 mins break and I'm gonna take a nap and never wake up 😞🤍

-vi,uri,ysa and all my other personalities

#lotv series #lily of the valley

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faithfromanewperspective · 1 year

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so I was thinking about the ending to the last hours like many of us and I guess reading between the lines a little at how traumatic the london possession would've been, at how much james and cordelia need therapy and the way gracelet fiasco played into both their insecurities especially in their relationship, at how charlotte must've realised how much she didn't know and wasn't there for about both her sons, how when the shock of battle wore off for all of them there's going to be a lot of grief that will be very difficult and also new for all of them, how matthew is actually feeling things for the first time and in some ways so is james, and the way that in the 6 months between the coda and epilogue so much recovery must've gone on to get them to the place they can kind of go on with their lives, and also in some ways the 4 months between cog and coi, magnus being around also, would've helped prep them for this. some things stood out to me:

I've said it before but I don't think Christopher's unfinished business with Grace is realistically neatly wrapped up with him saying to believe in herself that one day in the lab--yes it allowed fire messages to succeed but one friend who was only in your life for a short amount of time doesn't undo the psychological impacts of a lifetime of abuse. I find the canon world of ghosts/afterlife so interesting as well and I can totally imagine Kit just being really curious to understand Tatiana with the way his mind works, then coming back 'a little bit' again and again to see Grace. He'd be having a great time learning things without the constraints of a human body and idk I want to write this so badly. We know his passion in life is helping others and I think he'd be thoughtful enough to give his friends some closure as well as meddling a bit to integrate Grace, check on Matthew and his siblings, etc. and I don't think this is outside the universe bounds as though Lucie couldn't reach him at first, ghosts take some time to rise whether they stay around or not (jessamine being a great example).

And another thing that really intrigues/concerns me is the possibility of Matthew living with rapid-cycling bipolar in an age and situation where the mental health services we have now are nonexistent and inaccessible. And we have in gotsm the way Jem and Tessa talk about him and remember the pain he went though when they talk with Mother Hawthorn in Buenos Aries--I think that just cements to me the obvious that his struggles don't just completely go away with being sober. But we know that he's brave and resourceful and has incredible people around him. I want to see how he does it, and what might be realistic there. We also have Tessa saying 'Fairchilds were always practical' after the bridge and yet Matthew is constantly described being 'ridiculous' and 'frivolous' with Tessa in The Midnight Heir saying James keeps him out of trouble. I think he's going to grow up and embrace his wild side (as we see him doing when he heads off on his travel year) but do so in a really practical way, because he needs wonder to regulate him: both to give inspiration and purpose to his energy and to ground him a little when he feels worthless. It's a lot for an 18-year-old to figure out but I think for many of us, he's a character that gives us hope and we see ourselves in him. We want and need and hope for him to succeed. Again, I would be honoured to write this, feed it off my experience and vice versa.

all I'm saying is do I feel a fic coming on? Maybe. I hope so. I think it could be a really healing thing to write as these characters I relate so much to have so much untapped potential that was possibly too heavy for a YA context but it sure was hinted at. so stay tuned, and feel free to nag me if you want to know if my head's still here in the future. time-pressed for my thesis rn but I've never been able to focus on what I'm supposed to, so anything is possible!

#chain of thorns #chain of gold #chain of iron #the last hours #the shadowhunter chronicles #christopher lightwood #matthew fairchild #tatiana blackthorn #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #grace blackthorn #charlotte fairchild

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kittymsmithwritesstuff · 2 years

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Is Serendipity currently on hiatus? I absolutely adore your writing. Best wishes to you in all you do 🪄 ✨

I am so, so sorry to say this, but Serendipity is currently on an indefinite hiatus and I'm really not sure when, if ever, I'll be able to get back to it.

I do love it. I love miragehound, I love Serendipity-and it makes me overjoyed to know people like you like my writing! But I'm very busy with college (entering Thesis Writing Time) and wrote myself into a corner with the plot, among some Fucked Life Stuff that was breaking head at the time that I last published.

I'd like to possibly pick it up again one day, but I just can't say if I will.

Thank you for asking. Sorry it's not a more positive answer ^^;

I do still write, but I've moved away from that fanfic. My main one RN is a MercyxMoira/Moicy (god damn who chose that name) Overwatch fic. IDK if it's your or anyone's cup of tea that used to read Serendipity, but I'll link it here anyway: x

All the best.

#kmtalks #serendipity fanfic #serendipity update

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moonsbasileia · 3 years

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Root and Bone

Also posted on AO3

Dishonored - Original Characters

Synopsis: Two witches from the Brigmore Coven venture into the Flooded District to look for their missing companion. They have a less than warm welcome from the Whalers occupying the place- despite that, the situation takes a turn, unfolding an unexpected, but positive, outcome.

An exploration of the witches and whalers as individuals. Set in the six months between Jessamine's death and Corvo's escape. Written as practice.

The way them whale fish went for us

It seemed as though t'was planned

For each one had his target boat

They played us man for man

Just knowin' now they think so clear

My heart says let them be

I swear to God them fish can think

As good as you or me

“A Whaler’s Tale” – Ken Graydon

Night fell over the rooftops of the old Financial District, painting the sky in dark orange. With the addition of the smog, pouring out of the factory’s chimneys, the horizon mixed and coiled like a bubbling cauldron. It was impressive, Rowan thought, but suffocating.

She was leaning out of the balcony of one of the many abandoned apartments of the district. Shards of glass lay around her feet, clinking whenever she moved, and the walls had become rotten with humidity.

Despite it all, and the mess of papers, clothes and shattered glass around the room, it seemed like it had been a nice place once, though simple. It had a small single-bed room that had been stripped of everything except for the bedframe, a simple kitchen with a pantry, and a considerably sized living room, still furnished with a red couch, a centre table, and a cabinet resting near the window. Rowan speculated it had belonged to a single accountant, as she’d found a book of finances forgotten on the small wooden table.

“Our time is running out,” a scratchy voice behind her sighed. Rowan shot a look behind her shoulders and saw Beatrice walk out, her face pinched, and holding a bottle in her hand. Despite her young age, her features were hard with unease.

“Is that…?” Rowan pointed at the dark green bottle. It worked; Beatrice’s face softened for a second, and she cocked an eyebrow and cut in:

“Yes, sister, Serkonan wine,” she held the bottle up so Rowan could read the label. Rivera Fig Wine, 1750. “We should drink it after we find our lost sister.”

Rowan hummed in agreement, looking back out to the water below. The stench of stagnated water wafted up, forcing her to avert her face in the direction of the breeze. The balcony next door had been blocked by planks, but the rooftops were low enough that she could see a building with an open terrace entrance.

“I will look over there. She mustn’t have gone too far,” Rowan warned.

“We shouldn’t split up, sister,” Beatrice said. Her green eyes reflected the light of the whale oil lamp that flickered inside the apartment, like a cat. “Who knows what lurks in the shadows of this horrible place.”

Rowan squeezed her shoulder, with her lips curling into a grin. “Nothing as terrible as us,” she assured.

Beatrice smiled, nodding, although she brought up her hand to hold Rowan’s wrist.

“I will check the apartment in the back, then,” she said, “But we shouldn’t take too long.”

Rowan nodded. “If we don’t find anything in twenty minutes, we regroup here.”

“Agreed. Until then, sister.”

The last thing she saw was Bea’s lingering smile while, with a crack, she vanished in a curtain of shadows, leaving behind a small pile of ashes. Rowan looked towards the terrace to the right and felt her body do the same; the rush in her ears of dark energy around her, and weightlessness from plunging into an empty space. A muted crack- and then suddenly spilling out like fish out of a net, into the dusty ground of the terrace.

It was not the first time she’d done that, and wouldn’t be the last. Yet, there was little she loved more than the feeling of surrendering her body to the Void, if for a moment.

Rowan crouched, eyeing her surroundings before going towards the door. Its wood was putrid and soft, and peeling off the bottom. It was ajar. She pushed it open slowly, and it still groaned. Rowan kept still for a moment, listening for any signs of movement inside. Nothing came. She went in.

The corridor was dark, as the only source of light was coming from the moonlight through the door she’d kept open. At the turn towards the stairs, she kept her body close to the wall, leaning sideways to squint at the dark. She saw nothing, but inhaled deeply before unsticking herself from her place to keep going.

There were two doors in this corridor, both blocked by planks. She stopped briefly by them, reaching out with her perception to try to feel Alice’s presence, but to no avail.

Down the stairs, the next floor was equally empty. Rowan crept towards the end of the corridor, where it turned into the next stairwell. The stairs were blocked by debris carried by the water, which she could hear lapping against the other side. However, there was a door, unblocked, directly in front of the stairs. She reached out. Nothing.

Still, Rowan touched the knob, and with a gentle twist of her wrist, tested it. It clicked open. She held her breath, surprised by the noise. When nothing seemed to respond, she pushed it further, and went in.

This apartment opened directly to a narrow corridor that opened to a larger room. Light poured out from it. Rowan followed. There was a doorframe to her left, leading to a bathroom.

She walked further, and the next doorframe belonged to a former bedroom. She searched it briefly. All that was left was the bedframe, a shelf with a few leather-covered books, a safe –that was open and empty- and a cabinet, with a cup still atop it.

Rowan went straight to the bigger room, this time. The light came in from an open window, busted and crooked on the frame. She widened her eyes. Bloodstains clashed with the window’s faded white wash. Rowan touched the hilt of the sword strapped to her waist.

She followed the trail of blood with her eyes. Like the other apartments, this one was scattered with dust, papers and glass shards. However, there were footprints in the dust, although they formed a chaotic pattern, like an abstract painting of dirt and blood. Two roses had been trampled over in the fight, stained and pressed onto the dusty ground. One trail of footprints went out through the window. That was certain.

Rowan walked in slowly. The silence was overwhelming in comparison to the loud beating of her heart, which she felt in her ears. She braced. And she found Alice, lying crookedly near the wall, in a puddle of her own blood.

She knelt next to Alice, cupping her face with her hands and turning it gently. There was a deep tear in her neck, almost all the way through, but not quite. She gasped, and let go quickly. It made her head hang in a strange way, which sent shivers up Rowan’s back.

An arrow had lodged itself right through her sternum. Her eyes, which had become white when she received her magic, had now faded into her natural brown and glazed over. Her jaw was lax, already open. Rowan imagined she might have screamed.

“You gave them a fight,” she said, and barely recognized the cracked voice that came out. She breathed, and said, “You showed them who you are and sent them home bleeding to lick their wounds. You are one with the Void now, sister.”

She didn’t want to leave Alice there to be eaten by rats and flies. But she couldn’t carry her. Her body was stiff and Rowan could barely hold her up, let alone transport her back. So she gently laid her out in the middle of the room with her arms resting on her stomach, and went into the bedroom. She opened the cabinet, and grabbed a few sheets, despite the strong smell of dust and mildew. She covered Alice with the least yellowed one, and took the shards of decorated porcelain bowls and plates from the kitchen to surround her.

She whispered a prayer to the Void, fighting against the nausea that threatened to rise past her throat.

When she was done, Rowan followed the footprints into the window. There was a smudged dirt stain in the lower frame, and nothing else. Either the killer had dropped down into the water or used magic. The prospect made her grimace.

She looked up at the setting sun and startled. Beatrice. More than half an hour had passed, and she had forgotten completely to come back to their meetup point. She summoned the shadows to involve her once more.

With a crack, she was back in the rooftop of the apartment. She walked to the edge, where she could see the balcony downwards. She only needed to drop.

A second, muted snap sounded somewhere behind her.

She turned back. Her fingers twitched towards the hilt of her sword.

Under the full moon’s light, however, the rooftops were well lit, and after scanning them Rowan didn’t see anybody or anything.

“Rowan?”

She barely stifled the jump at the sudden voice. It was Bea, on the balcony, calling up to her. She’d heard it as well, Rowan was certain.

“I’m here,” she said, shooting the rooftops a last glare before bracing with her arm on the edge of the tiles and dropping down onto the balcony. “We need to leave.”

Beatrice nodded, catching onto her unease. “I agree, sister. But- Did you find anything?”

Rowan felt her stomach drop. Beatrice still held onto the wine bottle, and fiddled with the corkscrew’s lid. She held Beatrice’s arms gently, guided her into the apartment, and said, “I did. I’m sorry.”

Bea’s eyes welled up, glinting in the moonlight, but she compressed his lips, as if she was afraid that if she started talking she would break down. She nodded, but the tears escaped, running down her cheeks.

Rowan put her arms around her, pulling her into a hug. Bea rested her head in her shoulder. She let the other stay for a while, pretending she didn’t hear the sniffing and hiccups. When her breath stilled slightly, she pulled away gently.

“We have to go. Take that wine with you, so we drink it in her memory.”

Beatrice wiped her face and nodded. She turned to pick up the bottle in the centre table, where she had left it before they went scouting.

She heard a dry crack behind her.

Rowan spun, her hand already closing around the grip of her sword. A person was perched on the balcony’s rail. Their face was hidden by a mask. Two red-tinted glass panels and a filter cartridge canister over the mouth. They dropped down, and with a blur of movement, something shot out of their wrist. Rowan flinched, expecting it to hit her- a dart, or a crossbow arrow?

Instead, Beatrice let out a thin noise behind her. She looked at her, wide-eyed, swayed, and dropped down.

The person approached Rowan, unsheathing their sword.

Rowan channelled the Void’s energy to her chest, and as she thought of Alice’s broken body, of Beatrice, behind her, she released it all into her shriek. The whaler stumbled back, losing his footing. He quickly balanced himself again, but that was enough to allow Rowan to unsheathe her own blade and slash it at his throat.

He caught it with his own. The metal grinded against each other, until Rowan was pushed back roughly. She stumbled. He slashed at her, but she caught it haphazardly. The assassin didn’t hesitate, and slashed again. This time, it cut a line under her collarbone.

Rowan growled, sneering at him. When he pulled the sword back to pierce through her, the only thing it caught was the smoke and ashes she left behind.

She appeared behind them, with a crack. It alerted the whaler, and he twisted back with the sword ready- until she hurled a vase at their chest.

It shattered, pushing him backwards. This time he did fall over, and Rowan was over in a second, her sword swinging in an arc towards his torso.

The whaler raised his left arm, turning his forearm outward. It didn’t register to Rowan until her sword caught on something, producing a crush. She looked down. It was a gauntlet, a tiny crossbow, notched to the leather vambrace around their wrist.

She tried to back out, but the assassin moved quickly, holding onto the lapel of her coat and hooking his leg around hers. Rowan fell, with the whaler over her, pinning her down. But his sword had been lost somewhere; hers was still on her hand. She tried to slip to the side, gain room to swing the sword again, but the whaler noticed. He trapped her arm between his own torso and left arm.

She struggled against the hold, but there was no give. Panicked, Rowan hit her palm against the mask, shattering the red glass visor and forcing his head back. She felt the meat of her hand split, caught in the metal sockets of the mask, and the warm blood seeping out.

Suddenly, the whaler disappeared, leaving behind a brief image of themselves that shattered onto nothing. Rowan didn’t wait; she disappeared as well, and when the person reappeared near the centre table, picking up their sword, she was already up on the cabinet.

Rowan threw herself at him.

The whaler had heard her, and spun around to deflect her sword, but Rowan’s was angled differently. She felt it pierce through his shoulder, not passing through, but breaking the skin. A sudden, red-hot line of pain traced her ribs, but she used her magic to pull him further into the sword. He kept pushing, trying to get her to release her hold. For a moment, they were stuck in this stalemate.

He broke first, letting go of his sword to close his gloved hands around the tip of hers. Rowan sighed out a small laugh. She pinned him on the wall. Though the whaler were much larger than she was, the sword lodged in his shoulder impeded his from reacting too fast. He tried to move, to throw Rowan off him, but she twisted the sword ever so slightly. Blood gushed out, soaking into the dark uniform.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said, between her teeth. Her knuckles turned white as bone holding the sword’s grip.

“Be done with it, witch.” Despite the metallic rumble the mask gave it, his voice came with a strong accent. Instead of aggressive like she’d expected, the whaler sounded strangely composed. Rowan gritted her teeth.

“Tell me,” she said, “The witch with dark shaved hair, green-skinned. Did you kill her?”

He said nothing. Rowan plunged her knife further into his skin, and he groaned, squirming. “Did you?”

“No,” he said, and hung his head. He looked strangely ashamed when he said, “Not me.”

“Why are you whalers here?”

He hesitated, then said, “…Not for any of you.”

Rowan frowned at the cryptic answer. The man slowly brought his hand up to touch his chest and catch some of the blood that was running out, pooling in his glove.

“Why are you witches here?” he asked.

“I’m asking the questions,” she cut in. “How many of you are there?”

“Many.”

“Not all of you are looking around,” she said. “How many are in patrol?”

“Seven.” His voice was breathy now, tired.

“Where?” Her hand moved slightly, tired of holding up the sword. The man winced, sucking in air through his teeth. She heard the noise through the metallic filter.

“Near the rail tracks,” he said. That was south. They had entered through the buildings near the southwest, and if she kept close enough to the old Hound Pits quarter, maybe she would be able to avoid them entirely. It was her only shot.

She pulled her sword off, but kept it pointed at the same spot. The whaler staggered, propping himself up on the wall. He covered the wound with his hands.

“She’s not dead,” he said.

“What?”

“Your friend,” he indicated with a nod, “It was a sleep dart.”

Rowan didn’t turn to inspect Beatrice and see if he spoke the truth, but she mulled the idea over in her head. He was a whaler, an assassin by profession. He could be buying time. Yet he claimed to have spared a trespassing witch.

“Why would you let her live?” she said, looking at the inscrutable mask’s eyes. She had broken one of the visors, but the inside of the sockets were darkened. He said nothing, but his shoulders were tense.

After a while, he tilted his chin up, and said, “I don’t know.”

His eye showed through the broken visor. It was barely open between his swollen eyelids, red and slick with blood like a weeper’s tears. A piece of glass had lodged itself on the outer corner of his eye socket. He would probably lose that one, if he lived.

Rowan lifted her arm and quickly brought down the pommel of her sword to the side of his head with a crack. The whaler slumped to the floor.

She scrutinized him, still holding onto the sword. When he gave no signs of standing up or moving she sheathed it and ran towards Beatrice.

A small, syringe-like bolt was stuck on her neck. The whaler had called is a “sleep dart”. A quarter of a bright green liquid still sloshed in the syringe when Rowan picked it out carefully, and turned Beatrice over carefully. Alice’s opaque eyes. The wilting flowers on her collarbones. Rowan’s heartbeat echoed on her ribs, hammered on her throat, as she brushed her fingers against Bea’s neck and the budding saplings that grew there. She just started. She’d just started.

Beatrice’s eyes fluttered, and flew open. Rowan’s breath hitched, but as her sister looked over, searching for her, she quickly wiped the tears that had begun to overflow the corner of her eyes.

“Are you alright?” Rowan asked. She offered her hand for Beatrice to hold onto as she propped herself up.

“Yes… I think so,” she said, rubbing her hand on her temple, which had hit the ground as she fell. She looked at the body of the whaler across the room. “Good riddance.”

Rowan kept silent as she helped Beatrice to her feet. The girl stumbled slightly, but held onto her shoulder, taking a moment to regain her balance.

“We need to leave through the Hound Pit’s surroundings,” she explained, “Are you well enough to walk? Can you see properly?”

“Yes, Rowan”.

“Then, be a dear and look out to see if there’s anyone watching. Stay crouched, and don’t leave the balcony.”

Bea nodded, and went out onto the balcony with steady steps, although she still blinked slowly.

Rowan sighed. She dug into the small leather pouch strapped to her belt, pulling out a bit of moss. It was from the deep of the Wrenhaven, and was mixed with enchanted witch hazel oil, giving it a strong herbal smell.

Her heart still beat fast. Everything she’d learned told her it could still be a trick. That liquid might have been poison. Maybe the Whalers had used their magic to concoct a potion that would reveal their lair to them, and they would be made the foolish hares, walking back to their burrow and giving the hunters a better quarry.

She walked over to where the whaler laid, and pressed the moss into his wound, moving his hand to cover it. The blood had seeped out, blooming dark on the front of his uniform.

He had sounded tired, when he’d spoken. That was what convinced her he was being sincere. I don’t know, he’d said, but with a look that carried more than that. He didn’t sound tentative at all. Or maybe, she thought, it was relief that was filling in these logical holes, making up these cues for her.

When it was done, she sighed, frowning. She felt like a fool. The whaler was slumped with his head at an angle, seemingly done for, but his chest lifted and fell rhythmically. Rowan scoffed and turned back, ready to join Bea at the balcony.

“All clear?” she said, walking out with the same half-crouched posture as the other witch.

“All clear.”

“Let’s go home, Bea.”

The two vanished, and reappeared in the rooftops opposite to the apartment.

#dishonored #dishonored fic #dishonored fanfic #I miiiiight continue this bc I wanted to get into Brigmore coven ~cult mentality~#but I'm busy writing my thesis so idk #I just kinda like this it was fun to write #dishonored oc #whalers #brigmore witches

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