hii ! this is my fanfic / writing blog, I'll most likely post things here that are too short to post on ao3 (or just not quality enough that I think they're worth posting there), various concepts / ideas, and requests*
*will elaborate on requests later on
ᯓ★ i'm amiyah !!
ᯓ★ i use he/she pronouns
ᯓ★ my ao3
fandoms I'm in / will write about
ᯓ★ doctor who (nu, classic, & eu)
ᯓ★ nbc hannibal
ᯓ★ life on mars 2006
ᯓ★ ashes to ashes 2008
ᯓ★ yellowjackets
ᯓ★ red dead redemption (1 & 2)
ᯓ★ hades! game
ᯓ★ lord of the flies
ᯓ★ stranger things
ᯓ★ marauders
ᯓ★ disco elysium
other topics I may write about
ᯓ★ various mythos (greek, roman, celtic, etc.)
ᯓ★ history
ᯓ★ original characters
requests
ᯓ★ I'm open to requests, but keep in mind there's a high chance I won't get to a lot of them. check bio to see if reqs are currently open !
ᯓ★ I am totally willing to write about various ships and such
ᯓ★ character x reader is a bit iffy, but I suppose it'd be a fun challenge, so feel free to ask for that, that just might not get a response
ᯓ★ I'm alright with writing more grotesque / violent scenes
ᯓ★ nothing super smutty, simply because I'm bad at writing it and it makes me a little uncomfortable to write
ᯓ★ I won't write anything morally dubious along the lines of things like incest, noncon, etc.
that's all for now ! more might be added later on. let's just hope I don't entirely forget about this blog haha
"Will blinks. He feels terrible. And he feels terrible about feeling terrible. Everything sort of culminates into a big wad of ‘feeling terrible’ that sits heavy in his heart. Maybe he shouldn’t have kept this from Mike for so long. Perhaps it was unfair and selfish and gross to keep stringing him along in this narrative of maybe, maybe, maybe. He should’ve cut it off from the beginning instead of holding onto that ridiculous, moronic hope. It was like a tumor, drilling its way into Will’s head, gnawing at his brain, lighting up his nerves, turning him catatonic. Despite all Will said, despite that ‘he was just my Tammy’ nonsense, Will thinks he’ll never be able to remove it."
or
Will Byers introspection and also Byler.
“Mike was looking at him with an expression that, for the life of him, Will could not decipher. Which was strange and more than a little terrifying, because he used to have every one of his friend’s microexpressions memorized to a tee. But alas, he supposed with a nausea-inducing feeling of sadness, Mike had changed. They both had.”
or
A rewrite of the awful, "Friends? No thanks… best friends," scene.
Maybe he just hates Theta. He doesn’t know. And that’s the part that’s really strangest of all because, honestly, he should know. Koschei is no stranger to hate. He feels it constantly, a sickly ache in his stomach, and hand clawing that his stomach lining, trying, trying to get out. Rearing to choke to hurt to destroy. Koschei knows hate because it constantly shadows him, breathing when he breathes, stepping when he steps.
new chapter of this !! please read notes beforehand because I've a bit to say about this
“Have I ever told you”—Helen looks away and it feels as though Kassandra’s entire being cools and hardens back to its former husk—“that your disdain for me may very well be the only thing reminding of my reality, the only thing keeping me tethered to this realm. The others love or hate me, both in falsehood. You see me, you know me, and you loathe me for it.”
or
Kassandra and Helen have a chat.
hi everyone I wrote iliad yuri because there is far too little kassandra / helen fics out there
Achilles had tired of his maltreatment of Hektor’s body after several long, gruesome hours of dragging Priam’s son of the silver helmet about the battlefield, laying waste to his sable hair in the dirt and dust. It was at the point where the leather strap bound around Hektor’s ankles began to dig into his bone when Achilles had decided he’d had enough. With one last glance at the mourners atop the walls of Troy, he turned his immortal horses, Balios and Xanthus, back towards the Achaean camps.
this got like no traction when i posted it on ao3 so I'm hoping it does here cause I'm actually quite proud of it
Scales against stone, the Renegade slithered through the Garden. It was a blessedly easy task, this. A simple hushed suggestion was all it was, and he had the humans sinking their canines into the meat of the forbidden fruit in no time. It was, well, funny, really. It’d all gone down rather quickly, hadn’t it? Just one suggestion—just a few words.
thoschei good omens AU yay !! i finally got around to writing something with an actual plot ! who knew it could be done. (also posted about this idea on my main so if you've seen that then you're cool)
He rose, faux-pinions flaring as they caught the wind / The ocean foam whipped in his face / Flew on, he did, and as he flew he gazed / And as he gazed he saw the Sun / And, in turn, the Sun saw him
Helios sat in the heavens, looking upon / Poor Icarus as he took the long way down
‘O lustful one!’ The eminent light called / ‘Heed good Daedalus’ warning, / lest you damn yourself at my unwilling hands!’ / His words were whisked away by Zephyrus / (still bitter about his loss to great Phoebus)
And Icarus, winged in artifice / As it were, remained ignorant / To the great Sun’s warnings
Like smoke that floats on the cool breeze / And up and up, so went that boy / Grasping at nothing and everything / Praying to the utmost king of kings / That he would reach that beautiful one / which gives us life
And he did; crossing a line not him / Nor one with keener eyes could’ve seen
O Icarus! Had you’d known that / Your great victory allowed Tartarus / To sink his claws in you for good / Would you have celebrated so? / Now, as most victors do / (think of the great Aléxandros / and that dastardly Achilles) / He succumbed to the flames
The wax of his wings left scalding / Teardrops along his skin / And the plumes fell to the ocean below / preceding that same movement from their master
He quivered as he fell, head held back in hysteria / He descended at such a speed that the sea seemed / A constant image steadily growing in magnitude / He looked towards the heavens, wherein his Lord Helios resided / And he, then, grinned — boyish, in nature; joyful
In a blink Helios was in the air / Aiming down and down as that young boy had
His wings extended behind him as a storks might / When diving for its sustenance / He scooped Icarus into his arms / Presence an overwhelming warmth / And transported him to the sand below
The sticky wax on Icarus’ back / Was an explicit reminder of his unquenchable lust
‘Why, Icarus?’ the befallen sun called / ‘Why have you damned thy personage? / Do you wish to imitate me? / To partake in my glory is not your place. You will burn.’ / Helios’ wings fluttered behind him, strong and full / As if mocking the incompetent contraptions / That Icarus had so proudly adorned
And Icarus, ‘O my Lord! I hope not to debauch, but to bask / In your presence and your warmth and brightness.’
‘My heat will burn. My light will blind.’ / ‘I care not.’ / ‘You will not die at my hands. I won’t allow it.’ / This seemed to give that arrogant Icarus some pause / As he spoke not a word for a lengthy time. / ‘Please?’
Icarus was cast onto that scalding sand / Left with no choice but to watch in reverence / As Helios ascended back to the heavens
He was sure to try again / Follow the path of damnation once more / Icarus was starving with want / His stomach churned and bile licked at his throat / He needed something, anything / more
The Doctor was, well, good. That was plain as day; anyone who met them could attest to that. But not everyone who met the Doctor knew the Doctor. The Master knew the Doctor—knew John Smith, knew Theta Sigma, knew the Oncoming Storm, knew Snail and Wormhole and Corporal Jones and Doktor von Wer and every other silly, artificial mask the Doctor chose to put on.
Because, at the end of the day, the Doctor’s ‘goodness’ was really not so plain. They were mean and rough and reckless and violent and self-entitled and egotistical, but so too they were kind and caring and brave and selfless and so very loving. So no, the Master thought, the Doctor was not good. The Doctor, in simplest terms, was human—more human, maybe, than most genuine Homo sapiens.
