In an attempt to get back into writing, I've taken a left turn into The Empyrean (perhaps better known as Fourth Wing). A little side project where I tackle the popular Xaden/OFC (Sorrengail) trope and try to subvert expectations and have fun on the way!
Find it on ao3.
After her dad dies, Vivienne Sorrengail struggles to keep her sister and mother afloat. With Brennan dead and Mira deployed, there's no one for her to lean on. No one but the mysterious first year rider that she keeps meeting on the Parapet. The one that just happens to be her soulmate, but doesn't know it.
When her Conscription Day finally circles around, she's shocked to realize her soulmate is none other than Xaden Riorson, son of the man her mother captured and her new squad leader. She can't bring herself to reveal their bond, but neither can they stay apart. In her first year in the Riders' Quadrant, Viv is forced to contend with assassins, nosy squadmates and--worst of all--relationship drama.
Inspirations include but are not limited to:
Basgiath (Remi's Version) by @skyfallscotland
Fourth Wing (Summer's Verison) by sumcp
Though I burn by iamataraxia
Excerpt beneath the cut:
The August air is sticky with humidity, still with a distinct lack of wind. Even when I stop on the edge, there’s barely a breeze, despite the height. With a sigh, I take a careful step onto the Parapet, then another and another. It’s a little over a foot wide, uneven and untrustworthy. Every moment on it is a death wish, Malek standing at your shoulders.
The noise in my head goes quiet. The weight of my dad’s specter fades, just a little. This high, I can’t think about Lettie or Mom or anyone else. I’m just a young woman dancing with death. I reach the halfway point before I stop, slowly easing myself into a sitting position. I’m careful to stay on this side of the line. Crossing it feels like a violation of something sacred.
You can’t grow up a Sorrengail without respecting the Codex.
Beyond Basgiath, the rolling hills of Morraine spread out beneath me. The mountains to the south create a sharp wall, boxing the world in. Moonlight casts everything in contrasts, deepening shadows. I pull out my notebook and charcoal, carefully beginning to sketch the scene. It’s impossible to think and draw at the same time and my muscles relax, one by one. Up here, I’m free of everything.
“Weird place to draw.”
I startle, foot kicking the wall hard enough to bruise. Only years of training mean I keep my balance and don’t go tumbling into the void below as I whip my head around. What peace I’ve collected scatters, heart pounding a solid beat in my throat.
I know those words. I know those words better than I know my own name. They curve across my left ribcage, seared into my skin like a brand. They’re why I started drawing in the first place. Why I’ve never given it up, though my mother disapproves of the hobby.
From the rider’s side of the Parapet, a cadet has joined me. Details are hard to make out in the dim moonlight but he’s large, broad. A single star glints at his throat, marking him as a first year. He stops a few feet from the center line, staring down at me with a half smirk on his lips. Dark hair and skin place his ancestry somewhere in Tyrrendor or Deaconshire.
I’m staring. I know I’m staring, but I can’t seem to stop. My heart thrums in time with my thoughts, drowning out common sense. I finally manage to swallow, collecting my jaw and wits enough to speak. “Generally, I don’t get interrupted.”
I’m staring, which means I see the absence of a reaction. The hollow void where it should be, a mirror to this exhilaration I’m feeling. But he gives nothing, not even a blink, as if the words mean nothing to him. How is that possible?
“Admittedly, this is a good place for that. Risk of death and all.”
“You don’t seem to mind the risk.”
“I’ve already survived before.” His head tilts, hair shifting as he watches me in turn. “But those stones are stained red for a reason.”
I snort before I can stop it. “Well, aren’t you a bundle of sunshine.”
Being a writer is hearing a new song, going "oh no", and surfacing a week and a half later with 50,000 words added to your WIP while you have lost track of time, space, food, and social obligations
sonce the sports are happening big rn where i live i made a handy chart of all the phrases i use to communicate with my loved ones during these trying times. i thought others might find it useful too
ive discovered you can have whole conversations with people using just these phrases and none will be any the wiser that you dont even know what sport it is theyre talking about
It turns out, "so which member of this team do you think is most fuckable?" does not resonate with straight men because they refuse to watch women's sports.
I know some fic writers get stressed about writing tropes they think are too popular or overdone, and I need you all to know that I just spent 4 hours reading every iteration of the same exact fic plot I could find, and they all brought me an indescribable amount of joy. Listen. Listen. Sometimes you want cakes of many flavours and sometimes you want Nine Carrot Cakes
‘‘shipping is fucking up how some of yall consume media‘‘ i do not ‘consume media’ i read books, i watch movies. like a normal person does. when was this term mass adopted, why is every work of art ‘‘consumed’‘. along with ‘’creating content’’ its terms the little lad on the monopoly box would use
A 75 yo man proudly came into the cafe wearing an Ultra Maga hat. I excused my barista from the register to handle the transaction.
"The hat is customizable," he said, struggling with the velcro patch on the front. "If I need it, I have an ICE one too. I pick based off the business i walk into."
"Customizable is an important hat descriptor," I said. "what can I get you?"
"You wouldn't believe how offended people get these days," he said. "And I'm supposed to do something about it if you're offended? You chose to be offended!"
"We all have hundreds of thousands of decisions everyday," I said. I thickened my accent. "That's what my stepdad always said. But I can make one easier - we have a delicious Ethiopian roast available."
"Like if I told you you have a bull ring," he said, "because bulls have rings in their noses. Is that offensive?"
I laughed. "I've heard that before."
"It's a joke, but people get offended. Maybe you're offended."
I looked at him. I smiled. "You aren't trying to offend me though, right?"
Of course he was. I was being friendly and the friendlier I was, the faster he switched topics. He was saying anything inflammatory he could think of to see if I'd take the bait. After about 20 minutes of my redirecting and deescalating, he settled into a more normal interaction. He took up too much of my time showing me a product I'd feigned mild interest in to get him to stop talking about getting accused of inappropriate behavior at work. When we finally disengaged, he spent 10 minutes trying to catch my eye again. When he failed, he left.
There's this new breed of customer who insists on trying to incite political conversation through their clothing and, when that doesnt work, their snide little comments. If I owned my own business, maybe I would have given the guy the fight he wanted. But I work for a corporation and I love paying my bills so I deescalated.
Anyone wearing that type of shit and preying on workers for their own spank bank material is a brainless fucking sheep.
something i want to mention because i’ve seen it growing as a trend online is that not only do people do this just for their own gratification, but watch for glasses. smart glasses are a growing segment of the consumer market, and creeps like this are harassing people in public in order to gather content without the victims being aware they’re being filmed
today I learned that in 2008, the city council of florence overturned dante’s sentence of execution if he returned from exile. yes, dante’s inferno dante, who died in 1321.
but the funniest part of this is not that they were debating the exile of a man who has been dead for over 500 years.
the funniest part is that the vote was 19-5. five people voted to uphold dante’s exile.
The objectively funniest part of this is actually that the city that holds his remains, Ravenna, refused to give his remains back. This was a ploy from florence to have his remains moved back for the tourist money and its been ongoing for a long time. Florence had a fake tomb built in the city to trick people into visiting, and have tried to force the return of the remains.
His actual caretakers have been very steadfast in keeping them hidden, moved, or generally out of reach to respect his choice in life to never, ever, ever return to florence, even when he was first offered the chance to return. This is at this point an almost millenium long feud that florence is really, really mad about losing
jkr is literally posting upskirt photos to her social media. when will it finally get through to harry potter fans that their support makes her feel confident and correct enough to do things like this
If the holocaust denialism SOMEHOW wasn't enough for you to shut up about your favourite kids book as an adult; JK Rowling just committed a sex crime IRL against a transgender woman.
I think I am officially Fandom Old. I am so worn out from the arguments on who's the top or the bottom (who cares), what is allowed to be written (anything you want, bejeebus), what is Problematic (I know, just tag it), what other people Should Do (they Should live their lives free of judgment). There isn't a Right Way to do things. Tag your stuff appropriately, don't read stuff you don't want to read, and leave other people (me) alone.
There is nothing quite like the freedom of having gone through all of the Discourse and come out the other side into the promised land of Not Giving A Fuck.
the draw of arranged marriage AUs to me is really the way the dubcon of it all binds them together. neither of them have a choice in being here, something else is foisting this upon them whether that’s their parents or the political situation around them or expectation or something else, but the point is that they don’t get that one choice. so they have to make a choice somewhere else, that now that they’re here, they’re going to make it work. they’re each other’s only allies, in this cage built around them. they may have been coerced into swearing to stand by each other through anything, but they did swear.
it’s not love at first, or second, or third sight. it’s not love in the wedding bed the first time, whether they grit their teeth through it or decide together to forgo that binding step and try to get around it as long as they can. it’s about sharing a bed with a stranger while you learn their nightmares and how they hog the covers. it’s about sharing a name before you even know each other’s hobbies. the appearances you have to keep up, and the connection you find in both being exhausted by them, laughing together because isn’t it ridiculous how you not only have to be married but you have to act like it’s perfect and lovely for everyone else watching. it’s love that creeps up quiet and slow, between shared secrets that make your wedding bands mean something for the first time, and trying to protect each other from the trap you’re both in. and it’s about having the mortifying thought of “oh my god, i have a crush on my wife.”
