krisander writes

congrats. you found my tumblr writin blog. i will answer questions on my stories here as well as post when i update and things.

[krisanderwrites]

Heyo! Love your malachite and sparrow story. Any chance you'll be writing more chapters?

it only took literal years but hey- i dusted off my keyboard and edited the second chapter to post today. the third is mostly done and maybe i will find my muse to complete the story

[krisanderwrites]

Malachite and Sparrow 02

My second summer there was a mix up in the paperwork and I had to vacate the dorms for two weeks until it was sorted out. None of my classmates lived close enough to make couch surfing a viable option, so I eventually swallowed my apprehension and called my mother. Although I attempted to keep the conversation short, she was elated to hear that I would be coming home this year. When I finally hung up, I knew that there was no way Malachite had not overheard my given name. Of course she was considerate enough to not mention it.

The long trip home was peppered with anxiety attacks and countless worries. By the time I finally arrived in the airport, I was exhausted. Thankfully that gave me the excuse to ignore the way my parents did not recognize me until after a second glance. They shuffled me into the car, berating my tardiness and how it was messing with my sister's schedule since she had an important meeting. Everything felt dull and far away, much worse than my depression ever was while at college.

I took it easy, as much as someone going to Elsewhere University can on break. Unable to break the habit of watching every word I uttered, I found solace in furthering my research online and at the local library. I cleaned out my old room, throwing away most of the things I had no use for anymore. I visited my great-aunt Hazel in her nursing home. When she pressed a plastic bag full of small boxes into my hands, I gave her a strange look.

"For exchanges," she said, smiling. Opening one, I found a kitschy set of matching topaz earrings and necklace. Realizing the gift, I gave a small gasp. She would not accept me doing anything for her in exchange, simply saying that she had no use for all of them anyway. I still have no clue how she knew about the Gentry. However, she had certainly given me ideas.

I began to talk to my sister and mother, telling them about Malachite's love of jewelry of all kinds- how she even made her own on occasion. In response, they gave me all of their old things that they no longer wanted to pass along to her. A few of my cousins even dropped off their old mismatched earrings and pendants and charm bracelets. I went to the nursery and picked up seeds of plants I had not been able to get my hands on while on campus. In the back of my closet I found my old fighting gear and packed it into an old gym bag my brother was going to throw out.

To make sure there were no debts I mowed lawns, weeded gardens, cleaned out gutters, scrubbed bathrooms, and bathed dogs. Each present got a chore in payment. Money exchanged hands as well, but I tried to reserve as much of that as possible for more important things than trinkets to trade. In the end I left with two more bags than I had come back with, full of all sorts of helpful things. I think somehow I knew even then that I was never really coming back.

"You know... you really have changed," my mother remarked as she dropped me off at the airport.

My mouth was dry, "Yeah, I think I have too."

"I'm not sure it is for the better," she snidely added.

"Well, I do," I shrugged and grabbed the last bag out of the trunk.

She seemed uneasy, "I suppose this is goodbye then."

"Yep," I said.

"Will you at least call?" she asked.

"Probably not," I answered, not even attempting to stretch the truth. "I think we both have very different ideas about who I am, and it would probably just hurt more."

There were tears in her eyes when she laughed, "You really have changed. I will wish you luck, then. Don't worry about your father; he already knows. He's considered you dead for at least six months now."

"That does explain the lack of conversation," I had quipped. "Well, I have to somehow get through security with all this."

I walked away without looking back even once. Somehow it felt like I was shedding my old skin. I checked my bags and got onto the plane with no troubles. Smooth sailing for the Captain. The feeling of overall sluggishness left upon entering campus again. Dropped off in front of the dorm building with my bags, I was delighted to see a greeting party of crows waiting for me. They were rewarded with the best sugar cookies my hometown had to offer. Overall it felt more like coming home than visiting my family ever had.

        *        *        *        *

Settling back down into a dorm room felt strange knowing that it was going to be just me on my own again. I planted all the seeds I had bought in trays that I placed upon the windowsill. I sorted through all the jewelry I had amassed and threw away the unnecessary packaging; it still filled most of a duffel bag. My old fighting gear was relegated to the back of yet another closet; I could not bear to throw it away but for now it served no purpose. Perhaps I could find a new group to practice with on campus later. I took a part-time job at a local veterinary clinic to help expand my knowledge and experience.

To be truthful, everything was just a distraction until Malachite returned. Without her nearby I felt the pull of the Else at my veins. Sometimes I would stare out at the forest with a longing- an urge- to simply walk among the trees and then keep walking. Realistically I knew that this was a terrible idea, but it was true all the same. The Fair Folk were more numerous on campus as autumn drew closer, all eagerly anticipating the return of the students as much as I was.

With no small amount of glee, I showed off my acquisitions to Malachite. She stared, wide-eyed, and asked what in the world I was planning on doing with all of that jewelry. I laughed her off, claiming that I was just going to save it all for a rainy day. It was mostly true. (I was something of a zombie-survival plan person anyway.) I did not tell her that my intuition said that there were storms coming.

Still, things continued on much as normal for quite some time, if perhaps a bit busier. I gave presents to Jimothy- as many beads as my cousins had managed to trade for me doing their chores. Clients at the veterinary clinic occasionally brought me gifts for helping to care for their animals, which I in turn gifted to fae or other students. My study group commandeered a room in the library where the time distortion was not too terrible. I set a broken wing for one crow and stemmed the bleeding broken beak of another.

Sometimes I attended parties just to escort people back to their dorms safely. Ever curious, I worked endlessly on ideas and inventions that I never intended to see the light of day. After all, knowledge of how to heal and soothe comes only after knowledge of how to hurt and break. The contraptions piled in my closet next to my unused fighting gear.

It took some time for me to realize that Malachite had plans of her own.

By helping others and trading in offerings of homemade bread or sweets for crystals and gemstones, she had amassed quite a literal treasure trove. Taking these precious finds, she then created jewelry from them. Homemade trinkets are always worth more to the fae than ones that you buy in a store. As I watched her collection grow, I suddenly understood her concerns with my own hoard.

Then one day I walked in during a break from classes and realized something had happened. Malachite was burning sage in the room which showed evidence of a recent bout of furious cleaning. When pressed, she simply said that the salt lines had been worn away over time and needed replacing. The fearful glances to the corner of the room, however, spoke a different story.

I decided that though my hands were often burned with silver nitrate (so useful in stopping small bleeds), perhaps having the Sight was something I should keep around more often. Just in case. I began wearing a mood ring on my middle finger. It immediately turned to black and then remained that color whenever I wore it. I tried not to feel anxious about this and failed miserably.

        *        *        *        *

Right at midterms there was a brief flurry of activity before things settled down again. Hardly anyone got taken over midterms that year, as there were several days that were designated safe due to the school fair. Then there was a night where all the signs were there for A Hunt. There was a new moon and strange yelling that could be mistaken for baying. Everyone kept to their dorm rooms and locked the entrances.

What came knocking at our door was our new RA, who was a nice enough woman studying business and law.

"Captain," she had said.

I had tilted my head and informed her that was not my official nickname.

"No," she laughed, "but it suits you well. You're already rather well known as a Knight." Something about that title rang true in my bones and I had to suppress a shiver as she continued, "Anyway, there is a bit of a situation. They are asking for you to come out and see to one of their hounds."

"What they?" Malachite had demanded.

"You know, the Fair Folk," she explained.

"Absolutely not."

Blinking, we both turned to the side. Malachite pushed forward to stand in the doorway, hands on her hips.

"I'm not letting Sparrow take one step outside on a night of A Hunt. Even if it were not suicide, the chances of being stolen are far too great."

I laughed, "All my new surgical tools are made of steel. I doubt any of Them would want me."

Despite her protests, we both ended up following the RA to the threshold of the dorm hall. Standing there was a perfectly respectable attempt at a humanoid form, albeit with an extra limb or two. At least they were trying. The hound itself was, as typical, an eldritch abomination that could possibly be construed as canine if you were on LSD and also only had ever known dogs from the story of The Hound of the Baskervilles. However, the long, hungry glances the Good Neighbor kept sending towards Malachite were disconcerting.

"I will heal, for that is what is right," I offered readily, "but should you attempt to take or harm my companions, I will fight, as that is also right. Do we have an understanding here?"

The hissing reply was not pleased-sounding, but not being attacked outright was a good sign. When finally it nodded petulantly, I stepped forward to the heaving mass on the grass and kneeled down. Luckily it turned out to be a small favor. The monster had thorns in its hide from a hawthorn tree dipped in iron. Snarling at the wicked items, I palmed them with the thought to destroy it later by fire. A small salve applied to the wounded areas and the Hunt was once again ready to leave.

"Freely given," I said as they vanished into the mists.

"You're foolish," noted the RA. "You should have asked for something."

"Asking for payment is more foolish than being a good person," I replied. "All my aid is freely given, and I won't charge the Gentry any more than the crows. I am a healer, after all."

"Talk softly, treat others kindly, and carry a big damn stick," supplied Malachite.

"Exactly," I smiled as I closed my fist around the iron-tipped thorns.

        *        *        *        *

The hungry eyes of the Gentry were long forgotten as time slipped past. There was too much to do and too many who needed aiding for paranoia to set in fully. It did not catch my attention at the time that my plants were starting to grow a little too well or my newly acquired pet fish seemed more colorful than was natural. I did not notice when I began to avoid eating my food with excess salt.

No, my first sign that something was terribly wrong was an itching, sore rash across the back of my neck.

It took some time, but eventually we figured out the trusty iron chain that our talisman rested upon was causing the problem. For a few days, neither of us spoke about it. Suddenly developing an allergy to iron was greatly concerning. And telling. We both knew what it meant, despite trying to ignore it.

Slowly, things began to change. The salt lines in the doorways and windows became complex symbols and runes. The gemstone satchels somehow migrated away from my side of the room. I began to take my coffee with creamer and sugar, despite always having had it black before.

"Fae-touched," someone told us when they noted me sitting on the grass to avoid the iron bench. "Not quite a Changeling, but not entirely human either. You've gained a lot a favor with the Gentry. Or a lot of ire, I suppose."

"Don't listen to her," another student rolled their eyes. "Everyone knows Captain Sparrow's a knight and a healer. The Good Neighbors like you just where you are."

It explained a little, we supposed. My family was mixed, but both sides had come from areas steeped in tales of the Fair Folk. Those with links to the old countries always were a little more at risk. So we simply decided to take more care and discuss our options. And we agreed. Neither of us would leave for the Else without the other. We would remain together through thick and thin.

Thus our third year at Elsewhere University ended with us just as close as before.

[krisanderwrites]

I don't know if this is rude to ask but is this blog and 5.0 dead? If so that's fine but I just wanted you to know that I really appreciated what you wrote especially that last chapter. I feel bad that I didn't notice you update until now but I wanted you to know that someone out there appreciates your work finished or not. Hope you're doing ok!

hey- not dead. just almost dead. mostly dead?? semantics

i was working on egberts epoch and... kinda let everything else slide. i sometimes suck like that. but yeah- recovering from that ordeal and then slowly but surely working on the third installment of trollstuck 5.0

[krisanderwrites]

Upd8

trollstuck 5.0 is coming right along. in fact we are quickly approaching the end

if everything goes well there will also be a surprise on 4/13 this year

[krisanderwrites]

UPD8

new chapter of trollstuck 5.0 is now up!! went a little darker than i expected but things will smooth out soon. nanowrimo might make the next chapter later than intended but i will definitely get it out by december if nothing else

also how does one write equius??

[krisanderwrites]

trollstuck 5.0 up8 tonight. pov from rose this time

i really did not expect such a long gap between the last chapter and this one, but life is once again proving that the best laid intentions of mice and men oft go astray. hopefully next chapter will be out sooner

[singingwithoutwords]

Ship Sizes

Supercarrier: fandom flagship.  Everybody and their dog ships it.  The fandom is glutted with artwork and fic.  You cannot escape this ship.

Dreadnought: massively popular.  Nearly everybody ships it.  You can, with dedication, in theory, reach the end of the AO3 archive for the ship’s tag, but it’ll take a long time.

Cruiser: pretty popular ship.  Not everyone ships it, but everyone knows about it.  Has a good amount of fic/art, and probably multiple ask blogs.

Frigate: just plain popular.  Feels like it could use more fanworks.  New people to the fandom might not know about it, but they’ll stumble across it sooner rather than later.

Gunboat: bit of a rarepair.  It might have an ask blog or two.  A couple big name fans ship it.  Probably only takes a few weeks to get through the entire AO3 backlog, and one new fic gets added during that time.

Tugboat: rarepair.  Almost never seen except as a side pairing to a more popular ship.  You can usually get through everything on AO3 in a matter of days.  You’ve forgotten what it is to be picky about what you read.

Rowboat: less than a dozen people ship it.  You all know each other.  You exist in an endless cycle of the same five people desperately producing art and fic and one person who constantly contributes headcanons.

Canoe: you are one of maybe three people who ship it, and there’s a not-insignificant chance you’ve never encountered those other two hypothetical shippers.  You spend your days paddling furiously in hopes of keeping the ship afloat, dreaming of the day you upgrade to a rowboat so you can finally rest.

[samjohnssonvt]

Submarine: Quite a few people ship it, but nobody wants to admit to shipping it. Will randomly appear and throw the other ships into confusion.

[rainewynd]

Pontoon: that random crossover ship with that one black dress character/trope/fandom everyone will ship with everything else. Has the potential to turn into a massive party until someone gets sick and everyone goes home.

[prokopetz]

Pedalo: That iconic bizarre crackship whose proponents claim they’re only into it ironically, but secretly they’re all dead serious.

[justacookieofacumberbatch]

Paging @amythe3lder for the pool noodle definition.

[amythe3lder]

Barge: Not quite seaworthy, but buoyant in both the literal and figurative senses. Someone is always merrily drunktweeting about it at 11pm on Saturday night and then wistfully sobertweeting about it 4 hours later from their kitchen floor. The kind of ship that generates more playlists than fic. Artfully covered in trash and dirty laundry.

Raft: There’s two-to-four people who Ship It Hard and a few others who grab onto the side for safety when there’s drama on their usual flagship.

Barrel: There’s orphaned fic of it. There’s unsigned art of it. There’s headcanon asks on anon. Someone must ship it, but no one knows why or who they are. Your friend got a glimpse once before they ducked back down.

Pool Noodle: It’s just you, kicking your feet. You named the ship and wrote it on your noodle with a big sharpie. You tell people about it and are met with confused blinking. Most of the fics in the tag were either written by you or for you. You are caught between wanting to shout about how lovely life is on this floating scrap of whimsy and fearing that your noodle can’t bear much weight. Or worse, that someone will come over and dunk you, take your noodle and fwhap you on the head with it. 

[gallusrostromegalus]

Scuba: Like a submarine, but it’s just you all by your lonesome, exploring the depths, possibly encountering more tentacles than anticipated.

[krisanderwrites]

new chapter of trollstuck 5.0 is up. gamzee comes in as the fourth pov. check it out if you want

[krisanderwrites]

upd8

for those who follow here- trollstuck 5.0 is up to three chapters already. mostly because i had some time off, but also because i am in love with this au idea. i am currently working on chapter 4, but it might take a bit more time to get posted

[krisanderwrites]

alternative alternia is officially over. what a ride it was but now it is time to say goodbye.

and hello to a new fic. the first chapter of trollstuck 5.0 is live. i hope you all enjoy it

[krisanderwrites]

dropped a chapter for battlefield egbert, even though i was certain i was done with that fic. to be fair it was for april fools. that is the only ‘prank’ i played all day.

look forward to next friday for a more serious update, though.

[krisanderwrites]

[simkjrs]

when will my motivation to write return from the war

[krisanderwrites]

Malachite and Sparrow 01

When I first moved into the dorms at Elsewhere University, everything seemed so vague and ethereal. Choose a nickname to go by? I had never had one before. Leave out creamer at night? Read poetry to the crows? Give Them offerings of bread. Well, I already had given them some of the soft pretzel I had brought from home, watching their black feathers gleam in the sunlight. They were nothing like the baby birds I had carefully hand-reared by instructions from wildlife rehabilitators. The crows were too orderly as they picked over the morsels I offered. I went with the name Sam, after my childhood pet. My first roommate never appeared. The RA assured me that everything was fine- just a mix up in the paperwork. I told him about my plans- biology major with a chemistry minor, becoming a veterinarian or forest ranger eventually- and he laughed and said that I would be alright. He reminded me to just carry salt packets in my pockets and wear the iron washer I had been given. Silly school traditions, I had thought to myself. Still, there was no harm in following his advice. I supposed reading to the crows would be at least a way to pass time- perhaps I could even study. Every day I would spend my time between classes reading aloud from my textbooks to them. Very few seemed to take an interest in my droning, often leaving for higher branches once the food I had brought was eaten. I made very little progress in the way of making human friends as well. Long hours studying and social anxiety kept me from interacting with any classmates unless absolutely necessary.

Slowly I began to withdraw. I spent more and more time indoors with the curtains drawn. I would go days sometimes without eating and nights without sleeping. I still cared for my potted plants and attended classes and studied, but everything was becoming dull and dim. I went through many electronics as my phone and laptop inexplicably would short out with little to no reason. I avoided calling my family. They always asked too many leading questions and I had never been any good at lying. At times the washer around my neck felt unnaturally heavy, like it was weighing me down, but I did not dare to take it off when outside my dorm room. Even as isolated as I was, I heard the stories. People who went missing and only sometimes came back. People who were avoided by fellow students until they packed up and went home. I did not want to end up like them. Home had no place for me anymore. It was not until near the end of my first year that I met her. Her nickname was Malachite. She had olive-toned skin and dark brown hair that reached her waist. Striking up a conversation about video games, of all things, she wormed her way into my life. Once there, she never left. I began collecting tidbits about her as time went by. She collected gemstones and crystals, embroidered things by hand, and drew in her spare time. At any point in time she had many pieces of silver jewelry on her person (not necessarily being worn). Although undecided in which she wanted to focus on, she was a foreign language major. She came from a big family but somehow felt just as alone as I did. At first we only hung out to watch shows or play video games, but quickly it became apparent that we had many other things in common. We shared book recommendations and downloaded music and even favorite snacks. I told her everything- from my perfect older sister and doted-upon baby brother to how I apparently could never do anything right to my long abandoned dreams. Eventually she was spending more time in my dorm room than in her own. Her roommate went missing for a week and then came back... different. Unsure as to where she had been, we were a little concerned. Eventually she disappeared again, this time along with all of her things. Malachite and I agreed to become roommates at the start of the next semester. I stayed on for summer classes just to avoid going home (avoid seeing familiar strangers). The entire time she was gone, I thought about what my family wanted me to be versus who I wanted to be myself. The conclusion I came to was that I had to let part of myself go to become someone I could live with for the rest of my life. I changed my nickname to Sparrow. It was time for me to spread my wings.        *        *        *        * When Malachite returned from the summer, she seemed profoundly relieved to be back on campus. I myself was profoundly relieved to have her back. She took the name and pronoun change in stride, gleeful that I was comfortable enough to try and become my own person. Together, we brought her things up to the room and unpacked.   Negotiations for the room were easy- I got the bed furthest away from the hall so that I could perhaps sleep on occasion and she got the better closet. My comfy reading chair was agreed to be a timeshare since it was literally the best place to curl up with a book and I often studied while in bed. We took turns getting snacks or take-out food. I rolled my eyes when she glued salt to the floor and windowsill, but there were certainly people with weirder habits out there. She made me get out and go to the dormitory cafeteria for breakfast each morning. Together we went to the occasional gathering and I began to meet more people. When she could, she often joined me during my study sessions with the crows. Sometimes she even read her own selections to the crows, which were definitely more popular than my textbook sections. Her days of blasting music on her mp3 player were also well received by the birds. I learned more rules. Never say thank you or sorry in public, underwear was to be worn inside out for luck, and stay away from those promising to sell or trade things. Everything continued on as normal until one day when a fellow student from introduction to sociology showed up in my dorm. He asked me to see to one of the crows if I could, as it appeared injured. I gathered what supplies I had nearby and rushed out the door. Finding the bird was easy enough, but capturing it was another matter altogether. Eventually I managed to coax it within reach with calm words and bits of a sweet roll. The silly thing had managed to run afoul of something with a wicked set of claws. Luckily nothing looked too bad besides its eye. Frowning, I asked it to wait in a nearby tree. Getting pain meds was the hardest part, especially considering apparently no veterinarian normally visited the campus. One finally gave in and accompanied me to the place, eyeing the crows with frank unease. He gave me what I needed and instructions, as well as antibiotics. In return I very carefully never used his name. Medicating an unwilling patient was not a new task for me, even if the swearing definitely was. However, I got the crow cleaned up and diligently doled out treats to wash down the drugs. After a few weeks his scabs were almost gone and his lack of sight from his injured eye never stopped him. Even after his pill bottles were empty, he begrudgingly hung around me in exchange for snacks. The next week a cat limping along on three paws approached and mewled plaintively. Pulling the thorn out of her paw pad seemed strangely prophetic. Two days after that, another student brought me non-descript brown bird (the species of which I am still not sure) tangled in fishing line. The very next day I had my first human patient, a shaken freshie who needed stitches. I began carrying medical supplies in my messenger bag, along with all kinds of food. There is a saying on campus: One good turn deserves another. My first contact with anything that could be considered the Gentry was a person who stared a little too intently at me on my way back from a late afternoon class. I was on my way to the place where the crows gather to study, but the sort of prickly feeling that you get when someone is staring at your back forced me to stop and glance around. They seemed polite enough; however, their voice rung strangely through the air. When they asked me what I wanted in exchange for my aid, I was at first confused. After clarifying that they were not in need of my services immediately, I assured them that I expected nothing. Aid freely given to those in need that I could help. The being gazed a bit longer, eyes almost glowing yellow, and then finally made a pleased noise. I was declared a healer and handed a small golden medallion. They told me to break it in half should I ever find myself needed aid myself. I told them it was a very thoughtful gesture and that was that. When I informed Malachite about the incident, she got a faraway look in her eyes. The very next day she presented me with a gift of her own. A talisman made by her on an iron chain- to replace my freshman washer, of course. The fact that she also had her own copy was entirely besides the point, she declared. However, she was quite confident that the talisman would help one of us locate the other should we ever become lost. To humor her I wore it at all times.       *        *        *        * I had no idea that my interactions with the Fair Folk would only increase as time went by. I still continued to care for the crows and cats on campus, as well as the few wildlife, but every now and then someone would ask me to see something... else. The creatures would often look like a normal cat or dog, but none of the physical parameters made any sense. The people who asked were always a bit... odd yet polite. I chose my words carefully and kept my talisman in plain view, working diligently with what information I had that could be extrapolated to different species. The first party I attended (as a sort of lookout for a friend) put me face to face with a charming man with flame hair that most the guests were ignoring. After striking up polite conversation with him for a while, he suggested a game. The stakes were small and I had never played poker before; to this day I still have the distinct impression that he let me win. In exchange he changed my voice to the perfect tone. I traded it back thirty minutes later to keep a hapless girl from going home with him, amusement on his face as he watched me escort her to her dorm. I quickly learned that not all fae were as discerning as the ones I normally dealt with for my healing. Some took advantage of those who were desperate when making deals. One of the freshies lost their eyes in what was reportedly a "lab accident" if anyone actually believed the official announcement. There was a frog-eyed boy at the annual costume party that I watched like a hawk as he interacted with increasingly buzzed classmates. My friends always noted that I had a bit of a knight complex; I felt useless when I could not help others. Worried, I began amassing even more knowledge. Not just anatomy or physics or pharmacology, but legends and superstitions and even more inorganic chemistry than strictly necessary for my degree. A scientist at heart, I of course never took anything at face value. I asked around campus to find out what worked and what did not. On my own I conducted experiments. Knowing I could not lie, Malachite made me promise not to interfere. She told me tales of what happened to those who did not mind their own business when it came to the Gentry. Although it almost physically hurt to see others making mistakes over and over, I kept my end of the bargain. As long as it did not concern me and I could not easily prevent it by dealing with the humans, I stayed out of the way of the fae. I still healed animals and fed crows and handed out offerings and gave plastic beads to Jimothy. Somewhere along the way I gained a second nickname: Captain. Undoubtedly it began as a reference to Sparrow, and I expected to hear nothing but pirate jokes for the remainder of my time on campus. Instead, the people who most commonly called me Captain were those searching for my help. Occasionally they needed things that I could not help with, which left me turning to Malachite. She gladly pitched in as well- creating satchels full of gemstones to ward off nightmares or making salves out of my potted herbs and flowers. Together we ended our second year wiser and closer together.        

[nocsa]

Writer Problems

When you lose interest in a story that you’re writing but YOU HAVEN’T LOST INTEREST IN THE STORY, YOU’VE JUST LOST INTEREST IN THAT PARTICULAR PART THAT YOU’RE WRITING AND YOU WANT TO GET TO THE GOOD STUFF THAT YOU’RE ACTUALLY INTERESTED IN BUT YOU CAN’T DO THAT WITHOUT FINISHING THE BORING PARTS

[krisanderwrites]

upd8s

of ghost beasts and shadows updated

as did shipwwrecked

[tortoisetales]

I love when I see a fanwork and the comments are basically, “Why did you let Vriska do a thing?

Why would you ever let Vriska do a thing?”