RMH
ellievsbear
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Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
almost home
oozey mess
🪼
One Nice Bug Per Day
#extradirty
wallacepolsom
Misplaced Lens Cap
Xuebing Du
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taylor price
todays bird
h
$LAYYYTER
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Product Placement
seen from United States
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seen from Malaysia
seen from Czechia
seen from France
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@softnoblade
I love it when anons/guests find my works and kudo/leave reviews, but given the new revelation that Elon Musk is using bots to mine AO3 fanfiction for a writing AI without writer's permission, my works are now archive-locked and only available for people with an AO3 account.
241 votes and 35 comments so far on Reddit
what the fuck.
Now as the curtains rise up
2.4k ♔ Clown-centric ♔ read on ao3
Maybe next it’ll snow. Maybe the remains of this server will be preserved, frozen under layers and layers of snow and ice. Perhaps, decades from now, some unlucky archaeologist will stumble across the remains of this server, and simultaneously uncover both the preserved remains of war and the immortal beings that had slaughtered them.
reaching for the heavens, only bark at the stars
1.5k ♔ Poundy-centric ♔ read on ao3
Something about the silence sets him on edge. There’s somehow too much noise and not enough, and the dark that looms beyond the dim glow of his lantern seems to compress, far more than any other mining trip has. He shivers, and compartmentalises; shoves the ever-encroaching emptiness to the back of his mind and follows the sound of groaning wood and creaking chains.
For MCSRtober day 8: Lantern!
The next installment of Vs Verse is here, ft @president-poundcake and @calomena :D
my body is a product being sold on a shelf
1.6k ♔ Jimmy-centric ♔ read on ao3
“Joel, are you using my name to get rich?”
“It’s based on the likeness, not actually you,” Joel tells him, but there’s a gleam in his eye that Jimmy knows well enough is a tell that he’s lying.
“I’m not a toy, Joel,” he says, and Joel laughs, a breathless, genuine thing that rings far too sincere for Jimmy’s tastes.
“Keep telling yourself that,” he says, and leaves Jimmy standing amongst shelves of toys. Soulless brown eyes stare back at him from all directions and Jimmy shivers, uncomfortable.
He lights the barn on fire before he leaves.
This is part of the @extrememcytexchange as a gift for @beachwae!
The dawn will break before you
3.4k ♔ Couriway-centric ♔ read on ao3
But there is always something moving, where Couriway lives, and so it goes that the first day of the end of the world begins without movement.
This was originally an LDShadowLady horror fic written for Catrina @belovedgamers my beloved, and it VERY quickly ran away from me. Now it’s a war fic, set in the Empires SMP!
Seal Tales
1.8k ♔ Fulham-centric ♔ read on ao3
Once upon a time, in a world populated by many — although not many one would expect — there was a selkie. This selkie’s name was Fulham, and every so often, he would pack up his valuables, carefully slide out of his coat, and step onto dry land.
Or; Fulham just wants his coat back. He finds some friends along the way.
Written with @genderfluidtechnoblade, we got another installment in Vs Verse!
Punz v The Speedrunner’s Council
3.8k ♔ Punz-centric♔ read on ao3
The Council alleged that the Runner, Punz, was using inherent abilities to give him a competitive advantage over other Runners, causing his latest time of 17:03 to be listed as unverifiable. This was refuted by the Runner, who alleges that the Council's incomplete and inaccurate records on his abilities have lead to this assumption. This dispute has yet to be resolved. More information will be added as the case progresses.
Or: Punz has a new PB. He'd love it if the Council would verify that.
This was written with @genderfluidtechnoblade as part of our series, Vs Verse!
K4yfour v the Speedrunner’s Council
2.3k ♔ K4yfour-centric ♔ read on ao3
The plaintiff alleged that the Council was not open during nighttime hours, which caused harm and disruption for nocturnal members of our society. The solution to this dispute was obtained through an Alternative Dispute Resolution.
Or: The Council's opening hours don't really work with Kayfour's sleep schedule.
A secret santa gift for @harvsbian!
At least I’m not six feet in the dirt
800 words ♔ Lizzie-centric ♔ read on ao3
Despite everything, Lizzie’s life began in fire. She’s the Shadow Queen, protector of the Fairy Fort, known for her dogs and her kindness and her willingness to trade lives recklessly.
Spoilers for Last Life episode 7! I just feel like Lizzie has been under-appreciated this season <3
Icarus
500 words ♔ Punz-centric ♔ read on ao3
The void isn’t something he’s willing to risk, not even when his wings are unbound; not even when he’s free to fly across the gap, lighting the yellow-stone of the End islands with a pale teal-blue.
For mcsrtober, day 28 – Icarus
There are rules, to being a hero; rules to being born of myth and magic and while Techno doesn’t like killing, doesn’t like death and blood the way everyone claims he does — he has experienced it himself, after all, come close too many times to want others to face the same — he does have a right, an obligation, to his house and home, to his own health and safety.
My artwork for @felinedetached 's fic, Lycomedes Resplendent ! also check out my fellow artist, @jomladd and our beta, @simp-lydreaming
(artwork with title below)
Lycomedes Resplendent
10k ♔ Technoblade-centric ♔ read on ao3
Glowstone lanterns light L'Manburg’s docks in a warm, comforting yellow — a jarring contrast to the cool iron of the bars against his back. Technoblade watches his persecutors through the glass-paned front of his cage; watches as Tubbo pulls out a blatantly obvious pre-written script; watches as Quackity practically vibrates in his excitement, standing next to the lever that will bring Techno’s death. He watches the ghost of his brother — the ghost of Wilbur, still disturbingly cheery despite the situation — and his new sheep; and watches Phil on his balcony, the blinking red light of the ankle monitor securely wrapped around Phil’s leg a bright distraction in the corner of his eye.
This death, Techno has to admit, would be a quick one if he were to accept it. Guillotines are known for being one of the nicer forms of execution; something that France did extremely right and America horrifically wrong.
Unfortunately for them, Techno has no plans to die today.
This fic was written for the Dream SMP Big Bang! My group includes @introvertedppl and @jomladd as artists and @simp-lydreaming as a beta! Go check them out too <3
Lycomedes Resplendent
10k ♔ Technoblade-centric ♔ read on ao3
Glowstone lanterns light L'Manburg's docks in a warm, comforting yellow — a jarring contrast to the cool iron of the bars against his back. Technoblade watches his persecutors through the glass-paned front of his cage; watches as Tubbo pulls out a blatantly obvious pre-written script; watches as Quackity practically vibrates in his excitement, standing next to the lever that will bring Techno’s death. He watches the ghost of his brother — the ghost of Wilbur, still disturbingly cheery despite the situation — and his new sheep; and watches Phil on his balcony, the blinking red light of the ankle monitor securely wrapped around Phil’s leg a bright distraction in the corner of his eye.
This death, Techno has to admit, would be a quick one if he were to accept it. Guillotines are known for being one of the nicer forms of execution; something that France did extremely right and America horrifically wrong.
Unfortunately for them, Techno has no plans to die today.
This fic was written for the Dream SMP Big Bang! My group includes @introvertedppl and @jomladd as artists and @simp-lydreaming as a beta! Go check them out too <3
Why Dream has BPD vibes
So I just realised I never explained my spur of the moment post about c!Dream having BPD, so I’m going to attempt an explanation at 1AM! Before I start this post: this is soley a headcanon, it has no bearing on canon at all, it’s just a way I’ve interpreted his character through the eyes of someone with BPD. It is in no way a diagnosis, and is in no way intended to demonise BPD or c!Dream.
In order to have BPD, you have to fit at least five of the nine diagnostic criteria listed in the DSM-5. These criteria are as follows;
Rest
It’s cold, in the tundra. Phil’s grown used to it, over time, but it’s still cold, and if there’s one thing Phil’s joints hate above all, it’s the cold.
Phil himself dislikes the heat the most. It’s stifling, and he wears layers so that he can take more and more off if he needs to. But when it’s hot, and he’s run out of things to take off? That’s worse than the cold.
Because when it’s cold, he can just do exactly what he’s about to do now: climb the ladder out of the basement, make his way out of the pond under their house, shaking the water off as he goes. He heads up the stairwell, hesitates, and pushes open the door to Techno’s house. He strips his armour off, drapes it over the fence set up by the fireplace to dry.
It’s warm, in here; cozy in a way that’s got his fingers tingling and has that ache in his joints hurting just a little less. Phil stretches, feels a twinge in his back where his wing meets the muscle there. He can’t get at it himself, with the awkward angle and his wings being in the way, so he ignores it; does the rest of his stretches and heads towards the ladder leading upstairs.
If the main room was warm, it’s hot up here, a wall of blissful heat hitting Phil the instant he pokes his head past the trapdoor. Techno’s in his bed, curled on his side with a pillow in his arms, Blitz tucked into the nook behind his knees. It’s an adorable sight and Phil sighs, sitting cross-legged on the bed and running his fingers through Blitz’s fur.
Blitz purrs, a churring, snuffling sound that always warms Phil’s heart and he laughs quietly, careful not to wake Techno. The man deserves his hibernation. He’s had a hell of a time on this server.
Shucking off his outer layers is a mission with his ruined wing, but Phil manages, stripping down to just his undershirt and grabbing the spare sleep clothes he has stored in the chest at the end of Techno’s bed. They’re still there, even after he built his new house, and Phil’s grateful for that now as he clambers carefully under the covers, shifting towards Techno and his pillow.
He carefully lifts his wing, draping it over the both of them — and Blitz, who he feels nudging his way under the large flight feathers that lie charred and threadbare near the tips — and curls himself in, towards Techno’s pillow.
It’s warm here. Sleep finds him easy.
(He wakes up to the pillow gone from between them, Techno’s head tucked under his own, his breath warm on Phil’s neck. Blitz is nibbling at his wing, careful little nips that don’t hurt at all. He smiles, soft, and goes back to sleep.)
(tags by @ufuckingpastry)
a) homestuck
b) this is literally the best word I've ever seen used to describe this relationship and I am stealing it, thank you
Rest
It's cold, in the tundra. Phil's grown used to it, over time, but it's still cold, and if there's one thing Phil's joints hate above all, it's the cold.
Phil himself dislikes the heat the most. It's stifling, and he wears layers so that he can take more and more off if he needs to. But when it's hot, and he's run out of things to take off? That's worse than the cold.
Because when it's cold, he can just do exactly what he's about to do now: climb the ladder out of the basement, make his way out of the pond under their house, shaking the water off as he goes. He heads up the stairwell, hesitates, and pushes open the door to Techno's house. He strips his armour off, drapes it over the fence set up by the fireplace to dry.
It's warm, in here; cozy in a way that's got his fingers tingling and has that ache in his joints hurting just a little less. Phil stretches, feels a twinge in his back where his wing meets the muscle there. He can't get at it himself, with the awkward angle and his wings being in the way, so he ignores it; does the rest of his stretches and heads towards the ladder leading upstairs.
If the main room was warm, it's hot up here, a wall of blissful heat hitting Phil the instant he pokes his head past the trapdoor. Techno's in his bed, curled on his side with a pillow in his arms, Blitz tucked into the nook behind his knees. It's an adorable sight and Phil sighs, sitting cross-legged on the bed and running his fingers through Blitz's fur.
Blitz purrs, a churring, snuffling sound that always warms Phil's heart and he laughs quietly, careful not to wake Techno. The man deserves his hibernation. He's had a hell of a time on this server.
Shucking off his outer layers is a mission with his ruined wing, but Phil manages, stripping down to just his undershirt and grabbing the spare sleep clothes he has stored in the chest at the end of Techno's bed. They're still there, even after he built his new house, and Phil's grateful for that now as he clambers carefully under the covers, shifting towards Techno and his pillow.
He carefully lifts his wing, draping it over the both of them — and Blitz, who he feels nudging his way under the large flight feathers that lie charred and threadbare near the tips — and curls himself in, towards Techno's pillow.
It's warm here. Sleep finds him easy.
(He wakes up to the pillow gone from between them, Techno's head tucked under his own, his breath warm on Phil's neck. Blitz is nibbling at his wing, careful little nips that don't hurt at all. He smiles, soft, and goes back to sleep.)
Unfinished Symphony #2: A Place Worthy of Her Death
She'd always known that she'd be left, alone amongst the wreck of a downed country, when all else falls to dust and wreckage. She'd always known she'd be left, because why wouldn't she? She's not anybody valuable, not useful at all to the underground protest they'd staged to revoke Schlatt's rule, and now she stands here, alone once more, amongst the wreckage of a country that had been hers, once.
They always have a lot to say; a lot to scream at those who hurt them and to use as harsh weaponry to force those who would stand, shoulder to shoulder — two people versus the world, a show of strength and care — as far away from them as they are able to push. She's not sure why they would; and placement of blame—
That, she's always thought, does more harm than good.
But she stands here now, her country barely even a shell of the past that once grew strong here, and wonders; because the end has come, and she's all that's left.
What would he have thought of that? He destroyed L'manburg, made a place worthy of her death and then destroyed every last meter of what he stood for, once. He'd blown the place to the sky and laughed as the ground shattered under everyone's feet. He'd stood there and laughed, and she'd watched as he was run through, by a father and a sword that gleamed pearlescent. What would he say, were he to learn she’s all that’s left?
To be wholly, utterly honest; she’s not sure he’d care. She can’t know how he’d react, not now, when he’s dead and gone, well beneath the earth, but there’s only one other who could, arguably, know better.
And her thoughts on the matter come down to the fact that when the end came, he chose death over her country, and he chose death over her.
