#fenn writes

[fenns-atlas]

ever wanted to give Dr. Ryland Grace every disease ever?

well now you can!

The Many Disorders and Ailments of Dr. Ryland Grace | DGBenefiel | Ellipsus

A compilation of every disorder or ailment the followers of @aroace-ryland-grace have given Dr. Ryland Grace, the main character from Projec

This is a compilation of every single disorder discussed as Angst Material on @aroace-ryland-grace's blog, and will be edited whenever I can. Have fun lol

[canid4e]

hair braiding can be so cool and intimate

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

have some critical role vax and vex brainrot

[fenns-atlas]

Okay so I've been trying to create a makeshift way of translating Eridian language into stuff we can actually in writing and not sheet music and this has created possibly the funniest scenario ever. In my opinion, at least.

So, imagine this (from Grace POV):

I'm finally meeting another one of the biologists who helped synthesize all the food currently keeping me alive as I possibly can be. I've heard a lot about them--Rocky has insisted that they were one of the nicest and most conversational Eridians that he and Adrian got to work with, and he still insists to me now that I'll absolutely love meeting them.

However, something puts me on edge. It's not an anecdote I've heard, or some sort of sneaking suspicion based on their description, or even remaining weirdness from being the first human to ever meet a sapient alien species. Nothing like that is the root of my worry.

But somehow, I still feel like my death is awaiting in the other room.

Shut up, Grace. I tell myself. That's an unfounded claim. There's no reason to be feeling this way.

Still, it persists.

I walk into the room where they wait regardless.

All and all, the conversation is fine! Their self introduction sends another spike into my gut, but other than that, every millisecond of my interaction with them is great. They're perfectly sweet, and even though I'm trying to steer clear from giving Eridians weird human names now, I almost want to name them after a dessert. Cupcake or cookie, maybe. They're just so nice, and food is obviously on my mind since they helped create some.

I still leave the encounter shaken, though. Rocky is definitely concerned, and keeps asking if I'm feeling ill, but I don't think that's it.

When I get home, I just...start scrounging the web. Relaying the conversation back in my head, trying to figure out any adverse psychological affects of meeting specific people, or...something? I'm so confused that my sentences are beginning to fall out of grammatical standards.

Finally, I give up and just look up the notes in their name. Someones faces just don't match up with the name they're given, even Eridian faces.

And then I see it.

Alright, who was going to tell me that one of my saviors' names is literally the Dies Irae, the musical motif for death and the apocalypse?

[fenns-atlas]

Okay I cannot be any more real about this. Literally just write the thing.

Very rarely have I actually gotten any of my writing projects done in the slightest sense of the word. I'm really bad with keeping pace and finding motivation. I always hold myself back and force myself to think further about whatever I'm doing. I force myself constantly reread my work and never finish it.

I also just finished 2+ goddamn pages of writing because I just started and didn't stop. I just opened a doc and started writing. I didn't hold back. I just did it because I could, and it was fun.

I've never written so much so fast in my life.

Stop holding yourself back. If you have an idea, write it down. If you think it's bad and cringe, write it down. If you feel like you might ditch it later, write it down. If it's been burning in your brain for minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, WRITE IT DOWN.

Even more--share your process with people. I sent so many fucking progress screenshots to my friends. It felt awesome. I felt so cool. Don't be afraid to ask for constructive criticism or reassurance. Just ask. Get 'er done.

[fenns-atlas]

My Rain World fic, Lost Effigies, has been posted!

Read it here! Warning for Rain World Watcher spoilers, body horror stuff, and some child abuse stuff. You’ll see.

This is my first fic and I did rush the end a little, so please be patient with me! I’ll probably edit it later, though none of the actual plot will change. Further updates at the moment are completely unscheduled, but I do like the concept enough that I will probably continue. You can ask me questions in the meantime :]

[fenns-atlas]

✧ Welcome to The Nonsense™ ✧

Omg it’s Me Trivia: ✩ genderqueer trans-masc ✩ World's Most Humanities Guy Ever. Trust. ✩ I appreciate tone tags and use them frequently ✩ I enjoy entomology and biology I just think it's neat ✩ Youtube Channel and AO3 Profile ✩ theatre camp, fantasy high, and project hail mary have consumed me wholly

sunflower divider credit to @strangergraphics

[fenns-atlas]

piss

It was late the next night, and Nimetu was at the window. Frost etched freezing cracks along the threshold of the glass, chilling the air within the house. Staring at the snow, Nimetu’s face was unreadable. Nonetheless, Asper approached. She knew her presence was known—Nimetu’s shoulders were tense with uncertain expectancy. She took in a readying breath. "Hey, kid." Asper shuffled forth. "You haven't said a word to anyone all day." He was silent. "…Kid. I know you aren’t the happiest with what’s happening right now, but—“ Nimetu snorted, though he wasn’t smiling in any capacity. “I’ve heard this talk before. You can leave.” “—I want…” Asper rubbed the bridge of her nose. “…to know exactly how Imucxi treated you.” A snowflake fell onto the chilled window. Nimetu watched it carefully as the heat from his hand failed to melt it. “She’s your wife. That would upset you.” His words were dull, uninterested. Asper approached the window and leaned her elbow on the glass, melting the snowflake on the other side. “Bias would make me an inherently flawed journalist, don’t you think?” A scoff. “Everyone’s biased.” “So you don’t trust me.” “Why would I?” “Do you trust anyone?” “Why would I.” It wasn’t a question this time. “…You really do feel like you never left Celestialism.” Nimetu’s face betrayed no emotion. “Hm. You really are a writer.” Asper’s earring jingled as she tilted her head to the side. “How’d you figure that?” “You dissect me with questions. You remember all my little quotes. I’m a project of yours, aren’t I?” His eyes fixed themselves to the floor, lips curling into a frown. “No.” Asper shifted to rest her back against the window. “I’m not scraping a story out of you. I want to help you, with no self gain involved.” Nimetu offered no response. His eyes stayed trained on the floor, tracking the dust particles dancing in a cheap imitation of the snow. It was quiet for a while. Asper let it play out. Really, there was something to gain from it, if she was going to be honest to herself. She wanted to recognize her wife again. All she knew now was a woman who had lost her way and had strayed far, far away. But, at the same time… Nimetu was painfully similar to the woman she once knew. Not allowing trust to anyone, preferring to stay silent and alone. And filled with hatred towards everyone and himself. A story she had become achingly familiar with, and not only with her wife. She had once pledged with every spark in her core to resolve it. She couldn’t stand one more minute watching someone else suffer. So, she waited. And, eventually, Nimetu drew in another breath. “…I can’t trust anyone, no matter how much they want to help me. Last time I heard that I was covered in scars and forced to wear a dress.” “So you’re afraid of being hurt.” Nothing. “…A yes, I presume.”