#rune writes

[runewrights]

@plaguewormart I have actually been vibrating waiting to show you this.

Isoton Caprice be upon ye.

[deadclockghost]

I don't recall posting it here so I'll let you all know.

I'm currently writing my Mermay fic, based on the drawings I did last year!

Have currently finished one chapter, but since it's not chapter one, I haven't posted it yet to AO3.

It's around 2k ish long, and I'm aiming for every chapter to be at least that length, hopefully more. Also aiming for around 10 chapters more or less.

It's not particularly long because I'm not a confident writer, and since this would be my first ever multi chapter fic, I don't want to overestimate my skills lol

Once I write chapter 1 and it is lovingly beta read by some of my friends, I'll start posting it on AO3 and announce it here too!

PS: Mer Sun and Moon are getting redesigns! Pirate and Kraken Eclipse might get some too! So have a sneak peek of Sun's WIP as an apology for not posting as frequently

[virune]

If you still want prompt ideas, I’ve got one:

Shadow comes home from a really long G.U.N. Mission and expects Sonic to be right at the door, really excited to see him, but goes into the house to find the blue blur cuddling a lavender-scented pillow on the couch, fast asleep

Based on a post of yours I saw a while back

The apartment was dark and quiet when Shadow stepped inside.

A year ago, this would not have struck him as odd. He used to live alone, after all. But even as exhaustion seeped into his bones, worn and weary from his long, arduous mission, Shadow found himself waiting in the hall for Sonic to greet him like he always did.

The absence of his… well, Shadow supposed they were boyfriends now, as Sonic had insisted on it just before Shadow left a few months ago. The thought made his chest flutter, even now. He still wasn't used to it.

Shadow realised then that he'd forgotten to tell Sonic when he'd be back. Of course, then, it could only be expected that his apartment was empty. Sonic must be sleeping at Miles' workshop. With a yawn, Shadow ambled forward tiredly, wanting nothing more than to sleep. He'd get some rest and contact Sonic in the morning.

If it weren't for his night vision, Shadow would have missed the fuzzy blue head of relaxed quills visible from behind the couch. Shadow rounded into the living room with muted surprise. Green eyes shut, a tan muzzle was squashed against the pillow that Sonic was cuddling with both his arms and legs, much in the same way he would cuddle Shadow whenever they slept.

Shadow allowed himself a moment to appreciate his boyfriend's sleeping form. Rarely was Sonic so calm and still. He looked peaceful, as though comforted greatly by the pillow's plushness against him. He did not stir, not even as Shadow knelt down on the carpet beside him and carded fingers through his short fur.

A familiar scent caught Shadow's nose. The pillow was coated in his favourite lavender cologne to an almost nauseating degree. But he'd been away long enough for his scent to fade. Did that mean that Sonic had sprayed the pillow in his absence?

And did that mean… Sonic had missed him? Enough to stay, to sleep in his apartment, even while he'd been gone for so long?

A strange, new sort of fondness soared up from Shadow's chest and he leaned in to place a kiss on Sonic's forehead. Carefully as he could, he gently snaked his hands beneath Sonic's body to pick him up, leaving the cologne-scented pillow behind. Sonic still did not wake, but he seemed to lean into Shadow's warmth as he was carried to bed.

Forget the pillow, Shadow thought, I'm here now, and I missed you terribly.

[runicillusionist]

𝑲𝑵𝑶𝑾𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑾𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑵𝑬𝑹 𝑪𝑨𝑵 𝑷𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑰𝑨𝑳𝑳𝒀 𝑴𝑨𝑲𝑬 𝑾𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑻𝑶𝑮𝑬𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑨 𝑳𝑶𝑻 𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑰𝑬𝑹. 𝑹𝑬𝑷𝑶𝑺𝑻. 𝑫𝑶𝑵’𝑻 𝑹𝑬𝑩𝑳𝑶𝑮.

BASICS:

NAME: Rune.

PRONOUNS: They / Them

SEXUALITY: Demisexual / Pansexual

THREE FACTS:

I became an artist because I wanted to draw the story I had in my head. Writing and Worldbuilding were my first passions. Art was secondary to me. While I have become a lot more passionate with art these days, writing is still a great comfort to me.

Funny enough, I actually have Aphantasia. I can't visualize images in my mind at all. I know that confuses people with me being a writer and an artist, but my "mind's eye" is more so based on emotions, movement, sounds and smells. Visual images though? Nada. Does that get frustrating when I'm trying to write / draw? Oh you bet. But I make due anyway, lol.

I used to be a choir kid and went to contests when I was younger. I actually scored really well in the state competitions. My range was so vast that I actually was placed in several parts in my choir, ranging from as low as Tenor (we only had three tenors in our choir, so I had to help project some of their parts) to as high as Soprano I. My comfort range however is Alto. Unfortunately a lot of my higher range was damaged due to having GERD, but I do still enjoy singing from time to time.

EXPERIENCE:

⇁ HOW LONG (MONTHS/YEARS?):

Oh gods. Decades. XD I've been writing for as long as I can remember, but as far as actual roleplaying goes, I started around the time I was 9, when I used to frequent Pokemon IRC chats. I later moved on to Neopets, where I branched out into the Medieval / Fantasy genre. I've had characters that I had dreamed of since I was 9, with one of them becoming my main muse; Although she's gone through a name change and multiple species redesigns, she still is my main to this day, lol. But if you want to get technical on how long I've been roleplaying, it's been about 27 years now, and still going strong.

⇁PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED:

IRC, Neopets, AIM, Yahoo, MSN, IMVU, Second Life, Skype. I briefly used Furcadia at one point too. Lol. Currently using Discord and Telegram.

BEST EXPERIENCE:

Worldbuilding with @noctem-tenebris and our mutual friend, Spoozy. We built our shared canon together, and had a lot of fun doing so. They both inspired me to truly embrace the genre and themes that I have been interested in for so long. It's because of them I moved my story from being just a Medieval / Fantasy on an alternate universe Earth, to a Sci-fi / Fantasy that exists on its own world, with a vast amount of worldbuilding put into it. Although Spoozy is unfortunately no longer with us, and passed away about four years ago, we still hold her memory close and keep her characters as a part of our canon. But I will always hold the memory of us three writing together very fondly.

MUSE PREFERENCES.

⇁ FEMALE OR MALE:

In the past, I primarily did female, and was not quite as confident about writing male characters, even though I had plenty of them. Now though, I play a larger spectrum of characters, some male, some female, some nonbinary, androgynous, dualsexed, and everything in between. I don't like to feel restricted by just one gender or one sexuality. I write what speaks to me. My main muse, Austaryia-Rhen is nonbinary / femandrogyne.

⇁FLUFF, ANGST OR SMUT:

All of the above, though I prefer erotica over smut. Angst is my bread and butter. If my characters aren't suffering in some way, then what am I even writing about? XD I love my grimdark fantasies. But even after all the angst is said and done, there needs to be some sweetness and fluff to balance things out. Erotica is where I'm a bit pickier. I don't like smut for the sake of smut. There has to be chemistry between the characters. Usually that requires a slow burn, but there are some characters and some ships that I just have no control over. Lol. The character will do what the character wants, I have no power over them. I am merely the vessel in which they steer onto the rocks.

PLOTS OR MEMES.

Plots over memes by far, though both have their place. Memes can be fun for goofy or interesting one shots. But I prefer more in depth plots. It's not to say that everything needs to be planned out. Sometimes I am more than happy to just go with the flow and see where things take me. But at the very least, having a general plot idea is the way to go with me.

⇁ LONG OR SHORT REPLIES:

Depends on my partner and what the scene demands. While I love long replies, if there is something that requires another character to react, shorter posts are absolutely acceptable. As long as it's more than a single line or a few words. Lol. Just give me enough to work with, that's all I ask. My ideal is between 1 - 3 paragraphs, but if the writing bug hits, sometimes you can get a mini novel. Just depends on what the scene calls for.

⇁BEST TIME TO WRITE:

Uhhh, this is a hard one for me. Because of chronic insomnia, my sleep schedule can randomly shift from day time to night time. Like right now, I'm mostly up during the evenings - early morning, so I do a lot of my posting between 6 pm EST and 10 am. But I don't have a set schedule, because I work from home, so I'm not beholden to one specific time frame. Energy levels and physical health can also play a factor into when or how much I can write in a day. I'm on medication that I am pretty much required to take a nap after an hour or two of taking it, but after I do that, I'm usually fine for the rest of the night. But I do also suffer from chronic migraines when the weather changes, and joint pain as well. Still, I do try to post where I can, and as such I am totally fine with my partners taking their time to reply as well. Especially since chat programs now-a-days you can just leave a message to reply to later at any time. There isn't as much as a dire need of being online at the same time anymore. XD

⇁ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S):

To some extent I would say there are little parts of myself in nearly all of my muses. I think it's hard to truly separate author from muse, but of course that doesn't mean that any of my muses are meant to be a stand-in for myself, or a direct 1:1 copy of myself. My muses are more so the vessels of me working through years of unresolved trauma. Lol.

𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑮𝑬𝑫 𝑩𝒀: @derjaegermond 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑮𝑰𝑵𝑮: @noctem-tenebris and anyone else who wants to do this. XD

[therealdaddyvulture]

Last Line Challenge

I got tagged by @whiskygoldwings who's an absolutely amazing human being pls go check out their stuff!!

For my last line written:

“No!” Fox repeated, a little more harshly and wet than he would’ve liked. He scrubbed a hand across his face and hated that the back of it came away wet. “You didn’t care before when it mattered.”

From the WIP of chapter 2 of the long road home on AO3.

Taglist: @yellowisharo @eyayah-oya @voices-of-my-brothers @ithillia @mamuzzy-creates-stuff / @mamuzzy

I can't wait to see what y'all put out

[justsleepyrune]

@fallenlondonficswap @tales-from-the-neath

In which a tailor’s shop has dubious customer service and a child preaches the virtues of slugs. Did my best to capture Nyx’s personality.. Writing them was a lot of fun! For the group swap!

General rating | Éadaoin Blank, Nyx Darkhelm, Arlen Blank | 1369 words

The tailor’s apartment was a cramped little thing, nestled between a soup shop and a millinery, crouched low underneath Veilgarden’s eaves. It was two stories, one built atop the other, with shuttered windows carefully peering into the darkness. A faint light flickered.

Nyx Darkhelm stood in front of the shop, smoothing a fold of their suit. The amber hued light woven into the dreamlike linen glittered, casting a soft glow. Behind them, a hansom cab rattled, shuddering as it stumbled down the clumsily paved streets. 

Their friend had recommended the place. Surely it couldn’t be too bad.

The fox took a deep breath, their ever perfect posture stiffening further, before they knocked twice on the blue painted door. It swung open, a girl watching them curiously. “It’s too early,” she said, eyes narrowed. “We aren’t open yet.”

Nyx paused. “I must have been misinformed, my apologies,” they muttered. They glanced about the streets, considering where it would be best to wait. “I wanted to get a gift for a friend.”

She waited for a long moment, studying them. She was young. An urchin? No. She was dressed far too nicely, stood far too tall to be an urchin, even if she leaned against the frame of the door as if she had an army to back her up, as if she had no reason to be afraid, despite the late hour. “Oh, fine,” she snorted, shaking her head. A dark curl had escaped from her arrangement of hair, a few stray pins trailing. She must have been midway through disassembly. “My father won’t mind opening a little early.”

She stepped away, beckoning them into the entry hall. Someone had been drawing on the walls, scribbling in a dizzying amount of fonts. Scraps of poetry or doodles on higher levels, a childish scribble on the lower, nearest to the floor. “Interesting choice, coming here,” she called, deftly stepping over a discarded dolly faceplanted on the floor, little ribbons wrapped around its arms a colorful contrast to its dark skin. “My father isn’t known for practicality.”

Nyx paused, already halfway down the hall, considering what Alisha would like. “It doesn’t have to be practical.” It likely should be. Still, they weren’t above pushing their friend a little.

She laughed. “Your loss or luck, I suppose.” She offered no further explanation. “What’s your name?”

“Darkhelm. Nyx Darkhelm. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss..?” They trailed off, waiting for a name. A flash of their teeth in a smile, sharp rows.

The girl laughed. “Marie-Suzanne. I stick with Suzy, typically. This way.” She pushed aside a curtain of purple fabric, streaked with orange like some distant memory of a sunset sky. 

They stepped inside, nearly stumbling back when the curtain fell into their face again, but braving it despite. They grinned nervously, gleaming teeth showing. They stepped inside. 

The tailor’s shop was sectioned off by more curtains, making a maze out of what could have been simplicity. Holes had been cut into the sides of scattered lanterns, allowing scattered light to slip out in strange shapes and shadows. A few strips of fabric lay half sewn on a table. A mannequin wrapped in a cape of arms stood amongst a pile of tiny painted blocks.

“I’ll go tell him you’re here,” Marie-Suzanne told them, already ducking behind a curtain of sharp blue. Her footsteps trailed away. 

In an instant, they were abandoned.

Nyx hesitated, fidgeting with the golden rose on their lapel, tail swishing back and forth. Doubts were beginning to swirl in their mind. Still, they were nothing if not adventurous on occasion.

“A gift?” The voice came from behind another of the curtains. “Right, of course. I’ll need specifics, of course.” The man who emerged had a child on his hip, one with Naples yellow eyes and a pale blue bow in her curly hair. He set her down and she toddled forwards, eyes focused on Nyx. They weren’t sure who to look at, with the disdainful gaze of the man, the wide eyed scrutiny of the child.

Finally, they settled on the man. The tailor, they assumed, leaning on a dragon headed cane. Strange patches of rippled material trailed up his neck, down the arms exposed from his sheer sleeve. Almost reminiscent of glass.

“Nyx Darkhelm. I’m in the process of acquiring a gift for a friend.” Another grin, their tail flicking back and forth. 

“Of course,” he smiled back. It was not a kind smile. “Call me Blank.”

The little girl stomped forward, reaching for Nyx. They froze, looking down at her. Without hesitation, she bumped her forehead into their leg, then looked up at them with a wide small-toothed smile. “Hello!”

They looked down at her, then back to Blank. He raised his eyebrows but said nothing, taking a seat beside the scrap covered table. “Er, hello,” they said, standing a bit stiffer.

The little girl blinked. “You’re fluffy,” she observed, with a peculiar brand of solemnity. Her little hands formed clumsy signs as she spoke, little gestures that they did not understand. “An’ your suit glows.”

“Ah, yes. It does.”

“That’s kinda nice.”

They nodded, considering. “Yes, I do find it quite nice.”

“You should wear some purple. I like purple. It’s the color of slugs Like Bijou! Bijou is yellow an’ purple an’ my best slug ever, but I gave him away because he wanted to go do more adventures. Now I don’t have a slug, but I do have a teeny tiny snake.” She took a breath and did not stop. “I think snakes are kind of good, but slugs are better. Slugs are all small and squishy, but snakes are too tricky and say mean things. Bijou didn’t say mean things. He said nice things. Slugs are always very nice, it’s in their,” a pause and a soft mumble as she sounded out the word, “in their nature.”

They tried to look back, think of if they had ever met a slug, one that was particularly purple or named Bijou. Nothing came to mind. “I see,” they said. They, in fact, were lying. “I am not purchasing anything for me, however.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it is a gift?” They glanced to Blank again. He made no movement to do much of anything, just watched his daughter. “A gift for someone else,” they thought it best to clarify.

The little girl thought about this, taking a seat on the ground and looking up at them, before nodding. “Okay.” Before they could open their mouth, continue their conversation with the tailor, she continued. “Do you have a name?”

“Ah, yes. Nyx.” They offered a shallow bow. Éadaoin did not bow back, just sat on the floor and began to pick her nose.

“I’m Éadaoin. Are you a fox?” Behind her, Blank’s faint smile grew, his gazer sharper than there was right for. They had the feeling they were being tested. They just didn’t know what they were being tested on.

“Ah. Yes, yes, I am.”

“Huh. Okay. I’m not a fox.” She squinted up at them.

“Yes, I could tell.”

“I like your flower. It’s shiny.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

Finally, Blank saw fit to cut in. “I think that our guest may wish to place their order before my scheduled client, little one.” He pulled himself up again, a few short gestures being directed towards Éadaoin before he offered Nyx a gloved hand to shake. His smile was genuine now, if no less sharp. In some way, they had passed. “We can discuss details, payment, and time restraints, of course. If it’s a fitted garment, I’ll need some sort of measurements. We have not technically opened yet, despite Suzy’s decision otherwise, so you have approximately a half hour until my client arrives.”

They took his hand, glancing down to the little girl who had already begun to lose interest, wrapping the pale blue ribbon that had sprung from her curls around her fingers in curving loops. “Wonderful,” they nodded. “I have nearly assembled an idea.”

“We’ll work together then, complete that thought,” Blank nodded. “I believe you’ll find that I am quite skilled in making simple ideas reality.” For some reason, they believed him.

[stay-outta-my-blood-circle]

In honor of his day, I watched both My Bloody Valentine movies today, and I've got some Harry Warden thoughts to share - especially regarding my pet headcanon of him as a Michael-Myers-esque liminal holiday-haunting. (Keep in mind this is not intended to be dogmatic, and I could easily be completely wrong, but I'm absolutely gonna die on this hill.)

For the record - and I realize it's an unpopular opinion - I prefer the remake to the original (for reasons, leave me alone), and it's the remake I'll mostly be talking about here, but let's start with the OG movie. Spoilers ahead, if that matters to you. Also, I think this is even longer than my post about Vincent's face, so buckle up.

So, to recap the original:

Harry Warden, along with a four others, ends up trapped in the mine after his supervisors cut corners and leave early so they can go to the town's valentine's day dance. After six weeks, they finally dig them out, but Harry is the only one still alive - he'd killed and eaten the others to survive. He spends a year in a mental institution before returning (on Valentine's day) to kill the supervisors that caused the cave in - and then disappears again. Twenty years later, the town dares to hold the Valentine's dance again - and back comes Harry Warden to paint the town red (literally).

... Or does he? We find out that the real Harry Warden actually died five years ago, and when the miner is unmasked he turns out to be Axel - bf of the heroine and old friend(?) of TJ, the protagonist. It is revealed that one of the supervisors Harry killed twenty years ago was Axel's father, and Axel (a young child at this point) had witnessed the murder. He ends up separated from the others by a small cave in and loses an arm in the rubble, but manages to run away after some crazy mutterings.

We are left to understand that watching Harry kill his father traumatized him and caused some kind of insanity to take root, which led to this mental break. Which, okay, sure - it's not an unusual motivation for a killer in this genre. To round out this section, I'm going to note some of Axel's final lines (without telling you why it's important yet):

"Harry, I'm coming!" and "we're coming back, you bastards!"

Now on to the remake.

It mostly follows in the footsteps of the original, with a few twists. This time, Harry ends up trapped in the mine with 5 other men because our protagonist, Tom (this movie's version of TJ, and also the son of the mine owner), forgets to double check the standard safety precautions before he leaves (for a Valentine's party with his friends, I think). In this case, it's more of a genuine accident than negligent slacking, but either way the deed is done.

They dig him out sooner this time (after less than a week, I'm pretty sure), but he's 'in critical condition... delusional and combative' - and still the only survivor. They eventually retrieve all the bodies and realize the men were killed by pickaxe blows (but not cannibalized), and theorize that Harry killed them all to conserve his own oxygen. They can't ask Harry, because he's in the hospital in a coma - where he stays for a whole year, until next Valentine's day. At which point he wakes up, massacres an entire wing of the hospital, and escapes.

He shows up at the mines, where Tom is attending a party with his girlfriend, and slaughters a bunch of people again. He finally ends up face-to-face with Tom and tries to kill him, but the police chief arrives and shoots him a few times. He stumbles away into the mine, and the story goes that he was never found but is presumed dead. Tom is shaken and moves away.

When the murderous miner turns up again ten years later, right after Tom returns to his hometown to sell the mine, everyone assumes Harry is back - especially since he seems to be gunning for Tom in particular - until we find out that the sheriff and a couple other town elders had actually found, killed, and buried him out in the woods after the attack at the mine - keeping it a secret since they basically executed him without due process. Except... when they go to check the body, it's gone, along with all his stuff! So maybe it is him after all?

Nope, it isn't. And it's not Axel, either, unlike the original movie. It was Tom the whole time, but the thing is... he doesn't seem to be aware of it. He seems to truly believe the miner is some other person (Axel, he thinks) - he sees him, after all. He has no reason to suspect what he's seeing isn't real.

During the climax, Axel reveals that he found records of Tom having been in a mental institution up until recently, right before Tom starts to panic as "Harry Warden" approaches them - much to the confusion of the two other people present, who, in fact, don't see anything where he's pointing.

Tom begins to have flashbacks which show him committing the murders he previously attributed to Harry (as well as taking his mask, etc from his makeshift grave site):

He's visibly distressed and confused both during and immediately after these flashbacks -- right up until this moment:

Sarah: Harry's not here, Tom.

Axel: No... he's here. Aren't you, Harry? You living inside Tom?

Tom(?): Oh, I'm right here.

Notice that sudden shift? Expression, tone of voice, emotional state - it all changes like a switch has been flipped. And from here on, he doesn't seem to be 'Tom' anymore. He proceeds to chase Axel and Sarah (whom he has always been shown to care deeply about, and protect, btw) around the mine, while wearing an expression we've never seen on him before, until he gets shot, part of the mine caves in around him, and Axel and Sarah make it out. They assume Tom(?) was killed in the cave in (he wasn't; he is canonically still alive and I want a sequel, damn it, but that's off topic).

So: the guy's just crazy again, right? Dissociative Identity Disorder or something? Well, let's talk about that, because...

For my money, the answer is no.

Do you remember those lines of dialogue from the original film that I noted earlier? Contrast those with the ones just above.

"We're coming back" vs. "I'm right here."

Axel never claims to be Harry Warden (I'm pretty sure) - nor is he shown in that light - it's more like he's taken up the mantle. Tom, on the other hand...

Visually, the movie seems to be making a pretty clear point here -- and that point is supernatural possession.

But Rune, I hear you say, these things could easily be explained by DID! They did make specific mention of his time in a mental institution, after all. Besides, nothing explicitly paranormal has happened in the movie before now.

And you're right! You're so smart!! But let me tell you why I believe the scales tip in the direction of possession. Remember how I said Tom found where Harry was buried and took his mask and pickaxe? And remember how I also said that Harry's grave site was a well-kept secret (like a 'take this to my grave' kind of secret)?? Yeah.

How would Tom - who hasn't been back to his hometown in a decade, I might add - know where to find Harry's grave? He walked right up to it and started digging. While we're at it, I'd like to point out that when Harry did this in the beginning:

Tom wasn't there yet to see it. But see what he's doing in the gifs above? No way is that a coincidence.

So, in light of all the evidence provided herein, my statement is this: Tom doesn't have DID, nor is he "copying" Harry -- he's possessed by him. Probably has been since before he left Harmony (leading to whatever symptoms landed him in an institution). And he wasn't even aware of it until the end of the movie.

In conclusion, I hereby propose that Harry Warden officially be included in the 'supernatural slashers' category.

Thanks for coming to my TEDtalk.

[tofu-flapjack]