lethe | little lost river

she/her, 20+ | a lot of fandoms, a lot of ships | occasionally nsfw

[remirado]

@tinylethologica’s oneshots on ao3 pLEASE i am not okay, caleb姐姐 will be the death of me 💘💕

[tinylethologica]

HELLO I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER

[tinylethologica]

Hello, i love your " False awakening" fic and was wondering if you feel like ever continuing it. It has a lot of potential. Of course only come back to it if you feel like doing it

hm, i do think it has the potential for a sequel, but i also feel like the way that i would go about it would be similar enough to canon, if that makes sense? it would probably be lumine breaking out of the cycle, defeating him, him erasing his memories etc etc

like i love the way that canon wrote how they continued their relationship enough already, and i don't know if i'll bring anything new to the table other than rewriting canon into fic format and adding new bits (especially intrigued by the idea of wanderer and lumine travelling together,,, i feel like i'd write maybe wanderer ends up all the way in the desert or in port ormos or something, and lumine finds him, brings him with her to inazuma etc etc), but the overall way their relationship progresses, i'd keep the same as canon. i'm just quite in love with how canon had the hate-acceptance thing going on.

though of course, if i was to continue it in the same vein as canon, it would still carry a lot more baggage oweing to the dream they were both dreaming,,, lot more angst lol. especially the aftermath of waking up, which interests me. so yeah, while i don't think i'd write a sequel, i was quite into the idea of an epilogue afteward perhaps? but i'm a bit burnt out from genshin (and fandom in general to be honest), so that idea will have to just remain brainrots here haha. but i'm very glad i saw this ask, and that you liked the fic so much!! honestly made the sleepless nights writing that fic so worth it,,, i think it's probably one of my favourites to date so far for this pairing

[tinylethologica]

cross-talk (scaralumi)

"Do you want any?" Lumine brandishes the spoon like a sword, waving it in his face.

Wanderer scoffs. "You're offering me food that I cooked," he says. "And on my birthday, no less?"

Lumine rolls her eyes. "You could have just said 'no.'"

Her response is irritating enough that when she brings up the spoonful of rice to her mouth, he grabs her wrist and brings it to his instead, ignoring her squawk of surprise.

Wanderer chews on the chazuke, letting the taste of bitter tea flood his mouth. It's...

"Not bad," he allows.

Lumine looks at him flatly. "You're just praising yourself now. Egotistical much?"

"It's my birthday," he points out.

"Yes, yes," Lumine says, exasperated, reaching across the table with a napkin. "You sure like reminding me of the fact, huh?"

And Wanderer only stares as she wipes away the stray grain of rice at his lips. As if he's a child. As if he's the same as the little flying thing she kept as her companion. 

He's not sure if he likes this comparison.

"It's my birthday," he says slowly.

"Again with this?"

"It's my birthday, but you haven't given me a present."

"You said you didn't want anything! Don't make me out to be the bad guy here."

"I change my mind," Wanderer says, reaching across the table just as she'd done, but there is no napkin, no intent of anything like cleaning.

His fingers wind around a strand of her hair, gently tugging. Lumine stiffens. Her eyes, startled, flashing like coins rolled onto the ground, catching sunlight at just the right angle. He revels in it. "It's okay," Wanderer murmurs. "I know exactly how you can make it up to me."

reposted from twitter.

[duo-starchaser]

[tinylethologica]

[untitled]

"You betrayed me once," Lumine spits out, and she brandishes her sword as though she’s seen an enemy. The sister to the Abyss Prince, and the difference between the twins is almost laughable. How far she’s strayed from its Prince, and yet, how close she is becoming. 

“At the end, perhaps you’ll see,” The Thing Calling Itself "Enjou" says, wrapping its palm around her blade, unflinching as steel bites into palm, the burning sensation of sun-poison seeping into the wound. Unlike her brother, she is too bright for the abyss. For now. “Then you’ll learn what true betrayal is, traveller.”

Because, one day, one fateful day, the abyss will swallow the light in her starlit eyes too.

Enjou looks forward to it.

[obiwan]

#Barbie (2023)

[drawlypsy]

From a prompt I got on twitter. Scaralumi, a kiss in a moment of desperation. Scaramouche just wanted Lumine to be with him, even if he was a Harbinger. Even if he killed her friend, Teppei. He deserves every ounce of her anger.

[tinylethologica]

somnio, ergo sum (scaralumi)

contains: sexual themes, dub-con/non-con, bondage, not sfw author's notes: originally posted as a threadfic on twitter; might move the rest of them here soon and organize into a masterlist

Lumine wakes up with a gasp, and the world is pitch black—not for a lack of light, per se, but because she can’t open her eyes. A blindfold has been slung over her eyes, the cloth silk soft. Tied tight enough that shaking her head does nothing. 

Goosebumps prickle on her neck, the entirety of her body exposed to cool air. Her wrists have been bound, pulled above her head with something that feels like chains. Her ankles too, manacled together with cold steel. She tries to get to her feet, but the chain between the shackles is too short to support the motion. Lumine falls to her knees, yelping at the brutal impact of the wooden floor on her shin. She rolls her jaws, taking stock of the situation. She’s naked. Bound. Helpless. 

What the hell is happening? 

The last she remembers, she’d fallen asleep next to Paimon after settling down for the night. They’d been on their way to Caravan Ribat after solving Nahida’s cryptic message: even in a moonless night, a shower of starlight can still drown out illusions and lies. 

But the stone floor beneath her is not the soft forest earth she remembers setting up camp on. 

“Paimon? Are you here?” she whispers. Her voice echoes, and it must be a grand hall that she’s in, because the sound fades away too slowly. A little braver for it—larger space means better fighting chances, if she can just get these damn bindings off of her somehow, get her hand on some sort of weapon in this ridiculous situation—Lumine says a little louder, “Paimon!”

“That’s not my name, traveller.”

At the silky, low tone, Lumine flinches, expecting a blow. Nothing. Just his voice, echoing around her, rich with amusement. She grits her teeth. “Balladeer.”

“That’s not quite right either,” Scaramouche hums, “but I’ll forgive you this time. On account of your ignorance.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“You should know by now,” he says, “that I hate repeating myself.” The clip of sandals around her, one step, two step, three. Circling around her like a vulture, the shift of his position disorienting to track. 

The last she’d seen of him had been when she’d been transferred to Nahida’s body, the brief glimpses she caught of his position. The giant mechanical armour he’d been standing on. That indigo crackle of his eyes, bright enough to match any lightning storm. And that knowing smile as he’d glanced at her. His ominous proclamation nestled in her chest, cold and foreboding. Yet to be dislodged. Words, but not spoken. Felt, in her mind. I see you.

“Where am I?” she demands, trying to shift her head, trying to figure out where he is. “What kind of sick, twisted plan is this, Harbinger?”

Finally, the sound of his footsteps fades. He’s stopped moving. “Where do you think you are, traveller?” he whispers—right next to her ear. When had he shifted so close?! His breath feathers against the shell of her ear, his mouth just barely touching. Enough for her to feel the warmth of his lips. Lumine bites her tongue, struggling harder against the chains, but to no avail. 

“You—!” she splutters, every muscle in her body tensed for a fight. But she can’t do anything other than bare her teeth, not when she’s naked and weaponless, chained up for his convenience. It’s only a miracle that he hasn’t—

“Killed you yet?” At his lilting words, Lumine flinches. How did he know what she’d been thinking of? But his voice continues, mocking her. “Why would I do that, when you’re tied up like a pretty gift? I don’t even have to prepare you to receive me.”

Receive me. The words make her go cold, even colder than she already feels, a chill running down her spine. What is happening to her? What kind of cruel plan does he have in store for her? “You’re sick,” she spits.

“Am I?” His voice is soft, but dangerously sharp against her skin. Cool fingers grab her by the jaw, forcing her head to tilt up. Even though she can’t see, she knows he’s looking at her, inspecting her as though she’s a particularly interesting specimen. “You may think I’m cruel now, but I could be so much worse.”

“Go to hell.”

“Been there, done that,” the Balladeer says coolly, his grip on her tightening, hard enough to feel the heat of pain. And then his hand leaves her jaw. She almost misses the warmth. “Not too interesting, the Abyss,” he continues. “A little too dark for my taste. Nothing as fun as you to play with, traveller.”

Lumine takes in a deep breath, steadying her nerves. “Is this all a game to you?” Lumine asks flatly.

A hand splays across her neck. Not clenching, fingers only delicately poised on the spine of her back, but the threat of it makes her freeze all the same. “Not a game,” Scaramouche murmurs. “Something better.”

“Enlighten me,” she challenges.

“Curious choice of words, traveller.”

“Either answer me or shut up, Balladeer.”

“What does every god need?” he says, a question asked with no pause, spoken only for him to answer. “A nation to prove his existence, followers to prove his worth”—the hand at her neck tightens, and she whimpers, breath cut off—”and tribute to prove his power.”

Madness, she thinks. This is madness.  And that’s when he releases her. She splutters, gulping for air, and he laughs. He laughs, as though she’d performed an amusing trick for him. “I’m quite sane,” he says. “More sane than I have been, at any point of my miserable existence before my ascension.”

“I don’t belong to anyone but myself,” Lumine rasps.

“You came at such a convenient time, traveller,” Scaramouche says, ignoring her. Or perhaps her opinion matters as little as the stone floor beneath him, something not seen and not heard, only there to be used. “I’d been getting bored, waiting for something to happen.”

And then, the space rearranges around her. Lumine gasps as the chains rattle, pulling her up until her toes are barely touching the ground. Suspended in the air, useless weight, hung like a weather doll tied at both ends.

“I’d like to carve my name here,” he muses, finger pressing down on the left side of her chest, nail digging into the skin right above her pounding heart. “As proof.

“No,” Lumine says, fear snaking down her spine. “Don’t.”

Scaramouche only hums again, cupping her left breast. Lets it rest in his palm, rubbing his thumb over the perked nipple—Lumine starts at the contact. Suddenly realizes how warm his touch has become, searing like molten metal. How it flashes down her body, straight to the area between her legs. “I could make it good for you,” he purrs, a quietly-veiled threat, a knife on her skin. “I could make it so, so good.”

“As if—” And then. Rough, wet heat, the lap of a tongue at her breast. A knee, between her thighs, pressed against her crotch. Lumine gasps, any words she meant to say lost in the exhale that feels as if it’s been punched from her gut, and Scaramouche shoves his fingers in her mouth, the bastard. She gags, caught off guard at the sudden intrusion, her saliva getting everywhere. It’s too much, this strange place she’s been transported too, at the mercy of a man—a soon-to-be god, now—who’d hurt her over and over again, but his mouth is latched onto her chest, teasing her nipple with a flash of teeth that makes her keen. 

Any movement she has available is only shiver and sway, two-dimensional, reduced to a golden bead of pearl, strung on an unseen leash.

Scaramouche releases her from his mouth, a pop of saliva that has her tremble in acute shame, sedimenting anger. When he removes his hand, it’s only to skirt down from her breasts, the tip of his index fingers trailing past the belly button, the slick of her drool marking her skin. He parts through the soft hair above her mound to find her cunt, tracing the dripping seam. “Why,” he purrs, “I didn’t expect you to be so wet—is what I would say, if I wasn’t so intimately attuned to your thoughts.”

He’s insane, she thinks. Something in his mind is not right. She’d thought him mad before, but nothing compares to this delusion.

“Just treat this like a dream,” he coos, revelling in her desperation, and then his finger dips inside her, no resistance at all. He strokes her walls, humming when she lets out a strangled whine. “Release your inhibitions. Enjoy yourself, like your god intends.”

“I don’t,” Lumine says, an unwitting moan escaping her throat when he bites down on her neck, no finesse, just brutal ownership. 

“You do,” he says.  One finger becomes two, and it’s all she can do to stifle herself when he grinds the heel of his palm against her clit, and she is so close to begging—for him to stop immediately, for him to hurry up with whatever it is that he intends to torture her with, if only to stop this dream—

A dream, he’d said. Like a dream.

In her panic, she’d forgotten. There is no way he could have reached her; not while he was linked to that machine. And if that was impossible, this is not reality.

Who is the origin of this dream? Does a puppet dream?

He stiffens, staccato thrusting of his hand suddenly ceased. “Give it up already,” Scaramouche says, voice blisteringly cold. “You can’t do anything.”

“You’re wrong,” she says, the note of triumph sweet on her tongue.  “I’m not helpless here.”

“You are. I am your god.” His voice trembles for a second. She bites the inside of her cheek, hard enough to taste blood. The taste grounds her, and she wills the world to change, bending the atmosphere around her. The air tenses, and then it’s all flurried motion—a blast of wind from nowhere, ripping off her blindfold, silk undulating in the gale. When she opens her eyes, she’s inundated by the dim violet glow of his eyes, glittering with a terrible, terrible anger. 

“You will not leave,” he demands, his hand snatching for her throat, but it’s all crumbling, the platform, the chains, her body. “This is my domain!”

“And this is my dream, Balladeer,” she says, defiant. “You won’t have me so easily.”

“This is not the end, traveller,” he snarls. “I promise you, we will meet again.”

“I hope you rot,” she snaps—

—and that’s when she startles awake, eyes flying open, her heart pounding in her ears. Reality blankets over her like first snow, familiar sensations returning to her. The warmth of her blanket over her clothed body. Shallow breathing next to her head, small, soft hands rested on her cheek.

The burn between her thighs is still there, carried over from the dream. If she were to touch herself under her dress, she knows she’d be sticky with wetness. 

Lumine stares up at the night sky, and the twinkle of the stars reminds her of his eyes. That furious glare as he’d swiped for her body, only to have everything fade away. Lumine does not scare easily. She’s seen too much, fought too hard. But remembering the vow he’d made—the desperation in his voice, the hunger in his eyes—she can’t help but shiver. 

This is not the end, traveller. We will meet again.

[tinylethologica]

Ah I'm sorry I didn't mean to be rude about pointing it out T^T Hyv will pay for always taking Lumine away from every promotional materials >: How did you get into writing for Lumine, cause I can't imagine getting into that mindset for Aether unless it's abyss Aether

oh my gosh anon you weren't being rude at all!! i was being self-deprecating toward myself,,, it's a running joke that i mald a lot over not having lumine despite liking her very much haha. i'm just rlly happy to see her in the bday arts cause iirc she wasn't in them before? but i agree, it gets annoying seeing her not in promo materials even when i have aether, because it kinda just cements the idea that hyv doesn't care as much about her? imo, anyway, because i have an entire bag full of rants regarding this.

as for writing traveller lumine vs aether, emmm, i'm the same tbh? i don't write aether a lot because well. they're kinda similar aren't they? we could talk semantics about the subtle differences in their voicelines/expressions but at the end of the day, their part in the archon quests have the same dialogue, the same decisions,,, i think interpretations for them could be the same, so at the end of the day, it just comes down to personal preference of which gender you prefer—so for me, i, uh, like female characters more lol. not really in like a self-insert way, but just like the "you are very pretty and i love your characterization" kinda way. so i make content for lumine because i have every specific tastes and i need to feed myself LOL

[tinylethologica]

You don't have Lumine?

YEAH HAHA,,, I was stupid enough to look up which twin I should choose out—and saw that the marketing materials featured aether, not lumine. wish I could go back in time and whip my ass,,,l I think about this fact every time I look at my aether... which is why I jailed him in the basement... don't need a reminder sigh

[tinylethologica]

beiguang drabble, non-vision au

“You don’t understand,” the woman in front of Beidou says, someone that Beidou would like to call a friend, except—

Beidou slams her hands on the table. “Ningguang!” 

The table remains valiantly defiant against the full force of Beidou’s rage. The legs do not topple, though the intricate woodwork statue atop the table shivers, lacquered carmine red shaking—cut from the same shake of Ningguang’s head, white strands sent flying like the feathers Beidou could never quite catch in her palms when she docks, sea birds scattering into salt skies.

“You would—” Beidou quivers with a fury she hasn’t quite felt since the day she burned down Haishan’s entire fleet. A fool seeking death, until the very end. “You would send these people to their demise?” 

“And if I would?”

Beidou resists the urge to shout louder. She softens her approach, because unlike the image her enemies enjoy painting, Beidou is not without tact. “These are honest men and women, Ningguang. Children. I am only asking for temporary lodging while I divert the pursuers. Please. There is no one else I could ask.”

Ningguang hums, taking a long drag of her pipe before exhaling. Wisps of hazy smoke writhes in the air, sweet and heady and hard to understand. Of course the tobacco Ningguang smoked had to be perfumed too, the scent layered in expensive secrets. “You should have thought better than saving them, then,” Ningguang says. “Did you think their lord would not retrieve what was stolen from him? That he would not give chase?”

“Better drowned in the ocean than with him as lord!” The curse comes out unbidden, an old saying from a village that’s now underwater. Better drowned in the ocean than to believe an outsider—and they’d paid for it, hadn’t they?

“So there is your answer, Captain,” Ningguang says. “As I've said before, the Jade Chamber island will harbour no fugitives. We remain neutral on all fronts… even with you.”

Beidou runs her hand through her hair, fingers trembling ever-so-slight, hoping Ningguang would not notice and knowing she would anyway. “You’ve not seen what I’ve seen on his estate. The scars on their bodies. The tremble of their voices. He is a monster to the people he has sworn to protect.” 

“And when have the nobility ever kept their lofty promises?” Ningguang laughs bitterly, a knowing arch of her eyebrow. “The naivety of your heart is what has landed you in this trouble. I had no hand in your own undoing.” 

“You must be heartless, then.”

“No. You merely do not understand, Captain Beidou,” Ningguang murmurs.

“What don’t I understand, Ningguang?” Beidou counters.

Ningguang presses her lips to her pipe, closing her eyes briefly before glancing out the window beside her. She leans back in her opulent chair, a tilt of her head as she stares at the pipe spinning atop her finger, scarlet as finely honed as any bloody sword Beidou has ever had the displeasure of meeting. Nary a glance at Beidou.

“Have you ever seen the corpses of a hundred thousand men, Captain Beidou?”

Beidou mutters, “I’ve seen an entire village drown.” A village of fools, who refused to believe the outsider girl when she’d warned them of the coming flood.

“And even then, it would not compare,” Ningguang continues, “to the sheer carnage of war.” She holds up a clawed hand when Beidou makes to argue. “You’ve fought for your life, your crew, I know. But have you ever had to wake up in the middle of a battlefield, crawl your way through maggot-infested corpses as though you were one of the maggots yourself? So many dead that you could not differentiate from friend nor foe?”

“...No. Have you?” 

Because Beidou could blink and she would see it, the tight curl of Ningguang’s fingers, claw-like as they drag their owners forward, her hair a mess of disturbed silk. About to unravel. 

“What does it matter if I have or have not?” Ningguang says, a lazy wave of her hand. “The Jade Chamber hears many stories. A part of the trade—and the scenario here could be as true as the sun rising in the east. Or it could not. It was merely to make a point. I wish to ask: what is war to you, Captain?”

Beidou makes a fist and touches her chest. “A vow to protect.”

“Wrong. It is senseless murder.” And here, Ningguang’s voice sharpens, dangerously thin, “And I will not have it on my doorstep, you see.”

“Meaning it’s fine elsewhere?” Beidou snorts. “Have you no compassion?”

“Compassion does not win wars, Captain.”

“I thought you wished to avoid war.”

Ningguang smiles, her lips a crescent moon threatening to wane. “I am at war with war itself,” she says. “Therefore, you must take your fugitives and leave at once.”

“I cannot convince you.”

Ningguang lays her hand over Beidou’s clenched fist, soft and comforting. An infection that threatens the stability of pillars that Beidou cannot compromise. “No, you cannot.”

Beidou sighs. She’d been expecting this outcome, truth be told. The reason why the Jade Chamber has survived despite its lack of strong military presence was its trade. All the secrets of the world, it was said, were within its walls. More like within the skull of its founder, Beidou thinks ruefully. But the price for the trade was neutrality in all things. Information could be bought and sold, but in affairs between others, the Jade Chamber never displayed support. 

Fine. Even if Ningguang would not help, Beidou would. She’ll figure it out somehow. She always has. Hasn’t died yet. 

Beidou stands. Just as she’s about to march entirely out of the room, Ningguang calls.

“Oh, and Beidou?”

After every meeting with Ningguang, Beidou vows to never look back. And yet, upon hearing Ningguang utter her name without any title attached, Beidou always does. Perhaps the true fool is me! 

Ningguang gazes at her, finally. Red meets red, another front in the war. The slightest tremble in Ningguang’s shoulders, as though one more second of staring into Beidou’s eyes will end her.

Beidou says flatly, “What is it.”

“I hear Mondstadt is sunny this time of the year. Perhaps try your luck there.”

Beidou frowns. “Decarabian?” Perhaps not cruel, but certainly uncaring. Definitely not one to receive fugitives.

Ningguang merely looks out the window, the waters of the port glittering in greeting. Against watery sunlight, she seems so very ancient, a seer cursed with knowledge. “Mondstadt,” she repeats. Nary a glance at Beidou, yet again. “Then you will understand why I deny you.”

[tinylethologica]

not sfw xiaolumi drabble i posted to twitter; throwing this here so i don't forget its existence

On the edge, on the edge, Lumine is always on the precipice, bracing for the drop. Her hands claw at the bedsheets, panting as yet another wave crests over her. If her fingernails were any sharper, they’d have shredded the fabric by now. She sobs, trying to chase the peak, but it’s always just a sliver too little, like trying to sate hunger with water. Never enough. “Xiao,” she begs, arching up to grind against the heat of his mouth. “I, I can’t—”

Xiao looks up at her, lips glossy, slick. Without his tongue, everything cools, but Lumine’s desire is still scorching her, a wildfire eating at her skin. His tongue darts out, eyes dyed into ochre by the darkness, and he says, “Again.”

“Please—”

He stills, rough fingers digging into her thighs to spread her open. “Should we stop here?”

“Yes”—his hand lifts, the contact against her skin severed—”No!“ Lumine cries, her hands grabbing at the sheets, violent shivering as she says, frustrated, “I just want to touch—” 

You, but whatever Lumine had been about to say is lost in the hitch of her breath as he ducks down, more torture as his tongue swipes over her swollen bud. “Xiao—That’s—” She moans, the sound half-broken by a hiccup, tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

Xiao lifts his head, his mouth releasing her with a wet hiss, moving his head away from her as Lumine’s hips jerk up in helpless protest. He’s made her come with just his mouth more times than Lumine can count, each successive orgasm more and more. Lumine had thought she’d be wrung dry, but he still managed to keep her scrambling for more. 

“You promised,” he says hoarsely. “Whatever you want, you vowed. Will you renege?”

“‘M not,” Lumine keens, “but you keep giving and I’m not giving anything in return!”

Eyes half-lidded, a longing desire in his voice, Xiao says, “I only wish to please.”

“This isn’t about me, it’s about you and what would please you, not me—”

“And it would please me to please you.” Xiao leans down, warm breath teasing at her clit. Lumine shudders. The gold of his eyes flash in silent question, waiting for her permission.

Xiao rarely asks her for anything. Never wants for much. And he is asking for her, wanting to break her. So what could Lumine do but give a stuttered nod, gasping as he presses his mouth to her throbbing mound. Lumine releases a shaky breath, readying herself once more for Xiao dragging her to the peak to see her fall and shatter.

[tinylethologica]

and knowledge has never been anything wonderful

If Mikasa knew.

By the river, Mikasa decides. Her pants are so loose they hang on her frame, and the cotton is old and rough and worn, chafing against the bare skin of her ankles—it reminds her of Eren’s hands. 

She folds up the hem, neat and tidy like she would her uniform. One crease, two crease, three. The sensation of phantom hands disappears.

Mikasa dips her toes into the cold, rushing waters. Shivers at the first contact, but she’s already made her decision, so she tenses her calves and submerges both her feet, up to her ankle. The river is cool, almost cold, but still a balm against the summer heat.

She tries not to think about it. How the burbling waters on her skin are yet another extension of Eren’s hands. Tries not to glance at her feet, to make sure it truly isn’t Eren that’s crawled out of the river and encircled his fingers around her ankles, about to drag her down.

Mikasa leans back and stares at the sky instead. Cloudless blue, so bright it hurts, stretching on for miles and miles. Water below and water above, a river below her feet and an ocean above her head. 

Eren could do that now, can’t he? Displace the ocean and morph it into the skies if he wished. If she asked.

At the mention of the ocean, Armin crouches next to her. The earth does not sink when he sits down too. 

“How are you holding up?” he asks.

Mikasa doesn’t look at him, either. “Fine,” she replies. “I’m doing fine, Armin. Will you be mad if I say that?”

“Never,” Armin says. Mikasa doesn’t have to look to know he’s also staring at the skies, imagining the ocean. 

“How are you, then?”

“You know I can’t say,” Armin says.

(He can’t say because you’ve dreamt him up, and you’ve never been a dreamer, but for a second as the waters swallow you from toe to ankle, you can pretend that he’s doing well, that your world doesn’t extend outside of this little cottage and small river where you cocoon yourself in better days.

Armin is a ghost, and maybe you are too.

But you keep that to yourself, because Eren would be hurt if he knew. He’d tried so hard, and the only thing you can offer him right now is this one little thing: false hope.)

“Are you satisfied?” Armin asks. “With the little little time you have left?”

“The time we have…” Mikasa smiles. “It's okay,” she lies, like she always does whenever Eren says I’m sorry in bed, pretending that it’s for leading her here to this nowhere place, like it isn’t a plot of hardwon heaven in the war they’ll have to face outside this dream. I’m sorry for bringing you here. I’m sorry for being selfish. Mikasa finishes, “I'm satisfied. Truly, Armin.”

“Make the best of it then,” Armin’s ghost says. 

But perhaps ghost isn’t the right word, not when it’s a piece of Mikasa’s own mind come to life in this mad circus they’ve chosen to call home, closing their eyes to believe that everything will be okay, that Eren is only out at the market grabbing the sugar that Mikasa said she’s asked for and not merely willing the sugar into existence, that he’s not playing with her nerves like he would with the tip of his blade back in their training days, scraping it over wounded wood.

Mikasa exhales as looks to her right. Armin is not there. Then down at her ankles. Eren is not there either. 

It’ll be okay.

Mikasa leans down, hands outstretched. She cups the water in her hands. It drips out from the crack in the middle. drip, drip—

drop.

(For a second, she sees red. It’s the scent of smoke and fire, and that's how Mikasa knows that pooling in her hands is Eren’s blood.)

[tinylethologica]

Not sure if it's still up but I miss your goddess Mikasa X demigod Eren fic

here you go! it's part of a collection i've made anonymous for all the aot fics i've felt iffy over; tbh i'm still embarrassed i wrote this lol but i'm glad someone still enjoys it!

[tinylethologica]

TELL ME ABOUT THE VAMPIRE AU!!!

*rubs hands together* okay, so i've actually gotten a lot of interest for this before and i'm still thinking about writing BUT, it's based on a manga called devil's line (acquired taste i feel).

i wanted to transpose eren's hatred of titans onto something, which now is vampires. in this society, vampires are just like normal humans except that they go into intense bloodlust when they smell blood, which causes they to do bonkers things to drink blood. eren and mikasa are part of this police unit that's responsible for investigating cases relating to homocides that may have been comitted by vampires. they're partners, been partners for a long time now (having grown up together too), and there's. feelings.

basically, through some handwaving and plot thingy, mikasa—who's never reacted to blood before—somehow, one day while they're on a case, mikasa somehow develops this bloodlust while they walking away from the crime scene, and she just stares at eren, cheeks red, pupils blown wide open, and then jumps him, teeth elongating and all those scary vampire stuff, you know the drill.

jist of it is that i wanted to explore what happens when mikasa turns into something he's supposed to hate, mikasa's own feelings of guilt about feeding on his blood (there's no cure, but there is a way out of going feral every time she smells blood, and eren insists on helping, more at 7 on your local news channel), and how they both navigate this new, changed relationship, as well as the tiptoeing around each other about how they want to fuck (cue eyeroll cause they're both fucking losers that don't know how to say what they want)

phew. that was long.

[tinylethologica]

wip challenge

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs. You can make your own post or reblog this one! This isn’t just for writing either. Sketch titles? Comics? DND campaigns? If you have an unfinished project, it counts!!

tagged by @liquorisce—thank you so much for the tag (even though i'm horribly inactive on here hehe...) not naming the multichapter stuff i've already posted, and i'm tossing only some of my stuff in here since a few pieces are zine-locked rip, but! here we go, with my absurdly boring titles:

eremika merman au

eremika vampire au

twiyor, rain

xiaolumi, arranged marriage au

guili, to bend what cannot be bent

xiaolumi, on bondage and love

venlumi, at the edge of nothingness

chilumi, boomer (this reads like a crackfic i swear to god)

kokosara, mafia au

xiaolumi, ghost lumine

guili, lost interludes (still need to get this done)

beiguang, dress (if anyone asks i'm going to spontaneously combust)

eimiko, religious play

guili, on the meaning of desire

albelumi, cannibalism

scaralumi, nightingale au

shenlumi, first time

xiaolumi, nightmares

lumine x reader (because why not)

zhonglumi, why protect?

albelumi, create and repair

ayatolumi, playing coquettish (this one is long overdue i'm not sure if i'll ever finish it rip)

akaza history (demon slayer)

mona app

[sinigangsta-ao3]

Thursday Thoughts: On fandom and a sense of belonging

I love @ao3commentoftheday, in general. But I particularly love how succinctly and beautifully they summarize how, as we participate in fandom, we are ultimately (even if it's unconsciously) seeking out community.

Yesterday, I reblogged their transcription, where they reflect on why fic writers specifically — and creators and artists, generally — seek and savor engagement metrics (e.g. kudos, comments) when they share something online. As they summarized: it's because kudos and comments are the only tangible points within an online space that can be presumed as points of connection. As signals of community.

To quote them:

"For me. That's the piece that's missing. That's the piece that people crave, the thing they're looking for. It's not about the comments, it's not about the numbers, it's about connections and relationships. And that's the part that's missing."

Additionally, in response, @ishtarelisheba reblogged and added a big YES-AND — underscoring that, in addition to finding community, it is both reasonable and valid for writers/artists/creators who are sharing their work online to expect a positive feedback loop. Because who wouldn't want the confirmation that one's efforts and vision are not only seen but also appreciated by someone else in the world (especially because the artist made a point to put it out in the world in the first place?).

As they so beautifully summarized:

"Very few people actually want to work hard on a piece of art, a piece of writing, a sculpture, a dollhouse, a carving, a sweater for their dog, and just Gollum it and never show another person. For most creators, showing your creations to others is vital for that creative part of your soul to thrive. Of course you should love what you do and enjoy what you make! But don’t ignore the part of you that wants to hold it up two inches from someone else’s face and get love and enjoyment from them, too, just because some false platitude instilled a sense of shame for that pretty much universal need."

Both of those needs — connection and validation — can and do exist whenever anyone enters a space, either online or offline. And, in addition to saying we seek out community when we enter fandom, I would even take it a step further (hold on, Corporate Nina is entering the chat) and say that we are seeking out a sense of belonging.

I'll link some articles explaining this in a bit more depth below, but — as summarized within this organizational study in the Harvard Business Review — we experience a sense of belonging within a group when we experience the following (in parentheses, I've added some of the online "engagement" equivalents that we probably look for to find indicators of belonging):

We are seen for our unique contributions (hits, views).

We are connected to other group members (servers, blog communities, social media platforms).

We are supported in our work and in our artistic and creative development (comments, kudos, reshares, other individuals in the fandom talking up your work).

We are proud of the group's values and purpose (sustained enthusiasm/desire to participate and create in fandom).

I know that these tenets were crafted based on workplaces and formal organizations — but I don't think it's a far reach to apply them to fandom. Because, at its core, fandom is still an organized, social body comprised of individuals coming together based on a common goal and/or shared interest. It's like a school. Or a workplace. Or a social group, in that regard.

And, regardless of why and how someone finds themselves within fandom (or any organized space), it is not only valid for someone to want to receive indicators that they're welcome and that they belong — but it's also a biological and psychological human need to feel connected and validated within a social space (you can read about this phenomenon in the 2020 MIT study that cites that we receive neurological signals akin to physical hunger when we crave social connection).

On a more personal note:

Over the past few weeks, I've been wrestling with this sensation myself. Mostly because I initially intended to join this particular fandom in order to simply write — and I was surprised when I realized that no, I wanted more than that. That, as cited in the quotes above, I did truly want to make friends, connect with others, and find community. To connect with others to a degree that, in full transparency, I don't typically do, both online and offline.

I did think that I found a little pocket of community. And I enjoyed it a lot, felt like I thrived and like I might have found those people that "got" me...

And, sadly, that sense of belonging I thought that I experienced ended up a bit of a facade.

Now, I'm in a space where I'm trying to figure out where, how, and (sometimes) if I even belong in this space. There are a lot of things that I like to add, that I get a lot of joy out of — but I also receive a lot of indicators on a daily basis that maybe, just maybe, I'm not as welcome here as I originally thought...

Basically, it's interesting to be a participant in fandom in this day and age, when it is both so easily accessible to enter the space and so challenging to navigate and assess authentic connection.

I don't necessarily know what the answer is. I know I'm bringing some of my equitable organizational design principles into my thought processes here (and I know that some people think I'm overthinking this but whatever) — but I do think that there are both individual responsibilities that need to be upheld and systemic changes that need to be made in order to sustain a sense of belonging for all participants.

But, in the meantime, I'll just continue to assess meaning in this space for myself, continue to lift up others, and continue to suss out where and with whom I can find those bits of connection and validation. Because I would really, really, really like to think that I still belong here.

---

Final note: as promised, here are some articles about sense of belonging, in case you're interested.

"Acute social isolation evokes midbrain craving responses similar to hunger" (Nature Neuroscience, 2020)

"Create a Sense of Belonging" (Psychology Today, 2014)

"Missing Your People: Why Belonging Is So Important And How To Create It" (Forbes, 2021)

"Sense of Belonging: A Vital Mental Health Concept" (School of Nursing and Department of Psychology, University of Michigan, 1992)

"What Does It Take to Build a Culture of Belonging?" (Harvard Business Review, 2021)

[onwriting-hrarby]

This, this, this. Nina has put the thoughts of my mind and the constant struggle.

I would yet add that it is not our fault we don't feel like we belong, or feel that these communities are not giving us what we need. There is also a sense that some communities are toxic, bad, don't want new people in, necessarily (I would argue this happens in all communities, everywhere, has always done). Sometimes we blame ourselves for not having found the community, or still finding the way we feel ourselves comfortable with it, without giving full thought that we are not taught to navigate communities that don't want us, or neglect us because it is easier not to rebel against them and just feel shame or guilt over it.

When Oedipus gets exiled by Creontes, the choir sings about the great "fall of man", and we're introduced a human that couldn't navigate the community where he was shove in. But we hardly see the same amount of criticism to Creontes, the king, for whom is extremely convenient to have Oedipus exiled.

Forming part of a community implies vulnerability to let this community hurt you or welcome you. There is no sense of belonging without opening yourself to it, and pour your feelings onto it. That's why it hurts when we are not welcome: it is not only that we feel like we don't belong but that, ultimately, they are saying "no" to who we are, after bearing ourselves open.