When I Say “writers Don’t Want Your Unsolicited Criticism” And “leaving Unsolicited Criticism

Trying to find the perfect name for a character, but you only have a vague idea of what you want, like “he feels like a 2-syllable kind of guy” or “It need a hard consonant at the end.”   

A commission for @waffleironbiddingwar, a scene out of “out of the darkness (then we supercollide)”. In which Crowley, Aziraphale, and Lenore are out and about in a farmer’s market 

⭐️ Commission Info ⭐️ Ko-Fi ⭐️

Okay so. My computer died. My beautiful, six year old little love who has taken quite a beating after all these years - she's no longer with us.

Which sucks because I had an eight page paper on my 2013 word document but whatever. I'm not bitter.

But anyways- I'm probably not going to be posting a lot because I'd have to use a family members computer and I hate that. I already hate doing homework on it.

That being said, I may post some poetry tonight if I can get over this horrible headache and get around to doing it. My girlfriend and I had a nice little ranting session and I feel inspired and also dead because working retail is draining.

Anyways. I hope all of you Americans are having a happy Thanksgiving break! I'll be sure to post something soon.

The Seas Greatest Treasure

Gotta love siren Keith.

Growing up, Lance had always loved the beach. Every weekend, when he was growing up, his family would all pile into the old minivan and head to the beach. The weekend was spent camping on the beach, building sandcastles, throwing each other into the waves, and hunting for small crabs and seashells.

The ocean was a part of Lance. He’d lived in Mariel, Cuba all his life, with the ocean behind their house and the sea breeze constantly ruffling his hair. When he was away from home, he found comfort in the gentle breezes, in saltwater taffy, in homemade meals and in good company.

He’d gone to Spain as an exchange student in his first year of college, but his parents had run out of money and he’d had to come home. Now, Lance spent his days working at the local market. He fished for the small company he worked at, bringing in fish in exchange for a paycheck. Working nights wasn’t ideal, but it brought home money for his large family.

Lately the pickings had been slim where he cast his nets, so Lance had chosen a new spot to lay traps in the sandbars just off the coast. It was the last thing he did when he left, daybreak at his back as he goes to make his delivery and retire for the day.

Lance whistles a tune to himself as he makes his way down the bank and into the high tides. His rowboat was bobbing gently as the surf lapped at the sand. The moon was high and full in the sky, shining down on the water.

There was something the Cuban adored about the sea at night. Everything felt so much more magical. The stars were brighter, the area quieter, the waves more peaceful. He didn’t forget the dangers lurking below in the sea, however. He was no fool - he had seen what the waves could do when they had the mind to. He’d seen countless boats drift ashore in pieces, their passengers coughing up seawater or unlucky enough to have been dragged down to the depths for the currents to play with and the fish to nibble at.

All of this echoed in his head as he rowed his way to the nets. Lance was one of the men lucky enough to earn the sea’s favor, despite taking her creatures away to make a living. He utters a small prayer of thanks, unsure who he was praying to. His mother was a devout catholic, but he had always been in awe of the beauty of marine life.

His nets were decently full, he realizes, as he drops an anchor and sets the oars aside. He rubs the soreness from his forearms, leaning over to pull the nets into the boat. To his frustration, they wouldn’t budge.

“Come on…” He says under his breath, yanking harder. The net moves slightly, but doesn’t give way. Lance scowls at the trap, turning and reaching for his pocket knife. Maybe it was stuck on the rocks.

The sight that comes when he turns back around is enough to make him drop his knife back into the boat. It clicks, the blade snapping open and shining devilishly when it lands on the floor.

Wide amethyst eyes stare up at him, alien in the way they glow pale in the moonlight. Sharp teeth poke out from a pair of rosy lips and onyx hair swirls like an oil spill in the water, just inches away from Lance’s arm.

The creatures lashes out mere seconds after Lance yanks his hand away, scrambling to the farthest corner of the boat. Sharp claws break the surface of the water, swiping at the open air. Lance looks down at the creature, at the bubbles that escape from between rows of sharp teeth as the beast snarls.

The net strains as this magnificent being writhes, desperately trying to get away. He’s stuck, Lance thinks belatedly, watching in stupefied wonder. He sees a flash of red and gold scales before the creature gives up, going limp and looking up, a pitiable gleam in his eyes.

“Christ,” The Cuban mutters to himself, edging closer and picking up his knife, just in case. That thing had teeth that looked needle sharp. “Where did you come from?”

It just stares at him, eyes wide and body tense.

“Huh, right. I guess you don’t talk much.” Lance says, feeling foolish as he talks to this being. He doubted that it could understand him. “I guess I should get you out of here, huh?”

There was one problem: Lance’s whole catch would be dumped from their confines and left to escape if he helped this… he racks his brain for a word. Siren? That seemed appropriate. He didn’t think that the sea would take too kindly to one of her children being kidnapped, let alone sold to a fish market. With a great sigh, the Cuban comes to a decision.

“I’m going to cut you free, alright?” He waves the knife.

The siren bares his teeth at him, elongated ears pinned to the side of his head.

Right. Okay. So… waving a knife at a creature who ate people for a living probably wasn’t the best idea. Lance scratches his head sheepishly. “No, I mean…” He pantomimes cutting something. “You know?”

It didn’t know. It begins to writhe again. The fish in the net do their best to dart out of the way, some of them just barely missing the razor sharp nails that the siren was waving about in his panic. Lance could see where the siren had tried biting and clawing himself free. He didn’t imagine that it’s teeth were meant to do that.

“No, No!” He quickly sets the knife down, raising his hands placatingly. “I didn’t mean it like that, I swear! Oh, shoot. I’m going to- just hold still, alright?”

He picks up the knife, leaning over the side of the boat and yanking the net closer. The siren goes incredibly still, a stream of bubbles escaping his mouth right before the knife slices the net, tearing it open.

There’s a pregnant pause before all of the fish he’d captured rush out of the net and disappear into the black water, leaving the siren where he was. Lance hesitates, then reaches down and gently tugs it off the creature and back into his boat. He looks mournfully down at it. That was going to cost him a lot for repairs.

The siren breaks the surface after a moment. The Cuban looks up at the soft sound. He backs away slightly, reaching for the anchor rope just in case he needed to make a break for it. The siren drifts closer, then lets out an ear piercing screech.

“Woah!” Lance squawks, falling backwards, surprised at the noise. When he sits back up, he comes face to face with the beast.

The Cuban swallows hard, trying not to panic as the boat dips with the new weight. Bright, intelligent eyes stare into Lance’s, unblinking. From here, he can see the tiny scales patching the siren’s face, the needle-tip points of teeth poking out from under his upper lip.

He expects to be eviscerated. He expects to be sent home in his boat, a wreck of carnage and blood. That was if this being didn’t eat him and leave his bones to decorate the sea floor. Lance can feel each beat of his heart in his throat, can feel the blood turning to ice in his veins, can hear himself breathing.

To his surprise, the creature sinks back into the water with no fuss. It’s clawed, webbed fingers still grasp the side of the boat, keeping him close and watching the fisherman.

“U-Um,” Lance takes a deep breath, willing his hands to stop shaking. “Hey there. You, uh… you okay?”

The siren’s ears perk, it’s tail flicking and splashing water into the boat. It makes an inquisitive sound.

“Sorry for… you know, the whole net incident.” He rubs his neck. The being must’ve been hunting or chasing the shoal and gotten caught up in the trap. He winces. Maybe this wasn’t the best place to cast his nets.

The siren peers up at him. A moment later, Lance has a lapful of curious mer-being. He makes a soft sound - half fear, half surprise - and tries his best not to shove the creature off for fear of death or serious injury.

Lance gawks at the being, who simply makes himself comfortable and takes the Cuban’s face in his hands. He tilts his head this way and that, his amethyst gaze searching. One claw carefully brushes over his lips, over his nose, over his eyebrows. The siren makes a shrill sound of what he hoped was amusement when Lance quirks one of his eyebrows.

“So… am I forgiven?” He asks, wincing when the creature takes a handful of his hair and tugs.

The siren hums softly, then lets go of Lance’s face and stretches his tail out to his full length, looking up at Lance haughtily. I don’t know, his gaze seemed to say. Why should I forgive a petty mortal?

Lance hadn’t half a mind to be scared - he was too busy gazing at the siren’s tail in awe. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. The colors ranged from the deepest garnet, to spilled blood ruby, to daybreak gold, and to a pale red just where his skin met his tail. Scales littered the siren’s torso, but the thing the Cuban was most entranced with were its fins.

It wasn’t anything he would’ve imagined them to be - no amount of cartoon movies could compare. The fins were a delicate membrane, stretched gracefully across strong muscles. They were a pale reddish color, gleaming in the moonlight.

Lance looks back up to a smug half smile, the beautiful siren’s ego significantly boosted. He coos softly, tilting his head knowingly. He was aware of his beauty. It was almost as if he was aware of the songs written about him too, Lance noted.

“You… you’re magnificent.” The Cuban offers a shy smile.

The creature wriggles in glee, reaching down to pet at his scales fondly. It looks up at Lance mischievously, eyes gleaming from under a mop of inky hair. You like these, don’t you? It’s gaze practically screams as he scratches at his scales.

Lance’s face heats up, his eyes widening. Was this the siren version of flirting? Oh God, he hoped he wasn’t reading too much into this. “Yes, your scales are- they’re very lovely.”

The siren watches him a moment, then leans down and picks one of the bigger ones off the base of his tail. They grew back, it wasn’t a huge loss. It takes Lance’s hand, pressing it into his palm and closing his fingers around it.

The Cuban looks down at his palm, then back up at the siren. “Oh, I couldn’t, really… this belongs to you.” He tries to hand it back to the siren. It growls loudly, thrusting Lance’s hand back toward him. He decides to keep it. “Well, um. Thank you for… not eating me. And for your scale.”

The siren preens, brushing a claw over his jawline before slipping back into the water. It peers up at Lance, making a soft noise.

“Will I see you again?” Lance asks hopefully, leaning over the side to better see his new familiar.

We shall see, the siren’s smirk tells him. With one more playful splash of water, the magnificent being ducks under the water. He’s gone in an instant, Lance’s eyes unable to make him out in the black depths of the sea.

The fisherman sits there for a long while. He picks up the net, looking down at it, unable to help the smile that creeps up on him. He looks back out at the sea, at the moon’s reflection, at the mysterious world that he could only dream of understanding.

Never had he been more in love with the ocean.

Part 1 of The Children of the Sea Part 2 | Part 3

Guess who’s world-building! I need help from all my readers in regards to my new Refraction au, so ask away! Anything and everything is accepted, no matter how crazy it may be.

You can find the fanfic here.

I look forward to your asks!!

I already commented on my main blog but once again, your comments and feedback brings me so much joy!! Yuki fic incoming ❤️

Post-canon, Akito-centric fic recs

I'm back with 2 more Akito-centric fic recs because over the weekend, I had an incredibly vivid dream about her and immediately had to hunt down some fanfic, lol.

These two one-shots are the kinds of stories that are so beautifully written, it almost hurts. The prose and imagery used in each is so evocative and moving, and I was in tears by the end of them both.

The first is the hope i want to share with you by ao3 user warsfeil (I tried looking them up on Tumblr and couldn't find a blog, but if you know them under a different username, please let me know, as I would obviously love to tag them for credit!).

It's a 13K story told through vignettes, and MY GOD. It's actually a bit difficult for me to convey how reading it made me feel, but I've included an excerpt below that I really loved. For context, this takes place after Akito has a dream in which she and Shigure are getting married, and Ren is present at the wedding, taunting her:

Akito can’t speak, for a moment: she grips onto Shigure so tightly he hisses, her nails leaving crescent moons of red welling in their wake, and she buries her face into his chest and squeezes her eyes shut like it will help subside the fear that permeates her entire body.

“I’m here,” Shigure says, which is the exact right thing to say but also the wrong thing entirely because it makes that fear bubble back up into Akito’s chest until she can’t help but cry. “What were you dreaming about?”

Akito can’t manage the words, at first, so she just stays there. It’s familiar, to cry against Shigure, to let him wrap his arms around her and stroke her hair until she sleeps -- but she doesn’t think she’ll be going back to sleep, this time.

“I don’t want a wedding,” Akito says, and she feels Shigure pause. “I don’t mean I don’t want to get married. I don’t -- I don’t want a wedding. I don’t want anything to go wrong”

“Then we won’t have one,” Shigure says, “but even if we did, I wouldn’t let her touch it.”

Akito knows, she knows the kind of things Shigure thinks about -- he talks about revenge with his fingers trailing around his sake cup, he reads records and papers and forms plans and ideas that Akito can barely follow, much less follow through on -- but something in her heart still aches at the idea of it all. Relief that he’d fight for her; sadness that he has to; guilt that she could ever think of allowing anyone to get revenge on her behalf when she’s left so many broken on her own.

----

The second is worthy, by @renywrites (Renegade_Reaper on ao3). I think I'd read anything you write, Reny!!

Just like their story 'I can barely breathe', worthy is so, so gorgeously written, and is a 6K fic exploring Akito's mental state after the curse break. Have you ever read prose so beautiful it's like a wallop to the face? Lol, that's how it felt reading this, in a good way!!

I've included an excerpt from it as well, and for context, this scene takes place in a Catholic church, during a trip that Shigure and Akito take to San Francisco. Note that Akito uses they/them pronouns:

Shigure leads them into the large building, into a huge room with stained glass windows depicting men and women and children. Akito was sure they meant something, but to them, it was just pretty imagery.

They’re left by the altar as Shigure goes to track someone down, likely to interrogate for his book. They watch him go, left to take in their surroundings and hope that nobody tried to speak to them. Akito looks up at the wall above the altar, and wonders if this religion had any truth to it, too.

They had been a god, once. They had been revered, feared, respected, obeyed. They had been worshipped, too. But being a god had been such a horribly lonely existence. Everything had been so dark, so crushing, so significant. The slightest act of defiance had sent them into a rage, and in their attempts to draw everyone closer, they had only succeeded in driving them away.

Akito lowers their dark gaze to the altar, and wonders if sacrifice had ever been necessary in this religion. They wonder if it would matter if they had sacrificed themself, bled out on a stone cold slab for their own glory.

----

The Fruits Basket fandom is full of such talent, I'm so grateful for incredible writers sharing their work!! If anyone wants to reblog with their own Akito fic recs (post-canon or otherwise, including ones they've written themselves), it would make my day!!

I'm so glad you enjoyed it!! ❤️ I hope tomorrow is better for you!

I’ve been watching a lot of Mad Men because Jon Hamm and I cant stop thinking of like a sixties AU with Gabe and Beez, or just switching out broody Don Draper for Gabriel so could I suggest a domestic 60s set Ineffable Bureaucracy thing?

I decided to do 1968 because of the Apollo 7 mission (I think Bee is just a huge space nerd) and also because I have no idea what Mad Men is (thank you for giving me a new show to watch though, holy shit!! Jon Hamm is a gift). I tried very hard to do this in a 60s setting but it may come off more as 50s themed- I pulled some familiar stuff I know from The Help and read up on some careers before I hopped into this. Bee’s name is Beatrice in this because reasons.

*

Gabriel loved his life. He had a good job working as a Creative Director in a big advertising company, made enough money to be comfortable, got the weekends off to do whatever he pleased, and had a lovely wife to go home to. 

Wife. The concept was still foreign, still made him shiver and smile and feel mushy as could be. Bee would tell him to shove a sock in it, if she were here.

He and Beatrice Romanov had gotten married only a month ago, but only because she had insisted she was going to finish her college degree before he was allowed to strap her down. Gabriel would have liked to have married her the minute he had seen her under those trees in the college courtyard, but she had put her foot down. 

It took a lot more to court her than just a charming smile and a compliment, he had learned very quickly. In fact, the first time he’d done that, he’d ended up with a milkshake in his lap. 

“I’m not a cheap whore,” the soon-to-be love of his life had snapped, her dark eyes blazing with hellfire. “Don’t treat me like one.”

Gabriel had never been spoken to like that by a girl — or anyone — before. At first he was offended, so he made it his duty to try and outdo her in each of the classes they had together. Unfortunately for him, he’d found his match. She was whip smart, mean as a junkyard dog, and took shit from absolutely nobody. Many men had walked away with tattered dignity and a broken nose after attempting to tame this wildfire of a girl. 

He quickly found that instead of wanting to defeat her, Gabriel wanted to impress her. He wanted her to give him that sharp little smile she got when she won. He wanted to hear that laugh, wicked and graceless, that she would let loose on occasion when she was around her friends. He wanted those dark eyes to be on him, always. He wanted.

That wanting turned into a game of cat and mouse very quickly, both of them doing things that had society frowning and the other taunting them to continue. Heated looks across classrooms. Stolen kisses against the bookshelves of the library. His hand on her thigh, her back pressed to the cold stone wall of her dorm building. 

One night, Gabriel took the bait, and had his world shattered by his name broken on her lips, her body bare against his, those eyes looking up at him like he was the only thing that mattered in the world. 

Gabriel woke up the next morning with his vessel of hellfire next to him in bed, her inky black hair spilling over his pillow and tickling his nose. The sunlight streaming in the window made her skin look like porcelain, her body ethereal and too perfect to belong in even Heaven. The frustration and pent up tension that remained in him quickly gave way to something that melted his insides, took his breath, and made him pull her closer and press a kiss to her hair.

Three years later, he knelt in front of her with a small velvet box and watched those beautiful dark eyes glisten with tears and love and the promise of a future.

And now he got to go home to his future every single night.

“Leaving already?” Comes a teasing call as Gabriel packs his things up for the weekend.

He looks up, then gives his co-worker a polite smile. “Ah, Sandalphon. Yes, it’s my night for the dishes and Bee wants to watch the Apollo 7 launch with me.”

“You’re whipped, you know.” Comes the predictable laugh, accompanied by others in the office who were bad at pretending to not listen in on conversations. “That wife of yours has you on a leash.”

Gabriel shakes his head, unable to help his smile. “What can I say? I like a girl who takes charge. Evening, gentlemen.”

He leaves with wolf whistling and whoops following him out, but his mind is focused on calculating how much more time it would be until he got to go home to his wife. If he stopped at the supermarket and bought her favorite bottle of wine and some flowers, it would only add another fifteen minutes…

*

“You’re late!” Comes the call when he closes the door. He winces — he had been trying to be quiet so he could surprise her. Nothing got past Bee. 

“Sorry, my love.” He calls, slipping his shoes off and treading carefully into the kitchen. 

The sight that greets him is one he’d come home to for the rest of his life, but one that would always make his heart swell and his knees weak. 

His wife was standing at the stove, stirring what smelled like spaghetti sauce, a red gingham apron tied around her neck and waist. Her hair was pulled back from her face, piled messily on her head and stuck through with a knitting needle (his mother had gotten them for her, trying to insist she needed to be more ladylike. Bee wore them in her hair out of spite. Besides, they did well in a pinch).

“Hello,” Gabriel walks over, pausing to kiss her cheek before fetching a vase to put the flowers in. “I brought you something.”

Bee glances up, surprise flickering in dark eyes, before she smiles. “Sap. Put the wine on ice, we can have it with dinner. It’ll be ready in a little bit.”

“It smells good, Bee.” He does as he’s told, then pulls up a chair at the table to sit and talk with her while she finishes dinner.

His wife blows a stray hair from her face, her brows creasing. “Your mother sent the recipe to me. No, she showed up to my work to give it to me. Spent twenty minutes going on and on and on about how a good housewife always makes her husband’s favorite things…” Bee makes an irritated noise. 

“At work?” Gabriel sits up, frowning. “I’ll talk to her…”

“No need,” she says, with that grin she used to give him just before she dragged him behind a building at school and kissed him senseless. “I took care of it.”

“Bee,” he says, a rush of fondness and exasperation rolling over him. And maybe a bit of dread. “What did you do?”

“Oh, she’ll call you about it later.” She waves a hand, her smile growing. 

Gabriel didn’t even have it in him to be upset — his mother was insufferable about everything Bee did. About how she dressed, how she behaved, how she treated Gabriel. When Bee’d refused to marry her son in a church, that was when Gabriel accepted that he was going to be stuck in the middle of an eternal feud.

But watching his wife move around their kitchen and complain about her day, he found he couldn’t mind. It was amusing to see his wife come up with petty ways to get back at the people who annoyed her. It was definitely a good reminder that she would put up with none of his shit, not ever. 

“Are we watching the launch during dinner?” Gabriel asks when she turns the stove top off. 

She brightens. “Yes! And the newest Star Trek comes out tonight, too. You don’t mind if we watch both?”

Gabriel gives her a fond look, getting up to get them both some wine. “Not at all. Whatever makes you happy, darling.”

Bee grins, blocking his way and leaning up on her tiptoes for a kiss, her fingers snagging and wrinkling his work shirt. He bends to meet her, his hand resting against the curve of her spine and tugging her closer against him as their lips meet.

The chase had been well worth it, Gabriel reflects, as his wife hooks a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him down farther to her mercy with a wicked smile. He wouldn’t trade any of this for anything.

Hi guys!!

So remember that poetry book I was working on??

It's done! Heck yeah!!

Here's the link: http://www.blurb.com/b/9233244-love-letter-of-sapphic-design

Don't feel obligated to buy it if you don't want, but let me know what you think if you do! Thank you guys so much for being invested in my writing (even if it isn't Voltron related).

“reblogs aren’t important you’re just whiny”

yeah because when you see this

tell me you don’t get annoyed.

tumblr’s algorithm only cares about posts that are reblogged, it doesn’t count likes. posts don’t get promoted or circulated when they only have likes (the way instagram functions), only reblogs matter for increasing reach on tumblr as a platform.

support content creators.

The Mind is a Mysterious Thing 🧠