5 Works by mini_teph
Listing Works
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I Wish Someone Would Tell Me What's Going On by mini_teph
Fandoms: 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV)
27 Feb 2025
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Summary
Jiang Cheng ends up severely hurt when on a hunt with Jin Ling, and when he wakes up, he notices that there are a few things that don't match up with what he knew
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Maybe That's Enough by mini_teph
Fandoms: 人渣反派自救系统 - 墨香铜臭 | The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù, 穿书自救指南 | Scumbag System (Cartoon)
18 Jan 2025
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Summary
The Qiu household loomed ahead, dark and imposing. As they neared the gates, Shen Yuan’s stomach twisted with dread. Qiu Jianluo was in one of his moods again, and Shen Yuan knew what that meant. But before they could step inside, Shen Jiu grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.
“Don’t,” Shen Jiu said, his voice sharp. “Don’t throw yourself in front of him again. I can handle it.”
Shen Yuan shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “I won’t let you suffer like that,” he said softly. “I can take it. It’s better this way.”
Shen Jiu’s grip tightened on his arm, and for a moment, his fierce mask slipped, revealing the scared, vulnerable boy he was underneath. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered, though his voice cracked just slightly.
“Maybe,” Shen Yuan said with a small chuckle. “But at least I’m your idiot.”
They entered the household together, Shen Yuan bracing himself for the storm to come. As long as Shen Jiu was safe, as long as he could keep that promise—even if Qi-ge couldn’t—he’d endure anything. Even if it meant losing himself in the process.
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A day in the life of Mihawk and her four babies
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My head literally just said "water dance" although I don't think there's much dancing going on.
“Well,” he declared, a hint of playful mischief creeping into his voice, “seems this old puppet has a few tricks left after all!”
Fantoccio’s eyes sparkled, a gleeful thrill dancing across his features. “All right, then!” he announced, as though accepting a grand invitation to the stage. With an extravagant sweep of his arm, he tipped forward with all the dramatic flair he could muster, leaping off the edge and plunging down toward the water.
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Fantoccio reminisces.
He placed the mask back into the box with great care, almost as if it were a fragile piece of his heart. In a way, it was. The mask, the props, the costumes—they all held pieces of him. Each one was a reflection of the emotions he couldn’t express, the dreams he still clung to. But like the Phantom, he remained in the shadows, unseen and unappreciated, his genius lost to the empty theater and the silence that filled it.
The irony was not lost on him. He had become what he feared most—a forgotten artist, a ghost in his own story, waiting for an audience that might never come.