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shhtickerbook · 6 months ago

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Baby Feathers

Merry Christmas!

(Helluva Age regression ficlet that takes place post sinsmas)

I don’t see enough fics that have caregivers who want to try regressing!!! So I decided to fill that void and the soul destroying events of sinsmas gave me lots of agere fodder. have a lovely holiday everybody!!! Fic below!

Stolas had everything planned. It was new years Eve and both Stolas and Blitzø had the holiday just to themselves. Millie and Moxxie were spending the holiday with Millie’s family in Wrath, whilst Loona was going to another party at Beelzebub’s. Stolas had spent many a New Year’s Eve at insufferable galas, but there had always been one silver lining. Both himself and Via would slip away from the ball, where the two would sit on the roof of their mansion and watch the first new year’s moon come to rise. He still hadn’t realised that this would be the first year where they wouldn’t be able to share their tradition. He couldn’t stop thinking of Octavia, their last interaction cruelly playing on loop in his mind. His heart was breaking with every second, but at least he had Blitzø. If he hadn’t been grieving so painfully, maybe he’d be able to enjoy himself.

There was one aspect he found great comfort in though, and that was being able to take care of Blitzø. Over the past few months he’d been introduced to the Imp’s smaller side, which had taken a while for Blitzø to open up about it properly. He was a pretty headstrong character, and struggled s lot when it came to expressing any kind of vulnerability.

Stolas had actually found out by accident, with Blitzø regressing involuntarily after a bad night terror. Stolas’s heart had broke when he found his partner looking so afraid and vulnerable. Blitzø wasn’t able to really explain what was happening, but Stolas was already a parent, it was second nature to know how to comfort little ones after a bad dream. The next morning Blitzø had explained what happened, sometimes he found himself slipping younger in age, usually when he was stressed or was reminded of bad things. Especially since he lost his mother, she was the only person who treat him with gentle nurturing care. When he lost her, he never got to feel that again. So when he began to have these episodes, it became a part of himself he had to hide out of shame.

For a long time he continued to suppress this side of himself, pushing away all these childish longings. But he could only hold it back for so long until his body decided for him. When he did find out, Stolas was almost too supportive of it, finding this side of Blitzø absolutely darling. Lavishing him with toys, clothes and all kinds of things he never even considered trying. Stolas even found himself getting a lot out of caring for him too, it made him feel needed.

Blitzø had to admit that it felt great to not hide this side of him anymore. Stolas had officially seen every episode of that pony show, and helped Blitzø brush the manes of every single horse figurine he owned. But ever since the trial, neither Blitzø or Stolas had the time or the mental energy to take come time to relax.

Stolas had felt so guilty that in his current state he hadn’t been able to care for Blitzø, and had even collected a set of gifts for him to open from Sinsmas. On the day itself he’d set aside his little gifts so that he wouldn’t have to open them in front of the others. So he’d made the decision to surprise him with a “little sinsmas” on new years, when they knew they’d have the house all to themselves.

Stolas woke up early to get out the gifts he had stored away. Thankfully he had purchased these before he’d lost all of his money and possessions. But when he did get up, he felt awful. The former prince had slept terribly, tossing and turning as he once again replayed what had happened with Via. He was then cursed with unpleasant dreams that only tortured him further. All he wanted was his daughter, but she wanted nothing to do with him.

Regardless of how he felt, he pushed himself through it, today was for Blitzø. The imp had done so much for him recently, he had to pay it back somehow. He quietly looked through Blitzø’s wardrobe in search of some of his little clothes, choosing an oversized hoodie with some colourful horse motifs. It even had an adorable woollen mane that went down the hood. Last of all he collected a plastic box at the bottom of the wardrobe, stolas recognising it. Inside Blitzø kept all of his baby things, pacifiers, some teethers and other equally adorable equipment. It was adorned with multiple stickers, all in the horse variety.

As he entered back into the main room, stolas began to gather some ingredients for breakfast. The plan was to make Blitzø some oatmeal for breakfast, which was simple enough. Blitzø always liked it drizzled with cherry syrup, and if he was feeling little enough he’d even let Stolas feed him.

Stolas carefully arranged the gifts wrapped in coloured paper by the tree, flicking on the fairy lights for added effect. He loved the small touches of sinsmas, indulging in the little details that made it feel magic. Blitzø had mentioned how sinsmas wasn’t really a special thing when he was a kid, the circus would perform through the whole holiday. Which included an extra special sinsmas day show which was very popular, but it meant he never got to really enjoy the holiday.

He thought of a little blitz crouched by the tree, tearing open coloured parcels in glee. You couldn’t help but smile. As a final touch, he pulled the blinds open to let the light in. Such a simple action turned into a huge mistake. As Stolas glanced outside, his gaze was caught to the horizon. Peeking just through the clouds was the new moon, only barely visible. By tonight it would be hanging at the peak of the sky, even in daylight it was beautiful.

How could something so beautiful destroy him so painfully? Stolas remembered everything, his special tradition with his daughter. He thought of Octavia, sitting alone and watching the moon rise. The way she spat her words towards her father, looking like she genuinely despised him. Who was he kidding? It didn’t look like he hated him, she did hate him. Stolas just sank to the floor, his beak quivering as he felt tears building in his eyes. It was all too much. All he wanted was to hold his daughter in his arms again, but would that ever happen again?

she hated him.

she HATED him.

Blitzø turned over in bed, dozily reaching over into the empty space of his bed. He’d gotten so used to sleeping next to somebody again, so when he didn’t feel any feathers in his grasp, it pulled him out from his snoozing.

“Mmme- Stolas?”

He mumbled, eyes fluttering open. As suspected, Stolas wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Pushing himself up onto his elbow before rubbing his eyes, recently Stolas had been the one who stayed in bed. Blitzø would usually let him sleep in for as long as he needed, sometimes leaving a note if he had to leave for work.

With a yawn Blitzø pulled himself up, before hearing something from outside the room. It took him a second to realise in his sleep addled state, but he could clearly hear a sadly familiar sound of crying. Within a second he’d jumped from the bed and thrown open the door.

“Stolas? are you okay?”

In hindsight it was a pretty stupid question, especially when he found said bird on the floor of his sitting room. He was curled in on himself, sobbing bitterly. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of what he’d been like when Octavia had rejected him.

“Hey hey- what’s going on?”

Blitzø joined him on the floor, resting a hand over Stolas’s shaking back. Stolas flinched at the touch at first, but couldn’t help but fall into Blitzø’s hold. Blitzø could feel Stolas’s feathers quivering as he tried to control his sobbing. The Imp couldn’t help but notice that a lot of his little stuff was scattered across the room.

His box of pacifiers and that one hoodie he liked to wear, there were also some new gifts under the tree.

“I had planned to- I’m sorry, i just wanted to make today special for you.”

Stolas whimpered, feeling like he’d ruined everything. He thought he would feel better today, if he got to care for Blitzø. But right now owl felt as fragile as glass, but Blitzø held onto him tight and securely. It clicked as he realised what Stolas had been trying to do, his expression softening.

“Oh stolas, it’s okay.”

“It’s not! All I’ve done is mope around and you’ve had to do everything for me. Not to mention the money you’ve spent and the time I’ve taken up. I had it all planned, you deserved a break-“

It took him a little time to string together his response, tears continuing to dribble down his feathers. He felt pathetic, how was he going to care for a regressed Blitzø when he was this much of a mess? It furthered his suspicion that was just a complete failure when it came to any kind of caregiving.

“Stolas listen to me, it’s okay. It’s.. really sweet you thought of this.”

Blitzø gently tilted his beak to meet his face, the tearstained bird’s expression tugging something on his heartstrings. He looked around, spotting the half made breakfast and carefully arranged presents. All the effort he’d made, for him no less.

“I don’t deserve you.”

He chuckled, managing to pull the lanky heap of owl closer into his lap the best he could. His statement seemed to reactivate Stolas tears though, who cried intelligibly into his chest. It was the other way around, it was Stolas that didn’t deserve him.

Whilst Blitzø still wasn’t entirely sure on what had triggered this, it didn’t take an idiot to know it was related to Octavia. In the time Blitzø had known Stolas, he’d never seen him like this. The Goetian Prince was so broken, fragile. But thankfully Blitzø had some experience in that feeling already.

He let him cry it out for a few minutes, with the shoulder of his shirt becoming very wet. He ran his fingers up and down Stolas’s feathers, gently preening him as he murmured comfort. The sobs eventually died down into sad sniffling, but the grip around him still hadn’t broken. Although Stolas’s heart was breaking, Blitzø’s grip around him was at least keeping said shards in place.

As Blitzø rubbed his back, he was hit with a sudden idea. He felt a little guilty that Stolas had gone through all this trouble for him, especially as he wasn’t feeling anywhere near small. And as much as he cared for Stolas, he couldn’t fake his regression either. Anyways, he didn’t feel like he was the one need in comfort right now.

“Hey, here’s an idea. I know we’ve never talked about this before, but what if you let me take care of you today?”

Stolas stirred a little with a frown, peeling his crispy feathered face away from Blitzø’s chest.

“What do you mean?”

“You take care of me when I’m feeling low, why not let me baby you for once? You’re lookin’ like you need it.”

The more Blitzø thought about it, the more he wanted to give it a try. There was something about the forlorn bird in his arms that melted his heart a little. Was this how Stolas felt with him? Nah, he couldn’t he this cute.

“No, you’re my baby. I care for you, I care for people- it’s what I like to do.”

Stolas suddenly felt flustered, face lighting up bright red. He’d never even considered the idea of swapping roles before. Blitzø was his baby, never the other way around. He wasn’t sure if it felt right to him, he wanted to be the one caring for Blitzø.

“Yeah, and you do a great fuckin job at it. So why not let me return the favour, you might even like it?”

Blitzø teased as he gently pinched the owls red cheeks, already delighting in the idea. Stolas found himself wavering a little, especially with how shivery and weak he was. He looked over at the gifts guiltily, but Blitzø already had it covered.

“Look we could try it today, if you don’t like it, we’ll stop. We can save the gifts for tomorrow, and then you can have your turn babying me, sound okay?”

Blitzø sounded so sure that Stolas found it hard to disagree. Although it still felt very alien, he definitely appreciated this cuddling part right now. So in the end gave a defeated shrug, Blitzø’s face lighting up.

“You just relax and let me take care of everything, feathers.”

Stolas shook for a second, before burying his beak into Blitzø’s shoulder again. Fresh tears erupted seemingly for no specific reason. But this time there was a sense of catharsis that came with it, to be able to cry in safety. Was this how Blitzø felt when Stolas would comfort him whilst small? He hoped so, as it felt pretty damn good.

Blitzø began to rock him back and forth, kissing the crown of his feathers. He gave him a few more minutes to cry, Stolas had been forcing himself into long periods of numbness recently and clearly needed it. Eventually Blitzø shifted Stolas to the side a little, who whined at the movement.

“Lemme just move ya onto the couch, I can’t feel my fuckin’ legs anymore.”

With quite a bit of effort, Blitzø managed to lift the bird onto the couch. Unfolding the blanket over the armrest and tucking it around his skinny frame. Whilst no longer sobbing, Stolas had been reduced to the awkward hiccupy stage. Blitzø told ahold of his hand, squeezing softly to get his attention.

“Hey try and breathe a little, in and out.”

The imp demonstrated, and Stolas tried his hardest to follow. But he found himself falling back into the unhelpful gulping, even with Blitzø’s help.

“Here’s an idea.”

Blitzø turned and rifled through his little box, finding an unopened package. Blitzø himself still hadn’t used these ones as he didn’t like the colours. Stolas turned to see what Blitzø was doing, with his pupils pin-pricking when he spotted it. In his hands was a package of pacifiers, a pack of three different shades of lilac to dark blue.

“You’re doing a shitty job at breathing right now, try one of these. You’ll have no choice but to breathe a little slower.”

He spoke so casually, holding out a dark blue pacifier. Stolas had seen this kind of item many, many times now. But now when it was being presented to him, rather from him? It felt a little scary. Blitzø watched as stolas internally fought with himself, rolling his eyes.

“Cmon, open that beak for me, feathers.”

He used the pet name for the second time, which made Stolas melt a little. As if beyond his control he held his beak open, Blitzø placing the pacifier there before he could change his mind.

The sensation was certainly strange at first, the bird wasn’t really sure what to do with it. But his body was still hellbent on breathing hard, so he focused on trying to breathe nasally instead. Without realising he began to suck on the bulb, and breathed in and out. If it hadn’t been such sad circumstances, Blitzø would’ve definitely taken a photo. It was just too fucking cute. Instead he joined Stolas on the couch, still demonstrating his breathing in time to Stolas’s.

“Feels good doesn’t it?”

Stolas looked up at him lazily, his was face a little red self consciously. But he couldn’t lie, the rhythmic sensation of the pacifier was incredibly soothing. With each minute he understood just why Blitzø liked them so much. There was a cloudy fuzzy sensation in his head, one that forced him away from all the sad and scary feelings. It was a blissful escape, but it wasn’t numbing him the way his pills used to.

So he nodded at his partner, squeezing his hand back tight. They spent the next twenty minutes just cuddling, and Stolas honestly felt the calmest he had in months. Blitzø eventually had to pry the owl off of him to sort out breakfast, turned on the TV for Stolas. He considered what to put on, before setting on an incredibly corny fairytale movie about a princess. But it was worth it to see the way Stolas’s eyes lit up when it came on.

Blitzø made himself a cup of coffee, and poured one of Stolas’s weird fancy teas into one of his own sippy cups. Choosing the moonlight unicorn design, after forcing stolas to watch every episode of his horse show, Stolas had eventually chosen his favourite character. When he returned to the couch, Stolas shuffled over to curl into his chest again. The pacifier still hasn’t left his beak since placing it there, he looked undeniably adorable. Blitzø was just so happy to see him looking content for the first time in days. The two could just spend their day with each-other’s company, enjoying every moment.

Neither demon even made it to the end of the movie, the two of them passed out in a tangle of limbs. The bird with his head curled underneath Blitzø’s chin, the imp’s hand subconsciously still stroking his feathers. Blitzø had gotten so used to himself being the baby in their relationship, that he’d never considered how much he’d enjoy swapping places. The remainder of their day continued in a similar fashion, Blitzø leading Stolas along in hand. And to his surprise Stolas was a very quiet little, who didn’t speak much for the rest of the day.

It was different than when he was quiet when he was sad though, Stolas would still giggle if Blitzø said something funny and was clearly enjoying himself. Stolas just felt happy that he didn’t have to try and think of words right now, he could just be. He allowed Blitzø to dress him in some loose cuddly clothes, and even hand feed him little squares of pancake when he felt up to eating.

Blitzø loved learning more about this little side of him. And Stolas found himself embracing a part of himself he’d never even uncovered. They spent the day indoors, playing games and watching movies. In the evening when Blitzø was busy running a bath for him, Stolas couldn’t help but glance outside. The moon was beginning to rise in the early evening, himself and Blitzø agreed to head to bed before midnight. The whole new year’s celebration never interested him too much, he really only ever used it as an excuse to get wasted.

Stolas pulled the pacifier from his beak and dropped it to the floor. Feeling the fog of his small space drift away, he took in a deep breath. Slipping outside onto the balcony, he dared himself to look up at the moon. Giving anything just for one more moment with Octavia, wondering what she was doing right now.

“I know you hate me, and that you can’t even hear me- But I love you so very much.”

He spoke to himself quietly, not breaking eye contact with the rising moon. Hoping that just maybe Octavia could somehow get the message. He stayed there for a little while, not even realising the slow tears dripping down his face until he felt a hand on his. Blitzø didn’t say anything, he stood aside the Owl for a while until he stirred from his trance.

“I got your bath ready, even added a bunch of those bath nukes you like.”

“Bath bombs- you mean.”

Stolas couldn’t help but correct, although he still sounded sad. Blitzø held onto his hand and lead him back inside, finding the pacifier abandoned on the floor.

“Hey you still want this buddy?”

He held it up, unsure if Stolas was feeling completely big again. The owl looked at the object, clearly considering it. He watched the Imp as he stared up at him with genuine adoration. Instead of a verbal response, he just took the pacifier back and allowed himself to sink back into that comforting headspace. The Goetian prince stood tall above Blitzø, and to any old person they must’ve looked ridiculous. But Blitzø looked up at the tall owl and only saw a little baby bird, one that was in desperate need of some love and care.

“Cmon then baby feathers, I have a whole collection of rubber duck horses just waiting to play with ya-“

Merry Christmas y’all ❤️❤️❤️

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kindersurprisebacterium · 7 months ago

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Jealous (Soap/Ghost/Reader)

Part of Indulgence - Polyamory Collection

CW: threesome, ghost/soap in an established relationship, friends with benefits, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, cum eating, cum as lube, anal sex, biting, dacryphilia, alcohol, simon is soft

Gender Neutral AFAB Reader: They/Them used

WC: 3.1K

“Aye shut up,” he groaned. Slamming the controller down on the couch cushion. I laughed, chest heaving as the screen in front of us flashed. I felt warm, even in just a tee and a pair of shorts. Beer flowed through my veins, loosening every bit of tension left in me after a long day at work.

I always did enjoy it when he was home on leave. Nights spent at his house, falling asleep in a messy pile of tangled limbs on his couch. Things had noticeably shifted ever since he brought home Simon.

I wasn’t jealous per se. I knew the quickies we had were just a temporary fix until either of us found a partner. It was just shit luck that none of the dating apps never worked out. Just shit luck that I ended up filled to the brim with tension, eyes welling with tears as the dull buzz between my legs intensified.

Part of me knew he could tell, whether it was my bouncing leg or my snappy attitude, something gave it away. That was why, when he sent a single text, I perked up. An image of a case of beer and two PlayStation controllers, beneath were two words.

“Come over.”

“How’d they let you in the military if you’re this shit at aim?” I laughed, pushing his shoulder.

“Not my forte, doll,” he shook his head. A flash of white flooded the screen. My character's body went limp, charred to a crisp. He tossed his head back against the couch, a deep laugh bellowing from his chest.

“That, my dear, is how it’s done.” He held his hands up in the air, a satisfied smirk on his face. My jaw went slack, brows furrowing as I set the controller down on the coffee table.

“I’m fucking leaving,” I couldn’t hide the smile that crept across my face. Forcing a pout, I stood, reaching down to grab my bag. The hardwood floors creaked, and in one motion a set of arms were around my waist. He grunted, tugging me back onto the couch. A laugh bursted from my chest, legs kicking as he tugged me into his embrace.

“You said you’d stay the night, and you’re not driving home with how drunk you are,” he spoke matter-of-factly. He frowned, sticking out his bottom lip.

“Fine, fuckin’ get off of me. You smell like cheese.” I nudged my elbow into his ribs. His bruising grip on me didn’t relent. Instead he leaned in, stubble brushing against my cheek.

“You’re dramatic. You ate as much of that Brie as me.” He pressed his nose to my neck, roughly inhaling. I kicked my legs, squirming in his grip. “Smells cheesy.”

“Johnny!”

The door opened. In an instant I stilled, eyes whipping to the open doorframe. A hulking wall of muscle stepped in, dressed in an oversized black hoodie and basketball shorts. I knew who it was, even if he had a surgical mask covering the lower half of his face. Music blared from his headphones. It was loud enough to hear from the doorway.

With a slam, the door closed. The man kicked his shoes off, narrowing his eyes at the scene before him. He shrugged the strap of his duffel bag off of his shoulder. With a thud it landed on the floor.

“How was your workout, Si?” Johnny grinned, fingers splaying over my stomach.

The man merely grumbled in response, stepping into the living room and turning down the hall. I groaned, squirming free of Johnny's grip. My hands went to my shorts. I tugged the hem down over my thighs, trying to ignore how much the fabric had ridden up.

“I’m sorry-” I sputtered, tugging the blanket over my bare thighs.

I could hear the shower turn on, white noise filling the apartment. Johnny chuckled, grabbing his controller from the coffee table. He grunted, settling beside me. I watched as he tugged the blanket over both of our laps. I swallowed, feeling his sweaty thigh brush against my own.

“Sorry for sucking ass at this game?”

He hit unpause, not bothering to wait for me to grab my controller. I pursed my lips into a thin line, tongue sticking out of the corner of my mouth. I aimed my scope at Johnny, quickly pulling the trigger. His side of the split screen flashed red.

“Aye, y’always were good at head,” he nudged me with his elbow. My breath hitched, fingers slipping over the controller. Another flash of white and a ball of orange fire consumed my character. “Not very good at lookin’ where you’re goin’ tho, aye?”

Out of the corner of my eye I could feel his blue eyes on me. Those plush lips curled into a smirk, canines glistening in the blue light. I swallowed down any response, mouth going dry.

He nudged me again. His thumbs stilled on the controller. Taking the chance, I aimed at his motionless character.

The screen faded to gray, soon being replaced by a pause menu. I sighed, setting my controller down beside me.

“Doll.” He rested his hand on my thigh, gently squeezing. “Talk to me,” his fingers dug into my flesh.

“Johnny, unpause the game.” I spared him only a quick glance before looking down at my lap.

“Why you acting so weird,” he whined with a pout. “Not even lookin’ at me.”

“I just-” I paused, lips parting, but tongue motionless. “I didn’t know Simon would be on leave too.” The words came out harsher than I intended. I sat up, holding my hands out. “I didn’t mean it like that-”

“Someone’s jealous,” he grinned, squeezing my thigh.

“Johnny no-”

“I didn’t forget about you, I promise.” His fingers brushed higher, fingertips skating along my inner thigh.

I gripped his wrist, fingers barely able to wrap around. My brows furrowed as I pushed his hand away. He didn’t budge, instead choosing to glide even higher with renewed vigor.

“Johnny what are you doing?” I pulled away from his grip. His other hand grasped my shoulder tight. With every wiggle, every protest, he held me still.

“Missed this pretty pussy,” he cooed, leaning in close enough for his facial hair to brush my jaw.

“Johnny, Simon is in the other fucking room,” I spoke sternly. My teeth gritted, eyes locking onto the bathroom door.

“So?” His tone was childish. “Keep talkin’ about how your tinder dates go so bad. This pussy needs some lovin’,” his palm cupped my clothed cunt. My teeth sunk into my bottom lip. A dark stain had formed at my core. My arousal soaked through the thin cotton.

He moaned, sliding three fingers up my core. My breath hitched, breathy moans getting caught in my throat.

“Cunts practically drooling,” he muttered next to my ear. His fingers slipped under the band of my shorts. I gasped as his fingers found my throbbing clit. He smirked against my skin as he rubbed quick circles into the bud. I whined, hips steadily rocking against his palm.

“Johnny-” I whimpered. He pressed soft kisses along my jawline before dipping down to my neck. Two of his digits slid down my slit before sliding into my entrance. The heel of his palm ground against my clit as he began slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of me. I grasped his Mohawk, tugging his face further into the crook of my neck.

With every thrust, lewd squelching emanated from my cunt. I glanced down at my lap with half-lidded eyes, watching as he fingered me beneath my shorts.

Soft kisses and licks soon turned to harsh sucks and bites. I mindlessly rocked my hips against his fingers, moaning as he left purple marks in the wake of his kiss. His teeth sunk into my pulse point, hard enough for little bubbles of blood to rise to the surface. He groaned, licking over the mark and whispering soft apologies into my marred skin.

“Fuck-” he cursed, squirming in his seat. “Need to feel you.”

He pulled me by my thigh, shifting me onto my back. With wide eyes I stared as he hovered over me. A deep blush settled over his cheeks. His blue eyes had shifted from cerulean to navy as his pupils dilated. The outline of his cock showed through his sweats. He was stiff, a small wet spot at his tip.

“Need it so bad-” he spoke through grunts as he rutted his stiff cock against my thigh. “Miss this cunt so much.”

I glanced at the bathroom door. Steam poured from the gap at the bottom of the wood. Biting my lip, I turned my focus to Johnny. Surely, if he was okay with it then it would be fine, right?

“Fuck- okay.” I pushed my shorts over my hips. Bending my knees, I ripped the sodden fabric from my legs. He shoved his sweats down just enough for his leaking cock to spring free. He pushed my knees to my chest, blue eyes fixated on my cunt as he lined himself up.

The stretch of his cock ached. It’d been a while since I’d felt this. I tossed my head back against the armrest, a lust-drenched moan falling from my lips. He inched his cock inside me, grunting as I fluttered around him. He braced himself with one hand on the armrest, the other gripping my hip with a bruising strength.

“Missed this cunt so much-” he grunted as he bottomed out.

“Move, please” I stared up at him through my lashes, tears brimming in my eyes. I felt so undeniably full, stretched to the brim, and yet I needed more.

His pace was fast, with a strength that jolted my body. The slap of his hips against my ass echoed through the room. I couldn’t help the unfiltered moans that fell from my lips. At this point any previous thoughts of Simon had faded, replaced with the thick cock splitting me open.

His eyes squeezed shut, jaw going slack as he moaned. Damp curls stuck to his forehead. Sweat beaded down his toned chest. His fingers kneaded the flesh of my ass. His eyes were fixated on my thighs, fat rippling with every thrust.

“Squeezin’ my fuckin’ cock,” he groaned, gaze meeting mine. “Tell me how bad you needed this.”

“S-o-o b-a-a-d,” my voice quivered with every slap of his hips. He smirked, staring down at me with half-lidded eyes.

“That’s it. I’ll fuck you so good. Make up for lost time,” he babbled, thick brows knitting.

Every drag of his cock against my insides had my heart fluttering. Tension built in my core, every thrust only adding to the burning fire in my limbs.

He tugged my legs over his hips, toying with my limbs as if I were a doll. His big palm splayed over my stomach, pushing down hard enough to feel his cock stretching me out. I moaned as white spots filled my vision.

He fucked into me faster, every grunt lifting in pitch. The deep blush on his cheeks spread down his neck to his chest.

“Fuckimsoclose-” he sputtered. His pleasure drew him further into me, hips pistoning in and out of me at a brutal pace. My muscles tensed, toes curling, thighs quivering around his waist.

My eyes screwed shut, brows furrowing as the building tension snapped. A jolt of electricity washed over my body as every nerve ending fired at once. I choked out a sob, cunt squeezing around his cock.

Static washed over my body, muscles going limp in his grasp. I turned my head, cheek pressed against the suede. A stream of light flooded the room, dappled by plumes of steam. A muscular figure stood in the doorway, halting his gait.

With a final thrust, Johnny stilled. Warmth flooded my core, spilling down my inner thighs. I whined as he pulled out. My vision slowly came back into focus. My gaze locked onto the set of bare feet in front of me, slowly climbing higher. With his blonde hair dripping wet and a towel loosely hanging off his hip, he stood in front of me. Simon Riley.

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry-”

My breath hitched when I felt his hand graze my knee. He parted my legs, brown eyes raking across my abused cunt. His palm slid up my inner thigh, ignoring any apology that fell from my lips. Johnny sat back on his shins, watching as his boyfriend spread my cunt with two fingers. Cum oozed from my pussy, coating my inner thighs.

“He didn’t even bother to clean you up, did he?” Simon shook his head. With a wave of his hand, Johnny rose to his feet. Simon took the Scots' place, leaning down to press a kiss to my thigh. I clasped my hand over my mouth, muffling the whine that rose from my sticky chest. His eyes didn’t leave mine for a moment as he kissed higher and higher and higher.

My hips twitched when he ran his tongue up my slit. He groaned, throwing my legs over his shoulders. His strong nose bumped against my clit as his tongue lapped up his boyfriend's cum.

“Fuck! Simon!” I cried, rutting my hips against his face. Johnny, standing idly, stared at the scene with wide eyes. He moaned into my cunt, sending jolts of pleasure up my spine. I whined as his tongue ran up my slit. He pressed a chaste kiss to my puffy clit before sitting back on his shins.

He was visibly erect under the towel. His hand gripped his cock through the cotton. I propped myself up on one elbow and used my other hand to tug at the towel. He grasped my wrist with his calloused fingers.

“You got room in you for one more round?” He pushed my hand away before bringing his fingers back to the towel. His fingertips tantalizingly danced along the edge of the towel.

“Yeah,” I nodded.

He dropped the towel to the ground. My eyes locked onto his bobbing cock. He was longer than Johnny, but not as thick. At the head of his cock was a single silver ring. He was already leaking, a thin string of cum drooling from his tip.

I caught my lip between my teeth, watching as he lined himself up with my cunt. The head of his cock nudged against my clit, earning a strangled whine from my throat.

“Johnny won’t stop talking about how good this pretty pussy of yours feels.” He bucked his hips forward, pushing his cock inside of me. The breath was ripped from my lungs as he fully sheathed himself inside of me.

“Simon!” I cried, tears welling in my eyes as he stretched me out. He was forceful, more domineering than Johnny. The strength which he grabbed my hips with was addicting. I was sure he’d leave behind little fingertip shaped bruises as a reminder.

“Taking me so good, aren’t you, love,” he grunted, bringing one of his hands to my cunt. “Cute little clit needs some attention. Practically throbbing.” He circled his thumb around my clit, timing his pace with his brutal thrusts.

His hips slammed against mine with a bruising force. The couch creaked beneath us. My body jolted with every thrust. My vision went unfocused, lips parting in a silent scream. Drool pooled in the corners of my mouth, spilling down my chin.

“Fuckin’ you dumb, aren’t I?” He leaned forward, whispering beside my ear. “Such a good pet,” he cooed, pressing a chaste kiss to my cheek, now soaked in tears.

“Should’ve brought you home sooner, huh?” Johnny asked from over Simons shoulder. I didn’t respond, only giving him a whimper as Simon fucked me into the couch.

His hips stopped abruptly, hand grabbing my face between his thick digits. He pulled me to look at him, thick brows furrowing in anger.

“He asked you a question, pet.” Simon spat. “Be a good toy and answer.”

“Yes! Ye-hes!” I babbled, choking on my tears. His brutal pace started again in an instant. The cushions shifted as Johnny kneeled behind his lover. He ran his hands over Simon’s stomach, gripping his love handles tight.

“Please le’ me fuck you, Si. Yer ass looks so bonnie.”

Simons thrusts drew shallower as he sat up straight. He glanced at the Scot over his shoulder.

“Fuckin’ mutt,” he grunted, pushing down harder on my clit. I whined, hands gripping his wrist. He didn’t relent. “Fine.”

Johnny grinned, gripping Simon's shoulder to steady him. The Brit’s hips stilled inside me, thumb still teasing my clit.

Simon's eyes fluttered closed. His plush lips parted, a deep groan rumbling in his chest. Johnny pressed a chaste kiss to Simon's neck before biting down on his shoulder, muffling the moan that rose from his throat. Johnny gripped Simon’s hips, urging him to move.

“Come on, pretty boy. Don’t keep them waiting.” He cooed, blue eyes meeting mine.

“Fuck- I’m not gonna last,” Simon grunted. He pushed one of my knees against my chest, fucking deeper into me. I sobbed, vision blurred with tears. He leaned forward, bracing both of his hands on the armrest. His breath wafted over my chest as he buried his face in the crook of my neck.

“Feel so good, LT.” Johnny moaned, brows knitting as he chased his orgasm. Soft noises left Simon’s lips, growing more needy with every thrust of his hips. I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him into my embrace.

“Mh- feel so good,” Simon slurred, pressing wet kisses to my neck.

“Cum in me, Simon,” I whined, locking my legs behind his back. He grunted, teeth sinking into my pulse point. My head spun as tension slowly built in my core. My gaze shifted to Johnny. His eyes were screwed shut, hands gripping the fat of Simon's ass.

His hand landed harshly on Simons ass. A soft whine fell from the Brit’s lips. The filthy noise was enough to push me over the edge. I tossed my head back against the armrest, cunt milking his cock as I came.

“Oh, fuck- oh fuck-” Simon groaned, spilling inside of me. His cock twitched, hips stilling as he reached his orgasm. Warmth flooded me, spilling down my inner thighs.

With a grunt, Johnny pulled out, blue eyes fixated on his boyfriend’s ass. Simon didn’t move, instead choosing to smother me with his weight. His cock slowly softened inside of me. I turned my head, pressing kisses to his temple.

It seemed odd, how needy he’d become. A stark contrast from his brooding demeanor. I shot a glance at Johnny, who simply shrugged at my confusion.

“Johnny, I might have to steal this one from you,” Simon mumbled against my neck.

“No- no get the fuck up.” Johnny stood, tugging at his boyfriends tattooed arm. I laughed, my hands running up the back of the Brit’s neck. My fingers carded through his damp curls.

“You jealous, Johnny?”

Masterlist

#ao3 fanfic #fanfic #read on ao3 #cod fanfic #cod fic #ghost smut #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #soapghost #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #johnny mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john mctavish x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader

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emotionalmotionsicknessxx · 1 year ago

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So you want to see the 1988 Phantom of the Opera proshot at the New York Public Library...

If you know one thing about me on this internet it's that I love when things are spelled out and easy. This weekend my friends and I went to the New York Public Library (NYPL) Theatre on Film and Tape Archive (TOFT) located at Lincoln Center to watch the Phantom of the Opera proshot. I saw some how-tos and asked friends who have already seen it, but it was still a little confusing and I wanted to clarify how my experience went:

Bottom line: if you can make your way to NYC, you too can see the Phantom proshot from 1988 starring Michael Crawford, Sarah Brightman, and Steve Barton and lose your mind :)

Here's how I did it:

I showed up to the New York Public Library Library of the Performing Arts located at Lincoln Center with my two (2) also phanatical friends. We were vibrating. We went when the archive opened at noon. Hours can be found here.

We were directed to the third floor where the archive is. We had to check our bags (but were able to bring whatever in - I brought my phone, a pen, and a notebook for notes)

We met the sweetest librarian who was so helpful - he got us on computers to apply for NYPL library cards AND special collections cards. If you live in NY, you can get a regular NYPL card. If you are from out of town, they will give you a NYPL visitor card (good for 3 months!) We filled out applications you can find here and here if you are curious about the questions asked. Many questions are optional! Note: there was some scuttlebutt about needing to be a student or researcher or even an expert in the field - you don't need to say why you're there unless you want to! I kept it brief: said I was an independent researcher and there for personal interest. They are just happy people are using our libraries! Sign the letter here to stop the mayor from closing our libraries

Once we had our cards (NYPL Card AND a special collections card/number) we were told to head to the archive, where we met a second, lovely librarian who was excited we were there. You can ask for any show that isn't currently running (sorry Hadestown nation). You can find a list of what they have here. All titles available at TOFT begin with the call number NCOV, NCOX, or NCOW. Note: we did not make an appt ahead of time, and luckily no one was watching Phantom but our friend wanted to watch Great Comet and someone already had it. To avoid this, make an appt. To make an appointment, call (212) 870-1642 or email [email protected].

We signed off to use the archive and were off to the races! That's it! We were put on three monitors and I controlled the pausing and replaying of the tapes. You can replay as much as you want, and can even ask for other plays/musicals that you want to watch during your session there. I took notes in a notebook, I saw other people taking notes on their phone. There are cameras to make sure you aren't doing any recording or photo taking. Note that you can only see this proshot once without special permission, so if you want to come back you'll need to look into what that permission is.

If you're interested in what was actually IN the beautiful, spectacular, amazing, never before been done proshot (it's from May 25, 1988 by the way) listen to my/our podcast, Leroux Less Travelled!

My inbox is open if you have more questions! I hope this clarifies how easy it is if you're ever in NYC!! We will get through phantom-drought together :)

#phantom of the opera #nypl poto #michael crawford #steve barton #sarah brightman

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tiredandkindaoverworked · 2 months ago

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Hobbies with the Redacted Boys:

(Side note: I was listening to love songs when I wrote these and it’s also 1 AM so I’m a little sappy, which is why these might be a little rambly.)

David: People watching. Is this really a hobby? He doesn’t do it as frequently anymore, but on a day he has off and Angel’s at work, he’ll sit in a cafe for a couple of hours and read a book. He’ll go between reading and observing people. He can subconsciously hear Gabe in his head, telling him to analyze people, to see what’s going on in their head from their actions, their expressions, their body language.

Asher: Collecting state coins. He finds it really fun to look through his change to see if he’s gotten any states he hasn’t already for his collection. He’s got a coin holder displayed on a shelf somewhere and sees it as a scavenger hunt. Baaabe teases him about it, but it actually really excites them too.

Milo: Cosplay! Milo already loves to look good, so in my head, it makes sense that he’d also love to look good as characters from other worlds! Also a great excuse to go thrift shopping with Sweetheart. He also cosplays as Sweetheart’s fantasy crushes in the bedroom.

Sam: Scrapbooking. He noticed that Darlin’ didn’t have a lot of things when they moved in, especially lacking in the personal effects department. Over the years, he decided it would be fun to get a disposable camera and occasionally whip out the camera whenever he felt like it. He’s got pictures from solstice parties, Shaw Pack Smash tournaments, general hangouts, members of the pack. Darlin’ was moved by it and has joined in on the fun. Sam and Darlin’s cabin now has a huge cork board that they keep filling up with memories.

Damien: Drawing. He isn’t particularly good at it yet, but he’s determined to be, as he is with most things. Drawing is one of the things that takes time to improve at and that’s something he surprisingly enjoys. He likes to take his time and practice. The one subject he keeps seeing major improvement in is when he draws Huxley.

Huxley: Working out. It makes him feel good, it makes him look good, and it helps him sharpen his mind. He often works out to clear his head and to think on issues he might be having. Deadlifting 225 lbs really puts things into perspective, y’know?

Lasko: Crocheting/building Lego kits. I HC that Lasko is very fidgety and likes to keep his hands occupied. When he’s teaching or doing office hours, he twirls a pen in his fingers. When he’s at home, he’ll do his arts and crafts.

Gavin: Baking! After he made the chiffon cake, he discovered he actually really liked doing things the human way. It felt more domestic to him. The necessity for precision scratched something in his brain. Him and Freelancer often bring baked goods to hangouts.

Elliot: Collecting Pokémon cards. Elliot’s one of those people who has a binder full of Pokémon cards and no one can tell me otherwise. He also plays the mobile TCG and has Sunshine pull packs for him. He gives them the biggest smooch every time they pull an EX.

Aaron: Crossword Puzzles. Whenever his time isn’t consumed with Vesta, he likes doing crossword puzzles with Smartass. He originally did them with Elliot when they were growing up, but that changed to doing them on his own when him and Elliot grew apart. After Brachium, Aaron picked the crossword puzzles up again. He has archives of solved crossword puzzles sitting in a folder, covered with both his and Smartass’s handwriting.

Avior: Making drinks. When he was trapped in hell, he and Starlight would always talk about what they’d do when they got back to Elegy. One of those things was visit that cafe. Eventually, the pair got an espresso machine (Avior actually just conjured one when he saw how much they were) and has gotten really good at making coffee drinks. It’s a nice thing to have, but it’s a million times better seeing the smile bloom on Starlight’s face when they taste it.

Anton: Making Paper Flowers. He also fidgets a lot like Lasko and needs an outlet for them. He actually does a lot of origami and every time he makes something new, he gifts it to Love. Love has a vase full of his paper flowers, an undying bouquet that keeps growing to symbolize Anton’s love for Love. (Love also got him those little origami stars and the pair will fold some together and put them in the vase to hold Love’s flowers in place.)

Guy: Writing. He canonically writes, both in Fooliverse and Prime, but I like to think his Notes app is just filled with all kinds of things. He often has spur of the moment ideas for stories. Sometimes, if an idea is hogging his brain too much, he’ll open a document on his phone, turn on text to speech and then just go to town on a ramble just to get it all out.

Vincent: Painting. After Vincent and Lovely got their new apartment, the walls were painfully bare, so Vince decided to change that. Slowly, he started out with the classic fruit bowl and as he got better, he started painting people. He painted Sam and Porter and Alexis. He even tried his hand at painting Will, but the pain was still too upsetting for him. He scrapped the painting midway. His favorite muse to paint, of course, is his lovely Lovely. Now their apartment is filled with artwork, both his and from artists the two would visit to get fun art/caricatures from.

Porter: Stargazing. Porter’s current life is hectic and filled with anxiety, so when he can, he likes to go out to Skyside and just stare at the stars. Sometimes, he’ll go with Treasure and point out constellations, explaining the history behind them. On these nights with Treasure, he rests his head in their lap, maybe even naps, and tries to forget about his current life, knowing that despite their hardships, Treasure will be there with him when he wakes up.

Hush: Bird watching! Well, really, Doc was into birdwatching and had asked Hush to look through their photos to find something and he noticed a surprising number of pictures of birds. He didn’t particularly find them fascinating, but how could he miss the way Doc’s eyes lit up when discussing the different species and appearances. Hush doesn’t have a phone, so he’ll just state facts about their appearances to Doc and more often than not, Doc will know exactly which bird it is. It’s become a game between them :)

Ollie: Reading. He successfully got back into reading books before bed. If Baby is especially restless that night, he’ll read a few chapters to then. He especially loves putting on voices. It really adds to the experience and he loves the way the corners of their eyes crinkle in amusement when he does.

BONUS:

Echo: Staring at the wall, doing nothing, being in timeout like he should be.

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borealwrites · 9 months ago

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Plain text list can be found under the cut, along with many other things!!

Wow! Year three!

This is the third year I’m running a Monster March event, and excited!! Also I got the prompt list out super early so theres’s plenty of time!

The collection can be found here, but until then, here are the rules and FAQs. Oh and I guess posting guidelines. The rules and FAQs are taken right from the previous collections, with a few new additions.

Rules:

1. Please use archive warnings when they apply. On that note, Please tag your works appropriately and completely.

2. Be polite to other posters. That’s fairly simple, I think.

3. Don’t overwork or stress yourself. Please.

4. DO NOT use GenAI. Or at least be smart enough to not mention it.

5. All works must be newly created for this event. Sorry, no old or recycled works are allowed.

6. That’s it. Those are the rules.

Frequently Asked Questions

This is a lie I’ve only been asked one of these

Q: Do I have to fill every day?

A: Abso-fucking-lutely not. You could do one day, or you could do seven, or fifteen, or twenty seven, or all thirty-one! You could even do multiple works for each day, if you were so motivated and ambitious. The most important parts are to have fun and not stress yourself.

Q: Is this event 18+ only?

A: I’d prefer it if it was, but I don’t think I can stop people from contributing. Content-wise, no. Post whatever form of monster appreciation you want!

Q: Does my work have to be a certain length?

A: Nope!

Q: Can I post art for this?

A: Yes. I will love you if you do.

Q: Can I post the first chapter of a work but not finish it before March ends?

A: Of course!

Q: Can I combine this with another event?

A: As long as it’s fine with the other event, yes.

Q: Does each day have to be its own separate work? Can I make a chapter for every day?

A: You can, if you want, make one long work. I personally recommend not doing that, especially if you’re crossing fandoms and relationships. Also more individual works means more kudos. But you do you.

Q: Can I write or draw X monster instead of Y monster?

A: No

Q: Is there open posting/Can I post at a later date?

A: Yes! Post whenever you want. I’ll officially be closing the collection in September, so you have until then 😁

Q: Am I allowed to write or draw X tag?

A: Yes. I’m just hosting the collection and running the event. Please tag it, though.

Q: Why do you allow X?!

A: Again, I’m just hosting the collection and running the event.

Q: Does this have to be for a specific fandom? Are Original Works allowed?

A: It can be any fandom! It can be an original work! Let your imagination run free!

Q: Does it have to be about sex?

A: Nope. Love comes in many forms, and this is about appreciating monsters.

Q: Can I use GenAI?

A: No. You cannot. Not for writing, not for your summary, not for art. I guess you could use it for prompts but maybe just find a prompt generator instead. Or send me a message, I can help too. This is about human creativity.

Q: What do you mean by “only new works?” Can I continue a series?

A: I mean that everything posted must be new. It can be part of an existing series! It cannot, however, be a new chapter in an already existing work.

Q: What you have for day X isn’t a monster!

A: To you. I asked one personally and they wanted to be on the list.

Posting Guidelines for Tumblr

My only asks for, if you post on tumblr, are to tag for triggers, and that you @ me. Oh and I suppose if whatever you’re posting has multiple parts to link them to each other.

I’m going to rb as many posts as I get, but if I miss a day, feel free to let me know! If it was a multi-parter, I’m only going to rb the first one, because I have a tendency to get them all mixed up, and then people miss certain parts and. Yeah.

So, tag for triggers, @ me, and link your multi-parters together.

Plain Text List

Monster March

March 1-31, 2025

Alraune

Nymph

Eldritch Being

Yokai

Snake/Human Hybrid

Drider

Dragon

Minotaur

Giant

Elemental Spirit

Robot

Satyr

Alien

Werewolf

Pixie/Fairy

Centaur

Succubus/Incubus

Sphinx

Demon

Angel

Merperson

Shapeshifter

Doppelgänger

Vampire

Nature Spirit

Cryptid

Ghost

Non-centaur Taur

Humanoid Animal

Fae

Free Day

#monster March #monster boyfriend #monster girlfriend #terato #monster lover #writing event

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eggluverz · 2 years ago

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LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

PAIRING. dan heng x gn!reader

WORD COUNT. 638

SUMMARY. dan heng has an extreme fear of the dark and the astral express experiences a power outage. thankfully, you are there to help him through this.

SOF'S NOTE. thank you anon for this request!! :) i don't know anyone with nyctophobia myself so i hope i wrote it well enough! enjoy some hurt/comfort with dan heng,, i wanna craddle him gently in my arms :>

The Astral Express was known for being a fairly sturdy and reliable train. With close inspection and careful maintenance, it was natural to expect relatively smooth performance.

That was why Dan Heng was rather taken aback when a power outage took place.

The two of you were in the Archives, researching different topics of choice when he was suddenly no longer able to see the words in front of him. The room turned black and the only faint glow he could pinpoint was the small light from your phone screen.

Instantly, he felt suffocated. He looked towards the direction of his nightlight that normally brought him solace, only to see nothing but darkness due to the lack of electricity. Dan Heng’s breathing picked up as his chest grew heavy. He started to forget where he was and what he was doing— Instead being forced back to his moments in imprisonment, solitude, torture. He grew more and more panicked as his thoughts spiraled, unable to anchor himself to reality.

“Dan Heng?” he heard a faint voice, only slightly shaking him out of his thoughts. “Dan Heng…”

His name was repeated once more, but Dan Heng couldn’t process a thing with his eyes squeezed shut and his ears ringing. Everything was muffled and he felt lost.

Within moments, a gentle touch helped ground him to reality. That feeling was familiar. Warm and comforting. He knew it was you. You were here with him before the blackout, and you were still here.

“You will be okay, Dan Heng,” you said, voice soft but firm. You wrapped your arms around him in a steady embrace, rubbing circles into his back. “The power will come back soon and it won’t be dark anymore.”

He nodded, trying to calm himself down. Dan Heng knew that, rationally. Power outages were temporary and, with the quick and efficient attention from Pom-Pom, he knew the problem wouldn’t last for long. Still, it was difficult to let that knowledge be of solace.

“And while it’s still dark, just remember you aren’t alone here.” You held him closer and he allows his body to lean against yours. “You’re at the Astral Express inside the Archive room. You have me here, and Caelus and March 7th and Pom-Pom are all walking distance away.”

Dan Heng’s body, though still tense, was able to relax ever so slightly.

He wasn’t alone. And he hadn’t been transported back to imprisonment. He was here and you were right there next to him. When he finally got himself to open his eyes instead of keeping them strained shut, he was met with your concerned face faintly illuminated by your phone screen.

When his gaze met yours, you smiled.

“Look,” you said, gesturing to the small light. “I know it’s not much, but at least it’s not complete darkness now.”

Dan Heng pulled you closer into his arms. “It is enough. Thank you.”

The dark may cause him extreme anxiety, but throughout it all, at least he had you.

“I’m sure the power will come back soon,” you reassured, running your hands through his hair with a hopeful look on your face. “But in the meantime, we can go see March 7th’s candle collection! And have Caelus or Himeko light them up for us!”

Dan Heng managed to let out a small laugh at your efforts

It wasn’t just you that was here for him. You reminded him that he had a whole community—a big family to fall on. And they were all there for him, too.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. Dan Heng cupped your cheek and smiled. You returned his gaze and planted a chaste kiss on his forehead, filling him with warmth.

He had people who would be there for him. But Dan Heng’s favorite little light in the darkness was always you.

#dan heng x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng x y/n #dan heng x you #hsr #honkai star rail #dan heng #hsr fanfiction #hsr imagines #hsr x you #hsr x y/n

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shrillow · 5 months ago

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Winter Flowers - Ch 3

sylus x reader; dragon!sylus x human sacrifice!reader

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4

NSFW: gore, smut, cunnilingus

You spend the winter in the dragon’s lair.

At first, neither of you seem to know what you’re doing. Where to start.

Shall he begin with the dead languages of a people whose last descendants no longer walk the earth? Will he show you the fashions of the world? Should he recount the doctrines of the hundred religions he knew? Perhaps he still possesses those old star maps which sailors once used to brave the seas?

In the end, Sylus begins with a story. Many stories. Whatever your hand brushes—an instrument, a piece of furniture, a weapon—he unravels its history with the steady, patient rhythm of his voice.

“It was an heirloom passed down through a royal bloodline that ruled two thousand years ago . . .”

��The fae believed that sword was forged by a sun god when he was banished to the mortal world . . .”

“This was a popular instrument used for herding sheep. You place your fingers over these holes and blow here . . .”

From sunrise to sunset, the dragon recalls the stories of things with eidetic precision. To your delight and amazement, Sylus has a seemingly limitless memory. And despite the spontaneous nature of your lessons, the dragon is a surprisingly good teacher.

“Only because you’ve proven yourself to be a prodigious student.” The affection laced through his words softens his smug grin.

You blush and bury your nose back into the astronomy text you’re translating.

Nights in the cave are your favorite, for you and dragon select a book from his expansive collection and read together.

Sylus’ tail loosely curls around you while you decipher a collection of mariners fables. Something about a sea serpent who’s hunting a group of sailors after they stole a legendary treasure from it—a brooch? The interpretation is frustratingly vague.

It’s slow work, and the ink has either faded or smeared, but you persevere through the ages it’s endured to be read by you.

The dragon corrects you occasionally, but otherwise is content to rest his head in your lap.

Through the night, your voice fills the cavern, drowning out the winter noise. So engrossed in the book, you don’t notice when Sylus grows quiet.

You glance down to see if he fell asleep, only for you to catch him staring at you. His gaze is honey in the light. Skin like the golden shade of the wheat fields. Even his silver hair seems to catch fire and all his sharp edges are burned down to something tender.

You have not touched each other since the rut, and you dare not now. Why would you? You are not his mate.

Oh, but it’s moments like these, where time turns to liquid and the earth quiets until it’s just your and the dragon’s hushed murmurs, when you want to melt into him and never leave.

How long can you pretend? At least one more night.

“Why’d you stop?” he murmurs, “Are you bored?”

You shake your head. “I just lost my place.”

Sylus lifts himself up, and you mourn his closeness until he gently grasps your hands beneath the book. “Would you like me to take over?”

You ignore the way his thumb circles your knuckles. “Only if you teach me the rest tomorrow.”

His next words leave a dull ache in your chest.

“I’ll teach you everything I know.”

So as the world darkens to its last season, and the snow quietly gathers outside your alpine sanctuary, you and the dragon weave a tapestry of the universe, of everything that once or continues to sleep below the ageless stars.

Sometimes, your mind wanders back to the village. To your siblings and father. To Tara. Not because of some longing for those sleepy huts and worn fields. Only because that is the nature of memory, and as all these treasures that pass through your searching hands inevitably remind you of them.

“Tara would love this.”

You flip through a manuscript on herbology, searching for a more effective salve for Sylus’ injuries. You recognize only a handful of the plants mentioned, Tara would know at least half.

Sylus’ tail flicks out. “Who?”

“My friend,” you elaborate, “She’s a healer. She knows every plant in the valley, when they grow, which ones work together and which don't.”

You grind the dried herbs Tara had stuffed into your bag before you left. She’d almost given you her entire stash, even though those same plants would not be seen again until spring. You're grateful for her generosity as you peel back the dressing and gently clean the dragon’s wounds.

His injuries are surprisingly slow to heal. It may be weeks yet until his full strength returns. You suspect it is due to whatever magic the bounty hunters used to subdue him. The very thought makes your blood boil every time.

“Why were those men after you?” you ask Sylus. You force your hand to steady as you apply the new salve.

He tries to look over his shoulder at you, only to pull at the stitching. “Ngh. I thought you would’ve guessed by now, sweetie.” He holds up a bloody bandage. “Healing blood, remember?”

The answer does not sit well with you.

“And the collar?”

“Useless runes and mage tricks,” he sneers, “I’ve broken every one they’ve put on me.”

Images of the dragon collared flash through your mind. You’re extra gentle when you clean around his neck. “How often do they come?”

“A couple times a century.” He shrugs. “It’s to be expected. Dragons are a valuable commodity.”

Your hands pause over his skin. “What do you mean?”

“Our blood heals. Our scales make excellent armor. Witches use our tears to brew love potions.” You stare at him horrified. Sylus just smiles. “I was once told our livers are boiled to a paste to reverse one’s aging.”

“You’re just messing with me now.”

“I haven’t even gotten to my best parts.” His eyes take on a sudden, unmistakable heat.

Only Sylus would joke about something like that. Regardless, your face starts to burn.

Sparks fly from his mouth when he laughs. “It’s nothing to worry about, sweetie. They would have to kill me first, and I’m very difficult to kill.”

Perhaps it’s the trick of the light, a dance of shadows, but the red veins on his chest catch your attention as he heaves with laughter. You swear that they have shifted closer to that hollow above his heart.

Difficult, you worry, but he never said impossible.

You and Sylus discover your affinity for music.

He presents you with a zither, a fiddle, hand drums, and panpipes. He gifts you sheet music and ancient canvases depicting grand banquets so you can study the hand placements of the musicians who were painted into the scene.

Most of the time, however, you learn by trial and error, copying from the simple melodies you learned in childhood. You hum those tunes to yourself, plucking at your pipa until you strike the right notes.

“You have a good ear,” the dragon compliments, “have you played before?”

“No, but I sing,” you tell him, “mostly to calm the herd. My father played the lute, but it broke and he never bothered to fix it.”

Your focus drifts to the pipa in your hands. A couple strings are missing, but with some tuning, the remaining ones ring out clear and strong.

“Do you miss him?”

You stare at Sylus. He works on a strange contraption, various tools and something he calls a magnifying glass sprawled before him.

You follow your father across the hills as he plays a tune to guide the flock back to the village for shearing and butchering. You listen to his easy strumming as you fall asleep by the hearth. You hear its strings snap under your brother’s young fingers.

“Not in the way I should,” you say.

Sylus looks up. “There’s no wrong way to miss a person.”

“Is there someone you miss?”

The question catches both of you off guard.

“Sorry,” you amend, looking away, “I shouldn’t pry.”

Sylus doesn’t say anything at first. He fidgets with the object, turning it over and over while silence permeates between you.

“The music stopped,” he observes, “could you play it again?”

A few days later, you find the device he was working on in your room. It’s a mechanical bird, with articulating metal wings and a beak that can open and close with a twist of a gear. Its eyes are the same shade as yours.

Tell me what you desire.

His eyes are fountains of truth, pouring with the ageless, nameless, and forgotten. Waiting for some soul to drink from its waters.

Take what you want.

Is it that easy? You open your hands and feel them grow heavy with the weight of this world.

Do you want more?

You bring your hands to your mouth and sate yourself until you are bursting.

Poetry, music, medicine, dragons.

How strange to think that you were scared to plunge beneath the surface. What might you find? What might you unleash? Only to find that it is a bottomless well; the more you consume, the deeper it becomes.

Not all of it is good—of course it’s not.

War, disease, tyrants, curses.

You recognize the beauty, the cruelty. And as any true glutton, you drink more in the hopes of understanding it.

Selfish girl. Your mother's ring leaves a scar on your cheek as she strikes you. Wanton daughter.

When Sylus offers you starlight from his hand, you hesitate.

“I thought dragons were possessive creatures.”

“I was unaware that generosity would damage my reputation," he quips, “Won’t you at least try this on for me, Dear Shepherd?”

Shimmering diamonds of various sizes are fastened to a silver chain. Fractals of light splash onto the walls. Only the river that passes through the valley has sparkled so magnificently.

“We don’t wear jewelry in the village.”

Jenna’s pendant dangles near your face as she reads to you. You watch your reflection in its scarlet body. Your village boasts no riches and disdains all vanity. But Jenna—

It is her greatest treasure. It is her only treasure. Yet, sometimes you catch her grasping the pendant like a knife to her chest.

Sylus considers you for a moment, a small cluster of lights glint in his eyes. “Then it’s a good thing we’re not in the village.”

Sylus turns you around. His breath caresses the back of your neck as he secures the necklace. “There,” he breathes, “beautiful.”

Your mouth is painfully dry. “It’s heavy.”

“Beauty should not be taken lightly.” His hand twitches—you think he’s going to touch you—but Sylus bends down instead, hovering over your shoulder like an owl.

“It’s yours if you want it.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” His gaze drinks you in. “This was once a betrothal gift. A man promised his beloved that he would fashion a necklace from the heart of a star.”

“Very romantic,” you hum, “but was the price worth it?”

“I’m sure the star didn’t mind,” Sylus reassures, “they don’t have feelings, after all.”

One beauty for another. The whole earth is merely an appetite to satisfy. What are you within ouroboros’ hunger? The eater or the eaten?

With the dragon looking at you the way he does, you feel like you are both.

Your chamber slowly fills with trinkets.

New bedding, chests full of garments, bronze mirrors, all sorts of musical instruments, and towers of books.

"Even the greediest dragon would be impressed by your hoard," Sylus comments, but he never asks for anything back. Nor does he demand for something in return.

You understand sacrifice. You are descended from those who brokered a deal with an ancient power and irrevocably bound your fate to him thereafter. He is owed your soul, your body. And yet . . .

You stand beside Sylus before a grand tapestry.

“What is this?” you ask him.

“The world,” he replies, “at least some of it.”

Your mouth falls open. Continents and oceans are rendered from thousands of dyed threads. Even the borders are lined with gold patterning. Artistic portrayals of various plants and creatures fill the bare spaces. Foreign words hover across specific parts of the map.

“Where are we?”

“Not here,” he says.

You trace your hand down the old weaves, frowning at his words. “Did my people come from these lands?” As you examine map, your attention catches on a set of words floating above a strange looking animal. “What does this say?”

A strange expression crosses his face. “‘Here be dragons.’”

You realize the creature beneath the words is supposed to be a dragon, but it’s no dragon you’ve ever seen. Triple-headed, slavering, and grotesque. No expense was spared in portraying the dragon as a beast.

“You’ve been alone a long time, haven’t you?”

He doesn’t deign you with a response.

He claws at his skin. He fights against a fever that will ravage his body until all he knows is the mark that claims you as his. You have never known a creature more hateful towards its own nature. He told you several times that you could leave; you think he wishes you did, but not for the reasons you think.

“Sylus,” you choose your next words carefully, “Why did you make the deal with my ancestors if you were just going to let us go?”

A stillness ensnares the both of you in a kind of limbo, tethering you to a precipice you’re not sure you would survive.

“Do you think I would force you?” His voice is the current in the air before a lightning strike.

You aren’t under any delusion that he isn’t capable of violence, however, you’re not prepared for his anger—

No. Not anger.

His body is coiled tight, brow furrowed and eyes so dark and red like gaping wounds. When your hand searches for his, he retreats as if you are a pair of dancers forbidden from touching.

“Of course not,” you tell him, meaning it.

You think he might answer you, but then he hesitates, and you know you’ve lost him. “Then you need to stop.”

His words feel like a brand.

“If you don’t,” he continues, “you’re not going to like the answers.”

Sylus doesn’t talk about what happened. Neither do you.

The dragon speaks in offered books and mechanical gifts, through muted smiles and old literature.

His quiet touches lessen. His lingering gaze fades.

You hold your silence like a noose around your neck.

You miss the Sylus who clutched you in the dark, helpless with need. Who kissed your scars and named you huntress. Who could not pretend that he was a thing without feeling.

Only in the secret hours after midnight do you let yourself imagine tiptoeing into his chamber and slipping into his nest, allowing his body heat to close around you like a summer day.

From outside, just before sleep catches you in that lovely dream, you hear the baying whine of something suffering, some creature dying.

The weather eases; you explore the mountains with Sylus.

He shows you glades that hide the best views of the valley. He takes you to waterfalls from which you drink the freshest water you’ve tasted. You meander through the woods at sunset when the light turns the snow pink and orange. You can see the lake and a herd of caribou making their way across the open plains. You’re too far away to be of any concern to them. Meanwhile, the dragon ambles by your side, scoffing at your jokes and flicking snow at you.

You ask him no more questions about the past. It turns to smoke when Sylus’ eyes settle on you. He plucks a winter camellia and threads it into your hair.

“I’ve read about this before,” you say as you gather twigs and start weaving a crown.

His eyes flash. “Oh?”

“A knight gives a flower to a princess.” You creep toward him until your coats brush and your breaths mingle in the cold air. “She tells him to take her back to the palace . . .”

His tail brushes your leg. “And?”

You toss the crown onto his horns. “Then she asks him to make her mooncakes!”

Sylus’ laugh echoes wonderfully through the mountains. You wish you could bottle the sound.

He brings you out in the evening when the skies are clearest, and he points out all the constellations.

“To the west is the Tortoise, it shares a star with the Old Fisherman. And over there—a bit higher—is the Tiger and the Crane . . .”

You stay up well into the night listening to the dragon spin tales from memory. With his head tilted to the heavens—face open and white hair glowing with the light of the full moon—it reminds you strangely of Tara.

You shiver as a sudden gust barrels up the mountain.

“Cold?” Sylus brings his coat tighter around you. With a snap of his fingers, a flame flickers to life in his palm.

“Thank you.” You sigh at the warmth. “That’s a pretty neat trick.”

Sylus hums in agreement, though his mood turns melancholic. “I learned it from a witch.”

“That’s something you needed to learn?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Dragons are creatures of magic. All magic is a matter of patience,” he explains, “and will.” A hesitant smile begins to form. “I believe you have much of both.”

Your heart flutters. “Do you really think . . . ?”

Sylus stares at you incredulously. “You could call down the stars if that is your desire.”

There’s that look in his eyes—an unwavering intensity you’ve only seen glimpses of since the rut—before it’s gone again.

“Besides, it’s a useful skill to know when you leave,” he goes on, “people will be disinclined to mess with a girl who can wield fire.”

You don’t notice it at first. How can you, when you spend every day with the dragon?

You are removing the last of Sylus’ bandages when you realize how dull his scales have become.

After that, you notice everything else.

There are bruises under his eyes when he reads to you at night. His hair has lost its luster. The red veins on his chest glow brightly as if inflamed.

Valley-born that you are, you’re unfamiliar with the signs of starvation.

His indifference vexes you. It terrifies you.

You’re paranoid that Sylus will disintegrate from your very touch. You are one sleepless night away from wringing all his dreadful secrets from his throat.

Fear. What a violent animal.

The dragon guards his silence and pretends that nothing is wrong.

You watch him with his automatons, tinkering away at their intricate joints and handmade gears. You follow the curve of his back as he hunches over his worktable, lost in his craft. It’s so human.

You can’t help but stare at his profile. His lips are slightly parted; you want to rediscover the shape of them, find common ground between soft skin and stilted breaths. The light behind him casts a golden halo around his head. It reminds you of sunsets in the valley, how the mountains’ silhouettes are carved from the brilliant hues of a dying sun.

How beautiful. How unreachable.

Although you’re grateful for everything he shares with you—the more you learn about the world, the more questions you have about the dragon himself.

How did you learn this? Where did you acquire it?

Why did you come here? Why do you remain?

The answers to your questions cannot be found in a book.

You pore over mythology texts, bestiaries, religious anthologies, and epic poems. All are more or less the same.

An evil dragon terrorizes a kingdom; a monster kidnaps the princess; a winged serpent tricks the hero into killing his beloved.

You open a hunting manual on a whim, but immediately regret picking it up.

‘A dragon’s underside is the softest part of their body. As such, make your first incision under the jaw. Continue slitting around its mouth, then down the stomach. Now, you can begin peeling back its skin—’

The words sink into your flesh like rot. You slam the book shut.

You think you know why Sylus has been alone all this time. Why he will always be alone.

The dragon is not yours.

Stitch stitch stitch.

Yet, he comes to you when his wounds have torn open. You strip off his ruined cloak and don’t question it.

He has given you—books, tools, jewelry, and music. He has given you himself in the only way he can.

It’s enough it’s enough it’s enough.

You thread a needle through his skin. It feels like sacrilege.

His long fingers grasp your shaking hand, warm and unafraid. It feels like worship.

“You could never hurt me.”

A dragon’s roar is swallowed by the violent storm. Nothing warm-blooded can survive the cold.

The spot beneath your ear tingles.

“Sometimes I want you to hurt.”

His gaze does not waver. “I won’t stop you.”

Tell me of your shame, you want to say to him, as I have told you mine.

“Are you dying?”

“If only fate were that kind to me.” His mouth twists into a mockery of a smile that quickly evaporates when he sees your stricken expression. You wait for him to say more; he doesn’t.

Oh, he might give you the world, but he cannot give you this.

You gather his tattered old cloak, torn and bloody, and neatly fold it in your lap. It is good fabric. You want to believe that you can fix it.

“I will leave come spring,” you tell him.

Sylus’ expression is indecipherable. He strokes the back of your hand, committing every vein and knuckle to memory. “Then we mustn’t waste our time together.”

One night, when the sky is tinged a deep purple, you glance down into the valley and notice the blazing lights of your village.

You motion to Sylus. “Look.”

Several dozen lanterns drift into the night sky while music trickles up the mountain. Although you cannot see the villagers, you know they’re gathering in the town center for the dances.

“I can’t believe it’s already the new year,” you breathe. If you close your eyes, you can almost smell the sweet tarts you and Tara made together.

“Is that what you’ve been celebrating,” Sylus muses, “I wondered what all that noise and revelry were for.”

You turn to him, realizing that the dragon has been watching your village celebrate for the last thousand years without knowing the reason. Has perhaps sat alone on this very ledge to watch the lanterns pass over his head and the festivities down below.

“Stay here.”

You scurry back to the cave to retrieve your pipa.

His tired eyes settle on you when you return. Even now, you want him. Whatever is left of him. Whatever will remain after tonight, even if it falls away like water through your fingers come morning. You will remember him like this: snow in his hair, phantom smile, and bleeding gaze heavy with all the things he cannot say.

You press your fingers to the strings, and begin to sing.

He comes to you at night.

You gasp when you blink awake and see his silhouette above you.

He wordlessly slides in behind you, under the furs. It is muscle memory when his arms snake around you and his face finds the crook of your neck. He carries the scent of pine and woodsmoke and . . . something sharper. His skin is hot to the touch as you press your hand against his chest and prompt him to look at you.

A faint tendril of red mist spills from the corner of his eyes.

“Do you want me to leave?”

His voice sounds like cracked glass.

Without a word, you guide him back down until his skin is against yours. You would savor this moment if sleep did not find you all too soon, even as the air smells faintly of blood.

There comes a day when Sylus slips off into the mountains and does not return.

You suspect the worst.

The winds are fierce, but your will is iron. You trace his path down the mountain and through the trees, listening for the beat of dragon wings.

You call his name but all you receive is the mountain’s echoing response. The snow and wind beat against you, punishing your determination.

You trudge through the forest past sunset, until the moonlight casts the woods in a lonely grey. Still, you find no sign of the dragon.

Did he really leave? Did hunters get to him?

One fear after another hurtles through your mind, urging you farther and deeper into the forest. You brought your spear, having learned from experience that predators have no issue encroaching on the dragon’s territory.

What else did your village get wrong? What would happen to your people if Sylus could no longer protect them?

What would you do if you cannot find him?

A violent heat pulses from your nonexistent mating bite. Your legs and face are numb, and you can barely see in front of you.

You snap your fingers, whispering a word of power just as Sylus taught you. Sparks fly off your trembling fingers. You try again and again until the smallest of flames swells to life amidst shadow and snow.

You can only maintain it for a few more moments before your foot catches on something and you crash to the ground.

The flame gutters out. The winds wail through the barren trees. You lift your head, wipe snow off your face. You look back to see what made you fall and you scream.

The unseeing eye of a caribou stares back at you. Its blood oozes from the gashes along its body and pools beneath your hands. Still warm.

You stagger to your feet, and nearly trip again over another carcass.

An entire herd of reindeer lie in mangled puddles, slaughtered in the dozens. Steam rises from their bodies. Torn limbs and viscera stain the once spotless snow.

Just like the sheep.

You grip your spear until your knuckles turn white, the grain of the wood biting uncomfortably into your skin.

The trees close over you like the bars of a cage, their shadows smothering out light and sound. You cannot see where you came from.

Between the trees, you see the dragon. But everything about him is unrecognizable to you.

Sylus crouches over a carcass, tearing and consuming its flesh with razor-like teeth. Black spikes jut out from his skin. He’s elbow-deep in gore and red smoke spills from blood-bright eyes when he spots you.

You run.

His screams shake the mountain.

You hide in the dark with your spear, keeping watch outside the dragon’s lair.

You wait for days. You wait long after his cries have died out.

You should leave.

The thought pecks at your mind.

The dragon will not return.

You stare out across the mountains as another storm rolls in. Snow gathers in a frenzy, the world so bright your eyes sting.

The dragon is mad.

You read one of Sylus’ books to distract yourself.

The dragon is a liar.

He emerges from the whiteout like a spectre. He is as you remember him, a quiet ancient power exudes from his decaying body. But when he stumbles upon seeing you, you see his mortification.

“I thought you would have left already.”

Your grip tightens around your spear. “You killed my flock.”

He does not deny it.

“Is that why you’ve remained,” he asks, “to extract my apology?”

Your nostrils flare. “I would have the truth.”

“It will ruin you.”

You regard the dragon. Does he think you are a child in need of protection? You are not so feeble-minded, you never have been. He allowed you to believe that he was sick, that he was dying—and even after seeing the worst of him, he resists. So you will force his hand.

You unsheathe the dagger he gifted you, and slice it across your arm.

The dragon springs toward you and freezes. Red mist pours from reptilian eyes, his claws extend and his skin splits to reveal mangled spikes. Sylus’ knees dig into the earth as he collapses and emits a vicious growl. The red veins writhe across his chest.

You quickly wipe the blood away and press a thick bandage to the cut. “You didn’t just need a mate,” you whisper, “you also needed blood.”

Sylus bows his head. “Abhorrent, am I not?” His distorted voice slices through the air, guttural and raw. The red mist dissipates, his scales slide back under his skin. “How do you feel knowing you’ve bedded a monster?”

Monster. What a cruel word.

“I would not forsake you for this,” you say.

His eyes flutter before they harden in disbelief. “One second,” he threatens, “is all it would take to raze the entire valley.”

Tara and your family flash through your mind. You take a steadying breath. “But you haven’t yet.”

“I found a way to delay it.” With a mate. With blood—your blood.

There’s something else he isn’t telling you.

“Why did your rut come early?”

He’s quiet for so long, you think he might turn and fly away for good. Until he admits, “I didn’t take her blood before she left.”

“Why not?” you press, “What happened last time?”

The look on his face will haunt you for years to come.

“They sent me a child.”

The dragon steals glances at you, waiting for you to speak—to leave—anything. He moves as if to touch you before thinking better of it.

He anticipates your censure, but you cannot find the words to reassure him.

“Only those who’ve had their first blood can be chosen.”

“I know.”

Your blood continues to soak the bandage, though you barely feel the injury’s sting.

“What did you do?” you ask.

“I took her across the lake, and told her to never return to the valley,” he answers.

Your village never spoke of the last girl who was chosen, and you, like a sheep, never asked. Never wondered about their lives until your fate mirrored theirs. How could your village send a child up the mountain to be his mate believing what they do about the dragon’s brutality?

You don’t realize you’re crying until Sylus wipes your tears away. “I never harmed any of you. I swear it.”

He looks as distraught as you feel.

“I believe you,” you rasp, and he sags with relief. “But Sylus. Couldn't you have returned her? Demand we choose someone else?”

His expression shudders with pain. “The last time I did that, they put her to the torch, convinced that she disappointed me.”

You feel sick.

Memories of the harvest season. Children’s games. The mead hall’s lively music and Josephine’s patient guidance as she walks you through a new embroidery technique—

“I am sorry.”

—All tarnishes as Sylus kneels before you. He seems to be the only solid thing keeping you anchored to this moment. Diminished as he is. Self-named monster that he claims to be. “You deserved to know before I ever placed my mark on you.”

Remorse darkens his face when he glances at your bleeding arm. You see his hunger. Sylus takes a sharp breath before he retracts a claw and prepares to cut his own palm. His hands shake.

And you—you cannot resent him for withholding the truth. Not when it takes everything he has to resist the bloodlust.

Would a monster cut himself for someone else? Would he yield when told to stop? Would he teach you how to chart the stars? How to speak an ancient language? Would he read to you long into the night, or ask you to play that song one more time?

You stop him before he can draw blood. A bewildered, helpless expression crosses his gaunt face.

“I am already cut,” you say, raising your arm to his mouth, “Why let it go to waste?”

His strength returns. The red veins retreat.

You lie in his nest, sleepy and surrounded in his warmth.

“Is there any way to fix it?” you ask the dragon, “This—this bloodlust?”

He sighs and shakes his head. You press yourself against him in a way you haven’t since the rut.

Who cursed you?

The question sits heavy on your tongue as you follow the haloed edges of his lean body. Hard and soft in equal measure. Violent and innocent.

You press your hand over the hollow of his chest. “Did any of them stay with you, Sylus? The way I had?”

He swallows.

“You’re the only one.”

You stare down into the valley. For a village of inconsequential size, it casts long shadows across the white expanse.

They sent me a child.

The dragon may have lied about the sheep, but your village elders—well—what more did they lie about?

You cannot let it happen again. But if you return to the village, would your family and neighbors heed your words, or would they put you to the torch as well? What would stop them from sending another little girl up the mountain?

By the time Sylus' rut returns and his bloodlust needs to be sated, you’ll be nothing but rot beneath the earth.

Your neck burns from the very thought when you hold up the finished cloak to Sylus.

“I’ve made some repairs. Do you like it?”

Sylus cautiously takes the cloak, examines the patched holes and new fur lining with round eyes. His fingers run along your even stitching, stopping at your embroidery. An elaborate pattern of wildflowers and knotwork Elder Josephine taught you long ago.

“I hope you don’t mind,” you say, “I also replaced the old fur with the wolf’s pelt. It should be much warmer now.”

As if the dragon has to worry about the cold. You mentally shake yourself as Sylus slips the cloak over his shoulders, surrounding himself in a field of flowers.

“Your skill knows no equal,” he praises, halting your train of thought. He bites his lip, looking uncharacteristically rueful. “I will probably ruin it again.”

“Then I will mend it again.”

And again and again and again.

A light blush tinges the edges of Sylus’ ears. You watch him smooth down the collar of his cloak, and the memory of the hidden words you embroidered there flash in your mind.

You glance away. “Think of it as something to remember me by.”

In a hundred years, the next woman may find a trace of you here, and know there is nothing to be afraid of.

You find yourself staring across the lake more often. Dreaming. Planning.

You have studied the maps, languages, and histories. But there is only so much you can learn from a book.

You spot Sylus some distance away, crouched low. His hair blends in with the snow. He extends a hand towards a fox peeking out from the underbrush. It snarls at the dragon before scampering away.

Something in your chest twists. It's a familiar sensation, so why does it hurt so much more now?

What you're leaving behind feels larger than what's ahead of you.

When Sylus notices you across the clearing, his regal horns shimmering in the winter sun, you think you will long for him forever.

He crosses the distance between you, and says simply, “Thank you."

“You're welcome,” you reply, because you know what he means.

Sylus leans down until your foreheads nearly touch. “May I?” he asks. When you nod, you feel his mouth brush your temple as he inhales deeply. “Your scent haunts my dreams.”

Your breath quickens.

“What do I smell like?”

His gaze settles on you, revealing the jewel of his eyes in all their warm devotion.

“Like flowers.”

You do not want winter to end. But end it will.

The frozen lake gradually thaws. Although the snow never truly stops in the mountains, the slow melts creep up through the forests.

You wander through the mountains for one of the last times. The sun casts its glare across the pale landscape, but the persistent cold is not easily vanquished.

You come across a meadow overflowing with wintering blooms. Their colors stand out against the blinding white. You run your hands over their delicate yet hardy petals.

Yellow daffodils and primrose. Snowdrops and winterberries. Jasmine and blue violas.

You follow the meadow until you’re on the outer edge of the mountain proper. Out here in the open, its strangely quiet.

Vibrant red flowers pepper the mountainside, standing out against the pristine white. They sway in the breeze, their sweet fragrance calling to you.

You've never seen their like before. As you bend down to pluck one of them and bring it to your nose, you hear the beat of wings.

The flower is ripped from your hand. You don’t have time to cry out as Sylus wraps a hand over your nose and mouth.

“Don’t breathe!”

But it’s too late. You feel your mouth go dry and your heart beats madly against your ribs. You latch onto Sylus as your legs start to give

“Fuck,” he growls, covering his own face. Your grip slips as your skin breaks out into a sweat and your palms turn clammy. Sylus holds you fast, and drags you away the meadow. You watch his lips move, but you might as well be underwater from the way you can’t make out a single sound.

“Sylus, what—” Inks spots of color flood your blurring vision. Your heart is racing so fast you think it might explode. You swear you hear your mother calling for you.

You reach for the dragon but you no longer have control of your limbs.

When you look at yourself, your skin is melting off your bones.

Your mind fractures. You fall through the seams of reality, to a place where not even the dragon can follow.

Heat. Ash. Blood.

You wince at the intense light. Your eyes are slow to focus, all you see are warping colors and loose shapes crossing your vision.

You cannot feel your body. You wonder if you have one.

“ . . . hear me?”

What? You try to speak, but you’ve forgotten how.

“Do you remember your name?” A face sharpens before you. Hauntingly familiar and achingly beautiful.

What is a name? Why do you need to know?

Your silence shatters that pretty face. His voice breaks as he babbles apologies and pleas at you.

You want to help him, you do. But your tongue feels swollen and some of his words don’t make sense to you . . . you want to wipe away his tears but you cannot find your hands.

“Do you know who I am?”

Of course you do.

“Sylus."

His eyes flutter, and he releases a soul-deep, relief-filled sigh. He presses his forehead to yours; you realize he’s shaking.

“I thought I lost you.”

When you brush your knuckles against his cheek, they come away damp. “What happened?”

“Those flowers,” he explains, “can fell even the greatest animals. Inhale their scent and you’ll sleep forever.”

You swallow, your throat feels as dry as kindling.

“How . . .” You survey your surroundings. You’re back in the cave. Tara’s herbs, your mortar, and a bowl of dark liquid lie beside you.

Your mouth tastes like iron and salt. “Thank you.”

Sylus reaches for your face before pulling his hand back at the last second. “Consider it part of my debt to you.”

You take in his tense posture—how he shelters you with his body even though the danger is internal. His tail is tightly coiled and his claws are out. There’s a deep furrow between his eyebrows. You have not seen him so fierce since the rut.

Oh, this won’t do.

“Is that all we are to each other,” you ask him, “debts and deals?”

His throat bobs. When he doesn’t answer, you sit up and run your fingers down his face, across his sensitive chest He makes small, airy gasps that light a fire in your core.

“If I still bore your mark,” you murmur, “maybe you would be more honest with me.”

His breath hitches.

You wait for him.

You do not have to wait long; Sylus cups the back of your head and then he’s kissing you.

In some ways, it’s much like the rut, but in many others, it’s completely different.

Sylus kneels between your legs at the edge of his work table. His tools and unfinished projects lie discarded on the ground. He drags the flat of his tongue against your sex and drinks the juices that spill from your twitching entrance. You roll your hips against his face and welcome the searing heat of his tongue inside you.

He whines as you stroke his twisting horns, from base to tip, sharp enough you could prick yourself. He swirls his wet lips around your clit before sucking deeply on the tender nub. His fingers slip between your folders with ease, and crooks them until they press against that spot inside you.

“Sylus!” You arch off the table, grabbing the edge as wave after wave of pleasure cascades through your body. He continues to work your clit as you clench around his fingers.

The dragon gazes up at you, face and ears flushed, panting wildly.

You pull him to his feet and crash your lips against his. His mouth opens immediately. You taste yourself and moan as his hands slide up your body and begin undoing the rest of the laces of your dress.

His mouths down your neck, lingering where his mark used to be, before continuing lower to pepper your bare shoulder with kisses. He pulls down your sleeves until your breasts are exposed and he can take one into his salivating mouth.

You fumble with the buckles of his trousers, only for him to brush your hands away.

“Let me taste you again,” he implores. He gives you several small kisses on your lips and you sigh in response to the onslaught of affection. “Let me do this for you.”

“Don’t you want . . . ?” You gasp when he teases your entrance with his fingers. Your legs wrap around his waist and pull him as close as you can to yourself. You feel his hard length and your thighs shake with need.

“What I want—” Sylus strokes your breasts with his other hand “—is for you—” you hear his knees strike the ground once again “—to cum on my face.”

His breath teases your clit, already swollen up with renewed interest.

“Can you do that for me, sweetie?”

You nod weakly, before Sylus buries his face between your legs and proceeds to steal your ability to think.

He kisses you before you fall asleep. He kisses you during your daily walks through the mountains. He kisses you while he spills deep inside you, exchanging names with a shared breath, until you smell like fire and he of wildflowers.

He kisses you as if he's starving. Perhaps he is. Perhaps he always was.

“I thought—” He shivers against your lips as you trace his naked spine “—that you merely tolerated my rut. You only stayed for what I could teach you.”

You brush away the lock of hair from his forehead. "Couldn't you tell?" you say in disbelief, "I stayed for you."

His eyes widen.

You look away, suddenly shy. If you still had his mating bite, you think it'd burn a hole right through you. "But I have no right to covet you."

You are not his mate.

Sylus threads your fingers together, your interlocked hands are molten gold in the firelight. He kisses your knuckles as he stares at you with a reverent expression. And you realize, suddenly, he's only ever looked at you that way.

“You always had that right.”

You are not his mate, but you are everything else.

When you make love to him, it is less impatient than the wildfire from before. The two of you are more like embers, not yet ready to die.

The night sky above the city is alight with every color. You watch them explode and pop and burst across the lake.

“What’s happening over there?” you ask Sylus.

He sits beside you on the cliff, one leg propped up while he lets the other swing beside yours.

“Tarus City has its own celebrations,” he explains, “this time of year marks the opening of the gates to the underworld, when demons began entering the mortal realm.”

“Is there any truth in that?”

“Perhaps.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Why don’t we find out for ourselves?”

Your eyes light up. “Is this fearsome dragon asking me to attend a festival with him?"

"That depends entirely on your answer."

The joy in Sylus' eyes is more intoxicating than the rarest of wines. When you reach for him, he meets you halfway.

"I'd like nothing more."

Ch 4

Can also be read on ao3!

#dragon sylus #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #fanfic #ao3 #lads smut #sylus x mc #lads fic #qin che #sylusmc #smut #ao3 fanfic #au fic #sylus

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minervas-hand · 1 year ago

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Right to fear, wrong to believe

Just had a horrible realization and needed to meta it out.

How different they were before Edinburgh, when Crowley was sucked down into Hell.

Look at this flirty babygirl in the Bastille:

I mean could he climb that tree any faster?

(This is why I really like fics that place a more physical relationship here, pre-Bastille or just post-Bastille, because c'mon look at them. )

In S1 the next thing is 1862 and Crowley asking for insurance (with a cane ffs). And Aziraphale freaking out with his "fraternizing" BS. It's jarring, until we get 1827 filled in for us in S2.

@takeme-totheworld notes in this post:

Crowley sure went from "our respective head offices don't actually care how things get done" and "nobody ever has to know" to "walls have ears" FAST after Edinburgh. And Aziraphale went from looking at Crowley with hearts in his eyes to "I've been FrAtErNiZiNg" just as quickly. I'm more convinced than ever that Edinburgh was the first time Crowley ever actually got caught and punished for fucking around with Aziraphale/doing good deeds/whatever it was they yanked him back down to Hell for, and it scared the absolute shit out of both of them and changed the whole tone of their relationship after that.

Yes! - it's clear to me as well that the Edinburgh graveyard was a very bad turning point, where they both saw that Hell was listening and would intervene. And it did change their relationship drastically, for over a century and a half (really, until looming Armageddon loosened up the stakes for them).

But what about Heaven?

See the thing is, we know Azi's been worried about Heaven watching him for the past 6000 years.

But they haven't.

[GIFs posted by starrose17]

All this time, and Heaven had not seen them together. Hadn't noticed. Had not even LOOKED.

I want to mention what @starrose17 says about this here in this post:

What I love about this is her choice of words, “went back through the Earth Observation files.” This implies that these photos were already filed somewhere meaning somebody had to have been watching them which meant somewhere in the depths of the bureaucratic heaven there’s an underpaid angel clerk tasked with watching angels on Earth, and he’s been hording photos of his favourite Angel/Demon couple not reporting them to Michael because he wants to see what happens.

And that's exactly what this fic covers!: Spying Omens by @ednav

(Give this a read, it's fabulous.)

While I am here for this being exactly how that happens, the other scenario is colder and worse - there's no one watching, at all. It's just filing automatically and never seen until some Scrivener is called to pull a file.

From @fuckyeahisawthatat's comment here :

I found this scene to be quite chilling, actually. Not only is the idea of Heaven as a surveillance state brilliant (way to make “God is always watching” sound way more ominous) but this is exactly how modern surveillance states work. They don’t actively watch everybody all the time. That’s not physically possible for humans, and even if it is metaphysically possible for Heaven, it’s not a very efficient use of resources. Surveillance states watch people they deem “suspicious.” And once you’ve been put in the category of “suspicious,” they have massive amounts of data that they can comb through to collect a lot of information about you–to retroactively build a case justifying why you’re suspicious, to collect information about where you go and who you associate with, etc.

Yes.

So we either have secret collusion in the rank and file, or we have a surveillance state that is constantly reinforced to its subjects for fear's sake, for control.

(Well, it obviously could be both.)

BUT my point is… Up until Edinburgh, Hell has not been watching (or caring at least). And up until near the end of Armageddon't, neither has Heaven.

Oh, my poor Angel. Thousands of years, of denying yourself, of pushing Crowley away, of carrying around a tension that is it's own constellation.

After 1827 you might have reason, but for the 5000+ years before that?

Thousands of years and Heaven was not watching nor cared.

You were right to fear. And you were wrong to believe.

And that just breaks my heart.

#okay gonna go reread Spying Omens again because that's my headcanon now #I hope Azi tears out the Earth Observation cams or servers or whatever it is #where's Murderbot when you need a good hack #good omens meta #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #good omens

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jacqulinetan · 7 months ago

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On writing fanfiction

Exactly one person hinted that this might be helpful and I thought, well, okay, why not? tonight I have the time. I've been collecting thoughts for awhile and posting fic for more than a decade (writing longer than that!) so why not create a little manifesto of sorts.

A [not at all comprehensive] guide to writing and sharing fic - for beginners - from someone who is serious about writing fanfic as a hobby but casual about everything else:

On logistics:

Where should one write? I use google docs. Recently there's been some discussion about not using gdocs because of AI concerns, and I think if you are sharing nsfw files with other users there is a nebulous risk of losing access to the file... so I've heard. Tbh I cannot speak to the actual risk of either of these things. But I like gdocs because it's free and I can access the same doc from my phone as my desktop which is good for on-the-go thoughts. Other programs that people like are scrivener (costs money - but everybody who uses it says its worth it) and libre office (I tried this and didn't like it, but only because I'm used to gdocs). There are other programs out there, but these are the ones I feel I hear about the most. For me personally, I also have a notebook. If I'm inspired and want to get some scene or dialogue out quickly, writing analog is fastest for me and I find my thoughts flow well like that too.

Where should one post? Archive of our own dot org. There are other fic sites (wattpad) but none of them have the legendary tagging system that ao3 has - more on this later. On ao3 you will need to create an account (if you need an invitation, I'm not sure if you do, but if you do I will personally give one to you, just dm me). But you can post fic under your user handle or anonymously. When you browse the site, you will see that everything is separated by fandom, then by pairing (though non pairing/romance or 'gen fic' is fine too), then by characters involved, then other tags. I imagine it's overwhelming if you are not there a lot, but when you post, the form guides you for what to fill out (e.g. you will fill out the fields before you drop in your fic). You can always edit later if you want to change things around, but ao3 does not have an algorithm, so people will find your fic based on 1) the time it was originally posted or more likely 2) the tags that give an idea of what the story is about. I could write for ten thousand years about the merits of ao3, but like most things, you have to just get in there and try it out.

Other people who are smarter than me and know more than me can write and have written huge, in depth explanations for how to use features, and work skins, and the beautiful bells and whistles of ao3, but here is the down and dirty kind of explaining for sorting and filtering. I'm not going for nuance, I'm going for broad stroke understanding, and the nuance can come later. On ao3 fic 'metrics' we have hits (clicks), kudos (basically a 'like'), and bookmarks -- as a reader you can sort by any of these, which basically means you can move more popular fics to the top based on your preferences. And as a writer, it means you are hungry for people to kudos or bookmark your fic so that it potentially gets more eyes on it. Well, that's kinda putting the cart before the horse so to speak, if you're just getting started, but it is nice for your work to get feedback.

Tagging beyond pairing and character is important because it's how people will differentiate your fic from the others. This is things like 'canon compliant' or 'post canon' or 'coffee shop au' or 'enemies to lovers' or 'anal sex' or 'Bottom Shiro' or literally anything. Literally anything. These can be big tags ("wrangled tags") that everybody uses commonly enough that they are their own kind of category ('dom/sub') or random silly things you want to advertise with (e.g. 'blatant disregard for hoverbike safety'). You can add as many tags as you like. There are no rules to writing fanfic but tagging content warnings appropriately is important to readers, and you will find YOUR people most expediently if you tag honestly and robustly. Again, I could write 150k just about the intricacies of using ao3 as a reader AND writer, but 1) there are other folks who have done it better already/know more than me and 2) you really just gotta get in there and play around to understand it.

I am always happy to talk about fic and so if any questions about logistics arise, I will happily try to help. ao3 also has help pages and support. One random but important note is that the crux of ao3 is that it is an ARCHIVE only (so there is minimal moderation of content, to an extent ) and not for profit, so you must never ever mention money exchanged for fic there. if a work is a commission or something of that nature, that is fine, just mention it on socials or elsewhere, do not put put that in the summary or author's notes, etc as it will cause your work to be removed for legal reasons.

On writing:

The best advice for writing is the easiest to give and the most useless to receive: you really do just have to write. Write, write, write. That is the only way you will find what works for you, the only way you will get better, the only way you will tell your story. Since my goal is not to be patronizing, I will not say that. I will try to give some random and interesting tips that really get to the heart of what I feel you need to know (in my world of healthcare we call this type of information 'clinical pearls' LOL)

Getting started -

It's likely that there is a specific scene you want to write and that's why you're considering starting a piece in the first place. That's grand. All you need is that little bit of inspo!! when you're crafting a story around that point, try to drop the reader in at a time that is interesting/exciting/unexpected. if you're just starting out and all you have is the inspo scene, write that. then you can decide if that gives a full enough picture on it's own (fics don't have to be hugely long, esp in the beginning of your writing journey) or what else you want to add to be satisfied.

For me, I usually have an idea in a google doc and some bits of dialogue or random stuff that goes along with the idea as I got random inspiration. then when I want to start on a new work, I try to conjure up one scene that will get me rolling -- from there I can just keep writing what comes next. As a less experienced fanfic writer I wrote more outlines and was more methodical. when I'm writing now I don't really know how things end (except for in a very vague sense) until I'm actually writing the ending. this makes writing a lot of fun for me. when I write fic, I am my own audience and I am writing for my own entertainment.

Establish a setting -

I feel like a lot of less experienced writers fail to place these characters in a setting. If I open a fic and it's just mostly dialogue (chat fic, I'm looking at you, darling) I'm thinking ?? okay ?? are they floating in space??? what is happening?? I don't like chat fic. Give people an anchor at the very least and try to remember that the reader doesn't have your Mind's Eye and they will likely not know what you are imagining unless you explicitly state it. this might seem obvious, but writers who are good at setting are remarkably good at writing, I think. also, I do not like to open with dialogue but that's personal preference.

Magical paperclip moment -

Along the same lines as grounding the characters in setting, I like to add in what I call in my mind 'magical paperclip moments.' This is something I made up (I'm insane, btw) after being really impressed with a writer's work (I think in the hetalia fandom, I wish I knew the exact fic because it quite literally changed my life). anyways, the characters are having a conversation in the fic, and the author randomly added in a line about one of the guys playing with a paperclip while they talked. It did not move the plot forward, it was not important to the guy's character, it was just a random idiosyncrasy that made the story feel real. magical stuff. I love that.

Decide on vibes-

This is a big one for me!!! at the beginning of my working google doc I usually have some random notes, a running list of tags, etc, but I also have a category for ~vibes~ In other words, I am thinking hard about what kind of overall feeling I want the piece to have, and I am thinking about what kind of feeling I want to invoke in the reader. should this story be dreamy? Gritty? Fast paced? Emotional? And then it really helps direct the scenes because I'm trying to stay within that framework of vibes for the reader. So I try not to write just the story alone, but also the tone of the work. Also having a theme in mind, or a motif that runs throughout, can really make a work powerful

The POV has a voice-

This depends on the style of the writer, but for my work, it's HUGE. If I'm writing from the POV of one character and it is identical to the POV of another character, I am not doing a good job. through the way things are described, the tone, whether the writing is more formal vs casual, all of this can help establish the voice of the fic. the fics that I've written that are the most stand out, or the most entertaining, or the most popular - all of them have a very distinct character voice to them that matches the story and the tone of the fic, and helps characterize the pov. it's not for everyone, but to me this is the single most important thing to elevate a story into something special

Writer's block-

Getting stuck is inevitable. When you're stuck, you have two options: grind it out or let it simmer. Grinding through the block is not for the faint of heart - by this I mean literally chain yourself to the laptop and poke out word after painful word until the words start to flow. This could take hours and hours and barely result in a paragraph.... that you might scrap later. But, sometimes it can be enough to break through the block. If you let it simmer, that's more gentle - take a shower, go to the grocery store, go on a walk, etc. If that's not enough, read, watch tv, consume some other kind of media that fills your cup. Let your brain work out the block in your background processes. return to the fic when you really want to and then you will be ready.

Two things I always think of when I don't know what comes next in a story: What would I as a reader be so insanely stoked to see happen next??? and What would be unexpected or exciting here?

On community:

You can't really talk about the transformative work of writing fanfiction without mentioning the fandom as community. I have a lot of precious thoughts about this, but I will keep things brief here. Fic is shared in a dialogue with other fans - it is not sold, it is not beholden to canon, it is not for the satisfaction of the original work. People are writing purely because they want to and that is an amazing and powerful thing !!!!!

Comments -

Well we all want comments because we love to hear about how people love our take on our precious blorbos. But you have to leave comments on other folks work too. truly, as a writer, you have to. I think this is a good way to start finding your people: read fic that excites you -> leave a comment there -> see who else left comments -> read their fics -> look at their bookmarks -> read more fics -> leave more comments -> you will start to 'know' the people who like the same thing as you. you will start to have readers! you will find writers that inspire you! you will get better at writing! you will be in fandom!

One important thing to note for new to fanfic folks is that construct criticism of any kind is not welcome on fanfiction. it's not needed because the author is SHARING fic with you - I am by no means the first person to say this, but think of it like going to their house and eating their home cooked meal... if it's not to your taste, peace out. just leave. no need to let them know. this is doubly true if you don't like the content of a fic. simply leave...it's not for you, so find something that is. or make your own thing. As a writer, if someone is not following this basic fandom decorum, and they hurt your feelings with a nasty comment, you need to remember that they are the one in the wrong - they are being rude and you are justified to feel irritated or hurt. if you've tagged your own work appropriately, then you haven't done anything wrong by writing your fic.

Social media-

Two things about writing and social media (fandom circles of socials). 1. be insane about one particular thing, that will be your brand and bring you people and be fun. you don't have to do this, you could just be insane about a lot of things, but I think having one niche interest that really gets you going is good. that's my opinion! 2. never publicly discredit your work. don't say "LOL I suck at summaries" in the summary of the fic. don't put yourself down even if you have doubts about your writing....you can improve without doing that!!!

Sharing your fics in a post on twitter or bluesky is a good way to get more people to click on them, esp if you are a new writer. sometimes you will see people make pretty little title cards - they are making these on canva dot com and it is easy and free to use. I love doing this and it took me awhile to figure out how my favorite writers were making such pretty title cards for their fics. so now you know!

On concluding:

I can't imagine the resiliency of the readers who made it to this point!!!!!!!!! WOW !! Obviously I will post this with the caveat that I am just one little girlie and there are a lot of fic writing folks out there, some of them much more well spoken and more knowledgeable and better writers than me, and maybe if they posted a similar essay, it would have completely different content. that is okay and I am not sad about it. in other words, I do not pretend to be an authority on any of this, I am just a person who loves writing fanfiction and this is what I would tell a complete beginner <3 thank you for reading <3

#fanfiction meta #fanfic writing #perfchanwrites #beginner fic writer help

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vivziepoparchives · 3 months ago

Note

You mentioned somewhere that you have a lot of artwork in the queue.

How long do you think it'll take to post all of it? And also, have you considered finding another mod to run this blog, if life stuff happens and you can't update as frequently or something.

Nice effort on the archive though <3

At the current rate of five posts a day, it would take years to post everything. These are just the things I have right now and I know there are lots of things I still need to find and save. That would end up being like 10-ish years.

So, I do intend to increase the amount of posts per day in the future but I keep it low for now so I'm not too overwhelmed while I'm busy working on other fandom things like zines. I'm in a sort of prep time period at the moment where I'm going through everything all over again to attach sources to images in drafts to make queuing posts faster in the future.

I'll be filling the queue to its limit soon so that if I can't continue posting for some reason, it'll carry on for quite a while without me. And if I feel something is coming up that might cause me to be out of commission for a very long time, I have fandom friends I could probably ask to tap in for me briefly.

But I'm not looking for help with the blog at the moment. I do this in large part because I'm mentally ill, to be quite frank. Once I obtained a certain amount of Viv's old art, my brain decided it wouldn't allow me to stop until it feels like I've collected and sorted it all. I'm glad to share the result of that with others since I'm doing it anyways. But I don't need to subject other people to the weird way my brain works with these things lol

I do share a server with @rainyday-deer that's dedicated to research where we have channels for things like Viv's accounts, the accounts of others who have worked for or with her, information about what cons she's gone to, and other things like that. A sort of giant research notebook. So, I do have some supporting help outside of the blog which is much appreciated. I'm also very grateful for any tips I've received here.

And anyone is free to make their own blog, obviously! I would advise a different enough name that blogs don't start getting confused with each other, but I don't have a monopoly on organizing and posting Viv's old art.

I mostly say this because I know sometimes people can feel like they're being copied when others do similar things to them on social media and might get upset about it. Which might make people nervous to do it themselves. But all this art is out there for anyone to find. I would never take offense if someone wanted to make their own blog organized to their own preferences.

For me, as an archivist type, that would just mean more backups. And more backups are always good!

#modanswers #that last bit isn't directed at you in particular anon #just to assure people who get nervous about that sort of thing

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mcytblraufest · 2 months ago

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Signup Tutorial - Aufest 2025

This tutorial will walk you through the process of signing up for Aufest 2025, in preparation for signups opening at 0:00 EST on the 24th of May. Note that you cannot sign up when this tutorial is posted, or nominate tags— tag nomination starts at 0:00 EST on the 17th of May. You can, however, suggest freeform (trope and theme and au) tags— freeform tag suggestions are open until 23:59 on the 19th of May! Suggest freeform tags here!

If you've signed up for an Ao3 exchange before, the process is very similar, but there are some key differences for this event that we thought we'd mention.

First off, you decide whether you want to sign up in the all-ages or the 18-plus collection. If you sign up in the all-ages collection you can't post or prompt any e-rated work during the event, and you can't sign up for the 18-plus collection if you're under 18. Each collection will receive a slightly different list of tag goals to aim for during the event, so feel free to consider which tags you want to aim for before you decide! (Unless you are under 18. In which case you have the one option, shooing you to all ages.)

You pick which collection you want to sign up in, and you go to the sign-up button over on the left-hand side.

That will bring you to a page like this!

It looks like a daunting amount of information at first, but once you start filling it out, the logic starts to make sense. Let's start by filling out my emduo request, which will tell other people in the events what kind of gift would be good for me if they want to write me emduo!

So I selected every fandom that I wanted for these characters— you could split it up with each fandom in a separate request, but I intend to request a lot of different characters, so I'm saving space that way. I'm open to every type of gift, so I selected all of the gift types. I included the relationship types I'm open to for each server, with & meaning platonic and / being romantic. (You'll note that one of the tags has DFE on it— that's just a tag-management thing that mods have to do to keep tags from showing up in the wrong fandom! It stands for Disambiguated for Fandom Exchanges and when you see it on a tag you can just ignore it, it's extra letters added to a tag to make it unique so we can use it properly.)

Note that it's a good idea to make sure you're including every server version of a tag you're requesting, if you're requesting multiple servers, so people know for sure that you're okay with writing server-specific characters! You're only able to request tags that are in the tag set, so if you can't find the tag in the drop-down, you can go over to the nomination form and nominate more tags, as long as you're signing up before midnight EST on the 28th. After that point mods are in full game prep mode and can't process any more nominations, unfortunately.

For archive warnings I said that I'm okay with either no archive warnings apply or graphic depictions of violence— so people know that both of them are options— I could get either one, but I don't want major character death. And then in the prompts box I did some likes, I specifically mentioned AUs I like, I did some likes about this ship specifically, and I did a DNW list of things that I don't want in my gift. It's time for part two of a request— the additional tags!

So during the event each team will be trying to hit a total of 400 tags. I go through the list of tags and I decide which ones would be a good fit for a gift for me for this ship! And for that, I could just read the tag set (All ages here, 18-plus here) and copy it into a notepad, but I could also use the handy dandy tag selector spreadsheet that we have repurposed, originally made by firebird. It looks like this. (all ages here, 18 plus here.) [Note that this tutorial was made before freeform tags were selected for this event, so these are not the actual tags we're using, I did a random assortment from battleship last year for this tutorial.]

To use it you make a copy you can edit, and then you go down the list selecting every tag you think would be good for each request you're making. The individual columns are so that you don't necessarily have to untick 400 tick boxes every time you move on to a new ship and go through the whole list over again, you can just go down the list once and think "this tag would be great for desert duo and this will be great for cletho, and this one is for bedrock bros" all at once, sorting the tags into different column and thus different ships. I'm going to sweep through it and select the tags I think would be good for emduo, in column 1.

So as you can see, there's a lot of tags I think would be good for me. Selecting the tags mades them show up in a list over on the right— the first 20 tags go into the first box, and once I go over 20 the column turns blue just to tell me that I hit 20, and and then any extra tags go into the second box! All I have to do is copy and paste this list of tags into Ao3— the first box goes into "additional tags" and the overflow ones go into "optional tags".

Once I copy them into Ao3, my request looks like this!

You can only put 20 tags in the "additional tags" box, but you can go up to 380 in "optional tags" box! These tags are themes, tropes, and a whole list of AUs— I just did a couple here but in my real signup I might have selected a good hundred tags that I think would be good for me during the actual event, especially once I got to the AU part of the list. Feel free to select as many or as few tags as you want!

Now how this works during gameplay is that people don't have to hit all of those tags, they can just give me a gift that includes one of these tags that I listed. But they can also give me a gift that includes other tags I didn't select, if it works for the story! Like for example on the tag selecter page there was the tag "buttons". I didn't select it, but someone might use it in a gift for me, and gain that tag for their team! So as a result, this really means that when you go through the list of tags, it's a very good idea to make sure that if there are any tags you Do Not want, you added them to your DNW so someone doesn't add it in. I just added "stabbing" to mine, just to be sure— I don't want someone to try and hit that tag in a gift for me.

Note that if you're signing up in the 18-plus collection, there is an additional tick box, which looks like this.

This turns on or off e-rated for each request. Explicit is e-rated fic (both gore and NSFW), and and general is everything else! If you are okay with just one, you only select one, and if you are okay with both, you select both. If you are selecting Explicit, it's a good idea to have an additional NSFW likes and NSFW DNW list, cause there are some very varied smut topics in the 18-plus tag list, and there's bound to be at least one thing that you absolutely do not want— and some things you do! So make sure you specify.

One last thing— you'll notice that there's an off-site letter box (optional). That's because the Ao3 box is only 5000 characters, so maybe you have a lot of likes or prompts, or your DNW is very detailed, and you go over that! I didn't need it with this signup, but maybe I went REALLY into detail about scarian— in that case you can host your likes and prompts and rambling about the characters on a letter like a google doc or a tumblr post or a dream width post, and just put the link there! You still have to keep your DNW in the AO3 box, because it needs to be a format that locks and is un-editable after signups close, for modding purposes, but feel free to go into GREAT detail in a letter if you want.

That's my first request, I need three requests for a valid signup, so let's go on to another ship. You know the theory, I just do the same thing over again, but specifically with the tags and mediums that I think would make a good gift for me with this ship in mind.

On QSMP, let's look at codebreakers and etoiles/phil/missa!

So for this one I don't want podfic, and I went through that tag selector list and made a slightly different list of tags! I'm keeping my DNW the same and my general likes list is the same, so I can just copy-paste that down from the first one. Once again, i'm okay with either no archive warnings or graphic depictions of violence, and I gave people a little list of likes to jump off of but I mostly wanted to keep things wide open. You can offer specific prompts if you want, or just a list of likes, or even just a DNW and the list of additional/optional tags that you think would be good for you! Whatever makes sense for you to describe what sort of things would be a good gift for you.

Let's go on to my next request!

And I wanted to make sure I did at least one solo request! These are especially good for artists to use, or people doing shorter works, so I wanted to make sure I requested solo tags as well as relationship tags! The vibes are a bit different because I was thinking of single-character focused work when I was selecting tags. And same as before, I did a list of likes, I did a DNW, and I did a little portion to talk specifically about this character. Because it's a solo request, I mentioned other characters I normally like to see with this character, (because it's often hard to write a fic only about one character), but the focus of a gift given for this request should be just the single character, so I tried to keep that in mind with my character likes.

And there you have it— three requests is a valid signup! I could keep on going and add another request— up to ten requests are allowed in a basic signup.

I can even go beyond that and go into the prompt collection (all ages here, 18 plus here) and add up to 50 more requests there! The prompt collection doesn't close during the event, even, so if we're halfway through gameplay and I go "I forgot to add baghera I need to add baghera immediately", I can go to the prompt collection and add a request for her, as long as she's in the tag set!

So we're all set to go, right? Wait— almost. First off— there is no matching in this exchange, so you don't have to fill out offers. You'll pick for yourself which requests you want to fill, during gameplay— you'll get to look at everyone's requests like the ones you just did, and pick out relationships and tags that look fun for you to make something based on. However, we have to put something in the Ao3 box in the offers section or the signup machine snarls up and doesn't know what to do. I put some kamoji.

And THEN we can hit the submit button.

And now you are signed up on Ao3! You can go back in and edit your signup any time before signups close at midnight EST on the 30th of May, so feel free to tweak your DNW and likes, or add more requests!

And then did you see that instructions text above the text box? There is one more thing.

Mods need to know a little bit more about you to place you properly on a team! What sort of fan work you make, if you make long or short works, how competitive you want to play— this lets us make sure we have balanced teams, as much as possible.