#sorry my answers are always an entire book length

[fantastic-nonsense]

hi i love your blog!! especially your wonder woman rec list has been *amazing* and your batman comics guide with the little character spotlights is the best one ive found so far. thanks to your filtering of good/bad comics for all these characters i continued reading comics (after reading battle for the cowl as my first ever dc comic, which was. interresting. to say the least lol). but I have a little question - i couldnt find if you've answered it before already, sorry - which is: how do you read your comics mainly? bc as a college student, i dont have heaps of spare money around, and as an european, i dont have access to that dc online comics thing so if i read digital i have to pirate them. but i understand that comics kind of live-or-die by monthly sales and interrest in a run. and things like the current cass solo and absolute wonder woman seem really interresting and i want those to continue, so i try not to pirate them and wait for the trade releases, but its all very expensive when you start to read a lot of comics. and you have read a tonne of comics, which made me curious - do you buy physical copies, or just use the dc digital thing, or piracy, for your main reading? how do you keep this hobby, like, econnomiccally responsible? because i understand you can just pirate everything, but its not like im *too* broke to buy anything, ever. just wanted to hear your thoughts on how you personally do this, if you wish to share.

(ignore the word vomit, being precise in english is not a talent of mine :D)

Aww, thank you so much! I'm so happy to have helped you and I'm glad you're still here (especially after starting off with BftC)!

I'm going to be real with you for a minute before I actually answer your question: because you are a college student who does not live in the US, the realistic answer for you is to download Ublock Origin (something you should download anyway), open readcomiconline.li, enjoy reading comics, and if you find a comic you like and think is worth shelling out money for, find a way to purchase it legally.

I have an entire spiel on comic book piracy that I will not expound upon at length here but generally boils down to "piracy is rampant in the comics industry because it's the obvious and inevitable result of making legally reading comics expensive, difficult, platform-dependent, and inherently exclusionary while de-prioritizing collected editions, digital sales, and international readers. If any comic company decided to be a competent publisher for even one year, piracy rates would plummet."

If you're still concerned about the ethics of pirating comics after that, allow me to let you in on the worst-kept secret in history: professional comic creatives do it too:

Now, to actually seriously answer your question about how I read comics and keep my hobby financially sustainable: I've been reading and collecting comics for nearly 17 years. The ways in which I have read and collected comics have shifted several times over the years. I purchase some comics (mostly physically), I read some comics through my local library system, and I pirate others. I am fortunate enough to live near a good local comic shop, though this was not always the case, so I get a lot of my new comics there right now.

I have a lot more disposable income now than I did when I was in high school and college, but I'm also a fairly frugal person by nature. When I do buy comics, I almost never buy them new or at full price. I bought around 90-95% of the comics I own either used or on sale. I've used many avenues and methods to buy comics: Amazon and Ebay, the back issue bins and clearance sections at comic shops, the huge used media store near my parents' home that has a fantastic comics section, and sites like instocktrades that sell trades at a discount to name a few.

The exceptions are trades I know have fairly limited printings (and so will end up being more expensive in the long run if I don't buy them new and now) and single issues for runs I specifically subscribed to in order to finanically support. I usually limit myself to putting 3-4 runs maximum on my pull list at any given time; I simply don't have the funds, space, or desire to buy single issues at a higher rate than that. I'm a trades girlie at heart and that's where I will stay. I have zero guilt over not shelling out additional money to companies who clearly do not actually want it (otherwise they would make buying their products easier and would properly support their creatives).

I do own quite a few digital comics, which I mostly bought when Comixology was an independent site and used to run regular sales. Unfortunately Comixology has since been fully folded into the normal Amazon storefront and the Kindle Reader functionality for comics is incredibly subpar compared to the old Comixology app, so I basically no longer buy digital comics. However, I amassed quite a solid digital collection prior to the merger in 2022 (I have pretty much every Black Panther comic ever published up until 2020 because Comixology did a weeklong "get every BP comic for free" sale in the wake of Chadwick Boseman's death, for example).

This is what 16 years of physically collecting comics looks like for me:

As you can see, most of the comics I own are trades/hardbacks. I find that purchasing trades is cheaper, easier, a much more pleasant reading experience, saves space, and as a bonus is much prettier from a display perspective. The two white shortboxes on top of the shelf are where I store all of my single issues. After buying a new single issue, I "bag and board" it for preservation purposes and then put it in the box, arranged alphabetically by title, like so:

the tl;dr on my reading habits is that while I mostly pirate, especially for newer issues, I also use services like DC Infinite or my local library (both physically and digitally via services like Hoopla) to legally read older comics otherwise and then primarily buy in trade (usually used/on sale, rarely new) as I find them.

The floppies I own are mostly a) books from my pull list, b) very specific story arcs or runs that I love enough to work on collecting individually, c) comics I like that have never been collected, so the only way to own them legally is through hunting down and purchasing individual issues, d) issues with pretty covers that caught my eye, and e) a few random other issues here and there.

I also use RCO to reference comics that I've read when discussing comics online and writing metas, regardless of whether I legally own the comic or not. I'm not going to pull out my legally bought, physical copies of Cass's Batgirl run, scan them, and then upload the pictures every time I want to write meta. I'm going to go to RCO and grab a screenshot from the relevant issues.

While I wish it didn't work this way, reading superhero comics is a niche hobby that currently assumes you have lots of free time and lots of disposable income. Ultimately it is impractical and realistically financially impossible to legally purchase every comic you want to read and discuss with other people. Reading comics via other means (whether legally or through piracy) is actually foundationally necessary to ensure the industry continues, not just because of the traditional lack of access but also the sheer impossibility of buying individual comics at the scale necessary to understand and discuss the stories these companies publish. Not to mention the difficulty of discussing comics online if you are a physical reader/buyer.

Yes, the industry is severely outdated and still prioritizes monthly sales of physical single issues despite that not actually being a good indicator of a book's eventual financial success. Yes, ideally everyone would be able to legally purchase comics. But in reality, no one does so. I can probably count on my hands the number of comic readers I know who have never pirated anything. I don't begrudge anyone, especially people who live outside of the US and usually only have access to a very limited selection of stories, deciding to pirate comics. Please do so. You don't owe the Big Two shit. I only ever ask that if you ARE in a financial position to support the comics and creators you love by legally purchasing comics that you try to do so. Go and be free.

[sakumasmut]

Enstars x Reader NSFW Month Day 16

Incubus!Natsume Ramble

sorry ringing evil phone is still in my head. couldn’t write a whole fic for it so you just get the visions I’m plagued by.

(gn reader)

Imagine that you can’t get home for the night due to some heavy flooding, so you end up having to stay at a hotel near your workplace. The ambience isn’t what you’d call cozy, the walls colored red and black, but the man behind the lobby desk that checks you in is nice enough. He introduces himself as Natsume, and you find yourself at ease when he talks to you in his smooth voice, chatting with him the entire way as he leads you to your room.

The night is uneventful until after you’ve fallen asleep, when you have the most vivid wet dream. A man with red-white hair and sharp, yellow eyes spreads your legs, tasting your sex with a forked tongue. Though you can feel the pleasure coursing through your body, you seem paralyzed, unable to move anything except your eyes, which stare directly at the man as he makes you come undone. You can barely remember any of the details when you wake up, the only evidence it even happened the arousal between your thighs.

Even after you check out the next day, the dreams keep occurring, night after night. The setting is always the same, your bed in the hotel room, but what happens is different. Sometimes the demon—at some point you realized he must not be human, only uses his fingers, claws digging into your skin but never breaking it. Other times, during the longer dreams, he pushes his cock inside your hole, and you feel every drag of his length along your walls. You even swear that you can feel cum seeping out of it when you wake up the next morning. Most importantly though, it’s always the same handsome man, whose face gets reduced to a blurry mess when you wake up in a daze, obscuring his features, everything except the smooth voice that echoes in your mind.

It becomes unbearable to live the same way, every time you wake up you find your clothes soaked, and too horny to function. Then you decide, you need to go back to that hotel. You don’t know if it’ll make the dreams stop or make them worse, you just need answers. You call up the place to book a room, and the voice that you hear in your dreams answers you, much clearer this time. Once you’re there, it feels like you already know where to go. You take your key, and when you open the door, he’s waiting for you on the bed. Red hair and yellow eyes, phone in hand, fangs flashing as he smiles at you.

“Hello~”

If your dreams already felt realistic, what happens next must go beyond the plane of reality.

[variousqueerthings]

SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN - GJ

(yes I screamed these)

LOLLLLLLLLLLLL (ok benton let's go)

do you like seeing your Blorbo suffer?

YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (i asked for it)

uh. sure do. like. a normal. tiny amount. just a lil beeeeet. teensy tiny sufferin'. have i come to you with imagines of major character deaths? maybe. have i spoken at length about the joys of whump? possibly. do i de-tail elaborate scenarios of sadness, violence, and straight-up bad times? am i, in short, a dead dove aficionado

yes.

comfort is optional. (sorry fraser) (you're the softest toy of the lot) (you get put in the torment vortex)

do you ship your Blorbo with any character?

i do and i don't, in that if im defining shipping through the explicit lens of romance, i can technically see it with several characters (rayv, meg, rayk, bruce, victoria, eric, janet, mark smithbauer... who am i missing here... anyway) but it's not my main lens/not the first word that comes to mind when i think about the different dynamics he's in (all of which are interesting)

also i throw a curveball into the mix by also, equally, thinking there's a very compelling read of fraser as aromantic, and within that another interesting idea that centres around how aromanticism and romance as exploration aren't mutually exclusive

and whatever i write for fraser is always through the lens of him coming at relationships in a non-normative way, that is, he'd never "simply fall in love and pursue a romantic relationship," in my head. it's gotta at the very least be filtered through several layers of Justice Is The Most Important Thing (and it genuinely is to him, imo), loneliness, neurodivergency, lack of script for intimacy, academic overreads of what any of these ideas even mean, and basically the fact that he's a fairytale being trying parse human relationship notions and not entirely sure if they make a whole lot of sense

but devotion youknow. thaaat i think he'd get/has learnt since coming to the big city. service. sacrifice for A Specific Person (rather than for the entire world). missing someone. enjoying someone's company and trusting that they enjoy his. things like that

and i do think -- as of where im at right now (s4ep2) that on the "potentially unrequited but not really, it's just that fraser sees the world fundamentally differently and again, listen, that can be tough, but devotion is devotion" side of things, Ray Vecchio has been head over heels for him since... boy oh boy. Very early on in their partnership. i should try and track when i might pinpoint it.

(see i don't think it's fallen in love at this point, but it's certainly part of the Thing. the "i would follow you to the ends of the earth with only mild complaining and have, in fact, already proven this once by getting blown up and then signing out of hospital to go to the middle of nowhere to get shot at... with really only very mild complaining" thing)

and Meg Thatcher, of course, fantasises about how she'd kill for him if needs be (but i like a little aro read for her on occasion to)

and i think specifically s4ep2 marks a change in gear for Ray Kowalski too, but i'll have more to say about that as we move along. no gifs, because i cannot risk a spoiler, but the motorbike thing really was Smthsmth. @gjdraws and i (that's you 🥰) talk a lot about Fealty. and that right there... that was the Moment

so, long answer short: i do and i don't

(the world of aromanticism)

when it comes to Blorbos, do you have a type?

so ive got a new housemate who observed how often i call people in fiction "lil guy" (encompassing any gender, often large, also, at times, spaceships, objects, the concept of a movie or book itself, etc)

that being said. preferences. Lorge. Sacrificial. Highly capable, but also would probably die on their own. Tormented. Favourite of the narrative. ND vibes. if possible, hairy (so like. put together fraser and rayv and we have the perfect lil guy)

and on the flipside there's also whatever jacob anderson put in the water for louis de pointe du lac, but i think that's more because pathetique aesthete is. me. gender

there's the lil guy i project gender onto (jacob anderson's ldpdl, half of ben whishaw's ouevre, viola twelfth night, claude cahun, sherlock holmes as drawn, hawkeye pierce (mash tv series), al pacino dog day afternoon, daniel larusso, wallace from wallace and gromit, the doctor from doctor who, frodo baggins, lisa minelli's sally bowles (not to say jane horrocks wasn't perfection but genderwise), many final girls, conrad veidt, john turturro, clarissa mao (the expanse), jack rackham, mercutio) and the lil guy i want to tell me did a good job (benton fraser, jlm's sherlock holmes, amos burton, bobbie draper, camina drummer/cara gee in many things honestly, omar sharif's ali in lawrence of arabia, chozen toguchi, ray vecchio, and -- evil version -- milchick from severance @hunkydorkling youknow what i mean)

there's a third one which is lil guy who is specifically a woman that thinks she's hinged (wants desperately to be Hinged) but isn't hinged but IS in charge of things: meg thatcher, joan watson, helly r AND helena eagan, ms cobel, grace hanson (jane fonda), maggie o'connell (northern exposure), many final girls also, many women in the silmarillion including galadriel, eleanor guthrie, chrisjen avasarala (who's given up on the hinge tbf), lady macbeth, margaret houlihan etc.

and fourth one which is. fairytale character as other. benton fraser (again), momo, the last unicorn, pie 'oh' pah (imajica), míriel Þerindë, melian (silm), ariel (tempest), breq (ancillary series...) ... yeah that one could go on for sure for sure...

and then there's cary grant, who is somehow all of these, while also being "just some guy"

uh. yes. i have a Type. but it encompasses several ideas

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite Chapter 12

God, I'm sorry this took forever. In my defense, this was by far the hardest chapter to write. The language of the time period coupled with smut was a CHALLENGE. But yeah, smut ahead.

Nellie takes you inside, knowing her way around from the few times she’d been here to help prepare for your arrival. You barely have any time to take in the expansive interior of the dark house before Nellie shows you into a room, getting lights on for you and having you sit at a large vanity.

As Nellie prepares, you look around the room that now belonged to you. There was a bed taking up most of the space, and it was outfitted with extra blankets for the winter. A closet there was also, stuffed to the brim with clothes, most of them unfamiliar. There were a couple new jewelry boxes on the vanity, but what surprised you most of all was a small bookshelf containing all of your favorites. He’d even procured a copy of Shakespeare’s entire works for you.

“How did he know what I like?” you ask as Nellie drifts back over to you, the lights now bathing the room in a warm yellow glow. “The books, I mean. I’m shocked he went to the trouble of getting all these.”

“He asked me,” Nellie responds mildly as she looks around for a brush. “When he was first bringing me to work from your mother’s, he asked me a lot of things about you. I daresay you’ll find your closet full of styles and colors you prefer, and that he’ll have his cook prepare plenty of your favorite foods.”

You blink a few times. You certainly never expected him to go to the lengths of discussing those things with Nellie to make a more comfortable environment for you. Even Mrs. Ryan had not done that, though you supposed that stay was always meant to be temporary.

But even those small comforts, lovely as they are, can’t cure the anxiety that the night still brings. You suspect Nellie senses this, for she gently turns your attention away from everything and back to the vanity. “Let’s get all of this out of your hair,” she murmurs as she starts carefully removing pins.

There’s no hope of getting the curls out of your hair without another bath, which you definitely do not have time for. Therefore, all Nellie does is brush them out slightly, arranging them in a less messy order. You liked having your hair down, though it did seem a little unusual now. Nellie also helps you out of your bridal gown and into a luxurious white robe your new husband had provided for you.

“What am I supposed to do afterwards? Am I supposed to come back here?” you ask as Nellie drips a tiny bit more perfume on your wrists.

“I’m sure he’ll let you know. He won’t let you get lost,” she says as soothingly as she can, right as there’s a knock on the door. You blanche, but Nellie’s already standing to answer it.

She barely cracks the door so you don’t see the speaker, but you do hear an unfamiliar male voice. “My master is requesting the presence of his wife.”

“Tell him I shall bring her posthaste. She’s just finishing getting ready,” Nellie answers in a low voice before closing the door and turning back to you. “You know I can’t stall any longer,” she apologizes. “But don’t fret much. He’ll be gentle with you, you know that.”

“I know,” you sigh, running your fingers through your hair once. “I’ve just been taught my whole life to fear this. That won’t go away, no matter what assurances he or anyone else gives me. But give me the tincture, will you?”

Nellie takes the fertility tincture and puts a couple drops under your tongue, then you take a sip of water to wash the bitter taste out. Now you truly can’t put this off. “You’ll be fine,” Nellie insists before she creaks the door open again, waiting for you out in the hall. You allow yourself one deep breath before following her.

The mysterious man is gone, and you encounter no one as you follow Nellie down the hall. You’re surprised that his own bedroom isn’t far from yours; you’d assume he’d want a bit more privacy. But Nellie points out the correct door herself, and based on the small bit of light you see escaping from the bottom, you’re sure it’s the right one.

She gives you a brief hug before disappearing into the darkness. You watch her go, then lift your hand to rap your knuckles against the wood.

Almost instantly, he opens the door for you, smiling slightly before stepping aside to let you through. You walk in rubbing your arms, feeling decidedly self-conscious. “You look lovely,” he starts, capturing one of your curls in between his fingers. “You should wear your hair down more often. It suits you.”

“It’s not considered proper for a woman to wear her hair down in public, especially a married one,” you state baldly, giving him the bog standard answer that had been drilled into you since birth.

“Well, I’m not going to force those rules on you in the house,” he says in that same soft voice. “You can dress and wear your hair how you like when it’s just the two of us.” You refrain from saying anything. You didn’t think he meant to come off like this, but his talk of what he “allowed” you to do sounded a lot like he was making you his property. You wouldn’t say anything about it this time, but you didn’t like it.

He plays with your curl for a moment more before letting it fall. “Look,” he says with a heavy sigh. “I’m not blind. I can tell you’re scared. We… don’t have to do this if you don’t want. I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”

You look up at him in near disbelief. Now that you were married, it was his right to get what he wanted from you, whenever he liked. You’d always been told you’d have no say in it, and that it was your duty as a wife to always be available to him. But here he was, offering you an out, and you believed him to be perfectly sincere.

And even more surprisingly, you didn’t want to take it.

“I think the longer we put this off, the more nervous I’ll become,” you try to explain. “I don’t want to do that. And I’m not scared because it’s you. Nervous, yes, I think I’d feel that with anyone… but out of everyone, I’m glad it’s you.”

He takes one step closer to you. “So, just to be clear, I have permission to do this?” he double-checks.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He closes the rest of the distance between the two of you in two long strides and puts one of his hands on the side of your face. He pauses to look you in the eyes, like he can’t believe this is happening, before his other hand goes behind your neck and he pulls you into a kiss.

Inadvertently, a sigh escapes the back of your throat. Unlike at your wedding, this kiss is a bit faster, almost primal. Yet it still fills you with the same butterflies, the same yearning for more. Your hands come to rest on his chest, and you do your best to kiss him back despite your inexperience.

“Dear God,” he growls against your mouth before threading his hand into your hair, pulling you closer. He opens his mouth slightly and you feel his tongue glide across your lower lip. You gasp, and he slips his tongue into your mouth, and a sound you’ve never heard yourself make before is wrenched from your throat. In all the stories you’ve heard about wedding nights, from Mrs. Ryan gently giving you a reminder the week prior, to the flippant remarks by Alice’s mother scattered throughout your youth, to your mother’s constant lessons about a wife’s duty, none of them had mentioned that it would feel so good.

Eventually, you have to pull away. “Can’t breathe,” you manage to get out since he’s giving you a quizzical look. In response, he instead moves his lips to your neck, gently kissing along the skin he finds and works his way to your clavicle. Your knees nearly give out when he does this, and a sound that you can only describe as a moan is wrenched from your throat.

After a moment, his mouth comes back up, capturing your lips again. You do your best to move your lips along with his as your arms snake around his neck. You’re not sure exactly what to do with them, but having them around him just feels right, especially since he seems to be pulling you even closer. You just don’t want to be doing the wrong thing and disappoint him, especially not with how unbelievably good he’s made you feel so far.

Without warning, while he’s still kissing you, he hooks his arms around your thighs and picks you up, securing your legs around his waist for more stability. You squeak slightly in surprise, but don’t care to break the kiss with him.

He’s the one to pull away from you a moment later as he deposits you on his bed. You desperately try to reorient yourself from how lightheaded he’s made you feel, but he isn’t doing anything to help matters. Instead, he’s unbuttoning his white shirt with impatient fingers before veritably ripping the thing off, leaving you even more disoriented.

You’d never before in your life seen a man without his shirt on. And though you had nothing to compare it to, you couldn’t say at all you were disappointed in what you saw. His torso was much harder than your soft, feminine form. And while he wasn’t quite as well-defined as an ancient Greek or Roman statue, you found his natural look even more mesmerizing.

He pauses with undressing himself once his shirt is off to extinguish a few of the lamps in the room, leaving only one on in the end. Though the room is significantly darkened, you could still see him well enough, which you liked. Satisfied, he joins you on the bed and crawls on top of you to kiss you again.

It’s almost too much to have him this close while he’s wearing so little. Without meaning to, your hands come to rest on his chest again, very much of their own accord. He hisses and shoves himself away from you, making you wince.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak instantly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing, I didn’t mean to mess up–”

“You’re not,” he cuts you off in a voice that sounds oddly strangled. “God, sweetheart, trust me, you’re not doing anything wrong. I’m just trying to take my time, alright? I want you to enjoy this too, but if you keep doing what you’re doing, I’m not going to have a lot of self-control left.”

His words confuse more than reassure you. It sounded like he both wanted you to stop and keep going at the same time, and you weren’t sure which he wanted more. And he wanted you to enjoy it? By all accounts you’d heard, this was going to hurt, not be enjoyable.

Although you couldn’t deny that you had liked it so far. The physical sensations were almost too much, but they were definitely good.

“So… what exactly do you want me to do?” you ask demurely. You wanted complete clarification before proceeding. You’d heard the old adage that it was better to ask forgiveness rather than permission, but in this circumstance, you didn’t think that rule applied.

“You can keep doing what you’re doing, just take it easy when it comes to touching me?” he requests. “It’s not that I dislike it, it’s just that… well… maybe it’s best to let me take the lead tonight?” You nod in assent, resolving to try and keep your hands under control, no matter how curious you were to explore him.

He leans over you to kiss you again, and this time, you rest your hands lightly on either side of his face. He seems to be okay with this–he doesn’t stop you in any case–and you’re slowly starting to feel more comfortable again when you feel him try and tug at the tie holding your robe closed.

You inhale sharply, causing him to immediately pull back. “We can stop,” he mutters, still sounding oddly strangled. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, I promise.”

“Why are you so determined to stop?” you ask, suddenly feeling quite as humiliated when he nearly kissed you in the hall of Mrs. Ryan’s house before backing out at the last second. “I feel like it’s you who doesn’t want me.”

“Darling, nothing could be further from the truth,” he insists. “I want you very badly, believe me, but I also know this is entirely new for you. I don’t want to scare you or make you uncomfortable.”

You look him dead in the eyes, finding no hint of a lie. Slowly and very deliberately, you reach down to the tie of your robe and pull it undone in one motion. Still looking at him, you shrug the garment off your shoulders, still mostly covered, but the invitation is there. “I want this, and I want it to be you,” you repeat in a whisper.

He gives you a look that you can’t quite identify before leaning down to place a tender kiss to your lips. “If you’re sure,” he murmurs before pushing the robe further down your arms, helping you remove the limbs entirely. You hadn’t bothered with a chemise, so all of the sudden, you were bare before him.

He pulls back from you again and just looks at you, his expression akin to if he had just been struck over the head. “Lord, have mercy,” he groans, almost to himself before one of his hands trails from your side up to your breast, drawing a long whine out of you, one that you barely recognize as your own voice.

“Does that feel good?” he whispers. You can only nod desperately, words completely lost to you. Emboldened, he covers your breast with his palm, kneading gently. Something you don’t have a name for is pooling in you, coming to settle in between your legs. It was mortifying, and you’d never admit it out loud, but you wanted him to touch you there next. 

He can’t read your mind, so of course he doesn’t listen to your unspoken plea. Instead, he trails his lips down to your neck, leaving small kisses along the way until he reaches your collarbone. Then, without any warning, he takes your skin between his teeth and begins to suck.

“Oh, God!” you cry out arching your back so your body is pressed further into his. The sensations he’s giving to you are some that you’ve never experienced before, and you had no idea anything could ever feel this good. His mouth moved over you expertly, though you didn’t want to acknowledge the likely reason he was so good at this. You push those intrusive thoughts away; all you wanted to focus on right now was your husband and how deliciously he was working you up.

He releases your skin with a wet pop, and you look down and and just catch the edge of what looks like a dark purple mark in the line of your vision. You don’t have long to dwell on it though; his mouth has moved again, and now his lips have wrapped themselves around your nipple.

“God… f–” you start but just barely stop yourself from cursing. You’d never felt any inclination to do so before, but his ministrations were taking your manners and throwing them to the wayside.

He releases you after a moment, a brazen smile on his face; clearly, he believes himself to be doing an exemplary job. He was, but you didn’t want to admit that to his face. So before he can say anything, you pull him back down to you for another searing kiss.

You can tell you’ve surprised him, but he recovers quickly and kisses you back enthusiastically. As he’s doing so, perhaps to get you back for catching him off guard, he gets his still-clothed leg in between yours and his thigh creates a gentle, yet steady and unyielding pressure against your core. 

At this point, you let out a mewl so loud it can probably be heard by the whole house. You’ll most likely be ashamed of that tomorrow, but at the moment you couldn’t find the capacity to care. All you wanted was for him to relieve the building pressure in your core.

He pulls away a moment later, and his weight leaves you entirely as he gets off the bed and tears off the remainder of his clothes with impatience. And as much as it makes your face flame red, you can’t help but look.

Your first thought was panic. Seeing his erection, all you can think is that there’s no chance that it’s going to fit inside you. You didn’t see how anything at all would fit, but certainly not something that big. You suddenly understood why everyone had warned you it was going to hurt, because that would undoubtedly cause pain if he tried to put it anywhere inside you.

Thankfully, the moment doesn’t seem to be upon you quite yet, for when he gets back on top of you, it’s just to kiss you again. That doesn’t last long, however; his erection pokes your thigh, and while that doesn’t hurt, it’s much more firm than you had anticipated.

“Sorry,” he winces. “I’m trying to make sure you’re ready for it, but I realize it gets in the way, and that you’re not exactly used to this.”

“Does it hurt?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. You don’t see how it couldn’t hurt, being swollen like that.

“No, it doesn’t,” he says with a small chuckle. “However, I’m more concerned with not hurting you, so, with your permission, can I get you ready?” You have no idea what he means by that, but with how incredible he’d already made you feel tonight, you were eager to experience more of that. Moreover, you trusted him. So you do your best to relax into the mattress and nod for him to continue.

He kisses you once before balancing his weight on his calves as he sits up. Watching you closely to gauge your reaction, he reaches down and swipes a single finger through your center.

“Oh, God!” you cry out, tossing your head back. All of the sensations so far had been nothing, nothing, compared to this. This was heavenly, and you wanted nothing more than for him to continue plucking you like a harp.

He swears under his breath when his finger makes contact. “Damn, darling, you’re so wet,” he purrs. While that should have been mortifying beyond belief, the way he says it makes you swell with pride, like you’re finally getting something right.

He continues to move his fingers around your folds, paying particular attention to your sighs to let him know when he finds a sweet spot. When he makes contact with one little bud near the center, you feel like you’re going to combust after only a few seconds of him massaging it.

You’re doing your best to keep from outright screaming, but your frequent moans and sighs seem to spur him on, and he often responds to your sounds by cursing in a low tone. He looks up at you, and you’re quite sure your face is red and not at all attractive, but he mutters “So beautiful,” before slowly sinking one finger into you.

You’re expecting pain. You tense, preparing yourself for it, but it never comes. You can definitely feel that there’s something there, but it doesn’t hurt in the slightest. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, to which you can only nod. “Tell me if anything feels uncomfortable,” he instructs before he slowly starts moving his finger in and out of you, building up at a deliciously, tantalizingly glacial pace. It’s heavenly.

You feel a bit more pressure than before, but it still doesn’t hurt, and it would take an act of the divine for you to want to stop now, so you let him keep going. Without you even realizing it, your hips start to rock against his hand, matching his movements with your own.

Then he brings his hand up to massage that little bud he’d found earlier, and for the second time that night, you only just manage to bite back a curse.

“It’s alright darling,” he whispers, his breath hot on your ear. “Let it out for me.”

You’re not quite sure what “it” is, but by God, “it” does exactly as he says. You curl up, letting out a near scream, clawing at his back, desperate for something to hold onto. Whatever happened was almost too much to comprehend, and indeed, the sheer euphoria of it all but shuts your brain completely down for a couple minutes as you attempt to recover.

You don’t notice him removing his fingers from you, but he must have at some point or another; he’s sitting on his thighs, hands at his sides. He waits patiently for your breathing to return to normal, with just a hint of a smug aura about him.

Calming down takes several minutes, and after he deems you’ve finally returned from whatever high he’d taken you to, he asks, “Do you want to keep going?” You nod, words still not something you’re capable of. You don’t care if it hurts now, you’d do just about anything to feel that high once more.

He positions himself on top of you, most of his weight on his arms, but you can still feel his chest pressed against yours. “Tell me if it hurts. I’ll go slow, I promise,” he reiterates before gingerly inserting himself into you, making you gasp as you anticipate pain that never makes an appearance.

There’s certainly more pressure than before, and it’s growing as he pushes more of himself into you, but it’s nothing that could even remotely be considered painful. You relax the muscles in your face as you get used to the intrusion, and after a moment he starts to pull back, slowly starting to create a steady rhythm of in and out.

It's like nothing you've ever experienced before. Even his hand a moment ago hadn't created sensations like this. Your breathing gets heavy again, and even he's starting to make noises as he buries his head in your neck. His hips start moving faster, and subconsciously, almost by instinct, your legs come up to wrap around his waist, while your own hips rise to meet his.

You feel that same crest start to rise in you again, even more intense than it was last time. Your nails dig into the skin of his back, but he either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Instead, he just speeds up his movements, letting out a string of expletives into your neck now.

His faster motions only serve to help bring you to the top of that crest faster, and within minutes he sends you over with a long, high-pitched something coming out of your mouth as each of your limbs presses his body even closer to yours. He initially doesn't slow down, prolonging the feeling for you for a few moments before he goes limp, panting heavily.

For a while, it seems all either of you can do is stay still, focusing on catching your breath. He's the first one to move, and he does nothing more than roll off of you, leaving you feeling strangely empty and with some sort of sticky residue in between your legs.

You're suddenly very self-conscious of the fact that you're wearing nothing, but you don't have the strength to sit up and look for a blanket. Instead, your hand blindly searches for one until he throws a sheet over you. “That's what you were looking for, right? Don't know why you want the blasted thing but…” he trails off as he needs to catch his breath again, eyes still closed.

You give him a few moments before daring to use your own voice. “Was that… I mean, were you… satisfied?” You'd been told that men would finish and spill themselves inside a woman, but you were far too embarrassed to actually say those words aloud.

He lets out a short, barking laugh. “Don't worry yourself on that front. I am well beyond satisfied.” You let out an inaudible sigh of relief. At least you weren't a total failure in this particular aspect of being a wife.

You're also acutely aware of the fact that, now that he's spent, you were to redress yourself and make your way back to your own room, though you had no idea how to do that without Nellie to guide you. But before you can even get out of the bed to put your robe back on, he rolls over, throwing an arm around your waist. “Stay?” he asks simply. His tone makes it clear that this is a request, not a demand. As always with him, you could decline if you so chose.

“Okay,” you whisper instead, to which he smiles sleepily at you. He moves only to turn off the remaining light before he's back in the bed, holding you close.

You expect it to take a while to fall asleep, what with the unfamiliar bed, as well as a whole other person there with you. But you're so worn out that sleep comes quickly and you sink into it, comforted by your husband's arms around you.

[cherryxsapphic]

Hii!! Pls some wlw Selenne Sverchzt I LOVE HERR

Ofc!! My love 🧡

Also, I'm just gonna do general headcanons. I hope that is ok pooks. if you prefer something else, feel free to request again!!

Well let's get started!! ♡

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ok, so you almost definitely met at a shopping mall for sure, like I know damn well that selenne likes to drag her sister to go shopping, even though Elenois could not be bothered (girlie is always tired)

But anyways, you're just casually shopping and stuff. Then you find yourself having a difficult time choosing between 2 similar articles of clothing and your generally so indecisive about what to choose, so you basically start looking around until you spot a pretty girl also rummaging through a few dresses that look like they would probably cost a fortune and a arm an a leg on the side.

pushing your shyness aside, you walk over to her and honestly, it's so intimidating, because she's literally so beautiful that it's insane, like she's wearing a vibrant orange stripe dress. White gloves, her shoulder length dark brown hair, elegantly curled at the ends and then she wore dangly small square earrings. Like come on!!

But you finally spit it out that you need help choosing between an article of clothing, and she's actually so sweet about it, and y'all have like a cute little moment where she has you do a fashion show to see which piece looks best!!

you also got to learn her name!! which is selenne Sverchtz and got to meet her twin sister, (Elenois sverchtz) who was apparently looking for new jewelry this whole entire time while you and selenne were goofing off.

they were generally so sweet to you an OMG you literally got selenne's number and she paid for your clothing, and she would not take a no for an answer.

Ok, and once y'all start dating ugh it's literally the best! I do like to believe that selenne generally is a hopeless romantic and probably reads romance books in her free time, which isn't really much considering she's litterly a model.

but throughout your whole entire relationship with her, you are literally spoiled, like from getting what you want to having all your needs met, and like she's literally such a ball of sunshine and energy that she is most definitely a early riser and if she had the free time, she would literally make breakfast and bed for you every day

and she's just generally a sapphic like she's literally so down bad for you.

Also cute little picnic dates is a must. and it's like so cute, because there's like fairy lights and flowers like she always chooses like such a beautiful places, and sometimes you're able to surprise her too which makes her fall more in love with you if that's even possible.

last but not least, Elenois most definitely gave you the talk where it's like, "if you hurt my sister, I will hurt you, like it's on sight." and then she casually walks away like she didn't just threaten your life lmao.

So moral of the story. awkwardly ask a pretty girl about what clothes you should wear and maybe you might find the love of your life hehe <33

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I hope you enjoyed, and I'm so sorry that I took forever to post this :(

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Hi,

Do you ever think on the first conversation Inej and Kaz had in Heleen's office? It feels like theres a lot there and I wondered if you have any thoughts on it. I come back a lot to when Inej asks Kaz if he convinced Per Haskell to buy out her indenture because "you like Suli girls" and Kaz answers "i don't know enough Suli girls to say"

that's a very interesting sort of snarky answer to me because he refutes the idea that he's the type to fetishize the Suli culture to the point of being "into" Suli women just because they are Suli. But also he doesn't just shut down the idea of him being into anyone. Which ... This is post Imogen debacle, he's resigned himself to not being "into" anyone at this point for several years. He doesn't care how people see him for it either. He could have been ruder or more just more direct about this, but he wasn't. And its like that with many of his early actions towards Inej. He's nicer than you'd think he'd be and its interesting becuase i don't get a sense that Kaz fell for Inej "at first sight", i think his love for her was gradual and snuck up on him (heh) so really everything he did at first and especially not demanding she gets a dregs tatto must have been from some basic sense of compassion, although he'd shank me for saying so.

Also, i always wondered how Kaz explained to Haskell why Inej didnt get a tattoo, then i re-read the books recently i realized omg i bet he totally probably just didn't?! Inej wasn't the type talk about it, she wears concealing clothes and is not very seen/social within the gang so my theory is that lazy ass Haskell didnt ask and assumed she got a tatto and kaz just let the assumption happen. Do you think that's believable?

Hi, thanks so much for your question - and so sorry it’s taken me an eternity to reply!

When I tell you that I think about this meeting once a week… well I’m hoping that you think “woah so cool she knows so much and thinks so in depth about these characters literary analysis is awesome” and not “Jesus Christ she’s insane”. But genuinely, the Kanej meeting is something I think about a lot and I think holds an awful lot of meaning.

The “you like Suli girls” “I don’t know enough Suli girls to say” to me is such a wonderful moment because, as you quite rightly said, it immediately refutes Kaz’s endorsement of the hyper-sexualisation of Suli culture that we see so prevalently in Kerch / Ketterdam (I’ve gone into this at length before but in a whistle stop tour think about the way the Menagerie customers talk about Inej and place so much emphasis on her skin colour, her bedroom at the Menagerie being a “farcical” version of a Suli caravan, the way “the Menagerie always stocked a Suli girl”, the Rare Spices billboard, etc). And this is so important for so many reasons, but in particular because the second Heleen exits the room and she’s alone with Kaz, Inej immediately tenses at the assumption that he is going to rape or assault her- “braced herself for what would come next, fingers twisting in her silks”. And what happens instead? He asks her for her name. Her name, that has been ignored and erased for an entire year as yet another roll of dehumanisation piled against her. Even though the pair discuss and make a clear understanding of the fact that this isn’t some kind of rescue mission and Inej’s world isn’t going to suddenly fix itself, this moment makes an instant connection for Inej between Kaz Brekker and safety. Because somehow, despite everything that’s happening, this moment in Tante Heleen’s office is the safest Inej has felt for an entire year. It’s also interesting that you mentioned he doesn’t shut down the idea of not being interested in anyone and I definitely agree with that, personally I don’t believe that Kaz is asexual although I know some people headcanon him that way it’s just not something that works for me and my perception of his character, and that’s because of situations like his attraction to Imogen and several situations he’s in with Inej. His exact words when considering being with Imogen are “he knew the things he was supposed to want. He did want those things”, which to me very clearly shows that he does experience sexual attraction and sexual desire, and the limiting factor is his ptsd and touch aversion rather than his sexuality/orientation. I agree that Kaz and Inej didn’t experience a love at first sight kind of moment, but I do think that this meeting really solidified their relationship to a level of immediate understanding between them, in essence an acknowledgment of them being “twin soldiers, marching on, pretending they were fine”. They are both able to see the other, clock that they understand to some extent, and respect each other.

Kaz is quite abrasive in this scene, but what always gets me is how confrontational Inej is able to be - “And what happens when you take their money, and you become a rich man?”. (The quote is something to that effect, sorry I don’t have my book with me right now). I think that a big aspect of her being able to summon the confidence to put herself against him so immediately is that she genuinely feels this level of safety with him, because this far he represents the opposite of everything that had tormented her. Or at the very least the polar end of a spectrum that she has been tormented by another part of. And controversially to the image of everything Inej has experienced in the Barrel so far, Kaz is amused by and enjoys her standing up to him, in fact he almost seems endeared by it saying “Then you can steal all my secrets too”.

And ohh the tattoo, or lack thereof, makes me so happy! It doesn’t require much reading between the lines to understand the relevance of Kaz not forcing Inej to take the Dregs tattoo on, she even says herself that he refused to be the one who marked her again, but I love the idea that he didn’t actually tell anyone she’s not got it!! I hadn’t considered this before but it makes perfect sense with everything we know about Inej’s relationship with the Dregs - Nina doesn’t know she lacks the tattoo, and Inej comments on the fact that the others can’t see her scars from having the Menagerie feather removed but that “they all knew it was there”, suggesting she keeps her forearms covered most of the time, and the emotional disconnect she feels from the rest of the Dregs is always discussed at an intellectual level and in the way she spends most of her time with Kaz or alone rather than with them rather than any dislike/distrust/etc of her because she didn’t take on the tattoo. I absolutely love this theory because it takes away any feeling of guilt around lacking the tattoo and also makes it a far more personal thing to be shared only between Kaz and herself.

Thank you so much, I’m so sorry it took me so long to reply, but I hope this made sense and that you enjoyed reading it! <3

[crownedinmarigolds]

what's been your experience in a play by post chronicle? i am curious about that mode of playing vtm!

Ahhh so! I personally love play-by-posting because it gives me plenty of time (within reason, don't want to take too long) to properly articulate what my character is experiencing and what she would actually say. Playing at the table/voice chat is very fun and awesome but I do feel like some knee-jerk reactions/my own lacking immediate knowledge makes me fumble through situations I think my character would've done something differently in. Play by post lets me really CAPTURE the character entirely. The ST also gets a chance to really set the mood and you can also always go back and reread everything! I personally save my PBP chronicle in a document I hope to print out like a book some day! There are also plenty of dice apps on Discord (if that's where you're playing) that keep track of things where everyone can see them so things remain fair. However, the ST really needs to keep the tempo going/you need a set time of play I think, because it's easy to lose track of feelings if things take too long. The mojo kind of dies if a responding player takes a day or so to respond. Players also need to be reigned in so they don't over-post over someone else who may be a slow typer. So there definitely needs to be some structured ground rules to make sure everyone is treated fairly and not stepped on. I've also experienced players who only post two or three sentences (even in bigger emotional moments) and it makes it tough to read the vibe.... so, once again, definitely establish early on what should be expected when people are posting! The length, how much info should be shared, the timeframe of play, etc. I have played on "living" servers as well, where people can post in non-important story scenes whenever they want, and while that's FUN and great for building relationships and just normal time-killing, I've also witnessed MANY times how it can spiral into weird anger and suddenly moments of "someone started a beastial failure rampage at four AM but the ST/Narrator is not awake to monitor it and people are upset." I cannot recommend a 24/7 server if you want to play by post! Sorry to ramble, but for a tight-knit normal gaming style where you type your posts out, I have a blast! But my current ST is also my husband who is very experienced and keeps the story going at a pace I like! I hope this answers the question okay!

[ashoss]

okay i was gonna reply on my ask that you answered, but this was getting long, so i'm moving it here lmao

since there's not a lot of info on cardea/her kids' powers in PJO, i feel you could totally get creative with it! just depends on how literal or metaphorical you want to take it. because you're so right, there are hinges EVERYWHERE. a hinge is "a mechanical bearing that connects two solid objects, typically allowing only a limited angle of rotation between them." that's so common! doors, infrastructure, hell, even ordinary things like a piano or the lid of a tic tac box. or you could go more metaphorical like @wateroflifefrommountains was saying and have it be applied more broadly to anything considered a "door" or "connector".

i saw on the pjo wiki that children of cardea are shown to be skilled engineers, and although i don't know where they got that, i think you could extrapolate. you know what else has hinges aside from doors? windows. bridges. freeways. buildings. i say we give her not only engineering skill, but some minor architectural manipulation. imagine some villain messes with a bridge in gotham, and steph is able to lock the hinges in place and buy the batfam a couple extra minutes to evacuate. she can't hold it for long because she can't support the weight of an entire bridge, she's locking hinges into place, but it gives the batfam the precious extra minute or two they needed.

no locks to pick and smashing a window would be too messy? no problem, guess who's on the job.

if you go more general and want to say she has control of any kind of "connector", then i think we could throw in minor technokinesis too. i only say minor because i don't think she'd be able to fully control the technology or immediately understand how it works, but i think she'd be able to sense the connections in machinery and mess with them (turning them off and on, messing around with how they connect so they don't function properly, etc).

cardea was a protector of the home against evil spirits, so maybe steph is a walking vibe check LMAO

while these are all kinda random, i think it works well with steph because she's unpredictable and spontaneous when she fights! she goes with her gut, using whatever she's got around her. imagine some goon is chasing after her and she just smacks them in the face with a door to get away. it's so looney tunes-esque, but it works!

(oh my god this ended up so long, i am so sorry a;slkdjfa;ljkfa as you can tell, i am a devout follower of the yap temple. i will shut up now)

(pss never apologize for the length of ur asks i love when you guys yap lolol)

to be honest i really love cardea kid stephanie now. at least going through the wiki, she only has one canon kid (named claudia - i think its in one of the other minor books that rick came out with). cardea would probably have the closest relationship with any of her kids, she hates when the gods ignore their children, so she would probably try and communicate and visit with stephanie.

i feel like powers like this would probably be overlooked, she probably is unaware that she HAD any powers- just the general demigod criteria. with cardea being one of the gods who tries to visit her children, i think it would be interesting to have cardea show stephanie her powers, walk her through it.

her also being the closest with their godly parent would also be a really fun characteristic to explore- are the other kids jealous? do they wish they had a closer relationship with their parent? (aslkdj just so much potential for angst)

i do really love all of the powers you went through! amazing takes as always. i think hinges are incredibly overlooked- if she had control over hinges it would honestly have a ton of potential.

[felixravinstills]

Hi! I'm new around your ask box, your blog in general, but it's been keeping me so entertained with all the writing for these characters i've never even paid attention to before! Keep up the good work, you got me to be interested in reading the HG novels, haha.

Anyway, since you recently published work on Dr. Gaul I feel like this would be the most appropriate time to talk about it. I don't know if you've ever explored this concept before, or if someone has already mentioned it to you or if it's just common knowledge in the fan base, but the fact that Dr. Gaul hadn't considered Coriolanus' proposal of 'getting people attached to the tributes' for the past 9 editions is so fascinating? It's such a basic concept in writing, people will want more out of something they care for—usually and especially characters— that it boggles my mind that it wasn't something she considered before (though, to her credit, applying fiction logic to a gore fest reality show does seem pretty unconventional. Or maybe it's a case of Oops! Missed something obvious!).

It makes me wonder a couple of things about her and her worldview. She spends the entire movie (and I assume, the book) harping on about humanity's inherent savagery, yet she considered that empathy and sentimentality could get in the way of what's allegedly biological? Is that why she saw Snow as so promising? Because on top of proving her right he proved that even human kindness can be weaponized to favor violence?

I'm so sorry for the long ask I ended up rambling too much but i thought you'd be the only person in the fanbase at the moment who'd engage in Dr. Gaul discussion lol!

Oh, hello, anon! Welcome! Always happy to answer asks, no matter the length! Feel free to ramble!

Also with the exception of Gaul, there might be a good reason no one pays attention to the characters that I talk about (I basically made most of them up)! But I appreciate the interest! The novels are great! While I do fixate on minor characters, I do try and align what I write with the themes and ideas the novels explore, so there's still plenty of appeal to them! Just don't expect the Ravinstills to be a really big part of them lol (Gaul discussion under the cut)

To me, Volumnia doesn't seem like the type to care if people watch the Games. Like I know she reacts like this in the book:

Dean Highbottom shot Dr. Gaul a look. “You see? It’s a failed experiment.” “It is if no one watches!” she snapped back. She gave Coriolanus an indulgent smile. “He’s a child himself. Give him time. I’ve got a good feeling about this one. Well, I’m off to visit my mutts.” (Ch. 4)

But to me, I think it only starts mattering to her, because there's this implication that if they don't start raising viewership (or having some more concrete worth to the Capitol), then the Games will end, and she would hate for her little experiment annual art installation to be taken down. I think part of the reason that she doesn't come up with getting people attached to the Tributes is that she gets tunnel vision. She doesn't understand why no one can see her thesis statement. The worth of the Games is self-explanatory to her because of her worldview. How can she get people to see what should be obvious? The Games for her are the point in themselves— her little microcosm of the world reflecting her ideology. If the people don't understand the message right in front of them, then they're fools.

Volumnia Gaul, in my mind (and like many people in the Capitol), is a hypocrite. She'll say that humanity is inherently savage and then close her eyes to any signs of empathy and compassion happening around her (and in her Games). I think that she latches onto Snow, because she sees the seeds of ambition and the desperation of someone on a shorter leash than most in him. He's the perfect candidate for someone she can mold into understanding her worldview (and I think he reminds her of President Ravinstill, but that's fully me taking vague subtextual friendship between her and Pres. R and turning it into a whole thing). I also think that Crassus Snow being someone who used his best friend to get ahead and also was likely fully okay with an idea like the Hunger Games, plays a part in her initial interest in Snow. (Also in the above quote? I love that she's already got an eye on him! "I have a good feeling about this one." ehjtkrhjk)

I think Snow's weaponizing of empathy is actually very appealing to her like you say! I think she sees it as a way to rationalize acts of kindness and sentiment as something rooted in her idea of humanity's inherent violence! She gets to use him as a case study for that even if not all his kindness was a way to get ahead. Her whole worldview maintains itself through confirmation bias, and I think what she thinks of Snow is no different. She actively shapes him, and then probably turns around and goes "see that? human nature."

Anyway, I hope I answered all your questions! Once, I start typing I get a little lost, so if you'd like elaboration or clarification or just have another question, let me know!

And as always, these are, of course, just my two cents. There's definitely many ways to interpret Gaul and just everything.

I am also surprised that there isn't more discussion on Volumnia though... Like there are a few others, who contemplate her as well, but I thought there would be more. Anyway, thanks for the ask again, anon!

[skywalkerbound]

hello! i'm so sorry if this is a bother, please don't feel obligated to answer!

but i saw your post about having shifted and i was wondering how it... felt? i know that it's just as real as this reality, but i was hoping you could list some details about things that you noticed that might help me to grasp the realness of it all? i have always struggled with that aspect of it

congratulations i am so happy for you!

hello! it's not a bother at all, and thank you!

i completely understand this, like fully. it was difficult to wrap my mind around that, too. when i shifted, though, it didn't feel like i had to convince myself that my surroundings were real or anything like that. it was entirely natural. it didn't just feel real. it was real. it was like i'd been waking up in that bedroom my whole life, which... i have, in that reality.

here are some of the aspects that emphasized how real it is:

the feeling of waking up. my body experienced the same physical senses that it always does when i wake up. my limbs felt heavy, and resistant to movement. my eyes were droopy with sleep. my face was a bit puffy. my shoulders felt weird from the angle i had slept at. it was... the rudimentary experience of awakening in the morning.

the weather. it is july in my dr, which means foggy, sun-pierced air. there is a large window in my bedroom there, and through the gap in the curtains, i could see the fog clouding that window. i could feel a sliver of sun shining through it, casting a perfect slice of light onto my floor, onto my bed, and onto me.

physical changes. i haven't scripted many alternations to myself, barely any, in fact, but one of the main ones is the length of my hair. in this reality, i've recently impulsively cut my hair, so it's about... at my shoulders. in my dr, however, it's a lot longer, to my waist. when i sat up on my bed there, that was one of the first things that i noticed. my hair had fallen over both of my shoulders, and it was long, beautiful, and exactly how i'd wanted it. i ran my fingers through it. i tugged on it. i smoothed it down.

touches of me around my bedroom. there were certain elements of my bedroom that were so... me, that made the room look so lived in, by me. it was my room. i knew that. these things that i noticed weren't anything that i had scripted, since all i'd scripted was the basic layout of my room, but they just made sense. books, scattered around. some open to certain pages, some untouched but waiting to be read. they were stacked at the top of my wardrobe, piled on my desk, propped up on my vanity, and taking up space on my bedside table. i have a library in my dr house, but it is just so like me to bring the majority of the library up into my room. jewelry, gold jewelry, on my bedside table, on top of the books. a few bracelets, some rings, and a necklace that looked like it was about to slip off and fall to the floor. they were all accessories that i knew i would wear, and that i knew i had worn. my dagger. on my desk, the dagger i've been waiting to hold for months, was balanced perfectly at the edge, looking... just how i'd imagined it. i did not actually get to hold it, because i shifted back, but it was there, where it belonged.

the door. my bedroom door was slightly ajar; i must have left it open. through the gap, i could see out into the hallway of my home. i couldn't see much since the door wasn't widely open, but it was enough.

[climbthemountain2020]

So you don't have to answer this if you don't want to be in fandom dramas but I was wondering the way you wrote Calla's story is how you imagined what might've happened to Feyre, if she stayed in her cell all the time.

Because I can't help but think if Rhys hadn't pulled her out and brought her to those parties, Amarantha would've tire her out with tasks and find a way to punish her, would've tried to manipulate her with her guards and let her hear things, Feyre would've gone crazy with the scream of other inmates and who knows maybe those guards would've done more than just let her hear things and torture her physically.

And you wrote Calla's story so painful and my heart aches for her. And since in my head, this is what might've happened to Feyre is making it more heartbreaking and how unfair Amarantha was and the length she would've gone to destroy Feyre...

At the risk of rustling up the discourse, I will preface this by saying that this is only MY opinion when reading the books and then writing my fic! I know there is a lot of disagreement on this, and I always try to be respectful of everyone's individual reading experiences, as well as how their personal experiences reflect those feelings.

For me personally, I think Rhys is much more of a morally gray character than some people might be used to as a love interest/MC, especially in the first book, but absolutely reflected in Silver Flames. I think that he loves Feyre in that all-encompassing way that we adore about him--he would burn worlds to the ashes to keep her safe--but that's what makes him morally gray. His own interests fall above all else; those he loves and cares for fall under those interests, but they're still largely self serving.

Personally, I love this about him, but I also love a morally gray character! It's also why I wasn't surprised about his actions in SF, and I didn't actually think it was a huge departure from his character. He knew Feyre was his ticket out from UtM, and that was his motivation at first. Then, he began to care about her along the way, which, obviously, evolved.

ALL THAT ASIDE (lol) to answer your original question, yes that was my intent in YEWHWM! I'm glad you and some others readily picked up on that. I originally had Calla as a true love interest to Tamlin, but as the story evolved, it quickly became a really interesting way to serve as a bit of a mirror for fic-Feyre, as well as my way of exploring a "what if" situation had Feyre not had Rhys's interference, by whatever methods, Under the Mountain. None of this is to say that, were any of this real, I would condone the actions of this entirely fictional character. However, in a literary sense, I think that this is perhaps the most logical way to set Rhys up the way he is, and I loved playing with that narrative a bit in my fic!

Sorry for the absolute novel on this--it's the English major overtaking my soul and good sense hahah. Thank you so much for reading, and for asking this! I do love to talk about the babies. And I hope you enjoyed reading, despite the heartbreak! <3

[storyunrelated]

Bad Dreams - Part Three

I saw a man. A man perhaps a little older than Rose and myself, and clearly not in a good way. 

A man who had, at some point, decided to have only a loose relationship with eating and with hygiene and who, as a result, had got both angular and pungent. Greasy in places, dark under the eyes and pale just about everywhere. He did not inspire confidence.

Sorry to judge by appearances, but you can tell quite a bit about someone from these things sometimes and context is important - the scrawny, pale man in the dark house with newspaper on the windows makes the mind go certain places.

All of the above was also elevated to new heights by the final detail of the man being shirtless, but being shirtless in such a fashion that suggested it was more because he’d entirely forgotten about putting shirts on, rather than by having made an active choice to be shirtless.

Top to bottom the immediate, overwhelming impression was of someone who’d become so focused on something other than themselves they’d rather let it slip from their minds that they were there in the first place.

Not a great start. Oh well.

“Evening,” I said, giving a wave with one hand and putting the other hand behind my back. The other hand was the one holding the crowbar. Best to try and make as good a first impression as possible, being an intruder in the man’s house notwithstanding. 

The man did not move a muscle. He then blinked, which counted as moving a muscle in my book.

“Who are you?” He asked. Surprisingly restrained given the circumstances.

I could have answered this, but instead I chose not to.

“Terribly sorry, we were expecting to find a witch,” I said instead.

“I am a witch,” the man said, maybe a touch testily, as though this was something that he ran up against a lot. Though maybe it was also because we were in his house. Maybe a bit of both.

I looked him over, tip to toe.

“...where’s your hat?” I asked.

“We don’t have to wear a hat,” he said and this time he was definitely testy and it was definitely about the witch thing.

I looked Rose over, tip to toe. Particularly the tip, where the hat was. Where the hat almost always was. In fact, no ‘almost’ about it - where the hat always was. Not a day had passed since she’d got the thing when she’d been without it. I thought those had been the rules.

“I like my hat…” she mumbled.

The man cleared his throat to get attention back on him.

“My next question - before I call the police - is going to be why are you in my house?” He asked. 

You’d think he’d sound less calm, being confronted by two housebreakers. I certainly wouldn’t be so cool and I was one of the housebreakers. Right then I was mostly running on nerves and gut impulse, my brain clinging on for dear life and only able to react after I’d said anything.

Maybe he got a lot of this sort of thing?

“We’re here about the dream skimmer you got sticking out the chimney,” I said, pointing upward, in case there was any confusion about where the chimney was.

He went very quiet for a moment. I think I heard him swallow.

“Ah,” he said, at length.

He looked like a man who knew he’d been caught out. Because he was a man who had been caught out. 

“Still feel like calling the police?” I asked.

“No, ideally.”

“Would that be an admission of guilt?” I asked. He looked at me like I was an idiot.

“That would suggest I have anything to be guilty of in the first place, which I reject. I’d just rather not get any more people involved and stomping about the place,” he said.

“Naturally. But since we’re already here and stomping about the place you’ll humour us?” I asked.

“If that is what it takes for you to go away,” he said through gritted teeth.

“How very obliging of you. How is the dream skimming going, just to ask? Well? Skimmer doing what it’s meant to be doing? Skimming?”

I could tell my breezy attitude towards what he plainly considered his hard work had got under his skin almost immediately, as much as he might have tried to hide it. Him and Rose too - witches were a touchy lot when it came to their witchy-business, weren’t they? Presumably it’s important to them.

Fair play, I guess. Must be galling to pour work into something and then have someone like me come in and be a smartarse about it. Would I like it if someone broke into my house and started undermining my confidence? Probably not.

“It is performing a little over what I expected,” he said, coolly.

“Delightful. Show me.”

His mouth worked a little. Whatever he’d expected it hadn’t been that.

Why else would I be here?

“I don’t think you’ll be able to appreciate the mechanism, especially given that you are not a witch and wouldn’t even be able to perceive half of the work that’s gone into it. You wouldn’t understand it. You can’t,” he said.

I didn’t think I was missing much, honestly.

“Humour me,” I said, pulling my crowbar hand from behind me and proceeding to stare him down.

Normally I’m not very good at staring anyone down and it’s not something I have a lot of call to do, but this was a special occasion and so I really poured myself into it, really meant it. I imagine that I was holding a crowbar helped a bit as he folded pretty quickly, all things considered, breaking eye contact and seeming to collapse in on himself a little bit, crossing his arms and looking away.

“Fine, fine…” He said turning around and gesturing for us to follow.

The very picture of sullen, he was.

“Come on,” I said to Rose, who squeaked.

“Really?!” She hissed.

“If all else fails I’ll crowbar our way out,” I said.

“That is not reassuring!”

She still followed, however unreassured she was, and we went up the stairs after the man. Cautiously, admittedly. I’m relaxed but I’m not an idiot. Hence the crowbar.

Downstairs had been house-like. In need of a clean, but house-like. Upstairs had been mauled. Doors were removed, plaster was exposed, holes had been knocked through walls, tubes and cables and wires ran everywhere and while I was getting nothing the wince on Rose’s face suggested a lot of magical jiggery-pokery going on.

The man, still sullen and now also mixed with open annoyance at us lollygagging, was stood waiting for us by an open doorframe.

“In here,” he said.

“After you,” I said again, giving him the nod. He glared but went in, and we followed again.

Was this going how I expected it would go? Not really. But it seems to be going well enough.

I think. I have no precedent for this sort of thing. Feels like an adventure though. I think.

We entered into what was one room that had plainly been two rooms before he’d had his way with them. He’d apparently knocked through a wall to link the two together. Not properly, I should point out. Bits of the wall remained here and there and the whole affair was held up by bits of wood the structural capacity of which I did have much confidence in. Professional it was not.

But that wasn’t the main thing, nor was that really the thing that I was paying attention to. The reason why he’d mangled the rooms together was on account of the great, sprawling, tinkling, hissing, gurgling thing that had been built and which took up most of the available space.

The dream sifter, presumably. Really didn’t look like much this close. Look like a still had had a run in with a milk churn and then left in the rain for a day or two. It was leaking in more than one place. Leaking what though was harder to say. Something.

“Very nice. Should it be leaking?” I asked, pointing to the more prominent leak. He looked, hissed, and swept up a roll of gaffer tape and quickly and liberally applied it. From the looks of the thing this was his standard response. There was a lot of tape, not to mention discarded rolls piled up in the corners.

Probably should have just made it less leaky, really. He’d save money on tape.

“Right. You’ve seen it now. Go,” he said, tossing the tape aside and glaring some more. He wasn’t getting out of this that easy.

“Hold on, hold on,” I said. “Explain this thing to me. What does it actually do?”

“You really wouldn’t understand,” the man said.

“Well, you can try. And if nothing else I’m sure Rose would appreciate hearing it. Right?” I asked, looking over to her. She was really coasting on this whole thing so far and leaving most of it to me but, in fairness, this whole thing had been my idea so I could hardly blame her.

“Um. Sure,” Rose said. She was squinting. The man was too, I noticed. Presumably the room was swimming in witchy nonsense that I was entirely unaware of, being so mundane and inert and all.

I looked back to the man and he stared at me in open, exasperated disbelief for a moment before his shoulders slumped.

“Fine. But will you then please leave me alone?”

This was another question I chose not to answer. Just gave him a winning smile instead.

He tried to explain it and I tried to follow his explanation, I really did, but I am as has been said magically inert and on top of that I’m also not that bright, so he got about three words in before I lost the thread completely.

Broadly speaking, I understood what he said something like this:

The bulk of the sifter sat in the room where we were, looking at it. It was the big ugly thing which was leaking. The delicate, sifty bits went up the chimney. Those were the bits we saw wafting about over the house, doing the sifting. 

Alright, that made sense, I could follow that.

The sifty bits sifted. Shocking, I know. They sifted dreams out of the air and snatched them before they reached their proper destination and then drew them down into the main part. He did not explain how or why or where or when or anything about why dreams were just floating about loose instead of being entirely inside people’s heads but that was fine, I was beyond that, I was comfortable knowing I’d never know.

Magic. Whatever.

And then once in the main part of the sifter the dreams were condensed and distilled and filtered and whatever whatever. Basically the thing took dreams and through a series of arcane and fiddly processes turned them into some kind of liquid. Dream liquid, liquid dreams. 

And this stuff was good stuff, he said. You could use it to do a variety of dream-related activities, apparently. Dream whatever you wanted. Live whole imaginary lives doing the impossible. Marry a cloud and have a whole family of raindrops, whatever tickled your fancy.

I thought you could just learn how to lucid dream. Couldn’t people do that already? Maybe that wasn’t good enough?

The man did mention, offhand, that a side effect of people having their dreams sifted or intercepted or whatever was that the ensuing void tended to invite bad dreams to come in and fill the space. Again, how that worked was something that was glossed over completely but here at least we finally had our explanation as to why any of this bad dream business was happening in the first place.

It was happening as a side-effect. This wasn’t the intention at all. The intention was this dream liquid the man wanted. The bad dreams were a consequence of the process. Somehow that’s even more galling than if it had been on purpose. Poor Nisien’s screaming and exhaustion and my bad nights were an afterthought. 

In fact, no, not even an afterthought, not even a thought at all. Just background noise.

Grr. 

I felt I’d heard enough.

“Why?” I asked, cutting in as the man warbled on about some point to do with the bottling process. He blinked at me.

“Why what?” He asked.

“Why did you decide to do this?”

“...I don’t understand. I did explain how it worked, didn’t I?”

“Well enough, sure. I mean why did you think this was something you had to do? Dream liquid? Why did you build this instead of just not building this? Why aren’t you playing pinball right now or literally anything else?”

Not a complicated question, I thought. He blinked at me again as he was having some difficulty working out where I was coming from. I could see him working through a slow formulation of an answer in his head, trying to hack his reasons down into something someone else might understand.

What works in our head is often difficult to put into the heads of others. Often it doesn’t survive the journey. I’m aware of this. I gave him time.

“With access to the raw, distilled essence of dreams I’m able to fully control the dreamscape. Lucid dreaming is a crock and a waste of time and beneath me, anyway. Total control is the real deal, I can do whatever I want, anything at all,” he said, eventually, slowly.

This was not a compelling answer to my not-very-complicated question. It was barely an answer at all. I pointed to the sifter again, just for emphasis.

“So this machine is sucking in the dreams of just about everyone within a however-many square mile radius, leaving a void that bad dreams rush into, and you’re basically melting all those dreams you’ve effectively stolen down into something that you fiddle about with and inject into yourself so that you can have whatever dream you want?” I asked.

“That is a ridiculously oversimplified and crude way of-” he started, but I did not let him finish.

“It’s a yes or no question and I’m holding a crowbar.”

His eyes flicked to the crowbar.

“...yes.”

The crowbar gets results. Humanity really did peak with that one.

Certainly a crowbar was infinitely superior to this dream-snaffling whatever. All these dreams all sucked in so one person can benefit? Those numbers are shocking.

“That’s spectacularly inefficient,” I said.

“Yes, but-”

I wasn’t finished though:

“Not to mention overwhelmingly selfish.”

But that should have gone without saying.

I mean honestly, I’m not even sure how anyone could get anywhere with a plan like this. How could you even start? How could you not run through it in your head, see how horrendously selfish it was and realise that, as an exercise in theory it’s diverting but in practise it would just be disgustingly self-indulgent and therefore something you shouldn’t do?

Was I missing something? Was this just me?

“Selfish?” He asked, as though the word had been a slap in the face.

“Well, yeah. If you can’t figure that out on your own I’m not sure where to start. If you eat someone else’s lunch that’s also selfish, did you know that?”

“It’s not selfish,” he said, pouting. Actually pouting.

“Feels pretty selfish from where I’m standing,” I said and he bristled a moment before replying.

“I’ll admit it’s unfortunate that some people are having bad dreams but there’s really only so much I can do about that.”

Big of him to admit that it was unfortunate.

“You could always not do it. You could do that,” I said.

He ignored this.

“It’s only in it’s prototype stage. I’ll admit it’s far from perfect now, but it’s getting better every day. Soon, pretty soon, I’ll have the ratio all the way down to one-to-one. That’ll just be one person maybe running the risk of having a bad dream - which they might not even remember anyway! - so I can dream whatever I want. Do you have any idea what I can do in those dreams?” He asked instead.

“I shudder to think.”

That took him a second.

“Not like that!”

“Hmm.”

I was thinking. I was always thinking, obviously, as are we all, but right then I was thinking about this whole thing, this whole business. Thinking about it and what I should do about it. Clearly I should do something, shouldn’t I? But what, and why?

Questions, questions.

This was a bad thing he was doing, yes? Yes, I think I can comfortably say that. Deciding that your personal enjoyment ranks above the discomfort or outright suffering of however many other people. Especially since this particular type of enjoyment is the explicit cause of that discomfort. That’s a bad thing.

I think I can follow this so far.

With that being the case what was I meant to do? Was I meant to do anything? Were any of us meant to do anything? 

Maybe I’ve got a bit beyond the scope of the issue, there. Let’s pull back in a bit.

Let us say that he is right when he says the thing can be improved. Let’s assume that for a moment. Even if he got that machine down to one-to-one efficiency that’s still ensuring someone else has bad dreams so he can have good dreams.

What if he rotated who the machine picked? Isn’t it likely someone is going to have a bad dream anyway? Where’s the harm, really? Would they even notice? In the grand scheme of things, does it even matter?

Yada yada. Questions like these serve to pluck away at your energy, slow you down and divert your attentions, make you doubt yourself. Sure, if you ignore them you might make a mistake, but if you listen to them all you might end up doing nothing, and doing nothing is usually what someone doing something they shouldn’t wants you to do.

Sometimes a Gordian knot just needs cutting. Sometimes you just have to say bollocks to compromise and go full-on hey diddle diddle, straight up the middle.

So no dice. Decision made. No dream stealing. Not on my watch.

You want to have good dreams you wait for them like anyone else. Or do it in a way that doesn’t attract my attention, and the attention of my crowbar.

“Rose, you might want to step outside,” I said, which seemed to snap Rose out of whatever quiet funk she’d slipped into. Seriously, she’d really clammed up ever since we broke into a guy’s house and been confronted by the guy whose house we’d broken into.

“Huh?” She asked.

“I’m going to draw a line under this,” I said.

“Oh, right. Okay. I’ll just - I’ll go. Meet you outside,” she said, shuffling out of the room with only one or two backwards glances. The man was suddenly just a touch nervous. I could see this.

“Where’s she going? What are you talking about? What do you mean draw a line?” He asked.

“You’re a clever fellow, I’m sure you can figure it out,” I said.

Though of course I actually started smashing his sifter before he figured it out. Ain’t I a stinker.

I’m not an expert at smashing but I like to think I did an alright job. I aimed for one of the leaking spots with the pointed end of the crowbar, wedged it in, heaved, and managed to lever off a good half of the thing away from the other half. Made an awful noise and sloshed clear liquid all over. Seemed a good start.

“What are you doing?!” The man squealed, lunging but clearly unsure what to lunge at. Did he lunge at me to stop me or lunge at his machine to try and save it? He hesitated, and while he hesitated I kept going. I pried more bits loose, I whacked the crowbar into the bits that looked like they’d crumple best, I hooked the curved part over dangling bits and yanked.

I made a frightful mess. And in a very short time, too. Maybe I have hidden talents.

In a few seconds what had been a ticking, whirring, leaking device was now several bits of wheezing, leaking, non-ticking, non-whirring junk strewn across the floor and sat in puddles of clear whatever. Presumably that stuff was dreams? Condensed, liquified dreams? Didn’t look like much.

“How selfish of me,” I said. Zing.

The man was on his knees, scrabbling. Again, he obviously didn’t know what to scrabble for first and was just halfway scrabbling at everything in his hysteria.

Sort of ineffectual for a witch, you’d have thought. Maybe if he’d had his magic rod to hand he might have had better luck in beating me off. Aha. I imagine he just found the whole thing a bit overwhelming. Everything’s easier after the fact, isn’t it?

“Do you know how much that cost?!” He wailed at me, eyes glistening. I think he was about to cry.

And I wasn’t sure what this was meant to make me feel, this line about cost. Was I meant to feel worse because he’d spent more money on the thing than I might have suspected? If he’d been frugal, should I have felt less bad? Is a questionable decision that costs more easier to defend? Hmm.

If people wanted to spend money doing something they probably shouldn’t that’s perfectly allowable. Just not clear why it has any bearing on what I do or think. Value is, after all, largely subjective, is it not?

I don’t really know.

“Lots?” I asked.

“Yes! Lots! Fucking lots! Oh God, most of those components were bespoke, too!” He shouted, holding up a handful of bits that had fallen out of loosened casing. The bits glistened. They certainly looked fragile and fiddly.

“What a shame,” I said.

The man deflated, a sob wracking him. He looked down at the puddle he was kneeling in.

“And you wasted all these dreams! Wasted! You wasted them!” He said, angry now, pointing at me.

“Yeah, sure. This was all my fault.”

Mean, this exact thing was my fault, I’ll admit. The smashing bit and the making a mess was my fault. But the greater blame really can’t be ignored or moved here, come on. This is like when the bad guy says it’s not their fault they murdered people, but the fault of the good guys for trying to stop them. 

Not quite like that, but similar. Right? I know what I mean.

“Strictly speaking you wasted them. I just made your dream-wasting machine fall over. But that’s splitting hairs. In future if you’re going to make my housemate’s life miserable so you can enjoy yourself, don’t. Pleasant dreams, now.”

If I’d had sunglasses I’d have put them on then. I don’t care if it’s nighttime, that’s a great sunglasses line. Kind of felt bad to waste it, but chances to drop lines like that don’t come around often and the real waste would have been saying nothing.

My hands were tied.

He didn’t say anything after that, which was good because if he had it would have ruined the moment. So I left him sniffling in his puddle of dreams and went back outside to try and find Rose.

I couldn’t find her out back because she’d gone out the front and was there standing under a streetlight looking like she’d prefer to be anywhere else other than on a street waiting under a lamppost.

“Well that’s sorted,” I said, cheerfully, giving her a wave as I wandered over.

“What did you do?” Rose asked.

I considered saying something else pithy and cool but I was far too tired to come up with anything else off the cuff so just stood there gormless and silent for a second before just coming out with it.

“Smashed his thingy with a crowbar,” I said, waggling said crowbar just so Rose knew which crowbar the thingy had been smashed with. Rose did not look impressed.

“How very direct,” she said.

“It did work pretty well. Last I saw he was crying on the floor so I think we can write this one up as a roaring success.”

“Your definition of success…” Rose tailed off and sucked her lip a moment. “I don’t know how to finish that sentence.”

“That’s fair. You were very quiet in there,” I said.

“You seemed to be on a roll. And I couldn’t really think of anything to say. Felt weird being inside someone’s house when we weren’t meant to be, even if he was, you know, doing something like that. It was kind of nerve-wracking.”

Now that it was done I could feel the tension that I’d been ignoring starting to get the better of me. The trembling had nothing to do with the encroaching chill of night, let me tell you.

“You’re not wrong,” I said, looking at my hand.

Oh God, what had I done? What had any of that been? What had I been thinking? Had I done the right thing? Had I done the right thing the wrong way? Had I done the wrong thing? Was I going to get into trouble? Was he going to tell anyone? Had it even worked? Had I just wasted an evening? Why did I feel so sick all of a sudden?

Eurgh. Worries. I hate those. I stuck my hand in my pocket and bit my tongue.

Ow.

“Can we go?” Rose asked.

“Probably wise.”

So off we went. We didn’t talk as we went. There wasn’t much to say that we hadn’t said before we set off home and besides it was late. Wouldn’t do to be talking in the street and waking people up. Proper sleep hygiene had been the motivating force behind this whole endeavour, after all.

Hadn’t it?

I bid Rose a good and restful night once we got to hers and then carried on back to mine on my own, thinking about the evening, about what had happened. Was that what an adventure felt like? Was this what you were supposed to do after one had concluded? Just go home? Was there something else I should have been doing? Was I going about this all wrong?

Was there a book I could read?

By the time I’d got back home and got in and put the chain on the door I’d stopped worrying about it. Or, rather, I was still worrying about it but was confident that a proper night’s sleep without any nightmares would make me feel a lot better about it. That is to say, everything would make sense in the morning and there wasn’t anything to be gained fretting about it in the dark.

Everything is always the worst it can be in the dark. This is pretty widely-known.

Nisien was still on the sofa, but had clearly rolled around enough to dislodge the blanket I’d laid over him, because that was on the floor. Despite this, he actually looked quite peaceful. Certainly looked more peaceful than he had any night that I’d seen him recently. Sleeping happily, comfortably.

That made me feel much better about the evening. That was an accomplishment. I might have done adventure wrong, sure, and maybe I’d made lots of mistakes, but I’d still fixed what I’d set out to fix. If nothing else, Nisien was going to get a proper night’s sleep. And this was good.

Objectively good. In my book.

I put the blanket over him again, obviously, because that was the nice thing to do. He stirred as I did so.

“Nngh? Wassis? Sorry, sorry...” he mumbled blearily, blinking, squinting. I patted him on the head.

“Shh, go back to sleep,” I said.

“N’okay…” and he did.

Yes, definitely an objectively good thing. Solved a problem for a friend. People might question my methods but my results are impeccable.

And so to bed. Knackered me out that adventure. Popped the crowbar back under the bed, stripped off most of my clothes at least until I ran out of energy, crawled under the covers and did my best to quiet the churning, raging thoughts rattling around inside my head. All the loose ends could be sorted out tomorrow. Didn’t have anything else that needed doing, and it was unlikely there’d be another adventure so soon.

Well that was exciting.

END

[graygiantess]

Thank you for In Hell Together After All, it absolutely crushed me (in a good, painful way). ❤️ It made me wonder what is your history with IWTV/The Vampire Chronicles: how did you become a fan, what caught your attention and what made you want to "stay"?

And also, you probably write a lot of your headcanons into your stories, but do you have any specific headcanons of any of the characters/relationships in the series?

Hey Nonny!

Sorry for the late reply. Covid broke my brain and I can only focus on reading/writing for very short stretches of time.

(I love getting these asks, though, so please no one feel deterred by this, lol!)

I'm so glad you enjoyed In Hell Together After All! And thank you for your ask. 😊

Putting my answer under the break again so as not to clog up people's dash with my novel-length ramblings.

Luce and TVC

I first got into TVC when I was 14, which is almost 21 years ago. My 13yo foster sister and I were completely obsessed with Buffy the Vampire Slayer. 

I was aware that there was a vampire movie with Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt and wanted to see it. I have a much older half-sister and the three of us ended up having a movie night at her house. We watched Interview With the Vampire and The Blair Witch Project.

We were all very 👁👁 throughout the entire movie. Then I bought a boxset of the first four books, foster sister and inhaled the first three books, watched the QotD movie and got very pissed off by how terrible it was. 😂

We were like, "Guess we'll always have the books 🤷‍♀️". I ordered TVA, because QotD had left me completely Armand-obsessed, and started reading Tale of the Body Thief.

I don't remember quite what it was, but Lestat says something at the start of TotBT that my 14yo self just thought was so stupidly retconny that I went, "Yeah, fuck that". I think it was something about how he only ate bad guys and that that was somehow in service of Jesus? Whatever it was, I wasn’t having it, so I put it down and never picked it back up. 😂

Then in my late teens/early twenties I followed Anne Rice on Facebook for a while, but I got kinda creeped out when she started addressing everyone with 'dearest People of the Page'. I distinctly remember thinking, "Lady, I'm here for gay vampire reasons, not to be in a cult". 😅 So I unfollowed her and spent about a decade not thinking about TVC very much at all.

AND THEN in early summer of 2022 the YouTube algorithm informed me that AMC was making an IWTV show. I reread IWTV and in October thought, "Let’s give this a go."

I had my reservations because I still remembered my teenage rage at the QotD movie, and I wasn't sure how I felt about them changing the time period and casting 'some old guy' as Daniel (sorry Eric! 🙈).

BUT THEN Jacob came on all, "Dear Mr. Molloy, did you know you can orgasm just from hearing a man's voice? Wanna finish what we started half a century ago?" and my head just about exploded!

This is the second interview?! They’re revisiting it 49 years later?! OMGGG, that's the most genius storytelling move in the history of storytelling! 😱

I watched ep2 right after and then desperately needed to yell about the show with other sickos. So I joined Twitter and started reading fic again (which I'd only really done when I was 17 and obsessed with that wizard school franchise), started writing fic, joined fic-themed group chats/Discords and made a Tumblr so I could (lovingly) yell at other fic writers.

And now I've published over 150k words in fic and there's IWTV fan art all over my house. 😂

So it was really the show that made me come back to stay. It's just thee best TV show of all time to me.

And as much as this fandom can be a shit show, it's really helped me stay sane while grappling with my long covid, which has left me very incapacitated in many other areas of my life.

Luce's headcanons

Asking me for my headcanons has the same effect as asking me for my favorite movies or songs in that it immediately makes me forget any headcanons I ever had. 😂

You're right that I write a lot of them into my fics, which are mainly me exploring my headcanons and asking myself what if...? I have a couple others, though I'm not sure these are really headcanons or more actual theories, though, so I apologize if this wasn't what you were looking for.

- I've mentioned this one before, but Louis and Lestat had a grand old time during their honeymoon phase between Louis getting turned and Louis almost eating Grace's baby. I think people tend to make too big a deal out of Louis being an unreliable narrator but it's a little too convenient how quickly he skips over those 6-7 years. I think he doesn’t like to think about how much fun he had with Lestat just having all the sex, getting super rich and eating whoever the fuck he wanted.

- Daniel isn’t going to give a single fuck about the ethics of killing people in order to survive once he finally becomes a vampire. We already know he’s selfish and a hypocrite. I can just see him fully ready to view all humans as savory inferiors once he’s no longer one of them.

- If show!Daniel ever met Marius, he would punch him in the face. 🤭

- Santiago is going to be SO jealous of Louis's relationship with Armand. I don't care if Santiago and Armand end up having zero homoerotic tension between them on screen, they're fucking to me.

- I'm also a Claudeline truther. Show!Claudia doesn’t need a parental figure the way book!Claudia does but she very much yearns for romantic love, and she did say Charlie was the last boy she'd ever love, and went after the woman when Lestat asked her if she wanted the Mr. or the Mrs. in ep7.

Kudos to anyone who made it all the way to the end of this answer! Your prize is getting to choose if I share:

A) A silly anecdote about that movie night I had with my sisters.

B) A shocking fact that might get me cancelled as an Armandaniel fic writer. 👀

(Though tbh, if you pick B, I'll probably still give you A for free.)

[helldustedstories]

@hzbinsouled asked: 🎮 🍝 🍦 🐶 📕 📺 🗒 🎧 🤗 😗 //i would say i'm sorry for sending so many but i am not bc i wanna KNOW uwu

Munday asks // accepting!

OH BOY, HERE WE GO. Under a cut for length!

🎮 — favorite video game(s)?

Let's see! The B.ioshock series will always have a special place in my heart (I vastly prefer 1 and 2 over Infinite, actually, and I have lots of reasons for that), but recently G.od of W.ar has been where my heart has been living. Not just 2018 and R.agnarok, but the entire series. Because the series as a whole leads up to the later games, and gives it that much more emotional punch, and.....I could go on about G.oW at length (and have, on my blog that has all of my characters ^^).

🍝 — favorite food(s)?

This sort of thing depends on the day of the week, how the stars are aligned, and the weather, among other things (this will be a trend with some answers). But a good go-to is some form of pasta or potatoes.

🍦 — favorite ice cream flavor(s)?

This is another one that varies! But mint chocolate chip or cherry and chocolate are delicious. (Not necessarily together, but!) I just....kind of really like ice cream, so I will eat most flavours. (When they're things that are supposed to be ice cream. I doubt I would enjoy, like, the ranch ice cream or ketchup, for example.)

🐶 — any pets?

I do have a pet! I have a doggo. His name is Dug, he has just met you, and he loves you. (I also claim Missa's cat Monkey as mine, but he does not currently live with me.)

📕 — favorite book/series?

This is another "that depends!" Because this answer has changed vastly over the years. A book that will usually rank towards the top is G.ood O.mens, and honestly anything by T.erry Pr.achett.

📺 — favorite movie(s) and/or tv show(s)?

Haha, well, currently, there's the obvious current hyperfixation. But other than that, T.he O.wl H.ouse, B.attlestar G.alactica, and G.argoyles are all top faves.

🗒 — what is/are your favorite genre(s)/theme(s) to write?

This is such a hard question. I love writing all sorts of different things! I think probably things that let me really delve deep into a character, to explore why they are the way they are, and to help them grow beyond that, if that makes sense. But I'm up for writing most things, really!

🎧 — do you write while listening to music/podcasts/videos/etc, or do you need total silence?

Oh, DEFINITELY with music. Music is one of those things that can absolutely make or break what I'm writing, for myself. I become almost unstoppable if I have a playlist for specific characters, because it can actually help me get into the right mindset for the specific character.

🤗 — are there any rpc mutuals that you’d like to meet irl?

Honestly, I'd love to meet any of my darling moots! I've had the pleasure of meeting a couple (Missa being the most obvious) from previous rpcs, and my track record is pretty good! (We don't talk about my former roommate because he was an outlier.)

😗 — what are some of your favorite things to do when you have some time to yourself?

I definitely love reading, which I don't do as much as I want to. But audio books have really helped with that, over the past few years. I also play/prep for D&D, work on various cosplays, and practice my various instruments (which I should also do more of, oops).

[karizard-ao3]

Not exactly a directors cut question. But how and I tu did you first decide to write fanfiction? Did you write it before or you started with your current account?

Sorry, I'm going to do talk to text because I'm in the process of packing my lunch for work and I want to answer this ASAP but I also have things to do. Please excuse any errors, as always. Okay so I have always written things in some form or another since I could first pick up a pencil I had these really Grand ideas when I was a kid about a book series about some different planets with different dystopian things going on on them. There was a world for clones and there was another world with a tube system similar to that of anamnesis that I never actually wrote but that I was really into the idea of because the way I had the tube system figured out the people would be in stasis while they're in the tubes and so if there was some kind of issue that cut off the tube from the rest of the network but didn't damage the tube the tube would continue going on in perpetuity with the people inside still alive but not quite because they are in stasis. I had this idea that there would be a very famous rock band that ended up in that situation and so as people are going about their lives and like listening to their music they're just constantly circling around this loop in the underground tube system. But, I digress! This account is my first fanfic writing account. I didn't write any fanfic until after the attack on Titan manga ended and I just needed some way to cope with all of the feelings I was having about the ending. I think another factor that helped with getting into writing was that it was at the.. not quite the beginning of the pandemic but early enough into it that I just had so much free time on my hands so I was like, you know what? I have not written in way too long and I want to write something that's going to make me feel better about Eren and Mikasa and their tragic separation and I decided to write a cabin fic as we all do and then I got the idea for clueless teens and then I got the idea for anamnesis and I had on my little one shot ideas in between, like mixed in there, and here we are and now. I have never actually finished a book sized work before so it's kind of crazy to me that I have essentially in fanfiction written the equivalent of two full length books and a collection of short stories and a novella (or two?). It makes me feel like a real writer LOL.

Sorry, that was a very long answer to a very simple question. All of the fanfics on my AO3 accounts are the entire body of my fanfic work. I did not write any fanfics before Aot.

[belovedcorvidarchive2024]

[Don’t Hide] Ask my muse why they try to cover their scar (from smokey)

❣ | Memes :: This One | Scars ( always doing these )

----

(( I got v indecisive abt how I wanted to do this and it became a book v sorry. OTL Cut for length. ))

| Scars: Two Conversations |

The first time the other asks, he's not strong enough to answer.

He hadn't spoken to anyone since he'd gotten back, hadn't had the nerve to look his former guardian or anyone else in the eye. Mistakes were not new to him - he made plenty, frequently, but one that compromised an entire operation felt like something he couldn't really be forgiven for; the guilt made him sick, made some small part of him wonder if maybe what happened to him might be a little bit deserved. That was why he turned people away that wanted to visit him while in the infirmary, and now still did his best to avoid being spotted by anyone familiar now that he was up and walking. He kept his head down, ducking even Sengoku's visits when he could, but it was only a matter of time before he ran into someone else that knew him. And, by extension, probably just how badly he'd messed up. The voice was familiar - smoke-raspy and mid-complaint. Of course.

He'd not checked in with Smoker since his return either, a sudden break in an otherwise surprisingly well-established habit, but he didn't have the guts to let the other see just how big of a problem he had caused either, what damage a case of mistaken identity could do if the person you were mistaken for was Doflamingo. Even as he kept his head down, kept his back turned, he still recognised the other man's heavy footfalls, recognised his voice. He'd hoped, of course, that the other would not see him but that never worked out in his favour, with his stature. Smoker wasn't an easy read if you didn't know what to listen for, so the little things that hinted at concern that he could recognise made him flinch, made any sort of reply or excuse he could have made die in his throat. It was pathetic, cowardly to not even be able to look at his friend, but despite this thought he couldn't bring himself to even turn around - even as footsteps and questioning voice approached him.

" You don't want to explain what happened? Fine, but could ya at least look at me, maybe say you're all right ? What're you hiding from ? "

" I can't."

It came out more like a plea than he wanted, so soft through clenched teeth that it was almost inaudible as he finally let himself be turned around by the hand that reached out to touch his arm. The scars were still new, angry looking and only partially formed - still held together in places by dark sutures at either corner of his mouth, a grim facsimile of a grin made an inch or so broader on each side. He breathed in a stuttering hiss of a breath and bared his teeth just a little; it hurt, but it was enough to reveal the wires connecting his teeth helping to hold his fractured jaw together. Despite his best efforts to control his expression, keep it as neutral as possible, he could feel the burning, prickling sensation of tears collecting at the corners of his eyes and he'd be damned if he was going to let them be perceived as anything other than a reaction to pain. That was it, that was all. The bridge of his nose crinkled with it as he tried and failed to avoid looking deeply and irreparably wounded.

" It hurts."

---

The next time he asks it's many, many other hurts later, when they're both more tired, hollow in places.

They're in a recovering place, in the in-between of assignments - active assignments more-so on the other's part. They didn't send him out much these days, he blamed the leg and the laundry list of other damage, still not fully undone, left by his last failure of an assignment. It's a moment of quiet, rare and appreciated even if brief. Smoker always brought that steadying sort of companionable quiet with him, somehow: Rocinante still wasn't sure how, because he was fairly certain that the other had never been relaxed once in his life. The feeling of contentedness must be at least somewhat mutual, because they spent more spare time together than not these days and he genuinely doubted the other would bother otherwise. Steadying or not, he still sat with his back to the other man, working at covering up one of the marks on his face: more achievable, he thought, than anything he could do for some of the others on his hands and arms. But a lot of those don't bother him in quite the same way.

" Why hide it? "

It wasn't even the same mark as before. He could feel the other's eyes at his back, could pre-emptively tell that he wanted to say something even, but it didn't make the question any easier. This time it was the blue-black tattoo under his eye he'd been intently focused on painting over, covering it up like a lingering bruise and hiding it before a meeting with someone less familiar, but the question still made him cover his mouth with a hand as if struck; an old tell, a nervous one, difficult to break.

Why was a hard question. Not because he didn't have an answer for it - he did. It was just terribly sad and gross the way visceral memories tended to be, and if there was someone or something out there that could have made it so he would have begged for a way to explain it wholly without having to be in it. To open it all up and re-close cleanly, without the spectre of his brother there to hold it all over his head and make him feel small, even after all this time; to explain the wave of dread he feels when someone says he looks familiar, or that he a grown man still can't always get through a medical appointment without tears... but not actually tie any of those things to himself, for fear they might drown him, like a weight around his neck. It's not even that he doesn't want the other guy to know - he does actually, this guy in particular, and that might be just as scary at some level.

" I uh... "

he stops himself at the sound of his own voice because he hates the tremor he hears in it - hates it that this soft spot can be pulled up and out of his guts without his permission, and does his best to force it back to something more neutral.

" Sorry; I uh... I just don't want him to have that kind of control over me any more. "