#but makes perfect sense to me

[polarsirens]

Blimey.

[forsaire]

Hi Saire!

I was wondering if you had any advice for writing and setting up chapter's?

We really love the way you wrote don't let me go

The chapters and research were nice to read, do you have any examples of how to lay out a chapter? Or how to form structure for one?

Do you have advice about pot holes or time lines?

My goodness! This is a nice message and I'm super glad you enjoyed my story! 🖤

I'll definitely try to explain some thought processes and how I personally organize my writing. I realize my way might be a bit weird but I am a colour visual person. This is more of a practical explanation of the process, less so a creative/ideation one. Idk the ideas randomly come whenever they feel like it.

So this doesn't become a long, annoying post on people's dash ->

After essentially daydreaming what the hell I want to happen in a chapter/scene, I write out what happens, line by line, action by action, roughly formatted dialogue by dialogue. It's getting the actions and vibes without writing it nicely, but the more detail, the better. See example below:

(for a story i haven't even begun writing yet)

Sometimes I have pages upon pages of notes for what should happen, other times I don't. But when I don't (for whatever reason) it's definitely more of a struggle to write. I can recommend outlining, but even I struggle with coming up with ideas to flesh out them sometimes. But it is probably the #1 thing that actually helps me and makes writing easier.

If you have an idea, pounce on it and start making these notes. There have been times where I start thinking about something, say a conversation that I like, but then a few days pass and I didn't write it down so I forget all the great details I originally thought of and I struggle to recall that amazing idea.

(why do i always hallucinate the best conversations like 2 minutes from falling asleep, and then i forget in the morning!! 😭)

And when you're really motivated, sometimes these notes come out as fully written, thought-out sentences! WOO! Such as...

Then I start writing. And that just has to happen. If I truly need to come back to something usually during the edit, it's pink.

If I have no idea how to transition from previous chapter (because it's not written yet) it's blue like this. So if you don't write your chapters in order, I sometimes leave the beginning and ending not written because I haven't 100% determined how I will transition (e.g. where is their location, how much time has passed, what they've been doing between chapters).

If I plan on adding a supplementary images, it's in darker blue (which are mostly created by me and just saved in folder on my computer, so I know what this means).

If I need to describe something visually, I'll grab an image off Google with the vibes I'm looking for. I find that I can't accurately describe what something looks like without a visual aid. It would be a random image like this, or multiple ones where I take different elements from each:

I organize my chapters using a table of contents (granted this tips are for Word, not docs). So I format the rough chapter titles with heading styles so I can automatically insert a table of contents which can look like this:

Ghost is coloured-coordinated blue, Soap is yellow. First draft is dark green, posted is light green, edited is usually some other colour if I want to add that one. Love this because I can easily click on the page number and immediately jump to the chapter in question (and absolutely necessary when I write over 100k fics). It also has all the chapters at the very beginning of the document. All I have to do is update the table and the titles, page numbers, and level of completion will all update as well.

I can't have a chapter where nothing happens. If something happens, nothing still could have happened, ya know? I think to myself, in what way is the major scene/conversation that happens in this chapter progressing the story, relationships, or aspirations/hopes of the characters. I want to make each chapter in service of something. That's definitely for longer stories rather than shorter ones.

As for plot holes... honestly, for me, I simply don't post until the story is done (or like 95% done). That way I still have time to add things such as conversations, characters, foreshadowing, etc. earlier on. If I want to change something that happens and the chapter is already posted, then I guess I'm shit outta luck, especially because something major to retcon would be confusing for readers.

I would say try to think about any plot holes in advance, but we're writing fanfiction out here. If someone is really upset by my fake words not being 100% plot perfect, then that's on them. I write for myself and for other people to enjoy. Nothing is perfect. I guess don't have real advice, but I toss and turn with ideas for a long time to smooth these things out. You could also just ask someone or brainstorm with them if you have someone to bounce ideas off of like that. I pretty much write everything solitarily.

For time lines, it's funny because I'm writing a fic rn that is pretty time sensitive so, again, to visually keep track of what was happening I created this shitty little calendar.

It's just in the document with the rest of the story and there are three more calendar months as well. It let's me see the timelines between chapters so I make sure to write that the appropriate amount of time has passed. e.g. It had been one week since they met... yada yada.

I find that I need to physically write about the passage of time or else people might confuse subsequent chapters as only happening 1 day apart. When I want to establish that that time has passed, I have to be explicit about it (and/or have it written at the beginning of the chapter what the date is).

That's pretty much a lot of the things I do to get my ideas physically organized. Once you have a good idea of what you want to happen in the chapter, you can go about writing it (or struggle like me when there's only a vague whisper of an idea).

Everyone will have their strengths - I love writing action, dialogue, and internal thoughts. But if I have to describe what an object looks like or what their location looks like... disgusting!

I know this was long, but I guess I hope it was sort of helpful. I truly just love to daydream, and like a lightning bolt, I get hit with a perfect idea. I don't have professional or like, research-backed advice, to me it just has to happen in my own way. ❤❤

[stuckinapril]

lived my whole life in guilt bc i thought i was responsible for people's feelings. newly realizing that other people are responsible for their feelings and reactions, even if they make it seem like i'm the problem. a lot of the time it really has to do w them and their own emotional regulation. i can't keep thinking i'm not allowed to have space bc of other people's insecurities. like i literally refuse to dim myself. other people are responsible for their feelings just as i'm responsible for mine.

[strangertheories]

I really despise the Marvelification of Stranger Things, because all the interviews nowadays are constantly referencing how fast paced and epic and big the finale will be but the reason people fell in love with the show wasn't special effects or long episodes; it was the plot, it was the characters, it was the mystery. Stranger Things 1 may have been a story about a government conspiracy and a monster, but that's not why we stuck around. The show can throw amazing CGI, Russians, a battle within the American army and an apocalypse at the audience with the biggest budget known to man but if they forget to ground it and keep it central, it'll just get lost amongst a plethora of other "epic" blockbusters. We want Steven King, not Avengers.

[beaulesbian]

One Piece Live action season 1 + hints or similarities to future One Piece moments (specifically after East Blue saga) - part 1: episodes 1-3

This wasn't meant to be a comparison between the live action and the animanga, but more so seeing these added/modified scenes that differ from the manga, yet with some of the acting/writing includes clues and hints to different and future canon material, or even characterization that necessary doesn't fit East Blue yet, but fits well enough into later arcs.

Luffy not knowing his world directions both in Opla (ep 1) /// Skypiea arc, in anime ep 168. But it could be for honestly any other arc (Funny thing is, in Opla he rang the bell that unfortunately alerted Alvida's crew, and only when I was rewatching that scene it made me connect it with the great Luffy moment at the end of Skypiea.)

The matches that Zoro has on the Island of Sixis in Opla ep 1, possibly manufactured on Baldimore (?), with a name Beast of Baldimore. /// After Sabaody Archipelago Franky was sent to Baldimore by Kuma, finding Vegapunk's homeland and laboratory, and also developing more of his science projects, as well as causing funny incidents, such as the Burning Beast. (It has probably nothing to do with the matches, except for the 'tiger on fire' motif and the name of Baldimore, but the details of Opla are just so fun!)

Zoro's first meeting with Luffy in Opla episode 1 is really different but fun nonetheless, especially with wording of the line that he doesn't want to 'play pirates' with Luffy. It's such a great setup line for his development to truly be one of the very first to understand how much Luffy means everything he's doing /// Zoro in ep. 323 Post Enies Lobby arc, making sure both his crew and the audience know how seriously he takes being part of Luffy's crew and what it means for future arcs.

Opla ep 2, Luffy mentioning Shanks' way of thinking about fighting (or not fighting someone who's not worth it) /// ep. 146 Jaya arc, Luffy saying to Zoro not to fight Bellamy's crew, which was direct influence from Shanks not fighting the Mountain bandits in the first chapters of the manga. It's interesting that for both of these scenes both Zoro and Nami are there to hear this.

This is just a fun bit, but seeing Nami excited about having a bath was cute. Opla ep 3 /// anime ep. 326, just after they get Sunny and everyone was finding out what space there is for them.

Garp and Koby playing the game of Go, Opla ep 3 /// CP0 agents playing Go while discussing the outcome of Strawhats & Oden's crew's raid on Onigashima against Kaido. It seems like a game that maybe Marines play more/enjoy (?) & above, up to CP ranks.

Usopp 'retelling' a story about eating a dragon, Opla ep 3 /// Punk Hazard ep 580, Zoro killing the dragon and planning with Luffy what's the best way to cook and eat it. Lol. In next chapters Luffy was carrying a big chunk of it, seemingly ate a bit part of the dragon already.

This one is self explanatory. Zoro is so gone for Luffy in Opla it's insane. Every time I remember that I get emo. ep 3. /// One of the first really fond smiles that Zoro keeps smiling at Luffy, a mixture of proud and understanding how Luffy works. ep 63, but it's just so much better in the manga, just look at it. Smitten™ (ch. 104)

[incarnadinedreams]

I posit that this is, in fact, the central thesis of the novel. Everything that comes after is just explaining why Jiang Cheng is Like That

[myuminji]

two people come to a realisation that day: one with joy, the other with sorrow. both are doomed by their realisation.

thinking about the idea that wolfwood just gets so devastated how vash, someone he cares about so much, could treat himself like that, and gets overwhelmed by the realisation that he can't do anything to stop him. how he loves this person but he can't do anything about it. how he loves this person and he can't do anything about it either.

and then there's vash who completely on the opposite end—found someone who cares enough for him when he doesn't anymore, and he can't do anything to stop it. it's too late, he knows it, the person will now shed tears in his stead.

(he realises it's too late to stop him, or himself. the gears on the clock turns again. and again. and again. it never strikes.)

[dhmis-autism]

listened to The Bradys and thought about duck again you all know what that means

[maomango-doodle]

Reclaiming identity, rewriting duty

a comic for Chrome's birthday

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Fifteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: ANGST... that's about the only major warning I can think of

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Jurian and Vassa took the attic and became scarce, but when night and day slid into one another you still heard her painful screams, muffled as they were by the magic that encased their room. It was a feeling more than anything else. A tension that gripped the House until it seemed to be sobbing. At sunrise and sunset without fail, Vassa’s body broke and rearranged itself, flesh turning to feathers and feathers to flesh. Before it had been a painless process where her body came and went in its various forms, but no longer. Now she felt everything alongside an itch deep within her bones that couldn’t be satiated by food or drink or anything else. 

Go to the lake! Her body screamed. Go to Koschei! And then punished her when she didn’t comply. Like a beast had sunk its claws into her flesh, its waiting mouth only inches away from snapping. To stay away was a slow, agonizing march to death. To move close would be swift, but final, and somehow Vassa knew that if she gave into Koschei’s call, she would be lost forever.

You lingered at the base of the attic's staircase, your bare feet sinking into the soft rug until the sounds of cracking bones finally ceased. Three pairs of feet shuffled above your head and you heard Jurian’s faint whispers like a gentle push of air. When the door opened and Lucien emerged, you saw Vassa crumpled on the floor, now a bone-thin woman with dull, coppery hair and skin ravaged by scratches and pockmarks. 

“Shhhh. It’s ok.” Jurian whispered, encasing her in his arms. 

“I can’t,” her voice trembled. “It hurts. I-I-I’m burning.” 

“Y/n?” Lucien frowned. The door slammed shut with a bang and you jumped backwards. You clutched a velvet pouch close to your chest and then slowly held it out to Lucien. 

“It’s for Vassa,” you explained, trying to keep your eyes on his mismatched ones — one russet as river stones, one gold like the sun. He opened the bag and stared in confusion at the fine, white powder within, giving it a tentative sniff. “Morphine. Humans use it for pain.” 

“I know of it.” Lucien’s frown deepened. “They get addicted. Take too much and they die.” 

“She’s already addicted. That’s what’s happening isn’t it? Koschei’s drawing his power away to get her to return to the lake and every day that passes she’s dying.” Lucien tightened his fists around the bag, still skeptical. Vassa had endured enough. He didn’t want to have her endure this either. “The bag is enchanted and will never allow her to draw too much. Just enough to calm her hunger. If we’re lucky it might help her sleep too.” 

Lucien stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists from around the gold drawstring, waiting for Vassa’s cries to cease. But they never did. And there you were standing in front of him, unwavering and expectant. There was a glimmer of stubbornness in your gaze. A sign of the hours you’d spent researching Vassa’s condition and acquiring the strange human drug, and your disapproval if Lucien didn’t accept it. 

“Thank you, Y/n,” he whispered, “But please go. Vassa hates for anyone to see her like this. Even Jurian and I.” 

You swallowed thickly and nodded, disappearing down the stairs as quickly as you could. The next morning when the sun rose over the mountains and Vassa changed, you heard only the House’s usual breathings. 

The House buckled under the weight of the Inner Circle’s secrets and the sheer volume of history that had occurred within its walls and between its occupants. It utilized its magic in clever ways — your door opened with a creak that wasn’t there before so that Azriel would always hear your comings and goings. Lucien would suddenly find his door locked and the curtains drawn on the days when Helion made surprise visits to see Y/n. Nyx would find himself ushered around by a broomstick that swatted his ankles when the adults were discussing private matters. It was all a great deal of work. 

So it was a relief when Rhys and Feyre quietly moved their children to the House of Wind with Nesta and Cassian, and when Mor and Emerie took the final steps in emptying their rooms and went to hide out in their city apartment. It was even more of a relief when Helion returned to the Day Court, but not before throwing a heavy threat in Azriel’s face that if he should ever hurt his daughter again in any way, shape, or form, he’d strip the wings off his back. 

Meals at the House were tense, quiet affairs, something not even Feyre, Elain, and Nesta’s sisterly conversations or Cassian’s light-hearted humor could ease. Elain stayed close to Lucien’s side, one hand always on his arm or resting against his back or brushing against his, but that didn’t erase what the Blood Duel had done to his trust in Elain. He was kind, but guarded, especially when Azriel was in the room. But it was more than she could ask for because it was more than she’d ever given him in the beginning. 

You and Azriel were worse off.

You were speaking once more, but your words were always laced with a bit of apprehension and Azriel’s were always filled with sorrowful hope. Conversations were dull, short, and didn’t even begin to brush the surface of all the things you should have been talking about. You were terrified not of the Shadowsinger, but of his opinion of you. Did he want you so he could fix you? So that he could feel needed? So that you could be another one in a list of females he burned through? 

It never truly seemed like that was the case, but you also didn’t trust yourself when it came to your emotions. You had told him once that you couldn’t imagine having a love like Feyre and Rhysand’s, or Nesta and Cassian’s, and you still meant it. You were a matchstick and he was flint, and you didn’t know what would happen to you after he had lit you aflame. For all you knew, you were already burning and this wonderful thing you’d had with Azriel would live and die with nothing more than the memory of an embrace in Rhysand’s office to show for it. 

But oh how you ached to touch him again. To hold him like you had before and to have him return the gesture just as strongly. 

You stiffened when Azriel’s hand brushed your arm, warmth bursting out from the point of contact. 

“I’m sorry.” Azriel whispered, and he was talking about more than the wine he spilled when he reached over the table.

You spared him a glance, the first real look you’d given him in two weeks. The flagon slipped from his hands, and if it weren’t for his shadows catching it an inch above the floor, the room would have been doused in burgundy red. 

“Does Lucien know?” 

Rhysand looked up from his papers. Missives from the Darkbringer army and Illyrian troops up north clogged his desk, all begrudgingly accepting his orders to prepare for what could amount to another lengthy war. Letters thrown back and forth between the seven courts added to the chaos, all of them war-weary and desperate for a path that wouldn’t lead to bloodshed. 

You took up the center of his room and stood so quietly he hadn’t even noticed you until you spoke. It had been eating away at you for days since Lucien’s arrival. Every time you two saw one another or spoke, you tried to scrounge for clues that would reveal whether he knew he was Helion’s son and whether he might suspect you were Helion’s daughter as well. The other members of the Inner Circle had been tight-lipped about that secret, a skill you now knew they all possessed with alarming dexterity. 

“Does Lucien know he’s Helion’s son?”

Rhysand slumped back in his chair, rubbing his temples with one careful hand. Finally he said, “Yes.” 

The answer knocked the breath from your lungs. You’d been expecting the opposite. “Does he… does he know about me?” 

Rhys sighed and shook his head. You didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. 

“How long has he known?” 

“Six years. Feyre was the one to tell him. She was actually the first of us to recognize the similarity, believe it or not. But then, no one ever dared to give weight to the rumors surrounding Helion and Aurelia Vanserra while Beron was alive.”

You rocked back and forth on your feet, breath shaking as it entered your body. “Six years. Six years and you never thought to tell Helion that he has a son? I thought you two were friends?”

Rhysand tensed. “I’m Lucien’s friend as well and he begged us to never speak of it - to live as though we’d never learned that secret. And I keep my secrets. We all do.” 

“You and your family have made that very clear in the time that I’ve been here.” 

“If you mean Azriel—”

“Don’t play dumb, Rhys, you know I’m talking about him.” Tears pricked at your eyes, adding to the humiliation that had coated you like a film ever since you’d seen his memories about Mor, Elain, and Gwyn. “I don’t—” You swallowed thickly, “I can imagine how you must have all been whispering behind my back about Azriel and I. How you must have found it so pathetic the way he charmed me when I was really his fourth choice.”

“That’s not true.” Was what Rhysand was going to say. But he didn’t need to. Azriel said it for him. 

Your face lost all color, any bravado melting away at the feeling of Azriel’s shadows wrapping around your ankles like ribbons of silk. You could feel him in the room and that quiet darkness he carried around with him as inherently as if it were stitched onto his body. 

Azriel was shaking. Shaking. With anger, turmoil, or grief — you couldn’t name it. All you knew is that one moment you were standing in Rhysand’s office, all velvet upholstery and suave, expensive taste, and the next you were in Azriel’s room. 

Everything smelled like mountain air. Maybe it was the gothic windows that stretched into the vaulted ceilings, stained glass opening out onto a personal balcony with deep blue curtains fluttering in the breeze. But you were sure that even with the windows barred it would smell the same. It would smell like Azriel. If you threw open his wardrobe you’d come face to face with a wall of black. Lots and lots of black. Black suits he hardly ever wore. Black fighting leathers. Black leather jackets for everyday. Black trousers. Black boots on the floor. Very practical. Very Azriel. 

If you dug through his dresser drawers you’d find black boxers and socks to match and no shortage of knives and daggers hidden behind wooden planks or in leather sleeves nailed to the bottom of his desk. But at first glance you only saw three weapons in plain view — Truth Teller, blade down and stuck in the wood grain of his desk beside a pile of reports, and two obsidian blades hanging from the wall beside his midnight blue bed in the shape of an “x.” 

The smell — Azriel’s smell — calmed you, at least up to the point where you turned to find him standing less than six inches away, hazel eyes boring into yours. Then your pulse skyrocketed. You were certain that if he only looked down to your heart he’d see it pounding against your chest like a drum skin ready to burst. 

“That’s not true,” he repeated earnestly. “And don’t you dare believe it. Not even for a second.” 

His eyes jumped back and forth between yours and before he could stop himself, his hands were grasping yours in a gentle hold. The leather gloves were soft and supple beneath your fingertips. You wanted to rip them off so you could feel his scarred hands again. 

“You weren’t meant to hear that,” you whispered, suddenly feeling small. That angry humiliation went up in a puff of smoke and left you shy and uncertain. 

Azriel gripped your hands a little tighter and you watched as tendrils of shadow worked their way up your arms and got lost in your hair. “But I did,” he said breathlessly, “And I need you to know that it’s not true.” 

“Azriel—”

“I know—” he was shaking his head, “I know what Helion said and I won’t lie and tell you that I’m perfect or that I’ve made any smart decisions about love in the past — I’ve not make a single one — but… but Y/n you’re not a fourth choice. You’re not something broken that I’m trying to fix or some fantasy I’ve fallen for.”

His hands shook and despite the gloves his hands still felt sticky and wet. Slick with your blood. The burning scent of iron in his nose.

“You’re the most real thing in the world to me. You’re—” You’re my mate. The words crawled up his throat like acid and it just felt wrong. He would say those words to you. He would. But not now. Not like this. He came up with something else. “Y/n, please tell me you believe me. Please.”

And there you were. Falling all over again. Burning like a matchstick on fire. The flames slowly eating away at you bit by bit. You wondered what would happen when you finally hit the ground, or when you ran out of length. Would he still hold you like this? Would you still feel real to him? 

“How am I meant to know, Azriel?” 

You’d always been good at books. You knew the ways in which these stories worked where the themes and plot points had been preordained and written with the purpose of being tied up in a neat package by the final page. People were very different. They were unpredictable and chaotic and they could lie through the skin of their teeth and believe they were telling the truth. And that was the problem wasn’t it? Because you still believed every word that came out of Azriel’s mouth, and his hands still felt like they were keeping you tethered to this earth when sometimes your powers and the memories that came with them made you feel like a whisper on the wind. Weightless and at the mercy of something you couldn’t control. 

“You can trust me. You can know for yourself.” 

He pressed your hand against his cheek and you wanted to cry at the faint pricks of stubble beneath your skin and the sharp curve of his jaw. 

He wanted you to use your power on him. He wanted you to learn all the ways he wanted you. All the ways he loved you.  

But you couldn’t do it. 

Azriel panicked when you remained silent, staring at him and at his hands like you were frightened. All at once he was back on the streets of Velaris, cobblestones shaving away at the skin of his palms as he dragged his way up to you inch by bloody inch, fighting against a body that was too broken to move. 

He couldn’t remember what it felt like when he’d stabbed you through the chest and dropped you on the street. Everything between the moment he saw Andrian’s clear-cut eyes to the moment he saw Rhysand’s horrified gaze was fuzzy and dark. But that made it worse because now in his nightmares he could imagine all the ways he’d hurt you, each version teeming with the same level of horror and possibility as the previous one. 

He let you go and hated himself when you stepped back, your hand slipping away. 

“I won’t… I won’t hurt you again, Y/n. I swear on my life. I’ll-I’ll make a bargain, I don’t care. I would sooner die than let something like that happen again.” 

I don’t know what I’d do with that kind of love. If I’d be able to handle it. It might be too much for me.

“Y/n, please.”

 I am not broken. But I am afraid. 

You fled from his bedroom. 

The air had a bite to it now with winter descending. The snow line on the mountains dipped lower and lower each day, creeping like ivy down a brick wall. 

Elain never wore gloves. Not when she was gardening. It was something she and Ione had in common. She liked the feeling of her strong hands, the callouses on her palms and fingers that she’d earned all on her own. She grunted, slamming her shovel into the soil and feeling the microscopic chips of ice give way when she kicked down on the blade. It was too late in the season to be planting tulip bulbs. If she’d been in Velaris she would have done this four weeks ago. But it was alright with her. She knew the value of hard work, and she had enough hope for the future to believe that even though she was late, she’d have something beautiful to call hers come springtime. 

“It’s time for that conversation I was telling you about,” she said cryptically, as was her way. 

Lucien dropped the final basket beside where Elain now knelt in the dirt, her pale pink dress dirtied and littered with her own handprints. The brown bulbs rolled around like oversized chestnuts, the kind that he’d be roasting over a fire right now if he were still in Autumn Court. Instead he was here, lingering in a Court that had never felt like home. Then again… he’d never felt at home in Autumn, Spring, or the Human Lands either. 

He straightened up and wiped his hands clean on his trousers, golden and russet eyes trailing over the River House’s grounds for this mysterious person he was meant to speak to.

There. 

The faint swishing of black robes behind a dark green topiary tree. He should have known Elain had been talking about you. 

You cracked your knuckles and rehearsed the words you’d scribbled out earlier that day and then set to fire in a maddening loop. You’d been restless with the truth of Lucien’s parentage and you couldn’t believe that the others had held their tongues so readily. As it was, without Azriel’s company to help quiet your mind, you’d dug into this new piece of information like a starving animal and couldn’t let go.

Was this a good time to tell him? Would there ever be a good time to tell him? You had no idea. 

Somewhere in the attic, you knew Vassa was itching to take to the skies like the burning comet she was. Every night she shivered in Jurian’s arms, the morphine barely able to take the edge off the humming in her bones, and every morning she let him lock her away in her cage. It was getting worse and worse trying to keep her from succumbing to Koschei’s influence. Even now you thought you could hear her keen cries whistling from the attic like ten thousand arrows launched into the air. 

Somewhere else, in a secret, hidden place you knew nothing about, Andrian had finally been imprisoned. Andrian with his bent neck and silver, candy-floss hair and bloody little hands. 

You shivered and jumped back five feet when Lucien called your name, kind eyes narrowed in concern. His shirt was loose and open and the sweat on his body rose like mist off his skin. He was his mother’s son first, Helion’s child second, and fire still ran through his veins. The chill did not touch him. 

He tipped his head to the side, red hair spilling out from the messy way he’d tied it up and away from his face. A brutal scar ran through his eye like a fissure, starting at the center of his brow before clawing its way down his jaw like a lightning strike frozen in time. But for all the cruelty he’d been dealt with in life, his eyes were gentle, even the mechanical one that whirred and flashed in the sun. 

They were even kinder when he looked at you. You with your inquisitive gaze and curious nature, like a stray cat that couldn’t help but linger too long at doorways. One foot inside, one foot ready to run and hide. He’d caught you watching him at dinners, and he’d catch himself staring when you walked around the house with a book in your hand, so utterly absorbed that you would bump against doorways and bang your hips against sharp corners. 

“Elain told me about you. Did you know that?” 

You blinked in surprise. “What did she say?”

“Elain… Elain doesn’t always speak clearly. Much of what comes out of her mouth can feel eerie or discomforting. But, she told me before we left for the Night Court that I would be happy I came. That I would never regret the things I learned on my trip.” He tilted his head even further, looking more and more like a fox with each turn of his face. “And she mentioned a bird. A bird with ink-tipped wings and eyes like a crow.” 

You flexed your fingers, well aware that the tips were smudged with ink, the nails bitten down to the quick. 

“Someone clever and cautious who’d been hidden away their whole life and needed to see the sun.” 

You felt stripped bare. That strange vulnerability that comes with being summed up in so few words had you feeling airy. Like one sentence could be enough to carry the weight of the three centuries you’d lived and never buckle. 

“I know you’re Helion’s son. I recognized it the moment I saw you.” 

Lucien stepped back, scarlet brows shooting up into his hair with alarm.

You hesitated, then continued on cautiously. “I recognized it because I would know my father’s face anywhere.” 

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Author's Note:

I KNOW IT'S A CLIFFHANGER ENDING BUT I NEEDED TO BREAK EVERYTHING INTO CHAPTERS SOMEWHERE AND I'M GOING TO TRY AND GET CHAPTER 16 UP BY WEDNESDAY SO I DON'T LEAVE Y'ALL HANGING FOR TOO LONG. HAVE MERCY!!!

The good news is that Chapter 16 is already mostly written, I just need to edit it all to make sure things flow smoothly. Also, LUCIEN KNOWS NOW AHHHHHHHHHHHH

Sorry for the Azriel angst... but it's delicious, no?

[inluvwcaitvi]

vi is affectionate, while cait is intimate.

[divineandmajesticinone]

4 MINUTES (2024) I 1.03

Great & Tyme

[pierremcguire]

the 2024 f1 grid as sanrio characters

[thequeenofsastiel]

Armand instinctively lowering his eyes in submission.

ETA: These are examples of Armand being submissive to Louis in their beautifully healthy D/s relationship. Gtfo with any kink negative tags

[oceanwithouthermoon]

yk when i think about it, especially when im watching the anime with people who havent read the manga, the reason a lot of people who only watch the anime and didnt read the manga misinterpreted saikis character so badly is definitely in part because of how damn fast paced the anime is 😭

like that little smile and eye shine frame is there for not even half a second in the anime, so its easier to miss it and assume that he really did only finish those workbooks to get coffee jelly ☠️ its much more clear if you get a good look at how he reacts here that hes just a silly little tsundere and a fucking liar

[thevelaryons]

The thing about pitting Rhaenys (show) and Catelyn (show & book) against each other, in their reactions to their husband’s bastards, is that it completely ignores the context of their situations.

Many men fathered bastards. Catelyn had grown up with that knowledge. It came as no surprise to her, in the first year of her marriage, to learn that Ned had fathered a child on some girl chance met on campaign. He had a man’s needs, after all, and they had spent that year apart, Ned off at war in the south while she remained safe in her father’s castle at Riverrun. Her thoughts were more of Robb, the infant at her breast, than of the husband she scarcely knew. He was welcome to whatever solace he might find between battles. And if his seed quickened, she expected he would see to the child’s needs.

He did more than that. The Starks were not like other men. Ned brought his bastard home with him, and called him “son” for all the north to see. When the wars were over at last, and Catelyn rode to Winterfell, Jon and his wet nurse had already taken up residence.

That cut deep. Ned would not speak of the mother, not so much as a word, but a castle has no secrets, and Catelyn heard her maids repeating tales they heard from the lips of her husband’s soldiers.

— A Game of Thrones, Catelyn II

Catelyn understands the social rules of the society she lives. She’s been taught the belief that men having affairs and fathering bastards is normal. But even in such a patriarchal society, there has to be a level of respect afforded to the wives of the men that cheat (especially if they’re noblewomen from powerful families). In Catelyn’s case, she feels slighted because her husband raised his bastard in the same household. It is considered a social insult to Catelyn that her husband did this to her.

She had come to love her husband with all her heart, but she had never found it in her to love Jon. She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned’s sake, so long as they were out of sight. Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him. Somehow that made it worse.

— A Game of Thrones, Catelyn II

Obviously it’s not fair to Jon that Catelyn takes out her resentment on him. Though from her POV chapters, it’s shown that she holds no negativity towards Ned’s mystery mistress despite hating Jon. It’s impossible to hate someone you don’t even know. Meanwhile, Jon is a living, breathing reminder of her husband’s infidelity. While it would be a more reasonable reaction for her to dislike Ned rather than misdirect her negative feelings towards Jon, Ned is still her lord husband. It is easier for Catelyn to hate Jon.

When it comes to Rhaenys, her husband’s mistress and bastards are relatively unknown to her, even if she is aware of their existence. They were kept far away from her. So Rhaenys is less likely to resent them. That’s why Rhaenys addresses only Corlys with barely concealed anger but Alyn doesn’t earn her scorn. The scene between her and Alyn in episode 4 appears to be the first time those two have ever interacted. Rhaenys has not had to live every day with the reminder of her husband’s betrayal. If it’s out of sight, it can be (relatively) out of her mind.

I’m sure that the way this show characterizes its female characters as more gentler/calm individuals definitely plays a part with how Rhaenys reacts here too. Which is why the viewers are led to assume Rhaenys just quietly accepted the fact of her husband cheating on her.

In the book, Corlys never dared have his bastards around whilst his wife still lived. He kept the affair so discreet that had it not been for him personally presenting the boys at the Red Sowing, no one would have assumed him to be the father. Both Addam & Alyn were staying with their mother and serving in her fleet. In the show, Alyn is in Corlys’ fleet, and therefore more likely to come under notice (and that’s exactly what happens).

Princess Rhaenys, his wife, had the fiery temperament of many Targaryens, Mushroom says, and would not have taken kindly to her lord husband fathering bastards on a girl half her age, and a shipwright’s daughter besides. Therefore his lordship had prudently ended his “shipyard trysts” with Mouse after Alyn’s birth, commanding her to keep her boys far from court. Only after the death of Princess Rhaenys did Lord Corlys at last feel able to bring his bastards safely forward.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons

Not only did Corlys have an affair with a young girl (coincidentally the same age Rhaenys was when she married him), but said girl is also a commoner. Rhaenys is a princess who could have been a queen. For Corlys to make his affair public would have been a huge insult to his wife, even if he never brought up the matter of his bastards. Rhaenys would have been rightfully furious at the shame her husband’s actions bring upon her. She was the first to speak up when her position as heir was usurped so that suggests she’s not the type to just turn a blind eye to anything she considers an injustice against her. Book version has a far more fiery personality than her show counterpart. Her reaction to the truth would probably be different too.

A detail in episode 4 which I did like is when Rhaenys corrected Alyn about her title. Princess not Lady. She’s asserting her position and status in that moment. Alyn serves the Lord of Driftmark so naturally his Lord’s wife would be a Lady to him. By correcting Alyn, Rhaenys places him in the position of an ignorant who does not even know the difference between the titles. Perhaps a subtle expression of classism towards another who is very much beneath her. But the glimmer of antagonism is gone as soon as it appears. Their interaction is not simply Rhaenys welcoming her husband’s bastard with open arms.

The show leaves Rhaenys’ original reaction, when she first finds out about the affair, to the imagination. So it’s difficult to say what exactly she felt in the moment. Unlike fiery tempered book!Rhaenys, the show version is more calm and collected. She is a person who seeks peaceful resolutions to problems (similar to Catelyn) so her reaction in the show makes sense for her even if it’s different from how the book version of her may have reacted. In the HOTD canon, we’re basically getting an interpretation of how Catelyn might’ve reacted to Jon had he been raised away from Winterfell.