#c: knell

[entamewitchlulu]

I will have so much to say about the yuuri event when I get home and can type on a computer but until then

DENNIS CANONICLY THINKS YUURI IS HIS FRIEND AND IS THE ONLY ONE HAPPY TO SEE HIM CRYING SCREAMING THROWING UP

[thominyourside]

okay April 10th may be the day China’s retaliatory tariffs on the United States go into effect but it’s also *my* birthday so…just keep that in mind when writing your little articles

[atsadi-shenanigans]

FSBE 16 - Show Me Yours

The rogue has a plan.

TW for self sexual coercion (thwarted).

On AO3.

The blanket carries Eleanor’s scent. A little musty from travel, perhaps in need of a wash, but still her beneath all that. Astarion allows that to fill his thoughts. It’s a very basic blanket. The kind one would find in any cheap flophouse. Nothing luxurious about it at all. Yet it’s soft on his bare skin as he climbs the stairs behind his leader, the wood smooth and worn beneath his naked feet.

It’s not the first time he’s followed a mark up the stairs. Usually, though, he’s in the lead. Usually—but not always—he’s clothed. Occasionally in the process of losing said clothing as he goes, as he’s snatched and grabbed and fumbled.

It happened so quickly. A snap of the fingers and he wasn’t in control of his own body again, a thing to be displayed at the whims of someone more powerful—

“I think it’s this one?” Eleanor says.

She doesn’t reach for him. Walks quietly. Subdued, even. It digs under his skin and skitters along underneath.

Not the script. Not her role.

His jaw aches. He unclenches his teeth.

The room is bare, save for the single table and decrepit wardrobe nearly collapsing in on itself. The bed is barely any better. An errant bounce might finally be its death knell. But the mattress itself looks freshly stuffed and the linens don’t smell soiled. There’s no trace of vermin.

An improvement from many beds he’s led someone to.

At least the stripping will be easy, this time. Drop the blanket and he’s ready.

Except…that isn’t why he’s here. This isn’t the Gate. This isn’t a flophouse. And his companion isn’t…well, she is. But also not.

He doesn’t know.

Then he looks to the bed again (laying back cold and drifting far away) but there’s something on it. A pack. His pack.

“It seems our infernal friend won’t be adding robbery to his list of charms,” Astarion says.

Eleanor says nothing. Still holds hate in her eyes. He’s not sure why. She doesn’t usually display her own irritation unless someone does something egregious. But Raphael only told her not to pout. She’s usually above petty insults. This one, however small, seems to have gotten to her. Ah well, they’ve had quite a day. She’s likely tired.

“I still don’t see how nobody takes a bath around here,” she says. Seems intent on scouring the room, as if the solution will drop from the ceiling for her.

There’s no bathing tub in this room. The “inn” probably only has one or two by this point, and it’s in a different room, currently. Empty, if they’re lucky, which he never is.

“We’ll have to summon the staff to fetch one,” he says. Reconsiders. “Except I doubt they have any staff. I suppose we’ll have to go and find it and possibly fill it ourselves.”

His leader makes a thoughtful sound. Side-eyes him.

She’s been doing that. Trying not to let him catch her, poor dear, but clearly watching him.

Well. They’re relatively safe for now. More alone than they’ve been since the Underdark. This is an excellent time to draw her in. Bind her more tightly to him. Especially since his abysmal showing last night.

He lets the blanket slide down one shoulder as he walks over to the bed. Just enough to remind her of what’s underneath. Bends down in a way that he knows accentuates his form as he drags his pack to the edge.

She looks. They always do.

She doesn’t admit it, but he can smell the way her blood changes when she’s aroused, which is more and more whenever he’s near. A kind of musky sweetness on her skin that usually means her body is readying itself.

He stares at her until she glances back. She all but flinches.

“Did you like what you finally saw?” he says. Smirks and straightens slowly, the blanket sliding down another inch. She’s new at this. He needs to move slowly. Coax her in. He pulls the components of his face into a heavy-lidded smile, a puppeteer tugging at the various strings to move his body around to entice her.

“Sorry,” she says.

Still playing coy. Or shy. Until she reminds him she can be strikingly bold.

No matter. This, too, is familiar.

“Don’t be,” he says, padding across the floor towards her. Color rises in her cheeks. “I can’t blame you, you know. Perhaps now that you know what’s on offer…?”

Another slide of the blanket. Enough to show the top of a nipple, and her gaze darts hungrily to it. He saw that in her, when he entered her memories. She rather likes those.

Perhaps she’ll let him play with her own. He’s willing to stake all his ill-gotten gold that she’s been craving it. Her breasts are heavy and warm and so soft the once he tasted them.

That thought is almost enough to pierce the cold numbness flowing down his skin. Almost.

But she takes a step back. Sucks in a gasp.

“No, no,” she says. “That’s not. Um.”

He takes another step, matching her. His proximity excites her. Her body knows what’s on offer, even if the rest of her is still too shy to take him up on it.

“Why else get us alone together?” he says. He’s almost within reaching distance. He could trace along her cheek, slip around the back of her neck, he could draw her in. Even the hesitant ones melt once he gets his lips on them. “All but announcing it to everyone? Quite forward of you, darling. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

She makes an odd face. Something of a frown colors it. “That’s not why. I thought you might want, uh, privacy. After, after all this. Space to yourself. We can get you a bath and I can leave and, y’know, see if Wyll needs any help finding wine.”

She might as well have thrown a knife at him. It hits, skimming along his ribs and drawing a trickle of blood. Too close. Too sharp.

Stripped bare in a ballroom for the guests to take pleasure in him. Eyes on him, hands on him, naked and alone in his own skin trying to go far away in his mind, so far away.

He shoves the tightness in his chest down. Paints on a pout. “Why would I need that? I’ve nothing to hide from you, pet.”

But she stares at him. Stares in a way that makes him fidget. Her eyes are so dark, so piercing. As if she can see through his false smile and empty flattery. As if she can feel the way he squirms inside, trying to claw out of his own flesh.

Through the numb, something burns. Something that turns his tongue sharp. “I’m not some fresh-faced boy in need of coddling, my dear. Look at me; I’m exquisite. You’re all lucky I choose to cover this up lest my beauty drive everyone around me to madness. It’s happened before, you know.”

Too sharp; he needs to slow down. He mustn’t spook her. Mustn’t show this. He’s to be pliable, eager, willing. Always.

Reel her in. Tempt her back to him. This one doesn’t respond to overt seduction. He has to play a different hand.

“I,” he says. Turns his face away. Sighs and runs a hand down his face. “I could use a bit of a distraction, if I’m being honest, darling. It’s been a long day.”

A glance to catch her soften. That’s it. Pity can work in place of lust, though that one tends to sour faster. It’s oddly easier when they’re on him, hungry and demanding. Even when they get rough. Even when it hurts.

Because he knows how it will end. How it always ends. And when they come at him soft and sweet…

“Astarion,” his leader says. Bites her lip.

So close. All she needs to do is take the bait. Stop looking at him like that and take the godsdamned bait. Move in, and he can pull her close, bring his face to her neck. Pretend at comfort and start mouthing at her. Let it turn warmer. Slide his lips lower. Guide her to the bed and detach himself from his body as he lays back and pulls her over him.

Let her pant and moan over him, as they all do. Touch him and take him, as they all do. All he has to do is say the right words, move the right way. He doesn’t have to think. Doesn’t have to feel. He can get on his back and drift off and once it’s over, he can pretend it all away. Do his best to forget it entirely.

All she needs to do is move in and he’ll begin this old dance, the rotten steps so familiar he could do it in a trance.

“Your scars,” she says.

Gods damn it all. She can never do the easy thing. The predictable thing. Always has to jam her thick, clumsy fingers into the threads he works with and knot them to the hells.

He has a plan, by the gods. But every time he thinks her safely confined within it, she does this. She pushes through and mangles it. He hates it. He hates her.

“What about them?” he says, voice smooth, smile still perfectly in place.

He can salvage this. He can.

She’ll want to know about the horror on his back. Some of his marks noticed it, of course. A few asked. Some of them became more interested, more enthusiastic as he described the pain of it. But others, they touched him softly. Spoke to him gently.

Fools. They all died screaming in the end. Every, single one.

Astarion lets his chin fall. Looks at her through the corner of his eye. Lets the smile drop from his lips.

He drops the blanket to his hips and turns. Gives her a full view. Stands in silence as her heartbeat thunders.

He misses holding the scent of that blanket so close—

He’ll tell her of the torture. How he had to keep still. Mention how his screams got too loud and that bastard had to start over again with his needle. He’ll be able to light a tinder with the anger burning off of her by the time he’s done.

Which will sour the mood. But he’s sure he can swing it back again. She likes comforting people. He can show her how much he appreciates her care and concern. How gentle she is with him. How brave she was standing between him and that devil. Make her feel important. Needed. Take her anger, turn that to pity and then to self-righteousness. Then to comfort. And naturally, to pleasure.

He’s learning her patterns.

“Is that something we can remove?” she says before he can do any of that. Before he can breathe in and open his mouth to spin his new web.

“What?” he says.

“Them scars. If you don’t want them? Could Shadowheart or Halsin do something? Get rid of them. Or Gale, maybe.”

Get rid of them. Remove them.

Undo them.

That. That isn’t how this goes. It’s not supposed to…no one says that. How dare she keep doing that.

She’s an alien. Strange and broken and unlearned. A naive fool. She can’t go around and, and ask things like that. As if it were somehow normal. As if it could just occur to her when it hadn’t to anyone else.

(Why hadn’t anyone else ever asked that why does it hurt.)

Somehow, he’s able to keep his voice level. “Oh, I doubt it. We don’t normally scar, you see. Undead flesh just reverts to the way it was. It’s not healing so much as preserving, from what I’ve gathered. But that bastard made sure this stuck. Our devil friend said it was important. It won’t be so easily removed, I’m afraid.”

The thing is, he’s not even sure if it’s true. It comes out of him, and becomes a certainty. Because no one has asked him that before.

She makes that nasally grunt she does when she’s going to complain about Toril. And he wonders, for a moment, if her world would be able to undo it. Erase the scars. Erase all of it. The last two hundred years.

But no. She’s wounded in her own way, and her people couldn’t change that. This Ey-arth is not some miracle realm. She’s simply an idealist. A dreamer.

(Does that mean she dreams for him.)

Seduction. That’s why he’s here (the only reason he’s here, what he was made for). It’s why she’s here. He just needs to remind her. Needs to perform his function. A spawn, a slave, a whore.

He turns back, bare-chested now. And she looks, in spite of herself, because they all look. He let the blanket fall quite low. Enough to show the lines following down along his hips. Enough to remind her of what hangs just out of sight, a scant few inches further down.

She doesn’t ask any more about his scars. How they came to be. Why. And he finds himself glad of it. He doesn’t have to dwell on it, or remember the horrid, hot sting of his flesh slicing apart. Cool, scant drops of his own blood—mostly rat—dripping along his spine and over his sides as he knelt, and how there was such little of it because he was so empty, his skin and tissues so dry already.

He doesn’t have to remember the thin voice sliding in his ears, “Be still, boy.”

Time to steer this errant ship back on course and stop his leader’s horrible questions.

He advances. She looks away, but he reaches out with a finger on her chin and guides her back to facing him.

“Enough of the past,” he says. “I’d rather focus on the present, my sweet.”

She licks her lips. Her pupils are wide, now that he’s close enough to tell. That’s it. He can still secure this, can still finish this night as he ought to.

He leans in close. Angles his lips to hers. They never stop once he touches them. He’ll guide her along to the final act, this time, and she’ll be—

“You wanna see mine?” she blurts right into his mouth.

[bluephoenixgirl]

Fairytale

Prince!Harry Styles x Peasant!Reader

Warnings: Forbidden Love, Some Fluff, Some Angst, Little Age Gab Between Harry and Reader, And Possible Grammar Errors. (Sorry If I Forgot Any!)

Summary: Y/N’s father wants his daughter to have nothing to do with the royals, but that doesn’t stop Y/N from falling in love with Prince Harry.

Word Count: 2,773

Author’s Note: I’ve wanted to write something like this for the longest time! This story is based off of so many Disney movies! If you aren’t a fan of Disney movies or fast moving love stories, I would skip this one! Anyways hope you all enjoy my first Harry Styles story!!

Y/N was in her bedroom brushing her Y/H/L Y/H/C hair. She was using the small mirror that was hanging on her wall. Y/N lives in a small town with her parents. Y/N is the only child and just turned nineteen years old a couple of months ago. They live in a two-bedroom farmhouse.

Y/N and her parents grow crops and sell them in town to make money. They have a little stand in town and sell fruits and vegetables. Sometimes her mother even makes bread to sell as well.

After Y/N finished brushing her hair she set her brush down onto her dresser. When she looked out her window the large castle caught her eye like it always does.

King and Queen Styles live there with their twenty-one-year-old son named Harry. Prince Harry is an only child so when his father passes on, Harry will become King. Y/N has always wanted to go to the castle. Every-time she sees the castle she can’t help but stare at it in awe.

However, that dream always get’s shattered by her father. Since Y/N and her family are peasants her father thinks they shouldn’t mix with the royals. Her father tells her that royals are snobs and don’t care about peasants which is absolutely not true. Maybe it was true when her father was younger, but the the royals now truly care for everyone. No matter how many times Y/N has told her father that, it just goes through one ear and out the other one. It breaks Y/N’s heart when she hears her father talk bad about the royals.

“Y/N! Come down and eat!” She heard her mother call out to her which broke her gaze away from the castle. “Coming!” Y/N called back out. She slipped on her brown flats. She gave one last glance at the castle and then walked out of her bedroom.

She walked down the steps and into the kitchen. Her mother was fixing her a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon and her father was sitting at the table reading the daily newspaper while drinking coffee. “There you are! Sit and eat.” Her mother told sitting the plate of food down on the table in front of an empty chair. “Thanks mother.” Y/N said with a soft smile as she sat down at the table across from her father. “You’re welcome, dear.” Her mom said returning the smile and walked back to the counter to start cleaning up the mess she made making the food.

“While your mother and I are at the stand I need you to stay back and pick the crops.” Her father told her putting down the newspaper, so he was looking at her. “Yes, father.” Y/N told him with a nod and took a bite from a price of bacon.

Y/N did everything she could to hold in a sign or groan. She hates having to stay back and pick the crops, but she knows not to argue with her father.

Her father has a soft spot but when it comes to the family business, he is very stern and strict.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Y/N was out in the garden picking the vegetables and putting them in a big basket. She was almost done picking all the vegetables and then after that it’s time to pick the fruits. Y/N stood up from the ground to put her hair up into a ponytail. The sizzling sun was making her sweat. After she finished putting her Y/H/C hair up, she knelled back down into the dirt and continued to pick the cucumbers off the vines.

Once her hands were full, she turned to put them into the basket she was met with a surprise that scared her. It was a big white horse eating the carrots out of the basket. “No, no, no!” Y/N said dropping the cucumbers so she could shoo away the horse. “Bad horse.” She said standing up and guiding the horse away from the basket.

“Where did you even come from?” Y/N asked as she lightly petted the horse. “There you are.” She heard a voice say in a relief tone. When Y/N saw who the voice belonged to her eyes went wide in surprise. It’s the prince. Prince Harry. He was wearing black dress pants with a white buttoned up shirt. Y/N didn’t realize she was staring at him till he said something.

“I’m so sorry about Sparky here. He likes to escape.” Harry told her walking over to her and the horse. “It’s okay, it happens.” Y/N told him in a reassuring tone. “Thank you.” Harry told her with a kind smile. Y/N returned the kind smile. “You’re welcome.” Y/N told him.

“I’m Harry, though you probably already know that, so I don’t know why I’m telling you that.” Harry said as his cheeks turned red in embarrassment. Y/N couldn’t help but let out a giggle. “It’s okay.” Y/N told him reassuring him again. “I’m Y/N.” Y/N said introducing herself. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Y/N.” Harry told her. “It’s very nice to meet you, too, Prince Harry.” Y/N said back. “Please, just call me Harry.” Harry told her. He hates when people always call him Prince Harry. When people just call him by his name, it makes him feel like a regular guy. “Okay, Harry.” Y/N said correcting herself.

There was a silence between them as they just stared into each other’s eyes. Y/N was the first one to look away as she snapped back into reality. “I should get back to work.” Y/N said to him. “Wait!” Harry said before she could turn and walk away. “Are you doing anything tonight?” Harry asked her in a curious tone. “No.” Y/N answered with a shake of the head. She was a little confused on why he was asking her that question.

“At the castle tonight, my parents are holding a ball that’s opened up to everyone. I would love for you to come.” Harry said which made her heart rate speed up. He wants her to attend the ball. She wants to attend, but she knows her father won’t let her go. “Oh, I don’t know.” Y/N said with an unsure tone in her voice. “Just think about it.” Harry told her with a charming smile which melted Y/N’s heart. She watching him walk away with the horse.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Once Y/N finished picking all of the crops she went inside to take a shower and wash off all the sweat and dirt off her skin. When she finished brushing out her hair, she heard the front door open and close which meant her parents are home. Y/N quickly walked out of her bedroom and down the steps. When she walked into the kitchen she heard her parents in the living room. She walked into the living room which got her parents attention.

“Mother, father, I have a really important question to ask.” Y/N told them. “What is it, dear?” Her mother asked her in a curious tone. Y/N took a deep breath to calm her nerves down. “Tonight, the castle is having a ball that’s open to everyone, and I was wondering-” Y/N was saying but before she could ask the question her father cut her off. “No, you’re not going.” Her father told her in a stern tone.

“But father-” Y/N said, but again her father cut her off. “No! I’m not letting my daughter go to a snobby ball!” Her father told her. “The answer is no and that’s final.” Her father told her with a stern look in his eyes.

Tears quickly filled Y/N’s Y/E/C eyes. Her father wouldn’t even let her talk.

Y/N just turned away and walked out of the room and into the kitchen. She went upstairs and into her room.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Y/N was in her room sitting on her bed with tears rolling down her cheeks. It wasn’t fair. Her father is being unreasonable. She doesn’t know why her father has so much against the royals. They have never taken away anything from the townspeople.

Y/N heard a knock on her wooden door. “Go away!” Y/N called out not wanting to talk. She thought it was her father, but she heard her mother’s voice instead. “I have a surprise for you.” She heard her mother tell her. “Okay, you can come in.” Y/N called out to her as she used both of her hands to wipe away her tears.

Her mother walked into the room holding a beautiful blue ball gown. “Oh my gosh.” Y/N said in amazement as she got up from her bed. “Do you like it?” Her mom asked her to close the door. “I love it! It’s so beautiful.” Y/N said looking at the dress in awe.

“I was wearing this dress the night I met your father, and I want you to wear it to the ball.” Her mother told her handing the dress over to her. “You’re letting me go?” Y/N said taking the dress with a surprised look in her eyes. “I know that this is your dream.” Her mother told her with a smile. Y/N’s lips turned up into a big smile.

“Now let’s get you ready for the biggest night of your life.” Her mother said with excitement in her voice.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Y/N’s mother helped her change into the dress that fit Y/N perfectly. Her mother pinned up her hair and did her make up. The make up matched the dress’s color. Her mother gave her the matching slippers to the dress. The slippers were the same color as the dress but were sparkly. Her mother told her to be back by midnight and helped her sneak out the back door. Y/N thanked her mother and made her way towards the castle.

When Y/N got to the castle she looked up at it in awe. It’s even more beautiful up close. When she walked inside, she was surprised she wasn’t nervous. She couldn’t believe she was inside the castle. Y/N followed the crowd to the ball room.

She looked around the room till her eyes landed on Harry. He was all dressed up into his royal suit. He didn’t look very into the gathering. That was till his green eyes met Y/N’s Y/E/C eyes. His lips turned up into a smile as he walked over to her.

“You’re here.” Harry said obviously very happy to see her. “I’m so glad you decided to come.” Harry added. “I’m glad, too.” Y/N told him.

“You look beautiful.” Harry told her which made her heart start race. “Thank you.” Y/N said with a little giggle.

“Would you like to dance?” Harry asked holding out one of his hands for her to take. Y/N felt no hesitation. “Of course.” Y/N answered putting her hand into his’s.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Y/N spent the whole evening with Harry. They just have the perfect click. The whole night they couldn’t keep their eyes off one another. Harry took Y/N outside to one of the balconies so they could get away from all of the noise and get some fresh air. They sat down onto one of the benches and looked up at the stars.

“The stars are so beautiful.” Y/N said looking up at the stars. “They sure are.” Harry said looking away from the sky and at her. Y/N looked over at him and their eyes just locked.

They started to lean in but before their lips could touch the bell from the clock tower went off. It was midnight which meant she missed her curfew.

“Oh no!” Y/N said with panic filling her body. “I have to go!” Y/N said quickly standing up from the bench. Before she could run away Harry took her hand. “You have to go? Why?” Harry asked not wanting her to leave. “I was supposed to be home by midnight. My father doesn’t even know that I’m here.” Y/N told him.

“Will I ever see you again?” Harry asked her with hope in his voice. Y/N let out a sigh as she shook her head no. “My father will never allow it.” Y/N told him with a frown.

“I’m sorry.” Y/N said letting go of his hand and quickly walked away leaving Harry heartbroken.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Days have passed and Harry can’t get Y/N out of his head. Even though they have only had two encounters he knows that Y/N is the one. As they danced together, he knew he was falling in love with her. He doesn’t know why Y/N’s father won’t allow her to see him. His parents allow him to interact with anyone. Wether they are royalty or not.

“Dear? Are you alright?” The Queen asked her son. Harry broke out of his thoughts. He was sitting at the dinning table with his parents for breakfast. “You haven’t touched any of your food.” The Queen told him with worry in her voice. “I’m not hungry.” Harry said with a sigh.

“Is everything alright?” The King asked his son with worry now in his voice as well. “I met this girl, and I just know that she’s the one.” Harry told his parents. “That’s wonderful, sweetie!” The Queen said with an excited smile. “But it’s not going to happen. Her father won’t allow her to see me.” Harry said with another sad sigh.

“Harry, do you really think that this girl is the one?” The King asked him. “Yes, father.” Harry answered with a nod. “Are you truly in love with her?” The King asked him. “Of course, father.” Harry answered him. “Then you need to fight for her.” The King told him. “If you truly know that she is the one, you can’t give up on her.” The King explained to him.

Harry knew everything his father told him, was right. He can’t give up on having a future with Y/N.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Y/N’s parents were downstairs in the living room while Y/N was upstairs in her room. Her father was reading the newspaper while her mother was knitting a sweater.

There was a knock on the door. Y/N’s father closed the newspaper and sat it down onto the table. He got out of his seat and walked over to the door and opened it to see two kingdom guards.

“Hello sir, we are in order of the Prince.” One of the guards said. “In order? For what?” Y/N’s father said with confusion in his voice. The two guards stepped to the side to travel Harry. “Sir, I am asking for your blessing to ask your daughter to be my wife.” Harry told him in a kind tone.

Before Y/N’s dad could say anything her mother quickly stepped in. “Gentlemen, please come in. I need to speak to my husband in the kitchen.” Y/N’s mother said to them with kindness. She took her husband’s hand and took him into the kitchen with her.

“They have the wrong house.” He said in a stern tone in his voice. “No, they don’t.” She told him. Y/N’s father quickly became confused. “What’s going on?” Y/N asked walking down the stairs. “Prince Harry is here to ask for your hand in marriage.” Her mother told her taking her by surprise.

Harry is actually here, in her house. She took a glance into the living and saw him standing there with two guards.

“Will someone please tell me what is going on?” Her father asked with frustration starting to lose his patience. “I went to the ball.” Y/N told him looking back at her father. “You disobeyed my orders?” Her father said with disappointment in his voice.

“Father, I spent the whole night with Harry, and it was perfect.” Y/N told him. “I love him.” Y/N confessed. “You do?” Her mother asked in surprise. Y/N gave her mother a nod.

Her father knew that she was telling the truth by the look she has in her eyes.

“Come.” Her father said walking into the living room. Y/N and her mother followed him.

“Prince Harry, I believe you have a question to ask my daughter.” Her father said with a smile.

Harry smiled walking up to Y/N. He took a small box out from the pocket in his pants. He bent down on one knee and opened the box to reveal a beautiful ring. “Y/N, will you marry me?” Harry asked her. Y/N’s lips turned up into a huge smile. “Yes!” She answered with nothing but excitement in her voice.

Harry took the ring out of the box and put the ring onto Y/N’s hand.

Right when Harry stood up Y/N jumped into his arms and connected her lips with his lips for a perfect first kiss.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Housewarming

cw: relapse, bad coping mechanisms, paranoia, alcohol/implied alcoholism, emeto mention, sleep deprivation

Wildefire Masterlist

•°•°•

Get up, check the lock on the door. Peer out the inlaid peephole, check the lock again.

Pull the curtain back an inch and scan the glass of the window, remind himself he's on the fifth floor with nothing but smooth brick between him and the ground, remind himself that the window can't open anyway, that the assistant who showed him to this room said the glass was bulletproof.

Not like he fully believes anything they told him.

Pace the room, head jerking at the little creaks and groans of the settling building. Pass the complimentary gift basket sitting on the nightstand, bottles reflecting the red light of the alarm clock. Try not to look at them.

Those certainly feel like a trap. He has no doubt Rivera is aware of his vices, his chosen tools to build a barrier of numbness that doesn't always work. She's taunting him, that must be it. That or trying to weaken him; laying booze out like bait in the basket of a guillotine, trying to dull him so he's easier to control.

He won't fall for it. He'll stay vigilant, stay on his guard, he isn't safe here. He's deep in the heart of enemy territory, trying to barter with snakes. It feels like running into the fire to escape the burn; stupid, hopeless. Rivera could still hand him over to the Tower at any point; he's vulnerable in the palm of Good Knight’s hand and he knows she's just waiting for him to slip up.

But it's for them. It's all for them. Pardons for Akeela and Rosie and Hugo, for Sarah. A path out of hiding, out of fear. They aren't at risk as long as they're here, under the protection of Good Knight. If everything goes well, they'll never be at risk again. That's why he's here. For them. He can do it for them.

He has to.

• • •

Get up, check the lock, check the window. He hasn't slept in three days. There have been moments where he's nodded off, only to jerk awake in a panic, nearly setting fire to whatever fancy upholstery he'd collapsed against.

Sarah was worried, he told her not to be. New place. He'd get used to it.

Fifth floor, smooth brick, check the lock, pass the bottles.

He's supposed to be safe here. Rivera said he's safe here, but he's never been safe. Someone will break down the door. Crash through the window. It's a trap, it has to be, he can't trust these people.

Akeela's been looking at school programs. The normal kind, courses she can take online to get around the "danger" she poses. Hugo's been offered an internship with the tech department, Rosie's been looking for her family. They're happy. Sarah worries, but she saw her moms for the first time in over a year yesterday. She introduced him and he tried to smile. She's happy.

How long before it all crashes down?

He can't let it crash down, not because of him.

• • •

Get up, check the lock. Turn around and check it again because he forgets if it was really secure as soon as he steps away and can't convince himself it's fine.

He's been sleeping in bursts. Waking up on the floor, facedown on the mattress, slumped against the sofa. Not sustainable. He's too wired to be alert, too sleep-deprived to be useful if a fight is needed. Sleep won't come. He's tried, but even as exhausted as he is, his eyes are flying open every few minutes. New panic, new certainty that they're coming, that as soon as he's out cold they'll come for him. He'll be drugged or overpowered. Taken away. In the dead of the night, even with all the lights on, the corners of his room look too much like the cell.

Hell. Bell. Knell. 

Check the window.

Come to slumped against the wall, cheekbone stinging from where it collided with the windowsill on the way down.

He didn't leave the room yesterday. Couldn't. If he passed out in public, that would be the end for sure. They'd know they had him, they'd know. He's checked his room a thousand times now, he knows it should be safe, yet sleep won't fucking come.

Pace the room in dead silence, listening for anything and everything. Eyelids weigh down, eyes drift back to the basket every time he passes it.

Trap. It's a trap. He knows it's a fucking trap.

But staying as he is is turning into its own sort of trap. It can't hurt if he only drinks enough to chase the paranoia. He's already exhausted. Shouldn't take much for him to catch a dreamless sleep. He needs sleep.

It's his first time really looking at the bottles. Wine, of course. Elite assumptions, or false hospitality. He knows wine is supposed to be customary, easily masked as a housewarming gift and not a trap, not a silencer. If the basket were full of the cheap liquor he was used to, it'd be too much of a giveaway. But even with the facade, Rivera’s overplayed her hand. Not just a wine, but also some fancy liqueur. Three bottles. There's more to the basket. Crackers and chocolate and some sort of spread. A glass, presumably for the wine. Set dressing.

It’s all too obvious; it has to be deliberate, this has to be what she wanted. He pulls a bottle free, glass clinking softly against the others on the way out. Raspberry. He knows it'll be oversweet and syrupy, something to get sick off of. 

He almost manages to put it back. But if he did, he'd only be standing here again within the hour, just as bitterly exhausted, just as cornered. Doesn't matter if he knows it's not, this place might as well be Titanium. And there was only ever one escape from within Titanium.

Pace away, check the window. Crack the bottle. A raspberry smell, heavy and sweet and pulling him towards nausea as if his body already knows what's to come.

Thrum, hum, numb.

Check the lock. Take a swig and it's like cough syrup, but take another anyway. Sit on the bed, listening. Grit his teeth and have another drink.

He's glad he hates the taste. It lends more to the illusion of just this once, just one more time and then I'm done forever.

Think about checking the window. Stare at it instead and chug until the taste and texture makes him gag and he has to stop, grimace for a chaser. The warmth is starting to hit him, a fuzzy coziness that's tugging at his exhausted mind, pulling his eyelids closed.

(hose, froze)

He has enough sense to down a bottle of water before finishing the liqueur. The plastic crinkles in his hand, and the sound fills him with guilt.

Sarah.

No, this is for her. This is so he can sleep, so he can stay vigilant without losing his mind. So if anything fails, if anyone betrays them, he can still fight for the rogues.

His head swims, a familiar lull settling over his senses as he curls up on the mattress, clothes and boots still on, forgotten. Bed still made beneath him.

Check the door, comes the blurry thought, and he glances at it. Hasn't moved. Lock still in place. His eyelids drift shut.

Check the window. He turns his head. Uncracked, undisturbed. No one outside, peering in at him. The water bottle is still in his hand, empty, and he flexes his fingers around it, listening to the hollow plastic noise.

For the first time in days, Alexei is pulled into a deep sleep.

When he returns to his room the next evening after a day of feeling better, of standing by Sarah while she negotiates their new contracts, of listening to Akeela tell stories about a classmate, there's a fresh bottle waiting for him on the bed.

•°•°•

tag list:

@whumpacabra  @enteredin2eternity  @kixngiggles  @whumpsday  @kiichu  @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump  @shywhumpauthor  @distinctlywhumpthing , @bloodinkandashes , @fleur-alise , @whumpy-daydreams , @whumpwillow , @honeycollectswhump ,  @snakebites-and-ink , @chiswhumpcorner

[physalian]

Went browsing for paid beta readers on my old stomping grounds, Fiverr, and ugh, man I hate that website. And Upwork. All of them.

There’s something about a monetary incentive on a platform that pushes the lowest bidder hard, called “Fiverr” for a reason, that can churn out the laziest work? Not that I think beta reading should be done for free, but “beta reading” is, in my experience, not very widely understood, so a lot of lazy people or full-blown scammers think they can take this soft, unregulated skill, and make bank doing the absolute bare minimum. Whereas if you do it for free, you gotta be doing it for the passion.

And I have been scammed plenty, especially during the beta process for Eternal Night where I was reporting gigs left and right for false advertising, even the most popular ones that rampantly abused AI to do their work, but an inexperienced author would never notice.

I’d absolutely love to throw money at the people who do quality beta reading, and I have, and it absolutely lessens the anxiety of “you said you’d do this for me where’s my work” if we have an actual contract of “I have now paid you money, you have to follow through on your commitment.”

Beta reading is just one of those incredibly nebulous areas where the expectations of both author and beta reader can have such vast interpretations that there needs to be a dedicated platform, like Reedsy, that only hosts freelancers for writing, that is invite only like AO3 to lessen the chance of scammers, and demands more from freelancers to vet their skills than a basic English comprehension test, because understanding English is not an understanding of fictional prose.

It would take a ton of work having actual people involved and not chat bots and ~algorithms~ but a site where I can say “I have a WIP with X genre, N wordcount, and Y rating and I’d like a beta reader to provide B style and C level of feedback with a focus on D narrative structure” and have betas who are happy to take on a project written in a style they both understand and would enjoy reading.

A system where you can leave reviews but there’s no stressful “ranking” system, and where you can delete bad faith reviews with some disclaimer of “there was something here but it has been removed by vendor” so at least you have the chance to ask “hey, what’s behind that redacted box?” because as a beta myself on Fiverr, I have also been harassed by pissed off authors who thought they shit gold.

A magical platform made by authors, for authors, where you can cancel an order without blowing up your entire gig. Heck, where you can have cover artists and illustrators also there for your one-stop-shop for the whole book, cover-to-cover. A platform where you can silence your 'gig' for a while if you're not using it so you're not clogging up the real estate for more active sellers without risking your standing. A platform where you must be able to approve an order as something you want to work before an order is just dumped hot and steaming on your doorstep that you must work or else risk your rating.

I had a friend who ghostwrote for some weirdo who insisted on including all these foot fetish details in a completely unrelated and “YA” work and wouldn’t admit it, but to cancel on them would be to lower their very precarious standing on Fiverr. Cancellations are a death knell. The pressure to leave better reviews than people deserve lest you get harassed by the seller/buyer is also very real.

Reedsy is great and all, but Reedsy takes a hefty cut and it’s for bigger projects that cost hundreds to thousands of dollars for full-blown edits. 10% inflated cost for Reedsy's cut (don't remember the actual number, hypothetical) gets really expensive when it's 10% of $3800.

Beta reading is not “easy”. It demands more than a “it was good” (and sometimes I have to ask after the fact “did you even like it” which should be very clear up front) and authors have different expectations of the level of work involved, even among the same WIP as it goes through different stages, but so much of it involves telling yourself “this might not be the book for me, but it could be the book for someone so I am going to read it with an open mind” that I also did not get from a few sellers.

Idk maybe even a Discord server (I've tried communities on here, not a fan of the UI) for now that at least gets authors who need betas and betas who need authors in the same location. Fuck it, I'll even run it. I've got free time. You want something done, you do it yourself.

Anyway thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

[circle--of--confusion]

Rules: Tag 9 people you want to get to know better

Thank you @visiosatanae for tagging me! 💜

Favorite color: purple :)

Currently reading: My Best Friend's Exorcism (but I haven't touched the book in months shhhh 🫠)

Last song: Death Knell by Ghost (I've been listening to them on shuffle)

Last movie: Phantom of the Opera (royal Albert hall anniversary recording)

Last series: I've been watching "Whats New, Scooby-Doo?" In my free time

Sweet/savory/spicy: sweet! (I definitely inherited my dad's sweet tooth)

Craving: breakfast (just woke up)

Tea/coffee: tea I guess if it's between these two. But I've only ever drank one flavor. (But when it comes to a warm drink, I'm a hot chocolate girlie through and through)

Currently working on: an 80s mall!AU with Copia and an OC. Also my Ghost themed shawl knitting project

I'll tag: @anamelessfool @ficandkaboodle @writingjourney @foxybouquet @cardi-c @ramblingoak

Can't think of 9 people 😅

[tac0tesseract]

Glitch Time

“The Boy King is weak,” said High Priest Ay to the general, Horemheb.

Emma shot the priest and he dissolved into dust.

No, that was after.

There were realities where Kira hadn't found them in time, realities where she'd died while out scouting or had never been on Ecates at all. Oddly, there were no realities wherein their little squadron of seven had ever been prepared for the Naiki attack; each and every time, they were caught in varying degrees of surprise.

Emma watched the facility burn, watched the researchers flee as floe worms burst from the ice to devour them like grapes. She watched instances where Marsh and Sarah failed to eject in time. “I can bail you out again, like I did with the worm,” Emma said over private coms to Daughter, “But this time I want something in exchange.”

Emma shot the priest and he dissolved into dust.

None of that happened.

She shivered in the cockpit, blinking in a vain attempt to focus sundered vision. Chaos raged all around her but most of her consciousness was sinking into the Lich's velveteen waters. It was impossible to process time without Sam, but here she was trying to do it all by herself anyway. She had to.

The threads of time were so silver, so beautiful, so cold. Emma reached for one, pulled; Knell began to move faster. That was in the future.

The hammer fell, the hammer fell, the hammer fell.

There were no words in any human language for how horrible the sound was. The Tokugawa caved like an empty soda can and there was nothing left of JW to even scrape out of it.

She jumped.

She jumped.

She jumped.

The hammer obliterated the Lich and turned Emma into human paste instead. She drank deeper, pulled a new thread, engineered a reality where the Demolisher was now meters away. This time, Thresher could react. The hammer never fell. She was back at her soul vessel.

Emma shot the priest and he dissolved into dust.

No, not yet. Breath came ragged; she convulsed in the cockpit. Emma fumbled the threads and the missiles landed and now her mech was missing an arm and she was crying laughing screaming and she couldn't move and she couldn't move and she couldn't move and she couldn't see and she reached for the threads she had to hold the threads she had to pull the threads her team needed her where was Sam where was Sam when was Sam why wasn't Sam here?

A hand caressed Emma's face. She looked up. The field was a ruin of burning bodies. She watched herself, in the third person, lift the Unraveler and fire.

Emma shot the priest and, finally, he dissolved into dust.

The battle was over.

She couldn't even rely on GANDALF to take her back to safety. That, too, she had to do by herself – but by now she was deep underwater. Sound and vision came muffled. She followed on mental auto pilot behind Harvester's blurry outline, only able to track him because he glowed so bright. Somehow, that got her back into the maintenance bay.

Once there she managed to power the core back down, but thereafter vacillated between raving and catatonic in the cockpit, clutching her ankh amulet in both hands. Until today, she could have counted the number of times she'd had to glitch time like this on both hands and still have a few fingers left over. Ostensibly, that was why her boss had wanted to print a Lich in the first place, but...Emma had never had to use the core like this twice in one day, let alone twice in one month. Today, she'd done it twice in as many hours.

New threads of reality kept flowing past her eyes. She didn't know how to make it stop. No wonder Sam felt so exhausted, living like this. Tears flooded in the longer she watched. The facility and the people inside of it were safe – that was the most important thing, she knew. But it was far from perfect. The generator should have never taken a hit. Actium and Black Baccara should still be standing. That mysterious Monarch chasing Knell should have never gotten away.

The core was out of power now, but maybe...maybe once it was recharged, she could try again and get it right...

For now, all she could see were a thousand-thousand realities, none of which were her own. She saw everything she could have done different. She watched deaths on repeat. She saw angles of existence normally invisible to human eyes, and hidden truths spoken of only in the Lessons. This happened every time she used the core, but...it'd never lasted this long before.

Emma laughed, and cried, and, somewhere in the remaining depths of her fraying consciousness, prayed desperately for it to stop.

[vidoesthings]

First and final. (jaylos angst)

---

rating: teen and up

warning: major character death, no happy ending

summary: Jay struggling in the aftermath of Carlos's death

first and final. - Chapter 1 - viarcham - Descendants (Disney Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

---

(full work below)

It had never meant to end like this. As Jay stared down at the polished coffin, all he could think was that it wasn't meant to end like this. Not at 19, due to what the doctor had clinically lectured was ‘a sudden spike of abnormal electrical activity in the patient's brain.’ No matter how many times they would explain it to Jay, it would never make sense.

They had made it, away from the Isle: made it over countless miles, a fathomless sea and an impenetrable barrier, ran so far it no longer loomed over them like a death knell.

Jay had always thought that of the four of them, he would cross the final divide first; in his quietest moments, he had entertained childish fantasies of martyring himself in their pursuit of greatness-maybe his still warm corpse languished on the ground, the only thing that had stopped the bullet from driving into his allies’ side. Maybe Mal would declare him her greatest knight, while Evie mercifully drove the blade into his carotids, Carlos’s last desperate kiss bruising Jay’s lips, as Jay let himself sink into the welcoming grasp of oblivion.

Mal hadn't been able to stomach the funeral. Evie had scrubbed furiously at her shining eyes, then swiftly disappeared, her mascara and facade already replaced so perfectly that no outward sign of grief remained.

Jay didn't blame them.

Everyone had already left.

Despite the flood of remembrance cards that taunted Jay from his doorstop, there had been few attending the funeral. The weather had been too pleasant for the occasion, and Jay had watched as the beaming sun lowered and the mourners drifted away. Now, he was the only alive soul remaining. He hadn't been able to leave.

It was too mimetic of the way the world would keep on spinning without Carlos. The world would keep on spinning, and the boy Jay had once been intertwined with would keep on being 19, as time tore them further apart, and soon Jay would be 21, 22, 35, still reeling from the absence of his first ally, his first friend, his first love...his first and final everything, until Carlos was just a wispy shadow of a faint memory, fainter and fainter as time roared on, the ghost that jay knew would always haunt him.

Soon the boy would be nothing more than a tragic footnote in the history of Aurodan. Forgotten. Earlier that morning, Jay had opened his front door to yet another remembrance card. Gaudy saccharine kittens in bows danced along the card edge. It sickened Jay. Inside, it was stuffed with feeble, cloying blandishments that said ultimately nothing but left him even more numb.

Then it referenced ‘the three original Vks’ and Jay had promptly puked. What little breakfast he had kept down splattered all over the card and his front doorstep. Brownish orange. Dimly, as he continued to stand there, helpless, Jay had thought that Carlos would have detested its colour.

The same nausea clawed at his throat now as his eyes bored into the lacquered pine.

The funeral itself had been quiet: the shocked, detached, pall-like kind of silence that clung to its mourners. Jay hadn't been able to stop himself thinking that if Diego wasn't still trapped on the isle, maybe there would at least be a semblance of humanity. Even just a dirge. Anything to acknowledge the gaping hole left.

The coffin wood was cold and smooth and impersonal underneath Jay’s fingers. A flimsy shield.

Jay been able to shield him from gunfights, bullies- heck even Carlos’s own psycho of a mother- but had been passively unaware of that tiny, almost insubstantial electrical signal. Maybe if they had been together, Jay would have noticed something. Anything. Maybe was better than that cold certainty of a corpse.

Over a decade ago, he had pledged everything he was to give Carlos protection. Their splattered blood embodying the oath with a purposeful weight, the knife grip too oversized for younger Jay’s grasping fingers. Carlos’s small grin had electrified him. Jay then had known he would give his life to see it again. He still would now...more than anything. The corners of his mouth were involuntarily tugged up, but it didn't reach his glassy eyes.

All of Jay’s protection was rendered useless in the end.

Just another moment.

Just a bit longer.

If he stayed, he could force the world to mourn for another moment. Jay wouldn't have to face the blistering apathy of this world as his own universe laid, unresponsive and unreachable, inside the casket. Jay let his emotions fracture and engulf him in a suffocating chasm of grief.

It wasn't meant to end like this.

---

(end of work authors notes: Hi. I went to a funeral this week, and decided the best way to process that was to write a fic that hurts descendants characters (and my beta writer, sorry darling <3) I have not seen rise of red yet so may not be totally canon accurate.

Please feel free to point out any grammatical errors I missed, and constructive criticism is will always be appreciated- and even if its just a keyboard smash or emoji or kudos on ao3 :))

[ltwilliammowett]

A frigate lying alongside a prison hulk with other shipping beyond, by William Callcott Knell (c.1830-1876)

[tobacconist]

english stage directions in the cornish mystery play 'Gwreans An Bys' c. 1611

[The father must be in a clowde and when he speakethe of heaven let ye levys open]

[Let hem offer to assend to ye trone the Angell stayethe hem]

[the father commeth before heven & speaketh to lucyfer]

[lett hell gape when ye father nameth yt]

 [All the Angells must haue swords and staves & must come to the rome wher Lucyfer ys]

[let lucyfer offer to go vpe to the trone]

[Let them fight wth swordis and in the end Lucyfer voydeth & goeth downe to hell apareled fowle wth fyre about hem turning to hell and every degre of devylls of lether & spirytis on cordis runing into ye playne and so remayne ther, 9 angells after Lucyfer goeth to hell]

[Adam and Eva aparlet in whytt lether in a place apoynted by the conveyour & not to be sene tyll they be called & thei knell & ryse]

[Let the father put Adam into paradise. Lett flowres apeare in paradice. Let Paradyce be fynelye made wyth fayre trees in yt And an appell vpon the tree & som other frute one the other. A fowntaine in Paradice & fyne flowers in yt painted]

[poynt to the tree]

[Let adam laye downe & slepe wher eva ys & she by the conveyour must be taken from adam is syde. Let the father take a bone owt of adam is syde]

[At the Father is comandemt she [leg. they] eryseth]

[Let fyshe of dyuers sortis apeare & serten beastis as oxen kyne shepe & such like]

[A fyne serpent made wth a virgyn face & yolowe heare vpon her head]

 [Let the serpent apeare & also gees & hennes]

 [After the father hath spoken lett hem departe to heaven in a clowde]

[Let the serpent wait in the plain]

[Let Lucyfer com to the serpent and offer to goe in to her]

[The serpent voydeth & stayeth and [Lucyfer agayn] ofereth to go in to her]

 [Lucyfer entreth into ye serpent]

 [let eva walke in paradice]

[the serpent singeth in the tree]

[Then eva wondreth of the Serpent when she speaketh. Lett Eva looke strangelye on the Serpent when she speakethe]

[Eva talketh famylyarlye wth the serpent and cometh neare hem]

[Let eva look angerly on the serpent and profer to depart.]

 [She commeth anear the serpent agayne and geveth heed to his words]

[Lett ye serpent bow downe the appll to eva, & she takethe ye appell]

[Eva departeth to Adam & presenteth hem the appll]

[Shew the appell to Adam]

[Profer the appell to Adam, he refuseth yt]

 [Lett her speak angerly to Adam]

 [Lett her profer to depart]

 [profer hem the appll]

[Eva gevethe hem the appll]

[Adam receveth the appll and doth tast yt and so repenteth and throweth yt away]

 [Eva loketh vpon Adam very strangly and speketh [not] eny thing]

[ffig leaves redy to cover ther members]

 [the father speketh to the serpent]

 [Lett Lucyfer com owte of the serpent, the serpent remayneth in the tree.]

 [And lett hem crepe on his belly to hell wth great noyse]

 [Let the father ascend to heaven] 

[desend angell]

[The garmentis of skynnes to be geven to adam and eva by the angell. Receave the garmentis. Let them depart owt of paradice and adam and eva folowing them. Let them put on the garmentis and shewe a spyndell and a dystaf]

 [Deathe departeth away]

[shew her ij sonnes]

[He speakethe to Cayne]

[He turnethe to Abell]

[A lamb redy with fyre and insence]

[A chawbone readye]

 [Abell ys strycken with a chawe bone and dyeth]

[Cast Abell into a dyche]

[when ye father speakethe to Cayme lett hem looke downe]

[Let not cayme looke in the father is face but look down & quake]

[Let the father make a marcke in his forehedd this word omega]

 [Let the father depart to heaven]

[Eva commeth to adam wher he lyeth and she proffer to take hem vpe]

[Eva is sorrowfulle tereth her haire & falleth downe vpon adam. he conforteth her]

[Cayme speakethe to hys wiff]

[Adam kneleth]

[Let hem shew the marck]

 [Som fardell to carre with them]

[Show Seth]

 [Adam kneleth & Seth also]

 [Bow and arw redy with the Servant]

 [depart lameck. his servant leadethe hem to the Forest near the bushe]

[Shew the marcke]

[Let hem hyde hem self in a bushe]

[let his man levyll the arrowe; and then shote]

 [when cayme is stryken lett bloud appeare & let hem tomble]

 [Lamec cometh to hem & fyleth hem]

[hear Lamec feleth hem]

[kill hem with a staf]

 [depart away]

 [the devills car[i]eth them wth great noyes to hell]

 [An angell in the gate of paradice, a bright sworde in his hand]

 [Let seythe depart and folow the prynt of adam is feet to paradice]

 [A tree in paradice with a meyd in the topp & reching in her armes the serpent]

 [Let seyth look into paradice]

 [Ther he vyseth all thingis. and seeth ij trees and in the one tree, sytteth mary the virgyn & in her lappe her son Jesus in the tope of the tree of lyf, and in the other tree ye serpent wch caused Eva to eat the appell]

 [The Angell goeth to the Tree of Lyf and breaketh an appll and taketh iij coores and geveth yt to seyth]

 [Seyth goes to his father with the coores & gyveth yt hem]

[Lett Death apeare to adam]

 [They go to hell wth great noyes]

[An Angell conveyeth adam's soole to lymbo]

 [Lett adam be buried in a fayre tombe wth som churche songis at hys buryall]

[The 3 kernels put in his mowthe & nostrels]

 [Enoch kneleth when the father speketh]

 [Enoch is caried to paradice]

 [Let hem poynt to the sun the moone & the firmament]

 [Four bookes to be shewed]

 [Two pyllars made, the on brick and thother of marbell]

 [Putt the pillers upright]

 [Noy commeth before heven & kneleth]

[tooles and tymber redy. wth planckis to make the arcke, a beam a mallet a calkyn yre[n] ropes mass[t]es pyche and tarr]

[Lett Tuball fall a laugh[i]ng]

[Let them both depart]

 [The arck redy and all maner of beastis and fowles to be putt in the arck]

[Let rayne appeare]

[a raven & a culver ready]

 [let the raven fle and the colver after]

 [The culver cometh wth a branche of olyf in her mouthe]

 [An alter redy veary fayre. Som good church songes to be# songe at the alter and frankensens]

[a Rayne bowe to appeare]

[velvetvexations]

It feels like I get never-ending attention from Velvet Nation but no matter what will always absurdly insecure about losing the tiniest shred of it. I don't actually know that any followers I may ever lose were ones that ever sent me a message or or talked about me to others or something but I don't know that they weren't either. What if one careless post is the death knell for my tiny sub-500 count fandom.

Then there's the worry that talking about this at all could put pressure on people, especially if they ever take issue with something I say or want to unfollow for any reason. But people seem to like it when I talk about my NPD symptoms, so.

I appreciate you all. Maybe more than I should, but that's my hellbrain. I really meant it when I said I relate so hard to the word "crazy", like, capital-C Crazy, because I'm painfully aware that I'm not able to deal with these things like a normal rational person and often it's agonizing to watch myself freak out over what I know is nothing.

[fancyfade]

Dickkori for the ask game

Why don’t you ship it?

I don't ship it anymore due to how like... dickbraiend the writers are when writing it, and the fandom is when reacting to it. Like Kory is AWESOME, but wolfman focuses so much on dick that when kory has just been kidnapped and tortured for 5 days in space dick is like " :C :C :C Batman never taught me how to feel emotions" I'm like SHUT THE FUCK UP DICK (and I recognize this is an authorial choice -- when I wrote the scene (link) in my fanfic I used it to talk about Kory's emotions and I was like how this scene aggravates me so much less now)

anwyay, then you do have dick generally being condescending to kory a lot, fandom only focusing on 'uwu she taught him how to be emotionally open' and not recognizing how much of a dick he is for a lot of their relationship.... i'm just like. ok whatever. like so much fandom analysis is about what it does for dick's character, and you can tell they only care about kory as a love interest rather than as a unique character.

What would have made you like it?

if kory got equal narrative treatment. we should see her reactions, we should see why she cares about dick. I saw a really interesting post about how Kory's response to dick is very similar to Franklin, who she dated for 1 issue, and a lot of the focus is jsut she's in love.

I think Tamaran plot v2 was the death knell for the ship for me, as well as the brother blood nonsense afterwards and the scene of dick feeling sympathy for the dude who wants to kill his wife b/c he thinks his wife cheated on him (dick obviously stops him)

Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it?

the characters both are genuinely very fun, and it's not like something so awful i erase it from my mental headcanon. i used to ship it when i read the comics and saw that kory was allowed to have a personality in the comics (as opposed to tv show). re-reading NTT and seeing how it plays out, especially once Perez leaves and Wolfamn goes in his poor little meow meow dick plots, and general fandom response just soured me on it.

Like the ship as is (link) hits one of my favored tropes for m/f ships (physically tougher, down to fight female character).

[anorc-writing]

Why bashing fics annoy me.

I get really fed up with people bashing Ron into the film Ron, or worse ("Moron Weasley"). And not understanding that Harry likes his bossy friend Hermione. (Who is so far from a Mary Sue, it's not funny. JKR accidentally made her a bit of a monster by making her a self-insert.) They're not perfect people, but also, Harry's "a bit moody and stuff."

I really think post-war they could have a great, awkward, complicated coming-of-age story, with a teensy bit of baggage from the war. (And of course, our best girl, Daphne Q. Greengrass. )

In hindsight, long series are utterly horrible to write when you get tired of them; so JKR writing Deathly Hallows and ending with a crap Epilogue is just a writer writing an exit. (And a writer not fond of character-driven writing, really, so not something she'd want to do anyway.)

What? What's all that about Daphne Greengrass?

This is, as they say, the way.

The whole Harry-Ginny thing is so awful in the books, that it's just, well, no. Also, something about abandoning her to the tender mercies of Death Eaters at Hogwarts for a year.

Ginny's two characters badly mashed into one. How does the shy girl obsessed with Harry Potter turn into a fiery cool chick? Well, the secret is, you just write 'and Ginny was a fiery cool chick.' Because Ginny gets a lot of tell not show. (And being possessed for a year is initially traumatic, but then she's just fine. That's of course, because JKR had no idea what horrible gross trauma might do to a young person, so she, like many writers, mostly ignored it. Wrote it, it's there for one chapter, then gone. The one line in the entire series that hints at it, where Harry's complaining after the Department of Mysteries fiasco about having been possessed by Voldemort, Ginny basically said, "uh, that happened to me too." and Harry says, "Oh, I forgot." Now, if Ginny was a real person, with like, feelings, at that point her hero, Harry Potter, is... clearly unable to imagine her point of view, relate to her, and had... literally forgotten her most important, traumatic life event, because he was self-centered.

Now that also makes Harry a teenage boy, but it seemed to me like that would be the death-knell for feelings grown-up Ginny had for Harry Potter. He is, in fact, the protagonist, and knows it. (I'd love to see a writer really deconstruct how bloody annoying protagonists are.)

So, it might be a surprise, but I don't think Ginny bashing is particularly cool either. I might argue that book 1-2 Ginny is dead by the beginning of book 3, but post-Chamber Ginny is just a girl who wants to play professional quidditch. And why not; she's been flying since she could steal a broom at night. As a fanfic writer, I have to get Ginny out of the way so I can ship Harry with Daphne Greengras, but apart from that, she's just a person.

If Harry is taken from her by plot devices like marriage contacts, she's angry, and won't let go without a fight; fair enough actually.

And if she decided she'd had enough of Harry, well, she doesn't care post-Hogwarts. (And I've got a short where she works out that post-Battle-of-Hogwarts Harry is most plausibly Tom Riddle, playing a long con, and dumps him like last weeks fish-heads. That short is the starter for many of my postwar fics.)

And if I've had too much coffee, I'll take the terrible fanfic that is 'cursed child' and turn it into a postwar Harry/Ginny marriage, and eventual breakup, because if CC is canon, they're destined to break up.

Enough bashing already.

So, anyway, you might wonder why Daphne Greengrass (or not , of you've read my writings.) I'll ignore your (and mine) misgivings and dump some exposition here.

We need a character Harry hasn't already had a negative interaction with. And as Harry is someone who could 'have been great in Slytherin' and will, literally, use any means to achieve his ends... Slytherin girls might get him a bit better than other ones.

Daphne Greengrass exists, (and from the classlist) is in Slytherin, pureblood and Harry has never been rude to her face. (That's actually quite a short list of girls at Hogwarts that he's not either been identified as 'The Heir of Slyterin' by, (all of Hufflepuff) Disliked for bullying Luna, or at least letting it slide (All of Ravenclaw.) Or in dorms with, so they've seen him at his least appealing, with only two friends (All of Gryffindor.)

And he's from the wrong side of the tracks, (though actually at least conceptually rich before that thing with his bank) and she's got a posh name. Yeah, lets do a romance.

See, it makes perfect sense.

Daphne Greengrass, gorgeous, should be a model.

<Please imagine a record scratch sound effect here.>

If she was that pretty, she'd be mentioned in the books.

She'd got to be dressing really frumpily if she's got a model-like figure! (Oh god, 'She's all that' flashbacks. ((It's a film about teenagers made in the 1980s and it aged like spoiled milk.))) And Daphne can't have a model-like face... there is a girl that's not Ginny who's really pretty at Hogwarts, and it's Cho Chang. And Harry dated her. (It was a disaster. Harry's got a type. Pretty. Ginny's so pretty, Blaise Zabini mentions it.)

We'll leave the concept of post-Hogwarts glow-ups on the table, as it were.

[circle--of--confusion]

Tagged by @saintbowie ! Thank you! 💜

MUSIC TAG - GHOST EDITION

First song you heard: Carpenter Brut remix of Dance Macabre back in 2020 by accident. (Though it took me 3 years 'till I listened to anything else lol)

Favorite album: prequelle

Album you think is underrated: Opus! (At least for new fans who may not dig the older stuff)

Top 5 songs: Faith! But also: Rats, Idolatrine, Call Me Little Sunshine, Majesty (honorable mention: Mary On A Cross)

5 songs you think are underrated: Helvetesfonster, Darkness At The Heart Of My Love, Twenties, Death Knell, See The Light

Favorite era: Impera

Favorite costume design: Military jacket 💜. But also the Dracopia cape

1 costume (hypothetical or used before) you'd like to see: the previous 3 Papas with more variety of costumes. I'd also love to see a military style jacket again

Favorite gig/live performance: I'm very limited so, the movie? I love the live version of Absolution more than the album version I think lol.

1 song you want to hear live: Faith (in person) but also the album version of Jiggalo Har Megiddo (the acoustic is nice but give me the album version!) Or! Infestissumam with an actual chorus

Favorite Papa: Copia/Papa IV

What makes them your favorite: he's just so fun! I love his mannerisms and little ticks (I see a lot of myself in him sometimes). He's goofy but comforting. And I love his style

Favorite ghoul or ghoulette: Mountain

What makes them your favorite? I just think drummers/the drums are neat! You rarely see clips of him, too.

1 thing you're most looking forward to in the upcoming tour cycle: my first ritual! I get to see the costumes and stage production in person!

1 thing you'd ask in a Q&A: how is the vibe and aesthetic of each era created?

I'll tag: @ramblingoak @cardi-c @visiosatanae @ficandkaboodle

[auntie-doom]

It's been a little over 4 months since open heart surgery on my POTS/MCAS/connective tissue funkiness trifecta self. The cardio surgeon was hoping to reduce a lot of those symptoms by repairing the hole in my heart; I was skeptical but willing to see if things changed (one way or the other, we all know this stuff can be set off by acute physical anything). I've resumed my POTS meds because they do still help.

I had another in-person doctor appointment that involved the usual stand up from waiting room, short walk to the scale, temp, pulse/ox, blood pressure... and WTF they were all NORMAL. I'm watching and some time in the last month (changes: resume clonidine, d/c post-surgery atorvastatin) the time--from orthostatic changes & HR jump then BP jump--to return to normal has reduced to just a few minutes.

I can watch my HR trickle rapidly back down to a reasonable working HR immediately after standing up. It no longer requires sitting still for fifteen minutes+ to get back to my resting rates! Whoa!

This is as unnerving (but in a good way) as finding out that my POTS was broken, half a year ago. But, I reiterate, in a really good way!

Also, before surgery I could barely eat and was steadily gaining weight. Since surgery I have been eating much more, and have lost more than 20 pounds. I was completely deconditioned four months ago; I am trying to exercise, but I am not in any way working hard enough to cause weight loss. Just one more *bong* in the "calories in/calories out" death knell.