#initially also had one for root which was like '''i miss you more than i anticipated'' but then i realized that was characterization i read

[ria-starstruck]

i have some silly hollow knight valentines

[dollwritesarchive]

𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 — 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐚

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), “instant loss” trope, oral sex ( m!receiving ), facefucking, it gets a lil sloppy, enemies to fuckbuddies ??, light degradation, but also some praise, all characters featured are 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ requested by anonymous. my first time writing for genshin, do not bully me or i’ll cum. do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. thanks for reading < 3

“No more.” you mumble, and collapse on the floor at his feet. why did it have to be him? why did your initiation have to be a battle when your wits were much sharper than your daggers? why must you face him?

Tartaglia had been a menace for as long as you’d been a prospect, every meeting he simply glared at you, and you at him. he hated how, in his own words, ‘fox-like’ you were. “A sly vixen who can hardly wield the blades she uses like mere accessories,” he’d said once, and you’d hurled one at him ( and missed ), which only allowed his point to be proven as he sank back in his seat and quirked a brow, “see? Miles off. It’s as I said. She wouldn’t be able to hold her own in a true battle.”

you couldn’t argue with that, either, but it was his arrogance that really bothered you. he was such an asshole.

which is why you were shocked when, upon being welcomed into the Harbingers, Pierro had suggested you face Childe in battle. after all, he’d been the only member that had vehemently denied your right to be there. “If you bested him,” Pierro explained to you in secret when you rejected the opportunity, “he would be so shameful, there’s a chance he would fall to his knees and sob.” even if he’d only said such a thing in order to convince you to go through with it, it’d worked. the possibility that you could break the egotistical Childe, and you could do it with your fellow Fatui’s blessings was too sweet a revenge upon him to relinquish. so you’d agreed to fight him.

a terrible idea, really.

Childe, who could’ve ended the spar in the blink of an eye, had decided instead to draw it out. truly exploit your lack of skill with a weapon and highlight all the wrong moves you made. he’d allowed you to tire yourself out with swings and jabs that would never reach their true destination, until you were crumbling and panting in front of him, your knees dug into the dirt.

he scoffs and swaggers towards you, glancing at the daggers in your hands, “Surrendering already, are we?”

“Childe,” you grumble, looking up at him with your breath labored. you were squinting, brows knit tight together, “if I take another swing, my arms will surely fall off. I’m done.”

“Aren’t you just pathetic?” he laughs, boiling your blood, and nudges your wrist with his foot as if to see for himself. both daggers slip from your grasp and clatter against the ground. he then uses the tip of his boot to fling one out of your reach, and then the other. “Go ahead and say it, then.”

“I… I surrender.”

his eyes light up, an elated grin etching his lips upwards into a victorious simper as he steps closer, planting his feet on either side of you. one hand rests its palm against the crown of your head at first, and he tilts his head to the side, looking down at you, “And you know what happens when you surrender, don’t you, little vixen?”

you shake your head, but avoid his gaze, attempting to glare holes into his feet, but his gloved digits clamp down, grasping a fistful of your hair at the root to force you to crane your neck and stare up at him. when you do, you’re taken aback to see his body angled the way it was, leaning back with his groin pushed close, the crotch of his trousers sporting a thick, hard tent. “What happens?” you ask, forcing your eyeline over his erection and along the length of his torso. was victory really such a euphoric sensation?

but Childe sinks his teeth into the lower counterpart of his grin, clenching your hair tight, and reveling in the way you droop, helplessly, before him on your knees. “You’re left completely at the mercy of your opponent.” he answers, his free hand flees to his belt and unfastens it, while the other holds your head steady, “And he can do whatever he wants to you.” your eyes fall to his belt, and then the waistband of his bottoms when his hand slides underneath and rubs himself in strong, quick circles. you couldn’t help yourself, you exhaled— the display pooling between your thighs. it didn’t help how sharply he drew in a breath, and how fiercely he stares down at you, gauging your reaction to his performance. “Do you know what I, your victorious opponent, really want to do to you right now?”

you could figure it out easily enough, but you still shook your head, the words refusing to fully register in your poor, empty mind. he was too distracting, and you inched closer to him, the very tip of your soft tongue flicking at the seam of your lips when he pulls his cock out. presenting it to you as if it’s another one of his weapons, he grips hard to its base, tapping the swollen head against your lips. you practically whimper once the raw scent of him tickles your nostrils— his arousal tying your guts into knots.

you know you shouldn’t, but you long to taste him.

he notices the way you melt closer, and he scoffs, impressed. “You don’t?” he teases, rubbing his tip to smear your lips with sticky sweet, musky precum. your couplet parts to pepper the expanse of the broad, pink head in lazy, nearly drunken kisses, your eyelids fluttering as you whine again. “I think you do,” he mutters, tugging your head back by the grip on your tendrils, prying you off of him so he can tease. you pout, and lap at your lips, but stare only at his cock, just out of reach. “I think you want me to fuck that pretty mouth of yours as much as I want to.”

he was toying with you, giving you enough slack to make a fool of yourself by wanting him, and then he’d pull you away. you sigh, soft and wanton, and mutter as if it doesn’t matter to you either way ( an easily saw through lie ), “Do it already, then. What are you waiting for?”

“You to beg me for it.” to this, you glare, open your mouth to speak, but he’s already pulling you close again, running the length of his rigid, veined cock against the part in the seal of your lips. you can tell he likes the way it feels by how hard of a breath he sucks in, and how his eyelids flutter, “Tell me how no one can beat the Almighty Tartaglia, and how desperate you are to have my cock in your throat.”

“You pig.”

“I’m waiting.”

this motherfucker.

you feel a white, hot rage bubbling in your gut, and you start to tell him exactly where he can shove it, but your lips betray your own mind, and you find yourself submitting to him, instead. “No one can beat you,” you purr, your words slurred as he smears his manhood over your lips. your tongue caresses one, pesky vein and you hear him mewl in pleasure.

“Keep going.” he growled, lusty.

“You’re the.. the Almighty Tartaglia. And I need to feel your cock in my throat, please… please let me have it.”

what were you doing?

Childe was pleased, at least, chewing on the lower counterpart of his pout when he pulls on your hair to snatch your attention back to his face, and when he does, the hand on his base abandons its post and seeks out your lips. warm, clothed digits push their way in through the threshold and pry your mouth open, and he juts his hips forward, wanting to replace those fingers with his cock, that was hard and adamant for wanting attention. “Easy peasy, that’s what you are, hm? A hopeless, little loser, falling right into subservience of your superior. I bet you want to make me cum, badly, don’t you? Wanna taste it? Wanna feel it pumping down your throat?”

you want to tell him no, just to see that smug grin of his knocked off his features, but to your dismay, you’re nodding to each of his questions, doe eyes trained on his countenance, fanning your thick lashes as your tongue lazes out to flick at his fingers before suckling on them.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for me?”

another eager nod, and this time, he retrieves his digits from your lips, and your tongue follows, hanging out over your chin. he takes one look at it and grins wider, spanking the muscle with the head of his cock. you squint each time, wanting to reach up and take hold of him at the base, but you don’t. instead, you shove both hands between your thighs, one pressing your palm against the ground to keep you steady, and the other prodding underneath your skirt to rub against your panties.

“Show me,” he practically begged, grabbing the thick trunk and guiding it into your waiting, open mouth. finally. you whine around the girth, hollowing your cheeks to be able to accommodate all he was trying to shove into your cavern at once. but he tasted so delicious, it didn’t matter how rough he was, you’d take it. “Suck me good.”

and you did.

creating a vacuum with your lips sealed as tight around his shaft as you could, you slurp and bob your head, dragging your flattened tongue against his bulging veins and gurgling satisfied moans, sending heated vibrations through him, and Childe dropped his head back, a humiliatingly depraved moan erupting from his parted lips. the weight of his hand on your head pushed it down, and you could hear a faint, “Yes.” and it was whiny and hungry all at once. the quiet vocalization of his pleasure spurs your fingers to wrench your panties to one side, rubbing your now exposed and swelling clit.

“More,” he demands, bucking his hips into your rhythm, forcing the thick tip to the back of your throat. you gag at first, glancing up at him with tears forming in your eyes, but only for a moment before you adjust to the ferocity of his pumping, and you bat the tears away. “You can take it.” he’s smirking down at you, red cheeked and panting with his eyelids heavy. he gazed at you as if he’s drunk off the pleasure, chest heaving, and presses his cock into your mouth until he bulges out one of your cheeks, stretching it to surprising proportions. “Fuck, that mouth’s so warm, I want to just— live in it…”

your middle finger pushes into your clenching hole, and you whimper; your lower belly is all knotted up, and it’s all you can do to ride your own palm, pumping your finger knuckle deep as you take every inch of him into your mouth and suck until your eyes want to cross.

Childe groans, pulling at your tender roots, his free hand fondling his own balls. if he would just let you take control, you thought, you’d give them plenty of attention, too. but he wasn’t about to give that power over to you. besides, he much preferred the fervent thrusting where his thick tip wormed its way into your throat with each bottom out. “So messy,” he purrs, but he’s wearing a cheshire grin, “I love it.” you could feel what he meant. not only were you soaking your hand and the ground beneath you in your slick, but you were drooling from both corners of your mouth, spit and precum cocktailing and dribbling down on to your chest. your available hand reaches up to rest against his abdomen, but not to stop him. “Gonna make you drool like this all the time, now.” he snickers, “Now that I know you love it, too.”

the best you could muster was a cluck and a nod, reaching your own climax before he does. you couldn’t believe it— you’d never cum from sucking cock before. but there was something about Childe, and you hated that he was the exception. your moans turn into helpless, muffled squealing, and you start to quiver, your eyes rolling back as pleasure takes hold of you.

your display certainly wracks Tartaglia, because he grunts and his hips stutter, hands shaking as he holds on to you, “Mm… Fuck, gonna cum—“ but that was truly all the warning you were given before he’s pounding into you, balls swinging heavy to slap against your chin, and each, full thrust pumps another splatter of his release down your throat.

what you can’t swallow, you push to the front of your mouth and it oozes out from the corners of your sore lips around him, twitching and softening. only when he’s completely spent, does he pull out, leaving you spitting and sputtering.

you breathe, ragged, looking up at him with stray tears on your face, but not for long because he squats down, eye level to you, and grabs your chin, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss. just tasting himself on your mouth elicits a happy moan, which you swallow, both hands fleeing to grip his collar so he could pull you to stand with him, but your legs were too weak, and you melt against him. somehow, his body was still tight and strong, and he can support how wobbly you are. one of his knees press between your thighs to tease your sensitive cunt, and you whine into his mouth, squirming against it.

“I think I love the taste of my cock on your pretty, swollen lips,” Childe purrs when he finally breaks the kiss, nipping at your chin with his teeth, “but I’m much more excited to find out exactly how sweet your cunt is.”

[mage-ical-character-person]

I’ve seen a lot of people bring up the pilot outfits in this scene and stuff, but never the fact that Charlie is out here looking for injured survivors of the extermination to bandage up. Like I can’t think of any other reason she’d be wandering around in an alleyway with bandages in her pocket right after the extermination.

Is Vaggie the only one she found that day? Did Vaggie follow her as she bandaged up others whose injuries she and her peers were responsible for? It’s just really intriguing and one of those small moments that says a lot.

Also this sort of brings to mind an instance of missed opportunity. Both the pilot and the first actual episode are supposed to take place shortly after an extermination, and I wish we’d seen Charlie doing this then, too. I know there was a lot of exposition to get out of the way in both cases to introduce the series, but still. Could’ve had that happening during Chasing Rainbows, with Charlie seeing the carnage up-close and doing everything she can to help instead of singing on a balcony, never in the same shot as the tragedy she laments.

And honestly when I watched Overture and she was singing Happy Day In Hell… like is it not the single worst day of the year, with the extermination, which motivates your whole… everything? If she were actively trying to make it a Happy Day in Hell during the song and, again, helping her people in the aftermath of the extermination that would be one thing. A much better introduction to her character is the thing it would probably be.

I like her boundless optimism better when it comes from a place of knowing more than one of ignorance and naivety, which is what Happy Day in Hell sort of feels like. It almost feels out of character in that way? She’s grown up in hell, spent her whole life among the carnage and the sinners, and her hope is most impactful when it’s framed with this.

If someone who’s known nothing but literal hell can believe there’s good in everyone, that really says something, and that’s what I love about Charlie. She’s seen the worst of the worst and believes in the best in people anyway. It’s almost funny to see the sinners doubt her when she knows better than anyone that there is always good to be found. She’s a living example that, like flowers growing through cracks in the concrete, positivity can take root anywhere. Characters like Alastor (as much as I love that freak) are frankly stupid to doubt her or think of her as naive. You think you know the nature of sinners better than someone who’s spent their entire ridiculously long life in hell, actively involving herself in the lives of her people? (Unlike her father, who despite being around since the beginning is a shut-in who avoids sinners)

So this scene in Vaggie’s backstory where Charlie is shown up close and personal with the people struggling in her realm, where she’s the shining embodiment of the good in the hostile: it’s a scene that’s very important for more reasons than it initially seems.

Not only is Charlie unknowingly showing Vaggie that what the angels say about hell is wrong by being the one to show kindness and mercy after those Vaggie trusted punished her for her own act of mercy, but it’s a great moment for Charlie’s character when we don’t often see her helping hell’s general population all that directly.

Anyway who wants to bet that in the years since they met Vaggie has joined Charlie as they search for and patch up survivors in the aftermath of the extermination? Because that would be really great I think and would be a great way to show how much things have changed for Vaggie.

So that’s that. I tend to latch on to random details so sorry for that long rant thing. This show has so many good ideas that I wish we saw more of. This was supposed to just be about that one scene and I got carried away.

EDIT: whoops Overture doesn’t take place on extermination day. Point still partially stands because extermination day was recent but yeah. I forgot. Sorry

[ronearoundblindly]

for RoAR ransom x reader 🥺🫶🏻

2. Who wakes up early/Who sleeps in late?

14. Do they enjoy PDA, or are they more private with affection?

41. What would they do if they lost the other?

Questions from this ask game and for The Root of All Ransom series with Ransom Drysdale x rich!reader.

2

Ransom is generally an anxious/distrusting person, so initially, he doesn't sleep well with you (or at least not through the whole night). He's always prepared for the other shoe to drop or to feel uncomfortable. He prides himself on maintaining a perfect body image and is wary of morning breath and bags under his eyes. He doesn't like the idea of not being conscious while someone else is around.

It takes him a while, but he does relax...eventually. It evolves from self-consciousness to wanting to enjoy how peaceful you are around him (which in turn makes him feel peaceful) to truly not worrying about whether you wake before him.

Mind you, all this is if you aren't both woken up by some work emergency of yours. There are also, eventually, ground rules about phones being silenced and/or in the room with you.

14

Ransom is subtly possessive. He knows you'll chew him out if he dares to make you feel like some ornament on his arm or if he behaves like you can't take care of yourself in front of tipsy/flirty/handsy men, but gently pressing the small of your back or a hand around you, resting on your hip, are always welcome gestures.

Small kisses are fine, too. Little pecks. Both of you like to whisper silly or naughty things then, stuff no one else can hear, but you are careful since there are a whole lot of people who might be trying to photograph you at any given moment.

For the most part, Ransom is not fond of showing anything in public. He's very guarded. That goes triple for kindness and affection since he's considered those weaknesses for most of his life.

Ran is getting a lot better about this in private, but public? Still no.

41

Like...died???

Oh boy. Oh man.

Okay, so, um, if Ransom died, life would oddly go back to how it was before for you. That sounds callus, but that's the point. You worked. You travelled. You had nobody, really. That's sorta the worst punishment I can think of in life: feeling like someone's missing and it only matters to you.

If you died, however, I do not see Ran surviving that. He'd spiral into old habits and be more of an ass than ever before. He would find very little motivation to keep living because the cynicism that sustained him previously just wouldn't do it anymore.

There is a small chance Harlan could pull him back from the brink--since Harlan is a widower, too,--but without any career or hobby to fall back on and immerse himself in, Ransom is in serious fucking danger.

Thank you for asking!

[lightofleia]

dauntless parties - peter hayes

hi!! here’s another peter hayes fic, which i’ve decided to post in full on tumblr instead of just linking to my ao3. also i’d like to remind everyone that i’m still taking requests!

Word Count: 3,324

Pairing: Peter Hayes x Reader

Description: Peter always comes to you when he’s hurt, tonight is no different. No War AU

Warnings: Very brief sexual references, blood, injury, mention of alcohol.

Music echoed throughout the infirmary, the only sign of the Dauntless party happening a level below, the one you were so unceremoniously disinvited to when you’d been called to work the night shift. It seemed to be taunting you, and as the hour grew darker, and the fluorescent lighting grew stronger, you could feel your own annoyance grow

You supposed you wouldn’t care much if you had any company, but all the beds were empty— Dauntless would rather die than miss a party, apparently— and the other nurses saw no reason to stay when you could clearly hold down the fort on your own. It was just typical, really, for them to do this. What kind of a job was a nurse for a Dauntless, anyways? Someone had to do it, but why you? Of course, you knew the answer; they couldn’t think of a better place to put an Abnegation transfer.

The thought made you groan, throwing down the book you’d been flipping through aimlessly. If they weren’t going to respect you, why should you respect them? There weren't even any patients there, there hardly ever were; no self-respecting Dauntless would be found in the infirmary unless they absolutely needed to be there, and, to their credit, they rarely did.

Besides, tonight was a party, the only people getting hurt were idiots. Idiots who probably didn’t even deserve your attention. Idiots who—

Banging at the door interrupted your internal rant, but before you could even see who was there, Peter came stumbling in, and suddenly you understood the purpose of you being here tonight. Idiots like him, of course.

You could tell the extent of his injuries from the way he smiled at you, goofier than Peter had ever mustered before, or had ever wanted to. Still, he wore that same smug look he always had, and seeing him so bold in such a vulnerable state left you with the urge to roll your eyes. Unfortunately, telling him off would have to wait, overwhelmed by your need to help him— whether that comes from your Abnegation roots or your medical training, you don’t know, but you can’t be bothered to think too deeply about it, especially now— and you find yourself rushing towards him to take a better look at the damage.

“I think I just need some rest,” He says, leaning heavily against the wall as if he intends to fall asleep where he stood.

“You need stitches,” You correct him, ignoring the way he winces as you poke at the gash above his eyebrow. “How did you even get that?”

“Fist fight turned into a knife fight,” Peter groans, allowing you to lead him to one of the beds. He sits on the edge, clutching his side. “Who brings a knife to a party?”

“You do,” You say with an amused sniff. You know fully well Peter is only playing dumb with you because he wants your sympathy, and because he doesn’t want to admit to losing a fight he probably initiated himself. If you knew him, which you did, the other guy was fairly cut up as well, but no one had as good a reason to make a trip to the infirmary than the boy in front of you.

“Just lay down,” You sigh, and he listens, though his pained expression shows it’s not with much ease. You begin to rummage through the cabinet for the supplies you need, watching him from the corner of your eye. It’s been such a long time since you first saw him this way, but the memory feels fresh.

You’d been in initiation together, fought each other even, though fighting you rarely seemed to earn him more than a scratch. Looking back, you figured that had been a good thing. You passed initiation, but not by much, and that kept you off Peter’s radar for the most part.

It had been a fight with Edward that left you caring for him that first time. He had too much pride to go to the actual infirmary, and so you found him tending to his own wounds in the bathroom, late at night.

“Tell anyone about this, and you’ll be dead,” He had said as you wrapped a bandage around his bruised knuckles. His words were so cold that even the memory of them made you shiver.

You knew you shouldn’t have helped him, but you really shouldn’t have continued to do so after Edward lost his eye just a few days later. Peter made no attempt to hide this side of himself from you, but still, it became a habit for you to tend to his injuries, to take care of him. It happened again and again, until his threats disappeared and were replaced with words you could almost call compliments. Even after initiation, he came to you for help. Soon, you realized he would only come to you. Something in you warmed at the thought.

You weren’t sure if you hated the way he made you feel, but you were sure you wanted to. Your wants, however, seemed futile in the wake of his presence, like your caring for him was a tsunami washing over you, swallowing you up.

Even now, as you return to him, he looks at you with his big, doe eyes, and you want nothing more than to punch him. You’re sure he knows what he’s doing (when doesn’t he?) but you don’t say a word.

You unscrew the lid to a bottle of pills the Erudite makes especially for Dauntless fighters, some magic cure-all that your father would probably claim kills brain cells. You hand feed a couple to Peter, to which he has no protest, and you can imagine the looks you’d get if you weren’t alone. The thought makes you laugh to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, blinking up at you through a swollen eye.

“Just you,” You say as you return the pills to their place in the cabinet and lock it. With a second glance at Peter, you realize the Erudite science has proved you useless again, and sigh as you put the needle and thread back too, opting for a bandage instead.

“I thought I was your favorite patient?” Peter asks, giving you his best puppy-dog eyes, but you only scoff.

“Maybe if you got hurt less than twice a week,” You say as you begin to apply ointment to the cut above his eyebrow. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, but doesn’t complain. If you had any less willpower, you might’ve apologized.

“So,” He says, his need to be a nuisance greater than any pain that could be inflicted on him, “What I’m hearing is you hate to see me hurt.”

“You always hear what you want to, don’t you? I hate to see anyone hurt,” You make sure to apply his bandage with a little more pressure than necessary. “It makes my job harder.”

“So cynical,” he tuts, shaking his head. “Have you ever heard of proper bedside manner?”

“Dauntless doesn’t care much about the patient's health, Peter,” You tell him, and he smiles. Of course, it’s that cruelty that made him so fit for Dauntless in the first place.

“Then how come you’re always so sweet to me?” He says sarcastically, and you frown, glaring at him. “When you’re not jabbing at me with a needle or wrapping my bandages too tight, that is.”

“Any jabbing or lack of blood flow is for your own good,” You say, though it’s a struggle not to laugh as you think of the times you’ve had to give him stitches, and how he’d look at the needle like it was a grenade. You were sure he’d rather be looking down the barrel of a gun.

“So you do care?” Peter grins so wide it looks like it must hurt.

“Only as much as I’m required to,” You stand up, making a move away from his side, but before you can take even a step further, he grabs your hand.

“Sit with me a while longer,” He says, pulling you back to where you were. You listen, as if you could even try and will yourself away, and you can tell by the cheeky look on his face that he takes some kind of pride in this.

The build between you had been so slow, you’re not sure either of you could pinpoint when you became aware of his hold on you. It seemed likely he’d known for far longer than you, maybe even since that first night on the bathroom floor. Peter was manipulative, he was cruel, you knew it as well as anyone else, it was completely reasonable to assume he’d been exploiting this little crush you had on him. The thought made you feel sick.

“Are you alright?” He asks, and though you can tell he’s trying to be nice, he still looks at you as if you’ve swallowed a bug. Maybe it’s a symptom of his injured state, or maybe it’s the years of fake niceties catching up with him. Either seems entirely possible.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You say, looking around the room for an excuse to leave his side, though his hand is still clasped firmly over yours, as if he can read your mind. “Maybe you should eat, any alcohol in your system will delay the healing process and food could—”

“I didn’t drink,” Peter interrupts you, and you eye him suspiciously. “Seriously! I don’t trust my drunk self at a Dauntless party, not after what happened last time.”

“I wouldn’t either,” You say, though you’re secretly glad for that reassurance. The few times you had seen Peter drunk made you cringe now, especially the times he found it appropriate to drape an arm around you, whispering incomprehensible innuendos in your ear as you smiled awkwardly at curious passersby and hoped none of your friends found you. Apparently he thought it was amusing to humiliate you, despite all you’d done for him, but you couldn’t be mad at him when any scolding you tried just left him grinning like an idiot. “You’re impossibly annoying when you’re drunk.”

“Really? I thought you liked me hanging off of you,” He sighs, as if disappointed. “Besides, you’re not much better.”

“What?” You ask, the shock so clear in your voice that he laughs.

“You don’t remember?” Peter looks at you with a smirk. “I guess I’m not surprised, you were pretty out of it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That party just a couple weeks ago, when the power went out?” You know what he’s talking about, or at least, you heard about it.

“I thought Christina took me home,” You say, though now that you thought about it, the night was too blurry for you to confirm that with yourself.

“Maybe,” he shrugs, “But you’d been dancing with me all night, and when I got back to my place, you were there waiting outside my door.”

“Oh god, we didn’t—?”

“No, no. I told you, I swore off drinking at parties months ago,” Peter shakes his head, and you breathe a sigh of relief. “I just took you home, stayed with you most of the night.”

“Really?” You ask, finding it hard to believe he’d ever do something like that.

“Well, it was free entertainment,” He says with that wicked look in his eye. “You tried to flirt with me for at least a couple hours. I didn’t know you were so persistent.”

You feel yourself go bright red, not able to imagine the things you must’ve said. You’re about to apologize when he stops you.

“I imagine I’m worse though,” He laughs, “With the way you look and all.”

You’re a bit taken aback by that, but he seems unfazed, as if what he’s said is completely normal. He looks at you the way he’s always looked at you, but his words still make your heart beat a little faster, no matter how casual he seems.

“It was nice, though, when you danced with me. It seems like you’re always avoiding me,” He says after we’ve been quiet for a moment. He doesn’t seem sad, or even angry, more just curious, or maybe amused. Like he’s satisfied with his reputation. “Is it because of your friends? Or because of me?”

“You’re not exactly nice to them.” Or me, You consider adding, but don’t.

“Why should I be nice to them?” Peter laughs as if the idea is ridiculous. “I don’t like them.”

“Oh please, you don’t like anyone,” The words taste bad in your mouth, but you know they’re true, and you rip your hand out of his grasp. This is his greatest talent, of course, getting people riled up. He seems to relish in it. “Not even your lackeys.”

“They’re idiots,” Peter says dismissively, and you can’t help but feel wounded. If he thinks of the people he calls friends as idiots, what could he possibly think of you? You must seem like a total pushover to him, and though you hate to care about his opinion, the thought hurts you deep in your core. You feel as if your stomach might turn inside out.

But before you can worry yourself to death, he says, “You're wrong, though.”

You lift your eyebrows and fold your arms across your chest, urging him to go on, but too afraid to open your mouth out of fear of what you might say. You don’t want to stoop to his level.

“I do like some people,” You watch intently as Peter places a hand on your thigh, much more innocently than you thought he was capable of. “I like you.”

When you open your mouth to speak, it’s as if your tongue has been cut out. Your mind is screaming at you to say something, anything, but you simply cannot. This feels as if it goes on for hours before Peter looks at you with the most obnoxious grin, and suddenly, your voice returns, as if your very being simply couldn’t allow him this win.

“Wipe that smug look off your face,” You snap, but he only laughs. “I’m serious.”

“I bet you are,” he says, and though you’d never take this from anyone else, you find yourself only minorly annoyed by Peter, again. Really, if he was anyone else, you probably would’ve killed him by now.

“I should’ve gone to that damn party,” You think back to your inconsiderate coworkers with a glare at the door. “Maybe you wouldn’t have ended up here.”

“I think I would’ve ended up in your apartment instead,” He says, almost wistfully. “Though, it’s not too late for any of that.”

With a glance to the clock on the wall, you see he’s right. It’s not even one yet.

The look he gives you, like always, leaves you wanting nothing more than to even have a clue as to what he’s thinking. At least now, you have a better guess.

“How about this,” Peter starts, a mischievous glint in his eye that leaves you more excited than it should. “I don’t tell your superiors you left your post, and you give me one dance.”

“Nothing explicit,” You add, and he rolls his eyes.

“Fine,” He says, “But you might not be able to resist.”

You groan in disgust, but as he stands you take his hand and allow him to lead you out of the infirmary.

—

It’s almost funny, the way you walk in together, with your arm looped around his. What’s even more odd is that Peter was the one to insist upon it, but you see its deeper purpose in the looks you receive. You can tell from the skip in his step that he loves the attention.

Despite the fact that you’re completely sober, something comparable to the effects of alcohol had seemed to wash over you in the time it took to walk from the infirmary to the Pit. The worries that have plagued you for months now don’t even cross your mind; the betrayal you took part in every time you helped Peter, your Abnegation background haunting you even past initiation, not even the unexplainable affection you felt towards the boy next to you could weigh on your thoughts now. The music is too loud, the lights are too strong, and Peter is standing too close.

“Peter, what are you doing back here?” An angry voice calls from behind Peter, and, in just a moment, you’re whipped around along with him, face to face with Tris. She looks angry, to say the least, but with Peter’s presence that’s a given. When she sees you, though, her expression becomes unreadable.

“I got fixed up,” He says, gesturing to you, a wide grin spread over his face. You realize Tris is injured too, though far less than Peter is, and it becomes apparent she’s the one he’d fought with. “Figured I better come back with a date, too.”

“I thought you were working tonight,” Tris says, completely ignoring Peter.

“I was,” You admit, “But I couldn’t let him back out here unsupervised.”

“We always end up together at the end of the night anyways,” Peter says, prompting you to jab your elbow into his side.

Tris eyes you up and down, staring at you as if Peter isn’t even there. At first, you worry she’s giving you some kind of death glare, but you quickly realize she’s deciding whether or not to leave you with Peter.

“We’ll see you later, Tris,” You say finally, not giving her any time to reply before you’ve tugged

Peter away from her. A second longer and they might’ve been at it again, and you aren’t gonna end the night without the dance you’d promised Peter.

“So eager,” He says, whisper-shouting in your ear once you’ve read the center of the crowd. All around you are people dancing. or fighting. though some of it is hard to tell apart.

You roll your eyes at him, but don’t make any protest when he pulls you in close. You take cues from the rest of the crowd when it comes to dancing, your heartbeat too loud in your ears to be able to properly hear the music.

This isn’t the soft, romantic dancing you’d heard of Amity couples doing, Dauntless would never allow a slow enough song for that, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, and you can tell Peter feels the same. He keeps you pressed to him so tightly you’re afraid you might melt into one person. You’d expect the sweat between the two of you to make you at least a little bit uncomfortable, but instead it has you excited, so completely aware of every sense despite the fact that all of them are being overwhelmed.

At some point, you find yourselves in the center of a very rowdy group. It doesn’t bother you, really, but you can tell from the scowl on his face that you’re a few seconds away from losing his attention completely.

You place your hand under his chin and turn his head so his eyes are back on you. His gaze softens, though not in the same way it does for strangers and unsuspecting victims. You’re almost sure you’ve got that difference down now, or at least you’d like to think that you would after all the time you’ve spent with him.

“We should get out of here,” Peter says, though you have to read his lips a little to understand him.

“I think you’re right,” You agree, allowing him to tug you away from the Pit entirely.

You suppose you don’t realize where he’s leading you until you’re at his door, but another part of you was sure where the two of you were headed. Either way, you know you aren’t mad about it.

You are, however, surprised when he holds open the door for you.

[thana-topsy]

35

Ancano X Savos Aren? 👀

EXCELLENT suggestion. Thank you for this one.

---

Ancano x Savos Aren "A kiss to gain something." (1077 words)

“I’m sorry, but the answer is still no.” 

Ancano lifted a brow as he took a sip of wine, gazing half-lidded over the brim of his cup. He dabbed his lips on the back of his glove and offered a delicate shrug in response. “I understand, Arch-Mage. My apologies for… haranguing you.”

They sat opposite each other in Savos Aren’s quarters, a bottle of Firebrand wine between them (Ancano’s gift), barely touched. Aren wore a look of pinched suspicion, which Ancano supposed was fair. He hadn’t really made an attempt at being pleasant thus far, but supposed after two months living at this wretched college that he might as well make an attempt to forge a connection. At least superficially. 

More than connection, however, he wanted access to Saarthal.

“You have to understand it from my perspective,” Aren continued, gazing curiously into his own wine cup. It’s not poisoned, Ancano wanted to say. “We already walk a delicate tightrope with the locals. Allowing a Thalmor agent to enter a revered Nordic crypt—especially considering the history of said crypt—it would shine unwanted attention on the College. We are neutral in this conflict, and many might see it as–”

“I might remind you that the Thalmor are also neutral in this conflict, Arch-Mage. Our presence in Skyrim, as with any other country under the Empire’s rule, is simply to enforce order and aid in upholding the agreements of the Concordat. I might also add that I am not a Justiciar. I am not here to root out Talos worship, though it is my duty to report it.” He paused, taking another sip of wine, letting his words linger. “But it is not my main concern. My role here is to act as an advisor and ambassador to you, Arch-Mage. And staying abreast of the College’s curriculum, including all relevant expeditions, is my concern.”

At long last, Aren took a sip of his own wine. He made a pleased noise, then picked up the bottle to inspect the label. “Quite nice.”

Ancano nodded, tilting his cup in Aren’s direction in silent cheers.

Aren sat back in his chair with a sigh, pushing the hood from his head. His long, black hair was streaked gray and pulled back into a low tail. His features were severe, even for a dark elf: high cheekbones and hollow cheeks, his deep red eyes slitted like a fox. The point of his beard only served to make his face appear far too long and narrow. Ancano always found the dark elves to have an unnatural, uncanny appearance to them—Daedra-cursed through and through—and rarely did he find himself in such close quarters with one. He couldn’t help but stare. 

“You were a student at this college once, correct?” Ancano asked. 

“Yes,” Aren answered, his nervousness returning. 

“What was your area of study?” 

He seemed to relax marginally. “Oh, well, I had a variety of projects in my time. This was close to a century ago, mind you, but–”

And he was off, jabbering away about various lines of research and artifact recovery. No wonder he’d initiated the Saarthal expedition. Savos Aren seemed particularly fascinated with what basically amounted to grave robbing. Ancano smiled into his wine. 

“What’s so funny?” Aren asked. 

“Funny? No no, you mistake me. I simply find your… enthusiasm to be charming.” 

An indigo flush crept up Aren’s neck and darkened his cheeks. He took a sip of his own wine and averted his fox-like eyes. 

Ancano made a mental note of the reaction. “Please continue,” he urged. “And let me–” He reached forward to lift the wine bottle, motioning for Aren to hold out his cup to be refilled. 

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Arch-Mage.” 

He listened patiently as the Dunmer continued to ramble, Aren's shoulders becoming looser, his gesticulations more enthusiastic. Ancano continued to fill Aren’s wine cup when it ran low.

“And I just feel it; a mage’s intuition, if you will. There’s a missing piece to the puzzle in Saarthal. Why would our ancient brethren risk it all otherwise? The Nords dug too deep, I say. They found something that they shouldn’t have. Something worth fighting for. I just know it.”

Ancano’s entire body blazed with victory, satisfaction curling in the pit of his stomach. He hid his excitement behind a placid smile. “You’ve dared to do what many have not. And for that, I commend you. I have no doubt your efforts will prove to be most fruitful.”

“I appreciate you saying so,” said Aren. “And thank you for the wine. It’s been most delicious.”

“Of course.” Ancano rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. “I believe I must retire for the evening. It’s grown late.” 

Aren got to his feet as well. “Ah, I’ve rambled on for so long. My apologies.”

“No need to apologize. I inquired, after all.”

Aren’s gaze was slightly unfocused—dulled from the wine and lulled by the companionable conversation—yet his gaze lingered on Ancano’s face for a moment too long. “If–” he began, then seemed to second guess himself. 

Ancano relaxed his posture, crossing his hands patiently in front of his waist, waiting. 

“I might accompany you to Saarthal, if you’d still like. Though the excavation has only just begun, I can show you our progress. If–” He gestured to Ancano’s robes. “–only if you promise to wear something a little less… flashy.” 

Ancano laughed, and to his own surprise it was a more genuine laugh than he intended. He cleared his throat and regained his composure. “I believe that’s a fair request.” 

Final play. Are you so sure of yourself? 

Yes, he answered his own query. 

Ancano was young by Altmeri standards, but he had grown up among politicians and kinsmen, breast-fed on the social dalliances of subterfuge and subtle manipulation. He knew the signs. He knew the game. 

Aren smiled a little too genuinely, and Ancano offered a slight bow in return, crossing his hands behind his back. 

“I would be honored, Arch-Mage.” Then, stepping forward, he leaned into Aren’s space, tilting his head to place a soft kiss against the dark elf’s cheek. 

Aren sucked in a breath, but otherwise remained stock still as Ancano’s lips lingered. 

Then, Acano stepped away with another bow, passing the gesture off as Altmeri formalities. “I eagerly await your invitation.”

“Very good,” Aren said distantly. 

Ancano’s smile felt razor-sharp on his lips. “And I’ll make sure to dress for the occasion.”

[hadesdancehall]

I also made this post on the BRC subreddit but unsure if it'll stay up there so I figured I'd also share here on the off chance it gets taken. Just had thoughts about the visual symbolism with Faux and Felix that I needed to get out of my system.

Spoilers ahead for Chapter 5 and BRC endgame!

When I was going into the final boss fight, my best friend had wanted to be on voice call because there was a particular shot after the fight that she really wanted me to see: the one where Solace became Felix's "one wing".

Considering Felix going solo catalyzed the contention between him and Faux, the way Felix's "I only need one wing" mentality evolved between his first All City to the end of BRC's narrative is one of the things that really struck me with this shot. Felix's one wing was initially something borne from his decision to break away from the Big 3 in order to go solo — relying on his own merits in order to reach the pinnacle of the streets. It's never explicitly said if he really thought of Faux as a burden ("Felix... you never wanted us to be a crew and why would you? You gained so much from dropping me.") but from Felix's perspective, there were "no hard feelings" which implies that there was no actual resentment on his side. DJ also certainly didn't seem to really care either way. But ultimately the choice to be on his own with his one wing is the thing that led to his death, since Faux took it hard enough that he... y'know...

But with this?

[ID: Felix with one of Solace's wings showing up behind him]

Sure, it's just Solace. But Solace represents more than just himself — Solace represents BRC, all of them. The entire narrative follows Felix as Red, back at the bottom of the rung with Tryce and Bel, as the three of them work to the top. As Red, he still had inclinations towards handling his whole "retrieving his head and finding out his roots" situation on his own. But it was through Tryce and Bel's insistence that they stick together and their constant support and care that overcomes those inclinations. As Red, he intentionally chose and was able to reach the pinnacle with other people, with a crew — something that old Felix thought wasn't possible even when Faux, one of the best of his contemporaries, had offered it.

I think about this shot a lot ever since I saw it in-game. But then I came across another one as I was watching another person's playthrough with the same friend:

[ID: Faux's introduction in Chapter 1 at the New Amsterdam Police Bureau, with the outer ring of the Police Bureau's logo prominent behind his head]

The above shot caught me so off guard because it truly is a "blink and you miss it" kind of moment since Faux zooms in from this particular shot pretty quickly. But the New Amsterdam Police Bureau logo makes a flipping halo behind him. Along with the alias, this could potentially be its own foreshadowing to Faux's real nature: that he's not who he seems to be, that he's your foe, but that he's also deified himself in his own head and eventually deified through Project Algo where he assumes control of the police force.

(And since Solace is sometimes called by other characters as an "angel boy" or Felix's "angel fan", you can potentially get some lovely interpretations stemming from religious iconography, but that's something for another day if not coming from another person entirely.)

Am I reading too much into this? Most definitely. But while the actual plot of BRC isn't revolutionary, a lot of the things that make it enjoyable for me is filling it in with things like this in order to enrich the world and the story more. So I figured I'd also share the joy that came with these random thoughts with others — and if you've made it to the end, thanks for reading!

[merakiui]

I neeeeed ⭐ for death row undertow please it's how I found you and I still stay up thinking about sk!jade

Omg thank you for asking!!! :D I've written a little about the series here and here, but I'll discuss more below! Specifically Reader and Jade's relationship! (please forgive me for rambling. orz)

(ask game)

Originally, their relationship was going to be complete strangers! The early concept for DRU was a story that followed serial killer Jade as he looks for his next victim at speed-dating events (like a charming wolf eel in sheep’s skin). At one particular event, he meets Reader and the two of them click. From there he decides he’ll make her his next meal.

This was a concept I quite liked and it almost became the foundation for the story. But the more I considered it, I realized it might feel like a hollow plot without much dimension if it focused solely on Reader and Jade. I kept thinking, someone out there has to care enough for (Name) to want to look for her, right? The world may be stagnant when she’s trapped in Jade’s home, but beyond that it will inevitably continue. So surely someone will notice she’s missing. I want to portray that side, too.

Additionally, I wanted to write a story where readers can care about and root for the MC’s successes while actively hoping for Jade’s failure. I thought it would hurt more if Reader was on friendly terms and knew Jade before the kidnapping. It is said that many kidnappings are often someone you know rather than a stranger, so I thought it would be interesting to explore Reader’s fear and betrayal as she realizes her “friend” was never a true friend to begin with! And with this I considered dynamics and relationships outside of the main pairing (Jade x Reader). In the early plot, Reader wasn’t acquainted with any of the Octavinelle trio, but I eventually changed this factor when I began to write the improved version of the plot (which would also include the slow burn elements).

The early plot looked something like this: serial killer Jade kidnaps (Name) after connecting at a speed-dating event -> (Name) is terrified and lies about being pregnant to survive -> many terrifying things happen -> death of (Name) -> Jade gets to feast. Initially, I was content with this plot because it was sickening and thrilling, but it felt like something was missing. ^^;;; I worked hard to rewrite many aspects of the plot until it became a completely different version from my original imagining of it. :O

I thought it would be fun if Azul had an involvement with Reader. At first I wondered if they should be in a genuinely romantic relationship, but I liked the tension of a fwb situation much more. I like that Reader’s able to use Azul as her scapegoat in this situation. His presence is as useful as it is burdensome in her life. >:) it’s a transactional relationship that will make you wonder if there’s actual love there or just lust in disguise! Also, how else could Azul pull off his fake proposal if it was a real relationship without any strings attached? I really wanted to write a scene like that, but it would be more tense if Reader was constantly walking the tightrope of love or not love! Their relationship feels like the deep sea to me. What you see in the story isn’t even part of it. So much has yet to be explored… :)

As for Cater and Riddle, they were added as an afterthought. When I sat down to write the first chapter in summer of 2022, my mind blanked and I had no idea how to begin. Prior to plotting DRU, I was working on a wip in which Reader works part-time at a diner with Cater and Riddle. That (now abandoned) wip is where The Devil’s Delight comes from (as well as the Cater/Riddle/Reader friendship)! I was so attached to the aesthetic and the dynamics between the trio that I couldn’t just let it wither away into oblivion. So I worked it into DRU’s plot. It fit wonderfully with my vision, and so I could write smoothly from there! As a result of that, I’m very fond of DRU’s first chapter. :D it sets the mood I was hoping to convey perfectly!

Here are some notes from the (abandoned) wip that made it into DRU (aside from that note about the Mostro Lounge hehe):

I wanted Reader to have unique relationships with each of the side characters (not just Jade), as well as the characters themselves to have interactions with one another. I like portraying two sides of a thrilling crime story such as this one. There are plenty of exciting things planned, and a lot of relationship lore is set to be unveiled gradually. I hope you can look forward to it!!!! ( ´ ▽ ` )❤︎

[oonajaeadira]

For the Love of Fic: August 21

Now that the busytimes are over, I just desperately wanted to get back to the fic world. And I may have binged a little. No punishments plz. I have a lot of catching up to do.

Also dang, there's a lot of Jack this time around. There must be whiskey in the water...

🪐 = Year of Themed Creation fic

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JOEL MILLER

Kindred Spirits by @all-the-things-2020 🪐 It's Anne of Green Gables, but with Ellie and Joel. Really, y'all, this one caught me in my chest and had me tearing up more than once watching Joel come back to life for the love of a new daughter. My heart!!!!!

Surrender Chapter 10 and Chapter 11 by @ezrasbirdie So now we've gotten to the end of Kin and I'm still tense about Joel and Ellie even if I understand that their story will lead them back to Jackson. But now I'm just worried about Daisy. She's so vulnerable, so convinced that love is an accident or will always be so fragile and fleeting, I'm so afraid she'll run from it before she has a chance for it to really sink in. I just want to smoosh her and never let her go.

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EZRA

Taking Root by @the-blind-assassin-12 This short story takes place in an existing Ezra storyline, but you don't need to know that series to appreciate this fluffy bit of lovely, heartwarming give and take between Ezra and Cee as they make a gift for someone they love and care for.

E is for Exhibition by @butchmandalorian 🪐 Pro dom!Ezra is back, my beloved, and this time it's sex in a movie theater. He is such a menace and loves his work so much. I really wish the man was real. I am not a BDSM girl, but there's just something about butchmandalorian's Ez that gets me in all the right places.

Kinktober in June: Focus by @leslie-lyman Holy balls, y'all. This is mesmerizing in every single sense of the word: a little hypno-kink will do ya. Even without his arm and his humanity, Ezra still has many skills. The ability to manipulate and get what he wants. A silken voice. Patience. And apparently, that's all you need too.

E. - "Are you sure you're ready for this?" by @missredherring A drabbled writing exercise wherein Miss Red takes the prompt out of the smut box and into a softer place. Which is totally my jam.

Miles and Time by @never--doubt 🪐 Have I said yet how much I love Ezra? Or soulmates? I've never seen this mechanic before--the one where you have numbers on your wrist counting down the distance between soulmates. I love it. There's a lifetime of angst, but man, Ezra's worth the wait.

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JACK DANIELS

Draft Release: Dial Up the Jack, Dim the Whiskey by @artemiseamoon 🪐 You know, I had the same reaction to Jack that OFC Bria does here. Initially, I thought he was ridiculous and full of ego, not worth losing my heart to. But she gets to see the Jack that's deep down inside that Whiskey persona and...well...never say never.

untitled by @brandyllyn Hi would you like to be punched in the heart with just 600 words? Why don't you read what happens when Jack comes back from taking another bullet to the skull? I feel like this could be the prologue to a story that could end up so so sweet...but damn, that last sentence is a doozy.

Saying I Love You With Flowers by @songsformonkeys 🪐 I'm not really a flower person myself, but if I was getting them from y crush constantly, I could be converted real fast. Is there anything as lovely as when Jack's both a scamp and a gentleman all at once? He's the master at it and I am a puddle at his feet.

How Wrong You Are by @haylzcyon A short and sweet piece wherein Jack professes his care in the aftermath of a sketchy getaway. Haylz is never over-saccharine, but hits all the notes just right, just like a damn fine Whiskey indeed.

Bangathon: Position: Kneeling Reach Around (with Marcus Pike) and Position: 69 by @prolix-yuy My goodness, LJ is great at the smut and I love how she writes Jack. He's a confident lover, putting the object of his affection exactly where he needs them...and where they will soon understand they need to be. He may go after what he wants, but he never pushes too hard and always makes sure it's what they really want. I would 100% want to be in this man's mustachio'ed embrace. Yee-effin-haw.

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JAVI GUTIERREZ

Music Box: Prologue by @beecastle Aw yeah, we're getting Little Mermaid AU! This is a quick prologue setting us up for wanting more--both in terms of story AND in terms of the reader character wanting to learn more about humans. I'm hoping there's a certain sweet human in her eyeline soon....

To Your Rescue by @flightlessangelwings 🪐 Oh to be in the employ of Javi Gutierrez. To have his attention, his yearning looks, his protection. Really, my favorite thing would be to fall asleep watching movies with him...and you'll get that here too.

Litha by @grogusmum 🪐 Javi and his beekeeper girl are sweet as honey and I'm not gonna shy away from saying so. I love that he appreciates her taking an interest in his hobbies and family celebrations and shows that he cares for her interests by helping her celebrate a sweet Midsummers!

.

MARCUS MORENO

Taste by @@radiowallet I generally don't read Marcus but I will always ALWAYS make an enthusiastic exception for Cat's Marcus. He is a true hero, both sweet and confident, pulled so ardently by his needs but really getting off on saving the day for you. And, of course, there's Cat's style of writing which is song in itself. If anyone can make me fall in love with period sex, it's her, it's Marcus, it's this sweetly smutty fic in all its soft, yearning glory.

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TIM ROCKFORD

First Mistake by @hopeamarsu 🪐 I am really delighted by this little character study. Hopes took what we see in the trailer and turned it inward, focusing on Tim's physical sensations and trains of thought. The way he registers the take-out he's eating, how he craves the whiskey in his desk drawer, his frustration as he looks at the clue board trying to make that crucial connection. It's a beautiful little piece, simple and yet full of so much.

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PERO TOVAR

untitled by @writeforfandoms I am such a sucker for Jen's modern-not-modern Pero. He is learning, but still such a menace and a hedonist that I can't help but giggle at him and adore him in equal measure. I love when his puppydog nature rears its head like it does here as he tries to keep his reader all to himself on a nice picnicy day...

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JAVIER PEÑA

The Third Date by @lowlights What Laura has done here is pretty much described my perfect third date with Javier. I mean, it's Javi being soft, giving his attentions, doing soft naughty things in public. But even more than that, it's tacos, y'all. Sign me up.

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DIN DJARIN

Year of Small Joys: Stargazing by @keldabe-kriff 🪐 I love that Lyr is focusing on small joys. It's totally my jam to see my favorite characters just having a moment of peace or happiness, just to see their reaction to something I find lovely or to hear their thoughts about something I'd never stopped to notice. This time it's Din and stars, which really should be old hat for him. But he still finds a beauty in stargazing...

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OBERYN MARTELL

2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #8: Oberyn Martell - Apology Kiss / Jealous Kissing by @something-tofightfor I might be living for this modern AU playboy Oberyn and his proclivity to be vulnerable in my presence, to open up and be real when hurt feelings are on the line. He did wrong, but I think he'll make up for it, and boy howdy do I want to be on the receiving end of that.

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SPECIAL GUEST CORNER

OBI-WAN KENOBI

A Chance Taken by @ghostofskywalker 🪐 I know that Obi-Wan has his duty, but wouldn't it be nice if he always harbored feelings and had plans to settle after the war? This one is living that dream....I wants it.

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BOROMIR

The Advice of Hobbits by @ironmandeficiency I mean, nobody should take advice from Merry and Pippin. And so it goes without saying that nobody should take love advice from Merry and Pippin. Ever. Poor Boromir. But I'm not gonna lie. The results are pretty cute.

[fadeintocase]

Was reading a thing about how Homestuck was a coming of age story for people growing up entirely on the internet and that it was one of the earliest stories to do so.

One detail I think that people miss about it is how in that era, early Homestuck seemingly unwittingly was dripping with its roots in the sheltered suburbanite domination of online culture pre-2010. Not just with the memes, but with the demographic assumptions. That the initial characters are all spoiled brats from beginning to end.

It begins in a way that is meant to be relatable and comfortable to upper middle class kids in the mid 00s, back when that was most of the only demographic that had the privilege of having their own computer in their own room.

It creates a setting in which these kids in well-off families are not just isolating themselves, where there is supposedly this otherworldly emptiness to the world around them that keeps them isolated, and where the privilege of their situations are like underplayed, seen as an annoyance or an obstacle. Dave and Jade have especially fantastical living situations, but John lives in a big generic suburb and Rose lives in a contemporary architecture mansion. It doesn't allow for uncomfy questions like "do they have friends at school?" because a deeper pain point for kids who lived on the internet back then is that no, they didn't, and never tried to. "is there anything material this character is lacking" in the beginning, no, they are surrounded by basically everything they enjoy. And "how did their family afford all that?" tends to be answered with "in a way that annoys me, ugh", which in my recollection was also the default attitude of spoiled brat suburbanite kids i knew in school.

And it creates that world as a default appropriate for that spoiled suburbanite demographic in that era, where like, obviously if you're on the internet all the time, your family is probably rich. Obviously if you're on the internet all the time, it's because the outside world is bleak and hostile to you in comparison. You don't mind the crazy wealth or the means to isolate away with everything around you that you want or need. Don't mind that. Think about how sad you are that you're on your computer all the time. Make that the bleak atmosphere you're trying to escape.

And make it so that when you're in a world that is supposed to be challenging you, you still have the means to make enough in-world money and surround yourself with everything you want. And every character gets this ability right away, and that sense of suburbanite material spoiled comfort is never challenged. Watching people die and facing heroic decisions are more fathomable in this story of coming of age challenges than having less than your privileged childhood provided you.

In a world a decade later where everyone and their grandmother in all walks of life from all continents has roughly equal ease of access to the internet, that fandom grew desperate to reinterpret the characters because they felt too bland and generic.

And that's because they were. They were based on a very nilla wafer type of existence that was all there visibly WAS on the internet at the time they were created. That's why the game is called Sburb. They were created to be relatable to the most suburbanitis-laden kids of its time. Alternia explores more kinds of status and living situations and how those ppl interact with online communities. However, the story doesn't seem to be sending up tropes about suburbanite existence, it seems to avoid pointing out it's obvious hallmarks to be more comfortable to a sheltered, suburbanite audience. As self aware as it got, I don't think it displays much of a will to question one's own ideas of default.

[blnk338]

RWYS creative notes :3 part 5????

In chapter 35, Reaper chooses to wear what she would have usually worn around her mom— she also continues to wear flannels, jeans (ripped and not ripped). She does this subconsciously because it’s what she used to wear in her youth, absentmindedly going to her roots as she’s back in Cincinnati

Some folks may also notice that she reverts to a lot of the Midwest humility/politeness/vocab.

There's a reference to Makarov in RWYS. But I'm not saying where ;)

I finished up Inside Job just before writing RWYS and I think that Reagan might've been a factor in how I wrote Reaper. Her as well as Ellie from TLOU and Vi from Arcane!

I partially based Reaper's dad off of Joel from TLOU

Chapter 8: Cutting Onions and Cutting Ties was almost "Putting a Bandaid Over a Bullet Hole."

In that same chapter, there's a moment where Reaper asks her mom if she really misses her dad. Of course, her mom is taken aback, because, of course, she misses her husband. While Reaper's mom misses her husband, there's a large part of her that misses the idea of a perfect family rather than the man himself. She was in denial that she neglected and abused her child; in her mind, they were the perfect picket fence family. So again, yes, she misses her husband, but she also misses the picturesque perfection that they had, or so she thought. That is what Reaper was pointing out in her question on whether or not her mom missed her dad. More along the lines of, "Do you miss him or do you miss the idea of him and what we could've been with him still around?"

...Again, chapter 8... Yeah, that was Ticci Toby. I honestly just felt like adding him in for the hell of it, plus a little memoir to an old fanbase, and I had a bunch of people go ":0000 IS THAT--" Yes, yes it was.

On top of that comment, I made Toby a bit of a light in the dark. Especially at the end of their interaction, Toby chooses goodness over judgment. He's surprised at Reaper's appearance, but he's not disgusted. There's a clear sudden disconnect within her and instead of getting weird, he wishes her well. I had Toby there as sort of a lighthouse for Reaper if that makes sense. In the fog of all the bad shit that happened to her in Cincinnati, there was Toby, giving her one last salvageable interaction before her ship sailed away.

"A gun to his head and a gun to his head" -- I had SO much fun writing that sentence, I thought I was so clever LMAO

Laswell and Tiffany's house was based roughly off of my grandmother's house :)

I hinted that Ayla, John's ex-wife, is a lesbian

To properly write Rigo's tongue getting stuck in Chapter 12: A Very Merry Garfield Christmas, which was one of my favorite named chapters so far, I actually held my tongue and read his lines out loud to make it as accurate as possible.

In Chapter 15: It's Not a Fashion Statement, It's a Warcrime, Reaper calls Graves a pig. This was not only mocking his initials (Phillip Isabella Graves) but it was also a reference to her blaming him for the cop murdering her father.

A little construction fact: American buildings and Eastern European buildings are quite different when it comes to their structural construction; looking back, I actually wrote the structures of Chapter 15 with American buildings in mind because I am so used to looking at them (I used to work construction)

Please also notice that Graves consistently demanded Reaper for the information and REFUSED to let her hold any of the documents/evidence they collected.

Reaper fought Price (incredibly briefly) in the same chapter to hide the dog tags. Again, Graves demanded all the information to be handed to him. She explains Graves would incinerate Tahoma's dog tags; it was later mentioned that Graves would do anything to get rid of any information on Tahoma. Keep this in mind constantly.

Chapter 15: It's Not a Fashion Statement, It's a Warcrime's title is based on the MCR song "It's Not a Fashion Statement, It's a Deathwish." It was also originally the title of the chapter, but I felt that Graves' actions were far too impactful to not be mentioned in the title.

Along with that, Graves actually broke the Geneva Convention in that chapter! "Article 36 of the 1949 Geneva Convention II provides that “medical and hospital personnel of hospital ships and their crews shall be respected and protected”" Graves deliberately endangered Reaper and put her in a situation where she would most likely die. As a medic, she has special protections (stated above) and therefore, adds another war crime onto Graves' list. Oh yeah, she's also an allied soldier that was endangered under the command of a higher-ranked officer, but that's not that important... (/S /SARCASTIC)

I actually have removed a lot of scenes involving Zhao due to the fear that people find/found her therapy sessions boring or lackluster. I actually find her addition to RWYS crucial, but much of it could be told from Reaper's POV (ex: her flashbacks to their sessions). Regardless, I am withholding a lot of Zhao scenes because I don't want things to be boring.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Living Pictures | BODY BACK Update #1

A writing update??? In THIS economy???

Paying homage to my old writing updates, except we're getting 10x more self-indulgent. Let's talk about falling back in love with characters, orbital chapter structures, Harrison's messy redemption, God as memory, and of course, the first chapter of my novella, BODY BACK. With lots of excerpts of course. 😈

Post starts under the cut!

BODY BACK background:

Here's a summary if you missed the chaotic conception of BODY BACK: it's a literary fiction novella that occurs between a duology I wrote a few years ago (book 1 is Moth Work and book 2 is Feeding Habits). The duology follows two men, Lonan and Harrison, who are at the centre of a very complicated relationship.

I talked in depth about this project's conception in THIS post, but the gist is that I re-read Moth Work recently and was so enthralled by Harrison's psychology that I had to extend his story.

This was the first nugget of BB:

[ID: BODY BACK: Harrison's novella in the two months he lived in Las Vegas, 2005 (Oct-Sept, between the events of FH in 2006). Energy: bad decisions, lots of parties, self-destruction but make it glitzy. /end ID]

Logline: It’s 2005 in Las Vegas and 21-year-old Harrison is tired of routines, of gods, of men. On a mission to move past a complicated breakup, he’s about to get recklessly indulgent–and he’s come to the right place.

I'm honestly shocked, but deeply grateful to be writing this project. The last time I wrote a writing update, I'd been deeply struggling with Feeding Habits, and also hated Harrison as a character (shock!). Of course, he was still my baby, but at the time, I just could NOT crack his psychology. It took a full year to really come to terms with where he was in FH, and BB is almost an opportunity to "redo" what I wish I could've given him initially. So BB feels like a redemption for me as much as a redemption for him (albeit... he does zero redeeming in this book lmao).

I think I'm in love... with Harrison

Characterization is complicated for me. I don't think I'm particularly good at it because I have no idea how I characterize. However, BB has been such a wonderful way to fall back in love with Harrison (more than I already admire him as a fictional person in my brain lol). While I've been writing with him becoming a better person in Seventh Virtue, BODY BACK is the opposite of that. He's in his destructive era and knows it. And it's only making me love him more!

In BODY BACK, Harrison is painfully aware of who he is as a person, but simultaneously extremely destabilized in his identity. He understands he's a disaster, but also doesn't know how to be anything else (or what he was before), now that Lonan is no longer in his life. At the end of Moth Work, he willingly walked out of Lonan's life, aware this was what was best for himself. BODY BACK explores what it means to regret the "right" decision. Grey areas, wooohooo!

A smaller note that maybe only means a lot to me, but Harrison & I are the same age in this book! I've never been the same age as one of my protagonists, and maybe I'm being mushy about it, but I feel like I really... get where he is right now. We've always been similar (except he's you know... much cooler than me), but it feels like a real blessing to see him in this state (lmao *fucked up*) while also this age.

Living Pictures

We open BB with "Living Pictures," which is about Harrison perceiving his life as separate from himself, a carefully constructed veneer that he's merely watching.

Thematically, "Living Pictures" is about falsities and also how easily people can fall into--and be trapped by--roles. Harrison also thinks a lot about gods, which is interesting for his psychology because he's an atheist. However, his contemplations of God are deeply rooted in what God means to Lonan, who's an ex-Catholic. I've had a lot of fun exploring these themes also as an ex-Catholic. It's been quite cathartic to recall my memories of God, project them onto Harrison through Lonan, and then have him bastardize them.

The title comes from the literal translation of the phrase "tableau vivant" which appears in the opening paragraph.

Scene A:

Harrison floats fully-clothed in a pool that belongs to a wealthy couple. He is jaded and also thinking about God.

Scene B:

Harrison describes the couple who own the house/pool. The man is a realtor, and the woman stays at home mostly, but walks dogs on the side.

Scene C:

Harrison contemplates his "easy" Las Vegas life since moving in with his mother, Suzanna.

Scene D:

Flashback: Harrison recalls drawing his new sort-of boyfriend, Jeremiah.

Scene E:

Harrison describes his vices (smoking and his ex, Lonan lmao, comparable)

Scene F:

Harrison recalls a recurring dream/nightmare of his aforementioned ex.

Scene G:

Distracted by the dream, Harrison is caught by the couple. The man seems unimpressed by him, though the woman (Sadie), perhaps realizing how young he is, invites him inside for tea.

Scene H:

Harrison observes the couple's "catalogue" home while Sadie makes tea.

The writing process & orbital structures

This first chapter took about two weeks to draft start to finish. Total word count is at about 3k. The scenes are very short, almost like vignettes!

Across MW and FH and BB, I use what I call an "orbital plot structure." I've been using this method for years now for this particular duology.

Essentially, we have a core theme (the "satellite") that every single scene "orbits" around. Here's a horrific drawing of what that visually looks like in my head:

Instead of thinking as these chapters as a three-act structure, I think about them on a deeply thematic level. What is the core of this chapter, and how does every single scene lead back to that core theme?

If this diagram is unreadable, dw, I'll make a video explaining this soon, LOL.

Excerpts

I've shared a number of these, but enjoy this repeated content! Also this is... most of the chapter LOL. I'm going for this extremely shimmery prose style to mimic Harrison's mindset.

Here's the opening scene, which is... the best opening I have ever written LMAO. CW: blasphemy??? So sorry.

Harrison doesn’t need a god. Fully clothed in a stranger’s pool, he pities people who do. So what if he’s alone? The sunless sky is carbonated with stars, another stranger’s backyard smelling like burned cedarwood and marijuana. And he likes it here, star-fished on water that doesn’t belong to him, inventing constellations while someone else’s cigarette hangs from his lip. What god could manage this miracle? Take this drowsy tableau vivant: a man cloaked both by the sky’s navy and his own jacket’s leather, his eyes as wide as spoons. Harrison is fine art and God isn’t. He wins.

Here's a chunk of Scene B:

This isn’t the first time he’s done this. This means a couple of things: 1) challenging God and all his righteousness, and 2) breaking into the pools of wealthy suburbanites. The latter really isn’t that hard. Since mid-September, he’s stalked the houses plotted along Paradise and learned routines. This is even easier—people who fringe their homes with crisp lawns often stick to the same schedule. The pool he floats in belongs to a young couple. The man works real estate according to the signs Harrison’s seen of his face peppered around the neighbourhood. He’s wondered if that’s ever humiliating, to constantly see pixelated versions of yourself everywhere. But that doesn’t matter. His wife walks dogs in her free time, which means always. Last week, Harrison watched her jog with a vizsla, and just yesterday she spent the morning on their gable-roofed veranda brushing a wispy Alaskan malamute.

Here's the entirety of Scene C (CW: suicidal ideation):

Technically, everything in Harrison’s life is easy. He lives in an easy apartment, sleeps on his mother’s easy chesterfield, eats over easy eggs for breakfast, watches easy infomercials every night from midnight to 3:00AM. (Technically, the infomercials aren’t necessarily easy because he watches them in French without subtitles, but it’s entertaining to make up slogans: Cut Away Your Problems with Our Wrapping Paper Cutter! Yeehaw!, so he doesn’t really mind.) And he’s grateful for this, how unassuming his life has become barely a month after Lonan. Perhaps this is how he views things, in two simple parts—not Before Christ, but Before Lonan, which now that he considers it, might be the same thing. Anyway. Before his fawny portrait face, just like Renaissance men in oil on canvas. Before his blunt hands. Before his raven hair, glassy as dark water. Now there’s only one place left to go: after. And how can Harrison complain? His easy mother has insured his easy sedan which means he could get around the city easily if he wanted to. She’s even offered to use her easy money to set him up in his own easy apartment— “Imagine the view!” she’d said as a selling point. And Harrison did. As Suzanna unclogged the kitchen drain, he painted an easy coastline in watercolour and surrendered to the image of his easy, independent life. Easy trees like the date palms pinched against this couple’s home. Easy skies, never a cloud in an easy haven of blue. Easy walk to an organic farmer’s market for easy pancetta if he wants it, or easy cinnamon butter that he has no purpose for, so eats straight from the jar. Easy morning coffee in an easy alternative garden right out his back door, easy sand where there should be golden columbine, easy gravel where there should be soil. And the easy neighbours to greet—them going, “Hello!” and then him going, “Hello!”

Harrison doesn’t like easy. He’d rather walk all the way back to Brooklyn with nothing but an empty backpack and a sleeve of cigarettes, scale a silverish high-rise with his bare hands, struggle onto the vacant roof, stare out at the blinking, vulgar city, then climb onto the building’s railings, let the wind ripple his jacket, his hair, and jump right off.

Here's some of Scene D, ft. Jeremiah:

The cigarettes belong to another man. As Harrison sucks its filter, blowing out remaining plumes of smoke, he’s enthralled by him. Skin velveteen, hair always tediously puffed like dandelions. Jeremiah is more than a man in Harrison’s eyes, the way he speaks like a cross between the frontman of a nineties alternative band and John the Baptist. “You’ve got the soul of a cypress,” he said once, while Harrison sketched the fake rhododendron perched on Jeremiah’s nightstand. He crouched lower over his sketchbook, fingers blackened by a slim rod of charcoal.

This is also from Scene D, ft. Harrison being an Artiste. Screaming at the last line:

Jeremiah quirked a brow, his smile dopey like his glazed eyes, but didn’t move. He could’ve been one of those tawny art mannequins, flat-faced, poseable. But he was so much more than that. As Harrison approached him, setting his sooty hands on his chin, shifting it slightly to the left, pushing his ring finger slightly up so it eclipsed the koi’s eye, his silver signet ring pinging a circle of light onto the opposite wall, Harrison understood Jeremiah wasn’t just a model. More than a man, yes, but not a god either—the creator’s creator, maybe, or perhaps a private natural wonder meant only for this room. Or maybe he was just beautiful, and that was enough too.

Harrison continues to reflect about God (also CW: blasphemy!!!):

In the pool, he doesn’t look at the moon because how cliché would that be? So what if it’s a wide bend in the sky like the parenthesis of cantaloupe his mother ate for breakfast this morning? So what if it looks also like a good bite in a wrist, molars and all? He’s not in this pool to be poetic. He doesn’t care about godly creations, miracles, divine epiphanies. Sure, God said let there be light, but why should Harrison give a fuck? He’s not a romantic. He’s not a dreamer. Not anymore.

This is the entirety of Scene F, which is a direct continuation from the above. I love how the "dreaming" element is immediately brought over.

There’s this one dream though. It hovers over him nightly, a thorny memory warmed by sun. He holds a face like a sculptor holds a brick of clay. This is a face he knows. A face he loves. Soft light dredges both their jaws, firm and ready to rear into the other’s, two animals feeding, or laughing, or breathing. Sometimes, the dreams add birdsong, sometimes a black cat named Beatrice who mews in the corner. Sometimes, the face’s hands become Harrison’s hands, and he searches for his own pinkie to find someone else’s. They don’t need to touch more than this. Even as the sun hazes the room gold, looking is more than enough. Are there mirrors in his eyes? Harrison isn’t always certain. Is he a mirage? He could be—a chromized distant object. He’s a masterpiece in some moments, a man growing into soapstone, buffed marble. Sometimes he’s haloed like Jesus in citrine stained-glass portraits. A saviour, mid-ascension, a shadow of flesh. But sometimes he’s just there, wide-eyed, a simple body. In those cases, Harrison wakes up screaming.

This is from the beginning of Scene G:

Sure, he is a floaty man in this pool, his clothes bloomed around him. He could be petals of blood dispersing in open water, or the unspooling ribbon on a Maypole. His cigarette has burned down nearly to his knuckle, smoke chalk white and feathery like cirrus clouds.

Just going to leave this extremely Lonancore excerpt here:

And then a voice. At first he thinks it might be Lonan’s. One of the last things he’d said: How long will you be gone? Gone. How easily Harrison had stood in that apartment, aware of what he’d do just like he was aware of the mouth Lonan had touched the night before, the palms Lonan had imprinted with his own like Eucharist imprints a tongue before being swallowed.

(????? bruh ???)

This paragraph continues the previous:

And then he’s gasping on water, and there’s the voice again, and it’s not a friable whisper but a shout. “Who the hell are you?” it’s saying over and over again, a godless prayer, except scratch that—when God speaks, he does it with violence.

And the end of Scene G:

Harrison is dragged out of the water by the realtor like he’s a plastic bobber attached to the end of a hook. His cigarette butt smolders in his hand, curlicues of white trimming the tarry night. On the concrete pool deck, he coughs water, the world spitting around him like a skipping VHS. His soaked hair drips into his eyes, down his mouth, half his weight bent on his wrist, his waterlogged jacket heavy like a body on his shoulders.

The man’s got a bony hand hooked around his collar and hides his struggle to let go with more shouting, something about grabbing a home phone, about police, about changing the locks. Really, Harrison should care more, but he’s focused on the man’s drawn face. He looks different than he does in his signs around the neighbourhood, his thin mouth clefted, his hair mousy without its Dippity Do shell. Did his wife fall in love with him, or the glossy image in the ads?

The man is trying to yank him up by the arm, manages to get halfway before Harrison says, “You’re the guy in the ads,” his voice hoarse as he wipes a hand over his slack mouth. And this must be surprising to him because the man immediately loses his grip. Harrison could ask him about that—why expect not to be noticed if your face is everywhere?

“What did you say?” asks the man. What’s his name? Something generic, but with an edge. Trevor Slade. Sean Horton. Brody Spencer. A gingery light pulses behind his head—a lamppost from the street. Harrison pants like one of the woman’s dogs. If he were a dog breed, which one would he be? Mastiff, German shepherd, golden retriever? He’s about to ask when the woman speaks first.

She’s got that same rainy look in her eye from before, a pointed pity that’s soft at the edges like highlight bloom. “Do you want to come inside for some tea?” 

In Scene F, Harrison dangerously flirts with the idea of being punched in the face:

“I like your place,” Harrison says, pinching the ceramic kitten that sits on the coffee table. This isn’t a lie unlike everything else he’s told them—his name is Harold Fraser, and the number Sadie dialed into their home phone is his personal assistant’s, not his mother’s. In here, the walls are tangelo orange, each entryway arched instead of severely right-angled. Suz would like the warm wood, the army of rubbery philodendrons on the windowsills. Harrison cranes his finger up the kitten’s paw, as if shaking its hand. Across its domed belly, translucent letters: JESUS IS STILL THE ANSWER.

“Don’t break that,” says the man, whose name is actually Nash Baker.

Harrison quirks a brow, his mouth twitchy. In five minutes, he’ll need another cigarette. “Family heirloom?”

“Do you take any sugar?” asks Sadie, perhaps at the right time because Nash Baker’s fist is agitating like a fighter fish’s tail through water. Harrison wouldn’t blame him if he did punch him in the face—to be frank, that would be the most interesting thing to happen to him all week.

Harrison relates to Sadie's apparent feelings of being trapped in a picturesque life:

Sadie walks dogs, sure, but what else does she do? A beaded tapestry of a blue heron hangs in the foyer—did she make it? The bird’s eye is onyx black, something unfurling there—maybe the urge to spear a minnow, maybe just deadness. If Sadie didn’t make it, what did she do in this house? Nearly everything is handmade but certainly purchased—the pottered mugs shaped like seasonal fruit that she vigorously plops teabags into, the rust Chobi rug that snags under Harrison’s socks, the ringed vases fluted with dead baby’s breath. How does she know life in this catalogue home? Besides the numbing daily walks with dogs, the repetitive brushings. She’s as fucked as he is, isn’t she? Trapped in this living picture.

And finally, another mildly blasphemous excerpt! We return to the "easy" metaphor from above.

Tomorrow, Harrison will again wake up in Suz’s easy apartment, eat her easy turkey bacon, drink an easy cup of dark roast. He’ll do this for the rest of his life, probably. For Yours is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever, amen. Harrison’s got no kingdom. The best he can do is steal Jeremiah’s cigarettes, float in an aquamarine pool that doesn’t belong to him any more than Lonan’s aquamarine eyes ever belonged to him. He’s got no more power than a dead car battery, no glory. That’s right. Forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever amen.

Harrison, basically:

And that's it! Chapter two is going to contain the trigger into destruction territory, so look out for update #2!

Rachel

[bunnakit]

For the bl ask game: 2, 11, 15 & 21! 💌

🌸 bl ask game 🌸

2) Favorite Side Couple - So I'm conflicted on considering them a side couple per say since about 50% of the show is their story but I'd have to say Prapai and Sky from Love in the Air. The exploration of Sky's trauma and his healing from that trauma is really something beautiful as is the transformation we see in Prapai and his steadfast devotion towards Sky. (If you don't consider them a side couple then I think it's a tie between Ram/King from My Engineer and Li Ming/Heart from Moonlight Chicken.)

11) Most Anticipated Upcoming BL - So this probably won't be a surprise to anyone but for me it's really tied between My Golden Blood and Wandee Goodday. I'm really interested to see where My Golden Blood goes, if it will play into the campy roots of vampire television/movies. The trailer reminded me a bit of A Korean Odyssey in a way and I'll be very curious to see if that sort of trajectory continues.

I'll admit I was initially excited about Wandee Goodday purely for Great Sapol (I've missed him so much and I adored him in Manner of Death) but recently I've read some tweets from Yokee that has really piqued my interest even more.

This scene is intended to be symbolic of Wandee and Yeo-yak's love, so that there will be good times. But there is a limit, like the Prince and Cinderella who only have time until midnight. Then everything will disappear. The clock is therefore an important motif in the story.

I have a feeling this show is going to be a lot more than just funny haha steamy boxers and doctors and I'm more than ready for it.

15) Favorite Premise - This will come as another shock to no one but Not Me. If we push past the first layer of a twin trying to get revenge for his brother (and doing a terrible job) the next layer of the premise which puts a spotlight on a lot of socioeconomic issues, capitalism, nepotism, impunity, etc. really is a powerful thing. I have a lot of my own personal connections to the story (I've mentioned before I had family members in both the judicial system as well as the senate) and it meant a lot to me to see it done so well. The pride scene also influenced me to attend my first Pride after 15+ years of LGBTQIA+ activism. (This isn't me saying Not Me is the perfect show, I definitely have my issues with it, but that layer to the premise will always be special to me.)

21) Favorite Newcomer - I have a confession to make. I only started watching BLs in June? July? one of those, so it's difficult for me to always know who exactly is new. I'd say from what we saw at GMMTV 2024 part 1 I'm actually fairly excited to see how Keen and Sea do in Only Boo! I've also been hearing very good things about Frame in Twins The Series (though I'm not currently watching it myself.)

[pastel-junkyard]

Bonaparta's other books?

I was watching episode 56 to help with my Nina meta (which is almost done) when I noticed just how many books Lipsky has on his shelves. All supposedly the works of Bonaparta.

Posts by Erich-Springer on other background details inspired me to look closer, as I haven't seen anyone else do it here, at least not on Tumblr.

Here are some images.

(Had to put it on ×0.25 speed to get this one.)

I don't speak Czech, but I did find a website that allowed me to search a word in multiple dictionaries without having to type it over and over. Link below in case you want to try:

Some of the titles repeat and have a different pen-name attached to it. Also, the versions vary in thickness, to the point where I wonder how the publishers have been bulking up such short stories (if the ones we know are anything to go by).

In no particular order, the ones I've found are:

Rukaviče Bohu (Glove of God) - Emil Šebe/Jakub Faroubek

Rukaviče = glove | Bohu = God, of God (same root as Bůh in Bůh Miru/The God of Peace)

The phrase Glove of God reminds me of a stop-motion film by beloved Czech director Jiři Trnka called The Hand (Ruka). In it, a large disembodied hand demands an artist to only make sculptures in its image -- its generally accepted to be an allegory for the Soviet government censorship of art. (Wonder if it's a reference?)

Datel Tomaś (Woodpecker Tomaś) - Emil Šebe

Datel = woodpecker

Tomaś was one of the names mentioned in The God of Peace and was quoted by Johan in the 511 tape.

Loupežnik a Tři Žaby (The Bandit and the Three Frogs) - Emil Šebe

Loupežnik = bandit, robber, highwayman

How very... prophetic, provided Bonaparta wrote it before the break-in.

This may explain why, in Nina's initial flashbacks upon seeing the sign, the three frogs each said, "Hey, welcome home." They may be a folklore motif in this version of Czechia.

Babička a Osamélý Pes (The Grandmother and the Lonely Dog) - Klaus Poppe

Maybe it's more like "Grandma" than "Grandmother".

The only dogs I recall in the series are 1) the one being kicked by its owner who was then beaten up by Reinhardt Dinger in Griesheim, and 2) Ludwig, the labrador/golden retriever that was getting on people's nerves in Rühenheim.

Nestasný Netopýr (The Unhappy Bat) - Emil Šebe

Nestasný = unhappy, unfortunate

Netopýr can also be vampire apparently? Bat is the meaning that came up more though.

Billy doesn't seem all that unhappy

Oblibený Netvor (Favourite Monster) - Jakub Faroubek/Klaus Poppe

Netvor = monster, beast, behemoth

I'm not exactly sure what this could mean.

There are others that I'm not as sure on:

Pan Král(?) a Tři Poddani - Emil Šebe/Klaus Poppe

Something like "Sir King/Prince and the Three Subordinates/Thralls". Not sure on the second word but it looks like it begins with K.

Ponozky, které chvéta letat - ???

"Socks which hurried away"?

Ponozka is a sock, ponozky is pair of socks.

Chlapec z Velkýma Ušima - Klaus Poppe

"The Boy with Big Ears"

Chlap seems to be slang for a young man, whippersnapper, lad.

The big ears thing does make me think of the surveillance state again.

So yeah, that's what I've got so far. If you can make out anything I missed, please share :-)

Edit: thank you to mzencute for helping with the last example - changed chlapuc to chlapec

[lunaryrs]

austin and camryn ^^

yayyyy I knew you were going to send this one to me so I didn't send it to you on purpose bc I felt that you'd be equally as compelled to complete it and I could not afford you the opportunity to show me up

how did they meet?

oh I really don't remember what's been discussed. I'm sure you have an amazing headcanon about it. but lets just play in this space for a moment. I think most easy situation i can see them in is a social setting where they weren't so much introduced as they were just kind of hanging out adjacently, whether one of them was a friend of a friend of the other or it was two separate groups that ended up intermingling bc they were occupying the same space. i'm picturing a bar with a sand pit in the back, big stone fireplace and wires of bulb lights strung overhead. Austin was in one Adirondack chair and Camryn was perched on the arm of someone else's, they took note of each other but it wasn't anything too concentrated. they didn't exchange numbers that night, but someone in their group must have because they ended up in each other's orbit for the next few weeks and months. if I had to guess, i'd say Camryn took an interest in austin first. of course he thought she was beautiful, but I don't think he was motivated to make any major moves when they met. he was probably a decent amount of time out from ending things with piper for good and had resigned to sparse, tepid text exchanges with his singular bumble date post-break up

who is the bigger romantic openly? secretly?

hmm so I don't entirely know. unfortunately my brain does not respond to direct prompting and engages only with what it wants to. and here I just feel like emphasizing that austin's way of showing up is flowers. holidays, special occasions, good news, bad news. there's a bouquet for everything. he isn't particularly eloquent and I think he probably misses cues a lot but I think he has an unwavering commitment to making sure the vases in the house are always full and that's the way that he communicates hey i'm here and I care about you and I want you to know that

who is more likely to send cutesy texts to the other?

neither but its because they prioritize phone calls to exchange information or even just say hi I'm thinking of you and I love you and I think they split initiating those more or less equally. I think this is rooted in Austin not being much for technology but works really well for the sincere nature of the love that I think they share

whose family do they celebrate more holidays with?

austin's and I don't think that's entirely due to the bias that results from him and his siblings being like. a thing before partners were added and families were expanded. I think I've kind of started to conceptualize the Hannas as like way more codependent(?) or at least involved than I probably would have ever imagined them to be I think partially out of concern for stephen when they were younger/without children like hey lets make sure dad is good but I also just see Rory and Austin being fairly decent friends running in similar social circles and only growing more in that direction and then Aubrey being so touched by like how easily she is accepted by her siblings when she does become a parent (which for whatever reason I see happening a little bit after Austin and Rory begin to have children) when they're all engaging with each other in that capacity which I just think is really nice

do they have any personal holiday traditions together?

i feel like christmas cookies have to go soooo hard at their house, no? Camryn makes a massive batch of sugar cookies with festive cookie cutters and then she mixes all of the frosting and sets out the sprinkles and they decorate them. they could mail them out or give them to delivery drivers or take them to school or whatever. I think they'd pretty naturally fall into hosting roles for the major food-based holidays like thanksgiving. I'd love to see them maybe take a camping trip once a year or so with marley's kids, maybe for labor day weekend or something. we know they are booked and busy with the Lancasters for the fourth of july, so.

if they get married, what was the wedding vibe?

so again just roll with this. but I feel like a sexy like midnight beachy vibe could be where its at for them. I don't know if there's a particular term for this sort of thing. coastal gatsby almost. i'm thinking beach with like cool sand and moonlight on the ocean and the beautiful brittle beach grasses and like feathery pampas but also like lux gold and maybe marble and something like navy blue for the wedding party. does this make sense. I feel like the beach is just so natural and lends well to the person Austin is but I think despite how down-to-earth camryn is I guess I just see her as like sexy and indulgent somehow

how did they decide what to name their child(ren)?

see I wholeheartedly believe their names are perfect for them as a couple and also for Austin independently but he would have never arrived at any of that on his own. so it had to have been all camryn. I like to think she pitches them and has already kind of decided because and austin turns them over in his mind until they become real for him and once they click they're perfect. I love that their first names are all the same amount of syllables, I love that the girls names are feminine but not too frilly and the boys names are very boyish but like fun?, and I think Austin would like the same thing about them. me Courtney with the broken brain loves the way maisyn bridges the guys and the girls and how her name kind of carves out her unique role in the family. thats Austin's little pal

[bugsandcoffee]

what fic do you wish you could have written?

Hiiii 💕

I'm gonna name three fics here and why I wish I could have written these fics (I initially was gonna name two fics and then I had to add the third because it is also incredible)

First is Coming Up Easy by @musette22. I wish I could have written this fic because it's just so wonderful and fun. It's basically everything I love in a fic and one of my favorite comfort fics. Like this fic feels like a warm hug after a bad day. Which I think is incredible when a writer can create a fic that just makes you feel good. Plus the writing is excellent because Minnie is a genius and all the beats are there in this story. It just works perfectly. And it's one of those fics where the pacing keeps you engaged and makes you forget you are reading a longer story. Which is amazing! Also the characterization and all the details in this story were so so good. ALSO: there were references to Steve not always being healthy and also still having some issues (which I love as a disabled person because that means there's not some magical miracle cure). AND: a cute dog and Alpine! And again all the little details. And the pining. Just everything. And how it all came together at the end. It just all worked!

Second is Not Easily Conquered by dropdeaddream & WhatAreFears. I know some people find this controversial at this point in time but I think this story has touched a lot of people in this fandom which is an incredible achievement for any writer. And writing good historical fiction is so hard! And I think the formatting was so creative. So I wish I had those skills!

Third is lane lines by @sparkagrace. This fic is amazing for so many reasons. First of all Steve makes a lot of bad choices in this fic but it's written in a way that makes you still root for him which takes a lot of skill! The pacing is phenomenal. This fic is over 132k and I read it in less than a day because the writing kept me engaged and made me wanna read more and more. It didn't feel like a long fic (I feel like I mention the "it doesn't feel long" thing a lot but I have the worst attention span and read a lot for uni so usually I can't get through long stories because my brain gives up after 10k). ALSO: I don't often read sports aus because I just don't really engage with sports that much and usually I feel like I am missing at least half of the information needed to understand things - also not the case in this fic. Me not knowing enough about Olympic swimming wasn't an issue with this fic because there was enough information for me to understand what was going on and why things mattered. Also this fic got me invested so fast! I love when that happens!

Anyway thanks for letting me fangirl about these amazing fics/writers/people 💕💕💕