#needs more dialogue and descriptions of reader patching her up i think

[mirrored-muse]

ᴄʀᴀᴡʟɪɴɢ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ | ᴠ.ᴘ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 674

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴘᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠɪɢɪʟᴀɴᴛᴇ ɢɪʀʟꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴀ ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴘᴀᴛʀᴏʟ.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ꜱᴘɪᴅᴇʀᴍᴀɴ! ᴠᴀɴ ᴘᴀʟᴍᴇʀ x ꜰᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴀ/ɴ: ɴᴏᴛ ᴍʏ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ɪᴍᴏ, ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴠᴀɴ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ. ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴᴏɴ ᴡʜᴏ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟꜱᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏꜱ!

The first thud barely wakes you. The second, louder, more of a crash, has you shooting up in bed just in time to see a mess of red and blue fabric stumble through your bedroom window.

“Oh, fuck me,” Van groans, landing in a heap on your floor.

You blink, still half-asleep, heart pounding. “Van?”

You blink, rubbing sleep from your eyes, trying to piece together the fact that your girlfriend, who on paper, is just your sarcastic, slightly reckless soccer-playing girlfriend, is currently stumbling through your window dressed as her version of Spider-Man.

Again.

Your eyes flick down to the tear in her suit, the deep gash along her ribs.

“Jesus, Van,” you mutter, throwing off your blanket and rushing over. “what happened?”

Van waves a hand. “You should see the other guy.”

You ignore her reply and crouch down beside her, gently pressing a hand to her arm. Her muscles are tense under your touch, but she doesn’t pull away. You sigh, already standing up to grab the first-aid kit you keep specifically for nights like this.

“Take your suit off,” you say, opening the kit.

Van, predictably, takes that as an opportunity. “Damn, babe, at least buy me dinner first.”

You shoot her an unimpressed look.

She groans, dragging herself onto your bed and flopping down dramatically. “Fine. But only because you asked so nicely.”

She unzips the top half of her suit and peels it off her shoulders, revealing the wound along her ribs. It’s not deep, but it’s ugly. Already bruising around the edges. You wince, pulling out a disinfectant wipe.

The second it touches her skin, she hisses, jerking away.

“Ow- okay, Jesus, can we pretend I have, like, some level of dignity here?”

“You literally throw yourself off buildings for fun,” you remind her, dabbing more carefully now.

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

You roll your eyes but soften your touch, pressing the gauze to her ribs. She exhales sharply, shoulders twitching.

After a few seconds of silence, she glances at you. “You’re mad, aren’t you?”

You don’t answer right away, focusing on wrapping the bandage around her torso. “Not mad.”

Van raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you’re totally mad.”

You sigh, tying off the bandage. “I just hate seeing you like this. You come in here in the middle of the night all bruised and bleeding, acting like it’s nothing.

Van opens her mouth, probably to throw out some sarcastic remark, but then she stops. Her expression shifts, just slightly.

She exhales, dragging a hand through her hair. “I know,” she mutters. “I just… I don’t know how to not do this.”

You swallow, looking at her, really looking at her. She’s still Van, still smiling through the pain, still acting like it’s all just part of the job. But there’s something else underneath it. Something tired.

Carefully, you reach out, brushing your fingers against hers. She glances down at your hands, then back up at you.

“I just worry about you,” you admit.

Van huffs a small laugh. “Yeah, well, lucky for you, I’ve got a great track record of surviving.” You don’t laugh and she notices.

She sighs again, tilting her head back against the pillow. “Okay, okay. How about this, I promise to be more careful.”

You narrow your eyes. “That doesn’t mean much coming from you.”

She grins. “Fine. I promise to be more careful, and-” she pauses, gently squeezing your hand, “-I promise I���ll always come back to you.”

You want to be annoyed at how easily she says things like that, how effortlessly she makes your heart feel like it’s doing Olympic-level gymnastics, but you can’t.

Not when she’s looking at you like that. Not when you know she means it.

You exhale, squeezing her hand back. “You better.”

Before you can say anything else, she tugs you forward, pulling you down beside her.

“Van-”

“Five minutes,” she mutters into your shoulder, already getting comfortable.

You sigh, shaking your head, but you don’t push her away. Instead, letting her rest against you.

[angryschnauzer]

Waited So Long

Summary: As an actress in her mid 20′s you had been lucky enough to get the roles you pushed yourself for, but one role in particular needs a scene you have no experience with; a sex scene, and you co-star is surprised to discover you are still a virgin even though you are in your mid 20′s. But he’s willing to help with whatever you need.

Trope: Friends to Lovers, Co-stars to Lovers Pairing: Henry Cavill x Female Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, loss of virginity, oral sex, fingering, vaginal sex, protection/condoms. 

I no longer operate a tag list, but instead pop over and follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications. You’ll then get an alert each time i post a new story.

Masterlist got so long all the links broke, so you can now find all my previous stories on my AO3 LINK HERE

Waited So Long 

Henry sat at the large table, grinning and laughing as the rest of the cast had finished reading through the latest episode’s script. Everyone was in a good mood and that was down to the fact that tomorrow’s shooting schedule required just you and Henry, meaning that everyone else got a three day weekend. But… but you were just staring at the script. You knew it had been coming, but to see the words in front of you, the stage descriptions, it was overwhelming. 

 The Netflix special was ten episodes of a sci-fi series, and you played an alien warrior. Henry was the plucky human astronaut  that had been aboard the International Space Station when it had been sucked into a black hole and had ended up on the far side of the universe. Eight episodes into the filming schedule and the pivotal sex scene was about to be included, and that’s what was clouding every thought in your mind. 

 You were far from naive, you had no issue with your costume or even the nudity - you were after all painted purple with patches of ‘scales’ in strategic parts - but it was the fact you had a small secret that was making you so nervous; you hadn’t ever actually had sex. 

 You were already mid 20’s, you’d been through university and stage school, worked on broadway and the London west end, you’d modelled for artists and had always put your career first. Relationships had just fizzled away after the first couple of dates because of your acting schedule… and that is how you found yourself not only a virgin in her mid 20’s, but one that had never even laid in bed with a partner, been close, felt the weight of a lover on top of them… anything at all.

 The producers called it a wrap for the read through, and the sounds of chairs scraping on the floor filled the room. As people shot their empty plastic bottles into the trash you felt your stomach lurch, quickly leaving the room, finding the disabled bathroom and running to the toilet, the contents of your stomach very quickly coming back up. 

 Finally empty, you sat on the floor and rested your head against the wall, your mind spinning. A quiet knock at the door made you open one eye, watching as the unlocked door swung open and a familiar face peered round;

 “Are you ok?” Henry asked, his bulk almost filling the entire doorway; “You’re not coming down with something?”

 You shook your head;

 “No, just umm… nerves… haha…” you laughed rather awkwardly.

 Stepping into the room, he sat against the opposite wall, leaning forwards to hand you his half finished bottle of water;

 “... about tomorrow?”

 Taking a sip of water you nodded;

 “Bit pathetic really, isn’t it?”

 “Not at all. Is this your first onscreen love scene?”

 “Yeah”

 He sat forwards, resting his hands on his knees as he thought pensively for a moment;

 “Are you going out with the crew tonight?”

 “No. Can’t really face it”

 “How about I drive us back to the house and order some chinese and talk things through? This isn’t my first love scene but I remember the nerves. We’ll get everything out in the open so the air is clear ready for tomorrow, yeah?”

 Nodding, you watched as he stood, holding out his hand for you and helping you to your feet.

 -

 The drive back to the shared house that most of the main cast members were staying at was fun, Henry having linked his Spotify to the stereo, firing up a playlist of old school pop with an eclectic mix of metal. By the time he rolled into the large driveway that the rental house had, you were both yelling out the words, laughing and grinning. 

 Once inside you excused yourselves to go shower, twenty minutes later finding Henry in the kitchen. His hair was wet and he wore a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants as he looked over the chinese menu;

 “What do you fancy?” he asked and you tried not to blurt out what you were thinking, because even though you may be a virgin, your thoughts were far from pure. 

 Looking over the list he had already scribbled down, you pointed to a couple of dishes, watching as he added them to the list before dialling for delivery. 

 -

 Pushing your plate away you stretched out and groaned. Still shovelling egg fried rice into his mouth, Henry pointed his fork at your plate;

 “Roo dun?” he asked, his cheeks full like a hamster.

 “Help yourself!”

 He eagerly dumped the rest of your lemon chicken on top of his rice, jabbing at the pieces;

 “Hey, about tomorrow… you really don’t need to worry. It’s just going to be you and me, and three other people”

 Taking a sip of your beer you quietly snorted;

 “That’s still three more people that would ‘usually’ be there… and four more than i’ve ever experienced”

 He paused, setting his fork down and you could see his mind working through what you said;

 “So uhh, it's been a while…?”

 “To be honest, it's been never”

 It was like something short circuited in his brain;

 “Never never? Like, never?”

 Putting your beer down, you fiddled with the label;

 “I’m a virgin. I’ve never had sex. I’ve never even slept with anyone”

 There was an awkward silence, the air tense before Henry finally spoke;

 “Is it a religious thing?”

 You shook your head;

 “No. I just have been so wrapped up in studying or working or being on stage… I would get two dates into a relationship and some big opportunity would come up. I would get blinkered and end up ghosting guys without even realising. Ambition got in the way of a love life…”

 Henry took a deep breath;

 “Ok. So you know i’ll be covered up… down there i mean… and so will you… so there won’t be any slips or anything. I won’t be inside you or anything…”

 Cocking an eyebrow you scoffed;

 “Henry… I know you won’t be inside me. We studied sex scenes at stage school. They gave us the practical run down of what happens. It's lots of rubbing and grunting. I just need to go watch some porn again to figure out what to grunt…” you took a sip of your beer; “... and you probably wouldn’t fit inside me anyway… it’s not like anything has ever breached that hole”

 Henry sat with a wide eyed look on his face, his jaw hanging slack;

 “So you… you’ve never even pleasured yourself?”

 “Of course i have!” you threw a prawn cracker at him; “I’ve just never…. You know… had internal stimulation…”

 “Wow” he muttered quietly, shifting in his seat; “So…” he started again but then stopped, his brain seemingly unable to string a coherent sentence together. 

 Finally he cleared his throat;

 “So there’s never been any on set stuff?”

 “Nope. Usually I run through my lines for the next day, check the schedule, the set and makeup call times. I guess the one bonus about all of this is that there aren’t any lines for tomorrow”

 You both knew that the scene had been set up without dialogue, mostly from Netflix’s instruction because any erotic scenes can cause havoc with sensors in some countries when it comes to subtitles. 

 “What did you want to do now? Do you want an early night? Watch a movie? Talk? You want me to lay on top of you?” he asked, picking his now cold plate of food up and dumping the leftovers in the waste disposal.

 “Yes” you replied far too quickly.

 “Which part?”

 “All of it”

 -

 With the TV in the main living area out of action thanks to a rather rambunctious game of ping pong a few weeks ago, the pair of you had moved to Henry’s room. An hour into the movie and it was far from your thoughts, instead you were in the bizarre situation where Henry was literally laying on top of you as you had a conversation. The feeling of his weight pressing against you was at first a surprise, he was thick with muscles for the role, and with probably 200lbs of human pressing you against the mattress you had found you would have to shift now and again. Finally you found a position that was comfortable, and as you chatted about life you found your legs had naturally parted to allow him to lay between them, his stomach pressing to yours, his face inches from your own;

 “This is literally how we’ll be spending our day tomorrow you realise” he quietly pointed out

 “But there will be grunting too… plus some thrusting… it’ll probably get your ass in the gossip magazines as best ass in hollywood again” you teased him, knowing that the nudity he’d done in previous shows and movies had earned him a lot of attention thanks to his rather peachy behind.

 Henry pushed up a little, poking a finger to your breasts;

 “Oh yeah? Well these will earn you a whole legion of fans, you have an awesome pair of tits”

 “Pfft, they’re just average”

 “They’re good enough to give me a semi” he countered with a crooked grin on his face, using his finger to just tug at your neckline, exposing a tiny bit more skin.

 You shifted beneath him without even realising you were doing so and that’s when you felt it, a growing hardness pressing against your abdomen. Your eyes went wide as you stared up at him, the mix of emotions showing on his face;

 “I’ll get off…”

“No!” you instinctively wrapped your legs around his, leaning your head up and pressed a kiss to his lips. He let out a grunt of surprise and you felt him tense, before he softened, his lips following yours as you pulled rested your head back on the duvet beneath you.

 His lips were soft and plump, and as he rocked his hips against you again this time you felt he was getting harder. Instinctively you gasped, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You may not have had sex before but you had kissed, and your tongue danced with his as hands started to explore each others bodies, fingers seeking out skin as t-shirts were tugged up to expose heated skin. 

 Pulling your shirt over your head he admired your naked chest, the pattern on your top having hidden the fact you were without a bra;

 “Oh yeah, even purple these’ll be popular”

 With a smirk on his lips and a wicked grin on his face he lowered his mouth to your naked torso, taking one peaked nipple between his lips to suck on it, his hand cupping your other breast. As he worked his magic your body responded, the wetness between your thighs soaking through your clothing, the subtle movements of your bodies rubbing together making your arousal almost uncontrollable. Winding your hands into his dark locks, the soft hair curled around your fingers as he looked at you, pressing a trail of kisses down your sternum until he reached your leggings;

 “Can i continue?” he asked quietly, watching as you nodded your head;

 “Yes… please…”

 As he pulled your leggings off he pressed kisses to the heated skin that he revealed, never breaking eye contact;

 “So here’s what i’m going to do… first i’m going to get you to cum with my tongue, i’ll slip it just a little inside you so you can get used to the feeling, then i’ll gently tease you with my fingers; find that g-spot of yours as i’ve been assured a g-spot orgasm is completely different from a clitoral orgasm…

 “Fuck…”

 “Yes, that’s the third thing…” he grinned at you; “Once you’re nice and ready, and really really wet i’m going to make love to you… so you can practice your moans for tomorrow…”

 He shed you of the rest of your clothing before softly grasping your legs and pulling them apart, revealing your virgin core. Tender fingers parted your petals before his tongue swiped a wide stripe through them, and the sound that emerged from your throat startled even you.

 “You like that?”

 “Yes… oh my god, please do that again!”

 “With pleasure!”

 “The pleasure is all mine…”

 “Henry?”

 “Yes?”

 “Please shut up and get on with it” you grinned at him, before he dipped his face back between your legs and went to town. His tongue was seemingly everywhere, grunts and moans as he worked you open, and when he slipped his tongue into the ring of muscle at your entrance your eyes shot open and you giggle-moaned at the unfamiliar but not unpleasant experience. When a finger found your clit you relaxed again, laying back and enjoying the pleasure he was selflessly giving you. 

 Gripping at the bedcovers you found your hips started to move on their own, only for Henry to press a strong arm across your stomach to hold you in place, pushing you closer and closer to your orgasm. When it finally did hit your body reacted instinctively; your legs wrapping themselves around his head, your back arching and your fingers almost tearing through the fabric of the sheets, before you finally went limp. As your mind was nothing but stars a muffled voice came through the haze of your post orgasmic bliss;

 “If i could get some oxygen…”

 Not realising your legs were still firmly wrapped around Henry’s head, you quickly released him, his head popping up from beneath your thighs. His cheeks were flushed red and his chin was wet, and it took you a moment to realise you were the cause for the wetness. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand before standing and grabbing a bottle of water to pass to you;

 “You’re gonna need to rehydrate after that…”

 You went to take the bottle from him but the bulging tent in his sweatpants distracted you, your hand pausing mid air before Henry laughed;

 “Drink first, then you can play with it”

 “Oh… I… “

 “Drink”

 Taking the bottle you sipped at the tepid liquid as he lay on the bed beside you. When you’d finished he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to his firm chest before kissing you softly;

 “Are you ready for round two?”

 “Can i touch you too?”

 A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth before he nodded, watching as you eased the elastic of his sweats down and his heavy cock sprang free. Your jaw fell as you took in his size, but before you could overthink it he pressed a kiss to your lips as his hands wandered between your thighs. 

 Reaching out you wrapped your fingers around him as his own slid between your folds, dancing over your clit before he pressed a single digit inside you, your eyes going wide and your hand squeezing him involuntarily. 

 “Does that feel good?”

 You nodded;

 “Yes, a little strange that i’m not in control, but i think that’s what makes it even more exciting”

 “That’s good… now, how about another finger?”

 Nodding again you bit your lip as he slid a second finger in alongside the first, your eager hole stretching around his digits. Instinctively you had started to move your hand up and down his shaft, doing little more than gentle movements, but soon the pair of you got into a rhythm, working together to leave your breaths in time with the others.

 “Doing so well for me… so wet. Shall we try a third?”

 Nodding you let out a quiet ‘uh-huh’ as he repositioned his hand, carefully sliding three fingers into your soaked velvet channel, and the noise that came from your throat was base and full of sin. When his thumb started to rub against your clit while he continued to work three fingers inside you the spring in your belly snapped and you were coming hard, shaking around his hand.

 As you came down from your high Henry carefully withdrew his fingers, salaciously licking them clean before he got off the bed and went to the drawer in the little cabinet, pulling out a condom.

 “Oh… i’m on the pill…” you blurted out; “You don’t have to… In fact i’d really like to feel you, you know… bare…”

 Tearing the packet open he grinned at you;

 “I get that… but you’re gonna be in makeup in less than 12 hours” he knelt on the bed as he started to roll the latex down his angry dick.

 “Umm yeah?”

 “Well its something you’d only know from experience, but it can take up to 24 hours for a guys cum to fully leak out of you”

 “Oh…”

 “And your costume and makeup gets pretty intimate, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah…”

 “So you want Iris in makeup to be able to smell my cum dripping out of you when she’s painting your snatch purple tomorrow?” he said with a grin on his face, rolling the condom down fully before positioning himself between your legs

 “I gotta be honest, the idea that someone realises i’ve had sex is kinda kinky” you craned your neck up to kiss him as you felt his dick notch at the entrance to your cunt; “But you’re the expert here”

 “That i am… Let me show you just how much of an expert…”

 With a smooth roll of his hips he pushed into you and the feeling was indescribable, in fact it was so overwhelming you screwed your eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall, but Henry simply held still, kissing each one of your tears as they fell down your cheeks until you were ready.

 “Breathe babe… just breathe… it’s overwhelming i know… i understand…”

 Opening your eyes you gazed up at him, smiling as he leaned down and kissed you softly.

 “Are you ok?”

 “Y-yeah…”

 “You want me to keep going?”

 “Please… oh god please”

 “Gonna make you feel so good”

 He carefully pulled his hips back before pushing into you again, seemingly getting deeper before pulling out again. Soon you were lost in the moment, feelings both physical and emotionally almost overwhelming you again as your body was taken to new heights of pleasure, Henry seemingly knowing exactly how to make the moment special for you.

 Your body reacted in the best way, the tight spring inside you curling ever tighter, until with just the right roll of his hips he tipped you over the edge and you were coming hard, your body squeezing him so tight he knew he’d found heaven whilst you saw stars. 

 Whilst you were in the haze of your orgasm you heard the most beautiful moans, and felt as Henry came deep within you. As soon as he stopped shaking he wrapped his arms around you tightly, pressing his face to your neck as he cradled the back of your head with his massive hand, pressing soft kisses to your heated skin as you both basked in the aftershocks of your intense orgasms.

 Finally Henry pushed himself up to bear his weight on one arm, sliding his other hand between your bodies to hold the condom in place as he carefully pulled out of you;

 “I’m just gonna get rid of this… stay here”

 You watched his peachy ass as he quickly mad his way to the bathroom, hearing water running before he reappeared moments later with a damp washcloth. Sitting delicately beside you he carefully cleaned you up, and when he was finished he pulled the duvet over your naked body as he quickly got rid of the cloth and joined you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you to his chest;

 “Are you ok?”

 “I think so… Did i make a mess of your bed?”

 “No. No blood”

 “Really? I thought…”

 “If you’re relaxed enough you may not bleed… or you may have simply ruptured your hymen just through every day life. A fall, tampons, strenuous exercise… didn’t you do a horseriding movie a couple of years back?”

 “Y-yeah…” you cast your mind back; “Now you mention it, there was one really long day when i’d spent all day shooting a galloping scene with jumps… i just thought my period was coming early, and i had this really dull ache in my lower back… i guess that makes sense now…”

 “So… you’re good? Feel ok about filming tomorrow?”

 You nodded;

 “Yeah, i’m good. Thank you” You looked up at him and saw he was chewing his lip nervously; “What?”

 “I was wondering… you know… after we’ve finished filming tomorrow… did you want to go to dinner with me?”

 “Like a date?”

 “Yeah… hey i understand if you say no… that you want to concentrate on your role and acting…”

 “No! I mean yes!” you took a deep breath; “I’d love to go to dinner with you”

 He pressed a kiss to your cheek before you settled on his chest, his strong heartbeat beating beneath your ear as you let your eyelids drop and you fell asleep in his arms.

 -

 Iris tutted as you fidgeted;

 “Will you stand still? I need to get these scales on!”

 “Sorry Iris… just a little sore…”

 The older woman looked up at you as she held the patch of purple scales prosthetic and grinned;

 “Well its about time” she nodded to the various bottles and jars that were on the counter; “Make sure you take the coconut oil when you leave tonight, it’ll help get the adhesive off without pulling on any bruises”

 You looked down at Iris and smiled;

 “Thanks Iris”

 “Was it worth it?”

 “So worth it”

[mypoisonedvine]

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 1)

for @evnscvll​​‘s 3k celebration challenge, I immediately broke the rules and took only one prompt: Love, Actually.  then I made it into a series.  oops.  but she made me that lovely moodboard anyways!

summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind.  you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman-- even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: mention/description of infidelity, awkwardness, me teasing y’all by making this a slow burn

(quick note: I’m not fluent in romanian but I did my best to translate the dialogue as accurately as possible, rather than as literally as possible.  if you don’t speak it I would recommend not translating seb’s lines so you get the full experience of having no idea what he’s saying just like the reader in the story but I won’t tell you how to live your life)

You usually trusted your intuition, but up until now you'd convinced yourself that you were being paranoid by worrying about your husband.  Trusting him was more important than anything, and definitely more important than a strange feeling in your gut that something was wrong. 

The sad thing is, you would've never guessed that he was having an affair with your sister.  Not in a million years.  All the sneaking around, the strange stories that didn't add up… you would've put your money on a secret gambling addiction (pun unintended but welcome), or maybe that he'd secretly lost his job.

But even with all your suspicion, all your low self-esteem, all your fear that he was too good for you… nothing could've prepared you to walk in and see him with his face between your sister's legs.

He didn't even do that to you; he said he didn't like the taste.  You realized now, as you stared out the window of the train at the trees flying by, that that should've been a red flag from the start.  For a man who had claimed to be a feminist, things were never really equal in your house.  You both worked full time but you were saddled with more chores; you made more money than he did, but for some reason, you found yourself asking for his approval on large purchases; and of course, whenever you'd talked about children, he'd always just assumed you would stay at home forever and do most of the child-rearing.  He told you that you'd need to handle them when he was too tired from work-- but what about when you were tired from watching them all damn day while he was working?

God, you needed to stop thinking about this.  If you cried on this train people would probably look at you funny and you did not need that right now.  You couldn’t take any more reasons to believe people dislike you.  Even as much as you wanted to say that you didn't want or need your husband’s approval anymore, you still felt so shitty, so fundamentally worthless that he'd chosen your sister over you.  He hadn't wanted to touch you in months.  You wondered if it had been going on longer than that: when you'd blown him after that company party half a year ago, were you putting your mouth on something that had been in your sister's--?

"Something to drink, madam?" the attendant asked as she rolled by with her cart, pulling you from a very dangerous cycle of thought.

You jumped a little and looked over to her as she smiled at you-- no hint of judgment or confusion as you wiped a tear away.  In her shoes, you would be nosy and want to know more about the woman crying on the train.  Then again, maybe it was obvious to her: a woman, alone, who bought the last ticket just before the train left, carrying only a small briefcase and a few hastily-packed suitcases… a woman with nothing to lose, going nowhere as fast as possible.  Could it be anything but her having been done wrong by a man?

"Tea, please," you nodded with a smile of your own-- weaker than hers, more awkward.  You'd make a bad stewardess.

"Black or green?"

You didn't trust them to steep the green tea at the proper temperature, so you asked for black and nodded in thanks when she handed you the warm paper cup and rolled on by to the next passenger.

What really made your head spin, you considered as you sipped at your drink, was not your husband’s actions but your sister’s.  You remembered when you were both teenagers and her boyfriend had cheated on her, she’d gotten so upset with the girl he’d done it with rather than him.  You had thought that was ridiculous because the girl didn’t owe her anything.  You understood better now, and of course, your sister did owe you something.  You two had had your rough patches but overall, she’d been your best friend for most of your life.  So much so that she was the one you went to when you were worried about your husband.  She told you to give him space.  You would’ve never imagined that was her way to get you to back off, to cover her own sins and give her more freedom to shag your husband in your goddamn bed.

Yes, that was the real betrayal.  Lots of people have ex-husbands, but you couldn’t exactly turn her into an ex-sister.  You were stuck with her, but you had no plan as of yet to face her again.

The night in the sleeper car was restless, literally.  It was so dark out that you couldn’t see the trees or mountains anymore, but if you focused really hard and made sure to turn off every light in your room, you could just barely see the stars in the sky.  You hoped that you would have plenty of time to spend looking at the stars once you reached your destination.  As much as you’d loved the city lights of London for the past several years, you really needed to be somewhere that was actually dark at night.  And where the air was clean.  And, best of all, where nobody knew who the fuck you were.

You stepped out of the train and onto the platform, feeling very much like you were surrounded by people ending their stories-- reuniting with loved ones, finishing vacations-- while yours was just beginning.  Well, you supposed it made sense that most of the people travelling from London to Nyíregyháza, Hungary were probably from Nyíregyháza, Hungary.  Unlike you, who had only been here once while backpacking through the area in college and fallen in love with it.  You were lucky that the owner of the secluded cottage you’d crashed at back then had picked up the phone when you called from the train; you were especially lucky that she was willing to pick you up from the station, you not being quite dressed or prepared for backpacking.

Exiting the station and finding the cobblestone street, you were nearly tackled by a portly old woman as she tried to get your attention.

“Mrs. Alberti?!” you asked with wide eyes.

“You should at least pretend I haven’t aged a day,” she frowned, her words coated with her thick Hungarian accent.  

“I was just surprised that you’re still running the cottage!  I figured you and Mr. Alberti retired ages ago,” you explained, following her back to her car and putting your luggage in the boot.

She seemed a little crestfallen, wistfully considering your assumption.  “Well, it’s not quite what it used to be but yes, I am still the owner.  Sadly, Mr. Alberti passed away several years back.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” you replied, hoping to be as comforting as reasonably possible, “he was such a sweet man.”

“Yes, but he had a long illness-- and before that, lived a very full life,” she smiled confidently, walking to the driver’s seat as you followed along the other side and got in the passenger.

“It’s too bad he won’t get to see you again, though,” she continued as she started the vehicle.  Considering how old it looked, you were impressed that it worked on the first try.  “He would’ve been amazed to have a repeat customer from somewhere so far away.  I certainly am!”

“Yes, well, I have great memories from staying in the villa, and decided to go in search of some of the lust for life that I had back then-- chasing after youth never backfires, right?” you joked.

“I wouldn’t know,” she replied with a smirk.

You knew you were getting close to the old house when the roads turned from asphalt, to cobblestone, to gravel, and finally to dirt.  As much as you figured trees and grass looked basically the same everywhere, you appreciated that it somehow managed to look totally different than England.  Maybe it was the scattering of blue wildflowers, or the way the wilderness was dominating the few signs of human existence rather than the other way around.  Driving it was different than hiking it, certainly, and you wondered if you would find the time or energy to climb the foothills on the other side of the lake like you had before.  Maybe you didn’t want to find out how much athletic ability you’d lost since college…

“Here we are!” she announced as she made one last turn and yep, there it was: a lonely stone cottage, with flowers all along the walls and pink wooden shutters.  

You could tell it had aged since it had looked how you remembered, but if anything it had gained a quaint charm, with its moss and ivy and old trees which sagged under their own weight.  Figuring you would have more time to take in the scenery in the indefinite time you planned to spend here, you decided to make good time and gather your things first.

As you opened the boot and reached in to grab your luggage, someone appeared beside you and pushed your hands aside, saying something that you couldn’t parse at all.  You stepped aside and realized that it was a young man-- not horrifically young or anything, but certainly… strapping.  He shot you a smile, and you couldn’t think of the last time somebody had looked at you with so much joy on their face.

“Oh, thank you,” you nodded, letting him lift your suitcases (which he did with ease, just to make it all extra cruel).

“This is Sebastian-- he lives here and does odd jobs for me,” Mrs. Alberti informed you, "Don't waste your time talking to him; he doesn't speak a word of English."

"Oh, he only speaks Hungarian?"  You turned to him again; "Szia, hogy vagy?"

He shook his head and smiled awkwardly.

"No dear, he only speaks Romanian," Mrs. Alberti explained with a laugh.  "Can't you tell I can only afford to run this place by using cheap immigrant labour?"

"Salut," he greeted.  At least you could figure what that meant.  You chuckled uncomfortably and looked to the ground.  

You followed Sebastian and Mrs. Alberti into the house, admiring how little the interior decorations had changed-- it was all macrame and flowers in old-fashioned ceramic vases, with lots of oddball Hungarian trinkets to round it all out.  Perhaps the only thing you could notice that was different was new floorboards.

“You like the new floor?” Mrs. Alberti asked, as if she were reading your mind.  “Sebastian put that in for me.”

Sebastian seemed to perk up as he set your bags down briefly, clearly aware he was being talked about.  

“Remember?” Mrs. Alberti addressed him, motioning to the floor.  “You put in the new floor, huh?  Új emelet?”

You wondered why she’d seemed to laugh at you for trying to speak Hungarian to him, when she was doing the same thing.

“Da,” he smiled, pressing his shoe down onto the floor to apparently demonstrate the lack of creaking.  “Ți-am făcut un etaj nou.”

“Alright, go ahead and take her bags upstairs,” Mrs. Alberti instructed him, motioning to the luggage and then to the staircase.  He nodded and picked them up again, starting to walk across the room.  “He knows where your room is, just follow him,” she told you.  

The stairs, unlike the new floor, did creak, and you weren’t sure how far behind you were supposed to be on the staircase to avoid having his ass right at eye level.  You didn’t want to stare at it… but either the jeans were doing him a lot of favours, or Mrs. Alberti’s ‘odd jobs’ do a body good.  Maybe a little bit of both.

He used his back to push open the door to your room, setting your bags just inside before turning to leave again, like he thought it would be rude to step inside.

“Wait,” you requested, but he kept going-- probably the whole ‘not understanding English’ thing.  God, you were going to look so stupid at least a few more times trying to get through to this guy, you could sense it.  Forced to get his attention another way, you reached out and grabbed his arm; not hard, but it was definitely a slightly aggressive thing to do anyways.  It worked, though, and he turned around with an expectant look.  “Could you help me unload?” you asked, gesturing towards the bags.  

His brow knitted with confusion as he tilted his head.  You sighed, not sure exactly how to pantomime this.

“One of my bags,” you began, pointing to one of them, “is heavy--” a lifting motion-- “could you--” you pointed to him-- “unpack it?” 

That seemed to make more sense to him, and he stepped back into the room with you.  “Voi încerca,” he said, somewhat to himself, as you opened the suitcase.  Inside was your typewriter; he nodded with understanding and scooped it up.

“Unde?” he asked, and regardless of what it meant, you were going to show him where to put the typewriter anyways.  

“Just over there, the table by the window,” you pointed to it.  He nodded again and walked past you, setting it down, and even adjusting it a little to make sure it was centered.

“Thank you!” you piped up when he turned back to you.  And just like that, you were plunged back into awkward silence.  You pointed to him, and then the typewriter as you pantomimed typing.  “Can you type?”  He seemed to understand what you meant.

“Nu,” he shook his head, “când eram mic, trebuiau înregistrați anual.”

“...huh,” you mumbled, not sure what to do with that.   

“Plec acum,” he announced as he started to step past you again.

You cleared your throat and let him walk out the doorway.  “Right, um, have a good afternoon…”

He gave a little wave as he walked down the hall, and you sighed once he was out of sight and making his way down the creaking stairs.  You impressed yourself with your ability to embarrass yourself constantly, even with total strangers.  But, all that aside, you were finally ready to settle in and properly enjoy your change of scenery.

[fontainebleau22]

100 Days of Writing: Day 58 (28th July)

Write for 20 minutes again, rewrite a snippet [of yesterday’s work] but change one thing about it. What happens with the snippet? 

Another easy one, thanks again to the lovely @hanajimasama who wrote with me and spurred me on to make an effort even though I’ve been ill today. We both wrote for an hour again, and she made headway on her prompts, while I went back over the section I edited last night and then forged on with the radio station scene.

What happened to the bit I re-edited? Well, changing just one thing isn’t in my nature: in yesterday’s edit I created a new scene to patch in where P-- and J-- are talking which shows J--’s reluctance a bit better; I gave it an outline, and today I wrote it out properly with more description of how they’re each acting, a full dialogue and a lot more of what P-- is thinking while he’s speaking.

That’s the aspect I think I need to work on consciously right now: my dialogue tends to have a lot of incidental description around it of characters’ actions, but a lot less of what’s going through the focal character’s mind in response to the discussion, and I want to expand that to make the dialogues a richer experience for the reader.

I’m still feeling bad for being so slow with Reunion, but I do feel that this chapter has turned a corner - all the events which need to be there are now in place in the right sequence, beginning to end, so now it’s just a question of polishing it up.

[goldrushzukka]

1, 2, 7, 8, 9. (Sorry, i know that's like...all of them)

1. what themes would you like to write about that you feel don’t get explored very often?

i love writing coming out storylines. it’s not really that they’re uncommon, i just find a lot of catharsis in them. 

2. what are some common elements of stories you are tired of seeing? what would you avoid writing about?

i tend to avoid writing sibling dynamics bc i’m an only child and therefore not really. qualified. i love reading it though!! 

7. favourite description in your WIP?

it was really hard to pick one so i have a few answers for this bc i love to talk about myself so. (under the cut bc JESUS this got long but spoilers for and i’ll do anything you say (read it here!) ahead!!!)

- from chapter 2:

Sokka looks at him, a fantasy come to life, and takes off his stupid sweatpants.

He throws them at Zuko’s head, and earns himself a short burst of that real laugh, shocked and unguarded.

“You asshole,” Zuko says. He sits up and grabs Sokka’s hand, pulling him down on top of him. Something comes alive under Sokka’s skin where Zuko’s fingers graze his wrist. He calls it lust and ignores the fact that it feels nothing like it.

Zuko kisses him, his mouth still in the shape of laughter, and the alive thing screams for his attention. Sokka buries it and hopes it won’t deafen him before they’re done.

im very fond of this whole chapter (i think it’s probably my favourite? it was definitely the easiest to write) but i really love looking back on this part particularly now that we’re in the angsty part of the story bc this is where it all started. yes technically it started in chapter 1 but this is when sokka starts to fall for zuko. this is the beginning of all those pesky non-casual feelings that he’s going to pretend don’t exist until someone else calls him out on them.

- also from chapter 2:

He’s forty-five minutes late already, and when he knocks, a woman made of pursed lips and sharp angles answers the door. She looks elegant and expensive the same way a skyscraper does. Or a cache of medieval weaponry.

“Oh,” Sokka says, digging into his pocket to find the map on his phone. “I must have the wrong place, sorry -”

She looks him up and down, her eyes narrowed in a way that feels violent and practiced, and her smirk turns distasteful. Sokka risks a glance down at himself, at his torn up jeans - not distressed, just torn - and the Madonna t-shirt he’s pretty sure actually belongs to Katara, and thinks she might have a point. The bag in his hand feels heavier when her eyes land on it.

“Zuzu,” the woman calls into the apartment, “your dinner’s here.”

“I didn’t order -” Zuko appears in the doorway, bitter frustration in his expression as he looks at the woman.

His eyes fall on Sokka, though, and his face clears into a light-pollution smile.

this is technically two so i will start with: i love azula. i haven’t found any room to bring her back yet but believe me i am LOOKING. she’s hot and mean and gay and i LOVE HER. oh also insider scoop but suki’s date from earlier in this chapter.......WAS azula. they probably won’t see each other again because once azula met sokka and connected his face to the Best Friends Forever picture frame on suki’s desk she stopped answering the phone.

pt 2: i’ve had a couple of comments mention the “light-pollution smile” line specifically and i am always so happy to read them bc yeah. YEAH. i’ll admit it. that line HITS. 

- from chapter 4:

He sets his phone down - only, he doesn’t. He misses the table by a mile, and in his scramble to catch his phone before it breaks on the hardwood floor and wakes Momo on the cushion beside him, his hand finds the lip of his cereal bowl, and then that’s falling, too. He manages to catch the phone, but something in his head gets lost in translation on its way down his arms, and he ends up with a boxers-only lap full of soggy Cheerios.

Momo gets a splash of milk on his back and hisses at Zuko for his crimes, and somehow that’s the worst part of it.

haley @fruitysokka said that this passage reads like an action movie and i think about it all the time. (thank u haley i love u)

- lastly this extended metaphor from chapter 6:

The soup is good, once the heat of it clears him up enough to taste it. It’s thick and warm and there’s enough pepper that Sokka gets a kick from it even in his condition. He feels it all the way down his throat and into his stomach, where it mixes with the prickly nervousness he’s feeling from Zuko’s attention.

He sets the bowl down on the table and asks, eyes stuck on his hands in Momo’s fur where he’s climbed into his lap, “How was the date?”

“It was good, actually,” Zuko says. “Jet seems like a nice guy. He’s very - uh - passionate, I guess you could call it? He’s a climate and human rights activist.”

The spines of Sokka’s nervousness turn to daggers.

...

“I said yes. We’re getting lunch on Sunday.”

The daggers are swords now, and Sokka’s heart sinks down, down, down, right to the hilt.

...

“I’ll text you when I’m home,” Zuko promises, and Sokka’s heart skewers itself on a second sword.

Zuko’s smile when Sokka says, “Thank you for the soup,” is a third.

The door closing behind him is a fourth.

The silence as Sokka shuffles back to bed is every single one that remains.

something something canon swordsmen something pride comes before the fall something chivalry fell on his sword from eden by hozier. you guys get it i dont have to explain myself

8. favourite dialogue in your WIP?

ok so i cant share my actual favourite dialogue bc it's a spoiler for chapter 8 and i technically haven't written it yet (it's in my brain just.....plaguing me) but it's GOOD i SWEAR so. once again i have more than one answer bc actually? i love this fic and im proud of it. deal with it.

- from chapter 1:

“Hey, stranger,” Sokka says, still watching him in the mirror. The corner of Zuko’s mouth ticks up.

“You’re not following me, are you?” Zuko’s tone is seductive, endlessly so, and Sokka wonders while he dries his hands if he has to put it on or if he just sounds like that.

“You give a guy one compliment and he thinks you’re stalking him,” Sokka mutters, and Zuko laughs, low and enticing. Not the genuine, endearing laugh of this morning, but one with an agenda.

Well. Sokka always likes a plan.

“Are you following me? ” Sokka asks. He spies a miraculous dry patch on the sink bank and tries to be casual about the way he hops up to sit on it.

“I might be,” Zuko says, and at Sokka’s raised eyebrow, he continues, “I saw you at the bar and I wanted to talk to you. Sue me.”

“You wanted to talk.”

“Amongst other things.”

as a chronically awkward person i am INSANELY proud of the flirting in this fic. no idea if it would work in a real life situation. excited to never find out bc im not about to use lines from my fanfiction on real women. 

- from chapter 2

“You must be Suki,” Zuko says. He meets her gaze, and his fingers go still under Momo’s chin.

“And you’re Zuko,” Suki replies, her smile all different shades of intimidating. “I’d shake your hand, but I know where it’s just been.”

i wrote this entire scene just so i could have suki say this. im not even joking. suki is my favourite part of this entire fic and its not even ABOUT her.

- from chapter 3:

When Sokka crosses the room and slips under the covers beside him, Zuko says, “I can leave, if you want. I can go home.”

...

He asks, still barely hovering over Zuko, “What if I don’t want that?”

Zuko swallows. “I can stay.”

“So stay,” Sokka says, and lays his head down on Zuko’s chest.

i just think it’s sweet. i like it a lot. makes my heart hurt a little when i think about it. 

- from chapter 4:

[Suki // 15:13] there is a LOT of chmpagrjn

[Suki // 15:13] cahpmhagne

[Suki // 15:13] chsanpghn

[Suki // 15:14] alcohol :)

once again: suki is the best part of this whole fic. i love her so much. she is the reason the word bestie exists. im really proud of the texting in this fic bc it’s my first time actually including it in fic and it’s turned out really well!!

- ok last one bc i just realised this is turning into a novel. from chapter 4:

“How’s my baby?”

Zuko glances down at Momo, batting at the untied laces of his shoes with one determined paw. “He’s doing just fine.”

“And how’s Momo?”

“He’s - what?”

are there better written, more narratively important and emotive lines in this fic? yes. is this the best part of the entire thing? also yes. i invented the jin/yue wedding because i needed a reason for zuko to have a key in what became chapter 6, but sometimes i think the entire fic exists just for this exchange. best dialogue i have ever written.

9. what scene was the hardest for you to write and why?

the start of chapter 6 of aidays was difficult. i kept wanting to skip ahead to the meaty parts - i.e, zuko and his soup - but i didn’t want to do sokka a disservice like that. it was also really hard to maintain the balance of accurately describing the delirium of illness while still being coherent for the reader? so that took me a couple of days to get right.

[callmenovel]

Today is Dont Kill Your Readers Monday, and for that—I’ll be covering a more basic principal that many newer writers, or self-taught writers, may have not been exposed to.

✨paragraph breaks✨

To start out simple, we need to cover what paragraph breaks are—and what they do.

Open up your nearest book. Paragraph breaks are just breaks between paragraphs—where you hit enter on your keyboard, that kinda thing.

In their most basic form, they’re there to keep the writing organized and to keep your reader from getting confused. For example:

‘Sarah ran her hand through her hair.

“I dunno, Samuel...” she said, hesitation clinging to her words, “The place looks pretty abandoned—“

“Hey,” Samuel snapped, eyebrows dipping, “do you want the patch or not?”

“I do, but—“

“Then stop being such a crybaby and let’s go already!” ‘

Ignoring the not-so-good writing, the conversation between Sarah and Samuel is easy to follow. What action is specified is easily separated and identifiable, and the sudden paragraph breaks mid dialogue give the reader that sense of being cut off—which we want. This is in comparison to the same scene, without paragraph breaks:

‘Sarah ran her hand through wear hair. “I dunno, Samuel...” she said, hesitation clinging to her words, “the place looks pretty abandoned—“ “Hey,” Samuel snapped, eyebrows dipping, “Do you want the patch or not?” “I do, but—“ “Then stop being such a crybaby and let’s go already!” ‘

Yeah, much harder to get through.

A real quick acronym to help you remember where paragraphs are absolutely necessary:

Time

Place

Topic

Person

(TiPToP)

Whenever one of these things changes—is where a paragraph break is absolutely necessary. Think: whenever the camera “moves”. Whether from a person to another (such as in dialogue) or when you go from talk about guitars to ukuleles. That kinda thing.

But paragraph breaks aren’t just for organization and easy reading, they’re also really effective in conveying a mood. This is more common in poetry, and uses the blank space on a page in the same way an artist would.

“I am

falling.

I don’t know how to stop.”

It conveys hesitation in this case. The readers drags their eyes across the white before finally reaching: “.......falling.”

In addition, the large break contrasted by the lack of break in the immediately following sentence conveys a faster pace, while also keeping the melo mood established above.

(This also gets into word choice, but that’s a post for another day)

In more of a “novel” format:

‘Stop.

Please.

God—

Just stop.’

You’re generally not going to want to utilize the open space the paragraph breaks give you when writing a story, but that doesn’t mean they can’t still be effective.

Assuming this is internal dialogue, the short one-word lines give a firm stop in between each word, and only add to the evident level of desperation.

‘Stop. Please. God—just stop.’

Still gets the point across, but especially in more climactic, emotional scenes—the first one is probably a better bet.

There’s more, as there always is—but this’ll give you a nice overview and introduction on utilizing paragraph breaks! Just don’t forget to write paragraphs like you write scentances—vary the length and the structure.

Keep long paragraphs for description, shorter ones for more action-heavy pieces.

(Questions? Don’t be afraid to send an ask!)

Happy writing!!

[poptod]

The One Time Debt was Good (Elliot Alderson x Reader)

Request: Hi there could you do an Elliot x reader where the reader gets liked fucked up or something and Elliot helping her clean up the cuts and blood and stuff (ok thanks bye have a nice day 💓)

Took me a bit but I finally finished it. I made it gender neutral bc that shit fucks. also, there’s a small paragraph of graphic injury description. part 2

He’d warned you about this, you knew that, and you knew you should’ve listened. He hardly ever warns you against anything, hardly ever tries to stop you from hurting yourself, so when for once he told you not to do something, of course you had to ignore his advice. The one time he tries to care about you, and you have to ignore it.

To be fair, with or without his input it was a bad idea. Mosh pits aren’t exactly the safest place, not for someone like you at least, especially metal mosh pits. You hadn’t expected this in any future vision, though; your clothes are almost completely torn off of you, shreds just barely covering your bruised, blood-drenched skin. Thankfully most of it wasn’t your blood - a fight broke out and you were pushed straight into the middle of it, so a good amount of it probably belonged to the very people who beat you to a pulp.

Your first thought, practically crawling out of the concert, was I should probably go to the hospital. A perfectly rational thought and a good idea, but you then remembered you’re still in debt from the last time you were at the hospital, and that was three years ago. Fortunately for you and unfortunately for Elliot (you assume, you don’t think he likes you very much) his apartment was closest to you, so gathering your shreds of humanity and the fifty-two cents in your pocket, you made your way to him.

Several people stared at you, several didn’t, and by the time you were knocking at his door you felt a little faint. Leaning on the wall, you barely raise your knuckles to rap at the door and within a few seconds you can hear his footsteps. A sigh leaves you, relaxed and anxious all at once - he’s comforting, at least he is to you, but again, he doesn’t like you very much.

Slowly the door creaks open, though it takes him a moment before he looks to his left to find you breathing heavy against the wall, dry blood flaking off your skin and sticking to the wall. He doesn’t say anything, of course he doesn’t, but he opens the door a little, and you walk in with a tiny ‘thank you.’

“I’m really sorry about this,” you manage to get out, your throat dry and horribly sore from screaming. “I would’ve gone to the hospital, but… you know. Can’t really afford that.” Vaguely he nods, not meeting your eye as you ask to use the shower. With his permission granted you wash the blood off yourself, the dirt and grime, noticing the splotches of red, yellow, and blue that are the permanent reminders of the night. The bruises practically coat your ribs - when you press down on them it hurts so badly you wonder if you broke something.

When you get out you hesitate to redress yourself, considering your clothes are still grimy and bloodied, but before you can even make a decision on what to do the bathroom door opens just a crack. One hand carrying a stack of clothes sneaks in, placing the clothes on the counter before quickly retreating behind the closing door.

This is exactly why I’ve got the stupidest crush in the universe, you think, groaning internally at yourself. These little moments, rare and far between, moments where he does something purely human, keep you around him. Grabbing the clothes, you pause for a moment, taking in the scent and softness before dressing yourself. There isn’t any underwear, which you should’ve expected, and any sane person would probably just wear their own underwear, but instead you go commando. In the foggy mirror you examine yourself in the baggy sweatshirt and pants, wondering how to go about thanking him.

Surprisingly, you have even less time to think about it than you thought, since as soon as you open the door he’s standing there. For a while he just stares at you, and you stare back, confused as to what he’s trying to achieve. Finally he opens his mouth, hesitant to speak but he eventually does.

“You’ve… got a thing.. down your back,” he says, which is confusing in itself. With a furrowed brow you walk back into the bathroom, taking the sweatshirt off and trying to look at your back in the mirror. Sure enough, there’s a massive cut down your spine, and it’s still bleeding a bit - it’s astounding you haven’t noticed it yet, considering just the sight of it makes you sick.

“Oh dear god,” you say, feeling the acidic burn in the back of your throat grow worse.

“Here,” he mumbles, managing to maneuver you while barely touching you so your face is to the mirror. “I can stitch you.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” you say quickly, your heart racing at the thought of stitches. You’ve gotten them before, but that was with an anesthetic, not straight out. In fear you whip around, hoping that’ll keep him and his needle away from your skin, but now you’re face to face with him and suddenly the needle seems friendlier. Your breath catches in time with his, the both of you frozen in the moment as you both try to decipher what’s happening. He stammers when he gains control of his body again, stepping back so his back is against the wall and he’s as far from you as possible.

“I have vodka,” he says, “if that’d make you feel better.”

“Yeah, that actually would,” you say with a sigh, relieved to be able to catch yourself as he leaves the bathroom. He returns a minute or so later, trying desperately not to stare at your naked torso. He unscrews the cap, and after you take a few gulps of the drink (which does nothing for your sore throat), he pours a little down into your cut. You wince, your grip on the sink tighter than your clenched teeth, a headache sprouting from the tension in your jaw.

“Ready?” He asks, looking at you over your shoulder through the mirror. You nod - you’re not going to get much more ready, so you might as well get it over with.

As the needle prods at your skin, poking into your flesh and sprouting little droplets of blood, you try not to think on the sensation. You try to think of anything, anything besides the cool metal pulling string through your back and tugging at your skin. Instead you focus on him, on his concentrated face; he’s biting at his cheek, his mouth opening to talk to himself in words you can’t hear.

It takes a shorter amount of time than you thought it did. The pain is now aching, spreading up your spine and into your head and down through your legs.

“I guess my skin must’ve snagged on someone’s spikes,” you groan hoarsely when he finishes up, tugging at your ripped skin as he tries to knot the string in place.

“I told you not to go,” he says, low and quiet, still not meeting your eye.

“Doesn’t matter now,” you say with a sigh, rubbing your side with your hand to massage the pain out, though it does very little. When you turn around he glances up at you, sparing just a second to watch you before leaving the bathroom.

Rubbing your face wearily you follow, your steps careful and slow as you try to put the sweatshirt back on. It proves a lot more difficult, what with the string preventing your skin from stretching, but you manage to get it on eventually. He’s in his kitchen filling a glass with water when you enter, and as usual he can’t stand to look at you.

“Thanks for patching me up, by the way,” you mumble, leaning against the counter with your hands gripping it tight, still trying to ignore the pain in your back and ache of your bruised legs and arms. He sets the glass down, and for a moment it looks as if he’s going to ignore you as usual, but he turns to you with pursed lips.

“Why do you do stuff that you know is going to hurt you?”

Your eyes widen at his straightforwardness, stuttering as you try to come up with a plausible answer. The only problem is you never even realized you do that, you never thought you were looking for pain, but when you look back at your past decisions it seems obvious. How long as he been putting up with your masochistic tendencies?

“I… I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “I never realized that I do that.”

Your thoughts go back to when you were little - in your teenage years you had a history of self harm, but you never thought of it as a hatred thing. It was just another way to feel pain, another way to feel real in a world where so much is faux. The memory of a razor cutting your skin to shreds just to watch your blood drip freely from your hips and arms makes you curl in on yourself, something that Elliot notices.

“I think I need to sit down,” you say, your voice cracking with the lightheaded feeling swirling around you. He lets you sit on the couch before he speaks again, sitting on the couch with you but as far from you as he can.

“Take my advice, next time,” he tells you, crossing his legs.

“And for now?”

He doesn’t answer. The TV buzzes in your background as exhaustion takes its’ toll on you, the fight, the walk, and the cleaning up tiring every bone in your body. It doesn’t take long at all until you’re lying down, your eyes closed as you can’t bear to keep them open. You’re still conscious, still listening to the dialogue of a show you’ve never watched before and the typing on Elliot’s laptop. It’s not long at all till the typing stops, and he sets his computer down on the ground as quietly as possible. With the shuffling of clothes and footsteps, you hear him come closer, and the cushion your legs are resting on dips down.

A thousand thoughts run through your head, a hundred theories and at least fifty conspiracies tackle what in the world Elliot could be doing, but none of them lead to a satisfying answer. Then he’s touching you, something he never does, not unless he absolutely has to - and it’s surprisingly affectionate. You’re barely able to keep your breath under control as he brushes your hair back, fingers just barely skimming across from your temple to behind your ear. Clothes rustle again, and you can feel his heat right up against your cheek. Every single one of your thoughts is now focused on one thing: stay absolutely still.

Somehow you manage to do it, somehow you’re still breathing even with closed eyes, though you have no idea if there’s a prominent blush on your cheeks. You’d guess yes but he still hasn’t moved; he sounds like he’s muttering something, but even right next to your ear, the heat of his speech brushing your skin, you can’t pick out what exactly he’s saying.

He’s so close, so unbearably close that you can’t decipher just when his lips touch you - he’s been hovering over your temple so long that the difference between his heat and touch is thin. Sometime in there you realize he’s kissing you, one long, sweet kiss on your temple, and suddenly the entirety of the evening is something you know you’ll never forget.

The cushion resumes its’ given position as he stands, and the rustling of his clothes combined with the absence of his heat tells you he’s gone. With a buzz and a click, the hum of the television goes out, and Elliot retreats to his bedroom.

You fall asleep soon after, your dreams more pleasant than ever with the new revelation.

[capriccio-con-espressione]

Lovely

Genre: Smut

Warning: Sub!Winwin, Dom!Reader, Femdom, Dollification/Objectification, Mirror sex, Degradation, Praise kink, Corruption kink, Spanking, Pegging, Hair pulling, Overstimulation, Profanity, Toys used: Vibrator+Prostate massager+Open mouth gag

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N:

Happy Winwin day 💗☁️✨

I strongly suggest you read the lyrics of Lovely beforehand because some of the dialogues and descriptions are correspondent with it. The reason the song inspired me is not only due to Winwin and Ten's beautiful dancing, but also I think the lyrics speak the mind of subs pretty well.

This gif got me thinking elsewhere though, and it did inspire me to some extent ;) Anyways hope my lovelies enjoy Doll Sicheng as well ❤️

Feedback is appreciated! :)

  You fix the waistband of Sicheng's white trousers that you just adorned him in, before slipping the next clothing over his head, carefully and lovingly, just like a little girl dressing her cherished doll. You have booked the themed motel room for your birthday boy's special playtime, knowing too well that he's going to enjoy it, just like a getaway from reality that you promised him, a place that he can feel alive then outside he can fight his fears. 

  The interior of the room is surrounded by white walls decorated with symmetric patterns in pastel blue and pink, corresponding with the designs on the cushions on the bed, with gentle yellow lighting emitted from the intricate chandelier creating a cozy dreamy atmosphere. In addition to fulfilling your fantasy, the embroidered round-framed window, plus Rococo style furniture, with a set of exquisitely painted ceramic tea set propped on the side table, every single decor in your playroom gives off a stylish cutesy dollhouse vibe. The only thing that insinuates something not so innocent is the full wall mirror situated right in front of the bed, reflecting all the fantasy filth that is about to unfold.

  “Such a beautiful little lovely doll…” You compliment as you zip up the cardigan for Sicheng, who is seated at the edge of the bed in front of your kneeling self, his body pressed against your chest for support otherwise he will fall like a boneless rag doll, while his eyes stare blankly into the mirror, witnessing his transformation into the doll you want him to be.

  “Here, let baby dollie’s owner make him look even extra gorgeous…” You reach for the gray blazer and proceed to dress him, lifting his limp arm up and guide it through the sleeve, then repeat the same process for the other arm, but this time more slowly and affectionately. Your hands wander all over his chest, leaning down to his ear level to whisper praises on how aristocratic he looks right now, so close to his body that you can literally feel his racing heartbeat, in great contrast with his stoic expression. You smile, knowing how much praises and being fully under your control turn him on.

  “I’m not done with dressing you yet, doll. It’s getting colder, and my dolly needs one last piece of clothing to stay warm and complete the look...” You gently coo as you drape the large white leather jacket over his shoulders, making him look chic and fashionable, the ideal aesthetic appeal that lives up to your taste. You wrap your arms around his well-dressed body, basking in the intimacy of dressing your doll, not only due to the physical contact with him during the process but also because of the granted opportunity to unleash your artistic creativity on your lover, as well as last but not least, the empowerment to decide every single detail for him.

  But still, you know there’s still something missing about his appearance. You take your beauty bag with you, approach his frontside then straddle him, cradling his head for his support. You quickly finish his base make-up plus some contours, then move on to accentuate his eyes with some smoky brown gradient and light golden shimmer, topping it off with eyeliner and mascara to give him a flirty dolly look, but not to the extent of fakey exaggeration. Last, you apply your favorite shade of coral pink on his lips, while making sure to breathe dangerously close to his face as well as subtly grind on him, starting to heat things up now that he’s close to completion.

  “My baby doll looks so pretty already now...but one more thing…” You get up and release Sicheng, causing your doll to fall back onto the mattress, which is your deliberate move to test if he’s still in his headspace or not. But much to your satisfaction, he incorporates his instincts as a dancer into this play so well that even a simple fall looks pure aesthetic. You make your way to retrieve the accessory, but spend some moments to just stand there and admire his graceful posture on the bed, in an attempt to heighten his anticipation with your piercingly possessive gaze.

  “Hmmm looks like I shouldn’t ignore my lovely doll for too long…” You crawl over on top of him after seconds that seem so painstakingly long for him, and slide the leaf-shaped silver collar pin between his lips. “Even better.” You compliment, as you begin to press your weight further onto him, only millimeters away to make actual contact yet holding a teasing distance.

  “Such pretty kissable lips…I would love to smooch then invade them...sadly that would smear and ruin your perfect look.” You feign disappointment in your voice. “Or that’s exactly what my pretty doll wants, hmm? Getting all ruined and messy...” You darkly chuckle as you can feel Sicheng trembling subtly underneath you, fighting back his desires to crumble in order to be an obedient doll.

  Satisfied with your work, you begin to move on to the next phase of your fantasy, that is, to gradually corrupt and dishevel this epitome of perfection. Getting off his body, you sit his soft limp body on your lap, starting with some innocent kisses on his clothed body, then to some inappropriate touches on his crotch, as he struggles not to squirm, his hitching breath still fairly noticeable.

  "Interesting...my dolly making such cute breathy noises when touched here...wow I never realized that this doll can be interactive…" You fake innocence to taunt his arousal just like a little girl discovering a new way to play with her toy for the first time. 

  "I wanna see what can I get by touching you more…" Your voice trails off as you lightly bite his pinkening earlobe, while unzipping his fly to reveal his half-hard member.

  "Hmmm...why does my doll keep getting longer and thicker? It's so intriguing! Makes me wanna play with you more…" You go on pointing out his reaction with your hand moving up and down his shaft. “I’m so curious to see how big you can get!”

  Sicheng’s mind goes blank as he desperately tries to minimize his movements, the pleasure on his dick and your provocatively innocent words both making it hard for him. However, you still level up his challenge by pulling down his trousers further to expose him even more. Initially, he thinks he can take the torture much longer since he’s starting to get accustomed to the stimuli on his shaft, however, when your fingers suddenly go down to fondle his balls, pressing the sensitive patch of flesh on his taint all of a sudden, he loses it instantly, moaning out and dropping the leaf pin while his hand spontaneously go up to grab yours.

  It takes him a few seconds to realize that he’s broken the rules. “Well? What a disappointment.” You sneer as you lightly slap his cock. “Can’t even be a good doll and maintain your supposed posture. Looks like you are unworthy of my affection and praises.” You continue to scold him as you make him stand on all fours, sliding his trousers down to knee level. “You should be punished. Bad dolly.”

  Slap after slap on his bare erogenous zone only makes Sicheng anticipate the humiliating sting even more, as he looks down on the mattress beneath him and bites on his lip a little to not moan out of pleasure. To make his punishment worse, you grab his hair and tilt his head to the side, forcing him to make direct eye contact with the rosy tint blooming gradually bigger on his ass. The sight and sound of his spanked upturned bottom, as well as the way his trilayered stylish clothing on his upper body sinfully mocks his naked abused flesh down south, both fulfill your fantasy to corrupt your originally perfect doll, as you bask in the sadistic glory as Sicheng’s slight change in facial expressions gives away the signs of his surrender.

  “Fuck dolly it feels so good to smack that firm delicious ass of yours.” You give him one last spank before reaching down to collect droplets of his pre-cum on your palm. “It’s so obvious now that my shameless dolly likes being hurt and used…” You muse before presenting that hand to him then smear it over his cheek. “You are no longer the Ken doll for dressing games because you don’t deserve it. Instead, from now on, you are my fuck doll that will cater to my desires however as I please.”

  You flip him back on his back, tossing away his undergarments, then unzip his cardigan to reach underneath it and tease his nipple with one hand while the other pumps his cock, your mouth also working on to suck and lick his newly exposed neck. Your sudden bite on his sweet spot causes him to lose his composure again as he let out a noticeable shudder and a moan. Sicheng looks up at you, his gaze a mixture of fear and anticipation of getting punished again, but instead, this time you decide to be soft on him to save the real thrill for later.

  "Looks like I’ve earned myself a great deal to have you in my collection. Even the way you writhe and squirm is pure unparalleled beauty..." You peck his lips lovingly before brushing your finger over them. “Also your lovely moan...angelic as fuck...let’s see what you can do with that pretty mouth of yours, fuck doll.” You smirk as you get off the bed to bring some toys into the play.

  After putting on your pretty pastel blue strap, you shove a lip-shaped gag into him that forces his mouth open, whose color matches his lipstick shade as well. “Do as what I say, fuck doll.” You tug his hair while slapping his face with the dildo. “Suck.”

  Sicheng’s forcefully opened mouth guarantees your full access to it to fuck with as much as you want. Sometimes you will just guide his head to bob along the shaft, but most of the time you are the one taking control as you ram into his mouth hard and fast, causing tears to stream down his eyes. But still, you still are fully aware of his hands on the back of your thighs, reminding yourself that if it’s getting too much, he will pinch it three times consecutively as a signal to stop. Luckily, he shows no indication for you stop what you’re doing until you decide it’s time to wreck other parts of his gorgeous body.

  “My fuck doll’s mouth is so good...taking me so well…” You compliment as you pet the back of his head affectionately. “Now lie down.” You instruct as he quickly obeys. “I remember reading the manual that says little fuck doll’s hobby is anything that involves lying down hmm? Like lying down and getting fucked senseless hmm?” You snicker as you get between his legs and start lubing his entrance.

  After adding fingers gradually from one to three, with Sicheng successfully holding in his moans and any movements that are too obvious, you decide to reward him with some pleasure to prep him for your cock more. “Good fuck dolls like you should be charged before use…” You hum then stuff a prostate massager into him and immediately switch up to the highest setting, causing him to jolt, but is soon held down by your body on him and your tongue invading his drooling mouth, that is, according to you, “to fully recharge him with full energy”.

  You soon replace the massager with your fervent thrusts after ensuring some proper lubing again, with your hands busy working on his leaking dick as well, as he pliantly lies back and lets you do whatever that pleases you. The ban to control his muscles under his free will only heightens his senses, every thrust you make becoming extra powerful and pleasurable as he feels his orgasm nearing, as he blinks three times in a row to inform you, and of course that doesn’t go unnoticed as you are extremely attentive of his reactions. “Let that dolly juice out, baby doll. You have been so good for me…” Sicheng is internally surprised that you are granting him permission this easily as he cums without a second thought, but little does he know what is more in store for him.

  It isn’t until he is flipped on all fours, facing the mirror again does he realize that you are not done with tormenting him. “Looks like my doll is already getting motionless and spiritless just from a single orgasm, maybe I should re-charge your energy to make you my upgraded fuck doll shouldn’t I?” You wickedly smirk as you press the vibrator against his member, while resuming to abuse his prostate again. “You’d better look at your filthy slutty face dolly.” You order as you slap his ass. “Your possessor’s not gonna stop fucking you over until she says so.”

  The humiliation of having to witness his messy self during intercourse and the pain from overstimulation are already difficult for Sicheng’s still weak body to take. But what urges him on is his ultimate desires to be used and exploited without any free will, and the fact that you’re able to gain full control of him without any physical restraints on his limbs keeps reminding him of the place he truly belongs, that is, to be a good subservient doll for your entertainment.

  “Always in your headspace, aren’t you?” You whisper to him as if you’re reading his mind. “You could’ve easily defied my commands, but you didn’t, why?” You switch up the settings of the vibrator to the medium level. “Because deep down you want to be a mindless doll, kept safe from any responsibilities in reality, even if that means getting torn to pieces, skin to bone. Pathetic, aren’t you?” You switch up to the highest level, thrusting into him as fast as you can while smacking his ass from time to time, the physical sensations plus what you have spoken earlier both fueling his masochistic needs even more.

  “You...do need a place...to hide, and you....can find one near.” You coax between pants due to your hips’ arduous work. “That is, the orgasm I’m granting you. Release yourself, baby doll. Cum so hard for me that you can’t think anymore.” 

  The line between soreness and gratification begins to blur for Sicheng as he cums for the second time on your command. You then remove the vibrator and gag from him, lying him back down again, drowning him with reassuring kisses as well as praises again before getting up to bring him the cup of tea you just brewed with the motel tea set beforehand, knowing he’s bound to have a dry mouth after such excessive drooling and intense orgasms. Sicheng sips the warm liquid as he immerses in the afterglow, still getting a tingle in his lower body after noticing the cum and sweat stains on those fine clothes, making him look so depraved and so used.

  You proceed to clean him up and help him change into his casual comfy wear again after he’s fully cooled down from the adrenaline boost. You embrace him so tightly that it seems like you’re afraid you will lose him.

  “I can tear you to pieces, skin to bone.” You rock him gently in your arms, fingers gently brushing between his silky strands. “But I can sew you back up and cure you, even more complete and wholesome than ever before.”

[funkymbtifiction]

Do you have tips for how an Ne writer can include more details in their writing? I often go back through my writings and realize I forgot to describe the settings or the characters, and while it can be intentional, it’s usually not. Do you have this problem, and if so what have you done to help it?

Practice.

Find sensory writers and study their descriptive style. Think about weaving details into your book as part of the narrative, which will avoid “sensory info dumps.” Instead of “Estrella walked into a room...” followed by a description, include her amazement at the opulence of the room as part of her reaction. Or let her eyes wander over the gilded birdcages. Or her feet tread the marble floor without a sound.

An exercise I used to do to practice my descriptive skills was to write out a scene from a favorite movie and attempt to not only remember, but incorporate sensory description from what I saw around the character into the narrative. It’s especially good if the scene has movement. You need to have characters DOING THINGS to hold a reader’s interest. As an example, I used to practice on the archery scene from Emma where they are bantering about Harriet Smith’s marital prospects while firing arrows at targets. I tried to describe their facial reactions, eye rolls, the tone of their voice, and physical actions.

I recommend just freely writing your first draft, and then working in sensory descriptions into your final draft (which for me is about “rewrite number three”); I usually make several passes -- the first draft is the rough story where I figure out the plot and what works; the second draft I focus on tightening the plot and making sure characters and scenes contribute to plot / subplot rather than insert needless things; the third draft, I tighten prose and add description; the fourth one is a purely “editorial” pass, where I focus on sentence structure, trim out awkward phrasing and focus on making it flow right. If that’s too many passes for you (a lot of Ne’s don’t have intense focus), I’d say do description in your second draft. If you try and remember to do it in the first draft, you may slow down your writing and lose sight of your ideas.

Lastly, decide how much it matters to you. Some of my books have almost no description, because I was focusing more on the internal experiences of the characters or the emotional story arc. It’s fine. Some of my books have more descriptions. None of them have as much as a sensor would put in, because I’m not great at details. If I tried too hard, it would seem overdone and awkward. I try and not repeat myself (when proof reading, take note of how many times I mention hands, putting faces into hands, sinking into chairs, etc) and go off instinct, about which patches of dialogue need more description. I care more about not starting paragraphs in sequence with the same word or letter, alternating between dialogue tags and description in new paragraphs for interest, and that sort of thing. Sadly, there’s a ton of things to think about when polishing your writing.

It’s fine not to have tons of description -- most intuitive writers don’t. C.S. Lewis tells us next to nothing about how the Pevensie children look. No one cares, because our brains filled in the information and our imaginations decided what they look like. Terry Pratchett uses almost no description, and the same thing happens -- we imagine how characters look and sound. It’s okay if you want to do the work for the reader in adding in description and details, and it’s okay if you want them to fill in the blanks. I think all you need is a sense of what people look / sound like (how tall are they? do they LOOK DOWN at people? are others intimidated by their width? is she beautiful or not? what color is the cat?). You can sneak in occasional descriptive things like that. “She barely reached his shoulder.” “He looked down at her diminutive form.” “She noticed the pinkie on his left hand was missing its tip.” “The wind tousled his chestnut hair.”

Something that helps me is to make lists of things and glance at it when writing. Instead of “trees” I glance up, and select a kind of tree from the region I am writing about. “He passed beneath the tree oak, sheltered  by its massive limbs.” What kind of flower is it? What kinds of things did people eat in that time period? What would the nobles eat? The peasants? What kinds of toys did they have? What kinds of instruments? Lists, lists, lists. Glance, pluck, insert, done!

- ENFP Mod

[reading-while-queer]

This month on Reading While Queer, I’m doing something a little different! In order to try to direct more attention toward indie web fiction and short stories, I’ll be doing a series of Indie Spotlights like this one.  This month’s review covers two short stories, both queer retellings of folktales, both free to read online.  The first is “With Roses in Their Hair” by Ennis Bashe, a retelling of Tam Lin.  The second is “Tristan” by Lucy Hughes-Hallett, a retelling of Tristan and Isolde.

Rating: Great Read Genre: Short Story, Fantasy, Science Fiction Representation: -Lesbian protagonist & love interest Trigger warnings: Violence, injury, body horror, parental abuse metaphor, colonialism metaphor Note: Just on the edge of being YA-appropriate, but on the sexual side.

“With Roses in Their Hair” is an f/f retelling of Tam Lin, the Scottish folktale about a woman who rescues her love from the Queen of the Fairies.  Bashe’s spin on the original tale takes place in an apocalyptic world which has been reorganized by the Visitors - aliens with a striking similarity to fae, both in nomenclature (even calling themselves changelings, etc) and in the fae-like laws they rule themselves by.  The Visitors control how many humans can enter a public place, issue identical clothing and rations to all, and are only opposed by the small resistance living underground in the subways.

I found this premise delightful, if confusing at first.  Reconciling the many names the Visitors have for themselves (Visitors, changelings, fairies) with the fact that humans can also have fairy wings (though mechanical), and differentiating clearly between the two factions, took some time.  I liked that Bashe didn’t hold the reader’s hand, which would have been more unpleasant than taking the time to untangle the threads of worldbuilding myself. 

The Visitors are one of the best visualizations of aliens that I have read - the fae interpretation is ingenious, and really drives home their fundamental difference, making the Visitors much more frightening. These aliens are so strange that they aren’t even governed by the same physical and chemical laws as humans are - rather, their version of the laws of physics are the laws of deal-keeping.  Shape-shifting and light-bending they can do, breaking a bargain they cannot. The magic-science of this world is accomplished beautifully, reminding me a little of Annihilation by Jeff VanderMeer, but ultimately, all its own.

Sometimes Bashe’s worldbuilding, beautiful as it is, does not quite support its own weight - it is a very rich sci-fi world built on fragile stilts.  As much as I love how sparing the stilts are, the richer the world, the more stilts you need, or else the reader ends up having a decidedly Fantasia-like experience.  I was delighted by the style of the story, the on-the-page description of the Visitors, of Jennet, the human resistance fighter, and of Tamburlaine, the changeling she falls in love with.  The old subway car that Jennett calls home, the horses made from light-constructs - I could go on.  But we were missing a few stilts, and so I was never really sure of the rules, or why what I was reading was happening.  Part of this is a problem of adaptation.  Bashe sometimes leans on the reader’s prior familiarity with the Tam Lin folktale in order to patch issues of character motivation.  “Why does the Queen of the Fairies do x?” is not so much addressed by the story itself as by the context of being a retelling.  The Queen of the Fairies acts as she does because that’s what the Queen of the Fairies does in the original story.

Despite scattered motivation and worldbuilding issues, what makes the original Tam Lin a compelling and timeless story shines through in this retelling as well.  I wasn’t sure about the hard sci-fi pivot to an alien invasion story, but I came to really appreciate that angle and what it brings to the table.  Rather than humans and fae being two separate, parallel worlds which find themselves at odds over Tamburlaine, the alien invasion adds a colonial aspect to the story.  Fae-aliens with seemingly nonsensical laws, violations of which are punished swiftly and ruthlessly, make a brilliant allegory for settler colonialism.  A culturally strange group of invaders may as well be aliens - or the fae! Or both! The allegory is there if you choose to see it, but nothing more than a gentle undertone, which was accomplished well.  

The romance between Jennet and Tam is well-developed, with a natural-feeling progression that is difficult to accomplish in short form.  However, in a short story with so much ground to cover, it’s no surprise that it has taken me until the end of the review to even consider the romance.  There is so much to sink your teeth into, that “With Roses in Their Hair” hardly needs to be a romance at all.  In fact, my favorite parts of the story had nothing to do with Jennett and Tamburlaine’s growing feelings for each other.  The value in this story is multi-faceted: between the romance, the parental abuse metaphor of the relationship between the changelings and the Visitors, the colonialism metaphor of the alien invasion, and the retelling of Tam Lin, one could even say “With Roses in Their Hair” is a shape-shifter itself.

“With Roses in Their Hair” is free to read on Xanwest, here.

For more from Ennis Bashe, visit their website here. 

Rating: Great Read Genre: Short Story, Literary Fiction Representation: -Bisexual leading characters Trigger warnings: Ableism & ableist slurs, drug abuse Note: Contains overt sexuality, not YA

“Tristan” is a short story billed as “Tristan and Isolde but make it queer” - that tagline is what got me to click the link to Electric Lit where the story is hosted.  However, “Tristan” is a lot more than a retelling.  Rather than a straightforward retelling of the medieval romance between the knight Tristan and the princess Isolde, “Tristan” takes a left turn into “She’s All That” territory.

Hughes-Hallett sets the tale in the modern day with quippy dialogue that brings to mind British romantic comedy of the early 00s.  This literary style makes an amount of sense, considering the 00s were well and truly laden with rom-com retellings of English literature, from George Bernard Shaw to Shakespeare.  “Tristan” slips easily into a “pop” style of storytelling without sacrificing any of its poetry, making for a very interesting read. The trimmings of the modern retelling - from Tristan doing a tab of acid in the park to his boss-slash-boyfriend Cornwall running a private museum of antiquities - were fun, and they provide a sharp complement to the meat of the story, which is more pensive study on the nature of love than rom-com.

As much as I liked “Tristan,” I had a bad first impression.  The story opens with an extended scene of expository dialogue between Tristan and Cornwall as they arrange for Tristan to pick up Cornwall’s wife-to-be, Isolde, from the airport.  Dialogue is “Tristan”’s Achilles heel, an obvious and fatal weakness that almost made me write off the whole story. There is an invasion of poetic (convoluted?) language in the dialogue that breaks suspension of disbelief, and between the poetry and the lack of any dialogue tags to offer tone cues, one is led to read the dialogue as stiffly-acted soliloquy.  What are the characters doing? How are they speaking? Do they exist in the world, or are they standing center stage? The real crème de la crème of my initial dislike of “Tristan” was not the style of dialogue, however, but the content.  Within the first page, Tristan questions why Isolde needs to be picked up from the airport - is she [insert ableist slur]? How about [other ableist slur]?  Some aspects of the quippy, sarcastic 00s I could do without.

I continued to be underwhelmed by Hughes-Hallett’s dialogue throughout “Tristan,” but this was almost entirely made up for by the remarkable writing of every other part of the story.  First, the premise itself defied my expectations for a queer retelling of Tristan and Isolde.  The passionate romance between Tristan and Isolde is not gender-bent to make it between two WLW or MLM; rather, Tristan himself is bisexual, and Cornwall’s casual lover before Isolde enters the picture.  Where our story begins, Cornwall doesn’t like how attached Tristan is getting to him, and is ready to settle down with Isolde, his email pen-pal who he’s never met.  I was genuinely delighted by this creative choice as an interpretation of the “how to queer medieval literature” exercise.  It doesn’t take the easy way out, and recognizes that the value of a bisexual character doesn’t lie only in stories of same-gender romance.

I also liked that “Tristan” wasn’t a romance, not really.  Despite the similarities one can draw to the 00s rom-com (for good and ill), the meat of the story is not feel-good fluff at all, but a discussion of passion versus love: a prolonged meditation on loving someone who ostensibly loves you back, but whose feelings do not compare.  This discussion peeks through Hughes-Hallett’s beautifully detailed work; from intriguing descriptions of the antiquities in Cornwall’s gallery, to the otherworldly presence of Isolde, to the skillful weave of one sentence to the next, “Tristan” is scattered with gems.  One must only sift through the sand.

As a retelling, “Tristan” more than accomplishes its goal of “Tristan and Isolde but make it queer” - it also asks the reader to think about the very genre of romance.  Tristan and Isolde being a 12th century romance that is so culturally ubiquitous as to have mothered the Arthurian tradition and captivated the imagination for centuries since, it was the perfect groundwork for the story about the nature of love that Hughes-Hallett wanted to tell, (with characters that just happened to be queer.)

“Tristan” is free to read on Electric Lit, here.

For more from Lucy Hughes-Hallett, visit her website here.

[hellzyeahwebwieldingreviews]

Untold Tales of Spider-Man 04: Better Looting Through Modern Chemistry – by John Garcia and Pierce Askegren

Surprisingly pretty good!

Peter Parker is in line at the ChemCo chemical supply house on a Friday afternoon. A man who looks vaguely familiar is in front of him. The man orders two helium cartridges but the price has gone up and he only has enough money for one. The ChemCo clerk is unsympathetic, not accepting a check or any other form of payment but cash. The man is forced to only buy one cartridge. Peter is sympathetic but can do nothing to help. He is buying plastic polymer to make web fluid, since his supply is dangerously low. But the price of the polymer has also gone up and Peter doesn't have the money to pay for it.

Back at Empire State University, Peter literally runs into Gwen Stacy. Since this story takes place "a few weeks after Amazing Spider-Man #36, May 1966", Gwen is still in her ice-queen phase concerning Pete; disdainful but trying to draw him out. She invites him to join the gang at a demonstration by sports star Johnny "The Ray" Ramos. Pete wants to go but he has to get money for his web fluid. He goes to the Daily Bugle to ask J. Jonah Jameson for an advance. It seems that JJJ is stuck without a photographer for a reception he is holding to premiere a new Bugle section on emerging technologies. He tells Peter he can get an advance at 4:30 PM if he agrees to join Jonah to photograph the reception.

At 4:30, Norton G. Fester, the man Peter saw at ChemCo, enters the Neville K. Trelayne Memorial Mineral Museum, knocks out the guard and cracks open a meteor just like the one from which he got his super-strength. He inhales the gas within and gains extra strength which he shows off by tossing a motorcycle into a fuel tanker causing a massive explosion.

Pete shows up at 4:45 to pick up his check, having spent too long in a camera shop. He gets the cash and prepares to hurry to ChemCo, which closes at 5:30. But Aunt May calls the Bugle and he wastes time talking to her as she asks him to buy eggs so she can make cookies.

At 5:00 Fester, now in his Looter costume, destroys an electrical substation with his bare hands. At 5:35 Peter shows up at ChemCo only to be told by the clerk that he's too late and must wait until Monday. Peter briefly considers using his spider-powers to break in and steal the polymer but he knows he won't do that. Just then Sally Green shows up and asks if he'd walk with her to Chesney's "a local soda fountain". Peter agrees.

Meanwhile, the Looter continues his vandalism, smashing any fire hydrants he encounters and going into subway stations and tearing up the tracks. Peter ends up at the soda fountain with Sally having a grand time. But just as he is about to invite her to join him at the Bugle reception, Flash Thompson, Harry Osborn, and Gwen show up and ruin his timing. (Aren't they supposed to be at Johnny "Ray" Ramos' demonstration?) When he hears a news report over the soda jerk's radio announcing blackouts, disastrous traffic jams, and a major fire on the Upper East Side, Peter knows Spider-Man needs to investigate. He begs off, saying he must run an errand for his Aunt but Sally thinks he is running from Flash Thompson and she loses interest in him.

On his way Uptown, Spidey runs out of web fluid so he hitches a ride from a Newscopter. The Looter, soaring through the air on his built-in helium balloon watches him. Fester muses over the fact that he was released on bail after his loss to Spidey. Knowing that he will be convicted in his upcoming trial, he has devised a plan to steal enough money so that he can skip town. As Spidey deals with the burning fuel truck and the cops are busy with the other disasters, the Looter robs Cassidy's Fine Jewels. Coming upon the ruined power station, Spidey rescues the security guard who then tells him that the "costumed lunatic" who did this wore a "purple and white costume, had a backpack and a tool belt." Spidey recognizes that description. It also makes him realize who was in line in front of him at ChemCo. Then he remembers "a leaflet...casually tossed at him by J. Jonah Jameson" and he realizes where the Looter is going. (The leaflet was a list of exhibits apparently trucked in for the reception and one of them is... well, guess what?)

Sure enough, Fester crashes the Bugle reception. Having finished his crime spree, the Looter now prepares to breathe in the gas from yet another meteor, this one "nearly the size of a telephone booth." (How many of these dang meteors are there?!) Spider-Man shows up before Norton can puncture the meteor and he is forced to flee. Spidey gives chase and hangs on as Norton sails away on his balloon. Fester manages to knock Spidey off but the struggle puts a hole in the balloon. He lands and patches the balloon but in the meantime, Spidey has rescued himself as well. But Norton gets to his car (somehow) where all his loot is. Trouble is the word has gone out and the authorities are watching all of the routes off of Manhattan Island. Fester knows his only chance is to get the balloon up and running again so he goes back to ChemCo to steal a helium canister. But Spidey has deduced this and, hitching a ride with the news chopper again, gets there a head of Fester. He grabs a polymer compound and a "reagent jug with attached hose" which he combines and sprays on the Looter's feet, anchoring him to the floor. "It's not webbing, but it'll have to do" says Spidey.

Of course, Spidey takes pictures of the Looter's defeat and he hopes this will be enough to mollify JJJ for his no-show at the reception. He also grabs the bottle of liquid polymer he needs for webbing and puts the money on the counter. Tonight he's going to make some more webbing but first he has a long walk home. He wonders where he can stop to buy some eggs for Aunt May. Then it starts raining on him. "Some days, it just didn't pay to get out of bed."

I was pleasantly surprised by this tale.

The Looter is at best a C-list Spidey villain at that. Most people forget he exists and the people who do probably forget Ditko himself created him.

The fact is aside from a kind of cool mask he’s just not all that great of a bad guy which is why the people who do actually like him tend to gravitate towards the more comedic style stories with him, perhaps the classic examples being those found in the Dezago/Wieringo Sensational Spidey run.

Indeed it is one of the weaknesses of this issue that it takes the Looter rather too seriously, especially when we consider that the latter mentioned run was actually fairly recent at the time of this book’s publication.

It’s not that the Looter is bad exactly, but you do raise an eyebrow over a Spider-Man villain who literally travels via balloon. I feel like the author actually took Looter more seriously than maybe any writer before or since (including perhaps Ditko himself) because he actually puts effort into emphasizing the Looter’s smarts in regards to his equipment along with how dangerous fighting a super strong opponent can be. He’s a loser villain to Spidey, but to a civilian he’s actually quite intimidating.

I actually can’t recall off the top of my head if his motivation in this story really lines up with established canon. A lot of what he does here is basically get super strength from chemicals in meteors, his ultimate target being one from Wakanda (although weirdly vibranium is never mentioned). Again, I might be forgetting this but I could’ve sworn that’s not how his powers work. IIRC he did indeed gain super strength from the gasses of a meteor but it was a one time deal and permanent. He doesn’t need to constantly top up his power from other meteors and nor could he as they wouldn’t necessarily have the same chemicals anyway.

As for the story over all this was perhaps the best story thus far to capture the approach that the comic book UToSM took back in the day. This is rather ironic considering this is also the first story that takes place after high school which the comic series never got around to.

The comic book series rooted itself in the Ditko run and then delicately modernized the dialogue and over all writing style. I say delicately because it still felt a lot like the 1960s stuff there was just a bit more polish to the pacing, dialogue and plotting.

Whilst the second story by DeFalco sort of did that too, it was ultimately a lot heavier and a lot more emotionally engaging than Ditko/Lee’s stuff used to be. That isn’t to say it was bad or that Ditko/Lee’s stuff was bad, it’s just a matter of style. Busiek and Garcia/Askegren Garcia/Askegren’s stories’ though feel like they could be read inbetween the Ditko era material and feel fairly cohesive (obviously if this story was drawn).

Moreover this story not only feels tonally like a Busiek comic story but the plot itself could absolutely have been an issue of UToSM had the series ever hit college.

That’s it’s strength and it’s weakness though.

It is it’s weakness because just like a comic book story there is a fair chunk of action, more as the story unfolds in fact. And as I’ve said before prose is not ideally suited for comic book super hero action. This one was better  than the last story by leagues and the action wasn’t hard to follow, but I did drift off a bit during it I must admit.

Furthermore nothing really significant happens in Peter’s life in this story. Obviously I’m not expecting a tale where he gets married or something, but DeFalco’s story for example was impactful. This one isn’t, but in a way that is appropriate.

The nature of untold tales is such that you tread a fine line between doing something dramatic, but not too dramatic because readers would wonder why Spidey never brought this event up in earlier stories?

This story is perhaps the most effective one yet in this regard. It’s a fairly standard day in the life story for Peter Parker at a certain point in his life. Its nothing special but it’s good fun. A dash of normal life soap operatics mixed in with super hero action makes for a perfectly serviceable Spidey yarn.

And were this a comic I feel it would’ve been appreciated amidst the turmoil of the Clone Saga and post-Clone Saga era. Something short, simple and sweet.

However there is a little bit more to the story than that.

I feel that this story pretty much confirms a theory that’s been brewing in me about this book. Each story is in some way a representation of an aspect of Spidey lore. The first was about Spidey’s place amidst the wider Marvel universe and the uneasy relationship he has with fellow heroes. The second was about Peter’s sense of responsibility. The third was about his sibling rivalry dynamic with the Torch. And this one seems to be about the Parker Luck as almost everything that can go wrong does go wrong for Pete in this tale.*

However it isn’t overwrought or Satanically cruel like far too many attempts at depicting the Parker Luck are. The bad luck is indeed bad, but it’s reserved. It’s stuff like being in the wrong place at the wrong time or the clouds opening up when you really don’t need it.

The underlying element of bad luck is Spider-Man’s lack of web-fluid.

Obviously there are plenty of stories where Spidey runs out of webbing, but there actually aren’t a whole load where he is totally devoid of them. And this yarn is perhaps the first (and only) that practically makes that the central conceit of the story.

It’s interesting because it blends together Peter’s scientific intellect with his everyman status. He’s smart enough to make the webbing (and we learn a little bit of what goes into that process) but he still needs to pick up the raw materials from the store like everyone else would and if he’s cash strapped he ain’t swinging anywhere. Brilliantly Garcia/Askegren reflects this situation with the Looter as he too is a scientist and requires chemicals to fuel his super powered activities. Garcia/Askegren bookeneds this by having Peter and Fester literally in the same line to purchase their respective chemicals and then those same chemicals proving vital plot points in the climax.

For Fester, the loss of his helium grounds him and for Spidey he essentially improvises unrefined web fluid to subdue the Looter when all is said and done.**

Between the opening and ending of the story though, Spidey’s lack of webbing puts him on the backfoot as he can’t even travel easily from place to place. In fact Garcia/Askegren uses this fact for another plot point as Spidey hitches a ride with a news copter and this winds up scooping Jameson. The whole situation is an eloquent way of evening the odds between the Spidey and a villain who typically wouldn’t be in Spidey’s league.

The central plot just all clicks together, it all works neatly. Sometimes you don’t need a story to kick ass like DeFalco’s did, you can just enjoy it ticking along properly.

That being said the subplot is where the tale really shines. It’s tiny, practically cuttable, but it’s beautiful in it’s own way.

I am of course referring to the stuff involving Gwen and Sally Green.

The fanboy in me simply loves the fact that Garcia/Askegren like a mad man pulled one of the single most obscure characters in Spider-Man history out of the woodwork at all. This is a character who last I checked had her first and final appearance in ASM #36 and was never even mentioned again; in fact this whole issue is something of a sequel to ASM #36. The choice of using her at all then is rather clever as she’s mostly a blank slate and Garcia/Askegren doesn’t have to worry too much about what he does with her because it won’t fuck up canon.

What amazes me is that Garcia/Askegren doesn’t contradict Sally’s established personality, even though she was in just ONE issue! Her involvement in the story amounts to her bumping into Peter by chance and taking a second stab at flirting with him, which goes sort of more successfully. In ASM #36 she was sincerely interested in him and invited him to hang out because of that. But when she complimented him on his intellect in comparison to the ‘brawny athletic types’ Peter lost interest, he didn’t want to be viewed as just an egghead. Chalk it up to years of bullying or dodgy silver age writing, the point is Peter rebuffed her and Sally walked away with a negative view of Peter. Kudos to her I suppose because she tried again. Garcia/Askegren seem to have noticed the weirdness in Peter’s rejection of Sally and opted to lightly explain it away as a result of Peter’s bullying and rejection in his younger days.

Their depiction of Sally’s interest in Peter (she genuinely seems to find his brains attractive) and their brief romantic encounter is short and subtely sweet. It believably captures the innocence of youthful romance. Of course the Parker luck intervenes and the moment is ruined. Even if you were to argue that this is a cliché within Spider-Man, I still found the moment wonderfully realistic. How many in times in life have any of us been with someone, liked them, the chemistry is working and then the moment is gone and not to be recovered.

Don’t get it twisted. I’m not here to suggest to you Peter and Sally had a Miracle Romance brewing or that she was the greatest Spider-Man love interest we never had. I’m just saying this story, however briefly, captured a realistic slice of life in regards to romance. And Spider-Man is after all intended to be a reflection of real life.

Gwen is also handled interestingly here. She isn’t as over the top and basically a bully the way she was often in Ditko’s run. But she is still a harder edged Gwen Stacy who’s neither Spidey’s Virgin princess martyr nor the weeping Silver Age girlfriend she’d be later. She isn’t even the fairly bland MJ-rip-off of Romita’s early run. She’s a young woman who’s attracted to Peter and frustrated that he doesn’t reciprocate that attraction in spite of the opportunities presented to him. And yet she can tell there is something there so his lack of reciprocation is something she can’t figure out but wants to, which just compounds her frustrations. Immaturely she deals with that frustration by kind of punching down on Peter.

The scene where she and Sally are in the room together are gloriously soap opera laden but doesn’t over stay it’s welcome or become trashy. There is just a lot of passive aggressive energy in the air.

Even DeSantos’ ill suited narration and performance doesn’t do much to damper this moment or the story in general.

Over all I really, really liked this one and would both check it out again and recommend others to read/listen to it too!

*I think this idea of touching upon broad tentpoles of Spidey lore in a chronological way (the first story being set in the early High school era, the second more towards the middle, the third towards the back end and this one in the early college days) is more the remit for the book over all. It’s not really supposed to perfectly fit in with actual canon more a sort of generalized IDEA of Spider-Man canon.

**That scene also has a great Spidey line wherein he says he needed to think like the Looter and struggled when it came to thinking like an idiot.

[contre-qui]

Book 4 of 2020: Blindness

Covid19 Quarantine Book 1

Blindness by José Saramago

“[...] the words inscribed on the whiteness of the page, recorded in blindness, I am only passing through, the writer had said, and these were the signs he had left in passing. The doctor’s wife placed her hand on his shoulder, and with both hands he reached out for it and raised it slowly to his lips, Don’t lose yourself, don’t let yourself be lost [...]” (294).

    I picked this little one up from my campus library's book sale earlier this year. If I'm not mistaken, Blindness was originally written in Portuguese and then translated to English. The novel follows a group of characters affected by a sudden epidemic of "white blindness." The origins of the disease are unknown and its method of infection are also unknown. However, after one man becomes suddenly struck blind and can see only whiteness, everyone who comes into contact with him eventually become afflicted, as well, including the doctor who examined him that night. For safety, the local government decides to quarantine the blind and those exposed to them in a newly-built asylum. However, the doctor's wife is not blind. She decides to pretend she is to avoid separation from her husband, but as the asylum continues to fill the problems mount and her vision becomes more and more valuable. Eventually, she guides a group of those first afflicted out of the asylum and back into the city to find their society has collapsed. Their rag-tag group sticks together and tries to maintain their humanity as best they can.

    I started Blindness before this whole quarantine business got started, but it does feel rather fitting for the time. I read somewhere (probably the back of the book) that it was meant to feel like a parable, and I definitely saw that in the novel. Overall I really enjoyed the contents of the book, but I did find the dialogue a little difficult to follow. I'm not sure if this is a Portuguese thing, or just the format of the novel, but the dialogue was not separated by quotation marks or paragraphs. Instead, lines of dialogue were separated by commas on the same line, and often did not have dialogue tags. This made it a little bit difficult to follow, but it just made me read closely to make sure I knew who was talking. Additionally, the paragraph lengths were not particularly varied; they were all rather long, which made it somewhat difficult to keep track of the dialogue, since it would also be interspersed into other paragraphs with no indication that someone had begun talking. Sometimes I have difficulty keeping my eyes following lines in very long/dense paragraphs, so this also presented a bit of a struggle, but nothing that I couldn't really overcome. Content-wise, Blindness is an awesome novel. The formatting just threw me off a little bit.

       I thought Saramago had a very interesting interpretation of what would happen if the entire world just suddenly went blind, but not all at once. I think the fact that it spread slowly, and potentially as a contagion, made the case so fascinating. Immediately, the response is quarantine and isolation, which makes sense. However, there was a lot of discussion about the problems that then arose once individuals were quarantined. The asylum became overcrowded, groups started hoarding rations, and supplies ran low very quickly. Hygiene went out the window, and there weren't enough beds for everyone. Power dynamics are huge in this novel, and it's very interesting to see how people chose to seize and abuse power when, for all intents and purposes, the playing field had been fully equalized. It was also very interesting - and this is a small detail - that Saramago chose to include a mention of how the treatment of those afflicted differed so severely when a member of the military who was guarding the quarantine contracted the blindness; rather than being shoved into the asylum with everyone else, he was given special treatment, which is also a testament to power plays even when in a health crisis.

       One of the other things I found so fascinating in the novel is that none of the characters have true names. All of the characters are given an epithet, such as the doctor's wife, the doctor, the man with the eye-patch, the young boy, etc. This added to the feeling of parable, as well as making the story more universal because there were almost no physical descriptions given beyond things that could apply to anyone of any race (having crossed eyes, being old/young, wearing certain clothes, etc.) so the reader almost feels somewhat blind, too. These characters did not really share their names with each other because at that point, they were nameless in a crowd. The anonymity given to them by shared blindness and experience left no need for names.

       Trigger warnings for blindness, injury, illness, guns/violence, character death, graphic sexual assault, some anti-Semitic references, descriptions of bodily fluids/bodily functions, and vague descriptions of sex.

       My final opinion: Such an excellent read, and such an eye-opener in a time of a pandemic.

[argentdandelion]

How to Beat Undertale With Your Eyes Closed (or Nonfunctional)

(Note: I have no experience engineering video games for the blind. This is all hypothetical.)

In one of the patches for Undertale, Toby Fox modified the color of blue attacks so they would be easier to distinguish for color-blind people.

But what about...actual blind people?

(Mock-up for the Flowey encounter in “Blind Undertale”)

When people say, “I could beat it with my eyes closed”, sometimes that's actually possible. Some games have sound design so sophisticated even blind people can beat them. This is true even for some games not made specifically for the blind, such as Super Mario 64 or The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time.

For the latter, a blind man named Terry Garrett didn't exactly need the game itself to be modified. He navigated based on sound cues, using stereo loudspeakers to know where they were coming from, and set up multiple save states to try again faster after failing (such as by falling).

Relative to Ocarina of Time or even the more comparable Pokémon Emerald, Undertale is rather quiet: it applies sound effects much less, and characters rarely have a walking noise. So some modification is necessary.

Narration and Dialogue

Technical Aspects

Terry Garrett's friends and family sat with him while playing Ocarina of Time and helped him by describing what objects looked like. Undertale's extensive narration makes this less necessary...if there's some way for the blind person to hear it.

The best solution, which even non-blind players would gush over, is making the game fully voice-acted. However, that would be very expensive and make game downloads take a long time. Fortunately, there's an alternative: screen readers.

Screen readers read text on a screen aloud using a synthetic voice (think Vocaloid). Screen readers are how blind people use the Internet, and so the solution would be easiest to use for the computer version of Undertale.

Undertale has lots of characters which should be distinguished from each other, and they speak at different rates at different points in the game. One solution is creating a program that co-opts a pre-existng screen reader (e.g., JAWS) to customize in-built voices to match different characters and adjust the speaking rate as needed.

Alternatively, a custom screen-reader/dialogue-producer could be added into the files of a “Blind Undertale” download, which doesn't depend on preexisting voices in the player's computer.

Gameplay Aspects

Once there’s a way of providing narration, the narration could describe the environment. At spots where there’s something interesting that can’t be conveyed through sound, such as something quiet in the distance, a “hmm?” sound could pop up, and the player could then press a button to hear a description. (Potentially, this would support NarraChara theory, since it would be voiced.)

Once the Papyrus hangout is completed, Papyrus and/or Undyne could help in giving details about an area or tips on how to navigate in it. (The Papyrus calls are occasionally helpful, after all.) Potentially, Papyrus could have extra dialogue with hints on navigation. His calls could even be separated into “Where to Go” (navigation tips) and “Interesting Things” (non-navigation/little environmental description value) categories in the menu.

Navigation by Sound

Environmental Cues

Terry Garrett finds retro two-dimensional games impossible to play, for they don’t have enough sound cues. Yet, in principle a retro two-dimensional game would be easier to adjust for blind people, as it’s simpler than a 3D world. In principle Undertale’s overworld (underworld?) would be especially easy to navigate, since the Underground follows a largely linear path up and to the right and has fairly few falling hazards a blind person would find hard to avoid.

When Terry Garrett needs orientation, he listens carefully for “sound landmarks” such as running water or footsteps shifting from grass to earth. Undertale could similarly have such sound landmarks, and, to make it even easier, an indication one is on the most direct path. (Note that the linear design of Snowdin Town naturally funnels players to the most important location: Papyrus’s house.)

Undertale, conveniently, already has noises that could be used for orientation: it just doesn’t use them much. For example, Sans makes a “crunching through snow” sound effects when he sneaks up on Frisk in Snowdin Forest. Recycling this sound effect would indicate one is in Snowdin, or at least in Snowdin forest or off the most direct path through the area. Using different sound effects for the most direct path versus going off the path would make this even easier, particularly if a similar effect for the most direct path is used in each area.

Proximity Sounds/Character Sounds

The game could provide a particular sound when there’s something to interact with nearby. Giving a sound for people versus objects would help distinguish the environment. Providing distinctive sounds when a specific, important character is nearby would help people when they need to go to a very specific spot and interact with someone to advance the plot. (e.g., talk to Toriel in her reading chair, talk to Papyrus in front of his house for his hangout)

Giving them all a distinct “hmm?” or “uh?” sound could work, as would playing their themes faintly or giving each a distinctive sound effect. (e.g., a bone-rattling noise for Papyrus)

Puzzles

Puzzles would be more difficult to do, particularly if they require good timing. (e.g., the Hotland steam vent puzzles) Some puzzles would be very difficult or impossible to do by environmental sound cues alone, and so require a slight software change or modification into something easier.

For example, some of the Hotland puzzles have arrows indicating where it sends Frisk, and the player waits until the arrow faces the desired direction before walking onto it. A software change could say, “The arrow is facing left. Jump? Yes / No” when walking on it.

Conclusion

But overworld navigation is just the easy part. The hardest parts are the battle system, which would require precise movements and excellent timing if unmodified, and potential custom hardware to achieve this end. These, depending on interest, shall be the topic of future posts.

[so-shiny-so-chrome]

Witness: Livia_LeRynn

Creator name (AO3): Livia_LeRynn

Creator name (Tumblr): Livia-LeRynn

Link to creator works: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livia_LeRynn/works

Creator name (other platform- please specify): I am also So-Shiny-So-Chrome on Tumblr.  Witness me interviewing myself.

Q: Why the Mad Max Fandom?

A: The Mad Max franchise has a few of my favourite things (I should write this song...) like: deserts, obsessively detailed world building, post-apocalyptic setting, women being gritty, weird religions, and characters that hit the right combination of badass and broken.  You have all this angst in the characters, but then there's this great sense of fun with how extra everything is.  I'm a real sucker for deep social and philosophical concepts hidden behind explosions and cool fight scenes.  Fury Road also came out at just the right time for me.  I was just really ripe for so many of the themes and aesthetic components.  

Q: What do you think are some defining aspects of your work? Do you have a style? Recurrent themes?

A: Stylistically, I like to change things up.  I kind of oscillate between long, descriptive sentences and almost obnoxiously pithy ones.  I break rules, start sentences with 'but' and 'and;' I use commas like breath marks, especially in dialogue to give it the rhythm I hear in my head.  I also world build to an obsessive extent.   

A frequent one for me is being female in the wasteland: relationships between women; portrayals of women finding themselves and their strengths; and the trade-offs women make to keep themselves safe.  I also work a lot with religion in the wastes.  Most fic have their own themes that come from the characters and their emotional struggles.  For example, “Stranded” is about Furiosa being stuck between her past and future selves.  “Blood and Breath” deals with a lot of different themes, but one of the more prominent ones the struggles that come with being in an unexpected and sometimes undesired position of power; it’s another theme that pops up rather frequently. 

Q: Which of your works was the most fun to create? The most difficult? Which is your most popular? Most successful? Your favourite overall?

A: I really enjoyed writing “Stranded.”  It was just so different from anything I'd written for the fandom before.  For me personally, it's still a good read. 

 The most difficult was “7000 Days,” both because I was new at fanfic in general but also because both parts I and II are really raw, dark, and personal. I needed to take breaks while I was writing it and shift gears to something lighter.  It also doesn't get much reader attention, probably because it is so heavy, and that always makes writing harder for me.  This one just felt like I was shouting into the void for a lot of it. 

Currently "Daughters of the New World" is a struggle for me.  The premise is a bit out there, what with Wonder Woman coming to town and being romantically attached to K.T. Concannon.  Diana is a difficult character for me because she is complex but seems simple, and the whole thing is from the perspective of Furiosa who just doesn't get her. I worry that I've bit off more than I can chew because I want to explore some heavy stuff.   

My most popular overall is “Blood and Breath,” which I kind of get because it scratches a lot of different itches.  “Little Mate is my most popular short, which surprises me because it definitely is not in my comfort zone.  It's cute; it's fluffy.  It's just not something I would seek out to read.  

My most successful might be “Crux.”  Being a remix, I had set parameters to follow, which I find creatively useful.  The author of the original was also quite please with it, so: success! 

I think the fic I have written that most closely aligns with my personal tastes right now is “Wasteland Jukebox.”  It probably helps that it is also my most recent.  It bounces from angsty to fun to bittersweet to campy and back again multiple times over, all the while showing really intimate character portrates.  

Q: How do you like your wasteland? Gritty? Hopeful? Campy? Soft? Why?

A: All of the above.  I like my wasteland realistic where everything hurts, but some things are still funny, and big wins are possible, but they come at a cost.  Even when I'm filling my wasteland with ghosts and vampires, I still want it to feel very grounded in reality and populated with realistically complex people.   This especially applies to medical stuff; if I'm going to write about something I want to portray it accurately and realistically within the context of the story.   All the injuries, diseases, and treatments are based off of real things. 

Q: Walk us through your creative process from idea to finished product. What's your prefered environment for creating? How do you get through rough patches?

A: It depends.  Sometimes I can just crank something out.  These are typically shorter, more atmospheric pieces.  More often I have one or more specific scenes, and the rest of the fic grows off of them.  Like for “Daughters of the New World,” it's Diana riding on top of a bonnet/hood while Furiosa is trying to shoot out the window, and they keep getting in each other's way.  None of my longer fic is written in chronological order.  For “Blood and Breath,” I have scenes that I first drafted probably two years ago, but I still haven't gotten to them in fic.  Most of my first drafts are dialogue.  Then on second pass I add or replace those words with body language.

Getting to the finished product is the hardest part for me, especially when I already have all the major parts of the puzzle figured out, and I just have to polish them up. I also tend to have that writers' curse where I think of what to write when I can't possibly write it, like in the shower or a work meeting.  I'm also very much the type of writer where I live off of interaction with my readers.  I love it when people question the choices I make in my fics. I don't really have a preferred environment for writing, but I know I can't do it if there's the slightest chance anyone near me might be reading over my shoulder.  I just get paranoid.  If I'm on an airplane, I have to wait for my neighbors to fall asleep.

Q: What (if any) music do you listen to for help getting those creative juices flowing?

A: Lots. Too many to list.  I make playlists for each of my major projects.  I listen to them mostly when I'm not writing so the stories stay in the back of my mind.  They're all public on Spotify so just ask if you want a link.

Q: What is your biggest challenge as a creator?

A: Finishing my long projects, especially when there isn't much reader response.  I can lose interest quickly, but I want to be reliable; if I know someone is looking forward to updates on my fic, I will keep writing for that one person.

Q: How have you grown as a creator through your participation in the Mad Max Fandom? How has your work changed? Have you learned anything about yourself?

A: I think I've found a writing voice for myself.  My early work tends to have a lot more of a throw shit against a wall and see what sticks approach.  In my working with Furiosa especially I've definitely found some of myself in her.  For example, a few interviews about Fury Road have stated that Furiosa avoids learning names to protect herself from emotional pain when people move on, die, betray her, she betray them, etc.  I realised that I do that do.  Of course, my situations aren't quite as extreme. :)

Q: Which character do you relate to the most, and how does that affect your approach to that character? Is someone else your favourite to portray? How has your understanding of these characters grown through portraying them?

A: Right now I relate most to Furiosa, and that answer shouldn't surprise anyone, but initially I felt more like Toast.  I thought Furiosa was really cool, but I didn't feel worthy to compare myself to her.  It took me a few months to go - fuck it, I want to be her for Halloween.  Of course, that wasn't enough.  I wanted her backstory.  I wanted to spend more time in the costume, and make the costume better.  I choreographed a dance about her so I could wear the costume more, but I really needed to get to know her as a person to really feel comfortable taking on her persona, not to mention I needed make the dance make sense in character (”She Used to Dance” is that fic.)  The more I got to know her, the more I took apart all her insecurities and neroses, the more I found her in me and myself in her. 

I relate to her being a woman caught in the middle of a  lot of things: being both young and old, hero and villain, masculine and feminine, strong and weak... The list goes on.  I relate to how she has spent most of her adult life in a predominantly male environment, and how that manifests as difficulty relating to other women like in the, "Everything hurts," exchange with Angharad.  

My favourite character to portray is whomever I'm currently writing once I find their voice.  I enjoy the process of getting to know these people.  Dag's POV is especially refreshing to write after working with characters who are super guarded like Max and Furiosa. I can just ramble and take weird turns in the narration.  I need to write more of her.   Capable is the hardest for me of the franchise ones I've tried.

Q: Do you ever self-insert, even accidentally?

A: I'm full aware of it.  There is a bit in 7000 Days Part II where it's mentioned in memory that a the Vuvalini get ahold of some vaccines from Melbourne, which in my chronology falls significantly later than other cities.  Furiosa is a little kid, and she is so determined to not get the shot that a couple of adults have to hold her down.  This was me.  This is literally a story from my childhood.  Mostly little things like that.  There's also the bit about Furiosa reading "Dune;" I fucking love "Dune," and her being trapped in the Vault while she's reading it, how can she not imagine a giant worm coming out of the sand and eating the whole damn place?   On a larger scale, I use fic to explore themes and issues that are going through my head. 

Q: Do you have any favourite relationships to portray? What interests you about them?

A: Well, we've already established that I have a bit of a crush on Furiosa.  I ship her with Max in my main continuity and with Valkyrie and Angharad in a couple of side projects.  I'm interested in Furiosa with Max because of how they relate to each other.  Yes, they are both terribly fucked up people, and who knows if the relationship would actually work, but that tension is a big part of the interest for me.  It took me about six months in the fandom to open up to the possibility of there ever being any kind of romantic or sexual relationship between them, and in my chronology that's about the amount of time it takes for them to move from one time plautonic snuggle buddies to romantic/sexual partners. I do most of my writing in that time frame. The fact that they massively respect each other definitely is something that shouldn't be squandered, and I think they recognise that. I don't headcanon either of them as asexual (though my Furiosa is demi), and I think that the best shot they have for a happy partnership is with each other.  They are both fundamentally good people who don't think they are worthy of kindness, let alone an actual relationship, but they both look at the other and see all the wonderful things about that person.  I'm interested in how they navigate this dynamic and how they eventually come to the decision that even if it does end badly, which it probably will, it's worth trying.  Everything hurts, right? Easy relationships are boring anyway.

Q: How does your work for the fandom change how you look at the source material?

A: Sometimes I watch with specific details in mind, like to see the details of a prop or costume piece.  Other times I'll watch something and see a detail I forgot but suddenly becomes an inspiration for a fic.  For example, the Crazy Diamond chapter in “Wasteland Jukebox” came from me rewatching the first movie and seeing Jessie with her saxophone.  

Q: Do you prefer to create in one defined chronology or do your works stand alone? Why or why not?

A: Most of my stories are in the same chronology.  Setting change AUs and “Crux” are the exceptions.  Part of the fun for me is keeping tracker of the chronology.  I don't expect my readers to work that hard though; every story stands on it's own. 

Q: To break or not to break canon? Why?

A: I do not break canon; I bend it to my will.  Setting changes are an exception of course. I just work better within the structure that canon provides. If I change canon, I change one thing and only allow other changes that are a result of that first change.  I develop and justify my interpretations of canon so that I find enough wiggle room for my headcanons to comfortably coexist with it.  Where canon contradicts itself, e.g. video game vs. comics, I chose my preferred version.  I even take little blurbs from interviews and try to work them in as lore.

Q: Share some headcanons.

A: Pretty much all my fic are based around headcanons.  There are many,  many of them.  Some are the premises for fic while others are big reveals.  Others are back story or missed scenes or just what was going on in someone's head. Here's one that's not a spoiler and doesn't make too many fic appearances:very Rockatanskyup name.  Max's original last name was Patansky, and Jessie's was Rockwell.   They're parents were millennials; of course they were raised to value gender equality :)

Q: If you work with OCs walk us through your process for creating them. Who are some of your favourites?

A: I rarely work with real OCs for anything other than side characters, but I often use characters who have little (Miss Giddy) to no screen time (K.T., Mary) or no canon name (Promise the Milker).  They effectively become like OCs.  K.T. had the most of a design process because all I had to go on were her name and Vuvalini affiliation.  I made her black to bring more racial diversity to my 7000 Days cast, and I made her American because I wanted to have an instory explanation of Furiosa's accent not being Australian. Warboy Kai exists because I felt Furiosa needed an ally among the War Boys cuz fuck if the Imperator pumps her own gas. He will eventually become the History Man we see in the comics so he's still not a true OC. My true OCs follow the same process: 1) identify a logical gap or role that needs filling, 2) establish the character using canon reference points, 3) fill in the character's appearance, personality, etc. not already established by 1) or 2).

Q: If you create original works, how do those compare to your fan works?

A: I'm not doing originals at the moment, but when I look back now at what I was doing pre-Fury Road, I realise just how fannish it all is.  We're talking many thousands of words of world building, character development, angst, and pining.  So yeah, not much different.

Q: Who are some works by other creators inside and outside of the fandom that have influenced your work?

A: I learned a lot about working with themes in different sub plots from "Wishbone."  Seriously, if you've never seen that shit go check it out.  A cute doggo dresses up and tells stories from classic literature while his human learns similar lessons in the "real world." 

I consciously avoided other fic when I first started writing because I didn't want to accidentally injest headcanons and not be able to remember where I got them.  Once I found the story I wanted to tell, I dove into the wealth the fandom had to offer.  I owe @sacrificethemtothesquid for paving  the way in making these characters as gross and gritty in fic as real humans.  I owe @lurkinghistoric and @fuckyeahisawthat for warming me up to Maxiosa first through their less and then through their more explicit fic.  And of course @youkaiyume for drawing the art that inspired many of those fic.  Really the whole of the Smuttyartfic group got me writing smut again after a good decade away from it.   

Q: What advice can you give someone who is struggling to make their own works more interesting, compelling, cohesive, etc.? 

A: I'm gonna go with the good ole, "Write what you know; so know interesting things."  Show off your passion and the depth of your knowledge.

Q: Have you visited or do you plan to visit Australia, Wasteland Weekend, or other Mad Max place?

A: Yes to all of the above.  I really like deserts and tend to pick them for my vacation spots.   I stopped in Sydney on my way to New Zealand a few years back, but I didn't get to go outback; crossing the Nullibor is in my to-do list.  If anyone plans a fandom-cation count me in. I've been to Wasteland Weekend twice and intend to be back, but probably not this year because this summer I will be going on a camping safari through Namibia.  Don't worry, there will be pictures.  And yes, I will be asking our guide obnoxious questions.

Q: Tell us about a current WIP or planned projectThis is my year of finishing projects.  I'm also signed up for Fandom Trumps Hate.  Bid on my listing and you can choose my next project.

Thank you @livia-lerynn

[dinandgone]

God, I don't even know where to start with this. The entire fic is just gorgeous. Why you ask? I would answer with multiple reasons. Rachel, you are so talented I don't even think all the positive adjectives in the world would do it justice to tell you how much I admire your work and how much it inspires me, how I'm left thinking about hours after I've read it and when I rewatch the series I sit there and go ah yes Din, but find I'm thinking of a scene from Stitches that wasn't even in the programme in the first place.  

I’d probably have to set off with plot, immediately after reading a couple of paragraphs I knew this fic was going to be something that would be held very dear in my heart, I have been hooked since day one. At first read it was a trope that I had never read before for our beloved tin can man. Having read up to the current chapter the plot has just flowed all the way through and I think that just a nod at your talent and effortless imagination- there isn't a moment where I feel the story is forced or jilted. Ah, its just layer upon layer of amazing. Not to mention the smut which might not be considered as plot but in this establishment it contributes plenty! I just love the originality of it all and how its all come together astounds me every time I read it, you manage to stray away from original canon so it is ts own independent piece of writing but its still so incredibly star wars.

Where do I even begin on characters, starting with medic- a witty badass who isn't afraid to call out Din on his bullshit *cough* cauterising a poison infested wound *cough*. Her attitude and ability to immediately take someone in even after her shift just feels so accurate to me. Her character is so head strong in the first couple of parts where Din needs medical care it was really refreshing to read someone that had the potential to actually intimidate the big broad Mandalorian himself, without weapons or physical appearance, just her wit and composure. Yet she doesn't lose that even when things get a little hot and heavy if you catch my drift. I love that she puts him in his place and makes him double take half the time- the ‘he will be intimidated and he will listen to me’ attitude just sets her apart from the rest and that I will always commend you for. Onto Din, they way you write Din is just on an entire other level. Linking back to the originality of it all, Din is described as we see him tall, broad, intimidating but you manage to delve so much deeper into his character adding meaning and purpose into everything, it could be dialogue or something as simple as a slight movement which tells/hints at exactly what Din is feeling or thinking. e.g. your description of him in part 2 (I think🤔) about his ability to walk with both ‘gracefully and arrogantly, almost cocky in his self-assurance.’ which is just so fabulously Din. But I think what you have managed to master even more is to subtly remind the reader that under the Beskar and the creed he's just human and most of what he's experiencing with Medic and Grogu is completely foreign to everything he's known, which makes him stubborn and unsure- for this I can link to when Medic and Din have their first intimate heart to heart (well it is for me anyway) when he lets her touch his skin for the first time. Yes it’s hot but I think its one of the ways he can get his words out, allow himself to relax, to be human- it is why it’s my favourite scene ever in stitches because it really opens up their future together. Lord the dynamic between the two characters is just AMAZING. It’s been so interesting to see them grow together and individually with every chapter. Din learning to trust not only medic but himself- allowing for him to feel something other than the constant duty to his religion or loneliness. Lets face it I think he likes being bossed around by his demon medic because it means he's not alone, he likes being patched up by her because for once he doesn't have to do it, though he's stubborn and wouldn't admit it that's the vibes I catch from it. Their relationship on a physical level is intense- oh boy don't get me wrong those scenes are absolutely delicious but they have context and meaning- each time Din and Medic learn something new and get closer and god its so heart warming.

If I had to choose a favourite part of your writing I would have to choose your penchant for immaculate atmosphere and setting build up. I think it’s the gorgeous scenery and universe building that has made stitches what it is. In every chapter there's little things that are easily missed that just add that flare to a piece of writing and you manage that flawlessly Even before you bring characters and dialogue into it, the scene is already bursting through the words and through the screen and its like I'm there, every time I finish reading it I just want to go back and experience it all over again. I’ve talked to you before about how when I read your Din I get hit with immediate aura of the browns, oranges and yellows of a desert landscape its just so unique and it adds copious amounts of fuel to the fire pit that is my art brain. Without the world building where would Din and his medic be? Without the small details and setting they’d be awesome characters but with no atmosphere to feed off of or interact with. Mixed with your writing style, character descriptions and personality it just jumps out,I feel like i’m there. That sentence probably sounds like a broken record by now but I do I feel like I've been dragged from where I'm sat and plonked right into the dialogue and atmosphere. Even the dialogue adds character you aren't afraid to add a little humour in there or shy away from a deep topic.The banter of mandomedic or when you introduce a new character to the mix it all just swirls in one big pot of goodness. (Sorry I'm struggling with descriptions 😂) With your POV’s its like stepping into the characters mind which you might argue is the whole point but its just tonnes and tonnes of detail- nothing doesn't have a reason for being there- it all just fits.

Rachel even though I know you said you like reading long responses this I fear was a whole novel of nonsensical babble of its own. Your writing style is just stunning and I hope you know what talent you have and that your writing is literal poetry and each chapter is a work of fucking art. Thank you for sharing such a beautiful story and I can't wait to see how it continues.

Din Djarin x Fem!Reader 

Genres: Smut, action, fluff, angst.

Rating: 18+ nsfw will be marked with **

What is a former combat medic to do when an injured Mandalorian stumbles upon her clinic one night on Klatooine? Updated sporadically - I try to keep it once a fortnight but that is contentious at best. Arcs are listed chronologically and begin pre-Season 1 and will extend beyond the finale of Season 2.

| Main Masterlist |

.

Prequel Arc - pre-season 1 of The Mandalorian. You encounter Mando suffering one misfortune after another. [complete 15k]

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

The Interlude - Season 1 episode 8. The Mandalorian sends his most precious cargo to you. [complete 15k]

| Part 1 |

Exploration Arc - Canon divergent. Before the beginning of Season 2. It’s mighty hard to distract yourself from your mysterious and alluring shipmate, so why bother?  [complete 120k]

| Part 1* | Part 2* | Part 3* | Part 4* | Part 5* | Part 6* | Part 7* | Part 8* | Part 9* |

New Republic Arc - Between Season 2 Episode 1 and throughout Episode 2. Din’s recklessness this time was a step too far. [complete 55k]

| Part 1* | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4* |

Pamarthe Arc - Immediately after New Republic Arc. The lead you pick up brings you, Din and the Child to a familiar planet. [Companion Guides]

| Part 1* | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 |

[optional miniseries] Wounded Stag Arc - Season 2 Episode 3 to Season 2 Episode 6. A highly sensitive and dangerous mission has Senetor Organa teaming one of her best pilots with the person she trusts the most: her brother. M/M Luke Skywalker/OMC Kai Carria

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

The Jedi Arc - Season 2 Episode 3 to Season 2 Episode 8. Note: some canon events are mentioned in passing to avoid repeating episodes line for line.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |

The Lost Arc - Two months after the events of Season 2 Episode 8.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

Descendants Arc - Three weeks after the conclusion of The Lost Arc.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

Heart of Mandalore Arc - Immediately following the Descendants Arc.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

to be continued…

**

Stitches Verse Extras:

Mandomedic One Shots | antigen |

Mandomedic Drabbles| one |

OC Drabbles | one | two |

| Din Djarin NSFW Alphabet |

| Stitches Art |

| Headcanons |

[elumish]

Hey, follower here. A friend/beta reader I have has recently told me that my writing style is too passive, like I'm looking over the character's shoulder rather than through their eyes. Have to admit, it's now making me question everything I'm currently working on. Do you have any advice on how to write less passively (more actively?), maybe with some examples? Beta has already suggested I read around and see what other writers do. Thanks!

What you’re describing sounds only partially like a passive vs. active problem. Here are a few pieces of advice:

Don’t just give the readers what is going on around the character. Give us what the character is experiencing. In a literal sense, show it to us through their eyes. Tell us what they see, hear, smell, taste, and feel. “A glint caught their eye” can ground is in the character, while “There was something shiny in the room” doesn’t.

Associate what is going on around the character with the way the character thinks about it. I have a character who tends to think of things in relation to her family, which she misses. Acting as a temporary nurse reminds her of being trained along with her sister by the village midwife, and of patching her brother up when he fell out of a tree for the third time. A younger character who doesn’t know the word sheepish might think of it as “like when my dad was explaining to my mom that he forgot to move the laundry from the washer to the dryer”, which both gives the reader a sense of what they look like and gives an impression of what the character’s experiences and thought process are. 

Generally expand your descriptions. I tend towards leaner descriptions, but it is easy to fall in the He walked, she sat, he shrugged rut, where everything that isn’t dialogue is just a straight description of what is going on around the character. Adding flavor to your writing–in however works best for you–can give a richer experience to the reader and make it seem more like it’s something the character is going through instead of just something that’s happening around them.

Descriptions can particularly help with having the character express emotion. Here’s an excerpt from one of my fics:

The words catch in his throat, and Jake pushes off and walks over to him, closing a hand over the nape of his neck, which lasts about as long as sitting in the chair did, and then he needs to move again, stepping from tile to tile in the same path over and over, seven steps, pivot, and Jake moves out of his way, and seven steps, pivot, seven, pivot, seven, pivot, seven, pivot, and then it’s eight, and fuck he’s going to start crying again, and things haven’t freaked him out this badly since he couldn’t read, and he just has to breathe before he makes himself pass out.

In it, I don’t say “he felt anxious”, but it’s pretty clear from what’s going on that that’s the case. In this specific example, the run-on sentence and excessive commas give the feeling of choppiness, speed, and an inability to slow down that imply anxiety without saying it.

Do what works within your own style, and use techniques like that sparingly so they have an impact. Maybe you decide that anxiety is written in a series of short choppy sentences, or happiness is full of adjectives, or sadness is full of unfinished thoughts. Maybe you take a completely different route. But there are a lot of ways to show emotion without ever naming the emotion, which puts us more in the character’s head; people often don’t just think “I’m happy” or “I’m sad”.