#such as art and my art pieces. so people truly understand the depths of my affection for said concept

[xervn]

like a french girl 🎨

part 1 - paint me | part 2 | art major ellie x dance major reader | ellie photo

ao3 link

summary: ellie had been struggling with finding the perfect model for her art final. that was until she saw you.

18+ MDNI | 2.2k words | tags; college au, pining, only a little explicit, no use of y/n, not proofread

disclaimer: not an art or dance major, don't shoot!

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Scribble, scratch, throw. This has been Ellie’s routine since she moved onto campus.

Why? Her professor told her that she draws the human body like it’s lifeless. Ranting about how they’re too one-dimensional and have no depth, her lines are too sharp or not sharp enough; flat and boring in looks and in feeling. 

Now listen, Ellie has nothing against criticism. She respects her professor and she’s aware that her drawings lack “vitality”. It’s been something she’s struggled with for a while now, an effect of some recent events and overall adjusting to college life. 

Ellie isn’t unable to grasp the anatomy of the body, in fact it’s the opposite. She knows the human body is complex and needs thorough observation. The way the sun hits the skin, the hairs on a knuckle, the creases of a smile. Wide, small, big, tall; no two bodies are exactly the same. 

Really, the imagery is so clear to her, but she finds it impossible to transfer the life and motion of the body onto a piece of paper without truly understanding the person. The way she sees it, every body has a story, and in order to make a good piece she needs to know that story.

Since art school is filled to the brim with inspiring, exciting, and vibrant people, she has, of course, tried to talk with them. She attempted to get to know the models, ask them general questions and hope something clicks. Unfortunately, that has yet to happen. She can’t really ask her friends either without it getting awkward. Imagine, “ Oh, hey guys! Can you guys get naked and pose in one spot for my homework?”   Hear how weird that sounds? Even though she’s sure Jesse would definitely be down, she values her eyes.

 Any “muse” she could possibly ever want was right in front of her, so why was it really impossible for her to find one?

 Well, because Ellie didn’t find anyone interesting enough. She’s not shallow or anything, it has nothing to do with how the model looked, Ellie has had several good-looking models. It was more about how she perceived them. It’s just that she hasn’t seen a model that made her ask questions like: “ How’d they get that scar?”  “ What does that tattoo mean?” Stuff like that.

The last interesting model she had was probably a fucking homeless guy she shared a blunt with outside a gas station many moons ago. Till this day, he might be one of her best pieces. There’s not a lot of moments like that here.

Nonetheless, Ellie saw this developing– extremely lame— personal requirement of hers annoying as shit. It’s holding her back big time, but she couldn’t help it even if she really wanted to.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

It’s practically useless to keep trying. The tiny voice in Ellie's head presses her to keep going, keep failing, but enough is enough. She is seriously burnt out and any more of this might kill her. The only thing that could help right now is a meaty slice of pizza and a blunt as soon as she thought of it.

Ellie clears out her desk, knocking the stack of crumpled paper into a conveniently placed trash can; a placement made from her constant trials and errors. She pushes up, and stretches widely, obnoxiously groaning like an old man by the end of it. She quickly tidied herself up, tying up half of her hair into a ponytail and throwing on a dark-green flannel shirt she had to sniff before wearing over her plain white tee. She takes a quick look into her floor-length mirror, making sure she looks presentable before grabbing what she needs to head out.

Just as her hand reached for the silver knob, Ellie felt this overwhelming urge to look back. God, she knows what she is going to look back at, but she really hopes she doesn’t. Unfortunately, her eyes land on her sketchbook, laid flat on the desk underneath a lamp’s warm light. She shouldn’t.

She needs a break. She knows she needs a break, but there is a twinge of hope, faith, lodged somewhere inside her. The same faith that’s kept her from dropping out every day for the past four months. Ellie groans as she drags her feet to her desk where she whisks up the brown book and shoves it in her tote bag with an accompanying pencil. She swivels back to the door and strolls out, silently praying her mood improves in the next hour.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

The cafeteria was surprisingly crowded, but Ellie managed to get her pizza without saying ‘fuck it’ to the line. Still, the thought of eating between this buzzing mess when she was in such a shitty mood turned her off. Thankfully, she knew that everyone would be everywhere but the upstairs balcony, especially during this chilly time of year. No sane person would eat out there, and she’s not particularly sane. Ellie saunters off to the balcony and sits herself at a small table facing the view.

It only took a glance around before she came to the realization that the view is not really a view. There’s only a dorm a few feet away, directly across. It’s a large brick-laid, generic building with wide windows. If it weren’t for the blinds, the view into a room would probably be good enough to read a label on something. Ellie’s freckled face grimaces at the thought, imagining what it’d be like if someone watched her rage as she messed up her homework over and over from this distance. Despite that, she thought it’d probably be a pretty good spot to live in. It’s close to the cafeteria and probably a lot bigger than her 1x1 dorm.

With a twinge of curiosity piquing her mind, Ellie glimpses over the windows, and for the most part, they are all closed.

All closed, but yours.

Yours doesn’t even have blinds. You’re on the 3rd floor and almost completely unobscured in a black camisole, sitting on your questionably roomy windowsill with a leg perched up. Ellie can see the fairy lights strung up in your bedroom, and a line of succulents closer to the window; ordered by size, which she briefly thought was cute. 

You aren’t facing the window, so she can only see your back. What she could see, though, is you doing your hair, occasionally swaying to what she can only imagine is music. Your room is high, but low enough for her to identify you if she had the pleasure of knowing you. Knowing you, reverberates in her head. Does she know you? Has she met you before? Amongst that babble, there is one more question she is slowly trying to gather an answer to. 

Time passes, most definitely shorter than Ellie would have thought passed. Her eyes have been glued on you the whole time, she even forgot about her, now freezing cold, pizza just so she could gawk at you. She still hasn’t seen your face yet, barely even a glimpse, but she already thinks you are stupidly beautiful just by the way you move.

From the graciousness of your movements alone, she thought there was no way in hell you didn’t know she was watching. At some point, your arms got tired, so you smoothly rolled your aching shoulders back; stretching into an arched, effortlessly perfect posture. Ellie’s eyes traced that slight curve of your back as if you’d disappear if she broke off from you.

There is no way it gets better from that, is what she thinks to herself, only to be shut up immediately after when she sees that perfectness of your back stay as you bend over and shift onto both knees to grab something far away, bringing your shorts in view. So short— so tight , they could easily be mistaken for panties. 

It was unexpected to say the least, Ellie could feel her face heating up and had to look around her to see if anyone else could see what she was seeing right now. Ellie wondered about the practicality of those shorts, wondered what exactly they were supposed to cover, leering at the plush of your ass peeking out. She thoughtlessly lets her jaw drop before muttering out a low, impressed, and barely over a whisper, “Well, fuck.”

You must’ve noticed your shorts riding up, since you quickly pulled them down after you grabbed what you wanted. Ellie clears her throat, internally scolding herself for being so gross— so perverted. Her brows furrow in embarrassment from all the dirty thoughts she brewed up in that moment. But for some reason, she still doesn’t look away. Well, there’s a list of reasons for her to look away, but she feels like ignoring it. 

Then a cold gust of wind bites past her face, clearly a sign from the universe that she should snap out of it, and snap out of it she does. 

What the hell happened to her? What is it about you that she keeps leaning into? Suddenly something clicks in her brain. After months of creative agony, something finally clicked. She has sat here completely fascinated by you and she couldn’t tell sooner?

In all honesty, to say she is just “interested” in you would be an understatement. Yeah, now she thinks you’re the perfect model for her final, but she wants to know you beyond just the drawing. A plus is that you just happened to be hot, and Ellie has never been attracted to a subject before, so the whole thing was new and exciting to her. Just the thought of drawing you made her remember why she loved art so much.  Ellie reaches for her tote bag sitting in an empty seat beside her, pulling out her sketchbook with more enthusiasm than she probably ever has. She sets the book down, opening up a blank page with one hand and tightening her grip on her pencil in the other.

She looks back up at your window, ready to sketch your life onto paper and..  Shit. You’re looking back.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Today has been a good day for you, your teacher chose  you to teach the choreo you’ve been working on for weeks to your classmates. It was an obvious ego booster for you. You felt good and you wanted to look good too, even if you weren’t going out anywhere. It was just one of those nights. You wanted to experiment with your hair, thinking maybe you’ll do something new before your next practice. Dye it, cut it.. something.

It’s been a while since you started, and after several wrist and shoulder cramps, you were finally finished. You take a look into your hand mirror, peering at your reflection. You’re satisfied now, looking exactly how you’re feeling if you minus the dingy sleep clothes you’re in. 

♫ My heart, I never be, I never see, I never know. ♫

Grimes? Really? You pout, upset that your playlist didn’t magically read your mood. What you need is real 2000’s hot girl music. Britney Spears, Nelly Furtado, or Beyoncé for crying out loud.

“Alexa, skip!” You shout across the room, just loud enough for the device to hear. 

The stupid thing doesn’t even light up, so you call out a few more times but to no avail. Isn’t the whole point of that thing to be voice automated? You sigh and look around for your phone, and seeing it’s nowhere in front of you, you figure it’s behind. You twist your torso to find your phone behind you and luckily you do. As you pick it up, you casually glance out the window without any expectations. 

Did you see a figure in the blur as you looked away? You question your eyes, but you decide to take another look and just find out for yourself.

You peer back down and your eyes meet with someone else’s. The sudden eye contact between you and this woman instantly mortified you. Your heart sunk, and all you could do was raise your brows stupidly. She was surprised too, even in the dim light you could see her shocked expression boring back at you. Not only that, it went on for way longer than it should have. Any normal person would’ve looked away, but her eyes lingered on you before she hastily turned away. 

You’ve been sitting here, dressing up your hair, listening to your music without a care in the world. Far too absorbed in yourself to realize there’s someone outside your window. You slide off your windowsill and out of sight. Just as your bottom finally hits the wood floor, you feel the coldness of it against your skin and you’re immediately conscious of the fact that your ass was literally out at some point. 

The poor girl was trying to eat her food and you were bending over in front of your window like a harlot. It certainly didn’t help that she looked kinda hot. Did she? You peeked over your windowsill, hoping to get another look to really assess her hotness, but she was already gone. Whatever, maybe she didn’t see? But she looked embarrassed… embarrassed for you probably!

You hide your face in your hands and topple to the side, letting out a fake sob. Oh, god. You can already imagine Dina’s face when you tell her. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that thought. That was humiliating as shit, but it’s whatever. It’s not like you’ll see her again. 

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

side note: if you have any tropes you'd like to see w/ this universe pls do drop an ask 🤭

click 4 more!

[dollpqrts]

̽ ̽ PAIRING — Art Donaldson x Patrick Zweig

̽ ̽ SYNOPSIS — In the confines of the New Rochelle Country Club sauna, former best friends and tennis doubles partners find themselves inches apart for the first time in twelve years. It’s the night before they compete against each other in the final match of the Phil’s Tire Town Challenger. With unresolved tension at an all-time high, the heat of the sauna isn’t the only reason for their sweaty bodies or heaving chests. Patrick seeking some sort of reconciliation is met with a displeased Art who can’t quite place where his anger stems from. With The men attempting to hash out past wounds, the steam room is hot and charged with passion, it promises violence or something just as strenuous.

̽ ̽ WORD COUNT — ≈ 3k

̽ ̽ CONTENTS — 18+ SMUT MDNI, HEAVY angst to start, alternate ending of canon scene, vulnerable Patrick, mean asf Art, DEVASTATING argument, sexual tension, YEARNING, minor violence - nothing incredibly graphic, porn with plot and context, public ish sex, slight humiliation, praiseee, bottom ish Art, dirty talk, frot, desperation, internalized homophobia, mentions of Tashi, slight toxicity, hand jobs, blowjobs, biting, and lots of sweat <33

̽ ̽ A/N — This is just super self indulgent, Artrick angst rots my brain daily and I feel like this was the sauna scene we deserved </3 I genuinely haven’t written anything for YEARS sooo go easy on me, but YASS first piece of writing on this blog!! don’t hesitate to send in asks or message me for any tips or advice it would be so appreciated. Looking for friends and mutuals sooo, that too :)) if u enjoy reading pls lmk with a comment, or sending a message, however you’d like xoxo

"I don't matter?" 

Patrick Zweig was a figure of confidence, well known to many as much too sure of himself for what he was. For what they thought he was anyway. Confrontation was a fuel to him, something Art knew all too well. 

What wasn't widely known, and what slipped Art's memory, something that he used to know through and through, was that Patrick’s bold demeanor was a facade carefully cultivated to mask his doubts. Patrick's internal voice was incessant and worried. A relentless drumbeat. He held a firm grasp on his own identity and emotions, never wavering in his display of self-assurance. However, his greatest fears ruled him through the subconscious of his mind.

He was terrified that the most important people to him were unable to understand the depths of his being, that they only saw his shortcomings. He yearned for a love as profound as what he was capable of. Like a flower reaching for the sunlight, he needed someone who could nourish him completely. A full type of love that could only exist if someone could see him for who he truly was.

In a steam-filled sauna, Art Donaldson found himself seated face to face with his childhood best friend for the first time in twelve years. Since then he had degraded Patrick to just another fleeting relationship from their youth. It irked him that he couldn't simply erase that part of his past. As they sat there, their bodies naked and only their waists covered by towels, Art's gaze flickered over the other's body. Patrick, though lacking Art's discipline, was chiseled like a Greek god, which both aggravated and mesmerized Art.

Art couldn't help but think that Patrick was relishing in the discomfort, deliberately putting them in this vulnerable position. It seemed clear to Art that Patrick was fully aware of the effect he had on him. He grappled with self-disgust, frustrated by his inability to articulate himself, that he was undeniably affected by Patrick's orchestration. The opportunity to assert himself to Patrick was finally here. Yet he was struggling to find his voice. 

The sight of Patrick's unclothed body in front of him only added to his agitation, taunting him with feelings he couldn't quite place - a mix of envy and something else he wasn't sure of. His lips folded into a straight line, a mannerism unconsciously borrowed from Tashi. Beads of sweat gathered at his hairline, tension that had nothing to do with the heat of the sauna.

"Not even to the most obsessive tennis fan in the world." Art's voice cut through the thick air, and hung between them, heavy with unspoken history. 

Patrick's confident grin faltered as he came to know two things. His much-anticipated showdown with Art provided no consolation for his insecurities, and his greatest fear became reality - Art didn't care anymore, maybe he never really had. 

For years, Patrick had stubbornly, willingly endured hunger and homelessness all in pursuit of proving something. That he was worthy of the adoration, the victories, the accolades, and the fame of a star tennis player, he believed he was every bit deserving as Art was of it all. The only person who could truly validate that for him was Art himself. With cruel precision, Art had shattered Patrick into a million pieces. 

"We're not talking about tennis," Patrick said softly, his eyes seeking understanding.

Art wondered what Patrick could hope to gain from him. Carving out a new life with Tashi, it took time and effort to move on from his teenage years. With the help of Tashi, he had transformed himself into tennis champion Art Donaldson, the Art that Tashi loved, Tashi Duncan's devoted husband, and the father of her child. He had intentionally buried Patrick in the recesses of his mind, leaving behind the insecurities and emotional bullshit of his youth. 

Art scoffed, his voice taking on an edge, "What the fuck else do I have to talk to you about?"

Their exchange became a verbal rally, each word a calculated strike. Art desperately clung to his lead, an invisible audience holding its breath. Was Tashi the unseen umpire, coaching Art like an angel perched on his shoulder? Or had he internalized her so completely that her guidance was no longer necessary to decimate his opponent?

Patrick, completely deflated, realized that the words spilling from Art's lips were not his own. They were out of place, disjointed. How could these words be a product of Art's own mind? 

They had shared a world of experiences, yet Art fixated on just one - tennis. It was as though tennis had become the sole defining factor of what they were to each other. While Art and Tashi's love seemed intertwined with the sport, what Art and Patrick had run far deeper than the confines of a tennis court. It transcended tennis entirely. At least, that's how Patrick felt. 

"I just wanted to come in here to wish you luck, Art."

Art's eyes narrowed, darting away from Patrick's earnest gaze. Distrust clouded his judgment, unable to fathom Patrick's sincerity. There had to be an ulterior motive. The thought stirred his mind mirroring the windstorm raging just beyond the warmth of the sauna. From Art's perspective, he possessed everything Patrick desired – a hot wife, success, and an endless stream of attention. How could Patrick genuinely wish him luck?

A stroke of luck on Art's end the following day could propel Art Donaldson into the next chapter of his illustrious tennis career and leave Patrick Zweig in the shadow of failure. Art knew that luck was the only thing that kept him ahead of Patrick before, that he'd never actually beaten him, he couldn't shake the feeling that he still needed it to stay there, that he was still depending on it.

"That makes no sense."

Patrick mustered a faint semblance of a smile, "I wanted to tell you that I’m looking forward to it. I miss playing with you."

"Yeah?" Art jumped up suddenly, his towel slipping slightly as he adjusted it and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a quick motion. He inched toward the sauna door, the wooden slats warm under his bare feet. "Well, I don't miss playing with you, man. I'm too old for it."

"Oh, get over yourself, Art," Patrick retorted, his eyes locking onto Art's in a challenging gaze.

"Get over myself? Seriously? Look at you, sauntering in here to rile me up before our match. On some sentimental bullshit. We both know every person at this bumfuck tournament thinks that you're nothing, Patrick. I've worked hard to get where I am, I deserve that win tomorrow. You? You're lazy, using cheap shit like this to get your way. Don't act like you ever gave a damn after all these years - about our relationship, or whatever it is you're trying to say."

Patrick could only shake his head in disbelief as the other man dug into him. "Can you even hear yourself anymore?" Suddenly, he sprang to his feet, grabbing his towel before it hit the floor. Art took a step back, his eyes tracing the movements of Patrick's fingers along the towel.

"Do you get off on some delusion that you're all innocent, living the dream, and that I've gotten my karma or whatever the fuck?" 

Closing the gap between them, Art challenged Patrick right back,

"Tell me, how do you see it then, Patrick?" 

Patrick inhaled deeply, his body coursing with anxious energy but still able to hold himself firm before the other.

"You abandoned me." he declared, voice quivering despite the intensity behind his words.

The two men stood inches apart, tension crackling between them, suffocated by each other's breath.

"What the fuck do you want me to say to that?" Art's voice dropped, barely above a whisper.

"Go to hell, Art." Patrick hissed, his hot breath caressing Art's face, spit landing on it. Art tilted his head up, meeting Patrick's blazing stare with defiance.

In a blur of motion, Art's fist flew upward. Patrick's head jerked to the right, his hand rising to cradle his jaw as if anticipating the impact. Before Art could strike again, Patrick seized his wrist and held it tightly. Art's grunt of pain morphed into an animalistic growl as he lunged forward, their bodies tangling together in a fight for control. 

With raw energy, their muscles strained as they grappled with each other. Sweat-slicked skin slid against skin. Art's chest heaved against Patrick's, their hearts pounding in a frenzied rhythm. Bodies intertwined, locked in a primal dance of dominance. Nails raked across skin, leaving angry red trails that would linger for days. The air was thick, charged with the promise of violence or something equally explosive. 

Art's hand found Patrick's throat, fingers pressing into the pulse point. Patrick countered swiftly, fisting a handful of Art's hair and wrenching his head back. His other hand clamped down on Art's shoulder, pinning him in place.

Their faces were less than an inch apart, breath mingling in hot, ragged pants. Patrick's eyes seared right through Art, still for a moment. In a ravenous haze, their lips crashed together. The kiss was brutal, all clashing teeth and battling tongues. Patrick bit hard down onto Art's lower lip causing him to shove Patrick away only to yank him in, entwining their bodies back together.

They devoured each other, hands roaming with desperate need. The world faded elsewhere, leaving only the intoxicating sensation of long-awaited touch, the taste of desire on their tongues. Lost in their universe of violence and passion, they clung to each other, neither willing to back down or let go. Their embrace tightened as if trying to meld into one. The heat of the sauna paled in comparison to the fire ignited between them. Years of pent-up emotion poured out in a torrent of kisses as the men groped one another, each touch electric.

Art's mind was cloudy, "Patrick," he gasped, breaking away. His eyes were wild, conflicted. "We can't—"

Patrick silenced him with another burning kiss. "Don't think," he breathed, chuckling against Art's lips. "Anything but that."

They stumbled backward, their backs hitting the rough wooden wall. Goosebumps prickled across their skin from the impact. Like an animal clawing for control, Patrick's hands were everywhere, feeling every inch of Art's body that he could and holding on tight. Art moaned and gasped under his touch as he pressed his body closer, their throbbing erections pressing together through layers of fabric.

"Yeah, that's right." Patrick whispered huskily, "Feel it, Art. Feel how much you want me." A low, guttural moan escaped Art’s lips as the dirty words caressed his ear. Fear and arousal stormed his mind. He knew that at any moment, someone might innocently walk into the steam room and discover them, but he couldn't bring himself to stop.

Art reached into the waistline of Patrick’s towel grazing delicate fingers over the warmth, groaning at the feeling of him, how big he felt. Patrick took a firm grip on Art's wrist, guiding his hand down the fold of his towel. Patrick's cock sprang free, hard and throbbing, the tip slick with pre-cum. Art swallowed nervously, his throat dry.

Their fingers intertwined tightly, Patrick guided their hands up and down his glistening length. He whispered praises in Art's ear, his other hand removing the towel that had been covering him with ease. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment for years, eagerly anticipating it with every fiber of his being.

Patrick rubbed their cocks together, his grin growing wider as the other's jaw dropped in pleasure. "Look who's all hard for me again," he teased, his voice tinged with a hint of pride. "Remember when we used to do shit like this all the time?"

Art could only weakly nod, the memory of that long-forgotten time when they were still friends, and their hands would roam freely. When they said whatever excuse they could make up just to make everything feel okay, whatever excuses could allow them to have a next time.

“I know you were really thinking about me every time we jerked off together.” Patrick teased, his tongue flicking over Art's neck.

"Stop Pat...that's not true,"

“Oh c’mon, don’t you wanna cum for me just like you used to?”

Patrick pressed on, increasing the speed and pressure of their movements, the friction sending shivers through both of their bodies. Art could barely speak.

“Yes, yes...please,” he begged for release, hardly able to form any coherent words.

Patrick let out a low chuckle, pressing his lips against Art's neck as he tightened his grip over their cocks. Art's hips bucked up involuntarily, biting into Patrick's shoulder to muffle a strangled moan.

"You're the same sensitive little boy you were when we were young" Patrick taunted, twisting his fingers just right.

All Art can do is mindlessly nod his head as he desperately fucked into Patrick's hand-- his mind reeling at the embarrassing little comments Patrick’s making. The warmth of Patrick's cock against his own, the wet and slick of their pre-cum mingling together, his rough stubble pricking the sensitive skin along his neck. He was so close, so close...

“Don’t fucking stop,” His voice took on a demanding, almost threatening tone. His hips rutted up into their interlocked fists as he reached the brink of climax. His other hand dug into Patrick's back, leaving scratches in its wake as he mumbled incomprehensible pleas and praises.

Patrick coached him through it, practically growling in his ear "That's it, fuck my hand Art.”

His body trembling with climax, Art released all over their hands and stomachs, his body hot and red, his chest heaving. Patrick continued to stroke his sensitive cock through his orgasm, pushing him past his limit.

“Oh god, t-too much...” Art groaned, his body twitching with every little touch, yet still needily grinding into Patrick’s palm. He had to push Patrick off of him before he would nearly start crying from the overstimulation.

They collapsed onto the bench just by where they were standing, their bodies glistening with sweat and flushed with exertion. The scent of their arousal filled the air, enveloping them in a sweaty heat. Art's cheeks burned with embarrassment as Patrick continued to stroke his hard cock next to him.

“Why don’t you get on your knees and finish me off, hm?” he suggested with a smirk, “It’s the Least you could do after being so mean.”

Art swallowed thickly, hesitating for a moment before slowly lowering himself onto his knees. Humiliation and desire coursed through his veins. He took Patrick's stiff length in his nervous hand, his tongue darting out to lick the droplets of pre-cum that shone at the tip.

Patrick groaned, his hips jerking forward. "That's it, baby,"

The taste of Patrick's skin and pre-cum lingered on Art's lips as he took him in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the head. The saltiness of his own release was still there, all over his cock. With a trembling hand, Art gripped Patrick's thrusting hips and guided him closer to his mouth. His lips wrapped around the tip, his throat constricting as he tried to take more of him in. Patrick let out a deep groan, gripping the edges of the bench and fingers tangling in Art’s hair as he reveled in the sensation. "Fuck, Art," he panted, his eyes locked on the sight before him. "You’re so good at this."

He silently took in his praise as Patrick's thrusts grew more forceful, driving deeper into Art's mouth with each motion. Feeling a sense of satisfaction wash over him, there was nothing he wanted more than to please Patrick, to make him reach new heights of pleasure that they could only have dreamed of when they were young. He worked with both of his hands and his mouth at the same time, pumping down his length and groping his balls. The room was filled with wet sounds, with Patrick's rough grunts and moans. His throat stretched around Patrick's cock, and tears welled up in his eyes.

"God I've missed you," Patrick exclaimed between ragged breaths. "You look amazing from up here."

Patrick's thrusts became erratic and his breathing grew shallow and strained. With one final plea, he pushed Art's head down and held it there as he reached his climax.

"I'm gonna cum."

Art felt the hot spurts hit the back of his throat, and it took all he had not to gag. He swallowed subconsciously, tasting the bitterness of Patrick's release. Patrick pulled out, his hips twitching sporadically as he fought to catch his breath. With Patrick's orgasm, Art could also feel his own comedown, a shift of realization in him. He swallowed hard, his throat raw with the taste of Patrick. He could feel his tears stained on his cheeks, and he tried his best to wipe them away discreetly. He quickly wiped his mouth as he got up, avoiding eye contact with Patrick. He grabbed his towel from the floor, wrapping it around himself before he sat further down Patrick on the bench.

Patrick, panting and still coming down from his peak, barely had time to react before Art slipped away from him.

“What was that for?”

For a moment, Art didn't answer. He stayed silent, his eyes trained on the floor. “I just needed to clean up.”

“Is that all?” Patrick asked. “Or are you too ashamed to look at me?”

Art didn’t say anything.

Patrick felt the change in Art's demeanor, the shame that seemed to radiate off of him. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Trapped in awkwardness. Patrick cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the tense quietness.

"So, uh, you're letting me win tomorrow right?"

Art's forced laugh didn't reach his eyes, the weight of their earlier exchange still pressing on him.

"Oh Fuck off man…" he grumbled, burying any hint of vulnerability from before. His towel tightened in his grip, damp fabric biting into his skin as he pushed away the memory of the fleeting intimacy they had shared. The moment was gone now, and so were any traces of tenderness or closeness between them.

“I meant every word that I said.” Art’s voice trembled with conviction. Without another glance, he stormed out of the sauna, leaving Patrick naked and by himself in the leftover sex and stifling heat of the room. All Patrick could do was sit there, his fingers tapping nervously against his knees.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Hi, I just wanted to ask an advice for a story I want to write. It's something that has always confused me since I firsr heard it (in my life) in 2010 when watching “Gossip Girl” but kept hearing more and more in 2018/19 (the most) until now so... What is an “It girl”? And how do I write an “It girl” character without making her a Mary Sue (I guess)?

How to Write an 'It' Girl Trendsetter in a Fiction Novel

From your question you've probably read a novel or watched a TV show and fallen in love with a character who effortlessly exudes style, charm, and influence. That character is often referred to as the 'It' girl, a trendsetter who captivates readers with her magnetic personality and impeccable taste. As a writer, you may wonder how to create such a character who becomes an icon in the world you've crafted. In this blog post, I'll help you explore the art of writing an 'It' girl trendsetter and discover the key elements that make her captivating and relatable.

Creating an 'It' girl isn't just about describing her physical appearance or listing her accomplishments. It's about developing a character who embodies a unique blend of charisma, confidence, and authenticity. Our journey begins with understanding the core traits that define an 'It' girl and then delving into the steps to create a multi-dimensional and memorable trendsetter in your fiction novel.

The Essence of an 'It' Girl

Before we dive into the specifics of writing an 'It' girl, let's first explore the essence of what makes her so captivating. An 'It' girl is someone who effortlessly stands out from the crowd, drawing attention wherever she goes. She possesses an undeniable charm, a magnetic personality that makes people gravitate towards her. However, it's important to note that an 'It' girl isn't just about looks or popularity; she also possesses a strong sense of self and authenticity.

One crucial element that differentiates an 'It' girl from other characters is her ability to set trends. Whether it's fashion, lifestyle choices, or even social movements, the 'It' girl is at the forefront of what's hot and happening. She has an intuitive understanding of the latest trends but also has the confidence to break away from the crowd and make her own unique mark. This combination of trendsetting and individuality is what sets an 'It' girl apart and makes her a captivating character for readers.

To truly bring your 'It' girl to life, it's essential to infuse her with a sense of relatability. While she may possess an aura of mystique and glamour, readers should still be able to connect with her on a personal level. This means giving her flaws, vulnerabilities, and inner conflicts. By adding depth to her character, you create an 'It' girl who is not only fascinating but also someone readers can empathize with.

Crafting an 'It' Girl Trendsetter

Now that we understand the essence of an 'It' girl, let's delve into the process of crafting one for your fiction novel. The following steps will guide you through creating a multi-dimensional character who embodies the spirit of an 'It' girl.

1. Define her unique style: The 'It' girl is known for her impeccable taste and unique sense of style. Dig deep into her personality to understand what makes her fashion choices stand out. Is she bold and daring? Does she have a penchant for vintage pieces? By defining her style, you create a visual identity that readers can connect with.

2. Develop her passions and interests: An 'It' girl is more than just a pretty face. She has a plethora of interests and passions that contribute to her trendsetting nature. Whether it's art, music, or even niche hobbies, these interests add depth to her character and help shape her influence.

3. Give her a strong voice: An 'It' girl must have a strong voice, both figuratively and literally. She is unafraid to speak her mind and has a way with words that captivates those around her. Develop her unique speaking style and let her words carry weight and impact.

Bringing Your 'It' Girl to Life

Now that you have laid the foundation for your 'It' girl, it's time to bring her to life within the context of your novel. Here are some tips to ensure she shines brightly in your story:

1. Show, don't tell: Instead of directly telling the reader that your character is an 'It' girl, show her in action. Let her effortlessly charm people, make bold fashion statements, and lead the way in trendsetting. Through vivid descriptions and engaging scenes, allow readers to witness her 'It' factor firsthand.

2. Surround her with a strong supporting cast: The 'It' girl cannot exist in a vacuum. Create a supporting cast of characters who are drawn to her charisma and who help amplify her influence. These characters can be friends, admirers, or even rivals, each adding their own dynamics to the 'It' girl's world.

3. Explore her vulnerabilities: While an 'It' girl exudes confidence, she also has vulnerabilities and insecurities. Explore these aspects of her character to make her relatable and human. Let readers see her struggle, doubt herself, and overcome obstacles. This journey of growth adds depth to her character and makes her more than just a one-dimensional 'It' girl.

Conclusion

Creating an 'It' girl trendsetter in your fiction novel requires a delicate balance of charisma, authenticity, and relatability. By understanding the essence of what makes an 'It' girl captivating and following the steps to craft her character, you can create a memorable and influential trendsetter who leaves a lasting impression on your readers. So, go ahead and unleash your creativity to bring your 'It' girl to life, and watch as she takes the literary world by storm!

[novantinuum]

in other, OTHER news i almost burst into tears at work today listening to some TotK, particularly phase 5 of the Construct Factory background music bc like

the strings are just so... my god. their melody just cuts through what was otherwise nothing but endless incomplete note patterns and somewhat unsettling ambient sounds in the depths

this plays once you've finally awaken all four construct factory depots and carried the parts to the center of the complex to complete Mineru's construct. it plays once you... in a way... finally bring a piece of that ancient era back to life.

and like... when i listen to it, i just can't shake away the sense that the depths hold far more hidden beauty and history in them than first meets the eye. there's such loneliness in this place, but it wasn't always that way. there's ruins of what could be a city down there. (just look at the structure around the lake that's directly beneath the shrine of resurrection...) there's a whole observatory down there, ruined fortresses... there's ART down there. people LIVED here once.

lost souls still dwell here. and the frox. not much else.

now, it's mainly just lots and lots of monsters... smothered with gloom.

but what ELSE existed down here before ganondorf was sealed away... before his influence choked the ecosystem and brought rise to his OWN creatures

what was this place like at the height of new construction? at the height of Zonai culture?

Link himself will never truly know.

but Mineru does. Mineru remembers. she didn't live during the height of Zonai civilization, but surely the depths weren't as unforgiving then as they are now. and so Mineru's spirit follows Link through this dim underworld while on the hunt for her secret stone and just.

she's walking through the literal ruins of everything she used to know. this otherworldly, breathtaking place... rich with a dark beauty so unlike the sunrises of the surface, but just as stirring... absolutely ravaged by ganondorf's greed and lust for control.

and all these constructs... they don't even understand that anything's different. that's almost the worst part. the lightroots were smothered by the demon king's darkness and the local fauna hunted down and there's not a soul remaining down here anymore but the poes, and yet they still continue their work, not ceasing unless by sheer force of rust.

it's a tragedy. it's nothing but tragedy.

and yet...

there's still fireflies.

even in the darkest, most hopeless void, there's still light.

and if Mineru had a physical body at this moment, this sight alone would've been enough to bring her to tears

[mochaintherain]

Pleonexia

Summary: Cemented as a false God, the title of "The Creator" warranted a certain Fatui Harbinger to impose his greed upon you.

Word Count: 1.3k

CW: SAGAU, implied violence, implied cultish themes, the fatui comes as it's own warning, slight jealousy?

A/N: formatted on mobile </3 A little drabble I had lying around (*´▽｀*) I really like SAGAU but only a specific flavor of it RAUGHH I also have so,,, many ideas for other fics. Yippee for summer!!! (delusional)

Zapolyarny Palace was destitute of warmth.

The room the Tsaritsa had generously provided on account of your descending far outgrew your meager body; the walls stretched too far, any insulation it may have mustered in the heart of a blizzard out your reach, and the chandeliers hung from the ceiling too high to provide any ample light, encompassing you in darkness. The only reprieve within your residence laid a stately hearth. The fire roared, breaking the monotonous cold hues of the bedroom. Its heat blanketed your face in a sweet caress. Soft whispers of crackled wood lulled you to slumber.

Temptation gnawed at your being. You wanted to rest.

But something you quickly learned about the palace was its capacity for people.

For Fatui.

And they wanted anything but your comfort.

The Regrator hummed, cold fingers trailing the bare of your neck, reveling in your shudders as he clicked the gold necklace onto your figure. Illustrious gemstones and the smoothest links of gold culminated to create art - now adorned by you. It could have been beautiful, had it not been tainted by avarice. Had it not been tainted by his prayer.

"Your Grace, do you like it?"

That moniker stirred ill within the depths of your stomach. When would be the day they realized they deluded themselves into a lie? When would be the day they killed you for being something you never claimed you were?

As intriguing as the Fatui were on one side of the screen, they were sinister zealots on the other. They despised the Gods so much their hatred festered piousness--and they paraded you like a doll around the estate, an object to collect worship and donate it to rising influence. You were another gnosis, another piece to their revolution.

The match to inevitably burn away the Old World.

"Your Grace," the Regrator repeated, the edge on each syllable chiding, "is this not up to your tastes? ...Not refined enough?"

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze. No semblance of warmth pierced his icy veil. For all the devoutness the Harbingers touted, their theatrics fell short. Ugly, false fidelity bled through their altruistic ministrations.

How you wished to curl up next to the fireplace instead of having to cling onto your robes.

"No...no, it's, ah, beautiful. Thank you," you mumbled, forcing a smile onto your face.

"Of course. Someone of your status—" he grit that phrase out from his throat, you swore it—"deserves only to be lavished in the finest treasures Teyvat has to offer! Wouldn't you agree?"

When they killed you, would he scatter his riches upon your corpse? Or maybe Pantalone would bury you with all the accessories he gifted you--

Perhaps they’d continue the facade, setting your still heart upon the altar dedicated to the Creator. The name you unwittingly stole from its rightful place.

He took your long, drawn, silence as acquiscence. "It's quite alright if you're shy. I fully understand, as your acolyte, but really, you must be more open about you and your capabilities--humbleness goes hand in hand with honesty, after all! Surely that's nothing to hide, hm?"

His hands found their way to your own, and he traced the shape of a diamond on your palm.

"What did you call them again? What was it...oh, primogems?" From your visage, the corners of his lips curled. "Your Grace, won't you show me your divinity? For all my offerings, a glimpse wouldn't hurt."

It's only fair.

"I'm...truly grateful for everything the Fatui, and especially you, have provided," you started slowly, eyes falling to his rings, unable to harbor the weight of his scrutiny any longer, "but...I'm sorry. I can't just use them whenever I wish—" the words died on your tongue as his grip tightened, leaving behind desiccated sputters.

"And why is that?"

"I'm—I'm sorry—"

"Am I not worthy?" Pantalone laughed a little, devoid of joy, "have I not given you enough, Your Grace? What more can I give? I've already built myself up from nothing, despite the Gods' negligence—must I give that up too, to bask in Your warmth?"

You winced, trying to pull away. Yet he held firm, as if it wasn't wrists he was holding, but the bags of mora he hoarded.

"That's not—"

"I really am not asking for much, Your Grace. You've shown the Balladeer—even the Doctor—your powers. So why not me? Dottore and I are close partners, and if you trust him, I can assure you, you can have complete and utter faith in me, just as I do you."

"I...Okay. But only one summon," you conceded, the crystalline shards manifesting into your hands.

As if he hadn't been intimidating you moments prior, Pantalone stared in awe, clasping his hands together and humming.

"Oh! You're too kind, Your Grace!"

"Please, just call me by my name," you whispered, before cupping the primos together into an Intertwined Fate.

"How beautiful," he gasped, "may I?"

Reluctantly, you handed it to him. The size of his figure dwarfed the small orb, brimming with power. A pink and blue glow breathed life into his otherwise dull fur coat.

"How do you use…this?” Pantalone’s brows furrowed together, raising it up to the light as if to get a better view. “It’s quite…tiny.”

"Well, I'm not sure how it fully works in Teyvat—but you wish for something and hope to get it."

"Hm? So you leave it up to chance?"

"Yes, in a way..."

"How pitiful," he whispered, before his voice dropped an octave, "you must have more power than that. You’re a God.”

“I’ve already told you all…” you stopped in your tracks, images of corpses scattered across Dottore’s lab. You were almost a test subject, “godhood” shielding you from the vivisection table by a narrow margin. If they learned the truth…

“I…am not a god in my home world,” you stammered, picking words haphazardly from the floor of your mind, “I’m still getting used to Teyvat, so…”

He sighed, squeezing your shoulder. “I see. Well, demonstrate how it works.” The reassuring gesture only spurred your unease.

With a slight nod, you pondered what to wish for.

“…Thrilling Tales,” you declared, the fate sizzling with luminescence before shooting up into the sky.

Pantalone’s mouth fell agape as a bright, blue, light enveloped your hands, swirled together, then dissipated, revealing the weapon. Another wish granted. More primos depleted, with no way to earn them back.

“A book; Is it a catalyst?” He took the tomb from your grasp, skimming its contents. “From what I can tell, not a very good one.” A frown slowly painted over his countenance. “Are you playing games with me, Your Grace?”

“W-whatever do you mean, Pantalone?” Your voice faltered as he took a step towards you. Gripping your face just hard enough for his rings to chafe and dig into your cheeks, he tilted your chin up.

“When you were with Dottore, you summoned a brilliant sword that he remarked, “wasn’t from this world”. And, with me, you summon this…” He pinched the book by its cover, letting the pages sway limply below. “Fairy tale?”

“Well—! The Doctor scared me—I, I am much more comfortable with you.” Though not necessarily a lie, it wasn’t a truth either. Of all the people you’d interacted with so far, mainly the harbingers—only the harbingers, when you thought about it—Pantalone, compared to the Doctor, was much less scary.

Eyes widening, the grip on your face went slack, morphing into a soft caress of your cheek. You shuddered again.

He smiled, returning to that cheery demeanor.

“Well, if that is the case, I’m glad, and honored, Your Grace.”

You nodded, every muscle in your body taut and strangled by your lies.

“Of course.”

.

[borninwinter81]

William Blake and Good Omens - an intertextual analysis

Please note: I did another version of this and posted it, but it was quite hurried, way too short, and was incorrect in a number of ways so I deleted it. However it had already been reblogged by the time i did so. If you happen to see another version of this meta that's not the right one, this is the version I'm happy with!

After my previous post re William Blake and Good Omens did so well, and so many people showed an interest I've decided to do a more in depth piece. This is focused upon the TV version of Good Omens, not the book.

Please don't tag Neil in this - although it's mostly textual analysis I do a very small amount of S3 theorising, and I know he doesn't want to see that.

I am in no way suggesting that Neil and Terry specifically wrote Good Omens with Blake in mind, I honestly just wanted an excuse to write more about Blake because I love his work so much, and I thought it would be interesting to try and apply some intertexuality since the works will contain similar themes, both being about God, religion, humanity, and angels and demons.

I also should stress that I am not an expert on Blake, there are people far more qualified to comment on him than I. I'm just a former literature student who loves his work.

There have been many different interpretations of Blake's work over the years, so it's completely fine to disagree with someone else's ideas about it, as with any work of art or literature. And although this piece is likely to be long, I'll barely be able to scratch the surface of all the possible meanings that could be ascribed to it.

Much like the old adage that if someone claims to understand quantum physics they're lying, I'm not sure anyone can truly fathom the full meaning of Blake's philosophy (especially in his later prophetic works, fuuuuuuck those beasts....), so if you're confused by him don't be discouraged, that's perfectly normal!

That being said, I wish to discuss the parallels between Good Omens and The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, my personal favourite and probably the most accessible of his longer works.

"Without contraries is no progression. Attraction and Repulsion, Reason and Energy, Love and Hate, are necessary to Human existence. From these contraries spring what the religious call Good & Evil. Good is the passive that obeys Reason. Evil is the active springing from Energy. Good is Heaven. Evil is Hell."

This excerpt is from near the opening and sets out the central idea of the work - that there is an essential duality to humanity, and each person is a combination of extremes. These extremes are not at war with each other, but rather are equally necessary, hence the "marriage" of the title. "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell" is a metaphor for the human experience.

Consistently throughout The Marriage... Blake refers to the two extremes as Reason and Energy. These terms could be construed in a number of different ways: thought versus emotion, mental versus physical, restraint versus desire, temperance versus excess, caution versus impulsiveness, and following the rules versus free will.

Blake's use of the word "Reason" in this context may be somewhat confusing, however he likely chose it because of his negative feelings towards science and the Age of Enlightenment. Blake saw literal visions of angels and prophets and the divinity of all creation, and hated that science reduced everything to formulas, calculations, and materialism, leaving the world bereft of wonder. "Art is the Tree of Life. Science is the Tree of Death" as he put it.

His ideas about "reason" are best expressed by his painting "Newton". Though inspired by the scientist, it is not a portrait - instead it depicts a figure deeply engrossed in scientific drawings and calculations, totally ignoring the beauty all around him - see below.

In the context of The Marriage... Reason is "passive" because it involves thought, caution, self-restraint, and doing what you are told, all states which block action. Energy is "active" because it is physical, emotional, impulsive and allows you to act based on your own choices and desires. It's quite clear that Blake feels "energy" is the preferable state - he tells us as much in the next section:

"The Voice of the Devil

All Bibles or sacred codes, have been the causes of the following Errors. 1. That Man has two real existing principles Viz: a Body & a Soul. 2. That Energy, call'd Evil, is alone from the Body, & that Reason, call'd Good, is alone from the Soul. 3. That God will torment Man in Eternity for following his Energies. But the following Contraries to these are True. 1. Man has no Body distinct from his Soul; for that call'd Body is a portion of Soul discern'd by the five Senses, the chief inlets of Soul in this age. 2. Energy is the only life and is from the Body and Reason is the bound or outward circumference of Energy. 3. Energy is Eternal Delight."

So the body is an aspect of the soul, not separate from it, Energy comes from the body, it is Reason which places limits upon Energy, but Energy is eternal delight. Physicality, desire, impulsiveness, emotion, sensual pleasure and free will are not wrong or evil, they are aspects of the human soul and it is from them that we derive our enjoyment of life.

This does not necessarily mean that Reason is always bad. After all, Blake tells us that both are necessary for human existence. Sometimes temperance, caution and thought before action are required. But Reason becomes negative when it "usurps its place and governs the unwilling", i.e. when it completely supplants Energy and becomes the sole guiding factor, forcing passivity.

The Angels of The Marriage... are governed by "systematic reasoning", therefore they are wholly creatures of Reason. They are also "all religious" meaning they believe the "errors" stated above. His Devils by contrast "hate religion" meaning they believe the "contraries", which are the true statements according to Blake. It does not necessarily follow that they are wholly governed by Energy, merely that they believe Energy is "eternal delight".

It is worth noting at this point that Blake saw God and religion as totally separate. For Blake, "God" is that connection with divine wonder which was integral to his life; he tells us plainly that "all deities reside in the human breast" and that "the voice of honest indignation is the voice of God". In other words all humans have a direct and intuitive link with God and don't require the church, Priests, or a religious framework and adherence to a set of rules in order to reach moral decisions. These rules exist only to "enslave the vulgar".

The importance of this ability to make one's own choices about a moral course of action is shown by one of the "Memorable Fancy" sections of The Marriage...

Blake relates how a Devil is able to use an Angel's "systematic reasoning" against them:

"if Jesus Christ is the greatest man, you ought to love him in the greatest degree; now hear how he has given his sanction to the law of ten commandments: did he not mock at the sabbath, and so mock the sabbaths God? Murder those who were murder'd because of him? Turn away the law from the woman taken in adultery? Steal the labor of others to support him? Bear false witness when he omitted making a defence before Pilate? Covet when he pray'd for his disciples, and when he bid them shake off the dust of their feet against such as refused to lodge them? I tell you, no virtue can exist without breaking these ten commandments; Jesus was all virtue, and acted from impulse, not from rules."

The Angel has no way to refute the "reasoning" that Jesus was governed by Energy and "impulse", i.e. his own morality, the "voice of righteous indignation", not reasoning and the rules laid down by Heaven. And because Jesus is the Messiah he must be virtuous, therefore Energy is virtuous. The Angel immediately allows himself to be consumed by fire and is resurrected as a Devil.

How can these concepts apply to the world of Good Omens?  This was where my first draft was totally incorrect, as I tried to transfer Blake's ideas about Angels and Demons and Heaven and Hell wholesale, applying "reason" to Aziraphale and Heaven and "energy" to Crowley and Hell.  In fact the divide is slightly different in the GO-verse: Crowley and Aziraphale *both* represent Energy, and it is Heaven and Hell that act according to Reason.

At first glance Aziraphale may appear to toe the line - he needs creative application of the rules to make him comfortable with trying to avert the apocalypse, and when he doesn't like the way matters are being handled by the Archangels he seeks a higher authority and goes straight to God. He'd clearly prefer someone to be confirming the rightness of his actions for him. However this doesn't mean that he won't act on his own.

Immediately upon his introduction to the story he has given away his flaming sword, an action that he took impulsively because he felt it was right, not because someone told him to. It bothers him, but he does it anyway.

In the Job storyline, though he initially looks for some loophole within the rules that will allow him to save Job's children, in the end he directly goes against Heaven to do it, even though he believes he is going to Fall and become a Demon for having done so.

Though he resists it and exhausts all other possible avenues first, he eventually does take an active role in averting the apocalypse in S1.

He hides Jim at great personal risk to himself and against the will of both Heaven and Hell, again because he feels it is the right thing to do.

He is therefore perfectly capable of independent action from a position of "righteous indignation".

On a more basic level, he enjoys worldly pleasures, which all come from "energy" according to Blake's philosophy. Food and drink most obviously, but also books, music, dancing, theatre, art and so on.

Crowley is more easy to place as acting from Energy - in spite of the obvious aesthetic differences between them, he also loves worldly pleasures. Alcohol and coffee, snazzy clothing, driving his car with Queen blaring on the stereo, going to lunch with Aziraphale, Shakespearean comedies. All things he isn't supposed to want or need, and which baffle other Demons, in the same way that Aziraphale's desire for food baffles the Angels.

And he's absolutely willing to act according to his own moral impulses when they conflict with Hell's orders (or Heaven's), be it saving Job's children, ensuring that Elspeth doesn't die by suicide, or averting the apocalypse. Yes, he'll try to hide his "good" actions in order to avoid punishment by Hell, but he's firmly "on his own side".

Conversely, Heaven and Hell are both part of the structure of religion in this story, are strictly adherent to a set of rules, and their inhabitants appear to have no real desires of their own, other than possible advancement within the systems they uphold. They are "passive" in that their functions allow the status quo to continue and the "great plan" to unfold as they believe it is meant to, even though each side expects a different outcome.

Again, applying Blake's philosophy, I would say the reason for this is that "energy is from the body". Crowley and Aziraphale have both been given bodies in order that they can exist on earth, and *have* existed on earth for 6000 years, therefore "energy" - physical pleasures and free thinking - have become a part of who they are.

On a more fundamental level, possession of a body can be equated to humanity, and humanity has been shown as the most powerful force of all in this story, its influence having led to Adam becoming "human incarnate", and thus acting according to what he feels is right, instead of fulfilling the function he was destined for.

Heaven and Hell contain no material objects, and the Angels and Demons are spiritual beings, having no bodies, so they are not open to energy, and therefore are wholly governed by Reason, and the preservation of the religious structures within which they exist. Structures which, as for Blake, may not actually have anything to do with God herself. In S1 she is a distant observer, clearly aware through her narration of all that is going on, but not interceding in any way. In S2 she is barely present save for her voice being heard briefly in Job, and overlaid with Gabriel's on two occasions.

Bearing all this in mind, what predictions can we make regarding S3 by applying Blake's philosophy?

"The ancient tradition that the world will be consumed in fire at the end of six thousand years is true, as I have heard from Hell.

For the cherub with his flaming sword is hereby commanded to leave his guard at [the] tree of life, and when he does, the whole creation will be consumed and appear infinite and holy, whereas it now appears finite and corrupt.

This will come to pass by an improvement of sensual enjoyment."

The parallels of the cherub with his flaming sword, and the passage of 6000 years should be obvious to anyone reading this - they have of course been lifted directly from the Bible as they are in GO.

I have read some metas which speculated that Aziraphale's bookshop, or perhaps Earth itself, is a metaphorical stand-in for Eden or The Tree of Life. Aziraphale has been commanded to leave his "Eden" and will now be instrumental in causing the whole of creation to become infinite and holy, but Blake tells us this will be done by an improvement of sensual enjoyment, which arises from Energy not Reason.

Sensual enjoyment is something which is intrinsic to Aziraphale's character, and this could make his placement in Heaven very important.

Putting aside all the "final fifteen" theories and taking matters at face value, Aziraphale tells us that if he's in charge he can make a difference - he needs to subvert the system from the inside out. The most subversive thing of all could be that a sensualist who acts according to "the voice of moral indignation" and "Energy" has become the supreme Archangel. We have seen in Blake how a realisation that Energy could be virtuous was enough to convert an Angel into a Devil (incidentally, does the image of an Angel being consumed by fire and emerging as a Devil seem familiar at all...)

We may have seen the beginnings of this already. Gabriel and Beelzebub became open to Energy from such little things as visiting earth, spending time in one another's company, and their mutual enjoyment of a song, which has given them wants and desires beyond those dictated by Heaven and Hell. This is enough to make them wish to leave their roles behind.

It's possible that the same may happen with Muriel. They haven't yet imbibed food or drink, but they have shown an enjoyment of books, which are an earthly pleasure, and open the reader up to new ideas and ways of thinking.

Of course, this would lead to questions regarding the Metatron's statement that he has "ingested things", and whether this means he is acting from reason or energy. Of course the simplest explanation is that it is a manipulation tactic, and he is lying about having done so, but if true that statement has some interesting implications. However, this is now super-long and I'm out of juice, so will leave others to speculate. I may return to this in the future!

There we go, hope you enjoyed. I doubt this will reach nearly as many people as my first Blake post, but if a few find it of interest then my work is done!

[korovaoverlook]

I Sacrificed My Writing To A.I So You Don't Have To

I was thinking about how people often say "Oh, Chat GPT can't write stories, but it can help you edit things!" I am staunchly anti-A.I, and I've never agreed with this position. But I wouldn't have much integrity to stand on if I didn't see for myself how this "editing" worked. So, I sacrificed part of a monologue from one of my fanfictions to Chat GPT to see what it had to say. Here is the initial query I made:

Chat GPT then gave me a list of revisions to make, most of which would be solved if it was a human and had read the preceding 150k words of story. I won't bore you with the list it made. I don't have to, as it incorporated those revisions into the monologue and gave me an edited sample back. Here is what it said I should turn the monologue into:

The revision erases speech patterns. Ben/the General speaks in stilted, short sentences in the original monologue because he is distinctly uncomfortable—only moving into longer, more complex structures when he is either caught up in an idea or struggling to elaborate on an idea. The Chat GPT version wants me to write dialogue like regular narrative prose, something that you'd use to describe a room. It also nullified the concept of theme. "A purity that implied personhood" simply says the quiet(ish) part out loud, literally in dialogue. It erases subtlety and erases how people actually talk in favor of more obvious prose. Then I got a terrible idea. What if I kept running the monologue through the algorithm? Feeding it its own revised versions over and over, like a demented Google Translate until it just became gibberish? So that's what I did. Surprisingly enough, from original writing sample to the end, it only took six turnarounds until it pretty much stopped altering the monologue. This was the final result:

This piece of writing is florid, overly descriptive, unnatural, and unsubtle. It makes the speaking character literally give voice to the themes through his dialogue, erasing all chances at subtext and subtlety. It uses unnecessary descriptors ("Once innocuous," "gleaming," "receded like a fading echo," "someone worth acknowledging,") and can't comprehend implication—because it is an algorithm, not a human that processes thoughts. The resulting writing is bland, stupid, lacks depth, and seemingly uses large words for large word's sake, not because it actually triggers an emotion in the reader or furthers the reader's understanding of the protagonist's mindset.

There you have it. Chat GPT, on top of being an algorithm run by callous, cruel people that steals artist's work and trains on it without compensation or permission, is also a terrible editor. Don't use it to edit, because it will quite literally make your writing worse. It erases authorial intention and replaces it with machine-generated generic slop. It is ridiculous that given the writer's strike right now, studios truly believe they can use A.I to produce a story of marginal quality that someone may pay to see. The belief that A.I can generate art is an insult to the writing profession and artists as a whole—I speak as a visual artist as well. I wouldn't trust Chat GPT to critique a cover letter, much less a novel or poem.

[molter-writes]

Bro I just found your Rhaenicent fics because of Paige’s-of-art’s drawing and fuck me. It’s like I’ve stumbled upon a chest full of gold or something. I’m more or less new to the ship/fandom and even I know you’ve captured their characters so so well. For every ship I feel like there’s a few authors who truly get the characters and I’m fairly certain you are one of those people. Like ariebaur from the Carmilla fandom or artemiswrites from the Bishova fandom or many others that I know exist I just can’t think of right now

You don’t understand. It’s authors like you who are the whole reason I read fanfic in the first place. Like like like AHDJDHFJSKJ. If I could find the right words like you seem to be able to do, I would. But I know that if I wanted to take characters from a piece of media and put them in a different scenario or do a continuation of their story?! You get them enough to do it. And not only do you do it, you also give them even more depth than what is in the original piece of media by writing them into your story. The creativity. The patience. The skill. The fucking effort. The authors whose stories I read and I come away knowing more about the characters by reading the fic?

Anyway. Sorry about the word vomit 😬😬. This is making want to go write messages to all those other authors. But I was wondering, do you have any suggestions for rhaenicent fics? I’m pretty sure I trust your judgement

okay cool no it's fine just fully crying in the club rn. it's fine

this is so so so incredibly kind and i am incredibly grateful. literally every time you all write to me it makes my whole entire human day and i cannot emphasize this enough

i recommend anything by dontaskmedude and anything anything anything by dayneonychus (@CrowSaint on ao3)

[foulbearobservation]

since you’re the camlilith blogTM, do you have camlilith fic recs?

me: oh I don't think I'm the gateway to camilith shipping

y'all: so as The Camilith Blog™...

anyway yes I do have fic recs gather round children, I've delved into the depths of the tag and emerged with the best of the best

let's start with casper's (@daisychainsandbowties) fics and then go from there!

by such slight ligaments are we bound: god like truly this is THEE Camilith fic of all time for me like. you all don't understand. lilith is so fucked up. camila touches her so tenderly. lilith gets her hair washed. she bleeds all over the fucking place. she completely disassociates. she bleeds all over the fucking place some more. she's gods specialest little soldier. she's gods most beloathed nun. she's my little guy.

thus strangely are our souls constructed: listen. listen. this is the rat fic. I hold it close to my heart. I adore it. Lilith's having a breakdown in a sporting goods store. she's bleeding out with beatrice in a hallway. they're in love. they don't realize they're in love. they're also not in love. it's a lot. lilith is a little in love with every woman who shows her any kindness. I can't wait to see where this one goes

a light, a blessing, or a bruise: the dishonored au!!!! dishonored au my beloved! (not a fic but check out whale's dishonored art pieces here & here & here they make me feel insane) this fic actually got me to start playing dishonored and the world is. so interesting. the way casper has translated the characters is FASCINATING. great fic I fucking love it.

okay that's all of casper's fics now let's go to some others shall we?

The bestie @thats-a-weird-warning-sign wrote Tenderness to you is only talk about a bruise which is just. so good. I truly don't know what else I need to say about it. lilith's brain melts out of her ears because of camila's strap. There's healing from trauma. there's more sex. listen. we all read the tags we all knew what we were getting into.

Shroomyystar on ao3 (I think they're @cranechel on here?) has some bangers. most of these are rated M or E, for good reason. they're darker or they're just abt sex so your mileage may vary based on what you want to read but they're all tagged appropriately!

like real people do: lilith asks camila to kill her and it's sweeter than you think, I promise.

light pink sky up on the roof: lilith kneels.

one bite of salvation in the dark: lilith kneels and also eats cami out.

there's also serenity which is a rly cute little fic abt camila just staring at lilith and I think it's very sweet we get this view of them cause I feel like lilith is the more common pov character

some other one offs!

Worship her sooner is my bestie Em who texted me one day like "do you think ao3 has a tag for sexy latin usage" and refused to elaborate.

The whole series of 1 Peter 4:8 is very good. this was before season 2 came out, and I'll just link the first fic here it's SO GOOD. Go comment and show some love to these fics, they're older so I don't think they got the attention they deserved.

golden hour is an avatrice fic HOWEVER it's set at camilith's wedding and the way ava just describes lilith as scary and whipped is truly so funny to me

And that's about all I have I think? I probably forgot something, and I'm very picky with fics to begin with so. If you think I missed something, add it in the comments!

[evelina18-6-blog]

(this is so long, i am so sorry)

i understand why the artist was offended because your post made some pretty strong if not aggressive arguments, and i'm sure some assholes took the opportunity to send that person anon hate which probably made it feel more like a personal attack than it actually was, but i am honestly so sick and tired of people using their real life trauma as an excuse for every single thing. i may not have some deep, life altering trauma but i have my own issues and experiences and i too use fiction and art to cope but here we're not just talking about fiction and art, hell we're not talking about fiction at all. the ethics of shipping real life people are already questionable enough and i don't think there's a clear cut and dry answer but taking someone so repulsive, so downright dangerous, as Vargs and not only making cute artworks of him a if he's your casual anime boy, but also shipping him with a person who hated him, is inexcusable. just saying that you don't like or support Vargs is not enough when you have practically dedicated an entire account to making fanart of him. the Mayhem community is already messy enough and by doing that, they downplay what a piece of shit Vargs is and the pain he caused. (no matter how unintentional). also can we talk about Pelle for a moment? claiming to like him and pair him with such a horrible person? using him as a prop and completely ignoring his real life relationships and beliefs? how is that fair? people are already infantalizing him enough because of his mental illness and possible autism. how about realizing that Pelle is not a prop? that he was a person who deserves respect and that drawing him in the embrace of his friends murderer, is not being respectful to say the least? what about Oystein? no one seems to want to address were Olystein fits in this situation at all, why? was he not the person affected the most by Vargs? was he not his victim? putting his friend with his murderer feels like a huge fuck you to him. overall, painting someone in a positive light and later going 'lol im just kidding' is not good enough. Vargs (amongst others..) has spend the majority of his time insulting, belittling, even sexualizing Oystein, in an attempt to ruin his legacy and he has mostly succeeded because he's surrounded by cowards like himself who don't have the balls to stand up and speak the truth. the first thing people come across when researching Mayhem is the same bullshit about what a ''terrible'' person Oystein was and how he ''needed to be stopped''. this is the narrative Vargs has created and if you don't care enough to look deeper, you'll end up believing his lies and blaming a dead person. therefore such artwork, that completely rewrites the history and relationships of these people, can be very dangerous because it can actualy help Vargs into better selling his stupid narrative. i'm not saying that this particular artist is a bad person or that they're lying about their trauma or any bullshit like that, but art affects real life and the moment you post sth online you've opened yourself to criticism. do these Vargs/Pelle fics have more depth than initially presented? maybe. maybe they truly are a great psychological analysis of Vargs (although i don't understand why the hell you'd want to touch that with a ten-foot pole) but you can't blame people for not seeing that. whenever i see fanart of a ship, i don't sit wondering what the artist wants to say with their piece, i either like it bc i like the ship or i don't. if this is your copying mechanism, fine. can't criticize someone's copying mechanisms without sounding like an asshole i guess. but my advice is that maybe people need to take a better look at themselves and see how their interests affect others as well. you can do whatever in your own time but when you post it online it contributes to sth bigger whether you like it or not.

Don't worry about the length of your messages. I like that you elaborate. I agree with everything and thank you for your message. I honestly don't understand when this person says that she is NOT a fan of Varg, or that she doesn't like him and makes fun of him. I haven't seen anything mocking. I've only seen a great idealization of the young Varg, who was a horrible person, more violent than the current Varg. And a certain idealization of the "wonderful" intellect of the current Varg. I'm sorry to say that "the mockery" is poorly done. Like when you have to explain a joke, if no one understand it, it's because it's done poorly. About Pelle, I liked this: "claiming to like him and pair him with such a horrible person? using him as a prop and completely ignoring his real life relationships and beliefs?" Yes, that's why I said Pelle is not a ball that goes from here to there. I also agree that no one seems to think what's going on with Euro in this situation. In my case, it is almost the first thing that shocks me, it is a double offense towards him. That's why I wonder if there is something, deep down, against the Euro. Because romanticizing Varg SO MUCH, yes or yes, for me, brings with it some kind of sympathy for his ideologies, therefore, some kind of resentment towards Euro. When people attack Euro, they generally resort to two things: lies about the mistreatment of Pelle, and his political inclinations, painting him as an authoritarian extremist fanatic. And therefore, Varg as a person who was encouraged to go further and do "something that many would want to do." Varg is a failure who does not know how to value the only good thing in him, his musical talent. He did not know how to value the influence of Euro and the environment in which he found himself. Now he is a clown who needs to resort to ridiculing himself on the internet to stay current, so that his morbid followers consume him "as ironic consumption." It's an internet phenomenon. And he is free only because the Norwegian prison regime is very soft. I think he should be under psychiatric treatment because he can't stop being a bad influence, even on his children, or they should send him to hard labor, so that he can channel his anger through physical labor instead of the internet. Perhaps the girls who draw Varg romantically and the people who are big fans of him beyond his music do not specifically have his same ideologies, but they admire him in some way, and it is clear that his systematically offensive attitudes are not enough to stop them and scare them away I sincerely feel that they see him as a master. I see Varg as the typical cult leader, and I feel cringe at the adoration they profess of him. "i'm not saying that this particular artist is a bad person or that they're lying about their trauma or any bullshit like that, but art affects real life and the moment you post sth online you've opened yourself to criticism." What you said sums it up. I don't doubt that this girl could be harmless in real life, and that she has traumas and that her art and fanfics help her in her introspection. I fully believe her when she says it, but the debate does not end with whether something is therapeutic or not. It is up to her to choose what things to express her art on. She don't lack talent, why do you choose Varg? That's what's shocking, I mean, it's shocking that she brings Pelle into this and twists history to support her capricious ship and celebrate that more and more people join her ship. There you can see that she doesn't do it for herself, she wants more people to romanticize Varg and have the vision of Pelle that she has, which, in my opinion, is a bit humiliating and objectifying.

[khaleesiofalicante]

oh my god

Oh My God

OH MY GOD

This chapter was a ✨masterpiece✨

It was ✨art✨

The tension, the drama, the reveals ✨chefs kiss✨

Magnus Bane, the leader of the Warlock Council ✨legendary and phenomenal ✨. All hail our Lord and Saviour.

All chapters should be like this. I don't need therapy after reading them. Honestly, I am in awe of your writing skills. The planning you have done, oh my god. Dani, I would marry this piece of work, if I could.

The apocalyptic universe. I got chills reading about it. The way you managed to portray the eeriness of that universe is truly so amazing. Like, you can't help but feel chills when you read about it. The visualization was amazing. Then, I don't know if its just me, but the way you can feel that in that universe, there are so less people. It feels so desolate. You can feel it. When I'm reading stuff, there is a kind of color which is associated with that universe. This universe was black to me. Lbaf has been red at times,sometimes dark blue, but never black. Right now, it feels grey but the future universe is black. Almost obsidian. Everyone's desperation can be felt. Like you portrayed it so well. Max feels so similar yet so different at the same time. You can understand from the way he thinks that the past 700 years have weighed down on him. Magnus has also changed. I can't help but feel it's so cruel, the warlock's fate. Everyone else just died. The nephilim I mean. But the Warlocks have to keep living in that universe, deal with the aftermaths. Also, since it's been 700 years and Magnus was already 400, then that means he is more than a thousand years old.And now he has suffered so much, lost his best friends too. Magnus, in my interpretation of him, at least, has never been one who has a "we do what we need to do" mindset. To me, he's more lf a "do what's right" But now he's a leader and he has that entire thing to do what needs to be done. It's a bit scary.

Sorry for ranting so much. I just have so many thoughts about this chapter. In case in wasn't clear, I'm in love. I might be back later to spill more thoughts.

Keep writing such masterpieces.

Much Love💙

Thank you so much, bebe. All the glitter made me feel very warm and I had a very busy day (the irony of overworking women to celebrate women's day lmao) so this made my day 💙

I'm so glad that you picked up exactly what I put down. It was exactly the vibe I was going for and it was definitely interesting to write. I think in any post-apocalyptic world there are stages of existence (liek 5 stages of grief almost) and i think, if i may so, OM and the others are currently at the bargaining stage - so it's despair mixed with hope. they are literally clinging to it because they know there is no fixing this. We literally only saw his world for a few hours. but there is SO MUCH depth there.

Which is why i wanted to write the Diary of Other Max. I wanted to explore the Warlock Academy, Max meeting Story, the first person he killed, Max coming back to find the apartment gone, his first time portal and JUST EVERYTHING AH.

Your analysis of Other Magnus is quite on point. He is definitely a leader of circumstance unlike Rafael and Alec - who were groomed for it and genuinely wanted it. So, you can see that it's weighing on him and Magnus is as desperate as everyone else. I do think Ragnor was a big influence in Magnus taking up the position (Hermes must have def done some guilt tripping there hehe)

Thank you for the love x

[hinamie]

I would bet my two arms the piece is gorgeous anyway, but I understand if you don't find it good enough. Now, about the concept being something already done, jjk is such a big thing that I feel that's bound to happen? I've been in this fandom not too long yet I find the similar ideas repeated over and over. And I don't mind. Quite the opposite, I love it. I wish that were true foe the small fandoms I have been in for years. It's the "holy shit two cakes!" thing, but it's not just that. It's the fact that I just like some artists' styles better than others just because of personal preference, but it's also, mainly, because every time the same fonce has a bit of a twist that is uniquely that artist's, and it's always great. And you say it's not enough, but in a third person pov as a non artist person,I truly find sometimes even the small details in which the art/concept differs sometimes bring so much to the piece they make you reconsider a whole point of view, a whole dynamic, a whole aspect of the text/manga/character

I think it's like comparing translations. Two translators make trantlate the same text into the same language, but even so you can see differences between them,and a bit of the translator,what they thought of the text, the characters, the ideas, their interpretation, shines through. That's the feeling it gives me when two artists go on about doing similar concepts with the same characters/worlds. And there's so much of it in jjk for real

I don't know. I've written a lot but I just wanted to say I'm sure it's all wonderful and gorgeous, that I know/understand why you'd ask more from yourself, but that every piece I've seen of yours has been fantastic, that I always utterly adore your take on concepts and ideas, that it's one of my favourite aspects of your art, and they I love your insight about your pieces in your tags, even if sometimes they also read like you're being a bit too hard on yourself.

thank you so much for taking the time to send this <3 you're absolutely right of course, I know that audiences are not going to turn their nose up at More Content :'> and it makes me happy that u think so highly of my art and the spins i put on certain concepts ! with the recent gojo/screens art , when I drafted the sketch for it I immediately went 'no way this hasnt been done before' so I knew going in that I had to bring my a game, n i got rly discouraged when all th bumps in the road started popping up. by the end I was mostly just tired of working on it, not to mention frustrated that I had wasted a fair chunk of time on the partner piece that I ended up having to scrap. overall just a lot of headache over a piece tht rly shouldn't have warranted it

also . i know i'm too hard on myself a lot of the time but old habits and all that hdsfg it is simply in my nature to pour absolutely everything of myself into my work. it ends up being a double edged sword a lot of the time bc when things like this do inevitably happen it's difficult for me to look past the areas I view as shortcomings . but messages like this do help to put everything into perspective dsghjfh i try to remind myself that most people will look at a drawing once and nowhere near as in-depth as me having worked on it for however many hours.

idk if i said anything in all that but tl;dr thank you for your kindness and reassurance i rly appreciate it <3

[alcohen]

on "real" vs. "entertainment" literature

i wrote this a while ago, when discussing this online as one does at 1am, like all well-adjusted people do. I do like my thoughts here though, so i figured i'd share.

~~

I personnally think that separating literature into "real literature" and "literature for entertainment" (and looking down on the latter because it fits into popular "tropes", therefore lacking integrity) is inherently a trap. Let me explain my point of view.

When I think of many, many pieces of literature that are now considered classic, I can't help but notice that they were, for the most part, actually popular with the readers of their time, and that's what ensured that we still hear about them today. Sure, there are some Van Goghs in literature, whose works only became well-known after the author's death, but these are exceptions. There's no canon without the people who appreciated it when it was first written, without an audience to share it. And what do people like? An interesting story. Sometimes it has depth to it (think Camus, L'Etranger), sometimes it's just a good plot without much philosophy behind it (think Pride and Prejudice)--and I'm not trying to be condescending here, I truly believe that both are equally valuable in their own way. What I'm trying to say is that fitting into a popular, well-marketable trope doesn't in and of itself define the worth of a piece of literature. You never know which story will crush your heart and soul and make you stay up at night, thinking of it.

Secondly, independently of the goal the writer has in mind, independently of their writing skills and the depth of the idea they want to convey, ultimately, a book has to be interesting to read. Think of Boris Vian and his Ecume des jours (sorry, don't know the English title)--he wrote a whole novel in which the daily life of the characters is jarring to read about, and still, we read, because the human story behind it keeps us interested. This is what makes good literature, in my opinion: the ability to captivate the reader. The ability to make the audience think, second-guess themselves, come back to the story, or maybe even be unable to come back because it was too emotionally impacting.

The last thing I wanted to address is writing a cliffhanger solely to sell a sequel. I think that the real question here is why we as writers (including myself here) tend to so eagerly condemn this? I understand being mad about it as a reader; however, as writers, why does it piss us off so much? I think that it has to do with our ego, our need to feel superior to other authors, and we find an easy prey: authors who sell well because they adapted what they write for the market. I honestly think that integrity is a secondary question here; it's about us, not them.

Once I understood this about myself, I decided that I don't want to appoint myself the judge of literature. Literature, as any art, can be good or bad; sometimes what I consider bad will sell well and resonate with a lot of people. Who am I to tell them they like the wrong thing? Who am I to say that what shook them to their core is mediocre? They'd probably say the same about my personal favourites, and I'd be rightfully pissed. At the end of the day, there is no measuring stick in art; I choose to uplift those whom I like and ignore those who do nothing for me.

[butterfliesonthewall]

Game Recommendation for Fellow HeR Nancy Drew fans!!

I know I can’t be the only fan of HeR Interactive’s Nancy Drew series searching for more games with adventure, mystery, and intrigue, right? So I figured: why not? I’ll just throw up a post talking about one of my Special Interest™ games that isn’t one of the Nancy Drews: The Last Express.

If you just want the quick TL;DR version, I would summarize it with: captivating artwork and animation, excellent score and sound design, intriguing mysteries and storylines, brilliant writing and character dialogue, superb acting, and literally the most in-depth real-time mechanic I've ever seen. If you purchase a copy, I would urge you to get the original version on GOG, not Steam’s “Gold Edition” of the game which fubbernucked the menu and has tons of audio glitches. Also: be sure to check the game’s ratings and content warnings beforehand, to make sure you’re a player of appropriate age. Enjoy, friends!

Back to the main post. So, just for a quick bit of backstory: I first got into the Nancy Drew series when I was around 8-years-old, thanks to the recommendation of a friend I had at the time, and I also somewhat got into more difficult puzzle games like those from the Myst series as I got older. Around 11 or 12, my parents brought out an old copy of The Last Express and said they figured at that point I was probably old enough to play it without being scarred for life by its more mature themes. So one night, I popped the first of three discs into my mom’s old Windows Vista (barf), and within mere seconds of the opening, it became one of my favorite games of. all. time. No, really: this game completely changed my understanding of exactly how good storytelling in games could actually be, if done right. I have seen so many games try (and fail) to do what The Last Express does seemingly effortlessly: blend together cinematic storytelling and gameplay in a smooth and balanced way.

(Trigger warning for the trailer!! Contains a few brief shots of blood and violence.)

Seriously, I don’t understand how underhyped this game is. Supposedly the company that released it, Broderbund, really screwed it over by giving it basically no advertising or exposure at all leading up to, and even following its release. My main theory is that this may be due to possibly believing it might not turn out profitable enough to make up for such expenses, since it’s a game that was highly experimental for its time and dabbles in rather niche and esoteric interests, making it a rather enigmatic piece even to this day. I guess the, “Why?” doesn’t really matter now, though.

Either way: I feel that truly did both the game itself and the gaming community as a whole a disservice, since I firmly believe that if this game had been successful, it could have changed the entire frontier of gaming for years to come, particularly in terms of storytelling and character writing. (This game also really makes you appreciate how much “small” details actually matter, modern BETHESDA / HeR.) A big part of the reason I'm writing this review is that I'm hoping at some point this game will get a second chance at glory with the help of the internet.

Now what’s so great about it? Well probably the very first thing you’ll notice about this game is its rather unique art style. The technique used was a blend of rotoscoping both still shots and filmed sequences of live actors and props against blue-screened sets, which were later filled in using digital 3D modelling.

I’ve heard some people describe the art in this game as “ugly,” and while I can agree that it is certainly dated by both modern rotoscoping and 3D modelling standards, personally I can’t say I agree that it’s “ugly” by any means. This was incredibly revolutionary for the time period the game came out in, and while not all of it looks flawless, the game still manages to achieve some truly visually stunning moments. Not to mention, seeing characters that appear so much like real people makes the game incredibly immersive, to the point that once, while waiting in the corridor for a specific time of day, a woman walked past me and excused herself, and I actually replied, out loud, to my computer, “Oh, sorry,” and it took me a solid minute after that to even realize what had just happened.

Don’t worry, though: if the visuals alone aren’t enough to grab you, more good things are on the way.

Another great thing about this game that you’ll notice straight-away is the score: this is hands-down one of the best soundtracks I’ve ever heard in a game. It sets up the tone and emotions for every moment perfectly, and can be quite chilling during the more dark scenes. The music in particular is one of the aspects that I think will appeal highly to fellow Nancy Drew fans, since it’s in a similar vein to many of the soundtracks in the ND series.

In fact, the all-around sound design for this game deserves praise. The sound effects used were all perfectly balanced and created a palpable ambience to the game, making you effectively feel like you’re really on the train. There’s also a very effective use of train sounds in general, particularly in regards to the sound of one braking hard. I swear, this chilling stinger that is heard each time you get a game over is permanently seared into my brain. (As heard in the trailer video, for those curious.)

So brushing away the game’s more “superficial” pros for a moment, what’s it even about? Well, the year is 1914, and you play as a doctor named Robert Cath, who has been wrongly accused of murder and is currently on the run from both the British and French police. Prior to the start of the game, Cath received a telegram from an old friend named Tyler Whitney, claiming he had come across something “exceptional” that required Cath’s assistance. Managing to hop aboard the Orient Express, Cath eventually discovers that Tyler has been murdered, finding him dead and bloody on the floor of his compartment. The rest of the game is a dive into the deepest secrets and personal lives of the other passengers while you, as Cath, adopt Tyler’s identity and attempt to figure out who killed him, why, and where his “exceptional” finding has disappeared to.

The story is a complex web of secrets, lies, puzzles, romance, political conspiracies, art, war, and bloodshed. To give away anything further would enter dangerously into spoiler territory. It’s best to go into the game as blind as possible so you can be totally swept up in its many twists and turns.

This game also has excellent writing, particularly in terms of character interaction and dialogue. Each character is uniquely written and memorable, making it very easy to want to engage with them and learn more about them.

I also have to give praise to the acting. Every single actor gives a stellar performance, even in the more “modest” roles. There’s not much more to be said there; it speaks for itself.

But by far the biggest selling point to the game, at least in my opinion, is its real-time mechanics. This is a game that can not only be played fairly non-linearly, but has a great deal of replayability as well since every character operates on their own schedule of events. The ability to rewind and, to a limited degree, fast-forward time in the menu allows you to explore multiple possibilities, as different events are taking place at the same time all over the train. Not only that, but the creators were quite thorough in making sure that players could explore every single possible decision, which resulted in a highly detailed script at nearly 800 pages long. I am not exaggerating the least bit when I say I have played this game to completion more than a dozen times, and have discovered something new I'd never seen before every time I've played it. Even to this day, I’m still learning things about this game I didn’t know before.

Much like the artwork, the real-time and time-rewinding mechanics were both revolutionary in the industry at the time of this game’s release. Jordan Mechner, the game’s designer, was the original creator of Prince of Persia, and implemented similar time mechanics in that series to those he would go on to use in the Last Express, albeit with a heavier emphasis on storytelling than action in the latter.

Two very important things to note before I wrap up this little review. First of all, while I do recommend this game to fellow Nancy Drew players, I'm recommending it specifically to older players. While I wouldn’t describe this game as particularly “edgy,” it does contain a fair amount of adult themes, such as: nudity, low-level (mostly implied) sexual content, smoking and drinking, a few mild profanities, onscreen violence and bloodshed, and some very grim deaths. It is not child-friendly, so be advised of that.

And secondly, be careful about where you purchase this game. GOG and Steam are the two main sites peddling it, but they’re both selling versions that are different enough to really impact your gameplay, depending on which one you choose. GOG’s version is completely faithful to the original and far less buggy, but Steam has what it calls, “Gold Edition,” and while it cleans up the UI a little and comes with a Hint System to assist players, (as well as the admittedly interesting addition of character screens, though I prefer the mystery and intrigue of not knowing the other passengers’ backgrounds, getting to learn them for myself as I play and explore) I can’t recommend it on the grounds that it’s super buggy, particularly with audio, and completely ruins the charm of the original menu screen. Obviously whichever you choose is your decision, but I would strongly advise purchasing The Last Express on GOG, rather than Steam.

So if this little review persuaded any of you to try it, please feel free to reply to this post, or reblog it and share your opinions and theories! I’d love to see what response my fellow members of the Clue Crew would have to it in particular!

[sleepyrheasworld]

Introverted Chatterbox

There’s a silence that’s grown too comfortable lately. Not the peaceful, calming kind, but the kind that whispers loneliness in the quiet hours. I’ve often pondered the nature of talking. For the longest time, I’ve held the belief that talking is for the extroverted souls who effortlessly exercise through social interactions like professional dancers, leaving me standing awkwardly at the wall during the party.

But here’s the catch — I’ve realized that it’s not that I dislike talking; it’s more about the kind of talking I appreciate. The rich conversations about the little things that make life delightful. The simplicity of discussing random musings, exchanging thoughts and the profound with people close to my heart — that’s what I’ve craved.

In a world where everyone seems to be sprinting in the race of constant chatter, I’ve found comfort in the gentle conversations, the kind that involves sharing mundane details, discussing the complexity of a book, or simply debating the superiority of dogs over cats ( or vice versa ). I’m not the 24/7 conversation enthusiast, but when I engage, I do so with all my heart.

And when I couldn’t find someone to share these bits and pieces of life, I’ve found myself being my own conversation partner. I’ve discovered an unsung joy in talking to myself. It’s not a sign of madness, as some might presume, but a haven where I find the comfort to express thoughts and feelings that might otherwise go unnoticed.

Speaking to myself, I’ve discovered an understanding and empathy that I’ve hardly found elsewhere. It’s like having an intimate dialogue with the one person who truly comprehends the depth of my emotions, who listens to the silent whispers of my heart when words falter.

I’ve realized that talking to oneself isn’t a manifestation of loneliness; it’s a testament to the depth of self-understanding. It’s the art of giving voice to the thoughts and feelings that is within.

So, here’s to the quiet conversations, the musings shared with loved ones, and the beautiful monologues I have with myself. In this symphony of silence and chatter, I’ve found the harmony that ring within my introverted soul.

Yours in the beauty of quiet conversations,

soni

[septembersghost]

Sorry for sending so many negative asks and you don’t have to answer the last two, or if you want to you can answer what I said about Gen Z on here. I had a hard year last year and can honestly say watching the Elvis movie in theaters, Austin’s great performance, and getting into Elvis helped me get through it. It just sucks going online for the past year and reading nothing but hateful and negative comments about Elvis and Austin on the internet, especially from holier than thou Gen Zers who have no problem stanning people who are way worse :/

going to begin with this screenshot i saved the other day, that truly just encapsulates a lot to me:

also this gif my friend chelsea shared with me of el banishing haters for us. 😊 begone!

i have a lot to say to this and am unsure where to begin, so allow me to start here:

I had a hard year last year and can honestly say watching the Elvis movie in theaters, Austin’s great performance, and getting into Elvis helped me get through it. <- first and foremost, WITH ALL MY HEART, this is the point. this is what's important. that experience belongs to you, and it's BEAUTIFUL and meaningful, and there's nothing that can or should take that away from you. i am SO glad you had the film and austin's stunning performance, and then discovering more in e himself to help you. the value in that is unbelievably special, and it's unique in all of us who discover that solace in art and hold onto it in our own ways. the film has come to mean more to me than i can express in silly little posts here, and i haven't had that for a long time.

i'm so sorry you were having a hard time, i understand in my own way. i didn't expect to even make it through last year myself. there is a particular depth of connection and some measure of healing that came with this that i can't explain except to say it exists on some spiritual level. idk if you were here when i wrote a post on the night of the grammys, but there's a significant part of myself that i'd been without for a long time, and maybe didn't even fully know was missing, that e almost immediately set back. as if that broken piece of stained glass mosaic was there, but had been knocked out of place, and when it was restored, the picture was more whole again, and i could breathe a bit easier. like a bridge over troubled water. you don't know what's lost 'til you find it! i sincerely hope that you're doing better now <333

i have to cut this because it's long. 💗

i don't know where exactly you're reading negative comments, maybe i've just been very fortunate to avoid them since i've encountered them so rarely and block the few i've seen immediately (and anyone who has anything negative to say about aus is deranged on some level, when he's unequivocally humble and kind in every interaction he has. the only things i've seen about him are inane voice comments, and not only is that not funny, and was never funny, it's also clear anyone who thinks that has never listened to a clip of elvis speaking for two seconds in their life, as they sound nothing alike! i hate that something which should only have been joyful and made him feel proud has made him self-conscious because the media can't ignore trolls on the internet. austin is such a genuine soul). regarding elvis himself, he was certainly a complex human being, but he was unquestionably a GOOD one. it takes so little time to discover exactly who he was and all that he stood for, all he did.

it's like i read a story yesterday about how, when he performed at the houston astrodome, the owner told him he didn't want black people onstage and to leave the sweet inspirations behind, and elvis was like, absolutely not, they're included or i walk, period. and then he had had them driven in a car around the arena so that everyone could see them. it's such a typical story for him (standing up for people he loved and what he believed in with a delightful dose of king shit defiant behavior). it's why it's so easy to dispel ANY claim of racism because he was distinctly anything but, and there are countless stories recounting why.

you said: To add to my comment, I can’t stand reading most zoomers opinions of Elvis because the takes are almost always misinformed and hateful yet they worship artists like (he who shall not be named, I sent you a previous anon about him) 🤷‍♀️

speaking as your millennial elder sister here, i assume they either erroneously believe he somehow mistreated people of color (could not be less true), "stole" his music and/or misappropriated culture (absolutely not the case, and if anything, he succeeded in BREAKING a lot of barriers), or the situation with priscilla. i've addressed cilla before, but anyone making that into a more salacious situation than it was is not HEARING her specifically. they victimize her without listening to a word she says about the life that is HERS. about things that were in place before they got married, about the love they had for one another. they victimize her without her consent and i find that really upsetting. they're also not hearing any of the other women he was ever romantically involved with who have shared about him extensively, nor the women who were around him platonically who adored him. or they're listening to GROSS unfounded lies perpetuated by alanna nash, who i'm on record despising. did he have some ingrained patriarchal concepts? sure. he was a white man born in 1935, but none of those ideas were outrageous and it's not fair to even weigh that against our social mores in 2023, when we've been without him for 46 years. he had tremendous respect and love (not merely in the physical way) for women. he had tremendous respect and love for PEOPLE. i think of myrna saying elvis would've loved her just the same, no matter what color she was, because of who he was. it's infuriating for that to be taken away from him by people who don't even bother to do their research or try to spend a moment lending him compassion and understanding.

not to play the whatboutism game, but the person you mention has FAR worse and actually credible allegations, and yet that gets waved off all the time. i could name...a number of very famous men who have concrete abuse allegations or stories of very dark/disturbing things, and it simply gets ignored. i could mention someone who's oft-revered who was also a misogynist, racist, antisemitic homophobe and gets very little criticism. it's crazy to me that elvis gets any of those accusations when there's documented proof of his charitable work for black people (and literally growing up with and attending church with and learning alongside of and befriending and defending!), for jewish people (including being a shabbos goy as a child!), his generosity and care for others, and so on. someone sent me an anon the other day saying they feel like people online hold him to an unfair double standard (and they referenced a different famous musician who is far more problematic), which i responded to here. the fact of the matter is, a lot of it is rooted in caricature and parody and unfair jokes/stereotypes, some of which is incorrect judgment of elvis as a human being, some of which is this idea that anyone from the south must be stupid and racist, which is wildly unfair. remember: YOU KNOW MORE THAN THEM. i KNOW it hurts and is depressing and feels bad to not be able to fight back and defend him and prove his worth to everyone who discounts him, but that's on them and they don't get it, which is their loss. tbh anyone who doesn't get it can fuck right off. you know what he means to you.

the thing about elvis is, he had this...all-encompassing need for connection and understanding, and there was some part of him always seeking that. be that spiritually, and in his deep faith and interest in many avenues of philosophical study/thought, or in his approach to love of any kind. he didn't want to be just one thing to people, he wanted to, in some way, be everything. which maybe is too much for anyone to strive towards, but it was in his essence. chelsea also recently told me elvis was very interested in all the different definitions of love - the greek words, storge, philia, eros, agape, etc, and i personally feel a strong connection to that because that's always captivated me too, not merely the differences, but the way they inform each other. how we express love in this world.

el having a temper or making some mistakes in his life does not negate the artistry he possessed, nor, on a much more personal level, the amount of good he did and heart and soul he shared with people. loved ones, family, romances, fans, he had this boundless sense of love.

which brings me to us. i mean it when i say i believe it would mean everything to him if he knew how many new people, ESPECIALLY young people, are discovering him and embracing him and remembering him.

going to quote chelsea again: "it's like the people who find him are the good ones, you know? the thoughtful, loyal, interesting ones who see him as a full person. which is all he ever wanted."

i believe, without question, that he would love us so much. i believe he was meant for us to find him. i believe it would touch his soul to know he's had an impact on us, or helped us make it through, or healed something in us in any way. that would be worth everything to him. and he's so alive in our hearts, and i know he's going to stay there. that's what has the meaning, that's what remains.

to repeat this post from the other day:

i was having a discussion with tam like five minutes before this tweet was posted, about the people who dismiss him or belittle him not understanding the truth of who he was, not loving him for the whole of him the way that we do, so when this was tweeted, it felt almost like a sign from the universe. no matter how loud the clamor of denial, WE know what that love truly is.

you decide where to put your love. you know what restores your spirit. that matters through everything. i believe he reached out to and moved austin for a reason, that that performance was meant to happen. and deep in my heart, i believe there's some light of his reaching back that sparks in ours.