#this was more time consuming than i thought it would be

[httpsdrewstarkey]

shadows of doubt || drew starkey

authors note: hi here’s a part two to jealously that several people requested :) flashbacks are in bold print masterlist

warnings: angst! mentions of odessa

synopsis: reader struggles with the heartbreak of her relationship with drew, longing for the intimacy they once shared. as she reflects on their emotional disconnect, she realizes she deserves a love that values her, even if it means letting go.

Y/N laid in the hotel bed with a heavy weight pressing on her chest. The alcohol she had consumed earlier with Madelyn still pulsed through her veins, making her regret every sip. It made her thoughts spiral, the memories from a few months ago washing over her. Her throat began to tighten, and her vision started to blur, causing the frustration and anger to build as she replayed their last conversation and the way it ended. She rolled over, feeling defeated, and made her way to the bathroom hoping a shower would help ease her mind. She closed her eyes, letting the soft hum of the shower fill the silence as the warm water ran down her body, but the heat only intensified the memory of their last time together. 

Her back was pressed against Drew’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing as his arms wrapped around her. His warmth seeped into her skin, and though the heat from the water was comforting, it was the softness of his touch that had her heart racing.

“I missed you,” he whispered, his breath warm against her neck. His voice was low, almost vulnerable as his hand traced a slow, soothing path up and down her arm. 

“I missed you too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, the weight of her own longing heavy in her chest. His lips found her neck as he pressed his lips onto her damp skin. She could feel him smiling against her, the feeling making her pulse quicken. 

“I missed you more,” he murmured, a smile evident in his voice as he continued to kiss her neck.  Y/N couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped her, the intimacy of his presence almost making her nervous at the closeness of their bodies. 

His hands moved across her body, his fingertips brushing the skin of her stomach before moving to her sides as if he was trying to memorize her. She tilted her head, giving him more access to her neck, kissing up to the spot just beneath her ear, where he knew it would make her melt.

“How was Omar’s concert?” she asked, her voice soft, an attempt to ground herself in the moment, to focus on something other than the intoxicating closeness between them.

“It was great,” Drew replied between kisses, “I wanted you there with me, always want you with me.” His voice was low, filled with a sincerity that made her heart feel like it would burst. She let out a soft hum in response, a small smile on her lips. His hand rested lightly on her stomach for a moment, his thumb brushing small circles as his other hand moved to her waist, gripping her. 

She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against his shoulder as his lips returned to her neck, more insistent this time, each kiss sending sparks across her skin. His fingertips tracing down her stomach, finding her clit. 

She was snapped out of her thoughts, forcing herself to forget the way his hands felt all over her body, as though they were imprinted into her skin, leaving a lingering sensation that almost made her itch. She missed him—the way he could make her feel when they were alone, the warmth of his touch and the quiet connection they shared in private. But no matter how much she craved those moments, she couldn't shake the ache of wishing it could be something more. Every intimate moment was a bittersweet reminder of what they weren’t.

The memory hit her hard. It wasn’t just the words—they were sharp, yes—but the way he’d brushed off everything she was trying to say, as if her feelings didn’t even matter. She could still feel the sting, that lump in her throat, the tears burning as they fell because he wouldn’t even acknowledge what she was going through. He just stood there, denying it all, while she unraveled in front of him.

The night had started out so differently. They had just stepped out of the shower, steam lingering in the air as Drew wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. His warmth, the softness of his touch—it made everything feel right. They settled into their evening routine, light music drifting through the background of Drew’s apartment. It felt cozy, intimate, like they were in their own little bubble. But then, as she glanced over at his phone lying on the coffee table, a notification caught her eye, and her heart sank. Odessa.

She blinked, trying to push down the sudden rush of emotion, but the name stuck out like a warning sign. She could feel the adrenaline beginning to pump through her body, her muscles tensing as her mind raced. Her thoughts spiraled. Odessa had always been around, part of his life in ways that sometimes-made her feel small, unseen. She wasn’t the jealous type—or so she told herself—but seeing her name again, popping up so casually on Drew’s phone, stirred something in her she couldn’t ignore.

“Is Odessa flying in?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

Drew looked up, surprise flickering across his face as he walked over to the couch, handing her a plate of food. “Yeah, I told you that the other day, baby.”

“Right.” She fought to keep her tone steady, but her stomach twisted. “But you didn’t mention she was staying here with you.”

He shrugged, a casual gesture that felt like a slap. “It’s not a big deal. She’s just a friend.”

“Just a friend,” she echoed, surprise giving way to rising anger. “So, you thought it wouldn’t matter to tell me? That I wouldn’t care?”

“Why would it matter? You’ve met her. She’s not a threat.”

“Not a threat?” The incredulity in her voice was sharp. “You’re so close with her. It feels like I’m competing for your attention while she gets all of you.”

Drew shook his head, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. “You’re making this a problem. Odessa’s visit doesn’t change anything between us.”

Her heart raced, frustration swelling. “You spend hours on the phone with her, laughing and sharing things you don’t even tell me. How can you not see why I’m upset?”

“Because you’re overreacting!” he yelled, the tension thickening in the air. His jaw tightened, and she was taken aback—he rarely raised his voice and it stirred something unsettling inside her.

“Overreacting?” Her voice wavered, but she pressed on. “I’m trying to explain how this makes me feel, and you just brush it off like it’s nothing. It’s like my feelings don’t matter to you.”

“You’re making it all about you!” he shot back, crossing his arms defensively. The air felt suffocating, as if the walls were closing in. “This isn’t betrayal. You’re just looking for reasons to be upset.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so upset if you actually listened to me!” she exclaimed, tears welling despite her efforts to stay strong. “I just want to feel like I matter, Drew. But every time I try to talk to you, you act like I’m crazy for caring.”

He turned away, frustration boiling into silence as she felt the distance between them expanding.  “You always do this, Y/N. You blow things out of proportion.”

“No, I’m not blowing anything out of proportion!” she cried, desperation creeping into her voice. “It hurts when you don’t share things with me. When I feel like I’m the last to know, it makes me feel small and unimportant.”

“Maybe you should focus on your own insecurities instead of blaming me for them,” he replied, the coldness creeping into his tone.

"I’m not blaming you!” Tears spilled over, burning against her skin. “I’m trying to tell you how your actions make me feel, and you refuse to acknowledge it!”

She was a mess, tears rolling down her face as they sat in silence, both frustrated with each other. She looked at him, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. A part of her debated breaking the silence, maybe even telling him he was right—that she was overreacting. But she couldn’t do it. She knew she deserved better. She loved the little bubble they shared, but she also knew that eventually, the world would see them together, and she couldn’t ignore how that felt.

Swallowing hard, she finally broke the silence, keeping her eyes locked on him, as she stood from the couch, “You can’t keep dismissing me like this, I won’t let you make me look like a fool.”  

As Y/N made her way back to the bed, the silence of the room pressed in around her, she stared at the ceiling, her heart aching, her mind swirling with memories of him. She longed for the comfort of his presence, for the way they’d retreat into their own little bubble where the rest of the world didn’t matter. She wanted to hear his voice, feel his arms around her, and pretend everything was okay. The need was so intense, it felt like it might tear her apart.

She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, her chest heaving with the weight of it all, the tears continuing to run down her face. But even through the tears, there was a new kind of strength taking root inside her, growing quietly beneath the sadness. She knew she was worth more. And she would wait—no matter how long it took—for the kind of love that made her feel whole, the kind of love that didn’t hurt.

[dekariosclan]

We know from the epilogue that Gale is often so immersed in his research that he can ignore everything in the world, including Tav, until he finishes. How will Gale make amends after a few days of ignoring his love?

Ps: Tav wasn't really mad at him, of course, but sometimes it's a shame that the book is given more time than Tav, don't you think so?

Ooh what a great question!! 🥰

So I have to imagine that Gale getting caught up in his research—the topic of which can be anything and everything, depending on what his brilliant mind decides to focus on that week—is something Tav gets used to pretty quickly.

But I don’t believe that Gale ever fully ignores Tav, no matter how passionate he is about the topic he’s working on. For example, I don’t see him locking himself away in his study for hours at a time and completely forgetting to interact with Tav. This is a man who spent a year+ in lonely isolation, bereft, desperately longing for company. This is a man whose greatest wish (as shown by the magic mirror in Act I) has always been for a sweetheart to join him in his tower. And this is a man who, even when he read Karsus’s book and his thoughts were consumed with the knowledge it contained, was still focused on Tav, and what Tav would think, and how Tav would react.

So all that said—what I DO think happens is that he becomes immersed in his research to the point of complete distraction.

I can see him going up and down the tower, rummaging through his piles of books and bookshelves, paging through giant tomes, then tossing them aside and muttering to himself, while his conjured mage hand scribbles notes on a piece of parchment. Meanwhile, Tav watches all of this with fond amusement—because while Gale is pacing around with his nose buried in a book, his mind seemingly a million miles away, he’ll still occasionally take Tav’s hand and press it to his lips for a gentle kiss, all without ceasing his reading.

At other times he’ll step into the room and, with his gaze focused on the book or notes clutched in his hands, start bouncing ideas off of Tav: “My love, did you know that the alchemical properties of Daggerroot make it an excellent weapon coating? Do you think it could also be used for medicinal properties? Yes or no?…Hmm—I can tell by your silence that you are hesitant about it…you know, I do believe that you are correct in your assessment. Yes, now that I think about it, Mugwort remains the superior choice. Excellent advice my love, you truly know how to steady the direction of my mind even through the most volatile of seas!” Then he’ll hurry away—all without realizing that Tav was not even in the room, but in the hallway behind him, watching all this play out while trying not to laugh.

AND THEN, finally, when Gale has completed his work and the scholarly portion of mind is satisfied (until the next topic takes hold…) Tav will look up from whatever they were doing to find that their delightful wizard has, without their noticing, conjured an entire dinner spread of Tav’s favorite foods, scented candles, and flowers.

And their wizard will be before them, gently plucking whatever book or letter or item that Tav had been engaged with from their grasp, so that he can take both of their hands in his. Then he’ll caress them slowly, while smiling lovingly into Tav’s eyes, his full attention on them and them alone.

“Done with your research now, are you?” Tav will ask with a smile.

But Gale will shake his head. “My love,” he will admonish gently, as he worshipfully caresses his fingers over their face, down their jawline. “You should know that a wizard’s research is never done.”

Then he’ll place his bent finger under their chin, and smile. “I’m simply moving on to studying my favorite subject,” he’ll conclude, as he tips their head up and kisses them deeply.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mad Season 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, social anxiety, chronic illness, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker

Summary: a class project gets messy. (short!reader)

Note: happy weekend.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Hey, how’d you get in?” Peter rushes in, a tray of drinks in hand. 

You pop up on the stool, broken from your trance. Uncertain what else to do, you spent much of your time trying to distract yourself with his schematics. You twist to face him. 

“Um, Bucky,” you answer and cringe at home dumb you sound. “He helped.” 

“Bucky? Helpful?” He nears and puts the cardboard tray on the table, “I guess he can be.” He picks at the edge of the tray, “I got you a blueberry matcha. The place I hit didn’t have strawberry in season anymore.” 

“Oh, sounds... interesting, but you--” 

“Didn’t have to. I know, you always say so but I felt bad for being so late. I told may to get an airtag for her wallet. She can be so--” he stops himself and chuckles. “It’s whatever. She’s got a lot going on.” 

“Mhm,” you accept the cup he offers. “I was just looking over the plans. I think we could probably just go with yours. Makes more sense.” 

“What? Oh, no way,” he takes his iced whatever. It just looks like layers of sugar and cream. “I think we could easily bring together both. Take some of your features and mine. I don’t want to take over.” 

“Yeah, but...” 

“But nothing. Really. It’s a team project, not my project,” he insists as he hops up on the stool next to you, “so,” he swipes his hand in the air and a holographic screen appears. You flinch. “Let’s compare and redraw.” 

You gape as another floating rectangle appears before him. No wonder his look so much better than your Paint hack job. You want to sink down and disappear. You always figured you’re not interesting enough to be his friend but now you’re certain you might be too stupid and poor for him too. 

“So, I’m going to get logged in...” he mutters. 

“Um, Peter?” You murmur, “are you sure you wanna be my partner?” 

“Why... wouldn’t I?” He hovers his hand before the screen as he looks at you. 

“I dunno. I don’t... I don’t have much to offer. Not a lab, not all these cool computers...” 

“Oh this? No, it’s not—it's not a big deal. Dude, I'm so lucky Mr. Stark is letting me use this. I’m not ignorant, you know? I just thought it would be easier. I don’t think your roommates like me much and mine are so loud.” he explains as he lowers his arm, crossing both over the table as he leans on it. “Do you not want to be my partner?” 

“Nnnooo,” you drag the word out. “No, I do, but I want to contribute to and I don’t know how to use any of this.” 

“That’s cool. I’ll show you.” 

“Um, okay,” you nibble your lip sheepishly. “I guess...” 

“Did you try the tea? Is it good?” He changes the subject. He does that a lot. Pivots around before you can finish your thoughts. 

“Not yet,” you look down at the bright pink lid, “where did you get this?” 

“Some place called Berry? I don’t know. Everything was bright. You’d hate it,” he laughs again. “Oh,” he snaps his fingers as you blow into the lid cautiously. “Before I forget, I’m having a party. I know it’s not really your thing but it’s ‘my turn’,” he makes quotations with his fingers, “and I don’t really wanna but I also thought I'd invite you in case you wanted to not be there with me, too.” 

Your blink in surprise, “a party?” 

“I know, too much. Well, I didn’t wanna leave you out.” 

“Mmm,” you drone nervously. It is really nice of him to think of you and after everything else, you hate to say no. “No one ever invited me to a party.” 

“No?” His brow furrows, “really?” 

You shake your head, “I’ll come. Yeah. I’ll try. You know, it’s college and ...” you take a sip and clear your throat, “should I bring a dessert?” 

He laughs and gives you a playful grudge, “wow, I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone ask me that except my aunt’s friends. Nope, you can just come as you are. You can always bring some drinks for yourself but I’ll have more than enough to share.” 

“Oh, okay,” you nod. 

“The tea good?” He asks again. 

“Yeah, sweet,” you put the cup down. 

“Awesome!” He grins. “I really didn’t think you’d come. I’m so excited.” 

“Really?” You ask. 

“Well, duh. You’re so fucking cool. Like all my other friends, they try so hard. It’s all ‘let’s go do shots’ or ‘watch me do this dumb shit’. You don’t even try, you’re just you. It’s like people don’t realize they can just be nice and be cool for just that.” 

“I... yeah,” you don’t know what to say.  

It’s like he’s calling you boring but not. You know you are and you don’t mind but you can’t ever remember when you just felt like everyone else. Where you weren’t the odd one out. Despite trying to include you, Peter still manages to push you to the edges. 

You wince as you notice how he stares at you. You fidget and pick at the button on the front of your corduroy skirt. His eyes flick down to the nervous movement. 

“I like that,” he reaches to touch the ridged fabric, “blue. Oh, thick.” 

Your leg twitches in surprise, “uh, yeah... found it at the student thrift shop.” 

“Really?” His fingers brush over the hem and touch your coloured tights. They linger for a moment before he pulls away. “Cute. I’ve never been there.” 

“It’s not bad...” you cross your legs as you knee tingles from his touch. That was strange. 

“Well, anyway,” he waggles his fingers as he turns back to the table, “uh, where was I?” He squints at the screens and taps in the air. He pauses and looks at you. “Here, I’ll show you how it work, alright?”  

He reaches over again and you brace yourself. He grabs the underside of the stool seat and drags you closer. He it so easily, you gasp. He’s a lot stronger than he looks. He slides his hand around so his arm is diagonal around your back. 

“Right, so...” his shoulder presses to you as he points with his other arm, “you can just use your finger. I’ll have to add your prints to the program. Put your hands up.” 

You obey as he stays close. You’re overly away of it. The way he’s pressed to you. He doesn’t seem to notice at all. You try not to think of it and focus on his instructions. The project. That’s why you’re here. 

[lotuseye]

honey,  will  you  serve  me  lemonade?

satoru  gojo  and  his  special  grade  sorcerer  ex-wife  are  assigned  to  a  mission  together. part i , trash magic.

word   count:   1449.

genre:   multi-chapter.

characters:   satoru  gojo  &  special  grade  sorcerer  ex  wife.

trigger   warning:   none.

she is just as beautiful as the day she has left him.

no blindfold is enough to keep the woman out, not a barrier she would not beam right through with the force of a thousand suns. it hurts him, the way it did the first time he saw her - how bright she was, how all consuming. how she refused to be ignored or dulled out, a headache for the six eyes but an enchanting addiction for the man that bore them. the sonorous echo of the footsteps that echo through the hallway, the courtesy of the cherry boots she had always adored. ysl's loveshine candy glaze adorning her cupid's bow, and those eyes! oh, those jewels of eyes. it gets so, so hard to remember why he had let her walk away from him when she looks as ethereal as she does. he's missed even that cocky grin of hers, the one that seemed to exist solely in purpose of finding that one nerve no one has even found before and stepping on it with the soles of her pretty heels.

“ my, my. are my eyes failing me, or is mrs. gojo blessing the headquarters with her grace? ” the click of his tongue comes with a bold reverence, the gesture one of mockery but never of disrespect. his zeal and cockiness seem to have drawn an invisible line around the shape of her, his knee bending to the authority without question. not everything was about power, and even if it was, those nails had an unearthly precision when it came to sinking themselves into the dearest corners of his heart.

“ still yearning? ” a pout bends her mouth, faux, teasing. “ oh c’mon, don’t be like that, honey. left your name in the court, remember? ” her bracelets gleefully rattle as she pats his shoulder a bit too friendly on her way past him, the simple whiff of her shampoo dazzles him, the mockery duly ignored and brushed aside for the scent of belanis, amber and juniper. talk about yearning. “ still the same shampoo, i see. ” he trails along her, his footsteps lighter than hers, quick on his feet and airy as he always had been. “ attachment problems, perhaps? ” he tries his hand at teasing her back, quite a miserable attempt but forgiveness was mandatory - she had a unique gift of unraveling him, just as she does now, with nothing more than a snort and a roll of her honey eyes. “ mhm, you’d know a thing or two about those. ” already bored of the conversation, she brushes everything aside with a wave of her hand, a clear dismissal. “ do you know what they’ve summoned me for? i came all the way from bulgaria for this, there better be an apocalypse waiting on us. ”

right, bulgaria. hopping from country to country, a faithful pilgrim on the path of something she would not grace him with the understanding of - research, it was, to understand how their world worked better than they did. a noble cause, truly. however, it did not keep satoru from wondering often if yuki would ever stop rattling the brains of people he loved, or if it was him who was so, so in love with things that would gladly dedicate themselves to a path that did not belong to him. people that would truly never be his. people that he could beg and plead for but would not return, doomed to be waiting for something that would not come.

well, that is enough to spoil the mood, the thought process faster than he could stop, and the shift in his demeanor only takes a few blinks before he stands a bit straighter. ‘ dunno, ’ he shrugs, matching her pace, chin held high. “ yaga has been weird for a minute now. and i don’t like the way that tengen’s barriers have been glitching now. do you feel the shift in the resonance? ” he asks, curious for her input. satoru would not deem himself a man that looked for answers in others, but the wife that was no longer his was quite damn good at filling the gaps for him, quite good at being the lighthouse in his void, which just made things unnecessarily harder.

he watches the way her eyebrows scrunch together in concentration, her steps slow down. the silence stretches between them, and satoru respects it, before she eventually speaks. “ when did this start? ” she asks, not quite worried but rather intrigued. maybe it was not him, who was so in love with things beyond their reach. “ this is weird. it’s like someone’s fucking with the frequency. ” she glances around, lips pursing into a thin line with consideration. “ i wanna’ hear what yaga says. ” she concludes eventually, continuing to their stroll from where they left it.

the familiar door of their once teacher, now principle, is pushed open after two knocks.

“ you didn’t left a hole in the world you didn’t squeeze into and you still got no manners, ” yaga sighs, glancing up from the amount of paperwork that has piled up on the oak desk. “ have i said come in? ”

“ bold scolding from a man that begged for me come help. ” she grins, unfazed as she easily slides into one of the chairs. in front of the desk, one leg thrown atop the other and for a second satoru can recall their young years, when they had sat countless times on those chairs as culprits of stupid pranks and silly little mistakes they have lied about over and over again. they’d get a scolding, then they’d go and beat each other’s ass on the training field until they tired of it and laid half dead on the ground, bickering about how the other played unfair. life had seemed much simpler back then. the adolescence awkwardness has left her, but the blind confidence was still vigorously intact. “ you’re looking good, yaga. as healthy as a horse. what’d you do with the hair? looks shiny. ” she gestures, and yaga sighs, clearly on the way to regret his decision. “ i don’t know why bringing you home would be a good idea, i forgot how much of the antics of this idiot you’ve picked up. ” he scoffs, pointing a finger at satoru, to which satoru replies with a frown and a “ hey! ”

“ rude and incorrect. the only thing i got from satoru was abandonment issues and trust problems, ” she solemnly claims with her index finger in the air, like she’s drawing a very objective and very factual point. she doesn’t look at him, and he doesn’t know if he would feel better or worse if she did. “ do continue, though. ” she elegantly gestures, clearly uninterested in the answer yaga might have. “ satoru says tengen is glitching. what’s up with that? ”

“ that’s what you’re here to figure out, ” yaga smiles, but it is not the happy kind. it rarely ever is. “ we cannot be doing all the work for you now, can we? i assigned you and satoru together. ” he leans back in his chair, scratching behind the ear of a cursed corpse in the shape of a house cat snoring at the corner of his desk. “ believe me, it was unfortunate calling on my part as well but unfortunately we have bigger problems than your divorce. put those techniques of yours in good use and try to get along, would you? for the sake of the rest of us. we need to understand what’s going on with tengen, this is a top priority mission. ”

he doesn’t know what to make of the sigh she releases, sitting uncharacteristically silent across her, feigning listening to the conversation when all he can think about is how he’s supposed to be around her when just half an hour gets him as on edge as it does. eventually, she meets his gaze, the gleam undecipherable. “ it seems like it’s gonna be you and me, then. in that case, ” she leans forward, elbows rested on knees. “ i kinda’ don’t wanna have this conversation in front of yaga but it is what it is… ” a deep sigh, then the forced slump of shoulders. “ let’s not be weird about things, yeah? we’ve faced greater foes, we can be adults about this. ”

satoru takes a look at the olive branch she extends, and despite the sudden urge that rises to break it just to see her feel anything, anything at all, he manages to nod in response. but even as he nods that he knows deep inside that this is a horrible fucking idea and that he won’t be able to get his head together as much as for a blink. “ yeah. ” two fingers rub at his chin, thoughtful. “ let’s be adults. ”

© written by lotuseye. do not translate or copy my work.

[callsign-rogueone]

questions

Ridoc Gamlyn x reader (sweetheart!) Part three of Ridoc and Sweetheart's story words: 2.9k 🏷: no real book spoilers, this will make more sense if you've read Resson (Garrick's version) but it's not required, set a week or two into Iron Flame, this is a sweetheart chapter so warning for intrusive / self-deprecating thoughts and anxiety spirals, I made a bunch of stuff up about Ridoc's life because RY never told us anything, Rhith being a cool mom, this hasn't been proofread, oops. gonna go have a bagel now byeeee

Rhith had told you that Ridoc would meet you at the gates at eleven — so naturally you’ve been standing there since 10:45, rocking back and forth on your heels and peeling your cuticles.

Why did you agree to do this? Actually, this was your idea — why did you bring it up? What if he’s not going to show up, and you’re just going to stand here for an hour like an idiot?

“Hey! Am I late?” he asks, startling you out of your thoughts. He’s a little out of breath, like he’d ran here, but he offers you a wide smile nonetheless.

You open your mouth to speak just as the bells chime. 

“Guess not,” he laughs when they’re done. “You ready to go?”

You nod, stuffing your hands into your pockets so he can’t see the state of your fingers. Thankfully it’s not too hot to wear your flight jacket. This is your first venture into town, and you don’t want to have your relic on display when you’re in a new place — just going is scary enough.

He leads the way — of course he knows where you’re going. He probably goes out every weekend with his friends; another way you’re completely different.

“I figured we could play twenty questions,” he offers. “Get to know each other a little more. You can go first, if you want.”

You take a second to remember how to speak again. “Alright, um… do you have any hobbies?”

“Coming up with jokes is pretty time consuming.”

“And here I thought they were all completely spontaneous,” you say, shaking your head. “Do you write them all down in that fabled diary of yours?”

He laughs. “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t actually have one?”

You tilt your head to the side, considering it. “Only because I don’t see you spending your free time sitting down, writing.” 

“You wound me, sweetheart. I assure you, I’m perfectly capable of writing complete sentences.”

“I never said you weren’t. I just said that I didn’t see you doing it.”

“Fair. Tell me about your book,” he prompts. “The one you’re always carrying around.”

“That’s not a question.”

He gives you a sly smile. “Well played. I’ll rephrase, then. What’s the book about? Do you like it?”

“That’s two questions.”

He laughs, warm and full. “I can’t get anything past you, can I?”

“Three.”

“Okay, okay. The first one, then — what's it about?”

“The main character is a trained assassin who is called before the king to join a contest to become his hitman, basically. But the contestants keep getting murdered in the night by some creature that they can’t track down.  It’s part of a series, but I’ve never seen the other volumes anywhere. I like to imagine a different ending every time I read it.”

“You’ve read it more than once?”

You ignore the fact that that’s yet another question, answering it without protest. “Yeah. I know that’s dumb, but it was the book I was in the middle of when my life went to shit. It’s technically property of the library in Aretia, but it was burnt to the ground, so I never gave it back.”

Your heart beats a little faster at the mention of your hometown, and you immediately regret bringing it up, but thankfully Ridoc seems none the wiser. 

“There’s nothing dumb about it if it makes you happy.”

You’ve just stepped into the tiny restaurant when a man that you guess is the owner sees Ridoc and pulls him into a tight hug. “I was wondering when you’d bring your girlfriend!”

Your cheeks warm, but you don’t correct him — that would be too awkward.

Ridoc doesn’t correct him either. “I set up Ezra here with ice that never melts,” he explains with a smile.

“It’s been a blessing. Keeps everything fresh longer, so I don’t have to waste it. You two sit — I’ll make you something special, on the house.” He disappears into the tiny kitchen in the back, leaving the two of you alone in the nearly-empty dining room. 

Ridoc gestures to a table in the corner, away from the door, and you settle into the chair silently. You can’t help but run through Garrick’s mental checklist — your back is to the wall, and you have clear sight of the two exits. You have a knife in your right boot and one in your left sleeve — plus the blunt one laid on the table in front of you. The fork would probably do more damage, though.

“I think it’s your turn.”

“Hm? Oh. Right.” You take a moment to look at him. “Why are you here?”

He gives you a stupid grin. “Because you asked me on a date.”

You roll your eyes. “No, I mean, why Basgiath? Why the rider’s quadrant?”

“Oh, I know. I just wanted to remind you that this whole thing was your idea. But really… probably because I’m an adrenaline junkie who feels like he has to prove to the world that he’s not an idiot. And I’ve always admired the riders and their magic. We can do some pretty cool shit.” 

There’s a pause, and his voice softens as he continues. “I know you didn’t want to be here, so I probably sound super ignorant saying all that. I do think it’s fucked up that you didn’t get a choice — and the way that they handled all of it.”

“I respect your answer. It was honest.”

His turn for a question. “How do you feel about it, really, being here? Not here as in here,” he clarifies, tapping the table, “but at Basgiath.”

You look at him for a second. “Is that your question, or…”

“It can be. But if you don’t want to talk about it, we can go back to the dumb ones.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say quietly, thinking for a second. “I’ve accepted it, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.”

He’s quiet, giving you space to elaborate — the same way Garrick does; not prying, but silently offering to let you tell him what you’re thinking, if you want to.

“Challenges are the one thing here that doesn’t scare me, because I don’t have to think about it anymore. I know what to do if someone takes a swing at me, and I know how to disarm someone, because Garrick made me practice hundreds of times. But everything else…” 

“Is uncertain and unfamiliar, and therefore scary,” he finishes for you. 

You’re a little surprised by the gentle tone of his voice, the lack of judgment in his words. “That pretty much sums it up.”

Another pause.

“I’ve had an anxiety disorder pretty much my whole life,” you admit. “I was that kid in school that everyone thought couldn’t speak, because I never talked to anyone, except my siblings. Liam was my first real friend who was my age. He didn’t mind the quiet. We would just sit together, and he’d do his wood carvings while I read my books. That was good enough for both of us.”

“Where are they now? Your siblings, I mean.”

You’re silent for a moment, looking down at the tablecloth and the barely distinguishable pattern of flowers woven into it. 

“I know that’s two in a row for me,” he says, backpedaling. “And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“I had a brother and a sister. They were eight and ten years older than me, but they were my best friends. I think they knew that I didn’t have anyone my age, so they always let me tag along for everything until they left for Basgiath.”

“They went here?”

You nod. “As infantry. When they graduated, they joined Fen Riorson’s movement, and a few years later, they were executed along with my parents.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says softly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Something compels you to keep talking, to push past the awkwardness and condolences. “I don’t mind talking about them. It’s hard, but they were an important part of my life, and they deserve to be remembered. Losing them was devastating, but Garrick and my foster sister helped fill that void.”

You trace a fingernail over one of the tiny flowers. “I think… I think that’s why I kept pushing you away, and why I haven’t really made any friends here. Being marked doesn’t help, but I can never let myself get close to anyone, because everyone I’ve ever been close to has left me, one way or another.”

You can’t bring yourself to say “died” — and that wouldn’t be quite correct, either. Garrick is very much alive, last you’d heard, but he’s at least a twelve hour flight away. 

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I only met her twice, but she was always kind to me and everyone she met.”

It takes you a second to realize that he means your foster sister — as far as Ridoc and the rest of the school know, she’d died at Resson along with Liam and Soleil.

“She was,” you say softly. 

It feels weird speaking about her in the past tense. You know she’s not dead, that she’s safe with Brennan and the elders, but the last time you saw her, she might as well have been — she’d felt so cold, and looked so drained, unable to respond to you or even open her eyes. 

She has to be awake by now, starting to recover. She has to push through, if for no reason other than that it would absolutely shatter both you and Garrick if she didn’t. 

Ridoc exhales, choosing his next words carefully. “I really am sorry. You shouldn’t have had to go through any of that, especially so young. But for what it’s worth, which probably isn’t a lot — I think you’re handling it all incredibly well, and you’re really brave for it.”

You, handling anything well? and being brave? Yeah, right. You take a sip of water to cover the look of dry disbelief on your face, but he sees it anyway. 

“I mean it. Bravery isn’t “never being scared”, it’s “being scared but doing the scary thing anyway”, and you’ve been doing that every day for the last year — for your whole life, honestly. I think that’s admirable.”

You blink at him for a moment, surprised. 

“It’s true,” Rhith says gently. 

“Thank you,” you say softly — to both of them. “I’ve never thought about it like that before.”

He offers you a soft smile. “I think that’s enough deep questions for now. Thank you for telling me all of that, though. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

“It wasn’t,” you agree. “But I feel… lighter.”

“Lighter is good.”

Ezra arrives at the perfect time, holding a tray with two plates of steaming noodles and two glasses of water, placing them in front of you and making a quick exit.

Ridoc brushes a hand against his glass, and you watch the pattern of frost crawl over the edges as it chills itself near instantly. “Want me to do yours?”

You blink, realizing he’s speaking to you. “Sure. Thank you.”

He pushes the cold glass toward you, taking the other and chilling it for himself.

The question comes out before you can think. “How long did it take you to get used to the cold?”

He looks up at you, surprised. “Not long. A week, maybe. I run hot, so sometimes it’s kinda nice.”

You nod in understanding. He’d been warm to the touch when he’d wrapped his arms around you, and you’d melted right into him. That was a first. But so is this, and it seems to be going okay.

You both eat without further discussion, every minute of quiet a little more comfortable than the last. The food is good — better than anything they serve at Basgiath. 

“So, where’s home for you?” you ask after a while.

“Deaconshire,” he answers. “My dad’s still out there. It’s been just me and him for a while.”

“Not too far, then,” you comment, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that he hadn’t mentioned his mother. 

“Yeah. I’ve thought about going AWOL for an afternoon, just to see him for an hour or two. But at least the letters will arrive fast.”

“Right,” you say softly, pushing the last piece of pasta around your plate idly. 

It hadn’t really sunk in yet that you can write letters now, as a second year. You could write to Garrick, but it would be too dangerous to send anything to Aretia, with the professors reading everything to make sure there’s no classified information being spread. You might be able to write to the Duke, and hope he passes it on to the right people, but that would still be deemed suspicious. 

Maybe Bodhi could help you.

“Where’d Garrick get stationed?” he asks.

“Samara,” you answer quietly. 

He winces, knowing that’s right on the front between Navarre and Poromiel, but he recovers quickly. “He’s with Xaden, right? They’ll take care of each other.”

“Yeah.”

“They’ll be fine,” he reassures. “They were the two biggest, most intimidating dudes in fourth wing. Nobody’s going to mess with them — but if anyone’s dumb enough to try, they’ll get what’s coming to them. And they can definitely kick ass in the air, too.”

He’s right — they’ll be fine.

Probably.

“Yeah,” you say again, hoping it sounds convincing. “They can definitely hold their own.” But against wyvern… what if what happened to Deigh happens to Chradh or Sgaeyl, and there’s nothing they can do? 

You force the thought out of your head before the universe can hear it and make it come true. 

“You ready to head back?” he asks gently.

You nod in affirmation, and he gets up, finding Ezra. The owner bids him a cheerful goodbye that includes a hearty pat on the back, while you stand by the table and offer him a weak wave and a soft thank you.

The walk back to the school is quiet, only the crunching of gravel under your boots, but this time the silence isn’t as loud.

You’ve already said everything you needed to say, laid all your cards face up on the table and shown them to the other — almost all of them, you think with a little flare of guilt, but there are some things you just can’t tell anyone, for the sake of Tyrrendor in its entirety.

“This one’s mine,” you say quietly, stopping in front of your door. 

You call it yours, but it doesn’t feel that way. Just because you sleep here and your stuff is piled up in the corner, yet to be unpacked, doesn’t make it feel like yours, and doesn’t make it feel safe, despite the ward that Garrick had helped you put up before he left for Samara with Xaden.

Ridoc offers you a warm smile. “Thank you for taking a chance on me. I’d really like to see you again, if you want.”

“I’d like that too.”

He lingers, and for a moment you’re worried that he’s expecting something of you, but he remains a few steps away, his hands in his pockets.

“Thank you,” you add. “For today. And for finding me yesterday.”

“Of course, sweetheart. And next time you start to feel that way, you can have Rhith tell Aotrom to get me, okay? You shouldn’t have to deal with that alone.”

“Okay,” you say softly. 

He gives you another knee-weakening smile before he heads off, disappearing into a room that must be his — eight doors down, on the other side of the hall.

You make it inside just as the bells strike twelve thirty. The afternoon is still young.

You decide to unpack — starting by shoving the box of your sister’s things into the bottom of the armoire. You’d burned most of her stuff, to maintain the appearance that she’s actually dead, but you and Garrick had both taken some for yourselves. Malek couldn’t get mad about that, right?

You don’t know if you should worry what he thinks or not — you despise him for taking everyone away from you, but you need to remain in his good graces if you want to keep the few people you have left. But you aren’t sure how — it remains unclear what you did, or didn’t do, to deserve that. 

“It was nothing you did,” Rhith says gently, startling you. “And you didn’t deserve it.”

“Sorry,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to project that to you.”

“We’ve talked about the apologies, sweet one,” she prods. “They’re never necessary.”

“Sor—” you stop yourself before you can finish the word. “I’ll work on that.”

She changes the subject for you. “I’m proud of what you did today. I know that was difficult for you.”

“It’s easier with him,” you say quietly. “I don’t know why, but it is.”

“Many things don’t require explanation. It is enough to simply appreciate them.” 

Spoken like a true green. “I wish I could be as logical as you,” you sigh. 

“There is value in both logic and emotion, but there is a balance to be found between them.”

You sit with the statement for a moment as you start to fold the laundry you’d shoved into a bag and dragged up the stairs when you’d moved, trying to smooth out the wrinkles to no avail.

“What do you think?” you ask. “about him, I mean.”

“I think he has a good heart. He genuinely cares for you, but it is your decision whether to trust him or not. And even if you do, there are some things that he can never know.”

“Yeah,��� you say softly. “I know.”

“I’m proud of you, my girl.”

You’re a little bit proud of yourself too.

[iheartz4starzz]

NEVER THERE 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

husband!chuuya x f.reader

SYNOPSIS: you only get to see your husband, chuuya, once a day, which is late at night when you're about to go to sleep. the next morning, you always wake up to him gone.

TW: slight angst, but dw, it'll be fluff at the end, might be a few grammar mistakes

NOTES: fun fact: a lot of these oneshots are based on my c.ai chats <3

Btw I never specified if the reader was taller or shorter than Chuuya, so you can just imagine it urself. ^^

You heard the door unlock, revealing a redhead mafioso, who peaked his head into the room. He let out a sigh and stepped through the door, running a hand through his hair as he set his hat onto his nightstand.

"Doll, did you wait f'me again?" Chuuya asked and crossed his arms.

There you were, sitting on your guys shared bed with your phone in hand. You were playing mobile games while waiting for your beloved to return home after a long days worth of work.

"Yeah. It doesn't feel the same when you're not here next to me when I sleep." You replied, averting your gaze with a slight pout.

Chuuya let out another sigh, but couldn't help but chuckle and smile warmly at how cute his wife was. He quickly showered and changed into his bedtime clothes before getting into the sheets next to you.

Resting your cheek on your husbands toned chest, you let out a breath of contentment before closing your eyes. The sound of his steady heartbeat and the warmth of his arms was soothing for you, which was perfect to help you sleep.

"How was work today?" You asked with a yawn, trying to keep yourself awake.

"Fine. I had to fix a smuggling deal that one of my stupid subordinates messed up." Chuuya sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

You laughed, then snuggling closer to the redhead. You let out another yawn, to which Chuuya noticed and ran his fingers through you (h/c) hair. "You're tired, doll. Go to sleep now."

You shook your head in protest, blinking your eyes. "Nuh-uh! I want to spend more time with you, so I need to stay awake."

Chuuya shook his head and pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead. "Sleep now."

"But I-"

"No buts."

You sighed, closing your eyes to let your sleepiness consume you. Before you could final succumb to your slumber, you looked up at Chuuya with tired eyes.

"Will you be here next to me when I wake up?"

Chuuya could only bite the inside of his cheek and shake his head. "No doll, I'm sorry. I have work tomorrow."

You nodded and closed your eyes. "I love you, Chuuya."

"I love you to, (Name)."

The next morning, you woke up per usual to Chuuya not next to you. You let out a sigh of disappointment and stretched, then moving your feet to over the edge of the bed. You unplugged your phone from your charger and noticed a note and a red rose sitting on your nighstand.

You took the letter and read it, smiling in the end. The letter said:

'Dear (Name),

I'm sorry I can't be there to greet you in the morning. I promise I'll make it up to you next time with a bunch of presents, love, and kisses.

I love you.

Your husband, Chuuya.'

Though the letter was sweet, you couldn't help but frown in disappointment. That's what he would always say when you brought up the fact that he was never there for you. Pushing the thoughts down, you got up from bed and headed to your office to start working.

Usually you stayed home, due to the fact you were a stay-at-home wife, and partially of the fact you also worked from home. It was only those one times you went outside if you wanted to go shopping.

One work was finished, you went to the kitchen to make dinner and clean up around the penthouse. Once again, you ate dinner alone and left leftovers for Chuuya to eat once he got home. You then got ready for bed and got under the covers, bringing out your phone and began to wait till Chuuya came home.

Another hour passed, and Chuuya was still not home. You let out a sigh and laid sprawled out on the bed, starfish style. Bringing your arm up into the air, you stared at the hand with a ring wrapped around your ring finger. You chewed the inside of your cheek and rested that hand on your chest. You yearned for Chuuya's love, and missed him dearly.

Just then, the door to the bedroom unlocked, revealing the redhead who walked inside with a tired expression.

"Hey, Doll. I'm back." He greeted you with a smile.

"Welcome home." You replied and sat up.

After Chuuya was done with getting ready for bed, he got under the covers with you. Chuuya let out a sigh and wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"I missed you." Chuuya told you.

You stayed quiet for a moment before responding. "I missed you to. But, you're not going to be here next to me when I wake up..."

Chuuya frowned. He felt a twinge of guilt in his heart and began to rub your back apologetically. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, (Name). You know how my boss is."

Suddenly, Chuuya heard sniffling. He watched you sit up from his arms and bury your face into your hands, beginning to cry. Chuuya felt his heart shatter to see you sobbing because of him. Chuuya sat up quickly and rubbed your back.

"(Name)?" He mumbled quietly, his soft voice laced with concern and worry. "Hey, what's wrong, baby?"

"I-I'm sorry. It's just that— I miss you so much, Chuuya. I only see you one time a day because you always come late from work." You sobbed and wiped your tears. "But every time I stare at my ring, I have to keep reminding myself that I have a husband! But it feels like I don't, because you're never here!"

Chuuya didn't know how to reply, and only felt his guilt increase from hearing your pain and yearn for his love. Chuuya cupped your cheek, turning you face towards him. "(Name), I—"

"Am I pushing you away? Am I to clingy? Is that why you're spending so much time at work instead of at home with me? Your wife?" You interrupted Chuuya, sniffling again. "Is your job really more important than your wife? Do you still love me?"

Chuuya's eyes widened when he heard that last question. He quickly brought you into a tight hug, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "No, I still love you! And you're not pushing me away, (Name)—"

Chuuya took a deep breath before continuing. "You're not pushing me away, love. I would never allow that to happen, because you're the most important woman in my life. I love you far to much to ever let you go. It's just... it's my job."

"But wouldn't Mori understand that you have a wife at home? You're not just some mindless pawn for his use! You're your own person, Chuuya!" You argued, tears streaming down your cheeks. "N-No, I'm sorry. I understand that you're doing this for the both of us. I understand that you're working really hard to have a roof over our heads..."

"(N-Name), don't just brush if off like that," Chuuya stammered, cupping both of your cheeks. He let out a sigh before pressing a kiss against your lips. "I'll see what I can do, alright? Just... please don't cry. I can't bare to see you like this."

You nodded and laid back down in bed with Chuuya, wrapped in his arms. You sniffled again and wiped the left tears on your cheeks, your eyes puffy and red. "I'm sorry, Chuuya. I just don't want you to overwork yourself."

"I know, Doll. I understand where your pain is coming from, I really want to do something about it." Chuuya replied and brought your closer to him, pressing a kiss against your forehead. "I love you, (Name). Don't think to much about it, okay?"

You nodded once more. "I love you to, Chuuya."

The next morning, you stirred from your sleep, blinking your eyes awake and looked to your side. Frowning to see that Chuuya wasn't there, you got up and ran a hand over your face.

'Don't be such a bad wife, (Name). Chuuya is doing this for both you and him. At least appreciate what he's doing.' You told yourself and got up from bed, making your way to the kitchen to make breakfast.

As soon as you left the bedroom, the smell of eggs and bacon wafted through the air, tingling your taste buds. You breathed in the smell, licking your lips as you approached the kitchen. You peaked around the corner, your eyes widening to see Chuuya standing at the stove with a apron that said 'Kiss The Cook.'

"Chuuya?"

Chuuya jolted and turned around, quickly turning off the stove and smiled at you warmly. "Morning, Doll."

You teared up, smiling as you ran towards Chuuya, crushing in a hug. "Agh! W-Why are you crying?" Chuuya frantically asked, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

"N-No, it's happy tears, Chuuya! Happy tears!" You repeated, laughing at his misconception.

Chuuya smiled and cupped your cheeks, giving you a morning kiss. "You're such a crybaby." He teased and flicked your forehead.

You whined and held your forehead, pouting as you looked up at Chuuya. The two of you laughed it off in the end. Chuuya wrapped his arms around your waist and you wrapped your arms around his neck. The two of you connected lips, the kiss strong, passionate, yet gentle at the same time.

After a few moments, the couple broke the kiss and smiled at each other. You rested your forehead against Chuuya's, eyes closed as the two of your soaked in the moment.

"I love you, Chuuya." You whispered.

"I love you to, (Name)." He replied, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"Soo... Kiss the Cook, eh?"

"Shut up!"

ENDING NOTE: i didn't want to make readers wife role seem to clingy, or to unappreciative. i hope i didn't make anybody upset with reader, tho.

luv u all! <3

-mai

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Put Up a Sign

I crave. I want. I hunger. My days and nights are filled with the thought of consumption. My empty heart simply needs to take and take and take, like a greedy thief. It is not enough that I feed it affection and attention and accomplishment. It must have more. It must have adoration, idolisation, absolute dominion over all others.

Simply being better than most is worthless. Simply being one of the chosen few is worth mockery. I must crawl up to the top amidst a mountain of the corpses of my rivals. And with each time their bones crunch underfoot, the hunger only grows.

It is not enough to be known, liked, 'popular'. Nor is it sufficient to be infamous, beloved, renowned. I must have armies prostate themselves before me, statues erected in glorious worship, my name scattered across the 7 winds. But the gales merely chill me to the bone, the statues just crumble to dust with time, and the armies go into my maw to feed my empty heart.

And what of power? Can I be satisfied with my little band of merry women and men, my precious clan tucked away in the depths of the forest? Of course not. Would an empire sooth the gurgling cries of a bottomless hunger? Could the world itself fill me up, or would it be but a speck in the endless pit of want?

They say Alexander wept, for he had no more worlds to conquer. I fear I am Alexander incarnate, thirsting after eternal war and an endless reign. I just with to be satisfied, satiated, sated; why must I be born with an empty heart, meant to take and take and take?

Were I a better man, I would carve that offending organ out and let myself wither away. Were I a worse one, I would gorge myself on power, and learn once and for all just how much I can consume. But I am me, and I sit upon a throne of my enemies' corpses, reigning over a little empire, nursing my hunger with little tidbits all the while.

I do not feel repentant. It is not in my nature, after all. Nonetheless, as my people give their harvests, their gold, their lives for me, I cannot help but feel a twinge of guilt.

Perhaps I shall put up a sign: "Please do not feed my empty heart. It will only want more."

This was a silly little writing exercise I did for funsies, but I loved how it turned out so y'all get to see it too!

Taglist: @coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch

@tragedycoded, @finickyfelix, @urnumber1star, @ratedn, @ramwritblr

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west, @differentnighttale

@evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms, @xenascribbles

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable, @paeliae-occasionally, @an-indecisive-nerd, @thecomfywriter

@seastarblue

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[luvwich]

✒️ writer interview tag

tagged by @dustdeepsea — tysm, this was great fun! read their answers here and mine, if you like, beneath the cut ✨

When did you start writing?

early 2023 was my first foray into writing actual fiction. prior to that i'd done an embarrassing amount of roleplaying many years ago, which i shall speak on no further, but it did form the basis for a lot of my writing now!

once upon a time, i seriously entertained the idea of an MFA in screenwriting, but went on to pursue something even stupider for grad school 👍

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

honestly everything i enjoy reading gets smuggled into my writing in some form or another!

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

there are like 26 different writers where i wish to take bits and pieces of their style, send it all into a meat grinder, and press the gunk into sausage casings to be dipped in batter and deep fried. ideally i want my writing to hit like wagyu beef that's been corrupted into a county fair corn dog. but no i'm not sure i've ever been compared to another writer! that would fuck my shit up truly (in a good way)

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

typically curled up on my couch, because the ergonomic status of my home office setup is terrible — potentially lethal. sometimes i stay late at my not-home office, hidden away in a dark conference room, but that's usually only if i'm on a self-imposed deadline (i.e. i've started posting a WIP)

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

the spark that gets me to write is usually some kind of Dynamic that i want to explore so i do a lot of noodling upon situations and then figuring out how to get there. and by situations i mean smut

also, writing bits of dialogue, even if i don't know the context yet. it gets a character's voice and mannerisms in my head, and gives me a little grain to start building on

sadly, going on a hike and/or reading a really good book are both very effective and by far the most time consuming

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

longing, isolation, identity, the difference between the person you'd like to be and the person you are, strained/dysfunctional family relationships, wrong person right time, hope, blowjobs, self-deception, california, fucking your way through it, guilt, social class, mommy issues, mono no aware, oral fingering, etc; they don't surprise me anymore but the first time i finished a long fic and took a step back i was like "ohh haha Damn"

What is your reason for writing?

i am horny, sad n silly

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

all forms of feedback are so touching! i think much of what i write is pretty niche, so simply knowing someone has read my stuff gets me pumped. a big essay of a comment is like receiving a love letter, and comments that are just an emoji are like someone's tucked a little note in my lunchbox, and both are incredibly nourishing to me. as far as motivation, though, anything that implies someone is looking forward to reading more is the surest way to light a fire under my people-pleasing ass

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

affable wretch, trickster, wine aunt

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

i'm not sure any one thing stands out: i believe i'm pretty good in a few areas (dialogue, sensory detail, characterization) and notably lacking in others (action, "plot," pacing, not getting high on my own supply)… okay i'll stop being an asshole though and say my strength is in "delivering on a mood," if that is a thing

How do you feel about your own writing?

generally good. for one, i'm proud of myself for ever finishing and posting anything, because following through on shit isn't something i'm renown for. i tend to hate everything i write after i've gotten some distance from it, but i think that's normal? right? i'm new at it and it's all for fun so i try to be gracious with myself, with mixed success, because beneath my goofy exterior i do take everything too seriously

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

mostly for myself; i do abstractly ask "would someone who isn't me enjoy this?" and never quite know the answer. like most humans i crave external validation and connection, but like a cactus i can survive on just a lil rainfall 🌵

tagging w/no pressure (but with my best barbara walters impression) @corpocyborg @ghostoffuturespast @merge-conflict @streetkid-named-desire @writing-for-soup

[purity-town]

Ask responses below the cut! Lots of thoughts on Terraria lore and Purity Town worldbuilding -- mostly focusing on the Crimson, the war, and Guides.

Reasons why I chose Corruption over Crimson, off the top of my head:

Artistic reasons: Chris was always going to lean towards magenta & dark blue weapons/armor where possible as a nod to the nebula pillar coloration, and I felt that it was easier to work with those colors against a purple/gray/brown background than a red one. Similarly, the purple of demonite matches the Corruption colors, making it easy to tie a visual connection between demonite and the shadow orbs' evil energy.

Personal reasons: My first world was a Corruption one, and I tend to favor Corruption in general as I like the music more.

Practical reasons: It's much, much easier to draw worms and the various other Corruption enemies than it is to draw the Crimson enemies, as the Crimson enemies are far more complicated in appearance and poses. Plus all the blood and brains puts me in an awkward spot as I don't want to run into issues with any of the websites I post the comic to.

Lore reasons: While the Brain of Cthulhu does very nicely match up with Moon Lord's actual design, it doesn't have a Mech boss associated with it, and I didn't want the Destroyer to feel like it came out of nowhere; I felt it was easier to justify the EoW being related to evil/Moon Lord in some way than the Destroyer existing in a Crimson world. The Corruption's shadow orbs also naturally tie into the idea of the "ancient spirits of light and dark" being released from the underworld, as the Crimson doesn't really convey the "dark" side of things that well. Also, the Crimson is generally associated with health while the Corruption is associated with mana, and since Chris is a mage I wanted to lean into the magic side of things.

As for my ideas with the Crimson:

Theme-wise, the blood and gore is easy to relate back to the same consuming, flesh-melding energy of blood moons. (While blood moons already have a link to Corruption/Crimson in the form of corrupt/vicious animals, the Crimson just makes more sense.) The massive skeletons in the background bring up similarities with bone serpents and wyverns/phantasm dragon, and the eyeballs with the EoC/WoF/True EoC.

Where the Corruption is more of the culmination of sin and dark thoughts and eldritch energies that twist whatever they come into contact with, the Crimson is a growing, living being that spiraled into wild mutation from eldritch energy. The Corruption naturally grows over time through additional sins giving it the power to spread, while the Crimson grows by actively consuming more and more living material; contamination vs. infection; acidic vs. corrosive.

The Crimson is a hive mind, of the sort where each new mind adds its knowledge and input to the collective, and likewise has its will overridden by the majority. At the core of it all is the Brain of Cthulhu -- intelligent, but not something that can be reasoned with or spoken to; the sort of being whose mind is so fundamentally different from a human's that anyone who comes into contact would be left mentally shattered. Much the same way one who stares into the darkness seeking to study the eldritch and bizarre could be left broken.

Where the Corruption chasms are worm tracks, I've always interpreted the Crimson chasms as a heart and the arteries spreading out from it. Or maybe the tendrils of a spreading infection? Not really sure!

Side note, the general theme (flesh/blood) and many of the monsters (face monster, crimera, blood feeder, etc.) also tie very well into the Wall of Flesh and its hunger. The justification for the WoF being so...flesh in the comic is that Andrew is a human*, and so the WoF's form is influenced by what his soul knows (flesh and blood body), mixed with lots and lots of eldritch energy giving it the visual ties to the EoC/Moon Lord in the eyes/mouth. But it's not as natural of a link as "the WoF's form is steeped in overflowing Crimson energy locked away in the center of the earth."

Instead of shattering, I imagine it would just poof into a particularly liquid-looking red smoke. Something to combine it being an immaterial/magical collection of energy with it being bloody and gory. Less of the sharp/shattered/sparkly look of shadow orbs, and something more organic and primal.

As for Crimson hearts...I suppose it's the other side of the coin of shadow orbs. Keeping with the theme of Crimson being vaguely health/damage-related while Corruption is mana-related, where shadow orbs are pustules of evil and eldritch magic, I could imagine Crimson hearts as concentrations of the life energy that's been consumed by/generated within the Crimson. Something that pulses with the hearts and minds of the countless creatures that have been incorporated into the Crimson before. Hence the panic necklace; something that fills you with adrenaline and the vitality to push forward and run for your life when hurting (compared to the band of starpower boosting your ability to channel magic).

BAD. Really, really, really bad.

The most obvious reason was all of the general destruction that the world had suffered at that point. Land masses ripped apart or twisted/distorted. Civilization shredded, infrastructure destroyed. What wasn't outright blasted to bits was warped beyond recognition or so corrupted there was no hope of salvaging what had been there before. Loss of homes means exposure to the elements, and loss of farmland means starvation; many societies crumbled or were staggered by the loss of vital industries and resources.

The main surviving communities were small subsets of what were once larger cultures. They were the ones lucky enough to have enough resources nearby to be self-sustaining -- cities had it the worst, requiring resources to be brought in from elsewhere, while more remote communities tended to be affected the least. Andrew, for instance, grew up in a very small community out on the plains, and while they did have contact with other communities, trade was limited to only specialty goods. Everything else came from the local area.

On top of the physical loss of land and infrastructure, there was also the loss of knowledge. The people who stood up to fight were the most powerful mages and strongest warriors, trying to hold back the destruction and stop the eldritch power contaminating the world; when they died, their knowledge of the world died with them. Similarly, Dryads were far more common back then, with people relying on them to interpret the weather, bless the crops, protect them from harm, and purify any imbalance of good and evil. So even the folks who did survive had to suddenly adjust to having no Dryads to fall back on.

Then, just when they thought the worst of it was over -- that their world had ended and was something new and scary, but stable -- the first Blood Moon rises and everything goes to Hell in a hand-basket once more (albeit only for a night). So now, rather than the night being a time for mages to practice their craft, the inherent chaos of the dark is now dialed up 1000% (even moreso during blood moons). Hence the push for some folks to try and find solace beneath the earth -- building the underground cabins, establishing the Dungeon, and the Lihzahrds locking themselves within a temple away from the sky.

The world was finally given a chance to breathe again once most of the eldritch magic, and in equal measure the divine hallow, was locked away in the core of the world. But by that point the old world was already a distant memory. It's been 500 years since the war, around 450 since most magic was locked away, and what did remain from before the war gave the world a significant boost in recovery. Old magic items and technology can be studied and recreated, and while technological/magical advancement is a bit uneven from region to region depending on their level of development and general population, the Guides have worked hard sharing everything they know between them to rebuild.

Purity Town, and the smaller villages immediately surrounding it (in the desert, snowy mountains, etc.) has such a low population/is so remote that they don't have much in the way of established governance. Various NPCs arguably have varying levels of authority within their specialization: Heather is the go-to for healing, Malik is the local monster hunter, and so on, but it's all very informal. The individual villages probably all have people who handle day-to-day things -- there are various random folks who live in the region to fill out each village outside of the established NPCs -- but it's just something going on in the background to keep the place running.

Guides aren't really meant to be politicians either, but they do often fall into a default leadership role since they're the go-to advice guys!

They're meant to preserve and share knowledge of the world, its languages, and its cultures; a reaction to the vast majority of that knowledge having been lost in the wake of the war 500 years ago. So Guides are out there fielding questions like "how do I make this medicine/when do I harvest this plant/is this edible/etc.," but they also are expected to know enough about situations like weather/celestial events such that they can give advice no matter what crops up. Extend that attitude to a more general "this person knows how to handle Problems, so let's default to whatever they tell us whenever we run into Problems," and you end up with Guides often taking pseudo-leadership or advisory positions.

Andrew is in something of a weird spot, as he took over for a much more established/respected Guide after she retired and threw him into it, and is not particularly good at commanding authority or dealing with people in the way she could, even though he tries to be nice. But he's extremely, extremely knowledgeable, even compared to other Guides due to having been around for long enough to pick up so much knowledge, so at least he can fulfill that aspect of the job easily enough and the townsfolk trust him to do so.

Tangentially related, but the lack of solid governance is specific/unique to Purity Town's remoteness. With a small enough population, folks rely on the cooperation and skills of others much more, and any disputes would be worked out among the townsfolk proper.

The world isn't fully settled, but there are some locations with enough of a population to be considered actual kingdoms (see: Princess NPC) with established government (see: Tax Collector). Chris' hometown, which sees a lot of ship traffic/trade, has a proper government, local guard, etc. along with their own Guide. Purity Town is just particularly out there! But it's still been around for long enough to have seen some trade, built up some skills among the residents, and establish basic infrastructure so that residents can live comfortably. Like comparing a small town in the modern day to a remote village in medieval times, residents still enjoy a relatively high standard of living, despite being a scattered and remote population.

The world hasn't recovered to where it was pre-Moon Lord, but it's certainly not a post-apocalyptic wasteland anymore!

[lilsoftext]

•~*BETWEEN THE FLASHES*~• part 2

part 1

-chris sturniolo x female reader

-summery: ??

——————————————————————————

Sof woke up early, the light filtering through the curtains of Chris’s room. She lay there for a moment, listening to the gentle sound of his breathing beside her. Chris was still asleep, his arm loosely draped over her waist. Normally, she would have cherished these quiet moments, but today, her mind was spinning. Today was the day they would announce their relationship to the world, and she couldn’t shake the anxious thoughts swirling in her head.

She slipped carefully out of bed, trying not to wake Chris. Moving to the window, Sof gazed out at the early morning sky, her thoughts racing. *What would people think?* The questions were endless. She knew how much Chris cared for her, and that should’ve been enough to calm her nerves, but the weight of it all—the public’s reaction, the media’s interpretation, and most of all, Matt—sat heavy in her chest.

Matt had been quiet lately, and Sof wasn’t oblivious to his feelings. She could see the sadness in his eyes, the way he looked at her when he thought no one was watching. It was heartbreaking in its own way, and even though Matt would never say anything, Sof feared how this announcement would affect him.

She heard Chris stirring behind her, and before she could let her worries consume her any further, he woke up, smiling sleepily. “Good morning,” he murmured, his voice raspy with sleep.

Sof forced a smile. “Good morning.” She leaned down to kiss his forehead, then quickly headed toward the bathroom, not wanting him to see the turmoil on her face. “I’m going to shower.”

Chris watched her leave, his eyebrows furrowing slightly, but he didn’t press her. He knew something was on her mind, but Sof was the type to process things on her own first. He’d talk to her when she was ready.

---

Downstairs, Nick and Matt were already in the kitchen when Chris walked in, still stretching and yawning.

“Mornin’,” Nick said, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. “Big day, huh? You ready to finally make it official?”

Chris chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, man. It’s about time.”

Matt glanced up from his coffee, his eyes betraying the lighthearted tone he tried to use. “How’s Sof feeling about it?”

Chris sighed, leaning against the counter. “She’s a little worried, honestly. You know how she is—she doesn’t love all the attention, and this is gonna bring a lot of it.”

Matt nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah, I figured. It’s a big deal for her.”

Before the conversation could go any further, Sof walked into the kitchen, her damp hair falling loosely over her shoulders. She smiled softly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hey, guys.”

Nick immediately perked up, sensing the tension but doing his best to keep things light. “Sof! You ready for today? Gonna be fun, right?”

Sof gave him a small smile and nodded, though Chris could tell she was still feeling off. He reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We were just talking about how we’re gonna do this. I was thinking a vlog would be cool, you know? Something natural. No big sit-down, just us being us.”

Sof exhaled, relieved that the plan was simple. “Yeah, I like that. I think it’ll feel more... real that way.”

Nick nodded enthusiastically. “Perfect! So, where are we filming this thing? We need a good backdrop if we’re doing the big reveal.”

Chris grinned. “I was thinking we go somewhere cool—like the forest, that spot with the mountain lake and the waterfall. It’s beautiful, and it’s kinda... I don’t know, mysterious. Seems like the right vibe.”

Everyone agreed, though Matt remained quieter than usual. He nodded along but didn’t say much, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Sof noticed, and it only added to the mix of emotions swirling inside her.

---

They packed up and headed to the car, Nick excitedly grabbing the camera and turning it on as soon as they pulled out of the driveway. “Alright, guys, this is it! We’re going somewhere super sick today, and we might have a little surprise for you later, but you’ll have to wait and see.”

Chris laughed from the passenger seat, turning back to wink at Sof, who was sitting next to Matt in the back. She gave a small wave to the camera, but inside, her nerves were still buzzing. Chris sensed it and reached over to squeeze her knee, his touch grounding her for a moment.

The car ride was filled with chatter, mostly between Chris, Nick, and Sof. Matt, meanwhile, remained mostly quiet, his responses short but polite whenever Nick tried to rope him into the conversation. Chris caught his brother’s silence but didn’t comment on it, not wanting to create any more tension.

---

When they arrived at the forest, it was even more breathtaking than they had remembered. The towering trees gave way to a secluded path that led to a stunning lake, shimmering beneath the afternoon sun, and in the distance, the sound of a waterfall echoed through the trees. They all stood there for a moment, taking it in.

“Wow,” Sof whispered, her eyes wide. “It’s beautiful.”

Nick, ever the comic relief, grabbed the camera and pointed it at Chris. “How does it feel, bro? You about to make some history with this view in the background.”

Chris grinned. “It feels like the perfect place, honestly.”

They filmed a bit of them hiking down to the lake, with Chris and Nick goofing off for the camera. At one point, Chris even let out a wild scream, startling Sof and making everyone burst out laughing. It felt good to just be in the moment, even with the looming announcement.

When they reached the waterfall, everyone fell silent, the sheer beauty of it overwhelming them. The water cascaded down the rocks, mist rising in the air, and Chris couldn’t help but turn to Sof with a smile.

“Come here,” he said, pulling her aside as Nick continued filming some B-roll shots of the landscape.

“What?” Sof asked, a little confused.

Chris held up the camera like he was about to take a picture. “I want to get a photo of you here, for the vlog.”

Sof smiled and stood in front of the waterfall, but before she could pose, Chris lowered the camera, stepped up to her, and cupped her face gently in his hands. Without a word, he kissed her—softly, lovingly, as if telling her in that moment that everything would be okay.

Sof blinked in surprise but quickly melted into the kiss, her worries momentarily fading as Chris held her close. When they broke apart, he smiled down at her, his eyes full of warmth. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear. “And I’m so glad we don’t have to hide anymore.”

Sof’s heart swelled, and for the first time all day, she felt a sense of peace. They turned back to the camera, and Chris, still holding Sof’s hand, looked directly into the lens.

“Alright, guys,” Chris said, his voice steady but full of excitement. “So, we’ve got something we want to share with you... It’s official. Sof and I are together, and we’ve been for a while. We just didn’t feel ready to share it with the world until now.”

Sof smiled, squeezing Chris’s hand as he spoke.

Nick turned the camera back toward them, grinning. “And there it is! You heard it here first.”

Matt stood off to the side, watching quietly, his face unreadable. He gave them a small nod of support, but Sof could feel the tension radiating from him. She wished things could be different between them, but for now, she was focused on the moment with Chris.

---

When they stopped filming, the energy shifted again. Everyone piled back into the car, but the mood was quieter this time. Matt went straight to his room when they got home, while Nick eagerly started editing the footage for their next vlog.

Chris and Sof, sensing Matt needed some space, decided to head out for lunch. Sof was driving, the radio playing softly in the background as they cruised through LA. For the first time all day, Chris seemed completely relaxed. He glanced over at Sof, a grin spreading across his face.

“I’m really happy it’s out there now,” he said, his voice light with relief. “We don’t have to hide anymore.”

Sof smiled, her grip on the steering wheel loosening. “Me too. It feels... freeing.”

Chris reached over and intertwined his fingers with hers. “No more sneaking around. Just us.”

Sof nodded, feeling the weight of the day lift from her shoulders. The anxiety that had been gnawing at her all morning was finally gone, replaced by a quiet happiness. They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the city passing by in a blur as music filled the car, and for the first time in a long time, Sof felt truly at peace.

PART 3 IS COMING TOMORROW

——————————————————————————

part 3 is the last one so don’t miss it. if you have any request of them down below.

lilsoftext<3

[cottagecoreloreee]

Chapter 2 is up now! Fandom: Interview with the Vampire (TV 2022)

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive

Relationships: Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac, Armand/Daniel Molloy, Daniel Molloy & Louis de Pointe du Lac

Characters: Lestat de Lioncourt, Louis de Pointe du Lac, Daniel Molloy, Armand (Vampire Chronicles)

Additional Tags: rockstar lestat, Mutual Pining, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Drug Use, Biting, Blood Drinking, Drama, Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Anal Sex, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Bottom Louis de Pointe du Lac, Top Lestat de Lioncourt, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Friends to Lovers, Post-Episode: s02e08 And That’s The End of It. There’s Nothing Else (Interview with the Vampire TV)

Here's a snippet:

I followed after Lestat, climbing into his coffin. My body settled next to his. The lid closed. And I was surrounded by him, in this darkness that was his domain, where the lining had soaked up his scent so that I wouldn’t have a reprieve from the waves of vanilla and leather on his skin. I shifted, looking for my place beside him and so had he until his arm snaked around my shoulder, and I placed my hand on his chest. I could smell his breath–the cigarette ash and vermouth my tongue craved.

We were brought back to those first months we shared a coffin. He would purr into my ear and I would shush him. There was no need for secret rendezvous when we lived alone with a single bed. But his daily visits continued, tapping on my coffin, sliding next to me. I longed for him to hold me tenderly and whisper into my ear. I longed for the thrilling newness of being consumed by him. And longing, once again, seemed to sprout weakness in me.

I thought of the times I claimed that Armand was the love of my life as Daniel sat across from me, a dubious expression crossing his face. I heard his scoffs, I saw him shake his head–and still, I insisted, to maintain the facade, that a greater love existed for me than what I had shared with Lestat. But I had never pressed my chest to Armand’s for fear that our hearts might not sync.

Only when Lestat’s hand brushed against the warm wetness of my cheek, did I know that I was crying. He kissed my forehead, hushing me, apologizing for the discomfort he might have caused. I brought myself closer to him, burying my face into his shoulder, searching for the unique comfort of the pulse of his veins against my face. He stroked my hair until I calmed, and when I did, I could not release him and he could not release me. 

“Bon nuit,” he whispered. And then more softly, “Dream of me.”

“Good night,” I said. 

[twopoppies]

https://www.tumblr.com/twopoppies/762188095662735360/wow-looks-like-irving-just-made-himself-a-boat

i don’t understand any of this stuff, but i thought harry was the owner of his music? with erskine and all that. is it the distribution rights that were sold? sorry, i’m dumb when it comes to this

These questions are in reference to this anon I got last night:

As far as I understand (and please someone correct me if I’m wrong or left something out), GMR is a Performance Rights Organization (PRO) like ASCAP, SEASAC, or BMI.

What is a PRO?

The way people and businesses play, purchase, listen to, and consume music has changed drastically in recent times. Revenues related to purchases of physical media and downloads are fading. Now, the attention is turning more than ever towards other sources of royalty revenues, such as performance rights. PROs play a major role collecting these rights and they monitor the compliance of businesses playing music in public.

PROs are in charge of administering the rights of songwriters and publishers. These duties include the collection and distribution of royalties on their behalf. It would be practically impossible for these creators to pick up their royalties one by one. There are too many instances, from digital platforms to physical venues, in which where their rights are being used. This network of agencies work to make sure that people pay all the royalties. In order to do this, they have close contact with different music platforms and checking physical locations, to collect and distribute them on the creators behalf.

x

From what I understand, Azoff’s stated intention in forming this group was to make sure artists were paid their fare share of royalties, given that the rules hadn’t been updated to take into account the current ways people consume music.

From GMR’s website:

x

Basically, any business that uses music (or portions of music) in a public way must pay to license that music from GMR (or any of the other three PROs).

Who needs to buy a license?

So, if you have a restaurant that plays music in the background, if you use music when people are out on hold when they call your business, if you have a store that plays music while people shop… you have to have a license so that the artists/songwriters are paid each time their work is used.

More details here x

Are there any exceptions? Yes.

The only exception is for broadcast radio and tv in businesses under 2000 square feet (3750 square feet for restaurants). Note: this rule applies only to “over-the-air” broadcasts, not internet streams or any other source of music. You’ll also be playing any DJ banter, unfiltered lyrics, and commercials for your competitors. Plus, there may be additional fees based on your type of establishment. For example, if you own a restaurant or bar that features live music, if there is a fee for entering your establishment, or if there is a physical activity coordinated with the music (such as public skating or dancing).

x

What is UMPG?

UMPG is an enormous music publishing company that offers a variety of different services. These range from administration services to creative services and much more.

They offer their services to companies including Universal Pictures, Warner Bros. Pictures, Lionsgate, MGM, Paramount, Disney Europe (and other territories), Viacom, Amazon, HBO, DreamWorks, DreamWorks Animation, Legendary Pictures, Mar Vista Entertainment, NBC and Sesame Workshop, among many others.

Universal Music Publishing Group’s Film & TV Department creates opportunities for and licenses their catalog of songs to film, television, advertising, computer games, and stage production. This is often referred to as ‘synchronization’.

x

UMPG focuses on traditional music publishing, licensing songs for use in film, TV, commercials, and more, and handling royalties for its songwriters. GMR focuses on managing public performance rights for a select group of high-profile artists. It offers more personalized and tailored services but is invitation-only, making it more selective and exclusive than UMPG.

Harry seems to have his music listed with both companies, as they handle different aspects of royalties.

TL;DR As far as I can tell (and I'm far from an expert), this all boils down to:

Erskine Records is primarily concerned with the release and distribution of Harry's music, partnering with Sony for wider reach. This covers the production, distribution, and promotion aspects of his music.

UMPG (Universal Music Publishing Group) manages his publishing rights. They handle songwriting royalties, licensing his music for use in films, TV, commercials, and other media, and collecting royalties when his songs are performed, played on the radio, or streamed online​.

GMR (Global Music Rights) deals with performance rights. They ensure that when Styles' music is publicly performed (e.g., at concerts, in public spaces, etc., as explained above), the proper royalties are collected and distributed to him​.

Additionally, we don't know how much of the GMR catalog has been sold. Nor do we know what the private equity firm plans to do with what it's bought. From the bit of research I've done, it seems that there is a move toward selling catalogs to private equity firms. For those firms, owning these rights is about more than passive income—it's about actively enhancing the value of the music through aggressive licensing, smarter technology, and even repackaging or reselling portions of the catalog for a higher return​.

More info on that here and here

That's the best I can offer for now.

[sluckythewizard]

[PUT INTO PLACE, TIED DOWN AND ARRANGED, AND IS NEVER THE SAME, AGAIN.]<-listen to my favorite songs. VAMPIRES ARE WONDERFUL ARENT THEY. THE FLESH IS SO MUCH MORE DURABLE. SO MUCH STRETCHIER THAN HUMANS. THE STRESS DOESNT KILL A VAMPIRE THE SAME WAY IT DOES A HUMAN. YOU CAN TAKE THEM APART THREAD BY THREAD AND LEAVE THEM WIDE AWAKE WITHOUT WORRY OF THE BRAINMATTER SPOILING UNDER VINEGARY AGONY.

[yellowocaballero]

Been a fan of your fics for YEARS. I was just telling my friend how despite how much I read fics I never actually love them, with some of your fics (especially TMA) as the exception. Felt the need to reread some of them and saw you reblogged some ISAT fanart. So. Any thoughts on ISAT you'd like to share?

Hope you have a wonderful day!! So happy I found your fics again!!

I avoided answering this for a while because I was trying to think of a way to cohesively and coherently vocalize my thoughts on In Stars and Time. I have given up because I don't want to hold everybody here all day and I have accepted that my thoughts are just pterodactyl screeching.

I love it so much. I have so much to say on it. It drove me bonkers for like a week straight. I have AUs. It's absolute Megbait. They're just a little Snufkin and they're having the worst experience of anybody's life. Ludonarratives my fucking beloved.

I am going to talk about the prologue.

The prologue is such a fascinating experience. You crack open the game and immediately begin checking off all of the little genre boxes: mage, warrior, researcher, you're the rogue...some little kid who's there for some reason...alright, you know the score. You're in yet another indie Earthbound RPG, these are your generic characters, let's get the ball rolling.

Except then you realize that these characters are people. You feel instantly how you've entered the game at its last dungeon, at the end of the adventure. They have their own in-jokes, histories, backgrounds, adventures. They get along well and they're obviously close, but not in a twee or unrealistic way. They have so much chemistry and spirit and life. I fell in love with them so quickly.

But Sif doesn't. Sif kind of hates them, because they will not stop saying the same damn thing. They walk the same paths, do the same things, make the same jokes, expect Sif to say the same lines. They keep referencing a Sif we do not see, with jokes we never see him make and heroic personality he never shows - they reference a Sif who is dead - and Sif can't handle that, so he kills them too.

They become only an exercise in tedious frustration. Sif button mashes through their dialogue, Sif mindlessly clicks the same dialogue options, Sif skips through the tutorial, Sif blows through the puzzles. Sif turns their world into a video game. Sif is playing a generic RPG. Sif forgets their names. They are no longer people with in-jokes, histories, backgrounds, adventures. They're the mage, the warrior, the researcher, and...some random kid.

I did not understand the Kid's presence at first. I had no idea what they contributed to the game. They didn't do anything. As a party member in a video game, they're a bit useless. Why is the Kid there?

Because Sif's life isn't a video game. Because the kid isn't 'the kid'. They're Bonnie. Bonnie, who the party loves. Why is Bonnie there? Because they love them. There is no room for Bonnie in the boring RPG that Sif is playing. And then you realize that Sif is wrong, and that they've lost something extremely important, and that they'll never escape without it.

Watching the prologue before watching ISAT gave ISAT the most unique air of dread and horror, because you crack open ISAT and you see the person Sif used to be. You realize that Sif used to be a person. Sif used to be the person who made jokes, who gave real smiles, who interacted with the world as if they are a part of it. And you know you are sitting down to watch Sif lose everything that made them a person, to lose everything that made them a member of this world, and turn them into a character in a video game who doesn't understand the point of Bonnie at all.

At the climax of the game, when the others realize that something is deeply wrong and that Sif physically cannot tell them, they realize that there is nothing they can do. So Bonnie declares snacktime. And for the first time they have snacktime.

What is snacktime? Classic JRPGs don't have snacktime. There's literally no point to a snacktime - not in a video game, and not in Sif's terrible life. It's not fixing this, because nothing can fix this. But Bonnie gives Sif a cookie and Sif eats it.

It's meaningless. It's a cutscene. It didn't save Sif and it didn't change a thing. It will make no difference in the end.

But it did make the difference. It made all of the difference in the world. Bonnie is a character who you really don't understand the point of before you realize that Bonnie was the entire point.

ISAT is about comfort media. Why do we play the same video games over and over again? Why do we avoid watching the finale of our favorite shows? What is truly comforting: a story with no conflict, or a story where you always know what is about to happen? Do you want to live in a scary, uncontrollable world, or do you want to play Stardew Valley? Do you want a person or a character?

When I beat Earthbound for the first time (and if you don't know, the prologue/ISAT battle system is just Mother) and watched the ending cutscene where the characters part ways and say goodbye...I felt a little bit sad. I wanted them to be together forever. But that's something only characters could ever be.

[allgremlinart]

the post-canon jetko dynamic I'm crafting is like. ok so these two men who both feel things WAY too much can function well when separated [either through distraction/hierarchy of priority/conscious refusal to acknowledge certain feelings about certain people (at least on Jet's end, Zuko isn't emotionally savvy enough to CONSCIOUSLY repress his emotions)] but when you put them in a room together its like splitting the atom. like you have a certain amount of time before they cant ignore each other any longer.

THAT or they just slot back together like nothing has happened or no time has elapsed at all. maybe they make a creepily professional and efficient duo. maybe the smooth working-together (a la "we made a good team" Ferry dynamic) is like. the Prelude to the eruption. What I'm saying is they both have the POTENTIAL to be incredibly possessive people but would also never admit to it so instead they'd just have to have crazy reunion sex all the time.

[eerna]

Barret projecting onto parents he meets bc it makes him think of his daughter and randomly crying over the future in which she is a grownup and has left him behind. Barret protecting "creepy weirdos" from mean onlookers and volunteering to go check up on them to make sure they are okay. Barret going to a big entertainment park filled with wonders beyond imagination and losing his shit because it reminds him how capitalism ruins lives for superficial shit like that. Barret <3<3<3<3