#The Underneath Audiobook

[hostiae]

i feel like in modern day, lestat would love audiobooks. i think a lot about lestat reading only the beginning of a book to sound more intellectual and i think it's only part of it. like yes, he desperately wants to be an intellectual.

he dreamt of being someone who could read all of the old books. he admired and envied scholars, those who could spend their time reading and writing, whereas he couldn't do it.

lestat doesn't learn to read and write until after he becomes a vampire. all of his life up to that point is spent in frustration and with resentment and envy because he has to ask others to read for him.

he's an actor who can't even read his own script. he can't read the reviews.

even as a vampire, my headcanon is that while he can read and write, it isn't necessarily easy. he struggles with spelling, particularly when it's not in french. he can't read as quickly as other vampires who fly through books and he becomes frustrated and bored quickly when he tries.

instead of admitting his struggles, he blows it off. the books he's reading are stupid or dull, he pretends to be smarter than the books because otherwise, he feels like he's the unintelligent one.

it's very much giving someone who has a certain idea of what it means to be smart and intellectual and so he tries to pretend that he can be that person, but he's not and never was.

but for him to be able to listen to books, instead of struggling to get through the first few chapters — it would be so good!

[sams-special-space]

2023 Nastolgia Reads: The Underneath by Kathi Appelt

Genre: Fiction: Fantasy Age level: Middle grade Format: Novel

Summary: A pregnant calico cat is abandoned. A dog is chained to a house by the abusive man living in it. Together, they live in the underneath of the house, where their stories intertwine with the world around them as the past bleeds into the present and an old story reaches its end.

Thoughts: I came back to this book years after my English teacher read it to our class, only really remembering bits and pieces. I was surprised to see a lot of my own writing style in it! This book definitely impacted younger me, and I'm glad I took the time to reread it. It's one of those stories that has a lot going on at once, and then everything comes crashing together in the end. I really enjoyed that aspect and think it was done well!

The writing style is definitely hit or miss though, and I can understand why some people wouldn't be into it. The author frequently utilizes lengthy + run-on sentences, which didn't work well with the fact that I read this by listening to the audiobook. I didn't feel like the narrator leaned into it enough- I think reading something like this is an experience you have to play with, if that makes sense? Like speeding up your reading every now and then to have the emotional impact of the repeating words hit you. I don't know! It was definitely annoying at times. I'd be interested in reading this again with a physical copy like I usually do, to see if that feels better for me.

Overall, this is a great story for young readers, and it was great for me as someone who likes fantasy but also gets overwhelmed easily. Heed the trigger warnings though since it often gets dark! 

Rating: 4/5 Trigger warnings: Animal abuse, animal death, alcoholism and child abuse. Rep: Indigeonous SCs.

[heyhelloitsmilo]

Audiobooks

jason todd x gn! reader

891 words

⚠️ warnings: milo standard fluff

💛 pairings: Jason Todd x gn!Reader

💫 summary: jason todd recites to you pride and prejudice and then you call him a nerd

💬 extra notes: its gettin real cold here and my heater went out oops

You never thought you’d find yourself like this. It wasn't bad, you weren't complaining, to be clear. This was just so… so… domestic? And soft?

Jason’s arms encircled your waist, his body curled around your own. Tight muscles relaxed in your presence, nose buried in the crook of your neck. White-streaked hair tangled in your fingertips. Warm breath tickled the side of your neck, scarred hands slipped under your shirt to find purchase on your side or back. Jane Austen’s Pride And Prejudice played as an audiobook in the background.

The second Robin. Red Hood himself. In your bed. Holding you close like his life depended on it. It might as well have, you were the only thing keeping him sane most days, especially days like these. The hours and days tended to blur together. His thigh shifted to pull you close, resting on your hip, his bare leg on your body.

You had your arms around Jason’s neck, back arched as he held you close, your chest to his. Even if the circumstances the two of you had faced to meet weren't the best, you would still do it all over again for moments like these. Jason was such a wonderful man. Strong sense of justice, often a bit brutal, but soft at heart. He loved every fiber of your being, and even if he didn't say that often, he’d sure as hell show it. Quality time date nights, making your favorite food for dinner, finding out all of your typical orders at restaurants or cafes, smothering you in kisses as soon as he got home.

Jason pressed a few chaste kisses to your neck, scarred lips gentle on your skin. He chased them with curt nibbles, fingers rubbing circles into the skin of your back.

“You're so warm.”

He muttered, the duvet swaddling the both of you in soft fabric. But you were also just generally nice to hug.

“I'm gonna make tea later. Do you want some?”

You nodded, feeling drowsy from all the relaxation. Didn’t matter that you’d probably fall asleep within the next few minutes, it made you feel so wanted and loved.

Jason smiled against your skin, his expressions hidden from your eyes. Nights like these, he never wanted to let you go. He’d hold you forever, given the option. Fingers trailed up and down your back, tracing every curve, every dip, every bump of your spine. Gentle touches reinforced the mental map of your body, planes of skin beneath his palms.

For a few hours, he could be normal. Here, in your arms, in your apartment, he didn't have to worry or be angry or upset. It was just you and him.

“My affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever. If, however, your feelings have changed, I will have to tell you:”

You felt Jason take in a breath, this quote meant more to him than he let on. So much so, he’d memorized it.

“You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.”

You smiled, tracing gentle little hearts onto Jason’s scarred back, a silent acknowledgement. Fingertips glided along your boyfriend's textured back, dips and bumps and ridges underneath the pads of your fingers. Gods, you loved him. To whatever deity was out there, you prayed that this would never end.

“...Fucking nerd."

You muttered, voice muffled in Jason’s shoulder. A rumble of a chuckle bubbled up from Jason’s throat, calloused hands rubbing gently at your back. He didn't deny it, though. Only nibbled at your skin, tongue playfully darting out to leave a little lick. You shivered, recoiling at the feeling of saliva on your neck.

“Ew.”

Jason chuckled, licking a line up your neck.

“Ew!”

Disgusted grumbles left your mouth, trying to roll away from Jason, only for him to tighten his hold on you.

“You’re not gettin’ away from my love, sweetheart.”

You sighed, falling limp in his arms, your body a dead weight as he manhandled you back over to him.

"Yeah, accept your fate."

Jason grinned, turning you onto your back, leaning in, and planting a raspberry on your collarbone. You squeaked, wriggling in Jason's grasp. He nipped and nibbled at your neck and the tender area just under your jaw, his hands tracing the dips in your body.

And then he licked your cheek.

"EuuAuCk!"

An inhuman noise left your lips, your head recoiling as far as humanly possible into the pillows. You curled in on yourself, rubbing the saliva off with the collar of your shirt.

Something akin to a giggle left Jason's lips, his blue eyes flicking up to meet yours.

Eugh. Blue-eyed stare.

Piercing blue eyes aside, Jason simply resorted to lying down on top of you with no regard for your breathing. All things considered, he was a nice weighted blanket. You simply sighed, the calm voice of the audiobook coming back into focus. Not enough in focus to perceive whatever they were saying, however.

Again, here you were, all cuddled up and cozy with Jason wrapped around you. Your hand combed through his shaggy hair, gently scratching at his scalp.

"I love you."

You murmured, lips moving against your partner's temple.

"I love you, too."

whheeeeee

[inbabylontheywept]

What Talon And What Dreadful Claw

I wrote this in response to this prompt. Ivan Alexander recorded this story, so if you like audiobooks, click here to listen. I cannot understate how talented he is.

She’d watched him walking over the horizon for almost six hours now. She loved getting guests - loved seeing the resignation of men half dead with thirst, trading certain death in the sands for possible death near her waters.

And they were hers. The promise of Ramses still stood, even if it had been a millennium since the concord. By rite of blood and writ of paper she was the queen of the deeper duat. And it was a queen’s privilege to choose her guests. And, occasionally, kill them with her claws.

She could have flown over, but she had time. More time than anyone. More than enough time to wait.

𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁗 𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒

Her guest was not half dead. He was, to be technical, less than a quarter dead, but that was only if you measured things in years.

He was young. His face certainly seemed less lined than her own. There wasn’t much else she could judge age from - the lines of her form folded into wings and furs and claws at the same point that his folded into silks and beads.

He’d prepared for the meeting by bringing a wealth of spices. It was a trick common to royal travelers: If sweat couldn’t be prevented, it could at least be masked. She could still pick traces of it up under the sandalwood and myrrh, but it was pleasant. Salty and metallic and sharp, underneath all the soft wisps of smoke.

He’d brought her gifts. When she told him that the gifts were not acceptable as passage, he said that wasn’t how gifts worked. Gifts weren’t given in exchanges - they were given for the joy of giving. And it brought him joy to share with her.

She didn’t know how to respond to that, so she simply asked if he intended to cross through her duat.

“Maybe,” he replied. “What’s your price?”

“A riddle,” she’d said. “If you get it right, you can pass. But if you get it wrong, I will devour even your bones.”

He grinned and it wasn’t false bravado. He’d known the cost before she said it.

“I love riddles. I accept.”

She loved this part. She loved the tension of it, that singular moment of truth where she wasn’t just a mind or a monster, but something straddling both worlds.

She spoke.

“I can survive beyond death, but can be broken without force. I can summon without breath but-”

“A promise.”

She looked at him wide-eyed. It wasn’t her best riddle, but it was one she’d made herself. It wasn’t supposed to be this easy.

She let him pass but she did - to her great shame - sulk. To his credit, he only lingered an hour or so in the shade of the oasis. There was a longing to him that she couldn’t describe. It unsettled her, but it went away when he took his camels and continued past, traveling on into the deep duat.

She forgot about his gifts until long after he’d passed the horizon. She’d expected human trinkets - gold and gems. Useless baubles. The pelts that had been carefully rolled up and placed inside the chest were strangely thoughtful.

She carried them back to her cave, and laid them flat across the floor. That night she slept better than she had in many, many years. In the morning, she woke up and smelled myrrh, and was almost happy to imagine the prince coming back. If she was disappointed to realize that the smell was coming from the scents soaked into the furs, that was a secret she could keep even from herself.

𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁖 𓁗 𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓐭

It was a week before he came back.

She recognized his outline on the horizon. She had a good memory, and beyond that, he’d made quite an impression on his first meeting with her.

He’d begun to run low on his spices, and his clothes were looking far more rumpled than they had at the start. That travel was beginning to wear him down should’ve meant nothing to her. Now, she felt odd. Would she still feel victorious if he failed her riddle? Or would it haunt her, knowing she could only catch him at his worst?

(Did she want to catch him?)

She waited for him to make it to her oasis again. It seemed to be part of the ritual, to sit and watch the speck on the horizon grow to the size of a man. They didn’t exchange pleasantries when he arrived. Instead he gave a small nod to acknowledge her before climbing down from atop his camel. She hadn’t demanded it prior because she knew all too well how easy it was to catch a camel, but there was still something respectful in the gesture. Here was a prince willing to die with dignity. Here was a man who lived and died by rules.

Could she be blamed for admiring that?

Only when he was fully settled in to listen did she begin her riddle.

“Toothless maw that eats all these:

Raw flesh, dung, fresh air, and trees.

At night I’m bright, in day I’m black,

I die, I’m gone, but always back.”

She was on the third line when she saw his face light up. He waited to answer this time, more focused on being polite than showing off how clever he was. She liked that. She knew he was clever, but now she knew he could be patient too.

“A campfire.”

It was one of her favorite riddles, and the joy she got was twofold. She was happy for the prince, happy that he would survive another day, and happy for herself too. It was infinitely preferable to lose with skill than to win through circumstance. She would feel robbed, if she had to eat the prince on a bad day. If he lost, he needed to lose at his best. He needed to lose in a way that mattered.

He went through the oasis again, but lingered far longer. They spoke in moments about each other’s lives - her memories of the time before even Ramses, and his experience as the seventh in line to the throne. He was trusted to act as an emissary specifically because he was so far from inheriting the throne.

“Not that I’d want it anyway,” he said. “A camel is a better throne than any silly golden chair. The seat in the palace only lets me see the bald spot on the high priest’s head. The saddle on this camel lets me see all the beauty in the world.”

His head wasn’t turned towards her when he said that, but she could see his eyes glance over her.

It was easy to pretend she didn’t notice, and he did nothing to press it further. She showed him the best trees for picking dates, the best ponds for catching fish, and the first cave she’d set her lair up in - back before even Ramses. Back when she was much, much smaller.

She slept in the next morning. The sunlight made a soft beam through the cave, over the pelts, before landing across her face. Any other day it would’ve been a wonderful way to wake up, but the realization that she’d missed her chance to say goodbye made her scramble. She made a short flight over the waters to see if he was gone, and got her answer before even landing - there was no camel tied to the palms.

Still, he’d left her a gift. The boar roasting over glowing coals had clearly been caught the night before, and the fact that it was unspiced meant it was for her.

It was also another oddly thoughtful gesture. How many humans would realize that unseasoned meat was a sphinx’s preference? How many would research that far?

She landed near the meal and approached. Down on the ground, there was so much more detail to see. The tracks of the camel, the care taken to not leave a mess. The simple note left besides the firepit.

She reached out and read.

I’m sure you don’t depend on travelers for your meals

But I do feel bad, having deprived you twice.

Enjoy the boar. I will be back in two weeks.

She hadn’t taken a bite yet, but she could pretend the warmth in her stomach was the meal. Two bites was all it took to make the illusion complete.

𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗 𓐭 𓐮 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒

She waited until the fifteenth day before flying.

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected - a sandstorm, perhaps, or a heatstruck camel. Instead, it was only a few minutes flight before the smell of blood caught in the back of her throat.

It was hard to describe what happened after that. Sometimes, she was more mind than monster. Sometimes, she was more monster than mind. That day was a monster day.

He’d lost a lot of blood by the time she found him. A frankly terrifying amount of blood. She could carry him back to the oasis, but that’d only delay the inevitable.

But sphinx knew many things that humans did not.

She carried him, and he was light in her claws. Light in the way that humans were, but some small, scared part of her brain was worried that the blood loss made him lighter still. Like a date left in the sun.

She followed the trail through the desert until she found the thieves that did this. They had his gifts and his spices. They’d have taken the clothes off his corpse if they’d been able to catch his camel.

They’d have taken his life. The one human life she’d valued in one-thousand years, and they’d have taken his life.

It was hard to hate humans. They were so small and short lived that taking them personally felt childish. But this day, she hated, and it made killing easy. Five of the six bandits were extraneous. The last, thankfully, had blood that smelled like the prince.

(He was much less thankful about this than she was).

She took them both back, the prince held gently in her front talons, the bandit half crushed in the back. The transfer spell took exactly as much as it needed. It would’ve been crueler to let the bandit suffer the same fate he’d intended to inflict on the prince - to struggle on with too little blood, until his body failed. It was tempting, but she felt a sick gratitude that he had what she’d needed when she needed it, so she made the end quick. Or, quick enough.

Thirty seconds isn’t long, but it’s an eternity when falling.

𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗 𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗 𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗 𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒

The prince recovered enough to speak after three days. He asked her to tell him riddles, and if she was as jealous of her domain as she pretended, she’d have said no. But good riddles were the tool she used to rid herself of unwanted guests, and this guest was… wanted.

So she read riddles to him for days at a time. Read all the ones she’d hoarded from scholars. Read ones she wrote herself, just for fun. She started with her best riddles because she loved his praise, but moved on to her earlier ones because what they lacked in cleverness, they made up for by being earnest.

He loved those riddles the most.

One week stretched into two. He spent his days swimming after fish, chasing after boars with spears made of stone (she hadn’t seen that in a very long time) and scurrying up the trees to pick dates. And his nights, he spent imagining riddles around a campfire.

She knew it wasn’t going to be permanent, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be beautiful. She’d outlived so many things in this world - seen rivers change courses and lakes run dry. If impermanence was a poison, then it was a poison she couldn’t avoid. There was no wall she could build to keep death at bay. She could only share her home with it and hope that one, one wonderful, far away day, that even death would die.

But that day would not be soon.

The king’s men found the oasis after a month of searching. There were no riddles this time. The prince left willingly, and the men with bronze blades stayed respectfully far from her part of the duat. It went as good as it could have gone, all things considered. If some part of her felt empty afterwards, well, maybe she just needed to eat.

Regular gifts did find her way to the duat, as thanks after that. Herds of goats were released near her borders, to hunt at her own leisure. Soft pelts from the northern lands were delivered in chests, and she luxuriated in their fluff.

Most importantly, a regular shipment of blank vellum began to make its way to the duat. She was told was explicitly that it was for her to write more riddles. And also, if she had a spare moment, she could send letters back with the vendor. The prince always made sure to send at least one out to her, and she always made sure to send one back.

Always.

𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁗 𓁖 𓁗 𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗 𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑𓁗

It had been decades.

She just-

She couldn’t see how humans were like this. She’d written with him six months ago! He’d been sharp as ever. Sharper, even. Time had winnowed him into a razor’s edge, and she'd been so amazed to see him change. And then he’d gotten busy, and they’d stopped writing letters for just a month, and then it was two months, and then three and now-

Now he wasn’t well.

The last letter she’d received hadn’t even been from him. It had been from his eldest brother, the reigning pharaoh. And it had broken her heart.

He was forgetting… everything. His mind was breaking. Decades of brilliance, and now he was falling apart at the seams. Some days, he didn’t even know who he was. But on the days that he did, the only thing he could talk about was going to the oasis one last time.

And his brother who had kept him close, who had been so protective of him after his near death with the bandits, had finally agreed.

He was going to be arriving any day now. The note had a sort of helpless plea attached - that he didn’t know what to do at this point, but that whatever it cost her to keep him comfortable, he would repay tenfold.

She sent a letter back saying it was a gift. She was the queen of the duat, and it pleased her to give this to her neighboring kingdom. Nevermind that her kingdom had no subjects, nevermind that she had no armies at her disposal. What she had, she could give, and this was… easy.

It made her happy to write the letter. It remind her of the first words the prince had spoken to her, all those years ago.

𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗 𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁗

He arrived a few days later, escorted by fifty soldiers. She was grateful that he was in one of his lucid moments. She couldn’t imagine how it would be, to be seen and not known.

She didn’t wait for them to make it all the way to her oasis. She flew over to meet them, and then carried him back. The traditional wait was from when she thought she had time. Before she'd realized that there were ways for even an immortal to find themselves in a hurry.

He spent his first day back chasing fish, the same way he did before. The boars he left be - seventy, he insisted, was far too old to be messing with boars. And when the evening came, they gathered by a campfire to share riddles.

They went back and forth, laughing at each other's crafts. It was only after an hour of reminiscing that she actually asked him her favorite riddle, the riddle that she had permanently written in as His riddle. The one with toothless maws and meat and light in the dark, and he stared at her - not blankly, but worse, confused, because he recognized the riddle, but could no longer answer it.

She could see the distress growing in him, and it broke her heart. He hemmed and hawed, but right when he looked on the brink of giving up, he looked at the fire and started in relief.

“A campfire!” he said, and they laughed, and if he could pretend his tears were mirth and not mourning she could pretend that hers were the same.

𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒

He was not well the next day.

He knew who he was, thankfully, but he didn’t remember getting there. He stumbled around almost dazed until he saw her. Then he sighed in relief.

“This is my favorite dream,” he confided in her. “I’d like to get back here for real one day - but this dream is lovely. Can you read me some more riddles? Just like last time. I've never forgotten.”

She didn’t even touch her later works. She went to her earliest ones, the easy ones, and the way he pondered minutes at a time made her stomach clench.

𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒

She did not sleep that night.

She had spent literally her entire life trying to make harder and harder riddles, and now-

They needed to be easy. They needed to be simple. They needed to rhyme, and feel like riddles, but they needed to be solvable by someone that -

She had to stop writing for a few moments to compose herself. She couldn’t afford to cry on the vellum. A new shipment wouldn’t arrive in time.

She was immortal, but she was still running out of time.

𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒

He woke up the next morning completely confused. She’d prepared her first riddle as

“Who sits in the sand

Beside my lair

Who swims through fish

With thin white hair

Who braved the desert and survived

Then returned home alive and thrived?”

But after several seconds of silence she couldn’t take it anymore.

“It’s you,” she said.

“Oh!” he replied, surprised.

“What do you know about this place?”, she asked, after several more long seconds of quiet.

“…Not a lot,” he admitted. “But I know I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said.

That was the only riddle she had for the day. He fell asleep in the midmorning, and she took the time to go catch a goat for them. He was still asleep when she returned and remained that way the rest of the day. She stayed awake long after sunset, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest and praying it would never stop. She wasn’t sure when she fell asleep - she just knew that when she woke up, her prayer had gone unanswered.

𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗 𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗 𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗 𓐭 𓐮 𓁐 𓁑 𓁗

The vellum vendor arrived at the start of the deep duat only to find the oasis empty. He looked for hours, but there was only a single vellum left behind in the cave. He grabbed it and read the half finished riddle.

​ What hungers and is never full?

What is complete but never whole?

What pierces armor, shields, and hearts?

What ends before it even starts?

What force can make a monster thrall

What talon and what dreadful claw

Can heal the slice it makes each day?

What pain can make the godless pray?

It was all he could take back to the pharaoh.

He hoped it was enough.

[neptunelindseycosplay]

Finally made a skeleton arm for my Ianthe cosplay! Video does not do justice to how shiny this is. I debuted worst girl’s skelly arm at FanimeCon 2024 this past weekend and got a lot of questions about how I crafted it.

⬇️ Details are below the cut ⬇️

The TL;DR: Each bone was a piece of craft foam wrapped in gold spandex fabric (via tacky glue) and tacky glued and subsequently whip-stitched on to a matte black glove.

Why I chose the materials I did:

Comfort in cosplay is a very important to me, so I wanted to ensure that everything on my hand would be able move comfortably on my arm. Thin craft foam, spandex, and tacky glue were all materials that I knew could hold up to my hand flexing. Tacky glue has the added benefit of being non-toxic. I selected the “Thunder Hologram Spandex” from Blue Moon Fabric in “Gold Gold” as my fabric choice as I felt it could give some good texture and dimensionality to the individual bones that I knew would be pasted flat on the craft foam. I didn’t want to make the base glove, so I purchased one of the seamless gloves from WeLoveColors in black.

Patterning:

I traced my hand and looked up reference images of skeleton arms and used it to draw a skeleton hand fitting the dimensions of my own hand. For my forearm, I used a classic cosplayer patterning trick: I first wrapped my arm in cling wrap, then covered with duct tape. I then drew on the forearm bones based on my reference material. I used transfer paper to then trace the pattern on to the craft foam, and cut out the pieces with scissors (an x acto knife would’ve worked better but I couldn’t fine mine and I was feeling lazy). I kept my drawn pattern of the skeleton hand to keep my many foam pieces organized.

“Gilding”:

For this section, I will be referring to the foam pieces as having a “right” and “wrong” side. The right side is the side of the foam that will be lying up, and the wrong side is the side glued to the base glove. I rolled out my gold spandex fabric, with wrong side facing up with a layer of parchment paper underneath. I applied a thin layer of tacky glue using a brush on to the right side of the foam, then pasted it down to the wrong side of the gold fabric. I left plenty of room between the foam pieces glued to the fabric as I would need to wrap the edges of the fabric over to the wrong side of the foam.

Once the tacky glue was dry, I cut out the pieces, being sure to leave an allowance of fabric around the foam to be wrapped over to the wrong side of the foam. Each bone contained many convex and concave curves, so I clipped and notched the fabric allowance as necessary. See guide below:

Once the fabric was clipped and notched, I used a brush to apply tacky glue to the allowance on the wrong side of the fabric. Then I folded the allowance over to the wrong side of the foam, held in place, and used a hair dryer with my free hand to help accelerate tacky glue’s slow dry time. Once the glue was tacky enough to hold the wrapped fabric in place, I let completely dry on parchment paper wrong side of the foam down.

Attaching to glove:

Now that my bones are dry, I can attach them to my glove! To initially place down the pieces, I put the glove on to my arm, used a brush to apply tacky glue to the wrong side of the fabric wrapped foam piece and then placed on to the glove, using a hair dryer to help speed up the glue process, then moving to the next piece once every piece was set. For this step it is extremely important you use a non toxic glue, as some glue will seep through the glove and get on your skin. It will take a while for the glue to dry, so be patient and take some time to watch some TV or listen to a podcast/audiobook.

I made sure to show it off to my cat.

Once dry, I carefully removed from my arm. I knew immediately I couldn’t get away with solely glueing the pieces down. I had some gold metallic thread in my stash already, so I used that to whip stitch each piece on to the glove. Metallic thread can be a little annoying to work with, so be sure to look up some tips online before purchase some.

Then I was done! I definitely think this is one of the coolest things I’ve made. I’ve been brainstorming how to make this for quite some time, so I feel very accomplished and so happy other people appreciated my handiwork.

Feel free to let me know if you have any questions, I’ll do my best to answer them!

[boopsiesdaisies]

Check (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Literally my first fanfic since middle school, sorry y'all. I got that Spencer Reid brainrot. ALSO how does this work on Tumblr??? I legit haven't done this since you could fancast on Wattpad.

Spencer Reid x Reader | 1,470 words | Fluff | GN!Reader

Literally you two on the jet playing chess, set in season one/early season two.

“Do not even think about it!” You yelled, “I’m going to win if this is the last thing I do!”

Reid struggled to stifle his crooked smirk. He knew you were just going to get more upset if you saw him smiling. “I was just going to say you’re in check.”

“I’m going to put you in check in a second, Reid.” The chessboard was beginning to mock you. It must have been rigged. There must have been magnets underneath the board changing everything making this impossible to win. Plus Morgan’s soft snorts whenever you yelled at Reid reminded you that the rest of the team was watching you get your ass handed to you.

“Actually you have less than a three percent chance of doing that,” Reid explained. “And if anything about the last six games have been telling then it’s probably lower than that.”

“I swear to God, Reid,” you exclaimed. “I’ll show you what check looks like.”

You weren’t even sure how you got here. Gideon had cornered you after the case saying “he needed to rest on the jet” and that “you should get Reid to teach you how to play chess” something something “it’ll make you a better profiler” something something else. You were bad for not always listening to Gideon’s Dad-isms, but you couldn’t always help it. You wanted to rest! The week in New Mexico had been exhausting. You wanted nothing more than to close your eyes on the jet with your headphones blasting whatever awful audiobook you started before the case that you didn’t really care about and sleep. Sleep like no one could wake you up for another thousand years. Plus, you were pretty sure it was more of the case of Gideon was worried about Reid and less of you needing to be a better profiler. Sure, you weren’t the top of your class but you were far from a fledgling who needed chess to make you better at your job. 

Despite that, there you sat. Six lost games of chess later, and only an hour and a half into the four and half hour flight. Maybe it was pathetic to try to fight at this point. The cheat sheet Reid had written up for you felt useless. The pieces all blurred together and what even was the difference between a rook and a bishop?

“Are you going to make a move?” Reid asked.

“Yes! I’m just thinking,” you shifted the way you were sitting, slightly bumping the table, getting a terribly brilliant idea. The pieces had just jumped slightly as you hit the table by accident. You just had to sell it.

“Do you feel that Reid?” You asked, the fake worry dripping like honey from your voice.

“Feel what?” He snapped his head back and forth between you and the side of the jet.

“Oh no! Turbulence!” You shifted your legs again, crossing them differently; in the process you kicked the table from underneath as hard as you could. The chess pieces dramatically went flying much further and harder than you expected. Rooks and pawns scattered across the table and the floor in front of both you and Reid.

“What? There’s no turbulence, you can’t just scatter the pieces because you were losing!” Reid yelled trying to grab pieces and place them back in their positions. “Plus, I have an eidetic memory, I know where the pieces were!”

The rest of the team was laughing; pulled away from their activities to watch the commotion. You groaned and leaned under the table to grab the pieces.

“If you don’t want to play, you don’t have to,” Reid’s face hadn’t fallen, but from the tone of voice part of you felt it was laced with something. It felt reminiscent of disappointment, but like he was trying to mask it. 

You sensed it before you processed it and began to speak on pure instinct. “Sorry, Reid, why don’t we reset?”

Part of you wanted to get to know the brainiac doctor better and this was the opportunity to do so, but it would mean admitting you were bad at something. Somehow you were the most competitive person on the team, and Gideon must have known that. You were always getting your nose into arguments trying to win sheerly for the fact of wanting to win, less about caring about a topic. Some people saw that as a flaw, but you always saw it as the trait that got you here. You lived your life out of spite, and competitiveness was the unfortunate consequence of that. By the time you had grabbed the single pawn off the floor, Reid had leaned under the table searching for it too. 

“I got it,” you sigh and go to stand up. In the moment of fate, your confidence was struck down even lower to the lowest of clichés. In a flash of an instance, as the two of you attempted to right yourselves and unfold from underneath the table, you hit heads. It was just like those cheesy rom coms that Garcia forced you to watch on your girls’ nights that you pretended to hate. 

“Oh shit, sorry Reid–”

“No, I’m sorry– I–I’m–Um–Sorry, I–” Reid stuttered, and you realized just how precarious your position was, nose to nose under the table where no one could see you.

It was the first time you were that close to Reid, the infamous germaphobe who refused handshakes from everyone always seemed to keep his distance from you. You finally got a good look at him. Glasses that framed his face, his soft doe-like brown eyes, and brown hair that curled just so gently under his ears. The heat began to rise to your face, and Reid’s face had the same reaction. The red blush spread from the apples of his cheeks to his ears and down his neck. You cursed the universe that he was exactly your type: gangly limbs, genius-intellect, perfect eyes and all. 

Reid practically jumped trying to get out from under the table, hitting his head as he went and sat back at the seat. You steadied yourself with a deep breath and climbed out from under the table. When you resurfaced, you avoided Reid’s gaze, and Morgan’s eyes were the first that you met. As began to realize your mistake, he began to purse his lips and rub his hands up his arms as if he was poorly making out with his imaginary woman. 

“Morgan, if that's how you kiss a woman, I feel sorry for Garcia,” you laced your words with as much venom as you could muster.

You turned back to Reid who was carefully lifting and replacing the chess pieces on the squares. 

“Did you know that chess was actually called chaturanga when it was first played in India in the 8th century CE? Plus it was actually played on an eight by eight grid and it wasn’t until it began to spread to Europe in the 10th century CE that it began to shift to the chess we’re playing. Even then it would take over a thousand years before either of us would know how to play,” Reid was coping as best as he could, even though you were afraid you broke him. He was relying on his intellect to avoid the topic at hand. 

Why was he even so embarrassed? Why were you? It wasn’t like you thought he was attractive. Sure, he was your type! But that didn’t mean anything. You could think a man was hot without wanting to date him. And sure, he was perfect for you, and maybe you were even more competitive than usual because you wanted to impress him but that would be ridiculous. 

Oh…

You were down bad. 

“I didn’t know that, although I’m sure you can play chess, I think I’m just moving pieces around,” you shamefully admitted.

“You’ll get it, don’t worry, once you know how the piece moves it will get easier,” Reid’s reassurance immediately struck your heart. Damnit. 

“Why don’t you just explain it all to me again?” You asked. “Like treat me like I’m a kid, maybe I’ll get it better then.”

“Okay, so there are 32 pieces on a chessboard, and you control 16 of them. There are six types of pieces…”

“You knew what you were doing,” Hotch leaned over to Gideon watching the two members of the team playing chess; staying as carefully out of earshot as he could. Reid carefully re-explaining the pieces, pointing to each one. 

“Of course I did,” Gideon said. “If  the two of them pined after each other in silence for two more minutes I thought I was going to lose it. Now they have four hours to spend with each other because neither of them will give up.”

[hopecomesbacktolife]

also holy shit the playing of the first few notes of Thrawn’s organ theme / motif that played when Katie [redacted] a few minutes later 😳

Qui-Gon Jinn to Rael Averros, in chapter 37 of Master and Apprentice:

[byhees]

my late-night romance.

엔하이픈 ・ female reader + word count 700 genre fluff established relationship warnings not proof-read mention of food — more

a/n. blank

heeseung

staying up till two in the morning, and succumbing to the rumbles of your stomach, indulging in a late-night snack.

you sitting on the kitchen counter, watching as he grabs a pint of ice cream from the fridge.

sharing one spoon because neither of you wanted to do additional dishes, especially not this early, or late, in the day.

him feeding spoonfuls of the sweet dessert to you, watching as you lowly hum at the delectability of the treat.

jongseong

holding each other close in bed after settling down for the night, and having a small, childish argument about who loves the other more.

hearing him go on a passionate spiel, and smiling momentarily as you hear him list down the most beautiful descriptors for your relationship.

the conversation leading to a tickle match underneath the duvets, laughter bouncing off the walls.

yielding to one another, and simply falling asleep to his steady heartbeat, the sound lulling you to tranquility as your head finds respite in lying on his chest.

jaeyun

him listening to you talk about your day, except the dimness of the room causes his loving gaze to go unnoticed.

mindlessly ranting about a particular issue, or sharing about a mood-lifting incident, and hearing his fingers clumsily feel round the bed for your hand; his fingertips skimming across the back of your palm, the ticklish sensation being evidence of his successful scouring efforts.

hanging onto every word that leaves your lips, even if they turn into indistinguishable mumbles.

staying up till the late hours of the night, despite having to be up-and-about only a few hours later, because he’d prefer to sacrifice the minutes of sleep for such a priceless conversation.

sunghoon

lying down in comfortable silence as he plays with your hair, mindlessly curling strands around a finger or simply caressing your locks.

mutually enjoying the other’s company, despite the lack of words.

listening to the deep inhales, the soft dancing of window blinds with every small breeze, the ruffling of fabric as little movements are made to shift closer.

you tracing his delicate features as he sleeps.

seonwoo

him laughing out loud in the dark after hearing you blurt out random thoughts that would just casually form without any reason.

finding your unusual proclaims and questions more entertaining than any other television series, wanting to replay the inquisitive tone of your voice and the genuine curiosity laced in your words.

getting into lighthearted debates whilst snuggling up against one another under the blanket, not knowing if you two should just call it a day, or add another plausible point.

him unknowingly smiling to himself as you snore beside him, mind trailing off to the uncertainty of whether sleep would be possible while in such a giddy state.

jungwon

him cuddling up against your side and listening as you read a book aloud, the recited words falling from your lips in such an enchanting manner.

him staring at your parted lips for a second, losing track of the current happenings within the book.

catching a glimpse of you struggling to find a comfortable position to read in, so he simply moves to the side to pull you into his arms, your head now resting in a less strain-inducing spot.

both of you reading different characters in improvised tones and savouring the homemade audiobook.

riki

starting pillow fights in the living room for no absolute reason, but finding enjoyment in doing so.

laying down on the floor in exhaustion, pillows discarded all over the playing grounds, as you both stare at each other with nothing but admiration.

him swiping away some of your hair from your face just to get a better look at the grin prancing on your lips, your eyes sparkling under the light.

him insisting that he’d tidy up the mess, because he sees your eyelids flutter heavily every now and then, and he hears your words blurring together.

taglist open! @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @syrxiee2 @g4m3girl @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sp22sworld networks! @kflixnet

[blkgirl-writing]

Refuge for the Wicked

"Sharing a Blanket" from flufftober (In march)

Gale Dekarios x Durge!reader

Summary: You can't escape the faded memories of your haunted past, and sleep is nothing but a nightmare. Gale can't seem to sleep either. Maybe some extra warmth will help.

A/N: Prompt from @flufftober

(spring), I started late so I just started on 6! I might go back and write the first few. Also writing alongside my wonderful friend @ficbrish who made this fic happen, thank you! Also thanks to Jane Eyre for being my background audiobook and reminding me of big words.

TW: Dark Urge reader, (vague morbid thoughts, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of anxiety attacks), fluffy overall dw.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚❋ ❋ ❋˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚❋ ❋ ❋˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

In the dead of night, when the fireflies and stars lit up the sky, the air was too quiet to stand. Your head buzzed like frantic bees in a fallen hive, trying everything to get out, the brutal bloodied images flashing across your vision. No refuge for the wicked, You'd told yourself over and over, when sleep couldn't take you. But, You had been proven wrong.

Gale hadn't had the best rest either, used to the comforts of his tower, his warm tressym on his lap, and endless books to ease his mind into sleep. He had seen you turning in your sleep, and laid a gentle hand on your shoulder, whispering an invitation to his own tent. You had refused, worried about your cruel hands during slumber. but gods above, any sound had to be better than bitter silence, and one thing you knew about Gale, was that there would never be stale air.

It became pattern, after a few nights. The others would sleep, and you'd sneak away to his cozy corner, and Gale would talk. About anything, really. Gale shared his fondest memories, read a chapter from his small stash of literature, and even teach you a few simple spells. Your favorite was when he'd recite the most romantic poems. They felt warm, somehow. stirring something deep within you. Those nights, you'd rest peacefully, no dreams or nightmares, just darkness. Gale's voice became the only comfort in your world. And even nights he could sleep effortlessly, you found yourself wandering into his tent, curled up in the opposite corner from him.

This night, however, neither of you could sleep, and yet there was still quiet. It felt like hours,

"It's certainly cold tonight," Gale muttered.

"I can start another fire closer?" You offered.

"No no no, let me." At a snap of his fingers, a flame appeared in the dirt just in front of his tent. Never wavering and never moving, just taking the edge off the nipping air.

A few more moments passed, and you tucked your knees to your chest, hands cupped over your mouth to stop the numbness from climbing further up your fingers.

"Come here, you're freezing to death," Gale pulled the blanket over, opening up a space for you right next to him. Maybe he saw your hesitation, or maybe he wanted you next to him just as much as you wanted him, but he outstretched his hand to yours, his soft but calloused fingers wrapping around your frozen ones, and ever so gently pulled you towards him. Knowing it wasn't just an empty offer was enough for you to settle into him, his arm wrapped carefully around your waist, your head nestled into his shoulder, and finally, warmth enveloping your body underneath his big, heavy blanket.

"Thank you." This...was nice.

"Any time." His fingers played with a loose thread on the blanket, just by your hip. "You're more than welcome to keep your things here."

"Oh," Was all you managed, eyes fluttering away from his face for a moment. this closeness was something to be afraid of, you knew deep down you were supposed to be alone. But in his arms, you felt a calmness that you'd never known before. But you felt like you didn't deserve that bliss. "I don't need a tent or anything."

"I'm very sure you could manage on your own, but you don't have to." Gale spoke softly, almost like he was telling a secret, a small smile forming"You've spoiled me, I can't quite sleep right without you next to me."

You blinked, staring into the flicker of the fire before you. All you could think about was the soft fabric on your skin, so opposite from the biting that ran through your blood, and the warmth he brought from his touch, his body comforting and steady against yours. "Are you saying you miss me, Gale?"

"Quite a bit, actually." You could feel his eyes on you, but you hadn't dared to look, not yet. You knew there was kindness in his stare, it sent shivers down your spine, a sign that you didn't deserve the caring offer he implied, asked of. Your body rejected that but gods above did you want nothing but it. Because with him, Your mind was free, heart full, body light.

"I would really love that." You replied. Finally, a smile, from happiness, and not morbidity. You leaned further into him, intertwining your legs with his, Gale resting his head on top of yours, placing a barely noticeable kiss on your forehead.

"I'm glad you spoke to me."

'Hm?" Gale spoke, voice low and gravely, clearly between the realm of wake and sleep.

"I'm glad, that you spoke to me, to come to your tent that night."

"Oh," Gale rolled further into you, getting more comfortable, "I wish I had sooner." and with that, he drifted into sleep, the fire extinguishing in a wisp. Leaving you to think about his words, and your thoughts. You truly did love, that he invited you once, and again to stay, and he really meant it.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚❋ ❋ ❋˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

just before sunrise was when you silently awoke from more night terrors. Astarion still off in the woods, surely feeding. otherwise, everyone was sound asleep. Or so you thought.

You had a few minutes in your own thoughts, sitting up and staring blankly into the dim glow of the distant campfire. Gale, with his big heart and smart mouth, won you over, no denying it anymore. It was clear when your small respite of nightmares, dreams filled with him, almost fighting to keep you sane.

"Good morning." Gale leaned on his hand, looking at you with a groggy fondness, like you were the sunrise and sunset, beautiful and full of life. His eyes nearly glimmered when he looked at you through his sleepy eyes.

"I thought you were asleep." You smiled, cozying back into the warm blanket, the cold morning air still too crisp, or you just used it as an excuse to be close to him again. And as if he read your thoughts, he drew you closer to him with a gentle touch.

"Stay" He whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, oh gods above his voice sounded like warm whiskey and the smoothness of turning new pages. "-please"

Well, there was no denying that. You couldn't pry yourself away from Gale. You held him tight, as if he'd wake up and realize his mistake, you had mistaken his words and actions and never felt this comfort again. His warm breath tickled your lower neck, his head on your chest, eyes barely open, but fixated on you. under the blanket, shielded from the light of the day, heavy eyes not daring to look away from his.

He smiled. A soft smile, but full of light. His lips were slightly chapped, eyes tinted red, details you missed upon his face at a distance, now fully on display as you tilted down. lips inches from his.

Your eyes flickered closed as he sank further into you. Gale enveloped you, body and soul, connecting in a sleepy haze, melting into a kiss. Only stopping for air, a mumbled word, and another kiss. Countless kisses, ending in peaceful slumber.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚❋ ❋ ❋˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

TAGLIST

Please reach out if you wish to be added!!

@shyminnie07 @makers-breath @claryvoyantfray @black-sapphic @fapqueen

[worldweaveralicya]

Writing Gore & Body Horror

!!!TW: Gore and Body Horror (obviously)!!!

Sometimes you just gotta let out your inner angsty teenager. And gore & body horror can be a fun way to do that and let your imagination run wild.

Of course, you should make sure it fits in your story. Don't just suddenly add gore if the tone of your writing was lighthearted and comedic up until now. That being said, let's get into how to actually write gore!

Specificity

Whether you're going with creative body horror or realistic injuries - Specificity is key. Describe everything in detail. For example:

Not that graphic: The man fell off the building and died on impact.

Graphic: The man fell off the building with a terrified scream. A sickening crunch could be heard when he hit the ground and his neck snapped. There he was, in a scarlet puddle of his own blood, his limbs twisted in unnatural angles. His abdomen burst due to the force of the impact, so his guts spilled out in a disturbing display.

Descriptive Verbs

A lot of splatter-y horror focuses on adjectives. But descriptive and/or onomatopoetic verbs can also evoke violent imagery! Here are some good verbs to describe gore-related actions:

slashing, slicing, slit

ripping, tearing

crushing, crunching, smashing

writhing, twisting, squirming

breaking, snapping, cracking

Sensory adjectives

Immerse your reader fully into a scene by engaging multiple senses. Readers are often desensitized to seeing and hearing violent scenes because of audiobooks and movies. But actually smelling a carcass? Feeling bloody meat wriggle underneath your fingers? Disgusting... therefore it's perfect! Here is some inspiration:

Tactile (touch) squishy, wet, warm, gooey, slippery, sticky, slimy, damp, smooth, juicy, jagged, fleshy, slick, blistered, bloated

Olfactory (smell) & Gustatory (taste) rancid, foul, moldy, sweet, rotten, acidic, burnt, metallic, spoiled, putrid, tart, sour, stale, gamy, bitter, septic, fetid, pungent

Reactions

Another way to make your scenes more intense is adding character's reaction to all the messed up stuff happening around them. Obviously, the way you go about this depends on the character's personality and/or experience. A professional butcher and a peaceful kindergarten teacher will have vastly different reactions to violent scenes. But either way, actually having them react in a meaningful way can level up your scene. Describe not only what is happening, but also how it makes your characters feel.

I hope this post was helpful. Have fun writing some horrifying scenes!

Until next time, keep weaving words!

[the-forest-library]

Your 10 (ish) Most Read Authors (According to Goodreads or Whatever System You Use)

I was tagged by @bookcub - thanks!

What are your ten most Most Read Authors? And how many books have you read by them? Also tag someone who you would like to do this! (Original Instructions (this option wasn't available for me): Scroll to the bottom of your shelves and most read authors is listed underneath. What I did: Exported my Goodreads library and did some Excel magic.)

Note: I only started tracking my reads in Goodreads in 2020 - these stats reflect that.

Terry Pratchett - 15 (Looks like I've read a lot of Discworld in the last few years.)

2. Martha Wells - 10 (Hello, Murderbot!)

3. Chloe Liese - 9 (This is mostly the Bergman Brothers series, which I highly recommend. Lots of neurodiversity rep.)

4. Megan Whalen Turner - 8 (Attolia, my beloved.)

4. Cat Sebastian - 8 (Lots of historical romance.)

4. K.J. Charles - 8 (More historical romance - I love that Charles and Sebastian are tied. I discovered them around the same time, and I frequently confuse them.)

5. Rainbow Rowell - 7 (Novels and She Hulk graphic novels.)

5. Gail Carriger - 7 (I discovered her books a few years ago and ran through a bunch of them, but haven't read another one in a hot minute.)

6. Sarah Andersen - 6 (Relatable comics. Also, read Fangs if you haven't yet.)

6. Olivia Atwater - 6 (Regency/Victorian faerie tales which I adore.)

6. Alisha Rai - 6 (Including one of my favorite romances: Girl Gone Viral.)

6. T. Kingfisher - 6 (Another new-to-me author I began exploring.)

6. Brigid Kemmerer - 6 (The full Cursebreakers series and a few books from other series.)

6. Holly Jackson - 6 (These are not great books, but they are addictive and twisty.)

6. Jenny Colgan - 6 (Easy, seaside, small town reads. Some of the first audiobooks I tried.)

There are 11 (!) authors tied for fifth place, so I'm not going there, but I do want to shout out Talia Hibbert and Maria V. Snyder from that list because I love them.

Tagging (no pressure, just fun!): @godzilla-reads, @brightbeautifulthings, @emspooky, @dkafterdark, @dauen, @bibliophilecats, and anyone else that would like to give this a go!

[ashen-crest]

[ID: the meme of Andy from Parks and Rec looking excitedly at the camera, with the following text overlaid: "That Feeling When The Rival Most Vial Audiobook is out." end ID]

The Rival Most Vial Audiobook is here!!

Like, literally, you can get it right here, on Audible, B&N, Kobo, Chirp, Libro, etc. (I'm working on getting it into the LA public library system as well.)

The fact that this thing exists is bananas to me.

I always assumed that audiobooks were for fancy, popular authors. People with mega newsletters and five-books-a-year release schedules and like, actual headshots. Not me.

But this audiobook was actually the narrator and voice director's idea! Brendan and Zach are a) my good friends and b) dating each other, and they came to me saying "hey, we read this, loved it, and would like to make an audiobook of it."

Which is frankly, fucking insane, because:

1- Brendan is an actor whose studies focused on Shakespeare and he absolutely CRUSHED his role as Hamlet in Hamlet this summer

2- Zach works in video games and has literal years of experience voice directing talent.

3- two gay men who genuinely enjoyed the book and connected with the characters bringing their lived perspective to this work?! while also being able to uniquely communicate with each other because they're partners?? it was such an honor for them to even suggest it, and even more of an honor to be in the recording booth and work with them. I really can't emphasize enough how special it was.

I am so so glad that we were able to make it work this year and deliver what basically amounts to a radio play of A Rival Most Vial.

Like, I don't even want people to buy the audiobook so I can make money. I want people to buy it so they can listen to it and tell me what they think! I want to gush over Brendan's performance with someone! I want to ask them what their favorite parts were, or what they were expecting if they've already read the book! Like, this isn't even my work anymore, I want to fangirl over Brendan and Zach's work with you!!

So, pretty please- if you're looking for a cozy audiobook for holiday travel, or something to drown out the in-laws with, or just something to listen to while you drink hot cocoa or craft or play viddy games- give this a shot and let me know what you think.

[ID: a square image with an audiobook cover over a background of faded party lights. The audiobook is purple with gold accents and reads "A Rival Most Vial: Potioneering for Love and Profit by R.K. Ashwick." The text underneath the audiobook image reads: "Out Now on Audible, Spotify, Libro, Chirp, and more! (link in bio)." end ID]

[wormstacheangel]

it's still nov 5 where I am so enjoy this long ramble fix it <3

It started with finding a flower growing by Baby’s tire. He plucked it and placed it on the dashboard as he drove away. Later the flower found itself sitting on Dean’s desk. Seeing the small yellow daisy grow in the cracks of old concrete reminded him of a certain someone. It made him smile. 

So when he saw someone selling flowers on the side of the road he bought a bouquet of them. He then started to keep a 20$ bill on him at all times just in case he saw the opportunity to buy one or two. 

The grocery store owner was throwing away some chipped planters and Dean offered to take them, giving the man the 20$ bill he was saving and buying some random flower seeds. That night he stayed up late looking up how to grow a flower. 

Sam bought him a cactus—it had a little flower growing on top—and Dean added it to his growing collection on his desk. He now had some on his nightstand and over his bed too. Eileen mentioned how bright the place looked. She didn’t mention that Dean was starting to look better too. 

Some plants didn’t make it, a lot of them needed sun and not just those bright lights Dean had to buy. He didn’t find it fair that he trapped all these beautiful things underground. Suffocating them. Ruining them. Killing them. He got a shovel and bought some fresh dirt. A rooftop garden shouldn’t be that hard.

Dean added umbrellas, beach chairs, and a cooler to his oasis. He had a small speaker playing an audiobook while his fingers were covered in dirt. Pulling weeds and encouraging his sunflowers to grow. He was alone and yet he felt surrounded by their presence. In everything beautiful, there was a little sign of his best friend.

Dean always imagined Cas like a natural disaster wanting to be a simple breeze. He didn’t want to break anything. He only wanted to exist in a world where he could watch everything grow. Wanting to help wherever he could. He wanted to be good. He desperately wanted to be good. Dean planted irises. 

Onions, potatoes, and carrots are the next to grow. Jack enjoyed digging them out. He couldn’t wait to see how big his pumpkins would grow. Dean missed the beautiful colors of the flowers but his room still looked bright.

The sun was high up in the sky but Dean didn’t mind. He was singing his favorite song, had a cooling rag around his neck, and a big sun hat on his head. His rooftop garden has grown. There now was a tent shading the flowers that needed it and a little plastic kiddie pool for his feet to rest when he needed it. Right now he was content, seeing his garden so beautiful and full. In that moment he felt whole.

Sam and Dean lay on the beach chairs staring up at the stars. It reminded them of a time when it was just them. They had no home just a job to do. Just chess pieces in a game they had no choice but to play along with. Now they had a choice. Dean decided he wouldn’t soak his hands in blood anymore. Sam supported him. They’ll look for a place in the morning. Right now they’ll enjoy the sky. 

Starting over alone didn’t feel right. The new house was a big fixer-upper but it felt like a place he could grow old in. Dean bought a bouquet of flowers to place in the middle of the kitchen table. Someday it will feel like home and he’ll be happy here.

He set a small table outside. He didn’t know how much he missed constantly being able to see the sky. His routine always involved being able to watch it turn color over the lake. He sat drinking his coffee and eating his omelet. He didn’t listen to the news but instead, he filled the air with his favorite cartoons. He was starting to feel like himself.

Starting a garden was easier when he didn’t have to climb so far up. He tried growing everything he could. Filling his land with edible plants and beautiful flowers. He made a path with some old bricks. He built a garden door. He added a wooden bench. There’s a bird feeder that Eileen gifted him hanging on the tree branch and underneath was a bird bath. Jack gifted him a little garden gnome and Sam brought a rainbow doormat. Dean rolled his eyes but he placed it at his front door. 

It was snowing but it wasn’t sticking to the ground. Dean was in the kitchen cutting tomatoes for soup. He had plans to make the best-grilled cheese and watch Christmas movies. Next weekend everyone will show up to celebrate some sort of Christmas. Dean even had a tree in the corner, decorated with lights only cause his new cat knocked everything off. He didn’t mind. 

Three years passed in a blink of an eye and Dean could still feel the hot grip on his shoulder. It woke him up time and time again, and just like every other time, he got dressed to take a walk. He hated to bother his little munchkin but she was asleep on her side of the bed. Small and curled up on her little blanket. He zipped up his jacket and gave her a little kiss. A promise to come back. He walked down the side of the lake, hands deep in his pockets, the snow was gone but some patches remained here and there. He hasn’t felt so alone in a while. Maybe it was all his guests leaving that brought this on but he couldn’t help but feel someone was missing the whole time. He’s always missing.

Another new year and Dean was in his garden preparing the dirt for the new harvest. His flower garden usually took priority but there’s not much he could do about that during this cold weather. His plants inside were thriving though. He was so into the audiobook that Dean didn’t hear the footsteps. He was on his knees pulling weeds and listening to the main character decide if love was worth the career she worked so hard for. She just shouted his name when he heard his own name being called. Dean jumped, ready to throw the small weeding hoe in his hand but instead, he froze. 

“Hello, Dean.” He smiled. He had longer hair and a full beard coming in but it was him. “Um, Sam told me this is where you live now.”

Dean stood up. He felt cold, his legs shaking but he kept his stare on his visitor. 

“It’s beautiful. Your home.” 

Dean swallowed the lump as he whispered, “Thanks.” He started at him for a bit longer before taking a step forward. “Cas?”

Cas nodded, and his eyes started to water. “I’m back. I’m back, Dean.”

Dean didn’t hear anymore. He ran to him. Wrapping the angel in his arms and savoring every second of it. He felt the long brown hair between his fingers and the smell of rain still lingered on Cas’s skin. 

It was him. Dean took a deep breath. It hurt his chest and he wondered how many years was he holding that in. 

Dean took Cas’s face between his hands and felt himself fall in love all over again. How did he ever think he could live without him? Cas was everywhere in his house but it was never going to be enough. 

“Welcome home, Cas.” He breathed out in relief and Cas chuckled, his hands on Dean’s waist. 

“I’ve been waiting so long to hear that.”

Dean smiled, his eyes remembering every second of this moment. “Fuck, I missed you so much.” He leaned in and the next thing he knew they were kissing. 

Finally kissing. Finally together. 

Dean could taste both their tears as they kissed but they were unwilling to let go of each other. From this moment on they will never be apart. 

“I love you.” Dean breathes into Cas’s lips. Kissing slowly and lazily. “I loved you for so long.”

“Me too.” Cas kisses Dean’s nose. Kisses Dean’s cheeks. Kisses Dean’s eyelids and then his lips. “My heart has always been yours.”

Dean knew that from now on, together they would grow and it would be beautiful.

Time has passed and the sun was high in the sky. They both worked outside, listening to a book about dragons and magic because it was Cas's turn to pick, and they created shade for their flowers. A little green house was next on their list but building the second floor was taking a lot of their time. Still they both enjoyed the outdoors. Dean made lunch for them and they sat outside on Dean's little table for two. They talked about the future with no fear, only excitement. And they held hands across the table, laughing about something stupid and creating memories they never thought were possible. Munchkin sat at their feet enjoying the sun just as much as them. The family will come over for dinner soon so they know they'll have to head inside but right now they're in their own bubble. Content and happy. Surrounded by growing love.

[sunchaserwings]

Incoming rant about The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, Herlock Sholmes from The Great Ace Attorney, and the BBC Sherlock (no major spoilers ahead I promise).

A preface before I begin; I was never a big fan of Sherlock Holmes or any adaptation of the stories. I've seen Elementary although I was very young so I only have the vaguest of memories of enjoying it, and my roommate had me watch a couple BBC Sherlock episodes when I was a tween/young teen. My mother claims she tried to get me into Sherlock Holmes but I'm rather skeptical. Anyhow, onto the story.

Back in March my boyfriend bought me the Ace Attorney games for my birthday which included the Great Ace Attorney Chronicles (or Dai Gyakuten Saiban for those who are still stuck on the pre-localization names ;p). I was on my flight home from my birthday trip after I got the news my manager fired my brother while I was out of the state and figured why not, I'd start playing the first TGAA game on the flight. I'd probably enjoy myself and I couldn't sleep.

Second biggest mistake of the year (first biggest was trusting Les Schwab to do my brake job). I. Was. Hooked. I played the first case and fell in love with Kazuma instantly (he's so Zero shaped!). I played the second case and realized that calling him Zero shaped was way too accurate. We all know what happened there. Most important to this rant, I met Herlock Sholmes (more on my opinions on him later). I could barely put the game down but I had to take a break due to finding a new job and getting adjusted. I ended up finishing the game in June or July, one of the two. I finished the final case of the first game in one long 12 hour gaming session it was that good (my back didn't thank me though).

Now, the man of the hour: Herlock Sholmes. I didn't think much of him initially. He was simultaneously charming and annoying in the second case but as I played more he grew on me. I cried when the start of 1-5 happened. He clawed his way up into like the top 7 favorite characters at the time. The ending of the game with him playing his violin made me bawl my eyes out. I. Loved. This. Game.

It took a few more months to start and finish the second game. In between Adventures and Resolve I played Skyward Sword, Minish Cap, and some others so I had a healthy break. I came back to play Resolve and finished it like two months ago. It hit me in the gut just as hard as the first game did although there are a great many things I'd tweak and do differently. But Herlock Sholmes... man, he's not my favorite but he's up there underneath Kazuma and Van Zieks.

Anyhow, I finished the game but the hyperfixation had started and would not let me go. I've never been one to go out and seek fanfiction due to... personal stuff but I had a feeling I didn't want to go probe the depths of AO3 yet for fear of crying. I started a graveyard shift at my job which severely limited my ability to talk with people about stuff and also there's so many major spoilers but very few people I knew had played the game. A thought occurred to me, however. What about Sherlock Holmes audiobooks? I have an auditory processing issue which has made listening to audiobooks hard but I decided to give it a go. Perhaps it would satiate the TGAA hyperfixation hunger.

I found the ones produced by Magpie Audio, expertly narrated by Greg Wagland. Go check him out, he has over 77 videos of Sherlock Holmes audiobook recordings and all of them are a minimum of 40 minutes, often times far more. I went through over 30 hours of audiobook in a few weeks listening to these. Sherlock Holmes is such a good character and I can understand how and why he took late Victorian England by storm. And you know what the best part is?

Herlock Sholmes is the most faithful adaptation I have personally seen as a character of the original Sherlock Holmes.

They got so many of Sherlock's little idiosyncrasies right and you can tell the entire team were genuine fans of the books. I listened to Mr. Wagland's narration *and I saw 221B Baker of the games*. Especially the jack knife impaling the communications to the mantle being referenced in the game? The sheer mess of the flat? It's so good!

My roommate (whom is also a Sherlock Holmes fan) noticed my newest hyper fixation that spawned off of TGAA and that reignited his Sherlock Holmes obsession. He was a fan of the BBC Sherlock and now recognizes it was not a very great show but it's a comfort media for him nonetheless. He just dragged me into rewatching it and... okay, it's playing into a lot of inaccurate Sherlock tropes I don't like but goddamn Martin Freeman carries the whole show. I love his John Watson because it feels like a reasonable version of a modern, younger Watson. He feels real in a way. I do like the fact that even in the first episode, it's established that John and Sherlock can make each other laugh and smile just like in the books. I don't forgive them calling Sherlock a sociopath, however (speaking as someone with a brother that has been diagnosed with being a high-fuctioning sociopath). He's AuDHD to the max and deserves recognition in that department.

All of this to say, I can trace my current Sherlock hyperfixation back to Mega Man. Finding Mega Man in 4th grade led to watching the Ace Attorney anime in late 2021 which led to playing The Great Ace Attorney and that led to listening to Sherlock Holmes. I don't know why I decided to make this post but maybe I might start live blogging this shit? All in all, this is going to be a wild ride.

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

i used to listen to the audiobooks on Spotify almost every waking moment for 2~ years. (and the books not on it on audible) I have read the main series at-least 5 times, and most of the other books that arn’t new. ever since i started reading I got the new books on the same day, if not within days after they came out. If i went a day or more without listening to or engaging with wings of fire in someway I would become very inexplicably upset and disregulated until i did so again. my birthday cake was wings of fire themed. I have a giant tapestry of queen moorhen. sometimes Peril randomly comments on things in my life. i dream about wings of fire. i used to spend hours everyday underneath a blanket of the map of phyrria, listening to the audiobooks and drawing wings of fire dragons.

I’m a lot less obsessed now but It still runs deep in my veins

.

[banannabethchase]

Hoodie Thief

~

“You have got to stop doing this.”

Matt looks up from where he’s scrolling on his phone for a new audiobook. He angles the screen a little so Adam can see it and maybe he can get a compliment. “Stop doing what?”

Adam reaches down and yanks at the collar of the crew neck Matt had stolen from the laundry. “This is mine.”

“Is not,” Matt lies. “It says California on it. I’m from California.”

“Are you saying you bought tourist clothes for the state you live in?” Mox asks. Matt glares at him.

“Aren’t you busy losing at Candy Crush?” Matt snaps.

Adam laughs. “C’mon, baby, give me my sweatshirt back.”

“No,” Matt says, pulling the crewneck over his legs. “You’ll have to pry it off of me. This is mine now.”

“This is the third time you’ve done this in a week,” Adam says. “I can’t even find that old Bullet Club hoodie you stole on the plane Tuesday.”

Matt shrugs. “Be less cozy.”

Mox cackles in the corner. “Give it up, Cowboy. He’ll never give the hoodies back. He still has that Dean Ambrose shirt hidden in his pillow.”

“I do not!”

Mox fights a smile. Matt wants to kick him a little bit. “You’re cute when lie.”

“I am not!”

“Are you saying you’re not cute?” Adam asks. “That’s, like, half your brand.”

Matt shoves the neck of the shirt over his head. “I wish this was your Bullet Club hoodie.”

“Thief.”

“Jerk.”

Matt yelps as he finds himself lifted in the air. He doesn’t know who it is until his head pops out and he sees Mox’s boots underneath him. “Put me down!”

“In a minute,” Mox says. He adjusts his grip until Matt realizes, mildly horrified, that he’s been put in a TK driver position. “Go ahead, Hanger.”

“What?!”

Matt bitches and struggles, but Adam manages to pull the sweatshirt off of Matt. “Now I’m cold and upside down,” he whines, slumping. Mox adjusts him until he has his legs around Mox’s waist and he’s eye to eye with him. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hi,” Mox says, grinning. He looks over Matt’s shoulder. “I kind of like him like this.”

“Me too,” says Adam, and his voice is much closer than Matt expected. “Mox?”

Mox chuckles. “Way ahead of you.”