#and thus i am WAY out of my depth

[unclefungusthegoat]

.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Neon Moon

Azriel x Reader/Rhysand’s Sister - Angst

Rhysand’s sister grapples with a one-sided mating bond that has yet to snap for the Shadowsinger. When a drunken night brings the two closer together than ever, Azriel is made aware of a circumstance that could change the course of her life.

This is a one-shot that is able to be read as a stand-alone fic.

This is also a prequel to Wicked Felina and elements of this prequel will be involved in the remainder of the series. Wicked Felina Part 5

Warnings: Sexual content, alcohol, language, age difference concerns

Y/N - 19 Years Old

When the sun goes down on my side of town, that lonsesome feeling comes to my door.

Pretty moans echo through the walls of the House of Wind only broken by an ocasional deep groan.

I roll over with an aggravated sigh, pulling an overstuffed pillow across the back of my head, covering my ears. Not that it will do any good. Curse being High Fae and the exceptional hearing that comes with it.

I lay awake, taking deep breaths, trying to sink into the starry depths of my mind but Azriel’s hook-up of the week lets out a particularly loud cry of pleasure before her moans are muffled by what I assume is a gloved hand and a low reprimand.

I roll my eyes. He may as well chide her with a warning of “Shh, don’t wake the baby.” by the way he treats me.

Never mind the fact that I am an adult now. I have tits for cauldron’s sake, nice ones at that. I wouldn’t be wearing this oversized, ridiculously soft knit sweater if I didn’t.

And yet he still views me as a child.

It’s cruel to think that on my eighteenth name day, a golden thread snapped. Tethering my soul to him… and yet, he has no clue. That, or he does, and has no intention of acting on it, refusing to view me as anything other than the little sister of his best friend.

I’ve got a table for two, way in the back where I sit alone and I think of losing you.

So I grin and bear it. And if I happen to wear clothing a bit too cheeky when he is around and other males inevitably gawk at my exposed skin, thus prompting the overprotective bat to shuck his sweater off and toss it to me, and then I spend the rest of the night drinking him under the table? Well, that will have to do for now. So, I wait for the day his soul is ready to seek mine.

Y/N - 21 years old

He’s watching her again. He always does. She dances through the room like petals on a breeze, enamoring the crowd with vivacious conversation as she skirts throughout those gathered in the room. How will I ever compare to the radiant and lovely enigma that is THE Morrigan? I shouldn’t feel bitterness toward my cousin and yet I do. I get why people flock to her, she’s kind and lovely, strong, somehow both approachable and unobtainable. She’s a total pain in my ass busybody cousin-acting-as-older-sister I never wanted.

I requested that the band play Azriel’s favorite song tonight. The one time he’ll loosen up and let himself enjoy a moment. It has become a routine, our dance. The one time that he holds me a little closer. The one time I can pretend he sees me as the mature female that I am and not the child I was.

But tonight, the song plays, and it’s Morrigan in his arms, not me. It’s not the first time he’s chosen her over me. When she’s here, I don’t exist.

I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t watch this.

I spend most every night beneath the light of a Neon Moon.

I turn to leave, exiting the hall, winding through the crowd of pompous nobility from all courts. The garden. I’ll find solace in the garden, beneath the glittering stars, among the fragrant blooms. Sneaking down a quiet corridor and out a shadowed alcove, a guard opens the door for me and the warm, lavender scented breeze greets me like a friend. My steps fall swiftly, distancing myself from the evening revelry. As I wind down a path of blooming roses, a loose stone causes my sole to slip, bracing myself for the fall and the sting of rock to my palms. Instead, I am shocked to feel warm, strong arms catching me. Looking up at my savior, a few long golden locks of hair fall over the concerned, emerald green eyes staring down at me.

Y/N - four months later

“Shit, Shadowsinger. You look like you could use this more than me.”

The start of a grin tilts the left corner of his lips upward as an incredulous laugh slips from his throat. Reaching a scarred hand toward the bottle of my brother’s finer wine and swiping it from me.

Azriel’s hazel eyes assess the bottle, giving a raise of his brow. “Looks like you’ve done a number on this one already.”

“I never do things halfway.” I tease. Giving a nod toward the wine that was indeed half-empty. His dark brows rise again as I unveil a second bottle before he could remark on it. “Some Spymaster you are. You should’ve know I’d come prepared with the best selections from Rhys’ secret-” The playful jest is interrupted by the tickle of a shadow trailing up my arm and spiriting the second bottle right out of my hand, eliciting a pout of my lower lip.

“Hey, now that’s just greedy.”

The handsome planes of Azriel’s face illuminate in the twilight, causing my heart to stir. Perhaps it’s the way the night shrouds him in ominous twilight, or the way his shadows sit strewn across his shoulders but I know tonight was hard for him.

Mor had shown up to dinner as radiant as ever, a red dress clinging to her delicious curves, some male she’d picked up at Rita’s on her arm.

Now if you lose your one and only, there's always room here for the lonely

I should leave him alone but I can feel it in my chest. Stoic and broody? Yes. A lonely soul? Also yes.

And damn, do I know I deserve better than to be the female that will never be chosen first? Yes. And yet, he’s my mate and more importantly, my friend.

“Scooch over,” my arm waives in a correlating gesture. “This grass is dewy and cold and this dress is far too thin. Your leathers can handle the chill, I’m stealing your warmth.”

With a small shake of the head, a lock of raven hair falls over his forehead, Azriel scoots, exposing the vacated patch of grass for me to sit on. “Gods, it’s still chilly.” I complain as I swipe one of the bottles back from the Shadowsinger.

“Nobody asked you to come out here.”

“And yet here I am.”

Azriel eyes meet mine, a small flicker of emotion passing behind them. “Yes.” He whispers fondly. “Here you are.”

I ignore the blush threatening to redden my cheeks and fire back at him. “Your breath smells like a vineyard. You’d already gotten started on the drinking without me?”

Recognizing the rhetorical question for what it is, Azriel presses his lips to the bottle, tilting his head back as he takes a long swig of the bittersweet wine. My breath catches as a harsh swallow bobs his adam’s apple. Heat pools through me and I quickly turn away, searching for something, anything to distract from the effect he has on me.

To watch your broken dreams, dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon

Shadows dance around us, like figures on the wind, weaving in and out of the moon’s luminescent rays.

“Y/N…” I turn to face him as a scarred hand reaches for me before seemingly thinking better of it and pulling back. “I didn’t dance with you at the ball.”

It’s my turn to laugh incredulously. “That was months ago Azriel, why bring it up now?”

That peculiar flicker of emotion crosses his eyes again.

“I’m sorry.”

I pause, taken back by the apology. Had he known how much it hurt to see him dancing with her? Thinking on it, I can’t seem to grasp whether it is better or worse that way.

I freeze, grappling with emotion as he ruffles his hair with a scarred hand, dragging his palm over his face. “Y/N. The conflict that wars within me, it’s… .”

Confusion conveys on my features and I resist the urge to dive into his mind and read exactly what he’s thinking. “What?” I ask as his sentence trails into a void of lost words.

He shakes his head as if he’s already pushed whatever he was about to confess aside. Hurt washes through me and I begin to turn away. A broad, calloused palm grasps my wrist. “You’re beautiful, Y/N.” He leans closer, his wine addled breath mingling with my own, only centimeters separate his lips from mine.

I think of two young lovers running wild and free. I close my eyes and sometimes see you in the shadows.

I’m certain he can hear my heartbeat as it roars through my ears. My eyes flutter looking into his heavy-lidded hazel and onyx eyes. His head tilts, low voice barely more than a rumble.

“You’re everything.”

Azriel inhales, his gaze searching mine in a silent ask of permission, preparing to close the hairs-breadth of distance between our lips. Suddenly those lust-addled eyes go wide, nostrils flaring, and he abruptly pulls away, swiping my bottle of wine as he withdraws his hand. “You don’t need any more of this, Y/N. Go to bed.”

My mouth gapes slightly, processing what just happened. “What?”

“It’s late and I have to leave for a mission for your father in the morning.”

He stands straight, stretching out his tall body and those glorious, broad wings, stiff from sitting on the ground.

My heart is crushed, once again. The words that could change it all sitting on the tip of my tongue.

You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re my mate.

But his feelings for my cousin still run strong and we have centuries ahead of us. I refuse to be in second place.

Azriel extends a tanned arm to me, eyes now softened, a slight crease between his brows as he takes me in. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s get inside.”

Taking his extended arm, we walk in silence through the grand entryway of the House of Wind, winding down the corridors within, stopping at my room, I murmur a rushed “goodnight.” before escaping behind the shield of my door, to the quiet lonesome solace of my room.

I sense Azriel’s presence outside my latched door for several moments before his steps pad down the hall opening the door one down from mine, into his room.

No telling how many tears I've sat here and cried, or how many lies that I've lied telling my poor heart he’ll come back someday.

Azriel

Azriel couldn’t take it. The way the walls closed in around him. Sleep was always just out of reach but tonight, he felt the weight on his chest in a crushing embrace.

If you lose your one and only, there's always room here for the lonely.

He’d spent the past few years dicking around, ignoring the shift he’d felt toward Y/N. For fuck’s sake, she was Rhysand’s little sister, barely an adult. She’d always gravitated toward him in her childhood. Looked up to him. And he cared so deeply for her, like a little sister. And then soon after her eighteenth birthday something began to shift in his chest. Something that he felt so incredibly wrong for feeling - and yet something he’d buried deep within begged him to accept that it was right.

He was a bastard for it and latched onto his feelings for Mor even harder, despite the fact that they’d simmered down in previous years. And then Y/N had changed her demeanor toward him and he knew- gods, he knew she wanted him but he couldn’t do it. Rhys would kill him for it if her father didn’t first. It was so wrong.

And it had gotten harder and harder recently. He’d brought females home, spent more time around Mor when she’d visit, anything to push her away without actually owning up to what his feelings were.

And then Mor had shown up on a whim tonight with some male that she’d picked up gods knows where, he couldn’t even fall back on clinging to her, leaving him forced to face how strongly he felt toward Y/N, so he’d indulged in booze and snuck out to sit beneath the moonlight and drown in his own pool of self-pity.

To watch your broken dreams dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon.

When she’d found him, any semblance of willpower was gone. Y/N was a goddess beneath the moonlight. Kind, strong, intelligent, and so damned beautiful and, out here, it was just the two of them. So, he’d finally given in. One kiss, one kiss would help him see how wrong this was. And yet as he leaned in, all he could feel was how right it seemed to be.

Until he’d inhaled, taking that final breath of courage to close the distance. That’s when he smelled it, the shift in her scent. Her scent was there but there was something somewhat familiar and earthen intertwined a scent so light and sweet, almost like roses. A scent that was not her own, not of her.

She was pregnant. He had no idea by whom but the realization sobered him up entirely. He swiped her wine and panicked. Did she know? Should he say something? Instead, like the older brother figure he’d once viewed himself as to her, he escorted her into the house and told her to go to bed, ensuring to keep the alcohol out of her reach.

Gods, he didn’t know what to do from here

He spent the rest of the night flying, taking in the stars and the moon as they shone brightly above, ethereal just like her.

He’d go on his mission this week, and Y/N and her mother would travel to the war camp that her father was at to visit him, and when she came back he’d talk it all out with her.

Yes, he’d support her and love her however she needed to be, whether it be as a friend, as chosen family, or as something more. It would all work out. It had to.

Come watch your broken dreams dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon.

————————————

Although this is a one-shot, it is also the prequel to Wicked Felina, you can read Part 1 here.

Tags

ACOTAR general: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139

Wicked Felina tags: @glittervame @julesofvolterra @saltedcoffeescotch @candyjaypoppins @st4r-girl-official @nocasdatsgay @gxdsmonsters @honk4emoboyz

[eowynstwin]

There has been more than enough drama about this whole situation so I will be as direct and concise as I can. This will be my last post about the matter regarding Myka/codslut. This will likely be my last post on this blog period.

This fandom community has crucified me over a story that has fallen apart over what I can only describe as the lightest scrutiny. FOIA requests, when expedited, have a ten day window to be granted, not a twelve hour window, and normally take months to even years to grant. Americans do not call small towns villages. Crisis workers do not have unfettered, immediate access to clients' personal information, let alone that of complete strangers on the internet.

I am not exaggerating when I say I have feared for my safety for the past week. The three people who have lead the charge against me have slandered, harassed, and outright stalked me—keeping track of posts I've made and deleted, changes I've made to my directory, and even the time between posts I have made. I have genuinely feared that the next step these people were going to take would be to search both of my blogs (because I have not, in the past, been very concerned about hiding my main) for my personal information in order to dox me.

I believe this campaign has been racist ("gaz erasure my ass") and ableist in nature. I believe my being autistic—and my trouble communicating in a way that could satisfy the aforementioned people this entire week—has played a part in the way this fandom has victimized me.

I believe in particular that sheheal has a personal vendetta against me, although I do not know why. I believe that their claim that they must leave their blog up as "evidence" is false—I believe they are keeping it active in order that it should always be digitally connected to me, and thus risk my safety and peace in whatever online space I choose to be in next. I am entertaining the belief that she even intends for it to follow me in real life, although that may be more paranoia than possibility.

I am aware of the mistakes I have made. I regret them. I am sorry for them. If what has happened to me is representative of what happened to Myka, I have nothing but empathy for her. Even before this happened, I would not wish this on anyone. I do not believe that dogpiling is justice, and have fought against it when I have seen it happening in this fandom in the past. I did not and do not want this to happen to anyone, ever, no matter their sins.

I want to extend a gratitude I find difficult to express the depth of to everyone who reached out to check on me. I especially want to thank Early for being the first person to stick their neck out for me, and for everything after. I hope to be friends with you all for a long time. You mean more to me than you know. You have made a lonely and difficult week feel less lonely and difficult.

I do not want to be a part of this fandom anymore. I have poured over a year and a half of work and creative energy into this community and it has meant nothing. I have loved this community and it has meant nothing. I have fought for this community and it has meant nothing.

If fandom was ever a safe space, it is not anymore. It is not safe for those affected by racism and it is not safe for those affected by disability. It is not safe for anyone who makes mistakes. It is not safe for me, and reader, it is not safe for you. I did not think this would happen to me. Do not make the mistake of thinking this won't happen to you.

[isalisewrites]

A Deep Dive into JKR's Terrible, Amateur Writing - Part Two

Welcome to my ballsy series where I will prove to you, dear reader, that J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series and resident Twitter TERF, is actually a very, very poor writer.

And when I say ‘poor writer,’ I’m talking about her prose, her sentence structure, and her scenes. I am not going to discuss anything about the HP world nor the overall plot of the books. 

This is all about the nitty gritty in the craft of writing itself.

Part One Link.

Disclaimer for all readers of this series: 

I’m going to sound very confident in my posts where I work under the assumption I’m a better writer than JKR; because I am. My apologies if this rubs you the wrong way. You’re simply witnessing the culmination of over two and half decades of experience with the intensity from a neurodivergent who is hyperfocused on her special interest. I didn’t just learn how to create stories; I learned the craft of writing to a minutia of details.

I’m not a perfect writer. No one is. I’m not a talented writer either. I’m experienced and skilled through years of study and practice.

I don’t care about J.K. Rowling. At all.

If you’re triggered by the concept and fact that JKR is a terrible crafter of writing, then you might want to take a step back and self reflect on that personal issue.

I still very much love and adore Harry Potter; you’re still allowed to love Harry Potter.

This is not a series to bitch or bash. This isn’t a shitpost. This isn’t an attack on JKR, no matter the disgusting bullshit she spews forth on Twitter. However, my hope is people awaken to the fact that JKR isn’t the goddess of writing we’ve all been led to believe.

This is a place of study and learning, where the purpose is to help students gain critical thinking skills and writing analysis tools to become better in their craft.

And, sorry, one more disclaimer for this specific post: 

Fanfiction is written for fun and is posted for free. I put most of my effort into my main fanfic, Terrible, But Great. (Yes, I intend to update Moon Rite soon, too) However, I also have two fanfics that are cowritten with another author; thus, the style of Shall I Stay and Badger Prey are understandably different. I spend three to four times the hours to edit a chapter versus drafting it. My process for fanfiction: I draft. I do one expansion edit. I do one proofread edit. I post.

However, if I were to publish a novel where people are expected to drop money on said book, my work flow would be vastly more extensive. To be clear, I’d do all of the following myself. I would not outsource. My process for published novels: I would draft. I would do three to four expansion edits. I would do two to three cutting edits. I would do three proofread edits. 

See the difference?

Because I don’t go through a cutting edit for my fanfiction, I’ll often come back later and see things I think are weak. I’m constantly seeing where I can tighten my work. There’s always room for improvement.

Remember: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix is a paperback book that costs $10. My fanfics are free. If I, someone who writes for free and puts what she considers the bare minimum of effort into them, have a higher standard in the quality of my writing than a paid traditionally published novelist, there’s a problem here. 

All right, with that nonsense out of the way, buckle up, my writing friends. Grab a snack. Hydrate. Remember to take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. Let’s begin.

Class is in session.

In this post, we’re going to discuss these five pages from HP5 and dissect one paragraph and a line from page 731. All dialogue is highlighted in blue.

(My favorite book in the series, btw. I fucking love fifth year the most. JKR did a damn good job with Umbridge.)

Since a certain anon lacked the skill to comprehend the difference between too much dialogue and stories driven by a high saturation of dialogue, let's go into further depth about dialogue.

What did I mean last week when I said: "Too much fucking dialogue!"

Today’s lesson will focus on the overall issue in JKR’s dialogue and in the prose surrounding those dialogue lines.

And since, apparently, I “lack the self awareness” to know most of my fics are “oversaturated with dialogue,” I’m going to use weaker examples of my own writing. Chapter 24 of TBG is heavily driven by dialogue with twenty-one named characters to juggle, something that's very difficult for me to manage. Though the chapter is lovely, I do feel it's some of my weaker work. In the end, I just didn’t have the energy to edit it a second time nor go through cutting edit.

Here are three different pages (some connected, some not) from Chapter 24 of Terrible, But Great. All dialogue is highlighted in blue.

You can already see the difference, I'm sure.

So, what’s the difference between a scene that has 'too much fucking dialogue' versus a scene that is highly saturated with dialogue?

Because there is one.

Let's set the scene for HP5. In the middle of an OWL exam, Harry received a vision from Voldemort, showing him that Sirius has been captured. He's being tortured to get something from a shelf, but Sirius refuses. Harry believes the vision is real. He tells Ron and Hermione, then asks for their advice on how to rescue Sirius. Ron and Hermione are both like, pardon, wtf, sir? (As they should be.)

We have five pages of this fight between them. These five pages are mostly dialogue with very little else surrounding it.

Also, note the final page where it has the worst sins of adverb usage. That page is what triggered me to begin writing this series in the first place, btw.

There's too much dialogue here. There's no description. I'm being told stuff, but I'm not being shown anything. There are no emotional anchors to Harry either. The more I reread this scene, the more I realized what was wrong.

There’s an emotional disconnect from Harry in the prose.

Do not misunderstand me: it is NOT to say that Harry isn’t emotional here. It's that the prose doesn’t grip me, the reader, by the chest and twist my heart with his overwhelming emotions. The prose doesn't prove anything, doesn't show me anything. This is an intense, terrifying moment for Harry. It should feel visceral. It should feel tangible. I should be able to taste his fear.

We also don’t get too much information about the emotional states of Ron and Hermione. We have hints, of course. But we can’t feel them. The emotions of the scene are dampened, muffled, dull even.

With an untrained eye, you might disagree. It's okay. You'll see what I mean soon.

Page 731 exact quote:

"I dunno how," said Harry. "But I know exactly where. There's a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in these little glass balls, and they're at the end of row ninety-seven...He's trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in there....He's torturing him....Says he'll end by killing him..." Harry found his voice shaking, as were his knees. He moved over to a desk and sat down on it, trying to master himself.

(Btw, punctuation issue: you do not use an ellipsis and a period together and there should be a space after the ellipsis.)

This is the only instance in the five pages where we get any information about Harry's physical state.

And it's written in such a weak 'telling' instead of 'showing' way, too.

How and where was his voice shaking? How are his knees shaking? Are they knocking together in a weird way that's kind of physically improbable? Or was it actually his legs were shaking? Isn't he leaning against the door? If his weight was resting against the door, then there'd be less shaking in his knees or legs because his knees would be locked to brace his body against the door. His arms and hands would be shaking, though.

How does Harry master himself? What does that look like? Slow breaths? Running a hand through his hair? Rubbing his face and eyes? How is Harry mastering himself? Is it mentally? Then, where are those mastering thoughts? What are they and why do those thoughts in particular help Harry 'master' himself?

What's Harry's tone as he talking about Voldemort threatening to kill Sirius? How is Harry feeling about this? Give me MORE!

The dialogue is presented to the reader in a bland, empty fashion. Harry is relating something to Ron and Hermione. I could switch the dialogue out with anything and it'd still make sense.

There is little surrounding the dialogue to anchor it.

So, let's rewrite this, shall we?

"I dunno how," said Harry, letting out a shaky breath. His hands clenched into fists against the door of the classroom. "But I know where—they're in a room in the Department of Mysteries that's filled with rows of shelves holding these... weird little glass balls. They're in row ninety-seven. Voldemort, he's—" Harry's voice broke. His breath caught in his throat. The memory of the vision returned full force into his mind, the image of Sirius on the floor at Voldemort's feet stark in his mind. He ducked his chin; his chest inhaled in a desperate breath and the edges of his eyes burned. He's torturing Sirius—I can't just wait around. I can't lose him. Harry looked up at Ron, whose face had grown pale, while Hermione stared at him with wide, terrified eyes. The strength in Harry's legs weakened. "He needs Sirius to get whatever it is he wants and he's—" Harry sucked in a gasp, his voice trembling like an autumn leaf in a thunderstorm. "—he's torturing Sirius... says he'll kill him in the end." His knees buckled. Harry stumbled to the nearest desk; Ron reached out with a steadying hand on Harry's upper arm and silent gratitude filled Harry's heart. With shaky arms, Harry lifted himself onto the desk to sit and twisted around to face Ron and Hermione. He licked his dry lips, rubbed his eyes with a hand, and took slow, deep breaths to master his fraying emotions.

The original canon text has 57 words of dialogue with a total of 83 words.

My rewritten version uses 56 words of dialogue with a total of 247 words.

I'm going to drill this concept into your heads, my lovely students: this is what I mean when I keep saying JKR's writing is both bloated and underwritten.

I only rewrote a single paragraph and its following line. The five pages I've provided are filled with this kind of empty dialogue.

So, what have I done here? Can you see the difference? Can you feel the difference?

Let's analyze what I focused on in this scene to show Harry's body language and his thoughts. I upped the physical effects on Harry's body. His fear causes his voice to break in the middle of explaining what's going on. He's terrified of losing Sirius, the only father figure he's ever known. Voldemort might take another parental figure from him. 

And now the prose reflects these feelings, not just in his thoughts, but also in how he speaks and reacts to what is around him. He is not just speaking at the reader.

Harry exists in his world. 

And you can feel it.

When he stumbles to the desk, Ron is there for him. Hermione reacting could also be added here. There is a lot that can be added to this scene, if one wanted to expand this further. 

Yes, what I've done has increased the word count, yet it strengthens this short moment—and I'd do this for the entire scene.

What I did to the scene is merely one version of its potential. It could be rewritten in a multitude of ways and go in various directions. I spent 10mins to 20mins on it. I haven't edited it or refined it.

Can you finally see what I mean now?

If you compare the highlighted pages of HP5 to the highlighted pages of Chp 24 of TBG, you can visually see the difference in the density of the dialogue. JKR is the one whose writing is oversaturated with dialogue. My writing will always be highly saturated with dialogue because my stories are character driven. I prefer stories like that. But I also need the dialogue to be interesting and engaging, where the character feels alive in their world.

When I say there's too much dialogue, this scene is such a good example of this because Harry, Ron, and Hermione are all over the place in their interactions with each other. Yes, you want your characters to sound realistic, but you're also the author curating an experience for the reader.

There's a balancing tightrope act between having realistic dialogue and unnecessary dialogue.

There's a thin line between showing too much and telling too little.

Lastly, if I were to improve the overall scene, I would center the focus on Harry's desperation to rescue Sirius. As Ron and Hermione try to talk him out of it, where Hermione delivers that iconic line of 'you have a people saving thing,' I'd have Harry explode with something like this:

"You don't know what's it like! You both have your parents—I-I don't... You'd feel the same as me if it were either of your parents being tortured by Voldemort, yeah? I can't lose him—I can't lose Sirius."

I'm not bothering with description around it right now. I just wanted to give the baseline dialogue to show you the theme I'd carry through this scene. It's all about Sirius. It's all about the fear of losing him. It's about showing the emotion of the character and making the reader feel that deeply.

And that's what matters the most.

All right then.

We have come to an end of Part Two in this series. We have discussed fives pages in JKR's Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. The pages in question are 731 - 735 should you wish to look it up and study the scene yourself.

And so, please do the world the greatest of favors and write better than J.K. Rowling. I promise, it's not that hard once you see the differences.

Until next time.

Isa

[evilminji]

I... am haunted? By my Midi-chlorian theory?

Cause they are PROBABLY? Some sort of Symbiotic Bacteria?

Which was my theory. Cause "micro-organisms" is vague af? And doesn't exactly tell us what KIND? But it's probably not a mammal or some sort of fish? So like... helpful blood bacteria. Got it! No different then a good gut biome. Makes perfect sense!

Yeah, THIS one has? For some reason? A hyper sensitivity to fundamental forces of reality? But I mean? Monkeys with type writers, right? Something, somewhere, was bound to get it. Some organisms get better smell to survive, some get sensitive whiskers. The blood bacteria got jacked in to Reality's newsreel. Some low ranking admin privileges.

Still? Needs a HOST to survive though. Doesn't, itself, even really HAVE a brain.

Cause it's a Bacteria.

A Bacteria and... and Bacteria can be multiplied. Grown. Obviously? Midi-chlorians refuse to do so outside of a living body. Or the Sith and various other researchers, bother ethical and UNETHICAL, would have figured out how to crack Midi-chlorian development.

They ALSO? We can only assume? DO NOT mix. As in? Any Midi-chlorian's? Removed from the Original Host™ die off pretty promptly. (In time with the blood rotting or new body assimilating the fresh, donated, blood.) So you presumably, couldn't take from, say, Skywalker and give to an average farmer, and have that farmer become mildly force sensitive.

Even THOUGH? The BLOOD? Is where his Midi-chlorians are! So PRESUMABLY? So long as he and the farmer had compatible blood types? That SHOULD happen! Because Anikin his a SHIT TON of Midi-chlorian bacteria in his blood and the farmer would be receiving some of that High Production Strain.

Not saying the farmer would ever become a powerhouse. But? There should? Be a difference? Even if it was only temporarily.

Yet? It seems? Like Midi-chlorian strains? Just don't MIX. They split off, during development of a child, begin cultivation of their own unique colony, and never again! Shall the stains blend. I'd go so far? As to say? They probably ATTACK other Midi-chlorians in THEIR space.

Like part of the immune system. Disease, poison, parasites, and of course? Those filthy, FILTHY Other Midi-chlorian Colonies trying to encroach upon THEIR resources. Get! GET!

Which is where? All past attempts have FAILED. Because they? Had an END GOAL first, and they worked their way backwards. Approached it all with either preconceived notions or complete derision of the subject matter. Ignoring countless culture's collective MILLENNIUMS of knowledge on the subject. The observations. The notes. The folk remedies and early sciences.

Arrogant. Forgetting or outright dismissing. Because THEY were better. THEY were SMARTER. Surely, THEY would crack the code! Unlock the SECRETS of this MYSTICAL building block of the Force!

Achieve... POWER.

But? The thing IS? Primitive? Does not and HAS not? Ever meant stupid. It means young. New. Doctors and scientists, doing the best they could, with what they had. To help as many as they could. The Force? It was a mysterious thing. They knew the shape of it. The edges, but not it's depths. They could observe.

If they did X... Y occurred. Medicine A? Brought about B and C side effects, avoid it going forward. Use Medicine D. So forth and so on. Building upon the knowledge of the past.

But OH, THEY? Didn't have fancy modern medical technology! Didn't know the modern terms! So obviously they were superstitious idiots!

Thus, attempt after attempt. Failed. Usually with innocent people, paying the price. Because Power. Because Fame. Because they could rule the galaxy and go down in history books... if only these simple little bacteria would COOPERATE. But.... they don't. Do they?

Because you lack understanding.

You. Can Not. Remove Them. From The. HOST.

They DIE.

They can exsist in exactly ONE(1) environment. Their NATIVE environment. Where you found them? That's where they need to STAY. If you found them in a tree? The need to stay in THAT specific tree. Dirt? Well then! Dirt from THAT specific region of THAT specific PLANET. No moving! Cease! Desist!

Are the Midi-chlorians in a baby? The start up strains were donated! Congrats! THEY LIVE THERE NOW. They are now NATIVE to the BABY. Can not exsist OUTSIDE the baby! In fact, will immediately begin to die! Outside that baby!

This is WHY Sith Alchemy is so fucked up. Lots of live experimentation and forcing Midi-chlorians into statis. Body horror everywhere. No mas! It DOES NOT SPARK JOY.

Which?! That leads me to my point! The part of all this THAT FUCKING HAUNTS ME!!!

Bacteria can be multiplied if you give it the right food. Fuck, it WANTS to multiple. WANTS to go gangbusters. Just? Absolutely apeshit. Thick enough in the blood to turn it all into PASTE. It doesn't have a brain. It can't look around and think to itself "hey, maybe we should slow down, we're straining the environment".

It's bacteria. Ultimately, in the end, JUST Bacteria.

Yes, it may be the medium by which we connect to The Force... but IT itself? Has no intelligence to negotiate with. Just like the cells in your body. And JUST like the cells in your body? It can be a cancer. Could kill you, if something went wrong.

If SOMEONE, deliberately, made things go wrong.

All in the name of "Science".

Yes, once again, I consider the SI-OC, even as I consider Midi-chlorians themselves. What "feeds" such a bacteria? A healthy body, presumably. Connection to the Force? Kyber, most likely. Force powerful items. We know they "call" to those who are Sensitive. But! As we know? The part of your body that can actually FEEL that call? Is the Midi-chlorians in your blood, which then transfers the information to it's host.

It is the Midi-chlorians that want that specific Force object. In all likelihood, because it benefits them. That it benefits you? Is a lovely side effect. That is can be used for things? Neat! Good on you for figuring that out! It would still call you to collect pretty, shining, rocks, even if you couldn't use Kyber for SHIT. You would be COMPELLED.

NEED it.

It makes the Midi-chlorians inside you go Brrrrr. Mmm, yes, happy chemicals. Positive reinforcement! You should continue to do OTHER things that help the Midi-chlorians! Like meditation, eating well, and being around others! Go on! Hug that baby! Yeeeeeah, good energy makes LOTS of Midi-chlorian food! (Bad energy too. We are not picky. But that Does Not Feel Nice. So like.... why tho?)

So! Consider!

You have yourself an UNETHICAL AF scientist. The Board does NOT UNDERSTAND THEIR GENIUS etc etc. They have completely lost their shit. Unfortunately, they have money. And Slavery and desperation abound. There are ugly, UGLY pockets of darkness in this galaxy.

They? Have An Idea™! (It is a terrible, horrifying idea)

This scientist? Is going to crack the Secrets of The Midi-chlorian! Become Famous! It is a plot heard many times before, sadly. Just as sadly? SI-OC's parents, who were on their way to the temple, never make it there. Make no mistake! Good people. Upset, of course, that they will be losing their daughter. But? As all good parents do?

They made the decision they thought was best for their baby girl. A lifetime of being understood. Supported. Of stable food and safe beds. A good, quality education they would never be able to afford. Being able to help people someday. They love their daughter. Weep for losing her. But sometimes? Loving your child? Means letting them go.

Not forgotten. NEVER forgotten. But somewhere better then they could ever give her. Safe from those who would see their child in chains.

They do not make it.

But they do not go quietly. When those bastards come for their little girl. They make it cost dearly. Not dearly enough. Never, ever, enough. But one of the other passengers is able to get off the emergency beacon. So the Jedi will know. They will come.

It... it has to be... enough...

And it is.

And they do.

But it is not just a pirate attack. Not JUST slavers. No... no this is far more horrifying. Far worse indeed. The Shadow sent to rescue the child? Stumbles into a festering shitshow. The sort that takes a TEAM to unravel. The not-pirates are mercenaries, are closing in fast. He send his data in full, in one big lump as an emergency download.

Capture likely eminent. They're experimenting on Force Sensitives. Need Back Up.

Help.

The Doctor is, of course, DELIGHTED! An adult specimen AND a child! Comparisons and contrasts! They ramble on, unhinged, to the horror of the Shadow. Who's eyes are locked on the Crecheling in a cage. He knows help will come... but will it come fast enough?

No. Not really.

But what keeps HIM from falling? Is the Crecheling that needs to be taught. Ironic, in a way, that the very thing their capture demands and demands? Is what helps them escape, however temporarily, their cages. Meditate. They are told. Or else.

Surrounded by stolen artifacts of Light.

Meditate.

Meditate.

Imagine, if you will, a dialysis machine. It filters the blood, yes? Pumps it outside the body? A terrible process. Trial and error. How far is too far? At what distance, do the midi-chlorians begin to die? The doctor kills... so, SO many innocent. Not their prize specimens. Jedi are hard to get! But slaves? Easy enough.

The Shadow can not Fall, he reminds himself. Can not give in to his grief or rage. His horror, his sorrow. It... it is so hard. To remember the Light. In this dark place. But the Crechling helps. The kyber, the artifacts. When... not... Not IF! But WHEN he gets out of here? He thinks... he thinks he should retire. Being a Creche Master sounds lovely, to be honest.

Bright. Peaceful.

The doctor completes their horror machine. He can not stop them from putting on SI-OC. After all... HE is done growing. It filters the blood, you see. Nice and close to the body. Through and around Force rich materials, in medical grade tubing. Exposing the Midi-chlorians directly to the energy they feed off of. Filter in a mineral solution to use as building blocks.

It WORKS.

The midi-chlorians in SI-OC blood start multiplying far faster and too far greater concentration then ever before. Slowly but surely boosting their Force Sensitivity as they go. What a rousing success.

If it weren't slowly killing SI-OC.

Ever imagine? What would happen if someone reached over and slowly started turning up the sensitivity on your eyesight? Your hearing? Your taste, touch, the FEELING OF YOUR BONES? If every breath was sandpaper, and every thought an adrenaline rush?

Could you imagine? FEELING the galaxy BREATHE? Knowing for a fact that your body had been specially designed for a certain level of sensitivity? And you had been broken? Because someone wanted to see if you could handle HIGHER?

Power without the support structure? Burns everything down.

Just because something CAN be done? Doesn't mean it will work the way you fantasize it will. Reality is not a story book. Where Power comes in pretty little packages, to be bought or sold or stolen. Midi-chlorians were always Bacteria. And trying to fuck with your own micro-biomes for more power? Was always destined to end in death and disease.

For you. For someone else. For every innocent you dragged into it.

They scoffed at the "primitive" scholars who warned not to fuck with it, yet still treat it like its a mystical power to be seized.

The Shadows that finally track down the lab? BURN it wil a VENGEANCE. It is a place of horrors. And initiate SI-OC is very, VERY sick. They aren't even sure they can risk taking her to Coruscant. Too many people. Jedha? Probably safer. Luckily their library has something that...? MIGHT? Be able to help treat this?

SI-OC probably never stops Tasting Time™ and seeing the Pretty Colors™ but? At least she becomes? Largely functional? Probably needs a disability animal. One that's mildly force sensitive, so it knows when she's ~~drifting~~ again. Keep her from walking into traffic or off a landing platform.

The random bouts of prophecy and mind reading are a bit disconcerting, but like? Lay off! It's not SI-OC fault! Be nice! She can't help it! Don't be rude! D:< she basicly has tiny Force Nexus in HER BLOOD. So WHAT if she occasionally stops to admire a sunrise that hasn't existed for thousands of years? It's probably pretty!

The younglings? Very understanding. Adults are a bit creeped out. But like? Eh. Just EXTRA Jedi-y Jedi... they guess? (No, no not really. This one had a serious Force Incident. But like FUCK we're breaking rank to tell outsiders that sooooo..... Sure? Yeah. Let's go with that!)

Ironically? I bet? Anikin gets along great with her? They're team "WHY YES, THE FORCE IS VERY LOUD. WHY ARE WE SHOUTING? SO YOU CAN HEAR US! OVER THE FORCE! WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S NOT THAT LOU-?". He got it naturally, she got it by getting fucked over. But? They can both go?

"Hey, you feel that thingy in the-?" *vague hand motion* and get a "oh YEAH! Wonder what's THAT'S about?". Does anyone else feel it? No. Is it obvious to THEM? Yes.

Will Anikin punch your lights out, if you mock his disabled friend? *boss music starts playing* R U N. Padme would help. Tag team, fuckeeeeer! *from the highbar with a steel chair*

Community is EVERYTHING. And sometimes? It's you, your secret wife, your brother-mentor-dad, the Clone army you adopted, and the perpetually Force High/Vaguely Brain Damaged jedi you call your best friend! And the droids. And your secret wife's body gaurd squad. And the younglings your friend-... actually? You know what? Your family's kinda big.

Awesome :)

@legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @spidori @hdgnj @hypewinter @leftnotright @the-witchhunter @lolottes @mayfay

[http-tokki]

you promised.- satoru gojo

~ satoru gojo x reader ~ tags/cw: break up, angst, satoru is an asshole ~ wc: 935

"You promised..." You feel your lips pulling further into a frown as you stare at Satoru sitting across from you. "You pinky swore that we were gonna try harder this time."

Satoru doesn't move an inch from his stoic position as tears roll down your cheeks. He does not attempt to reach forward and brush them from your cheeks or run his hand along your forearm the way he used to, there is no attempt at comfort; not anymore. You ache for his touch, for some semblance of warmth that once radiated off him, the heat that kept the embers within your heart glowing throughout the years-long separation between the two of you.

"I don't think it's fair to bring that up." He counters, the vacant expression still plastered across his face.

"I don't think it's fair that you said all these things and made me think it was going to be different this time only for us to end up the same." there is anger building within you, bubbling and roiling in the depths of your soul but you know you can never truly be angry with him.

Gojo sighs and drags his hands down his hands in frustration, the only emotion he has shown thus far. "I didn't know that I wasn't going to be ready for this, I thought-" another sigh. "I thought I was ready but I'm not and it's unfair for you."

"You don't get to decide what's fair for me, that's my decision." your jaw clenches, throat tightening as sobs claw their way up. "All you've talked about was how much I've grown and how you admire me making decisions for myself so here I am, making a decision for myself." you take a deep breath, calming the shaking in your voice as you declare. "I chose you. Always have and always will."

"You're willing to give up your entire life and be my second, third, maybe fourth priority, without a chance at a normal life? Am I that important to you?"

"Yes."

There is a beat of silence and for a moment, you think he will reach across the console, grab your face, kiss you, and seal your combined fate. He will feel the sincerity of your words, your unwavering love and devotion to him and the life that could be, and return your feelings. Finally, you were going to get the moment of your dreams with the man you had been yearning for for far too long.

"God, that's pathetic." Satoru huffs, rubbing at his jaw. "Is your self-worth that low?"

"Excuse me?" His verbal attack is just as sharp as if he were to slap you across the cheek.

"How are you so pathetic that you're willing to give up being your own person for someone else? For me? Do you have no self-respect?"

The words slice at your skin, flaying you open with each sneer. Bile rises in your throat, stomach aching at the devastating blow that he had just delivered to your psyche. Maybe he was right.

"It's like looking at a stray dog just begging me to take them home." Saturo sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Bile rises in your throat, stomach clenching at the devastation he had just released upon you. You feel your heart break. A cracking that only you can hear fills your head, and blood sounds in your ears as your hands start to shake. Breathing becomes manual and the air is a little too thin, vision blurring at the edges and you don't know if it's the lack of oxygen flowing through you or the tears beginning to cloud your waterline. You inhale once, jagged but full, your head clearing slightly at the sudden rush of air and you know what to do. You've done this before. Been dumped by the great Gojo Saturo and you've lived through it, you can do it again but why did it hurt so much more now? There is no time to sit and think about that. You need to leave now, get out of the car so you can break down in the sanctity of your own company.

"Okay," you start, taking another breath and lifting your head to face the sorcerer. "Thank you for letting me know."

Satoru's face remains unchanged, staring at you unblinkingly as you clench your jaw to stop the quivering of your lips.

"We’re done. This is it.” your voice cracks despite your best efforts. “There won’t be any friendship; nothing. Ever again.” 

Gojo’s lip twitches, a slight downward tug at the corner of his lip before schooling his face into neutrality. 

“Anything else to add?” tone detached despite whatever emotion had slipped through his mask a millisecond ago. 

You think for a moment and debate whether or not to admit defeat. Confess that he had won the weird heartbreak competition there was between the two of you, that he had finally taken his prize of your whole heart but what would that achieve? So you take a deep breath and open the door. Cool winter air rushes in, replacing the familiar warmth that always seemed the fill Satoru’s car. Not another word is spoken between the two of you as you climb out, close the door and walk back towards your apartment. You freeze as you reach the door, hand frozen on the keypad to the lobby and you turn, a habit you had developed over the years together, expecting to see him waiting for you to walk into the building knowing you are safe but when you turn, the space is empty.

a/n: lmao inspired by an actual break up conversation with the same guy who broke me like 2 years ago (yeah, that's right I went back like an idiot)

[queenshelby]

The Price for Fame (Part One)

Pairing: Dark!Cillian Murphy x Innocent!Reader

Warning: Manipulation, Infidelity, Smut, Dub-Con, Age-Gap, Cillian is being a bully in this one. It's pure filth.

Just last month, you turned eighteen and moved to Los Angeles to pursue your acting career.

With the help of your friend, Florence Pugh, you scored a role in a new movie which was produced by several big names in the industry, including 48-year-old Oscar winner Cillian Murphy.

Bold enough to believe that life as an acclaimed actress could be yours, you traded the innocence of a rural and religious upbringing for this glitzy haven where fame and glamour wove a pernicious network but it did not take long for things to fall out of place when you screwed up big time on set.

The embarrassment settled in like a slow, tormenting burn as you messed up your lines during a critical emotional scene as much as ten times, causing the shoot to be cut off momentarily. The director, Damien Chazelle, tried to hold his composure but the frustration simmered below the surface. You knew already that he had it out for you, wanting another actress to take your space, and your failure to perform this scene was simply the last straw for him and possibly the end of your career. 

Thus, a quick huddle of the film's top players led to Cillian pulling you aside.

"Let's have a chat," he said coolly, those famous blue eyes impaling you with a steely glare. It was more of a command than an invitation.

"Sure, Cillian. I am so sorry about what happened on set," you stammered, knowing what this was going to be about. 

He was one of the producers of the movie and it was his investment at stake, so you cut right to the chase, "I know you're disappointed but I swear it won't happen again. Anything you want me to do, I just want another chance."

Cillian studied your face for a beat, his blue eyes so piercing you thought he could see right down into the depths of your very soul.

"Let's talk in my trailer, Y/N," he finally said, and began striding off and you followed close behind, unsure of what to expect once you entered his inner sanctum. 

"Listen, I'm getting some heat thanks to you," he began as he sat down and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his bent knees. "Damien wants  you out and I'm getting slammed on all sides for not firing you."

"Listen, I'm getting some heat thanks to you," he began as he sat down and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his bent knees. "Damien wants  you out and I'm getting slammed on all sides for not firing you."

Your heart dropped into your stomach, the implications clear as day. You had to somehow atone for the massive screw-up on set and convince Cillian that you were still a valuable part of this project.

"Please, just tell me what to do and I'll do it," you said, looking him straight in the eye. "I can't afford to lose this opportunity. I'll do whatever it takes."

The words hung heavy in the air and Cillian seemed to consider them before finally responding.

"Whatever it takes, huh?" Cillian repeated, as if mulling over your words. His gaze never left yours, and the intensity of it made you squirm in your seat. "Well, you are a young and attractive woman, Y/N and we could, potentially, come to some kind of arrangement that would keep you employed on this film."

The implications of his words sent a shock through your system. Was he suggesting what you thought he was suggesting?

"What... what kind of arrangement?" you stammered, hating how weak you sounded but unable to control it.

Cillian leaned back in his seat now, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, I think you know."

You shook your head in confusion. You didn't though, not really.

But the way Cillian was looking at you, like you were some sort of puzzle to be figured out, made you feel exposed and vulnerable.

"You need to be more specific," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Cillian leaned forward again; his gaze unwavering. "Alright then. Let me be clear. I want to have you in my bed, every night, sometimes even during the day, until we are done filming," Cillian said, his gaze intense.

"What?" you exclaimed, your voice barely above a whisper. "You want me to, uhm, like have sex with you?" you asked and Cillian nodded almost bluntly.

Your mind raced as you tried to process his words. Was this some kind of joke? It had to be, right? Except Cillian's expression was completely serious.

"I don't understand," you said finally, your voice shaking. "Why would you want that? You are married and I am much younger than you," you protested, still reeling from his outlandish request.

Cillian sighed and rubbed his temples before looking back at you. "I am married but my wife is not here, and I do have needs, so this seems like an easy solution for me. Plus, I won't deny that I find you attractive," he told you and you swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. This was not what you had expected when you agreed to come to his trailer. Your mind raced as you tried to come up with a response that wouldn't ruin your career completely.

"I am flattered but I have a boyfriend and we were waiting until marriage, so I have never been intimate with anyone," you told Cillian, hoping that would put an end to this conversation. But instead of appearing taken aback, Cillian seemed almost pleased by this revelation.

"Really?" he said, with a cunning smile before carrying on. "Well, I can be gentle and, as I see it, no one needs to know about this arrangement. Not your boyfriend, not my wife, and especially not anyone on set," Cillian leaned in, whispering conspiratorially.  His piercing blue eyes bore into you, softening just slightly.

"I don't know. I don't think I can do this," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart was still racing, and your mind was swirling with indecision. On one hand, you couldn't afford to lose this opportunity, and on the other, you couldn't imagine betraying your boyfriend like this.

Cillian leaned back in his seat, studying you for a moment before speaking. "Look, Y/N, I understand your hesitation, but this is purely a business arrangement," Cillian said, his voice low and soothing as he tried to persuade you.

A silence fell between the two of you as you contemplated his words. The dilemma wrestling within you was palpable, the weight of the decision threatening to crush you.

His voice broke through the silence once more, "Think about it, Y/N. You need this role, and I need... well, I need something else."

Cillian's words lingered in the air, making you uncomfortable, and the thought of betraying your boyfriend's trust made your stomach churn.

"Okay, but you have to wear a condom and no kissing," you finally agreed, trying to put in some boundaries.

Cillian's face lit up with excitement as if he had just won a jackpot, but he quickly hid it with a mask of composure. "Of course, Y/N. Whatever makes you comfortable."

You felt violated by the sudden power shift, but you couldn't deny that Cillian was offering you a lifeline, an opportunity to save yourself from drowning in the cutthroat industry of Hollywood. You had come too far to throw it all away for principles that seemed so trivial now.

"Tonight, 8 o'clock at my house, wear something nice," Cillian instructed, before dismissing you with a wave.

The audacity of it all left you breathless. In no universe did you imagine that your innocence would be the currency for maintaining employment in this industry. Yet, here you were, walking away from his trailer, carrying the burden of a secret agreement that clashed heavily with your very soul.

***

Eight o'clock came around soon enough, and after hours of overthinking, you stood by Cillian's front door, wearing an elegant red dress and high heels. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you hesitated for a moment, hesitant to knock.

Cillian answered the door with a seductive smirk on his face. "Right on time," he drawled. His gaze raked over you, leaving a trail of discomfort in its wake. You murmured a soft greeting and stepped inside.

The terrace he was staying it for the duration of filming was nice, tastefully decorated and obviously very expensive.

Cillian led you to the living room where he handed you a glass of wine and whilst you did not usually drink alcohol, you decided tonight was different. You needed to calm your nerves and calm down your inhibitions. 

As you sipped on the red liquid, he gave you a tour of his house and, without losing too much time, he led you to his bedroom.

"Let's get this over with," you gasped quietly, trying to sound confident but your trembling voice betrayed your true emotions.

"Eager are we?" Cillian chuckled as you put down your half-finished wine and sat down on the edge of the mattress, noticing a packet of condoms and a bottle of lubricant on the nightstand.

"No, like I said, I just want to get this over with," you reiterated, biting your lower lip nervously. "I don't want this, but you do, and I want to keep my job, so let's just make this quick," you added, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Alright then," Cillian chuckled, that smug grin still on his face as he moved closer to you. Without losing any time, he pulled his t-shirt over his head before slowly undoing his belt. 

"Why don't you get down on to your knees and get me hard , hmm?" Cillian suggested, the lascivious look in his eyes causing you to shudder.

You hesitated for a moment, feeling repulsed at the idea of going down on him but before you could protest, he grabbed your chin and forced you to look up at him. "Don't pretend you don't want this," he growled, his hot breath on your face making you cringe.

"Okay," you nodded reluctantly, your voice barely above a whisper.

You sunk down to your knees on the plush carpet, feeling completely degraded and humiliated. You could feel the bile rising in your throat as you looked up at him, his crotch directly in front of your face.

Cillian's face was smug as he unzipped his jeans, tugging them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, already semi-hard and pointing directly at your face.

"Go on then," he commanded gruffly, unaware that you had never done this before either. 

But you knew you couldn't refuse him. Not if you wanted to keep your job and avoid any negative consequences.

So with shaking hands, you reached up and wrapped your fingers around his thick shaft.

Cillian let out a low moan as you began to stroke him, your grip tight as you moved your hand up and down his length.  Your heart was pounding in your chest, and every movement made your stomach churn.

But you knew this was the price of maintaining your career, so you forced yourself to continue. 

Pre-cum glistened on the tip of his cock, an indication of his growing arousal and, even though you did not know what it was, you pulled away slightly.

"Now be a good girl for me and open your mouth ," Cillian demanded.

You hesitated again, feeling even more repulsed by the request. But you knew there was no room for hesitation or resistance, not if you wanted to keep your job and avoid any negative consequences. So, with trembling lips, you parted your mouth as wide as you could, trying to suppress the sick feeling rising up in your stomach.

"Now stick out your tongue," he ordered.

You did as you were told, sticking out your tongue and closing your eyes which is when Cillian collected some of his pre-cum with his index finger and smeared it on to your tongue.

You opened your eyes , still trembling as you stared up at him, hating every moment of this degradation. Cillian just smiled down at you before nodding for you to continue.

You reluctantly wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock, wincing as the taste of salt and bitter muskiness filled your mouth. 

Cillian then grabbed a fistful of your hair, using it to guide his cock deep into your mouth. He pushed it in farther than you expected, causing you to gag.

"You're going to have to relax and take it all in," he said, his tone cruel and condescending. "Otherwise we're never going to get anywhere."

You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to vomit as you felt his cock hit the back of your throat.

"Sshh , deep breaths," Cillian cooed softly, tugging on your hair as he pulled his hips back and thrust forward again.

You kept your breathing steady and shallow, trying to prevent yourself from gagging on his length. Tears streamed down your cheeks as Cillian's rhythm grew quicker. He groaned with pleasure, his grip on your hair tightening.

Suddenly he pulled out of you, and the sudden emptiness caused relief to flood through you.

"I want you on all fours now, baby," Cillian growled, his voice husky with lust. "That way, I can see how your virgin hole stretches around my cock when I stick it in there."

You swallowed hard, feeling scared but still you complied. You reluctantly positioned yourself on all fours, your heart pounding in your chest as Cillian reached for the condom packet and lubrication.

Cillian tore open the condom packet with his teeth, rolling it down his hard shaft before squeezing out a generous amount of lubrication onto his fingers. He traced them teasingly over your dry folds, causing you to flinch at the unfamiliar touch.

"Please, just get it over with," you whimpered, your voice trembling as you braced yourself for the excruciating pain of losing your virginity.

Cillian chuckled at your eagerness, but you could hear the sarcasm behind it. "So eager to give up that sweet little cherry of yours, huh?" he asked as he positioned himself behind you, the head of his cock brushed up against your entrance.

"This might hurt a little, but I want you to relax and let me in," he said as he began to push himself inside of you.

You couldn't help but let out a loud gasp as the burning sensation of pain spread throughout your entire body. You couldn't believe that you were actually doing this, allowing yourself to be used like this, for nothing but your career.

"Just breathe," Cillian whispered in your ear as he continued to push deeper inside of you.

You felt him bottom out inside of you, and the feeling of fullness was almost too much to bear.

But before you could say anything, he began to thrust in and out of your tight hole, the friction causing a burning sensation to radiate throughout your body.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Cillian groaned, his hips snapping against your ass with each powerful thrust. You couldn't help but let out a loud gasp every time he entered you, feeling every inch of him as he stretched you open.

Sweat dripped down Cillian's forehead, his breath coming out in harsh pants as he continued to pound into you.

"And you are going to have that cock of mine inside you every day now," Cillian grunted, his voice hoarse as he continued to pump in and out of you.  His words made you feel dirty and cheap, but there was nothing you could do to stop him. You were trapped in this situation, trapped in this twisted arrangement between a successful actor and a desperate young actress trying to make it in Hollywood.

Cillian reached between your legs, his fingers finding your clit as he began to circle and rub, causing you to moan involuntarily. The mix of pain and pleasure was overwhelming, making it hard for you to catch your breath.

You came, fast, and then you were in a state of shock, unable to fully comprehend what was happening to you. The man behind you, Cillian, continued to thrust into you with no mercy, his balls slapping against your clit with each pump. His fingers were still manipulating your delicate button, and the combined sensations were building up deep within your core.

Cillian grunted, his pace increasing. You could feel his cock swell inside of you as he approached his own climax.

He then groaned loudly, his fingers digging into your hips as he slammed into you with a final thrust. You could feel him pulsating inside of you, the condom filling with his hot seed.

Soon after that, Cillian withdrew from you, and your body ached with the emptiness. He tossed the used condom to the side before collapsing onto the bed next to you.

"You impressed me tonight," Cillian said breathlessly as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

His body was slick with sweat, and his cock was still semi-hard against your thigh.

"I had to," you muttered, pulling away from his embrace. You couldn't bear the thought of being close to him after what just transpired between you.

Cillian chuckled softly, his breath hot against your neck. "I know, and I'm grateful," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss on the curve of your shoulder.

"I want you to go on the pill," he said, his voice firm. "I can't be bothered with condoms all the time, and I want to feel you bare. Can you do that for me?"

His request caught you off guard, but you didn't protest. You were already in too deep, and a part of you wanted to give him what he wanted.

"Okay," you murmured softly.

Cillian smiled at your response, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare thigh.

"Good girl," he whispered approvingly, before pulling you close for another bruising kiss before leaving you to clean yourself up and head back home.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

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[celaenaeiln]

Okay but you can’t just say “I'm not going to get into their brother relationship because that involves how Alfred treats Dick as a son rather than a grandson and is opening a whole new mansion of stuff so I'm going to wrap this up here” and not follow up with another post because that’s just cruel 😔😞 (aka this is me saying I really like & enjoy reading your interpretations and I need more of them HEHE)

😂😂😂😂😂😂

Thank you!!!! <3333

I love thinking about how Alfred treats Dick more of a son than a grandson because their relationship is different from Alfred's relationship with the other kids. Furthermore, it also explains a bunch of his actions.

First of, I know when everyone saw that Alfred had left Dick his entire inheritance they went "What the fuck." There were a bunch of jokes and questioning about why Alfred would do that and a lot of people have wrote it off as Tom Taylor's writing. But here's the thing. Tom Taylor has done a lot of stupid stuff in terms of characterization but he's done quite a few things right and one of them was adequately explaining Dick and Alfred's relationship.

I don't know how many people can read cursive but it says, "I invested much of this wisely and ethically...In fact, I planned to come to you for advice. Like Bruce, your mind is astonishing. You are a problem-solver and the world is full of problems." (There's actually panel during one of Dick and Slade's fight I have saved so lemme know if you or anyone is interested in Dick's innovativeness and how it makes his a terrifying opponent.)

Let me pause right there. This is Alfred's life savings. It's every piece of penny he's saved and every minute of his life is in that money. On top of what he says about Dick's intellect-and I agree and can prove it-he must've loved and trusted Dick an extraordinary amount to do this.

Alfred goes on to say, "I couldn't think of better hands to leave this fortune in. I believe you will see this, not as a personal gain, but as an opportunity. Because I believe in Dick Grayson."

He continues praising him and- HERE IT IS- "I am so very proud to call you my son."

DICK IS ALFRED'S SON.

This is the cleanest, clearest panel where he explicitly says it.

Hold on-this is the cleanest panel that says it? Wait a minute, let me retract that:

"Master Bruce was my son for a while. And then there was you."

THIS MOMENT HAS BEEN BUILDING UP ON US FOR YEARS. Tom Taylor wasn't doing lip service, he was just writing the inevitable!

I swear there's a panel where Dick refers to Alfred as his dad...

*Record scratch* WHAT DID ALFRED CALL DICK? WHAT DID DICK CALL ALFRED?

THIS IS WHY I LOVE THEM!!! THEY ARE GLORIOUS, BRILLIANT, UNDERRATED, AND NO ONE UNDERSTANDS THE FULL EXTENT OF EITHER OF THEIR ABILITIES, LOVE, OR DEPTH OF EMOTIONS.

THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS ON A DIFFERENT LEVEL.

Take the Ric Grayson arc for another example.

Background context: Dick-Ric-was sleeping on the counter and all of a sudden he was startled out of a nightmare thus accidentally ending up bumping into the guy next to him who was drinking. Of course the guy doesn't mind only because it's Dick but anyways, here Alfred makes his entrance. Another thing I love about about this interaction is this is one of the few times Alfred has ever admitted to being in the military. The only other time I can think of him openly saying that is when he's slapping Bruce around.

The worry in the man's eyes for his wayward son...when Bea is snarking with Dick about his tab Alfred decides to pay for him instead.

LOOK AT HIS EYES AS HE SAYS GOOD NIGHT! THE AMOUNT OF EMOTION HE HAS IN THEM IS PURE PERFECTION. THE MAN JUST WANTS HIS SON TO COME BACK.

Not to mention, Alfred adores Dick in a way he didn't even with Bruce.

"For a long time I would dread coming down to this dark hellhole. But the advent of young Grayson has forced an alteration in my attitude. The masters have made much progress in these few short months. I was opposed initially to the recruitment of the lad in Master Bruce's self-appointed 'War on Crime.' But I am prepared to admit my error. Master Richard has mad a difference for the better to our lives."

This is HUGE. Coming from Alfred, this is massive because Alfred LOATHES Bruce's "War on Crime." How much?

So much that he slapped Bruce bloody for it.

The pseudo-father and son beat each other to pieces over it. So after years of Alfred hating Bruce for what he's done, for him to say he only accepts it because of Dick-because of Dick's personality-is enormous praise and accomplishment.

Alfred loves Dick in a way he doesn't love anyone else. And before I get flamed by people for suggesting Alfred loves Dick more than Bruce, I want to say he loves Dick as much as Bruce but in a different manner. He doesn't see Dick as a grandchild who needs to be coddled and softened, he sees Dick as a son he can spoil and cherish.

Him paying off the tab was not only an act of kindness, but it mimicks the way a rich father gives everything to his youngest son. Bruce was the first born he raised but Dick was the baby of their family. This also ties in with how Bruce doesn't see Dick as just him son like he does with the others. To Bruce, they are just as much brothers as anything else.

When Bruce fires Dick from Robin after two-face, Alfred couldn't take it lightly. Dick wasn't just the light of Bruce's life, he was the fucking sun to Alfred's.

I started crying when I read this because the emotions and the pain he's feeling is so visceral. A man who has been MI5 and SAS (Special Airforce Service), who has fought wars, who has fought his son, lost his best friends, is breaking down alone at the top of the stairs over not having Dick as Robin.

You might think that's not all that sad. Worse things have happened. You're overreacting.

Tears are literally streaming down my face as I'm writing this review. Rudolph nose and ugly bloodstained eyes complete with it.

Can you ever imagine loving someone so much?

Crying in silence with a steady voice to never let them know your sorrow?

But sure, sure, he's cried when others were killed like this so I'll go into other special things.

Some of his best moments are with Dick:

The pure adoration in his eyes as he watches his young son go 'flap' 'flap' 'flap' with his older brother's too big cloathes.

He's laughing! Do you know the only times he laughs or grins like that?

That's right-with Bruce! With his other son.

With Dick, he laughs, gets angry, and actually shows interest in things not related to people's health. Dick humanizes Alfred.

Who is the only other person Alfred has gotten mad at? Oh yeah. Bruce.

There's another panel where Alfred just sits by his bedside holding his hand.

It's the little things that matter is a lie. When it comes to Dick, Alfred does things in fighter jet air shows level of affection which he learned just for this during his SAS days.

Their shared interests & mutual understanding

People always think Dick and Alfred have nothing in common between them. Dick is excitable, bouncy, and some other adjective while Alfred is calming, stoic, and butler-y. They actually forget that Dick and Alfred canonically bond of plays. Dick, as I said before, is a massive theater nerd. He loves plays. He really wanted to see that shakespeare play and Alfred said he would take him because he knows people there and then went on to complain about how his brother didn't even drop by to see him. I love their interactions because Dick brings out a different side to Alfred.

Das Rheingold was a German musical drama that was performed as a single opera at the National Theatre Munich. This is the link if you're interested in reading a short synopsis of this complicated play by the Metropolitan Opera. It's like a mix of "The Lord of the Rings" and "The Rings of Power."

Also the fact that Alfred is tying his tie like a father would tie his son's.

I know they make a crack out of it by using Bugs Bunny (Bugs Bunny is a fantastic cartoon! I grew up on it!) but Alfred knows that Dick loves opera and theater and is only asking if this particular play will suit his interests. Okay, great, we know Dick likes theater. You've said that and posted about it before. But how do we know Alfred likes it too and not just because he's British and posh and whatnot?

He has preformed at the London Theater, and this is another way he connects to Dick emotionally. When Dick complains about being Batman, Alfred is the one that tells him:

This is something Alfred understands about Dick that absolutely no one in the family does.

The two of them are show people. They know how to play the role they were given, and they know how to play it well. No one suspects Alfred the Butler of ruthlessly using firearms and no one suspects Dick the Light of the Universe to ruthlessly to manipulate allies.

Dick knows this about Alfred too and never presses for any answers. When Alfred's pulling out a bullet from Dick and performing high level medical techniques he should know nothing about, Dick asks him, "Where did you learn all this, Alfred." To which Alfred responds, "You would be amazed at what you can pick up by watching the Discovery Channel." Dick just gives a pained laugh retorts about his wonderful bedside manners.

They know.

What Alfred sees in Dick is a pure goodness that can't be emulated. He loves his son for how absolutely good he is and is devastated when Dick can't be with him. Of everyone, Dick is the one Alfred is closest to. Other members have their moments with him but no one continually seeks out his presence just for the fact they like him aside from Dick. The rest treat him as an important side character, not a parent. And Alfred responds to that devotion with overwhelming love of his own.

Alfred and Bruce's optimism comes bundled up in the form of Dick. It's stunning how it's always Alfred of all people who admits this. Alfred who isn't supposed to show favoritism or bias is the one that consistently acknowledges how important Dick is to the family and him. This solidifies the fact that Dick is Alfred's favorite.

Other moments that differentiate Dick and Alfred's relationship:

We're pretty familiar with this and many of us have laughed it off when Alfred scolded Dick (also Dick looks hot af here). But can you imagine even anyone else playfully mocking Alfred? THIS. BOY. IS. SPECIAL. Alfred doesn't even blink twice at the address, indicating how typical it is for Dick to act that way with him. You only do that to people you're best friends with.

Casual comfort, the two of them.

Dick and Bruce were brothers and how that ties into Alfred:

Adding to my "Light of Bruce's life" Robin Dick canon, Alfred told Dick that Bruce "would have self-distructed if he hadn't met me and learned responsibility. I made him laugh, and he was like the greatest big brother you could ever imagine...it was our town."

Bruce and Dick are so damn codependent.

Bruce would not have survived without Dick. That's all there is to it.

Robin Dick was the light shining through rain clouds, the glitter in the air, the angel with golden wings, the giggling sweetheart to Alfred and Bruce. He was sunshine, love, and joy and the men both adored, thrived, and cherished him for it.

And if Dick and Bruce were brothers then Alfred was Dick's father and he was Alfred's son.

[rainbowolfe]

Chaos

*cracks knuckles* finally, some fucking lore.

Here's the song for those who haven't heard it yet.

All of my time spent scouring for and trying to interpret symbols... trying to interpret the tarot cards... a conspiracy board of connected dots. It all pays off now, with this album. MY TIME HAS COME.

Before I get into analyzing the lyrics, I wanted to call attention to the tarot cards that appear in the music video.

True Sight, Strength From Within, Diseased Heart, Death's Door, Divine Curse, Hands of Rage, Gift From Below, Ambrosia, Weeping Moon, and two cards that haven't appeared in the game (yet).

I will make an in-depth analysis of what I think these cards mean for Leshy's fate in another post, cause it's gonna be huge. I also wanna see what cards the other Bishops get, as many of the tarot card's reference each other and have meanings that depend on the context from other cards.

But some quick surface level observations based on the notes I already have about the cards:

-whatever "it" is, it starts with the Blood Moon Ritual.

-Either Leshy or his demon were wounded, metaphorically or otherwise, putting him on a path towards corruption.

-Leshy has large reserves of Fervour. His demon receives strength/power from the Sun.

-He almost dies. A deal is struck to exchange something (or someone) for a boon.

-He was eating Gods for his immortality. A specific type. More on that some other time.

-Leshy is the receiver of a gift (of extra life)from TOWW.

The two remaining cards that are still unknown may relate to Leshy's eventual fall.

ON TO THE SONG.

Enough interpreting vague pictures and cryptic lore text. It's time what I've been hungry for. DESPERATE for. Very plain and straightforward text about what a character's been up to.

So there are four entities singing in this. There's the demon who starts the song off, the Green Crown, Leshy, and a fourth being related to the Green Crown.

The demon is marked by a specific, deeper (almost whispery? Dare I say... hissy) voice. We don't hear it again after it says it's peace.

I am the demon growing inside of you. I feed off all your fears and lies. It's so true. I can't wait to hunt you down, capture, and do the horrid things I must do to survive this.

This could very well be the creature that is literally inside of Leshy, visible only in his Eldritch form. But it could also be Leshy's heart. At the core of all the Bishop's actions was fear, and something had to be feeding that fear. Resulting in hearts cast in vile, impermeable, unrelenting terror.

Or it's Shamura.

It also plays off of what Leshy says to the Lamb. "I hear your lies and I smell your fear."

We then transition into what seems to be Leshy finding his Crown (while burrowing) and emerging from the dirt.

I claw my way out, My feet on the ground This horn atop my head... ...is my Crown.

We can know this part is Leshy's because the summoning circle that appears in this section is the one found in Darkwood. Thus, based on the summoning circle in the next section being the same one used by the Red Crown Snake, these lyrics are the Green Crown speaking. ((I would even posit. It's the Crown's original, intended owner. Someone had to put it in the dirt, and it surely wasn't on accident.))

I won't stay in line (I won't stay in line) I'm destined to die (I'm destined to die) The thunder rages on (The thunder rages on) (as night forever falls) As night forever falls

While it's Leshy's voice, they aren't his words. These words belong to the second voice echoing him which slowly reveals that it isn't repeating after Leshy. Leshy is repeating after it. As the 'secondary' voice gets ahead of the 'primary' voice.

The night falling means both an eternal nighttime and the literal "Night" falling. As in, dying. If the Light is the Sun, then the Dark is the Moon. And the decorations in the Heretic's pack would greatly suggest that the moon is dead (if not, then heavily injured).

The eternal night is a reference to the Old Faith, more on that later.

Next section!

True Name vs True Moniker. Moniker does technically mean name, but it's more in the sense of your "brand". Here I'm sure it's being used as a "nickname".

We know him as Leshy, he's representative of chaos (his ""brand"" lmao) and thus is known by that title. But he's not Chaos itself. Something I've pointed out before is that he's "he of havoc" and not "he of chaos". Havoc is not synonymous with chaos.

No, no. Chaos is the one on the other end of the Crown. Because the Crowns are just conductors of devotion. We even see with Narinder's Crown that there's something we make sacrifices to that gives us/the Crown power in exchange. And unless Narinder's hiding tentacles under those robes, it's not him. There's someone/thing higher.

The Old God. Maelstrom. Or Turua, they're both red-coded.

Know him as Leshy, the vessel of chaos. But the second voice (the one influencing Leshy without him realizing it) demands you worship him as Chaos. And only Chaos.

And the "me" here is strange but maybe it'll make sense after hearing the other Bishop's songs?

An important side tangent though. As this is "The Goat" album, there is of course going to be a slight difference in what's being described in this song and what actually happened in Lamb's reality. And that difference lies in the names of the songs.

It's Chaos, and not Leshy. I suspect it's a lot like how Narinder stopped being Narinder, and became The One Who Waits. A being his siblings regard as something indistinguishable from the Red Crown. Maybe even something more severe, as he eventually gets to go back to being Narinder it seems.

Daylight will come undone; as we eclipse the Sun

What I assume is going to be Kallamar's song was previewed in the Goat trailer/teaser, and that too makes an explicit mention to killing a representation of the sun. (or someone adjacent to it)

I said before that the Old Faith represents an eclipse. That's why those specific, but incomplete moon phases appear on all their stuff. They are the omen. They are the punishment for someone's misdeeds towards a higher power.

Destruction wastes at noonday.

[jamiepaige]

Constant Companions Closeup #2: NOT QUITE THERE

(also on spotify!)

b-b-back once again

Round two of the Constant Companions Closeups - a series of in-depth dives into the songs off of my latest album, Constant Companions! Yesterday was track one, Dyad - today is track two, Not Quite There, featuring the incomparable telebasher!

This one's a bit of a dark horse relative to the rest of the album, but it may very well be my personal favorite song on the entire thing so dammit let's Yap

---

For the uninitiated, this song pulls heavily from a song off my previous album called Gummyworm, both in vibe and by very directly quoting its synth motif.

Both of these songs deal with two sides of the same emotional coin. I actually don't want to go into too much detail about it - I feel like the lyrics spell things out clearly enough - but I will say this:

When it's all you know, it's easy to believe that a love that isolates you, a love that doesn't respect you, a love that hurts is better than no love at all.

You deserve better. There are always people who genuinely want what's best for you, who want you to feel truly loved. It certainly isn't always easy - it's genuinely good if your interpersonal relationships have a little friction sometimes - but love should make your life brighter.

You deserve a love that's fair.

---

The original version of this song was actually intended to be on Bittersweet alongside Gummyworm. The original concept for that album had a whole heady concept involving duality, songs reflecting each other, the two halves basically being reprisals of each other... Ultimately, I'm glad I scrapped that idea, because it was waaaaaay too much for me to manage after a couple years of barely making music. Maybe I'll revisit it someday though?

The drums on this song are sampled from an Instagram post by Louis Cole, where he's doing this crazy one-handed hi-hat blast by holding a drumstick sideways. I'm a drummer and that shit genuinely scares me a little like i dont know how he does half the things he does its fucked BUT. I bring this up because he's one of my biggest inspirations as a musician! I'm really big on jazz in general, in case my love for spicy chords wasn't enough of an indication, but his specific brand of freaky hyperactive bullshit just does it for me.

Seriously, go watch his band KNOWER play their song Overtime. Absolutely insane performances across the board. also Clown Core

This whole song is really just my attempt at matching some of that hectic jazzy energy with my own style of music, so I figured it only made sense to make it another collab with another musician making delightfully frantic jazz bullshit - the legend herself, telebasher! I really am such a massive fan of her work, and I struggle to think of anyone who plays guitar quite like she does. We previously worked together on another Bittersweet track, Asemic Speech, and her guitar work is a major reason why that song is still one of my favorite I've ever released!! She's just built different like listen to this oh my god!!!!

Lastly, since this song was one of the first written for this entire project... it is admittedly a case of me shoehorning the album's leitmotif in after the fact. It's a little forced when it shows up in the backing vocals! But, the choir of vocal synths during the guitar solo served an additional purpose - my own voice doesn't show up on the album again for another four entire songs, and this would've otherwise been the only song on the entire album that didn't feature any vocal synths. Thus did I attempt to bridge the gap, as it were. Hopefully it makes the final product feel more natural!!

Either way, that's all for today's post.... i think.... which means that tomorrow.... we're gonna rot.... for clout

[raayllum]

Anyway let's talk about Star Arcanum Viren

This is of course 1) operating under the assumption that Viren lives post-5x09 and 2) working with the minimal amount of information we have regarding the star primal. Also acknowledging that I am by far not the first (or the last) person to have the idea of Viren connecting to the Star arcanum (I think that's been floating around since at least post-s4) but I thought I'd compile my own bunch of evidence all the same in the name of bringing things up I don't think I've seen other people mention

Let's goo

Arcanum connections thus far in TDP (which is really only two) tend to follow a pattern. You have an object or a guide (or both) that helps you build up your understanding of the primal, you are usually actively seeking it (though this mileage could vary in S6), and after an internal emotional epiphany you understand the Secret of the arcanum and thereby form your own piece of it inside you. Arcana epiphanies grant power and understanding, but they are not necessarily pleasant or positive to undergo.

We see this with Callum in receiving objects related to the arcanums he unlocks (the primal stone to understand the feeling of sky magic; Akiyu's breathing amulet), guides (Villads, ocean poetry), and his own desire ("I'm meditating upon the meaning of Sky" / "I feel like I'm close to a breakthrough with Ocean magic any day now"). We'll return to him in a moment regarding Moon as Callum and Viren often have parallel arcs, so him connecting to an arcanum in S6 bodes well for Viren doing the same, but that's for later.

So for Viren, we need Star adjacent objects (possibly inherited from Kpp'Ar...)

Ibis: If you seek to return that staff to its true owner [Aaravos].

guides

and philosophy. This last one is the trickiest because we just don't Know that much about Star magic philosophy going into S6, the same way we didn't know that much about Ocean magic or its philosophy before going into S6. We know that Star magic is about truth ("You helped me see the truth" as a falsehood vs "I finally see the truth" finally in 5x09) and vision ("I see visions of dragon fire raining down") and a quasi-religious slant ("Where do our gods hide?" / "I will inoculate you...").

It's not one simple thing. It's all the things. They just had to... come together, you know? It's like, I used to hold the power of the Sky in my hand, right? But now that's gone. But Rayla, the whole world is like a giant primal stone, and we're inside it! I'm inside Sky magic, and but it's also in me, with every breath I take. And I kept thinking about birds, and sails, and how they connect to the wind, and I thought I had to find my wings. But that's just it: I am the wing!

You don't control anything. But then you already knew that, didn't you? Because it's the secret of the Ocean itself. The arcanum. You helped me figure it out. I thought it would be about controlling the tides or fighting the currents, but... it's the opposite. The ocean arcanum is about accepting there are depths you can't see, parts of yourself you can't understand, and things you can't control.

This already fits Viren's arc of believing in destiny as an immutable, unchangeable force that he and others are automatically beholden to — that you have no choice, and therefore no accountability for your actions.

V: The path of fate is already chosen. Every step I took, I took because I had to. [...] I had no choice. I did what I had to do.

We see this reflected in how Viren doesn't often acknowledge his own failures but instead deflects them onto other people — "His own stubborn ways stopped me from helping him" / "Tell me what you know about this relic or I will seal your fate" — as though he played no part in things, and how we see that start to shift in S4 and especially in S5. If he "must" make the sacrifice in order to live, then he has no choice, doesn't he?

Except that he does, and he makes it.

This also ties into, imo, the 'beginning' of Viren's story so to speak. A lot of the characters have an Initial Event that sets up everything else for them (i.e. for Claudia and Rayla, it was Lissa / Laindrin leaving), and for the adult characters, it tends to be choice (i.e. Harrow going for the Magma Titan). For Viren, it seems to be coining Kpp'Ar and doing whatever it took to save Soren, an answer that we're surely going to get in S6.

And he almost 99% used both dark and more importantly Star magic to do so.

So Star magic and dark magic started his Path of Fate, so to speak. Dark magic and intrigue led him to Aaravos, and then to his literal Fall and Death (events that Aaravos, particularly if he was Laurelion in the past, also experienced).

C: In darkness, gaze upon a Fallen Star. V: I find myself here at these horrifying crossroads because I have followed a dark path.

It would make sense, then, just like his dark magic dreams to start back at the beginning, and go back to Star magic — but this time, without the taint of dark magic, much the same way he finally unmakes his choices in 1x02-1x03 in full in his decision to Not sacrifice SS in 5x09.

And as previously noted, if Viren was facing 'us' in the poster (same as Claudia), his hair would be angled differently. Therefore, his back is to us, and he's gazing openly at the star instead.

And one last final nudge towards Star arcanum Viren is, to me, the ongoing parallels between his bond with Aaravos and Callum's bond with Rayla. If you want more about how and why Viravos and Rayllum foil / reflect each other, you can check out this tag here.

But basically: Aaravos and Rayla are banished elven guides who push their High Mage of Katolis into discovering their secrets and earning their trust ("Well should we trust you?" + "I don't deserve your trust, not yet" / "Why should I trust you?" "You shouldn't... yet"), bowing to them on paths to Xadia, hunting one another's high mages and trying to save their respective ones, etc etc. You've presumably been following me, none of this is news to you, moving on...

The reason why this is relevant is because Rayla embodies the Moon (leaving and returning, light and dark, withholding information and being secretive, wearing masks and different faces — or a least trying to) and its arcanum, and Aaravos embodies the Stars (mysterious, powerful, ancient) and its arcanum. If there's been 5ish plus seasons of potential set up for Callum connecting to the Moon arcanum ("Now you're starting to sound like Lujanne") when he reaches some Rayla related and/or personal "I have both dark AND light inside" epiphany, Viren understanding more of how Aaravos has likewise been perverted by dark magic and distorted the arcanum he knows (if Star magic has an arcanum at all in the way we think of it) then like...

It'd make sense, and these two dynamics routinely do foil and escalate alongside each other (even S5 being Viravos' divorce, and the bulk of Rayllum's reconciliation).

With everything I've talked about in mind, say Viren does connect to the Star arcanum. What does that actually mean? What is the star arcanum about?

Honestly? I think it's about connection and severance.

The Merciful One: We are, all of us, Stardust, held together by love for an instant.

Everyone and everything is connected. Primal magic exists around creatures, animals, humans, elves, and dragons in TDP, but the arcana is the piece that also exists within them. Dark magic, meanwhile, gives you a twisted form of arcanum that allows Aaravos to reach inside you and assert his will over yours. Puppet strings are just another form of connection, that if you pull on the right ones, the right ways people are connected to each other (Claudia's love for Viren) or the ways they feel disconnected (Viren trying and failing to get human kings and queens to listen to him).

I don't know if Star magic can be as simple as "you write your own destiny" or "you make your own choices" (hi 5x03 Viren) despite the primal's associations with destiny, since Callum already had that epiphany in 2x08 and is struggling to live it out now in arc 2. It would also make sense to me if Star magic is Connection given that after the Startouch elves left, Xadia soon fell apart and was divided into two, since dark magic and isolationism are things that tear people and characters apart. There can be the horror of the connections we're born into (Soren and Viren; characters feeling trapped by their own arcana like Finnegrin and even Rayla sometimes), and strength in the connections we continually forge to create new bonds, or maintain the ones we're born into that we Want to keep.

You can't separate pain and love from each other — they go hand in hand — but you can still choose to break the cycle by separating those emotions from the instigation of violence, as Ezran says.

Xadia and multiple characters have had to relearn the merits of connection ("Stronger together, right?" / "there was a way we can solve our problems together") in the face of antagonists who mandate it ("You'll always be a human to them, you'll always be less" / "You must carry this weight alone"). The Startouch elves know connection the way Finnegrin knows control, of retreating so far into just themselves they turned their backs on everyone who wasn't one of them.

This woud also make sense to me in being Viren's next step in his journey, as revoking dark magic in a lot of ways was just Step One, and re-establishing proper bonds and amends with people he's wronged and with himself / the way he perceives the world around him is the next.

Luckily — every step is a choice.

Last but not least, it's super important to the show that Callum, eventually, turns a corner and we get confirmation that other humans can and will connect to arcanums; it's arguably one of the most important things that needs to happen in the series that he's Not the only one who's ever gonna forge his own connection. Viren getting one would do that while also providing him an interpersonal arc and giving us some real interesting worldbuilding.

[thepringlesofblood]

i am SCREAMING!!!!! YESSSSSYESSSSSSSSSSSSSS ACOC is one of my FAVORITE SERIES ALL TIIIIIME!!!!!!!!

okwearebreathingwearebreathing

I’m going in-depth on the names we have thus far. Calorum is the setting that has some of the cleverest wordplay ever, period, and I want to know EVERYTHING about our new guys!!!!!

let’s get this one out of the way

Colin Provlone (Zac Oyama) - Provolone is a kind of cheese. Colin is a name of Irish/Scottish origin. It’s nice to have one simple one.

Bishop Raphaniel Charlock (Brennan Lee Mulligan) - hmmmm are we going to get an actually Bulbian cleric/warlock this season????

Anyway, the scientific name for wild radish is Raphanus raphanistrum, so that’s probably where Raphaniel came from.

wild radish has two other names - “jointed charlock” and “white charlock”. So there we go.

Your typical red radish (as Brennan described his character to look like) is a subspecies of Raphanus raphanistrum called sativus.

but!!! even MORE interesting!!!! you know what order and family radishes are in? the order BRASSICALES in the family BRASSICACEAE!!!!! Like a certain pontifex we know of??

This could be 100% unintentional, there’s a Lot of vegetables in the family Brassicaceae, but I remain optimistic.

Lady Amangeaux Epiceé du Peche (Anjali Bhimani) - so, Fructera has always been French, natch.

She is a mango! French for mango = la mangue

Amangeaux = almonds (according to google translate, I couldn’t find this word anywhere else online, it’s extremely possible that it’s just the most French-sounding way of saying “a mango”)

Epiceé  = spicy (can be used as slang for y’know. spICY)

du Peche = of peach. maybe she is of house Peach?

Karna Solara (Aabria Iyengar) - this one has me kind of stumped.

there’s the obvious karn->carn->meat connection, but she’s a chili pepper. lmk if there’s some secret vegetable lore I’m missing with ‘karna’

there’s also solar -> sun, which makes sense since the crest of Brightgarden is a big sun, and we see the DM screen this season has a big sun on it.

pLUS when I looked up scientific name for chili pepper, they come from the order Solanales in the family Solanaceae.

Thane Delissandro Katzon (Lou Wilson) -

Katzon

immediately made me think of katsudon- an egg rice bowl w pork cutlet on top.

thank you @blueaerin for your post about how this is most likely a reference to Katz’s Delicatessan, a famous deli in NYC! I never would’ve know that.

Also “katson” = Finnish for “I look” - from the verb “katsoa” meaning “to look at” or “to watch over” - probably nothing.

Delissandro - deli - deli meat

Delicatessen - the double s inspired by this?

while I was looking at Finnish stuff i found out “delissa” means “at the deli” in Finnish

Thane - y’all who read Macbeth know this one.

In Anglo-Saxon culture, It’s a title of a landowner, specifically someone who was gifted land by a king.

In Scotland, it’s a feudal lord.

There’s a connotation of military use in all of the descriptions I’ve found, so judging by the armor he’s wearing, it might be being used as a term for “commander”

[viv-hollande]

Ok, so this is a post that I should have made sooner. I've been somewhat out of the loop with regards to current events and the state of discourse on this website courtesy of a pretty serious depressive episode from which I am only just now recovering. As I have emerged from this state I have been pushed towards a conclusion about this website and the state of discussion around the ongoing Israel-Gaza War that I had thus far avoided due in part to my barely possessing the energy to keep myself alive and due in part to my denial that the conclusion could be true. But that denial can no longer hold.

It has become openly apparent that the pro-Palestinian camp on this website has become popularly infused with a degree of blatant, aggressive antisemitism that I, in my naivety thought impossible in the days just after October 7. I am trying to avoid turning this into a mea culpa because that would be unproductive and feel self-serving, but I do feel an obligation to admit that I disregarded prescient warnings from Jewish users whose warnings I dismissed as over-blowing a problem that I felt was real, but more limited in scope than they made out.

I'm neither an idiot nor am I ignorant. I am well aware of the long history of antisemitism in leftist politics and in the Palestinian Liberation movement. Back at the beginning of this crisis I was prepared to see the occasional instance of antisemites using the inevitable, overwhelming Israeli retaliation as an excuse to air their hateful politics. I was prepared to see both the well-meaning but ignorant and the malicious alike sharing tweets from antisemitic pro-Palestine accounts, spreading and normalizing low-grade, subtle antisemitism. Make no mistake, this should have been condemned. Antisemitism, like all bigotries, has no 'safe' level. There is no background level of antisemitism that society should just accept as normal. But I was more focused on the inevitable cacophony of suffering that Israel would almost certainly begin meting out, and so I failed to act.

The fatal blow to my denial was the increasing prevalence of the use of quotation marks around the word "Israel" and "Israeli". The first few times I saw this, I didn't really understand what it meant. Still laboring under the belief that antisemitism was a manageable problem on the left, I was certain that most of the users on this site, well-intentioned, goodhearted, critically thinking people that they were, would have recognized and called out even disguised antisemitism before it took over a good 20-40% of all posts about the conflict. I was a damn naive fool. For those, like past me, who have not cottoned on to the meaning of the quotation marks, they have become a way to express the denial of the legitimacy or even existence of, individually or all together, the State of Israel, the Israeli people, or the right of either Jews or Israelis to identify as Israelis.

CONGRATULATIONS TUMBLR! You have successfully revived from depths of 4chan neo-Nazi boards the (((fucking echoes))).

Are you serious? Are you fuckers for real? This, right here, encapsulates the pitch-black absurdity of this whole situation and why I remained in denial for so long. Never, in a million years, would I imagine that the proudly pro-Social Justice, anti-fascist, 100% Certified SAFE-SPACE(tm) website would end up using the same language as the goddamn Nazis on 4chan. I thought this website was smarter than that. But noooo, it turns out that I was a damn naive fool.

This was where the post was originally going to end. I say my piece, hope to change a few minds, and commit myself to actually fighting antisemitism instead of sitting back and dismissing the problem. But I figure, while I'm here and while I still have the driving forces of anger and guilt pushing me along, I may as well put pen to paper and spew forth my other thoughts on the ongoing crisis. I am thus compiling a much longer post detailing my thoughts on some aspects of the current situation. [EDITED ~1:25 AM GMT, 5 Dec 2023: add link to finished post] That post will definitely be long, probably be angry, possibly wrong on some aspect of fact, and will absolutely be pretentious, preachy, self-righteous and hubristic to a positively Hellenistic degree. Brief, non-comprehensive summary so you can decide whether or not get mad at me ahead of time;

Israel does apartheid, or near enough for government work.

Israel is definitely conducting a campaign of forced displacement, possibly amounting to ethnic cleansing, but I remain unconvinced of the claim of genocide.

Hamas may or may not be a anti-colonialist revolutionary group, but it definitely is an antisemitic terrorist organization with genocidal aspirations and actively supporting them is morally indefensible. Yes, this includes the Al-Qassam Brigades.

Anti-colonial and other revolutionary movements do in fact have fundamental moral obligations and suffering oppression does not give you carte blanche to do terrorism, even when an oppressor attempts to render peaceful opposition impossible. There is a middle ground between peaceful marching and 850+ dead civilians; aim for that.

The left is just as prone to unhinged conspiracism as the right.

Verify your sources, for fuck's sake.

Use nuance. It won't kill you.

There's more, but it's a little difficult to summarize an unfinished post. If you want to argue with any of these points, go ahead, just keep in mind that a longer, more comprehensive post is in the works that might have the answer to your argument/complaint/insult/intellectual disagreement. If that post isn't up by midnight GMT on Friday, assume I forgot about it and argue away. In conclusion, antisemitism is bad, apartheid is also bad, Tumblr is a hellsite (derogatory), "From the river to the sea" is, in fact, antisemitic, seriously, stop saying it, take Jews seriously when they warn you about antisemitism instead of writing them off like a damn naive fool, and last but not least, free Palestine.

[deermouth]

The blades like irises turning very fast to see you completely—steel-blue then red where the cut occurs—the cut of you—they don’t want to know you they want to own you—no—not own—we all mean to live to the end—am I human we don’t know that—just because I have this way of transmitting—call it voice—a threat—communal actually—the pelagic midwater nets like walls closing round us—starting in the far distance where they just look to us liked distance—distance coming closer—hear it—eliminating background—is all foreground—you in it—the only ground—not even punishment—trawling-nets bycatch poison ghostfishing—the coil of the listening along the very bottom—the nets weighed down with ballast—raking the bottom looking for nothing—indiscriminate—there is nothing in particular you want—you just want—you just want to close the third dimension—to get something which is all—becomes all—once you are indiscriminate—discards can reach 90% of the catch—am I—the habitat crushed and flattened—net of your listening and my speaking we can no longer tell them apart—the atmosphere between us turbid—no place to hide—no place to rest—you need to rest—there is nature it is the rest—what is not hunting is illustration—not regulated are you?—probing down to my greatest depths—2000 meters and more—despite complete darkness that surrounds me—despite my being in my place under strong pressure—along with all my hundreds of species—detritus—in extreme conditions—deepwater fish grow very slowly—very—so have long life expectancy—late reproductive age—are particularly thus vulnerable—it comes along the floor over the underwater mountains—scraping the steep slopes—what is bycatch—hitting the wrong target—the wrong size—not eaten—for which there is no market—banned—endangered—such as birds—sometimes just too much—no more space on the boat—millions of tons thrown back dead or wounded—the scars on the seabed—the mouth the size of a football field—and if there is no one there there is still ghostfishing—nets abandoned in the sea they continue through the centuries to catch—mammals fish shellfish—we die of exhaustion or suffocation—the synthetic materials last forever  Ask us anything. How deep is the sea. You couldn't go down there. Pressure would crush you. Light disappears at 6000 feet. Ask another question: Can you hear me? No. Who are you. I am.  Did you ever kill a fish. I was once but now I am  human. I have imagination. I want to love. I have self-interest. Things are not me. Do you have another question. I am haunted but by what?  Human supremacy? The work of humiliation. The pungency of the pesticide.  What else? The hammer that comes down on the head. Knocks the eyes out. I was very lucky. The end of the world had already occurred. How long ago was that. I don’t know. It is not a function of knowledge. It is in a special sense that the world ends. You have to keep living. You have to make it not become  waiting. Nothing is disturbingly visible. Only the outside continues but it continues. So you have to find the way to make the inside  continue. Your entity is fragile. You are an object you own. At least  you were given it to own. You have to figure out what ownership  is. You thought you knew. You were wrong. It was wrong. There was  wrongness in the mix. It turns out you are a first impression. Years go by. Imagine that. And there is still a speaker. There will always be a speaker. In the  hypoxic zones is almost no more oxygen→then there is→no more→oxygen→for real→picture that says the speaker→who are you→where are you→going down into the dead zones→water not water→the deeper you go he says the→scarier it gets→because there’s→nothing there→there are no→fish→no organisms→alive→no→no life→so it’s just us→dead zones→bigger than the Sahara he says→the largest lifeless spaces this side of the moon→he says→she says→who is this speaking to me→I am the upwelling→I am the disappearing→hold on→just a minute please→hold on→there is a call for you

—Jorie Graham

[hydn-jpg]

redraw of this piece!! i mentioned in that post that i would redraw it at some point and ig that time is now! (i meant to post this before id2 came out but i got really busy so y'know lol better late than never)

i like to think i've improved! still can't draw chairs though haha

side by side comparison under the cut + rambly artist commentary(?):

i still have a long way to go in learning proper anatomy but i think the new pose looks a lot more natural and comfortable! also ~sexier~ perhaps

i tried to make the bg look closer to the actual cg they used in the book, i am arguably better at doing backgrounds now i think! i used to not put a lot of thought into it and just blocked out random shapes and called it a day (okay, i still do that now lol but i put more care into it now !! i try to make the shapes a bit more distinct and actually plan and sketch it out rather than draw some blobs and hope for the best ldkfkhsl). also more colour range(?) to give it a bit more depth!!)

i'd also like to add that i think i'm also better at figuring out compositions now, idk how it is for y'all but when i look at the original my eyes can't help but just fall to the centre, bc there's no focal point(?) or anything that's visually interesting for the eyes to land on. plus with the way it's structured, my eyes just naturally fall to center (+ bottom half bc the skin showing through the rips are bright in contrast to the black) >_> in contrast, in the redraw your eyes are automatically drawn to the face bc it's arguably the most interesting thing on the canvas and thus acts as the visual anchor of sorts (plus there is enough contrast with the background to make cas stand out instead of blend in)

even though i cringe looking at the og i can't help but to also feel endeared bc this was one of the first immortal desires fanart i ever did and also one the first of my posts to do really well! i never expected to get that much attention since i was only posting casually but it really warmed my heart reading all the lovely comments and motivated to draw more :D

it's also really fun seeing how much my art style and techniques have evolved! i don't think i use any of the same brushes i used to use for my old pieces anymore now haha. i also watched the timelapse for the old one and am honestly kind of in awe at how my different my drawing process used to be!!

i still have a lot to learn (esp in terms of anatomy, lighting, shading etc.) but i'm happy with where i am rn! the great thing about being a hobbyist is that there isn't really any pressure for me to improve quickly so i can just take my time haha (except maybe from imposter syndrome but that's neither here nor there)

i think i could've drawn his face and expression a bit better but i think this is a satisfying enough redraw for now!

btw, these are just my thoughts! i am not an art student so the things i said might not be technically correct but this is how i make sense of things in my brain

[coalswriting]

competition gone wrong - lottie matthews

summary – after lottie doesn’t return to the cabin from her competition with natalie, (y/n) looks for her. (approx 2.3k words)

a/n – hello i am probably Not back because uhh. i’m very busy, but i am rewatching yellowjackets with my friend whenever i get the chance :^) i just watched s2e4 so i wanted to write something based on that. did not proofread this so it’s probably a mess too!! sorry in advance. i desperately need to sleep LOL.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

the heat of the distant sunset beat down on your back as you struggled to walk through deep snow. though it was unbelievably cold, you didn’t stop your trek, looking around at your surroundings cautiously.

the others had gone with natalie to uncover a frozen moose that she had found while you? you were looking for lottie. you had a bad feeling since the moment their weird competition was established this morning; you were all sitting, still drowsy from the early hour mixed with the cold room, and nat had gotten into an argument with someone about food, mari perhaps? long story short, lottie was volunteered to challenge nat on who would find food faster. it had almost felt like lottie couldn’t fight for herself – everyone had so much hope in her, and she didn’t want to let that falter.

truth be told, you didn’t believe in hope. it was a dangerous thing; too much of it led to ignorance, and that only took people so far. humanity was greedy. they always pinned their deepest desires on anything but themselves, whether it be an omnipotent force, or even just a seventeen-year-old girl with a strange understanding of the wilderness. either way, you believed in lottie, not because you had ‘hope’, but because you knew that you would climb to the deepest depths of tartarus for her if it meant keeping her safe. and thus, here you were, walking around a deadly silent blanket of snow, weaving through trees, looking for lottie matthews. 

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

when you first enrolled in wiskayok high school, you were a bit of an outsider. your family had moved from houston. they always told you that it was because your father had received an incredible job opportunity in wiskayok, but you knew it was secretly because you would return home from school, covered in bruises with tearstained cheeks. you were considered a loser in your old school and fell victim to all the bullying. girls constantly pretended to be kind to you, only to spread rumours behind your back, boys would ask you out, and then laugh in your face, and you constantly dealt with rubbish stuffed in your bag, or gum tangled in your hair. school faculty didn’t do much, probably because many of your bullies’ families funded the school. they claimed that the bullying would stop with time.

besides, it wasn’t too much of a loss on your family to move; wiskayok wasn’t anything special. housing prices were dirt cheap, and your parents were respectively an engineer and a hairdresser. they could find work anywhere.

your first day at whs was in the middle of the second semester of 8th grade. your brain managed to block out much of the anxiety, but as you stood in the middle of the cafeteria double doors during lunch, it all began to set in. you felt like a startled, hurt animal, mouth slightly agape, scanning the room for a free seat, anywhere. students peered up at you, studying you, like you were a strange specimen in a lab. suddenly, you felt a harsh shove on your shoulder as a deep masculine voice muttered “out of the way, loser!”

you inhaled sharply, regaining your balance, and shaking yourself off. you felt yourself shrink as some witnesses began to laugh. then, you felt a hand on your shoulder, and you turned around to look at the source. she was the most beautiful girl you had ever seen; she was a bit taller than you and had long flowy chestnut hair with curtain bangs and the deepest brown eyes. you felt like you were getting lost in them. her eyebrows furrowed, as she seemed to repeat herself.

“are you okay?”

“huh?” you spluttered, regaining your consciousness. you felt sick to the stomach, and your hands developed a newfound sweatiness. “yeah, sorry.. i’m okay.”

“those jocks are dickheads,” she dismissed, then she smiled at you, and holy shit. that weird sickness in your stomach became fifty times worse, and you had to forcefully rip your eyes away from her out of a genuine fear that you would die on the spot. “i’m charlotte, but everyone just calls me lottie. are you new here?”

“i’m (y/n),” you finally said, finding the confidence to make eye contact again, heat spreading up your spine. you hoped your cheeks weren’t going red. “i’m new, yeah. i moved from houston.”

“oh, wow!”, her eyes almost seemed to sparkle with admiration, “that’s a huge city! what are you doing down here in little old wiskayok?”

before you could reply, a ginger girl appeared behind lottie, looping an arm around her neck – you would later discover her to be vanessa palmer – “lot, stop torturing the newbie. cmon, i’m starving!”

lottie laughed, swinging the ginger’s arm off her, “okay, okay!”, she giggled, before turning to you. once again, she put her hand on your shoulder. “you want to come and sit with my friends? well, our table is the girls’ soccer team, but i’m sure they won’t mind you joining us. oooh, maybe you could try out! do you like soccer?”

she seemed to talk a lot, you noticed. you weren’t too sure if it was because she was as nervous as you, or if she was just a very chatty person, but you liked it. you liked her. she was nice.

eventually, you did try out for the girls’ soccer team, the yellowjackets. and surprisingly, you somehow got in. with that, you became closer to the team, especially lottie and van.

however, when the plane crashed on the way to nationals, four years later, everything changed. you were still enamoured by lottie, but she was different now – not smiling much and very quiet. van seemed like a stranger to you, and you had seen a side of taissa, natalie, and shauna that you never thought you’d see. they were imposters. and jackie and laura lee? you shuddered as you thought about them, alongside all the others that had passed away during the initial crash. they were once your friends, but you never had given yourself the chance to process their deaths. even as you sat upright in the middle of the night, crying tears of mourning over them, it never felt real. the concept of them dying was artificial in your head, and despite seeing their bodies, you concluded that you would probably never convince yourself that they were really dead.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

the snow had begun to pile on heavily and you could see your breath with every steep step you took. you were growing desperate now, the sun setting at a faster pace than you expected. you guessed that you only had about an hour of sunlight left before you would be plunged into darkness with only the merciful moon to guide you. it was probably wiser for you to turn back and continue your search tomorrow, but you knew you couldn’t stop yourself from looking for her if you tried.

suddenly, turning a corner, you saw a form a few metres from you. your breath caught in your throat, as you shuffled (as fast as possible) towards her – lottie.

“lottie?” you gasped, wiping snow off her face, confirming her suspicions. “lottie, do you hear me?!”

your voice was a little louder now, laboured with thick panic that stung in your throat like bile. her cheeks were rosy, contrasting her pale, greying face. you didn’t want to see her meet the same demise as jackie, so you whipped your thick jacket off, and after a struggle, you managed to get it on her. realistically, this was an incredibly stupid decision, but with adrenaline coursing through your veins, you felt unstoppable. and damn, did adrenaline take you far.

“hang in there, lottie, not yet, please…” you murmured, carrying her with all your might. about fifteen minutes had passed, and your thighs were burning. lottie’s starved form was heavier than you expected, and your energy was running out. you felt yourself collapse into the snow, the cold wetness seeping into your skin. then, you heard the urgent voices of mari and akailah as they called your names. 

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“don’t beat yourself up over it,” lottie smiled warmly, putting a cup of hot chocolate in front of you. you had fumbled an important game mid-season, and it seemed like mari and taissa were mad at you. playing with the strings of your hoodie, you met her eyes, your stomach doing backflips. in a way to cheer you up, lottie had taken you on a ‘date’ – her words, though you wish they were a reality – to a café, and then a walk through the park.

you leaned back against the worn fabric of the seat, groaning. “is it that obvious that i’m thinking obsessively about it?”

“yes, (y/n),” she laughed, poking you in the forehead. “you always beat yourself up after our games; it’s like you never let yourself be proud.”

you reached to slap at her hand, but she pulled way before you could make contact, “i just always like to know what i could’ve done better. i’m not that great at soccer, i don’t even know how i got on the team!” you groaned, “like you’re all so perfect, and then i’m constantly messing up somehow.”

lottie went quiet for a moment, studying you as if you were an ancient scripture, like everything you presented was important to her. “you are so much more than you think (y/n),” she said, admirably, “you are one of our most adaptable players, and you’re so, so, analytical. you bring so much to this team, and you don’t even know. why do you think i always pass the ball to you in a tight situation?”

before you could answer, she continued, “it’s because you’re so damn dependable!” then lottie laughed, and winked at you, “also, you’ve a super sexy bod, and i always catch myself admiring you in the changing room.”

you choked on your hot chocolate, feeling your heart suddenly beat much faster in your chest. a ghost of a blush lined lottie’s cheeks as she reached over the table to put a hand on yours. “look, (y/n),” she murmured, voice suddenly soft, “i uh…”

you awaited her answer, feeling a sudden tsunami of anxiety wash through your body. you wanted to hide, but you wanted to hear more of what she had to say. lottie’s cheeks grew even more pink, before she tore her eyes away from your (e/c) ones. after a few seconds of silence, she looked up at you again, much more composed than she was only half a minute prior, “want to ditch this joint?”

and that, is how the two of you ended up in some isolated part of the public park, laughing and huffing, out of breath. “fuck your long legs, lot,” you gasped, leaning against a tree. lottie’s laughter boomed through the flora, as she tackled you to the ground. the both of you wrestled a little, but after a few minutes, lottie reigned victorious. she brushed your hair out of your face, staring at you.

“wh-what’s up?”, you whispered, and you swore that she could definitely feel the thumping in your ribcage.

lottie smiled at you, gently. but this time, it wasn’t her normal smile – this smile was full of fondness. “just admiring,” she muttered, and before you could process anything, her lips were on yours.

you never talked about your feelings after that day.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

a loud ringing invaded your head as you slowly regained control of your senses. everything was so bright, and you felt uncomfortably warm, if not too hot. as you tested the movement of your limbs, you felt something wrapped around your stomach. your strength slowly came back, and your eyes fluttered open.

you were in the cabin.

“huh?”, you said to nobody in particular. you almost jumped out of your skin as a husky voice reverberated near your ear.

“thank fuck you’re awake, (y/n).”

you craned your neck slightly, meeting lottie’s captivating brown eyes. you moved to pull away, but felt, what you now figured out was her arm, wrap tighter around you. looking down, you noticed that you were in the tub, and you were naked.

“w-what happened?” you gasped, reaching to cover yourself. lottie half-sighed-half-chuckled as she sunk her nose into your hair.

“i almost died, and you saved me. akailah and mari found us together, and based on the footsteps, you carried me a long way. thank you.”

you went quiet as you recalled what happened; how you had hurried through the snowy landscape, taken your jacket off for lottie, and carried her before losing consciousness. there was no beating the in-love-with-lottie allegations that van had made against you before the day of the plane crash.

“why did you do it?”, lottie continued, “the wilderness wanted me to die, so why?”

you felt your throat stiffen as your brain whirred with various answers. after a moment of silence, you decided to listen to your beating heart and come clean. there wasn’t much reason not to since you would all probably die out here.

“because, lottie matthews, i’m in love with you.”

you began to regret everything when lottie didn’t reply. however, she didn’t disappoint you for long.

“i don’t regret kissing you in the park that one time.”

you broke into a laugh, “is that all you have to say?”, and you felt her squeeze you before planting a kiss on your shoulder.

“i think you know how i feel. you’re the only one who keeps me grounded, and you’re always there for me. i never feel lonely when i’m around you.”

that was enough confirmation for you. sometimes less was more, and you leaned into lottie’s touch in the tub, enjoying the feeling of her skin on yours.

well, until taissa told the both of you to stop hogging the hot water.