#but i do have my own stories i've woven

[gooeykit]

the only IPs i want to play with are ben 10, reboot and popeye BASED ON THE FUNDEMENTALS of them being disrespected by their own continuations and reboots....... TEEN ERA BEN 10 WAS NOTHING BUT DC/MARVEL RIPOFFS TO THE POINT OF CHANGING IDEAS THAT ROCKED INTO SHIT THAT SUCKED. SEASON 4 OF REBOOT SUCKED NGL AND WAS CANCELLED MIDWAY THRU. POPEYE DESERVES TO BE IN THE MODERN EYE AND IT NOT BE LIKE YOIUTUBE KIDS BS.

[mayhemories]

Pregnancy baby trope baby daddy Neteyam x reader please

TELLING NETEYAM YOURE PREGNANT 😩😩😩😩😩😩

Tsahik Always Knows

Oh my god!! Daddy Neyetam would be so sweet! Also, I'm sorry for the lack of posts, I've been studying overseas and this course is an intensive fieldwork unit so I have had like no time to think. Additionally, some of my tags are working and some are not - I'm so sorry if I miss out on tagging you!

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x Reader (James Cameron’s Avatar) 

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: none. Vomit? Fluff? 

Words: 1.8k

Author’s Notes: 

Neteyam is 24, reader is 23, established relationship. AU where they never left the forest and Jake is still Olo’eyktan, Neteyam will take that mantle eventually,, happy-happy can’t read or write any more angst for real. 

Please note that the reader utilises she/her pronouns. If you’d prefer male or gender-neutral pronouns in fic I’m more than happy to repost a male or gn version of the story, otherwise include any pronoun preferences in the request box!

Tag List: @lilprettypetite @nyotamalfoy @weasleytwinwheezes @aonungs-tsahik @rainbowsocks @glitterandgoldfinds @bluealiensimp @melsunshine @ussoppl @wondxrgurll @luvlykrispy @myheartfollower @gloryavila

Read Below Cut:

You stared at the remnants of last night’s dinner on the floor. You had vomited, again. This had been happening in the mornings, on and off for the last few weeks. You did not feel sick, so why were you sick? 

Normally the vomit happened at home. Normally Neteyam had already left to tend to his duties. Normally you could clean it up and pretend like it never happened. 

The heat of your embarrassment swarmed over your neck and shoulders, sweeping up into your cheeks and ears. You knelt, frozen in place over the bile you had just produced. 

On Mo’at’s tent floor. 

She was practically, and legally, your grandmother, and had been since you were nineteen-years-old. But you never thought of her like that. She was your Tsahik, your teacher, your elder, your spiritual guide, healer of the Omaticaya. 

And you had vomited on her floor. 

Mo’at cleared her throat, sitting across from you, your shameful vomit between you. Tears welled in your eyes. This was the worst day of your life. 

“Well, luckily it was just you and me here, hm,” Mo’at said with an unusual lightness, a sweetness that was enough to spin you out of your own thoughts. 

“My Tsahik, I am so sorry I do not know-” 

“Don’t be stupid, how can you not know?” The typical biting Mo’at that you were familiar with came back, quickly. The woman leaned forward with a cloth, mopping up your watery bile like a dealdly secret to be kept between the Tsahik and her assistant.

Now, you really did not know what she meant. You sat up taller, finding a cloth to wipe your mouth clean, something tangible to hold onto. 

“My Tsahik, I promise you, I do not know what you think I know.” You whispered into the cloth at your mouth. Mo’at discarded her cloth that blotted your vomit into a wooden bowl. Some poor trainee will deal with it later. She squinted at you, taking you in. Harshly, she grabbed at your wrists, inspecting your palms, and your shaking, delicate fingers. 

She huffed as she held your wrist tightly in her left, her right hand poking at your cheek, breasts and thighs. “Hey!” you had enough of her prodding, as you pulled your wrist from her vice-like grip. 

“Lay down. Now.” The Tsahik made moves to push you back onto the woven mats on the floor. You were scared and confused and honestly, getting rather emotional. You were still reeling over the embarrassment the vomit caused you. More and more these days you found yourself crying over nothing, or getting easily embarsassed. 

You laid still, scared of Mo’at, and, scared of vomiting again. Flat on your back, you stared at the keen weavings of Mo’at’s medical tent. You hissed, looking down, Mo’at has placed a cold hollowed stone on your lower stomach, her ear pressed against it, she furrowed her brow bone. 

The elder woman jerked up once she was satisfied, discarding her stone instrument, she settled back into her seated position on the floor, you mirroring her. 

“Tsahik-” 

“You are with child, quite obviously.” Mo’at had cut you off, while simultaneously giving you news that ripped all the air from your lungs. 

Your mind was spinning. You were happy, you were sad, you were excited, you were embarrassed. How could you not see the signs within yourself? Obviously you and Neteyam mated often- 

Oh, Eywa. 

Neteyam. 

You were going to have to tell him. 

It was not like you both hadn’t spoken on the topic before, you knew you both wanted kids, a family. Additionally, children were expected, a future Olo'eyktan must be secured. 

But the two of you had not planned for it to happen so soon. You had been so careful, tonics and teas. God, Neteyam pulled out most of the time. 

Subconsciously one hand laid across your abdomen, the other covering your mouth. You felt your eyes struggling to focus on Mo’at, on anything really. You felt like a shell. A shell with a small shell inside. 

“How far along?” You whispered, normally you would scold yourself for your informality towards Mo’at, but you would give yourself a break just this once. 

“A month, maybe two. Nothing more, nothing less. You are not physically showing yet but you cannot be far away.” The rare gentleness from Mo’at rose its head once again. You were grateful for it. “Now, my lovely girl, go. Go collect yourself and tell my grandbaby that you’re having my great-grandbaby.” Mo’at said softly, helping you to your feet. 

You couldn’t remember the short walk from Mo’at’s tent to the home you shared with Neteyam. You felt as if you were on auto-pilot, blacking out and teleporting from place to place. You quickly sat on the side of your shared bed. Furs and gossamer blankets providing comfort to your shaking legs. Laying back, you stared at the gossamer canopy Neteyam had only recently erected above your bed, dangling your legs off the side. 

You rested your hands on your stomach, trying to etch into your memory what it felt like now, knowing that it will eventually swell with the growth of your baby. 

Neteyam’s baby. 

Realistically, you knew that Neteyam won’t be angry. Shocked? Maybe. But angry? Neteyam had never, ever been angry with you before. Emotionally? It was a different story, you imagined Neteyam being frustrated and screaming at you. You imagined him being disappointed. You imagined him packing his things and leaving. The passing thoughts alone were enough to put you on edge. 

Sighing aloud, you had a look at the water clock resting on the other side of the room, you still had a few hours before Neteyam was to return. You still had a few hours to pull yourself together and work out how you were going to spit it out. 

Neteyam ran his hands over his face, pulling up his ionar onto his forehead. His whole body burned from that flight. He had missed you today, not usually staying out on patrol this late, but the young recruits needed training, and Neteyam was always eager to please. But, he was a domestic man at heart, he loved being at home with you, loved pulling you to his chest, loved making whatever new thing you asked for. 

He loved nesting, he realised. Loved doing it with you. 

Striding from the Ikran keeper, Neteyam wanted nothing more than to see you. 

The warm lights of your home welcomed him, though when he peered through the gap in the curtain flap, all he saw was your anxious figure, pacing back and forth, muttering to yourself. The air was wrong, Neteyam had never really seen you like this. He watched quietly, confused as to how you had not scent him already, something was wrong with you and he would be damned if he did not find out what. 

“Oh Eywa, what am I supposed to say?” You prayed silently, wringing your wrists. You thought the pacing would bring you clarity, as it often provided your father-in-law. Yet you felt empty. And so unbearably full at the same time. In the few hours you had to wait for your mate you had come to love the little life growing in your womb.

You were so excited. You could hardly contain yourself. Neteyam would be the most perfect father. But as the night grew closer your brain started to pick itself apart. 

It was all too much. You fell to your knees in the middle of your home, letting the tears flow freely now. 

Neteyam did not let that stand for long. He quickly rushed in, picking you up and placing you in his lap. His strong arms snaking around your sobbing form. Your head quickly found is chest. He felt your hot tears streaming down your beautiful face and onto his skin. Neteyam hushed you, like he watched his mother do with his siblings, gently rocking you back and forth. It was so silent, save from your sobbing hiccups. Neteyam did not dare speak until you had stopped. 

“My love, what has happened?” He asked gently, pulling away to cup your delicate face in his large, calloused hands. His eyes found yours, and he could see something was creating great turmoil in the labyrinth of your complicated, intelligent mind. 

You sighed in response, shaking your head. Trying to find any courage at all. Knowing you have news that will change the course of someone’s life was not something you dealt with well. Maybe you were not cut out to be the clan’s spiritual leader as Tsahik. But that was a different problem for a different day. 

Neteyam placed a chaste kiss to your lips, then your cheeks, under your eyes, the tip of your nose, your forehead. You were loved, he said through the gesture. You are safe here. 

“Neteyam,” You started, softly. You were always softspoken. Something of which drove Neteyam crazy in love with you. So gentile, so docile, so calm. “I have something to tell you.” Neteyam’s stomach started to flip at your words, anxiety settling in, but like any good soldier, he willed his face into a blank expression. Giving nothing away. 

And, in turn, giving you nothing. 

“Continue my little love.” He said, putting your baby hairs behind your ears, smoothing your loose hair down as you spoke. 

“Neteyam,” You cleared your throat, forcing that invisible, metaphysical bubble away. “I am with child.” The words hung in the air between you, and all you could do was wait for your mate to respond.

Neteyam felt like he was dreaming. Of all the things he prepared for you to say, you being pregnant was not one of them. 

His tail betrayed him before his mouth did. Rapidly going side to side, the smile that erupted on Neteyam’s face threatened to split his jaw apart. 

You were carrying a baby. His baby. Your baby, together, with him. 

You melted into Neteyam’s searing kiss as he held you flush to his body. Pulling apart, Neteyam’s hands rested on your stomach, bright eyed and smily. He kissed your stomach over and over and over again. Peppering the whole area with his hot lips. You giggled at him. He was perfect. 

“Oh (y/n), I am so happy.” Neteyam kissed you again, your giggles erupting between kisses as he could not decide on what he wanted to look at, your face or your stomach. “How long have you known, sweetheart?” He rested his forehead on yours, his hands resting on your still flat stomach. 

“I found out earlier today.” You couldn’t help but smile. “Your grandmother knew.” 

Neteyam laughed, his shoulders shaking, beads of his braids clinking together. 

“She knows everything.” 

That night as the two of you laid in bed, Neteyam spooning you, you rose out of your slumber briefly. Neteyam’s tail had wrapped itself around your thigh, your own tail sat under your abdomen of its own accord. Neteyam’s fingers splayed over your stomach. He was so protective already. So in love with you and your unborn baby. 

You smiled. Shutting your eyes you thanked Eywa for gifting you with something so precious. 

[ginnymoonbeam]

Ep 8 of The On1y One had so much, but now that I've cried over the word "home" I wanna go back to the scenes between the teachers, because it hit some queer realities we don't often get in BL.

First, Jenny Yang noticing Lin Bei Ting's rainbow mug and asking if he supports gay rights. That's not code for asking if he's gay - in plenty of places and times, just being an ally is controversial and something you might need to be careful about revealing in a conservative workplace. I take all of Jenny's comments and warnings at face value there: she's letting him know this is not a safe place to be public as an ally. Of course he is also actually gay, so the threat to him is much higher, which is why he immediately gives her the mug.

Then the later scene, getting more into a dynamic that we've already seen where Zhao Xi is friendly to the point of gentle flirtation with Jenny, and Lin Bei Ting is clearly unhappy. When we first saw this in ep 7, I wondered if I'd been wrong to read Zhao Xi and Lin Bei Ting as already a couple, but seeing it here and with the previous conversation in mind, I think they are. There's "we're not saying anything but people can draw their own conclusions" closeted and then there's seriously for-real closeted where you might opt to do things like casually flirt with a female coworker to keep up the appearance, and the latter is what I see happening in these scenes. They would absolutely lose their jobs at the school and probably would have their business targeted if people thought they were a couple. Lin Bei Ting understands what Zhao Xi is doing and why, but it sucks and feels bad. The little apologetic "here's your tea too" moment said so much, in how they both understand what's happening here and there's not much Zhao Xi can do in the moment, in public, to make it up to him.

All this happening in an episode where it seems like the whole world is gossiping about Jiang Tian and Sheng Wang moving into the dorms just makes my heart ache for the boys, and the threats they might face. I think the juxtaposition is deliberate and I think Zhao Xi is having some of the same thoughts as the teachers discuss the kids. My read is that he knows or guesses Jiang Tian is gay and has been shepherding him a little on that basis, standing by to give him guidance or just a gleam of hope, in the way that we elder queers do when we see young ones that don't have home and family support. We'll see where it all goes, but I really love the way the elders have been woven into the story so far.

[utilitycaster]

You've mentioned a few times about Matt making this the Moon Plot Campaign and the cast not realizing it was the Moon Plot Campaign and how the characters aren't necessarily the best for a Moon Plot Campaign and I'm just curious: if you could pick what type of character build the cast played to best fit a Moon Plot how might that look?

Oh man I think I've answered this before but I will always answer it again because my answer is evolving.

The first two things are just general advice:

In retrospect I think Matt should have treated this campaign as sort of a semi-module format. If you will be playing a module (eg: Curse of Strahd, Call of the Netherdeep, etc), your DM should tell you this and essentially say "you can have your own character struggles - in fact you should - but they should be largely internal/things that can be addressed without you going on an extended quest." For example, you can (and should) play a character in Curse of Strahd who is struggling with self-esteem, or religious faith, or cowardice; but you can't have a character who, to address these things, must confront their father, because they're going to be in Barovia and he's not going to be there. I recommend checking out the rivals in Call of the Netherdeep, because their throughlines are great examples - they' develop and engage with the story, but it's very much driven by the plot of the story and not a delving into their backstory. So essentially, have simpler backstories or backstories that inherently tie into the quest, and let the players come up with that by giving them the most spoiler free outline. I think Matt tried to do all that tying up himself, and at times it made things a little too pat; or those characters who had elements that couldn't be woven in as gracefully (Chetney and the Gorgynei; Laudna with Delilah; some of Ashton's stuff) got very brief arcs so we could get back to the main moon plot.

Do not dump intelligence. DO NOT DUMP INTELLIGENCE. Have at least one PC in your party who is not just intelligent but like, educated. Percy, Beau, and Caleb all fit this. Chetney's pretty smart but not terribly educated so he's great at investigation but he's not going to do very well on religion checks. This party should have had a fucking wizard or artificer or cobalt soul monk or knowledge cleric, but also every party should unless you're going full murder hobo. I think it's valid to be into actual play (or d&d itself) for the character moments and the romance but you know what makes that possible? FIGURING OUT WHAT'S FUCKING HAPPENING INSTEAD OF DICKING AROUND CLUELESSLY. My one true house rule for myself as a DM is that one person in the party has to have high intelligence (or like, be a bard or rogue with decent intelligence but expertise/jack of all trades in everything). Play a high int character for the sake of your DM, PLEASE.

On a more specific note:

would have been good to have more Marquesian characters, but also someone from the Empire would have added a significant dimension. I do love Chetney, and I think Travis is the player who pivoted fastest to fit better within this campaign and has a good understanding of what it could have been with a bit more commitment, but yeah I think if Matt had told them a bit more of what was going on he'd have made like, a more serious werewolf member of the Gorgynei who had noticed lycanthropes becoming susceptible to Ruidus and decided to investigate, for example.

I think having more divinely aligned characters would have just made for much more fun interactions. The issue with the god debates wasn't that they were having them, for all I think that anyone who wants to kill the gods is a fucking idiot. It was that none of them knew jack shit about what they were talking about so it turned into an unending Emperor's Nose discussion. Having either someone who was actually trained (a la Braius, who is a welcome addition for this reason, among others) or again just. a person with religion proficiency and a decent INT score would have made it an actual compelling argument of different perspectives, and not a bunch of idiots yelling out nonsense.

It honestly wouldn't have looked much different. In fact, I think you could have kept the bottom table mostly as is with just tiny alterations, and done the following:

Make Chetney a Marquesian member of the Gorgynei with a mission tied to investigating what's going on with Ruidus. He could still be a weird woodworker.

Entirely rework Laudna's premise. You could have kept her creepy and undead, even, but get rid of Delilah and make her a wizard instead. Make her tied to the Grim Verity or an archaeologist who got kicked off the Tishtan site. You could even keep her aligned with Imogen although I'd have made it a more recent meet up of her being on the run and having gone through Gelvaan in trying to avoid the Grey Assassins

I like what happened with FCG ultimately but I think a different subclass would have still helped; make them a knowledge cleric and more intelligent.

Make Imogen and Ashton much more aware of the Apex War and Otohan's history from the get go. Also give Laura a heads up that her character's going to be super central and she will be in the hot seat for much of the campaign.

[violetasteracademic]

I just finished cc3 and I’m worried the next book will be about nesta. Why do you think the next book is still about elain?

Hello my darling anon! Congrats on finishing CC3, you have sent this to a rare bird in the wild who actually enjoyed the hell out of it despite the flaws. So I hope you had a good time!

I'm a bit nervous to show you guys this side of me. Well, I suppose I've been showing it, but to compile it in such a way is quite another ordeal. That being said, I have toooons of links and resources to share why, for me personally, it is so clear that Nesta's story is *not* over, and Elain's book is undoubtedly next. Both of these things are true, but it has everything to do with the direction of the multiverse, which is very tightly woven, and *not* ACOTAR 5/6, which has been in the works for near a decade. Save this. Come back to it. Take your time working through it. I'm giving you everything, anon!

We have two parts at play: ACOTAR and the new series, which I have no doubt in my mind is Twilight of the Gods (more on that later) so lets start with facts before we move on to theory.

I am positive Elain's book is next because Sarah's messaging has remained 100% consistent since signing on the ACOTOR spinoffs in 2016. Moving forward from ACOWAR, she wrote ACOFAS as a novella to "bridge the gap" between ACOWAR and the spinoffs, and set up the future of ACOTAR. That was completely true for ACOSF, where everything that was set up has come to pass or been expanded on so far. The introduction of the Blood Rite, Nesta's mental health struggles, Morrigan being assigned to Vallahan, and the continued escalation of Elain's relationship with Azriel and Lucien's with the Band of Exiles. We meet Emerie, we learn more about the struggles of the patriarchy in Illyria, so on and so forth.

Then, we have ACOSF. The first dual POV romance of ACOTAR. This was only the beginning of a long term plan of dual POV romances coming to fruition. Here is youtube video from early on in the process describing the spinoffs as standalones that feature a different romantic pairing each book, but form a backbone when united.

By 2020, after ACOSF was announced, Sarah reiterated again that the new spinoff series features a new couple each book, with their own miniature plot and romance resolving within the overarching story of ACOTAR. Here she also shares that she plans to write a *lot* more than what she is contracted for, and has a ton of different ships to choose from. You can watch that here.

And now we move to 2021, after ACOSF was released, and Sarah confirms she always planned to write a book about Elain here.

This is actually a great interview and one of my favorites. You can watch the whole thing here. Eva Chen is a real one.

As far as ACOTAR goes, Sarah has continued to confirm in multiple interviews that her initial plans regarding the spinoffs have not changed, and still largely follow that initial outline she pitched back in 2016. And it was always going to be Nesta and Elain.

I will reiterate, ACOTAR is its own series with its own structure. Every ACOTAR book will feature a new couple with their own romance story. ACOTAR will continue to be exclusively a romance series from here on out. A lot of people speculate a lot of things on the future of ACOTAR. That we'll get a big finale with a multi-pov, that the story will end after Koschei, that we'll have a Kingdom of Ash style book. None of this is true. Sarah is going to keep contracting ACOTAR books until she runs out of couples. If you think this sounds odd, keep in mind that SJM herself is a fan of and grew up on Nalini Singh, who has series that started in 2006/2009 and are still going, featuring a new couple each book:

So, this is not strange behavior for the genre, and I think SJM is excited to have an ongoing fantasy romance series like this. And I'm excited for us to read it!

So, no KoA multi-pov finale. No second Nesta book. ACOTAR is an ongoing romance series with an "unspecified number of books remaining."

Okay! Now let's talk about Nesta! Bone Carver voice: Nestaaaaaaa

I'm going to do something just for you, Anon. And whoever catches this in the next week or so. I left titkok as far as booktok/content making and whatnot and privatized all my videos with my face on them (for a variety of reasons. Some fandom/bullying related, some not) but I did a massive breakdown of SJM's publishing contracts and all of the lore for Twilight of the Gods build up. I did get some of my screenshots from other Tumblr accounts, and linked my sources in the caption! Give this a watch (it's long) and pop back over.

Obviously if you spend some time in the comments section, mostly the questions at large are regarding timeline. I'm happy to chat theory, but focusing on Nesta, it is incredibly important and specific that she had her role in CC3 and that she connected The Valkyrie to Midgard, aka Middle Earth in Norse mythology which is where Twilight of the Gods, aka Ragnarok takes place. We have seen Midgard, Hel, and I have no doubt we will see Asgard.

But take a look at the difference between Nesta and Azriel's journey in CC3. Nesta had a deep emotional arc with Bryce. She developed trust and a relationship with her that Azriel didn't. In the HoFaS bonus chapter, Nesta forged a bond and a relationship with Bryce's mom, Ember. Nesta and Bryce's development is what is important here: Nesta has now created the bridge between the Valkyrie and Midgard. Valkyrie are the chosen fighters of Odin in Twilight of the Gods- the war at Ragnarok.

Twilight of the Gods is coming, fam. Crescent City three also revealed that The Mother, Urd, and Wyrd are all the same entity. The Goddess of all creation and fate. She oversees all worlds, and another important but oft overlooked element in the CC3 crossover is the frequency of the conversations about the Gods:

So yes, Nesta still has a huge arc coming up baby! She is not done. No one is done. But the Valkyrie are gearing up to play a major role in TotG, not the next ACOTAR. I believe this also grounds the continuation of the tension between Nesta and Rhys, and these two powers at odds when it comes to making decisions. Rhys will protect Prythian first. Nesta is building the bridges to other worlds, and is willing to fight alongside them. Rhys has no relationship with Bryce and Midgard. Nesta does. And lets not forget the Pegasi!

CC3 was not about Nesta. It was about Bryce and Nesta. Giving the Starsword back to Nesta is simply because that is who Bryce had a relationship with, and will continue to have a relationship with in the multiverse, not because Nesta is getting another book. Honestly- who else was she supposed to give the sword, Mask, and Truth-Teller back to? Twilight of the Gods will feature characters from all worlds. Sarah confirmed it will be emotional to write because of the old faces we'll see pop up in her Today Show interview here. This interview was thoroughly structured and planned, and released on the same day as HoFaS.

Speaking of the Starsword, let's talk Azriel and his role in CC3. Azriel is now the only person we have seen carry both the Starsword (likely Gwydion from here on out) and Truth-Teller. Light and dark. The power that combined to unleash the magic on Avallen, otherwise known as the Prison/Dusk Court in Prythian. Nesta has her own sword, Ataraxia. We have not seen Nesta touch, wield, or use Gwydion. Only Azriel has.

There is only one other character at home in Prythian who has also wielded and used the full power of one half of that pair of weapons: Elain.

Nesta used Truth-Teller to cut off the kings head, yes, but Elain used Truth-Teller to travel through the shadows across a battlefield with no experience and no training. She held that blade, and it worked to her will, tapping into its magic.

Azriel also learned about the corruption of the Cauldron. This was his primary experience in the crossover- discovering that the Asteri, who force mates and curate bloodlines to create powerful offspring which they then churn through a soul meat grinder for food warped the Cauldron to enact their will. Azriel did not form a relationship with Bryce, or Ember, or form any sort of additional connections to Midgard the way Nesta did. His part of the story revealed the problems at home. His (likely) love interest is the only person who has used his blade there, while Azriel is the only person who has used Gwydion. Bryce notes that Azriel must have some Starborn blood in him. Silene confirms that the Dusk Court can only be nurtured and looked after by Starborn heirs.

So while Nesta's compass in the crossover pointed to Midgard and her developing relationship with Bryce, as well as her clear willingness to work with her, Azriel's compass pointed home. It pointed to his lineage, to the corrupted Cauldron, to being one half of Gwydion and Truth-Teller combining, the Dusk Court. All of which points us to...

Yup. Elain.

If this STILL isn't enough for you, I have made a few additional posts regarding The Glass Coffin (aka Sleeping Beauty, which Bryce plays for Azriel in the HoFaS bonus chapter) and some, but not all of the little Elain coded details in HoFaS. You can find those posts here and here.

I could keep going forever. I can reiterate that there was not one but two ACOSF bonus chapters, and both were about Elain. I can talk about about the fact that SJM always planned to write a book about each sister, and ACOFAS was about- duh- each sister. But this is already so long and full of so many links and resources. The wrap up is this- ACOTAR is now an ongoing dual POV romance series. Until she tells us that is no longer true, it is true. A new couple each book. Nesta and the Valkyrie are key players in Twilight of the Gods. Sarah confirmed she was writing Crescent City and Twilight of the Gods at the same time. The multiverse is happening, and it just takes a little bit of exploration to understand where the characters are likely headed.

I'll end on this note. Azriel and Elain are light and dark. This belongs to them. The bridge of connection between them- Truth-Teller:

Now look at how the combination of the Starsword and Truth-Teller is described in HoFaS, and tell me if it looks familiar to you:

And now alllll together again, fam! Who are the only two characters who have properly wielded and/or tapped into the power of the Starsword and Truth-Teller in Prythian?

Azriel and Elain.

I think that's everything. I hope this comforts you. I genuinely don't ever feel worried or confused. It is all so clear to me how Sarah wove this together, and I think it's absolutely brilliant. Eep! I just get so excited! So take a little bit of my excitement and release the fear. Half of the people making content on this blatantly hate one half of the next book and they willfully ignore that she has had one of the most beautiful, breathtaking, well foreshadowed and woven storylines in the history of SJM's writing. Of course that is only my opinion, but honestly, how could you NOT be impressed and excited?!

I can't wait. I just can't heckin' wait.

If you got through all of this, wow. You're the real MVP.

[luimagines]

Congarts on the two year old blog!

If it's fine, can I request a FD sky in the royal au; just getting to know reader, flustering them at every turn and being a genuine menace to them

-🍄

YEEEEEEEEEESSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

You didn't know what to do with the man that sat across from you.

If you could even call him a man.

His hair was stark white, perfectly accented by the bright red feathers in his hair as it draped over his shoulders. He had a pearlescent cape with a design of the country's emblem on the back. His clothes were about as casual as you could get when speaking to the King.

He's wearing black pants at least but his shirt holds the regality of the royal family. It's also white with stars and moons embroidered in golds around the edges with swirls that connect from one side of the tapestry to the next. It looks almost like a story was woven directly into the fabric. You're tempted to read it, but you don't want to be seen openly ogling the King in his own house.

His eyes were just as white as his hair with no sign of which direction he would be looking in, but it was clear to every hair that stood up at the back of your neck that he was very much watching you. More so than you were watching him.

A shaky hand reaches for the tea cup he's order to be served to you. You're not sure why you're here or what he wants with you, but he seems relaxed at least.

But you don't know what that means for you, so you're still a nervous wreck.

"I hear that your bakery is the best in my kingdom." He says after a beat once you set your tea cup back on the little saucer. You try to focus on that instead of the booming voice that threatened to pour into your very veins.

The cup has a beautiful floral pattern. It looks like porcelain but you could be wrong. The beautiful forget-me-not pattern echoes on the saucer below. the swirling flowers are beautifully painted.

But you feel dizzy and nauseous in an instant.

You put the cup away.

"Thank you... Your Majesty." You finally answer him. "I wouldn't personally say it's the best. but business has been good and your people have treated me nicely."

"My people?" There's an up tilt to his words and you have the slightest suspicion that there's humor in his words, but you struggle to read him.

"Yes." You answer calmly. "Your people."

"Are you not one of my people?" He picks up his own tea cup and takes a sip. You feel like running away.

"I'm not originally from here." You bite your lip and grip the seat beneath you. Every fiber in your being is telling you to run for it. But you're rooted to the spot.

The king nods and tilts his head as if in thought. "I suppose your accent would check out in that regard."

He says nothing as he takes another sip of his tea. Can't you just go home already?

"I'm having a party." He says at last. "I was hoping you'd be willing to cater it."

You feel your heart stop as relief threatens to melt you into a puddle. It's just business. You can do business. "O-oh... is that all?"

He nods once more. "I'd like a list of your menu and potential skills outside of your typical armory. I'm sure it goes without saying that you should bring the best of your accomplishments."

You can feel your nerves stealing in you as he speaks. You'll show him. These will be the best of the best. "Of course. I've never disappointed a costumer. I don't plan on starting now."

This time he actually smiles. "Perfect. May I ask for the estimate? I plan on giving a hefty down payment first-"

"No. For free." You cross your arms, ignoring the tea.

He stills, clearly not expecting that. His eyes don't obviously dart to you but the energy changes. The hair on the back of your neck stand up once more but you're not willing to budge on this.

"...I don't think so." He says calmly. "I pay for the full deal. I don't accept handouts."

"It's not handouts." You try to not glare at him. "It's exposure. The business that would result from this would payback tenfold the amount it would take to cater your party."

He frowns and stares at you as if you've said something dumb. "...I'm paying."

"No, you're not." You cross a leg to emphasize the point.

The King tilts his head. "Yes. I am. End of discussion."

"No you're not." You feel it in yourself to be indignant.

"Yes." He's smiling but you're not sure what to think about it. "I will pay the full price one way or another. I've enjoyed our chat but I'm afraid I've got other matters to attend to."

"That's a shame." You shrug. "Because this conversation isn't over until you let me do this for free."

The King of the land stops as he gets to his feet and kisses your cheek. "Then I suppose I'll simply have to invite you again, my dear. I'll see you soon."

You freeze and stay rooted to the spot once more as he leaves the room.

Your tea has gone cold by the time you're escorted out of the castle. This wasn't exactly what you had in mind- nor are you confident in yourself to keep surviving interactions with this powerful man.

Why couldn't he just have dropped it?

[serpentarii]

M O R D L U S T ; september 22nd, 2024

finally getting around to doing these more often now that i'm making money moves in the draft (this is a lie, i am making moves into my friends' dms to scream) so that means i have an excuse to make self-indulgent WIP edits.

my primary protagonist vératre, formerly known as voir, has been made sufficiently weird, and i think i've found a way to smoothly integrate all of the new scenes i added when i reformatted her half of the plot.

i've also been in my overthinking era to make sure that everything from color symbolism, animal motifs, to the specific variations of words characters use has a purpose. 90% of it will not be apparent in the actual draft so, to paraphrase myself, i'm like gay sisyphus opening and closing notion.

but, i do plan on making some character aesthetic intros, tv show edits, and finally getting around to that animal symbolism post 🐯

transcript below the cut:

Pale blue light flooded into the crate as the lid was pried off, then abruptly overturned, sending Aleksander tumbling out between a set of familiar armchairs. His attention traveled up the front of a familiar desk and landed at an unsmiling familiar face.  Sitting quietly on the other side of the desk was Lady Kos, regal as a queen and ten times wealthier, with pearl droplets woven into her dark braids, dressed in chiffon and lace from trailing hem to high, starched collar.  She was melting wax, her movements swift and assured as she poured a small pool onto the folds of an envelope and stamped it with a sigil Aleksander knew to dread. She took a sip of riesling, soundlessly replacing her glass onto the wood, before setting her sights on him.  “Herr Aleksander Fox,” she said at last. 

and since i haven't done this in like 4 years, surprise bitch. i'm doing a novel prep tag in here now.

first look ;

describe your novel in 1-2 sentences (elevator pitch) ;

a businessman-turned-thief finds himself entangled with a pair of opposing assassins and the roles they unknowingly play in a much grander conspiracy.

how long do you plan for your novel to be (novella, standalone, series, etc.)? ;

a standalone, thank god. the technically term would be roman fleuve, since i am planning future standalone works that take place within the same universe.

what is your novel’s aesthetic? ;

ancient buildings overtaken by nature, cemeteries at midnight, poisonous flowers, venomous snakes, whispering in shadowy alcoves, masquerade balls, bloodstained feathers, veiled truths

what other stories inspire your novel? ;

the his dark materials series by philip pullman, uprooted by naomi novik, classic gothic lit, fairy tales in general, and uh,,,,,,,exodus.

share 3+ images that give a feel for your novel ;

main character ;

who is your protagonist? ;

my two main protagonists/POVs are liferuiner and wannabe businessman aleksander fox, and vératre, a notorious poisoner struggling her way through a quarter-life crisis.

who is their closest ally? ;

aleksander's closest ally, at least in the beginning, is his friend heidi, an information broker with a secret :) and vératre begrudgingly accepts the help of salicaire, another assassin, since they are both nosy and want answers.

who is their enemy? ;

aleksander vs. the ospirin family (a fight he is nawt winning) and the church

what do they want more than anything? ;

so, to be cryptic, 3/4 of the leads in mordlust are all reflections of each other, what they could have been and what they want to be. the last of them is the mirror. they see in him what they want to see. and what they want, shockingly, is prestige, power, belonging, etc. they've always felt like strangers in their own skin and will go to terrible lengths to fit themselves into a society that was not made for them.

why can’t they have it? ;

dirty dirty politics for which they are mere pawns ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

what do they wrongly believe about themselves? ;

that because they've been hurt, they are justified in hurting others in pursuit of their goals.

draw your protagonist! (or share a description) ;

aleksander is a classic dandy with a hyperfixation on his vintage fox fur coat, which he wears even when it's wildly out of season and out of fashion because it's the nicest thing he owns. he's also usually seen wearing kid leather gloves and a golden cravat pin he received from his patroness. he's got green eyes, short auburn hair, lots of freckles, and more people would find him handsome if he didn't smile like he knew your fly was down and was refusing to tell you.

vératre's lips are stained purple due to. reasons. and so she wears a veil, which is not uncommon for particularly devout women. she has medium length brown hair she keeps pinned up into tight plaits and a notably long neck. also, she has pretty privilege because shits fucked and having attractive lay servants representing the house/church is common practice. since she works as a kitchen maid most of the week, she's often wearing her uniform w/ an apron. and sometimes she wears isme's black feathered cloak.

drawing wise, i do have this chart, courtesy of alex @bitethebard:

plot points ;

what is the internal conflict? ;

aleksander and vératre, being parallels of each other, have somewhat similar internal conflicts. they both came from nameless villages out in the countryside and share a burning desire to be more. in vératre's case it's v much a "be careful what you wish for" situation, because in receiving everything she thought she wanted she's no longer herself and unhappier than ever. aleksander is younger and earlier along in his journey, but barreling down the same path. except the choices he makes fucks shit up for the people around him more than they effect himself.

what is the external conflict? ;

again, cutthroat politics (literally). everyone has something they'd kill for.

what is the worst thing that could happen to your protagonist? ;

other than dying horribly, probably being tethered to an uncaring master, praying to uncaring gods, and trying to find comfort in an uncaring church for the rest of their miserable lives.

what secret will be revealed that changes the course of the story? ;

aleksander is entangled in a pseudo-liar revealed plot, which i kinda hate, but as an extremely unreliable narrator his priorities are not in proper order... vératre is witnessing the horrors.

do you know how it ends? ;

yeah

bits & bobs ;

what is the theme? ;

blind faith is dangerous. you must learn to take responsibility for both the good and the bad actions you take, and attaching yourself to someone or something at random to validate your own existence isn't healthy. holiness exists not only in gods but in small moments of happiness and in the people we love. and lastly don't fucking steal someone's skin and sell it on the black market.

what is a recurring symbol? ;

thorns.

where is the story set? (share a description!) ;

niederbrinn, the capital city of falkenreik, which is loosely inspired by pre-german empire prussia. it's filled with tons of gothic™ architecture and fun locations like cathedrals, catacombs, and creature shops. it's situated closer to the malevolent eldritch forest than most would like.

do you have any images or scenes in your mind already? ;

hell yeah

what excited you about this story? ;

mostly isme. and then the other 3 protags ig 🙄

tell us about your usual writing method! ;

these days, i usually write a rough outline and expand it using the snowflake method, incorporating ideas, themes, and worldbuilding along the way. then i make a proper outline where i figure out chapters, acts, the dreaded midpoint, etc. i don't write in chronological order so this helps a ton with out-of-context lines since i have a reference for where i want them based on the location/emotional state of the characters. getting myself to actually sit down and WRITE the damn thing is the problem, shout out to my fellow procrastinating perfectionists <33

if you made it to this point you are sexy and i love you, byeeee !!

[thatonebirdwrites]

A story I've worked on for ages. It's finished, and I'll drop the chapters weekly. (I'm still working on my main fic too. But this one wouldn't let me rest until it was done.) It's pretty personal for me to be honest. EXCERPT:

Lena realizes something is very, very wrong when she feels the heft of a gun in her hand. The fog in her mind lifts slowly as she reclaims her consciousness. She blinks and realizes she’s in a concrete room with a desk to one side.

But far more disturbing is her brother, Lex, who has pushed himself half-up with one arm, the other hugging his abdomen. Her gun points at him. Blood dribbles from his mouth. He laughs, and his words swim through her mind's fog.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it? The very people you fight to protect. Do you know their truth?” He reaches up to grab a remote and turns on the televisions that make up a wall of the bunker.

Lena breathes in sharply. Bunker?

No, no, she can’t be alone with Lex. Bad things always happen.

Fear rises like bile in her throat. Her brother is speaking again, but his words can’t penetrate the growing panic. She blinks at the televisions, but it blurs into a mosaic of color and faint soundscapes.

Her thoughts spark and sizzle like a broken circuit. She hyperventilates, lightheaded, as tears sting her eyes. The gun’s weight pulls her arms down.

He believes this is checkmate. It’s not. Please, let me handle this.

The confident thought lances through her alarm and dismantles her rising panic.

It's like in Kasnia during the self-destruct sequence, when she'd been stuck underground. Time had warped, and she woke in the cool air, the sky studded with stars. In her hands was an air duct grate. Her clothes were rumpled, one heel broken, and streaks of dirt on her legs and arms.

Oh.

Her other self must have fronted like in Kaznia. What are the last things she remembers? She briefly closes her eyes.

Armed guards escorted her to where her brother and Lillian waited in the Presidential room at the White House. Next came the irritating Luthor greetings that served more like threats than any well-wishes. After that, Lex did his usual grandiose show-off of his new toys.

"I found a way to use the alien scourge to give us near-limitless power," he explained with a grin. He turned on the television to show the power output of his plant and a live feed of aliens being led into it. His rant turned toward his goals to destroy all Superman loved with the newly launched satellite weapon — Claymore, powered by that plant. The horror grabbed her by the throat. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop the Luthors, and now others were dead because of it.

Then nothing. Time evaporated until she wrestled her way out of the suffocating fog.

And here she wakes in a bunker, a gun in her hand, while her brother bleeds out in front of her.

“Do you see the lies they’ve woven? How they’ve abused your trusting nature? Your broken mind?” he continues with another irritating laugh.

He seeks to manipulate us again. Trust us. Lean into our anger.

Lena takes a steadying breath. That’s right. Her anger and horror at his brutal experiments and murder of aliens. The prison couldn’t hold him, cutting off his assets didn't stop him, escaping his hold on her life failed — all facts she factors into her calculations.

This exact scenario is supposed to be last resort. Her stomach curdles, bile on her tongue. Kieran, wait, what of the other plans?

He hurt us. Hurt Sam. Hurt your Kara. Killed thousands. We had to end the cycle, Lena. Otherwise, he’ll never stop coming.

Stop being cryptic. What the hell happened? She needs to reassess. Is death truly the only solution? She clenches her jaw.

Fine. I confronted him and injected the antidote to Harun-el as we agreed. He demanded we join his genocidal crusade. We will not be his tool anymore. The solidity of the decision warms her from head to toe, even as her heart shatters at the sight in front of her. All her trouble to cure his cancer, her stupid moment of weakness, and he repays it with betrayal and horror. Using her research to weaponize the Harun-el instead.

Lena clears her throat and summons what strength she has left. “You’ve abused me, Lex. You have no ground to stand on.” She tries to avoid looking at the wall of televisions, for what is surely a cleverly crafted way to destroy her yet again. Like he always does. Her lip quivers, and she blinks back the urge to cry.

“Me? Your trusting brother?” Lex laughs then coughs blood into his hand. “I’ve given you the world, Ace. Only ever been truthful. Honed your skills. Toughened you up. Do you still not see the truth? I’ve laid it out for you this time, you stubborn fool!”

Colors leech into gray in her periphery. Her limbs feel puppeted by her other self still. A rare moment of synergy but it leaves her nauseous and her head aching in a growing migraine.

“They’ve all been lying to you,” Lex continues as he laughs and spits up more blood. “Preying on your weaknesses.”

That’s you, Lena thinks. You’ve preyed on us.

But her curiosity overwhelms her, and she can’t ignore the televisions any longer. The scenes capture her gaze, and her ears roar with the orchestra Lex has woven into the security footage he’s stolen. Half the screens are footage from when Mercy attacked L-corp.

[spiders-hth-is-an-outlier]

Recently I've been going back and reading some of my old SGA fic (some of my best, most interesting writing is there, most of it deeply overlooked because it was about violence and grief, with tangential romantic content or none at all, and of course that's never really been Hot Ticket stuff in fandom; I get it), and after I ran out of that, I decided to reread Pretty Good Year.

And, you know, when you read something you've written years later, obviously there's always little stuff that bumps you – that seems overly repetitive or too wordy or whatever your personal sins are as a writer, and you wish you hadn't done this or done it that way or whatever. Mostly it really is just “whatever,” but there's one really spectacular fuck-up in that story that I knew was there, but it continues to bug me more and more over time. And it really is just an error, and not a sign of my growth or whatever, because I meant it to be there and I just. Forgot. I was in a hurry trying to get it done and I forgot to put it in there, but there was supposed to be a line somewhere in the final chapter about the tight scheduling around their East Coast trip because of having to work around Eliot's rehearsal schedule, and I hate that I didn't work it in, because without it there's actually no resolution to his final conversation with Idri. You might guess that after considering it Eliot agreed to take the role, but nothing in the story ever tells you that.

And that honestly really bothers me, because it actually matters to the Themes and Motifs and shit of the story, which is a story that (sneakily) actually begins before chapter 1 – it begins in Los Angeles, even though you only get the Los Angeles story doled out in pieces throughout the text. It's important to the story that you know there was originally another version of Eliot, who is actually this universe's version of “Brakebills Eliot” – someone who was bolder and braver and more proactive, who struck out on his own at 18 to chase his dream and find his forever home and all that – Eliot the hustler, Eliot the actor, Eliot the Spectacular. And you learn, over the course of the fic, what happened to that Eliot: that he didn't have a Hollywood story, that his personal and professional lives in LA were both mostly too much effort for no real reward. That he burned out, and then he was betrayed, and that he never really recovered from that; on page 1 he's living this bleak, uninspiring life, paralyzed by ennui, with no idea where he's headed except to keep doing what he's doing forever. The version of Eliot that opens PGY is actually inspired specifically by the defeated, traumatized Eliot in the final few episodes of season 1 – the version that begins when he breaks down after killing Mike, and ends when Quentin crowns him High King. That's actually the whole story, right? It's a PTSD-ridden Eliot, afraid to get back out in the world, who's kind of plucked out of obscurity and chosen to be The One, and the story question is whether or not he can live up to this metaphorical coronation.

Fundamentally the answer is obviously that he can, because while it was impossible for him to get back on his feet after LA for his own sake, he's stronger when he does it all for this family who desperately needs him to be their linchpin if they're going to stay together. But I really didn't want the story to be entirely about the glories of Eliot discovering that he's an excellent tradwife – although it's not not about that, and he definitely is – because I don't honestly think Living For the Ones Who Need You is a great life plan, you know? I didn't want that to be the one and only key to Eliot's kingship/adulthood, so there was always this second story woven in about the other loss that Eliot suffered when Los Angeles collapsed in on him. The first real thing Quentin says to him, the thing that digs into Eliot enough to shift him from this sort of lazy, semi-interested seduction into genuine interest in Quentin, is that Quentin asks him what he does creatively. In whatever intuitive way, Quentin sees that Eliot is fundamentally A Creative, and connects to that and he values it, which starts to give Eliot permission to connect to it and value it again. These exchanges about Eliot the Artist are critical to the story all the way through: when he sings to Quentin, when Quentin gives him the piano and the theater tickets, when he gets the Wellspring job because of the costume he made, the gift of the sewing room, the conversation about The Greatest Showman. It's the B-story to the whole thing, that Eliot had written himself off as a failed actor, but is starting to wake up to the image of himself that he sees reflected back from Quentin, this talented, creative person who makes beautiful things and makes things beautiful. One of my favorite little punctuation marks in the story is when a drunk Quentin introduces Eliot to the wedding guests, and his go-to in vino veritas summary of who Eliot is is basically, “MY BOYFRIEND IS AN ARTIST.”

Chapter 13 is obviously the story's climax, and its job was to essentially Show Not Tell that Eliot has achieved the goals that I forced onto him, which had more or less four aspects: he had to be the one who saves Quentin from drowning, he had to be not just a generic Good Parent but a good father because of he himself authentically being one, he had to kind of put a final seal on the pact with Margo so that we know for sure his partnership with her is real and not going to be transcended or left behind so he can be Q's romantic hero, and he had to actually acknowledge that he is a Theater Kid forever, that he was wrong to leave behind a part of him that he loved and that sustained him internally just because it won't ever make him famous. I needed all those things to be in place for me to feel like Eliot was closing out the story successfully, and most of that happens in chapter 13: the Teddy story is punctuated in that conversation they have at the beginning of the chapter, the Quentin story is punctuated partially with the paired doctor and hospital trips, but emotionally I think is punctuated when they have the fight in between and Eliot manages to end with “I love you” anyway, the Margo story is punctuated by the intense privacy of their comfort sex and with Eliot being the one for the first time who holds the door open on them having kids – but that fourth storyline really doesn't come up in 13. It's punctuated by the conversation with Idri in chapter 12, when Idri sees right through Eliot's attempts to hide how exhausted he is by being so extensively, endlessly Needed, and says that when he was in the same position, he had theater as a lifeline. He pays it forward by passing that lifeline to Eliot, and even though I didn't think Eliot was ready in that exact moment to wrap his head around it, I always thought it was completely essential to the story for Eliot to say yes to that lifeline, just like he said yes to Ted and Quentin and Margo.

But he actually didn't say yes. And I meant to show that it had happened! I really, really intended to put something in chapter 14 that showed Eliot going back to acting in spite of the way it had let him down before, exactly in parallel to the way he went back to love and family in spite of the way he'd only ever been let down by those. It feels really essential that all those things end up closed up, rounded off, settled, and it drives me a little insane that one of them didn't. But now you know, I guess, that Eliot was in a community theater production of Fiddler on the Roof that summer, and also everyone thought he was terrific, and he loved every minute of it.

[mechazushi]

Calm Before The Storm {A Kn8 short story} [Directly inspired by Ch. 117] soooooo...spoilers

Kneeling on a pillow before a low peach wood desk, settled a man. A powerful man with a powerful presence, having long hair and dressed in dark purple robes with woven black silk and kaiju armor, fitting for a high ranking kaiju killer. He continued to write, unbothered by the audience before him. Standing at attention beside the official was a soldier in full regalia, his face obscured into anonymity.

"If that is everything, then everyone is dismised." Soshiro Hoshina, leader of the Hoshina clan, commanded to the squad leaders he had summoned to his personal office.

While the rest had bowed graciously and filed out in-sync, one had decidedly stayed behind against orders. Konomi Okonogi, an lower ranked advisor to the clan had stood unshaken before the forth son of the Hoshinas. She was waiting quietly for him to acknowledge her on his own. A small moment passed, filled with the quiet swishing and slicing of a stiff brush gliding over paper. The soldier, noticing that the advisor hadn't left had also noticed his commander refusing to acknowledge the wayward interloper. The soldier let out a muffled cough as a cover for him to disguise a nudge to his higher officer with his foot. Being jarred from his concentration on official paperwork, Soshiro finally decided to address the nosy advisor in the room.

"Is there something to be left said, Miss Okonogi? As you can see, everyone else had left."

"Yes, there is." The locally stationed advisor stated, "It's about your continued decision to employ someone with... lackluster talents as your personal guard. Your family remains ever concern about such choices."

"And they will continue to worry as they are prone to do so as blood relatives." Hoshina finally looked up from his work and looked at the advisor fully, "They may question it all they like, but it will not change the fact that I have made it." He looked back down dismissively to begin again on his paperwork.

"Since the fourth son of a somewhat prominent family is not in that high of demand, my guard's skills are sufficient enough for his task which, need I remind you, is escorting me across town to my family's manor and back. Nothing more." He resumed the meditative writing as a way of making his point clear and matter resolved.

Okonogi sniffed stiffly as she took the transgression silently. She bowed nonetheless and shuffled herself out the office door. After closing it behind her, the soldier let out a low sigh of relief. Hoshina chuckled to himself, somehow finding all of it funny.

"Ya know, for a group of people ya hardly see, they sure like to press on personal matters." The soldier finally spoke when he felt the sudden tension leave his shoulders.

"They're not pressing the matter, she is." Soshiro sighed as he started the process of cleaning up his brush, "She's being paid to question any decision I make that doesn't sound like any my family would make themselves." Hanging the brush on a rack and shuffling some items on his desk around for cleanliness sake, the commander eventually lifted himself from his kneeling position and let out a long and low groan as he stretched, satisfied.

"Come along, darling. After leading training and all of that paperwork, I feel a deep need for a cleansing." Soshiro said as he slid his hands into his oversized sleeves.

"I've told you not to call me that." The soldier's warning was muffled through the clay face mask he wore.

"Oh please, we're the only people on his side of the manor now. And in a few minutes, I get to call you whatever I want." Hoshina retaliated with a hint of joy undercutting the mocking statement.

The two of them filed out of the small office, the commander in front and his loyal body guard never far behind. It was well past sunset and the sky made it clear it was reaching late dusk. The last rays of sunlight filtered through the paper doors that lined the long hallway to the natural hot spring located on premises. Once they entered the outdoor bath and had closed the door, making sure it couldn't be opened easily, only then did the energy in the air begin to waver. It changed from official and stale, to feeling charged, almost teetering on playful or mischievous.

Soshiro found a lit candle on a nearby stool and followed his guard as they walked the stone path that lined the edge of the spring. Kafka did his part of unhooking metal lanterns that hung from tall wooden post high in the air and brought them down to chest level for Soshiro to light them. After making certain that any night breeze wouldn't extinguish the little flame easily, did Kafka hang the lantern back up and move on. They made a full lap around the spring and walked back to the front of the bath. Soshiro tugged on one end of a strip of leather that held back most of the glossy locks that draped from his regal head and sighed as its weight shifted.

"Well, are you going to help me or not?" The commander tittered playfully as he stoked his hair over his shoulder. He watched his soldier tug at the strings holding his face mask in place. A hand came up to rub away the thin sheen of sweat that had built up under it as the other placed the mask on a table.

"One of these days' we're gonna get caught because of your impatience" The soldier said as he made himself see clearly again.

Dropping the mask revealed the man underneath to be Kafka Hibino, once a lowly foot soldier in the Monkey squad, now currently having the coveted position of being Soshiro Hoshina's personal escort and body guard. A position he wasn't aiming for, but with how his relationship with the fourth son of the Hoshina's was going, it wasn't one he minded terribly. While it was blatant favoritism that earned him the position, it was clear to the both of them that it could never be trusted to anyone else. He began to walk over to where Soshiro was waiting patiently to have help removing the heavy Kaiju-leather plates that make up a hunter's armor.

"If you keep talking about it, eventually you'll make it so. I almost wonder if you want it to happen." Soshiro sang with a honeyed tone.

"It will happen if you don't fix the problem of not being able to keep your hands to yourself." Kafka stated as he began to mess with the ties holding the pauldrons to his shoulders. He smirked as he chuckled in his mind, thinking about all the times he had to stop his commander from launching himself across tables at people, from starting duels in the street, or making sure he didn't get caught with his hand snaking their way onto his body guard's... person.

"I haven't ever heard you complain about it before." His commander said with mock admonishment. He held onto the discarded pauldrons as Kafka began to work on the belts holding the chest piece in place. "Maybe it just means we're both rotten to the core." Hoshina continued to tease as he leaned back closer to Kafka's chest.

"It's not hard to be influenced by you when you make yourself so inviting." Kafka hummed as he leaned in closer to Soshiro's ear, "I just consider myself lucky that I'm the only one my commander had decided to make himself a completely vulnerable fool in front of." He whispered as his hands traveled southward, past the belt that held up the lower portion of armor and unexpectedly squeezed his partner's upper thigh.

Soshiro jabbed him with his elbow in retaliation, causing the two of them to giggle and make Kafka lose his grip on the belt. He finished with his task and helped remove the chest plate afterward. Once he gathered all the removed armor and set them on the table, did he offer himself up to his commander for the same courtesy. Kafka let him pull at the strings holding his helmet in place, the both of them knowing full well that he could do it himself. They knew as well that Soshiro liked the opportunity to hold his lover's face in his hands.

After taking off the helmet, Kafka took it out of Soshiro's hands so his could be free to caress his. A face marked with long healed scars and patchy scruff, it was a face he found only his commander seemed to truly love. Fingertips traced the edges of its rough details while eyes drank in its softer ones. The small maze of wrinkles that lined his lips and brow, those gem-like blue-green eyes that could melt snow capped mountains or freeze them solid, and that warmth of a good soul that seemed to seep from every piece of contact his lover's hands could make on his face. These details were expressed to him, time and time again, but he never believed them until he heard it straight from his commander's honest lips.

One hand removed itself from the helmet it was holding so it could trap Hoshina's and bring it closer to his lips, allowing a moment where Kafka could drink in the other's essence as well. Savoring the cool skin on his and smelling the ink and leather oil sunk deep into Soshiro's natural perfume, permanently etching his presence onto the ridges of Kafka's mind. He sniffed and sighed and kissed it lightly before he let it go. Kafka liked to watch intently as those same hands roamed his body, giving him the same care and attention to his armor that he gave to his commander. It wasn't long before he was stripped of his armor as well. He took it from Soshiro as laid it to rest next to the other pile on the table.

Hoshina began to busy himself with removing the cloth robes that remained, not giving them any loving courtesy like the armor was given. They were quickly shed onto the stones before Soshiro stepped foot into the searing warmth of the spring water. Dunking his head in, he resurfaced swiftly and smoothed away some errant strands of hair from his vision. He began to tug on the last of the leather strip that held the rest of his hair back as he watched Kafka from the borders of the spring. As it all fell down heavily, Soshiro busied his hands with sweeping it behind his shoulders while he continued to rudely gawk at his partner undressing.

He had seen that man naked more times than he had seen himself, and he never tired from the view. Strong muscle wrapped and coiled around the soldier's arms while his torso held a softer image. Hoshina knew better than to doubt that rounded appearance, having seen and certainly felt what that upper body was capable of. His tongue darted out and swiped across his lips in reaction to seeing the top shirt being removed fully and folded onto the table. He moved closer to the rounded stone skirting of the small pool and saddled up to the edge in quiet anticipation. As Kafka's hands reached to waist of his pants, they stilled as he developed the familiar sensation of being watched.

"Do you really have to stare at me every time I undress?" Kafka called back, not bothering to turn around to confirm his suspicions.

"Do you have to act like a bashful maiden every time I do?" Soshiro teased as he stayed rooted to his spot.

Hoshina found himself biting his lip as Kafka just sighed and removed the rest of his clothing. He moved out of the way as Kafka strode over and began to act as if he was about to enter the pool, only to sweep the discarded robes off the floor and smirked coyly at Soshiro as he walked away with them

"I don't know why it bothers you so much. It's not like I haven't had you under me or anything." Soshiro teased back as he watched Kafka continue to put away the discarded attire.

"You start up that kind of attitude this early and I'm leaving." Kafka grumbled as his cheeks flushed bright red.

"If you're not in the mood, just say so." His commander pouted as he turned away from him in slacking scorn.

"Only because I'd like a chance to actually relax first." Kafka said with easy-going indignance. He returned to the pool holding the jade comb they used whenever they came to the spring together. Soshiro scoffed, but shifted himself into position anyway as his partner carefully splashed his way in.

"It would work that way as well. Hell's, I'd like to think that you would end up more relaxed by the time I was done." he joked as he leaned back into Kafka's awaiting lap, propping himself up between his knees.

"You're incorrigible." Kafka sighed as he shook his head.

He spent the passing time slowly raking the comb through the long silken strands of Soshiro's hair, taking care to brush slowly and chip away at any knots going from bottom to top. After making sure it was free of tangles, did he take more of their time combing through it all in long passes, just to savor the feeling. Soshiro reveled in the attention, never not once hating the feeling of being attended to like this. Sure, he had servants help him dress in the morning and even do his hair, but none of it felt the same as when it was done by someone he loved. Every few passes of the comb, he would feel short nails caress and scritch as his scalp, removing an itch that he didn't realize was even there. On windless nights, Soshiro could hear a deep, reverberating hum from the depths of Kafka's chest, usually a marching chant or a drinking hymn. The repeated, loving motions, the all-encompassing blanket of warmth, paired with the harmony of the wind and leaves matching the water and waves lapping at the stone beat for beat. Hoshina would willingly go penny-less and destitute, sick and infirm, if it meant he got to keep these moments forever.

Deep in the cavern of his blissfully silent mind, it took a while for Soshiro to notice that Kafka had stopped brushing and took up plaiting the infinite length. To be honest, he wasn't a fan of it. Leaving in the braid too long usually bent it into weak crimps and he could already hear the judging murmurs of his servants who had to deal with it in the morning. He was aware that Kafka was just the type of person who always felt the need to keep his hands busy. A trait that benefited him when it came to squad relations. Rarely was there ever an idle task when Kafka was released from his body guard duties. It was just how he spent his time relaxing, but did Kafka really have to take it out on his hair?

"You're doing it again." Soshiro muttered lazily, not bothering to stop his lover.

"I know." Kafka responded simply, the smile unmistakable in his soft voice.

"You know everyone hates it when you do that." The commander sighed. He heard a puffy chuckle before Kafka responded.

"Do you know why I do it anyway?" he said as he held his hand out for the leather hair tie.

"Mmm... Humor me." Soshiro softly moaned and he began to feel those gentle hands move again.

"Because no one knows it's me." He whispered, "Because it makes your hair do a fun little dance for me as I follow you around. It's something I do to you that lets me remember that I'm yours." He finished curling the long braid around itself into a snug bun and cinched it up with the leather cord

"And you're mine." Kafka tacked on tenderly, along with a quick peck to an unsuspecting commander's forehead.

"Well then... I guess I can't bring myself to hate it as well." Soshiro declared as he lifted himself to a higher sitting position.

"Especially after hearing something so sweet." He scooted himself more fully into Kafka's lap and wrapped his arm around his shoulder.

Their lips touched and moved languidly against each other. No need to rush or to stop was felt when they started, and there wouldn't be for the rest of all their night together. Such was the case when two lovers fell into a wanting dance. Kafka softly sighed as his partner's hand tugged at the hairs of his nape and soothingly massaged the back of his neck. Soshiro beamed as he felt his soldier's sharp teeth and pointed canines pull teasingly at his lower lip, causing a breathy giggle. Hibino broke away from the dance first, deciding to slowly lavish a trail of wet kissed down the taut plains of Hoshina's neck. He tasted the sulfur of the water and the salt of the sweat as he savored the journey to the hard edges of his bath-mate's bare shoulder.

It was there that Kafka decided to stop his conquest and inhale his lover's scent once again. Breathing deep and slow, he made his mind expand and bask in all that he could feel, all he could sense. His arms unconsciously tightened around Soshiro's waist as a wisp of melancholy seeped into his heart. His nose nuzzling its way back up the path he made on the neck felt very much different from the moments they were making before. Hoshina dug deep into his will to separate their chests from each other so he could look his love in the eyes. He felt his smile carry a hint of the melancholy that had seemed to enter Kafka's heart as well as invaded the sanctity of his expressive face. A hand traveled from Kafka's broad chest to tease the corner of his lips into a happier expression.

"Your mind is very loud again. It's practically coming out of your eyes." Soshiro huffed quietly as he continued to watch the other's face shift through different shades of the same emotion.

"It's just... this... the world... something's been feeling off lately. Like this isn't going to last forever." Kafka's voice rumbled with the weight that he had been feeling on his shoulders.

"You're manifesting again." Soshiro called back, thinking a joke would help lighten the mood.

"It doesn't feel like that. More so like a... premonition. A gut feeling that's arrived and hasn't left." Kafka brought his face closer, rubbing his nose against Soshiro's and sought comfort and warmth in their closeness, "I keep waking up in the morning, thinking that it's going to be the last time I get to see you. It scares me."

"I would rather be stabbed through the heart before I let things stay that way between us." His lover affirmed solidly as he brought both of his hands to cage Kafka's face, "This isn't coming from what Miss Okonogi said earlier about my family, is it?"

"I wish its origins were that simple. I've had this feeling for a while now." Kafka's gaze softened even more as he basked in their continued embrace.

"If that feeling gets worse, I want you to remind yourself of one thing." Soshiro spoke softly, treating each word like a fragile feather.

"And what's that?" Kafka whispered back, a flicker of hope sparkling in the shape of his lips twitching into a smile.

"No matter what comes, no matter what happens, may it be something trivial, or the ending of the world, I will be yours." Soshiro placed a gentle kiss on the bridge of Kafka's nose as he continued to promise, "And I will find you no matter where, no matter when, and tell you that, over and over again. In as many different ways as needed until you never feel like this again."

They continued to indulge in each other's comforting presence until their tired minds couldn't take being awake anymore. Even as Kafka felt his mind be overtaken with the inescapable need for sleep, his mind echoed his partner's sentiment over and over again. He knew those words were true, and knew better than to doubt a promise from his commander and lover, but it affected little to the growing fear that leeched onto the fibers of his emotions. One thing he said did seep in however. He knew, really and truly knew, that they would find each other. Again and again.

No matter what.

[jadevine]

Deadpool and Wolverine musings, Part 1 - On Deadpool knowing he’s Deadpool, the Worst Wolverine, and a Hero That Never Was: How the theme of failure in "Deadpool And Wolverine" hits too close to home for another would-be actor.

--- So now that I've processed Deadpool and Wolverine, it really hurts to see the theme of failure and being “the one who’s WATCHING people be awesome” woven through the story. You probably know someone like me, dear readers. I have big dreams, but no big friends or big bank account to pull them off.

The Deadpool franchise’s nature as a self-aware side of the Marvel Universe folds painfully into my own experiences as an artist.

As usual for Deadpool, the start of the movie is a wild ride: We open on him desperately digging up Wolverine’s grave from the end of “Logan,” because Deadpool needs Wolverine’s help--and he’s in serious denial that Wolverine died. Turns out that yes, he did. And Deadpool ends up fighting some furious Time Variance Authority soldiers… with Logan’s decaying skeleton. To the hilariously unfitting song of “Bye Bye Bye” by NSYNC.

Millennials, we can feel old now. I remember when NSYNC was rolling out their CDs in the early 2000s, and when I decided I was too cool for NSYNC anymore, I threw that shit away. Apple is now laughing at me for buying this one song again, twenty years later.

We then get plunged into an explanation of why Deadpool is desperate for Logan’s help, and boy howdy, does he need HELP.

--

Wade and Vanessa started having relationship issues between Deadpool 2 and this movie, so he tried to sign up for the Avengers to give his life purpose. In his interview with Happy Hogan (HELLO, SIR, IT’S GREAT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!!! WADE, SHUT UP ABOUT HAPPY BEING A CHAUFFEUR!!!), Wade says he wants to be an Avenger because “he needs it.” Why? Deadpool sure loves the battles that the Avengers are known for, but I don’t think he wants to be an Avenger JUST for violence or glory. There’s one MORE thing that the Avengers are known for: Being friends. And with it, being LOVED.

The running theme in Deadpool’s movies is his nagging insecurity and loneliness. In the comics and movies alike, he is constantly trying to join the X-Men or the Avengers, but his main problem is… Deadpool himself! You are your own worst enemy, as the saying goes.

He’s ruthlessly good at killing, loves his gallows humor, and he’s reckless as hell. The usual expression that someone’s weird/crazy is “having a wire (or a few wires) loose,” but Deadpool’s like an electric rat-king of jumbled wires. (A cash register at my work has one of those bad boys. I am constantly worried if it’s okay.) Later in the movie, Wolverine thinks Deadpool has ADHD because of how insufferably chatty he is, and while Deadpool’s constantly called “crazy” because other characters just don’t like him, fan speculations and writer depictions abound on what KIND of mental disorder he might have.

As TV Tropes would put it, Deadpool is “The Friend Nobody Likes.” Other heroes tolerate him because he’s skilled, but not many LIKE HIM. And he is all too aware of it, especially in the films, so by the time of Deadpool and Wolverine, he WANTS to be a hero.

As I mentioned before, he says to Happy that he NEEDS to be an Avenger.

But Happy tells him, “The Avengers don’t do the job because they need it, they do the job because people need THEM. Understand the difference?”

Many Avengers fans understand the core of the Avengers, and of the superhero genre as a whole.

I did not miss the shots in Happy’s office of notable objects in the main Marvel Cinematic Universe--and maybe Wade was looking at them, too. We call those “Easter eggs” because people will scour the film for them.

-Tony’s very first heart reactor, with the engraving of “Proof that Tony Stark has a heart.”

-One of Captain America’s old shields.

-Old pieces of Iron Man’s armor.

-A photo of Tony himself and Peter Parker.

Then comes the hurt-y part: “Please, Mr. Hogan, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life like an annoying one-trick pony.” Ouch, Wade. I am all too familiar with the sense of failure, and feeling like I annoy everyone by existing.

So Happy says to Wade, “The problem might be that you’re reaching a little too high. Aim for the middle and you’ll never miss. I think you got a good heart, I believe what you’re saying, but not everyone’s the world-saving type. Shoot for the middle and you’ll never miss.”

And after he’s rejected, Wade officially breaks up with Vanessa. WHY, motherfuckers?! THEY ARE MY POWER COUPLE!

So with no Vanessa and no Avengers, Wade becomes increasingly insecure/depressed, and he leaves the Deadpool work behind and takes a car-sales job with his former X-Force teammate Peter to pay the bills. If that is not an allegory for the constant misery of being an artist who doesn’t know anyone important, and doesn’t have the money to make knowing important people EASIER, I don’t know what is.

I spent years trying to get people to read my novel drafts on Wattpad so I can get them cleaned up and published for real, and then I could be a REAL FUCKING WRITER. And that wore me out, because I’m not a marketer and I’m already introverted. I spent years not being able to afford updated headshots to audition for shows, so I could finally be a REAL FUCKING ACTOR and do something that wasn’t a college production… but after I finally got new headshots, guess what happened? I’M STUCK AT MY DAY-JOB TO GET MONEY.

While I’m trying to be a real fucking actor and a real fucking novel writer, I’ve combined them into an unholy sandwich, by writing a superhero story that deconstructs the idea of “who gets to be called a hero, and who’s just a gangster/vigilante?” It involves the Tagalog deities being stuck in California as undocumented immigrants.

I feel like I asked every Filipino theater I know of about workshopping this script or giving it a reading or two when the draft is done. Like, I’m Filipino-American and I’m writing about Filipino mythology and Asian-American superheroes--I don’t expect people to spring a whole production onto the stage when I say go, but surely people would want to check my script out or keep tabs on me? Something to get the ball rolling?

But that involves having GOOD luck, and I don’t seem to have any. The theaters who bothered to answer me say it sounds cool, but they don’t have the resources, or how this script is expensive to pull off, so I’ll need to find someone willing to take a risk and fund my production.

I wanted to fucking laugh at those folks, because that means THEY’RE not willing to risk things for me. I want to laugh because if I don’t, I’m gonna murder something.

As Deadpool said in his very first movie: "Fake laugh, hiding real pain."

PEOPLE SAY THEY CAN’T AFFORD ME? WHEN I SPENT YEARS HUMILIATING MYSELF, ASKING IF SELFIES WERE OKAY TO USE FOR AUDITIONS, BECAUSE I COULDN’T AFFORD TO UPDATE MY THEATER HEADSHOTS?

This one time, I could have gone to Canada for a writing conference. It was about how Filipinos and the Filipino diaspora use their culture and spirituality as inspiration for their work. I sent them an email about my poetry and writing, and I didn’t really think they’d answer me, so I was pleasantly surprised when someone DID answer, and they thought my work sounded beautiful!

But then they said I’d have to get to Canada, pay the attendance fee, find a hotel and get from a city (either Toronto or Ottawa) to the buttfuck wilderness of a regional park, where the conference was actually being HELD.

So I said (politely), “Oh, I didn’t realize you wanted to hold a conference in Canada, but had no way to… GET NON-LOCAL SPEAKERS TO THE CONFERENCE. I figured you’d be handling at least some of the costs. I won’t be able to go, then.”

One of my friends, bless her heart, started a GoFundMe on my behalf. It went nowhere, so neither did I, but she tried. Another of my friends said it felt really messed up that they wanted me to pay the attendance fee AS A SPEAKER.

In my only bout of less-bad luck, I submitted some angry decolonizing poetry about the Tagalog gods to a show halfway across the state, and the team absolutely loved it… but that was before I had updated headshots. When the recent Facebook memories with a photo of the brochure showed up, I got to see my fucking Facebook selfie smack in the middle of everyone else’s nice, professional headshots, and that really stings.

I wish I was like Deadpool, and I had some time-traveling friends to go back and replace it with one of my REAL headshots. But I can’t spend all my time cringing, so I’m not only writing my stories, but saving up to pay 50-100 actors for a table reading.

I GET ONE SHOT AT GETTING MY SCRIPT OFF MY LAPTOP AND INTO THE WORLD. ONE SHOT THAT’S GONNA HURT MY BANK ACCOUNT. MAXIMUM EFFORT IS MY STATE’S MINIMUM HOURLY WAGE, MOTHERFUCKERS.

And that’s probably going to be my only shot. I don’t know anyone in theater professionally, because I never got a chance to WORK WITH anyone professionally.

For my script, I have three or five Filipino actor “friends” (more like acquaintances) whose shows I’ve watched a few times, so I told them how I have a superhero script that I’d love to get a reading for when the first draft’s finished, and I will pay everyone for a table reading in a couple months. And if they have ten or fifteen more friends of varying ethnicities, please ask them if they think my script sounds cool as well.

I hope I didn’t sound too desperate.

I try not to outwardly beg, but I don’t have a good gauge on that. I was the only Filipino in my theater class for years, so I never knew how to TALK about my extremely Filipino-oriented urban-fantasy, or if my stuff was ACTUALLY good or just weird. I went to open mics for a short but lovely few months, before I had to stop.

I couldn’t even afford MONTHLY TRIPS to read my work. Not only for no pay, but I had to pay AN ENTRY FEE and deal with the parking in this driving hellhole of a state. And then being a BROKE Filipino who still lives with my mom and works in food service? I always feel like I’m begging for scraps of attention.

I love art.

I love making art.

But with so many things depending on who you know--whether you can afford to go to shows, or go to school, or go to parties so you can FIND people to know--art really makes you feel shitty and poor sometimes.

My friends and about twenty or so Wattpad reviewers like my work, and they say I’m a great writer. It always makes me feel nice.

But when I try to get someone IN POWER, someone with MONEY, to check out my work and say the same things, that’s where I start feeling like Wade in the Avengers Tower--so close to the heroes I’ve heard about my whole life, seeing the things they use, the photos of people they love--and begging the doorman to let me be a hero, too.

[nexility-sims]

𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲.

i, frankly, haven't had the energy or positive mindset to sit down and write anything extensive out for this gratitude day, which is is a shame. however, i wanted to post something, with promises to outpour more love next year !

at this moment, i believe it's fair to say i'm most grateful for the folks in my simblr writing group. i've told you all multiple times how happy being in a group together makes me but, damn it, everyone else needs to know, too !!!! it's only been two months, but it feels like so much longer because everyone has been so enthusiastic and earnest—in general, but also with embracing each other's stories, getting to know one another, providing support and assistance. that was all i wanted. this little community's establishment has coincided with a terrible loss and truly awful time in my life, and i just can't adequately express how appreciative i am for everyone. i want to shoutout @300yearschallenge, @bridgeportbritt, @crownsofesha, @daniigh0ul, @greensleeves101066, @lynzishell, @madebysimblr, @rebouks, @simming-in-the-rain, @simstrashkingdom, @sirianasims, @saerelia, and @hannahssimblr in particular for so many insightful, instructive, funny conversations. it's so wild to me that i just met most of you and yet am excited every day to see what you've got to say. that's to say nothing of the storytelling itself !!!!! i'm grateful as well for @digital-deluxe @earthmoonz @funkyllama @housekonig @igglemouse @moonfromearth @simabloom @simeaz @simmysunset @stillgotme @the-lancasters @theroyalthornoliachronicles @trentonsimblr @warwickroyals @saerelia @xldkx i still have lots of catching up to do, but i'm happy to say i've started and am enjoying several, finally. i'm taking notes, whether it's on family dynamics or compelling prose or friendship or the importance of backgrounds and settings or whatever else. lastly, perhaps predictably: i haven’t kept up with too many stories this year for various reasons, but i have been @armoricaroyalty's biggest fan for the last two years. i’m grateful that gabe and i had such a truly epic, ridiculously fun collaborative project this year (almost entirely gabe’s doing, which makes me even more determined to repay the favor). i’m also so proud and happy that gabe’s story has really hit its stride and garnered a lot of well-deserved praise this year.

the big reason why i love gabe’s story is because there are so many interesting characters, all doing something, all woven together in ways that feel realistic and suspenseful and dramatic and hilarious and romantic … it takes a little bit of talent, a lot of skill, and a boatload of discipline to pull that off. gabe has all of it, and i’m so grateful to have been allowed to join in—whether as an enthusiastic sounding board, a partner in plotting, or just someone to agree heartily that, yes, that freddy poll had one (1) correct answer. i'm so excited to see the story continue now that this phenomenal chapter is ending, i have and will continue to learn a lot about the craft from gabe, and my own storytelling has improved immensely just by association (you know, plus the fact that my current project wouldn’t exist without him). oh, and: simblr is also about making friends, and our friendship is hands-down the best thing i've gotten out of this whole endeavor.

all of this makes me believe, in conclusion, that 2024 is going to be full of more delightful conversation, more delightful stories to read, and more friendship ♥️

[aida-sparks]

To 9-1-1: Just Take One REAL Step Toward Buddie. See What Happens.

Hello fellow 9-1-1 buddie fans! I've been mulling over season 7 and a topic close to our hearts: the possibility of buddie sailing into full-on canon territory. We've heard people say the show can't give us buddie, using the unfortunate reason that it's because the larger general audience doesn't "see" buddie as a thing. That while the buddie fandom is huge, it doesn't compare to the size of the overall viewing audience, most of which don't even engage online in the fandom and might not know about the potential of buddie as a ship.

So that's the reason we may only ever get a love story that's written entirely in the subtext of the show? No, that's not good enough. I want to believe this show of ours is daring enough to let the general audience in on things and let them make up their own minds on the matter. Give the idea of buddie canon a fighting chance. Sure, the subtle nods and secret messages woven into the show might be crystal clear to us. But casual viewers probably don't pick up on those messages nestled in the nooks and cracks where buddie has been written up till now. We need to aim for more than subtext. And definitely don't settle for that color theory. If we are to get anywhere, we need to see them start spelling it out with explicit dialogue and storyline moments for the entire audience to interpret on their own.

By this season's end, the show needs to step out of the carefully crafted, unspoken undertones they always give buddie fans, and instead they need to explicitly spell out to the casual viewing audience, 'Hey there's a strong potential that Buck and Eddie might just be more than buddies (no pun intended). It has to be well done with clear hints leading up to it, of course, not just something in a single scene that's dropped on the casual viewers' heads like a piano. But it's more than possible to do, especially using flashbacks to buddie scenes and stolen glances throughout the seasons. Think about it. Eddie wrote Buck (and Buck alone) into his will; that's no small gesture! They can weave and layer these past moments into a current storyline, building up to a revelation from Buck and/or Eddie that feels like a "Whoa!" moment for all viewers (not just the buddie shippers), like, "I didn't see it before, but it makes sense. I can see those two as something more now."

And there are many different paths the show can take to get Buck and/or Eddie to this revelation. (I have my own idea of how it might go. The options are as diverse as all our fandom theories.) But how they get there isn't the important piece. What matters is that the possibility of something potentially happening between Buck and Eddie is CRYSTAL CLEAR in the narrative! Actually written into the dialogue and storyline, in a plausible way.

The show doesn't even have to commit buddie-end-game. They just have to give them a fighting chance by putting the possibility of it out there in the plain light of day, in front of the entire audience and see how it sticks. They could shift course in future storylines if it doesn't go over well, but my honest guess is that a majority wouldn't mind buddie becoming canon at all once they're exposed to it, especially if it was written/produced well; Oliver's and Ryan's on-fire chemistry is already there to carry it through. Many would come to root for buddie, especially over another new love interest introduced so late in the series that can't match all we've seen Buck and Eddie build together. Some viewers might not care one way or the other; they might just be in for the crazy emergencies each week. So then if we the remove this perception that buddie canon would not take well with general audience, what else is stopping it? I can't think of anything.... full steam ahead!

Now, am I prepared for the heartbreaking possibility that buddie might never go full canon in the sense we hope? That we may only ever get a love story buried in the subtext, if that's the best the show is allowed to give us? Sure, but it's much harder and so unfulfilling to come to terms with that outcome if the show never gives them a real chance at it in the first place.

This long ramble is all simply to say that I'm not demanding that buddie become canon. I'm asking that the possibility of it becomes canon.

If nothing else, it would take the "delusional" and "clown" stigmas off of buddie shippers' shoulders because addressing the potential of buddie in the show tells the audience that hey, maybe there could be something there; they didn't just "see things that weren't there". I don't see this as such a heavy thing to ask for. Please let this make sense to everyone. It does in my head. lol.

[emmabirb8]

I've been an Invader Zim fan since 2011.

I was 15-16 at that time, and though I did thoroughly enjoy the show, I was not mature enough to really get it. Sure, it was funny, but I didn't pick up on the subtleties and style of humor beyond the surface level. I liked the wackiness and the characters, but I SURELY wasn't at a point of being able to deconstruct themes or analyze character motivations and narratives (like I very much enjoy doing now). I remember discovering an artist on DeviantArt who drew cute ZaGr stuff, so that was the pairing I liked too. I didn't think too deeply about much, and honestly, I don't think the majority of fans (if they were my age or younger, that is) did either. Everything was taken as dumb and silly for the most part, and that IS truthfully a major component of the show itself.

Getting back into Invader Zim within this past year though, I'm looking at it through a WILDLY different lens. I like Invader Zim for what it is and how it's intended to be perceived. I like that the show is meant to be dark, satirical, and tragic at the same time that it's silly, chaotic, and nonsensical. Almost everything that happens onscreen is written in to be funny above all else. (I've mentioned before that I've been watching Jhonen's Twitch streams for a while now, and I have a MUCH better understanding of his sense of humor bc of that. IZ makes way more sense if you can sorta see things from JV's perspective, lol.)

But at the same time, I also like Invader Zim for what it offers in terms of interpretation and what it can imply (intentionally or not). There is genuinely SO MUCH DEPTH to this dorky lil cartoon that a casual viewer wouldn't immediately pick up on. And a lot of that depth, I think, was not woven in purposely. The show itself was never meant to be taken so seriously. Nevertheless, I'm constantly fascinated by what IZ implies about good and evil, the nature of general society, and especially how it goes about demonstrating the devastating effects of social isolation and bullying. Meta for this series is always pretty damn *chef's kiss.* And what's even more interesting is how viewers manipulate canon to expand upon this world and these characters.

Given that I've come to understand Invader Zim better, I've also grown very fond of ZaDr. Now, while I wouldn't want to see this pairing happen in canon material, I love the potential it possesses in transformative contexts.

In reality, I get that these characters were intended to have a deep hatred for one another and a never-ending rivalry for the sake of comedy and not much else. It's an extraterrestrial perpetually throwing hands with a 12 year old because he's incompetent and his plans often fail. And that's funny. That's the point. But beyond that, canonically, these are two characters who are mirrors of each other; they're both treated like garbage by their respective peers, and they both crave acknowledgment, validation, and a sense of purpose. Throughout their story, they find they're only able to obtain these things from each other, so as a consequence of their similar personalities, they become utterly, unhingedly obsessed with each other (to a sometimes unhealthy degree). They are undeniably forever intertwined by design of how the show is set up.

And because of that, shipping of these characters was, frankly, inevitable in fandom spaces. I myself fell victim to their appeal too. (Sorry, Jhonen. 😅)

I'm not gonna go into any discourse surrounding this pairing because there's already PLENTY of that to go around online. Everyone has their own opinion on the subject, and that's fine. I respect that. Point is, even though I understand and appreciate what Zim and Dib are supposed to be in the context of the show, I also enjoy the idea of them as friends and romantic partners outside of and beyond the confines of canon.

And that's something that I think many fans who are biased toward ZaDr would also agree with! Actually, I'd say the majority of people who ship characters in ANY media would concur. We like the idea of seeing how specific relationships could develop over time and/or within different settings and circumstances. It's NOT always about wanting to see a relationship unfold on screen or in fan works strictly adhering to canon. It's about stretching canon, or in some cases, scratching canon entirely however you see fit! Who cares! It's fiction!

For me personally, I enjoy ZaDr because its attributes fall into so many trope categories that I've come to adore over the years (ones that I either wasn't aware of when I was younger, or that I didn't enjoy in the same intensity as I do now). Zim and Dib are, or could be, depending on context:

Codependent toxic soulmates

Human x non-human

Shared history

Classic enemies to lovers (or, as I often prefer it, enemies to friends to lovers)

Bicker couple

Battle couple, when put in the right setting for it

Violence as a love language

Smol and tol

The wild card paired with the rational one, the best part about this being that sometimes the more rational one is Dib, and sometimes it's Zim bc they're both a special flavor of insane

Make each other worse/stupider when together, tho oddly, they also kinda bring out the best in each other too

And, my personal favorites, the potential for hurt/comfort and angst with a happy ending, with the comfort and happiness aspects ultimately coming from each other

I like what these characters could be, to and for each other, apart from their roles in the show.

I would never want to explore a dynamic between Zim and Dib that goes beyond "frenemies" territory in canon (because that doesn't fit what the show is, and I do appreciate the integrity of Jhonen's vision). The subtle foundation for them is there, it's just that it can't really work unless a few key details are changed or manipulated, and, well...

I sure as hell like exploring every bit of that expanded potential in fan works because it's fun to imagine the various directions things could go if they were different!

This isn't me, like... trying to defend my (or anyone else's) enjoyment of this particular ship or trying to convince people to like it. Or the show for that matter! To each their own, truly. And I'm obv aware of the controversy ZaDr often incites and why. Everyone has valid reasons for liking OR not liking it, and I accept differing viewpoints on it. It's a touchy, nuanced subject to be sure. But this isn't about that.

I don't really know what this is, actually, aside from a very long very weird essay, lol. I just wanted to process why and how all of this works for me with my changed perspective from when I was first introduced to Invader Zim in my teens up until now.

It's strange, looking back. I didn't get ZaDr years ago. But I do now, and so much of it, at least from my perspective, has to do with taking the crumbs present in canon (that are undeniably there, whether you choose to acknowledge them or not, and whether they're intentional or not) and absolutely running with them to the ends of your own wild imagination.

(ZaDr content is always tagged appropriately on my blog. Pls use tag blocking functions if needed.)

[sigyns-drafts]

A kiss under the evening sun 🌾☀️

Sif!Reader x Ror Thor

➩ You and Thor after a long day at Valhalla's court finally are let free! You suggest a picnic to Thor, because you know he loves food and nothing more then to spend the rest of his day with you. But he wonders how you'd be able to set one up so quickly?

➩ Reader type: Female reader.

⚠: Just wholesome romantic fluff!

A/N: Hope you enjoy it, it's my first little story after all!! <3

After a lengthy meeting in the majestic court of Valhalla, Thor and Y/n emerged, the weight of their responsibilities momentarily lifted. 

The couple stepped into the golden glow of the late afternoon, holding each other's hands tightly. The air was filled with a strange warmth and sense of excitement.

Y/n, with her long hair flowing in the celestial breeze, turned to Thor with a mischievous smile. 

"How about we escape the formality for a while and enjoy a peaceful picnic in the fields?" 

Y/n suggested, lovingly lifting the hand she had held Thor's hand with, to cup his strong face.

Thor, ever the warrior with a heart that longed for simple joys, agreed enthusiastically in his own way, his unchanging face remains the same. 

Though for y/n he would crack a small grin, even blush at the touch of the goddess he loved and admired so much. 

"A picnic sounds..splendid! But how do you plan to organise it on such short notice?" he asks, his yellow eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Y/n chuckled to herself, the golden jewellery she wore around her wrists clicking softly against the keys she kept hanging off her side. 

"Fear not, my dear Thunderer. For I have orchestrated many tea parties and picnics, I know a thing or two about creating delightful gatherings."

"Heh, If you say so y/n..i believe you~"

Thor grunts happily, his grin still remaining. Y/n really did bring joy and more of a purpose to his life. 

Later when they strolled through the celestial fields, a place they had originally met a long time ago.

Y/n brought out a basket filled with fruits, nectar from the divine flowers, and an assortment of heavenly treats. 

All things she knew Thor would enjoy after such a long day! 

A blanket appeared beneath y/n's fingertips, woven with threads from the golden looms of Asgard.

Y/n smiles proudly as she watches Thor's eyes widen in surprise. 

"When were you able to do this love..?"

Thor asks once more, rather confused that he hadn't seen this side of her abilities. Y/n just winks at Thor, ever so gleeful to have taken Thor by surprise. 

She knew how unpredictable she could be, but that's what made her so interesting and for Thor to keep his attention on her. 

"Looks like you'll have to pay more attention to me now, huh~?"

Under the radiant sun of Asgard, Thor and y/n found the perfect spot with a gorgeous view of the golden fields surrounding them. 

They sat down together on top of the gold woven blanket and with y/n's magical touch, she adorned the surroundings with long crops that seemed to dance around them. Pulling the godly couple closer. 

The mighty god of thunder watched in awe as y/n effortlessly transformed the space into a haven of tranquillity.

Thor felt his cheeks flush red like his long locks, his heart beat raising and a familiar warmth build up inside his muscular body. 

"By my father's beard, you truly are a marvel, y/n" Thor exclaimed, admiration gleaming in his piercing yellow eyes.

Y/n grinned, her basket at her side as she settled onto the blanket. "A god's skills extend beyond the battlefield, my dear. Now, let us relish in what I've packed us."

Y/n was going to reach into the basket to pull out the fruits and snacks, but before she was able to put them on the golden blanket, Thor's tall and muscular frame leaned over y/n's smaller body. 

Thor reached out, his fingers gently tracing the side of Y/n's face. A mixture of vulnerability and passion played across his strong features. 

Y/n couldn't help but soften in response to Thor's touch. Without uttering a word, Thor leaned in, their warm soft lips meeting in a kiss.

It was a merging of two souls bound by destiny. The world around them seemed to fade away as they lost themselves in the embrace, surrounded by the rustling crops and the fading light of day.

The kiss lingered, a testament to the depth of their connection. When they finally pulled away, a silent understanding passed between them.

No words were needed to express the complex emotions that had woven themselves into the fabric of that shared moment. As they stood together in the field of crops, bathed in the dying sunlight. 

"I love you so much Y/N..now let us feast~♡"

[outofangband]

two posts about Himring related folklore for @nelyoslegalteam

I’m making a post about folklore in Angband soon too!

my tag for posts related to the position of ex thralls in Beleriand is 'but ever the noldor feared' and post angband! there are more related posts there!

The folklore of Himring is complex and the line between rumor, truth, and campfire tale is blurred.

The people of Himring are a diverse population, mostly Noldor of Fëanor’s host but some of Nolofinwë’s too, who wanted to be closer to the front lines or who were actually stationed there, a small population of Northern Sindar, and of course a small population of Angband survivors making up mostly Sindar and Avarin elves who were captured before the Noldor returned to Beleriand (I’ve talked about this on many posts but I’m always glad to say more! It’s one of my favorite subjects!)

The stories come from within the March and throughout the rest of Beleriand.

Tales of the desolate landscape itself were sparse before Maedhros built his fortress though people had been known to disappear around those hill near the river wells but whether they were taken by the cold or elements or the enemy was unknown.

The residents of Himring have a wealth of stories.

There are those that are woven simply for amusement, or to pass the time or sharpen the mind on long nights of watch where all you see is an endless expanse of winter. It’s easy to become confused then.

They tell of strange lights in the snow, of fires that appear to burn through the storms but vanish when travelers veer too close, of monstrous shadows that only their frightened horses can see.

There are the inevitable tales and rumors of Angband and those who have seen it. Some are shared among survivors, to comfort, confirm and console. Stories and tales from the fortress inevitably make their way into communities with any survivors, then spread by those on the outside.

Some fall into the timeless game of comparing wounds, out of anger or a bitter sport. The nastier tales that win these little games sometimes leave their private circles.

Many are spread by others with varying intentions. Of course there is simple curiosity and misinformation but there are those who repeat the vicious accusations often leveled at escaped thralls and often, towards Maedhros himself. I went into that in the last ask you sent I think.

And then of course there is Tol Himling, the remnants of the fortress of Himring on a tiny island. Few visit it unless by great need in stormy seas. It does not appear on all maps of the ocean. It is said to be haunted for those who seek shelter in its ruins rarely find peace. They dream of a hell of iron far below the waves and of blinding lights and stark cliffs they have never seen.

Second, an idea I've mentioned here but have wanted to make a longer post about it too

Inspired by @welcomingdisaster ‘s fantastic world building prompt list here! Prompt: native bird

One of my favorite topics to write about is the societal place of ex thralls in Beleriand and the culture of belief around Angband.

Among some in Beleriand and later, throughout Middle Earth, barn owls are believed to be the spirits of other predatory animals. This is because they are pale, fallow colors and because, unlike other owls, they do not hoot. The sound of the barn owl is a breathy shrieking sound that has often been described as something unearthly. The most common name for barn owl in Sindarin roughly translates to ghost hunter. 

Although these birds are not believed to be ill omens nor pose any danger to elvenkind by most, they have developed an association with other beings who exist in the margins between life and death, who flee or were driven from their homes, and who have returned to a state of hunter or hunted. In First Age Beleriand, they were sometimes associated with former thralls of Angband, usually those nameless ones who never came home or who were exiled by their own kin and who survive as wild beasts. 

These elves, though not all believed them to be such anymore, existed somewhere between reality and legend in Beleriand and beyond. 

Nonetheless, stories of pale wraith like figures who stole from, attacked or even ate their own kind, who moved with an uncanny silence even beyond the ability of the Eldar…these stories melded perfectly with the vision of barn owls and their eerie calls.

These perhaps later morphed with the stories told by the men who followed Morgoth about the Eldar as a whole. (Obligatory Morwen mention here too).

In the frozen abodes of Himring, watchers on the ramparts pause as the shadow of a ghost hunter passes silently by the winter moon. Some turn away or mutter a prayer. Some watch still closer.