#but this book i had to force myself to finish because it was so lengthy and boring

[halfricanloveyou]

yeah. like with harry potter. i read that shit and it was boring as hell. pacing was slow for no reason. characters were predictable and 2-D. little focus on cool wizard battles. written by a racist terf (who i hope dies so she stops actively spending her harry potter money to keep human rights laws from being passed).

twilight held my interest better and i didn’t even like reading those books but at least i felt compelled to see where the fuck that plot was going. (but i also hate that racist author and think she fucking sucks at writing. what the fuck was that plot tho? shoulda ended it at book one.)

the movie? cool wizard battles. actors who weren’t terfs. different directors and writers who emotion put into lines that weren’t there in the book. still didn’t like them that much but at least there was some cool wizard shit to look at i guess.

the reason that isn’t true is because sometimes authors…aren’t good.

book to movie adaptations generally suck, but reblog with ur exception in the tags

[literaryvein-reblogs]

A Writer on Writing: Italo Calvino

Italo Calvino:

A fine thing it is to have a distant friend who writes long letters full of drivel and to be able to reply to him with equally lengthy letters full of drivel.

The poet turns in on himself, tries to pin down what he has seen and felt, then pulls it out so that others can understand it. But I can’t understand these things: these discourses about the ego and the non-ego I leave to you. Yes, I understand, there’s the struggle to express the inexpressible, typical of modern art, and these are all fine things, but I …

I’m a regular guy, I like well-defined outlines, I’m old-fashioned, bourgeois. My stories are full of facts, they have a beginning and an end. For that reason they will never be able to find success with the critics, nor occupy a place in contemporary literature. I write poetry when I have a thought that I absolutely have to bring out, I write to give vent to my feelings and I write using rhyme because I like it, tum-tetum tumtetum tum te-tum, because I’ve got no ear, and poetry without rhyme or meter seems like soup without salt, and I write (mock me, you crowds! Make me a figure of public scorn!) I write … sonnets … and writing sonnets is boring, you have to find rhymes, you have to write hendecasyllables so after a while I get bored and my drawer is overflowing with unfinished short poems.

I’m still too ignorant to write articles and as for my output of short stories, a famous summer of overproduction has been followed by years of crisis. … All the ideas currently in my head are subject to a strange phenomenon: while I work on them and perfect them continuously from the philosophical point of view, they stay rudimentary and barely sketched on the dramatic and artistic side. In my creativity thought has the upper hand over imagination.

When you’re working you get buried, drowned under things. You’ve no more friends nor art. Only when you’ve an evening or afternoon free can you roam the streets or court a girl. That’s all. In short, working is pointless. I mean, from the point of view of education. But it’s essential. I cannot — and I don’t want to — live the writer’s life, that is to say write for a living. The novel I was writing, which for months and months had sucked all my blood (because, stubborn as I am, I was determined to finish it even though I no longer felt it was going anywhere), is dead, awful, full of wonderful clever things but desperately bad, forced, it’ll never work and I must not finish it. And I must not write for some time now otherwise I’d make more mistakes. I hope that Einaudi will publish my short stories eventually, they’re the only thing I believe in and which I believe are useful.

For seven or eight months now I’ve been mucking about with a novel that I began in a moment of weakness and it’s turning out to be very bad, causing me to waste lots of my time. But at least it’ll get rid of my desire to write novels for four or five years, which is what I dream of doing, and will allow me to study kind of seriously and learn to write decently.

To write well about the elegant world you have to know it and experience it to the depths of your being just as Proust, Radiguet and Fitzgerald did: what matters is not whether you love it or hate it, but only to be quite clear about your position regarding it.

My problem today is how to escape from the limits of these books, from this definition of me as a writer of adventures, fairy-tales, and fun, in which I can’t express myself or realize myself to the full.

The fact is that I already feel I am a prisoner of a kind of style and it is essential that I escape from it at all costs: I’m now trying to write a totally different book, but it’s damned difficult; I’m trying to break up the rhythms, the echoes which I feel the sentences I write eventually slide into, as into pre-existing molds, I try to see facts and things and people in the round instead of being drawn in colors that have no shading. For that reason the book I’m going to write interests me infinitely more than the other one.

One should never have taboos about the tools we use, that as long as the thought or images or style one wants to put forward do not become deformed by the medium, one must on the contrary try to make use of the most powerful and most efficient of those tools.

You can imagine how slowly my fictional output has been going this summer, you who know how much labor, dissatisfaction, irritability, uncertainty this work costs … However — and this is the point — it is worth it. Or rather: one does not ask if it’s worth it.

We are people, there is no doubt, who exist solely insofar as we write, otherwise we don’t exist at all. Even if we did not have a single reader any more, we would have to write; and this not because ours can be a solitary job, on the contrary it is a dialog we take part in when we write, a common discourse, but this dialog can still always be supposed to be taking place with authors of the past, with authors we love and whose discourse we are forcing ourselves to develop, or else with those still to come, those we want through our writing to configure in one particular way rather than another. I am exaggerating: heaven help those who write without being read; for that reason there are too many people writing today and one cannot ask for indulgence for someone who has little to say, and one cannot allow trade-union or corporate sympathies.

Even more annoying are those who theorize that the novel has to be like this or like that, that one must write the novel, etc. Let them go to hell! How much energy is wasted in Italy in trying to write the novel that obeys all the rules. The energy might have been useful to provide us with more modest, more genuine things, that had less pretensions: short stories, memoirs, notes, testimonials, or at any rate books that are open, without a preconceived plan.

Personally, I believe in fiction because the stories I like are those with a beginning and an end. I try to write them as they best come to me, depending on what I have to say. We are in a period when in literature and especially in fiction one can do anything, absolutely anything, and all styles and methods coexist. What the public (and also the critics) require are books (“open” novels) that are rich in substance, density, tension.

As a young man my aspiration was to become a “minor writer.” (Because it was always those that are called “minor” that I liked most and to whom I felt closest.) But this was already a flawed criterion because it presupposes that “major” writers exist. Basically, I am convinced that not only are there no “major” or “minor” writers, but writers themselves do not exist — or at least they do not count for much.

I found this letter that I had started to write yesterday evening and I reread it with interest. Dammit, what a lot of drivel I managed to write! In the end it’s impossible to understand anything in it. But better that way: the less one understands the more posterity will appreciate my profundity of thought. In fact, let me say: POSTERITY IS STUPID Think how annoyed they’ll be when they read that!

[readnburied]

What I Read in October

Target: 11

Read: 6

So I wasn’t able to reach my reading goal for the month of October but I did read some very interesting books, so it doesn’t seem like a total loss, because of all the good books. So here’s a list of all the good book I read. 

Her Majesty’s Royal Coven by Juno Dawson

This is book 1 in series of the same name and follows multiple perspectives of four friends who were extremely close in childhood but life and circumstances forced them to drift apart. Now, years later, fate throws them together and they all need to understand and figure out their roles in this world while keeping a hold of their values and beliefs at the same time. 

I really enjoyed this book. It was full of intrigue and witchcraft, which is one of my favorite element in books. And I have to say this book is worth the hype and I’ll be giving more details of this book in a separate review. However, in the meantime I recommend everyone to pick this book up and give it a read. 

Once Upon a Broken Heart by Stephanie Garber

This is book 1 in the series of the same name and follows Evangeline Fox who is trying to win back the love of her life and she’s willing to do whatever it takes to have him, even if she has to make a deal with the devil herself. The devil presents himself in the form of the Prince of Hearts who offers to stop her lovers wedding in exchange for three kisses. And though Evangeline agrees, she soon realizes that she’s gotten more than she bargained for and the Prince of Hearts is playing a game far bigger than she could’ve ever imagined. 

I’m going to be honest here. This book/series is a spinoff of the Caraval series by the author, and when I started reading Caraval but I couldn’t get into it so I thought maybe this author wasn’t for me. However, after reading this book I have to say I was wrong. I loved this book a lot. It was super fun and interesting and I really want to read book 2 to see what happens next. The Prince of Hearts has my heart and I can’t wait to read more about it. And I will be giving the Caraval series another chance after finishing this series. 

Reawakened by Colleen Houck

This is book 1 in the series of the same name and revolves around the life of Liliana Young who despite coming from an affluent background feels really lonely and one day comes across a sarcophagus in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Her life soon gets entangled with an Egyptian prince who is here on a mission. Liliana wants no part of it but the prince has other plans and soon they embark on an epic quest that not only threatens the arrival of danger but of some new feelings as well. 

I’d been meaning to read this book for quite some time and never got the chance. I did have high expectations for it but I found myself being bored from time to time due to the lengthy description. However, I do understand why the description was there. But even though this book didn’t blow my mind, I still had a good time reading it, especially towards the end and I’m glad I finally got to read this book.

Yellowface by R. F. Kuang

This is a standalone and follows the life of June who is a struggling writer and has deep envy for her fellow writer Athena Liu and her success. When Athena dies due to an accident, June ends up stealing her manuscript and publishing it as her own. And there begins the unfolding of a drama that not only takes her to new heights but forces her to acknowledge the deep, ugly truth about herself. 

I waited a whole year to read this and I enjoyed this book a lot. As a writer myself, it was slightly uncomfortable to read at times because I felt called out and vulnerable but that just shows how raw and amazing this book is. I do recommend everyone to give this book a chance. 

The Body Painter by Pepper Winters

This is book 1 of the Master of Trickery Duet and revolves around the lives of Olin and Gil who are thrown together once again due to fate working its hand. Gil, hiding behind a wall of secrets, keeps telling Olin to stay away from him, but their feelings override every secret and danger until they’re destroyed. 

I have been curious about this book since I got to know about it and I finally got the chance to read it. I love this author and have read almost all her works. And I’ve loved each and every one. The writing style is perfect and I hated the villain in this story. That person… I wish I could do something to that person. But the point is, everyone should go and read this book, because it’s really that amazing. 

If We Were Villains by M. L. Rio 

This is a standalone novel and revolves around the life of Oliver who has been released from jail and recounts the details of what exactly happened to land him in jail in the first place.  He, along with his group of fourth year drama college students prepare themselves to graduate from the esteemed college and face the world. However, rivalry and power struggle causes one of the member to die and there begins the mystery of who actually killed him. Friends turn against friends. Secrets are revealed. But in the end love prevails. 

I’m so glad I finally got to read this book. I won’t say much about it here because this book will have its own separate review, but all I’m going to say is, this book was fantastic. I enjoyed everything about it. And I wished I could dive into the world and be a character in this story. I highly recommend everyone to read this book. It’s definitely worth it. 

So these are the books I read in October and my thoughts on them. Let me know if you’ve read any of the books mentioned above and your opinion on them. And let’s see how I do in the next month. 

[skelanonymous]

First - Killermare

Words - 3.1k

I decided I needed more happy Killermare, even though I’ve literally written a ton of it. I should write literally anybody else next…>_>

-

Killer entered into the kitchen with a tense back, casually perusing the fridge with a wince. He’d taken a hard hit on the side during the last fight with the Stars. Probably cracked something, but nothing was falling off so he didn’t bother too much with it. His determination would hold him together.

He grabbed the carton of milk and took a swig straight from the container.

“Other people use that you know.” 

“Too bad for them.” Killer turned around to grin at Nightmare. He’d recently gotten into his Boss’s VERY good graces and no broken bones were going to keep him out of it. “Well if it isn’t small, dark, and Lovecraftian.” That got a chuckle, a rare thing to hear from Nightmare. It made his target soul ache something awful, hearing that cute sound and not being able to do anything with it, not nearly close enough to Nightmare to capitalize on the opportunity. 

“As good with words as with a knife, hmmm?” Nightmare stood in his space, touching along his arm unconsciously. Killer tried to keep his mouth in check.

“I’m also pretty good with my hands.” God damn idiot brain, hitting on his fucking god level boss. There’s fucking with people and there’s shooting out of your league. He just smiled through it. “Whatcha need Boss?”

“I’m moving a wing of the library and needed an extra pair of hands.” 

“And you knew how talented mine were, so you came right to me?” Killer slid the milk back into the refrigerator. He leaned back on his left side to keep from agitating the right, elbows on the counter, a picture of relaxation. 

“Something like that.” Nightmare laughed again. Killer held in the pleased sigh, standing up, crossing his arms behind his head very delicately.

“I’m all yours Boss. Lead the way.”

They wandered down the hall directly towards the library, Killer keeping step just behind Nightmare, letting him stare all he wanted without being caught. Those strong thick tentacles swayed around his back, framing his ass for Killer to appreciate along the lengthy hallways. He rarely went over this way unless Night summoned him here.

Nightmare already cleared small sections away, stacks of meticulously organized books littering the floor. He gestured to a pile.

“Start here and work clockwise. I’ve laid it out to make it easy enough for you to do without me babysitting your progress.” 

So began replacing them on the shelves. Killer hid the winces of pain from stooping and bending fairly well, silently moving until he hit a tiny snag. He reached up to place one on a tall shelf when he flinched into the wall.

His body hit the shelves and dislodged an avalanche onto his head. He almost moved away before one smashed into his cracked ribs.

"Son of a fucking bitch!

"Killer!" Nightmare raced over to unbury him. The tentacles made quick work of them, stacking haphazardly off of Killer’s winded form. His hands were on Killer’s forehead in an instant, checking for cracks, diligently looking over him after hearing the cry of pain. Killer groaned angrily when he was cleared off.

“Fucking Blue and his fucking blue attacks. Ugh.” Killer couldn’t sit up, pain still blossoming fresh in his chest. Night paused in looking him over.

“Were you wounded on the last mission?” His single eye penetrated his two, pinning him under it until he relented, grimacing with a gesture to his ribs he’d been carefully avoiding.

“Yeah. Stars got a good hit in on me. Was fine until the book hit it though.”

“Clearly not, considering you lost your usually impeccable balance!” Nightmare’s tentacles wrapped Killer up to get him standing without making him bend the wounded area. “Come with me. Healing magic is easiest when accompanied by intent, wrapping it will make it easier.” He grumbled and took off towards his room, Killer hobbling after to keep up. 

Walking into Night’s room changed the mood. He suddenly felt out of place, surrounded by luxurious purples tones and dark wooden furniture. Night had gestured to the bed before wandering into his private bathroom.

His bed was comfortable. Killer’s nerves ruined any enjoyment of getting into Nightmare’s room, jittery from the moment he was directed to sit on the plush comforters. Nightmare returned with a roll of bandages and an unimpressed look.

“I thought you were smart enough to know how to care for yourself.” He moved in front of him. “Take off your jacket and t-shirt.”

Thankfully Night was too focused on unraveling the bandages and gathering antiseptic to see Killer’s face go red, suddenly very aware that he was in his boss’s room, said boss’s hands about to be on him after a request to undress. He pulled them off smooth and casual, but his grin practically cracked at the edges. 

“What the hell?”

Night’s hands hovered over the cracked ribs, flinching back at the small break that Killer had dislodged from its setting.

“Yeah, it’s not great.”

“Killer!” Night growled at him. “Why didn’t you seek treatment before THIS?!” He gestured to the crumbled ends of the break from grinding against each other. “This is entirely fucking curable! It’s ridiculous you didn’t, at the very least, wrap this!” The growl travelled up his body, baring his teeth at him, tentacles cracking like whips at his back. Killer didn’t move, but his voice took on a nervous edge.

“I’m a dead man walking boss. I’ll just keep going forward until I can’t anymore.” Healing magic was taxing. All of them were terrible at it besides Nightmare, who never offered, only taking over when he was clearly needed. They never want to bother him to ask for it.

“I could’ve fixed this sooner.” Nightmare pinched the bone into place with a click. Killer gasped in pain. He wrapped it tightly, uncaring about Killer’s harsh pants while doing so.

“We only take it when you offer. None of us wanna annoy you.” Fuck, he was so falling out of Night’s good graces for this. After he worked so hard, some dumb break was gunna take him back to zero. He fisted the plush comforter. “Your time is important.”

“To whom, when you dust from accumulating injuries that I can’t see?” 

“The multiverse I guess.”

“The multiverse doesn’t give a shit about me or my time. This is all I have.” Nightmare pinched his nasal crest after finishing. “You serve me, but I cannot do this alone. Your lives are valuable to me. I thought you, especially, would know this Killer."

"Why do ya say that?"

"Because of how important you are to me." Nightmare's hands grew warm with gathering magic, mending now that everything would heal correctly. "All of you are valuable, like the supporting beams holding the castle aloft, but you are more integral. You are the center pillar. As my right hand, as long as you stand, I have faith in my ability to recover. I believed you to be my most valuable asset, but if you’re going to just let yourself turn to dust, then I’ll-”

“No!” Killer’s soul snapped into a heart shape, eyelights flickering in time to meet Night’s inquisitive gaze. “I’m not dusting on you just like that.” He grabbed Night’s warm hands away, taking them up in front of his startled cyan face.

“K-Killer?” He brought them up and kissed the phalanges as one would do to their king.

“If you’ll continue as long as I am by your side, then I’ll remain with you until I die.” Killer’s sockets went half-lidded, struck by the emotion his inverted soul let in, his silly crush amplified ten-fold by Nightmare’s faith in him. He’d never seen his boss look so confused, eye wide and frantically searching Killer’s. “What’s wrong boss?” 

“You-I’m...what’s-why all-��Killer’s hands had long since gained a mind of their own. He slid wordlessy off the bed into Night’s space, silencing him with a casual touch on the cheek, fondly caressing the bright greenish glow. 

“Shouldn’t have told me I meant so much to ya cuz I’m gunna take that to heart.” Then he swooped down to kiss him.

Killer pressed their teeth together firmly, tilting their heads to line up for deepening the kiss. He relaxed into it, holding Nightmare close while getting a taste, slowly touching and teasing Night's tongue with playful flicks. He could feel the very hesitant kiss back before they parted for air.

"Feeling shy Nightmare? Don't worry. I'm bold enough for the both of us." 

Killer laughed into the next one, leaning into it to force Night's response, groaning at the feel of the shy tongue in his own mouth. He could feel his small partner shaking in his arms when they broke apart.

"Killer…" It must've been awhile since Nightmare got with anyone to sound so needy. 

"I'm here. Wanna have some fun Nightmare?" He whispered it into Night's ear, smiling at the trembling he could still feel against his ribs, lost in the heady feeling. Night devolved to breathy pants, which Killer dove into before he felt tentacles lay solidly against his chest to push him back.

"Killer, wait, I can't-I'm not prepared for this." Night's flushed face told a different story, but he didn't fancy being killed.

"I've got lots of patience. I'll just make you feel good until you are." Killer's mouth slid down to Night’s neck, sucking on the bone to the high pitched whines, sending all his thoughts south, ecto eager to form at the slightest provocation. His haze broke under the Night's firm push out of his space. 

"Killer, stop." 

His back connected with the bed, wincing from his still (though much less so) wounded bones. The rejection stung worse.

"Sorry boss." That HURT, knowing he'd fucked up pretty royally. God, he'd forced himself on Nightmare right after he'd been given a shred of attention. He was such a fucking idiot. "I'll keep my hands to myself." His eyelights poofed decisively. He almost couldn't bear to look at him, but he needed to see Nightmare's face at least once.

Night hadn't stopped shaking. His tentacles attempted to hide him from view, face fully blushing, head still tilted away from the fresh mark Killer had left, noises leaking unfiltered from his trembling body. 

"S-s-sorry. I-I c-can't handle it-t. Too much." Killer grabbed his shirt and hoodie from where it lay beside him.

"I'll leave you be. Maybe annoy Horror or something, I don't know." Anything to not be here. Playing it off would make it easier to take, even if it meant no second chances with Night. He slid his clothes back on. "Come find me when you got the next mission lined up."

A tentacle wrapped around his ankle before he took the first step.

"Why are you leaving?" His voice was airy, light, breathless.

"I'm a dick, but not that much of one. I went too far, I'll give ya some space for a day." He shrugged, a drop of hate splashing on the floor. He'd describe his emotions as 'in shambles.'

"I don't want space. I just need a minute."

"I don't know Boss. Shouldn't rush that kind of thing." He could stomach taking advantage of people outside of this castle, but betraying the ones inside it, those who guarded his back and knew where he slept (and cared about but he'd never tell them that), it turned his mood sour. It ate at the pit of his stomach and it’d eat through him entirely if he didn’t get the fuck outta dodge.

"What thing?"

"Being assaulted, harassed, whatever you wanna call it. And being the person who forced themselves upon ya, don't think I should be here." He tugged at his ankle again, but Night hadn't relented.

"Killer, I didn't stop you because I didn't want it." He avoided Killer's eye roll.

"Uh-huh." Killer really didn't want to resort to cutting off the tentacle. It wouldn't hurt him, but it'd suck and prove he was an asshole, so he pulled harder. "Say I believed you. Then why?"

"Killer, I…" Nightmare looked like he wanted the carpet to swallow him. "I've never kissed anyone."

"...What?" He stopped struggling against his restraint. "There's no way. You're telling me, five hundred years of existing, and you hadn’t had your first kiss?"

"Yes." And Killer commited a cardinal sin without thinking.

"But Dream definit-" Is fucking Ink or Blue or Cross or all of them, he wanted to say, but Night was quicker.

"I am aware." Nightmare's glare was potent, but Killer's confusion was denser. "But he is lovable, unlike me."

"You're lovable." It slipped out in-between all the mental gymnastics. He wasn't sure he wasn't being fucked with still. "So you haven't…" How to phrase this delicately, he wondered. "...slept with anyone?"

"Killer, I haven't kissed anyone. Why the fuck would I have slept with someone?"

"You gotta know how unbelievable this is." Talking wouldn't reassure him, so Killer leaned down into Night's space again, stopping just shy of his teeth. "You're telling me that someone as fuckable as you's been ignored all this time?" Nightmare's single eye widened with the flush. Killer smoothed out his tone, dropping it low to hold him at the edge of his words. "Nice juicy peach you are, no one's tried to pluck you up? I can barely look without salivatin'." He lapped at his teeth, careful to keep his hands in safe places. He wanted to see how inexperienced Night really was without ruining his chances forever.

Nightmare's tentacles laid limp behind him, all the tremors coming from his real form, whose hands had raised to snatch at the shoulders of his hoodie, gripping tightly when he caved under the languid licks at his mouth by letting Killer in.

Patience led this one, Killer carefully taking over every inch of Night's mouth. The slower pace served to work up his partner faster. Nightmare's calmness abated, tentacles waking up to come and clutch at Killer's form, Night crawling onto him, transforming the kiss into a frenzy of desire that Killer surrendered to, as long as Night was leading the way. The tentacles touched plenty of hot spots, but he kept his own hands on innocent ground. Night's confidence could crumble under too much of a good thing.

"Take a breath, Nightlight." Night shivered against him after breaking apart, so much sensation his body was unaccustomed to. "I gotcha." Killer rubbed soothing circles into his back.

"I can see how that could escalate." Nightmare finally got out. It made him laugh. 

"Yeah. It's pretty easy to get carried away." He kissed the top of his skull before laughing again. "You give handsy a whole new meaning though."

"Sorry." The sweet little monster in his arms barely resembled his boss, hiding his face by burrowing into Killer's chest. 

"Don't be. It's pretty hot." His lewd grin made Night blush again.

"I would've thought my corruption would be the ugliest and most disgusting part of me." He punctuated it with said appendages undulating behind him.

"Boss, I just kissed the fuck outta you and I've never known you without it. Trust me, not a deterrent." Killer stroked down one to make Night's spine curl. "If you learn how to use ‘em right, they're pretty useful in the bedroom."

"Don't call me Boss when we're like this." Night whispered softly. His face caught between a glare and something soft, he was starting to come back to his senses.

"That might be too much power Nightlight." He grinned at the tiny glare. "How was your first kiss then?"

"Nice." Nightmare sighed as he sat up, unfurling all the aching limbs. The usual persona rebuilt itself. But now, Killer knew how easy the composure was to break. "I'd like to repeat it sometime."

"I'm all yours." He'd never get sick of that face if Night was willing to let him see it. They rose together from the floor, Night reestablishing the space between them.

"I'll have to talk to the others about not bringing injuries to me. Time spent on them is not time wasted." He straightened his sweater, presentable before opening the door. Killer choked the urge down to mess it up again. “The idea that you would’ve rather lost a rib than speak to me is absurd.”

"Yeah." They better not take his catch. Fuck them.

"I'm not going to kiss them Killer. The sour look is atrocious on you." Night's brow raised. Caught red handed. Killer laughed.

"Can you blame me? I know the kind of filthy degenerates who live here; I'm one of them. I don't want 'em to take a bite outta you." Subconsciously, he shook his sleeves to feel the weight of his multiple blades.

"You act as though there are many vying for my affection. People used to throw rocks at me for walking by their homes, and now they try to kill me. I'm not surrounded by suitors." He said this while walking down the hall towards the still upturned library. His strides were confident, power inherent is his manner, carried with a royal grace that Killer could only ape with minimal success. The only reason he wasn't swamped with competition was everyone had been too chickenshit to make a move. 

"Ya also thought I wasn't interested and nothing has ever been less fucking true." He pushed his luck a little further, stepping in front of Nightmare to kiss him quickly. The chaste thing was almost too much considering the shakes. "I'll just keep doing it if ya don't say anything."

“We need to reassemble the library.” He huffed through, walking by with weak knees, Killer trailing just behind. “This wasn’t an invitation to touch me at all times.”

“Only some of the time then?” 

“Shut up.” He humored the request once inside Night’s treasured library. 

Back to quietly organizing, clockwise, his talented hands flipped them onto shelves with ease now that he wasn’t hindered by aches. It was quick and effortless like it should have been the first time. He’d begun humming by the time he placed the last one, not expecting the hand on his shoulder but welcoming it as he had earlier the same day. Night silently pressed something into his palm.

“I trust I don’t need to explain.” Killer’s fingers closed over the silver key, smiling and spinning it on his pointer while leaving the now neat library. Guess his league was a lot wider than he thought. It wasn’t an invitation to his bed, but the invitation to his heart was just as good.

“Gotcha loud and clear boss. See ya soon.” 

-

They CUTE.

[depressedacadamia]

A kiss would be nice

Summary: Magnus develops feelings for his roomate and has no idea what to do; when theres' some serious miscommunication, Alex and Magnus have to solve an obvious problem.

Pairing:  Fierrochase

A/N: THIS WAS MY FIRST EVER REQUEST!!!!  I swear I'm gonna organise my Masterlist on tumblr coz its a hot mess rn and then I will get a prompt list up. Anyway, I hope this lives up to the expectations of the request- enjoy and comment!

Read on A03        M;List

Magnus liked Alex.

How exactly was he meant to process this?

Yes. Alex was sometimes a girl and other times a boy but what did it make him?

He could remember the moment Alex came floundering into his life, confident about who she was and Magnus could only think about how much he didn't know about himself. It was ridiculous, in his opinion, to think that he fundamentally changed as a person just because he liked someone.

So why did he feel so scared to come to that conclusion that he did in fact like Alex?

“What are you thinking so hard about over there, pretty boy?” Alex asked dryly as he scrolled through his phone while he dangled off the top bunk of their dormitory. Startled, Magnus snapped his head towards Alex and with no game whatsoever stuttered a terrible lie.

“Uh- Uh, nothing.”

“Uhu,” Alex emphasised. “ So that totally wasn't a lie.”

“Yes, Wait, I mean no- wait,” Magnus stuttered out again, his hands beginning to fidget and his palms becoming sweaty.

Alex simply raised an eyebrow before softly sighing and returning to his phone scrolling. He knew that Magnus wasn't the kind to keep secrets in a malicious manner- if he wasn't spilling something, it was because he didn't feel comfortable and Alex knew as well as anyone else that if Magnus was uncomfortable, nothing was spilling from his lips.

Clenching his fists in finality, Magnus got up, accidentally banging the top of his head on the top bunk above him where Alex was elegantly dangling off, his hair defying the laws of gravity by maintaining its rightful position on his head. He rubbed his head, swore under his breath and continued to make a bashful exit from the dorm room.

Alex could tell that something was definitely up.

Sure, Magnus was weird- he sometimes came back home at incredibly odd hours, always seemed relatively silent when one were to ask him where he had been and he almost always wore his lengthy blonde hair in a way that covered the majority of his face; in fact, Alex had thought about tilting his chin up just so he could get a better view of his elegant features.

So what exactly was it causing his roommate to act so oddly?

Magnus was in the bathroom. In fact he was hiding out in one of the stalls, trying his best to avud Alex at all costs. What had started out as a way to skip the horribly boring parts of his classes, now became a full blown ritual in which he would run away to his favourite bathroom stall- the one by the very end, next to the hand blow dryers, were his favourite but also alarmed him because it was there where he could hear whether anybody really washed their hands and there was an alarming amount of evidence which contradicted so.

He would take a book or sometimes just plug in his earphones to listen to music as he essentially hid out in the stall. Sometimes, when he felt a bit more confident- and knew Alex would be off campus- Magnus would hide out in the library; a much more comfortable and all round better smelling place to read, study and or listen to music.

But now as he slowly emerged from the stall after hours of sitting, heading back towards his room, Magnus could only feel this inevitable feeling of impending doom. He had managed to distract himself from the Alex situation for so long and now, he was about to crumble.

It was only a matter of time.

“Magnus?” A familiar and - dare I even say- dreaded voice asked him.

Glancing through the blonde locks of hair which curtained his face, he caught a glimpse of familiar green hair which he had been avoiding.

“Huh?” He managed to mumble.

Alex frowned. “Don’t ‘huh’ me. Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all day.”

Magnus’s eyes widened- he had left his phone on silent as he didnt want to deal with others. “I-you did? Sorry.”

“That doesn't matter now. Where have you bee- actually nevermind that as well, come on, we need to get back, it’s already late and I know you have an early class tomorrow.”

Magnus hesitated.

Alex noticed. He refused to stay silent about the matter any longer.

“Okay. Spit it out. “

“What!” Magnus stammered. “ Spi- spit what? Spit wh- what out exactly?”

“The reason you’ve been avoiding me? Did I forget to do my chores or something? Or did I accidentally make some sort of mess of your stuff?”

“No- No, of course not!”

“So?”

Magnus found himself too enamoured with Alex’s features to respond. He could feel the bubble bath slowly overflowing inside his mind. What did it mean if he liked Alex? Was he now a completely different person? What did it matter if he liked Alex?

Wasn't he just like everybody else?

But Magnus’ mind told him that it was so obvious that Alex was in fact not like everybody else, otherwise why was it Alex whom he couldn’t keep his eyes off of? If Alex was so like everyone else, why was it his eyes that Magnus always wanted to stare at, why was it Alex’s hair that Magnus always wanted to ruffle or Alex’s hand that he always wanted to hold?

Why was it always Alex whom he wanted to hug when he was having a bad day?

So when he looked back at Alex, he felt the overwhelming need to throw himself and wrap his arms around Alex so tightly that Alex would have trouble breathing and then - in Magnus’s perfect world- Alex would also wrap his arms around Magnus and they would hold each other in their arms and stand their leaning on each other.

“Nothing,” Magnmus mumbled as he came back to reality.

He walked past Alex, eager to get back to their dorm and just sleep his feelings away- something he was used to doing thanks to his years of being homeless. He wasn’t about to escape when a slender hand wrapped itself around his wrist and dragged him backwards.

“No.” Alex huffed almost angrily. “You’re not running away from me,not again.”

Magnus could have sworn- looking back- that he may have let out a squeak.

“You are avoiding me Mister and I’d like to know why. It’s bad enough that you spend all your time hiding in the bathroom stalls, it’s even worse that you're doing it to avoid someone as fabulous as myself. So if we could quickly get this over with, It would be greatly appreciated and I’m sure it would relieve your nostrils as well.”

“I-”

“You…?”Alex prompted.

“Ilikeyou.”

Alex paused, scrunched up his nose before raising an eyebrow in ridicule and letting out a laugh. And while Magnus truly believed there was nothing more beautiful than Alex’s smile, right now, it was the most damning thing he had ever seen.

Of course Alex would be laughing! Who wouldn't be laughing if some weedy, shady blond kid confessed their feelings for them in the most pathetic way possible!

Magnus had no other choice but to clench his fists to resist the burning sensation gathering in his eyes as he turned on his heel and hurried back to his dorm.

He was curled up on his bed, binging criminal minds on his laptop because what else was meant to comfort you after getting rejected if it wasn’t watching people getting brutally murdered by psychopaths and sadists?

He was wrapped with this specific episode- involving a bunch of very explicit murder- when Alex snatched his headphones right off his head plopped himself in the computer chair that rested right next to the bottom bunk where Magnus had been hiding out.

He could feel himself paling as he remembered that he lived with Alex.

“We need to talk.”

What? He was so sick of Alex making every decision, afterall- it was Alex who chose to laugh at him.

“We have nothing to talk about,” Magnus managed to snap back.

“Why do you keep avoiding me? First in our own dorm, then in public and now you don't even want to look at me.”

“I’m sorry,” He retorted, his words coated with so much sarcasm, had there been anymore, he may have become Samirah at that very moment. “Was I expected to hang around after being ridiculed?”

“Ridiculed? What do you mea-”

“-What do I mean? I guess you wouldnt understand what it feels like for someone whom you really really like to outright just laugh at you after confessing. I guess you don't know how- how nerve racking and horrible it is to not feel comfortable and safe wherever you go. I guess you were privileged enough to not deal with doubting yourself with every decision you make and every thought you have!”

Alex started. “I-”

“-No. I’m not finished. Do you know how that made me feel?” Magnus was on a roll. “ Like shit. I felt shitty. I felt like shit and I was curled up like a bratty 5 year old and do you know what I’ve realised? I’ve realised that I have nob reason to feel shitty because I'm not the one who was so insecure in myself that I laughed at someone else who was struggling, esepcially when I rejected a hot piece of ass such as myself!” He finished his ramble with a shout, his chest heaving, cheeks flushed and somehow, his hair messy.

“So,” Alex drawled causally. “ Am I allowed to speak now?”

“No.”

Rolling his eyes, Alex sooke anyway. “ I’m sorry that you feel this way and I guess I can't change that I was the person who made you feel like- well, shit, but I have to say Beantown, you really shouldn't assume things so quickly.”

Magnus frowned, turning his shiny, glossy eyes towards Alex finally. “Huh?”

“Well. If you were to give me a chance to explain, I’d be able to tell you that I laughed because I thought you looked adorable. I would be able to tell you that I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings in any way and I’m very sorry if I did and…”

Alex held Magnus’ chin, pulling his head a bit down so he was able to fully look him in the eye rather than just looking away under Magnus’ chin, forcing him to look him in the eye.

“And…?” Magnus whispered hesitantly, almost afraid of the answer.

“And, I would be able to tell you that I like you.” Alex smiled dopily.

Did Magnus hear that correctly? Did Alex Fierro- the most confident, and in Magnus’s eyes, the most attractive person out there just admit to liking the scraggly kid who used to live on the streets?

“Excuse me?”

Aex sighed. “I said that I like you and your … What was it you said?” He paused for dramatic effect because lighting up his eyes. “ Oh yes and your ‘hot piece of ass’ I believe it was.”

Magnus cringed at his previous words as he started at Alex. Alex fierro liked him!

“What?” Alex smirked on noticing Magnus’s innocent stare.

“Can I try something?” Magnus tilted his head to the side innocently. Alex nodded.

Yes, please do try something, A kiss would be nice.

But to Alex’s surprise, he felt Magnus’s arms being wrapped around his body. It was an odd sensation that at first made Alex want to reel backwards.

But then this familiar ignition in his stomach tugged him back to wrap his arms back around Magnus and bury his face in Magnus’s chest, just about reaching his collarbone.

The hug was brief. Perhaps not even longer than 15 seconds at a maximum, but it was enough for Magnus to feel better.

Alex decided that perhaps next time Magnus would kiss him.

Super cool people Taglist: @wisegirl773 @ddepressedbookworm

[gwynrielendgame]

Gwyncien part 5 (last part)

Thank you to all who supported this short little story! It really kept me motivated. This is the last part. I’m gonna be honest this part is not as edited at the other parts but I finished it and wanted to get it out to all of you so thank you!

Warning: the smallest amount possible of smut at the end.

Gwyn's body jolted as they hit the ground. Lucien let out an annoyed huff while straightening out his jacket. The wards around the House of Wind truly made winnowing in unfavorable. As soon as she stabled herself though, she felt a rush of happiness.

Home.

It was her only thought. She missed this place- the smell, the comfort, the people. She started to buzz with excitement at the thought of Nesta and Emerie.

"You made sure someone brought Emerie here?" Gwyn double checked with Lucien. He simply nodded while giving her a sad smile. The moment was bitter sweet. She was happy to be reunited with her sisters, but she would miss her newest friend. She threw her arms around him in a tight hug. He returned it just as fiercely.

"Thank you for all that you did for me. It means more than I could ever express." She buried her head in his hair and took a deep breath. He smelled of roasted chestnuts and a summers day. She would miss it.

"I know a way you could make it up to me." He said as he pulled away. Gwyn looked at him expectantly.

"Promise me I will see you again soon." A soft smile graced Gwyn's face.

"I promise." She wanted to show her sisters the Band of Exiles castle anyways. They would love it. Lucien smiled broadly before dropping a kiss on her forehead next to her invoking stone.

She finally decided to wear it as all the priestesses do. Lucien took her to Sangravah to see Catrin's grave. She had been so sad and angry that she almost destroyed the stone right then and there. She did not deserve the stone while her sister's body lay cold in a grave. But then Lucien took her to meet the priestesses and children that had rebuilt the temple. The children that Gwyn had saved. They all remembered her and flattered her in compliments and hugs. The called her their hero and said that they were petitioning to make that dreadful anniversary known as Berdara day. In honor of the twins who sacrificed so much to protect those children. Gwyn cried for a week straight after that. Once her emotions leveled out though, she began to wear the stone. The children had been a distant memory that she forgot about while grieving for her sister. Seeing them, happy and healthy, reminded her that the sacrifice was not in vein. She may have failed Catrin but she did not fail those children. It was one more thing that made her grateful for Lucien.

Gwyn took one last look at Lucien before he winnowed away. She turned back towards the door, took a deep breath, and headed straight for the personal library. She was so excited she thought she might throw up. She wished she had kept her composure to walk the entire way there, but as she came closer and closer to the library, her feet began moving faster and faster until she was practically running. The moment she burst through the doors she scanned the room for the two females. She found them sitting side by side, each with a book in their hands. It made Gwyn smile broadly. They both whipped their heads up at the same time- startled. Nesta reacted first, practically throwing herself at Gwyn. Emerie was close behind, and then they were crushing Gwyn in a hug.

"Gwyn!" Nesta cried. Emerie just squeezed her tighter.

Home.

Gwyn felt completely at ease now that she was reunited with her sisters. She had missed them so unbearably that she almost forced Lucien to bring her back several different times. She was afraid that if she came back, she would not have left again. After a very lengthy hug, the girls pulled apart. Nesta was subtly trying to wipe tears away which only served in making Gwyn start to cry herself.

"We missed you." Emerie said softly while running her hand over Gwyn's hair. It was such a comforting gesture that Gwyn forced another hug from the Illyrian female.

"I missed you two more than anything." Gwyn pulled back from Emerie so that she could grab both of their hands. She pulled them over to the couch and forced them to sit down next to her.

"You better explain why you ran off with Lucien and you better do it right now because I am angry with you so I want a good explanation before I start yelling." Nesta warned with a hardened expression. Gwyn squeezed her hand and gave her a small smile.

"Lucien helped me with some things." Gwyn did not even know how to start explaining everything that had happened. She knew Lucien did not want her telling anyone of their ancestry, but Emerie and Nesta did not count. At least in Gwyn's mind they didn't.

"Things we could not help you with?" Emerie asked. Gwyn could hear the touch of hurt in her voice and suddenly felt very guilty. She never imagined they would blame themselves. She should have known better though, especially with Nesta.

"You cannot repeat what I am about to tell you to anyone." She gave them both a pointed look but it got a snort from Nesta.

"Who would I possibly tell other than Cassian?" She rolled her eyes with a slight laugh. Gwyn continued to give her a serious look.

"You cannot tell Cassian or Mor either. They will feel obligated to tell Rhys. This information is dangerous for me and I need to know before I tell you that it will stay between us three." She squeezed both their hands again. Nesta and Emerie shared a look before giving her a concerned one.

"We promise. We would never do anything to endanger you, Gwyn." Emerie insisted as Nesta nodded in agreement. Gwyn took a deep breath before explaining.

"Lucien's my grandfather. After the autumn court high lord killed Lucien's lover, him and a brother hid my mother at Sangravah." Emerie's eyes widened comically while Nesta took this in with a straight face.

"Holy shit. That makes you the only living heir to the day court." Emerie muttered. Gwyn's brows furrowed in confusion.

"The day court?" Nesta inquired on the same topic that Gwyn was confused about. The winged female gave them a sheepish look.

"Shit. I wasn't supposed to say anything." She gave a deep sigh. "Mor told me that Helion is Lucien's real father and that would make Lucien the only known offspring of Helion." Gwyn wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"Does this mean you'll get a real Pegasus?" Nesta pondered. It made Gwyn smile thinking of the tiny Pegasus the house conjured for them.

"I would demand weekends with it if so." Emerie added while leaning back on the side of the couch to fully face the other two females.

"Well anyways, Lucien helped me with some things regarding Sangravah." Gwyn directed the conversation back on topic. She did not want to think about being the future heir to some random court. "I did not ask for your help because I did not want to be dependent on you two. I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it on my own. Trust me, it had nothing to do with not wanting your help. There were so many times I almost forced Lucien to bring me back." Nesta looked at the priestess and a smile finally graced her face.

"You are wearing your invoking stone." Gwyn blushed and looked down at her hands. Nesta was one of the only people she had confided in about why she never wore it and she had only done that because she knew that Nesta would understand.

"I am."

"Are you happy?" Nesta asked wearily. The blunt female was not a fan of Lucien's for some reason.

"I am now that I am home. I have so much to tell you, but I might still need to process some of it before then." Gwyn warned. She may not be ready to give them all the answers that they needed or wanted. Gwyn put both her arms around both the females shoulders, tugging them in closer to her.

"You know just by the way, you could have given Az a heads up about your departure. I had to convince him that Papa Lucien did not kidnap you for nefarious revenge plans." Nesta responded after awhile of comfortable silence. Gwyn cringed while Emerie cackled over Lucien's new nickname.

"I figured his shadows told him." She shrugged. It's not her fault if he was being a bad spy master. He should have known Lucien did not kidnap her. Nesta gave a small smirk while nestling her head into the crook of Gwyn's neck. Emerie mimicked the gestured and suddenly all three of them were cuddling on the couch. It made the priestess feel safe.

"Mor said he finally confronted her about their situation." Nesta's eyebrows shot up into her hairline. Gwyn was just as surprised. The Shadowsinger practically ran screaming from emotions.

"How did that go?" The red headed female asked incredulously. She also had no idea why he would chose now when he was finally with Elain to have that conversation.

"Good? I did not get a lot of details but Mor seemed happy." They all sat in another comfortable silence again. There was so much to say on both sides. Gwyn was sure she had missed out on a lot, but they all knew they just wanted to enjoy each other's presence for a bit.

"Hey Nes-" Cassian stopped mid-sentence when he saw the priestess as he strode into the library. A huge smile broke out on his face. "Gwyn!"

"Hey Cas." She gave a small wave as all three girls sat upright on the couch. They all moved over some so Cassian could sit next to Nesta. It was a tight squeeze especially with his wings but they made it work.

"Shit, I have missed you, Berdara. Training is not the same without you. Please tell me you have kept up with it." He berated her like the good trainer he was.

Gwyn gave a short laugh. If only he knew what she had been doing to keep up with her training. She knew he would approve though. She truly had missed Cassian. Nesta and his bickering was a high quality form of entertainment for both Gwyn and Emerie. She also missed his quite encouragement and lame jokes, she would never admit to the latter, though.

"I have missed you as well." He gave Nesta a peck on the cheek which caused a smile to bloom on her face. They were sickeningly adorable.

"Are you coming tonight?" He asked.

"What's tonight?" He obviously did not know that Gwyn just arrived back. They had no time to discuss anything other than her trip.

"Oh I forgot to mention. Remember Balthazar? The guy that helped Emerie and I in the blood rite? Well Feyre and Rhys are throwing him a party in windhaven for not killing us." Nesta rolled her eyes. Clearly, she did not feel that was worth celebrating

"Seems kind of like the bare minimum." Emerie muttered the same thing that Nesta must be thinking. "No need to throw a party for letting us live." Emerie mimicked Nesta with an eye roll of her own.

"Sounds fun.” Gwyn could not stop the sarcasm that flooded her voice. “But I will go anyways.” She relented.

"Really?" Cassian was clearly surprised as he looked at her with raised eyebrows. Gwyn watched as he subtly set his hand on Nesta’s shoulder and rubbed his thumb back and forth. Part of Gwyn felt jealous. She wanted to experience that type of intimacy with someone- with Az. She let out a sigh.

"Yeah. I have had a very enlightening five months. I think I am ready to brave windhaven in a showy dress while everyone schmoozes the high lord and lady." Emerie and Nesta both cheered at that while Cassian gave her his biggest smile. It made her laugh.

"Azriel is at the River house. Want me to take you there?" Cassian suddenly changed the topic. Gwyn narrowed her eyes at him. She most definitely did not want to see the Shadowsinger right now. Besides, she still had so much to discuss with her sisters.

"I can only take so many reunions at once. Perhaps his could wait."

+

Gwyn had never felt this confident. Her normal anxieties were still there, but it was not nearly as overwhelming as it once had been. She felt a little guilty for crashing Balthazar's "thank you for not killing my sister in the blood rite" party, however, she knew the male would not care much. She glanced at herself one last time in the mirror- only to feel that a stranger was looking back at her. For the first time in front of her friends, she wore her invoking stone atop her head. The color matched her dress very well. It was quite a scandalous dress by her standards even if Nesta had said it had nothing on a few of Feyre's court of nightmare dresses. The neckline went up relatively high while the back dipped down low enough to barely reach her tailbone. It left her entire back exposed. There were very few scars there which made her much more comfortable than some of the dresses with low cut necklines. The waistline came in tight enough for Gwyn to struggle to breathe. Luckily, the skirt was flowy with a slit in the side that showed off one of her legs as well as her dagger which was sheathed to her thigh. It was very unlike Gwyn. She would not wear it again, but once for a grand entrance seemed like as good of a time as ever. Lucien bought the dress for her before realizing how scandalous it really was. He saw the color and was reminded of her eyes which she apparently got from Jesminda. She tried it on once for him which resulted in him stumbling over his words in a very un-Lucien manner. He told her he would return it at once and then begged for forgiveness. It was a bit of an overreaction that had her giggling for a decent amount of time. She told him she would keep it and wear it when she was ready. She knew she would be ready when she could walk out of the door without changing. She allowed herself five more minutes of staring before heading upstairs to the House of Wind. Cassian, Nesta, Emerie, and Mor would all be waiting for her up there. She did not quite expect the reaction she received. All four of them stared at her, wide-eyed, for longer than socially acceptable. Gwyn almost asked if she should change, but then Nesta and Emerie were gushing over the dress, Mor was demanding to know where she got it from, and Cassian gave her a shy compliment. The anxiety released her chest as everyone went back to discussing their original conversation.

It appeared the high lord and lady did not spare a single expense for this party. Food and alcohol was everywhere, music played loudly, and everyone was dancing. The dances were different than the ones Gwyn was used to, but Emerie showed her a few of the steps. She had gotten so good at one of them that a crowd formed around the three sisters as they held hands and danced around in a circle, adding in different kicks and twirls on beat. Gwyn had laughed more tonight than she had since Catrin’s death. Perhaps everything was finally falling into place for Gwyn to live her life unafraid. Exhaustion pulled Gwyn from the dance floor and back onto the dais where the high lord and lady stood- deep in discussion. Gwyn did not interrupt them, instead opting to stand by herself for a moment in order to catch her breathe. She chugged her cup of water that was much harder to find than it should have been. She was not alone long before a male approached her.

She recognized the red-haired fae. She was trying to remember how she knew him, but it just barely kept slipping her mind. Based on his looks, he was from the autumn court which made Gwyn wonder why he was even here in the first place. To Rhysand and Feyre's surprise, the male asked to dance with her. Before she could accept or decline though, her high lord interrupted.

"No." Gwyn's eyebrows raised to her hairline. He did not speak for her. Now or ever.

"Rhys," Feyre began, shifting her eyes from her mate to the quickly angering priestess. "I do believe Gwyn has a voice of her own." The couple shared a look before turning to her. The red haired male looked as annoyed as Gwyn felt.

"Gwyneth, I apologize for speaking on your behalf, but he is not to be trusted. He is dangerous." He continued to dig himself further into a hole. Gwyn was the last person to openly trust a strange male, but she could handle her own. Especially against him.

"And here I thought we were allies." The strange male rolled his eyes with his sarcastic comment. All three of them ignored him.

"Do you see me warning you away from every female in this room?" It was a rhetorical question, but her point was made. "How would you like me to throw Amarantha in your face every chance I got under the guise of protection? If I want your opinion on a dancing partner, I will ask." She was a blunt person, but she was not typically so harsh. The overwhelming pity that Rhysand sent her way brought the ugliness out of her in a way that many others have not been able to do. She could see the guilt on his face. She also saw the flinch when she uttered Amarantha's name and she wished more than anything that she could take it back. Just because he reminded her of Sangravah every chance he got did not mean she had to stoop to his level.

"I apologize. Obviously, you may dance with whomever you chose." He bowed his head to her and flourished an arm towards the waiting male. Feyre was too busy watching Rhysand to add anything more. Gwyn supposed they were having an internal conversation. She stepped down from the dais to follow the male onto the dancing floor. She did not want to dance with him in particular. Truly, she only wanted to dance with Azriel who had yet to make an appearance, but she was curious. That nagging feeling at the back of her mind said that she knew him. He grabbed one of her hands to hold and placed his other at her hip. The placement at her hip was odd. Typically, that was reserved for more intimate dances between couples, but that was not why he did it. Her back was completely exposed due to the dress. He must have figured this would be better for her. She narrowed her eyes at him. He must know Lucien and therefore who she is to him.

"Eris Vanserra." He finally announced as they began their dance. "Pleasure to officially meet you." Gwyn met his stare. It was surprisingly soft. Lucien's brother she realized. This could be good or bad depending on which brother he is she contemplated. She had only heard wicked things about all his brothers except when Lucien was discussing her mother. He mentioned a brother helped him hide her mother.

"We have met before." She said it as a statement of fact, but in truth it was a question. He gave her a wicked grin before twirling her.

"We have."

"Where?" He twirled her once more before glancing over his shoulder at Rhysand. He must be listening in.

"Sangravah." Was all he said. It was all she needed to remember. He came to the services Sangravah held on Sunday's. It was not every Sunday, but enough of them to recognize him. He sat in a pew in the back and watched. He never participated. Catrin complained one time that she felt he was watching her. Gwyn had brushed it off as mere paranoia- she knew better now though. She wanted to respond with a million different questions; however, she was expected to be vague with prying ears around.

"Why?" Was all she could muster. If Lucien was not willing to risk a visit, then why was he? She was searching his eyes for any clues only to discover a hint of sadness that was quickly covered up.

"To remind myself that it was worth it." The music stopped as the dance came to an end, so he moved his mouth to her ear to continue. It would have seemed an intimate moment to anyone watching. Truly, it was only an uncle speaking a secret to his great niece. "That all I had become to save her was worth it."

Before she could respond she felt a sharp tug on her mate bond, a whisper of a shadow on her wrist, and then Azriel launched himself at Eris.

"For fucks sake." Cassian could be heard muttering as a brawl ensued between the pair. Gwyn couldn't help but agree. Punches were thrown back and forth, but once truth teller had been drawn, Gwyn did the only thing she could think of. She lightly scraped her nails on the back of Azriel's wings. Almost immediately he wrenched himself away from Eris to give her a startled look- his wings tucking in tight. Luckily, Cassian chose that time to insert himself into the fight and hold Eris back.

"Do not do that again." Azriel gave her an intimidating look, but she did not balk from him. Not now.

"Do not give me that attitude, Shadowsinger." She returned his stare with such intensity that he finally looked away.

She turned to Eris who now looked much worse than her mate. He was wiping blood from his nose with the end of his sleeve. She quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and gave a tight squeeze. He barely had time to return the hug before she pulled away. Everyone was clearly shocked, but it mattered little to Gwyn. This dangerous and cruel male had gone against his abusive father to save her mother. He had risked his future as high lord by visiting her and Catrin. It was not all that long ago that Gwyn thought she had no family. Then she met Nesta and Emerie and now she had a grandfather who loved her despite knowing little of her and a great uncle who cared for her enough to risk all he had tried to achieve. It made her feel a little less alone in this world.

"Thank you." Was all she uttered before turning back to her mate who had the audacity to be glaring daggers at Eris. She narrowed her eyes at him before grabbing him by his hand and tugging him all the way to the exit. She could see him about to speak so she stopped him.

"No. No speaking. Show me to a private room so I can scream at you for a solid five minutes and then I shall allow you to speak." She was fuming mad at the arrogance of this male. He was in a completely committed relationship with another female and he had the audacity to attack her dance partner. He took her down a long hallway, his shadows twirling around him in chaos. His wings were tense even as his face gave off an air of cool indifference. He took a sharp turn and then they were in an empty bedroom.

"I have been back for a total of six hours and before I can even utter a word to you, you have gone and fought Eris Vanserra of all people? Really Azriel I am starting to get whiplash from you. One second you are proclaiming your love for Elain Archeron and the next you are attempting murder on my dance partner. What would you like from me? Because I was hoping we could start off with a pleasant conversation but I suppose that is too much to ask for?" She was glaring him down which was not something anyone else had ever done. While he was beautiful, his icy cruelty laid right beneath the surface. It was enough for everyone to walk on eggshells around him. Even some of his closest friends. Gwyn had never done that though and she would not start now. He looked down at his feet as his shadows went still. Perhaps they also realized they were in trouble.

"You are wearing your invoking stone." He peeked at the stone that lay across her forehead before glancing out the window. She huffed in frustration.

"This is the first you have seen of me in five months and that's all you have to say?" Her glare turned more incredulous.

"You never wore it before." He paused to glance up at her before continuing. "You look beautiful." Gwyn groaned in frustration. This male would be the death of her. She sat at the edge of the bed in the middle of the room. After a moments pause, he followed suit and sat next to her with a small gap in between them. It was silent for another moment.

"I am sorry Gwyneth. My shadows refuse to tell me anything about you and I assumed the worse when I saw Eris whispering into your ear. The mate bond has become harder to control the longer you have been gone as well." She could agree with that. Her own mate bond had become more and more incessant the longer she had been gone. It was like a buzzing in her mind that would not stop. She wondered how Elain managed.

"Lucien, and I suppose now Eris, are important to me Azriel. I cannot explain why quite yet, but it is important to me that you try to be polite specifically with Lucien. Okay?" It was probably more information than she should give. She wanted to be clear with him. He gave her a curious look. He wanted to ask more that was for sure.

"Okay." He whispered. They both looked down at their hands. His were laid loosely on his thighs while hers were clasped tightly together in her lap. "Elain and I decided it would be best if we stopped..." he trailed off at the end, braving a glimpse at her. She was surprised by this. Perhaps Elain's visit to the Band of Exile's was not to reject Lucien. Almost two weeks ago, Gwyn had bumped into Elain in the castle. Their conversation was awkward and brief, but Gwyn thought for sure that the beautiful female had come to reject the mating bond with Lucien.

"Why?" Was all Gwyn could muster. She suddenly felt so tired.

"After our kiss," he started. His hands ran up and down his thighs and she realized he was nervous. She grabbed one of his hands with her own and squeezed. "Nothing had ever lived up to that. I had been chasing what Elain represented that I forgot what I was missing out on. I don't want Elain now and maybe I never truly did. I know I don't deserve it, but I would like a chance to be with you Gwyn. We can go as slow as you like." His sudden proclamation was hurting her head. It was like sensory overload.

"What makes me different from Elain?" She didn't want him to make this decision solely because they were mated. She wanted this to be different. She squeezed his hand tighter.

"You see me for who I am and you aren't phased. You have never hesitated before grabbing my hands. You didn't even so much as blink at my shadows the first time you saw them. You understand why I hold myself to such high standards and you aren't scared of me." He looked directly into her eyes to make sure she understood that every word was true. He wanted her to see him be vulnerable. His stare was so intense that she had to look away before responding.

"I missed you." She gave him a small smile. "But I have been missing you for much longer than I have been gone. I miss my friend. You were so much more to me than just my mate when it snapped into place and I feel like we lost that along the way. This has nothing to do with what you deserve, Azriel. I want you to know that. But right now I would really love my friend back. We can see where the future leads us later." It was not the speech she planned to give him when she thought he was still with Elain, but it was true. They both still had so much to deal with even now. She wanted to deal with it with her friend by her side though. His shoulders slumped slightly which had the mate bond clenching tightly in her chest. After a moment though, his head lifted and he gave her a brilliant smile. One she had never seen from him before and she realized she would do just about anything to see it again.

"I would love to be your friend, Gwyneth Berdara." He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him. She let out a content sigh as she put her arms around his neck. Her head rest on his shoulder as his head lay atop hers. His shadows were moving languidly as though they were also happy.

"Can I ask a favor of you though?" He mumbled against her hair. She nodded slightly.

"Can I ask that you not touch my wings in public again?" His tone was almost pleading. She quickly looked up at him putting a couple inches between them.

"Oh gods! I'm sorry. Did it hurt? Nesta mentioned that they were sensitive once and I figured it would be the easiest way to stop you from killing Eris." She didn't mean to be too rough, but she also wasn't familiar with Illyrian wings. He gave her a sheepish look. A slight blush gracing his cheeks.

"Um, that's not what she meant by sensitive." He glanced at her before laying his head on top of hers again to avoid eye contact. "It's just not something that one does with Illyrian wings in public." There was heavy insinuation in his voice, but Gwyn could not figure out why. What could she possibly be missing?

"Well we aren't in public now? Could I do it now?" If he wouldn't outright tell her, perhaps she could threaten it out of him. She brought her hand up to his wing only for him to quickly grab it and push her away. She started to laugh as his face grew even redder. "Az, just tell me. Are you ticklish?" It was just too easy to tease him. He held both of her wrists between his hands to keep her at bay.

"Gwyn, I am begging you, which I never do if I must add, please do not touch them unless you would like to act out a scene from one of your romance novels." He truly was begging. She smiled until his words finally caught up to her. Now it was her that was blushing like crazy. Nesta was going to get an earful for being woefully stubborn with details.

"Sorry!" Was all she could splutter out like a fool. She quickly shoved her hands in her lap. Azriel began laughing very loudly as realization of what she almost did hit her. Oh, how the tables have turned she thought. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her closer, dropping a kiss on her head.

"I truly have missed you, Gwyn. Tell me everything."

+

Sometime in the future

Gwyn felt a tickle on her bare back. She tried to ignore it and go back to sleep by burying her head further into her pillow. Another tickle brushed against her. She swatted at her back which was more difficult than she wanted to admit considering she was laying on her stomach. One last tickle had her groaning as she finally popped her eyes open. She immediately gave the Shadowsinger a glare.

"I was trying to sleep." She mumbled, her voice still sleep laced. He gave her a charming smile back.

"Keep sleeping. I was just rubbing your back for you." He had the look of innocence perfected, but Gwyn new better.

It was hard to stay mad at him when he looked like that though. She moved closer to him while he laid on his side. She wrapped her arms and legs around him until she pushed him onto his back with her on top. An ornery grin graced his face as she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. He began to run his hands up and down her bare thighs. It made her shutter. The warmth from his chest stopped her bare chest from being chilled by the temperature of the room. She loved waking up this way with her mate. She quickly discovered that neither of them slept too often- nightmares always finding them in their sleep. They stayed up most nights playing chess or singing or training or...doing other things. Gwyn was always curious about the scenes she read from Nesta and Emerie's romance books. Azriel was certainly willing to demonstrate for her. After one particular, evening session Gwyn profusely apologized for touching Azriel's wings in public all that time ago. It made her embarrass to know exactly how close she had been to bringing Azriel to his knees in front of all those people. She thought she might never live it down if it had happened.

"What are you thinking about?" Azriel asked while playing with Gwyn's hair. His shadows were wrapping all around her in a way that made her feel safe especially when they were being this intimate.

"You." She immediately answered with a grin while dropping a quick kiss on to his chin.

"I would hope so." He gave her one last devilish smile before leaning up to kiss her. Right as she began to grind though, Az pulled away.

"Sorry, Carynthian. That is not why I woke you." He teased. Gwyn rolled her eyes at the nickname. He loved to call her that simply to remind her of all she had accomplished. She felt he was bragging about her just a little too much.

"Well then why did you wake me?" She lifted a singular eyebrow but he only laughed her off. He sat up with her still in his lap and started to carry her towards their bathroom.

"Nyx's party will be starting soon." He set her down on the counter before getting the bath water ready. Gwyn lifted one of her legs, so that her foot could rest on the counter as well. If he was going to tease her, well then two could play at that game. Even during times like these, both of their competitive streaks came out. It was always a game to see who could get who to cave first. The look Az gave her when he turned around told her that she won this round. Before dropping to his knees in front of her though, he grabbed her face and pressed a harsh kiss to her lips.

"I love you, Gwyneth Berdara." And then she was screaming her love for Azriel, over and over again.

They were both late to the party. Neither of them cared.

The end

[magicaththedemigod]

an extensive analysis of “the song of achilles” by madeline miller

Or: things I noticed and couldn't keep to myself.

Because I just finished reading it and have many feelings about it, I've decided to compile all of them into a very lengthy Tumblr post.

This will be broken up into three parts:

1. Foreshadowing

2. Dramatic (and regular) Irony

3. Fatal Flaws

1. Foreshadowing

Miller does such a delightful job with foreshadowing. The number of quotes I could be spitting at you right now... but I digress. The main job of foreshadowing, especially in a tragedy like "The Song of Achilles," is to set the characters up for their tragedy.

What I like most about how Miller goes about it in this book is that she doesn't attempt to pull a shocking twist out of nowhere; instead, she takes an approach which allows the reader to fully marinate in their despair.

For example, this quote:

Achilles shook his head, impatiently. "But this was a greater punishment for her. It was not fair of them." "There is no law that gods must be fair, Achilles," Chiron said. "And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Do you think?"

Let's take a moment and unpack some of this. For context, this is a conversation between Patroclus, Achilles, and their mentor Chiron. They're discussing the tale of Heracles, who's driven to madness and ends up killing his own wife and kids.

From reading the book, (SPOILER ALERT) you know that Achilles' own pride and honor end up forcing Patroclus to impersonate him in order to save the Greek army, and in doing so is killed by Hector. The fact that Chiron directs this question, "And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Do you think?" to Achilles, who is left behind after Patroclus' death is such delightful foreshadowing that I almost threw the book across the room when I first read it.

Achilles slumps into such a depression after Patroclus dies (really, after he kills Patroclus with his own fatal flaw), that he even loses the ability to care about his fame or honor anymore. He feels the greater grief, so to speak.

Even after he dies, Patroclus is left behind, unable to rest properly because they never put his name on the tomb. In that sense, Patroclus is then the one left behind, experiencing loneliness and grief.

The book is full of little hints like this, and that's part of why it's almost torture to read as someone who knows how the Iliad goes. As I said before: the foreshadowing in this book is meant to have the reader in pain from the beginning because you know nothing is going to work out in the end.

2. Dramatic (and regular) Irony

Yes, that's right. I'm about to rip into your soul.

Probably one of the biggest parts of classical Greek myths is dramatic irony (the audience knowing something the characters don't). In plays, the ending is almost always announced before the play begins. In fact, the audience most likely already knows the story from previous tellings or just general knowledge. It makes sense that it would be one of the biggest players in "The Song of Achilles."

As usual, let's start with a quote:

His eyes opened. "Name one hero who was happy." I considered. Heracles went mad and killed his family; Theseus lost his bride and father; Jason's children and new wife were murdered by his old; Bellerophon killed the Chimera but was crippled by the fall from Pegasus' back. "You can't." He was sitting up now, leaning forward. "I can't." "I know. They never let you be famous and happy." He lifted an eyebrow. "I'll tell you a secret." "Tell me." I loved it when he was like this. "I'm going to be the first." He took my palm and held it to his. "Swear it." "Why me?" "Because you're the reason. Swear it." "I swear it," I said, lost in the high color of his cheeks, the flame in his eyes. "I swear it," he echoed. We sat like that a moment, hands touching. He grinned. "I feel like I could eat the world raw."

First of all: cute. Second of all: wow, so much pain.

As you know, Achilles is the opposite of happy at the end of the book (well, maybe after they die, but we'll get to that later). Though he swears it here with Patroclus, the two of them make decisions that ultimately lead to their downfall: Achilles decides to abandon the Greeks after they slighted his honor, Patroclus decides to help them even if it means risking his life, and Achilles lets him do it.

So let's talk about dramatic irony. The irony here is that you know, maybe just from this exchange alone, that Achilles isn't going to be the first happy hero. You know there is a war coming, know that Achilles and his famous heel will get himself killed. You might also know at this point that Patroclus will die first and send Achilles spiraling into grief before that happens.

It's painful, truly. Achilles spends his last days in utter agony, wanting to die but unable to kill himself, and Patroclus can only watch on as a ghost (spirit?). Even when Achilles does die and his ashes are put into their urn (seriously, how did any scholar ever think they weren't lovers?), they still have to wait to be reunited.

But there's still more. Consider these lines:

Hector's eyes are wide, but he will run no longer. He says, "Grant me this. Give my body to my family, when you have killed me." Achilles makes a sound like choking. "There are no bargains between lions and men. I will kill you and eat you raw."

Sound familiar? That's right: "I will kill you and eat you raw" sounds an awful lot like "I feel like I could eat the world raw," doesn't it? Another parallel from Miller: one from a time of happiness, the other from a time of extreme grief. However painful it is, I really live for connections like that.

And I've got one more for you:

Achilles shook his head. "Never. He is brave and strong, but that is all. He would break against Hector like water on a rock. So. It is me, or no one." "You will not do it." I tried not to let it sound like begging. "No." He was quiet a moment. "But I can see it. That's the strange thing. Like in a dream. I can see myself throwing the spear, see him fall. I walk up to the body and stand over it." Dread rose in my chest. I took a breath, forced it away. "And then what?" "That's the strangest of all. I look down at his blood and know my death is coming. But in the dream I do not mind. What I feel, most of all, is relief." "Do you think it can be prophecy?" The questions seemed to make him self-conscious. He shook his head. "No. I think it is nothing at all. A daydream." I forced my voice to match his in lightness. "I'm sure you're right. After all, Hector hasn't done anything to you."

See where I'm going with this? I don't think I need to explain this one.

3. Fatal Flaws

That's right, one of the most essential pieces for a tragedy: hamartia. For those who might not know, hamartia is the fatal flaw that ultimately leads to the downfall of a tragic hero or heroine. In every single piece of classical greek writing, if the story is a tragedy, the main character will have a fatal flaw that makes it so.

Take Achilles:

I looked at the stone of his face, and despaired. “If you love me-”

“No!” His face was stiff with tension. “I cannot! If I yield, Agamemnon can dishonor me whenever he wishes. The kings will not respect me, nor the men!” He was breathless, as though he had run far. “Do you think I wish them all to die? But I cannot. I cannot! I will not let them take this from me!”

You probably already know what his fatal flaw is: pride. He needs the fame, needs the glorious memory of his deeds to live on forever, so badly that he is willing to sacrifice his life and what might’ve been a fulfilling and long life with Patroclus out of the limelight. His fatal flaw is what spurs each of his actions in the later half of the book, including the moment where he decides to leave the Greeks to their deaths for slandering him.

Even Patroclus has a fatal flaw: his love for Achilles.

That night I lay in bed beside Achilles. His face is innocent, sleep-smoothed and sweetly boyish. I love to see it. This is his truest self, earnest and guileless, full of mischief but without malice. He is lost in Agamemnon and Odysseus’ wily double meanings, their lies and games of power. They have confounded him, tied him to a stake and baited him. I stroke the soft skin of his forehead. I would untie him if I could. If he would let me.

Though riding into the center of the fighting, especially dressed as Achilles, will make Patroclus the prime target, he decides to do it anyway. And not out of fear for Achilles’s life; he knows how important his pride and reputation is to him, and out of desperation will do anything to keep Achilles from being devastated when it doesn’t work out for him.

(Honestly, this is the part where I start to hate Achilles for doing this to Patroclus... it’s like he doesn’t even consider Patroclus his equal and does everything without consulting him.)

Of course, Agamemnon has a fatal flaw as well. He is like the mirror image of Achilles, so proud and stubborn, righteous and arrogant. However, he is the darker image, the one that revels in taking things by force and, of course, raping women like Briseis. He serves as a poignant foil for Achilles, highlighting all the ways the traits they share can easily become corrupted. It’s part of why this novel works so well.

I hope you all enjoyed this book as much as I did. Truthfully, I did have a few problems with it, but I wanted to trying picking it apart anyway. And if you haven’t read the song of achilles... what are you doing reading these spoilers?? 

[phoenotopia]

The Last Phoenotopia Blog Update

(Date 2021 MAR 01)

I debated how to open this blog post, but perhaps the main crux of this blog post is the best place to start. The blog is being retired.

The purpose of this blog was to be a "development" blog for Phoenotopia, and well, Phoenotopia's development is done. I'll still be doing bug fixes and maintenance on the PC and Switch versions, and playstation and xbox ports are underway (by a publisher). But I'm not going to be making any more major changes to the game. At some point, you put the paintbrush down and say it's done. Blemishes and all.

Recent Events

The game launched on Steam last month, and like any launch, it was hectic. Bugs Galore. This is our first commercial PC launch, so it was a real baptism by fire. Unlike Switch's one configuration, the PC has multiple configurations and factors to account for. The game needed to be able to handle multiple control schemes, screen resolutions, refresh rates, and more! I had a 60Hz monitor going into launch and didn't know anything about Hz (I do now). There was a troublesome stutter that some players were sensitive to that my whole team didn't notice since our eyes compensated it away. There were a few times where in fixing something at one party's behest, it introduced problems for another party. A few times, due to disorganization, I unwittingly rolled back a fix that was meant to be applied. For some, the game couldn't play at all (really glad Steam allows refunds).

It was messy. It was tiring. I.AM.BEAT.

I think the worst of it is over... I'll still be around to do the last updates and bug fixes, but I'm ultimately ready for what's next.

SO what is next?

What isn't next... is Phoenotopia 2. As you may have heard down the grapevine, the game couldn't be what you call successful. No one's earned even minimum wage on it.

Maybe there's hope in the game's long tail. A year or two down the line... maybe. I won't hold my breath though. At some point in the past few months, I finished processing (or grieving) and it's time to move on.

The game has at least earned enough for us to continue our modest operations. As long as we don't expand the team, and we don't take another monster six-year dev cycle like what Phoenotopia took, we can continue. We'll have to be smarter and faster. Perhaps the most valuable thing we gained from all this is experience.

The Experience

It is a dev blog. Here are some of the lessons I've accumulated from this game's development.

- Have a good menu design. Menus aren't just that in-between fluff before you get to the good stuff. Menus are KEY. Your menus need to be robust, expandable, and *understandable* (to you, the developer). Because once the game's out, you will invariably be asked to add more options. And if your menu design is bad, every time you have to add a new menu option, it becomes a whole new pain all over again. Support mouse from the get-go, etc.

- Focus on features that people will actually care about. For instance, I've never seen anyone praise the camera's zoom feature. In practice, people try that feature a few times and then never use it again. But that feature was a constant consideration factor for every level. Run through it multiple times to make sure the level didn't break, think about which zoom levels made sense, resize rooms because they worked at one zoom level but not the other, and so on.

- Don't do boxes that you can move around. Other 2D platformers avoid movable boxes because they're a huge headache to program and they really complicate the game space. Enemies need to respond to boxes you throw in their path and either navigate around or attack it. When you're moving the box, you have to worry about constantly changing your collision size and reconciling when the box gets snagged on the environment. The boxes were also a constant source of bugs because people can manipulate them to soft-lock themselves and more.

- More focused script. Phoenotopia's 100,000+ word script was panned more for being bloated than it was praised for being lengthy. Long scripts take a long time to write and make the game more unwieldy, increasing the costs of translation and upkeep. Every update we're addressing some textual error or mistranslation. There are some highly renowned games (e.g. Hyper Light Drifter) that do without a script at all!

- Be flashy! A bat and a lightsaber take the same amount of work to program, but the lightsaber will draw a lot more attention and interest.

- Slopes, surprisingly! Six years ago when I started, Unity was ill-equipped for 2D games. If you used the physics that Unity provided you'd have a really floaty character that wouldn't adhere to the slope when going downhill. There were a hundred different tutorials saying different things (use forces, use move position, use translation, etc). You can get rectangular collisions done in a day, but to do slopes took weeks. Meanwhile, games can actually get by fine without slopes. Most people won't even notice. Did you know the Phoenotopia flash game didn't have slopes? Neither does Hollow Knight or Rogue Legacy. You can save yourself a lot of work by avoiding slopes.

(big entities look weird on slopes. Bad slope!)

I could write enough little knowledge nuggets like this to fill a book! But I'd rather just make the next game. 

So… what IS next?

As mentioned previously, it's not Phoenotopia 2. Pirate and I are mostly just tossing some ideas back and forth right now. We'll go silent for a year (or two). Our next game's scope will be more modest in some ways, more ambitious in others. It will definitely be more smartly designed. (There will be a map!)

We'll announce it when it's ready for the public. It might be necessary for us to do a kickstarter. I've tried to avoid kickstarters having been burnt on quite a few myself and also because I worry that mismanaging a kickstarter would earn the ire of backers.

But I did keep this blog regularly updated for six years. So I've gained some confidence in my abilities to at least manage a kickstarter well.

Is it really the last Phoenotopia Blog update though?

Okay, not really. There is some news that I'll need to announce, and this blog is one of the game's main outreach channels. Here are the events that will cause me to update the blog:

Announcing the launch of the xbox/playstation ports when they're ready

If a physical edition of the game happens

If a new language is getting introduced into the game (Korean is a high possibility)

When we're ready to talk about our next game

If (BIG IF) we begin development on a Phoenotopia sequel. I do want to do a sequel one day if we have the means and the demand is there. 

Those updates will be more on a "when they happen" basis, rather than me reporting in every couple months.

Fan Art

As always, I'm very happy to see fanart of Phoenotopia. Major thanks again to Pimez for collecting all the artwork from the corners of the internet! Since this is the "last" blogpost, Sir Pimez can finally take a rest from collecting the fanart :P

ÆV made a series of pictures that tell a story. A Pooki is humanely sheared of its wool to create a hat. The Pooki is unharmed. Nice! Gotta love Gail’s expressions.

Amagoo Mazeru makes a stunning landscape shot of a full moon and shooting stars. It’s a sharp and clear vector art. I like the faint glow of the moon and the fire and the subtle gradient in the night sky. Very skillfully done!

Hah hah. I got a chuckle out of this one. I imagine this is how Gail's enemies see her by the end of the game. CaESar made this image based on TerminalMontage's famous youtube videos. Nailed it!

CrownStar drew two pictures of Gail. I'm a big player of JRPGs, so the first shot instantly reminded me of Persona 4's art style. (Hmmm... Phoeonotopia as a JRPG... there’s potential there...) Next, Birdy is shown carried off after her defeat. I really like Birdy's expression here - she just seems mildly uncomfortable.

There's a bit of a story behind the first image. As Firanka shares it, she wasn't able to defeat the Big Eye monster at the end of the flash game, so she believed a tall tale that what awaited after was a 6 armed Kobold boss. Hilarious! The second is a rendition of the lonely Anuri elder. A rare subject. The loneliness is portrayed well here. I feel lonely just looking at it!

Koo_chop draws the clash between Gail and Katash at the top of the towers. I really like this interpretation of the game's art style. It’s faithful to the in-game graphics. And the lighting, from the glow of Gail's bat, to Katash's sword, and the lightning in the background... Amazing!

Lime Hazard shows Gail with a salute pose. Very appropriate for this occasion. I also like how there's a slight tilt in the angle that Gail is portrayed. Those dynamic angles are always hard to get right, and Lime Hazard pulled it off very skillfully. See you next mission!

Lyoung0J with a digital painting of Gail posed sitting on a rock. I like how it almost seems like she was caught in a candid moment - she’s smiling, but also feeling self-conscious. Cute! The art style really pops, and I like how Gail is sporting what I call the old anime style nose. 

MyUesrNameIsSh*t with a sketch of Gail performing a skillful slingshot. I like how Gail is depicted with her tongue out in a mischievous manner, the way all mischievous people with slingshots do.

Niitsu Kentaro returns with a 2021 Happy New Year picture. That happened didn't it? A New Year... Gail's pose gave me a chuckle with how she seems to be waving the bat around as casually as one would wave hello. And "Phoenotopiyear"... Well said! One day we'll have our Phoenotopiyear...

Ochan Nu breaks all records with a stunning NINE pictures in one session :O

There's so many goodies here. My favorite would be the one with Gail staring intently at the screen - it's like she's looking directly at you. You almost feel uncomfortable.

Next, there's an Animal Crossing villager dressed as Gail and sporting her pink hair. It even looks like a house Gail would live in. Gail is a connoisseur of the arts and likes Mona Lisa. Yes :)

There are various comics of Gail pointing out Gail's weird food habits. A picture of Fran looking really cool, and even Gail rocking a bathing suit. (bathing suit image linked here in case NSFW). Wow!

Pimez didn't just collect the arts, he creates them as well! This one, which he aptly named 'The Year 175' is a depiction of when the dragons invaded the towers as told by an elderly Daean woman. Great pixeling skills! I got a good chuckle from the ice dragon leaving with its stuff slung over its shoulder.

Quo made a stunning picture of Gail playing the flute surrounded by the 5 musical notes and the Phoenix logo behind her. The theme seems to be "fire" and it works really well. Gail herself looks awesome depicted in her red suit - it's like she's leading a marching band!

Rai Asuha depicts Gail in the late game with her red suit, and night star bat, and holding a lamp. She looks ready for adventure! I really like the white outline here and Gail's poofy shoulders here - the art style feels reminiscent of Final Fantasy Tactics.

Seri also draws Gail bearing her late game equipment. Unique to Seri's drawing is how all of Gail's equipment is accessible from a pocket on her shirt. I also like how Gail is depicted with her lucky earrings - that accessory is often forgotten.

Treedude depicts Gail with a bat and wearing a funny smirk. She looks like she's ready to hurt someone!

Warotar returns with everyone's favorite Great Drake, Bubbles! It seems so happy to be featured!

I'm really grateful for all the fanart this game has received. From the bottom of my heart, thank you!

Closing Notes

Pirate drew a picture to mark the occasion. It shows Gail enjoying a hot chocolate with marshmallows and a pumpkin muffin. A rest well-earned...

Goodbye! Until next time!

[minyoongiest]

What’s Poppin’, Girl? || KNJ (M)

• pairing: Namjoon x reader

• rating: MA/18+

• type/genre: smut, fluff, idol!au, established relationship

• word count: 5k

• summary: After writing a lengthy term paper, some alone time with your fresh-out-of-the-shower boyfriend is a good way to destress.

• contains: explicit sexual content, explicit language, oral (both receiving, not simultaneously), vaginal sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, post-sex cuddling

• note: This is essentially a commission I did (but for free) for my good friend who loves Joon. It was a little strange to write since I’m much more comfortable writing about Yoongi, but let me know if you like it. (Translations are at the end.)

|| ao3 ||

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I glare at the little number at the bottom of my screen reminding me again that my grad paper is still ten words short of the required word count. I release a slow breath and start rereading it again from the top, trying to figure out where I could possibly fit another sentence, even though I can’t think of a single thing left to say on this subject. I mean, it’s psychology, so there’s plenty to say, but my brain is fried, and I would like to be done now.

I let out a frustrated noise and shut my eyes.

“Gwaenchanh-a?” Joon’s deep voice asks distractedly from above me.

“What if I just quit?”

I tilt my head back on the pillow I’m leaning against, which is resting against Joon’s thigh, and look up to see him frowning at me, his attention stolen from the book in his hands.

“What?”

“This is…stupid.” I glare at my computer screen. “I mean, it’s important, but I’m so done.”

“How much more do you have?” He squints at my paper so far.

“Ten words.”

“Ten words?” His eyes widen, and then he slowly shakes his head. “You can do ten words.”

Suddenly, the pillow I’m leaning on shifts, and I jerk upright.

“Where are you going?” I twist on the couch as he stands and sets his book on the coffee table.

“To take a shower,” he looks back at me with his arms stretched behind his head.

“But you were helping me,” I complain instantly. “Don’t leave.”

“You’re doing homework.” He gestures to my computer. “I didn’t think you needed me for that. I figured when I get out of the shower, you’ll be done and we can do something together instead.”

I’m still a little annoyed he’s abandoning me, but he also piqued my interest.

“What kind of ‘something together’ are you thinking of?”

He grins, and I hate it because it’s beautiful and dimply and way too sexy for doing homework.

“Just finish your paper.”

I open my mouth to argue and then freeze when he pulls his shirt off giving me an eyeful of his bare back.

Before he disappears into the bedroom. It takes a second before I can turn back to my homework, my body even less interested in this damn paper than earlier.

“Asshole,” I mumble, even though I don’t actually think that at all. “He could’ve just waited until I wrote the last ten words.”

Then again, if I finish fast enough, he’ll still be in the shower, which has lots of potential for doing “something together.” Something that involves orgasms, so a very good something.

Except.

I still have to come up with ten words for this paper. For fuck’s sake, since when has ten been such an impossibly large number? Setting my computer next to his book on the table, I get up and go into the kitchen for a Ramune soda. Maybe if I take a break for a second, I’ll be able to finish this paper from hell.

The soda helps, but it still takes me a million years to finish the paper. (Ok, fine, half an hour, but still.) When I’m done, I check over it one last time and make sure my sources are cited and formatted right before saving and submitting it. Then I put my computer down and twist my legs over the side of the couch to stand up.

It turns out half an hour is plenty of time for Joon to shower, because as I’m walking into the bedroom I hear the water go off. I had been planning to get in with him, but too late for that, which sucks because shower sex with Joon is always highly enjoyable.

Instead, I turn to the pile of clean clothes on the bed. Since we’re not doing it in the shower, and I’m still planning go have sex tonight, we’re going to need this to be laundry free.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” I turn toward the bathroom.

And then a miniature earthquake happens in every part of my body, it’s epicenter right between my thighs.

He’s wearing a thin white towel around his waist. His hair is damp and sticking out everywhere, and he’s grinning again.

Oh God. I can’t feel my legs.

“Wha–” I brace myself on the mattress. “What do you want?” I whisper.

His grin GETS. BIGGER.

And then he flexes his pecs.

FLEXES THEM.

WHILE HALF NAKED AND RIGHT IN MY FACE.

“Fuck,” I hiss as wet saturates between my now-trembling legs.

They’re about to give out, but that’s probably fine, since I’m already getting on my knees anyway.

“What are you doing?” the smile in his voice fades into confusion as I drop down next to the bed.

“You started this,” I look up at him, raising my eyebrows. “Do you want me to suck you off in that doorway or do you want to sit down?”

“Wait, what?” he blinks, and I move closer to him, reaching up to grab the flimsy fabric at his hips.

“I’m gonna blow you now,” I explain softer. “Which is what you were asking for when you popped those giant tiddies like that.”

His face starts to get red and he shakes his head.

“I was just–”

“Don’t make excuses,” I cut him off, tugging on the towel, which falls free easily. “You knew what you were…”

My sentence dies as my eyes land on his hard cock. Fully erect, lined with veins—the thickest one running right up the underside—the pink tip glistening with precum, tan shaft visibly throbbing… Fuck, I can practically feel the heat coming off of it against my face.

My mouth is literally watering. Shutting my eyes—even though the image of it is seared into my eyelids—I swallow and lick my lips before opening them again and reaching out with one hand.

“You know you don’t have to–”

I pause and look up at him, my hand hovering less than an inch away.

“I want to,” I tell him firmly, “and you want me to, don’t you?”

He coughs out a hoarse, “yes,” which is all I need to hear.

Brushing my fingertips along the feverish length, I lean forward and kiss the side of it close to the base. He grunts, and I see him brace an arm on the doorframe out of the corner of my eye before I look back at what I’m doing. I curl my whole hand around his shaft and begin sliding my fist up and down, kissing his leaking tip.

His hips buck suddenly, and he groans out my name, which is my cue to move things along. Letting go of him, I lean in again and start licking him all over. One of my hands goes to his hip to steady myself, while I use the other to tease his balls and run the edge of my fingernail up and down his shaft. When he’s slick all over, I sit back and blow a faint stream of air over him.

“Fuck, baby,” he bites out. “Oh God.”

I look up at him, meeting his eyes as I take his bulbous head between my lips. I suck on it gently before taking a little more, releasing some, and then taking more. I repeat it until I’m sliding almost all of him in and out of my mouth.

“Take it all, baby,” he gasps, and I wince.

I can’t take all of it or I’ll gag, which won’t be sexy at all. To make up for what I can’t fit, I take the remaining inches in my hand and start squeezing and twisting my fist as I begin sucking on him.

“Ssibal!”

His free hand slams into the doorframe, which he’s now gripping both sides of as I swirl my tongue around his swollen tip. Releasing him for a second to take a breath.

“Don’t stop,” he winces.

Nodding, I guide him into my mouth again before sliding my hands around his thighs to grab his ass.

He swears through his teeth, and I look up to see a vein popping in his neck. Warmth spreads in my chest, knowing I’m making him feel good. It also spreads in other places since having his dick in my mouth makes me feel good too.

I start sucking again, gently, dragging things out. Using his ass for leverage, I slowly begin taking more of him as I slide him in and out between my lips.

“More,” he whines at the same time his cheeks clench in my hands, forcing his cock further into my mouth.

I let out an involuntary moan around his thick shaft, and suddenly his hand is in my hair, holding me still as his hips jerk. My legs almost give out as I suck on him while he fucks my mouth.

Fuck. It’s so big. My eyes are watering.

He stops suddenly, pulling out, and I gasp in surprise.

“Why did you do that?” I hiss.

“You’re crying.”

My eyes widen, and I glare at him. “So?”

His face, twisted with arousal, turns into a frown.

“I’m gonna hurt you.”

“If you take this dick away from me, I’ll show you crying,” I snap at him.

“What?”

I sigh, and stroke the skin of his ass.

“Joon, just let me finish you off. I know you’re close.”

After a second, he nods, and I instantly pull him against me again, taking all of him in that I can before sucking deep.

“Son of a bitch!”

I continue sucking as I slide him in and out. He only lasts a few second before his cock twitches and suddenly hot streams of fluid are hitting the back of my throat. I focus on the heat and on swallowing it all, my hands holding on firmly to his ass as his hips jerk. When he’s spent, I release him slowly, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.

“You okay?” I ask softly, climbing to my feet on quaking legs.

“Ne,” he murmurs. “Better than okay.”

“Good.”

“Now it’s your turn.”

I blink and, before I can ask what he means, my back is in the bed on top of the clean laundry.

“No, we can’t have sex here!”

“What?” His face twists with confusion. “This is our bed. This is where we have sex.”

“There’s clean clothes all over it.”

“I can fix that.”

And then before I can stop him, he’s shoved all the laundry onto the floor.

“Kim Namjoon!” I scramble to stand up. “Are you kidding me?”

“What? Now they’re not on the bed.”

“Now they’re dirty! Again! I just–”

The sudden smack surprises me, and I gasp looking over my shoulder.

“Did you just spank me?”

“Yes.”

The heat of it slides between my legs, and I bite my lip, turning my head to hide my blushing face.

“Did you like it?” he asks quieter.

“Mmhmm,” I nod, avoiding his eyes.

“Get on the bed, baby.”

I let out a shaky breath, forgetting the clothes on the floor, and climb back onto the mattress.

“It’s your turn,” he repeats his words from earlier. “I just came, so I’ll need a few minutes before I can go again.”

“That makes sense.”

“So until then, I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“First, I gotta get you naked,” he says in a deeper tone that does fantastic things to me.

“I can help with that.”

Rising up on my knees, I pull my top over my head and throw it on the floor. He reaches around to undo my bra, while I start pushing my leggings down past my waist. He flips me suddenly, and I let out a sharp cry as I land again. Taking the band of my pants in his large hands, he removes them and my underwear all at once.

“Goddamn, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and a kaleidoscope of butterflies erupts in my belly.

His eyes travel over my nakedness, and I look away, afraid I might cry if I see the look of awe on his face a moment longer.

The kiss surprises me. His soft, perfect lips on mine. He does it again, and this time, I kiss him back, sliding my fingers in his wet hair, holding him to me.

He moves away, and I reluctantly let him go.

“Okay, come here.”

I blink as I sit up, watching him lie back on the pillows.

“What are you doing now?”

He leans forward and grabs me under my arms, hauling me over him until I’m straddling his waist.

“Like I said. It’s your turn.” He flicks his eyes up toward the headboard before meeting mine again, and a shiver runs down my spine. “Knees in the pillows, baby.”

My heart trips in my chest, and I take a quick breath before rising up on my knees and moving up the bed. His large hands slide up my thighs as I move over his shoulders, my skin immediately breaking out into goosebumps. Finally, my knees sink into the pillows on either side of his head, and I rest my hands on the headboard.

“How’s this?” I ask, looking down at him.

“Perfect,” he says softly.

One of his fingers trails through the wet between my legs, and I start panting. His large hands move to the outside of my hips, and suddenly I feel his hot breath moving over me. Oh God. A fresh ripple of heat tears through my pussy and I feel his eyes watching it. My fingers flex around the wood slats, and I whimper. Fuck, he hasn’t even touched me yet, and—

His lips brush my lips, just for a second, and I let out a soft whimper. Then his fingers are there, teasing and pulling at me, making me squirm above him.

“Joon,” I whine at him, my voice threaded with need.

“Patience.”

I can practically hear his dimply, sexy grin.

“You ready?” he asks as his fingertips curl in, brushing the insides of my thighs, every word sending a rush of air over my most sensitive place.

“Y-yes,” I whisper, but the word is barely out of my mouth before his hands lock on my hips and pull me down, my drenched sex pressed right against his face.

I gasp at the feel of his lips on me, his damn grin touching me right there. He kisses me, his soft lips puckering against my wetness, before his fingers slide around to my ass, which he grips firmly, and then his tongue is on me. I moan at the immediate heat of it, lapping at my soaked slit and toying with my clit. I barely resist the urge to grind on him.

“Fuck me,” he groans against me, making me moan, “so fucking sweet.”

“Don’t—Don’t say that,” I pant. “It’s cheating.”

He’s not allowed to be sweet during sex because I’ll cry, and crying during sex isn’t the stuff orgasms are made of.

“Mmm.”

Two of his long fingers slide into my pussy, and I feel my legs quake. He twists them as he removes them, causing my walls to squeeze acutely.

“Joon, please…”

“Baby, I got you,” he murmurs.

His hand moves back to my ass where he squeezes both of my cheeks in his palms. Suddenly, his lips part against me and he sucks deep. My back arches and a whimper tears out of my throat.  

Then he’s just sucking. On everything. My lips, my clit, my thighs. His fingers dig into my ass, and I feel heat gathering in my belly. His teeth scrape against me, and I breathe his name like a prayer, leaning my head against my hands.

I can’t hold out much longer.

My hips move on their own, rocking against him as he sucks and licks, his fingers flexing around my ass.

I’m feeling too much. It’s everything all at once. Everywhere.

His tongue dips in for a split second, and I whine. I feel him smiling again.

“Kim Namjoon, this is–”

And then his tongue is filling me. Thrusting in and out while he continues biting and sucking. The fingers of one large hand slide around to toy with my clit. I can’t stop it. My control shatters, and I press down against him, grinding against his gorgeous face. He grunts again, this time inside me, and I cry out. Two of his fingers find me, and he doesn’t miss a beat, blending the thrusts of his tongue with those of his hand. His teeth scrape over my lips at the same time his fingers roll my clit, and it’s over.

I’m coming in his mouth.

My entire body locks up as I shout his name. I grip the headboard so tightly my knuckles go white while the massive orgasm rips me apart. He doesn’t stop his perfect torture until he’s sucked every drop of pleasure out of my body, at which point he eases me up onto my knees, where he leans up just far enough to place one kiss on each of my thighs and then one last one against my sated lips before pulling me off of him and settling me down on my back in the space next to him.

My heart is racing, and I still haven’t caught my breath. With one hand I reach back to feel the skin of my butt.

“I think you bruised my ass,” I announce softly.

“What?”

He jerks up in the bed and cranes his head to see my backside.

“I’m not sure, but…you were squeezing pretty hard.”

“Oh my God. I didn’t–”

“Don’t apologize,” I cut him off. “I liked it. It was hot.”

He blinks, and sits back a little. “Oh.”

I press my lips together at how cute and sweet he is when my eyes catch on his dick. It’s hard again. Clearly, he enjoys having his mouth on me as much as I do. God, it’s all swollen and heavy and begging to be touched.

My pussy clenches, and I feel myself getting wet again instantly. I need it inside me.

“Joon,” I murmur, my voice sounding strangled.

“Ne?” he looks up at me and then his eyes follow mine down to his mammoth cock.

His eyebrows rise, and he looks back at me.

“See something you like?”

“I see something I want,” I reply softly. “Are you gonna give it to me?”

“Absolutely.”

He grins and reaches for me, sliding his arm around my waist and turning us in the bed so I’m on my back, my head in the pillows, with him hovering over me. I open my legs for him automatically, his hips falling through, his feverish dick grazing the skin of my thigh.

I gasp, my hands reaching up for his shoulders as his head lowers to my ear.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, his lips gliding over the skin of my neck. “I love touching you like this.”

His hands slide from my knees up my thighs, making me whimper as his fingertips graze my swollen lips before moving to my hips and up my sides, over my ribs.

“Joon…”

“I love this…” His mouth kisses a trail over my jaw. “And these.” Both my collarbones. “And…these.”

His large palms slide over my boobs, my nipples puckering against them instantly as I moan. His thumbs drag over the erect points, and my back arches off the bed.

“I love how sensitive they are,” he goes on, his mouth kissing down the line between them. “Especially when I do this.”

His lips close over the peak of the left one, and my body goes rigid. One of my hands grabs a fistful of the sheets, while the other clasps his head to me. I moan, and feel a rush of fluid between my legs, trickling down my thighs. He sucks gently before releasing it only for his tongue to dart out, the tip swirling around my areola before the flat of it laps at me. He leans back, and I start panting as the cool air against the residual heat of his tongue only makes my nipple tighten more.

“And this one.”

He moves to the other side and repeats everything. My heart is pounding when he sits back, and I’m so wet I think there’s probably a wet spot on the sheets, but I’m way too turned on to check.

He reaches for them again, his thumbs aimed for my painfully hard nipples, when I reach out and grab his wrists.

“I’ll come,” I wheeze at him.

“What?” he blinks.

“If you keep playing with my nipples, I’ll come. I’m serious.”

“Really?”

I jerk my head forward in a nod, and his eyes widen.

“Fuck, baby, I knew you were responsive, but I didn’t realize you were that responsive.”

“Just…put your damn dick in me already,” I huff, pouting.

“Oh? You mean this dick?”

Leaning forward, he puts an elbow in the mattress, taking his weight, so his face is hovering inches from mine. He reaches the other down between us and takes himself in his hand, carefully moving the engorged head between my lips.

“Yeah,” I choke out. “That’s the one.”

He presses his lips to my temple as he slowly moves the tip along my dripping slit.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he mumbles against my skin.

I start to tell him to hurry up when he catches on my entrance. I stop breathing as he begins to push in, my fingers on his shoulders digging into his skin.

Oh God. He’s so big. I twist my head to the side and squeeze my eyes shut as my pussy stretches around him.

“Damn, you’re tight,” he groans.

He sinks in another inch, and I bite down on my lip, but a tiny whimper still slips out.

“You okay?” he asks softly, and I turn to look at him.

“Yeah,” I murmur breathlessly. “I’m good.”

“You sounded like you’re in pain.” He frowns. “Do I need to pull out and finger you some? I thought you were wet enough, but–”

“It’s not that.” I shake my head. “Your dick is just so big,” I remind him.

“Oh…yeah. Right.” He smirks, and I see him try to hide it. Dork.

“Is…Is it in all the way?” I try to see, but his giant pecs are in my way.

His smile fades, and he looks back down at me. “There’s a little more. If you can take it.”

“I always take it, Joon,” I remind him softly. “I just need a few minutes to adjust to it.”

He nods and strokes the skin behind my ear with his thumb.

“Tell me when you want more.”

“Okay.” I shut my eyes for a second, before I tap his side. “I’m ready.”

He pushes in the last few inches, and I moan at the feel of him filling me completely. His thick, hard shaft inside me, his balls kissing my lips.

“Still okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Keep going?”

“Yeah, just go slow at first.”

He kisses my lips before he carefully pulls out and slides back in. I hiss at the feel of his turgid, veiny flesh dragging against my sensitive walls. My knees come up on either side of him as he does it again. And again.

“Faster,” I whisper.

His hips rock against me, steadily increasing in speed, my pussy squeezing with every thrust. My arms slide around his shoulders, and I lift my lips to his ear.

“Fuck me, baby.”

“You sure?” he groans.

I lift my legs and curl them around his back. “I’m sure.”

His restraint snaps, and I cry out as he begins pounding into me, my arms automatically locking around his neck. He starts thrusting fast and hard, his balls slapping against me. My body rocks with his rhythm causing my breasts to slide against his pecs, the friction sending tiny bursts of pleasure through my nipples. My moans get louder and longer each time his giant cock enters me.

Suddenly, his free hand slides under my ass, lifting me, enabling me to take more of him.

“Namjoon!” I scream at the feel of it, my head flying back against the pillow.

Oh God. Everything he’s doing is so intense. I feel like my pussy is going to explode. I’m so close to coming I can almost taste it…

“Baby, I’m close,” he grunts.

“Yeah.”

“Need you to come.”

“I…I…”

He drops my ass and his fingers slide around between us, one of them going straight to my clit.

My lungs lock up and my entire body bows off the bed as my orgasm crashes into me. My legs squeeze tight to his hips, my heels digging into his ass, as shocks of pleasure run down my thighs, through my belly, and into my nipples. My pussy is spasming uncontrollably as his thick shaft continues to drive into me.

“You coming?” he asks hoarsely, his hand between my legs still rubbing against me.

“Mmhmm,” I whimper, still in the throes of it, but he must understand me because immediately his hand disappears, going to my hip where he grips me tight as he begins slamming into me even harder than before.

“Joon!” I moan, my orgasm rolling over into a new one.

Suddenly, his thrusts get erratic and he lets out a long groan, his head flying back as his cock jerks, spurting inside me as he comes. When he’s spent, he collapses on top of me, my body still trembling from the ferocity of my own climax.

After my heart stops racing, I drop my legs from around his waist, and run my fingers down his spine.

“I can’t breathe,” I whisper against the skin of my chest.

“Sorry.” He lifts up slowly, and I reach up to slide my fingers into his hair.

“Don’t pull out yet,” I murmur.

“No?”

“I like being full of you,” I whisper. “And I don’t want to give that up yet.”

“Hmm. Okay.”

His fingers run along the edge of my jaw, and I tilt my head to the side.

“Do you feel good?” he asks gruffly, his hand sliding behind my head, his thumb stroking the side of my neck.

“I feel fantastic.”

“Choayo.”

Then he lowers his lips to mine, and I inhale the taste of him. My fingers slide into his hair as I kiss him back. I will never be tired of this, the feeling of his perfect lips moving over mine, his tongue sliding against mine, the taste of him… it’s everything.

He keeps kissing me until we’re both out of breath, and he’s starting to get soft inside me.

“Gotta pull out now,” he mutters.

“Mm.”

I bite my lip as he slides out, my pussy suddenly feeling strange after being so full for so long.

“Are you tired?” He looks down at me as he shifts into the space beside me.

“Not really. Sated for sure, but not sleepy.”

“We can watch something on Netflix if you want.”

“The Good Place?”

“Sounds good.” He grins. “Let me just get a rag to clean you up first.”

“Please and thank you.”

He leans down as he climbs over me to kiss my lips again before exiting the bed and going into the bathroom. He comes back with a warm washcloth and runs it gently between my legs and over my sticky thighs before tossing it in the sink and getting back in bed next to me.

“Give me the remote?” He looks over at me from where he’s fixing his pillows behind his back.

“Here.” I grab the one from my nightstand and hand it to him.

He switches it to his left hand and starts pushing buttons to get to the show while his right arm hooks around my waist and hauls me against his side.

“Miss me already?” I whisper, as I snuggle against him.

“I always miss you when I’m not touching you,” he mumbles without looking at me.

“Oh.” That was sweet.

His hand slides down my back to curl around my ass, squeezing one of my cheeks between his large fingers.

Okay that’s less sweet. But I’m not complaining.

He sets the remote down, and I press my cheek to his chest, sliding my arm around his waist. He clears his throat, and I glance up at him before looking back at the T.V.

He doesn’t move for a whole minute, and I frown and look up at him again.

“Joon, are you okay?”

“Fuck this.”

I blink and stare at him as he suddenly slides out of bed and goes over to the pile of clean clothes he threw on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting, uh…aha. Here.” He throws something at me, and I flinch before catching what appears to be his favorite Kapital blue t-shirt.

“What is this?” I frown.

“A shirt. Put it on.”

“Why?”

“You’re���distracting.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. Standing there naked and sexy with muscles everywhere. And somehow I’m the one who’s distracting?

“Just put it on,” he sighs.

“Okay.” I slip it over my head. “Doesn’t this have matching pants?”

“Yes, but you don’t need those.”

“Oh? My ass isn’t distracting you?”

He immediately grabs the pants off the floor and steps into them.

“They’re for me. So you won’t be distracted.”

I look down at where his dick is barely hidden behind the soft fabric.

��I’m not sure how effective those are going to be.”

He sighs, and I press my lips together.

“Your ass,” he says in a low tone as he climbs back on the bed, “is very distracting, by the way.”

“Then why–”

“But regardless, I still want unrestricted access to it.”

His arm slides around me again as he leans back against his pillows, his giant palm returning to its place on my ass cheek and grabbing a handful.

“Okay,” I murmur, shifting my knee over his thigh. “You should start this episode over because I missed all of it.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

He grabs the remote again and goes back to the beginning while I relax into him, the softness of his shirt and his steady breathing making me feel calm all over.

“Joon,” I look up as he pulls the sheets up to our waists.

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” I whisper.

He blinks before bending his neck to kiss my forehead.

“I love you, too, baby.”

Then he slides his free arm around me, and I melt into him a little more before settling in to watch our show.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Translations:

Gwaenchanh-a – okay

Ssibal – fuck

Ne – yes

Choayo - good

[zensjagi]

parting is such sweet sorrow

Written for @justagirlinafandomworld ‘s time travel challenge!!!

i’ve been rewatching doctor who lately so this is set late season 6, somewhere between episodes 13 and 14 in an AU where the reader (from our time) travelled with the doctor for a bit. for anyone who needs their memory jogged, the doctor thinks he’s about to die at lake silencio and only has a little while left before he has to go there.

Prompt: “Before I go, I just want you to know that I do love you. You were/are my everything.”

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: angstttt

≿━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━≾

He only had a few hours left, and there was only one thing he could even conceive of doing; one last loose thread to knot. And so, at 8 pm on a Tuesday, he turned up on her doorstep. 

The windows were dark, but the porch light was still on. The Doctor swallowed the lump in his throat, raising a closed fist to the wooden door. He stood perfectly still, knuckles a hairsbreadth from the peeling, painted wood, but with every second that ticked by, he came no closer to knocking.

He could hear her crying.

Was it worth it, to ease her pain for a mere moment, only to magnify it the moment he left? Just so that he could see her, one last time? Was he really so selfish?

The Doctor took a shaky breath, eyes falling closed. 

He knocked.

≿━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━≾

You didn’t bother turning on the lights, but you left the porch light on and the front door unlocked, just in case. Not that he’d need it; not that a dark porch or locked door ever stopped him. But a small part of you could only hope that it would be invitation enough for him to come back; that if you acted like he’d return, then somehow, he’d walk right through your front door, face alight with a cheeky grin as he fixed his bow tie and rambled on of otherworldly beauties. As if any marvel could hold so much as a candle to him; the mad man with a box, a heart of gold, and a sonic screwdriver.

But your porch remained empty, and you sank numbly into the couch. He was gone. He wasn’t coming back; he’d… left.

“It’s too dangerous, Y/N. If not now, then when? When is the right time to say goodbye? When I’m standing over your broken body?” 

You could still feel his harsh gaze clinging to you, the hardness of his voice as it lodged sharply into your chest. The warmth of his last hug, the flicker of softness in his eyes, and then… the cold emptiness that he left behind.

Clutching a pillow to your chest, you rattled a loose breath that broke into a sob, that turned into another, and suddenly, the despair caught up with you. Your chest hurt with every wretched cry, and you couldn’t breathe through the sheer hurt of it. Of the loneliness. Of the loss.

He really was gone, wasn’t he? And you’d never even told him that…

There was a knock at the door.

“Hellooo? Anyone home?” The voice was tight, lacking its usual flair, but its owner was unmistakable.

With tears still drying on your cheeks and a spark of hope blooming in your chest, you hurtled upright, tripping over your own feet in your rush to the door. It swung open before you could reach the doorknob, and you stopped in your tracks.

He stood there like one of Michelangelo’s angels, a portrait of silhouetted, elegant solemnity, haloed by the warm yellow porchlight. The Doctor’s eyes met yours, the corners of them crinkling as his gaze softened in something almost reminiscent of pity.

“It’s—it’s you?” Your voice came as a gasp so quiet it was almost lost in the space between you, but he still heard it. He always heard you.

“It’s me,” he confirmed, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can I come in?” His hand was still resting tentatively on the doorknob, and there was a solemness in his eyes that you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before.

“You—you just left,” you said, avoiding his question. “Like, an hour ago. Why—why are you here?”

The Doctor paused, gaze flicking to the floor. “That was… a while ago, for me,” he admitted, voice soft and captured by the whisper of the evening air. “I came because… I have something I need to do. And… I needed to say goodbye.”

“A while? How long? What do you need to do? Doctor, what are you talking about?” Your heart pounded—his seriousness was making you nervous, the exhausted energy that radiated off him draining and perturbing.

“A while…” He chuckled. “Well, I guess my while is a fair bit different to yours, eh? You’re only human… you all shine so brightly, but only for a short while. I… I’m very old, Y/N.” He avoided your eyes, and something in his voice broke you.

“Doctor… come inside. Let’s talk, yeah?”

“Talk…” A tiny smile crossed his face. “Yes, let’s talk. I always did enjoy our talks. I’ve missed them.”

You smiled back, albeit uncertainly. “Yeah, me too. I’m gonna put some tea on… sit down, okay?” You waited for him to take a seat before heading to the kitchen, mind heavy with rumination. He seemed… vulnerable, in a way you’d never seen him before. Like his mind was worlds away, lost in a time both so long ago and so far in the future.

The kettle squealed, and you jumped.

Hands weighed with two steaming mugs, you walked back to the living room, half expecting him to be gone when you arrived. However, there he sat, still as a statue, just as you had left him.

“Here.” Your voice was gentle, but it still pulled his eyes up quicker than lightning. You handed him his tea, sat down next to him, and waited.

The two of you sat in silence for a long while; you finished your tea, while the Doctor’s full mug grew cold in his hands. 

“Thank you,” he said suddenly. 

You blinked, observing him questioningly.

“For the tea,” he clarified. “Very nice. You always did make good tea…”

“Doctor… you’re scaring me. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Scaring you? Oh. I didn’t... my head? Oh, sweet Y/N, that isn’t a place you want to visit.” He chuckled darkly.

Slowly, you rested your hand over his. Despite the lingering warmth of the mug, his fingers were cold. You squeezed his hand gently, and the Doctor stared at your skin on his, soft and warm, like a comforting memory that only rears its head in your darkest moments.

“Why are you here?” you asked again.

The Doctor closed his eyes. “To say goodbye.”

“Goodbye? To... me? Did something happen?”

The Doctor shook his head. “Not yet. But it will. But then, I suppose it already has. Not to you. Well, not yet. We all die one day, after all, don’t we?”

“Doctor. What are you talking about?”

“Nothing... nothing for you to worry about. It’s been, and it will be. Tell me... what year is it? What year did I leave you in?”

“It’s 2020,” you said.

The Doctor winced. “Oh. Sorry. Of all the years to leave you...”

“Hey, it’s interesting to be in a historical event in my own timeline for a change,” you replied, and he chuckled again; a genuine one, this time.

“Oh, Y/N. You always have been the optimist, haven’t you?”

“So have you.” You squeezed his hand, and he set his mug on the table with his free hand, squeezing your fingers back.

“Thank you,” he murmured. The Doctor’s eyes finally met yours, and his eyes were damp. “I didn’t want to leave you, you know. I... I never want to leave you. That’s exactly why I had to.”

“Doctor...”

He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing the palms of his hands over them before inhaling deeply and smiling. “Well, this has been nice, hasn’t it? I should head off; places to be, things to do, you know?”

The Timelord leapt to his feet, suddenly brimming with forced energy, and you followed his hasty path to the front door. 

“Doctor, you can’t just—you can’t just leave like that, not again. Not without at least telling me what’s going on. It’s not fair.”

His smile wavered. “I... I know. But I’m selfish; I should never have come here in the first place, I just... I just needed to see you.”

“Why me?” you asked softly. “Why not... why not Amy? Or- or even Rose, or Martha, or Donna? Why come here?”

The Doctor closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I can’t...”

You touched his arm, and his eyes bore into yours. 

“You’re different, Y/N. You always have been; you know that. Sweet, sweet Y/N, with the warmest human heart of all. You only have one heart, but you care far more for others than my two hearts ever could.”

“That’s not true,” you protested, and the Doctor smiled, placing a gentle finger over your lips.

“It is. I’m old, Y/N. I’m an old, selfish man. I’m not a hero. I’m not...” He swallowed, and shook his head for the umpteenth time.

“Doctor. Why did you come to see me?” you asked, one last time. “What’s made you so down and reflective?”

“Who doesn’t want to spend their last hours with the person they love?” the Doctor finally murmured, and your heart all but stopped.

“Last hours? What are you talking about? Wait—love?”

The Doctor smiled, resting his hand on your cheek. “Everything has it’s time, Y/N. Even me.” And suddenly, his arms were around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. 

He was warm, and smelled just as he always did; faintly of leather, of old books and untold stories. You buried your face into the shoulder of his tweed jacket, the fabric softer than it looked on your still-tearstained cheeks. A pair of lips settled against your hair, and moved to your forehead when the Doctor inevitably withdrew; he never was one for lengthy hugs.

His lips left your skin, but your chest was still flush against his, your eyes finding his own as your white knuckled fists grasped the back of his coat.

“I love you, you know,” you whispered. “And I know that you’re doing to be okay. You’re going to work this out; everything is going to be fine. You’re the Doctor. You always save the day.”

“Not always.” His voice was brittle, on the verge of breaking.

“Well, you always saved me. Every day; not just when we got ourselves into trouble. Every day after meeting you... I wanted to wake up in the morning. You showed me the whole universe; different planets, different times... but none of that would have mattered if it wasn’t you I was with. You showed me how to be myself, Doctor; how to find my spark again. You saved me.”

The Doctor smiled, his hand cupping your cheek. “Oh, Y/N... I didn’t save you. You did that all by yourself. I was just the taxi.”

You shook your head vehemently. “Doctor...”

“Y/N,” he whispered, his thumb rubbing gently over your cheekbone, the corner of your mouth, your lower lip... You could feel his warm breath on your nose, feel those piercing eyes as they sought yours, and slowly, tentatively, finally...

He kissed you.

Your mind froze, but as he moved to pull away you finally melted into him, grabbing his lapels and tugging him back as your mouth sealed over his. The Doctor’s hands were on your waist, your cheek, his lips soft and insistent as he held you tightly to his chest. You sighed into his caress, and even when he pulled away, he couldn’t help but place a few soft, lingering pecks to your swollen lips.

“I should leave,” he whispered, his eyes closed and forehead pressed against yours. “I’m sorry.”

“Doctor, please...”

“I’m sorry. But, before I go... I just want you to know that I do love you. You were my everything. The last star in a lonely man’s empty universe. Thank you, Y/N. Promise me you’ll take care.” His voice was barely audible, his breathing unsteady as he cupped your face in both hands.

You nodded, pushing on tip-toe to place one last kiss to his lips. “Promise. You too, okay? Please, Doctor. Please stay safe. Find a way.”

The Doctor smiled sadly, but didn’t reply. “Goodbye, my sweet Y/N,” he breathed eventually. “I know you’ll have the most beautiful life. Enjoy it.”

Before you could reply, he turned and left, leaving nothing but a swinging door behind him. You watched him walk around the corner without looking back, standing in the empty doorway with your hand over the light switch. In the distance, you heard the wheeze of the TARDIS engine slowly fade into a dying breeze.

The porch light flickered, and finally went dark.

≿━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━≾

thanku for reading !! pls reblog/comment if u got this far, it means a lot!! xx

[bastillewolf]

It’s More About Looks Than Skill (VIII)

Pairing: Ryuk/Reader

Summary: Ryuk finds himself gaining feelings for Light Yagami’s best friend, but she doesn’t know he exists. When he makes the grave mistake of touching her, he makes things a lot more complicated.

Notes: I’m back... I told you I wasn’t giving up on this fic, I just needed some time to get over myself. I’ve plotted down the whole story and its ending, so you don’t have to worry about me not finishing this. It might take some time, but I’ll try not to post once every two months. Sorry, once again!

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list! If I wasn’t able to tag you, please check your settings and send me another ask.

@sarai-ibn-la-ahad​, @rustypotatospork​ @mantisandthemoondragon @baby-queen-girl​ @itscalledtrust​ @emilyshurley​ @killtherandomness​ @selmeuuh​ @felicity291​ @mahou-no-momo​​ @bakarinnie​​ @beccawinter​​ @chantelle-c333​​ @ria-demon29​​

Chapter VIII

It wasn’t until she’d said goodbye to Soichiro and stepped through the hospital doors into the night’s breeze, did she hear Light speak again. She was standing miraculously placed behind a large bush, where they wouldn’t notice her. It seemed the young man waited to see if anyone stepped through the doors before deciding to continue his talk with the God of death hovering in the air behind him.

“Ryuk.”

“Hm?”

“I never once felt cursed since I picked up the Death Note. In fact, the thought never even crossed my mind. I’m happier than I’ve ever been, all thanks to this power. I’m going to create a perfect world.”

“Honestly, I could care less whether you feel cursed or happy to have a notebook. I’ll leave that sentimental crap to you humans. But… Normally humans who come into contact with a Shinigami have nothing but misfortune.”

“That’s interesting. But I have no intentions of repeating that pattern.”

She only allowed her lungs to release the air they’d been holding long after she could no longer hear his footsteps walking off. And only then did she allow herself to finally feel what she’d felt in the pit of her stomach all this time; fear.

 ***

“Are you seeing this?” Lights voice carried over the walkie-talkie, but her attention was directed entirely towards what the TV in front of her was broadcasting. Since phones had become a danger as of late, she’d suggested going for a more old-school approach, if it was only to be able to contact Light when her house was feeling a bit too empty. Which was happening more and more frequently.

She hummed in response.

“Even if you don’t agree with me, all I ask is that you not publicise your views in the media. If you can do that, you will be spared. All you have to do now, is be patient. I will create a better world that we can all enjoy. Say goodbye to the world as you know it. Soon, we’ll have a new world ruled by benevolence inhabited by kind-hearted, honest people. Try to imagine it; a world where the police and I-“

“Switch channels. Now.”

She did as was asked of her, and was faced with the collapsed figure of Ukita, a taskforce member she’d just met only a few days prior. “Light… you didn’t-?”

“Of course it’s not me, you fool. I wouldn’t be so reckless. Now L will think I don’t need a name to kill someone. This impersonator is ruining all my plans!”

“Calm down, Light. This might work in our favour. You and I both know L will take all possibilities into consideration, so it could very well be that he’s already figured out about this person acting as a second Kira.”

“Ryuk-“ she heard some muffled noises in the background, “-didn’t give another Death Note to anyone, did you?”

“I only had two,” she could make out, “and I’m surely not stupid enough to give away my second one.”

“Light, please look back at the screen.”

“Hm?”

“A vehicle has just driven through the front of the station!”

“Well, that’s one way to stop the broadcast.”

It took a while, but eventually a police car arrived at the scene. And another, and another, until the whole building was surrounded.

“That’s… Soichiro? Light, that’s your father!”

“There you have it! The police refused to cooperate with Kira! Instead, they are prepared to fight. And, as much as I fear for my own life while saying so, this is right, and it must be done! Kira has become a very threat to our constitution, and as citizens, we must fight back. I am NHN’s Golden News anchor, Kouki Tanakabara.”

***

“I can only say it’s a shame that the answer is no, it’s clear that the police wish to oppose me.”

“How and why is this being broadcasted?” she asked, scooting Light’s chair closer to the television on his desk. It was the next day, and Sakura TV was airing the Kira imposer’s tapes once more.

“This will not go unpunished. So, I’ll start by either taking the life of the director-general of the NPA, or the detective known as L, who is currently leading the investigation against me. The director-general, or L? Who will pay the price in your refusal to cooperate in the creation of a peaceful world? You have four days to decide.”

Light let out a small chuckle. “You were right all along. There is no need to worry.”

“Really?”

“It would appear that another Shinigami has come to the human world, and somehow that Shinigami’s Death Note has fallen into the hands of someone who agrees with Kira. And this person most likely the Shinigami Eyes, which makes him very deadly. His power to kill surpasses even mine.”

“Or her,” she corrected him, to which he rolled his eyes.

“One thing is for certain, if I leave things I’m pretty sure L will be finished off within the next four days. However, I can’t forgive this imposter for the way he’s tarnishing Kira’s image with his senseless killings. Not to mention if he slips and gets caught, the Death Note will be discovered and that I can’t allow. I cannot afford to leave him alone for much longer.”

“Oh, now I definitely hope it’s a girl. If only to watch you struggle.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t struggle with girls,” he protested.

“You’re right. But let’s just say that it wouldn’t surprise me if you turned out gay.”

“Please do shut up.”

 ***

It wasn’t long before L had invited both of them to his secret location. They were currently standing in front of the quirky hotel, after a reasonably lengthy train ride.

“I suppose your father couldn’t have just picked us up?” she asked.

Light shook his head. “That would’ve looked too suspicious. Right now, it just looks like we’re trying to escape our parents by booking a hotel room.”

“Aw, Light,” she cooed, latching onto his arm playfully, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

He pulled up his nose in irritation, and she felt the Shinigami that had been holding her hand subtly stiffen. “What- what does that mean?”

“Don’t even bother asking, Ryuk,” Light replied.

“I’ll remind you to behave, Light,” she reminded him, “L probably knows this Kira is a copycat because of the fact that they didn’t need a name to kill the person, and you’d do well to think about the possibility that he might have wanted for that last tape to be broadcasted. I’m not sure how you’re going to get out of this one, as you can either choose to be ignorant, or speak up about your ‘deductions’.”

“Hm.”

“God, I hope it’s gonna be a girl.”

 ***

A short introduction followed between Light and the task force, as she simply gave them all a polite smile. She’d told Light briefly about them, as they’d met once or twice when she had her meetings in the café with L beforehand. At first, Light had been appalled by the fact that she knew more about these men that he did, but eventually did accept the fact that he now had someone who was apparently a more trusted figure in L’s mind.

And as expected, tapes were shown to both of them.

“Do you mind if I ask Light to make his deductions first?” L asked her.

She shook her head. “I understand. You’ve talked to me more than you have with Light. Go ahead.”

“So, what do you make of this, Light? Have you come to any conclusions?”

…

…

…It’s a test.

“It’s hard to say, but there might be another person out there with Kira’s power.”

And so it begins.

 You may also write the cause and/or details of death prior to filling in the name of the individual. Be sure to insert the name in front of the written cause of death. You have about 19 days (according to the human calendar) in order to fill in a name.

 “Are you sure you’re gonna pull this off? Pretending to be Kira, I mean?” she nudged him jokingly.

“I sure hope so. As long as I don’t start stuttering like I used to when I was a kid while we go live,” Light replied, almost too innocently. She knew all he wanted to do right now was strangle her for her comment, which is why she made it now; so he couldn’t.

“You used to stutter? Doesn’t seem very like you, Light,” L noted.

“Oh, he did,” Soichiro fondly recalled, “I remember those two reading out loud in Light’s room, giving a presentation to a whole group of stuffed animals, until he stuttered no more. I was so proud of you that day.”

Light shifted in embarrassment, clearly wanting this conversation to go back to business. “Ryuuzaki, does this look okay? I think I managed to make it believable.”

L picked up the sheet of paper. “Hm, I think you’ve done an excellent job with this. However, if we don’t omit the part that says, ‘you’re free to kill L’, then I’m gonna end up dead.”

What a dumbass.

Light laughed accordingly, “Sorry, I guess I got carried away playing the part. I figured if I was him I’d probably demand that he be killed. I was improvising, feel free to change it to whatever you like.”

“Sounds good. Say, just to make sure nothing happens, I’d have Aihara read the script during broadcast. It’s just as a precaution.”

“Of course.”

What a shame.

 ***

They’d sat down in front of the television once more, which seemed to be a more regular occurrence these days. Soichiro met her gaze.

“Sweetheart, do you have any idea when your parents are coming back?”

She shook her head, “They usually let me know the day before. Their schedules are too erratic these days to be able to plan home visits ahead.”

She knew he pitied her when she’d said ‘home visits’. Parents shouldn’t be visiting their home. They should visit work, and be home.

“But they let me know they’re getting all of the divorce papers finalized, and that because of their absence they think it would be best to keep the house until I move out.”

“Your parents are getting divorced?” Light asked, genuinely surprised, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shrugged. “They told me when we still weren’t on speaking terms because of our fight. Guess it slipped my mind.”

“Well, you’re always welcome to stay at our house, if you’re missing the comfort,” Soichiro reminded her, for which she was grateful. “I was wondering though - and please tell me if I’m stepping out of line here - haven’t you connected with anyone else yet in school?”

“…Connected, sir?”

“W-Well, you know what I mean-“

“…Oh, uh- No, not really.”

“Well, it’s not any of my business anyway, but while your father is gone, please do tell me if you need me to give a young man a stern look.”

She giggled quietly, her cheeks reddening. “Thank you, mister Yagami. But I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“That reminds me,” Light said, “I think I kind of promised someone you’d go out with them.”

“What?”

Ryuk held his breath.

[dr-divinae]

Spirit Guide Session

Welcome to your Shamanic Healing Journey experience where you'll be introduced to your Spirit Guides for the second time tonight!! Yeah, I used GoogleNotes for your Spirit Guide Sessions and lost all of my work but I'm not terribly off track I had wrote some of le. Details down via Grimoire for ShamanicChanneling

@cosmic-badlarry

Thank you so much 💖 for joining me this evening 💞 or should I correct myself and say late evening 🌃 night!!

I'm noticing the moon right now 😹

First Quarter Moon 🌜 in ♉⚡💜 When the moon is in Taurus we are motivated by a place of serenity, security, peace, and comfort.🌺⚡Tonight, this evening my dear Gemini child you are going to meet your most active🍂 Spirit Guides...I just pulled some Oracle Cards from multiple decks and based on their Chakra balancing and literal meaning you've got a lot of 🌸Spirit Guides in the 💙fifth Chakra💙 or the 💎Vishudha❄️, and right away we know that that's the 🗣️throat Chakra🗣️💫

And the throat Chakra represents: All sound, Vibration , Communication, Self-expression, Listening, Speaking, Writing

This to me tells me that there could be something related to yourself in the mentioned areas of voice , or vibration?

Or perhaps it's a hint of who your Spiritual Guardians are and what your Spirit Guides gifts are as far as communication goes because that's another vibe I strongly get as a result of this card pulling set.

On my Oracle Card I can tell it's Gabriel's horn... So dear Gemini 💞💖 your first Spirit Guide that's showing up today is Archangel Gabriel as he is also associated with the fifth Chakra as well. Due to his communication link in literally each and every story we ever heard of him .. and he's even known to wear this blue which actually relates to the Chakra I am speaking on so much now ,

now now I'm going to get comfortably numb 😂😂😅 no drugs needed just my regular medical medication 😭dont tell them your dr is now! It's just that I'm ready to do the most in depth part of this Shamanic Session which you've paid for ... I just need to relax , I'm listening 🎧 to a specific type of binaural beats music 🎶 that allow me to channel your most Active 🍂 Spiritual Guardians hopefully I'll really connect with your Spirit Guide ☺️ here we go it's 12: 36 now wow long process🍂💫🌜 but worth it no?

When i begin typing again it will all be channeled information all from your Special shamanic experience with your Spirit Guide.. see you there in the channel 😎...

Hello 👋 Gemini 😁 I'm glad that you have made this choice to finally meet the voice behind all of the synchronicity 🏵️ in your life🍂🍁 to meet the real reason we have met this evening and I'm glad and honored to introduce you to your Spirit Guide🏵️🌸💐

Your most active and current Spirit Guide is a Greek Goddess from this tale I'm about to share and although she's been cursed by Juno and lost her voice somewhat; She is able to repeat sentences, fragments and makes a whole lot of sense when I have her communicate with your higher self 😅 because when I first found out through this Shanic experience that your Spirit Guide is sort of speechless I was lol pretty depressed. About the direction of this Shamanic Healing Journeys for you but going forward I did find the magical method to communicate with the ever forever silenced echos of your Greek. Spirit Guide.

And it's 1:17AM EST Did you guess your Spirit Guide 🏵️ yet? No...

Name: Echo

Origin: Latin

Meaning:reflected sound

Echo as a girl's name is of Latin and Greek origin meaning "reflected sound". In mythology, Echo was a nymph who loved Narcissus and faded away until only her voice was left behind.

In Greek mythology, Echo (/ˈɛkoʊ/; Greek: Ἠχώ, Ēkhō, "echo",[3] from ἦχος (ēchos), "sound"[4]) was an Oread who resided on Mount Cithaeron.[5] Zeus loved consorting with beautiful nymphs and often visited them on Earth. Eventually, Zeus's wife, Hera, became suspicious, and came from Mount Olympus in an attempt to catch Zeus with the nymphs. Echo, by trying to protect Zeus (as he had ordered her to do), endured Hera's wrath, and Hera made her only able to speak the last words spoken to her. So when Echo met Narcissus and fell in love with him, she was unable to tell him how she felt and was forced to watch him as he fell in love with himself.

In Metamorphoses (8 AD), the poet Ovid tells of Juno (Hera in Greek mythology) and the jealousy she felt over her husband Jupiter's (Zeus in Greek mythology) many affairs. Though vigilant, whenever she was about to catch him, Echo distracted her with lengthy conversations. When at last Juno realized the truth, she cursed Echo. From that moment on, the once loquacious nymph could only repeat the most recently spoken words of another person.

Abode/Residential: Mount Cathaeron

Parents: Ouranos

Siblings: Nymphs

Children: Lynx and Lambe

Consort: Pan and Narcissus

Symbol: Crabgrass, Hemlock , the Skunk

Colors: Black, White, Blue, and Purple

The myth of the goddess is told in Book III of the Metamorphoses, and tells the story of a "talkative nymph" whom the goddess Venus admires for her magnificent voice and song. When she tricks Juno into believing that her husband, Jupiter, was in the city, Juno curses Echo by making her able to only finish a sentence not started, and unable to say anything on her own. "Yet a chatterbox, had no other use of speech than she has now, that she could repeat only the last words out of many." This is the explanation of the aural effect which was named after her.[1]

Sometime after being cursed, Echo spied a young man, Narcissus, while he was out hunting deer with his companions. She immediately fell in love with him and, infatuated, followed quietly. The more she looked at the young man, the more she longed for him. Though she wished with all her heart to call out to Narcissus, Juno's curse prevented her.[2]

During the hunt, Narcissus became separated from his companions and called out, ‘is anyone there,’ and heard the nymph repeat his words. Startled, Narcissus answered the voice, ‘come here,’ only to be told the same. When Narcissus saw that nobody had emerged from the glade, he concluded that the owner of the voice must be running away from him and called out again. Finally, he shouted, "This way, we must come together." Taking this to be a reciprocation of her love, Echo concurred ecstatically, "We must come together!"[3]

In her delight, Echo rushed to Narcissus ready to throw her arms around her beloved. Narcissus, however, was appalled and, spurning her, exclaimed, ‘Hands off! May I die before you enjoy my body.’ All Echo could whisper in reply was, ‘enjoy my body’ and having done so she fled, scorned, humiliated, and shamed.[4]

Despite the harshness of his rejection, Echo's love for Narcissus only grew.[5] When Narcissus died, wasting away before his own reflection, consumed by a love that could not be, Echo mourned over his body. When Narcissus, looking one last time into the pool uttered, "Oh marvellous boy, I loved you in vain, farewell", Echo too chorused, "Farewell."[6]

What's Hemlock?

Poison hemlock (Conium maculatum) is a poisonous invasive weed that has caused many accidental deaths because of its resemblance to carrots, including the wild carrot (Queen Anne’s lace). The poisonous agents in the plant are volatile alkaloids, and they are found in every part of the plant. In addition to causing death when ingested, the plant also causes a miserable dermatitis in sensitive people upon contact with skin. Socrates drank the juice of this notorious plant to commit suicide, and ancient Greeks used it to poison their enemies and political prisoners. North American Natives dipped their arrowheads in hemlock to make sure every hit was fatal.

.........TO MOST DEFINITELY BE CONTINUED

Having technical difficulties as far as uploading and sharing this channeled session of Shamanic Healing so @cosmic-badlarry just pleeease hold on

Anybody who's interested inbox me

I can tell you who your Spirit Guide is not a problem just need to get a small fee 😊 and speak to you for a quick second of does not take long at all that part . . But my part of doing channeling does take it m afraid hours. This case I'm doing now omg I've been working since 11:33PM EST NOW ITS 5:44 EST

[aristidetwain]

Who on Earth is Rasputin?

If you answered “the Fourth Doctor using a Chameleon Arch”, you have seen the 1971 biopic Nicholas and Alexandra and you have the sort of spirit we’re looking for. We love you, Tom Baker, we love you.

Nevertheless, while it is clearly canonical that every other part played by a given Dr Who actor represents that actor’s Doctor under a Chameleon Arch, (/s), let’s dig a little deeper, because it’s fun and we have cause to do so, into the life and history of Grigori Rasputin in the Doctor Who Universe.

(Lengthy development under the cut.)

1. 

The PETER HARNESS Story

For those who haven’t been keeping up with the flood of great content springing from the Doctor Who: Lockdown event like slightly wobbly ambrosia from the Cornucopia, Peter Harness has released a synopsis for one of the most improbable missed opportunities of the Welsh Series: a Capaldi one-parter entitled How The Monk Got His Habit. 

This story would have seen the return of the Time Meddler himself, or, as you may know him, the Monk—a positively delightful antagonist from the 1960′s who got overshadowed by the more enduring and more malevolent Master, and whose gimmick was that he was an amoral hedonist who changed history for fun and profit with no care for the consequences. In his televised appearances in the William Hartnell era, the Time Meddler was played by Peter Butterworth; first encountered posing as a monk in an 11th-century monastery, he was subsequently remembered as “the Monk”, wearing that costume, and known thereafter as “the Monk” or “the Meddling Monk” in fandom and in subsequent appearances. 

Harness decided to feature an early incarnation of the character colliding out-of-sync with the Twelfth Doctor, giving nothing less than the origin story of the Meddling Monk, both the “meddling” and “monk” parts, and just from the original pitch email he dug up, it is a thing of beauty.

(Source)

Further enjoyment is to be gleaned from the fully-written-out opening scene of a hypothetical novelisation of the unmade story, which can be found here and establishes the incarnation of the Time Meddler at the start of that story (currently going by “Roger”) as being his fifth. 

This is mildly interesting in that in true Doctor Who fashion, it manages to contradict one of the very few already-existing stories that had tried to make sense of the Monk’s timeline. I refer of course to John Peel’s The Mutation of Time, which took time off to establish that the already-meddling, already-monasterial Peter Butterworth incarnation seen in The Time Meddler and The Daleks’ Master Plan was the Monk’s first incarnation. But never mind that.

Note that the historical Rasputin died at the tail end of 1916. I could construct elaborate theories of how and why Rasputin turning insane in 1917 could affect the Russian Revolution and the rest of human history, but I’ll spare you and myself the additional headache, and assume this was simply a typo.

2. 

The BOOK OF THE WAR Story

Where it gets complicated, as is often the case, is when you factor in the Time War. See, The Book of the War, in one of its most entertaining side-stories, establishes that Grigori Rasputin actually did not die in December 1916. Instead, Faction Paradox, those lackadaisical jackanapes, thought it would be funny to spirit him away to their hideout a few days before his death, leaving a barely-sentient clone to act out Rasputin’s real death. 

Unaware of this, the Celestis (a faction of Time Lords who turned themselves into incorporeal demons to escape the Time War) had decided to recruit Rasputin in their usual faustian way, offering him a form of immortality in exchange of his accepting to be Marked by them, becoming a slave to their will. Because the Rasputin clone’s basic programming included “Do whatever freaky time travelling sorcerers are telling you to do”, the thing blithely accepted the Celestis Mark and was on its way. 

And then, unaware of what the Celestis had done, but having caught wind of the Faction Paradox cultists’ plan to bring Rasputin to their homebase, the actual Gallifrey-based Time Lords decided to duplicate Rasputin themselves, leaving a “trapped” Grigori for the Faction to find, one who was secretly loyal to them, the Great Houses. And so they showed up one day before Rasputin’s death to perform the switcheroo, being under the impression that if the Faction were to whisk Rasputin away, they would do so mere instants before he was supposed to die. 

(Maybe the Time Lords thought that because that’s how they would do it. For more information, see S09E12, Hell Bent.)

Hence, come the fateful day, the Time Lords’ doctored duplicate of the Faction’s doctored duplicate of Rasputin, now secretly immortal thanks to, and under the control of the Celestis, (are you still following this?)… not only does it take forever to die because duh, it’s a badly-made golem, not a human being… but once it does find it within itself to die, it is instantly resurrected by the Celestis, who activate their Mark, ordering it to do their shadowy bidding.

At this point, the misbegotten triple-zombie experiences an existential crisis too big for its artificial brain to handle, as what passes for its soul has now been conditioned to faithfully serve the interest of three different factions who are at war with each other. Not-Rasputin goes instantly mad with confusion and goes drown itself in the nearest river.

Meanwhile, in the members-only Faction Paradox treehouse, the original Rasputin whom the cultists replaced with the first golem is properly inducted into the Faction, where he is widely observed to turn into just as crazy a Grandfather Paradox zealot as he was a devout Orthodox and mystic. He proceeds to use his newfound authority as Father Dyavol of Faction Paradox to advise his fellow Faction member Princess Anastasia to secede from the Eleven-Day Empire and bugger off to Moscow.

After Anastasia and Dyavol’s revolution crashes and burns, his corpse is found in the river again, appearing to once more have been mutilated in more ways than it would take to kill a normal human being. The Book’s ambiguous in-universe authors are themselves unsure of quite what happened.

3.

The OTHER STUFF

Those two are the “big ones”, but I would be remiss if I did not mention other Doctor Who takes on the historical Grigori Rasputin.

Big Finish’s Companion Chronicle The Wanderer has the First Doctor, Susan, Ian and Barbara coming across the younger, wandering-pilgrim Rasputin in 1903. He briefly becomes a genuine prophet due to having come into contact with an alien artefact which grants him knowledge of future human history, but this is undone at the end of the story and so doesn’t amount to very much. 

I am told that this is because the story was originally written with Nostradamus in mind, which makes a lot of sense. What is of interest to us is that Rasputin is here depicted as a basically good, sane man, once you set the grandiose prophetic visions aside.

Dave McIntee’s The Wages of Sin, on the other hand, is also constructed around Rasputin’s death in December 1916, but it posits that Rasputin was a non-supernatural and non-crazy monk, totally undeserving of his ghoulish and supernatural post-mortem reputation. Rather problematically, it gives us a direct insight into Rasputin’s thought processes as he dies, with no thought of being a triple-zombie with conflicting allegiances to be gleaned: 

4. 

The THEORY

What this tells us is that Rasputin’s death is not strictly a bootstrap paradox — the original historical death that the Faction fetishized to the point of wanting to get their own ritualistic mitts on Rasputin, the one the Monk accidentally averts, a few months before it’s supposed to happen, in a way that threatens to change all of human history, is not the farcical catastrophe described in The Book of the War. There was an original, untampered-with timeline that got thrown out of whack by too many different Time Lords trying to meddle with it.

You could, I suppose, posit that there are three different timelines: the Monk and the various Wartime factions both split off in different directions from the baseline Wages of Sin timeline where the human Rasputin died in the river. But that is no fun at all, is it? And furthermore, it does not account for the fact that the definitely human Rasputin of The Wanderer and The Wages of Sin is a good man unfairly maligned, whereas the Rasputin who becomes Father Dyavol is a rebellious lunatic. So let’s assume instead that the Book of the War story’s time meddling is building onto what happened (or, you know, would have happened) in How The Monk Got His Habit.

If we assume that the “the Monk drives the real Rasputin insane” incident happened a few months prior to December 1916, and it is on the day when he was driven mad that the real Rasputin is taken out of time by the Twelfth Doctor and replaced by the regenerated Monk, then this finally makes sense of the difference in characterization between pre- and post-1916 Rasputin. The sane, misunderstood Rasputin was the real human being, whereas the ranting madman Rasputin is the persona put on by the repentant Monk. Remember, per Harness’s outline, the Monk has a checklist of what Rasputin is supposed to do historically speaking, but I don’t see him having any real way of knowing how Rasputin is supposed to act. Most of his involvement with the man took place on the day that he drove him irreparably kookoo, after all.

So we end up with the following story:

The original Grigori Rasputin, who meets the First Doctor in 1903, is a mostly-sane and wholly-non-evil man. He has a traumatic experience with visions of future history, which the Doctor is forced to telepathically lock away, Donna-style. (The Wanderer) In the original timeline witnessed by the Third Doctor, Rasputin lives out his days largely as he had begun. He is assassinated in largely-mundane circumstances; Jo’s attempt to avert this by switching out the poisoned cakes for normal ones gives rise to a legend that Rasputin was unusually hard to kill, and causes the event to go down in history. (The Wages of Sin)  The Earth band Boney M write a song about Rasputin which inspires the Fifth Monk  to go back in time and make Rasputin listen to it. This drives him irreparably bananas, likely because of his having already had one barely-contained traumatic experience with future knowledge given to him by aliens, back in 1903.This screws with time to the extent that when he realizes he is out of his depth and calls for help, the Fifth Monk actually reaches the post-War Twelfth Doctor. After a lot of shenanigans, the Doctor leaves the Monk in 1916 with instructions to regenerate into a Sixth Monk physically identical to Rasputin, and then act out the part Rasputin was supposed to play in history to a T. (How The Monk Got His Habit)  The Sixth Monk’s Rasputin cosplay leaves a lot to be desired, since he mostly bases his performance on the damn Boney M song and on the bananas, post-listening-to-the-song Rasputin. Nevertheless, it’s enough to fool Faction Paradox into abducting him a few days before he was supposed to fake his death and go back to business as usual. The improbable series of coincidences which follows, with the triply-brainwashed duplicate, might represent Time trying to adjust so that the myth of Rasputin’s outlandish death, which started this entire series of events, still goes down in History somehow. Once in the Eleven-Day Empire, the Sixth Monk realizes pretty quickly that his being there at all, in the middle of the Time War, is a perfectly irregular breach of all the Protocols of Linearity. Hoping to avoid detection, he continues hamming it up as Mad Prophet Rasputin until he figures out a plan. To his surprise, he manages to fool Anastasia, and so he manipulates her into giving him a free ticket out of the Faction, namely the whole Thirteen-Day Republic thing. (The Book of the War) But wait. What happened to the real Rasputin who went crazy? I reckon the Twelfth Doctor took him to some place of caring or other. What’s more, I reckon he voiced his intention to do so while the Fifth Monk was still with him. (How The Monk Got His Habit) And so the final grisly piece of the puzzle comes into place. Desperate to escape back to his own place in Gallifreyan history, where it’s safe and black-and-white, when he sees the Valentine’s Day Battle approaching, the Sixth Monk commits his first truly evil act by hopping back into his timeship unseen, bringing the real Rasputin back to the Thirteen-Day Republic, and murdering him in a way which he hopes will look like the original timeline reasserting itself. To further avoid detection in case he should be intercepted on the way out, the Sixth Monk regenerates himself into a clean-shaven Seventh Monk right there and then, probably hiding in a closet. (The Book of the War) As far as any of the Wartime powers know, “Father Dyavol” is dead, and so the now-inconspicuous Seventh Monk is free to slink away back to his TARDIS. Knowing the Doctor is found on Earth in almost all of their incarnations, the Monk hovers close to Earth’s timeline, hoping to find the “right” Doctor again and rejoin Linearity by latching onto him. When they finally bump into each other in 1066 Northumbria, there’s still a 50-year difference between them, but the Monk thinks “eh, close enough” and reenters normal time for good, now with much-loosened moral standards. After all, act or no act, he spent quite a lot of time working with Faction Paradox — besides which he has seen that everything the Time Lords of his day stand for is torn down eventually by the War, so why bother with any of those Laws of Time he know will eventually be suspended? (The Time Meddler, The Daleks’ Master Plan)

…oh!

And if you want the real Rasputin’s story to have a happy ending, maybe the Faction, once they rifle through the possessions found on the corpse of Father Dyavol, find a fobwatch and open it… reviving the Fourth Doctor, who offers the befuddled coroner-Cousin a jelly baby, shrugs that this particular attempt to throw off the Black Guardian clearly didn’t work, and returns to his own era.

The jelly baby in question was then placed, with religious deference, on a velvet cushion inside the Catalogue.

[iatheia]

EDA reviews Part 6 - books 47-55

Previous part 1, 2, 3, 4 & 5

47) The Slow Empire - Uh, couldn't really follow this one at all. There are books when the first person narration works, but not here - too many jumps in setting, too little connective tissue, most of it told from the POV of a person who is barely connected to the protagonists? And that's even before they started repeating chunks of text wholesale between various parts - and I couldn't figure out if it was intended, or if it is the ebook was acting out on me. More than half way through the book, I still couldn't entirely tell what the story is supposed to be about, or if the plot has even started yet. Even having finished it, I find myself somewhat aghast. There are a few glimpses of something interesting, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what. 4/10

48) Dark Progeny - Also not really feeling it. It's not a bad story, but I do rather prefer a Doctor Who story to actually feature the Doctor and the companions front and center, whether they are POV characters or not. Here, though, they are barely in it - it's even more egregious than the previous one in actually giving the supposed protagonists stuff to do, and even on rare occasions we do switch back to them, it is all pretty generic. Anji developing telepathic abilities and the Doctor trying to calm her down all the while Fitz is freaking out in the background? Yes, please, more of that. Following around 20 interchangeable OCs that have nothing to do with the trio? No thank you. 6/10.

49) The City of the Dead - If you are invoking magic in a sci-fi universe, you need to be able to handwave it. It doesn't need to be awfully complex, "something something aliens, something something energy" is usually enough, but without it, you can't just throw magic about willy nilly. There are rules.

There are moments when it is a beautiful story, evoking a lot of dream-like wonder, and if it managed to remain a hazy dream, it probably would have been better for it. At the same time there is something very uncomfortably cynical about it, to the degree it left a bad taste in my mouth. There is a narrow line between not shying away from the ugliness of the world and deliberately making something ugly just for the sake of it, and often it felt like it was leaning towards the latter. Dunno, I started out wanting to like it, and feeling rather conflicted about it, but by the end became utterly indifferent. 7/10

50) Grimm Reality - Pure crack. Mind Robber wishes it could be as hilarious and off the wall as this story is. It throws every cliche fairy tale narrative device in the book at the characters and expects them to take it with the straight face, all the while realizing that the rules of the world are completely bonkers. And it manages to sustain this energy throughout, which is a no small feat. It's actually pretty exhausting by the end of it. Fairy tales stories do not belong to a lengthy literary genre, and even taking time deconstructing them, at 95K words becomes it becomes just too much - figuratively, and, on occasion, literally. Still, pretty great, I wish more books had its energy 9/10.

51) The Adventuress of Henrietta Street - *sigh*. My expectations were pretty low to begin with, and I still am somehow disappointed. Credit where credit's due - it is probably most coherent of the books from Miles. And at least it's better than Interference. That's really not saying much, though.

Honestly, if you've read any story about prostitutes, murder, satanic sex rituals bordering on blatant pornography, eastern culture and "mysticism of female sex" used for fetish fuel, written by a dude who clearly gets off on all of this - you've read all of them. There is really nothing revolutionary or compelling about it. On the list of "plots I never want to see in Doctor Who", they are definitely up there. And the Doctor is dying again, because it wouldn't be Miles's book without it. And he's, uh... living in a brothel, trying to marry someone, in order to, uh..... ritualistically tie himself to Earth, for, reasons? Did I read that right? After over 100 years of living on Earth and wanting to do nothing else than seeing the back of it, right. And writing books not quite about sex but definitely about sex. Because that's the thing the Doctor apparently does now. Self insert what self insert. And Fitz and Anji are just... there. On an occasion. All of it exposed on in a dull faux academic style without a shred of characterization, all the while absolutely nothing of note is happening, despite being a singularly longest EDA.

Just, if you hate the characters so much. If you don't understand what makes them tick to this degree. If you don't even care to learn. If you consider any established emotions they should have about the plot you are putting them through beneath you. Why are you writing in a shared universe to begin with? 2/10

(I did have an unintentional moment of hilarity with it, though. There is a character that is referred to as Lord ______, as if his name is censored. TTS would always pronounce it as Lord Underbarunderbarunderbar. Always gave me a chuckle).

52) Mad Dogs and Englishmen - A hilarious story, a very easy read, flowing from scene to scene. There are several occasions of fridge horror treated with levity that I would have rather have avoided. Plus, it is as incestuous as a book about books can get, and yet.... It is just absurd enough to work.

Plus, the whole, “His books are full of black magic, mind control...and perversion - moral and ethical and sexual. He is polluting the atmosphere of our group”, “What’s next? Rewrite War and Peace so it’s about guinea pigs?” - Oh, the shade. It is a good book in its own right, but just for this alone, 10/10

53) Hope - It's a pretty average book. Not outstanding, not horrible. Would have made a decent episode, all things considered, in a bread and butter sort of way. It does have some great ideas - the refuge of humanity, the conflict between Anji and the Doctor finally coming to light - not quite the type of conflict I was hoping for, though. If only it had a bit more nuisance, without neatly delineated black and white, if the antagonist didn't end up being a mustache twirling villain, if the Doctor didn't end up strong-arming everyone in a much more macho manner than he normally goes for (with a rather clunky dialogue). It had potential, even if it didn't end up being realized in full. 8/10

54) Anachrophobia - Very meh. The set up was fairly contrived, it never made me care about any of the characters, including whatever the hell the Doctor and co were doing, not to mention any of the secondary characters. Not terribly engaging, after a point I was mostly flipping through it. There is some big conflict brought up at 95% mark, and it is resolved in just couple of pages via a deus ex machina and a paradox. Overall, I might have said that I would have liked it better if I was in a mood for existential horror, but I took a break in the middle to listen to the Lease of Life - and it actually touches upon several similar themes, but with and outstanding character drama and much more graceful execution, which made this book look even more poor in comparison. 5/10

55) Trading Futures - I will give the author all the points for keeping an eye on the future. Perhaps, in 2002, predicting tablets being used as menus in fancy restaurants wasn’t that big of a reach, but I absolutely had a spit take when TTS has read to me something about “eye-phones”. There are some modestly clever moments throughout the book. Too bad that the rest of it is a complete rubbish. Not terribly original, either - a lot of ideas are copied directly from other books and other franchises. Reasonably entertaining, all things considered, but in a much more slapstick sort of way than was probably intended. 7/10

Overall impressions so far - This batch is, for the most part, fine. Some stories are worst than others, some better. With one exception, nothing horrendous, but nothing to write home about, either. They are, for the most part, serviceable. Individually, they have decent enough plots. But. There is very little character work. They can generally be read in any order, or dropped entirely, and you wouldn’t miss anything. The Doctor is mostly coasting from the excellent streak in the last batch, always in a spot light. I am starting to tire of the whole amnesia arc, though - it was good, but it ran its course, and at this point, with everything functionally back to norm, with barely a stray mention of it here and there, we are starting to be overdue for some semblance of resolution of all that. Henrietta Street is entirely a step in the wrong direction - not only it does nothing worthwhile for the characters, it’s just getting unnecessarily further into the weedworks, adding yet another plot thread that is forced on other writers to carry (they mention it occasionally, but it’s not like there is much to build upon) - rather viciously reminding of the previous mess of an ark “don’t you dare to think that it is over”. And I am so over it. Just, move on.

The companions fare rather worse. They are decent enough, they participate in action, in each book, they are mostly staying in character, with a handful of neat moments here and there (in a blink and you’ll miss it sort of way, though), they aren’t written off as an unnecessary burden to carry, which is an improvement. There is nothing meaty given to them though - they ask the necessary questions, do the things required of them, and generally stay out of the way when they are not needed. I guess Anji has at least some character driven moments, even though most of them are reduced to “I miss my dead boyfriend”. Which is... fine, we’ve all lost people, we all mourn them in our own way, but it has been 14 books since her introduction, and she is leaving in another 10. To have her character reduced to just that bit from her first book, with barely anything else to offer.... Plus, all the while, she rarely felt like she integrated into the team - because she is constantly eying her exit and returning to normality (even though she always decides to stay just a little while longer due to circumstances), it’s like from the very beginning she had one foot out of the door.

But while Anji is a bit of a one trick pony, at least she has that much. Poor Fitz gets absolutely nothing to do. The last meaningful book that addressed his character in any way was all the way back around book #42-43, and even that was just catching up on plot after his prolonged absence. He’s been essentially frozen since early 30s books. He is generally a fun character to have around, and does good supporting work, but can he please get something more impactful any time soon? Heck, by this point I’ll even take the recurrence of “finding a new love interest number 20 who will inevitably die by the end of the book” - it has been overdone, and it is certainly not a very exciting plot, not to mention reductive, but at least it’d be something. Though, I guess only one companion is allowed to carry that staple at the time, and right now Anji is it, two dead lovers is just an overkill.

And it is an absolute shame - especially when considering that on the other side, Big Finish was in the middle of streak of some of the best stories. Over the same time that these novels were published, we had audios such as Project Twilight, Eye of the Scorpion, Colditz, One Doctor, Chimes of Midnight, Seasons of Fear, which were full of character.

[kyndaris]

The Busywork of Sniffing Roses

A few weeks back, I was discussing the mounting pressure I felt to provide a consistent flow of content on my blog with one of my friends, particularly when it came to impressions for the video games I play. These always seem to be the ones that draw quite a few readers than my other ones. And these posts also seem to occasionally warrant a like from a random person on the internet, thus validating my very existence. So, you can see why I push myself through the games I play, taking screenshots of inappropriate stunning moments that would further serve to wow or astound my audience.

Yet the way I play my games flies in the face of maintaining a regular schedule. Most of the games that draw my attention are lengthy behemoths. Much like the books I buy, the games I play can get to upwards of eighty or ninety hours depending on how much of a completionist a person can be.

Though I’m not one to chase trophies, I do like to experience most everything a game has to offer before I see the credits roll. For me, the credits are a way to tell me that the game is finally over and that I can set it aside for something else. It is because of this strange perception that I have on games that I strive to do absolutely everything I can before the credits roll. While it does mean I might miss out on playing through the additional post-game content (which is rare in most games but a staple feature in many a role-playing game), it does mean that I’ve basically explored the entire world and done most of the sidequests and minigames that have caught my eye.

In fact, when I platinumed Ghost of Tsushima, the trophy popped just as I wrapped up the main narrative. Why? Because I had essentially cleared out all the outposts, found all the foxes, composed all the haiku and completed all the shrines.

It is also the reason why I spent an entire DAY simply sailing around the Skellige Isles in The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt. If there is a question mark, I will find out what it is and make it known! The latest entries in the Assassin’s Creed franchise also saw me spend far too much time roaming around the vast playgrounds Ubisoft gifted the players. 

This ‘habit’ of mine also very much helped in several other games that I somehow managed to platinum. Like Horizon Zero Dawn. By that game’s end, I was only one trophy away. And, in order to get it, I just needed to hit the straw deer scattered around the village. Easy. Done within the hour.

The problem that comes from my playstyle is that I’m unable to provide a complete and multi-faceted view of a video game until I’ve finished and seen the last few cutscenes. True, I could give an impression of the first few hours and the gameplay, but for this humble blogger, the narrative of the games I play have always been the driving force. Everything else is secondary. My video game literacy is decent. I pick up controls quickly. And while good mechanics do contribute to an enjoyable experience, they’re simply just that: mechanics to move the player from Point A to Point B.

In all honesty, I’d probably struggle through Tetris after the first hour. If, however, a developer could slap on a somewhat riveting storyline for why I was moving all these tetromino blocks to create solid lines, I might be able to push through.

So, despite howlongtobeat.com telling me that the games I’m playing should take a certain amount of time to complete, the yearning I have in open-world games (for which there was a lot released in Holiday 2020) often means that I can’t complete the video games I play within as timely a fashion as I would greatly desire in order to churn out interesting content for all my followers to read. 40 hours? Okay. But why does the game clock say that I’ve already put in 38 hours and after perusing online walkthroughs I only seem to be halfway through?

Gosh darn it! Why did I spent four hours playing Orlog? 

At time of writing, I’m still plugging away at Yakuza 7: Like a Dragon. When this goes up, I’ll probably have started Immortals Fenyx Rising or just bought Bravely Default 2.

The one thing I’m struggling with is how slow it is to level up even during Chapters 9 and 10. Nearly 60 hours in and I’ve done plenty of karaoke, bashed away at dream sheep and got my company to the Number 1 spot on the local Yokohama stock market, but none of my party members have actually hit Level 30.

In saying that, I’m still a level or two higher than the bosses I faced and I haven’t experienced too much of a difficulty curve...

But the progress just seems a little jarring to me. It would have been better if there was a more even grade to the levelling (particularly for jobs). Then again, it IS a Japanese role-playing game and if there’s no grinding...is it really a Japanese role-playing game?

Still, that’s no reason for me to cut out all the things that I enjoy doing in a video game just to make sure I beat the game in a timely manner. There are other things to write about than the video games I play. And maybe there’s an audience for that kind of content as well. Although, truth be told, I’m not sure how many people actually read whatever I throw out into the void that is the internet. Perhaps most people skim through whatever nonsense I write and toss in a like. While others barely glance at my weekly attempts to ensure some kind of routine.

In any case, what I often have to remind myself is that this blog isn’t a job. It’s something fun that I enjoy. The moment it stops being that, it should be an indication to perhaps stop or at least give some thought as to why what previously gave me joy now seems like such a chore.

And that includes the playing of video games. Because, if I’m not having fun with a game, what’s the point? Time is precious and it needs to be spent wisely.

[somniferouseyes]

Home Sweet Prison - Thoughts on Silent Hill 4: The Room

Recently I had the pleasure of finally playing the fourth Silent Hill game after years of planning to get around to it. I just finished it last night after three lengthy play sessions over the past week. It definitely had its flaws but I couldn’t help but love the game and wanted to share some of my thoughts. Obvious spoilers below.

This is going to be a long one, so buckle up. First, a little background. If you really don’t care and just want my thoughts on the game, skip down to below the line of ‘=‘s.

It must have been around 7 years ago I played my first Silent Hill game. I had heard bits and pieces about the series for a long time and finally I managed to get my hands on a Playstation 2 along with a copy of Silent Hill 2. The TV at my mom’s place didn’t make much sense to play games on, as I had to share it with a family that didn’t care much for watching games, and so only allowed me to play for short bursts. Definitely not suitable for playing through a game where atmosphere is one of the key elements to the experience. So instead I absconded with my PS2 and the game to the ancient CRT TV in my bedroom at my dad’s place, where I spent the night at most a few times a week. The solitude and old television at night made for a near-perfect playing environment for a game like SH2. The sound effects of the menus and the vibrant red of the save screen casting a bloody shade over the walls of that room are memories permanently imprinted in the inside of my head.

I had a great time with the game and eventually picked up Silent Hill 3 as well, excited for another journey to that destitute, foggy town. Unfortunately, after playing through around a third of the game, I discovered my disc was scratched and couldn’t continue, despite my best attempts to clean and buff it out. At that point I didn’t have any sort of disposable income so buying another copy just didn’t seem worth the expense. So unfortunately, my journey with that game ended there.

I was aware that the fourth game, like the first three, was fairly highly regarded, so I kept a tab on it in the back of my mind for opportunities to play. This past fall, I finally got my chance. I jumped with excitement at seeing GOG offering the now-ancient (by video game standards) title and immediately purchased it, fully prepared to experience what I had been missing all this time. I booted it up several days after and played for around an hour. There was the gameplay I remembered in all its clunky glory. As well as the haunting sound design and twisted visuals. It was a great throwback, but for some reason I didn’t come back for more. I planned to play more but it sat on the digital shelf for months before I would finally touch it again, this time with my partner at my side to experience it along with me. At first I worried having another person there would take away from the atmosphere, which is what I always saw as the strongest part of the series. Thankfully this wasn’t really the case. Anyway, now after enough extra shit, my thoughts on the game itself.

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What first struck me was how creative and intriguing I found the setting to be. I’ve known for a long time what it was, but actually playing it now I found it resonated with me in an unexpected way. I recently moved into my first non-college apartment and as I played I found myself sort of day-nightmaring about what it would be like to wake up one day and find myself trapped in my apartment, door chained shut, windows stuck, and no real communication to the outside world but a strange hole which has appeared in my bathroom wall. Letting myself sort of float in that headspace really got me immersed into the world and I really grew to appreciate the apartment as a sort of hub world in the game. A safe space from the horrors that lay on the other side of the hole. At least, temporarily safe as I would eventually discover. Throughout the first half of the game the apartment served as a resting point in between forays into the unforgiving outside world.

Then one time I came home to discover that the ceiling fan had mysteriously broken and smashed down upon the coffee table. Henry, our lovely protagonist, commented that the air felt heavier as though a weight was bearing down upon him. The in-game ramifications of this event didn’t become clear until a bit later, when I discovered that my health no longer regenerated when in the apartment. My one reliable form of healing had been taken away from me. And the game being a survival horror game, I very quickly felt its effect. Healing supplies were very limited and I found myself struggling to survive through various enemy encounters now where before I had done alright with occasional trips home to heal up. But this was only the beginning.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour or two later that upon entering the apartment I was greeted by a castrophony of crashing and banging coming from the living room. I entered and found the windows there shaking and slamming against their frames, as if by the manipulation of some violent poltergeist. Even so much as nearing them damaged me and despite the frustration at not being able to interact with them anymore without fear of taking lethal damage, it was one of the coolest things I’ve seen in a game for a while. From that point onward every few visits to the apartment, I was met with some new form of haunting in various parts of the few rooms I had. Eventually they crept in the way of the save point, forcing me to put myself at risk in order to even so much as save my game. It was a level of brutality that has become much less common in games. Thankless and cruel. But I loved seeing my safe prison twist and disfigure into a dangerous nightmare. For once in a piece of horror, whether game, book, or movie, I felt as if I was the one being haunted. This was my home and it was being slowly but surely wrenched from my hands. The hub easily became one of my favorite things about the game as a result.

My feelings about the rest of the game were a little more mixed. As is Silent Hill tradition, the controls were a clunky mess. I’m sure it was by design, as fumbling with them creates a tension in common interactions in the game not unlike the loss of coordination one might experience in a dream. As neat as that is as an artistic touch, from a gameplay standpoint it did sour the experience a bit when it came time to deal with enemies (FUCK the ghost victims).

On a related note, for some reason the devs thought it’d be a good idea to have the entire back half of the game be a goddamn escort mission. One where the quality of your performance affects the ending you get for some reason, no less (???). In general I liked Eileen as a character and appreciated the whole slow possession thing she had going on, but trying to maneuver through the cramped corridors of the game while also trying to move around her and make sure she didn’t get left behind with a bunch of enemies was a nightmare in and of itself. One of the worst things about the game, honestly. There were times I made sure she got left behind in areas just to give myself some room to breathe.

Enemies in general were a massive pain in the ass, at least until late in the game when I figured out how to deal with them efficiently. It didn’t help that their designs for the first third of the game were so bland. One of my favorite things about the series is seeing all the fucked up enemy designs and the speculation from the fanbase about what they might represent from a narrative standpoint, so I was super disappointed to find the first chunk of the game only feature zombie dogs, some ghosts, and pointy bats. Later on I discovered that the ghosts were actually Walter’s past victims who had lost all control and sense of reality after being slain for his ritual, which was a VERY cool detail I missed early on. It lent a whole new dimension to what would otherwise be boring generic ghost enemies. I just wish it had been conveyed better, because obviously I didn’t recognize any of them until Cynthia’s showed up during the second visit to Subway World (Yep. It’s actually called that.) It was a lot of fun seeing how each of the people I had seen murdered had unique abilities as ghosts meant to represent their personalities or behavior in life.

Once I hit the water prison, the game’s enemy design picked up though. I had seen images of the Twin Victims before, but it hadn’t prepared me for their sudden appearance in those cramped circular halls. In the past games and the beginning of this one it seemed like enemies usually had a sort of introductory cutscene showcasing a little of their personality or abilities, but for the Twin Victims? Nope, you get nothing. One second you’re in ignorant bliss of their existence, the next a two-headed shrouded figure is charging at you on its hands.

The rest of the enemies were all decent I think in my memory, though some better than others. I’m not sure who gave the okay on the decision for the Patient creatures in Hospital World to fucking let loose the most wild burps known to man whenever they take a hit, but it was simultaneously tension-ruining and laugh-inducing to knock one down the stairs by accident only to receive a musical number comprised solely of belches in response. Definitely a highlight of the experience, if an unintended one.

Since I don’t want to spend a ton of time on the areas themselves I’m gonna just throw together a little list here of quick opinions on them.

Subway World - Awful. Boring area, especially since this exact type of thing was done already in a fairly lengthy section in SH3. Fuck the dogs. Second visit wasn’t any better because being chased by Cynthia’s ghost was incredibly annoying, especially since you’re still just figuring out the mechanics of Eileen following you at this point.

Forest World - Refreshing after Subway World but still boring. Just a bunch of trees and annoying bats. Highlight was Jasper, my bro whose character arc consists of being scared of rocks, drinking some choccy milk, then burning to death. Second visit was a little better? I liked the torch mechanic and finding the body parts in the 5 wells was a creepy little sort of puzzle.

Water Prison World - One of my favorite areas. Really interesting design and home to one of the few true puzzles in the game, even if it is kind of explained to you outright. Also home to the debut of one of the creepiest enemies, Twin Victims. Second visit was kind of underwhelming and frustrating because of Eileen getting swarmed by them though.

Building World - Other than winning the Dumb Area Name of the Century award, this place was fine. Some areas were a bit too swarmed with enemies, but otherwise a pretty fun place to explore. Reminded me of past games in the series in terms of design. Second visit was ROUGH. I finished with no healing items and only a sliver of health remaining as I went into the boss fight, so I had to make sure I wasn’t hit once for its duration. Also what the fuck is up with the way Richard’s ghost moves? Thought my game was straight up glitching for a bit.

Apartment World - I think possibly my favorite area of the game. Just your classic Silent Hill apartment complex. Loads of rooms to explore and find keys for, etc. Second visit was exactly what I wanted. Just chaos throughout the building and creepy shit around every corner. Highlight for me was the chains on the superintendent’s door, for some reason. Just thought it was cool setpiece.

Hospital World - A pretty cool place overall, but too short and with no second visit it had me wishing there was more of it. A bit simplistic in design but I had fun checking out all the various rooms and the creepy shit inside them. Creepiest Shit in the Game award goes to the massive bloody head of Eileen that stares you down with eyes that can only be described as vibrating. Normally I’d be annoyed at Henry literally not reacting to it, but it somehow adds to its disturbing factor. Almost as if its some kind of meta-scare that Henry can’t even see.

As for the characters, I found them overall to be okay. Nothing special really. Henry is boring as hell and doesn’t really seem to react much to any of the crazy things happening around him, which makes me question his mental state a bit. Eileen is probably the best of the group in my eyes. She goes through a LOT during the game. I thought the possession mechanic with her was very cool and loved eventually finding out that her level of possession actually modifies her dialogue at various points in the game. Definitely a very nice touch. Walter is pretty meh. Just your ordinary insane serial killer really. Nothing to write home about. Didn’t really have a personality beyond “I’m bloodthirsty and I want my mommy.” Also, for someone who was trying to kill me, it really didn’t feel like his heart was all in it. He was easy to sidestep and he’d just sort of become disinterested and wander off. I was a bit underwhelmed to find the superintendent didn’t have any role really past the halfway point in the game. Where did he go? In one of the endings he’s confirmed to be dead but otherwise not mentioned at all. He got a lot of the spotlight in the first half so it really makes no sense.

The plot was pretty entertaining. Might be sacrilege to say so, but I think I preferred it to SH2′s despite its flaws, though it’s been a while since I played that so maybe I’ll have to give it another run-through sometime and see. I just had a lot of fun following Joseph’s notes and slowly learning about the Wishing House cult and Walter’s murders. I found myself guessing at what we could expect from Walter and his twisted ritual around every corner and how the tale would eventually unravel.

Upon tearing into it more closely my partner and I found a number of weird little issues and nitpicks with the plot that we couldn’t seem to find any explanation for. Was Walter ever really in prison? The game is deliberately vague about this detail, and I assume we’re meant to come up with our own conclusions, but it felt a bit strange to not give a more solid explanation, as other issues arise from the lack of one. If he did really kill himself in prison, how did he get out of his grave and perform the Ritual of the Holy Assumption? If that wasn’t him in prison, why would anyone bother digging up the grave at all? And either way, why mark the coffin with his number, 11/21? It doesn’t really make sense. Not quite related, but we’re also missing the why of Walter’s split manifestations. What about the ritual caused him to split off a child version of himself? It’s not exactly important to the plot’s progression, but it’d be nice to know if he fucked up some part of the ritual, or was punished for being a little shit by God or whatever.

Unfortunately my partner and I found the endings to all be pretty lame. I got the ‘21 Sacraments’ ending, which I guess is to be expected because I wasn’t very careful in taking care of Eileen due to the controls being a massive pain in the ass while also not really understanding how to purge the apartment of hauntings with candles. I understood the mechanic but literally couldn’t figure out where to place the candles to achieve the desired affect despite all my attempts to, which was a shame. I’m also still not entirely sure why the ending I got results in Walter possessing Henry’s body when I clearly followed the instructions to put a stop to his ritual, but the other endings aren’t all that much better. In the ‘Mother’ ending, apparently Eileen is somehow still possessed? Why? By who? No explanation is given! Always a good time.

Despite the nitpicks at the plot, the confusing decision to make most of the game an escort mission, and the messy Silent Hill game controls, I still had a fantastic time. I still felt just in love with the atmosphere, sound, and enemy design as I did back when I played SH2. I wish there were more in the series to experience, but it seems like my options aren’t all that great. The first game is kind of a dated mess visually, I’m not sure I have the heart to replay so much of the opening of the third game to allow myself to experience the entire thing, and apparently all the games after kind of suck in various ways.

I find myself leaving Silent Hill 4 with a renewed sense of sadness at the cancellation of PT and the grim hopes for the future of the series, but excited to maybe get back into playing more horror games. It’s a genre I used to be all over but eventually fell out of entirely, save for a few recent titles, such as Resident Evil VII.

I’d definitely recommend Silent Hill 4: The Room in a heartbeat to anyone who can stomach the clunky controls as well as some some dated graphics and game mechanics.

Goodbye for now, Silent Hill.