#but unfortunately that is not really the world we live in

[maaenyo]

I'm not responding to this for you, rather i'm doing it so whoever finds the post is not so mislead by your bias. Really, your attitude at the end of the post is unfortunate, like who died and named you master of the lore?? Specially when you're getting it wrong.

I don't know where you got that from, i've played the game enough and don't recall such a statement. The Blight is contained in the Black City, that's why it's black. There's hardly any doubt about this idek why it's a point at all

The Fade has spirits, spirits represent or mirror emotions, ideas, concepts. Some are positive, others are negative, they're still spirits. The Veil separating reality changed everyone's perception of things, spirits once used to the fluid nature of the Fade were suddenly faced with a stagnant reality that didn't adjust to their will; crossing the Veil becomes a traumatic experience that literally changes their composition. This resulted in aberrations and other scary things that humans called demons. Whatever humans fail to understand always gets demonized. In the harrowing of a circle mage Warden we meet Sloth, a so called demon. The Fade is full of desire demons tempting mages all the time. We have seen this many times both in games and other media like the comics. Nightmare was not an anomaly only present because of Corypheus, call it demon, spirit or whatever, it was always there to begin with because fear is one of the most ancient and natural emotions of life. I agree demons are spirits too, but the lore states very clearly they don't just turn negative by crossing through the Veil, they ARE already present in the Fade from the start.

Another idea you pulled out of..somewhere, idk, i've never read anything like it. The Veil choking?? the life and magic out of Thedas? The Veil is an unfortunate by-product of the Evanuris prison, whatever went wrong in Solas' ritual caused the barrier meant to contain the Evanuris and the Blight in the Black City to extend further and contain the entire Fade apart from the rest of the world. And it's a VEIL. Not a wall, not just any barrier, but a VEIL. Veils are usually of see-through fabric, they're not rock solid, they allow for some things to pass through, and the Veil gets thinner in some places, making that even more likely to happen. And things have been passing through, pushing through for ages; it's only been ripped open in places a few times (Magisters Sideral, Corypheus, the occasional mage fucking shit up). A Veil ripped open is what we see in Inquisition, with the Breach and the tears all over, and in future Redcliffe as well, a Veil torn and taken down carelessly. It's not a wall -unless you count the shield Gaxkang drops called "Fade Wall" which if you think about it is indeed a way of seeing the Veil-, if it were it'd take more than a knife to open it. I think there's a confusion between the Veil, the Fade and the prison Solas made. The whole thing is like a freaking onion, i once posited all the circles in the murals were a barrier between a barrier and i was correct, there's the Veil surrounding the Fade -an accident- and the containment around the Black City. You don't wanna consider it, fine, but that does not erase the fact DAV clearly states multiple times that the Blight is in the Black city and Elgar'nan is trying to break in to get it out; it's not just chilling everywhere in the Fade.

I'll just point this out because I think is hilarious you did it: first you say he doesn't lie. Massive retcon, right? Oh he doesn't lie. Then you say he's an absolutely terrible liar. Which one is it? Either he never lies, or he lies poorly (which is still lying, mind you), you can't have both. Also, every damn single time he uses the "i saw it in the Fade" excuse he IS lying. We know he didn't see shit in the Fade, he lived it, he was there when things happened for thousands of years. Tricksters trick but also lie, a lot, lying it's a big part of their trickery. You failing to grasp this is entirely on you, and sorry not sorry but you don't get to define any aspect of the lore like this when even you contradicted yourself! This is the point that got me to write a lengthy counter because it is ridiculous, and i say this as a lore fan, who played all the games, dlc, got all the books, comics, i even watched Redemption ffs, also as a Solas fan, a Solavellan even. Solas has lied more times i care to count. Not just by omission, but actively lied. He spent all of Inquisition lying "oh i saw it in the Fade, i saw it in the Fade" dude you were there when it happened!! LOL Are you for fucking real? You literally went just "nuhn unh, Solas doesn't lie cause i say he didn't".

You can dislike the game all you want, but do yourself a favour and heed your own advice, listen to people who know the lore. Right now you just proved you don't know it as well as you think, and that your interpretation of it is tainted with your bitterness over a game you didn't like, which whether you accept it or not will always be a Dragon Age game, and the lore it presents, whether you accept it or not, will always be Dragon Age lore.

I'm relegating you to the list of people who didn't understood shit about the lore and Dragon Age as a whole. I've spent YEARS diving into the lore, analyzing everything, got a whole blog dedicated to that, got a considerable number of things right in the process, but i always phrased things as maybe, might be, could be, because i'm well aware my word is not the law. Your attitude is the most annoying part of your post, you can have any headcanons you like but you're not a lore master and you don't get to twist things in your anger like that.

Do whatever you want, believe whatever you want. And using Veilguard as any sort of source for anything remotely related to canon Lore is just ridiculous. It's so... awful, IMHO, to use it to defend any sort of point.

I'm not certain if this would be considered critical, so I'll put it under a cut. Potentially critical of Veilguard.

Though I'm really just talking about the Lore.

I point out 4 massive retcons in Veilguard that blew my mind and that I see people commonly using as arguing points. And yes, if someone wants to pay me for the time, I can prove all of it with sources.

What little canon Lore they actually used in Veilguard? They twisted beyond recognition.

Just a few examples.

1. The blight is NOT, in fact, (or even in Veilguard) 'everywhere in the Fade'. It has always been contained to the Black City, that floats disconnected from everything else in the Fade. It's why the previously golden city is black ffs! Even in Veilguard, it's really damned obvious that the Fade isn't full of blight. We hop in and out of the Fade throughout the whole damned game like it's a shopping mall.

2. The Fade is not full of demons. Demons are spirits (people) of emotion. What usually twists them into demons is coming through the veil! The only reason there was the big demon in DAI is because it was attached to Coryphyfish. There's probably some, but it's an arguable point that an emotion spirit of, say, anger, or spite is actually a demon. Emotions aren't bad. They wouldn't automatically be demons simply because they reflect a negative emotion.

3. The veil has been canonically choking the life and magic out of Thedas for thousands of years. If the veil didn't come down, there would be no Thedas. This is clearly spelled out in canon. The veil was never meant to be part of the world. At the end of Trespasser, the veil is as holey as my grandmother's doilies. It's not as they tried to depict it in Veilguard, a firm, whole wall holding hordes of demons and the blight of blights back. That's such a bullshit retcon, and I make weird faces every time I try to figure out the mental gymnastics necessary for someone to come up with that idea.

4. It's also a massive retcon that Solas lies. (Sigh. Yes. It really is. No matter what you believe.) He canonically does not. They rewrote his character for DAI so that he doesn't lie because it weakened the character. He was originally written as much more similar to Blackwall. They decided it weakened Solas as a character and made sure he doesn't lie. He obfuscates, misleads, doesn't answer, and is really good at letting people make assumptions or even leading people to make assumptions. Because that is what a Trickster does! But in all of DAI and Trespasser, he does not lie except once. At the Winter Palace when you ask him where he got the experience of court. No. A 'lie of omission' is not a lie by the definition or philosophical understanding of what a lie is. You, as the player, not paying close attention to what he says doesn’t mean he lies either! He is not the 'god of lies'. That's Epler's hate shining through. Throughout 3 games, many dlcs, books, comics, short stories, the Dread Wolf is known as the Trickster. The god of rebellion and sometimes the god of betrayal. He is never once referred to as the god of lies in anything pre-veilguard. It's. Bullshit.

And Solas is an absolutely terrible liar. He stumbles all over himself trying to do it in the winter palace. It's hilarious tbh.

There were more retcons. But I need to go help with dinner.

Just, even if you liked Veilguard, don't use it as a defense in any sort of discussion of Lore. Perhaps listen to us Lore fiends, instead? Because they shat all over the Lore for Veilguard.

Real talk? It makes you look ignorant to anyone who actually has been paying attention to the Lore.

FWIW? I'm not in the best of moods right now. Please think twice, then a third time before responding/reblogging in disagreement. (Unless you're polite and actually have sources I haven't seen. I'm usually willing to have polite discussions or answer questions. I'm also willing to stand corrected if people actually can prove me wrong with sources attached. A 'nuhn unh, Solas lies cause I believe he does', won't get you far with me.) Nor will using anything from DAV to support an argument. I've relegated DAV to the graveyard of not-canon because of the complete disrespect of the Lore.

And I'll just laugh at you if you try to attack me. Internet randos filling my responses with shit doesn't phase me, bother me in the slightest, or make me upset. I find it incredibly, laugh out loud amusing because I've lived through so much more than that in my life.

[on-wine-dark-seas]

The Invitation

Dedicated to the little Black girl who wanted to be all things when the world told her she was nothing. You are everything. 🍯

🪧 Summary: 1050 AD, Heian Era. One full moon, Sukuna meets a dancing storyteller at the Hida Harvest Festival. But after a tragically violent evening robs her of everything, she winds up in a strange alliance with the King of Curses as his guest. 📚 Series: Sonder 🔞 Rating: Explicit ⚠️️ Warning[s]: Rape/Non-Con [not from Sukuna don't worry], blood, gore, description of wounds and dead bodies, cannibalism, recreational drug use [ganja, psilocybin, opium], slow-ish burn, hurt/comfort, PTSD, revenge, catharsis, eventual romance, eventual smut, Ryōmen Sukuna is his own warning. 💋 Pairing[s]: Sukuna x The Writer [⛩️🍯] 🎧 Playlist: [ the invitation ]

⛩️ AO3 𑁍 Parallax OCs 𑁍 Sonder OCs ⛩️

🍯 III. 無夢 Without Dreams

     “Smell that, Uraume?” Sukuna asks. “Winter is soon. And look, we’re damn near finished, just as I said we would be.” He glares down the line of one of his arms, weltered with blood and gore. The corpse attached to his massive fist is slumped in death, the face—what’s left of it—slacked in horror and shock. With one sharp jerk, he flings the body away and heaves a long, satisfied sigh. Behind him, ice crackles as Uraume’s footsteps carry them across the ruin of the battlefield.

     “It is as you say, my lord,” they affirm. “Still, we cut it rather close. Did you really need to indulge those performers the other night?”

     Sukuna laughs and stretches, opening all four of his arms toward the cold, muted light of the sun hidden in cloud cover.

     “Ah, are you still miffed about that, Ume? They were entertaining! Aside, there was the girl to consider. You saw what I saw, did you not?”

     “I did,” Uraume agrees. “Still, do you think it wise to invite them to the shrine? If she’s—”

     Sukuna waves his hand. “You worry too much. There is no one in this land who can contend with me, save Sugawara himself, and he’s hiding behind the capital’s forces like the pampered palace brat he is.”

     Sukuna glances over his shoulder down at his companion.

     “It’s going to be a bitter winter, Ume, and our meat stores are low. If they displease me, I’ll just eat them. Will that please you?”

     Uraume huffs an annoyed sigh and shrugs.

     “As always, you will do as you see fit, and I trust your judgement. Perhaps we should head out, now, if we are to meet them at the shrine tonight.”

     Sukuna scratches one of his ears idly, groaning in relief as the itch subsides.

     “You’re right, of course,” he says. “Where’s my horse? Damn beast’s probably wandered off to graze somewhere…though I can’t imagine where.”

     They find his steed, a massive warhorse bred to steel itself in the face of the atrocities Sukuna commits almost daily. Unlike every other living thing, it is happy to see him.

     “Akechi,” Sukuna croons. “Always at the ready, eh?”

     He swings into the saddle with the ease of one born to it. Akechi is a valuable steed, being one of the largest he’s ever seen, and thus able to accommodate him. He pulls Uraume up to sit in front of him. Unfortunately, their own horse was slain in the initial fighting by some lucky bastard with a naginata. Uraume froze the man’s head in a block of ice and tore it off in retaliation.

     Still, they’d liked that horse.

     Leaving a smoldering battlefield in his wake, Sukuna rides south, toward home as if he himself is a war hero, and not the scourge of the Fujiwara in the north. They beat a quick path, his cursed energy spilling over the land like a cloud of sickness. Lesser curses scatter into the shadows, and those not dead shiver in their homes and know not why, only that it is safer to be inside when Ryōmen Sukuna is on the loose.

     The mountains of the north gentle into the hills of the south as they ride, and the moon creeps into the sky by the time the familiar path to his shrine comes into the distance, marked by the thickening crowds of trees and the cawing of ever-present crows, knowing that Sukuna will keep them fed on true carrion. He is a creature of meat, and so too are they. They watch him as he rides through the forest.

     Sukuna sniffs the air, frowning.

     “Something’s burning,” he mutters, and feels the prick of what could only be anticipation in his blood. A potential scrap before home? Ah, he may not have to hunt after all.

     They make their way into the forest path and come upon a shocking discovery.

     “My lord…!” Uraume gasps. Sukuna’s mouth opens and then shuts. He recognizes the wagon, which is now set ablaze. He also recognizes the bodies strewn on the ground. He’s out of the saddle before he realizes it, cursed energy gathering around him like a storm cloud. With a swipe of his hand, he guides the flames of the wagon, starving them of oxygen and snuffing them out. The wagon is a blackened, smoking husk, and Sukuna can tell this fire is recent. He can smell the coppery stench of blood, recently spilled. He can also see residuals of cursed technique usage.

     Their assailants had been sorcerers.

     “My lord!” Uraume calls. “Look!”

     Sukuna is by their side immediately, inspecting what they’ve discovered. His eyes go wide when he sees her, curled in the dirt like some beaten, half-dead creature; a crown of kings bloodied by overthrow. He reaches down, brushes aside the dirt and leaves in her braided hair, barely touching the ugly, swollen bruise on her cheek. He takes in her torn and bloodied clothing, sees the blood and seed slick between her thighs, and knows what has happened here.

     Her throat was cut, he can see the wound, but he can also barely make out her breath. She’s still alive. Barely holding on, but her soul is there.

     “Will you not heal her, my lord?” Uraume asks. Sukuna does not answer. Instead, he keeps his eyes on her, his face as impassive as a god’s. He waits.

     Come on. He thinks, wondering why he feels so desperate. Do it. I know you can. I saw it the night I watched you dance.

A pulse. Faint but deep.

     Sukuna tries not to hold his breath.

     Another pulse, and her fingers move in an imperceptible twitch.

     Sukuna dares to take a deep, steadying breath.

     Šetû’s body convulses and jerks in a pained, desperate gasp. Her cursed energy folds in on itself again and again, doubling over until it shifts. The wound on her throat closes, flesh knitting anew. Her eyes flutter open.

     And she screams once before collapsing, unconscious from the exertion.

     I knew it.

     But Sukuna is pleased with what he’s seen, and Uraume understands now why he chose not to heal her.

     “Salvage what you can,” he tells them, then looks at the other corpses. Her brother, her twin cousins. Sukuna’s eyes narrow. Where is the other? The one with the sour face and terrible beard? He snorts. Like as not he too is dead in the forest somewhere. If the sorcerers who did this didn’t kill him, the curses that linger in these woods certainly will.

     “What of the bodies, my lord?” Uraume asks. Sukuna looks down at Šetû, scooping her into his lower arms. He could take the corpses and butcher them for later. She didn’t have to know, and it would be a damn sight less cumbersome than trying to burn them all and go through the ceremony of a funeral. Hm.

     “Bring them as well,” he says at last. “We’ll store them in the icehouse and figure out what to do with them later.”

     Uraume looks slightly nonplussed at the decision. Normally, Sukuna is so decisive about what to do with a human body. It’s free meat, and it’s his favorite kind of meat. He doesn’t usually waver on decisions concerning food.

     “As you wish, Lord Sukuna,” they affirm and set out to do his bidding. It is not their place to question, although they do prod from time to time. Sukuna sets Šetû atop his horse, lashing her to the saddle. He lashes the corpses of her family as well. Akechi does naught but flick his tail in annoyance at the combined weight but sets into an easy walk as Sukuna leads him by the reins, Uraume joining his side as always.

     The shrine’s massive torii looms like an ill omen as the master returns past its threshold. A pair of hitodama blaze atop the torii like twin lanterns, casting a sickly, violet glow over the entrance. They pass by in silence, and Sukuna’s cursed energy settles over the area, scattering curses that dared creep too close in his absence. The lanterns of the shrine are lit, and attendants are there to greet him. Only a few: a stable hand, and two older priestesses that chose to serve rather than die like their brethren. Sukuna keeps them only because they are useful.

     “Welcome home, Lord Sukuna,” they greet, bowing low. Sukuna tosses the reins to his stable hand, and gestures to Šetû, once more gathered in his arms.

     “Attend to this one,” he says curtly, and they startle when they see her, mindful not to draw his ire. Years of working for him and neither will risk triggering his capricious temperament. They obey with alacrity, taking the girl in their strong arms and heading inside to tend to her. Sukuna watches them go, something agitating his spirit again. Uraume directs the stable hand to assist them in storing the additional bodies in the icehouse. Sukuna catches a glimpse of Amadou’s corpse in his lower eyes. A pity. The boy had been kind and noble hearted.

     He thinks about the residuals he saw at the site, and the bridge of his nose wrinkles like a tiger’s muzzle.

     Not agitation, then. Anger.

     Someone had dared come close to his home and had spilled blood of those he had invited as guests. It is a direct insult, he surmises, it can be naught else. There would have been no reason to harm these foreigners otherwise. That means, it was someone at the harvest festival; someone who had seen them perform, and someone who had seen Sukuna in their camp hours later.

     He exhales through his nose, the heat of his own curses in his belly building.

     They had humiliated and violated Asiri, murdered her family, and burned up their lives all for the crime of showing him idle kindness. They had welcomed him where others would have shunned out of fear and superstition, and their kindness had been repaid like this. Even Sukuna had to admit this was particularly heinous.

     And cowardly. That was what really got under his skin. Someone was too afraid to face him directly, and so they would try to punish him by denying him even the barest crumb of amicable human interaction.

     “Uraume,” Sukuna says as they head inside. Uraume is at their side in an instant.

     “Yes, my lord?”

     “Let me know as soon as the girl wakes up. I would speak with her and get to the truth of who has done this thing.”

     Uraume nods firmly, divining their master’s will as the shrine doors shut behind them.

     The next few days are spent unwinding. Sukuna takes tribute from those seeking his aid and favor, and usually that provides the meat he craves when any who dare cross his threshold displease him, but his mind is distracted.

     He’s thinking of her.

     She’s been in that room since he brought her to the shrine, attended by Okoi and Oboro, who are gifted in the healing arts and medicine pertaining to womenfolk. Sukuna does not ask for the details, but they report to him that Asiri was given a medicinal contraceptive to prevent any seed from taking root and was being kept sedated with a steady supply of opium pellets and valerian root tea. She slept mostly, but the valerian was to keep down the screaming.

     Sukuna is puzzled at this. Screaming?

     He hears it one night, the forlorn and anguished moans of a woman plagued by true nightmares. And then the screams. Twice, he is startled to wakefulness, only to find her in her bed, thrashing, swiping at ghosts that aren’t cold enough to be buried in her psyche yet. Fresh and feeding from her terror and grief.

     Okoi and Oboro do their best to keep her quiet, and Sukuna threatens to eat their fingers if they don’t keep the girl calm.

     The screams stop after a few days, but Sukuna knows it will be some time before her nightmares are well and truly behind her.

     She sleeps.

     And when the first snow of winter begins to fall, she wakes.

     For a stretch of time that feels unending, she is curled in on herself. The darkness around her is amniotic in its warmth and consistency, and she feels buoyed by the viscous shadows around her. She keeps her eyes closed tightly, hugs her knees to her chest, and remains still.

     Something is pulling at her, however, trying to nudge her back to the light.

     Leave me alone. Comes her tired protest, husk-hollow and bone-weary. She flinches when the thing tugs on her again. Had she wings this thing would have pulled them off by now to prevent her escape.

     She wishes she had wings. She would never touch the ground again.

     The darkness begins to recede like a great wave, and she hugs herself tighter, trying not to weep. No more, please. No more.

     And all at once she is shoved into the light, eyes opening wide as she gasps into wakefulness, immediately squinting against the brightness in the room she’s in.

     She blinks, her eyes squinting to adjust to the light. She breathes in, catches a whiff of something earthy and musk-like.

     Sandalwood.

     She sits up, pushing her upper body upright on trembling arms. She feels weaker than a newborn kitten, and there’s a lingering soreness in her face. She reaches up with a trembling hand to touch her cheek. Tender, bruised, almost as if—

     Her stomach roils and she clamps her hand over her mouth to force the bile back down.

     The door to the room she’s in slides open and she startles at the sight of an older woman with graying hair bearing a tray. She’s wearing the robes of a shrine priestess, and Šetû makes the connection that she must in Sukuna’s residence.

     “Oh,” the older woman says, smiling at her with kind and sympathetic eyes. “You’re finally awake and lucid. This is good news. Lord Sukuna will be pleased to hear it.”

     Šetû says nothing, uncertain of what words she can possibly say at this moment. Silence feels safer, and so she remains reticent as the older woman sweeps in on silent footsteps to set the tray on the low bedside table. There is an assortment of food items Šetû recognizes from her travels, and there is hot tea, still steaming in the little tea pot. She pours herself a cup. Her tongue feels dry and swollen in her mouth, her throat feels raw and sore, like she’s been screaming.

     Or weeping.

     She freezes before the cup touches her lips as her memories jerk and flicker before her mind’s eye, reminding her that what happened to her was no nightmare, but real.

     She sets the cup down as her heart races, her hands tremble, and tears blur her vision. The older woman, who is tidying up the modest room, looks over and her brows knit in concern.

     “Please, lady, you must eat,” she says, her voice gentle but insistent. “It is the only way to regain your strength, and Lord Sukuna will not abide weakness in his home.”

     Lord Sukuna. Of course. Šetû stares at the tray. She cannot shun the man’s hospitality. She would have died out there had he not taken her in.

     She wishes she had.

     Šetû regards the thought with subtle horror.

     She forces herself to eat, but the food might as well be ashes in her mouth. Still, it is sustenance, and little by little, in slow drips, she feels her body’s weakness ease into a tired species of despair and exhaustion. She drinks the tea, lets it warm her belly, but she can’t taste that either. She doesn’t care. The older woman waits until she clears her plates before collecting the tray, nodding in approval. Šetû opens her mouth to speak, then closes it. She does not see the point in speaking…or much of anything, really.

     The woman leaves, the door sliding shut behind her, and Šetû is alone.

     Quietly, carefully, she lets herself get out of bed, climbing to her feet. She notices she’s dressed in a plain robe, likely by the older woman charged with her care. She glances around the room, seeking anything familiar. She sees a trunk at the far corner of the room, albeit burned, but she recognizes it. She goes to open it, and sees all of her clothing and jewelry inside, untouched by the flames of her assailants in the wake of her—

     She shuts the trunk abruptly.

     Sunlight pours through the lattice window, and she slides open the door to find a small engawa affording her a view of what should have been a lush, green garden. Right now, it is blanketed in a thick, unblemished carpet of snow. Her breath fogs in front of her face, and the cold nips at her toes. She slides the door shut and turns instead to the other door; the one leading into the shrine itself.

     She glances at her burnt trunk, and then she leaves the room.

     Out in the halls, the shrine is silent, almost serene. There is a contemplative silence about the place that makes her feel as if it is abandoned, and she pads silently on bare feet toward wherever her curiosity draws her.

     All over the shrine are signs of a familiar religion: Buddhism. Šetû remembers the motifs and iconography from her travels on the continent proper. She and her brother had spent a great deal of time in India. It had been warm—

     She whips around when she hears whispers and looks around frantically for somewhere to hide. She finds a door, slides it open, and slips inside. On the other side, the voices pass by, whispering and chattering too fast for her to understand, but they do not notice her. Šetû breathes a sigh of relief.

     The smell of sandalwood is stronger in this room; fresher. She turns, sees an elegantly appointed bedchamber. On a raised dais, a bed much larger than any bed she has ever seen in her life, heaped with pillows and down-stuffed blankets. A large brazier burns in the room, keeping it pleasantly warm. In the far corner there’s a desk, heaped with parchments, scrolls, and bound books. She hesitates, then ventures further in.

     Like her own modest room, there is a sliding door leading to a much larger engawa, only instead of a garden is a sequestered hot spring. Steam curls from the natural spring, surrounded by a picturesque view of the snowy landscape. She wonders if Lord Sukuna would mind if she took a dip. Some springs are said to have healing properties, and her body needs it. The cold nips at her again, and she decides against it, sliding the door shut. If this is his private bedchamber then she should leave before he comes back.

     Back in the hall, she wanders again, seeking other rooms. She follows the scent of cooking, instead, her body—now fully awake—seeking greater sustenance. Something more nourishing and fulfilling than broth.

     She finds the kitchen, of course, and it’s already occupied by Uraume. She remembers them from the night of the festival. Their back is to her, but occasionally they bark out orders to the kitchen staff, strange, masked creatures that leap to do their bidding. Uraume brandishes a large knife, stained with blood.

     Chop!

The heavy thud of steel meeting flesh, shearing through bone to hit the butcher block beneath makes Šetû leap in her own skin, and she suddenly has no appetite, backing away from the kitchens to explore elsewhere.

     Out in the main hall, she finds a large set of double doors, firmly shut. She presses her ear against it, straining to hear any sound from the other side, but the iron-banded wood is thick, and there’s no way she can open these doors in her current state. She sighs and decides she will return to her rooms.

     She realizes after several moments and turns, that she is lost.

     “Fuck,” she croaks out, her first word in what feels like ages.

     Frustration and fear settle in, making her scalp prickle. She’s not sure if she’s allowed to be out of her room, and she isn’t sure what will happen when someone finds her. She can’t linger in the hallway like some dazed, madwoman.

     Are you not a dazed madwoman, though? A voice whispers, and she almost laughs at herself, knifing her hands through her braids and taking a deep, hissing breath in an attempt to calm her suddenly frayed nerves.

     Yes. Yes, she is. A madwoman. Dazed. Lost.

     Wounded beyond what she thought possible.

     Her mind shies from the memories of that night, but she sees them all the same.

     It’s only fair.

Bile rises in her throat, and she claps a hand over her mouth, leaning against the wall as her breathing comes labored, her forehead and temples damp with sweat.

     “Lady Asiri?” Šetû startles at the voice, whirling around to find the older woman from earlier. Her dark eyes are soft with concern, a wrinkle in her straight and proud brows. She calms immediately.

     “You shouldn’t be out and about so soon,” the woman says. “Lord Sukuna would not like you getting sick in his halls. Come with me.”

     Šetû nods, and the woman turns smoothly setting off down the hall at a smooth glide. She follows.

     “What is your name?” She asks, padding after the older woman.

     “Oboro,” the woman replies. “And the other is my sister, Okoi. We are the priestesses of this temple.”

     Šetû’s brows go up. “So, Lord Sukuna really is a deity? I thought…”

     Oboro’s shoulders stiffen slightly at the words, imperceptible, but Šetû sees it. No, not a god then. That is the reaction of resentment.

     “He is a powerful sorcerer of great renown,” Oboro replies and Šetû knows a rehearsed line when she hears it. She is afraid of Lord Sukuna, she resents him, and likely this temple was not his originally. It does not take much to deduce. “It is my pleasure to serve him.”

     Tch. Šetû doubts that, but she nods.

     “I see,” she says. “Thank you, Oboro-san. I think…I would like to speak with Lord Sukuna myself and thank him for his hospitality.”

     Oboro’s shoulders grow tense again, as if she can’t believe anyone would want to thank Sukuna for anything or associate him with hospitality at all. Šetû reserves her judgement. She will speak with Sukuna herself, with no pretense between them.

     They reach her room, and Oboro slides the door open, standing aside as Šetû entered. For some reason, being in the room she woke up in brings her a measure of comfort. She returns to the bed to sit down. She’s about to open her mouth to ask more questions when every fine hair on her body immediately stands on end.

     Oboro folds into an obeisant kneel.

     “My lord,” she greets with reverence that makes Šetû wonder at this woman’s motives for lingering here. Sukuna’s voice is deep and resonant.

     “You are dismissed, Oboro,” he says, his massive frame filling up the doorway. “I would have words with our guest.”

     Šetû pulls her robe tighter and steels her courage as Sukuna steps into the room, ducking to avoid the top of the doorframe as he fills up the space not only physically, but spiritually. Šetû folds herself into a kneel, forehead pressed to the floor. Sukuna gestures for her to rise, seemingly annoyed with the honorifics and frippery. Here, in this private room, he does not care for it.

     The door slides shut behind him.

     Šetû sits back on her heels, trying to keep her breaths even. Sukuna is so much larger than she remembers him being. Seeing him in the cold light of day is different. He is massive and there’s an energy about him that makes her shiver down to the marrow. He can see this, and he does not seem to care. As if it is a common occurrence.

     “Why didn’t you mention you are a sorcerer?” Sukuna asks bluntly.

     She blinks several times, brows raising.

     “I—” She hesitates but Sukuna’s expression is impassive and unyielding. He wants an answer, and he wants the truth.

     “I’m not a sorcerer,” she says. “And quite frankly, I don’t even know what that means! I’m just a…”

     “A what?” Sukuna asks, lip curling. “A dancer? An entertainer? I saw you that night you danced, your cursed energy bloomed like a flower of fire to rival a storm. Everyone felt it. When I sat by the fire with you, it licked at mine like—”

     She stares at him, uncomprehending. Sukuna stares back and for a while there is only silence. Then, the tension in him eases and he shuts his main eyes, chuckling darkly. His lower eyes never leave hers, though.

     “I see,” he says, opening his eyes again. “You didn’t know. Of course.”

     Šetû’s brows furrow. “What…what do you mean I am a sorcerer? The ones who—” She hesitates. “Those men said I was a sorcerer in allegiance with you. As if…”

     Sukuna’s lips curl into a cruel smirk.

     “They thought you were mine, did they? How foolish. You may not be aware of your power, but you are not strong enough to contend with the likes of me.”

     Šetû rises to her feet, her expression hard and indignant.

     “I am not weak,” she says fiercely and doesn’t know why his smug smirk galls her. “I just…I don’t know what all this is about. We were on our way to you before…”

     Sukuna’s eyes narrow. Every time she seems poised to tell him what happened, something stops her. He sees the visible recoil in her, her mind shying away from what was doubtless the worst night of her life. He should be cruel to her, he thinks; cauterize the wound before she lets it fester. But wounds of the soul are not so easily mended, and hers is fresh…and unfathomably deep.

     “Thank you,” she says instead. Sukuna raises a brow. “For healing me.”

     “I didn’t heal you.” He says curtly and then turns to leave. Šetû is even more confused than before. If he hadn’t healed her, who had?

     “Was it Oboro-san?” She asks. “Or her sister? Perhaps I should thank them instead.”

     Sukuna glances over his shoulder, says nothing, and leaves the room. Šetû frowns. What is his problem? Has she offended him somehow? Or was he always like this and she just caught him on a good night? She huffs out a heavy sigh. At least…at least she is safe.

     Until she sleeps.

@queenmimis @thehereticmoon @razrogue

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[fanonical]

Did you ever get my ask? I asked about what to do when a child loves something by a problematic author. How do you go about telling them if they’re too young? SHOULD you tell them? I’m talking about current 10 year old HP fans and children who like the Coraline movie. What do we do when it’s them and not adults? We forget about the target audience too much when we talk about things like this as if it were exclusively childhood nostalgia of Millenials/Gen Z

For fuck's sake, I didn't want to rise to the bait here, but this is making me mad because it's such a straw argument, so fuck it, I'm taking the bait. For context, this is anon's first ask:

Anon, first off, you are responding to a post that is five years old and about a subject that we pointedly do not post about anymore, and that alone makes me think you're not responding in good faith, but whatever.

Look, I work in a fucking library. We have HP books. If a child comes up to me and asks 'hey where's the HP books' I am not going to a) kick them in the face, b) tell them they're an idiot or c) refuse to answer. I am going to tell them where the fucking HP books are. I don't put them on displays I make, but I don't censor them, because we are legally not allowed to censor books in the library.

But I guess you're asking more if this is a kid who's in my life, as opposed to a kid who I just kinda come across. So, okay, I have a 9 year old neighbour whose family are friends with mine, we play video games together occasionally when her mum and dad need someone to watch her. And this kid reads books! And this kid reads fantasy books.

If I was seriously talking to her about the HP books, I might tell her about JKR! I would say something like 'I used to like the HP books, but then I learned that the author said some really nasty things about trans people like me. Now I don't like them so much any more.' And we could have a conversation about that, you know! I've talked to this kid about transphobia in terms that are appropriate for her age. We've had discussions about gender before. I think she'd listen to me, and form her own fucking opinion about it! 'I don't like the author of the HP books because she has said some nasty things' is a concept you can communicate to a five year old.

But also like. You're kind of acting like by taking away HP from this (hypothetical in your ask) kid they don't have any other books. Which...isn't true? If all copies of the HP books disappeared off the face of the earth tomorrow, kids would be reading other stuff, as they are currently reading other stuff! My 9 year old neighbour is a huge Jacqueline Wilson fan, she loves the Daisy Meadows rainbow fairy books. I want to introduce her to the Morrigan Crow books. We could get retro and start introducing kids to the Edge Chronicles, I fucking loved those books. Artemis Fowl. A Series of Unfortunate Events. There are so many other book series for kids in this world. I work in a fucking library! I can tell you that the kids are into Tom Gates, Dogman, Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Percy Jackson, Babysitter Club, Dork Diaries, and (exasperated sigh) David Walliams books, based on a sample size of every kid I encounter at work. I get asked for all of them far more than I do for HP, actually.

I don't think you'd be ruining every kid's lives by taking away One Series from them. (Particularly not one that's losing some relevancy every day - and I mean that in the sense that it's not an ongoing series, the last book came out in 2007. Nearly 20 years ago. For a nine or ten year old, that's almost double their entire life.) And I don't think you necessarily would be taking it away from them to say 'hey this is the reason I don't like these books'. I trust your average ten year old to be able to have a reasonably mature conversation. You're making it sound like they're all Oliver Twist holding out their gruel bowl saying 'please sir I only read one book'.

Anyway. All this to say, I think kids have the ability to have conversations about media. And there are other books in the world. So, no, taking HP or Coraline or whatever away from kids is hardly snatching candy from a baby. Kids are smarter than you think.

[brotherhood-appreciation]

Gravity Falls AU idea?

I've got like the bare bones of an AU idea, sorta like the reverse portal AUs but a little different i think? (Stan in the portal AU but it's going to go way off the rails into non-canon probably way before the portal era) More on that later

So we see all these alternative Fords thinking they're fated to kill Bill, thinking that they can beat Bill, kill him and so on. but this Stanley considers himself a realist, or a pessimist, whatever you wanna wanna call it. This Stanley isn't trying to beat Bill, he's under no illusions that he could kill him, he's not Ford-who is a genius, he doesn't consider himself capable of such a feat. No instead he's going to do one of the things he does best, he's going be an absolute pain is this things triangular side.

Ultimately he's not trying to win, he's trying to stall, distract, be a thorn in Bills side, cause some damage(physical, emotional, or psychological; or even just to his ego, he's not picky). He's trying his best to keep his attention on Stan and off of Ford. He's just trying buy some time, as much time as he can, and for him that is enough, that is his kind of win.

In the multiverse most Bills are obsessed with Fords, but they also tend to absolutely despise Stanleys, absolutely hate/loathe them with a burning passion. This Stanley is going to use that.

As expected it backfires on him a little(or a lot). Oh he got what he wanted, he got Bills attention off of Ford(for now), but there in lies the problem.

To further expand on that, I'll explain part of what sparked the idea of this AU was a rough quote, which if I remember correctly came from a DND BBEG compilation. Basically it was something like this :

"“Very impressive, you've exceeded my expectations, and gotten further than anyone else. However, therein lies your greatest error because now…” avatar collapses into pile of bones and smoke, actual form steps out of a portal and slowly walks towards them, unconcerned at any risk to them despite strong party “you have my undivided attention”"

So Stan has got Bill Ciphers attention alright, he's managed to tick him off, like really tick him off, in a 'I'm not going to kill you for a long long time' kind of ticked off (again more on this later). So he is doing his absolute best to not get caught everytime he has a run in with Bill. His goals being to wreak as much havoc on Cipher and his plans/plots/end of the world schemes as he possibly can, and be able to survive long enough to do as much damage as he can.

At some point he does get caught, not directly, but by a puppet or something Bill has possessed. Now at this point of the hunt, Stan and Bill have been playing cat and mouse for awhile, though who the cat is isn't always clear(more on that later as well). Stanley isn't immediately killed or majorly injured, just incapacitated enough to keep him down for a little bit.

Bill, at this point in time, has decided that no one else is allowed to kill this infuriating/loathsome little human/meatbag but himself, and even then he's only allowed to die when he says so. Hes not going to let anyone get in the way of that, not some random nobodies, not some random beast/creature, not Stan, not Ford, not even himself (This Bill has, unfortunately for Stanley, gained some self awareness, in that he realizes he might accidentally-on-purpose kill the guy in a fit of rage).

He wants to be able to take his time with this one, but humans are fragile and have such short lives, so when Stan gets caught Bill decides to tamper with Stans... everything let's say, i haven't ironed out the details. I'm thinking he does a bunch of medical & magical malpractice/horror, that would have caused Stan to have some kind of otherworldly healing factor/permanent regeneration and a very large extension of his lifespan maybe. (There were some other ideas i had for this too but I can't remember them at the moment, so I'll get back to that at a later date.)

Fortunately for Stan he managed to get away before Bill was able to finish whatever modifications he had intended, unfortunately for Stan, or fortunately depending on the day, Stan gets to keep the unfinished healing ability, and his aging seems to have slowed down a little(not that he notices that until way later). So on one hand he's even more hard to kill, and when he does get injured he doesn't have to worry about needing as much medical attention or wasting as much medical supplies. On the other hand, there's the ✨ trauma ✨ , the revulsion, and the ever building existential dread that comes with it. When it kicks in, he's reminded a lot of the time of exactly why he has it, and how he got it, and from who(the whole thing makes his skin crawl). He tries not to think too hard about it, lest the panic set in and overwhelm him and he tries to do something drastic. Some days are more successful in this than others.

In this AU, I'm thinking of making Stanley is a mage/sorcerer/some kind of magic user?? He has his own talents and/or some kind of spell book/talismin thing?? I'm also debating a 'patron' of sorts.

Which brings me to one of the other things that got my mind to produce this idea for an AU, an audio clip/edit, which you can probably find it pretty easy, I'd recommend it, it sounds very ominous, here's the dialogue:

""I don't want your soul"

"then what do you want from me?"

"For my gift, all I ask, is you do the one thing your good at. "

"and what's that? "

"FIGHT""

...

On that note, I'm stopping here for now, if anyone is interested in this AU let me know. I'll probably make another side blog if I decide to continue this. Also the name i will be using for this AU for now is "Living on borrowed time AU" or "LOBT AU" i guess

[tentacle-therapissed]

Amber Heard, Megan thee Stallion, Blake Lively… I just feel so frustrated with the effectiveness of smear campaigns against these women who, if you can rub two brain cells together, are clearly victims of male violence. It’s really disheartening to know a lot of women fall for it and tend to be the worst perpetrators of harassment against other women. I don’t know if they’re stupid or not but I feel like we need to stop giving anyone grace with misogyny anymore.

I saw a TikTok (unfortunately, I need to get off that app) theorizing that the reason so many women are the worst perpetrators of harassment in these smear campaigns is because they’re subconsciously afraid of the implications when a rich, privileged, beloved, successful woman goes through something like this. You either have to accept that misogyny is so prevalent in our current society that not only are these women unable to shield themselves from abuse, but the entire world is willing to turn on them and ridicule them in a heartbeat… or you have to believe that the woman must actually be lying, that she provoked the man, that she’s problematic, that she misbehaved, and therefore she actually deserves this treatment. That if YOU were in that situation you wouldn’t be subject to the same treatment. I see a lot of rhetoric with these cases along the lines of ‘what do I care about the struggles of a rich, privileged celebrity?’ Blake Lively was a beautiful, successful, beloved A-lister with money, resources, and high-profile connections and none of that mattered in the end. If it can happen to her, it can happen to every single one of us.

A lot of these women, on the other hand, have gone through abuse themselves and are willing to throw other victims under the bus to try and gain approval for their own story. ‘This person behaved imperfectly but I didn’t, therefore you should believe me and not her.’ They don’t realize no woman is perfect enough to be a believable victim in our society. But they get temporary validation from people who will use them in their arguments to go ‘see? this is what a REAL victim looks like. [insert celebrity here] is harming REAL victims by lying about being abused.’

I think another huge aspect of it though, at least when it comes to how easily women fall for Johnny Depp’s patented DARVO method, is the insidious way in which progressive values are twisted to make misogyny sound woke. ‘Feminism is about treating men and women EQUALLY’ ‘feminism means treating women like people, and people are flawed’ ‘feminism benefits men too! we care about men’s issues! men’s mental health! male abuse victims!’ These things all sound nice in theory but oppressed classes are NOT equal to their oppressors and that’s exactly why their voices need to be amplified more. These types of issues ARE gendered because it’s statistically more likely for a man to be mistreating a woman than vice versa. It’s safe and easy to call yourself a feminist while still catering to your oppressors, and it feels right because that’s what we’ve been taught to do. But it isn’t going to get us anywhere.

[amalthiaph]

Get to know your mutuals!

Thanks for the tag @leapingbadger! LET'S GO!

What's the origin of your blog title? EDIT: I'm stupid, it says "blog title". So, "Daughter of Eve" is one of the names they call humans in Narnia. It used to be "Management Trainee Skywalker" from that Chinese bootleg of ROTS, but as much as I like that one, something really unpleasant happened to my blog during the time it was my name, and every time I open my page, I read it, and be reminded of that one time, so I decided to change it. (One day, I will have the courage to tell that event, but for now, I'll begin to get over it.)

But I don't wanna waste this. So, for the origin of my username: Jupiter's Moon. Amalthea is one of Jupiter's moon. I first used this for League of Legends, and unfortunately, 'Amalthea' is already taken so I tried to change the 'e' into 'i', and that's how I ended up with this spelling.

OTP(s) + Shipname: OKAY, this is going to be great. The answer is Caspian x Susan. They're my first ever OTP. I want to begin this with saying I really like the book canon Caspian x Ramandu's Daughter but Caspian x Susan ended up being a lot more interesting to me. IDK what's up with me but I always go for the ship that doesn't end up together, bec I think happily ever afters are boring, give me some angst, some wishful longing, the AUs, the fix-its, these things are what makes a ship interesting.

Some of the other ships I like are LeviHan (RIP Hange), Zutara (we all know how this ended), Tech x Phee (I still wanna believe Tech lives), and Anidala (this is self-explanatory).

Favorite color: Canary yellow. But for art, layout, and clothes, I like shades of brown.

Favorite game: League of Legends, Need for Speed, Criminal Case, Minecraft

Song stuck in your head: The World Will Know from Newsies: The Broadway Musical

Weirdest habit/trait? Here, let me revise the question: "What's not weird about you?"

Hobbies: Drawing, Reading, Singing

If you work, what's your profession? Architect (I just passed the licensure examination!)

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? Any job where I'll be able to design spaces. Designing is therapeutic to me.

Something you're good at: Art.

Something you're bad at: Human-ing

Something you love: My cat, my family, my hyperfixations.

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: Star Wars, Narnia, and Newsies

Something you hate: Just like @leapingbadger, I also hate the current state of the world, especially in the country I live in. Election is once again near, and the leading senatorial candidates in the polls are not-so-good people. There are agriculturists, a great lawyer ,an animal rights activist, and a labor rights activist running for senate but the majority of the people in this country surely won't vote for them because "they're ugly" or "they're not stars".

Something you collect: hatred, and Lego sets, and books

Something you forget: I'll do you a better one: "Name something you don't forget".

What's your love language? Acts of service. Also remembering the tiny details of the stories I tell.

Favorite movie/show: Star Wars (with the exception of the Sequels and Resistance), Narnia, and Newsies

Favorite food: Tinola.

Favorite animal: Cats. I accidentally typed "cars" but you would have gotten it anyway.

What were you like as a child? Quiet, introverted, and stuck in her own little world.

Favorite subject at school? Maybe English. Also geometry.

Least favorite subject: Chemistry

What's your best character trait? I like to learn as much of anything as I can, also very observant. Oftentimes, it ticks me off when people aren't like that.

What's your worst character trait? I'll do you a better one: "Is there a character trait of you that isn't bad?"

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be? Try "What do you not want to change?"

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet? Serial killers a day before being executed. I have so many questions.

Tag as many mutuals as you want!! (Sorry if you've been tagged before): @loge2718 @mimpinightmare @dragonrider9905 @ahsokastechie

Get to know your mutuals!

What's the origin of your blog title? When I was in middle school, someone told me "you dress so goth, but your personality is so happy. You're like a really cheerful grim reaper. A joyful soul collector." And that's been my username for most everything ever since!

OTP(s) + Shipname: Oooh, right now it's Jayvik, and tbh I can't think of another one, this is one of the first ships I've been really really into tbh. Other dynamics focused on my blog have actually been more platonic, like Irondad

Favorite color: Red!

Favorite game: Dungeons and Dragons! Both as a player, and DM!

Song stuck in your head: The Challenge - EPIC

Weirdest habit/trait? I download thousands of still frames of tv shows that I love so I can make memes out of them. But I have to sift through and delete all the pictures that are blurry or unnecessary, which takes hours. I think it's super fun because I'm autistic and really enjoy sorting stuff lol

Hobbies: Writing, playing DnD, making memes, and hanging out with my friends!

If you work, what's your profession? Not so much a profession lol, I work at a toy store. It's a part time job while I'm in college, studying to be a radiologist!

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? Realistically? Radiologist. But ANY job I wish? Professional DM or Professional DnD player, like the people on Dropout or Critical Role haha

Something you're good at: I'm good at writing stories! I can write them well and write things that make people feel deep emotions, and I like that.

Something you're bad at: Recognizing when someone doesn't want help haha. I tend to try and fix things or help people when they just want to vent, and it ends up frustrating for both of us.

Something you love: I love stories. Any kind, I love so so many

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: My favorite shows and stories, my dnd campaigns and characters, my stories and ideas

Something you hate: Fascism. Bigotry. Willful ignorance. Fearmongering. Propaganda.

Something you collect: Dice!! I'm a dice goblin for sure haha

Something you forget: I often forget chores unfortunately

What's your love language? Physical touch and acts of service

Favorite movie/show: Ooh right now it's definitely Arcane haha

Favorite food: Sushi!

Favorite animal: Cats!

What were you like as a child? In a word? Unwell haha. I'm a good bit better now, still struggling with a lot, but better than I used to do

Favorite subject at school? English, I was always good at that class

Least favorite subject: Chemistry. I hate that shit so much lol

What's your best character trait? I think that I'm kind and willing to stand up for others

What's your worst character trait? I can be disrespectful to some types of spirituality unfortunately. It just doesn't make logical sense to me. I have two friends that are fully convinced that a cursed doll gave some youtuber testicular cancer. And I just can't see the logic or critical thought in that

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be? Mmm. All of fascism shit is definitely damaging my calm so I'd love to change that specifically

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet? Harry Allen. Google him he's a badass transgender cowboy

Tag as as many mutuals as you want!!

@sb-essebi @glitternightingale @blatterpussbunnyfromhell @captainhollowstories @kydrogendragon @misforvendetta @poetryinmotion-author @bocularteletheric @kai-ovillager @thatoneneuvichiliauthor @4amarcanethoughts @alexspearsxoxo @kotonni @buckybucananbarnes @kakesuwolf @martybaker @patheticjayce @sleepycrowhours @aixabi @up-the-bracket @snoopyviktor @emdashflower @humanshapedstress @hellsalore @juuzousmom @softandslow @fangirlshenanigans04 @batmans-attic @lvrstrsh @bluemoyai @tearexxwrites @bodyofvvater @lifeandeathepub @areesespiece @lancesblueazaleas @monaisme @milkywaysipper @carmendyy @tseecka @heazueken @tophat-69 @velocitychroma @prjctdiva @gremlinofchaos @ourvectorviktor @kenjinx @jxmimac @gh0stedvhampir @voxconcordia @arcaneheraldslawyer

ngl I tried to tag ALL my mutuals that I have, but this was how many it allowed me to do before it made me stop lol so here's as many as I could fit!

[msvorderofoperations]

Dream journal time!

Had a few different dreams, all of which were benign, and very fun and interesting.

One involved me guesting on a comedy podcast (that doesn't exist) because I happened to be around when they started recording and they thought I was funny. The only wrinkle came when it was time to record intros, and I couldn't come up with a suitably funny non-sequitur on the spot. The odd thing was, the reason I happened to be around at time of recording was because the host and I worked on other sides of the same desk. For one, that is not really a thing that happens even in shared co-working spaces. And two, if we were working in such close proximity the host should have been familiar enough with me to know whether I'd be a good fit or not for his show.

Following that, the dream shifted to me playing a video game where I was doing co-op to kill the final boss. It was this huge, hulking, purple rage monster that needed infusions of this mutagen whenever it had had sufficient damage done to it. The difficulty was that while it was active and chasing us down, it moved impossibly fast, was very clever, and would shrug off any small amounts of damage. The fight could be made simpler if not necessarily easier by having one person post up next to the next infusion site was and waiting to unload on him as soon as he injected himself. The problem was that ammo was very scarce, and if the boss turned his attention toward the person waiting at the ambush spot, the whole plan had to be abandoned and it was all down to being able to improvise on the fly. Eventually though, we ended up beating the boss and the whole cliffhanger ending is that enough of the mutagen survives to be used by other nefarious parties, but interestingly it was a story in a wholly different medium. Which brings me to the next part of the dream.

I was watching a movie that continued the story, and it was an MCU-styled superhero flick. The protagonist was a speedster that used a pair of handguns and a basically indestructible pool cue to fight baddies. The interesting thing was that while he had a secret identity, it was that of an old butler complete with age makeup and prosthetics. But the secret identity was not to protect his personal life or those close to him, but to allow his employer to covertly gain hidden information or cheat outright at games. The employer is a mega-rich shithead in the style of Miles Bron from Glass Onion, who is mildly obsessed with old and obscure games that he likes foisting on his friends and hangers on. Instead of actually being good at these games he so enjoys, he just has to cheat because even in the nonsense narratives my brain comes up with I know that the mega-wealthy cannot ever actually be creative. Apart from the cheating aspect, the "butler" uses their powerset to act as a bodyguard and protector, but they only ever unmask and let others on to their capabilities when in the presence of the closest inner circle of their boss.

This is demonstrated early on when some braindead stunt the shithead boss pulls goes awry, and a large piece of wood basically explodes in mid-air. And the scene plays out very much like that one scene from X-Men, complete with languidly grabbing splinters and large chunks as they fly apart at ballistic speeds. Unfortunately, they miss a tiny bit of it, which hit the face of this one woman in the crowd of people present. She's ostensibly the trophy wife of one of the other rich assholes and I think it was supposed to be Charlize Theron playing her. It's a small enough thing that it only causes superficial damage, but the superpowered butler feels terrible for having let something slip. She ends up excusing herself to tend to the scratch. As a response to this lacklustre show of power, the husband lets on that he has recently acquired a small amount of the mutagen from the last dream, and plans to use it on himself. He takes a very small dose so he can stay at least visibly human, though the change has very palpable effects. He wears an eye patch owing to a missing eye, but as the change manifests, the muscles of his furrowed brows grow and snap off the strap and reveal that his eye has grown back. And just as his body begins to explosively grow in muscle mass, his wife stabs him through his back, through his heart with her bare hand, and grasps the container of the mutagen.

It turns out that she was already a super powered individual herself, but didn't have any resilience to go with her super strength. So couldn't really make any use of her powers because she would just hurt herself and would have to heal like a normal person, as also evidenced by the fact that the splinter affected her like any normal person. Her hand was messed up quite a lot, but now that she has her hands on the stuff, that is no longer going to be an issue. She had to strike now, because no one had been paying attention to her and if the change had been fully allowed to take place her husbands ongoing abuse to her would have reached inhuman levels. And now that she has the resilience to make use of her strength, she can act out any way that she wants because she knows no one can stop her.

She starts by attempting to butcher all of the hapless rich idiots around her because she had always hated all of them. But despite being woefully outclassed in terms of physical power, the butler tries taking her down anyways. Knowing that a single hit from her will absolutely put him down for good, he has to use his weapons to maintain distance from her. The guns seem to only serve to annoy her, and as time goes on she seems to be growing in strength. He then switches to the pool cue which he uses to deflect blows and once he has gained sufficient spacing, he throws it like a javelin. In the time it takes to reach her however, she is already beginning to redirect the strike. Going into super slow motion, he goes up to the cue and changes the trajectory so that it hits her in the skull, which at this speed still pierces it like a hot knife through butter. When real time resumes, she staggers, but doesn't actually go down. She takes a moment to push the cue all the way through and out the other side, and her body instantly heals, and then she looks up at him and smiles.

As the fight continues, it becomes clear that she is starting to be able to match his speed at least in her reactions if not being able to move like him. Knowing that he can't keep this up forever and she will eventually gain the upper hand if the fight keeps going, he realizes that he has to go completely chaotic otherwise she'll just keep reading his movements and parrying accordingly. This results in him spinning around like the Tasmanian Devil from Looney Tunes, before coming to a dead stop in a very specific spot where he fires both guns. One goes above him, and the other below. Both ricochet off their surroundings, before arcing back towards her. She is able to bat away the one that was in front of her, but the shot that went up hits her from behind, right in the heart. The one place she showed at the very start of this that could put her down permanently. She staggers again, but does not get back up. She falters, and as she begins to bleed out, he empties the last rounds of his ammunition into heart just to make sure.

He sees what remains of the mutagen, and grabs a ludicrously expensive bottle of whisky, smashes it into the container of mutagen and then lights the whole thing on fire. In the chaos of the fight, there have been a few injuries among the rich sycophants, but most of them are still alive including the butler's boss. Instead of assessing the situation and getting help, he just sighs and says "Fuck this noise. I'm sure you'll figure it out" and takes off at supersonic speeds. Credits roll.

And the thing of it is, I know this was a movie because I looked up what the plan was for what was assuredly a new franchise. Because having an R rated cape flick about an anti-hero speedster would actually kinda fun. But it turned out that in the immediate aftermath of the success of the film, the actor got drunk and went on social media and started shouting slurs at people of colour. So. Y'know. Obviously that didn't go forward.

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Outdrawn

f/f contemporary romance

two cartoonist who’ve been rivals since uni, and now have competing webcomics online, have to work together on the relaunch of a cult classic at the comic press they both work at

they both struggle with art-related physical and mental health issues, and complicated families

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia

Feel free to ignore if this is unwelcome, but have you ever thought about publishing traditionally to sublimate your income and draw in new readers? I know you've self published two books already and that you didn't feel like they did very well, but maybe the experience would be different if someone else was in charge of marketing and all the other business stuff?

Obviously everyone's experience is different but as an author myself who's published both trad and self, traditional publishing has been a completely different experience and has allowed me to focus more on writing because I'm not the one responsible for advertising/marketing/financing anymore.

There are a ton of literary agents nowadays that want to represent diverse and lgbtqia+ fiction, some of them even in Australia.

Websites like Reedsy, AgentQuery and Jerichowriters have extensive directories to find literary agents.

(This is lengthy folks so I'm putting the other two parts (and my response) under a read more! Also putting it under a read more so the anon can skip my response since it's very 'here's all the reasons I can't do this' and they just might not want to read that, lmao)

(continued -> )

Trad publishing houses have better resources for marketing and helping authors get more attention than any self publishing website could.

Obviously most authors, unless they're really prolific, don't get a huge advance (the average is between $1000 - $5000) but getting your foot in the door or on the traditional publishing "ladder' so to speak can have a huge benefit for your serials. Because it gives you more exposure. Plus it's in the agent's best interest to find a publishing house that accepts stories that contain darker themes and negotiate the best deal for you.

For some reason places like Amazon and the like accept and keep up more "dark" books that are traditionally published than they do with self pub ones. Maybe because they have more respect or leniency for publishing houses? I have no idea. But you could use this to your advantage. I think I remember you mentioning that writing novels felt quite isolating to you? But you already have 2 completed novels (3 if you count the fae one) that you could potentially revisit or rewrite to your liking and get them represented by agents.

You already have a loyal readership and that's very attractive to trad pub houses and agents.

As well as trad publishing, you could also make s simple website that doesn't require much maintenance. It could be just a landing page that says something about you and then has links to your tumblr and patreon where you're more active. That way you increase the chances of getting your serials found by additional readers and also come across looking more "professional". Not that you're not professional now. You are and I admire you greatly, but the unfortunate reality is a lot of people still judge by appearances and some will be more drawn to an author's website than a tumblr page, at least at first. So I think having a simple landing page would open up another door for you to benefit from.

Trad publishing is work but definitely not as much as self publishing, and you can continue on with your serials. Getting an agent can be time consuming but I personally believe the pros outweigh the cons and I also believe that your stories would be a huge treasure to the growing lgbtqia+ market. Seriously there needs to be more!

These are just suggestions and thoughts and like I said before, feel free to ignore. But I know you've mentioned wanting to grow your career in the past and I genuinely believe you can do so with some of these pathways.

~

Okay, my response. Posting this because firstly I think the suggestions could work very well for other authors reading this! And I hope they take the advice to note, and secondly because I haven't talked about this for a hot minute so let's talk about it again.

So the TL;DR is yes I have considered traditional publishing. I have actually been traditionally published in short stories, poetry, and also had my art published on covers and re: interior illustrations. But my Fae Tales works got soundly rejected when I sent them to publishing houses that were doing open calls for that sort of material. I've never heard back from an agent and I never expect to, heh.

~

Now for a bit more detail

I have been traditionally published before (it's how I got my writing out there long before I ever wrote serials), and yes, I have approached publishers with my writing since then. In fact Tradewinds was written for the traditional publishing market, and it got soundly rejected, and then shelved. The reasons it was rejected ran the gamut from 'I don't like that these fae eat humans no one is going to relate to these people' (while the editor then went on to publish vampire books idk) to 'There's too much worldbuilding you can't expect readers to keep up with this' to 'Your stories are too long, no one wants to read characters talking all the time.'

Meanwhile in my online serials I was getting feedback like 'my favourite chapters are the ones where the characters just sit in a room and talk' lol.

The traditional publishing world is also not quite as utopian for most authors as you make it seem. I'm friends with a lot of authors who are traditionally published because that's the world I came from, and unless they're solely in KU and doing generic rapid release formula romances, none of them are making that much money. Certainly not enough to live off. It may have been that you were very fortunate, anon, but I know hundreds more traditionally published authors that left trad pub to make money, and I know about 5 in trad pub personally who are making enough to live off of.

Only one of those is really writing what she truly loves to write, and even then, publishing houses have refused to commit to her entire fantasy series (and she's regularly in 'Top 10/20 Women Fantasy Authors in the World' lists) and forced her to finish the series prematurely. Something I never ever have to worry about in self pub.

The reality is that in trad pub these days, you're still in charge of most of your marketing unless you're one of the big earners for the publishing house. In fact I'd be expected to keep even more of a social media and marketing presence than I do now. I don't do almost any of the things you're supposed to do as an author in marketing to be appealing. I don't have a Facebook author account. I don't have an Instagram author account. I don't maintain or regularly send out newsletters (which automatically puts me in the like 0.05% of authors who make money doing this lmao).

I don't know if you ever have looked that closely into what m/m publishing houses expect from most of their authors, but the newsletter swaps, cover releases, review circuits, interview circuits and more are fucking grueling. We're expected to be responsible for our advertising and our marketing to a fairly massive degree. Some traditionally published in m/m still have to pay for their release blitzes out of pocket. These publishing houses, by and large, do not offer advances. You say most authors don't get large advances. I don't think most authors in this arena get offered advances at all unless they're somehow miraculously acquired by a Big 4.

We're expected to have an already established social media presence because of that (that's why it's so appealing to publishers that we have social media presences already, anon, so we can market, they can save money, and we still see only a minimal cut from the royalties).

And you still have to focus on your finances, because publishing houses like Dreamspinner straight up didn't pay a whole bunch of authors for so long they destroyed careers. They still haven't paid some of their authors. And they're still running a business and people still buy their books.

Trad publishing houses have better resources for marketing and helping authors get more attention than any self publishing website could.

This is true if a) they're a big publishing house and not an indie publisher of which most LGBTQIA+ publishing houses are and b) they're willing to use them on you.

The authors that make the most money get the most resources. If they believe you're going to earn back your advance and move thousands or tens of thousands of units per book, then yes, you will get those resources.

I have been told so many times now - even from friends who run publishing houses, including one who works at HarperCollins - that my work will never be mainstream enough to have broad appeal. They literally told me not to keep trying re: trad pub, because that was my dream for a long time. These folks have given me rock solid advice in the past, it's one of the reasons I'm doing so well now via Patreon + Ream. But they were like (paraphrasing) 'you don't write 60-80k romances and you don't want to and that's not your strength anyway, you're multi-genre which makes you hard to market, you write psychological and literary trauma recovery which is hard to market, you write character studies which are hard to market, publishing houses often don't commit to series anymore if the first two don't move units and if they pulled the plug you'd be contractually obliged to never finish that series until your contract was up.' I could go on, but it was like yeah...actually. Fair.

For some reason places like Amazon and the like accept and keep up more "dark" books that are traditionally published than they do with self pub ones. Maybe because they have more respect or leniency for publishing houses?

They do, but most publishing houses want very formulaic dark romance which is not what I write.

I have a 300k omegaverse slowburn that still hasn't had any penetrative sex in it, anon. Publishing houses don't want that. They don't expect anyone will wait 4 full length novels to get to literally a single penetrative sex scene.

But you already have 2 completed novels (3 if you count the fae one) that you could potentially revisit or rewrite to your liking and get them represented by agents.

If I rewrote them to my liking, trad pub wouldn't want them. They'd be too long! I think agents etc. take one look at me and go 'oh god, no thank you!' I'm not an easy sell, by any means.

Plus I'm very e.e about all of that with the knowledge that they then give me only about 10-15% of the royalties on the sales, vs. self-pub where I get around 70%, or subscription where I around 80% of it. When someone subscribes to me, they don't have to worry about 85-90% of their subscription fee going to a publishing house. I don't have to think about how many thousands and thousands of books I'd have to sell to make the same amount that I do now via subscription.

As well as trad publishing, you could also make s simple website that doesn't require much maintenance.

If it was that simple, I'd be doing it. I don't mean this in a facetious way, I mean it in a: I've made a lot of websites, in fact I run one at the moment not connected to my writing (I've been running it for so long it's now in its 20s and can probably has a driver's license). I find it so tedious that I barely remember to check in on it. But forgetting about it means there's always maintenance to keep up with when I get back to it.

Running websites is simpler than it used to be, but it's still not simple. There's hosting and hosting costs, there's server changes, there's back-end maintenance etc. I'm considering it for down the track, but there's a reason I decided to go the route of Patreon over my own site. There are authors (like Christopher Hopper) who actually do subscription through their own domain, but it's a lot of work.

Even placeholder sites are still work. They need updating, details change, story titles changing etc. Maintaining my Patreon + Ream About pages is enough, they're always both a little out of date, lol.

Not that you're not professional now.

Oh no, I mean from a 'traditional publisher looking at me to see what kind of candidate I am' I'm really not though. Like I said, I don't have the newsletter (100 subscribers who get one newsletter a year is not really a newsletter), I don't have the Facebook/Tiktok/Insta/Twitter/Bluesky/Threads accounts, etc. I write multi-genre across multiple steam levels, and I'm allergic to writing serials shorter than 150k. One of my best performing original serials was an 800k contemporary story with no sex in it but a lot of BDSM. It can't be marketed as clean or sweet, it's not high steam, an entire chapter is 'boy saves snail from rain.' Also he was cruel to animals, so not exactly what I'd call a sympathetic main.

And yet that story did so well for me via Patreon + Ream, because people want the kinds of stories that publishing houses generally don't want and I happen to be writing them.

Trad publishing is work but definitely not as much as self publishing, and you can continue on with your serials. Getting an agent can be time consuming but I personally believe the pros outweigh the cons and I also believe that your stories would be a huge treasure to the growing lgbtqia+ market. Seriously there needs to be more!

Anon I just literally do not believe an agent would want to represent me. I have 0% belief in that. Not from a self-deprecating angle but from a 'I am not a good bet for the trad market' perspective. From a 'I have so many friends who are trad pubbed authors who stare at me like I'm insane for writing serials as long as I do' perspective. From a 'professionals in the industry have told me it's amazing I'm doing so well in serials because there's no way they'd take a risk on what I'm doing' perspective. From a 'just because it's queer and diverse doesn't mean it hits literally any other thing a trad pub is looking for' perspective. I've been doing this for 10 years. There are agents who represent work similar to mine who know what I'm doing and wouldn't touch me with a ten foot pole. They're not missing out on a trick, they know I'm not broad appeal, and they're right.

Also the only way I'd have the energy to manage trad pub is by quitting serials. And honestly, I never found trad pub all that much fun while I was doing it for non-novel stuff. It was fine, and it is nice to have my stuff out there, but it was a ton of admin and a lot of going back and forth between people who really only care about marketing a product, and that's great and what they excel at! But I'm too disabled to turn this job into something crushing just to potentially make more money, I'd rather just quit and go back onto a full Disability Pension. I can't see any way I still get to write the stories I want to write, in the way that I write them, and be remotely appealing to a single reputable trad pub or agent.

Also *gestures to everything in this article*

[vyvansecrashing]

can russia and north korea just nuke us already this is hopeless

[soupfact]

my opinion on anything watcher has long since passed being relevant but my main thoughts are

privatized streaming is always antithetical to any 'leftist' notion of universal, available services and is going to alienate their most devoted fans (international)

that being said, I also think it is one of the only survivable tools that isn't literally playing into youtube's hands, which the watcher boys have aired grievances about before

editors, camera people, directors, etc deserve fair compensation and reasonable timelines.

and from a very brief glance at view analytics, I don't think watcher is quote-unquote profitable. popular and afloat maybe, but it's not what 2018 was (nor do i think it can be), so they were probably forced to switch gears

watcher is ultimately a business. trying to hold them (esp shane) to the same standards we hold other comrades is impossible as they literally have different interests

steven is (historically) a bigger part of artistic direction than people want to believe (a lot of the behind-camera talent that leads to the high-quality aspect, for instance)

and ryan and shane are a bigger part of business than people think, being literally joint CEOs (knowing to play up and into their friendship, cutting/backburnering shows that won't turn profits)

tldr bad business decision made by people who aren't business people. which is good, because business is about extracting value, but also bad, because there's no good move here and they picked a bad one

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

looking at the dialogue i wrote up for the next comic strip and the sheer amount of sketches (sketches. not even the lineart itself) to go along with it........ at this point i may just have to start writing fanfiction. it would be a lot less tedious methinks

[flippedorbit]

i’m gonna be so for real, if things don’t start changing for me in good ways i will be disappearing off the face of the earth

[panspy]

hmmmmmm.................vent post under tags...... feel free to give advice or dont¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[emometalhead]

.

[captain-lovelace]

I think if people took a fraction of the time they spend arguing about whether or not people should use the term “content” for art/writing online and instead used it to tip/commission creators and send nice comments and spread their work the world would be a better place but maybe that’s just me