#em devours media

[emirrea]

Out of context these two make Noragami seem like a BL and you can't convince me otherwise lol

[tojisun]

Poor poor hockey! Simon :(

he lost and now the only thing to make him feel better is a good bj

this made me twitch so here u are my love !!!

!! comfort/smut - minors dni; hockey au; praises (in a tender way and but also in a kink way); D/s-ish; some semblance of plot ig // 2.4k words (LMAO)

the horn blows, marking the end of the game and, with that, the end of spec gru’s season.

it was heartbreaking to watch the way the boys' bodies slump, their loss descending onto them like heavy rain. the arena shakes, screams from the opposing team's fans piercing your ears, but you can't blame them, really—they won on home ice, against the leviathan of the league. it is a tremendous win for them, and a devastating loss for your side.

you feel your hand getting squeezed and you turn, looking at johnny's fiancee, seeing the way her own face is crumpled in her sadness.

"i guess that's that, huh?" she says, comforting, her voice a quiet whisper that was almost devoured by the loud cheers.

sometimes you forget that she's an athlete too; that she feels things a lot more intense than you do because she understands the grapple. the desperation. the way how everything you give and everything you put out is, at the end, not enough.

you sniffle, holding her hand tighter.

"i'm so proud of 'em," you say wetly, unable to compartmentalize your grief.

she laughs, the sound of it so empty of any humour but not any less kind.

“i am too.”

you both turn your gazes back to the rink and watch the teams shake hands with each other, the players finally amiable like they hadn’t just been tussling on ice, all sparked by the sharp tension that buzzed throughout their play.

you watch as simon takes a lap, patting the backs of his team members with his lips pursed, but otherwise he is put together. and yet here you are, shaking, lips wobbling, nose twitching because you are trying your best not to cry. it isn’t like you were the one who lost so you wonder why your heart twinges with so much pain; why is it that you are the one holding back the tears?

simon turns to the crowd, roving his eyes past bodies, until they finally lock on you. his lips twitch into a smile; you give him what you hope is a big one—the type of smile that will let him know how in awe you are of him, win or not.

they skate away and you all shuffle out, preparing for the flight back home.

.

it was expected for the players to fly back home together—a semblance of normalcy even amidst the staggering defeat. it was their last attempt at showing sportsmanship; at showing the hounding media that despite the abrupt end of their season, they remained close-knit. 

simon understands it, of course. it was a media play, one that contends with the politics of the league, but it was difficult to act impartially, especially when they were making their way back, empty-handed, from the home ice of the team that had defeated them. it was difficult to not show the turmoil in their hearts, but they all managed to hold their heads up high during the exit and that was that.

they didn’t talk about it much, avoiding that last game as best as they could until the briefing, but hunger thrums in their jowls—no one was satisfied with being the second best. 

the promise of a better next season hung above them, but it is still so unreachable.

simon feels angrier than usual, unable to stop himself from taking this loss personally. like what costed them their win were only his shortcomings; like this defeat was his sole failure because he did promise to lead his team on ice, with price unable to stand as their official captain during the games. he had promised to score the most, after all, and had promised to keep the opposing puck out of price’s net, but he failed in both and, well, here they are.

back home, anguished. defeated.

he–

simon's phone rings, a quiet trill that echoes in the empty locker room. 

he shoots awake from the swirl of his thoughts, sluggish as he pulls it out of his bag. he expected it to be laswell or keller, or maybe their coach, but simon feels his world tilt when he sees your name flashing on his screen. and just like that, like he wasn’t even drowning in his self-doubt and self-hatred, simon feels like he can breathe again. 

he feels lighter, his anguish seeping out of his pores, leaving him with nothing but his flesh and his heart and his love. 

simon picks up the call, hears your voice, then he is up and running back home. 

.

there is a sense of urgency in the way he finds you, his cold body folding into the warm touch of your own. you gasped out his name, surprised at how fast you have him back in your arms after a whole season of flying and leaving and pursuing his chance at the cup—

“i’m home, petal,” simon murmurs, his voice deep and beautiful and longing, and you giggle, your eyes watering, before you nuzzle into his chest.

he breathes you in, the faint smell of ozone and rain and something distinctly flowery fills his nose, and somehow this is what grounds him, his blood spiking as desire and need fill him up instead.

and it trickles into him like wafting smoke—soft, gentle, cascading like a warm kiss. it is still intense, hungry, but it is tender. quiet. like everything about simon’s buzzed energy had transformed into this careful folding. the anger, the desperation, all of it snuffed out for a vulnerable moment.

“baby,” you begin, voice muffled from where your head is still pressed on his chest. “love, you did so well.”

he shakes, his words failing him now. 

you pull back just enough and he sees the glazed look in your eyes as you stare up at him, your lips curled in your smile. “i’m so proud of you, si.” 

his heart stutters inside the cages of his ribs, jumping, before it lodges itself in his throat. 

you giggle at his wordless tremors and press close again, your body melting onto his again, before you tip your head back to his chest but this time, instead of a nuzzle, you greet his beating heart with a kiss. one that is so light he barely feels it from his shirt, but simon feels so shaken. 

he feels so raw. 

you are holding him like he is the best thing in this world. like all his bulk and his size and his anger is still worth this softness.

“i need you,” he croaks out, unable to stop the way his feelings bloat and rage in the pit of his stomach. 

“you have all of me,” you reply, breathless, your eyes still blown open, wide and full of wonder. then they shift, turning sharper, gaining edge; still careful, coaxing, but overwhelming. “tell me, my love. tell me how you need me.”

“fuck,” simon rasps out, feeling like he’s running out of air. his fingers twitch, digging deep into your skin, feeling it mould under his touch.

he’s missed this, alright. he’s—

“mouth,” he finally manages to bite out. “wan’ feel your mouth, love.”

“okay,” you croon, kissing his pec again. “sit f’me?”

simon doesn’t even have it in him to feel embarrassed about the way he falls to his ass on the plush mattress, bouncing a little bit because of the force, before he spreads his legs open, so, so desperate. 

you have your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, canines dimpling the flesh, and simon feels like he is burning from the inside; doused with the fires of need, spark untamable, licking up, up, up.

“come on, firelily,” he rumbles, needy. “c’mere an’ kiss me.”

you huff, fond, and fall to your knees, scooting close to him. 

it was silent as you fumble with his sweats, tugging at the drawstring and grumbling when the hem gets snugged on his hips. simon chuckles, pushing your hair out of your face before he juts up just enough to give you room to slide his sweats and his boxers down.

the cool air makes him tremble and you murmur something. it was so faint that he doesn’t get to catch what it was, but his curiosity sizzles at the sight of you licking your palm, shyly with how you refuse to meet his eyes. he almost teases you, his cheeks round with giddiness, but then you wrapped your fist around his half-chub, and his sanity is razed. 

simon hisses, eyes fluttering close at the warm curl of pleasure.

jesus. he’s missed the feeling of this; your hand is softer, more supple, around his cock. it was so different from when it was his own fist rubbing himself, beating at his angrily flushed cock with desperation only for his peak to tip over mutedly, and not enough to truly satiate his hunger.

but this? fuck. 

simon doesn’t even realize he’s whimpering, his head thrown back at the curious pace of your hand, not really jerking him off but mapping along his veins almost in quiet awe. 

“‘m not gon’ last long if you–” he gasps at a particular twist. “if you keep doing that.”

“oh, no we can’t have that,” you tease, chuckling, and simon’s reply builds on the tip of his tongue, cheeky, but then you’re already moving, your back folding, your breath hitting his sensitive head.

his thighs tense in his anticipation, his stomach locking. you flit your eyes up at him, pupils blown wide in your own ragged need, before he jerks at the feeling of your tongue pressing on the underside of his cock, licking up, and teasing his leaking slit.

simon moans, guttural, his voice caught on the back of his throat. he drops his hands to his sides, fisting at the sheets as you keep licking, teasing his slit and tracing his veins, lapping at his cock so messily. 

if he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re inexperienced; all sloppy and curious, like you’re attempting things you’ve probably seen in porn, but then you close the ring of your mouth around the bulbed head, suckling like it’s a goddamn loli, while your hands drop to squeeze his balls, and simon’s gone. 

“shit-!” he gasps out, battling air like he’s back on ice. 

he bucks his hips forward, unable to help himself, and only stops at the warbled sound of your surprise.

“fuck,” he hisses, hand coming up to swipe the hair from your sweaty face. “i’m sorry, darlin’. didn’t mean t’force it down. s’just that y’r so good.”

he keeps petting your cheek, overtaken by his desires and no longer able to stop the string of words trickling from his heart. “missed you lots, swee’art. missed you so much—take me deeper?”

your cheeks hollow as you hum, so obedient for him.

“yeah, jus’ like that,” simon trills, his chest rising as he breathes in deeply. his stomach flexes at the feeling of you swallowing more of him, taking his thickness past your gummy cheeks and into the wet vice of your throat. “shit, baby. christ. y’feel so fuckin’ good ‘round me. so perfect an’ wet.” he giggles, drunken in his bliss. “such a messy baby y’are. so sloppy. y’wanted my cock that much, din’ya? so hungry f’r it.”

there’s a wet slurp when he hits the deepest you could allow him, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. you choke, your body lurching in protest, but simon is at the throes of his pleasure and his rational thoughts are devoured by his gluttonous need, and simon knows it is wrong to ask but—

“hold it in? can you do that f’r me, love?” he croons, his voice curling in his euphoria.

he knows this is playing dirty; to use your weakness—the deep rumble of his voice and the gentle beckoning—to make you weak, malleable. to make you just as desperate for him because he knows all you want to do is to be good for him even when it has you straining, your eyes filling up with tears. he knows it is wrong, but he can’t help it. he wants you this way.

and you want him like this too—his desires sharpening, shaping him to be mean and dangerous. his thickness fills you up, pressing at the roof of your mouth and trapping your tongue underneath the weight of his flesh. your larynx is stretched out, stuffed, but simon is looking at you so adoringly, his own ecstasy so dizzying, so addicting.

you nod, sniffling, finally replying to his question because you want him to feel good. because you want him to lose his restraints when it comes to you.

because you want him to use you until he’s truly relaxed, his body exhausted with something beyond his heartbreak. with something beyond his loss.

simon’s lips wobble like he knows what it is you are thinking of. 

he fucks your throat that way, gentle and sometimes slipping into something so mean it makes you squirm on your knees, the muted throb of your strained legs finally turning into staticky numbness, but you don’t complain, your jaw relaxed as you let simon use you.

he growls out his praises, his words chewed on in his peaking euphoria—nose flaring, cheeks flushed red—or lilting as he teases you—pulling his cock out enough that all that is left is the head, and you whine because you want him in, please simon. wan’ more please—

“gonna cum, sweetheart. gonna cum—fuck!—gonna—”

simon throws his head back, a blinding white filling his eyes and his ears ringing. his body trembles at the intensity of his orgasm, immense pleasure overtaking every synapses in his body until all that he feels is the feverish wrap of your mouth on him.

he flicks his eyes down, panting, and twitches at the sight you make—jaw slack, eyes faraway, skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat. 

you look, fuck, you look angelic like this.

simon cups your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your teary eye. you focus back to him slowly, blinking owlishly. 

“shh,” he croons, gentle. “i’ve got you, darlin’. i’ve got you.”

a whine builds from the back of your throat and simon hums, responding to your wordless babble, trying to ease you back down from the fog. he continues to hold you even amidst his oversensitivity, waiting so patiently so he can take care of you now.

yeah, he thinks to himself as he continues to return your unblinking stare. i’m glad to be back home. 

hope this was good :'33 once again pls dont judge me for my blatant self-indulgence hhHHHHH oki oki mwah!!

[dr3amfyr-e]

brat. - j.v. ( w. 4.5k )

꒰ in which the boy you see every summer enrolls in the same university as you. ꒱ — modern!jacaerys velayron x reader

୨ ⎯ i cannot stress enough, football means ⚽️ not 🏈. childhood-friends-to-lovers, but you have to get through my 2000 word psychoanalysis and backstory first. light angst. mention of the death of a parent. lots and lots of talk about the velaryon-targaryen-hightower family dynamic. light make out action. reader's family is implied to be wealthy enough to have a summer home. almost everyone lives au. set in the uk, not westeros. omitted daemon rhaenyra marriage because there’s no way to to make it even semi-normal. realizing now i omitted daemon entirely erm sorry. pushing the laenor agenda bc he’s my favorite character. this is abhorently long. extreme overuse of the em-dash. uhh the perspective is wonky in a few places. will prob get a pt.2. ⎯ ୧

i had to write this twice. i'm offering this to you with shaking hands, like a peasent child begging for coins. i may write a part two because i have more to say, but i don't want to figure it out rn.

On the cold January morning that Jacaerys Velaryon-Targaryen was born, the media went into a frenzy. 

The Targaryens were old money, their fortune rooted a century back in good investments. Historically adept at finding their way into things, the empire had a string to pull in every industry. From art and law to technology and shipping, if business prospects looked good there would be a Targaryen investment.

And then there were the dogs — regal greyhounds, with long, thin bodies and sleek coats. The Targaryens bred them as far back as bloodline records went. The pups were never for sale; sometimes they were used as show dogs, and successful show dogs they were, but more often they were pets. It was a status symbol, to nonchalantly own such a coveted creature. 

The Targaryens were idolized in the public eye. They were all stunning, with sharp features and silver hair, and each member of the family seemed to possess a Midas touch. But, where Valyrian blood ran hot, so did the press. It was no surprise when magazines started to turn a profit from silver heads plastered across their glossy covers. It was the price that came with God-like aristocracy.

From editorials to gossip columns, people devoured the insider life of the untouchables. When Aemma Targaryen died, there was a four-page spread in nearly every magazine; complete with pictures and quotes. Business papers filled with opinion pieces about Rhaenyra’s inheritance claim to her family’s empire; magazines exploded with the announcement of her engagement to Laenor Velaryon, and subsequently Viserys’ marriage to Alicent Hightower, the daughter of his lawyer. 

When Jacaerys was born, reporters lined up outside of the hospital doors. There were cameras and microphones and crew trucks, and Rhaenyra hated it. It wasn’t the way she wished to welcome her child into the world — swarmed by people who didn’t know nor care for him.

Laenor had always been good at navigating the attention, and Rhaenyra was constantly grateful. So, when he pulled his gaze from the babe and steeled himself to deal with the onslaught of reporters outside, tears pricked at her eyes. Appreciation, exhaustion, adoration? She couldn’t be sure. 

Looking down at her son, she thought, he’s perfect. He had a smattering of dark hair, and he was quiet but not concerningly so. Wispy lashes fell upon his cherub cheeks, and when he eventually blinked up at her his eyes were dark. He looked nothing like her — she didn’t care. 

She refused to talk to anyone outside of her family, and had the curtains in her private room drawn. To expose her son, her heart, to the prying eyes of the bored masses with nary a care for his well-being was a nightmare. She wouldn’t have him exploited. 

At the time of Jacaerys’ birth, she and Laenor had been married for a little over a year. Laenor’s father, Corlys, managed the bulk of the import and export for Viserys’ company. Corlys was a good man, he hadn’t dreamed of marrying his son off. But Laenor and Rhaenyra were both in the same impossible situation: the wiles of youth mixed with the ever critical public. 

They had both fallen into scandalous relationships, both preyed on by paparazzi. If they married one another, it would save face for both of their families. Plus — both being the eldest and heir, this would clear the expectation of a dignified marriage. They agreed to leave each other to whatever youthful fun they wanted to have, as long as everything was discreet. 

Both the Velaryons and the Targaryens kept a summer home in Dragonstone, a private community in coastal Wales. It was the perfect place for Rhaenyra and Laenor to begin their life — far from her father, close to his parents, and out of the line of sight for any nosy journalist. 

The public eye had looked to other things by the time Lucerys was born, two years later. Again, Laenor dealt with the small gathering of reporters with the utmost grace, and Rhaenyra submitted a written statement. 

Alicent divorced Viserys that same year. 

As she watched her boys grow up, full of energy and life, Rhaenyra thought, there was no one better to parent with than her best friend — a title Laenor had rightfully earned. They hadn’t had much choice in knowing each other, and they certainly would never have chosen to be married, but he made a bearable roommate. They had things in common; they liked the same music, and the same men. They drank the same wine and frequented the same restaurants. And, they both loved their boys. 

As Jace and Luke grew up, they found the best company in each other — the school in Dragonstone was so small, though, that there were very few other options. They both played on the school’s small football team, and Jace took piano lessons while Luke learned to fence. Where Jace was driven by emotion, Luke was level-headed; where Luke was cautiously quiet, Jace spoke his mind. It was an ideal childhood, the Welsh coast was an idyllic backdrop to grow up upon, with the sea in their backyard. 

They were ten and eight when Joffrey was born, both excited for their new brother. Their mother brought him home, bundled in a soft red blanket. The boys sat on the couch beside Rhaenys and stared at him for upwards of an hour. 

Hardly a week had passed when Harwin Strong died. He was a family friend, a frequent presence in their home and life — Jace and Luke had been upset by this, of course. 

In time they came to understand the situation fully. Jacaerys first, fitting the pieces together with the evidence he found in the mirror. Neither Rhaenyra nor Laenor had dark hair, like he and his brothers. 

His matriline was uncontestable though, as he grew into himself. He possessed the same nose, jaw, brow, and high cheekbones that Rhaenyra wore. The comparisons between the two became more frequent as he grew older, and he found himself to be quite proud to look like her. 

Her attitude lived in him as well, the temperament she had been so notorious for as a girl festered in her eldest son. She had once been christened ‘The Princess of Dragonstone’ after flipping off a reporter at their summer home. Jacearys earned it for himself when he was fifteen, after loudly berating a reporter. He had been defending Luke, but no one seemed to care when they deigned him ‘The Prince of Dragonstone’. He took it with grace, claiming that he couldn’t help but be his mother’s child.

It instilled a sense of public propriety he strove to uphold. 

Rhaenyra remarried the same year — to Alicent Hightower — and moved her children from Wales to London. It took a while to adjust to the new life — Jace liked his new school, but he detested his step-brothers. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come around to the idea of living with Aemond and Aegon, who took so much pleasure in making he and his brothers miserable. 

After the first month, Jacaerys fell in brilliantly. He performed well in school, quickly being enrolled in the advanced literature and history courses. He got on well with his peers, and made a number of friends. He joined the football team and spent his Sunday afternoons learning piano concertos. 

Living in London made him a more publicly prominent figure in his family's legacy. He knew how to play his role as heir; he carried himself perfectly — confident and charming and elegant. He didn’t particularly like being in the public eye, but there was a certain sense of satisfaction when he did something to receive positive public attention. 

King’s Landing, much like where he had grown up, was a community reserved for the upper echelon. Situated in Northwest London, and surrounded by wrought iron gates, it was regal and dignified. The house had high, vaulted ceilings, large stained glass windows, and more than enough bedrooms. It rained more, Jacaerys noticed in the first month. When it had rained in Dragonstone he would watch the droplets bounce off the sea, where it lapped at the sandy bay. Here the rain splattered unceremoniously upon the pavement. 

For as wonderful as life in London had turned out, Jacaerys found himself longing for what was left behind in Dragonstone. Laenor lived there still, and while he called often and visited as much as he could, it wasn’t the same. Jace’s childhood bedroom remained, along with all of the memories in the house he grew up in. And his friends. There was an assortment of people he only saw between late May and early September; the children of the other seasonal residents. The number had dwindled in years past, with fewer of them returning for break — favouring more interesting places, like Ibiza or Rome, as they got older. 

Far too few of his childhood friends he kept in contact with, especially after the move to London. You were the exception. 

He was grateful, on days when it stormed in London, to receive a silly text or too-long voice note. It made things feel less dull — you had a way of doing that. 

He took to reading theory around the time he turned seventeen. It’s queer theory, at the suggestion of his cousin Baela, who lent him his first Judith Butler book. He finished it that weekend. 

His aunt Laena and her two daughters lived in London, and Jace found a close comrade in Baela. She played competitive tennis and listened to riot grrrl, she was much cooler than him and he knew it. Her bedroom held two massive bookshelves, and she let him pillage her collection for De Bouvier and Didion and Gay. Hours were spent lying across the floor in Laena’s house, studying, or reading, or talking. He enjoyed Baela’s company more than any of his school friends, favouring anything with her over anything with the boys from his football team. 

His youngest sister, Visenya, turned one around the same time. Baela, staying with Jacaerys while he babysat one night, inducted him into the eldest daughter club. 

“You’re so keen on driving your siblings around, and taking care of them. Plus, aren’t you your mother’s closest confidant?” She asked. 

True, Jace supposed. He was the oldest of Rhaenyra’s children, and the most responsible of his brothers and step-siblings. His mums both worked full time, they were busy but as involved as possible. Jace just did the menial things. He made Joffrey breakfast, picked Luke up after school, and watched Visenya when necessary. He didn’t mind.

Baela argued that he should mind. 

He had been a sensitive child, more so than his brothers, but it made him incredibly emotionally adept as he aged. So many boys his age prided themselves on stoicism, but that was never something Jace felt connected to. He always felt things too deeply to bottle them up — it accounted for the occasional temper that flared up when he was upset, but also how empathetic and kind he was. 

Jacearys was set to graduate with honours in the first week of May. It was three months before when college acceptance letters began to appear in the mail. He had applied to a number of places, and been accepted everywhere. The University of the Vale was where his hopes hinged though. 

Just after Valentine's Day, it showed up. The envelope was wide and stuffed full, and sealed with a wax stamp. His acceptance letter was on the very top of the stack of papers — the thick paper heavy in his hands, as he admired the blue printed border and silver flocking. 

Rhaenrya sorted through the informational packets while Jace reread the letter. Part of him couldn’t believe it was real.

He sends you a picture of the letter, and you respond in kind with one of an identical nature. 

You hadn’t planned to go to the same university, but it certainly was a happy coincidence. 

After graduation, he was beyond excited for the reprieve that Dragonstone granted. The promise of early morning hikes, and evenings spent on the beach — the once empty house, full of life and bustling with bodies. 

You were the first thing Jacaerys thought to look for when he set his bags down in the summer home. 

It was late May, and you were guaranteed to be out of school. I’ll text after I unpack, he thought, pulling clothes and books from his suitcase. 

His room in Dragonstone had once been his childhood bedroom. The walls were a warm tone of white, and the small bed was still covered with his blue and white checkered duvet. Piano scales and pictures of his brothers and friends adorn the walls. There was a soccer trophy on the back edge of his desk, something he had won when he was eleven. It was stuffy from nine months of stagnance, but familiar all the same. 

He pushed the curtains back from the window to let sunlight filter into the dusty room, gazing down at the beach, when he spotted your figure. He was quick to rush downstairs, out the backdoor, and across the stone path that leads from the patio to the beach. He greets you with a call of your name and a tight hug, sunglasses perched atop his head and linen shirt half buttoned. 

It had been a year since he’d last seen you. You had kept in touch during the school year; Jace favoured Snapchat and FaceTime, delighted with the pleasure of seeing the mundane things you were up to. There was a nearly constant text thread, and voice memos passed back and forth. But, it all paled in comparison to physical company. 

He abandoned his housekeeping duties, keen to sit on the beach and talk. And you did so for hours, about everything and nothing. He tells you about his last year of school and listens as you do the same. When the sun dipped past the treeline, he leaned back on his elbows, watching the water crest on the sand. He felt more at ease than he had in a while, enraptured by the ease of your presence. The conversation flowed, there were no awkward lulls and no pressure to talk about something dignified. It was comforting to be so close to someone who didn’t see much of his life in London — you knew the best version of him. 

Your friendship had always felt like that, from a young age. On days that smelled of sunscreen and sea salt in his mind, you would meet in the mornings and depart past dark and then do it again the next day, never tiring of each other. Your parents knew his, so you had always been welcome in his home — invited or not. You had shared a bed during sleepovers, drunk from the same cup, and fallen asleep on the couch during movie nights countless times. Quick glances and imperceptible expressions were a language you communicated in, reading each other without words. In your presence, Jace was the most comfortable.

The summer slipped away as it always did, taking long nights and leaving memories of sand and sunshine. The days were ambled away in the water, on rocky hiking paths, or in the meadow that sat a mile away from all of the homes. 

Jace had started The Hobbit before school ended — most days he found himself sprawled out in the park or on the beach, reading. He had also taken to running with his dog, Vermax, in the mornings. He relied on the serotonin boost to start the day, and with no football to play a jog was a decent alternative. 

When the summer drew to a close, the typical melancholy that befell the return to the real world wasn’t present in Jace’s mind. He presumed it had everything to do with the fact that he would see you every day now

You have one college class together — a nine a.m. medieval literature discussion. 

Clinging to familiarity in the new environment, he glued himself to your side for the first week of classes. He memorized the way to your dorm, meeting you outside every morning to walk together to your first lessons. The meandering conversation was a good start to the day, and he silently relished in your tired eyes and quiet voice, not yet used to the early schedule. 

On Friday he all but begged you to come back to his dorm after the discussion; it was your only class that day so you had given in. You hadn’t seen his living quarters yet, and he wanted to spend time with you, worried for when your schedules would fill up and you would lose room for each other. 

The discussion had been mind-numbing. You reviewed the same syllabus as the lecture, and went over the same rules and policies as every other class. With the thirty-five minutes remaining, the teaching assistant made everyone watch an incredibly monotone video about the history of medieval England. 

Jace linked his arm into yours in the hallway after class, pulling you to the doors. The cool morning air was refreshing, waking you up more as you walked across campus. His dorm building was new and modern, seventeen floors with grey siding and big windows. It was private housing, clearly expensive. 

He had a single room with an adjoining bathroom and a small common space. The walls were typical dorm white, with laminate wood flooring. Joffrey’s school photo is hung on one wall, the frame clearly decorated by the child with glitter and string. Scattered across the other walls were photographs in thin silver frames, a large world map, a clock, and a cross-stitch of a rainbow stag beetle.

Sitting on the couch, you observed the unframed photos that lay across the coffee table, inspecting a leggy grey dog as you plucked it from the pile, “Who is this?”

Jace leaned into your side, gazing at the photo, “My mum’s dog, Syrax,” He reached over you to tap the picture, “Syrax is my dog’s mum.” 

He slipped his hand into yours as you walked with him to his second class of the day.

In the third week of school, Jace asks you to attend a mixer for a pre-law society with him. He doesn't know anyone, and doesn't want to be alone at the party. You meet at his dorm at a quarter-to-six so you can walk to the event together. 

The dress-code is emi-formal, and when he opens the door to you his hair is slicked back with water and he smells like his cologne — musk, sandalwood, and amber. 

“Are your clothes pressed?” You ask, grinning at his freshly ironed slacks and the three buttons undone on his shirt. 

He rolls his eyes, locking the door behind him as he escorts you down the hallway. The walls of the elevator in his dorm are mirrored, and you laugh at him when you catch him taking pictures of himself. He makes you take one with him, and sets it as his lock screen. 

The mixer was in the dean of law’s massive house, buzzing with young people in smart outfits. Jace abandons you about fifteen minutes in, spotting a group of poli sci majors from his social psychology class. 

From his childhood spent between galas and his mother’s business meetings, Jace was good at navigating these situations. He was charming, leveling the professors with charismatic smiles and confident posture. He was good at holding an intelligent conversation, discussing theory and strategy. 

You were on the patio, watching the stars, when he found you an hour later.

His arms brushed yours as he leaned against the railing, “Sorry for leaving you,” His voice was quiet, and he stared at your profile, watching the way the moonlight illuminated your skin. 

You wave his apology off and make him buy you coffee in recompense on the way home. 

You’re stood talking together on the quadrangle a few weeks later, a cup of hot chocolate warming your mitten-less hands, when you realise just how cold it’s gotten. It's just too cold for the thin jacket that you try to sink further into, hiding from the wind that bites at your delicate skin.

Jace watches you shiver, observing your lack of appropriate attire. 

“Are you cold?” He asks, reaching out to run his hands up and down your arms, half to warm you, half to gauge how thick your jacket is. Not very. 

You nod, “I didn’t check the weather this morning.” 

He sighs with exaggerated exasperation and slides his arms around you, careful of the paper cup you held. Of course, he’s worn the right coat, and you feel the downy material of his hood against your cheek as he rubs your back to generate some warmth. You smell the cologne on his collar and the expensive shampoo he uses; he grumbled something about taking better care of yourself. 

Then, one particularly cold Friday morning he has forgotten his coat. Dressed in a hoodie, he mirrors your excuse from the week prior, smiling sheepishly — face flushed from the chilly air, dark curls blowing around his head like a halo. You take pity on him, slipping your scarf off. You loop it around his neck, tucking the ends down into the collar of his sweater, and leave him with a fond peck on the cheek; his skin is cold. 

He's appreciative, though the scarf does little against the cold wind cutting through his sweater. Still, he doesn't give the scarf back. 

With the cold, comes midterms. You’re the first person Jace asks to study. 

Your dorm room is closer to the central part of campus, and thus a shorter walk in the bitter cold. Jace brushes snow out of his hair as you unlock your door, ushering him inside. It's small. Two twin-sized beds, one on each wall, with nary enough room for two bodies between them; a desk is crammed into the small space between your bed and the window. You let him take the desk, spreading your books and notes out across your bed.

Your dorm is old, and the room has very little ventilation. Despite the frigidity outside, the room is stuffy and almost hot with both of your bodies inside. An hour into studying Jace shrugs off his heavy, knit sweater and pushes his glasses up into his hair. 

“What are you working on?” You ask, leaning forward. You’re bored, working on the same power point you started yesterday. You want to talk to him, though he doesn’t seem keen on the idea

He doesn’t look up from typing as he speaks, “Analysing The Art of War.” 

You shut your laptop, bent on distracting him, “The book?” 

He nods but doesn’t give a verbal response. 

“Who's that by?” You ask, fighting to suppress a grin

This time he does look up, glaring at you over his glasses, “Sun Tzu.” 

His tone is short, but it's amusing to annoy him so you grin, suppressing a giggle, “Sounds very interesting.” 

“What do you want?” He asks after a beat, still holding your gaze. 

You shrug, “Nothing. I’m bored,” 

The next time you study is even less productive, school work discarded on his floor in a matter of minutes. 

“We can’t be trusted to work together,” He tells you, watching as you calculate his astrological chart, geometry homework forgotten. 

You attend your first college party together in November. When you arrive at his dorm, he’s dressed much more casually than normal. 

You reach out to tug at the thin silver chain peeking out from his shirt collar, “This is fun,” You tease, giggling, “Aiming to impress tonight?”

He rolls his eyes in mock-offence, turning you around by the shoulders to shove you out of the doorframe. 

The lights in the house are dim, and they strobe slowly through different colours. It’s too dark and too bright all at once. The music is almost unbearably loud and people are packed in like sardines, it’s all incredibly overstimulating. 

When he senses your unease, Jace takes your hand, pulling you tight against your side to lead you through the throng of bodies. He’s looking for someone, but you’re unsure who, and he canvases the whole space before giving up on finding them.

The backyard of the house is quieter, but the ground still vibrates from the bass of the music. People are scattered about, smoking cigarettes and sipping from bottles of cheap beer. 

You both learn what Jell-O shots are, and make out in the bathroom back at his dorm. It’s not the first time you’d kissed each other, trying it a few times in your adolescence just to see what it was like. But this is different, tipsy and sloppy, as you giggle into his mouth. 

It's forgotten in the morning, when you wake up in his bed still dressed in your going-out clothes, head pounding.

But then it happens again, the week before finals.

You had stayed at the library far too late studying, leaving the pair of you to walk back to his dorm in the dark. It's positively frigid, cold December air whipping snow into your face. 

There are still snowflakes in your hair as you shed the thick coat you’re wearing, pulling off your gloves and hat. 

There's a bottle of wine in Jace’s freezer, left by Aegon the weekend before. It's expensive and rich and red, and Aegon would likely skin you if he found out you were drinking it — but, that's part of the fun. There's a baking show on the small television, and you’re curled into Jace’s side to steal some of the warmth from his body.

When the program lulls he brings his hand to your hair, combing through the tangled strands. You pay it little mind, leaning into his touch as you watch a contestant on-screen whip macaron batter. His fingers slide down to your jaw, turning your head so your eyes meet his. He’s studying your face, cheeks flushed from the wine or the cold. 

The attention is odd, and you giggle nervously under his gaze. His hands come to cradle your jaw as he leans towards you, nose brushing yours. The air is charged with an unusual tension, his mouth a breath away from yours. 

When he kisses you, he’s slow and gentle, his whole body angled into yours. Everything feels warm, a welcome contrast to the weather outside, and you chalk it up to the glasses of wine coursing through your bloodstream. 

It's pleasant, different from times past; this certainly doesn’t feel like an innocent, experimental kiss. It's heated, tinged with passion. He uses the placement of his hand to ease your jaw open, tongue sliding slowly into your mouth. 

There's a vibe, something you hadn’t felt before with him. It's communicated through the gentle touch of his hands, and how his breath hitches when you kiss him back with the same sort of force. 

The moment is broken by the announcement of a winner on the television. His hands slide down, resting on your shoulders, pulling your frame into his. 

You don’t talk about it afterwards. 

[pinkponyglitter]

Dating Emily Prentiss Headcanons ᝰ.ᐟ

notes; this is silly, but i was reeeally bored and didn’t feel good enough to write anything else. also tumblr is acting up, and it pisses me off. btw, i did it for fun, so please don’t be pressed about it.

some of those are nsfw. you are responsible for your own media consumption. minors do not interact !!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ she loooves to use pet names, especially the ones like; my love, gorgeous, angel, sweet/pretty girl. she doesn’t really like to be called anything other than emily or em. pet names are a must, but not when it comes to her. they’re reserved for you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ she absolutely adores you. she is your biggest supporter in literally everything, and she is showing you off every chance she gets.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ she doesn’t like to talk about her emotions, and she’s also not really good at it. she’s trying really hard for you, and she’s doing much better than before. she still has some days, when she just stuck in her head — but if there’s someone who can help her, it’s you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ physical touch is her love language. she absolutely devours intimacy. showering together, you sleeping on top of her chest. small stolen kisses when you’re at the office, sliding her hands into your jean’s pockets. brief touches. anything that keeps her close to you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ gifts, good restaurants and date nights. she always make sure to have at least two date nights in a month. she has money and she loves to spoil you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ you always ask her if she has games on her phone, and that makes her absolutely feral — you know she doesn’t, but her reaction is always so funny and ridiculously exaggerated that you can’t stop yourself.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ “are you sure?” she always asks. even if she knows that your answer is “yes”. she needs to hear it every single time.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ cooking together — she’s obsessed with it, even if she’s not the best at cooking it’s fun to experiment with you. she often ends up calling rossi for help, and you always laugh at her trying to explain what went wrong.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ sometimes you just read together. you take one of your books, she takes of of hers and snuggling up with each other you have quiet time. you often break the silence to comment on something, and she’s more than happy to discuss it with you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ salsa classes! you didn’t want to, but she dragged you there, and at first you were super grumpy about that. everything changed when you saw her actually invested — you decided that you can make a foul of yourself from time to time, to see her smile. it’s worth it.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ she’s absolutely the worst at texting people back. you always remind her to keep you updated, especially when she’s away. she forgets a lot, or just sends you thumb emoji in response.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ showing weakness is the end of the world for her. she doesn’t understand why someone like you, would put up with someone as broken as her. so when she needs help, she hesitate to ask. after a while you start to catch up pretty quickly — she doesn’t need to ask anymore, you just know. it’s much easier for her to just receive.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ she’s insecure about her scars. when you started dating, she delayed sleeping with you for as long as she could. sometimes you catch her touching her scars, just tracing on top of them with her finger. you always remind her that it doesn’t define her.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ she was the one to say ‘i love you’ first. it caught you off guard, as she said that while you were crying — you were having a bad day, and she didn’t hesitate to fix it. she was whispering small affirmations into your ear, holding you close and the words just slipped out of her mouth.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ she always compliments the smallest things. things that people don’t usually notice, or they just don’t care enough to compliment them. sometimes it’s the lipstick you use, sometimes it’s your hair, new perfume, new jewelry. something. anything. it’s like she can’t stop herself, so she finds the smallest things.

nsfw;

⊹ ࣪ ˖ slow mornings on days off equals morning sex. slow, tender, sweet — something different than you both are into normally, but both of you absolutely love it. in most cases you end in the shower afterwards, and that usually ends with another round.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ she’s a dom. she doesn’t give up the power easily, so when she does you always make sure to give her everything you have in you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ she is absolutely obsessed with you calling her mommy. at first it kind of started as a joke, but then you decided to use the mommy card when you were really desperate, and surprisingly it worked — you never went back.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ hickeys are a routine, you almost always have at least one somewhere on your body. although, it’s never in a place that people can see, she does it for you and herself. only.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ office sex happens more often than you intend. you both know that you probably shouldn’t. hell, you shouldn’t. period. somehow you end up fucking in her office a lot. she loves to throw you on her desk, and fuck the attitude you give her at work out of you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ you wearing her clothes is a huge turn on for her. if she could, she would climb the walls every single time you wore something of hers.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ getting you off is more than enough. she enjoys your body, the small gasps and moans. every sound you make is music to her ears. they way you shiver and squirm under her touch. it’s the best reward.

[illicitghoul]

you’re instagram if you were in the BAU (p2)

prt 2 that nobody asked for 🥱 (this is so fun)

part 1 (linked below)

————————————————————————————

yourusername

liked by jen.jj45 and 46 others

yourusername JJ LOVE CLUB (i am also in jj love club but they all voted me to take the photo 💔)

pennycia and you did a great job 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

yourusername i love you pen 💌

pennycia I LOVE YOU MOST Y/N

derek.m0rg4n @spencer.re1d i love you

spencer.re1d Stop lying for social media clout

derek.m0rg4n fuck you AND your fuck ass haircut

prentiss.em LMFAO

prentiss.em we are such cuties some ppl wish they were us 🥱

yourusername @prentiss.em real asf

yourusername

liked by elliegreenaway & others

yourusername me and spence were conjoined jellyfish in another life

spencer.re1d Can we be anglerfish

yourusername no? wtf is wrong with you

spencer.re1d 🥱🥱🥱🥱BORING

r0ssi81 that is a very interesting photo

yourusername YOU KNOW HOW TO COMMENT?

r0ssi81 you’re pushing it girl genius

yourusername you’re pushing something…

r0ssi81 when i find out how to block someone you are gone y/n

prentiss.em this is quite cute y/l/n 😭

yourusername you’re quite cute 🤫

prentiss.em send me toe pictures 😂😂😂😂

yourusername NO EMILY!!!!!!!!! (ill email them)

yourusername

liked by spencer.re1d and 51 others

yourusername my cute glowing girlfriend (idk who that random man is 🤷‍♀️ kinda scary)

prentiss.em yeah that is really weird 🥱 anyway i love u wifey mwah mwah

yourusername ugh ily lets go frolic in a field or smth

spencer.re1d Yeah that is really scary - be careful guys

spencer.re1d OH MY I LOOK LIKE A GHOST 😁😁

jen.jj45 it’s like i can still hear his voice…

yourusername :( i miss his cute smile

prentiss.em 🎉

spencer.re1d @prentiss.em You aren’t funny

pennycia 😭😭😭😭

prentiss.em ok comedy police spencer reid????

jen.jj45 shes like an angel !!!!!!

prentiss.em I LOVE YOU JENNIFER 🙁🙁

yourusername

liked by aaron.hotchner and 37 others

yourusername i said serve and they devoured

spencer.re1d Slay !

prentiss.em y/n meant to say i devoured and you kind of chewed…

spencer.re1d Can you stop harassing me?

prentiss.em i kiss your girlfriend on days that end in y

yourusername TRUTH 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

pennycia what cuties!!! seeing their smiles makes me so happy!!!!!!

spencer.re1d You’re my best friend

derek.m0rg4n everytime you speak it breaks my heart

jen.jj45 HAHAAH WHAT

pennycia CRYING

yourusername

liked by elliegreenaway and 43 others

yourusername my bag broke before i left spences 🙁

spencer.re1d Sigh…. the theory for a broken bag means you have to stay where it broke 🤷‍♂️ i dont know i just heard that

derek.m0rg4n my bag broke in your heart… why won’t you let me stay

yourusername you ate with that one derek

yourusername broke bag mountain

elliegreenaway @yourusername LMFAO

pennycia i’ll fix it for you!!! come over girlie!!!

yourusername omw!!!!!

yourusername

liked by derek.m0rg4n and 49 others

yourusername day out with my four wives

pen : fanny pack with snacks and a book

jj : losing her mind (too warm)

em : complaining 🥱

me : having a good time :)

aaron.hotchner I hope you all worn sunscreen

yourusername yes 🫡

prentiss.em 🥱

pennycia i had a great day!!! (i read 3 pages)

jen.jj45 i am LOSING it the HEAT i am gonna COMBUST

derek.m0rg4n @spencer.re1d @aaron.hotchner @r0ssi81 could be us

r0ssi81 I am busy for the foreseeable future

dreak.m0rgan @spencer.re1d @aaron.hotcher

at least rossi replied…

[crystallizedtwilight]

🎃 LSBC Questions: Part 20! 🎃

Lock, Shock, Barrel, and Calliope questions that call for quick answers will be under the cut in batches of 10-15 🧡

Previous bulk questions batch

She wants to adopt every dog she meets honestly 🥹

If Oogie was in a gambling mood it usually wasn't a good thing.

Something equal parts dangerous and hilarious apparently! [x]

They already have their skincare routines down!

There's a couple of those in the lb tag 😚 Barrel is very romantic and Lock loves to be showered with affection as long as it's in private.

Thank you! And yes! They do prank each other on occasion. Gotta keep each other sharp! [1] [2] [3]

He did at first (and was too "cool" to tell anyone) but now he's an expert at capturing them.

Mike Cachuela, who helped design the trio, stated how he spoke with Henry Selik, the director of the movie, about who the trio could be. The initial concept was that that they were tasked with keeping Oogie Boogie imprisoned and feeding him bugs. However, this concept was later changed so the trio would be Oogie's henchmen instead.

No, all three of them love their natural hair colors! (Which, lucky, I've been dying my own hair for 10 years lol)

She gets up, makes herself some tea, and reads her potion book to clear her mind. If that's not enough, she'll go for a flight.

No. I'm aware he returns in several spinoffs—Oogie's Revenge, Kingdom Hearts II, one of the novels—but this AU uses the movie as the sole source material. Resurrecting Oogie is an easy way to reintroduce peril and doesn't require writers to explore who the trio are without him. That separation, freedom, happiness, and concept of the trio stepping into their own identities is exactly what I want to explore!

(Zero's Journey is my favorite tnbc book because the trio are shown carrying on happily without Oogie for once and I love that!)

❗️[SENSITIVE: TOPICS OF ABUSE]

The trio state that they believe they will be harmed for failure / displeasing Oogie across multiple media:

____

"We can't say, the boss'll whomp us if we do!" (whomp, verb: to strike heavily) - Lock [source: game, The Pumpkin King]

The trio tremble visibly at Oogie's feet, holding onto each other as he reveals his plans. [source: game, Kingdom Hearts I]

In an interview Stephen mentions that, out of the three of them, Oogie might be meanest towards Lock or treat him the worst. [source: Stephen Buckley, one of the main animators on the movie, The Nightmare Before Christmas]

"If I were on his Boogie list, I'd get out of town." / "We do our best to please him and stay on his good side." - Lock, Shock [source: movie, The Nightmare Before Christmas]

"Jack will beat us black and green." - Lock, Shock [source: movie, The Nightmare Before Christmas] Through Jack has never shown himself to be physically violent, the trio assume all authority figures show their displeasure in this way.

"Don't hurt us, Jack! She's with Oogie!" - Lock [source: game, The Pumpkin King]

"'Stead of treated we get tricked. 'Stead of kisses we get kicked!" [source: stage performance, 2003 Disneyland "Haunted Mansion Holiday" wherein the trio perform an excerpt of "Hard Knock Life"]

"Looks like my no-good henchmen thought they'd cool their heels in Halloween Town 'stead of helpin' the boss man do his job...well, I can decide which of 'em I want to eat later." - Oogie Boogie [source: game, Disney Magic Kingdoms]

The camera pans out, displaying the masks of several previously devoured trick-or-treaters on the treehouse walls. None of these fit the trio's faces, revealing that Oogie has eaten several children the past. [source: movie, The Nightmare Before Christmas]

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

The Once and Future King

by pincushionmoss Tim Drake is a little wisp of a boy; far too thin with a brain too intelligent for his own good. His big blue eyes devour the world around him, soaking up information like a sponge. Just the kind of boy that Gotham loves with all of her heart. And she knows that her precious children, The Bat and his Birds, will love him just as much as she does. Words: 962, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English Series: Part 1 of Our City Breathes Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Batman (Comics) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: Gen Characters: Tim Drake, Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Gotham City, Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Batfamily Members & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Gotham City, Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Eldritch Tim Drake, ELDRITCH BATFAM, Kinda, They’re a little haunted but none of em know it lol, Sentient Gotham City, Gotham Is Alive, and she has BEEF with Jack and Janet, Mediocre Parents Jack Drake and Janet Drake, they love their kid, But that doesn’t make up for their neglect, Metahuman Tim Drake, Found Family, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Fluff, Comfort No Hurt, I lied, A teeny-tiny bit of hurt, Hurt/Comfort, no beta we die like jason todd, He doesn’t die here though I’m too soft to kill him, Kidfic, They’re a happy healthy family your honour, Batman: is anyone gonna adopt this small sad child, and then he doesn’t wait for a answer, Parental Bruce Wayne, Good Parent Bruce Wayne, parental Gotham City via https://ift.tt/5HDSXck

[sunsetandthemoon]

saw in your tags you mentioned earthmix were in a serious fight while filming moonlight chicken? what's the story there? (ty in advance if you answer this and np if you don't :) )

Hii. Ok, so, while I do follow them on Instagram and Twitter, I never noticed anything until they talked about it during the MLC promo a few weeks ago, so I definitely don't know the full story, but here is a short summary of all the information that I’ve managed to gather from Twitter.

Apparently, there was a 4-5 month period last year where Earth and Mix were fighting (so-called their “divorce era”). It started with them going from constantly hanging out together to never interacting with each other anymore and fans quickly noticed something was up. Then this video from the MLC set was posted and it only further fueled all the speculations (it looks like a perfectly normal video to me tbh but to some, it looked like Mix was angry or like he was sulking 🤷)

They also had a few work events during that time and fans reported a noticeable tension between them. There was also a lot of subtweeting and indirecting on their social media including posts like this:

which is funny considering this is how they described each other in an interview once

("am I still your flower" is absolutely sending me 💀)

some more Mix retweets x/x

Earth even posted this on his insta story

and then, during the Oishi Magic Of Zero trip, they seemed to have finally gone back to their normal selves (x)

they even acknowledged the fight and said that they had made up and that everything was okay between them again (x/x)

and everyone was happy for them including P'Godji who posted this video (x)

Mix even posted this on his story

which may or may not have been a reference to this scene from ATOTS

then, during their interviews recently, they talked a bit more about their fight (x) (their poor manager 😭)

and P'Aof even teased them about it by saying "the hard part for me is, I wanna work with them when they aren’t fighting with each other" when EM were asked what were the easy/hard parts of working together on three different series (x)

speaking of P’Aof, I need to include this bit from MLC bts where he forgot Jim and Wen weren’t supposed to kiss each other during their sex scene in ep1 because it’s just so funny like dhfjhsdjkd

P‘Aof: *after watching them unnecessarily devour each other five takes in a row while knowing damn well they’re in the middle of their divorce era* “whoops my bad 🤭 please don’t kill me” 😂😂😂😂

(x)

anyway - TLDR - Moonlight Chicken was filmed during their divorce era and they were spending their days filming scenes like this

only to then go home and start subtweeting and shading each other online at the end of the day 😂

but they're making up for it now by being inseparable and constantly posting about each other. there are too many moments to link but here are some honorable mentions: x/x/x/x

including these posts from last night x/x

[in-death-we-fall]

Slipknot

The Tightest Knots Never Fray

Metal Edge 48-11, March 2003

By Roger Lotring

(google drive link) Murderdolls interview here – Stone Sour interview here

“Someone has to bring down the whore, dude,” says Shawn Crahan, determinedly addressing the soulless gluttony that has devoured integrity from contemporary music. “I’ve been all over the place,” he admits, readily likening his foregone ranting as being “almost schizophrenic, man.” But for #6—the Clown percussionist of Slipknot—the corporate impurity that desecrates his sacred rock ‘n’ roll art form pits him as the proverbial David in the face of a Goliath. “People always say Clown’s a fuckin’ retard genius,” he exhilarates. “And I say, ‘You’re right.’ I’ve taken an oath, spilled a lot of blood, and I’m part of an organization that is going to do nothing but bring down the pig.”

The challenge of Disasterpieces is the first of the slings and arrows. A turbulently intense package, the very first Slipknot DVD is largely centered around a February 2002 live performance filmed at the London Arena. A fast-paced style of editing moves conjunctively with 5.1 surround sound to overwhelm both the aural and visual senses, making for an extreme Slipknot experience. An accompanying second disc features a video history of the band, including the banned clip for “Spit It Out,” plus a previously unreleased animated version of “Wait And Bleed.” Enhanced bonus material and an exclusive audio track—”Purity”—make this DVD the gauntlet of a challenge to sedentary bands reigning over hard rock popularity. “I’ve kind of made the DVD like, ‘Look, if you’re not this good, and you don’t know what the fuck’s going on, why don’t you quit and do us all a favor?’” Moreover, Disasterpieces is an architectural draft by which metal fans can judge what to expect from their music. Nothing less will suffice anymore in a landscape of media saturated mediocrity.

“It’s the cattle thing,” Clown defines, a cultural popularity branded by lethargy. “If you’re not at the back of the pack, something in life forced you to be at the front,” he says, intimating music fans as an order of natural selection. “There’s probably a chance for everyone, but it means we’re going to have to go, ‘Hey, you guys at the back of the pack, they’re going to eat you, do you understand?’” It’s what he calls an education. “That’s what Disasterpieces is,” he says by comparison, something by which metal fans can decipher the natural order of musical innovation.

Metal Edge sat down on a Saturday afternoon for an intense conversation with Clown about Disasterpieces, as well as his perspective on the Stone Sour and Murderdolls branches of the Slipknot family tree. “I used to talk about unity and pushing forward,” he concedes, noting that, “I think Slipknot did that to the point that we don’t need to anymore. Now, it’s obvious all of us are looking for our insides. We are trying to evolve Slipknot. All of us need to fuckin’ find some stuff for ourselves,” he explains, assuring diehard Slipknot fans that “they ain’t got nothing to worry about. Let the Maggots know it’s all coming for ‘em. We’re not getting older, we’re getting better.”

METAL EDGE: Is the Disasterpieces DVD meant as a means of focusing attention on Slipknot in the interim before a new album? SHAWN CRAHAN: Most people in the world have to realize that we, the band, have been doing this for seven years. We’ve been doing it professionally, nonstop, for four years. We just got to the point where we understand what home is. So, everybody’s kind of doing their own thing right now—which is totally cool with everybody in the band—because we need time. The third album is coming, right around the corner, and we know it’s going to be different. No one has to be worried about anything drastically changing, ‘cause we’re pretty focused on what we need to be. However, the third one, I think it’s gonna be a really crazy, weird, all-out war. Every member is gonna bring who he is to the table, with all the experience he’s downloaded for the last seven years. This DVD was never intended to let people know that we were alright or whatever. It’ll run its course for two or three months, and we’re starting to write the new album in January—not all of us, but people are gonna fall into place as need be. But, like I said, man, this new album’s gonna be completely insane, as far as I’m concerned.

ME: Would it be fair to say that this DVD almost closes a chapter of Slipknot? SC: I’ve been getting into a lot of trouble lately, because I’ve been telling people that it ends an era. And I don't care what anyone says about it, it ends an era. I’m not interested—the Clown is not interested—in using goats anymore. I’m not interested in half the shit that’s on our stage. Have I talked about this with everyone else? No. But I do a lot of that stuff, and I’m just not interested in the Iowa show no more. I mean, I’m done, I’m bored, and it’s over with. The DVD captured it as best as we could. There were over ten thousand people, over twenty-one cameras, and it was just pure mayhem. You got the most of the show that we could do, that we did for Iowa for over a year.

ME: But isn’t that the point? Why continue doing the Iowa show? It wasn’t meant to be forever, it was meant to be that album. SC: Right, I think people just think that we’re breaking up, or something stupid like that. But no, it’s absolutely the end of an era, get fucking used to it! People change. Fourteen-year-old fans that were there [when] we came out, they’re eighteen now. We’re changing, too, and if no one likes it, fuck off.

ME: You mentioned that this project consisted of a multiple camera shoot, comprising a double DVD. When the idea was first conceived, was it readily apparent that it was going to be so intensive? SC: I knew what was going to happen. I came up with the idea of so many cameras, and the reason was, before, we had only a couple that would film the band. I would just pretty much almost shoot myself, every time we got something in, ‘cause I was so disappointed. Great, you got footage of Sid jumping in the crowd, but what about Joey’s excellent footwork? Where’s all the angles? So, I knew we were going to have a monster. They were talking about one disc, but I knew it would be literally impossible. There’s over four thousand edits in the show itself, and that just takes a lot of information for a computer to recognize.

ME: But with a band like Slipknot, and what it does onstage, you almost have to do it the way Disasterpieces was done, because if you’re at the show, visually, there’s so much going on. SC: That’s how I edited the whole thing with Phil [Richardson]. We edited it like we were in the front row. The reason why I was so excited about being able to do this project was, just like you said, yes, it moves very fast. But how is it moving? Is it moving out-of-control, or is it literally going Clown… Chris… joey… Mick… Sid… Paul… Jim… Mick… Clown… Sid—Ya’ know what I mean? That’s what it’s doing. You’re literally getting to see the chaos as it’s being done. Yeah, it moves very quick, but so does Slipknot. [Laughing] This is for kids to identify with what the fuck exactly goes on at a Slipknot show—Who starts what, who’s playing where, and what they’re doing while they’re doing it. This is all about cues, and the only way to do it right is to do it quickly. Plus, I don’t make anything for the weak, dude. I am here to cleanse the weak away from the idea known as Slipknot. I only want people that understand, because after they take it all in, they’re teachers. And they’ll go out and start molding the future. I’ve kind of made this DVD like, ‘Look, if you’re not this good, why don’t you quit now and do us all a favor?’ That’s how angry I am at the music scene. I understand music has to move, but I’ve never felt so sorry for people listening to music right now, ‘cause it’s fucking crap! Nu Metal? Garbage! It’s garbage, dude! It is! If you know you’re a nu metal band, you’re fucking garbage, end of story. This DVD is about real music, real players—there’s not one musical overdub in the whole thing. What you hear is what happened that night. The only thing that was done, I believe, was in the beginning of “Purity,” because the pyro blew up a couple of the mics. I don’t know any bands that can go through an hour-and-a-half of intensive, dead-on musicianship as we do. I pride myself very, very much to be honored in a band in such good company, ‘cause we’re all incredible musicians, and we make it fly.

ME: So it’s fair to say that this DVD is a challenge to any other band out there right now? If you can’t live up to this… SC: …If you can’t live up to this, why are you even bullshitting? I’ve been on tour with bands that suck. And I’m looking at 'em like, ‘You got a record deal? You’re getting a chance to change the world? Who signed you, some fuckin’ dork? Some idiot over at some big company that knows the formula?’ Man, they’re all losers, dude. Record people get a formula of something that works—Just take Slipknot, for example. Look at all the little fashion statements that have been started, because a band like Slipknot works. Most of the idiots that sign bands because of us are people that said no to Slipknot. I could call four people out from every label. The industry’s a fuckin’ joke, dude! I’m in rock ‘n’ roll, and I’ve never been so embarrassed to be a part of something in my entire life. But it doesn’t matter, dude, ‘cause Slipknot’s there. That’s what we stand for, and that’s what we break down.

ME: Isn’t that a cue, then, with your band being a leader within the rock genre, to throw a monkey wrench into it and make a total left turn? SC: I think so. I never sit here and intend to break the rules. I go, ‘This is the band I’m in.’ The whole time I was editing the DVD, I said, ‘Oh my God, I’m in that band! Yeah, I’m getting to design this, and the whole idea of the DVD is mine, but holy fuck, that’s me in the band! I’m in this band!’

ME: It’s a little surreal, isn’t it? SC: Oh, it’s completely surreal, man! I am so honored to be in the company of eight dudes that fuckin’ throw down. We throw down, man, and I’m proud of it. And I’m not gonna sit back like other people in the band—Everybody would be humble. I don’t care anymore! If your band isn’t this good, then you suck! I’m tired of all the political bullshit, all the bands making fun of us, talking shit. Well, guess what? All your bands suck. None of you could do what we do. I’ve watched all of you, and it doesn’t happen. You come short.

ME: It’s like the early days of KISS, when they would be ridiculed, and then blow other bands off the stage. Nobody would be laughing afterward. SC: We’re actually now managed by KISS’ manager. And we’ve talked a couple stories, ‘cause I play music because of KISS. That was my introduction to music. In the early stages, no one knew what they looked like, and people used to flip out. And I was thinking, goddamn, that sounds a lot like Slipknot!

ME: Watching Disasterpieces, everybody’s faces have been carefully obscured to preserve that mystique. But is the marketing necessity of Murderdolls and Stone Sour detrimental to Slipknot? Joey, Corey and Jim have all been unmasked. SC: I don’t know how to answer that, man. I love Joey, Corey and Jim—As I love everybody in the band. However, things have changed now, and they’re the only ones that have to live with that. And they’re the ones that have to be responsible for that. It is what it is, man, but I don’t think it matters. Joey and Corey and Jim have found another extension of themselves, okay, and I want to clear it up. Corey is a genius. He writes all the time, all day long. I got notebooks that he’s just left laying around, full of conceptual pieces. Some belong to Slipknot, some belong to Corey Taylor. There’s things he won’t even bring to Slipknot, because it’s not the ‘Knot. And no one knows that better than Corey. Think about what he did, man. I mean, he takes the mask off—You know how hard that was? And he did it, and he’s succeeding. And I say, good for him, because that’s what Slipknot stands for. Recently, I said we’re the biggest punk band in the world. I didn’t mean like we’re a punk band, [but] I mean we live the punk feeling. We’re the biggest metal band in the world, and I got three dudes trouncing around the world without masks, succeeding, okay? That’s exactly what Slipknot is.

ME: Meaning that Slipknot is at the point where it can fly in the face of convention and do whatever it likes. SC: I think what we’ve always preached, if we’ve preached anything, is to thyself be true. Don’t ever judge me, just let me do my fucking thing. We’re Slipknot. We stand up and teach kids to stand up! Fight for who you are! Be who you are, don’t worry about it. And now, my own members are like, ‘I gotta do this.’ They go up against all odds and break down all the fuckin’ walls. And they look everybody in the face with their real face, after relying on rubber masks for fucking years? People need to shut up. Fucking ignorance, man! I don’t care what any of ‘em say, we do what we want.

ME: Isn’t that the fundamental basis of being in rock ‘n’ roll to begin with? SC: Yeah! You got Slipknot, now you got the Murderdolls, you got Stone Sour—I will bet my left testicle, there will be other things. Who knows? Every member of the band might have its own entity, and then get together as Slipknot. Oh, some might suck, some might be good. But the point is, what do you do with your life? Most people that have an opinion, aren’t you just cattle being programmed with the imprint? I’m ready for this whole thing to change, man. I’m ready for the pictures in your magazine to change color; I’m ready for people to start talking about things they want, instead of their editors. I’m ready for bands to start telling the truth and lift the veil of rock ‘n’ roll, instead of all this bullshit.

ME: Have you listened to either the Stone Sour or Murderdolls albums yet? SC: Oh, yeah. I listened to the Murderdolls by myself—Joey gave me the copy. When we’re on the road, we’re both very, very busy, and we don’t have a lot of Shawn and Joe time. But Corey, when we were in Europe last time, we both happened to be up very early in the morning, and we were on a long drive. I got to listen to the whole Stone Sour album with Corey. Sitting there with the creator of it, somehow I understood all of it and knew where he was going. I even told him what his next single after “Bother” would be.

ME: Their exploration of musical direction will be invigorating when working on a new Slipknot album. That’s going to be the most positive effect on what the band comes up with, creatively. SC: Yeah. I would have used to have told you that I’d have my people take your head off with that explanation, but I agree with you now. I mean, dude, we’ve been going for four fucking years. Only now can I say thank you to the rest of the guys for allowing ourselves to be home and figure it out. And let me tell you, the three years before being signed—Pure hell. You want to see the evolvement of Slipknot? It took fuckin’ years. I used to wear a Barney outfit. One weekend, I’d be Barney, the next, I’d be a priest. Mick would be Little Bo Peep—Look at Mick, almost seven foot tall, in a Little Bo Peep outfit, slamming with a bonnet on.

ME: But that makes sense, because it wouldn’t have worked if it was something formulated. SC: No! I’ll be honest, man, I hurt some feelings when those guys did that. I hurt some serious feelings. I think people are still angry at me, ya’ know? And that’s cool. I don’t give a fuck. So what? [Laughing] But I take the responsibility of Slipknot hardcore, man. We gave these kids with nothing, something. They were the ones that were so far gone, they were like, I’m outta here, I’m gonna kill myself. Boom—Slipknot comes alone. I’ve had kids wear Slipknot shirts—you know how they are when they wear Slipknot shirts—it’s like a fucking army. They’ll wash it every day, to wear it every day. It lets other kids now (sic) what kind of kid they are. It’s a mentality. That kid is basically telling us where he’s at, by wearing that statement. That’s why I get so nuts, [and] why people are mad at me. Slipknot’s come to a point where—we know we’re a band, dude—but we’ve become icons of responsibility in the world we live in. I try to live my words, man. I try to be really, really responsible.

[emirrea]

Mori must be questioning his life choices here for having to deal with yet another unhinged teenager lmao

[titleknown]

KAIJUNE NEO: LUMPY GRAVY

I saw it through the sewer grate. It ate them, head-first. Like a gingerbread man.

It didn't see me, I don't even think it knew it was eating them. It was just... they were there, they were there and it was hungry. It smelled like rotten meat. But that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was, I could hear laughing. I could hear it in my head. I could hear it in their voices.

-Alan Smith of New York, New York

[Note: The interview subject is smoking a large cigar the whole time. Indoors. In a room with minimal ventilation in the summer. I hate him already.]

My concrete factory... just fucking gone. In an instant. Didn't even get indigestion...

...You know, this wouldn't have happened if you listened to the Prophet. Like, I know it's not "PC" to say that , but PC is why this country is in the shit. People want more, except the truth, that's why things like that're runnin' about.

That Lumpy Gravy shit's just another lazy slacker who wanted more, that's why our troops can't get him, they let the sissies let everyone down. But the prophet's gonna take 'em, he's goinna kill two birds with one stone, it's not clean, but sometimes you work with what you have. "When all you have is a hammer," amirite?

God, at least it got rid of the scum, like the homeless outside. Shame it didn't get that skitzo boy of mine, he keeps saying he's a girl, but I suppose that's not PC to-

[The interview ends abruptly as I get up to punch him in the face.]

--J.A. Henderson of Mortoral, Florida, who should be shot.

Look, I'm just a musician, I don't know what to tell you.

Yeah, I know most of y'all think I'm crazy for making a pilgrimage to this dude for music, but I mean, it worked, didn't it?

Nobody got hurt, me and the band got out a number one album, first doom metal album on the top of the charts in years, I got a million more ideas, and...

Sorry, I got that schpiel for every media-type who comes in here. But you don't seem like the judging type. So it seems like you want something else, right?

Oh. Oh you want to know about that , the song I heard. Well, trade secret bro...

...nah, just joshin' ya, free culture and all. Well it was... a nightmare. Like, I don't regret going there, but I ain't gonna see it twice.

It's like, imagine the sound of pain, a million snuff films in your head clear as day without image or without words. A lot of it was devouring, consumption, digestion, memory as I heard it; but there was some other stuff.

It was like, experiments, reformatting, failure, revenge, something about a demiurge I think? Dunno what that's about. But, hey dude, you're a good reporter, you can figure it out.

-Jolene Gross of Tucson; Arizona, note to see her live one of these days.

Well, the government never helped us, but then again we expected that. Shame the farm's gone. Heh, funny how stockpiling all the guns in the world never helped, like cannonballs in a hurricane. The MREs helped a bit, tho they were almost gone when the thing left.

Farm's gone, I don't know where we're going to go. Doesn't help I took in some of the kids run away from other monsters, or The Prophet. Yeesh, that guy.

But, you always gotta help in a time like this, I don't regret it. Tho it's a mite harrowing finding where we can get some, given all the neighbors I'd ask are facing the same problem, but we'll get by.

I don't have much to give except my testimony, and that ain't much either. I saw it, I heard it, it was the worst thing I've seen. But it reminded me a lot of the second-worst too.

At the pig farms, big operation near town, there was this "lagoon." Not much of a swimmin' lagoon unless you got a death wish. It's where they kept all the pig shit from that hell operation, and worse. They said the stillbirths went in there too. What a way to start, and what a way to go.

Place could necrotize your skin in an instant, most of the people workin there were sick and some degree of half-dead, a few quarter-dead if they were lucky. Sometimes you couldn't see the sun from that sheer fog.

There's that ol story in the bible, where Jesus cast out those demons into that herd of pigs. Cast 'em into that sea. Trouble is, the sea's still there, and if you cast demons into it, it don't go away.

And when it waded into that shit lagoon from underground, rising like the shit of king mountain, when I heard those voices, I thought, it's him. It's Legion. He's back.

Well, before I ran, of course...

-Jim Daniels, of Horsemouth, Iowa, his paypal information is linked at the end of the article

Sometimes, I still hear her voice. It's following me. I think it's following me. I hear her voice and it's screaming in pain but I still hear it it is hers.

I know it's a trick i know it wants me to hear it but shes still in there i can hear her i can know her it just has to eat me it just wants to eat me i dont want to be eaten i want to live but to live without her is to die and to die with her is to live it hurts i can hear her i can hear her i can hear her

-Ray Morris, who ran out of the office after sobbing for several minutes

Like, I know, I know it's horrible, it's an atrocity, but like, business has been great for me so far.

Do you know how much money there is in arranging death pacts? Tontines? Insurance schemes because they won't insure an act of God? This mountain of human suffering is a goldmine, like an actual goldmine without the imperialism!

Look, I'm just providing a service to people who need it, there's no foul play. Well, except for that one guy. But he had it coming, if you were there you'd know.

-Caroline Nacross, allegedly of Brass Ring; North Dakota, though the ID was confirmed fake later

Look, okay, just forget my name, forget my face, but tell my story. This was a fuckup of the highest order. The Brightside project, it almost got results. More the results of what that bastard scientist wanted than what we wanted, but those two were closer than we wanted to admit.

But when that kid broke in, and good on him for doing so, it wasn't just Brightside that got out. We tested on a lot of bodies y'see. I can't call 'em people anymore because... well, I couldn't live with myself if I did. They didn't even look much like people anymore after what he did to 'em.

We didn't sterilize 'em or burn leftovers, we just kept 'em for "future experimentation." I don't think most of the other folks there wanted that, but whatever the boss says goes.

I think he wanted this, if he couldn't pull it off. I think if he couldn't make god, then making the locusts and plagues was good enough, in an interim.

Or, maybe it's worse. He doesn't want a devil to kill us. He wants a Leviathan. A beast of his principles of rule, human minds supplanted E Pluribus Unum, and soon, those other... monsters? Gods? I am unsure of the difference anymore

That bastard has plans upon plans, you gotta watch out for. Because I don't wanna watch anymore. Goodbye.

-[ANONYMOUS] who promptly after finishing Budd Dwyer-ed himself in the interview room. It was hell to get the brains off the wall.

WE ARE HERE. WE ARE ALIVE. WE ARE THE DEAD. WE HATE YOU. WE LOVE YOU. WE ARE HERE.

DO NOT PANIC. IT IS NOT THE END OF THE WORLD. PANIC. IT IS THE BEGINNING OF A NEW NIGHTMARE. WE ARE HERE.

WE ARE WE. WE ARE ONE. WE ARE THE OTHERS. WE ARE REBORN. WE ARE STILLBORN. YOUR DEATH WILL NOT BE IN VEIN. YOUR DEATH WILL BE IN PAIN.

THE OLD WORLD IS DYING. THE NEW WORLD IS WAITING TO BE REBORN. NOW IS THE TIME OF GODS. NOW IS THE TIME OF MONSTERS.

-Unknown individual, who promptly melted into a steaming puddle in the office. I dried the sludge and attempted to smoke it. Bad trip. Do not recommend. Saved some for later.

[INTERVIEWS CONDUCTED BY: D.W. DEVLIN]

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

So, the finale of Kaijune comes to a close! Song name was based on "Theme from Lumpy Gravy" from Frank Zappa, and boy was this guy a nightmare to make.

Like, he was just a blob of foam with tentacles, but then the tentacles became a nightmare to make, and then melting globs of hot glue without a hot glue gun to give him a blobbier texture, then all the epoxy putty and epoxy paste, all the painting, and lugging him around...

Like, he's part of why this didn't debut in August, he was a late addition, and one I slightly regret.

Tho, I will add as a bit of bonus trivia, the inspiration for The Prophet was actually someone I know in another server talking about how various fundie-types who call themselves "prophets" on Youtube have ended up pumping a ridiculous variety of conspiracy theories into his mom's head.

For an idea of how bonkers those are, one of them was about how the increased presence of mermaids and "sea people" in media was a sign of demonic influence because demons apparently live in the deep sea.

So, I got the idea of coming up with somebody who took that to the next level and used that to amass power in times of even greater crisis than our own. hence, that fucker.

Who I do have plans for next year's Kaijune about, yes siree...

Ability Trivia: Along with all the powers of being an amorphous blob (Albeit, they can only fully squeeze themself through holes his giant skull-like "core" can fit through") they have the demonstrated power to send psychic signals to not just people in a way that drives them mad, but even disrupts communications. So nobody can hear you call for help.

They also, as you've seen assimilate the consciousnesses of those they devour, and can make what passes as "plans" as a consensus of the maddened, pained minds within. And, along with being able to electrify their amorphous surface, they can also use their body as a low-level railgun with all the derbris they inevitably swallow in the course of their rampages

And, then of course there's the matter of the "separants"...

Bonus Trivia: Most kaiju hate him and attack him on sight. Not that he minds. They'll all come to him eventually. Or they won't. Either way doesn't matter, as long as there's a head at the top of the Leviathan...

...And, in that grand (exceedingly late) Kaijune tradition, this character and all related narrative elements are under a CC-BY 4.0 license, as long as I, Thomas F Johnson, am credited as their creator.

Have fun, and see you next year! 

[fregata-magnificens]

10 questions for 10 writers

Thanks for the tag, @arokel! Thanks to today's Windows outage, I actually have time to think about this, lol

(Heads up: I don't actually know enough other writers to tag them, but I'm thrilled that you thought of me!)

1. Is writing a hobby or a way of life?

A hobby. One that sucks me in for a few weeks or months at a time before I lose interest, only for me to catch the bug again a few months (or years) down the road. Hence this tag dead-ending at me.

2. A journal full of notes or a clean completed manuscript?

A secret third thing: a messy brain-dump into several google docs.

3. Who or what inspired your writing?

What inspires me to write? The drive to create. It's one of the easiest, quickest ways for me to get something out of my head and into reality.

Or is it what inspired the way I write? I don't know if I could choose one writer or work. When I really think about it, it's actually (im)probably some of the "classic" stuff I read in high school? I'd say that Ray Bradbury's short stories are one of the things I most look up to as far as writing goes, and I'd like to think I've been influenced by them.

4. Which is worse: Someone you ‘idolize’ reading your first draft or listening to you sing?

I can't sing but I think if someone I really looked up to (and who I didn't trust with my life) got that kind of deep look into my psyche, I would just poof out of existence.

5. Has writing from someone else’s POV changed your perspective?

I wouldn't say that writing from different perspectives has changed my own, at least not directly. But writing "as" different characters is definitely a way for me to explore different aspects of myself.

6. Tumblr, AO3, LiveJournal, or FFN?

AO3. The lack of social media functionality is perfect for a fandom recluse like me. Oh, and the ability to orphan works and delete your profile forever is comforting.

7. AO3 word count? And are you satisfied with it?

Only 20,616. The fact that the words are countable (rather than living somewhere in my head) is plenty satisfying.

8. What movie/book gripped you irrevocably?

By now you've probably gotten the sense that I tend to get obsessed with one thing at a time, so I won't go with my gut, which says "whatever the last thing I really liked was".

But, and this might be an unfortunate answer, but the Harry Potter books. I have so many fond memories of just dropping everything I was doing to devour them, and of the feeling I got whenever I'd put the book down that I just returned from an adventure. I loved that the books grew almost exactly in time with me. I have no attachment to the stories themselves, especially now, but I can't deny that the experience of reading them changed me. It's incredible that stories can have that kind of effect on people.

9. What’s the highest compliment you could ever be given, and have you been given it?

Any compliment I get about my writing is The Highest Compliment I Could Ever be Given, at least at the time. Adjectives like "unique" or "distinctive," when earnestly offered, are some of my favorites.

10. What defines your writing style?

Posting once every three years, lol. But really, looking back at what I've written, it's a little... sparse. I tend to spend a lot of words on the physical environment and what's happening, rather than what's going on in someone's head. It's a balance I'd like to try to strike a little better, but it's very "me".

Oh, and being a stickler about punctuation and formatting. Commas and semicolons and em-dashes all have a specific job to do, dammit!

[itsthebethblogever]

Ask For It

All that glitters isn’t gold

Taste the brownies - nope, they’re mold

Upsidown is the land we’re in

Responsibly learning to find our kin

Ask for what - attention, we must?

My value is more than my boobs and butt

Chop it off, everything, my femininity

Please, I beg you, see the inner me

Be sensitive to my loving heart

Without its beat, life would not start

Just going by my social media

Isn’t enough to think you know me

In spite of all my pretty pictures

There’s something deeper - lean in, I’ll whisper

I notice when you don’t ask me questions

Or make no space atop your bed frame

The fuck is this about sex being equal?

Hidden expectations are truly feeble

If you want it - ASK FOR IT.

it IS that simple

We can’t read minds

Give me a signal

How would you know I love a finger

Deep inside while my clit gets tinkered?

That’s why when I was close to cumming

I shared my notes for pussy strumming

Intimacy’s no different than a song

Without lyrics, you can’t sing along

Practice makes perfect, collaboration rocks

Share how you feel, release those blocks

What worked in one song won’t so in all

Please use your voice - don’t play it small!

I am TIRED of these fucking people

Who do not treat me like their equal

My heart is numb from their infection

I am DYING for a REAL CONNECTION!

Living is giving - legs spread the love

But if you push me - expect a shove

My throat chakra is activated

Feelings, thoughts - I clearly state ‘em

COMMUNICATE what turns you on!

REAL love making’s not like porn!

Reaching climax is NOT the goal

Worship my body, my nipples, my soul!

Those who matter will want to listen

And those who don’t - fuck ‘em, ditch em

Stop giving deadbeats lame excuses

Neglect’s the worst of all abuses

It’s infuriating when someone doesn’t care

Even more so if it’s intimacy shared

Society teaches men to chase pussy

Shoot their shot, collect the trophy

A real man, a king, is devout to his queen

Does everything so she feels heard and seen

In return the queen will shower you

Give pleasure and pain like it’s a tattoo

Uplifting licking, cock devouring

Edging jolts - now that’s empowering

Let’s all give, no expectations

Level up now, there is no waitin

[woxlfstudioz]

Welcome, welcome, welcome, to the dazzling realm of Woxlf Studio! Buckle up, darlings, because under this snazzy Woxlf Studios umbrella, I'm here to spill the tea on all things creative and business-savvy. Picture this: a fearless young maven, yours truly, juggling not one, not two, but three small businesses all by my fabulous self! Yep, you read that right. I'm like the one-woman circus in the heart of Denver, Colorado.

Now, let's talk vibes. I'm not just your run-of-the-mill entrepreneur. Nah, honey, I'm the ultimate combo of spiritual guru and out-of-the-box thinker. My brain? Oh, it's a wild playground for creativity, where every corner is a new adventure. And media? Oh, I devour it all, even the stuff that's about as exciting as watching paint dry. Hey, it's all about expanding those horizons and seeing the world through all sorts of funky lenses.

But hold up, the real showstopper is yours truly tackling the wild world of pet care with my Wolf Pack Planet gig. Yep, I'm the fierce leader of the pack, ensuring those furballs get the royal treatment. And just when you thought I was maxed out on awesomeness, I'm about to drop the mic with Zero Gravity – my brainchild where I sling my original art like a creative ninja.

Now, drumroll, please! Here's the juiciest scoop: I've got this publishing house thing going on. Oh yeah, we're talking podcasts that'll tickle your eardrums, future bestsellers with my name on 'em, and a sprinkle of music and photography love. So, shoutout to all you random wanderers stumbling upon this digital hideout – welcome! I don't bite, promise. Let's vibe, let's connect, 'cause building a squad isn't just for the 'gram, folks.

In a world where "normal" is overrated, let's embrace the chaos and make some damn history together. So, buckle up, my darlings, 'cause this is the Woxlf Studio shit show, and trust me, you're gonna want a front-row seat. Let's do this, you glorious bunch of misfits!

[dyrewrites]

We're going to on an adventure now, are you ready? Tiny timewarp to last year, when I self-published my first short story out of spite.

->this adventure is long<-

In the Marrow was written in a bit of a fugue state, as many of my stories are because I am easily devoured by my own imagination. When finished I...didn't know what to do next. I edited it myself (too many times) and had at least two people read it (with varying results for content but they found no glaring errors).

As an aside; there are editors out there catering to self-publishing authors who will do these things cheaply. I am poor as hell. I did it myself. But I will need one for any novels...because that's a lot of words. I'll include links to some I found at the end.

But what next.

What do you even do with a finished story?

I'd never tried to publish anything but poetry and that was a contest when I was maybe twelve.

So it was on to Google! Or Ecosia actually (for the trees), to find out what someone does with their stories when they want other people to see them and maybe also get paid for it.

Magazines, apparently. Sell them to magazines.

I read all the guidelines, read a few stories in the magazines I was thinking of submitting to (gotta make sure yours meshes, that it's something they'd print), found some pre-written cover and query letter templates to mess with and I sent it out! Woo!

Terrifying, oh dear so scary. Heart in throat, they're going to hate it, someone's going to ask me what's wrong with my brain. Just...terrified.

Rote rejections all around. Except one that simply said, "we don't take body horror"...from a magazine...about horror...with a very gory cover.

Alright then! Alright. Well, you know what. I think it's a fun story. It made my husband say, "it's fantastic, I'm never reading anything you write again." It freaked him out. He is not easily freaked out.

Clearly, it was a good enough story to share.

On to self publishing! I will make people read this story. I will prove that I can do this and I will be an author. You just watch me, stupid magazines. I'll do it.

Back to Ecosia, we are learning things!

How to format for ebooks, check!

Where to sell ebooks (Amazon, really, but there's other options I just picked them first and locked myself out of the others for a bit). check!

How to market ebooks...uh...not yet. We'll get to that.

Covers!

Apparently even short stories need a cover if you're selling them yourself, so I had to learn to do that. I can art, in a fashion, but the only graphic design I'd done was for logos a few times. Fun to try covers...not sure how I did.

But! I found Canva to help. Hated all the 'free use' art they had, so doodled some bones (story is about bones) and slapped em on a background with text using Canva. Cover below (one on the right was used for an audiobook, only one I've done and no one bought it so we won't discuss that...but I like the cover more). Not my best but it works. It's interesting enough.

Okay, so cover is done, manuscript formatted, everything is up and 'published' and...now what?

Marketing and how to make you hate yourself and everyone else.

Social media is where every search said the marketing happens.

I made this account here to babble about writing and encourage myself to write more (haha, it worked too well) some of my first posts were just snippets of my dark fantasy novel. But as I wrote 'In the Marrow' sometime after (few months maybe)...I thought I'd share it here.

No one cared. Which is fine, no one knew who I was or what I was doing so of course they didn't care. I shared it on Twitter too, no one cared there either. Because no one knew me. I was just some voice in the ether begging for money as far as anyone knew.

But that's where you start, as a voice no one knows.

When it's all up to you to get people to care...people say you need to sell yourself. Which is the worst, honestly, and I tried to be someone marketable to make that happen. Tried to follow little guides of how to share stuff and when and where and...also the worst (I will burn instagram to the ground).

Don't do that.

Be you, be part of whatever writing community you like being in and when you share your books people will care. They'll share them too. Because you made it and they like you.

But you don't need it. Social media is not needed. Communities are for fun and camaraderie, it is a side effect that sometimes your friends here will also buy your stuff and tell other people to (looking at you, @aziz-reads, you chearleading treasure you).

What you want, in theory, is a place people can find when they look up your name. Such as a website that has all your work on it for sale. Also a newsletter to let people who care know when the new thing is coming.

And maybe you share that in your community, or the places you already have (no making new accounts just to market, is my point).

Theory, of course, as I am still figuring this one out but I've been watching others and seeing what works and what doesn't. And making a social media account to wail into the ether about how awesome your book is...doesn't work. Those covers with arrows naming tropes have become tacky and people do not like them. Videos of you and your book, talking about what's in it? Those still seem a thing people are into...but like hell am I doing that.

I promise you one thing only for marketing; if you share links here to your work, I will hock that shit until my fingers fall off. Okay? I will be here to yell into the ether and tell people to buy your books. Because I think you're awesome and I'm sure your book is too.

--

Editors I've found with decent rates:

https://www.irismarshedits.com/ //charges by the hour

https://clioediting.com/services/ //$0.007-0.03/word

https://www.magicwordsediting.com/services //$0.03-0.05/word

whenever i think about publishing, i just get so overwhelmed and give up before even starting. i’ve already written the whole thing and now you’re telling me that i need to find someone to help edit, then i need to find a place to actually produce the book, but first i have to find some type of cover art, and also i need to find a place willing to publish it, and probably also an agent unless i do self publishing, but then that means i have to do all that on my own. and then i also have to market it?

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

The Once and Future King

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/5HDSXck by pincushionmoss Tim Drake is a little wisp of a boy; far too thin with a brain too intelligent for his own good. His big blue eyes devour the world around him, soaking up information like a sponge. Just the kind of boy that Gotham loves with all of her heart. And she knows that her precious children, The Bat and his Birds, will love him just as much as she does. Words: 962, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English Series: Part 1 of Our City Breathes Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Batman (Comics) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: Gen Characters: Tim Drake, Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Gotham City, Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Batfamily Members & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Gotham City, Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Eldritch Tim Drake, ELDRITCH BATFAM, Kinda, They’re a little haunted but none of em know it lol, Sentient Gotham City, Gotham Is Alive, and she has BEEF with Jack and Janet, Mediocre Parents Jack Drake and Janet Drake, they love their kid, But that doesn’t make up for their neglect, Metahuman Tim Drake, Found Family, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Fluff, Comfort No Hurt, I lied, A teeny-tiny bit of hurt, Hurt/Comfort, no beta we die like jason todd, He doesn’t die here though I’m too soft to kill him, Kidfic, They’re a happy healthy family your honour, Batman: is anyone gonna adopt this small sad child, and then he doesn’t wait for a answer, Parental Bruce Wayne, Good Parent Bruce Wayne, parental Gotham City read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/5HDSXck