#gloom writes

[dewedup]

hear me out (raindrop)

“That’s not gonna work,” Dew whines, trying to stay strong in his resolve as he clenches his legs together tighter.

“I don’t know, I think it’s kind of working.”

“Absolutely not.”

Denial isn’t only a river in Egypt, and Dew won’t admit to himself, let alone Rain, that he was actually considering the offer.

Instead, Dew narrows his eyes and growls as he watches the water ghoul walk out of the room, tossing a quick wink over his shoulder before Rain turns the corner and leaves Dew to bury his head in his hands and question the series of events that led to this being his life.

or

i fell off the face of the earth for 8 months and came back with some raunchy raindrop smut (very on brand for me)

IT'S PERIOD SEX GUYS, IF THAT'S NOT FOR YOU THEN DON'T CLICK FURTHER

words: 2,303

under the cut but can also be read on AO3

Dew’s woken up by a tongue lapping lazily between his folds, working its way up and down his slit before diving as deep as it can get. He barely has time to register that he’s conscious before his orgasm peaks, being prodded from his cunt by the tongue still languidly licking at his core. Dew doesn’t have the mental functions yet to do anything more than snake his hands under the sheet and grasp the head of hair belonging to the person at his all-you-can-eat buffet, tugging them closer and bearing down as he rides the waves of pleasure. 

The moans being torn from his mouth are still heavily covered in the raspiness of sleep, making them lower and more throaty than what he usually has to offer. The sound of his own deepened voice sends a trill of pleasure down his spine and he rocks his hips up one last time, pushing into the face between his thighs, before flopping bonelessly onto the mattress. 

Rain’s head pops out from under the sheet, brown eyes and pupils blown wide as he swipes his tongue around his mouth. Dew’s heart jolts at the sight of blood on Rain’s chin, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. 

“Shit Rainy, I’m sorry I didn’t realize…” Dew’s words falter as he gestures sheepishly at himself and then at Rain’s chin. The wicked smirk that curls around the water ghoul’s lips causes a stirring in Dew’s lower stomach and he feels a small gush of what he desperately hopes isn’t more blood from the place between his legs. 

“Don’t apologize Droplet, it’s shark week and you’ve stumbled into open water.” Rain purrs, inhaling deeply through his nose, eyes dropping back down to the weeping cunt in front of him. 

Dew blames his post-orgasm haze for the few seconds it takes for Rain’s words to register before he’s snapping his legs closed. 

“Rain,” Dew snarls. “That’s not happening, be fucking for real.”

“It’s already happening, love. Now be a dear, and let me get another taste.” Rain’s fingers trail along Dew’s thighs, putting a little pressure to try and pry them apart. He pouts up at Dew, eyes wide with an innocence he can’t completely achieve with the way they gleam conspiratorially. 

“That’s not gonna work,” Dew whines, trying to stay strong in his resolve as he clenches his legs together tighter. 

“I don’t know, I think it’s kind of working.”

“Absolutely not.”

Denial isn’t only a river in Egypt, and Dew won’t admit to himself, let alone Rain, that he was actually considering the offer. 

Instead, Dew narrows his eyes and growls as he watches the water ghoul walk out of the room, tossing a quick wink over his shoulder before Rain turns the corner and leaves Dew to bury his head in his hands and question the series of events that led to this being his life. 

-

The next few days are spent with Dew’s guard all the way up. His shoulders tense whenever he catches a whiff of Rain’s scent. He’s sneaking around like a bad comedy, tiptoeing through the halls of the den. His bathroom breaks are like clandestine meetings, rushing through his normal routine and disposing of all evidence he was there in the first place. 

His fellow ghouls sympathize with his time of the month. The cloying scent of blood following him around like a neon sign declaring ‘OPEN SEASON’ to the hungry gaze of the water ghoul. 

Despite his best efforts, Dew feels his will slowly crumbling like a sandcastle during high tide. 

-

It comes to a head when Dew’s lying pitifully on the couch, his stomach cramping to its own hidden rhythm,  pulling nasally whines from the fire ghoul. 

“What can I do, bud?” Mountain asks, mindlessly pulling Dew’s hair into elaborate braids before shaking it out and starting over again. Dew had curled up to the bigger ghoul over an hour ago and refused to move since. 

Luckily, Mountain was binge watching the new season of his favourite show, some weird period (no pun intended) piece revolving around the courting of eligible females. They talk funny, but Dew would be lying if he tried to say he hadn’t gotten sucked into the story around the second episode. 

He lets out another pathetic whine as his stomach cramps again. Mountain shushes him comfortingly, petting his hair while simultaneously turning the volume of the show up so he doesn’t miss any dialogue. 

“Enough!” Dew jolts at the shout, while Mountain just rolls his eyes and presses the pause button, shifting his gaze to the water ghoul who just entered the den. 

Rain looks like a ghoul possessed, the lines of his body tight with tension, his eyes wild. Dew feels his stomach twist in a way that doesn’t cause him any physical discomfort, but mentally he’s doing somersaults. 

“Get. Out.” Rain spits at Mountain, his upper lip pealing back to reveal his fangs. 

“No.” Mount stares, unimpressed at the display before him. Rain’s eyes narrow slightly, before his lips shift into a grin that borders on insane. 

He’s across the room in seconds, scooping Dew from Mountain’s arms and turning on his heel. Rain tosses a hiss over his shoulder at the earth ghoul, before carrying Dew down the hallway and into his room. 

The bed smells like a mix of their scents. Dew takes a second to breathe in deeply when Rain deposits him, unceremoniously, in the middle of the mattress. 

“Hear me out,” Rain begins, pacing the room along the foot of the bed as he works himself up to get to the point. Dew’s intrigue pulls him onto his elbows, reclining slightly while tracking the water ghoul’s movements. 

“Listen,” Dew sighs as he tires of waiting for Rain to continue his explanation. “If this is about before-“

“Hear me out!” Rain repeats, voice raising as he stops pacing to kneel in front of Dew on the mattress. “I know you’re not sure about it, and if you don’t want to, then it’s fine. But I can smell your uncertainty. It’s new for both of us. And maybe I came on a little too strong, but you just drive me crazy.”

“Just what every ghoul wants to hear,” Dew responds sarcastically, eyes narrowing shrewdly. 

“In a good way!” Rain backtracks, holding his hands up in surrender. “Everything about you makes all rational thought leave me. I feel like I’m reduced to this primal instinct to just fuck you senselessly into whatever surface is closest.” 

Dew’s cheeks flush at the way the words stroke the flames of his desire. 

“I know this is out of your comfort zone, but I really want to try. Could we try? We can take it slow, and if at any point you feel uncomfortable it’ll be a hard stop.”

“Rain, I-“ Dew’s words are cut off by the deep growl Rain releases. The noise vibrating through his entire body, making his cunt clench tightly around the tampon he had inserted a few hours ago. 

“You’ve been walking around, teasing me senselessly for days, Dewdrop. I’ve been panting after you like a lovestruck kit, with barely even a look tossed in my direction. If this is a hard no for you, you’ve got to say it right now. I won’t be upset. But your scent of shame, arousal and blood is going to drive me up the wall if I don’t get to worship you properly. Right. The. Fuck. Now.”

Dew mewls pathetically, eyes wide and desperate as he tries to cling to any coherent thought running through his mind. The only thing is his body, screaming on repeat, to let this pleading ghoul pray at his alter. 

He’s nodding before he even realizes, arms reaching out to grasp onto Rain wherever he can find purchase. But the ghoul eludes him, moving back slightly on the bed, eyes bordering on feral. 

“I need to hear you say it. Use your words, Dewdrop.”

“I-“ Dew hesitates, swallowing around the lump in his throat. But one look at the trust, need and hunger in Rain’s eyes has him squaring his shoulders. “Yes.”

“Oh thank fuck,” Rain groans, surging forward and pressing against Dew’s lips so aggressively their teeth clack together. Dew gives as good as he gets, claws burrowing into Rain’s shoulders as Dew cants his hips up, desperate for any kind of friction. Rain hushes the needy whines Dew doesn’t even realize he’s letting out at an embarrassingly high frequency. 

Rain works his lips down the column of Dew’s throat, licking and biting occasionally as he burns a path lower. A choked gasp escapes when his mouth locks onto Dew’s nipple, using his teeth to pull taut on the ring there. 

Dew’s on a hairpin trigger already, trying embarrassingly hard not to cum from another swift tug on his nipple ring. His body is strung tight, tethering on the precipice of his release, when Rain’s thumb pushes down deftly on his clit. 

“Oh-oh fuck, Rain, YES!” Stars cloud his vision, jaw dropping as Dew tries to gulp in air after shouting loud enough for the entire clergy to hear what they’re up to. 

“That’s it, baby.” Rain praises, sliding further down Dew’s body until he’s kneeling between his legs, looking like the cat who caught the canary. 

Dew watches through heavy-lidded eyes as Rain’s hand trail low, though they widen comically when he sees the water ghoul wrapping the string of his tampon around a clawed finger. He feels unsure, despite Rain stroking his free hand along Dew’s thigh in a reassuring way. 

“Relax,” Rain orders, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards as he watches Dew forcibly untense his muscles. Dew doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it definitely isn’t the way Rain starts to slowly pull, then push his tampon back in. He repeats the motion, becoming faster and more sure in his movements with gasp Dew lets out at the foreign feeling. 

“Fuck,” Dew hisses at the slight burn, his sanitary product being turned into a cruel dildo, while he can do nothing but lie there and take it. He’d be a damn liar if he said it didn’t feel divine. 

Rain slides his other hand up Dew’s thigh, finding its home at the juncture between his legs. His thumb rubs in a steady circle around the bundle of nerves, timing perfectly with the tempo in which he fucks Dew with the tampon. 

It’s too much. The rapidly increasing ministrations, paired with the way Rain is watching on in pure, unadulterated fascination. Dew feels himself cresting the hill again already, claws digging into the bedsheet as he hits his peak. 

His cunt clenches around nothing. 

Dew’s utterly thrown, looking around wildly to where Rain is standing. His eyes lock on the red-stained cotton hanging from where it’s still wrapped around Rain’s finger. 

Dew can see what’s going to happen mere seconds before it does, Rain raising the soaked tampon to dangle above his head, opening his jaw as he slowly lowers the object of his desire. It takes every inch of willpower on Dew’s part to scramble to a sitting position, throwing his hands out in alarm. Rain turns and focuses his chocolate-coloured irises on the fire ghoul who’s still shaking from his last orgasm. 

“Absolutely the fuck not, Rain. If you start sucking on that thing like a popsicle, I swear to Satan I will get up and leave,” Dew threatens, but it’s weak and his voice cracks halfway through. While, realistically, the thought of Rain sticking Dew’s used tampon in his mouth is off-putting and mildly disgusting, some part of him finds it insanely hot- and that’s not something he’s willing to address at this particular moment in time. 

Rain pauses, cocks his head to the side and Dew fears for a second that he might just call his bluff. They stare at each other in silence before Rain shrugs, tossing the tampon over his shoulder where it lands perfectly in the trash can beside his desk. 

“Whatever you say,” Rain concedes, and why does some tiny part of Dew wish Rain would push him harder on the subject? To try and get him to crack on his already paper thin resolve regarding this issue? He doesn’t have time to ponder that train of thought as Rain rises to his full height, towering over where Dew is still sitting on the bed, hands frozen from when he initially asked him to stop. 

“But let’s get one thing straight.” Dew’s head snaps up, freezing as Rain’s claws trail along his cheek, down to his neck, where he wraps his fingers around in a firm grip, pinning Dew in place with not only his hand, but his eyes as well. Dew swallows against the constriction, enjoying the way he struggles to move the saliva down his throat. 

“Your crimson carnation is mine. I, alone, harvest and reap the benefits. Don’t disrespect me by using those glorified sponges.”

“Oh fuck off, who actually says shit like that?” Dew scoffs, but his words are choked off by Rain tightening the grip around his throat. 

“You wanna put that dirty mouth of yours to use?”

Dew wants to bite back, spit some more filth towards the water ghoul, but he’s salivating at the thought of getting his lips around Rain’s cock. So he swallows his pride and nods, never breaking eye contact while looking up from under his lashes. 

“Well, that’s too bad.”

Rain shoves him backwards onto the bed, diving tongue first into his cunt. Dew fumbles for a second, hands gripping the sheet as he gets thoroughly licked apart. 

Rain fucking growls into his pussy, eating like a man starved. 

“What the fuck?” Dew breathes out to the ceiling, looking for an answer from some higher power. 

[sidewalkgloom]

burn up with the water

2.5k | bakugō & midoriya | angst | pre-canon

Izuku taps a knuckle against the door labeled 345. “It’s me,” he says, then remembers retrograde amnesia and goes to add his name, but hesitates and considers whether Kacchan will recognize ‘Deku’ better. Kacchan beats him to it and says— “Izuku.” Izuku holds his breath. The handle is cool against his sweaty palm. He slowly pokes his head into the room, and the first thing he catches is that Kacchan lacks his perpetual scowl. Then Kacchan smiles at him, and Izuku turns back around and shuts the door.

or

In which Bakugō Katsuki gets a head injury and Midoriya Izuku is bad at feelings.

Read the rest here.

[dewedup]

this filled my head with dew angst, i must share:

It’s the first time in a while that Dew’s heard rain falling against his window. The drops splatter with a soft sound, his heart panging achingly with every note. It’s nights like these where he feels most nostalgic for his previous element.

It’s impossible to describe, none of the other ghouls can relate, like there’s a piece inside of him he can no longer access. It’s right there, if he tries, he can feel his fingertips brush against it. But he’s never close enough. There’s an empty hole where his affinity for water used to live.

He thinks of it often, craves the drops of rain to fall against his skin, to be submerged in the depths of a bottomless ocean. Misses the feeling of his gills taking in the liquid, separating the oxygen, getting a lung full of the freshest air he can ever recalls breathing.

His hand traces up his neck idly, fingering the flesh that used to part his skin but now sits flat, unblemished. He snatches his hand back like he’s been burned. Hates that something that used to be such a huge part of who he was is just no longer there. Finds himself constantly twisting his fingers this way and that, looking for the webbing that used to sit close to the knuckles.

With a sigh Dew rises from his bed, sleep evading him for the moment. His sweatpants sit low on his hips, the V-shape of his sharp hipbones peeking over the elastic band. He foregoes a shirt, slipping out of his room and into the dark den. Everyone’s fast asleep at this hour, no one around to witness him sneaking away into the night. He steps barefoot down the corridor, the cold stone of the floor disappearing as soon as he makes contact, leaving steaming footsteps in his path.

Dew slides through one of the heavy outer doors, leaving it open a crack as he leans against the stone wall, using the tiny outcropping from the roof to protect him from the drizzling rain. The scent of petrichor invades his nostrils, he sucks in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the scent of a fresh rain.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the cigarette holder Swiss gifted him, the metal casing engraved with runes from their past life. His claws follow the grooves, smooth lines forming his nickname in ghoulish. A smirk tugs at his bottom lip before it turns downward into a frown. The nickname roughly translates to ‘Wet One’, an endearing moniker for an unruly water ghoul, now an ironic thing to call a fire element wielder. Dew rolls his eyes as self-loathing seeps in. He’s not unused to these feelings, but they always hit him at particularly trying times.

Sighing deeply, Dew plucks a cigarette from the holder, leaving it to rest delicately between his lips as he raises his hands up in a cupping motion. The first attempt at a spark goes away almost as soon as it’s begun. Tears sting his eyes as the familiar feeling of failure overcomes him, not only was he not good enough to stay a water ghoul, he’s also quite shit at fire as well. He can’t do a single fucking thing right. His head hangs low, his hair falling like a curtain around him, trying to protect him from the harshness of the world.

Breathing in deeply he reaches up, grabbing half his hair and securing it behind his head in a lazy knot. He cups his hand around the cigarette again and successfully lights it this time, the scent of tobacco filtering through his nose and going straight to his head. He inhales deeply, longer than necessary, until a sweet burn fills his lungs. He blows the smoke out in a steady stream as the rain continues to smack against the ground, once again just out of his reach.

I think about this post by @dewedup a lot

So here ya go

[doriandistortion]

The past is creeping up my throat

[utterlyazriel]

let me keep you company

a/n: a wee break from the doom & gloom of wtssf! it's unedited so i want no flack for that thank u <3 enjoy <3 wc: 5.1k whoops synopsis: You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect.

For the record, you had never met a Shadowsinger before.

You'd never even seen one. Sure, you’d read about them briefly in your studies and almost every Fae in Prythian had heard about them in whispers and rumours.

Rumours that increased more so when a Shadowsinger rose to become a hand for the Highlord, his own personal spy. Then became the spymaster of the entire Night Court for the next Highlord.

But beyond gossip and unfinished chapters within the scripts of your libraries, the knowledge of Shadowsingers is far limited. They’re rare. For all you know, Shadowsinger’s are a ghost— moving as a shadow, disappearing in and out of the darkness of the world.

You had never met a Shadowsinger before—so it makes sense that you hadn't an ounce of a clue what to expect.

Staring at him now, 6 feet something of pure muscle, you're a bit embarrassed at your own surprise.

Because he's probably— no definitely— the most beautiful Fae you've ever laid eyes on. His hair is tousled and dark, his glorious tan skin that's mostly hidden beneath the black of his fighter leathers, and his amber eyes that laid on you for only one long moment. Breathtaking is the only adequate word for him.

All that beauty and he's a Shadowsinger.

And it's not like you thought he wouldn't be like, well, any other Fae. But also... you kinda did? Mother, you should've known Freya was tricking you when she said they were all just shadow-y corporeal forms.

But she's also not entirely wrong there. There are dozens of wispy shadows that hover around him in constant motion, dipping and flying around his shoulders and if you look close enough, you can see how he seems to ripple at the edges. Shadows blur the edge of his very being.

You wonder if he can disappear into them all together, if that was one of the abilities granted with them. Does he control them? He must, you think, if the title is Shadowsinger.

But looking at him now, his beautiful face turned to face the Highlord you should definitely be listening to, they flit about almost absentmindedly, as though they have a mind of their own.

One curls up by his ear and you watch it, fascinated, more and more questions springing up in your mind— what do they feel like on skin? Do they make any noise? Is that what they're doing now? Talking to—

A sharp elbow jabs into your side, making you jump.

Your head whips to the side, an instinctive scowl almost overtaking your face before you plaster it over with a smile, realising your mistake. Your mentor, Sergei, clears his throat and smiles awkwardly ahead at Rhysand. You blink and take another moment to realise you've been asked a question.

"I'm— I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" You try not to sound as mousy as you feel but the question comes out as a squeak anyway. He is the Highlord of the Night Court after all. You suddenly feel very foolish for being so easily distracted.

Thankfully, Rhysand regards you with an easy smile. He's leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and his violet eyes dance with humour as he flicks his gaze over to where you had just been staring.

"That's alright. Azriel is a piece of eye candy, I can't blame you for staring," He all but purrs, a hint of mirth pulling at his lips as he casts another glance at his Spymaster. You're taken aback by the casualness of his words.

Rhysand continues. "I was only saying that for the duration of your stay, you'll be hosted in one of my homes, the House of Wind. You aren't afraid of heights, are you?"

A smidge of fear pinches at your stomach because, honestly, you aren't overly keen on the idea. But you know better than to turn down the generosity of a Highlord.

You take another glance at the wings of his Spymaster and General and pray that it's not too high up.

"Not... much." You answer honestly.

There's a chuckle from the side of the room and your head swings around at the noise. It's not the Shadowsinger, though he looks as though he's politely trying not to smile, his chin ducked. It's the General, just as beautiful as his brother but in that more rugged way.

He flexes his wings out a bit, showing off their mighty wingspan. "We'll rid you of that fear in no time."

You try for a smile but it might be closer to a grimace.

"Fantastic." You say, not managing to put all your enthusiasm into the word like you hoped.

Another sharp jab of Sergei's elbow in your side. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, huffs a quiet laugh, his amber eyes flashing up to steal another look at you. You try your best not to fluster.

It's going to be a long two months.

—

As Sergei's apprentice, you're expected to shadow him through his allowed time within Velaris.

Which means if he goes to the library, you go to the library.

There's just one problem; the library is down in the city and your temporary home is up in the mountain. The quickest way down is with wings.

Rhysand— or just Rhys as he had told you to call him— had relayed the information that you could ask either Cassian or Azriel to escort you if you didn't wish to take the stairs.

Cassian, the General, had been the one to fly you down and back the first couple of times you had asked and you weren't in any particular hurry to relive the experience.

Cassian was nice and he was more than friendly but seemingly incapable of understanding any fear of heights. You weren't sure if that was just the only way to fly— swooping and dropping fast enough to make you shriek— but it certainly seemed to be Cassian's way.

Which leaves you with the option of either asking the Shadowsinger or taking the stairs.

You get down about two hundred steps before you start to regret your decision. But, also, how in the Cauldron were you supposed to ask him to take you? (Never mind that you had asked Cassian quite easily, albeit very nervously.)

Oh, hi Shadowsinger who I can't stop staring at for both your abilities and your handsome face—care to sweep me into your arms and carry me places?

As if, you snort to yourself.

You take the thousand stairs all the way to the bottom and trot towards the enormous library, pretending your thighs aren't aching with overuse or that you're out of breath. Thankfully, the library itself isn't too far from the House of Wind, carved into the same side of the mountain.

As expected, Sergei is less than pleased with your tardiness.

"Sorry," The word rushes out of you in a wheeze, probably too loud for the library, as you scuttle in the entrance. A few priestesses turn their heads to look at you and you cringe, raising your hands in apology. "Sorry, I'm sorry,"

You focus back on your mentor and try to catch your breath, all while you explain. "I took the stairs and it took—" You huff out a breath. "—way longer than I thought."

Sergei's face softens a bit at your explanation, his face taking on a pitiful smile. "Still not enjoying the flying?"

"You are?" You ask in response. The thought of Sergei, your old-Fae mentor, swept up in Cassian's arms as he dips and dives makes you chuckle just a bit.

Sergei shakes his head as if to change the topic of conversation, deciding you've wasted enough time already. He turns, beginning to head further into the library and you follow behind him closely, eager to brush over your early morning fumble. The cavernous structure within the mountain yawns out ahead of you and you get all of two moments to wonder just how deep down it goes, when—

"You did not ask for a ride this morning."

Azriel steps up beside you, seemingly from nowhere, his steps falling in time with yours with ease. You jump, startled, and your footsteps falter for a moment. You're relieved to say that you only make one embarrassing noise in your surprise.

"I— oh, it's— I mean, I just..." You trail off, feeling flustered. "...like to walk."

You chance a glance up at him. He's wearing that same polite expression from yesterday, as though he's trying not to laugh and you get too caught up in the swirlings of his shadows to remember to be properly embarrassed. Both of you walk in tandem behind Sergei, slowly descending into the lower levels of the library.

"If you insist," He says, his voice low. It sends something warm down your spine and you pray he doesn't notice how your body temperature is definitely climbing.

His amber eyes pin you with another look, his lips twitching into a small smile. "However, if Cassian is giving you trouble, I would be happy to provide a smoother ride."

You flounder for a moment. You don't want to get anyone in trouble.

"I— he's not giving me trouble," You stammer.

Azriel smiles a little wider as if he can tell how polite you're trying to be. He slows to a meander and you realise only after you walk past him, it's because Sergei has stopped himself, turning down one of the many aisles.

You skid yourself to a halt and turn back, praying your flaming face isn't as obvious as it feels. You're not entirely sure if Azriel is accompanying you today but you're sure that Sergei would've mentioned it if he was.

You dip your head in a strange, awkward bow motion. Then point to the aisle Sergei disappeared into.

"I'll be... going this way."

Azriel's smile grows, like you've told a joke, and he ducks his head. He peers up at you through his dark lashes and you wonder if anyone's ever told him how damn beautiful he is. Probably. You're probably the last in a long line of people. Mother, his eyes though.

"If you don't wish to make the hike the other way," He murmurs.

He extends one of his hands and you watch the dozen shadows swarm around it, one of them separating from the pack to dive to the ground. It shoots forward and spins around your ankle, almost happily. "Just let the shadow know. I would be happy to assist."

When you look back up, he’s already gone without a sound. You try not to look so surprised— you’ve seen someone winnow before but you’re almost certain that the way Azriel moved about silently was something else altogether.

“Y/n!” Sergei’s voice echoes down the shelves, reminding you that you’re still late. You throw a quick glance around to check but it's fruitless; you can’t see the Shadowsinger anywhere.

You turn and bustle down the aisle quickly, not wanting to keep Sergei any longer. It takes only a second to notice the sole, black shadow that dances along behind you.

Guess you have company.

—

Okay, so, the shadows are definitely their own little guys.

Mainly because you can’t imagine how Azriel would be controlling them when he’s nowhere in sight.

And this one shadow is being awfully helpful.

The first time you drop your quill, knocking it to the ground as you lean over one of the many intricately carved desks, trying to reach another book, you don’t even notice it fall to the ground.

In fact, you have no idea how many times it’s picked up your fallen quill that you’ve undoubtedly knocked over countless times— only that it had given you the fright of your life to have it hover before your face, gripped only by the wispy shadow Azriel left with you.

“Holy shit!” You gasp, your loud voice echoing in the quietness of the library.

Sergei's head whips up, his eyes narrowing at the intruding sound with evident disapproval. You quickly snatch the quill out of mid-air and sink down in your seat. Gods, the echoes in here were doing you no favours.

“Sorry,” You whisper. Your eyes dart down to the shadow that retreated to your side, flickering around your ankle more wildly. “Er, thanks.”

It feels a bit silly to give thanks to something you’re not sure can hear you. But you figure if it can pick up your quill, you're better off using your manners.

Sergei gives you a somewhat bewildered look and you try to appease him with an awkward smile. It works enough for him to continue his work but not without one more lingering glance of worry in your direction. Great. You're talking to shadows and your old-man mentor thinks you're a bit nuts.

The shadow continues its helpful endeavours, following you when you head down different aisles at Sergei's request. It dances across the shelves, dissolving occasionally just to puff back up somewhere else, pulling your attention this way and that. It's playful. Friendly.

You deduce by the end of the day that you know even less about Shadowsinger's than you had thought. The abilities and personality of just one shadow are uncanny; like a silent friend keeping you company. You imagine that Azriel rarely gets lonely with as many as he has. Maybe you'll ask him.

When Sergei and you wind back up the staircases and he dismisses you for the evening, heading into the city for his own further business, you stand at the mouth of the library and ponder if you'll be brave enough to summon the Shadowsinger.

The shadow is still with you, circling your wrist absently. You peer down at it and think of all those stairs. Somewhat nervously, you raise your hand and try to be as casual as possible about talking to a shadow on your hand.

"Hi." You start, trying not to feel foolish. "Um, well, I guess I'm done for the day. Could— could you, if he's not busy that is, uh, let Azriel know? I don't mind waiting if he is."

The shadow zips off barely before you can finish your sentence and your head swings to watch it go, disappearing somewhere to your left.

You can't help but be a little amazed at its speed—it must be an incredible networking system to have a thousand little spies running around for you. No wonder almost all Shadowsingers tend to end up in the same line of work, you think to yourself, still peering in the direction of the shadow when—

"Y/n."

Even though he's said your name soft and quiet, Azriel still manages to take you by surprise. You jump and turn, all in one motion.

"Mother!" Your hand holds over your chest, relief curling in at the sides as your fright ebbs away. "That was fast."

"You called," Azriel responds, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. He gives you an almost shy smile.

It makes you fluster a bit and you gesture to the exit awkwardly and wordlessly, if only so you don't have to come up with a response to his intense and endearing answer.

Together, you wander out from the library and creep towards the edge of Velaris. It's a beautiful city and more than deserving of its title, especially when viewed from the House of Wind. You turn and cast your eyes up the mountainside, your familiar nervous fear pitching up from your stomach.

Then you look at the warrior beside you, tall enough that he's got what feels like more than a head's height on you, with his wings reaching above even his own head. His jaw is sharp and his eyes are already on you as your gaze trails up his face. Fuck. He's really pretty.

Now you're nervous for an entirely different reason.

"We can still take the stairs if you wish," He says, his hand sweeping back to the path you had followed along this morning. His shadows move with his hands, a black vortex that whirls around and around. "I'd be more than happy to keep you company."

Mother, he's not helping you in the slightest, being so perfectly nice to you. You regard the stairs and think back to how many hours it took before your thighs stopped aching—and that was on the way down.

"No, we can- we can try flying again." You say, nodding to yourself as if it'll help quell your fear. It takes another moment to realise that means you'll be bundled up in his strong arms, held against his broad chest and you feel a little shiver run through your body at the thought.

Azriel notices it too, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "You're sure?" He checks.

You nod, not meeting his eyes, trying to keep your nerve. Flying is already something you're not keen on. Flying whilst being swept up in the arms of a Shadowsinger who you think is the most beautiful Fae you've ever seen? You send a silent prayer to the Mother that you don't do something embarrassing, like puking down his front.

"Let me know if you're uncomfortable at any time," He says softly and then he bends his knees slightly, one of his scarred hands resting on your lower back as the other scoops beneath your knees. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing.

It's impossible not to flush as you get nestled against his firm chest, your hands panicking for a moment as you try to think of a normal place to put them. Around his neck? On his chest? Either of them feels far too intimate for a man you've known only a week.

"You don't have to but I would suggest holding on," Azriel comments with a smile, his chest vibrating with the words. You nod, agreeing with him, but don't make a move to do so, only holding your hands out in front of you to indicate you're not sure where to put them.

The shadows adorning his shoulders move on their own, their friendly presence easing your nerves as they slither down to circle around your wrists. There's a gentle tug and you let them move your hands til they're wrapped around Azriel's neck, moving you much closer in the process.

Gods, your faces are close together. Another couple of inches and you could probably press your lips to his perfect ones—a thought that makes you fluster all over again. Was he getting prettier every time you saw him? For not the first time, you thank the Mother that it was Rhys with the daemaeti gift and not Azriel.

"Ready?" He checks, which is sweet. Cassian had just shot up into the sky the first time, without any warning.

You grip your arms around his neck a little tighter and then nod. "Ready," You say, quieter than intended.

You catch just a moment of Azriel's demure smile, your heart swooping at the sight, before you're both launched into the sky with one flap of his wings.

The noise that escapes you is one you're less than proud of, a squawky sound noise of panic that you bury into Azriel's neck. You expect him to laugh like Cassian had, not meanly but playfully, but instead Azriel's arms just tighten around you. As if he was assuring you that he would not let you fall.

By the time you're up at the House of Wind, Azriel making a far more graceful descent than his brother, you're less freaked out and more ready to point some accusatory fingers in the face of the Night Court's General.

That bastard had been fucking with you! The flight with Azriel proved as much, considering how much calmer and smoother it had been. You couldn't help but say as much as you were placed down from Azriel's hold, glad to be back on solid ground.

"I have some words for Cassian, Mother above," You ramble, straightening out your rumpled clothes from the flight. "Did he think I was kidding when I said I was afraid?"

Azriel smiles at your fieriness, his shadows calmer than they were in flight, moving about lazily. His eyes take a fleeting glance at the house behind you before focusing intently back on you.

"Cassian can have a strange sense of humour at times. He means well." He says. Then he grins. "I should like to see you tell him off— not enough people do."

You hmph. "Maybe I will."

You suddenly realise the closeness between you and Azriel, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. His scent of cedar and mist swirls around you, tantalizing and alluring in a way you've never known before. You take a step back to contain yourself.

"I—uh, well, thank you very much." You say, as sweet as you can. "For the ride."

Your eyes catch on one of his dozen shadows and you smile, observing them for a moment. "And the shadow. It was excellent company."

Azriel brightens, an expression of surprise crossing his face before he schools it away. He smiles, brazen and breathtaking. When he speaks, he sounds a little disbelieving. "You like them?"

You nod quickly, noticing how one of his shadows has snuck off again and circulates your ankle speedily. You laugh at the ticklish feeling of it against your skin.

"They're incredible." You breathe, meaning every word. "I imagine you must've ge—"

"Apologies, y/n." A smooth voice cuts in, Rhys stepping up somewhere behind you and stealing both of your attention. He dressed in more casual clothes than you last saw, but not quite Azriel's fighting leathers. "Azriel here is needed for some brief business. Do you mind if I borrow him?"

The way he poses the question, as if Azriel is yours, does something wonky to your heart. You flounder for a moment, stepping back and waving your hand in the direction of the Shadowsinger.

"Of- of course, by all means." You trip over the words and hope you don't sound too eager to escape his company. That couldn't be more untrue.

You turn back to Azriel and fix him with a smile, hoping it's not as nervous as you feel. "I'll... see you around?"

Azriel steals a glance to the side where Rhys awaits before he nods with another reserved smile. Hold on, is that pink on his cheeks?

"Let me know if you need any more help getting to and from the library. I'd be happy to assist."

And then with a quick nod to you, he walks off to join Rhys, his wings tucked in tight, careful to not nudge you. You watch them go, unable to stop yourself from letting your eyes wander down. Damn, all that training did wonders. What was that saying? Hate to watch 'em go, love to watch them leave.

Ahead, Rhys abruptly laughs and peers back over his shoulder, letting you exactly how well you had shielded those thoughts. You flush and scurry into the house as if it'll save you from the embarrassment of what's just happened. You only hope he won't pass the message on to Azriel.

—

It continues like that for the rest of the week.

Azriel carries you down the height of the mountain and leaves you with a promise that if you need anything, you can tell the shadow and he'll come to find you.

The shadow keeps its usual playful company. Beyond retrieving your dropped quills, it helpfully turns the pages of books for you. When you're focused on what you're writing, it nudges back any loose strands of hair. Once it even brings you a flower from Mother knows where. One single Lily of the Valley, left resting on your desk.

It makes you wonder; are all Shadowsinger's shadows like this? You can't help but imagine these niceties are shaped by Azriel's own soft nature.

Today, whilst you study in the vast caverns of the library, you get an unexpected visitor.

As you take your time scanning through the books in one of the vast aisles, you realise the Fae coming down from the other end of the aisle is none other than the Highlady herself.

"Feyre!" You greet warmly. The two of you had met before when she had taken duties in your home court and if it weren't too bold, you'd say you consider yourself good friends. Feyre smiles, glowing like moonlight, as she realises who it is.

"Y/n," She says your name sweetly and her hug is just as such. She pulls away, ready to inquire about your studies when she spots the trailing shadow behind you.

"Making friends, I see," She comments. Her eyebrows raise almost teasingly as if she's made a certain insinuation. You take a moment to notice what she's referencing.

"It's nice," You say, a defensive lilt to your tone. You hold out your hand and the shadow jumps at the opportunity to skitter around it playfully. "It's like a little friend."

Feyre smiles at your words but chuckles a little. "Except Azriel is anything but little."

You pause at her words, glancing down at the shadow and back up at Feyre. "What do you mean? I thought— they're not- I mean, aren't they...?”

You trail off, unsure of how to word the question you're trying to ask. Feyre smiles, her gray eyes glittering with mirth as she realises what you're figuring out.

"They're all his. Azriel's. He controls them." She tilts her head a bit, watching the shadow that drifts about your hand and wrist. "True, they roam a bit on their own but... Not like this."

"Oh," You murmur, thinking back to that first day in the library.

The playful shadow that lead you back and forth, picking up your quill and turning your pages. It was him, all along.

Something immeasurably warm starts to glow in your chest, a thread that loops through your heart and sends the valves into overdrive. Its warmth grows, something molten hot beginning to bleed in your chest— and it feels wonderful. It feels right.

"Oh," You gasp as you figure it out.

Feyre grins, watching you piece together what the rest of the inner circle has clued together from the very first day. She stands to the side and gestures to the entrance of the library with a tilt of her head.

"Go on then," She urges you.

For a moment, you think back to Sergei who sent you hunting for a certain manuscript Cauldron knows how long ago but the thought is washed away in an instant. You can feel it now, the strong tug in your chest. The connection that binds you to another.

You stride past Feyre, giving a quick thanks! and all but run up the spiral staircases, heading for the entrance. The shadow pings along with you and as you near the top, you look down at it and say through huffed breaths, "You better go get him."

He's waiting by the time you get there.

Against the setting sun, for a moment there's only the silhouette of him— a warrior with tall wings, the edges of him rippling like a mirage. He might just be one; an oasis in your life, the answer that you've been searching for for centuries. You can't believe you didn't notice.

Your footsteps echo on the marble as you march right up to him and Azriel watches you closely the whole time, his amber eyes soft but his expression hinting at his nervousness. Gods, he's wonderful. You can't believe he gets to be yours and you get to be his.

"How long have you known?" You ask because it's the first thing on your mind. You're nearly panting from the exhilaration of your sudden exercise, from the dawning future that's blooming right in front of you. He's your mate. Gods, how could you have missed it?

Azriel smiles, that same tentative one that's been driving you crazy all week. His wings give a little shake behind him, a giveaway of his nerves.

"I... suspected from the beginning." He chooses his words carefully, wary of how you might respond.

You can't help your little gasp, feeling even more of a fool. You curse, ducking your head before you glare back up at him, no real heat in your gaze. You have the urge to give him a little shove, just for keeping you in the dark.

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

One of his shadows spins up unexpectedly, dancing across your shoulders and tickling your cheeks gently. You startle in surprise but something sweeter curls up in your chest at the tenderness of its touch.

"Believe me," Azriel says with a quiet chuckle, his amber eyes darting over your face intensely. "I've been trying."

You melt. Eyes locked with his, you move slowly, letting your arms drift up to drape around his neck like they've done every morning and evening since he began flying you around. You realise acutely that Cassian's behaviour, his shoddy flying, had likely been on purpose. You laugh a little, eyes creasing shut in pure euphoria.

Azriel's hands find your waist and you can feel the slight tremble in them.

"In my defense," You murmur, pushing up on your toes. You're close, so close, your lips hovering just an inch from a kiss—his shadows go wild around you both. It makes you grin. "I had never met a Shadowsinger before."

"Yeah?" Azriel breathes shakily. "Disappointed?"

He says it like a joke but you can hear the note of sincerity in his tone. His hidden worry that he isn't all you dreamed of. It's nearly laughable how wrong he is.

This close you can see his long lashes and every shade of brown in his eyes. You wonder if you'll ever get used to how beautiful he is. Part of you hopes you never do.

"Not in the slightest," You say, nearly a whisper.

Then his lips are on yours, pillowy soft skin against yours, and it feels like coming home. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you til you're breathless and the glow in your chest could rival the sun in its warmth.

He kisses you and every atom in your body hums and fizzes and comes to life — and all you can do is hold him tight and kiss him back, just as fiercely.

Breaking the kiss to catch your breath, you pant and grin brazenly at Azriel, at your mate, happier than you've ever been. Faintly, you realise that you won't be heading home when the two months of your study are up after all.

Not when you have a man who looks at you so reverently, who kisses you like there's oxygen hidden in the plush of your lips, who holds you like there's nothing more precious in the world.

Not when you know that home is right here, in front of you.

[linkeduniverse]

Dawn pt. 5

<<Previous                         Next>>

Archive/ About / Linktree

[dewedup]

it’s the most perfect treasure trail, and dew is slightly obsessed with it, worships it even

almost to an unhealthy level, like if he notices a hair out of place while they’re lounging on the couch watching a movie, he gets stressed and runs to his room to grab tweezers and rain just sighs and rolls his eyes when dew returns with the handheld torture device and manic eyes

it’s really just a minor inconvenience for rain though, he winces slightly when the hair gets plucked from the follicle, but the utter delight in dew’s eyes makes up for the slight discomfort, and the way he plants a kiss on the affected area warms rain’s heart

I know deep in my soul that rain ghoul has a beautiful happy trail

[himluv]

Okay, hot take coming in, but I've seen a few posts mentioning that Isseya's character was done dirty in Veilguard. And... I disagree. Here's why:

1. Isseya is already established as a morally gray character, willing to do basically anything if it meant ending the Fourth Blight, even when it went against her own personal morals.

2. Her Calling advanced quickly because of the blight, and it's theorized in Last Flight that all her use of Blood Magic probably didn't help, either.

3. She has been alive for CENTURIES after she should have died on her Calling. She is more Darkspawn than elf, more akin to The Architect or Corypheus than she is Davrin, by the time we meet her in game.

4. And this is the doozy, in the novel The Calling, we see what happens when Wardens don't die on their Calling. We know what happens when they let their taint change them. We saw what happened when the Architect advanced their Calling so that they might keep their minds... They didn't. After only months, Bregan starts to lose it. The blight is anger. It's rage. It is a literal plague of HATE. And it twists not just his body, but his mind too.

So, imagine Isseya, already angry. Already wracked with guilt, grief, and righteous anger when she goes on her Calling. And then she doesn't die, but Revas, her griffon, does. And so Isseya is all alone, festering in her own negative emotions for centuries, all while the blight in her veins slowly takes over and whispers nothing but hate directly into her brain. For over 400 YEARS.

And it all comes down to the Wardens. She blames them for what she became, for the fate of the griffons (understandably so), and her madness spirals into making an alternate Weisshaupt, recruiting her own order of Blighted Wardens.

(side note: was she working with The Architect? Because this is some Architect shit.)

And then Ghilan'nain shows up with an offer to help "save" the griffons. And Isseya is blighted, driven mad with centuries of unmitigated hate. So she takes Ghilan'nain's offer, never once seeing how she's being used all over again. Because the blight has blinded her with hate for the Wardens.

Isseya's character hasn't been botched. They didn't do her dirty. Her story is SAD. Heartbreaking even. It's a tragedy and a warning, of what that much hate can do to a person.

Did I wish better for her? Absolutely. I loved Isseya in Last Flight, and my heart broke for her then. But unraveling the Gloom Howler that first time? Realizing who she was and WHY this was happening? It was an amazing experience. (The way I said, "oh, Isseya"??? Tear my heart to shreds, Bioware.)

But, just because Isseya's fate is tragic, doesn't mean she was written poorly. From what we know about her, the blight, and the Calling, her character is actually very consistent and believable.

Just... really fucking sad.

[amywritesthings]

can officially say i'm back to writing dating on airplane mode and hoping to get CH2 out before american thanksgiving.

[dewedup]

28 with Phantom & Dew

I'm a mess already but I wouldn't mind it getting worse

here's a little something something (only a few months late and not the longest but still a feel trip)

Phantom could tell Dew was having a rough day from the moment he woke up; he just couldn’t seem to figure out when the problem started.

When he’d shuffled over to cuddle in the early light of day, Dew had rolled away.

If there’s one thing Phantom respects, it’s boundaries. So instead, he just placed a hand on Dew’s hip under the covers and kept his distance. But it seemed like even this tiny show of affection was getting under the fire ghoul’s skin. Dew huffed a frustrated sigh and got up to shower, he didn’t even bother to throw a cheeky wink at Phantom, finger crooked in a ‘come hither’ motion like usual. 

Phantom didn’t let it get to him; he knows how turbulent Dew’s moods can be. He rolled with the punches and went about his own morning routine, making sure to give Dew a little extra space in their shared room. 

The morning seemed to have set the tone for the rest of the day. Phantom tiptoed around Dew while the fire ghoul continued to ignore his presence. He knew the ghoul probably just needed some time, so he tried his best to stick to him like a shadow, quiet but close enough if Dew decided he needed him. 

Well, maybe he stayed too close. 

Phantom walked down the hallway back to the den, lost in thought while looking out the window and didn’t realize Dew had slowed his pace. He stumbled, his foot falling on the heel of Dew’s shoe, causing the fire ghoul to trip slightly. Dew caught himself on the wall and turned to Phantom, eyes burning with a fiery rage. Phantom’s cheeks flushed something fierce, an apology already spilling from his lips.

“Can’t you just leave me the fuck alone for five Satan-damned minutes?” Dew hissed, eyes narrowing at the younger ghoul. Phantom jumped back a few steps, raising his hands in defence at the angry tone. Tears pricked behind his eye lids as steam blew out of Dew’s nostrils. 

“I’m sorry! It was an accident,” Phantom rushed out, biting his lip to keep the tears at bay. 

“Seriously? You’ve been breathing down my neck all day. Do I have to spell it out for you?” Dew paused, as if waiting for a response, but Phantom had no idea what he was talking about. “I just need a break; you’re constantly there and sometimes I just want to do things without you. We don’t need to be attached at the hip every second of every day.”

Phantom was at a loss for words. Did he do something wrong? Why did Dew not talk to him about this before now? The confusion must have been written across his face because Dew just scoffed, his head shaking as he continued the walk back to the den alone, leaving Phantom to watch, wondering where it all went wrong. 

“Oh Bug,” Phantom whirled around, wiping furiously at the tear that had started to fall down his cheek. Rain smiled sadly at him, walking forward to wrap his arms around the downtrodden ghoul.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming,” Phantom whimpered into Rain’s chest, shoulders shaking as he took deep breaths of the water ghoul’s scent in an attempt to ground himself.

“Hey, no none of that,” Rain tsked, pulling back slightly so he could hook a finger under Phantom’s chin. He waited for the younger ghoul to meet his eyes before he spoke next. “You didn’t do anything wrong. This is on Dew. He doesn’t get to treat you like that. Just because he’s having a shitty day, it doesn’t make it okay for him to take it out on you.”

Phantom nodded, willing Rain’s words to sink in and take root. 

[dewedup]

thank you so much for thinking of my story 🥰

Some fire gremlin-centric fic recs for you this week, friends. 🧡

you in the moonlight / @kkaisarion / Dew x Rain

When Dewdrop finds out that Copia accidentally summoned a new water ghoul, he’s ready to throw hands. He’s been the only water ghoul at the abbey for so long, there’s no way he’s about to share his territory with whoever just showed up.

Mine / @papaslittlesunshine / Dew x Phantom

Prompt: The new Quintessence ghoul & Dewdrop hatefuck (and i say hate very loosely. More like, Dew has been anxious about there being a new ghoul and is coping by trying to establish /he/ is the boss. So they've been butting heads the past few days and now the tension has boiled over) but that all changes and turns so super soft when the new guy lets slip that Dew is his first since being summoned.

Untitled - Part 1 & Part 2 / @littlemoon-beam / Dew x Aurora

Prompt: 18. "I can’t wait to take your innocence.”

Into the Eyes of Fire / @forlorn-crows / Dew x Ifrit

The look in question happened only a few hours ago: the pair of them galivanting around the stage, charging at each other like wild bulls during the bridge of Year Zero. Until Ifrit rose up on his toes, hovering only a few inches above Dew as he leaned in for a mock kiss. He may as well have been two feet taller with the way his rich brown eyes bore straight into Dew's, getting closer and closer until the water ghoul was forced to pull away.

view from the spire / @dewedup / Dew x Rain

“I’m nowhere close to being done with you yet, sweetheart.” The words fall from Rain’s lips like a sin, full of promise yet an underlying sense of sinister intent. And Dew… well Dew bites his lip to stifle a whimper.

-or Dewdrop has fear of heights and Rain wants to test his limits

The Snare of Devotion / @iamthecomet / Copia x Dew

Dew helps his papa out with a blow job. That's it, that's the fic.   The first few days of tour are always the worst. Copia’s stressed, not sleeping. Intent on making sure everything is going to be perfect. He doesn’t take care of himself. And as much as his ghouls try to badger him into eating and drinking and sleeping, he never does. It happens every single cycle, until Dew inevitably finds a way to get him alone, take him apart, and put him back together. It’s as ritual as the rituals are. But by Dew’s count, they’re a few days late.

Playing With Fire / @miasmaghoul / Dew x Swiss

Dewdrop is called by the sun and Swiss is called by Dewdrop. What could possibly go wrong?

✩ Bookmark and please leave kudos and comments!!

[sidewalkgloom]

Objects [in the mirror are closer than they appear]

2.3k | tenya & tensei iida | character study

Tensei’s hair has grown since they shaved it for the surgery. That’s the first thing Tenya discerns, maybe because he’s afraid to look lower. Tiny spikes of blue stick out in every direction. Tenya kind of wants to touch it, so he does. A little noise pokes at Tenya’s ears. He looks down. Tensei’s hand clasps his, no longer big enough to swallow it up, just the right size to fit his fingers in the spaces between Tenya’s. “Hey, little brother,” whispers Tensei. His eyes sparkle. “Hey, Tensei,” Tenya answers. Tensei reaches out and runs fingers over the buzzed hair along Tenya’s nape. He pulls until they meet over the hospital bed, forehead to forehead. Tenya breaks the surface and breathes.

or

Iida Tenya runs until his blood is in the mouth of the man who stilled his brother’s legs

Then, he stands.

Read the rest here.

[no-where-new-hero]

omg I need your thoughts on the terminally o line author culture bc ngl it makes my eye TWITCH, there are authors I deliberately avoid even tho I've heard their stuff is good bc they're like that 🙈

HHHHH oh good lord, okay, from how I see it, there are two angles on this, both aggravating and sad: the official decree one and the spontaneous ecosystem one.

The officious one is that the nature of publishing nowadays demands an author have an online presence. You need Twitter/X. You need to let every potential reader know your book is coming out. You need engagement through reviews and pre-orders incentives (if you buy now you’ll get a special keychain!!) and word of mouth assurances from your peers that yes your book is as cool as you say it is. You need a newsletter with links (more buying! more voting on lists that are simply popularity contests!) and promises you’re still working on the next thing, don’t forget about me in the morass of everyone else doing the same thing. You need an Instagram and TikTok now to post pretty pictures and videos because one or two authors made it big off this kind of promotion and now everyone thinks it’s the ticket to the bestseller list (sadly, it seems to be working). You need an OnlyFans (a joke but I do recall a twt spat that was a joke/not joke about how rupi kaur will always be more beautiful than her critics and people who took issue with the conflation of beauty with talent). At the end of all this, you’re basically an influencer, a content creator creating content for the content you should be focusing on creating, the finished novel. And the novel itself seems to be disappearing behind the masks used to promote it (fanfic-style tropes, moodboards, playlists, memes) until I now no longer trust the book that I’ll pick up to have any resemblance to the enticements that brought me here. I’ve seen an author or two complain about the stress all this self-promotion generates, but it’s become such an entrenched part of the industry, I think people just accept it. And thus spend too much time online hoping that if they tweet just a little more, produce just one more reel, maybe that’ll be the difference between a sale and no sale.

The other side of this, distinct but obviously connected, is the ecosystem created by this panic of being perpetually visible coupled with the fact that so many of the new authors came of age during the rise of internet fandom culture. That opinionated community mindset that blurs the line between anonymity and friendship is the lens they bring to their own work. I mean, it makes sense I suppose—if you love yelling about characters and words, why wouldn’t you do that once you start to produce your own? This really came home to me hearing about that reviewbombgate “scandal” and how people involved were in reylo circles and that was used to provide receipts. You’re interacting with your readers and peers about your intimate work but they are also all strangers. They will not always give you the benefit of the doubt, and now—as opposed to the past when maybe the worst that could happen was a handful of bad reviews in newspapers—you will either be tagged in hate reviews, sub-tweeted, explicitly called out, demanded to atone for your sins. It’s no longer the morality of consumption but the morality of production. Of course, the easy answer is just log-off, touch some grass. But that can work only when you and everyone else are separated by anonymous accounts or when you have no platform to maintain. As an author trying to make your livelihood from this, suddenly it’s do or die. We’re in a strange moment of authorship bringing the Internet’s echo-chamber and claustrophobic into the real world (this is a lie: publishing now is no longer the real world. But it looks like it) and thus you can kind of no longer escape things.

Will the average reader who isn’t aware of all these machinations care about reviewbombgate? Would a reader browsing at Target think about the controversies around Lightlark? Very likely not. But the impression I’m getting more and more is that the average reader isn’t the one buying all the books. Or shall we say—a bestseller’s status relies on bookstore stock. Bookstore stock is only huge when they know a book will be a good investment. They’ll only know a book is a good investment if it and its author has street cred based on booktokkers, bookstagram, bloggers and reviewers (have you noticed how many books out these last maybe 1-3 years have these kinds of accounts thanked in the acknowledgments? Yeah), and THESE are also chronically online people who will Know. And decide the cast of fate.

Honestly, @batrachised, I see why you avoid these kinds of writers, though I wonder how long it’ll be before the disease becomes epidemic.

[shadowlinktheshadow]

played ww and now im thinking about floormasters and gloom hands

im like 90% sure someone already made this connection, but

colors a bit off and no eye on floormaster but I see a connection

[dewedup]

rain has a bad habit of getting nasty when he's in the throes of his heat, verbally abusive, tossing out words that slice the same way swiss' knife collection does

and well... rain likes pain right? dew confirms as much with a nod

so when aurora gets an idea wicked enough to put that look on her face? dew and cumulus are all ears

aurora starts by channelling some water magick, running it over rain's gills as he breathes through it, confused and frustrated by the lack of stimulation, she could at least do him the decency of sticking a finger or two in there

suddenly the water that's being filtered through the complex meshwork of his gills freezes, cumulus' eyes glowing as she holds her hand in the air towards rain

he's choking, gasping for breath that doesn't come, the ice in his gills so cold it burns

until he's actually on fire, dew's brow furrowed in concentration as he slowly eats away at the frozen water, rain's entire body feels like it's catching the flame, and it's so much, all at once, he comes untouched, the ice thawing enough for him to gasp out, staring at the three of them in shock and awe

can’t stop thinking about rain’s gills. again.

[kaygee-doodles]

So I am trying to get into writing and have been really inspired by gloom and doom and am wondering what you use or if it is ao3 or just a google doc. I would also reeaallly appreciate any tips as I have no idea where to start

I am really loving your work and can’t wait for the next chapter (as well as your gifs and funny/cheeky responses to any potential spoilers)

Well hello there!

I write in a google doc, but it's one google doc per 'arc' in the story, so if I have an idea that needs to happen later, I can open up THAT part of the story and write up an outline for me to forget about and find later.

To start, I guess I would advise to write the part you really want to write, and then fill in the rest.

A lot of my writing is done in scenes, like, Just This Event, open, middle, end. Sometimes the following bits come naturally, the consequences, the wind down, the exit stage left. Sometimes they don't want to get written at all, and I have to move on to the next thing that's interesting happens, and come back to the inbetween.

Sometimes I just do a time jump, because time has to pass between events, but it's not very interesting time. Reader...went to work, ate shitty fast food, took a poop, and brushed her teeth. Not super interesting, and not very plot relevant unless being used to say, emphasize something about her life.