#good lord i have been drawing recently what a concept

[rune-rambles-art]

If I have enough energy this week i’ll maybe do my zenless oc reveal

[morganas-pendragons]

ease | celebrimbor

honest to god, I got this concept in the shower and it would not leave me alone. the prompt was found in the depths of the celebrimbor x reader tag (disclaimer: I am not a Tolkien reader, but I did grow up watching the movies and have done some research into the Silmarillion as I've been watching ROP) and this was born.

I've just found out some of the fates of these characters and I kid you not... I have a full fledged idea for a Celebrimbor/OC fic if my brain keeps this up

set during s2 of ROP, light spoilers ahead

prompt is here / this reader is a half-elven female who is gifted with magic. like I said, I am new to writing for this verse, so please be gentle.

***

You don't remember much about how you ended up in Middle Earth. There are glimpses, sweet fragments of memories that surface every now and again, but that is simply all they are. Glimpses of a time that has long come and gone.

Glimpses of who you were gone with it, like the receding tides of the ocean drifting further and further away.

The one thing you do remember with astounding clarity is your arrival to Eregion. You remember the front gates and how tired you were, and more importantly, you remember Celebrimbor. His complete and utter astonishment at your arrival was puzzling.

You didn't figure out why until later.

"Forgive me, but my healer tells me you have difficulties with remembering where you came from," He's standing in front of you where you sit in the healer's chambers of Eregion. You're surprised that they even let you in. Maybe he took pity on you. "Your injuries are minimal given how long he believes you were out in such conditions. Given your physical attributes, I would say you are at least Elvish. That would explain some of this. Do you remember your name?"

You didn't. The only things you had to remind you of who you were was the cloak around your shoulders and the circlet in your hair. A fine thing, crafted from what Celebrimbor later told you was pure silver.

"No...." You shake your head and wrap your arms tightly around yourself. He can't help but soften. You seem very lost. Celebrimbor is not one to take in lost souls, but there is something about you that draws in rapt fascination, and he is not willing to turn you away.

"You are no threat upon us. Now come. Let me introduce you to the great kingdom of the Elven smiths."

He extended his arm to you hesitantly. You found yourself taking it, staring up at him through a curious gaze as he dove into the histories of Eregion.

Weeks passed. You noticed the longer you were present in Eregion and in the forges that Celebrimbor was very particular about who was allowed to remain in his presence for long. There were his smiths, and his servants, but there were very few who were truly allowed to know him on a more intimate and vulnerable level.

You found yourself wondering why.

On a quieter day in Eregion's forges, you venture out of your room in search of Celebrimbor. Most of the staff is familiar with your presence by now. You've heard the whispers. They wonder how a forsaken Elf has managed to find her way into their King's good graces after such a short amount of time.

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd arrive. Come. I have something to show you." Celebrimbor greeted. You followed him around the edge of the forge to a table in the center of the room where a familiar silver circlet sat. Your eyes widened. You had been wondering where it went. "I was given enough moonstone from a recent discovery to restore your circlet and add a singular gem to the center. What do you think?"

Again the eyes and ears are drawn to the pair of you. You can feel their questions burning through the air: Why her? Why is she in his good graces? What does a forsaken elf have to give to the Lord of Eregion and the Master Smith?

"Might we have a moment in private?" You ask. There is no hesitation in his response. Celebrimbor dismisses his smiths, and in mere minutes, the two of you are alone. He seems perfectly content to be with you where no other eyes can see. "I don't understand. We've only just met, and I don't even know who I am, but here you are reforging and creating something so beautiful for a stranger," You pick up the circlet with delicate fingers, turning it over to gaze at the gem in the center. It's a very delicate design that incorporates much of the Elvish culture within it. "Why?"

There's a beat of silence that you interpret as apprehension. Answering this question requires a certain sense of vulnerability that he so often shies away from.

What he does instead surprises you.

''Because," Celebrimbor's voice drops to a whisper as he settles the delicate circlet in your hair, and you can't help but smile at how gentle it is. "You are.. different."

That's all he leaves you with. You're left to wonder what about you is different. What about you puts him so at ease.

***

Celebrimbor had not told anyone outside of Galadriel, Elrond and The High King what was known of your origins. What little the two of you could come up with about them. All the five of you are aware of is that you hold a great power with magic that brings the skill of healing and persuasion of any life form, and that you fell to Middle Earth within its vast oceans and found yourself destitute mere miles away from Eregion.

"It's almost like your coming was a sign."

Your visions turn out to be correct, much to your horror.

After Gil-Galad and Elrond’s departure, you find yourself lingering in your chambers with your circlet poised in your hands as you internally fight through all the evidence you have lingering in your head. Celebrimbor doesn't know what to make of it, and neither do you.

That turns out not to be your concern once you see him trudging past your bedroom, muttering to himself in Sindarin as he attempts to massage his shoulder with his hand.

"Celebrimbor?" You call, mindful to call quietly so that his smiths and the staff do not hear you. He always hears you. Always has, always will. "Are you alright?"

His aspect says one thing, but his eyes say another. "There is always tension that builds within the muscles and tendons of the body after working vigorously in the forge. I am just stiff. It is not a concern you need to bother yourself with-"

You raise a brow at his veiled attempt to console you. It doesn't work. Glancing over your shoulder, you quickly follow on his heels to his chambers where you slip inside just before he can shut the door.

He freezes. The two of you are alone. Properly alone.

"This is quite.." You falter in search of the right word. "If anyone knew I was in here, it would arouse suspicion. I can tell you're in pain. We both know that you cannot alleviate that on your own." You pause to interject, "Only if you truly want the help. I would be happy to serve."

Realization dawns in his eyes. Neither of you are properly aware of how close you really are to each other, much less the fact that your hand is pressed against his heart. It flutters under your touch.

He's nervous.

Your creased brow softens when Celebrimbor winces again at the turn of his head, and your eyes focus on his neck. "I am in a great amount of pain," He confesses quietly. It's quite a feat for him to be so willing to be vulnerable with you. Especially when you have yet to see him ask for help from anyone else, including Galadriel or Gil-Galad. "And I would be much appreciative of the help."

Celebrimbor would never admit it out loud, but something swelled within him at the sight of your smile as you rushed back to your chambers to gather the oils you had stored there. He had come to care for you a great deal. That was dangerous. There was too much at stake with his House and his past... A past that he would rather never speak aloud for fear of having to truly relive it.

"You'd be more at least if you lie down," You remark softly, laughing as his eyes snap open in alarm. "The oils only work with skin contact. Are you okay with that?"

It takes him a moment to realize what you're doing: You're both asking for his consent, and you're giving him the opportunity to say no. It's just another thing that draws him to you.

You turn away to grant Celebrimbor a modicum of privacy while you prepare yourself and the oils you brought. By the time you turn around, you nearly drop the vials. You should have assumed he'd have scars. That there would be old burns and far more muscle that he could hide under those robes.

The only piece of clothing he was wearing covered very little.

"Celebrimbor," You whisper. He cannot help the shiver that runs down his body when your fingers come into contact with his spine. It has been centuries since he had last allowed himself to be touched, and to be touched in such an intimate and positive way was foreign. "Are you in pain?"

You already know the answer to this question. He lays down on the bed and tucks his hands under his forehead. There's several moments of silence that pass before you hear him murmur, "I have been in pain for quite a long time, nin tinu. There has only been one thing that alleviates it."

The Sindarin that rolls off his tongue rings clear in your head. My star.

"What eases your pain, My Lord?"

Your oiled fingertips, doused in lavender oil, have just made contact with his shoulders when he answers: "You. It has been you from the moment you entered my gates, and it will be you for however long you remain here, if you wish to remain here in Eregion with me."

You mull over his words as your fingers travel his skin. You mark your touch with firm yet gentle presses against the valleys of his back, dragging your fingers across raised scars that arouse much curiosity within you. Celebrimbor melts into the bed beneath you as he allows himself to absorb a touch he had not realized he craved so deeply for an entire lifetime.

"You have introduced me to such a peace since I have been here. A peace that comes from being in the presence of people who truly care about you, of people who truly want the best for you. That's why you have not told anyone of my heritage. That is why you keep me so close to your side. To protect me.” Your ministrations have had their desired effect, because the moment you dig your fingers into where he'd been trying to massage earlier, it elicits a low groan from his chest. "Never has this destitute elf felt such peace as I have learning and living with and from you. I would be honored and privileged to remain in Eregion."

He's thankful in that moment that his face is hidden. Celebrimbor grimaces as tears prick the back of his eyes, blurring the sight of the blankets beneath him. He'd never experienced something as trivial as being loved in such a gentle, genuine manner.

"Dorth... nev na nin."

Again it rang clear as day. You were realizing the longer that Celebrimbor spoke in the Sindarin tongue that you were most definitely familiar with it.

He's asking you to stay with him. Permanently.

"Roll onto your back," You whisper. He complies with ease, showing you a stunning shade of hazel in the eyes that look back at you. "I-"

It's right there on the tip of your tongue as fingers stained with lavender oil linger right at the hair on his temples. You know you have been drawn to him since you arrived. It's not the hesitation in confession, it's in his response.

His lips part of their own accord as you bend your head to press your forehead against his own. You both want to kiss the other, and badly, but this act alone is intimate enough. It is too soon.

"Don't say it. Not yet." His breath fans over your face as he shudders, eyes flickering upward to meet yours through the hair that veils your face. "Just let me..."

Celebrimbor parts your hair to tuck it behind your ear and lifts his head just enough to graze his lips against your cheek. It's barely a kiss, more the ghost of a kiss then anything, but the way it puts your body at such ease speaks more then a real kiss could've.

His heart is pounding when he meets your eyes.

You're laughing when you part. He doesn't know why. What Celebrimbor does know is that the stiffness in his muscles is gone, replaced by an inexplicable warmth he's never quite felt before.

The shade of your eyes has been illuminated by a silver the same color of the jewel in your circlet, which is now glowing from where it sits upon your head.

He'll have to question that later.

"Why are you laughing? It's quite inappropriate to laugh in such a circumstance-"

You press your fingers to his lips. Celebrimbor is blushing so hard you're sure that his cheeks will stay that color for the rest of the night.

"If you wanted to get unclothed in front of me to have me touch you, all you had to do was ask."

[florencemtrash]

The Artificer: Part II - Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Torture, violence, death

✨Based on this ask ✨

Masterlist of Masterlists

“She is my mate.” The male’s eyes flashed with horror and understanding, and that feeling chased him towards his death, “And your High Lord will burn for what he’s done.”

Five months later…

“Where is she?” The Shadowsinger stalked forward, silent as the dead and just as unfeeling.

The Autumn Court warrior at least had the sense to tremble when The Shadowsinger came near. But he kept his red-cracked lips shut, golden eyes shining with hatred. 

“Bastard.” He sneered, spitting on Azriel’s polished boot. 

“I said.” A shadow darted out from his side, grabbing a fistful of matted tawny hair and wrenching it back. His skin was thin, so translucent that Azriel traced the flow of his blood in his purple veins with dead eyes. “Where. Is. She?” Every word was emphasized with a violent jerk.

He’d gone to visit you last week, carrying your favorite chocolates from Velaris and hoping for a far sweeter kiss in return. Instead your workshop had been in ruins. Swords shattered and the fire burnt out. For the first time, the room had been cold and unlit. 

Azriel had only found the pathetic male in front of him, kneeling on the ground and uselessly tugging at the sword which refused to move - Sunseeker. 

Azriel held it now in his hands, the pale, yellow glow sharpening the shadows beneath his eyes and the elegantly cruel cut of his jaw. 

It had been a risk trying to pick up the sword, but the weapon had sung to him and his shadows, calling out for him to wield it instead of the unworthy Autumn Court male. Azriel was no replacement for its real master - he was no replacement for you - but Sunseeker willed it and he obeyed. 

“Is there truly no one else capable of wielding it?” Azriel asked, sitting so close to you that your knees and elbows brushed against one another. He didn’t have the courage to kiss you just yet, but gods did he want to. And with the hours he’d spent looking at and dreaming about your lips, he was certain he had a good idea what you tasted like.

“Her.” You corrected, holding the sword up to the steady stream of sunlight that spilled through the slats in the ceiling. Pressed against the light, the sword appeared almost transparent - as if made of glass. 

Azriel smiled. You liked to name and personify every tool, weapon, and piece of equipment you owned, as if you had a secret third eye that allowed you to see into the lives of inanimate objects. He wanted to believe it was true - it was the only way he could explain the wonders you produced with your bare hands.

“There is one other person capable of such a thing,” You hesitated to tell him, but ultimately finished. “My mate.” 

All at once Azriel’s heart fell into free fall, prepared to crash through the cradle of his bones and into the floor. His face, marvelously, betrayed nothing.

“Your mate.” He stole his gaze away, focusing on a very interesting speck of dust on the counter, “They’re lucky.” He murmured, drawing away. 

You snorted, shaking your head. “Not lucky enough.” You sheathed the blade, returning it to its new place on the wall, “They haven’t found me yet.” 

“Oh.” A flicker of hope filled his chest - dangerous and unwieldy. “Is that… is that something you want? A mate? ” Azriel wondered aloud before his mind could trap the words. He cringed, shaking his head in self-disappointment. 

What a stupid question. Everyone wanted to find their mate. Everyone. He himself had been obsessed with the concept for hundreds of years. He had thought he’d find his mate in Mor, and then Elain, he had even thought he felt something more than friendship for Gwyn. 

But more recently the idea had faded into the recesses of his mind. More recently the worst of his thoughts had fallen silent, and it was all thanks to you.

“Maybe,” You considered it, “Maybe not.” You sighed, sinking back into your seat. You rubbed at a metal coin on the benchtop, feeling the oil gather on its surface and taint your fingers grey, “My parents were mates. They didn’t love each other though. Not really.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.”

You shook your head and shook off his sympathy.

“I don’t know if I want a mate…”

You pulled your chair closer and reached out, delicately beginning to drag your fingertips over the ridges and valleys of Azriel’s scars. His heart stopped when you picked up his hands and gently kissed them, your calloused fingertips rolling over his ruined skin. 

“But there is something I definitely want.” You revealed, looking at him with more feeling than you ever had before. 

You’d been scraping by on lingering touches and reserved smiles and momentary glances that spoke of more than friendship. But it wasn’t enough. It had never been enough, not since the moment he’d walked into your workroom. You felt like a woman starved, deprived of something that you hadn’t even tasted yet. It was a terrible pain to want something you didn’t even understand the nature of. 

Azriel wasn’t everything. He wasn’t the air you needed to breathe. He wasn’t every piece of joy that life could bring. But he was the bright touch of color in the world that made everything that came before seem dull. And you didn’t want to live in greyscale anymore.

Azriel swallowed thickly, his hands instinctively falling to your waist and pulling you into his lap. “Whatever it is you want, Y/n - anything at all - I’ll give it to you.” He whispered reverently, closing his eyes when you pressed your forehead against his, “I swear it on my life.” 

It was such sweet torture feeling you pressed against him with your hands caressing his throat. You smelled like woodsmoke and citrus. Heady, sweet, and clean all at the same time. 

“Just you, Az. I just want you.” 

He couldn’t handle it anymore. He tightened his grip on you, swallowing your little gasp of surprise with his lips. 

Time was molten metal. Cooling, slowing, and warping around your hands as you molded it to your liking, so you could savor this moment for as long as possible.

Little did you know, your mate had found you. And he would find you again. Nothing but the crashing of the stars and the splitting of the earth would keep him from fulfilling this promise.

Azriel’s eyes darkened. 

“Three of you were sent to take Y/n.” Azriel stalked around the male, slipping in and out of eyesight without warning. The male pulled at his chains and the ring of his futile efforts echoed throughout the dungeon. 

“She put up a fight.” Azriel emerged from the male’s left, shooting out an arm so quickly that the pain followed after the fall of blood down his freckled cheeks. 

Azriel cleaned Truth-Teller on his forearm nonchalantly, continuing his ambiguous path. If it weren’t for the hard cruelty in his eyes and the knife in his hands, he would look… normal. As if he were doing the grocery instead of slowly butchering a fae alive. He’d already taken three fingers and four toes. 

The male began to shake. 

“I saw the blood in the shop. It wasn’t yours, and it wasn’t hers.”

Another arm shot out, followed by a scream. The male grappled for an ear that was no longer there, feeling the blood drip down his arms from the stump. 

“I DON’T KNOW!” The male cried out, curling in on himself, “I don’t know.” He repeated miserably.

“What don’t you know?” Azriel asked. His countenance said he was bored, but inside he was barely holding on by a thread. His shadows begged to be released and scattered across all of Prythian until you were returned home. They wanted chaos and pain - anything to distract from your aching absence.

Let us handle this. They hissed. We can take him. We’ll get the information. We’ll get everything. Let us-

Azriel shushed them, and they obeyed, falling to the edges of his consciousness and the edges of his body. 

“What don’t you know?” Azriel leaned forward, some sick, twisted part of him relishing in the way the male flinched. 

“I-I don’t know where she is. I don’t even know why he wanted her. Just some no-name artificer from-”

“Who wanted her?” 

The male paled further until his skin was as pallid as moonlight on lakewater. 

“WHO?!” 

“THE HIGH LORD!” He whimpered, shuffling away from Azriel’s encroaching footsteps. The chains scuffed the ground and then clanged when he reached the end of his length, trailing blood. “Ber-Beron wanted her.”

Azriel stilled, his insides turning cold. 

There were dozens of reasons why Beron might want you as his prisoner. Your talents alone made you worth a thousand men. But if Beron had any awareness of what you meant to him? 

Azriel gritted his teeth. “For what purpose?” He growled.

The male’s dull eyes closed in defeat. He was as good as dead. He could only hope the rumours were true and that the Night Court were not the devils they pretended to be. Then, and only then, might he be offered the option of a violently quick end. 

“He heard rumours of an artificer - a female artificer - capable of crafting weapons that could be bonded to a single wielder. He’s been searching for years now.” He shook his bloodied locks, “We thought…We thought it would be another dead end. Another body to bury. We didn’t think-” He choked on his words, trailing off into silence. 

Azriel crouched down, dragging the Truth-Teller down the male’s face like a sculptor ready to carve a piece of marble down. 

One wrong breath, one flinch, and he’d draw blood. 

“Finish what you were going to say.” His hazel eyes cut deep. 

He swallowed, “We didn’t think… we didn’t think she was anyone important.” 

Azriel’s eyes were swallowed up by shadows until they hardened into two marble stones.

The male held his breath, feeling an oppressive power start to press down on him. Suffocating. Cold. Lethal. Darkness shoved him to the floor, crushing his ribs until they splintered and snapped. 

“That was your mistake,” Azriel growled, “She is someone important. More important than you will ever be.” With a flash of blue and black, he buried Truth-Teller into the male’s chest all the way down to the hilt. 

A shock of surprise and pain flooded the male’s face, and before the expression could dissipate, Azriel leaned in close enough to smell the blood pooling on his tongue and dripping down his chin.

“She is my mate.” The male’s eyes flashed with horror and understanding, and that feeling chased him towards his death, “And your High Lord will burn for what he’s done.”

___________

His shadows roiled in frustration, climbing up his legs and arms like fire greedily chasing after oxygen. They weren’t happy about being denied a kill, and every moment Azriel kept them on a leash, the more irritable they became. Their devotion to you was second only to Azriel. Even then, they would hesitate to disappoint you, even if it meant going against their master. 

Soon. He promised them. Soon.

Azriel’s silhouette was carved out of the fabric of the night sky, shadows curling around his arms and wings as he stayed low, pooling his power to keep them all hidden. Cassian and Eris lay on the ground beside him, arms and wings tucked in close. 

Autumn lay like a sleeping giant all around them, sighing with a breath that had mist floating up from slick, damp earth covered in leaves. Azriel was grateful for the weather, the rain disguised the curling of their breath in the air and masked their footsteps when they crossed over from Spring. Night and mist were a Shadowsinger’s dream. 

The ground rose steadily in front of them, trees only daring to inch halfway up the hill as if they too could taste the magic in the air. All the trees - save for the godstree that marked the crest of the hill and snaked its thundering hand towards the sky in a knobby, clenched fist. 

Icaryon Hill was one of Autumn’s most highly guarded secrets, and like the Forest House, it hid all its treasures and prisoners underground. 

Azriel leaned down, pressing his ear to the ground and straining his ears for anything. Anything at all. 

Eris smirked at him, reveling in the way Azriel bristled and bared his teeth. He would never let the Shadowsinger forget how he’d become desperate enough to swallow his pride and ask him for help.  

Cassian looked equally displeased at the Lordling’s presence. “I hope your information isn’t as useless as the rest of you.” 

“Careful who you call useless, Bastard,” Eris drawled, choosing his words very carefully, “Or else I might have to leave you and your pretty little artificer for the dogs.”

Cassian had to stop himself from wringing his pale, slender neck, but Azriel - for once in his life - didn’t have that much self control. 

He shot forward, wrapping one scarred hand around Eris’s throat and slamming his head back into the ground, pushing down until he sank six inches into the damp soil. 

Eris’s eyes flashed with something like triumph and curiosity. Nevermind that the Shadowsinger was currently crushing his ribs with his knee, or that Truth Teller was starting to leave a thin line of blood on his neck. 

Azriel hated him, and the piece he hated most was that even when Eris was down, he had a way of making himself out to be the biggest person in the room. 

“Az, that’s enough,” Cassian hissed. His eyes kept swiveling back up to the hill, “Let him go.” 

Eris had warned them there would be a narrow window of time between the changing of the guards. The belly of Icaryon Hill was so expertly warded that no one - not even the High Lord - was capable of winnowing in. At some unknown time three guards would slip out and three guards would slip in, all winnowing to the gate hidden in the base of the godstree. One - and only one - of the males would have the key necessary to enter and exit and they’d have to unlock the gate in twenty seconds or risk triggering an alarm. If any blood was spilled on the earth, internal alarms within the Forest House would trigger the arrival of a squadron of gorgons capable of turning flesh to rock with a single touch. 

That meant in order to evade the wards they’d have to winnow up the hill, kill six highly-trained males without bloodshed, and find the key in less than twenty seconds if they wanted even the smallest chance of getting you out. 

Cassian knew this and it made his stomach turn. 

Eris knew this and it made him cocky. 

“Interesting.” Eris said, tilting his head with a smug smile on his face, “The Artificer, huh? Was that doe-eyed seer not enough for you?” 

Azriel began to heave with rage, eyes turning pure black. It was enough to scare even Cas. Azriel had been on edge for weeks since you’d gone missing, but Cass had never seen him so… so unhinged. 

Azriel had traded in his icy rage for a darker, more visceral variety capable of driving him to madness.

And Eris was not making things better.

He continued to goad him, “Maybe she ran away? I wouldn’t blame her.” 

“Eris, shut the fuck up.” Cassian growled, “When are the guards changing?” 

Eris ignored him, concentrating on the Shadowsinger. Azriel may have been the one to approach him for help, but that didn’t mean he was going to waste an opportunity to advance his own agenda. 

It was funny. Everyone said The Shadowsinger was near unreadable - cold as a statue and as unfeeling as steel. But deep down, Eris knew he was still the same little Illyrian bastard that had been shoved into a cellar and convinced he didn’t matter. And more than making him insecure or thoughtful, it had made him angry. 

Eris switched tactics, focusing on you instead, “Maybe, when this is all said and done, your precious whore will run away too.” Azriel stilled, shadows pouring off of him to the ground where they turned into claws and sank in deep, “And just maybe, I’ll be there to fuck her the way she likes. I’d pay her good money too.” 

“Eris!” Cassian’s warning came too late. Azriel raised his arm, Truth Teller glinting in the darkness.

Something in the earth shifted, thin rays of light spilling out of the gate atop the hill. 

Eris smiled. 

Just on time.

The guards were changing.

“Fuck!” Cassian groaned, grabbing at his swords but not daring to unsheath them. 

Azriel was roiling with panic and rage, every muscle in his body feeling ready to split in two. And Eris… Eris was smiling. 

“Go on Shadowsinger.” He said, pointing to the hill, “Tick tock.” 

Azriel clawed the front of his shirt, hauling him to his feet at the same time he clutched Cassian’s arm hard enough to bruise. They winnowed up to the gate in a whirlwind of death and shadow. 

Six guards. 15 seconds.

Eris slammed his fist into two of the males’ throats, cutting off their roars of alarm. Two swift kicks to their knees and they exploded out with a sickening snap. Sharp cracks followed and they fell to the ground, their necks sticking out at a harsh angle. 

Four.

Eris dropped to his knees, ripping at amour in search of the key. 

Cassian rolled to the ground, narrowly missing the downward swing of a sword that buried itself in the ground. He bounced onto his feet, as lithe and limber as a fae a quarter of his size. He grabbed a fistful of blood-red hair, swiftly bringing the other elbow down. He made perfect contact at the base of the skull, severing the connection between the spinal cord and the brain. 

Three.

This was taking too long. They would never make it in time. 

But… but how was it still so quiet? Cassian dared to look up from his search for the key and his blood ran cold. 

Azriel…

Azriel was death and decay given form. The moment they reached the gate, for the first time in his life, he relinquished full control of his shadows. 

They swarmed around him until he was nothing more than a dark, blurry cloud of destruction. He grabbed the male closest to him, digging his hands into his throat and registering the horror in his eyes before shadows poured into his eyes, mouth, nose, ears. They flooded every sense, screaming in Azriel’s ears of a power that he had never been desperate or angry enough to unleash… until now. 

The shadows filled the male’s body, wrecking bones and ripping apart tendons with a force that transformed them into razor sharp talons. The male gurgled, body jerking around in pain. Azriel finished him off by snapping his neck with a clean, sharp jerk. The body fell to the ground with a hollow thud.

Two. 

The remaining guards similarly dropped to their knees, empty eyes and hands left to ghost over their throats before they fell forward. Dead.

Shadows leaked out of their eyes and mouth, slipping over their cooling bodies like the rain that pitter pattered against their backs. But no blood. Not even a drop.

One tendril of night slid up Azriel’s leg and washed over his hands, depositing a glittering bronze key that burned with warmth. 

He should have felt more. More surprise and some semblance of disgust at what he’d just done. What he’d been capable of. But those feelings remained hidden, sullen and silent behind walls of obsidian willpower and adamant. 

Cassian and Eris stared at him, wasting a few precious seconds to gape at the littering of bodies around them, raindrops pattering onto their backs and slowly absorbing into leather and skin. 

Cassian swallowed, daring to break the silence, “I never knew you could do that.” He admitted blandly. Cassian wasn’t afraid of his brother - he never could be. He’d survived too many battles by his side to ever fear being on the wrong end of his blade… but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be unnerved by the powers that thrived within him, and how little anyone knew about them. 

“Neither did I,” Azriel said without emotion, closing his fist around the key. “Let’s go.”

He stalked to the gate where it hummed in the ground like a dropped coin, fluttering with life, beckoning him to enter. 

Just a little longer, Y/n. I’m coming.

He used the key and the gate opened.

You crouched in the darkness, cradling your ruined hands and trying not to cry. 

The first few weeks Beron had let you out of your cell during the day, bringing you to the forge hidden beneath the hill so you could set about building him a weapon of his own. You’d leaned into his desires, working the metal until it sang a song of promise to the cruel High Lord. 

He wanted power, and you’d promised it to him, proving your worth long enough for Azriel to come find you. But it had been almost two months, Azriel was nowhere to be found, and Beron was losing patience. 

He traded empty compliments for threats, and when those failed to do anything, he turned to outright cruelty. Just this morning, he’d had one of his men whip your hands until they bled. Then, as a personal touch, he’d torn your shirt to pieces and trailed his fingers down your back. His touch had been light. You could’ve mistaken them for the kisses of a lover if it weren’t for the fact that he’d set the tips of his fingers on fire so they burned the whole way down. 

They smarted and burned, the pain seeping in now that the shock was ebbing away.

“He’s coming. He’s coming.” You murmured to yourself, curling in on yourself with your arms pressed close to your exposed chest. “Just stay strong. Stay strong.” 

“He’s not coming for you, dear.” A phantom hand, cold and bony as death, caressed your back. You looked up, eyes shining like two shards of glass in the darkness. 

The High Lord was as handsome as he was deadly, the smooth and elegant planes of his face and his honey-sweet voice in stark contrast to the light of his eyes - or rather lack thereof. 

They held no warmth, no pity, no fear. 

“He’s not coming for you.” He repeated.

“Liar.”

He clicked his tongue in disappointment, shaking his head. His blood-red robes trailed along the grate of your prison cell, blocking out the meager light that trickled down. The gold-trim embroidery winked deceptively, flashing sultry looks of wealth and opulence in your direction. 

Your stomach growled painfully and you wrapped yourself up as best you could. You’d spent most of your life time by the forge. Cold was not a familiar experience. 

“I don’t know what that Illyrian bastard, Azriel, promised you. Wealth. Prestige. Love.” 

You growled, kicking the wall hard enough for a shower of dirt to rain down on your head. You tried not to flinch when debris landed on sensitive skin, “Keep his name out of your mouth.”

Beron smirked, amused, “So much anger. So much defensiveness for a male who won’t care about you the next time a pretty female with doe eyes wanders into his path.” 

You bared your teeth at him. 

“Ahhhhh,” he clicked his tongue happily, “So perhaps you’re already aware he holds a certain reputation. Pity.” There was another swoosh of his velvet robes, “I’m promising you safety, enough gold and silks to make an empress jealous, and in return I just ask for you to do what you’ve always done.” He held up his hands, “I don’t understand where the difficulty lies”

“In return you’d want to make me your bitch.” You spit out, “To give you the tools to kill whomever you pleased.”

“I already have the tools to kill whomever I please.”

“No. No you don’t.” He narrowed his eyes in displeasure. You limped forward, holding your hands close to your chest. Your body may have been weak, but your heart and your mind were still strong. Not even Beron was capable of taking that from you. You looked up at the High Lord unflinchingly, “When Azriel comes for me - and he will - I’ll ask him for your head on a pike.” 

Beron sneered, “If he and his half-breed Lord decide you’re worth the trouble, I’ll kill your little Shadowsinger first and reduce him to ash.”

You set your jaw, refusing to look away as the High Lord turned on his heels and left the room. Only then did you sink to your knees exhausted and breathed in the scent of damp, rotting earth.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Taglist: @dr4g0ngirl @glitterypirateduck @i-am-infinite @brujitafantomatico @woodland-mist @coureurs-de-bois9 @aetherl0l @gorlillaglue25 @onlyangellh

[katyspersonal]

hey sorry i know you get a lot of asks but i really wanted to know if you think midra and shabriri could be related by blood? i am not sure who else to ask.

Awhhh it isn't just this, it is also that I am stuck on my phone and only got so many pictures here, when I prefer to answer asks with screenshots spam! XD But this question doesn't offer very much to bounce off of from what the source material offers so time to use my imagination..? 🤔

I did an analysis of Frenzied Flame's and Three Fingers' "timeline" in this ( x ) post, but the thing is! Previously those afflicted by Frenzied Flame had to contact the Three Fingers and had to be grasped by them directly, not only if they wanted to be a Lord, whereas the "become too sad and you will get Frenzied Flame" disease is stated to start FROM Shabriri! Even when eyeballs afflicted by it across Lands Between carry his name now:

^ Vyke's one is unique in this case, because he WAS grabbed by the Three Fingers! Meanwhile, as for the Shadow Realm:

So, in case of Shabriri's relation, I believe he'd have to be of younger generation than Midra and his servants! I also think this because Three Fingers are imprisoned under Leyendell. In fact, BURIED there!

(Tomb of an ancient god line) Also, there are no Winter Lanterns (the ER edition I mean xD) or wandering Aging Untoucheable that apparently are heralds of big Frenzy Nuke that collect the frenzied eyeballs in the Lands Between where Frenzied Flame is! It is also a pointer towards Three Fingers having been weakened/"killed" since the time Midra himself was grabbed by them!

My idea is that whereas Three Fingers are called readerless, technically Shabriri was the one and only "reader" for them! Functionally he is comparable with Gowry more than with Enia, but I have the mental image of him having the glimpse at these fingerprints desperately trying to get out, and deciding that it was a good idea to bring about what they wanted rather than personal pain/revenge or some grand idea of ending all suffering. (As much as I LOVE the joke that Allant and Shabriri are depressed and manic side of the same concept hdgfjfhfjgdf)

^ The crime of slander he got punished for WAS accusing Nomads of worshiping the Frenzied Flame, and judging from his expression he knew it wasn't the end 🌛 That's why I think he knew what he was doing all along, playing with Marika's fear of fire because no way any of that shit gets anywhere near her precious Erdtree *looks at Fire Monks incantations repeatedly stating Fire of Giants was enemy for GO it could burn the Erdtree* *looks at her being scared of Messmer's flame*

So, if we say he is a later relative of Midra, there is still the important factor that he inflicted Frenzied Flame on himself rather than was already infected by it! If we say he had a natural affinity to "listen" to Three Fingers because of being born by someone in Midra's Manse who was infected, that'd be direct relation! I do think that the torch Nanaya is cradling IS that of hers and Midra's son, so let's say they had another child who they yeeted out of their place for hopeful adoption so Inquisitors don't kill them or at least they have a better life 🤔 Either that child then would be ancestor of Shabriri, or Shabriri himself! He could have still had a natural hunch, or be vaguely aware that his ancestors were isolated and perished by Frenzied Flame and got curious to learn what it WAS! Maybe that's why he went digging into the tomb, rather than just found it?

Personally, I think emotionally it works better if Midra and Nanaya only had one child, who failed to become a Lord! But as I was typing this response, the idea of them getting (another) child outta here for better life started to look fun x) Coincidentally, 1) I draw Shabriri's original body with black hair that Nanaya has and 2) I was discussing the similar "dooming self by getting curious about heritage your ancestors SAVED you from" trope recently about Beatrice from DS1 vfhgfhh It looks like I can't escape this trope xdd

^ I also can offer an idea of collateral/distant relation, since devs made darn sure you can see Midra's Manse used to have the same flowers as Shaman's Village! Midra's servants, who were Hornsent unlike him, were hunted by Hornsent Inquisitors as "heretics", and tolerating all that WAS what brought Midra and his people to Frenzied Flame! They probably bullied fellow Hornsent exactly for serving the shamans (or closely related people) as nobles when by their understanding shamans were unworthy of living!

I insist that Dominula Celebrants are descendants of surviving shamans (here ( x ) are more justifications for that), so, say, Midra's relatives from there escaped, and Shabriri was amongst their descendants! + yeeted to live in another place because apparently no shamans not celebrants keep males around jfggvbgh

Latter one would imply a very long generational gap though! However, this idea might have given more insight on why Shabriri's word had a weight to begin with! The interesting detail is, developers edited out the part about him having been a noble! It was in the original unpatched version, then patched out:

And for now, the mention of him being a noble is only saved in Shabriri's Woe version as one of keepsakes we choose at the start of the game.. but that is only in localization! The Japanese original DID patch it out as well!

Fuckin sneaky patching out Nameless Moon Presence flashback hfgyygjg And before, I didn't second-guess it! If his word mattered so much as to people to believe his slander about something so crucial for the fate of the Erdtree, he had to hold an important position anyways! But after the DLC I start to question whether instead, he was amongst the people Marika held dear due to sentimentality 🤔 Especially much earlier in the timeline. Maybe she was slightly more willing to trust what little was left of her folks than anyone else! She might have even been aware of what happened with Midra's Manse if he was connected with the shamans (or just shaman but not living in the village as a male), let alone the possibility of sealing Three Fingers herself, so the "not this shit again" effect worked very well!

___________________

In the conclusion, I think the relation is possible! I AM weak for "consider not being so curious about (bad) fate of your ancestors because nothing good will come of it" trope it seems hfgthvgg It could even solve the weirdness of editing out his noble status! I am still giving him pretty clothes tho

[alfgifu]

Fic analysis 8. Incandescent 

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47237317

Archive warnings: Major Character Death

Word count: 4,413

Chapters: 1

First posted: 17th May 2023

Summary: 

Slowly, against the glutinous weight, Cliopher swallowed. This was not a dream. This was magic. This was - what he had been expecting, all along.

“Cliopher sayo Mdang, Secretary to the Offices of the Lords of State, Secretary to Artorin Damara, so-called Hands of the Emperor. You have broken the great taboo. You are summoned to account. Come with us.”

How and why this came about

The idea popped into my head during a discord chat.

I remember reading something by an author - Neil Gaiman I think - about the first time they read a story which ended badly for the narrator. About the realisation that this was a thing an author could do. And I remember myself reading a book when I was a teenager in which the good guys lose, and finding that similarly mind bending.

So, I thought, what if…?

And once the thought was there it was compelling. Cliopher is incredibly focused and holds his own life lightly against his goals. He expected to be executed for many things, including (at the start of HOTE) for inviting the emperor on holiday. If it happened quickly and secretly and he judged the politics intractable, he would just go with it.

I dropped a couple of paras into the discord channel and then went to take the kids to their swimming lessons and frantically tapped out the rest in the pool cafe.

When I posted it that evening someone replied, in tones of (mock, I hope) reproach, that I had recently said I was cuddly. I had neglected to mention (possibly didn’t even know at the time) that I was also a peddler of deep pits of despair.

What worked and what didn’t

Writing fast and in the flow and directly from the feels worked really well for pace and grip. It was less good for my control of my impulse to scatter dashes like pixie dust in every paragraph. I’ve been going back and forth on formatting for some of these things but in general I feel like there’s something in here about the text standing for itself and trying to use all punctuation more sparingly.

It worked really well to get into Cliopher’s head and follow his thoughts. Some of the worldbuilding that I threw in here on the fly came in handy in several other stories (the idea that the Ouranatha had their own enforcers who had shadow masks, for example, and the general concept of magic feeling like compressed air to someone who is magic-null).

I did start sketching out a sequel to this which is still there on my list of possible things to come back to, covering his Radiancy’s reaction from the pov of Cliopher’s deputy Kiri.

What I learned from writing it

I find it incredibly easy and satisfying to write very dark things. It’s entirely absorbing, it drives me forward, I really really like working out frustration and aggression and so on by inflicting horrors on fictional characters.

I was touched and surprised when it immediately sparked a ‘fix-it’ story where the emperor intervenes just in time to keep Cliopher alive. There’s a special joy in writing something that brings out a story from someone else, even if (perhaps especially if) they’re writing it directly to reverse what you’ve done. It reminds me of doodle games where each person tries to alternately threaten or rescue their little stick figure in what they add to the drawing.

Nevertheless, I hadn’t appreciated at first that others might find this more distressing than satisfying. I learned that readers could be affected strongly by this kind of punchy story and that the reactions would (entirely understandably) vary. Everyone was incredibly lovely about it but it definitely brought home the value of tags and warnings.

At the same time other authors in the fandom had been independently exploring similar themes and other ‘crimes’ fics were posted soon after. This coincided and may have inspired a rising tide of enthusiasm and creativity in general. The summer of 2023 saw an absolute flood of fic land on the Nine Worlds AO3 page.

[spockandawe]

Okay! I'm rapidly reaching the point of needing some creative self-care, or I'm going to crash even more viciously than I'm already starting to. Bad things: work is about to be SO fucking intense for the rest of the month, and while my home is unpacked, it is Comically unorganized. Good things: being unable to walk to work leaves me with more free time and less exhaustion per day, and I've recently refreshed myself on what supplies i have. I also am all set to start figuring out how to paint a house as soon as I can test my samples and clear a room. This will scratch the novelty itch, so i can be responsible and avoid buying new things. But i also can't lose focus on the organizing or I'll Adjust and never finish 😂

Let me see

Crochet in general: crochet is what I've been patching the mounting anxiety with, and i DO want to use up yarn, but it's hard on my wrist already, I can't afford to get too deep.

Baby blanket: almost done, could probably finish tomorrow in meetings, but because it was pretty bland, it won't be that fulfilling

Big Boi blanket: god, it's been years, I want to finish, but i WILL need to buy some yarn

Rocky horror lips: tedious single crochet, fun concept, but need to avoid wrist fuckery

Cross-stitch starscream: yes! I want to do this!! But this will be the opposite of quick gratification

Art........?: ALSO YES, goddammit, i want to figure out the stupid tablet! But good LORD, it's hard to decide what to do. And I'm in one of those phases where I'm not FAST, and I'm not vibing with what i make. The solution is just to draw more often, i know. But fuck.

Hc/mq: had a conceptual breakthrough, maybe? But i still don't know how it will proceed, so idk whether to commit the energy

Bwx/xl: this is half done already, AND outlined, I don't know why I can't do it. If i make myself, maybe i can find my groove

Lqg fic: it'll be long and intimidating 😭

Bingge lite: it's been 84 years...... But i really really really really love it and want to be able to share it. But the scope will be Horrendous, it may need percolation and warmer weather

Raksura core: i, uh, um 🫥 (i want to finish it! I really do! I can't focus worth SHIT)

Quilting: that would be good! Use up stuff! I want to be better! But god, the PREP WORK

Addendum: can i think of a fandom quilt i could pull off? Even if it was. Idk. Bingqiu colors. That might help me focus. But i also need to use up my stash :T

Long furby: would be good. I've had the materials for-fucking-ever

Pyrography: ooh, maybe. Especially if I can find art i dont have to compose. But if i set off the smoke alarm while it's this gross outside ill Die

BOOKS: heavy lifts and decision paralysis all around. Could be star wars (long, not for me, have to match existing volume), cnovel (several wips, but each is so much work to format, good god), ofic (not for me, also have to revamp formatting), ilcbt latest edition (needs the luxury treatment, which requires brain), pof latest edition (needs the luxury treatment, which requires brain), and all of the most appealing projects need a lot of materials, and I'm still in debt, lmao

Peerless fic: I've had the concept locked down for years, but i need to refresh on more of their late-stage characterization before feeling confident

Fourteenth year of chenghua fic: i also have the concept locked down! But i want to see the final evolution of wang zhi's relationship to the other two first

2ha fic: I ALSO HAVE THE CONCEPT LOCKED DOWN. but i still haven't...... finisheddddddddd, and this is going to need to be a fairly lengthy fic to wrangle xue meng in a believable way

[piqueconcentration]

Jitterbug Perfume - Immortality, Sex, and Discomfort

Originally posted January 31, 2024

As is apparently my preferred introduction: It has been quite a while since I have written anything on my computer, but as generally happens after I manage to read or, dare I say it, complete an actual, tangible book, I now am doing so. I type this knowing that Google docs is using my writing to train adolescent artificial intelligentsia, and theoretically I could make the switch to another software, but as is the case with Adobe, the monopoly’s Matrix-style robotic belly-button parasite keeps a firm hold on my psyche, with an extra bonding agent in the form of a powerful distaste for the effort that it would take to learn an entirely foreign user interface, just to marginally weaken the hold that Google has upon my intellectual property, when they are already in possession of basically all of my identifying information. They could probably construct an AI that would perfectly replicate my online presence, idiosyncrasies and ego included, and the only thing that they would have to do at this point to make convincing blog posts from my perspective is post them about as regularly as an agave flowers. If anything, if this particular post goes up on the internet at all, maybe that’s a red flag- I would have to be a mind outside of my own in order to return to a creative project even after my attention span’s honeymoon.

Whatever. I finished a book, and now I am compelled to write. Actually, I finished two books. The first was Brandon Sanderson’s Mistborn, the first of the Mistborn trilogy, one that i meant to read way back in high school because some youtuber that I liked at the time had recommended it for its magic system- magic systems, as a concept, I would continue to grow increasingly interested in; the books would remain untouched on my shelf. The second was lent to me by one of my housemates, though I can’t remember the conversation that led to that happening- Jitterbug Perfume by Tom Robbins.

Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, the declaration about me being compelled to write after reading books is only true in the barest sense. Yes, I do feel an urge to write after being exposed to writing that I like, but by no means does that mean that I actually end up, or even begin for that matter, writing anything at all! Also, that same urge doesn’t just apply to writing. I consume manga at a frightening pace, and though by saying this it may imply the opposite sentiment: I do not say that in order to brag- the speed at which I go through webcomics and manga alike is, frankly, detrimental to my experience of the media in question, as I end up retaining almost nothing of what I have had my head immersed in so much that my neck develops knots that hold it at a painful right angle to my torso. I don’t really stop and breathe in the images that the mangaka probably spent hours and hours drawing; if anything, I mostly pay attention to the words written on the page which, in turn, presents a palpable irony in that the reason I have felt unable to read traditional books in recent years is that my attention span balks at walls of text! 

Hey, authors! I won’t read your book even though I’d probably like it, because it doesn’t have any pictures in it! Show me your work once you’ve learned to draw!

Oh, holy shit the irony goes even deeper. Even though I feel that creative urge when I read manga, all of my attempts at making comics or even working to be skilled enough at drawing to feel confident in my capacity to do so are stopped in their tracks by the thus far insurmountable obstacle of not being able or willing to pay attention to the thing that I’m drawing for long enough to finish anything. Good lord. 

______________________________________________________________

Anyway, the way Jitterbug Perfume was written really affected me. I still can’t tell if I liked it very much (the writing style), but to be fair, I really loved the way George Elliot’s Middlemarch was written, but I have been thus far unable to finish that book by virtue of its inexhaustibly prim density; therefore I suppose that the content of a book and its writing style tend to stay fairly separate considering my enjoyment, and the former aspect seems to have a stronger influence on whether or not I actually manage to make it to the back cover.

In this case, the content was excellent. Jitterbug Perfume was described to me as being about immortality, smell, sex, and beets, and I can’t honestly think of a better way to describe it. It’s a jigsaw puzzle of a story, if all of the pieces on the table were from different moments in time, and at the end, when the pieces fit, you are left with a complete picture that somehow shows an unbelievably cohesive, intimately personal tale, despite the massive scope, time-wise (there are very important events that take place before the advent of Christianity, and plot points of similar influence continue to happen all the way up until modern day).

Now that I think about it, the quality of maintaining a story’s characters and relationships, and especially keeping them as tantamount to the direction and tone of the piece, even when the scope of the story has expanded to include over two thousand years of history, even if that history is embellished upon or entirely invented, is an incredible achievement, and one that I think deserves unending praise. So frequently I find myself put off of pieces of media when, though I once enjoyed them for their characters’ dynamics or their dialogue or their writing styles, those aspects eventually were beaten out of the story by the growing scale of the events taking place. It becomes very difficult for me to continue to be invested in the little things that I like, and for that matter, for the author to continue stipulating on those little things’ presence, when suddenly the fate of the world is at stake, or the consequences of failure become so dire that there is no longer room in the work for mirth. 

Jitterbug does this by keeping the story focused almost entirely upon a static set of characters. In all honesty, I do tend to find it a bit grating when a book throws pretty much all of the people that will be introduced over the duration at me all at once, and I also tend to get annoyed when a book switches perspectives back and forth frequently, as it is inevitable that I will be more interested in one of the followed points of view above all of the others (or vice versa, that one of the points of view is especially dull). Let it be known, though generally the book in question pays most attention to the characters that happen to be changing the most, it does do this.

The upside, though, is that even as the setting around the characters morphs drastically with all the changes associated with the world and culture since literally the year 1, the reader is still anchored in the everyday realities of the main characters. The tone of the story stays heavily reliant on each of their emotional states and their changing dynamics. The plot directly follows in the tracks of the characters’ desires and aspirations. As opposed to them being “interesting” people to be around in situations that they have no agency in, they are the driving force of the plot itself, and in this way the book can get away with a mind-boggling amount of in-universe time passing without it ever detaching the reader from the story, or impeding their willingness to care.

That feeling of detachment is exactly the sentiment behind me dropping To Your Eternity by Yoshitoki Oima, a manga that also tackles the concept of immortality, but in a way that I eventually found extraordinarily grating.

Some pieces of media, especially if they continue for a really long time, and even more especially if they are about characters that live much longer than a normal human lifespan, end up bestowing upon these characters a very particularly draining character arc: eventually becoming the most fucking boring people ever. This isn’t really, I don’t think, a product of repetition of personality beats -One Piece, for example, has a main cast that are each fairly one-note, but to me they remain compelling because of the unrelenting new situations, characters, and settings that they rotate through- rather, a common sentiment on the concept of immortality is that a person who is subjected to it will elect that it is a much smarter thing to avoid attachments and emotions as a way of staving off the pain of repeated loss. Combine that with the formula of introducing a bunch of new people, spending a lot of time with them, and then killing them off and meditating on how pointless it all was, and you will have on one hand: a philosophically engaging story about life’s purpose and value; and on the other: one that I will not be reading anymore. Fuck you.

Each time skip in To Your Eternity, my dejection would build, and even though I did enjoy the concepts therein quite a bit, I eventually quit reading when there was a time skip that jumped over so many years that the archaic setting I had been enjoying was gone, along with any characters aside from the protagonist that I may have liked, and I no longer had the will to continue.

Anyway, the point is that Jitterbug Perfume deftly avoids this problem by holding the human experience as an inalienable thru-line. Longer-lived characters don’t become harder to identify with- if anything they become more dear to the reader, as the sentiments that are the crux of their longevity are easily identified with. Their goals, whether they are aware of it or not, are the preservation of emotion and connection- things that the reader can presumably empathize with quite well.

The writing style I would describe as “irreverently confident and connotatively confusing.” The majority of the instances in which Robbins describes anything in this book are unrelentingly riddled with descriptors of every kind, and often of opposing kinds- many sentences use several adjectives to describe a single thing, and the adjectives often carry wildly different connotations. A single line may depict something as both gorgeous and disgusting, just by virtue of the words chosen. Jitterbug is more than willing to yank the reader back and forth like this, and the literary whiplash results in this sort of all-encompassing feeling of mild discomfort. The prose itself is captivating, but in less of the fashion of a ballet performance and more so like a lapdance that really walks the line between attractive and nauseating.

Regardless of whether or not I enjoy the style personally (I still can’t really tell, but I’m leaning toward the favorable side), it strikes me as being exactly what the author wanted. Off-putting, certainly, but one hundred percent intentional. A significant portion of the book’s subject matter consists of topics and sentiments that are at most culturally taboo, and at least playing fast and loose with modern morals and sentiments, especially when it comes to sex. This book, which I really enjoyed, which made me smile and frown and think and even write… will not shut the fuck up about sex.

Every character is steeped in it. Every metaphor is constructed with it. I feel like I could purchase a brand new copy of this fucking thing and its pages would already be stuck together. To get a sense of my feelings (historically) about this- one of my favorite quotes of a friend of mine is from when they asked me: “Hey [my name], would you rather have sex or be stabbed with a knife?”

My point about the “motion sickness” writing style being that it works in favor of the subject matter. The fact that the whole novel is written in a way that makes the reader a little nauseous, figuratively, creates a tone that is much more conducive to, well, not necessarily the intimate discussion of what our society views as crossing lines in the social sand or what should or should not be allowed, but rather the regular enunciation of kind of uncomfortable topics. Combined with a fairly unconcerned and playful tone, the book is able to deftly accept the discomfort that arises from a journey that holds sex as a central theme while progressing through several different settings -cultural and chronological- all with differing views and judgements about a traditionally awkward topic.

Anyway, I liked the book. There is a sentence in there that goes: “Like jugged bees, the funeral orations droned on (134).”

If you think you can make it past all of the disconcertingly flowery (ha, ha.) descriptions of bodily fluids for long enough to make it to that absolute banger of a quote, this may be one to check out.

[reinabeestudio]

The Fairytale Special (WH AU)

Last week or so I made a document explaining about that Welcome Home AU of mine you have seen me post from time to time (The Fairytale Special). It even explains why it's got such a goddamn long name!!

I updated it recently, so you can read it there (google docs)

Or you can read it here! Under the cut! (kinda long tho)

(^^^^ this was drawn in a magma with other people)

Summary

Sort of a "falling in love with your bodyguard" story, but set in a more fairytale-ish setting? This AU is rather simple compared to others. It doesn't have a well-written, complex concept you may have seen from other artists.

By the way the title, The Fairytale Special, isn’t meant to be pretentious (I swear my ego isn’t that big): it’s not special, it’s a special! It’s meant to be seen kinda like a TV special for Welcome Home! Everyone is still The Silly(™) deep down.

Whaddahell this is self-insert

Yes, I guess it is! The main topic is Wally Darling/The Guard (nickname for my sona in this AU lol). There's also a bit of Howdy Pillar/Eden Mawnten (my Welcome Home OC)

But if you know me, y’know romance is not all there is! I just self-indulged a bit, but I try to make this AU approachable to anyone that might be interested! (Fr I don’t bite)

Ok but what’s the actual goddamn story!!!!!!

Set in a Home that it’s divided in Houses (yes, they’re called the Houses of Home).

There's a celebration for the ruler of a neighbouring kingdom, Queen Eden and Lord Pillar’s engagement in the caterpillar’s land. Obviously everyone has been invited— including Lord Darling! After learning that the most powerful leader in Home would attend their celebration alone, Queen Eden decides to send her personal escort to keep Lord Darling safe: The Guard.

Imagine a road movie but there are horses instead (?)

What else?

I guess I can share some bits of trivia (。・∀・)ノ

The Houses are named after gemstones! Wally’s is called House of Sapphire :]

Some others are House of Spinel (Julie) and House of Chalcedone (Howdy)

Eden’s kingdom is an island!

Home is a mansion in this Special. It even has its own personal library (Wally likes to use it. He’s fallen asleep there more than once)

It was called The Fantasy Special at first, but there aren’t really that many fantasy elements so I changed it. Sometimes I keep calling it that on accident tho

I keep making Wally a bit of a bookworm on accident. Eager to learn?

Tbh I’m still figuring some stuff out, but let it be known not all the classic neighbors (Welcome Home cast) are House leaders

The Special is in written form (so like, a fic). I’ll share it on my personal website only. Yeah, not even gonna post it here (unless I change my mind). Sorry, too nervous lol

I use 🍎👑 when I talk about Wally/Neighbor (Wally/Guard in this case). But sometimes I use 🔖🍎 when I talk about Lord Darling himself (that’s a bookmark emoji!)

Neat I guess, anything more to say?

Ah, I guess we gotta talk boundaries now. I’m aware that my AU isn’t known, but better safe than sorry. It seems mandatory to be clear when it comes to these in this community! So much bitterness lately… let’s work to put it behind. That said, worry not.

Interactions! Feel free to draw your OC in this AU— just remember to credit me :]

If you make fanart/write/etc for it you are obligated by law to tell me (@ me!)

If you wanna do self-insert with this Special, go and be free my friend. True that there are confirmed(?) pairs in this case, but I’m aware how fun these can be! I won’t deny you of that harmless fun

That said, if you don’t like self-shipping and/or prefer canonxcanon, I… don’t think you’ll have a good time with this? Besides the fact that it’s literally a self-insert AU, this Special is mostly for the oc/canon enjoyers out there (platonic, romantic or anything else)

I don’t think this AU has horror elements? But feel free to do these if you wish. Just remember to TW properly!

Regarding NSFW (of the explicit kind, not horror): as long as you are an adult and tag it properly with the official tag (#/PlayfellowXXX), I’m fine with it! Or you can send it to me directly if you want

⚠ However, I don't want any of that weirdo shit near me (inc3st, p3dophilia, wallyc3st/applec3st, you know what I mean).

Can I leave now

Before you go: Lord Darling has a Character AI! (No one asked for it but I made it anyway)

If you talk to him, I’d love to be see it. Mostly outta curiosity but also to configure him better (rizz him up if you want I don’t mind lol I doubt there’s anyone that wants to do that, but it has been stated)

Have fun. Thanks for your company!

[ireallyamabear]

15 questions, 15 mutuals

thanks for tagging me @grimm-lynn :3

1. Are you named after anyone?

i guess i'm named after myself? my name is a bastardized version of my government name I gave myself as a toddler

2. When was the last time you cried?

a few weeks ago when i was talking about a relative that recently passed away 😔

3. Do you have kids?

nope, and dont plan on having any

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

yes A LOT, if i ever sound harsh that's probably why

5. What sports do you play/have you played?

i never played any sports seriously and i actively dislike sports where you go up against an opponent. but I do cycle about 20km every day and like to swim

6. What’s the first thing you notice about other people?

uh ... their clothing? also if they're good at small talk, too (which isn't a reflection on the person or a requirement, but I do enjoy good small talk tbh)

7. What’s your eye colour?

brown

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

i would pick scary movies, but not necessarily straight up horror movies.

9. Any special talents?

i can fold little stars out of ribbon paper and i'm pretty good at sudoku and puzzles

10. Where were you born?

in a hospital :3

11. What are your hobbies?

in the summer gardening in my allotment, cooking with the stuff that grows there ... watching shows (i'm not gonna lie), cycling, puttering around in photoshop ...

12. Do you have any pets?

none

13. How tall are you?

169cm

14. Favorite subject in school?

i liked math, history, english (language) - better question would be what was my least favorite: definitely biology, it just never tickled my brain somehow

15. Dream job?

I would love to do concept art or set design on some kind of sci-fi production - draw up some fantastical futuristic cities and build models! or scout locations for star wars shoots. but tbh i'm not so much into the grind that i would really put effort into breaking into this sort of thing. ive been collecting some sw inspired architecture stuff, tho ...

--

15 mutuals don't mind if i do!

absolutely no pressure tags:

@vanishedangels @rocknghorss @laz-laz-ace-pilot @bornforastorm @gayvillains @elwenyere @ladydedlock @rebelandrichgirl @swan-orpheus @lord-briarwood @glitternose @tellallthetruth-but-tellitslant @andi-o-geyser @twicesonnet and everyone who wants to!

[kushisone420]

Book List

Disclaimer - Some of these are LOA books.

Read :

Dissolving the Ego - Helen Hamilton - A bit repetitive decent book

Neville Complete Reader - When I first got into LOA Neville was great, but also I reread him recently and his material is actually highly dualistic.

Becoming Supernatural - Joe Dispenza

Breaking the Habit of Being Yourself - Joe Dispenza - the book that got me down this rabbit hole. Last year after 5 years of being ill, I was sick of it. I started reading him (this was before I got into LOA) and I was healed.

Seth Speaks - Jane Roberts - After reading Neville a good friend recommended Seth Speaks. Obsessed. I love the way the entity Seth explains concepts. I couldn't put it down

The Nature of Personal Reality - Jane Roberts

I am Lord Krishna V5 - John Paolucci - The author that got me into non-duality. He creates a very fun, cute and playful approach to non-duality. A 26-page pdf that I have reread multiple times and find so many gems each time I reread with a new understanding. His wording can be a bit confusing sometimes so have patience with yourself. His discord is full of gems too. You can check out his material on his subreddit here. He also has some excellent 1-7 page pdfs and his metaphysical text that is around 29 pages is great as well! Big JP stan! Just FYI - don't ask questions in his discord. John is a bit of a stickler with people finding out the information on their own and a lot of questions have already been answered in the discord so just search it. You will get muted if you break this a few times lol

Most of the hindu texts - The Upshinads, Bhagavad Gita, etc. I am excited to reread them from the non dualistic perspective. If anyone is interested in Advaita Vedanta, the Advaita Vedanta subreddit is excellent along with this self study website.

Love Yourself and Let the Other Person Have It Your Way - Lawrence Crane - Pretty easy read tbh. A bit repetitive. But the point is clear. Love and approve others as they are you and love and approve yourself first.

I AM THAT - Nisargadatta Maharaj - classic

To Read:

Rupert Spira's books - The man has the most amazing, gentle energy from what I have seen on youtube.

Ramana Maharsi - When I got deeper into Hinduism a few years ago I kept seeing his face (maybe this was inner me giving me a sign)

Lester Levenson - I am currently on his book - Keys to Ultimate Freedom

Hindu texts refresh

Rumi

Reality Transurfing - Vadim Zeland

ACIM - Man.. the book she THICCCC.. but I see a lot of ACIM quotes that really draw me in along with the workbook looking excellent.

I genuinely enjoy reading, studying, and learning tbh. I know overconsumption is a thing (believe me I do lol) I guess I am just on the Jnana Yoga path.

[nanjokei]

i think fe having dating sim elements is the worst thing that ever happened to fe... disappointed to see they got random bumfucks to draw the support arts in engage so now people are gonna bag on mika pikazo more than they did before

honestly what pissed me off the most is people calling her a vtuber artist. as if she hasnt had a long and respected career before designing the one vtuber people do know from her (bc i know none of those idiots know kaguya luna or pinky pop hepburn which is sad lol). i hate the concept of "vtuber artist" theres seriously no such thing. theres seriously no remotely unified vtuber look or set of design tropes i think you just want to bag on a subculture that got eviscerated by vultures overseas... wait til they find out that like 80% of anyone who is a jp pro artist online has been commed to draw at least one vtuber avatar, whether indie or company or whatever LMAO gtfo with this "vtuber artist" shit weirdest non-insult ive heard in my life just say you do not like her art and go (i'm not a fan of her style recently admittedly but i dont hate it i still think shes super talented)

overall as usual fe hires big artists and gives them very little in the way of respect lol, from kozaki getting blamed for horny designs that kusakihara was responsible for, to kurahana being blamed for ugly ingame art that SUPER looks like kusakihara just imitating her art style.......yeah i would not be surprised if the ugly cg art in fe engage is kusakihara trying to imitate mika pikazo's art lmao.

idk how i feel about the game itself cause i do not care for the feh plot point but im willing to give it a shot. i think a lot of the non-lord characters have really good designs and i dont hate the lord designs either

postscript i do think she got screwed over by the fact that this is the game they decided to give the gacha game ass plot which makes me kinda sad

[theforgottenmcrmy]

Honor~ Part 1/2 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

᯽ Please note that this is an overall part 8 of the series “Growing Strong”, the masterlist of which can be found HERE ᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, suggestive themes, violence

Summary: Honor was subjective; it meant different things to different people. That was one of the most difficult concepts you’d ever had to come to terms with, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t a lesson worth learning.

A/N: Happy Halloween! 🎃 👻 I hope you guys are having a much better day/night than I am, cause your girl is going through it rn🥲 *handing out tissues* so, how are we feeling about the season finale, everyone?🥺 … on that note, I regret to inform you that these next two chapters will have some angst. I just ask that you hold off on throwing tomatoes at me until you’ve read it all. Part 2 will be up on Thursday 11/3.

As always, thank you all for the love🖤 eat all the candy you want today/tonight/whenever, you deserve it!🖤

Ser Laenor Velaryon was many things.

He was kind; he’d never laid a hand on Princess Rhaenyra. He’d been knighted at a young age, and had proved to be an asset to the Crown during the war in the Stepstones. He was daring; he’d claimed Seasmoke, one of the more nimble and faster dragons that the Targaryens boasted.

But, like all others, Ser Laenor also had his shortcomings.

As you purposefully entered the banquet hall you’d been directed to by a chambermaid, you frowned immediately at the sight that you were met with.

Ser Laenor was seated upon one of the tables in the middle of the room, apparently having decided that a chair was not suitable for such a purpose. His most recent companion, Ser Qarl Correy, was seated upon the table as well, right beside him. The pair talked loudly about something you couldn’t quite pick out the specifics of amongst their inebriated babblings.

You continued to watch with dissatisfaction as Ser Qarl raised a goblet of wine to you as a poor form of greeting before handing off said goblet to his drinking partner.

A few servants waited in the periphery of the scene, ready to jump in and assist the prince consort with whatever he may require at a moment’s notice. The looks on their faces ranged from neutral to weary.

“My Lord.”

Ser Laenor flinched at your bellow, but regained his composure fairly quickly. “Good morrow, Lady Tyrell!” He took another gulp of wine and before wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “How fare thee? Ser Qarl and I were just breaking our fast.”

The near empty plates beside and around their seated rear ends had gone unnoticed initially. You’d been far too distracted by the notion of Princess Rhaenyra’s husband and his companion already indulging themselves at such an early hour of the morn.

Ser Laenor inquired curiously, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I was told the Princess’s labors are drawing to a close,” you informed him neutrally. “Perhaps you might be a bit more… coherent, when you go to her?”

“... Ah, yes, yes. Of course.”

Despite your increasing irritation with the situation, you knew better than to show it. You bowed your head and gave the pair a strained smile before excusing yourself without another word.

Ironically, Ser Laenor Velaryon’s degree of interest in his family was like the weather over the sea: constantly changing with the seasons and tides.

And, for all the many things that he was, Ser Laenor Velaryon had never been a particularly attentive father- a fact that had cultivated a dangerous situation for you and the ones closest to you over the past decade.

As you made your way through the halls of the Red Keep, headed back from whence you’d come, you realized with dread that the castle had begun to awaken for the day.

You were not naive; cruel whispers had never been foreign among the halls of the Red Keep. But it appeared that the vipers had only become more venomous over time.

And those brazen whisperers had not spared you as a subject of their poisonous words.

Though… you had hoped they might have.

You were the Lady of House Tyrell, Mistress of Highgarden, Defender of the Marshes, Lady Paramount of the Reach, and Wardeness of the South. In the ten years you had taken up your family’s seat, you had come to live up to both your father and brother’s names. With your husband’s unwavering support, you worked tirelessly to ensure that you earned your right to the family titles that King Viserys had declared belonged to you. Sleepless nights preparing contracts for the crops trade, countless hours of council meetings regarding the issues facing the noble and common people, and thousands, perhaps even millions of gold dragons invested back into your homeland and the people who lived and worked there had finally begun to pay dividends.

Most of your time throughout the year was spent in the Reach, as was what you deemed necessary to adequately fulfill your obligations. You were well respected there, with only some, though plainly, expected, dissension… primarily from the likes of those who resided over in Oldtown.

You’d have been content to stay in the Reach, but your loyalty and friendship to the Princess had repeatedly called you back for visits to the capital. At first, you had been regarded with the respect you had earned over your years of service to the Reach and the Crown.

But with each passing year, the esteem the other lords and ladies placed upon you slowly began to diminish. And now, most of your noble peers did not hesitate to reveal exactly what they thought of your… circumstances.

In passing, most of them only seemed to offer you one of three looks: a look of pity, sympathy, or disgust.

Pity, for how could you have “failed to keep” your husband’s attention?

Sympathy, for how could you be held responsible for your husband’s lustful “wiles”?

And disgust, for how could you have “allowed” your vows to each other and before the gods to have been soiled so easily?

If only they knew…

…

You must have had the gods’ favor that morning, for you managed to make your way through the Red Keep without happening upon too many others. That was just as well; you’d gotten hardly any sleep the night before, and if you had to tolerate another single pitiful look at that moment, you might not have been able to properly mind your tongue.

And that would be an awful slip that neither you, your husband, nor Princess Rhaenyra could afford.

As you entered princelings’ chambers, you were pleasantly surprised to be greeted with the voices that had been suspiciously absent when you’d awoken that morning.

All four of the boys had their backs turned to you as they played in front of the fire with their miniature knights and dragons. They were so consumed in their games of pretend that your sudden reappearance had gone unnoticed.

But you hadn’t gone unacknowledged by your husband.

Harwin, who had been ever so carefully watching over all four of them, saw you enter immediately. As you walked further into the room, he rose from his crouched position and gave you a soft smile. 

You watched the boys in silent amusement for a few moments before finally deciding to make your presence known. “There you are. I had wondered where the four of you might have wandered off to this morning.”

Just a few hours before, you’d been given a bit of a start. Right before the sun rose, you’d stirred from a less than pleasant sleep to find yourself alone in the room, despite having succumbed to your dreams sometime in the night to the sound of animated whispers of four young boys filling your ears. But you’d known there’d been little cause for panic; Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys seldom made a move without eyes upon them. And wherever the young princlings went, your own sons were never too far behind.

Upon hearing your voice, all four of the boys turned and lifted their heads in your direction. They smiled and rose, before bounding over to you with excitement.

“Has there been any news?” Prince Jacaerys, or Jace, as Princess Rhaenyra had nicknamed him early on in his life, asked. He was the Princess’s oldest son, and nearly ten years of age. Though being third in line for the Iron Throne would have deemed him worthy of such attention regardless, additional interest had been placed on him shortly after his birth. Prince Jacaerys had been born with dark hair and eyes; he blatantly stood out in the sea of the other Targaryens he lived amongst.

“None yet,” you answered him truthfully. Upon seeing the disappointed look on the boy’s face, you quickly promised, “But soon.”

“We went to the dragon pit this morning!” your oldest son informed you enthusiastically, coming to stand beside Jacaerys.

Derrik, despite having been named in homage to your predecessor, bore little of the physical characteristics that had been passed down through generations of House Tyrell. At nearly ten years of age as well, just a few months younger than Prince Jacaerys, you imagined that he was a spitting image of what Harwin must have looked like at that age. His grandsire, the Lord Hand Lyonel Strong, had frequently made such a comment to that extent. Derrik was already the tallest of the four boys, and had even begun to encroach upon your own height. In addition to all the other traits he took from his father, he also shared Harwin’s dark curls. But his eyes were your own, as was his generally agreeable temperament.

Upon your oldest son’s admission, you looked at Harwin with surprise and mild concern. “Did you, now?”

“Look, Lady Y/N!” Prince Lucerys bid, running to the table beside you. You hadn’t noticed the sizzling pot upon it until the youngest of the Princess’s sons called your attention to it. But you knew what it contained, even without the young boy having to remove the lid.

“Jace let me pick out the egg!” Prince Lucerys, or Luke, beamed up at you. The youngest prince was over seven years old, though closer to eight. Like his older brother, Lucerys also had dark hair and eyes. But there’d never been any doubt as to who his brother was, nor his mother- his smile mirrored Princess Rhaenyra’s perfectly.

You returned his familiar smile with genuine ease. “I see that. Well, I am certain that your little brother or sister will be very grateful, Your Graces.”

It had become a custom during King Viserys’ reign for all newborn Targaryen children to have a dragon’s egg placed in their cradle. While you were wary of Princes’ safety whilst they underwent whatever necessary to secure the egg before you now, you were relieved at the thought that Princess Rhaenyra would be spared a trip to the dragon pit. Though she was likely to be exhausted, the Princess’s stubbornness had not diminished in the slightest over the years. Both of her older son’s eggs hatched in their cradles, and there was no doubt that she would wish the same for her next child.

While the Princes smiled to each other at your praise, you almost lost your footing when the fourth boy, your youngest son, threw his arms around your waist in an impromptu hug.

The boy looked up at you with wide eyes pleadingly. “We’re sorry we didn’t wake you when we left, Mother.”

Your resolve faded; it was extremely difficult to be cross when such a look was being given to you.

Selwin, the youngest of your boys, was a few months Prince Lucerys’ junior. He had been named after Harwin’s grandsire. Despite this, and in contrast to that of his older brother, not many physical traits of House Strong were made apparent in him. In fact, your youngest son resembled your late brother Derron so greatly, you found it to be unnerving at times. Selwin, though also tall for his age, was more lean and slender than Derrik. His hair matched your own, but he had your husband’s hazel eyes. Like Harwin, it seemed that he had inherited a bit of a fiery temper… which had been discovered fairly quickly after the boy was old enough to spend time in a training yard. But, also like Harwin, Selwin treated his family and those he cared about very sweetly, and never showed them anything but the utmost kindness.

You patted Selwin’s hair soothingly as silent acceptance of his apology. In the gaggle of young babbling boys surrounding you, you had failed to realize your husband had made his way over to join you.

Harwin, dressed in his armor and gold cloak, gave you an apologetic look.

Your family’s recent trip to King’s Landing had become less of a visit, and more of an extended stay. As he usually did, upon your return to the capital, Harwin had resumed his old post as a captain within the City Watch.

But through extenuating circumstances, the Commander of the City Watch had been forced to resign recently, and King Viserys had appointed Harwin in his stead… A perk of being the son of the Hand of the King, and retaining a close friendship with Princess Rhaenyra, you supposed.

It had been an unexpected appointment, but Harwin took it in stride. Though your family would eventually depart King’s Landing, he was determined to serve dutifully until that time came. In fact, just the previous evening until early that morning, he’d been out in the city, on patrol. Despite the tiredness that you could see lingering in his eyes, you knew he’d never let it show in front of the children.

Now that the boys had greeted you, their attention quickly returned back to their games. The boys fled back their miniature knights and dragons, but you remained where you were, watching them fondly as Harwin took another step towards you.

“When I returned this morning, you were still asleep,” he explained quietly. “I thought it might be best to let you rest whilst I escorted them to the dragon pit myself.”

Before Princess Rhaenyra had begun her labors the previous evening, she had asked you and your children to keep her sons company in the princes’ chambers. She wanted Jacaerys and Lucerys to be comfortable, and more importantly, kept distracted. Your sons, who had become close companions to the princlings throughout the course of their lives, fit the bill. You’d never spoken of it with her, but you suspected the fate of her late mother was never too far from her mind. Watching over her sons while Princess Rhaenyra labored was a small price to pay for ensuring that she had some peace of mind.

You gave Harwin a small but appreciative smile. “I am surprised the boys were already awake,” you confessed. “They were talking and playing well into the night.”

All of the boys, but particularly the Princes, were ecstatic with the idea of another addition to the royal family. At some point past midnight, you’d given up on encouraging them to get some rest. They would fall asleep wherever and whenever their bodies told them too, and not a moment sooner, you had realized in defeat. While the boys had engaged in another spirited game of pretend, you had drifted away on one of the sofas.

“Well, the Princes and Derrik were awake,” Harwin recalled, somewhat hesitantly. “I may have had to stir Selwin a bit…”

You gave him a mock look of disapproval at this revelation.

“In my defense,” your husband added hastily, “He was sleeping at a rather odd angle. I feared his neck would ache and pain him this morning, if I continued to let him lie as he was.”

On the contrary, and comically so, your youngest son briefly caught the room’s attention by breaking into an energetic sprint about the room, maneuvering a toy dragon to soar through the air as he did so. Prince Lucerys was just a step behind him, flying a dragon of his own.

“Although, he certainly doesn’t look to be in any discomfort,” Harwin observed bewilderedly, letting out an amused chuckle. “... Come to think of it, I don’t believe there is much at all that is able to truly dampen his spirits.”

You accused teasingly, “He gets that from his father, you know.”

“Funny,” Harwin exhaled, looking down at you with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “I always thought he got it from his mother.”

A comfortable moment of silence passed between you. Only the sound of the children’s laughter and the crackling of the fireplace was able to be heard.

It was an oddly peaceful moment that made it so very easy to forget that there had been any strain at all between you and Harwin as of late.

A knock on the door shattered the moment of calm.

You gave Harwin a forlorn look as you went to answer it. You opened it slowly, revealing one of Princess Rhaenyra’s handmaidens. She reported the information she’d been tasked to relay, excused herself, and you shut the door once more. When you turned around, all five of the room’s other occupants looked at you expectantly.

You announced, “The Princess has had a boy.”

All four boys broke out into cheers.

“A brother?” Lucerys exclaimed with a smile.

Derrik asked, “Is he healthy?”

“Is Mother alright?” Jacaerys added on.

Selwin demanded, “What’s his name?”

You held your hands out in a gesture you hoped would calm all of them. “I was told both the Princess and the young Prince are well. And, as for his name- I do not believe he has one yet.”

“Be patient, lads,” Harwin encouraged the Princes upon seeing their fallen faces. “I am sure your mother and your brother will join us in a few hours.”

“In the meantime, perhaps we might call for some food?” you suggested then, immediately piquing the group’s interest. “After your trek across the city this morning, I dare say the five of you must have worked up quite an appetite.”

The boys agreed, and after a servant had been called to request the meals be brought up, they returned to their games once more.

None of them noticed the uneasy look exchanged between you and Harwin.

When Princess Rhaenyra entered the room some time later, you were pleasantly surprised to see that she was accompanied by her husband. Ser Laenor looked vastly more coherent then when you last saw him. That was much to your relief, considering he was holding the newborn prince in his arms.

Harwin, who had indulged the children by participating in their most recent game, stood tall, and you rose from your seat on the sofa nearby.

Upon noticing their parents' attention had been diverted, Derrick and Selwin also rose to their feet, and quickly bowed to Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor.

You couldn’t help but smile at them, happy that despite the commotion, their manners had not been forgotten. For all the shame you had felt as of late, your two sons had never made you feel anything but pride.

“Mother!” Jacaerys greeted, swiftly rising and rushing over to the door. The other three boys were quickly on his heels. When he reached the table near the door, he removed the lid of the pot sitting atop of it, revealing the dragon egg. Crackles of embers filling the pot in the effort to keep the egg warm filled the room.

“We chose an egg for the baby,” Lucerys explained to his mother.

“Ah,” Princess Rhaenyra mused, flinching as she carefully took a step towards the sofa. “That looks like the perfect one.”

It was obvious by the Princess’s voice that she was still in great pain. You immediately grabbed two nearby cushions, fluffing and putting one upon the seat of the sofa, and the other up against the back of it. Harwin came up from behind the both of you and offered her an arm, which she took gratefully, before cautiously lowering herself down onto the sofa.

Jacaerys lightly swatted his younger brother’s curious hands away from the egg, and your own children leant closer to it as they tried to get a better look.

“Not everyday an egg leaves the dragon pit, Princess,” Harwin informed her. “I thought it best to escort the lads.”

Princess Rhaenyra smiled at him genuinely. “Laenor and I thank you, Commander.”

“Another boy, we heard,” you chimed in. You lowered yourself onto the sofa beside the Princess slowly, so as not to disturb or cause her additional pain. “Congratulations, Your Grace.”

Princess Rhaenyra looked at you with a veiled expression and gave you an appreciative nod. She was clearly tired, and in decent discomfort, as was to be expected. But there was still a sheen layer of sweat upon her face, meaning that either the midwives had not bothered to wipe her brow, or something else had happened more recently that had caused her to strain herself further.

You suspected the latter.

“Might I?” Harwin asked Ser Laenor, his eyes darting downwards towards the babe in the prince consort’s arms.

Princess Rhaenyra turned away from you. To her husband, she said, “Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey.”

Joffrey.

You took care to hide any facial response you might have had to the announcement of the newest prince’s name. A well enough name, you supposed, but it was greatly unlike the names of his older brothers. It didn’t take much thought to surmise who the responsible party must have been. Come to think of it, the name sounded awfully familiar…

Ser Laenor nodded understandingly. “Of course.”

Harwin gently took the newborn prince from the other man’s arms. Despite everything, as Harwin smiled down at Prince Joffrey and began to bounce him lightly, you couldn’t help but feel warmness begin to stir in your heart. Seeing Harwin with a babe in his broad and protective arms reminded you very much of when your own children were that young. It was a sight which you were unsure if you would ever witness again.

“Father?” Lucerys asked Ser Laenor, “Please, may I hold Joffrey?”

“No, no, no,” Ser Laenor said, patiently, but firmly. As the second-born prince made grabbing hands at the babe in Harwin’s arms, Ser Laenor had little choice but to calmly redirect him, and his elder brother, towards the door. “Back to the dragon pit for you two, before they send out a search party.”

The Princes grumbled as they were led out of the room.

You looked at Derrik and Selwin, and asked them both pointedly, “It is about time you both reported to your tutors for the day, don’t you think?”

Your sons also grumbled in protest. Thankfully, your husband caught on to your not so subtle hint at once, and he gently deposited Prince Joffrey back into Princess Rhaenyra’s awaiting arms.

“Come now, lads,” he beckoned Derrik and Selwin, before placing guiding hands on their shoulders. As he led them towards the door, he continued, “Let the Princess rest. We shall see your mother later.”

Harwin’s eyes lingered on you as he closed the door. You gave him a grateful look before he disappeared from view.

Once you were finally alone with the Princess, your focus was able to be solely put on her and the babe.

“How was it?” you dared to ask, though you knew her answer.

Princess Rhaenyra deadpanned. “A perfectly pleasant experience, as it always is.”

It was quiet for a moment, before you both let out a few hearty laughs. But when Princess Rhaenyra abruptly hissed in pain, you sat up straight.

“What is it?” you demanded worriedly, reaching out to support her hold on Prince Joffrey if needed.

The Princess gritted her teeth. “‘Tis nothing,” she attempted to dismiss your concern. “... It seems I have simply overexerted myself.”

“Then let me take him,” you offered readily, glancing down at the newborn prince in her arms. “Or, I can call for the wetnurse, if you’d prefer.”

“No, no,” the Princess insisted. “It is not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Princess Rhaenyra’s eyes never left the babe when she spoke next. Perhaps it was in an effort to keep herself composed. In the years since you had both become mothers, you had noticed it was nearly impossible for the Princess to be in a foul mood whenever she was around her sons. She loved them deeply. They gave her great joy, and, to put it simply, she was completely devoted to each of them.

“The Queen requested that Joffrey be brought to her at once.”

You blinked. “Now?”

“No. After. Laenor and I have just come from her chambers.”

Your brows furrowed. “... Surely you do not mean-”

“But I do.”

“Gods.”

The thought of Princess Rhaenyra, minutes after giving birth, being forced to walk the halls of the Red Keep to present her newborn son before Queen Alicent was appalling. You wanted to believe it was a joke, but you severely doubted that Princess Rhaenyra would ever jest about such a thing. And the hardened look in her eyes confirmed to you that it was anything but.

You leaned closer to her, attempting to get a better look at the babe you had yet to hold. “Why in the Seven Hells would she-”

Prince Joffrey fussed slightly, causing the blanket he was wrapped in to shift. The fabric around his head fell, revealing a crown of dark brown hair.

You fell silent.

Princess Rhaenyra quickly adjusted the blanket, covering the babe’s head once more. But the damage had been done.

“... I suppose the blood on his father’s side runs strong,” you found yourself commenting tactfully, referring to Princess Rhaenys’ brunette locks.

Princess Rhaenyra laughed once, shortly, and looked thankful for having been offered an out. But she said nothing further after that, choosing instead to focus back on the squirming child in her arms.

A very uncomfortable silence took over the room, and the pair of you had no choice but to endure it.

Later that night, you laid in bed, wide awake and restless, staring blankly up towards the ceiling of your chambers as your own thoughts tormented you.

…Another princeling born bearing little resemblance to that of his father… more fuel for the fire… those reprehensible whispers that you now knew would never cease…

The only person in the world with whom you wanted to talk to about your thoughts and feelings was lying right beside you. But he was fast asleep, and despite everything, you did not have the heart to wake him.

If sleep claimed you that night, you do not recall it.

…

Little did you know, Harwin had not slept that night, either.

Like you, his own thoughts only ever came back to two things… the third princeling born with hair and eyes unlike either of his parents… and the cruel rumors swirling about the Red Keep that he knew would only become more twisted because of it.

The following morning, you found both of your sons awake in their chambers.

You entered without announcing yourself, genuinely curious about the scene that awaited.

Selwin was already dressed and sporting his training armor. As he fought an invisible enemy with an invisible weapon of his choice on one side of the room, Harwin was assisting Derrik with securing the last few straps of his breastplate on the other side.

Once Harwin was satisfied with his work, he looked at the armor appraisingly. Your son looked up at him patiently, and somewhat timidly, waiting for his father’s opinion.

“It looks as though you’ll need some bigger armor soon, at the rate you’re growing,” Harwin decided, causing Derrik to smile widely. The pride was very evident in your husband’s voice. As Selwin suddenly ran past them, Harwin fondly rustled his hair in passing, and added, “You too, lad.”

You couldn’t help but beam at the scene.

Harwin had taken to fatherhood like a duck to water. He’d always been fiercely protective of his younger brother and sisters, and when it came to you and your children, it was no different. He’d been hands on with their learning and training since the day they were born, as had you. It hadn’t always been easy, but you had no doubt that there was no other man in the Seven Kingdoms that you would have wanted to raise your boys with.

Though initially you’d both been nervous at the prospect of parenthood, it was later proved that neither of you had any need to worry. Your children loved you as much as you loved them; and in turn, they’d always been decently behaved. In due time, they’d make fine lords in their own right.

“I can’t wait to take on Prince Aemond!” Selwin declared excitedly.

You weren’t sure why he had called out that young Prince specifically, but you made a mental note to speak with him about it later.

Derrik countered with a disapproving frown, “Prince Aemond is several years older than you.” He was right. Prince Aemond was closest in age to Jacaerys and himself, but even so, the Queen’s second son was still older than both of them.

“But we’re about the same size. I’d be more than a fair match!” Selwin argued lightly. He looked up at your husband with pleading eyes, giving him the same look the boy had given you the day before. “Please, Father? Can I spar with the Prince?”

Harwin sighed, and shook his head regretfully. “Sorry lad, but you know the rules. You are to sit and watch- and only watch- until the Princes’ training is done. I’ll work with the both of you after that.”

“But we’ve trained with Jace and Luke before!” Selwin protested.

“Aye, and that is only because the Princess Rhaneyra gave you permission to do so,” Harwin reminded him patiently. “The Queen has not given you such permission. Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond are to have more attentive instruction… as they deserve.”

Selwin did not look too happy, but he relented nonetheless.

“Besides,” Derrik said to his younger brother then, “You know Mother doesn’t like us sparring with the Queen’s sons.”

“She worries too much,” Selwin denounced.

“Come now,” Harwin frowned disapprovingly at the boys. “Your mother has every right to worry about you, as do I.”

Derrik and Selwin looked up at their father, slightly taken aback by the seriousness of his tone.

“What I am about to say is not meant to scare you, but it’s about time that the two of you hear it,” Harwin cautioned them. He let out a small sigh as he visibly contemplated his next words. “... Those around you, especially those here in the Red Keep, may treat the two of you with respect, but that is only because your station commands it. Some of them may even be pleasant enough to you… But that does not mean that they will have your best interests in mind, or that they are able to be trusted.”

Though he had prefaced his warning, your sons still looked alarmed by the gravity of Harwin’s words. You didn’t relish in the fact that they seemed scared, but it was necessary.

The plot against you the night before your wedding; the scheme devised to swindle your birthright out from underneath you… Ten years had passed since both had occurred, and you had no more answers now than you did back then. Over the years, you’d wondered if your brother Derron had been able to uncover any more information into either of those matters, particularly in regards to those who may have been orchestrators…

But if Derron had discovered anything, that knowledge had died with him.

With the exception of the gossip swirling about the Red Keep, neither you nor Harwin had been the target of any further conspiracies since then. But just because an enemy was dormant, that did mean that the threat was at bay. You had children now, and the reality of the situation was that you and Harwin were more vulnerable now than ever before.

Noting the sudden fear on the boys’ faces, Harwin placed one hand on each of their shoulders comfortingly. “But you can always trust that your mother and I will look out for you,” Harwin promised them, smiling softly. “And that is why we worry. That is why we want you to study, so that you might become wise, and be one step ahead of anyone else who may target you. That is why we want you to train, so should the situation ever call for it, you will know how to defend yourself.”

Derrik and Selwin looked up at their father with large eyes as they clung on to his each and every word.

“Do you understand?” he coaxed.

The boys nodded eagerly. “Yes, Father.”

You decided that that was the best time as any to make your appearance known. You stepped further into the room, putting a smile on your face as you did so. “Good morning.”

“Mother!”

You braced yourself, and smartly so, as your boys rushed over to hug you. You laughed and patted their backs lightly; the metal of the small armor was still cold to the touch. “Look at the two of you… You look as though you're ready to go man the Wall!”

“We’d never go that far away, Mother!” Derrik corrected quickly.

“Good,” you affirmed. “I’d miss you both terribly.”

“Run along to the training yard, lads,” Harwin suggested then, his eyes locking with yours. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Derrik and Selwin gave the pair of you knowing smiles before promptly heeding their father’s suggestion.

“Be careful!” you called after them cautiously, though only half-heartedly.

The sounds of the boys’ laughter slowly dissipated the further they ran down the corridor. When it was just the two of you left in the room, you turned to Harwin expectantly.

You weren’t sure what look you anticipated him to have, but it definitely wasn’t the one upon his face at that moment. Sadness lingered in his eyes… or perhaps guilt.

“Might we talk?” he asked, nervousness and uncertainty plain in his voice. It reminded you faintly of when you’d first met him, “Later, I mean. Over supper, perhaps?”

You did have a great deal to talk about. “Of course… That sounds quite lovely, actually. I’d like that very much.”

Relief visibly washed over Harwin’s face at your agreeable response. He nodded firmly once, though it looked like it was more to reassure himself than to confirm anything to you, and went to leave.

You stood still, expecting him to walk by without another word to follow your sons to the training yard, as promised. But instead, Harwin came to a halt beside you. You looked up at him curiously, your guard slightly raised.

Harwin leaned down and placed the lightest of kisses upon your forehead. Any emotional shield you tried to craft crumbled at the simple but extremely meaningful action. Despite his gentleness, you could feel the emotional depth behind it. Your heart lurched at the feeling of his lips upon your skin, and you found yourself feeling remorse when he slowly pulled away.

“I shall see you tonight, My Love.”

And with that, he left.

It was only when the room was quiet and still that you breathed out your response, despite the fact that there was not a single soul around to hear it.

“Until tonight, Dearest.”

A/N: Thank you for reading! Part 2 will be posted this Thursday, 11/1. If I remember, I’ll try to post a link to it here. Either way, I’ll make sure it is added to the masterlist. I hope you all have a wonderful week!🖤

[scary-senpai]

Fun with Symbolism: Gods & Monsters

So I’ve been wanting to do something about Garou’s posture/body + the symbolism for awhile (and I have, in bits and pieces, especially when it comes to his hands), and I’m actually glad I waited--it’s only gotten more interesting with his recent evolution.

In this panel, Garou’s arms evoke images of Hindu deities, often portrayed with multiple arms:

Hindu gods from Lakshmi to Ganesha to Saraswati are always depicted with four or more arms. They are two-armed only when they take mortal form, like Ram or Krishna. Four arms do what the halo did in Christian art — help the viewer quickly establish who is divine, who is supernatural, and who is worthy of veneration.

[Source:https://www.thehindu.com/society/history-and-culture/should-a-deity-have-two-arms-or-more/article36892166.ece]

Garou has 11 arms here... in my experience, most deities have an even number (4, 6, 8, or 10)... but then it made sense, when I considered it in context of the panels:

(Notice the Moon is watching here... nothing sus about that, I’m sure).

Garou has 11 hands for 11 techniques, because he’s about to come up with the 12th one: Monster Calamity God Slayer Fist. 

So, admittedly, I had to do a bit of research for the next part. I was certain that incarnations of Vishnu or Shiva or possibly Durga or Shakti (female consorts) had 12 arms... but actually I was wrong. It is quite an awful lot of arms to draw or sculpt. Still, I felt like I had seen that number somewhere and continued digging (and will continue to dig!) but so far I’ve only found one: Kartikeya/Lord Murugana. From Wikipedia:

Kartikeya symbolizes a union of polarities. He is handsome warrior and described as a celibate yogi. He uses his creative martial abilities to lead an army against Taraka and other demons, and described as a philosopher-warrior. He is a uniter, championing the attributes of both Shaivism (worship of Shiva as supreme deity) and Vaishnavism (worship of Vishnu as supreme deity)

Shiva and Vishnu represent two thirds of the Hindu trimurti-- or the 3 supreme deities that represent the cosmic forces of creation (Brahma), destruction (Shiva), and maintenance (Vishnu). They represent a lot more than that, but that’s the upshot.

Shiva (Destruction) and Vishnu (Maintenance/Preservation) have appeared in OPM before (literally spelled out as sound effects), which I wrote about here--but not Brahma, notably. Some schools actually worship Vishnu and Shiva as one entity--creation and destruction being viewed as two sides of the same coin--and Karikeya is similarly seen as a bridge between opposites.

Due to it being past my bedtime time constraints, I haven’t been able to do much research into Karikeya since this is the first time this concept has come up for me. But I did notice that Kartikeya is renown for victory over several major asuras (malevolent entities), which are (again from the Wikis!):

Asuras are a class of beings in Indic religions. [Asuras] are described as power-seeking clans related to the more benevolent Devas (also known as Suras) in Hinduism. In its Buddhist context, [Asura] is sometimes translated "titan", "demigod", or "antigod".

“Anti-god” is an interesting concept (also new to me) and I’m excited to look into this more.

As I’ve mentioned in the past, I’m a bit of a theology geek. I was raised Christian (but, like, the “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God” type) so my yoga practice (which includes elements of Hinduism/Buddhism) has helped me process all the baggage that comes with spending your formative years believing you are damned for all time.

Something that I’ve been advised in my learning is that in the “West” (I use that term loosely; it’s complicated), we’re used to clean divisions between concepts like Good and Evil. Even though early Abrahamic religions were largely syncretic, incorporating elements from various belief systems, “Eastern” religious (again, not necessarily to over-generalize–it’s complex) like Buddhism/Hinduism don’t have such a divide. In fact, they emphasize and encourage non-duality (we’re all part of the ONE one), including the interconnectedness of all things, the illusion of individual identity, and ability to hold multiple, sometimes conflicting truths in the mind at once...

Wrathful deities, present in Buddhism and Hinduism, could be seen as one example of contradictory concepts manifesting in harmoy: From Wiki (again):

[Wrathful Deities] are protector deities who destroy obstacles to the Buddhas and the Dharma, act as guardians against demons and gather together sentient beings to listen to the teachings of the Buddhas. In Tantric Buddhism, they are considered to be fierce and terrifying forms of Buddhas and Bodhisattvas themselves. Enlightened beings may take on these forms in order to protect and aid confused sentient beings. They also represent the energy and power that is needed in order to transform negative mental factors into wisdom and compassion

Even deities of love and compassion, like the Buddha, can manifest in terrifying forms as needed. Thinking back to it, I’ve always viewed Garou as a kind of Wrathful deity, because he embodies these outwardly disparate ideas.

You know, it reminds me a little of this scene from an old sitcom, My Name is Earl.

Randy Hickey: But karma doesn't have fists.

Earl Hickey: You know what, you're right. Karma doesn’t have fists.

Randy Hickey: Karma doesn't have hands at all. Or feet. Does karma have feet?

Earl Hickey: Maybe karma's behind this whole thing, Randy. I mean the guy finally got what he deserved. Maybe karma just borrowed my fist to give it to him…Wow, karma used me to do its dirty work. Nice move, karma, nice move!

Getting back to Garou, though… Garou didn’t actually have multiple arms in the panel above—he just appeared that way, due to the speed at which he was moving, But later on, Garou does indeed evolve some extra arms:

I could probably find a panel where Garou looks less goofy, but I won’t >:)

As referenced in my earlier quote, multiple arms can mean divinity BUT, of course, it isn’t so simple as that. Psykorochi also has four arms, so does true form Sukuna in Jujutsu Kaisen, and he’s about as evil as they get… JJK is obviously a different fandom, but you get my point. Artistic license is a thing, which is why I like to call out parallels and potential areas of interest, but I hesitate to make predictions or claim I know what the author is thinking because I, an author, never quite know what I am thinking.

That’s the flip side to symbolism in art--symbolic images have a generally agreed-upon meaning, but human culture is so varied and diverse it’s rarely so simple as that. Sometimes a creator uses their artistic license to evoke elements of the divine, or the frightening, or the other-worldly and there’s no deeper meaning to it. My insurance card has a caduceus ☤on it, but I don’t think my insurance company intended this as an homage to Hermes Trismegistus or even just plain ol’ Hermes... I think they just needed something that looked doctor-ish to most people, and they picked this one--the weird sticky, snake-y thing with wings on it. So it goes with symbolism, sometimes.

That being said, though, Garou’s emotional progression over the course of the chapters has gone from more noble (if misguided) to downright angry. When he meets Saitama, he’s literally walking on water right alongside him, but by the end of this scene, well:

He’s literally a fallen angel with broken wings. And Murata only hammered that image home in the re-draws:

Assuming there’s some deeper, lore-informed artistic choice beyond the aesthetic, that would make more some interesting meta--particularly when it comes to Garou being “tempted” by God. If something (or someone) has already fallen (lost everything), it’s hard to tempt them in any meaningful way. Acting out of desperation isn’t a choice (although it is arguably a consequence).

I (like most people with a Christian background) probably think “Fallen Angel = Damned by their own life choices/only meant to serve as a bad example.” But in some traditions, particularly esoterica, fallen angels are a bit more complicated than that.

Some of my recent reading from The Hermetic Tradition (Julius Evola), touched on this:

some say that “the whole corpus of the ancient magico-hermetic sciences was revealed to men by the fallen angels” (so they fell, but they shared their divine knowledge with humans to free them from bondage, or at least decrease suffering)

some sources posit that angels fell in their quest for power 

others say they embody the “glorious and warlike” nature of humans--in other words, exceptional heroism

...or some combination of all these things. Allegedly this esoterica is similar across both Abrahamic and Buddhist/Hindu/Vedic traditions, and I’ve seen this come up a few times in my reading, but admittedly only in books written for/by English speaking (Western European/North American) audiences.

...Oh man, I hope this still makes sense when I wake up.

::queues post and passes out on keyboard:

[nexility-sims]

What stories (on simblr or otherwise) have inspired yours?

ooh ! me, seeing this ask and immediately forgetting every book i’ve ever read or movie i’ve ever seen—! i’m so sorry, but i’m a wordy bitch who foams at the mouth anytime anyone asks me anything about my story. i got carried away, but ... y’all can keep scrolling adshkfldsff

okay, i’ve said before that the direct inspiration to make a simblr story came from @historicalsimslife​​ and @thegrimalldis​​. i can’t remember how i found either of them, but they each showed me respectively that 1) simblr storytelling was a thing, and 2) royal stories can be way more compelling than irl royals would lead you to believe, lmao. so, i decided to give storytelling a go, and eventually i also wanted to try the royal setting, based on reading alyssa’s work. i do believe that that @warwickroyals​​ motivated me to embrace being critical of monarchy as a concept and to also embrace ... how to say this ... i guess those grittier, dysfunctional plot lines that take more care to do well. ayanna makes it seem effortless tho ??? hmph. oh, and my original inspiration for the bancrofts whose legacy feeds into this story is ... the vanderbilts. :^)

in terms of my story itself, beyond the premise ... i draw inspiration from life stories ! rowena is heavily inspired by alice roosevelt and barbara hutton. marginally, also wallis simpson. alfonso is kind of an archetype i write often, but i can’t put my finger on where the inspiration for that type originally came from. why is macbeth coming to mind. rip. macbeth is a general influence for me, as a person, who thinks of stories. he also gives off Hot Man™ vibes, maybe on account of the sword-swinging and anguish. anyway......

beatriz is inspired partially by everything i wanted from daenerys targaryen and didn’t get ! i feel like songs have actually formed her in large part, too: a chunk of halsey’s album, if i can’t have love, i want power; lorde’s “yellow flicker beat,” valerie broussard’s “a little wicked,” and more recently, florence + the machine’s “king.” there’s a little bit of wednesday addams mixed in, too, probably. with both her and zuriñe, i am fully indulging my love for women who are Bad™ and don’t apologize for it. i’ve always been captivated by ostensible villains with whom you’re made to sympathize, both as a storytelling challenge and as a type of character. matriarch made of steel. heart of coal. selfishness that dresses up as selflessness. let her have power. she earned it. 

anyway, my ever-present inspiration for “romance that interests me personally,” generally, comes from layla and majnun on one hand—i will cry a thousand tears just reading quotes from it, smh—and catherynne valente’s deathless on the other. i guess that translates to “we are fucked, in every sense” and “we’re all suffering, beautifully and endlessly.”

i’ve had a dramatic, dysfunctional life myself, so .... honestly, i think i gravitate toward stories that let me explore that and give me control over it. i suspect it’s why i used to prefer films that didn’t have happy endings (somehow, the pandemic changed my media consumption habits, so now i binge watch shows i’ve seen a dozen times instead of seeking out whatever depressing drama netflix recommends). it’s probably why i like villains who aren’t one-dimensional evil but who hurt people they love for reasons they can’t fully explain. i disagree with the idea that “evil” is boring just because it’s more mundane than we like to think, but i do believe writing goodness—especially the mundane kind—is also incredibly difficult because it’s just as complex as badness. i’m off topic. rip 2x. 

i love world-building, and i don’t see enough stories—especially in this corner of simblr—that are ... not so “western,” so reflective of the colonial world, i guess? i live here in my real life, i study it for a living, let me go elsewhere !!!!!  i don’t expect that of anyone, to be clear, but ... as an ~indigenous person~, i just wanted to explore a place where the worldviews and beliefs are anti- or decolonial, or maybe simply were never colonized at all. it’s hard to do that, but it excites me as much as the character development i discussed above. i can’t say i’m doing it well or whatever, but i try to think of this aspiration as the guiding light or motivation for my choices. 

to the nuts and bolts, when i decided to write this story, i was learning about the history of modern mexico—specifically, the porfiriato and the revolution—so that influenced the setting. i have some mixed feelings about the latin american inspiration since i’m not latina myself, but ... i guess i hope it’s both fictional enough to not seem exploitative and appropriately respectful when i borrow things directly, like names. it’s why i try to keep the naming conventions for people and places internally consistent, for example. if i use indigenous words, there’s from a particular set of places. in essence, the choice comes from a place of admiration and solidarity, which i say w/ deep sincerity. there’s also my interest in medieval iberia with its portuguese and spanish cultures as well as the islamic influences of the period. that’s totally more for aesthetics and naming, tho, but i do take inspiration for the political drama from “modernization” struggles in mexican history. 

so, uh, in summary, let’s say i was inspired by what black panther was trying to do with wakanda but in the western hemisphere LMAO 

[ukaisprincesss]

hey! how’s it going? I have a request. so I recently discovered that I am a SUCKER for mattsun from HQ calling the reader babygirl. honestly I love it when writers have that pet name for the reader, so could you maybe write something cute or smutty (whichever) with that concept? lord I am feral when it comes to him saying that 🥵🥵 (ps I’m not one for pet names, I don’t really fuck with them but for this man... I’ll allow it)

a/n: hey lovely!! sorry for the long wait, i’ve been working on a collab piece and submitted it just a few days ago (: I hope you enjoy some lovely mattsun time! mattsun saying anything gets makes me go brrrr

mattsunxf!reader

word count: 505

warnings: 18+ smut, fluff, fingering, finger sucking, voice kink if you squint, praise kink

masterlist commission

MINORS DNI

There’s nothing like waking up next to your partner, seeing them in their most vulnerable state, knowing they feel safe enough to sleep next to you. When they stir awake, tightening their hold on you. Their soft raspy voice tickling your ear draws a smile from your lips.

“Good morning baby girl.”

Chills wracked your spine at that simple sentence. The combination of Mattsun’s husky morning voice and the nickname he had for you was like sweet heaven. You grinned and tucked yourself tighter against him, your cheek rubbing his bare chest. “Morning,” you mumbled.

The two of you reveled in the warmth of each other, your faint inhales and exhales occupying the otherwise quiet space.

Mattsun enjoyed the peace and quiet spent with you in his arms, he really did. But he wanted more.

Long fingers trailed from your back to your hip, dancing along your skin to skim over your pantyclad pussy. Your breath hitched as he pressed a finger against your clit, rubbing circles into the fabric. A quiet whimper escaped your lips prompting Mattsun to press a soft kiss against them.

“Tell me what you want y/n,” he hummed, pressing a trail of kisses along your jaw. Adding another finger to your clit, he pushed aside your panties and glided them along your wet folds. Your hips raised involuntarily, your gasps reverberating around the room.

“C’mon princess, use your words,” teasing you with a smirk. Leaning forward he pressed his lips against the shell of your ear and whispered, “Oh my bad...I meant baby girl.” You hissed at his carefully executed words, grabbing the hand that was pressed against your weeping cunt. You licked your lips and met his lusty gaze muttering out your wants. “I want you to t-touch me more, I want more.”

“More of what baby? More of this?” He accentuated his words with a quick thrust of his fingers into your wet cunny. You let out a moan and gripped his arm, nails digging into his skin. He curled his fingers, dragging them in and out along your gummy walls. Pressing a thumb against your clit, he rubs it in lazy circles before adding a third finger in your pussy.

“Issei I’m gonna cum,” you whine out, thrashing in his hold. Your senses were overloading with pleasure, your thoughts garbled together.

Mattsun pushed his digits deeper into you, going at a lazy yet satisfying pace. “Cum for me baby girl, cum for me.”

You whimpered his name and thrashed around as you let yourself go, the familiar sweet aching feeling crashing through your nerves.

“Fuck baby girl, you look so beautiful when you cum, such a good girl for me.” Mattsun uttered praise after praise, cooing into his good little girl's ear.

As you came down from your high, he pulled his sticky fingers out of your cunt before pressing them against your lips. Your tongue darted out to taste your juices off Mattsun’s thick fingers.

“Hmm, always such a treat for me, arentcha babygirl.”

[heymacy]

Oh, no, please, Macy. Take your own advice and share your gay little thoughts! Christmas Gallavich thoughts. Go!

my little gay thoughts, oh lord i have way too many of those 😭 but re: Christmas Gallavich — think excited puppy, grumpy kitten 😍😒

ian loves christmas — december is a hard month for him, but the joyfulness of the season has made it easier year after year. since franny and freddie (and baby Gallietti 2.0), he’s gotten really into the movies and the music, because that’s what gets them really hyped (i mean they’re kids, what kid doesn’t lose their mind over “Jingle Bells” and How The Grinch Stole Christmas??)

mickey, eh, he can take it or leave it. christmas was never really a big deal to him growing up, mostly because it usually ended in disappointment. but the past few years have been good ones, spent with the Gallaghers, in the comfort of his own home(s), with his family. and that’s not so bad 😌💛 sure, he likes the movies and the music as much as anyone (though if ian and franny do their irritating, poorly-choreographed dance to TSO’s “Wizards of Winter” one more fuckin’ time… 😤) but he’s really into the treats. all year he waits for ian and debbie to make peppermint bark, and he’ll never admit it, but lip’s actually a pretty decent baker 👀 carl, too. they always make christmas cookies for the kids to decorate (and the adults that are kids at heart, and that includes mickey and ian) and dammit, they’re actually delicious.

where they intersect is christmas activities — ice skating, specifically. ian learned from lip when they were kids. mickey didn’t pick it up until recently, but he shocked everyone with how quickly he was skating circles around the rest of them. franny just learned to skate, and can finally get around without those little ice-walkers they give you when you’re still wobbly, so mickey’s trying to teach her how to speed skate — though he winds up on his ass more often than she does!

as far as decorations go, i think they like to keep things relatively simple. ian gets some decorative hand towels from target for the kitchen and the bathroom and maybe one of the novelty pillows with a reindeer on it from the dollar spot. mickey picks out a welcome mat for their apartment that says “ho ho holy shit” that he thinks is hysterical (their uppity neighbors would disagree, but hey — fuck ‘em). i think ian would probably hang a wreath on the door and christmas lights on the balcony, but mickey draws the line at ian putting new sheets on the bed, complete with tiny christmas gnomes. nope. not happening, sorry debbie. solid White Elephant gift, though!

like i said i’m not a huge christmas person — more of a halloween bitch myself — but christmas as a concept makes me incredibly soft. it’s about healing your inner child, y’know? 🥰🎄💫