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abiiors · 2 years ago

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three's a party 🍸// george daniel x reader x ross macdonald

a/n: hi. thank you so much to my darlings @bookish-strawberry and @ughgoaway for helping me with some of the scenes!!! this is quite tame compared to some of the others i read for "research" but it is still quite...porny. this note is so long, but i'm just rambling because i'm nervous!!! anyway, here, have this unholy piece of writing with barely any plot

cw: threesome (obv), "good girl" and other feminine words/pronouns, uhhhh...yeah, just. general nastiness.

wc: 3.6k

the pub lights are dim, ambient. people chatter around you in low volume, a friendly humdrum of couples out on date nights and old friends catching up, it’s nice—this place. the food is good, the alcohol is even better; the playlist is just the right mix of sensual and exciting. absolutely perfect for a casual first date.

except for the man in front of you who drones on and on and on about one thing or the other—none of which you have given two shits about in your entire existence. but now you have to sit there and pretend that the local football team—the bulls or the foxes or some other inane animal—are the most riveting conversation you’ve ever had.

you also have to pretend like you haven’t been checking out other people sitting at the bar, laughing and joking and having way more fun than you in general—the group of drunk girls out on a friday night, couples on dates, two men sat at the edge of the bar who haven't stopped glancing your way since you first walked in.

a blond and a brunet, one with a sharp, clean-shaven face, the other with a softer face and a thick, dark beard. one with close-cropped and buzzed hair, the other with long hair tied up. two ends of the spectrum, yet they both have the same aura of je ne sais quoi about them. it’s tempting, distracting. and certainly a million times better than whatever’s happening in front of you.

every time one of them looks over at you, you lower your eyes coyly, pretend to be engrossed in a conversation with your date—nodding along to whatever he’s saying and laughing when he pauses expectantly. it’s truly a testament to his intelligence that he hasn’t caught up to your little game yet.

the blond man looks at you again, intense eyes and a full pink mouth. his eyes linger, lazily staring you from head to toe in your tight black first-date dress. then out the corner of your eye, you watch him mumble something to his friend.

he’s a bit subtle, turning only slightly and checking you out from the corner of his eyes, making sure he doesn’t get caught every time you look over in their general direction.

your date clears his throat.

“so i was thinking we could get one more drink and…take this back to my place?”

well… shit

“i had a lot of fun…” you begin, trying to hide the wince in your words but your date’s face falls as realisation finally dawns. “but i don’t—”

“so you’ve wasted my time then,” he cuts you off, nostrils flaring in anger as he clutches his beer pint harder than necessary.

“excuse me?”

“bitch,” he spits under his breath yet you hear it clearly.

all you can do is roll your eyes at his petulance. the glasses clatter as he stands up abruptly, gathering the attention of a few people nearby. you’re beyond feeling any sort of embarrassment; and why should you? it’s not you making a scene.

“classy,” you mutter, taking a leisurely sip of your aperol spritz.

it’s great, no reason for you to ruin a perfectly good evening for a little bitch baby. in your peripheral vision, the two men snicker. the rational part of your brain knows they’re laughing at an inside joke; nothing to do with you. but your delusional brain can’t stop imagining the two of them listening in on your conversation, smirking at your date’s little temper tantrum. you take your own sweet time finishing your drink after he leaves. he’s already out of your mind before he’s even halfway across the pub. you can finally indulge in your other pursuits after all.

“well, that was a pathetic date."

it's after fifteen minutes when you've sought solace in the first floor balcony of the pub. a few people loiter in the nooks and corners, making out and sneaking quick puffs of cigarettes, some wait for their turn to use the loo. some linger in search of peace.

you focus your attention on the stranger.

his voice is deep, deeper than you would have imagined. there’s a gravelly and rough edge to it that makes his words skitter down your bones. even just the way he walks towards you, slow and leisurely, has you hypnotised and transfixed on him. but you won’t be swayed so easily.

“are you always this straightforward with strangers?”

he comes to a stop a few inches away from you and leans against the railing; his body mirroring yours. his spicy cologne permeates the air around you. it's a struggle to not inhale sharply and get a lungful of it. even in your heels, you’re a good few inches shorter than him.

“no,” he shrugs and the movement makes his arm brush against yours ever so slightly, “i guess you caught my eye.”

you attribute the goosebumps on your arms to the chilly night air even as a small voice in your head reminds you that it’s august.

“george,” he extends a hand. it’s big, rough-looking with callouses all over his palms. either he’s a gym rat with pretty show muscles, or… you can’t exactly place the or. but it leads to quite a few interesting theories.

“your…friend didn’t come out with you?”

the man—george—raises an eyebrow, either at the way you leave his hand hanging in mid-air or at the mention of his friend but he does a rather good job of hiding his surprise. if he even felt any, to begin with.

“why? you’re more interested in my friend?”

a small part of you almost purrs in delight at the tinge of jealousy in his tone. good, possessive men know how to make nights like these into memorable ones. his fingers curl slightly, ready to put the extended hand down. the nicotine stains on them should have put you off a long time ago. instead, you find yourself looking at those fingers; imagining things you really shouldn’t.

“you always answer questions with more questions?” you bite your bottom lip, letting just the hint of a smile ghost over your mouth. let him work to figure out your tone. your intentions.

george chuckles deeply, sucking air between his teeth, and about to say something when you hear the second set of footsteps. these are imperceptibly heavier, almost like you know who it is…

a smirk curls up your mouth as george turns around to look at—

“ross…” he says quietly.

possessive men know how to have wild nights.

possessive men are also…incredibly easy to predict.

george is behind you, pressed up against your naked ass, hard and thick. the only thing that separates you are his cotton brief. it only took you fifteen minutes to decide to take both the men home with you. and judging from the minimum resistance you got from either of them, one thing is clear—this isn’t their first rodeo.

“you feel this, darling?,” george whispers, mouth brushing over the shell of your ear while rolling your nipple softly between his fingers.

it’s a lot of stimulation. it’s the good kind of stimulation, the kind that has your toes curling and your thighs shaking. and if it weren’t for the other man kneeling between your legs, holding you up with his hand on your hips, you would have fallen to your knees a long time ago.

“mm–yes, fuck, it feels good,” you moan, head rolling back to rest against george’s chest. your fingers are tangled up in ross’ hair, long graceful fingers twisting and turning traces of his soft hair between them, guiding him as he licks and sucks your clit until you’re nothing but a wet trembling mess.

ross won’t be outdone so easily. he hums against you, sending vibrations that shoot through your entire body at lightning speed. “is he making you feel better than i am, baby?” he pouts, stopping entirely.

his beard glistens in the ambient lights of the room as he stares at you with intense, blown-out eyes. a whine escapes you, your fingers tighten in his hair—tugging at it harshly and making him groan. it’s so close to your cunt, enough for you feel it but not close enough. you writhe against george, trying to thrust your hips back into ross’ face, trying to get him to continue. but george tsks.

“not before you answer him, baby.” his fingers are back to pinching your nipples; pain and pleasure blending in together in a heady mix. “don’t we deserve to know?”

his voice is gruffer than before, barely restrained—a man so used to commanding people that it rolls off his tongue effortlessly.

ross smirks when you mumble something incoherently, ready to finish what he started but george is not satisfied. “use your words, darling.”

it sends a spark of desperate annoyance through you, clearing the fog in your brain. “ross is better,” you grit out, guiding the man back between your legs smirking at the way george tenses behind you.

for someone who seems so calm and composed he certainly has a competitive streak…

ross grazes his teeth against you, licking it after—almost like a reward for declaring him the winner. you throw a leg over his shoulder, hissing at the way his tongue has better access now, crying out when he swipes his fingers against your folds almost lazily.

you suck in a sharp breath, ready to cry out again but the scream dies in your throat. rather, it’s strangled—literally—by george wrapping his free hand around it, applying pressure to the sides.

“you want to be a brat?” he tsks again, “she wants to be a brat, ross.”

ross laughs breathlessly, letting go of you for just a second, “you’re just a sore loser.” he smirks, eyes alight with mirth. there’s a hint of danger in them, not the kind you sense in george—one that comes with a touch of sadism. ross’ brand of danger feels more arrogant. someone who knows what effect he has on people, on women. he’s not a taker. he’s a giver. and right now, he looks at you like he’d give anything to watch you fall apart with his name on your lips.

the almost lack of oxygen has your head spinning, combined with the knot pulled taut in your stomach—it’s almost impossible to stand up, to make your legs hold you up. but that’s what george is here for.

his fingers adapt a rougher pace, pinching and flicking your nipples, matching ross’s movements. your mind feels like it’s torn both ways, fighting hard to keep track of two sensations, two feelings. it’s too much.

a string of curses fall from your lips. “gonna cum,” you plead, struggling against ross, desperately trying to get more and more and so much more. “can i cum, please. please–fuck.”

“what should we do, george?” ross hums, ignoring you entirely. his nails dig into your ass, feeling up the curves and the firm muscles. you are nothing but a toy in his hands, for him to use and control. all your bossiness from before melts away as soon as george snakes a hand around your waist, stroking ross’ head and guiding it the way he wants to.

ross doesn’t resist, he only chuckles, making you cry out pleas once again.

“have you earned it, sweetheart?” george asks, whispery rough voice burrowing on the insides of your skull.

have you?

you nod, or try to at least. it’s hard when your head rests limply on his chest, throat gripped between his hands.

“please, yes. i’ll do what you want, pl–fuck, fuck.”

“whatever we want?”

“whatever yo–you want.”

“go on then,” george pinches your nipple, twisting it between his fingers, “give him a taste.”

he’s barely halfway through the sentence when you scream out incoherently, falling apart as waves after waves of pleasure hit you all at once. everything goes white for a split second, all that remains is intoxicating pleasure. you have no sense of time, of self. only that one man holds you up as the other laps at your folds greedily, licking away every last drop of what you have to offer.

“want a taste?” ross smirks. his voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere under water. you’re unsure if you can stand up on your own just yet. vestiges of the orgasm course through you, heady and hot. “she’s fucking sweet, george, like honey.”

ross stands up, right in front of you, tall and imposing. and for the first time, you’re between both of them, feeling their sweaty skin on yours, inhaling them greedily.

“open your mouth,” he commands, fingers taking hold of your chin and roughly tilting it up. you know what’s coming as you watch the sinister half-smile on his face. and oh how delightlfully right you are.

the moment you open your mouth for him, ross spits in it; saliva mixed with your slick still coating his tongue.

“good girl,” he whispers, turning your face to george who captures your mouth in a rough kiss. his tongue flicks on the insides of your mouth, searching, tasting you and ross together. he moans, satisfied. “now about that promise…”

“be a good girl and get on all fours”

it’s a shock to you how ross takes charge when he wants to. george doesn’t contradict him, he only watches with vague amusement as you try holding yourself up on shaking arms and legs, drenched in sweat and thighs sticky with your own slick.

your entire body buzzes with adrenaline, shivers racking down your spine, still needy for more and more, still wanting to please the men who have been pleasing you for… what feels like hours now.

“now,” george says, walking up to you and stopping just in front of you, “you can take both of us, can’t you?”

you peer up at george, tall and imposing george who looks at you with such blatant lust that it makes a tiny moan slip out of you. you can, you have been dying to do just that. now you look at him through your eyelashes and through the sweaty hair sticking to your forehead, falling in your eyes.

“yes,” you nod eagerly, “please, yes.”

the men smile, all teeth and hardness and intensity—it’s intoxicating. almost hypnotising, you get on your knees, hand drifting between your legs one more time just to feel the friction again but ross is quicker.

“ah–ah!” he quickly catches your wrist, before it’s even reached past your navel. “that’s our job, darling. all you need to do is get on all fours and look pretty.”

“but she already is so pretty,” george tsks, palming himself through his briefs. his cock is a stark, thick outline that stands out, making you drool. if he already looks so big and delicious then how good would it be to feel him on your tongue and stretching out your mouth?

the moment stretches on—you on all fours, on trembling, shaky limbs, waiting there like a good little slut for either one of these men to fill you up.

george continues to play with himself, fingers dipping in and out of the waistband of his underwear, touching and teasing. until finally he pulls his boxers down. you watch, transfixed as george shamelessly pumps himself in front of you, head thrown back, throaty moans echoing in the room as he slides his fist around his cock. you stare, eager and waiting, almost leaning forward.

behind you, ross is silent. you can almost imagine him staring at the scene in front of him in awe and lust. you try to imagine it from his perspective. your dripping swollen cunt right in front of him growing wetter still the more you watch george.

“don’t tease,” you almost whine, unable to take more of this. you need to know what he tastes like. and you need it now.

“eager, are we?” george asks, walking up to you. “are you not pleasing her enough, ross?” he tuts and ross chuckles; throaty and distracted.

you get little warning before you feel ross sliding a finger up your slit, lazily collecting your wetness and then the tell-tale sound of his tongue lapping it up from his fingers. it’s filthy and disgusting, it makes you arch your back and drives you almost crazy with want.

“i could do better than your hand.” your grin matches george’s who comes to a stop in front of you.

“guess she likes me better, ross.”

ross huffs, “we’ll see.”

before you have the chance to respond, ross draws a hiss of pleasure out of you. his length drags against your cunt, almost between your ass cheeks, sliding just the tip in. no further. red, hot need spears through you. if the men are determined to tease and taunt you then it’s for you to take matters into your own hands.

before george can registers it, you cup a hand around his ass, pulling him forward until his cock practically rests on your face.

a thick vein runs along the side, pulsating, practically inviting you to trace it with your sharp fingernail. you let your tongue swirl over his slit, humming at the salty taste of his precum. george moans as the vibrations of your hum hit. ross moves his hips slowly, almost pulling out before slamming into you fully. the force of it has you choking on george, gagging around him, drooling messily.

“breathe,” he commands softly, stroking your hair. you do as he tells you, relaxing your throat more and letting his weight rest on your tongue.

the sides of your mouth burn from the stretch, black, glittery mascara tears stain your face. and yet all you care about is this, here, now. it’s fullness like you’ve never experienced before, delicious and thick, drawing out gasps and moans from you that mix with his grunts.

“such a perfect girl,” he coos, “isn’t she ross? doesn’t she feel fucking great?”

ross hums behind you, thrusting into you again at a steady pace. shameless need and lust pools in your belly, bleeds through your veins as you trace along george’s cock with your tongue. his fingers remain tangled in your hair, guiding you, commanding you to please him as he wishes.

you hollow our your cheeks, licking and sucking until his hips move in much the same pace as ross’ do.

ross’ hand snakes up your waist, between your legs again, finding your clit again to rub and pinch, to make you whine. each one of his flicks makes you moan around george, sending small hums of pleasure right up his spine. he looks blissed out, head rolling and eyes half-lidded. a surge of pride runs through you at the sight.

ross’ fingers dig into your hips, bruising the soft flesh. twinges of pain intertwine with sparks of pleasure as he pushes in, stretching you out and filling you in.

“taking me so well, sweetheart,” he praises. the term of endearment from his mouth makes your knees weak and your legs tremble but ross holds you up, slamming into you until he bottoms out again and again.

flesh slaps against flesh—rhythmic sounds punctuated by guttural grunts. the position you’re in allows ross to thrust deeper each time, hitting your g-spot repeatedly. if your mouth weren’t otherwise occupied, he would have had you mewling by now. but that doesn’t mean you don’t let out the occasional whimpers as you continue to bob your head up and down george’s dick.

the man is close, you can tell. his cock twitches and spasms in your mouth. he has lost some of his rhythm, hips bucking wildly as he chases his pleasure. you can’t help but caress the base of his cock with your hand, moving it lower to softly squeeze his balls.

“shit–shit,” he curses loudly, “do that again.”

so you oblige, letting your nails graze on the sensitive skin. within seconds, you feel his hold tightening in your hair. george fucks your mouth with wild abandon, careless thrusts—he couldn't care less about the drool dribbling down your chin, about your tear-stained face. the burn around your lips.

“gonna cum, darling, doing so well,” he grounds out. your own body mirrors the feelings as ross continues to thrust faster and faster.

the knot in your stomach tightens, blood pumps through your veins, infused with lightning until the bitter-salty taste of cum fills your mouth. george cums, groaning loudly and shooting spurts of his release down your throat that you lap up hungrily. some of it dribbles down the side of your chin but you don’t swallow just yet. instead, you open your mouth wide open for him to have a look.

“you’re killing me,” he swears, trying to get a grip on himself. only then do you swallow, whining loudly when ross pinches your clit, kneading the bundle of nerves in rough circles.

“go on,” he commands, “cum for us. wanna feel you around me before i fill you up.”

it only takes one more thrust from ross before you’re almost falling down face first from the force of the orgasm that hits you. vaguely you’re aware of ross cumming inside you, of it spilling down your thighs, mixing with your own release. vaguely you’re aware of george falling to his knees in front of you, legs still spasming as he watches you fall apart again and again.

you cry out something unintelligent—perhaps their names, perhaps something else. the world blacks out, until slow, blurred images creep back into your line of sight.

the beginning of the night, the pathetic date is long gone from your mind. right now all you can think of is ecstacy.

and then perhaps a round two.

lemme know what you think <3

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @beachesgetpeaches, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855

add yourself to the taglist

#RIGHT. GOODBYE.#ross macdonald #george daniel #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #george daniel x reader #george daniel x you #ross macdonald smut #george daniel smut #the 1975 #the 1975 smut #matty healy #adam hann #smut writing #smut fic #minors do not interact #female reader #the 1975 fic #three/some

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the-kingshound · 11 months ago

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Warning inane ramble incoming, it’ll probably be annoying I apologize. (*_ _)人 I spent the last several days reading every post here. I managed to convince myself to start liking some (sorry about that I’m sure it was annoying to get all those notifications) I have this weird thing where I get nervous about liking older posts cuz I mean it’s been a long time and it’s unprompted so that’s weird right? It feels weird like I’m doing something wrong or I’m being annoying, I considered reblogging too but somehow that felt worse? Sorry I am not good with social rules they confuse me both on and offline Idk my brain is wrong and I’m just a nervous socially anxious snail. (＞﹏＜)

Anyways just wanted to gush about how much I love it here and I’m never leaving (´꒳`) ♡ First and foremost Yniol has a special place in my heart they will forever be my favorite bestie (*＾ω＾)人(＾ω＾*), yes I am biased as my partner is grey and though they don’t play IFs they were thrilled to learn about your character! Also your writing is just phenomenal, your fans are fun and creative, your characters give such warm and positive energy I love them so much they’re perfect, the inclusivity is such chefs kiss ( ´ з `) 🤌🏻✨, the angst is delicious, the fluff is so sweet and comforting, the spice is ... very blush-worthy (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄<⁄ ⁄). This has been a journey I laughed, I cried, I giggled, and I blushed and I have enjoyed every bit of it from pasta discourse to Moldien cult wars to Arthur bunnies, I’ve had the most wonderful time. Now my mind is gonna be filled with Arthurian stuff for months my maladaptive daydreaming is having the time of its life I have a road trip next week and I’m so looking forward to just staring out a window for 6+hours while my Hound's just alternating daydream adventures with the cast o(≧▽≦)o. Also speaking of your amazingly wonderful, sweet, and supportive cast I have decided my (though I love them all) favorite poly pairings are Arthur/Morien and whole crew polycule I’d sell my soul for those but I 100% understand why you can’t really do that. I don’t think I have the endurance in me to code a single poly no matter how much I wish it so the fact you’re doing any let alone several is just god tier you are awe inspiring.

Alas I have rambled far far to much I wish I could be more eloquent in expressing just how much I enjoyed experiencing all of this but for now this is the best I can do (╥ω╥). Thank you for sharing your wonderful work it’s truly a gift to experience. ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭✧ I wish you wealth, health, and all the best in all your creative endeavors. -🐌

No, please please do not apologize. You made my entire week <3 This ask is straight up going into the folder where i keep my motivation to write and to be just a little proud of my work, thank you so so much for sending it.

For anyone having the same thoughts about liking or reblogging old posts: please do it. When I see the notifications, get very giddy and pleased, and I hope you are enjoying the food. Liking, and especially reblogging things, even more so if you add tags and reactons, not only fills me with glee but it also reminds me of old asks that I want to reblog again for new followers. So yeah, I love it, please feel free to go on a liking/reblogging spree!

You are so relatable for the maladaptive daydreaming (this game was absolutely born out of my own mental movies), I wish I could speed up the writing and editing for the next update so you can read it while you travel but I'm afraid it's a lost cause (I have been working on things, even now, but I am currently rewriting like half of it and while it is way better it takes sooo much time and energy). Knowing my characters and story are in someone's thoughts it the best kind of reward I need. I will never likely monetise this game, so this is the thing I wish to leave people with, and I hope the characters can be comforting and keep you company <3

You have no idea how much I would love to write the full polycule... maybe one day :,) But don't lose hope for the Arthur/Morien poly yet, as I decided to cancel the Gwyar/Morien poly and now I have a potentially free slot. In any case, awww, please know that this ask made me so happy today and will be in my thoughts as tkh is in yours.

Please have a lovely day and a lovely week and also a very lovely trip! Thank you again so so much!!

#lovely adorable anons #also never apologize for sening asks in anon i understand #i do the same #(anxiety)#love you!!#anon love

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books · 2 years ago

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Writing Workshop Week 1: Show & Tell

Hello, writers of tumblr! It’s @bettsfic again with this week’s generative workshop.

Today we’re doing what might be my favorite class activity: Show & Tell.

You might be thinking, do you teach kindergarten or something? No, I teach college. But my students are often weary, downtrodden 20 year olds who are more than happy to go back to basics. Tumblr—being a website of people who care deeply about things and share that passion with others—seems like a great place to host Show & Tell.

Speaking of basics, let’s first talk a bit about…

The Writing Identity

The goal of many writers is to become better at writing. While I think this is an admirable goal it’s also a complicated one, because good writing is entirely subjective. Everyone has their own definition of what good writing looks like based on their knowledge base, history, and personal tastes. And so I often encourage my students, before they begin their journey of becoming a better writer, to step back and ask themselves, “What does good writing look like to me?”

And that’s the thing: you can’t really become a better writer. You can become a more patient writer, with the ability to write and revise multiple drafts of a work. You can become a more ambitious writer, with the ability to write longer stories and deeper themes. You can become a more detailed writer, with the ability to render images and the small details of living that maybe other people don’t notice. Writing is a skill that requires practice, but it also requires joy. You have to enjoy the work more than you fear the potential for failure. And to enjoy the work, you need to honor yourself, your interests, and your ideals. In other words, to become a better writer, you have to become more you.

I remember when I first started writing, I frantically sought out writing advice. I clung to simple adages and rules: active verbs are stronger than passive verbs; remove words like “think” and “realize” and other indicators of your characters’ interior experiences; take out adjectives and adverbs. If you were to adhere to all this advice, your writing wouldn’t become stronger, it would become colder. You would write like Hemingway. There’s nothing wrong with Hemingway, but Hemingway already did Hemingway, and that means you’re free not to be Hemingway.

Don’t we read to feel closer to people, to experience that which we couldn’t otherwise experience? The beautiful thing about prose is that it’s the only medium that conveys consciousness, because language is the way we contain our thoughts, and writing them down offers others the chance to understand them. E.M. Forster in his book Aspects of the Novel says that the only difference between a character and a person is that a character’s secret inner life can be known, but a person’s can only be understood in observed behavior. Novels are stories of consciousness; biographies are stories of deeds.

In my early days as a writer, those inane adages of “good writing” began to weigh on me, and I found myself frequently opening a blank document and telling myself, “I’m just going to write something for fun, for me, and so I don’t have to follow any rules.” Every time, that lawless thing I wrote would become better than anything I’d written when I followed the rules. And in this case, “better” means I was proud of it; in writing as close to myself as I could, I was able to help my technical skill reach the level of my personal taste.

Good writing advice doesn’t spout shallow adages of what should be, it tells you all the things that could be; it opens your mind to possibilities and techniques. “Should” restrains creativity; the entire point of writing is to be creative. To be creative means to make something that has never existed before. And so one of the first things I tell my students is: You already know everything you need to know about your own writing. You already have good and important stories in you. You just have to sit down and write them.

“Show, Don’t Tell”

One such adage that still really gets to me is “show, don’t tell,” which a lot of writers believe. Many people take it to mean that you should describe the exterior circumstances of your narrator in order to allow the reader to interpret meaning. Instead of describing how your narrator feels, these people would rather have you describe their facial expression. But if you’re so interested in rendering the exterior rather than the interior, you’re better off becoming a director.

Others take it less literally: you show your story instead of tell your story, which, sure, is a valid personal belief for your own work but it’s ambiguous and impractical, and also denies the nature of people to tell stories. Fairy tales and fables are stories that are told. Telling stories came long before showing them.

In some ways, “show, don’t tell,” can be useful. If you spend a thousand words of character A lovingly and carefully describing every detail of character B, you don’t then need to say something like, “She was pining for him,” because you’ve allowed your description to do that work for you. So no, you don’t need to say it, but maybe you want to. Maybe you want to make it inarguable that character A is pining for character B; you don’t want a reader to say, “I think she’s paying that much attention because she wants to kill him and she’s looking for his weak points.”

And so that’s what it comes down to—choice. Ultimately, writing is about making decisions, and those decisions are stronger when you understand all your options.

Behind the adage is a more difficult truth to swallow: prose is both infinite in its potential and also frustratingly limited, because you have no control over your audience. You can lovingly describe every snowflake that falls in a blizzard, and your reader will be taking their own meaning from it—for people who can mentally visualize things, it’s the images their mind conjures; for those who can’t, it’s a mass of facts. And there are also those who are sleepy and missing details, or who are skimming to get to the bits they’re most interested in, or who accidentally dropped their book in the bath and now the bottom half of every page is warped and unreadable.

Or you can say, “It snowed.”

No matter what your beliefs are on “show, don’t tell,” the truth is that it’s a false dichotomy. The very nature of prose is to navigate this divide. Some stories call for more showing, for example when your narrator is at a distance, when we don’t have much access to their thoughts or feelings. Other stories will ask you to tell, especially if we’re deep in your narrator’s head and they’re giving us everything. Showing lends itself to setting, imagery, and plot. Telling lends itself to character, voice, and style. One is not inherently better than the other, in the same way that a screwdriver isn’t better than a hammer—the tool you use depends on the task at hand.

Any time you encounter a trite rule in writing, it’s usually pointing to something much greater and more fun to think about. In this case, showing and telling are two integral tools in meaning-making. For this week’s activity, we’re going to use both show and tell to make meaning.

Prompt time!

In Donald Barthelme's essay “Not-Knowing,” he calls objects magical. “What is magical about the object is that it at once invites and resists interpretation. Its artistic worth is measurable by the degree to which it remains, after interpretation, vital.”

So what does that mean? Although this essay is a hot mess (lovingly), part of its intended work is to be a mess. In fact Barthelme describes the mess of his desk and allows it to define him. It’s covered in coffee cups, cigarette ash, unpaid bills, and unwritten novels. In reality, those objects are just objects, but when rendered in prose, they give us an impression of this particular world and the character within it. The writer renders; the reader interprets. The things we own, that mean something to us, are also things that can define us. Who is the person who carries a leather wallet embossed with their initials, with the inside holding credit cards and a stack of neat bills? Who is the person who carries a canvas wallet with a faded Punisher logo on it, attached to a chain, and the only thing inside it is a Subway rewards card?

Objects are important. Especially in this world we live in where so many things have become virtual, tangibility will always be integral to us. We are a species that reaches out and touches. We like to hold things in our hands. We love things which cannot love us back.

For this week’s prompt fill, I want you to find a magical object for Show & Tell. Ideally, it’s something with a long personal history that’s important to you. Maybe it’s the object you would save in the event of a fire, or maybe it’s something you lost long ago.

First, I’d like you to show us the object by describing it. Then, tell us the story of it.

You can write about how you acquired it and the memories it conjures. Allow yourself to link and associate memories and feelings. Don’t box yourself in too much—just see where it takes you.

But you can also put a spin on it. Here are some ways you can do that:

If you want to try fiction, you can write the same story about your favorite character’s beloved object, or you could completely make up an object and its history.

If you want to try something experimental, you can write a story from the perspective of the object, and maybe its beloved thing is you.

If you want to try poetry, write a poem of your object. This is a separate lesson, but T.S. Eliot’s concept of an objective correlative may be illuminating to consider.

The purpose of this activity is to dig through your memories and/or observations, connect them, and use something external to conjure meaning from them. You begin with what your object is and it will eventually lead you to what it means.

Questions? Ask ‘em here before EOD Tuesday so @bettsfic can answer them on Wednesday. And remember to tag your work #tumblr writing workshop with betts if you want her to read your work and possibly feature it on Friday!

And, for those just joining us: @bettsfic is running a writing workshop on @books this month. Want to know more? Start here.

#tumblr writing workshop with betts #writers’ room #writeblr #writing advice #show and tell #long post #long text post

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ghostlyeris · 12 hours ago

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party fouls, chapter 3

read on ao3

Oisín doesn't mean to brag, but he's kicking Biz's ass.

It's a little embarrassing honestly. He does start out strong, to give him some credit. Oisín’s certainly seen worse. They’re fairly matched to start off with, trading drink for drink as Oisín tunes out whatever inane bullshit Biz is babbling on about now.

He’s here because Adaine asked; not because he actually wants to listen to Biz speak.

Every shot he makes is matched by the pixie, slowly dwindling down the drinks. But if there’s one thing Biz has in spades, it’s unearned confidence; he slips up about halfway through. It starts small with a ball finally falling stray from its target. Biz brushes it off with a laugh, but Oisín certainly doesn’t miss the tension in his jaw as Oisín lands his shot.

And once he has that lead, Oisín doesn’t let up. He doesn’t particularly care for beer pong, finding it more frivolous than actual fun. If you want to get drunk, just drink. But he’s always had excellent analytical skills, and if the training with Porter gave him anything, it was consistent hand-eye coordination. Outperforming Biz took less brain power than skimming a book.

He wonders where Adaine went off to.

It gets marginally more entertaining when Biz starts cheating, but not by much. Oisín’s tattoos blatantly brand him as a spellcaster, so he’s not sure if Biz thinks Oisín can’t see him casting lesser restoration on himself or if he just doesn’t care. Oisín supposes it doesn’t matter; it’s not like he’s going to say anything about it.

Losing while cheating only makes it more embarrassing.

The gentle breeze of magic rushes through the backyard and Oisín flares his nostrils as he once again tries not to sneeze. Honestly, the fucking decency of some people. The asshole finally takes his shot after an age of fake-outs to cover up what he was doing. The ball bounces against the rim of the outermost cup before teetering in with a pathetic splash that barely makes a plink. Oisín wouldn’t have caught it if he wasn’t paying attention. The hollow disinterest of the crowd against Biz’s enthusiastic self-congratulations makes the unpleasant taste of warm beer worth it. Now he was only three cups behind Oisín.

“I’m not outta the game yet dude!” Biz shouts out from across the table. The low murmurs of the crowd makes his volume wholly unnecessary.

Oisín could not care less about this dude’s bravado. He’s no stranger to being pathetic; his family certainly makes sure he knows that. But they had also made sure he knew how to hide it. Biz clearly never learned that lesson. The false confidence feels tacky in a way that only profound self-loathing can.

Biz keeps talking but Oisín stops listening as Adaine appears in his view once more. She looks as perfect as she did when she left. With one notable addition. His brow furrows as he stares at her arms. “Is that a bowl of shrimp?”

“Someone needed a pool skimmer.”

He blinks. “Alright.”

“Want some?” Oisín shrugs before popping one into his mouth. It's warm, but not as warm as her smile. She passes the bowl off to someone in the crowd before saddling up to his side. Like magic, a drink appears in Adaine’s hand. “Like I promised.”

He doesn’t bother looking before taking a sip. It is, of course, delicious.

From the smirk she’s wearing, she already knows.

Still, he says, ��This is terrific. Thanks.”

“Course.” Adaine glances at the board. “Told you you’d need that drink.”

Oisín takes another sip to hide the rush of affection that soars through him at her implicit approval. He did what she asked and he did it well. That alone makes coming to this party worth it. A few moments later, Oisín tunes back into the sound of Biz’s voice, solely because he hears Adaine’s name fall out of that stupid fucker’s mouth. Oisín can practically smell the desire coming off of Biz as he stares at Adaine. Adaine’s dismissive glance she sends Biz’s way shows exactly how much she cares about that.

“A pleasure to see you this fine evening m’lady,” Biz says, smoothing his hair back.

Oisín and Adaine sneer in unison.

“Hi Biz,” she drawls out, slow and uninterested. Instead of overwhelming joy and gratitude—the correct response to Adaine deigning to dole out any portion of her time to you—Biz has the audacity to look annoyed. Unacceptable. Any smidge of Adaine’s attention is a blessing.

Biz chuckles. “You must be pretty busy helping Fabian. I haven’t seen you at all tonight.”

“Big wonder why,” Oisín whispers. Adaine snorts as she glances his way before settling back onto Biz with a bored expression.

“Real busy,” she says. And it’s a real testament to how much time he’s spent around her during the summer that he knows she’s about to start shit before she even opens her mouth. “But I heard Oisín was playing beer pong back here, so I swung by to say hi.”

Biz goes blank and Oisín can’t help the smile that curls across his lips. Not that he’s trying, really. He hopes it hurts.

Adaine continues on, like she didn’t just cut Biz’s ego down to size with one sentence. “It’s cool that you're here too though, I guess. Whose shot is it?”

Oisín answers as soon as it’s clear that Biz can’t speak through his upset. “It’s mine.”

“Come on then, Oisín.” She sprawls across the edge of the table, staring him down. “Impress me.”

The beer pong table suddenly looks much more intimidating than it did a moment ago. Still, Oisín is no fool and he certainly won’t be a coward in front of her. Even while triple-checking his calculations, it doesn’t take long for him to find the ideal arc to dwindle Biz’s cups down to one. Seeing just how hard Biz is glaring at him, Oisín throws Adaine a blatant wink before throwing the ball itself. He doesn’t watch Biz drink; instead he watches her smile.

“So.” He leans towards her, all teeth and teasing. “Have I impressed?”

Her eyes twinkle in the twilight. “With that shot, at least.”

Oisín leans in closer, eager to continue their little game, only to get interrupted by what is rapidly becoming the bane of his existence. Biz scoffs, bouncing the ball against the tabletop. “Please, that was nothing. Let me show you something actually impressive.”

As soon as he takes the shot, Oisín can tell Biz got far too overeager. The ball goes wide yet again, bouncing off a cup rim hard enough to tip it over before rebounding into the hedges. Everyone in the crowd explodes with jeering; Biz flushes as Adaine politely hides her snickers by burying her face against Oisín’s shoulder. Even in the dim light, the rage settling on the pixie’s face makes Oisín chuckle. The rustle of fabric has him glancing down; Adaine peeks out, only to fall back into him. Her shoulders shake with the effort and Oisín makes absolutely no attempt to hide how pleased he is at the noise. She only pulls away when the little freshman runs up with a bowl of new balls.

Adaine steps in front of the small boy, stopping him in his tracks as she reaches down and selects one right out of his arms. Murmuring something too quiet to catch, she smiles before the freshman goes scurrying to clean up the table.

As soon as Adaine looks back up, Oisín sees a shine in her eyes.

She’s up to something. He can’t wait to see what it is.

Adaine pulls the ball to her lips, leaving a light kiss lingering against the surface before she tucks it tenderly into Oisín’s hand. Lightning strikes his fingertips beneath the smooth plastic; the anticipation of a spell waiting to be cast. Oisín knows exactly what this is by feel alone. And from Adaine’s grin, she knows that he knows. He could unravel the matrix right here; just for a moment, just to take a quick peek and see what she had done.

But he would hate to ruin her fun. And the fuming fairy across the table from them was more than enough to tide him over until he found out.

“Wish me luck,” he croons to Adaine.

Adaine laughs, watching from the corner of her eye as Biz’s expression clouds over. “Like you’ll need it.”

She’s right; he won’t need luck. Not with Adaine by his side.

It’s simple physics.

The ball sinks in smoothly, signalling another perfect shot. Adaine throws him a quick smile while the crowd claps and Biz pretends he isn’t seething. Biz rolls his eyes before downing his cup in one go, not even pretending to be a decent sport anymore. He might have had a chance if he wasn’t trying to show off; but his swift chugging leaves him no time to process the taste, let alone detect anything off. The pixie slams the cup back down on the table, looking up with a fire in his eyes only for his expression to crumple in a moment later. Oisín doesn’t let a single stray glance pass Adaine’s way as Biz begins to hurl.

He does laugh though.

“Clearly someone can’t hold their booze,” Adaine mutters, just loud enough for the audience to hear. Laughter ripples through them like a wave, rolling over as people repeat the joke until everyone’s snorting at the sight. They’re creating their own little cacophony in the corner as the crowd eats up Biz’s humiliation.

It’s a disgusting sight, truly, but Oisín can’t bring himself to look away. Shrimp and beer is already an unpleasant combination; he can’t imagine it’s much better coming back up. He stares and stares, smile only growing wider until he feels a tender touch against his scales.

“C’mon.” Adaine’s hand neatly tucks itself into the crook of his elbow. “Let’s go. We’re done here.”

Oisín lets her pull him through the crowds, disappearing together into the throng of people. They stay pressed together while she guides them somewhere. He’s not looking where they’re going; he’s looking at her. She shines with satisfaction, brighter than any star in the sky.

“You seem pleased,” he murmurs, doing nothing to keep the fondness out of his voice.

The look in her eyes as she stares up at him ignites a hunger in him he knows he will never sate. “I am pleased.”

They continue to trail through the yard, winding their way through the thinning crowds until she finally stops the two of them in a secluded section. The blasting bass dampens as dimming light twinkles off her top, leaving her a glowing golden goddess in the otherwise dark corner.

“What now?”

She stares at him for a silent few seconds, standing spotlit in the space. Oisín lets her; of course he does. Her eyes are crystal clear beneath the gaze. He used to be scared of those eyes. Absolutely terrified. The mere thought of trading glances with them send Oisín into a tizzy. He's awfully glad he’s moved past that. Missing out on such a scintillating sight is truly such a tragedy.

Adaine must find whatever she’s looking for in him; she breaks out in a gorgeous grin that stops his heart.

“Do you have teleport prepared?”

He does.

He can’t imagine why she would ask though. “Yes?”

“Great.” Adaine steps forward and tucks herself back beneath his arm. “Wanna get burgers?”

#WE DID IT FOLKS!!!! WE FINISHED IT!!!!!!#fantasy high #adaine abernant #oisín hakinvar #oisaine #my writing

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orangedodge · 8 months ago

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What's going on with the X-Men relaunch?

When they first used the Infinity Comic to reset Charles and Alex to their pre-Fall of X versions, I didn't think it was that big of a problem. Charles isn't appearing in comics at the moment, and the fact is that no one really cares about Alex Summers anyway. But Magneto is core cast of the flagship title. Fundamental alterations to his status quo need to be covered in that publication, not preempted by however many months in advance with digital only content that most readers will never even know exists. Even leaving aside inherent scumminess of paywalling required supplementary content, there's no indication anywhere in X-Men that you need to go open Marvel Unlimited if you want the full backstory.

This isn't the only mess they've gotten into with digital content since July. Previously, they spent two months inserting blank pages into the print and kindle editions of all of their comics, that could only be redeemed for a final page on the Marvel app. Before finally backtracking they spent two months fighting their fans on social media, and insisting that these pages were only fun bonus that you didn't have to worry about. Yet several titles used them to introduce their respective villains, and the X-Force relaunch chose to simply redact the actual final page of the issue, for phone readers only.

It's just not a fun way to read things. No one wants to have to put down a physical comic, or close out kindle, and then go open a separate app on their Apple/Android device to finish the story. Or to have to remember to check Marvel Unlimited every Tuesday for weekly backup strips to find out what's going on with the co-lead of the comic they're already paying for. I've seen it suggested that these amount to schemes by the publisher to get more people to install Marvel's various phone apps, and that's probably true, but whatever inanity is going on behind the scenes there is at least some measure of obligation on the part of the editors to not make the rollout so intrusive. The actual comics need to at least be readable.

#x-men #x men from the ashes #comics #comic books #marvel #erik lehnsherr #max eisenhardt

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synthshenanigans · 1 year ago

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I'm curious as to peoples idea for what he'd do for the next power hour so

[These all being popular ideas or ppl he's mentioned]

This was all just a ploy to get you to read my info dump theory on the concept of a Chonny Jash Power Hour loser HAHAHA

Im joking tho. Not about my CJPH theory, that is very much real but I'm not forcing you to read it lol

However if you're curious, my inane rambles are further down :}

[Long Rant Post Below]

Okay so I'm gonna start with the basic idea I got it from; that being Nerd. Nerd already foreshadowed the THDPH & the WWPH [Even down to the last song for each of them] Not only that, but he references the stuff hes done in the past as well with a break/pause inbetween.

[This is what I mean]

The first three being all stuff he already did. BDG with Pocket, Tally Hall with Vol.1 & then Cage by Tim Minchin being the start the power hours.

The next two being the power hours he would do after this song [Memento Mori & Charlie's Inferno-Will Wood & That Handsome Devil]. But those are the only songs he would reference in Nerd, leaving no more clues as to what the last one would be. The only thing left in it is the video game references & Stairway to Heaven in the ending. [Which oddly enough also fit the pattern in a way. StH being about dying and the afterlife like Memento Mori & Chonny's Inferno and the video game references being all covers he made on his old channel]

While the VG refs could be a hint at a Videogame or Toby Fox Power Hour, I think at most, if its a clue at all, hinting at the next thing he does is recovering old songs.

----

Next, a couple of his songs reference his past stuff. Fine, I'm Fine has a good amount of lines that vaguely refer back to songs from the before [heres a post that goes more into it that's pretty cool!!]. And more importantly Dear Machine references Pocket, Dream (Outro from Calamity) & wings of wax. Pocket being later used in Nerd & the mention of Icarus coming back in Art. Not only that, but the voice in the very end Thermodynamic Lawyer is the exact same [if not very close to] voice filter/effect he uses in Dear Machine. Even down to the British accent he does in it. [Tho it is fairly normal for a music artist to reference their older songs in their music so it could be nothing]

Speaking of Dear Machine tho, quick thing to add about it is that it shows he not against covering his own songs. While yea technically its just a different version of Ode of the Cog, DM,HtC in a way counts as a cover of OotC. Same goes for bargaining/compromise & The Ballad of Dr. Jekyll.

----

Another idea with a CJPH is that in the CJFS discord theres a "Question of the Day" Channel. Where, as the name says, a Mod or Helper will ask a CJ related question & everyone can give their idea/imput on it. For Day 100, as a special fun lil thing, they asked Chonny if he wanted to give a question for that day. His question being:

And yes he does say that he doesnt plan on doing anything like that in future [if he even were to do it]. I fully believe he wasn't lying there & honestly I never saw him redoing any song ever until I had the idea of a CJPH [aside from stuff like Spring and a Storm & Storm and a Spring obviously]. But this is the best idea I could ever see him doing that. Also that question was from early August so a fair amount of time has passed. Whether thats enough time to equal "at least in the near future at all" I have no clue, but it is a thought.

----

One of my last points [that I remember atm lol] is on how he would end the power hours. Cos like, while yea he does whatever he wants & doesn't rlly follow what anyone says or asks [which I 100% agree with & is completely valid btw], I'd imagine he'd still want to end the PHs with a bang. Which is why I originally didnt think the recent one would be Will Wood.

He's stated a couple of time that hes one of his favorite artist & he definitely knows that a huge chunk of his fan base listen to WW as well. So why not end with that? Why not end with one of the most requested artist people wanted him to cover? Why wouldn't he end with a power hour of the artist that was his #1 on his Spotify Wrapped? What else could he do after that? Well maybe he'd go with his #2 artist? WHICH IS JUST HIMSELF BBYYYY

Plus, the name Power Hour already comes from this:

So it's very likely he's had himself play multiple times in a row & had a "Chonny Jash Power Hour".

Of course theories are just theories so there's always the chance I'm wrong & just insane. And again he does whatever he wants whenever he wants so who knows what it'll be. I just think id be an interesting idea for him to do.

As for how a Chonny Jash Power Hour would look? Maybe each song being a cover of a song from a past album or single? I'd imagine one from the before. & Covered in Discontent [maybe Gothic Whore?]. Like remake Pocket since its been referenced so much, tho that's still just a BDG cover so who knows. the before. would be interesting just to see how his perspective has changed since he originally wrote those songs. Gothic Whore he already has 2 songs that have a story version & a him version so I can see him doing another.

I HIGHLY doubt he'd do anything related to Vol.1 as its his completely separate thing & he doesn't rlly wanna touch any song that's TH/HMS related until whenever he feels like starting Vol.2 [which is valid lol]. If anything I could maybe see like TWWAY, Special or maybe Greener? Or go a different route with the og I'm Gonna Win or like a more outta the box one with like Just a Friend [only cos be did a 20 second "cover" of it in Mucka Blucka]. Again, I do not see him touching anything Vol.1 related but still something to entertain ig? [4th TME cover; The Chonny Electric when/j]

Tho maybe he'd just remake songs that he he fully made [like the before. or Gothic Whore], since those are more of actual Chonny Jash songs rather than the others just being covers. Would be very cool to maybe see a remake of some of his Majora's Mask song tho [no this isn't me coping over HEAL not being on spotify shush]. Or maybe he'd do songs from his old stuff like Don't Take it Personally? [also not me coping over wanting that song on Spotify too]

Idk these are just my thoughts on the idea of a CJPH [or even a Can of Soup Power Hour/j]. Either way I am gonna say idc what he'd do, BDG or Streetlight Manifesto are my other guesses, but anything he makes is always rll good & fun so I'll be interested to see whatever it is.

But ya know considering I typed all this out in the span of an hour & a half I kinda hope im not wrong PFFT

#apologies if there's any grammar or spelling mistakes lol #i just typed a lotta insane ramblings so im bound to mess up somewhere. also i am dyslexic #if you actually managed to read all that. Congrats & thank you :D! Also why tho! you're insane for listening to me being insane/j #I hope I made sense at least #And if you spent any time even glancing at my text thank you a lot but I hope you aren't bored lol #also its still gonna be a bit since he does a power hour but still curious as to ppls ideas of it #at least it BETTER be awhile. bro better take that damn br8k #chonny jash #moss post #KJ is going insane again

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saucy-scribbler · 4 months ago

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New Year Writing Tag

Thanks so much for the tag, @amoremagnificentbastard !

What's been your biggest learning point this past year?

That fandom can be a very rewarding thing to participate in, but it’s important to cultivate your experience and how you interact with it. Bg3 is my first fandom basically ever, and there was a steep learning curve for me in finding a way to enjoy it that made me happy and didn’t affect my peace.

There are a lot of people out there who aren’t going to be good for you or make a fandom a good place to be, so it’s better to find which ways you want to be involved and the people who make you feel good about being in the fandom, and focus on that rather than the broader community.

How has your writing developed this past year?

It went from nonexistent to having finished a 285k word fic in six months! Much to my own amazement 🤣

I wasn’t a writer, I didn’t have any particular interest in writing. Then a random dream set to a random song I’d heard had me writing that down to tell my sisters-from-other-misters and before long I was down the rabbit hole!

Good writing habits?

I’m an editor in my regular life, which helps me a lot in structuring scenes and dialogue as I write them. I’m also extremely organized and my outlining game is so strong it’s almost a superpower. I use Trello to organize everything related to my writing. Between Trello and my outlining skills, it makes my writing process really smooth for me. I was averaging 2-3 chapters per week writing book 1 because I was so organized and my outlines were so thorough (and because I was just plain having fun).

Bad writing habits?

Getting into the weeds about the D&D lore-compliance for inane, random shit nobody is going to notice or care about. I end up spending far too much time researching lore and figuring out a lore-compliant way to justify letting them have running water or hot baths, or even dumber stuff than that 😒

Favorite thing you wrote?

So far it’s just the one book, so It’s Time to Try Living Again wins by default! 😂

Favorite reads?

I tend to read novels more than fic, so lately I’ve been rereading some of my favorites. Currently The Rook and its sequel Stiletto by Daniel O’Malley. They’re fabulous and I highly recommend them.

Biggest win?

Finishing book 1 and publishing before the end of the year, which was my goal when I began writing in June.

Goals for the new year?

Finish books 2, 3, and 4 in my series!

Your favorite words of the year, aka the words you check each chapter for, making sure you didn't repeat them 788 times?

It’s the editor-brain in me, but I tend to keep track as I write, so I don’t check for specific words. As I do proofreading rounds then I will catch any words that are used too often in a chapter. I think the most recent one was ‘lovely’.

What are you excited for in the new year?

Releasing book 1, and hopefully finishing and releasing the rest of the series. I’m excited for people to be able to read this silly, fun, angsty, heartwarming story.

I’ll tag @anacdoce and @yennefer-of-vengerbergs

#astarion fanfic #tag game

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iwanthermidnightz · 1 year ago

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Just a few excerpts below, but please read the full article, it’s really good!

In their live shows and on The Record, the group take turns singing lead vocals, meaning they regularly get to stand a couple of feet away from the spotlight – which I sense is a more natural position for each of them. “[Touring is] way more fun together, and easy together,” says Dacus, addressing her bandmates. “It’s cute watching y’all have your little bit during ‘Cool About It’, and when you look at each other in ‘Anti-Curse’, I have no choice but to stan.” As a band, they share the weight of responsibility that they usually have to shoulder alone.

The crowds are so deeply engaged, not just because of the emotionally devastating content of the songs, but because of what Boygenius represents. They are a queer-identifying, all-female rock group in 2023, triumphantly landing themselves in spaces that used to be dominated entirely by straight men, such as their Rolling Stone cover earlier this year, in which they playfully replicated a classic 1994 photoshoot of Nirvana in business suits. And it’s not just that: they are rock stars in a very traditional sense – as their bombastic, thrashy live show, replete with stage diving et al, goes to show – who also sing songs every night about how much they love and appreciate one another. “We talk to each other about our feelings and process emotions as adults,” Baker says. “Instead of screaming at each other and throwing handles of vodka backstage.”

The band’s willingness to step up and wade into political issues has further solidified the bond they’ve formed with their fans. Earlier this summer, they performed in drag in Tennessee to protest against the state’s anti-LGBTQ+ and anti-drag laws. In May last year, when it was leaked that Roe v Wade would be overturned by the US Supreme Court, Bridgers shared on Twitter that she had undergone an abortion the previous year, alongside a link to a donation page. Young, vulnerable people are seeing their favourite rock band stand up for them – it’s powerful, and the love and appreciation the fans feel for that is clear during the live shows. At concerts throughout the year so far, there have been reports of people throwing things at artists – phones, wheels of brie, their dead mother’s ashes – but at Boygenius gigs, fans throw pink carnations, in reference to a line that Dacus sings in “We’re in Love” (“I’ll be the boy with the pink carnation pinned to my lapel”). “We’ve given a lot of who we are as people in our art, through interviews and social media,” Dacus says. “I think that’s maybe the silver lining of the parasocial relationship; they might want to treat us the way they treat their friends, instead of a mysterious, untouchable, unfazeable, unhurtable thing.”

Boygenius know that they’re speaking to – and at times, for – an underrepresented group, and it’s a point of great pride, a driving force in their work. “Being into our band is a dog whistle for the kind of kid that has similar interests,” says Baker.

“Like a sensitive gay baby,” adds Dacus.

“That is what makes [the job] meaningful to me,” says Baker. “To be away from my family when they need me to be there, to be doing things that I find inane or self-serving. I’m like, ‘Dang, look at all those kids’. Like, actually, there’s 25,000 little gay kids out there who’ve heard us talk about things like: be inside of your life. Pay attention to your friends. It’s worth it to live.”

The group have become the role models they wished they had themselves when they were growing up. “I think that if I had more queer and trans idols when I was younger, it would have felt more normal to me to engage with those things,” Dacus says. “And it’s gotten to the point of silliness, all of our stage antics and kissing at most of the shows, but I wish I had seen playful, joyful depictions of queerness.”

#boygenius #phoebe bridgers #lucy dacus #julien baker

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astrowaffles · 9 months ago

Text

excuse me (you look like you love me)

Teen audiences | banter | ambiguous ending | for @makkisucks

When you are 27 years old and you are about to make what feels like a life-changing decision, there is only one person you call.

Your best friend.

“What the fuck do you want?” Kaoru rasped through Kojiro’s phone speaker. “It’s 10am, I don’t want to speak to you.”

“But Kaoru! I still don’t know what to do about this wedding!”

“I told you. Lie. Now stop being annoying and let me go back to sleep.”

“Hey! Pay attention! I need to find a girlfriend, stat!”

Kaoru sighed heavily. “That’s never going to happen. Girls hate you. You’re a brute and you’re annoying. Now shut the fuck up.” He hung up.

Well. So much for that plan. The call didn’t even last five minutes.

Wait.

Girls hate him?

“WHAT could you possibly want,” Kaoru snapped as soon as he picked up.

“You’re not a girl!”

“….What.”

“You’re not a girl and you know me really well!”

“Um. I suppose so? Where is this going?”

“You can come with me to Ayame’s wedding!”

OR: after an invite to an ex's wedding puts Kojiro on the spot, he panics and asks Kaoru to help him out. After all, what harm could it do? They'd never *really* be a couple...

Kojiro got the invite in the post two days before he needed to RSVP, which was terrible planning by the mailman and even worse planning by the bride & groom. He didn’t even know who the happy couple were, just two mystery people inviting him to their all-out rich-people wedding with gold invitations and calligraphy signatures. He would think it had come to the wrong address, except that his name was printed neatly on the envelope.

“I got invited to a wedding,” he told Kaoru, as soon as the other man stepped through the door of Kojiro’s apartment.

“Oh? Whose?” Kaoru asked, with the practiced disinterest of someone who hears at least ten inane things a day, most of them coming from Kojiro. He swapped his shoes for his house slippers that were waiting under the coat stand.

“I don’t know,” Kojiro admitted. He jerked this thumb towards the opened envelope on the coffee table.

“You must do,” Kaoru said, confused. “Otherwise why would they invite you?”

“I don’t know,” Kojiro repeated. “They just have.”

“Give me the invitation, numbskull,” Kaoru demanded, sweeping past Kojiro before he could be handed the invite. He quickly pulled it from its envelope and scanned the names. “Oh, you actually are a moron. You do know them. It’s Aya.”

“Aya…?”

“Aya Suzuki. You know, like it says. On the invitation. Which you read.”

“It says Ayame on the invitation.”

“Ayame Suzuki. You didn’t make the connection?”

“I don’t know who Aya Suzuki is either!”

Kaoru sighed and muttered something that sounded a lot like ‘idiot’, and then tapped his wristband. “Carla. Search for photographs from August, 2010.”

Kojiro raised an eyebrow while Carla did her best to trawl through Kaoru’s atrocious camera roll - which he knew from experience mainly consisted of screenshots of emails, which then got sent to him so they could make fun of silly corporate people together. The rest of it was probably memes Reki sent that saved automatically, and maybe some group photos from years ago.

Eventually, one of those group photos was projected from Kaoru’s wristband: Kojiro, Kaoru, and some random girl.

Kojiro peered closer. “Ohhhh, that Aya Suzuki,” he realised. His ex-girlfriend. Of course it was.

“Yes, you gorilla, that Aya Suzuki. Are you going to attend?”

“Hell no.”

“Oh? Why not? I thought you’d like to show off a little.”

“I don’t have anything to show off, do I? She’s getting married, and I’m still single – oh, and I skateboard for a hobby, like a twelve year old.”

“Twelve year olds don’t skate like we do,” Kaoru sniffed. “I think you should go. Free food, and I get a day or two of peace and quiet.”

“You wish you could get rid of me that easily,” Kojiro snorted. “You know I’d be texting the whole time anyway.”

“Mm, but I wouldn’t have to reply.”

Kojiro contemplated this for a minute. Free food, probably free alcohol, plus he had a hotel room. He re-checked the invite. Yup, open bar, and – what was that? A check box?

RSVP plus one, it read tauntingly.

Kojiro groaned. “I can’t do it. They’ve given me a plus one.”

“You don’t have to use it, you know.”

“But then they’ll know I’m single!”

“They don’t care, idiot.”

“But I do!! I’ve been invited to my ex’s wedding and I don’t even have a girlfriend!”

“Just lie and say she couldn’t come,” Kaoru shrugged. “Now, can I have my dinner – if you’ve finished caterwauling?”

Kojiro huffed. “Yeah, I’ve finished. Let’s eat.”

But despite the fact that he’d apparently reached a satisfying compromise for Ayame’s wedding, Kojiro found himself thinking it over again, hours later as he was just drifting off to sleep. Kaoru had long gone home, laden with Tupperware full of leftovers and a promise to host next time (he wouldn’t), and Kojiro missed the distraction of their bickering.

My ex is getting married and I’m single, he thought.

They don’t need to know that, an eviller thought - that sounded a lot like Kaoru -interjected. You can just lie, you know.

I don’t want to lie, he argued. I want to show off something concrete.

Then get a girlfriend, came Kaoru’s voice impatiently. Or don’t. Just RSVP and leave me alone.

“Why is Kaoru in my head?” he wondered aloud. “Get out.” But the advice stuck with him. Get a girlfriend.

Where would he get one from? One of the girls from S would probably oblige, but she’d come across as more of a fan than a partner. No, Kojiro needed someone who’d seem like his equal, someone he was comfortable with and who was comfortable with him. Someone Ayame & Husband would accept as legit.

Did someone like that even exist?

This is too much thinking, his braincells protested, and finally sunk him into unconsciousness.

Waking up the next morning was nothing more than being plunged back into a pit of stress and panic. He didn’t have much time left to RSVP. He wanted to RSVP a plus one. He didn’t have a plus one. He didn’t know where to find a plus one.

When you are 27 years old and you are about to make what feels like a life-changing decision, there is only one person you call. There is only one person who will tell you what they really think you should do.

Your best friend.

“What the fuck do you want?” Kaoru rasped through Kojiro’s phone speaker. “It’s 10am, I don’t want to speak to you.”

“But Kaoru! I still don’t know what to do about this wedding!”

“I told you. Lie. Now stop being annoying and let me go back to sleep.”

“Hey! Pay attention! I need to find a girlfriend, stat!”

Kaoru sighed heavily. “That’s never going to happen. Girls hate you. You’re a brute and you’re annoying. Now shut the fuck up.” He hung up.

Well. So much for that plan. The call didn’t even last five minutes.

Wait.

Girls hate him?

“WHAT could you possibly want,” Kaoru snapped as soon as he picked up.

“You’re not a girl!”

“….What.”

“You’re not a girl and you know me really well!”

“Um. I suppose so? Where is this going?”

“You can come with me to Ayame’s wedding!”

“I can what?”

“Be my fake boyfriend!”

Kaoru hung up.

A minute later, he called back.

“You’re buying me a suit.”

“What?”

“For the wedding. You’re buying me a suit, paying for everything, we’re leaving as soon as I get bored-“

“So you’ll do it?!”

“…I guess so.”

A pause. That had been surprisingly easy, which made Kojiro all the more panicked. “What’s the catch?”

“Hm? You mean besides the huge amount of money you’ll have to shell out?”

“Yeah. You wouldn’t do something like this for free. What else am I gonna owe you at the end of this, you conniving-“

“Oh, you know that word? Wow, Kojiro, you’re getting smarter-“

“Shut up and tell me what you want.”

“I can’t do both,” said Kaoru patronisingly.

Kojiro hoped he could feel his glare at the other end of the line.

Kaoru snorted. “I’m never hosting our dinners ever again.”

Kojiro huffed. “You never do anyway. It’s a deal.”

“Great. Now RSVP. I’m going back to sleep. Bye.”

Realising what was about to happen, Kojiro jammed his finger down on the hang up button; as always, Kaoru got there first. Kojiro sighed.

How on earth was he going to afford all this?

Asking Kaoru to pretend to be his boyfriend was potentially the best idea of Kojiro’s life, he thought, watching Kaoru go through his room like a hurricane, packing with an efficiency that only came with an organised mind and a lot of work trips.

“Why do you still have this?” Kaoru asked, holding up a ratty Hawaiian print shirt.

“I like it.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Just because you have no fashion sense-“

Kaoru threw the shirt decisively into the back of the closet and continued rustling through Kojiro’s clothes. “You have the taste of an overgrown toddler.” He threw neon flip-flops over his shoulder; Kojiro dodged them and looked into the suitcase Kaoru was putting together.

“I think you’ve packed enough,” he said, eyeing the growing pile of folded clothes. “This is like what I’d wear in a week, not two days.”

“I haven’t even added the clothes for the actual wedding yet,” Kaoru tutted, removing Kojiro’s dry-cleaned suit from the closet and carefully rolling it up. “What shoes are you wearing with this?”

“Um, my formal ones?” Kojiro put them in the suitcase.

“You only have one pair. Of course.” Kaoru rolled his eyes, tucked the suit into the luggage, and zipped the case shut. “There. Now we can go.”

“We still have another hour!” Kojiro complained, lifting the suitcase and testing its weight. “Jeez, Kaoru, what’ve you put in here, bricks?”

“No, moron. You watched me pack it.”

“Yeah, watched you pack bricks.”

“The way you pronounce ‘bricks’ irritates me.”

“Your face irritates me.”

“And here was I, thinking you wanted me to do you a favour-“

“No no no I’m sorry Kaoru please go to this wedding with me-“

“That’s what I thought. Let’s load up the car.”

“You driving?”

Kaoru stared at him. Kojiro sighed. “Of course not. Let’s go.”

Kaoru was generous enough to carry his own suitcase to the car, but left it for Kojiro to put in the trunk while he made himself comfortable inside the car, rigging up Carla to the radio system (a simple task, since he did it every time they went anywhere in Kojiro’s car. It annoyed Kojiro to have his friend’s robot girlfriend in the car with them but he put up with it because Carla was much better at directions than any sat nav he’d ever met.

The drive to the venue was short enough, punctuated by Carla’s robotic voice and Kaoru’s sharp comments on Kojiro’s driving – which inevitably lead to an argument where Kaoru insisted he was not even remotely like a princess, hadn’t he just finished putting up Kojiro’s shelves a week ago, no it didn’t matter that he never drove anywhere, yes he was still entitled to comment on Kojiro’s skills, and would Kojiro please close his huge hairy mouth before he got something in it. Something shaped a lot like Kaoru’s fist.

“Kinky,” Kojiro noted, wiggling his eyebrows.

Kaoru pinched him and threatened to tape his mouth shut.

“Kin-“

“Shut the fuck UP!”

The town was nice. The hotel was nice. Their room was nice. Their bed was nice – they had long given up caring about having to share. 20 years is too long a friendship to care about being in each other’s space. Most importantly, their shower was nice, with water pressure Kojiro had long lost from his own shower at home. Kaoru might have felt differently. He had enough money to get fifty new water-pressured showers, probably, which was why he was already out and dressed by the time Kojiro finished towelling off.

“Imagine if we actually were dating,” Kojiro mused, eyeing the fairy lights above the bed as he pulled his shirt on. “This place’d have us stuck in bed for-“

“Enough,” Kaoru interrupted. “We’re here for free food, not dramatics.”

“You’re more dramatic than me,” Kojiro argued. “Why didn’t you let me finish my sentence?!”

“Because I do not want to hear about what you plan to do with your girlfriend.”

“Whyyy, are you jealouss~?”

Kaoru stared at him.

Kojiro stared back.

“Do we need rules?” Kaoru asked, hunting in his suitcase for a hair tie.

“For what?”

“I don’t know, maybe pretending to be in love?”

“Oh, are we in love already? Damn, this relationship is moving fast.”

“Can you take anything seriously? At all?”

“Nope.”

Kaoru rolled his eyes. “Don’t kiss me, don’t call me any pet names. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Kojiro nodded. “Can I make up our love story?”

“Don’t make it ridiculous.”

“What do you mean?! I wanted to have you ride in on a unicorn and sweep me off my feet, and then-“

Kaoru sighed and finished tying his hair up. “Are you ready for the rehearsal dinner?”

Kojiro pulled his sock on and nearly fell over trying to follow it up with his shoe. “Yep.”

“You’re not.” Kaoru reached over to settle the curls that had flung themselves every way they shouldn’t have on Kojiro’s head. “Now you are. Well, as much as a gorilla like you can be.”

“Gee, thanks,” Kojiro snarked, and tightened Kaoru’s tie a little. “You won’t strangle yourself, y’know.”

“I might, if I have to spend any more time alone with you.”

“Wowwwww..”

Kaoru grabbed Kojiro’s hand and took a deep breath. “I don’t want to do this. At all. With you.”

“So you’d do it with someone else?”

“I’d rather do it with Ayame in front of her new husband.”

“And yet, here you are.” Kojiro squeezed their hands. “Can you manage being affectionate or will it kill you?”

“It’ll kill me,” said Kaoru decisively.

“Then I might finally get some peace and quiet,” Kojiro said gleefully, and they walked out of the room.

“’Jiro!” Ayame greeted enthusiastically when she saw the pair come into the hall. “So nice to see you again!”

“Aya!” Kojiro smiled back; no-one would ever guess he’d been staring at her name in total confusion just a few months ago. “Marriage, huh?”

“Marriage,” Ayame agreed. “And- is that you, Sakurayashiki?”

“Hi,” Kaoru said, only just avoiding sounding bored out of his mind.

“Don’t tell me you’re Jiro’s-“ her eyes flicked down to their joined hands. “Oh! Silly me, of course, I should’ve guessed…”

Kojiro tensed a little, trying to analyse Ayame’s face. He hadn’t thought this far ahead: what if she thought two men holding hands was wrong?

“It’s about time!” Ayame laughed, and grabbed Kojiro’s free wrist to drag him over to meet her fiancé. Kojiro kept his grip on Kaoru to make sure he got pulled along too.

“Why are you pulling me,” Kaoru hissed.

“I’m not going alone,” Kojiro whispered back. “’Sides, what would you do by yourself? Talk to people?” He snorted, causing Ayame to look back in confusion. He shot her a smile and strengthened his grip on Kaoru’s hand.

“That hurts, you stupid gorilla!”

“Sorry, but I need to make sure-“

“This is Izumi!” Ayame said excitedly. She’d let go of Kojiro’s wrist in order to hang off of Izumi’s arm, and was looking at them expectantly. “My husband-to-be!”

“Oh,” said Kojiro, realising he and Kaoru must have been whispering to each other suspiciously right in front of the happy couple. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Izumi said, eyes moving between Kojiro and Kaoru like he was watching a tennis match. “You’re Kojiro, yeah? Knew Aya in highschool?”

“That’s me,” Kojiro agreed, trying to follow the other man’s eye movements. “She was absolute chaos, I can tell you.”

“Don’t embarrass me!” Ayame scolded, slapping Kojiro lightly on the shoulder. “I’ve got some stories about you too, you know.”

“Ah, but you couldn’t embarrass me in front of Kaoru!”

“It’s true, I know everything,” Kaoru nodded.

“So you’re together?” Izumi asked.

“Yep,” said Kojiro, praying Izumi was as cool with it as Ayame had been.

“Oh. How long have you…?”

“They’ve been together since college, surely!” Ayame chirped.

Kojiro stared at her. “What makes you think that?”

Ayame stared back. “Are you joking?”

“He’s always joking,” Kaoru interrupted, rolling his eyes and elbowing Kojiro. “Don’t tease her, dear, she’s right.”

“Dear? I thought you said no petnames?” Kojiro questioned under his breath, then continued at a normal volume, “Sorry, Aya, I couldn’t resist..”

“I said *you* couldn’t call *me* a petname,” Kaoru reminded him.

Ayame laughed. “Silly me, I always fall for your jokes! What kind of idiots would you be if you hadn’t acted on your feelings by college? Of course you got together then.”

“Ah, were we that obvious…?” Kojiro laughed nervously, exchanging a confused glance with Kaoru.

“You really were! You know, darling-“ she turned to Izumi – “They had a secret handshake, and every time they did it I was sure they were going to kiss. Really makes me wonder what I saw in you at all, Jiro – no offence, no offence meant! You were just so obviously into Sakurayashiki…”

“I was?”

“I guess I was just so happy to be picked by someone I didn’t mind if he was actually in love with a man…”

“Was I??”

“Don’t get me wrong, Sakurayashiki was just as bad, he just didn’t have a girlfriend to notice these things…”

“I was not,” said Kaoru decisively. Kojiro inched away slightly in case his friend decided to take his anger out on him.

“You were,” Ayame insisted. “You think I didn’t notice your heart eyes whenever Jiro managed a good trick? I’m not blind, you know.”

“HEART EYES?” Kojiro turned to Kaoru, mirth already dancing in his eyes. “You hear that? You had heart eyes, Kaoru!”

“Of course I didn’t.”

“She says you did!”

“She also says you were in love with me, idiot.”

“You are in love, aren’t you?” Ayame asked, confused.

“Oh- yes, we are,” Kaoru recovered quickly. “I just meant I didn’t think it started in high school.”

“Good save,” Kojiro whispered. Then, at a normal volume, “I think we’d better find our seats before your rehearsal dinner starts. Thanks for the invite!”

“Of course! See you later!” Ayame waved them off with a smile, already turning back to her fiancé to ramble more about her highschool days.

“WhatdidshemeanIwasinlovewithyou?” Kojiro garbled as soon as they were out of earshot.

“I have no idea,” said Kaoru grimly. “But it makes our job easier because she already thinks we’re together. We don’t have to pretend quite so hard.” He dropped Kojiro’s hand. “Drink?”

“Please.” He didn’t say his order; he knew Kaoru knew. Instead, Kojiro sat down at their assigned table and started absently folding origami swans. The table’s other inhabitants didn’t attempt to start a conversation. He watched Kaoru order their drinks at the bar and listened in to the gossip happening at the neighbouring table – someone was getting divorced because the wife had an affair, someone had moved back into their parents’ house after losing their office job, someone had been caught posting on Instagram while at a private christening…

“Here,” said Kaoru, practically shoving the drink into Kojiro’s hands. “What’s got you in such a mess?”

“I’m not a mess!” Kojiro said indignantly, letting his fifth napkin swan fall to the ground as he wrapped both hands around his tall glass. Kaoru pulled a face, probably thinking of the fingerprints Kojiro was leaving.

“You’re a total mess,” Kaoru told him, and swept the swans off the table. “Not that that’s not normal for you.”

“Well, whatever,” Kojiro huffed. “It didn’t concern you at all? That she thought we were in love at 17?”

“What? No. It’s not real, anyway,” Kaoru shrugged, taking a sip of his own drink. “Now, when’s dinner arriving?”

Getting back to the hotel room was significantly harder than leaving. For one thing, Kojiro was a lightweight and could already feel the fuzz overtaking his brain by the second drink. Kaoru had cut him off early, but had kept drinking himself, meaning they were both struggling to walk in a straight line as they attempted to return to their room. Neither of them were so bad they couldn’t speak, but Kojiro was bad enough that he couldn’t stop speaking, rambling on about nothing much as Kaoru shuffled through his pockets for a keycard.

“I should’ve just kept hold of it,” Kaoru muttered, finally finding the plastic card in Kojiro’s jacket.

“But you didn’t,” Kojiro pointed out.

Kaoru rolled his eyes. “Thanks, genius. Go inside.”

Kojiro obediently went inside, only to turn back around at a loud thunk coming from behind him; it was Kaoru, walking into the doorframe.

“Careful,” said Kojiro.

“Don’t be irritating,” said Kaoru.

Kojiro shed his shirt, tie, shoes, socks, and eventually pants; Kaoru didn’t force him into the shower and he didn’t feel like being clean so many times in one day (he’d showered this morning AND before the dinner, alright?!) so he simply clambered into bed and watched Kaoru attempt to remove the ten hair ties holding his hair up.

“Is it weird that we’re sharing a bed?” Kojiro pondered.

“No? We’ve done that since we were five?”

“Well, yeah, but we’re not dating or anything…”

“And? What does that have to do with it?” Kaoru swapped his shirt for a pyjama t-shirt and started stepping out of his pants.

Kojiro thought about it. “Isn’t this all couple stuff?”

“No, because we’re doing it and we aren’t a couple.” Kaoru added something under his breath that sounded a lot like ‘yet’.

“Hm. Alright.”

Kaoru slid into bed and reached out to turn the lights off from the switches by the nightstand.

“…Kaoru?”

“Hm?”

“Can we cuddle?”

For a minute, it genuinely seemed that Kaoru would say no, freaked out by all the ‘couple stuff’ they’d been accused of that day. But then, a few seconds later, Kojiro heard a soft huff, the sound of Kaoru expelling a fond sigh through his nose.

“Of course we can. Come on, idiot – but if you roll across me again I swear to god I’ll-“

“Yeah, yeah,” Kojiro said flippantly, and dragged Kaoru closer. “G’night.”

“Night, Kojiro.”

A03 | Exclusives | Tip Me | Commissions

#astro speaks wonders #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #matchablossom

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thelioncourts · 21 days ago

Note

Usually I’m pretty level-headed and I don’t get carried away by the mess in this fandom, because I know it’s a powder keg just waiting to blow. And the hiatus doesn’t help.

But I’ll admit, lately especially because of Mark Johnson, I let myself spiral a bit with the doomposting.

That was before your latest ask brought me back down to earth. It really helped, so thank you!

I hate how most discussions on every sides lack nuances and everyone keeps dismissing everyone.

It’s so rare to find accounts like yours people who love Louis and are excited about the TVL season and don't hate Lestat, but also love Lestat without wanting Louis to vanish. I’m not sure that last part was clear,I mean the "Lestat is the main character of TVC, get over it" crowd.

Anyway, I could honestly read your takes on season 3 all day."

Ahhh, I'm so glad I could help some!

It's so hard not to fall into doom and despair though, we are, unfortunately, an echo chamber of a fandom and there is an absolute condescending tone in a lot of Lestat-stans when Louis-stans voice concerns, but I do think a lot of Louis-stans, in turn, get mean about things, when genuinely I think most of us (???) want the same thing which is for Louis and Lestat to both be explored with depth and complexities while simultaneously being the most insane couple to grace the television.

Re: Mark Johnson, I seriously think he's a dumb old white man. And I don't think that excuses anything by any means, and I hope he gets told off for being a moron, but he's always felt very out of the loop with IwtV (queer, black-led horror show???) and absolutely operates 'old-school style' in his own head and, in turn, his ignorance and stupidity rear their heads in the ugliest way.

Discussions lacking nuance is why I genuinely just refuse to get into anything in detail on Twitter anymore. nobody reads full threads, they only respond to parts of it, it's not conducive to conversation, and the pqrt'ing and just blatant retweeting of vitriolic comments are too much. Again, bouncing off of what I said above, it's so frustrating because I think so many of us actually want the same, or at least similar, things, but everyone gets soooo caught up in hit tweet content that we just. get nowhere.

I'm glad I can be that kind of account, it really is just who I am about this all though 😭 Louis has always been my favorite character, and Lestat has always been my second favorite, but their love is what kept me going throughout the entire TVC series, like I spent my entire time reading those books yearning for every mention of one of them by the other, every thought, every moment, and now we have a show that is running with the love story and making it even more devastating, even more of a focal point, and it's all I can think about all the time. I do think some people think focusing on love or romance is a weak thing, but it makes me happy and I'm so happy the show is doing that because it also means a ton of screentime with both of these characters.

The 'Lestat is the main character of TVC' crowd are soooo funny to me, they live in a delusional world that somehow watched the first two seasons and thought that the show would follow in Anne's footsteps of dismissing the other characters for Lestat to just go do Things. Again, not only would it be bad storytelling in general, but it doesn't make sense with this show 😭

I'm currently discussing with a friend some speculation for Season 3 and I'm waiting on one particular bit of news (which I'm not sure if we'll ever get before the show airs tbh like !!! I have no idea) that would change a lot of my thoughts, but ! Season 3 is very fun to talk and think about. Thank you for reading any of my inane rambles about it lol

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oubliettecomic · 11 months ago

Text

Launch!

Today I am launching my webcomic, OUBLIETTE. I've been thinking about this story for at least a decade and actually doing something about it since 2022, so fair to say it's been a while coming! I've been wanting to do my own webcomic ever since I first stumbled across them in the old dialup days, when nobody used their real name online, most webcomic could draw and pages would take actual minutes to load. But I hadn't seen much of life then and didn't have much to say, whereas now I've got all sorts of fun ideas (that I'm more comfortable talking about dressed up in fiction.)

I've never been much cop at drawing, so when I first really got excited about the project I originally planned to pay an artist, but that sadly fell through. I had enough momentum (and scripts) to want to still make a go of it, I bought myself a cheap drawing tablet and a copy of Clip Studio Paint and tried various teach-yourself courses online for most of 2023. I am far from an accomplished (or even competent) artist, but I can get the comic to look how I want it and that will do for now. The best way to improve is to practice and the best way to motivate myself to practice is to have a project.

One big inspiration for the comic has been watching the Internet change; thinking about how people relate to data and truth. Another is wandering around post-socialist places like VDNKh, Pripyat and Chiatura, seeing the entropy-haunted bones of yesterday's utopias gradually crumbling. Much is about cities and tunnels and hot wide open spaces. I hope it's interesting enough that other people like it. I know how the story begins, and how it ends, and I have a lot of ideas for the middle that will be realised depending on how much fun I have writing and drawing. It's probably going to be at least a five-year project, which is quite a commitment.

The first chapter is now online and free to read at https://oubliettecomic.com. New pages will come out every Monday. I'm also creating update sites here on Tumblr, and on Bluesky (Twitter may take some time. I created a new account, and on logging on ti it the first thing I saw was an inane tweet from Musk. I don't want that in my life, so I blocked him, and found my account *immediately* suspended. Draw your own conclusions.)

#oubliette

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blackjackkent · 1 year ago

Text

Stopped for a long rest and got a chat with Gale:

He's humming to himself and examining his own "reflection" in a magically created replica. Rakha stands there for quite a while before he notices she's there.

"Be with you in a moment!"

"What are you doing?" Rakha asks, blunt and questioning as ever.

"Indulging in a spot of vanity," he answers cheerfully. "Handsome devil, aren't I?"

Rakha says nothing. She isn't sure if he's serious. She isn't sure she would notice if he was handsome. People are all a bit strange to her in general at present, and he is one of the stranger ones. And she is certainly not adept enough at conversation yet to offer an inane pleasantry in response.

So she waits in silence, and eventually he clears his throat awkwardly and dismisses the illusion. "Be that as it may..."

He turns to face her. "Ceremorphosis," he says, matching her usual matter-of-fact declarative tone. "What does it make you think of?"

That word again. By far the most elaborate of those she's managed to accumulate so far. It represents death. Failure. Consumption by the illithid hivemind.

"Until recently," she says, in a deadpan with the solidity of titanium, "nothing at all."

It is, astonishingly enough, a joke. Until recently, nothing meant anything at all; the world could have begun two days ago for all she knows. He squints at her for a moment before smiling ruefully.

"Ah yes. The good old days." He lounges back on his heels and begins to tick items off on his fingers. "Day one - fever and memory loss. Day two - hallucinations and greying skin. Day three - hair loss and blood leaking from all orifices. Need I go on?"

(A/N: This is honestly one of the things that I fucking love about liveblogging games like this, and specifically what I'm finding/remembering I love about doing so with the same game multiple times, which I haven't done since Dragon Age Inquisition. It can be really fun to listen even to lines like this, which are the same on any given playthrough, and interpret them through a completely different lens based on the particular OC in question.

With Hector, this line was comedic - fuck no, he did not want Gale to go on. He did not want to know the horrific and gruesome details of the transformation; he was having a hard enough time as it was!

But with Rakha this reads completely differently. This is how I've already established Rakha herself talks - short clipped sentences. Accumulation of facts. Bringing together of details into a picture. And Gale already knows that she wants as many of those details as she can possibly accumulate (and even, potentially, that the reason he is not dead is because he can provide them). This is him offering her exactly what she wants in the way she is best equipped to process it.

And she is all over it. She wants him to go on, absolutely.)

Nod.

"Day four - excruciating pain as the skeleton and organs reform and reposition. Day five - the host's personality has disappeared. Fingers toes and limbs elongate. I take it you get the picture?"

"I do. But you might as well finish the picture."

"Day six - the flesh around the mouth splits to make way for tentacles. Day seven - a mind flayer is born," he finishes with some dramatic relish. Spreading his hands as if to say, you see?, he watches, waiting for her interpretation.

Her eyebrows knit together thoughtfully. It's been two days, as of this evening's rest. She thinks back through what he has just told her. "We should be having a fever by now," she says curtly. "Greying skin even."

He smiles. It's an expression she can't quite interpret, but almost looks impressed, or proud, like a teacher with his student who has solved a difficult problem - and to her surprise, she feels oddly gratified to have answered correctly. "Exactly," he says, pointing a finger at her chest. "Our orifices remain blissfully unbloodied, our heads remain clear, and our blood temperature normal. Any expert will agree - this is abnormal."

She squints at him intently. "Can you explain why the symptoms aren't showing?" she demands.

His smile fades and he shakes his head. "That, alas, is where my knowledge fails me," he admits. "A rogue might call it luck, a priest might call it fate. As for myself, I'm a pragmatic; I see the silence before the storm."

She considers this in silence. Luck, fate... perhaps. Perhaps there is comfort at the idea that this is simply random, or the act of some unseen god.

But she doubts it. She sees neither luck nor fate nor storm. Her companions have all said that the worm is likely not the cause of her memory loss; therefore there was some other player involved, something that put her on that ship with no memory of herself. Something that has seen to it that the worm in her head is shackled, and that the beast has free reign.

That is not fate. That is orchestration. And there is yet someone out there who must pay.

Gale watches her thoughtfully, clearly trying to read what is going on behind her eyes. What conclusion he comes to is equally hidden, though; he just smiles again, unreadably this time. "Something to sleep on," he says. "We should get some rest."

She nods, turns away, trudges towards her bedroll. But she has little expectation of sleep. Not after last night. Not after the sea of nightmares and the litany in her head.

Blood... blood... blood... blood... blood.

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #well that was a surprisingly informative little moment #i can never tell which conversations are going to be the ones that hit me in the head with the characterization stick XD

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