#like i feel that is powerful enough in itself

[linkons-most-wanted]

I like your Sylus analysis so much and adore our dragon with all my heart but I steel don't understand why he acted so mean towards mc in the n 109 zone in the beginning 😭 and also it feels like he tried to return his old mc because he loved her but not mc from main story line 😔

Thank you for this ask!! This was actually perfect timing since I was just getting back into working on my Sylus PoV for Long Awaited Revelry which gets into allll this. And of course I will yammer about it endlessly whenever given the chance--this ended up becoming an essay. 😅

Storytelling and genre choices

First, I feel like I need to address the sort of "meta" reason--that is, the storytelling reason. The simplest answer is... it's hot. 🙈 While I'd say Sylus x MC isn't dark enough for most dark romance connoisseurs, his character leans in that direction, so there's a bit of meanness for the fun of it. I'm happy to go into more detail on that--and how liking meanness/darker themes in romance fiction is NOT the same as wanting/deserving those things IRL--but I'll leave it there for now so this doesn't get too long.

So, all that said, good writing hides that meta-layer well by giving you a story you totally believe, and imo the writers for Sylus do a great job of selling it.

MC's curse really is a curse

The biggest thing that stands out to me is how Beyond Cloudfall leaves off. Sorceress MC is being a bit selfish and vindictive (and we love that for her). He's about to be able to go to eternal rest knowing that he managed to defy his fate to kill his beloved. Then Sorceress MC says, "you're about to leave me alone, so I'm going to make you suffer through this same loneliness." I think we can be confident that by the time Sylus is able to "manifest" again, Sorceress MC is gone. There's a theme in Beyond Cloudfall of "if you kill them, they can't suffer" so her keeping him alive to suffer is pretty explicitly intended. (It's a romantic sort of vindictiveness, of course, but it's still vindictive.)

So Sylus is searching the galaxy for her, dealing with this intense love and also intense bitterness, perhaps even hate. (There's the saying that the opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference. I really like playing with this idea of love and hate as two sides of the same coin with Sylus x mc.) All the years, all the boredom, all the loneliness, all the pain--she did that to him. On purpose. (It can be tempting to shy away from this, but imo the entire point of Sorceress MC is the power inherent in claiming our own dark desires and being honest about them. Another thing I could write a whole essay on.)

We now have canon confirmation that Sylus was in the N109 Zone by 2036, meaning that by the time they reconnect in 2049, he's been in the N109 Zone waiting for her for at least thirteen years, not to mention the years (or decades or centuries) as a space pirate before that.

When they do meet, Sylus tells her that she owes him "a curtain call grander than death itself". That is, he's not delighted that their reunion means he'll be happy again. He's bitter. He's over being immortal. She's his destined arch-nemesis and maybe she'll finally kill him properly this time. But of course, all those emotions collide with the fact that he still loves her, still cares about her, still on some level wants to treat her tenderly. And we see this conflict in his actions.

Adjusting to a different version of MC

I don't think it's quite right to say that Sylus doesn't love main-timeline MC and is trying to turn her into Sorceress MC. It's moreso that his love and history with Sorceress MC collides with the new reality of main-timeline MC. On some level, he expects to be able to step into their old dynamic, which is only natural. But the key things he loved about Sorceress MC are apparent immediately--her audacity, her stubbornness, her fire for life, her refusal to live by others' rules, etc.

The first thing Dragon Sylus says to MC in Beyond Cloudfall is "I like your eyes. They are beautiful… In them, I can see your hatred, defiance, and greed for life." So when she looks at him in the parlor, he sees all those things--her hatred for him (she thinks he's insane), her defiance of him (she refuses to cower and comply) and her greed for life (which sent her into the N109 Zone to claim her power, despite that being a suicide mission).

She is the same in all the ways that matter to him--and that's part of the problem. It intensifies the desire he has to get her to remember him, so he tramples over boundaries in an effort to recreate events from their past (using his eye to stir her greed for his power, having her shoot him being analogous to the sword, their antagonistic dynamic, etc).

But that being said, if all these things are being done out of love, why be so violent and demanding? That leads to the next point...

Sylus doesn't have "normal" friendship experience

The other key factor is that Sylus has not ever had a friendship or relationship with a "normal" person before. If people are brave enough to approach him, they're not going to be dissuaded by him being grumpy, pushy, caustic, etc. And, in fact, Sorceress MC meets him in this state and ends up falling for him anyway. So, as far as he's aware, she likes his forceful, demanding draconic ways. Being at each others' throats was part of how they fell for each other in the first place.

So, when they meet again, Sylus is probably assuming she's along for the ride. To him, her wanting to kill him is basically flirting. He's showing her all the traits she fell for before--but this MC has a very different early life. She wasn't shunned by society, she was raised by a loving adoptive parent. She has friends, a job, a purpose.

On some level, Sylus doesn't yet understand that it's a problem that MC is afraid of him, since that's how things started before. It's only when Philip tells him that she's disgusted or repulsed by him that he slams on the breaks. Teasing her, pushing her, making her angry--that's their dynamic. But for her to be disgusted? He suddenly realizes that there's a problem.

And, to his credit, we see him pivot and take that into account very quickly. He stops pushing the resonance issue. He figures out what she wants and helps her get it. Yes, he still tells her she needs to prove herself, which leads to my next point...

Why MC needs to prove herself

MC is stubbornly, stupidly insisting on inserting herself into the middle of an extremely dangerous place she's too naive to navigate. It's important to remember how very, very badly getting herself kidnapped into the N109 Zone could have gone. Philip says as much to her as well--and not because Sylus told him to. When Sylus gives her a hard time, wondering if he over-estimated her intellect, he's being blunt but not unfair. For example, she could not have dealt with the Wanderer attack at Elysium by herself, and she would have been up against that or worse if she'd made it any further by herself. As we see in other memories, she's terrible at lying and bluffing at this point.

Sylus has reason to be concerned that she's going to get herself captured or killed if he takes her to the Protocore Auction. It would be irresponsible of him to take her into that environment, where he can't be in two places at once, if she couldn't in some way hold her own. Captivating Moment (the myth) completes this arc where MC fully surprises Sylus and proves herself, and we get his iconic line, "With you here, I only need one plan." (That is, he can trust her and together they can overcome any obstacle.)

Zooming in on the parlor scene

In my opinion, most of Sylus's choices in Long Awaited Revelry can be understood vis-a-vis the above insights. But there's one specific decision that I think deserves a little bit more analysis--his decision to keep her under his mind control for those first 3 days when he's trying to force the resonance.

First off, I think it's meant to be very clear that he's using mind-control to keep her mostly unconscious in that time because there's some similar language in LAR to the Land of Lost anecdote when he's dealing with the Overlord. The writers are really intentional in their parallels, so I think we're being explicitly shown that he can and will keep someone in his thrall for a while.

But why? This requires more reading between the lines, though I'm fairly confident in my interpretation. I think Sylus's main two reasons for this choice are 1) he truly believes that if they resonate, she'll remember him and 2) he knows that if she sleeps normally, she'll have terrible nightmares, so the thrall state is intended as a mercy (like she does when he finally puts her in bed and has Luke and Kieran watch over her).

To Sylus--who is at his most impatient and demanding at the start of LAR--explaining himself is pointless if she won't believe him until he remembers. So, he's trying to take the most direct path. It's always worked for him before, after all. Maybe it'll even help jog her memory.

I really recommend watching closely his reaction in that parlor scene. He closes his eyes and focuses when they're trying to resonate. That little wisp of golden power is new--their previous attempts haven't yielded even that. Sorceress MC's power is depicted as that golden light, as is her soul--so touching that power would be achingly familiar. You see him hold her hand for a moment, feeling it again--but then he catches himself, dropping her hand. That power is so much weaker than it was before--that's why he stops trying to resonate and decides that the issue must be that something is blocking or suppressing her power, hence the trip to Philip at the Odd Workshop.

He's laser-focused on getting her to remember, sure that this will be the solution--until Philip informs him that he's actively repulsive to her. Sylus, who always thinks tens steps ahead, who always considers every contingency, suddenly realizes he's out of his depth. He's miscalculated. He realizes how selfish he's being--and this realization causes him to act differently. There's no doubt that Sylus made many mistakes in his early treatment of current-timeline MC, and yet his humility and decisiveness in changing his behavior shows strong character.

I think the most profound example of him changing course is that when they finally do resonate and she remembers more about him, instead of jumping on that and demanding more, he remains collected. Tells her it's not a big deal--it'll happen more. We see in Continuous Symphony also that he's waiting, he's hoping, but he's no longer pushing. And then in Razor's Dance, he's realizing that maybe her complaints aren't as flirtatious as he thought. Maybe this version of her doesn't want to be in his life. And so, without guilt-tripping or throwing a fit, he tells her clearly that he'll leave her alone if she wants to be left alone. And so she's truly given the choice of whether to continue the relationship or not. It's a poignant moment that, to me, fully sets right all his earlier mistakes and pushiness.

In conclusion

When they first reconnect, Sylus is dealing with the intensity of seeing her again, of her being the same in all the ways that matter, yet having her not remember him. That's painful enough, then add on his feelings of bitterness from the decades (or centuries) of waiting. No matter how mature or collected you are, that surge of emotion is enough to overwhelm anyone and cause them to not be their best self.

He expects his pushy behavior to be as endearing to her now as it was back then--after all, their whole thing was being true to their desires. He desperately hopes that resonating will restore her memory, and he remains laser focused on this goal to the detriment of their earlier relationship.

Sylus's love and essential maturity is revealed by how quickly and profoundly he course-corrects when Philip warns him that MC is repulsed by him. His personality doesn't change--he's still teasing, demanding, sly, smug, etc. (Which we love.) But he takes a big step back and focuses on helping MC get what she wants (the Aether Core) not taking from her what he wants (for her to remember him).

He realizes that asking this version of MC to remember their traumatic past together is too selfish, even for him. His initially mean and demanding behavior reveals just how badly he wants that connection--which makes his willingness to set that aside for MC even more profound. Ironically, we don't get to see the depth of his love without that indiscretion.

Sylus does a profoundly difficult thing--he grieves the loss of their past life together so that he can embrace this new reality with her--falling in love with the person she is now, the person she's become. The one that was quietly transplanted to a garden far away, but has still bloomed beautifully. 🥹

[alexanderlightweight]

I know I prompted last week so feel free to ignore this one but I thought it might be a little amusing. I'm moving soon (new job woo!) and yesterday my work laptop bluescreened, this morning my kitchen sink stopped working, now my bedroom lamp is flickering. Given that we have some highly magical buildings in the series how do they (loft or institute) react to Magnus/Alec moving out? Perhaps Lorenzo's deal doesn't work so well if the Loft itself gets a say. I loved all the recent hair lore prompts!

this was a bit ago but jsyk I never mind people prompting in a row, I just have limited time/energy but my plans are always to get to everything answered eventually!

i hope that did not continue? but also I agree, everytime you move the place you leave and the place you go to, everything that can go wrong will happily do so!!! I hope you new job is going well and treating you good?

Magnus - did not lose his magic in this scenario because i hate that plotline. They made a deal, Magnus is bunking with Alec because he wants to, not because he has to. He changes his mind after one night and opens up quite a few properties because he definitely has more than a single loft in his territory.

I hope you enjoy <3

lumine

—-

Lorenzo doesn’t need Magnus Bane’s loft and it’s not even for the property value, despite how nice it is, it hardly compares to any of his own, old and kept in pristine condition estates.

It’s because for several centuries, Lorenzo has been living in the shadow of Magnus’ Bane reputation and the idea of cutting him down, even when he’s already low, is too delightful to pass up.

How can Lorenzo remain in the shadow of a man now at his feet?

It’s that thought, that power that adds a little swagger to his step and a swirl to his wrist as he makes himself a delicious drink.

Except a moment after he takes a sip, he frowns.

Something is wrong with the drink and it isn’t until he uses both magic and his nose, that he realizes somehow his bottles of expensive alcohol have been changed.

His old fashioned somehow ended up with everclear rather than the bourbon or rye whiskey that he uses.

It’s foul and he dumps it down the drain and carefully uses his own hands rather than magic.

It tastes better, but the spoon he used to stir the first is missing and no matter how hard he looks, or even when he uses magic, it doesn’t turn up.

Since Lorenzo has too much on his plate with his new duties, he doesn’t bother to waste anymore time or magic.

The drink is subpar without his spoon but the view is still stunning. At least until that night when — after a profoundly intimate dinner party reviewing art — Lorenzo wakes up to the entire loft not only shaking.

But moving.

Mere moments after he wakes, Lorenzo is barely managing to keep the loft intact, his magic unprepared and wildly incapable of keeping up with the sudden onslaught.

When he’s done, he chances a glance out the window only to find himself in an entirely new area.

One far from where he went to sleep and one he doesn’t recognize.

He dials Bane without hesitation, his phone never far from him.

“Alec Lightwood.”

Lorenzo pauses because... he was expecting Magnus Bane.

Not Magnus’ Bane’s infuriating shadowhunter.

“I need to speak to the former High Warlock.” Lorenzo can’t help the little extra dig, because Magnus Bane is no longer so high and mighty.

“Well, he’s sleeping. So that will have to wait.”

“You could just wake him up.” Lorenzo reminds him, because talking to Alec Lightwood increasingly becomes like talking to a brick wall the longer Lorenzo knows him. Perhaps he is in need of prompting, which Lorenzo is willing to offer.

“I could, but I’m not going to. Magnus needs his sleep.”

Lorenzo takes a long breath and rethinks his strategy, “can you at least ask him, the moment he wakes. Why has the loft he traded me for my help moved?”

“Oh, did you catch the street you’re on now? I can probably give you the address if you did. If your magick wasn’t strong enough to tether it to the new building then it probably reverted.  Magnus explained to me about magical ricochet but, well you probably know what I’m talking about. Having magick and all that.”

Lorenzo admits he did not catch the street and Lightwood hangs up like he’s done anything but gives Lorenzo more of a crisis than he already has going on.

Lorenzo doesn’t know how but he somehow feels worse after the call.

“Tethered?” 

Lorenzo really doesn’t like where it seems like this is going, but he needs answers and he finds himself calling in a few favors.

Because he still doesn’t know where he is but he is most definitely sure that it’s not because his magic is lacking in any way.

-

AN:

uh so, the loft is quite magical and it's not magnus' fault that Lorenzo doesn't have enough magic to maintain the property. like. that's on Lorenzo, wanting to take on a property he can't manage or afford the *magical* upkeep of.

magnus is planning to wait this out until Lorenzo either begs him to take the loft back, or eventually whoever Lorenzo manages to hoist it onto, also finds out that Magnus is the original owner/architect and tries to return it.

alec is currently moonlighting as Magnus' secretary since he doesn't have his normal communication wards up at the institute.

Magnus is not sleeping btw, he simply handed the phone to Alec because he didn't want to deal with Lorenzo and his boy is ride or die.

not that Magnus will let his alexander die, but still.

[islakaliko]

— The kind you want to be

disclaimer: a/b/o universe, alpha john price, male omega reader, very self indulged

< previous | next >

It was late.

The kind of quiet that only settled in the Price household after bedtime battles had been won, teeth brushed (mostly), toys tucked away, and stories read with sleepy voices.

But that night, a soft cry broke through the silence.

(y/n) was already halfway to the hallway when Oliver stepped out of his room, blinking, hair messy from sleep.

“That’s Mia,” (y/n) said quietly.

“I got her,” Oliver offered, already turning toward the twins’ room.

(y/n) paused, then smiled softly and nodded. “Alright, love. Call if you need me.”

Oliver slipped into the girls’ room, where the night light cast a soft pink glow across the walls. Mia was sitting up in bed, her cheeks damp, clinging to her stuffed bunny. Her chest hitched with tiny, hiccuping sobs.

“Hey, hey,” Oliver murmured, kneeling beside her bed. “What’s wrong, bug?”

Mia couldn’t find the words—too worked up, still tangled in the aftermath of a nightmare. She reached out blindly, fists tight with panic.

Without thinking, Oliver scooped her up into his arms.

He sat with her in the rocking chair by the window, holding her close, his cheek resting against the top of her head. Her small fingers curled into his shirt.

And that’s when it happened.

His scent.

It was still fresh—still shaping itself—but it unfurled like instinct: a warm, earthy calm, something grounding and gentle. Not sharp or commanding, not aggressive. Safe.

Mia sighed against his chest. Her little body relaxed. Her tears stopped.

Oliver froze for a moment, barely breathing, stunned by the feeling that bloomed in his chest—not pride, not power, but peace.

He hadn’t tried to make her feel better. He’d just been there.

And somehow, that had been enough.

He gently rocked her until her breathing evened out again, her bunny slipping from her hands to the floor.

(y/n) peeked in later and paused in the doorway.

There was his son—barefoot, sleepy-eyed, bigger than he used to be—but with the same quiet heart that had always set him apart. Holding his baby sister like the world had slowed just for them.

(y/n) said nothing.

He just mouthed thank you, and backed away quietly.

————————————

The next morning, over pancakes and scrambled eggs, Mia climbed into Oliver’s lap without a word and leaned her head against his chest. She didn’t say why. She didn’t need to.

And Oliver wrapped his arms around her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

John caught (y/n)’s eye from across the table, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

And in that little moment, surrounded by family noise and morning light, Oliver realized—

This was the kind of alpha he wanted to be.

And maybe, just maybe, he was already becoming him.

[cussundria-nerd-kneal]

I like awake at night and think about this. Like. That is astranomical news; how isn't the rest of Thedas freaking out about this??? Like, there isn't a reason for Mages to go through the Harrowing as they do-- if they can convince the spirit enough it can just... manifest itself it's own??? Body???!!?! Like I know blah blah, that's defeat the opression by fear propaganda, but just the fact that not even Dorian had a major melt down at the omplications of Cole's existence baffles me!

Also, @sunlight-shunlight's tags raise a REALLY intetrsting point on Solas' blasé reaction to concluding Cole manifested the body himself:

This feels super plausible that Spirits didn't HAVE to have the Titan's Lyrium blood to manifest a body; they did just needed to wish and want it hard enough to turm themselves physical, and Solas was already aware of this. So... he WOULDN'T lie awake, because he's just "Oh hey! A little Compassion Spirit made a body for themselves even with the Veil! Remarkable! What a neat little dude!! So proud!" And not have a minor conniption fit over that revelation.

I feel like it could lead to him spiraling a bit: he didn't need to follow Mythal's footsteps and hurt Titans to be physical, and all that suffering he caused was again - all for nothing

OR, he'd be obsessing over the question: is it the creation and obstacle of the Veil that gives Spirits the potential to be 'real?' Has his actions changed the rules and fudemental make-up of Spirits entirely with his creation of the Veil?

Cause like, it HAS to be what was mentioned in the tags. That Spirits could always form a body, they're just really weak and bugged out for a hot minute over it until they get their bearings. I feel like the devs wouldn't blunder such a huge lore drop like that, despite my annoyanceat the lack of reaction from the mages in Thedas. They wouldn't write Solas so completely chill over this revelation-- while they fully knew what Solas once WAS this entire time. There's foreshadowing and hintings of it all throughout Inquisition!

I've had the hunch also that using the life blood of the Titans themselves was what gave the Evanuris their level of power. I don't think it was JUST "the older the mage, the more powerful the mage." Otherwise Solas might have mentioned that, or Elgar'nan, Mythal, ect. Maybe Titan's Blood is what sets the Manifested Spirit on the up-curve to incredible magical abilities?

I kind of love that the ancient elves had to commit war crimes to get physical bodies but Cole managed it just by forgetting he wasn't supposed to have one. Like, good for him. What a talented guy.

[jawsoffate]

beating it raw (ii x reader)

Summary: reader and ii have spicy time on a drum. Happy iisday yall

TW: P in V, a drum is being used for other than usual purposes, the gif is self-explanatory really.

I tried something different with this one like writing from a first person pov, let me know if it's any good. If anyone has a request or an ideia (or just want to say something, anything), please, feel free to send them here :)

The sound of the drums reverberated through the makeshift home studio, vibrating through the walls, the floor... through me. I was standing there, leaning against the half-open door, watching the man sitting behind the instrument as if he had control not only over the sound but over the space itself.

II.

The blonde hair fell in loose strands over his sweaty forehead, his defined arms moving with absurd precision, strength and technique blending in a way that made my legs weak. He played with anger. With hunger. As if he were making love to the drums, pulling from them each sound with desire and power.

The drumsticks spun between his fingers naturally, but it was when he dropped them and began playing only with his hands that my body responded in a nearly shameful way. His palms struck the drum skins as if marking an internal rhythm, something instinctive, masculine. The deep sound echoed through the room as he also moved his legs — hitting the pedals with a coordination so precise it seemed choreographed.

The beat was primal. Rhythmic. Hot.

And I needed him.

I pushed the door open with more force, and he saw me. His blue eyes sparked with recognition, and a crooked smile formed on his lips — sweaty, breathing heavily, his bare chest rising and falling with the adrenaline of the performance. No words were spoken. They weren’t needed.

I closed the door behind me and walked towards him, slow, feeling my own heartbeat match the rhythm of the drums. He slightly spread his legs, still playing with his heels and toes — without stopping. The deep, continuous sound filled the air, making everything wetter, denser.

“Come here,” he said, his voice hoarse and low, as if he hadn’t stopped playing. As if I was just part of the music. “I want to try something different with you.”

I moved closer and climbed onto his lap, facing him, my thighs wrapping around his hips, feeling the heat of his body against mine. His legs moved beneath me, still hitting the pedals, creating a continuous vibration that traveled up my thighs until it lodged itself between them.

He didn’t stop.

His hands kept striking the drums, alternating between sharp cracks and deep rumbles, while his feet commanded the pedals with unwavering precision. The sound of the drums filled the studio, pounding in my chest as if each beat were a touch on my skin.

He smiled at me with the corner of his mouth, never stopping. His body sweated, muscles tightening under the effort of maintaining the rhythm — of the music and the tension between us. It was brutally beautiful, absurdly sexy.

“Come up,” he ordered, his voice muffled by the sound of the plates vibrating in the background.

I climbed onto his lap, my knees resting on either side of his firm thighs. I felt his hard erection pressing against my center, warm even over the sweatshirt. He wouldn't stop. His hands alternated between the sticks and the drums, in a fast, hypnotic rhythm.

Then he put down one of the drumsticks and moved his hand to the waistband of his own pants, without stopping his feet. He pulled the fabric down just enough and looked at me.

“Take off your panties and sit on me.”

My body obeyed before my brain could even process it. I pulled my panties aside, moaning lowly at the wet friction, and held his cock in my trembling hand. It was hot, throbbing, thick. He gasped, but his hands were still beating - one on the tambourine, the other on the snare drum, interspersing strokes with a precision that seemed impossible to maintain in that situation.

I went down slowly, feeling him invade me, centimeter by centimeter, until he fitted me completely. I gasped loudly. My body trembled.

But he didn't stop.

With every movement I made on his lap, the sound of the drums accompanied it, creating a raw, erotic soundtrack, as if he were fucking my body and the music at the same time.

“Fuck…” I mumbled, holding onto his shoulders and starting to move, sitting down harder. “This is insane…”

He stared at me, intense, insatiable.

“Go on, love. Use me. Come while I play”

And that's what I did.

I moved hard, hungrily, letting my body dictate the rhythm - but he was in control. The sound of the drums dictated my hips, dictated my moans, each beat like a slap against my skin. The cymbals vibrated, the drums roared, and I was completely surrendered, riding with desperation on the lap of a man who played as if he were possessed.

My hands slid down his sweaty back, feeling every muscle, every fiber under tension. He was a machine of pleasure and control, and even though my body was shaking with arousal, he kept his focus on the pedals, the drumsticks, my body, my pleasure.

“Look at me,” he demanded between his teeth, without stopping. “I want to see your face when you cum on my fucking cock.”

“I... I'm almost there,” I confessed, my breathing labored, my moans mixing with the loud sound of the drums. “Fuck, II…”

He let go of one of the drumsticks just for a second, took his hand between us and started massaging my clitoris with his thumb, while his legs kept hitting the pedal with precision, the low sound vibrating underneath me, going up the bench, resonating straight into my womb.

The pleasure rose abruptly. An explosion announced, inevitable.

“That's it…” he whispered, his mouth touching my jaw, his eyes locked on mine. “Come. Give me that come.”

And I did.

The orgasm hit me like a violent wave, taking me hard and sweeping away everything that existed before it. I moaned loudly, my head thrown back, the muscles in my thighs contracting as my whole body pulsed around him. It was more than pleasure — it was total, raw, urgent surrender. My nails dug into his shoulders, and I trembled in continuous spasms, feeling as if each beat of the drums was a direct shock between my legs.

And he didn't stop.

His feet still set the rhythm firmly on the pedal, the bass drum vibrating beneath me as if it were inside my body. His hands, even between touches on the drums, returned to my waist, guiding my movements with a mastery that was pure instinct. I could barely breathe, and he held me, tightly, without letting me move away for even a second.

“Yes, love,” he whispered, still breathing heavily. “Exactly like that”

I moved slowly at first, the afterglow still overwhelming me. But every thrust he made underneath, every slap of his thighs against mine, made me moan again. He slid inside me easily, but not gently. It was rhythmic. Raw. Precisely calculated - like the music coming from the drums and cymbals around us.

He leaned forward, biting my neck with a force that made me shudder. The muffled sound of his breathing mingled with the cadence of the drums. I was riding him more hungrily now, without shame, without a filter. My breasts brushed against his sweaty chest, and the friction of the skin, the music and the tension brought me unbearably close to the edge again.

“Fuck, yeah”. His voice was huskier, lower. “Look at me while you fuck me. Don't close your eyes”

I did. My hips rotated against his with desperate movements, and II's gaze on me was almost more intense than the sex itself. His jaw locked, his eyes squinted, his concentration divided between the sound he was still making with his feet and hands - and what he was pulling out of me with each thrust.

“You're going to come again for me,” he said, without giving me a choice. “Now… don’t stop”

My skin shivered at the tone of his voice. He changed the angle of his hips, thrusting deeper, straighter, right into that spot inside me that was taking me apart. His left hand came down, while still holding the drumstick, and slammed it into my ass, the sound mixing with the music he was creating.

I gasped, I screamed, I trembled. I came again.

Harder, faster, dirtier.

The second orgasm came in uncontrolled spasms. I grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him in a hurry, thirstily, moaning into his mouth. It was a sweaty, desperate, uncontrollable kiss - and he still wouldn't stop.

The sound wouldn't stop.

He was a demon in control of everything. And I was just flesh and instinct riding him, obeying the rhythm he imposed with his body and the music.

“Your pussy drives me crazy” he growled, now with both feet accelerating the pedals, creating a more intense, more brutal rhythm. “You were born to sit on me like that.”

He took one of his hands off the drums and grabbed the back of my head, pulling my face forward and holding me in his gaze.

“You're going to make me come now. But you're going to give me one more first. Can you?”

“I... I can” I stammered, trembling, my mouth ajar, my lips trying to form words while my whole body imploded.

“Then come again for me, baby.”

I moved. With all my strength, with all my will, I rode him like my body was on fire. The slap of skin against skin competed with the sound of the snare drum and the kick drum. With every move I made, he hit the drums harder. I no longer knew where the sound began and the sex ended. It was all one thing. A frenzy.

His legs trembled beneath me, his muscles tensed. His eyes were on fire.

“Fuck, yeah.” He bit his lip, his forehead touching mine. “Go on, come. Come on”.

The third came like an electric shock that ran up my spine and exploded behind my eyes. My scream echoed through the studio, mixed with the last crash of the cymbals. His mouth latched onto mine, swallowing the sound I made, while his body stiffened beneath me.

And then he exploded inside me.

With a low, hoarse, brutal growl, his hips thrust hard one last time, burying himself to the bottom. His hands finally let go of the battery, gripping my waist as if he was going to lose himself. His come came hard, hot, pulsing, and I felt each spurt as if it were another beat against my own limit.

He groaned long, a raw sound that reverberated through my chest.

We stood there, both of us shaking, panting, sweaty, glued together.

He ran a hand through my hair, straightening a few strands that were messy.

“Wow…” he said with a silly smile, still trying to catch his breath. “We should have done this sooner”

I laughed, snuggling closer to him, enjoying the feeling of having him so close. He gave me a quick kiss on the forehead, and the lightness of the moment enveloped us.

“Now, shall we take that bath?” he suggested in a soft voice, already starting to pull me towards the bathroom.

“Only if I can stay close,” I joked, and he looked at me, smiling.

[princessofghosts-posts]

I'm going to put here half of one of the best scenes of HoO.

This is page 262 of HoH from XLVIII Percy's pov,basically a few seconds before Percy start to choke Akhlys to death because he couldn't take it anymore (we love him for that).

I'm not going to focus on the whole scene,because I already talked about that,but on a specific line:

He concentrated so hard that something inside of him cracked–as if a crystal ball had shattered in his stomach.

Now,on the surface it's just a phrase that make you understand how Percy is going against his limits to accomplish what he did next,straining himself in the maintime. And that's normal,after all he is going against a primordial,you can't win against someone older than the Earth itself if you don't put a great amount of efforts (even if realistically Akhlys would have their heads in not even a second).

But I think there is something more to it, especially in the "as if a crystal ball had shattered in his stomach" part. I think it's a symbolic way to make the readers understand that Percy is loosing it. The "crystal ball" in question is his moral code that got totally destroyed once they feel into Tartarus. So it rappresent,in a way,his sanity,and how he decided to ignore the logical part of himself and to go against those same morals he has,because he had enough. He was slowly going insane in this scene,and now that it got shattered? He is never going to recover from it,ever. Because Tartarus was too deep and left too much pain,he can't recover from it entirely but he has to learn to live and cope with it.

Another interpretation I also had about this,is the fact that the crystal ball could also rappresent his humanity. I already said that Percy is able to manipulate poison because there is still a bit of water in it,right? That's fine. But the Underworld's rivers? The jump he did from Nyx's maison that was too long to do even for a demigod? I think that is also a way to symbolize how Percy is slowly loosing the mortal part of himself,and is embracing more the godly side. And the boost of powers he has can be totally explained in this way in the narrative since he is slowly becoming more godly (we all know that Riordan favor him and make him do insane things but that's from a writing prospective,not from the plot).

Am I suggesting that with this he could probably ascend to godhood? Probably,but Percy refused that already. It's more of the fact that he is starting to disconnect more from the mortal world than before. Ever since HoO started he got totally cut off from his life,at least in PJO he had moments where he still went to school,stayed with his mom and Paul and actually lived his life like a normal teenager. In HoO we don't have those moments because they are fully immersed in the mythological part of their nature.

And only Percy had this type of reaction in Tartarus. Annabeth didn't felt something inside of her shattering,and I don't know for Nico (hopefully it happened to him too-) or even Will. It's only Percy that had this,and the chapter later we see him using his abilities (especially when they were going away from Nyx's territory) with a boost that wasn't never there before,since he was struggling at the start of HoH when they feel into the first river. I think it's connected to that. (Also,Nico had a boost of powers too,so,he probably had the same happening to him-).

You can totally say it's a narrative choice and I'm overanalyzing two lines that are there just to flavor the narrative more,but Riordan made sure to wrote that to make us understand how broken Percy was starting to be. Both power-wise and mentally. There is just something in that line that caught my attention and,to this days,is still one of my favorites too.

[mrsdesade]

The glow beneath

I missed writing Homelander x female!supe (Ophera) stuff so here's a little self indulgent scene I wrote last night bc the concept of Homelander's eyes, glowing red when he experiences intense emotions, fascinates me more and more every day

tw: soft nsfw, teasing, kinda fluff 825 words

The city stretches beneath them like a mechanical sea — blinking, buzzing, breathing. Manhattan’s night sky offers no stars, only the artificial glow of corporate dominance. Inside the penthouse, time feels suspended.

The room is dim, lit by the soft crimson of a standing lamp in the corner, throwing long shadows across the polished floor. The quiet is thick, disrupted only by the soft friction of skin and breath. Ophera straddles him on the velvet couch, her figure draped in pieces of her stage costume, only half undone — deliberately unfinished, as if she had no intention of being completely bare for anyone, except maybe him.

Homelander's hands rest on her hips, fingers twitching slightly as though he's holding himself back — from what, she’s not entirely sure. Destruction, maybe. Or worship.

Her fingers brush along his jaw. Not with fear, but fascination.

“You're...” she murmurs, voice low and textured like silk dragged over gravel. “...unusually quiet.”

His blue eyes flick to hers — unreadable, full of too many things at once. He exhales, a laugh barely audible, like the air itself could betray him.

“I’m just— enjoying myself.” he replies, and there’s a tension in his voice — not hesitation, but something much stranger. Vulnerability wrapped in pride.

And then — it happens.

A flicker.

A sudden, radiant red bleeds into the whites of his eyes, glowing from somewhere deep within. It’s not rage. It’s not defense. It’s instinct — raw, electric, unguarded.

She freezes — but not out of fear. And she stares, utterly enthralled.

His breath catches. Noticing her pause, misreads it. His hands tense slightly on her skin.

“Fuck, don't get scared — I'm sorry — ” he says quietly.

Her gaze doesn’t waver. Instead, she leans in. Closer. Her face is inches from his now, the heat from his barely-contained power brushing against her cheek like the warmth of a sun too close.

“No.” she whispers, her thumb brushing beneath his eye, where the glow is strongest. “I’m watching.”

“Watching?”

“I’ve seen these eyes rip people apart...” her voice is steady, a low hum of temptation and danger.

“I didn’t mean to—” He swallows. “It just... happens, when it feels... too much.”

“Good.” she says, her fingers threading into his golden hair. “Let it happen.”

He looks genuinely stunned. It takes him a moment to find his words — rare for someone who’s spent his life commanding cameras and killing silence.

His eyes search hers, flickering with something desperate and unspoken — a need not just for touch, but to be seen. And she’s seeing him now in a way no one else dares.

She kisses the edge of his mouth — not a tease, not a performance, but something strange and sincere. Her voice brushes his ear.

“I don’t fear your power. I find it beautiful.”

He exhales sharply, a shiver running down his back. His hands find the small of her back, pulling her closer, skin to skin. The red in his eyes surges again, brighter, and she gasps quietly at the sensation — the heat, the thrill, the utter madness of it.

“You — ” he murmurs against her throat, voice ragged, almost reverent. “You want me to be the bad guy?”

She laughs, soft and low. “Maybe, who knows.”

He pulls back just enough to look at her, really look at her — as though seeing something he never thought possible. Trust. Challenge. And something dangerously close to admiration. “If you keep looking at me like that, I might lose control.”

Her fingers glide down his chest, nails grazing the insignia stitched into the suit’s remaining fabric.

“Lose it.” she dares. “Show me what everyone else fears.”

For a beat, the room pulses with stillness. And then —

He moves.

Not with violence, but urgency. His mouth crashes into hers, the kiss desperate and claiming, his grip tightening, yet never cruel. Their bodies move like metal to magnet, pulled together by a force neither of them fully understands, but both are addicted to.

She moans softly against his lips as he shifts her beneath him, and she welcomes the weight, the pressure, the presence that once tried to kill her and now clings to her like salvation. The heat of his gaze, still tinged in red, never leaves her.

“You could destroy me.” she whispers, breathless.

He brushes his nose along her cheek, voice raw. “I don’t want to destroy you. I want to keep you safe, in my arms.”

She bites his lip gently, smirking against his skin. “That’s even more dangerous.”

He laughs this time — dark and soft, a sound she only ever hears when they’re alone like this. When the god tries to be human.

“Then stay dangerous with me.”

The rest of the night stretches out like a fever dream — tangled limbs, whispered threats that sound like love, and the quiet glow of red eyes never looking away from her.

[hannahssimblr]

The gallery hallway is quieter, colder, the faint smell of cigarette smoke seeping through the courtyard door. Leaned against a wall, I stare down into my drink, gone flat now, swishing around in the glass. It doesn’t taste good. Never was a fan of champagne, or any drink with an opinion of itself. So much commotion, it seems, over something with the power to disappoint instantly. 

I hear her coming before I see her. Those shoes with the needle-thin heels clacking across the floor, through the gallery doors. In these, she’s tall enough for us to see eye-to-eye. Unsettles me a bit. 

I straighten up. “Hey.”

“Hello,” the buzz of conversation continues behind closed doors. “They really like to talk, those men.”

“Yeah, seems it. He–they seem impressed by your stuff.” I don’t intend for my words to have a curve, to have their back up like a threatened cat, but it is how they come out. She hardly seems to notice. 

“It was Steffan’s friend, really. He writes for an architectural journal, and wanted to talk about doing an article about the exhibition. My pieces remind him of soft brutalism.”

“Ah, yes. Soft brutalism. That’s what I thought, too. Found it obvious.”

Clumsy joke, worsened by my flat delivery. 

She doesn’t smile. “I never got the impression you thought that.”

“Oh, well, like, I didn’t. Not really.”

“You thought it was challenging, you said.”

Hesitating. Did I say that? It takes a beat. “Ah, yeah. Anspruchsvoll.” Fantastic, really, to know what the word means. “Yeah, I do. I think it’s challenging and ambitious and fucking… uh, sophisticated.”

She half-smiles. “Ah, that’s what Steffan said, too.”

Violent irritation jolts through my spine. Words slipping before I can catch them. “Ah, and was he talking about the work or about you?”

Her eyes sharpen. “What?” 

“Just...” I look past her down the hallway, at the abstract painting hanging on the wall. “He thinks a lot of you, doesn’t he?” 

She scoffs. “It was kind of him, actually, to come tonight and support me.” 

“Alright, yeah. It was.”

“And it was kind of him to introduce me to his friend, the writer.” Her voice takes on that careful, measured tone. “That was an important networking moment. I’ll need these connections when I leave—” 

“Yeah, but did he have to keep touching you all the time?” The words come hot and fast. 

A thick silence. She crosses her arms, spine straightening.

“On your...” My hand gestures vaguely in the air between us. “All over your arm every time you said something, his hand on your back. Christ, Astrid, the way he looks at you—like you’re a piece in his art collection.” 

A muscle twitches near her temple. “So this is why you’re standing out here sulking. You were waiting to have this argument again. It’s like déjà vu.” 

“Again? You mean after all the times he insisted on holding you back after class? Or the critique session last month?” I lower my voice as someone passes by. “I don’t know why you can’t acknowledge the way he talks to you, like you’re—” 

“Like I’m what, Jude?” Dangerous edge to her voice now. 

“Like you’re his. His student, his discovery, his—” I struggle for the word in any language. “It’s the way he ferries you around to his friends. Like you’re his little protégée, or like he wants them all to get a good look at you. It’s...” 

Her eyebrows shoot up. “What exactly are you implying?” 

“I don’t know!” I snap, then check myself. Quieter now: “It’s not right. You don’t see how his eyes follow you when you walk away?” 

Astrid takes a step back. Controlled voice. “It sounds as though you spend a lot of time thinking about Steffan.” She tilts her head. “Do you think he thinks of you quite so much?” 

The question hits like a slap. “Right. Jesus. Okay.” 

“You’re so interested in him, in this idea of what he thinks of me, or why he likes my work so much.” She studies me like I’m one of her art pieces. “I just wonder why.” 

“Because it feels obvious that he also likes you,” I say tightly. “For reasons that have nothing to do with your work.” 

“Oh, because a woman who looks like me could not possibly create something valuable.” Her voice rises, color touching her cheeks. “Any success I have must be entirely because of the way I look? Is that what you think?” 

“You’re twisting my words. I meant—” 

“You meant what? That my adviser appreciates me for my looks rather than my talent? That my work is secondary to whatever imagined attraction you’ve conjured up?” 

“No, I—” 

“Okay, and what’s the endgame here? You think we will sleep together? That’s the kind of person you assume I am?” 

The conversation slips from me like fistfuls of water. “No. That’s not my point. It’s that he… and I… It makes me feel—” 

“Ugh, God,” she groans and throws her eyes to the ceiling. “It makes you feel. It hurts your feelings. It’s always so melodramatic, these conversations, repeatedly. Since you got back from Ireland, this is every day for me. I’m tired of defending myself against things I haven’t done.” 

I keep my mouth shut. Stomach souring with shame and anger. 

“Do you know what Steffan said to me tonight? He said my work shows remarkable confidence. Confidence.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “Meanwhile, my boyfriend is hiding in hallways because he can’t bear to watch me succeed.” 

I stare at the champagne glass, rum my thumb around the rim, wishing for something stronger. 

“Please,” she says, genuine fatigue in her voice now. “I want to enjoy my evening. I want it to be about me, not about you, and what is making you sad and insecure today. Enough.” She takes a breath. “I’m going to go back in. Will you come?” 

The question hangs—an offering, despite everything. “In a bit,” I say finally, and she turns, loud heels across the floor as she pushes through the door into the noise.

I stay where I am—the sound of her swallowed by the gallery’s chatter. Slipping back into her world, a small group crowding her, and Steffan’s hand there, appearing by her elbow before the door swings shut. 

Drain the champagne. Horrible. Leave the glass on a plinth.  

Outside in the courtyard, freezing air, cigarette smoke dense and seductive. I borrow a smoke from someone I know from college, chatting to some others, their fluent German filling the space. I say “Ja, sicher, genau,” about fifteen times, picking out the words I know from their conversation, contemplating the ones I don’t. 

Later, half an hour, maybe, I’ll go back into the gallery, stand by the edge of her spotlight, practice words under my breath that might impress someone in her group. Vielschichtig. Eigenwillig. Facettenreich. But for now, I lean against the cold, flat wall, silent, and let myself be foreign. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[midorikawawas]

ZZZ 1.7 was a great epilogue of the first part of the story because nwe are finally seeing the exaltists in action, getting involved with the people that run the world in the shadows, and finally approaching the truth about the siblings Teacher. However, what stood out to me the most was the Hugo sub plot, not only because I feel he's an incredible character, but because he breaks the norm a little.

He's a character that chooses to forgive himself to be able to live.

Instead of choosing hate which is easier (as seen by Dina and her refusal to let go of hate) he chose peace and to forgive not the ones that broke him when he was defenseless, but himself for being a victim. I can't stress enough how difficult it must've been for him to reach this resolution when we were made to believe that Hugo's sole mission was vengeance, and now we KNOW that he should be hateful and crazy because of what it was done to him as his inner demon stated, starting with his mother.

Then we know what the Ravenlocks did to his sister and how he took the fall for it, how it made him seem as the most ruthless of the children when in fact, he was the most human of the bunch, and the tragedy of the death of his father and siblings which also ended up taking Lycaon's legs and eye. For all of this, Hugo believes himself to be a victim, and in his victimhood he'd been grappling with for years, anger and hatred rooted itself and bound him like the thorny vines in the cover art of the update (love me some effective symbolism)

And then his last tragedy, which was losing Lycaon.

The knowledge of him having overhead the conversation between Lycaon and Jack was like a dagger, but it made it even more poignant how his journey wasn't one like Dina's, who lost herself to anger, but one where he had to learn how to live at peace with the bad things done to him; something most people cannot do. But then again, if you think Lycaon was mad at him for their fallout, that simply doesn't compare to how heartbroken Hugo was by being abandoned by the last person he had. The sad part is that Hugo knows his lack of communication was at fault, not Lycaon.

So, Hugo hates himself. Because he hates everything and everyone for the terrible life he was born into, the awful bloodline he belongs to, the people he couldn't protect and the ones he's pushed away. And yet, after all of this and even more (bc Tumblr won't let me add more pictures ʘ⁠‿⁠ʘ) Hugo's decision is the hardest of them all: He forgives himself. Which gives the name of the story depth since he did bury his tears in the past that he will let go off.

I just believe ZZZ hit the jackpot with both the story in the update and with Hugo. It's not usual to find a character who makes this decision which is so difficult because he had the power to avenge himself, but he also knew that would be betraying himself and the people he loves.

[dingodad]

On the one hand, I do think there are some things we know pretty definitively about Lords and Muses. Lords are an "active" class, while Muses are a "passive" class. What that means is itself murky as shit, because not even the examples of characters we get slotted into those categories act perfectly like one or the other, so that's part of the other hand that just says you're totally right. I also think it's noteworthy how Caliborn talks about his class, which doubles a bit as his narrative role. If I recall his monologues correctly, he's under the impression that being a Lord means his will is just sort of imprinted onto reality, and that wanting something to happen badly enough will make the gears spin into motion. Which seems both active in the sense that he needs to specifically want something, and passive in that it doesn't necessarily require his direct input beyond that. So another bit of twisting and turning that frankly reinforces your perspective. I'm not sure what my point is here, but I thought it was worth noting.

uu: AS A LORD OF TIME. I THINK I'M GOING TO MASTER TIME. NOT WITH MY BRAIN. WHICH WOULD BE TOO HARD. BUT WITH MY INSTINCTS. uu: I THINK TO MYSELF. WHY SHOULDN'T I BE THE ONE TO MAKE THAT HAPPEN? IF IT'S GOING TO ANYWAY. uu: I THINK PART OF MY PERSONAL QUEST. IS TO BECOME AT EASE WITH THE FORCES OF INEVITABILITY. uu: INEVITABILITY THAT ALL THINGS SHOULD AND WILL FALL IN MY FAVOR. THAT ALL CAUSALITY ANSWERS TO ME. AND THAT ALL OUTCOMES NOT ONLY SERVE ME. BUT CONSIST OF MY BEING. uu: SO I FEEL THAT. THE MORE I GROW IN POWER. uu: THE MORE STUFF IT SHOULD TURN OUT I AM RESPONSIBLE FOR. uu: UP TO AND INCLUDING. EVERYTHING THAT EVER HAPPENS. uu: EVEN IF IT HAS TO BE. uu: RETROACTIVELY.

taken completely at face value yeah, Caliborn seems to think that reality will just passively warp itself around his whim. but reading between the lines this is alluding to exactly the kind of thing i've been talking about for the last few posts: Caliborn "retroactively" makes himself responsible for everything that ever happens by... travelling back in time and brute forcing himself into past events! causality doesn't answer to him because he's a special chosen boy, it answers to him because he actively subjugates it into doing so.

which i think is really just the distilled essence of what we're told an 'active class' is. because, like, duh, of course his "will is imprinted onto reality" - that's what magic is, LOL, every class imprints their will onto reality in some way!! it's like the exact same argument i bring up whenever someone tries to describe some class (usually the knight) as 'using their aspect'... EVERY CLASS USES THEIR ASPECT... THAT'S WHAT A CLASS IS FOR...

so yeah you are right we do "definitively" know one thing about the lord class. it's just that that thing is so intentionally vague that it's literally a fucking joke. LOL

[sepublic]

“I thought I was the only one who found this Day of Unity junk suspicious. When I heard Raine was causing trouble, I had a feeling they'd know more. You would've been locked away if it weren't for me.”

Darius’ dialogue intrigues me here, because it sounds like this was the incident that made him begin to question things, but up until that point he was still fairly pro-coven. Which makes me wonder if his attack on the BATTs with Eberwolf was an on-the-fence type situation; Realistically, they’re not entirely sure if they can just dismiss what Belos is doing right off the bat. They don’t m want to be outright traitors.

But at the same time, finding out one of their peers is doing actual rebellion; Well, they’re a fellow coven head. They might be privy to certain things. Maybe Raine knows something Darius and Eberwolf don’t. So let’s hear them out at least. Cross-reference what they know.

I’m not sure if Darius and Eberwolf always had a seed of doubt, but they at least had pragmatic sense to question a ritual so grand and powerful, meant to change everything as they know it. So it makes me look back at the fight in Eda’s Requiem, and if it wasn’t 100% acting; Like, Darius and Eberwolf are curious but not fully committed to being on Raine’s side. They want to hear them out. And just in case, if Raine is in the wrong, they may as well capture and restrain them safely, so they can’t do anything the two disapprove of.

But Raine gives a compelling argument and what they say about “disappearances,” cross-referenced with what Darius and Eberwolf know and suspect. It paints too strong of a picture. We know Kikimora subdued Raine, who was later handed over to Terra; But Raine also sabotaged Terra’s brainwashing potion. Given Raine wasn’t imprisoned, did Darius suggest for Terra to brainwash them instead, and it led to Terra thinking of him as on her side, hence her surprise at his betrayal?

I wouldn’t be surprised if what Raine said forced Darius to confront certain facts about his mentor, since he implies to Hunter that his mentor was someone who was always willing to go against the status quo to help others; If what Hunter did to impress Darius enough to make that comparison is any consideration. Sometimes I wonder if the show originally would’ve had Darius find out his mentor was betrayed by Belos, and this would’ve factored into him cementing his decision to rebel.

Was Hollow Mind always supposed to happen prior to the shortening? Or would Hunter have learned the truth in another way; But as it stood, the writers needed to have him learn it ASAP, so consolidating it with a mindscape adventure was the most efficient route to see the BS of the system? Imagine if Darius had been there to also learn what happened to the prior Golden Guard… and all of the others before.

But yeah; Darius and Eberwolf might’ve been more along the lines of true believers who genuinely wanted to think the coven system meant well, that maybe it had flaws but those were more exceptions by malicious individuals that could be fixed, and not the feature itself. Maybe they tried to tell themselves it was justified.

Darius doesn’t seem enthusiastic about capturing wild witches and it could be multiple factors, from not wanting to devote himself to a job he doesn’t fully respect, to genuinely considering the ethical implications and passing it off as him being lazy, because otherwise he’d sound like a doubter. But he always was, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, esp if he saw what happened to those who doubted, and suspected what happened with his mentor…

So Darius and Eberwolf are like Raine in that sense. But at some point they got nosy enough to snoop around, and learned about the draining spell; Did they already cement their alliance to Raine once they acknowledged that the petrifications could not be allowed?

Or was there some unease between them and Raine, until the two got confirmation? I’d think it was the former, mostly because the way Raine talks to Darius’ little Abomination doesn’t have an air of I Told You So. But it’s fun to think about the timeline and progression of how they realized. Dana did mention how Eberwolf trusts Darius, so I wonder if her insinuation was that Eber was mostly pro-coven, and it was Darius’ doubting that got them to follow. With these two, I could see their realization of how corrupt it all was causing them to unpack the “lesser” evils they’d initially overlooked, and commit to their morals.

[beforeviolets]

cat is out of the bag! I'm so excited to share that for UK readers who get their hands on an early copy of The Maiden and Her Monster by Maddie Martinez, my art will be featured in the ARC!

(📷: Maddie Martinez, @maddiesmartinez)

closeup of the art itself:

synopsis, personal gushing, and my plea to pre-order this book under the cut!

The Maiden and Her Monster is an adult, sapphic, Jewish fantasy inspired by the Jewish myth of golem.

The official synopsis is:

The forest eats the girls who wander out after dark. As the healer’s daughter, Malka has seen how the curse of the woods has plagued her village, but when the Ozmini Church comes to collect their tithes, they don’t listen to the warnings about a monster lurking in the trees. After a clergy girl wanders too close to the forest and Malka’s mother is accused of her murder, Malka strikes a bargain with a zealot Ozmini priest. If she brings him the monster, he will spare her mother from execution. When she ventures into the blood-soaked woods, Malka finds a monster, though not the one she expects: an inscrutable, disgraced golem who agrees to implicate herself, but only after Malka helps her free the imprisoned rabbi who created her. But a deal easily made is not easily kept. And as their bargain begins to unravel a much more sinister threat, protecting her people may force Malka to endanger the one person she left home to save—and face her growing feelings for the very creature she was taught to fear.

As for my personal review:

I had the absolute honor of reading an early draft of this book and I cannot sing its praises highly enough. Political, historical, Jewish, queer, romantic, adventurous, heart-wrenching, lyrical, ferocious, THE MAIDEN AND HER MONSTER is a masterpiece of a debut. This is one of the most impactful and close-to-the-heart stories I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading, and it brought me to tears with its profundity. Maddie has tapped into something inevitable, ancient, and eternal about the Jewish experience that feels so impossible, so bigger than itself that I can’t imagine it’s anything less than pure magic. This book features a glorious canopy of Jewish folklore, sapphic romance, and the enchanting allure of a sentient forest, supported by a strong and meaty tale with rich characters, abundant commentary, and succulent prose. And buried deep in the story’s roots, you’ll find a beating heart that bleeds with grief, hope, and passion. It’s an indescribable feeling to have a friend write a book and for it to end up being one of the most powerful and moving works you’ve ever read, and exactly the story your heart was yearning for. I’m full of so much gratitude and pride, and I can’t wait for you all to fall in love with Nimrah and Malka like I have. This is definitely a book for people who like complex world building, romances that build through really delicious subtextual yearning, difficult stories about grief and resilience, and stories that are utterly Jewish.

Maddie is a dear dear friend of mine, and it has been a humbling and cherished experience to witness this book's genesis from early drafts, to watching Maddie decide its title, to publishing highs and lows. And I really hope you all give this book (and Maddie) the support it deserves. I've now gotten to see firsthand how difficult a debut book can be for an author, especially for a marginalized author with marginalized rep in their book.

The only way books get put on shelves is if they gain enough attention through pre-orders (this is unfortunately very true, B&N has said this themselves), so if you want to support a queer, Jewish, POC author, with a queer, Jewish story, and you're as excited for this book as I am, pre-order at your local brick-and-mortar bookstore, whether it be a chain or an indie!

[abby-howard]

I'm going to be asking a lot of artists I follow this question, but how did you develop your style? It SEEMS like most people find their style and stick with it forever, just making improvements and iterations. I tend to work in a lot of different styles because I enjoy doing that, though I know there are things I gravitate towards as well. But I wonder what your journey was and how you got feedback and improved while staying true to what you enjoyed?

Hi there!

I definitely wouldn't say that I've found my style and stuck with it forever-- I feel like each of my projects has asked for a certain kind of art, and has presented new challenges that push me in new directions.

Some of that comes from seeing someone else's work and having something click into place that might fix errors/faults in my own, and then I might try to incorporate that, such as bigger outlines on my characters to help distinguish them from the background, or maybe a way someone else simplifies eyes that can help make mine look less weird.

When I first started drawing, I can see where I encountered certain influences because my sketchbooks suddenly switch to incorporating some new stylistic element that I liked from whatever I was reading/watching at the time. But it was never QUITE right, it was never just copying, there was always something ~wrong~ with it. And that wrongness was my style! As much as I hated it, that was what distinguished my art from being just a copy of someone else's. I hate it less now, and understand that other people see something there that maybe I don't, because it's just what happens when I filter other people's work through my head. My soul, if you will.

There are definitely through-lines with my work, driven by what I like drawing and what comes easily to me-- hatching is almost always a major component, and I like making expressive characters. Here's some of my earliest available stuff, from my old webcomic:

Then not long after that, I started The Last Halloween, which pushed me to challenge myself in both layout and style:

And here's the same comic, years later:

And here's a series I did for kids, where I had to use full color and lay off on the hatching, as well as learn how to reconstruct animals that we have no photo references for, which is definitely a place where style comes majorly into play, whether I wanted it to or not:

Then there was the horror book I did, where I tried to push my work to be less cartoony overall, and to work very hard on improving my hatching:

Then I started work on Scarlet Hollow, where I incorporated a limited/muted palette and had to once again push myself to make less-cartoony art, as well as learn more consistency so I could draw sprite sets. This was a big challenge for me, and has helped me grow as an artist so much!

And most recently, I wrapped up work on Slay the Princess, which required that I go back in the cartoony direction, but in a very different way than I was used to. This took a lot of sketching to figure out, and there's still a decent amount of artistic stumbling in Chapter 1 while I settled into it.

She's drawing on anime/Disney influence, but each Princess required a bit of stylistic variability. Some are more anime, while some are more realistic than even the Scarlet Hollow characters.

So I wouldn't worry too much, honestly! A person's style is often something that reveals itself over the course of their career, rather than something they choose and then try to stick to forever.

Even if you don't think you have a style, you do. It might vary a lot piece by piece, especially if you're trying to closely imitate another person's art, but the more work you do, the more you'll figure out your own strengths and interests!

[kagoutiss]

din’s champion

[puppppppppy]

meow

[lichqueenlibrarian]