#or create new looks from book descriptions

[keepitdreamin]

Deep Space Discounts OC!

Are they really a cat person? Is their name actually Finite? They'll never tell ;3

[hayatheauthor]

The 7 Faces of Friendship: Character Types to Include in Your Book’s Friend Group

Having a balance of different personas helps create a comprehensive cast for your novels. To get started, here are the 7 main friend personas to consider:

1. The Leader

Description:

The leader is the driving force behind the group. They are often assertive, confident, and willing to take charge in various situations. This person is typically seen as a decision-maker, guiding the group toward plans, activities, or goals.

Traits:

Charismatic: Naturally draws people in and inspires others.

Decisive: Quick to make decisions, often with a clear vision in mind.

Responsible: Takes ownership of the group's well-being and direction.

Role in the Group:

The leader often organises outings, mediates conflicts, and keeps the group focused on shared goals. They are instrumental in making plans and ensuring that everyone feels included.

2. The Caregiver

Description:

The caregiver is the heart of the friend group, always looking out for others. This person is empathetic, nurturing, and willing to lend a helping hand or an understanding ear.

Traits:

Compassionate: Deeply cares for the feelings and well-being of others.

Supportive: Always ready to offer encouragement or assistance.

Attentive: Notices when someone is feeling down or needs help.

Role in the Group:

The caregiver often acts as the emotional glue, fostering connections and ensuring everyone feels valued. They are typically the ones organising gatherings to celebrate friends or supporting them through tough times.

3. The Comedian

Description:

The comedian is the life of the party, always ready with a joke or a funny story. This character brings humour and lightness to the group, helping to relieve tension and elevate the mood.

Traits:

Witty: Quick with humour and often makes clever observations.

Playful: Approaches life with a sense of fun and spontaneity.

Positive: Maintains an optimistic outlook, even in challenging situations.

Role in the Group:

The comedian keeps the atmosphere lively, ensuring that laughter is a common thread in the group. They often defuse tense situations with humour and help create cherished memories through fun experiences.

4. The Adventurer

Description:

The adventurer thrives on new experiences and excitement. This character is always seeking thrills, whether that’s trying out a new restaurant, going on spontaneous trips, or participating in extreme sports.

Traits:

Daring: Enjoys taking risks and stepping outside of their comfort zone.

Curious: Eager to explore new ideas, places, and experiences.

Energetic: Brings enthusiasm to the group, often encouraging others to join in.

Role in the Group:

The adventurer often leads the charge for new experiences, pushing the group to try things they might not have considered. They inspire others to embrace spontaneity and explore the world together. Often contradicts the leader.

5. The Intellectual

Description:

The intellectual is the thinker of the group, often delving into deep conversations and pondering life's big questions. This character values knowledge and is well-read, informed, and curious about various topics.

Traits:

Analytical: Enjoys breaking down complex ideas and analysing situations.

Inquisitive: Asks questions and seeks to understand the world.

Articulate: Communicates thoughts clearly and effectively.

Role in the Group:

The intellectual can help stimulate meaningful conversations, adding depth to the group's interactions. More of a quiet yet important presence. They help get the Adventurer out of trouble, and are likely found bantering with the Comedian from time to time.

6. The Connector

Description:

The connector is the social butterfly of the group, adept at bringing people together and building relationships. This character thrives on interaction and often knows everyone’s stories, interests, and backgrounds.

Traits:

Sociable: Enjoys meeting new people and introducing friends to one another.

Empathetic: Understands social dynamics and helps others feel comfortable.

Resourceful: Knows where to go for recommendations and suggestions.

Role in the Group:

The connector enriches the group by fostering relationships and creating opportunities for social gatherings. They often organise events and help deepen bonds within the friend circle. They are generally close to the  Caregiven and the Leader’s partner/close friend.  They help the Leader and Intellectual settle on ideas that are both fun and functional thus appeasing to the whole group. 

7. The Realist

Description:

The realist is grounded and practical, providing a balanced perspective within the friend group. This character approaches situations with a level-headed attitude and often focuses on the facts at hand.

Note: While the intellectual is an inherently smart person, the realist is the apathetic and logical force of the group. They don’t have to necessarily be smart but are insightful.

Traits:

Pragmatic: Values practicality and often offers sensible solutions.

Sceptical: Questions overly optimistic or unrealistic plans.

Honest: Tends to speak their mind, even when the truth is uncomfortable.

Role in the Group:

The realist often acts as a counterbalance to more idealistic characters, helping the group assess risks and make informed decisions. They provide a sense of stability, ensuring that plans are not just fun but also feasible.

Edit: you don't NEED to have 7 friends each with one persona. You also don't need to have all 7. One person can be the caregiver to A and realist to B. They can be the leader in one friend group but the comedian in another (showcasing their comfort with the latter). This is just a list to help pan out your character personality types!

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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[thewriteadviceforwriters]

25 Prose Tips For Writers 🖋️✨ Part 1

Hey there!📚✨

As writers, we all know that feeling when we read a sentence so beautifully crafted that it takes our breath away. We pause, reread it, and marvel at how the author managed to string those words together in such a captivating way. Well, today I'm going to unpack a few secrets to creating that same magic in your own writing. These same tips I use in my writing.

But before I begin, please remember that writing is an art form, and like any art, it's subjective. What sounds beautiful to one person might not resonate with another. The tips I'm about to share are meant to be tools in your writer's toolkit, not rigid rules. Feel free to experiment, play around, and find what works best for your unique voice and style.

Power of Rhythm 🎵

One of the most overlooked aspects of beautiful prose is rhythm. Just like music, writing has a flow and cadence that can make it pleasing to the ear (or mind's ear, in this case). Here are some ways to incorporate rhythm into your writing:

a) Vary your sentence length: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, flowing ones. This creates a natural ebb and flow that keeps your reader engaged.

Example: "The sun set. Darkness crept in, wrapping the world in its velvet embrace. Stars winked to life, one by one, until the sky was a glittering tapestry of light."

b) Use repetition strategically: Repeating words or phrases can create a hypnotic effect and emphasize important points.

Example: "She walked through the forest, through the shadows, through the whispers of ancient trees. Through it all, she walked with purpose."

c) Pay attention to the stressed syllables: In English, we naturally stress certain syllables in words. Try to end important sentences with stressed syllables for a stronger impact.

Example: "Her heart raced as she approached the door." (Stronger ending) vs. "She approached the door as her heart raced." (Weaker ending)

Paint with Words 🎨

Beautiful prose often creates vivid imagery in the reader's mind. Here are some techniques to help you paint with words:

a) Use specific, concrete details: Instead of general descriptions, zoom in on particular details that bring a scene to life.

Example: Instead of: "The room was messy." Try: "Crumpled papers overflowed from the waste bin, books lay spine-up on every surface, and a half-eaten sandwich peeked out from under a stack of wrinkled clothes."

b) Appeal to all five senses: Don't just describe what things look like. Include smells, sounds, textures, and tastes to create a fully immersive experience.

Example: "The market bustled with life. Colorful fruits glistened in the morning sun, their sweet aroma mingling with the earthy scent of fresh herbs. Vendors called out their wares in sing-song voices, while customers haggled in animated tones. Sarah's fingers brushed against the rough burlap sacks of grain as she passed, and she could almost taste the tang of ripe oranges on her tongue."

c) Use unexpected comparisons: Fresh similes and metaphors can breathe new life into descriptions.

Example: Instead of: "The old man was very thin." Try: "The old man was a whisper of his former self, as if life had slowly erased him, leaving behind only the faintest outline."

Choose Your Words Wisely 📚

Every word in your prose should earn its place. Here are some tips for selecting the right words:

a) Embrace strong verbs: Replace weak verb + adverb combinations with single, powerful verbs.

Example: Instead of: "She walked quickly to the store." Try: "She hurried to the store." or "She dashed to the store."

b) Be specific: Use precise nouns instead of general ones.

Example: Instead of: "She picked up the flower." Try: "She plucked the daisy."

c) Avoid clichés: Clichés can make your writing feel stale. Try to find fresh ways to express common ideas.

Example: Instead of: "It was raining cats and dogs." Try: "The rain fell in sheets, transforming the streets into rushing rivers."

Play with Sound 🎶

The sound of words can contribute greatly to the beauty of your prose. Here are some techniques to make your writing more musical:

a) Alliteration: Repeating initial consonant sounds can create a pleasing effect.

Example: "She sells seashells by the seashore."

b) Assonance: Repeating vowel sounds can add a subtle musicality to your prose.

Example: "The light of the bright sky might ignite a fight."

c) Onomatopoeia: Using words that sound like what they describe can make your writing more immersive.

Example: "The bees buzzed and hummed as they flitted from flower to flower."

Art of Sentence Structure 🏗️

How you structure your sentences can greatly affect the flow and impact of your prose. Here are some tips:

a) Use parallel structure: When listing items or actions, keep the grammatical structure consistent.

Example: "She came, she saw, she conquered."

b) Try periodic sentences: Build suspense by putting the main clause at the end of the sentence.

Example: "Through storm and strife, across oceans and continents, despite all odds and obstacles, they persevered."

c) Experiment with sentence fragments: While not grammatically correct, sentence fragments can be powerful when used intentionally for emphasis or style.

Example: "She stood at the edge of the cliff. Heart racing. Palms sweating. Ready to jump."

Power of White Space ⬜

Sometimes, what you don't say is just as important as what you do. Use paragraph breaks and short sentences to create pauses and emphasize important moments.

Example: "He opened the letter with trembling hands.

Inside, a single word.

'Yes.'"

Read Your Work Aloud 🗣️

One of the best ways to polish your prose is to read it aloud. This helps you catch awkward phrasing, repetitive words, and rhythm issues that you might miss when reading silently.

Edit Ruthlessly ✂️

Beautiful prose often comes from rigorous editing. Don't be afraid to cut words, sentences, or even entire paragraphs if they don't serve the overall beauty and effectiveness of your writing.

Study the Masters 📖

Please! Read widely and pay attention to how your favorite authors craft their prose. Analyze sentences you find particularly beautiful and try to understand what makes them work.

Practice, Practice, Practice 💪

Like any skill, writing beautiful prose takes practice. Set aside time to experiment with different techniques and styles. Try writing exercises focused on specific aspects of prose, like describing a scene using only sound words, or rewriting a simple sentence in ten different ways.

Remember, that developing your prose style is a journey, not a destination. It's okay if your first draft isn't perfect – that's what editing is for! The most important thing is to keep writing, keep experimenting, and keep finding joy in the process.

Here are a few more unique tips to help you on your prose-perfecting journey:

Create a Word Bank 🏦

Keep a notebook or digital file where you collect beautiful words, phrases, or sentences you come across in your reading. This can be a great resource when you're looking for inspiration or the perfect word to complete a sentence.

Use the "Rule of Three" 3️⃣

There's something inherently satisfying about groups of three. Use this to your advantage in your writing, whether it's in listing items, repeating phrases, or structuring your paragraphs.

Example: "The old house groaned, creaked, and whispered its secrets to the night."

Power of Silence 🤫

Sometimes, the most powerful prose comes from what's left unsaid. Use implication and subtext to add depth to your writing.

Example: Instead of: "She was heartbroken when he left." Try: "She stared at his empty chair across the breakfast table, the untouched coffee growing cold."

Play with Perspective 👁️

Experiment with different points of view to find the most impactful way to tell your story. Sometimes, an unexpected perspective can make your prose truly memorable.

Example: Instead of describing a bustling city from a human perspective, try describing it from the point of view of a bird soaring overhead, or a coin passed from hand to hand.

Use Punctuation Creatively 🖋️

While it's important to use punctuation correctly, don't be afraid to bend the rules a little for stylistic effect. Em dashes, ellipses, and even unconventional use of periods can add rhythm and emphasis to your prose.

Example: "She hesitated—heart pounding, palms sweating—then knocked on the door."

Create Contrast 🌓

Juxtapose different elements in your writing to create interest and emphasis. This can be in terms of tone, pacing, or even the literal elements you're describing.

Example: "The delicate butterfly alighted on the rusted barrel of the abandoned tank."

Use Synesthesia 🌈

Synesthesia is a condition where one sensory experience triggers another. While not everyone experiences this, using synesthetic descriptions in your writing can create vivid and unique imagery.

Example: "The violin's melody tasted like honey on her tongue."

Experiment with Sentence Diagrams 📊

Remember those sentence diagrams from school? Try diagramming some of your favorite sentences from literature. This can give you insight into how complex sentences are structured and help you craft your own.

Create a Sensory Tour 🚶‍♀️

When describing a setting, try taking your reader on a sensory tour. Move from one sense to another, creating a full, immersive experience.

Example: "The old bookstore welcomed her with the musty scent of aging paper. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight piercing the high windows. Her fingers trailed over the cracked leather spines as she moved deeper into the stacks, the floorboards creaking a greeting beneath her feet. In the distance, she could hear the soft ticking of an ancient clock and taste the faint bitterness of old coffee in the air."

Use Active Voice (Most of the Time) 🏃‍♂️

While passive voice has its place, active voice generally creates more dynamic and engaging prose. Compare these two sentences:

Passive: "The ball was thrown by the boy." Active: "The boy threw the ball."

Magic of Ordinary Moments ✨

Sometimes, the most beautiful prose comes from describing everyday occurrences in a new light. Challenge yourself to find beauty and meaning in the mundane.

Example: "The kettle's whistle pierced the quiet morning, a clarion call heralding the day's first cup of possibility."

Play with Time ⏳

Experiment with how you present the passage of time in your prose. You can stretch a moment out over several paragraphs or compress years into a single sentence.

Example: "In that heartbeat between his question and her answer, universes were born and died, civilizations rose and fell, and their entire future hung in the balance."

Use Anaphora for Emphasis 🔁

Anaphora is the repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses or sentences. It can create a powerful rhythm and emphasize key points.

Example: "She was the sunrise after the longest night. She was the first bloom of spring after a harsh winter. She was the cool breeze on a sweltering summer day. She was hope personified, walking among us."

Create Word Pictures 🖼️

Try to create images that linger in the reader's mind long after they've finished reading. These don't have to be elaborate – sometimes a simple, unexpected combination of words can be incredibly powerful.

Example: "Her laughter was a flock of birds taking flight."

Use Rhetorical Devices 🎭

Familiarize yourself with rhetorical devices like chiasmus, antithesis, and oxymoron. These can add depth and interest to your prose.

Example of chiasmus: "Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country." - John F. Kennedy

Even the most accomplished authors continue to hone their craft with each new piece they write. Don't be discouraged if your first attempts don't sound exactly like you imagined – keep practicing, keep experimenting, and most importantly, keep writing.

Your unique voice and perspective are what will ultimately make your prose beautiful. These techniques are simply tools to help you express that voice more effectively. Use them, adapt them, or discard them as you see fit. The most important thing is to write in a way that feels authentic to you and brings you joy.

Happy writing, everyone! 🖋️💖📚 - Rin T

Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!

[bluecrocss]

Yes. You are racist. (Buckle up, this is gonna be a long one)

So approximately half a year since the premier of the Disney+ Percy Jackson show, and almost two years since the announcement of the Trio's casting, I would like to take this moment to look back at the insane, racist and anti-black backlash that was launched at Leah Sava Jeffries and a few other cast members from the PJO fandom.

I'm not concerned with the trolls who are openly racist, who resorted to racist slurs and outright threats, everyone agrees that they "took it too far". I want to talk about the rest of you, the "I'm not racist, but.." people, the "What's wrong with wanting book accuracy?" people. Just to let you know, for the unasked question... yes, yes you are.

I've noticed the Percy Jackson fandom has been lording some weird superiority complex over a certain *unnamed* fandom that has fallen out of grace due to their recently outed bigot of an author. But honestly, y'all are not much different. The amount of vitriol and anti-blackness I have seen from this fandom (beyond just bullying a 12 year old girl), y'all don't have a leg to stand on.

Below is a breakdown of the most common arguments I have seen used to justify y'alls absolutely insane bigotry. I am going to explain why none of these justify the amount of anger and vitriol y'all have sent towards Leah, Rick or any of the cast.

I am not here to argue, and this is not a democracy. I am giving you a chance for some self-reflection and to understand that this pattern of violence directed towards POC actors (mostly black women) has never been justified in the name of "book accuracy"/"comic book accuracy"/"ending forced diversity" or whatever other excuses y'all try to make up.

If you still try to justify or argue further for any of these points, I will just block you. I am not coddling you through your racism. If anyone has seen any other dumb arguments floating around that I might've missed, feel free to sound off in the comments.

She's not book accurate:

Neither is Percy, Luke, Grover, Dionysus, Poseidon, and just about every other named character.

Rick already made it clear that physical features were not the priority with casting, rather it was actors that embodied the role. So why are the biggest complaints about Annabeth and Zeus? 🤔

What? You're gonna say everyone else got backlash too? I see you trying to obscure the main issue by playing dumb 😉

See my friend, yes, there were one or two comments about how Percy's hair should be black or how Luke is supposed to be blonde, but as soon as Leah was cast, none of those actors got any significant backlash. In fact, Walker and Charlie literally have an army of fan girls at their beck and call, calling them the perfect Percy and Luke, despite neither being "Book accurate". But then again, have we not observed the pattern of White boy of the month vs WOC to hate for the year? (Yes, I know Charlie isn't white. Further adds to the irony, doesn't it).

Why include character descriptions if you won't stay true to them, you cry? Well, my dear sweet moron, see, books and TV are two different mediums. Because in literature, you can't *Literally* SEE the characters, the author has to add descriptions to paint a picture in your mind, in TV... that's not an issue. So unless the character's appearance is necessary to the plot (like Luke's scar, or Nico being Italian) the show runners can actually focus on more important things.. Like ACTING and PERSONALITY.

2. It's just not how I imagined her:

News flash, babe! ANNABETH ISN'T REAL. None of these character are. They are concepts that originated from the brain of Mr. Rick Riordan. It doesn't matter how YOU imagined her. There are millions of people who read these books that imagined her several different ways. When the creator of the character watched Leah's audition and said, 'Yes! She embodies the character I created!", your imagined version of Annabeth ceased to matter. And guess what? The books still exist... they have not been burned. Your version of Annabeth has not disappeared. Go read the books.

3. Zeus can't be black/Gods have to be Greek/*Insert Character* can't be black:

Y'all did not read the books, I swear. You have to be fake fans looking to troll atp.

The gods move based off the center of western civilization. They change their forms/environment to reflect the culture they are occupying (they did it with Rome, now they're doing it with America). The gods change forms all the time. How we see them is not their true form as a mortal would disintegrate if they were to see their true form.

America is a cultural melting pot (specifically NY where Mount Olympus is now based). If the god's choose forms that reflect the current society they inhabit, they could literally be any race (keep in mind NYC is only 33% white).

All of this is literally SPELLED OUT in the Lightning Thief.

Furthermore, if you're going to push the ethnically Greek thing... Poseidon is British with a British accent and Hermes is Latino. The only ethnically Greek actor is Dionysus (who still doesn't look book accurate). Y'all are sounding like some white supremacists because do you forget that race is a social construct?

Before the advent of the transatlantic slave trade, I can promise you that the Greeks and the Anglo-Saxons did NOT view themselves as the same people. Why are y'all not taking issue with Poseidon's actor then?

Also, Percy Jackson has canonically had a slew of explicitly black demigods since the second book (including Harriet Tubman, which I have mixed feelings about 😭), so I genuinely have no idea where some of y'all are going with this point.

4. She was our smart blonde representation:

Don't pmo. I swear to God!

White, blonde women have NEVER been excluded from Hollywood. Representation is not something you lacked. The dumb blonde stereotype was a simple branch off of a larger misogynistic "dumb woman" stereotype. It has not truly been relevant since the mid 2000s outside of childish jokes.

This iteration of Percy Jackson will probably not go beyond the first 5 books, based off pacing and the age of the actors. So here's a fun game: 5 bucks to the first person who can find me a quote in the first 5 Percy Jackson books, where Annabeth laments her insecurities about being blonde (hint: there aren't any).

Also, her blonde hair does not hold her back at Camp because she is head of the Athena Cabin who are highly respected (and guess what?), ARE ALL BLONDE!

Her insecurities about her hair color are two or three lines at most in the later books, not this fundamental, core part of her character y'all all of a sudden wanna pretend it was. And guess what, as a non-blonde black girl, I was able to read those scenes of Annabeth feeling undervalued because of her looks and relate to her even if she didn't look like me at the time.

Why all of a sudden can y'all not do that with a black Annabeth? By every metric black girls are undervalued for their intelligence in academia more than white girls are, regardless of hair color. So your little representation of a woman undervalued by her looks would still hold. Do y'all dehumanize black women so much, that you are incapable of empathizing with show!Annabeth's plight in the way I could with Book!Annabeth simply because she doesn't look exactly like you?

Your issue isn't that she isn't blonde, it's that she is NOT WHITE.

Furthermore, Becky Riordan had tweeted previously (before the show was even cast) that Annabeth never needed to be blonde (probably recalling the BS y'all put Alexandra Daddario through), so even if they cast a white Annabeth, the blonde hair was never a guarantee. the author and producers all agree that it was not a significant part of her character. It's been a non-issue since day one.

Also, stop acting like smart blondes are rare in media... If you don't go watch some Legally blonde, Iron Man (Pepper Potts), Zack and Cody (Maddie), Liv and Maddie, FMAB (Winry), Captain Marvel, She-Ra, Buffy, The boys (starlight) etc. etc., and go sit down somewhere 🙄🙄🙄 (those were literally all things I've watched recently, off the top of my head, btw 💀)

5. It's not about race, but...:

Yes it is. It was always bout race. No other actors got as much hate as Leah. Her grandmother and other family members on IG had to mute their comments because they were getting so many threats.

Alexandra Daddario had to come to her defense on Twitter. Rick had to put out an official statement on his website. This girl has endured years of psychological torment for simply having the best audition. No one else is book accurate, no one else is ethnically Greek (except Jason Mantzoukas). Walker literally has British and German ancestry.

Why was she being called racial slurs on reddit and in youtube comments?

I know what you're gonna say, "I actually had problems with the entire cast", "I actually had a bigger issue with Walker's hair color", blah blah blah. Then why aren't you in Walker's comment sections? Why are you only making your displeasure known on posts defending/advocating for Leah? Why is she always your first example of 'wrong casting"?

Well, she "looks the most different"... Look up the term "scapegoating".

"Oh, I don't agree with the harassment. I just don't like the casting." Guess what? She's already been cast. They are not going to uncast her. What do you get out of still complaining about it.

All the vitriol you're stirring about her when you complain about her on Social media, it is directing people to send her hate, even if you're not writing it directly. It's is not enough to "not agree" with the racism, it is your duty to actively prevent it. And btw, these are young gen z actors, they are active on social media. They see the edits of themselves (even comment on it) and they most likely see these little "harmless" complaints you're posting. Are your upset feelings really worth contributing to the racist dogpile on this poor girl?

6. Why couldn't they atleast give her blonde braids?:

Why should they? Y'all wanted blonde because of the "dumb blonde" trope... that doesn't apply to POC.

A blonde black girl is gonna be viewed the same as a non-blonde black girl (or at worst, someone might decide she's "ratchet" or some shit for wearing colored hair). What difference would it make?

Why shouldn't Walker dye his hair, then?

7. Annabeth has Gray eyes:

Less than 3% of the global population has "gray eyes". Even if they cast a white actor, they would've needed contacts. Her being black is not the reason Annabeth's eyes aren't gray. Simply put, it is a plot element they removed, like the whole "names have power" element, or Ares having flames for eyes, or Dionysus using his powers to grow strawberries at Camp.

That's how adaptations work. Unnecessary plot elements are cut to save time and budget. This has nothing to do with her casting. They probably also didn't want to make child actors wear contacts (not a new practice).

8. Even if Rick chose her, he was wrong/Disney is forcing him to be okay with it:

Where do I start? Rick created the character. He can't be wrong. Do y'all have no self-awareness? Death of the author has no place here, because y'all are hung up on an aspect of the character that is not relevant to her arc or development.

Y'all's justification for wanting a "book accurate" Annabeth is that she was such an inspirational and important character growing up, and yet your behavior is so in conflict with the character you claim means so much to you. You're narrow minded, dismissive of bigotry and injustice, and disrespectful to the wishes of the creator of your favorite character; everything that Annabeth would never be. Y'all were never genuine fans of the books. You're bigots that needed an outlet for your rage.

Keep in mind, Rick has said countless times that PercaBeth directly mirrors his relationship with his wife. Y'all think he would have allowed them to cast someone who doesn't live up to the woman who has been by his side for decades? The mother of his children?

Regarding Disney forcing him, show me one piece of direct evidence that proves Disney in anyway pressured Rick to cast her. Cuz if you can't, that's baseless speculation. And if you have to resort to baseless speculation, maybe try to examine why it's so important to you to hold on to this belief.

9. So, I'm racist because I hate "race swapping"?:

To start, there is a difference between "race swapping" and "color blind casting". Often times, when y'all complain about the former, you're actually mad about the latter.

It would be "race swapping" if Rick and the team decided ahead of time that they wanted a black Annabeth and ONLY allowed black actors to audition. But the actual reality was that they accepted auditions from everyone (there were white actors and non-black poc that also auditioned for the role) and chose the best person who embodied the role. They didn't "make Annabeth black" and they didn't "make Zeus black", they cast black actors for those roles.

Y'all think you're being slick with your wording. Dismissing that is implying that they did not earn their roles fair and square. Which is racist. It's the equivalent of going up to a black college student and telling them they only got in because of affirmative action. You're dismissing the achievements of a person solely because of their racial background.

For all you people complaining about "unfairness" and "forced diversity", I would think hiring based on merit would appeal to you 🤔

71% of theatrical Hollywood leads were white in 2024 in comparison to 29% POC and you still think "black washing" is a thing? You still get this angry over a black person fairly earning a role because you think in a time where Hollywood only knows to do remakes and adaptations, that the majority of lead roles still *have* to be reserved for white actors?

Once again, white people have never been excluded from Hollywood for being white. Representation has never been something you lacked nor is it something you can lose. Your anger comes from seeing a black face where you think they don't belong. Because you feel you are owed a disproportion of representation in Hollywood.

10. Woke agenda/DEI/Forced Diversity:

If you are unironically using any of these terms in a negative light, it's already too late for me to reason with you. Look up the term "dog whistle". If you are sharing the same terminology with Elon Musk and his fanboys, maybe reevaluate some things.

POC are objectively underrepresented and have been historically excluded through actual laws and policies in Hollywood. There is no such thing as "forced diversity", you have bought in to a right wing conspiracy theory.

"Woke" is a term that was intentionally appropriated from the black community. It originally meant being aware of injustice and systematic threats to the community and is now being weaponized by bigots. Good job.

Diversity and inclusion is a good thing.

11. But POC deserve to have their own stories told:

We do. And we have been fighting for it for over a century now, and we've made great strides, no thanks to y'all.

No thanks to y'all gaslighting us about how little representation we get or that representation matters at all. No thanks to y'all pushing the idea that POC can't sell globally and obscuring POC actors in international promos. No thanks to y'all continuing to whitewash even to this day (Bullet train, the beguiled, gods of Egypt, atla, every portrayal of Jesus ever, etc.). No thanks to y'all calling every piece of media that has more than one black lead and more than one queer couple "woke". No thanks to y'all throwing a fit every time a black person in a fantasy setting isn't a slave.

Fact of the matter is, y'all never cared about POC "getting their own stories", you're only parroting our own words back to us now as a politically correct way of saying, "leave white roles alone" lmao

Well fun fact, actors of color getting opportunities to play lead roles and allowing poc to "tell their own stories" are not mutually exclusive. If y'all cared that much, instead of bullying a 12 year old actress, you could actually support up and coming independent POC writers, directors, and studios 😱

12. Studios need to stop "setting up" actors of color:

Do me a favor and google the term DARVO.

Your racism is not the fault of the studios for giving a POC actor a role that they earned. It is not up to the rest of society to tiptoe around racists to avoid their vitriol. It is our responsibility to hold them accountable and protect minorities from unwarranted hate. At most, you can say it's the responsibility of the studios to provide adequate support to POC actors who face this backlash.

At the end of the day, Hollywood only allows very few spots for POC actors (especially WOC), while simultaneously pushing a new white boy every month to put in everything. Putting minorities in these roles that are usually closed to them, usually opens the door to more actors of color than before.

Brandy being cast as Cinderella did a lot to push her into the mainstream (yes, she was already extremely famous in the black community atp), Halle Berry being the first, black, bond girl literally shot her to icon status, and even going as far back to what Anna Mae Wong did for Asian American actresses with her "femme fatale" roles.

At the end of the day, even with the backlash, *some* rep does more good for POC actors than *no* rep. The solution to racist backlash isn't to take away those opportunities, but rather to not be racist??? 🙄

Also, for everyone that claims that "POC race-swapping" is just as bad as "white-washing", despite white washing having a longer history and objectively causing more harm, note how the backlash to white washing never lasts as long as the harassment that POC get.

Like, no one brings up Scarlett Johansson's ghost in the shell role anymore, but you can best believe Candace Patton is still fending off racist trolls. As much as people hated the atla movie, people moved on quick from Nicola Peltz playing Katara since she was just a kid that accepted the role (re: daddy bought her the role), but y'all would not have any of that consideration for Leah Sava Jeffries.

But I digress...

13. What if we made Tiana white? Wakanda white? Hazel white...:

Ah, my favorite inane point. I was so excited to get here :)

See, I could start out by pointing out how "White washing" and casting a POC actor as a traditionally white character are not equivalent.

I could point out the history of hollywood ACTIVELY excluding POC actors and POC stories. I could point out how grossly over represented white people are in hollywood. I could point out that POC characters are so few in comparison that whitewashing them causes actual harm, where white people have never lacked rep.

I could point out how, because poc characters and stories are so often tokenized that their racial/cultural background is often directly tied to their character's identity, in opposition to a lot of white characters, since hollywood treats white as the "Default".

See, I could make all those points, but the thing is, the people who make this argument already know all that. They are trying to waste time by drawing me into a pointless circular argument that will sum up to "fair is fair", while ignoring all the context and nuance I previously provided.

So you know what? Forget it. Let me play your game.

I am actually fine with a white Tiana. Would it make sense, for her and her family to experience Jim Crow era racism, in the south while white? No. But we can look past it. Disney was never known for historical accuracy anyway 🤷🏿‍♀️

However, in exchange, the live action frozen will have a black Elsa and Anna, live action Rapunzel will be black, live action Merida will be black, we're re-filming Cinderella and Beauty and the beast to cast a black belle and Cindy, snow white will need to be recast as black, and we also get aurora whenever the live action sleeping beauty is announced. But then y'all can keep Tiana, deal?

You want a white T'Challa? Fine! (I'm partial to Ryan gosling), in the meantime, we'll be recasting Iron man, Captain America (Steve version), Bruce banner, Thor, Loki, hawk eye, black widow, ant man, captain marvel, Bucky, Peter Parker etc. All the avengers and their side characters, then y'all can have Sam Wilson, war machine and the whole of Wakanda (will it make sense that a sole, hidden, African nation is randomly made up of white people? Who cares? We get the avengers!).

You want white Hazel? You got her! I hope you have no problem with us taking Percy, Nico, Will, Poseidon, Jason, calypso, Rachel, Tyson, Silena, the stoll brothers, Sally Jackson, Hades, Hepheastus, ares, etc. But y'all can have Hazel and Beckendorf.

If we're gonna do this, let's commit all the way. Fair is fair, after all.

14. Leah isn't as "pretty" as Book Annabeth/Movie Annabeth:

I wish I could say this wasn't a genuine point I had read, but when all else fails, they will always go for a woman's appearance.

Now first of all, as a rule, I will never hold black women to white beauty standards. Our hair will never be long and silky enough, our nose will never be narrow enough, our skin will never be fair enough and our eyes will never be light enough (Might I recommend Toni Morrison, when you get the chance?). But Leah is unfairly gorgeous idc what any of you say, and you're not gonna have me use my defense of Leah as an opportunity to bash Alexandra either because she is also beautiful. These two queens slayed to the best of their abilities within this toxic ass fandom.

I find it funny, however, that so many of you harped on the "blonde" issue because you thought it was important that Annabeth be seen beyond just her looks, but quickly devolve to bashing an actress's looks when it comes to why she's not right for this role 🤔

I would also like to sincerely apologize that the 13 year old girl they cast in the show, wasn't as sexually attractive to you as the 24 year old woman they cast in the movie and sexualized through like 25% of her screen time (I'm actually not sorry. You're very weird if this is an actual point for you).

15. I don't agree with sending hate to the actor, but she's just not right for the role:

Once again, what are you doing by complaining about her casting on no other basis than her race?

The creator of the character said she embodied the role. She has already been cast, and Disney would be in a legal/production hell to recast her atp. Just because you're not directly leaving comments on her social media doesn't mean you're not part of the hate mob.

No matter how you look at it, your issues with her casting come from a very entitled and narrow-minded place. When you join in on these dialogues you are bolstering a sentiment that pushes more people to harass this teenage girl. When you leave these "harmless" complaints, on show content, fan posts or posts defending her, she's liable to read them because the cast regularly interact with fans online.

What do you have to say that is so important that it trumps protecting a young girl from the long-staying trauma of racism, of being told she doesn't deserve something she worked for because of how she was born?

16. I can't even criticize the show without being called racist:

Get. Over. Yourself.

Y'all are not the victim. Have fans of the show gotten protective of Leah and the young cast? Yes.

With good reason. This fandom is unbearably toxic.

Racism outweighs your need for a "perfect adaptation", sorry.

If you explain yourself properly and keep your critiques fair (like, even I don't think this was a perfect season, and will be sharing my thoughts shortly), no one is gonna call you racist.

You're preempting with that because in all honesty, you're probably planning to use your "critiques" of the show to pivot to one of the many points that I just outlined, and you want to pre-empt the criticism.

If a black Annabeth is the end all be all for you, just don't watch the show, no one's holding a gun to your head. Geez.

17. I'm Black/POC and I don't agree...:

Hey, Candace Owens... No one gives a shit.

First of all, for all the "I'm POC and I don't agree" people, you don't speak for us. Anti-blackness is rampant in just about every culture globally. You being not-white doesn't somehow make you less prone to hating black people.

But for the "I'm black and I don't agree" leftovers (assuming you're not just a 👩🏼‍💻 behind a keyboard). Black people are not a monolith. You're not obligated to think a certain way because you're black.

But consider why you're putting yourself up as a barrier to protect this hate mob. It's one thing to just state why you don't like Leah's casting, but to start off your spiel with "I'm actually black" as a way to weaponize the very identity politics you're critiquing... very strange. Not to mention, what are you defending?

The black community is coming together to defend one of our own, a kid who has been receiving death threats since she was 12, and this is when you feel the need to back the opposition?

I mean whatever... sometimes the house slaves would snitch to the master. There will always be some of y'all in the woodwork. It is what it is.

But when the exact ideology you defend is turned against you, when a Baltimore elected official is being accused of getting his job through "DEI", when conservatives are claiming that they wouldn't "trust a black pilot", don't decide that's where you'll finally draw your line in the sand.

All that being said, This is my Annabeth:

May every tongue that rose against Leah Sava Jeffries Shrivel and die in 2025 🙏🏿 My girl will keep winning ❤️

(video by @/waleahhasmyheart on TikTok)

[simmila]

Hello hi hi! The manga set is here.

In this set you will find a Maxis Mix set of posters, merchandising, and, of course, Manga! I don't want to imply that this is a "Maxis Match" set since the Artwork can collide with maxis style, but text was transcribed to simlish! The only Exceptions are the Magazines and a few posters of "Pair Posters" file, that still has Kanji and hiragana/katakana.

I used different versions from different places as base, including Japan, Latin America, USA and Germany. As the logos were made in simlish, there will be differences with how they look irl, as well as back covers and spines. Finding some backcovers or spines was challenging, so you might spot some differences with their real counterpart. Each manga is priced §10 and are grouped in 2, 3, 8 and 12 books in single tankoubon format, and §20 for double B6 grouped in 6 books.

---

You will notice a box with 2 swatches of My Hero Academia figures, for them i used the figures in this set (x) from FlirtyGhoul. I highly encourge you to download their set if you have a beefy computer (since the meshes are extremely high poly!) and if you are into Alpha cc.

---! This pack is now on Early Access, but it will be Available for free on September 19th. !---

By becoming a 🍰 or 🎂 member you can unlock all my Early Access Content.

---

THIS PACK INCLUDES A TOTAL OF 28 OBJECTS:

(All new meshes unless stated otherwise)

* Tankoubon Manga Collections of 2, 3, 8 and 12 books.

* Tankoubon Manga on an mini easel.

* Double B6 Manga Collection of 6 Books.

* Beserk Deluxe Manga.

* Manga Magazines (Can look a bit alpha!).

* My Hero Academia Figure Box ( Original Figures here x ).

* Blind Boxes + 5 Jujutsu Kaisen Mini figures & 1 Chainsawman figure Collection.

* Pochita Plushie.

* Punpun Plushie.

* Soda Can Merch.

* Book Platform.

* 2 Bookcases.

* Spirited Away Coffee Table

* Framed Movie Posters.

* Pair of Posters (Some swatches can look a bit alpha!).

* Manga Panel on a Canvas

* Poster and Bootleg Keychain.

* Pocky Flower Vase ( Flowers from Spa Day pack).

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You can find this Pack by typing "Simmila" or "Manga" on the search bar.If you want to collect an specific series, you can type it all together to find the objects that have swatches of that series (for example: spyxfamily / demonslayer / oyasumipunpun - etc.)

Each Object states which series are included in their description, and their swatches are also color coded for an easier navigation.

--- Patreon: Preview (x) // If you are a member: (x)

I want to thank everyone that commented and suggested series in my patreon, really enjoyed creating this pack, and i hope you enjoy using it as well!

With love, Simmila.

[slimybeth69]

"i'll be here."

rating: explicit- for drinking and joel's dirty thoughts. This is pure fluff NO SMUT and it's probably kinda corny but I DON'T CARE.

summary: Joel wants to make sure your New Years Eve isn't lonely.

tags: jackson!joel, Joel's POV, no use of y/n, no physical description (just an outfit) fluff, so much fluff, pining, age gap, him being handsome and perfect, mentions of food, drinking, being intoxicated so maybe dub-con (but not really)

w/c: ~3.6k

a/n: the holiday was hard as hell this year and it really didn't feel like christmas at all, so i wrote this for myself because i was sad. i hope any of you all that needed Joel to come and sing you songs and play gui-tar find some comfort in this.

thanks for @creepycorbeaux for reading this over. thanks to @thelastofgala for those beautiful gifs and thanks to @saradika-graphics for the dividers.

Joel wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing walking to your house with a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and his guitar in the other, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what you had said last night on patrol. 

“Whaddya end up doin’ f’Christmas?” 

The face you make when you look over at him almost makes Joel smirk for a split second. The way your nose scrunches and the corners of your mouth turn down slightly. Like you’re confused and upset with him ,and all he did was ask you a simple question.

Then you respond, “Whachya mean?” 

Joel doesn’t know how to answer that because… what do you mean? Your eyes are still squinted— like there is some sort of distrust in your soul. Like Joel is playing a joke on you right now.

“Uh, well… Ellie and I went to Tommy and Maria’s...” Joel is uncomfortable suddenly; he forgets that not everyone is as lucky as he is to have family here in Jackson. He doesn’t know you nearly well enough, so now he feels like an ass. He shouldn’t be asking you anything like that.

Or anything at all not pertaining to patrol. 

You don’t say anything for a while, you just hold onto the strap of your rifle over your shoulder, and then adjust your grasp on the reins with your other hand. “I just stayed home,” you answer him quietly, almost like you don’t really want him to hear you. “Made myself a nice dinner, read a book and went to bed.” 

That ‘put your foot in your mouth’ feeling creeps into Joel’s stomach and he wants to ask if you’d like to give him a nice rocket to his left jaw. He doesn’t stay quiet for too long, he doesn’t want you sitting in this awkward smog he’s created. “That doesn’t sound t’bad, honestly. Whaddya make?” 

Joel watches you out of the corner of his eye as you once again adjust the reins in your hand, waiting for you to either respond to his question or tell him to shut the fuck up. 

He wishes you would tell him to screw off because he never tries to make small talk, and this is why! He always regrets it!

“Just a venison roast with veggies from the greenhouse.” You finally tell him with a little more life in your voice this time, like you were actually proud of what you cooked yourself. “What did you and Ellie do at Tommy and Maria’s?” 

“Had a few drinks, ate some food. Nothin’ crazy.”

Joel didn’t have the heart to tell you that Tommy and him spent most of the day drinking and reminiscing, laughing about being young, stupid kids. Or that Ellie and Maria baked all day, listening to Christmas music someone had found a while ago. He didn’t wanna subject you to all that, knowing now you were home alone.

Since that night on patrol, Joel can’t get the image of you sitting at home on a holiday all by yourself. 

Probably being sad. 

There isn’t any particular reason why he feels so compelled to come knock on your door, there are plenty of other lonely souls that spend every holiday with no one else around. 

There was just a pull. Something inside of him that said go go go. 

Go to her.

He doesn’t really even know what he’s going to say to you if you decide to open the door for him. Hell, he’s not sure you’re even going to let him in! You’ve only ever gone on two patrols together. Y’all never really talk outside of that, but that’s mostly because he doesn’t see you around.

Not like he’s looking for you, or anything. 

When he knocks, it’s like his heart might hammer right out of his chest. Why is he so nervous? He’s just here to offer you a couple drinks so you don’t have to ring in the new year all alone. 

Ellie was with Dina and the rest of her friends, Tommy and Maria wanted to call it an early night because of the baby, and so Joel had two options: the bar, or sitting at home alone. 

It’s not that Joel didn’t like being alone. He had been alone since Tess, and that was still something he didn’t like to think about too much.

Too much loss for not enough of — whatever they had been. Losing her had almost been the final nail in the coffin, and if it hadn’t been for Ellie -

Don’t think about it.

Now Joel finds himself on your front porch, holding the screen door open with his large frame, and knocking lightly with the ass end of the bottle of whiskey.

From inside he can hear you moving around. His breath hitches in his throat when you finally open up for him. Joel watches your eyes scan him very quickly, taking in the picture in front of you. Your eyes go wide for a second like you don’t understand why he’s here.

Joel Miller on your front porch with a bottle of whiskey and his guitar. 

“Whaddya doin’ here?” 

Joel holds the bottle up for you to inspect closer as you wrap your arms around yourself like you’re trying to hide from him. 

Joel’s never seen you without your winter jacket, hat and gloves. Right now in your house, you have on a blue sweater, a pair of tight elastic tights that Joel wishes he could see you in more often, and the warmest looking socks he has ever seen.

His eyes scan the length of your body again involuntarily. His gaze lingers on your pants once again– so tight and they hug your curves (that Joel didn’t even know you had) in all the right ways.  

“Well, I reckon I came over here hopin’ you had cooked another roast, since it sounded so damn good when you told me ‘bout it on patrol–”

Joel continues his bullshit rambles about why he came over here as you start to smirk, and take a step back so the door can swing open a little wider and he can make his way in.

“The guitar?” You ask as Joel toes off his boots so he doesn’t track snow through your house. He hands you the bottle of whiskey, shifting the guitar between his hands as he takes off his jacket. 

“Figur’d if you wanted to share any of the food you made– I could share the whiskey… maybe play a lil gui-tar for ya.”

The last time he played the guitar for anyone besides Ellie– Sarah was still alive. 

Who is this man?

There was just something about the way you said ‘I just stayed home’. Joel was thinkin’ maybe you didn’t read a book and go to bed. 

Maybe you cried a little, missing whatever you remember from home. 

Joel knows all about that, all about the sleepless nights when you just can’t turn your brain off. You can’t stop thinking about the people that are no more, about how different things are now and how you’d give anything for them to go back to the way they used to be. 

Joel has Ellie and Tommy. Who do you have?

“You’re in luck because I did cook tonight,” you’re smiling at him and he thinks this is the first time he’s ever seen you smile, too. 

So many firsts for Joel, he feels like a teenager as you lead him further into your house - which is clean and smells phenomenally good - and into the kitchen. 

Joel hadn’t expected you to actually offer him food, he didn’t know if you cooked dinners like that for yourself all the time, or only on special occasions. 

You take the guitar from him and pull out a chair at your kitchen table. For a moment he feels like his brain malfunctions and he’s not sure how to react. 

“You can sit,” You’re already in your living room. “I’m just gonna…” Then you trail off. 

When Joel peers around the corner to check on you, you’re very carefully leaning the guitar against the wall, holding your hands out to catch it in case it leans too far one way or the other.

Joel feels heat creeping up his chest and neck as he watches you, slightly bent at the waist. The tightness of your pants— 

Nope.

Once you’re satisfied that the guitar won’t fall, you turn around and smile at him, even though he’s just standing there watching you like an idiot– blushing!

Blushing?

Part of him thinks this was the worst idea he ever had. How could you be doing this to him and you’ve done absolutely nothing? 

He should go home. 

“Sit!” You urge him to take a seat at the table while you basically prance into the kitchen to start serving him a plate. Everything is still sitting on the stove in the pots you cooked in.

You explain that you already ate because you weren’t expecting company. 

Joel almost tells you not to worry about the food, but then what would he do? Play guitar for three hours? Getting drunk and talking all night seems like a terrible idea. 

What the fuck was he thinking? This was the dumbest thing he’s ever done, it really was. 

He shuts his mouth though when you set down a plate of steaming food in front of him. 

“Dig in! I have more than enough if you want a second plate.” 

The way you talk so casually, like you’ve known Joel your whole life while you walk back into the kitchen makes him jealous. 

How are you so nice? Sweet? 

You haven’t even been here for four months and this is the first time either of you have said more than ten words to each other that didn’t have to do with patrol. 

It’s the way your body moves when you walk without all your winter gear on. You sway… almost like you’re floating.

Knock it off, old man. She’s half your age. 

Joel has to squeeze his eyes shut for two seconds until he hears your feet padding back to the table. When he opens them, you’re pushing one of the glasses in his direction.

“You brought the booze, so you have to pour it.” 

The smile on your face makes Joel feel a mix of pride and guilt. 

What are you expecting of him? He can’t give you more than just tonight. He knows that, he hopes you know that too.

Joel opens the bottle and pours each of you a decent, sippable glass.He should have poured himself less. 

Probably should have poured you less.

The food tastes better than Joel’s had in years. He even finds himself asking for seconds, something he rarely does.

You’re making small talk as he eats, asking about his travels and how long he’s been in Jackson. If he likes it here, how old is his daughter.

Joel decides not to tell you that Ellie isn’t really his daughter, because biologically she isn’t, but it hasn’t felt that way in a long time.

As he eats, and you chat, Joel starts to relax a little. Your presence is calming, and he finds himself enjoying your company more than he thought he would. He pours both of you another drink, his regrets of pouring less last time completely forgotten.

The food is gone and you’ve cleared his plate. But the two of you are still sitting at the kitchen table. He’s not sure if it’s the fact that this is another first— seeing you up close like this. In the light of your kitchen Joel can really take in your features; your cheeks when you smile, and the way your eyes light up when you laugh at some dumb joke he tells.

You ask him about his life before the outbreak, and Joel hesitates before giving a very brief summary of his past. He doesn’t like talking about it all, and he avoids bringing Sarah up completely.

Not tonight. Probably not ever.

You listen attentively and ask Joel questions that show you’re actually interested in what he’s saying.

Joel continues to pour the two of your drinks each time your glasses are empty and you never tell him to stop. You suggest moving to the living room where it’s more comfortable, and Joel agrees without hesitation.

Go home. This is going to end badly.

There is a fire going in your fireplace, and Joel can’t sit down until he puts another log or two on, and he has to move some things around to get it going again.

“I can do it myself,” you say from directly behind him, sounding a little offended.

Joel doesn't even look at you when he responds, "I know you can. Just helpin'."

When he finally turns around, you quickly look away. Joel can’t help but smirk and feel that familiar in his lower belly.

Had you been staring at him?

Joel watches as you sink down into the brown leather couch, curling up with your feet underneath you. He settles beside you with just enough distance to be polite.

“What songs do ya’ know?” Your voice is soft and your words are slightly slurred. The alcohol has definitely started to affect you, but Joel doesn’t think you’re that drunk yet.

Joel looks at the clock on your wall and it reads 10:45 PM. He can do this. An hour and fifteen minutes left, then Joel can escape.

Not that he wants to. He has to or something bad is going to happen. Something he regrets. 

Something you might regret. 

But when you ask him about songs, he can’t help but smile. The alcohol is going down too easily, way too easy for both of you.

Joel clears his throat. "Whaddya wanna hear?"

You shrug, your cute blue sweater sliding off one shoulder. Joel has to fight himself to keep his eyes on your face as you mindlessly tug the sweater up. It’s like you didn’t even realize it happened. You kept your eyes on him the entire time.

"Somethin' that makes you happy."

The fact that you’re moving your feet to tuck your toes underneath Joel’s right thigh is sending electric shocks to his brain. He leans and grabs the guitar off the wall– careful to not move too much so he can keep the contact between the two of you. 

Shit. What is he getting himself into?

Joel holds the guitar, fingers tracing the old wooden curves. It's been a while since he's played at all. The strings feel ice cold under his calloused hands.

Joel strum a couple cords, “Know a few songs,” he says, clearing his throat. “Might be a lil rusty though,” he smirks at you and gives you a sideways glance. 

You smile from behind your whiskey glass and Joel feels something shift inside him. Something he hasn't felt in a long time. 

Something dangerous.

Your eyes are glittering in the firelight— different than they had looked in the artificial light of your kitchen. It casts a warm glow across your face, softening the edges that Joel has only ever seen sharp and alert on patrol.

He clears his throat once again and continues to move his fingers along the frets. The first few notes come out slightly off-key, but Joel quickly finds his rhythm. He starts with a Garth Brooks song.

Joel knows he’s not the best at the guitar and he doesn’t play it nearly as often now that Ellie is so busy with her own life. 

You don’t seem to mind, and sometimes Joel misses a chord or messes up completely because he can’t stop glancing over to watch you watching him.

He starts to sing, his voice low and gravelly. It's not a perfect voice - never was - but there's something raw and honest in the way the words tumble out.

… Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots And ruined your black tie affair The last one to know, the last one to show I was the last one you thought you'd see there

You shift slightly, your toes still tucked under his thigh, and Joel catches you watching his hands. Even as he continues to sing. You never take your eyes off of him. Not once.

… 'Cause I've got friends in low places Where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases my blues away And I'll be OK Yeah, I'm not big on social graces Think I'll slip on down to the oasis Oh, I've got friends in low places

Joel's voice falters for a moment when he notices the concentration of your gaze. His fingers momentarily stagger on the guitar strings, creating a clashing note that lingers in the air for a moment before he continues.

You don't seem to notice, or care. Your eyes are locked on his hands, watching how they move across the guitar with a kind of reverence that makes Joel's breath catch. 

Joel finishes the song, letting the last chord ring out softly in the quiet room. For a moment, neither of you moves. You're still watching him, your eyes heavy-lidded from the whiskey, but there's something else there too.

Joel’s eyes fall on the clock on your wall and it’s only 11.

He’s completely fucked.

Joel becomes acutely aware of how close you are.

Your toes are still tucked under his leg, and the warmth of your body seeps through the denim of his jeans. Joel swallows hard, trying to ignore the way his heart is racing.

"Another song?" you ask, your voice soft and slightly husky from the whiskey.

Joel clears his throat. "Sure," he manages, repositioning the guitar.

Joel starts strumming again, this time a slower, more mournful tune. His fingers find the familiar chords of an old country ballad, something he used to play for Sarah when she was real little. Before the weight of being a single dad started to apply pressure.

The memories threaten to overtake him, but he forces them down, focusing instead on the way the light flickers across your face. He can feel the heat of your body against his leg, the whiskey making everything feel soft and blurry around the edges. His voice is lower now, almost a whisper, like he's singing just for you.

Joel sings a couple more songs, a few at your request.

"That was really good," you say softly, your eyes meeting his. There's something in your gaze that makes Joel shiver - it’s a weakness, a longing that mirrors something deep inside himself.

When he looks at the clock again it’s 12:30.

“We completely missed new years,” Joel points to the clock and chuckles. He had completely forgotten that’s why he came over here originally. Once the music started, everything else kind of faded away. 

It was just the two of you while the rest of Jackson, and possibly the rest of the world stopped existing in that short time. 

“I was havin’ a good time,” you’re still smiling at him and now he can see how glassy they are from the whiskey. 

“Y’look like y’were havin’ a good time, darlin’.” Joel smiles and starts to stand up from the couch. It’s not until he’s standing directly in front of you realize what’s happening, Joel watches your eyes shift and change. 

Are you panicking?

“Are… were–” you cut yourself off and shake your head, waving a hand at Joel dismissively. “Nevermind. Thank you for coming over.” When you turn to look at him, your eyes are rimmed with a glossy sheen. The whites of your eyes had turned a hazy shade of red.

“S’wrong?” 

You shrug your shoulders, your sweater falling off your shoulder again. You don’t notice and twirl your whiskey glass in your hand slowly. “Nothin’. I had a good time… just sad you gotta go.” 

Joel knows he shouldn’t, but he gently replaces your sweater, his fingers lingering on the warm skin of your collarbone for a moment before he pulls away. “I’m all outta songs, sweetheart.” 

“You don’t wanna stay?”

Joel swallows hard and then cuts you off, “For what?” Joel whispers it and you snap your head up to look at him, almost as astonished as he is. Joel knows that the liquor and the way you had been looking at him all night is a recipe for disaster. 

Make me leave, please. Kick me out. Don’t ask me to stay again because I won’t be able to say no.

You finish the last of your whiskey before setting your glass down on the coffee table in front of your couch. 

“You know what.” 

“I do… but we’ve been drinkin’... ‘n I don’t want ya’ regretti–”

“What is there to regret?” you whisper. Your hand snakes into his and Joel doesn’t pull his away or nothing. “You gotta know more songs.”

Joel sits down beside you again, sighing loudly like this is a giant inconvenience to him, but a part of him knows that this isn’t going to end–

Not at all. 

Once he takes you upstairs, it’s over for the both of you. It’s like he can taste it in the air. 

“One more,” Joel nods his head at you. “Then I’m leavin’.” 

He and you both know that’s not true. 

His fingers find their holds on the neck of the guitar and he looks over at you before he strums the first note. 

You shy away from him, tucking your toes back under his thigh. Joel lifts his leg slightly so you can slip them deeper under his leg. 

There's no stronger wind than the one that blows Down a lonesome railroad line No prettier sight than looking back On a town you left behind There is nothin' that's as real As your face that's on my mind

Joel changes the lyrics just a little, and he doesn’t know if you notice, or even if you know this song. He's not ready to sing about love, not at all.

He confidently sings you the next part though.

Close your eyes I'll be here in the morning Close your eyes I'll be here for a while

hopefully y'all had a better time than I did.

love you all so so much

[helen-with-an-a]

Sound

Hi, this is Part 2 of the Senses story that came out a few weeks ago, I hope you enjoy.

Sight : Sound : Smell : Taste : Touch : Cryptaesthesia

Jessie Fleming x Putellas!Reader

Description: R just loves the sound of Jessie's voice

You were never much of a talker. Anyone who knew you well was painfully aware of this. Maybe it was because you grew up with Alexia and Alba as your older sisters, maybe it was because you never felt like what you had to say would be listened too. But either way, you weren't much of a talker.

Alexia seemed to understand this though, much better than Alba did anyway. She'd spent years deciphering what each nod, each eyebrow twitch, each small smile meant. Whereas Alba had tried to force you out of your shell through demanding conversation, Alexia let you be.

It wasn't until you moved to Chelsea that she realised how hard you not talking truly was. There were times when she’d joke that getting you to talk on the phone was like pulling teeth, but it was only half a joke. She wanted to connect to check in on you, especially after you’d moved to London. At first, she insisted on calling you every single day, determined to make sure you were okay, that you were adjusting to your new life. You knew her intentions were wrapped in love, but each call felt like a marathon, leaving you emotionally drained as you struggled to fill the silences with words that just wouldn’t come.

It wasn’t until your Mamí stepped in that Alexia reluctantly agreed to cut back on her calls to just twice a week. You loved your sister fiercely, and the last thing you wanted was for her to think you didn’t want to hear from her. But the truth was, each conversation could feel overwhelming. Growing up, you watched Alexia light up any room she entered, effortlessly holding conversations and making connections, no matter how awkward she seemed. While you always preferred the quiet comfort of being a listener. You were the shy girl, the introvert at heart, finding refuge in the background.

For you, being able to fully know someone without the need for words, was all that you were truly after. Your sisters always said that it was a foolish thing to wish for. That the only way you could completely know someone was through talking. But you had always thought differently. To be so in synch with someone that you knew exactly what they wanted, what they were thinking just by the way they held their coffee cup, or looked out the window. That was what love truly was to you.

Jessie understood that in a way that felt almost magical. She had an innate ability to sense when you needed silence instead of chatter. On days when talking was the last thing you wanted to do, she would never push you to be anyone but yourself. She was perfectly content to create a cosy little bubble of comfort, filled with unspoken understanding. You’d often find yourself nestled against her, your head resting on her chest, lulled by the gentle rhythm of her breathing as she lost herself in her book.

“Can you read to me, mi vida?” you murmured one evening, your voice thick with sleepiness, your accent a bit more pronounced than usual. The sound of your soft, sleepy voice made Jessie’s heart flutter, and she felt herself swooning at how natural it felt for you to call her that. It was moments like these that she had sort so desperately as a teenager. And now that she had them, had you, she was never going to give that up.

Jessie laughed lightly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as she asked, “You want to know about the crater that’s been discovered that might have killed the dinosaurs?”

“No,” you replied, a lazy smile spreading across your face. “But I like hearing your voice.” As you looked up at her, your eyes sparkled with the quiet affection she cherished beyond anything else.

Smiling, she leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You’re too sweet, baby,” she whispered, her voice warm and playful. Clearing her throat, she traced lazy circles on your shoulder with her fingers, settling back into her book.

With each word she spoke, her voice wove a calm, soothing rhythm that wrapped around you like a soft blanket. You felt yourself drifting, the stresses of the day, of life itself, melting away as you surrendered to the peaceful atmosphere she created. Jessie read on, her fingers brushing gently through your hair, another reminder that sometimes this simple closeness was all you needed.

As Jessie continued to read, you let your eyes flutter shut, surrendering to the warmth. The gentle cadence of her voice, blended with the soft rustling of the pages, pulled you deeper into a peaceful state. You could feel the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath your head, the comfort of her heartbeat syncing with your own, pulling you deeper into sleep's embrace.

You drifted in and out of sleep, caught in that dreamy state where reality softened at the edges. In those moments, you felt safe, safer than you ever had before. It was a feeling you hadn’t fully appreciated until Jessie had entered your life. Here, in this little bubble, there were no expectations or pressures; just a simple, shared understanding. Even when you were with your sisters, they always wanted something, asking you to move over, or change the TV channel, or tell them about what was happening in your life. Jessie never asked for more than you were willing to give.

Jessie paused mid-sentence, and you stirred slightly, the sudden quiet bringing back to consciousness. “Que esta mal?” you murmured, blinking up at her, your eyebrows creasing in concern, your mind still hazy from sleep.

“Nothing, just… I was thinking,” she said, her fingers pausing on the page. Her eyes softened as she looked down at you. “I love these quiet moments with you. It’s like we’re in our own little world.” Her sincerity washed over you like a warm wave, your heart swelling at her words.

You nodded, a sleepy smile forming on your lips. “Yo también,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “It feels nice to just be together like this.” You shifted slightly, snuggling closer against her, drawing comfort from her warmth. "I've never had this before."

Jessie chuckled softly, her laughter gentle. “Es perfecto,” she said, her tone playful. “Especially when I get to read you random facts about dinosaurs and craters.”

“I love your random facts,” you laughed, your smile growing wider.

With a grin, she set the book aside, allowing the silence to settle around you again. “We have to leave soon, you're Mamí and Alba are landing at 6” she reminded you, her fingers still gently stroking your hair.

“Just stay here for a bit longer?” you suggested, your voice soft. Yes, you had missed Alba so much, and your Mamí even more, but they would have to wait a little longer. You sighed happily, feeling your body melt against Jessie.

“Of course,” Jessie promised, her voice low and soothing. She leaned back against the headboard again, adjusting slightly to accommodate you better, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush of affection for her – a deep gratitude for how effortlessly she understood you.

Time seemed to slow, and you found yourself lost in the rhythm of her heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Eventually, the outside world faded even further away, and you felt your eyelids grow heavy once more.

Just before you drifted off again, Jessie’s voice broke the silence, this time filled with playful curiosity. “You know, if we keep spending all our time like this, I might get a little spoiled,” she teased, her tone light.

You smirked, peeking up at her. “Spoiled?”

“Like, I’ll want to keep you all to myself,” she said, her smile turning mischievous. “Just me, you, in the quiet, for the rest of our lives.”

Your heart raced at the thought, warmth blooming in your chest. “Well, if you’re going to spoil me, I suppose I can handle that,” you replied, your voice laced with teasing agreement.

“Good,” she said with a grin. "Go to sleep, sweetheart. I'll wake you with enough time to get ready."

"Bueno, mi vida. Te amo," you mumbled, already half asleep.

"I love you too, baby." She smiled down at you, her fingers tracing soothing patterns across your shoulders. "Sweet dreams."

[ficsiwontwrite]

!!! System! Shen Yuan AU !!!

Airplane wasn’t changing things, and no matter what tasks the system tried to put forward the only difference in the world was that the An Ding Peak Lord was more stressed and overworked

So a new variable was needed, and since the system tasks have been completed perfectly chances are the problem is in the system… so the solution is to shove the work to someone sentient who would be invested into changing the story!!

So yeah airplane gets a notification that the system is being upgraded and suddenly his terrible system has a personality

System Shen yuan would consume (?)all the information the original system had and before going online would have created an entire tasks tab that include daily/weekly/monthly/yearly/unlimites tasks plus main tasks and as soon as he was online he would great airplane with a passive aggressive message and send him to work

Shen yuan would be much more generous with points but he hates the shop system, the dumb things that can be bought there will them have descriptions like “this scenario pusher will make clothes tear like in a bad horny donghua” being 100% ready to turn it into sqh himself if he dared to be a scum and use it on some unsuspecting woman

The first time sqh failed a s!sy task he was full of dread, punishments are very trauma inducing after all, but them the worst punishment sy can bare to deal is making him 1st pov some of binghe’s more tame suffering, like hunger, bullying and the tea spill first meeting… which could have been bad if the senses and feelings where in sync but it was all toned down to zero… SQH them understands the new system as some kind of softie tsundere lmao

S!sy would feel bad about the harsh punishment and send some easy task with a high reward the next day….. “there needs to be a carrot, not only a stick!” (I do love me a dumbass shen yuan)

They of course would banter and end up caring about each other, everytime sqh says/does something sy thinks is stupid he’ll give tasks like “read 10 books about x and write a 10k words essay about x” or when he is tossed around in a mission or by mbj he’s send missions for Jim’s to get stronger…

By the second month there’ll be missions like “eat 3 times a day”, unfortunately for shen yuan sqh already trusts him and feels safe enough to bend the tasks, so not only he will half-ass boring tasks to get the hide of y magical beast and making a coat (sending liu qingge to do it, mostly) which sy approves for being smart BUT he would also eat like melon seeds instead of stopping to eat full meals

Shang Qinghua will end up having to scroll detailed 1k worded self-care tasks…

This au would be focused mostly in cumplane dynamics yes but I thinks it would be really hilarious if sy started to make sqh do tasks that would take him close to xxx because sy wants to see them (choose the SQH x SY x ??? of your preference)

Of course s!sy would be making his mental gymnastics and justifying his tasks as totally no homo “wdym i want to look to lqg’s pretty face? I just want you to be strong enough not to dumbly die!” “Yes you do have to ask for a book on monsters from Shen Qingqiu himself, he’s so greedy he must have hidden away the best one” “you get hurt so frequently, you simply must go to Mu Qingfan and get personal classes on first aid” “No, you can not send a disciple with a mensage to Yue Qingyuan, it’s important to communicate face to face with your sect leader in such matters” etc etc

[yubellia]

Tales of a traveling Creator…. „Am I an author now?…“

Imagine that we, the creator, finally made it back home. Back home to Teyvat that is. „Because this is where you belong, your grace!~“…. Yeah… great.

Actually, life is pretty sweet. Sure, there are certain things we don‘t have in Teyvat but… we can look past that. Mostly.

The characters don‘t know that for us, all of this was a game. Literally a video game. And there were many others too.

Now imagine how it must feel to never see your favorite show or cartoon again. How it feels to never play your favorite games again. (Especially if you know that a series would get a new game or season soon…. Gosh the horror!)

One day, you notice how your memories of these things start to fade. You forget the name of a character. Small things. But it’s scary enough to make you do something. You do the next best thing.

„Somebody bring me empty notebooks and writing tools! Hurry!“ Your always loyal followers almost run over each other to get what you requested.

And so starts the time period of none stop writing. Really. You carry notebooks everywhere. You start to write down the plot of your favorite games, shows, movies. You name it.

Until one day, because it had to happen, someone asked you where this enthusiasm came from. You and some of the other archons were having tea and snacks in inazuma. Ei insisted that you had to come for a visit again. Zhongli, your loyal shield („shield for what?“ „better be safe than sorry.“), Nahida was there too. Naturally considering that she is pretty much your daughter. Ei brought Miko with her and that’s when it happened.

„Your grace? I heard you always carry these notebooks around these days. Would you be willing to share your thoughts with us? Hm?~“

Zhongli gave Miko a slightly stern look but you shook it off. „sure. Why not. You see, i noticed that i started to forget certain things. Books I read in the other world.“ (you had to think on how to put this.) „stage plays I saw, songs and the adventures I had in…. Other worlds.“ „you visited other worlds too? Like the traveler?“ „yes. I did. Just like with the traveler or you guys, I used…. ‚Vessels‘ and guided them through their adventures. And i started writing things down so that I won‘t forget.“ You showed them a picture. „I even used my powers to create images of the characters.“

Miko‘s ears started to twitch. „Oh my…. Would you mind if… I took a look at that?“

„Sure…. But wait. Not this one. Here. This story is finished.“

You take another notebook from your pocket and hand it over. Miko promises to take very good care of it and the others look on in jealousy.

That was a few weeks ago. You continued. You did everything you could. Even create pages with character sheets and detailed descriptions.

One day, there is a long line in front of a book store. You could hear the owner talk about the newest story.

„Witness the the tale of a chosen hero in a distant world! A fight between good and evil. An innocent child chosen by destiny and the gods! One of their graces many vessels in another realm. This is The legend of Zelda. Ocarina of Time.“

For a moment, you just stood there with your mouth slightly open… „Miko…. Why? Zhongli can you believe it?….. Zhongli?“

You didn’t get an answer because instead of next to you, Zhongli was waiting in line for a copy of the book…..

„Oh hello your grace! The people of Inazuma and Teyvat as a whole love the adventure of the young hero and the princess…. When I read it, I just new it would be a hit.“

You didn’t have it in you to be surprised when Miko showed up. Oh and Zhongli returned with a copy of the book soon after that.

„So… I am an author now?“

„Well, it would be a shame to keep you loyal readers hanging no? Also, I heard some people discuss the criteria for becoming someone worthy of your guidance.“

„Well fortunately Link and Zelda have enough adventures. And i visited enough worlds…..“

Once Zhongli is next to you again, you grab his sleeve and pull him away before others see you.

(Heaven forbid I tell them about Kingdom hearts. The legend of Zelda has enough lore to keep them busy.)

[tightjeansjavi]

My Joel,

A/N: I have not written a fic with this many words in a HOT minute, and boy does it feel good! What a cathartic experience this has been for me after writing Joel’s letters. I did not expect so many of you to want Joel and his dearest to have an alternative ending, but here we are 🤭 writing this has been a real treat, and I hope I have done their backstory and alternative ending justice! Buckle up, because you’re in for a wild ride! Thank you to @beardedjoel for letting me spam you with all the updates and screaming along with me 🥹 thank you to @strang3lov3 for betaing and creating these STUNNING divider mood boards for each section of the fic 💘

~word count: 14.4k~

Summary: the story of two forbidden lovers finding each other once more.

Pairing | forbidden lover!joel x f!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut, infertility, canon typical violence, mutual pining, child abuse, mentions of S/A accusations (not by Joel) misogyny (not by Joel) homophobia/homophobic slurs (not by Joel) mutual pining, hopeless romantics, forbidden love, societal status, somewhat historically accurate language, arranged marriage (not to Joel), language, mentions of alcohol and tobacco products, virginity/virginity loss, happy ending/alternative ending, no age gap, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

My Dearest,

June 1st, 1844

“This evening you are to meet the banker's son, daughter.” Your mother’s sickly sweet voice floated through your room, where you sat along the cushioned bench beneath the long window, your palm resting along your chin as you gazed out towards the gardens, the grass an unnatural shade of green compared to the common folk and farmers that would only dream of stepping foot on your family's estate. Your wealth was directly a result of your fathers parents, and their long lineage of thoroughbred horses. Your own mare was a descendant of the original three stallions imported into England in the late 1600’s.

But you were more focused on the man leading your mare, and her two stallions flocking at her hindquarters from the pasture: your Joel.

Joel Miller was a mere stable hand who was entrusted by your father himself to care for your family's prized horses. But to you? Joel was much more than just a stable hand. In fact, you begged your father one summer to increase Joel’s pay when he proved to be knowledgeable with the horses and their needs. Your father agreed, but refused to dote Joel with a new title. He was penniless compared to you, but you saw his heart before you saw his status in society. And he? He loved you from the moment you first met.

-

Spring, 1839

“Sir, sir!” A young Joel, 13 years of age burst into your fathers parlor, his hand-me-down clothes were soaked to the bone as the storm raged on outside the estate walls. “Dahlia’s womb has breached! Her foal is on the way!” He exclaimed with excitement.

Outside of your families prized stallions, the mares were just as valuable, bearing the next line of champions, no doubt. Dahlia belonged to your mother, and this was her third foal. Your mother couldn’t stand the presence of Joel in her home, dripping all over the floor, creating a puddle of water along the artisan rug beneath his muddy boots.

“Boy!” She snapped, setting her book down along her skirts where she was sitting near the fireplace, with perfect posture. Her eyes held a cold, unnerving stare. “You are in no state to be in my home looking like—” her pointed comment was cut off by the double doors leading to the parlor bursting open, to reveal your excited, and visibly out of breath face.

“Dahlia’s foal is on the way?!”

It was past your bedtime, but down the hall you heard the news of Dahlia, and couldn’t contain yourself. You were still in your nightgown, your hair in braids with bows tied into the ends. Joel felt a flush immediately rise to his damp cheeks at the sight of you. You were as pretty as a flower, the same age as him, and he wondered why this was the first time he’s seen you, till he remembered that most girls your age spent their days indoors preparing for marriage to a suitable husband of their fathers choosing, and inevitably bearing children down the line.

Just as quickly as his gaze fell upon you, he looked away, clearing his throat to hide the redness rising in his cheeks.

“Daughter!” Your mother scolded you when you rushed into the room and didn’t curtsy upon your arrival. She had yet to notice the bows in your hair when you quickly curtsied, fingers delicately grasping the hem of your nightgown as you bent down at the waist, one foot in front of the other just as it was ingrained into your brain for years. “Apologies, mother.” You softly squeaked out in embarrassment.

She shook her head, a displeasured look fell upon her hardened features. She rose from the couch, silk shawl clenched in her fist as she crossed the room and draped the garment across your shoulders. “Cover up your modesty.” She snapped unkindly. “Men should never see a lady in her night garments.”

I am not a lady, mother. I am a child! Is what you wanted to say, but instead you weakly nodded, muttering another apology under your breath. That’s when your mother took notice of your braids and the bows tied at the ends of them, a sign of innocent youth when you were to become a woman. She scoffed, nose upturning at the sight of them. Her cruel hand rose and fell, landing harshly against your soft cheek.

Joel visibly flinched from the sound, feeling his blood begin to boil under his soaked clothing. You had done nothing wrong! And who in their right mind slaps their own child!

Your skin stung, tears welling and nearly breaching down your cheeks when she yanked the bows from your braids and mockingly held them in front of your face. “These are for little girls. You are to become a woman, or have you forgotten?”

Your lower lip wobbled, and your knees trembled. Your eyes frantically searched the room, landing upon your father who paid no mind to your distress. He was too busy puffing away on his cigar, and even if he didn’t agree with his wife’s treatment upon you, he didn’t dare speak up about it.

“Joel, be a good lad and fetch my daughters coat. I will not be treading out in a storm such as that one, but someone from our family should be present for the birth of Dahlias foal.” He gruffed out. “Let us hope for a strong colt. There are too many fillies prancing around here.”

“Sir—” Joel started, but was cut off.

“Fetch her coat, and do not make me ask you a third time, boy.” He sternly reiterated.

“Yes, sir. Right away!” He nodded, quickly turning on his heel and exited the parlor, his eyes met your teary-eyed one briefly before he disappeared behind the open doors.

“Our daughter has no business going out in this storm, husband! Especially not with the likes of that—boy.” She seethed, stepping back from your trembling frame and walked in the direction of the fire, the now crumpled bows in her fist. She wasted no time to throw them directly into flames, watching as they were burnt up into ash immediately.

“Relax, wife.” Your father sighed, tapping out the ash from his cigar into the crystal ashtray along the table, “she is in good hands with Joel, I trust him.”

“Excuse me, miss?” a timid, youth filled voice appeared behind your shoulder, hand outstretched with your coat grasped between his fingers.

You sniffled, turning to face him and quickly wiped at your brewing tears with the back of your hand. “Thank you, Joel.” You whispered, fingers brushing his gently as you removed your coat from his grasp.

He nearly shied from your touch, a series of tingles and sparks shooting up his spine when he felt your soft touch for the first time. You reacted all the same; shocked gazes meeting before he was stepping to the side for you to pass by him first, a gentleman in nature despite coming from nothing. He cleared his throat, offering you his elbow to brace against the pounding rain and blustering winds. “I’ve got you, miss.” He whispered as your palm gently rested along the crook of his elbow.

Despite your mother’s incessant protests, Joel Miller guided you outside, acting as a physical shield as you endured the storm together. Once inside the safety of the barn, Joel parted from your side, grabbing a nearby stool for you to sit upon before entering Dahlia’s stall. You watched in pure curiosity and amazement as Joel spoke softly to the mare while her head rested in his lap. Beast trusted man; man trusted beast.

When Dahlia’s foal was born, she was not blessed with a strong colt like your father hoped for, but instead a filly. She was smaller than Dahlia’s other foals, and coal black unlike her mother’s dazzling, dappled silver coat. Joel helped the young filly stand on her long, spindly legs so that she could nurse. He was incredibly gentle, letting the filly lean her weight into him. Although Joel knew he was not allowed to name the horses, he started to call the filly ‘Little Shadow’ and only left the stall when he was certain she could stand on her own.

That’s when he remembered he wasn’t alone, and that you were still sitting upon the stool, hands clasped in your lap.

“Wanna meet her?” He suddenly asked, wiping his hands down on a nearby towel.

“Oh…” you trailed off, “I’m unsure if—”

“Nonsense.” He shook his head, a small, boy-like grin tugging on his lips. “M’sure your father would want you to have the full experience, would he not?”

“Yes, I suppose he would.” You agreed and graciously took his hand when he offered it. “He will be displeased to hear that Dahlia did not bear a strong colt.”

“I never understood that.” He mused, helping you down from the stool and gently released your hand. “A healthy foal, no matter the sex, is better than an unhealthy one, is it not?”

“Yes, this is true.” You nervously toyed with a loose thread on your coat, avoiding making eye contact with him. “She is…small though, is she not?”

He took no offense to your lack of direct eye contact. He felt undeserving to be in your presence, let alone hold your gaze? “Forgive me if this comes across negatively, miss. But must you always speak so…proper?”

You turned your nose up at his question, dropping the loose thread from your fingertips, “I am to be a lady, Joel. This is how ladies talk.”

He snorted under his breath, shaking his head and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I suppose you are right. And to answer your question, she may be smaller than the rest of Dahlia’s offspring, but her legs are long, and strong.” He commented thoughtfully as he walked over to the nursing foal. “She will be a winner one day, no doubt.”

“Do you wish to name her, Joel?” You asked softly, standing alongside him with your hand outstretched to gently pet the fillies jet black neck.

“Oh, miss—I could never. I was only calling her Little Shadow because well, she is like a Little Shadow.”

“I don’t think father would approve of Little Shadow…but I think Shadow is a fine name for her, sir.”

“Miss, I am not a sir.” He sighed, reaching behind him to rub the back of his neck. “I’m just a stable hand. I do not possess any titles, and I never will. I agree, Shadow is a fine name for her.”

“Joel, I have heard that you are more than just a stable hand, but I address every man as sir. It’s how I have been taught.”

He looked over at you, eyes scanning the side of your face, the same side where your cheek had been struck by your mothers cruel hand. “That it be true, I am not a man, miss. I am just a boy.”

Silence fell between the two of you while you continued to gently stroke Shadow’s neck. You could feel Joel’s gaze landing on your cheek, but you chose to ignore it despite the heat that was slowly beginning to rise to your cheeks.

“Miss…?” He sounded unsure of himself, nervous, apprehensive of the words he was about to speak next,

“Yes, Joel?”

“Forgive me, I should not be uttering these words to a lady like yourself, but the bows in your hair…I thought they were quite—pretty.” He whispered the last bit, expecting you to scold him, to scream, and surely send him to the gallows for even thinking of you in that inappropriate manner, but instead, you smiled softly.

“Thank you, Joel. Mother…doesn’t approve of them. Says they are for little girls, and not for a lady to be. But they are just ribbons, are they not? I like how they look, and I wish she did too.” You sighed, eyes casting downwards.

He was more bold this time around as the images of your mothers hand making contact with your soft cheek flashes in his mind, “she should have never laid a hand upon you like that, miss. You did nothing wrong! Forgive me—I have forgotten my place.” He dropped his chin between his shoulders in shame.

You wept then, fat tears rolling down your cheeks at the phantom sting of your mothers palm. You slowly sank down into the straw bed, head in your hands. You looked so small, frail, weak, and Joel never wanted you to feel this way again.

At first he didn’t know how to react to your distress, but soon he found himself sinking down to his knees in front of you, his hands trembling as he reached out to grasp your covered shoulders, “my dearest, do not weep, please. Your mother has never learned kindness in her life, but you? You—” he struggled to find his words, his empathetic nature coming out in full swing.

You slowly tilted your chin upwards to meet his gaze, glassy eyes boring into his. You both took a sharp inhale of breath, time seemed to cease completely. The storm outside raged on, the wind whipped and howled outside the heavy barn doors when Joel Miller’s calloused palms gently cradled your face, thumbs brushing away your glistening tears.

1842

Spring turned to summer, summer to fall, and fall to winter. Your Joel transformed into a man before your very eyes. In your youth he showed you how to run, to make mud pies, to swim in the river, despite your mothers disapproval. Your father showed an inkling of care to allow your years before marriage to be spent with Joel by your side.

On the approach of your sixteenth birthday, Joel Miller no longer looked like a boy in your eyes. He was a man, and for the first time in your life, you felt that forbidden part between your thighs come alive at the sight of him. He had grown taller, his arms filling in, paired with strong thighs. The muscles in his back and shoulders were defined with laborious hours of work. His chiseled jaw was speckled with facial hair, paired with unruly curls that you wished you could feel their softness between your fingers. You found yourself transfixed by his lips and often imagined how they would feel pressed to yours in a heated embrace. The only thing about your Joel that didn’t change with age was his eyes; the deepest pools of brown that always appeared lighter when he was graced with your presence.

Your father treated him like a son, inviting him out on the weekends to go fox hunting with your brothers. The prospect of attending college was even on the horizon for him, and Joel could taste his new life brewing on his tongue. His feelings grew for you over the years, feeling his heart flutter and clench whenever you would look his way. Even in your modest attire, he envisioned your womanly figure beneath your layers of tooled skirts. Every night before he laid his body to sleep, he would imagine your lips pressing to his own until the thought of it had begun to drive him mad.

So upon your sixteenth birthday, he approached your father in his office with only one thought on his mind; asking for your fathers permission, and blessing to court, and eventually marry you.

“Come in.” Your father’s voice rasped behind the closed door.

Joel took a deep breath, rubbing his sweaty palms along the front of his trousers, bringing one hand up to smooth down his untamed curls. His calloused palm grasped the brass handle and slowly pushed it open.

Your father was seated behind his desk, cigar smoke wafting through the air in a swirling pattern from where it rested between his lips. He looked at Joel expectantly, arms crossed behind his head in a lax position. “Joel, my boy. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Joel stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him softly. He momentarily glanced out a large window overlooking the gardens where in just a few hours, your party would be in full swing. “Good afternoon, sir.” He nodded curtly, “beautiful day we’re having, yes? The weather will be exceptional for your daughter's birthday this evening.”

My Dearest.

“Yes, indeed. The weather has been lovely.” Your father mused. “If you’re asking if you can attend tonight’s festivities, you already know my answer, Joel. The lady of the house wouldn’t stand for it.” He waved his hand in a dismissive manner.

“Yes, of course, sir. I won’t be on the grounds this evening. A few friends have invited me to the tavern for drinks. I won’t be out late, I swear it.”

“I see.” Your father nodded, “a handsome young man such as yourself oughta get out there more.” He agreed, “So, what are you here for then?”

Shit.

“Sir, I have—known your daughter for many years now, as you are aware. I am also aware that she has many suitors lined up to offer her hand in marriage, but sir, if I was given your blessing, and permission, I would—”

“Joel.” Your father’s tone cut through the younger man like a sharpened blade. “My daughter has already been promised to another. Do not take me for a fool, boy. I have seen the way your gaze lingers on her longer than what would even be described as appropriate. I see the way she looks at you, Joel. I have bit my tongue on this matter because I happen to like you, son. What I can offer you is another lady, at your choosing. You can live a happy, comfortable life and hold a title that you would never otherwise possess. My suggestion is that you accept my generous offer, and throw away your fantasy of ever marrying my daughter.”

Joel swallowed his disappointment down with a heavy gulp. He was naive to believe that he could ever be granted with your fathers blessing. How foolish of him to believe that a man such as himself, would ever end up with the likes of you. It was a fantasy, an unattainable dream that he was better off extinguishing now instead of dwelling on what could never be. He nodded slowly, trying to ignore the way his heart submerged to the very pits of his stomach. “I understand, sir.” He finally spoke.

“Good lad. I knew you were a smart one from the start. Now, this stays between you and I, alright?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Good. You didn’t hear this from me, but the lady of the house plans to retire early this evening. If you see the opportunity to whisk my daughter away for one evening, take it. If it sours, do not even think about taking me down with you. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Sir?” Joel sounded confused, his eyes going wide momentarily, “I’m confused—”

“Treat my daughter to a night that she will never forget, so that in her later years, when she is in misery after bearing her husband's children, and finds herself in a loveless marriage, she will have her memories of you to look back on. Do not, and I mean by any means, get caught and throw your life away so foolishly.”

“I—I understand, sir.” He stuttered out, his heart lurching in his chest at the prospect of one evening with you in his embrace. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.” He gushed earnestly.

“Leave now, Joel. Do not speak of this to anyone.”

“I won’t, sir. I promise.”

-

All evening you danced merrily and socialized with the upper socialites of Texas with a fake smile plastered on your pretty painted lips. You searched high and low for your Joel all evening. Your gaze lingered, heart skipping a beat anytime a man that resembled him would stride past, only to be met with bitter disappointment when they would turn their cheek towards you and the resemblance would dissipate like the bubbles in your champagne flute. Your mother had retired for the evening, and your father was in his parlor with his colleagues, smoking, drinking, and playing hands of poker.

And then you felt a presence brush past your bare shoulder, the skirts of your dress ruffling in the warm summer breeze. A shred of parchment was placed into your palm discreetly as you watched the inconspicuous figure disappear in the direction of the nearby stables. Once you were certain no one was paying any attention to you, you unfolded parchment, your heart surging at the familiar penmanship.

My Dearest,

Happy sixteenth birthday. Meet me at the stables in exactly one hour.

Your Joel

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the butterflies erupted and fluttered wildly in your stomach, Your Joel. You brought the parchment to your lips, kissing his words, your lashes fluttering shut.

As the minutes ticked by, your excitement heightened, and when it was ten minutes to the hour, you snuck off to the stables with a visible pep in your step. The barn door was left ajar upon your entering, and when you turned the corner, you found your Joel inside of Shadow’s stall, bows and flowers were braided delicately throughout her luscious mane and tail. When he sensed your presence, he turned around, the biggest grin plastered on his face, dimples peeking through, one stray curl falling across his forehead that was begging to be brushed away by your soft fingertips.

“Joel.” You breathed out, smile mimicking his own.

“My Dearest.” His heart surged in his chest, and then you were launching yourself into his arms unexpectedly. He caught you, of course, hugging you tightly to his broad frame. “No one saw you, right?”

“No.” You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his neck while his hands fell to your waist. “Shadow looks beautiful! What’s the occasion?”

He chuckled warmly, tilting his forehead to rest upon yours with a sigh of relief, “she doesn’t look nearly as beautiful as you, darlin.’ And why for your birthday, of course!”

His warm, timbre laugh sent your stomach somersaulting, and your mind feeling dizzy. “An evening ride through the countryside, is that my present from you?” You teased him lightly, threading your fingers through the back of his hair.

“No, no, my sweet. It’s actually…a surprise. Are you up for it? Oh! You’ll be needing these, however.” He reluctantly departed from your embrace, stepping off to the side to lift a rucksack from the ground. “I believe they’re your size.”

You raised a curious brow as he handed the rucksack off to you. “You mean, I get an excuse to wear something outside of my fine dresses?” You gasped softly.

“Mhm.” He nodded, smile playing on his lips at your pure excitement over something so small. “I’ll uh—give you some privacy to change.” He cleared his throat, eyes dancing in the direction opposite of you as he turned on his heel so his back would be facing you.

Secretly, you wanted him to see you undress from your obnoxious layers and reveal your untouched skin to his admiring gaze. The times that you would swim in the river together were different. You were both still children, and your womanly curves hadn’t made their appearance just yet.

He silently listened to your fine skirts fall to the dusty barn floor and he was half tempted to peek, but remained respectful as you undressed. Once you gave him the okay, he slowly turned around to face you once more. Gone were your frilly heavy skirts that dragged along the floor with each step that you took. Your skirt was still long, but not as weighted and while the bodice was still fairly constricting, the sleeves were dainty and hung off the side of your shoulders like silk drapery. Your mother would certainly have a fit if she saw you dressed so un-modestly.

“So…” You trailed off, “how do I look?” You twirled on your heel, your smile never faltering.

He unashamedly looked you up and down, twice, before one strong arm looped around your waist and pulled you flush against his chest, caging you against him.

“Pardon my French, mademoiselle, but you look fuckin’ stunning.”

You giggled, hands resting against his chest to brace yourself against him. It was the sweetest sound that had ever graced his ears; your laugh.

“Thank you, sir. Mother would scold me if she saw me dressed like this!” You giggled again when his nose came to nuzzle against your cheek, bristles in his beard gently scraping against your skin, “she would, my dearest. But don’t worry about any of that, okay? Tonight you will have the time of your life with me, and your mother will have no say in it.” He assured you.

—

You rode into town on horseback, Shadow moving swiftly with Joel steering her with the reins and you behind him with your arms wrapped around him, pressing yourself as close to his back as possible. You had never been to a tavern before, but tonight would certainly be a night of firsts.

Your first sips of Ale were with Joel by your side, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned over, warm breath fanning your face as he asked you what you thought about the taste.

Truthfully? Ale was not your first drink of choice, but you had an understanding for the appeal of it. Joel agreed, and whispered in your ear that he thought it tasted like shit. His tone and crude remark sent you giggling in tandem.

Now, whiskey on the other hand? You enjoyed the smoky flavor that lingered on your tongue and the way it instantly sent a warm fire simmering in your belly, and heat to flood your cheeks. You danced, laughed, drank and you even played a hand of poker! No one in the tavern knew of your status, your wealth. Everyone in the rowdy establishment was just there living, and you silently wished for your life to always be this freeing.

When the tavern closed for the night, you and Joel strolled down the street, hand in hand. The late evening air held that familiar summer sweetness, crickets chirping, fireflies dancing around your heads. Another pair of lovers strolled in front of you and Joel, seemingly unable to keep their hands off of one another as they neared the town inn. Would that be you and your Joel?

His palm felt clammy in your palm, but his face gave no distinction that he was absolutely freaking the fuck out inside at the prospect of finally getting the privilege to press his lips to yours.

“Shadow is staying at the inn’s barn for the evening, my dearest. It’s far too late for either of us to return back to the estate…” he trailed off, eyes casting in your direction to await your response.

“Joel…” you sighed, loosening your grip around his hand, nearly dropping it entirely. “We—we have to go back. Father, mother—”

“My dearest, your mother has retired early for the evening, and your father is probably too deep in a hand of poker to even notice your absence.” He spoke softly, slowly bringing your entwined fingers up to his face, illuminated in a soft, warm glow from the flickering street lights lining the walkway. He brushed his lips against the outside of your hand, eyes locking onto yours, “I understand if you don’t desire me the way I desire you, my dearest. And if that is the case, we can leave immediately—”

“I—I desire you plenty, my Joel. All evening at the party, I kept seeing the resemblance of your beautiful face in every male passerby, but none of them were you. I’m just—I’m so afraid, Joel. My heart—it feels so deeply for you, but it’s forbidden. You and I both know the bitter truth of what we can never be.”

“My dearest, tonight we need not be afraid, okay? It is your birthday, your special day, and there is nowhere else in this world that I would rather be, than here with you. I ask you for nothing, only to trust me. Trust your Joel.”

You could feel yourself caving into his words, your body drawn to be closer to him as if by some invisible force pulling you into his chest. “I trust you always, my Joel.”

He nodded, pressing another sweet kiss to the outside of your hand. You moved in sync, his strong, broad body caging you against the brick wall of the inn, his hands, calloused and warm, holding your face between them as if you were fine delicate china. His forehead came to rest upon yours, warm breath fanning your face, “can I kiss you, my dearest?”

“Please, my Joel.” You breathed out, fingers gently resting along the nape of his neck. “You—you will be my first.” You whispered.

“And you will be mine, my dearest.” He rasped, thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones, feeling his heartbeat faster, and faster, when his lips finally brushed upon your own, both of your inexperience showing, but nature took over when your lips finally met, pressing against one another. Your breath hitched in your throat, fingers tightening around his soft curls, pulling him in closer. You wanted to crawl inside his skin, make a home inside of his heart and never leave.

“I—have never felt a sweetness upon my lips till I have kissed you, my dearest.” He murmured sweetly against your locked lips, taking the leap of what felt right when your lips parted like the narrow sea for him to slowly lick into your mouth so your tongues could meet, and dance.

An unexpected moan slipped past your lips when he licked into your mouth, a sound only for his ears, sending blood flowing southwards beneath his trousers and directly to his groin. He parted from the kiss momentarily, a string of translucent saliva hung between your swollen lips. He dived back in seconds later, but this time you felt his lips upon your neck, sucking, kissing, licking at your throat and all the way back up to your lips.

“I scraped up enough money to afford us a night at the inn, my dearest.” He let out a soft grunt when your nails lightly scratched his scalp, and your fingers tugged on the root of his curls, “do you wish to—”

“Yes, my Joel.” You didn’t even wait for him to finish his question, you already knew your answer was going to be yes.

He chuckled at your eagerness, letting his hands drop from your face and rest along your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, “lay beside me tonight, my love?”

“Yes, my Joel. I wish for that.”

He smiled into the kiss, the butterflies in his own stomach were no longer fluttering wildly, his nerves were gone because never in his life had he been more sure about his feelings till now. It was a moment of calm that both you and he felt in one another’s embrace. “Then let it be known that tonight, beneath the stars, I will make love to you, my dearest.” The words he spoke fell like a sweet oath upon your lips.

You kissed him once more, before your lips parted, but only for a little while. He took your hand in his, fingers entwined and led you to the entrance of the inn. The room was paid for, and the excitement was beginning to tingle once more as he unlocked the door to the room you would share. A single bed to accommodate you both.

And when he laid you down, fitting in the space between your thighs, kissing every inch of your untouched skin, drawing sounds from your throat that you had never felt, nor heard before. Calloused palms moved with languid ease, undressing you with methodical care. You did the same to him, marveling at the flex of his muscles beneath your touch. He was so gentle, so patient as you parted for him like a blooming flower. He kissed you there, too. Dark head of curls moving between your thighs, strong fingers spreading you open where his tongue quickly found the little bud that had your whole body quivering, and your back bowing, arching from the mattress.

He kissed, licked, worshiped, suckled on your womanhood, the taste of you was something so foreign, yet familiar, and his cock grew heavy between his thighs, hips rutting into the mattress for any form of relief.

Your speech was slurred, broken, fragmented moans dangling from your lips, and you were only able to say one word; his name.

Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel.

And when the coil in deep within your tummy was pulled tight, and a burning warmth that could only be described as the feeling of heaven on earth, traveled from the tips of your toes and up your spine, you convulsed around his tongue, eyes rolling back into your skull, muscles spasming, your cunt pulsing, leaking along the sheets. He lapped up every sweet drop of your release, swallowing it down as if he was quenched with thirst. His eyes opened, dark pools of brown staring intensely into yours, grinning like a devil. His chin and beard glistening in your sweet nectar, illuminated by the pale moonlight casting in through the thin, billowing curtains.

He kissed up your body, finding your lips and molding his tongue around yours so you could taste yourself, too. He whispered sweet nothings between kisses when the heavy weight of his cock slowly began to press into you. Tears sprung from the sudden sharp pain caused by the stretch of him easing inside of you. He kissed away your tears, shushing you softly and promising you that it would feel good so soon, my dearest.

Your nails left crescents in his back, thighs wrapping around his waist when he was fully sheathed inside of your pulsing, hugging warmth. It was the tightest vice he ever did feel, and he never wanted to part from you.

“I’ve got you, my dearest.” He whispered upon your lips, drawing his hips back slowly, oh so slowly, before guiding them forward. The coarse dark hair on his pubic bone brushed against your own with each gentle thrust he gave you. A rhythm set in with his movements, your body naturally began to mold to his as you became one. Sweat soaked skin, tangled moans and limbs, wet kisses and words of love shared between what little space was left between you.

And when he spilled his seed deep within your womb, and he moaned your name, proclaiming his love and devotion for you with his face buried against your neck. You refused to part from one another, even as his cock softened inside of you, and your cunt no longer fluttered. You pressed your lips to his scruffy cheek, tangled your fingers through his now sweat soaked curls that were matted to his forehead and back of his neck. You held him, and he held you as the sun slowly began to rise, and the birds chirped cheerfully just outside the window.

“I don’t want to go home, my Joel. I want to stay here, with you…forever.” You whispered softly through the early morning air.

He shifted deep within you, lifting his chin and turned his cheek to the side, brushing his lips sweetly against your soft cheek. His eyes were sleepy, a dopey, boyish grin graced his features, lips curved in a perfect pout, swollen with your kisses, “I need not yet to part from you, my love. But I must return you home before your father and mother awake.”

You sighed softly, dropping your fingers from their grip on his hair to then drag across his jaw, nuzzling your nose against his and pressed a kiss to his lips, “our home, my Joel.” You gently reminded him.

He kissed you back, lashes fluttering shut to savor the moment before opening again so he could once again gaze upon your face and paint a picture in his memory to hold onto forever, “our home, my dearest.”

Reality began to rear its ugly head into both of your minds and he reluctantly parted from your kiss, drawing his hips back slowly to release his cock from your warmth. “We must return home, my dearest.” He sat back on his haunches, his softened cock wet, sticky with a mix of your combined releases and a thin layer of blood.

You slowly sat up, taking the coarse sheet with you as you gazed upon his groin for the first time. Even soft now, your sex induced eyes widened at the girth of him.

He, however, was more focused on the stain of blood on his skin, and swiped his thumb across it before his gaze landed on you, “have you…bled before, my sweet?”

You nodded, “yes, my Joel. I bleed the same time every month since my thirteenth birthday. Mother told me that it means I am ready to bear children, and I have become a woman. She told me that I would bleed again when my husband makes love to me for the first time.”

His chin falls between his shoulders, feeling them sink from the realization that he would never be your husband, and you would never be his wife. “Does it hurt…to bleed? Did I hurt you, my love?”

You shook your head, letting the sheets drop from your chest as you reached out to comfort him. “No, my love. It can be uncomfortable, but you did not hurt me. A dull sting is all I felt, nothing more. You took care of me.”

He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently as you emerged from under the covers, “my dearest, what is to happen if…you end up bearing my children? We are both so young, I wish not to steal what remains of your youth. You deserve so much more than only what is expected of you, my lady.”

You found yourself straddling his hips with your thighs on either side of him, caging his body around yours while his arms wrapped around your waist, using his core strength to stay upright as your hands came to rest upon his face, “if I bear your children, then we could marry, Joel. We could—be together!” You spoke excitedly.

“My dearest, I—have nothing to offer you. I am penniless…we are not of the same status, and your mother and father would never allow it.” His thumbs gently stroked the dimples in your back at the bottom of your spine.

“I will speak with my father! He will understand, he must! No man will ever wish to marry me if I am bearing another’s child! Father—he’ll have to agree!”

“My dearest, what if my seed doesn’t take to your womb the first time? What if we are unable—”

You cut him off with a swift kiss to his lips, pulling him in close with your hand resting along the nape of his neck, “then we keep trying till my womb is swelling with life.”

He kissed you deeply, feeling his cock begin to stir to life between your tightly pressed bodies. He nodded, a silent agreement as he dropped one hand from where it rested against your spine and dragged it between you so that he could grasp the base of his cock and slowly press himself inside of you once more.

-

By the time you and Joel arrived back at the estate, the sun was already beginning to rise high above the sky. The stables were empty upon your arrival as Joel helped you dismount from Shadow. He urged you to change back into your attire that you wore to the party so that your mother, nor father would raise their suspicions. You parted ways with a kiss, a longing behind his lips as he watched you leave his embrace and walk back into the life you had always known.

At the breakfast table your mother was quick to question why you were not present in your chambers at sunrise, but you already had a rehearsed script planned in your mind. Without missing a beat, you told the story of how you had a few too many flutes of champagne, and fell asleep in the gardens.

Your mother, of course, scolded you, but your father? He had a hidden, knowing smile playing beneath his mustache.

You and Joel were extremely cautious and strategic when it came to planning your rendezvous. They happened frequently, under the cover of night when everyone was sleeping. Sometimes in the stables, sometimes in the gardens, and you even returned to the inn a few times in secret. He could not get enough of you, your kisses, or your touch. The feeling was mutual, and you both knew that the deep, profound feelings you were both experiencing was not infatuation or lust, no, you and Joel Miller were madly, deeply, tragically in love with one another.

Even in the daytime he would seek your presence, asking your father if he could accompany you on a ride through the countryside as your guide, and protector. You had picnics by the river where he would lay his head upon your skirts, eyes closed blissfully as he listened to you read love stories from Shakespeare till he would drift off, soft snores escaping his lips, your voice lulling him to a sweet slumber. Your horses would graze side by side, his stallion, your mare. Their tails swishing to fight off the pesky flies.

-

Upon the approach of your eighteenth birthday, you wept in Joel’s arms, for no matter how many times he spilled his seed inside of you, your womb did not swell with life; his child. You feared that his love for you would sour and rot when you broke the mournful news to him beneath comfort of the shimmering moon, and twinkling stars.

“My dearest, why do you weep? Who, or what has caused my sweet love to shed her tears?” He sank to his knees with you crumbling in his arms. His heart felt like it was being shredded to fragmented pieces when your sobs echoed off the nearby hedges in the garden where your embrace was hidden.

“My Joel!” You cried, clawing at his arms with fat, heavy tears streaming down your cheeks, “I—I’m so sorry. I have let you down, my love.”

“My dearest, how have you let me down? Tell me what is wrong! What has happened?” He spoke urgently, tone hushed.

“My womb does not swell with life, Joel! We have tried, and tried! No matter how many times, it has been fruitless! I bear you no sons, no daughters—” you wailed mournfully.

“My sweet, are you certain of this? Oh, my girl…” he felt his own tears begin to prick his eyes as he began to gently rock you in his arms. “Do you weep in sadness, or in fear? I do not care that you cannot bear me any children, my dearest. My love for you will never sour.”

“Do not lie to me, lover!” You were on the edge of snapping through your tears, “when my sole purpose in this life is to marry and bear children to my husband! There must be something wrong with me, Joel! How can you say you love me when I cannot be the woman I am expected to be! I never can fucking—”

You surprised yourself and him by your sudden crude language, but then again, spending as much time as you did with Joel, his verbiage began to rub off on you, and yours onto him.

“Then don’t be the woman you are expected to be, my love! There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing, do you hear me? I love you as you are! You are my lady, for fucks sakes! You can be whoever you want to be with me! Do you wish to be a poet? Be one! Do you wish to be a scholar? A singer? Do you wish to live a normal life where your choices are not already chosen for you?!” His voice cracked, coming out as a hoarse rasp deep from within his chest.

You fought the urge to scoff and chide him for being so naive. “My life will never be normal! Don’t you understand?! All I know is what has been chosen for me! It doesn’t matter what I want, Joel! I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth! My studies, my thoughts, opinions, have all been predisposed! Even the fucking food I consume, and the clothing on my back has been chosen for me!”

“Of course I understand! All I have ever done is understand that you and I were never cut from the same cloth! And yet, I love you all the same because what else is a man to do? My sweet, we are weeks away from your eighteenth birthday! We can run away together and carve out the life of our choosing! Fuck your parents, fuck the society we live in! Do you want to marry a man you don’t love and live in misery?! Or do you want the chance to live! To wake up at your choosing, to wear what you desire, to love freely with no prejudice? To never again live under your parents control? Don’t you want to…love me?” He was exasperated, chest heaving, nostrils flaring from the pure passion oozing from his words.

You fell silent, your lower lip wobbling, eyes glassy with tears as you looked into his eyes, taking in the redness in his cheeks, the puffing of his chest—the love pooling in his dark irises, “of course I want to love you, my Joel. I—I’m afraid! Can’t you see that? I’m expected to marry and bear my husband's children and now I cannot! If we run away together, I’ll never be able to return home! What if our love isn’t destined to make it! What if we fail—”

“Of course I can see you’re afraid, my girl. I see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice! You are safe here, with me. With your Joel! I would never, ever, ever let anything happen to you. We may not live a life of riches, but we would live a life rich in love! I—I can get a job! I will work until my bones break if it means that I get to be with you. I’ll work the railways, the mines! Any job that I can take, I will, and I’ll do it all for you.”

You kissed him then, tasting the salt from your own tears and his upon your locked lips. “We’ll move west! As far west as we can! We’ll see the ocean for the first time, plot out our land and live out our days together!” You murmured against his lips.

“California.” He promised you, kissing you deeply as his hands came to cradle your face, “a sheep ranch with Shadow and Sunfyre.”

“Why sheep, lover?” You asked softly between desperation filled kisses,

“They’re quiet, do as they're told.” He teased, chuckling when you gently swatted at his chest for making such a comment.

“Ha, ha, very funny.” You giggled, which soon turned into a moan when his fingers slipped down to your waist and hastily began to unlace your bodice, while your hand drifted downwards to undo the string on his trousers. Neither of you knew that one of your own ladies, the same lady that had been promised to Joel by your father, caught the two of you in the gardens while she was out for a midnight stroll. Her presence was undetected as you sank down around Joel’s cock beneath your skirts, moaning his name unashamedly as your entwined bodies moved in sync.

June 1st, 1844

“Yes, mother.” You responded in a practiced, complacent sweetness to appease her.

“He will make a fine husband to you, one day.” She added, her perfectly dainty fingers came to rest upon your shoulder, squeezing it with anything but a comforting touch. She didn’t notice the way your gaze lingered on your secret lover, nor did she sense your longing.

“Yes, he will, mother. I look forward to making his acquaintance.”

“Good. You have grown into being a fine young woman, daughter. Your father and I are so very proud of you.”

If only they knew that you were not the perfect, proper lady than they believed you to be, and that your heart belonged to another man.

-

Your Joel had requested a private audience with your father leading up to the festivities surrounding your monumental birthday. And so after bringing the horses in from the pasture, he made his way to your fathers office, closing the door quietly behind him when he was given permission to enter.

“Sir, I have wonderful news to bestow upon you, Shadow is expectin’. She was showin’ early signs a few weeks back, but it is official.”

“Wonderful news indeed, Joel. And who is the lucky stud?” Your father asked, despite already knowing the answer.

“Sunfyre, sir.”

“Ahh. What a combination. A filly, as black as the night, and a colt, as golden as the sun. I wonder what their offspring will look like.” He mused.

Joel swallowed the lump growing in his throat, his palms growing clammier by the second. He took a deep breath to calm his budding nerves, “Sir, I need to disclose something to you, but before I do, I just wanted to say that I have appreciated being able to confide in you in some capacity. I am grateful that you have taken me under your wing and offered me the chance at having a better life, but your daughter—”

“Joel.” He warned, leaning forward in his chair with his hands clasped together. “Be extremely careful with your choice in words for whatever it is you are about to tell me. Perhaps I need to remind you where your place is? Maybe I should have been wary of confiding in you, boy.”

“Sir, please. You must hear this! If you care about your daughter's happiness, and her well being, you will listen to what I have to say. I swear that our conversations have remained confidential! I have spoken about them to no one, I swear it!”

Your father let out a deep sigh, bringing his hands to his face where he pressed the pads of his fingers into the deep set wrinkles in his forehead. “Go on then.”

“Your daughter—she is unable to bear children. She is afraid of what is to become of her if she cannot bear children for her future husband, sir. And I fear for her as well! Sir, men are unkind, and she is sweet. She is sweet and kind and deserving—”

Your fathers heart slowly began to sink, his composure crumbled because of his darling little girl, who would certainly face a life of hardship and misery if you could not bear children and enact your duties as a perfect wife for your husband. He didn’t agree with it, but that was how society worked. Men ruled the house, and the women cared for their husbands and children. “How do you know of this, Joel?” Your fathers tone wavered, his eyes casting in Joel’s direction and he saw a younger version of himself in your forbidden lover.

“Sir, you know the answer to your own question.” Joel nearly whispered, avoiding direct eye contact and let his gaze fall to a portrait behind your fathers desk, two young men with their arms around one another’s shoulders.

“You love her, don’t you?” His question hung heavy in the air.

Joel froze like a deer that was inevitably caught by hunters in the meadow. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t think as he listened to the sound of blood rushing in his ears and his pulse pounding, “with all of my heart, sir.”

Your father slowly nodded his head in understanding as he let out a sigh, “then you must know that you have to swallow down your feelings for my daughter for her benefit and your own. You are playing a dangerous game, Joel. One that could very well cost you your life.”

“I don’t fucking care. I have never loved another being outside of your daughter. Our love may be frowned upon and forbidden, but it is real. I have felt for her since I was just a mere boy, when the storm was raging outside and she accompanied me to see the birth of Dahlia’s foal. My love for her will never sour, it will never over ripen and rot like the low hanging fruit upon the trees. I have nothing to offer her but my heart, and that holds a weight more valuable than gold or silver.”

Your father smiled, one that did not reach his eyes as he slowly stood from his chair behind his desk and walked in front of it. “You remind me so much of my younger self, Joel. Willing to do anything for the person you love. Despite all the odds being stacked against you.”

Joel took a hesitant step back, the heel of his boot nearly catching along the rug, “do not patronize me, sir. I love your daughter, and nothing will stop me from loving her. Even after death, my love for her will remain.”

“Of course nothing will stop you, Joel. For what else is a man to do when he is in love?” He smiled sadly, a look of longing hidden behind his eyes. Joel knew the look all too well.

“I don’t—I don’t understand.”

“I’m going to tell you something that you have to swear you will never utter to anyone. It is a secret that you must take to your grave, Joel. You cannot even tell my daughter. Are we clear?”

“I swear I will not tell a single soul, sir. Not even your daughter will know.”

“Good, I trust you. You have a good heart, Joel.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Your father reached for his box of cigars, silently offering one to Joel who politely declined. It had been many, many, years since your father spoke about his past, and while he lit the end of the cigar, those memories began to surface. “I meant what I said when I told you that you remind me of my younger self.”

Joel nodded in understanding.

“When I was your age, the world was at my fingertips, Joel. It was my oyster, and I could have any lady of my choosing, but I had to marry. That was my parents one rule upon me was that I had to marry.”

“You could have any lady of your choosing, but it wasn’t a lady that held your affections, was it, sir?”

“No. It was not a lady that held my affections.”

“The man…in the portrait behind your desk, was he your…?”

“Yes, Joel. The man in the portrait was my lover. The butler's son nonetheless. I of course tried to appease my parents and court the finest lady in town, but my heart longed for my lover. We were going to run away together, Joel. It was all planned out, and I was ready to throw away my old life for him. It was, and still is taboo and forbidden to lay with the same sex. We were careful, until I came to him with the grave news that I would have to marry, and that we could no longer be together. He was angry, I was angry, we got reckless, and one night we were caught.”

“By…the lady of the house? Your now wife?”

He nodded, leaning back against the front of his desk, “yes, she was the one who caught us in the act, in my chambers. She screamed so loud, as if she was witnessing a murder! I begged her to keep her voice down but she wouldn’t listen. She was disgusted with me, and proclaimed that I would rot in eternal hell for the sins I committed.”

“What happened…to your lover, sir?”

“My own father nearly beat my lover to death in front of me. I was forced to watch the life drain from his eyes. I begged and begged for him to stop, to let him live! Maybe he would have, if it wasn’t for the lady of the house to spread a rumor that the butler's son came onto me against my will. My father didn’t want to believe that his son was a fairy, and so my lover was sentenced to hang. I visited him for the very last time when he was shackled, malnourished, and begging for death to take him. I stayed with him all night, praying that the sun would never rise. The following morning I was forced to watch him hang. Every single spectator in the crowd, except for me, cheered for the death of another fairy!” He used the back of his hand to swiftly wipe at his eyes when his tears began to well and roll down his cheeks.

“He was buried in an unmarked grave and I went through with marrying the lady of the house. I wasn’t given another choice, and on the night of our wedding, she whispered to me that she knew the truth, and that she wouldn’t hesitate to blackmail me for it.”

“I’m so sorry, sir. Your lover—you, I’m so sorry. I do not understand why people are so cruel and hateful. Love is love, is it not?”

“Please do not sympathize with me, Joel. I do not seek your sympathy. I am telling you this because if you do not swallow your feelings for my daughter, you will surely face the same fate that my lover did! Don’t you understand? She has been promised to another. She meets with the banker's son tonight and in time, they will be married. It is her duty and expectation. And you will have the choice to marry the lady I have chosen for you. Your love for my daughter will fade, and you will be grateful that it did.”

“How dare you! How dare you stand there—you coward! You could have been with your lover now if you had run away together! You had the opportunity, and didn’t seize it?! Don’t stand there and claim that my love for your daughter will fade, when yours for your dead lover has not! You stand there, weeping for him! Your life could have been different—”

Crack

Your fathers cruel fist made direct contact with Joel’s beautiful nose, the force of impact sending him stumbling backwards, clutching his face in despair as blood trickled and dripped between the grooves of his fingers, staining the golden threaded hearthrug in splotches of crimson.

“Get the fuck out of my office. It is clear that you have forgotten your place, boy. You will never marry the likes of my daughter.”

Joel retreated through the office doors with what remained of his dignity. He confided in your father purely out of trust, and he thought it was a mutual feeling. For the rest of the afternoon, leading into the evening, you did not see your Joel.

-

The banker’s son was polite, well-mannered, but goodness—was he a bore. You had no interest in hearing him drone on about the stock market in New York City. He didn’t bother to ask you about you, or your interests as they were already predisposed by your mother.

Fucking cunt.

He strolled with you in the gardens with your hand lightly grasping onto his elbow. Your eyes wandered off, in search for that familiar stature, and head of distinguishable dark curls as you passed by the stables, but your Joel was nowhere to be found. Your heart sank and you asked the banker’s son, Timothy, if he would mind giving you a moment of privacy in the garden's gazebo. He obliged, but not before he could press an affectionate kiss to the outside of your hand. The bristles in his perfectly groomed mustache tickled your skin before he reluctantly pulled away.

You let out a sigh of relief, your posture returning to a relaxed state as you watched him walk back towards the festivities inside. When you were certain that he was not lingering, you began to nervously pace the short distance inside of the gazebo, muttering about how Joel would never just leave you like this, would he?

Where the fuck was he?

Then you heard it, the groaning of the tired wood beneath his boots, and that warm, deep rasp in his voice. “My dearest.” He croaked, and you immediately knew something was wrong, something had happened. His voice sounded far more nasally, and when you turned around to face him, that’s when you noticed the dry, crusted blood beneath his fractured nose, the rusted blood stains in his white shirt. You ran to him, delicately cradling his beautiful face in your palms.

“My Joel!” You cried, “what has happened? Who has done this to you! Your nose—your beautiful nose!”

“Hush, my darling. It’s—just a fracture, lover. It will heal.” He lowered his tone to a whisper, his hands slowly coming to rest around your waist. “It does not matter who did this to me, my dearest.”

“How can you say such a thing? Joel, please, my love, who did this to you?” You softly begged, thumbs gently stroking the scruff speckled on his strong jaw.

“Your father.” He murmured, bitterness laced in his words.

“What?” You murmured in disbelief, dropping your hands from his face, refusing to believe it. “Why would he do such a thing to you! Joel, please, please tell me what happened!”

“My love, please promise you will not hate me for what I am about to utter. Swear to me that you won’t.” He pleaded, tightening his grip around your waist in fear that you would slip between his fingers like grains of sand.

“I swear it.”

“He knows about us, my dearest. He knows that I love you, and you love me. He knows that you cannot bear children because I am the one who confided in him this afternoon. I did it in hopes that he would understand, and stop the banker's son from courting you tonight. I—I thought maybe we wouldn’t have to run away, and we would be accepted as lovers!”

“Oh Joel, they will never accept us! You stupid, stupid, beautiful little fool.” You sniffled sadly, feeling your tears oncoming. “You are too good for this world and everyone in it! Your heart is made of pure gold, and I love you for it, but now you have put yourself in grave danger! That was so fucking stupid of you to do, lover.”

“My sweet, I may be a fool, but what else is a man to do when he is in love? Your father knows, yes, but now we must seize our opportunity to leave, tonight! The party is in full swing, is it not? No one will notice your absence, my dearest. If we don’t leave tonight, I fear we will never have another chance at eternal happiness.”

You swallow down your tears, melting into his embrace and his words. “The banker’s son waits for me inside, it will be suspicious if I do not return to him within the hour…” you trailed off.

“Are you having your doubts, my love?”

“No, no! Of course not. I am in fear that we will be caught if we aren’t careful, my Joel. I will return to him and you will go to my chambers. Lock the doors and do not open them for anyone. Take the back entrance, through the kitchens! No one will see you, I swear it.” You reached for his hands on your waist, interlocking your fingers through his.

“And you? I cannot fathom thinking of the banker’s son touching—”

“My Joel, please do not allow your thoughts to sour. I am expected to dance with him and when the timing is right, I will come find you. I promise.”

He nodded, bringing your clasped hands up to his face so he could kiss your knuckles, wincing from the dull ache in his nose.

“Together?” He murmured, eyes locking onto yours.

“Always.”

You parted ways after he kissed you, promising you that all this pain would be worth it in the end, and of course, you believed him, for what else is a girl to do when she is in love?

You returned to Timothy’s side, assuring him that you just needed to be alone with your thoughts. He was an understanding man, and you could understand why your father assumed that he would be a perfect match for you, but no one would ever be your Joel. And while you danced, and made small talk with him and his friends, Joel was making his way through the kitchens, ducking into one of the main hallways, muscle memory guiding him the way to your chambers, but unbeknownst to him, he was being followed.

It was a quarter to midnight and your lover could hear the party growing rowdier by the minute even behind your locked doors. He grew weary, doubts settling into his mind that perhaps you had forgotten him. Perhaps you were having a good time with the fucking bankers son. His spirits lifted when he heard the sound of a key being inserted in the lock. He sprung up from the edge of your perfectly made up bed, heart racing in his chest when the doors opened.

His face fell, blood running ice cold when the person revealed behind the door was not you, but the lady who was promised to him by your father. He took a step back, palms growing clammy.

“How did I know that you would be lingering in her chambers, Joel?” She closed the doors behind her and locked them for good measure. “What would her father say if he knew you were in here…hmm?”

“You fucking followed me here, didn’t you, Lady Florence?” He seethed, feeling like an animal trapped in the corner with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

“Because you were promised to me, or have you forgotten?” She cocked a brow in his direction, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I never approached you. Never even attempted to court you. Just because her father promised me to you, doesn’t fucking mean shit until actions are taken after words.” He snapped.

“I suppose, but then again, you’re in a not so favorable position, Joel. Trespassing after hours, and in his daughter's chambers nonetheless? I’m almost certain you would hang for such a crime.” She mused, stepping closer to where he had tucked himself nearly into a corner closest to the window. “Perhaps he would love to hear how I caught you and his daughter fucking in the gardens a few weeks back. How truly reckless of you both.” She tsked.

He scoffed at her attempt at blackmailing him in such a petty way. “Your threats are made in vain. Her father already knows about my love for his daughter. He’s well aware, and you look fucking desperate and pathetic at your attempt to blackmail me.”

“Blackmail you? Joel, you have me all wrong!” She laughed, “I don’t have the heart to blackmail you!”

“Then what the fuck do you call what you just attempted to do, hmm? Don’t take me for a fool! You are nothing but a jealous little—”

“Joel? It’s me, my love. I don’t have my key…someone must have nicked it!” You whispered through the outside of the closed door, looking around the vacant hallway anxiously. “Are you in there?”

He strode past Florence, shoulder checking her on his way to the door and quickly unlocked it, ushering you inside before closing and locking it again.

Your eyes landed on his face, and then trailed over his shoulder to Florence, one of your ladies, who you had believed up until this point was loyal, and not a conniving little—

“Lady Florence? What are you doing in my chambers? What is going on?!”

Joel reached for bare forearm with a gentle grip to pull you back. “My dearest, it isn’t what you think! Lady Florence is the one who nicked your key and followed me to your chambers! She cornered me, threatened me with blackmail, and claimed that she caught you and I in the gardens weeks ago!”

“Is this true?” You felt saddened, betrayed, and disappointed. “Flo, how could you do such a thing to me? I thought we were friends!”

“My lady—he lies! I never would steal from you, he is the one to corner me! He sought me out, forcing me into your chambers—” she lied between her teeth, digging herself in a graver hole than she was planning.

“LIAR!” you yelled, ripping your arm from Joel’s grasp, “he would never lay a hand on a lady, nor pressure her! You speak only of lies Florence!”

“Lover! We do not have the time for this! We have to go, we have to go now!” Joel urged you from behind, reaching for your arm again. “She isn’t worth it! Please, we must—”

And then you heard your fathers voice booming down the hall. Your biggest fear was coming true, and now there was nowhere for you or Joel to hide when the doors bursted open, the locking mechanism snapping in half from the force of your father.

“What is the meaning of this?!” He demanded.

Lady Florence, being the snake in the grass that she was, immediately flocked to your fathers side. “Sir! You arrived just in time!” She said exasperatedly, “Your daughter was in her chambers freshening up and I went to go check on her, being the good friend that I am, when I heard her dreadful scream! I came upon the heinous crime of the filthy stable hand taking your daughter against her will!” She wept her crocodile tears. “He threatened to—”

Your father wasn’t buying it for he knew that Florence was a terrible liar, and a rotten friend. “Lady Florence, this does not concern you. Return to the party immediately, and speak this to no one.”

“But sir—”

“GET OUT!” He yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at her. She narrowed her eyes at both you and Joel before slinking out of the room, closing the doors behind her.

You immediately stepped in front of Joel, silently vowing to protect him no matter what would happen, you would not allow your father to harm another hair upon your lover's head.

“Daddy, please, I love him! Please, let us be! I know it goes against what is expected of me, but Joel is a good man! He has only ever been good to me, father!”

“Your mother will never allow it, daughter. All Joel has done is tempted you and filled your head with fantasies! You have been promised to the banker's son and that is final! You think of me to be cruel, but I am only doing what is best for you!”

“I do not care what you think is best for me, father! I do not want to marry the banker's son! I wish to be happy with my one love, and I do not care if that means that you and mother will exile me! I do not care that it means I will no longer live a life of riches! I am rich in love and happiness with him by my side!”

Your father ignored your pleas, even when you clung to his arm and dug your heels in the ground to stop him from advancing towards Joel. “Please, father! Please! I am begging you to leave him be!” You cried, and your words were caught in your throat when the backside of your fathers ring clad hand made swift contact with your cheek, sending you tumbling to the floor in shock. All Joel could see was red behind his eyes when your fathers hand made contact with your cheek. He sprung into action, but your father, despite his age, was quick, ready for Joel’s attack.

“YOU DARE FUCKIN’ LAY A HAND ON HER?!” Your lover yelled with a rage you had never heard leave his lips, “I’LL FUCKIN’ KILL YOU IF YOU LAY A HAND UPON HER AGAIN!”

Your father used Joel’s rage to his advantage, letting the younger man assume he had control of the situation when he was shoved against your tall, wooden chifferobe.

“STOP IT! PLEASE!” You cried, “BOTH OF YOU, PLEASE STOP!”

In your moment of distress, Joel was distracted for a millisecond too long when your fathers fist connected with Joel’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. He landed another hit, and then another, weakening Joel enough that he crumbled to his knees, bringing his arms over his head to block out the fists raining down upon him.

Your father was relentless, grabbing your lover by the back of his neck, yanking it upwards so he was forced to look up at the older man from his knees. He bent down to his level, getting close to his ear and whispered only for him to hear “I warned you this would end badly if you weren’t careful, boy.”

Joel spit a mixture of congealed blood and saliva directly onto his face, spattering it in speckles of crimson. “Fuck you, you coward.” He hissed between gritted teeth.

Your fathers fist trembled, his hand surely was broken, but all he could think about was how he was forced to watch his own lover be beaten in the same fashion, and now he was on the delivering end of it. “Get out.” He seethed. “Leave the property before lady Florence runs her large mouth to the lady of the house and spreads a false rumor about you and my daughter. Leave before I change my mind, Joel.”

Defeat; complete and utter defeat is all Joel Miller felt in his bones when your father released him with a rough shove to the ground. He struggled to sit up, coughing up more blood, and when you attempted to crawl to his side, your father grasped your elbow and yanked you to the door.

your fading screams of his name echoed down the hall as your father dragged you further and further away.

Bruised, beaten, and feeling hopeless, Joel Miller forced himself to his feet and obeyed your fathers word to leave while he still had the chance. He felt like a coward now, but what else could he do? If he stayed, surely he would face the gallows for a crime that he didn’t commit. Lady Florence had infact gone to run her big mouth to the lady of the house, claiming that Joel Miller raped you in your bed chambers. It was of course a fabricated lie, and only lady Florence, Joel, your father, and you knew the truth.

June 4th, 1844

My Dearest,

I am deeply remorseful for the events that transcribed three days ago. I know I have put you in an undesirable situation now with your father’s wishes for your arranged marriage to the rich banker's son. Forgive me, for I don’t care to remember his name. My dearest, do not put the blame upon yourself. If we had known that there were prying, hateful eyes watching us, I would have waited for you in the stables and not inside your chambers. Jealousy drives even the sanest of people to do the unforgivable. The deep wounds your father has inflicted upon me will heal, but my heart? Oh, how it aches for you, my dearest. If I were not a coward, I would turn back and face the gallows just to see your face one last time, for what else is a man to do when he is in love? I’m heading west, like we planned in the gardens, in hopes that you will follow me and go against your father’s wishes. Please write to me soon, tell me that you are safe, and grace me with your sweet words.

Your devoted Joel

Unspecified date.

My Joel,

I write this to you in secret. My words are only for your eyes, and when you receive my letter, tell no one, my lover. Father is angry, so very angry, and mother only speaks of hate towards you. She is determined to make me press charges against you to hang for a crime you did not commit! Father won’t stand for it and instead we have abandoned the estate, left all of our belongings including our dear horses! They will not tell me where we are going, but I miss you terribly, my Joel. My brothers have been free to marry by their choosing, but I? I cannot. It’s rather cruel, isn’t it? To be given one life and since birth, since I first opened my eyes and gazed upon the new world, my choice has been stolen from my grasp. Oh, my Joel, you speak in sorrows, but the fault lands upon my shoulders. I’m so sorry, lover. I should have been more careful and discreet with our planned rendezvous. I deeply loathe Lady Florence for spying upon us! You are right of her jealousy, and now she claims to be remorseful! Oh, I feel your lips now. Your kiss, your touch upon my skin. My love for you has not weakened, I promise. Hold my words close to your heart, my Joel. I fear I will not be able to write to you again, but I will try, for you. My Joel, you are in my thoughts, always.

You have my heart,

Your Dearest.

-

January 1848, one hour after dusk

The decision to leave Texas and travel to New York to stop yours and the banker’s son’s wedding could quite possibly be the last thing that Joel Miller would ever do. But how could he sleep at night knowing that you were out there, somewhere in the city, thousands of miles away. You had not written to him in so long, but that didn’t deter him from following his heart back to you. He couldn’t fathom life without you in it any longer, and what else is a man to do when he is in love?

That’s how he found himself in the familiar stables, the horses peeking their heads out from their stalls and nickering softly to him in greeting. He kept the single letter you wrote to him safely tucked away in the pocket of his coat, rucksack thrown over his shoulder with what little belongings he possessed. After a new family moved into your home he was given a higher title, a warm bed to sleep in, and he could have married his new boss's daughter and lived a comfortable, happy life, but he declined, for she would never be you, his dearest. Despite turning down every single one of her affections, she still lingered, hoping that one day she would be good enough for his affections and heart.

He was frantically tacking up Sunfyre, cinching up the girth when the barn doors creeped open and Phoebe, his boss’s daughter appeared.

“Joel?” She whispered through the cool evening air, lantern in hand to peer into the low-lit stalls, “what…are you doing?”

He let out a sigh, dropping his hand from the girth and turned around to face her, “lady Phoebe, it’s late. You shouldn’t be out after hours.”

“Neither should you.” She chastised. “Where are you going at this hour, Joel?”

“My lady, that is none of your business. Please, return home. Forget that you ever saw me.”

“You’re going after her, aren’t you? Joel, it’s been years, and she has only written back to you once! It’s in all the papers that she is marrying the banker's son. You could be happy here, with me.” She whispered the last bit, feeling her heart ache for a man who would never feel the same for her.

“Lady Phoebe, “You are a dear friend to me, but I cannot love you, for my heart belongs to another.”

“But I can love you, Joel. I’m right here! She is thousands of miles away and—”

“She is my love, my one true love, and I’ll be damned if I don’t follow my heart. Your heart sings for me, but it’s not my tune to hear. You will belong to another, I promise.” He moved from Sunfyre’s side, grasping Phoebe's hands gently in his calloused palms, “you have to let me, and what could never be between us go.”

-

May 6th, 1848

My Joel, if you’re out there…please, please come find me, lover.

Your Joel wasn’t even sure how the fuck he was supposed to find you in a city as large as New York City. All he knew is that today you were expected to marry the banker’s son, and he would be damned if he didn’t stop this wedding from happening. He asked nearly every passbery in the street if they knew where the biggest wedding of the month would be taking place. It took less time than expected to find his answer, and once he did, he rented the finest suit that he could afford, tucked the ring box safely in his suit pocket, and rode to the chapel.

The wedding bells were already beginning to sweetly chime, and he felt his blood run cold at the sound. Was he too late? He would never forgive himself if he was.

“If anyone here, in this room objects to the unifying marriage between this man and woman, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The officiant spoke at the head of the altar, just as the doors leading into the chapel burst open.

“I OBJECT!” Joel’s familiar voice boomed up the aisle. Hushed murmurs, and surprised gasps echoed throughout the chapel when your eyes landed upon your Joel. All time ceased as you dropped Timothy’s hands, racing down the aisle, the train of your perfectly fitted wedding dress dragged behind you.

Tears flooded your eyes as you threw yourself into your lover's embrace, clinging to him in disbelief with your hands cradling his face. “MY JOEL, YOU CAME FOR ME!”

“Of course I did, my dearest. For what else is a man to do when he is in love?” He murmured, unable to truly process all the feelings he was experiencing at once. But what did it truly matter? The time apart was years, but it was all worth it leading up to this moment.

Your father was already making his way down the aisle, followed by your mother and Timothy when Joel grasped your hand tightly in his and whisked you down the aisle towards the exit. He wasn’t going to let them take you away from him again, not this time.

His grip on your hand did not loosen at the harsh sound of your fathers voice, and even when you were running down the chapel steps in unison, he did not let go until you and him were safely tucked behind a wall of a building, out of sight from the wedding party.

He kept you safely caged against the wall, a burst of memories from the night of firsts that you shared together all those years ago. “My dearest,” he breathed, “I thought I was too late! I thought the wedding already happened and you—”

“My Joel, I—I never thought I would see you again! I only ever received your single letter and I thought that you had moved on, that you had forgotten about me!”

“What?” He shook his head, brows furrowed as he grabbed your hands and brought them to his lips, kissing every inch of your skin there. “My Dearest, I wrote to you many, many times! Did you receive all of my letters? I thought the same! I thought you forgot about your Joel.” He admitted quietly.

“Fuck! I bet it was mother, or father! I bet they were keeping your letters from me, lover! Maybe they thought that if I believed you had forgotten me, I would be more inclined to marry the banker’s son!”

“I would believe that to be true, my sweet. But none of that matters, okay? I’m here now. Your Joel is here, and I will never leave your side again.”

“I-I can’t believe you’re here! Oh, my Joel, I’m so sorry—for everything! I have not stopped thinking about you all these years, I swear it. My heart only has ever belonged to you. I wear his ring, but it means nothing to me!”

“Shh, my love. I know, I know. My heart has only ever belonged to you, my dearest. Only to you. Fuck his ring. I will remove it from your finger so you never have to gaze upon it again.” He rasped, gently grabbing your left hand, scoffing at the enormous rock on your ring finger. “And I will replace it with my own.”

“Please, my Joel.”

He slipped the banker’s son’s ring off of your finger, tucking it into his pocket before he pulled out his own ring box, revealing a smaller, dainter ring beneath the velvet cover.

“It’s not much, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t grace your finger with the largest diamond the world has ever seen, but—I love you, dearest. I came all this way because I couldn’t possibly fathom the thought of losing you to another. I have never loved another soul as I do you, and while I don’t have riches to offer you, shiny carriages, silver platters, I have my heart and I know that it’s worth something to you, darlin.’”

He slipped his ring onto your finger, where it always belonged, and then you finally kissed him, your lips meeting in gentle brush before he surged forward, kissing you with everything that he had to offer. He believed that he was hallucinating, that he was back in Texas, longing for you in his empty bed. But you were here, you were real beneath his fingertips as he licked sweetly into your mouth, hands splayed around your waist, holding you close.

“It’s perfect, my Joel.” You murmured against his lips.

“Only because the lady that wears it is the most beautiful in the entire world. Sunfyre is waiting for us down the street. We can go as far east, west, wherever your heart desires. I will love you eternally, and no one will ever keep us apart, my dearest. I swear it.”

“Let’s go home, my Joel. To Texas. Take me home.”

And so he did, for what else is a man to do when he is in love?

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[felassan]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard art book pages, under a cut due to spoilers:

Scoundrels The scoundrels were an idea to add unique encounters to spice up combat and imply narrative depth. These would be like Batman B villains that cross your path, mess with you, and then run off to bother you another day. The main criteria was that they should be built using existing assets (some of the most rewarding work happens within extreme limitations). Right: The stalker that will never die (returned from Origins). Center: The hardest part about designing scoundrels is knowing you won't be able to build them all (yet). We liked the idea of them joining forces and creating an "anti-party: a group that could specifically counter each of your followers. Illustration labels: The Mouse, Stalker, Son of Sky Watcher, The Blacksmith, The Blood Witch, The Golden Mercenary, The Professor, The Librarian, The Beast, The Owl Gang, The Fox, The Fist, The Librarian, The Dove, The Spectre, The Champion, The Duelist, The Hunter

Illustration labels: The Lava Queen, The Artifact, The Interogator, The Flame, The Black Dragon, The Cartographer, The Marshal, The Blackbird, The Faithless, The Deadly Stillness, The Prince, Madam Venatori, Prof. Skeleton, The Swarm, The Beyondernaught, The Bank, Mournwatch Soldier, Poltergeist, Necroknight

Top: Scoundrels were originally proposed as a replacement for the Inquisitor's judgement scenes. After defeating a scoundrel, you would have a choice about how to deal with them. Bottom: If you killed a scoundrel, you could take their weapons and costume (no matter how outlandish). Or you could spare their life and call on them for a favor later on down the road.

The scoundrels also offered the opportunity to give more faces to the various regions and factions of Thedas. Tevinter libraries may be vast, but how much more vast do they seem if they produce a scoundrel like "the Librarian"?

Bellara Bellara is a Dalish technomancer. When the elven gods emerged, the blighted energy that they brought caused previously dormant elven artifacts to come to life, and Bellara focused her energy on learning how they worked for the benefit of both her fellow Dalish elves and her teammates. Top right: The first sketches of Bellara started with the description of "Jules Verne dork". Center left: She's very intense. She tries to be focused - but attempts too many things at once and ends up getting overwhelmed and not doing any of them, which makes her feel guilty. She then compensates by taking on too much once again. Center right: The rings on Bellara's gauntlet rotate and then lock in place. Bottom left: Bellara's gauntlet allows her to interact with ancient elven technology. ^ Illustration annotations: Moving/semiliquid mirror particles, Also portal for shards, Eluvian map

Top: We designed her to look like the elven version of an academic doing research in the field. Semiformal but simple elven clothing, with every piece of gear she thinks she might need, as well as room to store any fascinating specimens. Center: She likely will never unfold her eluvian map in-game, but we know it's there. Bottom: An unused endgame appearance: Bellara as the new icon of the splendor of the ancient elven empire.

Left: Bellara's space is mostly a workshop where she can continue her research. It's full of ancient elven artifacts, Veil Jumper tools and furniture, and lots and lots of mirrors. Right: Hanging elven artifacts, a metaphor for the weight of her mission pressing down on her.

Left: Hanging fabric to make it cozier. Right: A mirror with someone frozen in it.

Davrin He's an elf in his early thirties, but not a delicate, refined one. He's a monster slayer, tougher than your usual elf in stature and demeanor. Davrin is a seasoned veteran trying to nurture good in a world that keeps throwing evil at him. There's a confidence in him that comes from knowing he's good at what he does. He broke away from his elven clan in his teens because the insularity stifled him. He wanted adventure. Top right: He actively seeks the challenge of monster hunting to test and better himself, figuring if he can come out of a fight alive, it'll forge some steel in his soul. Center: We tried to find the right balance between his elven past and his Warden present. Center right: A soldier surviving in the wilderness. The armor is lighter but preserves the Warden quality. Many elements of his costume are designed to look like pieces he created or modified for himself out in the field with available materials. Bottom: Fighting Elgar'nan's darkspawn at Weisshaupt.

Assan and his siblings are the first live griffons we've seen in Dragon Age. Much like medieval illustrations of exotic animals, there is a slight disparity between living griffons and their artistic representations.

Top right: Classically, griffons' bodies are based on large cats. The bodies of Thedas's griffons are based more on dogs, specifically Great Danes. Center: Assan was a rare first-draft design. The first image of him was exactly right. Center left: An unused endgame appearance for Davrin with a matching "griffon commander" set for him and Assan, marking him as the head of the newly formed griffon cavalry unit. Bottom right: Each one of Davrin's carvings represents countless hours of tracking, studying, and hunting - a symbol of his accomplishments as he carves his way through the monster world, beast by beast.

Left: Davrin's room was meant to allow for lots of natural light and fresh air (as much as you can get in the Fade). Right: Davrin's area is filled with monster-slaying tools and research, as well as a generous number of perching options for Assan.

Emmrich Emmrich is a professor specializing in death magic, hexes, and necromancy. Despite his mastery of dark arts, Emmrich is a friendly, energetic man who loves company and adventure. Deeply curious about everything, especially magic, he's kept himself active by exploring the dangerous catacombs underneath his city and can more than handle himself in a fight. He's part of the Mourn Watch, an elite group of necromancers who protect the world of the living from occult horrors. Right: Emmrich is a very emotive talker: he gesticulates, underlines points with his hands, etc. His enthusiasm comes through transparently in his body language. Left: For his outfit, we explored a combination of academic, mortician, and conductor.

Left: Emmrich's work encompasses death and grief. He's sensitive to how they leave people vulnerable and in need of compassion and kindness. He has a deep well of both, especially for his friends. Right: A regal-looking lich.

Top left: Emmrich has always had thanatophobia - he is a necromancer afraid to die. Through long study and rituals, he's discovered a way to cheat death by becoming undead himself. Center top: Events of the game force him to choose between this strange immortality and reviving a dear friend. Top right: Emmrich must decide to make peace with dying or seize immortality, but either way he comes to a better relationship with death. Bottom: Manfred's space is ideal for studying death and magic in equal measure.

Top center: Emmrich has a collection of artifacts used to study the esoteric. Top right: Emmrich's Fade telescope. If you dare to look, make sure you're not alone. Center left: A Nevarran teapot that belonged to Emmrich's mother. Center: We gave him "guts" made from useful containers Emmrich might need out in the field. Center right: What can be said about Manfed? He is Emmrich's loyal assistant, mentee, and friend.

Harding The dwarf scout from Dragon Age: Inquisition. The girl next door that develops mysterious, powerful abilities connected to the ancient past of her fellow dwarves. Compassionate and cheerful, she is the heart and conscience of the team. Harding strives to remain true to herself and her humble upbringing even as she is flung into darkness and world-changing threats. Center: Harding is the moral compass of the group. A kind woman, she has an optimistic outlook and views the world and those who live in it as inherently good, even as she faces monstrous evils. She does not view attributes like empathy as weaknesses but strengths. A friend to everyone on the team. Bottom: We tried to make Harding's outfit an evolution of an Inquisition uniform. We imagined her on a mission, waiting for days in a sniper perch, biding her time by embroidering beautiful patterns into her sniper cloak.

Top left: Harding must deal with her newfound Stone-based powers that she inadvertently acquires during an early mission in the game. Top right: Even with her new powers, Harding would still be an archer. It was fun to explore what that might look like. Center left: In the early stages, Harding's Stone powers were more extreme, including her skin transforming during combat. Center left 2: It was challenging to make the stone skin look appealing and not like an infection. Bottom left: Harding has a green thumb. Over the course of the game she transforms a dead space into a lush garden (a feat even more impressive in the Fade). Bottom right: A corrupted red lyrium version.

Lucanis A trained assassin possessed by a demon of spite, Lucanis is constantly battling to control the darkness within himself. He is a black-hat badass who can kill anything. As a member of the Antivan Crows, Lucanis feels a sense of loyalty to his house that goes beyond duty or monetary gain. Family is as ingrained in him as holding a dagger the correct way. Center: Lucanis dresses in the Antivan Crows' interpretation of a simple black suit. Center right: Though a hardened killer, Lucanis is cultured and comfortable in both upper-class and underworld social settings. He studies his enemies, learning and testing their weaknesses before striking. Bottom: Lucanis tries not to sleep, so his room is sparse and brooding.

Center left: A pragmatic and confident gangster with a dry, dark sense of humor. He offers no apologies for being morally gray. Center: Calculated and ruthless, he fights with an effortless grace that comes from years of training and experience. Center right: He is an executioner who always gets his mark.

Neve Magical noir detective in the big city. She cares more about everyday people with "right-now problems" than the big picture. Word spread through Minrathous that she'd help people both on and off the record, so she works whatever cases come her way that are worth taking. Her motto: she takes a job, she finishes it, she walks away... If only things were ever that simple. Her fighting style is low, broad, staccato, and effortless. Center: We found consultations with amputees to be very valuable in helping us design not only a stylish and practical prosthetic for Neve, but also the accompanying accessories. Center left: Her ascot is designed to evoke a pit of snakes. Bottom right: The dark elements on her shoulders are based on shoulder holsters.

Top: Neve's outfit is a mix of detective and femme fatale. Center left: As mentioned earlier, Neve's place on the team was originally occupied by the returning villain Calpernia from Inquisition. After the decision to create a new character, the first versions of Neve's design were "Calpernia as a detective". Center right: A cynic with a heart of gold, Neve is clever, driven, and guarded. She has a dry but playful sense of humor. Beneath her nonchalant attitude is someone who cares about what they do and wishes things were better. She can act comfortable in upper-class situations, but she's known to be an outsider, and she's truly in her element in Minrathous's less-rich neighborhoods. Bottom right: Meeting with consultants changed everything about how we designed her prosthetics and equipment. The first impulse was to make something flashy and multipurpose. Instead, we chose not to draw too much attention to it, lest it distract from her character.

Top: Another lesson we learned from the consultants was to not make her prosthetic central. It's off to the side, just a normal part of her day. Bottom: Neve's desk. Humble by Tevinter standards and marked with serpent imagery.

Center: Neve's room is the cassic gumshoe film noir office, with moody lighting and a wall of evidence that grows throughout the game.

Taash As someone who grew up in the free-spirited, multicultural country of Rivain but was raised to respect the Qunari heritage, Taash is a dragon-hunter who walks in two worlds. Top left: Taash can breathe fire thanks to remnants of Qunari dragon blood. Top right: With Taash we tried to find a good balance between Qunari heritage (rope, dragon skin) and Lords of Fortune allegiance (coins, jewelry).

Top left: Taash's idle pose was drawn to give the impression of a fighter after a match. Top right: Taash understands dragons on an instinctual level and hunts and kills any that are a danger to people. Taash is a part of the Lords of Fortune faction, adventurers who seek dragons worth slaying and treasure worth taking. A pair of axes and light armor allow for quick movement - and even getting onto the backs of large enemies.

Getting the Gang Together The characters were largely approved, and this was the first time we saw them all assembled.

Varric It's a joy to revisit characters. It's a great opportunity to visually tell the story of all the years we've missed. Varric is older, a little scruffier, maybe preferring comfort to style as his adventuring days near their end. He's also let go of some of his old priorities, not needing to be flashy, not as concerned about keeping his beard short. We also decided to go with a darker and more washed-out color palette, for reasons that people who have played through the game will understand. Top left: Varric spends the majority of the game bedridden, so we wanted to make the severity of his injuries visible. ^ Illustration annotations: back, front Top right: It's not just Varric that has been on a journey. We wanted to show that Bianca had been well loved over the past decade. Bottom left illustration annotations: Custom-engraved metal plate. Swappable lens. Gem affects abilities. Bianca's scarf. Retractable; see rail on original. Engraved. Rear. Stock made from ancient myrtle tree. Finish is black with hints of blond patterns. Edges line in ivory, while ornate designs are metal. Bottom right: An ancient elven room converted into an infirmary, where Rook recovers.

Solas While known as Solas in present-day Thedas, he was once known as Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, the elven god of betrayal. In ancient times, he rebelled against the other gods, the Evanuris, and sealed them away from the living world, behind the Veil. Solas's true identity remained hidden from the world through the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition and was revealed in the Trespasser DLC. During that time, he was an Inquisition follower masquerading as a simple hedge mage. Top left: Solas's outfit is designed to represent that he has stopped hiding. He is committed to his path, and so he returns to dressing like he did in the old days. Right: The central MacGuffin of the game is Solas's lyrium dagger. Originally it was hidden away in the idol from Dragon Age II. Bottom left: One of the palettes Solas used when painting one of his many historical and confessional murals. Bottom center: Most of the elven gods had dragons. Ever the outsider, Solas instead embraced the Dread Wolf nickname on a grand scale. This creature was based on one of Solas's cards from Inquisition.

some other pages -

Some opening pages

Foreword

Google Books preview pages Part One

Google Books preview pages Part Two

Amazon preview pages

Page batch

Page batch 2

Book art credits:

BioWare art: Matt Rhodes, Ramil Sunga, Albert Urmanov, Christopher Scoles, Nick Thornborrow, Steve Klit

Volta art: Gui Guimaraes, Stéphanie Bouchard, Akim Kaliberda, Alejandro Olmedo, Alexey Zaryuta, Julien Carrasco, Maksim Marenkov, Marianne Martin, Mariia Istomina, Marion Kivits, Matti Marttinen, Mélanie Bourgeois, Pablo Hurtado De Mendoza, Rael Lyra, Rodrigo Ramos, Thomas Schaffer, Tiago Sousa, Tristan Kang, Vladimir Mokry, Yintion J, Joseph Meehan, Stefan Atanasov, Julien Carrasco

Additional art: Marc Holmes, Thomas Scholes

[labs]

Introducing Collections

Hello again, Tumblr. Labs division here!

A while back, we announced our comeback as a new team that would imagine big ideas for Tumblr—and would build them in public (aka with you). We recently announced our first failure, and today we're very excited to announce our first possible success!

A bit of context

As we've said before, an essential part of how we're working in Labs is speaking to people who use Tumblr pretty much on a daily basis and those who don’t use it at all.

In those interviews and focus groups, we learned that curating the Tumblr experience around different interests and fandoms is a big part of making Tumblr feel like your own space — and one of the main ways you do that is through blogs and tags (be it following or creating them).

So here at Labs we're working on ideas to help you curate the content you care about, and to help share what makes your experience fun with other people, even if they are not on Tumblr already.

Ok, but what's the idea?

Have you ever put together a song playlist to listen to when you're in a certain mood, or share with a specific friend? Or sent them books you know they'll love? Now imagine if you could do that with blogs and tags on Tumblr…

Maybe you're a veteran in a fandom and have the best recommendations of who to follow for your followers. Or your best friend won't join Tumblr because they don't know that their favorite TV show is actually really popular here. Or maybe you want to curate and browse content from a specific fandom, or a group of your mutuals, your own way.

That's the idea behind Collections!

You can check out that example collection on the web here!

We want your help

The first way we're testing Collections is by inviting some of you to create your own and share with followers and friends—they'll be able to follow all the blogs and tags in your collections. So we're looking for volunteers!

You want to help? Great! Here's what you need to do:

Come up with your own Collections of blogs and tags, write it down somewhere. Focus on introducing people to Tumblr or recommending stuff to your followers. What would you want them to first see on your version of Tumblr?

Come up with a name, cover image, and description for it. Also try to think of who you would send your collection to, and where you might post about it.

Write out that idea as a reply or reblog on this post!

We’ll give it a few days, and pick a handful of people to play with Collections. We'll let you know. Then we’re off to the races!

If you decide to participate (and get selected), please note that this early release won’t work on the apps yet, only in your web browser. 

What happens next?

Our goal is to keep working on improving and adding Collection functionalities while you test what we've built (and share your feedback with us).

Next we’re exploring making a collection something you can follow on Tumblr, as a way to curate Tumblr around your many interests and moods, and to give you more freedom to curate content on your dashboard.

And if this idea is not for you, remember we have many more experiments in progress, so stay tuned!

With love,

Labs division

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

What exactly *are* the angels, in your opinion? Are they in fact Eridan's consorts? What do you think their purpose was supposed to be in the game?

ok, let's be super clear about this, the angels are NOT consorts.

Consorts are a very well-defined type of game NPC. they're drawn from the same bipedal, puppet/plushie looking base model, and always describable as a type of IRL amphibian or semi-aquatic reptile (to tie in with the genesis frog) - salamanders, iguanas, crocodiles, and turtles have all been seen. they serve as the first questgivers/exposition fairies a player will usually see (except in cases where they wake up on their moon early, in which case they might meet carapacians first), and will usually provide hints as to the player's personal quest, classpect abilities, etc.

while they aren't very smart, they can follow simple commands, and will automate building the player's house (which ultimately serves to release their grist in order to create a new universe) and take over other repetitive duties like that. knowing this about consorts, it's pretty obvious that the angels are not that, though snake consorts wouldn't necessarily be out of the question, since they would fulfill the semi-aquatic IRL reptile requirement. Still, if a player did have snake consorts, they would physically resemble and function as john's salamanders. (fwiw, i like to headcanon that eridan's consorts were indeed snakes, and that karkat's were basilisk lizards)

thus, we can conclude that angels are some auxiliary NPC, like the brains on sollux's planet, the fireflies on john's, or the hummingbirds on jade's. they're still tied in with the player's personal quest, but they aren't an underling/consort/carapacian, whose roles are more defined.

hussie describes in the book commentary that angels are literally born from Hope, and we see this in action within the comic itself, as the Hope field jake summons ends up spawning a few angels itself. we also know that the angels are the source of prophetic whispers... which don't necessarily seem to be true, except as the Hope player (whose main powerset revolves around Making Fake Things Real) can make them true. they apparently whisper about their "lord" to eridan, or the "evil wizard" to cronus, though we've never heard a firsthand source.

However, i do believe it's possible to glean what the angel prophecies actually sounded like. sollux actually provides a description of angels, while he's talking to terezi, where he explains that they're "feathery demons that paradox space uses to usher in the end". therefore, we can conclude that, despite being born of Hope, they prophecize hopeless things - the evil wizard, their lord - without necessarily prophecizing hopeFUL things, like that the Hope player is meant to rise to defeat them - that this is left for the Hope player to figure out and make real, to refute the hopeless prophecy.

Their vaguely ominous nature tracks with some other stuff in the comic - that LE is described as the "angel" of double-death, that cherubs in general are named after a type of angel, and that when they show up from jake's Hope field, the other characters (who have never seen them before) are instinctively put off and wary of them. i think they're intended to be read as embodiments of narrative impotence, counterbalancing the power of Hope's ability to warp reality itself, born from especially powerul sources of it. these sorts of dichotomies and dualities are present throughout homestuck, so i don't think it's too far-fetched.

now i'm going to get into much more speculative, headcanon-y territory, so feel free to disregard this part. Personally, i like the idea that eridan was supposed to aggro and kill his angels - just not YET.

We see from his planet that it's enveloped in this blinding white light, so bright that eridan has to wear some douchey ass shades to stand outside in. this is, in all likelihood, a Hope field, like the one Jake summons - and it's where the angels are spawning from. moreover, his land is called the land of WRATH and angels, with wrath sounding suspiciously like Rage, Hope's opposite attribute. i'm personally of the belief that, had eridan done his quest "properly," as a Prince of Hope - one who destroys Hope or destroys with Hope - he would've had to learn both how to destroy the Hope field, as well as how to quell the rage on his planet.

In other words, personally, i think his quest would've been to destroy the Hope field, which would've enraged the angels, but also - the crucial step that he missed - would've prevented them from respawning. Having displayed mastery over destroying Hope, he would've then had to USE Hope to destroy the enraged angels, which would've given him the tools he'd have needed to destroy the lord they prophecized, given another thing hussie notes Hope can explicitly do is overpower forces otherwise thought undefeatable - Hope vs. sollux's eye beams, and later, jade's green sun abilities. It's likely that, fully realized and with a good enough shot, eridan would've been able to completely bypass normal game rules like god tier immortality, or even LE's unconditional immortality. unfortunately, eridan ended up giving in to the forces of narrative impotence and hopelessness, so this was never realized.

[spirkevents]

New Summer 2025 Event: Spirk in a Cave

WHAT IS IT? 

The people who brought you Live Long and Pinup and the Zine O’Biology are back with a Shiny new Summer Spirk Event!

Welcome to the tropiest of tropes - our beloved Space Husbands are trapped in a cave! Why are they there? How long will they be alone? What will they do with this precious time? That’s entirely up to you! 

We’re looking for writers and artists to show us your version of Spirk in a Cave. You’re welcome to use any iteration of Spirk: TOS, TAS, TOS Movies, AOS Movies, or SNW. They all deserve some quality cave time. 

WHEN IS IT?

July 12 - 21, 2025

HOW WILL IT WORK?

Pick a date from the list below. We’ll update it as the dates fill up. Right now we're booking two people per day. If every date gets taken we’ll do a third round of signups.

Send an Ask to this very blog including your chosen date and whether you are an artist, a writer, or some other exciting sort of fan creator.

We will send you an invite to join the Spirk Events Server (a fantastic community of Spirk writers and artists)

When your chosen posting date rolls around, post your fic/art/creation on AO3 and Tumblr.

Add your work to the Spirk in a Cave AO3 collection

In addition to your own descriptions, also add these tags: # spirk in a cave # spirk events 

Once your work is posted on AO3, feel free to share it far and wide!

Follow this blog for updates

We can’t wait to see the fics and works of art you’ll create around the theme “Spirk in a Cave” 

Fine Print: 

Fic minimum length is 2000 words. No max, but know yourself and be realistic about how much you can write in the next 14 weeks.

All art should depict Spirk in a Cave. Fic doesn't have to take place exclusively in the cave, but your cave scene should be important.

This is an 18+ event. Sorry, youths!

Since it’s an 18+ event your fanwork can be any rating you’d like! Have fun!

You need an AO3 account to participate. If you don’t have one yet, they’re free! 

Admission to the server is provisional. If you post your fanwork then great! You’re in! If not, we’ll regretfully ask you to leave. However, that’s not a perma-ban. You’re welcome to join up again the next time we have an open event! 

Please let us know in advance if you won’t be able to post your work. We won't be mad! Real life happens. The sooner we know the sooner we can open up that slot for other people. 

IMPORTANT SERVER INFORMATION

The Spirk Events Server is a sex-positive, NSFW, 18+ Discord created by and for Spirk writers and artists. You will see frequent and enthusiastic discussions of Vulcan dicks.

If you’re not comfortable with adult content then you do not have to join. If you do join, be prepared for fra’als!

AVAILABLE EVENT DATES

Whoo hoo! We're up to 30 participants!

Our spelunkers found a new room in the cave. Now FOUR people can post on each day! Pick the available date that works best for you!

July 12 @sktchsnstff and @jennelikejennay and @deliciousblizzardshark and @worldendsonvhs

July 13 @hollohat and @jelliedlimes and @spocks-longterm-boyfriend and @grannypoprocks

July 14 @illegalpaladin and @fruitsboots and @lenin-it-to-win-it

July 15 @deadbeat0club and @msbonnibelbubblegum and @vex-glitch

July 16 @zelda-bird and @dat-carovieh and @self-made-purgatories and @lichqueenlibrarian

July 17 @alternatefuturesao3 and @fanfic-phoenix

July 18 @rizuno and @affixjoy and @jexibug and @android-and-ale

July 19 @outerspacedunce and @masutra-vedik and @spocklovemail @gracefulblabber

July 20 @celestialvoyeur and @spirkme915 and @genshos

July 21 @ncc-1701-uss-enterprise and @veebeejeebies and @forfuckssakejim

To lock down your posting date and get an invitation to the server, follow the spirkevents blog then DM us by clicking the "Ask Me Anything" button. We can only DM you if we're mutuals. Once you get the invite you're welcome to break up with the blog.

[berryispunk]

How to Fall in Love - Your Guide to The Perfect Meet-Cute 

summary: What does this guy do in your bookstore in this shitty weather? Guess you'll find out.

notes: This was a spontaneous idea that came to me while walking the dog. For all the Frankie stans, hope you love this as much as I do. <3 Frankie deserves better!

tags: fluff, fluff and more fluff, no further physical description of reader, F/M pairing, meet-cute, first meeting, falling in love, soft!Frankie, Frankie being babygirl, brief mention of addiction, if you squint Frankie is insecure, no mention of y/n, no smut (i'm sorry)

word count: 2,1 k

It’s a rainy Wednesday afternoon in autumn. The streets outside of the tiny bookstore you’re working in are relatively empty. If there are people exposing themselves to the elements they are ushering into the surrounding stores not to get wet because it’s literally pouring. You turn your gaze back to your book, a poetry book you just grabbed from the “New In” sales table in front of the bookstore. You haven’t checked out this book yet, but you had mentally put it on your TBR list, already.

You sit down at the cash register and can’t help yourself but open the first page. Poetry is something you find yourself drawn to the most. It fascinates you that people are able to put such complex feelings into beautiful words that sound nothing like the horrors being transported by them. You’re just about to turn over another page as the ringing sound of the little doorbell tells you someone entered the store. You don’t even bother looking up from your book and just tell the person your usual greeting. “Hello and welcome. Make yourself comfortable, if there’s anything I can do for you I am here.” And you couldn’t sound anymore effortless.

It’s silent, only the soft guitar acoustic sounds playing over the stereo creating some background noise until you hear a squeaking noise. Wet shoes. The person must have paused to look around before entering the store. They wear some really squeaky, wet shoes and it makes your toes curl. It’s a really nasty, high-pitched noise and you frown for a moment, trying your hardest to concentrate back on the last sentence you read for the fifth time in a row now.

You give up, sigh heavily and put your bookmark -  a slip of something you bought for lunch - between the pages and close the book. You decide to put it under the cash register counter and finally look up, only catching a flash of a dark navy baseball cap disappearing behind a bookshelf.

If you hadn’t just heard the squeaking noise and saw the cap behind the bookshelf you could’ve sworn you’re still alone in the store because the person you just greeted minutes ago made no other audible noise.

You rise from your stool behind the cash register and start wandering the store, just to make sure the person isn’t stealing something because your boss will literally kill you if that happens. You head straight to the shelf you saw the person disappearing behind and you are greeted by a tall, broad-looking guy with a mustard colored jacket that is clearly soaking wet.

The guy with the dark navy cap studies the shelf in front of him closely, his big hand running over the book covers and moving his lips, but from the distance you’re standing at you can’t hear him. The cap is worn deep, almost covering his eyes, creating a dark shadow in the dimly-lit room but what it doesn’t cover is his aquiline nose. Dark curls peeking out from under the cap, one lock stuck to his temple, clearly wet too.

His side profile catches you off guard for a moment. The strong, slightly crooked nose, the plush lips, with the slightly bigger bottom lip creating a really unique facial silhouette and you can’t help but stare at him for a moment longer than would be considered decent.

After a bit you find your bearings and clear your throat softly, announcing your presence but it seems he’s too lost in thought to notice your company. You decide to take a step closer to him, making it obvious you’re next to him and start to rearrange some slightly out of place spines on the shelf.

Finally the stranger looks up, finding your eyes directly and you feel like your knees are about to give in. His dark brown eyes light up slightly as he gives you a polite smile, creating some minor wrinkles around his eyes making it obvious he’s at least ten years older than you. You do your hardest not to blush and look away, but damn the way he stares directly into your soul makes your heart skip a beat.

“Oh, hey. Sorry, have you been standing there for long? I didn’t…,” he trails off, his voice as beautiful and warm as his eyes are. His deep bass is shining through with every syllable.

You shake your head.

“Not for long, don’t worry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. You looked so focused.” Your admission is honest, giving him a soft smile back and his own widens in return. You notice the heat in your cheeks growing.

Thanking every cosmic creature that the store isn’t that perfectly lit and the stranger hopefully doesn’t notice your blushing cheeks.

“Yeah, I...um… I’m searching for something specific. Either way I’m too oblivious to see it or it’s simply the wrong aisle.” He furrows his brows slightly as he simultaneously adjusts his cap, rearranging his dark, curly mess under it before he puts it back on. Is he nervous?, you wonder.

“Tell me what you’re looking for and maybe I can help you,” you answer immediately, the professional smile never leaving your face.

He studies your face for a moment, as if he’s contemplating if you’re honest or not so you nod reassuringly.

He clears his throat.

“Self help books. I’m looking for self help books,” he says, his voice possibly not sounding as confident as it did in the beginning of the conversation.

“Yep, wrong aisle it is. We’re in the DIY section. Follow me, I’ll show you the right one,” you say in a friendly tone and tilt your head to follow you so he does.

“Here,” you announce to him. You have barely moved from the aisle you found him in.

He smiles grateful at you and nods. “I am at the cash register if you need anything else.” You turn around and walk towards the place you were sitting at just minutes ago.

No way in hell you’re able to go back reading that poetry book if this mysterious, good-looking man is wandering around your bookstore but you try anyway, trying to mask the excitement his presence alone is giving you.

He’s really handsome and looks way out of place in this tiny old bookstore. Such a guy isn’t an everyday occurrence after all. Sure, there are plenty of customers everyday. Maybe even some halfway decent ones, but you never felt this heat in your cheeks before while they’re smiling at you and you silently curse yourself and start to question everything.

The way you’re dressed today, with this old basic-as-fuck flannel shirt, an oversized band tee under it and some black leggings. You’re the epitome of “basic bitch” today. This fit does absolutely nothing for your figure but how the hell should you have known that this attractive stranger would enter your store when there were hardly any people coming in at all. You find yourself tucking a bit on your shirt and even smelling at the flannel to check if there’s any strong smells to it but all you notice is the perfume you’re wearing.

You’re catapulted back into the present immediately as the stranger places two books on the counter. One being Addiction Recovery - Skills to Rewire the Brain and the other being The Addiction Recovery Book Workbook - Powerful Skills for Preventing Relapse and you look up from the counter, your eyes meeting his but he immediately looks away. You want to say something, anything, but you sense his discomfort so you decide to stick to professionalism. You scan the books with practiced ease and say “That makes $32, please.”

“Sure,” he mumbles as he presents his credit card and you push the payment device wordlessly closer to him. As he places his card on the display you catch the name on it. Francisco Morales, you smile to yourself.

“Francisco, huh?” you interrupt the awkward silence and he looks at you with a mix of confusion and astonishment.

“Your card. Sorry, I just….” you apologize but he chuckles and all of a sudden the atmosphere is way lighter as he searches for your face again and smiles sheepishly.

“Frankie. Just… Frankie, please,” he snickers, the corners of his mouth still up and you nod.

“Okay, Just Frankie,” you reply. You place the books in a small paper bag and hand them to him, your own smile not faltering. “Have a nice day.”

He nods, lifting his cap once again and bows playfully. “For you too, ma’am.” His smile is even wider and you can’t help but giggle as he heads toward the entrance.

You watch him going down the paved road of the pedestrian zone, the pouring rain finally ceasing. Your gaze follows him until he’s completely out of sight and you feel a twinge of regret.

This was your chance and you missed it. You really thought there was a little spark, but obviously you're mistaken because he didn’t even ask for your name. You sigh, slump back on your stool, burying your face back into the book as the doorbell rings again.

“Hello and welcome. Make yourself comfortable. If there’s anything I can do for you I am here,” you repeat your usual sentence.

“You already said that earlier,” a familiar voice ringing in your ear and you look up immediately this time. Looking into these beautiful dark brown eyes, this time with a tint of hazel in them. As the sun breaks through the clouds it’s creating a soft, golden glow through the shop windows, illuminating his features perfectly. This would be the perfect movie scene, you think to yourself.

You lay down your book and give him your full attention. “Yeah, it’s automatic, you know.” You giggle and this time you don’t care about the slight blush on your cheeks.

“Sorry I was a dumb-ass earlier. I didn’t even ask for your name in return. I was…,” he pauses, “caught off guard,” he admits and it only causes your cheeks to get hotter.

He felt it too. The spark.

“It’s alright,” you appease him and tell him your name.

His smile widens. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” he says cheeky and you laugh, an honest laugh.

“Watch out, don’t trip over your own slime trail.”

He laughs back, a deep rumbling laugh and you know in this moment you’re absolutely smitten.

"Anyway. You think you want to grab a coffee sometime?” he asks, a smirk on his face.

You nod. “I’d love to. My shift is over in an hour. If that’s not too spontaneous for you?”

He shakes his head. “Sounds perfect. I come pick you up then.” he replies, the wide grin still on his face and you giggle again.

You don’t remember the last time you went out with a total stranger to be honest. And a customer on top of that.

“See you around then, Just Frankie,” you remark on his comment from earlier and he laughs again as he heads towards the door and winks at you one last time before he’s out of sight once more.

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

It is raining again when the two of you sit in a café near the store. Frankie sits really close to you, the chair legs of his chair intermingling with yours. He couldn’t be any closer as he puts his arm around your shoulder. You move easily into the embrace, your head leaning closer to him.

“You know… I’m glad you never asked me about the titles of the books I bought.”

“Which books? You have bought so many since I met you but read none of them.”

There is a rumble in his chest and he’s clearly amused by your statement.

“No, the ones I bought when we first met. I guess you still remember that?” Of course you remember your meeting, because it feels almost like destiny now. There’s a short silence, and you can almost hear him thinking.

“Thank you for never judging people like me for their addiction,” his tone is sincere.

“You know I only ever cared about your looks and your skills in the sack, don’t you?” You both laugh. You grab for the hand that is not around your shoulder and hold it tight. In return, you receive a peck on your head.

“I’ve never really cared much for books, but I’m so glad I went into the bookstore that day. In the end I didn’t read them but they were worth every penny.”

He turns your hands over and plays with the ring on your left ring finger.

[wholesalemagnesiumoxide]

The Simslops Afterword

hello everybody! thank you for reading my book. seeing people talk about it has been very gratifying & encouraging.

i was going to write this up essay style, but doing it as a q&a is more fun and still lets me cover everything i wanted to, so let's begin.

q&a

first off, a question from @aminoasinine which i'll address in parts:

I really enjoyed Simslops, and in particular I think the "dwarf fortress event log" style of writing is a great way to showcase the machine/algorithm aspect of it. What software was used for this? Did it have trouble keeping track of so many characters? I noticed the centipedes and other numbered masses were accurately tracked throughout the text, which is something that I know AI tends to struggle with. I'm also curious to know how much of the chapters' 'plot' was laid out in advance by the prompting, and whether any major events were the result of emergent narrative. In particular, the coffin + Maude's Salvation plot towards the end definitely felt like direct intervention on your part, but was the AI reacting to you inserting those things, or were you editing the text around them after the fact?

the simslops is the product of a custom program written in nodejs. the source code is available at the download page if you want to examine it in detail, but the core of the framework is as follows:

there are actors, items, and rooms with names and numerical flags.

there are actions, each defined by their conditions, effects upon the scene, and chance of being selected.

each chapter is defined by its starting conditions and available actions.

each round or tick (whatever you want to call it), a random available action is applied to the scene.

this is repeated until an action ends the scene or there are no more actions left to perform.

each action narrates itself when applied to a scene. for example, the source code for the "pick up an item" action looks like this:

hopefully this is at least semi-intelligible if you don't know javascript. the first parameter defines what the action acts upon: in this case, an actor and an item. the second is the condition: the item must not already be held, and it must not have the pickupAttempted flag. the third is responsible for how the action affects the scene, and the string it returns is how the action is described in the text. when an actor goes to pick something up, if that something is immovable, this is noted. (otherwise every scene devolves into everybody struggling to pick up a couch.) if it's not immovable, the actor picks it up. the first case is described with "actor tries to pick up item, but it's hardly portable." (a reference to the inform 7 default responses) and the second with "actor picks up item." the fourth parameter says to multiply this action's weight by ten if the item in question has a description and has yet to be examined.

each action is defined similarly. a handful use grammars for more varied output, but the majority just have simple fill-in-the-blank sentences. all together there's nearly 6k lines of nodejs to define the whole book. this project started as a test case for this framework, actually. i was outlining a short story and hating it and had a thought: what if i wrote a program to generate an outline for me? then i could have a skeleton to work from and could get to the fun part, the actual writing. out of whimsy i decided to put some simpsons characters in a room and make them fuck. this is a more exhaustive test case than you'd expect. it handles solo actions (moaning) and pair actions (lustful looks & sex.) sex only happens when both participants are horny, which requires setting flags for each actor. kramer's appearance is an action not tied to anything in the scene, and giving birth is an action that creates new actors. a great deal of my motivation here (and in many other things) was "wouldn't it be funny / fucked up if..." but it also did its job of test case pretty well. once i added items, that necessitated inventories; theft & picking up & putting down all require certain types of checks.

it's funny that you mention emergent narrative, because i really think the simslops really became what it was in the telling. early in the process i became enamored with the image of one of the characters descending through text adventure geography, lost and alone. thus came the turn to pathos. i had read "does marge have friends" some time prior, which inspired maude's inclusion and the role she plays. from there i built things out with twin eyes toward thematics and "funny/fucked up". i do find it interesting to what extent all that was emergent from the implementation. it's a framework that tends towards reducing things to mush. a semantic satiation machine.

anyway, i hope this answers your question --- it's not LLM-based, it uses older, more "traditional" procgen techniques. the plot of each chapter is roughly scaffolded by the actions i attach to it. it's really incredibly authored; it's difficult for this framework to surprise me except by juxtaposition. under this framework it's also pretty trivial to track any number of actors. so, to answer this question from @zedogica:

how much of simslops was embellished from the original generated text? a few moments stood out to me

none of it. you can download the source and get your own personal simslops. the only human embellishment was done during development. in an ideal world, this would live on a server somewhere and everyone could download a unique generation. unfortunately, i don't have the knowhow for that kind of thing. (my understanding is that you need to do a lot when writing server-side code to make sure you don't expose a million security vulnerabilities.) i've contented myself with doing what i can client-side: releasing the source code & setting up the download button to give you one of five pre-generated outputs.

returning to aminoasinine's question:

I also really like the difference in language used during the Deviltongue chapters. It's interesting to see what changes when the tone is explicitly defined as 'horror' or 'scary', and how that seemingly translates to those bizarre compound words like tribulationmalice and torturefrenzy. I think it's my favorite chapter(s) in general because of how it takes a much different tone and hammers it into the same monotonous nothing as the other chapters despite its more 'active' and ostensibly 'less boring' setting than your standard centipede sex house. everything shakes and moans and howls with blood-malice, lymph and spines standing on end, over and over until it doesn't mean anything anymore. everyone and everything is trembling in fear of a grim finality bearing down that never actually comes, because nothing ever ends. It's the same nothing-emotion as all the unbearable passionate lust in the sex scenes, an emotional signifier that signifies absolutely nothing.

thank you! the strange compounds are a product of the aforementioned grammars, as are the shaking and moaning and howling. writing the dungeon & horror chapters made me realize i really like broad, dumb pastiches. there's something very satisfying about taking cliches and mangling them.

Anyway, the choice to have 'pet the dog' in every scene did not go unnoticed, I think the last three lines are my favorite part, and finally, I think every book from now on should open with a horoscope chart made from out of context quotes. Thank you for making this, I will be watching your neocities with great interest :)

thank you for reading it! two fun facts about the horoscopes:

each entry's text is taken from a random item description.

the dates are wrong, each offset by a day. due to my strong personal convictions i wished to stress that this novella in no way endorses the practice of astrology.

an anonymous question:

So Marge crying during the video game sequence show the reduction of feelings into simple fun, even though the human experiencing the games in question might feel other emotions when playing them. But what do the horror sections represent? I got the gist of most parts, but as I don’t engage with horror medium often I feel like the commentary is lost on me. What were you trying to say with the horror sections, in other words?

first: one of the major benefits of the framework i used here is that it's very good at creating unintended juxtapositions. the only prerequisite for weeping is if the actor in question is holding part of a corpse, but depending on the context, it can take on a number of different connotations.

second:

a lot of usamerican horror films (particularly aliens and predator) are sublimations of the anxieties surrounding the vietnam war. both are about big grizzled soldier guys getting picked off by an unseen yet omnipresent foe who can strike from anywhere. hell, one of them is even set in a jungle. slender: the eight pages, being a game about the Scary Getter following you around in a forest, feels of a type with these.

seymour skinner was a us soldier in the vietnam war.

in that vein, another anonymous question:

also I understand almost all of the references in the chicken’s names but how does sylvester stallone figure into colonialism?

one of sylvester stallone's two big roles is the rambo series, where he's a heroic us soldier rescuing prisoners of war in vietnam, repelling the soviets in afghanistan, or performing other jingoistic acts of horrendous violence. the other is rocky where he plays a white boxer (the "italian stallion") who's built up as a contender to the current reigning champion, Black boxer apollo creed. he's of a type with the other americana culture slop included, i think.

another question from aminoasinine:

Damn, I thought of another question right after I sent that long-ass ask. What was the thought process behind making The Bart such a minor part of the story? Is it out of a desire (or the AI's internal rules) not to have a child present in the gore/sex chapters, or is it more about how Bart as a character seems almost /more/ of a product or symbol than any of the other characters? Like, he can't really mingle with the other 'people' in this setting, because he is something beyond, having transcended any semblance of characterhood to become ONLY product? Is this the end state of every simslop, to eventually be reduced to a series of identical stimuli on a conveyor belt of endless content?

i settled on the cast of characters pretty early. homer and marge are obvious. ned is also pretty obvious. maude is the emotional core. "kramer bursts in" is a pretty common meme. and i had steamed hams edits on the brain, so seymour gets to come, too. i scaffolded out my story with a focus on these six and whatever pathos & resonance i could wring out of them.

i don't think i had any plans to include bart until i came up with that pun. "the work of bart in the age of mechanical reproduction." that + the factory itself is a very good illustration of the funny/fucked up philosophy & dichotomy. (i think i also had the bart doll from the trash meteor episode of futurama in mind.)

anyway, to answer your actual question: yeah, i didn't want to put bart in the main story because i didn't want to put a child in the mix, and he didn't fit in the outline i had drawn up. i think the intermissions pretty accurately capture the pathos of bart & milhouse, though. the funko pop scamp and the perpetual punching-bag.

this next question is from @where-your-eyes-dont-go:

I'm curious about the reason for "_ pets the dog" being such a frequent refrain in so many sections. I could read it a few ways— it's an action that's often used to humanize characters, and it occasionally does seem to give the characters more apparent personhood, the action almost automatically being interpreted by the reader as affection showcasing an internal life—but its repetition seems to force the reader to instead view it as just another merely automatic process. It also could be a bit of commentary on the common claim that a "pet the dog" button in video games automatically makes such games better. I'd love to know more about your thought process here.

early in the development process, i added "actor votes blue." as an inane flavor action. rqd suggested they pet the dog, and i thought it was brilliant. "can you pet the dog" is exactly the kind of empty posturing i want to satirize. i thought it would be best if the dog is never simulated otherwise. just as petting the dog is an empty gesture in games, in the simslops the dog only exists "in flavor", not mechanically. there is no dog actor or dog affection flag, it's just implied there's a dog around for each scene. the suggestion of something cozy and wholesome and cute happening without any actual substance. (and bob was there, too.)

(a friend had to dissuade me from adding "actor realizes why they're called Kojima games" as another flavor action.)

this anonymous question befuddled me a bit:

have you read Marge Simpson Anime?

"marge simpson anime... what in the world is marge simpson anime?" and then i looked it up and found a tumblr blog with a bunch of drawings of marge and went "oh yeah! marge simpson anime!" i haven't read it, but i've definitely seen it around, and i'm definitely at least in conversation with it.

(on the subject of things i'm in conversation with, i realized recently that i absolutely should have put too many cooks and the simpsons au where homer is in pain in the further reading section.)

a question from @theoretically-questionable:

I'm curious as to why the choices of both explicit sexual acts and disregard for consistent anatomy within said acts were made for Simslops; was it simply a transgression, influenced by the (surprising) amount of actual simpsons porn, or something else?

this one also befuddled me. my original intent had been to generate oddball descriptions of a consistent set of genitals, but, like. on further reflection, that super isn't borne out by the text. i think my mental image of things changed when i added the "adverbly-verbing" snowclone to the sex grammar. (score one for emergent narrative.) my initial motivation was that i think over-the-top, too-mechanical-to-be-erotic sex is a fun thing to write a generator for, and i find kramer and homer doing obscene things to each other amusing. the end result is a lot more mastaba snoopy in a way i really like.

here's a question from @txttletale:

why the simpsons? as opposed to, for example, family guy

i've had to think for a while on this. my instinctive response is "it was essentially random, an act of whimsy," but that's not a very good answer. surely something drew me to the simpsons, even if it was subconscious. let's try and peel it back a layer. my next theory has to do with pathos. it is very difficult to wring anything remotely poignant out of peter griffin. you put peter griffin in a scary cave and he goes "this reminds me of the time i was in the descent" and we get some inane cutaway gag. i can't imagine lois expressing anything more sincere than a scott the woz video. there's an obvious pathos to meg, the constant butt of the joke; treating her with any degree of seriousness gets you pathos in spades. similarly, that comic where chris griffin and bart simpson go to couples therapy is genuinely affecting. there's something there, but it's a very different something from what the simslops ended up being. (for one, i wouldn't feel comfortable doing all the centipede sex stuff if my principal characters are kids.) there's a similar issue with trying this with south park (which was also something i don't have much familiarity with). while the fandom has bafflingly devoted a great deal of time and energy to the emotional struggles of those little weirdos, i don't really see much potential there.

on the other end, we have futurama, a show with perhaps too much emotional weight to go in the blender in the same way. like, there are the episodes with fry's dog and fry's brother and leela's parents. similarly, bob's burgers and bojack horseman (and i'm sure many other shows) draw their characters too realistically. the simpsons hits a sweet spot. its characters are cartoon-enough, commodified-enough, and emotional-enough. they're in the goldilocks zone along all these axes.

in the simpsons movie, there's a bit where bart and ned go fishing. bart messes up somehow, ned goes to assist, and bart flinches away, expecting to be strangled. what was once a comedy routine, a subversion of the "father-knows-best" sitcom family, is treated with real emotional weight.

how did they ever come back from that? by the end of the film homer had redeemed himself as a person and as a father. it was the emotional climax of the movie or whatever. roll credits. there were a million billion more seasons and despite the increasing age of the voice cast, more simpsons are extruded every day. why bother? the rotten heart was laid bare nearly two decades ago.

finally, a question from @fattyopossum:

have you seen any interpretations of it youd consider like. unexpected, in either a good ro bad way? any takes on it now that its been out that youw erent expecting people to get or new interpretations people brought to it that really resonated with you

a lot of the thematic weight of the simslops feels post-hoc to me, like a new interpretation that wasn't there when i wrote it. again, it really became what it was in the telling; technical decisions lead to thematic weight. all characters who have sex have the same genitalia. i decided this because it made writing the sex grammar easier. however, it's also a huge thematic boon. casting marge and maude as transfem makes maude's abjection and their love for eachother much more impactful. it's really easy for me to get chicken-or-the-egg about it. which came first, the High Artistry or the Funny/Fucked Up?

(the real answer, of course, is that it doesn't matter. the text exits anyway and i must shepherd it as it exists, not as i intended it. ego death of the author.)

as for other people's interpretations: i'm quite pleased about the reasoning that anon expressed earlier for why marge was crying while platforming. i was also happy to hear a friend's read that kramer had finally found peace in the meadows, that she's with the girls and relaxing and having snacks. it's not really borne out by the text, but it's such a comforting thought, right? maybe if we imagine kramer happy, she will be.

trivia

the first commit hit my git repo in september 2024, and the simslops released march 2025. all in all it took about six months of on-and-off work.

the name "deviltongue" comes from a character i played in a game of neptune's pride. he ended up getting betrayed and dying badly. so it goes. (on a similar note: as a kid, i thought his name actually was "slideshow bob".)

originally, the sundervalley chapters were going to feature more of the classic cozy small farmer simulator tropes. homer was gonna go fishing and chat up the town's eligible bachelors: crow, tom, and cam. it would've distracted too much from the real core of the chapter, though, so it never got implemented.

my original design for the cover looked like this:

i'm still not sure i made the right decision switching to the final composition. i like the oddness of eyes on the hair in that version, but the lines over the hair in the this version remind me of one of the ways you see dicks censored in hentai, which feels thematically appropriate.

on that subject, this texture:

is a heavily mangled collage of a bunch of ai generated images, each of which was created by using the name of a simpsons' character as both prompt and negative prompt. it shows up in the download buttons and (in heavily desaturated form) on the final version of the cover.

the blurbs were slightly modified grammar output. i was pretty fried the day of release & wasn't able to think of anything, so rqd suggested i use a relevant wikipedia extract and use a grammar for the blurbs. i think it turned out pretty well.

there are six secret characters in the simslops. have you found them?

future work

i think i've taken this framework as far as it will go. the system of numerical flags got bent when i stored the farm workers' country of origin as text. the more linear plotted segments required a set of flags trading off each other, which is fiddly to coordinate. generally, everything is very siloed off. the clearest example of this is in the grammars for generating the various bits of procedural text. they're fun to write, and i'm always delighted by the results, but there's a lot of duplication of effort in my current approach. each chapter that uses procedural text has its own grammar with its own set of words and phrases. this is basically fine in this case, but it's not something i want to deal with for future projects. writing grammars is fun, like building a shipyard in a bottle, but it gets mind-numbing after a while. you can only come up with synonyms for laugh so many times, yknow?

my dream is a single massive grammar all output text runs through. since my grammar system can handle conjugating verbs and adding a/an in front of words, integrating all text output with that system would simplify all sorts of things. then i could have big lists of words to query for relevant adjectives or nouns with specific associations, procedural sentence structures, referents that know what adjectives apply to them...

it's really easy to get feature crept in this sphere. we'll see how much of this i'll be able to implement. i don't think all that is necessary to make the simslops framework useful, really. the only thing it urgently needs is some kind of event emitting & handling system. currently all the little special cases have to be implemented specifically. for example, there's a check in the "drop item" action for if the item in question is fragile. if it is, it breaks. if the item is also smoky, we get the "orange smoke pours out" effect. it'd be a lot cleaner (and make me a lot happier) if i could just say "when a smoky object breaks, emit orange smoke" and similar things.

thank you to everyone who read the simslops, and an extra thank you to everyone who asked me questions. now it's time to go back to work on the next issue. it's going to be a very different beast. i hope you enjoy it.