#or like. if I'm going to be using imagery. choosing it in a way that isn't as common

[s1ithers]

wish i knew the forgotten realms lore better...how am i meant to make my little ocs in this state of ignorance

[torchickentacos]

Literary devices, how I adore you... allusion, colloquialism, alliteration, metaphor, simile, juxtaposition (!!!!!!!), anntithesis, foreshadowing, imagery, symbolism, personification, irony, hyperbole???? All amazing.

[joelsgoldrush]

“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,�� he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.” 

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him. 

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual. 

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart. 

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not. 

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.” 

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations,  but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground. 

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive. 

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him. 

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice? 

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor. 

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases. 

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.” 

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath. 

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close. 

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency. 

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[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!

[skaldish]

Alright folks. Here it is, my theory of what Ragnarok actually represents. It is very messy and I'm not sure I'm going to be able to actually convey my understanding clearly like I try with most things, because genuinely this is shit I would write a doctorate-level thesis on.

But we're going to try anyway.

So. After doing a lot to try to replicate animistic thinking, as well as taking a VERY deep read of the Norse myths, my theory is that Ragnarok is specifically allegory for societal collapse—the "end of the world" imagery and such is meant to convey what this feels like.

Recall what Odin says in Grimnismal. It goes something like this, since I can't be arsed to find the exact quote:

Huginn and Muninn fly over the world every day; while I fear Huginn ("thought") may not return, I fear Muninn's ("memory's") absence most.

When a society collapses, so does it's memory. It loses its technology, its methodologies, its paradigms, and everything it has learned about the world up to that point. Gone. Entire chapters of history erased.

What causes societal collapse is not always a conquering force, but is oftentimes the result of circumstances that a society orchestrates for itself. Think Rome.

People who have gone through societal collapse will probably develop an invested interest in figuring out how to prevent it entirely, so they don't have to start society all over again.

It's one thing to preserve the memory of "things collapsed and here's why" using a story. But it's another thing to do what apparently the Norse people did, which is cultivate a methodology for cognitively hardening their own society against collapse, using stories as a way to do it.

Like...I'm not kidding when I say they legitimately knew how the human mind works, and then built an entire system of stories and narratives that intentionally support the mind's freedom, cultivation, and agency. I can only convey a fraction of how this works in this post because the rest requires a deep-dive into behavioral psychology and neurological development.

All the tales leading to Ragnarok demonstrate various instances where the gods choose to follow their own agendas at the expense of the real people and forces in the world. All of these little things contribute to the magnitude of the event that is Ragnarok.

The tales represent these transgressions using allegories rather than literal events. This is because these stories were designed for children, who don't process information through a prefrontal cortex like we do as adults. They don't have them yet. But this gives kids an intuitive understanding for how circumstances of collapse feel, so they can recognize them in all their forms.

Loki is an allegory for the mischief we feel as children, and for the behaviors we demonstrate before we get to the age where we start valuing cooperation. In the myths, every time Loki causes mischief in ways that creates problems, the gods get mad at him and threaten Loki's life until he fixes his mess. Loki eventually becomes vindictive, kills Baldr in a jealous fit, and then is punished by being bound and buried beneath the ground, only to fight against the gods in Ragnarok.

The surface-level takeaway is a lesson in parenting: If we punish kids for their mischief, they're going to become vindictive adults, and these adults are going to have it out for the rest of society because they've been disenfranchised.

But it doesn't just end here. Consider how we punish ourselves for our own sense of mischief, beating ourselves up for having "problematic" thoughts and trying to bind and bury those thoughts in the depths of our mind.

These thoughts come from a place our mind known as the limbic system, which is focused on avoiding pain and seeking pleasure, and—most importantly—does not understand the world or make decisions using logic and reason, but in terms of what feels enjoyable and what doesn't.

We tend to call this system our inner child.

When we punish our inner child, that child starts doing exactly what Loki does and resorts to malicious and petty tricks. We can hold this behavior at bay until something causes us to "snap" (like Jörmungandr's tail does) and out comes the malice of the disenfranchised inner child, which creates a terrible cascade of social consequences for us.

Now, if we were to listen to these stories as kids, we would naturally be very upset whenever Loki was threatened of punished, because we think out of the limbic system at that age and Loki is meant to represent us—specifically, the state of being a kid. We would see what comes to pass, with Loki being imprisoned and fighting the gods against Ragnarok, and it would become clear to us that there's consequences for punishing mischief AND also causing too much of it.

Now I don't know about you, but I was very motivated by a sense of justice as a kid. Hearing Loki's arc would have inspired me to learn how to be friends with my sense of mischief while also learning to use it in ways that were cooperative and social, because this would have been how I could right the wrong I felt was done to Loki. It would also mean my own limbic system will not fight against me in the future, but be a modality of thought I can always access. (This is the beauty of the way the Norse myths are crafted; they are designed to instill knowledge of the world using mechanisms that reinforce one's own sense of agency and competency, so rather than being told the moral of this tale, it sets me up to run right into the conclusion it wants me to draw, but in a way that makes me feel smart and therefore inspires me to value it.)

The binding of Fenrir serves a similar allegory. When we become explosively angry in the way that Fenrir represents, it consumes our wisemind the same way Fenrir consumes Odin during Ragnarok. But this only happens if we bind Fenrir/our anger. By demonizing this nature of ours simply for existing, it will not only refuse to listen to us, but also turn against us. Remember that Fenrir was willing to socialize and cooperate with the gods before his betrayal.

(Honestly, I believe this is why ulfheiðnar existed the way they did. Even though the animalistic rage of ulfheiðnar was too terrible for domestic society, it was not demonized, but instead given a social function. People would learn to understand and partner with their own sense of rage, and I'm guessing this is also how they were able to keep their sense of reason and priorities straight even while going berserk from psychoactives.)

These two examples serve to illustrate how societal collapse stems from binding or punishing our own natures. But also fearing our own nature as mortals factors into it.

For example, Naglfar. This is a ship constructed of dead people's fingernails, and its completion is part of what signals the beginning of Ragnarok. But as the story goes, we can delay Naglfar's construction by trimming the nails of the dead before we bury them.

Naglfar represents "neglect for the dead," and this is significant because the act of no longer viewing the dead as people is sort of like the canary in the coal mine for no longer view each other as people...and no longer seeing people as people is what defines Ragnarok.

A society is at peace when its people have no fear of death, and having no fear of death comes only by incorporating death as a normal and familiar part of life, just like we do with birth. Our relationship with death is a litmus test for our relationship with our own humanity—if we fear the dead and cannot see them as human beings, then we are always going to fear a part of our own humanity, and be at war with it. The simple act of keeping the nails of the dead well-groomed because it stalls Naglfar's construction was a way to remind people why such a simple act was profoundly important.

And these are just the things that I can think of off the top of my head that are the most obvious examples. There are—and I shit you not—multitudes of these things laced within the Norse myths.

(I haven't even gotten to the part about how the Norse creation myth uses what the womb feels like to characterize it. Telling this story to very little children helps them establish a sense of familiarity, belonging, and secure attachment with the entire world from the get-go. If they learn the world is everything they've already experienced, then their bodies will never be afraid of it, because nothing about it will feel unknown or unknowable. Like, how fucking dope can you get.)

So here's where we get to the really dense irony of all this: Why we don't pick up on all these nuances as Westerners and have so far missed this entirely.

It is for two reasons.

The first is because our society values the things that the Norse people identified as contributing to societal collapse—namely, the act of conquering/competing against other forces and conquering/competing against our own natures. The transgressions of the Aesir are not things we register as problematic because to us they're normal.

The second is that we don't think animistically. The way we are taught to convey, interpret, and transmit information is designed PURELY by and for the prefrontal cortex, with neglect to everything else (if you ever wonder why Americans look weird in how we behave, this is why). But because we only prioritize communicating this way, we're missing out on all the context added within the Norse myths. These myths function the same way Old Norse kennings did, in that they are designed to speak to ALL areas of the brain at once and in tandem, but if we only engage with it using one part of the brain, we're only going to get a small piece of the picture and the rest is going to look weird.

(Little experiment for you: Try to logic something out in your mind or think through a complex problem without using words or sentences to do it. Use any other kind of thought-process besides language. I promise you that not only is this possible, but it yields a completely different kind of experience and conclusion than you might otherwise reach.)

Honestly, I don't even think Snorri himself fully understood what he was looking at when he was recording the Norse myths. I think he was just writing them down according to how they were told, word-for-word. But his cluelessness is our good fortune now, because he not only preserved the cultural stories, but also what I consider an entire cognitive technology.

And every time I look at it, I can't help but think about the generations of people who sat around the fire in the dead of winter, weaving, crafting, and figuring out better ways to fortify their society, raise kids so they became fine and truly fearless people, and conserve information. This is, as far as I'm concerned, real magic.

They knew some shit.

[howtofightwrite]

I'm writing a scene where a cultivater (chinese martial artists who fights ghosts) falls in a forest and I'm trying to figure out how someone who fights on rough terrain would train to fall. I tried looking at martial art/parkour/stunt man tutorials, but I feel like a lot of the basic techniques (rolling, and slapping the ground to distribute weight) wouldn't work well on uneven ground. I also tried looking at hiking advice but they just say to fall on your pack. Any insight?

Chinese cultivators don’t fall, they choose to reacquaint themselves with the ground.

That sounds like a joke, but the best way to understand Chinese cultivators and Chinese fantasy media is to realize that martial arts are the gateway drug to magic. And that will get you into a lot of trouble if you follow that all the way into Martial Arts Give You Superpowers, which is both the outgrowth of the western understanding of Chinese culture and a trope rife with orientalism. Cultivation seems simple on the surface when you’re watching Chinese media, but it’s more than martial arts, it’s more than religion, it’s more than mythology, (though it is all of those too) it’s a genuine transition into metaphysics that reorients how we understand and interact with the world around us. The concepts we see in cultivation come from real martial arts philosophy that you find in Tai Chi, Shaolin, and most other Chinese martial arts. They come from real religions including Daoism, Buddhism, a healthy dose of Confucianism, general mythology and mysticism from a wide range of subcultures, and, to an extent, Animism. If you aren’t doing your reading with the Eight Immortals, Journey to the West, The Legend of the White Snake, and others then you should dig in. I also really suggest watching the live action C-Dramas whether they’re true Wuxia or more Xianxia idol dramas (and in this case the idol dramas are better because the action is slower) so you can acquaint yourself with the stylized martial arts portrayals, a wide variety of choreography, character archetypes essential to motif based storytelling, and the most important aspect of all—wire work.

Understanding and conceptualizing stunt action done on wires is essential when you’re trying to visualize and create action scenes in any East Asian genre. Your first instinct might be to dismiss the stylized movement as unrealistic (it is) but remember that it’s also genre essential. Hong Kong action cinema has a very specific feel to it that’s very different from the way Western cinema structures and films their fight scenes. Even when you’re writing, you’ll want to find ways to imitate it through your visual imagery on the page.

Probably the best way to contextualize cultivators is that they’re wizards who do martial arts. They’ve learned to transcend the limitations in our understanding of reality through knowledge and study to perform superhuman feats. How superhuman? Well, it gets wild. They can be anywhere from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon/Who Rules the World fly through the trees levels to Shang Tsung’s “I’m going to slam my hell reality into your normal reality because commuting to work is too much of an inconvenience.”

Which is to say, they don’t always fight ghosts. Sometimes they fight other martial artists, sometimes they fight other cultivators, sometimes they fight demons, sometimes they fight gods, and sometimes they fight incredibly overpowered monkeys. They’re often monks living in seclusion on a mountaintop, but not always. Cultivation is more of a state of mind. Anyone can do it if they learn how to absorb spiritual energy from the world around them through meditation and breathing exercises. Gods cultivate. Humans cultivate. Animals cultivate. Remember, the demons and the ghosts cultivate too. Sometimes, your master gets reincarnated as a demon. Sometimes, you do. The amount of wacky spellcasting you can do is dependent on how much energy you’ve cultivated, which is dependent on how old you are and how good at cultivation you are. Using the power means you need to cultivate more energy, the greater the spell or difficult the battle then the more energy is lost.

This is important to the question of: how does a cultivator fall?

Metaphorically? Existentially? Physically?

When we’re talking physically, wire work becomes very important. Think of your cultivator as being on wires. If they have the knowledge and understanding to do it, they can slow their own fall through the air to land harmlessly on the ground or twist over like a cat and launch themselves back off the ground to fly at their opponent in a counter attack. If they have the knowledge and understanding, they can teleport. If they lack the knowledge and understanding or want to trick their opponent, they can hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. If they’re relying on basics, they can also smack the ground to counter and spread out the impact then use the momentum from that fall to roll back onto their feet. They’ll do it no matter what terrain they’re on because it’s a basic technique that’s trained into their foundation to the point it’s a reflexive action. Any force distributed away from, and reducing impact on, important body parts like your spine is better than nothing. It’s better to sacrifice your arm than be paralyzed. At its heart, that’s the point of the technique. If you’re able to walk away with a functioning spine, it’s done its job. Your shoulder hurts? That’s normal. Your arm is sprained or broken? Sucks, but that’s better than the alternative that is paralysis and death. For reference, learning to fall was the first lesson my Wushu instructor ever taught me. It is that basic.

A lot of the time when portraying cultivators in media, the goal is to show them as being beyond the limitations of standard martial artists. How vast the gap is between the cultivator and the average human is dependent on both the setting and the cultivator. So, the average martial artist who possesses superhuman talents but hasn’t dedicated themselves to a life of cultivation and cultivators who are new to the path are going to be on the rung below and more likely to be knocked on their ass. Cultivators in the mid-range are more likely to have crafted or trained in solutions to being knocked on their ass which put them in a less vulnerable position while recovering and empowered/enhanced their martial arts. Cultivators in the top tier are usually straight up masters at spellcasting, if they deign to fight at all. Gravity need not apply. Rember, the time it takes you to hit the ground and roll to your feet is time your opponent has to launch a counter attack or move to a better position. Also, it means you’ve taken your eyes off your opponent. This is bad enough against a normal human opponent. Against another mostly immortal or ancient magic user this risks a terrible outcome.

Cunning and strategy are both as important as skill. Wisdom, knowledge, and hard work outweigh talent and raw potential. You’ll have to decide how esoteric you want to be and what limits you want to set. I really urge you to do this because the danger of power creep is real and especially prominent here. A character’s growth in power is often linked to their growth in character or their arc, as they gain a greater understanding of themselves and the world around them their skill increases. The self-discovery/self-reflection/self-interrogation/intense suffering to reach enlightenment portion is just as important and intrinsic to the martial arts portion of Martial Arts Give You Superpowers. It’s easy to focus on the Superpowers or the Martial Arts parts of the equation and miss the genre necessity of character growth. This growth often happens through heaps of steadily increasing trauma. Or, failing to undergo that by being too powerful and thus unable to progress is the joke like it is in Qi Refining for 3000 Years. (Go to hell, Bai Qiuran, you hilariously overpowered monstrosity.)

The irony is that the trajectory in character growth is the same trajectory the average student experiences when practicing martial arts. The only difference is that the power arc is inflated. This includes overcoming ingrained truths that you believe about yourself, about your own abilities, what you believe yourself to be capable of (both good and bad,) about your biases toward yourself and other people, your biases about reality in general, your understanding of good and evil, the potential upending of right and wrong, and facing the greater complexity found in the world at large. The stripping away of these illusions, coming to terms with uncomfortable realizations in a more complicated world, and the gaining of new understanding and confidence are vital to that growth.

Skill isn’t just represented in the power creep, it’s also found in a character’s sophistication and complexity in their approach to combat and life in general. Their awareness both of themselves and of other people, their ability to read intentions, their predictive abilities, their complexity in initiating their own strategy and tactics while also recognizing and countering the plans of others. It’s their insight into human nature and their cunning. It’s not enough to be powerful. The world is full of powerful people and not so powerful people who have the capacity to be just as dangerous. This isn’t Goku and Freeza slamming into each other while the planet explodes in nine minutes. You also need to be smart. It’s also not about being a better person. It’s about being a self-aware person. A person who is self-actualized. Monkey’s growth is in his awareness of the world around him through his experiences and in approaching problems differently rather than becoming less of a little shit. If you grow up in the West, one of the issues you’re going to face is thinking of these hurdles as materialistic rather than emotional or intellectual.

A lot of Western media misinterprets the concepts of “giving up” as physical sacrifice. One of the popular examples is physically sacrificing the person we love. In order to have enlightenment, we must be separated from them. We can’t physically be with them anymore. Whereas under a Buddhist structure, what we are actually sacrificing is our own ignorance, our own preconceptions, and beliefs that keep the world comfortable. Under this structure, we’re sacrificing our preconceived notions of who our loved one is. The person that we invented when we first met and we must force ourselves to come to terms with who they really are. The outcome of this isn’t necessarily going to be bad, but it’s still painful. The person we think we love could be perfectly wonderful. However, they’re not who we imagined. If we choose to hold onto the illusion we created, to ignore the realization that the illusion is the person that we love, we’ll only end up causing ourselves and our loved one more pain. We must fall in love with them all over again. Coming to terms with that is painful. All pain comes from ignorance. In sacrificing, letting go of, or overcoming our ignorance, we grow.

These are the emotional, intellectual, and spiritual challenges necessary for a cultivator because they allow the cultivator to level up. Yes, level up. Whether this is coming from the influx of gaming culture into media at large or because the concept synergizes with the Buddhist goal of progressing through the Six Realms toward nirvana, leveling up is how a cultivator’s increasing power is often depicted. Of course, once we reach the next level we can’t go back except by falling or failing and are no longer the person we once were. This then gets mixed in with Daoist principles of finding divine understanding by living in harmony with the universe. The more understanding we gain of the world, the more energy we can absorb as a result, but our original goals may be lost or changed in the process. If a character begins their journey on the path of revenge, their newfound contextualization of the situation that caused them immense pain may force them to give that revenge up or find they don’t want revenge anymore.

Failure is also an option and often a common part of the story. These stories usually follow characters through multiple lives and rebirths over hundreds and even thousands of years, especially if they’re also gods. This is the existential fall. The fall to the Dark Side. All our heroes are going to go through it at least once. This is also why a lot of Chinese media ends in tragedy with hope for the next round.

-Michi

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[graciehart]

LISTEN THROUGH SILENCE: An MSR Playlist ⤷ Part Two: Scully

It feels close to you, somehow, to say your name out loud.

playlist / songs ↘

SIX by Sleeping at Last / Similar to with Mulder, I haven't really thought about what enneagram I think Scully might be, but the lyrics of this song are so her. Plus: "I want to believe—no, I choose to believe—that I was made to become a sanctuary." I constantly think about "I want to believe" in the context of Scully because that's very much Mulder's thing, but it takes on so much significance when you think about it relating to Scully (just like Mulder choosing not to believe things takes on special significance as well). Mulder wants to believe in so many things, but Scully wants to believe in Mulder—and she chooses to believe.

RENEGADE by Big Red Machine & Taylor Swift / Very very Scully to Mulder. I mean— "there was nowhere for me to stay, but I stayed anyway" and "you fire off missiles 'cause you hate yourself, but do you know you're demolishing me? And then you squeeze my hand as I'm about to leave" and "it's time, you've come a long way / open the blinds, let me see your face / you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody" and "is it insensitive for me to say / get your shit together / so I can love you." But "open the blinds, let me see your face" really gets me because Scully truly does see Mulder, she sees him better than anyone ever has.

BETWEEN THE LINES by Sara Bareilles / Oof, this one huuuurts. I chose the title of this playlist from this song ("listen through silence") because I feel like it goes pretty well with Mulder's playlist ("amidst the chaos," also from a Sara Bareilles song) and because it's so much of what Scully does while Mulder learns—she listens through silence and reads between the lines. ALSO: "I'm queen of attention to details, defending intentions if he fails." Scully is forever the first to defend Mulder no matter what he does, always from a place of love.

BREATHE by Lauv / There are so many songs that could be applied to both of them, but for some reason or another I choose it for one of their individual playlists (this being one of them). I think one of my favorite parts fits Mulder better—"I should leave 'cause you deserve better"—but overall this song made me think of Scully, especially during I Want to Believe. "You're my all and more, but I need room to breathe."

WATER WORSHIP PRAY by Grace Power / This song also makes me think of I Want to Believe, and I especially love this song for Scully because of all the religious imagery. "How can two people fall apart when they both want the same thing? How can my happiness be you, but I'm not happy at all?" OW. And also: "First peace I ever knew / Can't love you well enough to keep you or enough to let you go / I'd rather stay in purgatory with you than in heaven alone."

IF PATIENCE DOESN'T KILL ME by Alison Sudol / I'm very aware that this is a pretty specific sound that not everyone will love, but I love Alison Sudol and I feel like this song is perfect for Scully so I kept it anyway. I just feel like the lyrics fit her perfectly—"if patience is a virtue, I abound / ... / if patience doesn't kill me, I'm yours." And it's where the description comes from—"it feels close to you, somehow, to say your name out loud." It feels like they constantly are calling for each other both because they want them there and trust they will be there, but also because the simple act of calling for each other makes them feel less alone.

GIVE UP THE GHOST by Rosi Golan & Johnny McDaid / Another song I love (I would've titled this "Quiet the Noise" if I hadn't already used that as a playlist title) that takes on new meaning when you think about it in an MSR context. Ghosts take on a different significance when thinking about Mulder (also, @leiascully just KILLED me with her fic and "I don't love anything more than I love you, Scully. Not even ghosts." Literally what the fuck). Even the very beginning of this song—"come here, it's all worth the fight when it's you, dear." And "slow down, we're losing the meaning of words now / quiet the noise 'cause we made a mountain of minuscule things." And Scully really does quiet his noise.

THE BEACON by A Fine Frenzy / The lyrics in the gifset are from this song and if I could write out the entire song without it being ridiculous, I would. I swear this could truly be a song written by Scully about Mulder. I mean, just starting with the first verse: "You say your time has come / you're tired of waking up / don't be obscene, I can't conceive of living without you / You say you drag me down, no one should want you now / I start to cry, you kiss my eyes and say I'm not allowed to." And then, AND THEN the second verse: "you were a child forgot / lessons of love untaught / now no embrace can quite replace the one that never found you / I was raised tenderly / all that was taught to me / I will apply / Your parents tried, but they didn't know how to." Like. Okay. Sure. That's fine.

SATURN by Sleeping at Last / I know I'm not alone with this one because I've seen multiple videos of them set to this song, but I chose to put it on Scully's playlist because it really makes me think of Mulder's abduction arc/when he wakes up in "Deadalive." Just imagine her listening to this song sitting by his side, holding his hand, willing him to wake up. GAH.

YOU MATTER TO ME by Jessie Mueller & Drew Gehling / This is another song I was debating for both of them, but the first verse especially makes me think of Scully: "I could find the whole meaning of life in those sad eyes / they've seen things you never quite say, but I hear / come out of hiding, I'm right here beside you / and I'll stay there as long as you'll let me."

SOMEONE WHO LOVES ME by Sara Bareilles / This song wrecks me and has some of the most beautiful lyrics I've ever heard. One reason I love it for Scully is because of the hug at the end of "Irresistable." This is another song I would have considered for a playlist title ("my home, my heart") if I hadn't already used it before. But the way it's sung always gets to me—"my home, my heart, thank god you are someone who loves me," like she's exhaling into the safety of his arms.

I F*CKING LOVE YOU by Zolita / The song pretty much says it all: "what if I let it slip, tell you that oh my god, I fucking love you."

WHO WOULD'VE THOUGHT by Emily James / I absolutely love the first part of this song when she says "I just wanna say that I'm not going anywhere anytime soon unless it's with you." What really made me think of MSR was this, though: "'cause we've been busy lying to ourselves, swearing it would never work / promising that we were just friends / it's funny how it doesn't make sense / and then it does." And I love the idea of Scully thinking again about how different her life is, how this is so far from where she thought she'd be, but with a little bit of wonder: "who would've thought that it would've been you?"

[crystalandbow]

PICK A PILE🤍

CALL OUT EDITION

Pile 1 is beach, pile 2 is garden, pile 3 is swans. Take the reading with a grain of salt and only take what resonates 🤍

If you liked the reading, lmk! & Follow for more

Hello pile 1👋🏻

Or should I say hello my mama bears

lol anyways let's begin!!!

The cards that you got: 2 of swords, ace of coins, the emperor and the ace of cups.

Okie so The 2 of swords really sums it up for y'all, the others cards just confirm it more. like you guys are torn between 2 options/paths/things/ whatever. Making a decision is important because It seems like this has been on your mind for some time and is bugging you ? Taking up all your mental energy/stamina. *like a vampire/jk* most of y'all already know which path you want to choose but for some reason you haven't locked in your answers is what I am feeling. And now it's time to make a decision! It might be that you are afraid for some reason, you have this fear of what if things go wrong or something like that or it might be that you are unable to make a decision because both options seem equally tempting.

I think you can choose any path because they will have decent results. The advice or call-out message is that whatever you chose to do for your situation, stick with it. Its not about the options it's about you! The reason why I called you guys mama bear is because that is how you should deal with your current situation. Chose whichever path you want, fight or flight. But stick with it! Know that what you did was absolutely okay!! You have to embody the emperor's energy (of being bold and authoritative, because it is your life, do not fall for anything that doesn't feel right )

The ace of cups tells me that you guys should make a decision using your heart ( feelings & intuition) because afterall you know what's best for you! follow your intuition/gut feeling, don't be afraid of anything YOU ARE THE EMPEROR & YOU'VE GOT IT !

Keywords: stability, bravery & action. Facing fears/oppositions, gut feeling

Ig thats it, lmk how I did and only take what resonates 🤍 have a good day/evening/night

Hello pile 2 👋🏻

Cards you got: 3 of cups, death, 2 of cups & 9 of cups

I'm getting the word "love potion" for guys, I mean we do have alot of cups *the 2,3 and nine of cups* woah! That's alot of emotions. I'm also getting the word "self acceptance" all the cards are so positive but it doesn't feel that good? Something feels heavy? And a Lil stressful yk? I think the message for you guys is opening up yourself.

Y'all might have the habit of guarding yourself, but many times sometimes you just end up over doing it, leaving you feeling sad? Y'all feel that you are different from others in a sad way and that you have to put up this "fake" self to fit in. You try to be like others / everybody around you in public and this needs to change, atleast your mindset that people won't accept you for who you are. Change is needed! Stop blaming it on other exteranl reasons. Do you even know who you actually are? Do you accept yourself? Do you love/care about yourself? Do you prioritise your needs first? Its not always others, sometimes it's our fault that we let people treat us like that! The two of cups imagery is giving me mirror energy, it looks like there's a mirror between the two peeps and they are actually the same person but also different at the same time like it's just their "other side" yk? How you view yourself, and how you let yourself be you truly. Love your inner child. Death talks about how you need to embrace all your different sides and be yourself, be unique & don't try very hard just to "fit in"

The nine of cups is here for advice and it talks about prioritising your needs first & putting yourself on the pedestal! Whether it be in romantic relationships or platonic or any relationship

Call-out message: DONT BE AFRAID TO BE YOURSELF let yourself be! Accept love, prioritise your emotional needs first!!!

Ig thats it, lmk how I did and only take what resonates 🤍 have a good day/evening/night

Hello pile 3 👋🏻

Cards you got: the strength, justice, devil & the star.

Surprisingly all major arcanas😭I really wanna know what's going on with y'all. Like what MAJOR shit is going on lmao

Anyways here's my interpretation for you guys: you guys are working hard towards some goals of yours. I'm getting the vibes that the world told you what you think or thought once upon time is unrealistic and unachieveable but to you it feels like "inner- calling". you have started working towards it and might have achieved/ overcome certain milestones and mini achievements that you should be proud about and if not then you should know that they hard work that you have put in WILL workout and you will gain the fruits for you dedication. One thing you should possibly avoid is arrogance and / or greed attachments will be different for everybody, basically avoid the temptations of the devil. Don't believe you're at the top of the world and for some it's not getting overly obsessed with results,etc. Everything will workout at the right time. The justice card over here is likely talking about getting your results. Call-out message for y'all could be to choose the path of hard work & patience instead of shortcuts and unfair means. The star card is asking you to stay optimistic regarding your work to know that it will all be worth it, you will get your answers and result just keep working hard and have pure intentions

So yeah basically, just on the right track, keeping working hard, don't fall for temptations like shortcuts, procrastination, unfair means,etc be patient and you will be good to go

Ig thats it, lmk how I did and only take what resonates 🤍 have a good day/evening/night

[starriegalaxy]

Title : DCA become Pumpkin!

Tags : Fluff, romance, romantic-leaning, female reader, set in Fear Factor AU, Sun-centric

Rated : General

Synopsis : The autumn season air is warm with the soft crinkling of multicoloured leaves and pumpkins scattered for miles. This meant that you and Sun were going to take a cheeky gander at pumpkin carving but using each other as the model. So, will you earn your artistic licence or will it be revoked?

Note : This author has never gone to pumpkin patches so pls pardon her for inaccuracies and just enjoy the imagine!

----------------------------------

Prompt : Pumpkin Carving Each Other

Tagging @nighternex @amarynthian-chronicles @capring @hexcii and the sun lovers!

You decided that going to a pumpkin patch was a perfect date idea.

As the sounds of people chattering away faded into background noise when you decided to focus on the sounds of nature instead, you hear Sun huff a little as he readjusts the clothes you picked out for him and fidgeted with his scarf. It seems he still wasn't quite used to “normal” clothes yet. A smile places itself on your lips when you reach out to hold his hand. Sun spares a glance before heaving a sigh and holding your hand firmly. He could act dramatic all he liked, you were past the notion that he didn't want to touch you in some way.

A chuckle was given as a reply and you kiss his hand appreciatively. His rays spin and he looks away, subtly caught off guard. This Sun was nice. Walking a little more into the patch, you spy a stack of hay and vote to sit on it, patting the space next to you. He gingerly takes the offered seat and you both look around you, eyeing the pumpkins surrounding this place. “Well, I think I'm just going to pick something small. Might be easier to carve for me.”, you mention, still picking out which one you wanted.

“I'll do the opposite then. The largest pumpkin and it's going to look better than yours.”, Sun smugly responds, crossing his arms as if he already won the round just by saying it verbally. “...The requirements didn't mention having to be too accurate though. Also, it's just a fun thing. Not a competition.”, you pouted. “Sounds like what a sore loser would say.”, he counter attacks. That bristles you a little and you silently go back to choosing your desired pumpkin.

Well, if it's a competition he wants, then it's a competition he'll get.

You weren't exactly good at going down without a fight. Getting off the hay to claim a pumpkin, you spy from the corner of your eye, Sunny doing the same. He was true to his word that he picked the largest one and you gulped on instinct when he lifted that thing easily. He wasn't the kind of robot to have muscles but it showed in how he carried that thing. No gawking on the job there buddy! You've got work to do so you pull over to where the other folks were lining up on picnic tables under a tent, string lights were hung above but turned off as it was still daytime, some people preferred to sit on the haystacks while kids were frolicking in the hay covered ground, sharing treats and conversation.

You both sat somewhere with plenty of space, fit for two and carving pumpkins. A pleasant breeze visited and you sighed in content. Stealing a glance at Sun’s faceplate, you studied his expression, simplified it in your head and continued working. You also appreciated that Sun was willing to empty both his and your pumpkin before you both did this. Brrr…Pumpkin guts…. Something you're not quite fond of. Shaking the imagery from your head, you started slicing in to make some markings, his dumb smile, eyes and rays.

He's strangely silent as he does his, not even looking up at your own face for reference. It ticked you off a bit for some reason. Pfft, ridiculous. You chalk it up to him being way too enthusiastic in showing off his skills and let him be. Your assumption was only half right though, it was also because he already memorised every bit of your face down to the last pixel - not that he would tell you that directly without compensation.

After about 30 minutes of carving, you gave a signal that you were done. Sun swipes off the remnant pumpkin pieces and shavings on cue. “On the count of three, we rotate our pumpkins.” Sun flexes his fingers on his pumpkin, a show of nervousness and your own fingers caress your pumpkin, mimicking his worry.

“One… Two… three!”, both pumpkins were rotated and your eyes widened. It was…. It was - a really accurate depiction of you in pumpkin form. Well, you both did settle on just face areas so… You reach out to touch the carvings delicately, eyes shimmering with adoration. Oh… Admittedly, Sunny's carving was also a simplification of sorts but he didn't dismiss much details. If anything, it felt like he would've put more if he could.

Sun’s rays were beginning to sway slightly from the silence. “Well?”, his expectant tone catches your attention like lightning. “It's … beautiful. Thank you.”, the creases in your eyes crinkle with fondness and delight when you look up at him again, forgetting the earlier spite. His rays spin rapidly and he's sputtering as he says, “B-But of course! Who do you think you're talking to?” Okay, that quickly earned him an eyeroll. “What about mine?”, you go back to holding your pumpkin with hopeful eyes. Sun hesitates. According to Sun’s made-up protocol, it wasn't exactly the best but your earnesty made him feel guilty if he said anything that downplayed your efforts.

“It's…childishly cute if anything. A toddler would have probably done better.”, he compliments backhandedly, slumping his faceplate into his hand. “Wha! I worked hard on this-”, you exclaimed, getting up from your seat indignantly. A few people looked over but immediately dismissed you after a few beats. Sun huffs a quiet chuckle. “See? Cute.”, he teases. That… That! You roll your hand into a fist as your body shook with embarrassed anger. “You weren't talking about the pumpkin, were you?”, your tone seethes, body bristling like a cat's fur would when threatened.

Sun rotates his faceplate with glee, a simple "Maybe." purred as a reply.

You contemplate throwing your pumpkin into his faceplate.

The End.

[lizardkingeliot]

Not to start overanalyzing Long Face again but I've been fixated on these lines all morning. In particular pack up the gear, which instantly brings to mind the life of a musician on tour. Their roadies packing up the gear after every show before moving onto the next city. And that imagery combined with gimme some face, a souvenir.... well....

As much as I like the idea of a Loustat Situationship™ in season 3, I don't think it's something we're likely to get. Because they're a lil too insane to maintain something like that for more than a day without fully losing themselves in each other. And also for Tension Building Reasons. BUT... what if.

What if Louis goes to visit Lestat on tour early on in the season. There are ~sparks~ between them instantly because of course there are. They hook up and it's the most incredible sex they've ever had and we finally get a Proper Sex Scene but Louis PANICS because OH NO I'M SUPPOSED TO BE FINDING MYSELF!!! He leaves without a trace. Doesn't even say goodbye. And The Vampire Lestat packs up his gear to move onto the next city without him. The memory of one blissful night with his beloved the souvenir he's taking with him when he goes...

Playing it like this would accomplish several things at once. It would give us, the audience, the satisfaction of A Big Loustat Moment early on while also allowing them to still build the tension as the season progresses. It would leave Lestat totally unmoored and perhaps in a situation where he could get lost in his memories of what they used to be together (can you tell I'm just looking for some way we could get NOLA flashbacks early on 💀)...

It could also be a catalyst to force Louis to think about what he truly wants for himself, and also what he wants from Lestat. Let him sit with it for most of the season and allow him to make the decision to go back to Lestat with his entire chest with the full intention of declaring he wants them to be together. And allow them to have one more night. One night where they're actually on the same page and they're CHOOSING to be together because it's what they both WANT...

And then Akasha comes.

Bookend the season with hookups, one Louis deeply regrets and runs away from, the other he walks into with a clear head and an open heart only to have it ripped away from him before the sun comes up...

[oikoraart]

I might explode if I don't share this, so here goes an unhinged rant/theory that has to do with the Book of Bill. brace yourself!!

ALRIGHT SO background: yesterday I read a post talking about Silas Birchtree being one of the best iterations of "Bill using a human body as a flesh puppet" (agreed), and somewhere (I can't recall if it was op or a comment I'm sorry) there was this joke about Bill having a thing for people with tree surnames. and I was like haha funny yeah, and then moved on with my day.

but NOW IT HIT ME.

IT'S NOT SIMPLY TREES, OR LIKE, ANY KIND OF TREE.

HE FIRST WENT FOR A GUY WITH THE SURNAME BIRCHTREE. BIRCH. YOU KNOW, THAT WHITE TREE THAT LOOKS LIKE IT HAS EYES ALL OVER???

AND THEN, OH THEN HE WENT FOR PINES. A PRETTY TRIANGULAR-LOOKING TREE IF YOU ASK ME.

AND- OKAY I'M PROBABLY JUST REACHING HERE BUT HEAR ME OUT.

DOES HE,, DOES HE HAVE SOME SORT OF STRONGER INFLUENCE/PULL TOWARDS THINGS THAT SOMEWHAT RELATE TO HIM?? (not really sure why he'd go for trees* twice but- TRIANGLES, EYE(S), BILLS?, CIPHERS)

AND YOU MIGHT BE THINKING "nah he's just that badly egotistical, he picks like that on purpose" AND AT FIRST I WAS ALSO GOING TO JUST SIT WITH THAT CONCLUSION (and not write this post) BUT LIKE ACTUALLY NO THAT'S NOT IT.

BECAUSE alright let's say for the sake of argument that Bill could've had anyone else with a big brain and self-esteem issues construct his portal (debatable) and he just happened to choose Ford because "ehehe surname relating to me and birth defect too"...

BUT HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN SILAS???

THE GUY JUST RANDOMLY DIED. HE CHOKED ON A COIN THAT HE TOSSED AFTER FAILING TO MAKE BUSINESS IN THAT TOWN. JUST THEN DID BILL KICK HIS LITTLE CULT-FOR-PORTAL-CONSTRUCTION PLAN INTO MOTION, WHICH, NO MATTER HOW YOU LOOK AT IT, WAS DESTINED TO FAIL FROM THAT CHOICE ALONE.

HERE it is WAY harder to make the argument that he could've picked anyone from the town because, unless he was planning to fail on purpose, why would he choose a rotting body as a host?? it makes no sense: it puts a time limit to get it all done before the body is completely useless. it doesn't make any sense unless that was his only option. maybe he was already planning on entering the guy's dreams but then he just dropped dead and Bill went "ah shit. well, time to work with what we have, I guess!"

SO! in short, I believe that whoever Bill uses as his puppet/anchor to this world has to meet the requirement of somehow relating to him (his imagery and/or motifs), not just out of preference, but because it's a must, some sort of limitation or arbitrary rule that he has to follow, for him to be able to get to you.

...and personally I think that THAT'S SO COOL AND INTERESTING OMG MR. HIRSCH YOU ARE SUCH A BIG BRAINED MAN-

SO YEAH. I might be going a little insane. perhaps. cheers to that!!

now I have to figure out how/if this rule checks out with Alex Hirsch himself because (canonically? I think?) Bill has controlled him before and (iirc) is implied to still be tethered to him in some way

*the only explanation I can think of for trees would be the fact that [tree -> three -> triangle] but like idk that might be too far. or maybe that's precisely why he can only go for things related to specific trees, like [birch = tree + eyes] and then [pines = tree + triangular shape]. maybe the rule is even more complex than I first thought... hmmm

[practically-an-x-man]

ok y'know what. I'm tired of all the same questions in ask games so I'm taking matters into my own hands

OC/Writing Art Asks

For the character:

Pencil: does this character have any "sketchy" habits? Have they ever broken the law? Do they regret it?

Pen: what's one minor moment your character regrets? A small mistake, but something they "can't erase"?

Paintbrush: How often does your character "brush over" conflict instead of facing it head on? Is there something specific they don't like to face, or do they avoid conflict as a whole?

Marker: what's one thing your character would never tattoo on their body, even if they were paid a million dollars for it?

Crayon: what was your OC like when they were four years old? Were they loud? Shy? Were they the resident "weird kid" or did they get along with others their age?

Colored Pencil: if given the choice, would this character splurge on an expensive (but potentially worthwhile) branded product, or buy a low-budget alternative even if the quality suffers?

Copics: what is this character's most expensive habit or hobby? Do they ever feel guilty about the money they spend on it?

Graphite: what's something decently common that your character does in a unique or different way? (like how graphite is present in all pencils, but not everyone uses pure graphite)

Charcoal: share any unique physical features about this character that are not scars or tattoos.

Tortillon: does your OC "blend in" with the people around them? Physically? Metaphorically?

Pastels: Give me three colors that best represent your OC. Now give me three colors that your OC likes best. Is there an overlap?

Chalk: what was one activity this character enjoyed with their sibling(s) as a kid? If they don't have siblings, what they did with their neighborhood friends

Eraser: what's one way this character has changed over time? Either over the course of their story, or over the course of designing them as an author.

Palette: list four of your character's primary skills, then share at least two ways these skills might blend or overlap

For the work:

Starry Night: are there any scenes in this work that take place at nighttime? Is this significant, or just the passing of time?

Mona Lisa: oh, it's the fanfic writer's favorite word. Do a find-and-replace on the word "smirk" and share any lines that pop up.

The Scream: are there any moments in this work that you think could scare a reader? Are there any moments where the characters themselves are profoundly scared?

Persistence of Memory: are there any moments in this work where a character's memory plays a strong role? Either an individual memory, or simply a character's ability to recall the past.

Girl With a Pearl Earring: are there any moments in this work where a character's clothing or accessories play a major role?

The Kiss: share your favorite kiss scene from this work. If there's no kiss scene, share your favorite moment of intimacy (romantic or platonic)

American Gothic: what's one relationship between characters in this work that you think people wouldn't expect? (i.e., how the people in American Gothic are not married, they're the painter's sister and dentist)

Guernica: look through a few of your imagery/descriptions in this work. Are they generally straightforward, or are they more "abstract"?

Wheatfield with Crows: are there any scenes in this work that involve birds? Do the birds play a definitive role, or are they simply part of the setting?

Woman with a Parasol: are there any moments in this fic that feel "blurry" to you? Is this a stylistic choice, or would you go back and clarify the descriptions if you were given the chance?

A Sunday Afternoon...: pick one "little moment" from this fic. How representative is it of the fic's tone and story as a whole?

Creation of Adam: choose one character that is not present at the beginning of this work. How did you introduce them into the story?

The Swing: are there any moments in this fic where the characters get to slow down and have fun? If not, why is that?

The Last Supper: does this fic incorporate any symbolism based on religion, theology, or mythology? If so, give an example.

For the author:

Paper: Who do you feel is your most two-dimensional or underdeveloped OC? Why is this? (including those that are still in development/haven't been written about yet)

Canvas: Do you ever "prep" your fics with outlines or warmups before you start writing, or do you just dive right in?

Graffiti: Have you ever had to research something that felt illicit or illegal for a fic? What was it?

Photography: What's one moment from any of your fics that you feel is preserved in your memory?

Clay: Do you usually take time to "sculpt" your OCs before you write them, or develop them as you write?

Film: Which one of your fics do you think would work best if turned into a movie? Who would direct it?

Adhesive: when you write, do you usually "stick" to one character or story for a while, or bounce around various characters and ideas?

Cricut: are there any characters you've had to "cut" from a story? Are there any moments/chapters/stories you've had to "cut" entirely?

Felting: how often do you include soft moments when you write? Do these moments play a role in the main plot, or do you include them as an escape from the rest of the story?

Weaving: are your works typically similar to one another? Pick two works, and share one similarity and one difference between them.

Finger Painting: share a small snippet from your earliest work (or the earliest that you can get back to). How would you rewrite it today? Either share the rewrite itself or just describe how you'd do it.

Creative!: free space! share something you've been dying to share about your writing! Could be an OC that never gets the limelight, a moment you were proud of, or anything else you'd like to share

[emmitaaa4]

Everyday I resist the urge to write essays about Elain Archeron.

Today (& most days), I'm thinking about how she's regarded within the narrative, and by extension, within the fandom. I'm wondering about who, exactly, is "canon elain": at what point are readers "changing" her character?

Is it changing her to discuss Elain beyond the narrative's insistence on depicting her as meek, as all flowers & sunshine? Is it changing her to acknowledge a darker facet of her character? And in discussing her character, do our narrators' often clear-cut thoughts on who she is outweigh Elain's direct words & actions..? and what can we glean from that juxtaposition?

The question essentially comes down to just how much can we really "trust" Elain's voice. And perhaps I trust SJM as a writer too much, but in this contrast between the expectation VS the reality of who she is, I am reticent to believe she plans on adhering to the expectations others have set for her.

ex: For I & others, while there is obviously a recognition of the narrative's insistence on Elain belonging to the Spring Court, it seems far more likely that she would not. And that's not to say that she belongs to Night.

Juxtaposition is consistently used as a literary device in scenes featuring/discussing Elain, an example being Cassian's infamous rant about the black dress, VS Elain's declaration of belonging.

Curious that the discussion surrounding this mirrors the way Elain was groomed by their Mother: her future measured in terms of beauty, not agency; an agency she's only just begun to exert.

Juxtaposition is in the imagery SJM chooses for her: a rose in a barren field, color in winter, drenched in sunlight while devoid of her habitual light, a summer dawn or setting sun, a rose half-hidden in shadows. It's in her love interests--flame & light VS cool shadows, designated VS not--and in her powers--the perception of her being unware when she was excessively aware, her lingering in the past while seeing the future.

Anyways. If anything, my "fatal flaw" in interpreting Elain's character would be in expecting some sort of deconstruction of the expected (to a reasonable extent of course) in different aspects of her arc. That is not to say that I know better than sjm !! buut I maintain that a lot of her character's complexity & potential lies is in her breaking free of the mold she's been casted onto since childhood, whether it in challenging her sister or, at large, Prythian's status quo.

The same way Nesta (who in many ways is a character foil to Elain) overcame their Mother's grooming, and who's healing arc ended up reinstating a female force in a society dominated by men. though SJM lowkey botched Nesta's arc in acosf. free my girl!!

not quite an essay, more so an introduction to my brain. theres so many examples in SF alone, i could go on.

[anodymalion]

Oh man oh man I just saw an Outer Wilds fanart done in the style of a tarot card and I had to immediately drop everything I was doing to think through what an all-Outer-Wilds version of the major arcana would be. I think I have it, it's under the read more because it's long and also there are major major spoilers (unsurprisingly).

0. The Fool: The Hatchling This one is easy. The hatchling is at the beginning of their journey, stepping into the unknown.

1. The Magician: Pye Bringing intention and direction, choosing a path, and channeling cosmic power - yeah I think Pye of “science compels us to explode the sun” fame fits this pretty perfectly.

2. The High Priestess: The Nomai Statues Ok, I kinda struggled with this one, but I think it works. Hidden knowledge, dealing with the mind, the subsconscious vs conscious, veils between worlds. The statues are mysterious and they transmit your knowledge to your previous selves. That fits decently well and also I don’t have a better idea.

3. The Empress: Timber Hearth Ok, I really struggled with this one. I’m going for the themes of creation, life, nature, and nurturing by choosing Timber Hearth since it is literally where life in the solar system grew. I'm not happy with this but whatever.

4. The Emperor: The Vault Authority, establishment, control to the point of domination. They sealed the Prisoner in the vault for defying the system. Plus the Vault looks cool and imposing so we have that going for us.

5. The Hierophant: Solanum Connecting to the past, passing on wisdom, initiation into a spiritual practice (aka reaching the QM). Yeah this is Solanum.

6. The Lovers: Nomai Graveyard (Emotional damage pt 1) I’m so so sorry but it works so well. What says love besides holding your friends close as you all asphyxiate to death?

7. The Chariot: Your Ship Maybe this one is a little too literal but I still think it fits. Determination and drive, knowing where you want to go, overcoming obstacles. Also it's literally your ship. It works.

8. Strength: Chert I’m going to be honest.... Chert is here because they were the only traveler that didn’t have a card that clearly fit, and I couldn’t leave only them out when I gave all the other travelers cards, and I didn’t have another idea for what Strength should be. Hand-wavy explanation: view Strength as getting to the core of confronting your fear and anger and pain and coming out the other side, and, well, Chert having a existential breakdown and then coming to a place of calm acceptance about the inevitability of death sort of… fits…. look just pretend this one makes sense and let’s move along quickly -

9. The Hermit: Feldspar Self-explanatory. The literal solitude, yeah, but also Feldspar is this mentor figure who guides you on your journey, and is apparently happy to just sit and chill in the nightmare hell that is Dark Bramble. It works.

10. The Wheel of Fortune: The Advanced Warp Core in the ATP Change, fate, turning points, cycles - and the breaking of cycles. This is another easy one.

11. Justice: The Prisoner There are a lot of ways you can interpret this. You have the Prisoner defying their society’s rules in an attempt to do what is right, and the strangers believing they were dispensing justice by imprisoning them but actually causing harm. The more I think about this one the more I like it.

12. The Hanged Man: Gabbro Another easy one. Taking a pause to rest, passivity, acceptance, independence, seeing things differently. Plus you even get the literal imagery of them hanging on the hammock, floating in zero-g. This is a slam dunk.

13. Death: The skull + flower from the Strangers’ visions of the Eye Letting go to allow the world to change and let new things grow is literally what this vision is about. Plus it’s a skull! I mean it’s right there.

14. Temperance: Riebeck Steadiness, moderation, plus the duality of Riebeck being terrified of space but still choosing to go out into it.

15. The Devil: The Eye Signal Blocker Destruction, complicity in oppression, avoiding accountability, confronting fear (or avoiding doing so). Oh yeah I’m so on board with this being the Eye Signal Blocker.

16. The Tower: The Interloper (Emotional damage part 2). The destruction of the status quo, disaster, tragedy, upheaval. There is no question here.

17. The Star: The Eye Searching for purpose, navigating a path, themes of renewal. Plus it even kinda has a star-like shape. It’s the Eye.

18. The Moon: The Quantum Moon Look, sometimes the literal choice works. Mystery, secrets, illusions? Yeah, that’s QM alright.

19. The Sun: The Sun Who could have seen this one coming??? ….The thing is… the meaning of the tarot Sun card absolutely doesn’t match the purpose the sun plays in Outer Wilds. But there is nothing else that could be the sun. It’s the sun!

20. Judgement: The Campfire in the Starry Forest Facing yourself, facing the truth, acceptance, ultimately letting go so that you can reach the end. Yeah.

21. The World: The Big Bang The end, and the beginning.

[avelera]

So I've been watching Three Body Problem with my partner and we just got to Episode 5. It has (spoilers) a pretty gruesome scene in it from the book, very bloody. I literally didn't watch it, just listened and watched my partner's (shocked) face throughout it.

This got me thinking. Not so much about Three Body Problem, because I haven't finished it yet nor read the books so I haven't really formed any sort of opinion on the show or the overall story, but more on Benioff and Weiss.

While looking away from That Scene I was curious if it was even in the book, so I was looking that up instead of watching. It was, but sure enough, Benioff and Weiss had embellished it.

I'll discuss it in more detail beneath the cut to avoid spoilers but suffice to say this is my take away:

For Benioff and Weiss, it's always been about cruelty. The chance to show cruelty above and beyond the source material, using the source material only as a spring board to delve into horrific imagery, is literally what attracts them to the stories they choose to depict.

And I felt like I'm taking crazy pills when I pointed this out all through the Game of Thrones era, not so much no one was figuring it out but because it felt like no one in the mainstream media was talking about it. They'd get asked these deep artistic questions about a certain scene (like the quote below which has spoilers) and it would be asked completely seriously and they'd give this answer like, "Oh we didn't want to show all that gore but we had no choice."

And I'm just sitting their flabbergasted like... what the fuck are you talking about, just admit that's what you wanted to depict?? That's what gave you a boner to tell this particular story??

Let me be clear, an artist choosing to depict gore and cruelty isn't a problem. I'm not a horror fan but it's not like I think horror shouldn't exist, or gore, or horrifying scenes that shock us to our marrow. That's very much a thing art can and should do!

I just feel like I'm fucking crazy because Benioff and Weiss and the people interviewing them never seem to get that this is their story kink. They always put this like... veneer of genteel shock and respectability over their questions about the cruel and gorey scenes they depict, like it just happened that way, when it's really really clear this is the stuff they like showing the most.

Benioff and Weiss's Game of Thrones was literally more gorey, graphic, and dehumanizing in places than the actual book. Where they departed from the books was, more often than not, to make things more abjectly cruel, dehumanizing, and shocking towards the characters. That's what they like doing as creators.

So this scene in Three Body Problem...

(SPOILERS)

... Where the ship gets slashed to ribbons and little children are literally shredded apparently isn't even depicted in the book.

"“We wanted to show it, we didn’t want to evade it,” Benioff said at a roundtable earlier this month. “I think when you actually see something on a screen, it is going to be more horrific than in the book. You’re reading these descriptions, but you’re not seeing blood, you’re not seeing a bunch of kids running away, you’re not seeing children’s backpacks getting split in half.” (source)

Didn't want to evade it? The book literally doesn't show children getting shredded and you went out of your way to show us numerous scenes introducing these children just so you can lovingly show them and their world get shredded to ribbons while completely aware and confronting the full horror of their fates like...

Again, I am not trying to moralize here. There is a space for horror, there is a space for exploring horrible things happening to innocents.

But they always talk about these very deliberate depictions of abject cruelty as if it's just *shrugs* "What can ya do? It had to be done!" NO IT DIDN'T. IT'S LITERALLY NOT IN THE BOOK IN THAT WAY. JUST OWN IT. OWN YOUR ARTISTIC VISION. OWN THE FACT YOU GLORY IN MAKING SLASHER LEVELS OF GORE AND TORTURE AND DEHUMANIZATION. STOP BEING SO FUCKING GENTEEL ABOUT IT. JUST FUCKING... LEAN IN TO WHAT YOU ARE INSTEAD OF ACTING LIKE IT WASN'T THE CHANCE TO SHOW CRUELTY THAT ATTRACTED YOU TO THE STORY IN THE FIRST PLACE.

And just as a lateral, US politics note, it felt like this under Trump too. I'm not saying artists depicting cruelty in an artistic work is anything like a politician with real power reveling in flexes of power channeled towards deliberate acts of fascistic cruelty.

But in both cases I felt like I was taking crazy pills because the media would just... speculate about the root desire behind such actions? Like "What could possibly be motivating these guys? Gosh, we don't know, to say what's actually happening here would be far too gauche so we'll just pretend it was an unpleasant byproduct of their TRUE goals, whatever those may be, no matter how implausible they may be."

Like: it's cruelty! The point is cruelty! Some people are just sadists! Some people get off on hurting others or in having the power to hurt others OR (and this is by far the only acceptable version of this and by the way it's completely acceptable to do this in FICTION) in creating artistic works that depict terrible cruelty and sadism.

... So anyway, I definitely went into Three Body Problem going, "Huh, I wonder why Benioff and Weiss chose THIS supremely difficult story to adapt as one of their next big projects?" And then I saw the boat getting shredded and the children they added to the loving depictions of gore and was like, "... Ah, yes. That's why."

(Edit: Just to be clear for those thinking of watching the show, it's not a gore-fest. It was easy to see this scene coming and to look away for it. There's some other moments of violence but those are also pretty easy to anticipate and look away from. This isn't a slasher horror show and it's had a lot of good points (so far). This particular scene just made me go, "Ah, there's the Benioff and Weiss I remember.")

[cassiopeiathe1st]

so as a biology major, here's some things i've been chewing on after reading the unwanted guest. this post is brought to you by the part of my brain that saw the 7th's hereditary blood cancer and thought ok but what KIND of cancer is that.

the phrasing of "permeability of the soul" makes me think of semipermeable membranes and diffusion. diffusion is a passive process -- our molecules, when left to their own devices, want to be everywhere because entropy, but the semipermeable membranes that make up cells organelles etc make life possible by keeping things organized. this dividing & filtering process is required to keep things in place. with me so far?

to me, this concept of permeability emphasizes that souls are objects with boundaries. there's a line somewhere, however blurry (clearly very very blurry) or porous, that divides self & other, and! and!! that line only exists because it is somehow constructed, maintained, enforced. see: ianthe working so hard to convince herself/pal/the hypothetical audience of this play she's putting on that she's just ianthe with no babs mixed in. or john's ritual of retelling his story to alecto/harrow in NTN. something something being the unreliable narrator of your own identity.

palamedes calls the process that merges him and camilla to give us paul grand lysis vs. the "petty", incomplete lysis of eightfold word lyctorhood. lysis = the disintegration of a cell by rupture of the cell wall or membrane. the boundaries of their souls are sliced open so their contents can be poured out & mixed together to make someone new. but even in conventional lyctorhood, there's some kind of exchange of whatever material makes up the soul between cavalier & necromancer. as our boy tells ianthe at the end of the unwanted guest,

This is the real truth of Lyctorhood, Ianthe--it's not some bloodless swapping-out of batteries. It's grafting; transplantation. When you absorbed Naberius Tern's soul, you didn't swallow a diamond. You swallowed a piece of meat...and the longer you digest that meat, the more its proteins and lipids and molecules mix in with yours, until you can't tell them apart anymore.

idk where i'm even going with all of this, i'm just rotating it in my head, but:

tamsyn muir is so precise with her necromancy jargon & anatomical terms that i feel like there's definitely meaning to be found in the imagery here. there is poetry in biology, the universe is made of stories not of atoms, etc etc

it turns out lysis is also the title of a dialogue of plato on "the true nature of loving friendship," so if any classics enjoyers have thoughts on that connection i would love to hear them!

if lyctorhood is transplantation, is it possible for that transplant to be rejected? can the graft refuse to take?

souls are contained within their edges not unlike how a cell membrane contains its cytoplasm. or how a capri sun pouch contains its juice. and lyctors slurp that shit up and digest it baby

why choose to link the soul so closely with water? (the river, bubbles, currents & waves in the river, nona saying the water of the river "doesn't want to touch us.") contents of souls = liquid in the same way that the river is a liquid??? the river = spirit version of the primordial soup???

dulcinea refers to the river having two shores, not just a generic "shore", so it sounds like they're different in some meaningful way. but that may be conditional on what happens in alecto ("if this ends well you'll find that out")? is the point of the river the river itself, or is the point of the river to separate those two places?