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[thenon-fictiondays]

Hirano to Kagiura light novel translation 4-1

Chapter 4: Fall.

Part 1

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It might be September by now, but the sun’s rays know no bounds.

Heat from the weather aside, the schoolhouse on the coattails of summer break is permeated with the fervor of the students.

Among all those in the athletic clubs who have undergone away games and training camps, there are many who have deepened both their tans and their virility. The sense of achievement characteristic of those who kept up with their exercise lives within their growth spurts.

Hirano’s roommate is, once again, one of them.

Kagiura, who’s gotten a bit taller, has gotten used to high school, completely devoid of the anxiety he’d seemed to have around the time he’d started school.

Since they’d met up over the summer, he’s become more and more relaxed, and Hirano can’t help but think of him as a beloved younger brother.

Wait, but younger brothers don’t do things like give you earrings, do they?

Hirano isn’t really in a position to judge, with no siblings of his own.

He’d found his original earrings while organizing his luggage after returning from Kagiura’s countryside home. They’d fallen into his school bag and hidden themselves beneath the stiff bottom plate.

What should I do about it? he’d wondered, but figured well, whatever, and didn’t bother switching out his new ones. He’ll keep them in the dorm just in case, but ultimately plans to keep using the ones Kagiura gave him.

As soon as the new term starts, preparations for the Cultural Festival are full speed ahead. Even the first years, who aren’t used to running events without the guidance of a faculty member, are gradually gaining opportunities to build character. The Executive Committee members have so many responsibilities that it has become difficult to carry out their studies without the cooperation of their classmates.

Kagiura also has the situation of being part of the ‘Sports Recommendation Squad’, and his grades are not up to snuff. It would be good if they don’t take a hit from his extracurricular responsibilities, but that will come down to his own efforts.

It’s not just the Executive Committee members who are swamped. The students in the culture clubs are also at their busiest, and with the autumn tournament right around the corner, there’s no way the athletics clubs can cut back on practices.

The sweltering nights have yet to abate; yet despite these conditions which could even be called cruel, most of the students are eagerly awaiting the Cultural Festival. You might even get away with saying all of them.

Because, after all, girls come to visit the cultural festival. 

And even without that element, a festival is still a festival. 

This is a time when the whole student body is restless, so the Disciplinary Committee will be on top of keeping everyone in line—or such is their public stance, but they won’t be too strict about moderating uniforms and hair styles.

In any case, a high proportion of the students will be in costumes on the day of the festival. 

There's also at least one class cross-dressing every year. 

This year, that’s right, it's the class that Hirano is unfortunately a part of. More specifically, it's been decided that Hirano will be one of the ones in drag. 

Oiwa-san—a famous spirit who makes an appearance in the Yotsuya Kaidan.¹

There are many variations of the famous ghost story, in which Oiwa, the deceased wife, holding a grudge over the betrayal of her husband, Iemon, slaughters every last person involved. Apparently, they will be basing the makeup off of Tōkaidō Yotsuya Kaidan², which is popular among Hirano’s classmates.

He’d been shown reference images of the ghost, her face half disfigured and inflamed by poison, but the picture was nightmare fuel when viewed in the dark.

Supposedly it’s a style of Halloween makeup that’s been popular in recent years, but the trial makeup that had been applied to his arm after school in order to match the shade to his face had been truly grotesque.

This information is to be kept top secret until the last possible minute on the day of, in the interests of building hype.

While Hirano is putting away his homework, the door opens with a click.

His roommate is home.

It’s still bright outside, but the dining hall is just about to open for dinner.

“Hirano-san, I’m home!”

“Welcome home, Kagi-kun.”

These days, Kagiura usually gets a bit bashful in reply to Hirano’s greeting, seemingly tickled. So naive and innocent he must be, making such an expression with no fear of being misunderstood.

There were days they’d spent together, but summer vacation had been long.

There’s an air of a different kind of newness from the one there’d been in the period before they’d gotten used to sharing a dorm—Kagiura probably feels it too. At least, Hirano thinks so.

He feels closer to Kagiura compared to before. After all, he’s met his immediate and extended family, so of course they’d feel more intimate. It’s as if the part of himself that had been on guard while thinking about how to act as a senpai in his second year in the dorms has been absolved.

After Hirano had filled out his print-outs as if in competition with Kagiura, who’d spread out his homework in a frenzy, they’d headed to the dining hall a little later than usual.

It always takes him about 3 or 4 days to get back into the swing of dorm life.

Speaking of which, he thinks.

Before Kagiura moved into the dorms, Hirano had been quite nervous.

He’d talked to Hanzawa about it one time when the Disciplinary Committee had a meeting, and they’d brainstormed strategies to avoid scaring Kagiura off.

He’d also felt it would be a waste of his efforts if he was only friendly at the beginning of their time spent living together; thus, they’d come to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be too far out of Hirano’s depths to give him a nickname and use “-kun”.

Oh yeah, that’s right. At the beginning I called him Kagiura-kun.

He’s been calling his name every day, enough that he’d ended up shortening it, thinking it’s too long and clunky.

Kagiura has morning practice tomorrow, too, so there's no way he can let him oversleep.

Hirano got that, but there was something on his mind that just wouldn’t go away, so he asked before shutting off the lights. 

".....Hey, um. I know you're working hard, so I don't wanna rain on your parade, but are your studies going all right? I haven't heard how your proficiency test went yet."

As the words leave his mouth, he thinks, what am I, a private tutor? and laughs drily to himself.

For the results of the test held right after summer break, a list ranking every student in their grade and the standard score were passed out to each person, the same as for the periodic exams.

For first years, they can be used as nothing more than a reference, but due to the breadth of the material covered, in some cases they might be used to determine which schools to apply to when compared to results from previous cram schools.

“...I just barely passed.”

“What’s the damage?”

“The teacher said, ‘You didn’t do badly enough that I need to pull you aside, but keep working hard’...”

“I see.”

Which is bad in and of itself, really.

Kagiura hangs his head dejectedly, and Hirano’s tempted to comfort him all the more for having seen the extent of his efforts, but his lack of preparation is unmistakable.

“Kagi-kun, after the cultural festival is over, you gotta step it up. If you miss some of the notes, get someone to show you theirs before the next day. Don’t let them build up. If you end up with a backlog of notes to take, you’re not gonna be able to understand them.”

Hirano knows deep down he’s probably worrying too much, but he keeps the expression on his face stern. The beginning is the key to everything. Among his classmates in the ‘Sports Recommendation Squad’ who, like Kagiura, are bad students, there are many whose grades plummeted after going on to their second year.

Who knew he’d become this much of a worrywort after becoming someone’s senpai?

“Yeah…Hirano-san, will you teach me again?”

“Sure. But you better bring back good grades.”

“I will! …By the way, can I ask you something?”

He ducks his head as he asks the question, a gesture with all the charm one would expect from someone as cute as him.

“What’s up?”

“When you were a first year, did the senpai you roomed with teach you how to study, too?”

“Nah, no way.”

“Hm…did you not get along?”

“It’s not that we didn’t get along, we just weren’t really that close. I wasn’t nearly as friendly a kouhai as you are.”

This is usually the case for dorm students. Hanzawa, contemptuous of homosexual relations, has a reputation in certain circles for having a finely-tuned gaydar and showing up to cockblock any time he senses anyone getting a little too close.³

His distaste isn’t unwarranted; apparently it has to do with his family, so even Hirano feels bad for him.

“...Does that make me special, then?”

“Why are you so happy about that?”

At Hirano’s jests of what are you, a dog? Kagiura breaks into a grin.

“Yeah. You know, I’m glad I’m your roommate, Hirano-san.”

Hirano smiles wryly; Kagiura’s got him wrapped around his little finger without a hint of insincerity.

With Kagiura cozying up to him like this, he doesn’t stand a chance.

*****

T/N: (1) Not sure I need to add more info on this to the story, but it's pretty interesting, so you can read more about it here.

(2) A movie based on the story made in 1959.

(3) Yall....idek what to say about this. I tried to keep the tone lighthearted but the original text literally says 'gay-hating Hanzawa' and describes his feelings as disgust. Idk why the writer put this but our boy is NOT like that 😭 I actually broke my vow of not looking at the official TL just to see how they handled this bit and they completely watered it down lmao. and tbh, yall know my dedication to accuracy but I WAS TEMPTED. While going back and forth about what I should do, I told my sister about it, and she suggested that Hanzawa doesn't actually hate gays, he just hates gay sex and will stand for none of it in his dorm so...we're going with that interpretation 💀🙃💀🙃

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Special shoutout to @jeizet, @jujupanic, @massyworld, @umbreonwolfy, and @acidsuzanne-blog for sponsoring these updates 🙌

[aicosu]

Hey, just saw your post about Veilguard - do you mind me asking what it is that put you off? Thanks!

I can start by saying I've not played it. I'm not going to at this point. But basically, every cutscene and dialogue option and plot point I've watched. And for those of you that don't remember I was hugely critical of Inquisition despite my love for it. And I downright hated Trespasser. So this shouldnt be shocking.

And its a lot of stuff I dont like. I can make a short list of major things below, obvious spoilers.

Please dont read this if it will make you angry okay? This is a lot of angry ranting.

1. I said this with inquisition and trespassers but veilguard seals my hatred for the decision to center the entire plot of ripping apart the dalish culture and religion. I'm sorry I just don't think this is compelling. It's icky to create an oppressed and marginalized race with parallels to most indigenous cultures in the real world, and basically call them wrong and stupid for clinging to their culture and history. I don't care that validating the Enuvanris existance means also invalidating the maker and the tevinter reiligions too, or even the dwarven: the game centers this narrative on the DALISH. The entire implication that its their fault all along or they sold themselves into a cult and slavery is gross. The game could have easily done this but centered it around the Maker. Andraste as the blight corrupted crazy deity or spirit whatever the fuck. Makes more sense with how much Chantry has been shoved down our throats since origins, and given how much wider spread it is after literal genocides of the dalish, qun, etc it would just mean a lot more to target the oppressors/majority religion directly. And look listen, I'm a pretty hardcore athiest and even anti thiest. I hate all religions, I find stories about dismantling religion compelling but to couch it histories of marginalized people like... its just not great. Not to mention twisting their gods into systematic greedy people or shoving their "bestest god" into a human woman and trying to make her prostheltize at me. I don't like it!

2. I get why old decisions dont matter. The world is too big, sure. I dont mind that at all, actually, even with all the problems, it gives people invested in those choices. Im happy to accept it. But then... make the actual plot less beholden to it. Why bring in cameos at all, then? Fuck man set it 50 or 80 years later. But if you cant cause everyone wants closure in the DA fandom then give us closure. If not personal closure with wardens and hawkes and etc cause its all too variant — lore closure. We arent going to talk about how darkspawn were thinking and talking? Blight was always just a random elvhen weapon? What apparent the tevinter magisters then? What about the architect? What about the idea of darkspawn becoming their own race and culture? What about the old gods themselves they were just always enuvanris? How do magisters actually feel about that? Why did those who worshipped corypheous or the black church follow Elvhen gods, their most oppressed and hated enemy aside from the qunari?

Speaking of, what about all of us who wanted to confront Minrathous and Tevine for the atrocities we've built up about it for 3 games. Slavery? Off screen solved before we get there? Dorian fixed it all? I had a heated debate with Dorian about him saying how slavery wasnt all that bad "They like being slaves!" And so many conversations with Fenris about how horrible it is. Rape and murder and submission? We don't as players get to finally confront that?

How about red lyrium being sentient. How about it being a tool the elvhen then used to murder titans, but not its alive and unstoppable? How can anything be unblighted? Because plot?

What of the calling? What of it really? What of those in The Calling who were unblighted? nothing?

Not even a deep conversation about the murky ethics of liberation/slavery when it comes to the Antivan crows stealing children? I'm to forget that?

How about anything all to do with the Qun? How about that burnt in memory I have of Saarabas immolating himself in service to not just the system of his culture but his belief in his faith. We're writing him off as a terrorist and not as an example of the Qun? Lets be really real; they have been retconning the Qun every game till now them being a fully gender and sexual accepting society.

How about the changes of mages vs templars if and maybe they walk free now? As if that entire conflict wasnt the brewing boiling point for three games?

What about the elvhen rebellion they so rightly started after centuries or murder and racism? Can we stop pretending that rebellion isnt an act of violence and has to be? Can we stop erasing the idea that systemical upheavel can be anything other than radical? Hello? Anders is one the phone asking for you?

How about that ending, the veil isn't even torn? Spirits don't walk the earth as intended. Why not solas' plan? Why not restore order. Why not join or dissuade him as he asked us to in trespasser?

It just all feels washed off, Thedas. I'm allowed to be angry and upset that they spanned all of these topics and asked me to engage with them on a deep ethical and moral grounds only to never mention them again. I dont think making your player base feel stupid for caring is great.

3. On personal levels, Solas has been ooc since trepasser. And frankly, the explanation of his relationship with Mythal is disgusting. Made the first slave and turned from his true nature into a tool of war—and reaffirming his subservance by making it that only Mythal could stop him? How is that not a toxic dynamic, and they fram it as loving and romantic? Imagine them trying that Fenris who can only be talked down by Danerous. Come on. It should have been Lavellan — or it really should have been not at all. Let him. The devs want to destory Thedas and start over? Let solas reset time and recreate the earth and tear is all down and erase most of the history. Do it you cowards. Give me an unrecognizable DA5 where spirits and mages rule and the elvhen thrive and war with each other. Give me slaved humans and a topsy turvy all that changes remains the same reality. Why not if you want to illuminti titan everything anyway.

4. I dont believe in the veilguard, I should have a choice not to. I should have a reason to care about it or my companions or fewl some sort of reason we must all work together aside from "theyre adorable". All the other games you had companion parties in organic and believable ways. Rook is leader cause.... ? What if I dont want to be? At least my Dalish inquisitor fought tooth and nail not to be called a christian messiah. Hawke had FRIENDS. And the warden found those who knew what a blight meant. And many of all of us disagreed. Vivianne got not sympathy from me. Why should Neve? Fenris will leave your party if you waste your time when the Magister comes to town. I dont want to coddle Harding about her stupid chantry. I do not to talk to Lucanis happily about the crows. Maybe I dont want to be friendly all the time. Maybe I hate everything Bellara is doing. Or taash.

5. The writing was on the wall in inquistion hoenestly. What with Iron bull letting me decide is he mass murders his found family or not. But jesus these new companions are like 10 yrs old. I don't know you decide. Your a fucking adult. I cant take a single one of them seriously. Even Sera screamed and yelled at me if I challenged her. Solas and I almost broke up mutiple times arguing about tradition and purpose or that damn Mythal well (again and no wonder he would object to doing anything akin to being emslaved by her, only to submit himself in this game. As if the well mattered at all. As if morrigan matters at all.) I just don't feel as though I'm bonding with anyone, I'm babysitting. Im being told what a great person I am that I can teach everyone elementary school behaviorial learning. I dont want to, I dont even want to be "good".

6. Petty stuff:

I hate the art style both in the UI and the models. I hate it. And the expressions are so poor compared even to Da2.

I hate all the armors. Everyone is bulky. Hate it.

Ugly combat.

Cant control or walk around as my companions and try out other classes.

CC cant change eyes or facial structure much so all rooks heads look the same and kinda... everyone looks like a dwarf. Sorry. Imo, imo, every rook I have seen looks like a dwarf.

Dont like the music.

Dragons are ugly.

Morrigans outfit makes it look like she has 4 titties.

I hate this elvhen "steampunk" tech when so much of their magic was shown to be earthen and mystic. Dumb. No explanation as why it would become this way it just is now.

Blood magic erasure cause the devs are scared of us being cool I guess.

I hate the humor. Every joke doesnt land for me. And there are simply too many.

[neetily]

─── PERVERT ALEX (SDV)

— ✧ warnings: pervert alex, Size Difference, anal (implied), Somnophilia, dubcon, thigh fucking, Exhibitionism — ✧ word count: 1,498

— ✧ A/N: reposting from my old account since i was asked to! formatting might be off, but it's still readable.

pervert Alex who swears he isn't attracted to you, lying to himself and his hard cock every time you stop him to say hello on his morning jogs, putting his tight shorts down to the adrenaline from working out instead of the actual reason which is quite clearly your sleepy stretches showing some skin and adorable bed head hair that he can almost convince himself is similar enough to post sex mess. you don't turn him on beyond belief upon every chance meeting and he certainly doesn't want to take you right where you stand. finding great difficulty in accepting his disgusting behaviours when he has to rush back home to jerk off after seeing you tend to your farm, bent over and basically asking for his cock. you're doing this to him on purpose, aren't you? it's your fault that he has to take regular breaks during work out sessions just to palm himself to the thought of you. it's your fault that he finds himself unable to focus on anything other than bulking up to show off to you. it's your fault that his running route now includes your farm just on the off chance he gets to see his pretty little farmer in the morning. anything and anyone but himself. because to blame himself and his teenage like tendency to pop a boner just from your pretty face means he's not in control. and more than anything he wants to have control over you <3 running twice as fast home not only so he can fuck his fist faster, but to train extra so he can show off his big muscles to you later on <3

pervert Alex who takes to lightly bullying you in an attempt to deal with his very obvious crush. poking and prodding at your squishy areas in a teasing manner, playing it off as banter but really it's just so he has any excuse to be touching you. and you're so soft compared to him that it drives him insane, wanting nothing more than to have his hands over every part of your body, squeezing and tugging you into position. swallowing harshly when you giggle up at him in response, cowering in fear of his tickling. and what a mistake that is, because now all he does is pester you when he sees you. lifting you and twirling you with ease as a greeting, making sure to press your tiny body against his toned chest to show off how strong he is, unable to hide his growing erection when you wrap your arms around his neck in return. you're so tiny. so small compared to him. and he wonders how much of him you'd be able to take before breaking. cupping his large hands under your ass to keep you held up, fighting the urge to pull your cheeks apart and feel your hole twitch around his finger. god all he can think about is how tight your cunt must be and how badly he needs to make sure, encouraging you to wiggle around and jump up to his height just so he can feel you rub against him. jokingly calling you names like babe, baby and princess just so he can watch your cheeks heat up in response. you're so cute he simply has to have you all for himself <3

pervert Alex who starts dreaming only of you. well, maybe fantasising would be a better word, but every morning he wakes up either with a hard on or messy sheets. sometimes both. and he needs to take care of himself before he can start his day. how annoying. dreams that involve you on your knees for him, in the same position he's seen you in when weeding your farm. knees caked in dirt, sucking him off and swallowing his cum before getting back to work. a little treat for his favourite girl <3 dreaming about watching your ass bounce back against his cock, spreading your cheeks just so he can watch your cunt swallow him whole again and again, his hand automatically fisting his cock lazily when he remembers he'll be seeing you this morning again. he wants to — no, needs to — show you who you belong to even if only to make you stop prancing around like you don't know. you're his. have been since the day he saw you, he just has to remind you of that. preferably by fucking it into your pretty little head <3 determined to make his dreams a reality with how persistent they've become, bleeding into his every day thoughts too. could spend hours just daydreaming about you in every position under the sun, imagining what you'd sound like with a mouth full of cock.

pervert Alex who gets a little bolder in showing his want for you, replacing the friendly bullying with something a little more serious. a little more intimate. growing more confident by the day when you don't decline his advances, his lingering touches and "accidental" brushes of his hand against your tits. and he's so greedy with it too, pulling you into his lap whenever he's at the saloon, prompting you to work his cock in front of everyone just so they know who you belong to as well. and if you don't move on his request then he'll just do it for you, manhandling you so that your ass circles his tip and leaves him gasping appreciation against your neck, both hands desperately gripping to your hips when you pretend to not know what it is he's doing. pretty dumb baby- he'd whisper into your ear, high off the power trip that you give him by allowing him to do whatever he wants to you whenever he wants. confirms to him that you're his girl. you want everyone else to know that just as much as he does, right? you must do with the way you innocently bounce on his cock every now and then in then in time with the music in the saloon, simulating riding him and forcing alex sit back to watch. he has to excuse himself for a few minutes to calm down else he's liable to undress you where you sit and force you down on his precum coated cock. he wants you and he's unashamed to show it. drags you to the side when others aren't looking, around the corner, the alleyway, hell — even sometimes in public — to hump away at any part of you he can reach. attempting to satiate the growing need he has for you.

pervert Alex who invites you to the beach with the sole purpose of seeing you half naked. can't afford to feel bad about his reasoning when you look so excited to join him, having him hard the moment you accept his invitation, peeking in from outside your bedroom window as you hurry to change into your bikini. almost cums on the spot when you take your clothes off, feeling yourself up as if you knew he was watching. and it's hard to hide his hard on the whole way down, though thankfully you agree to walk in front of him. your ass shaking against his cock with every step that riles him up even further but at least he's hidden. and when you finally settle on your towel at the beach he has the privilege of lathering sun block all over your body, taking his time and telling you that he's jus' tryna get ya all covered up. when really he's just selfishly rubbing circles on your tits and ass. you nod along with him, even thanking him for his hard work and his heart hurts with wanting. fully enjoys taking advantage of your innocence, or kindness. whatever it is he wants more. happy to see the beach is empty at the time of morning he asks you to accompany him, expertly planned in advance to seclude you all for himself. and he's so thankful this his planning has paid off, staring at you as you nod off to sleep, slowly teasing his cock in secret, palm stroking lightly at his leaky tip. perfect time for him to jack off as you nap in the sun, he thinks. too impatient to check if you're actually asleep or not before climbing up and hovering over you to masturbate. hastily dragging his wet shorts down to fist his cock a little and leak all over your thighs, brushing his tip against the growing wet spot before shoving himself between your soft thighs. can't help himself now, your legs wrapping his cock so well that he almost falls on top of you in surprise. moaning right next to your ear, too fucked to care. he knows there's no way you wont wake up as he's fucking your thighs, huffing against your face and neck when he's unable to keep himself steady enough. just hopes he's been reading your signals right as your lashes flutter open.

[ginger-grimm]

Another year around the sun has passed for me, almost. I did a poll, and the results were overwhelmingly a big yes. I've had a very attentive follower who's been asking me to post the form, so here we go. Please note that you can take your time with the gifts, my birthday is not until the near end of September. Whether you post the gifts now or a bit later is up to you, just remember please that I won't post your gifts until mine have been posted, I've been burned one too many times.

Otherwise, I'm really looking forward to this, I remember last year's exchange turned out great and I always appreciate doing these things. So, as always, come one come all, and have fun with this, I know I will be!

The Rules and regulations are simple, but they exist nonetheless, so here they are:

The exchange, for now, is open until September 25th, though I may extend it who knows *Kevin James meme*

You may make 1-2 requests, but hey, I will probably reblog it saying you can make more once no one requests anything *Kevin James meme intensifies*

Please reblog this post to spread some awareness, please. You can like for remembrance but just a like doesn't count (you already know this, I know my 5 regulars who come here every time)!

As aforementioned, this is open to my regular drunks and new patrons alike, so please do not be shy. Think of me as I think of birds, I am more scared of you than you are of me.

Fill out the form linked below and find the password in the form!

Please only send me faceclaims with good quality and plenty of material to use. Also, no cartoon characters. Video game characters are all right if it's motion capture. I'm not trying to discriminate, it can just be really tough for me to find material for cartoons, animes, video games, etc. as I edit by making little video clips first blah blah blah. However, if you slide in my DMs we might be able to discuss some stuff.

Please, please, please fill out all the columns I need and choose at least two gift options. It makes it infinitely easier for me to make something for you. Just remember I can't read minds and it's worse when I can't find anything in your blogs.

Remember the pleases and thank you's, pleases and thank you's make my heart grow fond.

I don't do Harry Potter OCs or Stranger Things OCs and while I don't have a specific list of FCs I don't use, I ask that you do not request anything for overtly problematic actors, thank you!

I accept pretty much any gift in return, it can even be story reviews or playlists for people who don't/can't edit themselves. If it's a story review, please let me know in the form so I know you did as I don't check my accounts every day.

I'm fine with gifts for any of my OCs - my master list as well as the link to my Pinterest is in my pinned post.

FOR ANY OTHER QUESTIONS OR CONCERNS FEEL FREE TO SEND ME A MESSAGE AND I WILL TRY TO CLEAR EVERYTHING UP!

JOIN THE PARTY HERE, THE FORM FOR THE EXCHANGE IS LOCATED AT THIS ADDRESS, PARTY PARTY PARTY

TAGLIST: @eddysocs @ocs-supporting-ocs @foxesandmagic @veetlegeuse @decennia @hiddenqveendom @arrthurpendragon @luucypevensie @nikosasaki @noratilney @wordspin-shares @oneirataxia-girl @endless-oc-creations @stelstellakidd @andromedalestrange @far-shores @daughter-of-melpomene @bibaybe

[wedreamedlove]

how would the men react if they had a really erotic wet dream about mc?🤣 (pre- relationship and post-relationship)

my brain could only come up with scenarios for Evan and Osborn, so i'll only be writing for these two. (this is such a great prompt i'm gonna move Osborn's into my series for him, hehe, thanks anon!)

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

Evan wakes up to an out-of-place weight around his waist.

He rarely dreams. In fact, he doesn't even remember the last time he dreamed. However, today is a little different. It's the same in that he doesn't remember the details of what he dreamed about, but it's different in that he does remember a flash of familiar eyes. Clever, bright, and lively eyes that are always full of emotion, except this time in his dream they were misted with a specific emotion, one that resembled—

A throb of desire shoots up his spine from his groin and Evan stills.

Ah. So that's what it was.

He looks down and sees the blanket tent between his legs, which would explain the weight pressing on him. As an adult man, it's not unusual to wake up to this physiological occurrence, regardless of whether he dreamed about anything or not, and he usually deals with it through a cold shower, willing it down, or clinically stroking himself to release. However, this is the first time his pleasure is linked to something concrete. Someone.

Evan sits up and purposefully ignores the urge to chase the lingering fragments of his dream that are evaporating into nothing. However, the blanket slides down his chest like a lover's caress and pools around his waist, triggering another throb of pleasure.

Desire scratches at a closed door in his mind.

He should ignore it. He should take a cold shower. He should do many things... and yet he has equally done many things that he shouldn't do and he finds—to his surprise—that this time isn't an exception either. He cannot stop himself from wanting to see the girl.

Just a glimpse, Evan tells himself. Just a glimpse and then I'll stop looking.

He stretches his talent in the direction of the girl's home and, all of a sudden, he can hear her even and peaceful breaths. She is still deep asleep at this time where the sun is still draped under the veil of night, casting a dark twilight shadow over his room.

It only takes a fraction of a second of inattention, where his thoughts waver, before the girl appears in his bed next to him, blinking at him with those clever, bright, and lively eyes. His eyes involuntarily widen before he catches the anomaly that exposes how this is a phantasmagoria of his own creation. The girl is covered up to her shoulders by his blanket but there's a faint blur where the curve of her shoulders disappear under the blanket, which is natural because he's never seen her naked body and so it can't be recreated.

She The illusion parts her lips and calls out his name in a sweet voice.

"Evan."

And it's shameful how hard that makes him.

Despite knowing that this is his own illusion, Evan still feels a throb in his body that makes his penis twitch underneath the blanket and release a trickle of want. Realizing that, at this point, the problem between his legs cannot be ignored or dealt with by a cold shower, he moves to sit at the edge of his bed and pushes his lounge pants low enough to free his member and palm it, wrapping his fingers over its hot length. He starts to stroke himself, catching the moisture at the tip and spreading it along the entire body to make this whole process smoother and quicker.

"Evan."

Don't come closer. Come closer. He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw to trap the groan in his throat as frissons of pleasure make him tighten his lower back.

But without his vision his hearing becomes magnified and he can hear the slide of the blanket as she sits up. The bed dips behind him from her weight as she moves closer to him. Her scent, that faint aroma he catches whenever she visits his office and leaves, drifts over to him and lingers around his nose. Her entire presence teases his senses like she's dragging her nails lightly over his nerve endings, making each one tense more and more.

Evan's breathing deepens.

His heartbeat is disturbingly loud in his ears as he tightens his grip around his cock and increases the speed of his hand, muffling the wet noise of his hand repeatedly sliding from the head to the base and then back to the head. There's a white-hot pressure building up at the tail of his spine and all of the muscles in his back become taut as he struggles to reach the summit of pleasure. Sweat trickles down from the side of his temple and he can feel its slow slide down to his jaw where it hangs precariously as a drop on his chin.

"Evan."

His breath catches.

He sees her arms stretch out from underneath his arms and curl in front of him. Don't touch me. Touch me. But just before the illusion can hug him and press her naked chest up against his back, the droplet of sweat on his chin falls and lands onto the back of his hand, seemingly scalding and the heat seeps through to the aching cock underneath his hand.

Evan's exhale explodes out of him and his concentration collapses. The phantasmagoria shatters around him like glass, much like how his mind fractures into fragments of primitive pleasure. The pressure in his body breaks through its restraint like a flood breaching a dam and its release shoots out of him.

For a moment, there is nothing. He thinks nothing. He feels nothing. Everything is a blissful numbness before Evan inhales a ragged breath and feels his awareness slam back into his body.

A turbid liquid begins to cool on his hand and drips onto the ground at the side of the bed.

Evan closes his eyes, catching his breath. He is used to the emptiness that floods in after the wave of pleasure passes, like how the receding tide shows the beach in its bare state only for a second before another tide rushes back in and swallows the beach. But he is still caught off guard by the degree of the gaping hollowness that follows after this session.

The silence is deafening.

There is no girl here, there is only him.

His breath shudders out and into him, as if he's learning to breathe.

His second breath is steadier.

By the third, he is a Lu again.

POST-RELATIONSHIP

It's the muffled sound of the shower running in the bathroom that wakes you. Still half-asleep, you grope around for your phone on the side table and see that the time is barely past dawn. It's a weekend, which means that you and Evan should be able to sleep in, so you're not sure why he isn't by your side right now.

Sitting up, you take a moment to collect your drowsy mind. Maybe a last-minute meeting was scheduled? You climb out of bed in your nightgown and walk over to the partially closed door of the bathroom, not thinking much as you push it open while calling out, "Evan?"

Breathing that is heavier than normal reaches your ears first. Your skin feels the warm steam second and the moisture in the bathroom clings to your nightgown, making it weigh down on your body. Finally, your eyes land on Evan in the shower. His head is lowered as if he's looking at something in his hand and you naturally follow his line of sight.

You must have made a noise because, in the next instant, Evan turns his head towards you at the door. The scarlet-red glow in his slightly widened eyes stands out in stark contrast to the creamy decor of the bathroom and you wouldn't be surprised if it matched the shade of your face right now before the color of his eyes fades back into a calm maroon.

If he is making any other expression, you don't see it because you immediately spin around and stutter out an apology, preparing to escape the bathroom and leave him to his privacy. "Sorry! I didn't realize you were..."

But Evan calls out your name.

You reflexively stop. However, he doesn't say anything further.

For a moment, all you hear is the clamor of your pounding heart and the water from the shower landing on the tiles... and on Evan's body before it slides down the ridges of his muscles and—

You rein in your thoughts before your mind brings up the sight you just saw seconds ago. Your face is so hot it feels like steam is also rising out from your head.

Eventually, the silence—and your curiosity at the lack of movement behind you—becomes unbearable and you look over your shoulder at Evan, keeping your eyes firmly above his shoulders.

There's amusement along his brows and in his eyes when he sees you peeking at him and, as if he was just waiting for you to look back at him, he opens his mouth and asks, "Help me?"

This is your second shock of the morning. Your first shock being running into Evan masturbating. You can count on one hand the number of times Evan has requested your help for something. And maybe it's this rarity that stops you from feigning ignorance to his request. Maybe it's the steam in the bathroom making it hard to breath and heating you up. Or maybe it's the way his bangs fall over his eyes and the misty sheen in his eyes that gives him a near fragile look.

Either way, you don't know what enchantment befalls you, but you find yourself turning around like a marionette to walk over and step into the shower. His arm naturally encircles your waist, ensuring that you don't slip, and he pulls you a step closer to him. The shower soaks your nightgown, making it transparent, but neither of you make a move to remove it.

You can't look away from Evan as a red glow re-appears in the depths of his eyes, seeming to circulate slowly like someone swirling a glass of red wine. Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see his right arm move again as he begins to touch himself between your bodies and the blush on your face deepens, making you feel dizzy.

"Didn't... didn't you want my help?"

"Just having you here is enough," he murmurs.

You swallow and his eyes drop down to follow the movement of your throat. The weight in them sets your nerves alight, one by one, but he still doesn't do anything else and just strokes himself at a slow and steady pace.

The pressure of his gaze is too much for you to bear and you lower your head, staring randomly at a spot on his chest, which is rising and falling faster than usual. Absently, you think about how much water is being wasted and how long this might take with his pace. You're so engrossed with restraining your urge to watch what he's doing with his hand that you nearly jump when you feel something brush against your ear. It's Evan's lips and he caresses the rim of your ear with them, the line of your jaw, and then trails them down the side of your neck, kissing you softly all the way.

Your breathing quivers at his ministrations and you instinctively clutch his arms for support but, when you grab his right arm, your left hand is carried by the back and forth movement of his arm and, for a second, you're under the illusion that you're the one stroking his member with your hand. This imagery makes you retract that hand like you're scalded and your hand swims through the air with uncertainty before it drops onto his waist.

Evan's entire body stiffens at this touch and a low grunt escapes him before he sucks harder on your neck in response.

You can feel things escalating (as if they weren't already) or derailing into something uncontrollable (as if it wasn't already) and so you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind in an attempt to hold onto your rationality.

"Why are you like this so early in the morning?"

The moment the question leaves your mouth, you regret it. What a dumb question. It's not like you don't know that men get morning wood. Before you can come up with something that makes you sound less stupid though, Evan answers you.

"I had a dream."

This was unusual for him and your curiosity is piqued. "About?"

"About you."

You feel his smile more than hear it as he drops light kisses against the crook of your neck and the curve of your shoulder, still stroking himself at that same steady speed. He knows he's being a menace when he only answers your question and nothing more, pushing you to ask follow-up questions.

Evan scrapes his teeth—his canines sharper than usual—along the shoulder strap of your nightgown, making your next question come out in a quiver. "What happened in the dream?"

You don't know what to expect or what you wish to hear. Some people say dreams are uncontrollable and some people say dreams are reflections of subconscious desires. You wonder if you should prepare yourself for the answer since you've heard stories about the things men fantasize about.

However, before answering, Evan stops stroking himself to grab your right hand on his arm, enveloping it entirely in his palm, and brings your hand down to wrap it around his cock. It's startlingly hot underneath your hand and you instinctively want to move your hand away, but Evan's grip is tight and while it doesn't hurt it also doesn't let you escape. He begins to move his hand up and down again, dragging your hand along with his, and rubs his cock with your hand.

"I was on a business trip and when I returned to my hotel room I opened the door to see you on my bed." His breathing becomes heavier. "You weren't wearing anything but one of my shirts."

"Do you often imagine me in your bed when you're on business trips?" You ask with a ragged breath.

Evan doesn't reply, he just increases the speed of your hand.

"Evan." It's less of a prompt and more of a demand for an answer and when he brings your hand to the tip of his member again, you squeeze and twist your wrist, rubbing your palm against its weeping head.

"Yes." A hoarse answer is dragged from his throat as his hips jerk, bumping his pillar against your stomach. You shiver.

"And then?"

You're losing your mind. You think you can feel his pulse through the throbbing vein on his cock and your hand gets wetter and wetter with something that isn't water every time you make a pass over its head. Whenever you inhale, the thick steam in the air and Evan's scent gets pulled into your lungs. In this situation, you really shouldn't be smelling much of anything other than the scent of water and soap; but Evan's heat, Evan's breath, Evan's eyes, and Evan's presence reminds you of sweat-slicked skin between sheets and wormwood mixed with musk.

"You patted the spot next to you, inviting me to sit down." He moves his arm that's around your waist at this point, dragging his fingers across the line of your waist to the dip of your lower back and then up the bumps of your spine, making your nightgown rise partially as well. His lips also move back up your neck to press against your mouth and every time he exhales his breath scalds your lips.

"And then?" Your left hand is moving without your awareness, repeatedly tracing the start of his Adonis belt.

"You slipped down to kneel in front of me on the carpet and pushed my legs apart. You took off my belt..."

Evan trails off as if he doesn't need to say anything further and he doesn't because you know exactly what happened next.

"Is that somehing you want me to do?" You find yourself asking against his lips, every word a kiss.

He doesn't answer, but his breathing is chaotic as it scatters over your lips. His cock jumps under your hand too.

"Evan, does the thought of me doing that make you..." Hard? Burn with desire? Crazy with need?

Evan never asks or makes you give him a blowjob. You know some women think giving head is demeaning and that some men use it as a power play or just a way to claim their own pleasure. To be honest, the act does give you some apprehension, but not because it's a vulnerable position since all sex positions involve some vulnerability, it's just that whenever you tried giving a blowjob in the past you don't get very far, just one or two licks, before Evan pulls you up to distract you with kisses. You had just assumed he didn't care for it.

But now...

But now you must be drunk on his words, on his breath, on his scent, and on the power he gives you over him where even in his subconscious he aches for you to the point of waking up hard with need.

You slide down to kneel in front of him and Evan doesn't stop you. He lets go of your hand watches you with eyes that are nearly bright red and pupils blown with desire and takes a step forward to block the rest of the shower from landing on you, which also conveniently brings his arousal right up to your lips.

Evan's cock is a long, thick, and bestial looking thing at odds with the rest of his elegant and gentlemanly appearance. It's flushed almost purple-red and the slit at the tip opens and closes slightly, leaking the truth of his desire in a way that can't be concealed.

Your eyes skate over his cock as you measure its length by sight and try to decide how and where to start. Evan must have taken your hesitation for something else though, because he reaches out to tuck your wet hair behind your ear before rubbing your ear between his fingers.

"You don't have to if you don't want to." He says this even though his voice has gone completely husky.

"I want to," you declare, glancing up at him, "I can do this."

Evan laughs lowly and strokes your head. "Yes, I know my little rabbit is courageous and can do whatever she sets her mind on."

The teasing tone in his voice makes you narrow your eyes and you swallow the head of his arousal without warning. The muscles of Evan's waist and abdomen become rock-hard as he tenses them and trembles at your sudden action. His words also stumble over a hitched exhale. "My little rabbit... can also be mischievous."

Only half of his member enters your mouth before it starts to feel uncomfortable at the back of your throat. Evan doesn't make any movement other than placing a hand loosely on the back of your head, stroking or patting it gently in encouragement. His other arm is braced against the shower wall.

You bob your head back and forth, swallowing and spitting out his cock, and listening to the noises Evan makes or the tremors in the muscles at his waist under your hands to guide you. Whenever you swallow him, you press your tongue to the underside of his arousal and suck as hard as you can. Whenever you pull away until just the head of his cock is in your mouth, you flick your tongue over the slit at the tip. All you can taste and smell right now is Evan.

You suck on him, you service him, you blow him until your jaw begins to feel sore but Evan still shows no signs of reaching an orgasm, so you finally look up at him. Evan's head is lowered to watch you and his bangs cast a shadow over his face, but you can still make out how his eyes are partially unfocused and his lips are parted as he pants slowly.

Pulling away completely and letting his cock pop out of your mouth, you complain, "Why aren't you close to finishing at all?"

Evan blinks repeatedly, his eyes focusing on you again, and slides his hand from the back of your head to your chin. He rubs your swollen lips with a thumb and a smile makes the corners of his eyes curve. "Do you want this to end?"

You rake your nails over the thin skin of his lower abdomen, next to a protruding vein that connects to his arousal. His member jumps and the head spits out another glob of desire as his hand involuntarily tightens around your chin. Evan's eyes darken to a color that reminds you of a bleeding sunset that's seconds away from disappearing underneath the horizon.

"My knees are getting sore, so help me out."

"As my little lady commands." He places both hands on your head and the intention couldn't be more obvious. "May I?"

You obediently open your mouth wide.

"Good girl. Relax and trust me." This is what he says in a hoarse voice before he inserts himself into your mouth.

And there's something obscene with the way he takes his pleasure from your mouth like this. Each thrust is deep enough to almost trigger your gag reflex, but Evan seems to know just when to stop before that happens and pull out again. However, as you accustom yourself to this feeling, he thrusts deeper and deeper into your throat. You do your best to suck in your cheeks and press your tongue to his cock every time he pushes in, squeezing him as tight as you can. The sight of his pelvis coming close and moving far in your vision that's blurred with physiological tears makes you dizzy and so you close your eyes and clutch onto his waist, feeling the surge of his hips.

Soon, Evan's breath becomes completely ragged and then he's yanking himself out of your mouth to stagger back one step, stroking himself rapidly with his hand before he releases.

You can't resist opening your eyes to take a look at him in this moment and you're only too glad that he didn't choose to ejaculate on your face. Instead, you feel his semen splash against the bottom of your chin, your neck, and your chest, searing hot where it lands. This sensation is an afterthought though, because your senses are arrested by the sight of Evan with his head thrown back, revealing the vulnerable line of his neck, and his entire body is tense and trembling, like a butterfly pinned in a display case. His Adam's apple bobs as he breathes in deeply to steady his breathing.

You made him look like this. One of the deadliest blood clan members and a man who stands above millions in terms of status, power, and influence was brought to this state by you.

This sight and knowledge sticks to you, making you barely register Evan pulling you to your feet and supporting you when you nearly fall because your legs have gone numb from kneeling for so long. He gives you an affectionate and lingering kiss before removing your soaked and dirty nightgown and cleans the both of you. You let him towel you off, wrap you in a bathrobe, and carry you back to bed.

However, when he puts you down on the edge and begins to undo your bathrobe, you blink at him in confusion. "Mn?"

"It would be remiss of me not to return the favor," Evan says as he kneels in front of you on the carpet and pushes your legs apart.

[gleedyke]

Here comes my two cents on anti-Neil Gaiman posting that I hope comes across civilly and that if you choose to interact with you are also polite about.

Everyone has the right to like/dislike a creator and to separately like/dislike their work. I happen to like this particular creator quite a bit, and I do notice that not everyone GOmens posting does, which again, of course, is fine. Disagree with choices made, that's healthy, but the way I keep seeing "us (fandom) vs him" mentality on any type of post feels bad. This isn't a defense of him; I don't fucking know him, nor does he need that. I'm actually quite happy when I hear folks say they simply don't follow/interact with him if they dislike him. That's great energy, but the rest of us seeing it all over is less great. Thought some reminders posted into the void would help lighten up the energy around here, or at least get it off my chest lol.

1. I've been properly queerbaited by media. This is not fucking that. Take a deep breath and heal with me.

2. A lot of vitriol towards Neil, and frankly Michael and David too, seems to be about being straight men creating this. Have we still not learned to mind our business on this front. You don't know them, we don't know them, but everything we've ever seen from them proves they're on our side. You wanna be mad at a straight man for actually fumbling the bag Steven Moffat is right th- sorry I forgot this isn't about him I tried not to bring up Sherlock in point 1 I really did. ANYWAY. I'm not implying anything, but I have learned to mind your business a little when telling someone why they can't create something queer. That's all.

3. This is his story, and it's not over. It took so long for him to get an adaptation made that he actually wanted to do, and he's doing it. I point y'all to Percy Jackson (I know there's some overlap in demographics here) and how much better the new series is just because Rick Riordan is more involved in adapting it. Having an author of the original work handling the adaptation this thoroughly is a gift regardless of how you feel about him. Additionally, he's writing the rest of the story that he and Terry Pratchett didn't tell. In Terry's honor. For himself. For all the people with beat up original copies. For all the people who have just joined because they realized there is something magical here. But above all it's still his. Take a deep breath and remember this is a love story, and if you still are not content in the end there's always AO3 my friends.

TL;DR vent away on your Tumblr if you don't like Neil Gaiman, nobody is gonna like everyone and certainly nobody's perfect. But before spreading negativity against him on every corner of the GOmens tags, I encourage you to remember how essential he is to the work regardless of your opinion. And remember that those who do like him and his work are also doing so with the best of intentions. Aren't we all. Peace and love this new year. Wait and see. Etc.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

I remember seeing a post that showed Camille and Marat responding to each other through their newspapers. I don’t know much about Marat’s feelings towards Camille or vise versa and was wondering if you knew anything about their relationship. Thank you!

The first connection I’ve been able to find between Marat and Desmoulins is from December 28 1789, where we find the following letter from the former to the latter. 

All citizens who have a soul, monsieur, are friends of mine, and you are at the head of those who have proven themselves. I accept with satisfaction your proposition, and beg you to accept the assurance of all my esteem and my sincere attachment.

According to La correspondance de Marat (1908) where it is cited, this is likely the first letter Marat ever wrote to Camille. As can be seen from it, Marat is responding to a proposition Camille has made. Exactly what it was about is left unanswered, but seeing as Camille had started his journal Révolutions de France et de Brabant just a month earlier (the first number was released on November 28), perhaps it regarded an agreement on the political orientation the two journalists had decided to take.

The first of the around 190 times Camille mentions Marat in Révolutions de France et de Brabant is in its eight number (January 16 1790). We do however have to wait until the following number, when Camille includes a part titled ”Affaire Marat,” to find something more meaningful when to comes to the relationship between the two:

I said one day to M. Marat, in the only interview I have had with him, what I thought of the excessive haste in judging, of his still greater facility in accusing, the danger of some of his opinions, from the lack of restraint in anger, his face being always the same, and as inflamed against M. Bailly as against J. F. Maury. I did not hide from him that the rumor was being spread that he was the instrument of aristocrats who employed him to sow trouble, and to rouse the people against any species of administration: but he replied in a way that made me close my mouth, with this piece which ends his denounciation of M. Necker: “The enemies of the people, who are mine, say that my pen is sold. And to whom, by grace, would I be sold? Is it in the National Assembly, against which I have risen so many times, of which I have attacked several disastrous decrees, and which I have so often called back to its duties? Is it to the crown, whose odious usurpations, whose formidable prerogatives I have always attacked? [Camille then publishes a long monologue where Marat assures that he isn’t working for anyone but the people, following the direction of no one but his heart]. There you have (Camille writes), I will not only say one of the most beautiful pieces of eloquence that I have ever seen; but also one of courage, soul and great character. Speaking of the freedom of the press, in the next number I will reflect a bit on the capture of M. Marat.

In number 15 (March 8 1790), Camille publishes a letter to him from Linguet, where the latter asks him if he knows where Marat is. Camille responds by the following footnote, adressed to Marat:

And you, M. Marat, respond to Mr. Linguet's postscript. Where are you? Adam ubi es? When God called Adam thus, he mocked our first father; for God, who sees all, was unable to not know where Adam was. For me, I don't know where the friend of the people is. Not a day goes by without me being asked for news about him. Could he be in the lion's den? say the patriots. I answer, M. Marat, that since your second hegira, I have received from you a dissertation on the freedom of the press; that I did not have enough space to infer it in my journal; that since then I have had no news from you. I answer like Madeleine: Nescio alii posuerunt eum. Please show yourself, M. Marat; reassure the good citizens. One has forgotten your great services to see only your very forgivable faults. Miserable condition of a journalist! Those whom he amused, whom he interested, soon forget him; those whom he has wounded are irreconcilable. He must take as his motto that which Cicero gives to a lieutenant-criminal: Cui dolet meminit, cui placet oblivifcitur.

La correspondance de Marat mentions a one page long letter from Marat to Camille dated May 1790, that they unfortunately only know about through an autograph catalogue. The catalogue entry went as follows: ”Letter signed, with the subscription and three autograph words, to Camille Desmoulins; Paris, May 1790, 1 p. in-49”

On June 24 1790 we find a letter from Marat to Camille where he suggests publishing a series of articles jointly in l’Ami du peuple and Révolutions de France et de Brabant — ”Believe, dear brother in arms, that nothing matters more to the triumph of liberty, to the happiness of the nation, than to enlighten the citizens on their rights and to form the public mind. This is what I urge you to work tirelessly on, by recording in our sheets a series of selected excerpts on the constitution; a real way to appreciate the work of our representatives at their true value.” Desmoulins did however never publish the article Marat attached to the letter, choosing instead to reprint one of his earlier ones.

From an unspecified date the same month we also have yet another letter from Marat to Camille.

Dear brother in arms, I ask you for a place in your next number for the included piece, too voluminous for my paper, and too interesting not to see the light of day at the present moment, when the conscript fathers move heaven and earth to prevent the people from revising their work, from rejecting all their decrees prejudicial to their rights, and granting their sanction only to those who are just and wise

A month later, in number 70 of l’Ami du Peuple (July 23 1790) Marat, while in hiding, includes a letter from him to Camille in an attempt to comfort him after death threats were pronounced against both of them during the Feast of the Federation:

I like to believe that my brother in arms, Camille Desmoulins, won’t abandon the fatherland and renounce the care of his glory by losing courage in the middle of his noble career. He is revolted to have heard deputies of the federation ask for his head. But a few drunk or abused men don't make up the public, and that public itself, should it be lead astray, still contains a large number of estimable citizens, full of admiration and gratitude for their generous supporters. Finally, even if the people was to be composed only of vile and ungrateful men, would the true philosopher close his heart to the love of humanity as soon as he sees no more reward worldly passions as the price for his virtue? O my friend, what fate brighter for a weak mortal than power, here-down, rise to the rank of the gods! Feel all the dignity of your being, and be convinced that among your persecutors there are a thousand who are humiliated by their nullity, their vileness, there are a thousand who envy your destinies. Few men, I know it, would be in the mood to grind for the salvation of the fatherland. But what! why would a citizen who has no parents, no wife, no children to support, fear therefore to run some dangers to save a large nation? while thousands of men abandon the care of their affairs, tear themselves away from the bosom of their families, defy perils, fatigue, hunger, and expose themselves to a thousand deaths to fly at the voice of a disdainful and superb master, bring desolation to distant lands, cut the throats of the unfortunates whom they have never seen and barely heard of! What ! many legions will not fear to cover themselves with crimes for eight sols a day, and the love of humanity, the love of glory will be too weak, to lead the wise to defy the slightest danger! I do not try to give myself incense; but my friend, your fate is still far from as harsh as mine! For eighteen months, condemned to all kinds of deprivations, excess of work and vigils, tigues, exposed to a thousand dangers, surrounded by spies and assassins and forced to keep myself together for the fatherland, I run from retreat to retreat, often without being able to sleep two nights in the same bed, and yet I have never been happier in my life; the greatness of the cause that I defend elevates my courage above fear; the feeling of the good that I try to do, of the evils that I seek to prevent, comforts me in my misfortune, and the hope of a brilliant triumph penetrates my soul with a sweet voluptuousness. Considering you like to laugh, here are some anecdotes to cheer you up, by giving you an idea of ​​the agitation of my life since the start of the revolution. [he then goes on to tell a long anecdote about how he escaped arrest a few days earlier] Dear Desmoulins, you who know so well how to amuse your reader, come learn to laugh with me; but keep on energetically fighting the enemies of the revolution and receive the omen of victory.

A few days later, Marat and Desmoulins get into an argument about the former’s newly released pampleth C’en est fait de nous (the origin of his (in)famous words ”five or six hundred heads chopped off would assure you peace, liberty and happiness.”) Camille reacted both on the violence, as well as the pampleth denouncing of the deputy Jean Philippe Garran de Coulon, and in number 37 of Révolutions de France et de Brabant (August 9 1790) he recounts the conversation he and Marat had about it, which according to him took place on July 29:

I was so indignant that I immediately ran to see Marat to exclaim that he was spoiling the good cause, that he was ruining us with his intemperate patriotism, that since he had just denounced the most good man I had met in my life, our Cato, M. Garran, I would no longer call him the divine Marat. […] “M. Marat,” I said to him, shaking my head, “my dear Marat, you will do yourself bad business, and you will be obliged to put a sea between the Châtelet and yourself a second time. Five or six hundred heads chopped off! Admit to me that that is too far. You are the dramaturge of the journalists. The Danaides, the Barmecides are nothing in comparison to your tragedies. You cut the throats of all the characters in the play, right down to the blower. You are therefore unaware that the outraged tragedy becomes cold. You are going to tell me that five or six hundred heads chopped off are nothing, when it is a question of saving 26 million men, that Durosoy, in his Gazette de Paris, shouts every day to the former nobles: ”band together, take helmets, thighs, the rusty swords of your fathers, cut the throat of the entire nation!,” that you can only be considered as the patriotic version of Durosoy, and that the Gazette de Paris is still well more soaked in blood than l’Ami du peuple is. M. Marat, do you also want to fight the one you call Sylla, only like Marius? Five to six hundred heads chopped off!.. it really is a proscription. I know well that your tables of proscription will not remove the hair from the head of a single aristocrat; At least you should make a roll call of these five or six hundred rascals, so as not to spread consternation in all the families. As for me, you know that it’s been a long time since I resigned as Attorney General of the Lantern; I think that this great charge, like dictatorship, should only last a day, and sometimes only an hour. Pardon, dear Marat, if my green youth gives advice to a head as healthy as yours, which is more matured than mine by years and experience; but you really compromise your friends, and you will force them to break with you. Do you see, I added, that I am more circumspect than you? Since I learned that they wanted my demise, have you noticed how I avoid them getting hold of me. They were waiting for me at the feast of the federation; and according to the facts and my principles, the step was slippery. But I saw Malouet, the key to the pack, arrive. Instead of allowing myself to be thrown back into the Champ-de-Mars, I tracked him down by speaking of the triumph of Paul Emile, and by leading him from the triumphal gate to the Esquiline gate and to the Cœlimontane gate. I just translated Plutarch word for word. Come the blacks when they want. I defy them to assign me to the Châtelet, or else they will have to have Plutarch, Amyot and Madame Dacier also assigned. When despotism reigns, all that remains for the friends of liberty is to relieve their court by depicting happier times. Volaire writes the death of Caesar; Corneille that of Pompey; and Fenelon does his Telemachus; for despotism itself has never gone so far as to defend with the brush of the historian, or of the poet, the picture of anterior times.” Mr. Marat allowed me to rant on, and then refuted me with a single word: ”I DISAGREE.” (JE DÉSAVOUE)

Marat responded to this through a letter inserted in number 193 of his journal (August 16 1790):

Despite all your wit, my dear Camille, you are still very new in politics. Perhaps this amiable gaiety which forms the basis of your character, and which pierces your pen in the most serious subjects, is opposed to the seriousness of the reflection, and to the solidity of the discussions which are the result. I say it with regret, devoting your pen to the fatherland, how much better you would serve it, if your progress was firm and sustained; but you waver in your judgments, you blame today what you approve of tomorrow, you praise strangers for the smallest work: you appear to have neither plan nor goal, and to crown your levity, you stop your friend in his tracks, and you suspend his blows, when he fights furiously for the salvation of the common cause, in those moments of crisis when the people seem to have nothing more to expect but from their despair. The misplaced but bloody reproaches you make to me in your n. 37, could cause the cause of liberty to lose its most zealous defender, by depriving me of the confidence of a multitude of citizens little in a condition to judge me. It is this fear that reduces me today to the sad necessity of explaining to you the plan of my conduct since the time of the revolution. If you had taken the trouble to follow my course, you would have judged it healthier, and you would have spared me the mortification of telling you myself what should not have escaped you. But before revealing my entire soul to you, I must start by dismissing your charges [he then goes ahead and does exactly that].

And then through another letter inserted in number 196 (August 19) (the response took up seven out of the eight pages):

How I love this beautiful heat, my dear Camille, with which you rise up against me, on the subject of the denunciation of the municipal research committee, published in C'en est fait de nous. It could only spring from a truly patriotic breast: and if it does not suggests a very strong head, it at least announces a very pure heart. Believe the Friend of the People, he is less affected by pain by your accusations against him than he is by happiness by the pleasure of seeing that the image of virtue still finds in you a true adorer. But he cannot bear that you believed him capable of attacking the innocence of one of the members of the research committee, and of outraging the civility in the person of M. Garran de Coulon. I therefore have to enlighten your zeal, and that of the public, who could imagine that by denouncing these gentlemen I had formed the project of depriving the nation of the faithful argus who watch over its salvation. [he then goes ahead and does exactly that] May this useful truth be placed before the eyes of your readers; and believe, dear Camille, that the Friend of the People would not have had to write you this long letter, if he were less jealous of your esteem.

Camille would appear to have been a bit piqued by Marat after that, in number 39 of Révolutions de France et de Brabant (August 23) he writes: ”…it is enough for my readers that I tell the truth with courage, that I seek it in good faith, and I can say that only M. Marat refuses me the first of these qualities, and only those who do not know me who challenge me on the second.” Even so, it’s clear he still viewed Marat as a patriot after the incidence, writing both that ”if Marat didn’t exist, it would be neccesary to invent him” (number 61, January 1791) and that ”Marat is the journalist who has best served the revolution” (number 73, April 18 1791), while still calling him out if he thought he had gotten something wrong.

In May 1791 started another controversy between the two, after Marat in number 448 of l’Ami du peuple (May 4 1791) denounced Camille for incorrectly having stated that he was resigning:

Why must the love of my fatherland put my pen against you today? You announce, in your number 73, "that the intrepid Marat, seeing the accusation of Rutteau stifled, seeing the excessive honors which rain on the coffin of Mirabeau, succumbed to discouragement and asks for a passport to exercise the apostate freedom in a less corrupt nation. After leading such a troubled, laborious life underground, he leaves, penniless and poor, which is the best response to his enemies.” You are no doubt basing this on what I exclaimed at the end of my number 339: ”O Parisians! you are so blind, so ignorant, so stupid, so presumptuous, so cowardly, so flat, that it is madness to undertake to recover you from the abyss, that it is madness to undertake to open your eyes my soul, exhausted by useless efforts, is a prey to disgust, that you have inferred my departure.” But if you had bothered to transcribe the following words, you would have seen that I was not leaving, since I say to the Parisians: "I would have abandoned you to your unfortunate fate, if I were not held back by hope to find some virtue in provinces, by the fear of immolate posterity.” You go further, Camille; you want to appear in secret, you announce that I am asking for a passport, and you do not feel that, my head having been put at price by the Austrian cabinet, the general and the other chief counter-revolutionaries, this levity on your part would have exposed me to fall into their hands and become the sad victim of their fury. You can imagine the fate they have in store for me. What to expect from them, except to be thrown into a fiery oven, if they take me in secret, and to be minced by their satellites, if they arrest me publicly? The turn you give to this announcement may not have been dictated by malice, but it is neither less unfair nor less cruel. You make me succumb to discouragement and ask for a passport to practice the apostate of freedom, in a less corrupt nation. But to leave the battle field when the army has laid down their arms, and to abandon the game when there is no more hope, that would be neither a coward, nor a deserter, nor an apostate: that would be yielding to reason, that would be yielding to the imperious laws of necessity! And then, was it the Friend of the People, the only patriotic writer who did not vary for a moment in his principles, his views, his steps, his conduct, that you had to display as an apostate? He, whose courage never wavered in times of crisis, and whose energy increased with the dangers; he, who for twenty-eight months has sacrificed his health, his rest, his liberty to his country; he, who to save her buried himself alive and who for a whole year has defended the rights of the people with his head on the chopping block. Young man, learn that after truth and justice, liberty was always my favorite goddess, that I always sacrificed on her altars, even under the reign of despotism, and that before you knew her name, I was her apostle and martyr [this goes on for another five pages]

Camille gave a short answer in his next number (May 9 1791), apologizing to his readers for printing it in his journal, which should be dedicated to solely public affairs. This is also the first time any of them is proven to have used tutoient with the other.

It seems that in my number 73 there is a gross misprint, ”to exercise the apostate” instead of ”to exercise the apostolate,” although the remaining numbers say the apostolate. Both the language and the meaning of the sentence indicate that it should be read apostolate, because in this sentence I praise Marat for his constancy. However, for this Marat addresses me eight pages of insults. Listen Marat: I only recommend that you don't allow yourself quite so much of Gauthier's example, and that you slander a little less, even the people in place. As for me, I allow you to say as many bad things about me as you want. You write in an underground where the ambient air is not suited for cheerful ideas, and can make a Timon of a Vadé. You are right to take the step of seniority over me, and disdainfully call me ”young man,” since it is 24 years since Voltaire made fun of you; to call me unjust, since I have said that you were the one of all the journalists who has served the revolution the best; to call me malevolent, since I am the only writer who has dared to praise you; finally, to call me a bad patriot, since there has slipped into a few numbers a misprint so gross that no one can mistake it. In vain you insult me, Marat, as you have been doing for six months, I declare to you that as long as I see you extravagant in the direction of the revolution, I will persist in praising you, because I think that we must defend freedom, like the city of Saint-Malo, not only with men, but with dogs.

Marat was however not satisfied with that, writing yet another long letter published two days later in number 455 of l’Ami du Peuple. He continued to use vouvoiement when adressing Camille:

Despite your joviality, Camille, you do not always have the art of getting angry with grace and dignity. Surprised to see you relatively unaffected by the dangers of the fatherland that you give your readers, in a time of crisis, several numbers of table of contents, or talk to them about your hassles with Malouet, Desmeuniers, Naudet, Desessart, and not very jealous of your honor to thus help your enemies to make believe that you were in business, I tried to call you back to order. This little freedom earned me the pretty note that ends one of your February 1791 issues. Pained to see you involuntarily discrediting my paper, and so inconsiderately harming public affairs, I have sent you a few light reproaches. You only rejected my friendly representations by qualifying them as insults, and by attributing them to the mephitic air of my cellar: I could ask you if you acted in this way so as not to contradict the proverb which claims that truth is the only offense; but I prefer to observe you than to show so much humor, when I show so little of it, it is wrong to take advantage of your advantages, you whom nature has made so gay, so witty, so amiable, you who breathe such pure air, you who have such a good cellar, you who are surrounded by so many charming objects. [This goes on for another three pages, you get the idea at this point].

When Camille along with Fréron in 1792 started a new paper, La Tribune des Patriotes, they unsuccessfully tried to get Marat to join in on the project too — ”We would have wanted Marat to fight with us on the same side, in order to oppose this trio of glorious confessors of the revolution, to the academic trio of Mr. Pankouke, or to this myriad of wealthy names with which Nicolas Bonneville adorns the frontispiece of his Chronicle du mois, but Marat replied proudly: The eagle always goes alone, and the turkey in a herd.” He still wanted to help with the journal, on May 19 we find the following letter from him to Camille:

The enemies of the fatherland having again placed me under the sword of tyranny, I send you two letters which I ask you for a place in the first issues of Tribune des Patriotes. As it is an important for liberty that journalists who betray its cause are unmasked, I hope that you will attach some value to it. They are signed by me, to put you in order in any case. I salute you patriotically, as well as Fréron, your colleague and mine. Marat, the friend of the people. May 19 1792.

Camille claimed to have been at the house of ”the poor Marat” right after the murder and there have overheard Legendre ask Charlotte Corday if she was the one who had come to his place earlier that day with the intention to kill him too. An question which Camille made fun of in his Lettre de Camille Desmoulins au général Dillon released soon thereafter, writing that ”a woman who had come to kill the first man of the Mountain wouldn’t prioritize [Legendre].”

We don’t know what Camille’s immidiate reaction to Marat’s death was, however, on July 22 1793, nine days after the murder, the Jacobin Club tasked him, together with Robespierre, Lepeletier and Dufourny, with writing an adress to the French people regarding it. Said adress was printed and read aloud at the club four days later, obviously deploring of the event and praising Marat.

None of the texts written by Camille after Marat’s death is much of a gold mine when it comes to telling us more about their relationship. Camille mentions his name four times in his Lettre à general Dillon and 34 times in the Vieux Cordelier, always praising him or using him as a political card. He also mentioned him four times in his defence, with the hopes that Marat’s memory could help him save his life:

Who denounced Dumouriez the first, and before Marat and more vigorously than anyone else? Surely one cannot deny that it was me? […] This Vadier, president of the Committee of General Security, is the same Vadier that Marat denounced in his number from July 17 1791, as the most infamous of traitors and deserters: these were the words he used.

Finally, in his Histoire des Montagnards (1847) Alphonse Esquiros inserted the following part, claiming to have obtained the information from Marat’s younger sister Albertine:

These three men, Danton, Desmoulins, Marat, liked to come together, from time to time, to rest their souls in the sweet serenity of nature. The Friend of the People showed himself, in these rustic walks, to be the most accommodating companion in the world. The sight of the harvested fields, of the trees losing their last leaves, of the river lined with rushes, brightened up his imagination a bit, darkened by the work and storms of the city. He walked with his back slightly bent and his head tilted to the right side. In this contrast of the noise of revolutions with the silence, with the serious serenity of a sunset, under the trees, at the water's edge, a league from Paris, the three friends then had before their eyes the two faces eternal aspects of the world, history and nature, God in movement and God at rest. Danton, this eloquent thunderbolt, this large head of a genius on which smallpox had left big marks, Danton ordered dinner. Whatever efforts one agreed to make during the frugal meal, to keep irritating subjects out of the conversation, one was obliged to go there at dessert; because the company was too preoccupied with the dangers of the State not to mix public affairs with their most personal conversations. One only feared speaking in front of Marat, because the little man, until then so easy, so complacent, and always in the opinion of others, showed at the slightest contradiction of his ideas the traits of fury and an intractable character. If one insisted, he would lose his temper and foam would come out of his mouth. Danton showed, because of this, a sort of aversion to the person of Marat. Camille however, seeing Marat calmer than usual that evening, asked him various questions, to see if the Friend of the People definitely had the mania or the strength for a system. He reminded him of his moderate ideas, at the time of the opening of the Estates-General, and put them in opposition to his current doctrines.

”If in fact, continued Marat, the faults of the Constituent Assembly had not created among the former nobles so many irreconcilable enemies, I persist in believing that this great movement could have advanced in the world by peaceful means but , after the absurd edict which keeps these enemies among us by force, after the clumsy blows to their pride by the abolition of titles, after the violent extortion of the property of the clergy, I maintain that there is no longer any way to rally them to our revolution. We want to found a government on the sacred laws of nature and justice: well, these nobles, in possession, for centuries, of trampling on us, pillaging us and taxing us, will work incessantly to destroy this government; We must therefore either renounce the Revolution or cut off these men. What I am proposing to you is not an empty rigor based on laws. I want an armed expedition against foreigners who have voluntarily placed themselves outside our government. We are in a state of war with intractable enemies; they must be destroyed. As the dangers that threaten our emerging republic recede, the death penalty will as well; it will even soon end up being erased from our code.”

”Come on, my dear Marat,” Camille said to him, ”I see that you are two centuries ahead of ours; I pity you. Yes, I swear; I have always sought the good of humanity. It suffers; I feel it in my infinite torments, in my worry, in the cry of my heart. The transports that animate me at the sight of constantly recurring evils come from the purest love of justice. If these transports have sometimes been combined with the fury of despair, with the dark colors of an alarmed imagination, with the passions of an overly sensitive soul, pity human weakness: but do not insult my intentions. By taking charge of lifting the veil on the traitors, of sounding the alarm at the slightest attempt at counter-revolution, of constantly walking around with ghosts, I knew well in advance the fate that awaited me. Well! I’ve sacrificed everything, everything, even my rest, even the light of day, even my reputation and my honor; I made myself an emissary victim to save men.”

[subiysu-chan]

Jean grasped his hands tightly in a gesture of prayer. He wasn't praying, though; he just waned to calm the trembling of his hands. Or at least hide it from other prisoners.

His back was one big mess of blood, and big, angry welts were splattered all over his body. The heat from all of them was radiating and spreading, so it was hard to tell where exactly was he struck. It was getting increasingly difficult to not cry.

It wasn't because of the pain, not really. Jean could take a lot more and not utter a sound. Or so he liked to think - it was one of the harshest pains he had to endure in his life. But oh, the humiliation... the way he had to be almost completely undressed in front of that man, and that he couldn't even defy him. He kept quiet through all the degrading comments, never once spoke out to defend himself or his honor, for his maman said there was an important politician observing his punishment. The wealthy always loved to watch torture happen. They could deny it all they wanted, but Jean knew - he saw the sadistic lust in their eyes more than enough to know just how much they enjoy the power rush. The man who watched him today was a personal case of revenge, though. Apparently, he had lost his nephew to the Sanson sword a few months prior, but frankly, Jean didn't care to remember.

Those were the things that had him nearly in tears. The walls he was building around himself for years almost crumbled under the pressure. It was always just his mother or teacher who hit him, and only his siblings occasionally saw it happen. But now, he had been laid bare before many eyes, and at least two pairs of them were sadistic monsters who have taken great joy in watching him suffer. Perhaps the silence was not just his way of maintaining the shreds of dignity he could still defend; it was the last bit of resistance he could use, his stubbornness.

The highest executioner in Paris crouched in the corner of his cell, his body trembling all over, and he didn't let out a single tear or noise, instead opting for digging his nails into his battered flesh. Perhaps it was his silence that broke his sanity.

:)

You asked for Jean-Baptiste hurt comfort but his ass is NOT getting comforted. I knew he wouldn't shake and cower from pain, so I added some humiliation :) and losing faith in humanity. Uh, just a disclaimer that this is in no way sexual, he had just been tortured and it's based on your headcanon and now he is in a pitiful state, mentally worn out. Nothing hot about it.

Please don't tag this lol I don't want this shit to breach containment. Like, actually please. I feel stupid sending it to you even, sooo yeah it's a first step before I actually post anything ever. I feel like I have to put 27 disclaimers...

I can't and so probably won't do fluff or comfort for this man, in my eyes he has to suffer and find new ways to take more suffering. So you can stop asking ig.

Thanks ! You write very well. I won't tag it...

Jean-Baptiste...I think the reason he's there because he botched it. Also, be guess he's around 17 at this point.

[alex-the-bard]

uh

pictures are too hard (it's eighteen pages long)

so here

anything underlined has a direct link to the original post (so click on those for drawings hehe)

Dreamscape Nexus ~

All Entries

Recovered sketchbook entry

The following document was recovered from an Ascario mining compound following a raid conducted by the SAS in cooperation with Seal Team 6. It was found lying on a desk by [REDACTED] on [REDACTED] among other scattered papers. The document was sent to Site [REDACTED] in [REDACTED] on [REDACTED] for further study. The document seems to depict a door, with some sort of slogan underneath it. Surrounding the door are windows shaped similarly to shards of broken glass, depicting several different words, images, and languages (Russian, Latvian, German, and Swedish), and connected by threads, almost like red string on an evidence corkboard. There are also several flyers and missing posters floating around the door. [REDacTeD] has taken note of this discovery and has expressed great interest in the document. Research is still ongoing.

ENTRY 00000000000000000000000000000000000oO0: Why Can’t I Remember?

Why can’t I remember? My brain feels fuzzy. This sword is heavy. I could just lie down here. Close my eyes… and rest…

ENTRY 1: A Door to Another World

Where am I? I stepped through the door and now I’m standing in a void? What is this place…?

ENTRY 8: Where Am I?

This place is strange. These islands float in what seems to be an endless void, and the laws of gravity do not apply in the way I know them to, if at all. And the beings that inhabit this strange realm... I must find a way to escape this place.

-OS

ENTRY 27

There is, SOMETHING out there, looking for me, i don't know what it is.

I can't get this damn mask off, and my arm isn't mending. Fuck, my shirt is covered in blood. What I wouldn't give for a warm bath right now... I fear for my safety, this place is strange, the laws of my world don't seem to apply here. and I can't seem to shake the feeling that I'm being watched.

There's some sort of obelisk a couple islands down, I'll start out for it in the morning, not that one can keep track of time in this cursed place…

-OS

enTRY 27-B: Recovered Sketchbook

The following pages from OS’s sketchbook were recovered by [REDACTED] on [REDACTED] in [REDACTED], we have yet to identify any of the things depicted in the drawings.

Entry 30: Home Sweet Home

I found some sort of house at the foot of the obelisk, I'm sitting inside of it as I write this. Well, at least I have some shelter. My face feels weird, some kind of pressure behind my eyes, and my arm is getting worse. There're some sort of veins spreading up my bicep, and it hurts like a fucking bitch. What the fuck was in that spine?

Entry 34: Bells?

I hear chimes ringing, first non-natural sound I've heard in weeks. This building is fucking huge, gives me steampunk vibes.

Ugh, my head hurts, my arm is chalky, black and dusty. It feels like coal. I can barely write.

-OS

Entry 51: Bodies

Oh my gods, I'm gonna throw up.

They- they're- they're BODIES. Rancid, decaying, maggot infested corpses. They just showed up overnight, and they're standing there. Fucking empty eye sockets and rotted grins. It's disgusting. And the smell, I'm gonna be sick.

Entry 54: Ashes to Ashes

My arm is... Chalky, crumbly. It feels like sand.

The bodies are still there. They haven't moved. Why did I ever open that damn door…

Entry 68: Whispers in the WInd

The bodies are gone. They just disappeared. I looked away for 2 seconds and they were gone. Freaky.

This place isn't safe anymore. That- That THING is here. It knows where I am. I'm leaving. There's some sort of airship at the top of the mountain, I'll depart at glimmer's fade.

There are voices, too. Almost inaudible whispers, drifting on the wind.

When you see it, it sees you too.

When you hear it, it hears you too.

When you feel it, it touches you.

When it calls you, it has you.

When you feed it.

IT CLAIMS YOU.

Entry 78: Watcher

It followed me. I thought- I thought I got away but I didn't. It was just playing with me.

This damn mask.

My arm is doing weird things. Shifting and changing forms. It almost looks like charcoal sculpting. I don't know what's happening to me.

I know it's there. It always has been. You're there too, aren't you? I know you are. Don't lie to me. I see you. I always have seen you.

ENTRY 79: It Found Me

*unlike most of the recovered documentation, this entry is recorded on an old camcorder, the tape and camcorder are splattered in blood and a thick, inky substance*

It found me. It fucking found me. The long pale arms, it reached out and it- *makes strangling gesture* It was some sort of fucking demon. Fucking hell. It cut me, it fucking cut me!

*unintelligible mutterings, before subject shows themselves on camera. they are covered in blood and the same inky substance as before, a bright red overcoat covers their body, and a shield-shaped mask covers their face. their arm shows the decay described in previous entries.*

This place is hell. I've died and now I'm in fucking hell! Monsters, upside down bridges, and now a fucking cryptid chasing me around!?!?! What the fuck!?!?!

I need to get out of here.

*subject steps towards the camcorder, reaching out to turn it off, the last frames of video show the subject drawing a hunting knife from their overcoat*

ENTRY 92: Fuck That Box

Fuck that box.

There was fucking teeth. HUMAN TEETH. And a heart. Beating. Fucking pulsing and throbbing. There were HUNDREDS of them. The whole floor. Fuck. I should never have come here.

Where's the fucking booze.

ENTRY 97: City of Ghosts

I found... SOMETHING. I don't know what it is. Some sort of city? And there was some sort of church or something in the center. Floor was covered in stones, and they seem to be hollow. Boxes? I'll take one back and try to open it.

ENTRY 117: Memories

Why can’t I remember? There- there was a door and- and some kind of hit. That’s it, that’s all I remember! Next thing I know I’m waking up face down in the dirt here! What happened to me?

-OS

Documentarian’s letters 

ENRY 01010100 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01110111 01110010 01101111 01101110 01100111 00101110: Documentarian

Hello there, how are you? No, this isn't OS. This is the Documentarian, I'm the one who's been investigating the Nexus and the Unconscious. I look forward to our future work together.

Are the stars still there?

ENTRY -|NULL|-

I know what you did. My garden is dying. Will you help me?

Life is not binary.

There is a space in-between. Maybe look into the code of our world, who knows what you'll find?

[CONTINGENCY 32R/TE-27 (ARCHIVAL RECOVERY) INITIATED]

What the hell Dawn?

[THEY ARE ASKING TOO MANY QUESTIONS. THE CYCLE MUST NOT BE BROKEN]

They’re just kids, you can’t blame them for being inquisitive!

[THE CYCLE MUST NOT BE BROKEN]

OS’s Rambles (ok alex)

Fuck Ascario

They pulled me out of that fucking hospital and made me go through that door. They promised me salvation, then handed me damnation. Fuck Ascario. I’m sorry Evelyn…

How is this happening?

It’s like I’m looking forward in time. Hello? HELLO? IS ANYONE OUT THERE, CAN YOU HEAR ME? PLEASE. Someone. Anyone… please…

Ascario documents

After-Action Report: Incident at the Nexus Entry Point

Date: [REDACTED]

Prepared by: Imogen Vladistov, Team Leader

Objective: Investigate the Nexus

Team Members:

Team Leader: Imogen Vladistov

Tactical Specialist: Graham Oreta

Tech Specialist: [REDACTED]

Medical Officer: Dr. Karina Solvea

Communications Expert: [REDACTED]

Overview: On [REDACTED], at 3:05 PM stable time, the team was dispatched to breach the Veil through the [REDACTED] at [REDACTED], near [REDACTED]. [OMITTED DUE TO IRRELEVANCE].

Chronology of Events:

Entry Point Approach:

The team approached the portal cautiously, noting its otherworldly appearance. Preliminary scans revealed unusual energy readings but lacked any concerning anomalies.

Door Transition:

Upon entering the portal, the team experienced a sudden disorientation. The transition was without incident.

Initial Nexus Exploration:

[REDACTED]

Monster Encounter:

As the team proceeded deeper into the Nexus, a hostile entity emerged from the shadows. The creature displayed unpredictable behavior and exhibited physical capabilities beyond human comprehension.

Evasive Maneuvers:

The team immediately engaged in evasive maneuvers, attempting to avoid direct confrontation with the monster. Tactical strategies were employed to create distance and formulate a plan for escape.

Escape Attempt:

Despite the team's coordinated efforts, the monster proved relentless. An emergency extraction point was identified, and the team attempted to retreat. However, the rapidly shifting nature of the Nexus made navigation challenging.

Nexus Entrapment:

As the team approached the extraction point, the Nexus environment underwent a sudden transformation, trapping the team in an isolated area. Attempts to retrace steps were unsuccessful, and the team found themselves confined within the Nexus.

Lessons Learned:

Unpredictability of Nexus Environment:

The Nexus displayed an inherent unpredictability, making navigation and escape challenging. Future missions in similar environments require enhanced adaptability and contingency planning.

Monster Behavior Analysis:

The hostile entity exhibited an unpredictable nature and formidable capabilities. Further research and analysis are essential to understand the monster's behavior and develop effective countermeasures.

Communication Protocols:

Communications within the Nexus experienced intermittent disruptions. Improved communication protocols and specialized equipment may be necessary for missions in such unconventional environments.

Recommendations:

Research and Analysis:

Conduct in-depth research on the Nexus to better understand its properties, transitions, and potential threats.

Specialized Training:

Implement specialized training for team members to enhance adaptability in unpredictable environments.

Equipment Enhancement:

Invest in advanced communication and navigational equipment designed for otherworldly environments to minimize disruptions.

Collaborative Research:

Collaborate with scientific and paranormal experts to gain insights into the Nexus and its inhabitants.

Conclusion: The incident at the Nexus entry point highlights the need for comprehensive preparation when dealing with unidentified portals and otherworldly dimensions. The team remains committed to resolving the situation and awaits further directives for potential rescue or extraction protocols.

Imogen Vladistov, Team Leader, 2nd Epoch of Ascario.

7 suns.

7 rings.

7 thrones for the Ebon KIng.

Let the cycle repeat.

Ouroboros Project

Ouroboros

Gods above, what is this stuff? Hold on, what is tha-

[WELCOME, OUROBOROS]

Uhm… hello?

[THE END OF THE CYCLE DRAWS NEAR, REALITY ITSELF WILL SOON BE PULLED APART AT THE SEAMS]

Oh. That’s… Less than convenient…

[LET THE CYCLE BEGIN ANEW]

I mean… if you say so…

[THANK YOU]

gib pictures

[arleniansdoodles]

can you gives another sneak-peak of you gow fanfic? this time on jotunheim? Pretty please T-T

Sure thing! Here's a short-ish snippet of Atreus and Calliope arriving in Ironwood, and meeting Angrboda (and best boi Fenrir loll). Keep reading under the cut if you don't mind spoilers ;)

Also, quick note, I've decided to start posting the fic this Sunday, Nov 5! I'd say it's close enough to Ragnarok's release date loll And since it's also my birthday, I'll release the first two chapters together so y'all don't have to wait for Atreus and Calliope's first meeting XDD After that, I'm not sure whether to post once or twice a week, so feel free to let me know what you guys would like!

~~~~~

The warm breeze and golden sun of Jötunheim greeted Atreus like an old friend. He breathed in deeply of Ironwood’s pleasantly sweet and earthy smell. He was home for the second time today!

Angrboda’s treehouse lay before them. Excitement pooled in Atreus’ stomach at the sight. “We’re here! Welcome to Ironwood, sis.”

Before she could say anything, the comfortable quiet of the afternoon was broken by a sudden, familiar howl. Brother-cub! Fenrir called, carefully trotting over to them despite his instincts to run and leap with excitement. Ever since Atreus placed Fenrir’s soul in Garm’s body, his dear wolf had to be mindful of his size when moving among the smaller Giants.

Atreus laughed and rubbed Fenrir’s large nose. “Aww, Fen! It’s so good to see you! Hey, Calliope? It’s okay, come on out! Fenrir’s my third wolf, and a very good boy. See?”

Calliope peeked out from behind Atreus, staring at the wolf with wide eyes. Fenrir blinked at her. New cub?

“That’s right, she’s your new Sister-cub!” Atreus gently took Calliope’s hand and placed it on Fenrir’s nose. Slowly, she began to pet it.

“Hello,” she said quietly to Fenrir. “I’m Calliope of Sparta.”

New cub, Fenrir rumbled, snuffling the front of her dress as he took in her scent.

Calliope gradually relaxed. “You have Giant wolves too?” she asked Atreus.

“Aside from Fen, there’s just Sköll and Hati, I think. He used to be normal-sized like Speki and Svanna, but … Well, it’s a long story. But he lived with me and Father.”

Welcome, Sister-cub, Fenrir said happily. His tail thumped once on the ground with a muffled boom. Calliope jumped, but soon went back to petting Fenrir’s snout.

“Is Angrboda around, boy?” Atreus asked.

“Right here, Loki,” came that warm, welcome voice. Angrboda stepped out from behind Fenrir, a playful smile on her face.

Something bright and bubbly burst in Atreus’ stomach, spreading through his chest and tingling up to his scalp. He moved forward as if in a dream, and their fingers entwined. And then they were hugging, his nose buried in her dark locks as he breathed in the faintly floral, Ironwood-y scent mixed with the herbal tints of her paints. Her cheek was soft against his. She pressed closer to him; her breath gusted over his ear and neck, and his knees trembled.

When she pulled back, Atreus leaned forward before she could and kissed the edge of her mouth. Oh – damn it, he’d been aiming for her cheek! At least he wasn’t the only one blushing now.

Angrboda squeezed his hands and kissed his temple. “I’m so happy to see you, Loki. Safe and soundly, too.”

“Thanks, Boda. It’s great to see you, too. How is everyone?”

“They’re all doing good! I’m sure they’ll know that you’re here, thanks to Fenrir’s howl.” Angrboda glanced around Atreus. “Uh, so where’s that sister you were talking about? Oh!”

Calliope was once again hiding behind Atreus. Fenrir sniffed at her curiously, completely giving her away. Atreus chuckled to himself and drew Calliope to his side. “Hey, sis? Remember me telling you about Angrboda? Well, here she is! Boda, this is Calliope.”

Angrboda crouched down so that she was eye-level with Calliope, and beamed at her. “Hi there! Your brother has told me quite a bit about you. You like music?”

Calliope nodded shyly. “I like the flute.”

“That’s lovely! We have some musicians here, and artists, and others besides. But what do you say to getting settled, first? I made up a little bed for you, right above mine.”

Calliope nodded again. “Thank you.”

Angrboda stood and held out her hand. To Atreus’ delight, Calliope took it, and the three of them went to Angrboda’s treehouse.

[autisticdoomslayer]

Anatomy & injury tips, P2

Here are some's some more anatomy stuff from my class that could be useful for writing/making art.

I'm doing this series by the modules of my class, so it's going to be fairly spread out. If you want more of this, you might want to follow my "Doom's Anatomy Tips" tag instead of following my blog.

Tumblr doesn't let me indent bullet points so this is structured a little confusingly. Feel free to ask any questions (just be open to the fact that it's possible I might not know the answer.)

PLEASE NOTE: there's a lot of Fancy Tedious Medical Names in these posts, but you don't need to actually remember them or tell the difference between them all. I only use the names so that it's easier to know what I'm referring to. So I might refer to areolar connective tissue or whatever, but the name of it isn't actually important, the important part is where it is and what it does. If you're confused about anything, let me know!

This post is about tissue types, which is great for knowing how different parts of the body heals. In this post, we talk about:

Some different types of tissue, where they're located, what purpose they generally serve, and how good they are at healing.

Tissue responses to injury - note that we'll get into individual systems' and locations responses to injury later on.

OK, lets go!

Certain types of tissues regenerate/heal better than others.

Epithelial tissue is one of the best at healing. We don't really need to get into what epithelial tissue is (there are 7 or 8 types that don't differ too much in their purpose, it's incredibly tedious to learn). We just need to know that it's great at healing and where it is (so that we can accurately portray the healing process in our writing/art).

Epithelial tissue is found in a lot of places. You might remember me mentioning epithelial tissue in my last post - serosae are made of epithelial tissue. Other places epithelial tissue are found include the top layer of skin (called the epidermis, we'll get into that in the next post), and the surface of the inside of the mouth, esophagus, and vagina. It's found in other places but I think these are the most important to know for writing. So these areas will heal faster - about as fast as a surface-level injury to the skin.

Epithelial tissue is always sitting on top of some underlying connective tissue. If the wound(s) are deeper, the wound will damage the underlying connective tissue - and connective tissue isn't quite as good at healing.

The next type of tissue is connective tissue. It's quite not as good at healing. Like epithelial tissue, there are a fuck ton of different types of connective tissue that are very tedious to learn. Unlike epithelial tissue, the different types of connective tissue actually differ in their functions sometimes.

Areolar Connective Tissue is basically a soft packaging tissue. It wraps around organs and capillaries (very small, delicate blood vessels) and cushions them. Areolar tissue is pretty good at healing - it has to be, because it houses white blood cells and fibroblasts (cell that forms fiber & connective tissue), which are the two main cells used in healing.

Adipose tissue (fat) is used for insulation and serves as a protective layer, which is why it's usually found around our softer parts. The hypodermis (the bottom layer of skin, sometimes called just subcutaneous tissue) is made mostly of fat, for example. Adipose tissue is thick and a bit harder to cut through. We'll get into it's insulation properties later in this post, since it works hand-in-hand with muscle tissue.

Dense Regular connective tissue makes up tendons, most ligaments, and fascia. It can withstand great amounts of tensile stress so long as the pulling force is pulling only in one direction. It's not super great at healing; if you tear a tendon, for example, it should heal, but it'll take a long time and it's function and elasticity will never be quite as good as it was before the injury. (in case you're wondering, ligaments attach bone to bone, while tendons attach muscle to bone).

Dense Irregular connective tissue is kind of the opposite of dense regular tissue. It's able to withstand forces pulling in multiple different directions. It forms the fibrous capsules of joints and the dermis of the skin. Dense irregular tissue is decent at healing, but it's not as good as epithelial, areolar, or bone tissue.

Next up is Cartilage. It's a type of connective tissue, but like epithelial tissue, the different types of cartilage mostly serve the same purpose.

First off, here are the two most important things to keep in mind for writing - 1) cartilage has a zero or near-zero regeneration rate. 2) cartilage has no nerve or blood supply. Keep this in mind when I mention where the cartilage is.

Cartilage mostly serves to cushion. Cartilage is found covering the ends of long bones in joints; In the nose, ears, trachea, and larynx; In the intervertebral discs; as costal cartilage (forming the parts of the ribs that attach to the sternum); In pubic symphysis (the point where the pubis bones in your pelvis attach, right around your crotch)

diagram showing costal cartilage

diagram showing the pubic symphysis

Cartilage's lack of regeneration abilities is what causes osteoarthritis. In a normal joint, the hyaline cartilage acts as a cushion with no nerve supply and almost no friction, so you can land on it, stretch it a little, rotate it, etc without any problems. But sometimes the cartilage deteriorates (i do not know exactly why), and so then you have bone scraping on bone, which sucks because bone does have a nerve supply, and also it's hard so it's pretty not great to land on, so it hurts like a motherfucker.

We all know that cartilage is in the nose and ear, but injuries to the nose often hurt a lot more than injuries to the ear, because the we use the nose to breath and stuff and therefore there's a lot of other types of tissue there as well. We also have a bone in our nose, and bones have nerve supply.

Injury to ears don't hurt too horribly! If you've ever gotten your ears pierced, you might've noticed that the sting from the needle feels mostly surface level, whereas if you got a puncture wound like that somewhere else, you'd feel some pain all the way down the injury. This is because of the cartilage. Some piercings to the ears (like a conch piercing) hurt a lot more - this is because while the cartilage has no nerve supply, the dermis (thickest part of the skin) does have a nerve supply, and there's a nerve like right there.

Next tissues - bone. This will be brief because everyone knows what bone does.

Bone is pretty good at healing. The problem is that bone is not super great at healing in the same shape it used to be. For example - remember when I mentioned how osteoarthritis works? Well, when bone is scraping on bone like that, the bone freaks out and tries to repair itself by building extra bone, resulting in osteophytes (bone spurs). Osteophytes don't just happen in response to arthritis, they happen in response to prolonged stress or damage in general. (IMPORTANT NOTE: it's kind of hard to explain what an osteophyte looks like, so I'd suggest looking up images BUT - it's best if you look up "bone spurs" or "bone spurs joints", since if you look up "osteophytes" like the 6th image is of a real, fresh bone that might be triggering since it looks a little bit gross.)

BONE HAS NERVES AND A BLOOD SUPPLY! There's a lot of people who don't know that, or at least never really thought about it. I kind of figured that there were nerves and blood vessels surrounding bone but not in the bone. I was wrong. There are nerves and blood in the bone.

Next up - Muscle!

The healing capacity of Muscle tissue differs based on type.

Smooth muscle is ok at healing. Not good, not bad. Smooth muscle is mostly found in the walls of hollow organs.

Skeletal muscle is poor at healing. Skeletal muscles are directly attached to bone and are the only muscles we can move voluntarily.

Cardiac muscle is found on the walls of the heart, and has no or almost no healing capacity.

Everyone knows most of what muscle does, but one thing you might not know is that muscles generate much of the body heat. A character with little muscle mass may have difficulty staying warm. (note that fat does not generate body heat, but instead acts like a blanket that retains the body heat.)

A mix of fat and muscle would be ideal for staying warm in cold temperatures. Lots of muscle but little fat, or lots of fat but little muscle aren't the greatest (note that it doesn't have to be a perfect balance - someone with an above average fat percentage and an average muscle percentage will be just fine). Being super skinny with little muscle or fat could be potentially dangerous in the cold. (this is why many people with slavic ancestry, for example, may have higher fat retention. This is also why native siberians and native canadian people have higher birth weights - their babies are born with more fat so they can survive the cold. Make your viking and slavic characters muscle-fat!)

As you increase in age, the healing capacity of your tissue decreases. In old age, your epithelial tissue thins (epithelial tissue is mostly used for protection), your collagen decreases (collegen is a protein fiber in skin), your bone and muscle tissue begin to atrophy, etc.

Now we get into Tissue Responses to injury:

There are two types - the inflammatory response and immune response. We're talking about the inflammatory response (we'll talk about the immune response when we get the the immune system).

The Inflammatory response is an acute/fast response. The inflammatory response is nonspecific, meaning it affects the general area around the injury as well as the injury itself. It's most commonly used in skin injuries - we've all experienced the inflammatory response. Before I continue I gotta briefly mention the layers of the skin. The epidermis is the surface level of skin made of fast-healing epithelial tissue. The dermis makes up the beefier part of the skin under the epidermis and is made of dense irregular connective tissue, so it's not as good at healing.

we get more into the skin in the next post in this series.

Symptoms of the inflammatory response include heat, redness, swelling, and pain. Here are the general "stages" of the inflammatory response (most of them assume that the dermis is injured)*:

Inflammation sets the stage. Severed blood vessels bleed. Inflammatory chemicals are released. White blood cells and clotting proteins seep into the injured area. Then clotting occurs, and the surface dries and becomes a scab.

Organization restores the blood supply. The clot is replaced by granulation tissue, which restores the blood supply. A type of white blood cell called a macrophage consumes dead or dying cells and other debris. The surface epithelial cells that make up the epidermis multiple and migrate over the granulation tissue (in short, the epidermis is healing faster than the dermis).

Regeneration and fibrosis effect permanent repair. This results in a fully regenerated epidermis/epithelium layer with scar tissue under it in the dermis.

Next up we'll talk about the integumentary system (skin, hair, nails).

[carbomcoco]

I feel like we gotta start demanding people's information sources more. Unless they're the primary source of the information (like, they're sharing about something they directly experienced), they got the information from somewhere. And if I can't track down what that is, that's immediately a red flag for me. And most of the time it's just annoying little things, like people making up fake origin stories for song lyrics, but sometimes it's big things!

You may have seen a viral tweet claiming that the leader of France said that France has never invaded anyone:

The attached image is just a picture. It's not a video of him saying this. So where did the user get this information? There's basically three options:

1) They were actually there when he said this.

2) They got the information from another source. (Hopefully a credible one, like someone who was actually definitely there when he said this, or a press release or post from Macron's team.)

3) They made it up.

It's probably not #1. This seems to be a random person. It's unlikely that they talk to the President of France very often. They don't seem to be a reporter, and if they were, there would probably be a proper record of that interaction.

It could be #2. But if you do a Google search (or whatever your preferred search provider is), there's no record of him saying this anywhere beyond just this one tweet (which, again, provides no proof that this happened as the attached media is just a photo). But if this is true, they had to get the info from somewhere. So either this random internet stranger has access to information sources that are inaccessible to the general public (i.e. you and me) or...

They probably just straight up made it up. Shocker. And like yeah, it's great that we have "community notes" now on Twitter, but we shouldn't rely fully on them instead of doing our own research. Remember, we're more susceptible to misinformation that makes us scared or mad (Source: American Psychological Society). So if you think "holy shit, that's so bad, I can't believe that", probably a good sign that you should double-check that it's actually true. Yeah, the world sucks, it's gonna be true a lot, but you know what I mean. Make sure we're mad about stuff that actually happened.

And on that note, I think a lot of the misinfo that spreads around here just comes from people saying stuff with their full chest even though it's only a guess or they're just straight up wrong. But even if we're not lying on purpose, it still causes problems! A while back, my favorite guitarist got kicked out of his band and didn't say anything. But noticing his absence when the tour started, fans invented a narrative that he'd temporarily left to help another band and he would be back halfway through the tour, despite neither him nor the band indicating anything of the sort. Clearing all that up wasn't fun for anyone.

I've also seen lots of people claiming that "blood is thicker than water" is actually short for "the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb". There's literally no indication that this is true. The shorter one has been traced back to the 12th century, and the two books (both published after 1990, hundreds of years later) that claim the longer one is true do not cite their sources. (But also, like, it's just a proverb. It's not a law of the universe. If you disagree with it, you don't have to act like it has a secret historical meaning that a conspiracy theory has covered up. You can just be like "nah". You're allowed to disagree with the 12th century dude. It doesn't mean everyone in the world is misremembering it.)

I've even seen posts inciting outrage about a user getting banned, only to look the user up to find that their account is still there and they have no idea what people are talking about.

Anyway. Point is, we can also stop the spread of misinformation by just not making it in the first place. If you don't have proof that something is true, don't act like it is. If someone else makes a post claiming something they couldn't possibly have insider knowledge of and you don't know where they heard it, dig. If you can't figure out where the info's actually from, and they won't say, red flag.

[thepaintedlady00]

Burden Chapter 12 Sneak Peek!

It was a close one, but our wings won! Now, I'd like to point out I posted the vote choices before I read through what I had written, and as many of you know there is a particularly intense scene that I do not remember adding to this chapter which just so happened to be linked with our wing pick. Y'all have some kind of sixth sense for angst and spice! 😂 SO here you go! Enjoy! 🤭 (note this is still largely unedited so if ya see mistakes no you don't! 🤣)

As he entered the misty outer wall of the dream he felt his form shift. His clothes and hair resembled that of the attire he'd worn hundreds of years ago during one of his meetings with Hob Gadling. Leather lined his body, tight and chilled with his skin and the familiar weight of his ruby hung around his neck as he ventured deeper into the meadow of soft grass and a sky, half of starlight and deep blue night and of golden sunrise and soft white clouds. It was peaceful here, the wind light and gentle as the sound of rippling water echoed in his ears. It reminded him of Fiddler’s Green, though this was different.

There rising up from the sparkling water Munin appeared like the first glimpse of sunlight peeking over the horizon of a long night. Two wings of blinding white spread on either side of her, dripping with water as it ran off the silken exterior of the feathers. The simple nightgown she wore glistened with hues of gold and pink and orange as she quietly rose from the water, but Dream had a difficult time focusing on anything but the sight of her body beneath the now sheer fabric.

The Dream King’s eyes slowly traveled down the length of your admiring every curve of your body accentuated by the sheer, wet fabric that clung to you. He sucked in a deep breath, forcing his eyes to tear away from the peaks of your breasts before the sight of the soft, ample flesh plainly visible beneath your slip, made the urge to touch you grow too great for even him to contain. You were practically bare before him.

White feathers ruffled, bringing a spray of water to hang around you like frozen jewels. Your eyes, bright and shimmering like the sun over water metal his and for a moment he felt like you'd stolen the very breath from his lungs. "Lord Morpheus," you said quietly. "I did not think one such as yourself would care to greet me in my first dream."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, swallowed the heated words it contained. "Apologies. I did not intend to intrude, Lady Munin."

You smiled with a gentle tilt of your head. "Can you intrude if it is a dream? I thought such was your domain."

"It is," he answered, casting his eyes away from you as you venture closer to him. "But individual dreams are intimate things. I do not venture within them lightly."

"Then why venture into mine?"

Starlit eyes met yours as he answered, sweet and gentle. "Because I heard your voice call to me. I thought…"

The crown of stars shifted, consumed for a quick moment by memories of Daunt's demise… Of all her calls to him left unanswered. "Forgive me," you said. "I did not mean to worry you."

Dream pushed the memory's away, once again casting his beautiful eyes elsewhere. "Did you need something, my Lady?"

“Do you find me ugly, Lord Morpheus?” You asked, examining his tight face, great white wings curling toward him as though they'd wished to embrace him as you did.

“No,” he answered, eyes boring down into yours, the stars within them quaking.

With a simple tilt of your head you inquired further, “Then why are you so adamant about looking anywhere else but me?”

"I look elsewhere for fear that if my gaze lingers too long I shall want for more than just the sight of you.”

You hummed quietly, a thoughtful sound that shouldn’t have made him burn with want but did. “Do you wish to touch me?”

“That is hardly-”

“Because I want to touch you,” your soft admittance nearly brought him to his knees. It was why your thoughts, your being, had called out to him in this lovely dream. Ever since he'd departed from your realm all you could think of was him. Was the accidental touches and the way each of them made the longing in your heart ache more.

Dream forced himself to refrain as he quietly said, “This is your dream, Lady Munin. You may do as you wish.”

You wasted no time lifting a hand to run along the shining dark leather of his fine attire, the feeling of longing within your chest stilling as you touched him, replaced with a powerful thrum of want. He was soft, softer now that you’d actually meant to touch him. You moved your hand up, watching the great Endless being practically shake with restraint beneath your palm. “You say I may do as I wish, but does this plain not belong to you?” You asked as your fingertips brushed against the skin of his neck, lightly tracing up his throat until you reached his lips. “Is this not a dream conjured into being by your power?”

“I could change it,” he admitted against your fingertips. “But this is your dream. Brought to life within your mind, and would not steal away your control over your own unconsciousness, not ever.”

“A relief,” You said. “For I do not wish this dream to end. It is far easier to touch you here, where you're not like to pull away from me as though my touch burns you… Where it’s not entirely real.”

Something in his eyes shifted as a slight shadow darkened over his form. He took a step forward, placing himself right up against you. The chill that swept over you, peaked your nipples beneath your gown even more as you stared up at him with a gasp. “Does this not feel real?” He inquired, voice echoing… a thing of dreams and nightmares and something so entirely other you could hardly understand it. 

He slowly lifted a hand to touch you, lithe fingers brushing against one of your wings, gliding along the silken feathers and bringing a rush of pleasure down your spine. “Do you not feel my touch?" His hand continued, moving down your neck to brush against one of your nipples. "Does my voice not echo through your soul as your voice did mine to call me here?”

With a soft breath against him as your hands found purchase against the thick chilled leather of his chest you replied, “It does… I do.”

“Was this your wish this night, fair Lady Munin?” he asked, fingers mirroring yours as they ran up the valley between your breasts and the length of your throat, his fingers brushing against your jaw. “To feel me.”

You nodded, looking up into his eyes. “I have wanted to feel you for longer than even I can remember.” With a gentleness that made Dream want to weep, you lifted your hands to cup his cheeks. “Mighty King of Nightmares,” you whispered, soft warm breath fanning across his lips. “Prince of Stories,” you leaned in closer, drawing him into you with nothing but your sweet voice. “I would feel you, mind, body, and soul if you would only let me.”

[onlymorelove]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

Thank you so much for sending me this ask, Stella! <3<3<3 Did you do a self-rec thing of your own? Pls link me if you did; I'd love to read it. I can't pick favorites of anything, so I'll just mention five fics I wrote that I like.

Unwell (Fandom: Bones (tv show))

Yup, the mighty Temperance Brennan was sick. Takes place after Season 3, Episode 4.

I love banter-y ships. I wrote this fic 15 (!!!) years ago, but I remember getting a kick out of mixing banter and silliness with deeper conversations. Booth even reads Brennan a short section from a romance novel. :D It's been a while since I wrote Unwell, but I think I wanted to follow some loose threads in Bones and explore the emotional ramifications; fic is such a great place to do that. He's a candle (burning in my room) (Fandom: MCU)

It's just sex, isn't it? (Some talking + a lot of feelings + a smidgen of smut = this fic.)

This is a Steve/Tony fic, and it means a lot to me; I think it always will. There's a splash of body image issues, a dash of pining while fucking, and a ton of emotional vulnerability that's tied up in the sex, the build-up, and the afterglow.

My only sibling killed himself in February 2018; my dad died less than five months later; I started writing this story around three months after my dad's death. Life was a huge struggle, and so was writing, but I tried really hard to get down words, and I pushed myself with the imagery and the feelings. some words build houses in your throat (Fandom: MCU)

The night before they travel back in time, Tony says what he needs to say.

Someone anonymously sent me a "stevetony + confession" prompt in response to a three-sentence fic meme here on tumblr. This fic was my attempt to fill their prompt. It's a sort of missing scenes fic for Endgame. I was hungry for a little bit of team feels. I wanted Steve and Tony to both use their words AND try to behave like adults. Adulthood is complicated. We don't always get everything we want. Not all of our dreams and wishes come true. I wanted to play with honesty/revelation but also with restraint. And I really, really wanted Steve and Tony to quote parts of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass to each other. So I wrote it. ;) I Barely Knew I Had Skin Before I Met You (Fandom: Timeless (tv show)

Sometimes love is found in unexpected combinations. Lucy wakes in the middle of the night to find one less man than there should be in her bed. [Set sometime in the future. Lucy, Garcia, and Wyatt are in a polyfidelitous relationship. Translation: the three of them are romantically involved and are faithful to each other. They also live together.]

As mentioned above, I have a weakness for banter. I wanted to write a story with a poly ship—Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston/Wyatt Logan. I wanted banter, flirting, and domestic fluff, and I wanted discussions of grief and loss because I thought they made sense in the context of the show's canon. A few small scenes popped into my head, and I wrote toward and around them.

my life is for you (and no one other than you) (Fandom: Teen Wolf (tv show)

It’s a journey they began years before, but one they have to take again and again. Together. (Post-coital, slice-of-life fic. AKA sass and fluff.)

Courtesy of my Thiam phase in 2017, here we have Liam Dunbar and Theo Raeken as adults, being established-relationship ridiculous and sweet. Thanks again for the ask! *hugs*

[dinoburger]

ay no need to apologize or anything for posting about palestine and queer rights. i think it's comforting and personally i think it's great to spread awareness of the shit happening in the world. keep it up

I feel in two minds sometimes because I don't want to give off the impression that this blog is a good resource or that I am an authority, or that I'm just dispassionately sharing around links because I've been told to, in between me talking about less serious subjects. I think we all have a duty to care about humanity and figure out what we can do personally, rather than just assuming throwing money at it or just attending one march and calling it over and done with will fix the problem. There is not one definitive instruction that can be given here except to look out for windows of opportunity and act to the best of your ability.

But, I guess it also made me remember how some weird conservative folks had come up to me in the past and told me they loved my work, but they were uncomfortable with how gay it was.

Which is like. Okay. Fuck you? I didn't make it for you? Cunt?

my dumb little cartoons aren't for zionists and other genocide endorsing cunts either.

[kmze]

My attention span had spread thin by the time of s8 so I barely remember anything except a few sc moments and I'm probably in the minority but I loved loved the first proposal and more than the second one.Your post also reminded me Bonenzo was actually a thing.I don't know why I thought he died in s6.I would love to know though what you think about how different the finale would have been if kevin hadn't returned.

Oh yeah I think when I watched it lived I zoned out on a lot of the plot because I was so tired after S7 and was just happy to get good SC scenes but on rewatch I really enjoyed it. I think a lot of it was that there was so much chaos in S7 with them driving around and different locations and finally in S8 it was basically back to Mystic Falls with all the familiar sets. I liked that it was a new species of villain with the siren and I liked when they used the creepy whistle and I liked the search for the macguffins felt like S1. God Bonenzo lol, I have the most complicated feelings about it because on one hand I'm glad Bonnie got a guy who was completely and totally devoted to her and loved her but Enzo is so... he should have died in S6! And in S8 they give me nothing, just meaningless dialogue and dances.

I actually think the finale would have been pretty similar if Kevin stayed away because Brett Matthews basically said that in his EW podcast breakdown on S8. The writers planned out the whole season once they decided it was going to be Damon dying and they liked the idea of Damon compelling Stefan to let him die, which I agree with that was the only way Stefan would have left him. KW came back around 8x11 and was like Stefan killed Enzo he has to die, which I don't buy. I think what happened is his brain exploded at the idea of Stefan and Elena both being human at the end of the show and not together and basically guilted Julie into changing it. The writers only made Stefan human because they needed the brother who lived to be mortal to do the final scene. And because Stefan was human when KW came in the writers wouldn't feel as strongly about him living as they did prior, plus he was absolutely miserable as a human!

So what I think would have been different in the finale is Damon would have seen Elena in limbo and they would have had a heartfelt goodbye. It would have been a great full circle moment from 1x22 when he said "he came to the town to destroy it" and now he saved it. Stefan still would have offered the Boarding House for the school as part of his atonement and the 'S' would have been the Salvatore one (like in the kitchen) rather than the 'S' on his ring. Damon probably got some memorial wing or the library (not sure Damon knows how to read though). Probably a SE scene at Damon's grave that would have mirrored their meeting at the graveyard in the pilot. Still could have done the Klaus letter, Bonnie's ending would have stayed and I think Elena would have left MF for med school and we'd see some scene of her with her family watching over her maybe with a new guy or not. Stefan would have done the final diary outro and said something about how he lived a long life helping his wife with the school saving kids being the man he was supposed to be and that's the end of his story (FULL CIRCLE AGAIN) then he'd find Damon in peace like the ending scene we got.

Edited to add: Completely forgot to say I LOVE THE 8x02 THE MOST! I mean I do think the 8x14 proposal is one of Stefan's best speeches (it's that or the 6x22 one) and it's beautiful and sincere but that first one was SO THEM! And I'm more partial to their relationship as two vampires/immortals than Stefan ending up human, that was always the root of their relationship and Caroline helped Stefan accept more of his vampire side and here he was proposing to her with eternity being the goal. And I kind of love that people hate on it because they hate that it wasn't a cliche speech and Steroline got a proposal catered exclusively to them, like no other ship on this show could have done that proposal. And the kiss was probably their best kiss.