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hella1975 · 4 months

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Hi hella!!!

I feel like i always start these off or end them by saying that these things are going to be incomprehensible in some way, mainly bc i have trouble translating whats going on in my mind into written words so i really dont know how much of my list thingies make sense to you but this one is especially probably going to not make much sense. (also bc i send them a lot when im either very tired or not sober, but i am sober and wide awake rn so this might be a different kind of incomprehensible)

I found one of my old drafts for an ask from around a year ago and it was a follow up response to the last chapter you posted at the time, so im not sure how its going to sound without the context of that specific chapter, but i also mentioned in one of my other asks that i add stuff in last minute and that ask i added a shit ton of stuff so i dont have any of that pretyped out so im going by memory. But im sending it again bc i havent seen you answer it

(please do not interpret this as ‘why didnt you answer my ask >:/’ or me rushing you to answer asks or anything like that, but like I said its been a year so im assuming tumblr ate it. If not and you just havent cleaned out your ask box and you find the original, congratulations you’ll know what i originally said. Bc idk how accurate this will be)

Theres two different ways that you seem to write metaphors (idk if thats what theyre called im not caught up on my literary terminology)

(im scrolling through your blog rn looking for my other asks and tumblr really did you dirty in your asks system like i started scrolling and the third one down was from 2021 and im fighting for my life trying to find my tag (thank you for my tag btw its very useful to me))

Anywho, most of your metaphors ( to me) can be split into two categories. Theres the simple ones and the complex ones. Now this might seem obvious but im going to explain to you how these have different effects on my brain.

An example of the ‘simple’ ones is

““If Nanook’s tone had a note of seriousness, then Zuko’s was the entire orchestra.”” (idk what chapter this is from its been a while)

You have a lot of these kinds of whatever the haick kind of literary technique this is (is this a metaphor i’ve been trying to google it for like ½ an hour and i cant figure it out) BUT these type of things that are simple and easy to process is one of my favorite things about the way you write. I think this is a very common technique but the way you do it to me is just a lot more unique than the ways ive seen it done before. Its extremely fluent with the voice of the characters and brings a perfect kind of vibe to the ‘conversation’ (or story, text, whatever) and it paints the picture of what your trying to say perfectly. I also really like how these types of things arent ever in Zukos pov a lot (sometimes it is, but not nearly as much, I’ve noticed) and its not in the more serious like revelations that you drop these in. Like I said, it adds to the voice of the characters, bc of the contrast of Zuko constantly having revelations and dramatic archs and stuff, and the other characters just in general being a lot more calm. Its like when youre listening to a song and you have the lyrics and the like ‘main’ music behind the lyrics, but then when you listen to the song a lot you notice the smaller, like backup music that adds a lot to the song and makes it a lot more enjoyable than if it was just the lyrics and the louder more up front music.

Then in contrast you have the bigger ‘metaphors’

An example of this is ‘You curse in words already invented’

THIS IS MY FAVORITE LINE IN THE ENTIRE FIC.

OF ANY FIC OR BOOK EVER READ

AND THIS IS WHY

When I tell you I could not figure out what this meant for months I am AWFUL with stuff like this and interpreting it my english teachers hate me bc of it. Id have the question ‘why were the curtains blue’ and my answer would be ‘bc the people who decorated the room like blue maybe theyre interior designers and it goes with the room 😊 and thats so hot of them bc i love blue too’

But even thought i couldnt figure it out it stayed in my head and i probably thought about it once a day (i mean this literally, i think about that part all the time) and i cant remember the context for that or anything but i do remember that i knew it was a wonderful phrase.

I’ve mentioned in my other asks how whenever im reading anything at all that you’ve written (whether its tams, or toab, or in the tags of something even if its like 10 words), everything you type comes out so fluidly like a formula or a color wheel or however i put it last time i talked about this. And this is on the prodigious end of the spectrum of this.

But phrases like that are another part of the fic, theyre like the lyrics of the song. Like the phrases that gets all the attention and gets put in fanart and that gets quoted in comment sections because they deserve that recognition and you deserve that recognition and are just a reminder of how incredibly talented you are.

I mean that in the most sincere way that i know how to express.

I am constantly in awe of you and your writing style, and i really do think of you as one of the most talented writers of everything ive ever read.

And something else worth mentioning is that it isnt just your ao3 that portrays that. Like if I were to just read your ao3 I’d be like ‘oh wow this person is an amazing writer’ But your tumblr persona plays into it a lot more (In my opinion). Because then you see like more ‘backround’ stuff on ao3. And more of your system (im not articulating this in the way i mean it very well) and you get privy to the fact that you’re not a 30 year old with a masters in english and that you’ve never had any formal education on writing. I vaguely remember you talking about a story about a sailor (??? i might be misremembering that) that you wrote when you were a child and thinking ‘oh wow so she’s always been like that’. And its stuff like that that you dont get on ao3 that kind of reaffirms how incredible of a writer you are.

And this (to me) makes you a really easy person to admire. (ik i touched on this in a different ask but i dont remember if it was one of my list asks or not) but as someone who probably isnt going to ever be able to get an education around writing, it kind of reassures me that i dont need that to be great at it.

(i kind of feel like a lot of the stuff in this ask is too like ‘simple’ or obvious to be given a lot of weight, but this whole thing is about the kinds of things you do that brings me personally joy and the metaphors are one of them so)

Also on an off note when i was looking through your asks to try to find my tag, I noticed that i send you a heavy percentage of your anonymous asks (mainly without my alias) and I thought that was funny. But also i hope it doesnt come across as obsessive or weird, I swear i do that to a lot of people on here, I’m just a very social person. .😂

Also Im in your tbos server (lurking in the shadows) and someone pointed out that whenever you do the reaction emojis you always do the white ones, and thats going on the official ‘my favorite things about hella’ list because that was genuinely one of the funniest things ive seen.

Also the ‘anytime you type its very fluid (im too lazy to scroll up and see how i put it rn) also carrys on to discord. I think that i could probably block out the user names and be able to figure out that its you talking every time, you have a very distinct way of talking.

Also i wanted to mention that every time you answer these i read them again and i want to say like 1/3 of what i sasy, i have no recollection of. And i never have any idea what im talking about. so i think thats funny.

LIST ANONNNNNNNNNNNNN BAWLING MY EYES OUT HELLO BABY WELCOME BACK FROM WAR IVE MISSED YOU IM JUST HERE LIKE THIS RN

#this is so something i needed to hear rn bc always during exam season i 'lose' my ability to write like even the writing i do get done #just feels so fucking stale and awful imo and i just have to force myself to push through or else ill have a crisis about it #so i started studying in DECEMBER and it's now almost february exams are done but i CANT get out of that mindset for some reason #like ive been in a really bad writing flunk where im ABLE to write but the stuff i do write just feels genuinely terrible #like im losing it about dog teeth atm bc this story i was so in love with just feels so basic and underwhelming on a reread #and idk how much of that is me being insane and perfectionist and how much is valid criticism #so being told that actually there are people who not only enjoy my writing but are so thoroughly convinced it's a fundamental part of me #and something i am inherently GOOD at to the point even the way i talk CASUALLY is telling of it is just. oughhh im pacing my room #and the fact it doesn't HAVE to be my pretentious prose shit sometimes the more 'basic' stuff is STILL good. you're in my walls #i cant believe you're in the discord i hope you say hi!!! i dont bite!!! <- lying #also those assholes can take my silly white emojis from my COLD DEAD HANDS. white thumbs down will never die #ask #list anon

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coffinbutch · 2 years

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I need to stop obsessing over my word count but I'm feeling overly worried about my draft coming up short. It's looking like I'll be lucky to break 45k by the time I wrap up the whole thing, which is 5k less than my target. Ofc in edits I'm going to find places to beef it up and bring it into the 50-60k range, but I do want it to still be tight and fast-paced so I don't want to add too much lest it slow down the action :/

#gbd #just thinking out loud #i get caught in this trap of being like ''oh fuck!! im short on words!! better milk this scene!!''#but it only slows me down and makes me feel frustrated when i do that so i just. physically cannot #and while i am pretty good with pacing i am absolutely terrible at figuring out where i could stand to loosen it up #so i must entrust ny editor/beloved wife with the task of telling me where to do that #at least it is getting positive responses from the people who have read it so far!!#my mom read the first 2 acts or so and while she is my mommy and i need to take it with a grain of salt #she raved about it for almost 2 uninterrupted hours last week and said #''as a lifelong stephen king fan i think if he read this he would like it. also i like your prose better than his''#like aw. mom. thank you for saying im a better writer than stephen king lol

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nellasbookplanet · 3 months

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Book recs: black science fiction

As february and black history month nears its end, if you're a reader let's not forget to read and appreciate books by black authors the rest of the year as well! If you're a sci-fi fan like me, perhaps this list can help find some good books to sink your teeth into.

Bleak dystopias, high tech space adventures, alien monsters, alternate dimensions, mash-ups of sci-fi and fantasy - this list features a little bit of everything for genre fiction fans!

For more details on the books, continue under the readmore. Titles marked with * are my personal favorites. And as always, feel free to share your own recs in the notes!

If you want more book recs, check out my masterpost of rec lists!

Lagoon by Nnedi Okorafor

Something massive and alien crashes into the ocean off the coast of Nigeria. Three people, a marine biologist, a rapper, and a soldier, find themselves at the center of this presence, attempting to shepherd an alien ambassador as chaos spreads in the city. A strange novel that mixes the supernatural with the alien, shifts between many different POVs, and gives a one of a kind look at a possible first contact.

Nubia: The Awakening (Nubia series) by Omar Epps & Clarence A. Hayes

Young adult. Three teens living in the slums of an enviromentally ravaged New York find that something powerful is awakening within them. They’re all children of refugees of Nubia, a utopian African island nation that sank as the climate worsened, and realize now that their parents have been hiding aspects of their heritage from them. But as they come into their own, someone seeks to use their abilities to his own ends, against their own people.

The Scourge Between Stars by Ness Brown

Novella. After having failed at establishing a new colony, starship Calypso fights to make it back to Earth. Acting captain Jacklyn Albright is already struggling against the threats of interstellar space and impending starvation when the ship throws her a new danger: something is hiding on the ship, picking off her crew one by one in bloody, gruesome ways. A quick, excellent read if you want some good Alien vibes.

Dawn (Xenogenesis trilogy) by Octavia E. Butler*

After a devestating war leaves humanity on the brink of extinction, survivor Lilith finds herself waking up naked and alone in a strange room. She’s been rescued by the Oankali, who have arrived just in time to save the human race. But there’s a price to survival, and it might be humanity itself. Absolutely fucked up I love it I once had to drop the book mid read to stare at the ceiling and exclaim in horror at what was going on. Includes darker examinations of agency and consent, so enter with caution.

Midnight Robber by Nalo Hopkinson*

Utterly unique in world-building, story, and prose, Midnight Robber follows young Tan-Tan and her father, inhabitants of the Carribean-colonized planet of Toussaint. When her father commits a terrible crime, he’s exiled to a parallel version of the same planet, home to strange aliens and other human exiles. Tan-Tan, not wanting to lose her father, follows with him. Trapped on this new planet, he becomes her worst nightmare. Enter this book with caution, as it contains graphic child sexual abuse.

Rosewater (The Wormwood trilogy) by Tade Thompson

In Nigeria lies Rosewater, a city bordering on a strange, alien biodome. Its motives are unknown, but it’s having an undeniable effect on the surrounding life. Kaaro, former criminal and current psychic agent for the government, is one of the people changed by it. When other psychics like him begin getting killed, Kaaro must take it upon himself to find out the truth about the biodome and its intentions.

Do You Dream of Terra-Two? by Temi Oh

Young adult. A century ago, an astronomer discovered a possibly Earth-like planet. Now, a team of veteran astronauts and carefully chosen teenagers are preparing to embark on a twenty-three year trip to get there. But space is dangerous, and the team has no one to rely on but each other if - or when - something goes wrong. An introspective slowburn of a story, this focuses more on character work than action.

The Best of All Possible Worlds by Karen Lord

After the planet Sadira is left uninhabitable, its few survivors are forced to move to a new world. On Cygnus Beta, they work to rebuild their society alongside their distant relatives of the planet, while trying to preserve what remains of their culture. Focused less on hard science or action, The Best of All Possible Worlds is more about culture, romance and the ethics and practicalities of telepathy.

Mirage (Mirage duology) by Somaiya Daud

Young adult. Eighteen-year-old Amani lives on an isolated moon under the oppressive occupation of the Valthek empire. When Amani is abducted, she finds herself someplace wholly unexpected: the royal palace. As it turns out, she's nearly identical to the half-Valthek, and widely hated, princess Maram, who is in need of a body double. If Amani ever wants to make it back home or see her people freed from oppression, she will have to play her role as princess perfectly. While sci-fi, this one more has the vibe of a fantasy.

An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon

Life on the lower decks of the generation ship HSS Matilda is hard for Aster, an outcast even among outcasts, trying to survive in a system not dissimilar to the old antebellum South. The ship’s leaders have imposed harsh restrictions on their darker skinned people, using them as an oppressed work force as they travel toward their supposed Promised Land. But as Aster finds a link between the death of the ship’s sovereign and the suicide of her own mother, she realizes there may be a way off the ship.

Where It Rains in Color by Denise Crittendon

The planet Swazembi is a utopia of color and beauty, the most beautiful of all its citizens being the Rare Indigo. Lileala was just named Rare Indigo, but her strict yet pampered life gets upended when her beautiful skin is struck by a mysterious sickness, leaving it covered in scars and scabs. Meanwhile, voices start to whisper in Lileala's mind, bringing to the surface a past long forgotten involving her entire society.

Eacaping Exodus (Escaping Exodus duology) by Nicky Drayden

Seske is the heir to the leader of a clan living inside a gigantic, spacefaring beast, of which they frequently need to catch a new one to reside in as their presence slowly kills the beast from the inside. While I found the ending rushed with regards to plot and character, the worldbuilding is very fresh and the overall plot of survival and class struggle an interesting one. It’s also sapphic!

Chain-Gang All-Stars by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah*

In a near future America, inmates on death row or with life sentences in private prisons can choose to participate in death matches for entertainment. If they survive long enough - a rare case indeed - they regain their freedom. Among these prisoners are Loretta Thurwar and Hamara "Hurricane Staxxx" Stacker, partners behind the scenes and close to the deadline of a possible release - if only they can survive for long enough. As the game continues to be stacked against them and protests mount outside, two women fight for love, freedom, and their own humanity. Chain-Gang All-Stars is bleak and unflinching as well as genuinely hopeful in its portrayal of a dark but all to real possible future.

Parable of the Sower (Earthseed duology) by Octavia E. Butler*

In a bleak future, Lauren Olamina lives with her family in a gated community, one of few still safe places in a time of chaos. When her community falls, Lauren is forced on the run. As she makes her way toward possible safety, she picks up a following of other refugees, and sows the seeds of a new ideology which may one day be the saviour of mankind. Very bleak and scarily realistic, Parable of the Sower will make you both fear for mankind and regain your hope for humanity.

Binti (Binti trilogy) by Nnedi Okorafor

Young adult novella. Binti is the first of the Himba people to be accepted into the prestigious Oomza University, the finest place of higher learning in all the galaxy. But as she embarks on her interstellar journey, the unthinkable happens: her ship is attacked by the terrifying Meduse, an alien race at war with Oomza University.

War Girls (War Girls duology) by Tochi Onyebuchi

In an enviromentally fraught future, the Nigerian civil war has flared back up, utilizing cybernetics and mechs to enhance its soldiers. Two sisters, by bond if not by blood, are separated and end up on differing sides of the struggle. Brutal and dark, with themes of dehumanization of soldiers through cybernetics that turn them into weapons, and the effect and trauma this has on them.

The Space Between Worlds (The Space Between Worlds duology) by Micaiah Johnson

Multiverse travel is finally possible, but there’s a catch: No one can visit a world where their counterpart is still alive. Enter Cara, whose parallel selves happen to be exceptionally good at dying. As such she has a very special job in traveling to these worlds, hoping to keep her position long enough to gain citizenship in the walled-off Wiley City, away from the wastes where she grew up. But her job is dangerous, especially when she gets on the tracks of a secret that threatens the entire multiverse. Really cool worldbuilding and characters, also featuring a sapphic lead!

The Fifth Season (The Broken Eart trilogy) by N.K. Jemisin*

In a world regularly torn apart by natural disasters, a big one finally strikes and society as we know it falls, leaving people floundering to survive in a post apocalyptic world, its secrets and past to be slowly revealed. We get to follow a mother as she races through this world to find and save her missing daughter. While mostly fantasy in genre, this series does have some sci-fi flavor, and is genuinely some of the best books I've ever read, please read them.

The Women Could Fly by Megan Giddings*

In an alternate version of our present, the witch hunt never ended. Women are constantly watched and expected to marry young so their husbands can keep an eye on them. When she was fourteen, Josephine's mother disappeared, leveling suspicions at both mother and daughter of possible witchcraft. Now, nearly a decade and a half later, Jo, in trying to finally accept her missing mother as dead, decides to follow up on a set of seemingly nonsensical instructions left in her will. Features a bisexual lead!

The Prey of Gods by Nicky Drayden

South African-set scifi featuring gods ancient and new, robots finding sentience, dik-diks, and a gay teen with mind control abilities. An ancient goddess seeks to return to her true power no matter how many humans she has to sacrifice to get there. A little bit all over the place but very creative and fresh.

The Summer Prince by Alaya Dawn Johnson*

Young adult. Young artist June Costa lives in Palmares Tres, a beautiful, matriarchal city relying heavily on tradition, one of which is the Summer King. The most recent Summer King is Enki, a bold boy and fellow artist. With him at her side, June seeks to finally find fame and recognition through her art, breaking through the generational divide of her home. But growing close to Enki is dangerous, because he, like all Summer Kings, is destined to die.

The Blood Trials (The Blood Gifted duology) by N.E. Davenport

After Ikenna's grandfather is assasinated, she is convinced that only a member of the Praetorian guard, elite soldiers, could’ve killed him. Seeking to uncover his killer, Ikenna enrolls in a dangerous trial to join the Praetorians which only a quarter of applicants survive. For Ikenna, the stakes are even higher, as she's hiding forbidden blood magic which could cost her her life. Mix of fantasy and sci-fi. While I didn’t super vibe with this one, I suspect fans of action packed romantasy will enjoy it.

Babel-17 by Samuel R. Delany

1960s classic. Rydra Wong is a space captain, linguist and poet who is set on learning to understand Babel-17, a language which is humanity's only clue at the enemy in an interstaller war. But Babel-17 is more than just a language, and studying it may change Rydra forever.

Pet (Pet duology) by Akwaeke Emezi

Young adult novella. Jam lives in a utopian future that has been freed of monsters and the systems which created and upheld them. But then she meets Pet, a dangerous creature claiming to be hunting a monster still among them, prepared to stop at nothing to find them. While I personally found the word-building in Pet lacking, it deftly handles dark subjects of what makes a human a monster.

Bonus AKA I haven’t read these yet but they seem really cool

Lion's Blood by Steven Barnes

Alternate history in which Africans colonized South America while vikings colonized the North. The vikings sell abducted Celts and Franks as slaves to the South, one of which is eleven-years-old Irish boy Aidan O'Dere, who was just bought by a Southern plantation owner.

The Sound of Stars by Alechia Dow

Young adult dystopia. Ellie lives in a future where humanity is under the control of the alien Ilori. All art is forbidden, but Ellie keeps a secret library; when one of her books disappears, she fears discovery and execution. M0Rr1S, born in a lab and raised to be emotionless, finds her library, and though he should deliver her for execution, he finds himself obsessed with human music. Together the two embark on a roadtrip which may save humanity.

Womb City by Tlotlo Tsamaase

Lelah lives in future Botswana, but despite money and fame she finds herself in an unhappy marriage, her body controlled via microchip by her husband. After burying the body of an accidental hit and run, Lelah's life gets worse when the ghost of her victim returns to enact bloody vengeance.

Orleans by Sherri L. Smith

Young adult. Fen de la Guerre, living in a quarantined Gulf Coast left devestated by storms and sickness, is forced on the run with a newborn after her tribe is attacked. Hoping to get the child to safety, Fen seeks to get to the other side of the wall, she teams up with a scientist from the outside the quarantine zone.

Everfair by Nisi Shawl

A neo-victorian alternate history, in which a part of Congo was kept safe from colonisation, becoming Everfair, a safe haven for both the people of Congo and former slaves returning from America. Here they must struggle to keep this home safe for them all.

The Splinter in the Sky by Kemi Ashing-Giwa

Space opera. Enitan just wants to live a quiet life in the aftermath of a failed war of conquest, but when her lover is killed and her sister kidnapped, she's forced to leave her plans behind to save her sister.

Honorary mentions AKA these didn't really work for me but maybe you guys will like them: The City We Became (Great Cities duology) by N.K. Jemisin, The Lesson by Cadwell Turnbull, The A.I. Who Loved Me by Alyssa Cole

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prettyboykatsuki · 6 months

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“Their bodies fitting together like they always were intended to become one.” - with my pookie…u already know him…pretty please…

✮ tags ; gn + afab!reader (use of word cunt), dry-humping (my dearly beloved), purple prose about astarions general neediness, smut is very light but there so 18+

✮ a/n ; sorry about this tumblr user nanamimizz. dont yell at me

The tightness in Astarion's chest takes permanent residency. Love is, decidedly, not for him.

He lets his eyes wash over your expression in the moonlight. Your own are blown wide, tinged with embarrassment about the state of affairs. Astarion would prefer to tease you about this. Make an off-handed comment about such a thing, the kind that leaves you pouting and huffing. You like when he does this, calls to your own bids for connection. Makes you feel desired. The kind of thing that gives him an edge over you.

But he can't, at least not tonight. His own expression would betray him instantly he knows, because it has been a long time since he's seen you. He's glad to have saved the world, glad to have been at risk of a parasitic infection. He met you during that.

But your likeness becoming the cities strength takes more of a toll on him than he cares to admits. Sometimes he won't see you for a tenday, and you can only return to each other briefly. In moments like those, it's difficult for Astarion to think clearly. He allows himself to wash away in your attention. To lay in it quietly, without taking.

He is strangely afraid of his desires. It's something that's easy to forget, somehow. Odd, since Astarion knows so clearly what he does not want. Wanting is a different affair. Desire is something so heavy he cannot shoulder it on his own, despite thinking he understood his so well.

Astarion cannot put any specifics to the intangible desires. He wants you somehow. In some way that makes his own body feel hot despite running so cold.

It's not lust. Just want. No more than want. A want to take.

A want so intense, he can't muster up the words to cause you fluster or strife. Even as a student of deception, the desire to be entangled with you is so great the words do not make it out.

Your hand reaches for his shoulder, squeezes thoroughly as you lay underneath him. The firelight warms you, casts a gold to your skin that makes his breath hitch.

"You're staring an awful lot," You say, a characteristic coquettish quality in your voice that Astarion only really likes on you "Is something the matter?"

"It's been a long while, my dear." He replies, raking his eyes over you. Eyes wide and... beautiful and perhaps easy "I wondered if you'd abandon me,"

"Please don't say such a terrible thing," You scoff, frowning "As if I could do something like that."

Right. As if you could.

"Is something on your mind?," You ask, noticing his distance "I'm more than happy to just lay with you."

"And leave you high and dry? Surely you don't think so little of me, darling?" He proclaims, dramatic and overstated. He masks his fondness, waits till your giggling with your eyes closed to smile "It's fine. Really."

You mumble something of him being sure. He tries not to let it bury him, instead opting to shift you until your legs are more open. Until he can press himself against your clothed sex, his own cock pressed. Hard and desperate against the warm, wet outline of your cunt. You squeak, nearly try to shuffle away.

But Astarion holds your hips, lets himself rut into you. He sinks into the desire, into his own want - sucking air between the sharp space between his teeth as you moan so desperately from the friction. That friction alone could bring you to orgasm makes his head feel light

. Over and over, until you're whining so beautifully. Like you need him.

Maybe Astarion can list one of his desires. He likes when you need him, at least half as much as he needs you.

"Like I told you so valiantly," His breath is shorter as he wraps your legs around his waist, lets his teeth brush against your neck "It's fine. I'm more interested in this."

You whine, your eyes fluttering open - mouth widened like you'll drool from so little. Terribly sensitive to the touch, Astarion can't help but push his hips up into you again. Desire to make you needy, make you feel pleasure that he knows he is able to provide. He can give you this much.

Your bodies fit together so perfectly. Limbs entangled and twined together between long, panting breaths. Like they were also so perfectly intended to lock with each other, become one in a way he damn near finds righteous.

You look up at him with a look so dazed he laughs in how sorry he feels. His hand grips around your waist, face buried into your shoulder.

"Don't fret, my love," He hums, soft "I can't wait much longer than this, either."

#astarion x reader #bg3 x reader #writing tag #im(prompt)u game

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imustspeakmyheart · 9 days

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Here's my Earthsea tattoo I got as a little birthday present to myself. This illustration comes from the Bantam paperback editions; it's the little icon above the very first chapter of A Wizard of Earthsea, depicting the island of Gont.

Ramble about my FAVOURITE Earthsea passage below :)

So I've been obsessed with this quote ever since I first read it a couple years ago. The full thing goes as follows:

"As their eyes met, a bird sang aloud in the branches of the tree. In that moment Ged understood the singing of the bird, and the language of the water falling in the basin of the fountain, and the shape of the clouds, and the beginning and end of the wind that stirred the leaves: it seemed to him that he himself was a word spoken by the sunlight" (35).

This happens in Roke's courtyard, the first time Ged enters the school and meets the Archmage. Objectively, it's just a lovely passage in a book series full of beautiful prose. It exemplifies exactly what Roke is: a place where magic coalesces and an understanding of the world can be reached. This knowledge is the very thing Ged has been wanting throughout the book so far, what has driven away from Ogion where the learning was too slow. And look here! He steps foot in the school and at an instant, this moment of transcendence. Lovely stuff in a small atmospheric scene.

But it does another thing I find way more interesting in that last phrase I put in bold. See, Wizard is a book very preoccupied with mastery over the world, in particular Ged's continuous longing for power, for overpowering others. That's, you know, his whole arc in this thing. Learning that power means knowing when or even whether to use it, and that magic (which in Earthsea means change, even the tiniest change, that ripples and ripples onward) takes consideration, time, patience.

So how wondrous is it that we get this phrase still at the very beginning of Ged's inner journey, still in his full hubris mode, that shows the world's influence over him. And look, I know this is a tiny itty bitty sentence right and it might not seem all that, but I don't think anything like this happens anywhere else in the books either? In a series where words are power and influence and change, literal magic, I think it really does mean something here that Ged feels like "he himself is a word spoken by the sunlight".

What does this mean? What does it mean to be spoken by the sunlight? That he feels made, created by the sunlight? Changed? Held in place? Either way, some influence is held over him by the very powers that wizards usually command themselves. The landscape is speaking him, the sunlight is commanding him, subsuming him, he's part of the world in the realest most primal way you can be in Earthsea. He's a word.

And another thing! Ged's entire struggle in this book is with what? His shadow. Yet this phrase reminds us that even at a moment where Ged has not learned his lesson yet, when he is yet to commit that terrible act, he has light in him. He's changed by that sunlight all the same. Light and shadow both; there can't be one without the other.

(Also this fountain Ged's at in the courtyard in this scene is the very same place Nemmerle dies after saving Ged from the shadow. Very important place, this.)

ANYWAY suffice to say I love this passage and I will never stop thinking about it.

#earthsea #a wizard of earthsea #im autistic and i have a lit degree okay leave me alone

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isalisewrites · 8 days

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A Deep Dive into JKR's Terrible, Amateur Writing - Reflective Interlude

Hello and welcome to my ballsy series where I will prove to you, dear reader, that J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series and resident Twitter TERF, is actually a very, very poor writer.

And when I say ‘poor writer,’ I’m talking about her prose, her sentence structure, and her scenes in the Harry Potter series. I am not going to discuss anything about the HP world nor the overall plot of the books.

This is all about the nitty gritty in the craft of writing itself.

Part One Link.

Part Two Link.

However…

Hiya! *waves* I’m Isa, the author of this… Actually, I dunno what to call this series anymore. Anyway, thus far, you’ve heard a very satirical tone from me in the previous two posts, but that’s not my normal tone. I’m a rather laid back kind of gal with a side of sarcasm and deluge of emoji usage.

I have used quite a confident, even bombastically obnoxious tone in the effort to be entertaining and engaging with these posts. It was meant to be playful and sarcastic. It’s the internet, so I’m aware everyone’s attention is… kind of like a commodity, unfortunately. Look at TikTok or YouTube. How long does a 30s video hold your attention before you’re scrolling to the next? It depends for me, I’ll admit. People don’t have the attention span for long style posts such as these and that’s fair. Sometimes, I don’t either.

Thus, I used repeated ‘catch phases’ to maintain a rhythm and a thematic style through the series with a controversial title meant to hook a reader. I repeat the opening, even in this post. I repeat ‘Class is in session’ to show the beginning of the major section of the post.

However, in this interlude, I’ve toned it all down because I wanted to give you a window into my heart, my purpose, and my intent in this series. It is a reflective post that ends with writing motivation to you, my dear reader, as well as links to writerly resources.

I’ve had a lot to think about this week and I realized that many writers (and other creatives) have to battle against an enemy found within themselves. This enemy often torments many with cruel, destructive thoughts; they burrow their way into so many writers’ minds. It whispers: “Can you really do this? Are you really sure you’re any good? Aren’t you just fooling yourself? They’re going to find out you’re just a fraud. So… why bother?”

Whose voice is that?

Let’s talk about the destroyer of creation, Imposter Syndrome, why I refuse to let the bastard infect me anymore, and why my confident tone in previous posts has grated nerves.

Remember: take what resonates and leave what doesn’t.

(This means I write my posts with the honest acceptance and expectation that not everything will fit with your style, your vibes, or your personality. That’s okay.)

All right, let’s buckle up, my dear writing friends. Grab a snack. Hydrate. Let’s begin. And yes…

Class is in session on this little Tumblr post… should you wish to attend.

Having confidence or pride in one’s work seems to be taboo. Any brief moment in time where I tried to be proud about my writing or say, Hey, I’m a good writer, I was always told to be humble. “Don’t be prideful. Be humble.” It would often chip away at my self esteem. I could be a good writer, but I couldn’t allow myself to feel like a good writer.

But no more.

I have only given myself permission to be confident about my writing within the past month. This is why I started this series in the first place. I wanted to share knowledge and in an entertaining way. I make a bold claim that I’m a better writer than JKR; I analyze her writing to both improve my own understanding and to help others as well.

However, this does not mean I’ve ever been under the delusion I’m perfect. Absolutely not. God, that’s so fucking laughable! I am not perfect. I am not a perfect writer. I definitely don’t know everything. Someone once corrected me, informing me that snakes are venomous, not poisonous. Bless them, wasn’t aware of that. Immediately fixed that. One of the recent reblogs said geodes do not contain emeralds. God bless, I didn’t know that, though in the case of how it was used in TBG, I won’t be changing it since it’s within a character thought.

Sorry, Tom. I guess you need to take a geology class, too.

Ugh, and I have so many godforsaken typos. My soul withers when I catch a typo after I’ve posted a chapter. I miss things all the time. I repeat things because ‘that’s my thing’ and I don’t always catch them in my edits. I forget things all the time. Thank GOD for Dede, someone who loved TBG so much she spent countless hours archiving data from it, where she caught a number of inconsistencies and alerted me to them. I still haven’t been able to fix them yet, but I’m so grateful to her. I’ve noted them all down. Harry’s height often is incorrectly implied to be taller than it should be because my brain isn’t wired for imagery. My brain forgets TBG Harry is a short king at 5’4” while TBG Tom is 6’2” and I need to go back to fix all of those.

I am not a perfect writer and I don’t claim to be.

My goals with this series are to study/learn for myself, teach/share knowledge with others, and learn some more from this experience. I love this kind of analysis. But there’s difference between my analysis of JKR’s writing and a number of those who have retaliated with an analysis of my writing.

Instead of looking at my imperfections with the desire to learn from them, they were illuminated in the attempt to ‘take me down a notch.’ To those who put in the effort to make counterpoints, I do thank you for your contribution to this series. It is appreciated, even when given impolitely and with the intent to ‘put me in my place.’

Despite all of my errors and imperfections, I still stand by my statement: I am a better writer than J.K. Rowling.

Do you know who else is a better writer than her? I could list thousands of them. They’re fanfiction writers. They’re indie authors. They’re other traditional published authors. They are so many other writers that, yes, I do think are stronger writers than JKR.

And you’re a better writer, too, so long as you wish it.

I sincerely want you to believe that.

Why? Because it’s clear within the Harry Potter series that JKR did not make attempts to grow as a writer. She just wrote. Perhaps she was under deadlines, but the lack of editing is pretty apparent to me. When you write a lot, you will inevitably get more skilled over time, but you have to actively be seeking improvement to see drastic change in your own skill. It is this lack of drive that I see within her work. She’s not making attempts to push the boundaries of her abilities and skills with each new book.

I’m not at the end of my journey of learning. I never will be. I love expanding my skills. I’m even learning during the process of writing these posts, too. I’m seeing more weaknesses in my own work and I’m now thinking on ways to strengthen my writing even further.

That’s the point of this series.

In the end, it’s not really about me. No, really, it’s not about me. I truly think it’s about the jealousy of seeing another writer be confident in their work. You see, I’m not supposed to be confident; I’m not supposed to act like I can help and teach others to write. How dare I. Posting anything about my work is an act of attention seeking. I’m supposed to be ‘humble.’ I’m supposed to be silent. I’m supposed to wave a shy, dismissive hand at compliments.

Why?

Why is being proud of one’s work and loving one’s own work such a controversial idea?

Imposter Syndrome often cripples creators. There’s already so much self doubt and anxiety in the world, but Imposter Syndrome can really wreck with a creator’s mind. It’s a poison. It stops you from creating what you love most. When you believe you aren’t good enough, then it becomes harder to try. Your belief becomes truth to you, whether or not it was true in reality in the first place. Perhaps, you sink into depression. You become anxious about sharing anything, for fear anyone might say even the slightest negative comment. The heart becomes fragile and brittle, and the muscle which builds skill atrophies over time. You see your work through a lens of self hate. You can only see flaws.

“I will never be good enough.”

When you’re in this state of mind, it’s hard to see the truth about your work.

But let me promise you something: your writing is far more beautiful than you realize.

In spirit, all creative writing is perfect to me with all of its typos and mistakes (yes, even all of the Harry Potter books!), but no single work is objectively perfect. There will always be room to improve your creation because you’re constantly growing. It’s why so many aspiring novelists fall into an endless cycle of editing their first few chapters. The more they write, the more they improve; thus, when they go back to their earlier chapters, they get stuck trying to update those chapters instead of pushing forward to the finish line.

Your work is valuable, no matter what. It’s beautiful. You’re allowed to love your work. You’re allowed to see the good in it and you’re allowed to have confidence in yourself. You’re allowed to say to yourself and to others, I’m a damn good writer.

You deserve to have love, for yourself and for your art.

I have often sincerely complimented other writers and, many times, after they respond with their thanks, it becomes clear to me they’re not confident in their work, yet they have still bravely shared it with us.

I’m so proud of them. Thank you for your bravery.

My heart breaks for them, too. They’re such good writers—such damn good writers. And I wish they knew and believed this.

I will always do everything in my power to encourage others.

How do you feel about your writing? Do you like your writing? You should. You really should because it is good. You created it, after all. There will always be space to grow and refine your craft, of course, but you are a good writer now. You’re going to be a better writer tomorrow and the next day, so long as you desire this growth in yourself. There’s no destination, though. There’s no magic level you have to reach before you’re allowed to have some confidence in yourself and your abilities. The only trap to avoid is remaining stagnant. Writing is a skill. Writing is a craft. This means it gets better through study and practice.

You can achieve that.

I know it’s hard, though. There are so many naysayers in life. There are so many people waiting to attack and bring others down, both on the internet and in our own families. How many precious fanfics have been lost because a writer received horrible, hateful comments? How many writers have disappeared from the internet because of this cruelty? We have lost many in all fandoms. That is unacceptable to me.

Uplift others. Spread love, not hate.

You’re allowed to be proud about your work, imperfect as it may be. Please, I beg you, don’t let the negative voices of others—including your own!—drag you down and steal the joy of creating. I know it’s so very, very hard to stand strong against such voices. Words have power, but you have more. Resist the naysayers.

What you have to offer the world is precious. Please lift your head and acknowledge that what you create is good. It’s great. It’s amazing. It’s fucking fantastic. You’re not an imposter nor a fraud. No one can offer what you can to the world. No one can write the stories you have in your head the way you can. Your style is unique to you. You’re allowed to love it as it is now and you’re allowed to love it whatever form it takes in the future.

Imposter Syndrome is a thief; toss it into jail and throw away the key.

My writing is not perfect and it never will be, but I’m a better writer today than I was ten years ago. I’m a seeker of my own growth. I’m often reading books on writing and watching YouTube videos on writing. I absorb it all because writing is my truest love and passion. My style has evolved from reading endless amount of novels and fanfics. I devour both.

But I wasted a decade thinking I didn’t have what it takes.

And life is short. I can’t waste anymore time.

Don’t be like past Isa, please.

There’s a difference in refinement between an episodic fanfic posted over the course of years and a traditional novel published in whole, but I still stand by my work. I recognize my style will not be enjoyed by all those who read it. It’s okay if you don’t like my style. I’m eternally grateful for the many readers who do love my writing. I’m humbled and honored by the sheer volume of people who have commented, bookmarked, and have left kudos on my work. Thank you.

My style has evolved into what it is today due to a combination of two things.

I have ADHD. It’s why my style uses smaller paragraphs as a whole.

I have aphantasia. I lack a mind that can visualize pictures. I literally cannot see anything in my mind. When people say, “I can picture it in my mind,” that’s not me. I cannot at all. When there’s a lack of description in prose, it feels blank and empty to me. This is why I use vivid descriptions in the way I do because otherwise I feel nothing from my work.

It’s okay if this style doesn’t work for you. I love my style because it caters to what I need. I also love other styles that don’t use as much description; however, I can’t always follow what’s happening because of the wiring of my brain. I can get lost sometimes, but I still appreciate their style because I can’t effectively do what they can.

If you find no value in my style and what I offer in this series here, then that’s okay. I’m not offended. This series is for those who benefit from it. For you, there are so many other writers out there from whom you can learn and I’m more than happy to send you in the direction that benefits you the most.

Here’s a list of YouTubers you might find interesting.

ShaelinWrites has been working on many unpublished projects through the years and has lots of great discussion videos on writing.

Abbie Emmons is a self published author with solid writing advice in all of her videos.

Alexa Donne is a traditionally published author with great insider information into the traditional publishing world.

Ellen Brock is a professional editor. She knows her stuff.

I hesitantly suggest Jenna Moreci and her content on YouTube because I think she has some major weaknesses in her writing. Many others have seen this about her books. However, she is a successful indie author and her YouTube content has a lot of value.

Brandon Sanderson has an entire college course in a playlist on his channel. It’s a fabulous free resource if you vibe with his style of writing. Highly recommend.

Here’s a list of writing books I recommend.

Elements of Fiction Writing, a five book series. My TOP recommendation is Elements of Fiction Writing - Beginnings, Middles & Ends.

Sin and Syntax: How to Craft Wicked Good Prose

Let the Crazy Child Write!: Finding Your Creative Writing Voice

Novelist's Essential Guide to Crafting Scenes

All right then.

Thank you for sticking around. I hope you accept this post in the good faith it was given and was always given in the previous posts. Next post, I’ll be returning to my playful satirical tone. Hehe~!

Please do the world the greatest of favors and write. Create. Share your fanfiction. Become best selling authors, traditional or indie. I promise you’re far more capable and skilled than you realize.

Until next time.

Isa

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lemon-natalia · 4 months

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Gideon the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 20

i just wanna apologise in advance for how long these posts are getting lol, i have a lot of Thoughts about this book

oh wait nope they are going back to the creepy lab where two people just got murdered. great plan guys

Dulcinea wanting to team up surprised me a little, but it really shouldn't have. she's been paying a lot of attention to the Ninth, and especially Gideon.

'thousands of years after you're gone ... is when you really live' this is such a different, almost warmer, perspective on death and necromancy, and i can see why it appeals to Dulcinea specifically, who's clearly had to come to terms with her mortality pretty early on in life. but its also part of the more disturbing theme that the past never really goes away, and can't help but view this line along the same lines of discovering the ancient study last chapter, and the ancient laboratory, and Canaan House in general, which are only just now having their secrets revealed, and the terrible consequences of those secrets becoming apparent, after thousands of years

'she grasped a railing, leaned over, and proffered her hand' well this is getting very courtly romance

ah yes lets go through the door decorated with a swirl of human teeth, i'm sure there's happy fun times to be had in there. harrow, resident goth interior designer who specialises in bone decor, is probably taking notes as we speak

even after hurting her hand twice, Harrow really just can't resist experimenting even further huh. she's so very reluctant to accept that her existing powers aren't enough by themselves for this

ooohhhh, having to literally suck the life force out of your cavalier to win?? thats so sick and twisted and i love it. these challenges are, again, clearly relying on this intense relationship between the pair, both in trusting them absolutely and in this literal soul-siphoning/melding link thing.

however, it feels like Gideon's really getting the brunt of it in these challenges. Harrow's absolutely putting in an awful lot of effort and power, but it's the cavalier who has to fight the bone amalgamation, the cavalier who has to have their life literally siphoned out. they're about trust and a bond between them, but also seemingly about a willingness to sacrifice your cavalier to achieve that goal, and i have a really bad feeling about where exactly this is going in terms of how exactly one achieves lyctorhood

'under no circumstances will i ever desire your juice' Harrow you may wish to revisit this sentiment when you guys (to my limited knowledge) eventually become girlfriends

'none of this is worth it, at all [...] i'm sorry. We take so much' i'm like 90% sure the voice talking to Gideon throughout all this was Dulcinea, largely because it doesn't really make sense for it to be anyone else, but there were certain lines, specifically these ones, that made me suspicious at first it might be some(one? thing?) else. but it also feels fitting that its Dulcinea coaching her through this.

wow, just wow, i'm really impressed with the writing in this chapter, and how the pain Gideon is feeling is expressed. its such an abstract experience/feeling to describe, but i think its done incredibly well

'Ha-ha, said Gideon, first time you didn't call me Griddle, and died' ok i know she didn't but THANKS for giving me an absolute heart attack with that sentence Tamsyn Muir

Harrow i get understand u are protective of Gideon but let Dulcinea comfort her plz

'you can't just ask someone why they want to be a Lyctor'. ahh the duality of Gideon the Ninth. this just evocative prose about how it feels to be on the brink of death, and then immediately afterwards hits you in the face with a mean girls reference. beautiful, iconic, effervescent.

#lemon natalia reads the locked tomb #tlt #the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #the locked tomb liveblog

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stackslip · 3 months

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CAN YOU ELABORATE ON TLT BEING A HOMESTUCK FANFIC‽‽‽‽‽

i'm exaggerating a bit, but taz muir was a well known homestuck writer who wrote under the username urbanAnchorite. her fic the serendipity gospels is one of my fave fics ever, but was never finished and it's only by book 2 of tlt that i figured that the clear allusions to it in book 1 weren't just cute little nods but that she'd expanded on some of the ideas/concepts and worldbuilding of the serendipity gospels. to name a few:

the ninth house cult is heavily based on the juggalo church muir wrote/expanded upon in TSG, from face paint to the rituals and a lot of the accompanying prose

act 2 of TSG takes place mainly in a spaceship that serves as "cathedral" of the juggalo cult, and is described to be covered in bones that have been painted in many colors--which is close to the description of the mithraeum

act 2 also features the two main characters being much younger people mentored/manipulated into horrible acts by an old man who is thousands of years old and bickering with his other thousand year old friends/enemies, who seem to share knowledge and understanding that neither the two protagonists do but also deeply resent one another. hard to not read a parallel to john and the lyctors here!

to elaborate on this bc i just realized it: it is heavily implied in TSG that the dancestors (older people thousands of years old) went through a universe reset and built the empire in the image of their own trauma and anger, which would v much parallel what happens to john on earth and how he "reset" humanity

less of a homestuck thing and more of a taz muir thing: said old man is v much grooming the main female character and making her life miserable during the entirety of act 2

a lot of the story takes place in the background of the trolls' empire being a horrific imperialist force that the main characters were originally very excited to join and become a part of, with one of these characters in particular daydreaming about becoming ground troop for invasion while also holding a terrible secret that would have precluded him of doing so anyway. p neat parallel to gideon's own thing here

act 1 and act 2 of TSG are from two different pov characters, with a drastic shift in prose style and understanding of the situation/world when the pov shifts. which v much echoes how tlt has worked so far. part 3 was barely started before it went on hiatus, but it followed the same pattern.

speaking of, the prose of act 2 of TSG definitely feels very close to harrow the ninth's prose. you can just open the fic and check the first chapter of act 2 and how it's written, and you'll see what i mean. there are differences--the prose of TSG act 2 is more inflected with southern usamerican evangelical speak, i think? i'm not american so i can't quite 200% tell

there is an external armed resistance to the empire's violent imperialism and resistance that was supposed to be the focus in act 3 of TSG, which never happened. nona the ninth did, though, and it follows that structure.

there are also eldritch horrors that threaten the entire universe--homestuck's own horrorterrors--that are in the background of TSG and implied to be an important part of the future plot that we never saw. tlt has the ressurrection beasts

taz muir's worldbuilding around the blood castes in og homestuck that she elaborates on in TSG also somewhat parallels the way the houses function in tlt

iirc there's also worldbuilding around space travel in tlt (such as the obelisks? i think that's the name? and the use of necromancy to power them) that parallels taz muir's own take on how space travel works in the troll empire, using psionics and draining them dry in a similar way

i think the necro-cav relationship 'ideal' is based around how taz also interpreted moirallegiance in not just TSG but all her homestuck fics, down to how its legal implementation and the idealization of it vs its role in troll/houses imperialism and the reality of blurred lines in "expected" relationships. i'd love to hear taz's discourse on troll romance

i also think the necro-cav relationship parallels the other legal pairing explored in TSG--legislacerator and subjugglator.

there are probably more parallels i am missing--i need to reread TSG soon, as i haven't in a while. there are elements i'd say are more like, how taz herself elaborated on the bones of the worldbuilding of homestuck and then made it her own thing, which is rad as hell. other elements are more fun nods, such as gideon's aviator glasses being shamelessly stolen from dave homestuck, and a lot of gtn's prose feeling very homestuckey. it's def not like, just a little rewrite and boom, you get the locked tomb! imo it's more elements of plot and worldbuilding that were interesting enough to develop into something of its own and that taz made into something new, along with other elements of other stories (such as lolita and umineko) being woven into it. part of why i enjoy tlt so much is its "collage" aspect, taking elements taz thought interesting in other stories, or using these elements to purposefully evoke specific feelings/moods to construct or obsfucate certain ideas.

#eli talks #tlt #homestuck

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fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic · 2 months

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Good Omens Fic Rec: Oh, Maker

"The humans are strange and graceful as they explore the garden, explore themselves, explore each other. The trouble is, the humans stare back, which makes him uncomfortable; there’s nothing particularly interesting about him. And, though he rarely admits it to himself, the humans make him lonely; he has no Other to explore." Or: how many times can you take a bath with your best friend before you kiss him?

Length: 57,034 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Mostly Safe in Public, At Home, Angst, Romance, Slow Burn

Triggers: None/ Religious Trauma themes

Read it here, fic by voluptatiscausa

*Minor Spoilers* I've had this fic bookmarked for months, I love this author and all the stories of theirs I've read. But my ADHD often has me piling on more without diving into what I already have saved. So, when I was about to begin the author's latest fic, I paused. I realized I needed to prioritize this story first, and appreciate it fully. And now, I want you to do the same!

This is a pre season 2 "through the ages" story, visiting some of the historical settings we're familiar with and adding new ones as well. We watch as the weight of the world hangs on Aziraphale and Crowley’s shoulders. The impossibility of alleviating human suffering, the pain of being abandoned by their Creator, their Mother, and the lingering desperation for her approval. So when they've burnt out, they turn to each other. They comfort each other with warm intimacy through baths, manicures, brushing each other's hair, each taking care of the other and showing us how holy love can be. It's gorgeous and heartbreaking all at once. Their love is so true, even if they have trouble believing they're worthy of being loved and desired. “It’s because love can’t be earned, sweetheart. It’s given.”

The beauty of fanfic is that it can exceed the canon. This is not just in character; to me it's more in character than the canon itself. The book and show are comedies; they don't have time to dive this deeply into their characters' motivations and histories. And, of course, that's not a bad thing, especially since it brought us all here. But when I read something like this, something that brings a real depth and understanding to the characters, I'm amazed. This isn’t the only fic I’ve felt this way about, but it’s a prime example of that feeling. It’s just that, when I read a story that specifically focuses on their entire 6,000 years together and all the history they’ve gone through, I get frustrated that those moments are played for laughs in the book/show. The Flood, the Crucifixion, the Spanish Inquisition all throw away lines that don’t stop to dive into the wealth of story that’s possible there. I get why it doesn’t linger, I do, but fic narratives are so much more interesting to me than what the canon alone can provide.

This is a deeply moving and powerful story. Full of musings on shame, desire, religious trauma, and the beauty of the world we live in. Life is a terrible and wonderful thing. While this is mostly safe for public, I really suggest making this an at home read. It's a bit heavier, something you want to be in the right headspace for, and it features very rich prose. Never dense or hard to follow, but very beautiful, and you'll want to give it your full attention. I realize I may have made this seem like full angst, but it’s not! There's some wonderful loving fluffy moments to be found as well. Be sure to check out the other works that belong in this series! They are devastatingly good as well. Pair with some fruit for the full effect!

Read it here, fic by voluptatiscausa

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burnin0akleaves · 24 days

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Here's the draw six fanarts meme I decided to participate in 4 years late

In true burnin0akleaves spirit I didn't ask anyone for requests and just went ahead with all of the characters that have been the most impactful/important to me, so there is a high chance you've seen me draw these guys before.

By the way, unlike the rest of the blorbos here Siyra is an original character and belongs to @nineteen-rats!

Close-ups and rambles under the cut because it's my blog

Ohh the Dark Urge. My latest obsession. I love his design so much, I'm a slut for white/red color schemes, but I feel like it's a double edged sword that takes you out of the horrors he's commiting at the same time?

Durge is supposed to be murder incarnate, someone that does every fucked up thing related to death imaginable; but when you see a giant lizard eating babies or humping corpses, it dulls the effect a bit since you automatically view it as an animalistic act. Dragonborns are obviously a fully sentient humanoid race in-universe; but when the violence you're seeing is already toeing the line between horrifying and hilarious, seeing a scalie doing it just pushes it over the line. I still think it works really well most of the time and I'm very glad that this is the default durge we get! It's just funny to me that when you choose to play as the giant lizard, the dark and disgusting horror story turns into the hilariously edgy bloodfest.

Reminding everyone again that Siyra belongs to @nineteen-rats! I love this man so so so much. I am the Siyra fandom. I am the number one Siyra fanartist. He did nothing wrong and I will defend his every decision. I also hope terrible horrors befall him and that his actions keep him awake for the rest of his life. Pookie bear xoxo

COMING IN WITH THE STEEL CHAIR IT'S WILL TREATY

He is on my mind, always. I don't talk about him as much but he's probably still the fictional character who had the most impact on me as a person.

PATROCLUS! PATROCLUS!!! SIR I'M YOUR NUMBER ONE FAN!!

I got into patrochilles and the Illiad in general thanks to "The Song of Achilles". It was one of the first queer books I got to have in real life and the prose captivated me instantly, I still have it on my shelf. After reading the Illiad itself however, I hate that book so much. I'm sorry it's genuinely beautiful and I get why people like it but I can never forgive that horrible Patroclus characterization after seeing what he was originally like. Achilles too for that matter.

Hades swooped me up into its arms like I was a sick baby bird and nursed me back to health with its portrayal of the two though and for that I am forever grateful. I can't wait for Hades 2, death to Chronos.

God Half-Life is such an important series for me. My dad would let me play through a few levels since I was a child, he grew up with the games, but I REALLY played through the entire series one summer shortly before dad moved out. He was there watching me play most of it and getting to enjoy someone actually translate the game's dialogue for him for the first time.

Gordon may not speak once but I like the hints of his personality we get throughout the games, most importantly from the way Alyx talks to/about him. I have my own characterization of him obviously but I do really think you can get a good understanding of the kind of man he is meant to be in-universe just by paying attention to his surroundings. Also another reason the games were so immersive for me is that I'm just as in love with Alyx as Gordon is. I must have let her get hit only once or twice the entire time just out of how protective I was over her. I'd topple the entire Combine empire just for her hand in marriage. I rewatched the ending of Half Life Alyx recently and cried.

I read the entirety of LOTR in one week in 11th grade, carrying that damn brick of a book everyday to school and back. I'm so glad I did honestly. Frodo and Sam are my important little guys and I find myself going back to them when I need something to calm me down in a way no other series except LOTR can. I've read most of Tolkien's work at this point, but nothing captivated me like those two little hobbits. Everytime I read a bad take about their relationship I sketch them making out.

People liked seeing my drawing process before so here's the original sketch and the little notes I wrote to myself trying to set the mood. I followed like half of them.

#the dark urge #durge #will treaty #patroclus #gordon freeman #frodo baggins #default dragonborn durge #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #rangers apprentice #the royal ranger #hades game #half life #half life 2 #lotr #lord of the rings #🍃 fanart #that was a lot

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cerastes · 4 months

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I've seen people before saying that, in terms of presentation, NIKKE delivers it better than Arknights in telling what they want to tell. And I still see this occasionally whenever people start comparing stories in gacha games. Looking at your post, seems like that wasn't a lie at all.

Right, this is an interesting topic for me, so let me give my two cents on this.

I would say that statement is generally true. Nikke's main strengths are its presentation and knowing how to leverage its strengths in general, but let's focus on presentation: It's story is nothing to write home to (note that I am up to Chapter 18), neither are its events (on this regard, take me lightly, I've only read three), but what Nikke wants to say, you will very clearly understand. It's good at telling its story. Sometimes the localization will have Localization Moments (Chatterbox is described as female in the first cutscene he is mentioned, male every time afterwards; there's a lot of clearly literally translated little expressions that make no sense in the flow of the conversations), but overall, even though you're looking at a story that in a lot of ways you've seen a lot of times, its particularities stand out because Nikke tells them properly, concisely, and clearly. Characterization is consistent, and there's a good amount of care clearly put into both consistency and overarching important parts of the narrative; a favorite example of mine is how, in the tutorial, if you pay close attention, you can actually see Marian's eyes glow red during her reload animation, foreshadowing something pretty important that happens with her later.

So even if the story beats are not particularly good or intriguing -- and sometimes, outright terrible, like in Chapter 18 oh god I hate Chapter 18 -- you at least can tell with clarity what's going on and why it's going on.

Arknights has the yang to the yin here, somewhat: The stories on Arknights tend to range from okay to great, and AK events have a habit of going pretty damn hard, either as a whole or at least parts of them. Sometimes, however, they have a weakness, and this weakness is that the actual story telling can be dense. Density is often attributed to good writing, but the truth is, sometimes, the text isn't advanced, it's simply clumsy, and the prose in Arknights is decidedly clumsy. But when you actually untangle the spaghetti of clumsy prose, you find some strong story telling, strong characterization, and topics you don't often find discussed in video games, less so in gacha. You kinda have to work for it, basically.

Something Nikke does good is also that it keeps its relevant cast at any given story beat low, giving it more cohesion, or rather, making it easy to stay cohesive, because Arknights can handle larger casts pretty well sometimes, but I'll be frank, the current main story has so many literal whos to keep track of that I'm supposed to be invested in that I don't really bother. I'm sorry, but I can't really feel a damn thing about Outcast when she showed up for a few scenes and then got nuked off by a contrivance while fighting some faceless nobodies we are told we should fear.

But on the other hand, Nikke narrative, again, despite its strong delivery, is still built on a feeble base for the most part. I only think of a few characters I care about in Nikke, because a lot of the cast is just fluff and Obligatory Archetypes (bunny girls, school girls, maids, etc), whereas in Arknights, I care about a whole damn lot of them, even those without events, because their files and modules paint a very integral and intriguing picture of them. Even smaller scenes in Arknights sometimes can have a big emotional impact, due to its extensive and well crafted worldbuilding and its clever use of its elements in every event, something Nikke cannot claim, because worldbuilding in Nikke is almost non existent.

They both have their strengths, basically, and it's fascinating to me, a writer, to take a deeper look at them.

#arknights #nikke

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jessaerys · 3 months

Text

okay so i'm only about a quarter into twilight (bella just went on that first la push trip so jacob is imminent) but so far it's like... it's good? i mean not life-changingly good but not as terrible as people make it out to be, prose-wise. it's certainly better written than a whole lot of YA fiction. the banter between edward and bella is clever. bella's narration is funny. it is sufficiently atmospheric, and it has this air of quiet old soul wistfulness that i really like -- it doesn't feel like edward and bella have no personality, just that their personalities are equally quiet, if that makes sense. they're boring people, which is kind of cute. BUT. it reads like a first draft. there's so many bits here and there that with a good re-write could have been much tighter and therefore more impactful, more engaging, even beautiful actually. it's good bones and talent with a whole lot of trimming needed which is exactly the kind of writing i love to edit so i'm listening to it going ohh you didn't need that sentence there. this scene could have ended halfway through. why don't we turn this into a cold opening. can we make this description more ambiguous. the way edward's mood swings are written is really annoying me because i know what meyer is going for and that it's meant to be a unsettling, but the way he's written makes him come across as kind of psycho. what i'm saying is i could have fixed twilight. i'm shaking the bars of my cage sorry i was 11 years old in 2005 stephanie meyer i should have been there for you

#twilight

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pedgito · 2 years

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How abouttttt edging Tom until he's pouty and crying

author’s note: this is purely self indulgence. i tried to mimic some of tom’s dialect in my prose without going too cornish, so i hope it isn’t too terrible. i’m so horribly american that i didn’t want to butcher the shit out of it lol. anyways, love tom grant, he’s supreme boyfriend material.

cw: 18+ (minors dni) strangers to lovers, meet-cutes, cooking for each other, oral (m receiving), edging (to tom), grinding over clothes (sorta), talks about past relationships/cheating (on both of them), tom is a sweetie, if i missed anything lmk

word count: 4.7k

You meet him by chance, out at the market for your daily errands. He’s always dressed in his work uniform, seemingly jumping straight from work to grab a few things for the night or the rest of his week, arms always full of items because he refuses to grab a basket and he’ll pile them high until the food is toppling to the floor. He’s stubborn, you can see it in his face as he squats down to pick up the unlucky can of vegetables that crashes against the tile, denting the corner.

You don’t introduce yourself the first time, grabbing the can and handing it back to him with a smile—he looks a little dejected, pouting at the kind gesture but mumbling a quiet thanks, regardless.

But, you see him everyday for a few weeks and suddenly you’re wondering how someone you’ve never met can be so interesting. He’s kind to the people stocking the shelves, the woman at the counter, but he doesn’t speak a word to you.

That’s why, after a long, dreadful three weeks of tense eye contact and awkward encounters, you finally take that plunge.

He’s reaching for the same box of cereal as you, caught up in his own thoughts so much that he doesn’t even realize you are leaning down beside him—you try to stumble out an apology but it dies on your lips.

“Those are your favorite?” He asks curiously, grabbing the box with ease and handing it over. You stall for a moment, wondering if you’d imagined him talking to you—he could’ve been talking to someone behind you, anyone but you. His eyes are locked on you when you glance up.

“How’d you know?” You ask, clutching the box to your chest with a kind nod. It was the last one.

“You’ve grabbed the same box every Monday,” He notes, pointing at the box of cereal, “but—never any milk?”

You snort a soft laugh, being caught up in your own weird ways of eating. He didn’t seem like he was judging, but it was something he couldn’t help but notice.

“Soggy cereal makes me ill at the thought of it.” You confess, “plus, it’s so much better when you can just eat it by the handful.”

He smiles wide, tongue poking through his teeth slightly.

“I’m Tom,” He introduces himself, “consider that last box an apology for being an ass to you the past few weeks.”

“Thank you,” You reply sweetly, patting the box lightly, “though, I definitely touched it first. I would’ve pried it from your hands if it came down to that.”

Tom laughs, shifting the weight of his groceries in his arms. And like clockwork, a can falls to the floor. You can’t help but take a small jab at him as you reach for it.

“Are you allergic to the baskets?” You ask playfully, “It would squash this whole ‘feeling too awkward to apologize’ when I have to pick up the stuff that you drop.”

Tom shakes his head slightly, a weak and unintelligible answer.

“Unless you’re doing it on purpose.” You suspect.

It had taken Tom a while to get over Ruth, forgive her, allow himself to rid his trailer of her things and move on. The only thing he hadn’t managed was allowing himself to return back to normalcy, talk to his friends, meet a nice girl—when Tom isn’t working, he’s home, unless he’s here and sometimes, the trips were unnecessary, just an innocent hope that he might run into you. But, his nerves constantly got the better of him, the words choking up in his throat. He wasn’t sure why today was different, but it was.

And while he was on that high, he takes a chance before his mind tries to talk him out of it.

“You’ve caught me,” He admits humorously, “there’s probably better ways to ask someone on a date, but uh—“

“Loads,” You interrupt with a hoaky smile, “but lucky for you, I’m interested.”

“Really?” He perks up instantly, nearly dropping his groceries in one giant pile. “Oh, well um—I didn’t think I’d get this far—“

You laugh at his honesty, pointing at his jacket pocket wearily, noting the outline of his phone, “Mind if I—“ He nods, angling his hip toward you to grab it. He rambled off his lock code without question and you entered your information swiftly before returning it back to him.

“I’m a bit rushed but call me later?”

“Uh, yeah—yes, I will.”

He does, which isn’t much of a surprise. You’d been anxious about the call since you left the store, wondering when was the last thing you were this caught up over a boy you knew nothing about. He called you that night, your name falling from his mouth like velvet—he sounds more relaxed, less wound up. You weren’t sure how stressful his job was, or what his life was like, but it’s a difference from the man you had ran into earlier.

“Are you opposed to a home-cooked meal?” He asks, straight to the point. You huff slightly, debating on the question to torture him slightly, the silence lingering.

“Seems a little forward, yeah?” You tease, laughing floating through the receiver and making him smile on the other end. “It’s fine, Tom. I really don’t mind.”

“You sure?” He asks for reassurance.

After Ruth, he doubted almost everything he did—wondering if he was doing too much, or not enough. It was never good enough.

“If I’m being honest, a home-cooked meal sounds much better than dressing up and going out to a fancy place to eat.”

“As if I could afford fine dining on my salary.” Tom jokes, settling into a sense of comfort in the conversation, a lull that felt natural. “But yes—I’m an excellent cook, so you have nothing to worry over.”

“I’m putting my life in your hands, Tom.” You tell him carefully, though the affection is still there. “Don’t be the first boy to put me in the hospital with food poisoning. I’ll never be able to forgive you for that.”

“Fucks sake—I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

The curse sounds too dirty falling from his mouth, tarnishing his rather innocent, boyish looks.

“What time is good for you?”

You hum softly, pondering on how long you should make him wait. But, you were too impatient yourself.

“How about tomorrow? Say, six?” You suggest.

“Perfect.” He responds softly.

The date quickly evolves into something that you and Tom didn’t really plan on—and it’s a silent agreement that settles between you two as that date turns into several dinners over the course of a couple months, either at your place or his, venting about your day and getting to know each other better than anyone else you knew in town.

You weren’t familiar with the place, having only lived there a few months, but Tom had told you everything you needed to know—where to eat, where to shop, even if you always ended up at his place anyways.

And you realize rather quickly why you both latched onto each other without hesitation—there was a weird yearn for companionship, or friendship even, that neither of you acknowledged audibly, but sensed within each other.

Tom has empty pictures frames stacked on his bedside table that he doesn’t mention, even when you two end up on his bed one night after a particularly filling meal, listening to him complain about how much the weather had been bothering him.

“I live right off the beach, you know—it would be nice to go but the water is always freezing.” Tom complains, tracing the outline of your fingers with his own, hands held straight up in front of you as you both stared toward the ceiling.

“So I suppose streaking into the ocean is out of the question for you?” You ask, only slightly joking. Tom turns to look at you, eyes comically wide as his movements still. “Tom, I’m fucking with you.”

Tom looks away briefly, face contorted in a semblance of pain, like maybe you hit a sore subject. It fades quickly, replaced by a flat emotion of content.

“Okay, fess up.” You pester him, turning on your side and propping your head up into your hand. “What’s got you so bothered?”

“Nothin’,” He laughs awkwardly, releasing your hand to replace it with his own as he settles them against his stomach, soft cotton rubbing at his fingertips, “s’just bad memories.”

“Well, whoever it was, I’m sorry.” You tell him honestly. “They’re missing out.”

Tom smiles sadly, looking over at you briefly.

“Piss off,” He says softly, shoving at your thigh with no real strength, “s’not fair.”

“What isn’t?”

“You gettin’ to flirt with me, but you always tease me when I do the same.” He explains, cheeks blushing a faint shade of pink.

It’s the similar pink that happens when he’s out in the wind for too long, settling in the apples of his cheeks and staying for a while.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asks curiously, “M’not trying to pry or anything, but—“

“Think I held her back,” Tom admits, “She loved me in the beginning.”

“And it just faded out?” You try to perceive where the story is going, but Tom shakes his head.

“Nah, it was kinda sudden.” He explains, glaring up at the ceiling, “I don’t see her for a while and then she comes back and it’s like—she hates being here. It was good those couple days but I think whatever she’d been dealin’ with had been there the whole time.”

“That’s not your fault,” You tell him, “her problems aren’t your problems, whatever they were.”

“Took me a while to put it all together, but she thought I was cheating—I mean, who does that?” Tom asks with a strain to his voice, frustration lining his tone. It seemed like a sore subject, but Tom powered through. If he didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t.

“Cheat? Loads, Tom.” You emphasize, “And I’m speaking from experience, it’s not fun.”

“I’m not like that,” Tom insists, “I couldn’t—I didn’t even think about that stuff. I loved her.”

“Did she cheat on you?” You ask carefully, wondering if you're straying too far into territory that wasn’t yours to venture into.

“I dunno,” He shrugs, “She started hangin’ out with this girl and getting teasy for no reason—maybe she expected it to be different here.”

“I like it here,” You shrug, “it’s quiet—people are nice.”

Tom smiles at that, noticing how your eyes trailed toward him. You sit up slowly, crossing your legs in front of you.

“Felt like I was forcing her to love me,” Tom says, voice teetering of sadness that clogged his throat, “some days we’d be okay and then others she would throw herself at me—like she was tryin’ to make up for acting distant.”

“How so?” You ask.

People showed their love differently, so you couldn’t really judge. You were just trying to understand.

“It’s embarrassing,” Tom admits, shaking his head at the thought, “she came home late one night and tried to—“ Tom gestures to his groin vaguely, “I couldn’t get into it.”

“That’s not your fault,” You shrug, backpedaling for a moment, “well, technically—yeah. But, if you weren’t feeling it, that’s not something for you to get upset about.”

“And then sex was,” Tom starts, looking over at you, gauging your expression, “—is it weird if I talk about this? Don’t want you feelin’ uncomfortable.”

“Tom, we’ve talked about everything. You’re not gonna have me running away at the first mention of sex. You thinkin’ I’m some kinda prude?” It’s teasing and playfully in tone, but Tom is straight-faced, sincere. “It’s not weird.”

“We’d kiss for a while, she’d make some excuse to go to the bathroom—brushing’ her teeth or something else, but then she’d come back and she couldn’t look at me.” Tom says, eyes straining slightly as he roamed around the room briefly, blinking the dryness out of his eyes, “anyways, ‘nough that.”

You laugh slightly, rocking in place as you stare down at him.

It’s the most he’s opened up since you met him, part of it feels forced—like he’s trying to clear up for his standoffish behavior, why he comes off a little forward, but it’s never bothered you.

“Got a pretty lady right here and I’m boring her to death over my ex-girlfriend.” He says, taking a stab at himself, “That’s not kind of me.”

“Kind?” You tease, poking at his side, “You? Never.”

“What about you?” Tom asks innocently, turning on his side now, knees grazing his torso. His right hand rests against your leg as he settles in a similar position to how you were earlier, paying full attention to you. “Some bloke break your heart?”

“Break? Not really. He was an ass and slept around on me every week. Took me a few months to catch on. But, there was never anything there.” You explain, “I got a nice job out here, destroyed his ego when I dumped him in front of friends, and never looked back.”

Tom grins widely, “Damn, that’s cruel.”

“He was fuckin’ them in my apartment. That shit was justified.” You tell him, the endearment is a little patronizing on your tongue. “Don’t cross me, Tom. You’ll regret it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.” Tom replies flirtatiously, letting you drag your fingers through his short cropped curls, eyes falling shut at the touch. “Wouldn’t ever—you’re too sweet of a girl.”

“As far as you know.” You counter, his eyes peeking open briefly to look at you, teeth peeking through his smile. It makes your heart melt, his features soften every time he looks at you. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Tom asks, knowing full well.

“Giving me the eyes,” You chuckle softly, “If you want to fuck me just say so—I hate dancing around that shit.”

“You’re something.” Tom notes, squeezing at your thigh gently.

The touch had become normal, something you both seeked after long meals and tiring work days. But this, it had your stomach fluttering and ignited a deep, unfurling pit in your stomach.

“What, are you scared of me?” You ask teasingly, flicking at the collar of his shirt as you graze his chin. It had only ever been playful touches, some suggestive touching and the one time that he kissed you on the cheek when you left his place after a late night, delirious from sleep and not really thinking.

Still, you thought about it every time you looked at him. Tom was as honest as they came, open to anything, willing to do whatever to make you comfortable. It was everything you weren’t used to but also everything you wanted.

“I don’t bite,” You tell him quietly, “not unless you ask for it.”

Tom pulls his bottom lip between his teeth slightly, smothering the laugh that escapes, attempting to cover up for the obvious surprised noise that tried to come out.

“And if I do?”

Your eyebrows raise slightly, daring him.

“Because I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.” He admits, his hand trailing dangerously higher up your thigh, your hands having moved behind you, watching his movements.

“Then I’d say you’re in for it,” You confess, “you may not survive me, you know.”

“Soundin’ like a good way to go.” Tom replies confidently, his fingers dipping past the hem of your sweatpants, grazing the thin fabric of your underwear. “Show me?”

He’s not asking for anything in particular. He wants everything,

You bite at the inside of you check, considering how deeply this could affect your friendship with Tom—and as much as you tried to think about the cons, it was outweighed by the pros. It was a long, endless list that you couldn’t even begin to speak on—the only thing that mattered was that Tom wanted this, just as badly as you did.

You hadn’t been with anyone in a few months, let alone touched in any type of way—the kiss on the cheek was the closest you got to anything in a while. So, even with Tom’s gentle, fleeting touches, you were already willing to do just about anything to prove to Tom how much he deserved to have someone who cared, somehow who wasn’t going to flee from him without an explanation.

You hand grazes over his jeans testingly, the fabric worn from constant use, frayed at the thighs and thinning. He’s already hard under the line of his zipper, jaw clenching at the slightest bit of friction.

“How long?” You ask curiously, undoing his jeans silently.

Tom watches on, turning to his back to give you more room.

“A couple months,” He admits, “got on with a girl out at the bar after I had too many beers, don’t remember much if’m being honest.”

You nod, Tom speaks softly, “And Ruth—Ruth, she never liked to—“

“Touch you?”

“Or I touch her, not really.”

You tilt your head, wondering who could resist someone like him. He was sweet to the core, staring up at you with his hopeless eyes, wide with adoration.

“Let’s fix that, yeah?” You ask, earning a jerky nod from Tom.

He lifts his head slightly, propping himself up on his arms as he watches you tug at his jeans until he can kick them the rest of the way, your hand coming up to cup over the strained tent in his underwear, squeezing gently.

“That’s, fuck—“ Tom sighs, “this isn’t going to last long, ‘m sorry.”

“It will.” You assure him, smiling with a devious intent that should scare him away, but it only entices him further.

You settle over his legs, spread wide on your knees as you pull his underwear down the rest of the way, cock springing free and upright toward his stomach, the tip matching the vibrant blush in his face. He stares up at you nervously, hands dragging up his thighs teasingly.

“You’ve got a pretty cock, Tom.” You comment, watching as he stumbles to find his words. “Anyone ever told you that?”

He shakes his head slowly, your delicate fingers wrapping around the base, the skin like soft velvet under your touch. He’s not nearly as good at keeping his composure as you thought, letting out a small groan as you touched him.

You squeeze gently, hand slipping up to squeeze at the the tip, thumb rubbing over the slit at the head of his cock, rubbing the small amount of precum there, making the slide down all the more torturous.

“Love, that’s so fuckin’—“

You nod knowingly, just as affected despite that lack of touch. Your thighs squeezed together desperately, mouth watering at the thought of him heavy against your tongue, what he tasted like—it was impossible not to think about.

“Can I—or do you not like that?”

Tom doesn’t hesitate, not even for a second as he watches you eye his cock in your hand, licking your lips as you parted them.

“Please, please—“ He all but rushes out, “that’s, yeah, of course.”

You snort at his eagerness, relaxing himself over your lap as you take him in your mouth slowly. First your tongue, dragging it up the line of his shaft, swirling over the head slowly, repeating the process a few more times until you finally decide to take him in your mouth, the moan that escapes him is desperate, noisy, need—his fingers dragging at your hair, pushing it away gently. His hands follow the slow bob of your head, never pushing or pulling, only feeling.

And he’s mouthy, mewling all sorts of noises alongside his words. It doesn’t surprise, given how much he can talk your ear off. Though, this is so much better.

“God, it’s been ages, fuck—“ Tom grunt softly, head falling back against the pillow, fingers rubbing tenderly through your hair, silence filled with the obscene noises of your mouth on his dick, “told ya I won’t last long.”

You lean down briefly, taking his balls into your mouth, tongue rolling over the tight skin and forces and strained moan from his chest, the grip on your hair tightening slightly. You can feel the muscles in his thighs flex, the quickening in his breath—so you pull back, a vivacious grin on your face.

“What?” Tom asks flippantly, his deep cornish accent peeking through, “S’goin on? I was there.”

“I know,” You nod slowly, “It’s the whole point.”

“M’sorry?” He asks, eyebrows falling together in confusion.

“Have you never edged yourself?” You ask curiously. “Got close and stopped? Nothing?”

“That sounds horrid,” Tom admits, “Isn’t cumming the whole point?”

“Well, yeah—“ You squeeze at the base of him gently, punching a huff out of his chest as his eyes roll toward the ceiling, hands clenched into fists at his side, “but this is more fun, don’t you think?”

“Sounds like you want to torture me.” Tom notes, losing the last bit of sanity he had left when your mouth closes over the head of his cock again, tongue swirling lightly. “—N’ here I was calling you sweet.”

You grin darkly, “I can make you cry, if that’s what you really want.” It wouldn’t be the first time, definitely not the last. Most of the time you did it to be petty, bring a man to a primal state of begging just to embarrass them. But for Tom, it was more than that.

He’d never really been touched, not like this. He’s had his fair share of encounters, and his relationship with Ruth spanned a long part of his teenage years, but there was always something missing. There was always a sort of shame behind wanting things for himself and not asking, feeling like an ass for voicing his needs, so he didn’t. You didn’t need to ask him because you saw it everyday, always putting himself second for anything and anyone. Besides, you wouldn’t mind forcing a few tears out of him, a few breathless pleas.

He was already halfway there, it seemed. Tom had his eyes squeezed shut, fists still clenched at his sides as you bobbed your head slowly, eyes flicking up to watch the muscles in his jaw tense, blush traveling down his neck.

“Gotta slow down,” He begs weakly, “s’too much.”

“You sound alright to me,” You tell him snarkily, licking a long slow stipe up his cock, “should I stop?”

“No, no, no—“ Tom quickly answers, hands reaching for your head as you move, “just—I,” He sighs, feeling like a sap for saying what’s on his mind, “I’d rather have you up here.”

Sex wasn’t totally off the table, but it hadn’t been on your mind.

“Do you have condoms?” You ask, earning a slow head shake from him. The last thing you needed was a baby by someone you’ve only known for less than six months.

“You can uh—you don’t have to take your clothes off or anything,” Tom starts, “we could, just like—“

“I haven’t done that since high school, Tom.” You answer with a faint laugh, bubbly and free of judgment. “But, it’s really our only option.”

Tom breathes a heavy sigh of relief as you sit up, slipping your sweatpants down your hips and off your legs, his calloused hand traveling up your thigh as you settled over his groin, hard cock pressed against the thin cotton of your underwear, sticky with the small wet patch that had grown there, much to your own embarrassment. You hadn’t even touched yourself, or he you, and you were already just as needy. You push his shirt higher up his chest, pale skin hot to the touch, fingers dragging through the small trail that led down to his dick, hips heavy against him as you dragged your hips once, twice.

“Oh, fuck,” Tom sighs loudly, fingers gripping your hips tightly, “tits—can I see your tits?”

And no one’s ever asked in such a polite way, you can’t help but chuckle, nodding eagerly. You slip the shirt over your head, breasts bouncing freely, having forgotten your bra at home in rush over to his place. They were all in the wash, thank god.

“Beautiful,” He notes, his voice low and rough, leaning up to mouth the flesh, plush pink lips pressing against your skin, “s’like the rest of you. Perfect.”

“Tom.” You warn lightly, feeling your own face heat at his compliments.

“It’s true, love.” He tells you, eyes connecting with your face briefly, eyes vulnerable as he stares up at you. It’s the most expressive part of his face, mesmerizing, to say the least. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

You nod slightly, “I know, I know.” You respond, “M’not used to people saying stuff like that to me, never know how to respond.”

“Don’t.” He assures you, “As long as you know.”

And you’ve never felt love this strongly, this early—it could be because of the situation, given your heightened state of connection, but those three words rest on your tongue heavily.

It’s a slow gradual rise as you grind against him, pressing against you in just the right way, clit catching the head of his cock with every pull back of your hips. Tom’s a mess, murmuring words that don’t make sense, soft noises, not having the strength to hold himself up any longer as he rests back against the pillow, grip tightening on your hips as you ride it out, stopping briefly when he starts to squirm a little more than usual.

It goes on for forever, it feels like. In reality, it was only about a half hour, watching Tom fall apart every time you denied his release, nearly to the point where he’s gasping at every touch, wicked pleas turning into desperate whines.

“I can’t.” Tom concedes, eyes brimming with tears, face excessively flushed, “Need it—please?”

You nod, impatient yourself as his hands travel up to touch you, thumb finding your clit over the fabric—it amazes you how he has no trouble at all when feeling out your body, despite how new this was to both of you.

“Fuck, you’re just as bad,” Tom notes with a breathy laugh, it quickly dying out with a rough snap of your hips, chasing your own orgasm selfishly, “take it, come on.”

Take what you need. Take all of it. Tom would give you everything if you let him.

It hits you fast, hard, eyes squeezing shut as you whimpered a soft ‘Fuck.’, fingers finding his wrist for purchase as you rocked your hips one final time—Tom watches your face as you come, which does him in immediately. He blinks hard, watery eyes lending a few tears to escape as he finally breathes in relief, coming in long spurts over his stomach and ruining his shirt in the process, though it’s the last thing on his mind.

“Not how I thought this night would go,” Tom admits with a lazy smile, rubbing at your thighs gently, pointing out how ruined your underwear were now, covered in a mix of slick, yours and his, “come here.”

You slump forward weakly, hands sprawling out over his head as you rest on your arms, nose grazing his. “Me neither.”

“You’re really good at that.”

You snort a tired laugh, “I’ve made many men cry—gotta admit though, you’re the prettiest.”

“Fuck off,” He laughs, reaching up to press a soft, gentle kiss to your lips, “shit hurts after a while.”

Your eyebrows raise, as if trying to prove your point.

Tom grins, attempting to hide his face in your neck. He’s never been this shy until now and it melts your heart.

“You can take a shower here,” He tells you, “sleep too, if you don’t want to mess with the drive.”

“Clothes?” You ask curiously, knowing you didn’t bring any spares.

“No, no—that’s where I draw the line.” He jokes, failing to hide his obvious smile. “‘Course, take what you need.”

“This doesn’t change anything,” You tell him honestly, watching his expression blank for a moment, “I still want my dinners, too.”

Oh.

Tom nods fervently, “Got it. Not like you could do without my cooking now, anyways. You get pissy when it’s your turn.”

You gasp slightly in shock, taken back by the jab and slapping his chest lightly.

“Don’t get coarse with me,” You warn playfully, “or I can make it a lot worse for you.” Unfortunately for you, Tom was already diving in head first. He didn’t care.

“Sounds like a challenge.” Tom counters, “I’m sure I could take you on.”

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