#remember likes are great but they don't do anything to spread the posts around!

[thenon-fictiondays]

Hirano to Kagiura light novel translation 4-1

Chapter 4: Fall.

Part 1

Prev || Next

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His roommate is home.

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

“Hirano-san, I’m home!”

“Welcome home, Kagi-kun.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speaking of which, he thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...I just barely passed.”

“What’s the damage?”

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

“I see.”

Which is bad in and of itself, really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s up?”

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

“Nah, no way.”

“Hm…did you not get along?”

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

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

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

“...Does that make me special, then?”

“Why are you so happy about that?”

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

Prev || Next

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

#you guys can reblog these posts btw <3 #remember likes are great but they don't do anything to spread the posts around! #friendly reminder that tumblr is not ig/tt and we love her for it <3 #re 3rd footnote: im still trying to cope #im really hoping that the 'homophobic' and 'disgust' etc are referring to his reputation rather than his real feelings #tho i'm not sure that's much better 💀 #also im sorry but wtf is up with the whole 'its to do with his family so hirano feels bad for him thing' #like??? oh poor you your sibling is gay that must be such a struggle #guess you have the right to hate gay people. ?????? #this makes it sound like there was some TRAUMA involved #but it was literally just his brother (and other sibling) saying btw im gay and then they all moved on with their lives?? #shoutout to my sister for this slightly inaccurate but much better take #i told her about it and she was like 'nah this mf just repressed as hell 💀' #she does not read ssmy/kghr btw #hirano to kagiura #hirano and kagiura #kagihira #hirano to kagiura light novel #hirano to kagiura translation #harusono shou

[spider999sposts]

a.n: different kind of post everyone. smutty miguel o'hara × fem!reader drabble I wrote to avoid getting burnt out. might write a part 2. requests for smut are open ;)

Silence filled the apartment as soon as the door slammed shut. Your purse was aggressively thrown at the counter, flopping over and falling to the ground from the impact.

It was suppose to be about you. An anniversary only comes once a year, you weren't asking for much. He did come, and for the most part you had forgotten all about the times he didn't.

It was going well. The two of you were laughing, smiling, talking. He couldn't keep his hands off you either. He even got you a gift, an expensive watch you've been eyeing for a while, but you never expected him to notice you wanted it or even remember. For an hour, you had completely pushed back the fact that he was almost never around anymore, deciding to enjoy whatever time you managed to get with him.

Then something started beeping, and you realised he'd been wearing his gizmo under his suit this whole time. He got up abruptly, telling you he is sorry, that he will come back, but you knew better. You stayed in your seat for a while, a naïve part of you giving him a chance, the waiter came over by a couple of times, asking you if you wanted to order your entreé now, when he came over for the third time, you just asked him for the check.

You grumbled as you fell on a nearby chair, whatever excuse he had this time, it needed to be a really good one.

Your huffs and puffs came to a halt when you heard the balcony door slide open. The familiar glow of his blue and red suit reflected in your eyes. He was holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and when his mask dissipated, you saw the apologetic look on his face. You turned your face away.

"I needed to run a quick errand, amor. Just a technical problem. I wasn't gone for long." His words were met with unsettling silence. Miguel expected you'd be at least throwing a snarky remark or even reprimanding him for what he did, but this silence, it was new.

"I got you flowers." He said, as if that was suppose to make you throw yourself at his arms. Telling him how much of a great man he is. But you didn't say anything, only folding your arms over your chest. Miguel tossed the flowers on the table, and walked over to stand infront of you.

"You know, I don't like not being looked at." His hands were at both arms of the chair, and he was leaning over you. Your eyes met his, only because he moved his head to look at you. You looked the other way. He didn't get to look at you. Not after today.

"I don't like being ignored either."

The urge to reply to him was increasing. Where does he get all this audacity from?

"Maybe if I wouldn't ignore you if you didn't ditch me in the middle of our anniversary dinner."

is what you would've said, but you knew that's what he wants, and you sure as hell weren't going to give him anything he wants after the little stunt he pulled.

Miguel huffed, growing rather irritated. He couldn't apologise to you if you were just going to ignore him. He ran his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath.

Then he kneeled.

You almost moved, almost asked him what he was doing, but you didn't. You were committed to the bit, until he proves that was truly sorry for what he'd done.

He removed his hands from the armrest, and instead put them on your exposed knees. "If you're not going to talk to me, I'm going to make you." The sight of him on his knees, his big, gloved hands against your skin, it made your tummy flutter. He caught your hesitant gaze, flashing you a grin. His hands spread your legs apart, and lowered his head. His fangs grazed against the skin above your knee, "Sorry." He mumbled, leaving a kiss against your skin. It dawned on you that he was apologising for what he'd done, "I wouldn't have left if it wasn't important."

That was the most half–assed apology you've ever received, but it was getting harder to think when his kisses were getting more frequent. He'd reached your inner thigh, and when he did, he sunk his teeth into your skin, sucking on the spot. The moans were caught stuck in your throat, you refused to let them out.

Miguel noticed how tense your body got, and looked up at you, raising his brows. "You're gonna stay silent through this too?" He asked, the grin never leaving his face. "That's fine, you won't be able to keep this up for long anyway." When he removed his head, you saw the spot he'd been sucking on was turning purple already.

He got off his knees, returning to his previous position, leaning over you with his hands on each side of the chair. He latched his mouth to your neck, peppering kisses all over your skin. You gripped the wood, digging your fingernails into the chair and closing your eyes. "Is this your idea of punishment?" He rasped, grabbing onto the strap of your dress. "Staying queit? This is torturing you more than me." It was true, your throat felt sore and that feeling in your stomach was not going away.

In one swift move, Miguel ripped the fabric off of you using one of his talons. You closed your legs as soon as you felt the coldness from the room, but Miguel put his knee between them, a grin on his face.

"I'll make it up for you, amor, if you'll let me."

#across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #miguel o'hara #hobie brown #lyla spiderverse #miguel spiderverse #gabriella o’hara #atsv pavitr #gwen stacy #marvel #astv miguel #miguel x reader #miguel o hara smut #miguel o’hara smut #miguel smut #miles morales #spider man: across the spider verse

[wedreamedlove]

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

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

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

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

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

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

Ah. So that's what it was.

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

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

Desire scratches at a closed door in his mind.

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

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

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

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

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

"Evan."

And it's shameful how hard that makes him.

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

"Evan."

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

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

Evan's breathing deepens.

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

"Evan."

His breath catches.

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

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

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

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

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

The silence is deafening.

There is no girl here, there is only him.

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

His second breath is steadier.

By the third, he is a Lu again.

POST-RELATIONSHIP

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

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

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

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

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

But Evan calls out your name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I had a dream."

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

"About you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But now...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You obediently open your mouth wide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#answered asks #light and night #光与夜之恋 #ln evan #ln lu chen

[finntheehumaneater]

UH UH UH YOU'RE TAKING PROMTS!!

Can I ask for ""if you think i am going to validate your pessimistic thoughts, then you're wrong" from the "I don't deserve you" responses list? Steddie or Buckingham (I acc don't remember if you ship them, it's okay if not), whichever you like the best and feel the more inspired by :)

have a good day love 💕

hallo!! Sorry this took so long—and I do ship them!!! I like Buckingham, Rovickie, and Ronance, because I just need Robin to happy and in love with someone, and I don’t care which girl it is, haha.

anyways, I hope this was okay, because I am very tired right now and have not read it over ♥️

All of the lists for prompts are in my pinned post!

Robin was practically bouncing on her feet as she waited for Chrissy to get out of the car. Her girlfriend was in the passenger seat, now—because she said the mirror on that side was better—trying to fix the strands of hair that were purposefully falling out of her ponytail at the sides of her face.

“You didn’t have to dress up, you know,” Robin said, looking Chrissy over. Her outfit was way more put together than what she normally wore—and that was saying something. She had on a white dress with a skirt that puffed out around her waist and fell to her mid thigh. She had back heels on. They weren’t even going to a fancy restaurant, so Robin herself was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. “We’re just going to see Steve and Eddie.”

Robin felt her face flush as Chrissy turned to her and got out of the car, frowning, her arms crossed over her chest. The bracelets around her wrists jingled and clinked together. “You don’t like it?”

“No, no,” Robin rushed out, holding her hands up slightly, her face now bright red. “I-I do! I do, you look amazing. Hot. Sexy, even, I just—I was just trying to say that you don’t have to dress up just to go and meet Steve, you know? He’s not expecting you to, or…or anything, so it’s fine. But you look great, really.”

Chrissy laughed and moved some hair off of Robin’s shoulder, kissing her on the cheek. “Thanks, babe.” She paused and sighed, taking Robin’s hand and twisting one of her small silver rings around, looking away. “I just want him to think well of me, yeah? His opinion matters to you, and I…I want him to like me.”

Confusion spread over Robin’s face and she brought Chrissy’s hand to her lips, kissing it, just because she knew it would make Chrissy blush. No one could see them, anyways, with the car in the way. “He’ll like you. And if he doesn’t? Fuck him. Actually, wait, no. Don’t tell him I said that.”

Chrissy giggled again and moved her hand out of Robin’s, nodding. “I won’t.”

“Just be yourself, okay?” 

Chrissy rolled her eyes at that, but there was a smile on her lips. “Okay.”

Jesus fucking Christ it was loud inside the restaurant. Chrissy hadn’t bothered to check the name of where they were, just going to the address that Robin had given her. She was tucked into the booth next to Robin, while Steve and Eddie sat on the other side.

And to be honest? She had thought this would be fun. Nerve wracking, but fun. And it wasn’t. Steve and Eddie were mostly talking amongst the two of them, Eddie laughing and not-so-discreetly holding Steve’s hand under the table. And Robin was mostly listening to them, which was weird because she was always talking.

Robin kept reaching for her hand, and Chrissy felt bad for pulling away from her each time, but she felt embarrassed to do it in public—especially in front of Steve, who kept glancing over at her and looking her over, making her want to curl into herself and disappear. Maybe that’s why Robin was being so quiet. Maybe she was upset.

She probably was.

So Chrissy kept to herself, leaning against the wall and looking out the fogged over window next to them. She really didn’t want to upset Robin, but she didn’t need Steve to think that she was too clingy or something. She just needed him to like her, and from the way he kept looking at her, it didn’t seem like he did.

Eventually Steve turned to her and leaned on his elbows on the table, looking her over again. Chrissy straightened up immediately, her eyes widening slightly as she gave him a polite smile. “Hm?”

“Didn’t say anything,” Steve said simply, looking over at Eddie, who was messing with his rings, looking kind of bored now that Steve wasn’t talking to him. Everyone here looked kind of bored. “So, Chrissy. Where did you guys meet?”

“Hm? O-oh, um, college. We’re both doing film.”

“I see,” Steve said, taking Eddie’s hand again, and Eddie smiled, giving him a quick glance before leaning back against his chair, which knocked his cane away from the table. 

“Oh, shit—“ Eddie muttered, going to get it, but Steve got up instead, pushing Eddie gently back down into his chair and grabbing the cane, before sitting back down.

“You alright?” He whispered to Eddie, and Eddie nodded, patting his shoulder. 

Steve turned back to Chrissy and she sighed, chewing on her bottom lip. She saw Eddie frown, and then tug Steve closer by the sleeve of his t-shirt, whispering something and motioning his head towards Robin and Chrissy. Chrissy’s face flushed, and she sank down in her seat slightly. She saw Robin glance over at her, looking away quickly, and she was about to say something, when Eddie pushed his chair back and stood up, his cane falling over as he leaned heavily on the table. “I need to piss!,” and then turned to Steve, ignoring the people who had turned around to look at them, giving him a pointed look.

Steve sighed and stood up again, grabbing Eddie’s cane and handing it to him. “I’ll, uh…go with him to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.” It was obviously a lie, but Chrissy saw Robin shrug and wave them off, looking down.

After they were out of sight, Chrissy turned to Robin and made to take her hand, but Robin tugged her hand away, sighing. “Did I do something?”

Chrissy froze, looking confused. Feeling confused. “No, honey…”

“I just—whenever I try to touch you or something, you move away, and I…I feel like I did something.” Robin muttered, and Chrissy held out her hand. It took a minute, but Robin eventually took it, kissing Chrissy’s knuckles, and Chrissy looked around. No one was looking at them. She didn’t know why it made her so nervous.

“I don’t deserve this,” She whispered, feeling her eyes gloss over. “I don’t deserve you…”

There was silence for a moment, and Chrissy looked down at her knees, biting her lip to keep the tears from falling. She didn’t need to embarrass herself anymore than she already had. 

Then she felt a finger under her chin, moving her head back up, and she blinked, feeling a tear fall down her cheek. Robin’s hand moved to cup her face, and her voice was so incredibly soft when she answered, “if you think i am going to validate your pessimistic thoughts, then you're wrong.”

Chrissy sniffled, laughing quietly as Robin moved her other hand to Chrissy’s face and shook her head lightly. “You do deserve this, okay? And you deserve a lot more than I can give you. You’re perfect, okay?” 

Chrissy let Robin kiss her, even though everything in her was screaming at her to pull away, because people might see. After a moment, Robin pulled away, and Chrissy sighed, eyes darting down to her lips for a moment, before she sighed again. “Steve doesn’t like me.”

“Yes he does.”

“But—“

“But, Steve is bitchy. He has resting-bitch-face. He likes you,” Robin assured her, and Chrissy laughed, going to say something else before she got cut off by Steve’s voice.

“I do not have resting-bitch-face,” he retorted, glaring at Robin as he sat back down. “You take that back.”

“I can’t because it’s true,” she pointed out, letting go of Chrissy’s face to reach over the table and poke Steve in the arm. 

“Did you guys talk things over yet?” Eddie said, still a bit too-loud as he sat back down, his cane laying over his lap. Robin nodded, and he sighed with relief, slipping down in his chair a bit while he looked up at the ceiling. “Good, because I could not wait in the bathroom anymore. It was gross.”

Steve laughed, and Eddie looked over at him, grinning.

Robin hesitated, and then held out her hand for Chrissy. Chrissy looked down, glanced at Steve, and then back at Robin’s hand. 

She took it.

#I was once in a restaurant with my grandma and she told me not to talk so loudly or people would hear #So as I got up to go to the bathroom I went “I AM GOING TO GO AND PISS” #and I heard someone off in the distance yell back “yas. Go piss girl!” #It was very funny but my grandma did not think so lmao #Robin Buckley #Finn writes #My fic #my writing #asks #Chrissy Cunningham #buckingham #steddie #steve harrington #Eddie Munson #Stranger things fic

[gleedyke]

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

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

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

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

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

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

#good omens #gomens #neil gaiman #i almost didn't tag this bc i don't actually feel comfortable up on this soapbox but i would like at least somebody to find comfort in it

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#two grown men arguing over a typo… #this is why aliens haven’t visited us #jean paul marat #camille desmoulins #marat #desmoulins #ask #long post #frev friendships

[subiysu-chan]

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

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

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

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

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

:)

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

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

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

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

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

[alexthescaredenby]

uh

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

so here

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

Dreamscape Nexus ~

All Entries

Recovered sketchbook entry

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

ENTRY 00000000000000000000000000000000000oO0: Why Can’t I Remember?

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

ENTRY 1: A Door to Another World

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

ENTRY 8: Where Am I?

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

-OS

ENTRY 27

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

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

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

-OS

enTRY 27-B: Recovered Sketchbook

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

Entry 30: Home Sweet Home

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

Entry 34: Bells?

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

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

-OS

Entry 51: Bodies

Oh my gods, I'm gonna throw up.

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

Entry 54: Ashes to Ashes

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

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

Entry 68: Whispers in the WInd

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

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

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

When you see it, it sees you too.

When you hear it, it hears you too.

When you feel it, it touches you.

When it calls you, it has you.

When you feed it.

IT CLAIMS YOU.

Entry 78: Watcher

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

This damn mask.

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

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

ENTRY 79: It Found Me

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

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

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

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

I need to get out of here.

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

ENTRY 92: Fuck That Box

Fuck that box.

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

Where's the fucking booze.

ENTRY 97: City of Ghosts

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

ENTRY 117: Memories

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

-OS

Documentarian’s letters 

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

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

Are the stars still there?

ENTRY -|NULL|-

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

Life is not binary.

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

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

What the hell Dawn?

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

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

[THE CYCLE MUST NOT BE BROKEN]

OS’s Rambles (ok alex)

Fuck Ascario

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

How is this happening?

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

Ascario documents

After-Action Report: Incident at the Nexus Entry Point

Date: [REDACTED]

Prepared by: Imogen Vladistov, Team Leader

Objective: Investigate the Nexus

Team Members:

Team Leader: Imogen Vladistov

Tactical Specialist: Graham Oreta

Tech Specialist: [REDACTED]

Medical Officer: Dr. Karina Solvea

Communications Expert: [REDACTED]

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

Chronology of Events:

Entry Point Approach:

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

Door Transition:

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

Initial Nexus Exploration:

[REDACTED]

Monster Encounter:

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

Evasive Maneuvers:

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

Escape Attempt:

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

Nexus Entrapment:

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

Lessons Learned:

Unpredictability of Nexus Environment:

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

Monster Behavior Analysis:

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

Communication Protocols:

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

Recommendations:

Research and Analysis:

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

Specialized Training:

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

Equipment Enhancement:

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

Collaborative Research:

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

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

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

7 suns.

7 rings.

7 thrones for the Ebon KIng.

Let the cycle repeat.

Ouroboros Project

Ouroboros

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

[WELCOME, OUROBOROS]

Uhm… hello?

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

Oh. That’s… Less than convenient…

[LET THE CYCLE BEGIN ANEW]

I mean… if you say so…

[THANK YOU]

gib pictures

#GIB PICTURES #ALSO YOU FORGOR STUFF

[arleniansdoodles]

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

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

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

~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is Angrboda around, boy?” Atreus asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Calliope nodded shyly. “I like the flute.”

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

Calliope nodded again. “Thank you.”

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

#writing #my writing #fanfiction #my fanfiction #god of war #god of war ragnarok #au #atreus #calliope #angrboda #ironwood #jotunheim #fenrir

[thepaintedlady00]

Burden Chapter 12 Sneak Peek!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then why venture into mine?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is hardly-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#fic: burden #sneak peek #sneaky sneaky peeky #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless x daunt reader #holy shit #the tension #the longing #dreams are as good a place as any to fuck around in #I warned y'all Munin wasn't gonna be shy!

[onlymorelove]

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

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

Unwell (Fandom: Bones (tv show))

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#answered asks #ask games #crownofstardustandbones

[dinoburger]

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

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

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

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

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

#asklies

[minat9c]

Sorry Vera for my silly question, but ... could you please explain me what's going on with Ted Raimi? Sorry, I have read a lot of horrible things and I'm not sure, but I have understood that this involves a really nice girl on Tumblr (Emily, I don't remember the name of her account). I would be really pleased if you didn't mind explaining me all of this shit. 🥲

Hey there! I'm happy to give a rundown of what's happened, and I don't think it's silly at all. This isn't everything, but it's the basic gist of the salient points as I've witnessed them.

Emily (stxrraimi) had, by all accounts at the time, had a great weekend and lovely interactions with Ted. At some point in the past handful of days she appears to have run across accusations being made that Ted was rude to staff at the con, late to everything, was often seen with women in his time off and "played games with them" (?), and most concerningly it was asserted that he behaved inappropriately toward women to the point where multiple complaints were made to the staff (all of these claims made by tedraimisimp, an alleged MM staffer who appears to have deleted their blog?), with no specifics about any particular claims being given publicly, and seems to have taken them to heart -- assuming that her deleting her posts wasn't the result of harassment from fellow fans in the wake of all this, which I really hope wasn't the case.

There were notably also vagueposts about the overall situation from nogoodverybadexorcism and 12d3trvshcktt, as well as suggestions of "grooming" behavior from vasiktomis.

Kijilinn jumped onto the overall train with concern about Emily's account of what had happened and some potentially overly-friendly behavior from Ted which I didn't perceive as such. Opinions seem pretty divided on it but without Emily's posts visible that's hard to say more on since we all have to rely on memory. She's since qualified her statements and recognized the harm in how she expressed her feelings about the matter, which I appreciate and respect.

In the midst of this, heytheredarlin was also concerned about the accusations being thrown around and their severity without substantiation, but later deleted his posts because he felt they were counterproductive and only spreading the harmful claims instead of pushing back effectively. I respect his feelings but I disagree, which is why I'm still talking about this lol.

bloodandsilver2-electricboogalo was also pushing back against the unsubstantiated accusations, and continues to. We are in fact besties and of like mind on this.

While I was not personally present, the con appears to be fairly poorly managed, especially given their lack of any conduct or costume/prop policies, nor any safety guidelines or agreements attendees sign about behaving appropriately. Coupled with the con existing for 11 years and having no contact form and poorly managed social media accounts, I don't find it to be a stretch to say that they should be able to do better, and the fact that they aren't is a sign of negligence. Again, having absolutely no safety and costume/prop policies written is a really big red flag, even for a small, niche convention.

It's not a stretch to me to say that it's possible Ted was cranky with staff if there were management issues. It's also not a stretch to me to assert that maybe he did spend time with various women in his off hours while at the hotel, and maybe some of them had sex.

What is a stretch to me are the assertions that the convention received multiple complaints from attendees about his behavior and chose to do nothing, and somehow no one has said anything at all about it. Unless the matter is actively being pursued through legal avenues, total silence about it is weird...and we all know the US isn't known for treating unwelcome sexual advances as legally important, nor is a small con or a few random young women likely to waste their time trying. People take to social media for that, because it gets results, unlike the courts.

Most concerning of all, the handful of people initially posting these vague statements and bits of speculation, and liking those posts, had mostly removed any personal identifiers including name, age, and pronouns, as well as access to their likes as of this morning. More than one had nearly no blog history dating back to 2019, a likely sign of a purge. The one with the most damning accusations deleted their blog today after providing literally no evidence at any point. That's not really the behavior of someone making well-founded claims, I'd say. If they have nothing to hide, why are they trying so hard to hide it and refusing to speak publicly? Even an anonymized account of what happened would be worth sharing, and yet no one is willing to come forward even with complete anonymity.

I think the whole thing is either straight-up nonsense, or it was a handful of misunderstandings that got out of hand and people panicked when called to account without having anything to present. I would like to believe it's the latter, because I would like to believe people to be in earnest when they try to report concerning behavior. I have never claimed tedraimisimp was lying, only that they made bold claims with no evidence that could potentially turn out to be misunderstandings.

Ted has been a public figure attending conventions both large and small for decades and yet somehow we're supposed to believe no one has ever even tried to say anything about what would presumably be a pattern of behavior?

I'm not saying things didn't happen. I can't know one way or the other because I wasn't there, and can only find so many vlogs and firsthand accounts on the internet (nine vlogs and counting, only two of which even show brief glimpses of him lol). All I'm saying is that the accusations are out of hand considering the absolute nothingness that's been actually documented both at this con and others.

I will, however, retract/amend one statement: MM con staff appear to be wearing a specific type of bright orange shirt while on-duty, at least in part. Not all MM staff were wearing them while on duty, but I did in fact locate through vlogs the mentions of several of the people wearing those specific shirts being staff, meaning they were in fact more visibly identifiable than I had previously stated. Still, the lack of safety policy or any apparent safety department located on-site in a place attendees could access does mean that if there were problems it would likely have to go to a general staff member, who's probably not trained to deal with that kind of situation. That might be exactly what led to this situation, potentially. Regardless, it's yet another oversight on MM's part.

I have found absolutely nothing damning about Ted, aside from the appearance from vlogs that he may in fact have been quite late in getting to his booth on Friday evening -- which is hardly a smoking gun, as they say.

I will keep updating as I find out more. I'd like to find out if this man whose work I enjoy is someone I can wholeheartedly support or not. Eventually, if I can't find enough online to determine my feelings, I'll just have to go and see for myself. And you'd better believe if I find that there are concerning behaviors I witness, I'll document them and provide receipts; regardless of my opinions about what's happened here, I take public safety and "missing stairs" very, very seriously.

Finally, I provided names for accountability reasons. All of this happened very publicly so it's not hard to find except for all the shit that got deleted...but none of this is an invitation to harrassment. I am documenting what I have observed to be true, and what I can conjecture from personal experience, and none of this is an indictment of anyone as a person. Only the behaviors and choices from some parties to handle these deeply loaded allegations in an incredibly careless and inconsiderate manner. Regardless, I expect everyone reading this to behave like the adults we are -- and if you're not one, this blog is not for you.

#t9ctalks #the contedversy 2022

[moonysfavoritetoast]

all the entries so far (i think)

anything underlined is a link to the original posts (27-B and recovered sketchbook entry have the drawings when you click the link)

Recovered sketchbook entry

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

ENTRY 00000000000000000000000000000000000oO0: Why Can’t I Remember?

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

ENTRY 1: A Door to Another World

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

ENTRY 8: Where Am I?

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

-OS

ENTRY 27

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

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

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

-OS

enTRY 27-B: Recovered Sketchbook

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

Entry 30: Home Sweet Home

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

Entry 34: Bells?

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

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

-OS

Entry 51: Bodies

Oh my gods, I'm gonna throw up.

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

Entry 54: Ashes to Ashes

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

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

Entry 68: Whispers in the WInd

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

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

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

When you see it, it sees you too.

When you hear it, it hears you too.

When you feel it, it touches you.

When it calls you, it has you.

When you feed it.

IT CLAIMS YOU.

Entry 78: Watcher

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

This damn mask.

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

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

ENTRY 79: It Found Me

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

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

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

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

I need to get out of here.

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

ENTRY 92: Fuck That Box

Fuck that box.

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

Where's the fucking booze.

ENTRY 97: City of Ghosts

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

ENTRY 117: Memories

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

-OS

@bassguitarinablackt-shirt @catinasink @eternal-nyxx @anonnzone @shrimpysstuff @alexthescaredenby

#Dreamscape Nexus

[princessfbi]

💌, 💘, ☯️

💘Is there any posted fic you want to rework/re-edit/re-write?

Mhmmmmmm I'd Wait Here Forever just because I know how I would do it differently now. I was overworked and stressed out with real world stuff when I was writing that fic so I think I was just really wanting to get it out and it didn't quite come together as I envisioned.

I'm torn about saying Hardest Hit from Feather's Kiss because I know people love it and I do too! But I also don't remember writing much of it and like the characterization is off in my opinion. But also I'm proud of it and finishing it and learning about hockey so I let it be.

☯️how do you think engaging with each other through tumblr, twitter, comments, kudos, creates healthy fandom experiences? How do you deal with that if you're not a social person/experience social anxiety?

I am SUCH an introvert. I get it. I am zapped on socializing most of the time so it's hard. But I've also found some of the greatest friends that I can talk to that are effortless to be around. I know it's difficult but eventually you find your people and those are the people who show up.

That being said, I think for this to community to grow and stay healthy, I think it's a two way street. I think there has to be some effort on everyone's part. It's very easy to get caught up in the brain rot and just consume consume consume without stopping to consider what you are contributing to the community. "Oh, I'm not a writer and I can't draw. I just am here for a good time." Great! Do you comment? Do you reblog? Do you leave a kudos?

This should first and foremost be a place of fun and enjoyment. You should be able to come here and escape for a little while and if you read one of my fics and get to just be with your own self and have fun for an hour then that's incredible! If you sit and listen to a podfic while at your job that you hate and it gets you through the day then that's amazing. I love writing! People love drawing! People love podficcing and giffing and reccing fics! But that doesn't mean it doesn't requite some effort.

So I think it helps to revaluate your perspective on things. You're not a social person or you have social anxiety and that's a hundred percent fine. But think of a community as a garden. You've got all these amazing fruits and vegetables that are available for grabs. But what happens when people take and don't water the soil? What happens when people take and then don't donate to the supplies box? What happens when you don't pull out the weeds and spend some time and effort and care to the garden? Eventually it dries up and the garden disappear.

I think it's important for all of us to say to ourselves "how can I contribute to this experience? Am I taking without giving anything back?" It's an easy fix! Comment, reblog, kudos. I am my most awkward self when I am commenting on a fic but I know what it's like to spend countless hours working on something just to hear nothing in return.

We cultivate the experiences we create and that takes effort. And sometimes you don't have it in you. I get that. I have a tab section on my phone of fics I still owe a comment on. I have fics that have been open in my tabs forever because I just don't have the attention span for 70k that day. But I am intentional with my effort. I choose to spread kindness and encouragement even if it makes me uncomfortable sometimes because I think I sound so weird but I know someone worked hard on this thing I got to enjoy.

It can mean the world. Someone just a few weeks ago reached out because they heard I was having a bad day and now we talk almost daily.

So I guess I think I would just say try. You might be surprised!

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

Mhmmmm let me see if I can find something in my 100th fic:

“Eddie!” Chimney all but hissed his name. His eyes darted to the curtain and the closed door just beyond it that Eddie fully intended to walk through on his own. “You can’t!”  “You would if it was Maddie!” Eddie shot back and Chimney flinched with the blow.

Send Me a Fic Writing Ask

#eddie diaz #buddie #evan buckley #chimney han #maddie buckley #madney #my fic writing #writing talk #royal decree #anon #ask game

[just-gay-thoughts]

Im very new to this site

How do I navigate it's kinda confusing and my ADHD keeps seeing colors and I can't figure out how to use things

Help pls 🙏

First of all, hi, welcome to the party!

Okay you figured out asks so yay! If you haven't noticed, theres also a little toggle for anonymous asks if you ever wish to send those, if I remember correctly though you can't send pics and vids on anonymous.

Basic getting started advice: use the search to find tags that you're interested in, it can be Fandom or hobby interests or anything really. You can choose to follow that tag (the option should be in the search bar after you've searched it, if that makes sense) and random posts from the tag will show up on your feed from time to time. You can also go through and follow people who post a lot in that tag that you enjoy the content of. Basic rule of advice for following people is to do it as freely as you wish, but don't feel bad about unfollowing for any reason.

And this explanation is going to be scatterbrained as I mention things as I think of them so I do apologize for that lol

Make sure you go into your settings and set your dashboard preferences to not include 'in your orbit' (or do, but most have their dash in chronological order rather than the more algorithmic version), this way you see stuff just from people and tags you follow.

Great ways to find people to follow are by searching like mentioned before, but also if you notice someone you follow reblogging someone's posts a lot and you enjoy those posts, that can be a great way to find more people.

You yourself can post as often as you want but there's a couple things to be familiar with that would show up on your blog.

The first is likes, which can be turned off (if I remember correctly the option might be when you go to edit your profile)

The second is reblogs, this is how posts get spread around. I like to think of it like likes are you telling the op they did a good job, and a reblog is you running to show your friends what you just found. It is greatly encouraged to reblog things like art and gifsets if you liked them because of the lack of algorithm on this site.

The last is your own posts, there should be a round plus button on mobile (it's been a bit since I've been on desktop but I think it's at the top?) That will take you to the text editor. I didn't llan ahead so this is the only one I have pictures for :)

Things to note: very bottom has the ability to add links, gifs, photos, audio, polls, and the Aa let's you edit the way text appears. Just above that you can add tags, many use tags for organization (I tend to use #gay thoughts for many of my own posts, eith #gay asks being added when I'm answering an ask), but there's also a huge culture around talking in the tags. Many add thoughts about the post in the tags, as anything said in a reblog will always stay with that version of a post, but tags are only visible when viewed from the actual reblog theyre on.

The 3 dots in the corner give you some additional options for your post

You can post it now or later, change who can reblog it, who can blaze it(pay money for it to appear on a number of random peopl's dashes), all that jazz!

Sorry if anything was hard to understand, please let me know if you have any other questions!

#gay thoughts #gay asks #very mentally tired so apologies for anything thats confusing