#I'm rereading This Too Shall Last | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

divinehedons · 8 months

Text

godless promethean, elektran rage.

navigation: masterlist

pairing: pirate!joel miller x siren!reader

word count: ~8.4k words (I KNOW I'M SO SORRY)

summary: when the wrath of poseidon brings in something not quite human, a hardened pirate with the harshness of a soldier at war faces a bright-eyed siren with the delusion of a dreamer.

warnings: this is a DARK, EXPLICIT fic. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT or i will BLOCK you. so much plot, pirate!au, siren!au, joel is a violent motherfucker, reader is a metamorphic creature that turns human-like when not submerged in water, graphic depiction of violence and injury, mentions of abduction and implications of abuse, explicit p-in-v sex, oral (f!receiving), squirting, creampie, soooo much murder. it's like a greek tragedy without the incest.

note: THANK YOU FOR 600 FOLLOWERS!!! much of this work was inspired by me rereading the odyssey by homer, but the trope of joel x siren!reader is not of my own making! thank you so much for reading, and as always, comments and reblogs are much apprciated!

Be strong, saith my heart. A wave crests over the hull of the ship. Then another. And another. I have seen worse things than this. Synchronized hands haul the rope for the sails, a last attempt to regain control of their vessel. The Balkan sea stretches before weary sailors, endless and unforgiving, with one foot in their watery grave and the other clawing to live.

In the midst of this carnage is The Flounder, harbinger of chaos, populated by a crew of men who pillage, murder, and destroy anything that gets in their way. Joel once thought of him and his men as indestructible. The Wrath of Poseidon makes him reconsider otherwise.

“Goddamnit, Bonnie, we’re never gettin’ out of this mess!” Joel yells over the deluge of rain, tightening his grip and growling as the rope digs in to the skin of his palms. He sees another wave crest over them, sturdy as a wall, coming down upon their shivering backs, leaving them spluttering out seawater. He coughs momentarily, heaving in air as he digs his feet into the deck.

When he regains his breath, he hears his name being called. He looks, their Captain bellowing from where he steered. His new orders came through in the middle of the crack of thunder and the whistle of an unending storm. Check beneath the deck for damages. Fix anything that could sink them. He calls for someone to replace his hold and he runs for it.

In his head, he had begun to pen a letter back to his waiting daughter under the care of his brother. Dear Sarah, he thinks, climbing down the ladder and finding himself in knee-deep, ice-cold water. I promised you that this will be my last expedition. That after this, we shall live out however you want us to. I only hope that I can live up to that promise. He cusses under his breath when he finds a growing leak in the hull, crossing himself as he immediately went about to fix it temporarily with what materials he could find. You’re safer with your uncle Tommy than here in this misery. And should anything happen to me, know that I love you and I trust you to be good to him, too. He crosses the threshold to see if there was anything else, moving across floating bottles, bobbing up and down with remnants of booze. With a sigh, isolated from the chaos above deck, he leans against a column, grabbing a drifting bottle and swallowing down the booze to settle his nerves.

I grow old, I grow old. He mouths the words under his breath. I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

The muffled sounds of the world melts away as he tries to catch his breath, gritting his teeth from the ache in his hips. Getting too old for this. He tries to think of a way that rest can be comfortable in this mess. Sleep, he thinks, delicious and profound. The very counterfeit of death. It is only when his nerves settle that he hears it.

A splash in the common room. Too loud to be some drifting object. Something that continues to move against the motion of the ship between the waves. He stills himself, the empty bottle slipping between his fingers. Slowly, he moves closer to the source of the sound, like a predator stalking his prey in the darkness. He retrieves a drifting harpoon, peeking through the threshold of the room to inspect. In the semi-darkness, interrupted by the flickering of lanterns and dying candelight, he catches the shimmer of something alive. He raises his weapon, looks through his good eye, his brows crinkling at the effort to focus.

Too old and too goddamn blind for this shit.

He blinks a few times more before he finally sees. And what he sees is you.

Your lithe arms reaching against the walls of the ship, trying to find a weak link that could let you escape. Were you brought in by the waves? Were you the very thing responsible for the leak he just had to fix? Initially, Joel made the movement to speak, to ask how you had ended up here—the sea is no place for a maiden like you. But his breath hitches when he looks closer to see… well, you. The incandescent flickering of a scaled tail, blending with inhuman yet somewhat human skin around your hips, and your upper body, glorious, unmarked, and completely fucking naked.

Perhaps it was the months at sea, conversing with no one but the same crew of men who, despite their intelligentsia and capabilities, do not exactly have the looks capable of producing in him the flustering exhilaration of some teenager. But he, of all people, know of the stories, too. The whispers shared in the saloons in the darkness. The shared thrill and excitement of such beauty and danger lurking beneath the temptresses’ skins. He has heard of claws coming for his companions’ throats, have heard of the trickery they can cause with the power of the ocean entirely at their disposal. He thinks of Odysseus again— tethered to the mast of his ship, The only one of his men to hear the voice of the sirens and have survived. Odysseus, who would have laid his life down just to come close to the very presence of something so divine.

Another thing he knows is that the price of one siren is half the bounty they had planned for. Months of work cut out for himself. Months closer to seeing his daughter again. It’s enough to give him the taste of freedom. His own little piece of heaven that, ironically, is someone else’s hell. The funny thing was, he does not feel guilt about it.

Perhaps he was not Odysseus. He was not as noble. Nor did he ever want to be. A noble character would never provide a good life for his Sarah, waiting for him oceans away.

That was the decision that sealed the creature’s fate before him. Without a second thought, he fires his harpoon, the sharp head piercing through the creature’s shoulder as an angelic wail emanates from her precious throat. With her pinned down, he had begun yelling, calling for the presence of men to see what they’ve caught in their vessel. Their ticket to riches. The honeypot herself.

The blade itself incites to deeds of violence.

He swallows down the guilt as the thunder of heavy steps descend upon their victim, her screams only growing louder and louder amidst the exhilarated, disbelieving laughter of his companions. He does not dare to look. Does not dare to see those doe eyes of yours begging for respite, pulling him into your charms.

An eye of an eye. A good life for Sarah in exchange for hers.

Fair enough.

—-

When The Flounder has escaped the barrages of the storm, the sea is quiet. Some would even say peaceful. Joel wouldn't exactly use that word. Not when he hears your wails breaking the silence. That first night, no one understood what needed to be done. No one even bothered to try and treat your wound. The very wound he had caused. Everyone had something more important to do. Clear the seawater beneath the hull, secure the sails, have a quick meal, get a few winks of sleep. Naturally, the mythical being, as all other inconsequential things, were tucked away, you dealt with the usual brusque nature of men.

So when he had been called to watch you before dawn broke, that's what he set his mind to. Stepping down beneath the deck, with spare scraps of cloth and booze in hand. They've cleared out the flooding. But the wood hadn't dried completely. Mick, who he had passed beforehand, gave him a questioning look. "Aren't ya scared she'd rip your throat out?"

He scoffs, tilting his head to the side as he speaks. "I'm more scared of the stench she'll make if she starts dyin' on us, Micky."

What he did not expect when he opens the closet you've been locked in is the metamorphic cross between a tail and legs you kick out at him. What he hears next is the snarl, your body knocking him over, small, webbed hands slipping around his throat. “You asshole!” That same heavenly voice, filled with so much malice that does not fit with the angelic features towering over him. You speak in a language he does not understand, a torrent of words driven by so much emotion that he sees a glance of what Homer was so distasteful about. You could kill him, devour him bones and all and you wouldn’t even flinch.

However, he sees how your rage blinds you, too. Blinds you to his precise movements, making you think you’ve subdued him, only to suddenly flip your positions, pinning you down by your wrists, trying to look into your eyes.

What you see, staring up at him as your last yells escape you, is the strands of silver in his hair. What follows next is his tired eyes. A sea of stories that you feel as if you can almost hear them if the world is quiet enough. However, you cannot deny the warmth to them. The fire that you failed to see in the other men that shoved you in the closet you have been suffocating in. It’s what makes you stop in your struggle as you finally hear his voice.

“Damnit, let me help you, honey, c’mon…”

It’s then that Joel finally comprehends what he sees. You, a mythical being that shifts from merfolk in one instance, to a walking goddess in the next. Perhaps it was what helped your kind survive; camouflaging yourself and disappearing amidst throes of people. “You turn when ya… when…?”

You swallow, breathless and trembling as you grit your teeth. He sees the panic in your eyes, the idea that he can just betray you if he wanted to. If it would benefit him.

“Let me help you, darlin’.”

“W-when I’m…” You breathe in sharply. “When I’m not in water.”

He nods, slowly, watching the lithe legs and your bare body, spotless and perfect in every way. “I see.” He removes himself from you, moving away from your periphery. You gather your breath, turning over to see him, kneeling over an upturned washtub, somewhat filled with some form of water or another. “Those men up there? They can’t see you like this, otherwise…” he trails off, preferring not to picture what they’d do. What they’ve all once done before at sea. “Ya hear me?” He looks back at you, watching the way your hands gripped your bleeding shoulder wound, evidence of what he had already done to you. “You don’t know what else they can do to a pretty girl like ya.”

So, gently, he kneels beside you with a pained groan from the ache in his knees. You flinch under his touch and he gives you a stern look. “Why did you do this?”

He shakes his head, opening the bottle he brought down with him to pour it over the gaping flesh. Your soft fingers grip on to his arm, the softest whine escaping your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re not the only one fightin’ to survive in this world, honey.” He shushes you gently, moving to wrap what pieces of cloth he could find, using them to bandage your wound as you finally soften in his hold. He helps you into the tub, and he tries not to look into your eyes again.

You spoke again when he turned away, giving you the privacy he assumed you needed. “Just because you need to survive doesn’t mean I need it any less.” He stops in his tracks, looking down for a moment before clearing his throat. “Are men always this wretched? That one must tear down the innocent to survive?” He moves to answer, turning back momentarily, before sighing, turning back to continue cleaning up the mess. “Thank you, though. For… this.”

You know exactly how to describe it. You just don’t want him to hear it. The gentleness that comes, not in the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.

Joel hears the noise in his head, clouding his thoughts and drowning them out as he moves from one place to another.as he tries not to think about you, quiet in a tub of water, pretending to ignore him. Men are so quick to blame the gods…

He hands you a plate of scraps. The trimmings from a loaf of bread. A slice of some meat, and the last pieces of cheese he could find. “Eat,” he orders gruffly, moving to sit by the side of your tub, while he seats himself with a slice of bread. “Can’t have ya dyin’ of starvation either.”

You obey, weakened by the struggles of the evening, disheartened by your imprisonment, so close to freedom and at the same time so far away from it. You eat slowly, as if considering each little fragment you were handed, as if the world is unfamiliar in the presence of someone else.

Joel couldn’t help it. Perhaps it was your charm. Whatever it was, he started to tell you things.

He tells you of his life, so far away from the ocean, landlocked. He tells you how they make a living with animals. But he also tells you about Sarah. Sarah who dreamt of the world. Sarah who he was doing all this for. Sarah who asked him as a child to read to her every night. Sarah who was growing more and more with each passing day, the gap between the two of them becoming wider than he could ever comprehend.

“My survival may not mean much,” he says, “but hers is the most vital thing in my life, doll.”

He feels your gaze on him, becoming easier and easier to see as the sun slowly grows higher in the sky. In thirty minutes, his watch will end, and you do not know how the next man will treat you next. Will he be kind? Will he have Joel’s eyes?

He turns to leave, taking the plates with him as he stands up with a pained groan. “Don’t cause too much trouble, girl.” He only stops when you say his name, his gaze catching the blurry image of you, your tail sinking beneath you in the tub. “Yeah?”

“Will you read to me when you return?” you whispered, afraid to show fragility in your own internment.

He nods after a moment of thought, clambering up on deck to report back to the Captain.

Men are so quick to blame the gods.

—

For a while, a week or so, you believed things could be nice with Joel somewhat in your corner. Everyone else seemed to care less or cower in fear of you. Maybe because you do try to scare them away. At least, if you were going to be betrayed, it was Joel doing the betraying.

He returned at the same time just as he did the night before. And slowly, a routine emerges. He cleans your wounds, he feeds you whatever he finds. Then he reads to you. His eyes are too weak to read without you holding the lantern. So you learned that second night to emerge from your tub and to hold the lantern for him. He reads to you with the skilled words of a bard. He reads to you as if he’d read this tale before. Perhaps to Sarah? Perhaps to someone else?

You feel your stomach curdle at the thought of there being someone else in his life. You swallow down the bile and listen more closely.

When he leaves at dawn, you lie in the tub, dreaming of the words he had read to you, turning your back to the man that comes next. They do not bother you. You do not bother them. You become a ghost until he brings you to life.

Sing to me, Muse, of the Man of many wiles.

By the third night, he brings with him a blanket for you to wrap yourself in as you sit closer beside him, trying to follow the words he read, only to surrender because the letters are too rigid, too unnatural. You began shutting your eyes as he reads to you, learning of Odysseus, a once too familiar name you have heard in others of your kind before…

Sing to me, Muse, of these matters. Daughter of Zeus,My starting point is any point you choose.

You begin to talk to him too by the fourth night, observing your transformed toes as he hammered little areas he figured needed repairs. You tell him of the world beneath the waves, the languid distances you’ve traveled, never truly feeling as if you have found a home. You tell him, too, of wonders big and small.

You spoke of all these things, pretending to be unaware of the way he listens with such interest. It’s like you wanted him to be interested. How could you not, when night by night his eyes become warmer and warmer whenever they fell upon you? How could you not when he’s the only one that cared?

You try to read his thoughts, sometimes, when it’s quiet and he prefers to sit by himself, finding a few winks of sleep while you ate your food. He’s rather good at hiding them. You wonder if it makes his life easier. You wonder if any of it is easy for him.

Then he asks you something on his fifth watch.

“Is the whole singin’ thing somethin’ you actually do?”

You turn your head over your shoulder, setting down the snowglobe you’ve taken an interest in the last couple of hours. You saw it on a shelf this afternoon. And you had been impatient for Joel to arrive ever since. You consider the question, Then you smile and nod meekly.

“Do…” you pause, moving to face him instead. “Do you want to hear?”

He smirks, moving the chair closer to your seated frame, seating with the backing pressed to his front, legs straddling the seat, arms atop, covering that sliver of chest you had been sneaking glances from all evening. He had that thin linen shirt on again— the one that swoops down his chest. The one you see in your dreams.

“Only if it won’t kill me, sweet cheeks.”

You like that. Sweet cheeks. You barely understand what it means. You nod slowly, moving to lay on your back as you stare at the ceiling, monotonous and unchanged since you last looked. As you sing, you try not to look him in the eye. As if you cannot bear the sight of him seeing your capabilities and forever changing his perception of you. The hymn is warm, almost homely. A relentless Odyssey that means to take you home. A song that’s said to bring forth memories of home. You know Joel does not understand the language. Nor do you want him to. You won’t admit it, but you’re still terrified of what he could do if you remind him of how much he misses his home.

But what is even more surprising is this: instead of reminiscing about the tropics from which you have loved so deeply, all you can think about is him. All you can picture is his face. All you can see is possibilities of how he’s looking at you now.

When you finish, dawn is already breaking over the horizon. He has to go.

Quietly, you rose and slowly return to the tub with your snowglobe, watching as your body metamorphosizes— your last line of defense for survival. The shine of your scales so familiar, but never this clear under the water. The light is always so diffused— as distant as a foreign planet. Joel, on the other hand, stays there for a few minutes more, looking at the spot where you just were—at the plank of wood bearing the wet shape of your body. You started to think maybe he won’t leave when he swallows, rising from where he sat, and approaching you to hand the cheese he couldn’t eat from his portion of the meal.

“I quite enjoyed that,” he confesses, tucking the food into your palm. Just then, he encloses your hand in both of his, taking a moment to savor the feeling of your cool, changed skin against his. He wonders momentarily if you’ll feel different without your tail. “Thank you.”

He leans down, bringing your hand up to his waiting mouth, his lips pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. A shiver runs down your spine as you comprehend the sensation. His lips. How warm he is… the scruff of his beard against smooth skin. You feel him smirk against your hand, pulling away as he makes his way above deck.

And on your hand is the reddened skin that evidenced the smidgen of affection you were giving. And for now, it’s enough.

You turn your back to the world once more and into your own dream world, staring at your hand as you dream of Joel all morning long.

—

You suppose everything that goes around does eventually come around. You wonder why you're so optimistic. But, you supposed, just as things were getting better, the fates had other plans in store for you.

The call came just as you were coming of the stupor of sleep. From what you can tell, it was barely midday, and someone was yelling above where you resided. All hands on deck.

The thunderous noise of heavy feet trundle above head. The man watching you grumbled, muttering something along the lines of, "don't you dare think about running, li'l bitch."

You watch him slam the door, and curiosity gets the better of you. You rise slowly from the tub, slinking along the floor, struggling to lift yourself enough to peer out from one of the windows. But when you do, you've come to realize the gravest sin of your naivety.

There is a ship to be plundered. Slowly, the masks worn by the men where you are melt away. You see familiar men with their swords drawn, laughing maniacally, screaming and terrifying the ship they've found to appease their hunger.

You feel your body changing, and you begin to turn away from the window when you catch sight of silver hair and scruff. A visage that you finally see in broad daylight.

Joel is one of the men who almost seem to dance to the song of violence. Perhaps the stories were true. Perhaps the secrets of the shadows are laid bare in the light. Even Joel's secrets cannot escape the midday sun. When you see him, he is in battle with some toughened fisherman, their duel witnessed by cowering passengers and well-dressed women. For a moment, you think Joel will come to his senses, see how senseless all this violence is.

But then he takes the man by his hair, holding his head and facing him to the sun. His sword arches across the expanse of his victim's neck, rivulets of blood bursting forth in gush, an unstoppable stream. A squeal escapes you, the violent image burnt into the recesses of your brain, forcing you away from the window.

You run on shaky legs, screaming and yelling, reaching the doorway and attempting to push the door open, only to find resistance. Your fists pound the hard wood, your body pushing and shoving, unable to accept the fact that you can't call to him— show him that you saw and you demand an answer why.

For the first time, ever since Joel shot you with a harpoon, you truly understood something you tried so hard to ignore.

You sleep under the shelter of murderers. You think you felt affection from the hands of a man who just as easily took someone's life away. You are only loved because you're something else. Something not human.

You are only loved because you'll ensure their survival.

—

The blade itself incites the deeds of violence.

When the carnage ended, Joel raised his head to see the sky beginning to paint itself in bolder strokes of colors. He stretches his arms, only to feel the sticky plasma of drying blood sticking to his arms, his torso, spotting the expanse of his face. He is the last to leave their conquered ship, and he takes his time. He walks along the scattered piles of bodies, putting whoever hasn't perished out of their misery with the very same blade he wielded in battle. He's alive. He can go home. He watches the revelry on their vessel: men roasting the spoils from the kitchen, barrels upon barrels of ale and mead slowly being chewed through.

The stage is set. All they need is a little shock of entertainment.

But what he worries about is you. You who probably cowered from fear at the sudden influx of noise. You who definitely saw the things they are capable of doing. You with the wound on your shoulder, healing at a snail's pace with your imprisonment. So, he takes the time to find supplies to help you. He finds antiseptic. He finds needle and thread. It will have to do.

When he returns to his ship, He has spread oil across the deck where the bodies lay. With one bloody hand, he strikes a match to burn away the evidence of their carnage. The burning ship drifts further and further into the horizon, drowned out by the sounds of cheering. Joel is handed a mug of better than average mead.

As he watches the lights flicker and consume the rest of the ship, one question remains at the forefront of his thoughts, echoed and repeated by every voice in his head.

Do I dare?

Clarity comes when he's two mugs in, everyone else fucking off to see how much treasure piled up. He looks at the door that leads directly where you are and the question becomes clearer. It is in the iambic beat of his heart. I am, I am, I am.

It's in the excitement at the thought of seeing you tonight and having a good meal to offer. He begins to smirk, taking two plates and finding food he thinks you'll like.

Do I dare disturb the universe?

—

You do not look at him when he enters. You cannot, knowing the things you’ve seen today. Especially when you hear he’s happy, humming as he sinks down the stairs from the deck. The jump on his step was not there before. And instead of finding that itching curiosity to see if he was smiling or if you were responsible for this joy, you feel your stomach sour at one thought.

Perhaps the slaughtering of others brought glee to his bones.

“You must be hungry,” he says softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. You feel a strange stickiness to his touch. So strange that you finally look, only to be horrified by the sight of his bloodsoaked hand. You yelp helplessly, shrinking away from his touch. You shed tears, luminescent in the semi-darkness, as precious as pearls that only he can see. “Darlin’...” His hand comes to cup your face gently, trying to make you look him in the eye. In this form, your skin is cold, the warmth of his hands turning your skin red.

“Y-you killed them,” you finally manage, the iron smell filling your senses. Seeing you panicked, Joel reaches down into the tub to slowly bring you out of your tub and into his willing arms, slow shushes escaping him. “Are you going to kill me, too?”

So that was what you were so scared of.

You bury your face into his chest, his shirt smelling of him— of sandalwood and musk, tobacco smoke, and underneath it all, a few specks of blood. Meanwhile, he lets you, cradling you in his arms as you continue to shed your tears. He lets you, knowing you wouldn’t listen to him with so much emotion in that pretty little head of yours.

But when you do eventually calm down, he doesn’t miss a moment. He couldn’t.

“I can never harm you, honey.” He breathes in through his nose, finally close enough to smell you. The sea air in your hair, sunshine and honeysuckles from lands he can only dream of. “I can’t even if I tried.”

Slowly, he lays you down where he had dropped his sheet—the sheet you’ve been wrapping yourself around. The sheet that smells like the both of you; that way he could imagine waking up to you the past few times he had gotten sleep. Slowly, he straddles your changed form, naked and so fucking divine it has his head spinning. “Can I take care of ya, darlin’?” He waits for you. Even when everything is pushing him to kiss you— he has to know you want this.

He has to know you’re not miserable.

Seeing this, you take a deep breath. You hold his face. Your skin, smooth and not exactly human, bright against his, earth-marred, bloody, and burnt from days in the sun. And yet, you do not see those flaws. All you see are his warm eyes, so desperate to tell you he wants you, and yet so willing to walk away if you asked. So you grip him by his shirt, pulling him against you in a wanton, desperate kiss.

It is the first kiss you share. The first of the hundreds you’ll share that night. But you will always remember that first.

Because it’s burning against your cool skin. Because the scratch of his scruff is a sensation you have not felt in the long life you have lived. He holds your face, bringing your head closer to him, pressing against the front of his skull, making you whine from want as he deepens the kiss. You’ll always remember it because you know this kiss.

You can already see the ending before the two of you ever began.

His hand slips into your hair, his mouth pulling away from yours, only to drift down your cheek, your jaw… He chuckles against your skin when you gasp so meekly, melting like butter in his arms.

“Let me take care of you, sweetheart,” he whispers, marking the crook of your neck with his mouth. “Let me show you how ya have me wrapped around your pretty li’l finger.”

Already, you can see him in your memories, tangled up in him. His kisses on your neck, his spit drying against your skin. His fingers reaching and tearing you apart. In the eternity you’ll be facing alone… he’s there. Just there, a willing invitation to a dream.

He’s pushing your legs up, now fully transformed, and he comprehends everything. Without words, it seems, things simply come naturally to him. He cups your cheek with one hand, folding your body in half as your legs drape over his broad shoulders. His thumb brushes your lips, and you part them for him. You let him fuck his thumb into your wet mouth, groaning at the way you suck on him. “Good girl…”

Just then, his other hand reaches down, a warm sensation cupping your cunt as you whine softly against him, looking him in the eye. “Good God, are you always this soakin’?”

You slowly pull back, shivering softly from the sensation of him parting your folds. Only you, Joel. No one else can do this to me. He comprehends, and he groans again, leaning down to kiss you. His cock aches in the confines of his pants. Just like that, everything dulls out and he can only comprehend this: to have you. You, you, and just you.

“Guess I have some makin’ up to do to ya, huh?”

Just then, his head disappears between the valley of your breasts, marking a trail of blood-red hickeys down to your stomach, one hand pinching a nipple harshly enough to make you squeal, to which he shushes you again. Gonna get us caught, doll. He continues his way, finally finding your sweet cunt. He shifts his hands so he can slowly part your folds. He kisses the inside of your thighs just as you clamp one hand over your whining mouth. And, with nothing left to do, he takes a deep breath, looking at your face as he sinks his tongue down between your folds, tasting you with a longing groan of delight.

Even his griefs are a joy long after to one that remembers all that he wrought and endured.

All you can feel is the flurry of rhythm Joel sets. His trembling jaw, as if whispering prayers to whatever powers may be. His tongue splitting you open and fucking you raw in a way so obscene, you think it’s unbecoming. Perhaps it is. Perhaps by letting him have you this way, you have turned your back on your world. But he fucks one finger into your surprisingly warm cunt and everything else fades away into the silence.

“Fuck, baby…” It’s so easy, you whining urging him on, calling for him and begging to just keep going, dear God. One finger becomes two, then three. Then he raises himself so he can see your face better. So he can see the way your features contort into a heavenly amalgamation of beauty and pleasure and wonder in one full spectrum. But there is nothing more beautiful when his fingers brush against something that made you keen closer to his touch, eyes wide open with your mouth trembling.

“That’s it, isn’t it, darlin’? It is, huh?” He chuckles, the rumble of it vibrating from his chest, echoing to the backs of your thighs, and finally, straight to your wanting cunt. He smirks, his upper body shifting so his arm was much more free— just so he can keep aiming for that one spot that made you keen so beautiful he gets a glance of your otherworldly beauty.

A long forgotten poem comes up from the back of his head, just as he was pulling your orgasm from your willing frame, his other hand covering your mouth before you get too loud just so you wouldn’t be interrupted, caught, and possibly separated.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. “Good fuckin’ girl. Such a good girl, honey…” I did not think they’ll sing for me.

You shut your eyes, grinding your hips into his touch, chasing a sensation you can’t even dare put into words. You whine into the palm of his hand, feeling as if your skin, normally so cool, set on fire with the desire you have for Joel. You peer through your damp lashes, making out the silhouette of his smirk, his warm eyes somewhat swelling with pride.

“Joel… there’s… there–” you barely get the words out when you feel it. Your vision going white, the electricity flowing through your body, and coming out of you in warm bursts.

Heaven, you think, from how Joel so lovingly described it.

When you come to, he’s pulling his fingers away, and a spurt of fluids follow in the wake of his absence. He chuckles, the sound of it emanating the very depths of your consciousness. “Didn’t know ya could do that, pretty girl.”

It leaves you warm, slightly sleepy. Slightly drifting in and out—the way the ocean climbs and recedes from the shore.

You don’t notice the way Joel watches you. The way blood smeared your perfect face. You do not notice his hand tracing down your torso, coloring it a faded, rusty red. Marked by him, and for him.

And yet if some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so will I endure. For already have I suffered so much, and much have I toiled in perils of waves and wars. Let she be added to the tales of those.

“Please eat,” he finally says as he kisses your forehead. “I saved a plate for you.”

So you do. You sit up, trembling, the cool porcelain pressed against your thigh as you feasted. Grapes, expensive nuts, and meats you could only dream of. You try not to think of the price he paid to lavish you with such an offering. Because now, instead of the guilt, you feel the rumblings of power in your veins. You have become his very god, the one he’d slay men for. The very god to which he offers a plate paid for by carnage. And if you’ve become god, what can you offer him?

Heaven was not fit to house a creature such as I.

—-

He makes love to you after dinner. Slow, careful. He doesn’t want to terrify you. He doesn’t want to get caught, either. He has you on his lap, your cool hands cupping his heated face, spineless from pleasure as he fucks up into you, giving you a moment to accommodate him and get used to the feeling of his cock stretching you wide open. Every vein, his very length, arching and filling you up in the best way there is to be filled.

“Tell me you want this,” he asks, and you oblige him. You whine for him, calling, biting your lip and throwing your head back. You lead his hand to your chest, heaving with slow, shaky breaths. He knows what you want without ever asking it of you. And that is why he squeezes the curve of your breast, sitting up to press his mouth to your collarbone. The kisses set your skin aflame, his fingers pinching and pulling the pleasure from your willing body.

So he gives you everything. You cum once again with you on top of him. You cum again after he bends you over the nearest table with his rough fingers rubbing circles on your needy clit. And on the third time, somewhere when it’s quiet, you both lie on the blanket, your back to his chest, his cock unmoving inside of you.

It’s a moment of respite. A lull. A moment to catch breaths.

“How much did you see earlier?”

His arm is around your waist, his mustache brushing against the back of your ear. It’s nice. It’s almost domestic, a word so foreign to you. Perhaps domesticity is something innately human. But he makes you have a taste of it. And it tastes so sweet. You hum softly, tilting your head so he can kiss more of your neck.

“I saw the first man you killed,” you tell him, to which he groans, pulling you closer. “I couldn’t watch any more after that. It was… too much.” You feel his teeth brushing against the curve of your ear. Then he bites gently just to hear you squirm.

“I don’t want you lookin’ anymore, sweetheart,” he whispers, “not if it’s going to upset you this much.” He leans up, peering over your peaceful face, with your eyes shut and your body languid. “But… I suppose I’ll try.” You open one eye, peering up at him. “Less murders, my queen, yes ma’am.”

You giggle, pressing your palm to his mouth as he continues to tease you with such pet names. He speaks behind your palm. Angel baby, cutie pie… Other pet names you don’t comprehend because the sounds disappear into your cool skin.

And then he’s fucking you again, with you on your side and him above you, caging you in his arms. You catch your lip between your teeth, gritting out half-choked moans. Already, the pleasure has begun to border the line between pleasure and pain. Already, you feel your legs quaking, but you feel the tremble in his spine as well.

He’s close. He’s so fucking close.

That’s when you notice how sporadic his bursts of movement are becoming. Fewer and shorter in between. So, you begin to give back, maneuvering your bodies so you’re laying on top of him once more, digging your blunt nails down against his biceps. You feel his hands on your waist. Bloody hands that have taken an infinite number of lives before you. Bloody hands that will take who knows how many lives after. Bloody hands, that, despite their track record, hold you as if you are so fragile in his grasp.

Gentleness incomprehensible. The best of the world in the palms of his hands.

The both of you, flying into deep, empty space. Alone with Joel in the aether.

Watching his orgasm wash over him just as yours does for the fourth and last time. He pulls you into his chest, letting you moan into his chest. The only thing that betrays his release is the stuttered breaths, the shaky fingers. That is all. And then you feel the warmth of his seed, buried deep within you, treasured and tucked away. It’s so much, you feel it reach places you didn’t expect it to be.

Even when he’s ending things, he’s giving you everything he’s got.

In the afterglow, he takes care of you. Already, the sun is rising Once again, you won’t see him until it’s dark again. You’ll be turning away from the world and dreaming of those eyes and his smile. But for now, he wipes you clean, kissing your forehead as he brings you back to your tub. For now, you hold his hand for another minute.

“Y’know… Sarah loved playing siren as a fuckin’ kid,” he finally says, cleaning up the plates in silence. “She loves the sea.”

You peer over the lip of the tub, smiling up at him dreamily. “She must be so beautiful. With your smile?” You sigh, leaning back as you look up at the ceiling. “You must miss her much.”

He brushes your cheek with a sigh, shrugging. “Every fuckin’ day, baby.”

He walks away from you, and you wait for him to look back. He does, with a shit-eating smirk at your dazed eyes, neck marked up by his own doing. “Don’t kill anybody today, Joel.”

He nods slowly. “Get some sleep, squirt.” As you turn away, the smile drops. He cannot show that vulnerability out there, amongst the men he’s shared blood, sweat, and tears with. Men he killed from and men he killed with. Men who’d want to tear you apart and swallow you whole. Men who’d kill him if they knew what the two of you did all night.

Then how should I begin to spit out the butt-ends of my days and ways? How should I presume?

He doesn’t have to presume for long. Not when he emerges on deck and he sees the dark shadow of land specking the endless sea of blue he had grown accustomed to. There stands the rise and fall of a mountain, a jagged line breaking the skyline.

The Captain speaks, and the shock burns through him so rapidly that he tries to hide it by leaning against the starboard side.

We hit land midday tomorrow. Our li’l baggage ‘bout to finally bring in some fuckin’ money.

The clock is ticking, what else can he do? Go, go, go.

—

When Joel returns, he’s waking you from a long, languid sleep. You turn to smile at him, but there’s a different look in his eyes. An urgency, a finger pressed to your lips to ensure silence. He carries you from the water and you’re brought up close to see the crease on his forehead. When he wraps you in the sheet, that’s when he speaks.

“Need t’get ya out of here, baby.”

The great escape. The prison break.

Now you feel the tension.

He waits for you to turn, to become inconspicuous. Meanwhile, he’s hot on his heels. He’s gripping a rucksack in his hands, heavy with some inconceivable baggage, muttering to himself. You start to understand the madness. You start to wonder if there’s two versions of Joel waiting behind every door. One of them is the lover— the man who’d kiss you as he introduces you to a world of pleasure. Then there was the monster— the man who sliced open the throat of the person he was robbing blind, the man who fired the harpoon that caused your imprisonment.

“So the monster has come to set me free of my bonds.”

You rise, shaky on your legs and clothed in that sheet that kept you modest. It’s when he stops in his tracks, looking you in the eye before sighing, tearing the cloth away from you to introduce a linen shirt of his. It smells of him; perhaps it even reeks of him.

“They’re going to butcher you if I don’t try, sweetheart.”

You do what you promised to yourself you’ll do when he asks you something. You put your blind faith into his hands and take a leap.

He leads you through a maze of rooms you cannot comprehend. You stop at the crosshairs. You duck under tables when he asks you to. And you know why. Because the men who thirst for your blood can be found on every corner. Because you’re running out of time. Because he’d rather lose you to the waves than those who shed blood like he does.

In a matter of minutes, you find yourselves in the cool evening air. It’s a blind spot, and it’s far enough that he helps you to the raft while it’s almost silent. The sounds of men beginning to have dinner so distant and far away, it’s like an entirely different world. Skillfully, Joel lowers you both into the ocean, the distant beating of the waves masking the sound of him cutting the rope that tethered you to the ship.

He keeps one hand on the behemoth you’ve escaped, and he audibly counts. Quiet enough for you to hear. Tens. Hundreds. Then, a thousand seconds passes.

He pauses, straining to hear. In the flickering light of the lanterns, you see the silver in his hair and his beard. You wonder, momentarily, if it’s the last you’ll see of him. That’s when you hear it.

Yells. But not of alarm. Not of you, their treasured prisoner, missing from her cage. It’s the yells of panic. Of suffering. Of pain.

Upon seeing your features, Joel finally reveals the hidden card up his sleeve.

“I poisoned them. I poisoned them and robbed them blind so they’ll never come after you.”

You look to him, waiting for another shoe to drop. But there is none. This is who he is, laid bare for you to see. Your devotee, giving you the ultimate sacrifice. This is not the monster nor the lover. This is Joel. All masks have fallen to their knees and prostrated themselves before you. Every post abandoned and conquered, only for you.

“Go.”

You blink, and his trembling fingers hold your cheeks, his shaky lips kissing the crown of our head.

“No one’s coming for you as long as I’m there to stop them.”

When you don’t move, he grits his teeth, as if caught between a rock and a hard place. A second passes, then his arms take you, throwing you overboard and into the familiar depths of an ocean below.

The waves welcome you with a surge of power, relentless and enduring. More immortal than you. More divine than you can ever hope to be. The moment you are released from Joel’s hold, the saltwater licks clean the wound on your shoulder. It washes away the scent of Joel’s shirt.

He’s already being erased from you.

From beneath the depths, everything comes back to you. The kiss on your hand, the scraps of food. His sticky, bloodmarked fingers marking you. All of it, slipping through your fingers like sand. In the cool darkness of the open sea, all you can see is a flame starting from the base where you last saw Joel. A fire spreading amongst the ship which you once hailed your prison.

You can see Joel’s boat, smaller in comparison, already racing away towards the shore.

All you can do now, with the power of Poseidon surging and bubbling beneath your veins, is to sing. To sing a hymn that begs before the very gods themselves. But it’s a song that begs Joel, too. Begs him to remember you.

Don’t forget me. You do not know if he hears you. Don’t forget me.

You attempt to follow him beneath the waves.

Don’t forget me.

—-

Against all odds, Joel Miller disembarks from the train to find himself in a farmland so familiar to him. Against all odds, it is three weeks later, and he’s followed all the roads and finds himself home.

He breathes in the smell of wheat under the scorching summer heat. He embraces it. He puts one foot ahead of the other, sea legs no longer present. The ground is too still that it still sometimes unnerves him.

A few meters away, he catches sight of the house. The windows wide open, the breeze making the curtains dance within. And on his porch is a familiar figure that had lowered her book and peered in his direction. He sees her face, and relief encompasses his bones. Sarah.

She’s running to him, yelling, loud and youthful and her face is like the sun. He feels himself smiling, too. The first time in weeks. Miles of walking and sleepless nights fade away with each step you take closer together. Then she’s running to his arms squealing as he embraces her.

Tell me. Is this really then Ithaca?

Finally, the years that separate the little family are slowly bridged. He rebuilds. He tells her stories. He tells her about you. When the sun sets, he tucks Sarah in and kisses her forehead.

Now, here he is. A couple of months that feels like decades have passed him by. He dreamt of you every night for the past three weeks. He sits in his bath, wondering if this was ever how you felt in those long, terrifying days. Did you feel peace, too?

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea, by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown.

His eyes fall shut. His breath slows.

A moment of peace as he sees your face, smiling at him, languid hands reaching and asking him to follow you.

He hears your voice, singing into his ear as he chuckles.

Until human voices wake us, and we drown.

taglist: @tuquoquebrute @boofy1998 @persephone-girl @lunxramour @none-of-this-makes-any-sense

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pirate!joel miller x siren!reader #pirate!joel miller #pirate!au #siren!au #mermaid!au

418 notes · View notes

chromotps · 5 months

Note

Hello! Been in the OP fandom for more than a decade (i miss the days where ace/luffy were a normal ship) and finding fics have been difficult.

Do you have any luffy/ace fic recommendations? Wishing you a good night!

hello! I wish I had been around for early acelu days... I was reading OP fic back then, but it was mostly zo/san 😅. I get what you mean, it's tough to find stuff for them these days that's not just luffy-harem stuff (which is fine! just not what I'm looking for) or ooc

I prefer fics that are mostly sweet and not too angsty, so my list won't include some of the ones that are really bittersweet/dark/endgame-tragic, even though they're beautifully written. I'm sure if you ask another acelu fan, you'd get a completely different list... I'm just a big weenie! 😭😂

I'm also really disorganized, so I'm probably forgetting a bunch!!! I need to keep better bookmarks omg

SFW Fics:

spinning on that dizzy edge by to-a-merrier-world (wayward_wolves) fav fav fav (helps that this was sort of a gift? based on some art I drew;;? hhh i love it so much) A sweet!!! and playful, relaxed scene between Luffy and Ace—who's joined the Stawhats!

this short fic by 002yb a really lovely, atmospheric piece of writing about the boys just being cute and speaking through touch

forget me not by 002yb a touch more bittersweet, but I loved how insightful this little look at Ace's last night with Luffy in Goa was

to be deserving by 002yb (after acelu week I need to have a separate section for 002yb!! tbh consider this a blanket rec for all their fics) adorable!! very nuanced, quick look at some courtship (or lack thereof) (but hope for some in the future?) between ace and luffy in an omegaverse AU

Bridesmaid Blues by Anonymous so much fun!! a rom-com style take on Luffy and Ace eloping in canon. Hilarious, and just makes me adore all the characters even more

In Your Heart Shall Burn by kayura_sanada oh my god. so it's a fix-it fic that involves a mysterious mirror and wishes. the tone feels just like canon with maybe a hint more bittersweet hopefulness, and the heartfelt moments between ace and luffy in this MELTED ME INTO PIECES. this will be one of my forever favorites.

oxytocin by ruche Gen fic but the author has other great shippy acelu work; this one is, post-marineford-ace-lives scene with Ace being worried and grateful for Luffy... the characterization is amazing

Near Death Experiences by monch_monch (WIP) This is a reincarnation AU, and it's got one of my absolute favorite acelu scenes in one of its flashbacks... I love everything about this fic—the way the other characters are brought in, and how cute and heartfelt Ace and Luffy are... I can't compliment it enough

The Same As You by PeachyStud (WIP) (jksgfhd oops i put this is sfw when the latest chapters have some messing around in it, but... i'll just leave it here) This one's a very sweet and fun modern AU—I reread it when I just need some feel good acelu fluff.

Next Stop, Everywhere by NewWonder This fic is the 2nd part of an "Ace lives and sails with Luffy" series, but it's my favorite of the 3 parts because it focuses a lot on Ace getting to work through his heartache 😭

Together Again by Swinky Swanks (SpobSpucci) A sweet, short piece about when Ace visits Luffy in canon

I'll Always Want You by PeachyStud This is part 1 of another "Ace lives in canon" series—this fic focuses on Luffy asking Ace to join his crew during their 2 years training and is SO cute and lovely. Part 2 is also a treat (and rated M 👀)

Arrangements by Sully-van I feel a little crazy for including an FF.net story on here, but this little royalty/arranged marriage AU just made me smile.

Find the Hat by authenticaussie funny, slightly bittersweet AU where luffy's a ghost in ace's university library. i know, unusual concept, but a quick, fun read

(Ir)Responsible by oumriel (WIP!!!!! probably permanently from the looks of things) okay I have to recommend this one—it's a modern AU with drama/slow burn, and some incredibly heart-warming moments and really interesting characterizations. it does end on a heart-breaking cliffhanger, but... acelu seems to be a little bit cursed with WIPs, in the end, haha

Sleeping Habits by RainyCatharsis surprisingly fluffy soulmate AU where a soulmate who's died stays in their partner's dreams until they're both ready to move on. short and sweet!

on brotherhood by LadyCrimsonAndBlack another gen fic; age-swap! older Luffy runs into Whitebeard and makes sure Ace is happy on his crew

Lock; Key by Anonymous (SFW.... for now. since there's only 1 chapter up) very interesting modern, omegaverse AU with cool worldbuilding

NSFW Fics:

Hatchling by Anonymous good old-fashioned "not too loud or dad will hear us" modern AU incest. haha. really, this one is a nice mix of cute and dirtyhot, with a looooot of teasing smug ace

and what do they say about dreams by ruche uhh. a smut fic that... focuses on Ace's narcolepsy? it's surprisingly cute and funny—mind the tags, but I really enjoyed it!

Tearjerker by necroesthe OKAY so I love a lot of Necro's acelu fics... They do tend to skew darker, so that's a good thing to remember if you go browsing. This fic, though, is an adorable and fun and hot modern AU, with Ace thinking Luffy looks cute when he cries.

for the asking by irrelevant another modern AU, I love the relaxed dialogue and vibe of this one. There's something about Ace and Luffy acting like dumb brothers while also being devoted to each other that gets me every time.

You're Built from Motorcycle Exhaust, Cigarette Smoke, and Starlight by Novicecomics Modern AU, really atmospheric story about biker!Ace and Luffy going on a little adventure and being in love

born hungry by ruche hard to summarize... i guess, modern AU, drunk/troubled ace has surprisingly sweet sex with luffy. this author always captures such a like, darkly funny, wry attitude with ace, and their luffy is a treat. still good to check the tags!

the blood of my brother by fizzyren another maybe odd one. uh. short summary is, acelu period sex with trans luffy. i'm not usually into those kinds of fics but this one got me down, what can i say

Lake Pontchartrain by necroesthe definitely read the tags for some of these dead dove recs i'm sneaking in here. anyway uh. the first chapter in this is, modern au, preteen luffy catches ace watching porn aaaaand then there's fallout

Virtue by necroesthe ditto above w the tags. um. 15yo luffy wants to ride ace. i'll add, necro's darker fics are more psychological-hot to me than like, silly-yummy-smut hot? if that makes any sense haha

I'd also like to recommend my own Once Piece fics... I think they're all pretty sweet, and not too bad if I do say so myself. :3c

Anyway!! Hope this helps! And pls feel free to tell me your thoughts on any of em............. 👀

#acelu #you asked me a thing #i've read... a lot of fic for them at this point #i just wish there was more that explored their devotion and even like #obsession with each other #edit: updated 02-08-24!#i've also got a slight bone to pick #with any fic that characterizes ace as legitimately mean toward luffy once they're older than like. 12 #i mean. the man literally died to protect him. ffs

35 notes · View notes

sinningtamer · 4 months

Note

Not sure if you’ve answered this before but what are your favourite fics and ships?

Love all your art btw! <3 Thx for all the food!

i might've years ago, so let's go again! i'm gonna answer this question as only NSFW/kink related, otherwise the list would be way too long haha

alright let's start with the obvious: ParviII is and always will be my #1 one ship, even when I dip in and out of the fandom a lot (i feel the term OTP is super outdated these days? but if there was one ship i could use it with it's them...)

so obviously i'm gonna say Talking Body and Payment and Payback by @sparxwrites. because. you know. how can i not. oh yeah, Good Vibrations is also a classic. hiii sparx, i'm sorry for picking your older fics, i just have such a bias. they've written a ton of great stuff over the years though, so go give the account a peak! there's something for everyone, especially if you like darker stuff.

...speaking of accounts with a lot of content who lurk around here, shoutout to @pawpunkao3. lmpᴇarI is one of my favorite ships, and they're still such a rarepair somehow?? anyways I think about Between Bedrock and a Hard Place at least once a week tbh. A New Religion That'll Bring You To Your Knees is fantastic, and i have a soft spot for I Spy (even tho i didn't watch too much empires). again, another author with a whole arsenal under their belt, so don't just take my word for it and check the rest of his fics!

back to lmpᴇarI being a rarepair... @thatstoomuchsoup has Chicken Soup for the Soulbounds (okay it's more pearI-centric but they're both there) and is another blog that specializes in some of my kinks and these fandoms. same with @anon-teddy's content, gotta give a shoutout to full. this is also making me realize i haven't sought out enough poly S0up Group or GᴇmpuIse/PᴇarIgem fics...maybe i'll get back to you on that...

there's a bunch of good explicit trᴇᴇbark fics, but i said i was gonna keep this list concise, so the only one i'll specifically point to is how to deal with your supernatural lust for blood (and other things) in a completely normal and god-honoring fashion. for...reasons. also because it's good!

edit: oh my GOD i realized two seconds after posting this i completely forget to mention @also-an-art. go read (this is) hungry work and honey don't feed it right fucking now. i've read both of these in full (pun intended) multiple times they're that amazing. it's rare that the plot is just as good as the horniness, when i tell you i lost my mind at some of the development in these. also hot and dirty (like the la air) is a guilty pleasure. AND it introduced me to a song that ended up being #20 on my spotify wrapped LOL (RPF warning on that one! trust me tho)

let's get to my other bias, shall we? RᴛSpiff and RᴛS00t don't....have any explicit fics. nor does poly lᴀds. CMRᴛ does, though! I'm kinda picky about how people characterize them, but play it cool and Every Stumble and Each Misfire are lovely (note that the second one is also blatant RPF! don't say i didn't warn you o7)

speaking of lᴀds, if you follow me on main, you know i got into Bᴀnᴀna Bᴜs Sqᴜᴀd just last year (I'M SORRY, OKAY, DON'T @ ME-) you'd think getting into an old fandom late would mean a ton of great smut fics, right? to be honest, i haven't found many that i care for, but maybe i'm just picky... however, i remember your lips, they're the ones i miss, and smoke in your lungs, your lips on mine are SO GODDAMN GOOD i'm not even mad it's only those two i like because i could reread them 20 times. god. such fun characterization. shame the author orphaned them because i badly wanna read more of their stuff.

this is the part where you go, spirit, do you read anything besides (mᴄ)yt fandoms??? and i go, not really.............well, sort of. i like 0verwatch! and M0icy!! Reciprocity is a delightful PWP long fic. i'm also not really an omegaverse guy, but Water Me has such a good take on it i fell in looove.

okay, i'm gonna cut myself off here, enough though i could probably name dozens of more fics if i sat and thought about it. if anyone i tagged wants to be untagged, feel free to reply here or shoot me an ask/dm!!

#i like how i said i was gonna keep this short and still went insane lmao #also dont forget to read the notes/cws of any fics i linked! it's up to you to decide if you're comfortable reading them

15 notes · View notes

justanotherpersonsuniverse · 6 months

Note

hey cap! not the chapter notes unfortunutely (executive disfunction got me in a choke hold- i have also been trying to watch a show for the past two days. i am nine minutes in.) however i do have a couple questions!

so it is mentioned on occasion that juleka - same as in canon - wishes to be a model, is that going to be explored more in depth in future or is it just a fun thing to discuss? or shall i wait and see? also since it is a canon element the reason Why she wants to be a model is interesting to me due to her aversion to being the centre of attention. although i suppose there is different ways to model, they don't all require a cat walk (there is a pun here somewhere) but they do tend to focus heavily on the model/s

you have also given us adult panthera designs and i love them dearly. how tall is she in them? but that does beg the question of will they still be heroes when they are older or did you just want to design MILF panthera?

also, i am asking this next question in the least pushy way i can manage, is there plans for more OM soon? either way i do have plans to re-read and send in notes but i have been curious for a wee bit. i feel like an asshole for asking because you spend your free time doing this but i am genuinely curious and won't ask again as i can imagine this is annoying. the balancing act between showing interest in something continuing without seeming like i am demanding for more is difficult.

HIIIII oh I love answering questions okie okie okie

Juleka still wants to be a model yes! I'll explore it more in the next 2 shanghai chapters (there's a lil bit at the end for the first one and the second chapter is just gonna be light and easy shenanigans so she'll have a chance to think about modeling) and also the next 'reflekta' episode stand in.

Future Panthera is VERY TALL. Not supernaturally tall, but like, tall. Like she walks by and you go "that lady is tall." However, I did design her only for design sake. Lemme tell you, girl is RETIRING heroism after all the villain business is dealt with she is SO DONE WITH IT. But she still is down to help with guardian activities and hero training. Juleka would just rather not risk her life anymore after the shit she went through.

As for OM, don't worry about asking for it. I know it's been like. Probably over a year now. I've been thinking a lot about it too. The thing is, I really adore OM and I've been eager to continue with it, it's just that I'm not able to stir up a lot of drive for it?

Like, what used to drive me before was everyone's interest in it and their questions and their asks but after things got, a bit, dicey, with what people wanted from me and were sending me, I distanced myself from the AU with a break that, has lasted a bit long? And so my drive is quite depleted.

I'd love to keep working on it, but it's hard to when I feel like, honestly, no one would quite care? I dunno. But I'll keep chipping away at it I'll just have to maybe reread and fall in love with the AU again.

#other magic au #panthera noire au #sneak a cat

20 notes · View notes

no-where-new-hero · 6 months

Text

Fire and Hemlock Readalong: Day 26 (Coda)

...in which our novel closes.

Our last chapter, the coda, represents a musical epilogue, and the notation of scherzando returns to the mood of play where we started. It invokes a quotation from Four Quartets that also plays back into DWJ's circularity and symmetry (I believe she does mention these lines in her "Heroic Odyssey" essay):

We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time.

Polly and Tom literally must start over. They must no longer be defined by their past if they are to pursue a successful relationship with each other.

This is always the part where my brain starts twisting into knots to figure exactly what DWJ was doing with her logic, but I think it lies in this notion of Tom using Polly according to Laurel's rules vs. Tom's affection for Polly regardless of who they were and what roles they played. If he only used her selfishly, then they would continue to be trapped by Laurel and her curse. But he's leaving her open to choose--unlike Ivy, telling people how they feel, and unlike Seb, coercing and conniving, and of course unlike Laurel herself. He has taken himself out of the situation and proving to Polly that the future--her future--is still hers to control, even if he is in it. They can't re-enter the Nowhere of her childhood, but they still must work together to create something that's real and free from the expectations of heroism and the rules of fairyland--which were also intensely gendered. Their relationship is a paradox, but that's also what makes it work. It recalls something that Polly realized in the previous chapter, while listening to the quartet play their dirge:

Here was a place where the quartet was grinding out dissonances. There was a lovely tune beginning to emerge from it. Two sides to Nowhere, Polly thought. One really was a dead end. The other was the void that lay before you when you were making up something new out of ideas no one else had quite had before.

Polly and Tom's previous arrangement led to their dead end. But Nowhere is two-sided. The truth between two people cuts two ways. Creativity will always lead to a way out, if you believe in it hard enough, and that's true in the real world as well as in fairyland, which I think is what DWJ said at the end of her essay (I'm remembering completely on fumes here because my book is packed away but I'm certain @ksfoxwald will have a citation for me!)

At the end, we're back in the ordinary wintry Hunsdon House, and the horse is a car again, and the quartet and Leslie have made it back out of the enchantment mostly unscathed. The eucatastrophe is normal life, and in a way that has been another theme sounding throughout the novel: forget the sentimental drivel. Heroism is ordinary and mundane and intentional and comes down to the equality negotiated between people. That's the way to have your cake and eat it too. Which is another incredibly mature takeaway.

This is also why I find the book improving, for me, on each successive reread. A little personal note is that the first time I read this book, I disliked it (much like Polly disliking East of the Sun, West of the Moon, actually). My parents were divorcing, I was processing the embarrassment of a pretty intense crush on my middle-school drama teacher, everything hit too close to home, and I had to reject Polly in order to give myself some breathing space. But it refused to leave my mind. Because it was so relatable, I kept thinking about it, and when I reread it a year later, I sensed the genius underneath it, which I've been trying to unearth ever since. I'm so grateful this book is in my life--whether living in it as a reader or studying it as a writer or relating with it as a person, it continues to feed me.

#fh readalong #fire and hemlock #diana wynne jones #dwj

15 notes · View notes

mariana-oconnor · 1 year

Text

The Dying Detective pt 1

Mrs. Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, was a long-suffering woman.

Yes! Mrs Hudson content. The recognition she deserves.

His incredible untidiness, his addiction to music at strange hours, his occasional revolver practice within doors, his weird and often malodorous scientific experiments, and the atmosphere of violence and danger which hung around him made him the very worst tenant in London.

Yep, long-suffering. Let's be honest, the woman should have thrown him out long ago. But at least he's paying her good money.

She was fond of him, too, for he had a remarkable gentleness and courtesy in his dealings with women. He disliked and distrusted the sex, but he was always a chivalrous opponent.

Have we seen any examples of him actually disliking women? We've seen him frustrated by them, certainly, or rather by his lack of ability to read them clearly. We've seen misogyny, yes, in line with some of the thinking of the time 'can't tell Mary Sutherland she's being financially abused because it wouldn't do any good'. But Holmes has on multiple occasions, only in the few stories we've read so far, championed women in many ways. I haven't reread A Study in Scarlet or The Sign of Four before reading these, so I can't say about them, but this insistence on Watson's part that he doesn't like women is just weird.

Is that just Watson not understanding that Holmes isn't attracted to women? Like, Watson just can't comprehend how anyone wouldn't see a pretty woman and be overcome, so the fact that Holmes is apathetic to that just Does Not Compute and therefore must mean he dislikes them? Like an on/off switch?

Hoo boy, Watson, I'd love to introduce you to the Kinsey scale.

"He's dying, Dr. Watson," said she. "For three days he has been sinking, and I doubt if he will last the day."

Mrs Hudson is not a trained physician... although I'm not sure how accurate actual doctors were during this period of time. Had germ theory made the big time yet?

Wikipedia says that the in-story date (1890s) is about the time when germ theory was taking over from miasma theory, so by the time this story was published (1913) it would have been pretty well established.

That's not really relevant, I just find the history of medicine and disease fascinating in a lot of ways. For so much of history we just made shit up and hoped it would work. Some of it really did and some of it really didn't, but we didn't know why, so we made up reasons. And given that this was set at a major transitional period in that history, honestly Watson's medical expertise is probably half guess work and wishful thinking... sorry Doctor. I mean, hysteria is still a diagnosis at this point.

"He took to his bed on Wednesday afternoon and has never moved since. For these three days neither food nor drink has passed his lips."

I think I know why he's not looking too good.

"Stand back! Stand right back!" said he with the sharp imperiousness which I had associated only with moments of crisis. "If you approach me, Watson, I shall order you out of the house."

We've already had at least one story in which 'don't look at me too closely' was a massive red flag. It's sort of a nice symmetry to have Holmes using it here. Why can't he come any closer, Sherlock? Huh? Why?

"But why?" "Because it is my desire. Is that not enough?"

Oh look, that's another red flag right there. Honestly, Holmes, you could have at least made some effort at 'you might catch this illness' or something like that. Although I guess maybe Holmes doesn't believe in germ theory? Is he a miasma kind of guy? Or is this one of the areas in which he's just nonsensical and believes in the humours or something like that?

But 'you can't come closer to me because I don't want you to' to your friend the doctor who was summoned specifically to try to help you is just... No, obviously, Watson isn't entitled to an explanation or a reason. Holmes doesn't owe him anything. But on the other hand, Holmes specified that he would allow Mrs Hudson to get Watson. What did he think was going to happen?

I don't remember this story at all, but based on context clues and knowledge that there are more stories to come, I'm going to guess that he's faking it.

"I know what is the matter with me. It is a coolie disease from Sumatra--a thing that the Dutch know more about than we, though they have made little of it up to date. One thing only is certain. It is infallibly deadly, and it is horribly contagious."

Ah, there we are. You couldn't have led with that?

Did you get it from a giant rat?

Sorry, I should be more serious, Holmes is dying. He's dying.

(He actually is if he's not drunk anything in 3 days. Holmes, you moron.)

"Good heavens, Holmes! Do you suppose that such a consideration weighs with me of an instant? It would not affect me in the case of a stranger. Do you imagine it would prevent me from doing my duty to so old a friend?"

I mean obviously Watson wasn't going to listen to him, but whatever.

"Holmes," said I, "you are not yourself. A sick man is but a child, and so I will treat you."

Watson, you're being creepy again. Like, people do need to consent to treatment, my man. I guess, probably not in this time period? You could just say 'they're hysterical' and have done with it, but still. Consent is important. Agency is important. Let's be ethical about this, huh?

Do I think this is all fake and Holmes is only saying this so you won't see through his ingenious ruse? Yes. Do I think you should still respect his wishes and not touch him? Also yes.

✨Consent✨

"If I am to have a doctor whether I will or not, let me at least have someone in whom I have confidence," said he.

Dude, you literally asked for him. Literally. Asked. For. Him.

You are gaslighting him so bad right now. Holmes! Stop abusing your friend. Stop it! Bad detective! No biscuit!

No one in this scene is coming across well, rn, by modern standards.

"In your friendship, certainly. But facts are facts, Watson, and, after all, you are only a general practitioner with very limited experience and mediocre qualifications. It is painful to have to say these things, but you leave me no choice." I was bitterly hurt.

Holmes is being a bitch here, and I will absolutely say it. Watson, your ethics are shaky, but your feelings are valid.

"Possibly not. But I happen to know that Dr. Ainstree, the greatest living authority upon tropical disease, is now in London. All remonstrance is useless, Holmes, I am going this instant to fetch him."

Uno reverso, Holmes!

Honestly, Holmes's worst misjudgement here is thinking Watson would let him get away with dying without doing anything. Did you really think he was just going to say 'oh well, that's a pity; I'd best go home and start writing your eulogy.'

His misreading of the person he is literally closest to in the world is just such a massive blind spot here.

"You won't take the key from me by force, Watson, I've got you, my friend. Here you are, and here you will stay until I will otherwise. But I'll humour you." (All this in little gasps, with terrible struggles for breath between.) "You've only my own good at heart. Of course I know that very well. You shall have your way, but give me time to get my strength. Not now, Watson, not now. It's four o'clock. At six you can go."

Such a dramatic bitch right now. OMG. 😂😂😂

"You will seek help, not from the man you mention, but from the one that I choose."

I get that there's a time issue here, clearly, because Holmes is so insistent on 'six o'clock', but I feel like he could have handled this better.

"By all means." "The first three sensible words that you have uttered since you entered this room, Watson."

Wow.

All modern adaptations are based entirely on this scene, huh?

With fairness to Sherlock, it does seem like Mrs Hudson is at least correct about the starvation and dehydration and we all know being hungry makes people irritable. And being dehydrated makes you kind of loopy and gives you a killer headache. So he's not making the best decisions right now, if that's the case.

We all know what he really needs right now:

Then, unable to settle down to reading, I walked slowly round the room, examining the pictures of celebrated criminals with which every wall was adorned.

I love this description. Imagine sitting in this room with just the worst criminals of all time staring down at you from every wall. True crime chic. Serial killers watching you from every angle. It's absolute nightmare fuel and more what I'd expect from, like, a themed bar that was set up in an old prison.

I' can't imagine it. I'm glad he keeps this to his bedroom and out of the public areas. I can't imagine it would put his clients at ease.

To tell the truth, my desire to fetch a doctor had somewhat weakened, for poor Holmes was so obviously delirious that it seemed dangerous to leave him.

To be fair to Watson here, while often in the stories he seems unnecessarily dense about things, in this case his thoughts are entirely justified.

How much money in his pockets, only half the gas to the fire, pick the box up with sugar tongs. (Poison one assumes)

It may surprise you to know that the man upon earth who is best versed in this disease is not a medical man, but a planter. Mr. Culverton Smith is a well-known resident of Sumatra, now visiting London. An outbreak of the disease upon his plantation, which was distant from medical aid, caused him to study it himself, with some rather far-reaching consequences. He is a very methodical person, and I did not desire you to start before six, because I was well aware that you would not find him in his study.

So this guy poisoned a lot of people with this, huh? That's what I'm getting. And you couldn't have provided this information earlier in such a way that Watson would have stayed with you until then? You had to go the mad route of locking you both in a room together, while not letting him touch anything or talk to you?

"You will tell him exactly how you have left me," said he. "You will convey the very impression which is in your own mind--a dying man--a dying and delirious man. Indeed, I cannot think why the whole bed of the ocean is not one solid mass of oysters, so prolific the creatures seem."

I like to think that Holmes always has at least one little tangent like that going on in his brain, and he's just decided that he'll say it out loud right now to increase the impression of delusion and madness. But actually this is just a glimpse into his head on a normal day.

I do something similar, but I actually do ask the random questions out loud. My immediate family take them seriously, but other people tend to look at me like they are worried there is something wrong with me.

But the answer I have to Holmes' question is predation. Lots of things nomming on oysters. Humans, for one.

His nephew, Watson--I had suspicions of foul play and I allowed him to see it. The boy died horribly. He has a grudge against me.

So, he already poisoned his nephew. Good to know. Good to know

Make any excuse so as not to come with him. Don't forget, Watson. You won't fail me. You never did fail me. No doubt there are natural enemies which limit the increase of the creatures. You and I, Watson, we have done our part. Shall the world, then, be overrun by oysters? No, no; horrible! You'll convey all that is in your mind.

That's what I was saying, Holmes. Predation. I'm glad to know you've done your part to prevent the Oysterpocalypse. Good man.

I have never eaten an oyster, I am falling down in my duties.

I left him full of the image of this magnificent intellect babbling like a foolish child. He had handed me the key, and with a happy thought I took it with me lest he should lock himself in. Mrs. Hudson was waiting, trembling and weeping, in the passage.

Clearly everything is going according to plan, but Holmes you owe these two so much for putting up with you this time.

I still don't remember this story. I am feeling very Gandalf in Moria right now, but my nose says there's something very fishy about Holmes' illness, and it's not the oysters I'm smelling.

#Letters from Watson #Sherlock Holmes #The Dying Detective #long post #shellfish #<- just in case you're allergic 😄

44 notes · View notes

mihai-florescu · 6 months

Note

Hello there tumblr user Mihai-floresuco.

I would like to ask of thee which stories you’d recommend of fine? I do not like the unit but I would like to like them so perhaps a better understanding of the characters shall aid me in this quest, thank you in advance and have a truly lovely day.

Yours truly,

Secret mutual :3

I am going to assume you've read the war era reminis, you are familiar with ex fine, what and why things happened, and your question is regarding current fine. I will also hope you've read Daydream and Blackbird as they explain a lot about the moments right after the war, from Eichi and Wataru's perspectives. Plus Eichi calls Yuzuru sexy, never forget.

Now, let's see, from the beginning. Flower fes is the first story with fine as we know it (minus Eichi as he was in the hospital), it's about Tori and Yuzuru meeting Wataru for the first time (among other things. It's also a good look into the state of things in the beginning of the next year right after the war. There's a good bit with Valkyrie as well)

Then other early ! Era stories would be Circus (fine perform at a circus, the scene that stood out the most to me is that of Eichi and the lion) and Quarrel Fes (Eichi Keito showdown mostly, it's good for understanding Eichi better)

Then Milky Way (fine and valkyrie, personally i'm due a complete reread), Jingle Bells (the one where Tori's illusions of fine as a perfect savior unit that can do no wrong and that hasn't done wrong in the past start dissipating), EP:link......i assume that if you follow me you've read eplink, but if not, i will not spoil it. The last story before the change of eras and it deals partially with fine's future.

Then for other stories i recommend when you have time: Magnolia (the best bridal enstars story imo, focused on Tori working around the school to buy Eichi a brooch for a gift exchange event), Dance Floor (they go to the park and then do karaoke at the end...), Triumph of the Emperor (an old story where Tori takes lead to prepare for a future where Eichi wouldn't be in fine anymore. This is all before we or they knew we'll have !! Era where the units stay together), Summer Live (undead and fine. Very unfortunate a good story is overshadowed by orientalist cards)

From the !! Era... um. I think there are some good one off idol stories, like the one with the parfait i remember seeing a tl for, but i dont know the name of it (i suspect it's somewhere in tori or eichi's idol stories). The best fine story in !! imo is Tempest. I also recommend if you end up enjoying fine Fist of the shangri la idol. And Sanctuary.........i feel like you should only read it after you already like Eichi or you might not have the best time... If you want to read anything else go ahead, but I can't guide you (I was unsatisfied with Primavera, and haven't yet read Ghostic. I enjoyed the livetweets for Atlantis but you can't find a full tl of it anywhere yet afaik and I'm not gonna recommend the !! climax to someone who is just getting started with fine as a whole anyway)

I hope I haven't talked for too long... if you need ex fine recs too, i'd say Element first and foremost, Checkmate for Eichi & Tsumugi's early relationship, and Wonder Game. Oh and Altered Origins. It's still a fever dream of a story to me personally, i haven't fully wrapped my head around the fact that we are getting the remini animes and extra stories yet. I mean I have, but you know, it still feels a bit surreal.

If anyone feels like I forgot any important fine stories please add to the conversation. If you end up interested in Wataru and Eichi in particular I'd also recommend Diner Live, but it is not a fine story. I've heard Toyland is good for Tori (Yuzuru too?) but I haven't personally read it yet. If you want more Wataru and Tori interactions, Amusement Live has some good scenes, but it is not that much about them, the story's about Ra*bits and 2wink. A story i enjoyed of fine members shenanigans sans Wataru is Noble Game. We shall see when White Brim gets translated, I know it has some good bits with Tori&Eichi. Hm hm hm. That's all I can think of at the top of my head rn, but I think I've already said more than enough...

#ask #secret mutual anon

19 notes · View notes

worldcylinder · 22 days

Note

i already asked some but

down to the ark, catherine antrim's kid and we shall all be healed

i have so many unreleased tracks downloaded and all of them have the best lyrics :)

Ok, now you're just flexing :P I'll play though.

Down to the Ark: I'm going with the first refrain: And we pull down our blindfolds / Reach out for the lever in the dark / Get a sticker for our shirts / As we head into the sun / Proudly bearing the mark / Headed down to the Ark. This song is so bananas. I can't tell if it's about a Satanic cult taking over America, or if it's about how participating in liberal electoral politics is apocalyptically doomed to failure in the face of rising fascism and climate change. The image of someone voting blindfolded, then heading down towards Noah's Ark wearing an "I Voted" sticker sure is something.

Catherine Antrim's Kid: And the night wrapped me up in its long, dark embrace / I had that same expression on as that one picture of my face / Which was all anyone would ever know about me / After my visitors got done with me. These lines remind me really strongly of Tyler Lambert's Grave: Young man in a yellow tie / Hair gel in his hair / No context for the picture / Just kind of standing there. The idea of a person being crystallized down to a single photograph in the national consciousness, to the point where the photograph comes to epitomize them... There's a passage in The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold about the murdered main character and how her school picture comes to encapsulate her for her parents. I don't remember the exact quote, but it talks about how the photo becomes how she always looked to them, "my eyes never bluer than they were in that photo" or something to that effect. I'd have to go find it again which would mean rereading half the book. The idea of this child narrator being the victim of some high-profile violent crime (murder, presumably? I'm assuming this is about a real person) and that one photo being all anyone would know about them ever again... It's a powerful concept. You don't get to pick that photo, you know?

We Shall All Be Healed: Much as I love it when JD names names, I'm going with the very end. And someday we will all never be alone again / When the sun comes up and the night has passed / We shall all be healed, at last, at last, at last. I find myself reminded of Steal Smoked Fish -- Some of you will be dead next year / I see your destinies above you / Like angels who don't love you / Let them kiss you and hold you tight. The "someday" referred to here is presumably after death, given that "we will all never be alone again." This song is more heartfelt than lyrical, and I applaud it for that. I think it's a song about grief, and about hope -- about mourning dead friends, or old friends or ex-friends who will die someday, and about having hope for them to find peace at last in the grave and beyond. We all love to hate that one tweet that's like "The Mountain Goats is just Christian rock for gay twentysomethings" but it's absolutely true, and I think this song kind of epitomizes that genuine prayerful impulse that threads through their work of, well, maybe Heaven is real. Maybe God does love us, after all. God bless all my old friends / and God bless me too, why pretend?

#down to the ark #catherine antrim's kid #catherine antrims kid #we shall all be healed

3 notes · View notes

trans-queen-administrator · 6 months

Text

oh i have been tagged in a thing. ty @yugonostalgia2019. time to overshare

3 ships: Hmmmm ok I gotta list Taylor x Lisa, their dynamic makes me go absolutely feral without fail. Honestly I don't even need them as a ship I just love how horrible and amazing they are for each other. I am limiting myself to one Worm ship here, despite how much it pains me, but I shall provide brief descriptions for the other ships for the people who don't know the non-worm stuff here. Marina x Pearl from Splatoon are so damn cute and I adore them. Nepotism baby punk soundcloud rapper x runaway genius former child soldier military engineer is honestly just 10/10, and they're just so good! I swear to god if the DLC doesn't have a 20 minute cutscene of lesbian cephalopod kissing I'll riot. Splatoon is my biggest fandom besides Worm which is kind of hilarious to me considering the sharp difference in tone. Third ship... hmmm, The Doctor x River Song. I just think it's genuinely such a sweet concept and wonderfully executed, two time travelers who are in love but keep meeting each other in the wrong order so their experiences and knowledge of the other don't match up is tragic and great and I nearly cried at their final episode. Honestly just been a River Song fan forever too, she's eternally my transition goals.

First ever ship: Ohhhhh gosh this one is lame. Back when I was a wee lass in middle school browsing FF.net endlessly, my main fandoms were Pokemon and Super Smash Bros. I flat out didn't realize that you could ship anything except a man and a woman because like, no one told me, and I kinda was just not a fan of romance because I thought it was always forced in stories (I was right about that tho). But then I read a Smash Bros fanfic that had Lucina and Palutena shipped and I was just like... damn, women can kiss? That sounds so cool. Shame I can never do that. And so I read the shockingly large number of fics shipping those two because it was the only wlw ship I knew existed.

Last song: I don't actually listen to music that much. Last song is uhhh... the Monster Sanctuary PVP Theme I guess due to playing Monster Sanctuary PVP. If we're talking actual music, I think my sister forced me to listen to some Taylor Swift song recently? Idk what it was but I think the album was called 1984.

Last movie: I also don't watch movies much! Uhhhhhhhhh I think it was Sharknado 3: Oh Hell No. Might have been a different one? The Sharknado movie that ends with them crashing down to Earth inside of a shark after fighting them off from a satellite and one of the characters gives birth while coming down inside the shark and the baby cuts its way out with a chainsaw before the mom gets crushed by falling debris. Sorry for spoiling, I know everyone was really looking forward to watching Sharknado 3.

Currently reading: Making my way through the Snapshots series of Splatoon fics which are so fucking good. For published stories though, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight for a class. Thinking about rereading Worm and posting about it but I gotta beat the Lakesbian copy allegations.

Currently watching: I'm don't really watch anything when I'm on my own, I prefer to read in almost all situations. When I go home though, I watch One Piece with my sister because it is nice to spend time with her and she's very passionate about the show.

Currently consuming: Nerds Gummy Clusters. I regret every bite but I bought this shitty bag of candy so I gotta finish it. Fuck these are terrible.

Currently craving: Mini Chewy Sweettarts. They're my favorite candy and I have a massive sweet tooth so I've been craving them, but I swear every single damn store in a mile radius stopped stocking them and is now selling "Sweettart gummies" or "Sweettart chewy fusions" or "Sweettart ropes" or "Sweettart rope bites" and that is not what I desire! Where is my delicious mouth hurting candy ;-;

8 notes · View notes

voxofthevoid · 8 months

Note

i shall ask once more. \o/ 12, 26, 39 (is there another snippet in stock, void-sama?) and 55! <3

Welcome back 💚

List of questions here

(I should start keeping a list of things people call me on Tumblr...)

12. How does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

Like I said in response to another of these questions, I am not immune to having expectations...which have admittedly been skewed by hanging around in MCU/stucky (guys, you spoiled me).

Receiving feedback makes me happy, often derangedly happy. There's that simple pleasure in sharing something I made—something I put a lot of time, effort, and joy into—and seeing it have an effect on other people. There's a reason I reread my comments (and Tumblr tags, when applicable) a zillion times.

Not receiving it is predictably disappointing, though the intensity varies a lot with my level of investment in the fandom/ship and, more importantly, the particular story. You know those jokes about how the fics we work most on and are most proud of tend to be less well received than something we throw together in a hurry? Yeah, that's always an...interesting experience.

What feedback doesn't affect is whether I write or what I write. This wasn't the case until last year or so, but now, nearly everything I post is already fully written and being posted on a monthly schedule. It spares me from being discouraged in the middle of writing a fic. Similarly, darkfic tends to not be as popular as fluff or even hurt/comfort, but literally nothing else sparks up my brain like some gourmet fuckery, so nothing's going to make me stop writing those stories.

...holy shit, that got long.

26. Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

THE FUCKING KIDNAPPING FIC

I cannot tell you how weird/wild it is that this thing unraveled the way it did. I know I post a lot of multichapters for JJK, but I don't really consider them multichaps as such. More like...six-shots or something (don't ask). I was content poking at porny bits of canon divergence scenarios.

And then @nearalways asked one(1) question: What'd have happened if Yuuji had chosen not to be Sukuna's host when Gojou tells him to choose his hell? We'd also been talking a lot about how dead-eyed and done Yuuji looked in most of his middle school-era flashbacks. Long story very short, I wrote a 119k answer that has done irreparable damage to my sanity and irrevocably changed how I write Gojou in particular.

39. Share a snippet from a WIP

I always have snippets! Especially since I've got some...300k of JJK fic I haven't even posted yet. You can find it under the cut.

55. Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

Yuuji, hands down. The whole reason I'm even in this fandom is because I adore that kid. I haven't been this fascinated by a shonen MC in ages. Me being me, this does mean I put him through unimaginable horrors though!

And no, not at all. You, uh, might notice that I tend to be very set in my opinions 😂

Snippet here:

Yuuji yanks at the hand pinning him down.

There’s a moment where it works. Gojou’s fingers loosen, and his whole rhythm falters, and Yuuji almost, almost frees himself, wholly intent on flipping them over, but then there’s a soft breath of laughter, and a second hand clamps down on the wrist Yuuji has nearly wrenched free.

He makes a furious final attempt, throwing the whole of his strength into it, but this time, Gojou’s hold doesn’t waver for even a second. He’s grinning down at Yuuji, the devil on his lips.

“Devious,” Gojou tells him; it sounds like a compliment. “You’ve grown stronger, Yuuji—much, much stronger.”

And that sounds like pure sex.

Yuuji’s hips buck up helplessly, and Gojou bears down against him, pinning him there too.

“Clearly,” Yuuji hisses through clenched teeth, “not enough.”

“I’m a different kind of beast,” Gojou says easily. His eyes grow heavy-lidded. “But one day soon, Yuuji, you’ll be able to hurt me. Really hurt me. Won’t that be fun?”

Yuuji’s brain is abruptly yanked away from his dick and shoved back into his skull. “What? No! I don’t want that!”

“Of course you do,” Gojou says, laughing. “You will. It’s alright. I’ll let you.”

“Gojou-sensei—”

“But that’s for later. What do you want right now, Yuuji?”

“You,” Yuuji says incredulously, a thousand meanings packed into that one word.

Gojou’s eyes narrow, a different kind of heat than the look he shot Yuuji before. “Don’t cop out on me now. What were you going to do, Yuuji?”

“Fucking—” Yuuji lifts his head just to slam it down on the mattress; it’s not satisfying at all. “I want to fucking touch you! What else!”

“Cute,” Gojou says, his smile growing wider and more unhinged at Yuuji’s growl. “Where, Yuuji? How? I’ve only been gone for nineteen days, but you already forgot the game. I trained you better than this.”

#calamitouskings #fic: prophetic self-destruction #ask game #goyuu

12 notes · View notes

rosethornewrites · 1 month

Text

NR, E, & M reading since 3/18

Finished

Not Rated:

JC & WWX role swap (LWJ/WWX/JC), by nirejseki

Prompt: au where wwx comes from the old and respected yiling wei sect and jc and jyl are the children of rogue cultivators (or maybe madam yu ran away with rogue jfm?), taken in by sect leader wei

four letters: H-A-T-E (Wei Wuxian's POV), by Edith343redwood

What if the first night they met was rewritten?

Four letters. One word.

that's all it took to send Wei Wuxian spiralling.

They say words hold power, but what can words do?

If a word could be rewritten into a story, what would it be?

Possible works 1 - Ghost Child, by Hauntcats

Wei Ying returns to the day Jiang Fengmian found him and decides to do something different.

None of these are very Jiang Cheng friendly. I'm not even sure if they are Lan friendly. At least one of them is nicer to Jiang Yanli.

Explicit:

The Best Laid Plans, by Admiranda, Rynne (11th in a series)

After a long day traveling, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian just want to have a bath together. Those simple intentions don't last -- and neither does the bathtub.

and we can be anything, by Imatableclock (2nd in a series)

"You’re so good at this, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, panting.

From the look on Lan Zhan’s face, she probably considers it an offence that Wei Ying is still speaking. Wei Ying is very happy to learn this about Lan Zhan.

---

Two lesbians in one apartment, and their firsts.

Microphones and Camera Reels, by UseMyMuse

Wei Ying and Lan Wangji have been happily married for five years, their careers are at an all time high, and they really couldn't be happier. Purely by chance, the public is unaware of their relationship, and Lan Zhan's fans are severely misjudging his horny glare for hate and they decide to ban together to get rid of the thorn in their favorite star's side.

One Day We're Loving Each Other, by sami (2nd in a series, 2 chapters, reread)

The wedding is lovely, the bride is very beautiful, and Jiang Yanli comes to live at the Unclean Realm.

Mature:

Blood of the Black Earth, by wirevix (15 chapters)

By the time Jiang Cheng and his small rescue party managed to clear away the rubble at the cave's collapsed entrance, it was too late.

Wei Wuxian had already gone cold.

The Moon Reflected Upon Two Springs, by Rubberduckieassassin (🔒)

In many ways, this part of Wen Ning’s existence has felt like winter. Winter is the most Yin of all the seasons. It is a time of stillness and quiet reflection. Remembering how to ‘live’ again as best he could.

Possible Works 2 - Numb, by Hauntcats

Wei Ying returns to his teenage years, but can't shake the memories of what he has lost.

The Tamed, by pj_moonchild (7 chapters)

Wei Wuxian believes he can change the past for the better if he never misbehaved and remained considerate of the Jiang Yunmeng Sect the whole time. At the same time, he sacrifices meeting Lan Zhan but inevitably, they do meet again once the Wen Clan decides to take over the other sects.

Unfinished

Not Rated:

I'd Give You The Moon, by Teadrenched

Wei Wuxian is very smart, but you wouldn't think that if you saw him now, lost alone in the woods at night and being choked by a witch. Despite his predicament, all Wei Wuxian can think about is how pretty the witch looked, and that he didn't know boys were allowed to wear dresses (but after seeing Lan Wangji, definitely thinks more should)

Wei Ying finds fem witch Lan Zhan in the woods and goes to bother him whenever Madame Yu has been a bit too much

Friday Nights, by Autumn_leaf101

“A-Cheng there is someone I would like you to meet with this Friday. He is the successor to Lan Academies. I’ve spoken with his uncle and we shall see if you both are suitable for each other.” Said Yu-Jiang ZiYuan, with a tone of clarity and finality.

“Yes A-Niang” Having expected this he felt relieved to get it over with.

“The Lan Academies huh? The heirs are quite the handsome duo.” A cheeky Cangse Sanren pointed out. “Isn’t the younger, the pouty one you’re always talking about A-Xian?! Oh, and the older, he has the sweetest smile, doesn’t he?” She continued an excited rant, met with an equally excited Wei Wuxian.

As the conversation steered to the rumours of Jiang Cheng’s potential betrothed, he wanted to know what was being said but no amount of effort could help him concentrate. His only focus; convincing himself that a lifetime of neglect and passive-aggressive companionship wouldn’t be too bad, or maybe, just maybe he could love and be loved the way a husband and wife are meant to.

wing bones touching, by ShanaStoryteller

Mo Xuanyu is the hastily legitimized daughter of Jin Guangshan.

Wei Wuxian wakes up in her body the day before her wedding.

Explicit:

the long way back home, by Misila (🔒)

Wei Ying always knew he was the single discordant note in the Jiang household. That was why, after graduating from university, he didn’t return home. With him gone, Yu Ziyuan wouldn’t have anyone to compare her son to, and Jiang Fengmian wouldn’t have to keep avoiding his own family to prevent further conflict.

…Right?

(Seven years later, married to the man of his life and with a four year-old son, Wei Ying returns to his hometown and tries to reconnect with his siblings and befriend his nephew; but, most of all, he struggles to figure out what’s wrong with his brother and how to help him, despite Jiang Cheng not wanting to have anything to do with him anymore.)

Lupine, by Anonymous

It’s never been an option before—to see Wei Ying after that dream. Typically, Lan Wangji jolts awake in bed, alone with his quaking limbs, and resigns himself to reading or meditating until morning.

But here in Qinghe, dawn is far away, and Wei Ying’s room is so, so close.

The Second Hand Unwinds, by trulywicked (🔒)

Sent back in time without his husband after a night hunt gone wrong, Lan Wangji is determined to ensure that Wei Wuxian’s safety and in the process hopefully mitigate, if not prevent, the war.

Through marriage among other things.

Heart of the Beast, by WaitForTheSnitch

“Wei Ying?” Nie Mingjue prompted him gently. “Where are your parents?”

“They went on a night hunt,” Wei Ying said, a bit evasively.

“Your parents are cultivators?” Da-ge asked in surprise. “Did they leave you here while they hunted? When did they go on their night hunt?”

“Four summers ago,” Wei Ying said a bit uncomfortable.

“Four summers ago,” Nie Mingjue repeated. “What are your parents’ names?”

“My mama is Cangse Sanren and my baba is Wei Changze,” Wei Ying told him, and recognition registered in Nie Mingjue’s eyes.

“Wei Ying,” Nie Mingjue said, sounding a bit regretful, “Your parents aren’t coming back.”

Or, Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang run into Wei Ying while in Yiling and decide to bring him home. And it changes everything.

Mature:

Dreams of Paradise, by Hauntcats

This on begins during the siege of the Burial Mound. Wei Ying is trying to destroy or nullify the tiger seal before anyone else can get it. The results don’t work out quite how he thought they would. His essence is trapped in between time where he witnesses different scenes of the lives of those he cares about. (The 13? 16? Years when he was dead.)

Then he wakes up in a place he didn't expect.

Once again, not Jiang friendly. If you don't like that, please, don't read.

Tragedy That Befall Upon Us, by xoxoholic

"Hey! What's this?" Jin Ling yelled, pointing at the glowing, black and red orb. Jiang Wanyin marched over to Jin Ling, but the young Jin sect leader had already touched the orb.

"Jin Ling!" Jiang Wanyin yelled in anger. If his golden core was not sealed, then Zidian would be cackling furiously.

"..Oops?" Jin Ling sheepishly smiled as he hid behind his friends. Lan Jingyi laughed at Jin Lings predicament while Lan Sizhui sighed. Ouyang Zizhen laughed with Lan Jingyi in amusement before he was hit in the back of his head by his father.

UNDER EDITING

【银劍探心】| Silver Jian Seeking Hearts, by stiltonbasket

“A ghost bridegroom?” Wei Wuxian asks, when he receives his latest night-hunting assignment from Uncle Jiang. “Have women been going missing?”

If brides have been going missing, this is the first that Wei Wuxian is hearing about it; which is strange, because the systematic kidnapping of brides should have quickly been recognized as spirits’ work and reported as such to the nearest cultivation sect as soon as possible.

“Three women and ten men have gone missing so far,” his uncle tells him. “Jinshan town is out of our jurisdiction, and the records say there hasn’t been a hunt in the area since before my grandfather’s time. But no one from Jinshan thought to report the disappearances until today, so the victims must be long dead by now.”

Four hundred years after the Sunshot Campaign, a reincarnated Wei Wuxian dresses himself in wedding red to defeat the ghost of a bridegroom.

Deep within the forests of Jinshan Mountain, the mourning calamity Yin Jian Tan Xin waits to marry his beloved.

What If..... Jiang Cheng Understood?, by ToxicAngel13

It didn't take a genius to realize just what had happened in the time that Wei Wuxian was gone. Not with that damn ribbon on his wrist and Jiang Cheng was not going to let his brother be taken advantage of!

Or a tale in which one insight sparks a world of change.

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #cql #chen qing ling #untamed fanfiction

5 notes · View notes