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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 7 months

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Hi,

Do you ever think on the first conversation Inej and Kaz had in Heleen's office? It feels like theres a lot there and I wondered if you have any thoughts on it. I come back a lot to when Inej asks Kaz if he convinced Per Haskell to buy out her indenture because "you like Suli girls" and Kaz answers "i don't know enough Suli girls to say"

that's a very interesting sort of snarky answer to me because he refutes the idea that he's the type to fetishize the Suli culture to the point of being "into" Suli women just because they are Suli. But also he doesn't just shut down the idea of him being into anyone. Which ... This is post Imogen debacle, he's resigned himself to not being "into" anyone at this point for several years. He doesn't care how people see him for it either. He could have been ruder or more just more direct about this, but he wasn't. And its like that with many of his early actions towards Inej. He's nicer than you'd think he'd be and its interesting becuase i don't get a sense that Kaz fell for Inej "at first sight", i think his love for her was gradual and snuck up on him (heh) so really everything he did at first and especially not demanding she gets a dregs tatto must have been from some basic sense of compassion, although he'd shank me for saying so.

Also, i always wondered how Kaz explained to Haskell why Inej didnt get a tattoo, then i re-read the books recently i realized omg i bet he totally probably just didn't?! Inej wasn't the type talk about it, she wears concealing clothes and is not very seen/social within the gang so my theory is that lazy ass Haskell didnt ask and assumed she got a tatto and kaz just let the assumption happen. Do you think that's believable?

Hi, thanks so much for your question - and so sorry it’s taken me an eternity to reply!

When I tell you that I think about this meeting once a week… well I’m hoping that you think “woah so cool she knows so much and thinks so in depth about these characters literary analysis is awesome” and not “Jesus Christ she’s insane”. But genuinely, the Kanej meeting is something I think about a lot and I think holds an awful lot of meaning.

The “you like Suli girls” “I don’t know enough Suli girls to say” to me is such a wonderful moment because, as you quite rightly said, it immediately refutes Kaz’s endorsement of the hyper-sexualisation of Suli culture that we see so prevalently in Kerch / Ketterdam (I’ve gone into this at length before but in a whistle stop tour think about the way the Menagerie customers talk about Inej and place so much emphasis on her skin colour, her bedroom at the Menagerie being a “farcical” version of a Suli caravan, the way “the Menagerie always stocked a Suli girl”, the Rare Spices billboard, etc). And this is so important for so many reasons, but in particular because the second Heleen exits the room and she’s alone with Kaz, Inej immediately tenses at the assumption that he is going to rape or assault her- “braced herself for what would come next, fingers twisting in her silks”. And what happens instead? He asks her for her name. Her name, that has been ignored and erased for an entire year as yet another roll of dehumanisation piled against her. Even though the pair discuss and make a clear understanding of the fact that this isn’t some kind of rescue mission and Inej’s world isn’t going to suddenly fix itself, this moment makes an instant connection for Inej between Kaz Brekker and safety. Because somehow, despite everything that’s happening, this moment in Tante Heleen’s office is the safest Inej has felt for an entire year. It’s also interesting that you mentioned he doesn’t shut down the idea of not being interested in anyone and I definitely agree with that, personally I don’t believe that Kaz is asexual although I know some people headcanon him that way it’s just not something that works for me and my perception of his character, and that’s because of situations like his attraction to Imogen and several situations he’s in with Inej. His exact words when considering being with Imogen are “he knew the things he was supposed to want. He did want those things”, which to me very clearly shows that he does experience sexual attraction and sexual desire, and the limiting factor is his ptsd and touch aversion rather than his sexuality/orientation. I agree that Kaz and Inej didn’t experience a love at first sight kind of moment, but I do think that this meeting really solidified their relationship to a level of immediate understanding between them, in essence an acknowledgment of them being “twin soldiers, marching on, pretending they were fine”. They are both able to see the other, clock that they understand to some extent, and respect each other.

Kaz is quite abrasive in this scene, but what always gets me is how confrontational Inej is able to be - “And what happens when you take their money, and you become a rich man?”. (The quote is something to that effect, sorry I don’t have my book with me right now). I think that a big aspect of her being able to summon the confidence to put herself against him so immediately is that she genuinely feels this level of safety with him, because this far he represents the opposite of everything that had tormented her. Or at the very least the polar end of a spectrum that she has been tormented by another part of. And controversially to the image of everything Inej has experienced in the Barrel so far, Kaz is amused by and enjoys her standing up to him, in fact he almost seems endeared by it saying “Then you can steal all my secrets too”.

And ohh the tattoo, or lack thereof, makes me so happy! It doesn’t require much reading between the lines to understand the relevance of Kaz not forcing Inej to take the Dregs tattoo on, she even says herself that he refused to be the one who marked her again, but I love the idea that he didn’t actually tell anyone she’s not got it!! I hadn’t considered this before but it makes perfect sense with everything we know about Inej’s relationship with the Dregs - Nina doesn’t know she lacks the tattoo, and Inej comments on the fact that the others can’t see her scars from having the Menagerie feather removed but that “they all knew it was there”, suggesting she keeps her forearms covered most of the time, and the emotional disconnect she feels from the rest of the Dregs is always discussed at an intellectual level and in the way she spends most of her time with Kaz or alone rather than with them rather than any dislike/distrust/etc of her because she didn’t take on the tattoo. I absolutely love this theory because it takes away any feeling of guilt around lacking the tattoo and also makes it a far more personal thing to be shared only between Kaz and herself.

Thank you so much, I’m so sorry it took me so long to reply, but I hope this made sense and that you enjoyed reading it! <3

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justjensenandhisalteregos · 3 months

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Man! I Feel Like A Woman ~ Part 2 of I Need a Nap

Pairing: Dean Winchester x f! Reader

Warnings: (Y/N) might be sexier than Dean anticipated, hehe. Other than that just a lot of sweetness and maybe a funny Sam.

A/N: Well, ya’ll here it is! The much anticipated part two to I Need A Nap. This was a fun one to write. As always, thoughts, hearts, and reblogging are always welcome and much appreciated! X PS. The picture of the dress came out way too big so I improvised (outfits at the end)

WC: 620

****

My eyes twitched between the two brothers.

Did Dean just…?

Did I just…?

Answer the dang man, (Y/N).

“Dean, yes. I’d love to be your valentine!” A wide smile tugged at each end of my lips as I felt my face get heated. I threw my arms around Dean’s neck giving him a hug.

“(Y/N)… Air…” Dean chocked between breaths.

“Oh… heh…sorry D.” I removed my arms from his neck and smiled sheepishly.

Sam sat at the table with a smug smile from what had just transpired. He looked at Dean with an I told you so smirk.

Dean rolled his eyes as Sam passed out the deli sandwiches and chips that he had brought back.

***

Dean’s POV

“So, what’s your plan Mr. Valentine?” Sam asked as he looked up from the book he was reading.

“Well, I know (Y/N) likes to dress up when the situation calls for it. I’m gonna take her to that new steakhouse that opened up last month. Then, ya know, we’ll see what happens.” I finished waggling my eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh, God, Dean. Too much information!” Sam’s face scrunched up in disgust at the thought of his brother and (Y/N) doing that.

***

1:10 PM Valentines Day 2/14/98

I made it to my room, closing the door.

Quickly I got into the shower and did a complete wash down, with shampoo, deep conditioner, a vanilla sugar scrub over my entire body, and ended with a total shave down of my legs and arm pits. No hair, don’t care.

After blow drying my hair I knew I was going to curl my long hair.

Dean likes when I wear my hair curly.

Plugging in my curling iron I knew I was missing something.

Hmmm, I think this calls for a little Shania.

I smirk approving of my choice in music. I placed the CD in the stereo and shut the top. Pressing play, the stereo filled my room with the familiar first notes of Man! I Feel Like A Woman.

“No inhibitions, make no conditions

Get a little outta line

I ain't gonna act politically correct

I only wanna have a good time”

I sang to the music as I cured my hair. To keep my long curls in tack tonight, I doused my hair with hairspray and finished with makeup and and a pretty dress. I was excited because Dean told me to dress to the nines because he was taking me somewhere nice.

Grabbing the little maroon number hidden in the back of my closet, I smirked pleasingly. I had recently bought it when I had gone to California to visit my other best friend, you know just in case, I sighed happily to myself as I laid out the dress, black heels, and a black purse.

After buckling the heels, I smoothed the fabric of my dress looking at myself in the full length mirror. Once I was satisfied, I opened my bedroom door and made my way to Dean’s bedroom door, where I heard AC DC coming from it.

I knocked loudly so he could hear my knock over his loud music.

Within a minute or two Dean’s door opened as he looked up from rolling up his sleeves.

Dean smiled at me before her got a glance at my outfit. His eyes just about bulged out of their sockets. If I wasn’t watching I would have missed it because just as easily, a knowing smirk flashed across his face.

Ever so gentlemanly, Dean held out his arm for me to take as he escorted me to sit shotgun in Baby to take me on our first date, Valentine’s no less!

Part 3

#dean winchester #spn fanfiction #sam winchester #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester x reader #valentines day #part 2

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incorrect-pipravi · 6 months

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Your analysis on Pip's character?

Hello, there! Sorry for letting this sit in my inbox for this loooong.

I wasn’t really sure what you meant by analysis, so I hope this answers your question:

Firstly, this is my own opinion and interpretation of Pip, so this is not the absolute truth. You can freely agree, disagree or add anything you want.

Secondly, this contains spoilers!!!

Lastly, let’s get into it!

In my opinion, Pip’s biggest conflict is her view of morality. She starts out as our typical good girl (has a loving relationship with her family, straight A’s student, is beloved and loyal … etc) which is a huge part of that struggle. Pip grew up as a good girl. Everyone thought so, including herself. And since, there’s good, there’s also bad. That’s how she views the world around her. Good and bad. Black and white. She fails to understand the concept of gray (an area where black and white mix, where good people with bad actions and bad people with good actions exist). It’s not until she starts the cases that she realizes that.

I also think Pip would’ve always had this realization wether she chose to do the investigation or not because she would’ve eventually realized the same thing under different circumstances. It’s just the cases made her realize it quicker.

When she starts working on the Andie Bell case, she learns about the existence of that area. She learns that sometimes people who are good, can do bad and vice versa, learns that sometimes an end justifies a means and most importantly is that she isn’t as good as she thought herself to be. She discovers a part of herself willing to do anything to reach an end goal she wants. This shakes up everything around her because 1) She doesn’t know who she truly is 2) She doesn’t really know how the world is.

So she gets obsessive with the entire case trying to return to that safe black and white area, but the deeper she digs, the grayer it gets.

After the first case is done, she is a completely different person.

And when the second book starts, she still hasn’t accepted that fact. As the book goes on, she thinks she has accepted it, but then the Charlie-Stanley situation happened causing her to spiral again.

That’s why in the third book, she thinks she needs Charlie because the first time he helped her “accept” it.

It’s also why she later uses “save herself to save herself”, a situation where there is a clearly bad person and a clearly good one to save herself from this confusion. But then she murders someone and frames another, so did she really save herself? No. Not really. She only ends up hating herself more, pushing everyone who loves her and whom she loves away.

Even at the end of AGAD, Pip still hasn’t understood that area because she still thinks she is undeserving of those people who love her, she still views herself in a bad evil way.

Do I think Pip is a bad person or a good one? Pip is a good person at her core. She does things with good intentions, however, she is willing to go extreme lengths to do things. Pip is gray and that’s normal. What’s not normal is her lack of understanding for that. So I think the most important step for her healing is to accept the grayness in her and the world around her.

At the end, Pip is much more complex and I only talked about one side of her character which is to me is the most interesting one. Feel free to agree or disagree, I would love to discuss this further more!

#agggtm #a good girls guide to murder #agggtm spoilers #pip fitz amobi #mary answers

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smolsleepyfox · 6 months

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Girl with the Dog - "Big bad wolf in the shop" Video Transcript

[Video opens on the back porch of a house framed by high fences. There is a sign on the wall saying "Tessa Simonetti, dog groomer". It's sunny, and on the wooden porch, a gigantic red dog (?) is lying, relaxing in the sun. It has medium-length copper-coloured fur and broad shoulders, the ears are relaxed but turned slightly forward while its eyes are closed]

Voice-over: This massive beast is Milo.

[The scene changes into the hallway leading inside. The door opens to allow the wolf to come inside. The camera angle is at waist height, accentuating how massive the wolf is as he trots inside. He barely fits through the door, sniffing the environment briefly before the scene switches to the inside of the shop.]

Voice-over: A lot of you have been wondering if my tools could be used for lycanthropic fur and the answer is yes! But I'm aware it can be scary to come into a shop unprepared, so today I'll show you how I take care of a werewolf coat. Milo is a friend who has graciously volunteered his presence. Because of course, getting a full body massage is just such a sacrifice.

[They walk across the room towards a smaller enclosed area with walls far taller than the groomer. The wolf looks at it and gives the groomer a skeptical look.]

Groomer: I know, you're a big fluffy beast. [She pauses.] Sorry, I haven't had sapient clients in a while. [She laughs.]

[Milo walks into the shower but it's a tight squeeze. He rises on his hind legs and rests his front paws on the shower wall to make some space.]

Groomer: I guess that works.

[She warms up the water and begins to soak his coat. It turns a dark shade of red, but most of the water slides right off.]

Groomer: Werewolves tend to have very thick fur, and Milo's is unusually long for his species. You can tell it doesn't absorb water at all.

[She puts her entire hand into his coat and pulls out a fistful of cream-colored fur.]

Groomer: You're gonna blow up my shop later on I can tell. I wish I had the nozzle here but someone's too big for the bathtub.

[Milo looks down and makes a vague shrugging motion.]

[The groomer continues to soak his coat and starts rubbing in the shampoo.]

VO: Milo is a European, or more commonly called eldritch-type werewolf. As werewolves, they are in a human form most of the time. Or… mostly human at least. Unlike arcane werewolves, their bodies are actually different on an anatomical level.

[The camera focuses on the hind legs, which seem… odd. The overall anatomy is right but the proportions seem slightly off. The water also makes light strips of skin over his ankles appear.]

VO: During transformations, there is also a two-legged form most of you will be familiar with from books and movies, or as you can see, a fully lupine form.

A lot of you have asked if bathing is absolutely necessary. I usually don't groom dry for several reasons. For one thing, it's more hygienic, because you don't have all that dander flying around, and it's easier to clean. Bathing also gets the undercoat out more thoroughly. I'm bathing him today in Floof This! Deshedding Shampoo, because he's shedding like a beast and it will feel really good to get all of that out.

Groomer: Can you come down from there? I can't reach that far up.

[Milo considers her for a moment before sitting down in the shower. He's still very tall, but low enough for the groomer to reach his face. He flinches when the water goes over his head and bares his teeth for a moment.]

Groomer: I know, I know, it's no fun.

VO: One prerequisite to grooming is of course being in control of your wolf form. Milo is not about to start chewing on me, which is something I always need to take into consideration. While there are restraints that are cleared for this type of force, it's not something I do unless absolutely necessary.

Grooming is not really a requirement for old world werewolves, because there is a strong continuity between the wolf and human form, but it's still something that can be helpful. Physical transformations put a lot of stress on the body and it's common to have lasting soreness and later on develop arthritis and other joint pain.

[She finishes washing his face and cuts to a mountain of towels next to the shower.]

VO: After a thousand days and a thousand nights, the shower is done and Milo has increased my laundry by a factor of ten. The bad news is, he's too big for the table. The good news, I won't have to bend down too much.

[Milo lays down on the floor while she wipes up the massive amount of water on the ground. That done, the groomer begins running her hand through his fur from all angles, which he seems to enjoy. His eyes are closed for most of this.]

Groomer: So I'm checking for mats here. They're not super common, but it can happen if the fur got wet and then was left to air dry. Can you move?

[She tries to roll him over, unsuccessfully.]

Groomer: Please?

[Milo rolls over. When she begins checking his belly, his demeanor changes. He lifts his head and licks his lips, following her movements with his eyes.]

VO: It's very important to talk about boundaries and potential triggers before a groom, especially if you've never worked together before. Many are apprehensive about having their sanitary areas treated by a stranger and you can absolutely discuss your preferences beforehand. Physical and emotional trauma is unfortunately also exceedingly common, and even a completely rational wolf can snap. You can tell Milo is a bit nervous, but I know what to look out for, so I'm not worried about getting my face ripped off. Otherwise I wouldn't be doing this.

[She finishes checking him and shakes wet fur from her hands.]

Groomer: This would be easier if you could talk.

Milo (in a strained, horrifying approximation of speech): You'd think so.

[The groomer freezes. Milo grins and licks his snout, visibly pleased with the reaction.]

Groomer: Oh-kay. Wow.

VO: I considered using a happy hoodie, but there was a bit of a capacity problem, so Milo will have to do without. I put on my beekeeper's hat, and now I'll leave you to enjoy this epic furnado.

[Happy instrumental music. Milo is still alert while she dries his belly but relaxes when she moves on to his back. He doesn't doze exactly but lays his head on his legs and relaxes. There is cream-colored fur flying everywhere, to the point of coating the camera lense. Milo sneezes when fur gets stuck to his nose.]

VO: After another one thousand years, Milo is finally dry. I am using the NyoomGroom today. Wolf fur is fairly rough, especially compared to other canines of a similar coat length, and this is the best tool I've found to remove undercoat without causing unnecessary pulling.

That doesn't mean no pulling though and the king makes sure to voice his displeasure.

[The brush removes even more fur, even though his coat doesn't seem to thin either way. The groomer's hand exposes scarring hidden under the coat. Milo grows quietly when she gets close to his ears. When she ignores him, he growls louder. Ignored again, he finally snaps at her, his teeth closing loudly next to her hand. It's clear he could have gotten her if he wanted to.]

Groomer: Okay, okay, I'm sorry!

VO: That's what happens when you don't listen. I switched to the AquiGroomer for the rest of the brushing, and Milo was much happier.

[More brushing, though she leaves out his ears. Milo observes her carefully either way, also while she brushes the shorter fur on his legs.]

VO: There were no mats today, but it still took me seven years to brush him, and another seven to clean it up. Look at that mountain of fur.

[Shot of a pile of light fur, about the size of a Golden Retriever.]

VO: His Majesty was kind enough to stand so I could complete his paws. He did not want a nail trim today, which was a relief for my hands.

[Change of angle, Milo has sat up, lifting his paw for the groomer to shave out his paw pads. His paw flexes, extending his claws as if she's tickling him. He yawns again, this time a stress yawn.]

Groomer: We're nearly done.

VO: I am spraying him down in Spring Forest cologne, and after a staggering six and a half hours, Milo is finished and looking fantastic.

[Shot of Milo trotting out into the garden, clearly making sure to look as impressive as possible.]

VO: Thank you for watching, and I hope you enjoyed the marvelous Milo.

#I've been slightly obsessed with girl with the dogs. i bet she could deal with a werewolf #foxy speaks #girl with the dogs #my wolf boys #writers on tumblr

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wordsafterhours · 1 year

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Songs About You - Chapter 13

Author's Note: Y'all!!!! Finally. It's been what, two months? Eek, I'm so sorry. I had a family loss and then I just couldn't write to save my life. So, long overdue, here's an update and I hope it was worth the wait. Honestly, it was meant to be double the length, but I figured I would split it into two chapters.

Word Count: 4.6k

Masterlist

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Aelin’s favorite time of year was just about here but there wasn’t an excited ounce in her body. No Yulemas cheer to be found. The decorations for the entire house still sat boxed up, forgotten and dusty in the basement. Several times she’d opened the doors to retrieve them but had found some excuse to not venture down the stairs. Today, was no exception.

She was sprawled out on the floor in her library, a worn book in her hands, enjoying the warmth of the fire as it danced across her skin. Nothing productive had occurred since Aelin had gotten up but sometimes days spent doing nothing were exactly what one should do. Since Present Tense had been doing well, she had been able to take on an employee: Evangeline.

Lysandra had met Evangeline through a youth outreach program a few years prior and the pair had formed an amazing bond in the interim, with Lysandra mentoring the young girl. Newly aged out of the system, Evangeline was having to learn to do life on her own, relatively speaking because Lys never strayed far from her side.

Evangeline was a quick study, surprising Aelin with her knowledge of both fiction and non-fiction volumes. She hadn’t anticipated leaving her alone at the store, but it had become clear that she would call Aelin with any questions or problems. One week later, she was abandoning her baby, choosing to lay on the floor doing nothing.

The excess free time had proved to be a detriment. Rowan’s steely presence had made her feel better and for days after their sleepover, she had been able to ignore the melancholy. Communication had been few and far between since then. While she wanted to ask him the reasoning, it felt like she couldn’t. They were friends, but not enough to where he owed her explanations or dedicated time for catching up.

Yet, it’s the only thing she wanted: a meaningful place in his life.

“This is stupid,” she chastised herself, flopping onto her back and staring at the ceiling. The pattern of seeking outside happiness was hard to break. ‘It hadn’t always been like this’ was quickly proving to be the tag line of her life. Seeking distraction, Aelin plucked her discarded phone from the floor and mindlessly scrolled through her socials.

It all was a stark reminder of what she didn’t have: a successful relationship, a child, family… She supposed the last one was a quasi-lie. Her cousin and uncle were very much alive but after Arobynn’s deceit had come to life, so had Gavriel and Aedion’s involvement in the Vaults. It was unforgiveable.

Mercifully, the familiar vibration of an incoming phone call saved her from sinking further into self-pity.

“Hello?” she answered quickly, not bothering to check the caller ID beforehand.

“Aelinnnnn!”

“Dorian! It’s so wonderful to hear your voice.”

“Well, you’d hear it more often if you ever bothered to check in,” he replied jokingly but not enough that she didn’t detect a small note of hurt.

“You’re right, I’ve been a shit friend lately.”

“The absolute worst,” Dorian confirmed with dramatic flair.

“To be fair, you didn’t call either.”

“I know, which is why I’m following up this phone call with an invitation to see my handsome, smiling face in person.”

“WHAT?” she yelped, jumping to her feet. “You’re here in Orynth?”

“Specifically, 20 King’s Road.”

Mere seconds ticked by, just enough for his statement to sink in, before she was pushing through the library door, dodging the dog lying on her bedroom floor, and sprinting down the stairs. Aelin was in Dorian’s arms the moment she opened the door, clinging to him as though he were life itself.

Not ready for her launch, the man stumbled backwards a few steps, but managed to stabilize them both as he held her close. “Hi, Ae,” he mumbled into her hair.

“It’s been too long, Dor.”

She slipped from his grasp, taking a step back to take him all in. Dorian had this enduring boyish charm to him, and his laughter was infectious. Sometimes, she envied the way he seemed to have nothing weighing him down, like he hadn’t a single care in the world. He was passionate and loyal and always seemed to show up when he was needed. His black hair had grown longer in the year apart, touching his collar and following over his ears. Bright eyed as ever.

“Are you done?” he jested, rolling his eyes.

“I was just making sure I was still the most beautiful one in this friendship.”

A pinched look appeared on Dorian’s face, and she knew he was internally trying to talk himself down from participating in this redundant argument. Both vain, both beautiful, and always trying to outdo the other. “I’m not doing this with you, not today. This is a pass because of what’s been going on in your life. Not that you bothered to tell me. I had to listen to my best friend go on and on about it. Let me tell you, after an hour, I was ready to be fed to a pack of ghost leopards.”

The blonde did her best not to laugh, but a small chuckle escaped.

“Go ahead, laugh at my misery. There is nothing I could ever do or have done to deserve listening to that man whine drunkenly for the better part of an entire evening. It was pathetic really.”

“Thank you for your service,” Aelin grinned, placing a reassuring hand on Dorian’s shoulder.

“Don’t mention it… or actually, I know how you can repay me,” the raven-haired man announced, a devilish smirk tipping up his lips.

‘This, this is not good,’ Aelin thought to herself. Dorian was a level unto himself, and her current state would not allow her to keep up with whatever hairbrained idea he seemed to be concocting.

Muscle taut, she braced herself for what his next words would be.

“You can come to Moonie’s with me.”

“Huh?”

“Close your jaw and nod your pretty little head in agreement.”

“How do you even know about Moonie’s?”

The rustic bar was not Dorian’s scene. He haunted places like Manon’s bar, The Thirteen; places with a certain ambiance and ability to have VIP section and service. He was very much a creature of luxury subsequent to his wealthy upbringing.

“Why must everything be so difficult?” he whined, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I started my morning at your store, except to my surprise, you weren’t there, and a young, dark-headed girl was. Naturally, I introduced myself in attempt to discern your whereabouts when Lys came in and interrupted the conversation per usual. Anyways, long story short, I traded a ‘yes’ to the bar to catch up, for your location.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat.”

“Gods, where is this establishment? The Staghorns themselves?” her male counterpart griped from the passenger seat.

“Oh hush. It’s not even been half an hour.”

“I’m going to murder Lysandra. Moonie’s is really code for ‘the woods’, isn’t it?”

Aelin slid her gaze sideways, pinning Dorian with an annoyed look. A small fragment of her felt sympathy but another part relished in how distressed he looked, half his face pressed into the window and his bottom lip stuck out, pouting. As soon as they got to the bar, this would be Lysandra’s problem. There were beers and Fenrys awaiting her.

Soon, she was parking her vehicle in the lot, pleased to have found up front parking. It was going to be a good night if the plethora of parked cars was any indication. The driver-side door wasn’t even shut before her turquoise eyes saw the back of Dorian disappearing into the bar. “No, that’s fine. Don’t wait for me,” Aelin muttered to the cold night air.

The loud cacophony of Moonie’s patrons reached her ears before she’d even set both feet on the worn porch. Whatever she had been expecting, it was not this. There wasn’t an empty table to be found, with many groups of people standing amongst themselves, drinking and talking. The carved-out area of the dance floor was equally occupied, twirling bodies artfully avoiding one another as they moved about. Despite the somber mood that had gripped her most of the day, even in the presence of her giddy friend, Aelin found her pink lips pulling up into the ghost of a smile.

Fenrys’ blond head was a glowing beacon up towards the bar, summoning her like a moth to flame. As she neared, an unladylike snort left her as she noted Dorian and him locked in conversation. The odds of those two finding one another should have been higher—for her sake, at the very least.

“There she is, the only woman I’ll ever get on my knees for,” crooned Fenrys, hand out in expectation.

Aelin’s cheeks burned, the drunkenly declared compliment making her feel as though the entire bar had heard him. Still, she took his hand, and he pulled her close, body flush against his. Dorian, grinning like a fiend, said nothing as he took sip from his glass.

“I see you move quick,” she observed.

“It’s not my fault you’re slow.”

“Dor, you practically ran inside. There was a dust shaped outline of you by the passenger side door.”

“I did not run in here like some degenerate alcoholic,” he asserted with a pinched look.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Gods themselves, remind me why we’re friends again?”

“Because she’s perfect,” chimed in Fenrys, briefly squeezing her tighter.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Aelin admitted.

“One of these days, you’re going to see yourself the way everyone else does,” the raven-haired man quietly acknowledged, dimming the playful tone of the conversation.

Feeling awkward, she shuffled through her brain for a redirection tact. “I want you guys to tell me something—” Both their gazes on her, interest piqued as they waited for her to continue. “How is that you two singled one another out in the bar with this many people in it?”

A coy look passed between the two. “Oh Aelin, didn’t anyone every tell you, like calls to like?”

Raising her hand in protest, she was quickly shushed by Fenrys as he insisted that they go sit down. Still trapped by his arm around her shoulders, there was no choice but to follow. Before the night was over, the actual reason would come to light.

Two long tables were shoved together to accommodate the gathering of friends tonight. Half a bench was open at one of them and Aelin sat, smothered between Dorian and Fenrys. At the opposite end, a familiar head of silver caught her eye. Subtly, she looked over; instant regret filled her veins as she caught him placing a kiss to Lyria’s lips.

Unconsciously, her body must have stiffened, because suddenly Dorian was leaning into her, his lips brushing against the shell of her right ear. “You okay?”

Not trusting her voice, she worried her lip, giving the best nod she could muster. His blue eyes appraised her heavily before flicking away. Steeling herself, Aelin joined in the conversation, doing her best to catch up with everyone and ignore Rowan and Lyria without seeming like she was.

Every now and again, the boys would lean in, and ask her if she was doing okay. Or make small jokes and off-colored comments. Perhaps, because of their closeness, they could feel the unyielding tension in her body or sense that she wasn’t really engaged, interjecting at bare minimum… whatever it was, she was grateful for their check-ins. It also helped distract her from the feeling of eyes boring into the side of her head.

“Fen, move, I have to pee,” she whispered, tapping his thigh.

“And here I thought you were trying to cop a feel.”

“If that ever happens, you’ll know,” Aelin declared.

“You promise?” he waggled his eyes brows, laughing harder as her gaze narrowed.

Flustered at being so easily ruffled, Aelin hurried down the dimly lit corridor to the bathrooms. Why they were so far out of the way, she’d never understand, but at least it was quieter here and free from intense stares. Worn frames with black and white photos lined the hallway. Until now, Aelin hadn’t really noticed their presence, whether it was from alcohol or general unawareness, she couldn’t say.

Smiling, familiar faces stared back at her. It was “The Cadre”, Rowan and his friends, in various ages and settings. Rowan wasn’t in the younger ones, but you would have never guessed from how well he fit into the ones he was a part of. His accent was a dead giveaway that he came from across the sea but in their conversations, exactly where had not come to light.

Wistfully, her fingers traced along the frames, chasing the feelings depicted within. Their happiness was palpable, seemingly leaking from the edges, highlighting emotions not privy to her for some time.

“That was last summer,” a rough, lilted voice spoke from behind her, sending her heart skittering into rapid staccato. Hand to chest, Aelin refused to turn around, instead electing to remain looking the photo. All five were covered in mud, looking at one another and laughing—so carefree and present. It truly was a magnificent candid shot.

Teeth, sharp, sunk into her plush bottom lip, reminding her to maintain composure as she felt him move closer, nearly flush against her back. It would take nothing to close the distance, something she wanted more than anything, but would not grant him the satisfaction.

His warm breath fanned against her as he spoke once more. “We were helping one of my neighbors clean up their property. Too many felled trees and debris result in increased fire hazard. And last year, it had been dry, no rain and was windy the entire blasted month of June. I was afraid that if a fire happened, they would lose their house. So, the guys, they helped clean it up. The last day, it rained… Actually, it was a godsdamned torrential down pour. This was taken after it quit. To say we had fun would be an understatement.”

Aelin could feel the joy of that day like it was her own. Rowan, he was a natural born storyteller. It didn’t matter with what he had to say was two sentences or twenty, she always found herself on the proverbial edge of her seat, waiting for what he’d say next. It seemed as though he was done when the silence lapsed from seconds into minutes.

She could feel the large breath he loosed, the distance between them still so minute that he could have been touching her. “Nothing to say?”

Frustration clung heavy to those three little words.

“No.” Succinct. No room for argument.

“You and I both know that’s a lie. I can see how flushed your skin is. You posture is bone-breaking rigid. You’re tapping your fingers against your thigh.” It was the arrogance of his observation that burst the dam.

“You don’t deserve my words, Rowan. Only my friends deserve my words.”

He snorted, widening the space between them, her body cried at the loss of his warmth. “That must be why you were practically in Fenrys’ and Adarlanian prince’s laps all night, whispering in their ears. I wasn’t aware that was appropriate behavior amongst friends.”

First. How dare he. Aelin was seething at what the silver-haired man had just implied. Secondly, how did he know Dorian was the son of Adarlan’s governor? Had she been that checked out in the conversation? Thirdly, he was all over Lyria since she had sat down at the table.

“Oh, go fuck yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

“Go. Fuck. Yourself. You literally slept in my bed, witnessed me at my worst, and then disappeared for weeks. I’ve reached out, you’ve not answered or give one- or two-word replies. What happened to ‘you can count on me’?”

The telltale burning of tears had Aelin digging her nails into her palms, a poor attempt at redirecting her frustration and hurt.

“I have a life, Aelin! I’ve been busy. I have a girlfriend. I can’t just be around 24/7 to hold your hand,” he barked angrily, throwing his hands up.

Girlfriend.

Girlfriend. That word echoed against the walls of newly formed cavern in her chest. She was going to be sick.

“Well, excuse me for having taken you at your word. I am sorry to have wasted your time and you won’t have to worry about ‘holding’ my hand anymore.”

An unknown emotion flitted across his face as she used her hands to quote him. Not giving him the chance of rebuttal, she hit her shoulder hard into his as she passed. Fleeing into the bathroom, with barely enough time to lock the door, her knees buckled.

She pressed the heel of her hands hard into her eyes, almost to the point of pain, quelling the tears. If her lids had to be taped shut in order for no tears to come, that’s what would happen. Despite wanting to give up, wanting to give in to the debilitating sadness and exhaustion, she could not go there again. There would be no one left on the other side.

Rising to her feet, Aelin walked to the sink, and splashed cool water on her face. Two swipes of a paper towel and her runny mascara looked immaculate again. Pale skin was marred pink, eyes a little swollen, but hopefully no one at the table would look too closely.

Her heart lifted a little when she returned to the table to see neither Rowan nor Lyria in sight. At least she wouldn’t have to sit there, acting normal, after having her heart pulverized by his callous words. Both Dorian and Fenrys jumped to their feet when she came to stand behind them.

“Aeeeeeee, you were gone for so long, I thought you left me,” slurred Dorian, throwing a heavy arm around her.

“He acts like he didn’t want that,” Fenrys chimed in, pointedly looking at his new friend.

Dorian pinked up and looked away. “What did I miss?”

“An extremely interesting round of truth or dare.”

“Well, fill me in,” she pleaded. A distraction was welcome, needed.

“Oh no, no, no my dashing blonde friend. You snooze, you lose,” cooed Dorian, leaning his head against her.

“I’m sorry I have a bladder.”

“Learn to hold it like the rest of us.”

“You know what, you can sit here with everyone else. Fenrys and I are going to dance.” She slipped out from his grasp, instead trading it for the golden male’s. Dorian made to follow them, but Manon grabbed his hand before he could get to far. Aelin smirked, mouthing thanks to her friend. She wasn’t sure what he was whining in protest, but from the overly devious look on the other woman’s face, Aelin was feeling quite satisfied and not the least bit sorry.

The song playing throughout the bar didn’t fit the ambience of the establishment, but she supposed that it was one of the things that made Moonie’s so charming. It was never what she expected.

Rhythmic beats pulsed through the air and Aelin moved her body against Fen’s without a care in the world. Her back was flush to his chest, but not indecent enough that anyone could yell “get a room” at them. The male’s hands, came to rest on her hips, holding her close the best he could while also maintaining a decent hold of his drink.

Still, unfairly aware of her surroundings, her deft fingers relieved him of his drink. She downed it in an instant, grimacing only slightly as the unpleasant burn of whiskey gripped her throat.

“Some of us were drinking that!” Fenrys remarked against the shell of her ear.

“It was very good, thank you.”

“Would you like another?”

She nodded, holding up two fingers to convey a double.

Spinning, hands up in the air, Aelin laughed, not caring if she looked ridiculous. The alcohol was providing enough of a light-headed feeling that she no longer was noting every detail, cataloguing the people around, cycling through Rowan’s cruel conversation behind it all.

By the next song, Fenrys was making his way back to her, drinks in hand and Dorian, looking a little worse for wear, trailing behind him. “Hi babes!” she joyfully (drunkenly) declared, throwing her weight into Dorian as she wrapped her arms around him.

“I see you’ve been having fun.”

She tucked her head in embarrassment, a sheepish laugh escaping her.

“It’s about time you laughed. You don’t do it enough and it’s beautiful,” her other friend said from behind. A full glass of whatever whiskey concoction he had gotten her, appeared in her peripheral. She grabbed it, pushing away from Dorian, and quickly disappearing half the glass before anyone could caution her against it.

It burned less, numbed more, and it was exactly the feeling Aelin was desperately chasing. The blurred state that only came with participating in reckless behaviors. As the glass touched her lips again, the weight of heavy stares caused her to pause. The two sets of eyes were so starkly different, a night and day contrast, yet both conveyed the same thing:

You should slow down.

“What?” she asked innocently, hoping no lecture or words of caution would result from it.

The two shared a glance but neither spoke up, instead choosing to wash down their words with libations.

The drink was gone, and they’d been idle too long. “Let’s dance!” she yelled, spinning away with childish abandonment. The group huddled together, moving to some electronic pop number. Fists in the air, they jumped up and down, careful not to knock into anyone else.

Aelin felt weightless. Carefree. Untraumatized. Too long it had been since she had felt so unburdened from her life. This feeling was addictive and she wished that this moment could be bottled up, to be sipped on later when the heaviness of it all, was drowning her so relentlessly.

They danced and danced and danced. Sometimes, she was sandwiched between the two boys, other times, they danced alone, or took turns spinning one another when a two-step song came on. Her legs would be akin to a new-born deer tomorrow, unlikely to hold her up. Perhaps, Fleetfoot would entertain herself… unlikely but with the high she was riding tonight, a small glimmer of hope nagged her thoughts.

“Guys,” she said loudly over the music, “I think I’m going to go sit down for a second. Elide needs to come dance with us. I’m going to have to pry her off Lorcan.”

“Goodluck,” Fenrys muttered whilst giving her a dramatic salute.

Her legs felt like jello as she did her best to remain upright through her stumble off the dance floor. The lightheaded feeling created by copious amounts of alcohol was still present but not as severe as it had been. Her two dance partners where largely to blame for her current elated mood.

Spying their table, her eyes roved over familiar heads, but disappointingly, Lorcan was present without Elide. Two others were also still surprisingly absent. Despite their earlier altercation, her heart still withered a little in her chest knowing he had truly left with Lyria.

“Where’s ‘Lide?” Aelin asked of no one in particular.

Vaughn pointed over his shoulder, “Taking someone for all their money in pool.” Loudly she snorted. Elide was a pool shark and was never suspected of it until halfway through a game. It was a good bit of entertainment on many occasions.

The petite creature in question was leaning against a pool table, stick pressed against her face, animatedly talking to somebody sitting down. Two seconds away from barreling in unannounced, Aelin stopped dead in her tracks, as though an invisible wall had been dropped in front of her.

“—the only remaining family she has was charged in connection with Arobynn and the Vaults. They later dropped the charges in exchange for information, but she never forgave them.”

“Why not?”

“You didn’t know her before. She was this bright flame, drawing everyone to her. Even when we were kids, you couldn’t help but notice her. A godsdamned force of nature with a penchant for sweets. She drove Rhoe and Evalin crazy… I think it’s why they just had one kid, ya know? And then, when Gavriel and Aedion moved to the city, she gained a sibling, and never looked back. The thing about her, is she loves with her whole heart—all or nothing. So when she gets let down, she really feels it.”

Aelin didn’t dare move, frozen in equal parts disbelief, anger, and uncertainty. How could her best friend be talking about her life like none of it was painful, private? Or hers to safeguard or disclose? Her cousin and uncle’s names still salt in raw wound.

“After her parents, she recovered by leaning on the remaining men in her life that she considered family. But when Arobynn was found to be the reason they were dead and that her cousin and uncle had been involved in the underground operation he largely headed, it broke something in her. The fire dimmed. I think most days, it’s nothing more than a hot coal, barely glowing.”

A few beats of uncomfortable silence passed before the petite, dark-haired woman added, “Somedays, I think she’d be okay with laying down and never getting up again.”

“I think you’re right.” It was the absolute pity in his lilting voice that spurred her into action.

Clapping down the triangular ball setter, Aelin took momentary satisfaction in Elide’s surprise and subsequent dropping on the pool stick.

“I don’t know what hurts worse, that my best friend is talking about my life like it’s Friday night dinner conversation or that you’re listening like you don’t shit on my feelings every two godsdamned seconds!”

Both looked shamefaced, standing next to one another, refusing to meet her gaze.

“One of you has a right to my life because you’ve been here to see it. You knew my parents, my cousin, my uncle. You had a front row seat to me falling apart, wiped my tears when it became too much. You know better. Or you should. There’s stuff that you know that not even my ex-boyfriend of six years knew.”

Elide went to open her mouth, dark eyes finally rising to meet Aelin’s furious and hurt gaze. She nodded, holding up a palm before looking at Rowan, narrowing her gaze.

“And you! Are my feelings some sort of game to you? One minute you’re promising to be around, to be someone I can count on, and the next, you’re squashing me under your boot. You can’t have it both ways, Rowan. You either fucking care or you don’t. I don’t need your pity when it’s convenient.” Aelin had done her best not to cry, but the minute her voice cracked on his name, the tears slowly rolled down flushed cheeks.

If someone had dropped a pen, it would have echoed. The bar’s merriment and debauchery had simply vanished in the wake of this unfolding debacle.

“Ae—” Rowan started in as he took a step towards her.

“I think you’ve done enough, Ro,” Fenrys said from somewhere behind her. Soon, his warm hug enveloped her from behind. She sagged in relief. The silver-haired man took another two steps before he stopped, heeding whatever look her blond counterpart had given him.

“You okay?” he whispered into her hair.

Too tired to answer, she meekly nodded no.

“I’ll take you home, Kid.”

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

Tag List:

@theresyourfireandblood @backtobl4ck @leiawritesstories @morganofthewildfire @rowaelinismyotp @jorjy-jo @theresyourfireandblood @numbers-colors-fashion @swankii-art-teacher @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @stardelia @astra-ad-mare

Let me know if you want to be added on the tag list!

#rowan x aelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #elide lochan #fenrys moonbeam #Moonie's #rowaelin #rowaelin au #dorian havilliard #I kinda stan a dorian and Fenrys romp ;)#throne of glass #songs about you #romance #slow burn #will Aelin ever stop crying?#friends to lovers

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hexhomos · 11 months

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I'm sorry if you've been asked this before but what are your thoughts about Arcane potentially being canon? I do not like it.

And if you don't mind answering another question, how do you feel about the way people sort of interpret Jayce and Viktor?

I don't think it's a good idea and it strips away many of the interesting things about these characters and the *universe's story as a whole* to exclusively represent the simplified, time-limited version of events that could fit the runtime of a TV show.

I've been asked this before and I always say this: Arcane is the MCU version of league lore; with the same strengths (improved visuals, the fast pacing of a cinematographic adaptation) and same biggest weaknesses (flimsy story summarizations that sacrifice a lot of the compelling narrative and kill entire characters)

I've been a comic fan for nearly as long as the MCU has been viral and I can tell you every attempt to retcon MCU events into the estabilished comic universe has not worked. It has the opposite effect of interrupting character arcs and stories people actually like and undoing pre-estabilished facts about the magic of the universe, driving away fans of the original medium while failing to attract the new movie/tv-show audience to check out the original, because those are completely different demographics.

It's even worse with Arcane, as we already KNOW one big joke in the fanbase is "even if you like the show, dont play the game. It's stupid bigoted redditor shit and it sucks" - there's an entire genre of arcane fan accounts who are militant about not playing the game and encourage others to never play the game. I don't think league's execs understand this, though, which is why we are seeing this current trend of a DRASTIC pullback in any and all lore-related content for league coming from higher-ups, and some of the old estabilished writers leaving the company while CEOs promise they're trying to find "an unified version of the narrative experience."

To stay on topic here and also answer your second question; ive rambled at length about jayce viktor interpretations in my meta tag. I reccomend you to look there! You'll notice i havent gone into specifics about what in arcane's narrative is weaker since its included on those.

I'd like to finish this post in another way though. In the long run, I don't think it matters that execs are trying to force narrative retcons despite the internal and external negative response to it. Fans will always like the specific thing they like, and in this scenario, start to define what versions of the universe/character they're talking about by release year or authorship, which is already happening in league. This is why the vikjayce codex exists and will not change, and this is why you see people using "2011/2016 lore" and "jayce giopara", etc.

Remember all these MCU retcons I mentioned? Whenever a movie is past its expiration date and the story element they tried to fit into original canon is considered a fad, it's just rewritten back to what it used to be. The newest marvel news this month is that CEOs decided to kill kamala khan ahead of her upcoming movie, as the MCU couldn't fit her signature elastigirl powers and they want to swap those out for the dumb purple magic the movies gave her instead. This will not last, as these never do. In 4 years she'll be back to normal, and in the meantime, elastigirl kamala will continue to exist in all her source books and videogames. The same way league's original bios are preserved and spin-off game content like the LOR comics or Convergence will continue to exist; I can't change any shortsighted decision from the CEOs, but fans as a whole have systems to define different universes and pick the version they like best.

Arcane has been called an AU by people who've worked in LoL's narrative, and is just the newest shiny thing. It is not "canon", as it never fit any part of the current game universe, and any future attempt to "make it canon" is just another permutation of an AU. I would encourage anyone who's nervous or anxious about retcons to not give a shit and disregard it altogether. If it doesn't work, you can always change it back.

#hextxt #meta tag

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sshannonauthor · 2 years

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I'm sure this wasn't deliberate but I couldn't help but wonder is all - it's a complex topic and education on Jewish history isn't very common outside of Jewish communities 2/2

Hi,

Thank you for sending this, and for the kindness of your message. It's important to me that I always remain conscious of how my work could be read outside my perspective, and I’m really grateful you took the time to share yours.

Apologies in advance for the length of this reply – this is a complex subject, as you say, and an important one, and it deserves more than something I rushed off the keyboard. Before I say anything else, I’m so sorry for the discomfort I've caused you. I want to make it very clear that I would never inflict that on a reader with intent, and it’s shaken me to realise I had this blind spot about a potential interpretation of a series I’ve poured so much of my life into. I’ve always understood and accepted that the author’s intention doesn’t negate impact, but I’ll try to distil my approach to including Jewish mythology in the books, as you’ve asked about it – hopefully without writing an essay.

I grew up with Biblical stories from a very young age. When I was nineteen – the age I was when I wrote the first book – it seemed completely natural and instinctive to draw on those stories in my writing, since they had, until recently, been part of my daily life. I had been in Christian faith schools and churches since I was a child, and I’d had comparatively little exposure to Judaism – or really, to any religion but Christianity – by the summer of 2011, when I put pen to paper. This meant that, at the time, I didn’t meaningfully separate Jewish and Christian stories in my head; I didn’t have a developed understanding of how they were different, or the specific ways in which I might need to tread with care when drawing them into my work, or even if I had the skill or wisdom to do that. I wanted to reimagine a Greek myth with stories and influences that had impacted my life in various ways (e.g. my link to Ireland, my time at Oxford), and I saw the entire Bible as both as the body of history and myth that I knew best, and one that had affected me significantly from childhood. I didn’t have the maturity, at nineteen or twenty, to dig into the nuances of that. All of this meant that my research process was nowhere near as layered or rigorous as it would have been if I were starting the series now.

When I imagined the inhabitants of the Netherworld, I had always pictured them as both large in stature and associated with death. The word Rephaim brought those ideas together in a way no other word had – I still remember how excited I was by its etymology, even before etymology became my big passion. Since I also thought the Victorian government of England would logically have looked to the Bible for answers when the Netherworld and Earth collided, that was the word I decided on. I didn’t remotely consider that this could have problematic implications; my understanding of potentially harmful tropes, or the need to be familiar with them, was very limited.

I promised myself I’d keep my background explanation to two paragraphs, to avoid turning this into a huge wall of text, but I want to tell you how I’m going to take your message into account, moving forward. I am really humbled to hear you’ve still been able to enjoy the series, and relieved that you alerted me to this reading just as I go into the second arc – it means I still have three more roomy books to do remedial work, and I can keep this at the front of my mind as I go. The good thing about the series, in this context, is that it’s an alternate history, rather than a secondary world, which means I have the creative freedom to actually discuss and acknowledge my use of real mythology and religions on the page; the Rephs exist alongside that mythology, rather than replacing it.

My hope is that Book 5 is where I can start to make big strides in counteracting my carelessness when I was first building the world – this was always the one where I wanted to start widening the series’ horizons and considering the Rephs from a broader international and historical perspective. Book 5 brings out more of the inspiration from Prometheus and Pandora, associates the Rephs with the Greco-Roman gods and other bodies of myth, and brings them into contact with the world beyond Scion, all of which I hope will help to detach them from a single mythology. This series, its characters, and the people who have supported it all mean the world to me, and I will do everything I can to deliver a finished story that sees and respects all of its readers, with the knowledge and (hopefully) skill I’ve accumulated in the eleven years since I started the first book.

I caught this message just as I was about to log off for the week – I’m going to make a lot of Bloomsbury people’s jobs very difficult if I don't hit my deadline – but if you have any more thoughts, please feel free to send them, and I’ll make sure I read when I get back and I can devote my full attention to them. Thank you again for sending this – I am grateful you took the time, as it helps me learn and grow.

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storyunrelated · 1 month

Text

Bad Dreams - Part Three

I saw a man. A man perhaps a little older than Rose and myself, and clearly not in a good way.

A man who had, at some point, decided to have only a loose relationship with eating and with hygiene and who, as a result, had got both angular and pungent. Greasy in places, dark under the eyes and pale just about everywhere. He did not inspire confidence.

Sorry to judge by appearances, but you can tell quite a bit about someone from these things sometimes and context is important - the scrawny, pale man in the dark house with newspaper on the windows makes the mind go certain places.

All of the above was also elevated to new heights by the final detail of the man being shirtless, but being shirtless in such a fashion that suggested it was more because he’d entirely forgotten about putting shirts on, rather than by having made an active choice to be shirtless.

Top to bottom the immediate, overwhelming impression was of someone who’d become so focused on something other than themselves they’d rather let it slip from their minds that they were there in the first place.

Not a great start. Oh well.

“Evening,” I said, giving a wave with one hand and putting the other hand behind my back. The other hand was the one holding the crowbar. Best to try and make as good a first impression as possible, being an intruder in the man’s house notwithstanding.

The man did not move a muscle. He then blinked, which counted as moving a muscle in my book.

“Who are you?” He asked. Surprisingly restrained given the circumstances.

I could have answered this, but instead I chose not to.

“Terribly sorry, we were expecting to find a witch,” I said instead.

“I am a witch,” the man said, maybe a touch testily, as though this was something that he ran up against a lot. Though maybe it was also because we were in his house. Maybe a bit of both.

I looked him over, tip to toe.

“...where’s your hat?” I asked.

“We don’t have to wear a hat,” he said and this time he was definitely testy and it was definitely about the witch thing.

I looked Rose over, tip to toe. Particularly the tip, where the hat was. Where the hat almost always was. In fact, no ‘almost’ about it - where the hat always was. Not a day had passed since she’d got the thing when she’d been without it. I thought those had been the rules.

“I like my hat…” she mumbled.

The man cleared his throat to get attention back on him.

“My next question - before I call the police - is going to be why are you in my house?” He asked.

You’d think he’d sound less calm, being confronted by two housebreakers. I certainly wouldn’t be so cool and I was one of the housebreakers. Right then I was mostly running on nerves and gut impulse, my brain clinging on for dear life and only able to react after I’d said anything.

Maybe he got a lot of this sort of thing?

“We’re here about the dream skimmer you got sticking out the chimney,” I said, pointing upward, in case there was any confusion about where the chimney was.

He went very quiet for a moment. I think I heard him swallow.

“Ah,” he said, at length.

He looked like a man who knew he’d been caught out. Because he was a man who had been caught out.

“Still feel like calling the police?” I asked.

“No, ideally.”

“Would that be an admission of guilt?” I asked. He looked at me like I was an idiot.

“That would suggest I have anything to be guilty of in the first place, which I reject. I’d just rather not get any more people involved and stomping about the place,” he said.

“Naturally. But since we’re already here and stomping about the place you’ll humour us?” I asked.

“If that is what it takes for you to go away,” he said through gritted teeth.

“How very obliging of you. How is the dream skimming going, just to ask? Well? Skimmer doing what it’s meant to be doing? Skimming?”

I could tell my breezy attitude towards what he plainly considered his hard work had got under his skin almost immediately, as much as he might have tried to hide it. Him and Rose too - witches were a touchy lot when it came to their witchy-business, weren’t they? Presumably it’s important to them.

Fair play, I guess. Must be galling to pour work into something and then have someone like me come in and be a smartarse about it. Would I like it if someone broke into my house and started undermining my confidence? Probably not.

“It is performing a little over what I expected,” he said, coolly.

“Delightful. Show me.”

His mouth worked a little. Whatever he’d expected it hadn’t been that.

Why else would I be here?

“I don’t think you’ll be able to appreciate the mechanism, especially given that you are not a witch and wouldn’t even be able to perceive half of the work that’s gone into it. You wouldn’t understand it. You can’t,” he said.

I didn’t think I was missing much, honestly.

“Humour me,” I said, pulling my crowbar hand from behind me and proceeding to stare him down.

Normally I’m not very good at staring anyone down and it’s not something I have a lot of call to do, but this was a special occasion and so I really poured myself into it, really meant it. I imagine that I was holding a crowbar helped a bit as he folded pretty quickly, all things considered, breaking eye contact and seeming to collapse in on himself a little bit, crossing his arms and looking away.

“Fine, fine…” He said turning around and gesturing for us to follow.

The very picture of sullen, he was.

“Come on,” I said to Rose, who squeaked.

“Really?!” She hissed.

“If all else fails I’ll crowbar our way out,” I said.

“That is not reassuring!”

She still followed, however unreassured she was, and we went up the stairs after the man. Cautiously, admittedly. I’m relaxed but I’m not an idiot. Hence the crowbar.

Downstairs had been house-like. In need of a clean, but house-like. Upstairs had been mauled. Doors were removed, plaster was exposed, holes had been knocked through walls, tubes and cables and wires ran everywhere and while I was getting nothing the wince on Rose’s face suggested a lot of magical jiggery-pokery going on.

The man, still sullen and now also mixed with open annoyance at us lollygagging, was stood waiting for us by an open doorframe.

“In here,” he said.

“After you,” I said again, giving him the nod. He glared but went in, and we followed again.

Was this going how I expected it would go? Not really. But it seems to be going well enough.

I think. I have no precedent for this sort of thing. Feels like an adventure though. I think.

We entered into what was one room that had plainly been two rooms before he’d had his way with them. He’d apparently knocked through a wall to link the two together. Not properly, I should point out. Bits of the wall remained here and there and the whole affair was held up by bits of wood the structural capacity of which I did have much confidence in. Professional it was not.

But that wasn’t the main thing, nor was that really the thing that I was paying attention to. The reason why he’d mangled the rooms together was on account of the great, sprawling, tinkling, hissing, gurgling thing that had been built and which took up most of the available space.

The dream sifter, presumably. Really didn’t look like much this close. Look like a still had had a run in with a milk churn and then left in the rain for a day or two. It was leaking in more than one place. Leaking what though was harder to say. Something.

“Very nice. Should it be leaking?” I asked, pointing to the more prominent leak. He looked, hissed, and swept up a roll of gaffer tape and quickly and liberally applied it. From the looks of the thing this was his standard response. There was a lot of tape, not to mention discarded rolls piled up in the corners.

Probably should have just made it less leaky, really. He’d save money on tape.

“Right. You’ve seen it now. Go,” he said, tossing the tape aside and glaring some more. He wasn’t getting out of this that easy.

“Hold on, hold on,” I said. “Explain this thing to me. What does it actually do?”

“You really wouldn’t understand,” the man said.

“Well, you can try. And if nothing else I’m sure Rose would appreciate hearing it. Right?” I asked, looking over to her. She was really coasting on this whole thing so far and leaving most of it to me but, in fairness, this whole thing had been my idea so I could hardly blame her.

“Um. Sure,” Rose said. She was squinting. The man was too, I noticed. Presumably the room was swimming in witchy nonsense that I was entirely unaware of, being so mundane and inert and all.

I looked back to the man and he stared at me in open, exasperated disbelief for a moment before his shoulders slumped.

“Fine. But will you then please leave me alone?”

This was another question I chose not to answer. Just gave him a winning smile instead.

He tried to explain it and I tried to follow his explanation, I really did, but I am as has been said magically inert and on top of that I’m also not that bright, so he got about three words in before I lost the thread completely.

Broadly speaking, I understood what he said something like this:

The bulk of the sifter sat in the room where we were, looking at it. It was the big ugly thing which was leaking. The delicate, sifty bits went up the chimney. Those were the bits we saw wafting about over the house, doing the sifting.

Alright, that made sense, I could follow that.

The sifty bits sifted. Shocking, I know. They sifted dreams out of the air and snatched them before they reached their proper destination and then drew them down into the main part. He did not explain how or why or where or when or anything about why dreams were just floating about loose instead of being entirely inside people’s heads but that was fine, I was beyond that, I was comfortable knowing I’d never know.

Magic. Whatever.

And then once in the main part of the sifter the dreams were condensed and distilled and filtered and whatever whatever. Basically the thing took dreams and through a series of arcane and fiddly processes turned them into some kind of liquid. Dream liquid, liquid dreams.

And this stuff was good stuff, he said. You could use it to do a variety of dream-related activities, apparently. Dream whatever you wanted. Live whole imaginary lives doing the impossible. Marry a cloud and have a whole family of raindrops, whatever tickled your fancy.

I thought you could just learn how to lucid dream. Couldn’t people do that already? Maybe that wasn’t good enough?

The man did mention, offhand, that a side effect of people having their dreams sifted or intercepted or whatever was that the ensuing void tended to invite bad dreams to come in and fill the space. Again, how that worked was something that was glossed over completely but here at least we finally had our explanation as to why any of this bad dream business was happening in the first place.

It was happening as a side-effect. This wasn’t the intention at all. The intention was this dream liquid the man wanted. The bad dreams were a consequence of the process. Somehow that’s even more galling than if it had been on purpose. Poor Nisien’s screaming and exhaustion and my bad nights were an afterthought.

In fact, no, not even an afterthought, not even a thought at all. Just background noise.

Grr.

I felt I’d heard enough.

“Why?” I asked, cutting in as the man warbled on about some point to do with the bottling process. He blinked at me.

“Why what?” He asked.

“Why did you decide to do this?”

“...I don’t understand. I did explain how it worked, didn’t I?”

“Well enough, sure. I mean why did you think this was something you had to do? Dream liquid? Why did you build this instead of just not building this? Why aren’t you playing pinball right now or literally anything else?”

Not a complicated question, I thought. He blinked at me again as he was having some difficulty working out where I was coming from. I could see him working through a slow formulation of an answer in his head, trying to hack his reasons down into something someone else might understand.

What works in our head is often difficult to put into the heads of others. Often it doesn’t survive the journey. I’m aware of this. I gave him time.

“With access to the raw, distilled essence of dreams I’m able to fully control the dreamscape. Lucid dreaming is a crock and a waste of time and beneath me, anyway. Total control is the real deal, I can do whatever I want, anything at all,” he said, eventually, slowly.

This was not a compelling answer to my not-very-complicated question. It was barely an answer at all. I pointed to the sifter again, just for emphasis.

“So this machine is sucking in the dreams of just about everyone within a however-many square mile radius, leaving a void that bad dreams rush into, and you’re basically melting all those dreams you’ve effectively stolen down into something that you fiddle about with and inject into yourself so that you can have whatever dream you want?” I asked.

“That is a ridiculously oversimplified and crude way of-” he started, but I did not let him finish.

“It’s a yes or no question and I’m holding a crowbar.”

His eyes flicked to the crowbar.

“...yes.”

The crowbar gets results. Humanity really did peak with that one.

Certainly a crowbar was infinitely superior to this dream-snaffling whatever. All these dreams all sucked in so one person can benefit? Those numbers are shocking.

“That’s spectacularly inefficient,” I said.

“Yes, but-”

I wasn’t finished though:

“Not to mention overwhelmingly selfish.”

But that should have gone without saying.

I mean honestly, I’m not even sure how anyone could get anywhere with a plan like this. How could you even start? How could you not run through it in your head, see how horrendously selfish it was and realise that, as an exercise in theory it’s diverting but in practise it would just be disgustingly self-indulgent and therefore something you shouldn’t do?

Was I missing something? Was this just me?

“Selfish?” He asked, as though the word had been a slap in the face.

“Well, yeah. If you can’t figure that out on your own I’m not sure where to start. If you eat someone else’s lunch that’s also selfish, did you know that?”

“It’s not selfish,” he said, pouting. Actually pouting.

“Feels pretty selfish from where I’m standing,” I said and he bristled a moment before replying.

“I’ll admit it’s unfortunate that some people are having bad dreams but there’s really only so much I can do about that.”

Big of him to admit that it was unfortunate.

“You could always not do it. You could do that,” I said.

He ignored this.

“It’s only in it’s prototype stage. I’ll admit it’s far from perfect now, but it’s getting better every day. Soon, pretty soon, I’ll have the ratio all the way down to one-to-one. That’ll just be one person maybe running the risk of having a bad dream - which they might not even remember anyway! - so I can dream whatever I want. Do you have any idea what I can do in those dreams?” He asked instead.

“I shudder to think.”

That took him a second.

“Not like that!”

“Hmm.”

I was thinking. I was always thinking, obviously, as are we all, but right then I was thinking about this whole thing, this whole business. Thinking about it and what I should do about it. Clearly I should do something, shouldn’t I? But what, and why?

Questions, questions.

This was a bad thing he was doing, yes? Yes, I think I can comfortably say that. Deciding that your personal enjoyment ranks above the discomfort or outright suffering of however many other people. Especially since this particular type of enjoyment is the explicit cause of that discomfort. That’s a bad thing.

I think I can follow this so far.

With that being the case what was I meant to do? Was I meant to do anything? Were any of us meant to do anything?

Maybe I’ve got a bit beyond the scope of the issue, there. Let’s pull back in a bit.

Let us say that he is right when he says the thing can be improved. Let’s assume that for a moment. Even if he got that machine down to one-to-one efficiency that’s still ensuring someone else has bad dreams so he can have good dreams.

What if he rotated who the machine picked? Isn’t it likely someone is going to have a bad dream anyway? Where’s the harm, really? Would they even notice? In the grand scheme of things, does it even matter?

Yada yada. Questions like these serve to pluck away at your energy, slow you down and divert your attentions, make you doubt yourself. Sure, if you ignore them you might make a mistake, but if you listen to them all you might end up doing nothing, and doing nothing is usually what someone doing something they shouldn’t wants you to do.

Sometimes a Gordian knot just needs cutting. Sometimes you just have to say bollocks to compromise and go full-on hey diddle diddle, straight up the middle.

So no dice. Decision made. No dream stealing. Not on my watch.

You want to have good dreams you wait for them like anyone else. Or do it in a way that doesn’t attract my attention, and the attention of my crowbar.

“Rose, you might want to step outside,” I said, which seemed to snap Rose out of whatever quiet funk she’d slipped into. Seriously, she’d really clammed up ever since we broke into a guy’s house and been confronted by the guy whose house we’d broken into.

“Huh?” She asked.

“I’m going to draw a line under this,” I said.

“Oh, right. Okay. I’ll just - I’ll go. Meet you outside,” she said, shuffling out of the room with only one or two backwards glances. The man was suddenly just a touch nervous. I could see this.

“Where’s she going? What are you talking about? What do you mean draw a line?” He asked.

“You’re a clever fellow, I’m sure you can figure it out,” I said.

Though of course I actually started smashing his sifter before he figured it out. Ain’t I a stinker.

I’m not an expert at smashing but I like to think I did an alright job. I aimed for one of the leaking spots with the pointed end of the crowbar, wedged it in, heaved, and managed to lever off a good half of the thing away from the other half. Made an awful noise and sloshed clear liquid all over. Seemed a good start.

“What are you doing?!” The man squealed, lunging but clearly unsure what to lunge at. Did he lunge at me to stop me or lunge at his machine to try and save it? He hesitated, and while he hesitated I kept going. I pried more bits loose, I whacked the crowbar into the bits that looked like they’d crumple best, I hooked the curved part over dangling bits and yanked.

I made a frightful mess. And in a very short time, too. Maybe I have hidden talents.

In a few seconds what had been a ticking, whirring, leaking device was now several bits of wheezing, leaking, non-ticking, non-whirring junk strewn across the floor and sat in puddles of clear whatever. Presumably that stuff was dreams? Condensed, liquified dreams? Didn’t look like much.

“How selfish of me,” I said. Zing.

The man was on his knees, scrabbling. Again, he obviously didn’t know what to scrabble for first and was just halfway scrabbling at everything in his hysteria.

Sort of ineffectual for a witch, you’d have thought. Maybe if he’d had his magic rod to hand he might have had better luck in beating me off. Aha. I imagine he just found the whole thing a bit overwhelming. Everything’s easier after the fact, isn’t it?

“Do you know how much that cost?!” He wailed at me, eyes glistening. I think he was about to cry.

And I wasn’t sure what this was meant to make me feel, this line about cost. Was I meant to feel worse because he’d spent more money on the thing than I might have suspected? If he’d been frugal, should I have felt less bad? Is a questionable decision that costs more easier to defend? Hmm.

If people wanted to spend money doing something they probably shouldn’t that’s perfectly allowable. Just not clear why it has any bearing on what I do or think. Value is, after all, largely subjective, is it not?

I don’t really know.

“Lots?” I asked.

“Yes! Lots! Fucking lots! Oh God, most of those components were bespoke, too!” He shouted, holding up a handful of bits that had fallen out of loosened casing. The bits glistened. They certainly looked fragile and fiddly.

“What a shame,” I said.

The man deflated, a sob wracking him. He looked down at the puddle he was kneeling in.

“And you wasted all these dreams! Wasted! You wasted them!” He said, angry now, pointing at me.

“Yeah, sure. This was all my fault.”

Mean, this exact thing was my fault, I’ll admit. The smashing bit and the making a mess was my fault. But the greater blame really can’t be ignored or moved here, come on. This is like when the bad guy says it’s not their fault they murdered people, but the fault of the good guys for trying to stop them.

Not quite like that, but similar. Right? I know what I mean.

“Strictly speaking you wasted them. I just made your dream-wasting machine fall over. But that’s splitting hairs. In future if you’re going to make my housemate’s life miserable so you can enjoy yourself, don’t. Pleasant dreams, now.”

If I’d had sunglasses I’d have put them on then. I don’t care if it’s nighttime, that’s a great sunglasses line. Kind of felt bad to waste it, but chances to drop lines like that don’t come around often and the real waste would have been saying nothing.

My hands were tied.

He didn’t say anything after that, which was good because if he had it would have ruined the moment. So I left him sniffling in his puddle of dreams and went back outside to try and find Rose.

I couldn’t find her out back because she’d gone out the front and was there standing under a streetlight looking like she’d prefer to be anywhere else other than on a street waiting under a lamppost.

“Well that’s sorted,” I said, cheerfully, giving her a wave as I wandered over.

“What did you do?” Rose asked.

I considered saying something else pithy and cool but I was far too tired to come up with anything else off the cuff so just stood there gormless and silent for a second before just coming out with it.

“Smashed his thingy with a crowbar,” I said, waggling said crowbar just so Rose knew which crowbar the thingy had been smashed with. Rose did not look impressed.

“How very direct,” she said.

“It did work pretty well. Last I saw he was crying on the floor so I think we can write this one up as a roaring success.”

“Your definition of success…” Rose tailed off and sucked her lip a moment. “I don’t know how to finish that sentence.”

“That’s fair. You were very quiet in there,” I said.

“You seemed to be on a roll. And I couldn’t really think of anything to say. Felt weird being inside someone’s house when we weren’t meant to be, even if he was, you know, doing something like that. It was kind of nerve-wracking.”

Now that it was done I could feel the tension that I’d been ignoring starting to get the better of me. The trembling had nothing to do with the encroaching chill of night, let me tell you.

“You’re not wrong,” I said, looking at my hand.

Oh God, what had I done? What had any of that been? What had I been thinking? Had I done the right thing? Had I done the right thing the wrong way? Had I done the wrong thing? Was I going to get into trouble? Was he going to tell anyone? Had it even worked? Had I just wasted an evening? Why did I feel so sick all of a sudden?

Eurgh. Worries. I hate those. I stuck my hand in my pocket and bit my tongue.

Ow.

“Can we go?” Rose asked.

“Probably wise.”

So off we went. We didn’t talk as we went. There wasn’t much to say that we hadn’t said before we set off home and besides it was late. Wouldn’t do to be talking in the street and waking people up. Proper sleep hygiene had been the motivating force behind this whole endeavour, after all.

Hadn’t it?

I bid Rose a good and restful night once we got to hers and then carried on back to mine on my own, thinking about the evening, about what had happened. Was that what an adventure felt like? Was this what you were supposed to do after one had concluded? Just go home? Was there something else I should have been doing? Was I going about this all wrong?

Was there a book I could read?

By the time I’d got back home and got in and put the chain on the door I’d stopped worrying about it. Or, rather, I was still worrying about it but was confident that a proper night’s sleep without any nightmares would make me feel a lot better about it. That is to say, everything would make sense in the morning and there wasn’t anything to be gained fretting about it in the dark.

Everything is always the worst it can be in the dark. This is pretty widely-known.

Nisien was still on the sofa, but had clearly rolled around enough to dislodge the blanket I’d laid over him, because that was on the floor. Despite this, he actually looked quite peaceful. Certainly looked more peaceful than he had any night that I’d seen him recently. Sleeping happily, comfortably.

That made me feel much better about the evening. That was an accomplishment. I might have done adventure wrong, sure, and maybe I’d made lots of mistakes, but I’d still fixed what I’d set out to fix. If nothing else, Nisien was going to get a proper night’s sleep. And this was good.

Objectively good. In my book.

I put the blanket over him again, obviously, because that was the nice thing to do. He stirred as I did so.

“Nngh? Wassis? Sorry, sorry...” he mumbled blearily, blinking, squinting. I patted him on the head.

“Shh, go back to sleep,” I said.

“N’okay…” and he did.

Yes, definitely an objectively good thing. Solved a problem for a friend. People might question my methods but my results are impeccable.

And so to bed. Knackered me out that adventure. Popped the crowbar back under the bed, stripped off most of my clothes at least until I ran out of energy, crawled under the covers and did my best to quiet the churning, raging thoughts rattling around inside my head. All the loose ends could be sorted out tomorrow. Didn’t have anything else that needed doing, and it was unlikely there’d be another adventure so soon.

Well that was exciting.

END

#amwriting #writblr #writing #writeblr #Writer #writers on twitter #What #Bad dreams

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graygiantess · 2 months

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Thank you for In Hell Together After All, it absolutely crushed me (in a good, painful way). ❤️ It made me wonder what is your history with IWTV/The Vampire Chronicles: how did you become a fan, what caught your attention and what made you want to "stay"?

And also, you probably write a lot of your headcanons into your stories, but do you have any specific headcanons of any of the characters/relationships in the series?

Hey Nonny!

Sorry for the late reply. Covid broke my brain and I can only focus on reading/writing for very short stretches of time.

(I love getting these asks, though, so please no one feel deterred by this, lol!)

I'm so glad you enjoyed In Hell Together After All! And thank you for your ask. 😊

Putting my answer under the break again so as not to clog up people's dash with my novel-length ramblings.

Luce and TVC

I first got into TVC when I was 14, which is almost 21 years ago. My 13yo foster sister and I were completely obsessed with Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

I was aware that there was a vampire movie with Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt and wanted to see it. I have a much older half-sister and the three of us ended up having a movie night at her house. We watched Interview With the Vampire and The Blair Witch Project.

We were all very 👁👁 throughout the entire movie. Then I bought a boxset of the first four books, foster sister and inhaled the first three books, watched the QotD movie and got very pissed off by how terrible it was. 😂

We were like, "Guess we'll always have the books 🤷‍♀️". I ordered TVA, because QotD had left me completely Armand-obsessed, and started reading Tale of the Body Thief.

I don't remember quite what it was, but Lestat says something at the start of TotBT that my 14yo self just thought was so stupidly retconny that I went, "Yeah, fuck that". I think it was something about how he only ate bad guys and that that was somehow in service of Jesus? Whatever it was, I wasn’t having it, so I put it down and never picked it back up. 😂

Then in my late teens/early twenties I followed Anne Rice on Facebook for a while, but I got kinda creeped out when she started addressing everyone with 'dearest People of the Page'. I distinctly remember thinking, "Lady, I'm here for gay vampire reasons, not to be in a cult". 😅 So I unfollowed her and spent about a decade not thinking about TVC very much at all.

AND THEN in early summer of 2022 the YouTube algorithm informed me that AMC was making an IWTV show. I reread IWTV and in October thought, "Let’s give this a go."

I had my reservations because I still remembered my teenage rage at the QotD movie, and I wasn't sure how I felt about them changing the time period and casting 'some old guy' as Daniel (sorry Eric! 🙈).

BUT THEN Jacob came on all, "Dear Mr. Molloy, did you know you can orgasm just from hearing a man's voice? Wanna finish what we started half a century ago?" and my head just about exploded!

This is the second interview?! They’re revisiting it 49 years later?! OMGGG, that's the most genius storytelling move in the history of storytelling! 😱

I watched ep2 right after and then desperately needed to yell about the show with other sickos. So I joined Twitter and started reading fic again (which I'd only really done when I was 17 and obsessed with that wizard school franchise), started writing fic, joined fic-themed group chats/Discords and made a Tumblr so I could (lovingly) yell at other fic writers.

And now I've published over 150k words in fic and there's IWTV fan art all over my house. 😂

So it was really the show that made me come back to stay. It's just thee best TV show of all time to me.

And as much as this fandom can be a shit show, it's really helped me stay sane while grappling with my long covid, which has left me very incapacitated in many other areas of my life.

Luce's headcanons

Asking me for my headcanons has the same effect as asking me for my favorite movies or songs in that it immediately makes me forget any headcanons I ever had. 😂

You're right that I write a lot of them into my fics, which are mainly me exploring my headcanons and asking myself what if...? I have a couple others, though I'm not sure these are really headcanons or more actual theories, though, so I apologize if this wasn't what you were looking for.

- I've mentioned this one before, but Louis and Lestat had a grand old time during their honeymoon phase between Louis getting turned and Louis almost eating Grace's baby. I think people tend to make too big a deal out of Louis being an unreliable narrator but it's a little too convenient how quickly he skips over those 6-7 years. I think he doesn’t like to think about how much fun he had with Lestat just having all the sex, getting super rich and eating whoever the fuck he wanted.

- Daniel isn’t going to give a single fuck about the ethics of killing people in order to survive once he finally becomes a vampire. We already know he’s selfish and a hypocrite. I can just see him fully ready to view all humans as savory inferiors once he’s no longer one of them.

- If show!Daniel ever met Marius, he would punch him in the face. 🤭

- Santiago is going to be SO jealous of Louis's relationship with Armand. I don't care if Santiago and Armand end up having zero homoerotic tension between them on screen, they're fucking to me.

- I'm also a Claudeline truther. Show!Claudia doesn’t need a parental figure the way book!Claudia does but she very much yearns for romantic love, and she did say Charlie was the last boy she'd ever love, and went after the woman when Lestat asked her if she wanted the Mr. or the Mrs. in ep7.

Kudos to anyone who made it all the way to the end of this answer! Your prize is getting to choose if I share:

A) A silly anecdote about that movie night I had with my sisters.

B) A shocking fact that might get me cancelled as an Armandaniel fic writer. 👀

(Though tbh, if you pick B, I'll probably still give you A for free.)

#asks #headcanons

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queenlucythevaliant · 1 year

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hii, so i've been following for a while and you seem to know a lot about Tolkien. I've never read anything by him but I'm trying to get into it. what do you suggest for a first-time reader? books first or movies? jump straight into LOTR or should I start with the Hobbit?

Hey, sorry I took a while to answer this! I'm flattered that you think I'm a qualified enough Tolkien nerd to give advice on the subject.

That said - I approached LotR in a really odd way initially, and I definitely would NOT recommend doing what I did. (LotR, Mythopoeia, LotR again, Silm, Silm again). I had a pretty frustrating time of it and probably wouldn't have kept on trying to figure out what Tolkien's deal was had I not had some lovely friends egging me on.

In general, my bias is always going to be to advocate reading the book first, but like I said I had a really frustrating first encounter with LotR (I was expecting Narnia) and I know others who have had problems with the length, the style, the songs, etc. If any of that sounds like something you might struggle with, I wouldn't necessarily discourage starting with the movies. They really are excellent adaptations, so I don't think they'd be a poor first encounter with the series.

I don't necessarily think reading the Hobbit first will do you any favors, but I'm also not going to tell you not to? It's almost an entirely different animal to the rest of the Legendarium, but it's also kind of the cornerstone of the whole thing. Honestly, you could go either way. What kind of reader are you? What do you want out of your first Tolkien-reading experience?

Seeing as this isn't a terribly helpful or decisive answer, do any of my followers want to chime in? A lot of you are far more qualified Tolkien nerds than I am 😊

#i am sorry about this #both the fact that it took me a while to respond and the fact that this is my response #it took me four whole tries to finally Get tolkien well enough to love him #my biggest advice would just be to approach Tolkien on his own terms #without any expectations of what you're going to find #ask me hard questions #(this is indeed a hard question! thank you)#tolkien legendarium

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helldustedstories · 18 days

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@hzbinsouled asked: 🎮 🍝 🍦 🐶 📕 📺 🗒 🎧 🤗 😗 //i would say i'm sorry for sending so many but i am not bc i wanna KNOW uwu

Munday asks // accepting!

OH BOY, HERE WE GO. Under a cut for length!

🎮 — favorite video game(s)?

Let's see! The B.ioshock series will always have a special place in my heart (I vastly prefer 1 and 2 over Infinite, actually, and I have lots of reasons for that), but recently G.od of W.ar has been where my heart has been living. Not just 2018 and R.agnarok, but the entire series. Because the series as a whole leads up to the later games, and gives it that much more emotional punch, and.....I could go on about G.oW at length (and have, on my blog that has all of my characters ^^).

🍝 — favorite food(s)?

This sort of thing depends on the day of the week, how the stars are aligned, and the weather, among other things (this will be a trend with some answers). But a good go-to is some form of pasta or potatoes.

🍦 — favorite ice cream flavor(s)?

This is another one that varies! But mint chocolate chip or cherry and chocolate are delicious. (Not necessarily together, but!) I just....kind of really like ice cream, so I will eat most flavours. (When they're things that are supposed to be ice cream. I doubt I would enjoy, like, the ranch ice cream or ketchup, for example.)

🐶 — any pets?

I do have a pet! I have a doggo. His name is Dug, he has just met you, and he loves you. (I also claim Missa's cat Monkey as mine, but he does not currently live with me.)

📕 — favorite book/series?

This is another "that depends!" Because this answer has changed vastly over the years. A book that will usually rank towards the top is G.ood O.mens, and honestly anything by T.erry Pr.achett.

📺 — favorite movie(s) and/or tv show(s)?

Haha, well, currently, there's the obvious current hyperfixation. But other than that, T.he O.wl H.ouse, B.attlestar G.alactica, and G.argoyles are all top faves.

🗒 — what is/are your favorite genre(s)/theme(s) to write?

This is such a hard question. I love writing all sorts of different things! I think probably things that let me really delve deep into a character, to explore why they are the way they are, and to help them grow beyond that, if that makes sense. But I'm up for writing most things, really!

🎧 — do you write while listening to music/podcasts/videos/etc, or do you need total silence?

Oh, DEFINITELY with music. Music is one of those things that can absolutely make or break what I'm writing, for myself. I become almost unstoppable if I have a playlist for specific characters, because it can actually help me get into the right mindset for the specific character.

🤗 — are there any rpc mutuals that you’d like to meet irl?

Honestly, I'd love to meet any of my darling moots! I've had the pleasure of meeting a couple (Missa being the most obvious) from previous rpcs, and my track record is pretty good! (We don't talk about my former roommate because he was an outlier.)

😗 — what are some of your favorite things to do when you have some time to yourself?

I definitely love reading, which I don't do as much as I want to. But audio books have really helped with that, over the past few years. I also play/prep for D&D, work on various cosplays, and practice my various instruments (which I should also do more of, oops).

#hzbinsouled #✎ helldustedstories : ooc #✎ helldustedstories : answered #[sorry for all the 'that depends!' but it doooooes]

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karizard-ao3 · 5 months

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Not exactly a directors cut question. But how and I tu did you first decide to write fanfiction? Did you write it before or you started with your current account?

Sorry, I'm going to do talk to text because I'm in the process of packing my lunch for work and I want to answer this ASAP but I also have things to do. Please excuse any errors, as always. Okay so I have always written things in some form or another since I could first pick up a pencil I had these really Grand ideas when I was a kid about a book series about some different planets with different dystopian things going on on them. There was a world for clones and there was another world with a tube system similar to that of anamnesis that I never actually wrote but that I was really into the idea of because the way I had the tube system figured out the people would be in stasis while they're in the tubes and so if there was some kind of issue that cut off the tube from the rest of the network but didn't damage the tube the tube would continue going on in perpetuity with the people inside still alive but not quite because they are in stasis. I had this idea that there would be a very famous rock band that ended up in that situation and so as people are going about their lives and like listening to their music they're just constantly circling around this loop in the underground tube system. But, I digress! This account is my first fanfic writing account. I didn't write any fanfic until after the attack on Titan manga ended and I just needed some way to cope with all of the feelings I was having about the ending. I think another factor that helped with getting into writing was that it was at the.. not quite the beginning of the pandemic but early enough into it that I just had so much free time on my hands so I was like, you know what? I have not written in way too long and I want to write something that's going to make me feel better about Eren and Mikasa and their tragic separation and I decided to write a cabin fic as we all do and then I got the idea for clueless teens and then I got the idea for anamnesis and I had on my little one shot ideas in between, like mixed in there, and here we are and now. I have never actually finished a book sized work before so it's kind of crazy to me that I have essentially in fanfiction written the equivalent of two full length books and a collection of short stories and a novella (or two?). It makes me feel like a real writer LOL.

Sorry, that was a very long answer to a very simple question. All of the fanfics on my AO3 accounts are the entire body of my fanfic work. I did not write any fanfics before Aot.

#ask me things #my asks #answered asks #fanwriting #fanfiction #fic writing #when did i get started

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belovedcorvid · 3 months

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[Don’t Hide] Ask my muse why they try to cover their scar (from smokey)

❣ | Memes :: This One | Scars ( always doing these )

----

(( I got v indecisive abt how I wanted to do this and it became a book v sorry. OTL Cut for length. ))

| Scars: Two Conversations |

The first time the other asks, he's not strong enough to answer.

He hadn't spoken to anyone since he'd gotten back, hadn't had the nerve to look his former guardian or anyone else in the eye. Mistakes were not new to him - he made plenty, frequently, but one that compromised an entire operation felt like something he couldn't really be forgiven for; the guilt made him sick, made some small part of him wonder if maybe what happened to him might be a little bit deserved. That was why he turned people away that wanted to visit him while in the infirmary, and now still did his best to avoid being spotted by anyone familiar now that he was up and walking. He kept his head down, ducking even Sengoku's visits when he could, but it was only a matter of time before he ran into someone else that knew him. And, by extension, probably just how badly he'd messed up. The voice was familiar - smoke-raspy and mid-complaint. Of course.

He'd not checked in with Smoker since his return either, a sudden break in an otherwise surprisingly well-established habit, but he didn't have the guts to let the other see just how big of a problem he had caused either, what damage a case of mistaken identity could do if the person you were mistaken for was Doflamingo. Even as he kept his head down, kept his back turned, he still recognised the other man's heavy footfalls, recognised his voice. He'd hoped, of course, that the other would not see him but that never worked out in his favour, with his stature. Smoker wasn't an easy read if you didn't know what to listen for, so the little things that hinted at concern that he could recognise made him flinch, made any sort of reply or excuse he could have made die in his throat. It was pathetic, cowardly to not even be able to look at his friend, but despite this thought he couldn't bring himself to even turn around - even as footsteps and questioning voice approached him.

" You don't want to explain what happened? Fine, but could ya at least look at me, maybe say you're all right ? What're you hiding from ? "

" I can't."

It came out more like a plea than he wanted, so soft through clenched teeth that it was almost inaudible as he finally let himself be turned around by the hand that reached out to touch his arm. The scars were still new, angry looking and only partially formed - still held together in places by dark sutures at either corner of his mouth, a grim facsimile of a grin made an inch or so broader on each side. He breathed in a stuttering hiss of a breath and bared his teeth just a little; it hurt, but it was enough to reveal the wires connecting his teeth helping to hold his fractured jaw together. Despite his best efforts to control his expression, keep it as neutral as possible, he could feel the burning, prickling sensation of tears collecting at the corners of his eyes and he'd be damned if he was going to let them be perceived as anything other than a reaction to pain. That was it, that was all. The bridge of his nose crinkled with it as he tried and failed to avoid looking deeply and irreparably wounded.

" It hurts."

---

The next time he asks it's many, many other hurts later, when they're both more tired, hollow in places.

They're in a recovering place, in the in-between of assignments - active assignments more-so on the other's part. They didn't send him out much these days, he blamed the leg and the laundry list of other damage, still not fully undone, left by his last failure of an assignment. It's a moment of quiet, rare and appreciated even if brief. Smoker always brought that steadying sort of companionable quiet with him, somehow: Rocinante still wasn't sure how, because he was fairly certain that the other had never been relaxed once in his life. The feeling of contentedness must be at least somewhat mutual, because they spent more spare time together than not these days and he genuinely doubted the other would bother otherwise. Steadying or not, he still sat with his back to the other man, working at covering up one of the marks on his face: more achievable, he thought, than anything he could do for some of the others on his hands and arms. But a lot of those don't bother him in quite the same way.

" Why hide it? "

It wasn't even the same mark as before. He could feel the other's eyes at his back, could pre-emptively tell that he wanted to say something even, but it didn't make the question any easier. This time it was the blue-black tattoo under his eye he'd been intently focused on painting over, covering it up like a lingering bruise and hiding it before a meeting with someone less familiar, but the question still made him cover his mouth with a hand as if struck; an old tell, a nervous one, difficult to break.

Why was a hard question. Not because he didn't have an answer for it - he did. It was just terribly sad and gross the way visceral memories tended to be, and if there was someone or something out there that could have made it so he would have begged for a way to explain it wholly without having to be in it. To open it all up and re-close cleanly, without the spectre of his brother there to hold it all over his head and make him feel small, even after all this time; to explain the wave of dread he feels when someone says he looks familiar, or that he a grown man still can't always get through a medical appointment without tears... but not actually tie any of those things to himself, for fear they might drown him, like a weight around his neck. It's not even that he doesn't want the other guy to know - he does actually, this guy in particular, and that might be just as scary at some level.

" I uh... "

he stops himself at the sound of his own voice because he hates the tremor he hears in it - hates it that this soft spot can be pulled up and out of his guts without his permission, and does his best to force it back to something more neutral.

" Sorry; I uh... I just don't want him to have that kind of control over me any more. "

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