#fic directors commentary

[10thmusemoon]

hello!! i recently read your fic where shen yuan is qijiu's baby and I loved it! In the notes, I saw that there might be more of the thread where yue qingyuan didn't leave cang qiong after he found out he was pregnant, is there anywhere I can read it? :3

Aw thanks!! And yes! I’m still in the process of making that its own proper fic but there was a little bit of that at the beginning of this thread that ultimately turns into the fic that’s posted!

(There’s also The Sect Leader is an Omega!? Which is 25k for anyone just tuning in to my omega!YQY agenda.)

Cw: omegaverse and mpreg

I’m gonna take this as an opportunity to ramble on this because I’ve been thinking about more QiJiu omegaverse.

What I love about omega!yqy and why I always revisit that dynamic, is that he’s the strongest cultivator in universe, he’s a big beefy dude, and he is everything that goes against the stereotypical omega expectations. As the sect leader he takes care of the sect and no one expects that he needs anyone to be protective over him. Not even YQY sees that as an option, he has only ever looked after others, no one has ever looked after him.

Except well, Shen Qingqiu.

Who, before they even presented, was possessive over Qi-ge and looked out for them both. And then as the lord of the second peak, as the strategist, protects YQY and that which is his (the sect), which of course, is also SQQ’s. He refuses to acknowledge that’s what happening but it is.

In a situation where their shit is together enough to have shared heats/ruts (and while it’s consensual yearning, SQQ is patting himself on the back for having ‘stolen’ YQY’s heats for himself, as if there was ever any other option YQY would consider), an accidental pregnancy only would throw a huge wrench into things.

Despite the fact that omegas are expected to get pregnant, and despite what SQQ may be driven to say while heat drunk, he never actually expects YQY to get pregnant.

So when it does happen, I fully picture it being a moment of crisis for SQQ.

And while I love the fics where he is a doting and possessive parent (see hints in NYY’s Best Day Ever), in my eyes, it wouldn’t fly like that.

In the universe where YQY stays, where SQQ actually lets him talk, his immediate reaction is that of revulsion and horror.

SQQ doesn’t want to share YQY with anyone, especially when he thinks his current hold on him is already precarious. (it’s not, they’re just both idiots who can’t talk)

I do think tho, that YQY would be ecstatic but also be hyper aware of the fact that this is a nightmare for SQQ. In YQY’s twisty brain, this is a connection to SQQ that can never be severed, one he assumes SQQ will interpret as shackles, so he won’t push for him to take responsibility of the child. He will, however, give him the option to be involved. And he really hopes he will be, but at the same time YQY sees the writings on the wall, and imagines that SQQ will no longer see him as a convenient body to warm his bed and return to the brothels.

(Having sex with drastic miscommunication is just the QiJiu way)

Mean SQQ is spiraling because WTF why would YQY keep this thing when he’s an unmarked, unmarried omega? He is ruining his, and by extension, the sect’s reputation! wtf why would he do that??!! Why would he risk everything he’s built for some child. He’s ridiculous, he’s stupid for even considering it.

(SQQ may be projecting a bit here.)

He may also be incredibly jealous of the role his own unborn child is taking in YQY’s life, superseding any importance SQQ or Xiao Jiu may have held. But at the same time, instincts and his general possessiveness over YQY, means he can’t exactly stay away. He bitches and moans and acts like he doesn’t care but he is involved during the pregnancy process because he can shamelessly dote on YQY (while pretending he isn’t) and provide for him in ways he hasn’t otherwise been able to. Their inner omega/alphas are just singing the entire way through. YQY is being cared for by the most important person to him and SQQ gets to be openly territorial in a way that no one can question. (The pregnancy sex is insane, so much emotional tension that they think only They are feeling!!)

The other peak lords also have to like, deal with whatever is going on with them. Their shared heat/ruts were an open secret but now there is a BABY?? I do think that at some point SQQ will lie and say they’ve Been married for years, just to cover for their reputations. In true pidw, this doesn’t help His reputation because people remember all too well the rumors of his brothel visits but what can they say when YQY is vibrating out of his skin with happiness over this.

(This becomes another Thing they don’t talk about, but being called husband in bed is as good as hitting the g-)

Then comes Shen Yuan.

And now there is this physical manifestation of the thing that will steal YQY away. By nature of being a baby, he does take a lot of attention away from SQQ due to the fact that he is literally dependent on YQY to stay alive. The rosey days together come to an end as SQQ retreats to brood and YQY is being depressed that the wick has finally burned out and their farce of a relationship is over.

He’ll come over sometimes (refusing to admit it’s because he misses YQY) just to look at SY, to try to find the traces of YQY in him that he can latch onto. Unfortunately babies don’t really look much like anything at first but swollen little aliens, so it really doesn’t help. Even worse, when he starts to develop his own distinct features, SY looks more like Shen Qingqiu.

And there is no one SQQ resents more than himself.

There's more to this such as how the other peak lords play into thing but in the end, I think it would take something flipping in SQQ's brain where he starts categorizing SY as something valuable of his (like his favorite hair pin, or expensive robes) that he starts to care about SY as something other than a Thing That Belongs to YQY.

When SY starts to develop his own personality and independence, I think that's where the next major shift would happen. Oh look, here is a thing that is no longer something like a creature and is a human with thoughts and agency and some of those thoughts include idol worshiping SQQ and YQY. Hmm.....interesting.

(in a transmigration situation, i don't think SY would have access to all his memories until he's older so this is plausible!)

Anyways, SY is upgraded from Expensive Hairpin to Purse Dog where SQQ gets a kick out of dressing him up, doing his hair, seeing what tricks he can do, and showing him off. But the second he needs actual human connection, he shoves him back at YQY.

As SY ages (and subsequently earns SQQ's respect) he's able to identify what SQQ is saying between barbs and mutual, if distant, affection. Having grown up with the titular scum villain, and seeing him be affectionate with YQY, he would be invested enough to do well to save both their skins from Luo Binghe's wrath.

Does being a parent make SQQ a better teacher? Hmmmm debatable, possibly unlikely, there is no YQY for him to throw his disciples at but at the very least he has a basis of comparison for age appropriate mile markers.

(He does not, SY is not a normal child by any means. His lineage and transmigration have made him OP in all the ways.)

SQQ will look at his students struggling to master something SY learned three years previously and get an opportunity to both shame and brag, he delights in this. Meanwhile, SY is dying inside, certain that he now has a horde of enemies across QJP (He does NOT, the wife beam is in affect) so he actively decides to stay on QDP and hide behind YQY's skirts and tag along to meetings so he can be nosey about the world building. He is also living his best life as the spoiled son of the sect leader and wandering across the peaks getting into monster shenanigans. In a nod to canon, instead of bringing back lost fans (because SQQ would never!) it's SY that LQG drops off to QJP or QDP by the scruff of his robes.

(SQH is going insane in the bg, WTF is happening with his plot?!)

To match the Father, Oh Father reveal, here Shen Yuan's freak out would be over finding out that QiJiu never actually married and that their whole relationship is even WEIRDER than he initially thought.

(meanwhile LBH sees qijiu as a love story and plans to follow in their footsteps and marry shen yuan so they can rule the sect together. Little does he know that sy has 0 plans of becoming the sect leader.)

#qijiu #10thmusemoon fics #Yue Qingyuan #Shen Jiu #I just like qijiu when they are toxic and co-dependent clearly unhealthy but it works exactly because of their very specific brain worms #SY looking at his parents weird intense and possessive marriage: wow things are really different with gay relationships #and then comes luo binghe with the steel chair #fic directors commentary

[delicrieux]

—𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭, ch.3: sweet dreams, chicago

pairing—carmy berzatto x f!reader   genre—drama, romance, age gap, boss/employee relationship warnings for this chapter—anxiety, (+18) masturbation, mb one (1) allusion to a blowjob, swearing, excessive use of cigarettes  word count—3.6k

detailed instructions on how to fuck up your life in 30 seconds

author’s note: tremendously down bad, lonely, and socially inept? not talking abt u LOSER im talking abt carmen. my lil meow meow 

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | eyvcte masterlist | < back. next >

important! some of the dialogue scenes are written as a script & dialogues that overlap are marked in [] <3  

tell them

not white, gray – the exact color of cigarette ash, the red ember a reflected streak of sunlight; these walls box him in, and it’s always a surprise that space can feel so vast and so confining all at once. the plastic chair he sits on is unforgiving on his back. his foot sounds a pattern on the tiled floor to impair the silence.

he’s aware of it, of everything: his pursed lips, trembling lashes, quick blinks, slight sniffle, flitting irises, the light coat of sweat forming by his hairline. the taunt flex of his muscles; twitch of fingers that have nothing to grasp onto but each other. the tapping. pulsing in his jaw and temple. the tapping.

tell them

he tries to stare ahead, keep straight – it’s not expected of him, but he wishes he could do it. wishes he could face the silhouette sat across, too close and too far.

“well?” she prompts – a prim woman with a kind face sunken from all the miseries she had collected over the years, “how are you, carmen?”

a sharp exhale through the nose, like a humorless snort; corner of his lips pinching into a grimace that could resemble a smile, if one was generous enough, “how am i?” he repeats, “how am i?”

tell them

tell them

tell them your

“chef?”

storage closet. he keeps his hand firmly on the handle and breathes, jaw tense, head bent, illuminated in the shitty buzzing lights. the containers are organized – did it himself. methodically set cans with no spaces between them, all in neat rows. one’s a bit too close to the edge, sticking out. someone had moved it. he rubs his chin before pushing it back.

his hand falls from the handle and settles on his hip as he sighs, looks up, feels a rush of air tinted with spices and the overwhelming noise of the kitchen pierce the coveted silence of his hiding place when the door cracks open. she pokes her head in and he doesn’t look, can’t look, can’t sleep, can’t–

“you good?”

kindness is always startling, even when it’s the standard. her words hold no weight of deep inquiry, only a shallow question mark. it’s enough. he lives on scraps. “yeah, uh, thanks,” his tips his chin in her direction and his eyes flit over the crown of her head. can’t look for long;  he’ll search for thank you and love you despite knowing they’re covered.

“i was just, uh, was just, needed to check,” he vaguely motions behind himself, and the knot in his throat tightens slightly, “something, s-so…” maybe she decides to take him out of his misery. maybe he’s the only one that notices he’s drowning.

“family’s up.” she informs him, offers a small smile that he thinks is pity. can’t be sure.

“yeah, yeah, o-okay, i’ll, uh, i’ll, i’ll join you in a,” the hasty spill of his words slows, quiets. he inhales, brows crinkled and eyes focused on the new streaks on the floor he’ll have to clean, “i’ll join you in a minute.”

“i’ll save you a seat.” not a proposition mentioned aimlessly and left to rot in his subconscious, but a statement. and she’ll always save a seat for him, because he’ll always be late, and in the rare occasions that he won’t, he’ll be too early. she’ll save him a seat by the table and pat the couch next to herself when the staff’ll huddle to watch a Bulls game; she’ll save a slot for him on her free day to come into his office and help sort through papers; she’ll save her hand from others so that he could hold it and she’ll save a pair lace panties the color of her eyes that’ll tear through the flower pattern because he’ll be too rough and because he’ll like the way they look on her.

she’ll save a cup that’ll shatter during one of their arguments, glue it back together. the cracks will show, and it’ll be blotched, but he’ll still use it, even if the edge’ll be chipped and he’ll cut his lip and she’ll be long gone by then.

he’s mostly himself when he joins everyone, if he even knows what that entails. tina’s explaining form to marcus, and sydney’s on her phone, and richie and neil are discussing something with too many theatrics, and the rest of the staff shares idle conversation punctuated by comfortable silence. there’s an empty spot for him, food set in a plastic container and cutlery placed trimly – must’ve been her. too even, she’s borderline about these things. he appreciates them, because he’s like that, too.

a smile eases the tension from his shoulders, if a bit. he pulls the chair back, takes a seat, and her head ticks to the side to acknowledge him. no big speech, no welcome back or you good again, just a slight curiosity that makes her teeth pull on her lip. he dares a glance that doesn’t linger.

"verdict?” he asks the table, feeling the familiar flutter of anxiety squeeze his throat.

sydney: ‘s good. real good richie: too fucking fancy [god] this the type of shit they serve up in yee-whole-fucking-new-of-the-fucking-york? her: wouldn’t expect you to recognize shit from food [fuck you] since your mouth is always full of it richie: oh ha ha [cousin] look at us folks [cousin] we got a fucking comedian with us tina: shut it [so/rry] both of you. not by the table richie: not by the fucking table, kid [fuck you] marcus: i like it

it’s kinda funny, it’s kinda familiar, it’s kinda comforting. he glances at her again, sees her holding up her knife like a sword aimed at richie on the other side of the table. they mimic one another – in movement, in tone, in smiles that are careful not to display too much. friends. carmen watched this happen in his peripherals, sometimes through the haze of cigarette smoke. observed the pointed jabs and nudges that were harder each time as if they were competing who could knock the other off of their feet first. stupid, amusing, the nascence of a friendship.

whatever. it’s not that, it’s just, just that carmen’s the way he is and someone could roll their eyes at him and kill and sydney, well, he got along with sydney instantly – she came at a confusing fucking time, a breath of fresh air, and really, for a while, he only had her to help him navigate the clusterfuck of a dynamic of his brother’s staff. she was new, he was new, and it was natural they stuck together to survive the nuclear winter of a chicagoan kitchen. till he was approved as one of them, and she was, too, but, and it’s nothing, it’s dumb, fucking idiotic, it’s like he’s six again all of a sudden and no one wants to play ball with him in the fucking playground.

he’s not even left out, and he still feels like he’s somehow forbidden to join, even if he doesn’t want to, even if he doesn’t know what to say. as if he’d break some sacred law and inspire a drastic butterfly affect that would ripple into something abhorrent. the other shoe. there’s no first one and he’s already waiting for the drop.

“cousin,” richie calls, “cousin, she’s trying to fucking murk me. pretty sure that violates some sorta fine print.”

“better sleep with one eye open in that case.” carmy mumbles, a faint smile pulling on the corner of his lips as he watches the exchange briefly before he returns to the food. melts in his mouth. holds a sweet, syrupy tang, and, fuck, this is noma, this has fucking noma written all over it, even the cinnamon zest blended with orange peel.

no noma on her resume; dad must’ve taught her, then. how to blend and cook all of this shit to make the chicken taste like butter. probably needed to scour the whole kitchen for leftover ingredients, open a few rusted drawers for pipettes to measure lemon drops. stay up again prepping. filming. not sleeping. don’t look.

needlessly complicated and missing some parsley. coincidentally, they ran out of it this morning.

he looks at her because she’s not looking at him and for a moment he takes in her profile – the slope of her nose and the dip leading to her cupid’s bow. “‘s good.” he says after a short pause, and as soon as she turns in his direction he’s back to his food. the taste, this time, is compounded by added discomfort, “where’d you learn this from, anyway? there are recipe?”

“my dad. sorta,” she explains, “he’s also a chef. and he used to make it for me when i came to visit, soooooo, since it was my first time cooking family ‘n all…i thought, why not? y’know? just to upset richie.”

“heard that, kid.”

he snorts, leaning back into his chair, head dipped and container held in hand. glances at her from under his lashes, and maybe direct eye contact is not as scary when he wants her to be looking back. that small smile of his is pulls on his lips again, “‘s good.” he repeats.

“you like it?” her voice can be soft, and so can her features.

“i like it,” he admits, “thank you, chef.”

she smiles and it’s like a fucking firework.

he tries not to look too hard, scared what he might find there. metronome. dull, almost, like the beating of his heart in his chest, yet it pulses through him, from the back of his head all the way to his feet. the tapping.

tell them

he rubs his faces with his hands, leans forward, as if the words are physically trying to get out. doesn’t want to say it; doesn’t want to admit that he can’t dress for the weather and that he’s wearing a gray woolen sweater which blends into these walls, that he blends in, that he’s invisible.

“i’ve, uh,” pinches the bridge of his nose, wanes the upcoming headache – too many cigarettes and not enough sleep, “i’ve been going through somethin’.”

like her pictures on a late monday night fresh out of the shower. the phone light catches damp hair falling in ringlets. the towel is still slung around his shoulders – white, clean, he’s done his laundry, it’s a fucking miracle. it was a notification that distracted him mid-way putting on a t-shirt, was like a beacon in the dark on his bedside table. bare feet padded to grasp it and here he stands, gaping like a fucking idiot with nothing but boxers on and cold water dripping down his back.

wasn’t supposed to look. made a promise, swore it in the mirror staring into clear blue eyes that held nothing. wasn’t his intention, either, it just happened. everything seems to just happen to him. she just seem to text him at 1 in the morning the recipe from a few days back, and he just seems to find her profile again because he just wants to look. no further reason. she just seems to follow him and he just seems to pretend not to notice because he’s not very good at this, he’s not really good at anything.

and there she is, confined in a little electronic device held in his hand, looking at the camera, looking at him, and he’s not really sure what to do with himself. text back, likely, but he can’t think of a response – thank you? thanks? thumbs up emoji? chef emoji? just to mix it up a bit. the mattress dips when he sits on the bed. where the fuck are his cigarettes?

never too far, and the lighter isn’t, either, so he stands, and his phone is still in his hand like the thing is fucking glued to it, and he cracks the window open to let the summer night in. chicago doesn’t sleep, and neither does she, it seems, but he doesn’t, either, and when his teeth have something to bite onto he feels like he found an anchor.

thank you and love you are objectively interesting detonators, but there are other rare gems. where she’s smiling. look taken off-guard and never by her personally, always by someone else: hugging a bottle in the midnight new york vista, nursing a to-go cappuccino by the bodega too early in the morning, holding up a plastic puka shell necklace in the backdrop of a souvenir shop somewhere in yucatan. hugging her mother wearing a tracksuit while the former’s poised in a neat blazer. they look similar. carmen looks like his mother, too.

she’s more approachable when her eyes crinkle and cheeks apple and lips stretch to reveal a crescent line in the corner. pretty. real pretty. too pretty. maybe that’s why he doesn’t know what to say. maybe she doesn’t expect him to say anything. maybe that’s why she sent the message.

‘s not fair. he knows too much about her. knows her dad’s a renowned chef and her mother’s a business exec with a penthouse in brooklyn; knows she gets her tattoos in-house, on the couch, from some low-key junkie-looking artist that always wears a beanie;  knows she worked in an upscale restaurant in wallstreet. chef whites, neat, trimmed, fitting – nothing he can offer in his fucked joint. fuck is she doing in chicago, anyway? spent last summer backpacking across europe with a distinctly new york-looking art school dropouts that wore the latest sneakers and tiffany necklaces. rich kids, rich kid, what she gets now was likely her daily allowance.

all of that just because he’s noisy. just because he’s curious. just because she’s pretty and he’s too scared to actually talk to her.

shouldn’t talk to her about anything anyway. too awkward – can hardly form a coherent sentence without ripping his hair out in the first place. he’s her boss, she’d think he’s a fucking weirdo if she knew how much he had gathered about her already. just from looking. does sydney know? does richie know? that would be fucked. oddly insulting, even. but since carmen hasn’t heard richie calling her a spoiled brat yet, he supposes it’s safe to assume this information hasn’t reached him yet.

parasocial as shit. he feels on the verge of a panic attack by the way his heart is hammering in his chest. maybe it’s the 5th cigarette. maybe it’s because he’s been sleep deprived. maybe it’s because looking at her makes him lonely and this is fucked and just put the fucking phone down, carmen.

she's really hot, though. but he can’t say so, not out loud. not right now. not here. not in front of the bed, where the mattress sags when he sits, or in the window, where the wind rattles the glass ringing of common sense.

‘thanks for the recipe’ is a good start, ‘cool tats by the way’ is definitely a line that has crossed his mind, but can’t text that, either. too personal. too easy. too close. fuck did he look at them anyway, too busy staring at her tits. fuck.

she’d think he’s a creep because somehow, in the divine comedy of his life, he’d let it slip somehow, because he’s stupid. because thank you and love you slap at him on odd hours during the day. because he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

feels like he’s a teen again and a girl from school sent him her homework to copy. only the girl in a hot rich kid from nyc that works in his restaurant and is so far out of his league that she’s in a different fucking orbit.

the mattress dips again. he closes his eyes, exhales slowly, rubs his face with his free hand. can’t stop thinking. can’t stop looking. staring. wanting. get a fucking hold of yourself. doesn’t want to. too tired. too fucked. too alone.

she’s so pretty.

so smart.

so fucking pretty.

what is he doing? what the fuck is he doing?

he tries to swallow, but it feels like there's sand in his throat. can't think straight, every corner leads to her anyway in a comical gotcha moment. can't go back. can't go forward. can't do anything but sit here, stare at the phone, think the last threads of his fizzling mind will conceive a reply.

say something. say something.

she's so fucking pretty and his dick is so fucking hard.

inhales again, this time slowly. feels the first tremors of an erection ignored, the pulse in his neck, in his wrists.

his heart is pounding and he wants her to look at him, wants to look at her, wants to feel her touch him, wants to show her how much he wants her.

"fucking christ," he can hear the breathless crack in his voice. feel it, taste it.

his face burns and his hair falls over his forehead, already drying. there's sweat on his brow and a lump in his throat from the steady rise of panic, anticipation, desperation, whateverthefuck. the blood in his veins pounds through his chest – he can feel the vibration in his bones, and god, god god god, he’s so fucking horny.

can't move. can't breathe. can't think. can't stand being alone. can't stand the silence. can't stand not doing anything and can’t stand being like this because he’s not supposed to. not allowed, breach of contract, jesus, who does this shit in their spare time? a lot of people, probably, but carmen wouldn’t know.

"fuck."

he wants to close his eyes because she’s so cold on the screen but so warm in his mind. can’t do that. can't stop palming dick over his boxers, either – wants to pull them down, but that would mean looking at himself, so he stares at her picture instead.

he feels like a teenager again, vaguely wants to throw up. can't believe how hard he is. he's not supposed to be like this. this isn't going to end well.

he knows he's gonna fuck this up because he's already fucking it up. can't stop staring at her. can't stop touching himself. can't stop thinking about what she'd do if she knew he was sitting here ready to jerk off to her.

she'd probably freak the fuck out, and she'd have every right to. that doesn't stop that wandering hand of his from dipping below the elastic band anyway.

his breath scratches at his throat, stuck there as he feels his hand brush something warm. glances down, sees his middle finger pressing against the swollen tip. looks back at the phone, sees her smile, the hint of her teeth; his cock twitches at the sight of her like some deranged pavlovian response. his fingers curl around his shaft and go down in a nice, long stroke.

"fuck me," he hisses. eyes squeeze shut and hips push forward and head rolls back to release a small groan.

it's a slow slide of a rough palm, with just enough pressure to cause shivers. he thinks of her lips wrapped around his him. the way her tongue would tease him. the way her hair would tickle his thighs.

"so pretty," he breathes, but the words are lost in the rhythm of his hand, "fuck, sorry."

fingers and palm slide over the sensitive head, each pass adding more pressure until his hips buck and it feels like someone punched him in the gut and he sucks in a breath, the sound coming out more like a moan; squeeze, tighter this time, and he groans louder, caught somewhere between pain and pleasure. teeth clamp down on his lower lip and all the oxygen in his lungs leaves with that.

the hand with the hand pierced by a kitchen knife pumps faster, coating the creases and veins in warm, sticky pre-cum leaking from the tip and leaving a stain on his boxers. he's breathing heavily, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that matches the throbbing of his cock.

he's so close already. so close he feels like he might actually lose his mind if he doesn't come soon.

"hm, fuck," he breathes out, eyes squeezing shut and fist tightening around the shaft as his hips jerk forward to meet the movement.

everything is swimming and spinning in the liquid dark around him, all the sensations coiled up into one chaotic bundle that's threatening to overwhelm him.

"yes," can't be his voice, can it? too raw, too desperate, too loud.

fist tightens even more and the throbbing is too much. feels like something is trying to get out of his body, like it's going to burst through his skin.

"oh fuck. oh fuck, oh fuck—"

everything is happening at once. everything is mounting to a small cry of her name.

he comes. coughs and huffs, head tipping back and hand still pumping. there's a low groan coming from his chest that sounds like it originated from some other person entirely.

then, it stills. his back hits the bed and he tries to gulp down air that stutters down his throat, the phone bouncing on the mattress beside him. the motions ripple in his spine, in tensed muscles that’ve gone lax. calm. outside the window, a siren howls first, then a dog.

he’s spent. feels good. cold air bites skin coated in sweat, like ice melting in the bed of a warm palm. “fuck.”

but the reality of the situation rips through the haze just as quick, and ignited by a sudden fucking unbearable anger, he grabs his phone and throws it across the room, “FUCK.”

ch.4: normal people

tags <3 @rexorangecouny - @astridyoo15 - @elliesbabygirl - @fortisfilia - @diorrfairy - @frequentnosebleeder - @eddiemunsonreader 

more notes: sum fun lil gemmie gems for my narrative lovin girlies in chat  1. timeline is worky asf, things flowing in an out perception - imagine it like moving frames of the show 2. carmy says “’s good” whilst he admires her silently - is he referring to her or the food? 3. who text their boss at 1am? rich kid explain 4. the swearing increases the more he’s distressed 5. major virgin alert, can u tell? 6. this is the only chapter so far where ive used caps lock

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto smut #carmy x reader #the bear imagine #imagine #imagines #reader #xreader #we need the extended version directors cut live commentary with bloopers for the second half of this fic

[non-un-topo]

Outfits of the Guard from an older fic of mine, Tangerine and Roc. Supposed to be a bit of a mix of styles from Central Asia in the late 15th century as they go about their travels, with a little battle-ready touch.

#siggy draws #the old guard #tog #tog fanart #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #quynh #andromache of scythia #kaysanova #andromaquynh #*director's commentary in the tags wee woo: #none of these fits are exactly what i envisioned when i wrote the fic but they're generally what they should have been wearing #y'know like some layers come off and some come on throughout the fic ofc #does joe look battle-ready? absolutely not. #he wants to be fashionable! <3 #this was the first time i've really attempted to draw embroidery and patterns by hand and it shows lol... #anyway. joe gets the snazzy main-character colours and nicky gets all the brown because he's nicky #also he looks so tired because he is lol. let him rest. or not. let him not rest idk. #i should have put more effort in and drawn different version of their outfits with weapons too but alas #quynh should have a nicely embroidered quiver and a bit of armour. they should all be more armed up -- #-- after meeting the kazakh settlement in the first chapter. but can anyone blame me for not wanting to draw all the weapons... #anyway i miss them and i miss this fic and i miss writing like this ;_; <3

[wanderingblindly]

i see you reblog a director's cut post, i appear in your inbox <3

pls give me anything you choose as director's commentary on Someone in Seattle because i love her very much okay thank you!!!

see ya, love ya, bye!! xx

oh my god yes please let me talk about the undertaking that was Someone in Seattle i love you so much for this

Usually I kinda give a dissection of the entire fic, but i have a million things to say, so we're gonna start with just one fun fact and one scene:

The Studio Photoshoot:

Originally, their first photoshoot together -- the one with the flowers in the studio -- was going to end in a completely different tone; I wanted some sort of inadvertent confession.

The final version of the scene goes as follows:

“You think I’m beautiful then, Osc?”  Oscar freezes, camera still held up to his eye. Lando’s gaze is sharp but his smile is small, no more than a quirk of the lips; it’s a more serious expression than Oscar’s seen, like his question is earnest. Like there’s more beneath it.  “I –” He starts, lowering the camera to his chest. In a moment of silence, they look at each other, eye to eye. “Fuck off.”  Lando brings his cup to his lips again, not breaking eye contact. “How’s the lighting?” “Getting there.”

But when I first typed it out, there was a slight difference in Oscar's response.

“You think I’m beautiful then, Osc?”  Oscar freezes, camera still held up to his eye. Lando’s gaze is sharp but his smile is small, no more than a quirk of the lips; it’s a more serious expression than Oscar’s seen, like his question is earnest. Like there’s more beneath it.  “I –” He starts, lowering the camera to his chest. In a moment of silence, they look at each other, eye to eye. Quietly, no more than a whispered exhale, he answers: “Yes.” Lando brings his cup to his lips again, not breaking eye contact. “How’s the lighting?” “Getting there.”

I thought it had a lot of potential as a moment because like, Oscar wouldn't really be confessing, exactly, but rather talking about his art. Obviously he thinks Lando is beautiful, or at the very least compelling, if he was willingly to ask him to model for his entire term portfolio. It still would have set him on edge, having to admit something like that out loud, and I think Actual Menace Lando would have enjoyed tormenting him.

It also had the added appeal of like, playing into the conflict at the end: Lando's convinced that Oscar only likes the concept of him, not the actual complicated person underneath. If Oscar had agreed here, it probably would have made that even WORSE.

The reason I didn't keep it is because I didn't want Oscar to start contemplating his feelings yet. I wanted him to continue being an idiot, and I wanted him to be able to pretend that he doesn't feel that way about Lando. Yet.

Oh, and I have some of the Pinterest photos that gave me some inspo for the set up! Here and here and here :)

Soundtrack:

I wrote this entire fic to two songs, which I played for over 1,000 minutes each :) very sane :) I liked the sort of soft wistfulness that both of these have when you zone out to them, it felt very fitting.

#i would love to talk about even more scenes if anyone cares to know!!!!! #or any of my other fics idc!!!! #THANK YOU FOR ASKING ME ANGEL I ADORE YOU!! #ask me :) #directors commentary #Someone in Seattle #Landoscar

[cherryblossomshadow]

This summary is factually incorrect, but I saw this post and I just wanted to make a silly, low-effort meme about one of my favorite witcher fic universes. And now I'm off to go reread my favorite installments

The OG: With a Conquering Air by inexplicifics (@inexplicifics)

And an incredible Geralt POV remix: For the Asking by gremble (@abeautifulblog)

#i post #i rec fics #this fic has the longest list of 'works inspired by' that ive ever seen #i think it was like three page lengths long on my phone #with a conquering air #inexplicifics #accidental warlord au #the accidental warlord and his pack #this fic wrung so much emotion out of me within just the first few paragraphs #that jaskier angst 👌 #for the asking #gremble #abeautifulblog #SUCH great worldbuilding and politics #and the directors commentary was incredible #i never learned so much about the beta process #or about #poetry #and school tried so hard to get me to care about poetry but i just Do Not with poetry #i loved the way jaskiers song cycle was described tho #even tho i Do Not with poetry #through this fic i got a glimpse of what the fuss is about

[youhideastar]

Concord: COMPLETE Director's Commentary

It's here! By popular demand (from at least a few people, okay 🤣), there is now a director's commentary for the entirety of Concord.

Come with me as we ask questions like, "Does Gusu Lan Sect have separation of powers?" "How many times can you get away with writing an eavesdropping scene in one fic?" and, yes, "What happens after the end of the story??"

Check out the director's commentary here!

#my fic #my writing #concord #director's commentary

[rare-agere-reverie]

I have a fanfic request for welcome home (if your don’t mind!)

Caregiver(s): Eddie Dear

Regressor(s): Wally Darling

Plot: Eddie is going back to his home after he finished his mail route and spots an overstimulated, regressed Wally trying to hide his regression. Eddie decides to help Wally.

Please and thank you! 👋😅

Woo my first fic for the blog and it’s my hyperfixation! Hope I did your idea justice anon 📬

Something to Hold

CG!Eddie Dear + Little!Wally Darling

“Here’s your mail, Julie!” cheerfully proclaimed Eddie. He pulled a primary-colored letter with a pawprint stamp from his bag. The rainbow monster joyfully took it from him.

“Thanks for the letter, Eddie,” she replied, “Can you play Magic Bakery with me?” The mailman froze a little, remembering the last time Julie played that game. Poppy’s kitchen needed an entire week of cleaning after her sugar potion erupted in a splash of batter.

“I’d like to, but I don’t think I’m up for it,” Eddie excused, his right hand scratching at the back of his neck.

“That’s okay, I bet Frank would love to play Magic Bakery,” reassured Julie confidently. “Bye Eddie! Hope your day’s fun!”

“I’ll see you later!” He tipped his hat as he strolled away. Feeling his hand around inside his mailbag, Eddie sighed freely when he didn’t touch a single letter. Now that his day’s work is done, his schedule is free. Maybe I should fold some paper butterflies; Frank would love that. How about I cut a ribbon of stars? I could even deliver it to Sally. 

Caught up in his thoughts, Eddie tripped over a pebble. Slight pain flared a bit as he landed face first on the grass. He propped himself up, only to spot something small behind the post office.

Huh, did someone leave a package? 

Eddie kept walking, then realized the figure was one of his neighbors. His steps slowed stealthily, as if worried about scaring the person off. Hiding around a corner of the building, the mailman realized it was actually Wally.

The small darling seemed quiet and tense, unlike his usual content self. His ascot hung loose around his neck, his cardigan unbuttoned and nearly falling from his shoulders, and his chest heaving unsteadily. In Eddie’s favor, Wally’s eyes are too trained on the apple in his hands to notice someone spying on him. A self-soothing behavior taking virtually no effect.

The taller friend’s worry only grew at the sight. What could’ve scared him so badly? …I finished my route; it wouldn’t hurt to take a break. A sporadic yet subdued burst of footsteps carried Eddie closer, alerting Wally of his presence.

“Hey Darlin’,” the concerned man sat beside the shorter, “do you need any help?” With a slight turn of the head towards his friend, Wally’s shaking pupils dragged themselves to meet Eddie’s gaze. 

“No,” he decided, his voice soaked in anxiety. A blatant lie, unfit for a usually happy friend and neighbor.

“Oh, Wally, it’s okay to ask for help,” Eddie soothed, reaching a hand out for the frazzled artist. The painter hesitated, glancing wearily between his apple and his friend’s palm. Said friend never stopped displaying such genuine affection, effectively winning Wally over. Wordlessly, one hand held the red fruit while the other hovered over Eddie’s hand. The mail carrier kept a loose yet secure grip, propped Wally up, and led him inside the post office.

For the most part, the inside sparkled with cleanliness; only a side table was littered with scrap paper from a previous crafts project. Eddie placed his hat and work bag on the wall hooks behind the reception desk, and let go of Wally in the process. Free to explore, Wally felt drawn to the table of leftover materials, eyeing every individual paper. When the off-duty mailman returned his attention to his friend in need, his confusion grew a little. After all, Wally’s tantalized by spare pieces of the paper crowns he made for Sally’s last play.

“What is it, Darlin’?” Eddie asked, joining Wally at the cluttered table.

“Red,” mumbled the yellow puppet, pointing at a pile of paper triangles with the same color. He thoughtlessly placed his apple on the table, and admired the differing shades between the maroon scraps and the scarlet fruit.

“That’s right; they’re both red,” awkwardly added Eddie. Despite his quiet exhale unknowingly releasing itself, he couldn’t stop thinking about the unfamiliar behavior unfolding next to him. I’m glad he’s feeling better, but something ain’t right.

“Gween,” Wally muttered, now pointing towards a couple of poorly-cut ovals. That certainly snapped the distracted mailman out of his thoughts.

“Green?” repeated Eddie, mental wheels finding enough courage to turn. Maybe he wants to distract himself with colors, he rationalized. At this apparent correction of pronunciation, the secretly-regressed little darted his eyes down to his fingers, which gently tapped on the table.

“Yeah, that,” spoke Wally, voice shy and small. It melted Eddie’s heart with melancholy, yearning for the artist’s happiness to return. 

“I didn’t mean to make you sad, Darlin’,” affirmed Eddie, his words sweeter than any apples Wally had seen. “Just know I want to help you find your smile again, okay?” The regressor nodded confidently, his clear gaze fixed onto Eddie’s while his hands made a grabby motion towards the mail carrier.

“Oh! You want a hug?” Words escaped Wally; he could only repeat his grabby hands. “Aww, of course I will, Darlin’!” Protecting arms wrapped snugly around the little’s limp body.

Smiles on their faces, they stayed like that until Wally’s eyes slowly closed. Naturally, Eddie pulled out his Murphy bed and tucked the sleepy darling underneath soft blankets. As one of them napped, the other lovingly watched over them.

#fandom agere #welcome home agere #agere fic #age regression #sfw agere #agere #sfw age regression #hey is it good with u guys if i use the tags as director’s commentary? #so anyway technically Wally never revealed his regression #but i think he’d tell Eddie later #first fic posted to my blog baybeeeee!!! #i feel like i’m missing some tags someone please let me know

[blorbocedes]

I was expecting dead dove but it was actually really sweet 🥺🥺 Max not having to worry about anything other than racing bc christian is taking care of everything... Geri not knowing max is staying with christian.. Max not even daring to tell christian his wings are sensitive incase he will stop touching him all together... Wow

haha thank you 🥹 it's maybe not *as* sweet on the second read 👀 [spoilers below]

obv since it's from max pov, he's giving christian a lot of benefit of the doubt but after the fic ends you realize wait..... somethings a little manipulatively afoot. like christian not telling his wife ab max in the guesthouse, or the fact he's had a winged driver before and he knows to some degree they are sensitive and he still keeps touching them 😳 or the fact christian's the one who would stop max from overworking himself but allows it when he thinks he's slower than pierre (whole factory and nobody stops him? clearly orders from above)

so yeah, the dove is very much alive and very much a little pet instead of free 🫣 but I did want to write a surface level sweeter fic that's just a little off when you think about it, and I'm happy with it

Thank you for reading!

#fic director's commentary #gives you wings discussion #another satisfied customer #fic review #blorbocedes ask

[more-better-words]

So, we’re off and running! Anything extra you can impart to your loyal readers about Chapter 2: Priorities, of The Place We Call Home, the fourth and final part of your “Built to Last” series? Thank you!

And we're immediately back to table setting! 😆

Because this is the story of Trip and T'Pol and their kids, so I have to get them to a place where kids can happen! The career realignments they were both working towards What We Build Here are going to shift a bit - after all, we've had a war since then. So Trip's taking some well deserved time off, and T'Pol...well, we'll get to her trajectory soon.

I am particularly proud of Malcolm's multi-tasking here - getting a drink with his dear friend AND trying to satisfy his curiosity about the Coalition conference, all at once! It was a valiant effort, Malcolm. Too bad Trip (house husband extraordinaire) wasn't falling for it. Better luck next time.

I love getting to write the little cozy domestic moments with Trip and T'Pol like the one this chapter ends on. It's catnip for me - I need an excuse to just endlessly write about them coming home from work, having dinner, and just enjoying being together. It would probably bore anyone else to tears, but it makes me so happy to give them that.

And also to give them the kids they so dearly and desperately want. Enter our old friend V'Ryn! 😁

#thanks for the ask! #fic #built to last #director's commentary #trip x t'pol #star trek enterprise

[bad-surprise]

⭐️directors commentary of your choice please?

i held onto this for a minute because i knew i wanted to wait until the fic was complete (same for museum, that’s sitting in my inbox for now)

apologies in advance, this is a long one.

but i thought you might

haladriel modern au | E | 135.4k | 26/26

but i thought you might (bitym) began as a promptfill i posted on december 9th, 2022— the day i created my fandom twitter account.

at very basic level, bitym is a story about purity culture and the impact it has on those who grow up within it, even if they believe they never bought into the conditioning. it taught me that i love writing about sex— particularly deeply psychological sex scenes that reveal new info about the characters and their relationship, motivations, and overall dynamic.

it really only exists because my husband had covid that week, and because i was exposed but tested negative we were isolating separately. i had a lot of time to fill and spent a lot of it daydreaming, listening to music, and writing little bits of a story in my notes app. there was a very clear moment where hal’s voice just clicked for me and the first chapter came together from there. chapters 1, 2, the last half of 4, and 5 were all written first, back when i thought it would be an 8k one shot. i still have the draft of this, along with another one shot version of it.

it was inspired by memories of high school, particularly one off-campus lunch senior year where a friend confessed that she and her boyfriend had sex and she enjoyed it and didn’t know what to do with that. i believe my response was “i’m pretty sure you’re supposed to like it,” but she started crying. hal and gal’s high school is largely based on the private religious school i attended, and when i imagine their campus, that’s the image in my mind.

i really struggled to find a title, and sort of impulsively chose a line from home by daughter because i thought that song captured the right vibe.

personally, the story only becomes something i’m not embarrassed by around chapter 6. i knew what i was writing towards at that point but only in vague terms. going back into hal’s pov there for the first time since chapter 2 really clarified things for me. i’m not proud of it until chapter 10.

note: spoilers for the entirety of but i thought you might below.

many of my favorite elements were happy accidents, including the introduction of luthien, the two year time jump in chapter 11, the entire diner scene, and hal going to therapy. in conversations with my husband, i was adamant for so long that bitym!hal would never go to therapy. i underestimated what he would be willing to do for gal.

i didn’t really know the ending until around march, and a key aspect of it changed while drafting the penultimate chapter. the original ending i had in mind was incredibly dark, much closer to the shark in your water. it was initially going to be a story about hal thinking he was free from the religious conditioning but turning out to be just as toxic as fin, and galadriel coming to terms with being trapped. i was terrified when this changed and so so scared that hal would lose empathy from readers because of what he did, but ultimately that doesn’t seem to have happened.

the process of writing felt like constant excavation. i felt my way through the story intuitively, with a very flexible list of some plot points in my mind, but i was pretty much flying blind here. i’m so glad it worked out alright in the end.

easter eggs/random bits of info

references

“but they say you have the voice of an angel” is a reference to the music of the ainur

many celebrian moments were inspired by tiktoks and reddit posts.

“the last person i dated was awful” from chapter 17 (i think?) is the only morgoth reference in the whole fic. i debated including him but it ultimately felt like too much work to add it in and i don’t think the story needed it.

when hal’s telling galadriel how he lost his virginity, he says “she had a boyfriend anyway”. this is a reference to the song sex by the 1975.

in chapter 18, the event the girls go to is a reference to revolve tour (the girls who get it, get it)

the conversation hal and gal have about the differences in sex ed for girls and guys at their school is intended to slightly reference “then why is it not gone from here?” in the show, which is largely how it felt for me to leave evangelicalism before recovering from a lot of the related trauma. i didn’t believe it anymore, so why was it still strangling me all the fucking time?

depression as anger turned inward comes from my therapist, who knows i used it in this fic.

takes 20 attempts for halbrand to get the ring right because 3 rings for the eleven kings + 7 for the dwarf lords + 9 for mortal men = 19 before he forges the one.

hal is an aeronautical engineer working in the defense sector. this is a reference to some legendarium stuff around sauron in numenor.

writing process + personal shit:

in the first draft, hal was morgoth’s son and there was a plot point involving the theft of the silmarils.

the nursing student line in chapter 1 is based on some people i knew at university.

i am too embarrassed to read chapters 2 and 3. like i just want to curl up and hide whenever i think about either of those chapters, i think they’re terrible.

there are many “deleted scenes” from bitym that just didn’t fit into the narrative in the end, so they live in the unused scenes folder in my scrivener project. one of these scenes— a description of hal’s apartment— actually ended up being used for museum, and another scene i deleted was reworked for chapter 7 of shark.

i wrote the infamous chapter 5 car scene in the middle of the night, during what felt like a dissociative state, because i knew if i wasn’t exhausted my inner critic would start shame spiraling due to my own religious upbringing.

every single purity culture experience in the text, with the exception of chastity club and the purity pledge, is something that actually happened in my life. the only reason i didn’t do a purity pledge is because i missed youth group that week.

“they cannot convince her she’s sinned” is 100% from my own experience of being surprised by my complete lack of guilt lol.

i really want to have a longer convo about the consent stuff in it because i’m fascinated by some of the responses i got to the chapter 5 car scene. some people were really angry with me for it, which was interesting bc i really had the archive warning on there because of the birth control tampering.

i fucked up the time skip in chapter 11 and added an extra year. this changed the story dramatically (and is why the ending ultimately changed) but i prefer the way it turned out. i also fucked up the age gap between fin and gal, and don’t ask me what grade celebrian is in bc basically i cannot do math to save my life.

i find it really interesting how many readers seem to think galadriel’s POV chapters are more reliable than hal’s, because i definitely see it the opposite way.

i get super nervous about the references to their jobs because i’m terrified of getting something wrong but definitely don’t know the ins and outs. i do research, but i still feel super inadequate there, which is why you never see her at work and only see him at work twice.

chapter 13 (diner scene) was so difficult to plan, but once i decided to use those two songs, it became fairly straightforward. it’s one of my favorite chapters in the entire story.

you probably know this by now if you’ve read chapter 25, but their first kiss being in a closet was 100% deliberate.

i’m so so proud of the sequence with the pregnancy tests in chapter 15.

i decided celebrian would be in this while writing chapter 6.

the drive home from the bachelorette party was written about five days after i started working on bitym.

i knew as soon as chapter 6 that hal would wait until celebrian was born to tell galadriel that he loved her, but holy shit it was so difficult to wait that long.

the scene I’m most proud of is the opening to chapter 23.

misc. in universe info:

the night out with elrond and miriel in chapter 22 stresses me out so much bc gal doesn’t understand what she’s doing and it’s such a horrible position for hal to be in, seeing how she’s basically asking him to come out to her before he’s ready. this all happens only a few days before galadriel leaves for the first time.

hal doesn’t know that galadriel doesn’t think they’re a couple until B+L’s wedding. his response when she tries to bring it up earlier is because he’s worried officially defining it its going to either set him up for failure, or scare her off completely, but in his mind, they were basically together together as soon as he said “yeah, i think i’ll keep you” in chapter 5.

there are subtextual references to substance use issues in hal’s family. this is why he doesn’t drink much or do drugs— though by his 32nd birthday his attitude is a bit more relaxed, considering that their second child is conceived while both of them are drunk lol

in chapter 12, galadriel left her car in accessory for too long and the battery died. hal is fully aware of this and totally could’ve just jumped her battery but he missed her and wanted an excuse to spend time with her.

galadriel’s apprehension about motherhood doesn’t come from a lack of interest altogether, but because the only model she’s really had is one of 100% loss of identity, which is something she’s not willing to do. initially, i planned on this being her ultimate fate and good lord i’m so happy i didn’t go there.

i’m very careful in hal’s therapy sessions to have him refer to “people” he’s dated/slept with, rather than “women.”

galadriel’s friends 100% thought she was sleeping with hal AND celeborn in high school, hence their confusion at her response to finding out they were sexually active then.

hal’s parents aren’t actually homophobic or biphobic, they just didn’t know how to handle that situation and so they sort of pretended it didn’t happen. and if you want to know what happened, it’s just your usual homophobic bullying— the boy he liked turned on him to avoid being a target himself.

hal has had panic attacks his entire life but wasn’t diagnosed with panic disorder until shortly before galadriel moved out for real. he’s very resistant to using rescue meds and thinks he should just be able to tough it out.

they split bills proportionally based on income, with hal contributing 66% and gal 34% around the time of celebrian’s birth. galadriel doesn’t know much about hal’s finances until they buy the house.

i loved seeing how responses to amarie changed as she challenged expectations in the later timeline. i feel really bad for her— it’s implied in the final chapter that she married fin when she was 20 and he was 24, and she dropped out of college as a result. what they’re struggling with by the end is the fact that she wants to finish her degree and has made peace with the fact that they don’t have kids— more of that will be in peppermint for sure.

another aspect in the background that i knew about but decided against mentioning is that celebrian was born just before covid, which is a huge part of why they fell out with galadriel’s family. hal’s health anxiety meant nobody was getting anywhere near his baby and they were not feeling that at all. this might come up a little in peppermint, we’ll see. i doubt i would directly mention covid, just the fact that both of them were working from home for a large part of celebrian’s first few months.

celebrian’s first word was fuck. hal insists it doesn’t count. gal disagrees.

both hal and gal can be read as neurodivergent. it’s revealed in peppermint that celebrian does have adhd. hal also can be read as meeting the diagnostic criteria for borderline personality disorder— that was unintentional but i think it makes a lot of sense.

significant influences on bitym

films/tv

like crazy

normal people

about time

saved

couples therapy

the worst person in the world

before midnight

lady bird

500 days of summer

non-fiction

leaving the fold: a guide for former fundamentalists and others leaving their religion by marlene winell

complex ptsd: from surviving to thriving by pete walker

hold me tight by sue johnson

adult children of emotionally immature parents by lindsay c. gibson

three women by lisa taddeo

fiction

normal people by sally rooney

beautiful world where are you? by sally rooney

little rabbit by alyssa songsiridej

the unbearable lightness of being by milan kundera

atonement by ian mcewan

musical theater

the last five years

spring awakening

once

my favorite lines

Fighting is foreplay, so they never fight fair. Grievances are grenades, painstakingly primed for maximum impact. If the situation escalates to all-out warfare, consequences take a brutal turn. All hope of a ceasefire hangs on her eventual surrender to submission. — chapter 8

“Stop fucking running from what you want,” he murmurs, slipping his free hand beneath her shoulders, golden hair tangled around his wrist and laced between his fingers as they sink into her skin. “You’re not scared of me, you’re scared of yourself.” The words sear into her with the precision of a cautery pen, burning through any vestiges of self-denial still humming in her mind, loosening each thought at the root. — chapter 10

Galadriel murmured the words over and over again, whispering them against his lips, pressing them into his mouth, until the taste of each syllable was as familiar to him as the salt of her tears. — chapter 11

“Deciding to leave is very different from deciding to not love you anymore.” — chapter 13

If Galadriel is sunlight, Celebrian is made from the stars. — chapter 21

“I’d be first in line at the gates of hell,” Hal says slowly, with all the steadfast solemnity of a vow or a prayer, “if it meant I could keep this beautiful fucking life of ours for just a little longer.” — chapter 25

“You can stop beating yourself up for this shit, honey.” Hal’s thumb brushes her temple. “It’s not on you to fix something you didn’t fucking break.” — chapter 26

Maybe Hal was right. Maybe these moments only matter because of their fleeting, ephemeral nature. Maybe that overwhelming ache she once believed would shatter her served as a method to hollow out space for feeling to inhabit— this precious alloy of quiet contentment and contagious joy, irresistible wonder and the recalcitrance of love, all bound together by a strand of defiant hope. — chapter 26

“I might never be able to heal the parts of you— of us, of our family, our life— that I’ve broken. But you have my word, Galadriel,” his voice drops, each syllable low and firm, carrying the weight of an oath, “I will keep trying— until my last fucking breath, until the end of the goddamn world.” — chapter 26

that was probably a lot more than anyone wanted to know haha, so i’ll stop myself there. this fic means so fucking much to me and i’m so so proud of it. i never thought i’d be capable of writing anything like it and it’s so overwhelming in the best way to know that it means a lot to other people too.

hopefully this answered a lot of questions, but my ask box is open for anything at all— i could talk about concepts in and the process of writing bitym for days (i’m usually holding back bc i don’t want to be annoying) so please feel free to reach out with whatever.

and again, thank you all for everything. you’re amazing.

#answered #my fics: bitym #my fics: but i thought you might #fanfic directors commentary #poeticmemory

[dandylovesturtles]

Okay, not sure if this but is under 500 words or not, but it’s probably my favorite snippet in the whole fic and maybe even all the rottmnt fics I’ve read. It’s just so good!

Awww, thanks so much! I'm still really happy with how this scene (and this entire sequence) turned out.

I end up spoiling the fic a bit in this so don't venture into the read more if you're a new reader and don't want spoilers.

Leo stayed on the ground, waiting for a hand to be offered to him. He didn't want to admit it, but his legs felt like liquid. The help would be appreciated.

Since Leo is out of his body, everything he feels is psychosomatic. But of course your brain controls everything about how you experience the world, so does not having a body really matter? It was important to me that while Leo experiences some physical benefits from not having a body (not getting tired, not feeling thirst or hunger, etc), he also experiences the physical effects of stress and dissociation and all the other mental illness he's currently experiencing. Poor guy.

No one extended a hand to him. Rejection twisted hot in his gut, burning him inside out.

This whole sequence, really from the moment he gets separated from Mikey, kicks off the "Raph arc" of the story (intermingled with closing out the "Mikey arc", as it were), and I turned the idea of Leo wanting someone to extend a hand to help him as a running theme for this arc (which is... maybe not the most cohesive since Raph doesn't get touch, but Raph is also his big brother and no matter who is in the leader spot, Raph will always be the person Leo most looks to for help when he's in trouble). I bring this line back in chapter 8 when the two of them talk out their feelings and Raph extends the metaphorical "hand" to Leo, and Raph keeps doing that for the rest of the fic, pulling Leo out of his dark thoughts whenever he sinks a little too deep and being ready to help him however he can.

"There you go, Leo," said Mikey softly. "Take a second."

Mikey ends up doing a lot of the caretaking of Leo in this fic, especially in the first part, because he can actually see Leo and can see how badly all of this is affecting him, even as Leo tries to act strong for them. Leo is Mikey's big brother, and he doesn't exactly love being this vulnerable in front of Mikey, but he doesn't have much of a choice. And Mikey is doing such a good job. Isn't it fine to swap roles now and then?

He looked at Mikey, then opened his arms for a hug. He'd write it off as being for Mikey later, because he looked upset. But he needed to grab something. He needed to know this was real.

Mikey's eyes brimmed with tears. "Leo," he said, and his voice trembled on his name. "Oh, Leo..."

He didn't hug him, and Leo felt the sting of it under his skin. His arms fell.

Ah, the part everyone yelled at me about.

This is actually the moment I got the idea for that inspired basically this entire section, from Mikey getting yanked off the tank all the way through this dissociative episode. In my interpretation of Leo, he doesn't ask for things very often, especially things like affection or comfort. Sure, he'll encourage them to chant for him or call him their champion or whatever, but this is different - it's a lot more vulnerable. To be fair, though, Leo doesn't usually have to ask; we see in the show that he's pretty touchy with his brothers and clearly feels like there isn't much of a boundary there when it comes to touch, and Raph and Mikey especially give hugs easily, so he doesn't really have to do much when he's feeling low to get affection. And the thing about asking is that you can be told no, and rejection when he really needs something is devastating. So if he's going to ask for something like a hug or some other kind of affection/comfort, it means he really really needs it and can't just wait around for it to be offered to him.

And Mikey would definitely know that. Poor Mikey isn't rejecting him on purpose, of course, he couldn't hug Leo if he wanted to (and he very much wants to!). He knows that rejecting Leo when Leo is being this upfront about his needs is something that will really hurt him, but he can't do anything to help.

No one is happy here, that's for sure!

(Well, except maybe me, the person who wrote it. See, the benefit of being the author is that I can write this scene while I also have the ending in my head so I don't have to be sad about it. ^^ )

"What happened?" asked Donnie.

"Nothing. Leo just..." Mikey sniffed. "We need to get him back in his body."

Mikey was trying not to embarrass Leo here, because Leo probably would get a little embarrassed by Mikey telling them he's asking for hugs, and besides, if he said that was what Leo was doing then Leo would have to be rejected two more times. So he's trying to help!

But maybe if he'd answered this question, Donnie would have gotten his act together a little faster later haha.

Everybody's doing their best but sometimes your best doesn't fix it. :c

Thanks for the ask!

#fic: i may be invisible but i still look good #I enjoy doing this actually #I'm one of those nerds who loves watching director commentary

[lavampira]

wip whenever

tagged by @redwayfarers and I do actually have a bit more to share now! it’s another excerpt from my stormblood-era sidalia wip (spoilers for the DRK 70 quest) that still has me spiraling as I chip away at it. not tagging anyone else this time, but if anyone has any creative work to share, I def want to see it c:

Sidurgu faces away from her, his attention too preoccupied with the threat ahead of him in the form of an anguished elezen boy and magic born of stolen aether. His armored body shields Rielle, hunched over the girl’s limp form sprawled beneath him, and by the way that he leans on one knee and shakes with each heaving breath, she can’t be certain that he can stand. Fear catches in her throat.

Not them. Please, not them, too.

A hoarse cry escapes her chapped lips as she rolls to push herself off the ground. Rosy hair tumbles around her ears and face with the motion, falling loose from her haphazardly tied bow, and staggering in a pathetic arc to meet Myste’s gaze, she finds it not unlike the boy’s cascading blue hair and wild, bewildered expression before her. As the familiar glow of aether envelops him in preparation of another summon, she grits her teeth and braces for it.

Oh, what a fool she’d been not seeing through the ruse.

Before they had ever picked up a sword, her hands held a grimoire. Hers is the world of egi, simulacra, and trances, aether brought forth by crystals and arcanima, primals felled and their power borrowed at her hands, years spent honing the once thought lost Allagan art. ‘Twas she who the boy had got it from, after all—her aether, her knowledge, and her strength wielded by her own grief made manifest.

And now Sidurgu and Rielle may pay the price.

#director’s commentary but this fic isn’t a novelization but scenes building on their connection between drk questline + msq moments #mostly to showcase their dynamic leading up to getting together and the mindset alia is in ahead of it #because there is. a lot to unpack. for her before she allows herself to give into her feelings #and this section is a larger intro ‘prologue’ that bookends the end as the defining moment when their relationship officially starts #wip tag #tag game #oc: d'alia liveq

[pauls1967moustache]

Hellooo!!! Could we have your dvd commentary on this snippet from my beloved ‘tomorrow I’ll miss you’ please?! (even though you already did such a good job at showing their feelings)

"You know, he didn't want me to come today," Paul tells him. He says it as a joke—to demonstrate the state of George's protective paranoia—but John doesn't laugh. A perplexed, little frown creases between his brows, instead.

"What do you mean?"

Paul feels embarrassed for a moment, his cheeks warming starkly against the cool autumn air around them. He's realises it might have sounded like a bigger deal than it really is, what with John going all serious on him.

"George thinks it's this whole thing like—" he stutters out, trying not to go too obviously red. He takes a breath, focusing on the burning end of his cigarette instead of John. "Well, he has this daft idea in his head like it's going to be Hamburg all over again or summat, you know. Like we're going to become best mates in an afternoon, and then you'll disappear, and he'll have to deal with me."

It's not exactly what George said, but Paul can tell it was what he meant.

Do you want me to come with you? George asked him, in that same conversation about the book event.

I dunno if I'm going, yet. I'll probably have to work, anyway, but if you want to see him you should go, Paul had told him.

And then George said: I'll go if you wanna go—his voice all gentle, like he was trying to reassure Paul of something.

George always fucking did that—talked about John like he was only ever Paul's friend. It frustrates Paul. Makes him feel embarrassed for bringing John up in conversation, when it isn't that he's desperate to talk about John, or whatever George seems to think. John's a thing they share. Paul brings him up because he figures George might like to talk about him, too, from time to time. But then George always turns sarcastic, or wary, and it ruins the mood of whatever story Paul wanted to reminisce about in the first place.

And really, Paul doesn't always want to deal with it; so he didn't say anything else about the book event, and he didn't say anything this morning, when he decided he was going to go.

"Why would he have to deal with you?" John asks, his voice even enough that Paul figures he—thankfully—hasn't noticed Paul's unplanned embarrassment about his flub.

"I don't know," Paul shrugs, taking another drag of his smoke. "He's not my bloody keeper."

He notices John watching him carefully, out of the corner of his eye. He holds out the cigarette in offering, not sure what it is John expects.

For the DVD commentary game

Ooh, I actually have lots to say about this one! For starters, when I was outlining this fic I was very precise about the reveal of information. I knew this scene was going to be the reveal of their relationships: first Paul's wife, then John's lover, then what happened in Hamburg with each other.

But I didn't originally have an introduction to that yet, they just went straight into talking about Paul's wife. I wanted it to be a bit more fo a shock than that though, and I didn't feel like the fic had addressed George enough up to that point (something I felt like John would've asked about, but didn't fit in anywhere else). So I wrote that they start by talking about George, and once Paul accidentally hints that maybe what happened in Hamburg had more of a significant effect on him than John believes, John gets curious/desperate enough to bring up the wife Paul hasn't mentioned at all.

The other thing is that later on in the fic, we learn just how devastated Paul actually was by what happened after Hamburg when we get that flashback to Paul crying when he realises that John's genuinely never coming back, and George finds him. This is like one of the first scenes I had for the fic, and again - I planned this very precisely - so I couldn't really get into just how upset he was yet, because it's going to come up later. I could only hint at it.

The good thing about this fic is that Paul is the denial king, so his POV is tailor-made for that kind of unreliable narrator nonsense. Paul never really acknowledges his feelings, but I could give an idea that they were there by using George's protectiveness. Paul says George had to deal with him, but we don't yet know what that really means.

And then, bringing George into it created this whole backstory of George as the one who had to put Paul back together after the heartbreak John caused him. Like, my brain went into detail about this. There's a whole mini-fic of George's post-Hamburg POV in my head. So George knows what seeing John again will mean to Paul, and he is rightfully concerned about how that will turn out given that from his POV John ditched them both and then Paul was so devastated he almost quit music entirely.

George kind of doesn't like John anymore because of this, which is why he doesn't join in on Paul's John stories the way Paul likes. But Paul doesn't like to feel judged, so naturally, he doesn't want to actually be honest about his desire to see John - even if George sees right through it. George is trying to leave space for Paul to be vulnerable about all the John-related feelings this is surely bringing up to the surface and Paul is going, no thanks! because he knows George won't approve, (and he just doesn't like talking about his feelings).

John is obviously not aware of any of this and is just trying to figure out what the fuck he'll have to deal with me is supposed to mean.

#dvd commentary ask game #i went so crazy outlining this fic. this one's a real goldmine for director's commentary tbh

[non-un-topo]

More clothing studies, this time from my fic Axis. I was aiming for authenticity while also trying to have each of their personalities show a little bit in their clothing choices. Two for Nicky, to show his layers.

#tog #the old guard #for reference the fic takes place in 1625 in iceland. i still don't think they're bundled enough though lol. #nicolo di genova #yusuf al kaysani #andromache of scythia #no quynh :( #these were a n i g t m a r e to crop correctly. tumblr why are you like this. #hence the cropping might look a little weird #siggy draws #i think these sketches took a month and a half lol. now i will be quiet about this fic and focus on writing something else. #what do we think about this style? the differently coloured lineart and the slight lighting? and the rough colours? #also i forgot my siggynature on ALL of these but that's ok. you know who i am sdfghf #my new obsession is clothing details i guess!! could always make it more detailed though! with lots of practice i can try. #no real director's commentary on these drawings like i usually write for my sketches asdsfgfd #just that this is mostly what they wear in the fic. add a coat for andy maybe and some mitts for joe. #and more weapons and bags and stuff #can't really see nicky's braids but he's got one big french braid and a few tiny ones on the sides of his head connecting to it. #his hair is like shoulder-blade length. it's about the symbolism!! of not making a change for a long time!! until he does cut it!! #and andy is wearing quynh's necklace under her shirt of course </3 #joe rolls his pantaloons above the knee for maximum movement (horseriding) and fashion (gay) #i have a crush on the first nicky sketch like he's so cunty for no reason #well. he's possibly supposed to be having a serious conversation/argument with andy #kudos to the ref picture i used of luca just standing Like That

[wanderingblindly]

PLEASE give me rules of engagement director’s cut. i need it biblically

AAAAAH thank you!!!! I haven't gotten to talk about this fic before, I think, so let us commence the info dump <33333

The Origins

I've always been a fake dating trope fan, but I've never had an idea that made it feel like my story, you know? But I've always wanted to try!

While I was procrastinating on cleaning my apartment, I randomly thought of this dialogue, directly copied from my planning document:

“If we do this, we need to make some rules” “Max we live together, I’m sure it’ll be fine” “WE NEED RULES CHARLES”

My brain immediately latched on to it, and the fic was born like... two hours later hahah

My Favorite Bits

Ok so this is one of my favorite lines for the DUMBEST reason:

“Are women not…? Is it these women, or?” His voice sounded tight. They hadn’t discussed Max’s sexuality before. Actually, if Max thought about it, they never really discussed Charles’s, either. He was pretty sure Charles stayed the night at a few different women's’ flats during uni, but that was little more than speculation.  ... “That’s fine, of course. Anything is. Fine, I mean.” Charles stuttered, his cheeks still slightly pink.  “Doesn’t solve the problem though, does it?”

Was it vaguely inspired by BBC's Sherlock? Yes it was. Would anyone have noticed if I didn't confess to my sins? No.

More seriously, I also really enjoyed this little scene:

They always ate breakfast together.  Max always woke up first to get started on washing the fruit, and Charles always stumbled out of his bedroom in a state of total disarray about fifteen minutes later – hair sticking up, sweatshirt off one shoulder, pajama pants low across his hips, glasses nearly askew. They would eat breakfast together, Max happily talking about his to-dos and Charles diligently humming and nodding along as necessary. They’d get dressed, they’d walk out the door together. Max always locked it, Charles always lost his keys in the depths of his bag before he left the house.   It was easy and understandable. It was theirs. 

While the rest of the story, up until this point, has hinted at the routines baked into this domesticity, I loved how this scene used that to highlight why Max found the situation so alarming. They have a distinct rhythm -- an easy cadence that I tried to mimic in the very basic structure of the paragraph -- that's so noticeable when it's disturbed.

It also shows how much Max notices about Charles, even before he realizes why. To know someone well enough that even the slightest change in timing throws a red flag is just hmmmm I love it lol

And finally, one of my last favorite scenes:

“You’re still wearing your ring,” Max pointed out rather unhelpfully. Charles let out a bleak laugh, devoid of his usual eye-crinkling warmth.  “You picked it out for me,” He shrugged, leaving something unspoken in the air. Max didn’t do well with unspoken, with reading between the lines. He tried to breathe it into his lungs, find the meaning Charles left out. Speak it. 

The confession was just so full of "Max is trying his best and he doesn't entirely understand what he's done wrong but he'll do absolutely anything for him and Charles to just go back to the way it was before please please please". This line in particular highlights how much of this is Max desperately trying to understand what Charles really needs from him -- even though the answer ends up being nothing he expected.

Random Fun Lore

As always, this fic is full of random things from my actual life (for no real reason other than I'm unoriginal and boring). Some examples are:

Max's MD's summer party in the countryside: YES I have to go to this every year, YES I do get splashed by my coworkers, and YES there is far too much alcohol lol (although I do not partake like Max did but hey)

Full Recovery Mode: the very specific mug and the very specific tea that Max puts together for Charles is absolutely based on my real life (liter sized Japanese mug my beloved)

#OH and the scene where Charles had to teach Max how to hold his hand #my HEART #this fic was very much a 'head empty just vibes hit post' sort of experience #THANK U FOR ASKING ILYSM #Rules of Engagement #lestappen #ask me :) #directors commentary

[hello-eeveev]

How to Rest: Director's Commentary—Chapter 1

| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 |

Hello and welcome to How to Rest Director’s Commentary! I’ve decided that I have so many thoughts that I cannot express in the end notes or replying to comments, so I must dissect my own fic here. And I wanted to take this opportunity to discuss the fic as a whole now that it's finally finished—my thought processes, stuff that got cut, and parts I really like, the way certain things relate. I love it so much and I just want to tell you all about it!!!

We’ll go chapter by chapter, so first up is chapter 1!

(spoiler warning for the entirety of How to Rest)

“Eve, what was your goal for this chapter?”

I mean, I’m half-kidding. It’s mostly sweet, but Essek and Caleb are both awkward people and dating is awkward, so I decided to lean into it and have fun :)

The sun was just the tiniest sliver on the horizon. Its light could not reach Essek from where he stood on the hill, but it set the river below and Feolinn just beyond ablaze with reds and golds.

I chose Feolinn for a few reasons: 1) that’s where the wine Essek brought to the Xhorhouse in episode 91 is from, 2) I think Feolinn is a pretty sounding word, and 3) the Menagerie Coast seems like such a romantic location (especially if you are avoiding the two other major governments on Wildemount)

Not more than ten seconds had passed when he felt a magical shift in the air around him. He discreetly checked his timepiece and smiled. Right on time. “Hallo, my friend,” came a warm, familiar voice from behind.

For the lols I decided to roll Caleb’s teleport, and he got a 32 and then a 96, so mishap for 17 damage and then on target. I don’t think this actually happened, but it’s funny to think about Caleb getting all dressed up for this date and showing up a little bit scuffed up because Teleport isn’t fully reliable.

Also, “my friend.” This is important to me and will be a recurring theme throughout these chapter commentaries.

Essek couldn’t pretend like reaching for Caleb’s hand was something other than what it was, and the vulnerability was simultaneously frightening and exhilarating. 

Something something Essek doesn’t know the rules for physical contact now that they are like… together. He barely knew the rules for physical contact before! Now Caleb knows that Essek has feelings involved with any physical contact and that’s really scary, especially if you’re not used to feeling those things, much less expressing them to another person. 

But Essek knows his feelings are reciprocated, so even though it’s still scary, it’s something scary they are doing together and thus it becomes rewarding and worthwhile.

Caleb appeared to be going through a similar mental battle, if the way he hesitantly raised his arms was any indication. But Caleb had always been braver than Essek, and he pulled him into a hug.  It was a brief embrace. Essek barely had time to return it before Caleb pulled away, only to cup Essek’s face in one hand and press lips to his cheek. Essek froze, and he felt heat rise in his face.  “Hi,” Caleb said. He dropped his hand to Essek’s shoulder, his cheeks flushed a bright red. “It is good to see you.”

They’re both so nervous and so awkward. Like blushing schoolboys. It’s adorable. 

But let’s be real. Caleb is the first person Essek has felt so strongly about, and not only is this Caleb’s first relationship since he was 17 and since his life uhhhh changed drastically, it’s also Caleb’s first relationship that is intentional in its development. Blumentrio was a flash fire and this has been a slow burn, and Caleb is navigating the difference. We’ll come back to this next chapter.

“I thought it would be a good idea to start building a professional wardrobe now if I am aiming to teach next fall.”

*Essek will remember that. 

I plan on going into where each part of the Chapter 6 outfit is from when I discuss that chapter, but I’ll say now that Essek got the idea from Caleb mentioning that he needed professor clothes and purchased the shirt from Feolinn pretty much the next day. 

Essek’s eyes flicked between the bear claw and Caleb, unsure if Caleb meant for him to take it or eat it from his hand. Essek considered both these options and quickly realized how very poorly either could go.

Local wizard capable of manipulating gravity and time gets stunlocked by his crush handing a pastry to him. More on this at 11. 

Really, what happens is that Essek is faced with the possibility of mimicking one of the popular romantic images and feeling unsure if that’s what’s expected of him, but also worrying that not participating would be seen as a rejection. You ever misread someone’s body language re: physical contact (i.e. going in for a hug when they weren’t, or the reverse) and then the situation becomes very awkward? Essek is trying to avoid that while also dealing with romantic awkwardness.

Essek was not keen on most fruit, but he did have a particular fondness for blackberries. 

I had intended to return to this in a later chapter where Essek would bring up the time Verin filled his book with jam, but unfortunately, that ended up getting cut. But one of the reasons Essek likes blackberries is because they remind him of Verin and his childhood.

But as the raspberries popped in between his teeth, Essek grimaced.  The sickly sweet and acidic flavor shot straight up his nose and ended in a dull ache between his eyes. It took every ounce of willpower not to give in to the childish impulse to spit it out.  […] “It is like eating a headache.”

In The Shadowhand Becomes a Baker I had to describe so many foods I dislike in a positive light. This was my chance to express exactly why I dislike raspberries :)

“I am not a very picky eater; that is not a luxury I was ever afforded. When your next meal is uncertain, you will eat whatever you can get your hands on.”

Caleb’s had to eat so many unsavory things—mostly while he was on the run, but also eating food that he didn’t like as a kid because that was all his family had—that he’s rather desensitized to food that he doesn’t like. It all kind of levels out into a neutral “I’d rather not, but hey it’s food, so it’s really not that bad.”

“But in this case…” Caleb continued, as if what he had just said wasn’t deeply concerning. He popped the rest of the tart into his mouth and grinned. “I just like raspberries.”

The heathen. But that’s okay, Essek is also a heathen.

Caleb fumbled around in the dark and eventually found a rock roughly the size of his palm, which, after a gesture and an incantation, shot off into the air and tumbled down the hill.

To change the transmuter’s stone’s buff, you need to cast a 1st level transmutation spell, so I scoured Caleb’s spell list for one that seemed the most appropriate/least inappropriate for the situation: Catapult. (His only other options for 1st levels were feather fall or expeditious retreat.)

“Ah, there we go,” he said, turning back to Essek with a smile. “I can see you much better now.” Essek blinked, not understanding what a flying rock had to do with seeing better. “Oh! Your transmuter’s stone,” he said as it clicked. “It can grant you darkvision, can it not? That will be useful for seeing the stars.” Caleb nodded. “That too.”

He’s fliiiirrrrtinnnng ehehehehe

I feel like panicked!Essek defaults to very logical thought processes (and I have written it as such). So he’s thinking about what the practical, material benefit is to Caleb using a first-level transmutation spell to switch his transmuter’s stone to darkvision, and the answer is fairly straightforward: they are stargazing, which one can do more effectively if they can see more stars more clearly. 

And this is true, but it’s only part of Caleb’s purpose here. The stars are great to look upon with fondness and admiration. But Essek is too. And in my interpretation of them, Caleb is more ready/willing/able to flirt (which isn’t saying much bc hi look at them) and definitely more likely to keep his wits about him in one-on-one, interpersonal situations (hello 16 charisma), which he can utilize to flatter Essek.  

(This isn’t to say that Essek is inept when it comes to navigating social situations, he’s just the reverse of Caleb: he’s better at a distance when there are lots of eyes on him, like an actor on a stage. They’ve got two different flavors of social anxiety.)

The end result was Essek rudely baring his teeth at Caleb and brushing his lip against Caleb’s thumb, despite all his best efforts. Essek pulled away quickly and covered his mouth while he chewed. Caleb just smiled at him.  “Your thoughts?” he asked. 

This leads us into the first instance of cut content! I like this deleted scene! I think it’s really funny! But it was cut because 1) it doesn’t match the vibes of the rest of the chapter, 2) the flirtation is far too forward and doesn’t match the feeling I wanted there to be between Essek and Caleb at this point, and the reason I haven’t shared it separately 3) I was worried people would find a more sexually suggestive undertone than I intended, would assume I had intended it, and comment/banter about it accordingly. Which is a hard boundary for me. Please don’t do that. At least not in my comments/notes. Thanks :)

With that disclaimer out of the way, I really do hope you enjoy:

Cut content “fangs”:

“I forgot you had fangs.” “Yes?” Essek said. “So do you?” “Not really. My eye teeth are so short compared to yours.” “And mine are short compared to a bugbear’s, but it is still the same kind of tooth and it serves roughly the same function.” “True enough,” Caleb conceded. “But in my experience, at least with how the word is used colloquially, humans do not have fangs. Tieflings and goblins have fangs, orcs and half-orcs have tusks, and humans just have slightly pointed teeth.” “Interesting. Is it just humans that have such a low opinion of their teeth? Or does everyone agree that human fangs are too minuscule to be worthy of the moniker?” “I don’t know. I don’t often find myself asking others’ opinions on my teeth.” “You said that you consider tieflings to have fangs, yes? Let’s ask Jester.” Caleb smirked at him.  Essek arched an eyebrow back at him and cast Sending without breaking eye contact. “Jester, would you consider Caleb to have fangs?” “Um… no? Not really. Human teeth are too short and blunt. Why do you ask?” She gasped, and dread pooled in Essek’s stomach. “Wait, are you interested in Caleb’s fangs? Have you been—” Essek buried his face in his hands, blushing so furiously that he was sure even Caleb would be able to see it in the dark. “Do I want to know?” Caleb chuckled.  Essek shook his head. “Only that there is at least one opinion in your favor.” [assume some time passes, more conversation is had, etc.] “Hey, Essek! You should know that Mama said humans are still good at kissing even though their teeth aren’t sharp! Okayiloveyouhavefunonyourdate!” The end was less of a sentence and more of a garbled string of noises that Essek could understand only because he had received so many Sendings just like that.  “Thank you, Jester,” he responded. “But it was an intellectual discussion, nothing more. Sorry to disappoint.” “Well…” Caleb said to the night sky.  Essek rolled his eyes and carried on with his response to Jester. “You were right about Menagerie Coast bear claws. They’re very good.” Caleb turned to face Essek with a rakish grin.  Essek simply raised his eyebrows, refusing to give Caleb the satisfaction of flustering him. “Was I wrong?” “Not exactly. I do find your fangs very charming, though, and I don’t think that can be classified as purely intellectual.”

It just makes me smile every time. We get some worldbuilding/cultural discussions, some banter, a Jester Sending, and flirting. Very fun little scene to write.

This kind of closeness—physical and emotional—was new. He had never known people so… forthright in their affections until the Mighty Nein, much less been trusted with the fragile parts of someone else. It was overwhelming to say the least. And yet, it filled a space in his soul that he hadn’t known was empty. There was warm kindness where before he had only known cool niceties, and the companionship Caleb offered warmed him in a way that none else had. It was unsettling at times, this thing between them—untrodden and raw and vulnerable—but it felt good. 

We’ve talked about Essek’s struggles with his own vulnerability, but having someone else be vulnerable with him is also a lot. It’s a huge responsibility, and one he’s never had before. And he cares and he doesn’t want to mess it up again. But the Mighty Nein and Caleb have been so good to him that he’s actually not too scared that he will. Which is also new! Ahhh!

Good to have someone see the foolish and terrible things his hands had done and still consider them worthy of being held.

I just really like this. It reminds me of the scene in Fullmetal Alchemist where Ed tells Winry that her hands weren’t made for killing. 

Obviously, the context and conclusion here are very different (Essek/Caleb is more Hawkeye/Mustang-coded, let’s be real), but it leads into one of the main thematic elements of shadowgast: that people who have done terrible things in their pasts can do better and they can find people who help them grow and learn. They don’t have to continue the violence and pain; they can be kind and gentle. 

I mean, really it’s just the “you were not born with venom in your veins” speech again. It just set out the path for how their relationship would develop. (It was also my oh moment for realizing the potential of shadowgast and that it could be a ship I vibe with.)

Episode 97, my beloved, my guiding light. 

Essek didn’t put faith in the gods, and he wasn’t sure if he believed in fate, but whatever it was that bound lives together, he was grateful his was entwined with Caleb’s. Glad that, in spite of everything that might have pushed them apart, they were here, in this moment, this tiniest of stitches in the fabric of space and time, and chose to be together.

I had heard Matt Mercer in several roles before ever getting into Critical Role, but the role that really made me a fan of him was Chrom from Fire Emblem: Awakening. Chrom is my actual real life husband and I love him more than anything. In Awakening, Chrom says a line to the player character that I’ve always loved: “If we are all bound by these invisible ties, I thank the gods it’s with you.”

This section is both an homage to and a slight twist on that line. Essek is not a gods-person and I imagine that dunamancy somewhat trivializes the concept of fate while also… idk making it tangible? So there’s probably a weird relationship to that there. 

Regardless, there were a million different ways that Essek and Caleb could not have wound up as close as they are, and even if fate had some involvement, their choices are ultimately what led them here. And isn’t that kind of beautiful? 

“Well,” Essek said as he tucked the blanket into the basket, then turned towards Caleb.  “Yes,” Caleb said with a nod, mouth pressed into a tight line.  “I suppose this is goodbye.” Essek smiled and hoped it didn’t look as awkward as it felt.  “I suppose it is.” Neither of them moved.

Ohhh the eternal struggle of recognizing that the social event has ended but there’s still something you want to say or do, but you don’t know how so you just kinda stand there. In this case, they both would like to kiss again, but they're not sure how to broach that again since there’s no longer that huge tension of having never kissed. And then there’s the fact that goodbyes are like, a thing, which makes it more intimidating. 

Which reminds me of this cut exchange:

“There don’t have to be rules.” “But there are still rules.” “There can be, if they are useful to you. If they are not”—he shrugged—“why bother?” Essek furrowed his brow. “Why does anyone bother with them then?” “I’m not really sure myself,” Caleb laughed. “But from my observation, it is social shorthand—a way of conveying intent and expectation indirectly.” “Ah, so it is just more politicking. Wonderful.”

This one goes out to all my fellow arospecs and/or neurodivergents out there! What’s a societal expectation? Why is it so important to follow? Why is this strange, uncomfortable ritual the price I must pay for companionship???

I am very in love with the wizards doing their own thing at their own time. It’s romantic and it’s not.

“You have a crumb of something, ah—here.” Caleb took Essek’s chin in one hand and brushed something from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “There we are.”

Does Essek actually have a crumb on his mouth or is this a ploy to touch Essek’s face? If you’ve read Miss You Dearly, you may know that Caleb is not immune to telling a little white lie for love. But in this case it’s up to you. There isn’t a right answer because I think it’s all cute :)

#this is an open invitation to scream at/with me about how to rest #or any of my fics tbh #if there is anything you want me to comment on in particular just ask. i gotchu fam #long post #sorry not sorry for the length i couldn't think of a good place to split it #eve talks #eve’s writing #how to rest #how to rest director's commentary #chattering at birds #shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss