#writing ruminations

[ganymedesclock]

Tell me more about parasites and their hosts. Do you think the dynamic works if neither is aware of the other?

Before all else, any simplified dynamic has nigh infinite potential and how you explore it depends entirely on what you personally are looking for.

In my own case, a lot of my relationship with the idea of parasitism comes from my own mental health being strongly dependent on where I live- being able to return to home like a save point in a horror game. This sense of constantly being dependent on comfort, not merely as a normal person is but to the extent that I've felt like I'll be unable to cope if I can't get home in time or haven't built adequate mini 'safe rooms' (e.g. my car or a hotel room) to recharge, has formed a lot of my relationship with the idea of parasitism and the idea of haunted houses.

Both, to me, centrally focus on the idea of dependency on equilibrium. A house can't really chase you down- while there's certainly haunted house stories that give it the power to trap or pursue, to me, the most compelling angle is often one of necessity. Someone weighing the ghosts, the violence, the blood on the walls, and having to ask themselves if this is really worse than being homeless, or losing some advantage or shelter that you have here that can't be found elsewhere.

In the case of parasitism, the host is the haunted house. It may be simply indifferent to the parasite's survival; it may be actively hostile to and trying to rid itself of the 'guest'. But both parties have to weigh the odds- is it worth tearing into your own walls just to get at the interloper, is it worth staying in a place that unknowingly tolerates your existence at best and hates you at worst if the alternative is being laid barren in the world?

As a child, I remember reading the Animorphs books and one thing that always struck me as an unexpected source of pathos was how bleak and miserable the yeerks' default existence was. While we mostly experienced them from the horror of their would-be victims, people terrified and paranoid that those around them were being controlled, made prisoners in their own minds... the book where Cassie is briefly host to a yeerk and the first thing said yeerk does is, rather than focus on their agreement or advantages, start running around wildly and making use of Cassie's morphing power for the sheer wild euphoria of being able to.

As much as they are the Bad Guys in the story- invaders, body snatchers, sometimes sadists- there's something to be said about the torture of a fully sapient and intelligent being living as a nearly senseless, barely mobile creature by default. A tapeworm is perhaps lucky it cannot evaluate its existence in comparison to other life forms.

And, yeah, sure, parasites trip a particular contrarian reflex in me that I always want to root around and play with things that are seen as too icky or evil to be 'worth exploring', whether or not there's even any actual morality attached to things. Parasites do nothing on a basis of sadism- 'parasitism' is how they survive just as much as herbivory is how a rabbit survives.

It's instead on a basis of need.

And the point where we need others- especially imperfectly, reluctantly, warily, always hesitating on these dynamics of exploitation- and especially when it comes to the body which we often see as the most private bastion of the self- is where some really juicy dynamics can spring from.

#writing ruminations #long post #do I need you; do you need me; can I not live without you; is this not a form of devotion; is this not a form of love; #I am not the same as I was before I met you before you touched me; there is 'Us' now and it is beautiful and horrid; #we dread 'Us' as much as we dread the solitary 'I'- the true proof that we are alone

[fictionadventurer]

I have a germ of a theory that good Christian fiction has stories that are less about shaving down your personality to meet some specific mold of what a good Christian looks like, and more about "how gloriously different are all the saints."

Not that the Christian life doesn't involve fighting against our own sinful nature and conforming ourselves to Christ-like behavior, but I think it makes for better, more realistic, and more universal stories when you also recognize that people have different gifts and flaws and they're going to be called to use their unique personalities to serve the kingdom of God in their own unique way, instead of assuming everyone has to conform themselves to a very specific (often secular-culturally based) image of good behavior. It makes for a much more vibrant story.

#catholic things #books #i'm still ruminating on charlotte yonge #because i usually contrast modern christian fiction with how the classics incorporated christianity #but she's the first classic victorian author i've found that i'd describe as writing christian fiction #which makes for a more direct comparison #she did handle religion in some very good ways #but i tried another of her books after 'heir' #and it reminded me of what i didn't like about the childhood section of 'heir' #but magnified a lot #she wants to show her children overcoming flaws #but she has a very narrow english anglo-catholic view of goodness #and that means her idea of christianity can come across as very judgemental and narrow-minded #things that are not actually sins in and of themselves are treated as moral failings inherent to other cultures #and the kids spend so much time worrying about cutting out sin that you don't get to see enough of their unique personality #i'd be willing to try more from her but i think i'd have to stick to the stories about adult characters

[canisalbus]

Hello! I love your art- you have a real talent for expressive eyes. You're a great cartoonist, and I can't wait to see more of your work

It's a little silly, but I just wanted to say- don't beat yourself up for having a reaction to needles after a bad experience. On a moral level, yes, but also a practical one.

It's normal for a body to react to a bad experience with fear. That's what fear evolved to do, warn you about something that could go wrong next time.

However, fear can be reinforced. If your body responds to a stimulus with fear, and then you feel a negative emotion around that memory, your nervous system goes "Wow! That was so bad that even thinking about it stresses me out. I'd better make sure to never let this happen again. Time to dial up the fear signal!"

Being kind to yourself about something frustrating or painful is hard in good conditions, and I don't want to minimize that. This isn't "don't let it bother you" or "just get over it" or "think positive" advice.

When a fear of needles happens to me again (the fear comes and goes), I try to treat it like I would a food aversion resulting from food poisoning. You know when you eat something bad, get sick and then the thought of the food is really gross for awhile? Like that!

I try to let myself be mildly annoyed, but not so much it gets my blood pressure up. Sadness doesn't seem to extend the length of the fear either. But anger, guilt, or shame for me really seem to reinforce the fear reactions.

Your mileage will vary, of course! For me, I went from no fear of needles, to fainting when an IV was put in, back to no fear with patience and time. Maybe this can be a bit of hope for you too! I wish you luck and a smooth road!

.

#so thoughtful of you to write such a long and sensible response #ruminating on a bad experience only gives it more significance #and makes sure it stays in your longterm memory as a Terrible Thing Alert Alert event #still feeling rattled about it #and subsequently feeling dumb for letting it bother me so much #I try to avoid using the word too frivolously but that was kind of traumatic #but thank you I needed to hear all of that #the lady kind of got agitated and blamed me for being sensitive and I've been gaslighting myself into thinking I was just overreacting #I don't know just bad vibes all around #answered #anonymous #cw needles

[rozecrest]

do you ever think about the space of time in dungeon meshi where marcille is dungeon lord and falin is a chimera, and they have been pushed past their limits? so do i, often, so i wrote about it. happy early farcille freak friday

#i've been ruminating on this constantly basically since i finished the manga earlier this month i'm so happy to have it in the world..... #its good yuri you should read it :) #dungeon meshi spoilers #dungeon meshi #farcille #my writing

[healrod]

sometimes i forget that poland also has anxiety and like. thinking about it is so interesting. my interpretation of lietpol is that liet has more generalized anxiety (existential dread, what am i going to do for work, will the bread that i bought one day ago get moldy before i can eat all of it, etc.) and po has more social anxiety. i like to characterize po as having a super intense and eccentric personality that Not A Lot of People can Handle. so po worries more about social acceptance, whereas liet worries more about his life’s material circumstances that are sometimes, but not always, determined by social acceptance. does this Make Sense

#healrod.txt #hetalia #lietpol #hws poland #hws lithuania #currently writing a lietpol drabble and ruminating on their characterizations

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Fallen Thorns

dark urban fantasy coming-of-age

follows a boy settling into university, when after a date (that he didn’t even want to go on) turns bad he’s made into a vampire

as he settles into his new existence and the local vampire community - while they try to find who’s been leaving bodies across the city - he discovers that there’s something different and darker within him

aroace neurodivergent MC

#fallen thorns #aroaessidhe 2024 reads #I enjoyed this a lot! #there's definitely things I want to know more about...I think it's going to be a series? the only thing explicitly mentioned is a prequel #the ending is a bit weird and I don't entirely get the sun/star/moon stuff dfhgd #really great characters and atmosphere #great aroace MC in general tho minor pet peeve from me: #it does have that thing where the character spends half the book ruminating about how there’s something wrong with them bc they don't feel #things everyone else does etc etc and it’s like omg all these queer people and nobody’s heard about asexuality??? #then he’s having a conversation with someone later in the book and he’s like yeah I know about asexual but I didn’t think about that re: me #and the other char is like: what if…..it IS you…..and he’s like omg. i AM asexual there’s nothing wrong with me after all! (in like. a page #like I’ve read this in multiple books LMAO. I do get that you can know about an identity and not connect it to your experiences #but somehow the writing of it like this is never quite believable? too sudden? then it's not thought about much after that? #anyway that's not a critique of the ''representation'' as much as just the writing I think - there's a few areas where I thought the writin #could be improved structurally or whatever. Didn't massively impede my enjoyment. #(I do also love an aroace mentor/parent figure!) #aromantic #aroace books #aromantic books

[nowihatemyself]

gold rush, taylor swift / "taylor swift broke all her rules with folklore -- and gave herself a much-needed escape," alex suskind for entertainment weekly / "5 things we learned watching taylor swift's surprise new folklore documentary," liam hess for vogue / "taylor swift opens up about the creation of evermore," eli countryman for variety / "musicians on musicians: taylor swift & paul mccartney," patrick doyle for rolling stone / "taylor swift feels her music was getting too 'diaristic,' recalls feeling under a 'microscope'," mitchell peters for billboard / taylor swift in a tweet from april 2021 / cardigan, taylor swift / the torn-up road, richard siken

#taylor swift #richard siken #web weaving #parallels #folklore #evermore #writing #lyrics #m* #i have been ruminating on this for probably two years now #i have more to say & theres lyrics by other artists that go with this but. let's just leave it here for now :) #also please don't feel like u have 2 reblog. im really just posting this for me ! #folklore. #evermore. #mirrorball*

[revasserium]

a rumination on falling in love; aka the terrifying and strange reality of "dream girl" becoming "real girl"

or, what happens when an only child who has only ever loved in fiction falls in love in real life instead

this is not for you. unless, of course. you, like me, have felt like this before. which is to say, this might be for you. but it most definitely is, 100%, for me. so read on if you'd like. or, close out and move right along.

i am very lucky, i think, to have had the childhood that i had -- only child, two loving parents. but not only that, two loving parents who were good at loving and also good at parenting (which are two very distinct and different things and somehow, at least in my semi-limited exposure to people around my age, is becoming rarer and rarer these days). i am lucky to have been allowed to grow as i have -- to never question that i am loved, unconditionally and endlessly, to never question whether or not i have something -- because of course it's mine -- i've got no siblings to have to share anything with.

now, to some, that might be a sad, lonely thing, but i never thought about it that way. because i was never taught to think about it that way. and contrary to popular belief, it hasn't made me (or at least so i think) stingy or "bad at sharing" -- it's actually made me rather an over-sharer. i always have snacks at the office, i try to offer advice freely, i spot dinners/outings when i can, i like the joy it brings to share things not only to the people being shared with, but also to me -- the person doing the sharing.

but the double-edged sword of only-child-dom in upper-middle class america is time -- the huge, gaping excess of it, giant swaths of it after school, great big chunks of it on the weekends, the seemingly unbridgeable chasm between turning off the light and falling asleep. later, i'd learn that undiagnosed adhd and very high performing manic depression are to blame for most of my vibrating sense of need to fill every hour of every day with some kind of productivity (this, unironically, is why i love new york city -- the frenetic energy of it matches my mental wavelength so that i can feel "productive" even when i'm just walking down the street or sitting in a bar).

but back then, i -- and by extension my lovely parents -- tried to fill it with stuff -- 2 different art classes, ballet, swimming, piano, debate club, singing, chinese school, and of course, with my still yet unfilled hours -- reading and writing. to say i was raised by the books i read would be an understatement. to say i am nothing more than a massive conglomerate of those characters that resonated most with me in those books would be parenthetical to the fact that i'm also built by all those characters i've ever admired or wanted to be. i am, in the most cliche, literal, non-lampshaded sense "that nerdy book girl" who made it her entire fucking personality to be... that nerdy book girl. and this, amidst the stratospheric rise of "not like other girls" media and rhetoric -- it was not healthy (it still isn't), but it was a large part of who i was. and a lingering part of who i am today.

my overactive, adhd-driven imagination served me well, then. into the stories i delved, and what i couldn't find in my normal every day life, i found in narrative. long before the tiktok-ification of "book boyfriends" came the voices in my head that sounded like all the would-be book boyfriends i'd ever have -- everyone from edward cullen to kakashi to four (that one guy from divergent who only has like 4 fears, which in retrospect is so, so cringe, but alas) to fictionalized versions of one direction members. the list goes on. i used to be able to hold entire conversations, play out entire scenes with these mental constructs with impudent ease. spend hours in my room by myself just imagining.

it was like astral projection -- my body, here, my mind and my soul, somewhere else entirely. and this i believe (to this day) is the core of a lot of my writing and creativity. and also the core of a lot of my philosophies and beliefs. the ability to sink into a dream, a scene, a story.

and then. i fell in love.

and sure, it would be much too cliche to say that misery breeds good art so a happy artist would (at best) produce mediocre art/writing/whatever. because i've also seen fantastic art produced by very, very happy artists. the sad truth is only that it's much rarer than the alternative of the painfully mainstream tortured artist.

but to some degree, i think there's an inkling of truth in that saying. because having a real-life boyfriend, with all the real-life machinations and strings of having said real-life boyfriend has made it, somehow, much harder to access that old imaginary part of me. like a child growing up and losing the ability to "make believe" the way they used to. except, i know it's still there. there are still moments where i touch it, where i dip my toes in and it always feels like coming home.

and it's more than just the normal adult-ish responsibilities of going to work and paying bills, making dinner and shopping for groceries. doing laundry and investing in your roth ira. because before real-life boyfriend, i still did those things and i was still able to seamlessly get to that "elsewhere place". somehow, it is the physical presence of real-life boyfriend that seems to act as a "grounding agent". he is home, so i can't go to that other place. or, i can kind of get there, but i've always still got one foot steeped in reality.

it is not a necessarily good or bad thing, just an observation at most. but it does create this new "space" for the "want" of that elsewhere. for the want to being able to slip into that creative asphodel like i used to -- blink and i'm there. so i find myself often sitting at my desk, wishing, and then wondering what it means that i can't. that it isn't always and immediately accessible to me anymore.

perhaps absolute solitude was the unquestioned prerequisite for so long that i'd never noticed it until the solitude was no longer available to me. or perhaps the book-boyfriends are just shy creatures, afraid of the blaring daylight that real-life boyfriend might shed on their ultimate two-dimensional beings.

or perhaps that was always a "safe space" that i'd created for myself, and now real-life boyfriend has created a safe space for me too, and the venne-diagram of the two space spaces overlap just so, making a less singular space of each of them in turn. i don't know, but it's an interesting thought.

it's always struck me, now thinking back, that i've never been even remotely interested in having a real-life relationship before now. but that i've also never questioned if i wanted the current one that i'm in, if this was "the one" or if it was "good for me". and in that too, i know i am very lucky. few people can say that they struck gold the first time they've ever tried.

i know for a fact i wouldn't be this happy, have this good of a life if real-life boyfriend weren't here. he has made me better in ways that i do not have words to describe. but i'm also terrified of the earthen grounding-ness of him. i've spent my entire childhood and most of my adult life with my head in the clouds, taking the necessary trips back down to earth when i had to but... it feels strange to be "here" more and more. there's a hole inside of me where "that" heaven should be.

but two things can be true -- i am happy here; i still yearn for that elsewhere.

#🌧 raindrops #i rarely get this personal on this blog but #i wanted to write this out; for myself if for no one else #mostly a rumination on how my relationship has changed me and my creative process

[thebest-medicine]

had a long drive this weekend and had a lot of time to think about things — one of those things has been this brainworm:

A series where fjord and jester get stocks set up in a room on one of their boats

perhaps Fjord and Jester end up fighting off a pirate ship that tries to fuck with them and stealing their set of stocks from the dungeon. Jester is all gung ho on using them as their ‘torture chamber’ so they can prank mean pirates and get them to confess where their treasure is

Jester deserves to have stocks!!!

one where she shows them to Caleb - she gets him to sit in them even though he’s like hmm this seems like a bad idea and she’s like no no it’s fine I just wanna show you them really quick — and then tickles him

one where she shows them to Essek and gets him to try them out too, offers to help him with his spellcasting

and / or one where after showing them to Caleb she comes upon him and Essek in the room using them and she’s like omg omg omg you GUYSYSSSS and they’re like no we’re- we’re studying! It- it was an idea to help with concentration and casting focus!

Jester immediately offers to be both of their concentration coaches and insists she needs to build a second set of stocks so they can study together

one where Beau insists she’d never break under torture especially something as silly as tickling and jester invites her to try

afterword Beau is like fuck you next time you’re going in there and jester is like Yes How About Right Now Please :) and hops up

she invites Kingsley to try them out for another one perhaps, maybe also one where she invites Kingsley to help her get fjord or Caleb in them bddhfjfjgk

a cute little role playing silliness where Captain Tusktooth is interrogating a mysterious pirate wench / stowaway (Jester) in the stocks “I’ll never talk! You can’t make meHEHE!”

(Hnnnrnr maybe something with an npc where jester is like omg guys. I have an idea. Let’s take her to my torture chamber wahahaha she’ll talk. And she tickles her.?. Non con maybe kinda. Evil torturer trickster jester??? Hello???? She’s being thorough and silly and trying to get the truth. “Well I don’t have Zone of Truth prepared today- buuuuuut I can think of another way to get the truth.”)

#I had a lot of hours to ruminate #critickle role #jester deserves a nice big set of stocks #maybe a chair with restraints to hold their arms up too #I NEED TO WRITE THE THING. ESP THE ONE OF THE EVIL CAPTAIN TUSKTOOTH STOWAWAY PIRATE SPY JESTER IN THE STOCKS - I NEED THEM TO BE SILLY #‘oh admiral😍😍😍’ jester voice lol. #but make it knismo #all tieflings are knismos #that is my agenda #critical role #tickle ideas #stocks #mine #thoughts #cr #cr tickling #fic ideas #Mayhaps I shall write some of these #ideally all of them #I also love the mental image of lime #jester hearing noise and coming downstairs and she finds Caleb or Essek in the stocks and the other one tickling them and she’s like gUYSWH #and they’re both just like furiously red #then maybe she commissions them a set of stocks for Caleb’s house #he sets up an extra room in the tower eheh #anYWAY #I had a lot of time to think about this and was very stoned for part of it #ps I meant like not lime earlier but I’m not deleting and writing all these tags over

[serendipitouscontaminant]

SORRY I’M GOING TO BE INTOLERABLE ABOUT THIS I AM GOING TO BE UTTERLY ABNORMAL MY CROPS ARE WATERED MY HEART IS BUOYED BY THE JOY OF FRIENDSHIP

I just know that this whole time, even as Jacob’s been growing on Gregory, Gregory has been holding back, has been telling himself that no, he’s not going to reward this annoying behavior. He keeps most people at arm’s length like it’s his job, so why should he even vaguely entertain this desperate desire for friendship for any other reason than the fact that this person he really cares about just happens to care about Jacob too?

And he’s right, of course he’s right. He’s not obligated to even like Jacob, and definitely not obligated to be his friend. We’ve seen many times that Jacob has a lot of faults, up to and including a bad habit of making himself everyone’s problem.

But fine, Gregory will fully admit it: Gregory likes Jacob anyway. He’s Gregory’s friend anyway. So, feeling unmoored and needing support, Gregory knows who he is willing to turn to for that support, and he decides to just…let this friendship breathe.

He is the one who offers a hug first! Even if it’s awkward, that means so much! The first time Jacob ever met Gregory, he tried to hug him, which, understandably, Gregory found weird and off-putting. He didn’t even know the guy. But now he does, and when he wants to communicate that he genuinely appreciated Jacob, he doesn’t go with a dubious “thank you,” he invites a hug, which we’ve never seen him do before, so he could’ve just…not done that. Jacob was impressively cool about it, but it doesn’t seem like he expected it.

And the thing is that it seems unlikely to me that Gregory, chronic overthinker, occasional unwilling study of human character, doesn’t know that outright offering a hug will cement in Jacob’s head that they’re totally besties, which means he doesn’t care if Jacob gets the wrong idea. Which means he doesn’t really think he’s actually giving him the wrong idea.

And then! Then he accepts another hug, because you know what? He needs one. And he is the one who goes for the full hug because he knows he can, he knows it’ll be okay! He trusts Jacob enough to communicate to Jacob himself that yeah, they do have a connection and he appreciates it and wants it to continue!

He lets himself lean on his friend.

Meanwhile, Jacob lets himself be redirected without feeling shut down or being shut down. He matches Gregory’s energy, realizes that he doesn’t have to try so hard. That he has things to offer Gregory and he doesn’t have to shove them at him, he can just show him. He can just be who he is, and demonstrate that he accepts Gregory for who he is. That his liking Gregory isn’t performance—he genuinely enjoys him. Jacob calms down, and he’s exactly what Gregory needs.

This time, Jacob doesn’t threaten to scream, and Gregory never tries to walk away.

I’m wrecked, I’m walking on air, this is everything to me, I reiterate that I am NOT normal about this in any possible way.

#abbott elementary #abbott elementary spoilers #gregory eddie #jacob hill #this is ridiculous and soppy but it took me like an hour to write #i love hugs #not irl #in fiction #i REALLY love hugs in fiction #long post #does anyone care about my abbott friendship thoughts? almost certainly not #still i inflict them #yes i have been ruminating about gregory indirectly telling janine he likes jacob since story samurai

[forgottenarthur]

50. Writer's preference - "And what if it is not you?"

The barb stung and Arthur turned away as quickly as if she had struck him.

These walks had become something of a tradition between the Prince and former Princess over the rolling weeks. With the out of doors near unpassable, Arthur's mornings had shifted to a shorter indoor practice before dawn, followed by a brief repast and then a stroll through the Orangery with the Lady Aria. Though they still argued as often as they didn't, there was something free and flowing in these conversations -- a strange sense that no subject was off limits...And that every single one was somehow taboo. It was perhaps true that they had each been raised as royalty, but it seemed their worlds could not have been more different.

Today, the subject had fallen to that all-encompassing theme of his life, the most pressing topic in the empire, and the one least likely ever to be openly addressed: Roderick's line of succession. It was an ache in his gut, this, a hill he had run up all his childhood only to find a sheer rockface confronting him. Now, scrambling for footholds in the brutal cliffside, it was a race to the top against those he loved most -- a climb now far too high to risk the drop. It was success or the death of all meaning. But what was he to do? Throw his siblings from the sides? They too held on by meager fingertips and he could not bear to think of them dashed against the teeth of the unforgiving stone so far below.

Arthur's jaw clenched. He kept her pace, but he no longer looked at her as she spoke; heard her only as if from a great distance. What was there to say? Yet, her last words burned, searing like vinegar in his cuts, and he turned sharply towards her, a rush sounding in his head.

"What? You favor someone else?" he demanded, all effort at bluster or calm stripped away. Surprise seemed to register in his face and, pressing his eyes shut, he shook his head, realizing she meant this only as rhetoric and, with a look of defeat, he sighed; shook his head. "How should I know? It would be the end for me."

He didn't look at her, now, gaze straying upwards towards the gently nodding trees, branches heavy and sagging with fruit. He thought of the tart-sweet of them, tawny and opening with a kind of crack. Fibrous chambers of juice attended the tiny seeds at the center and this, then, was life. Even trees limned their children with sweet cushions against the harsh reality of the world around them. When he laughed, it was a bitter sound.

Sighing, Arthur shook his head. "Aria, I--" but he stopped. He'd not said her name so baldly before and he gestured, helpless, voice trapped within his throat.

Her eyes were dark: not mere chocolate, but something else as if the sea had leaked into them and tossed against stormy shores within her mind. Her face was set, but he could not read it. He searched for something written there, something designed for him to read: he wanted it. He knew the message he wished to read. A very simple message. He wanted to read it again and again, see it roiling within the storm of her eyes. But there was nothing. She was no harbor. She was, perhaps, another deathly drop.

Aria lifted her chin. "Go on."

"I don't know what will happen if my father chooses someone else any more than you do. But I do know I will be a threat to whoever is chosen, simply for having been in the running, and..."

And if it were Edmund who were selected, whom Arthur regarded as the most likely alternative, he would not expect to long outlive his father -- or even his father's choice. Enemies of the House of Calainon had a way of disappearing. Arthur was not altogether certain they even lifted a finger: they were witches, after all. Likely, all they needed do was wish for a thing, and their dark magic did the rest. Edmund might not wish him gone, perhaps...but Amira would not hesitate. He could not help but think that would make for a horrible ending, all the demons of hell rising at her command. His would be a silent end, he had no doubt, yet he knew, too, that if it were by Amira's hand, he would die howling.

If Aria had said something else, Arthur had not heard it. At last, she said: "And what if the Emperor doesn't choose? What happens to us all, then?"

Arthur stopped short, and Aria beside him. "Then it'd be war."

He walked out without another word.

#this was really interesting to write -- he's actually much more clear eyed (when forced to confront it) than id thought he'd be honestly #drabble #challenge #aria stafford #edmund varmont #amira varmont #guinevere varmont #ask #honestly still ruminating abt this like...this response really shocked me?????? #i kinda thought he'd be like 'guess id turn to duke or knight errant or smth' or just bluster but he was like 'nah im dead by black magic' #me: you ok arthur????? #arthur: obviously not #roderick varmont #arthur's gonna go hit smth really really really hard btw if you're wondering where he's off to #realizing being a knight isn't ~just abt proving himself (tho its v much that too!!!) its also a coping mechanism #and he's lowkey terrified every single day of his life and now im really sad #i honestly didn't think he was so aware of all that laksjdflkjslf #about #also if you're wondering what he was searching for in her face -- he just wanted to see a lil faith in him #that's all he really wants from anyone #and its all he never gets from anyone #if anyone anyone showed a lil faith in him or a lil love for him -- god forbid -- he'd go to the ends of the earth for them purely for that

[ganymedesclock]

I know I'm a contrarian who likes to play with villainous tropes and traits reimagined through a protagonist lens, but honestly, one that seems obvious that I don't think I've seen as a major active protagonist is "character whose singleminded desperation/obsession to accomplish Something twisted their body into a Strange Monstrous Shape".

Granted, this is because the specific variation of such I'm thinking of tends to be one where the monsterized character meets that fate to make them a credible and visually interesting threat for the heroes to combat, but it isn't as if it has never been milked for pathos even in that context, especially if any aspect of their newfound turbocharged disability is hard to control.

I think watching a protagonist having to navigate the limitations and drawbacks of being a weird meat horror, day in and day out, especially if their motivation was well-intended and they failed at it, could be a juicy foundation to build a character on, but also imagine a setting where the core protagonists are spending a given amount of time hanging out with someone who looks like a Resident Evil boss fight engaging in increasingly elaborate feats of tailoring to be able to comfortably dress their mutated body.

Now, I know there's beauty and the beast type riffs out there, but my interest with this is less approaching it as a curse the character must overcome and a kind of new normal they are adapting to and learning to care for, and if it's a karmic punishment for anything it's a karmic punishment for not thinking your health mattered when you were able to take it for granted.

Also admittedly I'm just really salty at how physical deformity is so carelessly conflated with moral failing or weakness, especially when a previously upstanding person is mutated and immediately begins to "act evil" with a framing of oh, so sad, the ruins of a man who isn't a person anymore, as if there aren't plenty of people with disabled, sick, and deformed minds and bodies who aren't becoming serial killers about it.

#writing ruminations #this remains part of my ongoing thesis of 'the Boss Fight body is an expression of total dehumanization; it is not meant to exist in life' #'so if you are perchance a Contrarian Little Shit it becomes immediately interesting to put this dehumanized body back in context' #show me a guy relearning how to use his hands because now he has symmetrical sickle-clawed two-finger hands

[mindfulhavens]

Guess what, my friend?

You’re so much more talented than you allow yourself to believe.

Lean into what you’re good at and watch it bloom.

#poetry #writing #quotes #mental health #prose #musings #emotional health #positive thoughts #ruminating #positive psychology #talent

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

Movie Night - The Triplets

F/M/M/M (all cis) reader insert smut-fic featuring @eldritch-spouse's demon OCs, Ludwig, Obie, and Mervin. Ya'll can read this even if you're not familiar with the characters. It's very NSFW, 4000 words. Divider by firefly-graphics.

Hurt/comfort with emphasis on the comfort. Smut and a tiny bit of fluff. The sex is consensual, but there are dubcon elements (one kink is not discussed before hand or agreed upon). These characters are yanderes in their natural environment, but this piece is entirely mild on that front.

So without futher ado:

(reader who is typically self-assured and mildly controlling, and for unspecified reasons is currently living in perdition) 

When you open the door to Katia’s, Ludwig is the first person you see. He straightens at your appearance, both intrigue and concern duelling for control of his features. The concern wins out when you don’t smile. No boasting or joviality at your bruises, and the smear of blood. No comment on the obvious scrap you’d gotten yourself into. When you step into the circle of his arms, silent, and lean in for a hug, he’s entirely shocked. Your mood must really be down if you’re looking for comfort.  

“You okay?” 

You don’t want to talk about it, closing your eyes and pressing your face against his shoulder instead. The bruises would heal. The scrapes would fade. You were depressed more than anything. It’s an effort for you to shrug. To reply. “Long day.” 

Hesitant, he pats you on the back. You don’t typically go to the triplets for comfort, and you’re not sure they know how to give it, but it soothes you regardless. 

“Why don’t you wash up? There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom.” 

You grunt your acknowledgement and leave him, flustered and covered in blood. You take your time in the shower, letting the hot water loosen your muscles. It stings as it runs over your open cuts. The defensive wounds on your forearms burn. It’s a welcome burn. One you have control over.  

Ludwig paces in the lounge. Tries to will his arousal away. Seeing you covered in blood is definitely stirring, but your sombre mood put a dampener on things. He wonders how much the mask is slipping if you can’t even pretend to be okay right now.  

Hastily he texts his brother. ‘U can stop looking. She’s home.’ 

‘Condition?’ 

Ludwig frowns. ‘Seems kinda bummed.’ 

‘Idiot. I mean is she still possessed?’ 

‘Don’t think so. She walked in herself.’ 

He stows his phone when you return, dressed in sweatpants and a loose top. You’re covered in a patchwork of bandaids and bandages, and Lud distantly wonders if he should have helped apply them. Probably. 

You sprawl on the couch where you’ve been crashing with a sigh, and Ludwig blanks on what to do. You’re not usually this despondent. 

“Can I sit with you?” 

He gets a thumbs up. 

He takes a tentative seat, surprised when you roll over and snuggle up to him.  

You lose track of time, snapping to attention when Katia wanders in and starts fussing. “You look terrible, love. Are you okay?” 

You shrug away the memory of being piloted like a meatsuit. “Nothing that won’t heal. I’ll live.” 

The demon frowns, your depression and energy as obvious to her as the blood and cuts are to her son. “Tsk. Get some rest, love. I’ll tell Obie you’re home. He’ll cook you up something nice, I’m sure.” 

You watch her leave, eyes catching on the purple figure in the doorway. Mervin had arrived.  

You manage to dredge up a little smile. Pat the couch beside you in invitation. 

He seems surprised to be invited, but joins you. He’s even more taken aback when you wriggle over, putting your head into his lap, and resting your feet in Ludwig’s. You wouldn’t admit it aloud, but you’re feeling more than a little touch starved. 

“Did you want to watch a movie?” Ludwig supplies helpfully. 

You shrug, eyelids drooping closed. “Sure. Something light-hearted maybe.” 

For once the pair don’t bicker over the remote, and soon some cartoonish plot is playing out on the screen nearby. Ludwig starts to rub your feet, and you let out a content sigh, nearly groaning at the contact. Hesitantly, Mervin’s fingers tangle in your hair. You lean into the touch, letting out another little noise, and soon he’s rubbing your scalp and combing out your trusses. 

You close your eyes, just listening to the movie, when there’s a touch at your shoulder. Obie is crouching in front of the couch. “Did you eat today?” 

Your stomach rumbles at the mention of food. “Don’t think so.” 

The yellow demon frowns. “Let me get you something?” 

With all you’ve seen today, you’re not confident in your appetite, but you shrug. Obie’s cooking is always a treat. “M’kay.”  

You’re wedged between Mervin and Ludwig when he returns with a tray absolutely laden with hot food. You look at the array with raised brows. 

“Obie...” 

He winces at your tone. 

“Sugar... honey... muffin... sweetcakes...” 

“For fuck's sake,” Mervin groans. “He gets it.” 

Obie is still concerned, but his cheeks are reddening with the nicknames.  

“You’re going to have to get another spoon. I can’t eat all this alone.” 

The demon brightens at your solution before racing off. When he’s back you both rip into the meal, with Obie glancing at you between bites, trying to gauge your reaction.  

You’re tired, but not so tired that you can’t yearn for the normalcy of a sweet moment. With that in mind you sample one of the dishes, and offer him your spoon. “Try this. It’s good.” 

His whole countenance brightens, and he leans forward to take your offering, tongue slipping out to clean the whole length of the fork, brushing your fingertips teasingly. 

You roll your eyes at him, conjuring a tired smile. When the food is gone (Obie ate most of it), you relax back onto the couch. The gluttony demon sits on the floor by your feet, the four of you bathing in silence, decompressing after a long day.  

You reach out and stroke the skin between his horns. “Thanks Ob.” 

“Can I get you anything else, Peach?” 

You close your eyes and hum. “Maybe some chocolate.” 

He’s back before you can open your eyes, a whole block of your favourite brand in hand. You smile appreciatively, but instead of reaching out to take the treat, you open your mouth and lean forward. “Aah.” 

Obie’s face darkens with blush. “You want me to..?” 

You nod, impatient. It’s fun messing with him like this. He’s cute when he’s flustered. 

His fingers shake when he breaks off a piece and feeds it to you. 

Mervin snorts. “Pfft. Loser.” 

You pinch him and let Obie finish feeding you. When half a block of chocolate is gone, you withdraw, sprawling out over Merv and Lud again, letting them ply you with soft touches and affection. 

“Thank you,” you make sure to meet Obie’s eyes, drawing out the words. 

He flushes before turning around to lean against the couch, drawing his knees up to hide what can only be a growing erection. 

You nearly drift off, to be honest, spreading your legs a little, and angling your hips up when Ludwig massages higher, making his way up your calves and rubbing at your thighs. The tension finally leaves your body, and you stare up at Mervin with a sleepy smile.  

He blinks at your expression, probably unused to such displays of softness.  

Ludwig is massaging your inner thighs when arousal stirs within you. You squirm, face warming at his persistent touches. You don’t know if he’s doing it intentionally, if he has the patience – he's certainly taking his time, working his way back down your legs. You nearly frown as his hands move in the direction opposite to what you want. 

Mervin is still watching you, his cheeks sporting a hint of blue – you realise you hadn’t seen him blush before. It’s cute.  

Spontaneously you make a ‘come hither’ motion with your finger, grinning up at him. 

Brows raised, he leans down, “What?” 

You link your arms around his neck and lean up to kiss him.  

He goes still. The hands on your legs also freeze. If your eyes were open, you’d roll them. Instead, you slip your tongue into Mervin’s mouth, pulling him closer. 

Finally, past the surprise, he kisses back, one arm supporting below your waist, the other working its way back into your hair. Hands resume movement on your legs, rubbing along your thighs. Lud’s claws are starting to dig into your flesh, and you know he’d rip your pants off if you let him. But you’ve no intention of rushing this. 

Then Mervin grips your hair, making a fist near your scalp, angling your head back so he can suck at your throat. You hum appreciatively, going loose and pliant under his lips.  

Obie whips his head around at the noise, finally noticing the commotion behind him. Nobody is watching the movie anymore.  

Ludwig huffs, losing patience and pulling you upright, onto his lap. Mervin rumbles with displeasure, but only for a moment. Your back is pressed against Ludwig’s chest, and he takes over for Mervin, kissing your neck, sucking a line of bites and hickeys along your shoulder. Your legs are spread and pinned open with his own. 

He’s rougher than his brother, and you tremble and whimper each time he bites too hard or grips you too tightly. Still, you’re exactly where you want to be, and you wouldn’t dream of pulling away. 

You blink and Obie is sitting between your knees, hands going to your waistband. It’s not hard to guess what he’s planning.  

“Tsk,” you warn him.  

He pauses, and if his eyes could open any further you know he’d be giving you a puppy dog stare. 

“We have all night.” 

He pouts. 

You hope he backs down. You’d really like to take this slow, and you’re not in the mood to have a standoff. But all is forgotten when Lud pulls your shirt up.  

Obie’s attention immediately switches to your breasts; full and unclothed. You hadn’t put on a bra after your shower, and you can’t help but blush at the attention.  

You tremble and arch when he moves to mouth at those, drenching them with drool. You hadn’t realised that with his long tongue, he’d manage to lick both at once, but it’s certainly a pleasant surprise. You whimper with anticipation at the threat of his teeth, their needle points grazing your flesh.  

There’s another hand on your leg. Warmth at your side. Mervin has sidled up and is watching the exchange intently, his hand creeping up your thigh, to the top of your pants. This time you don’t stop them, instead spreading your legs further.  

Ludwig huffs against your ear. “Needy.” 

You ignore him, bucking your hips with desire. You don’t remember the last time you were caged in like this, and it leaves you feeling high with excitement.  

Mervin’s fingers dip past your waistband, into your underwear. He traces your folds, finding your growing wetness before smearing it over your clit. 

You jolt with the contact, letting out another whine.  

“Be still,” Ludwig orders before latching back onto your neck. 

You try. But between the teeth at your shoulder, the attention to your breasts, and the gentle but precise touches at your core, it doesn’t take long before you’re seizing and jerking as you come. Juices flood your underwear, and you shake with aftershocks. 

Mervin pulls back his hand, sucking his fingers dry. At the motion Obie pauses to growl. “I wanted to taste her first.” 

You’re too relaxed to resist. In fact, you sympathise with Obie enough that you grab one of his misshapen horns and guide him towards your crotch. 

Ludwig chuckles behind you. “You’re forgetting something, babe.” 

You frown and whine. 

“Strip.” 

Ah. That would help.  

You wriggle until you can get your pants around your ankles, not helped in the slightest by the wrath demon holding you open. He does release you long enough for you to remove your shirt, though. When you’re done, you hesitate, some clarity coming back to you. Mostly naked on a couch surrounded by demons, it’s the most vulnerable you’ve let yourself feel in a long while.  

Obie doesn’t wait any longer, pressing his face between your thighs. There’s a single, exploratory lick as he tastes you, slurping up the evidence of your previous orgasm. He groans, enthralled by the taste. Then his tongue is filling you, and you jerk at the sudden intrusion.  

Ludwig holds you tight, burying his teeth in your shoulder and drawing blood. He reaches around to cup your breasts, claws digging into your skin.  

You don’t have room to focus on the pain, instead occupied by the glutton’s tongue, and how thoroughly it fills you. You’d suspected its capabilities, but if you’d known it’d feel like this, you’d have jumped Obie sooner.  

He writhes inside you, poking and prodding in places that are almost uncomfortable, before backing off to caress and stroke other parts of you. It’s- barely describable. Definitely a welcome sensation. Pressure builds inside of you – no, he’s not squeezing more of his tongue inside (yet) - he’s rubbing against your g spot. The pressure is another orgasm building.  

You’re not sure if you’re able to come again so quickly, but the choice is taken away from you by force when Obie grips you by the thighs and stuffs himself deeper.  

“Ffffuck,” you groan through your high, arching against Ludwig and coming again.  

Obie doesn’t stop. Ludwig doesn’t stop. Mervin grips you by the hair and pulls your face to his, devouring you in another steaming kiss. You can barely focus on it, your mind emptying as your orgasm is prolonged and drawn out until you’re a shaking mess (did you just come from penetration alone?). 

You don’t know how much time passes before the glutton comes up for air. He licks his lips with a flourish, looking satisfied. You’re flushed, staring at him through bleary eyes.  

He barely notices, instead ducking back down for seconds. 

Ludwig growls. “It’s my turn.” 

Obie pauses, leveling that almost puppy dog stare at his brother. “But she’s so tasty.” 

“Don’t care. You had a go.” 

You’re suddenly aware of the hardness pinned against your back. The length of it is mouth-watering. And you’re more than a little fuckdrunk right now. Enough that you don’t think before you speak. “Both.” 

There’s a silence as the triplets stare at you, brows raised.  

You writhe against Ludwig’s grip. “Please. Now. Both.” 

Mervin grins. “You heard the lady. She’s enough of a slut – I'm sure you’ll both fit.” 

You whimper at the comment, grinding back against Ludwig. You might not be able to come again, but you don’t want the pleasure to stop. And you really want to be filled.  

Ludwig rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry about fit. I’m taking her ass.” 

You clench at the words, growing wetter with anticipation.  

Ludwig lifts you high enough to free his cock. Lowers you down on to it and moves you back and forth, using your slick to lube him up. With the combination of your juices and Obie’s drool, there’ll be no issue.  

Your heart starts pounding when he presses against your puckered entrance. He feels big, so big, and he hadn’t bothered stretching you, hadn’t bothered with prep.  

He sheaths himself and it hurts. By the Gods and the Icons, it fucking hurts. You’re no stranger to taking things up the ass. But usually carefully. Slowly.  

His hand clamps over your mouth, muffling your wail. You shake and seize, clawing at his arms, trying desperately to climb off, but his grip is steadfast.  

You just need to relax. You know the pain will fade, that you’ll fucking adore the sensation, that you just need to relax and it will be okay, but fuck. He’d really stuck his entire length in, in one go. 

You pound your fist against his thighs, hard as you can, cursing around his hand. 

He only groans in response. Then chuckles. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. You’re so tight like this.” 

Even Obie is hesitating, waiting for you to adjust before rejoining. 

“Just breathe, babe,” Ludwig croons at you. “Or keep struggling, it’s really hot.” 

Tears slide down your cheeks but you listen to Ludwig. Clenching and unclenching over and over. It takes almost a whole two minutes before the pain fades. Before you’re able to relax against him, tension draining from your muscles. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your ear. Then he fucks you.  

His pace makes you gasp. Then whimper. Then moan. There’s no more pain, thank fuck, just breathlessness, and the sensation of being deliciously filled. Lud lifts you up and down on his lap with ease, treating you almost like a thing. A toy. 

You reach out, trying to brace yourself, and end up bent forward, with your arms wrapped around Obie’s neck. You whimper and cry and swear against his ear and he lets you, stroking your hair until Lud pulls you upright again, using one hand to pull your arms behind your back. 

At the loss of contact Obie blinks, snapping out of his daze. Then he grins at you and lowers himself back between your thighs, tongue darting out to taste you once more. He flicks at your clit, making you arch and whine, before dipping back inside.  

You gasp and shudder, limbs twitching. You don’t remember the last time you felt this full. This stuffed. You don’t know how they’re doing this, how Obie can coax more of his sinuous tongue inside of you. Ludwig slows his fucking, and you’re entirely grateful. You don’t think you have a millimetre to spare inside of you.  

You try to keep your eyes open, but everything is a blur. A wonderful, fuzzy blur. Your head lolls to one side and you lock gazes with Mervin. It’s no surprise to see him fisting himself, but you still groan at the sight. You lick your lips, filled with envy. Your hands twitch, and if Ludwig weren’t holding them firm you’d be reaching for the pride demon.  

He smirks at your reaction. “Aw. Does our pet want to touch?” 

You nod, nearly mindless at this point.  

His smile softens. “Later, lovely. You look a tad occupied at the moment.” 

You whine. It takes a monumental effort to string your words together. To remember the right things to say to the pride demon. “Please, Mervin. You look so good right now.” 

He purses his lips. Cheeks bluing some more. “Oh?” 

You don’t know how effective your begging is going to be when you’re teary eyed, your hair is plastered to your neck with sweat, and you can barely vocalise your thoughts with the way Mervin’s brothers are fucking you, but you still try.  

“-wanna touch, wanna taste, please, please, please, bet you’ll feel so good-” 

He goes silent, eyes narrowing as he tries to keep his composure. But the way he bites down on his lip and grips himself harder are easy tells.  

“-bet you’ll taste so nice-” it’s hard to speak between Ludwig’s thrusts, “-you look so hot right now-” your head is spinning. “Please Mervin,” you whine his name.  

Obie comes up for air to scowl at the pride demon. “Take a hint, Mer.” 

With the glutton out of the way, Ludwig pauses long enough to turn sideways, bending you forward so that you’re spread across the couch again, kneeling, with your head nearly in Mervin’s lap. He keeps hammering into you, but with the new angle you’re inches from Mervin’s cock.  

You crane your head to stare up at him, awaiting permission. Any other time it might chafe to do so, but you’re so buzzed right now that you have no problem sliding into the submissive role. 

His restraint breaks. Finally, he angles his hips towards you. “Go on, then.”  

There’s no finesse in your actions. The angle’s not ideal and it’s hard to get a good rhythm with Ludwig’s fucking, but that doesn’t stop you from trying. You’re practically drooling, mouthing at his cock and licking up the sides before sucking on the tip. You swirl your tongue around, trying to make him feel as good as you’re feeling, fitting as much of him into your mouth as you can; sloppy in your enthusiasm.  

The hands in your hair turn to fists, and soon he’s thrusting up into your mouth, making you cough and gag. You try to relax, focusing on just breathing and getting fucked at both ends. It’s a fruitless effort and soon your eyes are lined with reflexive tears. 

There’s no warning before Ludwig comes in your ass. You relish the way he twitches, clenching hard around him, wishing desperately that there was something in your cunt, or that you had some friction against your clit. You could probably come again with some assistance.  

You shudder when Ludwig pulls out, his cum leaking out of your hole. You can feel the stares on your ass, and can’t help but squirm, moaning around Mervin’s length. He’s deep enough in your throat that he can feel your noises. 

 Suddenly you’re wrenched off his cock and being led up by the hair.  

“Sit. Now.” 

He makes you straddle him, not even hesitating before grabbing you by the hips and plunging into your pussy.  

You thought Ludwig was rough. Mervin surprises you with the force of his thrusts, one hand still fisted in your hair while the other grips your thigh. Your jaw falls slack and you’re powerless to stop the sounds from escaping you. Obscene moans, breathless grunts; all manner of lewd sounds.  

“You. Noisy. Slut.” He punctuates each word with a thrust of his hips. “You could have just said you wanted to fuck me. You must feel so honoured right now. I don’t do this to just anyone, you know.” 

His words blur together as you lose focus. You know he’s just talking himself up, that all you have to do is nod and agree. Still, you can’t help but tune back in when something brushes against your clit. You writhe when it presses harder, and a glance down reveals the spade of his tail pressed flush between you.  

“Are you going to come for me again, pet? Show me how good I make you feel?” 

Insufferable as he can be, you don’t plan to argue, spreading wider, trying to grind against his tail while keeping rhythm with his fucking. It’s nearly impossible. Your limbs feel like jelly, and you just want to collapse on top of the purple demon.  

You must look as fucked out and pathetic as you feel, because somebody takes pity on you; another pair of hands come to rest at your waist, lifting you up and down on Mervin’s length.  

You let yourself go slack; your arms give out and your face presses against Mervin’s shoulder. If you had more brain function left, you might be struck with just how arousing the situation is; somebody else pumping you up and down Mervin’s cock.  

You look down. Yellowed hands grip your waist. And past them Mervin’s tail still grinds against you; the demon now able to direct more attention to your clit.  

Part of your mind skitters towards the demon behind you. The strength of his grip and the press of his erection against your back. But he doesn’t do more than support you, lifting you up and down. You’re not sure if you’re glad or disappointed. Especially as your next (and hopefully last) orgasm starts to present itself; coiling in your core and making your legs shake. 

Mervin’s claws dig into your skin when he shudders and comes inside you. Obie lets go of your waist, but you keep grinding against Mervin’s lap, whimpering with need. He couldn’t stop now, not when you were so close.  

Somebody laughs. You’re released, collapsing into a heap on the couch. Pushed onto your back. Legs spread.  

The touches don’t stop. Thank fuck. 

Brutal pressure against your clit until you’re a shaking mess, gasping and coming with a series of ungodly noises.  

Then the room is still.  

You might just pass out. Partially, at least. There’s the sound of the tv, still going. Some voices, accompanied by gentle, but firm touches. 

“-put her clothes back on would ya-” 

“-needs to shower, idiot-” 

“-thought humans weren’t supposed to sleep in the shower?” 

You’re too floaty to care for the bickering, just appreciative when somebody dresses you and you’re sprawled across the couch again. There’s more discussion; soft, mindful of your presence. Then hands at your hair. Fingers at your legs again, unknotting any sore muscles. 

You crack your eyes open. It looks as if everyone has returned to their previous positions.  

Obie is sitting at the foot of the couch, his head a few inches from your own. He catches your stare and gives you a smile.  

‘You. Me. Later,’ you mouth to him.  

He flushes.  

#fuckkk it's finally written #i hope mommy pinnie likes it #i wrote it with my whole ass pussy #and i can't stare at it any longer because when i ruminate on smut for too long i start hating how i wrote it #obie totally got cucked here whoops #guilty writes #imma reblog this to my main writing blog too #ive just posted it here first since these are yanderes and might be better suited to this blog

[petrichorium]

temporary & brief return to say that (barring any new revelations, which might happen idk) i might not be posting full fics on here from now on due to the current state of the union re: selling our souls to AI

#pattering on the roof #again i will need to ruminate and ponder a bit bc if im being honest its not like posting here was very safe anyway #but there Is a difference To Me between posting knowing my shit could be scraped vs posting knowing that tumblr is actively selling my shit #if i decide not to post on here i am likely to keep shitposting etc and only post writing on ao3

[tackytigerfic]

Unfinished Friday

Thank you to the lovely people who have tagged me recently in WIP snip posts - pls expect reblogs soon, I am sort of off Tumblr atm and have a lot to catch up on but I am so grateful to be tagged and to get to read all your fucking phenomenal writing. Writing loads atm. Long wartime AU/ multiverse fic is progressing well. Here is a snip from it. Seven years after the war began, Draco has gone undercover with the Death Eaters to try to get close to Voldemort. Draco visits the Order HQ when he can. Draco and Harry are best friends and have been hooking up in secret. They're also in love but haven't really talked about it.

Downstairs in the Order meeting, Draco had been chilly and controlled—a gloved fist, a bridled Abraxan. He had barely looked at Harry the whole way through the meeting, but after the reports were all in, he had stood up in front of everyone and held a hand out to Harry across the table, and Harry had leaned right over to him and taken it. It didn’t seem to matter anymore who knew, or what they thought. There was no need for the smallness of subtleties in the face of something so horribly huge as Draco having to leave, again and again and again.

Together they made for the stairs, bumping shoulders as they went out the big double doors, Harry’s skin overheated where Draco’s hand made a bracelet round his wrist, not caring who was looking. They ignored the wolf whistle that followed them (Malfoy, no doubt, the smug prick), racing together up the steps two at a time until they reached their corridor and then finally Draco was a warm and moving thing under Harry’s demanding hands.

And he was different here in the shifting shadows of their old shared room, both of them jammed into Harry’s single bed, the moon a sick yellowed disc through the window. He looked glossy and well-fed, flesh solid over his ribs when Harry spanned them greedily with both hands, skin soft and rich-smelling, his hair swooping over one eye with the sheen of a starling's wing. His clothes, discarded on the floor, were too formal, too many pinnings and fastenings, too stiff with ornamentation and embellishments. He looked like what he was, Harry supposed; Lord Malfoy, the Viscount.

As Harry tried to undo him, he wondered for a moment how easily Draco slipped back beneath the trappings, but then he felt the frantic tap of Draco’s pulse under his fingertips and the familiar warmth of his breath as he pressed a kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth, carelessly, like he couldn’t wait any longer, and Harry knew he had him back.

“How long have you got?” Harry asked, breathless already, fingers slipping wet with lube over Draco’s skin, and Draco kissed him almost angrily.

“Long enough,” he said. “We have time. God, you’re all I can think about.”

If you've read this far then please consider sharing your own WIP snip - I would love to read it. And artists/reccers/other creators too, if you have a WIP you're working on!

#tacky's fth #just looking at this i can see how much editing i'll need to do #like how much of this descriptive stuff might need the chop #maybe next time i'll try an omniscient 3rd person pov for funsies #anyway have spent far too much time recently ruminating on craft #and far too little time actually writing #though no fault of my own #but hey ho #summer holiday hell