#I write 800 page long books so makes sense

[graceshouldwrite]

4 Ways to Get Back Into Your WIP

You know when you might have taken a long break, worked on other projects, talked to other people about it, and basically did EVERYTHING to get yourself back into it, but it’s not working?

Even though you still want to LIKE your WIP and work on it? 

These tips are based on my own experience dealing with that feeling. I went through something like that for around a year, but now, I’m getting past it and returning to my main WIP more excited than I’ve been for a long time! 

1. List out WHAT you don’t like and fix it

COMMON CORE ISSUES:

Plot + Subplots? 

They might seem too (among other things):

lackluster

complex

unnecessary

confusing

You might not know how to:

develop the plots

make them believable

add the scenes you want without giving the book 800+ pages

choose scenes to cut to fit the word count goal...

Characters?

A BIG ONE: some writers try to force themselves to like X character for whatever reason (e.g. based them on a specific aesthetic, felt forced to add specific rep, etc), but they just DON’T. 

Or, maybe:

you don’t know how to develop your characters

their group dynamic is too difficult to write/doesn’t make a lot of sense

your character voices, personalities, or appearances might not be distinct enough

Prose?

You might:

want to add more humour (prose is too depressing and atmospherically dark)

want to add more gravity (prose is too comedic and romantic)

want to shift from past to present tense, want to tell story from another POV, etc. 

Organization?

OFTEN, the book’s just TOO COMPLEX with all the characters, subplots, etc. and it’s too intimidating to try to sort out all the mess that’s your WIP 

SO…

The lists I gave you are most of the big, common issues. Once they’re sorted into SPECIFIC types of problems, don’t they get less intimidating to look at? 

I know you might think, gee, Grace, these problems will take [insert comically large time frame] to solve. 

Well, if you genuinely want to like your project again and work on it, DO IT.

Slowing down your WIP finish date is worth it if it helps you get back into it. If you never get back into the project, you’ll NEVER FINISH IT. Late > never.

Heck, you might not even be too late—you might find yourself back in the passionate fever you were when you started it, and be in the headspace to write furiously :) 

I think you know how to solve these broken-down problems. Some require more sheer line-editing, while others require big executive decisions (e.g. getting rid of a character or rewriting an entire subplot/the plot). But, it will be worth it when you start to love your project again.

2. Remember why you started it 

Before each project, write a STATEMENT OF PURPOSE at the beginning of your doc to remind you why you’re writing this story in the first place. If you didn’t do this, it’s not too late to start one now! 

It could be something as close to heart as “I want to express how unrequited love feels,” or something as grand as like “I want to write a tragic allegory of the political and economic state of the world that explores human nature” (I am projecting in both of these examples, but you get it). 

Something SPECIFIC is a lot better for this than things like: “I told X this story idea and they liked it,” or “I promised to write this for X,” or “I want to tell this story just cuz.�� These latter examples probably won’t fill you with passion. 

3. Listen BEYOND your WIP playlists. Look at images BEYOND your WIP aesthetics 

Many people think revisiting your old playlists / boards help, but that often contributes to the staleness!!!! 

Instead, by purposefully expanding your scope of consumed media, you open yourself up to more inspiration and ideas of where you want to take your project.  New images and new songs will give you new ideas on atmosphere, mood, scenes, and so much more. 

4. Compare your WIP to a similar book you like

You know THAT BOOK that comes to mind whenever someone asks you which book is your favourite/impacted you deeply? Think of how your book will impact readers in the same way. All the emotional turmoil and mental enlightenment That Book gave you is what YOU will give to the readers who resonate with YOUR book one day!

The author of the book you’re thinking about went through drafts, edits, and maybe even wanted to give up at some point, (LIKE YOU!) but pushed through it. Now, their book is on the bestseller list/on a bookshelf/a classic (whatever appeals to you)!  Don’t stop before YOUR book is there, too. 

∘₊✧────── ☾☼☽ ──────✧₊∘

instagram: @ grace_should_write

A LOT of this comes from personal experience; I had this mental tussle with my main WIP a while back, so I hope this helps anyone else dealing with the same problem :)

Hope this was helpful, and let me know if you have any questions by commenting, re-blogging, or DMing me on IG. Any and all engagement is appreciated <3333

Happy writing, and have a great day!

- grace <3

[pyrotechnicarus]

What program do you write your scripts in?

Google Docs, haha. It's definitely not the preferred or industry-standard way of doing it; it gives older writers at my program hives when I drop a Docs link in the homework folder. But I was raised on it and it's a great collaboration tool, so I haven't made the switch yet (and maybe never will? Actually probably will once Google inevitably starts charging money for it. But not quite yet!).

Through my school I have a free Final Draft license, so I use that for screenwriting (which has a lot more pesky formatting rules and things), but I'm not planning on buying it once my license expires because A. I don't write films that much and B. I can probably hard-code it into Google Docs for free.

If you're insane like I am and wanna use Google Docs for scriptwriting, here's some formatting tips under the cut:

We're gonna be using a page of the Ghost Story script to demonstrate!

I use Times New Roman because Deborah Brevoort recommended it as a more readable (and slightly more condensed) font than Courier. Your font should adapt to your style; I tend to write short, snappy lines with a lot of back-and-forth, so I use Times which is a common font style for comedy writers (despite not writing comedies.) If you write a lot of long monologues, Courier New might give you a better sense of how your script flows on the page. Basically, you want to space your writing so it comes out to 1 minute of performance time = 1 page of writing.

Scene headings are centered and in bold.

Stage directions that start a scene are left-aligned and in italics; in NAMT-standard style, these are center-margin aligned, like this:

But it's kind of your personal preference.

4. All names are centered and underlined

5. Any stage directions that take place during a scene and cue a line of dialogue are centered, in italics, and in parenthesis. If they can start eating whenever while they're talking, I'd put They start eating left-aligned between two lines of dialogue. However, it is important to me that Hao and Józef start eating before Hao says his next line, so I put it center-aligned.

6. When you get to a song it looks like this:

Basically, songs should be numbered and come after a stage direction (even something basic, like "He stands up.") The enter after the stage directions isn't kosher, it's a Google Docs thing I'll get into later. Then you close the parenthesis on the stage direction and put a page break. Songs should always start on a new page. This is because when you integrate the book and score, you can just take those lyric sheets out and put sheets of music in. Nifty!

7. Lyrics are always capitalized. When two people sing the same thing at the same time, you can put both their names over it:

But if they're singing something different, I usually put it in two columns (there is some debate among musical theater writers on what the proper notation for this kind of thing is. But columns are easy on Google Docs, so I use those. When I have four or more people singing different things on top of one another, I use a 1x4 table and make the lines between the cells invisible, haha.)

Google Docs Specific Formatting Stuff

Ok, so, if you're lazy like me and don't want to be hitting 800 buttons while you're writing to format everything correctly (and please, god, format while you're writing -- going back and doing it later sucks) you can use the Google Docs headings to format your writing! And it will even make a nice little outline for you!

So, the default of these settings (on the left) is useless and ugly. But mine looks like this (on the right!)

If you want yours to look beautiful and be useful like mine, you can format some kind of text the way you want it to (for example, I want all my names in 12 pt Times New Roman, centered and underlined.)

Then I go to some random heading and I hit "Update heading to match"

Now, anytime I type a name, I can go back to this menu and hit "Apply Heading 5"... and it will automatically make it centered, underlined, and 12 pt Times New Roman! I make one of these for all my categories of text: stage directions, song titles, scene headers, etc.

But, ok, you still have to open all those menus while you're writing. Well! See this thing?

All of these have keyboard shortcuts (the Windows ones will show up on a Windows computer). You can really easily hit them after each name/stage direction you type instead of fiddling around with font settings. You're a formatting machine!

And here's the bonus: If you do all this correctly, you can get a really nice outline like this one embedded in your document on the left (this is where the song titles on a new line come in; I make a heading style for them so they show up on the outline, but headings only show the start of the phrase that they are part of in the outline. Ignore the numbers being wrong, lol. There's a secret song 3 that we haven't released yet.)

And it's clickable, too-- like I can jump right to Your Face from the outline without having to scroll down 20 pages.

Is this all needlessly complicated and doing manually something Final Draft will do for you? Yes. But I'm set in my ways, and it's free, so maybe it'll be helpful to another Musical Theater writer out there working with someone else on Google Docs.

That's it! Thanks for the question.

[thecreaturecodex]

Scalescribe

Image © Paizo Publishing

[I quite like the scalescribe, as I always appreciate it when aberrations aren't just tentacled horrors. Sometimes they're funny little guys. The caster bond/transcribe scroll is a neat mechanical effect that's in the PF2e original, but it really works best if the spellcaster goes out adventuring while the scalescribe stays behind and reads and writes. Which I think suits the scalescribes just fine.]

Scalescribe CR 3 N Aberration This strange creature resembles a snake with eight spindly arms, each ending in a delicate, human-like hand. It has five eyes arranged in a cross on its face, a fleshy hood growing over its face. Its jaws are wide, but nearly toothless. Its body is decorated with scraps of text, some single letters, others entire paragraphs in a dense hand.

Scalescribes are strange magical creatures that are obsessed with words and language. They tend to live in libraries, temples to gods of knowledge, and other places where there are lots of books. The words on their bodies are extracts from what they have read, and shift over the weeks as they encounter new writings. Scalescribes may be sought out as sages, or by spellcasters who want to use their abilities to manipulate magic writing.

A scalescribe would rather not fight if it can help it, and their bodies are not much suited for combat. Their most powerful attack is the ability to charge a written character with magical force and fire it like an arrow. They cannot do this at will, however, and usually bolster these attacks with spells cast from scrolls or jabbing with the quills they always carry. Such jabs deal little damage, but carry a creeping stain of magical ink. If they are targeted with a spell they haven’t seen before, or one that the scalescribe thinks might be tactically useful, they will attempt to copy it onto a temporary scroll so they can use it themselves.

This ability to copy and reuse spells is what makes scalescribes so valuable to spellcasters. If the scalescribe chooses, it can allow another creature to cast that spell, even crossing spell lists in order to do so. A scalescribe is most likely to use this ability if it judges the other creature “clever”, which it determines by playing word games and quizzing vocabulary. A creature that can teach a scalescribe a word it doesn’t know is likely to make a fast friend.

Scalescribe      CR 3 XP 800 N Tiny aberration Init +3; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +11

Defense AC 17, touch 11, flat-footed 13 (+2 size, +3 Dex, +1 dodge, +1 natural) hp 27 (5d8+5) Fort +2, Ref +4, Will +8 Defensive Abilities lettered

Offense Speed 20 ft. Melee quill +8 (1d3-2/18-20 plus inkstain) Ranged morpheme glyph +8 (3d6 force) Space 2 ½ ft.; Reach 0 ft.

Spell-like Abilities CL 5th, concentration +6 At will—arcane mark, detect magic, read magic 3/day—comprehend languages (self only) 1/day—dispel magic, secret page

Statistics Str 6, Dex 17, Con 12, Int 19, Wis18, Cha 13 Base Atk +3; CMB +4; CMD 13 (cannot be tripped) Feats Dodge, Magical Aptitude, Scribe Scroll (B), Weapon Finesse Skills Climb +10,Craft (calligraphy) +8, Knowledge (arcana, history) +11, Linguistics +11, Perception +11, Sense Motive +11, Spellcraft +13, Stealth +18, Use Magic Device +7 Languages Aklo, Common, Draconic, 4 others SQ caster bond, intellectual, scroll use, transcribe spell

Ecology Environment urban Organization solitary or scriptorium (2-5) Treasure standard

Special Abilities Caster Bond (Su) A scalescribe can form a bond with any creature with spellcasting levels by performing a ritual that requires 1 hour of concentration, usually done while the other creature is preparing spells. A prepared caster can prepare the spell carried on that scalescribe’s transcribed scroll, and a spontaneous caster can treat that spell as if they knew it for that day. This can allow a caster to cast a spell that is not on their spell list, as long as it belongs to the same tradition of magic (arcane, divine or occult). This lasts for 24 hours, or until the scalescribe uses its transcribed scroll or transcribes a new scroll. If a prepared caster loses access to a spell in this way, the spell slots that had this spell become open. Inkstain (Su) A creature struck by a scalescribe’s quill takes 1d4 points of damage per round for the next 10 rounds. This can be removed by any healing spell with a successful DC 13 caster level check, or by any effect that removes or delays poison without a check. An erase spell removes the inkstain without a caster level check. This is a poison effect, and is an ability of the scalescribe, not the quill. Intellectual (Ex) A scalescribe treats all Knowledge checks and Linguistics as if they were class skills. Lettered (Ex) A scalescribe gains a +4 racial bonus on all saving throws against glyphs, symbol spells and spells and effects with the language descriptor. Morpheme Glyph (Su) As a standard action, a scalescribe can draw a magical syllable in the air and fire it at an opponent. Treat this as a ranged attack with a range of 40 feet and no range increment. A creature struck takes 3d6 points of force damage. A scalescribe can use this ability once every 1d4 rounds. Quill (Ex) A scalescribe treats any quill it carries as if it were a rapier it was proficient with. Scroll Use (Ex) A scalescribe can use spells from scrolls as if the spell was on its spell list. Transcribe Spell (Su) As an immediate action when targeted by a spell with verbal components, a scalescribe can attempt to copy down the spell into a variant scroll. The scalescribe must succeed a Spellcraft check (DC 15 + twice the spell’s level) to successfully copy the spell, and is still affected by the spell whether it succeeds or fails at this check. If it succeeds, the scalescribe creates a scroll of that spell that only it can use. A scalescribe can only have one transcribed scroll at a time.

[asexualbookbird]

It was not a great month for reading enjoyment. It did not start off strong, a book I was really looking forward to enjoying was boring as hell, and now my brain is too foggy to enjoy anything more complex I've been wanting to read. It WAS a good month in terms of volume, though. Two chonky books, and eight overall, if we care about those stats. Which I do a little bit. Numbers are arbitrary, but it does give me a sense of accomplishment when I read an 800 page book, I will not lie.

Eryie: Gryphon Insurrection by K Vale Nagle ⭐ - I'll admit, this is partially my fault. My brain skipped right over the Gryphon Insurrection part of the title, so I wasn't really expecting gryphon genocide, the children's novel. On top of that, it just wasn't well written! POV changes well over halfway through the book, no character is distinct, only thing it has going for it is it finally made me jump into Guardians of Ga'Hoole, but. uh. Well you'll see.

Dragon Pearl by Yoo Ha Lee ⭐⭐⭐- It was fine! Entertaining! I know YA and MG books don't have the luxury of going too deep into lore or anything, but it was really lacking here. She was sad about her brother being dead for like. One line. And then got over it. Kids deserve to read emotional depth! It was a cute adventure, but nothing I'd read again. It does make me more excited about Ninefox Gambit, though, because I can see the bones of good writing!

The Dragon of Jin-Sayeng by KS Villso ⭐⭐⭐⭐- Ow. What an end to a series. Everyone is awful, everyone sucks, except Khine, love of my life. It's always harder to talk about the books I like, but I did really enjoy this series. I'd like to reread it one day!

Legacy of Ash by Matthew Ward ⭐- I was sooooo looking forward to this. I even bought book two (at a secondhand shop thankfully) because I really thought I'd enjoy it. LOL. It took 800 pages to say nothing at all. It was long for the sake of being long. It was like four different plots trying to be one, and none of them really amounted to anything because the focus was so split. Really, similar problems as Priory, but at least that was gay.

The Guardians of Ga'Hoole by Kathryn Lasky (1-4) ⭐⭐⭐- Finally starting this series after a million years! It came highly recommended from many friends throughout my life, so I've naturally been putting it off. It's fine. I did really enjoy the first one, but reading more left me really picking it apart and it's a solid three stars for me. I think Animorphs is more well rounded, but it's still an entertaining series. My biggest gripe is the inconsistencies! Soren and crew decides to withhold information from the Guardians, and then the next book the Guardians have that information? And said they got it from the gang?? Not sure how th timeline works for Metal Beak to be Soren's brother when Metal Beak was supposed to be a Big Scary Enemy to all of owlkind. Thought it might be a Dread Pirate Robert's situation, but nope! Kludd has been the only Metal Beak! Kids deserve better lol I'll read what I have (eleven books) but probably nothing more than that.

I don't have reading plans or goals for February. I'm still sick, doing things is hard. I'm just trying to survive over here. If you have recommendations for easy to read silly books, I am all ears!

[kikuism]

mariam! how's the goldfinch so far, are you liking it? is it interesting? ( or well, guess you could always answer once you've done with it ) i had started reading it but then put it on hold ( for fall 🍂 lol )

hi res! i just finished it about an hour ago, been collecting my thoughts...it was very good. donna tartt has such beautiful prose, there were so many bits i highlighted, she really has a way of capturing such specific feelings/sensations so well. her writing's just sublime, this was a true master at work. esp after the previous four books i'd read, which were total duds, this was a breath of crisp mountain air for me (not surprising, since i devoured the secret history). i really enjoyed the large colorful cast of characters and meditations on art and art history, which i'm a huge fan of. i think the first two chapters are just. Excellent. there's a slow, meandering feeling as you're reading, along with a sense of paranoia pulsing just underneath the surface that's just. so good. and makes you keep reading on and on and on. i loved how it was part suspense novel, part coming of age story. however, i will say not all of it was as equally engaging; some bits i felt my interest wane just a bit. i personally enjoyed the first half more than the second half, but i really loved the overall message of the book, as someone who's deeply entranced with old paintings and any old piece of art, whether it's a painting or a play or a novel. i love that we can read something or look at something that was created so long ago and like...all that distance and time just vanishes, you become a part of its immortality, along with all the others who came before you hundreds of years ago. it's so beautiful to me, that humanity is connected to each other like that. i loved that a lot.

this is the longest book i've read this year at nearly 800 pages, and i took my slow, sweet time reading it (12 days), which is something i've never done before...usually i get through a book relatively quickly, but for this one, it just made sense. it was 12 chapters, and they were very long chapters. i'd read when i woke up and before going to sleep, and i feel like that was the best way to do it ... i really felt like i was going on a journey through theo's life. like it was just a totally different reading experience for me, i can't quite explain it, there was no....pressure. like it was really just me and donna tartt’s exquisite writing. it felt like going through a box of fancy chocolates, having one piece a day. i knew i had to savor this experience. it felt quite lavish and like i was spoiling myself, going so slowly. maybe it was the sheer length i just gave in to, buckled myself in for the long ride. it made me realize it's actually quite fun to read a long book and i shouldn't be intimidated of them. so for me, half the fun of reading the goldfinch was not just the beautiful prose and entertaining story but also the experience of reading itself. now that i'm done with it, i feel like i've woken from a deep slumber, like what now? i'll definitely let this one steep for a while before starting my next read.

so out of the two donna tartt books i've read, i will say, overall, i prefer the secret history! for its overall cohesion and atmosphere. but i'm very glad i read this, it'd been on my tbr for years and i finally got to it at the right time.

[blackboxtheater]

For that 40 questions thing, 4, 14, and 40 please?

4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

There's nothing I'm nurturing right now in the sense that it would be a serious story I would ever publish. When I have an idea I tend to write it rather quickly so it doesn't drive me totally insane, which just gives me a lot of random scenes thrown together in a giant messy document lol. But there are some things for non-mcyt fandoms and some original work that are kicking around in my head.

But all that being said......I listen to a lot of actual play Dungeons and Dragons podcasts and I'm constantly fitting situations and characters from mcyt into D&D mechanics. So I keep coming back to that idea a lot. I even got pretty far into a loosely connected series of one-shots about a D&D party of hermits that I'll share the summary for.....

Xisuma, the chosen one of the Goddess Craft, is starting to wonder if there really is an epic quest. Because all he seems to be doing is collecting idiots who can destroy monsters as easily as they destroy his patience. That doesn’t mean he loves his party any less. And at least they saved the server from disaster. For now anyway. Until someone lights something on fire....again OR: A series of moments from the very long life of an adventurer and the people he meets along the way 

14. What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

It's less advice, and more the sense that a premise is a plot. And it's just......not.

A plot is a plot. Things need to happen in a story. (This is talking about longer stories, not one-shots or short fics.)

Like, do I love a good soulmates AU? Absolutely! But the idea that someone will have the first words their soulmate says to them written on their body is not a series of events that makes me want to keep reading to discover what happens next. Who are the soulmates? What are they doing? How does this condition affect them and their lives? Why does that matter? What happens in the story?

Another example of this, for anyone familiar with the Sarah J Mass books/universe, is the first Crescent City book "House of Earth and Blood". The premise is bringing this big interconnected fantasy universe into a modern urban setting, and that's a great fun premise! But the plot is a murder mystery. The actual thing the characters do for 800 freaking pages is solve a murder. 'Woman tries to solve her best friend's murder with a bad boy cop' is the plot of that novel.

40. Write an alternative ending to [insert fic title] (or just the summary of one).

So I'm going to take this as an open ended ask for an alternative ending of any of my fics, but if you meant it differently, please let me know!

And y'all KNOW I am a staunch believer in talking about feelings.

But...... for funsies here is an alternate ending that diverges at chapter 12 of my gemtho fic We Were Shy where Pearl and BDubs are a little more proactive, inspired by the joke at the time that Gem was the boss of Decked Out level 4 and she would just be released into the dungeon to kill Etho.

----

Pearl's POV:

Pearl was waiting for Tango in the control room.

“Pearly pop? Why aren’t you running the dungeon?” He looked between her and the empty dungeon.

“Tango. We need your help.”

“We?”

“Yeah. We.” BDubs said. Pearl laughed at the extremely high pitched noise Tango made when he finally noticed BDubs standing behind him in the shadow of the door.  Pearl appreciated that she wasn’t the only one who could be a little sneaky when she wanted to be.

----

<You whispered to GeminiTay> gem want to kill Etho in the dungeon?

<GeminiTay whispered to you>  YES

<You whispered to GeminiTay>  no follow up questions?

<GeminiTay whispered to you> TIME AND PLACE

----

On one monitor, Pearl, Tango, and BDubs watched Etho climb into the minecart to start a Decked Out run that he had no indication would be out of the ordinary. On another, they watched Gem crouched and hiding on level 2, her hand twitching on the hilt of her diamond sword as she prepared to hunt Etho through the dungeon. Or at least, that's what Pearl had told her she would be doing.

They let Etho get most of the way through level 1, waiting until he commented on how strange it was that he hadn't seen any Ravager yet, before Pearl cleared her throat before she leaned into the microphone in Tango's control room.

“Attention Etho and Gem. Yes Etho, Gem is in the dungeon with you. Tango’s gonna, yup, stop any more cards from playing. Now Etho, you should know that Gem has a massive crush on you.”

“And Gem,” Bdubs poked his head close to the mic. “Etho has a crush on you. Super big crush. Embarrassingly really how big.”

Pearl giggled as Bdubs shot her a smile and stepped away from the mic.

“Now. You two can continue to avoid each other, or kill each other, or whatever it is you two do. That much I don’t really care. But figure it out.”

She smirked in spite of herself. Then she bowed out of the way for Tango to step up.

“And Etho, before you find a loophole, you both respawn at the bed in the top of the dungeon, I’ve removed all your gear from the chests, and the doors won’t open until two different players step on two different pressure plates in front of it. I’m sure you can find a way to sneak out, but not before Gem finds you.”

“And if you want to have fun we’re turning the cameras off!” Bdubs jumped up to add as a final comment.

“Bdubs don’t you dare-" echoed from Etho through the speakers before Tango flicked the lever to kill the video and audio feeds.

“You think it will work?” He asked, turning to Pearl.

“Honestly? I don’t know.”

“What if they crawl out of the dungeon walls? Bdubs suddenly asked. “I mean some of the crypts are just ice. Etho could absolutely punch through that rather than talk about his feelings.”

“You think he’d rather punch through a wall with his bear hands than get laid?” Pearl couldn’t fathom wanting to avoid a conversation that badly. Especially when they already did the hard part for them.

Tango shrugged. “He’s Etho. He might try.”

Then Tango giggled, the little laugh multiplying until his shoulders were shaking and he was whipping tears away from his eyes.  

“You okay man?” Bdubs finally asked, looking to Pearl for an explanation she clearly didn’t have.

“If they get out they have to escape level 5!” Tango wheezed.

“There’s another level?” Pearl nearly sputtered out. If the fucking door in level four led to a secret extra level she was going to lose her mind.

“No the redstone!” Tango finally said, gesturing widely around him with a spin. “Even if they get out of eh dungeon they don’t have elytra. They’d have to walk out of the redstone spaghetti. And I’m laughing imagining Gem chasing Etho through it.” Tango finally explained giddy smile on his face.

“I’m going to ping the rest of the hermits that the dungeon is closed.” Pearl said, opening the door to the control room and leading everyone out into the hall.

“Another question Tango,” Bdubs said, eyeing the door. “Do you have a washing machine in the dungeon?”

“Downstairs. I do actually live here you know.” Tango rolled his eyes at Bdubs. “But why.”

“Just maybe wash the sheets in the bed before anyone else runs. Just…”

Pearl watched Tango’s expression warp from confusion to realization to horror to embarrassment. “Yes. Yup. On the list. Good idea.”

<PearlescentMoon> dungeon’s closed for maintenance

<Cubfab135> :(

<GoodTimeWithScar>TANGO! Go fix your dungeon!

<Tango> like pearl said. CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE. DO NOT DISTURB.

<Etho> dungeon set to do not disturb mode

They all looked at Etho’s message at the same time as they stood on the bridge leading away from the Citadel.

“So do we think that’s a good thing?” Bdubs finally asked.

<GeminiTay> STRICTLY ENFORCED

Pearl raised an eyebrow at Gem's message.

“Maybe?”

[elenajohansenreads]

Books I Read in 2023

#7 - House of Earth and Blood, by Sarah J. Maas

Rating: 1/5 stars

I didn't have any real intention of reading this when it came out, as I'd already gone through a love-hate cycle with Maas over ACOTAR. Which I loved when I first read, then hated for a while when I engaged with the fandom some and realized I'd been had by pretty faces, easily digestible prose, and excessive melodrama.

But last summer, a few years after reading the trilogy the first time, I reread them, and they were neither as good as I remember nor as bad as I'd feared.

When I was at the library, I saw this on the shelf, and said, "Why not? Maybe the writing's improved."

It hasn't. Ages ago I glimpsed a review on Tumblr that suggested this was Maas writing fan fiction for her own body of work, and I have to say, I agree. These are the same stock characters of hers with different names, the same "everyone is just so hot and powerful and amazing" attitude, the same style of convoluted plot based on an ever-increasing mountain of secrets and lies, so that there can constantly be big reveals between characters to fuel the angst.

But it gets worse, because Maas' success apparently has put her above editorial criticism. The length of the novel is bloated far past what the plot actually requires. We have to constantly be reminded what everyone looks like and how attractive everyone is and rehash conversations over and over again so that Maas can repeat the Arc Words (and there's like, five sets of Arc Words that are Oh So Important to the story) and because the world-building is so slapdash that it makes no sense we have to constantly explain the interactions between our high fantasy magic and the pseudo-real-world technology like cell phones and security systems...it's endless and exhausting. Underneath all of that, there might be a story worth saving, maybe, but it sure isn't 800 pages long.

The world is the weakest, laziest mishmash of borrowed mythological words and good ole Latin, pasted on to a bland city environment with no sense of the world around it beyond "there's this other distant continent at war and it's Very Important but you'll never see it." Beyond that, it's the most generic paranormal fantasy, let's make yet another world where every creature you've ever heard of can coexist but not really do much to explain why they're all here at once.

Just about the only thing I can praise in this book is that the romance arc really, truly, undoubtedly is based on friendship first, for those who value that. InstaLove is a trope I don't care for, and Hunt and Bryce, even if they start out as simple palette switches for other characters from other Maas stories, do slowly develop their own relationship that isn't an obvious retread of Feyre/Rhysand, the only one I have to compare it to because I only read the first book of the Throne of Glass series. I believe that they both carry the dark weight of their own histories and find comfort and support in each other. I believe that their forced-intimacy-style working relationship could become a true friendship even without the promise of romance shining in the distance.

But if I want good enemies-to-friends-to-lovers romance, I can find that in better stories; it's not worth wading through everything else in this book that's bad.

[acourtofthought]

I read the comments that you and the el*riel stan shared..

The person says they did not mean what gwynriels think they meant. The problem is that other el/riel stans also don't know what the person meant. The whole "Gwynriel can't be endgame because gwyn is a sa victim" crap will be widely spread again and plenty of el/riels will disrespect SA and mean exactly what they mean.

You know, my husband and I get into this disagreement a lot.

He struggles with saying what he means at times and it causes confusion because I respond to what I think he's saying and it leads to me being frustrated. When he stops and takes the time to explain himself differently, sometimes it makes more sense.

But he's a finance major with ADHD so his brain works differently. And grew up playing video games and not really socializing (especially beyond what it requires to talk about sports and video games).

He hasn't really learned to think about why he's feeling a certain way and what's causing him to respond the way he does.

So maybe they really didn't mean what we all think they said but again..... If you're going to claim something is a professional opinion, you're going to want to make sure your message is clear and as you intended.

I personally don't know how to read the post any other way than how I took it and I think the same goes for a lot of Gwynriel's and E/riels which is why it does come off as harmful to one side of the fandom and a leg to stand on for the other.

Because we're not just talking about a fictional character with that post (if we were than realism should not even come into play). The post was from someone in a very real profession with real SA survivors as clients who made a blanket statement that if SJM wants to do realistic justice to a characters healing, than Gwyn shouldn't end up with Az, that it wouldn't be right to SA survivors otherwise 🤔

There was also the bit that Gwyn is childish and naive.

I'm not saying it's wrong for someone to think that about a character, others have said the same for Elain (I don't agree but if that's what they think 🤷).

Regardless of what they believe about Gwyn's personality, she is (and confirmed by the author) a fully grown female. As long as she's of age, it doesn't matter how "childish" they think she is. She's still entitled to find love.

And I love how people like to act like Azriel is some mature, collected Male in comparison to Gwyn's "childish" ways 😂

Yes, maybe Gwyn was sheltered but so what?

Az has been living his life for 500+ years and grew up quick because of what happened to him as a child. Yet he still starts fights during important political meetings, he's still so desperate to be the hero he stupidly runs headfirst into every dangerous situation he can, he still tries to disobey commands, he still plots out snowball fight victories for a year. Man is not the epitome of grown up right now.

I think we all eventually settle down and mature especially when we find ourselves in a committed relationship. In my twenties we were out at the bar every weekend, swimming at 3 in the morning, some of my friends got themselves into drunken fights. Now all anyone wants to do is dinner with a drink or two then head home to bed by 9 pm 😂

It doesn't matter how the character starts their book, it's where they are by the end of it. And yes, 800+ pages is enough for ANY author to take whatever Gwyn is currently experiencing and respectfully turn it around in a way that does justice to a SA survivor who is still uneasy of leaving the library.

Feyre started her book engaged to another man (and was sexually active with him) yet SJM was able to write a fairly believable arc of her letting go of her feelings for Tamlin and moving past what both the author and character herself considered DV, in order to have a sexually healthy and non fearful relationship with another man (who months earlier was SA for 50 years) she loved by the end of it (I don't see anyone claiming that didn't do justice to DV survivors. If anything there's more concern over how SJM did Tamlin dirty 🤦). As for Az being kinky, when it comes to sex, SA survivors can be just as kinky as the next person. All that matters is finding a person they trust which we already have proof of in SF.

So let's not start the crusade about what's "healthy" and "right" for SA survivors now (and only being addressed by people who prefer E/riel) when obviously in these books these sensitive topics in general are not expected to meet someone's very specific idea as to what recovery should look like.

[aquamarinescarlet]

The Psychology of Us

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word count: ~3.5k

Warnings: mentions of smut (nothing explicit)

Summary: It seems like you’ll never get the answers you want, but little did you know…

Author’s note: This is probably my favorite story yet. It got a little steamier than I originally planned, but I think it turned out okay. I hope the explanation makes sense, it’s something I do use in real life so I thought it’d be fun to write about. Anyhow, thank you for everyone who read, and have fun with the last part :D

Taglist: @helloalycia @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xastrydx @trikruismybitch @b0mbdotc0m @ima-gi--na-tion @cristin-rjd @arealearp @1-800-maximoff @zarriaza329

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

“I know, I know, I’ll be at your place at seven.” You said to Angie as soon as she reached you.

The hallway was packed, yet you were still able to notice her presence.

“About that,” she sounded unsure, “I came to tell you about this small gathering Pietro is doing at his place tonight, and I was wondering if you’d come with me?”

“So I can be a third wheel? No thank you.”

“He will have other friends over too, don’t worry.”

“Then why can’t you go by yourself?”

“Because I don’t know any of them and I don’t want to be there all by myself.” She reasoned.

“Just stick by Pietro and you’ll be fine.”

“Please!” She pleaded, giving you her best puppy eyes.

You weren’t opposed to the idea of going to Pietro’s house, a small gathering would be a nice change of pace from your usual Friday night parties. But your mind was in a different place right now and a party wasn’t exactly on your plans. You couldn’t say no to her though, maybe you could sneak out early, who knows.

“Fine, I’ll go.” You gave in.

She cheered, hugging you eagerly, and walked away before you could change your mind.

It was Friday again and you were still stuck on the girl and her puzzle. You’d seen her seven more times in the past two weeks. Now you had compulsively read eight books in the span of one month. Eight books all due to her, it was more than Diego reads in the same time.

Even your family was starting to question this sudden new hobby. Aalways keeping yourself locked in your room or with your nose deep down into a different book wasn’t normal.

Despite that, you were no closer to solving the mystery that was the girl from the library. She refused to give you her name when you asked her for it. She refused to explain the logic behind her recommendations. She just had fun watching you drown in frustration.

You were close to giving up, to start avoiding her until you forgot completely about the whole situation. But you enjoyed these moments. You were excited at the prospect of seeing her, not that you’d ever admit it out loud.

Of course, all this excitment died down the moment she started to mock you for nothing, with that annoying smirk painting those perfect stupid lips of hers, growing your desire to wipe it off of her.

There was something, though, that caught your attention, something about the books she recommended. You enjoyed them, you savoured every story, every plot, every character. Diego always tried to get you to read some of his favourite books and you gave up after a few pages. But not these ones, you liked them, and you had to figure out what kind of spell she used to make you like them so much.

“I think I’m going insane.” You muttered while staring at the ‘map’ you had created on your bedroom wall.

It contained post-its, notes, the title of all eight books and the answers that earned you each recommendation. A pathetic attempt to find a connection between this whole thing.

“You are getting too worked up on this, I mean, look at your wall,” Diego, who had been hanging out with you this afternoon, gestured towards it, “it looks like something right out of a detective movie.”

“It’s not that bad,” you said exasperatedly, “I just need to figure this out.”

“Okay, two things,” he put up both his index and middle finger, “first: it is that bad, it’s just a bunch of books; and second: why are you so desperate to figure this out?”

“I’m not desperate,” you argued.

“Yes, you are.” You heard him mumble.

“And aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

“Not that curious.”

“I just want to prove her wrong,” you explained.

“Because you care about what she thinks?” He seemed genuinely confused.

“No, I-”

“Look,” he interrupted, “I know you. I’ve known you for a long time. You have never been one to care about what other people think of you. So why her?”

“I-,” you were at a loss for words.

Why did you care? It bothered when she insulted you, even though you knew it wasn’t true, and you’ve never been bothered by such things before. It bothered that she knew nothing about you and still had the nerve to deem herself better than you, even though this was all the more reason to not care about her opinion at all.

Was it really a bother though? Or was that just an excuse? And if it is an excuse, then what were you excusing? Why were you still doing this? You’ve been dragging this out for a month. Why were you so keen on proving her wrong after all this time?

You don’t need to prove to her that you’re smart: you get good grades, you’re the captain of the football team, you even have a scholarship in one of the best colleges in the area. Of course she doesn’t know any of this, but that’s not enough motivation for you to spend a month trying to prove her she’s wrong about you.

For all you know that crazy scheme of hers to recommend books could be fake. She could just recommend books she likes and hide the reasons behind those questions. But then why did you enjoy those stories? And why would she put up a whole facade to recommend some books to a random stranger she met in a library?

“Do you like her?” Diego’s voice brought you out of your own thoughts.

The look you gave him was one of disbelief. You almost wanted to laugh at his words.

“Like her? How can I like someone who pisses me off so much?”

“Then why do you keep going back?”

“Why I- because- I- I’m curious.” You didn’t sound as confident as you wished. It wasn’t a lie. You were curious. But curiosity was not the only reason you kept going back, although you couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was.

“I don’t believe you.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t know how to answer. Thankfully you didn’t have to when, with a quick glance at the clock, you were able to change the subject.

“We’re late.” You simply stated.

“For what?”

“I told Angie I was going to meet her at her place at seven,” you gestured towards the time, “it’s seven thirty.”

“I didn’t agree to this.”

“C’mon, please,” you pleaded, “it’s going to be a small, like, get together or something, and I know Angie will leave me alone at some point to makeout with her boyfriend.”

“Okay fine,” he gave in and you made a little celebratory dance, dragging him out of the house.

Since this was supposed to be casual and between friends, you didn’t waste any time at Angie’s, where you’d usually spend hours getting dressed and ready.

Pietro’s place wasn’t far, which you were slightly thankful for since Angie wouldn’t stop talking about him the whole ride. He’s such a good kisser. He’s so cute. Did you know he plays soccer? He looks so hot in his uniform… You love your friend, but that’s just too much.

As always you weren’t the first one’s, and by the amount of people it was far from a “small gathering between friends”. The apartment wasn’t small, but sure felt like it with the almost fifty people crammed in there.

You were greeted by Pietro himself, who offered you each a beer before pulling Angie in for a kiss, causing you and Diego to roll your eyes. You gladly took the beer, if you had to endure this, might as well have some alcohol to help.

Two beers later and your mind was no longer fixating on the girl-from-the-library problem. Instead you were having a friendly debate with some of Pietro’s friends about which college was the best, the typical rivalry. Having only Angie to back you up was making the whole thing harder.

“Hey Piet,” a tall blonde boy called out, interrupting the conversation, “is Wanda going to join us?”

“Doubtful, you know how she is…”

“Who’s Wanda?” Angie’s voice was laced with jealousy causing the boy to laugh dramatically, which only seemed to make her madder.

“She’s my sister, don’t worry,” he reassured her. It made sense, he had mentioned he lived with his twin sister.

You watched as he pulled Angie away from the group, probably to makeout, as you had predicted, and you looked at Diego, to stop him from commenting anything, only to find his place empty.

You left the group as well to search for him, and was surprised to find him shoving his tongue down some girl’s throat. You could’ve left them alone? Yes, you could. But did you? Of course not.

“Y’know,” you tapped on his shoulder, earning his attention, “when I bring you to a party so I can have someone when Angie left me, I expect you not to leave me as well.” You teased.

“Shut up.” He tried to sound serious, but the smirk gave it away.

“You owe me one.”

Feeling a sudden need to go to the bathroom, you let them be and went in search of one. You opened a door you thought led to a bathroom, but found yourself in a corridor which had other four doors that probably led to bedrooms, at least one must lead to a bathroom.

“Pietro, I already told you, keep that door closed!” You heard someone scream from one of them.

It wasn’t just anyone though. That was a voice that had been haunting you for a whole month now. Okay, haunting was an exaggeration, but still. You quickly closed the door, muffling the music and chatter.

As you rested your back against the wall, a surge of power took over you. The new information taking over all your thoughts. You had the upper hand now on this little game of hers. It was your turn to play.

Her door was easy to identify, being the only one with light seeping through the cracks, and you made no effort to be quiet or discreet when opening it.

She was sitting in her bed, long red hair loose over her shoulders, a book in hands. Her expression was soft despite the interruption, she hadn’t looked up, so she had no idea it was you who was standing there.

“What do you want Piet?” A mischievous smirk grew on your face.

“Wanda,” you uttered as if trying it on your tongue for the first time, earning the girl’s attention.

The shock that took over her features did wonders to your confidence.

“A beautiful name,” you continued, daring to take a few steps inside her room, “I see you favourite color is red,” you referred to the endless amount of details on her walls, shelves, bedsheets, all a different shade of red.

You walked further into the room, exploring everything in sight. She followed your every move with her eyes, too stunned to say anything. Were you crossing a line? Probably. Should you be invading her personal space like that, without a warning? Probably not. But she has been invading your personal space for weeks, so you couldn’t care less.

“Ah, you play the guitar,” you grazed your fingers over the instrument sitting on the corner of the room, “I didn’t think you had any talents other than insulting me for no reason.”

You were enjoying this too much. Your eyes landed on some pictures and notes clinging to a wall.

“Sokovia,” you said after reading one of the notes, “so you are Sokovian, that’s interesting.” Your gaze fell to her desk, a pile of textbooks stacked there. “Psychology,” you laughed, not because it was funny, but because it was going to piss her off even further, “you are more likely to drive your patients crazy than to actually help them.”

“How…,” you turned towards her, “did you…,”

“Get in here? Learn your name?” You offered some suggestions since she didn’t seem capable of finishing that sentence herself. “Pietro.” You simply stated and watched as her face went from stunned to mad.

“How do you know my brother?”

Was that jealousy you were sensing? Or was she just upset that he had told you stuff about her? You decided to play with it a little bit.

“He is a sweet boy isn’t he? So hot and so nice,” you teased and she advanced towards you, making you a little frightened, but not enough to back down, “it’s hard to believe you two share the same genes.”

Your face was mere inches from hers and you suddenly felt like the air was growing thick, making it hard to breathe. A feeling of warmth taking over your chest and stomach. In spite of all the discomfort, you managed to keep your composure.

“I so want to wipe that pretentious smirk off of your face right now,” she growled. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Why don’t you?” You challenged.

Football had given you fast reflexes (except for that particular event a few weeks ago), you were ready to catch her hand if she tried anything. Instead of her fist or her palm, you were met with her lips attacking yours furiously.

The kiss was needy, hungry, desperate even. Your hands made their way to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. It was a battle, a fight neither of you were willing to lose. Tongues fighting for dominance, teeth biting lips, jaw, neck, hands pulling on skin in such a way it would definitely leave marks.

Clothes fell to the floor as you backed her to her bed, pushing her onto the mattress, this feeling, a necessity for her, on the pit of your stomach growing ever more.

Safe to say your plans of leaving early were postponed. At some point during the night you had managed to find Diego and let him know you wouldn’t be needing a ride back home. Your disheveled state and red marks, which were already showing up on your neck, didn’t go unnoticed by him, but he didn’t have time to comment on it. You mentally dreaded the moment he would start with the questioning.

Some shifting on the bed caught your attention. Slowly opening your eyes, you were able to catch Wanda staring at you with a soft smile. Your back was facing her, so she didn’t know you were awake, but you could see her clearly from her bedroom mirror.

And what a sight it was.

“You’re staring.” You called out, and watched her face turn three shades redder out of embarrassment from being caught.

You turned around so you’re now facing her, although she wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“What’s on your mind?” She kept quiet. “Okay, wanna know what’s on my mind?” She nodded lightly. “Well, I’m thinking that I would have never, not in a million years, pegged you as being shy.” She tried to stifle a laugh while bringing her hand up to playfully hit you on the arm. “That’s more like it,” you teased.

“I’m not shy,” she defended.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

“Because… “ she lost it mid sentence.

“... you’re shy and sweet, just like your brother said,” you recalled from the day you spent together in the arcade.

She hit you, yet again, on the arm, slightly harder this time, but not enough to hurt.

“Tell me this then,” you finally reached the topic that has been bugging you for weeks, “what was all this for? The mystery, the games?”

She fell silent, seemingly in deep thought and you got scared you had killed the moment.

“Okay, so maybe I’m a little shy,” she admitted and you celebrated internally while your face remained unfazed, “and that makes me scared of…”

“Talking to people?” You helped out, but she covered her face with her hands in embarrassment.

“Please, don’t laugh at me, I know it’s stupid-”

“It’s not,” you interrupted, uncovering her face, “go on.”

She took a deep breath before continuing.

“I’m scared of talking to people… especially people that I like.” Although it sounded like a confession, you weren’t exactly sure what it was about.

“So you liked me?” You asked in disbelief. “From the beginning?”

Her already red face was growing darker by the second.

“I had seen you before, with Diego, in the library, always complaining, always stating how boring it was,” she shook her hands in the air for the purpose of drama, “and it was annoying, but it was also cute and- and I always wanted to talk to you, but I never found courage to do it.”

To say you were shocked at the new information was an understatement. She liked you all this time? And you just thought she hated your guts for no reason? Wow, that’s precious.

“Okay, so…” you tried to say in the stunned state you found yourself, “how- why- the- why did you do all that then?”

“Because I had like, this sudden flow of confidence, and since you had this cocky personality I thought you would like someone who was the same, so I said what I said, and I did what I did and-”

“I started to hate you.” The way you acted when you first met must’ve hurt her.

“Exactly, and I thought I had screwed up completely, until you showed up again, and my stupid brain associated that to the idea that the way I had acted worked. So I kept it up. A persona, in a sense.”

“What were you planning to do then? Keep that act up forever?” The question made her slightly frustrated.

“I don’t know, I didn’t think that far, I just enjoyed your presence, even though you still seemed to hate my guts.” You laughed and moved closer to her, wrapping your arms around her waist.

“I did,” you whispered close to her ear, “I hated your guts, but I also enjoyed it, the games, the mystery, that’s why I kept coming back.”

“So it worked,” she said excitedly.

“It sort of did.” You stared into her green eyes, for a few seconds. “There’s something else in my mind too that I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“Ask away.”

“So… about the recommendations-”

“Oh my god,” she didn’t let you finish, “you haven’t figured that out yet?!” She exclaimed in disbelief, when she opened her mouth again you knew what was coming.

“Don’t say it.” You warned.

“You really are slow.” She said it anyways, a mischievous grin painting her lips.

“Damn, I hate you,” you said jokingly, unwrapping yourself from her and making a move to leave the bed.

She stopped you short, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and pulling you back, causing you to fall on the bed laughing hysterically.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I won’t say it anymore.”

She let you go and sat up and across from you.

“Good, so are you going to explain it to me or not?” You questioned and she rolled her eyes playfully. “And don’t you dare tell me there is no logic behind it, there has to be one.”

“Yes, there is a logic,” she mocked, “it’s quite simple actually, the ‘color’ is what sets the mood for the book.”

“How so?”

“Uhm, like, we associate colors with stuff, like black is associated with death and evil and white is associated with peace and purity,” you nodded, “it also works for feelings, associating those with colors, so when a person says a color I can pick a book that has elements that are associated with that color, or that causes a feeling that we associate with that color.” She explained.

“That explains the psychology major thing.” She seemed happy you remembered, even though it was mere hours ago.

“Basically,” she agreed, “so, ‘person’ is what defines the relationships that surround the main character, so either romances, friendships, families, strangers, y’know?”

“Yeah okay,” you tried to follow along.

“And ‘place’ is to decide how far from reality the story should be, if the person says a place that’s close to their home, they tend to prefer stuff closer to their comfort zone, so no fantasy or sci-fi, and vice-versa.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep,” she beamed a smile, “simple isn’t it?”

“Does it always work?”

“No, it’s a really subjective thing, the more I know the person the better, but sometimes it just doesn’t work.” She admitted. “It worked on you like a charm though,” she teased.

“That it did,” you couldn't deny. “Okay, so if I got it right, color sets the mood, right?”

“Right.”

“Then what is red associated with?” You looked around her room, filled with several details in red.

“Anger, love, passion-,” she stopped talking when she met your eyes, a mischievous smirk on your lips.

You slowly rose from your position and crawled forward, never losing her gaze. You quirked an eyebrow suggestively as you got closer. You sat on her lap, faces inches from another.

“Well, I can show you some passion.”

[alectology-archive]

what are your favorite sapphic books? (other than harrow the ninth)

Hi bestie!! here are a couple of my favourites

adult:

the priory of the orange tree - fantasy - bisexual queen x lesbian mage who struggle to carve their own path in societies and cultures that demand conformity. meanwhile there's an evil dragon starting to wake which wants to destroy the world. there's also a contagious disease that magically corrupts people who come in contact with it in case you want to avoid it. it explores how mythologies get skewed over time and is pretty fast paced even if it's ~800~ pages long

the seven husbands of evelyn hugo - romance - it essentially chronicles evelyn's life as an actress and her romances over the decades and her secret relationship with another actress. the characters are really complex and flawed which appealed to me a lot

gideon the ninth - horror + sci fi - I know you said not harrow the ninth but. lesbian necromancers in space is an overdone description but it's essentially that. candidates are summoned from each of the nine houses so that they can piece together a secret that'll enable them to become lyctors and serve the god-emperor. everyone's very gay. the writing style might require some patience on your part though

the traitor baru cormorant - fantasy - the poppy war if it was sapphic. check the content warnings before you get into it because it deals with colonialism, how it suffocates and destroys indigenous cultures, and features lots of economics, battle sequences and characters who're so morally grey that you're literally not going to have any idea about whose side they're on. this book will wreck you

this is how you lose the time war - sci fi - two assassins belonging to opposite sides of a war spending most of the book homoerotically thwarting each other

the luminous dead - horror + sci fi - this is your go to for toxic sapphic relationships. the protagonist descends into a cave system to find something for her employer but stuff starts going wrong soon - supplies go missing and she starts to think the cave system might be haunted. not recommended if you're claustrophobic

the long way to a small angry planet - sci fi - the sapphic relationship is not very prominent but the book is very queer and you'll like it a lot if you're looking for found families in space

a memory called empire - sci fi - the protagonist steps up as ambassador to the empire when her predecessor dies. she suspects that he was killed and tries to uncover the mysterious circumstances behind his death. it explores themes of alienation from the home and your culture and the love that one harbors for a culture that devours your own anyway as much as you hate it.

the empress of salt and fortune - fantasy - the second book is actually the sapphic one but this one also chronicles the life of an empress who was involved in a relationship with her servant. the protagonist is non binary!

she who became the sun - historical fantasy - kind of like the poppy war again. the protagonist is genderqueer and it chronicles her rise to the throne. the book’s based on historical events which are retold through a queer lens. lots of books punish their protagonists for being selfish but this book said fuck you to all of them and rewarded its characters for choosing their desires.

her body and other parties - short story collection - a couple of them are sapphic

the jasmine throne - fantasy - princess x bodyguard. it has major priory vibes in the sense that the princess struggles to deliver on what the society demands of her and the bodyguard secretly practices magic

nevernight - fantasy - it's jay kristoff and I'd usually not recommend him but I like ashlinn jarnheim so I'll make an exception for her :/

young adult:

queen of coin and whispers - fantasy/romance - I thought the first half of the book was very good as opposed to the second half and it did have its issues but it's generally a fun read if you're bored - it's another queen x sworn protector relationship

wilder girls - horror - girls on an island develop strange mutations and try to survive as best as the can as they hope for a cure from the government. the protagonist is vicious in her pursuit to achieve what she wants and I love that.

the language of thorns - fantasy - grishaverse short story collection! when water sang fire + little knife are sapphic

girls of paper and fire - fantasy - it could've featured a better progression from the sort of enemies to lovers part but it was otherwise nice. I heard that the second book was bad so I abandoned the series with the first book.

crier's war - fantasy - I abandoned this because the writing wasn't very good but everyone sings it praises so you might want to try it

[army-author]

(fic alert) the taming of the tsundere

➝ COMING 04/03/2022 23:00 GMT

❝ hoseok and namjoon make a bet concerning their friend, yoongi, and his non-existent love life. determined to win the bet, hoseok takes it upon himself to get yoongi a date before prom. that’s where you come into the equation. too bad yoongi’s a stubborn tsundere, and you’re a complete idiot...  ❞

➝ pairing:  tsundere! yoongi x weeb! reader

➝ full fic - 33k words | preview - 800 words | fluff, mild angst, high school au

➝ author’s note: holy crap, this fic ended up being way longer than i expected! when i first started writing it last year, i was aiming for around 15k words, but then i just kept going and going, and now it’s a monster of a fic, which is why it ended up taking so long to finish. i hope you guys are looking forward to it. i put a lot of work into it, and am really happy with how it turned out. i would die for the main couple here :’) i’m so attached to them!

➝ click ‘keep reading’ for a preview!

The store behind the classroom is fairly large, shared between a few of the Literature teachers. The shelves are stacked with papers, and boxes of books.

You begin searching the shelves, scanning for The Nine Cloud Dream copies.

Yoongi hangs back awkwardly, closing the door to the classroom behind you, looking lost, as he glances around the storeroom.

Picking up a few boxes of books, you search below, scanning for anything you could use in your Literature project.

“Um, hey, listen...” Upon hearing Yoongi’s voice rumbling through the quiet storeroom, you pause your hunting, and turn to face him.

With your eyes pinned on him, his gaze immediately drops to the floor, his cheeks darkening. Directing his conversation at his feet, he says, “About yesterday when I hit you with that football… I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” a chuckle escapes from your lips, “Don’t worry about it. No hard feelings.”

He rubs at the back of his neck, glancing up at you. “Okay, good.” With that, his eyes drop back to the floor, staring down at the carpet as if it will grant him the secrets of the universe if he looks for long enough.

When you realise he doesn’t have anything more to say, you return to scanning the shelves for supplies. Just above your head, you notice a box labelled Nine Cloud Dream in Sharpie. Stretching up on your tip toes, you try to grab for the box, but it’s just a few inches out of your reach. “Hey, Yoongi,” you glance over your shoulder, “Can you help me with his?”

With a mumble of agreement, Yoongi walks over behind you. Turning around, your back to the shelves, you find yourself face to face with him. You’ve never been this close to him before – you’ve never noticed the gold that dapples his dark irises when the light catches them just so. You hesitate, transfixed under his intense gaze, until he pulls himself away, stretching up to reach the box above you. You struggle to keep your thoughts clear, mind foggy.

Straining, Yoongi catches his fingers around the edge of the box. As he pulls it closer to him, you watch it wobble on the shelf, Kim Manjung’s name rocking closer towards you, as the piles of books slip forwards. You get a sense of impending disaster far too late. The box is already falling, pages flying, as the books cascade towards you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, expecting an impact that never comes. Blinking your eyes open, you look up to see Yoongi standing over you, his body shielding yours as the books spill across the floor with a chorus of thumps. You catch Yoongi’s eyes trained on your own. He’s so close, your noses are almost brushing. He steadies himself on the shelves behind you, arms on either side of your body, boxing you in. With your back pressed against the shelves, you freeze, caught in his stare. It reminds you of the scenes you’ve seen so many times in your favourite shoujo mangas, right before the heroine and her love interest kiss. You squash the thought down as soon as it springs up. Why are you thinking these things about Yoongi?

A second could have gone by, or a minute, or an hour - you’re not sure. Time seems to go differently in the quiet of this storeroom. All you know is that you’ve been staring at Yoongi for far too long.

“Geez, what’s with you?” Yoongi rumbles, voice low, “You seem to attract disaster wherever you go.”

You breathe a huff of laughter through your nose, “Sorry. At least you were around to save me this time.”

A half smile catches on Yoongi’s lips, “Yeah, well, I had to make up for knocking off a few of your braincells with that football. I suppose balance has been restored to the universe now.”

“My hero,” you chuckle.

Yoongi’s cheeks flood with colour, and he clears his throat, pulling away from you. With that, the spell snaps apart, and the fog clears from your head. “Whatever,” he mumbles, “Let’s just clear up this mess and get out of here.”

Stooping down, you help Yoongi pack the scattered books back into their box.

Yoongi seems hurried as he shoves novels back, quickly standing up and patting his hands together to shake off the dust from the old pages. “Okay, grab the stuff you need and let’s go.” He stands by the door as you reach on tip toes to grab for the pieces of paper you need, before you turn back to head out of the storeroom. He’s restless, bouncing on his toes as you count out the sheets, and, satisfied with your spoils, you give him the all clear. “Let’s go.”

On your cue, he hurries out of the storeroom, with you, confused, following behind.

[nikethestatue]

Sometimes I get scared that sjm may do what some series or movie directors do. Sometimes movie or serie1 and 2 are really good and then instead leaving it where it is they start adding stuff from everywhere that doesn’t make sense because they are trying to make more season or movies . I believe less can be more I prefer to read a 200 page book with good plot that explains everything than a 800 page book full with unimportant information. Of course I love long books but sometimes is better to dont add information that is pointless. I love cc but so much information can be boring if add nothing to plot. Anyways my point is if elain story can be good and perfect with a 500page book dont add another 200 page of nothingness

And lets hope she doesn’t waste elain story with pure smut and a weakly villain like she did with nesta such a potential power literally killed a death god and her final villain is a human queen that is jealous 🙁

True. I'd prefer a tighter, well-plotted, well-executed book like ACOMAF instead of something bloated and huge, with lots of filler that seems to be the way she is writing lately. It's like she gets paid by the word.

And what's annoying is that she'll even do something that's interesting in all this filler, and then never go back to it?

Example: Nesta falling down the stairs, grabbing the wall and sparks flying, the wall getting marked.

WHAT IS THIS??? Why? If I have to read about 15 trips up and down the stairs and you throw something unusual in there, then at least tell me more.

So yes, I agree, I am hoping that it will be well written and have a solid story, and not all over the place like ACOSF.

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

A World-- Unsure

dabi / f.reader 

genre: real world to parallel world au? (is that an au? it’ll make sense dw), angst, pinning, fools to lovers? (or dabi is stubborn/scared as all get out)

warning(s): blood, violence/bar fight, descriptions of injuries, cursing (dabi and i both have a potty mouth oops) 

w.count: 9.4k 

synopsis: You were someone in the middle.  You had no mega praise for heros to speak of, but you also had no ill will towards villains either- you had seen both sides. After a few years running a hidden, underground medical base for villains who needed treatment beneath the bar that you ran and owned, you’ve met your fair share of villains.  It was odd to think of them as good people, since you depended on them a lot if you got yourself into a pinch.  In fact, a lot of your patients became bar regulars on the public downlow. It’s not a big shock that you end up meeting Dabi.  

a/n: teehee, first time writing for dabi! I’m pretty excited not gonna lie, since this idea was pretty interesting to think about.  this is the first part of A World -- a two part series! I’ll be working on the next part asap, so hopefully it won’t be a horribly long wait- but we’ll see how my time management is in the long run lol.  (also, the draft was like 8.6k, i dunno how i added a whole 800 more words)

-x-x-x-

You stood behind the bar, shining glasses as you set up the counter and glanced at the clock hanging on the wall just above the entrance of the small pub.  You sighed as you set the glass down before taking the rag you were using and throwing it over your shoulder.  It was quiet in the open room filled with circular tabs, rectangular booths and metal rimmed chairs- quiet except for the footsteps of employees prepping for opening. 

Your black jeans hung on your waist as your white button up was slightly wrinkled, the long sleeves rolled as best as possible up to your elbows.  Your hair up and out of the way so you wouldn’t be constantly fighting it when the rush started.  There was a small, pocket apron around your waist with a pocket for a receipt book, a pen, some napkins and pain medicine just in case another headache walked in the door tonight and a few other odds and ends. The only other thing on your person was the new pair of steel toed boots you had indulged yourself to.  

“Hey, Boss Lady,” one of your employees called. You looked around, seeing the one who called you peeking their head around from inside the rec room. The room itself was probably one of the most expensive rooms you’ve ever put together.  A pool table in the middle of the room, dart boards on either side of the room, a small little entertainment center, a sofa and another mini bar inside run by a trusted bargirl you hired when you opened your pub doors for the first time. 

“What is it?” 

“Is the rec room rented out for the night? I heard some of the others saying it was.”  

That was something else that was different about your little hole in the wall.  Since you weren’t all that popular or big enough for a special vip area or an area in general for occasions like birthdays or anniversaries, your patrons could call and make reservations and get the rec room rented out. However, you only let the room be rented on Fridays, Saturdays and Wednesdays.  The other days, it was open for anyone to come and go as they please so long as nothing is damaged. 

It was Friday night. You couldn’t think of anyone renting it out tonight, but there was a group coming in tomorrow so long as they don’t cancel on you. 

You shook your head. “No.  It’s tomorrow when it’s rented.  You’re clear to leave the dividing ropes put away.” 

“Right on,” they thumbs upped you before retreating back into the room to prep and clean before opening. 

7:45, a quarter ‘till eight- opening time.  You cupped one hand around your mouth. “Hurry up and get your final prepping all done.  Quarter ‘till!” Your employees all made some sort of response or sound back to you, signaling that they understood.  

Part of you always felt a little guilty each opening night since you knew it wasn’t just regular citizens or the occasional hero off duty who frequented your pub.  You knew of the bad people who walk in the doors, stay for a drink and leave without causing a ruckus.  You knew of them, because, unknown to your employees, you had a second job. 

A second job that had a lot to do with the large, concrete basement of your pub that you refused to tell them about.  It wouldn’t be a great business move if you just told people you let villains sneak into your pub to go into the basement where you had a large array of (stolen) medical equipment to treat their injuries. 

-x-x-x-

It was well into the midnight rush of the night when the door opened again.  The loud combination of everyone’s murmurs and the smell of every type of alcohol someone could name off filtered through the air and almost made you pull out your medicine. After three years running this place, one would think you’d become accustomed to the smells combined with the noise.  To no avail. 

You had stepped back away from the bar, your back close to the shelves behind you lined with bottles, cups, glasses, and a small old-style antenna radio that, despite being turned on, wasn’t heard over the ruckus. 

Heading to the opposite side of the bar after being paged by some random man for a neat glass of whiskey.  You snagged a glass, grabbing a bottle of the cheapest brand you could find- because this man’s lack of manners towards a lady, bargirl or not, didn’t impress you.  Pouring the liquor into the glass like it was second nature, you reached under the bar to scoop out a sphere of ice to drop into the glass.  

Sliding it over to the already tipsy looking man, you were called- more politely this time- from another patron for a bottle of beer.  Smiling at him and signaling to him that you heard him, you trotted over to the mini fridge under the bar and grabbed the brand he requested.  

As you carefully, and skillfully, popped the tab off with the bar’s edge, you placed the bottle on a coaster and slid it over to him, tapping the bar top with your hand and serving him with a smile.  He thanked you, which you were appreciative of, before he turned to his friend next to him and continued conversing.  

Moving back to the middle of the bar, you noticed a few empty glasses in front of empty bar stools with bills pinned under them.  Taking the bills and pocketing them, you took the glasses and stashed them below the bar in a small tub you kept in a metal cart for easily putting dirty dishes for later. 

As you wiped down the bar top, you saw another person, clad in a full black get-up slide into a bar stool that was recently left vacant.  They weren’t far from you, just a few feet, but you could smell the scent of smoke on them.  You sighed, knowing exactly who it was.  Anyone would think that the man who just sat down was just a heavy smoker- and he was, but not so much recently so he claims- but you knew better. 

He lifted his arm to rest his elbow on the bar, his chin resting in his palm as you felt him stare at you.  

You didn’t say a thing to him, only got a glass off the shelf behind you, mixed some coke with some rum and added a scoop of ice, before placing the glass on some napkins and sliding it towards him. 

“Like usual?” You asked, retracting your hand as he had already started to pick up the glass to sip on it. 

“Like usual,” he confirmed.  This particular man had a deep voice, always laced with a small rough sound- more rough when he’s tired or just plain exhausted.  It was a side effect of the smoking and other smoke-like quirks of his personality.  “You seem busy tonight.”

“We’re always busy on Fridays, nothing unusual about that.  It’s the start of the weekend, everyone wants to drink.” You threw your cleaning rag over your shoulder, shouting to a call of another bar sitting patron as you felt the black, clad, mask covered man’s eyes on your. “You gonna stick around all night, or are you gonna drink and go this time?” 

He pulled his mask down to uncover his mouth, dark scars showing under the hood of his jacket just long enough to take a sip, and pull it back over his face.  Setting the glass down, he let out a breath and circled his finger along the rim. 

“I think I’ll stick around, just to annoy you.” You could hear the smirk on his face as you held back an eye roll for professionalism’s sake. 

“How courteous, thank you so very much.” He chuckled at your reply as you left your place in front of him to tend to others paging you left and right. He pushed his curled hand into his cheek as he watched you pad back and forth behind the long bar.  You should be grateful he at least planned on paying tonight. 

He remained on his barstool the next few hours, only shifting to look around, take a short spin on the stool, or stand to stretch his hunched body before sitting back down.  Each time his glass was close to empty, you’d knock your knuckles on the bar top- a signal asking if he wanted a refill- and he'd either knock back or keep the glass away from you as a form of saying yes or no. 

Though, it wouldn’t be a proper Friday night mid-shift without something going wrong. 

You weren’t sure why, but when 2 am started rolling around, you always grew weary of your patrons.  It was the prime time for tipsy, or smashed, people to start trouble. Whether with you, or with other paying customers, or  even your employees.  Out of all options, you wished they’d pester you so you don’t have to deal with someone else being harassed.  Though, even when it did happen to you- which was often since your place was stuck behind a wooden, polished bar- you didn’t ever appreciate it. 

You glanced around the filled room and saw a few familiar faces of villains you had treated before who decided to stay in your good graces. 

Them being there did make you feel a bit better about you own safety since you knew if something were to happen, they’d jump up to throw down on your behalf, even if you could handle yourself plenty well. 

You were once again wiping down the wood of your bar for the gazillionth time this evening when some scumbag, a smashed man who was well over your age, stumbled his way to the bar and slumped himself into a stool and leaned over the counter like some hunchbacked gargoyle. 

He reached over the bar to start to fiddle with the beer spigots that lined the end of it. Before he could create a giant mess in the tray beneath them and onto the floor, you rushed over and slapped his hands away.  

Instead of hissing at your stinging slaps, he whistled at your actions to keep your property away from him grime hands as you rolled your eyes.  

“Sir, keep your hands off of the bar tools.” You reached over and grabbed the half empty bottle of beer from his hands before you poured the rest of the alcohol out of it and tossed it under the bar into the bin where it clinked together with the other beer bottles you’ve tossed tonight. “I’m cutting you off. Sober up, leave your payment and get out before I have you thrown out.” 

From down the bar, you knew the scarred man in black was watching you. Whenever this kind of scene went down, you could feel his and all the other familiar eyes on you.  For villains, they sure were people of action and debt. Made you feel bad for calling them villains- if you didn’t think about the crimes they most definitely committed on a day-to-day basis. 

The drunk man slurred what you assumed was probably something close to reluctance at you cutting him off for the night and your swift decision to kick him out after he paid what he owed.  

Persistently reaching over to try and yank on the spigots again, you once again slapped his hands away, going a step further and grabbing his wrists and tossing them away back over to his side of the bar. 

“I won’t ask you again, sir.” 

Your familiar scarred man set down his drink, the contents in it empty as the remaining, semi-melted ice cubes fell together in satisfying clinks against the glass. 

It was times like now where you wished the quirk laws would allow you to use your quirk publicly without a permit or license because of riffraff like this oh-so-lovely hammered gentleman.  You were one to break the rules anyways, so you would if push came to shove regardless and you knew that your customers would keep their mouths shut about it.  

You’ve gone many a night with bar fights and tassels and not a single cop was called because you could handle the situation yourself, or your trusty villain’s had your back. Your little pub and you were a bend in the rules with a great camouflage jacket over your head and trustful patrons willing to keep a secret or get so drunk they don’t remember what happened.  Either option suited you well. 

You weren't a hero, nor a villain.  You were in the middle- a civilian with some spare time and no interest in sharing what you did the time you're not running your pub. 

The man stood from his stool the moment you turned your back to him and not only did he shove his arm against three different beer spigots in a clumsy fall against the bar, but he partly climbed over the bar, reached towards you and yanked you back by your shoulder just so he could get a solid slap on your ass. 

The shriek you let out wasn’t loud, it was more of shock of what was happening, followed by instant disgust.  Your rear stung at the strength the disgusting man used to slap it before he was drunkenly laughing, his gross breath wafting towards you from his half climbed over body. 

Before you could take care of the situation yourself, he was yanked back off to his side of the bar onto his wobbly feet. The instant his feet hit the tile and his chin even twitched to look around to see what yanked him back, glass shattered across his face. 

The scarred man who had silently kept you company tonight- and previous nights before that- had grabbed the back of the man’s shirt, yanked him back and away from you as you righted the beer spigots that had already created a big enough mess and smashed his empty, rum glass against the side of his head. 

The drunk man hit the ground, grabbing and holding his head as blood dripped from the side of his face and ear.  The scarred man looked down at him, shaking his hand about, the purple scars of his wrist showing as he shook the limb.  The glass seemed to nick his palm a bit upon impact, but nothing compared to the nasty wound on the drunk’s face.  

As the drunk lay on the ground, groaning and bleeding, your defender bent to riffle through his pocket and nabbed his wallet.  Pulling out both a card and a wad of cash, he held both towards you. 

“What’s his tab?” His rough voice was stern as you just sighed.  

You plucked bills from his hand, a handful of twenties, before you put it into your pocket.  You looked around, seeing a table from the corner lift a bill in his hand before he waved it at you.  You nodded- they were signaling they had his bill.  They then held up four fingers and then a fist.  A four dollar tab.  You decided that you’d keep the extra as a bonus and maybe tip your workers as well for his behavior.  

“He’s good to go.” You said as the scarred man put the card back into his wallet and shoved it back into his jacket pocket.  He then picked the drunk off the tile and shoved him out the doors before making his way back to the bar. 

He stepped over his glass and ice mess as he toed at a larger piece of glass that used to be the bottom of it.  He then looked at you with a shrug. You could practically seem the smirk on his face before he spoke.

“My bad.” 

Instead of saying anything, you placed a small plastic tub on the bar top and slid it towards him. You flicked your eyes down and he just sighed.  Squatting, he picked up his mess of glass and ice the best he could before he gave the tub back to you to throw away.  You had already gotten a start on the beer mess that made your nose twitch at the stench.  

You always hated the smell of beer. 

“Smells like piss,” you muttered to yourself. The scarred man heard you loud and clear though and he stifled a laugh at your annoyance. Once you had it more or less cleaned, you glanced at the closed fist of the man’s cut up hand. You saw small beads of red drop onto your bar. You pushed a handful of napkins towards him to squeeze into his palm. “Come down when we close. We’ll get your hand properly cleaned up.” 

He didn’t argue. Just chuckled as he took a sip out of his water bottle you had placed in front of him as he shut the napkins in his grip tightly. 

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” 

-x-x-x-

4 am: closing time.  You sigh as you bid your final employee farewell before you locked the door behind them. You sighed as you walked back to the bar, untying your apron from your waist on the way.  You emptied the pockets and placed whatever was inside on the bar top.  There was only one person left in the bar, in the same stool he had been in all night.  

You thumbed through the bills in your pockets, rounding to behind the bar and unlocking the always locked money drawer just under the far end of the counter where a small card swipe sat for patrons not paying with cash.  

Tucking your cash safely away and locking the drawer shut you stashed the key on the keyring with all your other keys in the pocket of your jeans.  You pulled your phone from your back pocket and checked the time.  About half after now.  

“Okay,” you spoke, the man already standing. “Come around the bar and we’ll head down.” 

He followed your lead, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his large jacket with his hood still on even in the new found privacy.  You walked back into the kitchen and beyond to a small landing that had an unlabeled door and then a separate staircase leading upward past a different doorframe.  He looked up the stairs, knowing full well that beyond them lays your apartment.  

Part of him was envious that you lived in your place of work. Technically, he could live in his, but he had his own separate place of peace away for breathers. He could only deal with his comrades for so long in a single span of time. 

You unlocked the unlabeled door that you told everyone who asked was just a closet for your personal belongings that didn’t fit up in the apartment. Opening it, another set of stairs that lead down was beyond it. 

Descending them, the man followed and shut the door behind him. He locked it when it was shut at his back. There was a different entrance to the basement he was descending into outside the bar anyways for the people who knew it was there and needed it.  

At the bottom, you flipped on the lights to the large, open room.  It wasn’t a giant space, but it was large enough to move around and there was a sofa, a work bench you used as a counter for coffee and random objects, tables and chairs for your patients waiting comfortably.  There were two rooms off two of the left side of the main ‘waiting room’ and one to the right- all solitary rooms for overnight patients.  The furthest back room had no door and just past the frame was a storage room of medicine, wraps, gauze, antiseptics, salves- just whatever you could get your hands on. 

You’re even occasionally gifted treatment items from past clients in hopes to repay the debt they feel they may owe you.

You point towards the long, hard top operating table in the back as you make your way to one of the shelves on the wall.  You kept all the basic first aid out in the open since they were easy to replace.

“Go sit,” you direct as the man flipped off his hood and unzipped his jacket.  His white tank top was wrinkle from being inside the stuffy jacket all night and he adjusted his belt to sit comfortably and not pull on his belt loops to dig into his hips.  Ruffling his black hair, he made his way to the table to lean against it. 

You were soon in front of him, hand out towards him asking for his own to inspect.  

“You’re always causing some sort of scene every time you come by. You realize it’s getting old, right Dabi?” 

The face stapled, scarred pyro-villain just grinned down at you, chest jolting with a scoff of amusement as you pulled the blood beaded napkins he held in his hand since you gave it to him away. Then, you poked around with tweezers pulling small pieces of glass away from his skin.

“Don’t lie. You love when I come by. Besides, someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.” 

“I don’t need to be ‘kept on my toes’,” you tutted, making sure there were no pieces of glass left in his palm.  When there appeared to be none, you started dabbing the small cuts with antiseptic as he just kept leisurely leaning on your table.  “If you keep coming here and just to get all cut up, I’m going to start charging you for not only your drinks, but all the patching up I do to you too.” 

“Oh, you’d never,” he mused. He knew you all too well and he also knew that even if he were here daily for scratching his knee or getting a paper cut, you’d never have the heart to charge him anything when it came to treatment.  

Maybe he took advantage of that, maybe he didn’t.  

It didn’t help that he knew you had the hots for him- I mean, you did tell him about how you felt weeks ago; straight o his face no less. He just brushed it all off, knowing good and well that he and relationships in general just didn’t work out.  Besides, he was someone the public knew the face of and he wasn’t just someone to pass on the street and forget the face of.  

Dabi rejected you, you knew he would, but he let you down as easy as he could.  You just simply wanted to put your feelings out there so nothing would be awkward in the future.  It stung sure, but you felt more open with your feelings not bottled up in secrecy.

You wrapped his hand in gauze and called it good enough, placing all your things back where they were. Dabi looked at his hand, flipping it back and forth as he inspected how neatly you’ve gotten at wrapping bandages since the very first time. 

“Not bad,” he hummed. The first time he heard of you and came to get treated, you had to treat a nasty gash on his leg and you were clumsily with your bandaging since he was already covered in scars.  You were so confused on if you could cover them or not and if you did, if there was a special way.  You leaved quickly though. 

“Not like you could do any better.  You don’t really need any more stitches or staples than you already have.” 

“Don’t act like you don’t think they’re sexy,” he teased as he stood up straight, plunging his hands into his pants pockets as he began to follow you around the basement room to room like a dog.  You soon left your basement, going back up the stairs, opening the door and leaving before going up the second set of stairs leading up to your apartment.  

Dabi followed you the entire way with a shit eating grin on his face.  

You sighed as you unlocked your apartment door and looked over your shoulder and down to the burnt man just behind you on lower stair steps.  

“Do you need something?” 

“Yeah. Inside.” 

You cursed under your breath, going inside and him following knowing that you couldn’t argue him out of it.  He often did this, getting treated and then going up to your apartment.  In fact, there was a time when he would pick your lock and let himself in, so you ended up making him a copy so he could just stop doing it. 

He may not be good in relationships and definitely not looking for one, on top of rejecting you, but he could very well enjoy his evenings pestering you instead. they were two distinctly different situations.   

Kicking off his boots and fumbling with his jacket, he hung it on the coat wrack- not willing to be yelled at by you for making your home a mess with his junk again- and let himself in.  He immediately made a beeline for your living room and plopped himself on your couch like he owned the place and paid your bills.  

You had ventured to the kitchen before you went to the living room and tossed him something.  Catching it, he saw a poptart in his hand, still wrapped in it’s aluminum wrapping.  

“Eat. I’m taking a shower.” He shrugged as you turned and headed to shower as he flipped on your television and let himself finally relax. 

It was odd, being around you and in your home.  He didn’t even feel this relaxed and loose in his own apartment by himself.  Where he lived was nothing fancy and it was cheap, but it was his and the location was kept on the downlow just like he needed.  Spending time with the league was fine and dandy, but they could be so damned irritating sometimes, so he didn’t dare even try and nap at the base. 

He let his head fall back against the couch and he took deep breaths.  

On occasions like this, he did feel a bit guilty.  It’s not like he was actually taking advantage of your feelings or your kindness to do what he wanted, you were just  too nice for your own good and let him. Don’t get him wrong, you would scold him if he did something you didn’t like- like leaving his jacket on the floor- so it wasn’t like you didn’t want him here. 

Dabi could hear your shower running just barely under the sound of the tv’s noise.  Sometimes, he’d find himself thinking back to when you told him how you felt and how easily you accepted the fact he said no. 

He was just coming back from another stupid league mission and had a pretty nasty cut behind his left shoulder. You were cleaning the blood off his skin, trying not to snag your rags in any staples before you were smearing something onto the wound, making him sigh in of relief of the cooling sensation. 

It was when you were pasting a gauze pad on his shoulder and patching it on securely when you blurted out that you liked him. All he did when you said that was laugh at you, to which your silence that followed explained that you weren’t joking and were in fact serious.  He looked at you with a face you hadn’t seen before, a look of vulnerability for just a moment, before it shifted to one of seriousness. 

“I’m not interested. Sorry, doll.” You nodded at his quick rejection. Though you accepted it fairly easily, he could still see the slight furrow of your brow and dip in your lips with his rejection.  You may have even seen his rejection coming, but hearing it still had to be a blow to your heart. 

He was glad the relationship between you two hadn’t changed regardless of how you felt and how he said no.  You still put up with his bullshit and he still hung around like a fly you couldn’t smash under a flyswatter because it kept evading the strikes.  It was still comfortable here- in your place. 

Dabi stood from the couch, moving to your window only to lean out when he pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. You had really gotten on his ass once when you caught him smoking in the middle of your living room without a window even open.  You told him to smoke out a window, or go outside to contaminate his lungs claiming you dealt with the smell of smoke enough during bar hours. 

Flicking a small, blue flame with his index finger, he lit the stick and huffed.  Nicotine really accompanied his quirk- it was like he and cigarettes were just meant to be since he himself was a human-sized lighter.

He heard the door to your bathroom open and soon you stepped out with grey sweat and a cheap, cutoff shirt that just barely exposed your stomach on, towel drying your hair.  You looked at him, water still barely dripping off your eyelashes and hair strands untouched by the towel.  

“Glad to see you’re listening to me,” you told him as you nodded towards the smoke that he took a draw from.  He puffed the smoke out the window as he turned around to lean against the open pane.  His hand out the window to keep the crumbling ash from dropping inside.  

“I can behave sometimes too, you know.”

You scoffed at him, turning to grab a water bottle from your fridge in the kitchen and returning to the living room.  “Yeah, not likely.” You sat on the couch to mindlessly watch whatever channel the tv was on and once Dabi and finished smoking, he shut the window and rejoined you on the couch.  His arm was resting on the back of the couch as you had pulled out your phone and began to scroll through apps and occasionally looking back up to the tv. 

It was moments like this where the uncertainty really hit him.  

It was this- these comfortable situations- that frightened him.  He was a bad person, a person who’s done bad things and will continue to do bad things.  He used to sit around your apartment and bug you with questions.  Had you ever ratted anyone out? Were you really a completely secretive person when it came to your unofficial side job? Were you really someone to be trusted? Why did you do what you did in the first place? 

Now, he didn’t ask anything anymore. He grimaced at himself. Maybe he was letting himself get too comfortable here. 

“I’m going away for a while,” he suddenly blurted out.  You glanced up at him from your phone. 

“Have some big job or something coming up?” 

“Yeah,” he lied, “some league stuff I gotta deal with.” 

“Any idea how long you’ll be gone?” 

“No idea.  Probably a few weeks I bet.” Dabi couldn’t stop himself from lying to you and he got irritated at himself for feeling even the slightest bit bad for doing so. This was the only way though, the only way to try and get back to the rough, guarded villain he was supposed to always be.  

Dabi had to get away from you for a while. 

“Well,” you started, looking back down.  He looked at you, seeing you frown just a bit- he bit his cheek.  “Stay safe. If you need any patching up when you get back, you know where to find me.” 

He lowered his chin, his eyes lidding as he hardened his resolve. His decision was final, and he had to follow through with it.  He looked back to the tv, trying to bask in theses few final moments. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

-x-x-x-

Dabi’s irritated. He’s been irritated actually.  

He’s sitting at the bar, not your bar, but the bar in the league’s headquarters.  He sat slouched in a stool as Kurogiri- as usual- stood behind the bar.  The glass of some brown liquor that Dabi had nursed for the past hour started to taste like static to him.  He missed your bar’s liquor- the revelation made him more irritated. 

The entire reason he’s avoided going to your pub and always looked around corners in the city to make sure you wouldn’t bump into him by accident was so he could squash whatever the fuck he was feeling when he was around you down into dust.  Though, theses recent last couple days had proven that his plan was backfiring. 

Instead of forgetting what it felt like to be comfortable and content and relaxed, he was missing it.  He was missing the air of serene you always carried everywhere you went and he dared to say he yearned for it again.  

Dabi clicked his tongue as he pushed his forehead into his palm when Shigiraki had walked into the bar from wherever he had been before.  Seeing the hunched over excuse of a comrade, he groaned. The leader had often heard of your patchwork jobs for villains.  He himself had even met with you once- not for any injuries he had sustained, but for a simple meeting to exchange greetings with potential allies. Anything helped for his cause. 

Shigiraki also knew that Dabi often frequented your pub, and for whatever reason he hadn’t been recently.  His sour mood as of late paired with his lack of attendance to your business and attention was too easy to put together.  

“I’m really sick of you moping around here,” the leader complained.  Dabi lifted his forehead from his palm and glared across the room to the leader who now took a seat one stool away from Dabi. “Go be a killjoy somewhere else.” 

“Oh, piss off.” 

His mood began to spiral rapidly when Toga and Twice had come into the bar as well, coming back from wherever the fuck they had been.  Toga- trying her best to get on Dabi’s every nerve- was told by Kurogiri that his mood was unpleasant because he hadn’t been to a specific bar in town for some time now.  

Dabi felt offended that Kurogiri connected his bad mood to the bar and not you. 

“Maybe I should kick the crap outta you myself, so you can go back to what's-her-name and then maybe you’ll finally lose the attitude.” Okay, that one earned the hand-fetishist leader a growl from the pyromaniac. It only made Shigiraki scoff in a small victory, knowing that everyone around the league could see that his sour mood was solely revolving around you- or lack thereof.

Toga, ever on the hunt for new ‘friends’, immediately jumped at the idea of finally going to the mystery lady who heals everyone just because she has a kind heart.  An idea that Dabi shut down without so much as batting an eyelash. 

“But, why not!” Toga whined.  Dabi rolled his eyes.  Villain or not, Toga was just a high schooler with more than enough psychotic tendencies to warrant concern. If he had it his way- you’d never even get the chance to set your eyes on the blonde, twin-bunned psycho.  

The constant chartering centering in on him and you began to grate on his nerves and before long he was stomping up to his feet and out the bar door.  Shigiraki just scoffed as Toga pouted. Twice was simply mocking and jesting at the burned man who ‘just ran away’.  

Dabi had had enough.  He was going back to your pub- but it wasn’t going to be because he missed you.  He just wanted a drink in peace and fucking quiet. At least away from those idiots. 

-x-x-x- 

Dabi had slithered his way into your bar- pushing his way in with a group so that when you shouted from your place behind the bar to greet them in and to tell them to just find a seat, you wouldn’t recognize him. He had stopped by his apartment before making his way here to change into clothes he hoped you wouldn’t recognize him in either.  

The large, indigo tinted turtle neck he wore was way too large on his torso. The neck was horribly stretched out and pulled up as far as it could be to cover his jaw and mouth so that he didn’t have to wear the mask he knew you would recognize.. He traded his normal jacket with a different one he’d kept around for city crawling as he had it half way zipped up and the hood flipped up to hide his hair and scarred ears. Keeping his chin down, he used the shadow of his hood and the shadows the pub lights casted to keep the scars just under his eyes more or less out of sight.  

He grumbled at himself. Why was he going to such lengths to make sure you didn’t see him in the first place?   In the past, he wouldn’t have gone to the lengths to stay on the downlow in public like this; he would’ve just gone back home and crashed or drank alone or something of the sort.  You probably weren’t even under the impression he was back from the mission you thought he was on.

He slid into a booth in the back corner where he could still see you working behind the bar.  Pacing back and forth, talking and serving patrons and just doing your general work.  It felt strange seeing you work from all the way in the back instead of in his usual barstool, front row seat.  He bit his tongue when he caught himself almost missing his up close proximity to you. 

He was soon slid a bottle of beer- even if he didn’t really like the taste- as he nursed it.  He’d occasionally scan the bar to see what kind of business you had tonight.  When he wasn’t, he was scrolling mindlessly on his phone with glances up to the bar every so often.  He felt uneasy when you weren’t in his sights, even with you so close by.  

An hour after he had entered the pub, the doors had opened roughly enough to make tables turn their heads or hush up their conversations to see who had just made the racket coming in.  Dabi glanced, pulling his hood back just a bit to see past the fabric of it. 

A group of three men had walked into the pub.  Gruff looking fellas, but nothing all that special.  They started scanning the pub area, looking from tables, to faces, to chairs, all the way to the bar.  The flame user didn’t appreciate the snarl on the middle man’s face when his eyes landed on you busting the bar top with your rag.  

Shutting the door behind them, the three of them split apart, one heading towards the rec room and another heading in Dabi’s side of the bar. The middle man marched up towards the bar and instead of taking a seat- opted to lean on the bar between two already seated patrons.  They ended up leaving their bills and scurrying out of the joint. 

You took their payment and bit your tongue to keep from telling the obviously trouble-looking newcomer off for running off your customers.  In fact, you completely disregarded him.  

Once your bills were collected and placed into your apron pocket, you looked at the middle man leaning on the bar square in the eyes.  You held unamused eye contact with him for a beat before you shut your eyes and easily turned away from him. 

Clearly unhappy with the attention he so desperately wanted, he reached over the bar and yanked on the back of your work button up.  You let out a shocked, choked gasp as you dropped the glass you had in your hand.  The sound of shattering glass echoed around the pub as it became completely silent.  

Dabi jumped from his booth, standing at his table instead of leisurely sitting like he had been as he watched the man reach out for your shirt. He growled under his breath when he yanked you back towards him over the bar. 

This trouble-seeker was new to your pub, you could tell this the moment he came in with his two buddies.  He didn’t know of the amount of eyes on him now that he had gained the attention he wanted.  And he didn’t know how many of those eyes were villains ready to take him out. 

You coughed as he tried dragging you completely over the bar just by your shirt collar.  Your lower back pushed painfully into the wooden edge of the bar as your heels came off the floor, your toes being the only leverage you had left on your side of the bar top.  

You wanted to swing your elbow back and pop the son of a bitch in the nose, but you had to keep all ten of your fingers on the front of your collar to keep it from painfully pulling against your throat. You attempted to unbutton the top buttons for a window of breath, but you didn’t get the chance to before you were dropped.  

“Hey!” A voice you had recognized from a past medical visit came from behind you and the man yanking on your shirt.  He had groaned as he dropped you, your unsteady toes combined with your heels slamming back down to the floor and your spine dragging down the edge of the bar all made you drop to the floor.  You hunched over on the floor, gagging as you pulled on your shirt’s fabric away from your neck- the hemming all stretched out and well ruined by now.  

The bar felt like walls that encased around your slumped over body and you soon felt someone hop over the bar and rub your back.  Looking up with teary eyes from your lack of breath, you recognized the female criminal you had treated a handful of times before.  She soothed you behind the bar as it sounded like pure chaos erupted from beyond the bar. 

The short screams and shouts of whatever customer didn’t feel like fighting and fleeing.  you even heard your employees ducking out- as you instructed them to do when bar fights broke out. You did not want to feel out accident reports, so your rules of running when things get nasty was non-negotiable.

You were content to just stay sitting on the floor, catching your breath until the fighting was done.  You knew those who were fighting against the law were already defending you and your pub- they would take care of it.  

It was their safe space and these thugs had just tried disrupting that space. 

It was only when a plume of fire shot out from what looked like to be the back corner of your pub did you jump to your feet. Leaning against the bar with the villainess at your side, holding you to make sure you didn’t tumble over, you saw Dabi.  

“Dabi?!” You were shocked to see him. He hadn’t been around due to his work (so he told you), and you were confused on why he was here now.  Why was he wearing clothes you hadn’t seen before and when did he get here?  

He was quick to jump into the fray, mixing in with forces to drive the stupid thugs out of your pub, but not without beating them within an inch of their life first. Between tables being thrown, chairs knocked over, fire bursting then dispersing and fist and legs flying- it was hard to keep up with what was actually happening.  

What you did see though, was from the rec room someone coming out and pointing their fingers out towards your villains- your allies.  Their fingertips started to open and sharp, needle like tips were ready to be fired out of them.  

You climbed over the bar, the villainess calling out to you to not get involved.  You stumbled into a chair, holding yourself up as you shouted over the commotion. 

“Hey! Get behind a wall or table!” You pointed to the man under the rec room doorway.  “Don’t let whatever he’s gonna shoot out of his fingers hit you!” You were ready to duck back behind a table when you were shoved in the chest by the third man you saw enter with the thugs earlier.  He just appeared from no where it seemed when he struck you.

Knocking you into a nearby table, you slid onto it before it tipped and you tumbled off of it when it fell.  Groaning, you cursed under your breath.  You were getting really fucking sick of being pushed around tonight.  You got to your knees to get yourself back to your feet when you felt something push against your back and wrap around your shoulders, keeping you down. 

Whatever was keeping you down and covered was warm.  It covered your back and kept your shoulders encased.  Reaching up, it was an arm that wrapped around your and it was someone’s chest that pushed against your back.  Looking back you saw his scarred ears and neck before you saw his face. Not to mention the blast of burning blue that shot out opposite of his outstretched other arm.

“Dabi,” you gasped as you felt his body start to push more into yourself.  You whined, his weight beginning to crush you. “Hey, get off me,” you huffed.  

“Oh, you so owe me,” he chuckled before he fell against your completely. His arm dropped and the one that wrapped around you previous fell limp and released you. Rolling off to the side awkwardly to try and catch his fall to the tile, you saw a small needle sticking from his neck.  

“Oh, shit” you muttered.  Turning, you lifted a table to cover your back while the rest of the chaos kept going on behind you.  Pushing him onto his back, he was out cold.  Looking him over, you didn’t see any worrisome wounds on him- in fact he didn’t look wounded at all.  It was only that needle in his neck. “No doubt from that guy’s quirk,” you mumbled as you inspected it.  

Did he cover you so you didn’t get hit with the needle instead? You didn’t want to work yourself up into a frenzy at the thought of him taking a shot for you- but no matter how you looked at the situation, that was exactly what happened. 

It was a small, thin like a sewing needle with a ball point on the back of it.  Whatever this needle is coated in obviously knocked the pyro out.  You peeked over the table to see the same man ready to shoot a second round from his fingertips. 

“Take out the needle shooter! His needles will render you unconscious!” Your shouted leadership to take out one of the three low-level threats was clear and it was probably 20 minutes later when the three thugs were tied up and unconscious.  

You sighed, finally feeling safe again in your busted and destroyed bar.  You groaned for the umpteenth time knowing it was going to cost a fortune to get the tables repaired.  Not to mention the seared wallpaper that peeled from the previous heat and broken glasses, frames and damaged light fixtures.  You would have to close your doors for repairs for at least a month. 

As you looked around, you moved from your sitting position to instead kneel at Dabi’s side. 

“Can someone help me bring him downstairs? And lock the entrance.” Dabi was picked up and was soon being carried back behind the bar and through the doors, waiting for you to come unlock the way down as someone else had safely latched your pub doors shut. Your employees would understand if you just shot them a few texts.  

Before you went into the back, you pointed at the unconscious needle shooter.  “Also, bring him down too, but keep him tied up.  I need to know what his quirk is so that I know exactly why he did and how to treat it. Anyone else who needs treatment, you can come down too.” 

An hour later, you had Dabi’s unconscious body hooked up in one of your rooms to small machines to make sure he wasn’t dying.  Whatever the needle was- you concluded that it at least wasn’t poisonous.  You had taken it from his neck and had it run for tests.  It wasn’t coated in anything, but the tip of it had released a sort of potion into his body from where he had been stores in the ball point end; but you weren’t sure what it was.  

You moved away from your laptop on the small desk you had next to Dabi’s temporary bed.  You leaned your elbow against the wood and stared at him.  

“Until I figure out what exactly happened, I have no idea when he’ll wake up.” You frowned as worry began to churn in your stomach.  It eased you that his life didn’t seem to be in danger, but that didn’t really help anything else.  He was immobile and unresponsive until further notice as far as you knew.

You sighed getting up and searching for his phone.  Finding it in his jacket pocket, you plucked it out and began to go through his contacts.  You were glad you watched him punch in his lock code one day and held it in your memory. 

Finding a contact under ‘Childish Leader’, you immediately began to ring it.  You knew who Dabi worked under, and who this so called ‘childish leader’ was- you did meet with him one time after all.  When the line picked up, you were greeted with a sigh. 

“What,” a strained voice annoyingly greeted.  

“You’ll want to come to the location I’m about to send you,” you started. You swore you heard the frown and confused brow drip on his face when it wasn’t Dabi’s voice that was on the phone.  “Want to know what happened to Dabi? Then get your wrap quirked friend to get you over here, Shigaraki.” 

You quickly ended the call, letting out a shaky breath and feeling your heart pound in your chest. Dabi only ever really complained about Shigaraki, and you had only met hi that one time for general introductions, so you didn’t know much about him.  You hoped that just telling him what to do before sending him your coordinates would be enough to just get him to show up.  You’d deal with the rest later. 

You stood from your chair as you looked down at Dabi.  He always looked quite peaceful sleeping- it was odd since he was always scowling when he was awake. He’d smirk and tease, sure, but you don’t think you’d ever seen a real smile on his face before.  

You chuckled to yourself, touching his hair just once before you stopped- knowing he didn’t like you touching him like that.  He wanted to keep you at arms length because of your feelings and you knew that- so unconscious or not, you had to keep his wants at the forefront of your mind.  

A knock sounded at the door when you saw one of your allied villains come in.  “Some guys are in the bar, asking for you.  Some freak with a hand on his face and a gimp looking dude.”  You almost laughed at the villain's description. 

“Tell them I’ll be up in a moment.” The villain left as you looked once more at Dabi. You smiled down at him. “Thanks for the save, you reckless idiot.” 

-x-x-x-

Dabi groaned as he rolled from his back to his side.  He was only vaguely aware he was previously on his back ,which already annoyed him- he was not a back sleeper.  He peeked his eyes open and stared at the ceiling above him.  

That wasn’t his apartment ceiling? Sitting up, he rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes and taking a breath.  His head pounded and he opened his eyes back up to see the room he was in.  It wasn’t his apartment at all.  He was in a bedroom, but he hadn’t seen this room before.  

The last thing he remembered was jumping into a bar fight at your pub and then covering your back when that finger-freak tried shooting something out of his fingertip at you.  He didn’t even realize his body moved until he felt the needle meant for you dart into his neck.  

Rubbing at his neck, he felt no pain.  Getting up, he looked around the room.  

This room wasn’t yours- he’d seen it before- and it wasn’t anyone else’s he knew of. He wasn’t at the league HQ either, that run down place didn’t have rooms as well kept at this one. Surely you wouldn’t have pushed him off to some random villain until he woke up and this was some stranger’s room... right?   

After a moment, he started getting nosy. As he opened more drawers and books and notepads, he got more and more confused. These were all things he was interested in.  All the notebooks had his handwriting in them and his name was signed on papers and sticky notes scattered on a corkboard hanging on the wall.  The phone on the bedside table and he unlocked with his passcode and started going through it- it was all his information just like normal, but something was off. 

He felt off.  He looked at his palms, the scars he’s had since he was younger still showing on his skin.  Something nagged in the back of his head and he knew that he had to get answers and the best way to do that is to track you down.  

Grabbing a jacket and zipping it up to his chin and placing sunglasses on his face, he left the room that was filled with, presumably his own things, but definitely not his things. 

The roads and buildings all around were the same as he remembered.  However, when he came to your pub’s building, it looked different.  Shabby almost. Trying to go inside, the door was rusted and jammed. Jostling with the door wasn’t getting him anywhere and he knew if he tried to bust it down you’d have his ass on the wall for the damage.  

Looking up, he saw the window that lead into the living room of your apartment.  Walking around the building he started up the fire escape and carefully treaded the side of the building to the window before he shimmied it open from the outside and hopped inside. 

“What the fuck?” The apartment that was once filled with your furniture and belongings was empty.  Not just empty, but it was dusty, barren and isolated like no one had been in there for years. Jogging downstairs, he ran into the bar to find it the same way: empty.

No tables, no chairs, no booths.  No bottles lining the dusty shelves and no frames of art or recreational items in the rec room. it even still had the old, tacky wallpaper instead of the wallpaper he remembered. The stench of dust filtered through his nose and made his throat burn- it was apparent that the place hadn’t been aired out in years.  

Turning back, the door to the basement he had been in so many times wasn’t even there.  When he left the building to go to the basement the backway, the backway in didn’t seem to exist either.  It was like the basement he had spent so much time in with you patching him up was never there to begin with. 

“This is fucking crazy,” he mumbled as he pulled his phone from his pocket.  He wasn’t used to feeling whatever was bubbling in his chest.  It was painful, like caltrops tearing apart his stomach and chest as he searching for your number in his contacts.  He began to start walking back to where your apartment use to be, to go back inside the abandoned pub, when he dialed your phone.  He was soon stuck in his tracks when he caught sight of his reflection in a window.  

The window’s glass was cracked, barely held in place in the frame as he stared back at his reflection.  Reaching up, he ran his scarred hand through his hair. His hair that wasn’t dyed black; his hair that was as white as his mothers. 

“Where the fuck am I?” He breathed as he heard the monotone voice over the phone. 

-I’m sorry, but the number you have dialed does not exist-

[jaskierswolf]

This is based off this amazing art by @frostedbasilisk. Thank you for allowing me to write something for it! It’s Geraskier (with references to Yenralt and a non-exclusive relationship) - Just over 800 words. No warnings apply.

__________________________

Geralt hummed as he flicked through the pages of his book, a less than accurate retelling of their encounter with the Djinn written by one Julian Alfred Pankratz. Geralt snorted and rolled his eyes, the details of Jaskier’s injuries were grossly exaggerated, making him out to be some kind damsel in distress. Jaskier, sorry, Julian, had made Geralt’s relationship with Yen to be something sensational and spellbinding, rather than the raw sexual encounter that it had been, and continued to be as and when they ran into each other around the Continent.

Jaskier was flitting around their shared room at the inn, humming to himself as he prepared for his evening. “Geralt, my darling, have you seen my shirt?”

Geralt, looking at Jaskier’s perfectly fine white chemise, raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re wearing it.”

Jaskier put both hands on his hips and snorted. “Very funny, Geralt. As if I would wear this old thing to a royal ball! I meant the one I bought to go with my corset, with the silk panels at the shoulders?”

Geralt shrugged. “Have you checked the saddlebags?”

“Have I checked the saddlebags?” Jaskier muttered sarcastically. “Useless, bloody witcher. You’re lucky you’re so gorgeous.”

Geralt smirked and opened his arms as Jaskier flopped down onto the bed with a sigh. He snuggled up against Geralt’s chest and Geralt kissed his hair, the scent of honey and chamomile filling his senses. “You smell good.”

“I know, you always sniff me more when I use this oil in my hair,” Jaskier said as he draped an arm across Geralt’s chest. “I figured you liked it.”

Geralt smiled, placing another kiss in Jaskier’s hair before giving his arse a slap. “You need to get ready.”

Jaskier squeaked, looking up at him with a perfect pout, wide blue eyes and his bottom lip quivering just the right amount. Geralt ran his thumb along Jaskier lip and then pulled him into a kiss. It didn’t take long for the kiss to grow heated as Jaskier straddled his waist and Geralt’s hands found their way under Jaskier’s shirt, but Geralt pulled away with a groan before they could get carried away. Jaskier whined and chased his lips, as his eyes fluttered open.

“You have the King of Redania to entertain, later,” Geralt said, nosing under Jaskier jaw. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Come with me?” Jaskier asked for the hundredth time. “I swear it won’t be like Cintra.”

Geralt shook his head. “You have the Xenovox from Yen?” Jaskier nodded. “Call me if there’s trouble, and only if there’s life-threatening trouble. Understand?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “You’re no fun, darling, but fine. I’ll get ready.”

“Hmm.” Geralt kissed Jaskier’s neck and then pushed him off the bed.

“Oi!” Jaskier cried indignantly.

“Get dressed.”

Jaskier scoffed but did as he was told. Geralt watched him over the top of his book, not really paying much attention to the words. He knew the story anyway, he’d been there for it after all, but he’d found the book in an old chest after a ghoul contract. He’d seen Jaskier’s real name and hadn’t been able to resist picking it up. It was well written and an engaging read, but complete and utter bullshit. Jaskier pulled a new shirt from Roach’s saddlebags and grinned, Geralt smirked. He’d known the shirt had been in there, bloodyminded bard. It didn’t take long for Jaskier to pull on some gorgeous pale blue silk trousers and his shirt, before holding up his newly purchase corset.

Geralt tilted his head as he watched Jaskier slip the garment on, contorting as he tried to fiddle with the lace on the back. Geralt counted down in his head as Jaskier grumbled, sticking his tongue between his lips, eventually he whined and pouted at Geralt.

“Help?”

Geralt shuffled off the bed, batting Jaskier’s hands away from the lacing. He placed a kiss the nape of Jaskier’s neck and then pulled at the lacing. “Alright?”

“Tighter, please.” Jaskier said as he arched he back, pulling a silver necklace from off the dresser and examining it.

Geralt pulled tighter, drawing in the blue silk corset around Jaskier’s waist, defining his figure until he looked completely delectable. It wasn’t proper in the slightest, in fact it was completely indecent. Geralt had half a mind to trap his lover in their room together for the rest of the evening. Jaskier probably wouldn’t even complain, but Geralt also knew that Jaskier thrived on the attention and adrenaline of performance. He could never deny him that.

“Thank you, darling,” Jaskier sang as he turned back around, cupping Geralt’s cheek and gazing at him with such fond adoration.

Geralt felt his cheeks heat up, his mouth going dry as he took in his lover’s form. Jaskier looked radiant, a picture of true beauty. Geralt was lost for words. “Hmm,” he said instead as he pressed his forehead against Jaskier’s.

Jaskier laughed and bumped their noses together. “I love you too, my darling, I love you too.”

[rethea-emberfall]

Day 6: Envy (Syya)

Word Count: 800 Warnings: Syya is a bitch. Summary: Syya works for Rethea. She was the one who so helpfully stole her portion of the Emberlight fortune back. Now, she’s, hm… holding down the fort while the boss is MIA?

@daily-writing-challenge

To see Syya's debut, go here.

—---

The innkeeper was staring up at Syya, sweating faintly. “I-I really shouldn’t–”

Syya cut him off, smiling broadly. “The boss just wants me to get some contracts so we can keep the business running while she’s on vacation.”

“She didn’t say anything about a–”

“But she’s paid for the room six months at a time, yes? She’s clearly going to be back. It makes sense that she wants one of us to help out while she’s on her break, yes?”

Syya’s empty, uncovered fel-green eyes bore down on the innkeeper, and he took a step back to the key rack, retrieving one and offering it out. “If it turns out that she doesn’t actually want to–”

She cut him off again as she reached for the key, gravelly voice amused. “You’ll what?”

She turned away from the bar and stomped up the steps without waiting for an answer. She knew what it would be anyway. Time to see what bosslady was up to in her spare time.

The key turned reluctantly in the lock, showcasing that the door hadn’t been used in weeks. When the door creaked open, she sniffed, and could smell her boss’s perfume faintly in the room. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then focused on a chair at the small table in the corner. It was covered in lingerie.

Syya snorted. So was that what she wore under her robes? 

First things first. She did a cursory search for the chest she’d brought her employer a few months back, and was mildly disappointed to see that it was nowhere in sight. Smart of her, to bank it, but not ideal for Syya. It was always good to have more money.

She looked around the room for a moment, then did a lap, floorboards creaking under her boots as she moved through the space. She kicked them off and did a half-flop onto the bed, landing on her back with a loud sigh and stretching out. Her bed felt so much better than Syya’s own– how much was she paying a week?

Her attention turned to the side table, where a leatherbound journal sat, pages very ruffled. She reached for it immediately, chuckling quietly in the silence of the room. “What do you have to say, huh Rethreth?” The nickname sounded rude coming from her voice.

Most of the book was full of boring experiments and notes on results, but there were a few pages that caught her interest. “Can’t control your hair, huh? And you present such a cool exterior.” She grinned at the pages as she kept flipping, then tossed it aside completely when it became more journal and began lamenting that the group’s officers had gone missing. 

That’s why she was here, after all. Syya took one more long, deep breath, splatting out on the bed, before rising and moving to the table in the corner, where she’d seen her boss at work so many times.

Sure enough, there were stacks of potential contracts. She flipped through them, rolling her eyes at the ones Rethea had rejected, and then set about pulling out ones that seemed promising. The rest of them still had to work, after all. When the bosses were away, the underlings would play. Hopefully these were still valid; last week, she hadn’t been certain enough that Rethea was gone to risk doing this.

Briefly, she flashed back to the time she’d tried to extort Rethea for more money after a job, and the cool and calm way the woman had threatened her life. This was a calculated risk, but she had money on the power vacuum not sorting itself out. Either the group was going to implode, or new people were going to step up.

Good things came to those who waited.

Contracts sorted, she turned to the lingerie on the opposite chair, digging through it idly. Fuck, she’d had the worst sense of color. She found a black thong and corset that smelled like perfume and shimmied out of what armor she had on. She tried them on, but quickly found that Rethea’d had a much more generous backside than she did. Conversely, when she worked her way into the top, she found her ribs and shoulders too broad for the corset to fit properly.

“We’re being led by a pear,” she laughed into the mirror, doing a twirl for the drama of it.

Well. She had what she’d come for: the contracts. Syya put her clothes back on, tossing the clothes she’d tested into a corner, and gathered the papers up again. Time to go. 

…But one more look at the bed, and she had another plan form in her head. Rethreth had paid for the room for months in advance. It would be a shame to let that go to waste. So, she pocketed the key and went downstairs to verbally bludgeon out details with the innkeeper.

[likeawildthing]

Not to be morbid on main, but everyone dies and people are rarely prepared for it. It’s so much easier when you know your loved one’s wishes. So even if you’re a teenager or twenty-three and healthy, I hope this helps you start thinking about end-of-life wishes, because it can happen to us all (both the dying and, rudely, being died upon).

Cremations are an affordable way to subvert the funeral industry, but going this route puts the burden of “the little things” on the family. I’ve learned a lot in the last 36 hours and wanted to pass those things that weren’t on any checklists, because the burden is on you to navigate the process.

Putting this under a cut because it’s so long (although not comprehensive). Obviously some of this is altered because COVID and some is meant to be applicable in some distant, theoretical future when we can go out to lunch again.

Before you die

Think about it, talk about it, write it down

Think about what kind of rememberance you want, if any. If it doesn’t matter, tell people that so they don’t fret about it and grieve in whatever way works best for them.

Communicate now to save your family and friends angst later.

Build an “in case of death” binder, zip drive, google doc with links, etc. Make sure your passwords are up to date so that’s not an administrative nightmare for your loved ones.

Advanced directives. Here’s a great article explaining the types of medical advanced directives and decisions to make before an accident or illness happens, including whether you want to donate your organs.

We lost grandma for about twenty minutes yesteday because we couldn’t find the paperwork and grandpa couldn’t remember where they signed up for services. Death. Binder. Have a death binder/folder/zip drive so no one loses grandma.

Insurance. 

You likely have insurance through work, so consider that. It will also expire if you leave your job.

You can usually get, with minimal fuss, a 10- or 20-year term policy with enough to cover your arrangements and debts for less than $20 a month. Death expenses are anywhere from $5-$20k, conservatively. 

Talk to your auto insurance agent and score a multi-line discount.

Body snatchers. 

If you want to be cremated, talk to a local crematory beforehand and give them your basic information. It can be paid out of your estate (i.e. by your family or a life insurance policy) when it happens. 

Most funeral homes (I believe) require pre-payment. It’s super morbid but there are TONS of heavily discounted grave sites for sale on Craigslist if that’s the route you want to go. 

Here’s a list of certified green burial sites in the US.

Donating your body to science 101.

Memorial service. 

The idea of a “proper” funeral is more or less out the window, especially in the time of COVID. Celebration of life? Religious ceremony (or not)? A picnic at your favorite park? Anything goes, so figure it out now. 

When my sister-in-law died, we had a celebration of life at a non-profit who donated the space and had a poker tournament with her ash tin (she lost). 

Whether you have strong or no preferences, write that down to guide decision-making. 

Memorials. 

Traditionally people would donate money in the event of a death to a charity, foundation, or family account, or flowers to a funeral home or church.

 Family accounts (like for children) are traditionally done in care of the deceased’s bank but online fundraisers are a thing. 

If you have a particular charity you love, add this to your list of wishes.

Food. 

Before COVID it was pretty typical for there to be some kind of meal after a funeral. Will this be a restaurant? 

This is ultimately up to the family but if you have strong preferences (i.e. no church or Italian food), tell people now.

Obituary. 

Writing down the basic facts of your life, hobbies, and accomplishments you want included in your obituary means your family doesn’t have to do a guessing game. 

Plants, animals, stuff, etc.

Do you want your clothes to go to a specific charity? 

Do you NOT want your stuff to go to a specific charity? (Goodwill is terrible!)

Who will get your car (person, donate, sell)? Want to have your record collection to go one sister? Obviously family will divvy up stuff how they like, but write down any special considerations.

Have a plan for your pets (insurance, vet info, guardianship).

Please organize and digitize your photos if they aren’t already.

If you lose someone close:

Identify the primary griever

Support that person/those people by providing feedback when solicited, running errands as needed, and running interference so they aren’t inundated with all the little things.

Notifying people

Use the phone tree method. Great Aunt M will be happy to help by calling your cousins. Your boss, coworkers and HR. Your mom’s best friend/your adoptive aunt, your mom’s bunco group. 

Ask that family not put anything on social media until the principal people are informed. I found out my grandpa died on facebook!

Esp these days, set boundaries for visits (who, where, and in what capacity).

Designate one person to be the primary contact for extended family to keep the burden off the primary griever(s). 

Give this persons’ information when the first phone calls are made. It also makes sense for this person to be the travel coordinator. 

This person should have a good handle on family dynamics (i.e. my aunt is flying in and would drive my grandma nuts so she’s staying with Mom). 

This should be their only task because it’s time consuming.

Food

When people die, people gather, even in the time of COVID. Be responsible but expect a ton of drop by food. Clean out the primary griever’s fridge in anticipaton.

Organization

Start a shared family Google doc or sheet. Consolidate to do lists, anecdotes, important contact information, questions and inquiries, etc. 

Pay to have the houses of anyone hosting (gatherings, people coming in from out of town, etc.) cleaned. Or, delegate. This can be an act of service for someone who wants to help and doesn’t mind doing the work. 

Find the death binder (hopefully), legal documentation, etc. Get a folder or binder for papers if one doesn’t exist. And start a shared google doc for loved ones to track everything.

Delegate

I know I have said this three times, but it’s important. If you’re a primary decision maker do not be the primary do-er. My mom is the primary decision maker so my sisters and I are doing literally everything else. 

Say YES when people ask if they can help you. Look at your running list of to-dos and say yes.

Pay to have the houses of people who are hosting cleaned. It will seriously be such a life saver, or this can be an act of service for someone who wants to help.

Social media

You will need to decide what to do with a person’s social media. Do you start a tribute page? Turn their facebook (if they’re old) into a tribute page for a time? Indefinitely? Things to think about. 

Thank yous

Keep a running list of people to thank after via hand-written thank you notes. The link includes guidelines on 

who should receive a thank you note (gave flowers, brought food, made donations, helped with arrangements or the service(s), did readings, or went well out of their way to warm your heart or show up)

when to send them (ideally 2-3 weeks after the funeral)

here’s how to write them (it doesn’t matter if you buy fancy, ones or dollar store ones, make sure they’re hand written).

Receipts. 

Don’t be the petty biatch your cousins hate, but do save significant receipts to be reimbursed by the estate. (I.e. catering hundreds of dollars of food, paying $250 for programs and thank-you cards like I just did, etc.)

Service.

You will have a million decisions to make including

what kind of service to hold, if any

where to hold it

costs

hymns, readings, and anecdotes to share

who will be pall bearers, readers, vocalists, and give eulogies

Crematories handle cremation only, not the service details. 

you will need photo boards (Hobby Lobby has nice black foamcore ones) or a powerpoint (and a way to display it depending on the venue)

a guest or memorial book

a card basket,

memorial cards, possibly programs, and thank you cards 

Officiants, musicians, religious institutions, etc. all need to be paid (and tipped) for their time.

If we ever wrangle this pandemic, donating funeral flowers to a nursing homes is a fantastic way to brighten residents’ days. 

Obituary.

Obituaries are expected, but traditionally costly ($200-$800). As part of the publishing fee, most newspapers keep the obituary on legacy.com indefinitely.

A funeral home will assist you with this, but the burden will be on you and your loved ones if using other methods. 

These take hours to write and many hands does not make light work. Keep it to 2-4 key people. Having the facts laid out will help, and so will looking at other obituaries. I read a great tip which was to write about your loved one in present tense first, then change the tense before submission. 

Newspapers will update your spelling and grammar but that’s about it. Cheaper alternatives: 

Death notice which gives age, date and location of death, and who is handling funeral arrangements. Our crematory put in the death notice for us because they had her body, but the requirements on this likely vary state-to-state. 

Here is a place to put a free online obituary.

Plants, animals, stuff, etc. 

Save the plants and pets. 

Household misc. are usually not dictated by the will, except in special circumstances or contested items. Closest members will go through possessions first. Voice early if you want something in particular, but understand that you may not get it. That’s ok. 

Going through someone’s life is an overwhelming process. You may be repulsed and sad and overwhelmed and amused, all at the same time.  

In deciding what to keep, as I’ve now cleared out three houses, I’ve found that quality over quantity is the way to go. The sweet spot? 1-2 sentimental + useful things. My great grandmother’s thimble and juicer? Use them all the time, and I remember her lemonade. 

It’s okay to throw away some keepsakes and let things get thrown out or donated, depending on the thing. 

Don’t give into guilt if you don’t want the china your Aunt Karen is pressuring you into taking when she doesn’t want it either.

Legal stuff. 

If someone dies, there will be all kinds of legal things you will need to do (bank accounts, utilities, debtors, education, etc.), investments or 401k, etc. 

This varies too much by state and circumstance to talk about in depth but there are guides to specifically help you.

If someone you love has lost someone they love

Do not give platitudes or ask if they’re ok

Don’t expect a response from someone grieving

Do send a card! It’s so thoughtful. I keep a stack of blank condolence cards and a set of forever stamps in my closet. It doesn’t have to be a $20 card to be special.

Don’t judge someone by how they grieve

Offer specific, actionable help if you’re close enough to give it

I am going to come over and clean at 10, leave the house unlocked

I’m at the store and am going to buy cheap vodka unless you tell me what kind of wine you want

oops I got you an uber eats gift card in your gmail sorry/not sorry

Buy thank you cards with stamps as a condolence gift, depending on the person and situation

Send a plant instead of a bouquet of flowers

Make a donation in the loved one’s name if you have the funds

If the grieving person is someone super close (best friend, sister, etc.) add the date in your recurring calender so you can check up on them this day next year with a card and/or phone call