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auroracalisto · 2 months ago

Note

Hey can you do a fiyero x reader where the reader is afraid of being vulnerable and he helps them?

yes, superfartninja, i think i can.

to be changed.

movie!fiyero x gn!reader, 3.4k words summary: to be vulnerable meant to be defenseless. it was a liability and that's all it ever would be. fiyero couldn't have that, now could he? a/n: please remember that i only have movie knowledge, so this will be based solely on what i saw in the movie. :P also, shout outs to house song by searows (was on repeat for this fic). erm. this kind of got away from me. i started it was 12 AM and now it's nearly 2 AM. hope it's coherent.

It wasn't like you to be vulnerable. It just didn't happen. It was like... asking a fish or an elephant to climb a tree, or some other weird analogy that you heard oh-so-long ago, when vulnerability aged you more than it helped.

To be vulnerable meant to be hurt. To be ridiculed, to be laughed at, to be made a fool in front of anyone who cared to look your way. It was something that you knew was not needed. You would be fine living by yourself. You came into this world alone and screaming, and you would leave this world the same way.

If you cut out the wound before it began to fester, you solved the problem immediately. Or so they say.

So that's what you did, long ago, when you swore to yourself that the pain you felt would be the very last time. It would never happen again. It couldn't happen again.

Oh, Oz, it couldn't. Your heart couldn't take it.

What was left of your heart, anyway. Sometimes you feared you no longer had one, especially when you feared the pain that would haunt you if someone else came along and made you feel that way again.

It's not that you were afraid. No, fear of being vulnerable was foolish. At least... you believed that you weren't afraid of being vulnerable.

Perhaps that was an act of foolishness in itself. Pretending that you weren't afraid. Pretending that having few friends and few moments of happiness didn't pierce your heart with every passing second.

Perhaps you needed to be better. To be vulnerable, to swear off that silly promise you made to yourself so many years ago.

But it was so difficult.

Being vulnerable was to be in pain. To be lost to a world of sorrow. To be... hurt by the very thing you swore you'd never be hurt by again.

It wouldn't happen.

You wouldn't let it.

He existed in the back of your mind. His beautiful blue eyes, the way those pretty locks fell in front of his eyes when he actually studied his books (if he ever did, of course).

When was the last time he actually tried...? No. You couldn't think of him like that. Too much thinking about his pretty face would ruin you.

You had only talked to him a few times here and there, and the first time was to merely ask him to move out of the way. He took up quite a lot of space—or at least, maybe it was his confidence. It oozed from him like an air of upmost superiority.

No...

You were just being cruel. He was just standing in the way, out of breath from singing to Galinda in the library (because of course—who didn't sing to pretty girls in libraries anymore?).

The second time you spoke to him was over the essay you had to write in your literature class. Peer reviews were the bane of your existence, and this essay, because of course it did, had a simple prompt in response to one of your readings: Taking into account the author's sheer disdain for the idea of magic, write what you believe Oz would be like without magic.

Thought-provoking, yes. You wrote a decent two pages, handwritten of course.

He gave you a paragraph.

If the world of Oz existed without magic, perhaps we would all be better off. No more bickering over the usages of it all, no more idiosyncrasies, no more debates on whether you are intelligent or mediocre if you hadn't the ability to wave a wand or utter a simple spell. If we didn't have magic, perhaps life would be far more difficult, but I also feel as if we should see what it would be like. Maybe there would be less heartbreak. More happiness to go around.

Okay. A piss-poor paragraph that made you wonder how he was even passing Madame Lillabet's literature class.

Maybe he wasn't.

You didn't feel pity for the man—nobility had the ability to do so many things that you would only ever dream of. Why should you feel pity—vulnerability—for a man you didn't know, let alone understood?

Oz, even now, his essay haunted you. You did your best with your review, pointing out the obvious things missing—a decent thesis, body paragraphs that proved his thesis, and just in general, an entire essay that was expected of the entire class.

He merely read over your essay and made one simple comment: Excellent.

Oh, yes, excellent. It was excellent to know that he was just trying to help your essay, yes? Leaving that little comment, even though you didn't make full marks—how was it supposed to help you?

Pity be damned. He was a fool, through and through.

Things muddled in your mind like they often did. Thoughts racing, heartbeat close behind the quick pace.

If you had magic, you'd be sure to quell it.

These thoughts were the one thing that you wished you could squash under the heel of your boot. They were the bane of your existence, the utterance of a foolhardy penance to the god of whatever looked down upon you and wished for pain.

Perhaps that was what was meant for you.

A life of pain—of pity from others, of the amenability to be swayed by those around you even when you tried, desperately, to stay away from those who may catch your attention.

Like him.

Oh, Oz, just like him.

Fiyero.

The man who'd lose his head if it wasn't attached to his shoulders. The man who once told you in passing that if he hadn't a brain, perhaps classes would be easier—then he wouldn't truly be all there, and he'd easily get around the... well, specifics of it all. The man whom you felt tugging at your heartstrings, even when you told yourself no.

It would not happen.

It could not happen.

You would not let it.

In typical, terrible luck fashion, you found yourself wandering the halls of Shiz late at night, unable to sleep. The thoughts racing through your head of so many things, not just him (although they kept leading back to the fool), they just weren't stopping.

An exam was to be held tomorrow. Perhaps you could create a distraction—keep the professors from being able to do as they needed. There were a box of fireworks hidden in one of the many corridor closets, kept for special occasion. You could whip a few of them out and create so much chaos that they'd surely have to cancel the exam!

You leaned against the railing, looking down at the stonework of Shiz's courtyard. A chill ran down your spine from the cold breeze, and for once, all was silent if only for a moment.

His voice brought you out from your thoughts.

"Y/n," he said, an obvious smile playing at his lips.

You squeezed your eyes shut and glanced back at him. Without saying a word, you acknowledged him.

"Doesn't look like your dorm," he continued. "What are you doing out here, all alone?"

"Thinking."

His eyebrow quirked. "Thinking? Oh," he softly hummed, coming to stand beside of you. "Well, that's no fun, now is it? What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

He snorted softly. "You're thinking about... nothing?"

"Whatever I'm thinking is none of your business," you retorted.

He stared you down for a moment, tilting his head curiously. He hummed again and looked out at where you had been staring moments prior.

"You are right," he softly said, voice much quieter this time. "Let me lead you back to your room. We have an exam tomorrow, remember? You at least need to pretend to sleep."

You paused. Since when did he care about exams? You glanced at him, fighting the urge to question him. You let out a soft sigh and shrugged, allowing him to lead you to your dorm.

The walk was quiet, and you almost questioned how he knew where your dorm was, but you didn't. He seemed to pay attention better than most (it was part of that aloofness, you've noticed), and it wasn't the first time he had seen you near your dorm.

It was at least the third. The number had to be easy to memorize by now. 133.

As you opened your door, Fiyero spoke. "You know, I've been thinking..."

"Dangerous thing for you, isn't it?" you quipped, not looking at him as you stepped inside.

He let out a soft chuckle. You amused him to no end.

"Yes, perhaps," he softly said. "But besides. I was still thinking. I've been... well, wondering if perhaps you would—"

"—no."

He blinked slowly. "What? No? Y/n, you didn't even hear what I had to say—"

"—the answer is still no," you said. You glanced up at him from the spot you had been staring at, frowning. "I don't know what this is, but we are not friends. Do not ask me for favors."

"Not friends, hm?" he softly hummed, leaning against the doorway as he locked eyes with you. So knowing your dorm number was just a fluke.

"Not friends. Now if you'll excuse me, I should probably go and pretend to sleep."

His upper lip quirked in a faint smirk. Not friends, but you still joked with him as a friend would do. He rolled his eyes and gave you a rather joking half-bow.

"Of course," he said. "Do not let me keep you up. Perhaps I should find my dorm as well."

"You should do that," you simply said, shutting the door right after.

You didn't give him a chance to say anything else, quickly locking the door and heading back to your bed.

Heart pounding, mind still racing, but not with the thoughts of earlier. No, dear reader, your mind raced with thoughts of him.

So impressionable, so—so kind, so—well, was he really kind?

To you.

He was kind to you.

Nearly a week passed you by. The exam went rather well, without any kind of distraction. Passing marks and a somewhat decent night sleep.

You do everything you can to try and avoid Fiyero. Running this way and that, going through all of the longer corridors instead of the shortcuts you knew by heart. You did everything you could to avoid his handsome face.

You did everything you could to avoid the vulnerability that plagued your heart every time you thought of him.

If you simply embraced the wants of Fiyero, perhaps not having a brain would keep you from thinking this way. You'd still have a heart, sure, but it was much better than keeping yourself on your toes wondering if you'd see the damned man at any passing second.

On the hour of the rising moon, almost exactly on the dot, Fiyero spotted you. And this time, you were not evading him.

He practically took off after you, leaving his friends behind. They scoffed and called after him, but he didn't look back. His focus was on you.

He grabbed onto your wrist as you went to leave, not letting you go.

"Y/n! There you are," he softly said. "I have been looking everywhere for you. I wouldn't have thought it would be so difficult to find you, but—"

"—there you go, thinking again," you blurted, unable to stop yourself. Your tongue was wagging faster than your brain was working.

He weakly smiled. "Yes. I know. How ironic, hm?"

You watched as he stared you down.

"Look," he softly began. "I truly—I do not know what I did to deserve you ignoring me at any which way, but I wish you would tell me why. What did I do, Y/n? I thought—well, I assumed that we were friends, but perhaps I was wrong. I find myself wrong quite often nowadays."

"I—well, Fiyero, I—" you paused. You squeezed your eyes shut and inhaled a deep breath. "I don't have friends."

He blinked slowly. "You don't have friends? What of the one girl you were with the other day? Milla?"

"I do not have friends," you repeated. "I have... acquaintances. People I do not get attached to."

"That is sad."

"What?"

He raised an eyebrow. It seemed like a commonality when he spoke with you. The staple eyebrow raise had to happen or else he wasn't really chatting with you.

"It is sad. Why wouldn't you want to get attached to people?"

"I don't want to have meaningless relationships," you said. You avoided saying, I don't want to have relationships at all. "Not everyone can be as friendly as you, Fiyero."

He rolled his eyes. "Friendly. Yes. I talk to people, but I would rather not have all the attention that I do."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "You play the popular little prince and then claim you do not want it? What is that, Fiyero?"

Fiyero pursed his lips. "It is just—this is not a conversation about me. I wanted to have an intervention for you since you seemed as though you were avoiding me every which way. Now. Just—"

"—an intervention? What? Please. You sound ridiculous."

"So do you!" he returned, hands to his hips like an older man scolding a child for something they broke. "You vex me, Y/n! You act as if you are interested in me, then run away hiding like a scared little pup. You act as if you are afraid to get close to anyone."

You stared at him, lips parted ever-so-slightly. But it was enough. You were done for.

He let out a curt laugh. "You are."

"What?"

"You are. Scared. I can see it in you. You listen to what I have to say, even when the others don't. I've made an effort to pay attention to you. To see what you—"

"—Fiyero, stop."

"Do not tell me to stop, Y/n," he said, voice low with conviction. "Not now. Not when I've finally figured you out. You are scared. But of what? Being close to someone? Having a friend?"

You frowned. "I am not scared—"

"—you look at me like if I were to touch you, you'd melt."

"That doesn't mean anything!"

"I can see it in your eyes, Y/n," he said, not looking away. He held eye contact with you and hoped that you would continue to do the same. "You—you're scared. To open your heart to the people around you."

You frowned, again. It was perpetual anymore. "And you're a sad man who dances and pretends everything is fine because Galinda said you looked pretty one day."

He blinked slowly, a smile quirking on his lips. "Maybe. But this—this isn't about me, Y/n. This is about you."

"What even is this? I didn't agree to have you psychoanalyze everything I've ever done."

"Neither did I, yet here we are," he said. "I've had a lot of time to think, to mull it over, and I know it. I know it now. You are scared. I don't know what happened to you. I don't know who hurt you in your past, or if something tragic happened to make you so cold inside, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with being... with being vulnerable, Y/n. There's something... magical, even, about opening up to others."

"Oh, and you would know, wouldn't you?"

He frowned. "Y/n—"

"—no. Absolutely not. You do not get to sit there and ridicule me for not wanting to be close to people and then not take what I give you," you said. "You do not let anyone close to you. Sure, Galinda, but what does she know about you? Does she know how you half-ass everything? How you hardly even talk to your 'friends' and just let them float along with you like everything is fine and dandy? You're as sad as I am, if that's what you're trying to say. Don't try to fool yourself."

"I am not trying to fool myself," he softly said. "I am only trying to make it known that I see you. I see myself in you."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "The rich, popular boy sees himself in little ol' me. That's perfect."

"Y/n—"

"—no. Don't. Stop. Just. I don't want to talk to you anymore. We're not friends. We never were friends. Just leave me alone."

It's simple, but it shuts him down. And with that, you run from his side, rushing to hide away in your dorm.

You couldn't believe what you did. Blowing up at him instead of listening to what he had to say. He read you like the children's book your heart truly was—while everyone else focused on the words, he focused on the pictures. The minute details that seemed to pass by everyone's mind because the story was flowing far too quickly.

He saw the delicate brush strokes, the intricate colors, the pieces of you that the words did not show.

He knew you.

And it scared you.

Only you knew yourself. If anyone else were to know who you were, deep inside, well, that would be disastrous.

It couldn't happen.

You couldn't let it.

Fear.

Perhaps fear was the best way to describe the way you felt.

You sat by the edge of the lake in the forest just beyond Shiz's campus, fingers gently brushing against the water. The surface rippled, sending small waves to the end of the shore.

You were afraid.

Of what?

Of a man knowing you?

Of Fiyero knowing you better than even your family once knew you?

You sat there, thoughts racing through your mind. It was as if you couldn't avoid them anymore.

Days had passed since you blew up at Fiyero and ran. You couldn't avoid him forever, you knew that, but it seemed as if your thoughts believed the same.

Tears pricked at your eyes. The warm, salty tears began to fall before you could even try to stop them, and a soft sob bubbled at the back of your throat.

"Y/n?"

Shit.

You quickly wiped your tears away and looked back at him—at Fiyero. But your tears wouldn't stop. A soft sob rippled through you and you turned your head away.

Fiyero came to your side, kneeling down in the soft earth beside of you. He inwardly grimaced at the dirt, but he said nothing of it. He'd bathe in mud if it meant you would stop your tears.

He reached forward, gently placing a hand to your cheek. He turned your head to face him.

"Y/n," he softly said. "It's alright. You... you're alright."

Another sob.

He pulled you into his arms, and you let him. You didn't pull away, melting into his embrace as he said you would before. He pressed his chin to the top of your head, situating himself so he would be more comfortable near you.

He softly hummed a soft tune—you remembered it. The one thing he hummed quite often when you caught him alone, or trying to focus on his school work.

Dancing through life, skimming the surface... Life's more painless for the brainless.

He was just a sad boy with needs of his own, much like you were scared of being seen. Of being known.

Of being loved.

Oh. Oh, that's what it was.

It terrified you to no end.

Fiyero pressed a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, gently cupping your cheeks in his hands.

"What's got you so upset, love?" he softly asked, wiping your tears away gently with his thumbs.

You shook your head. "I... later," you mumbled. You leaned into his grasp, and you could have sworn you saw his eyes soften.

He released a soft, shaky sigh of his own, before he pulled you back into his arms. He'd hold you until the end of the world if that's what you needed him to do.

Being vulnerable—it was the one thing you had told yourself you would never do. Ever again. And here you were, letting this man hold you and practically lull you into a calmness you'd never felt before.

Is this what it felt like? To be... weak? To be... frail?

No.

Vulnerability... it didn't mean that.

It meant that you were... open. That you had managed to open your heart to a more... malleable form.

To be changed.

To find the one thing in life that you knew would keep you going for as long as it could.

To be vulnerable meant to be loved.

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shegatsby · 7 months ago

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Could I possibly request a fic where Hannibal has reader hidden away in a secret room. Like he keeps her there in her own world kinda like a princess in a tower situation. He keeps her there so she’s safe and doesn’t know what he does. She’s actually pretty happy with the situation because she loves him he loves her yadayada and possible smut MAYBE Will gets to meet her🤭 idk I’m new to requesting also I love your stuff man 10/10

Your day started just like the day before but this time you had a dream. It was about the night he brought you here. You were his patient, had a troubled upbringing with drug addict parents, your earliest memory was sitting on a couch, starving, and watching your parents with needles… you were taken to custody but it was too late. You were scarred for life. You focused on your education till one day you snapped and had to find a psychiatrist.

Doctor Hannibal Lecter

You had read his reviews, whatever you could find about him on the Imternet.

You walked to the luxurious bathroom, your mind clouded with the memories of your first session with him.

It was spring and you wore a milkmaid dress. Since his upstanding reputation you wanted to look “sane” and “presentable”

Wiping your palms on your dress you knocked on the grey door, you had noticed the absence of a secretary but didn’t pay much mind. And he opened the door…

You were awe struck to say the least. He easily standing there in his 3 piece suit, clean shaven and inviting you with his dark maroon eyes. “Hello Ms.Y/LN. Please come in.” You smiled gently and entered. He had 2 stores in the office, at the top there was a balcony which looked like a library, books were wall to wall. Down stairs he had a brown desk with organized materials on it, a fire place, paintings on the walls. He gestured you to sit and he sat across you with his black leather notebook. He cleared his throat and crossed his legs, even though he was sitting he still spoke tall. “I must admit,” he began and caught your attention, you found yourself sitting up tall, matching his aura, “ Ms. Y/L/N, you had sent me a very interesting email.” In order for him to accept a client one must sent an email which he replies in 3 days. “How come?”

He looked into your eyes, yes there was space between you two but you could feel his intensity. “You were straightforward, it almost felt as if you wanted to show me how bad your situation is, so that I’ll reject you. Do you often show your bad side for others to rum away, thus, you don’t have to interact with them?”

His questioning made you drop your jaw, this was his deduction from just the email? You wondered if you should continue and expose yourself to him and also face your fears or just get up and leave.

Hannibal noticed the hesitation in your eyes, he put the book away and did something which left you speechless. There was a cabinet on the wall behind him, he opened it and got a bottle of red wine and 2 glasses. He poured one for you and and extended his hand, “No need to fret Ms. Y/L/N,” you got the glass and felt his touch, “after all, I’m here to serve you.” His tone was less formal than before.

And your story began with him, at first you had your session with him once a month, and office hours turned into coffee dates and dinners.

You used to live alone in a one bedroom flat with yur cat Lucifer, he was a huge black cat thus the name Lucifer came.

One night you were out with your pyschiatrist Doctor Lecter. He invited you out for dinner and to be honest he showed off his wealth and refined palate. You found youself admiring his life style, luxurious yet elegant like the royals. He wasn't shy of showing it to you or making you experience it first hand.

The night was amazing, you were like two normal adults having a nice dinner, both of you lost the titles of doctor and patient and enjoyed each other's company, he drove you home and everything happened that night.

''Did you leave your lights on?'' he mentined the yellow lights coming from your flat, ''No.'' an icy feeling entered your chest, ''I'll come with you to check it, stay behind me.'' he said, his protective side showing, you did as he told you and together you rode the elevator and came to your door which was wide open.

Tears filled your eyes when you saw your home, everything was torn and broken, someone came in and did an arduous damage. Hannibal checked to see if someone was still inside. It was empty, ''Where is your cat?'' and with the mention of Lucifer your hands went to your chest and you started calling for Lucifer, you found him hiding, he was shivering.

''I'm also working with FBI, I know people who can help. In the mean time you're staying with me.'' it wasn't a question or a request, he meant what he said.

''O-okay.'' you were shivering. You picked up Lucifer and you felt Hannibal's hand on the small of your bag, ''Let's get you to the car, and I'll call my friends Will and Jack.''

He got you inside the car and left to make a call and the rest was history.

His house felt like a museum at first but it grew on you over your stay. He gave you the guest bedroom which was bigger than your own, he also went out of his way to collect your precious belongings from your robbed house. It wasn't much just a small bag, Lucifer was the most important to you. Hannibal also liked animals and didn't sany anything about your cat, in fact they got along.

After a week you started to look for a new place to stay, you were having breakfast together, ''What are you doing?'' he asked as he poured you coffee, ''House hunting.'' you replied shortly and saw him dropp the spoon he was holding, this was the first time he lost his composure and he cursed himself, ''Clumsy today.'' he joked and continued, ''You shouldn't rush. I am happy to have you, in my home.''

You looked up to meet his maroon eyes, ''Thank you for everything Hannibal but I don't want to be a burden.'' as your therapist he already knew how you felt. His mission was to convince you to stay. Manipulate you even...

Together you went on house huntings, he was there all the time. After every house he would find something bad about it, neighboors, mold, too pricy etc.

One night you were watching a movie together, it was an old Hollywood classic. ''Don't leave.'' you heard him and turned to face him, he was sitting next to you, his arm on your shoulders, ''What?''

You were startled, ''I don't want you to go.'' he puased the movie, his eyes pleading, ''that night when you house was broken into, I swore to protect you and never let you out of my sight.'' he held your hands, ''Its dangerous outside Y/N, I cannot let you go.''

His tone sent shivers down your spine, he was serious. ''Do you want me to-'' he cut you off, ''Be mine.''

and he leaned in for a passionate kiss.

Since then you were with him, he took care of every detail and let you thrive and pursue your passions such as writing and painting. He was a possessive man and never liked to see your attention go to someone else that's why he introduced you to only one person,

Will Graham. His colleague and friend.

Thank you for reading. :)

#fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #hannibal lecter #reader #hannibal #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #mads mikkelsen #mads mikkelsen x reader #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #mads mikkelsen fanart #mads mikkelsen icons #mads mikkleson #romance fanfic #oneshot fanfiction #oneshot

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ahockeywrites · 11 months ago

Text

swimwear season - ax72

word count: 4.2k pairing: arber xhekaj x fem!wife!reader warnings: 18+ only!!!! dom!arber, sub!reader, smut, swearing, oral m!receiving, cum swallowing, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it as always), butt stuff (please do your research before engaging in this) choking, mentions of a safe word but not used, rough sex, urm I kinda went a little insane with this one… I’m sorry but I’m also not sorry, let me know if there are other warnings I should add because I don’t really know what else to say. I’m sorry, but enjoy :)

authors note: again, apologies 🤭 but I can always write more like the wedding/more of the honeymoon

Those skimpy bikinis and swimsuits would be the death of him, today’s tiny leopard print two piece was no exception, as he watched you frolic about in the crystal clear water. The weight of the gold band on his ring finger felt odd, but the memory of you walking down the aisle in a white dress was one he would never forget.

The memory of how he pounded into you in the dressing room, bridal suite, hotel room (twice), was also something he would never forget. He was ravenous for you and he didn’t think it would ever stop.

You turned around so your back faced Arber and he took in the view. Your ass, your back, fuck. You, his wife, covered in his love bites, his scratches, filled with his cum.

You turned once more and started walking out of the water, breasts bouncing and covered in a few droplets of salty sea water. The two rings on your finger glistened under the sun and as you looked back up onto the private beach of the villa, you saw Arber sitting on a sun lounger with a Canadiens cap on, playing on his phone.

You waved towards him and he waved back before moving his phone so that the camera was directed towards you. A laugh escaped your lips as you threw your arms out to the side, smiling with all your teeth out.

The rays of the sun beat down onto you as you made your way back up onto the sand and to the lounger next to your husband. It felt weird to say, you had just got used to calling him your fiancé and now he had a new title. But it was one you would settle into quickly, you were sure about it.

Arber was shirtless, in a pair of five inch inseam shorts with his thighs out to the world. His lap looked so inviting but you were tired following the morning’s excursion, he had you bent over the villa’s kitchen island as you were attempting to make breakfast. The pancakes were eaten eventually, after Arber had put his face between your legs and brought you to climax once more.

The sun lounger was comfy and you settled into the book that you were reading on your kindle.

An hour or so later, once Arber had dragged you away from your book and into the water once more, the pair of you headed inside to shower and get ready for the dinner that was booked for that evening. Arber had found an Italian restaurant with amazing reviews and was able to get a table booked for sunset.

He knew how excited you were for the restaurant but he couldn’t let you head off to the bathroom without a kiss. Well, maybe a bit more than a kiss. His lips kissed a path down your neck, nimble fingers undoing the knot at the back of your bikini.

The gentle burn of his beard on your skin was delicious and your brain almost short circuited when his hands moved down your back, finally resting on your ass and grabbing the muscle.

“Fuck,” you moaned as your husband, yeah you liked that, wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, sucking and nibbling gently.

“You like that,” Arber rasped as he continued his assault of kisses down your body, worshiping you. “My wife fucking loves this.”

The ring of an alarm broke the pair of you out of the heated bubble you were in. It was the alarm that you had set to make sure you were off the beach and headed inside to start getting ready for the evening’s meal.

Arber rolled his eyes as he pulled away from you, looking clearly unimpressed. His eyes were dark and full of lust.

“We can skip dinner,” his lips reattached to your neck, starting to nibble on the skin. “Order in.” His voice became deeper, breaths louder. “I know what I want for dessert already.”

“Baby,” you groaned but leant your neck to the side, giving your husband more access to the skin. “I want to see sunset over the water.”

“And I want to see the sunset from between your legs,” Arber replied, sass evident in his tone. “Pleasuring my wife, my fucking wife.”

It was painful to pull yourself away from him but you knew that if you wanted to make it to dinner and not turn up in your bikini, you needed to escape Arber’s grasp. You wiggled in his arms and it took him a moment to realise that you actually wanted to get ready. He pouted and attempted puppy dog eyes which didn’t really work when he was taller than you.

You pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes, lips flush with the shell of his ear. “Tonight,” you started, “I’m all yours.”

“You’re always mine baby.”

You swirled the glass of wine around in your hand forming a small whirlpool in the centre, looking Arber directly in the eyes. His eyes wanted to wander. Down your neck to your collarbones and even further if he knew he wouldn’t be spotted. The low neckline of your black dress was teasing him and he couldn’t help think of what he wanted to do when you got back to the villa.

Your tongue darted out to lap up the droplet of wine that rested on your lips, painted a sinful red. You watched as Arber closed his eyes for slightly longer than usual. The plan was working.

Rile up Arber until he couldn’t take it anymore and wait for him to throw you against a wall and take you on the first surface he could find. It had happened before in Montreal after a win in the playoffs and you knew after that, you wanted it again. Wanted more. Wanted anything that he would give.

“Dessert?” The waiter asked and you shook your head.

“Just the bill, thanks,” Arber replied. You both knew that it would take them a few minutes to bring the bill over so you started a conversation about the plans for the next few days. The plans that didn’t involve you between the sheets. More time spent on the beach, a hike up in the mountains and more lavish dinners with delicious wine.

As Arber was speaking, you took a risk. You raised up one of your feet, clad with a pair of black, heeled Louboutins, and placed it in his lap. The long tablecloth was a godsend as you stroked his clothed cock with the base of the shoe.

It was something you hadn’t felt the confidence to do before. You’d had sex in public, well, outside of bars, in toilets at friends weddings (that was one hell of an apology to the bride that you had to make). But you hadn’t actively teased Arber like this outside of your house.

You watched as his eyes darkened, gaze flicking between your face, chest and where your foot was currently resting. His hand grasped your ankle, gently stroking the smooth skin. It contrasted with the callouses on his hands from years of hockey. You tried to get him to moisturise, but he never did.

Arber tilted his head slightly and gave you a look without expression but you knew exactly what it meant. Stop being a brat. A small part of your brain agreed with him, but the devil on your shoulder was louder than the angel.

You shook your ankle in protest, purposefully working over his clothed cock which you could feel hardening. Not like he wasn’t hard for you the entire wedding season. He was ready to go whenever you wanted.

The waiter returned, holding the bill and Arber passed across his credit card to pay for dinner. It went quickly but you could tell that he was struggling because your foot didn’t stop moving over his groin.

When the waiter confirmed that everything had gone through and you were free to leave, your husband walked over and pulled your chair out before offering you his hand. His arm wrapped around your waist as you thanked the staff for their hospitality during one of the best dinners you had ever had.

There was a slight breeze when you both exited the restaurant and the ends of your dress started to raise slightly, exposing more of your legs to the elements. It wasn’t uncomfortable by any means but Arber noticed you shiver slightly so he slipped off his jacket and draped the fabric over your shoulders.

“Even when she’s a brat, my wife deserves the best,” he commented when you began walking once more. The walk back to the villa wasn’t far and with Arber’s jacket swamping you, you kept yourself nice and warm whilst ogling your husband slightly. The fabric of his shirt was straining slightly with his muscles underneath but you were not complaining, especially not when you knew that you’d be the one taking it off later.

When the villa came into view, you hurried off in front of Arber, leaving him to look at you in heels and his jacket as that was all he could see from behind. It was a private road so he knew that he could palm himself over his slacks without anyone else seeing, but he couldn’t. He needed you, even if you were in a bratty mood.

The front door had been left ajar and Arber knew that you had taken your key in that tiny clutch of yours that usually just held your phone and lipstick. That fucking cherry red lipstick. The one that had stained the base of his cock more times than he could remember.

He slipped his shoes off, emptied his pockets and walked over to the fridge to grab himself a beer. The top unscrewed easily and he heard your feet padding down the stairs from the master bedroom to the family room. You had decided to make your presence known then, he thought.

As he rounded the corner, he spotted you in a black lace bra with a matching thong and garters wrapped around your thighs. Sitting on your lower legs, ass just touching your heels. There was no way that you had that on underneath the dress. That must have been the reason why you sped off quickly, to get changed. Not that he was complaining.

There was nothing to complain about, not when his wife was sat, waiting for him in almost nothing. Not when his cock jumped when his eyes took you in.

You watched as he walked over to the chair in front of you, cock straining the front of the slacks. Your brain was telling you to undo the pants and get your mouth on his cock, get his cock in your cunt, anything.

Arber swirled the bottle of beer in his hand as he looked at you, sat in only lingerie on the floor. His muscular frame filled out the chair he was sat in and he looked so inviting. But you knew better than to move without instruction.

The smell of need filled the air. He lifted the bottle to his lips to take a sip of the alcoholic beverage and your pussy fluttered at the way his hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You knew exactly how those fingers felt inside you, pleasuring you in the way that only he knew how to.

His black suit jacket was draped over the back of the chair and a few buttons were undone, exposing a slither of Arber’s chest. His thighs were barely contained by the black slacks he was wearing and on another night, he would have made you come by you riding his thigh. Not tonight though.

You felt his eyes take all of you in, the way the black lace hugged your curves, the sharp contrast of the lace and your red lipstick that he couldn’t wait to have painted all over his cock.

“Crawl,” Arber demanded, dark eyes piercing yours. A shiver went down your spine, wetness pooled between your legs. “I don’t want to ask twice.”

You meant forward onto your hands and obeyed him, crawling the small distance to where he was sat. Between his legs had become a place where you were incredibly comfortable and it was somewhere you had spent a lot of time recently. In bed, on the private beach, a closet at an event.

Arber undid the button at the top of his slacks and followed that with the zipper. His skin was immediately on display and that’s when you realised that he had foregone boxers for dinner. He didn’t do it often and it shocked you almost every time he did. Arber just reminded you that on most nights out you went without a bra and occasionally panties. As always, you rolled your eyes at him.

Your husband shuffled in the seat, freeing his weeping cock to the cool breeze. The tip looked a painful red and you watched as Arber wrapped a hand around his thick shaft. He gently stroked himself, watching how you looked up at him longingly, wanting to replace his hand with your mouth. He was in a mean mood tonight, but not too mean.

“Open,” Arber commanded. You obliged, allowing him to push two fingers into your mouth. You sucked on his fingers in the same way that you would do to his cock, giving the tips gentle licks.

After a few moments, he pulled the fingers out of your mouth and then worked his cock with the same hand, using your saliva as a lubricant. Fuck, it was hot to watch your husband fuck his hand as his eyes trailed down your body.

It took all of his self control to not burst then and there, but somehow he found the tiniest slither and removed his hand from his shaft.

“Suck,” the words echoed around the room but you barely had time to notice what he had said before your mouth was full of his cock. His hand rested on the back of your head, pushing you down so that your nose was almost flush with Arber’s pubic bone.

Almost. To work him fully, you needed to use at least your mouth and a hand but truthfully, watching his cock go in and out of your mouth was one of the hottest sights he had ever seen.

The grip on the back of your head loosened and he allowed you to dictate the pace. At first you started slow, but very quickly increased the speed. You could feel Arber tugging on your hair, his nails scratching your scalp due to the pleasure that you were giving him.

His hips started bucking up, forcing his cock further down your throat. Tears started pricking at the corners of your eyes, not for the first time on this holiday.

A few rogue tears did drop down your cheeks, bringing your mascara down your face.

You loved it, the way that Arber could take control on the ice and in the bedroom. He was a gentleman in public, but a freak in the sheets. The side that only you got to see was one of your favourites, along with Arber in the mornings who woke you up with kisses to your face and neck and followed it up with gentle sex.

Or the Arber who loved to watch you bake in the kitchen and crowned himself the official taste tester of the Xhekaj household, ensuring that all the baked goods were of an acceptable quality.

Or the Arber who used one arm to pin your hips down on the bed and used the other hand to rub tight circles on your clit as he buried his face in your cunt.

But this Arber, brat tamer Arber was one that rarely came out.

“Lean back princess,” you obliged your husband and watched as he jerked himself off, it took him moments to come, painting your chest with his seed, claiming you as his once more.

You took a finger to the mess he had made on your chest and collected some of the come onto the tip of your index finger. Your eyes met his and he watched as you put your finger into your mouth and sucked off his cum. It made him almost want to orgasm again at how sexy you looked.

“Upstairs, now,” he ordered, using his hand to direct you in front of him.

Arber watched as your ass swayed as you walked up the stairs. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the thin, black lace that sat between your ass cheeks and how he wanted to bury himself there.

The pair of you rounded the corner and a strong hand came to your shoulder. “Lay down princess, or I’ll make you.”

You listened and rested your chest on the soft fabric of the comforter, feet still planted on the floor. The globes of your ass were on display to your husband and you couldn’t help but wiggle your ass.

A moan caught your attention, and you turned your head as much as you could to see Arber undoing the buttons of his shirt and fully taking off his slacks. He was stood behind you fully naked, except his chain, in all his glory.

Hands roamed over your backside, massaging the muscle, moving the material of your thong from between your ass cheeks to the side.

You heard it before you felt it. The sound of bottle of lube being opened and the cold sensation of it resting on your tightest opening. One of Arber’s large fingers circled your asshole, testing the waters, asking for permission.

“Fuck yes please,” you moaned, knowing that he needed your consent.

“What do you want baby,” he growled in your ear, finger still skirting around where you needed him.

“You,” your words were breathless, you could barely speak. You were so strung up, wound so tight that any movement could tip you over the edge.

“Me?” Arber questioned. “Where do you want me?”

“Want you in my ass, want your fingers,” you groaned before he slowly pushed his middle finger past the tight ring of muscle. Your moans bounced off the walls as Arber slowly moved his finger in and out, the sounds of the lubricant on his finger were drowned out by you.

You felt Arber climb onto the bed as he continued to finger your ass. He caged you into the bed, pressing your chest further into the bed, the cool metal of his chain adding to the difference in sensation you felt in different parts of your body. It was a sight as your tried to arch your back into him but he didn’t let you, he needed to have you learn that you couldn’t be a brat in public.

“If my wife wants to be a brat in public, she’ll get punished when she gets home,” he whispered in your ear before pulling his finger out of your ass.

You rolled over onto your back, sweat dripping down your forehead. A pout formed on your lips and you tried to look as though you were in a mood with your husband.

Arber completely ignored your look and walked over to his suitcase. You watched as he squatted down, appreciating his hockey training, and rummaged through his belongings. He was looking for something and your pussy clenched around nothing as you wondered what it could be.

Your husband was no stranger to using toys in the bedroom, he loved the way that he could make you writhe and squirm when he pressed your vibrator to your clit as he pounded in and out of you. The man could multi task better than anyone else you had been with.

He was muttering something to himself, you couldn’t make out the words but you could hear the jangle of metal on metal and you realised what he was looking for. The butt plugs.

Before Arber, no one had ever entertained your interest in anal play but your then boyfriend relished the idea. You had mentioned that you had masturbated with butt plugs in before and you loved the sensation. From then, he helped you get more comfortable with the feeling of his fingers then, and eventually his cock.

He would never forget the moans you made when he played with your clit as his cock pushed past the tight ring of muscle. How you moaned into his mouth as he pressed sweet kisses to your lips when he slowly started moving his hips back and forth. The feeling of your orgasm and the way you arched your back into his chest and he watched your eyes roll back in your head. Absolute bliss.

“There it is,” Arber exclaimed when he found the right one. “Ass up again baby, you know what I want.”

“Yes sir,” you rolled over and arched your back, pushing your ass into your husbands face. His hand slapped the smooth skin of your butt, giving each cheek a hard spank. It stung, but the pain was pleasurable. You had taken more spankings before.

“It’s gonna be cold, but you already knew that,” Arber explained as he opened the bottle of lube again, coating the metal in the liquid.

You felt the tip of the plug press against your asshole and took a deep breath, knowing what was to come.

“Breathe out baby,” Arber coached and eased the plug into you as you followed his instruction. “Fucking beautiful.” He stepped back to admire his handy work. The jewel tucked between your cheeks sparkled under the dim lights of the room and his cock hardened instantly.

He was quick to cage you back into the bed, slipping his cock into your dripping pussy. Expletives left your mouth as Arber started thrusting hard and fast into you. One of his hands roamed your back, grasping one of your breasts and using it as leverage to pull your back flush to his chest, the other snaked it’s way to find your clit and started rubbing tight circles on the bud.

The pressure built in your core, from the sensation of the plug, your husband’s length hitting that spot over and over again and the sustained attack on your clit. Arber knew exactly how to get you to the edge and over it, if he was feeling nice.

“Fuck,” you moaned, leaning your head back to rest on your husband’s shoulder. “I’m gonna,” you didn’t have time to finish your sentence before he pulled out of you and flipped you over so your back was pushed into the bed.

“Brats don’t get to come unless I say,” he said before lifting your legs up so your ankles rested on his shoulders. He positioned himself in front of your wanton cunt before pushing himself inside your tight walls once more.

His hands wandered again, as they always did when you were naked and on display for him. His right gently wrapped around your neck and his left played with your nipple. The extra sensation meant that you twitched up into him and he could tell that you were almost at the end of what you could handle before shouting your safe word.

“Come for me princess,” Arber encouraged you. “Don’t hold back.” His hand that was playing with your nipple moved down to your clit and started drawing figure eights on the nerves.

You leant into the feeling of pleasure that started building. You couldn’t say anything, your entire body was overtaken in the sensation of Arber doing everything he needed for you.

He watched as you gasped and then he felt your walls constrict around him. Stars filled your vision as Arber fucked you through your orgasm that seemed to last forever. You were on a different planet with how he made you feel, he knew exactly what you needed and when you needed it. The strength it had taken to keep your legs on his shoulders had gone as he let them fall down.

Arber was quick to follow on your orgasm as he felt his balls tighten and he shot his seed into you, coating your walls. His large body fell on top of yours in a sweaty tangled mess. His lips found yours once more in a sweet kiss and he could tell that he had tired you out.

“I’m gonna pull out now baby,” he told you and you groaned as you felt the sensation in your core change from full to empty. “The plug too.”

You moved your body slightly but Arber took the lead and spread your legs to get the best access to the plug without rolling you over.

“Deep breath again baby,” you obliged Arber as he gently pulled the plug from you. Your body shook slightly at the second change in sensation but you started snuggling yourself into the comforter on the bed.

Arber walked into the bathroom to clean the plug and then quickly walked back out with a damp, warm washcloth and started wiping between your legs. A smile made its way onto your face as your husband looked after you, even after ruining you.

In his other hand, he had a makeup wipe. He gently ran the wipe across your face, collecting the mascara that had run down and cleaning off the last remains of lipstick.

“I know it’s not your twenty step skincare routine,” he joked. “But it’s better than nothing.”

You found the energy to run a hand through his dark locks and bring him in for a kiss.

“If you think that’s gonna stop be being a brat, think again,” you smirked, only to be met with a bigger smirk from Arber.

“Sometimes, the sheriff needs riding darling,” he replied. “And that’s where you come in.”

#ahockeywrites #nhl imagine #hockey writing #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl writing #hockey story #hockey fic #smut #arber xhekaj imagine #arber xhekaj x reader #arber xhekaj smut #ax72

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writingquestionsanswered · 7 months ago

Note

I'm 15 and I'm currently working on a short novel, that I'll probably never end up publishing. Every time I write it ends up sounding like a Wattpad fanfiction, any tips on how to fix this?

Worried About Story Quality

There's nothing wrong with Wattpad fan-fiction, though. There's lots of wonderful fan-fiction out there, and there's plenty of awful original fiction... even traditionally published literary fiction can be bad, so we should all try to stop using fan-fiction (on any platform) as a measuring stick for writing quality. All types of writing can be low quality or high quality. ♥

It's actually great that you can tell that what you're writing isn't at the level you want it to be quality-wise, because it means you have good taste, and you know what's good even if you're not quite hitting that mark yourself. You will likely find a lot of growth in learning to self-edit and revise your work. Start by reading what you've written, and when you get to things that don't sound good to you, make note somehow. You can print the story out and mark it up with highlighters or colorful pens, or you can use the review notes in Word or whatever you're writing your story in. After you've made note of the things that aren't working, go back through and look at each one... can you tell what doesn't sound right about it? Can you find a way to fix it? Maybe by rewording it, taking it out, adding, or subtracting?

There are loads of helpful editing guides out there that can help you learn what kinds of things to look out for. I have a post here (Ten Ways to Cut Your Word Count) that has some tips, but you can Google to look for more. If you can spend some book money, there are also some great books that help with self-editing. Self-Editing For Fiction Writers is a really popular one that I really like.

Here are some other relevant posts:

Concentrate on Quantity at First, Not Quality Comparing Self to Others, Insecure About Writing

Happy writing!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

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writers-potion · 9 months ago

Note

said is NOT DEAD. our brains have seen it so much that when reading dialogue, it just glosses over it. if you don't want to detract from the dialogue, USE SAID. other words might ground the reader a little too much and lose a bit of immersion.

--this comes from my old tutor who now has a phd in literature

Said Is Not Dead

Of course not! "Said" should still be your go-to speech tag, the benefit being that it flows best. I find it nice to have a larger working vocabulary when it comes to expressing speech, though, and I think many writers would agree! It's one thing to use "said" because you know it's the best word choice and another to keep using it because you can think of no alternative.

Having said that:

". . . Don't tell me your character 'excaimed,' 'stated,' or 'replied.' When in doubt, just use 'said.' That's all. Maybe they 'answered.' They certainly did not 'retort.' You can use 'said' more often than you think . . . it's one of those words that takes a while before it starts sounding repetitive." -- Ariel Gore, How to Become a Famous Writer Before You're Dead

"The best form of dialogue attribution is 'said,' as in 'he said, she said, Bill said, Monica said." -- Stephen King, On Writing

"Mr. [Robert] Ludlum . . . hates the 'he said' locution and avoids it as much as possible. Characters in The Bourne Ultimatum seldom 'say' anything. Instead, they cry, interject, interrupt, muse, state, counter, conclude, mumble, whisper (Mr. Ludlum is great on whispers), intone, roar, exclaim, fume, explode, mutter. There is one especially unforgettable tautology: '"I repeat," repeated Alex.' The book may sell in the billions, but it's still junk." -- Newgate Callender, in The New York Times Book Review

"Editors and critics often refer to melodramatic dialogue tags as 'said bookisms.' They know that these phrases give our story an amateurish look. Your readers might not know what the darn things are called, but chances are that they'll notice them, too . . . In most cases, the word 'said' would work just fine, and using said bookisms detracts from the dialogue." -- Ann M. Marble, "'Stop Using Those Said Bookisms,' the Editor Shrieked."

"[Say is] just too simple and clear and straightforward for many people. Why say something when you can declare, assert, expostulate, whine, exclaim, groan, peal, breathe, cry, explain, or asseverate it? I'm all for variety and freshness of expression, but let's not go overboard." -- Patricia T. O'Conner, Woe Is I

"In journalism circles, said is a virtue--simple, precise, and unadorned--and alternatives to it are considered frilly and silly. You don't have to agree, but be aware that lots of editors hold this view. Choose your alternatives to said with great care." --June Casagrande, It Was the Best of Sentences, It Was the Worst of Sentences

"We're all in favor of choosing exactly the right verb for the action, but when you're writing speaker attributions the right verb is nearly always 'said.' The reason those well-intentioned attempts at variety don't work is that verbs other than 'said' tend to draw attention away from the dialogue." --Renni Browne and Dave King, Self-Editing for Fiction Writers

Side Note: After a month-long hiatus while this uni writer struggled with exams, internships, interviews and multiple mental breakdowns, I am going to resume answering questions that have piled up in my inbox! Get ready to be bombarded with writing QnA!!!! :)

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

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kurinhimenezu · 2 months ago

Text

ASMRTIST

“Why don’t you get on your knees and tell me how you really feel about me huh?”

Some shuffling sounds were heard and then a zipper slowly being pulled down.

“Yeah that’s it baby…now open wi—”

“Yo! Bitch I’ve been trying to get your attention for 10 minutes, what’s up?” Arrem sat down in front of her. Her books clattering on the quad table.

You gave her a slight grin and shut your phone off before she could see the screen. “Just listening to a podcast and shit”

Arrem narrowed her eyes, flicking open her book and pulling out a notepad. “Uh-huh…” Her eyes looked down at her notes before she smirked, “You’re listening to that asmr dude again huh?”

“You-I! Hell no..!” You spluttered, “N-no I wasn’t!”

Shoving your phone in your bag, you dragged her books back in front of you, trying to take in the notes or whatever the fuck the subject it’s in.

Your friend only laughed, tying up her short hair in a low ponytail before handing you a pen. “Maybe focus on our exam first before getting it on with your fantasy man?”

Snatching the pen, you stuck your tongue out and took out a piece of scratch paper. “Fuck ooofffff”

The exam really did kick your ass this time, but the time spent reviewing was worth it considering some parts of what you studied actually came up. You can’t wait to fucking graduate and get a job already. Only one more semester before internships.

You huffed, looking up at the cereal aisle, your favourite cereal box at the top of the shelf, teasing you.

Your fingertips barely brushed the bottom of the box and climbing the shelves is frowned upon and would probably result in you getting kicked out.

And you refuse to go out to another grocery store in the cold, when it's right there.

A large arm reached up from behind you and plucked up what looks to be the last box.

“Hey! That’s my cereal!”

Glaring, you turned around only to be face to face with a wall of meat. Chest hair underneath a sheer fishnet shirt, black leather jacket that has probably seen better days and meaty hands filled with rings and chipped nail polish.

You looked up and gulped, seeing a shiny fanged grin on a face that should probably belong to a douchebag, dangling your cereal just above your nose.

Fuck, why were you instantly attracted?

...Are those nipple piercings?

A loud click snapped you out of your thoughts just in time to see the stranger laugh at you, his fingers poised in a snapping motion.

“Damn baby, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re checking me out”

UGH, his voice even sounded hot.

“Shut…up..I was just..you’re so, god you’re built like brick wall! Of course I’d stop and stare!”

You winced, cringing at the weak excuse but it only seemed to make the stranger even more amused, not taking any offense at all.

“Well some bitches like’em big…” He grinned, making sure you made eye contact before winking.

Oh my god.

“Just hand over the cereal and nobody gets hurt” Huffing, you crossed your arms, glaring at the man between you and your silly little treat.

“Don’t worry baby, I saw you struggling and wanted to tease a little, here you goooo” He chuckled, “Name’s Adam by the way”

Taking the cereal from him suspiciously, you told him your name and placed the box in your basket, “Right…well..I’m gonna go..now”

You don’t want to go, you really don’t, he’s so hot and you’re really kinda? maybe? Lonely. Or bored. You really wanna know what those Y/N’s in those fanfictions you’ve read feels like. Sadly, this is reality and you could be kidnapped or something, and you prefer your organs attached to your body thank you very much.

“Alright, lemme walk you to the check out, I’m going to pay my shit anyway” Adam started to walk off and it only took you a second to notice he only has a pack of gum and a box of cigarettes in his hand before you walked after him.

Placing your groceries on the belt, you didn’t notice that Adam had already paid for everything before you could even hand your cash over to the cashier.

“Hey..wait! you didn’t have to do that” Your eyebrow raising at the black card and receipt the cashier handed back to Adam to sign. Holy shit…

Adam waved you off and began shoving everything in the bag before handing it off to you. “Naaah…it’s fine”

He grinned, slowly leaning down low to pluck the earbud from your ear, his breath so close it brushed against your cheek, giving your neck that tingly feeling.

“Anything for a fan”

The horror set in when you realized that the ‘podcast’ you’ve been listening to was still playing. And it was one of the more…intense ones from his Patreon.

“Baby if you wanna be discreet you better be careful with your volume control”

You grabbed your earbud and scrambled to pause the app. “Okay listen—”

Adam laughed as you booked it out of the store.

Slamming the car door closed, you groaned into your hands in utter embarrassment. You could cry at how humiliating that whole spiel was.

At the corner of your eye, you saw something scribbled messily at the back of the crumpled-up receipt.

‘If you wanna experience the real thing, call me’

+1 201-XXX-XXXX

Adam

I needed to get this out before I lose it

May edit this 🤷🏽‍♀️

Enjoy~

#adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam #stories from the abyss #hazbin hotel adam x reader #x reader #trying to get my groove back #it's been a while #and if the format looks funky I actually used my laptop for this xD

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 1 year ago

Text

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Three

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: Domestic Violence.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~2.8k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

5 Years Prior

The lilac dress you wear flows around your carefully crafted body in effortless waves. It is made from a chiffon fabric you begged your mother for nearly six months to have. Your usual attire consists of heavy satin and lace, and for your eighteenth birthday, you just want to feel happy and light for once. It takes much convincing, but eventually, your mother caves. She needs you to be happy and is willing to give you this one thing. But that doesn’t mean she hasn’t gone all out on your chiffon lavender dress.

The color matches your hair perfectly, the stitching is made from the best silver thread Berry can buy, and the ribbon wrapping your waist comes from a silk farm known to be the best in all the Blues. You think it is too much for just a simple birthday, but your mother does what she wants. Events like this give you time to yourself because she is far too busy to monitor your every move.

So you are currently sneaking off to the library to get some reading time in. Your mother always berates you for your habit of keeping your nose in a book, telling you that ladies don’t read, they play music and host tea parties and other social events. While you have been trained in such things, you don’t find the same pleasure in them as you do with reading. There is something about hosting tea parties and socials with the older noble population whom you are not friends with. You don’t have any friends because your mother doesn’t allow you any.

“So controlling,” you mutter to yourself, pushing the door to the great Bonn family library. There is every kind of book you could want in this library; your father is a collector of sorts. With his connections in the merchant guild, he often makes trade deals involving rare books and encyclopedias. Venturing to the nearest aisle, you run your fingers over leather-bound book spines. “What should I read this time? It is my birthday, so maybe something special…”

You further wander, heading in the direction of the books your mother disapproves of you reading. It is mostly books on sea navigation, sailing, and shipbuilding. All information your mother deems irrelevant in your education. Reaching a section that holds a multitude of maps your father is fond of reviewing to find more ports to add to the Bonn empire, you pick up a few scrolls and curiously look at them.

One of the maps is of the Gecko Islands; Syrup Village is circled, and the familiar scrawls of your father’s handwriting dot the area around it. From the brief glances you have gotten of documents and the conversations you’ve overheard, Syrup Village is where all the ships in the Bonn Chestnut Trade Company come from. The ships are well-built and last through the weather of every Blue they cross. Abandoning the maps, you pick up a random book and open it. You are greeted with words and depictions of the construction of a lace factory. You close that book, making a face, and return it to its place on the shelf.

“Rather not,” you comment, moving on in hopes of a more interesting book to read. A few more minutes of wandering and you find a book that certainly piques your interest. It is a book on the politics of the marines, and more specifically, pirates. Your eyebrows rise in interest, and you pluck it from the shelf.

You’ve never really been informed about pirates; your mother calls them scum, and your father claims they are bad for business and nothing but conniving scoundrels. So you grow up knowing next to nothing about pirates. Walking towards the sitting area within the library, you open the book to a random page which holds a long list of pirates the marines are keeping track of at the time of the print. The main name that stands out, and that is at the top of the list, is Gol D. Roger. But the little symbol next to his name is clearly a mark of death.

“He certainly appears to be important,” you murmur to yourself, looking further down the list of names. You don’t recognize any of them, not that you are well-informed, but still, your mother gets the paper every morning and tuts over the news. You occasionally pick up the same names repeated over and over throughout the years. Pausing in step, you turn the page and just catch the words ‘Warlords’ and ‘Emperors,’ when footsteps have you on high alert. You snap the book shut and hold it behind you as your father appears, a parchment in hand. He pauses in step upon seeing you.

“Linaria, your mother is looking for you,” he speaks before eyeing the hands you hold behind your back. The book now seems like it is made of lead. “Can I presume that the book you are hiding is not one your mother would approve of?”

“It’s just a book,” you argue, arms dropping to your sides. “How exactly is that dangerous to me?”

“Your mother’s decision is your mother’s decision, Linaria,” your father says, not questioning his wife’s authority when it comes to your upbringing. “Hand it over, your mother is expecting you in the tea room.” With a grudging sigh, you do as he asks and head for the exit. Your mother is waiting for you in the tea room? Last you knew, there weren’t any events on this day that involved the tea room. Perhaps she has added an extra item to the agenda. At least you could have your favorite tea since it is your birthday.

Walking swiftly towards the tea parlor, you breeze by several maids and butlers who curtsey and bow to you as you pass. Before entering the tea parlor, you pause to collect yourself. Then, taking a deep breath and straightening your posture, you enter the room. Your mother is sitting on one of the couches, teacup in hand.

“Father said you were looking for me, Mother?” you softly speak, for ladies never raise their voices. She doesn’t turn her head to look at you.

“We have a guest, Linaria.” A guest? Your eyes follow your mother’s gaze to see a marine sitting on the couch opposite her. What is a marine doing at the manor? And one so high-ranking! “Greet our guest,” your mother hisses to you. You clear your throat and turn to the marine.

“Forgive me for not doing so earlier, I am Linaria. Welcome to the manor,” you greet like the perfect daughter your mother wants you to be.

“Thomas Collins, my fair lady, Commodore of the Marines on Kuri Island.” The man, Thomas, answers. “May I offer you a happy birthday? Your mother has sung praises of you and is very excited about this cornerstone in your life.” Your mother is telling praises of you? A shocking thought as she has been nothing but critical of you as of late, but this isn’t a time you can question her motives. Thomas rises from his seat and strides over to you, his figure towering over your small frame.

“Oh, thank you, I am very excited to see where my life takes me,” you tell him, your fingers coming together in front of you and winding together in a nervous habit.

“It would be rude of me to drop by without a gift for such a lovely young woman, and I took it upon myself to prepare something I thought would be fitting for a woman as beautiful as you.” Thomas continues, reaching into his coat and pulling out a slim box.

“Oh, sir, you didn’t need to prepare such a thing,” you say, almost stuttering over your words in surprise. You can feel your mother’s eyes glaring daggers into you for even thinking of refusing such a thing. Nonetheless, you take the slim box from his gloved fingers.

“You are to be the next Lady of the Bonn Chestnut Trade Company; I think you are deserving of your first piece of jewelry.” You open the box to reveal a delicate bracelet with flowers and gems that sparkle. It really is a lovely piece if the flowers hadn’t been roses. You force your face into one of happiness and thank him.

“It is absolutely beautiful; thank you for picking such a wondrous piece,” you reply in faux happiness, fluttering your eyelashes and plastering a smile you’ve perfected over the years. He looks pleased, very pleased by your reaction, and gestures toward the bracelet.

“May I?” he presses, and you, of course, relent, allowing the strange Commodore to carefully wrap the beautiful bracelet around your wrist. Not much is said after that, as Thomas indicates that he has to return to duty and bids his farewell. You don’t dare speak until you are sure that he is long gone.

“Mother, who was that, and why was he here?” you question, turning to your mother still sipping tea. She sighs and lowers the tea to the table in front of her before rising from her seat. Striding over to you, her cold eyes scan you.

“That was Commodore Thomas Collins; he is in charge of the marine base on Kuri Island and the surrounding archipelago.” She informs you, mouth pressed in a tight line. “And you are to be his bride.”

“Bride,” you repeat incredulously, thinking for a moment that you have misheard her. “Mother, what are you speaking of? I do not remember him proposing to me!”

“Of course not, you silly girl, it is an arranged marriage to ensure the success and power of our family and business.” Your jaw nearly drops open.

“You can’t just make decisions about my life like that,” you exclaim, your voice raised and eyes flashing in anger. “I’m not going to marry a man I don’t know and certainly not because you tell me to!”

Your head whips to the side, and you take a stumbling step backward before you even know what happens. Raising a hand to your stinging cheek, you let out a gasp at the sharp pain radiating across your face. You look at your mother, eyes filled with hurt and anger. She points her finger at you.

“You are to do exactly as I tell you, Linaria.” Your mother growls to you, seizing your chin and forcing you to look into her cold eyes. “And that means you will marry.”

Present Day

Sitting on one of the stacked crates, you stare at the little bracelet hanging from your wrist while feeling sick just looking at it. Your other hand reaches for the delicate chain, and you harshly pull on what feels like a shackle until it snaps. Then you throw it as hard as you can over the side of the ship you escaped Kuri Island on. Your wrist hurts from the metal digging into your skin, but at the same time, you feel like a huge weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

The ship gently rocks as it sails, but you find the sway almost comforting while you hold yourself and look out across the water. This is the farthest you’ve ever been from your home, and the salt air is an entirely new experience. Turning your head away from the pristine waters, you find several of the men staring at you. Right, you begged your way onto this ship; you might as well compensate them for the trouble. So you reach back and undo the clasp to your necklace and hold it out.

“Compensation,” you speak, offering the glimmering jewelry piece to them. “It’s worth a lot of Berry, that I know.”

“We don’t want your jewelry, madam,” the red-haired captain, the one who’d effortlessly tossed you over his shoulder and carried you away, speaks. You are pretty sure the others have been calling him Shanks. “But we would like to know what had you fleeing from your own wedding.”

“It was arranged,” you answer, chewing on your lip and twisting your hands together. “I didn’t get a say in it; Mother organized the whole thing to ensure the family business would remain successful and in power.”

“You must be a Bonn then,” Shanks comments, thinking over who has the most power on Kuri Island. The Bonn’s. “Who did she want you to marry?”

“The Commodore.” Several of the pirates let out whistles and shake their heads.

“Don’t blame ya’ for runnin’,” one even comments. “That is one crooked marine.” You rub your tired eyes and sigh.

“I do not wish for you to get wrapped up in my personal business. You can drop me off at the next island. I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

“You are hardly a burden,” Shanks corrects you, eyes scanning your figure more thoroughly now that you aren’t trembling violently from fear. It is clear that you’ve been running for a while when you approach him, but now he can see little nicks and cuts on your skin and smell the metallic tang of blood clinging to your body. “I think you’ve had a long day; you could do for some rest.”

“It’s not even half-past ten.” His eyebrow rises at you, and he nods his chin.

“And you might look the picture of perfection, but even I can tell that you are exhausted. We shall talk more of this tonight; in the meantime, you should get some rest and get out of that dress. It’s very…” Shanks struggles to come up with a word to describe someone as beautiful as you, yet so out of place.

“Ostentatious?” you offer lightly. “You should have seen me with the train. My mother tried to drown me in lace.” Your light jab at your own outfit brings out a couple of chuckles, and the men are glad to see the brief smile upon your face. It is much preferred to your distress.

Shanks has directed you to his own room, for it is the best furnished for a lady such as yourself, and you can have privacy there. After changing out of your dress, you can get some much-needed sleep, and then finally the full picture of the woman he’d helped can be rendered. So as you clutch your arms to your chest and look around the cabin in curiosity, Shanks digs through a chest of spare clothing to find something your size.

You know he is the captain, but he doesn’t stand up to the stereotype you had pictured in your head about what a captain is supposed to be like. The space is sparsely furnished but homely. Maps, artworks, and a few weapons you have never seen before dot the walls, and the quilt thrown over the hanging bed in the corner looks handmade and well-used. For some reason, the sight of a threadbare and well-used homemade quilt comforts you.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much but spare tunics and pants,” Shanks speaks, taking the clothes from his trunk and turning around. He pauses in place, staring at the dirt-riddled and crusty wound on your shoulder. He’d been so shocked by your appearance and beauty he’d overlooked something so critical. “We need to take care of that.”

“Take care of what?” you question, half turning in place with a quizzical look on your face. Shanks sets the clothes on a nearby table and nods to your shoulder.

“You have quite the nasty wound on your shoulder, madam,” Shanks speaks while inspecting torn skin littered with dirt, rocks, and grass. “You must have been running on adrenaline to not be feeling this.”

“I was in a hurry,” you meekly speak, trying not to shiver as soft and gentle fingers prod broken skin.

“I can imagine,” he replies, brows scrunching together. “I don’t think you need stitches; it’s not too deep. But you are going to need it cleaned before it gets infected.”

“Very well,” you sigh. “Thank you for informing me. I will take care of that.” Shanks can’t help but snort at your words.

“And how do you plan on tending to it yourself?” The scathing look you shoot over your shoulder makes Shanks’ smile widen, for he doubts you even realize you are giving him such a look.

“I am already intruding as it were,” you snip out, crossing your arms.

“And you are my guest,” Shanks enunciates. “As long as you are on my ship, you shall be treated as such. Now please, take a seat; this won’t take long.”

You really don’t want to, for you already feel like you are intruding enough just by asking for passage off Kuri Island… but his gentle eyes are insistent. But not in a bad way. So your protest dies down on your tongue, and you do as he so gently asks.

Date Published: 11/19/23

Last Edit: 7/29/24

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#one piece shanks #one piece #opla #opla shanks #shanks x y/n #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #shanks x you

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storiesofaot · 10 days ago

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Short Ramble: I came across @creativepromptsforwriting 's prompt list for February earlier today, and I ended up impulsively writing something for today's prompt. I might try and do a few of them (of varying length) since the list does look very intriguing, but we'll see how it goes. Writing has been a bit slow lately, maybe this will help? Okay, ramble is over.

Letters With Levi

Day 1: Love Letters

Rating: G

Word Count: 982

High-School AU. It doesn't really matter, but I imagined this being set in like 2007-ish.

These weren’t love letters. That’s what Levi told himself over and over. He unfolded the piece of paper Mike had just pushed toward him and started reading whatever she had scribbled on the note. They were just letters.

It had all started three weeks ago, when he and Hange were paired up for a book review project. She had been very enthusiastic about the novel they’d received, while he hadn’t been able to muster much motivation for the task. But, as expected, she had been the driving force behind their project, and to his surprise, they were done well ahead of time, leaving them with an entire period free and with nothing to do.

It was during those forty-five minutes that they started talking more intensely. She was the new student, having moved to the small town he lived in just a couple of months ago. He had mostly observed her from afar, her outgoing and jittery nature making it difficult for him to connect with her. But apart from the bits and pieces he had noticed, he hadn’t really known much about her. That all changed on that Monday morning.

During their work-free lesson, she shared all her thoughts, likes, and quirks with him, and somehow managed to worm a lot of personal information out of him in return. He didn’t understand how she did it, but he ended up sharing things he’d never told anyone before.

They were in the middle of discussing a movie they had both recently watched when their English teacher announced it was time for everyone’s presentations, which meant Levi had to move back to his seat, two rows behind her.

“I’ll write you a note. We can’t just leave this hanging,” Hange said as he stood up, waving a piece of paper in the air. When he nodded silently, she gave him a smile that made his fifteen-year-old heart stumble in a way it never had before.

As soon as the first pair stood in front of the class, Mike leant backwards and dropped a folded piece of paper into his lap. Luckily, their teacher was focused on the talking students, so Levi had all the time he needed to read through the note and reply.

That was how Mike became their message-bearer. But most importantly, it was the start of a series of passed-along notes, a routine that would continue throughout the coming weeks.

“I really liked our conversation!” Hange said at the end of the lesson, catching him at the door. “We should do that more often, don’t you think?”

He didn’t know how to reply to that, so once again, he simply nodded and wordlessly handed her their sheet of paper. As if to say, Just reach out whenever you’d like. He didn’t expect it, but she seemed to understand what he meant and laughed. And to his delight, she not only safely stored away their note but also asked him if he wanted to have lunch with her.

The following day, she sent him another note, this time during their biology lesson. She wrote about wanting to collect their little papers and mentioned she had thought of calling the series Notes with Levi. “But with the amount of text I’m writing, these aren’t just notes anymore. So I’d say Letters with Levi is a better name, don’t you think?”

It took him every ounce of willpower not to smile at that. Was he becoming a little too invested in their interactions already? He wasn’t sure he'd ever felt this way about something so... simple before.

By the end of the week, those notes had become a daily routine, and he caught himself looking forward to each class he had with her.

“Seems like you’ve got yourself a girlfriend,” Mike teased him as they walked home after school had ended on Friday afternoon. Levi shot him an annoyed glance and ignored the comment, but of course, his friend didn’t let up on him.

“I hadn’t pegged you as the romantic type, writing love letters and all that,” Mike continued, nudging his arm playfully. “But hey, it suits you. Quiet teenager who writes cheesy but deep letters to his lover. Should be a trope.”

“Shut up,” Levi grumbled, shoving his shoulder against his friend with enough force to make Mike stumble and nearly walk into a streetlamp.

That was the first time he connected his written conversations with Hange to love letters, and his ears immediately turned bright red.

Those weren’t love letters, he told himself after saying goodbye to Mike. It wasn’t even love. They were just… friends.

That was the thought he kept repeating to himself over the next two weeks, both during their written conversations and their chats at lunch. She always seemed to be around whenever she could, and without realising it, he found himself looking out for her as soon as recess started.

No, they weren’t love letters, he reminded himself once again three weeks later as he read her response to his question, already thinking about what to write back. But when he reached the last paragraph of her letter—a phone number with a few words written underneath—he couldn't help but wonder if, at some point, it might actually turn into that.

“I thought we could continue our conversations over the weekend, if you’d like. You can text me, or, you know, we could talk on the phone. I’d really like that, it’s so quiet without you. So, if you’re free and want to, just give me a call."

It took him a lot of effort to push past his nervousness, but on Saturday afternoon, he called her for the first time. He’d never forget the excitement in her voice when she recognised him, and how it made his heart trip over itself again.

And that was how Letters with Levi turned into Phone Calls with Levi.

#levihan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #aot #attack on titan #mike zacharias #miche zacharias #fanfiction #flash fiction february 🌹#(<- in case I end up with more than one ficlet xD)#high school au #mystoriesofaot #don't know where this “plot” came from tbh xD #i guess “I crave fluff so I create fluff” could be fitting? 😅#aka senseless fluff on a cold but sunny day #levihan fanfiction

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chaenniz · 2 years ago

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maybe - kim chaewon x reader

A/N : i promise i’ll get to writing the reqs in my inbox, i’ve just been busy w upcoming exams 😭😭 hope this feeds yall though ‼️

genre ;; fluff

wc ;; 979

as the final buzzer sounded, you let out a victorious yell. you had just led your basketball team to a hard-earned victory against your rival school, and you were feeling elated.

but as you looked across the gym, you saw kim chaewon, the captain of the cheerleading squad, rolling her eyes at you.

“what’s her problem?” your teammate, yunjin, had asked you.

you shrug and shake your head in annoyance, “no idea.”

it was always like this between you two. when you two first met, it left a bad first impression to both parties involved.

you roughly remember the first time you met chaewon. it was the start of freshman year for the both of you, and unluckily enough, you two had been assigned as partners for a chemistry project.

at first it was okay, the two of you were able to work cooperatively strictly on an academic level, but that all fell apart when you received your shared project back.

a big red 74% was marked on the project. this caused upset between the two of you, blaming each other for not reviewing the rubric criteria enough.

since then, you and chaewon would constantly found yourselves at each others throats.

over the next few weeks after the victorious game, you and chaewon found yourselves even more at odds.

every time you saw her roll her eyes at you, you felt a surge of anger and competitiveness. you couldn't stand the way she seemed to be rooting against you, and you were determined to show her up.

one day, after a particularly heated game, you found yourself face to face with chaewon in the locker room. you had just changed out of your basketball uniform, and she was still in her cheerleading outfit.

"you were lucky today," chaewon spat, her eyes flashing with anger.

"lucky?" you scoffed. "we worked hard for that win. you should try it sometime."

"i work hard too," she shot back. "just because i don't sweat doesn't mean i don't put in the effort."

you rolled your eyes. "whatever. you cheerleaders have it easy. all you have to do is dance around and smile."

chaewon's expression darkened. "you have no idea what it takes to be a cheerleader," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "we train just as hard as you do, if not harder. we have to maintain perfect form and technique, all while making it look effortless. and unlike you, we have to do it with a smile on our faces, no matter what."

you felt a pang of guilt as you listened to chaewon speak. maybe you had been unfair in your assumptions about cheerleading. maybe it was just as tough as basketball, in its own way.

"i'm sorry," you said, realizing that you had been too quick to judge and took it too far. "i didn't mean to belittle what you do. i know it takes a lot of hard work and dedication."

chaewon's expression softened, and you felt a strange flutter in your chest. "apology accepted," she said with a small smile.

over the next few days, you found yourself thinking more and more about chaewon. maybe she wasn't so bad after all. maybe there was more to her than just a pretty face and a cheerleading uniform.

you found yourself paying more attention to her during games, and you couldn't help but notice how graceful and poised she was. there was a certain beauty in the way she moved, and you found yourself admiring her from afar.

‘no wonder she’s treasured as the school’s beauty’ you find yourself thinking more often.

as you were walking through the school hallway, you saw chaewon sitting alone at a table, her head buried in a book. you hesitated for a moment before approaching her.

"hey," you said, trying to sound casual. "what are you reading?"

chaewon looked up, surprised. "oh, just a book for english class," she said, showing you the cover. "it's pretty boring, to be honest."

you smiled. "yeah, I know how that goes. do you want to grab a coffee or something? maybe we can help each other study."

chaewon looked hesitant for a moment, but then she smiled. "sure," she said. "that sounds nice."

as you sat in the coffee shop, sipping your drinks and poring over your textbooks, you found yourself enjoying chaewon's company more than you had expected. she was smart and funny, and you found yourself laughing at her jokes and enjoying her insights.

as the weeks went on, you and chaewon spent more and more time together, studying, going out for coffee, and even greeting each other in the halls, much to everybody’s surprise.

you found that you had a lot in common, despite your initial rivalry, and you began to feel a deep connection to her.

one night, after a particularly intense basketball game, you found yourself alone with chaewon in the gym. you had both stayed late to clean up, and as you were putting away the equipment, chaewon turned to you.

"i need to tell you something," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"what is it?" you asked, feeling a strange flutter in your chest.

"i think i like you," chaewon said, her eyes locked on yours.

you felt your heart skip a beat. "i think i like you too," you said, a grin spreading across your face.

chaewon smiled, and then she leaned in, pressing her lips to yours in a soft, tender kiss. you melted into her embrace, feeling a rush of warmth and joy.

your team was currently in the final round of playoffs, adrenaline at an all time high. you search the crowd for a certain cheerleader.

and as you looked out over the cheering crowds, you knew that there was no one you'd rather have by your side than your girlfriend, kim chaewon.

A/N ;; i feel like this was barely even a fic 💀 also this is called maybe because as i was reading it over i swear i said it like 8 diff times 😵‍💫

#kim chaewon x reader #chaewon x reader #kim chaewon #le sserafim #le sserafim x reader #fluff #wlw #help ap is kicking my ass #chaenniz

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kaija-rayne-author · 3 months ago

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Dragon Age Veilguard wrap up review and final thoughts

So… I wrote that string of reviews (section one starts here) while I was playing the game. I’d write them either before or after logging in for the day, so I wouldn’t forget anything I wanted to mention.

Spoilers for Dragon Age Veilguard. Tried to keep them to a minimum, but they’re there.

My thoughts on breaking the media blackout I stayed under while I played Veilguard to completion.

A little about me. I’m an editor by trade. I’m an author and a reviewer. I’m a pretty heavily left leaning, queer as fuck, non-binary person, so I’m not one of the awful reviewers who are causing so many problems from what I’ve heard. No one paid me for a review or to write anything. I’ve played the game to completion and watched the credits all the way through to that awful last scene. These are just my thoughts and my knowledge. And honestly? My broken heart.

I’m just someone who has absolutely loved Dragon Age from the moment I first turned on DAO. Because I’m an editor and a writer… my reviews tend to be more in depth than an average person’s? Maybe? I have a medical background (Forensic Anthropologist) and I legitimately read encyclopedias for fun.

In case you haven’t guessed yet. I’m autistic/ADHD (AuDHD). Dragon Age has been a hyperfocus/special interest of mine for years. I’m absolutely a lore fiend. I probably know more about the lore than many people actually working at BioWare. Especially if Veilguard is anything to judge by.

Also, this is all my off the cuff writing. I haven't the time, energy, or desire to edit them.

The problem with Dragon Age Veilguard… well. There’re a lot of problems with it. I think what it really comes down to is poor adhesion to the established lore, a crappy fighting and levelling system, and poor writing. And with Trick Weekes as Lead Writer? I never in a million years would’ve thought I’d have to say that about Veilguard.

I’ve enjoyed Weekes’ writing for a few years now. Two of my favourite Dragon Age books are by them. I really wish I could write a positive review for Veilguard. But I just can’t.

There were some things I liked about it. I liked some of the mechanics. Ziplines and the Elven light puzzles were pretty awesome. I liked how some of the streamlining made the game better. I liked how the logs were a lot easier to walk across than they were in any of the previous games. Some of the characters grew on me despite their poor writing. I liked the map when I was at the Lighthouse. Being able to see when and where a companion wanted to talk to me was great. I liked the wardrobe and how nice and easy it made changing how your gear looked. There were probably a few other things I liked. I tried to be scrupulous in my review series on saying both the positive and the negative. So if you’ve got the time to read that long thing, it’s probably worth it if you’re on the fence about buying and playing it.

And if you had a hand in making that travesty of a CRPG? You really should read it. For professional development, if nothing else.

If you’re Solavellan? I’ll just flat out tell you not to. It’s not worth it. There is no happy ending for Solas and Inky. There’s no intimate scene. Every single thing most Solavellan’s have been hoping for… for ten bloody years? It’s not there. And in fact, they did Solas so dirty. There were memories of him. I wanted memories! I did not want memories of every awful thing he’d ever been forced to do as a rebel leader. They hammered home how awful Solas was with a freaking jackhammer.

As a diehard DA fan and a committed Solavellan? It was an outright painful game to play. It really hurt. And then to see his horrific wolf form (he honestly looks like a Chinese crested dog on a really bad day. I really wish I were joking.) And then to not have anything resembling a happy ending? It’s not worth your time, and it definitely isn’t worth your money. Fanfic writers will have to heal our broken hearts, because Weekes certainly did not.

No. Trick Weekes. That was not even a suggestion of a happy ending. And I will honestly never trust you again after you actually tweeted that to me. You gave me hope. And there was no reason to hope.

So… yeah. I’ll never be able to cover all the bad in Veilguard in a short (ish) review. I’m trying to keep this short!

I’m not good at that. For what it’s worth. XD.

The Lore.

There is so much Lore they had to use for inspiration. Three full games, five books, six comics, at least two coffee table/art books and probably stuff I don’t know about. They had all of that to use as inspiration. What little they did use? Was so twisted it was hardly recognizable. I went into more detail in the longer review series so I won’t here. But they hardly used the amazing amount of Lore at all. They shoved it under the rug of bad writing to make a very unsightly lump to anyone with eyes to see it.

It’s almost like they were so eager to shuffle Solas off so they could move on to writing a new game in a different age that they just… I don’t even know. Treated him poorly doesn’t begin to cover it. Screwed up the story by sidelining a plot-necessary character also doesn’t cover it. Which as both an editor and an author, I really do not understand. You don’t do that with such a plot heavy character. It leaves the consumers unhappy.

After the game play reveal. I honestly didn’t have a lot of hope. I knew Varric’s fate even before that. (It’s not good. In case you’re wondering.) Becoming an editor has absolutely ruined me by making it easy to guess what’s going to happen.

The Writing.

I’ve actually heard and seen the writers saying they were pleased with how the characters came out. Professionally? And as kindly as I possibly can? May I suggest you all learn how to write better? Most of those characters and the plot were just so poorly written. The romances were ridiculous. And I’m a romance author? So I kinda know what I’m talking about? At every juncture, you all chose the most basic, most puerile options. The only surprises for me in that game were how you completely ignored the Lore and how bad the writing was.

I think Veilguard would’ve been perfectly fine as a non-Dragon Age action RPG. And for anyone who loves it for that… I’m truly happy for you.

But that’s not how it was marketed. It had all the right Dragon Age voice actors, character names, location names… but that is not Dragon Age. You’d need to actually use the lore for that. They did not. Or if they used a little? It was heavily retconned and twisted out of recognition. The only thing even remotely close to being like a Dragon Age game were the settings, environments, and scenery. Those were phenomenal and the only thing that held that travesty of a game together. Everything else? Goddess. How do you fail so horribly at something when you have every resource you could possibly need to make it good?

Because it could actually have been good. It could’ve been phenomenal. If they’d actually written that game for Dragon Age fans? You know… us middle-aged or slightly younger/older gamers who’ve lusted for another DA game for years? If they’d paid attention even a little bit to the Lore? If they hadn’t side-lined a plot-important character? If they hadn’t retconned soooo much that I often felt like I had whiplash playing it? If they hadn’t stripped it down to the very bare bones of mediocrity? If they hadn’t basically made it for children? While condescending to them? (Heads up… kids hate being condescended to.)

If they hadn’t nerfed rogues so badly that I don’t know why they bothered to call them rogues at all? You cannot pick locks, hide in shadows, sneak, set or disarm traps, brew potions or bombs… absolutely none of the fun stuff that makes a rogue a rogue is in Veilguard. If you’re a rogue player? Skip it. You’ll just be as disappointed as I am.

Nor can you garden. You can’t make potions or bombs or… anything. You can’t craft anything yourself. You go to someone called The Caretaker at the Lighthouse and use everything you’ve collected by smashing far too many barrels (why… why with the barrels?) for them to upgrade your stuff. You can’t really dress up your companions in funny clothing or armour. They’ve scraped most of the detail out of Veilguard like they were carving a pumpkin and had to get the guts out. The problem is? Those guts are needed for any story. It’s called world building.

Get this. BioWare… BIOWARE removed blood splatter from Veilguard. There’s no toggle I can find that makes it even possible. They truly made this game for kids and not for the middle-aged gamers who�� y’know… usually have money to spend on games. Do NOT ask me how that made any kind of sense. Their logo for at least two games was a blood splatter Dragon ffs. And now there’s no blood splatter option in game. I just absolutely cannot understand it.

The fighting system.

Dear gods. The fighting system. So first? They tied how often your companions get skill points to how high their bond is with you. You increase your bond with them by taking them with you (and you can only take two) and doing their quests, etc. But do you know what that means in functionality? If you’re not a tank player? You’re basically cream cheese. I’m not a professional gamer. But gaming is my number one form of entertainment. I play on hard/ultra hard for most games I play. And a lot of them are live-fighting types like DAV was trying to be.

Guess whose rogue had a permanent tattoo of ‘I have aggro please come eat me now’ on their forehead? Mine. I have a very intimate understanding of the inside animations of the dragon’s mouths. If they’re going to keep that crappy leveling system, the least they could do is let us all have the ‘no death’ toggle on every level. Won’t matter to me because I can’t imagine ever playing it again.

I lost 14 hours of my life with the crashing, glitching, and reloading I had to go through to get the damned thing to even run. (And it’s not my computer. It has an ssd. The video drivers are all updated and up to snuff. It’s around a little over midway between necessary and recommended specs. It’s just a shitty game.) It’s a shame I can’t charge BioWare for those lost hours of my life. How could they have possibly thought that this game was ready for release?

If you want to know the rest of the negatives (and a few more positives) the whole review series is where you’ll find them.

But between the actual craptastic showing of Veilguard and that last scene taking all the agency away from every character who ever came before? Oh, and with the bad guys from across the sea wearing something an awful lot like a burqa? You know… the long black robes and veils many Afghani people and other Muslims wear? Nah. I’m done. Finite. I may occasionally enjoy the first three games. But Veilguard does not exist for me. And anything they make going forward doesn’t exist for me. That last scene… WTAF were they thinking? I actually can’t believe out of all the people who must have worked on that game that no one else made that connection about maybe insinuating that people wearing black robes and veils who live on the other side of the sea are evil is maybe a bad thing!?

I just can’t anymore. If you’re looking for a no-brain needed, kid oriented, action RPG (they really did simplify this soooo much for children that it’s absolutely condescending) then you’ll probably be fine with it.

If you love the Lore as much as you love the world? If you play rated M games with romanceable companions for the intimate scenes and the romance? (You’ll be disappointed.) If you have a few thoughts on whether it’s a great idea to remove the agency of all previous characters in the entire series as being bad? If you think maybe it’s a bad idea to insinuate people in burqas are evil? If you play anything other than a tank? Veilguard is not a game for you.

#da veilguard #dragonage #veilguard #dragon age veilguard #solas #dragon age #bioware critical #bioware #Veilguard #Review #Dragon Age Veilguard Review #Game Review

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alexanderwales · 2 days ago

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Book Review: Fall; or, Dodge in Hell

I stayed up late to finish Fall; or, Dodge in Hell. I had initially thought that I would give it a proper review, but I'm not really sure that it's suited to that. [Edit: This is, by some measure, a proper review, spoilers follow.]

I'm pretty sure that I got this book on preorder whenever it came out, as I'm a fan of Stephenson. The blurb was essentially "you remember Dodge from Reamde? He gets uploaded to the cloud!" And I thought "yeah, from Stephenson? I'd read that". And then it showed up on my doorstep, and I read a chapter, and wasn't really feeling its hook in me, so I read something else instead, and the "to read" pile grew larger, and eventually Fall moved down to the basement, where books only rarely escape from. I started reading it again mostly to have a break from Nate Silver's new book.

Fall can be divided roughly in three, though they're not actual books. The first part is everything in the Meatverse, the second part is most of what goes on with Dodge in the Bitverse, and the third part is the Quest that makes up the last third of the book.

The Meatverse stuff is good, the Quest is goodish, and the Dodge stuff is bad. Unfortunately, it's all interwoven, and the ending is pretty crap, though I don't expect anything else from Stephenson.

Neal Stephenson is, fundamentally, an ideas guy. You read him for his ideas, because there's a new one on every page, illuminating something that's caught his mind, and you bask in the way he puts things, what he calls forth, and then ... kind of suffer through all the stuff where you're just not interested. That's my opinion on how to read him, anyway, and I do think it applies to some other scifi authors as well.

The reason I think the Bitverse section sucks is that it's repeating the same "trick" over and over and over, which is that the Land is being built piece by piece, and Dodge is deriving the world from a combination of base principles and half-memories of life before he died. I mostly found this annoying after the eighth time it happened, and it was all made worse by the way it was written, which is in a sort of overhanded biblical way that grated on me.

The whole thrust of this virtual world being created from nothing is also stupid in a way that I'd be willing to accept for the sake of a novel, if anything was ever made of it. Dodge essentially hallucinates the entire Land, and others follow after him, and there's a Pantheon that's formed because of unequal distribution of processing power, and ... unfortunately I agree with El, the ostensible villain, who complains that no, this is absolutely not what the afterlife for humans should be, mistakes were made, why are people still stuck in physical forms, why is there hunger and need, why does this world show no ambition in providing for the people within it, either physically, intellectually, or spiritually?

And rather than looking in on what's happening and being horrified about it, the people of the Meatverse just keep adding on more processing power and booting up more scanned people into it, and I don't really understand the tenets of the worldbuilding here. Surely a billionaire would look at this and say "wow, that sucks, now that we have better brain-scanning and understanding of all this, maybe we get a better virtual heaven that has some interoperability with the Meatverse and actually preserves identity in some way".

But no, what starts as an experiment becomes something out of control and all-consuming. What happened to any competing attempts at a different "afterlife", if any, are left as an exercise for the reader. The book ends with the implication that biological humanity is just going to die out and be entirely contained within the virtual realm, tended to by bots. The idea of anyone disagreeing with this plan (or eventuality) and what they might do about it is left as an exercise to the reader. It seems to me like a grim fate, albeit maybe a better one that humanity is actually destined for.

I also think that one of the most interesting tricks the novel can pull, given its conceit, is to have interplay between Meatverse and Bitverse, ways in which the events of one impact the other. And this, sadly, does not amount to much in the end. A lot of it is left as an exercise for the reader, including what's going to happen in the aftermath of the final battle. That people from Meatverse become people in Bitverse is not really played with all that much. That the Meatverse can, in some sense, communicate with the Bitverse is not given all that much thought either. And direct interaction of Meatverse with Bitverse in any way beyond insertion of souls is used only once and never again, in spite of all the incentive to do so. All feels like it comes up short.

The last bit of the novel, with the Quest, I actually did enjoy ... but I enjoyed it as a fantasy novel more than I enjoyed it as a part of this novel. It goes along at a nice pace, it's written pretty well (if with the occasional bits of Stephenson's characteristic abruptness), there are interesting ideas sewn into it ... but the final battle isn't satisfying, there are no clever tricks or turns that complete the thing, and far too much is left opaque, unsaid, and left off the page. I enjoyed it anyhow.

Overall, I'm going to say this is probably my least favorite Stephenson book, mostly because I come for the ideas, and some of the ideas are retreading very well-worn ground for me (cryonics, virtualization, worldbuilding), while others seem a bit too half-baked. It's got all the usual Stephenson flaws, which is always a little disappointing, because ... come on, writing a good ending is a skill, you can learn this skill.

I'll still read the next one though, if there is one.

#fall or dodge in hell #reviews

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aballadforbarbatos · 5 months ago

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fanfic

fairly long i guess. i’m going through a bit of a mephisto brainrot right now tbh; took a long break from obey me and came back to see 1500 AP. immediately spent all that to get a mephisto icon when the card was at level 10

was it worth it? hmm.

you have no goddamn idea what prompted you to do this

YES you applied human logic and it turned out to be right but maybe you should just stop doing that. stop thinking

mephistopheles had been a bit too mean for your liking. that’s what kicked this whole thing off to start with

maybe he didn’t mean it. maybe he did. anyway it ruined your whole day

satan had noticed your mood change and suggested something nice, which was:

“why not read something nice and fluffy?”

and then the idea had stuck itself in your head and just not let go

you do a quick search on doogle, and to your delight, the demons have not let you down!

searching up “mephistopheles x reader” returned thousands of results, and while you knew there’d be a lot of ooc writing, the idea of mephisto being not mean to you was enough to make you excited :D

you want to open up a fic right there and then, but something makes you stop. the brothers would get awfully suspicious if they saw you all blushy and giggly and pink…

you leave it for lights out where you can get all blushy and giggly and pink in secret.

you see mepisto the next day and excitedly wave hello at him. he looks at you strangely. good enough!

and then it kind of becomes an addiction. you can’t read anything else and your textbooks are a struggle when you’re thinking about all the fake mephisto romances you could be reading instead

satan asks you to review a book he found and you have to turn him down saying that you’re reading a book that’s vaguely related to horses but he wouldn’t like it because the narrator sounds like lucifer

you’re lying of course, but he doesn’t know that

and then one day, when the fanfics aren’t hitting the spot, a new idea comes to you. what if you wrote your OWN mephisto x reader fic?!

you totally brush over the fact that you actually know mephisto irl and sometimes even have conversations with him. if you just stick to the ooc template that everyone else uses it’s like a totally different person

so you jump on the devildom version of ao3 and start posting. you do this for many, many months and nobody in your circle finds out, but BOY does that fic get popular

you end up skipping a chapter because of an event and then promise to release it on wednesday, but then wednesday rolls around and you still haven’t done it AND THERE’S A STUDENT COUNCIL MEETING

the clock is ticking away and you have stuff to do, like it’s also your turn to cook dinner and you’re failing your classes, so you kind of have to go home like right now? you stick your hand up

“what’s up, MC?”

“can i go home? i really have to write this chapter.”

everyone perks up except for lucifer who’s ready to tell you off for not messing around. too bad he’s drowned out by literally everyone else

“wow! you’re writing a story?! what is it about?!”

no wonder you chose “nothinky” as your username for this fic cause you don’t think about the answer and how these demons that are crushing on you fairly obviously will react

“oh yeah it’s about me dating mephistopheles”

silence.

lucifer looks like he’s bitten into a lemon, which is kind of funny but you’ve just thought of a great line to put in your fic so you scribble that down instead

“mephistopheles. like the mephistopheles WE know or,”

“i didn’t know mephistopheles was a common name in the devildom. yeah it’s the mephisto we know?? oh, but i did write him based on the template that others used, so it’s really just a totally different person”

“wdym others.”

“well i did devour like hundreds of mephisto romance stories before this you know…”

“MC what the fuck.”

you keep going because basically you don’t know when to stop and if you keep going they might let you out earlier

“yeah i’m coming up to the part where he proposes but i was gonna ask one of you guys about that since i don’t know if it’s different down here. AND i need someone to read the story with me because even though he was supposed to be based on this template i feel like it’s a lot closer to the actual mephisto, and that would be a problem because i’m really starting to fall for this mephistopheles-not-mephistopheles”

that’s not a joke. sometimes you think about how crazy it is that you got here. as you’re explaining things about the story you don’t notice that everyone’s eyes have shifted from you to above you.

“i can teach you about how nobles propose, MC.”

you freeze up and feel your face burst into flames. you can’t even turn around and say “great!”

but if you had turned around, just by coincidence, just a few moments earlier, you would’ve seen him there, slack-jawed and eyes wide. a sight completely unbefitting of a noble.

how nice that you’ve made the first move for him.

and you said that you needed someone to read your story, didn’t you? perhaps he can show you how much better the real thing is.

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moonlightreal · 1 month ago

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How close is Strange Fate?

So where in the process of publication is Strange Fate? How confident can we be that we’ll really see it and can we make a ballpark guess at how long it could take?

And bonus question, how do we all sign up to get ARCs (Advance Reading Copies) from whatever publisher picks it up?

With these questions in my mind I set about my googling…

TLDR: it is far. Not close.

Thanks to my awesome comrade in the quest, @ljsmiths-thenightworld asking Ms. Smith, we know the books are finished. Really, actually finished. Or at least they SAY… and they’ve said it before… no. I’m gonna have faith, they’re really finished!

The manuscripts are with the literary agent who as far as I can tell does a whole bunch of things. He edits the book, makes recommendations how the book should be changed to better suit the market, and gets it shipshape to be presented to publishers. This seems to be the step Strange Fate is in now.

But it might also be in the next step: shopping the book around to the editors who work for different publishing companies. As the publisher for the rest of the series, Simon & Schuster has “right of first refusal” aka “dibs.” If S&S doesn’t want it, Ms. Smith’s agent should(?) be free to approach other publishers or self publish. Assuming she doesn’t have some kind of contract with S&S that is still valid after twenty years.

Google tells me it is possible for a publisher to buy the rights but never release the book, but that is not done very often because there would be no monetary gain for the publisher in it. It seems unlikely that any publisher would do this with Strange Fate.

If (strange) fate favors us, a publisher will want the book and there will be a contract drawn up. Another round of major edits might happen here since the publisher also has ideas about what kind of book they want to print and Ms. Smith will have to do rewrites to accommodate this.

This step is a bit worrying since the Night World books are so very nineties and if Strange Fate comes out vibing 2024 it’d be kind of a shame. Also Strange Fate is two books now, we don’t know how long they are but there might be a lot to re-edit.

Once a publisher buys the book they have to get the book print-shipshape, plan the release, design the cover, and pitch the book to bookstores to sell. They also have to print the physical books, starting with the Advance Reader Copies and then do a final edit for typos. Then there’s marketing. I wonder if S&S might do a new edition of the whole series as a way to build up hype, find new readers and remind everybody else what they’re getting-- but that would really stretch the timeline so let’s hope they don’t.

And at last the book will appear. The internet tells me “12 to 24 months or even longer” from the publishing contract to the release date. So when are we looking at seeing Strange Fate? Not anytime soon!

I’m thinking LJ Smith maybe should have waited until she had a publisher on the hook before she returned to public life and gave us this exciting news. It could be a long wait, and if I’m reading my results of googling right it could all still fall apart. If no publisher wants the book we’re all in the soup!

But LJ Smith and her team know much more about the situation than I do and they are confidant enough that things will go well that they decided now was a good time to appear on the internet and start some buzz. So maybe I should shake off my pessimism and trust that Ms. Smith’s team knows what they’re doing!

Oh, and those Advance Reader Copies? Here’s a nice blog post about how to get them. There doesn’t seem to be a really surefire way and your chances are better if you have a book blog, write a lot of reviews, or are some kind of influencer. And much as I love our tumblrs, I don’t think we count lol! So we’ve got 12-24 months to do lots of favors for some influencers so we can call them in at the right moment!

Another thing I was thinking of: contact Simon and Schuster and ask about Strange Fate. Say you’re excited about it. If they keep records of the subject of every call, at least they’d know a nonzero number of people are interested. I called the “Mail Toll Free Line” years ago when asking about Strange Fate. (I assume it’s supposed to be ‘main’ and that typo has been there since, what, 2017?)

So the results of my googling say we’re at least a year or two out from reading Strange Fate. What gloomy news! But the light in the darkness is that we’re still closer to Strange Fate than we’ve ever been. The books exist. If things fall through with the fist publisher, there are other publishers. There’s self-publishing. If LJ Smith isn’t able to manage it, her heirs might, much as we hope it doesn't come to that. If the books become lost media, at least they’re out there to be found.

#lj smith #strange fate #night world

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bigcats-birds-and-books · 11 days ago

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Books of 2025: January Wrap-Up.

I read a lot this month! Finally got around to the novella kick I had been hoping to do after NaNo (thanks, Tor!), PLUS the weather was fabulous for reading through some Snowy Winter Books, and I managed to daisy-chain between them really well!

Photos and/or reviews liked below:

TIME'S AGENT - ★★★ I had outrageously high hopes for this one (Pocket Worlds?! dimensional fuckery?! scientist MCs?!? queer?!), and unfortunately it turned out to be Just Okay for me. Very much a grief-centered book, very much a corporate hellscape future (I suppose it does have some Murderbot overlap, in that regard). How time worked in the Pocket Worlds was wild and cool, but I found the grief-strained relationship between the MC and her wife exasperating--maybe it'll hit right for allos, but it was not my cup of tea.

WELCOME TO THE GODDAMN ICE CUBE - ★★★½ I don't usually peruse non-fiction, but I'm doing a subscription box of nature writing this year, and they sent me this! Interesting cultural window to far-north Norway, very winter-approved, and pleasantly surprisingly queer. Glad I read it! (CW for much sexual assault/abuse, though, broadcasted clearly in the first couple pages.)

CAMP ZERO - ★★★½ This near future cli-fi was comped to Station Eleven (which I loved) and The Power (which I have not read), and takes place in far north Canada where something sus is going on at a building project. I was really enjoying it up until the last hundred pages or so, when things suddenly felt very rushed and thrown together--I might've given it 4 stars if she stuck the landing. Another good winter read!

BLACKFISH CITY - ★★★½ I can't decide if this is 3.5 or 4 stars, but since I didn't slam the 4-star button on Goodreads, I'm going to leave it as 3.5. I really liked this one, though! Love a good futuristic floating city in the Arctic. The worldbuilding was very cool, and the polar bear was appropriately terrifying. Had a lot of POVs and jumped kind of rapidly between them, which I didn't have a ton of bandwidth for this month. Overall had a good time! Might reread when the time is right.

LOST ARK DREAMING - ★★★★ I thought this one was also about a floating city based on (not looking closely enough at) the cover art, but it turns out those are Super High Rise Skyscrapers where the first few floors are underwater. More climate fiction, but this one takes place off the coast of Nigeria, and the comp to Rivers Solomon's THE DEEP is absolutely loadbearing (affectionate). Enjoyed this one a lot, too, to the tune of Some Of The Interspersed Poetry Made Me Feel Shrimp Emotions, And I Busted Out A Sticky-Tab To Flag A Few Lines.

THE DEAD CAT TAIL ASSASSINS - ★★★½ This was a lot more fun than I anticipated! I've really enjoyed all of Clark's novella-length work, and this one was funny and surprisingly weird and perfectly fucked up and unfortunately I cannot state specifics without being spoilery. Definitely worth picking up, if you like assassins and mind-bendy plot twists.

ADRIFT IN CURRENTS CLEAN AND CLEAR - ★★★½ One of my favorite January Traditions is reading the latest installment of Wayward Children. I really enjoyed the waterworld in this one, and All Things Russian are my jam! I should go back and reread Sugar Sky, though.

OVERGROWTH - ★★★★½ I received an ARC, and it was SO GOOD HOLY SHIT!!! I actually wrote a Thoughtful Review about it. Out May 6, 2025! Great things to look forward to!!

THE LANGUAGE OF THE NIGHT - 94*/259 pages read; will report back. Really enjoying this so far! It's very thoroughly introduced, and I appreciate the thematic organization over chronological. (*asterisk: By the page numbers, I'm up to 94, but there are definitely xl pages of General Introduction before the book itself starts--I am not exaggerating about Thoroughly Introduced haha.)

Under the Cut: A Note About ~*★Stars★*~

Historically, I have been Very Bad™ about assigning things Star Ratings, because it's so Vibes Heavy for me and therefore Contingent Upon my Whims. (Example: I don't like that stars are Odd, because that makes three the midpoint and things are rarely so truly mid for me)(I have hacked my way around this with a ½, which is really only applicable for me at ★★★ and up). Here is, generally, how I conceptualize stars:

★ - This was Bad. I would actively recommend that you do NOT read this one, no redeeming qualities whatsoever, not worth the slog. Save Yourself, It's Too Late For Me. Book goes in the garbage (donate bin).

★★ - This was Not Good. I would not recommend it, but it wasn't a total waste or wash--something in here held my interest/kept my attention/sparked some joy. I will not be rereading this ever. Save Yourself (Or Join Me In Suffering, That Seems Like A Cool Bonding Activity).

★★★ - This was Good/Fine/Okay/Meh. I don't care about this enough to recommend it one way or another. Perfectly serviceable book, held my interest, I probably enjoyed myself (or at least didn't actively loathe the reading). I don't have especially strong feelings. You probably don't need to save yourself from this one--if it sounds like your jam, give it a shot! Just didn't resonate with me particularly powerfully. I probably won't reread this unless I'm after something in particular.

★★★½ - I liked this! I'll probably recommend it if I know it matches someone's vibes or specific requests, but I didn't commit to a star rating on Goodreads. More likely to reread, but not guaranteed.

★★★★ - I really enjoyed this!! I would recommend it (sometimes with caveats about content warnings or such--I tend to like weird fucked up funny shit, and I don't have many hard readerly NO's). Not a perfect book for me by any means, but Very Good. This is something I would reread! Join me!!

★★★★★ - I LOVED THE SHIT OUT OF THIS, IT REWIRED MY BRAIN, WILL RECOMMEND TO ANYONE AND EVERYONE AT THE SLIGHTEST PROVOCATION (content warning caveats still apply--see 4-star disclaimer). Excellent book, I'll reread it regularly, I'll buy copies for all my friends, I'll try to convince all of Booklr to read it, PLEASE join me!!

#books of 2025 #books of 2025: january wrap-up #time's agent #brenda peynado #welcome to the goddamn ice cube #blair braverman #camp zero #michelle min sterling #blackfish city #sam j. miller #lost ark dreaming #suyi davies okungbowa #the dead cat tail assassins #p djèlí clark #adrift in currents clean and clear #seanan mcguire #overgrowth #mira grant #the language of the night #ursula k. le guin #SO MANY THINGS TO TAG HOLY SHIT #anyway. i also finished the knitting on two [REDACTED] this month (but they still need Actual Finishing)#and i've been Primary Caregiver for mom following open heart surgery (and still mostly working) so like. full month.#oh and we watched SWEET TOOTH and i watched some of ARCANE #AND i'm trying new meds lol #i may have burnt myself out on reading slightly but shhhh #i'm gonna finish binging this show and do a review for a friend and we'll reevaluate

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