#Mostly because these snippets already have victims

[skyrim-forever]

WIP WEDNESDAY

It's Wednesday again, let's see them wips <3 I was tagged by @ladytanithia for a wip whenever yesterday, thank you friend!

Tagging: @theoneandonlysemla @dirty-bosmer @lucien-lachance @umbracirrus @changelingsandothernonsense

@bougainvillea-and-saltwater @pocket-vvardvark @firefly-factory @hircines-hunter @captain-of-silvenar

I'd like to give a special shoutout to @lillxart who got me thinking more about the fun little emotion that is jealousy and I decided I wanted to tackle it more in-depth than I have before. Also was missing writing from Ondolemar's pov and he's at his best denying his feelings so here's a snippet from before they have confessed <3 Under the cut because somewhat suggestive, mostly angst:

So caught up in his own mental groveling, what she says next is nearly missed. “I would love to know if you find anything interesting about them, I’ll confess I don't know much about the Dwemer. More familiar with the Ayelids, my father had an interest."

“Perfectly understandable, the Dwemer never went as far south as Cyrodiil.” The young wizard pauses before continuing. “I’ve already got some theories, perhaps we could continue this conversation over dinner? If you’d be interested, of course.”

It comes out of him quickly, words staunch and firm, the authoritarian tone hopefully covers up his desperation. It was unlike him to speak without thinking, let whatever fall from his mouth. Careful, calculated, that is how he was taught to speak. More thought should be put into deciding what to reveal than the physical exertion of saying it. Despite all that training, or perhaps in spite of it, the accusation comes out. 

“You.” The single word is so cutting, far more than it needs to be. The anger in voice should not be directed at her, nor Aicantar who knows not of his crime. It should claim its victim in himself  and it would have, if he had not been struck mad at the thought of her having dinner with someone else. A younger Altmer who was doing what his own younger self set out to do, a scholar; a mer who could be with her, unbound by the confines of oaths and duty. “You have been interfering with official business of the Altmeri Dominion and I am taking you for questioning.” 

Unlike his anger, misplaced and sporadic, hers is properly accessed as she glares at him, burring holes through his very being. Ondolemar knew nothing of dragons. The beasts they say she fought bore little concern on his mind. However, as he guides them back to his quarters, few words said to his guards to explain her presence, he wonders how much truth there is in the tales of their wrath. How much truth is found in the title Dragonborn? Was she like a dragon, could her wrath consume him? 

It’s more unnerving as she is silent on their way, nothing but that agonizing stare to confirm she’s there. Slowly, he shuts the door behind them. Enjoying a few seconds of her company without facing the consequences of what has occurred. 

“What was that?” Every word is a brutal strike and every answer he can give is more pathetic than the next. Though this is no time to be blaise, he does so anyway. An attempt can’t hurt. 

“You were late.” He passes her the goblet poured early, a peace offering, as insignificant as it is. It is rejected. 

“I didn’t realize being late for you to fuck me was a crime, delaying your pleasure counted as interfering with official business.” He deserves the mocking tone as she echoes his words. 

“Given what you have told me I thought you may have been held up by the City Guards. Now I see it was something else.”

“That doesn’t explain what you said. Now the next time I speak with Aicantar I’ll have to fabricate some story because you seem to think your position means you can demand anything you want, at any time.” Her words hit him heavily, settling in his stomach like a thick sludge where sustenance should be. Did she really think that all he was concerned about? Of course she did, he had worked very hard to not let slip any of the borderline romantic thoughts he harboured. Fearful of even thinking of them sober, speaking them aloud would be far too real. 

But she is angry with him and despite their very opposing sides, Ondolemar doesn’t want Theodora angry at him. Their identities as enemies was much better suited for their private activities. Where they still mattered, his position and rank never leaving his mind, but no one to see how he used them to please her. Collecting the right works, he speaks. 

“In the moment I was taken aback when he asked you to dinner and forgot myself.” Her rage quells slightly, what rage leaves is replaced with hurt, her words are layered with pain. 

“Am I not allowed to be asked to dinner?”

“Of course.”

“Then why did you order me away?” He expected her to ask if he was jealous. All the clues point in that direction, it would be easier on him to confirm her conclusion than draw his own. Fearful if he say it he would go even further and inform her that the lack of freedom and autonomy got to him at times. That it did hurt to hear someone else was interested in her and she would not need to hide with him. Taken aback again, this time by her pain and sincerity, he can’t bring himself to tell the truth. 

“I do not know.” It’s a suffocating silence. Distracting himself momentarily, he puts down the rejected peace offering, mentally praying that they will get to share a drink tonight. If she can forgive him for his stupid and barbaric behaviour as well as the fact he cannot provide her an explanation, unable to admit some things to himself. 

“If I saw you with another woman, asking her to dinner or kissing her or even fucking her, I wouldn’t say anything. It’s not my place to.”

There was he wants say. An fruitless endeavour but one nonetheless.

[srirax619]

Tell me about your planet

Hey, y'all, how goes? This is a snippet from my AU (still unnamed) were both Pines brothers fall into the portal. I was watching nature videos and got inspired. This is a very short chapter, from around the 3rd quarter of the story. Shouldn't give spoilers, I don't think. Let me know what you think.

“Tell me about your planet… I have never been anywhere but here. What is it like? Is it beautiful? Is it a wasteland?” Mila asked the brothers, her cigarette-like herbal paper wrap dangling from her respiration flaps. 

This was the first time in many years that anyone had asked about their home. Those familiar with Earth usually were not from their dimension, didn’t think too much of it. Those unfamiliar had heard stories of the idiocy of its inhabitants with regard to things like nuclear war and environmental damage. It wasn’t the only planet that was the victim of greed, but it was really all people knew about their home, usually. 

Ford could tell this was a question borne of genuine curiosity and was struggling with how to respond, debating where to start. 

Before he could, Stanley said, “My brother here, he’s got a compulsion to know. To understand. To learn everything possible. I used to joke, when we were children, that he would make his head pop if he wasn’t careful. On our planet, just like others, one of the highest accolades one can get for their intellect, is to get a PhD, to become a doctor. You can become a doctor of many subjects. In general, it takes most people around a decade– that means ten years– to accomplish one PhD. My brother has 12 PhDs.”

Stanley took a drag from his not-cigarette. He smiled at the young native. “With all of that intellect, all of that collected knowledge, my brother has not BEEN to every place on our planet. He hasn’t seen the dunes of the Sahara, a massive desert on the opposite side of the planet than where we lived. He hasn’t ever witnessed a continent made almost completely of frozen water. There are places with rocks that are pillars, yet hexagonal. There are oceans and lakes and rivers that range in color from black to blue to red. There are creatures on our planet that haven’t even yet been discovered by scientists, like my brother. People that spend their ENTIRE lives in the pursuit of discovery, and never complete their work. There are indeed wastelands, but even they have their own beauty. The majority of our world is green and lush, where there is land, and wide and blue, where there is ocean. The majority of the planet is ocean. People, mostly, live on land. There are places where they have birds– they are a form of avian, like your Makachu– that walk as tall as a humanoid. There are creatures that weigh as much as your house and yet only eat the tiniest microbes. There are hives of insects that have a form of agriculture where they harvest greens to feed to small fungal colonies in order to later eat those fungal colonies. Some places have trees so big that we tunnel into the trees, just to drive automobiles through, and the trees still thrive! There are whales, like your fish but massive, and they breathe air instead of water, so big that you could walk through their organs while standing up. There are bioluminescent krill that make the shore of the ocean glow at night. There is a place where lightning strikes over 1000 times in 365 days– that’s how long our year is on our planet. It’s dangerous, so dangerous that even accidentally breathing water into your nose, even if you manage not to drown, can leave amoebas in your brain and kill you. And yet, there seems to be a plant or an herb for almost every ailment that you can get. I have seen people survive venoms because a doctor had already synthesized an anti-venom by using the original venom. There’s a type of fish that, with a single drop of its venom, can kill an animal the size of your house. And none of that is the amazing achievements of human engineering, some of which are awe-inspiring… some of which are terrible. Human’s, Mila, are the most dangerous creatures on our planet. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of our pollution or nuclear wars….” Stanley cleared his throat and sat straighter. “For as dangerous as each thing can be, it is without a doubt the most beautiful place I have ever seen, and we’ve been traveling the multiverse for 7 years now.” Stan finally turned to the other two and smiled, genuinely, and with a fond expression. He sighed deeply and looked up at the gray sunset before them. 

Both Ford and Mila looked at Stanley in awe. 

“I couldn’t tell you about our planet if I spent a lifetime on it. But I can tell you that I think about it every single day.” 

Mila chittered affectionately. “It sounds pretty amazing. I have a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Ford responded automatically, still staring into nothingness.

“What is an ocean?” she asked innocently. Both brothers laughed. She bristled a bit. “What?” 

Ford turned fully toward the young native. “All this sand, the beautiful dunes that surround us?” 

“Yes?”

“Imagine that the sand was all water. Water so deep that it went for kilometers down, so deep that the pressure from the weight of it all would crush you, the further down you went. Imagine that it was so massive, so deep, that the largest creature on your planet could not just call it home, but have so much room to move that for hundreds of thousands of years, that creature was thought to be a myth, for how few of your people had seen it. Imagine water so deep that the equipment you had to attempt to just find out how deep it went would not survive the journey.” Mila’s eye stalks glowed, her species equivalent to whistling. 

“Sounds terrifying.” 

Stan chuckled. “The sailors– that would be people who use vehicles to traverse the ocean– call the ocean and its chaos a cruel mistress. It’s a phrase that implies that she, the ocean, is both a giver and taker of life.”

“On our planet, every life’s evolutionary cycle began in the ocean,” Ford added. “In fact, most life on earth is STILL in the ocean. When life on our planet began, the entire place was covered in water. Imagine that– a place with no land anywhere.” 

Mila snuffed out her herbal stick and stood from her perch. “I would love to hear more about your Earth. It sounds like children’s stories.” She chittered affectionately and turned to walk away. “Hopefully I see you two again. I’ll be back here tomorrow, same time if you’re still around.” 

Once she was out of earshot, Ford turned to Stan and smiled fondly. He switched back to English. “That was the most beautiful description of anything I think I have ever heard from you!” 

Stan smiled, bowing his head. “S’ true. I think ‘bout home every day. Don’t get many chances to talk about it.”

“How do you know so much about the geography of home?” Ford teased. “Awfully nerdy of you.”

Stan scoffed. “I can pick up a BOOK, Sixer.” He waved off his brother. “Used to …well, the library was always free, and if it was cold… ya know. ‘Course they would frown upon loiterin’, so…” Stan cleared his throat. “Truth is, the reason I decided to take a buddy up on a few jobs in South America was… The travel books, them pictures. Moses, Ford… the beauty on those pages… Black and white or not, it was entrancing. It was the real treasure I went for.... And it couldn’t be taken from me.” 

“Every time,” Ford said.

“Huh?”

“Every time I think I know all there is to know about you, I am proven so very wrong.” 

Stan smirked. “Maybe one day you will.” 

“Well it looks like you’ll get a chance to talk about it with Mila, at least. She seems like a kind person.”

“Kid’s got a good heart, or…ya know, whatever drives her species' blood circulation.” The scanner on Stan’s wrist began to give a familiar hum. “Damn… Looks like I won’t get that chance. New rift incoming about one klick from here, let’s get there as quick as we can.” The brothers stood and shuffled quickly in the direction the scanner indicated. 

[lycankeyy]

treat yourself

Apparently "waiting until I get the brotherly fluff itch" meant two total minutes. Surprise back at it again with the slice-of-life snippets HDKWHDJ also I didn't really proofread this because I fucking hate . Proofreading so all typos are made out of hubris /silly

BFs in this one-shot: boyf (fc!bf, mine), ys (yourself/silly billy, @ochrearia); beef (wyd!bf, @gemharvest) offhandedly mentioned

-

There comes a point in the winter season, somewhere right between Thanksgiving and the typical gift-giving season, where a person who's been having a rough time up until that point decides fuck it. This was a mentality that had gotten Boyf through most of his life, to be fair, but it was hitting especially hard now, going into next year. He looked at all the time he'd spent struggling to get out of bed or working himself into the ground or worrying people and decided it was high time to throw his hands up and declare what the fuck ever. I'm gonna treat myself. Who cares.

This is, of course, an infinitely more appealing philosophy, regardless of how it might manifest, with a fellow victim to drag into the torment nexus of holiday cheer with you. And honestly, there was no one who quite fit the bill like Yourself.

Boyf had been relying on him a lot as of late. Emotional support, mostly, though there had been a couple times in there where his older brother had seen him in, well, less than prime physical condition, possibly of his own hubris. But anyway, it was hard to do that for so long without feeling a bit guilty. He supposed that went for anyone, but YS hit hard in particular.

It was not a secret whatsoever that YS was an extremely miserable person, just on a day-to-day basis. If you opened a DSM-V to the diagnostic criteria for major depression, you'd find a picture of YS as figure a. The guy had enough going on on his own without Boyf giving him a heart attack once every two weeks and all the support he sometimes-wordlessly-but-sometimes-very-openly asked for. YS never asked for any sort of reward or anything, honestly he seemed like he might implode if he even considered the idea, but that wasn't about to stop one Boyfriend Quire. Because he wanted to get silly with it. And nobody was quite deserving of Ambiguous Silly like Mr. Silly Billy himself.

And what do you know, it just so happened that his partners were going to be out of the house for a few hours today. Perfect excuse to invite him over instead of nonchalantly dragging a fuckton of random shit to an alternate reality to satiate his innane urges.

He didn't even stop to consider the fact that Yourself was, on average, a little bit awkward about visiting Boyf's world. He had some weird guilt complex or whatever that Boyf didn't like to humor enough to even acknowledge half the time. He just wanted him here. For his weird mental zoomies.

And so a plan was set in motion. It usually took a little bit for YS to get back to him when he invited him over - even if he wanted to, Boyf could easily understand the lack of inertia that kept him in bed for a good while after he read the message - so Boyf was already taking action before he even arrived. It had been a hot minute since he'd made this recipe, actually, and he barely remembered the circumstances, just that he still had it saved. And now seemed like a perfect time to drag it out and dust it off.

He didn't exactly have all the garnishes on hand, but he didn't bake enough to use the other ingredients for other stuff, so he still had a bunch laying around. Easily enough to serve two people. Maybe make some more, if it turned out that good.

So by the time YS finally told him he was ready to come over, the concoction in his pot was already about halfway done. He quickly went to retrieve his big brother from the mirror, with a degree of excitement said brother immediately picked up on.

"Oh, no. You have that look Beef gets," he complained without any actual disapproval behind his tone. Continuing in a completely flat voice, without a hint of even a rhetorical question to it, he said, "what are you going to do to me."

It's self-care day, Boyf informed him eagerly with the sort of extreme confidence of someone declaring a national holiday.

YS quirked an eyebrow at him. It was obvious from the look in his eye that he probably hadn't slept and was only half-comprehending what was even going on. "O... kay," he said, confusion muffled by the tiredness. "What does that have to do with me?"

Boyf didn't even respond to that one. Simply grabbed YS' wrist and dragged him to the kitchen - to be fair, he wasn't really supposed to stop stirring the chocolate milk.

Still trying desperately to piece together what the goal of bringing him here was, YS lazily looked over his shoulder to see what exactly he was walking in on. Mostly the smattering of ingredients on the counter and the pot Boyf was once again looming over. "You're melting chocolate chips," he observed.

Into milk, Boyf supplemented, which to be fair, did add a little context, though it far from explained anything.

YS blinked slowly, standing back a bit as the kitchen timer let out its shrill sound and Boyf moved to adding the rest of his hoard - cocoa powder, cinnamon, nutmeg, a little vanilla extract... "... you invited me over for cocoa?"

For self-care day, he restated. Maybe this was a bit of a weird sticking point, but to be fair, YS was one of those people who wouldn't know how to accept a present if it was something he literally asked you for.

"Right," he said, confusion not alleviated even slightly, though now it was manifesting as some form of fond bewilderment. "Well, thanks, I guess. I'll be, uh, on the couch. If you need me."

With a hum of acknowledgment, Boyf didn't even take his eyes off his pot as YS slunk off to make himself (figuratively) small somewhere in the other room. It wasn't like he'd been expecting him to match his energy this far into winter, after all.

Luckily, there was very little to this other than a couple more minutes stirring, pouring the contents into some mugs, adding some whipped cream and serving. Like he'd expected, YS was curled up on his couch, visibly cold and looking like an animal that had been woken in the middle of hibernation.

His face lit up a little bit though as he was handed his cup, cradling it in his hands like it was precious to him. "Thanks," he mumbled.

With no further comment, Boyf picked up his remote, turned on the TV and collapsed next to YS - something the man woke up just a little bit to lightly scold him for - they were both holding cups full of steaming hot milk, man - but ultimately relaxed when Boyf nuzzled up against him like a needy cat.

The older man huffed, and his eyes smiled more than his face did. "So your plan was just to use me as a sentient pillow. I see how it is."

YS peered into the mug with mild skepticism, though it had nothing to do with the potential taste. "Isn't it too hot to drink, still? It was just boiling."

For the millionth time, Boyf reiterated his motivations - self-care day, to which YS rolled his eyes playfully. Is it good?

At that, Boyf gave his own a brief scrutizing look, before taking a sip with zero hesitation, flinching a little as it burned his tongue. Yeah, he thought to him. Not as bad as cocoa from a coffee shop would though.

YS looked like he wasn't sure if he should laugh or be mildly horrified. "That's not. How you test that," he said, trying desperately to keep his voice even. Boyf looked up at him with completely clueless eyes, though, and shortly, YS' expression softened. Then got a little more devious. "You know what, fuck it."

His reaction to burning his tongue was slightly stronger than Boyf's, which either of them could have expected. Temperature difference and all. Still, BFs were BFs.

Good? Boyf reiterated as YS awkwardly scrubbed at his mouth like that would make the sensation in his lips go away.

After taking a moment to regain his composure, YS sighed, nodded, and after disregarding the urge to make a mildly snarky comment about how it was hard to taste anything when his tongue was on fire, he just nodded. "Yeah, it's nice. It's really nice."

Good. Boyf said, thoroughly pleased with himself. He leaned back against his guardian angel, pressing himself into his shoulder, cradling his hot chocolate in his hands. Taking a deep breath in his contentment, he sighed out, "bee love you."

YS blinked down at him, long fingers curling around the relatively small cup he'd been offered. He still couldn't really grasp what the whole deal here was, and a part of him told him there had to be more to this than was being let on, but even then, it wasn't like he could just let that comment go unanswered. He smiled softly.

"Love you too, little man."

[clarabowmp3]

I am not particularly on that anons side but I have to agree that Joe has no right to call what Travis does on his gfs tour as 'tacky and distasteful'.

To me, that is low and makes him look bitter and pathetic which is what a certain segment of the Swift fandom disliked about him. His comments were embarrassing, I'm sorry.

Joe was already excluded from the narrative and as you rightfully point out: the focus shifted to Matty so who cares what Taylor or Travis do? And its certainly none of his business. Besides, she's a global popstar putting on a show. Also, if he really thought he had privacy in a public changing room, he's much dumber than I thought.

I mean can we not give the man a break? Must he do his utmost best to keep conversations he has in public secret? Let’s say he was overheard while chatting with a friend at a cafe. Or maybe on a bus. Or maybe at a theatre. Would you say that it’s his fault for not whispering? Maybe he should learn sign language or Morse code. Because even then what if someone hears him whispering, or someone knows sign language etc etc like at which point do we say that he has taken sufficient precautions to ensure privacy? Can we not let him live his life fairly normally 😭😭😭

And I’m sorry but I rlly don’t like your last statement, it sounds a lot like victim-blaming. I think it would be too far-fetched to suggest that he wanted to be overheard on purpose (I’m sure he’s well aware this would not help his case), so why are you blaming him from something that was out of his control? It could also be that he has had similar conversations in similar settings that didn’t get overheard, or no one cared about it, so he probably wasn’t expecting this. Think about if it was taylor instead of him. Would ppl be calling her dumb or would they be clamouring about how privacy is dead etc?

I agree that a public changing room isn’t the most private place, but I feel like a lot of us overhear snippets of other people’s conversations over the day and we just forget about it. Granted, Joe isn’t just a random guy on the street so I get why there’s more interest in what he said but he still did nothing wrong.

my main point is anyone can do anything. literally. Even joe alwyn. For example (this is a topic for another day) taylor swift can release as many ttpd variants whenever she wants. She can rip matty to shreds across a 31-song album. Even before ttpd she wrote whatever she wanted about her exes. And that’s fine (mostly)!

Even if it wasn’t joes business (which it is as a recent ex), taylor/swifties have pretty much made it everyone’s business by how much they keep playing up and encouraging the public spectacle that their relationship has become. Think of it this way - some ppl find their displays adorable, some find it repulsive. Are you going to tell them to back off and that it’s not their business? Why is it the whole world’s business except Joe alwyn (are we putting him in timeout or smth 😭😭)? Taylor can do whatever she wants with Travis, Joe is allowed to feel however he wants about it. Taylor is also allowed to feel however she wants about Joe’s next partner etc.

Like I said in another ask, even though public attention has shifted to Matty, Joe is still a guy getting over a 6-year long relationship + the hate that has been piled on him by swifties + whatever hurt he must have felt from ttpd (if he did listen to it). I don’t think it’s fair to dictate up to which point and to which extent he can feel emotionally occupied with taylor.

Is he not allowed to talk about what he’s going through with a friend? In that same conversation he (allegedly) said “it’s been tough” which I don’t think makes sense if he was being bitter about Taylor. Bitter people want to seem like they have the upper hand and that they’re unaffected, so why would he say smth as vulnerable as that? please explain the leap from joes comments to him being bitter.

[dustdotorg]

here:🌈🥕✍️👾🦷🪩

(from this ask meme)

🌈 What research do you plan on doing for your writing?

i usually do too much research to the point where it doesn't even matter to the plot and it's for literally just like one line of dialogue or something similarly inane that could be replaced with something else. (see: me looking up what dental healthcare looked like in colonial times for one semi-funny line thought by rio. like she doesn't even say it out loud to agatha or anything. it's just there, in her head. am i stupid.)

that said, i don't actually PLAN to do this amount of research, it just happens to me. i'm a victim here, please show the appropriate amount of pity for this terminal condition known as "caring way too much about tiny little details no one else even thinks about". thank you.

🥕 What's one area of your writing that you think needs the most amount of improvement?

word repetition is something that i really need to try and get rid of. it's gotten better i think but it still keeps happening and of course i only really notice it once it's been up for a while on ao3 and i re-read it while checking something else... terrible.

✍️ Which stat matters most to you (if at all!): subscriptions, kudos/favorites, comments, bookmarks, word count, or hits?

honestly, i don't really care about stats all that much anymore. i used to care a bit more about that when i started ten years ago but now? nah.

i mean, i'm happy about kudos, comments, bookmarks etc etc don't get me wrong, but i write mostly for myself and my friends at this point and i'm completely fine with that. i don't need to do "well" in the stats game to feel good about my writing because at the end of the day that's just not why* i'm writing to begin with.

*i write with anger and spite in my heart to fix what canon messed up. usually. hacks being a notable exception from that tbh. i just liked writing these two freaks interacting with each other :D

👾 Do you have any "bad" writing habits you want to break?

ideally, i could be constantly writing a steady NORMAL amount of words each day and then edit it in a timely fashion. instead, i sometimes sit down and write like 5k in one go in a few hours and other times i can't even string three words together.

then again, never break a working system and this "bad" writing habit has served me well so far so. eh?

🦷 Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're dreading to write (but is necessary to your plot)? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

HELLO LIKE YOU DONT KNOW THAT ALREADY

rio pov fic: the last section of part 4/first section of part 5 where the long awaited doom finally happens. i both want to write it and dread it. i don't want to mess it up...

and i cannot share a snippet from it because what little i have written i am not happy with yet and also it gives the entire game away that i've been setting up so far :D

🪩 Do you have any "good" writing habits you want to cultivate?

writing down an outline and keeping detailed notes for more my ideas and set ups have served me very well this year so i will be definitely stick to that.

one thing that needs improvement is maybe my note keeping system - handwritten notes in a better order maybe :D

THANK YOU <3

[goodluckclove]

I have also finished blind trust and oh my gods that had a pull. Thank you for writing this. Reading the whole thing took maybe 5 hours, with small breaks. It was glorious. (slight addendum, adding "child abuse" to the "potential hard topics" list could be helpful to some... i mean, you do notice in pretty much the prologue but still.) I want to hug them all. I want to absorb the idea of a group of people this safe and just - connected. I breathe easier at the inclusion of that rarely seen kind of aroace very intimate, deep, emotional love. And Intersex inclusion. Queer inclusion (i am so curious how that will unfold). Spinny skirts just for the spinny, while still being masculine. Oh my gods. Thank you. I have probably not pulled together all the snippets spread throughout the book for the deeper topics and lore - especially the slight "we"s and internal voices -, but that is okay, i will reread a lot anyway. And if not, maybe the following books will make it clearer. Is the humming language taken from the real world, or your imagination? (thank you to the user I followed that reblogged someone else's review that made me find your book.) Very excited for what is to come, and for continuing to enjoy what is already shared with the world. (Now to figure out goodreads...)

Wow this ask contains some of the most impactful critique I've ever had. Not mean. Just like you mentioned how I missed child abuse as a trigger and I've been thinking about that for two hours.

Because I wracked my brain trying to think about all the potential major triggers. Substance abuse, yes. Mild self harm, even if it's just in one scene. Suicidal ideation. Technically suicidal attempts, but I don't say that because it's through a method that I'm pretty sure is mostly impossible and maybe not even accurate.

I knew Edgar was a victim of child abuse. Like you said, it's stated from the prologue and then written very clearly through implications of his past and an examination of his current character. But in my mind, stating child abuse as a trigger was akin to stating arguments or dream sequences.

Like that's how normalized it was to me. And holy shit, what a self-report that says I'm a child of abuse more than anything else ever has. Fuck.

I don't blame you for this at all and I actually thank you for pointing that out. It's wild.

Also you read it in five hours? That's crazy! Like that's fucking wild!

Also also I am glad you like a femme-masc man in a dress because Scott only gets more feral in book two. I thought he was a waif but it turns out he just needed medical care and a few hot meals, and in Act 3 of Migration Patterns the man is scheming and playing piano and being very dramatic.

Also also a lot of the lore stuff is continued into the rest of the series. It is very much piecemeal though. I intend for the experience of Songbird Elegies to be like working backstage in a theater production. Like something objectively more interesting is happening adjacent to the story, and you're literally in the dark, learning things piecemeal.

But like there's a comfy chair in the green room and your next cue isn't for a few minutes so it's actually pretty chill. That's my vibe.

OH and I made up Tone Speech. I'm very proud of it. It's a fun language and mostly useless you're in a family where most of the people have perfect pitch.

[morningstargirl666]

Sneak Peak

Sneak snippet for chapter 27 of TBBW, and I say snippet, but really its a couple of pages - though that isn’t much in the grand scheme of things (yes, it’s turning into another long chapter and I refuse to split this one up, so like, we’ll see how long this one gets).

Sam didn’t notice the change, not at first. The nagging feeling at the back of his mind that something was off.

It started at Caroline’s house, when he decided to make those damn burgers he never got to eat. After the day he’d had, he’d just assumed the craving to eat some good, greasy food was the wolf not so subtly telling him it needed its daily dose of protein. Just scratching an itch for his next fix, if you will. He hadn’t considered he was actually hungry. Like, vampire bloodlust ripper-style hungry. When he pulled over on the way back to the mansion after leaving Caroline’s, just because he saw someone walking down the street, and then proceeded to pounce on them the second he got out the car like some kid of feral cat-

Well, now Sam was considering it.

It didn’t matter that he’d already drunk an entire blood bag on Liz Forbes’ couch with her daughter not two hours earlier. It didn’t matter that he just drained some innocent bystander dry in the middle of the fucking street-

The hunger didn’t go away.

Keira found him in the Mikaelson’s kitchen later, dripping head to toe in blood because he’d killed two more people on the way back, before raiding the Mikaelson’s entire blood store in the fridge, draining that dry too. And it was only then, when his body was still shaking with bloodlust, and the fear in Keira’s eyes matched his own, did Sam finally admit to himself something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Now, Sam wasn’t a ripper. He hadn’t been concerned about the bloodlust part of becoming a hybrid, mostly because Klaus hadn’t been, and Sam trusted Klaus. He’d given him the Vampire 101 with the same annoying sharp-edged bluntness that somehow - Sam had no idea how, Klaus was paradox at the best of times - bordered on gentle, teaching him to feed and most importantly stop feeding, regardless of how bad the hunger got. Sam, having reigned in his temperamental wolf side for most his life, took to the lessons like a fish to water, and when Kiera arrived, she’d given him her own tips which he’d taken to heart, and just like that, the bloodlust part that came with being half-vampire never arose as a problem. So much so, that Sam started wondering what all the fuss was about, even aloud, which often ended with Klaus muttering under his breath about how easy kids had it these days.

(“Surely it was hard for you to fight off the hunger the first time-”

“Well, yeah but-”

“Exactly. Now imagine doing that without someone explaining in your ear what to expect, or how to control it. And then add in the factor you’ve been fighting the bloodlust for weeks, not even aware it is bloodlust, and your control has finally snapped, and maybe, you might be close to what it felt like for me when I tore into my first victim’s neck.”)

Sam had just thought Klaus was jealous that he was better than him at something. Now though, Sam saw it for the warning it was: the greatest illusion is the idea of control. You can’t control bloodlust. You can learn to live with it, learn to fight it, and some are better at fighting it than others - side-eyeing you Stefan Salvatore - but you can never permanently control it. That would be like trying to wrestle a saddle onto a dragon and expecting it not to burn you to a crisp the minute you get close.

So, seeing his hands dripping in blood and still feeling the urge to lick every drop of his skin was certainly a rude awakening.

He’d barely gotten himself together before the Mikaelsons arrived. Kiera had more or less thrown him into the shower, and he’d listened to her talk on the phone through the tiled walls as lines of red water dripped down his face into the drain below, trying to focus on her voice instead of the dozen or so human heartbeats belonging to the people the Mikaelson’s employed. By the time he got out and pulled himself into a fresh set of clothes, her witch, Delilah, was waiting for him, standing right next to Kiera in their bedroom, grey hair twisted into an elegant hairstyle and arms littered with bangles, warm brown eyes kind.

She’d asked for symptoms. Kiera had answered, the hunger building in Sam’s throat stopping him from doing so himself. He spent a good few minutes entranced by the pumping artery in the poor witch’s neck, and it was only when she snapped his fingers in his face, repeating her question and asking if Kiera had left anything out, that he finally tried to concentrate enough to formulate an answer.

Because there was something else, now that he thought about it. The left-side of his chest hurt too, right over his heart, like a pressure was building and Sam couldn’t release it.

Delilah had nodded, brow furrowed, and then quickly began to run some diagnostic spells. Kiera hadn’t questioned what she was doing - the two had known each other for about two and half centuries, and with it came a loyalty that was nigh on unshakable.

(Kiera was Delilah’s daughter’s godmother, and her granddaughter’s godmother, so really, it was a family business at this point)

When Delilah had finally finished all her spells, an answer not immediately on her tongue, Kiera had spoken up, prompting her.

“What is it?”

Delilah had paused, for the first time since Sam had met her, seeming unsure.

“It is…strange.” She had begun. “Physically, there is nothing wrong with you. You are not on the brink of dessication, nor are you recovering from it, and your undead heart is fine, if beating at a slightly higher rate than your vampire counterparts-”

“And magically?” Keira had jumped to ask, familiar with how these things worked by now.

“The pain, the bloodlust… you can feel it, but I cannot sense it, which leaves me to conclude either it is something mentally crippling or…” She had stopped, staring down at him where he sat on the bed, a consideration in her eye, before it snapped into realisation. “...Or it is not his own. An echo, almost.”

As soon as the words had left her mouth, Sam understood. The puzzle pieces clicked into place. Sam may not be dessicating right this second, but they knew someone who was. Or already had.

Klaus.

Sam was starving because Klaus was starving. Magically starved to the point of desiccation. And Sam’s chest hurt, experiencing the symptoms of more or less a heart attack, because Klaus’ heart had stopped.

The realisation had been sickening. Sam had nearly thrown up the entire contents of stomach right then and there. But after the horror and nausea, then came the rage. A fury so hot and all-consuming, that if Delilah’s attempt to dull the pack bond between him and Klaus hadn’t succeeded - therefore dulling his second-hand sympathy bloodlust - he would have punched a hole through Elijah’s face the minute he suggested making a deal with Elena and her merry band of idiots.

As it stood now, Sam wasn’t ruling out punching Elijah in the face just yet.

Can anyone take a wild guess how this chapter is going to end? Lmao

[fictionadventurer]

AU asks, for all eleven of the AUs you mentioned in your tags (including the Blackberry Bushes one because why not!), mix and match for whichever one you like: 2, 5, 9, 10, 11, 13, 17, 18, 20, 21, 24

2. Summarize this au in 5 sentences.

Psmith Star Wars AU: Mike Jackson is a cadet at an Outer Rim Imperial Academy whose dreams of flying an X-Wing for the Empire shatter when he learns of the Empire's atrocities. When his brother defects to the Rebellion, Mike and some of his fellow cadets decide to leave the Academy and join the rebel cause. The boys are nearly captured during their escape attempt, but they're saved by Mike's eccentric roommate, Psmith, who turns out to be a former Jedi youngling who's been hiding from the Empire. After they make their escape, Mike and his fellow cadets have to decide whether they can trust this sly, arrogant boy with these unnatural powers, and they need to find a way to find and help the Rebellion.

5. What is something you kept the same?

Lord Peter Wimsey Telepath AU: I've kept the setting and situations as close to the originals as possible. It's still 1930s England. Harriet's still accused of murdering her lover. Lord Peter's still an aristocrat. The only difference is that various superpowers are a known and accepted part of society, and Peter's ability to literally know Harriet's thoughts adds a whole new and more difficult dimension to the power imbalance between them.

9. Is there a scene you wish you could've included, but couldn't? Why?

Sherlock Holmes Pushing Daisies Crossover AU: I wish I could have figured out what the actual mystery was for the first snippet I wrote for this AU. Unfortunately, my mystery-writing skills don't extend that far.

10. Is there a character you wish you could've included, but couldn't? Why?

Queen's Thief AU of Psmith: It would be really fun to have Queen's Thief versions of Billy Windsor and Bat Jarvis, but I can't think of a great way to fit them into the story that I've outlined--as I've laid it out, Psmith takes Attolia's throne mostly through his cunning and convenient connections.

11. Is there any relationship that's different in this au than in the source material?

Supergirl "Kara raised by the Kents" AU: Since Kara's actually raised by the Kents in this AU, she's got a much deeper and more complicated relationship with them. Her relationship with Martha is rocky, because she sees Martha as competition for her role as Kal's primary caretaker. Taking care of Kal is the only purpose Kara has left in life, and it takes a lot for her to let other people into that relationship.

13. Write a lil snippet set in this verse.

From Powers and Prejudice:

"Lizzie, Jane's on TV!" Lydia shouted. Lizzie rushed into the living room, where her sisters were gathered around the set. Headlines blared BREAKING NEWS beneath live footage of a supervillain attack downtown. The Blur was already on the scene, speeding innocent victims away from danger. The Archer--outside of Pemberley--was even lending a hand. And among them in pink spandex was unmistakably-- "Jane?" Lizzie shouted. "What's she doing there?" Mom was so excited that sparks crackled around her hair. "She did so well the other night that I couldn't let the Blur fight this one alone. It was my duty to send Jane to help." Lizzie was horrified. That had been a skirmish, easily dealt with. This was turning into a battle. One of the criminals had some type of fire manipulation ability, and flames filled most of the screen. To see Jane among that-- "Are you nuts?" Lizzie shouted. "She could die out there!" Lydia rolled her eyes. "What are you so worried about? It's not like she can get hurt." Not externally. Jane's skin was invulnerable, and there was nothing that could overpower her strength. But her respiratory system was as delicate as anyone's, and there was a lot of smoke out there. Jane acquitted herself well, but eventually, Lizzie's fears were realized. Just as the last of the criminals was neutralized, Jane collapsed to the pavement. The Blur, in bright blue, was at her side in an instant. He checked over Jane and gathered her into his arms, a look of panic on his masked face. In less than a second, they disappeared from the scene. While her mother and sisters exclaimed over the scene--did you see the way he looked at her?--Lizzie headed toward the door. Mom asked, "Lizzie, where are you going?" "I don't know if you noticed, but your daughter is injured. I'm going to help her. "She's in the care of one of Netherfield's Defenders! She's perfectly safe." "I'll believe that when I see it." Kitty, fretful, said, "The Blur's so fast. They're miles away by now. Hidden away in his secret headquarters." Lizzie shrugged. "Then I'll find his secret headquarters." Ignoring their protests, she went out the door.

17. What important events have you 'translated' from canon to make sense into this au, if any?

Milo Murphy's Law Star Wars AU: Murphy's Law makes a lot of sense as an out-of-control connection to the Force. And I've turned Diogee into a droid (DO-G) because there don't seem to be many dogs in Star Wars.

18. Is there any theme or motif in this au that isn't in the original work?

Politically-realistic Princess Diaries 2 AU: There's a much stronger exploration of the theme of duty vs. love, because we have multiple characters who have dealt with this conflict. There's also a thread exploring religion, because Mia's priest uncle is a prominent character.

20. Share THREE headcanons! But about different characters.

American Hallmark Royal Romances:

The princess of California was a candidate for an arranged marriage with the crown prince of Maine until a Spunky Commoner came along and stole his heart. She was actually rather hurt by this, until it sparked her own romance story.

The Spunky Commoner met the crown prince of Maine while working on some artistic endeavor for his family. She was rather baffled by this whole royalty thing, until her relationship with the prince provided some cultural background.

Sam, the crown prince of Texas, is a bit ashamed of his nation and especially the over-the-top Texas-ness of his father. He's an excellent code-switcher, and has a bit of trouble straddling the cultural expectations of Texas and the outside world.

21. What makes you most excited about this fic?

Lord Peter Wimsey Star Wars AU: What's there not to get excited about? The Scarlet-Pimpernel-ness of Peter as a double agent within the Empire! The drama of Peter dealing with Force-visions of the future. Force-sensitive Dowager Duchess. Peter having Thrawn as both an art-and-culture buddy and an increasingly-suspicious-of-him nemesis. He's just such a fun character to throw into the structure of this universe.

24. Ramble about something you haven't gotten to talk about yet.

Blackberry Bushes Superhero AU: It says to ramble, so I'll ramble. First off, I feel guilty even claiming this an an AU, since this was really your idea and I just added some stuff to it. But it's such a fun concept and it comes to mind as an AU quite a bit because there are so many fun ways this story warps the typical superhero plots. The Superman character marries a former villain who has good reason to fear him and be suspicious of his fellow heroes. The former supervillain dictatorship is undergoing reform, and it's a legitimate thing, and we get to see the politics of that and see the ruler's children growing up in this system. Delclis' father used to be one of the great heroes, but his memory is tarnished because of the collateral damage his extreme powers caused, and now Declis has to deal with getting the same powers. Antavia's plotline of walking away from the throne become her walking away from her superpowers and inadvertently leading to the creation of her best friend's most dangerous nemeses. They're stories you couldn't come up with under the usual superhero tropes, but combining it with this very different type of story creates new and interesting angles that wouldn't ordinarily come to mind, and that's so fun.

[duskyvision]

m. l. rio - if we were villains

Hi, it's been a while! I've been itching to write a book review because it's been over a year now, and sometimes I just have to scream about books in other places than on Discord (I still scream about books on Discord, but shh).

So why not just write a book review about a book that I did not enjoy? Haha, what a funny thing nobody has ever done before! I sure wonder what this funny guy is going to say about this book he didn't enjoy.

Anyway, this is going to be pretty long, and I'm gonna bitch about a bunch of stuff in here. Will contain spoilers.

Content warnings:

substance abuse (alcohol, drugs)

cheating

suicide

This book was my first venture into the dark academia genre/aesthetic, something I'd seen a bunch of stolen Tiktoks about on my Pinterest feed, but never paid too much attention to, mostly because I don't really care about stories centered on students. Maybe that should have been my first warning sign.

Initially, I wanted to read The Secret History by Donna Tartt because that's apparently what's seen as the dark academia staple, but I decided to stick to this because it was the only book I'd found an audiobook of on Scribd, and audiobooks are more digestible. Read a bit of the blurb and thought, "okay, sounds like it could be interesting".

Man was I wrong.

Reading the blurb, I already knew I'd have to handle pretty pretentious characters, because there's nothing more pretentious than a group of more or less wealthy white theater kids obsessed with Shakespeare (except for rich white business majors and law majors, put one of each category in a locked room and they'd maul each other within 0.5 seconds like wild beasts trying to one-up the other), but holy shit, it was worse than I'd anticipated.

The writing makes everyone and especially Oliver (the narrator) sound insufferable to the point where I wished they could simply shut up. Unfortunately, this book has slug-like pacing and bitches who love to talk on top of chapters that are padded with lines copied verbatim from Shakespeare plays because admittedly you need a very high IQ to understand the nuances and intricacies of Shakespeare plays and how it influences the characters.

And while we're still on writing: while in theory, the script-like snippets are a fun nod to how plays are formatted, it simply doesn't work in audiobook format. Really grating to hear things like "James: Cock" "Me: So true bestie" when my patience was already wearing thin the more I listened to it.

Yet, the writing wasn't the most infuriating aspect of this book to me. I think what infuriates me the most about If We Were Villains is that, ultimately, the entire book tries so hard to be deep and emotional regarding its plot and its characters when said plot is predictably boring and the characters have the depth of a single sheet of paper.

So let's talk about the plot! By the halfway point in the first part of the book, it was made obvious who would die between the main characters, but comically so. The moment Richard started acting up, I felt like the author slapped a huge sign on his head like "Watch out! He's either the bad guy or... THE VICTIM! OMG!" because there was no way Mrs Rio could come back from turning Richard into a goofy Sunday morning kids cartoon villain. And as soon as Richard died, I also predicted the twist itself, because it was so goddamn obvious it felt like it was screamed into my ears.

Now, I usually don't mind if a plotline is predictable. Actually, I enjoy it! It makes me feel smart to predict things and figure out what's happening, and it usually keeps me engaged rather than plot twists that are pulled out of the author's ass! The problem with this book, though, is that I wasn't engaged in the characters to begin with, so following them going through their problems after Richard's death just made me feel a total sense of apathy followed by "so... when are we getting to more plot?"

It focuses too much on trying to give emotional depth to characters whom, in my opinion, severely lack it to begin with. The main characters aren't interesting to me, they're just puppets with names on them at this point. They can really just be summed up into archetypes that are barely explored in a way that feels compelling:

Oliver: The average joe. Oh, look at him, he's so average and surrounded by people who are so much more interesting than him (this is a lie)!

James: The guy. I'm struggling to find anything interesting about him, besides the fact that he's Oliver's best friend and roommate. You can tell he's important because he's Oliver's roommate. I think a loaf of white bread would be more memorable as a character than him.

Richard: Probably the most interesting character in the cast, ironically, solely because he's a fish out of the water. By that, I mean that he's just a jock in the middle of theater kids. Besides that, he's laughable at best: the author tries so hard to make him devoid of anything sympathetic in the moments leading up to his death that it nullifies any emotional investment you could have in any of the characters.

Meredith: The hot girl but like not in an objectified way, in a gaslight gatekeep girlboss way (this is a lie). Richard's girlfriend. Can't catch a break because everyone and their mom objectifies and slut shames her. She usually breasts boobily, not in written script but in spirit due to how her role in the story is pretty much "piece of meat".

Alexander: The weed-smoking gay literature major stereotype, except in a special way because he objectifies Meredith too, for some reason. Diversity win! Gay man is also gross towards women!

Filippa, Wren and Colin: Filippa and Wren exist for the sole purpose of not turning this cast into a complete sausage fest (& Knuckles Meredith). Filippa is the good friend who covers everyone, and Wren is the fragile frail uwu girl. Colin exists solely to be Alexander's boyfriend.

What a totally charming cast of characters who are oh so full of depth, and completely developed throughout this book. There's also a detective guy, but I completely forgot his name because the book spent too much time on this group of pretentious theater kids whining about their interpersonal relationships.

Man, just talking about how much this book bored me is becoming a pain in the ass, so I'll just summarize what I thought about the book here:

Pretentious, flowery writing with sluggish and often jarring pacing

Characters who are equally pretentious and whose high airs desperately try to hide the innate nothing burger-ness of their existence

Extremely predictable plot that's handed to the reader on a platter by the first part, making the reading experience that much more boring when you have 0 affinity nor sympathy for any of the cast members

Final rating: 1/5 (2.29/10 on CAWPILE). I should have dropped this book when I predicted the entire plot instead of being stubborn.

[angeldcgs]

every man required a very specific sort of charm in order to fully win them over, and mac didn't need very long to assess exactly what approach was needed. some were a little more hard to read than others, but rabbit wore his heart on his sleeve, so unassumingly sweet that he couldn't play it cool if he tried. he was already mesmerized, but now that she'd given just a snippet of her life story, he was emotionally endeared, and for a guy like him, that would be enough to keep him hooked indefinitely. being seen as a victim was something she tried to avoid at all costs, because she wasn't, really. just because she hadn't been born into the best family, that didn't mean she was merely at the mercy of the cruel universe. she was the one in control, but she didn't doubt that rabbit was too blinded by his attraction to see her for what she was, and that worked for her at the moment. "s'ok," she repeated the same dismissive sentiment, though this time there was a twinge of genuine sadness in her voice. "can't really miss what ya' don't know, huh?" at least she hadn't grown to love and depend on her, only to have her taken away too soon, like rabbit had with his mother. it would've been nice to grow up with some sort of adult woman to look to as a role model, just to know how she was meant to act, what was normal and what wasn't, but she'd eventually managed to figure things out herself. if anything, growing up around mostly only men made it that much easier for her to read them, and growing up with the men in her specific family made her tough, both physically and mentally. rabbit was so soft, she could only imagine he must've had someone in his life, or maybe multiple someones, who provided him with a safe space where he didn't need to harden his heart to survive. as he spoke, she only devoted half her attention to listening, the rest of her brain distracted by soaking in all that she could about the town, trying to memorize its terrain. "huh..." she nodded slowly like she was soaking in the information, but really she was biting her tongue trying to keep from telling him his life sounded pathetic and miserable. if that was all she had to look forward to here, she might as well just kill them both tonight and get it over with. finally he offered something that piqued her interest, and she turned back to devote her full attention his way with a grin stretched across her features, beginning to toy with his hair again. "well, shucks... you tryna' take me home already, bunny?" she couldn't help but giggle at his innocently phrased offer. "guess ya' did already buy me a meal 'n everythin'... gotta repay ya' somehow." with her gaze zeroed in on him, she watched to see how her teasing would effect him, already entertained just by getting him flustered. "i don't mind mess. 'm not all that clean, myself. might be a lil bit dirty, even..."

if there was one surefire way to get into rabbit's good books, a tragic backstory had to be it. he was too sensitive and could see himself within each little sob story he'd ever been told, his intelligence might not have been the highest but he could empathise like few others could in their bitter town. mac could have told him something significantly less sad and he would've still had a similar reaction but with her confession about the loss of her mother, he felt himself getting teary-eyed, recalling how the loss of his own had made him feel. "i'm sorry." he repeated, for what else was there to say? he didn't know if it was worse or not for mac to not know what had happened to her mother, at least he had been able to somewhat move on from his own mother's passing but if he hadn't known what happened to her, he was certain he would never sleep again. eager to lighten the mood, rabbit racked his brain for ways he could entertain mac, a place where he could take her that wouldn't be so mind numbingly boring like the rest of the town insisted on being. things were moving so fast that his mind simply couldn't keep up, the promise of being alone with mac- properly alone, was scary. not because he didn't want to be alone with her, he couldn't think of anything that he could've wanted more in that moment but he was scared of how he'd act. people got frustrated with him easily, they blamed him for things he hadn't realised were even his fault, he didn't want to cause mac more unnecessary stress when she'd already had such a hard day. as he drove them through the town, dull buildings and dying grass from the heat boxing them in, rabbit viewed his home from an outsiders perspective and saw how boring it all was. "i'm sorry, i-i don't really go many places. work'n home, really. and the store, but the store ain't been open for a few days, the man who owns it has been pretty ill. dunnno what they'll do if he don't come back." rabbit explained, repeatedly turning to look at mac as he did so. it was the polite thing to do, his mama had taught him that. to make eye contact with someone as you spoke to them was a sign that you were engaged in the conversation, he wanted mac to know that he was fully invested in her even when he should've been focusing on the road. "we could- maybe you'd like to see my home? it's not that big but it used to fit a bunch of us and i- there's plenty places to sit and talk and whatever you wanna do, really." the suggestive nature to his proposal was entirely lost on rabbit. there was nothing but purity in his suggestion, he wouldn't have dared be so bold with a woman, especially one he'd only just met. in his mind, after everything, mac must've been tired, it would be nice for her to be somewhere she could relax without watchful eyes- excluding his own. "it's a little messy right now, don't really have many visitors over'n stuff but if you don't mind that then..."

[secretlyatargaryen]

There was a post I read on this website a while ago about The Darkangel by Meredith Ann Pierce. The post was making the rounds and was fairly popular, I think, and touted the book as an example of an actually good YA vampire/enemies to lovers romance, but I can’t for the life of me find the post.

Anyway, I just finished the book, and I have thoughts.

Trying to find the post online, I found a few articles that talked about the book being problematic~ for its dated romance, and like, okay, I can kind of see that. Aeriel’s goal throughout most of the book is to kill the Darkangel but she also keeps thinking about how she doesn’t want to because he’s ~so beautiful~, but it doesn’t really feel like she’s romanticizing him, necessarily, or romanticizing a bad relationship, because she doesn’t really have a relationship with him. For most of the book, they barely interact, and she thinks about how he’s pretty but also evil, and her desire throughout the book is mostly to save the souls of his “wives”, women whose blood and souls he has stolen who are now undead wraiths (Hi, Bram Stoker). By the way, this book is beautifully written and wonderfully creepy, even if it took me a bit to get used to all the extryme fantysy spellying - the darkangel is not a vampire, but a vampyre - and the 80s science fantasy worldbuilding. But I’m into it.

The story feels less like a vampire romance novel, though, and more like a fairytale, having more in common with Beauty and the Beast or the various enchanted husband tales than with Twilight. Aerial does say she “loves” the darkangel at the end of the book, but that’s after he’s at her mercy and she gets to choose whether to end his life or turn him back into the boy he was before he was turned into a vampire by the witch who kidnapped him as a child. By that time, Aerial is no longer enthralled by his glamor, and has already defeated the darkangel and saved the souls of his wives. The “love” feels less like romance, and more like compassion for someone who she recognizes was also a victim. I think it does move into romance later on (there are two more books in the series), but Aerial never puts up with abuse from him while thinking she can change him or that things will get better. The idea that he can be saved is teased throughout the series - and advertised on the back cover snippet - but there’s never a “oh he’s not that bad” moment.

In fact, a criticism I saw when I was trying to find that tumblr post, which I agree with, is that it’s hard to believe in the darkangel’s “spark of goodness” that is advertised in the cover snippet. Before he’s turned back at the end of the book, he doesn’t seem good at all. He kidnaps Aerial and insults her, feels only contempt for the women he’s turned into wraiths, tortures small animals for fun, and wants to subjugate the world, which he can only do once he finds his fourteenth wife. The “spark of good” seems to be based on the fact that we learn that he was once a human boy, which doesn’t actually make him good. It just makes us feel sorry for him. Oh, also, he has bad dreams, which is a hint that he is tormented by what he has been turned into. Which again, doesn’t make him good, but it does make him a victim in some respects. I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, remarks Hamlet, were it not that I have bad dreams. Also the witch who kidnapped him when he was six is described as his “mother and lover” which...yeah. Even if we take this metaphorically, it’s. Something.

But the book doesn’t really need you to believe that the vampire is good, because at the end his behavior is chalked up to him being enchanted by the witch. Once he’s no longer a vampire he doesn’t seem at all interested in breaking the wings off bats, so there’s that. He also feels really, really guilty about murdering thirteen women. So I don’t know if we’re supposed to think that he deserved to be saved because he had good in him, or if he deserved to be saved because he was enchanted and he totally didn’t mean all that stuff he did as a vampire, or vampyre. I’m not sure if there’s a difference, which the book also seems interested in addressing, so I do want to see how the next two books deal with the fallout. It’s just kind of a disappointment that I was promised a story about a character changing from evil to good and what it ended up being was “it was all magic, actually.” The darkangel, while a powerful figure for most of the book, ends up the character with the least amount of agency, narrative-wise. But that might not actually be a bad thing, if you’re looking for a story with an empowered heroine.

This book also shares some similarities with Deathless, which I probably would have enjoyed more if it weren’t as beloved on tumblr by the weaponized femininity crowd years ago. I still cringe at remembering Cersei stans using that “you are a demon like me and do not care if other girls have suffered” quote as a feminist beacon for “dark romance”. In contrast, Aerial cares about the darkangel’s pitiful, horrible wives and there’s a fabulous scene where they get to tell him off, after Aerial poisons him on her wedding night to him.

Swiftly, silently, they fleeted from the shadows, the folds of the bed-curtains, the seams of the walls. The icarus’ hand went suddenly limp; Aerial saw him start. She slipped free of him as the wraiths surrounded him, stood ringed about him, keeping him from Aerial. The vampyre cried at the sight of them, threw up his arms as if to ward them away.

“What are you doing here, my wives?” he cried. “You are so hideous to look at. Keep off!”

The wraiths drifted in a slow circle around him. “We will not keep off,” they said. “You have chosen us, and we are yours.” 

Damn. 

I’ve ordered the other two books in the series, but the third one is coming tomorrow, before the second one gets here. That’s what you get with free shipping, I guess.

[lily-orchard-gossip-blog]

Hey there are new snippets of tsr, mostly of Leia apologizing before Aliana, and my god, I know we’ve discussed it a hundred time already but it’s so disgusting I can’t NOT discuss this So Leia was saying that Aliana’s behavior is only a facade and she’s actually just a poor scared baby… who’s almost 30. Like yeah early trauma can make a significant damage on one's personality but Aliana is not a damn child anymore (let alone that it generally looks like an infantilization). Later she glorified Aliana by calling her kind, caring and generous (a person who shot lightning at her and forced to work with her flotilla of sith, people because of who Leia lost her planet, family and friends), and “admitted” that she was abusing her… Jesus Christ I don’t even… Didn’t Lily say that any victim have a right to be angry at those who abused them, so doesn’t Leia deserve to be angry at any sith that point? Aliana literally shots lightning at her, why is her trauma provides excuses for physical assault, but Leia doesn’t have that luxury? She lived through a lot worse because of people Aliana now tries to white-wash! The worst thing Leia ever did to her was saying that it’s good that her mom died and hoping that Rey would leave/kill her? But surprise! Aliana’s mom was a slaver, a horrible person, but that's OK because later Aliana cried a bit! Even better, they don't touch that subject at all, and probably wont, they forgot about all conflicts and disagreements and Aliana gladly accepted her apology playing a role of "caring" girl as if she didn't almost killed Leia because of own hissy pit. Anyway I can keep going but want to know your opinion.

Someone pointed out that Lily has a weird habit of having everyone refer to Aliana as being younger than she is, and treating her as a child who did no wrong and is right to be angry.

But Aliana isn't a kid. She's an adult. And in any other setting, Aliana would face a lot more consequences for her actions. But that can't happen because it gets in the way of the victim narrative.

From what I've gathered, this same issue happens in Lily's WOW fic as well. Where Anevay is just a poor little victim who can do no wrong, because she's a victim.

It's honestly icky.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: The Chronauseam, a Waste of Time

The ticking of innumerable clocks fills the shadowed halls like the murmur of a distant, phantom rain. The sound lodges itself in the spaces between your thoughts, making your mind sickishly slow, unable to notice the presence of the things that silently stalk you. 

Adventure Hooks: 

To commemorate the hundredth year of its reign, the ruling dynasty has commissioned a grand clock from one of the realms most prestigious artificers, who has unveiled their creation at the stroke of midnight during the new-years festival, crowning the face of the capital’s palace district. Less than a week later and people are already starting to notice that something is wrong, as freighting and prophetic dreams reported by those who dwell within the area, progressing rampantly in those who linger too close to the clock into waking delusions. When interrogated, the Artificer reports that his designs were based largely off mechanisms he’d recovered on an expedition to an ancient ruin some years ago. Clearly another journey must be organized to determine the nature of these mechanisms, because even though the mechanism has been stopped and partially dismantled, the people of the palace district can still hear the churn of its gears. 

Talking shop with a master thief reveals her possession of a pair of “spider-leather” slippers, capable of muffling her every footstep as well as delivering kicks that can temporarily silence a caster. SHe reports that the footwear were devilishly difficult to aquire, requiring her to aid a hunter who worked out of a certan remote valley, and hunted the monsters spiders within. 

 A long departed friend, foe, or family member appears before one of the partymembers in a panic, somehow alive but with thought scattered and desperate to get out their message. Snippets of lore are revealed, but they are cut short when their body begins to turn to dust. “FIND THE CHRONASEUM” they demand, before falling apart in the hero’s arms. 

Setup: Though none know exactly who created Chronauseam, it’s obvious that this edifice of artifice was the product of a sick mind made feverish with worry, obsessed with potential doomsdays that they did not live to see. 

Built into a deep mountain valley, the exterior of this site is marked by a massive construction of brasslike metal that was once suspended between the surrounding cliffs. Having crashed to the ground in ages past, it now makes a perplexing monument that only hints at this dungeon’s original purpose. The interior is much the same: dark vaults dominated by mechanisms of unknown purpose that seem to have grown from the walls like fungal growths, most unknowable in function but a few obviously meant to portent or warn of dangers that have long since passed. It is the ravings of a street corner oracle made into architecture, and much like the thoughts that fuel such ravings: they are mostly full of spiders. 

The creatures that occupy the Chronauseam are known as the “Harvestmen” for their resemblance to the tiny long legged arthropods , and for the unsettling movements they share. These aberrations appear to be little more than senseless hunters that nest within the clocklike dungeon, and spread out into the surrounding cliffs and valleys in search of prey. In addition to their spiderlike climbing abilities, the Harvestmen possess a unique magical quirk in that they are supernaturally silent, quieting not only their own many footfalls, but the sound of any object they happen to be in contact with. This adaptation allows them to scrabble up rockfaces without making a noise, and makes their sudden ambushes all the more alarming as victims are unable to scream for help. 

[lavendrl-writes]

I am so glad you asked!! Because honestly, murder cases and class trials are some of the hardest bits for me to write, so I totally understand how difficult it is to approach at first. I'll do my best to explain my process, but basically a lot of it boils down to fully understanding every angle of the situation

Summary and Timeline

To start with, I always make a bullet point summary to refer to. For example, this is the one for the first case of TIAoLaD:

The information in the red square is my basic premise, the stuff I establish before brainstorming for the actual murder. Pretty standard stuff. I do think it is key to know your culprit's motive from the beginning, because it can help shape how the murder is carried out, and it doesn't always have to be related to Monokuma's (or your equivalent's) motives! Also, something I personally like to do is make sure to vary the cause of death between cases, mostly to keep it exciting. If everyone is getting stabbed, it feels more repetitive.

Following that, I have a summary of events. I start with where the victim was just before the murder and who they were with. This is helpful for having final witnesses and easy red herring suspects.

Then you want to get the victim vulnerable. Most often, this will be getting them alone, but it could include leaving food or drink alone to be tampered with or making them blind or disoriented by turning off the lights. You can have a combination, like the notes above - Chabashira leaves her alone, which is vulnerable already, and Yumeno leaves her tea unattended to allow for the poison attempt. The point is giving your culprit an opening.

Then, obviously, the murder itself - that's straightforward since the cause of death is already decided - and the aftermath. This will typically be some level of clean up, to hide their tracks, but you could easily have your culprit run immediately and leave behind a mess. If you want to do that, though, I'd say it's best as a first case thing, because that makes it the least complicated to figure out.

There will be some outliers, of course, like suicides and multiple murders (kind of) but generally, that format (pre-murder → opening → murder → aftermath) works well because it's easy to follow and add complexity to, and it breaks down the brainstorming process into four parts. It makes it seem less intimidating.

Now, if your culprit planned the murder, I'd really recommend making a note of their original plan, especially if it deviates from what actually happened. Partly because it could leave additional clues, partly because it will probably come up in the trial as a result, and mostly to have your bases covered. I find it's a lot more comfortable to write a trial when you know every little detail of what happened, even if the characters won't deduce it to that extent. See; a snippet of my notes for the third case of TIAoLaD:

Clues

Clues - or truth bullets - are a bitch to try and think up sometimes, I'll be honest. You want them to lead to the right culprit, and you want it to do that in an understandable way. But where to start?

Looking through my cases, I think they tend to fall into a few sections.

Murder Weapon (this is obvious but it's always essential, especially if it's a strange one. using the murder weapon as a clue can take multiple forms. you could find the weapon itself with blood or whatever else, you could find it missing from its usual spot and deduce it from there, OR use it to identify the culprit because it's a personal item)

The Body (injuries and wounds: lacerations, broken bones, bruises. the position it was found in, if it seems natural or staged post-mortem)

The Surroundings (blood stains or prints on the floor, any signs of the body having been moved. signs of a struggle: knocked over furniture or items, messy surroundings. things that are broken, ajar doors, missing things)

Alibis and Accounts (what it says on the tin. this is a good way of highlighting red herring suspects, and bringing up additional information that cannot be shown through physical clues, like planned meetings or behavioural differences. it is also a good way to ward immediate suspicion off your actual culprit by giving them an, albeit weak, alibi or an innocent sounding account)

Motive-Related (in relation to both the culprit's motive and monokuma's given motive, depending on if they are the same or not. this may include things left at the scene as a statement, or in an an attempt to frame someone else.)

2 + 3 are typically used to establish the timeline of events and what actually happened in regards to the murder itself, 4 can be used for narrowing the suspect list and establishing the pre-murder and aftermath, and 1 + 5 help pinpoint the culprit, depending on what the weapon was.

Of course, these are all just general, sweeping statements. Some clues don't fit into these categories, and there can be nuance to how they lead to a culprit, but you'll usually have a couple clues in each one.

A good thing to remember is that not all the clues have to be big, they just have to be there. Mention the bloodstains, mention the wrinkled clothes, mention anything you can think the culprit might have left behind. Every little thing that could act as evidence works.

It may sometimes be easier to work backwards too, by figuring out what you need to show first. You need to show someone was in a certain place? An ajar door, or footprints, or disturbed dust, if you think your protag would be sharp enough to pick that up. You need to show the culprit was someone the victim trusted? Show less of a struggle, make the killing wound a strike from behind because the victim was willing to turn their back on the culprit. Sometimes the absence of evidence is a clue in itself, and can be used as such.

Trials

Okay, so, the beast itself. The class trials.

The biggest thing about writing trials is that they are, as you can imagine, very dialogue-heavy and rely heavily on exchange of information. Because of that, the most important thing is to make sure they have relatively good flow; keeping the switch between subjects of discussion as smooth as possible, making sure the train of thought is understandable to follow, stuff like that.

I know, that's way easier said than done.

Freewriting works very well because it helps you follow the logical assumptions your characters might have of certain questions until they reach a dead end, or the correct answer. One of the biggest obstacles with the trials I've faced, personally, is by knowing what actually happened, I struggle with finding assumptions to follow to dead ends. You don't want a trial to be too straightforward, because that makes it boring. For me, freewriting puts me more in the headspace of my characters, and helps me pad the trial with those dead ends, and it flows more smoothly because it follows my own train of thought.

The way I've found this works best is by focusing on the conversation and its topics as a stand-alone thing before actually writing the trials. I'm sure you can do this in a variety of ways, but personally, I like to freewrite it in a bunch of gibberish. See; my rambles for the beginning of the fourth trial:

The downside to freewriting is that it can get derailed easily, so you might want to make a list of conversation beats to hit first. Typically, it's easiest to make these possible suspects (like the one in bold above) but it can be certain pieces of evidence being brought up. It offers a framework for your freewriting to follow - sort of like filling the gaps between one suspect and the other.

After that, you can write the trial using your freewrite exercise as a basis to get the ball rolling!

I hope that makes sense?? This was a lot longer than I initially anticipated, and I feel like I got a bit incomprehensible at the end, but if you have any questions or need clarification, feel free to send another ask or a dm!

[youngerfrankenstein]

From @traveling-on-the-octopath, I want everyone to take back everything about Fates. I already am, because the Musou game made me DESPISE Fodlan now. So much wasted potential, and this is what they try to fill in the blanks with?! Hot Take, but M0n1c@ is a mistake, wasting what should've been a victim of the murder cult, to a effing simp of a warmonger. And Dimitri is working with Sylvain's abusive brother, no I am done. Thank you Square for the Triangle game, need a cleanser in SRPGs.

I’m really sorry to hear that. I know the idea is just to make things even more marketable but it’s really dumb.

And I know that Mona’s supposed to be funny but it kinda just comes off as tasteless to me. And hey! they used a lot of resources making a model for that asshole! They had to get their money’s worth!

I’ll admit to being a little curious if the attempt at pandering works for them or against them (or both, if they get a lot of money but lose a lot of goodwill).

But yeah, mostly I’m rolling my eyes at this game and dreading the fanbase. There do seem to be little snippets of good in the game, particularly some of the supports. But a lot of stuff just seems too wonky and at odds with the og game and I have zero interest. (Not to mention it’s, uh, really hard not to read xenophobia into how Claude is written here since he fits a fair few classic xenophobic tropes, or the masks-off misogyny in some of how I head Eddie is written)

Though I’m not apologizing for saying Fate’s monetization scheme was scummy. I stand by that.

[homerjacksons]

Sonny Carisi Week Day 3: trust Word Count: 2388 Pairing: Barisi Summary: Snippets of Sonny and Rafael’s relationship over the years in moments of trust AO3

i. the beginning

Sonny’s brain was hazy with scotch and the smell of Rafael’s cologne. He knew it wasn’t the drink, though. He’d only had one finger, poured by Rafael from a bottle he kept in his bottom drawer for nights like this, nights spent hunched over paperwork as the clock ticked over to a new day.

He took a deep breath, breathing Rafael in, and watched as his lips quirked up into a smirk.

“Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Rafael asked, only a slight hint of annoyance in his tone.

“Course,” Sonny said with a huff of laughter, shaking his head and lowering his gaze.

When he looked up again, Rafael’s eyes were still on him, shining in the dim lamplight, his face closer than Sonny remembered.

“I’m trying to...to tell you what this means to me,” he said, covering Sonny’s hand where it sat on his knee. “I’m telling you you’re not the only one. It’s not one-sided.”

Sonny blinked at him, because it turned out he must have stopped listening, lost in the greens of his eyes and the woody musk of his cologne, tired from a long night of paperwork and an even longer day of police work.

“You—me? Really?”

“You, yes,” Rafael said with a grin, cocky even though Sonny knew his heart must be racing.

“But—I—why?”

Rafael’s grin slipped and he tilted his head, giving Sonny’s hand a squeeze. “Because you’re you.”

“I’m—“

“Just trust me?”

Sonny studied him for a moment, not sure exactly what he was looking for. This wasn’t high school where the girls pretended to like him on a dare, or college where the boys kissed him as a joke. This was work, this was Rafael, telling him he felt the same.

He nodded, meeting Rafael halfway for a kiss, his entire being shaking as his heart burst with warmth and nerves and excitement and affection.

Because of course he trusted Rafael, even if it seemed too good to be true, even if Rafael loved teasing him above all else.

This was real. This was happening.

ii. fear

Sonny longed to reach out to Rafael, to hold him, to never let him go. He could see the fear that Rafael tried so hard to hide and he felt so grateful that he was trusted enough to see it, even if it broke his heart.

They got a cab back to his apartment after all necessary questions had been answered, and though they didn’t utter a word, Sonny held his hand the entire time, and Rafael held back with a fierceness Sonny had never felt.

As soon as his apartment door closed, Rafael let out a shaky breath as though he’d been holding it the whole time, and Sonny caught him under the arms as his knees buckled, entire body suddenly shaking.

“Hey,” Sonny whispered, pulling him in close. “You’re safe. It’s over.”

Rafael nodded, gripping Sonny as though his life depended on it.

He let Sonny lead him to the bathroom, and Sonny took his time removing Rafael's blood-splattered clothes while he sat, staring at a spot on the wall, unseeing.

He didn’t have the words, not really. He wanted to rant about how stupid Rafael had been to duck his security detail, about the ongoing death threats that had been a sore spot between them for months. He wanted to express the guilt he felt at not being there to protect his own boyfriend, at not being a better cop, at not finding who was behind the threats before it was too late.

Mostly, he wanted to cry, all that fear and hurt and anger and helplessness having been locked up inside him just below the surface, threatening to burst from the moment he heard 1 Hogan Place had been evacuated and Rafael was being held in his office by a man with a gun.

But he knew none of that would help. He knew, even before they’d got home, even before the events of the day, just how much all of this had been getting to Rafael. He knew because Rafael trusted him enough to let him see between the cracks in his facade.

So instead, he talked about something Jesse had done the previous day, about Bella’s new job, about his Ma’s insistence that they come to dinner that weekend. Anything to fill the awful, deafening silence as he cleaned another man’s blood off of Rafael’s skin.

iii. content

Sonny shot Rafael a grin over the kitchen island before turning back to the pan in front of him to flip the pancakes.

“What?” Rafael asked through a laugh, folding the newspaper beside him as he reached for his mug.

“Nothing, just…” Sonny trailed off with a shrug, unable to wipe the grin from his face. “Nothing.”

The truth was, he couldn't quite believe his luck. He'd imagine it a thousand times, what it might be like to wake up beside Rafael, to spend a morning filled with lazy kisses and a breakfast made from the heart. He'd imagined all the different ways it could happen, but the real thing was better than anything his mind could have come up with. Seeing Rafael, still soft with sleep, in a threadbare shirt with ruffled hair was everything.

Rafael studied him for a moment, eyes narrowed, before taking a sip of his coffee. “You look far too pleased considering how early it is.”

“It’s almost ten!” Sonny shouted through a laugh, flipping the last pancakes out onto a plate. “That’s late .”

“Not for a Sunday,” Rafael muttered under his breath.

It was such a small thing, but something new to file away about Rafael. Not a morning person, definitely not on weekends. Something else he could commit to memory. Something else he got to see all because Rafael trusted Sonny enough to let him into his home, to let him spend the night, to let him make him breakfast and look after him the way he deserved.

He slid a plate of pancakes across the island to Rafael before making his way around the counter with his own, still grinning, giddy with awe and affection.

“You’re ridiculous,” Rafael said through a sigh, but he smiled at Sonny as he said it, pulling the plate closer to him before drowning it in syrup.

“I know,” Sonny said around a mouthful of pancake and bacon.

Rafael shook his head with a roll of his eyes, but Sonny wasn’t bothered. He’d learned a while ago not to read Rafael’s teasing and exasperation as a form of affection.

iv. fear part 2

Sonny paused in his doorway, hand already on his gun before a quiet, “It’s only me,” issues from his living room.

He let out a shaky breath and closed the door behind him, letting his head fall back against it, closing his eyes, willing his heart to calm down.

Of course it was only Rafael. Who else would it be?

“Hey,” Rafael said softly, closer now, and Sonny startled at the noise, eyes flashing open.

Rafael took his hands gently, concern etched into his face in a way Sonny was sure he’d only seen directed at victims before. It made his stomach churn.

“Liv called me,” he explained, cupping Sonny’s cheek gently. “Told me you...might need me here tonight.”

“I’m fine,” Sonny muttered, closing his eyes again.

“It’s okay if you’re not.”

He took a deep breath before turning his head to press a kiss to Rafael’s palm.

“You didn’t have to come.” He took Rafael’s hand away from his face, giving it a small squeeze. “I’m okay.”

“Maybe I needed to see for myself.”

The slight waver in Rafael’s voice took him by surprise, and he nodded, pulling Rafael towards him.

“I’m okay,” he whispered before pressing a kiss to the top of Rafael’s head.

He didn’t say just how close it had been, how he’d nearly not okay, how he wouldn’t be standing here right now if his Lieutenant hadn’t come at just the right moment and saved his ass from his own stupidity.

He didn’t say how he’d stared down the barrel of a gun, sure he was about to die, or the way he’d been certain at first that it was Cole’s gun that had fired, that it had been his blood spilled.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he admitted after a moment, allowing the exhaustion he felt to seep into his words. “Not sure how, uh...how well I’d sleep tonight without ya.”

Rafael pulled back, smiling so softly it made Sonny’s heart clench in his chest.

“I wouldn’t have slept at all,” he said, taking Sonny’s hand again to lead him into the apartment properly. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He nodded, allowing himself to be led to the bathroom, allowing himself to be looked after in a way he never really had before.

v. the end

“You’re leaving?” Sonny shouted, breathless from running up five flights of stairs.

Rafael winced and turned away from him, continuing to pack his suitcase. “Evidently.”

“Fuck,” Sonny said through a breath, gripping Rafael firmly on the arm, forcing him to turn. “Just like that? Without even talking to me first?”

Rafael looked down at the tie in his hands, fiddling with the tag, still refusing to look at Sonny.

“I thought I meant more to you than that.”

He hated how broken he sounded, hated the way his voice cracked as his throat tightened, eyes burning with tears he wouldn’t let fall. But it was enough to make Rafael look up at him, his own eyes wet and shining.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sounding just as broken as Sonny felt. “I knew if I spoke to you, my resolve would crumble and I...I have to leave, Sonny. I have to.”

“Why?” He was aware he was shouting but he couldn’t quite stop it. “You won, you’ll find another job, you—“

“I love you.”

Sonny blinked at him, the fight leaving him in an instant. The words were offered as though they were an explanation, but they just added to his confusion.

“Then stay.”

“I’m so sorry,” Rafael whispered. “But this is what I need. This is what I have to do.”

Sonny studied Rafael’s face, read between the lines in his broken, pleading expression. He wanted to fight, to beg, to do anything to make Rafael stay, but he knew it was no use. His partner was as stubborn as they come, and he could see this decision hadn’t been made lightly, nor would it be easy, so he nodded.

“I love you too,” he whispered as he cupped Rafael’s cheek, wiping a stray tear with his thumb.

Rafael closed his eyes, leaning into Sonny’s touch for a moment before smiling at him, still sad, still broken. Sonny’s heart ached to fix this somehow, but he knew he couldn’t.

“This isn’t goodbye,” Rafael said suddenly, a fierceness in his voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Not unless you want it to be.”

“Of course not,” he said without hesitation.

He gripped Rafael’s face in his hands, and Rafael grabbed the front of his shirt, and their lips crashed together clumsily, all teeth and passion and longing and tears, and they fell into bed, packing abandoned for now, desperate for one last time together before everything changed.

vi. a new beginning

“So…” Rafael slid another drink across the table to Sonny. All his usual bravado seemed to have gone, replaced by a shyness and uncertainty that didn’t suit him. “You...seeing anyone?”

Sonny laughed, surprised by the question, and shook his head. “Nah. You?”

Rafael shook his head, smiling at Sonny over his glass. He still looked nervous, and before he could think better of it, Sonny leaned across the table and kissed him, soft and sweet and chaste, as though they hadn’t missed a day.

“God,” Rafael said through a laugh as they broke off. “I’ve missed that kiss.”

Sonny hummed in response, pleased with himself and his own bravery.

“I never stopped thinking about you, you know,” Rafael said quietly, barely audible over the chatter around them.

“I’m pretty hard to forget.”

Rafael rolled his eyes, biting down on a smile.

“You said it wasn’t goodbye,” Sonny said with a shrug, suddenly shy himself as he played idly with the condensation on the tabletop. “I guess I trusted you.”

“I meant it,” Rafael said quickly, reaching across the table to take Sonny’s hand.

“You stopped calling though,” he said, not meeting Rafael’s gaze.

Rafael sighed, and moved to take his hand away again, but Sonny stopped him, linking their fingers.

“I thought I was setting you free,” Rafael admitted with a sad smile. “Liv kept telling me I was an idiot but I—“

“You are an idiot.”

After a beat of silence, Rafael barked out a surprised laugh, throwing his head back.

“I missed that,” Rafael said through a sigh. “You just speaking your mind.”

“Well…” Sonny trailed off with a shrug, a grin slowly taking over his face.

They sat in silence for a while, just drinking, hands back on their respective sides of the table though Sonny longed to touch him again, to be closer.

“I never stopped loving you,” he admitted, forcing himself to maintain eye contact.

Rafael didn’t look surprised at the admission, though. He simply nodded with a sigh.

“That was the problem. I thought if I stopped calling, maybe you’d...fall out of love.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sonny said with a sharp shake of his head. He stood, moving around the table so he could sit beside Rafael, so close their knees touched. “For someone so smart, you really are stupid.”

Rafael hummed in agreement, but before he could say anything, Sonny kissed him, fiercer now, pulling Rafael into him, pouring years of pent-up longing into the action.

When they broke apart, both a little breathless, Rafael grinned at him, pressing their foreheads together.

“I never stopped loving you either, you know,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“Can you forgive me for being an absolute idiot?”

Sonny smiled, pressing a quick kiss to Rafael’s lips before pulling back to stand up again.

“Already forgiven,” he said easily, holding out a hand for Rafael to take. “Come on. Let’s go home.”