#damaging romance tropes

[hussyknee]

The Career-driven Emancipated Woman Can Barely Boil Water trope is extremely sexist and white feminist. I've been waiting thirty years for feminism to move past this classist girlboss bullshit and I'm clean out of patience. Even aside from the gross devaluing of traditional female labour, grown-ass adults should be able to feed themselves and their families regardless of gender. If you're abled and have had the resources to learn basic life skills but you've elected not to because you think you can always pay people to take care of your ass, you're a privileged nitwit who's trying to weaponize incompetence.

[saturdaynightghostclub]

Apropos of nothing: how exactly do I walk the extremely fine line between “shitting on the romance genre is misogynistic” and “if you can’t read a book without one of your top 10 romantic tropes you need to grow up”

[millersfinest]

the thing in your chest that beats | e.w

santa barbara!ellie williams & ex-firefly!reader

wc: 5k

mini-series: california (you’re here) | oregon | idaho | wyoming

blurb: you put up a good fight with those rattlers, but it wasn’t good enough—all it got you was strung up near a beach where the sun scorched you dry. abruptly, their set-up gets fucked by their own prisoners, saving your life by only a thread. but the wrath that lingered under your skin was immense, and you’re not the only one to experience that phenomenon. when another damaged soul encounters your brittle state; the dreams that put you in a tough position manifest into reality. along with a few extra miscellaneous things…

cw: angry!r, mentions of fate, santa barbara arc, infected, shooting, lots of exposition, torture, violence, vulgar language, slow-burn romance, eventual smut, proximity trope, both reader and ellie on a path of redemption.

note: this first part is lowkey boring imo, but i hope the angst makes up for it. as always, please enjoy my hyperfixation!!

California

Ropes chafed at your skin; securing your legs and wrists on top of each other to the wooden post. Fog had shielded the setting sun from your skin—after many hours of being scorched. Your muscles ached and your bones were sore. The exposed skin on your shoulders and chest was dry and flaking, exposing an under layer of tenderness. Everything fucking hurt. But you were barely there; head nodding off from the scratching at your stomach and the dryness in your mouth ripping your lips apart.

How did you, a firefly, militarily trained, end up tied to a pillar at the cusp of a beach in Santa Barbara?

You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. This group searched for people like you—lonely and pillaged by the weight of the world. You were too distracted to foresee their deception; they got lucky with you.

Until the chemical reactions in your brain short-circuited, causing you to act out in the name of self-preservation.

Wrath, by definition, is a trait you’re easily overcome with. It’s not just something that passes through you like other traits and emotions. It holds on. It makes a home in your body and directs you like a rabid dog—a burdening feeling that nestled between your sore muscles. It filled you with adrenaline to kill and destroy—to get rid of the people who tried to get rid of you.

And, every time, you managed to find yourself feeling bad about it. There was no explanation for that. Just your heart being too sensitive for world you existed in—it was constantly broken. By yourself and your circumstances.

It was your own fault that you were captured by the rattlers. You should’ve never left Catalina Island for a pipe dream. There wasn’t anything better than the firefly base—you should’ve known that and never left. Perhaps, if you had remained under the duty of your earned dog tags, you wouldn’t have been thrusted into the situation that you were in.

Wyoming was a lie that you told yourself because you wanted to live a life that didn’t exist.

Locked in a debate with death, your body abruptly hit the dense surface of the sand. The ropes that bound you to that skewer had been severed by a fallen angel. A prisoner you had attached yourself to in the hopes of survival. Her hair was coily and reflected copper under the Californian sun.

You came to from the impact, finally beginning to hear the ongoing gunfire coming from the resort buildings. As you twitched in pain, she cut the bindings at your wrists and ankles. Tucking a pistol into your hand, she muttered words of hope. “Good luck out there, hotshot.”

Your lips moved to respond, but there wasn’t any sound. It didn’t matter, though, because she wasn’t around to hear it. The young woman at once took off in the opposite direction of the chaos with a bag over her shoulder.

Stuck in a dilemma, you didn’t move for a few moments. Eyes stuck on the weight in your weak hands. It was nothing but a black semi-automatic—it weighed nothing compared to bigger firearms. However, it sunk your hand into the sand as if it weighed a ton. You couldn’t even hold a gun with the same conviction that you used to. Yet, the fallen angel had faith that you could.

Taking in a deep wheezing breath, you tried to stand to your feet. You got up enough for your knees to bend, but once you extended them, you crashed back into the sand with a thud. In temporary defeat, you looked to the people still suspended on the pillars. They were unmoving, rotting away from the inside out. That could’ve been you if it weren’t for her cutting you down.

In mourning them, you gave standing another attempt. Keeping your hands low to catch your fall. But you didn’t fall. The muscles in your legs were weak, trembling as you stretched them. With a hunch in your back, you grabbed the gun, adjusting it in your hands. Your professional form remained the same as remnants of your training. Placing your hands over one another on the handle, supporting its weight. Aiming the barrel toward nothing specific, just to get the feeling again. It’s been months since you had opportunity to defend yourself.

With as much quickness that you could muster, you went through the resort to grab supplies. A backpack, medkit, and some food.

Setting your mind on leaving, you tried to sneak through the gunfire between the prisoners and the rattlers. But that simply wasn’t in the cards for you.

Before you could escape the resort, one of them had a bone to pick with you. It was the same rattler that was your deceptive captor. She used her femininity to convince you that she needed help—that she was weak and she needed your help. If anything, you have a bone to pick with her.

She had come at you with her bear hands, pushing your face up against a wall. She tore the backpack from your back, throwing it to the side. Where did her wrath come from? Somehow, you managed to get the upper hand. Straddling her body delivering punches that you haven’t in awhile. It felt natural to you to release such violence against another person.

Through beating her bloody, you found your power again. Tearing off the shimmering dog tags around her neck that had previously belonged to you. Heaving, you looked down at her. She had split your lip and broken your nose, but you could argue that you did worse to her. Her nose was cracked in multiple places, as she coughed up her own blood and teeth. It slipped down the crevices of her face, dribbling into her brown eyes.

“Fuck you.” You firmly speak, picking up your bag from its straps, swinging it around your shoulders.

From the fight, you had stumbled into a room of firearms. Still weak, you limped around. Causing you to walk away from the damage with a Beretta A300 shotgun and ammunition.

Like it was a prize after a big challenge.

You found yourself stumbling along the sand of the beach you were stuck on. This time, closer to the foggy waters of the coast. Ignoring the throbbing sensation in your thigh. You were barely sentient, running on nothing but fumes. But you knew you had to get as far from Santa Barbara as you could.

All of sudden, darkness began encapsulating your eyes from the outside in. Your limbs grew heavier, slowing down the pace of your movements—you collapsed into the sand like the damsel you had become.

When your eyes fluttered open, you were laying on an itchy couch. Waking up felt like awaking from a coma. Sitting up was a chore because of the tightness of your muscles. You felt it like a sickness in your chest. Trying to move your legs, you sucked in a pained breath. A hole that was cut into your ripped jeans was covered by white wrapping. Gauze.

A single lantern in the middle of the living room illuminated the space. It was placed on a dusty coffee table—off-center. Your backpack and weapons leaned against an entertainment center; a large cabinet that combined the use of compartments as well as a space for the tv to fit.

Blinking slowly, you tried to remember how you got there. Fingers gripping at the cushions, experiencing a crazy amount of brain fog. A wrapper crackled under the weight of your hand as you shifted. It was a granola bar tucked under the pillow that you laid your head on.

You stomach scratched at your abdomen, so you wasted no time in retrieving it—ripping open the wrapper and biting into the nutty granola. The side of your foot kicked over a metal canister, accidentally. Clashing toward the scratched wooden floors, it startled you. Reaching down, you shook it in your hands. There was a liquid inside. Screwing the lid off, you realized it was only water. Something else your body demanded of you.

Who put all this stuff here? It couldn’t have been you.

A creak from the side of the room, caused you to snap your head in that direction. Chewing slowly on the oats in your mouth, your eyebrows scrunched. Your free hand felt your hip from the cool metal of that gifted pistol, but there was nothing but the fabric of your jeans.

By the time she came into your view, your body froze. Your gun was across the room, she had the advantage. She loomed in the darker parts of the room as if she were hiding from you—in a way that was prey-ish, rather than predatory.

“I didn’t think you’d wake up…”

Her voice was raspy, and she spoke with a slow cadence. When she came into the light, she kept her distance. By the corner of the entertainment center cabinet—on the opposite end of where your bag was laying. Her auburn strands were choppy and tucked behind her ears. She wore a white t-shirt that was filthy with, what looked like, blood and dirt. Hands fidgeting with each other in front of her body as she eyed you with concern. She was missing her pinky and ring finger from her left hand. “You’d been out for hours… I, uhm, stitched up a wound on your leg— thought you might’ve caught an infection.”

She lacked conviction when she spoke to you. Voice leaving with a sort of emptiness, or perhaps, guilt. “Where’d you find me?” You asked, gritting your jaw. Holding onto the metal canister tight enough to use as a weapon if need be. That last thing you wanted was to be fooled by a stranger again.

She cleared her throat. “The beach.”

That’s when it hit you. The memories of your weakness hit. You remember dragging your legs through the sand, catching the glimpse of a body sitting in the water beside a vacant boat, then falling into a deep sleep. Of course, you, somehow, offered yourself up to a stranger.

It was just your luck, huh?

“There were others you could’ve helped… Why me?”

A scoff fell from her lips. Scarred eyebrows jutting together; an attitude washing over her freckled features. As if your words were charged with something else besides cautious curiosity. “I was expecting more of a thank you...”

You blinked, sucked your teeth. “I don’t know you from a can of fucking paint— so, you should lower your expectations.” You retorted, boring your eyes into her slender figure. What alarmed her was how your voice scolded gently. It cut deeper that way. “I mean, what is that on your shirt? Blood? Would you wanna thank some stranger in a bloody shirt?”

She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Have you seen yourself?” Her thick eyebrow raised, voice dropping an octave. “You look like shit—“

You glanced at the shirt that clung to you perspiring body. It also had remnants of blood and dirt and sand. Leaning your elbows on your thighs, you leaned forward. “Fuck you! You have no idea what I’ve been through—!”

“And you know what I’ve been through?” She countered, scoffing after her words.

You talked over each other—barking like unfamiliar dogs. Wrath came easy to you; and, apparently, it came easy to her, too. Her words silenced you, but you grit your teeth. “I should’ve left you where I found you— fuckin’ joke’s on me.” She ran a hand through her short hair, taking long strides out of the living room. Preparing to sink back into the corner she came from.

Clearing your throat, you swallowed your pride. There was a sincerity behind her eyes that you couldn’t ignore. Her anger radiated off her epidermis is such a way that it was familiar. “All right,” You sighed, positioning your body slowly to face her departing figure. She’d stopped in her path, peering over her boney shoulder. “I don’t recognize you from the cells… Or the pillars. Who the fuck are you?” Your eyebrows furrowed, voice weakening by the mention of your greatest failure: becoming a slave to the weirdest assholes known to man.

Wheels shifted in her mind, her olive eyes flickering around in the dark, in thought. Lips opening and closing, trying to formulate her words—but there was no use. She decided to resume her steps, sequestering herself in a bedroom. You heard the sound of the door shutting and locking the door behind her.

Groaning, you shut your eyes, leaning your head against the soft, itchy pillows, frustrated.

Unbeknownst to you, she’d locked herself in that room because she found herself overcome with emotion—hot, streaming tears. She didn’t know you as much as you didn’t know her, and she wasn’t going to share her own greatest failures with you. If what you were saying was true, you were victimized. How could someone like her talk to someone like you? After the things she’s done… After the things she was prepared to do.

The sun ascended, with the two of you lingering in separate rooms. You had eventually fallen asleep after some hours in your thoughts. Wondering about the story of the woman sheltering herself from you. Multiple times, you had to stop yourself from dwelling. This is what got you caught up with the first time. Instead, you began to think about what your plans were.

Were you going to resume your journey to Wyoming, in the hopes of finding that settlement? Or were you going to hitch it back to Catalina Island? And hope to God that they take you back with minimal consequences. Dwelling on those thoughts, instead of her, is what brought you to sleep.

When you woke up, you finished the metal canister of water. Giving the room a proper once-over. Sun rays cascaded through the dusty windows like beams, illuminating the room, angelically. Taking a deep breath, you decided to walk around. The soreness in your body hadn’t changed—you still felt burdened by your own body.

The home was a single-leveled Tuscan inspired home. Its interior was riddled with browns and beiges. Dragging your feet against the wooden floor, you entered the kitchen. All the cabinets were blown open and searched through. You assumed it was that woman who you’d met—still, you didn’t know her name.

Looking down at the counters, there was a yellow-paged note on the furthest one from you. The island closest to her bedroom. It was lying under a pill bottle. You shifted as quickly as you could to the note, sliding the pill bottle to the side, but not without a glance. They were antibiotics.

Found the antibiotics in the cabinets this morning, there’s only two left. Take them both.

I left to go hunt for some food. Stay in the house if you know what’s best for yourself. There’s infected around.

I’ll be back soon.

— E

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “If I know what’s best for myself…” Pressing into the top of the bottle, you unscrewed it. With nothing but your saliva, you knocked back two of the pills just like she told you. However, not because she told you to. There were many reasons for you to catch an infection from the wound on your leg—the wound you didn’t even remember how you got.

“I can handle infected.” You muttered to yourself. It’s been awhile since you really dealt with them face-to-face, but it was an innate ability. Why wouldn’t you be able to defend yourself from infected? Your only limits were your body stuck in its state of pain.

But, where you come from, sometimes it took movement to heal pain. Pushing through soreness and tightness was the only way to move forward.

So, instead of waiting around for E to come back around. You decided to explore some of the nearby houses. Ones that were only a few paces away from the house that you were currently in—you weren’t that stupid.

You secured your backpack around your shoulders, hooking the strap of your shotgun around your arm, and sticking the pistol in the back of your jeans. The first stop was next door. Slowly, you had climbed through a broken window. Landing in a bedroom decorated with childish posters. Focusing, you found yourself busy with looting the home. Taking things of importance and putting them inside of your bag.

You didn’t run into anything shocking until the third place you visited—three houses down. Thankfully, there was no clicking, but there were the familiar wailings of a runner. Catching a glimpse of coily copper hair, huddled over sobbing in her hands, you crouched behind a wall. Eyes shifting from side to side, trying to digest the visual.

Good luck, hotshot.

Perhaps, it was her who really needed the luck. Slowly, you removed the gun from your shoulder, leaning it against the wall. The breaths from your lips fled in chunks, pulling the gifted pistol from your waistband. You had known her for the entirety of your stay at that treacherous resort—she was your anchor. She helped you with your anger, keeping you under an emotional routine. Later, it worked for the worst instead of the better, but she tried to help you in there. She was patient with you.

You stepped from the wall, aiming the chamber of the pistol at the back of her head. You didn’t know her for that long, but you knew she wouldn’t want something like this for herself. She had plans just like you did—she wanted out of California. Leaving her to stumble around this broken home would be fucked up.

She freed you. Now, it was time for you to free her.

“You deserved better than this, Honey.” She was sweet and tangy like honey; that’s why you called her that. It wasn’t even her name—you didn’t know her name.

Your index finger squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet straight through her unsuspecting mind. Her whines were more coherent, meaning that all of that just happened. The infection had just taken over. A tear had slipped down the fat of your cheek when her body hit the ground. The shot echoing against the walls and through the neighborhood.

She lasted no longer than a day on her own, and those rattlers were nothing but the blame. They drained you enough to make you suffer but keep you working. But, out on the road, you stood no chance.

There was a piece of notebook paper on the floor by the baseboards of the wall Honey’s body laid beside. With a lump in your throat, you plucked it from the ground, holding it delicately in your hands.

After months of captivity, I’ve found myself in a situation that I could have never imagined. I didn’t notice when the clicker bit me, everything happened so fast!

It hurts now, though, a lot. And the anticipation of the infection is worser than I expected it to be. This is the part where I put a gun in mouth to end it all.

I’m too tired to do that. For once, I don’t wanna fight.

I apologize to those who end up witnessing what I have become.

The palm of your hand covered your mouth in shock as you read the letter. Honey must’ve been horrified. And it hurt to know that she went through it all alone.

Catching you in a grieving state, E had vaulted through a broken window with her gun in hand. Her olive eyes landed on you, subsiding the subtle look of shock on her face. “I thought I told you to stay in the house.” She tucked the pistol into the waistband of her jeans, sighing. “You’re in no condition to travel alone…” Her eyes casted onto your frame leaning over a marble counter, reading over the letter silently.

Hearing her footsteps, you folded up the letter and slid it into your back pocket. Taking a final look at the dead woman on the floor, a reflection of your friend that didn’t exist anymore, you brush past the the auburn-haired woman. Shoulders grazing as you achingly climb out of the same window she came in from.

Without saying, what happened to Honey worried you. Loneliness was a cruelty that many could afford—you experienced it. But loneliness along with bodily ailments wasn’t a problem you wanted. If it weren’t for E, you could’ve been in the same position as Honey. What made you worth saving and not her? A ball of fury, like yourself, should’ve been the first to go.

Yet, a level of gratefulness washed over you. Were you ready to thank the freckled stranger for her saviorship?

E followed you back to the house, binding the front door with furniture. Entering, you noticed two rabbits attached to a string laying on the tiled counter. Impressed, you hummed, while dragging your feet toward the couch you had slept on. You shrugged off your backpack and leaned your shotgun against the wall.

The auburn-haired woman peered at you, messing with rabbits, pulling them off the string to prepare to cook them. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She breathed. Her voice coming out like a muttered sigh, but it was loudly quiet in the house. Therefore, your ears picked up on her words.

You ignored her, pulling out the note, and kicking your feet up onto the couch to read it again. Analyzing the messy handwriting on the page, tainted with dried tears and dirty hand prints. E had brought in a metal trashcan to cook the animals she hunted for the both of you. Every so often, peaking at you with interest and wonder.

When the rabbits were cooked, she brought it over to you in a chipped ceramic bowl. “Thanks…” You mutter, barely meeting her eyes.

“Yeah,” She answered, slightly taken off guard.

The two of you eat separately, on different sides of the room. E didn’t retreat back into the room had the night before. Instead, she propped herself on the stool by the island table. Where she could keep her intense olive eyes on you—attempting to read you without asking questions.

You were impressed by the rabbit presented to you. Back at the base, you were familiar with chicken more so than rabbit, though. There was a hesitation when taking the first bite. But the rumble in your belly was satisfied by the animal, and that was all that mattered.

Feeling a strong gaze on you, peering to the side was a natural reaction. She’d snap her eyes back to her plate before you could fully catch her. Sighing, you set the plate on the coffee table in front of the couch.

In your looting, a bottle of wine called out to you from the basement of one of the Tuscan homes. You limped toward the kitchen with your calloused hand wrapped around the sloped neck of the bottle. Placing the bottle at the middle of the island, you take a seat at the furthest end from her. “I thought I would properly thank you for saving my ass…” You cleared your throat, awkwardly. Choosing to keep your eyes trained on your fidgeting fingers. “It’s Cabernet, I think. The label’s kind of rubbed off.”

“I’m not much of a drinker.”

You pursed your lips, flickering your eyes to peer at her. “Hm.” You hum. “Okay, well, more for me, I guess.” You shrug, reaching for the wine. The plan was to drink it either way—if she wanted it, or if she didn’t. Peeling off the wrapper, you were happy to see that it was a screw top instead of an imbedded cork.

Taking the first sip, its sweetness spread over your tongue. The alcohol percentage was fairly high, so you were expecting a pleasurable feeling within the next few minutes. If you kept gulping at the bottle. You deserved a bit of man-made solace after what you’ve been through. After the things you’ve seen. Taking another sip, you prepare to go back to the couch you were sat on, with the bottle in your hand.

However, E places a hand on the cool tiles. “Wait…” She rolled her eyes. “One sip wouldn’t hurt.” In her silence, she realized that she also deserved a few moments of calmness—self-care.

The corners of your lips curled, sitting back down on your stool. You slid the bottle close enough for her to reach it, leaning your head against your fist.

Orange rays of the sun shifted through the room; setting so the moon could take her place. You and E had found comfort in the wine and in the space between yourselves. Scooting close to each other until there was only a single stool in the center of you. Talking about the more joyous parts of your lives—which, surprisingly, wasn’t much. The pair of you managed to keep the important information off the record. Upholding a level of vagueness between your truth.

When E had brought up her son and girlfriend, that’s when the energy shifted in the room.

“You have a family? Then… Why are you out here?”

A beat slivered between you, circling your bodies like a ribbon.

“I recognize those dog tags… You’re a firefly? I thought they shut down years ago.” She spoke with rigid shoulders, taking a swig of the Cabernet.

Your hand reached for the thin metal around your neck, decorating your exposed collarbones. There was a disconnect between you and the facility you had grown up in. While you loved the support of the community, as you got older, you wanted something different. “Yeah, after everything shut down, another popped up here—in California. It’s the only one left, I believe.”

She chuckled, cheeks flushed from the alcohol accumulating in her system. “Hm. Are you gonna try and recruit me into your little cult? Is that why you’re still out here?”

Deepening your eyebrows, you peered down at the grout between the tiles under your hands. “Probably… If I still was a firefly…” Slowly, you enunciated. “I haven’t been one for months now.”

“Ah, you went rogue.”

“I wouldn’t say that… But, yeah, I guess.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for the wine bottle. She put it in your hand, leaning her elbow against the counter. E left room for you speak, just boring her hazed eyes into your frame. “I was done with being an asshole for a living— I don’t want to just survive anymore… I want to live.” You take a large swig of the wine, lamenting subtly.

Look where desiring life got you. Locked up as a slave for another bunch of assholes. “I heard from some people that there was a place in Wyoming that wasn’t anything like the fireflies.” You inhaled, sharply. “I could live a normal life there— maybe it’s a stupid idea… I don’t know.”

E deepened her thick eyebrows, leaning forward. “Are you talking about Jackson?”

“Yeah, I think so. There was a map in my bag that had the name. I lost it when the rattlers got ahold of me.”

With scrunched face, she stood to her feet. Running her hands over her face, releasing a tired sigh. “It’s not that stupid of an idea…” Looking back at you, she placed her hands on her hips. “That’s where I’m headed— Jackson, Wyoming.”

“Oh…”

Was this the fated reasoning behind why the both of you met? Both harboring an inner pain and guilt for something or someone. Two damaged souls meeting in the middle—this could be a productive exchange. But what would E receive?

She swore under her breath, running her fingers through her hair, stressfully. “You could come with me, it’s not like you’d get far in your condition alone.” She blinked, casually. You scoff at her words, sucking your teeth. She could never just be kind. Sure, it was obvious that you were injured—in horrible shape—but you weren’t inherently weak. You were a trained individual, something that most people couldn’t say.

“I’d feel like an asshole if I didn’t at least offer. It’s a long journey—“

“Oh, you still come off like an asshole, but I appreciate the offer.” You nod, jumping from the stool. “Those fucks threw me off track— I wouldn’t even know where to start up again… So, yeah, I’ll go with you.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“You don’t make me regret this. I have a bad history when it comes to trusting strangers.” You pressed your lips into a line, leaning against the island for support. There was a slight sway to stance, as the world around you didn’t feel stable.

“Okay, well, you have my word.” She affirmed, sliding her hands into her back pockets. “Do I have yours?”

You inhaled, sharply, glancing at the ceiling. “Yes, you have my word… On the condition that you tell me your name.” She narrowed her eyes at you, the corners of her lips curling. “We can’t possibly travel together if we don’t know each other’s names.”

The auburn-haired woman picked up the backpack she threw against the lower cabinets, slinging it over her shoulder. She was preparing to huddle into that bedroom again. Before leaving you in the dim hue of the few lanterns in the room, she spoke. “Ellie. My name’s Ellie.”

She waited by her door for your answer, with a raised eyebrow. You gave her your name, plainly. Straightening the hunch in your back—feigning a level of stoicism.

The only response she gave was a hum, before locking herself away. Releasing a sigh of relief, you smiled. Wyoming wasn’t the pipe dream you thought it to be. Yeah, the experiences you had leading up to that conversation weren’t the best. In fact, those experiences scarred everything about you. But could this have been the reason behind your hellish encounters?

[dylsluvrs]

ryomen sukuna x reader | college au [18+]

touchdown ch.1 ryomen sukuna wants to send you a message!

ᡣ𐭩 pairing. football player! sukuna x journalism major! reader

ᡣ𐭩 summary. ryomen sukuna. your best friend’s frat brother. he’s tall, hot, suave, not to mention the best thing to happen to college football since…well, ever. he’s in a world completely different to your own. while he spends his nights partying and racking up his body count, you spend your nights reading and racking up your word count. but when the two of you decide to come to a mutually beneficial agreement, you realise you aren’t so different after all.

ᡣ𐭩 warnings/tags. 18+. fem!reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, alcohol consumption, weed consumption, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, fake dating, opposites attract, acquaintances to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, sukuna being an asshole, best friend gojo.

ᡣ𐭩 chapter. 1/?

ᡣ𐭩 word count. 700

ᡣ𐭩 a/n. hello readers! welcome to the first chapter of touchdown!! i hope you’re all having a great week so far! fake dating has forever been one of my favourite tropes ugh the angst opportunities make me feral. this will be a sort of slow chapter as we introduce everything, but i hope you enjoy it!!

nav. masterlist

|| 3:24AM Ryomen Sukuna wants to send you a message

You flinch as your phone buzzes beside you, interrupting your disassociated reading of ‘the fundamentals of journalism’. You opted to ignore the buzz, focusing back in on the page you’d been trying to read for the past fifteen minutes. Your eyes would finally reach the bottom of the page, only to flit back up to the top because you simply couldn’t grasp what you’d been doing wrong. Your research had come to a halt, the football team flat out refusing to be interviewed by you. You knew how you were, how invasive your questions could be, but these were boys who bragged about their conquests to anyone who would listen, embarrassment should not be in their vocabulary.

Another buzz sounded. Then another. And another. You sighed, dog-earring the page and picking your phone up. A request for an instagram dm, and four texts from satoru.

|| Toru🤍: y/n, baby. please kindly look at your instagram dms.

|| Toru🤍: i know you’re not sleeping, check them right now.

|| Toru🤍: sukuna’s trying to dm you can you just answer him pls??

|| Toru🤍: he’s punching me PLEASE read the dm before he damages the money maker too much

You groaned. Ryomen Sukuna. Quite possibly the biggest slut on campus. You’d heard all the stories from Satoru about how Sukuna was making it his mission to fuck every sorority girl from your university. Eugh. You were so thankful that you chose to opt out of the sorority life. But, you loved Satoru, and he loved his face being intact, so over to instagram it was.

|| Ryomen Sukuna: Need a favour, princess.

You’d known Satoru since birth, practically being forced into an arranged friendship by your parents and you kinda happened to like his company. You met the rest of the football team when he inevitably joined a frat. Consisting of only the football team. You were friendly with most of them, probably Suguru most of all. The only one who never really warmed to you was Sukuna. You knew him well enough to know he accepted the extra meal preps you left for the rest of the boys whenever you cooked for Satoru, and that his room directly faced Satoru’s. But that was it.

|| Ryomen Sukuna: I’ll make it worth your while.

You groaned again, eyes rolling into the back of your head. This was the same man who grunted when you greeted him with a smile whenever you were at the frat house. The guy who told Satoru that he can’t always use his plus one invite to the parties on you, mostly because you never turn up.

|| You: you’re coming to me for a favour? you must be really outta options, dude.

It was a strange feeling. Being needed. You knew Satoru needed you. You were the only one who kept him sane when he’s balancing football and physics. But this was a different kind of need. This was practically a stranger needing your help. Huh.

|| Ryomen Sukuna: Fuck you. I need a girlfriend. You wanna do it?

Confused didn’t even begin to cover what you were feeling right now. A girlfriend? Sukuna? Nope. Never gonna happen. And you of all people? Definitely not. You had a feeling Satoru didn’t know, because if he did, Sukuna’s phone would be broken and maybe his nose too.

|| You: the fuck? no, go ask one of your sorority fuck buddies if you’re that desperate. i’m sure their frothing at the mouth for the opportunity.

You went to put your phone down, choosing to ignore the pink-haired quarterback, but he was already typing. Like he was waiting for an answer.

|| Ryomen Sukuna: Real cute, princess. Obviously I don’t want a fuckin real one. Need a fake girlfriend so I can focus on football without thinking about pussy.

Confused again. The Ryomen Sukuna, self-proclaimed football god, needed help to be able to actually play? The situation was laughable actually. You furrowed your brows, the thought crossing your mind for just a second.

|| You: Pass.

You let out a sigh of relief when ten minutes passed and you were still left on read, choosing to turn your phone over, pressing your face into the pillow, and getting your final three hours of sleep you so desperately craved.

taglist: @kyo-kyo1 @kenmacantakemeaway @coldluminarykoala @sukubusss @clp-84 @ieathairs @toratsue @mocha-the-muse @ieathairs @toratsue @mocha-the-muse @livinggxd3adgirl

[love-toxin]

MR O’HARA HAS ME ACTING FERAL BOTH OF MY LIPS HAS BEEN DROOLING SINCE I WATCHED ATSV OPENING NIGHT… I NEED HIM TO DESTROY ME

RIGHT??? LIKE--LIKE--

(cws: across the spiderverse spoilers, gn pronouns, smut, rough sex, mating press, size kink, biting/venom, belly bulges, mindbreak(?), breeding mention, a bit of forbidden love trope)

Like....imagine, if you will, becoming an assistant for the Spider-society after your dimension is destroyed. It's mostly because Miguel took pity on you since you're not a spider-person, you had nothing to do with the unravelling of your world, and/or you were meant to gain your spider-powers but an anomaly in your dimension prevented it. Since there's no place for you in another multiverse, he keeps you on his team both to give you asylum and to keep an eye on you just in case you prove to be an anomaly yourself....but it becomes pretty clear pretty early on that you're not really a threat. Not for violence, at least.

You're just a sweet thing that gets doted on by nearly everyone in the society--you're either a refreshing break from the endless spiderman variants running around or you remind the spiders of their Mary Janes, their Gwen Stacies, their Gayatri Singhs, and being a civilian to boot makes you the perfect candidate to have your things carried for you and be given web-slinging rides around the facility even though you're supposed to be the assistant here.

But even so, even though you're treated so lightly, Miguel really likes you and even--gasp--enjoys your company. It can be hard to tell with him, but the most perceptive of the spiders notice that Miguel keeps you in his good graces always. When he's stressed or in a bad mood, he collects himself before he speaks to you. He never snaps at you, and on the very rare times you get caught in his crosshairs, he apologizes quietly and gently and reiterates that whatever it was about, it wasn't your fault. He gives you so much wiggle room for error to the point that his companions sometimes complain outright that he's such a hardass, but he never berates you when you make a mistake, and without fail Miguel will come up with some reason for it; "That's because they don't screw up as often as you do" or "At least I can trust them to do their job", or he'll just tell whoever's bitching to leave you out of it and he'll dismiss you to discuss the matter privately.

Surprisingly, those incidents don't bother him nearly as much as when the inner circle starts getting closer to you. He feels this deep need to pull you away when Gwen offers to take you on a trip through the dimensions (although that's just plain dangerous), but it also bubbles up when Hobie hangs around and encourages you to join his band, and when Jess asks you questions about your life and is eager to hear about any potential romances you might be getting yourself into--there's a lot of single spider-people out there, and you're not tied to any dimension, so you've got plenty of options!

God, Miguel hates when Jess brings that up. You don't need to go anywhere, your place is here. You can stay here safely, which is something he can't promise in any of those other dimensions the spiders come from. But that's not the real reason, he realizes that when he feels that tingle at the sight of you holding Mayday and playing with her, having been given the task of impromptu babysitter for Peter when he has to rush off and do damage control somewhere.

It's you. He likes having you around, and it's not about letting you venture off into other dimensions, he just doesn't want you to leave him. That's why he loves it when you reply to those people, when you tell them "Oh, but I couldn't leave Mr. O'Hara! He'd lose his head without me." or "I really like this job, actually. I wanna keep working under Mr. Miguel." and especially "Miguel saved my life, I owe him all I can give. I could never leave him all alone." because it just reaffirms that desire for him to keep you as close to his side as possible. When he replays those videos of himself and his daughter, the pain is dulled for a while as he sees your eyes in hers, and envisions a future where you create a new family with him--one that he can properly protect this time.

It's that fantasy that emboldens him to lay hands on you, your body so puny and small in comparison to his massive frame, so fragile as he holds your hips in both hands and waits for you to tell him this isn't really what you want. He's waiting for it, anticipating it, even reminding you that you have the option when you look up at him shell-shocked. He promises that your answer won't affect your position here. It falls on deaf ears, however, because you desperately want to kiss him but you just don't think you can reach.

It's so adorable to see you try. Up on your tiptoes, clutching at his suit, straining to try and reach him where he's at--all it takes is an arm around your waist and he's got you off your feet and in the air, perfectly situated to press your pretty mouth to his own and awaken his instincts that have laid dormant all these long years. The stress of keeping each and every dimension following its intended canon has nearly broken him, it might have done so already if not for your unexpected appearance in his life. It's riled him up so much he doesn't think twice about taking you back to his place, nor gives him second thoughts when you help him peel that tight suit off and he tears through your clothes just as easily--maybe it really doesn't matter. His world is gone and so is yours, but you're both still here and you're begging him for another kiss, for more attention. How sweet could you possibly be? Pleading for something you'll always have and not realizing it's the least you deserve, perfect as you are?

Miguel just can't help himself anymore, he's too far gone and you’re too angelic for him to let down when you want him so badly. You don't seem to mind the rough treatment as he pushes you down either, no, you thrive on his aggressiveness and even encourage it to come out as he clambers over you. That pretty smile and those giggles as he shoves your thighs apart and spits, his venom sending electrifying tingles up and down your spine as he fingers the makeshift lube inside you. He's so bulky you can't even get your legs all the way around him when he lowers himself, forced to let your heels scrabble down his lower back as you struggle to find some kind of purchase on him--to just grab something and let it keep you steady as he slides in and rocks you into oblivion. The toxins loosen you up too, thank god, or else you'd be seriously struggling to take him in when he's practically twice your size. And he doesn't want to force it in, he just wants to ease you into the process before he allows himself to batter your poor body with thrusts that shake the whole bed--it's a little bit of payback for flaunting your pretty self around his office without ever telling him how you actually feel about him. Now you know exactly what you've been missing.

Drooling, hair sticking to your skin, sweat dripping down your chest, body gripping him like a vice yet endlessly slick....you're a total mess and he couldn't be more satisfied. You don't even try to keep yourself together, but that's all that he wants--he wants you to lose yourself in the way he makes you feel so you won't ever want to leave. The taboo is there; you're not from his dimension, he shouldn't be planning any kind of future with someone who doesn't belong in his world. But it makes it all more thrilling in the moment even if he can reason his way around it, it makes his every thrust gain power until he's breaking your willpower down enough to have your eyes rolling back in your head, hips jumping weakly as you try to participate. You don't even know how good you make him feel without lifting a finger.

Gliding through you as if you couldn't be more willing to take him, his position is clear just from a glance down at your stomach--the bulge is obvious, and as sickening as it could be your whines as you brush your fingertips over it sing his praises without a coherent word. You're so wet and stupid and needy on his cock, clearly he should've done this a long time ago when you were so much worse at hiding your pining looks at him from across the room. If he knew it would culminate into this, he would've saved the assistant crap and turned you into his stress relief toy that very first day. If he had, you might've already had a family by now....knowing him, at least.

It's still just as sweet to lick your tears up now, though. You're already drunk on his cock, it doesn't make much more difference for him to sink his fangs into your throat and pump you full of more venom straight from the source, the shock sending you straight into orgasm and dragging it out for so long he fears you might just pass out from the pleasure. It's like he's juicing up a plump little fruit until it's so ripe it could burst. And as if your own ecstasy wasn't enough, you really lose it when Miguel has you pinned and flooding that sore, fluttering little hole with so much seed it burns. Jets of pearly-white cum squirting down your thighs, painting you like a canvas without him even pulling out, because you just can't take him at his peak and you know it. You just have to whine and squirm beneath him as he fills you up, his hot breath puffing over your cheeks as he keeps you barely still enough not to wiggle away. With a shift of your hips you nearly slip off right up to the tip, his cum sloshing about and making everything too slick--but a hand slides up your neck and grips the crown of your head, his biceps flexing as he slowly pushes you back down with vermillion eyes piercing through your heated flesh. Lower, deeper, until he's seated himself up in your guts again and holds you there to milk those last few shots out of him, keep him nice and warm with those precious walls uncontrollably spasming around him. Doesn't stop you from pulling his head down closer, though, and whispering your praises while begging in whimpers in equal measure, urging him not to stop now. You're not ready to let him go.

How convenient is that? Miguel won't ever let you go, and he's known that deep in his chest since the moment you arrived--it couldn't make him any more satisfied to know that you feel the exact same way.

[ywnzn]

hydrangea love | park wonbin smau (on hold)

☆ ex!park wonbin x fem!reader x jung sungchan

☆ synopsis. yn, model & owner of a well-known perfume brand, releases a new series inspired by a heartbreak she went through. completely unaware that the new rising model who was chosen to promote the series is the same person who caused the heartbreak itself, park wonbin.

☆ genre.  smau + mayb written chapters, exes to lovers!au, love triangle trope, fluff, angst ?, romance, slow burn kinda, bad humor, stupid mcs !

☆ notes. random pictures will be used to visualise concepts, outfits & photo style for mc. do not hesitate to leave an ask if you have any suggestions! this is a remake of a soobin smau i discontinued last year ^

☆ features. rest of riize, illit’s minju, kiof’s julie, txt's taehyun, bonedo's taesan, zb1's gyuvin, ive's rei & more

☆ taglist. closed send an ask/comment to be added. @eternalgyu @drinktaro @toniiswrld @lipsbyive @hwadejectedyoung @seunghancore @teddywook @jinanangel @wonbinsvlle @totheseok @starwonb1n @miyawakiblossoms @snoopyana @nishimuraii @nujeskz @miyawwn @saranghoeforanton @ahnneyong @lecheugo @snowyseungs @antonsgirlfriend @ilovejungwonandhaechan @haecnh @chxrlvspp @revehosh @junstulip @emohoon @kyusqult @pinxeajin @rksbae @wonychu @secretnocluesworld @daegale @moamidzyism @nyu-topia @kkumistars @syzavxy @blossominghunnie @tocupid @lostinneocity @rllymark @valyjws @meowbini @mindalz @hildafuracao @eternallyhyucks @secretiny @conwunder @binoyu @esther-kpopstan @injunnie-lemon @jaehyunzm @endtostartbreathin @fae-renjun @bunni @bebubilu @syzavxy @enhacolor @soobiverse @sngj08 @xcosmi

☆ profiles. powerpuff girls | RIIZE | lavies

☆ chapters.

01. [REDACTED]

02. girl idk

03. whatever u say

04. asking for a friend

05. is he not?

06. everyone knows

07. just a chemist written + smau

08. it's called x

09. damage control

10. joe king written + smau

11. ttoribini live

12. boyf material

13. double dates

14. petty? pretty.

15. picking fights

16. falls over & dies

17. overreacting

18. start over written + smau

19. dating game

20. me and who

21. lego blisters

22. no ew

23. sabotage

24.

ywnzn © 2024 ▸ this smau is merely based on fictional events and is not meant to represent any of the idols mentioned accurately in any way, either it's personality or shipping characters wise.

[artsy-waffle19]

They literally put Edwin through every possible gay-romance trope but made it realistic and that's so special to me like

we got the "probably former friend can't handle feelings and turns into bully instead" but it doesn't end with them, making up and being happy, they break apart, things escalate and they both suffer from that situation for a major part of their existence. With a bit of luck and a LOT of growing they manage to talk it out and the victim finds it in himself to forgive his bully but it's never going to be truly fine. But even though they both suffer tremendously, they are faced to deal with themselves in the process and find a kind of peace they wouldn't have gotten otherwise. Because maybe it's better to hurt for a long time only to realise that it really doesn't have to be torture to be the way you are and finally freeing yourself entirely than quietly live without the conflict but also without the realisation and resenting yourself for its entirety.

then there's the situation with the cat king. Older, emotionally unstable guy obsesses over younger inexperienced guy who actually understands him and causes some sort of gay awakening. But instead of some "I can fix him" bullshit with them, ending up happily ever after because "they're the only ones who understand each other"TM we get to see Edwin set boundaries and standing up for himself which benefits the both of them. For Edwin this ends in going "Hey thank you for opening that door to discovering that part of myself but I'm actually gonna have to leave you at the doorstep now" and for the cat king it ends up with him actually feeling seen because for once somebody didn't fall for his probably usual game of "I'm bored so I'm going to make a game of getting that guy to do what i want by seducing him". The fact that they don't end up together is the reason they were good for each other.

Also the situation with Monty which is basically the experience of a lot of queer peoples first relationship. They meet and they're both somehow new to all of this. Being queer, relationships, all that stuff. And they get along and share some interests, they like soending time with each other and technically it's like in a romance book because they meet and one of them is immediately interested and then they talk and they sit on a swingset and they kiss. And there's the excitement about "apparently I'm making my first experience with romance right now" and the worry of "I'm queer...I have it harder with relationships...what if this is the best option i have? what if it's the only one?" so they go through all the romance book tropes but the spark simply isn't there and it ends in one of them getting way more invested tha the other and they eventually end up breaking up in blood. But in a way both of them got an idea about what they actually want in life out of it so even if that sone didn't end well, it did give them something.

And last but not least the "in love with best friend who likes someone else/someone of the opposite gender specifically" but instead of having that best friend be secretly in love with the character all along or suddenly turn homophobic and the friendship being ruined they talk about it and they move on and the friendship isn't damaged and in a way it might even be better because sometimes our feelings are unrequited and sometimes that's okay.

I just really really love how the show took all of those options for cheesy and in a way sometimes even forced romance tropes and went "hey, life is not a romance novel but actually that kind of makes it better because look where it got you now"

[ruewrote]

𝑑𝑒𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡.

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem!reader WARNINGS: him making you nervous, no use of y/n GENRE: romance, will they, wont they? trope SONG INSPIRATION: MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT by elley duhé WORD COUNT: 1.1k NOTE: just cause i was thinking about that one scene in szn one

navigation | ask | outer banks masterlist

the room was quiet, too quiet. except for the low hum of the air conditioner in the corner and the distant sound of the ocean waves crashing outside. the gym was tucked away in the farthest wing of the house, far enough from the others so that rafe could blow off steam without being disturbed, but it wasn’t just the soundproofing that made it feel isolated, it was the weight of his presence. it always was. you knew rafe was there, of course he was.

your gaze flickered toward him, unable to resist for too long. his back was turned, broad and rippling with barely contained strength and even though you couldn’t see his face, you could picture the sharp angles of his jaw clenched in frustration. he moved with purpose, every calculated lift and press of the dumbbells sending a wave of motion down his arms, across his shoulders, and into the deep ridges of his back. sweat glistened on his skin, making every muscle stand out as the dim light from the single overhead bulb illuminated his form. 

you hadn’t meant to stare, again. it was becoming an issue, a growing, nagging obsession that you couldn't shake. rafe had always been intimidating, the way he carried himself with that cold, unflinching confidence, but it was the physicality of him that really took your breath away.

the way his muscles moved, each part working in perfect harmony with the others. his strength wasn’t just for show; it was functional, capable of damage, of protection, of power in ways you couldn’t stop imagining.

as you said it was becoming a problem.

the workouts he did every morning were something you’d started to linger for, staying just a little longer by the house's gym than you needed to. just enough to catch glimpses of him when he thought no one was watching. at first, you told yourself it was nothing, just curiosity, maybe admiration. but those excuses felt hollow now. the way he rolled his shoulders after a set, how his arms would tense and relax with the rhythm of his breathing, how his back would arch, stretching tight over muscle and bone. those moments had begun creeping into your thoughts. even at night, when you tried to sleep, you’d find yourself replaying those scenes, each frame more vivid than the last.

it didn’t help that rafe seemed to notice everything. he always had. the glances, the way your breath caught in your throat when he got too close. you’d caught his smirk once or twice, that slow curl of his lips that made you want to melt into the floor or turn away, but you could never look away for too long.

you were supposed to be doing something, helping with something. but once again your mind went blank. clouded by the sight in front of you. his muscles flexed again, this time as he set the dumbbells down with a soft thud on the floor, the sound making your heart skip a beat. it was ridiculous, you scolded yourself. he was just a guy working out…a guy you happened to be completely and utterly consumed by.

he stood, his back still to you. reaching for the towel draped over a nearby bench. the movement was slow, deliberate and as the towel brushed across his face, down his neck, you swallowed hard. you were caught. again.

the worst part was, you weren’t even trying to hide it anymore.

rafe’s hands paused at the nape of his neck, gripping the towel like he was considering something. for a brief second, you thought you were safe. that he hadn’t noticed this time, but then he spoke.

"you're doing it again," his voice broke the silence, low, rough, cutting through the tension.

your body stiffened. he hadn’t turned around, hadn’t even shifted to look at you. he knew. of course, he knew. all that time that you spent staring. you hadn’t noticed him stop, hadn’t realized he was aware of your gaze, but now the weight of it felt unbearable.

"i– what?" you stammered, already feeling the heat creeping up your neck, blooming across your cheeks. 

rafe chuckled softly, the sound laced with something dark, amused and finally, he turned to face you. the towel hung loosely over one shoulder and his eyes met yours with that same intensity that always left you breathless. he was smirking. not a full grin, just a hint of that knowing look that made you feel seen, exposed. 

"staring," he clarified, leaning back against the weight bench. his arms crossed over his chest, causing his biceps to flex, muscles rippling under the skin. "if you wanted a show, all you had to do was ask."

your mouth went dry. words failed you for a moment and the heat in your face intensified. you wished you could come up with something witty, something to deflect the attention, but the way he was looking at you, the smugness in his posture, it was all too much. 

"i wasn’t staring," you lied, the words weak even to your own ears. it sounded pathetic.

rafe’s smirk widened, his eyes never leaving yours. he pushed off the bench, stepping toward you with deliberate slowness. each step was heavy, the closer he got, the harder it became to breathe.

"you sure about that?" he asked, his voice dropping lower, the space between you closing with every word. he stopped just inches away, towering over you, his presence overwhelming. his gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips, then back again. "because from where i’m standing, you’ve been staring for a long while now."

"i wasn’t," you insisted, though your voice lacked conviction. it was a weak protest, and you both knew it.

rafe raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your attempt to deny it. he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your skin as he spoke again. "you’re not very good at lying, you know that?"

the space between you two was full with something heavy, something unspoken. you could smell the faint hint of sweat and cologne on him, and it did nothing to calm your racing heart.

his arm brushed yours as he pulled back slightly, giving you just enough space to breathe, but not enough to escape the intensity of his gaze. "next time," he said, his voice a low murmur, "just tell me what you want."

you opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. you were caught in that moment, in the way his words lingered in the air. your heart was pounding in your chest and all you could think about was how close he was, how easy it would be to close the distance.

but rafe didn’t wait for an answer. he stepped back, giving you room and turned towards the weights again, as if nothing had happened. as if he hadn’t just knocked the air out of your lungs with a few simple words.

you stood there, frozen, watching him go back to his workout, your thoughts were racing, your mind spinning with everything that had just happened, and even then, 

you couldn’t stop staring.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

© ruewrote 2024.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet Cute - Law's Story - Epilogue

Source for pic

The Great Pretender Epilogue

Word Count: 4679

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Law is a soft dom; you have bratty tendencies (not all the time); voice kink; praise kink; cursing; very suggestive behaviour and innuendo from the start; sexual tension; teasing; so much flirting; romance; slow-burn; fluff; slight angst; mature audiences (though explicit NSFW moments will be properly tagged on the chapter); possessive Law; protective Law; soft Law; teasing Law; manipulative Doflamingo; inappropriate Doflamingo; fake relationship trope; only one-bed trope; reader has some anxiety issues; reader is a control freak and perfectionist; modern day AU; Mention of ex mentally abusive relationship;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Law (your father's doctor) start to build a flirty friendship because of your father’s procedure. So much so that when he’s invited to Baby 5’s wedding (his cousin), he asks you to be his date. His uncle Doflamingo - who is filthy rich - is very adamant on finding a suitable wife for him. Seeing as he wants to avoid that, he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for the weekend.

Notes: This is it, everyone! The end! Oh, I'm so emotional right now. Maybe I should've hold off a bit before posting this, but I really wanted to share it with you all. Honestly, I hope you love it. Please tell me all about it in a comment, or in an ask, in a DM, whatever you feel like it, I would like to know if this made you feel happy, sad, angry, all of the above! But ultimately, I want to thank each and every one of you for taking this journey with me!

|Masterlist| | |Chapter 17|

Law’s hands slither to your waist, his touch far more rattled than his usually composed embrace. He steps impossibly closer, and your back presses flush against the door while an almost soundless whimper escapes your lips. He uses that opening to slide his tongue into your mouth, and you sigh into his kiss. 

You’ve missed this.

The easy way you two fit together, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the urgency in each touch and each kiss. 

But as your fingers entwine in his hair, they ground you in a harsh reality: Doflamingo. You need to stop this. 

Parting the kiss with a groan, you lower your gaze, breathless and dazed, trying hard to compose your thoughts so you can utter intelligible words. “Law… Law!” You urge, removing your hands from the temptation of feeling more of him against your skin and trapping them against your legs in closed fists. “We can’t.”

Yet he doesn’t heed your words. His hands go back to cupping your cheeks, lifting your face to his and claiming your lips once more, like he’s a man dying of starvation and you’re his only source of sustenance. “Hush, love. Later.” Then he feeds some more on your luscious lips, his source of life.

Your legs lose strength, and so does your determination. Surely a few more stolen kisses and touches won’t do much harm? The damage is already done, and you’re only going to do damage control.

Just a few more kisses…

No.

“Law!” You say more firmly, your hands pressing against his chest to keep him a breath away. “Please… we can’t do this.” Your plea is nothing more than a broken whine, and that seems to catch Law’s attention. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice deep with want and need, filled with longing and despair. 

Deep breaths.

“Please, Law. Pretend I wasn’t here. We can’t do this. I’m not supposed to be near you, I wasn’t even supposed to speak with you, let alone kiss you!” Your watery eyes are already producing more tears, so Law takes a step back.

“So it is my uncle, isn’t it?” You nod, too scared to say anything else. This fleeting moment felt like a dream, a small interlude in the abyss of pain that surrounds you, but you can’t let it linger. “What did he say he’d do to you? I’ll talk to him, I–...”

Shaking your head, you try to think about how much you should share with Law, but he doesn’t let you think, much less speak. 

“I can’t bear to be apart from you anymore, not when I know that nothing happened, not when I know you still love me… I can make him retract his threats, he’ll listen to me.”

Oh, how you want to hope. The words Law weaves are beautiful, like a siren song to your ears, but you know Doflamingo won't give up that easily. He decided you are not worth his nephew’s time, so he’ll never relent. You know enough about manipulative, arrogant men to understand they never give up once they set their mind to something.

You wish you didn’t know, though. 

“What did he say? What threats did he make? Was it about your father?” A low rumble rolls in waves from his chest before he speaks. “Was he threatening you directly? Your health?”

You keep shaking your head, he’ll never get there alone if you don’t say something. Even if Law doesn’t trust his uncle, those family values Doffy instilled in him are still very strong. 

He lets his thumb graze your lips again, a show of the deep devotion he feels, once more making true to his claim of not being able to part with you. “What is it, then? Tell me.”

A heavy sigh signals your resignation. Your fingers climb up his jawline in a sweet caress, but you still try. One last effort to keep him away, even though it will destroy you both. Gently twirling his earring, you soften your gaze. 

“We don’t have a future together, Law…” The words are like ash in your mouth, leaving it dry and unsavoury, crumbling into a pile of lies you never meant to build.

To his credit, though, he doesn’t even flinch. “Stop it, sweetheart. That’s not going to work.” Law presses his forehead against yours again, and his sigh breathes life into you. Obviously, it wouldn’t work. You weren’t even trying.

“He… your uncle threatened to destroy your clinic, Law… all your work, just gone!”

Law takes a step back, his eyes widening slightly for a fraction of a second, but his control quickly falls into place as he subtly nods, like he almost couldn’t believe it but ultimately expected something of the sort. 

“I could deal with whatever threat he made towards me. Thanks to you, I know just how strong I can be… but… but not a threat to everything you’ve been working for, Law! I could never jeopardise what you’ve built! And now…” You try to hold your grief back by hugging yourself.

“My clinic? He would stoop that low…?” His hand tousles his hair as the familiar crease between his brows returns. 

“He did. And that’s why I’ll leave and never come back. We can pretend nothing happened, we just can’t see each other again and–...”

“Sweetheart…”

“He won’t find out! Or even if he somehow realises I came here, once we never speak to each other again, he won’t fulfil his threat!”

“Love!”

“We just… we just…” You exhale half a sob and tighten your grip on yourself. “It’s simple, really… you carry on with your life, and I–...”

The authoritative way in which he speaks your name makes your thoughts stop spiralling and your lips stop rambling. With a firm touch, Law disentangles your arms from around your frame and wraps them around his waist, stepping closer to you, his amber gaze never leaving yours. 

“I don’t know where you got the silly notion that I care more about my work than I care for you, but it’s not true.” Law laces his fingers through your hair as he settles his hand on your nape. His other hand gently caresses your cheek, your jaw, your collarbone… a lover’s touch.

Something you can never give up, no matter how hard you try to do what’s right for him. 

“But, Law–...”

“No buts, sweetheart. What do I always tell you?” A smirk twists his lips upwards, and warmth fills your chest, already expecting the words that come next. “I got this.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, a real smile pulls at the corners of your lips as he takes them in another searing kiss. He’s got this. He’s Trafalgar Law, there’s nothing that can stop him.

-*-

You and Law lose track of time in each other’s arms. You couldn’t keep your hands to yourselves when you were together for twenty-four hours, let alone now that you’ve been apart for so long. 

He continuously assures you that he will speak with his uncle in person, but somehow, your fears have been assuaged. As usual Law’s cool and calm approach to things grounds you and stops you from spiralling too hard.

When he finally goes to his desk to cancel any appointments he has for tomorrow, since he plans to go to the city to talk with Doflamingo, he lets out a muffled curse followed by a chuckle. 

“It’s past closing time, love.”

What? You’ve been lost in each other for hours? How can that be? Fishing your phone from the back pocket of your jeans, you confirm the time and see the messages Shanks left for you. Most of them are happy emojis and encouraging words. Then there’s one that says he’s going to take the truck home and that you should get a ride to Law’s apartment, followed by some winky emojis and a speech about safety and protection that you choose to ignore. 

But Law is probably thinking about the same thing because he’s shutting down his computer and the lights, his hand stretched out for you to grab as he navigates you both through the dark clinic, locking up behind him. 

You can still feel a little prickle of uncertainty twisting your stomach, a shiver of dread still coursing through your veins, but Law’s presence is steady and solid. 

He’s got this.

-*-

Law grits his teeth together as he crosses and uncrosses his legs for the umpteenth time in the span of ten minutes. He shouldn’t be this nervous. It’s not the first time he’s faced his uncle to stand on something he believes in. 

Though he’s never really won any of those battles. Not on his own, anyway. Cora was always there to vouch for him, help him, and calm tensions when they inevitably started to climb. 

Law and Doffy can never have a serious conversation without it completely escalating. 

That’s why it’s so paramount that today he’s able to stay cool and collected. He needs to win this battle. And if he can keep his cool together for everyone else, why should his uncle be any different?

Still, he can’t help the uneasiness from making him slightly nauseous, so he cracks his neck with a slow, rotating motion to try and ease off the edge. Doflamingo is making him wait on purpose, he knows that. 

He just needs to remain calm. 

“Mr. Trafalgar, your uncle is ready to see you now.”

Law inhales sharply as he gets up and buttons his black blazer. He’s got this.

He’s been to his uncle’s office quite a few times, but the opulence of it never ceases to amaze him. It’s a penthouse office, bigger than some people’s houses. Its windows go from top to bottom and overlook the busy streets below, like a reminder that Doffy is always above everyone else. 

Doflamingo doesn’t get up from behind his desk to greet him. He peers at Law from behind his tinted glasses, an eerie smile twisting his lips upwards as he leans back in his chair, fingers entwining in his lap.

“Well, well, well… if it isn’t my dear nephew. What brings you to the city, Law?” Then he gasps as he moves forward, and Law takes his seat across from him. “No, that’s not the real question. What I mean is: what brings you to your family’s firm? A place you tend to avoid, even when you’re required…?”

Law knows Doflamingo is very aware of why he’s there. Actually, Law is pretty sure Doffy already knows you and Law connected, but he doesn’t plan on showing all of his cards right now.

“You know why I’m here, Doffy.”

“Yes. And alone. How surprising.” Doffy chuckles slowly. “You’re finally becoming a big man? You don’t need the support of my foolish brother to fight your own battles this time?”

He’s taunting Law, trying to distract him, to make him lose control of his emotions, as he so easily and usually does. 

“This is my own battle, and one I don’t intend to lose, Uncle.”

“How daring of you, Nephew.” Doffy relaxes back into his chair again, one hand absently caressing his jaw as he regards Law with interest. “Speak your terms, I’m all ears.”

“I know you tried to push her away from me. I know it was you who orchestrated that performance, perfectly played by Vinsmoke. I know, Uncle.”

Doflamingo smiles, and Law almost perceives a hint of pride behind the light lenses. 

“What you need to know is that I can make my own choices, even if they hurt me, even if they’re the wrong choices, I have to make them. You can’t protect me from everything, especially when the one who ends up hurting me most is you.”

Doffy’s smile falters and he swallows hard.

Law takes another deep breath. “I love her. I want to be with her. She’s not the wrong choice, she was always the right one. Uncle… let me be happy.”

For a fraction of a moment, Law sees a bit of compassion in Doffy’s eyes, but as soon as it appears, it vanishes, replaced by another wicked grin. Law should’ve known better than to expect this to be easy. 

“Love is not the key to happiness, Law. You should know that by now. Love makes you weak, it makes you lose sight of the really important things like–...”

“Power? Wealth? Influence?” Law’s hands turn to fists and he traps them against his lap, trying to control the snarl threatening to break through his clenched teeth. “I know all of that! You’ve been trying to instil those notions on me since I was a ten-year-old lost boy, filled with grief and guilt from losing my family!”

Law’s hands shake, and his chest heaves with effort. He needs to remain calm. He can’t win anything if he loses control, that’s what Doflamingo wants. 

“Yes. No matter how hard you take it, Law, those things are what make the world turn. Power, wealth, and influence are what fuel the hearts of people, and that is what’s necessary to keep you in a position of–...”

“I don’t care, Uncle! I never meant to be a figure of authority or influence! I just want to be happy and save people’s lives!” Law gets up, too fidgety to remain still, and starts to pace the big office. “All I want is for little kids not to have to lose their families to accidents or disease. I want to make a difference…” His shoulders slump as he stops behind the chair he was sitting on, his amber gaze fixed on Doflamingo’s, the cool control completely overrun by raw emotion. “I want her.”

“Are you willing to lose all you’ve worked for just for her?” Doffy’s words are calculating, and Law came prepared for this outcome. It’s not one he wanted. If he could choose, he’d walk away from this meeting with both his clinic and you. But if this is what it takes…

“Yes.”

“Very well, then. Let’s talk. I have a proposition for you.”

-*-

You can barely focus on your job the next morning, and by the time your shift ends and you get home, you’re full on spiralling. Has Law spoken with Doflamingo already? How did it go?

You don’t have any missed calls or messages on your phone, and you don’t want to call him and risk interrupting something, so you have to wait. He told you he’d call once the meeting was over. 

You just have to wait. You can do this.

“Bug? Did you hear a word I said?” Shanks looks at you with a half-smirk painting his lips while you make a mess by pouring coffee onto an upside-down mug.

“Shit!” You mumble before grabbing a rag to clean up the mess while Shanks chuckles. “No, dad, I didn’t, I’m sorry. It’s just…”

“Is everything alright? I thought you and Law had patched things up.”

You smile nervously at him while he helps with the mess. “We did, but… it’s complicated.” Then you explain a bit about Doflamingo and how much influence he holds over Law while you share a mug of coffee. The conversation with Shanks actually helps distract you, and time flies. Though, as soon as your phone starts to ring, you excuse yourself and run outside as Shanks yells at you not to run on the porch steps, something he said every day when you were a little girl. 

“Law?”

“I told you I had this, love.”

Your easy laugh brings tears to your eyes. Of course, he had it. Law’s finally free of his uncle’s threats, and you can stop worrying. 

You have a future. A bright, beautiful future with the man you love. 

It almost seems impossible to believe. 

-*-

Sweat still clings to your bodies as you lie in the crumpled sheets. You’re in Law’s apartment again, and you’re not sure you’ll ever want to spend another night away from him. You’re an adult, so Shanks doesn’t even pry, but you know he’s happy for both of you, since he has a soft spot for Law. 

Lying your head against Law’s chest and hearing his erratic heartbeat after he makes love to you has become something you’re quite addicted to. It’s soothing, grounding, and familiar. He’s your home.

His fingers trace gentle patterns on your naked back as he lays soft kisses on your head, letting you have this moment until his heartbeat retreats to a normal pace. 

“How did you do it?” You were so happy when he returned from his meeting with Doffy that you barely had time to talk about how it went before he dragged you to his bed, chasing away all the tension you had accumulated over the past weeks, making you lose control over and over again until you could barely think.

“We agreed on some terms.” 

“How cryptic.” You tease, moving your head and leaning your chin on his chest so you can gaze into the soft amber of his eyes. “What terms?”

Law sighs, and the crease between his eyebrows forms in record time. Will he ever tell you all the details of what transpired in this meeting?

“I’m going to dedicate much more of my time to the family’s business.” A strained smile forms on his lips, and your heart sinks.

“No, Law! You hate it.”

Cupping your cheek against his palm, he strokes your skin gently. “I do. But it’s a very small price to pay. And I can attend meetings on the computer, so they won’t know if I’m listening or playing solitaire.” He jokes, but you find it hard to laugh. 

“Don’t joke, Law. How about clinic hours? Your hospital shifts?” You don’t want to voice it, but you fear this will also steal the little time you can find on his busy schedule to just be together and ‘date’!

Maybe that was Doflamingo’s plan all along when he agreed to this. 

He kisses the tip of your nose affectionately while you frown. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll still have time for everything.” Once again, he reads you like a book. He knows what you truly meant, even if you were also worried about him not having enough time to dedicate to his patients. “The important thing is that Doffy backed off. He understood I would never give you up and his threats were empty and futile. I won.”

“But so did he, Law… wasn’t that what he wanted all along? For you to dedicate yourself to his business? Hasn’t he been grooming you for that since you were young?”

“Sure. But I’ll say it again: small price to pay.” With a swift movement, he turns you, pinning you under him and slotting himself in the middle of your parted legs, a sly grin curving his lips. “You’re the only thing I can’t afford to lose.”

A wistful sigh escapes your lips as you give up your argument. There’s no point in insisting with him. As long as he’s happy and you’re together, you’re happy too.

“I love you, Law.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” Law nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck as his tongue swirls sinful patterns on your skin. “Where were we?”

With a giggle you surrender yourself to him. All of yourself, without restrictions, qualms, or fears. Law’s yours, and you’re his.

Not in a possessive, toxic way, but in a way that lets you know both of you would go to the ends of the earth and back if that’s what it took to be close to one another. 

-*-

Weeks pass slowly, and as you predicted, you spend most nights at Law’s. He is busier, there’s no denying it. Even though he tried to downplay it at first, his involvement with the family’s business takes more of his time than either of you wished.

But you both manage. Law learns to stamp his feet now and then, demanding more free time, and it seems Doflamingo likes it when he’s assertive because he grants him just that. Though you suspect Cora also plays an important part in keeping Doffy in check.

You both go on a lot of dates. And if at first it seems a little silly, since you skipped a lot of steps, it soon becomes endearing. Law brings you flowers and picks you up at Shanks’ as if you’re still getting to know one another.

That makes Shanks laugh, and he fake-threatens Law to bring you back before curfew and treat you like a lady, ‘or else’, knowing well enough that you’ll be spending the night away. But Law plays into the act and promises he’ll behave.

He doesn’t.

And that’s the first time you have car sex with Law. 

He takes you to expensive places to eat and to food trucks. You watch movies at the theatre and at drive-ins. There are walks in the park and sweet weekend escapades to whimsical locations or tourist traps. 

It’s blissful. 

You love every second of it, and everything just cements what you knew almost from the beginning. Law is the one. He’s the one you want to spend your life with. 

-*- 

It’s a lazy Sunday. The clinic is closed, and Law has a day off from the hospital. You spent the day baking cookies and bingeing trashy tv shows. Now, you both lie on the rumpled sheets of his bed, the warm glow of the sunset seeping through the curtains of Law’s room, tracing new patterns on his inked chest, which you trace diligently with your fingers. 

Law is eerily quiet, so you prop yourself up on one elbow to gaze into his face. A contemplative look mars his features and he looks deep in thought. For a second, your mind wanders to his uncle, and you’re not sure if you should pry, but before you can ask, Law opens his mouth to speak.

“I never told you much about my parents, have I?” His voice is thick with emotion, and you hold in a breath as well as his gaze.

“No, but it’s alright. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” You realise it’s a touchy subject, something far too painful for him to speak freely about. 

“I need you to know everything about me. I don’t want anything left unsaid between us.” With a nod you wait for him to continue, giving him all the time and space he needs to share what he needs to share. “They were very caring people, full of joy and love, and though they were both doctors and had busy professional lives, they always had time to play with their children. They raised me as a happy child, my sister and me. We would butt heads, as most siblings do, but I loved her to bits and pieces. There was always laughter in our household.”

Your throat feels tight with emotion as Law’s eyes become glassy with unshed tears, the weight of a lifelong pain he can’t shake off. 

“Then it all fell apart. I lost all of them in an instant… and got left behind. For the longest time, I couldn’t understand why I had survived. It was almost as if the universe had made a cruel mistake, because why had they died - when they were wonderful people - and I had been the one to survive? It didn’t make sense.”

You can’t stop the trembling of your lips, but you squeeze Law’s hand, too afraid to say something because you know you’ll just fall apart and he needs to finish sharing. A small smile pulls at his lips as he gazes back into your eyes, a hand lying in a sweet caress on your cheek. 

“One of the reasons I became a doctor was exactly that. To try and make amends, to save others from the same fate that befell me. To repent. Though I never let myself believe I was destined for true happiness.” You can’t stop the tears from falling, staining your cheeks. Law brushes a thumb over them, and his smile deepens. “Until you. You made me believe that maybe fate left me alive for a reason other than just surviving.”

A soft sob shakes your shoulders, and Law gently pulls you to him, kissing your lips softly. You pour all your love into that kiss, he needs to know how much he means to you. There are promises of love between kisses and tears, and it all feels so raw and vulnerable. It warms your heart to understand that Law trusts you enough to share his deepest fears and regrets. 

After an emotional moment, you break the closeness with a sheepish smile. “You know…” You begin in a singsong voice, trying to lighten the mood. “If this were real, this would be the part where I comfort you and say something really deep, but since we’re just pretending…” You trail off, and Law chuckles, your words relieving him of the burden of the past as he brushes a strand of hair from your eyes. 

“If this were real,” he teases, entering your game with a glint in his eyes, “this would be the part where I tell you that the universe placed you in my path because we were always destined to be together.”

A real laugh leaves your lips, and you brush away the last remnant of tears from your eyes. “And if this were real, this would be the part where I’d call you a romantic sap, even though I enjoy it thoroughly.”

Law sits up, his smirk widening as he faces you with affection. “And if this were real, this would be the part where I’d make a grand, romantic gesture just to prove to you how serious I really am.”

A small chuckle escapes your lips, but your breath hitches when Law opens his nightstand drawer, taking out a small velvet box. Your heart races against your chest as you sit up, your smile turning into a surprised awe. 

“And if this were real,” Law continues, his voice deeper, moved by raw emotion as he opens the box. “I’d be holding a ring just like this one.” 

Your breaths leave you in trembling gasps as your eyes dart from the ring to his face and back to the ring again. “Law…” You whisper, throat thick with emotion. 

“And if this were real, love,” he’s also slightly breathless, “this would be where I ask you to marry me.”

Tears spill down your cheeks again, your hand covering your open mouth as you’re overwhelmed with joy and love. All you’ve been through, all the happy times, the uncertainty, the pain… you both came out of it stronger.

“If this were real,” you start, your voice coming between hitches and sobs and the occasional nervous laugh, “this would be the part where I would say yes.”

Law’s smile widens, and with slightly trembling fingers, he grasps your hand and slips the ring into place. You laugh along with a sob, barely believing what’s happening. Then he pulls you into his arms, having you sit on his lap, both with the hugest grins on your faces.

But before he leans in to kiss you, you stop him, a quizzical look on your face. “Just so we’re clear, this is real, right?”

Law’s laugh is like a balm to your soul. A deep, rich timbre that fills your heart and swells, expands, taking over your body and making you feel complete. 

“This is very real, sweetheart, and you’ve just made me the happiest man alive. I love you.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer, you manage to whisper a shaky ‘I love you too’ before crashing your lips against his. 

If you could’ve saved Shanks the suffering, you would, but you will never not be grateful for the fact that he needed to be operated on by Law, or you wouldn’t have met the man of your dreams. 

THE END

Tag List:@rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @rainbow2312 @alexturnersgirl

[absolutebl]

Best & Worst BLs of 2023

My Top 15 BLs of 2023 are (in order)

1 Our Dating Sim

Korea Viki

Nerds in love, deadlines, gaming, teasing, pining tiny idiots, casual affection, linguistic oops, ADORABLE. If you haven't watched this, it's a must. A perfect short form KBL, an office set reunion romance featuring geeks that really suits 8 eps with no fluff and no chaff. Just comforting and yummy.

I adored every aspect from the casting to the pristinely simple premise to the quietly smooth execution. Sure it’s low stakes, but that makes it high domesticity and extremely warm and gentle. This is a fuzzy blanket of a story - a cozy BL. It lives in my rewatch pile and you know what’s best about it? Every single episode is in that pile. There’s no skipping with this one, it might be good natured and calmly sweet but it’s tight and the pacing is excellent.

Also recieves my 2023 award for best giggle.

2 I Cannot Reach You

AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai

Japan Netflix

This classic friends-to-lovers BL is everything Japan does best. Angsty. Emo. Aching. Driven by real thirst. Yamato is deeply in love with his childhood bestie, Kakeru, and has been for ages, unable to hide his ungainly damaging high school need. He wants Kakeru in every way possible and it oozes off of the screen.

Kakeru is silly and a little simple, but not frenetic or overly camp about it. He is earnest, and genuinely wants to keep Yamato in his life which means giving a romance (and gayness) a fair chance. We watch him realize his affection and what form it can take in a truly authentic way.

This show was impossibly kind to both of its lead characters and I felt almost honored that I got to watch something so lovely and rare play out on my screen.

Also wins the best thirst award.

These were the 2 BLs that got 10/10 from me in 2023. The rest of these got 9/10 from me.

3 My School President

Thailand YouTube

GMMTV gave us a classic high school set Thai BL with tropes like messy boys singing their feelings that made this one Love Sick for the modern age with all the gentle sweetness and pining ache, but none of the dated damaging tropes or issues. Who let my BL be this wholesome and funny? My favourite GMMTV BL offering to date. And yes, I've watched them ALL.

Received the Namgoong award for best wingman 2023.

4 I Feel You Linger in the Air

Thailand grey

IFYLITA is an exquisite BL, from filming techniques to narrative framework. Steeped in history and family drama this is an elegant and classy BL. The main couple (both as a pair and individuals) were excellent, particularly Bright (Yai) whose eye-work acting style is a personal favorite of mine. It's a marker of how great it was that it's so high on my list despite the ending which was very much not what I wanted.

Additional accolade, sexiest moment of 2023 - (the oil scene).

You could try to fight me, but you'll have no grip.

5 Kiseki: Dear to Me

Taiwan Gaga & Viki

The plot is totally ridiculous and slightly unhinged. There’s a gum-ball machine of cameos, elder gay rep, great chemistry from all pairs (everyone is queer), and a KILLER side couple. It involves all the tropes under a very offhand framework of gay mafia gangs + food = love. As a result Kiseki is a poster child for Taiwanese BL, and I happen to love Taiwanese BL. Bonus? They also managed to END IT WELL, which we cannot expect from Taiwan.

Best side couple 2023!

(thank goodness Taiwan made this list!)

6 Jun and Jun

Korea Viki

A delightful office romance about an ex-idol who joins cubical life only to find his new boss is his first love. With a snappy (sometimes even raunchy) script, enjoyable sides, a pretty as peaches cast, and descent chemistry this show made up for in style what it lacked in substance. I like fluff. I loved this. I smiled every moment I was watching.

Best flirting 2023.

AKA "the tongue knows" award

7 The Eighth Sense

Korea Viki

This one is a bit chewy and sticky and less perfect than most KBLs. It’s got a bit of an age gap, country boy/city boy, stellar acting, complex characters, and leads with great chemistry and tension. This isn’t in the KBL bubble, there’s sharp edges and lots of triggers. For a BL the darkness of the content left me feeling unsettled (which is the only reason it didn't get a perfect score) but it has a glorious ending and that counts for a lot.

2023's most likely to appeal to non-BL watchers.

8 Unintentional Love Story

Korea iQIYI

The lead, Gongchan (maknae of B1A4) is a fucking GIFT, who carried this show. He was luminous with extraordinarily expressive eyes, which he used to carry a killer plot and challenging role. Forced into a totally understandable betrayal, falling in love despite himself, put into a corner he can't get out of, the AGONY, the eyes EMOTING at us in PAIN. Driven by external conflict, social tension and pressure this story seems simple but it's actually refined and quite complex. I loved this show.

Best story structure 2023.

9 My Personal Weatherman

AKA Taikan Yoho

Japan Gaga

This is classic yaoi of the kind that really only works from Japan. Basically: boys who fell in love in college end up living together but both are so repressed they actually don't realize they're in love. It's high heat is well done, but it leaned into the "why don't they just talk for fuck's sake?" which is exacerbated by the fact that they're already fucking. Sure is sexy tho.

Best use of props 2023 for the shower of sheets.

10 Our Dining Table

AKA Bokura no Shokutaku

Japan Gaga

Lonely salaryman and talented cook gets accidentally adopted by a college kid and his little brother. It’s a quiet & cozy little parable of found family alleviating loneliness. It's lovely & sweet with the romance beats used to build a family relationship, not just couple intimacy. Special.

First prize for domesticity.

11 Laws of Attraction

Thailand iQIYI

This is a great gay suspense thriller with several solid couples, fun plot, killer characters, queer rep, and a happy ending. It’s tons of fun and I had an absolute blast watching it.

Charn wins my favorite character of 2023.

12 La Pluie

Thailand Viki

This BL takes to task the fated mates trope and what it means to have love chained intimately to predestination. It’s about how faith in destiny before choice diminishes the authenticity of emotion, relationships, and connection. This is a high concept to examine through the lens of a BL. With good chemistry and decent acting all around, plus some excellent high heat and representation of consent and a few other rare tropes, this one has to (like it’s sibling show My Ride) earn high marks.

Most interesting concept 2023.

13 The New Employee

Korea Viki

So good, SO QUEER, so soft, a near pitch perfect office BL with conflict derived from that setting. Also found family and a lesbian bestie. This is what I wanted from this new crop of office set KBLs ALL ALONG. Rainbow rice cakes forever!

Best overall queer rep from Korea.

14 Step By Step

Thailand Gaga & YouTube & Viki

This was Thailand’s answer to The New Employee, and everything I loved about that show I loved about this one. This was an office romance between stern boss and sweet subordinate that felt more authentic to an office environment than previous Thai BLs of this ilk which added tension to the narrative and character development.

Chot wins best queer character 2023.

15 Love Tractor

Korea iQIYI

Most of this country-set BL had me feral for the beautiful broken city boy and his hot young farmer. Hyung romance, puppy/cat pairing, open frankness meets jaded reserve, language play, water hose frolicking, only one bed = all my favorite silly tropes.

Biggest "he so pretty" gasp of the year award.

10 Worst BLs of 2023 (that I watched)

My Blessing

My Universe: Casanova Begins

Boyband the series

Cafe In Love

Chains of Heart

Hit Bite Love

Only Friends

Senior Love Me

The Luminous Solution

The Promise

Yes, you read that right. I know I'm against the flow but I really did not like Only Friends. Everyone's taste is different.

However I DNFed faster and more BL's this year than ever before, so that means my 10 worst probably aren't quite reflective...

10 Probably Actually Worst BLs (I dropped 'em)

My Story

The Day I Loved You

Beyond the Star

Crazy Handsome Rich

Dinosaur Love

House of Stars

Mr Cinderella 2

Love Bill

Stormy Honeymoon

The Star Always Follow You

Codicils in General

I only carefully track/watch Thailand, Taiwan, Korea, and Japan. Other countries are not fully represented.

My Numbers

So my spreadsheet chronicled 138 BLs that finish airing in 2023.

101 = watched & reviewed

2 = still in the docket (WDYEY2 & Love Syndrome III)

15 = CNF (could not find)

20 = DNF (which also accounts for how few very low scores I handed out in 2023 as opposed to previous years, I just stopped watching). Speaking of which...

Ratings spread

(# of stars. #of BLs given that rating)

0 (see the DNFs instead)

2 - IT'S DEPRESSING they killed the gay, save yourself

7 - I DON'T KNOW WHAT I AM WATCHING AND NEITHER DOES IT

7 - FATALLY FLAWED but still basically BL, however… do we want to support this kind of behavior?

9 - WATCH IF YOU HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO but don’t expect much, it’s a total hot mess

17 - WORTH WATCHING BUT FLAWED probably around the ending or in narrative structure/cohesion or censorship

14 - RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS i.e. isn’t quite BL, convoluted, not strictly HEA, too short/long, or chemistry issues

30 - RECOMMENDED some concerns around tropes (like dub con) or story structure but still satisfies as BL

13 - ABSOLUTELY RECOMMENDED probably a few pacing issues or one flaw

2 - HIGHLY RECOMMENDED faithful to tropes, happy ending, good chemistry, few flaws, high rewatch potential

(source)

[isaidyoulookshitty]

"i wrote lucanis as a bisexual disaster" vs "oh he's actually pan-demisexual and a virgin" well which one is it, girl. do either of those statements mean anything (rhetorical: pro- or retroactive commentary from devs/writers means fuck all to me if none of it is actually reflected in the product i paid for) or did you see how disappointed players were with the underdeveloped, rushed, and badly paced romance your baby boy ended up with and just slap a "grey-asexual" sticker on his forehead to explain it away. like anyone on the asexual spectrum is any less deserving of a well written romance plotline.

hi; i'm demisexual myself, so i know a bit about how this is supposed to work. there is NO chemistry between rook and lucanis, they have NO in-depth conversations about what they feel for each other, and there is NO foundation for emotional rapport to build on his supposed demisexuality. most of lucanis's thoughts, feelings, and motivations are revealed to the player through secondary npc's! but go ahead and throw out a bunch of queer fandom buzzwords on socmed to make it more marketable. a little more lipstick on that pig can't hurt.

as i've said before, maybe this is true of the other romance options. maybe they are all similarly flat, awkward, and disjointed. but i wouldn't know because at the time i wasn't allowed to pursue anyone else AND lucanis, and after i finished my first playthrough i skipped the credits and uninstalled the game. and i never will know because i have no desire to ever play it again. i get that the devs all worked hard and fought through a decade of mismanagement, layoffs, and development hell, but the harebrained spin job and damage control bioware keeps trying (and failing at) rather than acknowledging any of veilguard's shortcomings are nauseating at this point.

""""found family"""" """""hurt/comfort"""" """""slow burn""""" oh my god i'm TIRED. are we talking about an ao3 summary or a $70 video game?? if you absolutely must yoink fanfiction tropes for your professionally developed, AAA studio title either do it competently or leave it to the fic writers. after this dumpster fire i know they're already hard at work.

[fanofstuff01]

Because I just need more Adamsapple content and absolutely LOVE week/monthly events, I’d like to propose an idea that is going to take place in February or so:

Adamsapple Angst Week

I need prompts and a cover. I’m not an artist/designer so I’m going to use canva probably or just keep it in text.

I made a new sideblog for it where you can ask questions, send prompt ideas and get more info and updates.

@adamsapple-angst-week-2025

All the prompt ideas I have so far:

Masking Emotions

Self Loathing

Depression

Hatred

Back in Our Eden

The Apple

Change

Fall from Grace

Five Stages of Grief

Heaven and Hell

Damage

Forbidden Romance

Exes

Sons, Daughters, and Fathers

Hanahaki

NOTE: Hanahaki isn’t exclusively about the fictional disease -though the trope can still be done obviously- the word is for one sided love.

Relationship Problems

Miscommunication

Unintentional Harm

The Happy Ending Scene

Free Day (confirmed)

These are just the basic ideas except Free Day, plan to find different names and also want to have two prompts each day.

If this gets interest I’ll make it happen.

[millersfinest]

the thing in your chest that beats ³ | e.w

santa barbara!ellie williams & ex-firefly!reader

wc: 5.3k

mini-series: california | oregon | idaho (you’re here) | wyoming

blurb: you put up a good fight with those rattlers, but it wasn’t good enough—all it got you was strung up near a beach where the sun scorched you dry. abruptly, their set-up gets fucked by their own prisoners, saving your life by only a thread. but the wrath that lingered under your skin was immense, and you’re not the only one to experience that phenomenon. when another damaged soul encounters your brittle state; the dreams that put you in a tough position manifest into reality. along with a few extra miscellaneous things…

cw: angry!r, slow-burn romance, proximity trope, both reader and ellie on a path of redemption, afab body parts mentioned, vulgar language, some joel references, inner guilt, use of ‘y/n’ and ‘woman’, ellie has a panic attack, shambler appearance (ew), and for the fun part… SMUT, switch!reader, oral sex, fingering ( :P ), barely any dirty talk because this is a loving experience y’all (and i don’t really know how to write that lmao), ellie might be a little ooc but i just perceive her to be this way idk.

note: to start… if anyone needs anyone to talk to after hearing the results of the election, please don’t be afraid to direct message me. especially my fellow american queer/trans friends. we are truly in some tough times right now. i hope this chapter can serve as some sort of distraction for what’s going on. as always, enjoyy!

Idaho

Welcome to the Gem State, the sign read when you passed the state line into Idaho a few days ago. The place you’ve been dreaming of was getting closer and closer—that feeling of relief was near! You could feel it bubbling in your stomach, enriching the nerves that ran under your sore muscles.

Since Oregon, you and Ellie had barely shared a full conversation. It’s only been small directions, or helpful interjections with infected, or even, guidance in getting around potentially dangerous people.

This time around, you harbored most of the frustration and anger. Wrath wrapped itself around you once more, forbidding you from wondering what her inquiries meant—what bringing up Honey meant. Ellie tried to service you the best she could, trying to make up physically for what she couldn’t vocally. Resuming her position as your caretaker, but that only made things worse.

The wounds and weaknesses of Santa Barbara were healing but were being replaced by new ones. Surface cuts, sprained ankles, and scorned hearts. Ellie could ask you nothing without the pitch of your voice raising an octave. It wasn’t anything like the character she knew you to be.

Or the months you spent together thus far meant nothing—she never actually knew anything about you.

The annotated map relied in your hands as you approached an administrative building. You had spent the previous night planning the route, instead of engaging in small talk with your partner. You were, somehow, still trying to prove to Ellie that you didn’t need her. Indulging in an individual competition of: who does it better? It was a drastic understatement to call you a competitive person. And her incessant need to make up for the misfortune of her curiosity wasn’t helping.

“Here’s the firm…” You mutter, immediately trotting to the front doors. American Falls Firm. Pulling at the handle, you realized it was locked and barricaded from the inside. Huffing, you folded up the map, sliding it into your backpack. “Looks like we gotta find another way in.” Dusting your hands, you began to survey different sides of the building. She followed behind you, keeping an eye out for lingering infected and any other inhibitors.

Humming to yourself, you squinted at the broken window above you. Turning your head, you peered at the auburn-haired woman who’s back faced you. Your Beretta resided in her hands as she kept a keen eye on the surroundings. Ellie didn’t mind doing that job because it kept her mind from wanting appeal to you. It kept her from wanting to beg for your forgiveness. After all, this was just her doing you a debtless favor. She shouldn’t have been so attached to you anyway.

“Hey,” You waved her over. “I need a boost.”

She met your eyes, nodding with firm lips. “Sure,” Slinging the shotgun around her body, she bent at the knee and cupped her hands low. Placing your hands on her shoulders, your irises danced over her features, briefly. Dirt attempted to blend in with the freckles over her nose, but they didn’t stand a chance—you knew the difference. Her olive eyes did well to avoid yours, feigning a look of impatience. “Up you go.”

Ellie boosted you up toward the window with all the strength she could muster. Fingers catching onto the edge of where the floor and window meant. Using your own strength, you pulled yourself into a room illuminated by daylight. Groaning under your breath from the stretch of your muscles. Crouching, you leaned back down to pull Ellie up.

Her hand attached to your forearm, crawling up the stone wall and into the room. Ellie hissed as she crawled inside, holding her wrapped ankle to alleviate some of the pain. Standing to your feet, you looked down at her with flickers of concern in your eyes.

The other day, she tripped over a thick fallen tree branch from the morning dew—spraining or straining her ankle, you couldn’t remember the difference. All you knew was that she hurt her ankle badly, but it wasn’t broken. Ellie wrapped it herself with athletic tape from your bag; with her back facing you in embarrassment.

“Can we keep going, or do you need a second?” You inquire, avoiding your eyes, dismissively. Like you didn’t care what her response was, even though you did.

“I’m fine…” She stood to her feet, wringing out her foot.

“You sure?”

“I said I’m fine…” Ellie grumbled, walking off to another side of the room.

It was a barren office that the both of you meandered through. Picking at the miscellaneous items that could serve you in any way. There were two desks that occupied the office; decorated with familial picture frames and old-world gadgets that made no sense to either of you.

Slowly, pushing open the door, the entire building appeared silent. Light peaking through broken and foggy windows, greenery growing inside and through the deteriorating structure. You found it rather beautiful that the earth was taking back what was hers—negating the infected, of course. Your fingers traced the vines that grew through the cement. Those plants were living despite opposition; everyone could learn something from that.

Breaking through barriers and walls, despite their resilience.

You glanced at the auburn-haired woman, keeping a safe distance from you, scoping out the place. “What’s the route out of here?” She asks, dragging her sneakers against the cracked floors. There was a slight limp to her gait, but made sure to walk as normal as possible when your eyes were set on her.

Blowing air from your lips, you respond. “The ground floor. There should be a stairwell around here somewhere.”

Usually, lower floors of abandoned buildings worried you. Infected find themselves huddled in their own corrosion. In darker, moister, places they intensified. Some merging to the walls, other growing boils of acid.

When your eyes set on a metal door that led to the floor you needed to get to, your heart pumped blood into your veins. Pounding in your ears as an alarm. Through the window, white flurries fluttered by, confirming the one thing you were concerned about: over-developed infected.

“Mask up. Spores.” You swing your bag around to dig for your mask.

Ellie did the same, with slight hesitation. “Is the this only way through?”

You nodded, tightening the strap around your head. “Yeah, if we still wanna knock off some time.” Opening the door, you armed yourself with the pistol that sat snuggly in the waistband of your jeans. The walls were adorned in the crusty corrosion of the sick, bubbling in corners. You frowned under your mask, stepping slowly down the stairs. Ellie following behind you with the same caution, shotgun drawn.

Errk!

Both of you stopped moving in the stairwell at the sound of a clicker. You swear under your breath, glancing at your partner. “We’ve got company.” She muttered, nodding at you to go forward.

Moments like this was when you relied on her the most, but you’d never admit it. It was nice to not have to endure circumventing infected alone. Ellie was your backup, and you were hers. Even if you were still upset with her—underground that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was staying alive.

Navigating through the dark, with your lights flickered on, the both of you managed to stealthily kill the clickers wandering around. But when a pair of crusted hands leaped from the wall, pushing you onto the ground… Another beast was alerted.

With the sound of Ellie’s shotgun, a loud monstrous grumble rumbled from down the hall. You pushed the stalker to the side, scrambling to your feet. “Ellie, how many bullets do we have?” You asked her, adrenaline pumping through your body.

She checked the chamber, cursing. “Fuck! Three rounds.”

Picking up the pistol from the ground, you checked the magazine. Only a few bullets. The shambler began to stomp, approaching the two of you, increasing into a run. “We gotta go!” You grab her hand, tugging her a tight hole in the wall; tall enough for you to slip through.

Running into the room, you realized there wasn’t an exit. There was only a door, but it led back out into the hallway. The quick call you made to evade the boiling beast, was a mistake. Before you could even regret the decision, the shambler bursted through the wall.

Without command, Ellie began firing the shotgun. First bullet. Second bullet. Third bullet—she was out. It roared, releasing puffs of acid. You both dodged by the skin of your teeth, running around the room like frightened mice. Now, it was your turn to unleash pointless blows to the creature. Emptying the rest of your magazine into the bulbous creature did nothing but anger it. Somehow, it found a way to creep up behind you and Ellie, taking her by the throat.

“Ellie!” You exclaimed, voice trembling in horror. Her hands scratched at its arms, pounding to be set free.

A pipe leaned out of a wall as an escape route, a message from God—fate, prying at you. Using the strength of a scared shitless person, you yanked the pipe free, falling back onto your butt. Quickly, you stood up and began hacking at the thing. Sounds of effort and defensive fear leaving your lips. Dropping Ellie onto the ground, he turned to you, roaring. However, your hacking at his body didn’t stop until he was on his knees. Gurgles left his corroded and bubbled mouth, but you used it as bait to make your final blow.

Heaving over its corpse, your back hunched, the pipe slipping from your sweaty grip. She coughed, reminding you of her presence, slumped against the wall. Her breath began to grow heavy, hand on her chest.

“Oh, my God— Ellie!” You crouched beside her, unsure where to place your shaking hands. She attempted to crack a smile, to pretend she was fine, but she wasn’t. The imperative organ in her chest beat faster than it should have, knocking the wind out of her. She couldn’t breathe—at least it felt like she couldn’t.

Ellie was panicking.

“Hey,” You tried, deepening your eyebrows, sliding your hands from her shoulders to her neck, to her trembling jaw. “Ellie,” Her hand shot up to grip your wrist with vigor, looking into your eyes, intensely. “Ellie, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Your free hand pushed strangling hair from sticking to the plastic of her mask.

The grip on your wrist moved to the entrapment on her face. She began to claw at it, whining. “No…” You attempt to stop her fast, strong movements, but she shoved you away. “Ellie— no! What the fuck are you doing?!”

She peeled the mask off her face, taking the deepest breaths you’ve ever seen. Leaning back, your eyes watered, watching her gasp for toxic air. Ellie pushed the strands of her hair off her face, leaning her head against the cement of the wall. Her heart was settling, but then she looked to you. Olive eyes meeting your teary ones. “What the- what d-did you just do?” You stammered. “Ellie…”

You enunciated her name with such weariness that it made her feel guilty. Still, getting herself together from her panic attack, she felt the need to console you. But she didn’t have the energy.

Breathing heavily under your mask, you watch as nothing happened to her. She doesn’t convulse, choking on the toxic elements in the air. There was nothing different about her. Absolutely nothing.

“I can…” Ellie breathed. “I can explain later. Let’s just get outta here first, all right?”

Having no choice but to believe her, you stood to your feet. Reaching down for her hand. When you pulled her up, her ankle gave out on her. “Shit,” Ellie cursed, furrowing her eyebrows. “The harder they fall, huh?” She dryly chuckled.

You frowned, wrapping her arm around your shoulders.

Unamused, you found a way out of the ground floor. Unmasking at the first sight of daylight. You didn’t have to travel far with Ellie’s arm wrapped around your shoulders. The only place that was able to receive your weak bodies was a little bookstore around the corner.

It was clustered inside. Book aisles placed close together, where only a single body could shimmy through. A pair of metal stairs spiraled up the back of the store, leading to another floor of books. Dropping all of your things, including Ellie’s arm, you stalked up those rusty steps with hot tears welling into your eyes.

Ellie leaned against a bookshelf, pressing her lips into a line. Watching every harsh step you took, ascending up the stairs. Her own eyes began to fill with tears, glancing down at her shaking hands. Before they could fall, she harshly wiped her face and decided to busy herself. It wasn’t a bad time to take inventory.

Upstairs, you found yourself huddled in a corner. Hot tears streaming down your cheeks, weeping as low as you could. The tears falling down your face was a release of fright. You realized something on that ground floor that you wish you hadn’t. That freckled stranger you had come upon, or who had come upon you, in Santa Barbara was becoming a meaningful person in your life. Unbeknownst to you! Ellie had snuck up on you like a rodent in disguise.

That distant figure that once hovered in dim lighting who you didn’t trust has become so much more. You trusted her with your fucking life. And it only took a few months on the road.

Having barely recovered from the threat of that shambler, she snatched her mask off like it was nothing. In those few second, your heart beat so loud it stalled time. You thought she was going to die right in front of you, willingly.

It took you back to a moment in your past—the death of your mother. Before you reached Catalina Island, your mother sacrificed herself to ensure that you made it there. She gave you her mask to take the spores head-on. Promising that she’d hold her breath; at fifteen, you were silly to believe her.

Just then, Ellie’s gasps proved your immediate worries and fears wrong. She wasn’t going to die in front of you like your mother did. The viral spores on that floor didn’t kill her. Making you wonder: who the fuck were you traveling with?

Wiping your face, messily, you wander back down the rusted steps of the bookstore. You spot her with both of your bags opened, going through the supplies you had. Counting under her breath. When her strained eyes caught yours, she ceased all movement.

“You know,” She began, looking at the hand that was missing her pinky and ring finger, massaging her palm. “I think, that was the most you’ve ever said my name.”

You frowned, walking through the aisles, cheeks stained with tears. “What the fuck was that back there?” The sound of your voice was weak and frail.

“A panic attack…”

“I’m talking about the mask, Ellie. You breathed spores…?”

She licked her lips, averting her olive eyes. “I’m immune…”

A beat passed between the two of you, roping around your still bodies.

Ellie watched how your lips quivered, like you wanted to cry. The redness in your eyes made her frown. “I just— in the moment… I couldn’t breathe. I needed to take it off—“

“How do you know?” You abruptly ask. “How do you know that you’re immune? What if it just… I don’t know… Takes longer to develop in your system?”

“y/n…” She remorsefully spoke. “I was bitten when I was fourteen.” Ellie rolls up the sleeve of her jacket, pushing her tattooed arm toward you.

Pressing your lips together, you walk forward, taking her arm in your hands. Her forearm was covered in evergreen ink. Taking your hand, she guided your fingers over the eruptions in her skin. Abrasions. Hidden beneath the adoration of the tattoo. You never noticed this before. “I had a lot of time to know if this was real…” Ellie muttered, peering at you. Insecurity leaking from her pores.

You met her eyes, opening and closing your lips, trying figure out the words you wanted to say. “Who are you?” You examined the features you’ve come to know. “And don’t walk away this time— you have no choice but to tell me.” A chortle falls from your lips, causing her stiffness in her shoulders to loosen.

And so, Ellie told you as much as she could. She told you about how she got bitten. She told you about Riley. She told you about Joel and Tommy—about the fireflies—and about Joel, again. She told you about Dina and Jesse. And then, she told you about Abby. The familiarity of her name caused you to perk up. You knew of her from the resort; it was her and a little boy. However, the version she told you about aligned nothing with the version that you knew of.

“I went to Santa Barbara because I wanted to put an end to my suffering and Tommy’s— I wanted to kill her.” Ellie confessed, leaning her head back against the books pushed into the shelves. The two of you sat opposite of each other in a book aisle, knees grazing every so often. “I thought that would fix everything… But, when I saw her on that pillar…” She shook her head, running her hand through her hair. “For a second, I wasn’t going to do it. She led me to that beach, holding that kid, and I was gonna leave.”

Ellie blinked, remembering that empty feeling she felt on that day. Guilt crawling through her for something that was never in her control. You watched her speak, intently, with deepened eyebrows. “Then, I remembered. I remembered what she did— what she took from me, and I couldn’t let her go. I threatened that little boy, and I made her fight me. She didn’t want to, but I made her.”

“Did you kill her…?” You asked, slowly.

She chortled, wiping her teary eyes. “No. She took my fucking fingers, and I let her go.” The laugh she released was dry, and without humor. “It was like… Everything that I’ve done, leading up to that day, was all for nothing. All the people that I hurt— that I killed just to get to her… It was all for nothing.” Her voice cracked, tears rolling down her cheeks. Ellie couldn’t stop them this time.

You reached for her knee, caressing your thumb over the fabric of her jeans. She peered up at you, through her thick, wet eyelashes with a sort of surprise. Ellie didn’t think you’d stick around after hearing about her truth. You, a victim of the rattlers, empathizing with a murderer.

Before that, though, you were a firefly. You more than just a victim.

“How could I ever think of you as a bad person after what I’ve done?” She pressed her plump lips into a line, shaking her head. “That wasn’t what I meant at all… I was just trying to figure you out. I worded it all wrong— I’m sorry.” Ellie apologized with such frailty, you had no choice but to accept.

“Don’t be sorry, Ellie…”

“I’m beginning to realize I’m not really good with people.”

You squeeze her knee. “That’s not true. I think we get along great.” You shrug, attempting to lighten up the mood. Her lips curled at the corners, reaching for the hand on her knee, placing hers over yours. A silence bounced between you—eyes boring into each other’s, looking through each other. “I also think… You did what you thought was best…” You voiced, nodding affirmatively. “I probably would’ve, somehow, done worse.”

She scoffed, drawing circles on the back of your hand, absentmindedly. “Worse? You couldn’t have done worse.”

“You’d be surprised.” You lifted your eyebrows. “Not to beat a dead horse or anything, but as a firefly… When you’re told to do something, you do it.” Shrugging, you remove your hand from hers, crossing your arms. “I’m not a saint, Ellie. I’ve done loads of shit that I’m not proud of.” You looked down at your knees, frowning. “If some girl killed someone I cared about right in front of me… It would have been the last thing she ever did. Shit, I’ve killed people for less.”

You paused, eyebrows twitching. The image of a guardian angel came into your mind—Honey. “It should’ve been me in that house… In Santa Barbara.” Squeezing your eyes shut, tears began to fall down your cheeks once more. Angry, mourning tears. “It’s like… The Lord gave me second chance to do better— or was it fate? I don’t fucking know…”

Ellie blinked, having a severe déjà vu moment. Somehow the words spoken in her past, have managed to resurface. If somehow the Lord gave me a second chance at that moment, I would do it all over again. Spoken by your pretty mouth, instead of someone else’s. “I’d probably be just like Honey if it weren’t for you— dead. And I still don’t know what makes me worth saving, but I’m grateful. I’m grateful for you.” You sniffed, lips quivering while looking at the auburn-haired woman.

She swallowed, moving from her spot across from you to sit beside you. If only she had the courage to say those words to Joel. If only her resentment didn’t run so deep—perhaps, her guilt for his death wouldn’t be so strong. “Everything about you is worth saving… You’re like a lucky charm.”

You leaned your head back against the books, looking at her. “A lucky charm, huh?”

“Hell yeah! I mean, you totally whooped that shambler’s ass. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Hitting her arm, you giggle, keeping your eyes on the bookshelf in front of you. “Seriously, y/n…” Her humored tone faded as she trained her eyes on the side of your face, urging you to just look at her. To meet her eyes as passionately as she wanted to meet yours. It could’ve been the vulnerability that pulsed around the room, but she needed to see you. Her body ached for touch—perhaps, your touch. Ellie needed consolation for her confession.

Finally, your eyes drift toward hers. Not realizing how close her body was to yours. Shoulders, arms, hips, knees touching as if you were conjoined by the hip. Her eyes were prettier close up. They were greener than the evergreen that grew up desolate buildings. The freckles on her damaged skin could be connected like constellations—how come you never noticed this before? You wanted to trace the scar over her top lip and the one in her eyebrow with your finger, not just with your eyes.

The only thing that could be heard was your uneven, nervous breaths. Ellie moved her face closer to yours, just enough to tease, to ask for your permission without using her words. Her olive eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes. Weakly, you nodded, chewing on the corner of your bottom lip.

Her hands settled on your face, pulling you to hers. Meeting her lips with your lips, softly and patiently. Placing your hands on her wrists, you pull away, analyzing her features. Full lips were parted, wantonly. Pushing forward, you resumed the kiss with more intensity.

Whining against her lips, you got onto your knees, kicking your leg over her legs. Settling on her lap, her hands moved to your hips, kneading them. Her lips beginning to trail down your jaw; they were wet and hot kisses, causing your hips to roll on their own. Pleasured sighs fled from your swollen parted lips, holding onto her shoulders. “Ellie— Ellie, are you sure about this?” You question, with your eyes fluttered shut.

Against the sensitive skin of your neck, she spoke. “Beyond sure…” She muttered, littering your neck with love bites. Then, she pauses, pulling back to look up at you. Her hands still on your hips, pulling them to a stop to get your attention. “Are you sure about this?” Her pupils were blown out, adoringly.

You massaged her tense shoulders, licking your lips. The sight of her made your skin warm and tingly. “I’m fucking sure.” You smiled, playing with ends of her auburn strands. Leaning down, you pressed your lips against hers again, with fervor.

The both of you needed this—human connection. Even if it was short-lived, or temporary.

Ellie pushed at the flannel over your arms, tossing it to the side. Then, it was your knit shirt. She rolled it up from your abdomen, you lift your arms so she could remove it. Lastly, was your sports bra. She pulled it over your head, eyes marveling at the sight before her. Her calloused hands ran down the bare sides of your back, lips trailing down your sternum.

Running your hands over her hair, she latched her lips around one of your nipples. Sucking and nibbling at the sensitive nerves. A moan escapes your throat, arching your back into her. Your hips buck on top of her lap, begging for her touch elsewhere. “My lucky charm…” She mutters against your skin, kneading your other breast.

You end up with your back on the hard floor of the bookstore. Your hands pulling off her clothes like your life depended on it. She pulled your pants off, leaving you both only in your underwear.

Ellie kissed you, again, pressing her chest against yours. Her knee slotted between your legs, pushing her thigh against your clothed core. You could feel her grinding against your propped up leg, moaning into your mouth. Calloused hand gripping the back of your thigh. Sloppily, your lips trail to the side of her face, airy moans releasing beside her ear. “Ellie, please, touch me…” Wantonly, you pleaded, clenching the roots of her hair.

With her hot lips against your jaw, nibbling at your ear, she obliged. Drifting her hand down the center of your bodies, rubbing you over your underwear. Propping herself up on her other arm, she peered down at you. A pout resting on your wet lips, narrowing your eyes at her. One-handed, she slides your underwear to the side, running her middle finger up your center. Spreading your slick over that sensitive bud awaiting her focus. Ellie chews on her bottom lip, watching you shudder under her touch. “Right there?”

You respond with the tremble of your thighs and the heaving of your chest. She cracked a charming smile, eyes hazing at the sight of you.

Slipping two fingers into your cunt, she moans with you, curling her fingers slowly. Your hands roam her toned stomach, squeezing at her breasts, but you were losing focus. “S— So fucking good— ah!” Pulling her fingers out of you, she lowered herself. Kissing the scars and bruises that littered your abdomen. Her movements briefly confused you, until you felt her mouth on the inner parts of your thighs.

She pulled your underwear down your legs, tossing them aside. Then, she was on you, mouth hot over your cunt. Suckling on your clit, thrusting her tongue into you—eating you like she was starving. Your mouth fell ajar, grasping at her hair for something to hold onto. “Fuck, Ellie!” You whine, bucking your hips toward her face.

Her olive irises looked up at you between your legs, glimmering with lust. Arching your back, feeling that tightness coiling under your muscles, a lewd sound comes from your throat. Something between a moan and a yelp.

Sooner than later, your release comes crashing over you. Like a breath of fresh air. Legs clamping around her head, pushing her closer to your heat. Her lips making out with your pussy, bringing you down from your high. “Oh, my God…” You mutter, massaging her scalp with your fingers.

She crawls up your body like a lustrous lioness, letting your taste yourself on her lips. Your hands gripped at the fat of her ass, biting her bottom lip with your teeth. Ellie gasped, angling your face with her hand, groaning against your lips.

Sliding your index finger under the hem of her boxer-short underwear, you yank them down. “Damn…” Ellie mutters, kicking off her underwear the rest of the way. “You’re quick.” She chuckles, as you flip her onto her back. Running your lips down her neck, biting her skin.

“I want you… Can you blame me?”

You gripped at her hips, but when she winced you stopped. Peering down at her hip bone, a stitching remained there. Red and a little irritated. “It’s fine. Keep goin’, please.” Ellie tried, reaching for your hand.

Lowering your body, you kissed around the irritated wound, gently. Ellie watched you, chewing on her lip. Holding onto her hand, you kissed lower and lower. Through the hairs over her mound, the inner parts of her thigh—lightly over her cunt. She twitched, bashfully trying to shut her legs. But your hands braced her thighs.

Breathing her in, you licked a line up her center, making eye contact with her. An airy sound left her parted lips, free hand tweaking her nipples. “Yeah… Yeah…” She chanted, rocking herself against your face. You lick at her clit before sucking it into your mouth, her hips jolting at the feeling. Fluttering your eyes shut, you spend time on her sensitive bud, messily. Your non-dominant hand still holding onto Ellie’s, her grip tightening every second.

Taking your other hand, you insert your middle and ring finger into her core. Looking up at her reaction, while you made love to her clit. “Fuck, yes!” She enunciated her words lustily, drawing them out. Popping her bud from your lips, you begin to curl your fingers. Her wanton moans bouncing off the bookshelves around you.

“You’re so pretty like this.” You whisper, mainly to yourself, as you gaze at her in awe. Ellie was always so rough around the edges, but under you she was different. Her scarred body shook under you, in pleasure. She was in her element.

She moaned your name, riding your fingers. The muscles in her abdomen clenching, the grip on your hand getting harder. Taking that as your cue, you began to make out with her pussy. Only bringing her closer and closer to that breaking coil.

When the sparks in her stomach bursted into flames, a string of curse words fell from her lips. Her back arching off the hardwood floor, fingers pinching her tits. Her slick was all over your mouth, as you crawled back up her body.

Hungrily, she found your lips. Pushing your bare bodies together, you lazily made out—winding yourselves down.

Orange hues of the sun setting peaked through the windows, and the empty parts of the shelves. A burnt orange cast, glazing over your bodies like a blanket. Your legs intertwined, arms draped over shoulders, wrapped around waists; you were comfortable like this. Ellie was comfortable like this.

Parting your lips, she peppered small kisses along your jaw, before laying her head on your chest. “There’s a couch upstairs…” You breathe, playing in her hair.

“You say this now…?” She looked up at you, fingers rubbing circles on your bare hips.

A chuckle fell from your lips, your thumb caressing her flushed cheeks. “Heat of the moment!”

She sucked her teeth, nuzzling her head into your neck. “Whatever, you filthy woman.”

“Hey! You’re the one who took my clothes off.”

“You let me take your clothes off.” She nibbled at the skin of your throat, squeezing the fat of your hip.

You pressed your lips together, amused, running your fingers down her freckled back. “We could go up to the couch now.” You offered.

Ellie shook her head, hooking her leg around yours to pull herself closer to you. “No, just wanna lay here for a while…”

And you did just that. Laid with each other until your backs ached enough to move to the couch upstairs. Only to resume the position on the itchy cushions until the sun came back around to drag you both back onto the road.

[zakalwe-the-ninth]

Discworld fanfic masterpost

Please enjoy these, the products of my current hyperfixation.

Vetvimes fanfics

Balancing Act (longish, angsty, plotty)

Pillow Talk (smut)

Leverage (longish, sequel to Balancing Act)

Ripples (sad, deathfic, cameos from Moist and Adora Belle)

Instinct (smut)

On The Breeding of Dragons (even sadder deathfic)

Someone Who Will Love You in All Your Damaged Glory (alternate trouserleg of time)

How to Save a Life (saving each other)

Conflict of Interest (snark and handcuffs)

Public Service (smut)

Ashes (dark, saddest deathfic? idk)

My Friends and Smiling Enemies (longish, second sequel to Balancing Act, angsty)

Thinking Out Loud (fluff, romance tropes)

Drunk and Disorderly (Young Vetinari and Vimes)

Balance of Power (smut, handcuffs)

Kissing (for Tumblr kiss prompt; fluff)

Five Minutes (for Tumblr kiss prompt; Really Not Fluff)

The Spark (for Tumblr kiss prompt; Introspective Vetinari fluff)

Good Morning, Vimes (for Tumblr kiss prompt; smutty fluff)

A Quiet Love (for Tumblr kiss prompt; Introspective Vetinari super-fluff)

Gen/Humour

You Do The Job That's in Front of You (very much not humour, but short)

Raised by Wolves (Vetinari rising to power)

Lost Luggage (Rincewind, Vetinari, Vimes, the Luggage)

Delusions of Grandeur (Vetinari and Vimes visit the Vetinari wing of the hospital)

A Night at the Opera (Vetinari meets Granny and Nanny)

Honey Trap (The lengths Vimes will go to to catch a thief - pre vetvimes if you squint)

Crime and Punishment (Vimes goes to Lancre with Vetinari and solves a crime)

Legacy (Vimes and Vetinari exchange Hogswatch gifts)

[thedisabilitybookarchive]

Disability in Non-Fiction #1: Plain Text Edition

A plain text version of this post. Here you will find detailed image descriptions and easier-to-read versions of each book summary. If you think that any image descriptions/summaries need to be updated, please let me know!

================================================

‘How to Live Free in a Dangerous World’- Lawson, Shayla

[ID: A book cover. The background is a pale orange colour. In the centre, a large photograph of a person with brown skin standing in front a desert under a blue sky. They have short braided brown hair swept over their left eye, and have their arms crossed over their chest, with one hand resting on the side of their face. The title “How to Live Free in a Dangerous World” is around them in large orange writing that covers the length of the photo. The subtitle “A Decolonial Memoir” is to the right their head in very small white writing. The author’s name “Shayla Lawson” is below the title, at the bottom of the photograph, in smaller yellow writing. Black text at the bottom of the cover reads, under the author’s name, reads “author of ‘this is major’, a national book critics circle award finalist”. /end]

Summary:

Poet and journalist Shayla Lawson follows their National Book Critics Circle finalist This Is Major with these daring and exquisitely crafted essays, where Lawson journeys across the globe, finds beauty in tumultuous times, and powerfully disrupts the constraints of race, gender, and disability.

With their signature prose, at turns bold, muscular, and luminous, Shayla Lawson travels the world to explore deeper meanings held within love, time, and the self.

Through encounters with a gorgeous gondolier in Venice, an ex-husband in the Netherlands, and a lost love on New Year’s Eve in Mexico City, Lawson’s travels bring unexpected wisdom about life in and out of love. They learn the strength of friendships and the dangers of beauty during a narrow escape in Egypt. They examine Blackness in post-dictatorship Zimbabwe, then take us on a secretive tour of Black freedom movements in Portugal.

Through a deeply insightful journey, Lawson leads readers from a castle in France to a hula hoop competition in Jamaica to a traditional theater in Tokyo to a Prince concert in Minnesota and, finally, to finding liberation on a beach in Bermuda, exploring each location—and their deepest emotions—to the fullest. In the end, they discover how the trials of marriage, grief, and missed connections can lead to self-transformation and unimagined new freedoms.

‘Being Seen’- Sjunneson, Elsa

[ID: A book cover. It is a dark black with faint, grey, writing over it. The writing, from top to bottom, reads: “Elsa Sjunneson” “Being Seen” “One Deafblind Woman’s Fight to End Ableism” All in capitals. The “I” in “Being Seen” is designed to look like an opening of sorts, with a ray of light coming through. /end]

Summary:

A deafblind writer and professor explores how the misrepresentation of disability in books, movies, and TV harms both the disabled community and everyone else.

As a deafblind woman with partial vision in one eye and bilateral hearing aids, Elsa Sjunneson lives at the crossroads of blindness and sight, hearing and deafness—much to the confusion of the world around her. While she cannot see well enough to operate without a guide dog or cane, she can see enough to know when someone is reacting to the visible signs of her blindness and can hear when they’re whispering behind her back. And she certainly knows how wrong our one-size-fits-all definitions of disability can be.

As a media studies professor, she’s also seen the full range of blind and deaf portrayals on film, and here she deconstructs their impact, following common tropes through horror, romance, and everything in between. Part memoir, part cultural criticism, part history of the deafblind experience, Being Seen explores how our cultural concept of disability is more myth than fact, and the damage it does to us all.

‘Disability Pride’- Mattlin, Ben

[ID: A book cover. The background is made of simple, colourful red, cream, white, yellow and teal shapes. Large text reads, from top to bottom: “Disability Pride” in large, black capitals, “Dispatches from a Post-ADA World”in smaller, black capitals, “Ben Mattlin”, in slightly bigger red capitals. /end]

Summary:

An eye-opening portrait of the diverse disability community as it is today and how attitudes, activism, and representation have evolved since the passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA).

In Disability Pride, disabled journalist Ben Mattlin weaves together interviews and reportage to introduce a cavalcade of individuals, ideas, and events in engaging, fast-paced prose. He traces the generation that came of age after the ADA reshaped America, and how it is influencing the future. He documents how autistic self-advocacy and the neurodiversity movement upended views of those whose brains work differently. He lifts the veil on a thriving disability culture—from social media to high fashion, Hollywood to Broadway—showing how the politics of beauty for those with marginalized body types and facial features is sparking widespread change.

He also explores the movement’s shortcomings, particularly the erasure of nonwhite and LGBTQIA+ people that helped give rise to Disability Justice. He delves into systemic ableism in health care, the right-to-die movement, institutionalization, and the scourge of subminimum-wage labor that some call legalized slavery. And he finds glimmers of hope in how disabled people never give up their fight for parity and fair play.

Beautifully written, without anger or pity, Disability Pride is a revealing account of an often misunderstood movement and identity, an inclusive reexamination of society’s treatment of those it deems different.

‘Crip Kinship’- Kafai, Shayda

[ID: A book cover. The background is light blue, with colourful pictures of butterflies, flowers and a house setting featured in the centre. Lower right centre of the image, a black figure in a long sleeved, billowing dress, holding a curved black walking stick in their right hand. Behind them, a drawing of a room with a table, chair, pink wall with a window, and a blank wall with an orange picture. Text on the book cover, from top to bottom, reads: The title “Crip Kinship” in large black font at the top of the image, The subtitle “The Disability Justice & Art Activism of Sins Invalid” in smaller black capitals, in the upper right corner of the image, The authors name “Shayda Kafai” in medium black capitals in the lower right of the image, partially overlapping the figure in the dress. /end]

Summary:

The remarkable story of Sins Invalid, a performance project that centres queer disability justice.

In recent years, disability activism has come into its own as a vital and necessary means to acknowledge the power and resilience of the disabled community, and to call out ableist culture wherever it appears.

Crip Kinship explores the art activism of Sins Invalid, a San Francisco Bay Area-based performance project, and its radical imaginings of what disabled, queer, trans, and gender-nonconforming bodyminds of colour can do: how they can rewrite oppression, and how they can gift us with transformational lessons for our collective survival.

Grounded in the disability justice framework, Crip Kinship investigates the revolutionary survival teachings that disabled, queer of colour community offers to all our bodyminds. From their focus on crip beauty and sexuality to manifesting digital kinship networks and crip-centric liberated zones, Sins Invalid empowers and moves us toward generating our collective liberation from our bodyminds outward.

‘Sounds Like Home’- Wright, Mary Herring

[ID: A book cover. The background is yellow. A black and white photograph in the centre shows two young black children and a dog in front of a car. The title “Sounds Like Home” is at the tope in large, curvy black writing. The subtitle “Growing Up Black and Deaf in the South” is written in small orange writing, on three black bars on the right side of the cover. The author’s name “Mary Herring Wright” is written in curvy black writing, slightly smaller than the title, at the bottom of the cover. /end]

Summary:

Mary Herring Wright’s memoir adds an important dimension to the current literature in that it is a story by and about an African American deaf child. The author recounts her experiences growing up as a deaf person in Iron Mine, North Carolina, from the 1920s through the 1940s. Her story is unique and historically significant because it provides valuable descriptive information about the faculty and staff of the North Carolina school for Black deaf and blind students from the perspective of a student as well as a student teacher. In addition, this engrossing narrative contains details about the curriculum, which included a week-long Black History celebration where students learned about important Blacks such as Madame Walker, Paul Laurence Dunbar, and George Washington Carver. It also describes the physical facilities as well as the changes in those facilities over the years. In addition, Sounds Like Home occurs over a period of time that covers two major events in American history, the Depression and World War II.

Wright’s account is one of enduring faith, perseverance, and optimism. Her keen observations will serve as a source of inspiration for others who are challenged in their own ways by life’s obstacles.

‘The Right to Maim’- Puar, Jasbir K.

[ID: A book cover. The background is white. A painting stretches from the bottom of the cover to bottom of top quarter. In the upper quarter of the cover, text reads: The author’s name “Jasbir K. Puar” is at the top in black writing. The title “The Right to Maim” is immediately below this in red caps. The subtitle “Debility, Capacity, Disability” is immediately below this in smaller, yellow caps. The painting is immediately below this. The background is a dark cream. It appears to show a humanoid figure climbing a mound. Two other figures appear to be falling off the mound. There are splashes of red paint around the mound and the figure on it. /end]

Summary:

In The Right to Maim Jasbir K. Puar brings her pathbreaking work on the liberal state, sexuality, and biopolitics to bear on our understanding of disability. Drawing on a stunning array of theoretical and methodological frameworks, Puar uses the concept of “debility”—bodily injury and social exclusion brought on by economic and political factors—to disrupt the category of disability. She shows how debility, disability, and capacity together constitute an assemblage that states use to control populations. Puar’s analysis culminates in an interrogation of Israel’s policies toward Palestine, in which she outlines how Israel brings Palestinians into biopolitical being by designating them available for injury. Supplementing its right to kill with what Puar calls the right to maim, the Israeli state relies on liberal frameworks of disability to obscure and enable the mass debilitation of Palestinian bodies. Tracing disability’s interaction with debility and capacity, Puar offers a brilliant rethinking of Foucauldian biopolitics while showing how disability functions at the intersection of imperialism and racialized capital.

‘Uncomfortable Labels’- Dale, Laura Kate

[ID: A book cover. The background is a close photograph of some kind of knitted garment, and its label. The garment is blue. The label is in the centre. Text on the label reads: The title “Uncomfortable Labels” in large black caps The subtitle “My Life as a Gay Autistic Trans Woman” in smaller black caps, lower left of this The author’s name “Laura Kate Dale” at the bottom of the label in black writing. A smaller label attached to the bottom has a single, black capitalised “M” written on it. /end]

Summary:

“So while the assumption when I was born was that I was or would grow up to be a neurotypical heterosexual boy, that whole idea didn’t really pan out long term.”

In this candid, first-of-its-kind memoir, Laura Kate Dale recounts what life is like growing up as a gay trans woman on the autism spectrum. From struggling with sensory processing, managing socially demanding situations and learning social cues and feminine presentation, through to coming out as trans during an autistic meltdown, Laura draws on her personal experiences from life prior to transition and diagnosis, and moving on to the years of self-discovery, to give a unique insight into the nuances of sexuality, gender and autism, and how they intersect.

Charting the ups and downs of being autistic and on the LGBT spectrum with searing honesty and humour, this is an empowering, life-affirming read for anyone who’s felt they don’t fit in.

'Brilliant Imperfections'- Clare, Eli

[ID: A book cover. A photograph of stones can be seen. Over it, a dark box stretching from left to right at the top of the image. Text in the box reads: “Brilliant Imperfection”, in large caps. “Brilliant” is in green, “Imperfection is in white. “Grappling With Cure”, in small, green caps. “Eli Clare”, in white caps. /end]

Summary:

In Brilliant Imperfection Eli Clare uses memoir, history, and critical analysis to explore cure—the deeply held belief that body-minds considered broken need to be fixed.

Cure serves many purposes. It saves lives, manipulates lives, and prioritizes some lives over others. It provides comfort, makes profits, justifies violence, and promises resolution to body-mind loss. Clare grapples with this knot of contradictions, maintaining that neither an anti-cure politics nor a pro-cure worldview can account for the messy, complex relationships we have with our body-minds.

The stories he tells range widely, stretching from disability stereotypes to weight loss surgery, gender transition to skin lightening creams. At each turn, Clare weaves race, disability, sexuality, class, and gender together, insisting on the nonnegotiable value of body-mind difference. Into this mix, he adds environmental politics, thinking about ecosystem loss and restoration as a way of delving more deeply into cure.

Ultimately Brilliant Imperfection reveals cure to be an ideology grounded in the twin notions of normal and natural, slippery and powerful, necessary and damaging all at the same time.

================================================

A short list of 8 non-fiction books featuring and/or discussing disability!

I don't highlight the non-fiction section of the archive enough, so I think this is a perfect opportunity.

A plain text version of this post exists here, featuring more detailed image descriptions of each book cover and easier-to-read versions of every summary.

Books on this list:

‘How to Live Free in a Dangerous World’- Lawson, Shayla

‘Being Seen’- Sjunneson, Elsa

‘Disability Pride’- Mattlin, Ben

‘Crip Kinship’- Kafai, Shayda

‘Sounds Like Home’- Wright, Mary Herring

‘The Right to Maim’- Puar, Jasbir K.

‘Uncomfortable Labels’- Dale, Laura Kate

'Brilliant Imperfections'- Clare, Eli

All of these books and more can be found on the Disability Book Archive.

Happy Disability Pride Month!

[writingquestionsanswered]

i'm currently trying to write a story with second chance trope. the story is about a friend group since childhood of 2 girls and 4 boys. the female mc and the male mc were developing feelings for each other, then the male mc left the country without telling anyone. after 3 years of no contact, he comes back. naturally, the female mc has a lot of pent up resentment towards him but she still has romantic feelings for him.

so, any tips on writing a second chance romance?

Second Chance Romance

There are five really important keys to writing a good second chance romance:

1 - Create a Sense of What Was - Even if the story starts after that first relationship (or almost relationship) ended, it's important to give the reader a sense of what that relationship was like. What drew them to one another initially? What were their interactions like? What strengthened their bond? You can paint this picture using a combination of flashbacks, memories recalled in exposition, memories recalled in dialogue, having the character look at photos or video, comparing present experiences with past ones, or even through snippets in dreams.

2 - Be Clear About What Went Wrong - The reader can't root for a second chance if they don't understand what went wrong the first time around. Specific to your story, you'll need to address not only why this character suddenly left the country without telling anyone and without contact, but how they rationalized the negative impact it would have on this person they were beginning to develop a relationship with.

3 - Be Clear About What Went Right - Sometimes relationships fail, even if their foundations are good, but that second go round isn't plausible unless there was something worth going back to. So, not only is it important to be clear about what was good about the relationship when you illustrate it in retrospect, you'll also have to show us those things are still there--or have the potential to be.

4 - Illustrate What Changed - The relationship failed for a reason. Whether there was hurt involved, poor timing, wanting different things, or some other obstacle to progress. So, you can't give this couple a plausible shot at a second chance unless you show us how the obstacles were removed or overcome. In the case of your story specifically, not only will you need to address why the character left in the first place, but why they chose to come home, and how they make amends for disappearing without notice or contact.

5 - Rebuild Relationship Upon Old and New - I like to think of it like this: imagine the concrete slab foundation of a house. This is what the couple built together in round one. But when they parted, the foundation was damaged in places (the amount of damage obviously depends on what caused the split.) When they meet up again, the foundation is still there, it's just got the old damaged parts and a lot of erosion from time and weathering. But it's there. So as they work through what went wrong and patch up their friendship, they patch up the damage from their split. Then, as they get to know each other again and the friendship reestablishes itself, the foundation gets cleaned back up and brought back up to pristine. And from there, they can build the walls of their healthy relationship.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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

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