#i just think there should be room for it in modern literature

[lackadaisycal-art]

What's your literature hot take?

Mine is that head-hopping is not inherently sloppy or lazy, and that the modern expectation to always have every chapter (or whole book) from one specific character's POV limits the potential for certain kinds of comedy, suspense and other narrative nuances

[watchmegetobsessed]

UNMATCHED

A/N: it's been like 6 months since i last posted something and honestly, i haven't even written anything, things are very shitty these days but i felt the motivation to write this quickly after watching 'tell me lies' and 'rivals' these past weeks so here we go! if student-prof type of fics are not your thing then don't read it

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

WARNING: age gap, student-professor relationship

SUMMARY: Harry is very strict about staying away from students as a young and handsome professor, but there is one person he can't get out of his head and a Christmas party brings an unexpected turn.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Harry hates these type of parties, mostly because he can’t imagine inviting dozens of students into his home, his private space, have the roam around and spend an entire evening with them, talking and pretending like they aren’t just trying to get a better grade at the end of the semester with their too friendly behavior. Or, in his case, some girls try to push the boundaries and flirt with him, hoping to hook up with him. 

He is not stupid. He has heard students whisper about him several times, he notices the heart eyes when he is talking in class and he has gotten several phone numbers on papers since he started his PHD studies and started teaching last year. His friends teased him about being the heartthrob of the faculty, but he didn’t think it would actually happen and to this extent. To avoid any possible scandals, not that he planned to make any, he has put on quite a rigid mask towards the students to scare them off from even trying, though that hasn’t stopped some of them from wanting to shoot their shot. 

He wouldn’t have come to this party, he would rather be home and continue his research that’s still not even close to being done, but Professor Bradford, or Stella as she requests Harry to call her, is the only person he gets along with in the faculty. She is 18 years older than Harry, but still younger than the rest of the old men who have been teaching here since probably before the declaration of independence was signed. Those men are the reason younger people don’t like classic literature anymore, with their outdated ways of teaching and unwillingness to bring something modern into their lectures they are scaring the new generations away. But not Stella. She is one of the reasons Harry went into his PHD and now he gets to work with her. He couldn’t just reject her invitation for her annual Christmas Party she holds for her students and some colleagues. 

Now he is standing by the wall, drinking mulled wine and just gritting his teeth, trying to calculate how early is too early to leave. A couple of girls have already tried to chat him up, they like to circle him, leave him almost no room to escape and then make him talk about school stuff, but then they slyly bring up personal things, hoping to break his usual character, but he sees through them always. 

Harry’s best friend, Niall always teases him that he should just give in and have fun with one of them. His morals are a lot looser than Harry’s, that’s for sure. 

Just as he is about to look for the bathroom, not to use it but to hide for a bit, another group of girls spots him and he can already feel his skin crawling as they approach him from down the hallway. He is quick to assess the situation, but he realizes he has no chance of fleeing before they reach him. 

“Profesor! So good to see you here!” 

And here we go. 

It goes the same, they are extremely nice and inquiring about his plans for the next semester and then suddenly they are talking about summer and Harry knows they are moments away from asking what he’ll be doing once the school year is over. One of the girls is talking about going to Italy on a yacht and the others chime in with their own ridiculously over the top plans while Harry is avoiding to even look at them, his eyes roam around the other guests. 

That’s when he sees her. 

Just down the hall he can peek into the kitchen and there she is, with a boy Harry assumes to be her boyfriend. He’s seen them around campus the past few weeks, he even waited for her after Harry’s class and saw them walk away together as he fought the way his stomach churned every time. 

Since the moment she walked into his class at the beginning of the semester Harry has been feeling like he is losing his mind. Whether it be the way she laughs with her friends before class or focuses with undivided attention as Harry explains something by the board, or says hello every time she passes him in the cafeteria, Harry can’t stop thinking about her for days after even though he knows such feelings should be banned from his mind when it comes to a student. Every time he catches himself thinking about her he wants to throw himself out the window, but he still can’t fight it. There’s something in her that draws him in and swallows him whole and it’s not just the looks. Unlike a lot of students who take his classes for easy credits or to drool after him, she is there to learn as much as she can and she’s had the most brilliant thoughts on certain subjects Harry has ever encountered, making him almost jealous he wasn’t the one to think about them. 

She is… unmatched. And forbidden, but impossible to ignore. She’s been his vice for months.

From where he stands it appears she is having a fight with said boyfriend, her always cheerful expression is now rather upset and confused while the boy seems to be over the conversation, almost irritated by her, dismissed. Harry tries to appear not too obvious about watching them, but he is also way too fixated on her to ignore what’s happening just down the hallway. 

He glances away just for a few seconds, but the next time he looks back he sees the boy stomping away, irritated, while she is left there, pulling on her coat before disappearing through the backdoor, swallowed by the darkness of the unlit back terrace. 

And before Harry could stop himself, he is already moving.

“Excuse me girl,” he mumbles disorientedly as he slips out of the small circle. 

He places his glass to a nearby table and then grabs his own coat from the wardrobe in the hallway before making his way outside. After her. 

The moment he steps out into the cold a short sense of realization washes over him that he definitely shouldn’t be here, that he is crossing a line, but then another voice in his head tunes it out, convincing him that he is just making sure she is okay and there’s nothing wrong with that. 

Stopping by the door his gaze rakes through the terrace, but he doesn’t see her, until she spots her slouched form sitting on the bottom of the stairs leading out to the lawn. He hears her sniffling, but she hasn’t acknowledged his presence yet, if she noticed it at all. There’s a couple of moments of hesitation on his end, he can hear the rational side of him screaming somewhere in the back of his mind, telling him to turn around and just walk back inside, yet he still finds himself moving towards him and then that voice is silenced. 

“Everything alright?” Harry asks from the top of the stairs, but he startles her so much that she jumps to her feet and backs away a few feet. That’s when he sees her tearful eyes and red nose. 

“S-Sorry, I don’t–”

“Hey, it’s all good. You didn’t do anything wrong. Just checking in.”

She squints her eyes at him and that’s when he realizes she must not even see his face since the light is coming right behind him. So he walks down the stairs and then finally his face is lit and realization settles in her eyes. 

“Oh, Professor Styles. Hi.”

“Hello Y/N. Are you okay?” he asks again, to which she just chuckles bitterly. 

He can’t miss that even with tears running down her cheeks and her eyelashes stuck together, she looks so fucking beautiful it baffles him. He has to fight the urge to reach out and touch her tear-soaked cheeks. 

“Um, yeah, everything is… perfect,” she scoffs, reaching into her pockets, probably looking for tissues, but finding none so Harry grabs one from his inner pocket, handing it over to her, her fingers brushing against his for the shortest second as she takes it and then it’s over, but his skin keeps tingling. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles before drying her face as much as she can. “I’m good. Just…” She looks at him and changes her mind. “Ah, wouldn’t want to bore you with my nonsense personal drama.”

“Drama is never boring, have you learned nothing in my class?” he jokes and it actually makes her laugh. 

“This drama is not worthy of being taught in class though.”

“I bet some of the big names thought the same thing upon writing what we read in class these days.”

“So you’re saying I should write about how my boyfriend is fed up with me because I told him something he did hurt me?”

“That sounds like something I bet a lot of people would want to read about,” he smiles and when she mirrors it, he can feel his chest expanding. Somewhere way too deep in his mind an alarm goes off, but it quickly becomes one with the void and all he can think about is her. “Actually I can think of a few great pieces that are about similar topics.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, believe it or not, you’re not the first one to experience this.”

The way she looks at him is setting him on fire. The mixture of sadness, tiredness and gratitude towards his attempt to cheer her up is still making her glow in a way Harry has never seen before on any woman. 

“Do you mind analyzing one for me right now?”

“I’d be happy to.”

The party is completely tuned out for the two of them. First they actually talk about a novel, but soon it turns into sharing their favorite books and authors, their guilty pleasure reads,  recommendations for each other and even more personal bits Harry would never share with a student, but Y/N is the exception. 

They have no idea how much time passes as they stand outside and Harry ignores how the cold starts to sting his fingertips even in his pockets, because he knows that if they go inside this bubble will pop and he is too selfish to let that happen just yet. 

When there’s a short silence Harry notices that she is probably slipping back into what happened earlier and when she looks at him again he already knows she is about to share.

“I gave him a chance and explicitly told him not to fuck me over, because I can’t deal with that again. But all he has been doing is manipulating to believe that I’m always in the wrong.”

“It’s impossible for you to always be in the wrong.”

“I know. Well, part of me knows, but then I always go back to thinking that he is right, I must have messed up something.”

“That just proves that you have self-criticism, that you don’t just think everything you do is perfect.”

She sighs and looks away, her gaze distant as she battles herself inside her head, a feeling Harry knows very well, unfortunately. It doesn’t sit right with him that she is visibly struggling because of an immature guy’s untreated problems. She deserves so much more, but how can he tell that without crossing a line?

“Give it some time and you’ll see it clearer. Use your critical thinking on his actions as well, not just yours and don’t settle for less than your worth.”

“You think I did that?” she asks, eyes jumping back to meet his gaze. “You think I settled for less than my worth?”

There’s more behind her eyes than the words she said out loud and he is torn, because he can feel himself being pulled in more than ever, like she just opened the door the slightest and he has the chance to slip in. It’s the first time he senses something on her part and after all the yearning he is eager to take the chance. 

“I think you deserve a lot more, Y/N. You’re brilliant, bright and give so much to others, you should get the same amount if not more back. If someone can’t see that, then they don’t deserve you.”

For a second he wishes he didn’t say a thing, he regrets crossing the line and he fears her reaction, but then… 

Then he forgets everything. Because she is kissing him. 

It happens fast, one moment she is staring up at him with doe eyes, the next her lips are crashing against his, her hands grabbing onto the lapels of his coat. He barely recovers from the shock when she is already pulling away.

“I-I’m so sorry, I d-didn’t mean to, I just—Oh my Go–”

Her stammering is quickly cut short when he kisses her, his hands holding her jaw to angle her face perfectly and while her kiss was closed, rushed and panicked, this one is different. He is quick to beg for her to open her lips so he can explore as much of her as humanly possible, he is letting all the passions loose that he’s been locking up these past months and when she returns it just as eagerly it just pushes him even further. 

They inch back to the wall of the house and when he pins her against it a moan slips past her swollen lips, completely maddening him. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes against her lips, kissing her jawline, savoring the sweet taste of her skin that’s supposed to be cold, but it’s actually burning. For him. 

He keeps one hand on the side of her neck, the other one digs into her hip through her coat and she keeps pushing against him, while her hands wander under his coat, they are on his waist, back and when they move to his lower stomach, brushing against his belt, something snaps inside him. 

But before he could completely lose his mind the backdoor opens and he quickly sobers up, pulling her farther away from the corner so they can’t be seen. 

“...and that was actually crazy,” a girl speaks up, oblivious to how Harry has Y/N pinned against the wall just a few feet away. They are both breathing heavily, but she has her face buried in his shoulder while he covers his mouth with a hand, adrenaline racing through his veins. 

“Ah shit, I’m out of cigarettes,” another girl says.

“Mm let’s get out of here then. I think Max said they are having a little party as well.”

“Okay.”

Then the door opens again and the voices disappear, but reality hits Harry hard in the head.

He slowly pulls back, enough to look at her face and when he sees her swollen lips and slightly smeared mascara he almost combusts. 

Because he wants nothing more than to take her, right here and then everywhere else in the world, but he also realizes what he just did and this time his rational side wins. 

“Fuck,” he gasps as he jumps back, cupping a hand over his mouth.

“I wanted it–”

“Y/N, stop!” he cuts her off. “Fuck, this was a mistake.”

“But I wanted it! You didn’t–”

“I said stop!” he barks and she shuts her mouth right away. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

And before she could protest again or worse, kiss him again, he is already storming back inside, across the house towards the front door.

“Harry! I haven’t seen you all night!” Stella catches him, but he just wants to get as far away from this house and from Y/N as possible.

“I’m sorry, I need to go. I’ll talk to you later,” is all he manages to say before he is already out the door.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[the-busy-ghost]

Hmm we’re on shelf 3 already and I’ve only just got to letter T in the ‘modern literature’ section (and letter W will take up almost an entire shelf on its own). 

I don’t mind very much as I was almost regretting ordering the other bookcase so at least this validates my purchase, but I definitely reckon I’m going to have to do some weeding...

[alienguts]

Bruce + Bookworm S/O (Bruce Wayne x GN!Reader HCs)

Warnings: none

A/N: just a little something i thought of while at work. Part 4 of Picking Up the Pieces is still in the works!

Despite being someone who has No Spare Time™, Bruce is very well read.

He was reading the classics by the time he was ten years old, so he's got the reading skills and the literary chops, he just doesn't have a lot of time.

While his favourite titles are by authors like Charles Dickens or Sun Tzu, he doesn't know a lot about modern authors.

Sure, he knows who Stephen King is, but he doesn't know Stephen King.

He's been asked at charity events for schools and libraries what he thinks of recent releases, and while he tries to have at least a vague idea of what's the hottest thing, he usually has a default answer.

Depending on what mood he's in, he either refers back to the classics, or plays on the 'dumb playboy' persona and says that he hasn't read a book since high school.

When he found out that you were a huge bookworm, he tried to become more knowledgeable about modern literature.

You likely met in a bookstore that he took Damian to and struck up a conversation with you over a book that you were reading the back of.

You'd noticed him numerous times while browsing and often overheard the store's staff talking about Bruce Wayne and his pushy son, but you never thought that he would ever talk to you.

Your first date was, of course, in the bookstore's café and he treated you to whatever you wanted, including books.

You didn't want to push your chances with him, but he was happy to get you that special cloth bound edition that you thought you wouldn't be able to afford.

The study is your favourite room in the entire Manor, and he learnt that quickly.

You get to have a Beauty and the Beast library in real life, things don't get better than that!

Most of the books there are old editions or academic journals that have been accumulated in the 100+ years people have lived in the Manor.

Eventually, some colour will be incorporated into the shelves and there will be an eclectic mix of covers in amongst all the brown spines.

There are times when Bruce has come home very late from a gala or from patrol and found you still awake, reading in bed.

"Sweetheart, I think you should get some sleep now." "Just let me finish this chapter first."

God help him if he ever tries to take a book out of your hands.

He's fought gods, monsters, serial killers, and weird giant crocodile men but he wouldn't even think about taking a book from you while you're reading.

[wystiix]

talk to me, please

❥ pairing: venti x gn!reader ❥ synopsis: Venti anxiously waits for a text from you to the point where he overthinks and nearly spirals into madness—will you please just fucking reply already? ❥ cw: crack, attempt at humour (kms), fluff maybe?? not proof-read so some stuff may not make sense lmao ❥ additional tags: lowkey kinda revolves around texting, venti's perspective, no pronouns for reader, modern setting, venti is a humanities major cuz i said so, does this count as socmed??? idk someone tell me i need to sleep it's 2am ❥ word count: 955 ❥ notes: bonjour hi hello kumusta. my foot is fucking asleep and my leg feels numb and my back hurts and i'm tired an it's 2am i have school i need to stop. okay so for context i was texting this girl and she wasn't replying so i went crazy, and then i thought "wait i could write a fic about this" and here we are. it was actually kinda fun writing this HAHAHAHAHA but i had to rush it cuz i have other stuff to do so uh it may be a bit quick. (see end notes after reading cuz i said so /j)

The clock ticked. It had been three hours. Venti stared at his phone, impatiently waiting for you just please, please, please reply.

Try to distract yourself, one may say, and mark these fucking words, he did.

He tried everything. From listening to music to doing the dishes, to cleaning his room. Oh, but that was not all.

For the past few hours, he reorganised his notes, desk and playlist, walked at least twenty laps around his dorm, ate all his snacks from the pantry like a fatass, cleaned up his closet and planned what he was going to wear a week from now, learned a new song on his guitar and even counted every single one of his ceiling and wall tiles.

There were exactly 146 tiles in his dorm. That number now forever haunts him.

Practically exhausted from being way too productive than he usually was, he slumped down on his bed and opened the app he used to text you. There was still no reply.

Venti buried his face into his pillow, letting out a groan of frustration.

It was incredibly frustrating and it nearly drove him crazy. Were you seriously that busy? Normally you would respond within a span of seconds, a few to thirty minutes at the latest. But fucking three hours?

He couldn’t let this opportunity slip away. You both had been talking for over a week—he couldn’t afford to mess this up. 

But what if you suddenly lost interest? Oh, it felt far too early for that. Was he finally going to have that Mitski experience? Was he going to be those depressed poets who poured their hearts out through their ink on the paper when a single minor inconvenience happened to them? 

You were killing him. And it was not softly. Venti felt as if his heart was shattering into a million pieces.

Was this his destiny, his punishment for choosing to pursue such a depressing major in humanities?

How cruel the universe is.

He sighed in defeat, opening his notes app to write and exude a poetic, Shakespearean ballad about this before his phone suddenly buzzed.

Ding! You have received a new message from [Name]!

Holy shit has his fingers never moved so quickly before in his entire life, clicking on the notification faster than he could blink. Your sudden message almost gave him a heart attack, for fuck’s sake.

So much for living and breathing Shakespeare.

Oh, how his heart fluttered. A simple message, yet it had him forget about his lament just a few seconds prior and he found himself swooning, practically glazing your message as if it was the most fascinating piece of literature he had ever laid eyes on.

Venti paused, rereading your message 25 million times, unsure how to reply. Should he respond right away, or would that be too eager? He didn’t want to come off as desperate, but three hours of waiting had been excruciating. Perhaps he should wait a minute or two… No, that would be too long!

God he wanted to punch himself in the face for clicking that notification too fast, now he has to think of a response on the spot or else he’d look like an asshole.

He started to type out a response.

k, i see.

He paused, immediately deleting the message with a shake of his head. Too dry, he has to sound interested. I understand! Would you like to shift the conversation to a less taxing topic? Delete. Too formal. LMAOOO dw dw, what was it about anyway? Delete. ahh hope the essay didn’t stress u out too much!! Delete. i’m madly in love with u Delete. Had he sent that he would find the nearest cliff and leap off.

Venti sighed, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Why was this so complicated? He wanted to sound interested, but not desperate; casual, but not indifferent. He ended up typing something simple and hitting send before he could second-guess himself again. Sometimes, being simple is the ultimate sophistication.

He fought the urge to chuck his phone across the room. Shit, was that too casual? How long were you going to reply this time?

There were immediate blinking dots.

The tension in his chest eased as he found himself giggling at your comment. He realised the way he was acting earlier was ridiculous, maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Venti felt the weight lift off his shoulders. The conversation was back on track, and he could breathe easy again. Just as he was about to put down his phone, the blinking dots appeared again, and he immediately reverted his attention back to it.

Another message.

What.

What the fuck. Was this real?

He put his phone face down, allowing everything to sink in.

What the fuck. Coffee? Tomorrow? With you? Did you just ask him out? Was this real? Was he real? Were you real?

The anxiety that lingered within slowly ebbed away as he stared at the ceiling tiles—the same tiles that haunted him earlier. However, they now seemed oddly comforting.

“Holy shit.”

Gods above, was this a blessing? Maybe his love life wasn’t so hopeless after all.

Venti’s gaze drifted to his closet, where he noticed that same outfit he intended to wear a week from now. A cozy, soft-beige sweater with a hint of cream peeked out from behind a row of neatly hung clothes, gently draping over a pair of charcoal chinos.

He grinned like an idiot, giggling and kicking his feet like a little child who just received their favourite toy. A string of “oh my god, oh my god” repeated endlessly in his head like a loop.

And for once, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

❥ notes: hi so yes. yes i did what he did here. yes i counted my tiles, but it was my bathroom tiles instead. there are like 121 tiles in the bathroom, including the hidden ones. in this fic i just added the average number of tiles to that number which was like 25 tiles??? lowkey idk i just estimated. and yes i did plan my outfit a week from now, which is for church. yes i cleaned my room. yes i walked more than ten laps around my living room. i was restless. yes i was productive as hell. lmfao by the time i was done with the fic she replied to me so yay!! win!! also pls get the "you were killing him and it's not softly" reference i hope someone at least gets it or else i'm gonna cry myself to sleep. yeah anyways im gonna sleep gn <3

[gilbertscurls]

Classroom Competition (pt. 3) ➵ Matt Sturniolo

003. THREE ── together

summary: two rival English teachers, you and Matt, challenge each other to an end-of-year competition to see whose class will come out on top.

The beginning of the new school year arrived faster than you expected. As you walked through the familiar halls of Somerville High, the faint smell of new textbooks and freshly polished floors filled the air. The sounds of students catching up after summer break echoed around you, but your mind was somewhere else.

A whole summer had passed since you and Matt had reached that… truce. And although the rivalry had cooled, your connection with him had only deepened. You’d stayed in touch throughout the break, texting here and there, even grabbing coffee once or twice—under non-bet conditions, of course. But as the school year loomed, the dynamic between you was still uncertain.

You reached your classroom and took a deep breath, pushing thoughts of Matt to the side for now. New year, new students, new challenges. Your room was already neatly organized, just the way you liked it, with desks in perfect rows and bulletin boards showcasing colorful posters about literature and writing. You smiled, excited to meet this year’s batch of students, already planning ways to top last year’s success.

Before you could get too far into your thoughts, a knock on the doorframe made you turn. Speak of the devil.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Matt greeted you with a playful grin, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed as usual. His presence filled the room, and you couldn’t help the slight uptick of your heart rate.

“Morning, Matt,” you said, setting your bag down on your desk. “Here to check on the competition already?”

Matt chuckled, walking into the room. “Just thought I’d see how you were settling in for the new year. You know, make sure everything’s running smoothly on this side of the English department.”

“Déjà vu,” you remarked with a smirk. “I’m fine. And this year, I’m planning on keeping that coffee-buying streak to myself.”

“Oh, really?” he raised an eyebrow, that familiar glint in his eyes returning. “We’ll see about that.”

You glanced at him, wondering if you were about to fall back into the same old pattern. But this time, it felt different—lighter, less charged with the need to outdo each other, and more like the friendly teasing you’d grown accustomed to over the summer.

“Actually,” Matt said, interrupting your thoughts, “I was thinking… maybe we should work together this year.”

You blinked in surprise. “Work together? As in… co-teach?”

“Sort of,” he said, leaning against one of your student desks. “I’ve got a few ideas for cross-class projects—something that might get both of our groups working together. Instead of competing against each other, we could try collaborating.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Collaborating? That’s new.”

Matt shrugged, but there was a softness to his usual confidence. “I figured, why not try something different? Besides,” he added with a grin, “I don’t want to keep beating you year after year. Might as well share the glory.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were genuinely intrigued. The idea of working with Matt, combining your teaching styles and approaches, was exciting in a way you hadn’t expected. And maybe—just maybe—it was the next step in whatever was happening between the two of you.

“Okay,” you said slowly, crossing your arms as you leaned back against your desk. “I’m listening. What did you have in mind?”

Matt’s eyes lit up as he began explaining his idea—something about pairing your classes for a joint research project on modern interpretations of classic literature. As he spoke, you realized how well your teaching styles could complement each other. Your structured, methodical approach would balance his more creative, out-of-the-box ideas. It could work. More than that, it could be fun.

“So, what do you think?” Matt asked, finishing his pitch and watching you expectantly.

You paused for a moment, pretending to consider it seriously before flashing him a smile. “I think… this could actually be a good idea. But don’t think for a second that I’m not still going to push my students to outshine yours.”

Matt laughed, his expression softening in that way it did when you caught him off guard. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

There was a beat of silence between you two, and for the first time, it wasn’t filled with the tension of competition or rivalry. Instead, there was something warmer there, something that felt almost like anticipation.

“I guess this means we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other this year,” Matt said, his voice quieter now.

“Looks like it,” you replied, your pulse quickening just a bit.

As Matt pushed off the desk and turned to leave, he paused in the doorway, glancing back at you with a smile that was both teasing and sincere. “Let’s make this year interesting.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “It’s a deal.”

And as Matt walked away, you realized that maybe this year would be different in more ways than one. The competition between you and Matt might be shifting, but something else—something unexpected—was definitely beginning.

Whatever it was, you were ready.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @wurlibydominicfike

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi! Can I request some Genderbend Sleeping Beauty x Isekai Reader? (Please no princess reader I've seem them everywhere on qoutev)

Yandere Genderbend Sleeping Beauty x Iseakai'd Reader

Tending to a human man the moment you’d been dropped into this alternate world was not the ideal position. Originally being instated in the castle as a charity-case servant you hadn’t made any connection to the fairy tale. Not until the head butler brought you to a familiar trio of faeries; dressed in blue, green, and red. 

“My my their magical signature is quite–”

“Bizarre?”

“Unique?”

“--I was going to say, perfect for the worst-case scenario.”

Supposedly because of your outlier existence, the faeries had designated you to be their human help. Should the prince–Briar Rue fall into the curse of the spindling wheel he’d need constant care. It was a contingency plan, a tragic plan to set everyone in the kingdom to rest until the princess would return to save him with her kiss. Unlike the kingdom, the prince’s curse was cruel: continuing to let his bodily functions continue as he slept away. 

“It’s just in case.” 

“Yes, not likely at all.”

“--All because it just doesn’t work on you.”

“Mariwether!” “Mariwether!”

“Sorry, forget that I said that please!” 

That was why in the span of a week you were meeting and serving the cursed prince that had spent the entirety of his life in a forest. A position that would have many of the staff sneering at you as waited on the prince’s hand and foot.

“All of this is so overwhelming (Y/n)...I don’t want to marry a girl I haven’t met. Even when I’m so madly in love with another.”

The prince was doing an iconic Disney Princess mope, leaning against the barred windows of his room in the castle. You continued to fold away his forest attire, smiling to yourself as you replayed the animated version of the fairytale. 

“Well I have a feeling you’ll meet her sooner than you may think.”

He turned his sorrowful gaze to you, tilting his head at your ominous smile. He questioned you no further, opting to conversate with you about the ‘modern’ nuances of popular society. Which you were just as uninformed about as him. Needless to say, the both of you were on something of a learning curve, relying on the staff and fairies to fill the both of you in. 

Two days. 

Two days ago he was learning alongside you how to waltz. The day you were dismissed it was in an explosion of emotion. A reaction of his overwhelmed self in this stressful environment; had you sent away and retiring early. Living in such a hierarchy was new to you and your knowledge of the future meant nothing at the intensity of his order. That being said you didn’t blame yourself when the fairies arrived at you, heads hanging low with tears in their eyes. 

____________________________________________________________

As agreed upon you had begun your caretaking duties of the prince. Waking every morning to wash, dress, change his magic feeding trey, and placing the medieval equivalent of a diaper as the day forged on. Whether you are familiar with the task of caring for someone so intensely it soon becomes a habit for you. Becoming a part of a mundane routine for yourself. Care for the prince, have breakfast, read some outdated literature, and repeat. After the first couple of days, you got quite used to the hollow echoing chamber of an otherwise empty castle. Minding the unconscious staff and royal families; it was bliss. 

While you certainly had the time to teach yourself the rules and etiquette of the time, this couldn’t have been the healthiest way to go about it. Without the commentary or viable presence of others, you had begun to speak out loud. Talking to sleeping bodies and non-sentient objects had become you’re normal for the following month. A commonality of that time was being freaked out when any of the fairies decided to make themselves young; they were considerate usually catching your attention in a flurry of sparkles. A fair warning, for whenever they came to grieve.

Towards the end of the month, their visits had a different tune; singing their praises of the princess who was fighting the malignant Sorcerer king. As evident by the distant roars and green swirling sky, this would be over soon. 

“I-I am here to kiss the prince!” 

She came to the castle frazzled, wounded, and on shaky legs. You adamantly refused, practically fighting her to eat and let you treat her wounds. In fact, it was similar to how you had been treating the prince for the past couple of months. Shouldering most of her weight as you bathed and dressed her; a process that only seemed to embarrass you. You figured as a princess this might’ve not been so out of the ordinary making it easier for you to send her to sleep. After all that you scrambled to do the same to Briar, and with a sense of finality you carried out your routine. 

Cheering to the sleeping Briar, “What do you think of that Sleeping Beau? Your beauty is here and we’ll both be free!” 

Waking the next day you finally cooked for someone else, watching as the princess scarfed down her meal only to shake at the door of Briar’s tower. Having full intentions to give them their space, you were shocked by the forceful grip on your apron. 

“D-do you think it’ll work?”

“Of course, I do, your grace! I’m sure you will recognize that he’s someone you’ll enjoy kissing awake. Now if–”

“You have to come with me!”

“W-what!? H-hey!” 

Without heeding your struggle, she curled her arm around your torso easily hoisting you up along with her as she speedily ascended the tower to the sleeping Briar Rue. It was oddly easy for her to bring you to the room the prince was sleeping in. Leaving you in shock as she began to fiddle with her cape and kilted armor. 

“M-maybe i-if I take M-mom’s idea I’ll b-be m-more confident to kiss him!”

“Ah what was your mother’s idea?”

“....”

She went silent at your question; returning your curiosity with a blank stare before shaking her head. Scratching at the back of her head she mumbled to herself before anxiously gripping the handle.

“I–i’ll just wait until h-he’s awake then.”

“W-what?”

“A-anyway do you really think I can do this?”

“O-of course.”

Her nervous demeanor was grating on your nerves, probably because you were more than minutes away from seeing this whole debacle being solved. After minutes of deliberation the princess opened the doubled doors revealing the hauntingly beautiful image of the sleeping beau. She made an audible gasp at the sight. 

Shining in the angled light of the setting sun, the stained glass windows of his temporary chamber flashed the mosaic of colors across the sleeping prince. Blonde flowy hair splayed out around his crowned head. His face was still, cheeks oddly rosy and lips perfectly puckered with their own touch of red. He looked ethereal and you couldn’t help but internally pat yourself on the back. Whether or not you were familiar with makeup in the modern world, this world wasn’t particularly fond of the attractiveness of healthy color. But judging by her continued awe the smashed berries you got were a good idea. 

“Whoa he’s the fellow from the forest…” She marveled at him tentatively rubbing at his folded hands. She bent forward slowly, lips slowly inching forward before she abruptly pulled away turning from the one act that would end this all. Her worried eyes darted around before falling on you widening with an idea. 

“H-h-how about we do this together?”

“Excuse me, what?!” 

“Like we both kiss him at the same time s-so that I-I won’t be l-lonely when I do this!”

“What! Why do you want me–a servant of all things to kiss the prince with you?”

It was a viable question; unless she felt threatened by you. But knowing the princess it would be for something less daunting—

“B-b-because! This is my first time k-kissing a prince!” 

You shook your head in disbelief but relented when she puckered her bottom lip at you; making the equivalent of prayer hands with her face. You entered the chamber gazing at the both of them before walking around the bed to his lower right side. 

“How about this Princess, I’ll kiss his hand and you will kiss his lips though I’m certain it is absolutely unnecessary.” 

“Alright! W-we er I can do this.”

With newfound confidence, she positioned herself near his face on the left side of the bed. She looked back at you while making sure you were also in position. To which you nodded urging her to go on. 

You originally weren’t going to follow through, faking your involvement but even as she went in for the kiss you still found her gaze flashing toward you. So you followed through lightly pecking the back of his hand, standing up you got to catch a glimpse of the magical moment. Pulling away from the waking prince she nervously peeked with one eye as Briar blinked his own eyes.

“Y-you? From the forest and…”

He looked to the right, blue eyes landing on you or they would have been if the three fairies hadn’t taken your place near the bed. 

“Oh, Rue!”

“You’re awake!”

“Yes but–”

“We must awaken the whole kingdom! We must celebrate!”

Any concerns the awoken prince would have had were brought to a hush under the cheers of the fairies and the castle’s jovial celebration. Their prince, to the kingdom’s knowledge, had survived the curse and was reunited with his love: Princess Phyllis of the neighboring kingdom. 

______________________________________________________________

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for the wedding?”

“No no I think I’m ready for…the quiet once again.”

“Surely Rue would be happy to see you on his big day!”

“Yes! Yes! I can conjure up something for you! In blue of course.”

“Yuck, that’d be a crime! Obviously in red!” 

“Now here you go again–!” “Why I oughta–”

You stepped away from the bickering faeries, continuing to hug the fae in green. 

“Thanks again for letting me have that cottage, Floran. I really appreciate it.”

He shifted his glasses, magicking a basket full of food into your hands after you hurriedly adjusted your pack’s strap. 

“Deary it’s of no trouble, after all. We have no reason to use such a lovely space. And I’m sure it’ll offer you the quiet you’ve grown so used to.” 

He smiled wiping away imaginary dust on your shoulder as he held your upper arm.

“Just be weary, you know we won’t stay away forever now. We’ll be sure to visit.”

“And when you do I’ll be glad to welcome you.”

You both shared a laugh as you had begun to walk to the mule you were discreetly gifted by the royal family. It was decided that you’d be released from your duties both at your own request and at the faeries' discretion. With vague compliments, the royal family could quietly thank you for your mysterious role in ‘solving’ their Prince’s curse. Phyllis was adamant, as she could be, about thanking you but the fairies were stern about keeping quiet. During this time you found no time to speak or so much as look at Briar without it being from the perspective of a bystander by a passing celebrity. You didn’t mind. And it most certainly didn’t stop you from letting the mule lead you to the cottage Briar Rue had hidden in before, more than willing to enjoy the silence and relaxation of the cottage life. 

_________________________________________________________

Briar fought the urge to yell as Phyllis went into another tirade about her adventure. Sat near the window of the seamstress’ tower as she was fitted for her wedding gown. An event she and his parents eagerly insisted he attended. It was a brazen attempt to make them get along despite the obvious lack of interest on his side of things. 

“B-briar? Er-Rue? D-did y-you hear the l-last thing I said? A-about the d-dragon and the w-wounds I got? I-it’s kind of crazy y-you know b-because when I finally got to the c-castle–”

How did this wake him up?! 

It couldn’t have. He knows it. The nights he’s spent hearing warbled words and grunts didn’t make his heart pound for her. Or the warm touches along his chest and arms, they were evidence of someone else. But no matter how much he wracked his brain the thought of who remained a mystery. 

Faun assured him it was a small side effect, that the cloudiness of waking up was sure to hover over his consciousness for the next week. That was why he got tired every time he tried to recall the time before his cursed sleep. 

“B-briar? A-are–d-do you h-have any questions a-about that day?”

“No Phyllis I’m just trying to remember…”

“Oh okay. S-so, as I was saying (Y/n), was there and th-”

That’s what it was! That’s who it was!

The piece he’s been missing: the memories of the week before. His heart, straying from his so-called love for the mysterious woman in the forest to the clumsy handmaid. He remembered cursing himself and then cursing at (Y/n), sending them away while ignoring the pain in his chest. What could it be, to so quickly change the object of his affection? Was it a problem that when he thought of love all he could see was their face? And even if he was truly devoting his love to (Y/n) instead of the mystery maiden, who turned out to be Phyllis the princess, then what could he do? As a prince himself, he would have no choice but to abandon you in worry that his royal family would reject you for the nobility’s standards; if not for their own biases. It was an endless cycle of heartbreak that had no end. 

When the dark sorcerer’s curse came about, he was entirely lucid. Only refusing to follow the green foreboding glow to stew in his own grief. Audibly sighing at the entrancing orb, he only raised his head when the orb transformed into a figure.

“Come child, it is your time.”

“How can it be my time when all is so helpless.” 

He tucked his head into his folded arms, hiding his sniffles and bubbling tears as they fell onto the table below. Missing the smile that spread over the sorcerer’s face as he feigned a giddy pity as he patted the prince’s back. 

“There there, the faeries spoke of a true love’s kiss. Now I’m sure that you’ve found someone you love?”

The question was rhetoric, the sorcerer was well aware of his rendezvous with the princess in the woods. The sorcerer was certain of this, and it brought a greater smile to his face that he had already acted on this. 

“Y-yes…but–well–I’m not sure if it's true love! Since it’s changed so much…” 

Feigned sympathetic pats on Briar’s back, allowed the fireplace to morph. Lined in green flames a portal opened opening to the tallest tower within the castle where a new glowing orb waited patiently. 

“Now young Briar, the only way to know would be the ultimate test would it not?”

He sniffled, “What do you mean?” 

“What better test for you’re love than sleep that can only be broken by true love? Do you not want a method that is tried and true?”

“Tried and True?”

“Yes.”

Giving into the trance the prince rose from his seat, guided by the hand of the one who cursed him. Settled behind his back as he nudged him into the portal and in the direction of the green light. Aware of his curse he followed dutifully, wiping his tears and rubbing his dribbling nose. He came to the orb that materialized into a glowing spinning wheel, needle piked and practically begging for his puncture. Briar reached forward stopping just a hair’s length away to turn to the sorcerer who was growing agitated. Face full of worry and trepidation he pleaded with the horned man. 

“H-how will I know that the one who wakes me is the right one? What should happen if the one who stands above me when I wake is the one? There are those who might trick me or–” “Fine then.” 

The sorcerer’s voice boomed as he stepped heavily towards him, chest to Briar’s face he held a green flame in his hand. Blue eyes snapped to the flame registering the sound of a snap before the sorcerer pulled away. 

“I’ll let you hear everything.”

He opened his mouth to question the action, stopping to let out a scream as his ears burned. He stumbled to the side, nearly falling to the ground as he clutched at his ears groaning from the pain. The sorcerer groaned pulling a hand from the side of Briar’s face in the direction of the wheel. Pinpricking his finger, releasing the hand as the prince retracted his hand inspecting the wound. Eyelids drooping and knees buckling before sending Prince Briar Rue into the beginning of his eternal slumber. 

“There dearest Rue, you can hear everything. Even the cries and pleas of all those who come to mourn you by your bedside! I applaud you for your creativity, suffering for eternity will surely bring you an even crueler existence than I would have given! Hahaha.”

He was right. It was cruel to remember having doubted (Y/n) as they cared for him. It was they who had read to him and spoken to him while he was trapped in an uneasy slumber for the entirety of thirty days and thirty nights. Now he was meant to marry the mere attraction of his past, it was truly a nightmare. The only solace he could find was in their servitude. If he couldn’t have them in the way of a lover he’d have them in the way of a king. It sounded cruel but surely that was just because the thought was in his head.

It would all make sense the night before the wedding when he’d call them after the dreaded bachelor party. He’d confess his love within the solace of the private garden he’d been gifted, taking them under the moonlight and the stars as his witness. Oh, how he’d dread the morning! When he would have to repeat such false vows as he betrayed them one time last. But that would be the end of it, the rest of himself would be dedicated to (Y/n) and (Y/n) only. 

Or that would be if that wasn’t who he thought it was in the window—

“H-hey! T-that looks like (Y/n) r-riding on that donkey! Doesn’t it Briar?”

Rendered speechless at the sight of your riding form disappearing into the bustling capital city. He could only stifle a fit of frustration as he recognized the familiar trio of red, blue, and green. Post haste he attempted to leave the room stopped by the hand, and following consequences written all over Phyllis’ face. He’d wait for now but when he was done…they’d surely be hearing from the angered and fully awoken prince.

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

sorry but i think i lost your plot has to be peak literature because it's one of the only thing ive ever read from start to last update in under an hour

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 14

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 2,163

You get caught up in some hobbying.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, crafting, bead making

<Previous - Next>

Your relationship with the older vikings, men and women alike, as their sometimes delivery girl, sometimes shepard -though that was much less of a harrowing job now that the dragons were cool, and you were afforded the privilege of spend a lot less time hiding and running- sometimes portable laundromat and shiphand, afforded you certain knowledge that other people sometimes weren’t privy to, though Berk was an open floor for gossip.

Like how the twins were always looking down because their helmets were too shallow to balance themselves on their heads, which had the consequence of making it seem as if they were always up to something. Which, coincidentally, they were- Their mother complained about them a lot in between mentions of her husband and fawning over Stoick.

You learned how to cook some from Mrs. Ingerman, and you’d taught her a few words from your time period, which was nice. 

You’d had to do Snotlout's laundry and clean his room on more than one occasion, even had to pull it out of his basement room more than once, which you were thoroughly disgusted by. You’d learned a lot more about the guy from that experience than you’d ever wanted and had refused to take any of the Jorgensons’ laundry from then onward.

You’d even done things for Hiccup and for the Chief, mostly things he was unaccustomed to doing as he was too busy acting as the leader of the village and things Hiccup missed because he was too busy doing whatever he did out with the riders. You were sure Hiccup’d had no idea just the same as Snotlout. 

There were a few things you were certain to never bring up, including but not limited to a hastily drawn but very detailed sketch of your face shoved in a notebook tossed under his bed, not particularly helpful in terms of putting to rest the whole crush thing, or the small pail of screws he was sure to have brought back from the forge without his father’s blessing.

You were in denial a little bit, yeah. 

You should probably tell him. About the whole being in his room thing. But you wouldn’t. Definitely not.

It seemed, though, that despite this extra eye into the working world of Berk, you’d still ended up missing a few things.

Berk was… A community. You weren’t sure how you never realized that.

The Great Hall was filled with warm laughter, people patting each other on the back, men and women sharing stories about their kids and, often enough for you to take notice, Hiccup. It looked like raising him was a group effort.

Off in the corner were others at a table by shallow baskets which were shaped like oblong gold pans filled with fine powder and shells, men and women sitting along the side sorting dragon scales and grinding them down with flat stones and clearly chiseled pestels.

Dragons squealed and bobbed around your periphery, tossing and picking up what must’ve been colorful, neutral stones.

Large men and women and children hunched over the tables all over the hall, rearranged so that they were all closer to each other, parallel as they whittled away at things you couldn’t completely see, tables lined with leaves and the occasional plate.

It was well lit.

People filled the halls between tables with joyful conversation, playfully batted at each other and sat back. The whole space was bustling and also relaxing, somehow.

In the background was Ack arguing with some blonde woman, but even that was nice. You could tell he didn’t mean it and neither did she, shooting back just barely inaudible jabs with each other.

You were mindful of the basket in your arms full up with his laundry, just recently cleaned and aired out. 

You had stopped in your tracks at the sight, standing just before a short table placed perpendicular to the rest as if the lady sitting there was the guard to some booth or other. 

You looked down finally, noticing how she looked at you nearly eye level with a raised brow. She had plenty of wrinkles on her forehead, which told a lot about a life made by concern and stoicism. She also wore a large, very off white apron over a grayish vaguely beige long sleeve short and a long brown skirt, which you only just barely caught sight of as she lifted it up to wipe down something in her hand.

She had a shallow basket in front of her filled with what looked like beads and various strings, needles and small carving knives with wood shavings laid on the cloth-covered table around her.

“Hi,” You said, breaking the wall between the two of you. 

“...Hello, dear,” She responded, after a while, settling down her skirt and placing a colorful bead back into her basket. He picked up a needle instead, which you saw was already attached to a long string with beads all down the length. 

You wondered where they’d gotten the dye for it. Could dye even be used on glass? Was it glass?

Instead of asking those questions, you shuffled your feet.

You glanced at a white sleeve flopped over the side of the basket, which you held by a bar on the other side and pressed into your hip, “What’s going on?”

“Crafting is going on,” She said, plainly.

You nodded, “I like it.”

It wasn’t an uncommon sight to see Vikings wandering around Berk, trying their hand at leatherworking and carving and other things. Now that they had the time, being assaulted a lot less by Dragons, the Berkians indulged their more artistic inclinations, exercising muscles for skills they’d never been able to before.

“I mean, this is great. What started it?” You asked.

You wanted to join in. It might be nice.

“Oh, you haven’t seen? The pride of Berk, walking around with his little bead like a bird,” She chortled fondly, “Did you see it? I wonder who gave it to him? Lucky girl. He has, dare I say it, started a trend.”

A bird? You quirked your lips up at what was most certainly an exaggeration. You hadn’t seen anything like that. You failed to mention that you’re the one who made it.

You wondered if Hiccup knew about any of this at all. You didn’t. 

“How do you know it was a girl?”

You turned. The spoken voice belonged to one of the women you’d see before in the Hall. She came over, done fussing with Ack in the background.

She was also blonde, a brighter, more yellow shade with a few less gray hairs. And she was large, also, with broad shoulders and a strong presence. Her arms were the largest between them. 

She wore tight trousers and a large though not long tunic. Her boots were plain leather and looked to be of the pirate variety. 

You pondered the idea that they might be related, or at least good friends.

“Look at him!” The first lady put down her needle, resting it in her shallow basket again, a glass bead falling down the string as she did, gesturing with her hand, though there was no Hiccup in sight, “He’s so happy! So proud! The small thing. He’s got too much energy for his little bones to handle.”

You thought he might be offended if he heard her say that.

“Oh, don’t be delusional,” The one with big arms huffed, “And don’t let him hear you say that.”

“But I’m right!”

“You’re wrong! He’s no myth, sweetheart. You can’t go around treating him like one of your little stories,” She shook her head, crossing her arms. 

“The Ragnar is real!” She insisted, staring down the Ack lady, meeting her eyes until the other woman rolled her own. You could tell it was a disagreement as old as time itself, but like with the other woman’s squabble with Ack, there was no malice in it, “Beowulf, too.”

They were just putting on a show.

You felt your lips stretch wider. It felt good to be a part of, even as a witness.

“Well, anyways, I’ve been thinking of making it a regular thing. You know, putting it on a schedule. Craft nights…”

You nodded excitedly, “It’s very modern.”

“Do you think so?” She asked, pleased.

“You don’t think we’ll have better things to be doing?”

“Our ancestors used to do it, can’t see why we can’t.”

“Really?” You asked.

“Oh, yes. Read a passage about it once, saw a note or something like in one of the dragon books. Glass beadmaking,” She looked up wistfully, pausing briefly in her rhythmic sewing, “I always wanted to try it… But we had no forge, no beads, no time, then, either. I was just a little girl. But now…!”

She picked something small but shiny out of the basket in her lap, ooh-ing to herself.

You were on the outside, kind of, though not on purpose. Everyone was welcoming enough, though they were much too busy fighting with the dragons to notice much or throw a party or anything. You were never excluded but you always had better things to do, too, so, well.

But this was here, and it seemed convenient. 

“Dear, come sit down,” She squealed slyly, voice both quick and dragging, face gleeful, which seemed out of place on her wide, bult frame and stern face.

“Okay,” You said, beaming.

You stuck mostly to the woodworking bead types. 

The image of glass beads shattering midair was frightening, though you were sure that none of the dragons around here could reach those speeds. Flying that fast might be dangerous for people too.

Most of your beads were probably going back to Hiccup anyways.

Of course, you had your own handful of small colorful semi-porcelain.

You tried a bunch of colors of all different types, and ended up with a handful of each. It was cool, to the super-so degree, and it was free. It seemed good will did a lot, and community bonding exercises were meant to be just that and nothing else. There was a line of Vikings, adults and children alike, ready to do their own part and bring things in anyhow. 

Many Vikings used ground up dragonhide to dye and waterproof beads and to mix in with melted glass in order to give it a pretty stain.

It was interesting, especially now that many Vikings were using Dragons in place of a kiln, and how they’d set up small buildings with bricks and some coal and used those too.

It was disastrous, at some moments. There were many burns, mostly small, that people went up to Gothi for, saying their goodbyes in bummed tones. 

Gothi must have had enough of it because she came down eventually to manage the glassmakers and smack the unfortunate.

It was… nice. 

The afternoon light was surprisingly nice on your face. It felt a lot nicer and your chest felt lighter, the world awash with things bright and endearing.

You looked forward with a winning smile at Hiccup.

“You liked the one I gave you, right?” You held out a handful of blue glass and wood beads to Hiccup, “They’re doing craft days in the Hall. I made some.”

You had a bunch of others in pouches around your belt.

You didn’t have anywhere to put them besides. You had no dragon to ride, so in time you might favor the glass ones. You had trouble with a few of them. The dragonhide did a great deal to make the glass more sticky when it heated up.

“You’re going to see a lot more people around with beads on.”

There were not enough leaves and pouches for all your sorted beads so they were sort of mixed, but you got a hold of a good few before it was time to clean up and you fled before anyone could notice. The hall would still be active for a while.

“You started a trend, I think,” You said, matter-of-factly.

It was impressive. Trends usually fell to the Chief, who recently had been trying to approach you though he always got carried away by tasks before he could. 

Hiccup had a sort of goofy smile on his face which consisted of a slightly upturned lip and the framing of his two largest front teeth which dropped as, as it looked like, he snapped back into himself, “What?”

“Yeah,” You said after you finished unloading the rest of his pouches into his arms and turned to walk away.

You looked around as you fled, making sure no one was watching.

He looked down like he wasn’t sure what to do with all of them, and also a little bit put off.

You wondered if you overdid it.

A small weight shifted by your ankle as you walked, the coins you’d slipped into a side pocket in your boot. You were going to ask around for some seeds.

[fo0lishl4m]

Sweet Nothing wolfstar au

Where Remus is a sick boy who is a member of the poetry club at Gryffindor Boarding School. Or where Sirius is an American Football player at Gryffindor Boarding School.

summary: Remus and Sirius meet for the first time in the Hospital waiting room

notes: diseases, swear words, poor development, modern au

word count: 1.3k

chapter one | chapter two

Remus' pov:

The walls of hospitals always generate cold, it is something I have reluctantly realized, it is a breeze that whispers to me that I should never leave the house without my sweater or I would die of hypothermia. Too much? 

I'm used to being in places like this, I've always been a sick child, and I swear it doesn't bother me, I've had worse days than sitting in a waiting room. Sometimes I listen to music, sometimes I look at a fixed point distracting myself and sometimes I read. 

I like silence, but lately it has been interrupted. The last week. I go to a boarding school, Gryffindor Boarding School, it's a huge school that only allows us to go out on the weekend. I like being there, the poetry club is where I participate the most. The hospital I go to at least three times a month is used to receiving students on a regular basis, so my mother and several nurses already know each other. 

There is a moderately tall boy (shorter than me) with pale skin, dark eyes and long black hair that he always ties in a high bun. He has a broken leg. I don't remember his name, we go to different clubs and from time to time we share Literature and Physical Education classes, I think he is part of the American Football team. 

He always sits two chairs next to mine when he comes to the hospital, there is always one chair away and his friend always accompanies him. I've had a little more interaction with him because we have three to four classes together. They are both very loud. 

I forgot my book in my room, I probably should have forgotten the fact that I had a checkup at the doctor today, too. My pocket vibrates when I receive a message. 

Lily Evans Well? How are things with you? 

Remus Lupin I haven't entered yet hahaha It's noisy

Lily Evans Black? 

Remus Lupin What? 

Lily Evans The boy with the broken leg The one who no longer goes to training Sirius Black

Remus Lupin Ah, so that's his name. Yeah,, and his friend with glasses too

Lily Evans Neither of them gives me confidence Anyway, I have to go study with Mary Xoxo

I turn off my phone. Lily Evans has been my best friend since I was thirteen, we are practically inseparable, yet I still spend a lot of time alone. I'm not complaining. 

I turn my head to see the happy Sirius Black who begins to laugh with his friend with glasses, whose name I am almost sure is James Potter and who is also part of the team. James gets up from his chair saying something about a soda and a joke about his friend's broken leg before leaving the waiting room and entering the pre-waiting room. For the first time, there is genuine silence. 

It doesn't last long. 

── Are you from Gryffindor? ── Sirius asks. 

I realize that I've been looking at his feet for just over five minutes while I was probably distracted by thinking about what part of the book I had left last night that the slightest sound of his voice almost scares me. I look up and think about what to respond. 

── Yes. ── I look away from him. Ah, my institutional sweater. Sure. 

── Me too. ── Add. ── But I had never seen you. ──

── I'm part of the poetry club. ──

He frowns. He clearly didn't know the existence of that club. He shrugs his shoulders like it doesn't really matter, puts his arms behind his head and leans against the back of the chair. 

── Well, poetry boy, I'm more of a physical person. ──

I make no secret of raising an eyebrow and looking down at the cast on his leg; ── Oh, I already noticed. ──

He lets out an ironic laugh, not offended, as he would have expected as a first reaction. 

── Hey! In my defense, it wasn't entirely my fault. I wasn't the one who fell on another guy. ──

── I think I'm interested in knowing. ──

── I was going to score a touchdown and the opposing team jumped on me. Goodbye leg. ──

I don't know anything about American football, okay? 

── Did you win? ──

── Local party, thirteen to twenty. ──

── Oh. ── I can say. I think I had heard a piercing scream from Potter that day when the results came out. ── At least it was local. ──

── Yes, but at the end of the term we will have a game against another school! ──

── What worries you? ──

── First, my leg. ── Highlight the obvious before continuing. ── Second, the team is a disaster without me, not even the locals will win. ──

── What's with your leg? I mean, is it injured or broken? ──

He gestures with his hand, adding a small grimace. ── I don't know, can I say both? ──

── You have a cast. ──

── Yes, but what about you? ── Raises an eyebrow. Oh God, please no. ── What are you doing here? ──

── Asthma. Among other things. ── I add after thinking a little.

Hum. ──Then you must spend more time than me here. ──

── I can live here. ──

── Yes, I can see it now. ──

He lets out a laugh and I imitates him, mildly embarrassed but amused. 

── Well, broken leg boy, you'll soon get used to it. ──

──Broken leg boy? ── He imitates and raises an eyebrow. ── Is that all you have to tell me? ──

── I don't know your name. ── I lie. 

── Sirius Black. ──

── Remus Lupin ── I answer. 

──Lupin, huh? Your last name sounds too familiar to me. ──

── Poetry club. ──

── No, that's not why. ──

He rested his elbow on his knee and his head on his palm, looking at a fixed point while, I suppose, he was trying to remember something. 

── Maybe from another club? In third year I was part of the theater workshop. ──

He clicks his tongue but doesn't change his posture. 

── No, close, but no. ──

── One of my friends is a cheerleader. ── I add. 

He raises his eyebrows in surprise and turns to look at me. 

── Who, exactly? ──

── Mary McDonald. ──

── I knew it! ── He laughed victoriously. ── I knew it. ──

I raise an eyebrow. ── What did you know? ──

── You, I had seen you before. Chemistry last year? ──

I think it, but I don't say it; he's pretty dumb. And irritating. If I have continued talking to him it's because I have no other choice and I have put up with a lot of irritating people for many years. I probably won't talk to him again when we leave this waiting room, but I don't want to be rude either. Not verbally. 

The only thing I can point out (aside from what I mentioned) is that he exudes an arrogant aura. I'm not an expert on that, I'm just friends with Mary. 

── Yes. ── I replied distractedly. 

── Ah, that explains a lot. ── He says again, highlighting with a kind of victory, as if knowing who I am was an achievement or something.

── You look for many explanations for questions that do not exist. ── 

── Do you believe? ── 

I hum in response; ── This is not the first time I have encountered someone with a broken leg. ── 

── You say it as if it were my only personality. ──

── I don't know you, I dare say it's like that. ──

── Do you want to meet me? ──

── I have no other choice, I'll keep you here for a while. A few weeks or a few months, perhaps. ──

The conversation flows, I don't know whether to consider that I'm having fun or I'm simply tolerating his presence, but it doesn't make me want to hit him. I think I'll see him here next week.

[stellar-constellations]

♱   ᜔  ׅ ꯭ Hello ! How's your day ? I hope it's going good !

Do you write headcanons with planotic relationships ?

If so , could you write headcanons with Kokushibo and teenage!gender-neutral!reader in modern AU , where reader just spends 90% of their time writing or drawing and they just .. fail every school subject possible.

Thank you in advance !

Platonic! Kokushibo x Teenage! Artistic! GN! Reader

Wordcount: 741 words

Kokushibo is a stern but calm parent. He understands you can't force learning upon someone who doesn't want to be learned, but he does want you to at least try to pay attention in class. Maybe you'll find a passion for something new?

Kokushibo looks over your report card, blank faced as he takes in all the comments and concern addressed from your teachers. He reads over the letter grades, seeing as you always aced art classes, but for once you had a D in history instead of an F.

"Good job..." he muttered, placing the paper down as he patted your head, then allowed you to scurry off and go do whatever. 

Whenever Kokushibo sees you writing, he's always secretly peeking over your shoulder so he could see what you're writing. He likes literature and books, maybe you'll share with him? If you share any of your work, he'll give you constructive-criticism. He'll never leave your writing on a bad note, always making sure to point out some good characteristics or writing choices you made. Perhaps you'll become an author? 

Kokushibo is always wondering what you're doing when he's away from you. It's normal to ponder about what your child is spending their time on, but he's always curious how your mind works and what's so joyful about coloring and writing.

Kokushibo is a consumer, not much of a producer. He sees things in front of them, processes the information, then moves on. Everything's just so black and white to him, compared to you and your artistically-inclined mind. You have such a vivid and colorful perspective of life, he should really be taking notes on this.

When Kokushibo has to go to parent-teacher conferences, he's always stone-faced as he listens to your teachers ramble on about you not paying attention in class or your poor performance. Kokushibo is usually zoning out while they're speaking, but he's thinking of ways to make the next school year more easier for you (and him). 

Kokushibo tries giving you colored sticky notes to write on to take notes, but you just end up doodling and creating small poems. 

Kokushibo tries to prompt you to watching online tutor videos, but right as he leaves the room you click off the video and check your favorite art apps. 

Kokushibo tries to teach you the subjects himself, trying to figure out if you have a certain way of learning such as hands on, or auditory, or visually, but he just comes to realize you simply have no interest in anything except arts. 

When Kokushibo gives up trying to teach you for the day, you allow him to use your glittery sparkly pens and doodle something on paper. He comes to realize maybe drawing and writing isn't so bad, I mean, if it makes you happy then just go for it. There's been tons of famous artists and authors who make bank and end up successful and happy in the future, maybe you're one of them.

Kokushibo's tried to make you study literature and the origins of art. If you're going to take an interest in those things, maybe you could learn something useful or insightful by learning their past or methods?

Kokushibo always has some sort of simple breakfast for you when you wake up in the morning (he's an early-riser). Before every meal, he's always telling you to wash off the lead marks and ink off your hands so you can eat. 

If you stay up late, Kokushibo is a little annoyed, but lets it go. It's more of a punishment to you than it is to him; you're the one sleep-deprived, not him. He figures you'll learn to go to bed early after you keep accidentally knocking your water on your papers when you start dozing off. 

Even though Kokushibo does tell you to try and cut back on your arts during class time, he can't help but appreciate your stubbornness. At least he knows you won't let yourself get pushed around by anyone, even your own guardian! If drawing and writing is your own coping mechanism or simply just a hobby you love, he'll support it. At least you're not doing anything harmful to your health, so he's glad for that. 

        Slowly but surely, I'm finding energy to complete requests that been in my inbox for months. It's so hard finding time to write due to all of my outside activities, and it's always so difficult figuring out what to write when I'm unmotivated or stuck in an all too common writer's block, but I'm chipping away my requests bit by bit!

        Want more Kokushibo content? Check out the Kokushibo masterlist!

[yuriko-mukami]

Rukiko Anniversary, April 23rd

Rukiko is a DL RP ship that started in 2022 and is mostly based on private interactions with @ruki-mukami-dl (my dear bae, I love you so much). However, every now and then we post something on Tumblr too, and in 2023 Rukiko had their wedding. To celebrate Rukiko's anniversary we decided to make something special and held a magazine interview for our dear couple. Ruki and Yuriko answered them separately. You can read the article and interview below.

The Interview in text format and credits under the cut

Kaminashi Couples Interview

Our monthly peek into the city's love life reveals the secrets of the couples. This month, we interviewed the brother of top idol Mukami Kou and his wife. Enjoy this peek into the life of Mukami Ruki and Yuriko.

Mukami Ruki is a fresh face in the publishing industry, recently starting as the CEO of Kaminashi Modern Classics. Literature fans all over the city are excited to see how this change will affect the local publishing policies. But we here at the Hot Takes want to see behind the scenes. So, how is the love life of this peculiar man behind the bookshelves?

Facts

Name: Mukami Ruki Age: 20 Hot gossip: He used to be a student in Kaminashi University's literature department. Yet, even before the first year of his studies had ended, he had secured his position at the very top of a small but established and prized local publishing house.

The couple is living on the edge of the city. They renovated an old servant house that is said to be located near the household of our beloved idol.

Fangirls to be warned, the area is rumored to be heavily guarded, and we aren't encouraging anyone to try to find the exact location.

Name: Mukami Yuriko Age: 21 Hot gossip: She's Ruki's high school sweetheart and used to be a literature student as well. However, she is currently expecting the couple's firstborn who will be born in the next month.

As always, we made the couple answer the questions separately. Now, let's see if they agree or disagree.

Who was the one to propose?

Ruki: I made the marriage proposal on New Year's Eve. On that day, I felt nervous for the first time in my life. I really struggled to keep my composure and keep the surprise a secret until the very end. But Yuriko's reaction, her smile, and her shining eyes were worth the whirlpool of emotions.

Yuriko: Ruki did! I didn’t expect it at all. I was thinking that we were about to spend a regular New Year’s Eve but after dinner, Ruki brought me into the living room, which was decorated with beautiful lights, and lifted me on his lap. He… he said such meaningful things and then… then he asked me to marry him after we graduated from high school. Of course, I said yes, and last spring we had our wedding. Today is our wedding anniversary.

Who stressed more over wedding planning?

Ruki: That was me. Without a doubt. I just wanted this day to be perfect. I wanted nothing to get in the way and everything to run smoothly. I have to admit that a few unreliable people really got on my nerves a few times. It would have been best if I had just done everything myself…

Yuriko: I… umh… I think I should have stressed more over it. But I think Ruki actually did… He made sure we chose just the right dishes and that outfits matched after I had chosen mine. He did so much. I’m a bit ashamed for being so scattered about everything…

Who decorated the house?

Ruki: The two of us. When Yuriko moved into the Mukami manor, it was already completely decorated. Of course, I tried to take her wishes into account in our bedroom and later in the renovated library. However, that was not enough for me. So it was very important to me that we decorated the new house together. Our home should represent both of us and make us feel at homely.

Yuriko: Oh! I actually did… or more like, Ruki allowed me to pick most of the colors and so on. But… but… he and his brothers did the heavy lifting. I simply arranged some lighter things in our new house. But maybe I can do more later?

Who does the cooking?

Ruki: Usually me. But if I do not have time to cook because I am too busy with other things, Yuriko does it. Other than that, we often cook together. It is a nice way to spend time as a couple.

Yuriko: Ruki… He is much better at it than I am. But we do a lot of cooking together too. Sometimes I cook, especially if Ruki isn’t at home.

Who is more organized?

Ruki: Without a doubt me. Yuriko completes her tasks without much planning. And often, she spaces out. Then she completely forgets to do important things. I, on the other hand, have almost every minute of the day planned out and stay focused. I think Yuriko knows how important this is to me and she tries her best to keep up with my schedule and tasks. I appreciate this.

Yuriko: Umh… I’m not organized at all… but Ruki is very organized. That helps a lot!

Who initiates bedroom fun?

Ruki: We both initiate. That is all I want to say about that.

Yuriko: Ehhh?! What… what kind of question is this?! I… I… think… both of us…

Who suggested kids first?

Ruki: None of us did. It happened unplanned. But one thing is clear, we are planning the next child together.

Yuriko: Ahem… umh… well… Neither? I mean… I just forgot to take my contraception… umhhh…

Who’s more dominant?

Ruki: Me, of course. I am not only Yuriko's husband but also her master.

Yuriko: I think Ruki is.

Who’s the cuddler?

Ruki: I would say we both do. Physical proximity is very important to us. It is a way for us to show our love for each other. And I really enjoy her warmth…

Yuriko: Oh? Both of us, definitely. I just love to cuddle with Ruki while we are reading. And of course, at other times too.

What’s your favorite non-sexual activity?

Ruki: Reading. It does not matter whether we read a book together or each have our own. We really enjoy this way of spending time.

Yuriko: Reading! But I think Ruki enjoys cooking too. I mean… I’m not that eager to cook but I love spending time with Ruki, so making dinner together is pleasant. Still, reading together is my favorite.

Who comes home drunk at 3 am?

Ruki: Good grief... None of us, of course. Just what kind of question is that?

Yuriko: Umh… do some people do that? I can’t imagine either of us even being drunk…

Who kills the spiders?

Ruki: We do not kill spiders or bugs. But I am the one who catches them and takes them outside.

Yuriko: Huh? Spiders aren’t supposed to be killed. You should just simply pick them up with something and carry them out.

Who falls asleep first?

Ruki: Yuriko. She is a little sleepyhead. A cute one, of course. It is really unbelievable, but she is able to take a nap in very strange places. About sleeping at night... Generally, I am a bad sleeper. It takes me a while to fall asleep. Also… I like watching Yuriko sleep. That is why I try to stay awake longer than her.

Yuriko: Mostly me. But if I stroke Ruki’s hair gently, sometimes he might be the first to doze off.

This concludes our interview. Were you surprised by the secrets of our gossip couple of the month? Feel free to share your thoughts in the comment field. And as always, Hot Takes is willing to receive all the rumors of the city. Maybe yours will be in our next issue.

Credits

Questions from this post by @bane-magnus

Two last arts in the interview by @dlyuiannii

House picture edited by @ruki-mukami-dl

Other pictures edited by me from the official DL art, except Yuriko who is drawn by me, using drawing bases purchased from nukababe/Etsy

[funnuraba]

My review of Most Ardently as A Transmasc (not the worst recent transmasc YA book, but not great or even good):

I didn't care for this? The dysphoria is well-described, but I didn't get anything else out of the experience. I thought at one point that Bingley might get fleshed out a bit more than the original book, and Oliver could enjoy being one of the guys in a way that strengthened all their characters, but then it was mostly just Oliver and Darcy after that.

Firstly, there are three or four scenes where the author was clearly feeling it and putting in effort--the fair, Oliver's dream about going swimming with his ideal body. Those are fine. All the other prose is so turgid and dull that rereading it for this review was a chore. There are at least four scenes where Collins/Wickham/Mrs Bennet/Lady Catherine says something outrageous, and Oliver stares at them thinking, 'Bwahh? Are they seriously saying that (PREMISE OF SCENE)? They can't be serious. It's almost like (OTHER CHARACTER'S FATAL FLAW).' Not funny. Not fun. The support Oliver gets is boilerplate "I love and support you always." Everyone else is constantly saying, "Wow, you're so feminine and should be more feminine, I love women and you are a woman and women are feminine, do you have dysphoria yet or should I start over?" Please trust your audience a little bit, even if you're writing YA!

Beyond that, I don't feel like this was Pride & Prejudice in any meaningful way. It doesn't engage with the characters or setting except that the plot is vaguely "hot rich guy might hate you, and someone spreads rumors about him?!?" It felt more like Disney's Beauty and the Beast if Belle (or Beau) had a sister and the Beast had a friend. Collins and Wickham might as well be two halves of Gaston, because they're not Collins and Wickham. Nobody is the same: Mr Bennet isn't witty but lazy and passive-aggressive, he's just the smiling kindly father who accepts Oliver instantly, and takes decisive action to protect him. Crazy old Maurice! Jane is supportive but sassy, not at all the Jane Bennet who refuses to think or speak ill of anyone down to the man who runs off with her sixteen year old sister. She's Oliver's Generic Sister. Oliver himself has no wit, no spark, no pride, no prejudice. No growth or flaws to overcome except being closeted. Collins isn't one of the most famous comic figures of English literature, he's just a dull guy who complains about modernity and tells Oliver he has beautiful child-bearing hips in public (what?!?!). (Collins in the original book has a very distinctive way of speaking that usually vanishes in remixes; as usual it's gone here. I'll grant that it's exhausting to replicate!)

Now, Wickham had unbelievable potential to explore in this remix, because how does Oliver, who likes men, react to being charmed by a handsome, charismatic man whose charm is predicated on addressing him as a woman the whole time? That's never addressed, because Oliver can simply sense the child molestions radiating off Wickham with his built-in Geiger counter, and dislikes him immediately. And Wickham is like a real sad sack here and has no game at all. Just straight to "Darcy is a bastard man, mean to my cousin. Maybe gay 🤨??"

There's little to no engagement with any of the social mores of the era, even the ones that only require an annotated copy of P&P to research, because they're already in the original book. Oliver says "arse" at a public ball while presenting as a woman. Jane says "bastard"!!! Oliver is addressed regularly as "Miss Bennet" in situations where his elder sister is present. Later, Mr Collins calls him "Miss Elizabeth" and he's shocked by the deadnaming, but has a whole little moment explaining in his head that oh, that makes sense, because there are other Miss Bennets in the room. ....Except Oliver Bennet wouldn't have that thought, because there was a basic etiquette rule to deal with the surname problem, which he should know. He would always have been Miss Elizabeth unless Jane was totally absent.

Furthermore, the Bennets' financial and class situation seems to have been completely altered, except I don't think the author realizes it. Oliver mentions that they can only afford books on special occasions, and he dreams of having a library--but Mr Bennet in the original book has that very library, because they have a good income that they've spent rather than saved. They wouldn't be in their social circles otherwise. In Most Ardently, the Bennets don't live on a countryside estate with tenants who pay them rent. They live in a London townhouse that supposedly has servants, but in practice nobody acts like they do. Oliver has regular chores, Mrs Bennet brings food out to their guests, and Oliver offers to bring a broom for a dropped teacup. Mr Bennet is vaguely mentioned to have "work". Is he in trade? This is a pretty major change to their class, and it makes them into a family that would be excluded from every ball and gathering that the Bennets attend.

Except none of that matters, because the author wasn't trying to write anything but a modern single-income family that has to scrimp and save on some fronts. So Most Ardently just doesn't take place anywhere or any time in particular.

Charlotte, meanwhile, is now Charlotte Lewis for some reason. Her father isn't wealthy, he was never knighted, and the rest of her family doesn't exist, so it's just her and her hardworking father with no servants. We're told that they can't afford servants. Again, this is a worldshaking alteration to her class. Oliver Bennet, if we assume he's in Elizabeth's position from the book, would never socialize with a woman this poor. Not ever. They wouldn't be friends. He wouldn't go over to her servant-less house. Not even if his father were in trade. Charlotte Lucas helping out in the kitchen sometimes is already an object of derision from Mrs. Bennet in P&P; to have zero servants at all was the sign that your family was itself in the servant class.

(While I'm here: Charlotte Lewis was renamed from Charlotte Lucas, and her girlfriend is named Lu, which makes me feel like she's dating a gijinka of her original last name? Is that why Lu has no discernible personality? There's a lot of Oliver going over to their homes, talking to them alone in private, being in their bedrooms. It would've been interesting to see how a trans man from this time period would feel about all that, given that men weren't supposed to do any of those things--how does this alter the pre-existing friendship from before he realized he was a man? Does he feel invalidated that he has to break the rules of being a man in order to talk to people who will treat him as a man, or does he find the rules don't matter as much to him now? Nothing like that is ever addressed, though.)

Lady Catherine (who is somehow OOC despite doing the same things she does in canon) is now Darcy's former guardian, because Darcy was aged down. I don't know if a widowed aunt could even be made legal guardian of two underage relatives when Darcy's mother still has a living brother--an earl, no less; but again, there's no consideration of how things might have been different in the past. There's no Anne de Bourgh, which, fine, you can pare down the cast for a shorter story. But we still have to have the famous shades of Pemberley confrontation, so Lady Catherine wants Darcy to marry...... Wickham's cousin?! In the original story, this would be the niece of her brother-in-law's steward. That's not happening! Wickham doesn't seem to be in a different class here in Most Ardently. In fact, I'm not sure what he does, besides stalking Oliver and socializing with Mr Collins (?). I don't think the army is even mentioned. So why on earth would his cousin be a candidate to marry the incredibly rich nephew of an earl? This universe has no anchor in reality!

I guess my issue here is that all the social commentary and character detail from P&P is erased, and replaced with the singular conflict of being gay and trans. However, it doesn't even address that fully, because it might as well be 1990. It feels dishonest and cheap to ignore the actual concerns a trans man (who's white and in a certain social class) would have in this time period, precisely because many of them are IN the original book. Why is Oliver acting like it's solely a question of "living alone" if he refuses to marry? As an unmarried person perceived as a gentlewoman, he won't be able to earn any income, and he'll have to live an unpleasant life of poverty and dependence; not even dependence on his sisters, but on the mercy of their husbands. And when Darcy proposes to "Elizabeth" at the Collins', Oliver just goes "Ummm well first off you're gay" while refusing him. Darcy doesn't know this is Oliver, whom he'd been flirting with previously and knew he was gay. To him, this is a random woman who somehow blurts out that she knows he's attracted to men, while he's trying to acquire a beard to hide that very fact. His response is completely inappropriate. He's somewhat put out and asks where she heard this. In no way does he react like someone whose life could be turned upside down if this fact got into the wrong hands.

Also, why in god's name is Oliver so insistent that everyone needs to Live Their Truth openly instead of hiding it? He comes across like a spoiled little brat with no idea what danger or suffering look like. He goes around demanding this of people as if it doesn't endanger them and their loved ones. Of course Darcy wants to marry a woman! He has wealth and property that need to be passed on, and a little sister who needs to make a safe marriage to a man who can support her. Rich people could get by with a little deviance, but only as long as they played the game in other respects. How would Oliver not understand this?

Then there's Charlotte. She and Oliver quarrel over their respective life plans: she wants to hide herself, marry a man, and go on with her secret relationship with Lu. Oliver wants to be recognized by the world as a man. So, Oliver could be planning to abandon his original identity and live stealth as a working man. There were trans men doing this back then; he could have heard stories about men being discovered "as women" after their deaths, and have a romantic dream of doing this, which Charlotte finds unrealistic.

But instead Charlotte tells him something completely true for the vast majority of queer people back then: that he'll most likely have to hide who he is and marry a man. Oliver gets mad at her for this. They somewhat make up, and Oliver sees things in a more nuanced way, and Charlotte tells him that Collins is actually very sweet to her. But then at the end, Collins turns out to be a blackmailing transphobe.... and not even a smart transphobe, because he finds out from Wickham that Oliver, whom he knows as Cousin Elizabeth, is wearing trousers at home. And Collins inexplicably thinks this could be a legal threat to him inheriting Longbourn. Why? Who would think that? Also, why are they friends? I'm choosing to believe that Wickham seduced him off screen, because it's never explained. They have nothing in common.

So Collins is so scared that he offers to pay Wickham to coerce Oliver into marriage as a woman, and of course Oliver, who had never considered inheriting Longbourn, is like, "🤨 wait a minute. That's a good idea," and it turns out Mr Bennet was secretly working on having him legally recognized as a man all along. Through the means of... well, it doesn't make a lot of sense, but I'm not gonna quibble with this part, because people did get away with some surprising things back in the day. That part was fine.

So Oliver is declared legally a son, and good for him and all, but as a Charlotte fan, it feels like her arc is just, okay fuck you girl! Woman can't judge people for shit. Enjoy your shit asshole husband while Oliver openly lives as a man, you stupid bisexual(?). (A lot of reviewers call her a lesbian, but Lu says that the two of them aren't repelled by men like other "women who love women", so, bisexual? Or... I don't know?)

I don't want to be tearing down #ownvoices writing, and I do feel like there's a good story about dysphoria and parental acceptance in here. But everything else is so confusing and distracting that it doesn't work. This feels like it was forced into a very narrow shape by having to be a Pride And Prejudice Retelling. (Just like your waist in a fictional rib-crushing corset, huh?! Huh?! 🤣) There are plenty of modern-day P&P adaptations where the writers can write what they actually want to write around a much vaguer core story, while excising or altering subplots and characters they don't want to deal with. That would've eliminated nearly all of my problems with the story.

For example, a reimagined Mrs Bennet could accept Oliver as a man without the baggage of having acted like the canon Mrs Bennet for the entire preceding novel. That was just unbelievable! She's been sulking and taking swipes at Oliver ever since he started wearing men's clothing at home, but suddenly he says, "I'm a boy!" and she not only understands immediately, but says, "Of course! That explains why you hate dresses!" What?! It was even set up perfectly for her to be consistent and say something like, "I don't know what that means, but if Mr Darcy's courting you, you can do whatever the hell you want!"

Also good lord there were some clunky moments. Mr Collinsbot at one point says, "All Of Your Sisters Are Of Marrying Age," and Oliver all but forms a T with his hands so he can timeout, look at the camera and think a full paragraph about how Actually, while it's technically legal for my youngest sister, 14, to marry, it would be highly irregular and unexpected, dear readers from the 21st century with ethical concerns. I swear at one point they're talking about Robinson Crusoe, and Darcy pauses to say that "some of the depictions are... questionable"--and that has to be about the racism, right? I'm sorry, but I don't need your wealthy, white 19 year old in whatever-year-this-is to be meaningfully anti-racist, because you know what? I just don't believe it. Devote a little time to explaining why he'd feel that way--is his family involved in anti-slavery efforts? Did he somehow befriend a man of color in between his years at rich white boy school?--or don't bother.

The Lydia thing doesn't happen here, because Wickham would rather scheme to force Oliver into marrying him so he can gain..... nothing, really..... but it turns out the Georgiana thing did happen. We never see Georgiana, so don't worry that there might be a character who has anything going on in their life beyond their thoughts about Darcy and Oliver being gay and trans. Original Darcy is deeply concerned with his sister's feelings, and with period-specific worries about her marriage prospects; this Darcy just drops You Groomed My Sister in front of like five other people. No Ragrets. Hilariously, Mr Collins is horrified to learn about this, even though he came here to blackmail his own 17 year old cousin into marrying this same man, so it comes across like he's only upset because a relative of Lady Catherine was inconvenienced. Most in-character he's been so far. In conclusion, fuck you, Charlotte.

{EDIT: I wrote this a few months ago, and just now, a more recent review has made me aware of something I missed from the audiobook and a second look through the text, because it's so completely stupid: this Wickham is of an age with Darcy and Oliver, 18 and 17. So his attempted elopement with Georgiana took place between two people who could conceivably be in a modem high school together. .....Yeah, well, I can't even think of something to say about that. Wow, nobody, but nobody, has anything happening in their life except for Darcy and Oliver's epic love, huh? The review I learned this from says that Wickham and Georgiana were schoolmates in this book. Now, what co-educational school facility are they attending in the grand old years of 1790ish-18whatever? Be serious, Most Ardently.}

One scene in a molly house (a wholesome one, serving young adults and teens) makes me think it was literally written to take place in a modern club, with someone sitting down to play a brief waltz. A few couples stand up and waltz around in the molly house for a short while, Oliver and Darcy kiss... off the basis of two conversations.... then they all sit back down to keep reading. Why is Oliver so casual about kissing Darcy in semi-public? He only realized he was a man about a year ago, and already he's thrown everything he ever learned about physical relationships out the window? Is anyone in the downstairs establishment wondering where all that hidden waltz music is coming from? And why does Oliver casually say that people with no gender at all regularly come to this molly house, then add as an afterthought that he's EVEN heard tell of one or two trans men like him going there? Wouldn't that be way more common than nonbinary people? Just statistically?

Another issue I can't ignore, pursuant to the Charlotte Problem: this is just kind of a sexist book. I hate to be furthering the narrative of trans men being misogynistic, but it simply can't be overlooked in light of the original P&P having multiple flawed, but developed and memorable female characters. There are none of those in this book. Everyone is an accessory to Oliver. Elizabeth Bennet worries a lot about her sister Jane and counsels her, reassures her, acts as her rock. In Most Ardently, Oliver is the one getting all the support and being told that he's valid and wonderful by Jane, who has no personality beyond which men she likes. Charlotte lets Oliver use her home as a base to change his clothes and presses his pants for him--what kind of asshole is he for letting her do this, instead of resting for a few minutes? She has no servants! There are no dishwashers or washer-driers! She's cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry by hand every day all by herself! She's emptying the chamber pots too! Oliver needs his secret sets of pants pressed?? He can do it his damn self!

Darcy casually reveals to multiple strangers that his sister was groomed and nearly eloped with Wickham, with seemingly no thought that Georgiana might be hurt by this. Oliver is the center of everyone's universe. On top of that, Darcy's unpleasant behavior is put down to the fact that he doesn't like women and can't be polite to them. Because he's gay. This is never addressed at all. He's just gonna keep acting like that, and it's apparently not a problem.

Anyway, as I said, Charlotte gets some lip service towards having a valid point about having to live in the closet, but it's all undone by showing us that actually, she's a stupid idiot who shackled herself to an actively malicious man for the rest of her life. Meanwhile Oliver was completely right, and he gets to live his life out of the closet as a man while she spends her life with Collins. The original book lets the reader decide whether or not Charlotte made the "right", or at least righter, choice. Here, she's unequivocally wrong, and her life is going to suck, and she doesn't even get to inherit Longbourn someday. Oh, and she's only nineteen, so why did she jump at Mr. Collins anyway? She has no reason to be desperate yet. Her entire basis and motivation has been erased and invalidated.

And, we cannot forget the main thing mentioned by critical reviews: Oliver thinks of himself and Darcy as "boys" roughly 250 times in this book. (I joke, but Libby's word search shows 99 uses of the word as of chapter 17, at which point it gives up.) Does he know any other words? Young man? Youth? The dreaded male, even? It gets so irritating. The other boy, he's a boy, boys kissing boys, everyone's a boy, we're all boys. Fellas, sometimes we are grownass men and that's okay.

Wait, I just realized Oliver's kinda screwed as a future gentleman at the end, because he has none of the formal schooling boys were supposed to get, and his dad obviously has no money saved up to send him to a good university out of nowhere. Why weren't Darcy and Bingley at university in the book? This is where all that widdle baby shit gets you. Oliver Bennet: Child Left Behind.

I did laff at the author trying to write a straight man in Mr Collins though. Okay diva... We'll go queen out at Rosings...

[mihotose]

all the ways saya is amazing

kosuzu says she's both a school idol and a figure skater, and yet she's never late or oversleeps! in fact, she's the one to call her when she oversleeps! and she somehow always knows when she oversleeps to call her!

tsuzuri says saya is normally in her room when she does suzu's morning call, and she says "kosuzu-san seemed tired yesterday, so maybe i should wake her up"

kosuzu is amazed she judges based on the day before and tsuzuri says is always watching her. kosuzu talks about how she made the special training menu for her and adjusted it according to her progress!

saya looks out for tsuzuri too. last year she made her an omurice bentou with a small tonkatsu on top. kosuzu says she studied this! that's a kanazawa hanton rice! tsuzuri says saya remembered she liked it and made it again

sayaka-senpai always sleeps properly! kosuzu thought she might sleep less because of all the things she does but she actually gets enough sleep and tells her to sleep properly too! tsuzuri says kids who sleep grow and kosuzu can believe that looking at her

kosuzu thinks there must be three sayaka-senpai who are doing all these activities and sleeping properly, and tsuzuri says if there are three of saya she can pat one on the head with each hand while talking to the third. kosuzu says that's unfair, she should share!

kosuzu says she's been teaching her modern literature lately! she's been reading a lot of long books recently so she's been teaching her reading comprehension

tsuzuri says saya helps with club president paperwork so fast the piles just disappear, so kosuzu asks if she's magic and tsuzuri says maybe she is

kosuzu says not only is sayaka-senpai a hard worker, she's also very considerate! she greeted kachimachi's family while they were leaving the tsuruga live, and politely asked them all to continue supporting them! the whole kachimachi family said she was a really good girl! (tsuzuri thinks so too!)

chat suggests what they could get for saya

flowers (saya likes flowers so maybe. she likes lots of colours so maybe they can make a pretty bouquet)

a letter of what they said in this stream

a bentou (last time kosuzu asked she said she likes seaweed, so maybe a seaweed bentou. unfortunately kachimachi is bad at cooking. tsuzuri's cooking is too strong too. saya says she likes eating, but she likes cooking even more. she said cooking for her senpai is when she's the most relaxed! so tsuzuri suggests they have saya cook for them. though that's what normally happens...)

cooking assistance (kosuzu wants to helps stir the pan)

eating her food (they already do that)

massage (kosuzu's idea. saya is good at it too. she gives tsuzuri a massage after practice sometimes. she gave kachimachi a calf massage after dance practice the other day. kosuzu wants to repay her and tsuzuri wants to join in too! look forward to it saya!)

room cleaning (kosuzu's idea. sayaka-senpai's room is already clean though. tsuzuri suggests they have a party in saya's room and then clean it up for her which kosuzu likes)

kamu kamu orange soda candy (tsuzuri's idea. they ate it together before and she wants to eat it at the party. kosuzu says there's lots of different flavours so she wants to collect them)

their final plan is massage->sweets->go to her room->have a party->tidy up after the party

tsuzuri's final message to saya: saya is a really hard worker, and she works hard every day, so she thinks its normal for her to work hard. maybe saya forgets how hard she works, so she's not going to forget saya's hard work for her! and she's going to praise saya for working hard! saya, you always work hard. you're amazing! good girl, good girl! thank you for everything, saya!

kachimachi's final message to sayaka-senpai: the sayaka-senpai who always puts all her effort in, the sayaka-senpai who can do anything, the sayaka-senpai who watches over and helps kachimachi, she respects her so much! but if there's ever a time she needs help, please feel free to ask kachimachi! kachimachi will run over anytime, anywhere! please continue supporting her from now on!

[rose-and-thorn-fanfics]

Snowfall At Magvel University (A Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones Modern AU Holiday Fanfic)

“Look Lyon, its snowing!” Ephraim said, peering through the curtains of their shared dorm room’s window.

Lyon took a moment to make one more quick annotation before closing his book and crossing the room to see what Ephraim was witnessing. “Well, thats quite a sight, isn’t it?” Lyon said, taking in the soft snowfall over the campus of Magvel University. Lyon Grado and Ephraim Renais had been instant friends upon meeting during their first year in college, alongside Ephraim’s twin sister Eirika. The three of them were an odd bunch, but hardly ever were seen apart. Lyon went to all Ephraim’s rugby games despite knowing nothing of sports. And Ephraim listened to Lyon go on for hours about gothic literature and his studies of the occult. Eirika would knit scarves for the boys in between her tennis tournaments, and kept Ephraim out of fights and always made sure Lyon was invited to the college parties.

“Did you cast a spell for this to happen? Or is this pure luck?” Ephraim asked Lyon jokingly.

“Ahhhh. See, I thought about casting a storm spell but last time i did that a hurricane hit Ireland, so this? This is just luck.” Lyon laughed.

“We should meet up with the girls and Innes tonight, since its Christmas Eve.” Ephraim suggested, stepping away from the window and pulling on a sweater Eirika had knit him last year. His muscles made it hard for him to fit in the shoulder width of most store bought sweaters so it helped having a sister with a love for craft projects.

“Innes….?” Lyon said hesitantly. “Innes Frellia.”

“Yes. Why, nervous he’ll make fun of your haircut again? I can always beat him up if he’s rude to you again.” Ephraim offered, recalling past parties.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it… well. Maybe he did, but being a homeless emo loser isn’t that bad of an insult. He could’ve said worse.” Lyon said softly, rummaging through a chest at the foot of the bed for his coat.

“HE CALLED YOU A HOMELESS EMO LOSER??????” Ephraim said a little louder than he meant to.

Lyon blushed. “Ephraim. It’s alright, ok?”

“No, no. It’s not alright. Innes is a jerk for saying that. I thought he was poking fun in good faith, now that i hear exactly what he said I am NOT inviting him to our Christmas party.”

“Really? I dont want to exclude someone… but i guess it would be best for the environment of the festivities.” Lyon said carefully, finally finding his dark charcoal grey Burberry coat. He pulled it on over his sweater. Lyon Grado may truly have been emo, but his family had money, and occasionally (when trying to impress Eirika) he’d don a more lavish ensemble. Not that he thought Eirika valued money over anything, as the Renais family had plenty. But he did think the Burberry coat drew attention away from his frail figure.

“Alright, lets go meet up with Eirika and L’arachel. They have the nicest dorms anyway.” Ephraim said, holding the door open for Lyon.

………………………………………………………………………………………

When they arrived at Eirika and L’arachel’s dorm, they were greeted by the two girls and immediately pulled inside with excitement.

“WOW! You look great, Lyon! Here let me take your coat.” Eirika said. At first Lyon resisted the idea, but upon seeing the blushing radiance in Eirika’s cheeks, he took it off. She put the coat on a hook by the door, then hugged him, nearly knocking him off his feet. Lyon hugged her back, stuttering an apology for almost toppling. After their embrace parted, Eirika hugged Ephraim.

“Remind me to make you a new sweater, ok? You’ve worn that one out, Ephraim!” Eirika said teasingly.

Ephraim shrugged, making his way to inside to the stack of pillows on the floor where he took a seat by the mini fake Christmas tree. Larachel was focusing heavily on putting lights in it while Lyon’s friend Knoll (an unexpected guest) was “cooking” in the mini kitchen and complaining about the crap microwave.

“So! Eirika, I uhhh….” got you something… for Yule.” Lyon said softly.

“You shouldn’t have!” Eirika gasped as Lyon pulled out a pair of garnet dangle earrings in a clear box he had wrapped with a gold bow. “Well, I got you something too Lyon… but I’m not sure you’ll like it as much as i love these earrings!”

Lyon blinked. “Don’t worry, Eirika! I’m sure it’s beautiful.” Lyon brushed a strand of Eirika’s turquoise hair out of her face.

“Jusht kish alrbready-“ Ephraim said through a mouthful of Christmas cookie.

Lyon nearly choked on his saliva.

Eirika shot Ephraim a scolding look before making sure Lyon didn’t pass out from embarrassment.“Ephraim, chew and then speak. And its not very polite to say things like that.”

Ephraim rolled his eyes, swallowing the cookie. “Ok, ok. But I’m curious if you guys will ever stop the flirting stage and move on to the actually dating phase?” he frowned.

“Shouldn’t you be more of a big protective ‘you’re not good enough for my twin sister’ type of guy?” L’arachel chimed in, adjusting the star on the fake tree.

“Lyon’s a good guy. He’s my best friend. I trust he’d take care of Eirika. Besides, its obvious they have feelings for each other. Just ask Eirika what she got Lyon for Christmas!”

Eirika blushed a deep tomato red color. “I…. I…. It’s improper to bring up stuff like this in a public setting. So thanks, brother.”

Lyon was dying with curiosity to know what Ephraim was alluding to.

Eirika grabbed Lyon by the wrist and tugged him outside the dorm, shoving the door closed. She then pulled a gilded old fashioned pen out of her pocket. “I wanted to give you this… its a pen that once belonged to your favorite gothic author, Mary Shelley. May you write all the dark stuff you like to your hearts content….” Eirika said. “But really thats not the gift i wanted to give you. Well, not all of it.” She closed her eyes, and leaned into Lyon, pressing her body up against his until he backed into a wall from the impact. She opened her mouth and planted a soft kiss on his lips.

Lyon let out a soft sigh, hands tangling in Eirika’s long aquamarine locks. Eirika kissed him again and again, then pulled away just long enough to whisper “Merry Christmas Lyon. If you’d have me, I’d love to be your girlfriend…. And eventually more.”

Lyon’ eyes widened. “Y-you…l-love me?”

Eirika nodded. “Ephraim and I talked about it and he gave us his blessing.”

Lyon looked shocked. “So you knew i loved you like that… all this time?”

“Yes. Now lets go inside and make it official with some hot cocoa and cuddling, you know?” Eirika suggested, dragging Lyon back inside the dorm.

“SOOOOOOOOOO. Did you tell him?” Ephraim teased. “Are my precious sister and best friend now dating?”

“Yes!” Eirika and Lyon said simultaneously, unable to contain their elation.

“Good. Now that thats settled, lets get on and play some festive games!” Knoll said, handing hot cocoa out to everyone who was seated on the pillows arranged in a circle on the floor.

The rest of the night was spent laughing and with lots of good cheer. Lyon turned out to be amazing at cards, and Ephraim and Eirika were an unstoppable duo when it came time for charades. The snow fell and the moon rose above the university. All was well, and in that moment, there was nothing but joy to be had.

THANKS FOR READING!

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[izzy-b-hands]

Day Four: Alternate Universe or Free Choice

A v simple Alternate Universe: modern, and everyone is poly in one direction or the other with each other. This means lots of big group dates, sleepovers and schedules for who stays with who when, and-

sharing clothes. Sharing hoodies. Stealing hoodies. There's an ungodly large supply of hoodies, but no one has their original items of clothing in their house unless it's on whoever they're staying with at the time lkfajdsalf.

Main focus is on steddyhands, left stizzy, with a drizzle of rizzy, mentions of Olu/Jim/Spanish Jackie as a thing. They have a shared online calendar to keep things straight (genuinely what I would do myself lol.) Slightly NSFW for the stizzy at the end. FTM Izzy.

---

"Well, I had to steal yours," Ed scoffs and pulls Stede's old college hoodie over his head. "Izzy has mine!"

"Ask him for it back," Stede says, kicking off his shoes at the front door mat. "Where is he; I'll ask him if you want."

"Just let me wear yours for tonight," Ed whines. "You can wear the one of Roach's that Izzy stole from him, that I stole from Iz."

"How do you even remember anymore?" Stede says as he kisses his cheek. "What belongs to who, if it isn't mine, I swear I lose track."

"I know you do," Ed motions to the decoration on his hoodie. "Because this isn't yours. This is actually Jackie's."

"No fucking," Stede pauses and leans in to peer at it. "The year is wrong for graduation. Oh my fucking god, for how long...does she know?"

"Yeah, because she's been sharing yours with Jim and Olu."

Stede pinches the bridge of his nose. "Polyamory is a mistake for clothing. Do we have any of our original wardrobes anymore?"

"Yes, because your robe that we've been sharing, just the three of us, hasn't left this house," Ed smiles. "And I won't let it either. Anyway, once you see Iz in it, you'll get it. He's still doing the rest of his laundry, you should know."

"I should know," Stede chuckles. "Should I know if dinner's been started?"

"If you mean Roach sent out his meal of the week today, yes, it is. AKA we just need to warm it up."

"Oh thank fuck. No actual cooking."

"No actual cooking, not tonight."

Ed doesn't follow him upstairs to their rooms, but that's nothing out of the ordinary. He'll start heating up what Roach sent, and by the time they're back downstairs with him, things will be ready.

"Izzy, I know we share a lot," Stede opens the door to Izzy's room. "But..."

Izzy is in nothing but Ed's hoodie, ironically enough an old piece of merch Jackie had made up for her bar years ago. It shows its age, but in a comfortable way: loose and slightly more shapeless than it started, thinning but not enough to be too thin to wear, and ridiculously soft.

He's flopped back on the bed, legs open just enough to catch Stede's eye first thing, flipping aimlessly through a book.

"I just don't think I'm ever getting through some of these you've recommended," he sighs. "I won't debate the worthiness of Jude the Obscure overall as literature, but I won't say I enjoyed this either. But then, no one in this book enjoyed...anything. Ever. At all."

"But you finished it," Stede says. "And you'd just started it too!"

"Why waste time hanging around in that depressing fucking story if I could get through it quickly instead?" Izzy pats the bed. "Ed said he's got dinner for us."

"Roach sent over his-"

"I know, why do you think I'm laying out like this?" Izzy grins. "Ed was kind; he agreed to unpack everything-"

"How much did he send?"

"Enough to last the next three days for leftovers," Izzy says, dropping Jude the Obscure to the floor beside the bed. "He's concerned we order food in too often."

"He won an extra gift card from the chain down the road," Stede scoffs and strides over to drop onto the bed. "For ordering from them so often."

"Yeah, but he doesn't always feel like cooking for himself in between shifts."

"Fair enough. But still, pot, kettle, all that."

Izzy nods. "Anyway. Ed took care of that while Roach and I caught up. I know I'll be back with him in a few days for a week, but-"

"I know how Roach gets after a cooking spree," Stede interrupts. "He's probably dead asleep now."

"He is," Izzy gestures to his phone on the nightstand. "He video called me once he got home, and fell asleep during it. I've got a bet with Jim now as to if he'll wake up before I have to end the call."

Stede leans over and peers at it, and sure enough, there's Roach sleeping hard with his face nearly smashed into his phone.

"You couldn't find any pants or trousers of ours to steal?" he asks as he leans back and rests his head on Izzy's shoulder.

"Thought about it," Izzy shrugs. "Then I remembered you'd be home soon, and thought, why bother?"

"You used my soap in the shower."

"I did. Do you like it?"

Stede kisses Izzy's cheek, then down to his neck.

"Is that a yes?"

He nods into the fabric of the hoodie as he kisses his way further down.

"Food will be ready soon enough, and don't you dare make the jo-"

"But I'm hungry now," Stede barely gets it out before giggling into Izzy's stomach.

"Terrible. Horrible. Cannot believe I love you with jokes like that."

"Yes you can."

"Yeah," Izzy smiles down fondly at him. "I can, and I do. That said, are you going to make yourself wait any longer then?"

He's only just shoved his face between Izzy's legs when Ed calls for them.

"Stede, we can wait. I know you're actually hungry."

"No, no, I can speed run this and still have it be good!"

Izzy shakes his head. "I believe you, but you don't need to do that. Toss me the sweatpants on the floor, and we can get back to this later."

"Which ones?" Stede presses a quick kiss to Izzy's cock before moving to look for them.

"The grey ones."

"They're all grey, all four pairs."

"The ones with what looks like blood on them."

"That narrows it down to two."

Izzy sighs. "The one's that don't look too long for me. Jim's."

"Is any of the clothing in this room actually yours?" Stede snags the correct pair and hands them over.

"Your button up is mine, those trousers are Ed's and the shoes are Roach's, right?"

He can only blush. "Maybe. You can check when you take them off of me later."

"If the two of you are fucking," Ed shouts up. "Then you have to tell me! So I can put this in the oven to keep warm, and come up there!"

"I can wait a little longer," Stede reaches over and plucks the sweatpants from Izzy's hands. "Come on up!"

"Figured as much, be up in a moment!"

"Like I said," Stede gently flops back into place between Izzy's legs. "I'm hungry."

[projecthipster]

Franny and Zooey, by J.D. Salinger

“I don’t think it would have all got me quite so down if just once in a while—just once in a while—there was at least some polite little perfunctory implication that knowledge should lead to wisdom, and that if it doesn't, it's just a disgusting waste of time! But there never is! You never even hear any hints dropped on a campus that wisdom is supposed to be the goal of knowledge. You hardly ever even hear the word 'wisdom' mentioned!”

Everyone’s read J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye, yeah? If not, I’ll review it in this series sooner or later. It’s great, it’s very hipster in its deep character breakdown, multiple layers of storytelling, and its analysis of cynical adolescent disillusionment. It’s one of the best-selling, best-reviewed, most-read books in all of literature. Sounds kinda mainstream, doesn’t it?

The discerning hipster, wanting all of Salinger’s great writing in a package that the mainstream sheep are less likely to know, and that subs adolescent disillusionment for young adult disillusionment, might instead turn to Franny and Zooey, his later and arguably only other novel. Franny and Zooey hit the scene in 1957, at the height of the Hipster-beloved beat era, though Salinger isn’t usually considered to be one of the beats, which is basically to say that I don't think he ever did drugs with Kerouac. Your hipness archivist read this book a couple of years after reading Catcher, mostly on a single slow day while working at a ski hill.

Some say it’s two short stories; truth, it’s more like a novella with a bonus opening chapter that could serve as a short story in isolation but works very well as a first chapter. That opening follows Franny Glass on a lunch date. She’s become obsessed with an obscure Russian religious text, but her boyfriend only wants to talk about his upcoming football game, leading Franny right into a panic attack about how much everyone is only in everything for the ego boost. That main theme is tempered a bit by Franny’s disdain for the dullness, the expectedness of everyone’s bragging topics. Certainly that’s something core to the hipster identity: the mundanity of the mainstream.  That’s part one, the shorter part, “Franny.”

The second part, “Zooey,” makes up most of the book. Smash cut to the Glass household. Franny’s brother Zooey is fighting with his mom. Franny is in the living room, a few days into a serious depressive funk, when Zooey is all but forced to talk her through it. That conversation, replete with italics to show just how emphatic and pointed everyone is, practically ranting, reveals the Glass family backstory, detailed as well in other Salinger stories that I haven’t read. Turns out, nothing about Franny’s identity crisis came on in isolation. The Glass children were child prodigies on a radio show, in the national spotlight until their voices changed and they suddenly dropped from America’s short attention span. That feeling of being puppets on a stage never really left any of them, and led eldest brother Seymour to commit suicide despite an outward appearance of success. Is it any wonder, then, that these siblings are a bit messed up, and see society as being a bit messed up? The conversation barrels on, Zooey trying to rescue Franny from her depression, until it reaches a surprisingly succinct and positive conclusion, which shows Salinger’s increasing interest in spirituality and alternative theological theory, and which I won’t spoil. Suffice to say, the final page has a lesson that you’ll remember if you’ve ever sat and wondered in light despair at why we all go on performing, and who for.

Reading this book will boost your hipster cred, because you can bring it up when people talk about The Catcher in the Rye. But more importantly, this book will raise interesting and impressively timeless dialogues about life and purpose in modern society by means of great writing and impressively concisely developed characters. 

I give this Hipster book five withering glances over an organic cigarette out of five.

Project Hipster is a futile and disorganized attempt to dive into the world of things that the internet has at some point claimed "are hipster," mostly through ListChallenges search results.

This review comes from the first list, Hipster Lit: If You Haven't Read 'em, Pretend You Have.

Stay deck.