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yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

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Title: Desperate Measures.

Pairing: Yandere!Kaeya/Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 2.2k.

TW: Kidnapping, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Stalking, and Delusional Mindsets.

Kaeya was a man, distracted.

Distracted. Divided. Not inattentive, but pulled away from his responsibilities by a force he couldn’t name and couldn’t say he cared for, either. He wasn’t a stranger to romantic inclinations — fantasies, sudden flings, slow-burning inclinations that died the moment his attention was called elsewhere. Predictably, the few relationships he allowed himself were short-lived, at best distasterous at worst, but he didn’t have a problem with that. If anything, Kaeya appreciated it. He’d always thought of company as optional, and what little loneliness he was still capable of feeling could be drowned with a generous glass of wine. He wasn’t one to linger. He tried not to overstay his welcome. He’d been sentimental, once, too emotional for his own good, and he’d learned his lesson. He didn’t intend to change.

He didn’t want to change.

And yet, here he was.

Distracted.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t focus. It was all he could do to look like he might’ve been trying to read the most recent document left on his desk – this one from Jean, a directive for the younger knights or legislation she needed him to review or another vague, important report that he probably would’ve dealt with weeks ago, if he’d been able to concentrate.

He made a half-hearted effort to straighten his back as the door to his office began to open, but Kaeya dropped the act quickly, abandoning it completely by the time he heard the sound of heeled boots against hollow tile, caught a glimpse of a familiar (albeit, rarely used) catalyst, searched for eyes and found the cover of a thin book, instead, your face still buried in your newest novel as you stepped through the threshold, not bothering to knock. It was you. He should’ve known it would be. Who else did he deserve?

You, Lisa’s new assistant. You, the latest addition to the Knights of Favonius. You, his current, infuriating, unshakable fixation.

You, the new recruit who hadn’t paid him so much as a passing glance since your arrival, much to Kaeya’s frustration.

You didn’t look at him. You rarely ever did, but it hurt more than it usually did, today, as you dropped another form onto his desk, letting it replace the greeting you’d forgotten to offer. “Lisa needs you to sign this,” You started, laying out your priorities clearly, a skill Kaeya was beginning to resent. “It’s just next year’s budget. If you don’t want to read it, I think I’ll be able to look the other way.”

He glanced over the rows of numbers, the messy hand-writing, the columns of meaningless gibberish that blended together into a mess of ink and digits, and took your suggestion, scrawling his name across the only blank line. It was a lost cause, especially with you in the room. Especially with your unoccupied hand resting on his desk, your fingertips idly tapping an unsteady rhythm into the wood, and all he could think about was who he’d be willing to kill to feel that hand pressed against his cheek.

He considered asking you, for a moment, giving you an order and hoping you'd absent-mindedly obey. He thought about touching you, or running his fingers through your hair, or pulling you into his lap and mumbling sweet-nothings into your ear until someone else dragged you away.

He thought about a lot of things. Then, he said, “I take it your silence comes at a price?”

“Do I seem that selfish to you?” You were selfish. You had to be selfish. If you weren’t, then surely you would’ve been kind enough to put him out of his misery months ago. “I like helping people. Just remember this when I need a favor from you.”

“I’m sure we could work something more immediate out,” He went on, but you were already starting towards the door, calling the conversation to a close before Kaeya could begin to finish. In the back of his mind, something flared, the urge to catch your wrist, to go after you, to put himself between you and the only exit and refuse to move until you looked at him, but he forced it down, swallowing the temptation before it could eclipse his common sense. He couldn’t be impulsive. He couldn’t make rash decisions. He wasn’t prepared to deal with how difficult that would make things, not now.

Not yet.

“Join me for a drink?” He tried, again, attempting to sound unbothered. Nonchalant, casual, normal. Like he wasn’t itching to burn every book you’d touched. “I know you don’t have anything better to--”

“Another night, Captain.”

And just like that, you were gone, leaving Kaeya’s muttered response to echo through his empty office.

“Of course.”

Kaeya was a man, desperate.

Like a starving dog. Like a traveler who hadn’t seen water in thirty days. Like a distraught, distressed, disturbed knight, wandering through a maze of a library, cursing the existence of every shelf that separated him from you. He knew where you'd be. You were a creature of habit, and he’d already had more than enough time to memorize your routine. He’d had enough time to memorize everything about you, as ashamed as he was to admit it. It was a testament to his devotion, to how much time he’d spent trying and failing to win your favor.

It was evidence of how pathetic he’d gotten, over the course of his one-sided pursuit.

You were in your usual spot – tucked into the far corner of the library, perched on the edge of a windowsill, your attention monopolized by the tattered scroll spread across your lap. You were still pouring over it by the time he reached you, slumping against the nearest wall, taking in how brilliantly the muted sunlight looked as it danced across your skin. He didn’t try to hide the way he stared, anymore. He was long past worrying that you’d care enough to notice. Your hair was unkempt, proof that’d you slept in the archives again, if you’d slept at all. Your lips were bleeding, too, the lower one chewed raw and split down the middle, but it might’ve been stranger if they weren’t. It must’ve been a nervous tick, but Kaeya found it cute. Kaeya found it endearing. Kaeya found everything about you endearing, and to the archons, he wanted to see those lips wrapped around his co--

And he hated it. He found everything about you endearing, and he hated it. That was all.

He sighed, the sound airy, exhausted. You didn’t look up, but that was fine. It would’ve only hurt him further if someone as simple as that drew out your concern. “I’m in love with you.”

There was a hum, soft and contemplative. A rather generous response, by your standards. “I’ve noticed.”

“You’re all I think about.” It was an awkward confession, one he’d already used a hundred different times. He didn’t care. He’d use it a hundred more, if he had to. “I’m a wreck. I can barely remember my own name, and some days I can’t even do that. I can’t fight, I can’t eat, I can hardly breathe. Every morning, I wonder what it would be like to wake up to your smile, and every night, I stare at my ceiling and loath myself because I’m not holding you in my arms. For fuck’s sake, just yesterday, I almost kissed Albedo because the chemicals he was working with reminded me of the way your favorite kind of flower smells, and I’m just so fucking desperate, I convinced myself that was the closest I’d ever come to kissing you.”

He was rambling, by the end, panting, yelling, but you only blinked when he was done, once, then twice. Your dull nails bit into the edges of your scroll, but you didn’t seem to mind, nor did you move to roll it up as you finally turned to face him, the confusion written clearly across your expression. “You kissed Albedo?”

“You don’t get it,” He said, and you nodded in agreement. “You don’t fucking get it.”

“I think I do,” You admitted, more earnestly. Your gaze dropped back to the ground, and instantly, Kaeya deflated. “I just… I just don’t think it’d work out, if I’m being honest. I’m still new. I still have to give everyone else a reason to trust me, and I don’t think it’s in my best interest to start a relationship with one of my superiors so early on.” You paused, laughing to yourself, and something in Kaeya’s chest tightened. It was the happiest he’d been since he met you, and he still felt like you’d pushed a sword through his heart and twisted. “But, you don’t really want a relationship, do you? You’re just bored, and you need something to fixate on. I’m the most available option, so...” You trailed off, finishing your sentence with a vague, stilted sweeping gesture. “It’ll be easier for both of us, this way. I like you, Captain, but I don’t like you enough to put myself through that.”

It was all he could do to remember how to open his mouth. Once he did, the words came stumbling out on their own.

“Of course.”

Kaeya was a man, determined.

Determined might’ve been the wrong word for it. Too soft, too suggestive, the impression too positive and the meaning too vague. ‘Depraved’ might’ve suited him better, but that was too harsh, too primitive, and he’d like to think he’d been as gentle as anyone could expect him to be, given your stubbornness. He’d tried to be gentle. He’d wanted to be gentle. If he was going to do this to you, he could at least do it gently. You deserved that much, at least.

Or, maybe you didn’t. Maybe you didn’t deserve any of this.

He couldn’t really make up his mind, about that.

“Lisa?”

And he was gentle, more so than he had to be. Sure, you were on the floor, bare stone already beginning to chafe at your skin, but the shackles around your wrists were padded, and he’d given you enough slack to sit down, to ball yourself up, to act like it’d never crossed your mind that he’d resort to something so… easily misinterpreted. The blindfold was, similarly, an act of mercy. You’d panic if you woke up like this, chained to a wall in someone else’s cellar, and Kaeya didn’t want that. You needed time, and he could give you that. He would give you that. Even if it pained him to stay at arm’s length.

“Amber?”

He wanted to touch you. It’d be easy, now, easier than it’d ever been before. You wouldn’t be able to push him away, and even if you tried to, he could always overpower you. Take you by the neck, pin you against the floor, leave you shaking and trembling and begging, pleading with a captor you couldn’t see. He’d find a way to make it up to you, later on. He’d find a way to lie, to smile, to make it better, even if he’d failed to time and time again, out there. But, this would be different. You wouldn’t be able to cling to your excuses, and he’d be able to show you how much he cared, how much he wanted this, how much he loved you. This would be better.

“Kaeya?”

See? You were already coming around.

Your voice was already soft, hesitant, a sliver of a whisper that was constantly on the verge of dying out completely. You were trying not to make noise, trying not to seem as terrified as you really were, but he could hear the way your breath hitched as he took a step forward, your restraints rattling as you curled into yourself. You couldn’t hide from him, but you wanted to. That much was obvious. You didn’t want this.

But, he did. More than you could ever want to run away from it.

He wanted to touch you, but he held himself back. Instead, he only kneeled in front of you, letting himself linger for a moment before he spoke. “I’m here, love.”

“Where are we?” You were afraid, too scared to put the pieces together. Not while you could still hope there was another explanation. Not while you could still deny the apparent. “My head hurts, and I can’t--”

“I know, and I’ll make it up to you.” This time, he let himself reach out, cupping your cheek and chuckling as you tried to shy away. The two of you could work on that, later on. He could live with the guilt if he let himself enjoy it, now. “Just give me a moment, alright? Just a second, then I’ll take care of you.”

You opened your mouth, then you closed it again. Kaeya wondered if you’d be bold enough to refuse if he did try to kiss you, or hold you, or go further than the fleeting touches he’d swore would keep him satisfied, at first, at least. He wondered if he’d care, when you did. “Are… are you going to hurt me?”

He wanted to reassure you. He wanted to promise he’d be patient, that he’d understand if you lashed out, that violence wasn’t an option he was willing to consider, but he couldn’t, like this, could he? He didn’t want to hurt you, but he’d never wanted to kidnap you, either, not until you made it obvious he didn’t have another choice. He didn’t want to stoop so low, he didn’t want you to hate him, but…

But, he was lying again, wasn’t he?

To tell the truth, he couldn’t remember the last time he genuinely cared whether or not you loved him back.

You stifled a scream as his hand dropped to your jaw, his grip tightening as he jerked you forward, just close enough to wrap his arm around your waist, to bury his face in the side of your neck, to get a taste of what you’d deprived him of. It wasn’t enough, he doubted it’d ever be enough, but he had you. He had you, he was close to you, and he had you. That had to be enough, for now.

“We’ll see.”

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

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Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 5)

(chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3) (chapter 4)

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind. you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: nearly 2.5k

warnings: vague description of a wet dream, some sensual implied stuff (??),

moodboard and inspiration credit to @evnscvll

In all your life, you’d never had a wet dream. Not even in high school when so many of your peers were coping with puberty and budding sexuality in similar ways— not even when you’d wanted to have one about David Kapoor, the cutest guy in senior year who didn’t even know you existed but that you were somehow convinced was going to fall madly in love with you one day.

It never did work out for you two, but you’d finally managed to have a wet dream. This one, though, was about Sebastian.

In your dream he had cornered you in the kitchen, kissing you deeply before tossing you onto the table and— well, the rest doesn’t bear repeating. It was all very ‘discount bin romance novel’ wasn’t it? The exotic, rugged farm boy roughly taking the formerly-prudish businesswoman in the middle of the house, too deep in the throes of passion to care if someone walking by saw them.

You didn’t find it all that sexy by the time you woke up; moreso just humorous. That’s preposterous, you thought to yourself, nobody’s ever gonna love me like that.

It was something your husband had said to you once. You couldn’t even remember what the context was anymore, but clearly it had had an impact on you to be repeating it internally now. Just last week, Mrs. Alberti had gotten on your case for speaking poorly of yourself. Clearly, the things you said about yourself to others were nothing against what you said about yourself to yourself.

Your papers had only taken a day to dry, but the ink was pretty severely smudged. Knowing your publisher wouldn’t accept them in a manuscript, you resolved to retyping the most damaged ones— a good mindless task to do while you pondered your next steps plot-wise. You’d seen Sebastian less for the past week, and it was no accident; you’d been avoiding him because you were trying to nip this in the bud before it got any worse. Your divorce isn’t final yet, you need to heal. This is fantasy, not reality. You barely know each other. Your divorce isn’t final. Your divorce. Isn’t. Final.

That was the mantra you found yourself repeating as you retyped the waterlogged sheets; so much for the plot-pondering plan, eh?

You heard someone coming up the stairs, and you knew it was him because the steps were coming too quickly to be Mrs. Alberti. “Come in,” you instructed before he’d even knocked.

“Bună ziua,” he greeted as he opened the door, leaning inside. “Am pregătit cina, ai vrea să mănânci?”

“Hm?” you asked as you turned around in your chair, adjusting your reading glasses. However, his question became more obvious through context when you saw he had oven mitts and an apron on, and was holding a wooden spoon. “Oh, um, I’ll be down for dinner in a minute. Soon.” You held up a few fingers, hoping he would successfully interpret them into minutes.

“Arăți bine în ochelarii aceia,” he motioned, pointing towards you.

“I’m sorry�� what?” you asked, not sure at all what he could be talking about.

“Ochelari. Sunt drăguți,” he re-emphasized, but it was useless as you gave him another confused look. He sighed, straightening up a bit as he began a new method: “Îmi plac,” he said, pointing to himself and then giving a thumbs up, “ochelarii tăi,” he pointed to you, and then made circles with his fingers and brought them up to his eyes.

You laughed a little, but you were pretty sure you got what he meant. “You like my glasses?” you clarified, reaching up to wiggle them on your face a bit.

“Da,” he grinned. “Pari inteligent.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, and he nodded back as he shut the door and his footsteps faded back into the kitchen.

Once a few more pages had been redone, you gave your hair a quick combing before heading down for dinner with Sebastian. It smelled a little strange by the time you went downstairs, but when you swung open the door to the kitchen, you were instantly hit with a wave of acidic air, forcing you to wince and cough. Even that didn’t help much, and you forced your eyes shut as they stung.

“Jesus Christ,” you yelped, “the fuck are you cooking? Tear gas?!”

“Oțetul te irită?” he asked, not sounding as concerned as you would’ve hoped considering your obvious pain. It was like you could taste it in the air, and it wasn’t until you managed to open your burning eyes again that you realized what it was: vinegar, in a huge jug right next to the pot he was boiling it in.

“You’re boiling vinegar?” you realized incredulously. “God, Europeans are fucking weird.”

He just looked back at you with bewildered bemusement.

“In America,” you tried to explain, “we don’t eat vinegar. We clean our floors with it.” You pointed to the jug and made a motion meant to indicate scrubbing a surface, and he laughed a little.

“Americanii sunt prea sensibili,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand, turning back to the stove to stir his pot of disinfectant which he apparently planned to serve you as a meal. “Am avut ciorbă de oțet de când eram copil.”

You’d typically considered yourself an adventurous eater— even with vinegar-pickled things, like kim chi which you’d learned to acquire a taste for— but this one put you to the test. Considering the smell alone had singed your sinuses, you were nervous what would become of your innocent tastebuds. But after he served the soup (a dark orange color, so apparently it wasn’t just the boiled vinegar) into a bowl for you and another for himself, you found the taste of it oddly pleasant when you sipped it gently from your hesitant little spoon.

“Vezi, nu e așa de rău,” he smiled gently as he watched you fail to recoil in disgust from the flavor.

“Just like ma used to make, huh?” you chuckled as he ate the soup with incredible speed, even going as far as to lift the bowl to his lips and drink the last few sips that way.

Eating dinner in silence with him was unexpectedly comfortable. “You wanna know something funny?” you found yourself mumbling aloud. “I enjoy talking to you more than anyone I ever did back home, and you can’t even understand me.”

His smile softened as he stared back at you, apparently sensing the change in your tone as you spoke.

“See, right there, that’s it: you’re listening to me. You know it’s useless, you know you won’t be able to tell what I’m talking about, but you’re listening anyways. Over two billion English speakers on the planet and none of them have listened to me like you do.”

Then you heard yourself, and it was so heart-breaking that you had no choice but to laugh. It was just a chuckle at first, but then you couldn’t stop it, even when you realized how confused Sebastian would be. Everything is funnier when you know you shouldn’t laugh, and soon you could barely breathe as tears warmed your eyes from the force of it.

“I’m sorry,” you tried to spit out between your fits of laughter, but it was barely comprehensible anyways. Sebastian began to laugh with you, if hesitantly and with a hint of confusion.

“De ce râdem?” he asked gently.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, calming down a bit, “I’m sorry I just… I was just imagining what my husband would say, if he knew I was here…” you trailed off as you laughed again, starting over. “If he knew I was here, falling for someone I’ve never even spoken with.” You shook your head, resting your face in your hands as you chuckled lightly. “Oh, he’d hate this. He’d tell me I was out of my mind.”

With a slow sigh, your laughter subsided as you wiped the wetness from your eyes.

“He’d be right, but… I don’t really care,” you decided. “He’s not here. If he wanted to find me, he would. And maybe it’s because he’d hate this that I’m having so much goddamn fun doing it.”

When you looked at Sebastian again, his face was serious, yet anything but stern. Suddenly, you weren’t thinking about your husband anymore. Of course you logically understood how odd this all was, how impossible it was for you to be slowly finding yourself in love with someone like him, but it felt right, and true, and real. It made no sense, and yet it made perfect sense in every way that mattered.

“I’ll help you clean,” you offered as you stood up, realizing you’d gotten lost in your train of thought and probably stared at him for a bit too long. He stood up with you, helping you gather the used dishes and letting you wash them in the sink while he put the remaining soup in the refrigerator as leftovers for another time. “I’ll cook for you tomorrow,” you promised, “something real bland, like the English cook.”

“Sper că nu intenționați să gătiți pentru mine cândva, nu suport mâncarea occidentală,” he mumbled as he continued to wipe down the countertop with a damp towel.

With the kitchen clean, you knew you should get back to writing your book, but you were compelled instead to read somebody else’s— so, as you slipped onto the couch with one of a few of your favorites that you’d brought with you, Sebastian summoned the same copy of Dracula you’d seen him reading a few times and took the loveseat. Not much else happened after that, save for you shivering from a draft and him tossing a throw blanket on you.

“Ce carte citești?” he asked you eventually, breaking the silence. When you looked up, he was pointing at your book. “Book?”

“Right,” you laughed, “I taught you that. My book, uh, it’s good.” You closed it, leaving your finger inside to mark your place as you showed him the front cover. “On the Road? Ever heard of it?”

He just cocked his head to the side.

“Jack Kerouac?” you continued. “It’s about going on a long journey in search of… freedom.”

“Acesta este cel despre zombi?” he asked.

“Sure,” you nodded, wishing more than ever that you could know what he was saying. He smiled and got back to his own reading. Indulging yourself for a moment, you watched his face as it fell into a neutral expression while he read, his eyes trailing along the page as he continued to read. You didn’t realize it, but when you returned to reading your own book, he got his chance to look at you.

A long day of writing meant you had more than earned an evening to relax by the fire; late summer became early fall, and early fall turned into the need for a fireplace so much faster than you’d anticipated. The days were temperate, sure, but as the sun began to sink lower, so did the warmth. You started your evening with a hot shower, though you didn’t let yourself get too greedy with the limited supply of hot water, knowing Sebastian relied on the same supply for his own baths. When you finished, you dressed yourself in a fluffy lavender robe, feeling especially pampered when you put on a little moisturizer before heading downstairs to cozy up with the fire. You were already getting chilly, the heat from the shower fading as your wet hair and bare feet cooled you quickly. Therefore, it was more of a scurry to the fireplace, which you hadn’t expected Sebastian to be tending or you wouldn’t have come down in a robe. He’d seen you in less (namely, his shirt and nothing else, which was horrifically embarrassing) but something about this felt more intimate, like all your defenses had been washed away in the shower, too. Didn’t help that he was shirtless, again. Wasn’t he cold in this weather?! Must be all that muscle keeping him warm.

“Bună seara,” he greeted.

“Good evening,” you returned. Stepping closer, you rubbed your hands together as you felt the hot air radiate towards you. “It’s nice,” you sighed contentedly.

He smiled back at you, moving the logs slightly with the iron poker. Sparks jumped and fell off as he shifted them, joining the ashes below— you’d always thought fire was so beautiful, even if it was dangerous, and you took in a long breath through your nose to smell the tinge of smokiness in the air.

“Te încălzești?” he asked quietly as he set the poker aside and stood beside you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing through the fabric of the robe to try to warm up a little faster. Seeing you shiver, he reached out and rubbed your arms for you, which made you tense up slightly before relaxing and breathing out. “Mai bine?”

You nodded a little, your gaze drifting slightly.

“Warm?” he asked, making your eyes jump back up to his. You swallowed dryly as he looked back at you.

“Warm,” you repeated, “yeah. Good job… when’d you learn that?”

He didn’t answer, watching your hands as they reached out for his arms, finally making delicate contact with his tanned skin before drifting up to his biceps, his shoulders, and finally his chest. He put his own hands on top of yours and held them there, looking back at you as your heart started to beat rapidly and with no signs of slowing down. “Warm,” he repeated, only slightly above a whisper.

“Oh yeah,” you agreed hoarsely, “very, very warm…”

He smiled a little; it wasn’t mischievous, it wasn’t conniving or predatory or malicious. It was subtle but gentle in a way you had absolutely no plan to save yourself from, no protection, no armor, no neutral territory. There was only heat, so strong that your toes weren’t cold anymore and you didn’t even remember that your hair was still damp. Not only did you let his heat consume you, but you didn’t even think to stop it, to swallow your desire down, to run away and say goodnight and hide in bed from the icky scary feelings. No, you looked right back at him and let those eyes pierce right through you, that cold blue changed entirely with the warm firelight reflecting in them.

“Do you want to come to my room?” you asked slowly. The words were useless, but a glance back to the stairs that led to your door and back at him asked the same question with much more efficacy.

He nodded, and you stepped backwards as he followed you: across the house, up the stairs, and to your room. You opened the door. He shut it behind you.

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan rpf #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n

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backlogbooks · 3 years ago

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January & February Reading Update

Going to try something different for a while—instead of doing “books read in january/february” lists as my updates, i’m going to do little entries on how reading has felt these past few months. I do have number goals for the year, and I dont think it’s bad to focus on them, but i wanna make sure i’m giving as much/more weight to how i’m enjoying reading as i do to making the numbers go up

I have fixated on the wheel of time series this year—it took me five months to read book one even though i really liked it, so i expected to be taking my time with the rest of the books too. Not so! I’ve been getting faster because they’ve been getting so good. Like, y’all, book three of the wheel of time fucking slaps, and book four is shaping up to be as good if not better. I’ve been listening to wheel takes podcast as I go through the books, because i love ali and gus and it feels like i’m part of a book club this way, and now i wanna catch up with the podcast as soon as possible lmao (it will still be some time—they’re a little ways into book six, and i’m halfway into book four, but i genuinely didn’t think it’d be possible when i first started the series). It’s very rare that i get into high fantasy, and i think this is the first high fantasy series i’ve ever read, and it’s really a whole new experience that i’m loving. I’m doing the audiobooks, which means I’m also doing a lot of crafting lately (and a lot of listening at work but shhhh no one needs to know about that)

I’m also doing a new thing where when I have saturday off, i turn off my phone as soon as i’m awake and dont turn it on until late at night (usually 9 or 10). Which means no audiobook, podcast, or music all day but also no constantly checking twitter/tumblr/email/etc, and it makes for a really good reading experience (as well as writing, though only by hand because no laptop allowed either). Genuinely recommend trying this if you have the ability (and it doesnt have to be saturday either, that’s just the day that works best for me).

And according to my storygraph i’m almost 50-50 fiction-nonfiction???? i’m used to doing like. two nonfiction a year, and last year i think i was around 20% non fiction, which seemed very high for me. I think this is mostly because i’m well out of school, so i’m not burnt out on non fiction anymore—it’s fun again, and i’m so glad. Most informative so far has been The Vagina Bible by Dr. Jen Gunter, and most fun is tied between Barely Functional Adult by Meichi Ng and How I Killed Pluto And Why It Had It Coming by Mike Brown, and I highly recommend all three.

And I think those are all the highlights from my reading the last couple of months! What about y’all, how’s 2022 been reading-wise? Has anything been surprising so far, or any absolute must-reads to share?

#tbrbusterchallenge2022 #bookbanditchallenge #booklr #reading update #reading entries #mary emma’s posts

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wintrcaptn · 5 years ago

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Forbidden Ch. 2 | Andy Barber

Summary : Summary : You used to babysit Jacob when he was younger and had the biggest crush on his dad, Andy. But being in High school at the time, you knew it was just a stupid fantasy that could never happen. Now, six years later, you were visiting your hometown while on winter break. Once you found out the news about Jacob, you knew you had to go check up on them. But things take a turn when you find yourself alone with Andy Barber.

Part One

A/N : I wasn’t planning on making a second part for this fic, until now. Thank you all for the amazing feedback! I hope you like this one just as much (:

You barely slept last night, all you could think about was the kiss. About the way Andy held you close to him, and how his tongue danced along yours.

It was driving you crazy, wishing you could taste him again. To feel him.

But you also couldn’t help feeling horrible. Like the worse person in the world. And it didn’t help that you were seeing him again in just a few hours.

It was beginning to make you nervous. To the point where you almost wanted to cancel and forget the whole thing.

But you knew you couldn’t do that to Jacob.

Staring at your reflection, you let out a long sigh.

“It’s just one more night.” You said to yourself.

____

Pulling up to the Barber’s house, you were washed over with guilt and filled with anxiety. Not knowing how this was going to play out, made it even worse.

What if Laurie found out?

What if Andy regretted kissing you?

A thousand questions flooded your mind and it was starting to freak you out.

Jacob saw your car through his blinds and immediately ran downstairs. Excitement plastered over his face. It caught Andy’s attention.

“You okay there, buddy?” He asked, flipping through the channels on the tv.

“Y-yeah.” Jacob said, walking over to the door. “Y/N’s here.”

The second your name fell from his sons lips, Andy stood up and shot his gaze to the window.

You saw the door swing open, and Jacob stood in the door way with a cheeky grin. And just then, you knew you had to suck it up and focus on being there for him.

“Hey!” You said, climbing out of your car.

“Hi!” He exclaimed.

Andy tensed up the closer you got. Part of him felt guilty for what happened, and especially for wanting to kiss you again.

This wasn’t who he was. He wasn’t a cheater, someone who would go behind his wife’s back and betray her trust. He hated himself for letting it get to this. But he couldn’t help it. He wanted you.

As you walked into the house, you tried hard to only focus on Jacob. But in the corner of your eye, you saw his figure. Suddenly, your gaze met his and instantly, your breath hitched.

“H-Hi.” He said, hesitantly walking over to you.

You swallowed hard, but found some courage in you to snap out of the daze and collect yourself. “Hi.” You replied.

“So I was thinking we can order pizza and put on a movie or something while I set up the game? Like old times?” Jacob muttered, looking at you then back to his dad. “You’re going to play too, right?”

“Um—if Y/N is okay with it.”

Both of the Barber boys turned their gaze on you, putting you on the spot.

“Of course I’m okay with it.” You said. “Is Mrs. Barber joining us or—?”

“No, she had some errands to do.” Jacob interrupted you. “She said she’ll be home later though.”

You could tell something was off. The second day in a row, and they weren’t together? This wasn’t like them.

For as long as you could remember, they made every effort to be together.

“I’ll get the game. Dad, can you order the pizza?” Jacob’s voice snapped you back to the moment.

But before either of you could respond, Jacob turned around and ran up the stairs, leaving you alone with Andy.

You hesitantly looked over to him, and his eyes were already on you.

It was crazy how much power a stare held over you. It made your heart pound erratically, and it was hard to think straight.

The silence was driving him crazy. He wanted to know—needed to know what you were thinking. And he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Can we talk about—you know.” He whispered, walking over to you.

Each step he made, growing closer to you, things were beginning to feel hotter and constricting.

“Th-there’s nothing to t-talk about, Mr. Barber—“

“Andy.” He cut you off, now standing just right in front of you. His eyes looking longingly into yours, almost as if he were searching for something. “Please, call me Andy.”

You swallowed hard. “Andy, please. Can we just pretend it didn’t happen?”

“I can’t. I tried, but I can’t stop thinking about it, about you. And—and I don’t think I want to stop.”

As you opened your mouth, you were instantly silenced after the sound of footsteps grew nearer.

Andy cleared his throat and quickly walked back toward the kitchen, pulling out his phone to order the pizza.

Finally, you were able to let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“Okay, I got monopoly and Pictionary Incase mom comes home early.” Jacob smiled.

“Perfect.”

After a few hours, the three of you filled yourselves with pizza and soda, while playing the game.

Sitting there with you and Jacob, watching the way you both laughed and talked, it was invigorating. In this very moment, Andy watched his son be a kid again and that’s all he ever wanted.

Everything felt normal. Like how it used to be. Before it all went to shit.

You all talked like no time has passed. Cracking jokes, and teaming up with Jacob, buying all the properties so Andy had to pay.

It was perfect.

“So did you ever finish reading the Harry Potter series?” You asked, rolling the dice.

Jacob nodded, flashing a smile as he remembered how much you used to love those books.

“Yea. They were good. Still not my favorite but—“

“Not your favorite?! Dude, Harry Potter is amazing and it has everything!”

Andy listened to you both go back and forth, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Ok well how about the next time in town, we have a Harry Potter movie marathon? I’m sure those will change your mind.”

“Fine!”

Laurie finally came home around seven. She looked even more exhausted than yesterday, and a little upset.

She said a soft hello, gave Jacob a kiss on the head and went straight upstairs, barely giving Andy a glance.

Then suddenly, it was back to reality.

Though you were able to distract Jacob for a bit, nothing could make him forget the truth. And for that, he needed some time to himself.

“I-I’m getting tired, so I think I’m going to lay down for awhile.” He said, propping up to his feet. “Thanks for coming over. I had fun. Maybe we can do it again soon?”

You flashed him a soft smile, and nodded before pulling him in for a hug. “Yeah, definitely.”

And just like that, he ran up to his room, leaving you alone with Andy. Again.

Andy sat on the couch, running his hands through his hair. Tired, upset, confused. There were too many different emotions running through him, it was starting to become overwhelming.

You decided to clean up the mess before leaving.

“Y-you dont have to do that.” He said, gazing at you.

“It’s okay. It’s the least I could do since you fed me the past two days.” You chuckled.

He chuckled along with you, and helped with the dishes. Not another word but glances were shared.

And every time you looked at him, the more you yearned to feel him. But you knew you shouldn’t.

He leaned against the counter once everything had been cleaned. His arms crossed over his chest.

There had only been one constant thing roaming through his mind; He can't be having feelings for another woman. He just can't.

But no matter how hard he tries to push his feelings aside, he couldnt. It wasn’t making any sense. Why couldn’t he shake this? Why couldn’t he let this go?

Before he had time to process anything, something overcame him and suddenly it all came out like word vomit.

“These past few weeks have been shit.” He said, staring at his feet. “And I have been losing my mind over everything that’s been going on until—“

Andy paused, meeting your gaze. “You showed up out of nowhere and—I don’t know.”

You weren’t sure what to do or say but stand there.

“It’s like I’ve been drowning, and kissing you—kissing you was like coming up for fresh air. I was able to breathe again.”

Every word that fell from his lips only made you want him more. Not only physically, not just feeling him or tasting him, you wanted him. All of him.

And he wanted you.

How did this even happen? You hadn’t seen each other in years and after a day, it was instant. Like it had come out of a movie.

He slowly started towards you, and the way he locked his gaze on you, it was almost as if he hungered for you.

Your breath hitched to the back of your throat, scared to move a single muscle.

“Just tell me to stop, and I’ll let this go.” His voice was low, almost like a growl and it only made you want him more.

Without realizing, he stood just inches in front of you, towering over you. Forcing you to crank your neck up so you could gaze into him.

You slightly opened your mouth, knowing you should say no, but no words came out.

The silence was all he needed, and suddenly, his rough hands cupped the back of your head and crashed his lips against yours.

Everything felt still like time had froze. And you were lost in the moment. Lost in his kiss, quickly motioning back and caving into him.

Soft grunts escaped him as he deepened this kiss, while his hands slid down to your waist. Without thinking, he lifted you off the ground, and your legs wrapped around him.

Andy could feel himself grow harder by the second. Yearning to feel more of you. All of you.

Your fingers were deep in His hair as your lips molded against his. You were both so caught up in each other, taking every second in.

He sat you on the counter, and swiftly took off his shirt, exposing his bare chest.

Your fingers traced over him, making its way down to the button of his jeans.

Feeling you getting closer to his already hard shaft, made him shiver under your touch. And damn, he wanted you.

His lips never left yours, sucking, biting and tugging at your bottom lip, forcing soft moans out of you.

The kiss had been everything you ever dreamt of. Possibly even better.

You were so drenched, you knew your panties had been soaked completely. But you could care less.

You could feel yourself pulsate between your legs where he stood. Your body yearned to feel him. To feel all of him, inside of you.

Andy could sense just how badly you wanted him. It turned him on even more, ready to give in and pound into you. He kissed you harder, showing you that he wanted you just as badly.

Everything moved so quickly, you almost didn’t realize you were both unbuttoning your shirt and with your next breath, Andy pulled the shirt off of you.

You were both lost in each other. Lost in the moment, caving into one another.

His lips began traveling down to your neck. His grazed his tongue over your skin just before he his teeth pressed into you and forced another moan out of you.

He loved hearing you. It made his dick twitch under his boxers, begging to be inside of you.

Until...

“Dad, can you bring up a glass of water for me?” Jacob asked, leaning over the railing of the stairs.

“Y-Yeah buddy. I’ll be right there.” He called out.

Andy swallowed hard as he grabbed his shirt from the floor, while you both breathed heavily.

You mirrored his actions and slipped your shirt back on. Feeling your heart beat rapidly in your chest.

This was wrong on so many levels. You were slowly falling for a guy who was older than you and worst of all, married.

“I’m so sorry, this was a mistake.” You said, starting for the front door.

Andy was torn, knowing he should’ve never crossed the line, but it was too late. There was no turning back now. And though it wasn’t right, he didn’t want to go back.

And for that, he hated himself even more.

“Y/N wait, please.”

Tears began to well in your eyes, as a lump formed in your throat. This felt worse than a break up. Worse than anything you had been through which you weren’t sure as to why.

“We can’t do this Andy, you’re married.” You forced out. “Laurie is literally upstairs.”

He had forgotten that she was in the room. Being with you, was like having tunnel vision and all he could focus on was you.

“Fuck.” He exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What the hell am I doing?”

The tears had stained your cheeks and in that moment, you were broken.

“This was a mistake.” You repeated. “You’re just hurt and confused, this isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have—“

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for this.” He cut you off. “This is bad timing, I know. But I’m not confused.”

You wanted nothing more than to believe him. But how could you with all things considered?

“Dammit.” You whispered to yourself. “I can’t do this.”

With that, you grabbed your bag and left without saying goodbye.

Andy knew letting himself feel this way to begin with was wrong. But why did it feel so good? Kissing you, holding you, feeling you pressed against him.

Being with you, he could finally breathe. It was like coming up for air.

——

Chapter Three sneak peek

Chapter Three

#chris evans #defending jacob #defending jacob fanfiction #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber x reader #andy barber imagine #andy barber #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #steve rogers #marvel #cevans

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starry-sky-stuff · 3 years ago

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Since I kept seeing all this stuff about the Wallflowers series by Lisa Kleypas and how those books defined the genre, I decided to give them a read. Now that I've read all four I'm going to rank them:

1) It Happened One Autumn (Book 2) - Lord Westcliffe is the classic stuffy, overly proper British aristocrat and Lillian Bowman is an American heiress who gives absolutely no shit for proper decorum. Naturally, the two start off on the wrong foot. They were both introduced in the first book (Westcliffe is best friends with Simon Hunt), and I was immediately behind their relationship. I love when couples start off with an antagonistic relationship. The reason that this book is at the top is how much I enjoyed the relationship. I found their chemistry and attraction believable, and more importantly they promoted positive character growth in each other. Westcliffe was more affected by Lillian than vice versa, but male leads often tend to have more character growth in historical romance novels thought it's always instigated by the female lead. By the end, I really bought into their relationship and could genuinely believe they're in love and would be happily married (it sounds like a low bar but unfortunately romance novels rarely make me believe that). Westcliffe's also my favourite male lead in the series. He may not be the most charismatic, that would be Sebastian, but he's just a genuinely good, upstanding guy. He's also very emotionally reserved, but totally overcome by his attraction to and love for Lillian, which I love. Lillian's also so much fun, very brash and no-nonsense but not without her own flaws. The relationship between them is very much one of equals and its clear that they respect each other but also aren't afraid to call the other on their bullshit.

2) Devil in Winter (Book 3) - Sebastian St Vincent was the villain of Book 2. And not a minor villain either, he literally kidnapped Lillian, who was also his best friend's fiancee, because he needed to marry an heiress to save himself from financial ruin. Evie needs to escape her abusive family, who are trying to force her into a marriage, and so she proposes a marriage of convenience to Sebastian. I went into to this novel thinking I would despise him because he did an objectively awful thing (and to give the author credit she doesn't deny that it was awful and Lillian does not forgive him for it). I also didn't expect to enjoy Evie as much as I did, she was a bit bland in the previous two books, overshadowed by the stronger personalities. But both of their characters really shone through. Evie had such positive character growth, learning to stand her ground and growing in confidence. Sebastian is the classic charming rake, an archetype which is a personal favourite of mine and I can definitely see how much he influenced the male leads that followed. Evie and Sebastian had great chemistry and wonderful banter, which is a must for me. Sebastian being madly in love with Evie but totally in denial about it was hilarious. Boy literally took a bullet for her and even as he's bleeding out he still claims it doesn't mean anything. The 3 month celibacy promise Evie extracts from him, however, is an under-utilised plot, imo, considering Evie throws it out the window in less than a month. But, I suppose he did get shot for her and he is fully dedicated to proving he's capable of being faithful to her.

3) Secrets of a Summer Night (Book 1) - Annabelle is very beautiful but has no dowry and her gentry family is on the verge of financial ruin. Simon Hunt is a self-made man, the son of a butcher who's risen to become incredibly wealthy. Basically, Simon's wanted Annabelle for years but she has no interest in him at first, especially after he makes it clear he wants her as his mistress, although she can't deny that she finds him super hot. Obviously, he changes his mind and after they get caught in a compromising position they marry. Annabelle's probably the weakest of the female leads for me. She does have an arc of addressing her prejudices. She starts off determined to marry a titled man and she later realises that she only really wanted that life because it was what she'd been told to want. The arc was good, I just think it could've been executed a bit better. Simon was very charming and I loved his dry humour. Also emotionally constipated and very overcome by the extent of his love for his wife. All of these books have a bit of an anti-aristocratic bent to them, but this one's perhaps the most obvious and I do enjoy that class commentary. Simon is barely tolerated by the aristocracy, and a far few of the aristocratic men reject Annabelle as a bride but are chomping at the bits to take advantage of her family's financial circumstances to make her their mistress.

4) Scandal in Spring (Book 4) - Daisy Bowman, Lillian's younger sister, has been unable to find a titled husband so her father demands she marry his protege, Matthew Swift who, it turns out, has been in love with her for years. Least problematic but also the most boring. The chemistry between the leads was lacking and I couldn't figure out a reason why they worked. I was not at all convinced that they were in love by the end. The pacing was also off. The complication came really late and was resolved very easily, and that really undercut any tension. I was expecting Daisy to be at least annoyed that Matthew proposed without confessing his secret, but she literally had no problem with it. Matthew is the blandest of the male leads, and there isn't any real reason for why Daisy starts off hating him, unlike with Westcliffe and Lillian who we saw have genuine antagonistic interactions. Also, I can't figure out why Matthew was so in love with Daisy when she barely interacted with him and actively avoided him. I just can't buy into love like that when it's partly based on a fantasy version of a person.

All of these books were quite enjoyable, although perhaps a bit dated considering they were written in the mid 2000s. The writing was really good and Kleypas created very distinctive heroes and heroines with largely distinctive plots (she does reuse the couple encountering a life-threatening situation that one saves the other from). The friendship between the four heroines was strong, well-executed, and incorporated very well into the series. I can definitely see how this series was a seminal series for the romance genre, considering how many series centred on a group of female friends followed.

I also really liked how Kleypas veered on the showing side instead of the telling side when it came to the characters emotional states, particularly regarding their past traumas. Often, romance novels feel the need to lay out the characters trauma and pinpoint its affect on their actions, such that I feel like I'm reading a psychological profile written by their therapist. Kleypas trusts her audience to make the connection. For example, Westcliffe had emotionally abusive parents who punished him for showing emotions, and he's emotionally reserved and struggles to express his emotions and just deal with them in general. The connection is never explicitly made between the two but it's obvious that his actions are affected by his past trauma.

#the wallflowers series #lisa kleypas #romance tag #historical romance #I'm a bit more forgiving of the kidnapping plot since these books came out 15 yrs ago #if it was more recent I think I would've been harsher

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nerdypanda3126 · 4 years ago

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Playing with Fire

Hope you had a Happy Valentine's Day, @bloody-no-kissu! I stepped in as your @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers secret admirer 😁💖

The prompt I chose to go with was: fantasy, the princess falls for the dragon instead – marinette is a princess and bc of a curse she is locked in a tower with a dragon (luka). while she waits for the destined knight to save her from her curse she spends more and more time with luka. they fall in love.

So I did take a few liberties on this to weave it together, but I really hope you like it! Huge thanks to @writtenbyrain for the beta read on this!

Read on Ao3

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Marinette had been told the story of her curse so many times she could recite it by heart.

“You were a baby,” her dad would tell her. “A tiny little thing, still all wrapped up in diapers. And that… thing—” he always growled at that, as if the dragon she’d been found curled up with had personally insulted him. He would shake his head, and give her a pitying look. “—It stole you from us. And by the time we found you, you were already cursed… already...” he would gesture to her at that point, indicating the way she was every night as soon as the moon slipped above the horizon.

Every night she was engulfed in a blue flame that made it impossible for anyone to come near. Impossible for her to be touched.

What she was never able to find out, though, was why. Why the dragon had apparently chosen her to curse, why it hadn’t killed her outright when she was barely out of diapers. Why she kept dreaming of sleeping safely within its coils, her fire cooled as if that was where she had always belonged.

She knew where it lived now. Everyone knew. It had taken up residence in a lonely tower high up on the mountain. Everyone said it was guarding a valuable secret; why else would it be there? Of course, people had tried to find out, although they often came back singed and babbling. Something about a dark sorcerer or a beautiful prince or a shapeshifter or… the stories always varied.

Finally, a reward was offered. The dragon had been a menace for far too long, the writ proclaimed. Anyone able to bring back its head would be handsomely compensated.

More people flocked to the cause: soldiers from far away places wearing shiny armor and bearing sharp, glinting swords, sorcerers with staffs and books claiming they had this method or another to calm the beast. None of them returned.

Night after night, Marinette’s flame burned hotter, brighter. And night after night she dreamed of the dragon. She couldn’t tell anymore what was memory and what was a dream. She thought she remembered the dragon plucking her from the river she’d fallen into, breathing life and fire into her lungs, curling up around her to keep her warm until her parents found her. But that couldn’t have been true. The dragon was dangerous, everyone said so. And it had left her with this unbearable curse.

“I’m going after it,” she proclaimed to her parents after the worst night she'd had in all of her eighteen years of bearing the curse.

Her dreams had been strong that night. She had awoken to her mom shaking her, screaming, desperately pleading with her to wake up. Her hands and arms up to the elbows had been irreparably burned in the process. It wasn't until Marinette had struggled into consciousness that she realized she’d been burning their house down in her sleep.

Her parents shared a look after her declaration. One of, “We shouldn’t let her, but what else can we do?”

Marinette winced as she caught a glimpse of her mom’s burned forearms, still wrapped in bandages and salves to soothe the shiny, blistered skin underneath. Her eyes slid over to the corner where she slept, with only her silhouette outlined in the charcoal her fire had left behind.

“I have to do this,” she said resolutely. “If there’s one good thing to come of this—” she gestured to herself and to the flames that spit and crackled around her “—it means I can’t be burned if I go at night. With the money, you can fix what happened. I'll stay in the stone tower after the dragon's gone where I can't hurt anyone else. Everyone wins," she finished glumly.

Her dad sighed in resignation and wrapped an arm around her mom’s shoulders.

So the next day just before dusk, they packed a meal for her to take with her, kissed her fondly on both her cheeks, and waved goodbye as she started up the path.

For it was goodbye. A sacrifice Marinette was more than willing to make.

As she trudged up the mountain path, the forest grew darker and more foreboding. The only saving grace was that as the light faded, her flame started burning, providing her with light to see by, although she did catch a branch or two on fire as she went. She poured her water out carefully on each one, putting it out without wasting her own resources. If she ran out before she made it to the stone tower, it was entirely possible she’d burn the entire forest down, and it would spread back to her village, back to her parents’ house.

She soldiered on, even as brambles tore at her skirt and arms, as she grew weary of walking, as she ran lower and lower on life-saving water.

It was the dead of night when she finally reached the tower, and the dragon wasn’t anywhere in sight. She walked up to the tower using the flagstone path, admiring the well-manicured garden from afar. The tower was quiet, almost as if it was slumbering along with the dragon.

She ran her hand along the cool stone wall as she mounted the steps one by one, dreading what she might find when she got to the top.

Halfway up, though, she ran into—well, if there was a beautiful prince trapped here, then it must be him. He was tall and pale, with a shock of dark hair and enthralling blue eyes framed by deep purple circles, as if he never slept. He seemed startled to see her at first, though she was used to that. A girl on fire was a startling sight.

But then he reached out a hand, smiling. She flinched away from him. His kind smile shifted to sympathy and he dropped his hand.

“That’s quite a power you’ve got,” he noted easily.

She shifted uncomfortably away from him. He didn’t seem affected by the heat she always emanated, but she was still careful not to get too close to anyone.

“The dragon cursed me with it when I was a small child,” she said.

His head quirked sideways, as if he were appraising her or trying to remember something. When he didn’t respond, Marinette tried again.

“I’ve come for the reward. Is it asleep?”

“He,” the man said stiffly. “And he’s gone for now. He disappears at night. You’re welcome to come back in the morning to try your luck.”

There was a note of despondency in his tone, and he scooted past her in the narrow stairwell to continue on his way down.

She considered continuing up the stairs, but if the dragon was gone, there was no point to it. She hesitated before she followed him—the prince, he had to be—down and back outside.

There was a pool of moonlight in the very center of the garden, and he walked over to it and lay down as if basking in it. The sigh he let out was at once content and terribly lonely. For some reason, it pulled at her heart. She knew that feeling. She had come to terms with her curse, with her lot in life. But that didn’t make it any better when she was unable to sleep soundly without worrying about her flames burning out of control.

She came as close to him as she dared and sat cross-legged on the flagstone path.

“You’re not… trapped here?” she asked. Every story she’d ever heard of the handsome young prince was that he was trapped, doomed, kept prisoner by the monster.

He didn’t open his eyes, but he smiled again. “Oh, I am.”

“But…” she glanced around. There were no fences, no guards, no magical barriers. She had walked right in, after all. “Can’t you just… leave?”

He did open an eye at that. “Can’t you just… put that fire out?” He smirked before he closed his eyes again and settled with his face towards the moon. “I’ve been trapped here for longer than I care to remember and now…” He looked over at her again, his blue eyes glinting in the moonlight. “So are you.”

She looked around again. Still, nothing that would prevent her, or him for that matter, from leaving. He sighed.

“The dragon, he’s been waiting for you. That… well, some probably call it a curse, but it's more like a bond.”

“A bond?”

“You were a small child, you said? When it happened?”

She nodded, and he nodded back in answer.

“The dragon was young, too. A child in his own right. He wouldn’t have known…” He sighed and closed his eyes again. “He wouldn’t have known that if he shared his breath with a human, he’d be claiming them. Bonded with them for the rest of his life, tethered to them. Cursed to share a half-life with them.”

“I’m… sorry... “ She struggled to comprehend what he was telling her. “You’re saying… I’ve been claimed?”

“If I had to guess, I'd say your fire only burns at night, right? As soon as the sun sets? Maybe only while you slept at first, but it's gotten worse lately?”

She blinked at him. Her mother’s burned arms floated back to the forefront of her memory.

“You have a fire burning in you that’s never been yours to control. If you had stayed away from him any longer, you would’ve burnt out of control until everyone you knew and loved was dead. You’re his and he’s yours, for better or worse.”

“I… wait… you’re saying…”

“You’re intended to be either the dragon's bride or his killer,” he finished bitterly, turning his head away from her. “Not that he has much say in the matter, either, if it’s any consolation.”

“But if I do… kill him…” she started, grimacing at the thought, “do you think that would lift my curse?”

“Yours and mine, too.”

“You don’t look very cursed to me,” she muttered. Other than being trapped, as he’d claimed, he seemed perfectly normal. Every bit the beautiful prince she’d heard tales of. With the moonlight falling over him, he was paler still and he looked like a marble statue that had fallen on the ground. His shaggy dark hair flopped over his ears in ragged lines, and even resting he looked tense.

To her surprise, he started chuckling, although there wasn’t any mirth to it.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” he said, although he sat up and faced her. “I just wonder if you’ll still think that in the morning.”

“What happens in the morning?”

“The dragon comes back,” he said simply, and he pushed himself up to stand. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll turn in. I have a feeling I’ll sleep better knowing my savior has come at last.”

He quirked his lips in a funny sideways smile, then offered her a hand again. She shook her head at him and he rolled his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I promise.”

She hesitated. The fear of hurting him flared strong and her fire started flickering and sputtering along with her anxiety. His eyes softened, and he reached forward, into her aura of flames. To her complete and utter surprise, his hand came through unscathed.

“I told you, it’s okay,” he said.

Stunned, Marinette laid her hand in his and he helped her stand up. Her fire raced along his arm and arced over his body until he was just as engulfed as she was. But rather than being harmed by it, it seemed he was helping her with it, sharing some of the burden. In fact, when he released her, she looked down at her hands and was shocked to find that the moonlight was the only thing illuminating them.

She looked back up at him and he smiled, although it was still tinged with sadness, and he gestured with his head to the spot of moonlight that still spilled across the grass.

She ran, giddy to be released from her curse for the first night in her entire life and fearful that it would come back before she could race back to the safety of the stone path. As she rolled in the cool grass, she couldn't help the giggles that escaped her, the pure bliss of being safe under the stars overtaking her. When she finally stilled, she sighed as she looked up at the bright, twinkling lights, unobscured for the first time. They were so clear, all the way up there, like she could reach out and touch one. She lifted her hand up and pretended she could, cupping the full moon between her hands as if she held it close.

She’d gotten so used to the flames crackling around her that without them the world seemed deathly silent. Peaceful, but eerie.

When she sat back up and turned to look back at the path, she found that the prince had disappeared. To turn in, as he’d said, although he hadn’t told her where she might sleep.

She looked at her hands again, so foreign to her without the bright blue flames. They looked smaller. More fragile.

Suddenly, she realized that was the one thing protecting her from the dragon. The reason she’d felt so confident in coming up here. She couldn’t be burned at night because she was already engulfed in flames. But he’d taken her flames away. He’d gifted her the ability to roll in the grass without burning anything down, sure, but he’d also stolen her protection.

Even though her flames weren’t snapping around her, she felt the panic rise up in her chest. What if he was a dark sorcerer after all? What if it was his job to lure people here and steal their power? What if this had all been a trap?

She stumbled to her feet and clenched her fists. He’d seemed so kind. She’d trusted him. She hadn’t thought he would steal from her.

She marched back inside, uncaring if the grass sizzled under her feet or not. The tower stairs only went up, so she followed them, winding her way up to the top, unsure of what she might say or do if she found him, but certain that she had to find him regardless.

The sound of heavy, deep breathing hit her first. It wasn’t human, that was for sure. It was something much bigger.

She tiptoed around the last bend, her fear climbing with each step.

She held her breath as a large room at the top came into view. One wall was completely open, and there was a huge, sleek, black, serpentine figure wound tightly around itself in the moonlight that spilled into the corner. One wing was draped over its head, like a curtain.

She held her breath as she backed out of the room.

Hadn’t he said the dragon wouldn’t come back until morning? Hadn’t he said it disappeared at night? Hadn’t he said—

She cursed the dark sorcerer, the beautiful prince, whoever he was, under her breath as she turned and tripped her way back down the stairs. He had also said she couldn’t leave, but based on the way he’d lied about everything else, that’s exactly what she would do. She would run, all the way back to her parents, to her village, even if it meant sleeping on a stone bed the rest of her life.

As she ran towards the forest, her steps started sizzling underneath her again, and her hands started to flame up before she could stop them. Her tears dissipated before they even had a chance to fall.

From the top of the tower, she heard a strangled cry, still inhuman, but closer to it, and filled with pain. It spurred her on, although the fire was starting to burn white around her hands, stinging her painfully, and she shook her hands, trying to put it out. The farther she ran, the more the fire seeped into her skin, making her cry out.

There was a great whoosh of wind behind her, then footsteps, matching her pace, although more spread out. The pain was blinding, but still she pushed on against whatever unknown barrier was causing it. She cradled her hands to her chest and struggled as each step forward was now a shooting, searing, white-hot bolt of pain through her.

Strong hands caught her from behind and pulled her backwards—the hands of the dark, beautiful sorcerer. She kicked against him, trying to pull away, but he held fast. The pain behind her eyes cleared and she realized he was taking the fire away from her again.

“You… can’t… leave…” he huffed as he dragged her backwards. She tried to claw away from him every step of the way.

Finally, though, he’d pulled her back to the clearing and dropped her on the stone path unceremoniously. She bolted back up to her feet and he caught her around her middle and shoved her back down, moving at the same time to stand in front of her and block her path.

“You can’t leave,” he panted again. “Or we both die.”

“I’m supposed to believe you’re kidnapping me for my own good?” she spat and scrambled back to her feet. “And who the hell are you, anyway?”

“Sorry. Luka. I’m Luka.” He held his hand out for her and she smacked it away. He winced. “You have every right to be upset. But listen to me. I’m just trying to protect you. You can’t leave this tower without me.”

He was still trying to catch his breath, and she noticed for the first time that his eyes had changed to serpentine slits and there was a distinct black sheen on the backs of his hands that worked its way up his forearms.

As she watched, he grabbed her hand and shivered as she was once again engulfed in blue flames and he returned to normal.

"We're connected," he explained softly. "We share the fire. It's mine in the morning and yours at night. Now that you've come here, you can't leave unless you're either with me or there's no fire to share, or it rips us both apart. So for your own sake, you either stay put or you kill me, do you understand?"

He released her hand, and she looked at them incredulously. That he'd taken her fire away and given it back was proof enough of what he was saying.

"Kill you?" she asked, his words sinking in through the remnants of pain behind her eyes. "As in… you're the…the...?"

"Yes."

"But you're…" she gestured to him, to his humanness, and he shifted uncomfortably under her bewildered gaze.

"I know. Like I said, it's yours at night. That was the first time in 18 years I've had the moonlight on my scales."

She gasped for breath as her fire started spitting around her, casting off sparks that came dangerously close to the grass. "I can't… you're human, or half-human or… I can't… I can't do this!"

"That's okay. Hey. It's okay." His hands hovered over hers, not quite touching her, leaving her fire with her. "What's your name? Can you tell me your name?"

"Ma-Ma-Marinette…" she stuttered as she attempted to keep breathing.

"Okay, Ma-Ma-Marinette." He smiled, trying to put her at ease. "Let's just take this slow, okay? Would you be willing to stay here tonight with me? We can talk more in the morning."

"You're a dragon in the morning," she said, then a hysteric giggle burst out of her at how ridiculous that sounded.

He chuckled with her and laid the back of his hand against hers. As her fire arced across to him, his eyes turned into slits again and his scales slid over his arm. "I don't have to be anymore."

She gaped at him as he pulled his hand away again and slid back to humanity.

"One night. That's all I'm asking."

Her dream popped back in her head and she blushed even before the question was out of her mouth. "If I sleep… you know, touching you, or like, against you… would that…?" She gestured to the fire still burning around her and then to him.

He smiled again and chuckled nervously. "Yeah, I think so. But everything's stone, so you won't burn anything down if you'd… you know, if you'd rather not."

She considered for a moment until her curiosity got the better of her.

"One night," she agreed.

He let out a sigh of relief and gestured for her to lead the way.

As she mounted the stone steps again, her fire—his fire, she corrected herself, he'd shared it with her—bounced off the smooth stone and flickered along with her nerves. This time at the top of the stairs, she paused to look at the room Luka had called his own for 18 years.

There was a nest of pillows piled in the corner, a stack of books with open pages fluttering in the breeze that flowed through the wide opening, a lyre leaning against the smooth wall, and bits and pieces of armor lined up along the wall like trophies. She recognized a few here and there and gulped. No wonder they hadn't returned.

She half-turned to him, her question dying in her throat, and he pressed his lips together in a thin line.

"Tomorrow," he said, gesturing for her to continue past everything. She did, but paused before her flames touched the pillows.

"Here," he said, and threw out a hand for her to take. Tentatively, she took hold of him and watched as he shivered and his transformation took hold.

He kept eye contact with her as scales slithered over his arms, his hands turned to claws, wings erupted from somewhere around his shoulders, and his body elongated until it was a solid length of powerful muscle.

She slid her hand to what was about his neck and he blinked slowly at her before lowering himself to the pillows and coiling his body tightly around itself, tucking his legs in what seemed to be a familiar position.

It was a bit awkward to maneuver herself into his coils without taking her hand off him, but they managed and he draped his wing over her, for warmth she assumed, because the breeze that was drifting in was nipping at her exposed skin. And he was warm, she realized, like having his fire returned to him made him a living furnace.

She could see it, when she twisted to look at him: a deep blue illuminating the thinner skin at the base of his neck and flaring brighter in his chest as he breathed.

She curled into him and fell asleep with his deep, heavy breathing in her ears and his sleek scales shifting under her hands.

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #mlb fic #LBSC Exchange 2021 #lukanette #lukanette endgame #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #dragon!luka #cursed!marinette #fic title: playing with fire

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lizziestudieshistory · 4 years ago

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Books of 2021: The Way of Kings - Brandon Sanderson

I have a few things to acknowledge here before we get into the proper review - this is REALLY LONG and VERY CRITICAL. I promise you I do genuinely love The Stormlight Archive, but if you are someone who doesn’t like to see criticism of Sanderson or Stormlight, then please don’t read this.

This review has spoilers for The Stormlight Archive - you have been warned.

I’ve made no secret of my love for the Stormlight Archive - it’s my favourite ongoing fantasy series. I’ve also avoided reviewing it, and I’ve been putting it off since I first read it back in 2016 (could be 2017? It was a while ago.) How could I review something I love so much? How do I approach reviewing a 1,100 page epic fantasy novel? I just didn’t know. To be honest, I still don’t. I adore this series, it’s become part of my identity - if you asked any of my friends what’s Lizzie’s favourite book they would probably say Stormlight. Maybe Lord of the Rings but that’s a different kettle of fish.

I’ve reread The Stormlight Archive annually for the last five years. I promise myself I won’t reread it and let myself come back in anticipation for the next book. I’ve failed miserably every year. And these aren’t small undertakings - they’re each 1,000 pages and there’s four of them now! For context I usually only read 2,500 pages a month.

So, I’ve finally decided to review these doorstoppers dressed up as fantasy novels. These reviews are mainly for myself, they’re going to be self indulgent, long, and focus on what I want to discuss like characters, structure, and prose - rather than reviewing the things I should probably talk about (like the actual plot…) I want to work through all the things I love about this behemoth of the modern fantasy genre, but also focus on its flaws. The praise for Sanderson is everywhere, so I want to work through my honest opinion of these books, work out why I love them, and I’ll invite you on this journey of self discovery with me.

Structure

I’m yet to work out why I’m starting with structure but we are, I guess it helps with the framing. In case you’re reading this having not read The Way of Kings, each book in the Stormlight Archive is made up of 5 main parts that follow major viewpoint characters, and the parts are split up with small interludes that expand the worldbuilding, follow important secondary characters, or foreshadow future moments. Everybook is centred on a key character - in The Way of Kings it’s Kaladin - who we follow in the present day as a major viewpoint character and explore their backstory through a flashback sequence. Each book also has a prologue which retells the assassination of the Alethi king, Gavilar Kholin, and an epilogue from Wit.

Firstly, this book takes FAR too long to get going and even longer to get into as a reader. I’m not joking when I say there are FIVE introductory chapters: the prelude, a prologue, Cenn’s second prologue (technically the first chapter but it’s a prologue), Kaladin’s introduction, and Shallan’s introduction. It’s too much. We’re jumping around, nothing really makes sense, and we’re not sure how these characters are related. They could be taking place in different worlds for all you know on a first read.

When I first read this book I was a lot more patient with long introductions and multiple false starts - I had the time to dedicate to getting into the story. I could, and did, forgive the THREE false starts to this story before we get to Kaladin’s first chapter. However, the opening structure of this novel is a mistake. If someone gives up in this section I honestly don’t blame them - if I was reading this for the first time in 2021 I probably would too.

The prelude and prologue are both excellent. The prelude in particular is weird and confusing but also sets up a clear mystery and sense of the sheer scope of this story. Szeth’s prologue, the first time we see Gavilar’s assassination, is flawed but still wonderful. The fight scene needed a bit of cutting, for my tastes, and I think the introduction to the magic system is clumsy - there’s far too much obvious info dumping and it needed some serious editing, especially as the complicated use of the magic that Szeth uses is barely relevant in this book. However, I think the Herald’s giving up the Oathpact and a magical assassin is great! They’re a bit weird and you’re not sure what’s going on, but it’s engaging.

Then there’s Cenn. Poor, innocent Cenn. I’m sorry but he’s completely unnecessary. Independently of the rest of the introduction to the Way of Kings Cenn’s chapter would be a pretty good prologue as he’s there to set up our main hero Kaladin from an outside perspective. We love Kaladin and Cenn’s chapter is fine for establishing him as a typical fantasy hero – he’s a warrior, cares about the people, and so forth.

However, Cenn’s chapter in the context bogs down the opening too much. It’s too long, not particularly relevant, and adds yet ANOTHER prologue to this already enormous book. Cenn’s chapter offers nothing to the reader that we don’t learn later on in the text when the content of Cenn’s chapter makes more sense. We even see the exact same sequence of events from Kaladin’s perspective in a flashback! Not having Cenn’s chapter would add more interest to Kaladin’s character and add more weight to the flashback sequence because we wouldn’t have met Kaladin at his peak (sort of…?)

Kaladin’s flashbacks aren’t that engaging as it is, he’s a fairly standard fantasy hero from a small village who ends up leaving his happy family to go to war. So leaving a small mystery around him in addition to ‘how did he become a slave’ would help with my engagement. It would leave me wondering how reliable is Kaladin as a narrator, is he really as good with the spear as he claims? I wouldn’t know but Cenn’s chapter removes all the mystery apart from ‘how does Kaladin become a slave’. It needs to go to make Kaladin more interesting and cut down on some of the unnecessary page count.

While we’re at it… Just cut out ALL the interludes in this book, except for the Szeth through line. I KNOW they are here for the Cosmere connections and to foreshadow things much later in the series. However, new readers and Stormlight only readers don’t know this and, quite frankly, they SUCK. In later books the interludes make sense but here they add so much tedious, pointless crap to an already bloated book. They’re too much and add next to nothing – other than seeing Szeth lose it as he kills people, that was fun (in a disturbing, creepy way… Can you tell I like Szeth?) Either this stuff needs to be relevant to the book we’re in now, or painfully obvious that we’re coming back to this stuff in later books. I still don’t know why we got Ishikk’s interlude with the Worldhoppers, and I completely forgot Nan Balat had an interlude. I’ve read this book 5 times… THAT IS HOW POINTLESS THEY ARE! Sanderson should weave the necessary foreshadowing into the main text, intersperse the perspectives we do need for THIS story into the main sections, or cut them out. When I get to the interludes I physically sigh and sometimes put the book down - now I just skip everything but Szeth - but on a first read they’re really off putting.

To finish up with my complaints about the structure, and this is a big one for me - why do we have huge chunks of this book without major viewpoint characters? I’m biased here but Dalinar is probably the most important POV character in the story because he introduces the real stakes of the story. He has the groundbreaking visions of the past, he is the viewpoint we get into the politics of the war, he is the character who does and continues to have the most impact on the development of the story on his own.Yet, we don’t meet him until we’re 190 pages in…

Sanderson alternates Shallan and Dalinar’s chapters between the five different parts and that means they vanish for 400 pages at a time. Why? I ended up caring about them right as we’re about to lose their viewpoint again for the next part. We needed to see the three major POV characters interwoven together throughout the five parts, not randomly dropped and picked back up again. The structure of this book was a mistake.

Okay, I promise I do actually like this book…

Worldbuilding

Something I do love is the worldbuilding of Roshar, and I usually don’t care that much about worldbuilding. I can really appreciate good worldbuilding, especially on the history side of things, but for most novels it’s just fine? If I roughly know what’s going on with the world then we’re good, I can just get on with the story and not worry about it. However, Roshar is genuinely beautifully built! It takes A LOT to get me to visualise a world as I’m not a visual reader. I can feel the atmosphere, get to know characters, but can I imagine a face or setting? No.

There are three fantasy worlds that have allowed me to actually see the world and it’s landscape: Middle Earth, Discworld, and Roshar. The bleak, storm weathered landscape of the Shattered Plains is so embedded in my mind it’s ridiculous, the only place I can picture more is the Shire – and Lord of the Rings has a film to help it!

Now, to be fair it’s hard for me to separate the worldbuilding in The Way of Kings from the rest of the series, so I now have 4,000 pages worth of worldbuilding in my head… However, it’s certainly strong and I distinctly remember having a vivid image of understanding this world, the atmosphere, landscape, and so forth, on my first read. Although it did take me until Oathbringer to realise that everything, except humanity, was basically a crab… (I think that was just me being dense.)

I do think Roshar needs much more of its history to be expanded on. We don’t have much between the Last Desolation (don’t ask me to spell it's in-world title!) and it shows at times. I don’t expect something on the level of The Silmarillion for Roshar, however, I do think we need to see something more substantial in the period between the Desolations and the present day. We know about the Recreance, the attempted takeover of the Vorin Church, and the Sunmaker? That’s 4000 years! To put it into context it’s the distance between us and Jesus’s birth TWICE, it’s like we know about the end of the 11th Dynasty of Egypt, the Reformation, and the British Empire in our own history... We need to find a balance, especially as we get so much development of science in the later books. More history please - but this is a personal issue and a series wide problem, not just The Way of Kings.

Magic System

Now, this is controversial for Sanderson, but I’m going to skip this for now. This review is already well over 1,000 words long and I’ve not even started on the meat of the novel yet. The magic system isn’t really fleshed out in The Way of Kings, we only really know stuff about the Windrunners (in an abstract kind of way) and the very basics of the Knights Radiant in general. So I’m going to discuss the magic when I get around to reviewing Words of Radiance, Oathbringer, and Rhythm of War, basically whenever I have the energy and more space.

Safe to say I actually really like the magic system in the Stormlight Archive. I usually dislike hard magic systems (I think I’m the only person who dislikes Mistborn’s Allomancy - while very well developed, it’s a bit silly and is far too much for my tastes...) as they often take some of the wonder, mystery, and excitement of fantasy out of the story for me. However, I think surgebinding is a fun system and there is a lot more of it for use to discover, preserving some of that mystery. Oh and, if you were wondering, I would be a Skybreaker!

Prose

Okay if you read the structure section and were wondering - why is this woman still reading these books, you’re in for another head scratcher.

If you’ve ever talked to me about literature you’ll know that there are two things I look for in a really good book: characters and prose. Now characters are something Sanderson does phenomenally well in the Stormlight Archive, but that’s not something you can tell 100 pages into a 1,000 page tome. You have to sit with the characters for a long time and give the author some page time to familiarise you with the people you’re following. If you trust him, Sanderson pulls off some stunning character arcs, especially in the long term and I’ll talk more about characters later on (or you can just skip this section? Up to you really!).

However, prose is something you notice immediately, and Sanderson’s is…utilitarian at best. At worst it’s abysmal. These days I’m very picky about prose, a utilitarian style is fine but a book is unlikely to become a new favourite of mine without good writing. This doesn’t mean I want or expect the writing to be flowery or elaborate, but it does mean I want, and appreciate it when, the prose suits the tone of the narrative and world. I must acknowledge that I’m in a (vocal) minority here, a lot of people either don’t notice Sanderson’s style or like it - I certainly didn’t mind it when I first read ther series - so this is definitely a subjective opinion but one I’m certainly not alone in.

Nevertheless, for me Sanderson’s prose is overly simplistic, repetitive, and very American. Okay so the American is probably only noticeable if you’re not American. However, I’m used to fantasy having a certain Britishness to the writing style, even when the author isn’t British, but to me (as a Brit and fantasy reader) the Americanisms are painful at times… There is no way in hell I’m ever going to acknowledge that aluminium is aluminum no matter how many times Sanderson uses it!

Yet it goes beyond a spelling issue because, let's be honest, in this day and age American English is widely spoken and regularly used in fantasy literature - you can’t escape from it as much as I want to. It’s in the style of writing and construction of sentences. The entire narrative reads like an American has decided to tell me a story using their colloquial, everyday speech. It’s a deliberate choice on Sanderson’s part to make things accessible and digestible, and for some people this works. I do think he has a fantastic style to get readers in, especially readers who are getting to grips with high epic fantasy as it’s one less barrier to entry in an already difficult novel. But it does mean rereading isn’t always the best experience and sometimes the writing can jar me out of the story.

In places it’s too simple and colloquial, so much so the writing becomes clunky, clumsy, and unrealistic to the world he’s creating, especially in descriptive passages and dialogue. It reads like Sanderson could have used more lyrical or formal writing but deliberately chose not to - at the detriment of the prose. This is particularly noticeable with characters like Jasnah Kholin. Jasnah is a princess, brilliant scholar, and political mastermind, she’s known for her poise, elegance, and intelligence. Yet she often speaks like an everyday 21st century American and other characters who haven’t had the same education or training as she has? I can’t believe this for a moment, her dialogue is so egregious in places that it’s like I’ve been hit over the head with my own book! I physically cringe when she says things like ‘“scoot over here”’ (chapter 70, p.1083). WHY is Jasnah talking like this?! It doesn’t make sense to me – Shallan maybe, but Jasnah? No. It doesn’t fit with what we’ve been told about her character.

(Just as an aside, I loathe the word ‘scoot’ – it should be burnt from the English language as an abomination!)

Part of the issue with this is Sanderson usually doesn’t distinguish between the character's voices, both in the dialogue and prose. Most of the time if you dropped me into a random section of the Stormlight Archive with no context I honestly couldn’t tell you who’s speaking or narrating without the signposts Sanderson gives us. This isn’t a huge issue as he’s writing in third person limited, and with context and the chapter icons we know who we’re following. However, it does mean we don’t have any idea of character voice – in the general prose, internal narration/thought, or speech. What’s the difference between Kaladin’s dialogue and Jasnah’s? I have no idea from the sentence construction or speech patterns. Certain descriptions of how characters speak help to differentiate (Jasnah is commanding, Shallan squeaks, Kaladin grunts, etc.) but from their speech patterns I wouldn’t have a clue.

All of this comes back to Sanderson’s overly simple and Americanised style. It’s his choice and it does work for many people, but personally it doesn’t always work with the characters or story. I’m not expecting him to write like Robin Hobb or Guy Gavriel Kay, but some finesse and awareness of character would be appreciated, especially if it helped to differentiate character voices.

I’m also going to throw this out as a very personal issue because I’m not sure where else to put it… Sanderson has the worst sense of humour I’ve ever had the misfortune to read. The comedic moments are occasionally amusing… However, Shallan’s puns are worse than my Dad’s jokes. Every time she says something apparently ‘witty’ and someone else remarks how clever and funny she is I want to hit them... At best she’s mildly amusing, at worst she’s cruel. It’s never funny. (This only gets worse with Lift, I almost DNFed the entire series because of the Lift interlude in Words of Radiance. And don’t get me started on Lopen.)

Characters

At last! Something I genuinely love and the reason I read these books! Sanderson has created some of the best characters in modern fantasy in this series and they are the only reason I’m still going. I like the worldbuilding and plot, but I adore the character work in this book and the series as a whole. The characters are generally so good that, even when I dislike them, it's because I dislike them personally, not that they’re badly written characters! Usually I love Sanderson’s characters though, even when they’re incredibly flawed (looking at you Dalinar!) because he’s particularly good at complex character arcs.

Szeth – I love Szeth, slightly irrationally for how much he’s in both this book and the series as a whole, but he’s one of my favourite “secondary” characters in the series! Szeth is actually the character who made me fall in love with the series in the first place, which feels weird to say because he only has five or six chapters in the entire novel. However, a magical assassin with a strong, if morally dubious, sense of duty and obligations? Sign me up! The opening prologue from Szeth’s perspective is wonderful - it’s far too info-dumpy but it’s highly engaging and one hell of a way to open the series.

What really intrigued me about Szeth was his role as the interlude throughline character for The Way of Kings. His internal conflict between his obligation to follow the Truthless’ laws and his personal morality is fascinating. Szeth’s character development has been one of the highlights of the entire series for me, especially as we explore his personal morality, questioning of power, and commitment to law and justice. This conflict is one of the reasons I love the Skybreakers in general and I sincerely hope we get to see more of this (and their conflict with the theoretically similar, although realistically very different, Windrunners) in book 5. However, Szeth is a promise that Sanderson hasn’t kept yet. So much has been built up around his character and we haven’t explored him properly (as of Rhythm of War) and I’m mad about it! He’s an incredibly interesting character, morally and thematically, and I hope Sanderson can live up to the hype he’s built up around him in the first four books of the series.

Kaladin – Okay the real reason we’re all here, the shining beacon of the Stormlight Archive, everyone’s favourite heroic bridgeman: Kaladin Stormblessed. Confession time – I didn’t love Kaladin the first time I read The Way of Kings. Don’t get me wrong I liked him but I’m generally not a massive fan of underdog superhero narratives. (I’m still not a fan of Bridge Four in general for the same reason, I would apologise but I’m not sorry…)

Kaladin spends most of this novel running bridges for Highprince Sadeas on the Shattered Plains. Unjustly enslaved by a corrupt member of the aristocracy, Kaladin is fighting to keep himself and his bridgecrew alive during one of the most pointless “wars” I've read in a fantasy novel - the pointlessness isn’t actually a criticism. He’s facing systematic oppression and disregard for human life, as well as battling his own depression and forming a bond with a spren named Syl (I absolutely adore Syl! But I want to talk about her in my review for Words of Radiance.)

So… I’ve always been frustrated with Kaladin’s fundamental drive to save people and take responsibility for people’s deaths, even when there was nothing he could have done to save them. This book is probably the worst for it out of the four currently published and I just found it a bit much because I personally struggle to relate to his attitude. This level of personal responsibility is a completely alien concept to me, at least to this level, and it’s Kaladin’s entire thing - his driving personality trait - and I just didn’t get it. Kaladin and I are very different people and for a long time I really struggled to relate to him on the same level everyone else seems to in this book. It also didn’t help that the main plot around Kaladin running bridges, struggling with his depression, and trying to keep his men alive is very repetitive… So when you’re in the midst of it and struggling to connect quite so deeply with Kaladin this book can become a slog - yet, the pay off for his struggles is so satisfying and it is very much worth it for making the end feel earned.

However, my issues with connecting to Kaladin is definitely on me and this is by no means to say Kaladin is a badly written character, I’ve always admired how well Kaladin is drawn in this book. Within a few chapters I understood who Kaladin is, and really loved the conflict he had with his depression and role as a fantasy hero. It's beautifully painful to watch and, even when you’re a bit ambivalent about Kaladin, you really care about whether he and Bridge Four are going to survive the bridgecrews – and the climax sequence with Kaladin becoming Stormblessed again at the Tower is still one of my favourite moments in the entire series!

However, on this reread of the series I had a completely different experience to what I’ve had on previous reads, and a lot of this is down to Rhythm of War. I don’t want to say too much here because it’ll involve spoilers for Rhythm of Warm but having seen Kaladin confront his, as Ron Weasley would say, “saving people thing” and really struggle to keep functioning as Stormblessed, I was so much more on board with this book. Rhythm of War’s much more personal approach to Kaladin really helped me understand him as a person, not just the underdog hero. The struggle with his sense of self, the way his depression impacts his ability to act, and the way he’s moving forward in Rhythm of War let me appreciate the character work for Kaladin in The Way of Kings. The struggle, graft, and determination, especially given his mindset, is much more admirable when I can strip away the focus on doggedly protecting everyone no matter the personal cost.

Kaladin and I are very different people, but that’s okay and I’ve come to appreciate him a lot more in the last 7 months. Now I can happily adore him alongside everyone else, and not just nod along with the rest of the fandom because I understand he’s objectively a well written character. Also Kaladin’s mental health rep is some of the best I’ve seen in an epic fantasy series. However, I would approach this book, and series, carefully if you’re sensitive to depression.

Shallan – confession time round two: I hate Shallan. I really loathe her on a deeply personal level. And I’m still bitter about it because I used to love her, when I first read this book she was my favourite character! This was partly due to relating to her and partly due to my frustration with Kaladin. However, as I read Words of Radiance I grew uncomfortable with her and by Oathbringer it became a full on HATED of her…and it’s never gone away.

I first met Shallan when I was a shy 18-year-old, budding historian and scholar. I got Shallan, I loved her plotline, and found Khabranth a lot more interesting than the endless bridgeruns with Kaladin (sorry Kaladin!) I connected with her because she represented (projected) a lot of what I was at the time - and still am today, just an older version of that person. She was the main character that really drew me into the story - yes I loved Szeth and thought he was brilliant, but Szeth is largely absent from this novel and Shallan is the main female lead.

And then I got hit in the face by the infamous Words of Radiance “Boots” chapter, and I immediately got iffy vibes, then there was the Chasm sequence, and so many other moments that made me uncomfortable. I’ll avoid spoilers and, for now, just say I got hit in the face by Shallan’s innate privilege, her causal abuse of social rank, and complete lack of social and self awareness. To top it off the narrative gives her no consequences for this and even rewards her for her behaviour, rather than making Shallan work through the issues around classism (something I, as a Brit, am hyper aware of and it SHOULD NOT under ANY circumstances be ignored, especially with Kaladin’s narrative running parallel to Shallan.) However, this is later book issues and a major dropped theme that I’m fuming about, but I still found I liked Shallan in THIS book when I reread the series.

Not this time.

There are moments in The Way of Kings where we can already see Shallan’s privilege and complete disregard of anyone who is remotely lower than her in the Vorin hierarchy. The scene with the book merchant stands out. No one in that scene is innocent, and I’m much less annoyed by it than I am at the “Boots” scene, however, it shows an early form of Shallan’s complete inability to reflect on her own behaviour towards those with less power than herself. She’s casually abusive and manipulative, but no one really calls her out on it. The few moments when someone does confront Shallan about it, and the narrative consistently forgives her because Sanderson allows her to come across as the victor in each of the arguments. This isn’t to say Shallan’s causal abuse of the Vorin social system shouldn’t be present in the book. It’s actually very realistic, in our world white people (especially white women) have behaved like Shallan for centuries. However, what does matter is the narrative framing. However, I’ll dig into this when I get to reviewing Words of Radiance because a lot of my planned review for that book is centred around this issue.

I’m also resentful that Shallan’s character in The Way of Kings is a complete lie – we don’t know her at all, but not in the same way as Dalinar? We KNOW something is off with Dalinar, we KNOW he was a terrible person and a warmonger from the way people talk about the Blackthorn – but Shallan’s reveal largely comes out of nowhere in some respects and I HATE that the person I loved so much 5 years ago was a complete lie. I’m a bitter person and I will continue to hold a grudge until Shallan dies or the series ends, whichever comes first.

Jasnah – my problematic QUEEN. Is Jasnah a shitty person? Yes. Do I love her anyway? Yes. Difference is I knew Jasnah was shitty from the start… I like problematic characters, I just hate being lied to (*cue insincere smile at Shallan*)

Jasnah is a difficult character to talk about in this book because we don’t know much about her other than her public persona, however, she’s a large part of why I love it so much. I just like brilliant women who would kill me, okay? It also helps that she's an historian, I have a soft spot for murderous historians. I’ll talk more about Jasnah when I review Oathbriner, hopefully that won’t be in another 5 years…! I just wanted to highlight that I do love a female character in this book!

Actually on the topic, Sanderson is still a shitty author for female friendships – he has included more female characters in Stormlight but why are there no female friendships that aren’t rooted in backstabbing and lies?!

Dalinar – if Jasnah is my problematic Queen then Dalinar has to be the problematic King. Dalinar is my favourite Stormlight Archive character. I could wax lyrical about what a BRILLIANT character he is. You may not like Dalinar, you may not forgive him, but you have to admit he is the best written character in ANYTHING Sanderson has written, and one of the best in modern fantasy. Nevertheless, much like Jasnah I’m going to wait until I review Oathbringer before I talk about Dalinar because I can’t do him justice without his flashbacks. However, I will tell you a story about the time I first met Dalinar Kholin.

So, I first read The Way of Kings on my commute back and forth to Worcester Cathedral because I had a work placement in the Cathedral’s archives. I’d been doing this commute for months and reached the point where I knew when to get off the train by feeling, no need to check the stations (this is relevant).

I was on my commute home, and as I was walking to the train station I started part two. I met Adolin and he was fine. I was a bit confused because this was a whole new perspective and set of characters, but I was doing okay. (Yes I was walking and reading, no I do not recommend this arrangement for health reasons.)

And then I met Dalinar. As I got on the train we got into his own head, with the mystery of the visions just starting, the hints towards his complicated relationship with Elhokar, and the amazing fight with the Chasmfiend. Bearing in mind I was automatically doing my commute through this – I’d become so invested in Dalinar, I missed my transfer on the train. I’ve never done anything like this before in my life. I’m paranoid about it! But I was so engrossed in this aged general, who was potentially going mad, that I missed the stop on my train and didn’t even notice until we hit Birmingham New Street.

I was so in love with Dalinar Kholin that I travelled to the wrong city… And my love for him has only gotten stronger*.

Conclusion

Overall I have a complicated relationship with The Way of Kings, and The Stormlight Archive in general. I love this series, I particularly adore the characters and character work Sanderson is doing as the books continue. However, it is severely overhyped. There are a lot of flaws in this book, especially with the writing and structural aspect of this novel. It’s poorly paced, clumsily written, and lacking finesse. For me Sanderson is an okay writer but a wonderful storyteller. As a storyteller he’s made a huge contribution to the fantasy genre and I’m here for the major improvement he’s made in popularising more complex character work and the inclusion of mental health representation. We’re just seeing the start of this shift in the fantasy genre and I’m excited to see where Stormlight and fantasy are going to go with this movement.

However, as a writer he has a long way to go in improving his craft of writing. These are big books, and I will often forgive mistakes with narrative structure in books of this size because they are so huge. However, this doesn’t mean we shouldn’t acknowledge them when reviewing the novel. Mistakes were made, especially in The Way of Kings, and are still being made but Sanderson has been slowly improving with the later books.

There’s a lot to love in The Stormlight Archive - the worldbuilding is insane, the characters are incredible, and the plots are gripping. I love them, and I will continue to eagerly await the next installments! But they’re far from perfect, and that’s okay. Sanderson has captured the imaginations of thousands of fantasy readers and I would highly recommend you give these books a go, despite my critical review. This is a fabulous time to be a fantasy reader and The Stormlight Archive is one of the most exciting reasons to be reading the genre!

*Dalinar and I are going to be on thin ice if Sanderson continues with his character as he did in Rhythm of War, but again I’ll address that when I review Rhythm of War.

#the way of kings #the stormlight archive #brandon sanderson #cosmere #book review #kaladin stormblessed #dalinar kholin #jasnah kholin #szeth son son vallano #not tagging a certain character because last time I had really nasty comments #i promise i really do love this book #i'm just critical of everything I read these days #especially when I've read it five times

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sweetsubharry · 4 years ago

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hey ! sorry to bother you but could you reccomend me some fics of footballer louis?? thank you !! love your acc

Hiya!! 💖you can never bother me!! ^-^ ohmgosh I’m so glad you like my blog! I love footballer louis djskasdhjag tysm(sorry it took soooo long!)

please make sure you read the tags and stay safe everyone!💖

Also these are not in any particular order, however I will say the first two are probably my favourites ;) I have to read them again right after this!

freeze this moment in a frame and stay like this by rosesau

Harry (not so) secretly crushes on the cute footie player and fills pages with sketches of him.

Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow by 1Diamondinthesun

Harry spends most of his time in an empty house or a lonely darkroom, dreaming of leaving his small town for art school. He's invisible to most people. And then Louis Tomlinson sees him. Life will never be the same.

Or, the American high school AU loosely inspired by She's All That.

Definition of Beauty by zanni_scaramouche

“Your book is upside down.” Harry nods at Louis’ book, his history text now that he sees it too.

“I’d rather study you.”

They both blink, startled by the slip.

“With you. Study with you,” Louis rushes to say. “Liam says I’m shite at history, can you help?”

Louis’ caught off guard by an omega he nearly takes out with an errant footie ball. It’s not that Louis’ never seen Harry before, it’s that he can’t stop looking, and he’s desperate to figure him out.

Coffee Cups and Football Boots by kimtaedumb

Harry’s stood behind the counter again, but this time he’s painting his nails. Louis strolls up to the counter and, thanks to his no brain-to-mouth filter, blurts out, “Isn’t that a little girlish, Haz?” leaning closer to inspect.

Harry lets out a little huff as his hand slips, “Oh, damn, now I’ve messed it up,” he pouts and turns to Louis, “Why should making myself feel pretty be girly?”

Louis holds up his hands in surrender, “’M not judging, jus’ curious is all.”

(The entirely cheesy and cliché Christmas AU, in which Harry doesn’t give a damn what people think about him – mostly – and Louis may be a little bit in love.

Alternatively, the one in which Harry owns a café that’s barely scraping by and Louis is a footballer and he takes Harry away for Christmas.

Featuring Zayn as a cocky little shit that most definitely needs to be put back in his place, Niall as the loveable Irish dude who drinks too much and flirts with Zayn more than the average girl, and Liam who loves everyone but hates them all at the same time.)

Way in the World by flowsque

When Louis Tomlinson enters the waiting room, Harry can distinctly feel his heart sinking to his stomach. The man's hair is ruffled and dishevelled and his red jersey, damp with sweat from training, clings to his perfect and chiseled body. He stands there, almost unreal, against the glass door, peering inside the office. Harry knew this would’ve happened, sooner or later. That he would have bumped into him. They play for the same club after all, even if they’re in different leagues. It’s not weird. It is not. Except it totally is. - Or, the one where Harry has a knee injury and an embarrassing crush on Manchester United's pretty number ten.

I Long For You by AnotherAnonymousWriter

Thirty minutes later, he's sat on a bench in Hyde Park with a book in his lap and a travel mug with hot tea in his hand. Not far from where he's sat, a group of boys are playing football and a bunch of children are chasing each other. Life is good.

Or at least, life is good until he hears a familiar “LOOK OUT!” and sees a football flying in the direction of his face.

And then everything is black.

(Harry gets hit in the head by various objects and falls for a boy with blue eyes.)

ease the quiet and talk me down by cabinbythesea

Harry's a model and Louis' a footie player.

(Louis teaches Harry some football and Harry is insanely good at giving a lapdance).

Baby, It's You by Bearandleonardwrite

"Oh, yeah. Um..” Harry lets his hands fall to his sides. His brows furrow, face full of concern, and he asks, “You’re not, like, stalking me, are you?”

Louis can’t help the loud cackle that escapes his lips and immediately slaps one of his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound. “Oh my god, Harry, no!” Louis tells him, a little breathlessly, giggles still bubbling out of his chest. “Lottie’s one of the makeup artists here today and she somehow got me to agree to come. I had no idea you modeled for, uh.. this brand until I saw you walk.”

“Oh,” Harry says dumbly, eyebrows still pinched. He lets what Louis just said sink in before a bright grin takes over his face and he goes back to doing up the buttons on his shirt. “Well, that’s alright, then. I’m glad you could make it.

(Basically, Louis' a footie player for Man U and Harry's a YSL model. They meet at a masquerade.)

Touch by kotabear24

Harry's shy and virginal with a past, new on the football team; Louis' the (experienced) popular star of the team and Harry's new mentor.

Come In and Change My Life by lightswoodmagic (sarah_writes)

He’d had the same neighbours since he’d moved into the building, a lovely, wealthy couple in their late sixties who had always invited him around for tea on Sundays. Martha had dropped off homemade biscuits the day he’d moved in, so Harry figured he may as well repeat the sentiment. He could hear someone getting closer to the door just as a flush ran through his body; oh fuck. His heat was close, too close to be knocking on a potentially unknown alpha’s door, but it was too late. The door swung open, and Harry’s mouth dropped. He’d never been overly interested in football, couldn’t find the fascination in watching men run around after a ball for hours aside from their uniforms, but he knew who this was. Louis Tomlinson, alpha, captain of Manchester United, star in a number of Harry’s heat addled fantasies, was his new next-door neighbour.

Or, Harry and Louis become friends when Harry looks after Louis' cat during away games, until one night at a party changes everything between them. It's just a shame Louis' going to be away for the FIFA World Cup for three months.

see the truth (it's me for you) by orphan_account

If you asked Louis the first day of his French Literature class what he’d be doing on the last, he’d probably never have guessed it would involve helping a poorly Harry Styles study for the final exam. Good thing he’s not a betting man.

(Or the one where Louis and Harry spend an entire semester ignoring each other after a one-night stand, only to come face to face when Harry manages to catch the stomach flu during finals week. Sometimes fate is funny like that.)

Use Your Words by zedi

based off this prompt: collage au where jock!harry always serenades flowercrown!louis with love songs in their music class. what nobody knows is that harry actually kinda means the words he sings.

But instead it's Louis as the jock and Harry as the flowerchild because I do what I want.

Stop The World (I Wanna Get Off With You) by ilikepianos

"You like this, don't you?", he asks breathlessly.

What? Sucking cock? Being dominated? Yes, all of that. A big fat yes.

Harry nods, lips still wrapped around Louis' throbbing dick.

Louis' lips curl into a smirk. "Keep going then. You're doing amazing, love."

OR: The uni-football AU where Harry may or may not have a minor crush on the captain of the team and suddenly discovers that the feeling is very much mutual.

Picture Perfect by LittleBubbleStyles

an AU where Louis Tomlinson is a misunderstood football player, and Harry Styles is a misunderstood photographer. Somehow, they're understood together.

I just think about my baby; I'm so full of love I could barely eat by mercutionotromeo

Harry and Louis are six hundred miles apart, but they have the same solutions to the same problem.

Or: a masturbation drabble featuring pillow humping, locker rooms, and copious amounts of dirty talk.

into another (another) serotonin overflow by mercutionotromeo

Harry wants this year to be different - wants it to be the year that he finally gets over this stupid crush. He’s going to uni, he needs to decide what he wants to do with his life.

Instead, he’s deciding what he wants to do to Louis Tomlinson.

Or: Sweet first time sex wherein Harry's adorably awkward, Louis is achingly cool, and Harry rides Louis wearing his jersey.

note: it says it in the tag but this is the edited version written in 2019, rather than the 2017 original- so there’s two put I put the link for the newest one :)

need a little sweetness in my life by mercutionotromeo

Harry's always liked feeling desperate and small when Louis touches him, but when he sucks Harry off...it’s fucking otherworldly. Desperate’s not really the word at that point - it’s helpless. Like… like the fucking world could stop spinning and Harry wouldn’t be able to do anything about it until Louis finished him off with his lips and his tongue.

Or, Harry and Louis go to university together. Harry really likes it when Louis sucks him off, and Louis really likes it when Harry calls him Daddy.

(Sequel to "into another serotonin overflow")

I made a map of your stars by brightbluelou

Harry does not have a crush on Louis Tomlinson. Yes, Louis is very pretty and funny, and Harry may have had more than a few inappropriate thoughts about him, but he certainly doesn’t like him. (Except for the fact that he totally does.) or, Harry is the shy boy in the back of the class that no one really notices. Louis is the loud, outgoing football player that everybody likes.

We Made These Memories for Ourselves by supernope

Breath held, Harry squints his eyes open and focuses on the first stick. A blue line. Harry breathes out an unsteady breath. He’s pretty sure he read that one blue line is a negative, but he fishes the box from the bottom of the pile just to make sure.

“Negative,” he confirms, voice echoing around the small room. “Next.”

Now that he’s feeling a little less shaky, he scans the rest of the tests at once, is met with a headache-inducing mixture of pink plus signs and blue double lines. His heart rate picks up until it’s pounding triple-time in the base of his throat and the pit of his stomach, thundering in his ears and throbbing in his temples. He flips over the rest of the boxes slowly, but he knows what they’re going to say before he even looks.

[or, Louis is a footballer, Harry owns a bakery, and they're having a baby.]

Kiss Me on the Mouth and Set Me Free by ls2k14

Louis has his head thrown back in a laugh, his wet fringe hanging in front of his eyes, and a beautiful flush to his cheeks. From this angle, the sun hits his face just right to where the beams of light are shining in between the spaces of each individual clump of watered down eyelashes. His chest is showing through the soaked material of his white jersey and it seems that his biceps are attempting to break free from the sleeves that are clinging to his skin.

And Harry can do nothing except take it all in. He doesn’t even think he’s breathing at this point. He is literally stuck in place, admiring the true beauty of Louis Tomlinson, while being surrounded by fit footballers and generally attractive people. He doesn’t think he’s ever been in love before, but if Louis let him, he’s pretty damn sure he could change that in the matter of a few nanoseconds.

#ask lots #Lottie fic rec #fic rec #larry fic rec #larry stylinson fic rec #larry fanfic rec #fanfiction #larry fanfiction #larry stylinson fanfiction #bottom harry #top louis #sub harry #dom louis #footballer louis au

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stillbandofbrothersthirsty · 3 years ago

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Hello dear!! For the one-shot thing, could you write something with Wake Me Up by Ed Sheeran + Don Malarkey & and a female character called Parker + Slow burn love? Thank you so muuch!! This is such a great idea!! 💕

Why of course angel! I hope this is what you wanted it to be <3 thank you for the request!!

Malarkey struggled when he came back from the war. He felt restless, discontented. He felt as if he was suffocating at home surrounded by so many familiar things that now felt uncomfortably foreign.

 A few weeks, and many restless nights after returning to Oregon he began taking walks. At first, he would simply walk around his neighborhood or downtown to get the daily paper and some coffee. But each day his walks became longer and longer until he began to run out of road. So Malarkey drove to the ocean where there were endless stretches of rocky, gray beach free of people and distractions. It was irrational, he knew that, but he felt the further he walked the more distance he could put between him and the memories of exploding trees and shattering bodies that haunted him.

Malarkey stepped out of his truck, his heavy boots landing on the damp ground. It was cold in Oregon that time of year. The sand squelched with water under his heavy steps. A version of him, years ago, would have taken his shoes off and made a beeline for the sea. But it was too cold and he was too old for that now.

Malarkey put his head down and walked towards the beach. He hardly made it 50 yards before he ran into something hard. He nearly toppled over but quickly regained his balance. It wasn't something hard he ran into, but someone.

“Oh god, I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to - I didn’t see you there.” Don felt embarrassed that he had nearly tripped over a young woman who was sat on a woven blanket.

“No worries,” she smiled up at him as she brushed the sand off of her coat. She was bundled up with mittens and a hat. Clutched on her lap was an open book. “No harm done,” she assured him.

Don smiled tightly and nodded, “thanks.” He continued down the beach, leaving the woman to read her book.

The next day Don noticed her sitting there before he exited his truck. He nodded and gave a little smile as he quickly passed her, ready to start his walk.

“Hey!” she called after him, “what’s your name?”

He paused out of politeness, “Donald Malarkey,” he said.

“I’m Parker,” she said with a smile. He nodded his acknowledgment then turned back down the beach.

The next morning when Don returned she was there too.

“Hi Parker, how are you?” Don walked past her with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

“Good,” she called back from a rock where she was perched with her book.

Malarkey smiled, he walked a few paces before turning to look at her over his shoulder. How was she not cold just sitting there?

The next day it was a particularly frigid day on the beach. But now Don had his ritual; the weather wasn’t about to stop him. He stepped out of his truck onto the sand and bowed his head against the wind. He wondered if Parker was there too. Sure enough, she was sitting a little further up the beach on among a little gathering of rocks.

“Hi Parker,” he said as he passed.

She stood up, “hey would you mind if I walked with you today?” she asked.

“Uh, I-,” Malarkey wracked his brain for an excuse, “I walk pretty far.”

“That’s okay, I can turn around when I get tired,” she shrugged.

He didn’t respond. “It’s pretty chilly today,” she said with an apprehensive smile. "I don't think I'm going to get much reading done but I came all the way out here." Don looked her up and down. Strands of her hair whipped around her face in the wind, held down only by the knitted hat she wore. “Look, I’m going to walk either way,” she said, “so, I can either walk with you or awkwardly a few paces behind you.”

Malarkey relented, “okay sure, I’d be happy to have you join me.”

She snorted, “happy? I don’t think so, but thanks for pretending.”

Despite the cold, Malarkey blushed. He was just trying to be nice but clearly, she wasn’t fooled. They walked in silence for a while. Before the war, Malarkey would be talking her ear off. But these days he struggled to form meaningful thoughts. He wracked his brain for something to say to her. He spotted the book tucked under her arm, “what’re you reading?” he asked.

She pulled the book out, “1984.”

“Is it any good?”

Parker handed him the book, “eh, it feels relevant.”

“That doesn’t sound very exciting,” Malarkey said surveying the cover.

Her laugh took him by surprise. It was genuine, raw, and unlike anything he had heard in a while. “No,” she giggled, “I guess not.” Malarkey handed her book back.

“So, where’d you fight Donald Malarkey?” Parker kicked at the rocky shoreline as they walked.

He looked at her in shock, she looked up from the rocks with an innocent look. He swallowed, “how’d you know I fought?”

“Aside from your age… you have that look about you,” Parker smiled at him sadly.

“Oh,” he said.

Parker swallowed hard, “my brother ya know, he- he has the same look about him.” Malarkey looked into her eyes and saw the sadness there. The cold shoreline made her irises appear gray, but there was a tint of green to them.

“Europe,” he said, then immediately cleared his throat.

She nodded and said nothing more. Malarkey was glad she didn’t. He didn’t have the words to explain any further.

Parker began walking with him most days. She convinced him that he was a welcome distraction from her boring book. He suggested she find a new one, but she insisted that she had to finish it.

“Want to get some coffee?” she suggested one day when they returned to his truck. It had begun to sprinkle.

“You’re just trying to bum a ride home,” Don teased with the slightest of smiles. He had been giving her rides home the past couple of days so there was no real need for her to ask.

“Maybe,” she grinned, “maybe not.”

“Sure,” he said without even thinking about it. Upon reflection, it felt like a big move for him. He had been stuck in such a funk for months; getting coffee with a pretty girl had not been on the table.

The coffee date became a regular thing and eventually, they began to string themselves out to different parts of town. They visited different restaurants and popped into different shops. Parker had a book store she wanted to show him even though Malarkey insisted he preferred records to books.

But he followed her into the cozy store anyways and watched as she navigated them through shelves, dragging her finger along book spines. He walked a few steps behind her, admiring the way her hair fell loosely down her back.

“Oh my gosh, I love this book!” Malarkey nearly ran into her when she stopped abruptly in front of a shelf. She pulled the worn book, bound in green leather, from the shelf. It fell open in her hands and the smell of ink and parchment wafted up under Malarkey’s nose.

He recognized the title of one of the books he’d seen her reading on the beach. “Haven’t you read that before?”

“Yes, but I love it.” She smiled down at the cover as if seeing an old friend. How could someone look so beautiful, Don thought.

“What?” she jerked her eyes up to his. Malarkey blushed as if he had been caught doing something naughty.

“Nothing,” he blurted out.

“You should read it,” she shoved the book into his hands and began walking down the aisle again.

Malarkey flipped the book over in his hands, Robin Hood.

“How much is it?” he called after Parker.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, “I’ve got credits you can use.”

Malarkey wasn’t much for reading but he didn’t mind it so much when he was next to her. In fact, it became a new habit for him to pull a book off of the table beside his bed on nights he couldn't sleep. He would flip through the pages as he traced his fingertips up and down Parker's bare spine. He loved watching her sleep. Her dark eyelashes would flutter with dreams and Malarkey would wonder just what exactly was going through her mind. Was it a fantasy as good as what he was reading? Probably better. Everything she touched was better. In only a matter of months of knowing her, Malarkey had gotten better.

Parker stirred beside him, “what’re you looking at?” she muttered into her pillow, her eyes still closed.

“You,” Malarkey said.

“You woke me up,” she complained half-heartedly.

“Sorry,” he rubbed his hand up and down her back comfortingly. “I’ll leave you alone.”

“Will you turn the light off when you’re done?” 

“Sure.”

#donald malarkey #band of brothers #one shot #fanfic #fanfics #fluff and angst #request game

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sun-spice · 4 years ago

Text

@themagnuswriters is apparently doing a fic appreciation thing? Have I got that right? I've been busy as fuck lately so I haven't had the energy to properly appreciate the stuff I've been reading, but I do happen to have an old rec list in my drafts that I'd forgotten about. If I have the time I might do another one with some more recent stuff and maybe an additional nsfw reclist :)

List under the cut, word counts and completion statuses are probably out of date.

the sword of damocles by penhaligon | post-160 apocalypse averted, hurt/comfort | 89k, ongoing, T | minor JonMartin

Summary: Martin interrupts Jonah's ritual. That doesn't mean their problems are solved.

Jon, Martin and Basira set off to deal with Jonah once and for all after the ritual is interrupted. To make matters worse for them, however, the Fears now know of said ritual and are each determined to pull it off themselves. Stunning prose in this one, I love how penhaligon builds up small moments of suspense.

where there's a will, we will make a way by bubonickitten | S4 time travel fix-it | 107k, ongoing, T | minor JonMartin

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Late series time travel fix-it with communication between the characters. Some development on minor characters as well, which I love, and lots of relatable hard conversations <3

An Cailleach agus an Fear Sidhe by Drowsy_Salamander | urban fantasy, fae au, witchcraft | 30k, ongoing, T | JonMartin, Martin & Sasha & Tim

Martin moves to join a witch coven consisting of Tim and Sasha. The three of them have to pick up the slack protecting their town, previously lacking witch presence, from the fair folk. Meanwhile there are people in the town who know more than they're letting on.

Loving the dynamic between Martin, Sasha and Tim so far. The exposition and worldbuilding is well delivered and the beginnings of a mystery start to drag you in. What do Jon, Daisy and Basira have to do with everything? What is Jane Prentiss hoping to achieve?

A Home For What Loves You by TheWrongShop | canon divergence, hurt/comfort, slow burn romance | 66k, ongoing, T | JonMartin

Summary: Jon and Martin end up investigating Carlos Vittery's basement and finding the entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss together.

Jon and Martin are trapped together in Martin's apartment band later have to live together in the archives. Communication? Among archive staff? More likely than you think.

What Once Was Mine by dieanywhereelse | reverse time travel fix-it, dramatic comedy, safehouse fic | 29k, ongoing, T | S1 Polychives, JonMartin, found family

Summary: The Scottish Safe house gets a few visitors from the past. Jon and Martin get a chance to set things right.

In which future Jon and Martin are actually somewhat well adjusted after averting the apocalypse and dealing with Jonah. They get an opportunity to help past versions of themselves and their dead friends to get where they are with (hopefully) less pain. Love this au a whole bunch, it's one of my all-time faves! Really well thought-out with some great character dynamics and some adjusted monster!Jon.

Moth Song by Siarven | time travel fix-it, dimension hopping, hurt/comfort, found family | 76k, ongoing, M | minor JonMartin

Jon accidentally travels into the S1 of an alternate universe and tries to set things right. He's a mess, and has a breakdown, but he talks with his friends and together they start to work it out.

I'd Be Under the Sea but You Hold Me Above by Write_as_Rain | mer au, hurt/comfort, fast burn romance | 14k, completed, T | JonMartin

Summary: As a fisherman working under Captain Lukas, Martin has learned to keep his head down and fade into the mist. He does his work, walks further down the path Peter has laid before him, and if members of the crew occasionally disappear, Martin has learned not to ask about them. Has learned to stop caring at all.

At least until the crew pull up something strange and wonderful and impossible, tangled in one of the fishing nets. Something that Peter means ill.

No, Martin doesn't... care. But maybe he can save it. Maybe they can save each other.

A Few Small Repairs by Mad_Maudlin, shipwreckblue | canon divergence | 138k, completed, M | minor JonMartin

Gertrude shot first, killing Elias and all of the staff of the Magnus Institute who where in the building that day. Jon somehow survives and is taken in by Gertrude, Gerry and Mary at Pinhole Books.

Meanwhile, Martin, Sasha and Tim are some of the surviving staff trying to pick up the pieces after the strange 'fire'. But wasn't Gertrude supposed to be dead? What is up with this new Institute director?

the garden of forking paths by bibliocratic | post post-apocalypse, time travel, dimension hopping, angst with a happy ending | 50k, completed, T | JonMartin, minor found family

Summary: Whatever he had predicted might happen, Jon wasn't expecting to survive upon demolishing the Panopticon. He certainly wasn't expecting to be rescued.

Instead, he wakes up in an alternative universe where he's never been the Archivist, and Martin Blackwood doesn't exist.

Martin Blackwood wakes up somewhere else entirely.

Poignant and bittersweet but with a happy ending. Really well written!

youth dipped in folly by evanescent_jasmine | pre-canon divergence(?), bittersweet | 27k, completed, M | GerryOliver

Summary: In 2012, Oliver meets Gerard Keay and thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can finally save somebody.

He’s wrong.

A Reel for the Watcher by RedCytosine | period drama (early 1900s), fae au | 50k, ongoing, M | JonMartin, minor found family

Summary: Martin Blackwood, in need of employment and out of options, takes a clerical position in Scotland at Castle Magnus, working for the enigmatic Lord Elias Bouchard. He expects it to be glorified paper-shuffling, but what he finds instead is much more sinister. What secrets lurk in the castle library? Who plays the wild music that haunts his dreams? And why does a strange horse wander the lakeshore each morning at dawn?

TFW you wake up from a long nap and have no idea where you are by forgetfulmachine | time travel fix-it, fluff, found family | 33k, ongoing, G

Summary: Jon gets sent back to mid season one in the middle of his coma. Tim, Sasha, and Martin help him through his emotions and stopping the Unknowing. There's a lot of fluff along the way.

Thistle and Weeds by ajkal2 | time travel hurt/comfort, disability | 6k, ongoing, M

Excerpt: “Jon,” Martin says. “Are you alright?”

Jon’s head lifts, turns toward the sound. He’s shaking. His teeth are bared, a flash of white against his dark skin, but it’s not a smile. There’s something- His eyes, they don’t look right-

His mouth opens, jaw trembling, and he says “Martin?” The bright overhead lights gleam off the blood pouring down his face. His eyes are black, empty sockets.

for a firmament by supaslim | two works | canon divergence, transformation horror, recovery | 31k, completed, T

Series summary: There is beauty in destruction. There is art in becoming.

In which Jon becomes the Archive, and the Archive becomes Jon.

Wonderful monster!Jon with some amazing body horror and mental illness recovery themes. Moved me to tears!

A Break in the Clouds by Ash_Rabbit | time-travel, fluff and angst, pre-canon | 22k, ongoing, T | Jon & Original Elias

Excerpt: “I’m eight.” the kid sniffs as if eight was any different from four, maybe not an unspeakable horror then, just a regular horror. “And I heard that the Magnus Institute deals with-” his little nose scrunches, cute. “-spooky things.”

“Do you have a-” he cracks a grin, and then rethinks it as small hands tighten against their burden.”-spooky thing to deliver?” gods he hopes not, it’s bad enough when adults walk in and lay out all of their baggage, but for a child-

“There’s a spider in this book.” the kid says solemnly, raising his textbook sized parcel. “It ate Evan Pritchard.” a bloody fucking Leitner. Of course an eight year old would find a murder spider book. “This seemed like the best place to bring it.”

Seen, Unseen, Unsung by bluejayblueskies | character undeath, canon divergence, memory loss, End!Tim | 50k, ongoing, M | JonMarTim, Tim & Danny & Sasha

Summary: Tim wakes up from the Unknowing with a blank slate where the Institute had been, Danny sitting at his bedside, and a man with too many eyes haunting his dreams.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fics

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citrineghost · 4 years ago

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“You have to do X to be good at Y”

So, I have beef with this kind of advice. My beef with this is somewhat specific to my own experience, but I know there must be others with something similar going on, so I want to share.

For those of you who don’t know, I’m a writer. I love it. It’s a passion of mine to write and world build and character build and draw and all sorts of stuff. Something I heard a lot growing up was:

“You absolutely have to read a lot of books if you want to be a good writer.”

This was easy enough when I was 12, but that was before I’d really started writing. By the point where I was writing, my ADHD had progressed to a point of being unable to focus on books. I could demolish a 300 page book in one day when I was 11, but I could barely get past the first chapter at 13. I read a fanfic every few months, but it’s still not the amount of reading that’s supposedly befitting of a professional writer.

Because of that, when I heard people say (and this is many, many people - published authors, publishers, editors, agents, you name it) that you cannot become a successful writer without reading a lot of books, it crushed me.

It made me believe that, because I couldn’t sit down and read at least 1 book every week, or every month, or even every year, that I would never stand a chance at becoming a professional writer.

The fact is, that advice is very generalizing. It’s an opinion, not a fact. What helps one writer improve may be the Achilles heel of another. Something I read recently that may be applied here is:

“A diamond may be formed under pressure, but dough must rest in order to rise.”

We can’t possibly say that everyone’s road to success passes by the same attractions and intersections. We all learn in different ways.

All of this to say, I am a natural writer. I don’t mean it in a conceited way. Writing is a hyperfixation of mine. I am naturally able to pick up new skills, perspectives, and styles. I am a natural at metaphors, analogies, and conveying emotion and intention.

To be clear, I was horrendous when I started. My writing from when I was 13 wasn’t fit for human consumption - but it had the right bones. I just needed to learn how to put those bones in the right order and bring them to life.

For many people, learning how to put together the framework of their book or story is learned through reading the works of others and breaking them down into frameworks - skeletons - and reverse engineering. For other people, like me, it is more effective to try and try and try again, learning from my own mistakes, than trying to focus on another person’s creation.

Instead of reading the work of others and using that to determine what I did and didn’t like about their writing, I read my own work, and I find what I do and don’t like about that instead.

This is perfectly fine. This method has done a world of good. In the last ten years, having read a grand total of ~10 novels, here are some things I have accomplished. I’ve:

Learned that a concept is not a plot

Learned that the gold standard outline does not work for me in the slightest and created my own type of outline instead (something different from any outline I’ve heard of before, and that has changed my entire ability to write)

Gained my own voice and writing style

Learned how to use sentence variance so that my writing doesn’t feel flat and monotone

Realized that, with ADHD, channeling passion is a much more effective road to focus than a neurotypical’s idea of ‘discipline’

Built an entire fantasy universe that will one day become a series, which I am confident in my ability to write

Practiced my writing by writing what I’m excited about, even if that means starting literally over 50 collaborative writing projects with my boyfriend and not finishing a single one (because you don’t have to finish a project to cash in the experience you’ve gained from what you did do)

Learned how to take criticism as well as how to ignore criticism that I disagree with - because not every critique is important or objective

Become a professional content writer

Built myself a website, which is nearing completion, so that I can become a professional in creative writing, rather than content writing

I’m saying all of this because I think it’s really important for other people, neurodivergent or otherwise, to understand that there is more than one way to improve and succeed.

There is no single ‘right way’ to improve your craft. This can be applied to anything. Yes, anything. While most people say to read to become a better writer, and I do the opposite, people also say you should practice practice practice to become a better artist. I do the opposite of that as well. I don’t draw nearly as much as one might expect, given my amount of improvement over the years. I look at other people’s art and mentally download new information. I’m very visual, so this is possible for me. It might not be possible for you. That’s okay.

You will find a way that works for you.

Don’t let other people decide for you what you need to do to be the best you can be. You will do Just Fine.

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moon-in-daylight · 5 years ago

Text

Read Between The Lines / Count Orlo x reader

Summary: You have been friends with Orlo for years now, even though you have always fantasized about being something more. When Orlo reads some compromising papers, you’re not sure you can keep your infatuation with him a secret anymore.

Words: 5.4k

A/N: I’ve been working on this fic for weeks and now I’ve finally finished it. I’m not sure I’m content with the result, but considering I’ve overcome a really huge writing block to finish this, I’m posting it either way. I haven’t proofread any of this, so sorry for the potential mistakes and typos. Hope it still makes some sense. Also sorry for posting so late at night, but now that I finally have a fic to post, I can’t wait to do it until tomorrow 😂

Surviving in Peter’s court wasn’t an easy task and anyone that had spent more than a few nights between the opulent walls of his palace could confirm that. The competence of the young Emperor could be easily described as inexistent and both the country and the palace were suffering the most absolute misery under his wicked and corrupted hand.

The war with Sweden had lasted too long, killed too many of your own people, but as harsh as it sounded, the front wasn’t the most hostile environment in Russia.

Sooner or later, that war would end. Eventually, things would go back to normal to the few lucky Russian soldiers that survived the unforgivingly cold winter in the battleground. Whatever outcome the dispute would take, the remaining survivors could go home and return to their families, live the rest of their lives in peace despite the atrocities they had been obliged to perform and witness…

The court, on the other hand, was endlessly immersed in a constant, vicious war for power that had started long before you were even born, and most certainly would still go on long after you were gone.

Every single soul living in Peter’s palace cared only for themselves, looked exclusively for their own interests. Winning the Emperor’s favor was vital for survival, and no one seemed to care whose feet they stepped on to get it. You could understand their selfish ways, you weren’t completely innocent either. You often forced yourself to laugh at the terrible jokes Peter made or took advantage of your family’s prosperous situation to get the any whims you could desire, even when in the majority times you actually didn't need most of the things you owned. It was an unfair situation and you were aware of it, but you had to take advantage of the fact that you had been born lucky and privileged.

But you normally tried to stay out of the way of the big political players, of those of the court’s residents that were trying to manipulate Peter into ruling by their beliefs and principles.

It was exhausting to live in a place like that. A place where everyone hid their true intentions and where you couldn’t lower your guard at practically any time of the day.

Much to your disgrace, the situation at court wouldn’t change while Peter was alive and occupying the throne. Even when he was the most incompetent, useless ruler the country had had in centuries – probably ever -, you were doomed to endure his reign with the only hope that you could outlive him and see a better Russia after he passed away.

He was too childish and puerile to run a country, far more worried in the seek for his own pleasure and amusement than meeting the needs of his people.

It was hard to conceive that while thousands of men were dying at the front, the Emperor could be drinking until passing out and making full display of his stupidity and recklessness through humorless jokes. It was evident to everyone’s eyes that he wasn’t qualified to run Russia, but you knew that saying that out loud would more than certainly get you killed.

He came from a long bloodline of rulers and that gave him a full pass on doing anything he wanted, no consequences, all by the divine grace of God. There was absolutely nothing you could do, except watch everyone around you butter up and lick the boots of the man that was destroying your homeland.

Not being able to deal with the hypocrisy of the court, you had soon learnt to ignore the real world and hide yourself up in fantasy ones, the shelves and books of the small library of the palace becoming a shelter for you.

In addition to being meaningfully smaller than the other rooms of the palace, the library was old, outdated and dusty. But it was also the quietest place and most peaceful room you could have access to, the least crowded. Just for that reason, it was the perfect place for you.

Although what you could have initially expected, you weren’t always alone in there, as Count Orlo often visited the library too. He was probably the only soul in the whole court beside you that care the slightest for written words, that enjoyed learning new things just for the pleasure of it.

You were intimidated by him at first, his political career and reputation making him seem cold and ruthless. In your eyes and judging by what you had heard of him, he was nothing but a calculating mind seeking to expand his power and influence, putting up with the Emperor’s constant mocking of him just so he could manipulate him.

That view you had of him immediately changed after the first time you exchanged a few ideas about the philosophy book he had caught you reading, his passionate words allowing you to see the concepts you were reading about from a different and more interesting point of view.

It wasn’t rare for the both of you to coincide in that room and through your encounters you easily familiarized and grew comfortable with each other presence. How could you not? He was always nothing but kind to you.

Whenever he had the chance, he got reunited with you so you could discuss your readings, recommend each other new books or just spend some quality time away from all the court’s madness. He was incredibly friendly and caring, always willing to share with you his knowledge, which you were incredibly thankful for.

Women weren’t supposed to learn the things you were learning. Most of them at court were illiterate, and you would be too had your father not thought it could be useful to teach you how to read when you were a child. You were grateful that he had taken the time to teach you, knowing that most men wanted the women around them to be ignorant and obliging. You were tired of seeing the patronizing way in which your gender was treated. So seeing that Orlo was treating you as an equal and was happy to answer even your most stupid questions was truly relieving.

It didn’t take long for you to grow fond of him, maybe fonder than you would have liked to admit.

Orlo was the only person in court you felt you could rely on, his views and ideas more similar to yours than what you could have ever imagined. Despite what everyone else gossiped about him, you knew he was brave and did the best he could to make a difference in Russia. He couldn’t do much to reason with Peter and talk him into making what was best for everyone, you doubted that anyone could. But at least he tried, unlike all that people who dared to mock him.

You saw in him something you had been looking for your whole life; a ray of hope. A promise that things could change, a reminder that not everything was that bad.

You couldn’t help but to let yourself fall for the feelings you slowly developed for him. It felt too good and tempting to not do so. The way your heart raced whenever you were around him was something thrilling, exciting. Something you had never thought you could ever get to feel while living in that place.

You weren’t willing to act on those feelings and risk losing his friendship, though. It was evident how uncomfortable he felt about that subject whenever Peter and his minions made fun of his lack sexual experience. You could see him clench and cringe under the court’s mockeries, discomfort filling his features every time anyone made a sexual reference in his presence. You assumed he simply wasn’t interested in those matters.

Plus, if he had been interested in you that way, he would have said something, shown some sign of his affection towards you…

It was okay that he didn’t feel the same. Just being able to befriend him was more than you could have asked for, and silently daydream about made up scenarios of you and him usually did the trick when you felt the need of being loved back.

That’s how, during one night in which you couldn’t get Orlo out of your head while reading, you had started writing a ‘book’ of your own.

You had been gathering different fantasies during the last couple of months. Endless reveries about how kissing him for the first time would feel like, what his reaction would be to other men taking an interest of you, or even about how the most quotidian parts of the day, like waking up or having breakfast, would be like with him.

Why should you not write something of your own, for your own consumption? You had always loved reading, and your feelings for Orlo gave you a never ending source of inspiration. So many ideas that you barely could remember them all. By writing them, you could preserve the happiest of your thoughts, go through them after a bad day and have your little stories bring a smile to your face.

It was harmless, so why not doing it? If it brought you joy, it couldn’t be that bad. Plus, Orlo would never have to know about your writings, as he didn’t need to know about your feelings for him either.

You hadn’t been able to write or read anything for the past days, though. Since the arrival of the Empress to the court everything had been even more chaotic than usual, and even when you much have rather stay in your chambers or with Orlo in the library instead, you had been obliged to attend to the wedding and following events.

As soon as you had seen her innocence, the look of hope in her face as she arrived to the palace for the first time, you had pitied her. She was an outsider hoping to find in the Emperor the love of her life, and in Russia a new home. You almost felt inclined to advice her to run away as fast as she could and never look back the second she walked through the palace’s doors. Living in that place was already awful enough without being married to Peter, and you figured that more sooner than later she would be regretting ever having left her home.

It only took a few days for her to realize in what a godforsaken place she had gotten herself into, as you had figured would happen. What you weren’t expecting was for her to start plotting against his husband’s life so she could steal his throne, nor that she would be requesting for your help in the process.

You had of course agreed to help her as soon as she had told you about the coup. You barely knew the woman, but you were already sure she would be making a much better work at running Russia that Peter ever would. Even a monkey could do it better, you suspected.

Because of your implication to her plans, you had found yourself having less time to spend with your own thoughts and writings, but that was compensated by having the chance of spending even more time than before with Orlo, as you had been able to convince him into taking part of the coup too.

It was actually nice to take part in the plotting against Peter, not only because you hated the bastard, but because due to the extra time you spent with Orlo, you could feel the bond between you getting stronger. During coup meetings, you would usually support each other’s ideas, have inside jokes between the two of you… You even defended him against Marial’s rude comments of him.

But as much fun as you were having helping Catherine kill the Emperor, it was also a really exhausting and demanding task, and you soon found that you barely had time to spend by yourself anymore. It had been at least a week since the last time you had been able to sit by your desk and write any of the scenarios you pictured with Orlo. And now that you were spending so much time together, you had a lot to write about.

That night you had arrived to your apartments early, right after dinner. As was tradition every few nights in the court, the Emperor was hosting a party, and you had been fortunate enough to be spared of the torture of attending.

You were hopping you could spend a quiet, peaceful night by yourself for once. To get lost in your thoughts as you imagined Orlo by your side in a new, reformed Russia. But your plans immediately took a different turn when, after searching through the whole room, you couldn’t find your writings anywhere.

After inspecting every drawer and every corner of your room for the second time, you started to get seriously worried.

What if someone had sneaked into your chambers and taken your writings? It was unlikely, as you hadn’t tell anyone about their existence. Why would anyone want to steal those, anyway? What value could they hold to anyone other than you? Of all the items in your quarters, those papers were probably the least valuable thing. If anyone had intended to steal anything from that room, you were sure that would be the last thing they would have taken, and yet, it was the only missing item…

But looking around you, you realized it wasn’t the only thing out of place. In the top of your desk you found a book that wasn’t supposed to be there, the book you had supposedly lent Orlo last week.

Quickly putting all the pieces together, you realized the fatal mistake you had made as your heart practically started to bump in your chest.

You had given him your own writings, instead of the Voltaire pamphlet you had been meaning to share with him.

Mumbling and cursing yourself, you grabbed the book between your hands and rushed out of your chambers and towards Orlo’s.

The Count had been even busier than you with the whole coup situation, so you hoped and prayed for him not to have found a single moment to read in all that time. You knew that in usual conditions, he could and would devour entire books over night, but you held to the hope that he hadn’t seen any of the things you had written about him.

Well, you had seen him exhausting himself from work every day for the past week. His mind seemed to be too focused on planning the next move, on thinking of possible allies for the Empress. It was quite possible he hadn’t even remembered that the book was in his possession.

If he had seen the words you had written, he would have already said something, right? So maybe you could still fix your mistake and act as if nothing had ever happened.

Assuming that he was still at the Emperor’s party, you could sneak into his chambers and switch the books. Prevent the awkwardness that the discovering of your fantasies with him would arouse between the two of you.

You didn’t bother to knock on his door before silently making your way into his chambers, holding the book close to your chest as you tried to ease the pressure that you felt inside.

When you saw that the entrance seemed to be empty, you let out a silent sigh of relieve. Yet, your steps were carefully slow as you got deeper into the room, trying not to make a single noise just in case.

It felt somewhat wrong to be there without his permission, but saving your friendship came before any moral conflict that could arouse within you at the moment.

If everything went okay, he would never have to know about any of it.

You held onto that thought as you kept walking towards the door of his bedchamber, where you knew he kept most of his books. Even when what you were doing felt wrong, it was for a greater good. How uncomfortable would the coup meetings be if he were to discover about your infatuation of him? For the well-being of Russia itself, he should never find out.

Besides, you were just trying to mend a wrong. You had given him your writings in a foolish mistake, by taking them back and leaving the actual book in their place you were just making things right. You convinced yourself it was the righteous thing to do, even when deep down it didn’t feel like it.

Succeeding into making your way to the front door of his bedchamber without any major complication, you pushed the doors open and quickly got inside the room. You didn’t mean to stay too long in there, but you closed the doors behind you in case any guard found them open and got alarmed.

The last thing you wanted right now was for anyone to find you there and having to make up an excuse for your furtive presence in the Count’s apartments.

When you looked up and found him sitting on his desk your body immediately froze, and when he looked up from the papers he was reading to look at you, you felt the cold sweat forming in your forehead.

For a second, you kept your eyes on him, watching surprise taking over his features. You tried to think of something, anything. An excuse to why you were sneaking into his chambers late at night when everyone was supposed to be either sleeping, dancing or completely wasted. You considered the idea of pretending to be drunk, make him think that you had entered his apartments by mistake and let him guide you back to yours. Being the gentleman he had always been, you knew that would be exactly what he would do in that situation.

It would certainly be embarrassing, and you feared he would feel uncomfortable having to deal with a drunk version of you. But you knew it would be far more embarrassing and uncomfortable to tell him the real reason why you were there.

If you were lucky enough and your performance succeeded, maybe you would even be able to ‘drunkenly’ roam through the room in search of your writings and take them with you without him noticing. Maybe you could still fix things.

You were about to ask him what he was doing in your apartments in what you hoped would sound as a drunken tone, but you desisted when you noticed the papers he was holding in his hand.

He had already read them. There was no point in making even more of a fool of yourself.

Neither of you dared to say anything for the following moments. Awkwardly, you looked at each other in what felt like the longest seconds of your life. You no longer knew what to do or say to fix that situation and, judging by the terrified look on his face, you doubted there was anything you could possibly try to make things better.

That was it. Your friendship was officially over. He would probably never want to say another word to you again. Maybe not even be in the same room as you again.

“I-“ You stumbled over your own words, feeling the lump forming in your throat and the pressure in your chest growing stronger, until the point of almost suffocate you. “I’m deeply sorry.”

As you quickly but sincerely said those words, you felt your mouth getting dry and your cheeks blushing, self-hatred taking over every inch of your body. You couldn’t bear the weight of his stare on you. Orlo’s eyes had always seemed the sweetest thing in the world to you, always so expressive and caring whenever he looked in your direction. But right now you felt them hovering over you judgmentally, with a hint of disgust on his face.

You had to look away from him immediately, but you still could notice how his face reddened too with what you assumed was second hand embarrassment.

Closing your eyes, you wished you could magically banish from that room. You wished for a hole to appear in the ground and swallow you, or for the walls to crumble and fall upon you until you were buried deep in the rubbles of the palace and nobody could find you. Literally anything could be better than standing there in front of Orlo.

You had no excuses, no way out. You wanted to properly apologize to him, make him see how truly sorry you were and how much you appreciated his friendship. How desperate you were not to lose him.

But you couldn’t find the right words for it.

“I should go.” You muttered nervously, still hopping that that entire situation was just a bitter nightmare. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Turning to leave his apartments, you wished he hadn’t notice the crack in your voice as you spoke. That whole scenario was already too shameful for you to bear, the last thing you needed was for him to see you crying. All you wanted was to get out of there as fast as you could, lock yourself in your chambers and drink until you forgot about what had happened or just passed out, whatever occurred first.

“Wait.” Orlo’s shaking voice stopped you.

As much as you wanted to run away, a single word from him was enough to stop you.

You were mortified as you stood there, still refusing to turn in his direction. You didn’t dare to. He was probably going to lecture you about how wrong and improper was what you had done, how repulsed he was by it. You didn’t want to go through it, but you owed it to him to face the consequences of your actions.

“I-I didn’t know you write.”

The Count’s tone was surprisingly tender and insecure. You turned to him with wondering eyes, trying to discern whether if he was mad at you or not.

“That’s not-“ You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but your mouth was still dry. “I mean, I don’t.”

“But aren’t these writ-?” He started to question, but you cut him off before he could finish.

“Those don’t count.” Orlo frowned at your words, confused. You made an effort to explain yourself. “They’re rubbish.”

You watched him clench his jaw and avoid your gaze before he spoke again.

“I like-“ He stuttered. “I liked them.”

His words made you blush again. Not with embarrassment, but with flustering this time. He didn’t seem mad at you. In fact, he seemed way more nervous than you. His stammering confession of his liking of your work made you realize how hard he was trying to seem composed.

“I thought you’d be upset.” You tried to state, but your doubtful tone made it sound more like a question.

“I am not.” He was quick to reply, but still refused to meet your eye. “I think the way you… I really enjoyed your descriptions. They’re very detailed and intricated. And the vocabulary is delightfully rich.”

You could see the way Orlo moved around as he spoke, grabbing your writings in one hand and gesticulating with the other one to emphasize his words. He was visibly nervous, but he was doing his best to hide it. He was trying to act as if he was making a simple review of any other book you had shared with him and, as thankful as you were that he was attempting to normalize the situation, this wasn’t just another one of your endless talks about literature.

You hadn’t written those stories with the purpose of discussing them. It felt cold to talk about the use of vocabulary in them when your only intention at the time of writing them had only been to find a way to deal with what you felt for him. You weren’t especially proud of the product of your writing, but you had poured your heart and soul in them. How could he act as if he hadn’t read right through you? Was he really that oblivious that he didn’t realize that you were head over heels about him?

It was literally impossible he didn’t know, he had read about it with his very own eyes. Still, he seemed to be trying to act as if nothing had happened. You had accidentally stripped your feelings, showed him your deepest desires. And all you got from him was nothing.

For a second you thought you would have preferred that he had screamed at you, showed you rage, discomfort, or even disgust. Literally any other feeling that wasn’t the indifference he was giving you. Did he really not care at all?

Confronting him about it felt wrong. You weren’t entitled to it, and you didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was. Instead, you decided to play along.

“And what do you think of the plot?” You asked, hoping he would take it as a cue to address the issue that worried you.

“T-The plot?” He repeated anxiously as he readjusted his glasses. You nodded, hoping for him to say something, but all you got from him was a mumbling mess.

You felt your heart ache for him as he stumbled through stuttered words and unfinished sentences. The Count seemed even more uncomfortable trying to find a right answer for you than what he usually was when being mocked by the court. And considering how awkward he felt under the constant jibes he was put through daily, that was saying something.

“Orlo, I’m sorry you read that.” You cut him off in an attempt to calm him down. Embarrassment was taking over you once again and you felt the urge to leave his apartments immediately, but you first needed to try to calm his nerves. You hated seeing him so unsettled, and you knew that he was going to be torturing himself about that interaction once you left the room, just as you were going to do too. At least, you had to try to find the right words to clear his mind. It had been you the one that had put him in that place after all. “I shouldn’t have written those things about you. It’s okay if you feel uncomfortable about it, you don’t have to pretend you don’t. I understand if you’re upset, even. It’s not your fault. I have no excuse for this, I now realize I should have never-“

“I’m not-“ Orlo’s voice surprised you, making you hush instantly. “It’s not that I’m upset. I just-“

He closed his eyes and sighed, probably still struggling to find the right words to express what was going through his mind. Knowing the man, you realized he was probably beating himself up inside that restless head of his. Cursing himself for not knowing the best way to react to that situation. The man was a perfectionist, always had been. If he said the wrong thing now he wouldn’t be able to think of any other thing for the rest of the week.

“I really can’t tell if you wrote these stories as a joke.” He finally sentenced.

“A joke?” The words left your lips before you could even process them. “Why would you think that?”

“I know I’m not a ladies man.” He stated, discomfort still plaguing his tone. “I’m well aware of all the rumors and jests about me. It’s just… I know I’m not desirable to women.”

You couldn’t help but frown while hearing his words. Your heart broke a little inside your chest, too. How could he think that you would mock him like that? Had he really grown to believe all the mean and hurtful things the evil tongues at Court said about him?

“Orlo, that’s bullshit.” You stepped forward, the embarrassment you had been drowning in suddenly turning into indignation. “You’re not a coward. You’re the bravest, most caring man I know. Not even half of the other men in this palace would be courageous enough to have joined this coup, to fight to make a difference. They can’t say nothing to you and it’s criminal that they have the audacity to mock you.”

The Count stared at you in disbelief of your words, still reluctant to look at you directly in the eye. It hurt you that he couldn’t seem to believe your words were true.

“You aren’t ugly either.” You continued, placing yourself right in front of his desk. “You have the most beautiful and intense eyes I’ve ever seen. I could stare at them for hours, if you let me. And your hair? It looks so soft, I’d love to run my fingers through it.”

Your heart beat increased as you kept listing the things you loved the most about him. It felt weird to just say to his face all the things that you loved about him and that you had kept in secret for years, but you needed him to understand just how wrong he was.

“You’re so intelligent that I sometimes fear you will laugh at me when I say something stupid, but deep down I know you won’t because you’re too kind to ever do that.”

Looking into his eyes, you took a deep breathe, deciding if you should keep on or just cut it off already. Truth was you could have continued like that for hours.

“Orlo, you’re the best person I know, and anyone incapable of seeing the many virtues you have must be completely blind. Including yourself.”

Silence took over the room for the following seconds, and you feared you had made his discomfort grow stronger. Still, you didn’t regret saying those things out loud. You had kept them to yourself for too long, and he needed to know his own value.

The Count simply stared at you, eyes shifting and mouth slightly ajar.

“I never knew you thought such nice things about me.” He finally muttered bashfully, as if he was apologizing.

“Well, I’ve been in love with you for years. That’s the reason I wrote those stories.” You casually added with your newfound confidence. Somehow, it still seemed to get him by surprise. “It has been painfully obvious and I think everyone else has realized already, but since you don’t seem to be able to read between the lines, I’m telling you.”

It felt liberating to finally get it out your chest. For years you had feared his rejection, but now that you witness his own insecurities making a display right in front of you, all you cared about was to make him feel he was worthy of love and respect. You didn’t even care if he didn’t requite your feelings.

“I’m such an idiot.” Count Orlo stood and looked at you, not being able to hide the red color his cheeks had taken.

“Indeed you are.” You smiled at him, touched by his innocent obliviousness. “A very cute one, though.”

Orlo stood in front of you, closer than usual. When you noticed him fidgeting in the spot and nervously running his tongue through his lips, you realized what his new intention was. Not leaving him time to regret his decision, you captured his lips with yours in a chaste but sweet kiss.

You couldn’t help but recall the way you had imagined and described that moment in your writings as you pressed your lips against his. You had always imagined your first kiss to be more passionate and intense, but as you pulled away slowly from the kiss, you thought that the sweetness and tenderness of the actual moment was more fitting than what you could have ever pictured.

“You should have told me earlier about this.” Orlo stated, face inches away from yours.

“I’m not done telling you everything.” You smiled contently. “There are still plenty of things I love about you and that I think you should know.”

“I can think of a few about you myself.” He whispered, more relaxed now. You liked this carefree side of him.

“I’d love to hear them, but they can wait until tomorrow.” Handing him the book you still had between your hands, you stated. “I think you have some Voltaire to catch up on first. And I should go back to my apartments. It’s late and there’s something I want to write about.”

Orlo’s smile was so big that it made your heart race. After leaving the book you had given him on his desk, he gave you back your writings.

“I can’t wait to read it.”

#Count Orlo x reader #Orlo x reader #Hulu's The Great #Hulu's The Great fanfiction #Sacha Dhawan #Count Orlo x you #Orlo x you #The Great #The Great fanfiction #This is basically Orlo discovering you write fanfiction about him

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wintrcaptn · 5 years ago

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It’s You Ch 2 | Chris Evans 🖤

Summary : moving to a new place, not knowing a single person, wasn’t what you had in mind. But wanting a fresh start was the main goal. Little did you know, you were now living next door to none other than Chris Evans.

A/N : I am glad you all enjoyed the first part! It really means the world to me! I don’t know where Chris lives or if he even has nearby neighbors but it’s called fan fiction for a reason. Lol. Please don’t be afraid to leave feedback! Good or bad!

Also, sorry if there are errors. I’m writing on my phone and I’m too lazy to proof read my stuff 😩 I do this to myself. Anyways, ENJOY!

Part One

It’s been months since you moved into your new house, and thingns we’re finally coming together, just the way you wanted it.

Moving to Boston was something you were nervous but also excited for. You were tired of your hometown, tired of seeing the same faces and being reminded of past loves who only ended up hurting you.

So you wanted to start a new chapter in your life. Find passion in yourself again and just be happy with being alone. Something you haven’t felt in such a long time.

But then Chris came along.

As hard as you tried to focus on your life, you couldn’t help but constantly think about him. Think about the way he licks his finger after playing with the rim of his cup when he comes over for coffee on your days off. Or about the way he sings off key to Disney songs when you both get drunk and have a marathon at his place.

Your feelings were growing deeper and deeper and it was beginning to scare you. But of course, your mind would start to work overtime, and you would begin to overthink everything. Wondering why he would waste his time with someone like you when he could literally have any one else. Maybe because you were there? Living next door, made it convenient for him?

Whatever it was, you tried to enjoy it either way. Before it was over.

Chris liked spending his time with you.

Sure, he thought you were attractive but actually getting to know you, made you even more attractive.

Being with you wasn’t hard. It wasn’t scripted or felt forced.

It was as if he had known you all his life.

Then out of nowhere, one day when he was over, spending a casual Saturday at your house, he finally realized this was more than just platonic....

“Okay, so it’s my turn to cook for you!” You exclaimed, walking over to your kitchen.

Chris followed in pursuit, watching you with a soft smile on his lips.

“I don’t think I want to die tonight.” He teased.

You stopped in your steps and turned to face him, with your eyes so big, trying hard not to laugh.

“Excuse me, I’m one hell of a chef. Thank you very much.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He walked over to the sink, to wash his hands. “I’ll help—“

“Nope! I got this.”

You scrunched you’re nose at him before turning your back to him once again. That little banter was one of the things Chris loved.

Even though, it had been months of hanging out with Chris, it was still so surreal to be around him. Around the guy you had loved watching on movies, and hoped to one day meet.

Your life was a literal fan fiction, but you didn’t seem to mind.

Even though it all felt too good to be true, you wanted to bask in every moment of it.

You looked over the recipe and grabbed what you needed, except for the salt.

Chris thought it would be funny to put it on the top shelf in the cupboard every time he came over, so you had to climb up on the counter to get it.

Letting out a sigh, you looked at him and all he could do was smirk.

“I’m tired of this shit, Chris.” You chuckled. “Come over here and get the damn salt.”

His soft laugh, the one that was barely loud enough but still able to reach your ears, always made you swoon.

“Wait, are you asking me for help? Is this really happening?”

“Chris, you know damn well that if the salt was in the right place, I wouldn’t have to ask.” You muttered, pulling your hair up into a messy bun. “Now please, walk your giant ass over here and put it where it belongs.”

Chris had a rag in his hands to dry off the water from washing his hands. He tossed it over to the other side of the kitchen, before walking over to you.

Once he was by your side, he caught your attention. “You said you got it—“ he muttered as he placed his hands on either sides of your hips, forcing your breath to hitch to the back of your throat. “So get it yourself.” He whispered.

Before you knew it, your feet were off the ground, and You were now able to reach the salt. With Chris holding you up, you knew at this very moment, you were screwed.

The way his fingers curved around you, and how your body leaned against his, it was almost like torture.

You were fighting yourself from giving in. Fighting to keep your fantasies to a minimum and not let any emotion show.

Once you grabbed what you needed, he carefully put you down, not taking his hands off you. But you were so close to each other, you swore you could hear his heart beat.

His gaze held yours, making you feel like he could undress you with those eyes of his.

It was beginning to make you hot just by the thought.

You were able to snap out of it, and clear your throat, breaking the tension between you.

Chris realized he made a tricky move, something that could have made things worse.

He took a step back, to lean on the counter and control his thoughts of you.

‘Keep it together’ he repeated to himself.

“Now stop moving my shit around.” You forced out, glancing at him.

Chris nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Yes ma’am.” His voice was low.

‘God damn it. Keep it to-fucking-gether!!’

A few hours had passed. You were both laughing once again, not letting that moment from earlier ruin the night.

Things were back to normal again.

Scott decided to join the two of you, which he did almost every other weekend, even if Chris couldn’t make it.

He became someone you could trust. And that was hard for you.

“I swear Chris had no secrets with our mom. He literally ran home to tell her he lost his virginity.” Scott cackled, before taking a sip of his beer.

“I was excited!”

“Aww that’s so cute! You were such a mommy’s boy.” You teased.

“Were? He still is.”

Scott looked at his phone and couldn’t believe the time. “Shit, it’s already midnight!” He exclaimed. “I have to wake up in a few hours for my flight.”

With that, he propped up to his feet and gave both you and Chris a quick hug, before walking back to Chris’ house.

“I didn’t realize it was that late.” You yawned, walking the plates over to the sink.

“Guess you lose track when you’re having fun.” Chris said, helping you with the dishes.

You stopped and looked over at him, your eyes slightly bloodshot from exhaustion and the alcohol.

“I need to get this off my chest because it’s been killing me.” You muttered, feeling a bit delirious.

Chris cocked his brow, and focused his full attention on you. “Is everything okay?”

This was it. Word vomit. The thing you did when you had no control over yourself and acted before you thought it through.

“I’ve read fan fiction about you.” You confessed. “And I know that makes me sound like a stalker or whatever, but I promise you that I never in a million years thought I’d be living next door to you.”

Chris stood there, baffled and slightly amused as you went on.

“Yes I think you’re attractive, but I didn’t buy this house because of you. I honestly didn’t even know where you lived!!” You said. “I’ve had shitty relationships and shitty friends and—I just needed a fresh start. My job was able to transfer me out here and this was the second house I looked at and just fell in love—I promise—“

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. I believe you.” He chuckled. “I have never thought of you as a stalker or creepy. Weird? Yes but that’s okay.”

You could tell he was trying to lighten up the mood.

But once the realization of what you had just said, dawned on you, you were mortified. “I can’t believe I just told you that.”

Chris belted our into laughter, as he pulled you into him. His arms curled around your waist while you laid your head on his chest.

This was the place you loved being in. Being in his arms, it felt like nothing could ever hurt you again. And it was honestly exactly what you needed.

“So—“ he drawled out. “Do you still read fan fiction about me?”

You took a step back to lock your gaze with his. “Out of all the things I said, that’s what you cling on too?”

“I’m just curious!” He chuckled. “Were they dirty stories? Or—“

“I’m NOT telling you! It’s bad enough that I embarrassed myself telling you I read anything at all!”

Chris could only laugh, clutching his hand over his chest.

You playfully swatted his arm, trying hard not to laugh with him.

“I hate you.” You said, hiding your smile. “This stays between us! If you tell anyone, I swear I will kick your ass!”

“Can you even reach my ass?”

“Are those fighting words, Evans? Because I can throw hands, real quick.”

He took a short step closer to you, his eyes looking darker than usual, with desire. He glanced down at your lips, then back up and locked his gaze with yours.

“I’d like to see you try.” He whispered.

‘Is this really happening?!’

You wanted to kiss him right there and then. To grab his collar, pull him in and taste those plump lips of his that you had been craving to taste.

But you were frozen, lost in his trance.

It wasn’t until The sound of Chris’ phone going off, you were finally able to snap out of it.

It was a text from Scott, asking where he had put the suitcase.

“I got to go.” He muttered, looking slightly bummed about having to leave. “I’ll come over tomorrow to help you with your new book case.”

You swallowed hard, and nodded. “Sounds good. Give Dodger a kiss for me.”

“Will do.” He pulled you in for a tight hug, which lingered longer than it should have. “Good night Y/N.”

Chris turned on his heels and started toward his house, leaving you speechless yet again. He always knew how to do that to you.

“Dammit Y/N.” You mumbled to yourself. “Why don’t you ever learn to keep your mouth shut.”

As Chris walked into his house, all he could think about was you. And even after blurting out everything, it didn’t seem to faze him.

“Oh damn.” Scott said, catching his brothers attention.

“What?” He asked, confused.

“Nothing, I’ll tell you when the times right. But for now, please help me find that damn suitcase! This is what I get for packing last minute!”

——

Chapter Three

#i hope this was okay #if not then oh well i tried lol #marvel #chris evans #steve rogers #marveledit #marvel imagine #the avengers #marvel fanfiction #mcu #mcu imagine #andy barber #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #cevans #defending jacob

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haveamagicalday · 4 years ago

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Top Ten Books of 2020

So this is about 2 months late but here are my top books I read in the past year! I highly recommend all of them. You can read about all the books I read in 2020 here.

10. King of Crows by Libba Bray

This was the last book in the Diviners series. I’ll admit it dragged in a few places and the ending was somewhat quick but it was still a satisfying conclusion to a great series! Plus, that that mention of Gemma and Kartik?! I died.

9. A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder by Holly Jackson

This was a surprising one. I’ve read a lot of YA mysteries/thrillers and while some are very good, they don’t always have the same punch as an adult book in the same genre. But I found this one just as good as any adult thriller that I’ve read.The twists were surprising and not at all far fetched.

8. Pretty Things by Janelle Brown

Okay, so this book makes it on this list for one specfic chapter. One of our two protagonists recounts her childhood and her first love with a fellow outcast and I just found it so stunning and touching. I honestly can’t explain how it made me feel but it really left it’s mark. The rest of the novel was really good too with some twists and turns but that one chapter made it for me.

7. The Companion by Katie Alender

Creepy with echoes of an old gothic novel. Now there’s a mystery here but I’ll admit, it’s a bit predictable but that doesn’t take away from the novel at all. This book doesn’t relay on a shocking twist to make it good. The atmosphere and build up to something dreadful made this a page turner.

6. Home Before Dark by Riley Sager

Riley Sager does it again. He’s made himself my favorite thriller author at this point. The plot of this book reminded me of the haunting of hill house show where a character writes a best selling novel of the haunted house they lived in. Now Maggie, the author’s daughter must return to the house she barely remembers to discover if what happened in the book was fiction or if something supernatural was really happening.

5. Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

I went into this knowing the twist and overall plot but I hadn’t seen the movie yet. I absolutely loved the book and then immediately watched the movie after (which I also loved). Not much more I can say but the Cool Girl Monologue lives rent free in my mind

4. Mermaid Moon by Susann Cokal

An enchanting book. I’d compare it looking out at the ocean on a still summer night. The writing is beautiful and creative and the whole thing just drips with with fairy tale whimsy.

3. The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes by Suzanne Collins

My only issue with this book was that the last third felt like it could have been its own novel. I almost think I would have liked this to have been a series or at least two books because there was a lot to cover. This was great and looking into Snow’s life and understanding his motives in the later books. It humanized him but he was still a human you didn’t like and pretty much hated at the end.

2. Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Holy hell, did I love this book. It was creepy and bizarre and like nothing I’ve ever read before. The protagonist was likable but still had her faults and the romance was sweet but wasn’t the focus which worked very well. This book won’t be for everyone (my sister hated it and she loves her other books) but I just thought it was so much cooky spooky fun!

1. Blackthorn and Grim by Juliet Marriller

This series quickly became one of my favorites. I love Juliet Marriller’s fantasy/fairy tale novels that also have a touch of the historical genre as well. This series is features fairy tale like mysteries that our two main characters have to solve. Blackthorn and Grim are one of my favorite fictional couples now and I know I’ll be rereading this series a lot.

#my post #book recommendations #blackthorn and grim #mexican gothic #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #mermaid moon #the companion #a good girl's guide to murder #home before dark #gone girl #pretty things #king of crows

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alexseanchai · 4 years ago

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Fanfic 2020 in Review

I got tagged by @kasienda @noirshitsuji and @marvelousmsmol and I am tagging whoever wants to play!

1) List of fics completed this year in the order they were finished:

*filters own works to complete and updated in 2020*

1 - 20 of 57 Works by AlexSeanchai

nope. *adds filter to include only works of at least 1000 words*

unless otherwise indicated, these are all Miraculous Ladybug:

“don’t bake it lying down”, post-reveal Marichat vs Felix Graham de Vanily

“veracity”, canon divergence from “Ladybug” featuring Mister Bug and Verity Queen (so also Marichat, I guess)

“(no request is too extreme, if) your heart is in your dream”, in which Hawkmoth wins, for the thirty seconds or so before Emilie saves Ladybug and Chat Noir’s lives

“tell me you love me and make me believe it”, in which trans girl Chatonne Noire ropes Ladybug into helping plan her civilian self’s escape slash social transition

“kingmaker, oathbreaker”, in which Hawkmoth wins and Emilie watches her son remove himself from the family

“stay and let me watch you break it down” (Twelve Dancing Princesses), a modern setting

“set a course for winds of fortune”, in which trans girl Chatonne Noire has already escaped and Gabriel and Nathalie are trying to bring Gabriel’s son home

“we ground love in a hopeless place”, in which post-reveal Marinette’s attempt to remain resolutely not in love with her partner dissolves like sugar in coffee when they start a pun war

“ring the bells that still can ring”, in which Alya is deeply confused about why Adrien and Marinette are planning a wedding when last night both were single

“burning wishes at both ends (the cold wind and long loud wail remix)”, in which Gabriel made a monkey’s paw wish and Emilie makes another

“words cannot espresso”, in which Marinette’s OC roommate is justifiably worried for Marinette’s safety, and meanwhile Adrien takes care of Marinette

“the compromise of truth” (the chronologically second-earliest part posted to date of nine lives, snake’s eyes), in which Adrien tells his friends how he won some freedom and respect from his father

“At The Present Time”, the Ladrien/Ladynoir marriage proposal follow-up to @art-deco-shrimp‘s “Your Presents Required”

“j'ai rêvé (so I don't have to dream alone)”, in which the events of canon must just have been a series of dream sequences, Marinette and Adrien both think, until they both arrive at Chloe’s Halloween masquerade dressed as themselves from the dreams

2) Number of words written:

ahahaha no. I am not counting all my scattered fic drafts and trying to figure out what I did and didn’t write in 2020. I refuse.

AO3 says I posted 162K in 2020. it is counting all of keeps you guessing (like any real love), which (a) I started posting in 2019 (b) is co-written by @galahadwilder; it is counting all of my meta snippets collection, much of which was written in 2019; it is counting the Vimeo passwords for my vids. but I probably cleared 150K by a safe margin.

3) Your most popular fic:

“veracity” has a four-digit kudos count, wow, when’d that happen? this is also the 2020 work with the most hits and the most bookmarks, but “tell me you love me” has four-thirds as many comments as its nearest competitor.

4) Your personal fav:

“cannot break us, not with a thousand swords”, no question about it. this is the one in which Ladybug proposes marriage to Chat Noir via Princess Bride meme on Tumblr. (if you intend to download the work or otherwise to consume it with creator style off, you want the accessible version instead of the primary version.)

5) Your fav scene:

aaaaaaaaa

—okay so this is cheating and I know it, since Uncertain Humors (the one where Marinette/Adrien is both Orpheus/Eurydice and Theseus/Ariadne) is nowhere near finished, never mind posted (maybe I'll get “Sanguine” done to post on my birthday?)

but it is still my favorite of the year. as you might guess from that description of the story, this scene has content notes for character death:

Hell is a maze. Marinette walks.

This acrid passage has little to see but damp stone, seeming blood-stained in the dim carmine light. At about the height of her heart, the faintly glowing thread cuts through the not-clammy air; it ought to be pulsing at the same rate as the heart it's bound to. She might be able to see her own reflection if she looked down at the open sewage pipe, or at one of the puddles that now and again she splashes through, dampening the canvas of her shoes. She might see reflected what's behind her.

She remembers Mme. Mendeleiev lecturing on human physiology. In healthy humans old enough to have learned how, urination is a voluntary action: one may not know which muscles one tenses and relaxes in order to do so, and probably isn't paying attention to those details when one is doing, but one has conscious control over whether one does. Usually. Stress and anxiety mean some people are unable to relax the relevant sphincter muscle and others are unable to stop themselves. It's voluntary for cats, too: it's one way they mark their territories. Cat-boys have other ways.

There is a moment in every human life when all one's muscles relax at once. Some Parisians have had several such moments.

The thread is braided with itself around her left fourth finger, rows of tiny red half-hitch knots, and falls loosely over the back of her hand to loop twice around her wrist. She holds it wrapped between the fingers of her right hand to keep it at a constant tension, as though knitting with this insubstantial thread, so fragile for something two (two dozen, two million) lives hang from—too thin to sew with, no thicker than one strand of his hair. As she walks, she winds it around and around and around her wrist.

Between her ring finger and her right hand, it loops twice.

Marinette's shoe lands in a puddle she didn't see. The rainwater splashes soundlessly onto her bare ankle and on the stone.

(With cat-like tread, upon our prey we steal— It's a very loud song.)

She walks on.

6) A fic or scene that challenged you:

where the firelight fades, no contest. this is the second story I’ve ever been able to stick with more than a couple hundred words past the 20K mark, but it’s easily the twentieth novel-length I’ve begun. (though also, you know that kedreeva post? well, 90K later, I’m less than 15K from completing this 10K fic! I think.) and I have been learning so much about long-form fiction.

there has also been a lot of weeping and tearing my hair. case in point: I just trashed the chapter 15 draft because I figured out the reason it wasn’t going anywhere! I can probably keep the first few hundred words of that draft without any editing, and another few hundred with some revision...

7) A line of writing you’re proud of:

from “j'ai rêvé (so I don't have to dream alone)”:

Everything about their partnership is fragments of sentences in the dream diary Adrien writes in ultraviolet pen. Disjointed flickers of thought even when examined under the black light he hides in the snack cabinet under packets of Super Yoyo sandwich cookies and bags of cheesy Monster Munch potato chips and boxes of petit écolier butter cookies (chocolat noir)—none of which explains the gym-socks smell. All fleeting incoherent flashes, invisible between the mundane lines of La Modification shelved at his bedside between Leroux and Dumas. None of it is solid. Adrien has more proof his room's haunted.

okay let me break this down for you!

* Adrien started a dream diary to make sense of the memories

* in invisible ink, in a book that (according to Wikipedia) is thematically appropriate and won’t (if Gabriel sees it) look like anything other than Adrien developing an interest in French literature

* shelved between Phantom of the Opera and The Three Musketeers

* look I didn’t come up with the name “black light”

* or “chocolat noir” for what English speakers call “dark chocolate”, or “petit écolier” (that is, “little schoolboy”) for that sort of butter cookie

* also not my fault that “chocolat noir” sounds remarkably like “Chat Noir”, which, attentive readers may have noticed, is not a name that appears in the story after the header and before Miraculous Cure

* I found the website of a store in Boston, Massachusetts that caters to French expats, and the yo-yo cookies and the monster chips were right there in the photos, y’all

* the snack stash and the black light live in the cabinet where, in canon, the Camembert lives; yes, that cheese smells in the real world like gym socks

* this story’s akuma was not able to affect anything but squishy human memory: nobody affected remembers anything about Ladybug or Chat Noir or Hawkmoth, not in any solid way, not even when they read news articles about the subject, and this includes Marinette and Adrien not being able to see or hear or remember their own kwamis—but you know what Adrien’s Insta post about his poltergeist and Adrien’s Insta post with the floating sock don’t show and don’t explicitly refer to?

* I love this paragraph so much (my housemates may have been lovingly mocking me over it)

8) A comment that touched you:

there are people (y’all know who you are) who said y’all are studying my style. I ded of blush.

9) Something that inspired your writing:

by volume of fic drafts that can be blamed on any particular person, the winner is probably @norakwami

10) Your proudest accomplishment (that one scene; finally finishing that one fic; posting your first fic; etc):

so that longest-story-ever-written record I set in 2007 with the 89.5K story that, till where the firelight fades, was the only story I’d gotten much past 20K?

I broke that fucking record!

and then I deleted the draft of firelight chapter 15 😭

11) Do you have any writing goals for the next year?

I’m starting work on a fantasy novel, a Sleeping Beauty retelling in which I explore (among other things) the economic consequences of the king’s ordering all the spinning wheels burned, and I want to make significant progress on that. and I want to not make my hands any worse; I kind of need those!

(breaking news alert: bodies fucking suck. so does giving yourself repetitive stress injuries in doing one and a half to two people’s worth of work for an organization that was never ever going to pay you more than one person’s worth of pay.)

#by alexseanchai #miraculous ladybug #tag game

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