#libriomancer

[haveyoureadthisfantasybook]

vote yes if you have finished the entire book.

vote no if you have not finished the entire book.

(faq · submit a book)

[fionnemrys]

This has big Libriomancer vibes. @jimhines

This is the first of two pieces I did for the @broadsandbroadswords zine! My heartfelt thanks to the mods for drawing me out of my comfort zone — it was an honor and a joy being part of this amazing project!

[artist-issues]

https://www.tumblr.com/the-sage-libriomancer/735649361333239808/rewatched-princess-and-the-frog-today-and-honestly

I saw this post and automatically thought of you. They are 100% correct.

Absolutely! You’re correct. Hey, @the-sage-libriomancer , I saw Wish and you’re still correct. The idea of having a star that is a higher power (Evangeline) and then having a character who demonstrates absolute faith in that higher power (Ray) and winds up teaching that same faith to both self-centered-Naveen and self-reliant Tiana? So very Disney.

Sometimes Disney’s Renaissance-era princesses were the Faithful Characters of their own story—Ariel had faith in Eric and taught that same faith to her father, Jasmine (and Genie) had faith in the Truth and taught that faith to Aladdin and the Sultan, etc. And that’s wonderful. Cinderella and Snow White are the Faithful Characters in their own stories, too, so it’s not like that isn’t a Classic Disney idea.

But Princess and the Frog doesn’t do that. It has the princess be the one who needs to learn to have faith. And the prince! That’s much more like dear old Pinocchio. What Jiminy Cricket and Geopetto are to Pinocchio, Ray is to Louis, Naveen, and Tiana. I mean, how wonderful a tribute to Disney, to have the main character be afraid of relying in something higher, valuing love, and trusting only whatever she can accomplish on her own…

…to have her go from that to being willing to give up what she wanted? To value love, plain old love, over career, personal goals, dreams? To change her dream and admit when she was wrong? And finally, to sacrifice herself in order to do what’s right?

Why, that’s Pinocchio. That’s Mr. Banks from Mary Poppins. That’s Alice from Alice in Wonderland. That’s Disney!

Wish 2023 could never.

[jade-efflorescence]

oh nooooooo i think i just tagged you in an ask game that you tagged me in a week ago T.T that's what i get for waiting so long to get around to it. obviously you do not have to re-answer it lmao

also you're watching Marry My Husband?? i loved the webtoons version! i'm thinking about watching the live action one myself - would you recommend it?

you're completely fine! that's been happening a few times recently and i just think there's only so many tag games that can go around haha

yes! i'm on ep. 6 and enjoying it a lot. i would definitely recommend, the adaptation stays pretty close to the source material while making the most of the medium and all the actors are great. i will mention i found it a little bit harder to distinguish between all the characters at first: sumin doesn't have the wavy hair she does in the webtoon and minhwan doesn't have brown hair. so it takes a second to recognize them by face alone. but i definitely found it easier as the series went on! if you do end up checking it out i hope you enjoy :)

[screamting]

sorry to hear you're going insane on your day off :/ i've totally been there. if it helps i have some questions i've been meaning to ask!

-what are your top five fandoms (either atm or in general)?

-the guy in your pfp scares me, who the fuck is he and why does he have south park arms coming out of his head.

-favorite zelda game?

You know how some people have seasonal depression? I have seasonal hamster wheel brain. It turns into winter and I start running in place chewing at the walls, yet unwilling to move away from the fireplace. So thank you for the questions!!!! I float between fandoms rapidly, and I don't leave them as much as have a fun rotating door. Obviously, everyone is on some level an Undertale fan/Deltarune awaiter but i'm not really in the fandom except for me and skull's skeleton OC nonsense. Stuff like Batman or TWEWY are background noise to my life that I'm always "in" the fandom with strong opinions about stuff and simply cannot maintain a constant presence when other people are wrong/"wrong" about it. YYH is in this category. Sometimes dormant but ever-present. Otherwise, I'm currently into One Piece and trying to maintain that since it's near the final arcs (so I will have to maintain this for.. another decade.) and so the fifth one is probably like [checks what playlists i've made lately] ....danganronpa. For favorite Zelda game: I keep replaying BotW but Wind Waker and the opening to Link To The Past are very good as for my icon... Oh my god... it's Guillermo "Lover Of Monsters" Del Toro, but with homestuck troll horns sdhssdfdf i made it so i wouldn't need to waste time scaring people off

[bisexualbaker]

Always gotta plug @jimhines​‘s Magic ex Libris series for this! M/F/F V-form poly, urban fantasy with magic from books. The four-book series is from the POV of the guy, Isaac, and he ends up struggling with clinical depression in later books. His love interest is the one who’s polyamorous, and he ends up in a respectful metamourship(?) with another woman.

Hey! Sorry to bother, but I was wondering if you can recommend any books with or about polyamorous relationships? I know there are some shows and movies that include polyamory, but as I'm more of a reader recently, I'd love to read something with at least a mention of such relationships, and good recs are hard to find.

I'm mostly interested in fiction, but if you have any non-fiction you think people curious about the topic should read, that'd be great too.

Again, sorry to bother you, but I've been thinking about it for a while and decided to shoot my shot. Thanks in advance for the response!

Unfortunately, I've not been able to read as much lately as I would like so I don't have many recommendations personally. I've heard of a few, but I'd hate to suggest something that ended up being... not very good 🫤

The only one I can vouch for is @thebibliosphere 's Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites 🧛which if somehow you haven't heard about before now, is a poly paranormal romance novel. The book spends most of its time on the relationship blossoming, so there's not quite as much with all three as I had hoped, but I'm pretty sure sequels are in the works! And I really liked what was there! Its not a bad thing to finish a novel and be left wanting more 😉The author is also super cool, making smutty and fluffy versions of the same book and writing free fanfic of her own work. Seriously, she's one to support.

Anyone else who has more to add, please do!! 📙📚📖I'll keep an eye on the notes and reblog some additions. Maybe the promise of good poly content will actually get me motivated to start reading again 😅

P.S. Please do not feel the need to apologize for sending in asks! I love hearing from others! 😍 Please keep asking things!!

[comatosebunny09]

apt 302 | sylus q.

— summary: at first, your new neighbor was as mysterious as he was handsome. after taking some time to get to know him—or forcing your way into his quiet life—you realize looks can be deceiving. — cw: gn reader, neighbors au, neighbors to friends to lovers, profanity, innuendoes, jealousy, misunderstandings, stalker ex, alcohol use, guns mentioned, self-indulgent, allusions to reincarnation, angst, pet names, sylus being an insufferable gentleman, slice of life — dividers by: @omi-resources — notes: this grew way longer than i expected, soooooo you’re gonna hate me for what comes next. anyways, thank you so much for reading! — now playing: my favorite person now - she was pretty ost — tagging: @alfredosaws, @sinsodom @chuppiechanchan @hao-ming-8 @antonneva @sunsets-and-crows @leighsartworks216 @grabby-smitten @nebulorra @minniestarmj @elysiums-light @saiaise @queenofstresss @beewilko @aetherscribit @libriomancer @world-of-hearts @awkwardnurse @huachengnism

Information Technology isn’t as cushy of a field as you initially thought.

Sure, you have a desk job doing the most mundane of things—working the help desk, troubleshooting devices, re-imaging computers. But your job isn’t without its drawbacks. 

Sometimes, the days are long and arduous. The constant customer interaction doesn’t help matters; you’re a bit of an introvert, requiring five business days to recover from just a few hours of socializing. 

So, forgive you for seeking a little respite in the form of your favorite set of pajamas and fuzzy slippers as you ease into your apartment. 

The weight of the world sloughs off your shoulders when the door leading inside clicks shut behind you. You sigh gratefully, the sound of your keys clattering against your entryway table, intermingling with that of your AC humming to life.

You hang your bag and sweater on the coat rack. Trade your uncomfortable shoes for house slippers, the soreness in your heels slowly retreating. The last vestiges of sunlight creep through the slits of your blinds to bathe your home in its ethereal glow before ducking behind the horizon. 

Your apartment is humble. Has a natural, minimalistic vibe with bits of decor displaying your personality sprinkled throughout. You already pay the price of a kidney and two lungs to stay here. No use investing in posh furniture when your job sometimes requires you to pick up and go at the drop of a hat.

Your stomach growls whilst you draw your curtains shut and turn on some ambient lighting via your phone. You’ll eat soon, you promise. For now, you’re on a mission. 

Quietly, you move through your home in search of your laundry area, thoroughly prepared to slip into your PJs following a shower to jumpstart your weekend. 

Too bad a pile of sopping wet clothes awaits you when you open your dryer door. 

“Goddammit,” said under your breath as you mash the power button. It won’t turn on. Figures. You kick the offending appliance. Stupid thing must be out again. 

You had set your clothes to dry before you left for work. You were looking forward to snuggling up with wine and your favorite show, donned in comfy clothes. Seems your dryer had other plans.

You should’ve replaced it months ago when it first started acting up. You had hoped to salvage it a little longer; appliances don’t come cheap these days. Besides, you’ve had a darling neighbor to fix it each time. To extend its lifespan. 

Speaking of which—

Chewing your lip, you pad over your cold, hardwood floor to snatch your phone from the coffee table. Fall onto your couch cushions with a devious smile twitching your lips. It’s getting late, so you don’t think to badger him into tinkering with your dryer tonight. However, perhaps he’ll let you utilize his. At least until you can use your day off tomorrow to shop for a replacement.

You hover your thumb over his contact, his name flanked by crow emojis. Contemplate calling him, but what if he’s busy? This is usually about the time he’s leaving. Instead, you settle for opening your messaging app, already conjuring an excuse.

(You): 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛💥💥💥 (Sylus): lol (Sylus): good morning to you too. (You): 😒😒😒 dude it’s like 6  (Sylus): 🤷‍♂️ (Sylus): im just now getting up. long day at the office.  (Sylus): whats up? (You): are you busy tonight?? (Sylus): not really. 😏 what did you have in mind ? (You): pause. not like that (Sylus): 😢 (You): my dryer’s out again (Sylus): ah. want me to take a look? (You): nah you already do so much (You): is it cool if i use yours tho? 😬😬😬 (You): i’ll bring you booze (Sylus): lol (Sylus): its fine sweetie. doors unlocked. ill be in the shower. help yourself. (You): 🙏🙏🙏

You take your time gathering your saturated clothes into a basket. On your way out, you snag a bottle of Merlot from your fridge.

No matter how often you’ve been here, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to how much more… put together Sylus’ place is compared to yours.

It suits him—the black and red furniture, the stylish accents littering his apartment. It smells delightful inside, a mixture of mahogany and amber enmeshed with remnants of food. Soulful jazz flows from a record player, fitting the sepia-toned glow of floor lamps and candles flickering on every other surface.

You toe the door shut behind you. Feel so small and out of place amid his decor. You’ve only recently started coming here, having spent much of your time together inside your apartment. Regardless, you navigate his space like it’s your second home, finding his washer and dryer set.

After starting your clothes in the dryer, you wander back to the living room, hands stuffed in the pockets of your cardigan. You take some time to admire the atmosphere. Fingers skim over the various vinyls organized on a built-in bookcase on the wall.

You snort with a half-smile. You know so little about your neighbor, yet you know just enough to be this comfortable with him.

He’s a music buff; that much is for sure. He’s clearly made of money if the luxurious furniture and his car are anything to go by. You don’t press him about what he does for a living. Figure he values his privacy above all else, unlike you.

You’re an open book. The primary yapper in your acquaintanceship, prattling on about your life and aspirations. And he just sits there, wordlessly nodding with a polite smile behind the rim of his glass. Where you would otherwise be wary of being in someone’s home like this, you feel safe around him in a way that almost terrifies you.

“Admiring the decor,” teases a voice from behind. 

You jolt, spinning around like you’ve been caught stealing. You’re met with a smirk beneath scarlet eyes, twinkling with mischief. Strands of white cling to Sylus’ forehead, damp from the warm spray of his shower. He towels his hair dry, maneuvering around the living set towards you.

“Hey, you,” you greet, trying to play it cool. Like your heart isn’t hammering and heat isn’t branching into your cheeks. You attempt to maintain eye contact. It’s increasingly difficult to do so with his physique peeking through his t-shirt and sweats like that.

“Hey, yourself.” There’s amusement in the deep gravel of his voice. A smile in his eyes as he studies you, draping his towel around his shoulders.

You swallow. Try to divert the subject, motioning to his record collection. “You got some new tunes, I see.”

A chuckle is dredged from the bowels of his chest. You feel it pull in your stomach. “Sure did. Got something you might like.” 

God help you as he reaches around you, the fine hairs littering your body standing on end, your mouth agape like a fish out of water.

Unconsciously, you step back, your spine softly thudding against the records display. Your heartbeat’s on a warpath, and you swallow against the dryness of your throat as the veiny, sinewy muscle in his forearm stains your periphery.

He gives you a bemused look before slowly peeling a record from the shelf behind you. Steps back to fish out the vinyl and settle it on the platter, replacing the record that was just playing. 

You release a breath you were unaware of holding. Good job playing it cool, dumbass.

“You alright?” Sylus quizzes with a raised brow. “You seem a little on edge tonight, sweetie.”

You sigh, schooling an unconvincing smile onto your face. Try to ignore how the term of endearment glides off his tongue so effortlessly. You wonder how many other people he addresses like that. 

“Work was…rough today. Kicked my ass. I’m tired.” 

A snarling sound invades the space between you, heard over the gentle croon of the new music. Your eyes fall to your stomach. You rub it placatingly. In all your haste to have some dry friggin’ clothes, you forgot to eat. 

“And hungry, too,” you sheepishly add.

You glance up, and Sylus’ gaze tracks from your stomach to your face. He smirks knowingly, motioning with a nod toward his kitchen. 

“Figured you didn’t eat yet. I made carbonara if you’d like some.”

You smile wryly at his back as he pads away, carrying the scent of cedarwood and bergamot with him. Where would you be without such a doting neighbor? 

You track him to the kitchen. Leaning against the threshold, you watch him procure a bottle of water from his fridge. It’s so very small, dwarfed by his massive hand.

“I suddenly got called for a Teams meeting five minutes ago.” 

Your heart drops, the smile nearly falling from your face. And here you thought you’d have his company over dinner.

Suddenly, he taps your nose, drawing you out of your thoughts. You hadn’t noticed when he got closer, swaddled in the static of your bodies being so close. “Where did you run off to,” he rasps, searching your gaze for something. 

The proximity of your bodies grows stifling, his warm breath glazing over your skin, dizzying. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he steps back, leaving you shell-shocked and utterly confused. 

“In the meantime, make yourself at home. You know where everything is,” he says, brushing past you with an air of finality. 

You strain your ears for the noise of a distant door shutting before you make your move, rummaging through his cupboards and drawers for a plate and cutlery. After you’ve scooped a decent helping of food onto your plate, you settle onto one of his velvet couches, cross-legged and shoveling food into your maw. 

The fluttering of wings piques your interest. You’ve hardly any time to acknowledge him before a tuft of black, iridescent feathers shines from Sylus’ coffee table. The crow studies you curiously, ingesting you with his beady eyes before he preens himself.

“Me-fith-toe!” you greet around a mouthful of food. 

Said crow ducks away, dodging errant crumbs and spit flying from your mouth, cawing in protest. You give him a rueful look. 

Sylus has a soft spot for animals. You noted it the first time you entered his apartment, greeted by his boisterous companion. Funny; he doesn’t look like the type to have such an eccentric pet. 

But Sylus has found numerous ways of pleasantly surprising you, revealing parts of himself to you bit by agonizing bit.

“Chicken?” you say after finally swallowing, offering a forkful of pasta to the bird. Mephisto scrutinizes the food before resigning himself to pecking at it. You smile fondly, your eyes crinkling with mirth. “Mephisto, you cannibal.”

Lulled by the occasional flap of Mephisto’s wings and Sylus’ even tone murmuring things of business somewhere far off in his home, you fall into a familiar rhythm, quietly waiting for your clothes to dry.

You spend the remainder of your evening in your neighbor’s company, drinking Merlot and judging each other’s music tastes, long after your pajamas have dried and settled in the dryer.

“So, have you boned yet?”

You choke on your waffle. Pound on your chest with the heel of your palm to dislodge it. You turn narrowed eyes on the source of the question. She merely shrugs from across the table, sipping her mimosa as if she’s asked the most innocent thing. 

“Bitch.”

“What?” She appears nonplussed, setting her champagne flute down with a definitive clack. All serious when she returns your stare over crossed arms, and you know you’re in for it. 

“You talk about the guy so much I figured you would’ve already, ya know…” The humping gesture she makes under the table is a bit much. 

You blanch. “No, dumbass, I haven’t boned.” Your voice peters towards the end of your sentence. And you peer down at the napkin folded in your lap, heat prickling your face. 

You won’t deny Sylus is good-looking. More like he could be someone modeling Prada on a catwalk. Can’t pretend you haven’t entertained the thought of being a little closer to him, too. More than just the late nights spent talking or him fixing something you broke.

You shake your head. Of all the times you’ve been tucked away in either of your apartments, he’s never made a move on you. Sure, he’s said some pretty suss things. Flirted with you outside of your usual banter. 

And maybe he’s done things to confuse the ever-loving hell out of you��cooked you breakfast when you were drunk off your ass and hungover the next morning. Lended you one of his expensive record players. Shacked up at your place a few times under the guise of “coming to get Mephisto.” But—

Nah. He’s not like that. You’re just neighbors, right? Unofficial friends. Friends hang out all the time, right?

“He’s not like that,” you say brattishly, stuffing more food into your face. At least not with you. 

You don’t miss your coworker’s fox-like grin spreading in your periphery. She taps her cheek thoughtfully, watching you like a smug sibling about to snitch. 

“Sure, sure. If you say so. He’s still a man, though. He might not have tried you yet—”

“Hush,” you interject. The table shakes, cups rattling as you saw into your sausage with your fork and butter knife. You’re done with this conversation.

Try as you might, however, you can’t banish your thoughts revolving around him. Especially with your coworker watching you like that, silently egging you on.

He’s not that kind of guy. 

He’s still a man, though. 

You’ve repeated it like a mantra throughout your day, even as you mindlessly clacked away at your computer. 

Work was a blur. An exhausting blur. Day gave way to the soothing exhale of night, and you were finally nestled in the quiet sanctuary of your apartment, on your couch, entertaining yourself with a game of Uno. It wasn’t much fun playing alone, but you needed a distraction from the mess of your mind when your favorite show couldn’t help. 

It’s a quarter past 9 when a shuffling sound in the breezeway outside your apartment catches your attention. It’s accompanied by the echoed rasp of a recognizable voice, chuckling and murmuring indiscernible things. 

You peel yourself from your couch as if on autopilot, nose pressed against the cold metal of your door as you peer through the peephole.

It’s your nightly ritual—waiting like an overzealous puppy to greet or send off your neighbor. You don’t always get the luxury of saying goodnight in person. Sometimes, he’s gone for days—weeks—at a time. You don’t know the semantics of his job, but you make it your mission to help assuage whatever burdens he shoulders whenever you can.

He’s there to help you, after all. Whether with a glass of wine, a warm meal, or his company.

So, forgive you for wanting to be a decent neighbor. And you would be tonight if not for the scene that passes through the fisheye of your peephole.

It’s Sylus, clad in something flattering and expensive. There’s no mistaking his broad back and shoulders. The purl of his voice, the wispy dusting of alabaster hair on his collar. But the smaller frame with him, well—

Your heart plummets into your stomach.

She’s pretty from what you can glean from the limited view of your peephole. Donned in a dress that’s form-fitting, voice high and light. Giggling silly things, fastened to Sylus’ side, held there by a virile arm draped around her middle. She’s drunk if the sloppy lean of her body is anything to go by. Sylus angles himself near her ear to whisper something, ushering in a new set of giggles.

You watch with your breath corked in your esophagus until they slide into his apartment together, their enmeshed voices fading from the stilled walls of the hallway.

Huh. Well, so much for him not being that type of guy. 

You grapple with this new revelation, a furrow between your brows, hands falling listlessly at your sides. Numb as you drag yourself back to your couch, bouncing comically on the cushions.

You don’t even know why you’re upset. He's a grown man with a…life. You think. 

It’s the first time you’ve witnessed him bringing someone to his place other than you, but it’s only natural for a guy like him to have options. He’s far from hideous. Has the gift of gab, for God’s sake. He’s charming and the very definition of masculine. 

It just stings a little, knowing that it’s not…you that he’s touching like that. 

So, you are definitely not flinging Uno cards onto the coffee table. Muttering things to yourself, gripping the stack in your hands so tightly, the plastic squeaks. What’s even got your undies in a bunch? The man’s not yours. You’ve never screwed around. Never really showed signs of wanting to, so it makes sense he would seek pleasures of the flesh elsewhere. His world doesn’t solely revolve around you as much as you would like for it to.

You’re halfway through a third round of angry card-flinging before a soft rap at your door nearly sends you some 30 feet into the air.

Stomping to your entrance, you peek through the peephole, and your heart works overtime when you catch sight of a wash of black and scarlet.

Internally, you scold yourself for how gullible you are. You throw the door open like you weren’t just cursing him and his stupid existence moments ago. Try to act nonplussed, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe with a haughty look. 

Of course, he would smell good. Look good, propped against the threshold like that, an amused cant to his lips, his physique devastating beneath the tight cling of his turtleneck.

“Hey,” he greets, the sound breathy and easy like warmed honey. 

“Hey, yourself.”

He studies you for a bit. Eyes flicker over your face, and you tamp down the sparkling rush of warmth that wades over your skin at the attention. Even when you’re mad at him, your attraction still finds an annoying way of creeping through the seams.

“This is going to sound incredibly strange, and feel free to tell me to piss off, but…do you mind if I crash on your couch for the night?”

You stand up straight. Blink owlishly, mouth opening and closing. “Huh?” is all you’re able to muster. 

He chuckles, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this side of bashful. “Yeah. It’s a…bit of a long story, sweetie.”

“O-Okay,” you say, rigidly moving aside.

“Thanks.” The charm is back on, turned up to max capacity. He brushes past you into your apartment, falling onto your couch with a huff. Quirks a brow at the mishap on your table, the carnage having spilled onto the floor. 

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but were you playing Uno by yourself?”

You ignore him, plopping cross-legged on a floor cushion adjacent to him. Bypassing the tick in your brow, you look off to the side, fighting the embarrassment threatening to take hold of your visage. Shouldn’t he be across the hall, entertaining his company?

“Shut up and grab some cards,” you grumble to dispel the green-eyed thoughts stewing in your mind.

“Bossy.” But he doesn’t contest you, gathering the abused cards to shuffle them. 

The remainder of your evening slides by with comfortable quips. With booze and a break to catch up on Love Is Blind—somehow, he’d roped you into watching it. 

You had no idea he was such a sap. Nearly forgotten how miffed you were mere hours ago. 

He assuaged your worries with an explanation as the sun crept over the city. 

The girl in his apartment was an old colleague who’d gotten drunk and convinced herself that she was anything but. 

Being a good samaritan, Sylus brought her to his place to sober up since the apartment complex wasn’t too far from the main strip of bars. He didn’t want any issues when she inevitably woke up. Messing with drunk people wasn’t his thing. 

So that’s how he ended up here, inhabiting your couch like he’d always been a part of the decor. 

He didn’t owe you an explanation. You were just friends. Still, you couldn’t help the quiet smile that twitched your lips after he cleared the air.

At some point in the morning, you both fell asleep. He looked all serene, too big for your sofa, but comfortable. You watched his lashes flutter from your place on the floor, his lips parting with soundless exhales. Even in sleep, he maintained that guarded aura, his arms folded across his chest. 

You were bleary-eyed, gathering yourself from the hardwood to fetch a blanket to drape over him. He shifted, and he was so pretty with the sun bathing him in an angelic glow like that, his hair bright like a halo. 

You were about to retreat to your bedroom when an abrupt knock tore you from your reverie. You glanced at your guest, ensuring he went undisturbed. He needed the rest. He was a night owl, and something about the sun vexed him, so he typically spent his days sleeping when you weren’t impeding on his time.

You moved to the door, foregoing the peephole to open it. Big mistake.

On the other side stood Little Miss Pretty from the night prior, impatiently tapping her foot. Her hair was flattened on one side, and her dress was askew. By the looks of it, sleep hadn’t been kind to her.

“Hi, good morning,” she sighed, schooling her expression into fake politeness. She straightened herself as best she could, but the white patch of dried slob staining her chin did little to help her plight. You bit back a snicker. 

“I’m looking for a friend. He lives across from you. His name’s Skye.”

You quirked a brow at that. Skye? Oh, honey…

You wondered how many other people Sylus had fed a fake alias to. Or if Sylus was even his real name.

“Haven’t seen him,” you chirped over crossed arms. Pulled the door slightly closed behind you, barring the woman from getting a peek at him, nuzzled up so cozily on your couch.

She sighed with slumped shoulders. A childish pout warped her lips. Her voice shifted into something more bratty. “You sure? Tall guy, white hair, red eyes? You can’t miss ‘em.”

“Not ringing a bell, hun. Sorry.”

It was taking all of you to keep up this ruse. You were fighting so hard to tamp down your amusement. This woman reminded you of an antagonist in a Korean drama, the way she was kicking and huffing about. 

“Where the hell did he go,” she groused. You watched her draw her phone from the pocket of her fur coat, your throat growing dry. 

Your blood turned to ice when a familiar ringtone chimed in your apartment behind you. You stiffened comically; mouth hinged open with shock.

The woman’s expression morphed into one of suspicion. She tried to look inside your home, the upbeat ring of Sylus’ phone still flooding the uncomfortable silence.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to assert her way inside. “What the fu—”

“Hey, girlie. Back the hell off before I call the police,” you warned with a hand pushed to her sternum. She insisted on being unruly, so you snatched your taser from the entryway table, the telltale blue sparks and sharp whip of static causing the woman to jolt back with alarm.

“You’re both insane!” she shouted from the hallway, the stomp of her heels reverberating off the walls as she made her way to the stairwell. 

With a relieved sigh deflating your chest, you eased the door shut. Leaned against it, glancing at the man of the hour. He was still fast asleep, his leg dangling off the edge of your sofa. You smirked knowingly, shaking your head as you disappeared into your bedroom. 

You’d let him sleep for as long as he needed. And you’d give him shit when he awoke about his taste in acquaintances. 

(Sylus): hungry? (You): a little. was gonna make some ramen if you want (Sylus): 🤢 (Sylus): that stuffs terrible for your digestion sweetie.  (Sylus): how about i make you dinner instead ? (Sylus): at the supermarket. need anything? (You): 😲😲😲 (You): you keep spoiling me and i might think you like me (Sylus): 😏 (You): nvm. no don’t need anything. lemme know when you’re back (You): i can help with groceries (Sylus): now who likes who? (You): fkdkos (Sylus): ? (You): sorry fat fingers 

You have a nasty habit of not using your peephole as of late.

Your apartment came with one for a reason. Sure, your neighborhood’s been pretty tame since you’ve moved here. But that doesn’t mean the occasional weirdo doesn’t slip past security, roaming the halls and startling the other tenants. 

You’ve found yourself forgoing the use of it a lot lately, given the only person who typically knocks on your door is the guy across the hall. And he usually calls or texts before he bugs you, but that doesn’t stop him from being spontaneous. You suppose today is one of those such cases after he manipulated you with dinner. 

Maybe his hands are full, you muse, unlocking your door. Though you’re doubtful he can’t handle a few bags. You’ve seen him in action at the community gym, thick cords of muscle rippling beneath a tan stretch of skin. 

You draw the door open with a smile, expecting to see a customary thatch of white. What confronts you instead sends a tide of dread washing over your innards. 

“Oh, thank God you’re home,” breathes a voice you haven’t heard in months. A voice that still makes your body stiffen, and your blood run cold. 

When your senses return, you step back into your apartment, thoroughly intending to slam the door in your ex’s face. They’re quicker, however, wedging themselves in the gap before you can shut it. Grabbing for you, a crazed look warping their features.

“Baby, please! Talk to me! I miss you!”

You bat at their hand, trying vainly to crush them, to scare them off. It’s to no avail, and you wonder if they’re coked up, giving you a run for your money as they try to bully their way into your home.

There’s a softball bat propped on the wall, and your fingers brush the base of it in your attempt to grab it. Something to defend yourself since your taser’s out of reach, tucked somewhere in your bag. 

The sounds of your struggle intermingle, your voice strained and panting, please please please, and your ex’s caught between sobs of your name. 

Just a little further. Just—

Suddenly, there’s no more resistance in your door. You stumble against it, a wild look in your eyes. And then, there is the noise of a brief scuffle. Of a back being shoved against a wall, of rusting plastic bags, of “Who the fuck are you?!”

Amid your panicked frenzy, you glance up to see a back to you. Barring you from the view beyond your threshold, and your body’s awash with relief as you register your savior’s form.

“You would do well to piss off,” seethes Sylus, and there’s an edge to his voice you’ve never heard before. You feel it furling in your stomach, burning your lungs. And in this moment, you don’t know who to be more afraid of.

Your ex makes a sound of protest, but you imagine the cut of Sylus’ eyes deterring them.

There is the scuffling of shoes across the concrete flooring of the breezeway, and you listen with bated breath until the cacophony fades at the foot of the stairs, willing your heart to ease down.

Scarlet eyes shift to you, brows knit with concern. “Who was that?” Sylus asks, tone cautious as if he doesn’t want to startle you more than you’ve already been.

You right yourself, smoothing out the wrinkles of your clothes. Finally grab your bat, waving it intimidatingly as you step aside to let your neighbor in.

“My stupid ex. Just know you saved their life. ‘cause I was gonna—” You make swinging gestures, the metal bat swooping in the air. The corners of Sylus’ eyes crinkle. 

“Slow down before you hurt yourself.” He kneels to retrieve the bags he’d tossed down in his haste to intervene. You scurry over to help, gathering up spilled food.

Once you’re both inside, the bags placed haphazardly on the counter, you’re seated on your sofa, nursing the rush of adrenaline still spuming through you like the hot rush of a geyser. 

“You need to get a restraining order,” says Sylus. He emerges from your kitchen with a tense set to his jaws, two bottles of Angry Orchard clasped between his fingers. 

Plopping down beside you, an arm draped over the headrest, he shoves a bottle into your hand, side-eyeing you as he throws his head back for a swig. 

You babysit the cider, the crisp condensation of it serving to ground you. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m not asking, sweetie.”

You bristle under the weight of his tone, feeling much like a scolded child. You know this. Should’ve done it long ago the first time your ex took it upon themselves to do surprise pop-ups at your place—at your job.  

“And an alarm system.”

“I know, I know.”

“I can take you right now to look for one—”

“I got it, Sy! Fuck, I-I got it.” You release a weighted sigh, warring with yourself. 

Not only do you feel silly for being so lackadaisical with your life. But now, you feel even worse for the seemingly impenetrable silence that settles between you. You didn’t mean to yell, frustration and adrenaline having burbled to the surface. He was just worried. No need to take your emotions out on him. 

Sylus exhales slowly, an unreadable expression descending onto his face whilst staring at the wall.

“Sorry,” you murmur, unconsciously patting his quad. You don’t miss how he stiffens; don’t miss the tight coiling of tendons in his neck. You retract your hand, instead drumming your fingers along the bottom of your bottle.

“I’m assuming this isn’t the first time this has happened,” queries Sylus in an attempt to dispel the tense atmosphere.

You shake your head, shrinking into yourself. Stare at your lap, pulling at some frayed threads in your bottoms. 

“How did they even manage to get up here?”

You shrug. The security guards at the gates aren’t always the most attentive. Besides, sometimes, the pin pad leading into the lobby malfunctions, making it easier for anyone to just slip into your complex.

Unprompted, you begin to bare yourself, explaining the possibilities of why your ex showed up.

Sylus listens attentively. Doesn’t interrupt you, watching the subtle shifts of your expressions as you speak. 

You tell him that things weren’t bad in the beginning about two years ago. How your ex said and did all the right things, and they were wonderful. But they wanted something you weren’t ready for. You had some growing up to do, so you broke things off. Moved to another city, started a new job. 

You didn’t bank on them following you. 

The visits were random at first. Occasional run-ins at the park, the bar. Things soon blossomed into something more concerning when your ex found your new address after you relocated to another part of the city to ease the stress of the commute. 

This was their second time making an appearance at your door. You knew you should’ve done something to protect yourself sooner, but you didn’t think much of it then. Figured they would live and let be. Today proved otherwise. 

“You’re grossly naive, sweetie.” 

You snort before gulping down the remnants of your cider. “Way to make me feel better.”

He chuckles, and it’s comforting, your thighs pressing together amid your dinky couch. “It’s what I’m here for. But I could understand how you could drive someone to such extremes.”

You glare at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means…” 

Before you know what’s about, he’s panning in, flooding your vision with the scarlet shine of his eyes. With the wispy dance of his lashes until his breath fans over your molten cheeks. Limber fingers sneak beneath your chin, slightly tilting your head back. 

Warmth wades over you. Your breath swells in your chest. Lips purse as a mysterious shade of burgundy leaks over his irises. His voice drops a few octaves, husky, the sound of it pinching in your stomach.

“It means that you’re someone worth fighting for.”

You scoff, shaking yourself away from his hold. Ignore the bashfulness creeping into your face in favor of being a cheeky little shit. 

“All right, Li Shang. Getting a little too serious over there.”

He huffs a laugh in response, popping up to grab another round of ciders from your fridge.

Ingredients sat untouched on the countertop as your evening eased by. You’d settled on a pizza, catching up on shows and talking, long after the moon had pinned itself to the center of the sky. 

Sylus promised to teach you how to use a gun. He had plenty and would carve out time in his schedule to take you to a range. He didn’t press much after, instead letting the weight of your evening melt from your shoulders. 

He was reluctant to leave you, even after sunbeams spilled through your blinds and you snoozed so quietly, cheek propped against his shoulder. 

His hand never left your thigh. Possessive in its touch as he mirrored your affections from before. 

It’s strange.

Today is your birthday. You’re enjoying yourself, filled with enough alcohol to tranquilize a small goat. 

Your co-workers had dragged you out. Surprised you with dinner, a cake. Took you to the strip of bars lining the streets adjacent to your apartment complex. You were all smiles until your cheeks ached, and you’d nearly thrown up from laughing so much. 

Still, you feel…empty. Like something is missing. Or someone. 

You look at your phone for the umpteenth time. Scroll through your messages, reliving the moment in your head. 

Sylus was the first to wish you a happy birthday. It made you swell with overwhelming happiness, knowing he’d woken up so early to be the first to say it. You don’t think you’ve ever cried harder when he sent a voice message of him singing “Happy Birthday.”

God, for everything he was good at, poor baby couldn’t hold a note to dig himself out of a hole. Still, you cherished the gesture, lying in bed for the first hour you’d been awake, replaying said message and rolling around your bed like an enamored teen.

Even now, you replay the voice note, holding the speaker to your ear. It’s hard to hear it amid the live band playing and the merriment around you at the bar. Try as you might to enjoy what remains of your night, you can’t keep your thoughts from drifting back to a certain smug figure clad in black. 

(You): 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛💥💥💥 (Sylus): hows it going birthday babe? (You): 😭😭😭 (You): u shuld be her e (Sylus) im sorry sweetie. i had some work to catch up on.  (Sylus): you must be having a good time. 😏 (You): fuk wrk 🖕🖕🖕 (You): am not drink ur dronk (Sylus): lol. you sound plastered. (Sylus): do i need to come rescue you? (You): hum (Sylus): ? (You): hone (You): home (Sylus): 🫤 (Sylus): we need to have a serious talk about you enabling autocorrect. (You): r u (You): home (Sylus): about to be. why ?? (Sylus): sweetie?

Somehow, you find yourself staring at the glossy, black numbers embossed on the top center of his door. 302. It’s ingrained in your memory. You’d probably find your way to his apartment with your eyes closed, driven to it by the familiar smell and homeliness it exudes. 

You’re still a little tipsy. Took some time to sober up as best you could before ditching your friends and catching an Uber back to your complex. You had enough sense to gather everything you’d shown up with. Didn’t hitch a ride with any strangers regardless of how many of them tried to pull you into their arms as you stumbled out of the bar. 

You had a one-track mind. Only wanted to spend the rest of your birthday with him.

With a goofy smile plastered on your face, you knock on his door. You’re singing that infectious song you can’t get out of your head when it swings open.

“Apateu-pateu, apateu-pateu,” you chant, shaking your hips from side to side.

He greets you with an omniscient smirk, eyes softening whilst leaning against the doorframe. “Well, hello, birthday babe.”

“Sup!” you return a little too enthusiastically, pitching forward until Sylus steadies you with his hands. You giggle like a drunken fool, peering at him. Hadn’t realized how good his hands felt, searing through the fabric of your top. 

Come to think of it, you hadn’t noticed many things about him before. His lips are a pretty shade of pink. Skin textured, nose sharp, cheeks high. Little flecks of amber dwell between the scarlet rinse of his eyes. His hair falls into his face, damp from the shower he probably had before answering the door.

“I take it you had a good night,” he says, gaze painting a steady triangle between your eyes and mouth.

“Almost,” you whisper back, surprised by the huskiness of your voice. You lose yourself in the idle stir of his eyes. In the fragility of his smile, and you feel so safe in his hands like this. 

You don’t know what compels you to do it. To conquer the space of hot, dizzying breaths between you. But, you sort of…well…

Your inhibitions hit the floor. With your fingers wrapped tenderly around his wrists, you angle yourself closer to kiss him. You almost pull away when he stiffens. But he seemingly relaxes, and his lips cautiously move against yours as he unconsciously guides you closer.

You cling to the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He encircles your waist in his powerful arms, fastening you to the hard press of his body. He kisses you like he’s waited lifetimes to do it, one hand molding around the apple of your cheek. 

When your tongue sloppily prods the barrier of his teeth, he bristles. Draws away from you with a resounding smack, blinking wildly. You’re confused. Your heart sinks. You try again to draw him back in, but he gently pushes you away, shaking his head to dispel the bleariness. To chase away the spell that’s fallen over you. 

“Baby, wait. No. Not…not like this,” he rasps through kiss-swollen lips, holding you by your hips. You’re wounded. A hot flush of embarrassment washes over you, and your brows knit together like those of a confused puppy.

“Wha-what’s wrong? Did I—am I—”

“No, no, you’re…you're perfect,” he soothes with a chuckle, a thumb gliding over your bottom lip. “Beautiful, even. I just…I don’t think now is a good time to do this.”

“Oh.” You deflate, a scorching film of tears clouding your vision. “Oh, okay. Um, I’ll just—yeah, I’ll go. I’ll…see you around, I guess.”

You slide out of his arms, too mortified to look back as you fumble with your keys. After he murmurs a hoarse, “good night.” Did you misread him before? Misinterpret his actions, his words? 

You’re numb as you sink into your couch. Sobriety slowly creeps in. Stray tears blister your cheeks, but you don’t full-on sob. Can’t bring yourself to, instead laughing hysterically with your face buried in your hands, swallowed by the bleak loneliness of your apartment.

Happy Birthday, indeed.

[mbrainspaz]

this isn't meant to be @ anyone. I've wanted to rant about this for a minute.

In defense of Harry Dresden, a kinda toxic hero—

I've had several instances where I recommended the Dresden Files and got replies like 'oh I tried that but the main character seemed kinda chauvinistic' or 'those are guy books.' I'm not gonna argue with that assessment. I agree that Harry has some prevalent issues of the toxic masculinity variety. He admits as much. He doesn't do much about it in the first 17 books but he admits it.

I do get annoyed when I interact with guy friends who read him as a perfect role model. There is a toxic fandom element out there, not unlike with Star Wars or Harry Potter. People who got the wrong message from a complicated piece of media. I was actually dating the guy who introduced me to the series as way of excusing some of his toxic behavior, which he had directly based on Harry. I started reading the series to try to understand why he thought that was a good idea, and after reading it we had a talk about why it probably wasn't. He's living his best life with his soon-to-be husband now but we've stayed in touch just to chat about new Dresden books when they come out.

It's not only okay to read and enjoy books with problematic characters, I think it helps people develop a greater appreciation for nuance. Even when the actions of those characters aren't immediately and unequivocally condemned by the narrative, enjoying a 'problematic' book isn't an inherently bad thing. But Harry usually does get kicked in the pants for his bad takes and that is a reason I enjoy the series. Yes, he has chauvinistic views, but those almost always come back to bite him. In fact it's hilarious to me how many times the scenario: 'Hitting on a hot dame? Whoops she's a fae queen who just stabbed you.' plays out. It's not hilarious to Harry but unlike the Supernatural bros at least he learns from his mistakes and starts to get suspicious of supernaturally hot women pretty quickly.

As far as female rep goes, it does go borderline on the 'strong yet sexy female character' tropes at times but ultimately it's leagues better on that front than adjacent media like Supernatural, Libriomancer, or any series I've read about Druids where every dame in the book is apologizing for being an inhuman supermodel while still being an inhuman supermodel. Women in Dresden Files have a huge amount of depth and agency, and only about 7 out of 10 are supernaturally hot. Their narratives are rarely centered but oh well, some stories are allowed to be about guys being dudes. Dudes and their supernaturally sexy male model besties.

Harry is very much meant to be a hero character in the story but we mainly get that from the way other characters interact with him. Usually when he's confronted with the fact that other characters see him as a hero it makes him uncomfortable. Internally he's hugely critical of himself. He's also deeply introspective and empathetic, which would be good things for men to model. Anyone reading Dresden Files and going 'aha, see—toxic masculinity is based actually' is thoroughly failing at media analysis. Which is the norm, granted, but don't blame that on Harry. Heck, one of the central themes is him being at war with himself and his baser nature, both in a relatable real-world sense and as a guy with the potential to be a mega powerful dark wizard.

Personally Harry's struggles helped me to unpack a lot of the feelings I was having about religion as I tried to distance myself from evangelicalism, but maybe that's just me. These thoughts aren't perfectly refined and I wanted to go into the cop worship issue to but I can't waste another hour on this.

[jimhines]

Libriomancer Sale!

Woke up this morning to an alert that LIBRIOMANCER, the first book of the Magic ex Libris series, is on sale for $1.99 at Amazon and elsewhere.

Just in case you or someone you know still hasn't picked up a copy :-)

[mountainmaven]

If I may - Jim C Hines has a series (Magic Ex Libris), first book is Libriomancer. The main character is in a poly relationship with 2 women, one of which is bi-sexual (and a dryad). Full disclosure I haven't finished this series so I'm not certain of longevity of relationship and/or death of any characters. But my husband has finished it and I don't remember him saying anything about either of those things happening.

Since it’s bi visibility month do you or any of your followers have book/movie/series recs with bisexual characters? (except for heartstopper I already know that one and I love it) I don’t care about genre tho I am not the biggest fan of pure romance books but if they have great characters I am willing to try. Thank you so much. :)

If my followers have good suggestions, I hope they chime in.

Off the top of my head:

VE Schwab often has some bisexual characters. The ones I’ve read are the Shades of Magic series and the Invisible Life of Addie LaRue.

The two main characters in Silver Nitrate by Silvia Moreno-Garcia are both bisexual.

One of the main side characters in the Timothy Wilde series by Lyndsay Faye is as well.

Also, the main character in Flowerheart by Catherine Bakewell.

I know I’ve read more, but that is what I’m remembering right now. Hopefully there is enough variety for you to find something you would like.

[wondrousmay]

Tagged by @whateversawesome and @laurelin-94! Thank you for tagging me!

1. Named after anyone?

Nope. My parents chose my full name based on the meaning of the word.

2. Last time you cried?

Last week. I cry easily over little things.

3. Any kids?

Nope.

4. Sports played/playing?

Used to play badminton with my friends from university but we’re all so busy now…

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Not really. I feel like sarcasm in my native language sounds more rude than in English so I don’t use it much unless it’s with really close friends.

6. First thing you notice about people?

How they treat other people.

7. Eye color?

Brown!

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

I can’t deal with scary movies at all so happy endings all the way!

9. Talents?

I suppose my media analysis skills.

10. Where were you born?

Thailand

11. Hobbies?

Watching anime/movies, reading, analyzing/discussing my favourite media and playing with my cats.

12. Pets?

Two cats!

13. Height?

156 cm

14. Favorite subject in school?

English, History and Social studies

15. Dream job?

Media blogger!

Tagging @smolhours @jade-efflorescence @the-sage-libriomancer and @prettyblubox! No pressure though!

[bleachbleachbleach]

Tag Meme

tag whoever you want to get to know better!

Thank you for the tag, @bendingwind! Responding here instead because my anime-heavy answers felt more relevant to B3 than whipplefilter.

I will no-pressure tag @dreaming-about-seireitei (idk why it won't let me tag you?? so I hope you see this if you want to do it!), @the-sage-libriomancer, and @paniniwrap, because you are my most recently-followed blogs~ I will also tag anyone who sees this and wants to do it, because I can guarantee you I want to read your responses!

--

Three ships: Three ships I have written recently: Kira/Rose monsterfucking; Hinamori/Hitsugaya (rather, Kira developing minor negative feelings about Hitsugaya because IT’S A LOT, HINAMORI. Like I’m your bro, he assures her, but it’s a lot); Renji/Rukia, if only the dominoes would fall the right way, which at the moment they are not, for dumb work reasons and also their dumb coworkers.

First Ship: I dunno, Gabrielle/Xena?

Last song: I didn’t listen to any music today, so I guess by default… the 4th ED for Haikyuu?

Last Film: …Muppet Treasure Island, I think? Wow, I sure am getting an A+ in answering questions!

Currently Reading: In This World of Ultraviolet Light by Raul Palma, which is a collection of short stories that tend toward the skrunkly, the macabre, but are also just incredibly truthful. He gave a reading of “Stand Your Ground” last year, and it was so excellent I think it was THE best thing I read all year. It was the kind of story that makes you really want to write, because it’s so good and he’s so good.

Currently watching: We’re rewatching Haikyuu again, in a perpetual cycle of rewatching Haikyuu!! We just finished the Seijou/Karasuno rematch, which was an INCREDIBLY emotionally taxing experience, because I want Karasuno to win but I also want Oikawa to win, and the fine details of that match are overwhelming.

I was swapping anime recs with a friend on LJ the other day, and she was like, “Wow, we have such similar tastes! That’s so rare, as varied as anime can be.” And internally I was like, IT’S BECAUSE YOU ALREADY TOLD ME YOU HATED LONG SERIAL BATTLE SHOUNEN. ToT Nah. I mean, she did say that, but I was intentionally reccing her things I liked that I thought she would also like. XD It’s just that I thought she would like them for the fanservice and the angst, and I like them because of the like, folding tables. (I love you Seijou folding table and banner on the ground.)

I also have 20 minutes left of the series finale of Reservation Dogs, but I don’t want to say goodbye just yet.

Currently consuming: Faildinner, which is distinct from girldinner because it’s when you feel very smart about making dishes that do a good job of using up last week’s leftover ingredients, only to realize you’ve made a tomato-based potato/squash dish and a balsamic vinegar-based chicken dish, which is already ACID ON ACID until you realize you also made a shchi recipe that included SAUERKRAUT.

Currently craving: JUSTICE. Not to be overly dramatic. At work today an adult child said something innocently intended but honestly kind of fucked up and I am so mad about it. It’s not remotely his responsibility to know our ranks or employment histories, but he assumed my colleague was older and more experienced and that I was learning from her, because he could “see the similarities in our teaching style.” Which, I just wanna say, EXCUUUUUSE ME???? I actually have years more experience than her??? I don’t know how old she is but we’re functionally the same age. But she just came back from maternity leave, and those similarities in our style are because I DESIGNED. THAT COURSE. And I gave it to her and told her she was welcome to keep whatever and change whatever, because she just came back from maternity leave and she should get all the shortcuts she needs. But the course is similar to mine because I MADE IT. Like, what a bizarre set of assumptions to make. Again, doesn’t matter, it’s not his business, there’s no reason that’s information he should have or care about, but omg, definitely not over it. Thanks I hate it!! /end rant

[monkeymanproductions]

is there similar media (movies in particular) that you'd recommend for potential fans of your show?

Deej here jumping in, even though it's going to be a wild list! I can't think of a ton of stuff that's just like WFO, but there's definitely other media doing some of the same thing ... if you've ever seen any of The Librarian movies or TV show (which was called The Librarians); and there's definitely a bit of Jumanji in there; I'd say if you're a fan of Gravity Falls you'll find some similarities in the long run; there's a series of books by Jim Hines that starts with Libriomancer that's got some similarities; if you don't mind comparing sci-fi to supernatural there's probably a wee bit of Reboot and Tron in the DNA of the show; and a bit of Who Framed Roger Rabbit? as well ... probably a touch of the Dark Tower books, though don't get me started on the end of that story ...

[tenebrius-excellium]

Eyyyy it's you! Thank you for participating! I'm glad you like my blog! I always love your opinion and responses, some food for thought!

PS: Do you ever post your art here?? O_O

I've become a little shy and so I thought I'd start a small ask game for some of my beautiful regulars - that means followers/lurkers who I see interacting with my stuff often but who I don't know very well. Feel free to interact, feel free to pass it by - that's okay!

Just know that I'm happy to see you in my notes!

@rangerlexi @stonequiet @zmichelle1234 @malleepp @willowravenheart24 @granny-griffin @nikefromtheheartofeurope @the-sage-libriomancer @sorushing @theconstantfangirl @occasionally-writing-stuff

What is your main fandom?

Which continent are you from?

day or night | sun or moon | oranges or peaches | glitter or matte | football/soccer/baseball | cat/dog/dolphin | meadow or forest | rain or snow | tea or coffee | dragon or gryphon | LotR or Narnia | friendship or romance | God/no God/don't want to answer | books or movies | travel or stay at home | cookies or chili | Love or fear

Why do you follow me/what do you follow me for?

Fun fact about yourself?

Lots of love

Reddie

[anisaanisa]

Get to know you game! Answer the questions and tag 9 people you want to know better.

Thank you for the tag @valenshawke, I love refelcting on these 🥳

Last song I listened to: Gold by Kiiara 🎶

Currently Reading: I am quite literally 5 pages into volume 1 of Maison Ikokku. Rather excited too, as I've never read another work by Rumiko Takahashi, and it's already cute as hell (the textured cover is so nice) 🤲

Currently Watching: Futurama. It's a background rewatch, however it's been years since I watched it, and I am quite shaken by how relatable our guy Fry is in the year of 2024 👽

Currently obsessed with: Writing. My own fics, that is. We'll see how that one works out 😅

Tagging!: @pipistrellee @superpixie42 @lostinfantasyworlds @moonkissedart @mustardyellowsunshine @mewto @elvisqueso @coquinespike @the-sage-libriomancer ❤

[accidentalspaceexplorer]

2023 Book Reviews: Fantasy, Part 2

1. At the Feet of the Sun by Victoria Goddard: 4.75/5

Pitch: 2nd in a series; about a bureaucrat running an empire in like the most wholesome fashion

Review: If I didn't already love Cliopher Mdang, I don't think I would have liked this book as much as I did - it felt less well-structured or well-focused than The Hands of the Emperor, which was noticeable because of the 800 pages, and it has a very different plot, more mythological and epic adventure than just the intense character portrait you get in HOTE. But I did already love Kip, so I had a fantastic time with it anyways, just spending some extra time with some characters I love. I really enjoyed getting to see his perspective on other parts of the world, and I'm glad it answered some lingering questions from HOTE. Also, the relationships were fantastic, but personally I wanted something different to happen.

2. Libriomancer by Jim C. Hines: 3.25/5

Pitch: books are magic, literally, and something bad escapes from a book to the real world

Review: I had fun with this, more in the second half than in the first, but I'll be honest that it didn't do as much for me as I'd hoped for. Fun, definitely, and a cool magic system, but as I didn't much care about Isaac by the end, I just wasn't very invested. I probably won't continue on, but I can honestly tell my friend I borrowed it from that I enjoyed it!

3. High Times in the Low Parliament by Kelly Robson: 2/5

Pitch: 18th century London with fae but if Parliament fails to pass a bill endless war will start back up again

Review: At this point, I'm pretty convinced that I don't actually like whimsical books! This is supposed to be whimsical and charming but it just makes me not believe in the characters or the dangers, so there is no tension and I don't like anyone and then I don't like the book.

4. The Winter of the Witch by Katherine Arden: 4.5/5

Pitch: 3rd & final book in a trilogy; Russian historical fantasy about the god of winter and the rise of Christianity

Review: I really enjoyed this final installment. Vasya was as captivating as always, and I really enjoyed the way the story echoed her struggle to decide what and who she was in the plot. Plus I cried at the end. I'm glad I finished this series!

5. Babel by R. F. Kuang: 4.75/5

Pitch: dark historical fantasy about colonization in a world where translation is magic

Review: This was extremely well-written, and the ramifications, philosophies, and thoughts that the book digs into are likely to stay with me quite a long time. I can't say that I ever fell headlong in love with any of the characters, though - while I thought they were very compelling and rich characters to explore, there was always a bit of a distance between me and them, so I was aware the whole time that it was a book, rather than being completely sucked in. About halfway through, when the plot kicked up, that did fade somewhat though.

I would recommend this book, although I warn you when you pick it up that terrible and awful things will happen. Just be in the right headspace to read this.